"Something's wrong," Datvin said as a loud rumbling noise began to be audible from beyond the ramp leading into the hall.

"Get out of the way!" Johnson shouted to the white-robed Kibrians near the front, not waiting for the Manager to act. "Get out of the way!"

"Johnson!" someone screamed as the ritual dancers fled like a flock of frightened geese. "Johnson!"

The meteorologist could see it was Davies as he pulled the Station Manager along with him towards the exit. Davies was trying to press her way into the room like a little salmon swimming upstream in a rushing flood of Kibrians. He could see she had a tricorder.

"Explosives?" he shouted as he drew near.

"Yes, but…!" she yelled and pointed.

The huge black coffin rolled down the ramp, streaming a cloud of flower petals behind it. Some sort of struggle seemed to be taking place in the lower section. First one… then two bodies fell out and clear of the runaway coffin as it roared across the length of the hall.

Johnson tried to shield both Datvin and Davies as the coffin plunged down to the level below. A terrible thought immediately hit the meteorologist.

"Chekov!" he turned and yelled just before an explosion so loud he couldn't honestly have said he heard it at all slammed him sideways. He quickly picked himself up and ran towards the two prone figures. "Chekov! Get out! Get out!"

As the building groaned above them, one of the bodies picked itself up. The other, which he could now see was Sulu, lay still. Johnson could feel rather than actually see Davies a few steps behind him as he scooped up the lieutenant and ran for daylight.

"Run!" he screamed at Chekov, who was dazedly watching the side of the hall crumble.

Davies, with a strength beyond her size, grabbed her fellow ensign and pulled him along in tow.

None of them saw the packet of explosives that had dropped out of the coffin onto the floor of the ritual hall. The force of its explosion sent them all flying into the relative safely of the garden as the archway to the great hall collapsed behind them.

"Davies?"

"Chekov." The ensign's joy at discovering her shipmate was still alive was somewhat dampened by the fact he'd landed with his feet almost in her face. "Would you mind getting off me?"

"Sorry." He rolled over and up onto his knees. "Sulu?"

"He's unconscious, but still breathing." Johnson reported.

Both Davies and Chekov quickly made their way to where Johnson was kneeling over the lieutenant.

"Here, let me." Pushing Johnson aside, Davies broke open the little capsule Nith had given her and began tipping the powder into Sulu's mouth.

"What's that?"

"Don't know," Davies admitted. "A prescription compliments of our friend Selrideen."

"It could be more poison," Chekov warned. He didn't stop her, though. Sulu's skin had been cold to the touch and in this light he could see that the lieutenant's skin had an unhealthy blue tinge. Whatever Davies was giving him was probably the best they could do.

Johnson turned towards him. "Are you all right, Chekov?"

"I'm fine."

"You're bleeding." The meteorologist touched a skinned place on the ensign's cheek.

Enough kepir was still in Chekov's bloodstream to make his skin tingle pleasantly at the contact. "It's just a scratch," he said, blushing and pulling away.

"Well, at least come here and let me untie you," Johnson said, trying not to feel hurt at this rejection.

"Yes, Master," Chekov replied, his embarrassment making his humour sound cutting. "Certainly, Master."

"Master?" Davies repeated, looking up from Sulu for a moment.

"Oh, didn't Johnson tell you he'd purchased a slave?" Chekov replied, using biting sarcasm to keep his mind off the very agreeable sensation of the meteorologist's hands on his. "Apparently it's his turn to own me."

"Poor Johnson," Davies commented, aiming her tricorder at the lieutenant. "Sulu's very weak, but he seems to be stabilising."

"Stop! Stop!"

The team looked up to find a very dusty Datvin and team of security men climbing over the rubble of the collapsed archway towards them.

"Stop what?" Davies asked as Kibrians surrounded them. "Breathing?"

"You're not to untie that slave," Datvin ordered as his men pulled Chekov away from Johnson and forced the Russian to his knees.

"Just a minute…" the meteorologist protested.

"Not until I have some answers," the Station Manger silenced him, crossing in front of Chekov and drawing himself up to his full height. "Well, young man, do you have an explanation?"

The ensign squinted as he looked up the very long distance to the Kibrian's face. It was hard to know where to begin. "There were explosives in the coffin."

"Put there by Lieutenant Sulu?" the Manager wanted to know.

"No. I think it was Uyal who put them there. Uyal put Sulu under the coffin because he blamed him for Kahsheel's death…"

"Engineer Uyal," Datvin corrected. "Engineer Kahsheel."

"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed, not without irony.

"And where is Engineer Uyal?"

"Dead."

Datvin's eyebrows rose. "You killed him?"

"Oh, no, no," Chekov protested, then reconsidered. "Well, I did push him, but the phaser went off by itself."

"Oh, God, Chekov," Johnson groaned.

"Do you have any idea of the magnitude…" Datvin began.

"Just a minute," Davies interrupted, pushing her hair away from her dust-speckled face. "You can't be thinking that Chekov's to blame for this and not instead of Uyal."

The Kibrian crossed his arms. "And why not?"

"And when do you think he and the lieutenant tied themselves up?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips. "Before or after he put the explosives in the coffin?"

"Now, see here, Ensign…"

The Station Manager was interrupted by the sound of another explosion — this one much milder than the previous ones, but no less spectacular in its effect. Water shot up in bubbling geysers from well over a dozen spots behind them.

"The pipes are bursting!" one of Datvin's guards observed unnecessarily. "If the damage from the explosion has caused blockages…"

"Yes, yes," Datvin hushed him. "Boitz and Dask. Guard this… creature. If he so much as moves…"

"Mister Datvin, I really don't…" Johnson protested.

"This is a matter for the magistrates to decide, Ensign Johnson," the Kibrian brushed him off. "I suggest that the rest of you stay put as well. I must go assess the damage to the station. However I will return to speak to your lieutenant as soon as he is sufficiently recovered. I most urgently request that none of you engage in any further interference in our culture."

With one last chilling glare, Datvin stalked off through the rubble surrounded by his guards.

"Well, I suppose none of us need ask him for a recommendation when we come up for promotion," Davies observed, turning back to the lieutenant. "Johnson, I think he's coming round."

Davies handed the meteorologist her tricorder and cradled the lieutenant's head in her lap. When Chekov tried to twist around for a better view, he was forcibly shoved back into place by Datvin's security men.

"Johnson!" he protested.

"Hold on just a minute, Pavel." The meteorologist frowned at his tricorder. "I don't like these readings, Davies. He's stabilising at too low a level. I'm afraid he might slip into a coma."

"What can we do?"

Johnson took in a deep breath. "I'll go try to find the Medical Officer. Keep him quiet. Give him water if he comes around enough to ask for it."

"There seems to be enough of that around," Davies said as yet another pipe burst in the ruins of a nearby wall.

"All right, enough of that!" Johnson called out, quickly rising and crossing to where the two guards seemed to be trying to push Chekov's forehead down to the ground.

"Johnson!" The guards released the Russian, but wouldn't allow him to stand.

"Just stay here for right now, Pavel," the meteorologist ordered apologetically. "I've got to go get the Medical Officer. I'll be right back and we'll get this all straightened out… somehow."

"Johnson…" the ensign growled, trying to wrench free of his captors.

"And you two," the meteorologist said, turning to the guards. "Is my translator working?"

"Yes," the guard on the right responded grudgingly.

"Good." Johnson nodded. "Because I'd hate for you to misunderstand what I'm about to say. If I come back and find that even as much as one hair on his head is out of place, I'm going to kill you…" The meteorologist allowed his statement to sink in for a moment. "Both of you… Slowly… Do you understand?"

The guards looked at each other, then looked back in the direction that their leader had disappeared, then looked back at the look on Johnson's face. "Yes, sir," they chorused, backing away from Chekov.

"Good." The meteorologist turned to go. "I'll be right back. Let's try not to have any new disasters before then."

"Thank you, Mister Johnson," Chekov said quietly after the ensign was well out of earshot.

"You could be a little nicer to him," Davies commented. "He's pretty gone on you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Chekov scoffed, taking advantage of his guards' temporarily cowed state to turn himself towards her. "How's Sulu?"

She gently stroked the lieutenant's face. "He's getting a little colour back, slowly, and his skin's beginning to feel warmer. Despite whatever the tricorder says, I think he's getting better."

Chekov snorted. "Yes, if Johnson would pronounce him dead, he'd completely recover."

"You shouldn't be so…" Davies broke off as the ground trembled with another much more distant explosion. Mourners, guests, and guardsmen who were using water from the broken pipe system to put out the fire raging up from the crematorium scattered to avoid more falling masonry. "What was that?"

"Selrideen and his followers have broken into the Old City," one guard muttered to the other.

"What?" Chekov asked, craning around to look at him.

"Silence, slave," the Kibrian ordered gruffly.

"Perhaps you'd like to explain it to me then?" Davies said.

The guard looked as though he'd much prefer to go with another "Silence, slave." He was saved by the sudden reappearance of Johnson.

"Davies!" he gasped when he reached them. "Is Sulu still the same?"

"Where's the Medical Officer?"

"Busy, very busy. If Sulu's stable, he's going to have to wait. Do you know any first aid?"

"I've had the course."

"So have I," Chekov reminded him.

"They can use every hand available," Johnson said, directing his reply to Davies. "It's like a battlefield over there. The Medical Officer's got a broken arm himself. C'mon."

"What about Sulu?"

"Chekov can watch him. Can't you, Chekov?"

"I can watch," the ensign replied, raising his hands the inch that the ropes binding him allowed.

"That'll have to do for the moment," Johnson said, gently lifting the lieutenant out of Davies' lap and placing him next to the Russian. "C'mon, Davies. This is an emergency."

As Johnson hurried back to ritual hall dragging Davies behind him, Sulu's eyes fluttered open. "Chekov?"

"Sulu." Chekov moved as close to his comrade as his captors would allow.

It looked as though it was almost an intolerable effort for the lieutenant to keep his eyes open. "Are we still not dead?"

"We both seem to be alive at the moment," Chekov assured him.

Sulu smiled weakly. "I like the eyes and the tan."

It took Chekov a moment to figure out what he was referring to. "Oh, yes."

"You look like my cousin Lee."

"I have no peripheral vision. How do you see?"

"Ancient Chinese secret," Sulu mumbled, his own eyes falling shut.

"Sulu! Sulu!" Chekov desperately wished he was unbound. "Don't go to sleep."

"Oh, that's just for concussions, Chekov," the lieutenant responded drowsily. "It's okay to sleep when you've been… What happened to me?"

"You were poisoned… Like I was… Like Kahsheel."

"Oh." The anguish in his friend's voice got through to the lieutenant. "Maybe I'd better try to fight it, then. God, that's a ratty looking beard. How long have you been growing it?"

"Around four hours."

"I take it back. For four hours, it's great." Sulu sounded almost as if he were drunk. "You know, I don't know if it's the eyes, the beard, or what, but you're really looking good to me right now, Chekov. I mean, really good. Like remember when you were in my quarters and you'd taken all that kepir? Right now, I'm really wishing…"

"Yes, well…" Chekov glanced uncomfortably at the guards behind him. "Perhaps you'd better rest after all."

"Put him over there with the other one."

Chekov looked up at the sound of the Station Manager's voice nearby. Two guards were roughly escorting a familiar-looking miscreant between them. "Mras!"

The guards forced the dwarf down to his knees beside the ensign. "Head down against the dirt, slave," one of the new guards ordered. "You too, Feddie."

"But his master said…" one of the old guards warned.

"His master isn't saying anything right now," the newcomer said, jerking his thumb towards Sulu who had lost consciousness again.

The old guard decided not to press the point and stepped back to allow the new guard to nudge Chekov in the back. "Now, Feddie."

Chekov looked around and found himself completely outnumbered and temporarily bereft of supporters. He had little choice other than to grit his teeth and comply. When he looked over at Mras, the dwarf was grinning at him.

"Whatever you were doing, Feddie," the little Kibree said, "it looks like they took catching you in the midst of it."

The ensign gathered his dignity — at least as much as was possible when one was kneeling with one's forehead in the dirt and the majority of one's clothing unlaced and hanging rather loosely on one. "And what have you been apprehended for?"

"General suspicion," the dwarf replied unconcernedly. "But they found nothing on me and they'll not ask the one who has what I gave her where she got what she has. What takes ill with your master?"

"He's been poisoned."

The dwarf chuckled. "I take hope of you yet, Feddie. But you've got to learn to make dead your lovers in different ways."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

'What a mess!' Davies was thinking when the next shock hit. She quickly threw herself over the young Kibrian woman whose head wound she'd been bandaging. Although only an adolescent, the Kibree was much taller than Davies, but the ensign's relatively small body was able to protect her from the shower of dust and rubble that poured from the remains of the roof of the ritual hall. "Surely that's not more of Uyal's explosives."

"I don't think so." Johnson turned his tricorder away from the old Kibree whose broken leg he was in the process of examining and aimed it to the left and slightly down. "Someone has blown up part of an underground water delivery system over a mile from here."

"Selrideen and the slaves who follow him have reached the Old City and are trying to free the underground spring," the Medical Officer speculated without slowing in his treatment of the bleeding patient in front of him. Johnson was amazed at the pace the physician was maintaining despite the pain he must be in. A low caste assistant served as partial replacement for the Medical Officer's hastily set broken arm.

Another explosion rocked the Station. Water seemed to burst from a hundred places in the walls and floor at once. Just as quickly, the flow trickled away to nothing.

"I'd say they've succeeded," Johnson said, consulting his tricorder.

The Medical Officer shook his head as he brushed mud and dust from his work area. "With an unlimited supply of water and an unknown supply of explosives, the runaways will be able to hold out there for months… perhaps even years."

"Until the dawn of the new age," Johnson's patient offered.

"Come now, Mroth," the Medical Officer scolded. "You don't believe all that superstitious nonsense, do you?"

"You yourself certified the Dark Prince dead," the low caste insisted stubbornly, "and have now seen his return."

"The person you are referring to is not the Dark Prince or any other mythological figure," the physician countered strongly as he wrapped his patient's wounds. "He is not even Kibrian. At this moment he is only a few paces away under arrest. I don't recall the Dark Prince being arrested in any story I've ever heard."

"He wasn't arrested before he destroyed the Palace," the old Kibree muttered.

"Johnson, I don't know if this is a good time to bring this up," Davies said, turning off her translator as she helped her patient into the waiting arms of her relatives and moved along to the next victim. "But the Director is plotting to blow up the main computer. Apparently there's some information about the Vaytha test results that she wants destroyed."

"Plotting with who?"

"Mras, for one… who incidentally turns out to be her brother."

Johnson grimaced. "And who we've suspected had access to explosives all along."

"Oh, he's got explosives all right. Or at least he did the last time I saw him. I've downloaded the information from the computer into the tricorder you're holding so we don't have to worry about that, but I'm not sure how many more explosions this old building can take."

Johnson consulted his tricorder. "Not too many. I think you should suggest that everyone try to move towards the gardens."

"What are you going to do?"

The meteorologist shrugged as he rose to his feet. "I'm not exactly sure. She needs to be stopped. I don't know how many people are still in the building. Another explosion nearby could crumble this entire wing of the Station. Hold down the fort."

Davies sighed as she turned back to the Kibrian holding out a badly scraped arm for her to bandage. "As long as there's still a fort to hold."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"Ohhhh…"

"Sulu?" Chekov lifted his head cautiously.

"Wh… what happened?" When Sulu finally managed to open his eyes, his pupils were huge. "Chekov? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Good."

There had definitely been peeva, or something like it, Chekov reflected, in the powder Davies had given Sulu. "How do you feel?"

"Okay," Sulu reported, not moving. He seemed more lucid than last time. "Come here."

With a cautious glance backwards at his guards, Chekov leaned in closer, expecting to be told something important. Instead, Sulu put a hand on the back of Chekov's neck and pulled the ensign down into a kiss.

He wriggled out of the lieutenant's grip with no difficulty at all and backed off. "Sulu!"

Sulu sat up. "I said, 'Come here'."

"Peeva makes a kiani more like a kiani, and a slag more like a slag," Mras observed.

"It's the drug," Chekov snapped. "He's not himself."

The dwarf only snorted in reply.

"What are you doing tied up?" Sulu said, moving to free him.

"Hey, you can't do that," one of the guards cautioned.

Sulu turned. "I'd like to see you stop me."

The guard was one of the ones who had been previously threatened by Johnson. Apparently this second threat was enough to convince him that all the Federation people were dangerous lunatics, because he stepped back, fingering his holstered weapon nervously.

"Uyal tied me. Don't you remember?"

"Uyal… He had you tied up… on top of the coffin?" The lieutenant paused in loosening the ensign's bonds. He rested his hands tenderly on the ensign's bare shoulders. "He was ripping something… Your clothes?"

"Yes."

Sulu ran his fingers lightly over the bandages on Chekov's back. "He hurt you?"

"No… well, yes." Chekov tried not to feel flustered by the lieutenant's caresses. It's just the drug to counteract the poison that's making Sulu do this, he told himself… and the kepir Uyal gave me that's making me enjoy it. "He was trying to hurt me, but I escaped… we escaped."

"I'll kill him," Sulu said. "No one touches you."

"Except you?" Mras suggested.

"Damn right," Sulu agreed.

"Sulu…" Chekov gritted his teeth. "Could you just untie me, please?"

"Sure." The lieutenant quickly loosened the last set of knots. "I'm beginning to remember it all. He had you on top of the coffin. And then you kicked him… And his phaser went off."

Chekov rubbed his wrists. "Yes."

"Then you jumped in on top of me…" Sulu paused to remember. "Then you kissed me."

"No, I didn't," the ensign contradicted quickly.

"Yes, you did."

The ensign felt his already flaming cheeks go even redder. "That was just a hallucination."

Sulu shook his head. "I don't think so."

"Am I interrupting?"

For the first time in a long time, Chekov was very glad to see Ensign Davies. "The lieutenant has recovered… Somewhat."

"Angharad!"

Chekov looked away as Sulu pulled Davies into a deep kiss.

Mras was grinning at him. "You had your chance, Feddie."

"Shut up," Chekov said, rising.

He didn't get far. One guard levelled his weapon at him while the other pushed him back to the ground.

"Hey!" Sulu turned at the noise. "Stop! That's my servant."

"No, I'm not," Chekov retorted from the dirt.

"Yes, I think he actually belongs to Johnson now," Davies put in.

"This slave is under arrest," the guard warned.

"For what?" Sulu demanded.

"General suspicions," Chekov replied, remaining on his knees and glaring at the guard's weapon.

"And that," Mras suggested, nodding at the ruins of the ritual hall.

"What?" For the first time, the lieutenant seemed to take note of where he was and that things were not as they should be. "What's happened?"

Chekov and Davies exchanged a look, each wondering where to begin.

"Quite a bit, actually," Davies said.

Squeezing his eyes hard shut, Sulu obviously made an enormous effort to pull himself together. "Maybe the two of you had better fill me in."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

The door to the main control room was open. Johnson entered with his phaser drawn — cautiously, he thought, until finding himself face-to-face with an armed Kibrian.

"Sir." The Kibree immediately lowered his weapon and bowed. "Forgive me. I was expecting someone else."

On the floor in the shadows behind the Kibrian, Johnson thought he could see the shape of a body. "Who?" he asked, keeping his weapon up. "The Director?"

"Yes, sir." Despite his extraordinarily clear speech, this man had the bearing and dress of a member of the slave caste. "Your comrade Ensign Davies and I overheard her making plans to destroy the main computer."

"Yes, I know. Davies said she'd downloaded the information into the tricorder."

"Sir…" When the Kibrian looked up, his eyes were wide with panic. "Into the tricorder you are carrying?"

"Yes."

"Sir, you must leave this place immediately," the servant insisted, ignoring Johnson's weapon as he took the meteorologist by the shoulders and turned him back towards the door. "That information contained in that device must be made public. It must be kept safe until it can be presented to the High Magistrate's Council."

"But… Wait!" Johnson protested as the Kibree pushed him out into the hall. "I want the answers to some questions. First, who is the person laying on the floor in there and what happened to him?"

"A kinsman of mine," the slave replied. "A corrupt and degenerate kiani who wishes to perpetuate the lies created by those who have violated the integrity of the Vaytha."

"So you killed him?"

"No, sir. He threatened to take Ensign Davies hostage."

"So you killed him?" Johnson repeated.

"No, sir. He is stunned only. I want to bring him face to face with the Director and confront them with the dishonour they are bringing to both their once-noble houses."

"And what do you hope to accomplish by doing that?"

"With the help of Selrideen, I hope to make them see reason and end the insanity that has driven them to the brink of destroying the future of Kibria."

"Well, I hope the spirit of Selrideen is with you," Johnson said, keeping his tone carefully respectful. "But my readings tell me that the Director is on her way here with two servants and a lot of explosives. Maybe I should stay and help you protect the main computer."

"No, sir," the slave contradicted firmly, escorting the meteorologist forcibly before him. "You cannot defend the computer as I do."

"Why not?"

"Because, sir," the Kibrian said, giving the Federation officer a final push towards safety. "I defend it with my life."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Datvin was among the last Kibrians to exit the crumbling ruins of the ritual hall for the relative safety of the garden. "Lieutenant Sulu, I am pleased to see you are recovered."

Sulu gulped down the last of the cup of water he'd been drinking and tried not to squint as he looked up at the Station Manager. Other than feeling as nauseous as a seasick landlubber and as shaky as a newborn, he was feeling fine. "Datvin, why is my servant being held by your guards?" he demanded.

"Technically, Lieutenant," the Station Manager answered as he passed the limping Kibree he was assisting to a low caste medical assistant, "he's not your servant."

Sulu used Chekov's shoulder to help him stand and hoped the Station Manager wouldn't notice how much he needed such assistance. "I'm not interested in technicalities right now."

"Then let's talk about realities, shall we?" Datvin folded his arms. "Such as the reality of Engineer Uyal's death. The destruction of almost an entire wing of this Station. The injury of over a hundred Kibrians and the confirmed deaths of at least twenty more…"

"It wasn't my fault!" Chekov protested.

The Station Manager's withering gaze fell upon the still kneeling ensign. "I'm sure your former servant won't be sorry to hear that among the dead found in the ruins of the kitchens was our major domo Gebain."

As Chekov, who actually didn't feel too sad to hear this news, lowered his eyes and bit his lip to keep himself from making an inappropriate comment, he could hear Mras give a soft whistle of relief beside him.

"I'm sure your servant knows that we have punishments far worse than death for crimes of a certain magnitude," the Station Manager continued hotly. "Perhaps he's heard tales while in the kitchens about slaves who were sentenced to serve in the salt mines or on the uridium flats…"

Chekov hadn't, but the gulping noise that the dwarf made told him all he needed to know.

"Look, Datvin…" Sulu began.

"You yourself have quite a few questions to answer, Lieutenant," the Kibrian said, turning an only slightly less contemptuous glance in Sulu's direction.

"Yes, sir, and I am ready and willing to do so whenever a magistrate is available," Sulu replied. "However until that time I think your legal tradition gives the accused the benefit of a presumption of innocence?"

The Station Manager took a deep grudging breath in through his nose. "That privilege is not extended to slaves."

Sulu wiped his eyes wearily. "Datvin, we could stand here arguing about Chekov's status for hours, but right now, there are people needing help. Chekov is a pair of hands you could be using. So are these two guards."

"Me also!" Mras chimed in eagerly.

"You're not going anywhere, Mras," Datvin snapped automatically, then looked at the mass of wounded Kibree surrounding them in the fading light and sighed. "Very well. Dask, take Chekov and see what aid you can give the medical officer."

"Yes, sir." The guardsman nudged Chekov in the back. "On your feet."

"If he gets more than ten feet away from you," Datvin continued, "shoot him."

"Now just a minute…" Sulu protested.

"The situation doesn't meet with your approval, Lieutenant?"

"Not at all," Sulu said, not sure if he could continue standing without leaning on someone. "For one thing, I should be in charge of him."

"As I said, Lieutenant," the Station Manager said, turning to assist the wounded himself, "technically he belongs to Mister Johnson."

"And that's another thing," Sulu called after him. "Where's Johnson?"

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"I suggest if you don't want to end up like your comrades," the former Director was saying to her remaining low caste servants, "that you be a little more careful with those bundles. Damn Mras! To just dump the explosives at my feet then disappear like the vermin he is… Are you sure you know how to detonate this material?"

"No problem there, ma'am." The first low caste gingerly unbuckled the load of white bundles from the pack on his partner's back. "The trick is not detonating them."

"Put them over there," the Director ordered, directing her lamp towards the main access terminal. She gasped and recoiled when her light illuminated the familiar figure of a kiani seated there. "Albrikk!"

"He can't harm you, Madame Director," another voice said from behind her. "Nor prevent you from what you wish to do."

"If it isn't Nith?" the Director said, hastily re-gathering her aplomb. "I seem to have stumbled into a reunion of the House of Albrikk."

"I am not here as a representative that House." Nith's weapon did not waver from its bead on her as he stepped out of the shadows. "But rather as a representative of the sense of honour and responsibility both you and my kinsman seem to have lost."

The Director lifted her chin and turned to the low castes. "Zolti, Tref, you may leave."

Her assistants looked nervously to Nith for permission. The slave nodded.

"Yes, ma'am," the first low caste said, bowing. Neither he nor his partner made any attempt to retrieve their deadly burden before they fled with all the passion attributed to their caste.

"And just what do you think you are here to prevent me from doing, slave?" the Director asked, crossing her arms.

"You must repent of the corruption of the Vaytha — both personally and as a representative of your house. My kinsman must confess to and end the vendetta the House of Albrikk has been carrying out against your house," Nith said evenly. "The corruption of the Vaytha must be made public. You cannot be allowed to destroy the evidence of the treachery that your House has perpetrated against our people."

"And you believe your own House had no involvement in this?"

"As I said, I no longer strive to protect the interests of the House of Albrikk. I am more concerned with the good of all Kibrians."

"Who are you to think you can stop me?" the Director asked, then pulled a white bundle of explosives out of the top of the pack.

"An honest Kibrian," he said, raising his weapon.

"You think I'm afraid to die?" she asked, setting her lamp down on the work station in front of her. She held the explosive over the flame. "If I die now, I die a kiani."

"You die a degenerate and a coward," Nith countered unflinching.

"And you die a fool," she said, giving him a final chance.

The former kiani took in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. "But one with a clear conscience."

Looking into his eyes, she realised that she was going to have to make good her threat. There were too many witnesses now. She'd never be able to bluff or bully her way out of this. It suddenly was very clear to her that her only responsibility now was to her House — to prevent it from falling into the inevitable disgrace she could no longer avoid for herself. She laughed bitterly as she let the white bundle drop. "What good is that?"

"You'll never know," Nith whispered in the seconds before the explosion silenced him forever.

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

"Oh, God, not another!" was Davies' only thought as she was knocked off her feet by the jolt of what felt like another large explosion somewhere inside the palace. She quickly righted the torch she'd upset when she fell and looked a round to see a dozen others take similar actions. As damp as the ground still was, there wasn't much danger of fire. As the rumble of showering masonry gradually quieted, she thought she could hear someone crying out for help in the distance… in Standard. "Johnson!"

"Davies," Sulu said, running towards the voice in the ruins, "stay where you are. You too, Chekov!"

The lieutenant suddenly found himself blocked by a large figure.

"You as well, Lieutenant," Datvin ordered, waving his guardsmen on.

"But that's..!"

"Mister Johnson, I know, but there's no sense endangering yourself as well."

"But your men..!"

"That's their duty."

Before Sulu could protest further, the security men returned bearing a prone body between them.

Chekov was the first of the Enterprise officers to reach the wounded meteorologist. "Mister Johnson," he said as he helped lower his fellow officer to the ground, "are you all right?"

"Chekov, you are away from your escort," Datvin said, striding over to the scene.

"Then shoot me," the ensign said, lifting Johnson's tricorder out of the Medical Officer's way.

Sulu caught the finger that the Station Manager was about to lift. "He's just joking."

"Looks like fractured ribs," the Medical Officer pronounced.

"Two of them," Chekov confirmed, running the tricorder over his fallen comrade. "And a broken ankle. Painful, but he'll live."

"In your opinion," the Medical Officer said, brushing him aside.

"The tricorder," Johnson whispered.

"I have it, Mr. Johnson," Chekov assured him.

"Central computer destroyed," Johnson croaked.

"By the Director?" Sulu asked.

Johnson nodded. "Only copy."

"Only copy of what?" Datvin asked. He looked around as the Enterprise officers suddenly fell silent. He frowned dubiously at the tricorder that Chekov now had pressed protectively against his chest. "The information from the main computer… But that device is so small, you could never store so much information in it… Or could you?"

"She could," the Medical Officer said coming to the aide of his kinsman. "And she did. That is, if you're thinking that Ensign Davies downloaded all the Vaytha files from the central computer… At least that's what she told Mr. Johnson."

"Damn," Davies swore. "I forgot he spoke Standard."

"I'll take that," Datvin said, putting his hand out for the tricorder.

Chekov, who was not quite sure what was at issue but was ready to resist the Station Manager merely on principle, only tightened his grip on the device.

"And do what with it?" Sulu asked.

"It will be turned over to the High Magistrate Council," the Medical Officer said, one-handedly testing Johnson's ribs.

Datvin remained conspicuously silent.

"Is that true?" Sulu demanded.

The Station Manager blew a long breath out through his nose. "I don't think you fully appreciate the impact that a scandal of this proportion concerning the Vaytha would have on the general populace. The government could fall."

Sulu took a moment to consider this. "Then maybe it's a government that should fall."

"This is interference, Lieutenant," Datvin warned.

"Is it?" the lieutenant countered. "Or am I just refusing to take part in a cover up of the biggest crime to hit this planet in a century?"

"This is a Kibrian matter," Datvin insisted, ignoring the look he was getting from the Medical Officer, "be it criminal or not. Leave it to Kibrians to weigh the consequences of the revelation of the material on that device, Lieutenant."

"That's what I intend to do," Sulu said. "There's no reason for you to stand in my way."

The Station Manager didn't reply, but scanned the small crowd huddled in the garden. It was hard to be sure if he was checking the location of his security men or cataloguing the number of speakers of Standard present.

"Datvin," Sulu said. "Let this crime have its consequences. If you have a system that allows corruption to occur on this scale, then perhaps your system needs to be reformed. Think about it, what would happen if the government did fall? Just because this particular system has lasted a long time, does this mean its the best possible system for your people?"

"The system is not beyond salvage," the Medical Officer put in calmly. "There are ways redressing the wrongs that have been done without destroying our way of life."

The Station Manager blinked at him in disbelief. "Such as what? Re-testing the entire population? The scope of the corruption of the Vaytha is much broader than we suspected."

"The traditional testing process is outmoded and inadequate. It has been all our lives and our parents' lives," the Medical Officer insisted calmly, as he gave Johnson a sedative. "You yourself know that it unfairly deprives many children of the chance to become fully productive adults. The Vaytha has long been in need of reform. We should look on this as a chance to start anew with a reformed system."

"A new testing system? To which we'd all have to submit for re-evaluation?" Datvin shook his head. "The kiani would never agree.."

"Because of the possibility of falling into a lower caste or even slavery," Sulu put in.

"Exactly!"

"What if slavery is abolished?"

"Lieutenant…"

"I agree with Sulu," his kinsman said. "We should take this opportunity to rid our system of that weakness."

For a moment the Station Manager was struck dumb by this unexpected defection. "But… but… there will always be a low caste," he sputtered. He pointed at Mras, who was still kneeling under guard nearby. "Look at this creature. What else is he capable of except servitude?"

The dwarf straightened. "You might be surprised," he replied in Standard, before continuing in his native tongue, "And take thought, Datvin. For the Director to give pass to the Vaytha, another of our house had to take failing…"

The Manager's mouth fell open. "But…"

"He takes fear of what you hold in your hands, Feddie," Mras taunted. "Doesn't want to take knowledge of the truth."

The Manager very purposefully turned his back on the dwarf. "Our society would collapse if…"

"Datvin," the Medical Officer said, signalling his assistant to lift Johnson, "our society was set up in this way by our elders so each member would give his or her most to the good of the whole — not so we could exploit the deficiencies of those who are not so equipped to contribute. Our caste system can work without slavery. Yes, the lowest caste will always be with us, but they need not be slaves. Also our assignment of the physically disabled to the lowest caste is anachronistic. Our forefathers may have been able to utilise only those with strong, tall bodies, but in this technological age, we are in need of those with strong minds — regardless of how they appear."

Datvin pressed his lips into a hard thin line. "You make a strong case. Do you intend to argue it before the magistrates?"

"I would," the Medical Officer replied unintimidated. Davies had knelt to help as he and his assistant carefully wrapped Johnson's ribs. "And I know of others who feel the same way."

"Yes, I'm sure you'd find many enthusiastic supporters among Selrideen and his rabble," the Manager shot back sarcastically.

"I wouldn't dismiss that thought, Datvin," Sulu put in. "There are a considerable number of slaves gone. If they've fortified themselves inside the old underground city like everyone keeps saying, it will be no easy task to retrieve them. The announcement that the government had decided to abolish slavery would bring them out of hiding pretty quickly, though, wouldn't it? It would bring them back to this Station with little loss of life on either side — little of the chaos and disruption you hate so much."

Datvin's face was unreadable in the torch light. "Abolition…" He shook his head. "The idea is too radical… We cannot completely abolish slavery… It must remain for criminals."

"I must agree," the Medical Officer said, gently lowering Johnson down onto Davies' lap. "It is a strong deterrent."

"It hasn't kept me out of trouble." Chekov said.

"All this," Sulu said, before the Station Manager could voice his reply, "as you've said, is a Kibrian matter. And yes, it is radical. It would be a huge step for Kibria, but one that I believe would be ultimately beneficial to your culture… and to your culture's relationship to the Federation." He paused to let the Kibrians remember all the times the issue of slavery had threatened to derail negotiations with Star Fleet. "The Federation would be ready, willing, and pleased to offer you any assistance you require if you choose to pursue this path. All you have to do is ask."

The Station Manager's jaw was set stubbornly. "All I'm asking for, Lieutenant, is that tricorder."

Sulu walked over and stood beside Chekov. "I'm sorry, Datvin, but I will turn it over only to your High Magistrate Council."

"If you do that you have to make a public statement about the contents and why you believe they would be of interest to the magistrates. Whatever the magistrate's decision, the scandal would be public at that point. The damage to the system would be done."

Sulu nodded. "I'm familiar with Kibrian law."

The Station Manager frowned. "Your servant is going also to gain an intimate familiarity with our laws," he said meaningfully.

"That's a tactic that your predecessor would have used. I'm disappointed. I thought you were a more honourable man."

There was a long silence. The Station Manager's dark colour seemed to deepen.

"You have no idea the chaos this will unleash…" he raged at last.

"I know that it will be unleashed," Sulu replied calmly. "There's nothing you can do to stop it. Too many people already know. Datvin, you can either be a part of the problem or part of the solution."

The Station Manager's mouth twitched with anger. After bestowing a cold glare on each member of the assembled company, he stalked away.

"He'll do the right thing," the Medical Officer assured them as his assistant helped him rise. "Eventually. He is an honourable man."

After the two Kibrians had blended back into the larger group, Chekov handed the tricorder to Sulu. "I'm glad you stood up to him."

"At last?" Sulu added wryly.

The ensign couldn't deny this thought had occurred to him. Instead he shrugged. "Better late than never."

Sulu released a long breath. "I know it's not exactly procedure, but sometimes you just have to follow your…" Suddenly the lieutenant got the strong impression that he'd already heard someone say the words he was saying. "…heart."

Mistaking his friend's puzzlement for pain, Chekov reached inside his jacket and pulled out the blue pills. "Here. Take one of these."

"But those are for…"

"Peeva," Chekov confirmed, pointing at lieutenant's still enlarged pupils. "There must have been some in the antidote Selrideen sent."

"Yes. I feel better." Sulu smiled at his friend as a sense of well-being as warm as Kibria's sun spread through him. "That's exactly what I needed." He paused. "Did you give me the antidote?"

"No. Davies did. What difference does it make?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Chekov, I do trust you, you know."

Their eyes met for a moment, then both officers looked up as the familiar spangle of transporter beams firmed up into the presence of Captain Kirk and his first officer.

Spock looked around him. "As I said, Captain, there has been extensive damage to Station."

"Captain," Sulu said.

"Sulu." Kirk ran his eyes over his four officers, taking in their condition. "What happened to Johnson?"

"He has sustained broken ribs and a broken ankle during the last explosion, sir."

Kirk stared at the barely familiar looking person making this report. "Mister Chekov, you're… out of uniform."

"Uhm…" The ensign tried to think of a quick and acceptable explanation for his torn, mud and soot stained livery, the strange haircut, beard and eyelids. When none came to mind, he folded his branded hand behind his back and said, "Yes, sir."

Kirk's eyes narrowed. "Lieutenant Sulu, what's going on here?"

"Well, sir…" Sulu took a deep breath before plunging in. "We've found ourselves in the middle of an upheaval between the factions on Kibria favouring alliance with the Federation and those opposing such intervention. And…"

"Have any of the powers that be survived the explosion?"

"I think I might be able to find the Station's acting Director for you, Captain."

"Perhaps you should do that," Kirk said flatly.

Sulu nodded and went off to find Datvin, rather hoping that the Kibree would have vanished without trace.

Kirk turned to Davies. "Presumably the destruction of the station wiped out all the work you'd done?"

"The analysis of the local climatic records is still extant, Captain, and the conclusions we'd drawn are still valid of course. The work we'd carried out into the adequacy of the local facilities for controlling the project are of course, temporarily at least, redundant."

"I thought you were using the Station computer?"

"I downloaded a backup copy of the files just before the explosion, Captain," Davies explained.

Kirk looked as if something wasn't quite adding up. "May I ask why?"

"We… we had some warning that there might be trouble."

The captain nodded. "You're very quiet, Mister Chekov."

"Am I, sir?"

"Worryingly quiet. What happened to you?"

Chekov lifted his hand to rub his temple, then thought better of it and hid it behind his back. "I… Uh… I very much regret that I…"

His confession was delayed by Sulu's return with Datvin. The manager was smoothing away an irritated scowl.

"Captain Kirk…" The Kibree bobbed his head, clearly acknowledging Kirk as a kiriar in all but name. "Our late Director… I'm afraid that I was not expecting your return at this time. Most inappropriate… Beg your forgiveness…"

"Please, Mister Datvin, I can appreciate that you have much more pressing matters on your mind than dealing with visiting dignitaries. The Eenos Project must inevitably be delayed. We hope of course, that it can still proceed at a later date."

"Captain," Davies interrupted. "I don't think you should give any commitments until you've heard Mister Sulu's report."

Kirk flicked her a sharp look and continued smoothly. "I'm only stating a broad principle of continued cooperation. You understand that."

"Of course, Captain Kirk. Of course. We are well aware that there have been… frictions… due to the cultural differences between the Kibrian and Federation teams, frictions that must be resolved before any further progress can be made. It was always understood that this initial stage of the Project would operate as a learning opportunity for both sides."

Kirk raised an eyebrow fractionally. He'd been led to believe that the Kibrians were quite convinced they knew everything anyone needed to know about anything already, apart from a few technical tricks.

"As I have been explaining to Mr. Sulu, the… uh… compromises he suggested are already being worked out. The scale of the disaster that we have suffered was terrible, but we must look at it as an opportunity for a new beginning. I must thank your personnel for their hard work, Captain Kirk…"

The officers greeted this tribute with expressions of quite adamantine stoniness.

"And… uh… and wish them well." Datvin turned away.

"Sir, if you like, I could have emergency medical teams beam down to assist your people."

"Well…" The Kibrian look over the courtyard full of weary wounded and weighed the benefits of Federation aid against the unpleasant prospect of having even greater numbers of Star Fleet personnel running loose in the remains of his domain. "Yes, I suppose… Forgive my hesitation, Captain, but this entire episode has been most unsettling. I must confer with my advisors… just as I am sure you are eager to confer with your officers."

Kirk smiled tightly. "Oh, yes."

"Then let us…" Datvin paused and looked at Chekov, who had crossed his arms and was rolling his eyes, as if he'd very much like to swat the ensign.

"Chekov," Kirk said, following the Kibrian's gaze to his officer, "why have you got Lt. Sulu's signature branded into the back of your hand?"

"Well, sir.." The ensign straightened, "I… uhm, accidentally broke one of their laws…"

Datvin snorted. "Just one?"

"And I… well…"

"Chekov," The station manager beckoned him over. "This man is your superior, correct?"

"Yes." Chekov agreed warily.

"You obey his commands and are subject to his orders as you would be subject to a master's orders on Kibria?"

"Well, roughly…" Chekov admitted.

"And you will have to make a full and complete report of your actions on Kibria to him?"

The ensign didn't meet his captain's eyes. "Yes."

"And will have to accept any disciplinary action he chooses to bestow on you as a consequence of your behaviour?"

"Yes." the captain answered for him.

"Then I am satisfied to release him to your custody, Captain." Datvin said smiling at the ensign. "And take pleasure in the fact I will never see you again."

"Thank you, sir." Chekov couldn't resist adding, "I share your sentiments one hundred percent."

"Sulu, you have potential as a leader, but you really have much to learn about instilling a respectful attitude in your slaves." Datvin bowed. "Captain."

Kirk waited until the Kibrian was well out of earshot before turning to Sulu. "And just what was that about?"

"It'll be in my report, sir."

"Lieutenant," Kirk said, flipping open his communicator. "Something tells me that's going to be one hell of a report. Scotty, beam us up."

-o- -o-o-o- -o-

Sulu waited until the captain had moved back to the communications console to confer with Uhura before he turned to the navigator and asked, "So how are you?"

Although Chekov had not specifically been forbidden to speak, he also checked that his captain was out of earshot before he replied, "I'm fine."

In the four days since the lieutenant had seen him last, the Russian had lost the false eyelids, dark skin, and beard Johnson had used to disguise him. In fact, other than his still short hair and a discoloration on the back of his right hand, there was no outward sign Chekov had ever been to Kibria. There were other more lasting repercussions, though.

"It doesn't seem fair to me," Sulu said quietly as his captain left the bridge on some errand. "If you're receiving disciplinary action, we all should. We all ended up breaking laws on Kibria."

"But no one else was convicted of doing so by the civil authorities," Chekov pointed out, as he checked the ship's orbit around the planet. "Nor was the captain specifically requested to discipline any of you by ruling officials. It's not so bad, really. It's not as though I'm in danger of being court-martialled. I've not even received an official reprimand."

"You're just confined to quarters when not on duty for the next three months."

"Which is infinitely better than three more minutes of being a slave on Kibria," the ensign assured him. "The only thing I don't like is the drug rehabilitation program I've been assigned to complete."

"Well," Sulu, who had experienced some withdrawal problems himself, said slowly, "that peeva is hard stuff to kick."

"It's not the medical intervention I dislike. It's all the tapes on substance abuse I have to sit through. It's humiliating," the navigator fumed. "They're so patronising. And I still don't see any point at which I could have 'just said no'."

Sulu shook his head. "If it's any comfort, after the new testing system goes in, there's a good chance that those same civil authorities and ruling officials will wind up as street sweepers."

Chekov smiled at the thought. "So the reforms are going through?"

"It looks like it. After I presented the Vaytha evidence in front of the High Magistrate Council, it was almost as chaotic as Datvin predicted. You wouldn't believe the numbers of people affected. Some of the individual case stories would take your breath away… Well, you know about your friend Mras — ended up a slave when his intelligence scores put him in the top percentiles."

"He always said he was short not stupid."

"On top of that, the upper castes are blaming the conservative faction for the destruction of the Station and the central computer. And there's a lot of support among the lower castes for Selrideen and his followers who are holed up in the Old City. In short, it's perfect timing for radical reform. The Medical Officer wasn't joking when he said he knew other people who felt the way he did. As soon as the information about the Vaytha came out he and a whole Abolitionist movement materialised out of nowhere with a completed prospectus for the revamping of the testing system and a reorganisation for the social order in hand."

"Almost as if they knew that this crisis was going to come about," Chekov said suspiciously.

"Johnson told me that it was originally the Medical Officer who told him about the tampering with the Vaytha results. So it's possible that he's been thinking about this for a long time and preparing for the inevitable moment when the scandal became public — because you know you can't keep anything secret for long in that place."

"Very true."

"I've been wondering if there was some kind of connection between the Medical Officer and Selrideen. It's obvious from the current political situation that they were working toward the same end from different directions. And that makes me wonder if they weren't working together. The Medical Officer was there when you "died." Your "death" is an important part of the Dark Prince myth Selrideen is milking."

"Dark Prince?"

"Oh, yeah." Sulu grinned. "Didn't I tell you? You're a mythological figure on Kibria now. You should hear some of the outrageous versions of your exploits that I've heard in the past few days."

Chekov blinked and opened his mouth to comment, then carefully closed it. "No. I don't want to know."

"I can't believe Johnson's decided to stay on as liaison. Did you get a chance to talk to Johnson before he beamed down?"

"Yes," Chekov said, looking down at his board. "I saw him while I was in Sickbay."

"He had said he wanted to talk to you," the lieutenant said gingerly.

"It was I who needed to speak to him," Chekov admitted. "I apologised for a few things I said when I was feeling… sensitive."

"Yes, well…" Sulu began purposefully.

"I've heard that Ensign Davies has also put in for a transfer," the ensign said, quickly changing the subject.

"Yes." Sulu grinned. "She said it was just to get out of sitting next to you at interdepartmental meetings."

Chekov's laugh was a little pained.

"It's a great opportunity really," Sulu continued. "The chance to be assigned to Admiral Tanaka's staff as an aide and advisor on Kibrian affairs — I was almost tempted to take it myself. For an ensign to have a chance at a position like that…" The lieutenant broke off when he noticed the look on his companion's face. "They didn't offer the job to you?"

Chekov shrugged. "Oh, no. We mythological figures have so much more important things to do with our time."

"I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't have taken it," the Russian assured him. "I wouldn't leave the Enterprise."

"Not even for a chance to get out of sitting next to me at departmental meetings?" Sulu's comment didn't quite come out as the joke he'd intended and Chekov's response didn't quite make it to being a laugh. "Listen, Pavel, I just want to say…"

"Sulu," the navigator stopped him. "If we start apologising, we might both be at it for years."

"That's true," the lieutenant conceded. "But I still think we should talk."

"Mmmhmm." Again, something on the ensign's board suddenly seemed very interesting.

Sulu wasn't sure how he was supposed to interpret this response. "I mean, I'd like to talk," he tried again.

"Mmmhmm." The navigator still couldn't seemed to take his eyes off an indicator whose readings hadn't changed in hours.

"Some pretty heavy things happened between us on Kibria," Sulu persisted.

"Mmmhmm." The noise sounded positive, but the Russian's cheeks were turning very pink.

"I guess now's not really the time or the place…"

"Mnntmmm." The noise was definitely negative this time.

"But I do definitely think we should talk."

"Mmmhmm."

"And I hope," Sulu ventured, "that in the meantime I can still consider myself your friend?"

"Of course." Chekov finally looked him in the eye. "Of course," the ensign repeated adamantly.

"I'm glad." Sulu smiled, then continued, "And when we get to the right time and place to talk about all this, you're going to let me know, right?"

A blank indicator suddenly demanded the navigator's attention. "Mmmhmm."

"Well, gentlemen," Captain Kirk said, entering from the turbo lift. "I think we're finally ready to leave orbit. Mister Chekov, plot us a course to meet the T'Zoln at Hxharra. Warp six, Mister Sulu."

"Yes, sir."

"Mister Spock…" The captain crossed to the Science Station. "After we arrive, we're going to need several pairs of volunteers to shuttle the teams of Vulcan scientists to their observation posts inside the Netulian asteroid belt and help them set up their equipment…"

At the helm, Sulu and Chekov exchanged a quick look.

"Captain…" they offered in unison without hesitation.

-o- The End -o-