When Sulu opened the door to his quarters, he was met by Station Manager Datvin holding Chekov by his right wrist.

"I believe this is yours," the kiani said, displaying Sulu's signature on the ensign's hand, as if the Kibree was a disgruntled neighbour presenting the lieutenant with the baseball that had just flown through his window. "He was found in the halls unaccompanied, with this."

Sulu examined his human property anxiously as Datvin accusingly held up a room key. Gone was the automaton from the dining room. Back in its place was the old Chekov, who smiled and shrugged from behind the kiani as if his having been briefly turned into a zombie and gone missing for over two hours had been just a lark.

"I'm sorry, Datvin," Sulu apologised, torn between relief that his fellow officer seemed to be safe and the urge to reach out and strangle the ensign. "I left strict instructions that he was to be returned to his room, but there seems to have been a mix-up. No one I asked seemed to know where he was."

Datvin looked down his nose at both master and servant before he grudgingly returned the key. "You're simply going to have to be more careful. I don't want there to be any incidents."

"Oh, yes, of course." Sulu motioned Chekov inside. "I'll see to it. Goodnight, and thank you."

The station manager looked as though there was a great deal more he'd like to have said if he wasn't restrained by his kiani politeness. "Good evening, Mister Sulu."

"And where the hell have you been?" Sulu asked as he closed the door. "I was beginning to think I'd have to launch a major manhunt."

"Sobering up." Chekov plopped down in a comfortable chair. "Could I have a drink?"

Sulu folded his arms, feeling like the parent of an adolescent child. "Could I have an explanation of where you've been for the past two and a half hours?"

An irrepressible smile broke over Chekov's face. "Kahsheel does like me after all," he confessed. "She likes me very much."

"What does Kahsheel have to do with this?"

"She helped me overcome the effects of the drug. She gave me something to drink — a stimulant of some sort — and…"

"And what?" Sulu asked when Chekov let his sentence trail off.

Chekov smiled and shrugged.

"…And you had sex with her?" Sulu asked disbelievingly following direction the trail seemed to be taking.

"A gentleman wouldn't say such a thing," the ensign demurred.

"And only an idiot would do such a thing."

"My resistance was still very low," Chekov pointed out, defending his and the kiani's honour. "She said it would be therapeutic and it did certainly seem to help."

Sulu shook his head grimly and wondered how long he could feasibly lock Chekov in a closet. "She drugged you earlier this afternoon too, didn't she?"

"Yes, she admitted to that. She had intended to… to do what she did this time, but since I had no tolerance for the drug, I fell asleep. While I was sleeping, there was a call to say the workmen were on their way. She administered the antidote then told me I'd fainted."

"Why did she lie?"

"She didn't mean any harm. She was just embarrassed. Even the kiani can be embarrassed."

Sulu wasn't sure if he bought that. "And you don't mind what she did to you this time?"

"I know I should. But it's a different culture with different views on such things. I know she didn't mean any harm. And I must admit she is a very attractive woman, and I suppose I was flattered that she…" Sulu thought he could detect a blush creeping up Chekov's cheeks. "I… uh, was a fairly willing participant the second time."

"The second time?" Sulu repeated incredulously. "Pavel, I've noticed your strange attraction to domineering women before, but this takes the cake, even for you."

"There was that proverb you quoted earlier about the different strokes," Chekov reminded him playfully, then leaned back in the chair. "I wonder if she'll be at the moonrise break tonight?"

Several of the kiani they worked with gathered informally most nights for refreshments in a certain courtyard with a southern exposure to observe the rising of their second moon.

"She might be," Sulu said, crossing to the table by his bed and picking up the medical scanner, "but you won't. You'll be right here doing the atmospheric plenum flow equations that I planned for you to start doing over two hours ago and that we've got to have before tomorrow morning."

"Slavedriver," Chekov accused him jokingly. "Could I at least have a little tiny glass of vodka before I start? I have had a most difficult day."

"Let me get some readings first." Sulu ran the medical scanner he'd retrieved from Johnson's experiment over him. "We still don't have any idea what this drug they use could be doing to your system."

"Speaking of tomorrow morning," Chekov said, as Sulu made a second pass then clicked off the scanner and waited for the unit to give him an analysis readout. "You will need to wake me up. There is no longer an alarm in my quarters and I have a very pressing appointment with Mister Gebain at five minutes before planet dawn."

"Sure," Sulu said, remembering what sort of day Chekov had had today and was probably going to have tomorrow. "I never got to ask you, but how did that go?"

Chekov put his feet up. "How did what go?"

"You know… How did you get along with the other… I mean, how did you get along while you were in… You know…"

Mister Sulu seemed to be suffering from an acute case of liberal bourgeois guilt this evening.

"In slag hall?" Chekov asked mischievously, seeing if he could make it any worse. "Well, I did have the initial misfortune of being scanned a stirrer, but that gave me occasion to take speech with two morts who found me quite lookly for a Feddie."

Chekov watched as Sulu's superior knowledge of the language failed him completely. "And that's good?" the lieutenant asked hopefully.

Chekov shrugged. "Relatively speaking, yes."

The medikit chirped as it presented its conclusions. Sulu's face reflected annoyance as he read them.

"What is it?" Chekov asked, thinking he surely had already filled his quota for disasters for that day.

"Whoever prepped this tricorder for us filled the memory up with public health data, not the intergalactic pharmacopoeia. It doesn't recognise whatever it is you've been taking. Readings indicate that the substance is related to various undesirable compounds, and it says you should only continue taking it under medical supervision."

"Is it harmful," Chekov asked reaching out impatiently for the tricorder to see if the screen was flashing a skull and cross bones that Sulu wasn't telling him about.

"From these readings I'd say there's a good chance that this drug is harmful and possibly addictive." Sulu handed him the instrument. "It robs you of your judgement and even the basic intelligence you normally possess. I don't want you to take any more of it, understood?"

Chekov nodded grimly at the readings. "Definitely."

"I'll speak to Kahsheel about giving you any more."

"I will speak to her," Chekov offered cheerfully.

"No," Sulu contradicted firmly. "I will speak to her."

"If you wish," Chekov replied, his expression far less acquiescent than his answer. "However, I will be speaking with her again… sooner or later."

Sulu didn't like this. He and Chekov were not simply fellow officers. They were friends. And friends that wanted to stay friends didn't give friends orders about who they were and were not to sleep with. "Perhaps you shouldn't," he said, holding his ground.

"Perhaps I shouldn't," the ensign conceded, returning the tricorder and crossing his arms. "But I probably will."

Sulu could see from the set of Chekov's mouth that if this debate continued on an officer-to-junior-officer basis it was going to get very ugly very fast. "Well," he said, attempting to switch to a friend-to-friend footing, "I know I wouldn't."

The ploy worked well enough to make Chekov smile. "And you would probably be right. However, I know that she doesn't mean me any harm. And since she and I have… come to an understanding, there is no longer any motivation to drug me."

The lieutenant had to concede that that much certainly seemed to be true. There were still questions he wanted to ask, precautions he felt he should urge on the ensign, but staying on relatively good terms with each other was also going to be important in this situation. He decided to make that a priority for the moment. "You said you wanted a drink?" he asked, packing away the scanner.

"Desperately."

"If you're supposed to be the servant," Sulu observed as he crossed to the dispenser and punched in an order for a vodka for the ensign and a glass of water for himself, "then why am I always opening doors for you, waking you up and getting you things?"

"Trade secret." Chekov winked as he accepted the glass. "To a better day tomorrow."

"Nazdrovia," Sulu replied in the only Russian he knew.

Chekov winced. "What a terrible accent."

"I hate to bring this up," Sulu said, activating his computer terminal. "But there are some plenum flow equations that have been waiting for you."

"Oh, yes." Chekov drained his glass and sat down in front of the terminal.

Sulu caught himself yawning as he stepped back and watched the ensign settle into his task. With the crisis of the missing junior officer resolved, his brain suddenly seemed to be drifting towards sleep mode. It was almost impossible to adapt to the long Kibrian days. Treating them as two short days with an extended midday siesta that fitted naturally into the natives' avoidance of the hottest hours of daylight, worked only so well. Today the excitement in the kideok had pushed the siesta out of the way. Added to that, the extra strain of worrying about Chekov had left the lieutenant feeling utterly drained.

"Look, I'm going to take an hour or so to catch some sleep."

"Fine." Chekov barely looked up from the computer screen.

Sulu paused guiltily. "You could rest awhile too before you start on those… if you're tired."

"No."

Sulu dimmed the lights in the sleeping area and pulled off his Kibrian boots. As he lay on the bed, he wondered what had happened to Chekov's uniform top. Presumably that too was in the hands of some collector of curios. The fascination these people felt for what was to him merely bread-and-butter equipment, was, he supposed, as understandable as their eagerness on a different level to get their hands on Federation technology. The very tasks his team were here to carry out were taking far longer than necessary because they were forced to use local equipment. If they could have…

The alarm went off with all the subtlety of a love struck peacock. Someone, presumably Chekov, had closed the shutters over the high, arched windows. The room was lit only by the narrow blades of pale moonlight cutting through the slats of wood. Sulu rubbed his eyes and stretched. He couldn't remember taking Chekov back to his room last night but there was no sign of him anywhere in here. Presumably he'd gone on his own. The lieutenant could only hope no one had caught him. They would have to be a lot more careful about that kind of thing.

Then he heard running water in the bathroom and noticed a small nest of bedding under the window. "Chekov, is that you?"

"Who else were you expecting?" the ensign's muffled voice asked.

"I wasn't expecting anyone," Sulu replied as he pulled on his ersatz boots.

"Well, considering yesterday's events, I thought it might be prudent for me to sleep inside a room with an electronic lock on the door."

Sulu nodded, recognising that this was a major concession on his friend's part since the most likely candidate to break into the ensign's quarters was his friend Kahsheel. "You didn't have to sleep on the floor."

"I didn't." Chekov emerged from the bathroom drying his hair with a hand towel. There was a larger towel wrapped around his waist. "It got very cold very fast. In the end I got into bed with you. Don't tell anyone, though. It would simply ruin my reputation."

Sulu marvelled at his friend's ability to wake up in a such a good mood. "I think Davies already suspects."

"Do you have an extra uniform tunic?" Chekov asked, picking up his trousers and boots.

"No. I was going to ask what happened to yours."

Chekov scratched his bare shoulder as he puzzled over this for a moment. "I'm not quite sure."

"There were some native garments in the closets in your room, weren't there?" Sulu said, picking up the key to Chekov's quarters off the table by the door.

"I think so."

Sulu took a step outside his quarters only to find a neat pile of brightly coloured cloths just outside the door. When he held the material up it turned out to be a long, rust red overshirt and a blousey pair of green trousers. Embroidered into the garments at the shoulders, neck, wrists and ankles were facsimiles of Sulu's initials, clearly indicating that the wearer was a servant of the lieutenant.

"Just my size, I suppose?" Chekov said, crossing his arms.

"Those Kibree…" Sulu handed the garments to him. "…they think of everything

"Yes." Chekov frowned, noting that the clothes had not been left outside his door and having a good idea what the Kibree would think of his spending the night with his 'master'. "A most observant people."

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

"Su, Feddie, what lookly garb," exclaimed Chekov's green-skinned female acquaintance of the previous day as the big black door to the servant's sub-kitchen closed behind him.

"Thank you, Miss Dollu." If Gebain had been pleased to see the off-world servant delivered promptly on the other side of that door by his master at an hour and thirty five minutes before breakfast, the major domo hadn't let it show. After Sulu rounded the corner heading away from the kitchens, Gebain had treated Chekov to a full ten minute lecture on his less than exemplary behaviour at last night's meal. The ensign's ears were still ringing with it.

"Not 'miss'," Dollu corrected him with a laugh as she continued to scrub down the long table. "Sister."

"Oh, I see." Chekov favourably noted slag hall's more democratic mode of address. "Then good morning, sister Dollu."

"Take ease, brother Chekov," she replied approvingly.

Through the doors to the inner kitchens he could see a few people quietly at work, laying out dough on long trays or paring fruit. A soft melody, sung in a couple of contrasting voices, drifted from further apartments out of sight. Breakfast obviously didn't require the same level of frenetic activity that had accompanied the preparations for the evening meal.

"No stirring today?" he speculated hopefully.

"No stirring?" Dollu broke into laughter. She reached out and affectionately tousled his hair as if he were a child. "Not yet, but you'll give stir before day is out."

Then Dollu's blue-skinned friend approached and greeted him with a shy nod. Not knowing the proper form of address for people with no name, he smiled and returned her gesture. Opening her hands toward her friends, the woman revealed she'd obtained two pieces of peeva to share with them.

Chekov stared at the black, tarry lumps, half expecting to be overcome with an uncontrollable desire to seize and consume them. No such feeling troubled him. It appeared that Sulu was worrying unnecessarily. "No, thank you."

The blue-skinned woman seemed unsurprised by his refusal. She handed one piece to Dollu and popped the extra one into her own mouth. "That Kibbie-eyed Feddie has taken sweet of your sight," she speculated, gesturing at his new clothes.

"No," Chekov corrected firmly, launching into the speech he'd been preparing the entire way over to the kitchens. Some servant had obviously been the one to deliver the garments to Sulu's door. "No, no, no. That is not the situation between Mister Sulu and myself. I was merely working late in his quarters last night and…"

"Did he take temper with you for making dally with the curly red one?" Dollu asked with concern written all over her plain features.

Chekov blinked in open mouthed surprise at this obvious reference to his tryst with a certain kiani engineer whose most distinguishing feature was her long, curling, auburn tresses. "Is there no such thing as privacy in this place?"

"Privacy?" Dollu repeated blankly, then looked to her friend for help with this unfamiliar term. "I don't take understanding of 'privacy'."

Chekov folded his arms. "Obviously."

"Brother Chekov."

The ensign knew from the smell of his pipe and the sound of his gravelly voice that the speaker was the dwarf even before he turned.

"Take ease, brother Mras," he replied, with all the proud caution of a student after one day's acquaintance with a new language. After speaking he remembered that he wasn't supposed to know the dwarf's name. Fortunately, Mras didn't appear to have remembered this. He chuckled at Chekov's greeting and puffed peeva smoke thoughtlessly in his face. The world suddenly flipped inside out. The Russian realised that he wanted the drug very much indeed. The connection between the visual stimulus of the tarry wads and what his body needed hadn't been strong enough to make an impact but inhaling it by the lungful was another matter.

"Aeyo, Feddie!"

Chekov started guiltily. "Me?"

"How many other Feddies are there in slag hall?" his old friend the low-caste cook asked sarcastically as he approached. "What do you think you are, some kiani who can stand around chattering all day?"

"No, of course not. I was just preparing to…" Chekov looked around, but his friends had abandoned him, busying themselves in other, safer parts of the room. There wasn't even a handy cloth he could pretend he was wiping the table with.

"You're preparing to take a rap in the mouth if you don't shut up," the cook threatened perfunctorily as he turned the ensign towards a door that had been closed the previous evening. It now stood sufficiently ajar to reveal a shadowy stillroom. "Get in there and clean grezat until I tell you to leave off. Dwarfie, you go with him and show him how I like it done."

Chekov followed Mras into the dim room. When his eyes adjusted, he could see racks of shelves loaded with baskets of fruit, soft-hued feathered corpses of small birds, strings of vegetables and coarse woven bags of unknown provisions. He paused to inspect some of the vegetables in passing, but none of them showed any inclination for independent movement.

The dwarf re-lit his pipe before he settled down at a long trestle table. On it a mountain of little birds lay, eyes still bright, tumbled in an unnatural disorder. The maddening smell of peeva filled the air as the dwarf laughed to himself and opened a sack at his feet.

'There's a good chance that this drug is harmful and possibly addictive,' Sulu's voice said inside Chekov's head as the dwarf began to tear the plumage off a jade and yellow bird. "It robs you of your judgement and even the basic intelligence you normally possess. I don't want you to take any more of it, understood?"

Chekov replayed the lieutenant's words over and over again like a mantra as more and more of the little bird's brilliant blue skin became visible beneath the dwarf's deft fingers. He didn't realise he was actually mouthing until he noticed Mras watching him. When the dwarf understandingly offered him the pipe, he took it like a man in a dream.

His experience with inhaling pipe smoke was nil, but desperation overcame the handicap. The tiny mass of shredded resin in the bowl of the pipe glowed almost white.

"Thank you," he spluttered eventually, returning the pipe to its owner.

When a draft of air announced the entrance of someone from the inner kitchen, Mras' pipe disappeared as if by magic. Chekov grabbed a bird and began to blindly pull feathers off it as a cook collected an ingredient off one of the shelves and exited without comment.

"No, Feddie." The dwarf crossed to his side of the table and correctly positioned the bird in his left hand so it could be easily turned. Putting his hand over the ensign's he guided him through the correct technique for efficiently removing the feathers. "Do you take understanding?"

"Oh, yes, I see it now," Chekov assured him.

The dwarf watched him for a moment, then returned to his side of the table. He patted a place at the bench beside him with a friendly smile. "You copped a good one today, Feddie."

From the dwarf's air of self-satisfaction, their assignment seemed an equally fortunate one for him.

"Much cooler than stirring," Chekov agreed, crossing to sit next to him. The bird was so small he had it stripped in just a few moments. Mras took it from him, examined it critically, tidied up a few remaining feathers around the bird's feet, then tossed the carcass into an empty basket.

Much encouraged by this relatively easy success, Chekov selected another bird and started over. The cool feathers were pleasant to the touch. Feathers tumbled down into the sack and over the brick floor. Every so often a draft stirred them as someone came in to collect ingredients for the day's cooking.

Chekov noted that the effect of the peeva was calm and soothing this time and not as pronounced as the high of the previous evening. Under its gentle influence he felt he could sit and tear feathers off small birds until the universe ground to a halt.

Mras began to sing as he worked. It was the same melody Chekov had heard earlier:

"My kiree, my kiree, takes sight of me like small bird…"

After a couple of verses, Chekov couldn't help humming along with the chorus. The sound was curiously soothing. He stopped worrying about the fact that he would shortly have to face Sulu at breakfast, at which point the lieutenant would doubtless realise he was half-cut again.

The squeak of a door caught his attention, and a flood of sunlight forced him to screw up his eyes and turn his face away. Mras put a hand on his shoulder reassuringly and softly said, "Take ease, brother. Give quiet, most quiet."

When he opened his eyes again the room had gone dim. As soon as the after images faded, he could see a smiling Kibree sitting opposite them at the table. "Take ease, Brother Mras."

"Hmm" The dwarf seemed to disapprove of their visitor.

Chekov looked at the newcomer curiously. He had laid his hands on the table and there was no mark on them, but his clothes had the hand-me-down quality of slag-hall raiment.

The stranger looked back at him. "My kiree give his servant ease, and give him fine feathers like the little birds."

That didn't exactly answer Chekov's unspoken question. The Kibree did not appear to be a slave, and yet his clothes could hardly be described as fine. Chekov tossed another naked corpse into the basket and concentrated on selecting his next victim.

"Gives a fine day. And who is this brother?"

"Feddie. Gave a bop to Kiriar Tunnas." Mras said it as one recounting a bold and praiseworthy exploit, but the stranger frowned reproachfully.

Chekov found he couldn't ignore the intruder, even though he wanted to. And he wasn't even sure why he wanted to so much. The Kibree made him feel guilty and unclean in vague and unspecified ways. Presumably he was of a higher caste, since he wasn't an unqualified supporter of magistrate-battering, but then why was he sitting here in the kitchen with a couple of slaves?

He tried to return to his work but the stranger laid a hand on his, took the bird away from him and folded it into his own long, cinnamon coloured hands completely hiding it from view. A moment later he opened his hands again and a live bird, its plumage iridescent and vital, whirred up into the blackness overhead. Chekov stared after it.

The exterior door which had admitted this magician swung open again, and this time a hunchbacked Kibree, piebald with some skin disorder, walleyed, and missing his right hand, slammed it shut behind him. An empty bag hung over his right shoulder. He plucked it off with his remaining hand and laid it down on the table. Mras immediately began to stuff the yet unplucked birds in it. After nearly half of them had disappeared into the sack Mras and the latest arrival proceeded to haggle at a furious pace in quiet whispers. Within seconds, the hunchback was sorting a handful of jewels out of his belt. He made to pass some to the magician but the Kibree only shook his head sorrowfully. The jewels were then split into two unequal portions and Chekov found himself in possession of the smaller. Mras took the other and the new owner of the poultry departed. The dwarf returned to his plucking as if nothing had happened.

"Gives sop!" The call rang out from some slave and the magician rose to his feet.

"Take ease, brother Mras," he said gravely. "Take ease, brother Chekov."

Chekov was still worrying too much about the bird to wonder how the Kibree had learned his name. A bit of mind reading was nothing compared to raising wild fowl from the dead. Mras seemed to be glad to see the conjuror leave, scowling after him as the door closed. "Give speed, Feddie."

The reason for that last instruction was immediately apparent. The kitchen had filled up in their absence and the two late arrivals were forced to squeeze themselves in where they could at the table.

Chekov looked at breakfast and wondered why he'd bothered. He also wished he'd had a chance to wash his hands. However clean the feathers seemed, they'd left a thin layer of preening oil on his skin. Since there was nothing to eat with but his fingers, he just pushed the bowl of grains and chopped nuts and vegetables in the direction of the nearest hungry looking child and got up again.

No one seemed to notice him. The noise was back up to where it had been yesterday. The usual mixture of raucous chattering and energetic quarrelling was keeping everyone occupied.

He found a sluice and bent to wash his hands. Only then did he remember the jewels that he was still absent-mindedly clutching. He stood looking at them for a moment. He seemed to have been drawn into petty theft, and was unsure what to do with his ill-gotten gains. His clothes lacked pockets, perhaps for exactly that reason. After a moment's deliberation he bent down and put them in his boot. One could never tell when it might be useful to have a little currency of your own. It occurred to him that if he needed money, he'd do better to sell his boots than store cash in them. He smiled at the illogic of that. How come Sulu's boots were worth six hundred jewels, and yet he, standing up in identical boots, had been considered overpriced at three hundred?

"What's so funny, Feddie?"

He realised that one of the cooks was watching him suspiciously from across the room. "Nothing, sir."

It would have been prudent for him to immediately rejoin his fellows at the table, but somehow the blue-skinned cook's eyes held him in place as the low-caste crossed towards the sluice carrying a bag. "Don't you want breakfast?"

His peeva-induced light sensitivity made it natural for him to avoid the low-caste's eyes. "No, sir."

The cook reached into his bag, pulled out a half burned flat loaf of bread and held it out to Chekov. When the ensign reached for it gratefully, the Kibree quickly snatched it back. "Stupid Feddie," he laughed as he tossed the loaf into the sluice.

Only the calming influence of the peeva buzzing through his brain prevented Chekov putting his fist through the low-caste's blue face. Instead, he started back to the table, swearing colourfully to himself in Russian.

He'd only gone a few steps when a restraining hand on his collar pulled him up short. "What did you say, Feddie?"

Despite the peeva, he would have translated for the cook, but lacked the vocabulary. "Nothing, sir."

"Oh, no?" The cook spun him around and cocked back a fist. "It didn't sound like nothing to me."

"Aeyo!" They were interrupted by the voice of the cook who was Chekov's usual tormentor. "What's the problem here?"

The blue-skin jabbed a finger at Chekov's chest. "He was putting a Feddie curse on me!"

"Oh, really?" The cook took a painful grip on the ensign's ear. "Is that so, Feddie?"

Chekov involuntarily rose up on his toes to try to relieve the pressure. "No, sir. I was just saying something… ah… a little uncomplimentary about you."

"There, you see, Bolse, he wasn't trying to curse you." The cook pulled his ear a little higher than before. "He was just saying something uncomplimentary about you."

The other cook was grinning now. "Doesn't he know he's not supposed to do that either?"

"I'm afraid not," the cook said in a tone of patronising concern. "You see, poor little Feddie here is a newcomer to slag hall. He doesn't know how to act yet. It's up to us to teach him the way a slag mother would teach her little child."

Retaining his crushing grip on the ensign's ear, the low-caste marched Chekov to the wall directly beside the entrance to the kitchens. As the cook made a great show of taking out a piece of wood with one charred end and measuring the level of Chekov's nose against a point on the wall, the other cook and several of the servants recognised what the low-caste was up to and began to laugh. Chekov had been in the kitchens long enough to recognise it too, but didn't find the situation nearly as amusing. As mild punishment for naughty children, adults would sometimes draw a circle on the wall and make the child stand with their nose against it for a time.

"Give quiet, nammie!" the cook said, in a loud falsetto imitation of a slave woman as he pushed Chekov's head towards the wall. "And keep nose from trouble a while!"

The general hilarity provoked by this could have been a tribute to the cook's comic skills… or due to the incongruity of a grown man being subjected to a child's punishment… or an expression of relief when a potentially violent situation became unexpectedly non-violent. Chekov knew however that many of the servants were laughing because of their distrust, hostility and resentment of offworlders in general and of him — the awkward outsider in their midst who still spoke like their masters — in particular.

"Let me see you move an inch, Feddie," the cook threatened genially, giving him a pat on the back, "and I'll show you another use for a stir paddle, understand?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied to the wall, while he idly wondered how much he'd be breaking the Prime Directive if he brought a phaser with him the next time he came into the kitchen.

In a few minutes his anger began to dissolve into patient peeva-dulled misery. The discomfort of standing in an awkward position with his nose pressed against the hard wall, the discomfort of being very hungry while he could hear other people loudly enjoying a meal, the discomfort of being periodically giggled at and targeted with tiny missiles designed to provoke him to move, all blurred into one vague general discomfort.

It had all become so vague and general, he was getting used to it by the time the big black door opened and a loud voice boomed, "What are you doing?"

Chekov sighed. "Very, very little."

"Of all the stupid, inept, impertinent…" The major domo grabbed him by the back of the collar and pushed him out the door. "…troublesome, hard-headed and mischief-making servants it has ever been my misfortune to encounter, you are by far the worst. Are you intentionally trying to make yourself a nuisance?"

"No, Mister Gebain." Chekov wiped the soot off his nose as unobtrusively as he could as he headed off on the now-familiar path to the dining room.

"I hardly think you could do a better job of it if you were staying up nights thinking of idiotic things to do… which I half suspect you are. It takes planning to be so brainless. But I must admit that you seem to have an almost unlimited capacity for thoughtless, foolish, reckless, ill-behaved, disobedient, impudent, flippant…"

The trouble with his growing familiarity with the Kibrian language, Chekov reflected as he entered the servants' antechamber to the dining room, was that he was beginning to understand a much greater percentage of Gebain's tirades.

"And just how did this happen?" Gebain asked, indicating the soot streaks remaining on Chekov's face.

"Well, I… I… uh…" Chekov stammered, not sure how the major domo would react to his encounter with the cook.

"You were being punished," Gebain supplied helpfully. "I can see that. I'm asking for what."

"I… uh…" Chekov swiped at his nose guiltily. "I said something slightly uncomplimentary about one of the cooks."

"Oh, is that all?" the major domo asked sarcastically as he grabbed the ensign's hand and scrubbed it roughly with a dampened towel. He then proceeded to give Chekov's face the same treatment. "You're lucky the cook didn't box your ears, or send you to me for a good beating - which I would have been more than happy to give."

Given these alternatives, Chekov did feel relatively fortunate to have gotten off with merely a minor humiliation.

The major domo helped him into a red serving robe. "Apparently someone in the kitchen finds you amusing…" Gebain placed a tray of hot bread in his hands which smelled so delicious it almost made the ensign weep from hunger. "…which I do not. I am quite of the opinion that a good beating would go a long way to teaching you some humility, restraint and forethought."

Chekov bit his lip, shifted the heavy tray uncomfortably and marvelled at the Kibree's ability to put the words "good" and "beating" in such close proximity.

"When the time comes," the Kibree continued, " — and given your behaviour, I don't think it will be too much longer in coming — that I am called upon to administer punishment to you, know that I have been looking forward to such an occasion and will enjoy it thoroughly."

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied as meekly as possible.

"Well, what are you waiting for?"

"Mister Gebain…" Chekov could see this wasn't exactly an opportune moment to request a favour, but the smell of the bread was twisting his empty stomach into knots. "I didn't get to eat breakfast…"

The major domo put his hands on his hips. "And whose fault was that?"

"Mine, I suppose, however…" Chekov barely got his admission past his lips before the Kibree had turned him around and pushed him through the dining room door.

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

The dining room was empty except for red-robed servants. The morning light streaming through the tall windows hurt Chekov's eyes as he carried his tray to the table where the Federation people usually sat. Following the example of the other servants he began distributing the bread to each of the place settings. He felt a gnawing anguish at releasing each aromatic roll. He'd almost worked up the nerve to palm a piece when the first of the kiani began to arrive, along with Angharad Davies.

There was a conspicuous lack of a greeting between them as the computer specialist took a seat. In Sulu's absence it seemed a good idea to be attending to someone so Chekov assumed a position behind her.

Davies turned her head slightly, catching his action in her peripheral vision. "Chekov."

He stepped forward expectantly. "Yes?"

"If you stand behind me no one's going to serve me," she said softly, keeping her eyes safely straight ahead.

"Don't worry," he reassured her, keeping his voice very low, since servants weren't supposed to speak at all in this room. "I will serve you."

"I'm very uncomfortable with this," she said, not lifting her eyes off her plate.

"Don't be silly," he whispered as he took the empty drinking vessel from her place. It was a very delicate thing, seemingly made of lacquered leaves. He filled the glass from one of the pitchers of fruit juice laid out at the end of the table. "I'm not doing anything for you now that I wouldn't be happy to do voluntarily. Here, drink this. It's very good."

"Thanks."

"And try some of this

"Okay." Davies took a deep breath and resolved to play along with his game, hoping that he was right and the two of them could decide for themselves whether or not the situation was embarrassing. "What about that pink fruit?"

"No," Chekov advised softly, providing her with an alternative selection. "I know the man who peeled them. He has a little sinus problem."

"Oh," Davies replied, regretting that she'd eaten pink fruit every morning since arriving. "I'm glad you're feeling better this morning. You were really out of it last night. It was kind of scary."

"Sorry," he apologised, hoping it would prove as easy to avoid eye contact with Sulu. He doubted that the lieutenant was going to have much sympathy for him when he realised that he'd disobeyed orders. Out of the corner of his eye, Chekov caught sight of a kiani he thought was Kahsheel. He realised his mistake, but the resemblance was close enough that it was hard to take his eyes off her. "What is it that makes these alien women so damned attractive?" he asked with a sigh.

"I don't know," Davies said pitilessly, "but I'd guess it's the same thing that makes you so damned stupid."

"Oh?" He put a selection of mixed nuts on her plate. "You think I'm stupid?"

"I can't imagine what would make me think such a thing." Davies smiled ironically. "Oh, by the way, could you peel these grapes for me, slave?"

Chekov straightened and was in the middle of preparing an appropriate reply to Davies' sarcasm when he was stopped by a light touch.

"Ensign Davies, I'm pleased to see you Federation people are adjusting to the situation." Kahsheel was standing right behind him, her hands resting lightly on his shoulders. Chekov's insides flipped, in an indeterminate way, that could just as much mean terror as delight, while ruling out all the more temperate emotions. "He can be quite obliging when he wants to be. Can't you, my dear?"

Chekov felt all the blood in his body rush to his head, making it dreadfully hard to think clearly. "Yes, ma'am."

Davies watched disapprovingly as the kiani nodded towards a chair across the table as if it was a fold-down king-sized bed just waiting for the two of them. Chekov moved to pull it out for her with what Davies found to be a disgusting lack of hesitation. Johnson entered and sat down next to Davies with a stack of computer printouts almost an inch thick. The meteorologist picked up a roll and sat absently munching it as he turned from page to page. Chekov in the meantime was practically falling over himself seeing to his kiani paramour's needs. Davies tried to keep her attention on her food as they smiled and whispered to each other.

"I've found a way to get you out of the kitchens at lunch," Kahsheel was saying to him softly. "Would that please you?"

"Very much." Chekov set down a glass of fruit juice in front of her. "However…"

He had to cross to her other side to get out of the way of Uyal, who cleared his throat with mild disapproval as he took the seat next to Kahsheel.

"…I missed breakfast." He selected an attractive array of violet fruits for the kiani.

"Those, please," Kahsheel ordered as she unobtrusively slipped him a piece of bread

"Yes, ma'am." Chekov smoothly transferred the piece to his mouth as he fetched a dried grain mixture for her. "That's not what I mean," he whispered when he bent near her ear. "I mean, I'll need to be in the kitchens to eat lunch."

"Slice this," Kahsheel commanded, giving him another excuse to lean near. "Don't worry, just leave everything to me. When you see someone wearing a blue crest…"

"Mister Chekov." Sulu had arrived, looking very much like someone who had put in a two hour stint in front of a computer before breakfast, and was seated across the table with the other Enterprise personnel.

"Yes, sir." Chekov kept his eyes carefully on the floor as he moved to take his place behind the lieutenant.

Sulu thought nothing of the fact that the ensign failed to look at him while he filled his glass and set an assortment of fruits in front of him. He noticed the problem when he happened to look up in time to see Kahsheel smiling at a point beyond and above his shoulder, and turned to non-verbally caution the smile's recipient about staring at the kiani. It struck him as suspicious that Chekov broke the eye contact by completely closing his eyes. There was also something unpleasantly familiar about the way the ensign had to blink several times before he could open them properly again.

"Chekov," he summoned him quietly.

"Yes, Mister Sulu?"

"Look at me."

The way the ensign bit his lip and stared at Sulu's shoulder was almost confirmation enough. Feeling a hot flash of anger surge through him, Sulu stood up and tilted the ensign's head back to be sure. From this level, the incriminatingly bloodshot whites and enlarged pupils were clearly visible despite the fact that the ensign couldn't seem to get his eyes completely open.

"Did you..?" Sulu asked, a little more loudly and vehemently than he'd intended to. Feeling the eyes of everyone in the dining room on him, the lieutenant cleared his throat and tried to get a hold on his temper. "Come with me, please."

Guilt choked Chekov's reply of "Yes, sir," to near inaudibility.

"Does this have something to do with me, Lieutenant?" Kahsheel asked boldly as they moved away from the table.

"No, ma'am, it doesn't," Sulu said coldly, as he opened a door leading into the corridor and allowed Chekov to precede him. "I just need to have a word with my servant in private."

Several of the kiani laughed at this.

"Nothing you ever say in their hearing ever remains private," someone explained as Sulu closed the dining room door behind him.

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

Chekov was waiting for him in the corridor. "I know what you're going to say, Mister Sulu, but…"

"No, you don't, mister," Sulu contradicted sharply, "or you wouldn't have done this. I gave you an order — a clear, unambiguous order. I want to know why you disobeyed it."

"I didn't take nearly as much this time…"

"Like that matters," Sulu cut him off abruptly. "Look, I explained to you and you agreed…"

The dining room door opened and Kahsheel entered with a defiant toss of her head. "I think this has a good deal to do with me," she said, taking a stand beside Chekov.

"Well, now that you mention it, lady," Sulu said, feeling free to spread his disapproval around generously since she'd decided to join them, "you haven't exactly been a big help."

"Mister Sulu…"

"Put a sock in it, Chekov," Sulu said, in no mood for Russian gallantry at this moment.

"You as much as publicly announced last night that you had no interest in him sexually." The kiani laid a hand possessively on Chekov's shoulder. "I do."

"Kahsheel…" Chekov wriggled out from under her grasp uncomfortably. "This is hardly the time…"

"I think that you have been told not to speak," she reminded him coolly.

"You didn't need to drug him, though, did you?" Sulu asked heatedly. "Unless that sort of thing appeals to you…"

"You've never indicated…"

"Well, I'm indicating now…"

Chekov noticed, as Kahsheel and Sulu failed to, that other doors to the dining room had opened and several of the kiani had picked up their breakfasts and wandered over to enjoy the morning's entertainment. Servants passing down the corridor were pausing from their work to eavesdrop. Chekov swallowed hard when a hulking blue form became visible down the hallway, making rapid progress towards them. "Oh, God. Mister Sulu…"

"Just shut up, Chekov," Sulu said, almost enjoying the chance to release all the pent-up anger and frustration from the previous day. "If you hadn't disobeyed my order…"

"This is simply an excuse to bully him," Kahsheel was saying. "The kitchens are full of the drug. You can't expect him to…"

"If I give him an order, lady, I expect him to do his damnedest to obey it."

"Is there a problem here, sir?" Gebain loomed beside Chekov like a huge and ominous blue shadow.

Sulu was shocked to see the crowd they'd gathered. He wondered at this blatant disregard of his wish to speak to Chekov privately, until he remembered from his language and culture studies, that privacy, except of the most basic physical kind, was held in very low regard by the Kibree. Discipline and the enforcement of social mores, however, were overwhelmingly in the public domain. And a moment ago he had rather loudly accused Chekov of disobeying an order. Kiani and servants stood patiently around them waiting to see what they considered justice done.

"Thank you" he said in a last ditch attempt to keep the matter between the ensign and himself, "but I think I'll just deal with this after breakfast."

"I do appreciate the value of delaying punishment in order to let a servant consider his error," Gebain said, giving a signal to servants who immediately jumped to obey his unspoken commands. "However, in my opinion, immediate action is called for in this case."

"Gebain is very knowledgeable about these things," Sulu's old pal Uyal advised, coming to his side. "Since he is in charge of the servants, you should defer to his judgement."

"Now, wait," Sulu protested as two servants returned dragging one of the heavy carved chairs from the dining room. Another handed Gebain a wicked looking stick that was almost a metre long. "I haven't said anything about…"

"You don't need to," Kahsheel said accusingly, moving away from Chekov. "You've publicly accused your servant of disobeying your order. The rest is fairly automatic."

"Don't order more than ten strokes for him," Uyal counselled. "It's a fairly minor offence and he probably really couldn't help himself. I understand the peer pressure can be intense

"Ten?" Sulu could see that Chekov had gone rather pale. The ensign looked very small beside the huge, blue-skinned supervisor. The word HELP seemed to be written in large letters across his face. "Look, if this is a minor matter, then why should he be punished at all? If you object to servants taking peeva, why don't you control the supply? Why do you insist that I let him work in the kitchen, where he's exposed to this sort of temptation, when I've got plenty of work for him to do elsewhere?"

"All of this is beside the point, sir," Gebain said respectfully as he wrapped a huge hand around the ensign's tiny-looking upper arm. "You gave him an order not to take the drug and he has obviously disobeyed it. If he is allowed to get away with such things, he'll soon get into serious trouble."

The kiani all nodded at this. "An attempt at leniency would be doing him no favour," Uyal affirmed.

"I was remiss in not catching his disobedience sooner," the major domo apologised.

"It's no fault of yours," Sulu said quickly, knowing that the mid-caste could also be subject to some penalty. The thought of blaming someone else gave him an idea. "Chekov, who gave you the peeva? Did you take it by yourself?"

Chekov half opened his mouth to answer then stopped. He guessed that the lieutenant had some notion of casting him as the helpless victim of manipulation. However he couldn't bring himself to get Mras into trouble. "I took it by myself. It was just lying around."

Uyal spread his hands. "There, you see…"

"Look," Sulu said. "I'm not going to just stand here and let this guy beat the hell out of…"

"Lieutenant." Uyal took him aside and spoke to him quietly. "If you had dealt with this in your own quarters, how you chose to punish your servant would be a private matter. However, it has become a public matter, and you are beginning to make a fool of yourself. Simply allow our customs of justice to take their course."

Sulu pointed to Gebain. "That guy'll kill him."

"Of course not," Uyal laughed. "He's a professional."

"If anyone's going to do this, I'll be the one to do it."

Sulu was certain that the kiani couldn't have looked more disapproving if he'd suddenly announced that he liked to have sex with mentally handicapped children. "That would be most inappropriate."

Bearing in mind how the kiani felt about the link between physical violence and character, Sulu knew the kianis' shock was a compliment of sorts. It meant they had come to consider him one of their class.

"Besides," Uyal continued, "if you beat him now, Gebain will be furious at being bypassed and usurped and will only beat him again later."

"What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

The speaker was the director of the station, a formidable female with steel grey hair and skin like a blood orange. Sulu had had words with her over the arrangements for dealing with Chekov only the previous evening. He remembered distinctly making promises about good behaviour and lack of disruption to the station's running. Clearly the only option now was to go on the offensive. "Director, my servant has been allowed access to illegal drugs while working in the kitchen. This is affecting his health and his work. If you can't guarantee that such access will be prevented in the future, I'm afraid I can't allow him to work or eat there."

She nodded gravely. "That is a problem. I am unwilling, however, to change his assignment. I suggest that since you have indicated to me that you expect complete and unquestioning obedience from him, you simply order him not to take these drugs."

"I hadn't expected problems of this nature."

"Well," The director was calmly unsympathetic. "since you expect them now, order your servant not to take the drugs."

"He has, Director," Gebain said, graciously putting in his uninvited two cents worth. "And his servant has disobeyed."

"Oh, I see," she said, seeming to notice Chekov and the instrument in the major domo's hand for the first time. "Then carry on with the punishment."

"I am waiting for the lieutenant to specify the duration."

The director turned to him. "Lieutenant?"

Sulu could feel the walls closing in on him. "Director…"

"Lieutenant," she began with an air of infinite patience that he knew from experience actually indicated she was about to lose her temper. "Yesterday we made certain agreements…"

"Yes, ma'am, I know…"

"I agreed to certain concessions in return for which you gave me certain guarantees of your and your servant's behaviour. Are you now reneging on those promises? Is this what the word of a representative of the Federation means?"

Sulu ground his teeth. This mission was vital both to the Kibree, who didn't seem to give a damn about it, and to the Federation. Both were jointly attempting to establish an outpost to service vital shipping lanes on Kibria's moon with the new, supposedly swift and inexpensive method of terraforming that was the heart of the project they were currently working on. It wasn't a situation where he could pick up Star Fleet's marbles and go home just because he didn't want to play any more. "No, ma'am."

"Then kindly state the duration so Gebain can get on with his job," she said in a tone that brooked no contradiction.

"It has to be over five," Uyal whispered to him.

Although he knew he was doing the right thing for the interests of this project and the Federation, Sulu couldn't meet Chekov's eyes as he said, "Six."

"Very well." Gebain led the ensign over to the chair. The servants had placed it so that it sat facing the wall. The chair's back came almost waist high on the ensign. "Put your hands there," the major domo ordered him, pointing to the chair's seat.

Chekov started to obey, then paused, as if suddenly realising what sort of position bending over the back of the chair was going to put him in. "No," he said, stepping back. "I can't do this."

Sulu knew that it would have been appropriate for him to order the ensign to comply at this point. However, feeling that he'd reached his limit for accommodating Kibrian social niceties for the day, he remained silent. In the absence of his order and Chekov's willing compliance, Gebain's assistants jumped into the breach, forcibly bending the ensign over the back of the chair and holding him in place as the major domo brought the stick down with a resounding crack.

Considering the nature of the instrument being used, Sulu figured it sounded a lot worse than it felt… at least he hoped so.

Presumably due to the tenderising effect of the first, Chekov gasped audibly at the impact of the second blow.

His gasp for the third was noticeably louder.

Sulu looked back to glare at Kahsheel, who was burning a hole through him with her narrowed green eyes. He wanted to be sure she knew that he blamed her for this every bit as much as she blamed him.

The sound the ensign made on the impact of the fourth blow indicated that he was making a very stern effort not to cry out.

Gebain seemed to pause forever before delivering the fifth one. It elicited a particularly loud gasp.

From the sound of it, the sixth and final blow was the hardest one of all.

The director nodded approvingly as the crowd began to disperse. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mister Sulu, no matter how grudgingly it was given. I think you'll see that this will save us all a good deal of trouble in the long run."

Sulu couldn't quite bring himself to make a proper response. Instead he just nodded.

Gebain's men finally released Chekov, who stood up, very red faced, shaking with anger, and looking like he'd be willing to take them all on at once.

"You." The director beckoned him over sharply. "Come over here."

The ensign pointedly did not meet Sulu's eyes as he walked past him.

"You have already been a great deal of trouble to your master today," the director reprimanded him, "and breakfast is not yet over. More than just giving us all a very unpleasant beginning to our day, your thoughtlessness and disobedience have almost caused an incident between our two governments. I hope you are quite thoroughly ashamed of yourself."

Chekov's gaze dropped to the floor.

"Hmm?" she prompted

"Yes, ma'am." His voice was tight and choked. "I apologise for my actions."

"See that you also apologise to Mister Gebain for having disrupted this meal," she ordered pitilessly. "And more importantly, modify your behaviour so that there is no repetition of this incident. Your master has staked quite a bit on your obedience. See that you do not disappoint him again."

"Yes, ma'am." Chekov could tell that these words were actually directed over his head to Sulu. By scolding him, the director was indicating her willingness to dismiss the incident as the foolishness of a rebellious servant rather than take it as a reflection on the lieutenant's character and ability to command. He uncharitably reflected that the majority of the kiani had always favoured Sulu over him, perhaps because the lieutenant looked more like them, Kibbie-eyed… a half-Kibbie in nature…

"Now, take that chair back where it came from," the director interrupted these insubordinate thoughts, "and return to your duties."

"Yes, ma'am."

As he passed he heard Kahsheel whisper to Sulu, "I hope this satisfies your petty thirst for revenge… that is, unless you just had him beaten because that sort of thing appeals to you."

Chekov thought for a moment that Sulu might punch the kiani. However - probably because the station director was still within earshot - Kahsheel was able to toss her auburn curls and stalk off down the corridor unmolested.

The chair was solid wood and outsize by human standards. Chekov put all his anger into dragging it across the floor and ramming it back into its place at the table. Sulu had returned to his seat. Without speaking to him or looking at anyone, Chekov took up his post behind him. Ensign Johnson didn't appear to have taken his eyes off his work throughout the entire incident. Davies was completely absorbed in eating a complicated piece of fruit. After a moment she pushed to her feet. "Excuse me."

Sulu finished his meal in silence. If he needed any assistance, he didn't ask for it and Chekov didn't offer. The kiani, finding the atmosphere between them a bit thick, wandered off to find pleasanter dining companions. Their servants cleared away their things until only Johnson's and Sulu's plates were left. The lieutenant seemed to be having a great deal of trouble chewing and swallowing. Chekov, who was feeling his punishment more with each passing minute, hoped he choked.

When Sulu finally put his napkin down on his plate as a signal that he was finished, Chekov removed it with a crisp efficiency that bordered on rudeness. When he arrived in the servants' anteroom with the lieutenant's breakfast things, Gebain was waiting for him.

"I am sorry that I disrupted this morning's meal," Chekov said, following the station director's orders without much conviction.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be every time you sit down for the next few days," Gebain pointed out quite truthfully.

Chekov took off the red serving robe and handed it to him. "I hope you found the experience as enjoyable as you anticipated, sir," he said, with a thin veneer of icy respectfulness.

Gebain nodded. "Almost, but not quite enjoyable enough to make up for the twenty jewel fine the Director has imposed on me for letting you in the dining hall with a head full of peeva in the first place."

Chekov couldn't stop the small smile that curled the corners of his mouth. "How terrible for you, sir."

Gebain also had a rather deadly smile on his face. "Don't be late for lunch."

Chekov's smile faded as he left the room considering all the many unpleasant means of revenge that were at the major domo's disposal. Sulu was waiting for him by the door. Without exchanging so much as a glance, they set off for Sulu's quarters. Chekov set a pace that even Gebain would have found brisk. Sulu followed in silence. In front of the door, Chekov stopped and looked at the floor while the lieutenant deactivated the lock. Sulu then stepped back and allowed him to enter the room first.

"If you've got anything to say, let's get it over with," Sulu said as the door closed behind him.

Chekov merely went over and activated the room's computer terminal. "I have nothing to say."

Sulu crossed his arms. "You're sure there's nothing you want to say to me?"

"No."

Sulu noted that although the ensign had called up the file and paged to the point where he was working, he had not yet sat down on the hard chair in front of the console. "Well, I have something to say to you."

Chekov turned grudgingly and fixed his eyes on the floor, looking for the moment very much the part of one of those insolent, ill-tempered servants the kiani were always complaining about.

Sulu took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I lost my temper and got backed into a corner."

Chekov finally looked him in the eyes. "It is very hazardous to lose your temper on Kibria," he said, in not exactly the most forgiving tone imaginable.

Sulu decided there might be no point in trying to talk to him about this now. He couldn't imagine how he might feel if their positions were reversed. "Well, do you want to go ahead and do some work?"

"Yes, sir," the ensign answered with an unnecessary formality that cut him to the quick.

"All right, Ensign," Sulu said crisply as he joined him by the console, deciding that two could play at that game if that was what Chekov wanted. "If you think you're clear enough to concentrate, finish this then go on to the energy exchange simulations. Work until just before midday, then take a nap for an hour. I'm setting an alarm for you so you won't be late to the kitchens. One of us will come by every hour or so to check on you, if we're free."

"Yes, sir."

Sulu looked down at the chair in front of the terminal. It was uncushioned and cruelly hard. "There's a medikit…"

"I know where the medikit is," Chekov assured him.

"Okay, then…" Sulu started towards the door.

"You must admit…" Chekov's voice stopped him. "Kahsheel does care about me."

Sulu almost let a very rude analogy for the kiani's new found attachment to the ensign slip past his lips, but stopped himself just in time. "She has a funny way of showing it," he said instead.

Chekov shrugged. "She's an alien."

Sulu shook his head. In his opinion Kahsheel had set out to do purposefully exactly what he had done accidentally, to escalate the situation at breakfast into a full scale incident involving the station Director. If the kiani was trying to drive a wedge between the two Enterprise officers for some reason, it certainly looked like she'd succeeded. "I'd prefer it if you stayed away from her from now on."

Chekov set his jaw firmly. "I am sure you would."

"I could make that an order, mister," Sulu offered.

"Are you making it an order, Lieutenant?" Chekov said, nudging the stakes a point higher.

"No, I'm not," Sulu replied evenly. "Because I trust your intelligence and judgement. I know that you will take whatever measures are necessary to protect your own best interests, the best interests of this team, and most importantly, the best interests of this mission."

Sulu watched his speech land and strike home in a way a thousand beatings never could. He could almost see a heavy load of responsibility and guilt settle on the ensign's shoulders.

"Yes, sir," he replied, all traces of sarcasm or insolence completely gone.

"I just don't want to see you…" Sulu paused on the word 'hurt'. "Listen, Chekov, are you all right? It sounded like that guy Gebain…"

"…has a very strong arm." The ensign nodded and shifted his weight a little painfully. "And not much affection for me."

"I promise you," Sulu said firmly, "I'm not going to let that happen to you again. I don't care what anyone says, I'll be damned if I stand aside and…"

"No, Mister Sulu," Chekov interrupted. "You are correct when you say that the mission comes first. I apologise for getting myself into this… somewhat volatile situation. I recognise the importance of maintaining good relations with our hosts, and I assure you that I will make greater efforts for the remainder of our time here to conform to local custom, in the interests of the mission."

Sulu smiled as he put an approving hand on his friend's shoulder. "Thank you. I know you'll do your best."

He had turned to go when he was once more stopped by the sound of the ensign's voice.

"Uh, Mister Sulu…" Chekov was looking at that hard chair in front of the computer. "…Where is the medikit?"

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