"Chekov?"

"Aaaa!" the ensign cried out as if he'd turned to find a horned monster rather than his immediate superior had entered the room.

Sulu crossed to him quickly. "Are you all right?"

"Yes!" Chekov wasn't sure why, but for some reason it was desperately important not to let anyone know that he was in anything other than perfect condition. He felt very far from well however. He'd been perfectly fine at first. An indefinite amount of time ago, however, he'd begun to feel sleepy, then cold, shaky and rather frightened. At first he'd worked with desperate speed to ward off the feeling. But that determination had eventually slipped from him too, until he sat, as the lieutenant had found him, clutching the edge of the work station like a lifeline. "The plenum flow equations are not metabolising properly, so I increased the radial serrations…" Chekov knew that what he was saying was complete nonsense, although he had a very clear idea of what he wished to tell the lieutenant, if only the connection between his mind and his tongue would sort itself out. "…to double percentages backchanneling the geophysical data continuum to four decimal places beyond…"

"Uh-huh," Sulu said soothingly as he quickly fetched a large glass of fruit juice from the dispenser and put it into the ensign's shaking hands.

"…without recalibrating the pseudo metaphorical balances," Chekov explained frantically.

"Right, right." Sulu firmly guided the glass to his lips and forced him to drink deeply until the glass was empty.

"But the relational interflow is still in a synechdotal phase," he protested as Sulu pulled a hypo out of the medikit and hissed it into his arm.

"Oh, yeah, I know," Sulu agreed as he ran the scanner over him. "Shhh, just be quiet for a minute."

Chekov tried to obey, but had to make one last attempt to explain. "An elemental overload was imminent."

"Oh, I bet it was." Sulu peered into his eyes. "Okay, now I want you to try to follow my finger… Good. Look up… Look down… Now left… Now right. Okay, and tell me your service number."

"SD710 820," he answered correctly.

"Great." Sulu got up and fetched another glass of juice. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible." Chekov's breath was still coming in heaves as he accepted the drink. "What happened to me?"

"Peeva," Sulu explained shortly as his friend eagerly turned up the glass. "Davies did some additional research in their pharmacology library. The drug is pretty innocuous to them, but you're human, not Kibree. It works by binding to the nerve receptors. And it damages those receptors. If you take enough, for long enough, you could suffer complete neural failure. Your brain will break down into a few billion separate cells that have quit talking to each other, or to any other part of you. The only question is whether you lose your mind before you lose the ability to breathe and keep your heart beating."

"Oh, God." Chekov swallowed hard. "Is it addictive?"

"Probably but we still aren't sure about that," Sulu replied, then decided not to hold anything back that might make it easier for the ensign to refuse the drug next time it was offered to him. "The amount you've already had might be enough to make you dependent."

"So," Chekov said, feeling even worse, "I've been going through withdrawal symptoms."

"No .The drug stimulates insulin production. What you just went through was a mild attack of hypoglycaemia. If you're hooked, you'll start hallucinating first, then…"

"I've already done that."

"What?" Sulu dropped his superior air and quickly ran the scanner over his friend again. "When?"

"In the kitchen this morning, I saw a Kibree raising today's lunch from the dead. I just assumed it was Saint Francis paying a visit. I've been having strange flashes of memory about taking tests on the basic principles behind the operation of sonic showers and yesterday…" Chekov trailed off, deciding not to mention the threatening vegetables.

Sulu took his hands and squeezed them. "Listen, we've got sedatives in the medical kit or you can drink alcohol if you need something to help you get through this. But if you take any more of that stuff…" He paused, trying to think of a sanction that would be worse than what Chekov was going through. "Look, just promise me you won't take any more."

"I'll try, but…"

"But what?"

"I couldn't stop myself last time. Someone was smoking a pipe. When I smelled it I forgot about everything else but wanting it. When he offered, I couldn't refuse."

"Chekov…"

"Would it be so bad if I ended up taking more?" Chekov asked. "I assure you, I will make every effort not to, but if I should… the damage isn't irreparable, is it? We'll only be here for another four days. When the Enterprise returns…."

"We're talking about your brain, Chekov," Sulu interrupted. "That's not exactly something you can put a bandage on or regenerate a replacement for. And what if the Enterprise should be delayed…" He stopped dead, wishing very much he hadn't said that.

Chekov's eyes got very large and round. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Forget I said that." Sulu got up and ordered a pitcher of juice for him. "I'll have Johnson come by to check on you in about an hour."

"Thank you." Chekov was somewhat less than reassured. "I'll look forward to that."

"Keep drinking fruit juice." Sulu refilled his glass. "You need to keep your blood sugar up. Did you have any breakfast?"

"No."

"Well, make sure you have a good meal at lunch."

"A good meal is usually very hard to come by in the slag hall," Chekov pointed out, "and you wouldn't eat what you get in the dining room if you saw them cooking it."

There was a loud hammering outside the door. Sulu reached over and snapped off the door lock. "Come."

A servant shuffled into the room, his face hidden behind a large stack of towels. From his distinctive height, Chekov immediately recognised the slave as his old friend Mras.

"Towels, sir," the dwarf explained redundantly in his gravelly voice.

Sulu nodded towards the bathroom, and the Kibree disappeared through the door. "I've got to get back to the control room. How far have you actually gotten with this?"

Chekov peered at the figures on the screen. "Not as far as I thought."

"I'd like to have this finished by lunch if possible."

"I will do my best."

Sulu knew he had to be content with that although he had serious doubts about how good the ensign's best was right now. "Okay," he said, giving him an encouraging pat on the back before he left.

Chekov took a deep breath and studied the gibberish on the screen. Some of what he'd written made a certain fractured sort of sense, but most of it was pure hieroglyphics. He paged back trying to find the beginnings of where he'd started to lose it. He quickly discovered that he'd written for a surprisingly long time without the full benefit of his brain.

"They let you run that thing?"

Chekov turned round with a start, wondering who else had wandered into the room. But it was only Mras with his depleted pile of clean towels. Wet ones were slung over his shoulder. "Yes."

"Lucky you." The dwarf ran his fingers down the side of the terminal. "Is it difficult to operate?"

"Not if you know how." It took Chekov a moment to identify what was different about the dwarf's speech. The difference was that he could clearly understand the little man. "You can talk like the kiani?"

"I'm short, not stupid."

"Yes, of course," Chekov replied, although this didn't explain why the dwarf had chosen not to speak to him in a manner he could understand before this time. "Sorry."

"It's not important." Mras picked up a file disk and examined it closely. "I hear your beloved Feddie master had you beaten this morning."

Chekov plucked the disk out of his fingers and returned it to its proper place. "That's not really any of your business."

"What'd he get you for?" The dwarf grinned. "For letting Kahsheel scan you her bedslag?"

"That had nothing to do with it," Chekov insisted sharply. "Mister Sulu was simply caught in a situation in which he was forced to comply with the kiani's expectations."

Mras snorted derisively. "If that's what you want to believe. They're all so many skiving desert kreeters to me. But that Kahsheel's a lookly mort, isn't she? And right slidely at…"

The dwarf's reversion to slag-hall slang was presumably intentional. Chekov felt himself losing his temper.

"Don't you have duties to attend to?" he asked coldly.

"Oh, you're the proud one, aren't you?" the dwarf asked ironically. "Outside slag-hall or certain bed-chambers, that is."

"See here, Mister Mras…"

"Don't give me that slidely speech, Feddie. You've been scanned a slag just like the rest of us." The dwarf leaned forward and tapped experimentally at the keyboard. "Could you teach me to do this?"

"No."

"Why? You don't think I'm intelligent enough?"

"Not at all." Chekov firmly removed the dwarf's hand from the keyboard and erased what he'd accidentally input. "You could probably learn rather easily. However, doing so is against your laws, and I am not here to break them…"

The dwarf laughed at him. "Oh, no, I can see you're not here to break laws. Not you, a slag who's bopped a kiriar, swagged his nood with peeva, chipped the cook's fowl to the jeery for a two-hands of jewels…"

"It would also be against the laws of the Federation," Chekov said, interrupting the extensive list of his crimes. "We are forbidden to interfere with the internal operations of normally functioning cultures."

"Oh?" the dwarf said, hoisting his towels over his shoulder and heading for the door. "And this is the sort of culture you'd call normally functioning? I'd hate to be part of one you thought had problems. I hope you go on enjoying it for the rest of your stay."

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

"The Feddie's taken an ill temper." The speaker of these words was Nula, the first servant woman Chekov had encountered on his initiation to the kitchens. She was still wary of him, though. She refused to speak to him directly and insisted on referring to him in the third person, despite the fact that she was stirring at the kettle directly to his left.

"He took a hand of licks this morning," the blue-skinned woman, stationed at her customary place at her friend Dollu's side, explained for him apologetically.

Nula eyed him narrowly. "Backtalking, eh?"

Chekov decided that given the unpleasant topic of their discussion he could easily ignore her as well as she had been ignoring him.

"No, for taking pipe," the blue woman answered for him.

"Hand for taking pipe?" Nula seemed surprised. "Off who?"

"Gebain."

"Su… Hand off Gebain for taking pipe?" The other woman squinted at him sceptically as he continued to refrain from comment.

"The Kibbie-eyed Feddie took property of this one." The blue-skinned woman lowered her voice as if to prevent Chekov, who was standing only a metre or so away, from hearing. "He's putting a hard eye on him."

"Please, ladies," Chekov warned. "Let's not start that again."

"The curly red one is putting the eye on him also," Dollu put in significantly.

"Hey, Feddie!" a low-caste Chekov had never seen before called as he drew near the group of stirrers. "Leave off with that and come with me."

Upon seeing a familiar blue crest on the man's clothing, Chekov realised that this must be Kahsheel's messenger. "No," he said decisively, having resolved not to take the engineer up on her offer of an exemption from his lunchtime kitchen duties. "No, that will not be necessary."

The low-caste grabbed him by the shirtfront. "What?"

"I've decided not to go," Chekov informed him resolutely.

"Listen, Feddie," the low-caste said, giving him a good, hard shake. "There's no deciding about it on your part. Either you come with me now, or you backtalk me, I give you a beating, and then you come with me, understand?"

"Oh, all right," Chekov agreed, pulling the protective cloths off his hands.

As he untied the apron from around his waist, the low-caste caught an unsuspecting young boy by the arm and manhandled him into Chekov's place. "Come on," he ordered, pulling Chekov roughly forward by the shoulder.

When they reached the doorway of the inner kitchen, Chekov looked back in time to see his former workmates once more in earnest conversation, occasionally pausing to dart concerned glances in his direction.

The low-caste jerked the ensign's right hand up and tied a ragged looking rope around it. "Carry this," he ordered, placing a large tray in Chekov's hands. "And follow me."

The low-caste opened a door into a room that looked very dark from the outside. When he entered, Chekov found that it wasn't a room at all, but a dimly-lit stairwell that led to a musty smelling lower floor. This was so ill-lit that he couldn't tell what sort of a place it was meant to be. He could barely see the low-caste who walked in front of him, guiding him by jerks on the rope tied to his wrist. They travelled in silence, following a twisting path for several minutes. Finally, the low-caste led him up another flight of steps into complete darkness. From the sounds he heard, Chekov believed the Kibree must have tied his end of the rope to something. He then knocked on something else, and without waiting for an answer pushed past Chekov to exit down the steps.

The door at the top of the stairs opened. The sudden light temporarily blinded Chekov. Through his squinting eyes all he could make out of the person who opened the door was the outline of their long, curling hair.

"Oh, that Nard is such an evil thing!" Kahsheel said, helping him up the remaining steps, then untying his wrist. "He even made you carry your own lunch, didn't he?"

"My lunch?" Chekov repeated blankly as she led him through what turned out to be a curtained-off back entrance to her quarters.

"I told you I'd take care of things," she said, taking the tray from him and placing it on a low table. She removed the domed lid to reveal a set of steaming covered dishes. "Aren't you going to kiss me and say thank you?"

Somehow, despite the offensiveness of her playfully patronising tone, it was a hard offer to resist. He kissed her on the cheek, and looked at the couches she'd considerately had drawn up to the table. The contents of the medikit had all but neutralised the effects of Gebain's assault already, but an instinct of self -preservation stopped Chekov mentioning that fact. If the information got back to Gebain, the major domo might feel obliged to repeat the beating on a daily basis. He reclined with exaggerated respect for his bruises. "Thank you."

"Mmm," she said approvingly as she removed the lids of the dishes revealing an appetising array of Kibrian delicacies. She pierced a delectable steamed vegetable with a dainty white eating stick and held it out for him. "Here, let me feed you."

"Kahsheel…" He gently but firmly took the stick himself. "It's unwise for me to be here."

"Yes." A frown creased her pretty features. "I suppose Sulu has forbidden you from seeing me again?"

Chekov tried to remember if he'd seen any of this particular delicacy on the kitchen floor before he put it into his mouth. "Not exactly."

The kiani sniffed disapprovingly. "I find his pettiness and jealousy most shocking."

"That is not what is going on," Chekov said, disappointed to find that kitchen gossip went much further than the kitchens. "He's concerned about me only as a fellow officer. He is also very concerned about the success of our mission here. I feel I should make every effort to avoid putting him in difficult situations that jeopardise his standing with the station officials."

"Even if that means not seeing me?" she asked, holding out a piece of bread enticingly.

"Yes…" Chekov answered, but his voice lacked conviction even in his own ears. He leaned forward and ate the bread from her fingers.

"Since you're already here, there's no advantage to your leaving now," she said, uncovering a bowl of dark purple fruits that had been a particular favourite of his while he was still dining with the kiani. "I promise that you'll be back on time. I wouldn't want to do anything to get you into trouble. I just wanted to see you. Don't you want to see me?"

"Yes, of course, but…"

"But what?" To make his objection even harder to deliver, she kissed her fingers and put them on his lips.

"Never mind," he said, reaching for her. As he kissed her, though, troubling thoughts began to crowd back into his mind. "Kahsheel," he asked, releasing her, "have you ever beaten a servant?"

"No," she replied, guiltlessly snuggling into his arms.

"I mean," he clarified, remembering the fine distinctions possible in Kibrian culture, "have you ever had a servant beaten?"

Seeing the mood was broken, she sat up with a sigh and resumed uncovering dishes. "Yes, for thieving, lying, wilfully destroying property. I assure you, it's not something I have done for pleasure. Most servants are reasonably well behaved and I never seek to be cruel to them, but there are circumstances when it's necessary. For example, once, when I was much younger, a servant woman slapped me in the face and called me a spoiled little red-headed uhzist."

"Uhzist?"

"You don't know that word? I would have thought you'd heard it used in the kitchens. It's a very uncomplimentary word for a woman. In Standard you'd say 'bitch', I believe."

"Oh."

"Perhaps you should forget it," she suggested diplomatically as she tore off another piece of bread for him. "It would be a very unwise word for you to use."

"I can imagine," he replied, storing the word in memory nonetheless. After a moment of watching her watch him eat in the same contented way a little girl might watch a favourite puppy, he felt compelled to ask, "Kahsheel, don't you feel there is something wrong with your society?"

"No," she replied unhesitatingly. "I know you're seeing us from the worst possible angle now, but this way is the best all around for all of us. Our society is very efficient and orderly. The most responsibility is meted out to those who are most able to handle it. Everyone works at their maximum of productivity for the good of all."

"What about personal freedom and dignity for all members of your society?"

"Self worth comes from knowing that you are being of service to others," she said, as if quoting a maxim learned by rote. "We don't reward selfishness… in any of the castes."

"In theory, perhaps," Chekov said. "However, from what I've seen…"

"You look tired," Kahsheel interrupted, tiring of discussing comparative sociology. "Would you like to take a short nap before I send you back?"

"I'm fine," Chekov replied, finishing off the last of the fruit. "But I don't think I can eat any more."

"Well," she said, petulantly recovering the dishes. "It seems I've run out of ways to entertain you."

Chekov smiled as he took the lid out of her hand and pulled her into his arms again. Politically incorrect as she was, Kahsheel was still irresistibly beautiful. "I'm sure we can think of something."

acdb

"I didn't like the way Chekov was acting at lunch," Sulu said as he rewired a bypass circuit in a cramped access way adjoining the control room.

Actually, it was the first time since the ensign had become a servant that they'd been able to get through a meal without a major disaster. The only truly tense moment had occurred when one of the kiani had irritably ordered Chekov to stop whispering to the people he was serving. The ensign had taken the correction with a great show of humility, then proceeded to give the kiani a large serving of the shellfish dish he'd been warning everyone else to avoid.

"He seemed…" Sulu paused as he hunted for a Feldman probe and the appropriate descriptive word. "…euphoric. I suppose it's due to the drug."

"Drug my eye," Angharad Davies said, handing him the probe. "He's in love. You've known him longer than I have. Surely you can recognise classic Chekov-in-love behaviour?"

"You sound jealous," Sulu chided, gingerly taking a reading off a mass of sparking wires.

"I'm not jealous," she assured him, then took advantage of their isolation to ask, "Are you?"

"Hardly," Sulu replied with a laugh. "Although I am worried about it. If Kahsheel wanted to go to bed with him, she could have just whistled on day one. Her approach to all this strikes me as over-elaborate. And I'm no longer on speaking terms with her to try to find out what she's up to. As far as Chekov's concerned, I was just hoping that after our court-martials he and I get assigned to rehab centres on opposite sides of the galaxy."

"I can see that," Davies said, as she watched him fuse two loose ends with the opposite end of the probe.

Davies was a person Sulu had never noticed on the ship. However, it was hard not to notice her in close quarters like this — her rich chestnut hair, blue eyes, the sweet way she smelled.

"Actually," he said, since it seemed they'd left the distinctions of rank behind for the moment, "I'd thought that you and he were…"

"Well, I had thought it might end up that way myself," she admitted, "but apparently I can't compete with alien women who treat him like a lower life form."

"There's no accounting for taste," Sulu said. His job complete, he turned round — an action which put him almost in her lap.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, then hastily clarified, "…about Kahsheel?"

"There's only so much I can do, right now. If this thing between her and Chekov is just some weird sexual thing, we'll all just chalk it up to experience when the ship gets here. But I keep getting the feeling that there's more to it than that. I feel like we're being set up by the kianis for some reason. All I can do is stay on the lookout and hope that I spot it if they screw up. Or…"

"Yes?"

"Do you think you could get to know Kahsheel a little? I mean, couldn't you manufacture some interest in common? And then…"

"The only thing I know she's interested in is our ensign. I suppose I could pretend," Davies offered archly.

"Would you?"

"Of course." Davies impulsively leaned forward and kissed him on the nose.

Sulu grinned. "Thank you." He returned the kiss on her lips.

"Lieutenant!" They broke their embrace before Johnson's head popped inside the entrance to the access way. "That's got it, sir. We're getting readings now."

"Good." Sulu handed his probe to Davies. "If you could just tidy things up here for me, Ensign, I can get the engineers going again."

"Of course, Lieutenant," Davies replied, in a proper tone, but unable to repress her smile as he climbed out past her.

Johnson moved out of the way for Sulu to exit, then looked back in at Davies curiously. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, yes." Davies was still smiling as she fastened the protective plating back in place. "But don't worry, Mister Johnson, I think it might happen again."

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

What this damned juice needed, Chekov decided as he swirled the contents of his glass while sitting in front of the computer station in Sulu's quarters, was a healthy shot of vodka.

Unfortunately, although the lieutenant had left him amply supplied with juice, water and sedatives, he hadn't provided him with any vodka. Chekov looked at the food dispensing unit across the room. It wouldn't be much of a challenge to bypass the programming that keyed the machine to respond only to Sulu but operating an electronic device without a superior's permission would be going against Kibrian caste law…

Chekov suggested that the Kibree and their laws collectively commit a physical impossibility as he rose and crossed to the dispenser. Within a few keystrokes he had the stupid little machine convinced that he was Lieutenant Sulu. It rewarded him with a cold glass.

Bearing in mind that he needed to keep clear-headed enough to work on these equations, he carefully rationed out a small portion to be added to the fruit juice. With succeeding glasses, the ratio of vodka to juice kept getting larger and larger, until he entirely did away with the juice all together.

As he absently tossed back another glass, he reflected on how strange it was that the more he drank the more it seemed he needed to drink. There was a great needy emptiness inside him that couldn't seem to be filled. The thought made him realise that he was craving peeva, not vodka. Sulu was going to have to let him have a little tiny dose of it, just to preserve his sanity.

Chekov paused to look back over his work. Just when he was about to congratulate himself on his ability to do higher mathematics when slightly inebriated, the computer pointed out a blatant error in his addition.

The door chime buzzed just as he tapped out a correction. Chekov fought the irrational panic that surged through him. The first rule of not getting caught, he reminded himself, was not feeling guilty. Nevertheless, he hastily shoved the small pile of glasses he'd accumulated behind the terminal before releasing the door lock and saying, "Come."

Chekov's heart leapt into his throat as the door opened to reveal one of the worst possible visitors to arrive at a time like this.

"Mister Sulu isn't…" he began, as the station manager, Datvin, entered and surveyed the room with critical disdain.

"I haven't asked you," the Kibree pointed out unkindly.

Reflecting that this was true, and that it was fairly easy to look sober while one was sitting silently in front of a computer, Chekov turned back to his work.

"Unfortunately, the uniform tunic you took off last night was stolen. However, we've constructed this replacement." Datvin put a folded yellow garment down beside him. It was a fair copy of the original done in native fabrics.

"Thank you," Chekov said ironically, noting that although the Kibree had been able to fit him perfectly with garments appropriate for a servant, this replacement tunic was clearly one or two sizes too small — just enough to make it unwearable.

"You're responsible for keeping this room in order, aren't you?" the Kibree said, looking pointedly at the areas which had become a little rumpled since Sulu had thoroughly cleaned in the morning.

"Yes," Chekov admitted, then gestured to the computer. "However, I am currently completing another important task for Mister Sulu."

Reaching over Chekov's shoulder, the Kibree removed one of the glasses from behind the terminal and sniffed it. "Does Mister Sulu allow you to drink while you complete important tasks for him?"

Chekov cleared his throat. After a moment, it occurred to him that he did actually have permission in this particular case. "Mister Sulu has given me certain leeway to deal with the symptoms of withdrawal from the Kibrian drug I have been exposed to."

"I see." Datvin removed glasses from behind the monitor until they formed quite an incriminating little pile. "I would think this particular method might interfere with the accuracy of your work, though, wouldn't it?"

Flashing error messages all over the computer screen kept Chekov from denying this outright. When he attempted to craft a more creative response, he felt his unfortunate tendency to laugh when he lied begin to reassert itself. In the face of these difficulties he chose to remain silent.

"Mister Sulu left you quite a supply of this." Datvin arranged the glasses into an orderly formation. "Or did he? It does seem strange that he would procure several glasses of this liquor for you instead of a bottle."

Chekov kept very still, as if that could hide his real crime from the Kibree.

"If I were of a suspicious nature, I might be tempted to think that you had obtained these from the dispenser yourself," Datvin said, homing in on it like a bloodhound, "in defiance of our strictures against servants using electronic equipment."

If he'd been completely sober, Chekov might have had the self-possession to say that Sulu had given him permission to operate the device, just as he had permission to operate the computer and deactivate the door lock whenever anyone needed to come in. As it was though, all he could do was bite his lip and hope that Datvin didn't make the next intuitive leap that would reveal his guilt.

"Still, there are security locks that make it impossible for anyone other than the lieutenant to operate this unit." Datvin crossed to the dispenser and experimentally pressed in a request that the computer automatically refused. "Although it occurs to me that you and Ensign Davies were the ones who originally helped my crew input the access codes for these."

Chekov closed his eyes and wondered how he'd offended the vengeful deity in charge of affairs on Kibria.

"Are my speculations too far out of line with reality?"

Chekov sighed. "No, sir."

"Then I'd say you've exceeded your leeway, haven't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right. Deactivate that machine and come with me."

"Where to?" Chekov asked warily, making no move to comply.

"Gebain's office." The Kibree crossed his arms. "Surely you don't expect to commit an infraction of station policy of this nature without punishment?"

Chekov's heart sank at the mention of the major domo's name. "Such things are for Mister Sulu to decide," he stalled.

"I hardly think we need trouble the lieutenant with this," Datvin said, but there was a tone in his voice that hinted to Chekov that the station manager was also trying to bypass normal channels.

"I'm not to leave this room except on Mister Sulu's instructions," he said, pressing his point.

The Kibree pointed a long warning finger at him. "Don't argue with me, offworlder. I am the station manager."

"Nevertheless," Chekov said, holding stubbornly to the crumbling ground which remained to him, "if anything is to be done to me, Mister Sulu must be informed."

"Very well." Datvin frowned as he reached for the comm unit. "But if you're simply trying to escape a beating, I think you're going to find that very difficult."

Chekov had to agree with the truth of this as he watched the helmsman's face appear on the small screen and remembered just how effective the lieutenant had proved to be against Kibrian social convention that morning. "Sulu here."

"I'm sorry to trouble you, Mister Sulu," Datvin began politely, as he pulled Chekov's chair close enough so that the ensign would also be in the picture. "However, your servant has something to tell you."

"Chekov, what's happened?"

"Nothing, really," Chekov assured him, then paused to consider an inoffensive way to state his crime. Nothing came to mind. "I… I… uh, bypassed the codes on the food dispenser."

Sulu blinked at him.

"To obtain something to drink," he explained.

"But I thought I left you with plenty to drink. Did you run out?"

"No, not exactly. However, I… I desired something else."

"Something alcoholic," Datvin added helpfully.

"He does have my permission to drink moderate amounts of alcohol," Sulu defended quickly.

"But not to bypass security codes in order to operate electronic equipment," the station manager pointed out.

Sulu looked at Chekov for a long moment. "Was there some reason why you couldn't call me? Couldn't it have waited for someone to come to the room and get it for you?"

The ensign hung his head miserably. "No, I suppose I could have waited. I simply didn't."

The lieutenant shifted his gaze to the station manager. "Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

Datvin nodded. "You will of course discipline your servant for this infringement."

Sulu frowned. "If you'll excuse me, I need a moment or two to consider," he said, reaching forward and switching off his comm unit.

The station manager put his bony hands on his hips and shook his head discontentedly. "Wrong, all wrong," he complained softly.

"Don't worry, Mister Datvin," Chekov said, bitterness creeping into his voice as he reached forward and snapped off the computer terminal. "You will get your way. Mister Sulu is merely taking a moment to consider the proper protocol."

"Exactly," the Kibree replied. "And the proper protocol is to consult me. I am the station manager. I supervise access to all technology on this station. Furthermore, this is the third time I've caught you in a violation of proper behaviour. As a courtesy he should turn to me for advice on how you are to be punished."

"If that is what he is supposed to do, then you can rest assured that he will do it."

The Kibree continued to shake his head. "He comes so close to understanding our ways, but then he continues to fail to pick up the subtle nuances."

"Isn't that expecting a great deal from an alien visitor?" Chekov asked, knowing that being polite wasn't going to save him now.

Datvin looked down his long nose at the ensign. "From the average offworlder, yes. And one can only expect a passion-driven animal like yourself to ape our behaviour for a limited time, but Mister Sulu has demonstrated great understanding of our culture."

"Then perhaps you should attempt to meet him halfway," Chekov suggested, his anger making his brain function at near its normal speed.

The Kibree raised his eyebrows at this impertinent suggestion. "What?"

"Perhaps you should demonstrate your appreciation for his culture," Chekov said. "For example, his culture finds corporal punishment uncivilized and barbaric. By recommending such a punishment for me, you force him to sanction an act he finds socially repellent."

The Kibree smiled. "So, you're still trying to wriggle out of a beating?"

"I am suggesting that you could encourage Mister Sulu's attempts to behave within your society's standards of conduct by demonstrating some sensitivity to his own beliefs," Chekov maintained, although if pressed he would have had to admit that not getting a beating would be an incredibly favourable by-product of his argument.

"Hmm." Although the manager was too sharp to be taken in by such transparent tactics, Chekov could tell that he had intrigued the Kibree. "And just what sort of punishment would the lieutenant find less repugnant?"

"Well." Chekov mentally ran down the list endorsed by the current version of the Military Code of Justice. "Confinement to quarters…"

"Somewhat redundant," Datvin commented.

"Or restriction of privileges… which would also be redundant since I have none."

The Kibree smiled. "You might be surprised at what can be considered a privilege. Go on."

"Extra duty."

"Such as another hour in the kitchens?"

"Yes." Chekov was beginning to dislike this game. "A verbal reprimand, reduction in rank…"

"Datvin," Sulu's face reappeared on the screen. "Since you are in charge of technology on this station, I would appreciate your advice on the choice of a proper… deterrent to ensure this situation doesn't reoccur."

"Mister Sulu, due to the intelligence and devotion of your servant, I am sure a verbal reprimand from you will be quite enough to ensure he doesn't repeat his mistake." The Kibree paused just long enough to watch Sulu's mouth fall open in surprise. "However, I must insist that he be punished for this violation of station rules…"

"So much for my reprieve," Chekov thought, resigning himself to a long walk to the major domo's office.

"…and I recommend that punishment take the form of his being assigned an extra hour of duty each evening after he completes his tasks for you," the Kibree continued. "Such duty would be under my personal supervision. And you would have my guarantee that during the time he is with me he would be safe from exposure to peeva or any other potentially undesirable influences."

Chekov could tell from his tone that the last was a subtle reference to his relationship with Kahsheel. That couldn't help but have a certain appeal to Sulu.

The helmsman was busy picking his jaw up off the floor. "I… uh, that sounds perfectly acceptable to me. Chekov?"

"Yes, sir?" Chekov replied, purposefully misinterpreting Sulu's attempt to consult him as a call for his attention.

"Do..?" slipped out before Sulu could catch himself. "I mean, we'll discuss this later, mister. Datvin, thank you for your assistance."

"The smooth management of this station is my job, Lieutenant," the Kibree replied graciously before closing off the comm link. He then turned to Chekov. "Well?"

"Thank you, sir," Chekov said, although he did have lingering reservations about the undisclosed nature of his duty under the station manager's personal supervision.

Datvin paused on his way out of the room. "Let us hope we can continue this harmonious coexistence."

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