"Ensign Davies! I'm so glad you could come!"

Davies smiled as her hostess broke away from a group of kiani to greet her. Kahsheel's quarters were quite sumptuous. The architecture was in the rather geometric style typical of the living quarters of the high-caste Kibree. Everything was carved, overloading the eye with detail and giving the impression that the room and its contents had been fashioned out of starched lace. The shutters were closed for the night and lamps were positioned around the room to create pools of light and shadow. Low tables held food and drink. Couches and cushions were occupied by kiani who were dressed more elaborately than usual and attended by servants in full livery.

"Please, call me Angharad," she said, feeling a little like a drab country mouse in her uniform.

"Angharad." Kahsheel rolled the name around her tongue as if tasting a fine wine. "That's beautiful. I'm afraid I'm still a little confused by Federation naming customs. You all seem to have so many spare names you never use. When I first heard Chekov introduce himself using his rank and three names, I thought he had a very long title that didn't quite translate."

Davies laughed, although the mention of Chekov did make that laugh go a bit hollow. "If I'd known it was a special occasion, I would have tried to dress up."

"It's nothing really. Just the eve of the kepir hunt." Kahsheel took her by the hand and led her over to a group of mostly female kiani sitting in a part of the room that opened onto the apartment's small enclosed garden. "It's actually got nothing to do with us. Just a bit of fun for the servants. But there's a certain atmosphere about it, don't you think?"

Davies wasn't sure what to say. The half-dozen servants in the room looked as uniformly miserable as usual. She decided to nod encouragingly.

"Dahshe, could you take care of my guest for a minute?" Kahsheel requested of a kiani with skin of a rather muddy grey colour and astonishing violet eyes. She patted Davies on the arm before abandoning her. "I've got a little surprise for you."

"We haven't formally met yet," the kiani said, gesturing for her to sit. "But since I work in data processing, I've very familiar with your work, Davies."

Davies smiled as she sat down. "I don't know if you have a very favourable impression of me, then."

"Oh, yes, of course," the kiani assured her. "Was your team able to correct the problem with the east wing's secondary processing unit this afternoon?"

"Yes." Davies nodded politely. Most of the kiani were really rotten conversationalists. All they wanted to talk about was work, work, work… and their dreadful servants. Speaking of servants… A murmur from the guests further back in the apartment drew her attention.

Kahsheel's surprise was walking three paces in front of her. He was wearing a green livery that looked like it had been made to fit him. His feet were bare and he was carrying a small tray. Encircling his wrists were bracelets made of yellow metal linked by a hand's breadth of fine chain.

"Over there." He obeyed Kahsheel's command like an automaton. "Now kneel down in front of Ensign Davies."

On the tray was a necklace made of colourful braided fabric and intricately painted wooden beads. The Kibree used their jewels as currency, not as ornamentation.

"A little something I thought you might like to have," Kahsheel said with a smile.

"I really don't know what to say," Davies said quite truthfully.

"Well, I do," one of the kiani chimed in. "I say that Sulu is going to have your head when he finds out you've taken his servant and drugged him, Kahsheel."

"First of all," Kahsheel answered loudly and clearly enough so that everyone eavesdropping could understand, "I didn't take him. I went through proper channels and borrowed him to serve at my party. And secondly, I didn't drug him. He just seems to have a little problem staying away from peeva."

Her audience tittered knowingly at this.

"However, Gebain and I will have him back and clear-headed before Sulu can pry Johnson out of the control room for the night."

Apparently the meteorologist's diligence had been noted by the kiani, for this also drew laughter from the crowd.

"Don't be shy," Kahsheel encouraged Davies as the guests went back to their individual conversations, reassured that propriety was being sufficiently observed. "Accept my gift."

Davies was strongly tempted to get up on her high horse and take Chekov out of here. If she did that, however, she'd lose any chance of getting closer to Kahsheel. Sulu had asked her to discover what she could. That seemed to leave no choice but to play along.

"It's lovely," she said, picking up the necklace.

"He certainly is," Dahshe breathed, with a perfect combination of jealousy and admiration. "Why is it that really good-looking slaves are so rare?"

"Well, to be really attractive, I think they also need to be intelligent and polite." Kahsheel took the little tray out of Chekov's hands and gently pushed on his shoulder. In response, he sat back on his heels and let his manacled hands drop limply to his thighs. His face never flickered, and his half-closed eyes remained fixed on the floor. "And our slaves are by definition supposed to be the stupidest, rudest people on the planet."

Dahshe sighed wistfully. "And this one is left-handed."

"Oh, you're so idiotic!" Kahsheel laughed as she sat down on a cushion next to Davies. "Dahshe is one of thousands of insane women on this planet who still believe the myth that left-handed males are more sensual lovers."

"It's true!" the other kiani protested. "They're also usually a great deal more intelligent than right-handed slaves."

"And they're ridiculously expensive because you all believe that."

Davies smiled as she sat there and thought, What a pair of bloody bitches! What was hard to believe was that among the grounds for depriving someone of their liberty was simple left-handedness. She was sure she'd seen someone else eating left-handed only that day. Yes, she had. Johnson. Maybe he should pretend to be right-handed for a little while, just to be on the safe side.

Kahsheel prodded Chekov lightly with her foot. "Go and fetch some wine for Mistress Davies."

"Yes, ma'am."

He had been so quiet up to this point that it was a bit of a surprise to hear him speak again. Davies watched as he silently moved away. The room was beginning to fill up as other kiani and their servants arrived. Although Chekov made his way unassumingly through the crowd doing nothing to draw attention to himself, heads turned as he passed. There were approving murmurs from the largely female audience.

"I wish I had your daring, Kahsheel," Dahshe sighed, enjoying the view. "I would never risk a dalliance with a servant of a master as jealous as the lieutenant."

"That one inspires daring," the kiani answered, then turned to Davies. "Doesn't he, Angharad?"

"Oh, yes," Davies responded, while thinking, I hope to high heaven he's not going to remember any of this. He'll never forgive me.

I will never, ever, ever forgive Davies for this, Chekov thought, savouring the fact that in Russian you could pile on the negatives without ending up back where you started. He filled a wine glass for her, knowing that he was going to remember this humiliation until his dying day. It was much easier to be angry with the ensign than with Kahsheel — although being angry with Kahsheel was becoming a little easier with each passing moment. He'd almost lost it when she put the ornamental handcuffs on him. After keeping his act up through that and his grand entrance, he was now determined to see this thing through to the bitter end no matter what that entailed. Passive, he reminded himself as he headed back towards Davies. Completely passive and unaffected by anything.

"…As soon as we get the results of the final set of plenum flow equations," Dahshe was saying as he came back within range.

"Thank you," Davies said, accepting the glass from him. There was an awkward pause as she wondered what to do next.

"Have him sit down next to you," Kahsheel prompted in a whisper.

"Oh, no." Davies could feel herself blushing. "I mean, I wouldn't dream of monopolising him, after you went to all that effort to get him here."

"Please, you are my very special guest tonight. Indulge yourself," Kahsheel said graciously, but there was an undercurrent that indicated she was on the verge of calling Davies' bluff. "I insist."

"Well, if it's all right then." Davies put on a bright smile as she patted the firm upholstered surface next to her. "Sit down, Chekov."

He mechanically took a place a good two or three inches away from her. His expression never changed and his eyes didn't lift from the floor. Despite the envious looks Davies was getting from all over the room, she found the experience about as erotic as sitting next door to a tailor's dummy.

"Speaking of guests, I must be attending to mine," Kahsheel said, rising. "If you wouldn't mind taking care of him for a while, I would be most grateful. He does seem to have this knack of getting into trouble even in the most innocuous situations."

That much Davies had to admit was true. "I'd love to," she said agreeably. On impulse, she reached over and patted Chekov's leg for effect. "He'll be safe with me."

"Oh, we'll see about that." Kahsheel laughed as she turned away.

Davies looked over at Chekov in time to catch his eyes settling on her hand as it rested on his thigh. She thought she saw his mouth tighten slightly, but as soon as she saw it, the trace of expression was gone. His unfocused eyes aimed themselves at a neutral spot on the floor. Poor guy, she thought, as she removed her hand as casually as possible. Probably just reacting to an unexpected stimulus.

"So, Davies," Dnalt, a broad-chested, pale orange kiani engineer said as he approached her. "What sort of work schedule do you follow on your starship?"

A few more kiani drifted by and joined Dnalt in asking her questions about what it was like to work on the Enterprise. Others were more like Dahshe, who was content to drink heavily and ogle Chekov. He seemed unaffected by the attention, though once, when Davies turned to check on him, he did seem slightly flushed. Probably some reaction to the drug, she decided.

At that point, Chekov was watching Kahsheel's feet. Occasionally they wandered into his circle of vision as the kiani mingled with her guests — bare, brown elegant feet. They moved like sparrows among the tropical brilliance of the assembled kiani footwear. He wanted to rub those feet, to kiss the arched insteps, to… He took a mental grip on himself. Later. When this misunderstanding was sorted out. If it ever could be.

A servant lowered a tray of shellfish into the parameters of his vision. Each open oyster-like shell contained a perfect replica of its original inhabitant, fabricated in carved fruit. The perfect edible pearls caught his eye, so like kalinki, snow-berries… He didn't realise he'd lifted his hand to take one until the wrist it was chained to rose in response. He dropped them back down to his lap hastily.

"Do you want one, Chekov?"

There was a tone of almost motherly concern in Davies' voice. She helped herself to a piece of fruit and the servant hovered patiently.

Chekov thought of a rather rude suggestion for what she could do with her motherly concern. "No… ma'am."

Davies wondered if he knew something she didn't about the chef who'd painstakingly created these. On second thought, though, she decided that Chekov was plainly too far gone to care if the whole batch was alive with anthrax. As she nibbled the heavenly morsel, she noted that Kahsheel's eyes were on her. The kiani's gaze carried an intensity that said she'd better start living up to her supposed interest in Chekov unless she wanted to raise Kahsheel's suspicions.

"Perhaps you want something to drink?"

"No, ma'am."

"Oh, come now. I saw you reach for that. I know you must want something… Or are you just sulking because Kahsheel's lent you to me?" Davies raised her voice enough to let Kahsheel know she was entering into the spirit of things. "Well, I won't put up with any bad temper from you, Chekov. So unless you want me to punish you, tell me what you want."

The nearby kiani snickered in appreciation of her performance.

What Chekov wanted at that moment was to punch Davies in the mouth.

Davies knew it must be her imagination, but the silence between them seemed to be getting a little thick. Chekov was definitely still a zombie, but suddenly he was starting to seem like a zombie who was very pissed off at her.

"You're going to have to make it simpler for him, Davies," Dahshe advised, coming unexpectedly and unwittingly to Chekov's rescue. "They have trouble formulating answers on their own when they're like that. You've either got to ask him a question that has a yes or no answer, or give him a command."

"Oh, I see. All right then… Chekov, go and get yourself something to drink." She patted his arm and gave him a little shove to get him going. "That's right, off you go. Hurry back and don't get into any mischief. I'll be watching you."

Dahshe laughed as he obeyed her. "You Federation people object so much to our owning servants, but you all do seem to take to it rather quickly."

"Well, when in Rome…" Davies suddenly realised the kiani would have no idea what she was alluding to. "That's to say, we have a saying on Earth that recommends travellers conform to local customs… In this context it would go something like, when on Kibria, do as the Kibree do."

"Very sensible," Dahshe agreed as Chekov returned with a squat tumbler of milky white liquid.

The substance didn't look very appetising, but Davies made a mental note to drink it herself from now on. It was probably the most wholesome thing available.

As Chekov moved to sit down, the normally exceptionally graceful Kahsheel stumbled into him.

"Oh, look. I've made you spill it." The kiani took Chekov by the shoulders, turned him around and carefully aimed him towards her bedroom. "Go wash your hands right now before they get all sticky. Angharad, I'm so sorry."

"It's nothing," Davies said, wiping a few drops off her knees as Chekov disappeared into the crowd.

"No, no. I've made a terrible mess here." She turned and motioned to a nearby servant. "You, come and clean this up! Angharad, darling, look. He spilt some on your shoe."

"It's really nothing."

"No, dear." Kahsheel took her by the arm and politely but firmly pulled her up. "It's dreadful. Come to my bedroom. I'll find you some slippers."

"If you insist." Davies let the kiani gently drag her through the crowd and into her bed chamber.

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

As they entered, Chekov was just emerging from the bathroom — looking like someone who knew his way around the place. He immediately averted his gaze from the two women and stood still. Kahsheel was fortunately too busy with her guest to notice his lapse and Davies was too distracted to attach the proper significance to it.

"Chekov, fetch a bowl of water and a towel," Kahsheel ordered. "Angharad, sit down on the bed and make yourself comfortable while I try to find something for you to wear."

This, Chekov knew as he filled a bowl with warm water, was the point at which things could start to get really embarrassing. Kahsheel had retrieved a pair of laced sandals from her closet and was now waiting for him. "Come over here and take Angharad's shoes off for her."

Please, do not make me do what I think you're going to make me do, he pleaded silently as he knelt and slipped Davies' boots off.

"And it's all over your stockings too."

"Oh, I'll get that myself," Davies said, hastily removing the black net hose before the kiani ordered assistance for her.

Please don't make me, please don't make me, he begged the kiani mentally, right before the order came. "Now, Chekov, wash Ensign Davies' feet — just like you do mine."

He took Davies' plump white little foot into his hand, automatically comparing it with Kahsheel's longer, elegant ones. Things were rapidly coming to a point where it was very difficult to remain impassive and unaffected, for although he'd never really thought much about feet before, since coming to Kibria they seemed to have insinuated themselves into his sexual repertoire. Handling another woman's feet in front of his current lover and the only woman who knew about his new-found fascination with that part of the female anatomy was — to say the least — very unsettling. He kept his eyes glued on his work as he dipped first one foot then the other into the warm water and then towelled them dry.

"You aren't finished yet." Kahsheel's voice stopped him — as he prayed it wouldn't — when he started to move the bowl away. "Go on."

Chekov could feel a red-hot blush burn its way across his cheeks. Surely — oh, please, merciful heavens! — she wasn't going to make him do this.

Kahsheel sighed impatiently. "I've never seen a slave who could be so stubborn even with a head full of peeva. Go on, now. I know you know what to do next. It's the best part."

So this was it. He could throw away the chance to find out what Kahsheel was doing, and to stay in her good books, or he could kiss Ensign Davies' feet. He wished he could break off his act long enough just to turn around and look at Kahsheel. If she could just see in his eyes how humiliated and betrayed this was making him feel, he was sure she'd countermand her order. Unfortunately, drug-deadened servants wouldn't ever turn around and give their owners questioning looks. Drug-deadened servants wouldn't feel humiliated or betrayed in the first place, for that matter.

Starting at the ankles and working his way down, he gave every inch of Davies' feet the devoted, sensuous attention he'd applied to the same task after lunch with Kahsheel. Unlike the kiani's feet they were slightly cool. Obviously Kibrian circulation was more efficient than the human variety. They were also slightly calloused. He imagined that Davies must walk around in her bare feet fairly often, maybe in her cabin. He bestowed one last, lingering osculation on the tip of the smallest left toe and then sat back on his heels, folded his hands in his lap and lowered his head.

"Oh, my," Davies breathed, flexing her insteps, her eyes still closed in pure pleasure. "I had no idea he could do anything like that."

"He can do all sorts of things that might surprise you," Kahsheel promised, fondly stroking his hair as one might pet a cat. "I could leave the two of you alone… if you'd care to experiment a little?"

"Kahsheel," Davies asked seriously, "are you sure that would really be all right with you?"

"Yes," the kiani insisted, but for a split second, Davies thought her smile turned a little sad. "You are my guest. Indulge yourself."

"Well, if it's all right with you…" Davies found it wasn't hard to giggle convincingly. "I must admit that my… um, curiosity is quite piqued right now."

"Good." Kahsheel smiled as she pulled Chekov up by the arm. "Just let me have a word with him before I go. I'd hate for him to take another one of his stubborn fits."

"Oh, sure." Davies' smile wasn't but about one quarter faked. Her feet felt like the gravity had just cut out. "Go ahead. You've much more influence over him than I ever had."

"Now, I'm going to leave you with Angharad, darling." Kahsheel led him over to her dressing table. A carafe of wine was still there from the meal she'd served to him earlier. She picked up a glass and wrapped his hands around it. "And I want you to do exactly what she tells you to do. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," he replied keeping his eyes on the glass as she filled it with wine.

"In order to please me, you've got to please her." In a movement so quick and smooth that he wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't been looking directly at her hands, Kahsheel squeezed a ring on her finger and a few drops of liquid dripped rapidly into the wine. "Do you understand?"

The next required "Yes, ma'am," came out a little choked despite his best efforts.

He managed to keep his eyes from focusing on her face when she lifted his chin. "Don't be difficult," she said softly, then gave him a kiss on the lips that was achingly sweet. "For my sake, don't be difficult."

She turned him around and propelled him gently towards the bed.

"Oh, come on now, Chekov." Davies laughed as he took a few wooden steps in her direction. The wine, the massage, the tension and the prospect of Kahsheel's imminent departure that would allow Angharad to drop this awful act for a few moments were all combining to make her feel quite giddy. "It's not going to be that bad."

Kahsheel picked a small key up and tossed it to Davies. "You might need this. It's for the chain."

Davies caught it with a wicked wink. "Oh, we'll see."

When the door closed behind Kahsheel, Chekov looked at her for the first time. Although dilated and bloodshot, his eyes blazed with an unexpected abundance of awareness and emotion.

"Ensign Davies," he said in Standard, his voice thickly laced with contempt, "how could you?"

The effect on Davies was the same as if a wax doll had suddenly turned around and spoken to her.

"Jesus Christ!" she exclaimed, putting a hand over her heart which had skipped a few beats then thudded into high gear. She took a deep breath in and tried to regain control. "So you're all right then?"

"Do I look as though I am all right?" he demanded as he angrily stalked over to the dressing table and set down the glass of wine.

"I mean, I really had no idea you were just acting the whole time." The gears in Davies' brain were refusing to adjust to this sudden change. She'd been looking forward to a few moments effectively alone to collect herself. Nothing this evening had prepared her to be facing a very sober and very angry Pavel Chekov. "God, this is awfully embarrassing."

He stepped forward and curtly plucked the key from her fingers. "Do not talk to me about embarrassment, Miss Davies," he requested coldly, inserting it into the lock on his left hand's bracelet.

"Wait!" she said, reaching up to stop him. "I think someone…"

The door began to creak open, leaving her no time to explain. Davies promptly knocked her erstwhile slave boy flat on his back. She fastened a silencing kiss on his lips and began to fumble with the fastenings on his shirt.

"Sorry!" someone hissed. "Wrong door."

She held him there a few seconds after the door clicked shut again.

"Whew!" she sighed, avoiding the look of cold fury in his eyes as she rolled off him. "I think I'm going to need that drink

"No." Chekov sat up, facing away from her. "It is drugged."

"Kahsheel's trying to drug me?"

Still avoiding her eyes, he nodded stiffly.

"Why?"

"I do not know yet. That is what I have been trying to find out all evening… while you were enjoying yourself 'playing mistress'."

Despite the fact of her innocence, Davies cheeks were flaming. "This was just a cover so I could get closer to Kahsheel."

There was a loud scratch at the door and she hastily pulled him into another clinch. It turned out to be a false alarm though. Perhaps a servant's tray scraping along the wood as she/he squeezed past talking guests.

The look on Chekov's face was far from credulous when she pulled away. "Just a cover, Miss Davies?"

"No, Chekov, you're right," she replied sarcastically. "I'm lying. I'm not under direct orders from Lieutenant Sulu to investigate Kahsheel's unusual behaviour that has become very, very suspicious tonight. I want to be doing this. I've secretly wanted to tie you up and ravish you ever since I first met you. There. Are you happy now

"No." Chekov sighed heavily and looked down at the little chain still joining his wrists. "I am not at all happy right now

"Although…" Davies sat up and stretched her still tingling toes. Her eyes went on standby as she contemplated the middle distance and wondered whether Sulu could ever make her feet feel quite as wonderful as they did now. "…if I'd known you could kiss like that…"

"What is the next step?" Chekov asked himself aloud, looking around the room.

"No, Chekov, it's my turn now." Davies crossed to the table, picked up the wine glass and poured four-fifths of its contents into a nearby potted plant. "You've done your bit for king and country for the night. I take over from here."

"No, I…"

"You don't have much more time to play spy. Someone's going to be here to pick you up soon. And if you do anything out of the ordinary, you'll blow my cover too." She could see that he couldn't argue with this — much as he would have liked to. She sniffed at the near empty glass. "This was peeva, right? How quickly does it work?"

"Almost instantly."

"Right. We'll need to create a convincing media res to be discovered in… Come here and let me muss you up a bit…" Davies was stripping her uniform off in a disconcertingly businesslike manner, but left her underwear in place as she dragged him into an embrace, ripped the front of his shirt open and ran her fingers through his hair. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself, only to have them promptly removed. "Watch it, mister. This is strictly in the line of duty. I don't expect you to take advantage unless I tell you to… slave."

"I do not find this at all amusing," he warned her.

"I know." Davies couldn't help giggling a little as she pulled him onto the bed with her. "I think that's what makes it so funny. All right. I don't imagine we'll have too long to wait. While I practice blank stares, I want you to work on giving me small kisses around the area of my shoulder — that don't tickle."

"All right," Chekov agreed, knowing that he'd never be able to look her in the face at an interdepartmental briefing again. Perhaps if he were very lucky, she'd request an immediate transfer as soon as they got back on the Enterprise…

"Oh, yes." Davies sighed as her eyes rolled up. "That's it. More on the neck would be fine. Yes, very softly. That's it. That's… just… lovely…"

"Miss Davies…" Chekov protested, struggling to rise to his elbows.

"Shut up, Ensign," Davies ordered, pushing his head back down to his assigned task. "I assure you this is strictly in the line of duty. I'm not… mmm… enjoying it… ooo… at all."

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

"Something very strange is going on," Chekov said as soon as he stepped through the door to Sulu's quarters, pre-empting the carefully composed complaint the lieutenant had prepared for this moment. Gebain nodded crisply to the lieutenant and hurried away. Chekov waited until he was out of earshot before saying, "Kahsheel attempted to drug me again… and Ensign Davies also."

A look of extreme concern crossed the lieutenant's face. "Where is Davies?"

"Still with Kahsheel. When Gebain came for me, she was pretending to be asleep under the influence of peeva. I don't think Kahsheel intends her any real harm," he said with much less conviction than he would have a few hours earlier.

"What does she intend?"

Chekov shook his head sadly. "I simply do not know. It seems she was using me to gain access to Davies."

Sulu frowned. "Using you?"

"Yes .As I assume you know Davies was pretending to be… interested in me…" Chekov faltered, not anxious to dwell on the situation. "Kahsheel arranged for us to… uh… While I was pretending to be under the influence of the drug, she… uh…"

"You had sex with Angharad?" Sulu demanded incredulously.

"No, I…" Chekov paused. It suddenly registered that there was something more in Sulu's tone than simple concern for a fellow officer. "…Angharad?"

Sulu cleared his throat. "I mean, Ensign Davies. That's her name, you know."

"Yes, I know." Chekov reflected that there had also seemed to be something beyond the merely dutiful in the way Davies had insisted she was only obeying Sulu's orders. "I didn't think you did though."

"Yes, I know her name," Sulu admitted. "So?"

Chekov smiled maddeningly. "It is a lovely name."

A faint pink spot began to appear on each of Sulu's cheeks. "Yeah, Angharad is a very nice name."

"I believe it's… well, it's not a Russian name…"

"Celtic," the lieutenant informed him shortly. "It's from Celtic mythology. Angharad was a type of goddess… or so I heard."

"A Celtic goddess, hmmm…" Chekov continued to nod and smile. "I didn't think you approved of domineering women."

"She's not… You think she's domineering?"

"Well, it might just have been the situation, but she can be quite aggressive…"

"What did you…" Sulu stopped himself, realising that he was being teased. "Come on, let's go."

"Where? To Kahsheel's party?"

"I'm going to drop by. It seems like we've suddenly developed an emergency in the control room that only Ensign Davies can deal with."

Chekov nodded. It sounded like a good enough cover story, and despite his feelings for Kahsheel, it seemed quite probable that Davies was in danger. "I don't think I should be seen there again."

"You won't be. You're due in Datvin's quarters."

"Oh, no. I completely forgot."

"Well, I'm sure he hasn't. And I want you to understand this, mister. We can't handle any more trouble with the Kibree. So for the next hour you are going to obey his orders absolutely. The only possible exception is if he requires you to do something harmful to you. If that happens you may remind him — very politely — that I should be consulted under such circumstances. Apart from that, I don't want you a hair's breadth out of line. Is that clear?"

Chekov sighed. He didn't think he had the energy for any more trouble tonight. "Yes, Mister Sulu. Very clear."

Sulu started to open the door, then turned. "Which reminds me, I owe you a reprimand for bypassing the lock on the food processor, don't I?"

Out of force of habit, Chekov lowered his eyes to the floor like a dutiful Kibrian servant. "Yes, sir."

"Well, we'll discuss that later." Sulu folded his arms. "After I've had a complete report on exactly what you did tonight with Ensign Davies."

Chekov grinned, recognising the telltale exaggeration in Sulu's tone. "Then I am doomed."

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

Chekov stood quietly in the Station Manager's office with his hands folded behind his back. He restlessly traced the imprint of Sulu's name on his right hand with his thumb as he looked around Datvin's office, wondering what the manager was going to tell him to do. From what he could see without raising his eyes too far above ground level, it was already immaculate.

After what was beginning to seem like an eternity, the scratch-scratch of whatever writing implement the manager was using ceased.

"Feel free to look around, alien," Datvin invited him. "This should serve as a model for how your owner's room should look, and your room also — which I might add, seems to be going unoccupied for long periods of time despite the trouble and effort put forth to keep it for your use." Chekov barely had time to open his mouth before the manager continued. "However, I am not interested in any explanations from you at this time."

The ensign carefully closed his mouth and examined the very clean floor in front of his feet.

Datvin got up from his desk and paced a slow, wide circle around him. "I had intended to spend this time with you trying to improve your ability to serve Mister Sulu in a satisfactory manner… However, certain matters have arisen that make it imperative that you and I have a very serious conversation instead."

Chekov could already tell that what was coming next was going to be unpleasant. He steeled himself to keep Sulu's parting instructions fresh in his mind. Whatever Datvin was going to say was going to be fine by him. He was going to get a grip on this situation, swallow his infernal temper and…

"You haven't been enjoying this experience very much, have you?"

That was easily the understatement of the year.

"No, sir."

The manager's circling carried him behind the ensign and temporarily out of sight. "I wonder if you have any idea how much worse it could get over the next three days."

Chekov correctly judged this to be a rhetorical question and remained silent.

"It is possible that you could even die within the next three days."

This suggestion was so chilling and unexpected that Chekov forgot himself and looked up to stare directly at the Kibree in surprise.

"Mister Sulu doesn't seem able to do very much to keep you out of potentially very dangerous situations," Datvin continued impassively.

"He hasn't been permitted to…"

"And you haven't been given permission to speak," the manager interrupted sharply, "or to look me in the eye as if you were my equal."

"I'm sorry, sir," Chekov choked out, squashing his temper down into a small nub of bubbling rage somewhere safely out of sight. Datvin seemed to have taken the upper hand again. He'd apparently dropped all pretence of mutual interest from their previous discussion. Chekov was beginning to feel helpless again, and feeling helpless was the last thing he needed tonight.

"That is something you must learn. We simply do not allow servants free range of their tongues. In a few moments, you will see a demonstration of what we do to discourage those who persist in speaking out of turn." The manager let this hang in the air for a few slow beats before he continued. "There, you see you can be quiet — if you try. As I was saying, your time on Kibria thus far has been fairly unpleasant. There are two possibilities for your future. First, things could get worse — possibly much worse — for you. On the other hand, you could find the rest of your time here relatively pleasant."

Chekov silently reflected that the second alternative seemed about as likely as the possibility that Datvin might sprout wings and turn into the tooth fairy.

"For instance, I could find you work to do outside the kitchen, instruct Gebain to be more tolerant of you, even manufacture reasons for you to be more available to Kahsheel, or less, depending on your preference."

Chekov held his breath and waited for the other shoe to fall. Judging from that list of highly desirable perks, he was about to be asked to do something awfully impossible, impossibly awful, or both.

"In return for arranging this more… pleasant scenario, I'm not really asking much — a mere technical breach of your non-interference directive. It would be an isolated occurrence with no far-reaching technical or social implications. In fact, you wouldn't have to hand over any information as such."

There was a lengthy silence.

"May I speak, sir?"

"Yes."

"My orders specifically forbid me to breach the directive."

"I'm aware of that. But consider the alternative. And I, certainly, would have no reason to inform anyone that you had committed any such — indiscretion." He paused again to allow the ensign to think. A door into the office opened and shut. Chekov was fairly sure that someone else had entered, but they remained silent and outside his restricted circle of vision.

Chekov felt his throat going a little dry as he reflected on what a vulnerable position he was in at that moment. "Sir, I cannot even consider doing what you ask. I respectfully request we discontinue this discussion."

"Your request is denied. We will continue this discussion until I decide it is over."

From the sounds Chekov couldn't tell if perhaps more than one Kibree had entered. "If you intend to threaten me, or harm me in any way…"

"…Then Lieutenant Sulu will object strongly," Datvin finished calmly. "And I, in turn, will accuse you of making malicious allegations. Let me assure you, I have no intention of breaching Kibrian law. I have an unimpeachable reputation and considerable political influence. I will be believed and your owner will be forced to withdraw his complaints. Be realistic. Sulu has been quite ineffective at protecting you. He has always backed down, and will most probably continue to back down. I'd go so far as to say he's learned his lesson and might not even complain in the first place."

This was close enough to the truth to make Chekov's stomach begin to churn.

"I do appreciate and respect the importance you attach to the non-interference directive. It's really a question of whether you place a higher value on your own life."

Chekov swallowed. He knew the correct answer to that question — in theory. He'd also spent the last eighteen months working for a man who seemed to take a — flexible approach to answering it in practice. On reflection, though, it occurred to the ensign that despite all his flexibility, Kirk had never bent the directive to save his own skin.

"I'm sorry, sir." Chekov turned to face Datvin, adding physical defiance to his moral stand. "I cannot help you."

The unknown entrant to the room turned out to be the station's Medical Officer, who stood in the shadows with his arms crossed. He glanced from Chekov to the Manager. "This is a sub-optimal approach."

"We'll see." Datvin set his pointed jaw firmly. "There's still plenty of time." He took two steps forward, forcing the ensign to look up to meet his eyes because of the difference in their heights. "Alien, you may be interested to know that I am having your room searched. I believe you have been involved in the theft of station property. We're looking for evidence to confirm this."

An image of the jewels he'd received in the kitchen for his part in selling the little birds that morning immediately popped into Chekov's mind. He hoped no sign of this was visible on his face, which was being intently scrutinised by the station manager.

"The penalty for such theft, which I believe to have been more than petty pilfering, is amputation of the right hand," the Kibree informed him coolly. "Would you now like to reconsider your position?"

The doctor shook his head. "If a hand were amputated, Federation scientists possess the technology to grow a new one for him."

"That assumes he will survive the amputation and avoid contracting blood poisoning before his ship arrives," Datvin countered.

The jewels Chekov had accepted from the hunchback had been stored with his and Sulu's legitimate fund of currency. The whole cache was in the lieutenant's room, so… Unless the jewels were marked in some way. It suddenly occurred to the ensign that, rather than protecting himself, he might have implicated Sulu. He forced himself to keep his face blank.

Datvin stepped back and with a clap of his hands summoned two servants into the room. They were both very large, muscular Kibree who looked more suited to manual labour than domestic service.

"Under your own laws," Chekov said, clinging to the interpretation Sulu had espoused earlier like a lifeboat as the two giants moved to flank him, "if I am damaged in any way, you are legally liable to…"

"Again, you force me to remind you that you are speaking without permission, " Datvin interrupted. "If you remember, I told you earlier that I was going to show you what happened to slaves who couldn't seem to learn how to refrain from speaking out of turn. Since you have shown yourself to be incapable of such self-discipline, the demonstration will be carried out on your person. Hold him."

Each of Datvin's burly servants grabbed an arm and bore Chekov down to the tiled floor. One of them was enough to hold him down, kneeling on his chest and pinning his shoulders, while the other accepted something from Datvin and knelt down behind his head.

"Open your mouth." The station manager gave the order as if he was telling him to do something as mundane as opening a door.

Chekov shook his head furiously, squirming under the rib-crushing pressure of the Kibree's weight.

"Please, do as you are told." After waiting a moment to see the order had no effect, Datvin nodded to the first slave, who dug his knee sharply into Chekov's diaphragm. The automatic gasp of breath the ensign took in response was enough to let the second slave insert a thumb each side of his mouth, forcing his jaw open. The thumbs were followed by something else, something with rough, uncomfortable edges that strained the hinges of his jaws to breaking point.

"This," Datvin pointed out calmly, "is merely a form of restraint to prevent you from biting anyone during the procedure that follows. I imagine that you've guessed what happens next."

Chekov could only make the most inarticulate of complaints but he put as much energy into them as he could.

"Doctor?"

The Medical Officer came into view. In his hands was a tool that was unmistakably designed for the purpose of removing tongues. It had scissor handles, but one blade was replaced by a slightly curved piece of metal, about three centimetres long. Another blade sat perpendicular to this one meeting it exactly. The handles were at a right angle to the plane of this arrangement, presumably for ease of insertion into and manipulation within the amputee's mouth. Chekov didn't think he'd ever seen anything so horrible quite this close. The slightly embarrassed expression on the doctor's face did nothing to quell his mounting terror.

"Hold perfectly still," the doctor said, as he applied the tool.

Chekov let out a formless scream. The metal bit into the soft tissue of his tongue as he tried to pull away. The doctor withdrew the instrument again, and Datvin came to kneel down beside his victim. "Next time, he will do it properly."

Chekov's mouth was filling up with blood, in what seemed like a uncontrollable torrent. However, his tongue was still where it should be. He gurgled something, and Datvin signalled the slaves to let him up.

"He's been cut," the doctor pronounced, somewhat redundantly in Chekov's opinion.

"Fetch a bowl," Datvin ordered one of the servants. "It was not your fault, Doctor. He was told not to struggle."

Chekov thought this was rather a strange way of looking at things as he pulled himself up to sit on the floor, nearly gagging on blood.

"If you make a complaint about this to your master, I will proceed with the accusation of theft. Do you understand?"

Chekov nodded and a large porcelain bowl was deposited on the floor in front of him. He spat a mouthful of blood into it. More blood flowed to take its place. The medical officer seemed a little worried about the volume and colour of what was in the bowl.

"Let me have a look. A major vessel may have been cut." He knelt down for a second time at Chekov's side. His face was such a caricature of medical concern that Chekov wanted to scream at him. Instead he spit out another mouthful of blood. He decided pragmatically that there was nothing to be gained by bleeding to death, unless he could do it in front of Sulu. He opened his mouth again, but not very far. The strained joints sent stabbing protests at the movement.

"No. Just a very good supply to the capillaries. Here…" The doctor took a glob of something out of a tiny container and handed it to him. "Swallow this — very carefully."

Chekov emptied his mouth and did as he was asked. The substance went down easily but had a salty coating that burned the raw cut in his mouth like acid.

"The huymich is not meant to help you," Datvin explained as the ensign frantically tried to rid himself of the burning. "It will serve as our explanation of the laceration on your tongue. As you may have learned in the kitchens, huymich must be carefully de-spined. The contents of your digestive tract will now bear witness that you came across one that was carelessly prepared, resulting, unfortunately, in a bad cut."

"The bleeding should stop within the hour," the Medical Officer advised the Station Manager as he rose. "If it doesn't, or he shows any signs of going into shock, call me immediately."

"Thank you." Datvin dismissed him. As the doctor exited, the Kibree turned his eyes back on Chekov. "I will give you the rest of this hour to contemplate your obstinacy. As you can see, I am quite serious and prepared to make things very uncomfortable for you. All you have to do to stop this is to give me the assistance I require."

Chekov's only answer was to spit more blood into the bowl.

"Very well." Datvin dismissed his servants and crossed back behind his desk.

He didn't speak to the ensign again for almost a half-hour. The Station Manager continued his affairs as if having an ashen-faced Star Fleet officer periodically spitting blood into a bowl on the floor of his immaculate office was normal procedure.

The only interruption was from the comm unit. Although Chekov could hear only Datvin's half of the conversation, it was obvious that the exchange was accompanied by ill-feeling on both sides.

"Yes, if I must… Director. How can I help you? I'm surprised that you can bring yourself to make such a suggestion… well, that's your problem… It must surely be obvious to you that I have my hands full trying to prevent a complete collapse on the domestic front… I do not exaggerate, madam. He may be persuaded, but I doubt if he can be bought. This is laughable… I couldn't recommend Ffafner to construct a garden privy, let alone a system for maintaining the hygiene of an entire atmosphere… Nonetheless, madam… Very well. Of course, you can rely on my discretion. I do realise that our interests are, in this regard at least, parallel."

Finally there was a knock on the door and a low-caste clerk entered. "Pardon, Manager, but you're needed in the east wing."

"Very well." Datvin fastidiously put his desk in order then rose. He crossed to Chekov. "You will remain here. If your hour expires before I return, someone will escort you back to your quarters. Do you understand?"

The ensign nodded.

"Aren't you able to speak yet?"

Not to you, you bastard, Chekov thought very loudly as he shook his head.

The Station Manager took in a deep breath and frowned. "I hope you see reason before you force me to do something we may both regret."

Chekov spat more blood into the bowl.

"Very well." The sound of the manager's steps echoed up to the doorway then gradually faded after the sound of the closing door.

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

Chekov made a mental tally of his position. Thus far today he'd been publicly beaten, betrayed by the woman he loved, an attempt had possibly been made on his life, his tongue had almost been surgically removed and he was being blackmailed into breaking the Prime Directive by an important official of the Kibrian government. He was beginning to feel nostalgic for better times, like yesterday, when everyone was merely trying to humiliate or drug him.

He wondered if the events weren't somehow connected. Perhaps Datvin was also the one at the bottom of the incident in the orchard and Kahsheel's attempt to drug Ensign Davies. He remembered that the engineer had also said something about wanting information on 'alien technology'. What could they possibly be so desperate for?

Chekov noted that the flow of blood seemed to be tapering off a little as he spat out the next mouthful.

Maybe he'd been hasty in his refusal. He should at least have tried to find out what Datvin was after. Perhaps it was information they could give away. As Sulu had said, once you started dealing with a culture, the absolutes of the Directive dissolved into a series of compromises. Perhaps what Datvin needed would be permissible, a mere bending of the rules…

Chekov heard soft footfalls and breathing close at hand. He didn't look up, and after a moment the intruder squatted down in front of him.

"Brother Chekov?"

It was the magician from the stillroom. Chekov blinked at him. He'd convinced himself that this character was only a peeva hallucination, but here he was, looking very real… Looking like Datvin's most likely source of information on the stolen birds.

"What do you want?" he asked bitterly, and somewhat incomprehensibly. Even though it was still attached, his tongue, and every other part of his mouth, was bruised. Speaking hurt.

"Nothing that you can give me," the Kibree replied enigmatically. He moved the bowl out of the way and Chekov suddenly realised that the bleeding had stopped. "You're worried about what Datvin wants."

Chekov nodded, putting his hand on his aching jaw. "A little."

"He has a son who is just a year old, and suffers from a rare brain tumour. It is inoperable — using Kibrian medical procedures, at least — but it will shrink as the child grows. Eventually it will vanish. In the meantime, though, it causes the child distress and difficulty."

The fact that the pain in his mouth was finally beginning to ease didn't make Chekov feel any more kindly towards Datvin or his informant. "Do you expect me to be sympathetic?"

"In two years time, the child will undergo the Kibrian caste assessment, the Vaytha. He will fail."

Chekov shrugged. "Then perhaps Datvin will be more sympathetic to…"

"Would you condemn a child in order to make its father more sensitive to the sufferings of others?"

"Well, no, of course not…" Chekov felt a resurgence of the uncomfortable guilt he'd experienced last time in this Kibree's presence.

"No, of course not," the conjuror echoed. "Then may I ask what you intend to do about it?"

Chekov shook his head. "I can't…"

"You can. You have medical technology with you, as you allowed the Medical Officer to see, which you could adapt to produce an instrument which he in turn could use to excise the tumour. Is that not so?"

"It is possible, but - our Non-Interference Directive forbids us…"

"I applaud the humility of this Prime Directive of yours, but I disdain its cowardice. To do nothing in fear that you might do harm — would it not be better to do that which will do good?"

Chekov gritted his teeth and summoned up the well-rehearsed arguments. "Situations are usually more complex than they appear. It is not always obvious what is good and what is bad."

"It seems very obvious to me what is good. It is good that this child should be healthy now and happy in the future."

"When it will be his turn to exploit and abuse his fellow Kibree?"

"That is for him to decide." The Kibree rose to his feet. "I put you here to do certain things for me. Don't disappoint me."

He seemed to be about to leave. Chekov caught hold of his robe to detain him. "You put me here? You mean that you trapped me in an incriminating situation, then informed Datvin about the stolen birds so that I..?"

"No. You told Datvin about the birds. He guessed that you were involved, from what the kitchen staff told him. And he saw the confirmation of it in your face."

"I'm not guilty of anything."

"What a very sweeping statement. I'm afraid I find it hard to believe." He paused. "You know, you will break this Directive tomorrow, one way or another."

He bowed graciously to the ensign. As he opened the door, and closed it behind him, it occurred to Chekov that he hadn't heard the magician enter in the first place. He dismissed the thought. He'd been in no fit state to notice anything. He reached for the bowl to spit out one last mouthful of blood-tinged saliva and stopped, frozen. The bowl contained nothing but water.

acdb

"What success?" Driant asked as he entered Kahsheel's bedchamber.

The kiani was sitting in front of her mirror slowly removing her braided jewellery. "None."

"Well…" Her companion sighed and folded his arms. "We still have time…"

"No," Kahsheel said to her unsmiling reflection. "I have no more time. I have come to an end of my usefulness for this cause."

Driant crossed to her, concerned. "What are you saying, Kahsheel?"

"Davies was resistant to my mind control techniques. Worse than that, I found that she was faking being under the influence of the drug."

"And you believe she heard…?"

"She heard enough to raise her suspicions… enough to cause her to ask certain questions of…" Kahsheel found she couldn't bear to say Chekov's name. "…him. If they question him knowing what to ask, he will remember enough to destroy us. I suppose you plan to kill him?"

Driant didn't confirm or deny. "I hope you haven't gotten attached to the alien, Kahsheel."

"Don't drag it down to that level," she admonished him. "I should be the one to kill him. I'm going to have to kill myself any way."

"Kahsheel…" her companion protested softly.

"It is only a matter of time before they expose my part in this. I couldn't stand the humiliation of a public execution, or being reduced to slavery." She took in a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, that is how it must be. His memories will be very sketchy at first. The Federation people will let me take him once more — or even send him to me — to trap me and confirm their suspicions. If I kill us both then, perhaps I can confine our losses and save the lives of other members of our cell."

Driant put a hand on her shoulder. "Oh, Kahsheel…"

"I think poison would be the kindest," she decided. "Get me something that will act quickly — on both of us. It also needs to be odourless and tasteless. He'll be very suspicious now, naturally. See if you can find a Federation drink that he likes and obtain a sufficient quantity of it. That might distract him long enough for our purposes."

"Yes, Kahsheel." Driant pressed a handful of her curls to his lips lovingly. "Someday your sacrifice will make your name immortal

"No." Kahsheel pulled her hair around and began to brush it out. "If I am successful, no one will ever know me as anything but a foolish kiani who lost her head over an alien servant."

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

"We've got big trouble," Sulu informed Chekov after the clerk who'd delivered him to the lieutenant's door departed.

Chekov sighed as he entered. "And what else is new?"

Davies was sitting on the bed. "Your friend Kahsheel tried to hypnotise me and get me to reveal information on restricted aspects of Federation technology."

"Chekov…" Sulu motioned for him to sit down. "You said earlier that you were having hallucinations. One of them you described as taking tests on the principles behind sonic showers. Is it possible…?"

The memory was very blurry. All Chekov could remember was a computer screen with questions on it. There were also two voices speaking a language he couldn't understand. He'd never stopped to think about it before, but one of the voices was unmistakably Kahsheel's.

"Oh, no," he groaned, sinking down into his chair and covering his face with his hands. It seemed the Kibrian magician was not pre cognisant, merely well-informed. Under Kahsheel's influence, Chekov had probably already broken the Prime Directive several times over.

"Damn." Sulu's fist hit the wall. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

"We'll need a psycho tricorder," Davies said sensibly. "Between the drugs and the hypnosis, his memories aren't going to be very accurate."

"Unfortunately our medikit isn't supplied with one." Sulu put his hands on his hips and looked at Chekov. A good I-told-you-so right now would feel nice, but wouldn't do anything to change the situation. "We've got to find out how much she knows and who she's passed the information to."

"She may have nothing," Davies observed. "If she'd been getting satisfaction from Chekov, it's unlikely she'd've gone to such trouble with me."

"We'll just have to see." Sulu blew out a long breath. "Well, we're not going to get anything else done tonight and I need some time to think about this. Everyone try to get some rest. We'll meet here an hour before Chekov is supposed to be in the kitchens tomorrow morning and go over the plan I hope I will come up with between now and then."

"Yes, sir," Davies answered. Chekov merely nodded at the floor.

"Ensign…" Sulu reached out and took Davies by the hands. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes." Davies smiled. "Thank you for your attempt to be my knight in shining armour tonight."

"I'm just glad you were already out of there and on your way back," Sulu replied.

Even in the depths of his misery, Chekov could still tell when he was being a third wheel.

"I think I should sleep in my own quarters tonight," he said, deciding not to divulge any of the details of his misadventures with the Station Manager until the morning. He needed some time to sort them out himself, and he didn't really want to talk any more than he could help. "It raises suspicions when I don't use them."

"Chekov, an attempt has possibly been made on your life today," Sulu said. "I want you behind a door with an electronic lock on it tonight."

"Oh, he could stay in my quarters," Davies offered generously.

Sulu blinked at her. "And where would you stay?" he asked pointedly.

"I'm sure I could…" Davies cleared her throat. "…find other accommodations… assuming Mister Chekov prefers to be alone."

"I prefer to be alone," Chekov confirmed, wearily picking up his cue from his fellow ensign. "It has been a very long day."

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