"Chekov?"
He rolled over in Ensign Davies' bed, trying to remember where he was, and why. He was even more puzzled when the bed's owner came over and sat down beside him, looking very determined about something. He managed to combine sitting up and moving over to the other side of the bed without being too conspicuous about it. "It can't be time to wake up already."
"Lieutenant Sulu wanted us to have a meeting, remember?" Davies handed him a pile of fresh clothing. "And it's already later than he intended."
He remembered the planned meeting, along with all the other memories that had kept him awake until what felt like only half an hour earlier. For once the long Kibrian night hadn't seemed long enough. He unfolded his new livery. Today's colour scheme was primarily purple and ochre. "Marvellous."
"Uh, Chekov…" Davies began hesitantly.
"Yes?"
"About last night… in Kahsheel's quarters…"
Chekov prepared himself to accept her apology graciously. "Yes?"
"Nothing happened," she said very firmly, looking him straight in the eye as if daring him to contradict her.
"Yes, I know," he replied dryly. "I was there, if you recall."
"I recall quite well," Davies assured him humourlessly. "All I ask is that we both make sure we don't allow anyone else to believe anything to the contrary."
"Of course." He was puzzled as to what could have prompted such a warning. It would seem that he would have more face to lose over a recounting of last night's events than she would. "I haven't said anything…"
"It wasn't so much what you said to Sulu," Davies interrupted, crossing her arms, "but what you implied that I didn't like."
Certain remarks he'd made in a humorous vein returned to Chekov. He also remembered why it was almost always unpleasant for one's best friend to start dating someone new. "Oh, well… that was…" He swallowed and hoped this wasn't an omen of how the whole day was going to be. "I apologise if anything I said was taken in a manner other than I intended."
"It's hardly a joking matter," Davies said. "I would have thought you'd see that."
"I seem to recall, Miss Davies," Chekov said, crossing his arms and working up some leftover indignation of his own, "last night in Kahsheel's quarters you were the one who was taking the situation rather lightly at my expense."
"And this is your idea of revenge?"
"Certainly not."
They sat staring at each other stubbornly for a few moments. Under normal circumstances they were both very reasonable people. Chekov would have apologised again, and Davies would never have pressed the point to begin with. However, circumstances were not normal and the room was filled with enough excess wounded moral superiority to start a medium-sized crusade.
"Well," Davies sniffed, "if that's the case then I'm just wasting valuable time here."
"I think so," Chekov replied shortly, then gestured her towards the door. "If you'd excuse me for a few moments, Miss Davies."
"Certainly, Mister Chekov." Her boots made a cold click-click-click noise as she crossed the floor to the door.
After he'd washed and dressed, she was waiting for him in the corridor. She escorted him to Sulu's quarters with the sort of cool detachment that would have made a night on the Siberian steppes look cosy in comparison. Johnson was already there, explaining to a very sleepy looking lieutenant something that required the unfolding of several acres of printout.
"Okay, Johnson," Sulu said, rubbing his eyes. "I'll get back to you on this as soon as we figure out what we're going to do about Kahsheel."
"And the fact that someone is trying to kill me," Chekov put in, taking a seat in the chair opposite them.
Sulu looked up at him. Something about the helmsman's aspect telegraphed the message, 'You are in big trouble with me,' to Chekov as clearly as if it had been spoken aloud.
"We don't know if that's really the case," the lieutenant objected in measured tones. "For all we know, it may just have been an accident…"
Chekov didn't care for the fact that the incident had clearly been downgraded in significance overnight. "Mras didn't think so."
"But how far can we trust this Mras person?" Sulu asked. "He may just be a malcontent."
"He has the reputation of being a troublemaker," Davies reported primly, taking a chair adjacent to the helmsman.
"So do I," Chekov reminded her. From the united front they were putting forth, he could tell the two of them had spent far, far too long discussing his shortcomings last night. "I trust Mras."
"But I'm not sure you're being objective," Sulu said flatly.
Chekov could hardly believe his ears. It would seem that Datvin's predictions of Sulu's reactions were exactly on target. "You're not going to do anything…?"
"Look, Chekov, the guy wasn't nearly killed, he was just badly cut. Nothing worse would have happened to you. I realise this is not a pleasant situation for you to be in, but as I explained yesterday, it's really not in anyone's interests for anything serious to happen to you." Despite the fact that Sulu had resolved to take the upper hand in matters today, he still had to pause and clear his throat before he got to the part he knew Chekov wasn't going to like. "I've decided to talk to Gebain about keeping a closer eye on you. That should put him on the spot if anything does happen…" He paused slightly to wait for the inevitable outburst. When it didn't come, he continued, "And if you just do what you're supposed to do, that shouldn't be a problem…"
Sulu decided that even the most sarcastic objection Chekov could come up with would be more respectful and preferable to the ensign's continued accusing silence.
"That doesn't seem like an adequate safeguard to me…"
Sulu turned to check that his ears weren't deceiving him. However, this comment really had come from Johnson.
The meteorologist had a very determined look in his pale blue eyes. "Well, sir, we don't seem to be particularly competent at judging the native interest in any given situation. If I understand correctly, the case with Kahsheel is a good demonstration of this. We assumed that her interest in Mister Chekov was simply… uhm, social in nature. We never considered that she might have any other motivation. Isn't it possible, given a goal that is sufficiently important, that Gebain might be prepared to take unusual risks?"
Something about Johnson's use of the first person plural irritated Sulu. It might have merely been an attempt to sound less as if he was directing criticism at his superior, but the effect was more that of a nurse reasoning with a rather slow and uncooperative patient.
Nevertheless, the ensign had a point.
"The Kibrians have always displayed a good amount of curiosity about Federation technology, but Kahsheel's attempt to gain access to restricted technical information by stealth is unprecedented," Sulu reasoned aloud. "Up to this point the Kibree have taken a rather high-and-mighty approach to their dealings with the Federation. Sort of, if we won't accept them as they are, they'll manage perfectly well without us. It's possible that the majority of Kibree still feel that way. Kahsheel could be a disgruntled or avaricious individual working for herself. She could also be part of a subversive or splinter group unwilling to accept the restrictions of the Prime Directive. We also need to consider the possibility that the official 'sour grapes' attitude is a sham, the Kibrians have developed a need for information we will not give them under the Prime Directive and Kahsheel's plot was sanctioned by governmental authorities." He stopped, not sure where to go with any of these speculations.
"In none of those cases, though, would a suggestion for increased supervision by Gebain put Mister Chekov's life at risk," Davies pointed out. "If the major domo is part of some sort of plot, Mister Sulu's not sanctioning him to do anything he doesn't already have the power to do. If he's just an innocent bystander, the suggestion might alert him to the possibility that he's being used."
"What do you think, Chekov?"
Chekov felt like a rabbit mistakenly invited to a discussion of the length of the hunting season. He knew that regardless of Gebain's political affiliations, the most immediate upshot of such a suggestion in any case would be that the ensign could kiss the remaining flesh on his posterior goodbye. He wondered if this was Ensign Davies' idea of revenge for revealing too many details of yesterday's little adventure.
"Excuse me, Mister Chekov," Sulu said, his patience wearing audibly thin, "but I asked you a question. I expect a response."
Chekov took a second to look hurt by this before he shook his head and shifted his eyes to the floor. "I don't have any answers, Lieutenant."
"Well, if one of us had a pipeline to the truth about the situation," Davies said with false lightness, "then there wouldn't be much point having a discussion at all, would there?"
"Is there any particular individual or group you feel represents a threat to you, Chekov?" Sulu said, smoothly cutting in before the look the navigator gave his fellow ensign could become words they'd all regret.
Chekov mentally put Angharad Davies at the top of his list, but moved seamlessly onto number two. "Gebain took a bribe to make sure that I was at Kahsheel's disposal last night… and possibly another time she arranged to see me." Chekov hurried over the last without allowing time for anyone to think about it too deeply. "He also assigned me to the scene of the… 'accident' in the orchard. During the hour and a half I am assigned to his work detail, he can see to it that I am anywhere in the station doing virtually anything. His cooperation has been essential in seeing that I was at certain places at certain times."
"If he's being bribed that sounds like he's not a direct member of whatever conspiracy there may be," Sulu reasoned. "Add the incentive of some extra income to the fact that he doesn't seem to like you very much and that could well be sufficient motivation for him to make a deal with someone to let you out of the kitchen for a while. What about Datvin?"
"The Station Manager and the Medical Officer are anxious to obtain certain medical technology. They have threatened me in an attempt to persuade me to give it to them. However, if they kill me, they have little hope of obtaining the information. Therefore I am reasonably sure they won't carry it that far." Chekov watched with satisfaction as Sulu paled in response to this revelation. "The other trivial discomforts of my situation are of course unimportant."
Despite the sarcasm that he could barely keep out of his voice, Chekov was reassured by his own analysis of the situation. It really didn't make sense that anyone was trying to kill him.
"What medical technology?" Sulu asked.
"Micro-transporter devices for brain surgery."
"We don't have anything like that…"
"We have a Hamilton scalpel," Johnson interrupted.
Sulu frowned at him before remembering that the meteorologist was also the team's paramedic. He'd have a better idea of what the medikit contained than anyone else.
"It's designed for removing blockages - blood clots, bone fragments. In a first aid situation, you use it when people are choking, or for removing bullets, for example. You don't have to enlarge the wound."
"I remember." Sulu turned to Chekov accusingly. "I think there's a wonderfully self-explanatory picture on its box inside the kit. Why didn't you tell me this last night?"
"Because Datvin told me that if I did he'd have my tongue removed," Chekov replied grimly. It wasn't a completely accurate statement, but it did have a very satisfactory effect on his listeners.
Except for Davies, who snorted and muttered, "Yet more support for the old saying about great minds thinking alike."
"Davies," Sulu warned.
"Are you serious?" Johnson asked Chekov.
The navigator nodded. "Very."
"It is a legally sanctioned punishment," Sulu conceded. "But it's like I told you yesterday, Chekov, as long as you're considered my property, people can't just do things to you. You'd have to be taken before a magistrate and convicted of something before anyone could do something like that to you."
"Mister Datvin is well aware of the law," Chekov replied. "He knows how to use it to his advantage. And he believes that you can be manoeuvred into agreeing with anything the administration tells you to do."
"Does he?" Sulu smiled tightly. "Then he doesn't know me very well."
"Lieutenant," Chekov continued seriously, "as long as Datvin believes I might cooperate, he needs me alive. If he finds out I've told even this much to you, I'm useless… and perhaps dead."
"I see. Do you think he's the one behind Kahsheel?"
"I don't know. He used a very different approach to obtaining information," Chekov replied ruefully. "I do know that his particular need is a personal matter involving his son."
"He told you that?"
"No. I was informed by…" Chekov realised too late that the conjuror's part in last night's incident was going to be hard to explain. "…by a third party."
"Does this third party have a name?" Sulu prompted.
"I don't know," Chekov answered honestly.
"A slave?"
"I don't think so."
"What was this person's interest in Datvin's affairs?"
"I don't know."
"You mean to say some Kibree just popped in out of the blue and explained to you all about the Station Manager's problems for no apparent reason?" Davies asked, making the encounter sound almost as implausible as it actually was.
"Well, yes."
"All right." Sulu's voice made it clear that he was suspending judgement. "I'll do some very discrete investigating and see if I can confirm this and come up with a way to get Datvin off your back. That still leaves us with Kahsheel…"
"With respect, Lieutenant, it's spilt milk, isn't it?" Johnson suggested when Chekov didn't respond immediately. "Since we know what she's up to, she's no longer a threat."
"The problem is, Johnson, we don't know exactly what she was up to," Sulu replied. "If the political situation here is more unstable than we've been led to believe, or if there's a strong subversive faction that might be vulnerable to outside manipulation, the Federation needs to know about it. Also we need to find out exactly what information she obtained so we'll know what kind of damage control we'll need to do. After we find out what she's uncovered, it will be necessary to review the list of information already available to the Kibree, so we can make sure they still won't be able to put two and two together and come up with a wholesale photon torpedo factory. Johnson, you'll put together that list of unrestricted technology for us."
"Yes, sir."
"You're also going to have to help us get back into Kahsheel's confidence," Sulu said, coming to the part of his plan that he didn't particularly like. "She and I are not on particularly good terms and she'll be suspicious of anything coming from Davies. That's why I want you to…"
"You don't mean for Johnson to… to…" Chekov burst out, appalled. Kahsheel might be using him, but she was still his… his… well, his.
"As I was saying, Johnson," Sulu continued over him. "That's why I'll want you to approach Kahsheel. Tell her that Chekov is desperate to see her and I've forbidden it, but let her know that you're sympathetic and would be willing to arrange a rendezvous sometime today or tonight — in your quarters or Chekov's would be best, but in her rooms if she insists. And, Johnson, you've got to be subtle about this. Do you understand me? Very, very subtle."
Sulu watched as the meteorologist picked through his mental dictionary, blew the dust off the unused page, and downloaded the meaning of this new concept. "Yes, Lieutenant."
"Chekov, be very careful," Sulu cautioned, turning to him. "If she knows we're on to her, there's no knowing what she may try. Above all else, don't let her drug you or put you under again."
"Don't worry," Davies assured him. "He's a very convincing actor."
"I suggest…" Sulu cut in quickly, "…that you tell her you're alarmed about the attack on you…"
"I thought it was just an accident," Chekov said diffidently.
Sulu didn't say anything, but his silence had exactly the ensign shrivelling qualities for which James T Kirk was notorious throughout Star Fleet. "…and appeal to her for help, or advice. Then we'll see what she wants in return. Davies, you and I will work on coming up with an inconspicuous but reliable set up to wire Chekov for sound…"
"You're… you're… going to be listening?" Chekov stammered, immediately thinking of the sort of sounds that had accompanied his other encounters with Kahsheel.
Sulu nodded. "I think that's the safest route. That way we'll still be covered even if she is able to trick you or drug you."
"But audio is so ambiguous…" the person in the room with the second best idea of what went on behind the closed doors of Kahsheel's bedchamber said with an innocent smile on her face. "It wouldn't be that much more trouble to rig a miniature video scanner…"
Any carnage that would have probably ensued was interrupted by the sound of the room's time-keeping device softly announcing the start of the so-called blue hour before breakfast. Navigator and helmsman looked into each other's eyes and simultaneously reached the same horrible conclusion.
"Oh, my God!" Chekov's heart leapt into his throat as he dove for the door closely followed by Sulu. "I'm late!"
-o- -o-o-o- -o-
"Wait." Sulu restrained Chekov from entering the kitchens with a hand on his shoulder. "Let him come to us. Trust me. It's a power thing."
The ensign gave his superior a questioning look as he tried to catch his breath. They'd jogged through uninhabited corridors and walked at a near run the rest of the way. Despite the good time they'd made, Gebain had already moved from his regular post at the kitchen door. In contrast to the way things had been every other morning, the big black door to the kitchen stood open. The major domo was inside, directly supervising his charges.
"This place doesn't look so bad," Sulu commented.
Unfortunately, the kitchens were less noisy and crowded than usual this morning. The rooms were also noticeably cooler. There was a great deal of atypically energetic scrubbing and polishing going on. All visible surfaces seemed to have — or be in the process of obtaining — a clean and happy glow.
"It's not the way it looks that makes the place unpleasant," Chekov informed him, straightening the collar of his livery. "It isn't too difficult to induce the resident slave labour force to achieve a quite cheerful effect — with the proper encouragement."
As another manifestation of unusual goings on in slag hall, no shining examples of the usual mistreatment of personnel emerged to prove his point. Chekov was very sorry that Sulu wasn't going to be around to see the undoubtedly spectacular specimen of disciplinary treatment that was going to be meted out to the ensign himself shortly after the lieutenant's departure. "Mister Sulu, please consider delaying speaking to Gebain until later. At lunch would still achieve the same effect."
"Don't worry about being late," Sulu said, keeping both eyes on the major domo, who was deep in conversation with one of the few low caste cooks in the room. "I'm going to handle that."
"How?" Chekov also didn't dare take his eyes off Gebain.
"I'll tell him it was all my fault."
"Oh, God," Chekov groaned.
"C'mon. I think you're being paranoid about this guy. He's only doing his job."
"Excuse me, Lieutenant," the ensign said testily. "But do you mean to say 'I think,' or 'We think'?"
Sulu shot him a quick, sidelong glance. "If that's meant as some sort of crack about Davies…"
"No matter what you may say about the relative assertiveness of the women I'm attracted to," Chekov interrupted, staring straight ahead, "at least I don't immediately tell them everything you've ever said about them in their absence as soon as I start a relationship."
"What are you talking about?"
"In the present case, I'm referring to some easily misconstrued remarks I made last night about my misadventures with Ensign Davies. Last time it was an unfortunate speculation I made about the possible artificiality of Yeoman Carouso's hair colour. The time before that it was a comment about Lieutenant Healy's weight…"
"Which reminds me…" Sulu quietly said over him. "I think you took advantage of the situation between the two of you in Kahsheel's quarters."
This time it was the ensign's turn to take a quick look at his companion. "Davies said that?"
"No. Ensign Davies gave me her report on what transpired. I think you took advantage of the situation."
"I took advantage?" Chekov asked incredulously. "Did she happen to mention that I was handcuffed and simulating a peeva induced stupor at the time?"
"You know what you did," Sulu said, quietly accusing.
"I'm beginning to wonder if I do."
"Ah, Mister Sulu…" Gebain had finally noticed them. The smile on the big Kibree's face as he moved towards them couldn't have looked any more artificial to Chekov if it had been painted on. "So you had a little delay this morning?"
"Yes." From his response, the lieutenant didn't seem to have noticed. "But it was entirely my fault. Chekov was not at all to blame."
"Of course not." The major domo's hand landed heavily on the ensign's shoulder as the Kibree firmly drew him into his realm of power. "Don't think any more of it. He's here in plenty of time."
"Mister Gebain…" Sulu gave his fellow officer an encouraging smile that revealed how thoroughly he was being duped. "If I could have a word with you…?"
"Certainly, Mister Sulu." The Kibree guided Chekov into the kitchen proper with a tiny little shove that silently communicated the promise of untold amounts of unpleasantness to come. "I'll just have your servant go ahead and start scrubbing oven trays — if you don't mind, sir — since he is starting out a little late."
"Oh, no. Of course."
Chekov amused himself as he walked over to the sluice and picked up a brush by speculating on what form his punishment was going to take. Would it be a long and humiliating one, or quick and painful? Or perhaps, long and painful, or quick and humiliating? Or simply long, humiliating and painful? Perhaps he would be punished separately for each minute he was tardy… The possibilities were endless.
"Su, Feddie," a familiar voice said, delivering more trays to be cleaned. "The kibbie-eyed one finds it hard to be parting with you this morn."
"What's going on, Dollu?" he asked softly, checking on the progress of the lieutenant's inaudible conversation with Gebain out of the corner of his eye. "Where is everyone? Why isn't anyone cooking?"
The green-skinned woman grinned through her ragged teeth. "Kepir hunt today, Feddie."
"And just what does that mean for us?"
"Hard work now." Dollu smiled. Out of the possible line of sight of Gebain and Sulu, the Kibrian servant ran a caressing hand down from the small of Chekov's back to the middle of his thigh. "Good things to come."
"Move on, mort." One of the few patrolling low caste cooks came between them before the ensign had time to react to this rather unexpected forwardness. Under the cover of inspecting Chekov's work, the low caste gave Dolly a discrete shove back towards the kitchen. "If there's anything left of that part of the Feddie after Gebain gets done with him, you'll have your chance at it later."
Rather than taking this correction in the fearfully respectful and silent way she usually reacted to comments by her superiors, Dollu giggled appreciatively as she made her exit.
"Make the most of the day, Feddie," the low caste advised, giving him a friendly pat on the same, apparently doomed, part of his anatomy.
Chekov was scouting about for a way he could complete this job with his back to the wall when his eyes suddenly met Gebain's. Sulu had left without fanfare and now whatever fate awaited the ensign was crossing the room towards him on big blue feet. Chekov swallowed hard as the Kibree drew near to him… then unexpectedly passed him by. Sneaking a glance over his shoulder, he saw the major domo continue on into the inner kitchens without sparing him so much as a backward glance. Sulu must have come up with a very convincing story about his tardiness.
Almost unable to believe his good fortune, Chekov applied himself to his task and kept a sharp eye out for an easier job to move to when he finished.
Like all things that seemed too good to be true, his reprieve suddenly evaporated a few moments later when a large blue hand settled on his shoulder. "Don't you have something to say to me?"
"Yes, Mister Gebain." Chekov swallowed hard and decided to put plan B into action. "I apologise for not being on time this morning."
Gebain turned him around. "And who's fault was that?"
Sulu's name died on his lips when he saw the look in the Kibree's eyes. "Mine."
"I'm glad you understand that." Grasping a handful of the back of the ensign's tunic, Gebain steered him in the direction of the tables. "Your master is not pleased with the quantity or quality of supervision you are receiving here. He's alarmed by the frequency with which you seem to find yourself in hazardous or difficult situations."
"Oh, really?" Chekov asked politely as the Kibree pulled the end of one bench out from under the table.
"And who's fault actually is it that you can't seem to stay out of trouble?" Gebain asked sweetly as he firmly sat the ensign down on the bench.
"Mine?" Chekov guessed.
"Very good." The Kibree patted him on the head a good deal less than gently. "Up to this point, I've tried to treat you like any other servant in the hall, but now it seems quite clear that you require special treatment."
Chekov flinched at the very sound of the words. "Mister Gebain…" he began reasonably.
"Oh?" The major domo crossed his arms. "Does this mean that your master has given you permission to argue with me?"
"No, sir. I…"
"That's what I thought." Gebain turned and motioned to someone in the inner kitchens. "Since my responsibilities dictate that I cannot personally supervise you the entire time that you are here, I will delegate that task to my subordinates. I think you know Bolse…"
The superstitious low caste that Chekov had had a run in with the previous day emerged from the inner kitchen, grinning and carrying a large bowl.
"He will be personally in charge of seeing that you eat your meals."
The cook clanked a platter of greenish-brown gruel decorated with half-burnt pieces of bread crust down in front of the ensign.
Chekov couldn't help but make a face at the unappetising mess. "But I usually…"
"From what I understand," Gebain interrupted, "you usually either skip the meal entirely or give away most of your portion. This is distressing both to your owner and to me. It is his expressed wish that you be properly fed and I am concerned that it is your skipping meals that prompts you to beg or steal food from the kianis… an activity that while it has thus far gone unpunished, has not, I assure you, gone unnoticed."
"Oh." Chekov swallowed hard and looked again at the gruel in front of him. "I see."
Thus persuaded, he didn't know how to begin. There didn't seem to be a utensil. Bolse helped him out of this difficulty. The low caste took the scrub brush the ensign was still clutching from his hand and replaced it with a piece of bread crust. The crust was dipped in the gruel.
"There you go, Feddie," Bolse said, merrily patting him on the back. "You've got three minutes to choke all of it down that you can… then I get to feed the rest of it to you."
As he raised the lumpy mass to his lips, Chekov recognised it. It was something usually served hot, now stone-cold. He decided to make one last appeal. "Mister Gebain…"
"Not three minutes, Bolse," Gebain instructed his underling before moving on to other tasks. "I think two minutes should be sufficient."
"Yes, sir!" Bolse grinned. "Two minutes, Feddie. Starting now."
Chekov almost spat his first mouthful back out. "Oh, God…"
"Not exactly the kind of food you ate when you were a kiani, is it, Feddie?" the low-caste asked sympathetically. "I suspect you'll leave a lot, won't you?"
"Could I have something to drink?" Chekov asked, after forcing down another mouthful.
"Sure," Bolse said generously. "After you're done, I'll put your head in the sluice."
A very, very choice phrase in his native tongue sprang to Chekov's mind as he chewed on another lumpy, gooey mouthful of gloop.
"Go ahead, Feddie," Bolse invited him. "Waste all your time putting Feddie curses on me. It will just make my part of this all the more pleasant."
Upon reflection, the ensign decided he could eat a little faster than he was presently.
"Don't let that bread slow you down," the low-caste advised him. "I'm probably going to be feeding it to you by the handful anyway."
Chekov experimented to see if he could make better time by taking smaller amounts and swallowing them whole.
"I've not decided though." Bolse crossed his arms contemplatively. "I mean, I just have to see that you eat it. It doesn't have to be done in any one particular way. I could tie your hands behind your back and hold your head in it…"
Chekov determined that the bread was definitely slowing him down. He could manage much better with his fingers… which suddenly didn't seem nearly as dirty or greasy as they had a moment ago.
"…Or there's a long tube in the still room… I could just tie you to the table and…"
"Mras!" Gebain's deep voice bawled out from across the room. "Where have you been?"
"Sweeping out the workshops, sir."
Without slackening his pace of consumption, Chekov was able to look up and see the huge blue Kibree advance on the dwarf.
"And what have you been stealing this time?"
Although he humbly bowed his head to the approaching kitchen supervisor, the dwarf held his ground. "Nothing, sir. I wouldn't, would I? Not today."
"No." The major domo made a slow circle around the little Kibree. Just when Chekov thought the confrontation might be over, Gebain reached out and grabbed a handful of the dwarf's beard. "Not today, since you wouldn't want to be too sore to bend over and pick up your share of the catch, right? Or are you just hoping that I'll think that and not look too carefully?"
"I'm not that cunning, sir," Mras answered between painfully clenched teeth.
"No, you're not." The major domo pulled the ginger strands of Mras' beard tortuously skyward. "But I think you're that stupid, aren't you?"
There was no reply.
"All right." After giving him a final shake, the big Kibree released the dwarf. "Take off your shirt."
The dwarf slumped defeatedly, losing a couple of inches he could ill afford. Under his tattered grey work clothes, he must have had about two hundred metres of thin wire wrapped around his body. Gebain held out his hand and the little man slowly found the end of the wire and handed it over. The whole kitchen had stopped work to watch.
"What fried-in-the-noon-sun brainstorm possessed you, you stinking little maggot? What were you planning to do with it? What use is this to you?"
The dwarf pointed at Chekov. "I nabbed it for the Feddie."
The kitchen, which had been very quiet before, went deadly silent. A piece of goop-coated bread crust dropped out of Chekov's suddenly numb fingers as he stared open-mouthed at his Kibree accuser.
Gebain was plainly intrigued by this unexpected development. "Why, thumbkin?"
"He asked."
"I did not." If Mras was going to use him to try to wriggle out of trouble, Chekov didn't see why he shouldn't exhibit the same degree of self interest.
"He did," the dwarf insisted traitorously. "Several took sight of him."
"The Feddie did," Mras' tall, dark-skinned friend confirmed. "I took hearing of it."
"Su, he did," another chimed in.
"The Feddie put him to it, sir."
Suddenly it seemed that everyone wanted to give their personal account of Chekov's fictitious transgression.
"Why?" Gebain asked and the room fell quiet again.
It occurred to Chekov that his disgust with the Kibree should be spread around a little more evenly. Maybe low and high caste deserved each other.
The silence persisted as Gebain unwound the wire from the dwarf as if he were a spool of thread, pulling it up vertically and gathering it into untidy handfuls.
A woman giggled incongruously. It was Dollu.
"Pardon, sir," she said, "but the Feddie's not so slidely with slaggish speech. Maybe he asked for chew, and Mras took hearing he asked for wire."
Even to Chekov's ears the Kibrian pun was obvious. In the face of so many other betrayals, he appreciated his friend's loyalty… but he wasn't sure that particular alternative explanation was going to do him much good either.
Predictably Gebain motioned that the ensign be escorted over to join what was shaping up to be a rather nasty little scene. Bolse was only too happy to comply.
"Asking for peeva, were you?" the Kibree asked as the low caste dragged Chekov forward by one arm. "I thought you would have learned how much that displeases your master. Don't you remember the lesson you had yesterday morning?"
"Mister Gebain." Chekov switched to Standard for emphasis. "On my honour as a Starfleet officer, none of what they are saying about me is true."
"Most impressive, Mister Chekov," Gebain answered in Standard, then continued in Kibrian, "but you aren't an officer. You are an irresponsible, lying thieving, hard-headed, trouble making kitchen slag. And if you speak out of turn again or address me in any language other than the one I am speaking now…" The major domo held out his hand and snapped his fingers. One of his underlings obligingly supplied him with one of the long, very solid-looking wooden paddles they used to stir gruel. "do I make myself clear, Property of Sulu?"
"Yes, sir," Chekov answered in Kibrian. "Very clear."
"As for you, Mras…"
The dwarf, looking even more grotesque than usual, half naked with a screw thread marked round his torso where he'd coiled the wire tight, lowered his eyes and waited to see what fate would deal him. His arm was still neatly bandaged, but Gebain didn't seem to feel that required any more comment than it had the day before. As angry as Chekov was with Mras' cynical behaviour, he found himself praying that the party atmosphere of the kepir hunt would extend to a little mercy for the slave.
"Why wire?" Gebain asked. "If you go the risk of being caught, why not steal something worthwhile? Or is your brain as small as the rest of your equipment?"
The dwarf shrugged unhappily. "The Feddie takes knowledge of electric things. I took idea, he knew what he wanted."
Chekov bit his lip to keep himself from contributing another unwanted denial as Gebain looked suspiciously back and forth between the two of them. At length the major domo tossed the bundle of wire back to the dwarf. "Go and put it back where you found it. And don't let me catch you stealing again."
Chekov let out his breath as the dwarf scooped up his shirt from the floor and marched away with it.
"Get back to work," Gebain shouted at the staring mob. "We've wasted enough time."
Chekov turned, almost grateful to be returning to the task of choking down gruel with only the prospect of forced-feeding awaiting him.
"Not you."
The ensign didn't need to hear a name attached to this command to know it was intended for him. He immediately noticed that the stir paddle had not been returned to its proper place.
"So," Gebain said, propping it against his foot. "What were you going to do with the wire?"
"Respectfully, sir," Chekov answered carefully, "I didn't ask for any wire."
"Then it was peeva." Gebain shook his head. "Your master is going to be most disappointed when I tell him. After the way you embarrassed him in front of the Station Director, you'll probably be lucky to get off with twelve this time."
Chekov refused to let himself even consider this possibility. "With all respect, sir, I did not ask Mras for anything. This is all some sort of misunderstanding."
Gebain gave him a long, hard look. The ensign met it as resolutely. After a moment, the Kibree reached out and grabbed him by the front of his tunic.
"You annoy me," he said, pulling him in and slightly up. "You are a disruptive influence."
Chekov winced as he tried to balance on his toes. Gebain had grabbed a fold of skin along with the material. "I'm sorry, sir."
"Sorry isn't enough," the Kibree informed him grimly. "They don't need your encouragement to thieve and make trouble and I don't need this kind of aggravation After yesterday morning I expected your behaviour to improve, but it hasn't. Maybe you don't remember what I taught you?"
"Yes, sir," Chekov assured him. "I remember vividly."
"Maybe I need to refresh your memory?"
"No, sir, Mister Gebain."
"Do you know how we punish know-it-all servants down here when those finicky kiani aren't around?" Gebain pulled him towards the hand that was holding the four-foot long paddle "Do you see this?"
It was hard not to. "Yes, Mister Gebain."
"Slaves who annoy me get twenty strokes with one of these — not six with a lightweight cane. Usually, I have them stripped first."
Chekov swallowed hard and wished he'd stayed on Earth and become a chemical engineer like his mother had wanted him to.
"Isn't there anything you want to say to me?" Gebain prompted.
The Kibree clearly wanted a confession. Unfortunately the ensign didn't have one to give.
"I'm not lying, sir," he insisted. "I did not ask anyone to steal anything."
The Kibree didn't look convinced, even though he did release him. "Go on," he ordered, shoving him back towards Bolse. "Get back to what you were doing."
Chekov felt very fortunate as he headed back towards his bowl of gruel. He was about to offer thanks to the powers that be when he was stopped by Bolse's hand on his shoulder.
"Mister Gebain," the low-caste called as he turned the ensign back around. "Isn't he forgetting something?"
"Forgetting something?" Chekov repeated blankly. At least this time the paddle had gone from the major domo's hand.
Gebain looked puzzled too for a second, then smiled.
"Yes," he said, coming forward and taking the ensign by his free arm. "He did forget something, didn't he?"
"I don't understand," Chekov protested. "What did I forget?"
"You forgot to thank Mister Gebain for being so lenient with you," Bolse prompted, handing the supervisor the scrub brush that Chekov had abandoned. "A shocking display of ingratitude, Feddie."
"But, I…"
"So disappointing, after I've been so indulgent with you." Gebain smiled as he turned the brush backwards. "I guess you'll have to have a little lesson in proper behaviour after all."
-o- -o-o-o- -o-
Sulu sipped politely at the glass of fruit juice the servant girl had given him. As his eyes followed her, he idly wondered how she coped with the indignities of her social status. While he watched, one of the kiani stretched out a hand and nipped the pleasing curve of her buttock between finger and thumb. The servant stoically moved herself away from the unwanted attention. Undaunted, the kiani followed up by catching her sleeve and yanking her back towards herself.
Uyal, who had apparently been absorbed in his conversation with the Starfleet officers, took three swift strides towards the offender. "Niima, hands off, if you please. She's mine."
Niima nodded apologetically and backed away from the object of contention. "My sincerest repentance, Uyal. I didn't know."
Sulu downed the rest of the glass, sickened that the girl was dependent on the likes of Uyal to protect her, presumably at a price.
The kiani returned, obviously considering the matter closed. "We could use a thermal exchanger to power that particular mechanism, but it would require…"
The lieutenant put his scruples back on hold and continued to talk shop with the kiani engineer. A fragment of his attention was on Johnson who was mingling with kiani across the room on the lookout for Kahsheel. She had yet to put in an appearance. For some reason, breakfast was a buffet served in the courtyard this morning. The sun was still low and gentle and as the air warmed it was becoming fragrant with a blossom he didn't recognise. It was such a damn shame they couldn't just relax and enjoy it…
"Sulu." Davies discreetly tapped on his arm. "We have a problem."
He looked up in time to see Chekov backing away, red-faced, from two laughing kiani.
"Excuse me…" Sulu moved away without waiting for any acknowledgement from Uyal. Although the lieutenant was halfway across the courtyard in a few quick strides, the kiani had enough time to back Chekov up against a wall, holding his empty tray in front of him like a shield. "Pardon me, ladies," he called, motioning the ensign towards him, "but I need to speak with my servant."
"Of course, Lieutenant," one of the pair answered, batting her eyelashes at him innocently. "I don't know how we could have forgotten he was yours."
Chekov shot a murderous look after them as the two departed giggling to seek out their next victim.
"Calm down, Ensign," Sulu advised him quietly, gently turning him in the opposite direction. "Count to ten."
"One…" Chekov said between clenched teeth as he collected an empty glass from the small ledge running the length of the wall facing the courtyard. "Two…"
"What's gotten into these people today?" Sulu asked, looking over his shoulder at yet another repetition of the same sort of incident taking place across the way.
"I have no idea," Chekov replied, collecting another glass. "Three… The kepir hunt, perhaps."
"And what does that entail?"
"I don't know. Four… But they all seem to have grown an extra set of hands for the occasion."
"Hmm…" The disturbance across the courtyard was also broken up peacefully. There seemed to be some sort of playful suspension of the normal rules of behaviour in effect. Sulu wished he knew why. He also wished there weren't so many pairs of eyes casting openly covetous glances at his property. "Try to keep your head, Chekov. If anyone makes a move on you, let me be the one to break it up."
Chekov's voice sounded dubious as he collected the next empty. "Five…"
Sulu put his hands on his hips. "It looks like they're playing some kind of game where everyone has to go around reminding everyone who belongs to who."
"Wonderful. Six…"
"Uh, Chekov, if I end up doing anything sort of drastic…"
"Drastic? You mean more drastic than having your signature burned into my hand and your name embroidered onto all my clothes?"
"Look, just try to take anything that happens in context, okay?"
"Seven…" The ensign made no promise as he picked up the next glass. "Eight…"
"Incidentally, how did things go with Gebain this morning?"
"Marvellously. Nine…"
Sulu sighed disbelievingly. "Don't tell me he beat you."
"Oh, no," Chekov assured him, straightening the glasses on his tray.
"Good."
"A beating," the ensign informed him, "apparently involves being struck around twenty times with a piece of wood longer than one of my legs while in a state of undress. What I received was just a few unofficial whacks with the flat side of a scrub brush to remind me of my relative lack of status in Kibrian culture."
"That bastard," Sulu swore. "I can't believe he beat you for being late."
"He didn't," the ensign said. "I was… corrected for not being sufficiently grateful for not being beaten."
"That son of a bitch…"
"How did you persuade him not to take any action against me for being late?" Chekov asked curiously.
Sulu shrugged. "I bribed him."
"Not a bad idea." The ensign nodded approvingly as he picked up the tenth glass and balanced it on his tray. "But next time, Mister Sulu," he advised before turning to leave, "offer him a little more money."
Sulu sighed and shook his head as he returned to his companions. Johnson had rejoined the group. "Excuse me, Uyal, but would you mind telling me what's going on?"
The kiani looked at him blankly. "Breakfast, I think."
Indeed, that was all that seemed to be happening. As the ratio of servants to kiani temporarily decreased to a bare minimum, things went back to normal.
"No, I mean…" Sulu suddenly felt that he might have hallucinated the whole thing. "It just seems like some people are being a little free with their hands today."
"On the day of the kepir hunt, everyone is allowed a little leeway," the kiani explained. "People do things that are normally out of bounds."
"Oh." This was not good news. "Can you ask people not to do things that are normally out of bounds?"
"Of course. For instance, if you don't want your servant pawed, all you need to do is make it clear that you have a prior claim."
"What more do I have to do? Everyone knows I own him. It's not exactly a secret."
"If you'll forgive me for being frank, Lieutenant, many of us are quite puzzled about your relationship with your servant. You seem terribly jealous, but at the same time you declare that you have no sexual interest in him. And it's an open secret that there is a certain kiani who seems to have unrestricted access to him…"
"Well, I… uh…"
"I suggest that you take advantage of the next opportunity that arises to clear up any ambiguity," Uyal said more firmly than he was usually wont to.
Sulu was surprised that the kiani seemed to care about this. Uyal didn't usually seem to care about anything. "I'll try."
The conversation hit a definite lull.
"Johnson had just made an interesting point about Kibrian heat exchange theory," Davies broke in helpfully. "Hadn't you?"
"Oh, I don't know if it was that interesting," Johnson said modestly. "I was simply pointing out the differing epistemological biases that exist in the Kibrian formulation of scientific methodology versus the classical Vulcan approach to questions of…"
Sulu continued to nod as if he were attending to the meteorologist, but his mind was hard at work trying to come up with something unambiguous yet inoffensive that he could do to keep the Kibree away from Chekov. A straightforward statement from Uyal had seemed to suffice, so he'd start with that. And if it didn't work, a dozen simple gestures immediately came to mind that would demonstrate his ownership; and undoubtedly make the Russian see red. This wasn't going to be easy…
Laughter broke into what had become a rather earnest atmosphere. Sulu looked up to see what had caused it. A group of servants had entered the room with trays to replenish the tables. Among them was Chekov. The kiani turned as one body towards the new arrivals and helped themselves to glasses from the trays of drinks.
One, a tall Kibree with an ochre complexion that made Sulu want to summon a liver specialist, took Chekov's near empty tray and put it down one-handed on a nearby table. The other hand had a grip on the ensign's forearm. Sulu tensed to move, but there was nothing overtly sexual about the kiani's manner. Perhaps Chekov had done something to annoy him… No, the kiani was smiling and talking to his friends. He gestured at the ensign as if using him to illustrate a point. Sulu wished he could hear what was going on. Chekov seemed to be keeping his cool. He was standing there like so much statuary. He didn't move… even when the kiani started to unfasten the front of his shirt.
"Oh, no." Sulu moved past Uyal and Davies in the most direct route to Chekov. "Excuse me, again."
The kiani loosed the final wooden button and pulled robe and shirt aside. He seemed to be making comments of a personal nature about the ensign to general agreement from his circle of friends. Then he put one hand on the back of Chekov's neck, one finger under his chin, tipped his face up from its proper downward orientation and bent down as if to kiss him. He stopped only to answer a question from one of the group of interested observers.
"Chekov!" Sulu tried to put enough snap into his voice to get attention without sounding as if the situation bothered him.
The kiani released his victim with a slow casualness that was oxygen on the flames of Sulu's outrage. Chekov didn't move at first, then he pulled his shirt back up to cover his shoulders and walked towards Sulu.
Sulu appreciated Chekov's occasional monumental rages, for the opportunity they gave him to release the inevitable tensions of being a responsible and hardworking officer on bar-loads of willing Orions and the like. For the first time, he knew that all that anger was intended for him. He rejected the urge to take cover and waited until Chekov was near enough for quiet conversation. "Okay, calm down…"
"And just how far do you intend to let the next one go?" was all the ensign said.
It was enough. Both of them knew that an officer was responsible for the physical and moral welfare of the men under his command. Both of them also knew that the lieutenant's scores on maintaining both for the ensign were dropping lower by the moment. "Look, I'm sorry…"
"Sorry is not helping me very much right now."
"Chekov, there are things I can do to make you less vulnerable, but I don't think you'll like them. How badly do you want them to leave you alone?"
"What sort of question is that?" the ensign demanded. "How badly do you think I want that?"
"Okay." Sulu reached out and started refastening Chekov's shirt front.
"What are you…"
"Shhh," the lieutenant admonished him. "This has got to be something the natives will understand, and they'll understand that I don't want anyone eyeing my property, right?"
"Sulu…" The navigator's usual light tenor had descended to a threatening growl.
The helmsman finished the final button and pulled Chekov's collar straight. "That's better. Now." He fixed the ensign's eyes with a stare that said trust me, then turned towards the offending kiani. "Excuse me, I think that the cultural differences between us have caused some confusion. Ensign Chekov is mine. So hands off, please."
"Sulu," the kiani responded instantly, "my sincerest repentance."
The kiani's sincerest repentance sounded a good deal less than sincere. There was a smirk on his face and a cynical, trouble-making note in his voice that set his fellows to snickering.
As Sulu feared, it didn't look like he was going to be allowed to get away with it that easily. He glanced back at Chekov, wondering how far he would have to go to make this stick and whether he'd have to pass the boundary of what Chekov was prepared to take. The ensign already looked profoundly unhappy at this new development. Sulu swallowed and decided he'd live with the consequences. The kiani did at least seem to abide by their own awful rules.
He twisted his fist into a handful of Chekov's shirt front and pulled the ensign towards him. Chekov, taken by surprise, staggered and clutched at Sulu's arms to steady himself. Taking a deep breath, Sulu leaned forward and kissed him.
He felt the other man freeze… then felt him try to pull away but held him in place. "Count to ten, Ensign," he whispered. "That's a direct order."
The lieutenant retained his grip on Chekov's shirt as he turned back to the waiting kiani. "As I said, Chekov is mine."
The whole courtyard seemed to be focused on him. Sulu couldn't remember ever seeing a group of kiani so quiet.
"And as I said," the kiani who'd tried to undress Chekov replied at last, "sincerest repentance, Sulu. I truly didn't know."
The apology was satisfyingly genuine. As the crowd around him dispersed, the looks the lieutenant was getting from the Kibree displayed a new sense of respect. He turned back to his servant with a smile.
"There," he said, straightening the ensign's red robe. "They won't touch you now. I should have done that right from the start."
"Take your hands off me," Chekov said very quietly, keeping his eyes on the ground.
Sulu felt a sudden tremor of fear, that he'd done something irretrievable. Keyed up though Chekov was, he'd expected him to be able to treat the gesture as a joke, a harmless intimacy between two good friends. "Come on, don't overreact. Count to ten."
"Adeen, dvar, tree, cheteeri…"
Sulu knew he was in trouble now. Chekov only spoke Russian in states of extreme emotion. "Calm down, Chekov. I warned you I might have to do something drastic…"
"Vorsim, djevitch, djesitch…"
"Oh, come on. Be reasonable. You can see how it works. Either I say I want you, or you're up for grabs."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Chekov looked directly at him for the first time and wiped his mouth deliberately with the back of his hand. "But if that is your idea of protecting me…"
"Kiani, may I have your attention, please!" Gebain's voice was unnaturally cheery, but it still sent prickles of apprehension up both men's spines. Sulu found he couldn't drag his eyes away from Chekov's accusing glare. "The kepir have commenced their run. You must attend to your own needs for the remainder of the day."
The sound of trays hitting tables as a score of servants abandoned their duties and headed for the door was like a thunder roll. Only Chekov didn't react.
The major domo walked over to him and tapped him lightly on the arm. "And you too, Chekov. Don't be late. They won't wait for you… and I'm sure you don't want to be late again today."
"I didn't know it was compulsory." Chekov didn't remember to lower his eyes until the last moment. "… Mister Gebain."
"It's not, Chekov. It's supposed to be fun. Now run along." Gebain's patronising grimace clearly said enjoy yourself or else.
Sulu intervened. "Mister Gebain, with respect, Chekov is behind with his work assignments. I really can't spare him today."
"No one works when the kepir run."
Yet another Kibree axiom, evidently. Gebain's expression was disapproving. Looking around, Sulu realised that once again, he was about to get on the wrong side of everyone. He wished he had more idea of what the kepir hunt was, whether it was the sort of event at which an alien servant could have an unfortunate accident for which no one would be responsible.
"If you are anxious about his safety, Lieutenant Sulu," Gebain said smoothly, seemingly reading his thought, "let me assure you, that no one, to my knowledge, has ever been bitten by a kepir."
A titter of genteel laughter rippled round the room
Without waiting for the nod Sulu was in the midst of giving him, Chekov turned and left.
As the last of the servants disappeared, Gebain busied himself putting covers over dishes of food and checking that shutters and blinds were in place to keep the sun off the various tables.
Sulu turned to find Davies at his side.
"Off the record," he confided to her with a sigh, "I think I just made a big mistake."
"I don't know." Davies' smile was tight and unreadable. "He's a frightfully good kisser though, isn't he?"
"Davies…" he protested as she walked away.
"Lieutenant!" Johnson had Uyal in tow. "Listen to this."
"I was simply telling Mister Johnson that the servants are excused from their duties while the hunt takes place." The kiani had once more slipped into his familiar role of tour guide. "The electrical supplies are also interrupted for safety reasons. Most of us treat the day as a holiday…"
Sulu saw another day of his schedule sliding into oblivion. "What is the kepir hunt?" And why didn't anyone see fit to mention it to me? he added silently.
"Just a traditional amusement. A day off for the servants. We serve them dinner tonight." Uyal gave him an encouraging smile. "I'm sure you'll feel better now that everyone knows about you and Chekov. Ensign Johnson was explaining to me how difficult it is for you to pursue sexual liaisons between persons of different rank…" Sulu cast a worried glance at Johnson, wondering what the ensign had intended to communicate to Uyal. "But of course, for us it's so much more straightforward than relationships between kiani, that most of us never bother with the latter. I've been pursuing a marriage contract with Kahsheel for nearly seven seasons, and all I've got out of it so far is a massive bill from my lawyer…"
-o- -o-o-o- -o-