In the pitch darkness of the under tunnels, Chekov realised uneasily that he still didn't know what a kepir was. At some primitive, angry level he hoped it was something he could tear apart with his bare hands. He could hear Dollu breathing steadily less than a metre away. Out of gratitude for her loyalty earlier, he'd decided to stick close to her. Both were keeping silent as instructed by Mras, who appeared to be leader of the hunt. He hadn't seen fit to offer Chekov any explanation for his behaviour over the stolen wire. In fact, he gave no signs of being in the least troubled or embarrassed by his betrayal. From the dwarf's behaviour one could assume he'd forgotten the entire incident had ever taken place.

Several of the score or so servants in their group carried covered lamps. Chekov figured that at any moment Mras would give the order to uncover the lights, thus catching the kepir, whatever it was, blinking and bewildered by the sudden light. The ensign just hoped that Gebain hadn't been lying about the creature having fewer teeth than the klee fish, or at least being more shy about using them.

Chekov was beginning to wish that whatever was going to happen would happen soon. The protective effects of the last blue pill he'd taken were definitely on the wane. He was beginning to feel weak and dizzy. Worse than that, he felt a gnawing thirst starting in his throat, a thirst for something he knew he couldn't drink…

The light flashed on and he froze. The solid rock floor was a seething carpet of shiny black. He looked down at his feet. For some reason - maybe they avoided warmth - the horrible things left a ten centimetre berth around his boots. Once, just once, he'd seen a cockroach in a load of cargo brought aboard the Enterprise in a hurry, without the proper precautions. He'd felt almost as sick then as he did now, although Mister Scott's outrage had made a bigger impression than the physical fact of the creature itself. The engineer's reaction had been sensor sweeps and irradiation. Gebain's was obviously to send his slaves out on a hunt.

What was unfathomable was the pleasure the huntsmen seemed to take in the operation. Dollu was down on her hands and knees, shovelling the things into the sack she carried. Others were imitating her, while one or two inventive souls were less energetically but more effectively holding open bags below a service duct grill. The vermin were pouring out in a living waterfall. The technique only required one hand and one of the hunters used his other to pluck a single specimen and wave it at the ensign.

"Don't take a liking to kepir, eh, Feddie?" the Kibree asked, then bit into it.

Chekov heard its shell crunch before the tunnel went black again.

He opened his eyes and realised he was staring at the ceiling. His head was resting in someone's lap. A warm Kibree hand was on his cheek.

Dollu smiled down at him. "Better now?"

"Dollu?" He struggled to rise, but the pounding in his temples convinced him that this wasn't a good idea yet. "Oh, my head…"

"Take ease, Feddie," his companion advised. She alone had abandoned the hunt to check he was all right. The others seemed to have moved on to another part of the cellar. She'd kept one of the lamps with her. A little ways away another one had been left behind, presumably to mark the way they'd come. The floor was clear of infestation but the woman's bag heaved with the brownian motion of its prisoners.

"I can't believe I fainted." Events seemed to be conspiring to make the ensign vulnerable to the depredations of all and sundry. Even his own body seemed to be letting him down. Someone had loosened his shirt again. He pulled it closed reflexively. "Was I out long?"

"Not long." She patted his cheek comfortingly. A small heap of empty kepir shells revealed that she had been snacking while waiting for him to revive.

"You eat those?"

"Gives a smooooth mouth and warm blood." She batted her lashes at him, the Kibree equivalent of a broad wink, and crunched another one.

Chekov's stomach was hardened to it now. The rush of bile barely registered.

"Take sight."

When she held one out to him, the ensign found to his surprise that it wasn't an insect at all. There was no sign of a head or limbs. Perhaps the creature had withdrawn them like a turtle. "Where do these come from?"

It was Dollu's turn to look surprised now. "You copped clearing leaves in the garden — kepir leaves?"

He remembered what he'd thought was fruit in the trees the previous evening. Making no move to get up from where he was fairly comfortably settled with his head in Dollu's narrow lap, Chekov held out his hand for one cautiously. The kepir she placed there felt warm and dry, like polished wood.

She mimed snapping it in two. "Give crack."

Gritting his teeth bravely he complied. The kepir was not animal or insect. It definitely looked like some sort of nut. Half a dozen pale tendrils were coiled like springs at one end, where the two halves of the shell didn't quite fit together. They jerked into tighter loops when Chekov poked at them with a curious finger. But the rest of the thing was undifferentiated white kernel, like the meat of a brazil nut.

"Take chew!" Dollu encouraged him, popping one into her own mouth.

He nibbled a little experimentally. The kepir was sweet, bland and slightly oily. Finding nothing to discourage him, he finished it. The nut had a warm scent and taste that only gradually became noticeable, a scent that wasn't culinary, but seemed very familiar and enticing. Remembering the moving vegetable stew, he asked, "Do many of your plant species possess independent mobility?"

"Oh, Feddie!" Dollu laughed. "Your speech is too slidely for slaggish ears."

"The plants." He tried to illustrate with understandable gestures. "Do they all… walk around?"

"The kepir take fall from tree, then…" She copied his gesture for walking. "… find place for new tree."

Chekov nodded sagely as she broke another one open and put it in his mouth. "A novel dispersion technique."

His companion laughed. "If you say, Feddie."

She drew another morsel from a pocket and lowered it to his lips. Almost too late he realised this was not kepir but a small piece of peeva.

"I…" he began to protest. Unfortunately, this opened rather than closed his mouth. Once the peeva was safely inside, no power in the world could induce him to spit it back out. A luscious, comforting warmth quickly spread to all his extremities. "I shouldn't have let you do that, Dollu," he said, closing his eyes.

"Such a wee chew won't give harm," she assured him, stroking his hair away from his face.

"I should be building up some sort of tolerance," he agreed, knowing both statements to be completely false. It began to seem more and more pleasant to be here alone with Dollu — who was one of the few people on this whole benighted planet who was consistently nice to him. That thought made him notice an absence. "Where is your friend? The one without a name?"

"She holds a place for us," his companion answered with a peculiar intensity.

"I don't understand," he said, as she moved her sack of kepir to one side and loosened the sash around her waist. "What are we going to do?"

She giggled huskily. "Whatever you like, Feddie."

While he puzzled over this, she lifted him up by the shoulders.

Her legs must be going numb, he realised guiltily. He intended only to pull himself to sitting, but somehow in the process, he wound up with his arms around Dollu. Once there, it seemed so natural to kiss her, he didn't stop to think about it. Neither did he pay much attention to the fact that instead of sitting up himself, he was pushing her gently to the floor. Only when he stopped himself from reaching for her breast did he pause to think he might be pushing their friendship a little far.

"I'm terribly sorry, Dollu," he said, pulling away.

"Don't make such foolish speech," she admonished him. "I took sweet of your sight the first my eyes took rest on you, Feddie." She opened her robe. "Now, take of me what you wish."

At that moment, it seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do.

Fifteen minutes later she pulled her garment closed and retied the sash. Her eyes were almost as wide as Chekov's. The now smoking lamp flame reflected out of the enormity of her pupils. She was trembling.

The ensign had a vague feeling that he'd done something wrong. He couldn't quite put his finger on what. "Was it… I mean, are you all right?" he asked anxiously, barely stopping himself from blurting out, Was it good for you? like a giddy adolescent.

"Oh, Feddie…" Dollu was smiling at him affectionately. She did it with her mouth shut and the effect was almost… well, it verged on the merely plain. "That curly red one be no fool."

The mention of Kahsheel only added to his uneasiness. He told himself that it was ridiculous to feel guilty. Last night the kiani had proved herself quite happy to see him sleep with all and sundry. As a reward for not being so fickle, Chekov leaned forward and kissed his present companion again.

She returned the embrace eagerly. After reaching into her bag, she pressed four kepir into his hand. "Give again?"

"I… I…" The kepir were about eight centimetres long by two wide. They were slightly warm and slippery. They made him feel there was somewhere else he should be. "I don't think that's possible."

"Take rest a bit, Feddie," she suggested amiably.

"That is not what I meant." He closed his fist over the kepir. "I must go. I said…"

"You fear the kibbie-eyed one will take temper with you? Give you raps for making dally without permission, eh?"

"No, that's not the problem. I have some work I have to do…" He felt uncomfortably like he was ending a relationship — a relationship that hadn't even been a relationship a few minutes ago. "I suppose I will see you later. Take ease, Dollu."

"Aye…"

"Is something wrong?" he asked guiltily. "Tell me what's wrong?"

A couple of tears ran out of the corners of her perfect almond eyes.

"No… nothing is wrong. Take ease, brother Chekov."

She snatched up her bag and fled into the darkened tunnels. Chekov considered going after her. He cared that he'd upset her, but the drug didn't let him care quite enough to get up and more than likely get lost in the maze of tunnels. Instead he picked up her lamp and walked back along the way they'd come towards the other abandoned light.

When he reached its pool of yellow light, only the peeva stopped him letting out a yelp of indignant surprise. Bathed in illumination like old varnish, Mras was industriously tugging wire out of a conduit. He looked like an extra in a Brueghel painting.

The dwarf grinned up at Chekov. "Does everything go to your head so quick? Take watch over that loose-mouthed mort. If Dollu tell her kiani Sitag you pinked her, Gebain will warm your seat for certain."

Chekov was more intrigued by what the dwarf was doing than worried about his warning. "Why should she tell him?"

"Because she's stupid."

"No. She was intelligent enough to get me out of trouble with Gebain after you… Why did you do that?" The small amount of peeva he'd had wouldn't let him be angry, but it couldn't quite smother his hurt or his curiosity.

"I took need of this wire, and no need of a sore rump. Wouldn't hurt an ape-kiani Feddie like you to taste the wrong end of a stir paddle."

"None of this is my fault, Mras," he said, taking in the whole unfair Kibrian socio-economic situation. "Why do you hate me now?"

Mras laughed, wounding Chekov's feelings again. However it was only the bemused earnestness induced by the drug that amused the dwarf. "I don't hate you, Feddie. Who d'you think told Dollu what to say? I might have let you take a few licks, but it's in a good cause."

Chekov's eyes followed the conduit up through the roof of the little chamber they were in. He could dimly make out a service way through the hole knocked in the ceiling. His brain struggled to make sense of Mras' activities, but the peeva was too much for him. "What do you do with this wire?"

"You don't want to know."

"I do."

"Better you don't take any knowledge of this, Feddie. That way you can't go worry your Kibbie-eyed master with it. It's a kindness," the dwarf explained with an unkind smile.

Chekov frowned. "What?"

"Madame Kiriar Director is in big trouble with her paymasters. And the director lady will make big trouble for your Kibbie-eyed Mister Sulu… if he doesn't play her game. And if I don't get this finished."

This sounded like something that Chekov really needed to understand and attend to. Unfortunately his mind seemed to be functioning in a different time zone. He seized on the mention of Sulu amidst so much that he didn't understand. "I must go. Is this it? Is this all there is to the hunt?"

"They'll keep collecting all day. And there's a party in the kitchen yard. But you won't be interested in that." He grinned at Chekov's puzzled expression. "Lots of chew, but you're already cooked both sides. Plenty of easy morts, but you already had that too. Better run home to your Mister-kiani Sulu while you're still hot."

"Mras…" he protested automatically, rubbing the kepir in his hand.

"Give quiet, Feddie. All saw him claim you this morning."

Even the dull fog of the peeva couldn't damp down that aching resentment. It just made it impossible to think dispassionately about what Sulu had been trying to do.

"Now, run home to your master before he sends Gebain after you with a stick," the dwarf dismissed him. "Keep straight on, turn sunways at the end."

Chekov looked at both his hands, trying to turn Kibree astronomy into right and left.

Mras reached out and tapped his left hand, concern marking the lines in his misshapen face. "Give ear, brother Chekov. When your master's done with you, tell him you have to see Mister Gebain. Go down to kitchen yard. Take care to be there for first moonset. Understand?"

"Why?"

"Don't give bother over why, shork brains. Just do it." The dwarf seemed frustrated by the slow pace of Chekov's mental processes. He climbed stiffly to his feet, bringing his nose about level with the ensign's waist. Chekov started to laugh at his comically serious expression. Mras grabbed his shirt and yanked him forward. "Promise me you'll be there, brother."

"Yes, I'll be there. I give you my word."

Mras released him. Chekov watched him for a moment as he bit off the wire with his uneven teeth and made a connection. Then the dwarf grinned at him, picked up his lamp and disappeared into the tunnels, unreeling metres of wire behind him.

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

The station timepieces were showing an hour before noon when Chekov emerged from the under tunnels into the deserted kitchen. Both moons were, he knew, up but invisible in the strong daylight. As they neared the horizon, and the sun also neared setting, they would become visible. The first moonset would occur some three hours before sunset, ten hours from now. He'd been impressed enough by Mras' insistence that he should be in the kitchen yard at the appointed time to make a mental resolution not to disappoint the dwarf. He felt no desire to go there now. Music, laughter and loud, quarrelling voices came in through the windows. It sounded like the party had already started. Somehow he didn't feel he'd be welcome. He headed for Sulu's quarters instead.

He didn't meet the lieutenant's eyes when Sulu met him at the door and glanced warily up and down the corridor. Chekov had plainly returned alone, but at least no one seemed to be around to notice this lapse.

"Are you all right?" he asked anxiously as he stood aside to let Chekov pass inside.

"Yes." The room was cool and quiet. The shutters were closed against the noonday glare.

From the first monosyllable, Sulu knew that all was not well. "I was beginning to worry about you."

"Sorry."

Then again, drugged calm did seem preferable to the row the lieutenant had been anticipating for hours now. "Is the kepir hunt over?"

"Yes. I even caught a few." The ensign held out his clenched hand with his share of Dollu's haul. When he opened it for Sulu to see the four kepir sprang into the air and skittered off across the floor.

"What the hell are they? Bugs?" Sulu went and pushed open a shutter to aid the search for the escaped kepir.

"Not exactly." Chekov, blinking furiously, quickly got down on his hands and knees under the computer workstation and pinned down two of the fugitives. He made a pretence of looking for them until his eyes stopped aching from the strong light. When he thought he'd prolonged the search as long as he could, he emerged and offered one of the kepir up to the lieutenant. "They invade the building and nest in crevices in the cellar. They are…"

"Disgusting?" Sulu suggested, examining his specimen reluctantly.

"Quite delicious." Chekov crunched the other one.

Sulu gagged. "For God's sake, Chekov…"

"What?" He picked a fragment of the shell from between his teeth and squinted innocently at the lieutenant.

"How many more of those have you got?" Sulu demanded.

"A few more…" Chekov glanced around optimistically, but evidently thought better of going in search of them. "They've gotten away."

As Sulu walked over to the disposal unit and threw the kepir in, he decided that they'd spent long enough pretending that Chekov wasn't drugged. "Okay, Pavel," he said, crossing over and reclosing the blinds. "Where did you get the peeva, and why did you take it?"

The ensign hung his head miserably. "Oh, no."

"I know we forgot to get one of those blue pills into you this morning, but…"

"It's another beating then," the ensign said with quiet resignation. "Oh, well… Shall we do it here or in the hall?"

Sulu couldn't tell if this was serious or a particularly nasty joke. "No, no. I have no intention of beating you."

"Good." Chekov sat down on the floor unexpectedly and began pulling his boots off. "I hate beatings. I was never beaten as a child, you know."

"I can imagine." Sulu put his hands on his hips.

"I am getting hot." Chekov began to pull on the fastenings of his shirt restively.

"Well, make yourself comfortable. Listen, there's something I want to ask you about."

"Yes?" The peeva seemed to be scrambling his co-ordination. It looked as if it would take him some time to get out of the garment.

"When we got back from the kideok, we had twenty jewels between us, didn't we? Why was there more like thirty in there this morning?" Sulu pointed at the cupboard beside his bed.

Chekov slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. "I knew I had to tell you something."

"This isn't more trouble, is it? I was hoping you were just getting tips."

"Tips?" Chekov looked at him narrowly. Sulu watched the entire slow-motion process of this word going down the wrong way. "Gratuities? For what?"

"Forget it. I was just trying to make a joke."

"Are you insinuating that I'm …" It took a moment for Chekov's brain to come up with something suitably insulting. "…having sex for money?"

"No, I'm not insinuating anything." Sulu reached down and tried to help him up. "Chekov, you're not thinking straight. Calm down."

"I am perfectly calm." He immediately disproved this by ripping the last button off his tunic. "I just want to know what I'm being accused of."

"I'm not accusing you of anything. You were just going to tell me where you got the extra jewels from, but if you don't want to…"

Chekov pulled away from him. He took the small pouch containing their shared wealth out of the cupboard and tossed it down the chute after the kepir. He turned back to the lieutenant with a look of drunken defiance.

Sulu was beginning to have second thoughts about the idea of a beating. "Well," he said instead. "I guess that takes care of that."

"Yes." As if he considered the matter closed, the ensign walked across the room, pulling his shirt off and tossing it aside — only narrowly managing to miss Sulu.

"You're going to take a shower now?" the lieutenant asked, patiently retrieving the garment. "No." Chekov started to fumble with the fastenings on his trousers. "I assume you want me on the bed."

"Hey, wait." Sulu grabbed him by the arm. "What do you mean by that?" He realised this was perhaps a mistake when Chekov paused in undressing and put his free hand on Sulu's cheek. He stood studying the lieutenant's face with his bleary brown eyes for a long time. "How can you be half-Kibbie?" the ensign asked softly, then laughed as if to himself. "That's stupid, isn't it?"

Sulu found himself momentarily at a loss as the ensign finished undressing and climbed into his bed. Normally when faced with difficult situations with personnel under his command, he asked himself how Captain Kirk would deal with such a problem. Somehow he just couldn't imagine Kirk ever getting into a situation as outrageous as this one. "Look, Chekov, this is going too far. If this is some sort of joke… If you're just trying to get back at me…"

The ensign blinked, as if his outburst was difficult to decipher. "You want me on my back?"

Sulu took an involuntary step backwards. "No, I didn't say that. I did not say that."

"You will have to tell me these things, Lieutenant," Chekov said guilelessly. "It's not as though I have a great deal of experience to fall back on."

"This has gotten way too weird," Sulu complained to no one in particular.

"Of course, I have never done anything quite like this in my entire life," Chekov said upon reflection. Taking his clothes off had made him feel cooler and more comfortable. Lying down was making him feel more clear-headed. Unfortunately, feeling more lucid under these circumstances was not a particularly pleasant sensation. "It's not as though I really want to do this. How bad can it be, though? Every day I am abused by a variety of petty kitchen dictators, mutants and malcontents. You, my friend, assault and humiliate me this morning in front of my fellow officers and the entire Kibree race. I have even been reduced to eating vermin. It only seems fitting I go through this also."

Sulu shook his head. "You're only feeling this way because of the peeva."

"I feel this way because everyone I trust betrays me."

"That's not true. It's just this situation we're in…"

"It's the situation I'm in," Chekov retorted, rising to his elbows. "I wouldn't mind being in the situation you're in. I could make as much of a shambles of this situation as you have quite comfortably."

Sulu sighed and sat down at the foot of the bed, resting his chin against his fist. As if his sudden attraction to the lieutenant had just as suddenly turned into repulsion, Chekov responded to this closing of the distance between them by pulling his knees up under the sheets and hugging them, frowning forbiddingly at Sulu the whole time.

"Okay, Chekov," he said after a few moments of silent contemplation. "I guess this is as good an indication as I'm going to get that the situation with you can't go on any further. It's time to re-negotiate with the Kibree. They can't deny that I've made every effort to make this work. And they need this project every bit as much as the Federation does. I'll go to the Director and withdraw our cooperation until she is prepared to come to some agreement over your treatment that is acceptable to me."

"It won't work," Chekov blurted out suddenly, as if this were a revelation.

"I'm going to make it work. Listen, the only way I see right now — after losing this whole day — of getting this project in on time is to lock you in this room in front of the computer with a supply of those blue pills. The Kibree can't argue with that."

"But they will," Chekov predicted, then said to himself in slave-caste dialect, "Madame Kiriar Director is in big trouble with her paymasters…"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that the Station Director is under pressure from some outside force, perhaps a criminal element. Soon, she's going to try to persuade you to slant your report so someone named Ffafner gets the construction contract for the next stage of the project. If you come to her with a set of demands about better treatment for me, then it will be all the more easy to get you to agree to what she wants."

"How do you know all this?" Sulu half-hoped Chekov was going to admit it was all just drug-induced paranoia.

"Because people say things in front of slaves that they assume slaves are too stupid to understand," Chekov replied. "And even the slaves talk in front of me because I'm just a stupid Feddie that takes no understanding of slaggish concerns."

"What happens if I don't cooperate?" Sulu asked. "More pressure on you? Another attempt on your life?"

"Probably."

Sulu shook his head. "I just don't see how Kahsheel's scheme fits in with all of this. It seems like it would be in her best interest to keep you alive."

"Maybe it doesn't have to fit," Chekov said slowly. It made his head ache to think so fast. "Maybe it's like the way they play chess on Alpha Centauri…"

It took Sulu a minute to figure that one out. On Alpha Centauri, the twist on the traditional game of chess was that while two living opponents took the traditional black and white sides, a computer played red pieces in random patterns that were either an obstacle to the novice, or a potential wedge for a master player to use to gain advantage. "You're saying that you don't think we're facing one enemy — one unified conspiracy. You think there are two opposing sides that are trying to use us to defeat each other."

Chekov nodded. "One side is pro-technology and advancement -more so than the current administration."

"Kahsheel's side," Sulu agreed. "They arranged that run-in between you and the kiriar, knowing that even if you only bumped into him, he'd probably be so offended that he'd make you into a slave. As property, it wouldn't look suspicious if you were to become addicted to peeva and very easy to influence. It probably would have been better for them if I hadn't been able to come up with the money to buy you…"

"But they were anticipated by the other side who are radically anti-Federation and wish to sabotage our efforts here."

"Uyal," Sulu said.

"What?"

"He's working for this side. He gave me the money for my boots — just enough for me to outbid everyone else, just enough to keep you out of the other side's hands. All along, he's given me advice that has put you in more and more trouble and has put more and more of a strain on the relationship between us and the Kibrian government."

"My death would cause a rather significant strain," Chekov observed dispassionately.

"So would my being blackmailed into giving the construction contract to an incompetent," Sulu agreed. "Or you having your tongue cut out by Datvin."

"Or blowing up the entire station."

Sulu blinked. "What?"

"This station is built on top of a maze of tunnels," Chekov informed him. "I think they've been mined."

"Oh, my God! We'll have to stop it."

Chekov's hand came down on his, his grip surprisingly strong. "No, we won't."

"What are you talking about? Do you know how many people there are in this station? How many families?"

"According to the Prime Directive, anything a native Kibrian does on this planet is sacrosanct."

"But we can't just ignore it, Chekov. However much you may dislike them, they're still intelligent beings…"

"…Who have the right to run their own world as they see fit, regardless of our opinions."

Sulu shook his head, not wanting to consider the truth of this. "Ethical questions aside for the moment, when is this going to happen?"

Chekov paused for a moment, as it hit him that just like Sulu's 'friend' Uyal, Mras had attached himself to the ensign and repeatedly put him into questionable situations. "Could be any minute now. Before about, oh… half an hour before first moon set, I imagine."

"Why d'you think that?" Sulu demanded.

"Because the… person who warned me, told me to get to a safe place in time for first moonset."

"You're not making sense, Chekov."

"I don't think he meant to warn me. I think he meant to mislead me."

Sulu started to use the comm unit before remembering that that too was without power today. He turned away from it with an exasperated oath. Instead he was reduced to sticking his head out of the door and yelling, "Johnson! Davies! Get in here!" He then turned back to the ensign. "Put some clothes on, Chekov."

The ensign shook his head as he slowly complied. "Even if we rescue ourselves, we're interfering. This group of Kibrians has decided to blow up their environmental station and a party of Starfleet officers Besides, if we all suddenly leave, someone will ask questions…"

"Do me a favour and shut up for a minute," Sulu said, throwing his shirt at him. "No, wait. First tell me about this safe place…"

"It might not be. The three of you would have no excuse for being there…"

"Yes, Lieuten…"

Johnson burst in, closely followed by Davies. If there wasn't a time bomb ticking under them and if all this was happening to someone else, Sulu might have found the surprise with which the two ensigns greeted the sight of a semi-clothed Chekov sitting on his unmade bed almost comical. Davies raised her eyebrows at him, obviously expecting one hell of a good explanation later. Instead of the stony disapproval he thought he'd see on Johnson's face, he caught a flicker of what for one split second looked like wistful longing.

"You called us, Lieutenant?" Johnson asked, as if he'd never appeared to be anything but his stolidly practical self.

"Johnson, if you wanted to sabotage this station, how would you do it?" Sulu asked him point blank, hoping for some argument to counter Chekov's suspicions.

"Uh, I'd open a service valve on the natural gas pipeline that runs underneath the station. Let it leak for a couple of hours and set off a small explosion…"

This wasn't very comforting. "Where in the station would be the safest place to be when you did that?"

Johnson looked at Chekov. "I don't know much about the layout. Mister Chekov might…"

"The kitchens are a modern addition. The cellars stop just short of them," Chekov replied, shouldering into his shirt. "What fuel do they use? Doesn't the station have an independent generator?"

Johnson stared at the ceiling, trying to recall details from their introductory tour of the facility. "Fuel oil of some sort, stored in tanks under the front courtyard. If you let that leak out…"

"…Into the water channels that go everywhere under the station then ignited it…" Chekov continued.

"A small explosive charge at the base of the retaining wall below the cisterns would do maximum damage to property without too much harm to personnel," Davies suggested.

Sulu looked at his three subordinates and found himself wondering if the three of them would as quickly come up with effective ways to destroy, say, the Enterprise. "Is that what your friends intend to do?" he asked Chekov.

"I don't know." Chekov shook his head. "I don't know how many people are involved, or who's behind it. I don't think 'my friend' was too concerned about the number of casualties among the higher castes."

"They don't need an explosion if they're using the gas line," Angharad said. "Something's bound to spark when the power comes back on."

"Anyone got a clue about when that will be?" Sulu asked.

"Five minutes after first moonset." Johnson blushed faintly when they all looked at him. "I needed to know for some simulations I wanted to run while the computer wasn't too busy. They needed most of the memory…"

"And while the power's off, any security systems they may have won't work. This kepir hunt is the obvious time to do it…" Sulu mused.

"So what do we do, Lieutenant?" Davies asked.

"I will go back to the cellars," Chekov said, pulling on his boots. "And speak with my friend. The hunt is supposed to go on for a while yet. I'm fairly certain nothing will happen before the last servant comes out of the cellars."

"Hold it a second." Sulu put a restraining hand on his arm. "I'm not sure we can get involved in this. As you said before, it would be interfering… Although I don't think the Prime Directive obligates us to sit here and get blown up…"

"Sulu, do you know what you're saying?" Davies was horrified. "There are three hundred people in this station. I don't particularly like most of them, but…"

"Three hundred?" Chekov finished putting on his boots and stood up, blazing indignation. "And I suppose you think there are only three people in this room?"

"What are you on about now?"

"How many people are there in this room?" Chekov insisted, even more angrily.

Sulu looked round, trying to work out what the catch was.

"There are four people in the room, and there are five hundred and twenty one people resident in the station." Johnson looked stonily at Sulu. "Of whom some two hundred and twenty are of servant caste."

Sulu and Davies exchanged long-suffering glances.

"Look, Chekov, I can't just let you go off…"

Chekov took in a deep breath. Deep in the marrow of his bones he knew that he was going to meet the destiny that the magician had prophesied. Under these circumstances, he was perfectly content to do so. If he had to break the Prime Directive to save five hundred and twenty one lives — and perhaps countless more who would be killed in reprisals for the incident — then so be it. However, he couldn't very well expect Sulu to authorise him to do so on the word of a nameless local fortune teller.

"Lieutenant," he began reasonably. "Considering the grave consequences of any action or inaction, you must have as much information as possible in order to make the correct decision. If I go quickly, I have the time and opportunity to gain crucial information that should greatly clarify this situation. My informant will not speak with any of you."

Sulu bit his lip, wishing he could think of a good reason to say no. "I'll have to send Johnson with you. We can't afford to have you stopped because you're out without an escort."

Chekov looked at the tall meteorologist and sighed. "All right."

"Don't draw attention to yourselves," Sulu advised as they headed for the door. "If you're caught, you know what it'll look like."

Chekov stopped, his hand on the door. He hadn't thought of that.

"I've always been a keen amateur dendrologist," Johnson said unexpectedly. "I was discussing the kepir with Uyal at the morning break today. I can say I asked Chekov to help me find some specimens." He pushed the reluctant navigator out into the corridor.

As the door shut, Sulu turned to Davies. "And now I think I've just sanctioned an outright breach of the Prime Directive."

"Oh, don't worry about that." She put her arms around him and squeezed tight. "I think Captain Kirk will be really proud of you."

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

"I don't think we should go in there."

Chekov frowned at the restraining arm Johnson put in front of his chest. The kitchen yard did seem a little on the risky side right now. The air was thick with the scent of peeva smoke and the party seemed to have developed into an orgy of sorts.

"Wait here." Chekov firmly pushed the meteorologist's arm aside, using his fellow ensign's doubt to steel himself against temptation.

Mras wasn't there. He didn't see Dollu either, but Nula was sitting alone.

"Nula, have you seen Mras?"

The servant woman turned a tear stained face up to him. "Feddie?"

"Take ease, Sister Nula," he said, taking the time to speak to her calmly, and in her own dialect, for fear of frightening her into incoherence. "Do you take knowledge of where is Mras?"

The eyes she looked out of were more despairing than afraid. "Mras send me out here. He gives search for my nammie."

"What?"

"My nammie, my wee nammie. She's gone lost in cellars. I…"

"Mras is down there looking for her?"

Nula looked blank.

Chekov was beginning to lose both his patience and his passive tolerance for peeva smoke. "I wish to help him… to give search also."

She was unmoved by his good intentions. He hesitated for a moment, but he knew that if he stood there in that fragrant smoke any longer even his teeth would break out in a cold sweat. Giving up on her, he hurried back to Johnson. "He's in the cellars, looking for a missing child."

Johnson folded his arms thoughtfully. "You're sure this isn't just a trick, to get you down there? So maybe you get the blame for whatever is about to happen? Or so that it happens to you?"

"No, I…" Chekov's confidence ebbed upon reflection. "…I don't think so."

"But you're not certain."

Chekov crossed his arms. "If you don't wish to come, Mister Johnson…"

"Mister Sulu told me to stick with you." Johnson unfolded his arms again and looked expectantly at the smaller man. "Let's go."

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

"Is this one of the kepir?"

Chekov looked round, frowning furiously. "I am trying to concentrate, Mister Johnson. It is very difficult to remember the directions." The uneven passageways looked surprisingly different in the safe, blue-white light of Johnson's torch. "Here!"

Chekov had been switching Johnson's tricorder back and forth between scanning for signs of gas or fuel oil leaks, and evidence of the dwarf or the missing child.

"Shh!" Both men froze.

There was someone else down here. The footsteps were coming from the kitchen, back the way they had come.

Johnson turned off the light.

The intruder, whoever it was, took a different turning. A glimmer of light from a lamp flashed and disappeared.

"We'll wait a moment," Chekov said cautiously.

Something crunched. A few seconds after Chekov's heart started beating again, he realised that Johnson was examining the kepir.

"What do these things taste like?"

"Like most other Kibrian plant life," Chekov answered irritably. "Other than an unusual mode of dispersion, I don't see what the Kibree find so unique about them."

Johnson chuckled. "Really? No one told you? How many did you eat?"

Chekov wasn't sure what was striking Johnson as being so amusing. Since the ensign had never shown any sign of possessing a sense of humour before, his idea of a joke was difficult to anticipate. "It's not another drug, is it?"

"You didn't notice any unusual effects?"

Chekov cast his mind back. There was still enough peeva in his system to keep him from considering anything that had happened particularly noteworthy

"The oil in them is a potent aphrodisiac, apparently."

Chekov was about to say that the substance obviously had no effect on the human system when it occurred to him that there had been several things that he'd said and done that were quite out of the ordinary. "Oh, my…"

"Well, I did wonder…" Johnson didn't need to elaborate.

Chekov cleared his throat and was glad the utter darkness hid his blushes. "Mister Johnson…"

"…Especially after the way you overreacted to the gesture the lieutenant had to make this morning…"

"Overreacted?" Chekov forgot his embarrassment in the midst of his indignation.

"I thought so," Johnson replied fearlessly. "He was just doing the only thing he could to protect you. And after all, he only kissed you. I thought Russians did that with each other all the time."

"In Russia it does not indicate that they sleep with each other," Chekov replied. "What Mister Sulu did was a… an unacceptably proprietary gesture. It puts me in the position of…"

"You don't know what sort of positions those kiani were thinking of putting you in…"

"His gesture forces me to perpetuate the impression that I… That our relationship is…"

"Well, so what? There's nothing wrong with that. Or do you think there is?"

Chekov cleared his throat again, not being completely comfortable with discussing homophobia in depth with another man he barely knew in the dark. "You can't appreciate the position this puts me in with both the servants and the kiani. Despite Mister Sulu's intentions, I am not exactly in an invulnerable position right now. You've not seen that side of the Kibree as I have. Even Ensign Davies…"

"I think it's safe to go now," Johnson interrupted.

Chekov looked at the other man in the light of the flashlight when he switched it on again. Was Johnson harbouring a secret passion for Davies? Did he perhaps want to believe that there was something between Sulu and Chekov so that he could yearn for the computer specialist without fear of competition? Chekov couldn't really imagine him doing anything more than yearning.

The tricorder registered two Kibree close by, but before he could worry about how to approach them, he heard scuffling footsteps somewhere in the tunnels. There were echoes of the sound of someone struggling and cursing. Johnson clicked the light off again.

"You freak! You larcenous, lying specimen of low life…" It was Gebain's voice, echoing round the corners so that it was completely unclear where it was originating.

There were muffled thumps and squeals of pain. Chekov found Johnson's arm in the dark, leaned close to where he guessed the other ensign's ear was. "It's Gebain."

"Who's he fighting with?"

"Not fighting, beating. And it's Mras I think."

"I know full well that the wretched child is safely locked away in its dormitory!" the echoed voice growled. "So I followed you down here, and now I want to know what you're doing!"

"What's he saying?"

It was hard to remember that the Kibrian language, so much second nature to Chekov now, was still gibberish to Johnson. "Gebain is suspicious, because he's found Mras down here. He doesn't believe the story of the missing child."

The two officers continued to move cautiously forward until they caught the glimmer of lamp light around a corner. The sounds of someone being beaten were now unmistakable.

"Do you think we should intervene?"

Chekov was stunned into silence. After a moment he said, "I thought I was supposed to be the one who rushed in without fully considering things."

"I was inviting you to fully consider it, Chekov."

Chekov did think about it and came to the reluctant conclusion that any attempt at verbal intervention would produce the worst of all possible outcomes. It would probably mean a flogging for him, unspecified trouble for Johnson, more strain on the overall mission and zero gain for Gebain's victim — and that was before anyone started asking questions about what they were doing down here to begin with. There was, however, still the option of a violent physical intervention that would leave Gebain dead or unconscious in the cellars to meet whatever fate Mras was planning for the rest of the station. Not exactly conduct becoming a Starfleet officer, but a thought that had a definite appeal to the ensign. "It wouldn't do any good," he said correctly.

"No," Johnson agreed readily. Chekov was left unsure whether the man had seriously wanted to intervene, or was only trying to impress on Chekov the foolishness of such a course of action.

There was no more sound from the tunnels.

"Shall we go?" Chekov suggested impatiently. The prolonged silence was making him very uneasy. It was unlike Gebain to remain silent when he had his victim in his clutches.

"Just a minute more."

Suddenly they were both blinking in the yellow glare of an oil lamp. Forcing his eyes open, Chekov made out with difficulty that Mras was holding the light. The dwarf was bleeding copiously from cuts on his head and face, and clutching his left side as if that was hurting him too.

"Where's Gebain?" Chekov asked, too surprised to move.

The little Kibree collapsed to his knees.

"Dirty knife…" Mras intoned, letting the weapon slip from his fingers. "…soft belly." He keeled over onto his face.

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

"Exactly my point," Davies said, leafing through a hard copy of the station manual. "The two of you are friends who became friends because of your jobs. You've never really had opportunity to question the way you feel about each other."

"It's just a weird situation." Sulu was running his thumb down the index of another. He was beginning to wish they could just go back to talking about the fact that they were probably going to blow up with the station.

"Yes, exactly. I mean, in the midst of all those hours the two of you have spent at the helm, talking about your various preferences in food, entertainment, women, hobbies and warp-speed tactical manoeuvres, I doubt you ever turned to him and said, 'Chekov, old chum, if, to save you from the proverbial fate worse than death, I suddenly began to publicly pretend we were having a homosexual affair, how would that strike you?'"

"I wish I had said it now."

Davies shook her head. "I think it's indicative of something that he instinctively headed to you."

"It probably indicates that he was just going where he knew he'd be safe. I've literally carried him back to the ship when he was too drunk to walk. No matter how upset he may have gotten with me this morning — or yesterday morning — he knows I'm not going to purposefully do anything to hurt him."

"I don't know."

"Well, I do. I know him and I know me. There's nothing for you to feel threatened by. I like him and he likes me, but we don't like each other that way." He leaned over and kissed Davies' nose. "I like you that way, though."

"You should," Davies said, tearing a page out of her copy of the manual. "I just found the floor plans you're looking for."

"Excellent!" Sulu held them up to the light. "Now as soon as I have…"

Johnson burst in breathlessly.

"What happened? Where's Chekov?"

"Things didn't go exactly as planned, sir. The servant that Chekov saw mining the tunnels got into an altercation with Gebain, the major domo."

"And?"

"And Mras killed him."

Sulu closed his eyes. "Where's Chekov?"

"With Mras. I gave the Kibree emergency first aid treatment, but he hadn't recovered consciousness yet. I came to get the medikit."

"He'll have to go to the Station Medical Officer and face the consequences of what he did," Sulu said firmly. "No matter how Chekov may feel about this man, this is a station matter now."

"Yes, sir. But as Mister Chekov pointed out, if we don't obtain this man's cooperation, there won't be a station to prosecute him."

"Where are they? In the tunnels?"

Johnson bit his lip. "No, sir."

"Just tell me, Johnson," Sulu said, steeling himself.

"Mister Chekov knew of an underground entrance to Kahsheel's quarters…"

"Oh, marvellous!" Davies rolled her eyes.

"He felt they would be safer there temporarily."

"And you couldn't talk him out of it?"

Johnson shrugged apologetically. "He can be quite persuasive, sir."

"All right. Take the medikit. Extract what information you can from Mras, then extract Chekov from Kahsheel's quarters as soon as possible The two of you are then to turn Mras over to station authorities and report back here. Johnson, it's your job to see that Chekov doesn't do or say anything in front of station officials that's going to cause trouble. I want you to get him back to this room as soon as possible and see to it that he stays put until I get back to talk to him. Tie him to a chair if you have to."

"Yes, Lieutenant. I understand. Where will you be, sir?"

"Davies and I are going to try to buy us some extra time. We're going to the power control room to see if there's anything we can do to keep the power from coming on until we've got all this sorted out."

"But, sir," Johnson protested. "Isn't that..?"

"Interfering?" Sulu consulted the timepiece on the wall. Another seven hours until the first moonset. "Not yet."

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

"What are you doing here?" There was something unusual about Kahsheel's manner. Her words sounded somewhat slurred.

Chekov shifted the still unconscious Mras in his arms. Despite his lack of stature, the dwarf was rather heavy to lug around. "Difficult to explain," he gasped. "Do you mind if I come in?"

The kiani stood aside and let him pass through the curtained entrance into her bedroom. "Don't put that thing on the bed," she said, referring to the bleeding servant. It seemed to upset her no more than if the ensign had tracked muddy footprints across her clean floor.

Chekov put Mras gently down on the cool tiled floor of the bath. He and Johnson had ripped up most of his shirt to temporarily bandage the dwarf's wounds. Chekov ripped off another strip, soaked it in cold water and put it on the dwarf's forehead.

"Men just don't appreciate clothes," Kahsheel said, watching him from the doorway. Her statement was accompanied by a peculiar sniffing sound that made Chekov turn around and look at her.

"You've been crying?" It was hard to judge with Kibrians, but her face and eyes did look discoloured.

"I've been drinking," she corrected, picking up a glass of clear liquid from beside her bed. "This stuff makes me want to cry."

The smell, although not strong, was unmistakably familiar to Chekov. "Vodka?"

"It was going to be a surprise for you," she said. "I was just going to try a little of it. It seems that it is not possible to just drink a little of it."

He turned back to Mras. He didn't know why he'd come back here. He told himself it was to get the dwarf away from the scene of the crime, but he wasn't sure now. After a moment, he heard the sniffing noise again.

When he looked back, big tears were running passively down the kiani's face.

He got up and went to her. "Maybe you shouldn't drink any more of this," he said, taking the glass out of her hands.

She put one hand on his shoulder as if to pull him towards her, then let her fingers run down his arm.

"You remember last night, don't you?" she asked sadly.

"Yes." He didn't look at her, but neither did he move away.

She let her fingers linger on the palm of his hand. "I suppose you want an explanation."

"Yes."

Holding his hand loosely, she led him over to the bed and sat down. "Do you know how I feel about you?"

"No."

"I know how you feel about me." She smiled. "You adore me."

"I'm not sure about that," he said, checking back towards the direction of his patient.

"No." She reached out and touched his cheek. "That's not true." She pulled him down towards her. He couldn't find it in his heart to resist. Her kiss tasted of vodka. "Despite everything, you adore me."

He was glad there weren't any listening devices in the room. "This isn't an explanation."

"Be patient," she admonished him with another kiss. "You see, I can understand the way you feel about me and enjoy it. But you can't understand or enjoy the way I feel about you."

"Which is?"

"I want to own you," she said, running a hand through his hair possessively. "I wish it could always be the way it was between us last night."

He took her hand away. "So you could share me with your friends?"

"No." She returned it. "Except for that. I want you for myself. I enjoy caring for you, controlling you. To me, it's natural that you're a servant. You're so impulsive, so ruled by your passions. You need someone to be responsible for you."

"Kahsheel…"

"But you can't accept that, can you? Your culture teaches you that those sort of feelings are disgusting."

"You should be able to accept me as an equal."

She smiled and shook her head. "But that would be so boring. Why don't you accept things between us the way they are? I could…"

"That would be impossible."

"I know," she sighed, then reached past him for her glass. "Let me get you a drink."

"I don't want it. You still haven't given me an explanation."

"The situation at this station has always been more politically complex than you Federation people are able to discern," she said, crossing to her little table and pouring two drinks with her back towards him. "The decision to build the station on this particular site was controversial…"

"Because it was previously the site of the dwelling of the ruling family?" he guessed, relieved that she was finally getting down to business.

"For many reasons," she said. She held out both glasses, allowing him to choose his own drink.

Chekov took this as a tacit acknowledgement of her previous attempts to drug him. He was so reassured by the gesture that he accepted one glass.

"You and I have never discussed my own political or religious beliefs," she said, sitting back down beside him.

"I wasn't aware you had any."

"Oh, I do…" Kahsheel drank half her large glassful in one swallow. "I do."

Chekov was still cautious enough to take only a small sip. "Do you care to discuss them now?"

She smiled at him strangely. "No," she answered, putting her arms around his neck. She held him tightly against her as she kissed him with an intensity that belied her implication that she was the more dispassionate of the two.

Chekov decided he'd point this out to her… if she ever decided to let him back up for air. She let her glass drop noisily to the floor and he followed suit. He'd almost had enough time to forget what he was going to say, when the kiani abruptly pulled away. She put her hand to her throat and gasped convulsively as if she couldn't catch her breath.

"Kahsheel?"

After gasping a few more times, she made a peculiar sighing noise and slumped forward against him.

"Kahsheel?" He shook her, but there was no response. There didn't seem to be any pulse under his hands when he moved them up to her neck. "Kahsheel?"

She definitely didn't seem to be breathing at all. He first thought of trying resuscitative procedures. However, when he moved her, the kiani's foot knocked against one of the glasses on the floor. Looking down at them, he remembered Kahsheel's usual modus operandi and noticed that he too was feeling light-headed and short of breath.

He rose and headed for the door, reasoning that if she'd poisoned both the drinks, the only hope for either of them lay with Johnson and the medikit.

"Hey!" Chekov didn't look back to see which of Kahsheel's servants had spotted him as he crossed to the door leading to the hallway. "Where do you think you're going? Stop!"

Chekov knew that it wasn't really wise for a potential poisoning victim to run, but there didn't seem to be an alternative. He was checking over his shoulder on his pursuer when he ploughed into some sort of obstacle — a large, fleshy, dark blue obstacle.

"But… but you're dead!" he protested.

A very living Gebain picked him up by the tattered front of his shirt. "And just what would make you think that?" he asked.

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

"I didn't think we'd ever get here," Davies sighed, leaning against the closed door of the power control room.

The only excuse the Enterprise officers could come up with for being in the corridors was that they'd decided to use their unexpected downtime to tour the facility. That meant that they couldn't let any kiani they met on the way get the idea that they were in too much of a hurry to stand around and politely chat about transfer ratios for a few minutes. They'd met enough wandering kiani to drive a person to drink.

"Just don't ask me if I'm sure I'm doing the right thing," Sulu said, consulting his floor plan.

"I'm sure you're doing the right thing," she replied, patting him on the back.

"Thanks." He gave her a quick kiss as he refolded the plan. "The main controls are behind that door."

"I'm behind you all the way," Davies said, allowing him to precede her.

The first thing that Sulu realised upon entering was that there was someone already there. The second thing he realised was that the person was wearing his boots. The third thing that registered was that the person was carrying a native projectile weapon.

"Ah, Sulu," the person said, levelling the weapon at them. "I was so hoping you wouldn't come here."

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