Almost reflexively, Sulu stepped in front of Davies. The Kibrian smiled and gestured him back with his gun. "No, no, I'm afraid that I have the privilege of deciding who dies first."

"Uyal…" Although of a primitive design, the Kibrian weapon was quite deadly at this range. Sulu moved as far as he dared to Davies' right, making it harder for the Kibree to watch them both at once. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Nothing that you can prevent," the kiani answered pleasantly. "In fact, now that I consider, your presence here will only lend an air of authenticity to the proceedings. And now, if you don't mind, please put your hands behind your head."

"That's why you have my boots," Sulu said, nodding towards Davies to signal that she should comply also. "You're here to frame me."

"Hardly, after all, everyone knows that you no longer have your boots. I was intending to cast suspicion on someone with rather more reason to harbour a grudge." Uyal smiled at Sulu's reaction. "You really shouldn't waste your time trying to understand what I'm doing. You have so little of it left." The kiani moved to stand in front of the console. There was a small battery-powered unit hastily wired to the main controls. Uyal covered his two prisoners with the gun in his right hand while he punched commands into the system quickly and easily with his left.

Davies noted as he did so that the kiani was wearing thin gloves. His feet, shod in regulation Star Fleet gear, left greasy and easily identifiable footprints. ]

Following her eyes to his feet, Uyal obligingly displayed the stained sole of his borrowed boot. "A pity that the lieutenant has such an irresponsible servant who doesn't even clean his own boots properly, isn't it?"

"But you don't gain anything by incriminating Chekov," Sulu protested. He knew that the Kibrian's culturally indoctrinated abhorrence of personal violence was delaying his pulling the trigger. They had to keep the kiani talking.

"Oh, yes I do," Uyal returned easily, as he aimed the gun directly at the lieutenant's chest. "But I hardly expect you to appreciate my reasons."

"Then you aren't planning to destroy the station?" Davies asked, quickly splitting the kiani's focus. "You intend the evidence you are planting in this room to be found. You're simply sabotaging… the computers?"

"There's nothing simple about it, Miss Davies," Uyal replied, pressing another sequence of buttons. "When power is restored, the entire core will be destroyed. Some kiani will look no further than your ill-disciplined and ungrateful servant, while others may blame the group of Federation officers who have been disrupting the normal schedule of the station for the past few days. Either way, this should end, I sincerely hope, our ill-conceived alien alliances and mark the beginning of a return to traditional Kibrian ways and values."

"So now you're going to try to make it look like you interrupted us in the act," Sulu speculated.

"Not I. It will have to be some other loyal Kibrian who habitually goes about armed… and who will unfortunately be too unskilled to be able to identify or rectify the damage you have done." Uyal turned to Davies. "Of course I wouldn't attempt to destroy the station. Do you think I'm insane?"

"It's a fair question," Davies replied, looking down the barrel of his weapon.

"Someone is planning to blow up the station," Sulu informed him.

"Oh, really?" Uyal seemed only marginally interested. "A ploy by the opposition, probably. You don't know about them, do you? I'm afraid the situation on this station is such that we kiani avoid talking politics with anyone other than our allies. Well, there are certain deluded individuals on Kibria, Lieutenant, who have pushed us away from our heritage with their lust for your technology. They are willing to go beyond your laws and ours to obtain what they want… apparently to the point of threatening to destroy this station. They won't go through with it, of course. This station is their crowning glory. They'd rather die than give it up. They're probably only threatening to do so in order to blackmail a few more shiny toys out of Federation hands."

"We know a good deal about the opposition," Sulu replied, seeing an opening to rattle the kiani. "For one thing, we know that your fiancee, Kahsheel, is one of the leaders."

"A leader? Is she really?" Uyal asked politely. "How enterprising of her. Of course, I was aware she was a member. I'd hate to think her reckless behaviour with your Mister Chekov occurred because she actually found him attractive."

"You sound jealous," Sulu pushed.

"Jealousy is such a lower class emotion," Uyal chided him. "I hadn't thought of it before, but your death will leave poor Chekov in want of a master, won't it? I've always thought he'd make a good servant… under a firm hand, of course. It would be very amusing to own him. I hope I once more have sufficient resources when it comes time for bidding."

Sulu closed his eyes against a vision of Chekov with only the oblivious Johnson between him and the machinations of the Kibree.

"And that would tend to explain her meetings with Driant," Uyal continued softly to himself.

"Who?" Davies asked.

"The time for questions is now over, Miss Davies." Uyal gestured with the gun. "I'd like you both facing the wall, please."

"Uyal…" Sulu protested.

"Now, Lieutenant," Uyal repeated grimly, pointing his weapon at Davies.

For some reason, Davies smiled and moved a half-step forward. "I never noticed that you're ambidextrous, Uyal."

"Davies!" Sulu hissed.

"Are you really?" she asked teasingly, as if making a suggestive comment.

Sulu had no idea what she was up to, but she was succeeding in doing what he hadn't been able to. For once the loquacious kiani was dumb with surprise.

"I'd wager that you actually favour one hand over the other." Davies licked her lips as if in anticipation as Uyal's face went tight with anger. "Perhaps the left hand?"

Cold, murderous fury was in the kiani's eyes as he took aim at the ensign's head. Sulu seized the opportunity, throwing himself bodily over the console. The gun went off with a muffled report, bringing down a shower of ornate plasterwork from the ceiling. By the time the lieutenant had knocked the engineer out with a quick chop to the neck, Davies was already at work, ripping circuit boards out from under the console and replacing them back to front or upside down - anything to delay anyone attempting to bring the station's power supply back on line.

"Hand me some cable."

She yanked out a couple of metres. Sulu looped the material into a pair of impromptu handcuffs. Pulled into a sitting position and tied to the metal grille over a window, all it took was some second hand insulating tape to render Uyal completely helpless.

"Can you reverse what he did?"

Davies frowned as her fingers flew over the console. "He wasn't lying. A massive power overload will hit the computer systems as soon as power is restored. It's going to take a few minutes to reroute."

"Take your time." Sulu frowned at the unconscious kiani as he retrieved his boots. "How did you know that what you were saying about his being left-handed was going to push him over the edge?"

"All men have a weakness." Davies smiled as she corrected another bit of cross wiring. "Women can sense these things."

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

"I d… don't know, sir." There was a curious prickling sensation in all the muscles around Chekov's mouth. His tongue felt larger than usual. Without wanting to, he clutched Gebain for support. "I think I may have…"

The major domo shook him into silence. "I think you may have helped your friend Mras try to kill me."

Chekov made a particular effort to drag a breath into lungs which had stiffened like neglected leather. "No…"

Gebain pulled him up onto his toes. "You know where the stunted little vermin is, don't you?"

"Sir!" Kahsheel's servant, Nard, skidded indecorously to a halt. "Sir, I just caught him running out of my lady's apartment. He refused to stop when I tried to question him…"

The major domo lowered the ensign back to the floor as he paused a fraction of a second to re-evaluate the situation. "Where is your lady?" he asked in a more subdued tone, obviously not wishing to rouse the kiani's ire.

"I don't know. She gave the entire staff the day off, not only the slaves. I had just stepped in to get an item I'd forgotten."

"Curious." The big Kibree tilted his head to one side as he examined the ensign. "Very curious. But regardless of where he was coming from, there's little doubt he's worse for the wear."

Chekov managed to stand on his own two feet with some difficulty. "I… must see… a doctor."

"Oh, you may need to see one after I've finished with you." Gebain clapped his hands, summoning one of his assistants.

"Sir?" came the almost instantaneous reply from down the corridor.

"Ijzo, fetch me a cane," Gebain ordered. "Nard, return to your lady's rooms. If she isn't there, check to see if this one's damaged or stolen anything. And you…" He grabbed Chekov, who was leaning unsteadily to one side, by the back of the neck. "You'd better tell me what you know about Mras."

Chekov closed his eyes and shook his head. "Can't," he said, over the loud buzzing inside his ears.

"Good," the Kibree said, dragging him towards one of the large ornamental chairs that dotted the corridors. "I'd rather beat it out of you. And after that, there will be an additional penalty to pay for being where you have no business being. And then I'm going to return you to your master and see what he has to say after he sees just how much peeva you've had this time."

"Not… peeva," Chekov gasped. He was beginning to feel as if he might explode if he couldn't force more air into his body.

"What's happening here, Mister Gebain?"

"Johnson…" Chekov tried to turn in the direction of this familiar voice. "…Help…"

"This slave has been caught violating station rules," Gebain replied, efficiently jerking him back into place with one hand while he accepted his stick from his assistant with the other. "I am preparing to discipline him. However, I could wait while you summon Lieutenant Sulu, if you feel that is necessary."

"No need for that." The meteorologist cleared his throat and straightened his uniform. "The lieutenant is busy at present. He has asked me to take care of Ensign Chekov for the time being."

"Very well." Gebain nodded to his assistant, who began to pull the heavy chair away from the wall.

"So…" Johnson held out his hand. "…if you'd let me have that cane…"

"Johnson… Don't… I…" Chekov protested with the little breath he had left as the major domo reluctantly released him and handed the long stick to the meteorologist.

"Quiet, please," Johnson said, stepping between the Kibree and his intended victim.

The cane snapped with a satisfying crack and the two halves clattered onto the floor.

Into the stunned silence, Chekov gasped, "Poisoned… I've… been… poisoned."

"What?" Ignoring Gebain's outraged expression, Johnson helped Chekov down to sit in the chair. "What did you say?" he demanded as he clicked on a medical scanner and hastily dialled the appropriate sensors.

"…Can't breathe… Kahsheel…"

Nard lurched dramatically back into the hallway. "Call the Investigators!" he cried, pointing at Chekov. "He's killed Kahsheel!"

Chekov looked up at Johnson. "…No…"

The kiani's servant spun away from Gebain and the Star Fleet officers towards a communications point, then stopped dead, remembering that they were inactive. Instead, he sprinted off down the corridor.

Gebain folded his hand over Johnson's medical scanner.

"Now, wait just a moment…" Johnson protested as the major domo lifted it from his grasp.

"There are procedures we must follow now, Mister Johnson," Gebain explained coldly, as he snapped his fingers for his assistant. "Ijzo, go to Engineer Kahsheel's quarters, lock the door and return. Nard will inform the Director and she will alert the authorities."

Johnson crouched down beside his fellow ensign. Chekov was by now chalk-white. His breathing was agonised. The meteorologist's fingers registered a ridiculously sluggish pulse and cold, damp skin. "Did Kahsheel poison you?"

Chekov closed his eyes as he nodded, as if this was hard to admit.

"How did she do it?"

"…Vodka…"

Johnson frowned as he tried to puzzle out what 'watka' might be. "Pavel, you've got to speak Standard right now."

Chekov cursed people's inability to understand him because of his accent for what could very well be the last time in his life. "…Drink… the drink…"

"Okay, stay calm. We'll take some readings and get the antidote into you. You'll be just fine. Mister Gebain, I need my medical equipment to treat…"

"I'm afraid that won't be possible."

The ensign twisted in response to a new voice He rose quickly when he realised that it belonged to the Station Director. "Madame Director, I don't know what's happened here, but Mister Chekov is showing signs of respiratory distress. If he collapses, we may never discover…"

"Ma'am!" Ijzo returned. He stood with his mouth agape for a moment, as if overwhelmed at the prospect of reporting his tidings to someone so exalted.

"Yes?" the Director prompted reassuringly.

"Madame Director," the lower caste began, lowering his head respectfully. "Engineer Kahsheel is indeed dead. There were two glasses lying on the floor of her bedchamber. I didn't touch them. I didn't touch anything. And there was blood everywhere…"

The Director nodded. "You were quite correct, Ijzo, to respect the evidence. And you, Ensign Johnson, will also understand that it is vital that the evidence is not compromised."

"Yes, Ma'am. Of course," Johnson agreed, then pointed to Gebain. "However, my scanner is not evidence and I do need it."

She nodded to Gebain, who, instead of returning the scanner, confiscated Johnson's medikit also, then placed both items into the Director's long, slim hands. "I don't think you understand, Ensign. If you treat this servant, you will be confusing matters."

"Ma'am, Chekov may die in a matter of minutes if you don't return my equipment," Johnson protested.

The Director shook her head. "This servant is evidence in a case of murder."

"This servant is a living person!" Johnson rose and stepped towards her, reaching for the medikit. His height equalled the Director's, but he didn't quite have her imperious presence… or the major domo's sheer bulk. Gebain firmly pushed the ensign's out-thrust left hand back to his side.

"Of course." The Director's tone was polite, but she eyed his hand disdainfully, as if the meteorologist had just committed some terrible faux pas. "I appreciate his value to Lieutenant Sulu. I assure you he will be attended to. However, you must desist from interfering with him until he has been examined by an Investigating Surgeon."

Johnson swallowed his anger. "And how long…"

"The Investigators have been summoned," she interrupted dismissively. "They are aware that the situation is serious and politically sensitive. They will be expeditious."

Johnson turned at the sound of another Kibree rapidly approaching. Unfortunately it was only the Station Manager.

"Ah, Datvin," the Director greeted him, apparently thinking the situation called for the presence of another bureaucrat. "Good. Are the Investigators on their way?"

"They are short-staffed, due to the holiday, Madame Director." Datvin looked down at Chekov, who had his eyes squeezed shut and clutched at his chest as he noisily struggled for each breath. "Perhaps I should call the Medical Officer."

"J…ah…son." Chekov's lips were almost as blue as Gebain's.

"Don't worry, Chekov. I'm here."

"Datvin, have this…" The Director waved a hand in Chekov's direction. "…person confined under supervision."

"Ma'am!" Johnson exploded as the Station Manager signalled for assistance to the members of the small crowd of onlookers that had gradually gathered. "Chekov must have immediate medical attention. You appear to be assuming his guilt without any…"

"Ensign Johnson." The Director held up a finger to ensure that she had his attention. "However the facts of the case may subsequently be established, this servant has either poisoned Kahsheel - in which case he must be confined for everyone's safety - or he has been poisoned by whoever did actually poison the engineer, thus making him a vital witness and quite conceivably in danger as a result. I have ordered that he should be impounded at least as much for his own protection as anyone else's."

"Wait." Johnson stepped in front of the burly Kibree poised to lift Chekov out of the chair.

"Ensign…" Datvin put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You are simply slowing the process down now. If you truly have any concern for your superior's servant, you will…"

"If you don't allow me to treat this man immediately, I will refuse you access to any of the files and programs I have written during my time here." The words were out of Johnson's mouth before he had time to consider them. "I protect all the files I work on with a personal code. Anyone who attempts to break that code will discover that they have crashed your entire computer system and wiped every byte of data and programming."

The Director bristled. "You have no authority to even threaten to do such a thing, Ensign. Lieutenant Sulu will…"

"Lieutenant Sulu may go to hell and take you with him, ma'am," Johnson interrupted heatedly. "If I am forced to stand here and watch my fellow officer needlessly die, I will see that this station pays dearly."

Behind him, Chekov began to make the peculiar hiccuping noise that Kahsheel had made just before collapsing. Johnson suppressed the urge to turn to him and instead kept his eyes locked on the Director's narrow gaze.

When the meteorologist held his hand out this time, she placed the medikit in it, her face carved from stone.

"Gebain, clear these people away from this area," she demanded. "Why are they loitering in the corridors? See that none of the evidence is disturbed."

Johnson paid no attention to her attempts at saving face. The scanner was already feeding him information. He loaded a hypo one-handedly.

"I can't see what it is, Chekov, but we can control the symptoms. It's going to be all right. Don't worry. You're going to be fine…" He wasn't even sure that Chekov could hear him as he went on mechanically intoning reassurance and pumping one drug after another into the Russian.

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

"Hold on - come here!"

Sulu turned back from the door that led into one of the main station thoroughfares, his hand still ready to push it open.

"You look like you've been in a fight," Davis chided. "We don't want to make anyone suspicious…"

The lieutenant patiently allowed Davies to brush his hair down and pull his tunic straight. As she finished he considered kissing her, but decided against it. After all, he now had a dead bailiff, a badly injured slave and Chekov to worry about. While he contemplated these difficulties, she kissed him.

"Chekov…" he hinted.

Davies sighed. "I thought men only came out with the wrong name when they were drunk."

"I can see neither of you are ever going to let me forget this," he said, taking her arm and guiding her through the door. "Now, which way to Kahsheel's quarters?"

"Roughly this way." Davies pointed. "We're going there?"

The confrontation with Uyal had given Sulu a taste for gunboat diplomacy. "I think it would be best if I have this out with Kahsheel face to face…"

He fell silent as the familiar, ominous figure of the Director emerged from around the corner of the hallway. "You were intending to go and speak to Engineer Kahsheel, Lieutenant Sulu?"

"Yes, ma'am." Sulu massaged his heart back down out of his throat, remembering that the Director's office was just down the hallway from here. Their meeting here was probably just a coincidence.

"May I ask on what subject?" the Director asked, her tone particularly grim.

"Uh, a private matter… having to do with my servant."

The Director appeared to give this explanation lengthy consideration. Sulu felt panic that he could ill afford bubbling up inside him. Had Kahsheel found Chekov and the dwarf in her quarters? Had Gebain's body been discovered? These were questions he couldn't ask but needed answers to before he could take action.

"Lieutenant." The Director pointed towards her office like a schoolmaster directing an erring youth to a disciplinary conference. "You and I have vital matters to discuss."

"Why, what's happened?" Sulu countered, hoping he didn't look anywhere near as guilty as he felt.

The Director pointedly made no reply as she turned to Davies. "Ensign, you will wait in your quarters until the lieutenant requires you."

Davies looked to Sulu for confirmation of this dismissal.

"Go to my quarters and wait there, Davies." His face registering a calm he didn't possess, he followed the Director up the hall and into her inner sanctum, his heart pounding against his ribs.

She shut the door very firmly. "Have a seat, please, Lieutenant."

Two of the massive carved chairs were drawn up to a desk large enough for a respectable game of table tennis. The overall proportions of the room, along with the Director's inhuman height, made Sulu feel about nine years old. He sat down and looked at the sheaf of pale yellow papers that broke up the expanse of polished wood.

"Your report on the recommended route for terraforming Eenos."

Sulu looked up at her. "I haven't written it yet."

"You misunderstand me. This…" She tapped the papers. "…is your report. All it requires is your signature."

Sulu clamped his mouth shut until he sorted out the questions that really needed to be asked. He had expected this, of course, but not so quickly or so blatantly.

"The time for niceties has passed, Lieutenant," the Director informed him, folding her hands behind her back as she crossed to her side of the massive desk. "Suffice it to say, I have reasons that motivate me to do whatever is necessary to ensure that the contract for construction of the plant and accommodation on Eenos is awarded to Ffafner Associates. This report will be enough to bring the relevant Government Committee to the correct conclusion. All it requires is your signature confirming that Ffafner meet the necessary technical criteria."

Sulu reached out and pulled the report towards him. It gave him time to think and it was always conceivable that the Ffafner proposal did meet the criteria. From what he remembered, though, it was the weakest of the five bids.

"And if I don't?" he said, asking the only question that remained.

The Director folded her hands on the table before her. "Your servant, Chekov, has been arrested pending further investigation of the poisoning of Engineer Kahsheel."

The report dropped from Sulu's fingers. "What?"

"Your servant has not been formally accused," the Kibree continued calmly. "However, he was seen leaving her quarters, hastily, just before her body was found. The poison was administered in a Terran beverage. Two glasses were found which had evidently contained the poisoned drink. Your servant claims to have been poisoned himself. As yet, we have reached no conclusions."

Sulu swallowed hard. It didn't sound like it would take a genius to reach a conclusion based on that recital of facts. "Kahsheel is dead?"

The Director nodded. "Very much so. The Medical Officer reports that the amount of poison found in her system was sufficient to kill several adult Kibree almost instantly…"

"And Chekov?"

"We have summoned an Investigating Surgeon to examine him. I allowed your Ensign Johnson to administer emergency treatment for the effects of the poison." The Director frowned mightily. "However, I did so under duress. I can appreciate that Ensign Johnson was in an emotional state, however there is no excuse for his conduct. I warn you for the last time, Lieutenant, I will not be threatened or treated disrespectfully by your subordinates…"

"Yes, Director, of course," Sulu agreed automatically as he rose, wondering what the hell Johnson could have said to her and why. "I will speak to him. However I want to see Chekov right now."

"Mister Sulu." The Kibree folded her arms. "The law must take its course. Your servant is both a suspect and material evidence in a murder investigation. Strictly speaking, I have been overindulgent in allowing Johnson access to the prisoner. I may have to withdraw that privilege."

"I said I'd speak to him," Sulu acknowledged impatiently. "He was probably just…"

The Director put one hand up for silence. "Lieutenant, you don't appreciate the gravity of what I'm saying. Ensign Johnson has not been able to neutralise the toxin in your servant's system. He is merely maintaining life despite its effects."

"I see." It took a lot to bring Sulu to the verge of losing his temper. This was just about to do the trick. He picked up the stack of papers from the table in front of him. "So I sign this report or you'll let Chekov die?"

"If you sign this report now," the Kibree answered evenly, "it will be considered by the Committee early tomorrow. Their decision will be binding. And I will be grateful."

Sulu had to admit that the Director had a certain skill for blackmail. She'd clearly communicated her threat entirely by implication. If their conversation had been recorded or overheard, nothing she'd said put her outside Kibrian law or custom.

"I want to see Chekov," he replied, tossing the papers back onto the desk.

"Very well." The Director leaned forward and swept the scattered sheets together. "I will permit you to do so."

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

The outer office of the Security Area didn't look that different from any other office on the station. It might have been a little less tidy than most. There were several desks with half-completed paperwork stacked carelessly on them and blank computer screens. Two inner doors were both ajar. Sulu reflected as he passed through unchallenged that security didn't seem to be a very high priority.

He followed the sound of Johnson's slightly nasal murmur through one of the doors into an inner area. The walls were lined with lockers. One corner had been fenced off with floor-to-ceiling bars. Because this was Kibria, the black metal bars were decorated with elaborate curlicues. It looked like Chekov was being held inside a grille-work porch straight from Old New Orleans French Quarter.

The cell contained a narrow bench, sanitary facilities and a small barred and shuttered window. A closed Starfleet medikit lay on the table near the door. Johnson was standing by the closed door to the cell, apparently holding hands with the prisoner on the other side.

Chekov looked up.

"Lieutenant," he said, waking the Kibrian law enforcement officer dozing at a desk near the door. The Kibrian hastily rose to inspect the new visitor.

Sulu could now see that Johnson was actually taking Chekov's pulse. Despite the direness of the occasion, the lieutenant couldn't help smiling at his friend. "I thought you were at death's door."

"No, he's fine, Lieutenant," Johnson answered for his patient. "Just sit down now, Pavel."

"I…"

"No, sit down," the meteorologist ordered before his charge could complete his objection. "I don't want you to get dizzy. Do you feel dizzy?"

"A little, perhaps," Chekov admitted grudgingly.

Despite Johnson's assurances as Sulu drew closer he could see that Chekov didn't look at all well. The ensign was very pale. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Go ahead and sit down. I'm sure our friend here can scare up a few chairs for us."

The Kibrian guard gave him a less than obliging look.

"We'll be back in a moment," Johnson informed Chekov, taking Sulu by the arm. "I don't want to talk in front of this guy."

Johnson ushered Sulu out of the room with such decisiveness that the lieutenant simply played along. Presumably Johnson was too flustered to realise he only had to turn off his translator.

Outside, in the main office, Johnson put a warning finger to his lips. "I don't want to upset Chekov. But I can't leave him too long…"

"What's the problem?"

"I can't identify the poison they used. I think it's related to the type of drugs they once used to prepare people for cryogenic sleep. His metabolism is crashing down to nothing. I've pumped him full of stimulants, but I can't keep him conscious for long. If you want to talk to him, it'll have to be now."

"How long can you keep giving him the stimulants?" Sulu said, asking the question he had a good feeling he didn't want to hear the answer to.

Johnson swallowed hard. "Not indefinitely, sir."

Sulu put the part of himself that reacted emotionally to the news that his friend was probably going to die on hold for the moment as he nodded.

"And I don't have unlimited supplies," Johnson continued. "We could certainly use some unprecedented cooperation from the Kibrians right now."

"I don't think that's likely. What did you say to the Station Director?"

Johnson's face went scarlet. "I… I insisted that she let me treat Chekov. I'm sorry, sir, but I threatened to crash the computer system if she didn't let me. It was only a bluff, but…"

"But it worked." Sulu patted the meteorologist on the arm. "Don't get carried away with that sort of thing, though."

Johnson's eyes went involuntarily back to the occupant of the cell in the inner room as an object lesson on the consequences of such impulsiveness. "Yes, sir."

"Have you got anything in the medikit that could knock out a Kibrian for four or five hours?"

Johnson raised an eyebrow. "Yes… Why would you…"

"Don't ask. And about the help here…" Sulu nodded towards the Security Officer who was watching them through bright narrow eyes. "Good point. Turn your translator off. I'll tell him anything he needs to know."

"Yes, sir."

As they returned, Chekov was in the process of moving to lie down on the hard wooden bench.

"Wait, Chekov," Johnson ordered with an intensity that undermined his cheerful attempt to imply that all was well. "Don't lie down yet. Don't go to sleep."

"Stand up, sit down, don't stand up, don't lie down," Chekov complained wearily, as he rose and crossed to the bars, automatically offering the meteorologist his arm. "Make up your mind, Mister Johnson."

"You're doing fine." Johnson hissed another hypo full of stimulant into it. "If that tingling comes back, just keep moving."

"What happened with Kahsheel, Chekov?" Sulu asked.

The ensign paused to take in a deep breath as the medication entered his system. Sulu could see the drug take effect, reviving and strengthening his fellow officer. "I took Mras to Kahsheel's quarters via an underground entrance. I hoped to avoid detection that way."

The lieutenant merely nodded. There didn't seem to be much point in debating the wisdom of Chekov's choice to take Mras to Kahsheel's room right now.

"Kahsheel was acting very strangely," Chekov continued, as Johnson loaded another hypo and handed it to Sulu. "I believe she was intoxicated."

"She was drunk?" Sulu slipped the hypo inside his sleeve without comment.

"Yes. She'd obtained a quantity of vodka — presumably from one of our replicators… I didn't think of asking at the time…" Chekov looked suddenly very tired again.

"Why vodka?" Sulu pressed, hating himself for doing so. "Because she knew you liked it and would drink some?"

Chekov shook his head. "I don't know. Since she was drinking it herself, I failed to anticipate that both glasses might be…" He broke off and shook his head at the floor. "I cannot believe she would do such a thing."

"Lieutenant…" Johnson didn't take his eyes off the scanner he was holding near to Chekov's chest. "I'm no expert on Kibrian culture, but from my understanding, if someone of high caste is threatened with scandal, exposure…"

"They often opt for suicide over public disgrace," Sulu finished for him. "She knew we were on to her. Did she seem suicidal?"

"Yes," Chekov admitted, although it visibly cost him to do so. "Her conversation was disjointed. She seemed despondent. I believe she had been crying. She attempted to persuade me to go away with her…"

"One way or another," Sulu added ironically.

"I cannot believe she intended to harm me," Chekov protested loyally, despite the fact that he had been both eyewitness and victim of the deed.

"I can't believe I didn't foresee that she'd try this." Sulu crossed his arms. "It's straight from classical Kibrian literature. Poisoning you and herself with your favourite drink is a scene directly from their version of Romeo and Juliet."

"I've never liked that ballet," Chekov said, naturally thinking of Tchaikovsky before Shakespeare.

"Does the name Driant ring a bell?" Sulu asked, remembering the possible accomplice Uyal had mentioned.

Chekov leaned his shoulder against the bars wearily.

"Wait…" Sulu snapped his fingers. "Yes… Yes it does! Remember in the kideok… the guy who started the whole thing with the magistrate and was fined… Wasn't his name Driant?"

"It could have been," Chekov replied as he passively allowed Johnson to take his wrist again.

"What happened to…" The slave's name embarrassingly slipped his mind. "Uh… that dwarf?"

"Mras was lying on the floor unconscious when I left…"

"…But no one who entered later reported seeing him," Johnson finished for his patient. "Although one of the servants did say something about there being a lot of blood in the apartment."

"He must have revived," Sulu theorised. "Saw Kahsheel's body, figured out that wasn't a good place to be and took the underground passage out."

"I wouldn't think he was in any condition to leave unaided," Johnson objected.

"Gebain isn't dead," Chekov reported with an accusing look at his doctor. "At all."

"I didn't even look at him properly. I didn't think it was anything to do with us," Johnson protested. "He'd been stabbed. He was dead."

"He got over that very quickly," Chekov observed.

"So Mras is hiding out somewhere," Sulu continued, "wounded, and despite Gebain's remarkable recovery, in very deep trouble. Is this going to prevent him from going through with his plan to blow up the station?"

"I wouldn't be certain of that. He…" When Chekov moved to shift his weight, his legs unexpectedly failed him and he fell against the bars.

"Hey, hey!" The Kibrian Security officer rose from his desk as both Sulu and Johnson reached through the bars to support their fellow officer. "None of that. Back away from there. If he can't stand up by himself, he'd just better sit down."

"I would be glad to if Mister Johnson will permit me," Chekov replied ironically in Kibrian as he struggled to regain his footing.

"He says he wants to sit down," Sulu translated for the meteorologist.

"Go ahead." Johnson supported him as far into the cell as his long arms would allow. "Are you feeling dizzy?"

"Very dizzy." Chekov groped his way to the bench and sat down heavily on it. "I think I may lie down whether you wish me to or not, Johnson."

"Not that way," Johnson objected hastily as his patient slid down to one side. "Keep your head to the right so I can reach you if I need to."

"Surely my feet would do just as well," Chekov grumbled tiredly as he reversed himself.

"Hey, keep back from there," the Security officer ordered as Johnson crossed to the bars closest to where Chekov was lying. "Stop reaching through. If he can't reach out, then just let him be."

"He wants you to move away, Mister Johnson," Chekov said, closing his eyes as Johnson waved the scanner over him again.

"Well, he can just…"

"Keep your head, Johnson," Sulu cautioned, then turned to the Kibrian. "It's all right. He's only taking his pulse."

The guard was at that point distracted by the entrance of a low-caste messenger with a note for him to read.

"If I could sleep a few minutes…" Chekov was saying.

"No, no." Johnson tapped his face lightly. "Fight it a little longer. Try to stay with us."

"We found Uyal in the power control room," Sulu said, hoping to restore the ensign's interest in the conversation. "It seems your theory about the power struggle between reactionary and radical factions in the population is correct, Chekov. Uyal was acting on behalf of the reactionaries. They were planning to destroy the computer system, not the station itself."

"You were able to prevent them?" Johnson asked, transferring his monitoring to the pulse in Chekov's neck. His face was drawn with worry now that his patient was no longer paying attention.

"Yes, and Davies junked the power controls. It'll be a long time before they'll be able to get anything back on line." Sulu was beginning to be concerned that Chekov hadn't reopened his eyes. "Mras' plan had nothing to do with Uyal, though. Either he's working for the radicals or on his own. Uyal seemed to think that the radicals might threaten to blow up the station in order to bluff us into giving up more technological information…"

"Not a bluff," Chekov said softly, but with great certainty.

"Excuse me, sirs." The Security officer held out the written note that had been delivered to him. "But the two of you will have to leave now. Orders of the Director."

"Yes," Sulu replied, accepting the note in his most authoritative manner. "I was expecting this. Very well, I will go meet with her immediately. I'll have Mister Johnson see to it that…"

"You misunderstood, sir," the guard said firmly, taking the note back. "Both of you are to leave."

"My subordinate will remain and see to my property," Sulu retorted like a kiani shocked by the officer's presumption. "Surely you realise that I am within my rights to do this?"

The Kibrian tucked the note inside his tunic, unimpressed by Sulu's imitation of an authority figure. "My orders are that both of you leave immediately."

"I'll take this up with the Director," Sulu assured the guard threateningly as he walked over to tap Johnson on the shoulder. "Come on Johnson, they want us out of here."

"I can't leave him, sir. He's sleeping now, but the danger of his falling into a coma is…"

"Fifteen minutes, Johnson," Sulu promised. "The Director is just trying to pressure me. I'll have you back in here as soon as I speak with her. Give him another dose…"

"It's not safe, Lieutenant," Johnson objected with uncharacteristic intensity. "I'm playing with fire here. It's a tightrope…"

"Johnson…" Sulu interrupted, stopping the ensign short of bringing on the lion tamers and the rest of the circus.

"Listen, I have my orders," the Kibrian Security officer said over him, nervously fingering his holstered weapon. "Either both of you are out of here in the next ten seconds or I put you in there with him."

"It's not wise to threaten me," Sulu warned in Kibrian before turning back to Johnson. "Ensign, we're leaving now. Give Chekov the shot. You can either wait outside or go see if you can get through to the Medical Officer. He may be willing to help us."

"Yes, sir." Neither Johnson nor the Security officer looked happy about the situation as the meteorologist extracted the necessary drugs from the medikit and applied the hypo to Chekov's shoulder. "If he regains consciousness, it would be best if he just remains lying down quietly."

"When my servant wakes up, see that he rests quietly," Sulu ordered the Security officer as he ushered Johnson to the door. "If you notice anything in the least bit out of the ordinary, I strongly recommend that you send for the Medical Officer immediately — because I'm holding you personally responsible for my servant's health."

The officer was so flustered by this threat of personal accountability that he'd answered "Yes, sir," before he realised he'd done so.

"Meet me here in fifteen minutes, Johnson. If I'm delayed…" Sulu took in a deep breath and sized up the meteorologist. "…then use your initiative."

"All right," Johnson agreed, looking none too confident of his ability in this respect..

"Great." Sulu patted him on the shoulder before setting off down the corridor. "Don't let them get the upper hand, but be careful."

Johnson stared after the lieutenant's retreating back. "Yes, sir. I'll do that."

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

Davies was pacing like a caged tiger when Sulu opened the door to his quarters. "What's gone wrong now?"

"I haven't got time to talk," he said, kissing her and handing her the hypo Johnson had prepared for him. "This should keep Uyal out for several hours. Make sure you're not seen."

"Yes, sir," she answered obediently, then caught him by the sleeve. "Sulu, what's happened?"

"Kahsheel's dead," he told her, deciding it was best to keep his team as well informed of the situation as possible, no matter how dismal the situation looked. "She poisoned herself and Chekov."

"Chekov's..?"

"He's alive, but we may still lose him." The emotions the lieutenant was keeping in check made a bold move to break free. He cleared his throat. "Even if he pulls through, there's enough circumstantial evidence to charge him with Kahsheel's murder. They've got him locked up right now."

"Oh, no." Davies eyes went to the Kibrian timepiece. "And only five and a half hours until he reckoned the station was set to blow up… I suppose we'll have to try our hand at jailbreaking now."

"Yeah." Sulu kissed her one more time for her optimism before turning to the door. "If we need to. Look, see if you can do anything to locate Mras. He's gone missing."

"I don't know how much I'll be able to do," Davies said, following him out. She then pointed down the hallway. "But she might be able to lend a hand."

Through the open doorway to Chekov's quarters, Sulu could see a blue-skinned serving woman busily folding sheets. "What's she doing here? They're supposed to have the day off."

Davies shrugged. "One of Chekov's lady friends come to visit, I suppose. I'm ashamed to say I didn't think twice about her being there at first, but then it came to me that the servants were all on holiday…"

"Excuse me," Sulu called, walking quickly towards the open door. "Excuse me, Miss…"

The blue-skinned woman froze in her tracks. Although she was taller than either Sulu or Davies, she cowered in their presence.

"Look, are you here to see Chekov?"

The servant made no response other than to look furtively about for an escape route.

"It's fine for you to be here," Sulu assured her quickly, not having the time to sound patient and kind. "I'm not angry with you at all. In fact, I need your help. I need to find a servant called Mras. He's a short little fellow…"

"…With a beard," Davies added helpfully. "We need to speak to him."

The blue-skinned woman bit her lips and kept her eyes on the floor.

"Come on, lady" Sulu pleaded, out of patience with artificial Kibrian social distinctions. "Chekov's in very big trouble right now. He's been arrested. He's been poisoned. He may die. If you're a friend of his…"

"The Feddie…" The servant looked up for the first time. "…die?"

"Yes."

"Oh!" The Kibrian covered her mouth with her hands, but continued to utter little cries as she ducked past the two Enterprise officers and out the door. "Oh, oh, oh!"

"What now?" Davies asked.

"See if you can catch up to her," Sulu ordered, pushing the ensign in the direction the servant had fled. "I've got to go be blackmailed."

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

Sulu laid the report back down on the Director's desk, trying to achieve the air of a man who had all the time in the world, rather than one who knew he had five and a half more hours before this station blew up, an unknown amount of time before Chekov ceased to respond to stimulants and only ten more minutes until Johnson began exercising his initiative. "It's possible that I would be happy to sign this anyway. If you give me enough time to review the proposal…"

"Since you are going to sign," the Kibrian interrupted, implacable, "why not do it now?"

"If Ffafner does turn out to be incompetent…" The lieutenant crossed his arms. "…then I won't be the one who will be left to suffer the consequences, will I?"

"No," she replied with icy self-confidence. "You won't."

"However, the lives and livelihoods of many Kibrians as well as many Federation citizens would be endangered by incompetent management of this project." Sulu smiled at her. "I wouldn't want that on my conscience."

The Director pushed an ornate writing implement across the desktop towards him. "Your conscience is your own affair, Lieutenant."

"Of course, you know this isn't the only report I'm preparing," Sulu said, folding his hands instead of picking up the pen. "I am in the middle of writing one now on the advisability of future joint ventures with Kibria. As you may know, some rather powerful people in Star Fleet feel that Kibrian social practice and custom make such projects morally dubious as well as uncertain in outcome and unacceptably risky for the personnel involved."

"How is your servant, Mister Sulu?" The Director changed the subject pointedly. "I heard he was still very ill. The Investigators are anxious that he recover sufficiently to stand trial."

"The Investigators may be disappointed," Sulu replied grimly. "There's very little we can do for him."

"Oh?" The Director seemed surprised by the information — unpleasantly surprised. "I'm quite sorry to hear that."

Sulu had calculated that she would be. If Chekov died, her leverage with him would be gone. He reasoned that the only way to get any help from her was to pretend there was no hope. He prayed he was overstating matters.

"Then I'm sure you're anxious to return to him." The Kibrian pulled the papers to her side of the desk. "I won't detain you here any longer with this for the time being. And I will see what I can do about recruiting the services of our Chief Medical Officer."

"Thank you, Madame Director," Sulu replied in a tone free from any trace of gratitude as he rose.

"Report to me when your servant's condition stabilises," she ordered, as if confident it would. "We will discuss the matter of the Ffafner contract further at that time. Lieutenant, you will make a decision about this before the end of this day."

Sulu didn't like the way she was giving in so easily. Perhaps if she was in the reactionaries' camp, she was assuming that she still had Uyal's frame-up plan to fall back on.

"Madame Director," he promised. "I assure you I am giving it all the consideration it deserves."

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

Davies was standing outside his quarters waiting for him when Sulu got back from seeing that Johnson was allowed in to tend the still unconscious Chekov. "Don't tell me Uyal got away," he begged her wearily as he approached.

"He's sleeping like a babe," she reassured him. "Although I've no idea how we're going to get him out of there or what we'll do with him. How's Chekov?"

"The same."

Davies sighed, obviously wishing for better news. "I found that Gebain isn't very dead anymore. I saw him on his way to hospital just now, looking a bit ill, but quite well for a corpse, actually."

"Yeah…" Sulu smiled, grateful to be diverted. "It looks like we're going to have to revoke Johnson's medical licence."

"Any more good news you've neglected to tell me? Like perhaps Kahsheel's done the same, or the Enterprise has just entered the system?"

"I'm afraid not. Any luck finding Mras or the woman who was here before?"

"No joy with Mras, but as for the other one…" Davies jerked her thumb towards the door behind her. "She found me. She was waiting here when I got back. And she's brought a friend with her who's a bit more talkative."

Sulu raised his eyebrows. "A friend?"

"I hope you can make out what they're saying, for I surely can't," Davies said, opening the door for him. "As well as I can tell they think Mras is a despicable little fellow and we'd be best off avoiding him."

"I'm sure they're right," Sulu confided to her as he walked in.

He was greeted by the sight of two tall slave-women immediately jumping to their feet and bowing their heads respectfully.

"Sit down, please," he requested firmly. "Make yourselves comfortable. I appreciate your coming here like this."

After exchanging an uncertain glance between themselves, the two women knelt down on the floor before the lieutenant.

"Please, sir," said the green-skinned woman who he assumed to be the talkative friend. "The Feddie you took property of, he is..?"

"Mister Chekov's condition hasn't changed." Signalling to Davies to do likewise, Sulu sat down cross-legged in front of the two women. "He's still in danger. I need to contact a servant that I believe you know. His name is Mras…"

"Mras is giving aught but harm to the Feddie," the green-skinned woman protested hotly. "He swagged him with peeva at the pay of the curly red one and set him with a jeery for Station Manager."

"The Feddie near copped licks for thieving by Mras' plan this morn," the blue-skinned woman reminded her companion.

"Aye." This seemed to trouble the first woman. "I take shame that I had hand in that… and in the last trouble…"

Davies and Sulu exchanged despairing looks at this catalogue of incomprehensible misdemeanours and systematic betrayal.

"What last trouble?" Davies asked. "The trouble with Kahsheel?"

At the mention of the kiani's name both Kibree spat on their fingers and made a sign in the air — a curse on the departed as far as Sulu was able to interpret it.

"I take no knowledge that the curly red one had aught to do with it," the green-skinned woman answered, then raised grief-stricken eyes to the lieutenant. "Is there truth, sir that she's copped the Feddie as slag for her in Afterworld?"

"Well, she tried to - if I understand you correctly," Sulu replied. "But that's not happened yet and I don't intend for it to happen. Now what was this last trouble that you were talking about?"

"At Mras' pay, I dulled the Feddie with peeva and kepir then made dally with him. I take shame at so doing, but I was taken so sweet at his sight…" The servant bit her lip, unable to continue for a moment.

"I, too," her friend commiserated.

"At Mras' plan, I would take the Feddie to meet this one…" The servant indicated her companion. "…and have sport with him until Sitag, who takes property of me, would be catching us at it and take a great temper, giving notice that you make a proper recompense… I lost heart for it, though. But Mras made plans that Sitag should find of what I did do. I gave task of this one to give warning to the Feddie… not knowing that he… lies…"

The Kibrian couldn't get any further with her tale and had to pause to weep.

"This thing isn't translating worth a damn," Davies said in Standard, turning off her translator. "I'm lost. What happened."

"It's hard to tell," Sulu replied in the same language, "but I think there was a plan to get Chekov caught in a compromising situation with these two."

"Oh, my." Davies couldn't suppress the expression of distaste that crossed her face. Their grief didn't do anything to improve the Kibrian women's looks.

"If they'd gone through with it and her master had discovered them and objected - and it sounds like he would have - I would have been liable to pay a heavy fine. For what I couldn't pay in cash, the authorities have the right to seize my possessions and sell them at auction to make up the difference."

"Chief among your possessions being Chekov," Davies said, catching on quickly. "That would render us more likely to sell coveted pieces of technology."

"Or make a deal with my friend the Director to have the fine reduced," Sulu pointed out.

Davies sighed. "The more we sort things out, the more they stack the deck against us."

Sulu turned back to the Kibrian women. "All this just makes it more vital that I speak with Mras."

"Mras takes hiding in catacombs," the green-skinned woman replied, wiping away a tear. "You'll not go there. The kirrie who puts foot in catacombs takes life in hand."

"So Gebain takes knowledge now." The blue-skinned woman smiled despite her distress.

"He'd lie cold if not for Selrideen's pity," her companion agreed.

Davies snapped her translator back off. "Isn't Selrideen the name of the station?"

"It's also the name of a figure in local mythology," Sulu replied.

"Gebain took drug — mad to make revenge with split belly," the green-skinned woman was commenting.

"He gives groan for it now in sick bed," her companion replied mirthfully. "Were I Selrideen, I'd not give him patch, pump him with kvurr and leave him to rage. The pale Feddie was right to leave him lie."

"Wait a minute…" Sulu interrupted. This last made the major domo's rescuer sound less than godlike. "Is this Selrideen a servant?"

"No," the women answered almost in unison.

"Is he a doctor?"

"No."

"Who is Selrideen?" Davies asked, trying to cut to the heart of the matter.

The two women looked at each other. "Selrideen is Selrideen," the first woman informed her.

"Well, that clears that up," Davies said ironically.

However, this seemed to spark something in the blue-skinned woman's eyes.

"Selrideen," she whispered to her companion significantly.

"Su," the other exclaimed, as if that had communicated volumes. "The Feddie takes need of the dream-peddler. Sir, you need take speech with Selrideen."

"I might," Sulu replied, nearly at his wits end with these two, "but first you've got to tell me, who is Selrideen?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh, God," the lieutenant groaned/prayed in Standard. "Not more, not now."

He opened the door to find an oddly dressed, cinnamon-hued Kibrian male waiting on his threshold.

"Selrideen," the green-skinned woman introduced him in a whisper.

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

Johnson took a pace backwards as the Medical Officer came out of the holding cell. The black barred door shut behind him with a hollow metallic click.

"Unfortunate," the Kibree commented quietly. "Most unfortunate. And not only for the victim."

Johnson didn't reply. There wasn't really anything to say. The room seemed suddenly unfamiliar to him as he looked around, as if all the colours had been changed when he wasn't looking.

The doctor's eye had fallen on the medikit. Seeing him standing there, Johnson felt an angry urge to lash out at him. He smothered it. "You wanted to borrow some of our technology."

The Medical Officer looked away guiltily. "For one of my patients. An isolated tragedy. Of great importance to the family involved, but of no broader significance… He told you this?"

Johnson looked briefly back towards the cell. There was no point protecting Chekov now. "He said that the Station Manager threatened him. He said that you…"

"I did tell Datvin that it wouldn't work," the Kibree interrupted, as if embarrassed to be reminded of his part in the incident. "I favoured his simply asking whether you would make an exception on benevolent grounds."

Johnson was beginning to figure out why he was feeling angry. "And with so much benevolence being laid out all around us, how could we refuse?"

The Kibree had to look away again. "This is a constrained society, Mister Johnson. We don't have abundant resources. Much of our planet is, frankly, a hell. Only by ruthlessly concentrating power and materials on an elite can we hope to make progress. While we struggle to catch up with the rest of the galaxy, at which point we will be showered with all the benefits we require now, I admit, a large part of our population suffers, but… the system works. If one views it as a whole, we are making advances. This project with the Federation will accelerate that process. There are many who want more, immediately. There are as many who want nothing to do with you aliens at all, among them some of the most powerful people on this planet. Imagine, if you held a monopoly in power what your reaction would be if the Federation offers unlimited, virtually free power. That is only one example. Many of our commercial interests do not want you here. This middle way is a compromise that can be made to work, to give the privileged and powerful a chance to adapt and protect their positions… Or at least, we hoped it could be made to work. Even within this station, the cracks are beginning to widen. From the point of view of the Federation, it seems we are making too few concessions, but I submit to you, the economic upheaval that would result from enfranchising the lower castes would leave us in too weak a condition to benefit from the additional resources you would then offer us. We must take things slowly."

It was actually a remarkable speech. The meteorologist had never heard a Kibrian speak so directly or frankly about the socio-political turmoil their planet was undergoing. However, political analysis seemed beside the point at that moment.

"Too slowly, sir." Johnson scooped up the medikit in his large, clumsy-looking hands. "For your patient, for whom I find it hard to give a damn, and for mine." Tears that had been damned up behind his anger spilled hot onto his cheeks. "Excuse me."

The Security Officer on duty, no longer worried with the activities of visitors, had retired to the outer office to lounge. "What shall I do with the body?" he asked, rising to his feet as they entered.

Johnson paused until he thought he could answer calmly. "I assume the… the Investigators will require a post mortem."

"Unless Mister Sulu insists, I don't believe they will," the doctor replied. "The fact that he died of poisoning is not in dispute, is it?"

"I'll have Gebain arrange for the disposal, then," the Security Officer offered helpfully.

Johnson felt physically ill. He turned back to the inner room and looked at 'the body' that was to be turned over to the major domo for 'disposal'.

"I'll take it with me," the meteorologist said, despite the fact that every ounce of his intellect was screaming that he didn't have anywhere suitable to keep a body for four overlong days on an oven-hot planet. His heart seemed to be on override. The roller coaster sensations that went with this belated revolt against a lifetime's rationality were at once intoxicating and terrifying.

The Security Officer shrugged and gave the doctor a significant look that eloquently expressed his opinion of aliens and their eccentricities as he walked to the cell and opened the heavy door. Johnson stepped in and awkwardly hefted the body over his shoulder. Leaving the doctor filling forms, the Enterprise officer took his burden out into the corridor, heading for his quarters. He'd leave Chekov there, then go tell the lieutenant.

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

"Well, this certainly is a coincidence," Davies said, as the cinnamon-skinned Kibrian walked in.

"Are you Selrideen?" Sulu demanded, although he felt a little foolish doing so. It wasn't every day that mythological characters walked through one's door.

"Some people call me by that name." The newcomer put a benevolent hand on the shoulder of the green-skinned woman. "Although you may know me by another."

"Look," Sulu said, refusing to be unnerved by someone that went by the name of a local deity and was fond of making mystically vague pronouncements like that one. "I'm trying to find a servant named Mras. You might know him."

"He is known to me," the stranger assented.

"Can you take me to him?"

"Mras was brought to me a short time ago in a much depleted condition by an associate of him in hopes that I could be of some assistance to him," the Kibree admitted. "However, he is no longer in the place where the two of us parted."

Sulu frowned at this non-answer to his question. He looked over at Davies who was looking at the newcomer as if she trusted him about as far as she could spit him. The two servant women had gone completely silent and motionless. "I don't have time to play games…"

"There will be an entertainment for the younger children of the lower castes in the water gardens just before moonset," the stranger informed him.

Sulu blinked at this non-sequitor for a moment, then looked at Davies. She, too, seemed to draw the conclusion a second after he did. From what Chekov had told them, Mras would probably wait to commit whatever mayhem he had planned until all the servants were safely away or in one safe place. The stranger's choice to inform them of that particular item on the agenda of the day's festivities made it sound as though he knew exactly what the dwarf had planned, and for when.

"Who are you?" the lieutenant demanded. "And how much do you know?"

The stranger smiled. "I know everything."

Sulu was interrupted by another knock at the door. This time it was Johnson looking drawn and defeated.

"Sir…" he began, then abruptly fell silent.

Sulu's stomach tightened unbearably. "How's Chekov?"

"I couldn't give him any more stimulants, sir," Johnson explained. "They were building up to the point where they were as much of a danger as the poison. I hoped the poison might have passed through his system — that he might pull through without help — but I was wrong."

"Are you saying Chekov's dead?" Davies, always the practical one, asked bluntly.

'Tell me he isn't,' Sulu pleaded silently as the meteorologist hesitated.

"Yes," Johnson answered, killing hope. "I'm sorry, sir."

The two servant women, who'd been following through the echoes of Davies' translator, put their arms around each other and began to cry with soft, low moans.

"But the Kibrian Medical Officer… Didn't he… Couldn't the two of you… Didn't you try…" Sulu stopped himself in the middle of his inarticulate and misdirected tirade. Davies had sat down heavily on the chair by the workstation.

"The Medical Officer did offer assistance," Johnson reported, sounding curiously calm and empty. "I think he did his best. However, they don't have a large range of drugs. Relatively few of them are compatible with the human metabolism."

"Except for peeva and kvurr," Sulu said bitterly.

"We tried kvurr. It didn't work."

"Mister Sulu." The tall, red-brown Kibree advanced on them, his face concerned. "Where is your servant?"

"In my quarters," Johnson volunteered. "I wasn't sure what they'd do with him — with his body."

"Take me to him."

"Why?" Davies asked, her voice sounding harsh. "What do you think you can do?"

The Kibree smiled. "Perhaps I think I can perform miracles, Miss Davies."

"I don't need this," Sulu said sharply. "I don't need some two-bit Kibrian hustler trying to make capital out of a situation like this. Get him out of here, Johnson. Davies…"

"He's only sleeping."

Sulu turned on the Kibree. "I told you, I don't have time for riddles and games. Mister Johnson will show you the door."

The man who they claimed was called Selrideen allowed Johnson to hustle him out of the room. "If you change your mind, Lieutenant…" he called over his shoulder, but Sulu had walked over to the computer where he pretended to be in conversation with Davies. "Ask them where Kahsheel would have gone to get poison…"

When the door closed, Sulu dropped his act of indifference and turned to the Kibrian women. "Okay, who is that guy and what did he mean by that?"

"Selrideen," the green-skinned woman answered, raising her homely tearstained face to him. "For poison you take need of the dream-peddler. All must go to him, kiani to slag."

"And who's the dream-peddler?" Sulu asked, afraid that he already knew the answer.

"He," the woman answered, pointing to the closed door.

"Get him back in here, Johnson."

The ensign was already up and moving, but he returned disappointed. "It's like he vanished into thin air, sir."

Sulu forced himself to stand still and take stock. "Listen, Johnson, are you sure Chekov was dead? Really sure?"

"The portable monitors aren't as good as sick bay diagnostics, but there was no respiration, pulse, cardiac or cerebral activity registering."

"Are there drugs that can cause such a state?"

"Well, yes sir," Johnson answered as if he was unsure why he was being asked this. "Everything from arsenic through to…"

"I mean, without killing the patient?"

Johnson looked pained by his imprecision. "That's what a dead patient is, by all our medical textbooks. You can pull tricks with a combination of those indicators, for a limited amount of time, longer at low temperatures. But…"

"I didn't ask for a damn medical lecture, Johnson," Sulu said, cutting the ensign off more sharply than he'd intended to.

The meteorologist flushed a hot, angry red. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't stop trying… I gave him the stimulants until any more would have killed him. Then I gave him oxygen, assisted respiration and pulmonary massage. I didn't stop until everything I knew told me he was dead… and then some. He died and there was nothing I could do to stop…" Johnson found himself suddenly unable to finish his sentence. He had to turn his back on the rest of the room and study the floor for a few moments.

Sulu looked at his two remaining ensigns, neither of whom seemed able to look at him.

"Okay," he said to no one in particular as he walked over to the two Kibrian servants. "Ladies," he said, giving them each a hand up, "thank you again for coming, but my subordinates and I need to be alone now, if you don't mind."

"Yes, sir," they replied, obediently stifling their tears and heading for the door.

"Sir…" The green-skinned woman paused timidly on the threshold as he ushered them out. "The Feddie always gave kind speech of you — no matter what sort of speech others gave. You took good service of him."

'And just when I thought nothing could make me feel any worse…' Sulu thought to himself as he closed the door behind them. "All right," he said aloud, turning to his team, fighting the feeling of numb resignation that was quickly setting in. "Here's our plan. The Station Director said she wanted to speak to me when Chekov's condition stabilised. Since it's not going to get any more stable than this, I've got to go talk to her one more time. The two of you have until I come back to come up with some way of getting into contact with Mras. If you can't think of anything I like, we untie Uyal, give him something that will wake him up and proceed to abandon the station."

Johnson cleared his throat and turned back around. "What about the body, Lieutenant?"

"It'll look strange if we leave it and stranger if we take it with us." Davis was making a good effort, but still sounded like only a shadow of her usual, businesslike self.

It hit Sulu with unusual force that 'it' was his friend whom he'd been talking to a remarkably short time ago. "Johnson, make preparations to leave him."

"Lieutenant…"

"I've not decided that's what we'll do," Sulu cut off the ensign's protests as he opened the door. "Trust me, Johnson, this is something I'll be doing a lot of thinking about."

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

Johnson couldn't help hesitating at the door of his room. The shuttered twilight filled the tall chamber with unexplained shadows. He shook himself and walked over to the small cupboard by his bed where his cache of jewels and one or two personal items were safely stowed. He didn't mean to look at Chekov, but his eyes seemed to have their own will in the matter.

Despite the strange Kibrian's suggestion, the ensign did not look as if he was merely sleeping. He was too pale. There was an unnaturalness in the way Johnson had lain the body down. The meteorologist didn't feel like moving it now. The body would be cool and he didn't want to touch it. Johnson's training also told him that unpleasant things began to happen fairly quickly to bodies left lying around in warm climates.

Johnson bit his lip. That was it. The thing lying on his bed was a body now. Less than an hour ago it had been Chekov, a living, breathing, arguing person whom he'd tried desperately to save. But now, this was only a body. Johnson couldn't quite believe that he'd stubbornly brought it back here to lie on his bed. It seemed insane.

The ensign went into the bathroom and ran a basin of cold water. He doused his face with great handfuls of it, trying to wash away the desire to cry. Once he'd finished he stood there, letting cold rivulets soak the front of his uniform.

A sound from the bedroom set his guts churning. His hands clenched on the front rim of the marble sink, knuckles whiter than the stone itself. The noise he heard was unmistakably the heavy wooden slats of the bed creaking.

'It's Davies, or Sulu,' he told himself. 'One of them has come by…'

Johnson grabbed a towel and turned around. Through the open door, he could see the Kibree that the others had called the 'dream-peddler' sitting on the side of the bed. The stranger had straightened the corpse so that it now lay like a knight in a medieval brass.

"Do you trust me, Johnson?" the Kibrian asked calmly.

The ensign clutched the towel in front of him as if it were a shield. "What are you doing here?"

"Locks…" The Kibree raised his hands as if to orchestrate a mass outbreak of exasperation at their inefficacy. "Although, to be honest with you, Ensign, you hadn't locked the door. And this used to be my room. It's a bad habit, but I think an understandable one, to walk in uninvited."

Johnson moved closer to the spot where his phaser and communicator were stashed. "What do you want?"

The stranger looked about the room with a smile. "I'm fond of this old place. Mras is quite determined to destroy it, and I hoped… I had hoped that Chekov would stop him… As I'd hoped that Chekov would solve one or two other festering problems…"

Johnson laughed bitterly. "Is there anyone on the planet who didn't have plans for Chekov?"

"I can't speak for anyone else. They must tell their own stories."

"Funny you should say that." Without turning his back on his visitor, the meteorologist pulled the chair from his computer workstation within easy reach of his weapon and sat down. Despite the fact that Johnson would have been happier to be alone with his grief and that this weirdo was giving him the creeps, the ensign still had a job to do - there was information still to be ferreted out. "Because you could sum up our Prime Directive in almost those same words. Chekov wouldn't let you use him to solve your problems because it's our first rule in dealings with other cultures. We don't interfere. If you want Mras stopped, why don't you tell the Station Director what he's up to?"

The stranger spread his long, bony hands eloquently. "Imagine the consequences, Mister Johnson. Imagine the consequences. I'm entirely too soft-hearted. It was my intention that your friend should simply thwart Mras' immediate plans. The moment would pass and no one would be hurt."

Johnson frowned. "But instead you supplied Kahsheel with the means to murder Chekov."

His visitor shrugged. "Driant told me there were vermin in the tunnels under her apartment."

"Wouldn't the Station Manager be in charge of taking care of things like that?"

Again, the stranger's skeletal shoulders lifted dismissively. "I have heard poorer excuses."

Johnson crossed his arms, beginning to feel he was getting nowhere fast with this guy. "So, what do you want?"

The Kibree smiled. "Why don't you tell me what you want?"

"What I want?"

"Yes, Mister Johnson." The Kibree leaned forward. "There's something that you want very badly right now."

Johnson's eyes fell involuntarily on the still form on his bed. "That's not really any of your business, Mister…"

"On the contrary." The Kibree gently laid his hand on the bed beside Chekov. "Your hopes and fears lie here for the moment, don't they? You fear that you left something out, that you failed to do something that could have prevented this."

"Did I?" Johnson demanded.

"No." The stranger's hand returned to his side. "You tried too hard, if anything. You should have let him come to me sooner. But why ask for my opinion when you don't trust me?"

Johnson put a hand over his eyes. Sulu was right. For some sick reason this guy was just trying to play this situation to his advantage. "I think you should leave now."

"Try to trust me, Johnson," the Kibree said softly as he rose. "There is so little trust between our two cultures, so little faith in the future. Trust me and tell me what you want."

"I want Chekov to be alive again, okay?" Johnson burst out angrily, as he stood also. "I wouldn't think it would take a genius to figure out that one. I wish he wasn't dead. There, I said it. Are you satisfied now? Would you mind getting the hell out of here now?"

The Kibrian caught at his hand as the ensign advanced to forcibly eject him. "Look."

Unable to resist the suggestion, Johnson looked down at the bed. Through some trick of the light, he thought he saw movement. The meteorologist kept a tight grip on the Kibree with one hand while he wiped the salt fog out of his eyes with the other.

Chekov's chest was rising and falling in a steady, even rhythm. Dark eyelashes fluttered momentarily, then stilled.

"Christ Almighty." Johnson pushed the Kibree out of the way and snatched at Chekov's wrist. There was a strong, vibrant pulse. "Mary, Mother of God… Chekov? Can you hear me? What did I do with the damn medikit…"

"You left it here unattended and the Medical Officer borrowed something from it," the stranger informed him, unperturbed. "It's on the table by the door."

"What?" Johnson found his attention momentarily split between Chekov's recovery, his own culpable carelessness and Datvin's monstrous opportunism.

"He'll bring it back as soon as he's finished with it."

"Christ." Johnson would have liked to have throttled the Kibrian, but was afraid that if he took his eyes off Chekov long enough to do so, the ensign would stop breathing again. "Chekov? Pavel? You staged all this just to get hold of a scalpel? I could have killed him with all those stimulants. If he's been hurt, I'll make you wish you'd never been born…"

The Kibree laughed softly. "You should study our mythology, Mister Johnson, then you'd know I never was."

"Chekov?" Johnson said as the ensign's eyelids fluttered again. "Pavel, come on. Speak to me."

This time Chekov really opened his eyes. Johnson pulled him up into a hug, nearly squeezing the precious breath out of him.

"Mister Johnson…" Chekov tried to free himself. "Please!"

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