Budrin decided that Chekov should be cleaned up before he took delivery. Khwaja clamped a hand onto the ensign's shoulder and led him off through the Orion's palace to a suite of luxurious rooms. There were too many servants and guards around initially to make resistance worthwhile, but once Khwaja had taken him into the bathroom, Chekov rounded on him. "You... you..."

The pirate side-stepped him and started running a bath in a tub so large, Chekov could easily imagine that Khwaja intended to climb in with him. "I was out of pocket after I bought you back from Cheznee," the pirate explained calmly. "Now we're even, and that makes for a good working relationship. See, here I am playing valet to you. *I'm* not holding any grudges. What's your problem, kitten?"

"You sold me to that... that..."

"Budrin a Hattal is the nearest thing the Orions had to Alexander the Great. Your taste in patrons is improving exponentially. By tomorrow morning, you'll be drafting the first chapter of your autobiography and looking forward to an early retirement. Don't fret."

"By tomorrow morning, he..."

"Yes?" Khwaja said innocently, sniffing at a crystal jar of suspiciously luminous liquid before pouring a generous glop into the bathwater.

"By tomorrow morning, he..."

"...Will know you rather better than he does right now. Yes, there is that. But you know I'll always respect you, don't you?"

The bathroom was filling up with steam. Chekov was suddenly more interested in climbing into the foaming, purple tinged water and soaking away his aches and pains than in losing yet another argument with the fake intelligence agent. "All right. You want me to take a bath. Get the fuck out of here and I will."

"You promise not to drown yourself?" Khwaja checked, giving in much more easily than Chekov had expected.

"Yes."

"And there's a moat outside the window, in case you were wondering if you can squeeze out that way. A moat full of things with teeth."

Chekov hadn't even noticed that there *was* a window. "Fuck off, Khwaja."

The door shut behind the pirate and Chekov blew out a huge sigh of relief. Then wondered what in the four quadrants he had to feel relieved about.

He shed his clothes, dipped a hand into the water to check the temperature, and climbed in. His eyes closed reflexively but he forced them open again. No time for that. He had to think. Khwaja seemed *very* familiar with this Budrin. How had he managed that in the three days, at most, that he'd been here?

He could have used the device.

But that would mean that the device *did* work in Sulu's ship, meaning in turn that Scott was lying.

However many times Chekov convinced himself that the engineer was lying, he never reached the point where he could accept it as a working hypothesis. He continued instead to explore the alternatives.

Maybe Khwaja had been here before. Or maybe he was using some detailed Starfleet database of the period to impersonate someone.

Maybe he was using that database to impersonate *himself*.

Chekov shut his eyes and slid under the surface. The scented water got up his nose and he sat straight up, gasping. He grabbed a cloth and mopped at his face until he stopped sneezing and the pain in his sinuses began to die down. "Damned Orions."

At least there were no *real* Orlan Du to worry about. Teacher Golton's description wasn't of anyone. It was just an endlessly cycling fiction.

He climbed, dripping, out of the bath and onto the wooden slats of the floor.

Except someone had raided the treasury. The real Orlan Du? Or Goudchaux? Chekov balled the cloth up and threw it at the window.

"Temper, temper."

"I told you to go away, Khwaja." The door had opened noiselessly. Chekov ignored his own nakedness. Khwaja was between him and anything he could snatch in a hurry.

"Budrin's getting impatient. He's worried I'll change my mind. Almost as worried as you are that I won't. Here." Khwaja picked up and held out a huge sheet of waffled white fabric.

The chamber, high and tiled, had seemed quite warm when Chekov entered. Now, he realised he was shivering.

"Khwaja, what do I have to do to... to..."

The pirate folded the towel round Chekov and looked at him patiently. "What?"

"To make you leave me alone, leave me out of all this. I don't want to be involved. I don't..." Chekov realised belatedly that his arms were cocooned his sides and he was even more helpless than usual.

Khwaja picked up another smaller towel and mopped up the rivulets of water dripping from the ensign's hair. "We can't 'leave you out of this', can we? Look, since you haven't worked it out for yourself, this is the agenda for tonight. Budrin doesn't really want you. He wants his treasure back. He's only interested in you because he thinks he grabbed you from the 'Orrolan Dhu'." Khwaja rolled the words gleefully like a Frenchman.

"How does that help?" Chekov demanded.

"You can tell him how to get what he *does* want."

"But he doesn't. It all ends up hundreds of years in the future."

"Right. Only he doesn't know that. He thinks if he can catch the Orlan Du, he can get his trinkets back, or at least have the satisfaction of strangling the thieves with their own entrails.

"But..."

"So you trade him." Khwaja reached into a pocket and pulled out one shard of the medallion. "He'll recognise it. It's a respected contemporary method of sealing a bargain."

"You had the shards..."

Khwaja smirked. "Why? Did you get the blame went they went missing? Of course I had them. I needed to be sure you wouldn't go home without me, since I had to go chasing after Goudchaux and make sure he didn't do anything horrible with the timeline."

Chekov glared at him. "It's no use without the other four..."

"And the other four..."

"Are no use without this one..." Chekov, with difficulty, shrugged one arm free of the towel and took the artefact.

"It's associated with the insects who stole his jewellery, through you. He'll buy that. And it's important to *someone*. These things aren't easy to make right now. He's not going to jump to the conclusion that it's a fake. All you have to do, kitten, is persuade him that he wants this, more than he wants *you*."

Chekov shook his head. "If he wants it, he'll just take it."

Khwaja reclaimed it, as if to confirm just how easy this would be. "No. You don't have it. I do."

"Then why would you..."

"Because I want you back. I only agreed to sell you to him because Orion etiquette insists -- he's my host -- and he was offering way more than a fair price for you. Tell him I changed my mind, once we were out of his hearing. Tell him..." Khwaja licked his lips. "...that I'm crazy for you."

Chekov wriggled both arms free of the towel and stomped away to the far end of the bathroom, pulling it tight round his waist. "No..."

"Why?" Khwaja sat down on the rim of the bathtub and watched the ensign drying himself awkwardly with the loose corners of the towel.

"Because *you* want me to do this. I need some clothes."

"Look. Think. Your duty is to get that piece of the medallion into Budrin's hands, right? And what you *want* to do is keep yourself out of Budrin's bed, or more likely, off his floor, his walls and his table, going by the old sagas. What do you care what I want? You've got enough reasons to do the right thing already."

Chekov thought it over. Khwaja seemed to have all the arguments stacked up on his side, as usual. "I'll do it if..."

"No, kitten. No bargains, no deals. You'll just do it."

With a sigh, Chekov accepted the inevitable. "I still need some clothes."

***

Budrin sent some kind of underling to collect his purchase, but Khwaja insisted on delivering Chekov himself, hovering over the ensign like an anxious parent on the first day of school. He straightened Chekov's clothing as they waited for admittance. The ensign tried very hard to ignore the attention. He felt badly enough about being delivered to an Orion warlord clad only in a skimpy tunic, sandals and several pounds of cheap jewellery, without being mother-henned by a pirate into the bargain.

"Delicious," Budrin commented briefly, then turned back to the group of Orions gathered around a low circular table at the center of the vast princely apartment. Chekov was aware of tapestries, drapes and cushions, but he kept his eyes mainly on the floor. That was tiled with tiny, brilliant fragments of glass, set in a black matrix.

"Listen, Budrin," Khwaja said, "d'you want your tenilium back? He's in a foul temper..."

"Why? What's wrong with him?" Budrin asked, slouching onto the heap of vacant cushions by the table and picking up a goblet before turning back to consider Khwaja's words.

"He's taken a dislike to you. I'm quite happy to forget the deal. I'd hate to fall out with you over such a little thing..."

Chekov's lips narrowed.

"He wasn't all that hot originally, and a few days playing pirate has ruined him."

"Come here, 'human'," Budrin said casually, cracking his knuckles in a way that sounded like gunfire and made everyone in the room jump. He reached out an impossibly long arm and caught hold of Chekov's tunic as soon as he was in reach, swinging the ensign down onto his lap. Taken by surprise, Chekov almost knocked the Orion's drink flying.

Budrin turned his acquisition's head from side to side, peered into his eyes and ears, and gestured for him to open his mouth.

"Take care he doesn't bite," Khwaja warned.

Since Chekov was obviously deliberately misunderstanding all instructions, Budrin pinned both the ensign's arms using one of his own, and pinched the joints of his jaws between the thumb and forefinger of a two octave span. Chekov opened his mouth before his skull caved in.

"You should take his teeth out," Budrin commented. "That'll cure the problem. I'll get it done in the morning."

Chekov began struggling until both he and the Orion rolled off the cushions onto the floor. Chekov, as he suspected Budrin intended all along, finished underneath.

"And," the Orion said, breathing a mixture of strongly unpleasant food and beverage odours straight into the captive's face, "I'll enjoy knocking the pirate nonsense out of him too."

"As you wish," Khwaja said ungraciously. "Just remember, for the moment he still *has* teeth."

Barely able to breathe under the Orion's bulk, Chekov listened to Khwaja leaving.

"What made him change his mind about selling you, beautiful one?" Budrin asked. There was barely a hand's breadth between their noses. Chekov was overcome with the certainty that Budrin was about to kiss him. He wanted to get away. Every muscle in his body was tensed to recoil, the skin of his face was crawling with horrified anticipation and his tunic had ridden up and was exposing him to the unkind chill of the floor.

"He remembered how much I know about his business," Chekov said, following Khwaja's script despite all the many distractions.

"And what is his business?" Budrin eased some of his weight onto his elbows, having noticed perhaps, that Chekov was turning rather blue in the face. The ensign took the opportunity to seize a lungful of air that wasn't pre-breathed by the Orion.

"Drugs, dancing girls, guns," Chekov recited.

"Guns like the one you had?"

"No. Small guns at low prices."

The Orion frowned, or scowled, or looked thoughtful. Chekov wasn't sure. "Then why does he think I'll be interested in his business?"

Chekov did his best to shrug. "To Khwaja, it is a big business."

There seemed to be a game of dice happening on the table eighteen inches from their heads. Budrin nodded towards it. "There's more value on that table than Khwaja could hope to earn in a lifetime."

"I know, but... rich pirates become rich by robbing poor pirates, Lord Budrin."

"That's true." Budrin reached up for his goblet and took a long drink from it.

"Also he needs me to navigate his ship. He really wants me back."

"In the morning, if you're good," Budrin said.

"But by then, I might have told you where he gets his information, and where he hides when he's in trouble. If you were to offer to sell me back to him right now..."

"He might give a higher price?" Budrin guessed, sounding rather less than convinced.

"He has something you want."

"I thought we agreed he was a poor pirate?" Budrin tired of his drink and began trickling it from the goblet in a thin stream onto Chekov's face.

Doing his best to ignore this sudden change in the weather, Chekov continued with his lines.

"Even a poor pirate can sometimes..."

Budrin's tongue was rough, like a cat's. Chekov lay completely still while the wine was lapped off his face.

"Yes?" Budrin eased down towards his feet, ripped open the neck of the tunic and began directing the rivulet of wine onto the ensign's chest. It was depressingly clear where this was all heading.

"...catch a big fish," Chekov fudged, his metaphors getting away from him as his diaphragm clenched rebelliously.

Budrin chuckled. "What kind of fish?"

"The Orlan Du already have a considerable treasure. In order to safeguard it, they've hidden it at a secret location, and stored the coordinates in a medallion. Each of them has one of the five pieces of the medallion. Or they each had one until yesterday..."

"The proceeds of raiding the houses of Currimin, Tym, Hibisk and Plaor," Budrin said, but Chekov could tell that the Orion was now talking to himself as much as Chekov. The wine continued to drip from the cup but Budrin no longer paid it any attention.

"You believe Khwaja wants you enough to trade *that* for your miserable carcass?"

Chekov gulped. "Yes. He needs a navigator, and he..."

"What?"

"He doesn't like sharing me with anyone."

Budrin rose to his knees and pulled Chekov up to sitting. He handed the ensign the almost empty goblet and yelled out for someone to fetch Khwaja, then he got involved in the gambling again, ignoring Chekov completely.

When Khwaja arrived a few minutes later, Budrin moved away to speak to him, leaving the ensign sitting on the floor next to the gaming table. The gamblers were playing intently and furiously, the stacks of coins on the table moving from player to player faster than Chekov could follow. A servant, passing by, absently refilled the goblet, and Chekov swallowed a mouthful before the opportunity vanished. He realised he could hear the argument going on between Budrin and Khwaja as they both apparently lost their tempers.

"If you won't trade, I can always use force!"

"You'll have to find it first, before I destroy it."

"I'm giving you your little 'navigator' back. You can keep the tenilium and go buy yourself a palace or two to enjoy him in."

Chekov shook his head in slightly inebriated disbelief. All Khwaja had to do was give in with the minimum believable reluctance. Instead...

"Enjoy him? The little rodent is as much fun as a toothache." Khwaja hesitated. "Once you've had him once or twice."

"I'd hate to think you were selling me shoddy goods, friend," Budrin said, rather icily.

"I'm just bored with him," Khwaja said. "I can probably sell that fragment for another two thousand measures and..."

"Well and good. I see no reason to haggle. Chekov and I will have a long talk tonight and..."

"Talk all you like. It's not what he's expecting, but I'm sure he'll make a reasonable attempt. He's an accomplished little liar..."

Chekov panicked as his lifeline appeared to unravel. He dropped the goblet and stood up. The room lurched unexpectedly but he located Khwaja after a moment and stumbled toward him. The pirate considerately held out a hand and steadied the ensign. "You've been drinking? Budrin, if you don't find some way to sober him up, he'll be asleep inside two minutes."

"It's only wine," Budrin objected.

"You drink it stronger here than he's used to."

"And so what if he's asleep anyway?"

Khwaja looked down at Chekov and grinned. "Well, *I* think he's most amusing when he's awake."

"Khwaja..." Chekov began. His tongue seemed to have gone to sleep. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Take me away from here, and..."

"And?"

"And I will do whatever you want me to do. I promise."

Budrin held out a hand. "The medallion, Khwaja..."