Chapter Text

The First Day

Chapter 1
An Investigation

Jim blinked. His eyes, accustomed to the transport bay's brightly artificial light, took a few seconds to adjust after transport. As soon as he could, he checked the thick brush and rocks in the secluded wash for movement. He listened for voices, or even the sounds of alarmed animals, but heard nothing. Satisfied, he pushed back the hood of his woven robe and said, "We're good. Plant the marker, Hendorff."

The tallest of the robed figures behind him dropped a leather pack to the ground and rummaged through it. Pulling out a lump of granite roughly the size of his outstretched hand, the man asked, "Where do you want it?" 

Someplace easy to find, Jim thought. Careful to sound confident, he pointed to a sickly little shrub and said, "Under that bush."

One of the white-robed crew pushed past the others. "Bush! What are you talking about, bush? That shriveled little thing's more a stick," he snapped, "It's dead."

"It's a desert, Bones," Jim replied patiently. "All the plants look a little dead."

"That rock's our only means of escape. What if we can't find it?" 

"We'll find it," Jim said.

McCoy asked petulantly. "What if someone chops it down?"

Jim looked skeptically around the deserted landscape. "Who's going to do that?" he asked.

"Someone looking for firewood." 

The smallest robed figure said soothingly, "Wood isn't regularly used as fuel on this planet."

"You expect me to take comfort from that, Uhura?" McCoy asked, "That rock is our only link to civilization. I'd like it placed somewhere more secure than next to a dead stick."

"Hendorff," Jim said more firmly, "place the marker. Dr. McCoy, if the worst happens and your mystery person wandering by happens to pick this week to cut wood, we'll have to look where it used to be."

Hendorff shoved the rock under the skinny shrub. The grey stone stood out against the red sand, but it was unremarkable unless examined closely enough to see an arrowhead arch formed from dark flecks of stone in its center.

Satisfied, Jim said, "This is now officially our beam-out spot, people. If we get separated, or if something goes wrong, get here. Every twenty-four hours, Scotty will check for life signs around this marker and beam up anyone in the vicinity. Everyone understands?" 

He got five "Yes, sirs," and a snort from McCoy, which he ignored. "Let's go to work," he added, starting up the hill and into the scrublands. His crew followed. 

The autumn air, cool in the shade of the wash, warmed quickly as the sun rose, white in a pale blue sky. The air was a bit heavier than Earth standard but easily breathable. His little group walked toward the mountains in the distance. 

There was little to see but sand and the occasional sickly plant, but after months of sterile walls and recycled air, Jim found the sparse scenery invigorating. It reminded him of somewhere, and he struggled to recall where. Not Earth, he thought, the sky's right, but the dirt isn't. The sand and stones were rusty red, far darker than any he'd seen on his home world. The plants were wrong, too. The shrubs and cacti were celery colored, as were the odd trees they passed. Or, Jim supposed they were trees. There were pale green trunks adorned every few feet with leafless branches arranged in rings like spokes on wagon wheels, stacked neatly up an axle. They would have looked like a child's drawing of a Christmas tree, except that the branches were encircled by wicked-looking thorns. Sulu, a dedicated botanist, stopped several times, craning his head to study the things. Jim sympathized, but kept walking, his focus on the mission.

It was New Vulcan, he decided, when we dropped the refugees off for resettling. It had air like this, thick and hot. Although it wasn't as red, I don't remember even the original Vulcan being quite this red, but it was similar. I wish I could have brought Spock. He might have enjoyed it. Well, enjoy wouldn't be the right word, but I would have liked to let him see it anyway. Hard to believe that was only 6 months ago.

Squinting into the sun's glare began to hurt his head. Dressed to pass as local people, they wore loosely woven ovals of fabric held in place with long belts wrapped several times around the wearer. The length, sleeves, and pockets were formed by adjusting the drape of the fabric through the belt. Rather than goggles or sunglasses, fabric from the robes was pulled over the face to protect the eyes. 

Jim reached back and worked enough fabric loose to drop over his head like a hood. He was surprised to find the cloth easy to see through and very surprised at how well it cut the glare. But as the march continued, it stuck to his sweaty nose and cheeks. The dry air chapped his lips and scratched his throat, and it seemed he could feel every stone through his thin, local boots. Jim was in too good a mood to be bothered by the discomfort. I love my ship, he thought, but I stay in Starfleet for this, for the chance to walk new planets.

The crew trudged on for a second hour, pulling their hoods over their faces against the sun's glare. Jim saw a dark bump on the horizon and, for a second, thought it was their goal, but quickly realized it couldn't be. It's too soon. We can't have reached it already. But it could be a tent, or a house. The inhabitants may know something. He picked up his pace and pressed on until he was close enough to recognize the dark spot as a room-sized boulder, jutting toward the sky. 

Not shelter, but we can take advantage of the shade, Jim thought. "Let's take a break," he called. The security team, Ensign Tan and Lieutenant Hendorff, shrugged out of their packs. Tan groaned, "Where's the water?"

Busy stretching out stiff muscles, Hendorff replied by kicking at his pack, which was stained dark with sweat.

Security routinely carried most of the supplies for an away team; the rest took only a blanket, water, and some food. Seeing his men so tired caused Jim a flicker of guilt. I should have stopped sooner, he thought, and pulling the skein from his own pack, handed it to Hendorff, who took a long drink before passing it to Tan. Jim let the men each have a second drink before he took it back and said, "Don't get too comfortable. We'll be up again in fifteen."

Despite his warning, or perhaps because of it, the crew dropped to the ground, shoved hoods back, and drank. No one spoke. Another sign, Jim told himself, that I should have stopped sooner. He didn't sit, only leaned against the boulder and squirted water into his mouth. He tried not to fidget but longed to go on. 

After a few minutes, quiet conversations began, mainly about the climate and missing uniforms. They're hot, Jim decided, but not miserable. They're doing fine. He was just about to order them to move on when McCoy rose stiffly, sidled up, and asked, "Do you have any idea where you're going?"

Jim felt a flush of annoyance, but hoping to avoid a scene, laughed and said, "I got us to this rock, didn't I?" When his friend raised a skeptical eyebrow, Jim continued, "I explained the parameters of this mission before we came. Maybe you should have sent someone more adventuresome."
 
"I don't send my medical staff out on lost causes," the doctor snapped. 

"Lost causes?" Jim echoed, his voice rising. The more experienced crew pretended not to hear, but the ensigns, sitting together at the base of the boulder, both turned to watch. Immediately, Sulu firmly ordered them to repack. Grateful for the distraction, Jim dropped his voice and said, "What's the problem, Bones?"

The doctor scowled. "You didn't mention we'd be hiking into a desert from nothing towards nothing. At the very least, we should have brought a reliable navigational aid."

Jim forced himself to smile. "Well, if that's all you're worried about, Dr. McCoy," he said, "you can relax. It so happens I brought an excellent navigational aid."  Raising his voice, he called, "Mr. Chekov?"

"Yes, sir," the smaller ensign replied, jumping to attention.

"Very reassuring," McCoy muttered.

"Yes, it is," Jim laughed. Throwing an arm out, grandly gesturing to the desert, he said, "Lead on, oh navigational aid." 

Without a second's hesitation, Chekov trotted into the desert toward the still-rising sun. The others followed, pulling their hoods up against the glare. McCoy, bringing up the rear, muttered, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

The sun rose higher, and the air got warmer. The native boots gripped the sand well, but their soft bottoms offered little protection from stones. The robes provided protection from the sun but not the heat, and after another hour of trudging, Jim's was saturated with sweat. Still, he pushed on until the second time Hendorff asked about an ETA. Then, Jim called to Chekov, "Do you think we're getting close?" He kept his tone cheerful, hiding his concern. 

The younger man looked over his shoulder and replied, "We will locate the wreckage soon."

"What's soon?" Hendorff grunted. "We've been walking for hours."

"It will depend on how quickly we walk," Chekov said.

"It all looks the same. How do you know where to go?" asked Tan resentfully.

"Mr. Spock and I plotted the path before we left the ship," Chekov replied, continuing to walk but looking over his shoulder. "Mr. Spock was very specific in his instructions."

"I'm sure he was," Hendorff muttered.

"Ensign," McCoy barked, "are you saying we're following a path drawn up by that fool Vulcan using long-distance scans of a place he's never been?" 

"The first officer did much of the research, yes, sir," Chekov replied. 

"Well, that's a comfort," McCoy groused. 

"I'm glad you feel better, sir," Chekov said brightly.

Sulu snorted, and Tan laughed, but the doctor growled. "That was sarcasm, Chekov." 

"Oh," Chekov stopped and pushed his hood back. "I'm sorry, sir."

The team stopped too, waiting for him to go on, but McCoy pulled his skein loose and handed it to the young man. Sounding more kindly, he said, "Drink some water, Chekov, and we'll take a little rest. We'll pull the maps out and check your figures before we get so far into the middle of the desert that we can't get back." 

Chekov took a long drink, then said, "There are no maps, sir." 

"What?" McCoy huffed, concern for the ensign forgotten. 

"The people here have no written language and don't use maps. To have one on the planet would violate the Prime Directive, sir," Chekov explained cheerfully.

"What!" McCoy asked again, more incredulously. Turning to Jim, he added, "We're supposed to be careful, not foolish. We brought a tricorder, don't you think that's a far sight more advanced than a map?"

"You have a tricorder, sir, because you said a medical kit was essential and non-negotiable. Mr. Spock did not think a map fit that description," Chekov said with what Jim assumed was supposed to be reassuring enthusiasm.

"Oh, for crying out, are you telling me this was Spock's idea?" McCoy growled.

"It is the Federation's goal to avoid exposing unaligned people to advanced technologies. Mr. Spock only interpreted the directive." When McCoy snorted, Chekov continued, "I am relying upon the local technology."

"I thought the whole point is that they don't have technology?" Tan asked.

"All civilizations have technology," Chekov explained patiently, "Theirs is different from ours, more reliant on the natural world. I am doing as they do, considering the sun's position, the length of the shadows, and counting steps. These are indicative of direction, time, and distance." 

"Geez, you even sound like him," Hendorff muttered.

"So, you're telling us you're guessing?" Tan asked, shaking his head.

Chekov frowned thoughtfully. "That is not what I meant to tell you," he replied.

"Did you hear that, Jim?" McCoy sputtered. "That fool Vulcan decided we don't need a map. I've warned you before about his tendencies to disregard…"

Cutting him off, Jim quietly reminded his friend, "This isn't the time, Bones. We're on a mission."

"A mission without maps," McCoy replied.  "Are you honestly comfortable trusting our lives to a teenager's memories of a discussion he had with someone who's never been on the planet?"

"Sir," Chekov said, "variations of the navigation methods I mentioned are common in developing civilizations throughout the galaxy. I feel confident in my ability to use them." When no one replied, he added, "I believe we are going in the correct direction, sir."

"But you aren't certain. While I know for certain sure that we're walking away from our only chance to get back to the ship," McCoy snapped.

The ensign surprised Jim by looking McCoy straight in the eye and saying, "I am not completely certain, but I am fairly certain, sir."

Good for you, Jim thought. Stand up for yourself. He said, "Enough, Dr. McCoy," and gestured to Chekov. "Lead on. We'll follow." 

Chekov nodded and pulled his hood back up, continuing toward the horizon. Jim gestured for McCoy to join him and followed. Tan's voice drifted across the clear desert air. "Million credits," he said, "we're walking in a great big circle. We'll cross our own footprints here pretty soon." 

Ensign Tan spoke softly, but Jim could tell by the shift in the set of Chekov's shoulders that he'd heard. McCoy must have seen too. He said softly, "Well, I'm sorry. But I'm not interested in baking to death to spare his feelings." 

Jim replied, "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," and kept walking.

An hour later, they still had found nothing. Though the unchanging, sandy terrain gave no sign of it, Jim's thighs told him they were traveling uphill. Everyone was hot and tired. McCoy stumbled, and Jim considered calling the ship for advice. Suddenly, Chekov stopped and pointed. Jim peered over the smaller man's shoulder. Squinting through the fabric hanging over his face, he saw an ugly black gash swimming in the heat.

Sulu, coming to stand beside Jim, asked quietly," Does that look like footprints to you, Tan?" When Mr. Tan did not reply, he continued, "Because it looks like a crash site to me."

"Me too," Hendorff agreed.

"And I would say it's pretty close," Sulu added, "using, you know, cues indicative of direction and distance." Chekov glanced up at his friend, and Jim thought he stood a little taller.

"Huh," McCoy said, "I guess even Spock's going to know what he's talking about occasionally."

Jim tried to keep satisfaction out of his voice as he nodded at Hendorff. "Wedge formation, I'll take point, you bring up the rear," he said.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the lieutenant replied, "I'll take point and Tan will bring up the rear." Without waiting for approval, Hendorff started forward, his empty hands positioned as if he were cradling a phaser. 

"Guess he told you," McCoy chuckled. "Did you forget you're not security, Jim?"

Jim ignored his friend and kept his eyes on Hendorff, waiting for the signal to follow. Behind him, Sulu murmured something. Chekov laughed and replied, "I admit, I too was concerned," with such obvious relief that Jim couldn't help but wonder if he'd been right to give such a young man so much responsibility. 

When Hendorff waved them forward, Jim, eager to join his lieutenant, nearly ran toward the dark line. Details of the dark shape solidified as he approached. It was something like a tar road that ran several dozen meters and ended at a shoulder-high blackened mound.

The road felt firm under Jim's feet. Like pavement, he thought, and lifted his mask for a better view. It's sand, he realized, fused by tremendous heat. This has got to be the crash site. We found it! He began to walk faster.

"Stay back, sir," Hendorff growled. "We're less of a target with some distance between us."

He means they can't get all of us with one shot if we're spread out, Jim thought, a little embarrassed. He's right. We're all exposed, vulnerable right now. I should have come alone. It would have been easier. 

Hendorff climbed the mound and then stopped, staring downward. Despite himself, Jim stepped in front of the taller man. Peering into a dark hole, Jim saw a metallic glitter far below.

Turning to his gradually approaching crew, Jim told the doctor to analyze the hole. McCoy turned his small tricorder on and held it over the pit, but Jim didn't need it to realize he was looking at the top of a small ship, partially buried several meters into the sand. The tricorder's light played off a hull split from bow to stern; raw seams streaked with black burns. 

We did it, Jim thought, and turning to the crew, said, "It appears we've found the Somerville." 

"It dug into the ground like a plow," Chekov said in wonder. "Why didn't it explode?"

"They can't have cleared the atmosphere before she started falling," Hendorff replied. 

"It didn't fall," Sulu said, "it looks like they steered her into the ground. She was hot enough to burn everything in her path, even the sand." He turned to the captain and said,  "It's not smoking, so it's been here a while. There's no way anyone who passed this way in the last month saw this and thought it was naturally occurring." 

Jim nodded. 

"I'm going in," McCoy said.

Kirk shook his head. "No, Bones. Not until we check it first."  

"I'm a doctor, Jim."

Chekov, crouching at the edge of the pit, looked up. "We analyzed it from the ship, sir. There are no survivors," he said softly.

"Those machines have been wrong before. I am going in."

Jim sighed, "Not by yourself; we'll check it out together."

"I am with you, sir," said Hendorff.

"Fine," Jim agreed. "The rest of you stay here. Tan, keep watch. Anything happens, you four run. Sneak back here later and finish the mission."

A chorus of "Aye, sir," sounded as he jumped into the pit. Hendorff followed easily; McCoy slid down more carefully. The hatches were buried under the soil and inaccessible, but the hole in the top was large enough to be breached by a human. Hendorff checked for the safest route while Jim and McCoy waited. The suddenly muffled voices of the crew members above and the cool of the shaded pit made the Enterprise suddenly seem much farther away. This is, Jim thought with satisfaction, the beginning of the real mission. 

Hendorff broke the stillness to say, "I'll call when it's clear," and slipped through the ripped metal into the silent ship.

Jim waited impatiently, tapping his foot. The slipper-soft pats made him miss his Starfleet-issue boots.

"It's clear, sir," Hendorff called from inside the ship, his voice echoing eerily.

Jim grabbed the open edge of the split hull and swung into the fuselage, landing beside Hendorff, who reached up to help McCoy cautiously work his way down.

The sun spilled a narrow pillar of light into the shuttle interior. Beyond that, the black looked solid, impenetrable. Hendorff rummaged through an open cabinet, seemingly unaffected by the somber surroundings. He exclaimed happily, then lit a torch. The bright made the room feel less sinister, more an accident than a trap.

"Good job. Take the light and search the ship," Jim ordered. McCoy sighed as the big man trudged off, and the details of the small room vanished in the returning dark. 

"That lamp worked better than it seemed to," McCoy said, his voice sounding very loud in the silent space. "But I can make light too. Give me a second." He reactivated the small medical tricorder. Its glowing screen helped, illuminating gaping black holes dotting the other wall. "That's better. This place seems less like the second circle of Hell when you can see."

Jim smiled wryly and ran his fingers along a wall of storage lockers, many with their doors open and contents spewed across the darkness of the deck. That doesn't make sense, he thought. Why didn't they open all of them? Stepping closer, he nudged something solid with his foot. He kicked a pile of debris aside and saw a grayish lump, its shape somehow familiar. He bent to examine it and realized it was a bare leg, attached to a desiccated humanoid body, splayed across the stern of the cabin. "Bones," he called softly.

McCoy knelt beside him, holding the tricorder. The machine hummed as the doctor ran it over the figure. McCoy looked up. "This man has been dead for weeks, Jim, and it wasn't the wreck that killed him."

"No?"

"He was dead when they hit the ground." 

"How did that happen?"

"I'm a doctor, not a fortune-teller. I am reporting what I see on the screen. His injuries occurred posthumously."

Jim nodded but didn't reply. Every death is a defeat for Bones. It's better to let him alone.

Hendorff appeared in a hatch. "The bunks are aft. There are two dried-out bodies in there. They're naked, so I think they might have been asleep when the automatic restraints deployed. The holds are beyond that, intact, locked up tight, but the personal chests are open, and there's stuff tossed on the ground, just like here. Did it happen on impact?" he asked. 

Of course, locks, Jim thought. He shook his head. "A few doors maybe, but nothing like this. We weren't the first to find this ship. It's been ransacked." Motioning the security guard to follow, he headed forward to the controls.

They found the body of a woman strapped in the pilot's seat. Jim knelt beside her and pulled her clothing shut. 

"She looks good, too," Hendorff said. "Well, not good. I mean, she's dried out but not bruised or anything."

"She was probably dead on impact," McCoy said, holding out his tricorder. "She's got no injuries." He peered at the screen, then added, "Looks like the cause of death was suffocation."
 
"Why do we think she's still sitting here?" Hendorff asked. "I don't like how she's still got her hands over the controls."

Jim explained, "When they started losing altitude, the automatic restraints strapped the pilot in, but the others weren't in their seats. That means whatever they experienced, it didn't worry them." 

"Her uniform is messed up," Hendorff said. "Someone searched her. Why didn't they take her out of the seat if they were looking for something?"

"My guess is it was local people, and they didn't know how to work the restraints," Jim said. "The same way they didn't understand the cabinet locks. It was too far outside their experience."

Hendorff asked, "What were they looking for?" 

"We may never know what they wanted, but we can probably figure out what they got," Jim said grimly.  He returned to the main section and quickly found a cabinet on the bulkhead. The door hung open. 

"Isn't that the armory?" Hendorff asked. 

"It was," Jim replied, running a hand around it, although he knew the cabinet was empty. 

Hendorff whistled. "That's a problem," he said.

Jim turned to his CMO and ordered, "Come on, Bones, there is nothing you can do here. Hendorff, start wrapping up the bodies. We'll transport them to the ship."

Jim shimmied through the hole in the hull, then helped McCoy up. Back on the planet's surface, he directed Uhura to use McCoy's tricorder to tap into The Somerville's records and see what she could learn. He sent the remaining officers into the wreck. He ordered Tan to help Hendorff, Chekov to look for a reason for the crash, and Sulu to start an inventory of the ship's supplies to figure out what was missing.

As the others slid into the pit, Uhura paused long enough to ask, "Did they get the weapons?"

"The gun cabinet is empty, so I think we should assume they did," Jim said. "We'll know for sure after Sulu finishes."

Federation technology in the hands of a pre-spaceflight civilization violates the Prime Directive, Captain." Uhura said.

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, Jim replied, "Yes, I know. The question now is, what do we do about it?"

"We shall need to find the weapons and retrieve them," she said, raising an eyebrow. 

Despite the gravity of the situation, Jim almost laughed. It was precisely how Spock would have responded to the question. On the ship, he might have been tempted to tease her, but instead said, "Thank you, Lieutenant Uhura, I agree. Please notify the ship and have them forward the information to Starfleet in a priority message. Advise them we assume the weapons are in the possession of locals and request an update to our orders."  

Chapter Text

Chapter 2
The Somerville

The work took hours, but the days on MD573 were longer than Earth standard. The still bright sun was starting to set when Jim called for a break. The crew clambered out of the ship onto the sandy soil of the planet. 

They gathered at the pit's edge and tore into dark native bread and cheese from the packs, so hungry it was several minutes before anyone spoke. Once they'd eaten, Jim asked for reports.

Sulu started, "I found the specs for the Somerville and tried to account for every supply listed."

"Wait," McCoy interrupted. "Before we discuss what is missing and start running all over hill and creation looking for it, I would like to know what killed the crew. They might have been pirates, but they were living beings and should be our priority." He looked at Chekov. "Did you figure it out?"

"I think so, sir."

"Good," McCoy said. "Let's hear it."

The ensign looked at the captain for affirmation. "Go ahead, Chekov," Kirk said.

"I believe it was a failure of the air intake system."

Sulu made a shocked noise. "You're kidding," Jim muttered. 

Chekov shrugged. "I am basing my assumption on what I could see, and it was not possible to physically examine everything, of course, but I found sand throughout the intake system."

"Are you sure that wasn't from impact?" asked Sulu. 

Chekov shook his head. "The pipes and lines were badly pitted, with many micro-tears." 

Sulu nodded, "It was long-term then." 

"What's that mean?" asked the doctor.

"If there were enough holes in the intake pipes, the air going to the crew could have been mixed inappropriately," Jim said.

"That explains why they didn't panic," Sulu said, "Depending  on what gases in what combination, but they might not have even known."

"Just got sleepy and nodded off," Jim finished. 

McCoy frowned and muttered under his breath. Sulu continued, "Wow. You know this is theoretically possible, but you never expect to see it."

Jim said, "They fell asleep, stopped steering, and then stopped breathing. They hadn't cleared the atmosphere yet, and so they came down. The only surprise is that the ship stayed so intact."

"That thing was built before modern collision avoidance systems," Sulu said. "It was designed to survive impact with small asteroids. And it was intended for on-planet landings, so it was well heat shielded." He glanced back at the pit around the Somerville's hull and added, "So much destruction caused by carelessness. This is why the maintenance on these small crafts is so important." 

McCoy flushed and began to mutter indistinctly. Jim said soothingly, "It was quick, Bones, they didn't suffer."

"I am a doctor, Captain Kirk," McCoy replied stiffly. "I am familiar with the concept of suffocation. My struggle is realizing those people died because of a miniscule smidge of dust."

"It takes more than a smidge, and it would have to be in the right place," Jim sighed. Here we go again, he thought.

"There are safeguards, alarms that warn of problems with the system. They were turned off. Pilots sometimes do that, but they shouldn't," Chekov added. 

McCoy continued as if no one had spoken. "It isn't enough to hurl your body through space barely protected; it has to be a tin can intent on suffocating you. I will never get into one of those things again."

"If you follow the maintenance schedules, the older shuttles are very safe," Sulu insisted.

"Never again. Do you hear me?" McCoy hissed.

It is sometimes better to refuse to engage, Jim thought. He said, "I heard you. I think we answered your question. Let's move on. Sulu, report."

Sulu continued smoothly, "I can't get to it, but the tricorder says the holds are full of unprocessed dilithium. It's untouched. Most of the tech stuff seems to be in place. However, I found almost no personal possessions. There are no sheets, no clothing, no jewelry, or silverware. Anything not locked up or welded into place is gone." 

"Did you find weapons?" Hendorff asked.

Sulu shook his head. "No hand weapons. As far as we can tell, the mounted guns are still there."

"Great," Jim said. "How about you, Uhura? What did you find out? Were there logs?"

"Not specifically, but the automatic flight recordings were there. The idea that they fell asleep makes sense," Uhura said. "The captain yawned a few times during the take-off check, and by the end, her speech became a little slurred. I also found a ledger; it was spotty, written in code."

Which you broke easily," Jim suggested with a smile.

"Yes," Uhura agreed calmly, "but even in code, they were very nonspecific about cargoes. It's more of a contact list, including specifics on how and where to meet. The logs said the Somerville landed on the planet, not here; they were on the large continent on the other side of the planet. They met an agent, got an unnamed something, and left. Again, no details were given, but it had to have been after something valuable to risk landing here. I think we can assume dilithium. Scans of the planet revealed significant stores on the central continent." 

"They were pirates?" Tan guessed.

"There's no other explanation that makes sense," Uhura responded. "Even on the other, more developed continents, Metiol is far from a spaceflight culture. Despite that, their logs show they landed purposely, risking severe consequences."

"Metiol?" asked Hendorff.

Uhura explained, "The local people call their planet Metiol and themselves Metioln. We should do that too. The culture is far from spaceflight; they haven't even had an industrial revolution yet. The crew of the Somerville may have considered dilithium worth the risk, but the local people wouldn't consider it valuable at all."

Sulu said, "If these guys were pirates, I think it's safe to assume they had sidearms." 

"Which are now gone," McCoy added.

"Would primitive people know how to use weapons like ours?" asked Tan.

"How hard is it to figure out how to use a phaser?" Kirk asked. 

Uhura raised her hand for quiet. Frowning, she stood up and pulled a communicator from its hiding place in her boot. Flipping it open, she said, "Uhura," as she stepped away from the team.

Jim kept her eyes on her as he said, "We need to get those weapons back."

"But we don't know who we are looking for, or where they went. Could the ship's sensors look for a trail of some sort?" Tan asked.

"I doubt it. It's hot here in the day and cool at night. That's the worst combination for maintaining a heat trail," Sulu said. And the beacons don't track individuals, so there wouldn't be records to tap into."

Lieutenant Uhura interrupted, "Captain Kirk, Admiral Komak's office is attempting to contact you. I had Lt. Chen forward it." She handed Jim the communicator. "You can view it here."

Cradling the communicator in his hand, Jim walked away from the group. He wasn't eager to have the crew hear his conversation with the admiral, with whom he had a history. Admiral Komak had resented his slightly unorthodox admission to Starfleet Academy. His early promotion after his defeat of Nero had only intensified the older man's scorn. He makes it more complicated, not impossible, he told himself. We're the logical choice. I just have to make him see it. 

Flipping the machine open, he said, "Kirk here."

"Kirk," Admiral Komak said, his dissatisfaction in addressing his least favorite subordinate apparent. "We received your report. Get back to your ship. We'll send in a recon team. Komak out."

"Sir," Jim said quickly, before the admiral could break the connection.

"What?" Komak asked threateningly.

As you know, sir," Jim continued smoothly, "the Enterprise was ordered to MD573 when security beacons reported phaser fire in the area where we are now. As no civilization on this planet could have developed that level of technology,"

Komak interrupted, "What's your point?"

Jim took a deep breath. Here goes, he thought, and, careful to sound respectful, said, "Sir, I'd like the retrieval mission."

"Too bad," Komak replied, "because I want it carried out by professionals."

"Sir," Jim continued smoothly. "My crew is professional. We're here, ready and capable. My first officer and I discussed the likelihood of just this situation developing. We already have plans in place..."

Komak interrupted, leaning into the screen, his eyes narrowing, he said, "You think you're so God damned remarkable, Kirk. In a normal world, you'd be a lieutenant on a tow ship trying to hide your record-keeping shortcuts. Getting command through family connections and being in the right place at the right time makes you lucky. It doesn't make you professional."

Beating Nero wasn't luck, Jim thought, but only said, "Sir, with all due respect, in the time it takes to get another team prepped and out here, those weapons could be catastrophic to the development of this planet. We're in location. This is our mission. We can finish it."

"This isn't a training exercise, Kirk."

"That's why you must assign it to the best," Jim replied. Though careful to keep his expression neutral, internally he thought, When I find those weapons, I'm going to walk into the next strategic leadership meeting and dump them on his lap. He'll have to listen while the whole room thanks me. 

Through the screen of the tiny communicator, Komak studied Jim through half-open eyes. Finally, he said, "You think you're qualified to retrieve the phasers?"

"Yes, sir," Jim said, hoping confidence hadn't made him answer too quickly. Oh yes, he thought, more than capable. Ready, able, and really eager to show you.

Komak's lip curled. "I disagree. We'll see who's right. It'll take two weeks to get a real crew out there. You can stay and look until they arrive."

Jim started to say thanks, but Komak held up a hand for silence. "Follow the accidental contact protocols, Kirk. Any deviation, I'll see you're demoted." 

"I understand, sir," Jim said.

"Understand this," Komack sneered, "when you mess this up, I can't guarantee I'll have real officers available to rescue you."

"I understand, sir," Jim said again, enunciating more carefully, but keeping his tone respectful.

"You don't," Komack shot back, "you have no idea what you're getting into. But some lessons are best learned the hard way. Try not to lose the whole team."

"I think, sir, you'll find my casualty rate is the lowest of any command in the fleet," Jim couldn't keep from saying. It was true; Nero had assured his place at the top.

Komak sat back in his chair. "You know, he said, 'I'm actually looking forward to my review of your performance at the end of this mission." 

"Thank you, sir," Jim replied politely, "I don't serve for the praise, but gosh, I can't pretend I don't enjoy it." Take that, you pompous, wrinkled jackass, he thought.

The admiral scowled as if he'd heard Jim's thoughts. "You have your orders. Notify this office upon their completion. Or when you give up. If I don't hear from you, I'll assume you're dead. Komak out."

The screen went dark. "Always a pleasure, Admiral," Jim said quietly. He allowed himself a few seconds to savor the victory. I knew it, he thought. I knew there'd be a retrieval mission when we got the orders to investigate phaser fire on a quarantined planet. And we got it! I know we can do this. 

He strolled back to his crew, who watched him approach, looking curious, eager, or in McCoy's case, vaguely annoyed. Jim tossed the communicator to Uhura and said, "I briefed Admiral Komak on what we've done so far. He's given us the retrieval mission." Unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, he added, "This is a big deal."

Sulu locked eyes briefly with Uhura. Nodding, he said, "A huge deal." Technology retrievals after accidental contact were considered among the most difficult of missions. 

"I assume we'll be following accidental contact protocols," Hendorff said.

"As appropriate," Jim agreed.

"What does that mean? What are the appropriate protocols?" Tan asked.

"Oh, I know," Chekov volunteered eagerly. Tan rolled his eyes.

"Go ahead," Jim nodded. 

Just as the young man opened his mouth, the doctor interrupted. "Chekov," he said wearily, "how 'bout you just hit the highlights this time?"

"Yes, sir," the ensign replied earnestly. Taking a deep breath, he began, "Starfleet's protocols for accidental contacts can be summarized by saying that every precaution is taken to prevent additional contamination of the affected culture. A minimal crew is allowed on the planet, with strong preference given to members whose natural appearance closely mirrors the norms of the affected planet. No tools beyond those available on the planet can be used or even brought to it. At no time, even under life-threatening provocation, can any Federation technology, including weapons not available to planetary civilization, be used."

"Do you listen when I talk, son?" Bones asked gently.

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied, glancing up at Jim uncertainly.

Jim bit his lip to avoid laughing. He was in an excellent mood, excited for the mission. "We concluded our mission successfully and are ready for the next one." 

"Which will be harder," Sulu said quietly. 

"Yes," Jim agreed. "Let's finish here, and then we'll talk about that."   

It took several more hours to strip the Somerville completely. They couldn't get to the holds, but Scotty transported the dilithium to the ship. They sent the bodies of the pirates last, then started laying out the explosives. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

The New Mission

At dusk, Jim and his crew stood on the ridge where they'd first seen the Somerville. There was a pop and a flash of bright green, a moment of perfect stillness, and then the shuttle collapsed. Sand rushed to fill the void where it had been. 

Chekov yelped happily.

"How old are you?" asked Hendorff.

Chekov dropped his head, glancing sideways at Tan as he murmured an apology.

"You know, explosions are actually why I joined up," Sulu said thoughtfully. 

"I'm guessing the captain agrees," Uhura said, "since he insisted on detonating now instead of waiting for dark like the protocol suggests."

"Nonsense, Miss Uhura," Kirk replied. "I used my command prerogative to detonate now because I was concerned that someone could get injured or lost without artificial light sources. My decision had nothing to do with the fact that explosions are awesome." He winked at Chekov, smiled.

Let's make camp," Jim continued, "We need to talk."

Around a fire built with local materials (dried dung, gathered by the ensigns at the captain's request and over the vociferous objections of the doctor, who, despite their limited water supplies, insisted the ensigns strip down and bathe afterward), Jim cleared his throat. 

"Beacons," he began, "set up by the Federation to monitor for exactly this sort of situation, have reported phaser fire on this planet."

"Metiol," Uhura said firmly.

Despite his annoyance at the interruption, Jim continued, "Thank you, Lieutenant Uhura. As you all know, Metiol is far from having the technology required to create weapons even remotely like phasers. Ordered to investigate, our sensors found weak ion trails suggestive of the wreck of a space-capable vessel in the area of the reported fire, but no further signs of the weapons. 

"We brought almost no equipment, and beamed down where we could be sure no one would see us. We located what was left of the Somerville. Our investigation suggests she was manned by pirates, who disregarded Federation law, landed on a quarantined planet, and then perished while attempting to leave. The ship was scavenged, we assume by a local group or individual, and we believe the weapons are in their possession." 

No one commented. They shouldn't, Jim thought. They all know all of that. But now it gets trickier. 

He took a second, then continued, "Your efforts have enabled the rapid success of our mission, but we have a new one. I want you all to understand what may be required of you.

"Accidental contact protocols mean we will be divesting ourselves of any technology unavailable on the planet. That means even the few things we brought with us are gone. Uhura's communicator, tracers, translators, all of it. That's something you must consider carefully, because should an emergency arise, we won't be able to contact the ship for help. Our physiology is close enough to the local people that once out of our uniforms, our scanners probably can't identify us in a crowd, and even if they could, the prime directive forbids using the transporter in front of the planet's inhabitants. I can't stress this enough; the use of most of our technology is forbidden. We can't be beamed out, they can't send a shuttle after us, we can't use the weapons we are most familiar with. Should we be injured or become sick, we must rely on whatever treatments the local people use."

Jim looked around the fire, searching the face of each crew member. Dark eyes and fair gazed back unblinkingly. He felt a rush of affection. My brave crew, he thought, the perfect people to share this adventure with. His tone lightened as he continued, "That said, the situation is not hopeless. The planet has been studied, remotely, but thoroughly. Humans fit the planetary standard for appearance pretty closely. We can breathe the air, drink the water, and eat the food. We came dressed like the local people," he gestured to their rough robes. "We are in the general area of phaser activity, and within walking distance of the local population centers. We brought plenty of the local currency and should be able to use it to purchase transportation and appropriate weapons. Even with the good doctor's cleanliness obsession, we have plenty of water."

McCoy scowled; the rest of the crew exchanged smiles. Jim continued, "Spock and I chose the members of this mission carefully. In addition to your appearance, each of you possesses skills necessary, perhaps even essential, for its completion."

"I know what I'm good at," Bones interrupted, "I'm not so certain about the rest of you." 

"Then I'll elaborate, Doctor McCoy," Jim said. "As you said, your area of expertise is obvious. Hendorff," Jim paused. Brawn over brains, obviously, he thought, but only said, "Hendorff has experience with a first contact." 

"I didn't know that," Sulu said, sounding impressed.

Hendorff shrugged. "I spent a semester on the Endeavour as a cadet. It was kind of an accidental first contact, but I was there."

"Which, given Starfleet's losses in the battle with Nero," Jim continued, "makes him one of the more experienced officers in the fleet."

"I would love to hear about it," Chekov murmured, awestruck.

"Later," Jim said firmly, "Right now, I'm explaining your talents. Where was I? Oh, yes. Tan and Hendorff are both archers. I can testify that Mr. Sulu is an excellent swordsman."

Sulu bowed his head modestly. McCoy grunted, "Add that to the rest of us being able to swing a club, and our group has proficiency at all the local weapons." 

"You are joking," Jim said, "but it's true. Spock and I wanted the group to be as prepared as possible for any hostilities we might encounter."

"How about those two?" McCoy asked, jerking his thumb towards Uhura and Chekov. 

Jim sighed. 

"I'm a woman," Uhura said, slightly annoyed.

"Obviously," Jim agreed, surprised and pleased that Uhura was relaxed enough to joke. "You are a woman who has familiarized herself with the local trade language." Uhura wrinkled her brow as if she were confused. Jim hurried to finish before she could interrupt. "Mr. Chekov," he said, "has learned the local sky's stars and studied the local geography.

"And, topography," Chekov added eagerly. "I also familiarized myself with the landmarks in the largest city, the markets, and the temples. We will unlikely ever be there, but Mr. Spock felt it would be good to have some knowledge of the area just in case." 

"Okay, well, great," Jim interrupted the younger man. "Now, if you are satisfied, Dr. McCoy, I have some important things to say."

"I notice you didn't explain what talents you're bringing to the table," McCoy countered.

"The captain's talent is to command us, sir," Chekov said earnestly.

McCoy snorted. "Well, some of us prefer to be free thinkers, ensign."

Jim cleared his throat. "Miss Uhura," he asked, "why don't you tell the group a little more about the planet?"

Uhura began smoothly, "Metiol has been scanned extensively, but there have been no embedded exophologic studies. I would describe our understanding of the planetary civilizations as broad but not deep. As you all know from the mission prep materials, we are currently on the smallest and least technologically developed continent. They have metal but no engines. The majority of people here live agriculturally based lives in matrilineal clan groups. War has never been observed, but isolated incidences of organized violence occur, more commonly in cities. It is a rough, difficult life by our standards, but stable and prosperous by theirs. That's important to remember. We may find aspects of life here distasteful, but this ancient civilization successfully meets the populace's needs despite conditions that, particularly in this area, are demanding. We are currently at the edge of a desert in the lee of a large mountain range. Because of the dry conditions, there is very little farming. However, we are in what is essentially the Metioln Silk Road. Traders from the farmlands can't get to the large port cities without passing through the desert and over the mountains."   

"So eventually," Jim interrupted, "we will meet locals. 

Uhura nodded. "And when we do, we must respect their values and culture."

"So that we can get those weapons without using anything we can't find on the planet," Sulu summarized.

"Which may mean we'll be fighting our weapons without our weapons," Hendorff said.

Tan said, "Wouldn't it be simpler just to wait for phasers to run out of charge?"

Jim started to reply, but Hendorff beat him to it, saying, "They could do a lot of damage before that happened, and even having the spent phasers could change history."

Sulu agreed, "Even if no one ever did anything significant with them, their physical presence is inappropriate. In the future, some scientists could be inspired to develop something similar well before it should happen." 

"Metiol," Uhura said, "has a right to self-determination. The phasers give power to someone who may not have earned it. We have to get them off this planet, but it's equally important to keep all knowledge of our worlds and ways secret."

"We call it the Prime Directive because it's of primary importance to the Federation that civilizations be allowed to develop without outside interference. This is an opportunity to live what we have sworn to uphold," Jim said. Chekov eagerly nodded agreement; everyone else was somber. 

Jim took a deep breath. "You must understand that the Federation may forbid any attempt to rescue us if something goes wrong. We could be left to live out the rest of our lives on the planet."

His officers looked thoughtful, but not nervous. Informing but not inflaming, perfect, Jim thought. He'd never given a speech like this before and felt pleased he was striking the correct balance. "Now," he continued. "I want you to consider carefully. Participation in this mission is voluntary. I need to ask each of you to state that you understand what you've heard and wish to be included or excused from the mission. Understand, there is no shame in refusing to participate, and once you have opted in, there is no way to change your mind." 

He paused, letting them think, then Jim said, "There is a protocol. I will ask each of you to participate in the mission, and you will answer me yea or nay. Uhura, you'll need to record this; why don't we start with you?"

The communication officer readied her communicator, then Jim introduced himself and the mission. Once the basics were on record, he asked, "Lieutenant Uhura, you have received an explanation of the restrictions inherent in an accidental contact mission. Do you understand them?"

She replied clearly, "Yes, sir, I do."

"Do you agree to honor them?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Knowing the risks and restrictions, are you willing to participate in the mission?"

"Yes, sir, I am."

"As have I. So, I'll do my piece and then you repeat after me. I, James T. Kirk, freely give my word as an officer of Starfleet to honor the laws of the United Federation of Planets. I understand this mission may alter my life forever, but I will do what is required of me to complete it successfully." Finished, he nodded at his communications officer.

"I, Nyota Uhura, freely pledge as an officer of Starfleet to honor the laws of the United Federation of Planets. I understand this mission may alter my life forever, but I will do what is required of me to complete it successfully."

"Cut it, Uhura. That was perfect," Jim said. "Okay, now I will ask each of you the same questions. Don't assume I expect a yes. You can say no. It won't affect your career, or..." He struggled to finish the sentence. He thought he should say something to the effect that he would respect them either way, but he doubted he could make it believable and decided instead to say, "Turn it back on, Uhura." 

Jim looked around the circle and decided to start with the officer he was most sure of. "Mr. Sulu," he began, but his helmsman interrupted before he could get further.

"Sir, I have been informed of the mission's conditions and am aware of the accidental contact protocols. I will honor them despite any danger to myself. I am willing to participate in the mission. I, Hikaru Sulu, freely pledge as an officer of Starfleet to honor the laws of the United Federation of Planets. I understand this mission may alter my life forever, but I will do what is required of me to complete it successfully."

Jim had to control a smile. He sounds like a character in a play. Sulu is always the perfect officer, the noblest musketeer. He nodded gratefully, then turned to his ranking security guard. "Hendorff?" he asked.

"Sir, I understand the mission. I am willing and eager to participate. I, Geoffrey Paul Hendorff, offer my pledge as an officer of Starfleet to honor the laws of the United Federation of Planets. I understand accepting this mission may alter my life forever, and I will do what is required of me to complete the mission."

Before Jim could ask, Tan chimed in, "I understand the mission and wish to join it, and I'll stick it out to the end."

"You need to state your given name." Uhura looked annoyed by the break in protocol.

"Li Wei Tan," Tan replied.

"Start from," Uhura began, but Jim interrupted. 

"Thank you, Ensign Tan, I think that's good enough," he said. Uhura sighed noisily. Jim ignored her and turned to Chekov, who nodded, uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Trying not to sound hesitant, Jim asked, "Ensign Chekov, you have received an explanation of the restrictions inherent in an accidental contact mission. Do you understand them?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied, eyes big.

"Hold on there, Captain Kirk," McCoy said. He turned to Chekov. "Son, I think we should talk about this a little more."

"I understand, Dr. McCoy," Chekov insisted. 

"That's easy to say," McCoy started, but Jim held up a hand, interrupting him.

"Commander McCoy, this is between my officer and me," Jim said firmly, wishing he felt as sure as he sounded. He had not been enthusiastic when Spock had selected Chekov for the mission. He had reminded the first officer that Chekov was very young, not certified in hand-to-hand combat, and a little accident-prone, then added, "It kills me to see him get hurt." 

Spock had raised an eyebrow and studied Jim coolly for several seconds before replying, "Ensign Chekov is the crew member most gifted at memorizing star charts. When you requested that I select capable humans for this mission, you did not specify that I should exclude those considered likable. In the future, it would be helpful to include those parameters in job descriptions." 

Like most of Spock's rebukes, he hadn't been able to think of a reasonable response, but it hadn't felt right to bring Chekov into such a potentially dangerous situation. It still didn't, but he couldn't think of a logical reason to reject him.

"Are you willing to participate, ensign?" he asked, half hoping Chekov would say no.

Sitting up straight and looking Jim straight in the eye, Chekov said, "Sir, I, Pavel Andreivitch Chekov, freely give my pledge as an officer of Starfleet to honor the laws of the United Federation of Planets. I understand this mission may alter my life forever, but I will do what is required of me to complete it." He nodded decisively as he finished.

Jim ignored the doctor's loud sigh. But Chekov said encouragingly, "Don't worry, Dr. McCoy. I understand what I am saying, and I will keep my word. I can fulfill my duties satisfactorily, sir, no matter what." 

McCoy snorted dismissively.

"Thank you, ensign," Jim said, biting back a smile. He always found Chekov's sincerity amusing, but didn't want the young man to know. He turned to Bones, the only crew member whose response he was uncertain of. "Dr. McCoy," he began.

"I understand what I'm getting into and am willing to participate. I can't promise I won't complain," Bones said, and the dark desert night erupted in laughter.

Chapter Text

The Second Day

Chapter 4
The Journey for Phasers

After a breakfast of replicated local food, Jim set his beloved pocket knife on a large rock and said, "Anything a Metioln wouldn't have goes here." They'd come from the ship dressed to look unremarkable to any locals, but a recovery mission had higher standards. Soon, the tricorder, emergency supplies, and their neatly folded Starfleet standard underwear lay on the rock. Nyota Uhura dropped a stone necklace on the pile. Jim thought it would pass as local, but said nothing because Hikaru Sulu slid off his wedding ring and added it.

When the crew had divested themselves of everything non-Metioln, Jim said, "Okay, I think we're ready," and nodded to McCoy, who rose slowly.

"Uhura can speak the language," McCoy said, "but without translators, the rest of us are in a world of hurt. I prepared hypos of nanolators." There was a groan from one of the younger crew members; Jim wasn't sure which one. McCoy ignored it and continued, "They'll give you a basic understanding of what's being said to you. Yes, it will give you a headache for a couple of hours. No, it won't kill you. They'll circulate well for about two weeks, then start breaking down. If you drink enough fluids to assist with excretion, they'll all be gone in a month. Decide if you want it now. You won't get to change your mind later, because after I give the shots, all these supplies get beamed to the ship."

I should go first, Jim thought unhappily, and took a seat in front of the doctor. "Try not to shove it into my esophagus," he whispered.

"Try not to be such a baby," McCoy replied before plunging the hypo against his neck. 

There was no pain-free way to get the tiny robots into a body. Jim rubbed the bright red welt on his neck and watched the rest of the crew take their hypos with frowns or grimaces, but no complaints. McCoy easily added the spent syringes to the possessions pile but clutched his medical kit tightly before grudgingly dropping it.

Jim used Uhura's communicator to call the ship, then dropped it beside the other things. Scotty solemnly wished them good luck before beaming the items aboard. Jim couldn't help staring at the empty spot when the yellow swirls faded. He knew it was ridiculous, but the desert seemed quieter with their ability to communicate gone. Still, he was too confident of the mission's eventual success to be nervous. "Okay," he said, "We're committed. If we get separated, make your way back to the rock. Scotty will beam anything in the area aboard every sunset until the ship is ordered to leave."

There was just enough light to illuminate his crew's grave expressions. Jim added quickly, "But we don't have to worry about that. I feel lucky." He turned to Chekov. "Which way to the town that Mr. Spock suggested?" 

"Thirty-five kilometers," Chekov replied, pointing over Jim's shoulder and into the desert.

"Are you sure?" Tan asked.

Chekov nodded. "I know where we are relative to the town, water sources, and mountain ranges. Visualize a right triangle. The Somerville, our current position, and the town are the points, and the sides run north, west, and northwest."

McCoy grouched. "I hate when people say things like 'north' as if that means something when you don't know where you are."

"That is the least difficult part," Chekov said with a shrug.

"How's that?" asked the doctor.

Chekov pointed to the sky. "Do you see that star? The bright one by the captain's ear? That is Metiol's pole star. We can follow it north."

"And do you see that light on the horizon? That's the sun. Just what will we do for directions once it's up?" the doctor asked sarcastically. 

Chekov said uncertainly, "Metiol rotates east, doctor."

"And that is somehow helpful?" McCoy asked. 

Chekov glanced nervously at Sulu, who shrugged but did not offer to help. The ensign then looked beseechingly at the captain. Jim laughed and asked, "Explain to Dr. McCoy why that is important, Mr. Chekov."

Chekov sounded apologetic. "Always, on a planet which rotates east, if you walk with the rising sun on your right or the setting sun on your left, you will go north. It isn't true north, because it is autumn, but if we walk thirty-five kilometers, we should be able to see the city."

"Really?" asked Tan.

Chekov nodded. "Once we do, I have familiarized myself with the city's general layout. I should be able to guide us to most of the gates and some of the largest landmarks."

Nodding, Jim said, "I told you, Bones, everyone has a role on this mission. We'll get to town, buy supplies, and listen to the local gossip. Anyone who's seen phaser fire is going to mention it. Hopefully, we'll find them quickly and have plenty of time for Mr. Chekov's tour of the major landmarks."

"What a treat that'll be," McCoy muttered. 

"I agree," Jim laughed. "Let's start, and see how far we can get before it gets too hot."

They walked through the last cool hours of the morning. The desert vista was broken only by boulders jutting haphazardly through the sand and, occasionally, a leafless tree trunk. They were unlike any Jim had ever seen. Sulu, whose undergraduate degree was in botany, was fascinated by them. He ran his finger along the bark, tentatively examining the thorns, and said, "I wish I had a tricorder. I've never seen a growth pattern like this. They don't even look real. The branches look like wheels growing wheels, or parasols stacked one on top of the other."

"Weird parasols, look at the spikes on these things," Tan said, gingerly touching one of the thumb-sized thorns that covered the bark of the strange trees. 

"Mr. Spock described them," Hendorff said. "I guess the locals put up their travel tents by hooking the canvas over the spikes."

"Better not miss," Tan said.

"Worry about yourself. You'll be helping me when the time comes," Hendorff replied. He stopped, his hands on his hips, and stared at the circled branches. "You know, you could make a heck of a mace out of that," he said thoughtfully.

"Do you consider everything you see as a potential weapon?" asked McCoy crankily.

"Sure," Hendorff replied. "Don't you?"

"I most certainly do not," McCoy replied.

"If you've got the strength to argue, I guess we don't need a break yet," Jim suggested, and they walked on.

As the hours passed, Jim decided he liked the indigenous boots, but not the robe. His hung from his shoulders to his knees. The pale fabric reflected some of the sun's heat, and the hood's gauze-like mask shielded his eyes from the glare, but didn't wick away sweat like a uniform. His skin chafed under the cross-wrapped belts. The stickiness and the horrible headache that always accompanied the injection of nano translators made for a miserable morning, and their progress was slow. 

Suddenly, Sulu pointed into the desert and asked, "Is that smoke?"

Jim squinted at a wispy white thread rising into the bright sky from a spot several dozen meters distant. "Locals?" he guessed, pushing his hood back for a better look. The glare burned his eyes, and he pulled it into place.

"Maybe it's whoever robbed the Somerville," Hendorff said.

"I wish I had a phaser," Tan added.

"We have no reason to assume that fire has anything to do with our weapons, or even that whoever started it is unfriendly," Jim said, "but we should investigate. Follow me." 

"Us," Hendorff suggested. "Follow us."

Together, they worked toward the smoke, eventually coming to a circle of rocks arranged around a still-smoldering fire pit. There were half a dozen of the leafless parasol trees, and several blackened trunks, but no people. 

"What happened there?" McCoy asked.

Chekov poked at the fire. "This is nearly extinguished," he said, "and look, do you see how smooth the sand is, there and there? I think there were bedrolls or tents here. Perhaps someone who stayed last night used the fire this morning."

"What are the chances we would stumble across the local campground?" Tan asked sarcastically.

Before Jim could, Chekov replied confidently, "Mr. Spock said the harbor in the city we are traveling to is the center of trade on this continent. Given the terrain, it would be important to know the locations of shade and water. Perhaps many travel the same path."

"Their version of the Silk Road," Uhura said, in a tone that reminded everyone she had said it before.

"Whatever it is," Doctor McCoy said, "I think we could all benefit from some water and rest."

"Good idea," Jim agreed, "But keep in mind, if this is a well-traveled area, we'll probably see some locals soon. Keep your hoods up and be alert."

The crew complied, most settling into the tree's sparse shade for long, slow pulls on skeins of water. Chekov, however, kicked sand on the fire before wandering through the campsite.

"What is that kid doing now?" Bones asked, handing Jim a skein of water.

"Wishing he had a tricorder," Jim laughed. 

"Tell him to come back. This place looks like it has snakes." McCoy insisted. 

"Leave him alone, Bones; he's excited to be off the ship. Don't you remember being young and interested in everything?" 

"I was never that young," McCoy replied.

"Well, I was," Jim laughed, "like about six months ago. I still would be if all the minutia involved in captaining didn't suck every bit of fun out of everything. I'm happy to be off the ship, and so is he. Let him enjoy himself."  

"I still don't think this is a good idea," McCoy groused. "He's too young to be on the ship, let alone included in a mission like this."

"Do you notice you're the only one who's worried?" Jim asked, although he had some of the same concerns. He watched the young man skeptically and thought, Don't get hurt. 

Chekov knelt to pick something from the ground and studied it, then hurried over to show it to Sulu and Hendorff. They exchanged a few words, then started together toward Jim.

Conscious of the doctor watching, Jim kept his tone light and called, "What do you have there?" 

Sulu replied, "I think we may be getting closer." He held out a small glass disk, about the size of his thumb pad. It was clear, with irregular black stripes running through it and grains of sand embedded in it.

"Is it fulgurite?" Hendorff asked. 

Sulu shook his head. "Wouldn't that be hollow?"

"What's fulgurite?" asked McCoy.

"Glass made by lightning," Jim replied, fingering the little disk, "and, yes, they're hollow."

Chekov said, "Lightning doesn't run along the sand, it continues its path down from the sky. These are different, splattered."

"Yes," Jim said thoughtfully. 

Hendorff looked at Sulu and added, "Damn it."

"What does it mean?" asked Tan, looking around the campsite nervously.

"Do you think they're still here?" 

Chekov shook his head. "They are completely cool," he said. "They were not made recently, certainly not in the last twenty-four hours."

"This obviously means something to you all," McCoy said. "Do you mind explaining it to me?"

Sulu said, "Chekov found glass. That can happen when someone shoots a disruptor at sand. That's bad news because HQ reported phaser fire."

"So, we aren't just looking for one weapon," McCoy finished. 

"Not any longer," Jim said. 

"Hendorff and I think those may be phaser burns on those trees," Sulu said, nodding toward the burnt stumps. "We think someone took target practice here."

Jim nodded. "Somebody with a really, really intense source of heat was here not too long ago and played with their guns. The good news is, we're on the right trail."

He didn't bother to describe the bad news. "Did you find anything else?" he asked.

"These," Chekov said, and held out some small pieces of metal.

Jim took them and said, "This is a needle, and this is a broken piece of a blade, probably from a sword or knife."

"Wonder if they broke it trying to defend themselves against a disruptor?" Hendorff mused.

The crew silently considered the possibility. This isn't helpful, Jim thought and said firmly, "I need a report. Where are we, Mr. Chekov?" 

The young man shoved his hood back. He flinched when the sunlight struck his eyes, but his voice was strong. "I believe we are traveling in the correct direction, sir, and have covered approximately 8 kilometers. However, the sun is nearly at its zenith. I will feel more confident about our path when it starts down. Perhaps, sir, we could rest a while longer, maybe eat?" he added hopefully.

"I said that some time ago," McCoy muttered.

Jim pretended not to hear and said, "Hendorff, why don't you get us some shade?" 

In Hendorff's pack was a replicated copy of the local travel tent, essentially a very large blanket woven from coarse wool. He unpacked it, then had Tan help him wedge an edge of one side onto the thorns on several trees. It made a large canopy, crooked, low, and open, but it did create shade.

Jim had questioned the usefulness of carrying the drape, concerned that something so heavy might slow them down. But Spock had insisted any native people would be shocked to see them traveling in the desert without one. As a slight wind made a breezeway, cooling the hot air, Jim was suddenly glad he'd listened. 

Chekov and Tan tore enthusiastically into their packs for the replicated approximations of local food. They pulled out a thick, dense bread, hard cheese, and several skin sacks. 

"What do you think is in these?" Chekov asked. 

"We know the largest one is water," Tan replied. "Other than that, I have no idea."

Chekov squeezed his medium skein experimentally. A curd-like, white substance oozed out, and he caught some on his finger. He licked it tentatively.

"It's good," he assured the group. "Sour, like yogurt." He squeezed some on Uhura's bread. She tried it and nodded. 

Next, he removed a small sack and opened it. "What is this?" he asked. 

"I don't know, but I have it too," Tan said, showing a handful of small dried beads.

"Is it jewelry?" asked Hendorff.

Sulu took a few of the beads, rubbed them between his fingers, and sniffed. He sneezed. "Peppercorns," he said.

"Why did they send us so much pepper?" asked Tan.

"Could it be currency?" Chekov said. "Mr. Spock said spices are very valuable in this world."

"I think you might be right," Uhura said, biting one of the berries.

"Stop eating the money, all of you," McCoy said. "Have some bread and drink the water. I don't want you getting dehydrated." Jim noticed that the doctor's pack had an extra sack in it. What's he got? Jim wondered but didn't ask. If McCoy had disregarded orders and snuck something in, he didn't want to know. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Five
Found

Although he hadn't wanted a break, the food helped Jim's headache fade to a dull thudding. He felt good enough to consider ordering the crew to push on, but noticed McCoy had stretched out in the shade and dozed off. I'll give him half an hour, Jim thought. He's not used to this kind of physical work. 

Hendorff was standing guard, but everyone else took advantage of the shade. Uhura was drilling the junior officers, checking their competency in the trade language with which they'd been inoculated. "That's not good," Jim heard her say.

Tan insisted, "I'll do fine when I need to, but I can't concentrate right now. Those bots gave me a headache."

Uhura said coolly, "The nanobots implant knowledge of the language, but don't create the ability to make the proper sounds. That is a skill that requires practice."

"And apparently, one not everyone has," Sulu said. "You both had the shot; how is it possible you're still so bad at this?" 

Chekov lay on the ground with his eyes shut and his robe open to his navel. Without bothering to open them, he said, "I am saying exactly what I hear," in his heavily accented Standard.

"Try harder," Uhura told him, "or no one will understand what you are saying."

"He's used to that," Tan muttered. 

Chekov agreed cheerfully, "Mr. Tan is correct, ma'am. Don't worry, it won't bother me." Sulu and Tan laughed, and, shaking her head, even Uhura smiled. 

Jim's lips twitched, but he didn't allow himself to join in. This is an important mission, he reminded himself. I'm the captain, not here for fun. But he didn't say anything about restarting. Chekov said the directions would be clearer if we waited for the sun to start down, Jim thought. A few hours won't matter that much. We'll rest until it's cooler, then walk until it's really dark. He stretched out his legs and considered removing his boots. Suddenly, a horrible sound, like metal gears stripping, tore through the air.

Jim was up instantly. "Take cover, sir," Tan called, patting his side for a non-existent phaser as he ran past, hurrying to back up Hendorff. 

Sulu and Uhura were already up and ready for orders. The certainty that they'd be in danger kept Jim from following Tan. Instead, he looked around, saw bushes and small dunes, but not much else. There's nowhere to hide, he thought. We'll defend here, buy them time to escape. He turned to Chekov, who had pulled McCoy to his feet and stood waiting for instructions. "Run," he said. "Keep going until dark. Then, head into the city and finish the mission."

Immediately, Chekov started away, tugging Bones behind him. Jim turned back to the threat, Sulu and Uhura beside him. 

"We're coming in," Hendorff called. "It's alright," and Jim's security people returned to the tent, accompanied by a very tall figure, draped in a dirty blue robe.  

"We have a visitor," Hendorff said. "He's not armed." 

"Tan, go find Chekov and McCoy," Jim said, jerking his thumb toward the desert. "I sent them out there." Tan trotted off, and Jim turned to meet the visitor. The Metioln was male, powerfully built, and as big as Hendorff, the tallest crew member on the team. His hood hid his face, but his posture was relaxed. "You didn't tell me you had children with you," the Metioln told Hendorff.

"Children?" Hendorff asked confusedly.

Uhura pushed past Jim, leaving him too surprised to object. "I am not a child," she said grandly. "I am the usual size for where I come from, and I am keth of this clan."

The man flinched. He stepped back, hunching his shoulders forward, making himself smaller. "I'm sorry, my lady," he whined ingratiatingly. "Your servant did not say he traveled with females."

"I didn't know you would be interested," Hendorff replied. 

The Metioln ignored him and keened, "If I had known, I would have asked permission to enter."

Confused, Jim stepped before Uhura and spread his hands in the nearly universal symbol of acceptance. Uhura grabbed his arm, pulling him back. He looked down in surprise. She shook her head at him warningly, then told the Metioln imperiously, "I find no fault with you. The error was my servant's, and he was motivated by concern for me." 

"Thank you, dear lady," the Metioln whined. 

Uhura called loudly, "Make our guest comfortable. Our situation is not so dire that we can not offer water."

What is going on with her? Jim wondered, but before he could ask, Chekov returned. He scurried to the back of the tent, grabbed his skein, and squeezed it over his face. He murmured something in Russian, blinked several times, and then took a long drink. McCoy and Tan followed him in. "Did you wash your eyes out?" McCoy asked grumpily. 

"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed, "much better."

"I said I was sorry," Tan said.

"It wasn't your fault," Chekov replied, shooting McCoy a resentful look.

"What happened?" Jim and Hendorff asked at the same time.

"Chekov had ahold of McCoy, running him up the hill like a jackrabbit," Tan laughed. "When I yelled, the doctor stopped so fast he jerked Chekov over, and he slid headfirst down the side of a dune. I think he ate half the sand out there."

"At least half," Chekov agreed. He noticed the Metioln, smiled, and held out his skein. "Want some?" he asked.

The Metioln staggered back. "Spare me," he whispered.

Chekov blinked, confused. "It's water," he said uncertainly.

"That trade is no threat," Uhura said grandly.

"Trade?" the Metioln echoed. He looked from Chekov to Uhura several times, then collapsed to the ground and keened, "Preserve me, Goddess." 

"I'm, um, well, don't be frightened," Uhura said soothingly. 

The Metioln covered his head with his arms and whimpered, "Mighty, sorceress, I am the lowest of trades and of no use to you." 

"There is no sorceress here," Uhura insisted. Then, turning to Chekov, she whispered, "I think you are scaring him. Pull your hood up."

Chekov did so, moving behind Sulu and murmuring that he was sorry. 

Still on the ground, the Metioln whispered, "It obeys you!"

"Well, of course," Uhura replied. "I am his keth."

"Lovely one," the Metioln whined, "have pity. I know I have not always believed as I should, but I have no wife to guide me. I will do better, I swear. Please, please, do not spirit me away."

Uhura took a few seconds to reply. When she did, Jim thought she sounded uncertain, "You have nothing to fear from me. I swear. Chekov does too. Don't you, Chekov?" 

"Oh, yes, ma'am. I give my word," Chekov agreed. "I will not spirit him away either."

Tan chuckled. Uhura shook her head at him, but her voice sounded soothing as she said, "I am no sorceress, just a simple traveler. I was robbed and need your help."

"My help? A sorceress capable of bewitching a daka does not need a low trade's help. Let me go, kind lady, please."

"A daka?" Uhura said doubtfully, "Chekov is a trade, my trade."

"The rains have come early," The Metioln moaned. "There are dragons in the mountains and dakas in the desert. Why was I born to suffer?"

"Dragons?" Jim asked, The beam of a phaser could seem like fire to people who'd never seen an energy weapon. "How long have there been dragons?"

The Metioln looked Jim's direction, then turned back to Uhura, who said, "How long have there been dragons?"

Sounding cautious, the Metioln replied, "There have always been dragons, sorceress, but they arrived locally only after the last full moon."

"This last full moon?" Jim asked and started calculating how many Earth standard weeks a Metioln month would be.

Uhura spoke over him, "We seek the dragon. Could you take us to it?" 

"Me?" the Metioln asked incredulously.

"We want vengeance," Jim added.

Raising his head, the Metioln nodded as if planning vengeance made perfect sense. Jim held his breath. Could it be this easy? But the Metioln only said, "I am a low trade, and could be of no help at all."

"Perhaps your keth could help us," Uhura suggested. 

"No," the man wailed, collapsing again to the ground. He grabbed Uhura's boots and begged, "Do not make me the cause of their destruction. Spare Clan Tunton, lovely one! They follow every commandment and are observant in every way, so grateful are they for their oasis. Leave them in peace, mighty sorceress, please."  

"Stop," Uhura begged. The man let her go, but stayed curled on the ground, the occasional choking sob emanating from beneath his hood. Uhura thought for a minute, then asked, "You say your clan is observant, are there no instructions to help those lost in the desert?"

The Metioln moaned, "This is a trick, a test."

"I am not," Uhura started, then stopped, sighed, and said, "I must order you to take me to your keth." 

For several seconds, the Metioln muttered and sobbed, indistinguishably. Then, he sat up on his knees and said slowly, "How can I persevere against the will of a sorceress?"

"Does that mean you'll take me to your people?" Uhura asked uncertainly. Jim held his breath, wondering, or maybe this easy?

"I am unchoosed," the Metioln replied stiffly, "And so have no people. But I will take you to Keth Tunton. What choice do I have? You have ordered me."

 Yes, Jim thought, it could! 

"Okay, well, yes. Excellent," Uhura said.

The Metioln said more determinedly, "It seals my fate and may end my dream of being chosen, but I am righteous and never will I be called disobedient." 

"Worthy goal," Uhura agreed, signalling Hendorff to help the tall man up. "Thank you, uh, what do I call you?" she asked.

"I am Gat, a recent trade to the blue robes of Clan Tunton, and a hunter by training," the Metioln replied sadly. "Or I was. As the old women say, 'the deity judges intention, the keth judges results.' You are ordering my destruction."

"I assure you, that's not my intention," Uhura replied. "I promise I  will do everything I can to see that you don't regret helping us."

Jim could tell that Uhura was genuinely concerned. Don't waste the effort. We'll worry after we get the weapons, he thought. Right now, the focus needs to be on the mission. As if she'd heard him, Uhura asked more confidently, "How did you come to find us?"

The Metioln replied morosely, "I was at my work with some other blue robes. We had completed our midday rest and remounted. We saw your canopy but no myleth, and we were concerned. This desert is no place for foot travel. I was directed to announce myself and offer assistance."

What is myleth? Jim wondered. The nanotranslators lacked finesse. They didn't offer approximations for words that had no specific translation. 

Before he could think of a way to ask for more information, Uhura said, "Our myleth were stolen." 

"We were afraid it might be so. It's not uncommon since the dragon came," the Metioln sighed, "but you don't want my thoughts. We will lay this at the feet of Keth Tunton." His tone brightened, adding, "Could you help her?"

"I will help her if I can, of course," Uhura said.

"Is it possible? Fate is fickle. Surely, if you can bewitch a daka, you could capture a dragon."

Uhura said firmly, "I am not a sorceress, Gat, and I must forbid you from saying so." 

"I am a plaything of the immortals and will see how it plays. I must do as you instruct, kind lady," the Metioln said, and Jim knew without a doubt that he was lying. 

Uhura, however, seemed satisfied. She looked at the crew and said, "Ready yourselves to travel."

Half an hour later, they were ready to go. Gat, the Metioln, relaxed once Uhura put him to work,  and repacked the canopy quickly, teasing Hendorff for its poor positioning as he did so. Once they were loaded, Gat pulled a polished bone horn from wrinkled fabric between the belts on his robe, lifted it to his mouth, then paused and turned to Uhura. He said hesitantly, "Dear lady, please urge the dak...uh, the small trade to cover himself. He may frighten the myleth." 

Uhura turned hesitantly toward Chekov, who nodded obediently and tugged his hood into place. Gat nodded, satisfied, and blew the horn. The horrible sound they'd heard earlier rang across the desert. "It will not be long," Gat told them. 

Unable to control his nervous energy, Jim stepped in front of Gat and peered out at the vista. My crew is unarmed, there's no cover, and we're waiting to meet the family of a man who is obviously lying to us. I've made them completely vulnerable. What do I do if something goes wrong? 

Gat pointed out into the desert. "That way," he said pleasantly.

I can't deal with problems till they exist, Jim told himself. Gat may not be truthful, but he hasn't been threatening. Even if he was, the mission can't succeed unless we interact with the Metiolns. This is things going right. I need to relax and let it happen. 

There was movement on the horizon. Jim squinted, trying to get a better look, then pulled his hood into place. The fabric cut the glare, but it was impossible to see specifics; however, he could make out movement on the horizon. Gradually, it solidified into large, pale lumps which swayed as they moved, left and right, left and right.

"What in the name of God is that?" McCoy asked in Standard.

Jim opened his mouth but didn't answer, unsure what to say. Finally, he managed, "We'll know soon enough."

Five large, multicolored bodies plodding through the sand. They were upright, scaly animals about twice the size of a Terran horse. They walked on long, powerful legs but had stumpy arms which ended in hooked nails. Their bodies tapered to disproportionately small heads dominated by beaked mouths lined with teeth. Their eyes, nearly hidden behind blinders, were on either side of the animals' faces. Their feet reminded Jim of Terran turkeys, although much larger, with wicked-looking talons nearly as thick as Jim's arm. Ornate bits and reins chimed with every wobbling step. Jim wasn't sure if they looked more like enormous plucked chickens or fat, stocky dinosaurs. 

"I'm guessing those are myleth," he told McCoy.

"Every time I think I've seen everything," the doctor replied.

Each animal had a large, low wooden box strapped to its back. It was like a wheelless wagon, extended over the animals' flanks, like a deck, and held upright by a single sturdy support that rested on the animals' loins. Four riders, draped in blue robes like Gat's, were perched on the front with their legs dangling on either side of the animals' withers and clasping reins. As soon as the riders drew close, Gat began to chatter animatedly. Jim could understand some of what he said, but none of the responses from the other riders. "Uhura," he whispered, "I can't understand."

"Shh," she hissed, clearly listening. He waited as patiently as he could until, suddenly, the conversation ended and the riders began to turn their animals. 

Gat asked, "Do you wish your trades to ride, dear lady?"

"Please," Uhura said, then added in Standard, "Come on, everyone."

Gat grabbed Chekov's arm and pulled him over to a chicken. "Asfab is carrying our kill, but you are so small that your weight will mean nothing to a myleth."

"I am not certain," Chekov began, but before he could say more, Gat picked him up and tossed him into the box between the rider and a large dead lizard. The myleth skittered nervously, and Chekov grabbed at the Metioln beside him. 

"Hold tight, little boy," the Metioln greeted him kindly.

"I'm not," Chekov began, but the myleth kicked and shuddered, objecting to the new weight, and Chekov nodded. "Yes," he agreed, "I will."

"Come on," Jim told the crew, "This is what we wanted; mount up." 

Gat ran about, helping crew members onto the backs of animals. He asked Uhura's permission to assist her before gingerly lifting her onto a myleth.

"Would you prefer to drive yourself, dear lady?" asked her driver. "I could ride with another of my robes if I will annoy you."

"No," Uhura's voice was shaky. "I would not wish to attempt a strange animal, thank you."

"I shall endeavor not to embarrass myself," the rider in front of Uhura said, his voice muffled by his hood.

"I appreciate your effort," Uhura replied. 

Gat grabbed the reins of the riderless myleth, pulled its head back, and expertly swung himself into the boxlike saddle. He then flung himself half out to help McCoy up, before offering an arm to Jim, who said, "I got this, thanks," and, copying Gat, pulled himself up.

Gat whistled, and the group started. "Captain," Chekov called in Standard, "we are going in the wrong direction, away from the city."

"It's not the original plan," Jim agreed. "But let's look at it as achieving our goal of meeting some locals."

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied so earnestly that Jim nearly laughed. It's the truth, he told himself. We've found a clue, and we're after the phasers. We'll finish this up and be ready to beam out in a day or two. I can't wait to see Komak's face. He settled back, reflecting on the day's events. Uhura was really impressive, he decided. She said just the right things to get us invited to the village. When this is finished, I'm recommending her for another commendation. 

For the first hour, Jim tried unsuccessfully to find a comfortable seat. He'd ridden as a child, but the myleth's waddling walk had no rhythm, and the boxlike saddle rolled haphazardly with every step. The driver's hanging legs provided stability, but McCoy and Jim had to work hard not to roll with every lurching step. "Riding a myleth," McCoy groused, "is like sitting on water skis, possible, but not easy, and never comfortable." 

Eventually, Chekov stopped chatting animatedly with his Metioln driver to climb up, balance over the lizard carcasses in the back of his deck, point toward the horizon, and call in Standard, "We've recovered the distance we traveled, sir. That is where we came out of the gully."

That seemed impossible. Jim didn't think they had been on the ride long enough. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir," Chekov nodded. "The marker is down there."

"Huh," Jim grunted doubtfully. There were more dry-looking sticks than he remembered, and the terrain seemed steeper. But looking closer, he noticed soft footprints in the sand, leading away from the ridge where Chekov pointed.

"Looky there. He's right," McCoy said, leaning out to study the prints.

"Sit up, Bones," Jim ordered, glad he hadn't argued with Chekov. "I don't want our hosts to take any interest in those prints." 

Complying quickly, McCoy mused, "Can you believe that kid recognized that hill? They all look the same to me. I guess maybe you were right. It was a good thing we brought him."

"To tell the truth, it was Spock's idea," Jim said.

"I'm not going to go so far as to say Spock was right," sniffed McCoy.

"No, I don't suppose so," Jim laughed. 

"You do realize this means we did all that hiking for nothing?" McCoy groused.

"No," Jim replied. "We've met Metiolns and found out they know about our phasers. That's not nothing."

The myleth made good time. Gradually, the land became less sandy and more rocky. Dunes became hills with patches of sparse vegetation. There were more leafless parasol trees, others with webby branches and thick rubbery leaves, and others, more cactus-like. 

The clan must be based in the mountains, Jim thought. Wherever we're going, I need more information before we get there. Clutching the boxlike saddle, Jim leaned out to the next myleth, where a tiny figure clung to the largest Metioln. 

"Uhura," he called.

"What?" she snapped, sounding angry.

"I've got a question."

"I'm a little busy here."

"Why are you mad?"

"That's your question?"

"No, I'm just wondering. It seems to me that things are going great. We've met Metiolns, it's possible they can guide us to where the phasers might be. What could be the problem?"

"I don't like horses, I really don't like dinosaurs, and now, if you don't mind, I need to concentrate." She gripped the man before her harder as if to demonstrate that she was busy.

"Use your legs," Jim suggested. "You'll feel more in control, and I know you. It's all you really want anyway. My question is, why couldn't I understand the conversation back there?"

She sighed loudly enough that he could hear it through her robe and over the myelth. "They were speaking in their tribal dialect. Gat isn't an expert speaker, so he inserted a lot of Merti, which is the trade language for which we programmed your nanolator. That helped me, because I'm not an expert speaker either." 

"But you understood it?"

"Most of it. I have been studying the local dialect since we received orders to search for the Somerville. I wanted to be sure I could converse with anyone we met on the rescue mission."

"That was a great idea, Uhura."

"Thank you, I'm far from fluent, but I understood the gist of the discussion. Gat told them Chekov's a daka."

"What is that?" he asked. 

"I don't know, it's not a term I've learned. Whatever it is, they don't believe him."

"Okay, well, good, I guess. Why not?"

Sounding bitter, she added, "Mostly because apparently a daka wouldn't stick around. Gat said something to the effect of, 'unless under a spell,' basically implying that there was a sorceress, without saying so, and his friends explained that it was impossible because I'm the only woman in our group."

"Couldn't you be both?" he asked.

"Apparently, they think a sorceress would be more, um, I guess physically impressive would cover it." 

Jim snorted. "I think you're plenty great," he said.

"I'm pretty sure they mean robust," Uhura replied, "not pretty. Anyway, the good news is that the others don't care. They favor helping us because they think it will demonstrate their devotion to their deity. They seem to think their deity is down on their clan just now."

"Are they threatening?"

"No. Not at all. They seem genuinely interested in helping us. They talked about the great opportunity and how pleased the keth would be. Which is another good thing, because we will need the local keth's support to accomplish anything on this planet."

"It's lucky that their deity apparently doesn't encourage murdering strangers," McCoy muttered.

"This is really helpful, Uhura," Jim said. 

"I won't let them know I understand the local dialect. They may speak more freely around us."

"Good thinking. Why did you say Gat doesn't speak the dialect well?"

"Don't you remember? He said he'd been recently traded."

"Traded for what?" he asked.

Uhura turned her head towards him. She asked, "Did you read Spock's preparatory materials?" He couldn't see her expression through the hood, but her tone allowed him to imagine it. 

"Sure," he replied. He'd done what he always did, skimmed it, then carefully read the parts he felt likely to affect the mission. "They're pre-combustible engines, and weapons are in line with development."

"You didn't read the sociology section?" It was a question, but she stated it. 

"I paid less attention to that than the sections on what kind of weapons to expect." He'd had limited time and wanted to spend it usefully.

"The Federation pays for scans of these planets for a reason," she sniffed. "You should take advantage of the information."

"But I knew you were coming," he said, soothingly. "Everyone has an area of expertise, right?" 

She sounded less angry, "The scans don't give the kind of detail an embedded research team would, but we know a basic grasp of societal organization. This society is matriarchal. Female children stay with their clan. Male children are traded to other clans at adolescence."

"They give away their children?" Bones interjected. 

"Am I the only one who read the prep materials?" Uhura asked angrily. 

"I focused on biology, Uhura. I wanted to know what they do to stop blood flow around here," McCoy grunted.

"Fine," Uhura sighed, "They don't give their children away, they trade them for other males."

"Gat is a slave?" Jim asked.

"He didn't get to choose his destination, and until he marries, he can be traded again at the clan leader's whim, so yes, we would consider it slavery. But it would probably be more accurate to say he is a male Metioln. It's the usual situation for someone of his sex in this culture. The traded are considered temporary members of the clans that buy or capture them. Should they be chosen for marriage by a female clan member, they become permanent clan members."

"And father sons they trade away," McCoy said.

"Yes," Uhura replied. "Work and father children. In the country, there isn't as much differentiation in labor, but in the city, males perform physical labor exclusively."

"That's why he was so worried about being polite. If he works hard enough and makes a good impression, someone may want to keep him," Jim clarified.

"They would probably say they keep the ones that fit in," Uhura replied. "But you're right that if Gat wants to stay with Clan Tunton, his best chance is to show a good attitude by working hard and obeying his superiors." 

"It's a little like Starfleet," Jim mused.

"It's barbarous," McCoy retorted.

"I'm not supporting it," Uhura said. "I'm explaining what is considered normal in this culture. It probably had some reason originally."

"Like what?" McCoy snarled.

"I don't know, I guess it prevents inbreeding," Uhura said. "The form is unusual, but the practice isn't. Many cultures prefer one sex over the other. There were many societies on Earth where it was common to raise daughters only to marriageable age, then trade them away to other families. This is similar."

"I suppose you're right," Jim acknowledged.

"It works to our advantage, because it makes our story more believable," she said. "They understand us as a traveling clan, robbed and separated from our larger group on our way to the market in the city. They don't expect us to be blood relatives, so they won't be surprised we don't look alike, and they are used to traders from far away, so they don't expect us to be just like them. We can speak Standard in front of them, and they will assume it is our dialect. Which it is, I guess."

"That is handy," Jim agreed.

"You are doing well, sir. I know the situation on this planet is hard for you," Uhura asked.

"What's that mean?" he asked.

"The political situation," she clarified, "leadership."

"Huh?" Jim asked.

Uhura turned so that she was facing him and said, "You do understand why it's important that I am a woman?"

"Always," he laughed. 

She huffed with annoyance and said softly, You really don't know, do you? Unbelievable."

"We've established I didn't find the reports as interesting as you did, Uhura. What is it you want me to know?" Jim asked.

She stared at him through her mask. Finally, she said, "How are you always so lucky? You could have brought Carter, or S'hou, or any of the males from my division, but you didn't."

"You're the best," he agreed. "I took the best for this mission."

Uhura gave a frustrated snort, then said, "When I say this is a matriarchy, I mean it. It's not just about inheritances or even being the head of the family. In this society, Captain Kirk, women run everything." 

"I don't see why you think I'll have trouble with that. There are lots of matriarchies in the universe. I've interacted diplomatically with matriarchs before, Uhura. I've done very well, if I do say so myself."

"There aren't that many ladies who say no to Jim Kirk for very long," McCoy agreed. Jim shrugged, smiling behind his mask.

He could hear Uhura's huff of annoyance over the thudding of the myleth's feet. She said, "A keth is a leader, an always female leader. Decision making is an exclusively female responsibility, Captain Kirk."

He couldn't see her face behind her hood, but Jim had the strong impression that she was watching him closely for a reaction. "Men," she added, "do as they're told." 

Jim considered her words. "Are you saying," he asked, "that you told them I am your subordinate?"

"Yes."

It would have been easier if she'd sounded triumphant or teasing, but she sounded confident and perfectly calm, like she was giving any other report. 

"This mission is my responsibility, Uhura," Jim began, but she cut him off. 

"Captain," she said, "not only did Gat believe me, after he realized there was a female in the room, he only dealt with me. The Metiolns will expect me to make all the decisions, and if you want these people to believe we are Metioln, you'd better play along."

When he didn't reply, she added tartly, "You'd have known that if you'd read the materials."

He decided he needed to say it. "I don't think it will be believable for me not to be the leader." 

Uhura snorted. "It isn't believable to you maybe, but these people can't conceive of a male being in charge of anything."

He felt he should respond, but wasn't sure what to say. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, "The mission is important, Uhura. I am committed to its success and plan to do anything I must to that end." Even if it's stupid, he added to himself. 

"You know, it doesn't really change anything. You're still our captain, our leader. But we can only acknowledge that when we're alone," she said.

"I get it," he replied firmly.

Sounding grateful, she said, "We'll tell the clan you're my mate. It would permit you to see that my orders are followed."

Jim was a little embarrassed by how easily she'd anticipated his reaction. Mostly because he knew it would bother her, he made himself sound excited and added, "I get to be your mate? Maybe it won't be so bad after all."

Uhura shook her head. "I am going to say you're my mate, and then I will say we are mourning the loss of our caravan, so we can't possibly display even the slightest bit of physical affection and probably shouldn't even sleep in the same tent."

"That doesn't sound very mate-like," he teased.

"That's all you're going to get, sir," she said firmly. Her myleth startled, and she grabbed the rider in front of her more tightly. "I hate this," she finished darkly.

"Not as much as I do," he replied. "I don't even get to be keth."

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

The Village

They rode for several hours. Though he'd realized the grade was gradually increasing, Jim was surprised when he glanced back and realized they were well above the desert, into the mountains they'd seen in the distance that morning. 

The hunters stopped several times to shoot at large lizards. Chekov's enthusiastic questions apparently suggested to the Metiolns that the young man dreamed of becoming a hunter. After receiving permission from Uhura, they launched into a long, painfully dull discussion of their work in voices so loud and high-pitched that Jim's headache returned. 

Eventually, they met up with another group of riders, also wearing the clan's dark blue robes. Gat's group shrill Metioln greetings ratcheted up the pounding in Jim's head. He was frustrated to understand so little of what was said, but Uhura whispered that their presence was being explained to another hunting party from the same clan. 

The other hunters had several goat sized mammals slung on the saddles behind them. "What are," Chekov piped, but McCoy yelled, "Don't! Do not encourage them to talk, Chekov. Not another word, not from you and not from them." Chekov's hooded head bobbed up and down, and he sat back quietly. 

The terrain had gradually become greener. In the distance, Jim noticed what he thought was more of the dead-looking parasol tree stumps growing strangely close together. When they got closer, he realized it was a fence made of thorn-covered tree trunks stuck into the ground. It bisected the footpath, which continued on the other side.

Stopping in front of it, one of the Metiolns pulled a long leather strap from a pack. He handed one end to Gat, and they carefully wrapped it around one of the trunks. Another team did the same to the next trunk. As they worked, a horrible yapping filled the air. Dozens of cat-sized reptiles rushed the fence, throwing themselves at the hunters, gnashing teethy jaws. One of the still mounted hunters cut a large piece of meat from the carcass slung behind him and threw it over the heads of the lizards into the field behind them. The animals raced after it, pounced on it, ripping at it and fighting among themselves. Once the lizards were distracted, the Metiolns pulled on the belts and lifted the trunks out of the dirt. While the teams held them up, the others quickly drove the myleth through the opening. It was a gate, Jim realized, a very complicated but secure gate. 

More meat was tossed to the lizards, giving the hunters time to replace the fence posts and remount. Once it was gone, the reptiles followed the myleth, milling about their feet like an angry, yowling neon river. The riders excitedly talked among themselves, adding to the cacophony.

"Nobody sneaks in here," Tan commented, sounding impressed. 

On the far side of the scrubby grassland was another fence and gate. The Metioln hunters repeated the meat tossing, tree wrapping routine, and got the myleth through. On the other side of the gate were gardens. The lizard-filled field, Jim realized, was like a moat, protecting the village inside it.

Farming families stopped working to stand in their fields and stare at the newcomers. Jim studied them curiously. There were variations, but most of the Metiolns were tall and sturdily built with features that would not have gotten a second glance on Earth, although many had skin closer to rust colored than any human Jim had ever met. Their hair and deep-set eyes were very dark. Hair was tied back in leather thongs; some men had wispy beards hanging down their chests. 

A dozen naked, dark-haired children followed the hunters along a narrow road lined with tents and gardens. They called questions to the riders in the piercing local dialect. The myleth started and lunged, pulling first one way then the next. Jim assumed the noise disturbed them, but none of the Metiolns paid attention to the nervous animals, just continued to talk and laugh loudly. He couldn't understand much of what was said, but Gat and the other hunters seemed relaxed, occasionally laughing with the children. Their tones weren't threatening, so he told himself not to worry. This is what we wanted. We have met the Metiolns. We're committed.

Eventually, they came to what looked like a muddy pond. The chalky green water was well fenced with more of the spiked trunks of the parasol trees. When they saw it, the animals surged forward, pulling and jumping as their riders struggled to control them. Teenaged boys, sitting in the shade by the pond, jumped up to help. They grabbed the animals' long reins and held them steady as the riders dismounted. 

Gat jumped down, pushed his hood back, then reached up to offer help. Jim ignored him and slid off the animal unaided. He hit the ground harder than he'd expected, but forced himself to stand upright. The ground seemed to pitch and roll beneath him after hours on the myleth.  His legs ached, his head throbbed. Focus on the mission, he reminded himself, and tried to get his bearings as Gat helped McCoy off the saddle while screaming amicably with the villagers.

Tan leaned against his myleth with his eyes closed for several minutes, then walked stiffly over to stand by his captain. Hendorff and Sulu were quicker to recover and stopped to help McCoy, who was rubbing his thighs like they'd fallen asleep. Uhura allowed herself to be assisted down, then took a position in front of them, arms folded, back rigid.

Where's Chekov, Jim wondered. He scanned the crowd and saw the young man's white robed figure. Holding a myleth's long lead in his hands, Gat seemed to be explaining something to Chekov. 

What's he doing, Jim wondered, stepping toward the water.

"Jim, tell him to get away from those things," McCoy snapped. 

But the teenage boys of the village all seemed to be helping. Jim watched Gat wrap a rein around Chekov's wrist, demonstrate how to pull it, then gestured to the water. Maybe putting the animals away is considered kids' work, he thought. We want to fit in. He decided to say nothing.  

A few boys lifted spiked posts with belts, opening a path to the water. The animals surged forward eagerly, but the boys holding the reins yanked back, allowing only one animal at a time to move forward, arranging them carefully at appropriate distances from each other. 

Finally, it was Gat's turn. He and Chekov led their myleth to its place. The myleth drank greedily, filling its beak and tipping its head back like a giant, plucked chicken. Chekov's face was covered, but he watched the big animals transfixed. I bet his mouth's open, Jim thought fondly. Suddenly, Gat yanked the myleth's lead, and the animal flipped its head back hard. Chekov, the rein still wrapped around his wrist, was pulled several feet into the air before dropping into the muddy water.

The crowd yelped concern. Myleth screamed in protest as the boys pulled them away, but no one entered the water. Uhura called urgently, "Pavel! Where is he?" Jim sprinted toward the pond. But before he reached it, a white blob bobbed to the water's surface. Villagers keened. The ensign, face covered by the wet fabric of his hood, got his feet underneath him. He pushed his hood back and stood, coughing while dirty water streamed from sodden curls down his shoulders. Rather than help, Gat stood on the shore, arms crossed, watching. He did that on purpose, but why? Jim wondered.

Still coughing, Chekov waded to the shore. "Are you okay?" Jim asked. 

Nodding, Chekov asked, "It's not even that deep. I was just surprised. Gat asked me to help; then he pulled me under the water. Why did he do that?"

"I don't know," Jim acknowledged, "but you're right." He led Chekov toward Uhura. The other boys scurried out of their path, staring open-mouthed. Fathers lifted children, holding them tight. Young women clustered together, whispering. Chekov, focused on ineffectually wringing water from his robe, didn't notice, but Jim did.

Uhura reached for Chekov. Jim thought for a second she was going to hug him, but instead the lieutenant held the younger man at arm's length and asked, "Are you alright?" 

"I'm fine," Chekov insisted.

McCoy snapped, "I'll be the judge of that. Take some deep breaths. See if you can cough anything up. I swear, if you drown, Chekov, I'll kill you."

An old woman tugged at Uhura's robe. "It answers your call?" she asked reverently, gesturing at Chekov.

"He is mine, yes," Uhura replied. "He will be much more careful in the future. I apologize for..."

But the old woman continued, "What powerful magic! I never thought to see something like this!" Grabbing Uhura's arm, she began to pull her along. The crowd, wailing their excitement, surged forward, taking the crew with them. 

"Keep Uhura in sight," Jim ordered. 

The crowd pushed past tents made of weathered leather. Some were as big as small houses, others the size of a single large room. A few had one or two solid walls built of rocks piled haphazardly on each other. Many were decorated with blocky figures painted in the clan's blue. There were other signs of habitation, cooking smells, children's toys, the small gardens separating the tents, and clotheslines in the dirt. 

Drawn by the excitement, more villagers joined the crowd. Some were dressed simply in traditional blue robes. Many, and all the children, were nearly naked, but all of the villagers had some piece of blue fabric somewhere on their bodies. Some wore strips of the blue-dyed cloth woven in their hair or about their necks. No one's face was hidden. Some were darker, and some lighter, but most of the villagers had rusty tan skin, sharp features, and soft, stringy hair similar to Gat's. 

The older woman led Uhura to a tent, far larger than the others, and made of wool dyed the same indigo blue as the village robes. A separate blue canopy shaded a small courtyard out front. Pennants adorned the posts that supported it, each painted with stylized figures in the village blue. Half a dozen young men lounged there in the shade. As the villagers approached, one rose and went into the tent. He returned quickly, following a tall woman. 

Keth Tunton was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. Her dark hair was pulled back in six thin braids that hung down her back, looped together at the ends with a dirty blue ribbon. The style accentuated the severe, strong lines of her unsmiling face. Her robe was simple, like those of her subjects, but the lengths of blue cloth twisted around her torso were thicker than those of the other villagers and held in place with decorative pins made of polished metal. She was talking over her shoulder when she emerged from the tent, asking questions in a piercing, loud voice.

The villagers grew silent when they saw her, allowing Jim to hear but not understand the conversation. He pushed, shoved, and even shouldered the Metiolns, trying to get closer to Uhura. But the big people were unwilling to move. "Watch yourself," growled a Metioln. 

"I can't see my wife!" Jim replied. The phrase worked like magic. All around him, Metiolns stepped away, and Jim darted forward, nearly colliding with Hendorff, also working his way closer. 

The older woman still held Uhura's arm. They stood before the keth, and she keened in a language Jim didn't understand. When she finished, the keth frowned, then called some questions to her people. The villagers reacted nervously, drawing together to whisper among themselves. There was a scuffle towards the back of the crowd, and Gat was pushed to the front by his hunting partners. The keth repeated her questions impatiently; Gat kept his head bowed and answered in a quavering voice, twisting his robe nervously as he spoke. You were plenty brave enough when you wanted to drown a kid, Jim thought disgustedly.

When Gat finished, the keth looked toward Jim. He took a deep breath, readying himself for negotiations, but Uhura grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer, hissing, "Don't speak!" 

Surprised and slightly annoyed, Jim bit back the words he'd readied and nearly missed the keth turning to Hendorff, and asking, "The dragon is yours?"

"Huh?" Hendorff grunted.

"My keth," squeaked the older woman, raising Uhura's arm, "this is she."

Majestically, Uhura said, "I am Keth of Clan Enterprise."

"You?" the woman replied in the same language, looking astonished. "You are keth?"

"Yes," Uhura nodded. "I am called Uhura."

The keth shrugged, then leaned down so her face was near Uhura's. "You have done very well, darling. But you do not need to worry anymore. Now you are safe, and I will help you," she said gently. "Was the dragon your mother's?"

"My mother?" Uhura asked uncertainly.

Another woman, nearly as tall and well-dressed as the keth, asked, "Were the adults killed or captured?"

Uhura replied regally, "I am an adult. I was the keth of the caravan from the time we left our home. In the place that I come from, all the people are small. Do not mistake that for weakness." 

The keth exchanged amused glances with her friend before suggesting, "You managed to lose your caravan." 

A few of the villagers laughed. Uhura turned her covered head to stare in their direction and stamped her foot. The gesture was so unlike her that Jim assumed it was intentional. "I did not lose it," she said imperiously. "It was stolen from me. My warriors fought nobly, but it was impossible to stand against a dragon." 

"Yes, the dragon," the keth said, rubbing her chin. "You must be a powerful sorceress to be willing to battle a dragon."

"I am not a sorceress," Uhura replied. "I am a traveler." Her posture was getting more rigid, suggesting to Jim that she was nervous, but her voice remained calm. "When my grandmother led us, our clan traveled to Greatcity for trade. Her daughter never did, but my aunt is keth now and wishes to trade again. We had an exceptional harvest, and my aunt directed me to lead a caravan through the desert to the city. We made good speed until we were attacked. I escaped with my mate and a few trades from my once great caravan. If not for your brave, resourceful trade, we might have perished."

"That brave, resourceful trade insists he found you in the desert," the keth said.

"Yes," Uhura agreed, "less than a day's journey from here.

"Impossible," said the keth. "You can not get there without coming here."

"We did," Uhura insisted.

"How did you get over the mountains?" asked the other woman.

Uhura paused. "We walked," she said at last. "The entire caravan was together until last night."

"No one saw you in the mountains," the woman said.

"And yet that is what we did," Uhura insisted calmly. 

The keth snorted. The other woman frowned at her. The keth shrugged and said, "The trade says you control a daka. Call it and let me see."

Uhura had to tilt her head to look the keth in the eye, but her voice was regal, "My situation is not so desperate that I will ask any of my people to disrobe."

There was apprehensive muttering in the crowd. The keth snapped something in her dialect, silencing the crowd. The other woman surprised Jim by saying, "Keth Uhura is right. It is disrespectful to ask her to display her people."

A different older woman tugged at the keth's arm and said something eagerly in dialect. The keth rubbed her chin again, and sucked a lip as if considering her options, then said, "Well then, Keth Uhura, who is not a sorceress, why don't you tell me what it is you want?"

Uhura hesitated. Directions to the dragon, Jim thought, some of those myleth. He wanted to take over, but remembered the urgency in Uhura's request and forced himself to stay silent. 

Finally, "I want revenge," Uhura said. "I need a place to stay, to organize my plan. I need to find out enough about my adversary to know her weaknesses. Then I will go into the mountains and claim my possessions."

Okay, yeah, that covers it, Jim thought. The keth, he thought, looked impressed, but also a little amused. "A worthy plan," she said, "but as you know, Byten commands a dragon. You lost to it once before; how could you hope to defeat it now, with fewer warriors? You have no chance," she paused and added, "unless you are a sorceress."

"I am not a sorceress," Uhura said firmly, "I am a traveler, keth of what was once a mighty caravan, and I will have revenge.

The keth rubbed her chin thoughtfully as she stared at Uhura. Finally, she shook her head, turned to the other woman, and asked, "What do you say, Craton?" 

The woman gave Uhura an appraising look, then leaned in and began to whisper with the keth in dialect. Jim wished fiercely he could understand, but satisfied himself by watching closely, trying to see clues about their conversation. He noticed many similarities in the women's appearance. They're sisters, he thought, and close in age. 

Finally, the keth snorted scornfully. Her sister nodded, looking pleased, and said something excitedly. Tunton gave another disdainful snort and, switching to Merti, told Uhura, "My sister is a model of observant humility for all of us. She believes this is a test and that once we pass it, the deity will reward us, our entreaties will be heard, and we will return to the life we are used to. I am not convinced, but we will try it her way." Raising her voice, Tunton called, "We of Clan Tunton honor the deity in all things. As scripture demands, we will do what we can to assist these lost travellers." Turning to a group of adolescent males hovering at the edges of the villagers, she instructed, "Put up a tent, and bring them oil with which to wash." 

The boys scattered, running to obey. The keth said, "Welcome to Clan Tunton, Keth Uhura. I think you will find we follow the rules for caring for strangers very well," then turned and went back to her tent.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7
Dinner Metioln Style

Out of the keth's sight, Gat's self-confidence returned. He led them away from the keth's tent toward the smaller ones and into a dark blue one. Inside, several boys were still at work, arranging their quarters. They ran outside when the crew entered, then huddled together at the door, staring curiously. Gat's swagger increased with the audience, and as proudly as if he owned them, he showed off lamps, piles of rugs, and a tight bundle of fabric set like a table.  Gat pointed proudly to two large bowls of scented oil and a pile of muslin.  "Did you expect two?" he asked.

"No," Uhura replied uncertainly.

Gat nodded. "It is always so. I told you, Clan Tunton is wealthy! I will wait outside while you refresh, my lady. Call me when you want me." He left quickly, stopping to tie the doors closed behind him carefully.

"What do you suppose he's waiting for us to do?" asked Hendorff. 

"I'm not surprised you don't recognize a bath when you see it, Hendorff," McCoy said, dipping his fingers in the water.

"They wash in oil?" Tan asked, "Wouldn't that just move the dirt around?"

"This is a pretty arid place; they probably don't waste water washing with it," Uhura said.

"Maybe, but the biologic scans suggest they have anatomic differences which allow them to use water more efficiently than we do," McCoy said.

"What's that mean?" Jim asked.

McCoy replied, "Internally, they're more like Vulcans or Broans than humans. Keep that in mind, because while the shots I gave you on the ship help, we still need to drink more than they do."

"This smells amazing," Uhura said, gently rubbing oil onto her wrist. Opening her robe, she rubbed oil on her neck and chest, then mopped it away with muslin. "It works," she said, holding the cloth, smeared with sand, for them to see. "It feels cooling; maybe an herb they add to it?"

"For people who wander around half-naked, they're pretty modest," Tan remarked, looking skeptically at the closed walls of the tent. 

"No, they are offering us modesty," Chekov said, "They believe we would not wish to be seen outside our robes."

"How do you figure?" Hendorff asked.

"I read everything I could find about life here," Chekov said. He offered a muslin towel to Uhura. "Here, my keth," he added with a grin.

"At least someone understands how this is supposed to work," Uhura laughed. "Did you read the preparatory materials Mr. Spock prepared?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am, first. Later, I referenced many of his source documents, but there was very little new information," Chekov replied. "Mr. Spock is always so thorough," he added admiringly.

"That's one way to say it," muttered Hendorff.

Uhura shot Jim a smug look. "Excellent work, ensign," she said. "What did you learn?"

"Although it has never been visited, the Federation knows much about this society," Chekov replied.

"We know a fair amount about what happens, but much less about why," Uhura agreed.

"They believe that the planet is the mother of all life. On this continent, every aspect of Metioln culture mirrors that relationship. It is a true matriarchy; the keth is considered the clan's mother, and due complete fidelity. The clan is her family; the other women are viewed as daughters or nieces. We believe even their clothes announce their loyalty. The robe colors vary from clan to clan, and outside the home, people wear them to explain who they are."

"That's ridiculous," McCoy said.

"But doctor, our uniforms are much the same idea," Chekov replied. "When men are traded, they are given the proper color robes. While they wear them, they are considered a member of the clan. The people here are in their homes and recognize each other, so they don't wear theirs, but because we don't belong here, they assume we would not wish to be seen out of ours."

"Really?" Tan asked.

Chekov nodded. 

"The prep materials covered clothing rituals," Sulu agreed, "but were short on details, especially about attitudes and behaviors. How did you know the keth asking to see Chekov was rude?" 

"I guessed," Uhura admitted.  "The body language of the villager elders suggested the keth's request made them uncomfortable. I knew most societies with clothing rituals wouldn't uncover themselves until they've established a relationship with someone. It just seemed likely the keth was trying to demonstrate the disparity of our positions."

"And now we have the big tent and a bath. It looks like you handled it perfectly," Sulu said with a nod.

"Someone else does the homework," Uhura said happily. "Just for that, Keth Uhura decides you and Pavel get to wash next." She handed muslin to the officers and gestured toward the bowls.

"I should get the clean oil, I'm the captain," Jim said in mock anger. Then added, "Joking, Chekov," when the young man stepped back.

"You're the captain, but you're no keth," Sulu said, dabbing at his neck with oil-soaked fingers.

"Sir," Chekov added.

Jim smiled but said firmly, "Keth or not, here are your captain's orders." He glanced at Uhura. "We must have a female authority figure, so Uhura must appear to be leading this mission. Please give her all due respect." Hendorff nodded politely at Uhura, and Chekov smiled delightedly. The rest of the crew seemed unconcerned, surprising Jim, who'd expected at least surprise, but he continued, "I think there is a good chance the dragons they talk about are our phasers, but we need to be sure. Our first job is to get more information. Be helpful, be friendly. Try to talk to as many villagers as you can. Ask about the dragon, find out what they know. We need to find out where to look and evaluate how much, if anything, has been changed by the crash. Any questions?" 

"I have one. If this is a bathroom, where are the toilets?" Tan asked.

"In the gardens. That, they aren't so private about," Chekov replied. 

"Great," sighed Uhura.

As he waited for a turn at the oils, Jim asked Uhura, "What was the discussion before Tunton invited us to stay? Did you understand?" 

"Some of it," Uhura admitted. "The older woman kept talking about how powerful I was and suggested I could help them."

"With what?"

"She didn't say. Tunton seemed to know, though. She didn't ask any questions, then said several times that our asking for help proved we couldn't possibly help them. Eventually, the other woman, Craton, I think she's called, suggested we might be a test, sent by their deity." 

"Gat mentioned tests too," Jim remembered.
 
"Many cultures at this level of development consider deities to be directly involved with daily existence," Nyota reminded him. "Craton seems to be the more religious. She said that  Tunton should do as instructed by the deity without thought of reward; I'm not sure Tunton agreed."

When the others finished bathing, Uhura had Chekov tie the tent flaps back, opening the door. Gat and two teenage boys stood just outside. One held a large platter of dried meats and fruit. The second, scrawnier teenager held a platter of rock bowls. "Our Keth offers every comfort," Gat said as the boy set the meat platter on the low table. "There is one for each of you." Grinning proudly, he handed each of them a bowl.

It was water, Jim realized, and took an exploratory sip. It tasted dirty and was a little gritty. 

McCoy seemed to sense his reaction. "Now, it's minerally, but the scans said it's safe for us to drink," the doctor said in Standard, sounding like he was convincing himself as much as any of the crew. "You've got to keep your fluid intake up, no matter how it tastes."

When in Rome, Jim thought and drained the cup quickly, setting his empty cup on the table. His crew followed suit. 

"Seat yourself, my lady," Gat said, gesturing to the platter of meats.

"Why, thank you," Uhura said, seating herself regally. She then asked, "Will you join us?"

The boy collecting the cups looked up, mouth falling open with surprise. "The food is for you, kind lady," Gat said, sounding shocked as he scurried over to join the rest of the crew by the door.

"Of course," Uhura replied. Squatting near the platter, she began to pick at the fruit. 

The boy walked over to join the crew, staring at them wide-eyed. Jim wondered if they should wear their hoods, but reminded himself that the tent was their home on the planet. 

After a few minutes, Chekov blurted, "Why did you pull me into the river?"

Gat glanced Uhura's way, then leaned closer and whispered a reply, "Obviously, I assumed you would become the water and escape."

"You thought he'd expand when wet?" Hendorff asked. 

"If only that were all it took, huh, Chekov?" laughed Tan.

Gat cocked his head. "Daka are water," he said seriously. "They can gather it to themselves or scatter themselves into it."

"It's not the water so much as what's in that water I worry about," McCoy grumbled. "I wouldn't be surprised if the boy's got dysentery,"   

"Not bigger or sicker, just wetter-which I like," Chekov replied cheerfully, "and embarrassed, which I like less."

"She does have you well enchanted, doesn't she?" Gat asked sympathetically. "How does she hold you? Mother's gut?" 

"Mother's gut?" Chekov asked uncertainly.

"That is what we call the fungus that grows around the tincha roots. It is said the rope made from it is strong enough to bind spirits?" Gat asked. Chekov shook his head. Gat shrugged. "No doubt," he said, "there is another name for it in the spirit world." Like most of the villagers, his skin was an orangish bronze, unusual on Earth. He wore his thin dark hair tied back with a blue leather band, and his dark eyes were intelligent. Jim reminded himself that appearance and expression were not reliable signals of intent even within one's own species, but it was hard not to feel that Gat was friendly. He continued, "I apologize, daka. I didn't realize how well enchanted you are. I assumed once you were in the water, you would escape. I thought at best you would reward me, or at worst your captor would, in her anger, reveal herself and alert my keth to the information she has forbidden me to share."

"You both obeyed your instructions and fulfilled your duty," Chekov said, impressed.

"Thank you," Gat said. "Were you surprised to see two bowls?" 

"Yes," Jim guessed.

Gat and the teenager exchanged satisfied smirks. "It is always so," Gat replied, "Even the youngest trades are welcomed thus. I have been in clans where I wasn't offered water to drink until I worked a day, but here I was told to bathe! Me! A worker trade! You have had good fortune; Clan Tunton is fabulously wealthy. They own the oasis, charge for its use, and still have more water than they can drink."

"Wow," McCoy said after a brief pause. 

"Caravans arrive regularly and pay to use the oasis," Gat said. "Or, they did. The dragon is changing that, but perhaps Canton is right, and your keth can help us. I hope so. The people here are pleasant, and there is always enough food. I long to be chosen to stay." The teenagers nodded as if they agreed.

"This is delicious," Uhura called. "But I can't eat another bite."

Gat rose quickly. "Shall I offer it to the warriors?" he asked. When Uhura nodded, he took the platter and set it on the ground by Hendorff. Smiling, he added, "Rest now, and I will fetch you later. The keth wants you to dine with her. It will be a meal to remember! Ahn and Benk will filter the oil." The teenagers darted forward and carefully lifted the bowls of dirty oil.

"I can help," Chekov offered, grabbing the soiled muslin. 

"You wish this?" Gat asked Uhura. 

"I'd like him to be useful," Uhura agreed.

Gat shook his head and said, "You have a daka, and it works as the lowest of trades. You are a powerful sorceress indeed." 

"I am not a sorceress," Uhura snapped.

Gat flinched. "Traveller," he corrected himself quickly. "You are a powerful traveller."

"Put your hood over your face, Chekov," Uhura reminded him, as Chekov followed Gat and the boys out of the tent, his robe trailing in the dust. 

Left alone, the security people ate what remained of the food, while Uhura discussed Metiol, especially the concept of keth. She reminded them all several times to avoid talking to women unless spoken to and to acknowledge her as the group's leader. Jim found each repetition more annoying. He took a piece of jerky and lay on a pile of rugs. How hard could it be, he thought.

As the sun began to set, Gat appeared and invited them to dinner. "Shouldn't we wait for Chekov?" Sulu asked, arranging his hood. "He never came back."

"Where is he?" Jim asked Gat. 

Gat looked at Nyota. She was confused for a moment, but remembered the Metioln rules, and asked. "Do you know where my servant is?"

"The daka is in the kitchen," Gat replied, "Is that a mistake? It is low work, I know, but this is not the city, kind lady. Here, even the keth's boys do some work."

"It's fine," Uhura insisted.

Gat hesitated, then said, "We weren't sure where to put him. He insists he's had no training." 

"He's had some training, of course," Uhura said uncertainly.

"Oh? In what? Is he harem?"

"No," Uhura said forcefully, perhaps to cover Tan's laugh. "I am just concerned that he be useful." 

Gat shrugged, "At first, some of the trades were afraid of him, but his pleasant manner soon won them over. That is not a surprise, I suppose. Daka are always described as charming, but no one expected him to be such an eager worker. Even the cook has not complained, which is very unlike her."

"He's not a daka," Uhura sighed, following Gat down the path through the village. Gat tried several times to ask a question but kept stopping, as if embarrassed. Finally, he managed to ask Hendorff if there was anyone who should sit behind their keth. Hendorff shrugged, but Uhura told Hendorff imperiously not to be stupid, that her mate would sit beside her. Hendorff raised a skeptical eyebrow but only said, "Well, okay, that answers that question." 

Gat led them through the village to a dusty field in the center. "The keth ordered a feast," he told Uhura. "The whole village will come, and there will be dancing. The keth loves music." 

Workers, mostly teenage boys, darted about the field, readying it for the party. Some dumped fuel into pits located at each corner of the field. Others arranged torches around the field, although it was not yet dark. A light wind carried a tantalizing scent of cooking meat from an open work area at the field's far edge. Jim felt his mouth begin to water and realized he was very hungry.

"Do I wear the hood?" Uhura blurted. 

Gat looked at her, surprised. "Follow the dictates of your conscience," he said. 

"I," Uhura started nervously, then pulled herself together and, sounding more imperious, said, "I wish to do as Clan Tunton considers correct."

Gat nodded approvingly. "Very polite, kind madam. Some visitors unmask to eat, others remain hidden and slip food beneath theirs. Clan Tunton is used to outsiders and will not be insulted by either choice."

Uhura bowed her head, "You've been a blessing, a servant of the deity. I'm not sure what we would have done without your help today."

Save the charm for the keth, Jim thought, if he could help us, he'd have done it already. 

Gat blinked, glanced around quickly, then bent closer and whispered, "Removing the mask implies friendship. The keth likes to have her kindness acknowledged openly."

"Thank you," Uhura said.

"Not your mate, of course," Gat continued, "she wouldn't expect that, but you honoring her by showing comfort in her presence would please her."

Wait. I'm the mate. Is he saying I'm supposed to keep my face covered? How am I supposed to eat, Jim wondered.

Gat pointed to a table at one edge of the field. Muscular, nearly naked men clustered around it, talking and laughing noisily among themselves. "There," he said. 

I'm not covering up if they're not, Jim thought, and turned toward the table. But Gat grabbed his arm and said, "That is for the warriors."

"The warriors?" Jim asked.

Gat nodded. 

Which ones are the warriors? Jim wondered.

Pointing to a table at the other side of the clearing, Gat continued, "The workers will join their kind over there. You will sit by your mate in a position of honor, by Keth Tunton." He started across the field, Uhura right behind him. Jim turned to the crew, uncertain what to say. Hendorff said, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I am definitely a warrior."

"I am at least as much a warrior as you," Tan said firmly.

Sulu said nothing, but crossed his arms and looked at his captain calmly. Jim cleared his throat. "Sulu, Hendorff, Tan, you're here. Bones..."

McCoy held up a hand. "I want you to know, Jim Kirk, that as a lifelong Democrat and proud member of the physicians' union, it bothers me not one bit to be recognized as a worker," he said, then stomped across the clearing.

Jim hurried to catch Gat and the lieutenant just as the Metioln stopped and pointed at a rough wooden table. "There," he said.

Jim said, "Miss Uhura, the honor of your presence is requested at the head table."

"Mine and my shy little mate's," Uhura teased. 

The table, stone, and far closer to the ground than the Enterprise crew was used to, was positioned at the top of the clearing. A log, roughly carved into a chair, was placed behind it so that it had a view of the field. 

Uhura sat down gingerly on the ground near the chair. Gat gestured for Jim to sit behind her. Jim complied, wondering how he was supposed to eat without access to the table. He could not ask Gat, who scurried off toward Bone's table once Jim was seated.

Villagers arrived. Families found spots to sit on the ground. Children, boys and girls, ran about. Periodically, the bravest snuck up to stare open-mouthed at Jim. They were cute, with their wispy hair and dark eyes, and Jim was tempted to yell, "boo," just to see them laugh. But everyone else ignored them. I need to remember the mission, he decided reluctantly.

Time passed. The children lost interest and wandered away. Their mothers talked among themselves, or to the quiet males Jim supposed were the children's fathers. No one spoke to Uhura or Jim.

Bored, Jim checked on the crew. He saw Bones' white robe among the workers but couldn't tell what his friend was doing. He made out three white figures standing among the warriors. He was too far away to see specifics, but recognized Sulu's excellent posture.

An older woman, wearing a robe similar to theirs but blue, smiled kindly and sat down next to Uhura. Several others followed and settled into the dust around the rough chair. Many were old, their hair streaked with gray, and their rusty skin wrinkled. Most had severe features very similar to the keth's. Each one greeted Uhura warmly, but no one acknowledged Jim. Most were followed by men who did not speak, but nodded to each other as they sat behind the women. Boys dumped lumpy bowls and cups, carved from light volcanic rock, on the table, stealing curious looks at Jim. Craton, the muscular woman who so strongly resembled the keth, arrived alone. She greeted Uhura politely, ignored Jim, and did not join the clan members' teasing gossip.

In the field, families unpacked cups and bowls, but no food. Jim's stomach growled painfully. The woman beside Uhura said, "She is very slow today." 

"It is a show," sighed Craton. "She is hoping to impress this tiny girl."

"You should speak respectfully of your sister and keth, Craton," said a tiny, shrunken old woman.

"I do respect her, Auntie Naga, but when I am hungry, I do not respect her love of drama," Craton replied. "You know how she is. I fear we may not eat for a long time."

The women around her agreed, several laughing noisily. Just then, Jim saw the families at the far edge of the field begin to stand up and march in place. Others followed until the field was full of Metioln stomping their feet against the hard ground.

"What did I say?" Craton asked, and with the clan members around her, stood. Uhura and Jim scrambled to their feet, and the keth, followed by half a dozen young men, each one staring at her attentively, made their way across the clearing. Keth Tunton ignored the young men and all the villagers. Afraid they would be walked over, one family scurried out of her way. 

Craton made a mocking sort of snorting noise. Several of the older women looked at her disapprovingly and stamped their feet harder.

When Tunton arrived at the table, she dropped into the log seat, acknowledging no one. Most of the boys trotted off toward the workers, but one, an unhappy-looking teenager with a thin, petulant face, sat on the ground, more beside than behind the keth, staring up at her, barely blinking. Jim thought he looked like a crow. 

Her people continued to march in place, stomping loudly. After nearly a minute, Tunton waved both hands dismissively, and the clan stopped. All around the clearing, Metiolns returned to their seats.

Two very young men approached the keth's table with their heads bowed respectfully. One held a large clay pot, the second a carved ladle. Tunton nodded and one spooned a thick stew into a stone bowl, then, with his eyes downcast, handed it to the keth. Keth Tunton held a bowl to her face, sniffed, and poured the stew into her mouth, smacking noisily. The village watched; Jim saw several leaning forward for a better look. When Tunton finished, she set the bowl down and sighed dramatically. The young men sprang forward and repeated the ritual. Again, the keth drank, pausing to smack her lips and look around, remarking aloud on the stew's fine taste. She signaled for a third bowl, sipped some, then offered the bowl to the young man beside her. As she held it, he drank a small amount. She set the bowl down and gestured toward Uhura. "We have a guest," she said. 

The young men filled a bowl and handed it to Uhura. Uhura pushed her hood back and smiled sweetly at the keth. The old women exchanged pleased looks. Uhura carefully lifted the bowl to her lips, drank, then nodded. "So delicious," she murmured. "Thank you, kind Keth Tunton, for welcoming me today. 

Tunton nodded, looking pleased, and gestured to the other women at her table. As the servers began to fill more bowls, there was a rush of young men from the cooking area, scurrying across the field, hurrying to fill large bowls for each family. Grandmothers dipped smaller bowls and handed them to daughters, then sons. Everyone, from the ladies at the head table to the youngest children, called, "Thank you, my aunt," before eating. The keth ignored them and sipped at her third bowl of soup.

"This is going to be a long meal," Jim muttered.

"Food distribution," Uhura whispered, "is used at formal dinners to reinforce the position of the keth as head of the clan. She always eats first."

"Did you know that or just figure it out?" Jim asked, but Uhura didn't reply. Just learned it, Jim thought with some satisfaction.

More adolescent boys came from the kitchen carrying baskets and bowls. They went first to the keth and served her, then the members of her party, before moving out to the other clan members. After the families were fed, food was taken to the warriors and then to the workers, but nothing was offered to the men at the head table.

The smell of food was making Jim miserable. He tried to distract himself by watching his crew members. McCoy, conspicuous in his white robe, furiously tried to signal his concerns about eating unscanned foods from across the clearing. Smiling, Jim checked the warriors' table. He recognized Tan in the middle of the group. All around him, men leaned in, listening. He's already telling a story, he thought. I hope he remembers we're trying to be of little interest.  

Tan reached the punch line. Even across the clearing, Jim could hear the warrior's rough laughter. Sulu rubbed at his forehead, so Jim assumed whatever Tan had said was not sophisticated humor. Still, he wished he were there, enjoying the crowd, rather than hungry, and watching Uhura eat.

"I feel like a pet cat," he muttered in Standard.

"At least you are not a cat which must work for a living," Chekov replied cheerfully. 

"Where did you come from?" Jim asked. The ensign's robe was filthy, streaked with soot and what looked suspiciously like burn marks. It hung unevenly, his belts needed retied, and his hood hung down his back, leaving his face uncovered..

"The cooking area," Chekov replied. "I stayed, hoping I might learn something important to our mission, and they kept giving me more work." Around the table, the Metiolns had stopped eating. They sat, sometimes with bowls halfway to their mouths, staring.

"Put your hood up," Uhura whispered, tugging his robe straighter.

Chekov adjusted the covering and said, "I'm sorry, ma'am. It is very hot in the kitchen, and even when I tried to keep it on, people kept pulling it off, so I finally gave up."

The ensign sounded embarrassed, so Jim decided to lighten the mood and asked, "So, what important info have you collected?"

"None. But I am officially the first Federation citizen to wash dishes on Metiol." 

Jim laughed. "Technically, Chekov, you're the only Federation member to wash dishes on Metiol; frankly, I'm jealous. The rest of us spent the afternoon being drilled on Metioln social constructs."

Uhura shot him a reproachful look, but "The only one sounds even better!" Chekov agreed enthusiastically. 

"How does the dish doing on Metiol compare with Earth?" asked Jim.

"Sand, no water, but the principle is very similar," Chekov replied. He offered Uhura the basket and continued, "Wait till you see, Captain, they are roasting the lizards they killed. Preparation was disgusting, but they smell delicious."
 
"Great," muttered Uhura, reaching for a second slice of bread.

"Take several, ma'am; the captain can only eat what you give him."

"What?" Uhura asked.

"That is what I was told: not to offer food to the married men, that their families would provide for them. I am sure he is hungry."

"Yes, I am," Jim said, "How, with all the research you did, were you able to miss that essential point, Uhura? I might have starved to death."

"Sorry," Uhura said, and handed him bread.

Jim slipped the bread under his hood and took a bite. It was good, strongly flavored, and chewy. He swallowed and said, "Good work, Chekov. The knowledge you gained today probably saved your captain's life. There may even be a commendation in it for you."

"Really?" Chekov asked.

"No," Uhura snapped.

"Probably not," Jim admitted, "but there should be. Keep your ears open and report back."

"Yes, sir, I will," the ensign replied solemnly. He started resolutely toward the family groups, but tripped on his robe and stumbled into a bow. He held the bread basket out to a young family as if he'd done it purposely. The children laughed, and both parents looked pleased.

Jim watched his youngest crew member work his way through the group. The ensign was quiet until spoken to, then responded with polite enthusiasm. Women from every group beamed approval. He's good at this, he thought with surprise, and turning to Uhura, shared his thoughts in Standard. "Chekov makes a great servant."

Uhura snorted, "Of course he does. His entire ensign life consists of pleasing an endless stream of demanding martinets."

Rather than argue, Jim said, "We may never find the phasers. Hell, we may spend the rest of our lives trapped in our loveless marriage on this desert planet, but at least we will have the satisfaction of knowing we've given Chekov a purpose."

She shook her head, but didn't warn him to be quiet, so Jim knew she was amused.

Tunton asked, "Did you snare it, or use incantation?"

She looked expectantly at Uhura, who, realizing the question was addressed to her, asked, "I'm sorry; what?" 

Craton spoke without swallowing, "It's not a daka, sister."

"If it is not a daka, then what is wrong with it?" asked one of the old women. "Was it burned?"

"Burned? No," Uhura said, confused. "Why would you think that?"

"It has no flesh," an old woman replied.

"Oh," understanding lit Uhura's face. "That is the proper color of his people. In the clan of his birth, all the people are pale."

"All of them?" the woman asked skeptically.

Before Uhura could reply, one of the older women said, "That is just what my Gepri said. He believes it may be an Upmen. He has seen such things in the city."

"I have heard of this," Craton nodded. 

"As have I," Keth Tunton said so hurriedly that Jim knew immediately she was lying. The keth continued, "Where did he see this, Masn?"

"Tell the keth, dear one," the old woman said to the wrinkled little man beside her. "Don't be shy. She has asked a question and wishes you to speak."

Head down, the old man spoke softly, "While I was a boy in the city, Great Keth, before I was traded, I sometimes saw the men from the Uplands. When their ships docked, they would march through the town completely uncovered, as naked as prospective trades. Their skin glowed in the sun, like ghosts. But they were living beings like any other."

"Of course, they were not ghosts," Craton said contemptuously. 

"No," Tunton agreed, "ghosts don't go out in the sun." 

"As soon as he saw Uhura's trade, Gepri said it was an Upman," the old woman said proudly, stroking the bald head of the man beside her.

"Yes," Uhura said quickly, "several of my trades are from the Uplands."

"Do you hear that, sister?" asked Craton. "Being odd-looking doesn't make it a daka. It is an Upmen. Think logically; what need would a sorceress powerful enough to keep a daka have of us?" 

Under his mask, Jim smirked, imagining Spock's reaction to Craton's logic. 

"Half the village," Tunton replied, "saw it escape into the water and disappear. Uhura recited an incantation, and the daka rose from the water, green and sparkling."

"It tripped and fell into the myleth's bowl. Anything would look green after bathing in that slime," Craton said. 

"I called his name," Uhura insisted, "not a spell." Jim grudgingly admitted to himself that she was handling the discussion well. She doesn't act afraid, he thought approvingly. That's half the battle.

"Look at it," Craton continued. The women at the keth's table turned to watch Chekov, cooing at a baby as he offered its mother bread. "Feeding non-kin is the lowest of jobs. No daka would consent to it. That is a scrawny trade, barely capable of kitchen work, nothing more." She took a big bite of meat and added with her mouth full, "I don't understand your interest. It looks unhealthy, like a strong wind could break it."

Tunton squinted at Chekov, now chatting with a very old woman as he waited for her to choose some bread, and said, "It's so delicate, almost insubstantial. I find it oddly lovely."

Craton snorted in disgust. "Were you taking him to the market?" asked a woman across the table.

"Chekov? No," Uhura said, sounding, Jim thought, embarrassed. "He is traveling with us." 

"Such skinny little ankles," Tunton murmured. 

The other ladies looked away, as if embarrassed. "It looks too young to be traded," Craton hissed at her sister. "What you are suggesting is disgusting."

The keth only shrugged and said, "Uhura says it isn't a child." Craton grunted. Tunton pointed at Jim, "Yet, this one is your preference?"

"My preference?" Uhura asked, briefly confused. She pulled herself together. "More than a preference," she replied, "Captain Kirk is my mate."

All of the women stopped eating to stare at Uhura. "But, why ensnare a daka if you do not plan to enjoy it?" an old woman asked, sounding very confused.

"I'm not sure I understand," Uhura said.

"Even more proof it's not a daka," Craton said triumphantly. "There is only one purpose for a daka."

"She never said she didn't enjoy it," Tunton snapped.

"She's picked a mate," Craton said. 

"Yes, and scripture demands a married woman enjoy only her mate. We all know, sister, but Scripture is speaking of mortal flesh; the rules don't apply to the eternal," Tunton said, then turned to Uhura and said, "I'm right, aren't I?"

"I'm a married woman," Uhura insisted, "and that is a trade, not a daka."

"See," Craton said with satisfaction.

Tunton leaned over and softly pinched Jim's robed arm, checking the muscle. "And you find him enough?" 

"Hey," Jim laughed.

"He is," Uhura paused and then said, "more than enough," with such false enthusiasm Jim thought even the Metiolns would notice

Tunton shook her head and continued, "I don't understand why anyone marries; I could never limit myself to just one."

"I'd be satisfied if you could limit yourself to one a day," sniffed Craton, and the whole table howled with laughter, the keth loudest of all. The young man behind her leaned over and glared at Jim.

Tunton shrugged good-naturedly and said, "If I were Uhura, I'd pick the sprite."

"At least a few times," laughed one of the ladies.

"Who wouldn't," Tunton continued, "given their reputation?"

The picnickers all laughed again. Several of them repeated the keth's observation as if it were witty. Craton sighed loudly with obvious annoyance. 

One of the older women shook her head as if she were troubled by what she heard. "You control it now, but it is a mistake to degrade it," she told Uhura. 

"Yes," agreed another. "Once the rains come, it will be strong again." She took Uhura's hand and said, "Let it go, my dear. The pleasure it brings you now will not be worth the pain of its vengeance." 

"It's not a daka," Craton said again. "It is a trade."

The first woman nodded at Jim and said, "Look how pale its hands are, is it a daka too?"

"Neither one is a daka!" Craton exclaimed, slapping the table with both hands.

"Craton is right," Uhura insisted. "My clan has regular trade with the Uplands. Many of my sisters have chosen Upmen."

"We should speak of other things," Craton said. "It isn't proper to take such notice of Uhura's mate." 

Several women murmured apologies. Uhura replied, "I understand your interest, they're unusual. But I am more interested in vengeance than in any trade."

Tunton nodded. "As I am sure Craton would love to remind us all, Scripture is very clear on the desirability of vengeance." 

Craton agreed, "Ordinarily, there would be no question. This situation, however, is complicated. Byten is cowardly and a drunkard. Two months ago, you could have punished her with your three warriors. Now, however, it will not be so easy." Around the table, the women nodded.

One of the younger women leaned closer and said quietly, "A caravan stopped here, two days after those early rains. It was in ruins, many were injured, and it was half the size it had been when it started. They told us that while they were in the mountains, a dragon flew over, spitting red fire. Everyone it touched died. The warriors were terrified and ran away, bandits descended and robbed the remainders."

Uhura sat up straighter. "Tell me more about the dragon."

"I doubt there is much we could tell you about the dragon," Tunton said with a knowing smirk.

Uhura insisted, "I wish to go after it."

"It is certain death," the keth replied calmly, "Someone signal the boys to bring more fruit."

"Perhaps," Jim suggested eagerly, "if you were to tell Keth Uhura everything you know of Byten, she could begin to plan her revenge."

The women around the table stopped eating to stare at Jim. Uhura glanced back at him and gave her head a miniscule shake. Keth Tunton dropped her meat to the platter and stared at him.

Uhura cleared her throat. "It may be helpful for me to know more.

"Hm," Tunton said, "Perhaps, but everything I know would take a very long time. I have known her all my life. She is my cousin, older by several years, and had hoped to be keth. She stomped off to the mountains when our aunt confirmed me as her heir. She thinks to impress us by making her own clan, using trades she steals from caravans she surprises."

"If you are cousins, wouldn't her clan be your clan?" Jim asked.

"Do you always allow him to be so forward?" the keth asked Uhura.

"He sometimes forgets himself in his eagerness to see that I have what I desire," Uhura replied, then turned to glare a warning at Jim.

"You wish to know if her clan is my clan?" asked the keth.

"I am interested to know how you view them, but I would never ask," Uhura said. She narrowed her eyes at Jim and added, "I realize it would be rude." 

Craton said, "Byten is a clan member and under the keth's protection." 

"Yes," Tunton agreed with a shrug. "Although she doesn't deserve kinship. She is an abomination and rejects her clan. She steals from us to start her own. She's taken hunters, or boys, out gathering roots. She hands them a stick and declares them warriors. She has even made off with a few clan members, husbands. It is rumored that rather than kill themselves, some weak ones decide to stay alive and fight for her."

"They are perhaps used to joining whatever clan they are directed to serve," Uhura suggested.

The keth shrugged. "Perhaps, but a woman would be incapable of so little loyalty. Of course, a normal woman would never take someone else's mate and declare them her warrior. I tell you, Byten is an abomination."

"Why don't you go get your people?" Jim asked.

The keth frowned, "He must be handsome, that is why you spoil him." 

"Thank you for your understanding," Uhura said. "I don't know what's wrong with him. Perhaps he hit his head during the robbery." She gave Jim another warning glance and then, slowly, trying to ask it correctly, asked, "How did she acquire the dragon?" 

Tunton gave Uhura a speculative look. "Obviously, she stole it," she replied, "it's our hope the owner will come and punish her."

"You're sure?" Uhura asked.

"There's no other reasonable explanation," Tunton replied. "Oh, there are rumors. People will say anything. Twenty nights ago, a star fell from the sky during the last crescent moon. Some believe it was a baby dragon, tumbling from its cradle in the sky, and that Byten, stumbling drunkenly about the desert, found it and took it home." 

"Twenty Metioln nights," Jim said quietly in Standard.

"Would be about when Somerville went down," Uhura finished.

"It only shows how very ignorant people are," the keth continued. "Any thinking person knows the mother of a lost dragonlet would have come for it and burned Byten's camp to the ground." She leaned closer and added, "Clearly, Byten stole the pet of some mighty sorceress."

The women at the table nodded, smiling as if Tunton had scored a point in some debate the Enterprise crew didn't know they were part of. After an awkward pause, Uhura asked, "What do you propose to do?" 

"About Byten?" asked the keth. "What choice do I have? She's kin even though she's left us and makes her living robbing caravans. There's nothing I can do." 

The women at the table busied themselves with their food, avoiding looking at their leader. Jim wondered how many agreed with her assessment. 

"But," Tunton said triumphantly, "I would never prevent someone else from taking back their stolen possessions." 

The women all looked at Uhura expectantly. 

We're close, Jim thought. We just have to convince Tunton that this is her problem too. "When Byten has enough warriors, she'll want your oasis, and all the treasures it earns you," he said.

The women of the head table drew back, shocked. Their keth scowled and snarled, "Tell your boy I was not robbed, Uhura, you were. Maybe that one thinks I will risk my warriors in battle with a dragon to avenge your insult, but I will not."

"I apologize," Uhura said, but "We could use your help," Jim admitted, flashing one of his smiles, and then remembering with some frustration that no one could see it.

The keth told Uhura, "You tolerate a good deal. He must be very talented. If you hadn't  chosen it, I would recommend keeping the small one and selling this one."

"Oh, I couldn't give up my mate," Uhura said, "tempting though it sometimes is to consider it." 

The keth laughed. It sounded forced but relieved some tension, and the women at the table joined in eagerly.

As the meal continued, Jim tried to reintroduce the topic of Byten several times, but every time he opened his mouth, Uhura talked over him. It didn't matter; the keth ignored him anyway, and eventually, he gave up. He sat, deeply frustrated, through a presentation by the village children of a keening song. Then the warriors performed a gymnastic-like dance. Uhura had stopped passing food to him once she got full, and he had been afraid it would seem inappropriate to remind her, but he was hungry, angry, and his muscles were getting stiff from sitting on the ground.
When the warriors finished their routine, Tunton stood up. The meadow grew silent as conversations stopped and the villagers turned attentively to their leader. 

Tunton announced, "Without thought of reward, we have rescued this young woman from the desert." The clan roared approval, slapping the ground and stamping their feet. The clearing seemed to vibrate with the pounding. "We," continued Tunton, "who live observant lives, had no thought of the danger possible when involving ourselves in someone else's quarrel. We gave no thought to the water required to welcome her into our village and brought a lost traveler into our tent." The villagers stomped even more enthusiastically. Without waiting for the noise to subside, Tunton yelled, "Tonight, we will celebrate our kindness with spice." The Metiolns cheered even louder. Tunton called over her people's frenzied noise, "Pour some for all."

Chapter Text

Chapter 8
Wine on Metiol

As the villagers drummed on the ground with hands and feet, screaming their pleasure, the helpers darted back to the kitchen and emerged carrying jugs. They scampered through the crowd to the keth's table and stood in a semi-circle around it. Once the villagers quieted and she knew she had their attention, Tunton held up the carved bowl from which she'd drunk her stew. A young man carefully poured a splash of dark liquid into it. Immediately, Tunton dribbled a bit on the ground. "Our mother gives the spice to us and we give spice to her!" she chanted.

"Our mother," the villagers cheered, and again stomped approval. Tunton smiled proudly, put the cup to her lips, and drained it. She held it out to show her people, calling, "It is good!" They responded with another frenzy of pounding. Tunton spread her arms, gesturing to the clan. A roar of excited, happy voices reverberated through the clearing as the boys darted about, pouring spice for every villager.

Like the other women in the keth's group, Uhura was given a fingerful in her bowl. She took a sip, then another, more slowly. When the woman named Masn handed her half-empty bowl to Gepri, the sweet-looking old man, Uhura gave hers to Jim.

"It's interesting," she said, "But I don't care much for the texture."

Jim took a sip. The liquid felt warm against his lips and hot in his mouth. I've drunk worse things, he thought as he swallowed. The burning sensation slid down his throat, warming even his stomach. It's some kind of fermented pepper mash, he decided. His mouth felt oily and continued to burn uncomfortably. I'm not finishing this, he decided, and offered it to the boy sitting behind Tunton. The young man's eyes widened, and he reached for the cup, then stopped, sneered, and spat at Jim. 

Forget you, Jim thought and took a big gulp to show the young man how little he cared. The taste was worse than he'd remembered. He had difficulty swallowing it. Once it was down, he offered the nearly empty cup to the men sitting on his right. They grabbed it, shrieking their thanks. Rather than drink, they held the cup, dipped their fingers into it, and licked them clean. 

Jim had seen many life forms eat in far more unusual ways, but for some reason, this struck him as exceptionally funny. He choked back a laugh, trying to be quiet so he wouldn't annoy Uhura. It occurred to him that he, the starship captain, was trying to keep a lieutenant happy, and he laughed harder. Uhura turned to him, reached out, and stroked his shoulder gently. It felt delightful, relaxing. He decided she'd enjoy the joke too, but found he somehow couldn't explain it. Concentrating hard, he pointed at the boys. 

Uhura, a dazzling smile fixed on her face, giggled. Jim found the sound charming. His muscles stopped hurting, and his hunger disappeared. He felt so relaxed that he forgot he had no chair. He leaned back and fell, landing in the dirt; then he lay on the ground and laughed at his own clumsiness. That wine is something, he thought contentedly. Usually, I don't feel this good on less than a fifth. 

As she sipped her second glass of the oily fluid, Tunton started singing softly. She reached back and offered her cup to the thin young man beside her. He wiggled closer, and gazing up at the keth with large, adoring eyes, sucking at the cup while she held it. The keth rubbed his head, slipping her fingers into his braid and gently pulling.

"He looks like a puppy," Uhura giggled.

After playing with the young man's hair, the keth began tugging at his earlobes, rolling them between her fingers. He reached for her, slipping his hand under her robe. The keth sighed and leaned toward him, closing her eyes and humming softly. 

Craton, the keth's sister, drank only a few sips. She watched the keth and the young man, frowning. She called Tunton's name several times, then suggested loudly that they all needed to sleep. 

Tunton nodded without opening her eyes. 

"No one can leave till you do," Craton said stiffly.

Tunton smiled, opening her eyes partway. She rose awkwardly, lost her balance, and stumbled. The young man, hand still inside her robe, held her up. Jim jumped up to help and nearly fell. His legs felt thick and weak. Before he could reach her, Tunton began to walk toward her tent, teetering first in one direction and then the other, leaning heavily on the young man beside her. Several boy servers set down their work and followed her, keeping a respectful distance back. 

Uhura stood, swaying delicately. "I'm very tired," she murmured. "We should sleep."

Jim nodded slowly. I am tired too, he thought. How did that happen? He wanted to say they should go to the tent, but even his lips felt heavy. Briefly, he considered lying back down. No, that's not right, he thought. He began to walk and forced himself to lift one heavy leg first and then the next. Forgetting he was supposed to let her lead, he tugged at Uhura's arm, and slowly, they made their way toward their tent.  

They staggered past caressing couples, hands entwined in each other's hair. Giggling boys rolled up blankets and gathered empty bowls. Mothers and fathers lifted sleeping babies, singing softly or laughing together. The village was quieter than it had been all day, and Jim liked it. In fact, he found it delightful, one of the most wonderful places he'd ever been. He tried to tell Uhura, but his mouth wouldn't work, so he trudged on.

One of the villagers staggered up beside them and wrapped Uhura in an embrace. "Imagine," she said, "I have lived all my life without seeing any magic. Now, there is a dragon in the mountain, a daka in the village, and I took food with the sorceress who rules them all. What times! I will tell my granddaughters." 

"Lucky," Uhura murmured, which didn't seem right to Jim. But it seemed less important than getting to his bed. He took Uhura's hand and pulled her toward their tent. Uhura staggered after him, holding his hand tightly with her right and gently caressing everything she passed with her left. 

Jim had been drunk many times before. Usually, he tended to get daring and mouthy. This was different. His thoughts felt like they were fighting their way through an exhausted fog. Occasionally, something would pop through, fully formed and purposeful, but others struggled to cohere. He considered stopping to concentrate, but was afraid he wouldn't remember to go on.

The mission, he reminded himself, is the important thing. His stiff legs felt like they belonged to someone else. Walking was hard, and Uhura didn't make it easier. She stopped to examine every rope or roughly shaped tool as if they were treasures. We're Metioln, she needs to lead, Jim thought, but couldn't make his tongue work well enough to say it. Fortunately, she gradually drifted in the right direction, and finally, they reached the tent. With hands that felt encased in thick gloves, Jim tugged the tent flap open and guided her inside.

Uhura sighed, "I feel weird, but so good, peaceful, and, I don't know, full. Do you feel anything like that?"

He thought, I do feel good, I shouldn't, but I do. The weapons, the admiral, all his problems seemed distant, outside him, and far away. Even his empty stomach didn't bother him; everything felt slow, lazy, and comfortable.  

Uhura sagged against him and took his left hand in both of hers. It didn't seem right, but even pulling away seemed too much work. She smiled up at him, eyes half-closed, and said, "Tired." He thought how pretty her mouth was, and wondered why he'd never noticed before.

Uhura continued, "I don't understand how I can be so tired. Do you think it's rude not to wait for everyone? We're married now. We should sleep. That's what married people do; they kiss each other goodnight and go to sleep." 

Yes, Jim thought, we'll sleep. Still clutching Uhura's hand, he lurched toward the piles of fabric rugs Metiolns used as beds, pulling her down with him.

"Catch me," she giggled, although he already had. He wondered why he had never noticed how soft she was. He wanted to mention it, but felt so exhausted that instead, he curled an arm around her and kissed her hair gently.

He woke up ravenous, cranky, and with Uhura in his arms. He sat up quickly and asked, "What time is it?"

Uhura opened her eyes. "Oh, my God," she said, and jumped up. She grimaced and moaned, "No, no, no, please, no."

"Relax, Uhura, nothing happened," Jim said, and grabbed his pack. 

"Thank God," Uhura said, checking the still-tied belts on her robe. "That wine must have been higher alcohol than I thought."

"Or something. I felt weird as soon as I tasted it."

"I did too! I felt so tired, and," she stopped, shuddered, and then said firmly, "Captain, with all due respect, do you not understand what 'don't talk' means? You made the negotiations impossible."

He opened his pack and tore off a piece of his bread. He shoved it in his mouth and talked around it, "Me? That's on you, mighty keth. We have five days till the first beam out and only a vague idea of where to look for Byten. Why didn't you work harder to get Tunton to help us?"

Uhura replied angrily, "I realize it's a lifetime first for you to be ignored, but you'd better get used to it."

"Hah!" Jim interrupted around a mouthful of half-chewed bread.

"Did you see how all those women looked at each other every time you attempted to direct the conversation?" Uhura asked, her voice rising.

"No one looked any kind of way, Uhura," Jim said.

Uhura drew herself up. "They made it very clear they consider me unable to control you."

And you aren't, he thought, but only said, "We're in a hurry, Uhura." 

She shrugged, "It's another diplomatic challenge, captain. We are on her planet; we play by her rules. We have to convince her by demonstrating behavior that she respects." 

"I could do that if you'd let me talk," he started, but their tent flap opened and the other officers came in.

"Sir," Sulu said, coming to attention somewhat clumsily. Behind him, Hendorff and Tan did the same. 

"See, you've still got it. Now, do you feel better?" Uhura asked Jim sarcastically. 

He ignored her and said, "At ease, gentlemen. Want some bread?"

"No," Sulu said, "There was so much food! I couldn't eat another bite." 

"Lucky," Jim muttered, glaring at Uhura. 

Tan yawned noisily. "I beg your pardon," the security guard said, blinking his eyes. "I don't know why I'm so tired." He'd pushed his hood back. His face was pale, his expression listless.

"Where'd y'all go?" Hendorf asked, sounding as if his tongue were swollen. "You're spoze to check in. Can't protect what I don't know what is."

Sulu wrinkled his brow, trying to work out what Hendorff was saying. "I'm sorry, sir, we returned as soon as we realized you had left the clearing," he offered.

"Yeah. I could barely drag myself back here," Tan agreed. "We should probably get some rest. We're working out with the guys tomorrow."

Jim snorted. "The guys?" Uhura asked sarcastically.

"The warriors," Tan clarified. "We're working out with the warriors tomorrow. They invited us." With eyes closed, he leaned against the tent support and murmured, "I'm a warrior, you know."

In the voice he saved for the most annoying underlings, Jim said, "Mr. Tan, you are an officer of Starfleet and had some specific responsibilities tonight. Were you able to learn anything useful? Or did you just drink?"

Tan's eyes snapped open. Uhura gave Jim a brief, impressed glance.

"You know, there wasn't even water on the table," Hendorff said quietly. "I thought that was weird."

Sulu interrupted, saying, "Sir, we were trying to build rapport." He spoke slowly, as if he were being careful with his pronunciation, and gestured more than usual. "These people," he continued, "love their wine! It played to our advantage, as most of our tablemates got a little drunk and were eager to talk. We learned quite a bit." 

"Go on," Jim said non-committedly.

Sulu continued, "We were seated with the local military. Craton, the keth's sister, leads them, but they were very clear that she acts under the authority and specific direction of the keth. There doesn't seem to be much delegation of authority beyond that. They're all warriors, no lieutenants, division chiefs, nothing. From what I can tell, they seldom actually fight; mostly, they patrol the clan's properties and keep people from hijacking their water."

"They invited us to join them in their drills tomorrow," Tan said, sagging against a tent pole and again letting his eyes drift closed.

"You mentioned that, Tan," Jim snapped, still too angry to be willing to let the ensign relax.

Sulu continued, "We asked about the dragon. They said it's in the possession of a local woman named Byten. She's a relative of the keth here, but left a few years ago and is trying to make her own clan, mostly from runaways or locals that didn't fit well into the village. I'm not sure what the problem was. They told us, but I couldn't understand what they were saying. Could you?" he asked Hendorff.

Hendorff shrugged. "Maybe some sort of addiction?" He tried unsuccessfully to stifle another yawn.

"Oh!" Sulu said too loudly, "I didn't get that at all, but it makes sense. They were laughing so hard and..." He glanced at Jim and continued more seriously, "This Byten and her group of misfits live in the mountains. They survive by scavenging and robbing the occasional poorly guarded caravan. About the time Somerville went down, they suddenly got better at it. Apparently, we're not the first robbed caravan they've rescued. The survivors of the attacks described streams of fire coming from the mountains. It led everyone to decide that Byten has a dragon."

Hendorff said, "They were big on praise for Tunton's response, which, as far as I can tell, has so far been to ignore the problem." 

Sulu nodded agreement, then added, "There's a potential complication."

"What's that?" Jim asked.

Sulu and Hendorff exchanged glances. "They seem to think Uhura owns the dragon," Hendorff said.  

"They're short on details," Sulu explained, "and it was only after drinking that they began to mention it, and even then, not directly, but both Hendorff and I got the impression that's what they think."

"I didn't notice that," Tan murmured, still lounging against the tent post with his eyes shut.

"No kidding," Sulu said with a withering glance at the ensign.

"Interesting," Jim said slowly.

The tent side bounced as someone punched it, searching for the opening. Muffled swearing could be heard until McCoy found the opening and came in, flushed with anger. "These people are crazy," he said.

"Hello, Bones, good to see you, too," Jim replied. "How was your meal?"

"I didn't eat. That food was barely warmed on an open flame. All it did was encourage the bacteria to reproduce. Besides, I was too mad to eat. Did you listen to these people talk? Their jobs define everything in their life, and no one seems to care."

"Please, Dr. McCoy," Uhura said, "remember our mission. You could do more damage than the phasers if you introduce new ideas into this society before they develop naturally."

McCoy ignored her and told Jim, "The guys at my table raise the crops, hunt animals, do the cooking, and then watch everyone else benefit from their effort. They don't even get to eat until after the important people have theirs. They acted like it was Christmas when the food finally arrived; rather than complain, they went on and on about how lucky they are."

Uhura was unusually shrill as she said, "All civilizations have traditions that reinforce the boundaries of their society. No matter how we feel about them, we are under orders not to interfere." 

"I didn't accept any orders to participate in starving the working class," McCoy snapped.

"No one is starving," Jim said wearily. "Except me, and that's Uhura's fault."

"And if that wasn't bad enough," McCoy continued, "did you see those people after they all drank that wine the keth forced on them? They were like zombies. They starve them, then they drug them so they don't resist. It's barbaric."

"It's not like that," Hendorff said.

"Did you try the spice juice, sir?" Sulu asked. "It's not that strong, after some initial um, euphoria, it just makes you relaxed."

"And sleepy," Tan muttered, "really, really sleepy."

"No, I didn't try it. I have no desire to zombify myself," McCoy huffed. 

"The biochemical analysis of the planet," Uhura said primly, "said we should be able to eat what the Metiolns do."

"Raw food," McCoy insisted. "Once they start messing with it and combining it with who knows what, it's anyone's guess what they create. I have no intention of finding out how dangerous the hard way. We don't know what went into that sludge, and I didn't drink it. You'd be wise to follow my lead."

"You know you get cranky when you're hungry, right?" Jim asked.

Chekov slipped in. "Hi," he said with a warm smile.

"Are you drunk too?" McCoy asked.

"No, sir," Chekov replied. 

"Congratulations," McCoy said. "Someone besides me has some sense."

Chekov replied, "The other trades offered to share, but it smelled bad, and just holding it by my face made my lips burn. I couldn't do it. I didn't wish to insult them, so I pretended to drink it and passed the cup on. No one cared; they all wanted more badly. Is that bread?"

"Help yourself," Jim replied, tossing the younger man the loaf.

Chekov ripped off a big chunk and stuffed it into his mouth. McCoy asked, "What'd you do all day?"

"Many things, I am learning a great deal, this society is very interesting, different than any other I have ever experienced," Chekov replied enthusiastically.

"Well, your experiences thus far are Earth and a spaceship," Sulu teased.

"Read about, perhaps would have been a better choice," Chekov agreed cheerfully, then returned to his topic and said, "The society is very structured. It is almost caste like, with family as the first tier and the extended clan as the second. Outsiders are not considered important. The keth was not obligated to help us when we were lost in the desert. As I understand it, she did it as a courtesy to their deity, an acknowledgment that we belong to Her."

"You've picked up quite a bit," Jim admitted, a little surprised.

Chekov smiled at the praise. "There are tiers within the clan, too. Clan members are first tier, the trades are second, and there are tiers within the trades, and all the young trades hope to be given training in a profession."

"Professions?" McCoy asked.

Chekov nodded. "Those workers possessed of special knowledge. The warriors are the highest, but there are others. Each group has its own housing, uh, tents, and they eat in order of the value they bring to the clan. Almost everyone begins as a low trade, and they gradually find where they are most helpful to the clan."

"You should have been a warrior," Tan slurred. "It's great. We're working out with the guys tomorrow."

"I thought it would be more efficient to divide and directly observe each division," Chekov explained. "The Federation may not get another chance like this to study this civilization." 

"Plus, you probably couldn't cut it as a warrior," Tan replied. "Being security, I'm more of a natural."

"There is a great deal to learn," Chekov continued. "I helped to butcher the meat today!"

"What in God's name could you learn doing that?" McCoy asked.

"Anatomy, sir. It is a previously unknown species. I paid careful attention, but there is so much to remember. I missed my tricorder." 

"Speaking of animals," Hendorff asked, "did you know everyone thinks you're one?" 

Chekov nodded as he chewed, then swallowed and explained, "Not an animal, I don't know what a daka is, but they obviously believe it is a good thing to be. They also think Miss Uhura is a sorceress." He smiled at the lieutenant. "They think you are here to get the dragon. Isn't that ironic?"

"It is, actually," Jim agreed.

Chekov nodded. "I told them she is not, and then they all insisted that is what I would say."

"How would they know?" McCoy snorted. "They're all high."

"Many civilizations use chemicals in religious practices," Uhura said, "they seldom have long-term implications for users."

"And many others use them to subjugate the working classes," McCoy interrupted, "that doesn't make it right." 

Uhura shook her head. "When I said that the citizens of this planet have a right to determine their own destiny, you agreed. Did you not understand that we might not like what they decide to do?"

"I understand the difference between right and wrong," McCoy snapped. "I'm not going to pretend I don't."

Right is subjective," Uhura replied. "It's not how we live, but it is working for the Metiolns."

This is getting out of hand, Jim thought and held up his hand. Discussion stopped, and the crew looked at him.

"We're members of the United Federation of Planets and believe in absolute equality between species. It's not easy to see things we disapprove of and do nothing to rectify them. It feels unnatural. But Miss Uhura is right. Our primary obligation is to protect these people from our technology. If the surest way to accomplish that goal means we tolerate their, to us, unacceptable practices, so be it. We gave our word. Our focus needs to be the mission, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us. We must work together, people, get those phasers and get out. We've got to get back up there, we've got space to explore."

Bones scowled, but Uhrua looked slightly mollified, and Chekov whispered, "Yes, sir," reverently. 

As gratifying as he found Chekov's wide-eyed admiration, Jim was even more pleased by Hendorff's brief, approving nod at the end of his speech. And that's how it's done, he congratulated himself. 

But his satisfaction was shattered when, without opening his eyes, Tan muttered, "Too bad we don't know where they are."

Sulu looked at Jim and smiled grimly. "We'll find them," he said. "We're going to be such great Metiolns these people are going to be lining up to take us to them." 

"Good plan," Jim agreed. "Now, let's get some sleep, people. Miss Uhura is going to have orders for us tomorrow. We need to be ready."

Chapter Text

The Third Day

Chapter Nine 
Breakfast With the Keth

Their tent had plenty of rugs and blankets, but not much privacy. Most of the team piled rugs as distantly from each other as possible, but Uhura insisted Jim and she sleep next to each other in case some Metioln stopped by. She lay rigidly beside Jim, turned away on her side, doing what Jim recognized as Vulcan breathing exercises designed to calm the mind. Bored and still hungry, Jim copied her unsuccessfully, trying to ignore Hendorff's snores for what seemed an eternity. 

A boy arrived the next morning, tying back the tent flaps to let in the rising sun. He delivered another bowl of scented oil and more dirty-tasting water. Jim noticed how eagerly his crew drank, with no complaints about the taste, and reminded himself that they needed to have their skeins replenished. Before he could mention it, McCoy said, "Hey, these people may look human, but they aren't. I don't have enough information to know, but I'm guessing internally they're more Vulcan or Bheteki than human. One way or the other, their kidneys work better than yours. You'll need to drink more than they do. Sneak if you're worried about making them suspicious, but get some fluids today."

They took turns with the cleansing oils. Chekov had learned in the kitchen that the oils didn't replace water. Instead, the Metiolns scrubbed themselves with the towels, then applied the cooling oil to their skin, soothing flesh rubbed raw by the ever-present red sand. As they dressed, Uhura reminded everyone again of the importance of the mission and their plan to work with the Metiolns. "To do that, we all needed to be quiet, agreeable, and respectful," she said, eyes lingering on Jim. 

Nodding, Jim added, "We need to convince the keth to assist us in recovering the weapons, and the best way to do that is to behave as the Metiolns expect."

Uhura's lips tightened, "Thank you, sir, it's always helpful to have instructions repeated. There can't be too many times."

"You did fine," Jim agreed. "I'm just clarifying a few things for the crew." 

"Clarify?" Uhura repeated scornfully. "You barely read the prep materials. How could you explain this mission better than I can?"

Jim rolled his eyes, a little embarrassed to explain something so obvious. "Partly because I've had more diplomatic experience. It's given me insights you don't have. But more importantly, Uhura, I'm the captain. It's the lines of command; the crew is used to taking orders from me." 

Uhura asked the others, "Was I not clear?" 

Sulu threw both hands up like he was surrendering, and asked, "Where's Chekov?"

Tan shrugged. "He left before sunup. He said he was going to work."

"Do these people not understand that adolescents need sleep?" McCoy asked.

"When you see him, catch him up on our plans," Uhura said, "Or, better yet, have him talk to me."

"Or me," Jim added. "I'm available if any of you need any help." What is her problem? 

"Yeah, lines of command, got it," Sulu said, "Maybe one of you two mighty leaders could get us some breakfast?" 

Jim held the tent flap open. Uhura slipped under his arm. "Captain," she whispered, "the success of this mission hinges on you letting me appear to lead you."

Then get something done, Jim thought. "The success of this mission also hinges on me not starving, Uhura," he said, "could you try to remember that I eat a lot?" 

"Fine," Uhura replied. She turned to the remainder of the crew. "I need to start building up some cache locally. It would help if you tried to act like Tunton's boys. Follow me to the keth's table, then linger there. Act like I am a treasure. It will increase my esteem in her eyes. You can eat after it's clear to everyone watching that I'm adored. And yes, it is stupid. Do it anyway. Hoods down and be Metioln."  

"How will they see we're adoring if our faces are covered?" Tan asked Hendorff quietly.

"How 'bout we don't ask?" Hendorff replied. As it turned out, it didn't matter. There were far fewer people to impress than there had been for dinner the day before. The warriors' table was crowded, and a few workers, including Gat and his hunting partners, were still eating, but the meadow was empty. 

"I guess families eat their breakfast at home," Sulu mused.

Remembering his childhood in Iowa, Jim said, "Poor people get up at dawn. They were in the fields hours ago."

The keth and some elderly women were seated at the head table. The sulky young man was again seated behind Tunton. As they arrived, Jim saw the keth hand him some dried fruit. "See there," she said, "I set aside the whole ones. They are all pretty, just as you like. Maybe that will improve your mood."

He scowled at her but took the fruit. She laughed and reached behind him to tug at the back of his hair. 

Sulu bent low, used his sleeve to smooth the dirt next to Keth Tunton, then stepped back with a flourish. Jim was struck by the dignity Sulu infused into the action. It never bothers him to take orders. Or at least he never shows that it does. I can do that, he thought. Why am I letting this bother me so much? Uhura's more qualified than I am for this one. I need to stop fighting her.

Uhura took her seat, somehow appearing regal as she settled into the dust. She pushed her hood back and began to speak quietly to the other women. Jim settled onto the ground behind her and waved at the sulky young man, who scowled and turned away. Adoration accomplished, his crew left to look for their breakfasts. Jim watched the warriors and workers enthusiastically welcome his crewmates to their respective tables. 

Sighing, he turned to Uhura, now talking seriously with Masn, the older woman who'd told them about the Uplands. Jim found the discussion of religious ritual boring and was glad to see Chekov head their way. His white robe stood out among the barely dressed kitchen staff. His hood was in place, and he held a basket close to his chin, studying the contents as he walked. Not looking, or perhaps unable to see where he was going, he walked into the keth's table. Chekov stumbled back, struggled to keep the basket from spilling, and tripped over Uja, who punched at him angrily. 

"Idiot," Craton snapped.

Chekov grabbed the loaves as he scrambled up. "Sorry," he said sheepishly.

The keth said, "Don't frighten the little thing, Craton. Here, let me see." Chekov held the bread out, but she grabbed his robe and pulled him closer, saying, "I will see if you're hurt."

"I'm fine, thank you, my lady," Chekov replied.

"Let me look," Tunton said, pulling Chekov's robe up to his waist. Uhura stiffened, but the other women showed little interest, chewing and gossiping as if nothing remarkable happened.

"I um, I only hit my shin, ma'am," Chekov bleated, dropping the basket to cover himself and backing away.

"Don't try to be brave," Tunton replied, smacking the basket out of her way. Pulling him closer, she ran a finger along his thigh. 

"I'm sure he's fine," Uhura said uncertainly.

"I'll just check," Tunton replied. "You have so few trades left; an injured one is useless." She tightened her grip on Chekov and added, "Be still."

"Uh, oh, yes, alright if that is the custom, then of course, that is what I should do, thank you," the young man stammered, grasping his basket tightly as the keth prodded, stroked, and poked. 

"So delicate," she murmured, resting her head against his thigh as she used her finger to trace the bruise coming up on his shin. "Look, Craton, you can see right through him," Tunton said, pulling his robe higher and tracing the path of a vein with her finger. 

"Why would I wish to see through him? He belongs to Uhura," Craton said. "Let him work, Tunton, I'm hungry."

Tunton laughed and reached into his robe, continuing to explore under it, chuckling when he squirmed. "Are you a daka?" she asked playfully. 

"No, ma'am," Chekov replied, "I am a trade to Clan Enterprise, serving Keth Uhura."

Tunton slipped her hand under Chekov's hood to stroke his hidden face. Uhura stiffened and Craton glared at her sister, but the other women showed little interest, chewing and gossiping as if nothing remarkable was happening. 

Tunton said softly, "It seems impossible you aren't; you look just as I have always imagined one would."

Chekov replied uncertainly, "Perhaps I could try to be?"

The women at the table smiled, and one cooed in delight. Uhura looked away, her mouth a hard, angry line. "Tunton," Craton snapped from across the table. "People are hungry."

Chekov blurted, "I have bread. Do you want bread?"

"Yes, give me bread," Tunton said and laughed at how quickly he shifted the basket so that it was between them. She took several pieces and nodded at him to go on. Chekov turned to Uhura, held the basket out, and, sounding miserably embarrassed, said, "Good morning, my keth." 

Uhura looked away. Jim wanted to say, 'Stuff happens sometimes when you're honoring other civilizations' cultures, kid. Don't let it bother you,' but he contented himself with, "Hey, it's the Muffin Man," in Standard, hoping that acting as if nothing had happened might make Chekov feel better.

Chekov shrugged, then whispered in Standard, "It is the only food they serve I recognize, so I offered to pass it. That way, if anyone asks me a question, I at least know what I am talking about. Also, as soon as we are allowed to eat, I will be close enough to grab some. I learned my lesson about waiting for my turn last night."

"Your logic is impeccable," Jim said in his best imitation of Spock. Uhura sighed exasperatedly, but Chekov laughed before he moved on, and Jim was satisfied.  

Tunton watched Chekov go, then said something in her language. Uhura's lips tightened disapprovingly, but the other ladies laughed. Tunton's young man sneered and began to twist nervously the ribbon at his neck.  

Craton made a disgusted noise. "A dwarf who doesn't always spill the bread when it trips is not generally considered talented, sister." 

The keth said something in dialect, and again, all the ladies laughed. 

Uhura blushed, "No," she said. "I mean, I have no idea. That is to say, I know about this one. He is my mate, so of course I do, but I don't know about the other."

"Don't be insulting, Tunton," Craton snapped. "Uhura has chosen a mate. And stop calling it a daka, you are seeing what you wish to be true. Uhura said her mate is nearly as pale. You don't insist he's supernatural."

"Or maybe he is," Tunton laughed. "It would explain why such a young woman would choose to limit herself to one." 

Blushing, Uhura stuttered, "I made this one my mate because of his fine mind. Ours is a very spiritual union."

"I like mine spirited too," Keth Tunton said. The usually sullen young man behind her kicked at the ground and smirked proudly. She laughed and handed him some bread.

"Ahh, Keth Uhura," Tunton continued, "It isn't good to praise my little Uja too much. We should talk about less intimate things while he is here. Did you rest well?"

"Yes, thank you," Uhura replied enthusiastically. She's glad to change the topic, Jim thought.

Tunton continued, "Have some juice. It is valuable because it is difficult to make at this time of year. There are very few fruits on the bushes. I don't even think of that when I share it with you." She nodded, watching Uhura expectantly, and several women stopped eating to watch too. What do they want, Jim wondered. There's something we're not understanding.

"Thank you," Uhura said, holding one of the shallow bowls to the boy with the pitcher. He filled it with a dark, thick liquid. Uhura slurped it enthusiastically, eyes widening at the taste. Jim couldn't suppress a snicker. Uhura's lips tightened disapprovingly, and she handed the cup to him. It was very sour, but he was thirsty and drank it all.

Craton said, "I have had an idea, Tunton. Some of the hunters will go into the mountains by the pass today. Any of Uhura's myleth that outran Byten during the attack on her caravan will be up there, by the streams that feed the oasis. She should send a trade out with them to search."

This will work, Jim thought, I'll go up there with them. They may know something about Byten, or I'll slip away and search myself. Uhura ignored his tug on her arm and said, "How very kind of you to suggest it." 

"You think Uhura needs to search for myleth?" Tunton asked. Jim was surprised by her tone. She sounded sarcastic, or perhaps, he thought, contemptuous. What's that about?

Craton said firmly, "Of course. No traveler can cross the desert without myleth."

"No mortal traveler," Tunton agreed. "Although our dear guest somehow managed to cross our mountain without passing us. Some would say a traveler who could do that could do anything." As she spoke, Tunton stared at Uhura appraisingly; the lieutenant looked back calmly, as if she hadn't understood the suggestion.

"As you wish," Tunton said finally. She chewed another bit of bread, then said, "When we finish, I will inspect your trades and pick one for the task. I am an excellent judge of males and will know the right one immediately."

"But for now," Craton said firmly, "let's enjoy the meal." 

Tunton shrugged. "Isn't the bread good? The baker is a funny little fellow; we got through a trade with a caravan that passed here several months ago. The keth insisted he was worth three adolescents, although he is old and limps. I admit, I cursed my sister Craton's scruples that day. I thought we'd been taken advantage of. My cousin, the cook, insists that her supervision makes him so good, but I assure you, her bread never used to taste like this. Eat up, before I give my Uja it all. He is greedy and always demands anything nice."

The young man scowled at her, and she laughed again.

Uhura asked, "Will the hunters leave soon? I don't want to miss this chance."

The keth shrugged. "They won't leave till I send them," she said, "and I am in no rush." She dipped her bread into some soft green paste and popped it into her mouth, sighing happily.

Chapter Text

Chapter Ten
Accepting the Offer

Uhura was better about feeding him, but Jim was too excited to care. He forced himself to sit quietly while Keth Tunton snacked and chatted for another hour. When she finally rose from the table, groaning in satisfaction, he jumped up, eager to start. But Tunton took Uhura's arm and began to stroll toward the trade tables.

Under his hood, Jim bit his lip to keep from telling them to hurry, and forced himself to follow meekly behind. As they walked, Tunton bragged about her gift as an evaluator of talent. Craton snorted a few times, but did not argue. 

They stopped first at the workers' table. Tunton squeezed McCoy's arm, ignoring his loud humph, and, turning to Uhura, declared him completely inappropriate. "Let's see your others," she said.

"A warrior?" Craton sounded doubtful. 

"She has little choice," the keth replied, "and shouldn't risk the daka."

"It's not," Craton began, but Tunton had already started to the warriors' table. There, she poked and prodded the crew members, seemed to hesitate, asked a few questions, then assigned the task to Sulu, who sounded grateful and respectful as he accepted.

Uhura thanked the keth profusely, then asked for time to prepare Sulu for his responsibilities. She called loudly to Chekov, who hurried over. Under his hood, Jim smiled at how the ensign kept a table between him and the keth. Regally, stopping frequently to acknowledge villagers she met with gracious nods, Uhura led them back to their tent.

As soon as they were inside, Jim flipped his hood back and started shoving things into a pack.  

"Jim," McCoy said, "don't let Sulu go wandering off into the desert on those dinosaurs. It isn't safe."

"Don't worry, Bones. I'm going too," Jim replied, reaching for a muslin sheet.

"No," Uhura interjected. Jim ignored her and continued packing. She continued, "Sir, you heard Tunton. She chose Sulu for this mission. It would be very rude not to do as she suggested." 

"Sulu can go, but I'm going too," Jim insisted.

"No," Uhura said, shaking her head.

"I'll be far more useful in the field than here, Uhura," Jim replied, reaching for a water skein.

"You can't!" Uhura's voice was low but firm as a slap. Jim dropped his pack and turned toward her angrily. Chekov and Tan stared at her, eyes wide. She crossed her arms and stood as tall as she could. "Everyone, lower your voices," she said. 

"You're the only one talking, Uhura," Jim said.

She held up a commanding hand. "Sir, I do not intend to be disrespectful, but for our mission to have any chance of success, you must act like a Metioln. We told them you're my spouse. On this planet, married men stay with their wives."

"I am the captain," Jim said, somewhat surprised at her taking that tone with him. 

"I know you're the captain, Captain Kirk," Uhura snapped. "You remind us you're the captain about every five minutes. Right now, I am concerned that you will lead us into directly violating the Prime Directive."

"Lieutenant," Jim began angrily.

"I have an idea," Sulu interrupted. 

"He can't go," Uhura said firmly.

"No, I don't have an opinion about that. I have an idea that relates to the mission," Sulu clarified.

Uhura and Jim ignored him, glaring at each other. "What's that?" McCoy asked hopefully. 

Sulu replied, "The hunting party is going into the mountains; that means they're heading into Byten's territory. What about I try to get captured by Byten's warriors? Once taken to her camp, I'll search for the missing weapons. If I can, I'll steal them and return here. Mission complete. If not, I'll stay in the mountains and do reconnaissance. When you organize a force to challenge Byten, whatever knowledge I have managed to pick up might be helpful."

"Good plan, Sulu," Hendorff said. 

Excellent plan, Jim thought, and I thought of it first.

"I agree," Uhura said, but at the same time McCoy said, "Absolutely not. Tell him, Jim."

Jim crossed his arms and tried to sound thoughtful as he said, "I am not sending you into a dangerous situation by yourself, Sulu."

"You're perfectly comfortable putting yourself in danger," McCoy muttered.

Uhura sounded exasperated, "Sir, you aren't captain here, you never could be. You're my husband; it's inconceivable to these people that I would send you away. Sulu is a servant and considered replaceable. The village leader gave him a task. It's unthinkable he would not fulfill it."

Jim opened his mouth to argue, but Sulu interrupted. "I assure you, sir, I can handle it."

Jim blinked, anger collapsing into shock. It took him a few seconds to reply. "I know, Sulu," he finally said, "I don't mean to imply that you couldn't, I just," his voice trailed off. He always found it difficult to explain why he felt so strongly that he should participate in important missions."

"Feel better when you can oversee things in person. I know," Sulu said, smiling.

"Sulu, you can't go out there alone," McCoy said. "Anything could happen."

"Or nothing could," Sulu said. "The thing is, Doc, our mission is to get those weapons. If I go alone and fail, there will still be enough of you here to try again."

The silence seemed long in the hot, stuffy tent. Finally, Jim asked, "Does anyone have something to add?" When McCoy opened his mouth, he quickly added, "Anything they haven't said before?" McCoy scowled but was silent. Jim took a deep breath. "We'll try it your way, Sulu."

Sulu nodded. "Yes, sir," he said.

"Don't," Uhura began. She stopped, took a deep breath, and said, "You can't pack much. Remember, you're supposedly planning to be back tonight."

"He has to take a blanket," McCoy said. "It's cold in the mountains."

Chekov said, "I have to work," pulled his hood into place, and slipped out quickly.

"Well," McCoy mused, "he didn't look happy."

"He's okay," Sulu assured them. "Chekov would never let his personal feelings interfere with his orders."

"That's at least equally disturbing," McCoy muttered.

Still tense, Uhura led their group to the stabling area. Tunton and Craton were there with members of a hunting party (not Gat's). Tunton gestured wildly as she issued advice on the hunt. They're leaving very late, Jim realized. They can't be happy; ordered out late with instructions on their jobs from someone who's never done it, he thought. But the men showed no frustration, just nodding respectfully as they listened.

The men mounted quickly once Tunton released them. Sulu climbed onto the crate-like wooden saddle of a yellow myleth. He saluted Uhura, glancing at Jim as he did so, then slapped the myleth with the leads to get it moving. Suddenly, Chekov darted out between two tents and skidded to a stop right in front of the animal. The myleth skittered nervously; Chekov tossed Sulu a small package. Sulu caught it, waved, and tucked it into his robe. Chekov ran back the direction he'd come. 

Jim watched Sulu ride away, west with the morning sun on his back.

"Well, he's gone. Now what?" asked McCoy.

Jim glanced at Uhura, feeling both frustrated and uneasy. "Ask the keth," he said.

She raised her chin. "Now," she said, "we get some information about dragons."

Chapter Text

Chapter Eleven
Training with the Warriors

Tan, sounding almost as excited as Chekov might, reminded Jim that the other warriors had expected him and Hendorff at the practice field. Uhura looked doubtful, so Jim quickly sent them on their way. 

"I'll go along," McCoy said, "introduce myself to the local healer. Maybe she'll be a little more free-thinking than the rest of these people."

Jim nodded, but Uhura said, "Doctor, please remember we're not here to change this world." 

McCoy snorted and waved dismissively before following the security team. You didn't give Sulu warnings before he rode off alone, Jim thought, but only said encouragingly, "Interactions with the locals can provide valuable information. It's what we want them to do." 

"I know, but Dr. McCoy," Uhura said, "is very plainspoken."

Jim countered, "I'm a little envious, honestly. He has a plan. We're going to wander aimlessly through the village until Tunton decides she wants to talk to us again." 

Uhura gave him a look that suggested she disagreed, but didn't argue, and together they started back toward the tent. "What do you suppose Chekov gave Sulu?" Jim asked.

"A snack? He's working in the kitchen."

"You're probably right," Jim agreed. After looking around to ensure they weren't observed, he pushed his hood back. The bright sun lifted his spirits. Uhura gave him a warning glance, but said nothing. Encouraged, he said, "I have a couple of questions. I'm sorry if they were covered in the prep materials."

"You're sorry you have to ask, not that you didn't read them," Uhura sighed.

Jim shrugged. "The keth calls all the older women aunt," he started.

"Any older woman she respects," Uhura corrected. "But old age does tend to be valued here."

"And some younger people she calls niece," Jim continued. 

"Younger women of higher social status, someone she wants to acknowledge politely."

"That's what I thought," he said, "and Chekov she calls daka, did you ever figure that out?"

Uhura looked away. "I asked Masn about it," she replied slowly. 

Her evident unwillingness to discuss it immediately made Jim more interested. "And she said?" he asked. 

Uhura sighed loudly. "A daka is a mythological entity, something like a water spirit," she explained. 

"They think Chekov is a mermaid?" Jim laughed.

"No," Uhura said firmly, walking a little faster. 

Now, really curious, Jim jogged after her and called, "Then what?" When she didn't answer, he said, "Uhura, what's a daka?"

She stopped suddenly and said, "The manifestation of rain. It's mythological, like, I don't know, nymphs on Earth."

"They think Chekov is a nymph?" Jim laughed. 

"This makes me a little uncomfortable," Uhura said, crossing her arms, "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't laugh."

"Sure," he promised. 

"Okay," she sighed. Her eyes darted nervously as she said, "Anthropomorphizing natural forces is common. It gives a society a sense of control over chaos. In the Metioln creation myth, the planet, Metiol, is female. She creates all good things. The sun is male. She made the sky to contain him and bring order to his existence."

"Pretty standard," Jim said.  

Uhura continued, "Metiol welcomes her lover each day and sends him away each night. That's their explanation for why everyone here rests at noon, by the way. Not that it's too hot to be outside; they're giving the planet privacy with the sun."

"That's a first," he laughed.

Uhura shrugged. "This society values order and consistency. It's probably how they live so peacefully. The point is, sometimes when Metiol and her lover embrace, the sky, um, loses control. That's rain, and it brings forth new life." 

Jim snickered. "Did I just say, 'don't laugh?'" Uhura asked angrily, her eyebrows pulling together crankily. 

"Sorry," Jim said placatingly, "I just had a flashback to my grandmother sitting me down to explain the miracle of married love."

"You asked," she muttered.

"Yeah, okay," Jim agreed, "but what's any of that got to do with Chekov?"

"So, sometimes the sky gets a little bored, and instead of just sharing rain with Metiol," Uhura continued without meeting his eyes, "it manifests as a daka goes out to interact with the people."

"Wait a second," Jim chuckled, "Are you telling me, these people confused Chekov for some kind of male fertility symbol?"

"More virility than fertility, actually," Uhura said without meeting his eyes. "Stop laughing."

"I can't help it," Jim laughed. "I bet they were surprised to find out that virility is so short." 

"We're all short to them, captain," she replied tartly, "It's like Craton said; they're seeing what they want, and some things about him make that easier for them."

"Like what?" Jim asked.  

"Well, they find him kind of water-focused."

"Water what?"

Uhura sighed, "If you remember, when Gat met Chekov, he doused himself with water. That's not something they consider normal; it made quite an impression, and apparently, Gat's told everyone about it. And then he swam when he fell in the pond. They can't imagine doing that. Then the kitchen staff reported he drinks more water than they've ever seen anyone do before and sometimes pours water over his head."

"He gets thirsty in a hot kitchen, and they think that's proof positive he's supernatural," Jim laughed. 

Uhura sighed once more. "And he's so interested in everything. They feel real people would know how to do dishes and skin animals."

"The completely enthusiastic interest in everything can seem kind of unnatural," Jim said,  "even on the Enterprise." 

"That is not at all what I said," Uhura replied, then added, "then of course, there's the eyes." 

"Eyes?" Jim asked.

Uhura nodded. "Apparently, green is associated with daka, because their lakes tend to be green and the plants green up after rain. I'd never noticed he had green eyes before. Had you?"

"It would be weird for me to notice the junior officers' eye color, Uhura," Jim laughed. "But a supernatural being? Did they look at him?" 

"Masn said that being rain, dakas have no permanent size or shape, but their human form is generally described as delicate and pale, which Chekov is to them." 

"Pale? Sure, but so are McCoy and Hendorff."

"And you."

"Okay, yeah. The point is, Tunton isn't reaching up any of our robes. There's got to be more to it than that."

Uhura sighed. "Well," she said, "until marriage, these people have very few sexual prohibitions."

"I know," Jim replied.

She threw up her arms. "Oh, sure!" she said, "That part you read! Of course, go straight to the sex part because that's going to affect the mission so much!"

"It might," he replied, a little embarrassed. 

Uhura rolled her eyes, "Well," she said, "then it should be obvious to you; they're not interested in him specifically; it's that daka are male energy and supposed to be great at sex."

"Oh my God," Jim choked. "At least it explains why Tunton's so weirdly interested in him. Wait till I tell Bones."

"It's not weird that she's interested," Uhura began, but stopped and stared at Jim, eyes widening. "This bothers you."

"No," Jim said and realized immediately he'd replied too quickly. 

"You're jealous of Chekov," she said, a delighted grin spreading across her face. 

It took Jim a beat to know how to respond. He cleared his throat and said, "I am simply seeking more information about the culture, to better assist you in the mission."

Uhura continued as if he hadn't spoken. "It bothers you that the leader of this tiny, primitive culture finds him more attractive than she does you." 

"Wrong, Uhura," he said too heartily, which was embarrassing. What's wrong with me? 

"Every time I start to think you're finally growing up, you always manage to prove you're still the idiot under my roommate's bed," she said wonderingly. Shaking her head, she added, "Has it ever occurred to you that being the alpha's alpha isn't necessarily everyone's turn on? Chekov is eager to please, friendly, and hard-working; that's the Metioln masculine ideal."

"I'm friendly," Jim said, and realized it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. 

Uhura raised an eyebrow and said tartly, "To people that admire you, maybe." 

This is stupid. I'm not jealous of Chekov, Jim thought. He wanted to argue, but instead, put his hands up in mock surrender and said, "Okay, my keth. From now on, Chekov's my role model. I'll be happy about nothing, enthusiastic about everything, and great at taking orders."

"Sure you will," she said with a mocking smile.

"Uhura, I'll trip over my own robe if that's what it takes to get her to like me. I want those phasers," Jim said firmly.

"You know what? You probably would; you'd do anything to win," Uhura sighed.

"No," Jim started, but she held up a hand and said, "I want this mission to succeed, too. And I want to help you, so I will tell you now, if you really want to be a good Metioln, you can start by covering your face. You're a..." 

Jim pulled his hood up. "Married man," he finished for her. "Yeah, I know, gotta look taken."

Uhura reached up and adjusted his hood. "You know, captain," she said more fondly, "this society is very strict about marital fidelity. From their point of view, you belong to me. Tunton can't suggest an interest, but if she could, I'm sure she would." 

"I don't need placating, Uhura," Jim replied.

Looking up at him sideways, she added,  "Don't worry, sir. Even in your robe, you're very attractive."

"My darling wife," he laughed, "I thought you didn't notice." Wanting to encourage her improved mood, he added, "What's your plan?"

It worked. Uhura sounded confident, saying, "I thought I'd find Tunton and make a big deal of thanking her for including Sulu and mention again how much I want revenge." Looking up at him and narrowing her eyes, "I'm not going to pressure her to do more until we establish a better relationship."

He bit his tongue to keep from suggesting specifics. "It's a good start," he managed, deciding it would be better to save his suggestions for later, back at the tent.  

They'd come to the clearing where the clan had held the welcome banquet. The warriors had taken it over for their drills. Jim and Uhura stopped to watch. The men fought in pairs, observed by other warriors, who sat on the ground, critiquing or calling encouragement. Most used cudgels, the ends padded with cloth, but a few had longer oar-like sticks. The exercises were stylized, almost like a dance; the first man swung, and then the next. The general air was leisurely, more like a group of friends working out in a gym than military training.

Using their belts to tie their robes around their arms, the Metiolns used them as shields. Tan and Hendorff were the only ones still dressed, and so very obvious in the crowd. Their hoods were back, and they'd loosened the ties on their pale robes so that the fabric billowed around them as they moved. They, alone among the group, were applying themselves, swinging quickly, jumping, and dodging.  

Jim felt a stir of excitement. "I want to spar," he said. It felt like years since he'd done anything more demanding than amble behind Uhura.

Uhura shrugged, "Knock yourself out," she said, then added, "not literally, of course."

Jim pushed his hood back and grabbed a cudgel. "Let me in," he called, trotting over. 

Tan swung around, weapon up, but Hendorff stepped before him. Panting, he wiped his sweating face and said, "Sir, Mr. Giotto is pretty specific about us not sparring with you."

"Giotto's not here, Hendorff, I am, and I'm bored; let's go," Kirk replied, tapping the other's cudgel. He considered calling Hendorff Cupcake to provoke him. That would annoy Uhura, he decided, and I spent all that time getting her in a good mood. Instead, he smacked Hendorff's cudgel again, with more force.

Hendorff stepped back, frowning, but Tan said, "Think about the captain's situation, sir; you'd need a workout too if you were him."

He wondered what situation Tan was speaking of, but only said, "Giotto won't find out. If he does, I'll tell him I ordered you. In fact, how about I just go ahead and do it? Mr. Hendorff, I'm ordering you to spar with me." 

Hendorff shrugged, said, "Tan, you're my witness," and raised his weapon.

Jim swung quickly, narrowly missing as Hendorff jumped back. He spun and swung again, connecting with the larger man's shoulder. Hendorff didn't flinch, but used the momentum to swing up and tap Jim's hip.

"Don't hold back, Hendorff," Jim insisted, swinging again. 

The lieutenant blocked Jim's attack, then swung the lower end of his weapon up, jabbing Kirk's abdomen more roughly. "Okay, sir," he said.

Jim backed away, gasping. Hendorff was bigger and a better fit for the oversized Metioln weapons, but had already been swinging the heavy sticks for some time. Jim decided to dance around and tire Hendorff a bit more before his next attack. He stepped closer, but jumped back easily as Hendorff swung.

Thinking it might be a diversion, he called, "What exactly is my situation, Tan?".

"What's that, sir?" asked Tan.

What situation made me need a workout?" he clarified. 

"Oh," Tan replied, "having to pretend to be married to Lt. Uhura. I'd want to kill someone after a few days of that."  

Jim glanced over at Uhura, worried she'd heard. Hendorff's cudgel caught him in the head and knocked him to the ground, hard. 

"Sorry, sir," Hendorff said, extending a huge hand. "I expected you to dodge that." The big man sounded worried rather than triumphant, which surprised Jim.

Jim scrambled up, "No problem, Hendorff, we're sparring, you're supposed to take advantage of openings when you see them. Tan, get in here. It'll take the pressure off Hendorff."

The ensign shrugged and, grabbing his weapon off the ground, jumped closer. As Jim had hoped, it turned into a real battle, the kind he loved, moving faster than he could think, wood shuddering as cudgels collided, thumps as padded ends connected. It was exhilarating.

When Tan tripped and dropped his weapon, Jim smacked it away, dodging as Hendorff swung his club over his head. Jim managed to get his cudgel up, but Hendorff hit with enough force to crack it down the middle. Momentum sent Hendorff staggering past. Jim dropped the pieces of his weapon and grabbed the larger man's stick, sticking out a leg to trip the lieutenant as he did so. Hendorff skidded into the dirt, and Jim raised the weapon into the air, triumphant.

There were cheers and hoots. Jim looked about. Most of the Metioln warriors had left their practices to watch them. Most were stamping the ground appreciatively. Uhura smiled at him wryly, shaking her head. The keth had joined her, followed as always by Uja and Craton, the captain of the warriors. Prahtne, Craton's second in command, was there too, watching silently. 

Jim dropped the cudgel and pulled his hood down quickly. He trotted over to Uhura. "My keth," he said, then added in Standard, "That felt great."

"You should not allow this, Uhura. They might have been injured!" Craton fussed.

"But we weren't," Kirk replied cheerfully.

"They weren't injured," Keth Tunton said, "and they looked magnificent. I would bet on any of them against any of your warriors, Craton, small as they are. I would bet Uhura's mate against any two of yours."

"That is not how training is done," Craton sounded aghast.

"It is where I come from," Jim said with a grin.

Uhura shot him a warning glance. "Thank you for your concern," she said. "They do it often. He enjoys the chance to exercise."

"Did you see, Craton?" Tunton asked excitedly. "Training, uninstructed, with no wake water and no pain. You still insist these are mortals?" 

"One has nothing to do with the other," Craton insisted angrily. Returning her focus to Uhura, she asked, "You allow your mate to do this regularly?" 

"He enjoys it," Uhura repeated.

"You married a warrior," Craton said accusingly.

"A great warrior," Uhura agreed, with a wry glance at Jim.

Craton shook her head. "It explains much. I never allow any girls from our blood family to marry a warrior. They are too bold. The workers are more eager to please and less ambitious. Those are the qualities of a good husband. We choose our partners from that caste only."

"Well, yes," Uhura replied, "I admit, he is bold."  

"Clearly," Craton agreed unenthusiastically. "You chose to marry him, Uhura. Therefore, you are responsible for him and must control his instincts. The purpose of these training sessions is to build endurance. Our warriors never hit anything. They are forbidden to do so except on the orders of the keth."

"You don't want them to practice realistically?" Uhura asked. "Don't you think they should be prepared for the unexpected? New strategies or new weapons?"

"Strategies? They drink the water and then fight until they can fight no longer," Craton replied. "That is always the strategy."

"Maybe Uhura is right, Craton," the keth said. "They eat enough. I should be able to count on my warriors winning every fight."

Craton growled, "Tomorrow, Uhura's trades will be bruised and sore. Yours will be able to fight all day if you order it."

Jim opened his mouth to retort, but Uhura squeezed his hand again. "He's from the Uplands," she said, "Their traditions are different; he is always ready to fight."

"I would never allow such independence," Craton said. "He shouldn't raise his weapons except at your command."

"He asked for permission, and I gave it," Uhura replied.

"They are not capable of making reasonable decisions," Craton insisted. "He should never use a weapon without your instruction." 

"He never has," Uhura said gently. "I trust him."

"If you had not already so foolishly married him, I would tell you to trade him away," Craton said. "There is something not right about him. I fear he will bring you grief." 

Uhura said, "He is exceptionally skillful in battle. I would go so far as to say he has no equal. It's one of his talents I spoke of earlier."

"It is the ceremony that decides the battle," Craton retorted, "not the warrior." Several of the warriors looked at her curiously. She dropped her voice and added, "Even if he were the best warrior ever born, there are but a few days of battle in this life, and many days to live with him." 

"Few battles," the keth said thoughtfully, "but I want to win them all." 

Craton shook her head. "The risks of having one such as him are too high; I will not allow it. Uhura, take your mate away. He's excited the warriors with this display. I will run them, then serve them some spice."

"Not too much spice," Tunton declared, "The lazy things do nothing but eat and guzzle my spice." Craton didn't reply. Walking onto the field, she began calling to the warriors to run. Tunton trailed after them, continuing to complain about the expense. 

The warriors ran past. Hendorff, with his robe retied and tucked up, was in the lead, orange dust staining his sweaty legs. Tan, farther back, waved as he passed. Jim longed to join them, but Uhura set a gentle hand on his arm. "You've inspired enough testosterone displays for today, sir," she said. He snorted.

Glancing sideways up at him, Uhura said, "Thank you for the self-control with Craton, sir. Just for the record, I thought you were great."

"Thanks," he said, a little embarrassed to be so pleased, "and we learned something. We now know that if Byten's people practice war like Tunton's do, we should have no trouble defeating them," he said. "I honestly think the six of us could take them."

"You might be right, but I hope we won't have to find out," Uhura said. They walked a few more steps, and then she added, "I admire that even today, you still make it about the mission."

"What do you mean, today?" he asked.

Rather than reply directly, she set a hand on his arm and said, "I appreciate how hard this mission is for you. This is not your type of planet, sir; most things you do well aren't much admired."

"You're right about that, Uhura. I hate it here," Jim replied cheerfully. "Let me warn you. If the worst happens, and we end up stuck here forever, I am going full Spartacus, leading an uprising and taking over. I won't do it on purpose, but it will happen."

Uhura laughed. "I have no doubt," she said.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twelve
The Travelers

Jim meekly followed Uhura to their tent. With everyone gone, it was quiet. There was nothing to do, and nothing more to talk about, so she decided to nap. Once he was sure she wouldn't notice, Jim slipped out. Keeping his hood up, he carefully avoided the more crowded parts of the village. He tramped past gardens of odd vegetables and stubby grain, and paddocks where myleth squabbled over dry bones. He walked until he came to the fence that marked the far end of the village.

He ran a finger along the spiked bark, considering how to climb it. Almost immediately, half a dozen guard lizards ran out of the brush and threw themselves at him, snarling and snapping. Jim stepped back involuntarily, thinking, they've ringed the whole village with lizards. It's great for keeping people out, but just as effective at keeping us in.

Afraid the lizard's noise would draw the villagers' attention, Jim hunkered down and chewed a bit of grass. This is a little like childhood in Iowa, he thought. Hiding outside, with nothing to do but watch farm animals, he thought. Nothing changes. I'm still sitting behind the fence, trying to figure out how to get out of here. The memory made him a little wistful. No, he thought. I'm not a miserable kid anymore. I'm the starship's captain, and I will finish this mission and get my people out of here.

The lizards didn't calm, but continued to snap and snarl. However, no one came to check, so Jim decided to stay a little longer. He looked at the mountain beyond the moat. The pass was easy to see; it was a raw wound of erosion, very rocky and exposed. That's where Byten is with our weapons. It wasn't easy to judge distances, but it seemed to him too far to walk in one day.

The lizards dug at the fence, growling fiercely. "Never mind," Jim told them, sighed, and stood up.

Uhura was gone when Jim returned to the tent, but McCoy had returned. He handed Jim a skein without greeting him. Jim took a drink, grimacing at the taste. Discouraged, he threw himself onto the stacked rugs that made up his bed, but gasped in pain and sat up, holding his side. He'd forgotten Hendorff's one good shot. 

"What's wrong?" McCoy asked.

"Nothing." Jim lay down more gingerly, careful of the bruise.

McCoy squinted at him suspiciously and asked, "Shouldn't you be out convincing the keth to go find our weapons?"

"That's Uhura's job," Jim replied, carefully, arranging his hands behind his head.

"She wasn't happy to find you gone," McCoy offered.

Rather than defend himself, Jim grunted noncommitally. McCoy sat on Uhura's side of the rug pile and studied his friend. "Penny for your thoughts," he grunted. 

Jim looked up at his friend. "It's been three days, Bones. We're halfway to the first beam out and no closer to getting those phasers than when we met Gat. If Tunton won't take us to Byten, we will have to go ourselves."

"Okay," McCoy agreed.

"I did some scouting. I wasn't encouraged by what I saw."

"Which was?"

"The pass is very exposed. There are some woods on either side of the path. But staying under cover will make for slow going. After I don't know how long and we get to the top, we'd have no idea where in the thousands of mountain acres to look for Byten."

McCoy nodded, scowling thoughtfully. Jim continued, "I wonder if the only reasonable plan is to copy Sulu, head up there, and let Byten take us into her camp. But then what? Once we stole the phasers, she'd come after us. And she'd catch us! She knows those mountains; we don't. Even if she didn't, we'd need myleth to get back to the desert by pick up time."

Raising an eyebrow, McCoy asked, "What did you decide?"

"That this would all be much easier with Tunton's help."

"Have you asked her?"

"Like I said, this time it's Uhura's job," Jim replied morosely. 

McCoy nodded again. The friends sat silently, considering their options, until a horrible shriek tore through the air. Jumping up, Jim bolted from the tent. McCoy followed, moaning, "What now?"

Another scream echoed across the village. Dozens of chattering villagers ran past. Jim joined a group of clan warriors to chase after them. "What's happening, sir?" Tan asked. "I can't understand what they're saying."

Jim replied, "Stick together. We'll find out."

They ran to the muddy watering hole. Strangers, hooded men in dirty scarlet robes, ignored a teeming collection of villagers keening urgently to each other to unload a dozen myleth. Silently, they climbed over ornate crates, dropping heavy packs to others dressed like them. Jim saw Gat standing with some other hunters and asked, "What is it?" over the shrieking gossip of the clan.

Gat kept his eyes on the excitement and replied, "It's a caravan. The hunters reported it days ago. We expected it yesterday, but it never arrived. One of the myleth is injured. They are trying to get it unloaded."

Jim pushed through the crowd until he was closer to the pond. He saw a yellow-striped myleth, apparently riderless, thrashing and shuddering as the village boys circled it warily. One of the boys jumped for the animal's reins; it slashed angrily at him with its beak. The boy ducked and rolled out of range, the myleth shook its head, trying to see around its blinders. It raised its head and screamed. One of the boys threw a rock, smacking it's whither. It turned, striking at its tormentor. The first boy grabbed a rein and yanked the animal's head down. Someone tossed a blanket over its head.

Eyes covered, the animal stopped fighting, allowing two scarlet-robed men to clamber its flank to the saddle, which tilted under the extra weight. A stream of dark fluid ran out, staining the myleth's hide and puddling on the ground. The villagers hummed anxiously.

The scarlet-robed men lifted a third from the bottom of the saddle, his red robes wet with dark blood. Several villagers rushed forward to help. Suddenly, the rider cried out in some language Jim didn't know and went limp, falling into the upstretched arms of the villagers, who turned and ran into the village, carrying him over their heads—those gathered to watch made room, screeching among themselves about the injury.

The caravan members stood in tense groups of two or three, staring through hoods after their friend, until a tall, red-robed woman clapped her hands and screamed instructions in a language Jim didn't understand. Immediately, the travelers returned to work, jumping, climbing, lifting, and stacking their possessions in neat piles, ignoring offers of help from the village teens. 

Once stripped, the myleth were led to the water by their hooded riders. The tall woman waited to see all her animals drinking, then called, "Present me to your keth," in heavily accented Merti, and strode purposely toward the keth's tent. Most of the villagers joined her.

Before Jim could follow, McCoy caught his arm. "Look at that," he said, pointing. The yellow-striped myleth was limping badly as it was led from the water to a corral separate from the others. A long, open sore ran across its hock and thigh to its shoulder.  

"That's a burn from a plasma rifle," McCoy whispered. 

"It didn't kill it, so the shot must have come from some distance," Jim murmured.

"Maybe. It's a big animal, though, and we don't really have any idea what its hide is like," McCoy said. "Seeing it makes me wonder about the injured man."

"Go to the healer," Jim ordered. "Offer to help; see how much you can learn about what happened. I'll go into the village and see what they say." 

McCoy gave a terse nod and darted away. Jim ran behind some tents and cut through some gardens, beating the crowd to the keth's indigo home. The usual group of indolent young men lay in the shade outside it. Near the opening, Uja, the keth's favorite, lounged on a thick, comfortable-looking pile of rugs.

"A caravan has arrived," Jim announced. "I thought your keth would want to know."

Uja's face twisted angrily. Springing up, he spat, "You have no power here, ghost."

"Ghost?" Jim repeated, wondering if he was translating the word correctly.

Uja said contemptuously, "I know what you are."  

"You do?" Jim asked, honestly confused.

Uja snarled, "Go back to the desert where you belong. You will not burrow yourself into our clan."

Jim asked silkily, "Is it your clan? I heard you are still unchosen."

Several of the young men exchanged delighted looks. A few laughed, slapping each other's shoulders and repeating the jibe. Uja blushed angrily. Stepping closer, he hissed, "You are a ghost and your keth is a necromancer."

The other young men gasped at the insult to a woman. Several pulled their hoods up to hide their faces, but after anxious looks at Jim, a few urged Uja to call the keth. Uja snarled a refusal, then stood in the tent opening to prevent the others from entering. 

Before Jim decided how to reply, the red-robed woman arrived, led by one of the clan elders and followed by the chattering villagers. Ignoring Uja, Masn stepped to the doorway and called for the keth. Tunton appeared in the doorway, rubbing her eyes sleepily. Seeing the traveler, she darted back and reappeared with her robe tightly tied and hood over her face. 

"My keth," Uja whined. With a dismissive gesture, Tunton shoved him back. Villagers scurried out of her way.

"Rang!" Tunton cried, somewhat unenthusiastically, "At last. We expected you days ago." 

The woman, nearly as tall as Tunton, but thinner, pushed back her hood and replied, "Dear sister, for you I display myself with confidence. We expected to arrive earlier, but have had troubles. There was..." 

"Yes," Tunton interrupted. "You must tell me everything. Come, we'll eat and drink. Did you bring any wine?"

"A little," the woman replied. "Despite the danger, I saved what I could for you, because you are so fond of it. Even in that frightening time, I thought of you and the pleasure we take in sharing." 

"How little?" asked Tunton.

"I fought desperately," Rang replied, "inspired by my memories of our last visit when we became sisters, sharing everything in the pleasure we took in each other." 

"We are sisters forever," Tunton agreed stiffly, "However, on this visit, I am forced to insist you pay to use our oasis. In these difficult times, concern for my clan governs even my relationships with those I love most."

"Certainly, certainly," the red-robed figure said, grabbing Tunton's arm with a bony hand. "I insist upon it. Tell the boys to prepare our places, and we will drink together, dear Tunton, and discuss payment later."

Sounding more enthusiastic, Tunton instructed Uja to get food for the guests. Uhura pushed her way through the crowd. "Please, Keth Tunton," she said, "Might I join you?"

"What clan allows a child to address you so boldly, Keth Tunton?" the traveler asked, glancing Uhura's direction. Tunton replied, "That's Uhura. We found her in the desert. She claims to be the keth of a robbed caravan."

Rang cocked her head, studying Uhura with an expression like a cat watching a mouse. "That time thing?" she asked.

"Craton thinks she may be a dwarf," Tunton said, "I have a different idea. And there's more, so much more. You're not the only one with troubles to tell, Rang." She took Uhura's arm and whispered loudly, "It will take Rang a few hours to assure herself that her possessions are safe. We'll gather here tonight and share wine. Oh, and hear Rang's story, of course."

Chapter Text

Chapter Thirteen
Noodling in the Oasis

The possibility of progress on the mission left Jim keyed up. He knew it might be hours, and that nothing would hurry Tunton, but he found it impossible to relax. He paced the tent, letting out nervous energy until Uhura could stand it no more and said, "Let's go for a walk."

He pulled his hood into place, but as they left the tent, he warned her, "It won't help. Nothing's going to help until we find out if Rang can help us find Byten." He was frustrated when Uhura nodded without replying and added, "I don't see how anyone can relax. This could be the break we need."

"I hope so," Uhura agreed. "But I don't read her as the helpful type."

"Everyone's helpful if you ask them the right way," Jim insisted. "I think the best idea is to play up what a danger the dragon is, then convince Tunton that we, and only we, can get rid of it. She'll probably be grateful and give us everything we need. If that doesn't work, we'll have to go behind her back and deal with Rang. If we start tomorrow, we can get the weapons and be back to the ship in plenty of time."

"Plenty of time for what?" Uhura asked, raising an eyebrow. She waited, but Jim ignored the question. "The problem is, there isn't any dragon," she reminded him.

"She doesn't know that," Jim said. "I'm telling you, this is our in."

"I think it would be better to be as truthful as possible within the confines of the mission, appeal to her nobility, remind her that we need help, and are not a threat," Uhura countered.

"That definitely won't work," Jim said.

"Everyone likes," Uhura started, but Jim interrupted, "Look, Uhura, I've been thinking. If Tunton suggests she'd take a witch to the dragon, it's time you became a witch."

"What?" Uhura asked.

"Sorceress, whatever. Stop arguing, let her believe she's right; you're a witch. Then tell her a mortal couldn't possibly capture a dragon. She'll believe it. Tell her we'll take care of everything; all we need are some supplies."

"Captain, we can't just lie," Uhura started.

"Sure, we can," Jim insisted. "Getting the weapons is the mission."

"The mission is to retrieve the weapons without interfering with the planet's development," Uhura insisted.

"They already believe in witches, Uhura. We wouldn't be teaching them anything."

"My way builds a relationship, yours destroys it. That's dangerous."

Jim threw out his hands. "Dangerous, how could it be? You aren't going to hex anyone."

Uhura raised an eyebrow. "We don't know what sort of help we'll need after we get the weapons," she reminded him.

"We'll deal with that if it develops," Jim said. "Your way could take days, and we're running out of time. We need to get those weapons." He almost said, "Before Komak's team gets here," but managed instead, "Before someone else gets hurt."

"That is important," Uhura agreed, but stopped and waved her hand before her face. "What is that smell?" she asked.

Jim pointed at the muddy hole, surrounded by the fence of thorny trees. "I hadn't realized we'd walked so far. There's the watering hole where they unsaddle the myleth." 

Villagers, in family or caste groups, were gathered at the pond. Some sat under awnings painted with childlike figures in the Tunton blue, others huddled in the sparse shade of parasol trees. Several of the villagers had brought food and drinks in baskets. It looked like a picnic or a sporting event. Uhura asked, "You don't suppose this is the oasis they all keep talking about?"

"I guess it probably is," Jim said. 

"Somehow, I always imagined an oasis as more picturesque," Uhura murmured.

"It's not pretty," he agreed, "and it smells like wet chicken. What do you suppose everyone's doing?" 

"I have no idea," Uhura replied. "There's Gat. Let's ask him."

Gat was lounging near the shore with a group of trades. He jumped up when Uhura called to him. "What are we seeing?" she asked.

"The sport is great fun to watch, come and see," Gat replied. His friends moved back, giving Uhura an unobstructed view. Half a dozen young men plodded through the chalky greenish water. Each had a rope basket hanging from their necks and a nervous, unhappy expression. Even with his head covered, Chekov was easy to spot. His robe floated behind him, more grey now than white.

"No," Uhura said, "don't leave, I wish you to explain what they're doing."

Gat pointed to the mountains and said, "There were unseasonal rains last week. The underground river that feeds our oasis rose and washed animals from the mountains down here. When this happens, the keth sends the boys in to remove the animals."

"They're fishing," Jim translated.

"I thought it was taboo to go into the water?" Uhura asked.

Gat nodded, "This is work for the lowest trades," he agreed. 

"They send the boys after fish that are considered too dangerous for the myleth?" Uhura asked, incredulously.

"Yes," Gat nodded. "Exactly. When the myleth enter the water, these animals attach themselves and suck its blood. The myleth blames the animal next to it for the pain. Even with bits in their mouths, they're uncontrollable when they fight. They can damage the boys caring for them, each other, perhaps even a female. If they injure each other, their owners sometimes refuse to pay our keth for our oasis." 

"Is no one concerned that the boys might get hurt?" Uhura asked.

Gat shrugged. "They are low trades, unchosen and replaceable. 

Deciding it would be good to distract them both, Jim asked, "Do you eat the fish?" 

Gat laughed heartily, "Me? No! Delicacies like that are for the keth," he replied. "But here our generous keth has a meal cooked for her table and allows the boys to keep all the rest. They salt the majority and trade it to caravans for spice. I have never before lived in any clan wealthy enough to give even the lowest such opportunities." 

"Hello!" Chekov called, wading over.

"I'm glad to see you," Uhura said. "Why are you walking in our drinking water?"

"They syphon the drinking water above," Chekov laughed, pushing back his hood, "this is for pack animals."

"How's the fishing?" Jim asked.

"Disgusting. They are more like eels than fish, covered in slime and very ugly."

"Do you use the baskets as nets? Are they made of reed?" Uhura asked.

"No, they are to hold the fish once we catch them," Chekov said, "and they are made of a fungus called mother's gut. They call it that because they dig it out of the dirt and consider the planet their mother. Isn't that interesting? Apparently, it is pliable when harvested, but dries amazingly strong. Even the fish can't bite through it."

Sunburned, wet, and dressed in a filthy rag, Chekov discussed the fungus with every bit of the enthusiasm he gave an essential report on the bridge of the Enterprise. Biting back a laugh, Jim nodded gravely and asked,  "What are you using for bait?" 

"You wiggle your fingers in the water; the fish are attracted to movement and swim up to try to eat them."

"You're the bait?" Uhura sounded horrified. 

"It's called noodling, people do it all the time where I come from," Jim said in Standard, careful to keep his tone adoring. 

Chekov said thoughtfully, "They told me if I pay attention, I will be able to grab them and shove them in the basket before they bite me. I am not finding it as easy as it was described." 

"Why would anyone think this is alright?" Uhura asked angrily.

"Aah! That I do understand. They are protecting their livelihood," Chekov said. "The clan depends on the income from the travelers stopping at their oasis, but people don't pay if the eels damage their myleth. My coworkers are eager to help but afraid of the water. They drew lots for this work. I am not afraid and volunteered. It is not so bad."

"You're lucky Dr. McCoy doesn't know," Uhura said. 

"If you grab them by the head and hold them tight, they can not open their mouths," Gat said.

"You've done it?" Jim asked.

Gat crossed his arms defensively. "I am a hunter," he said.

"Now you've managed to offend him," Uhura said in Standard.

"Hunters are trained workers," Chekov clarified, "almost warriors. They can be trusted to work unsupervised." He gestured to the water and added, "This sort of work is for low trades." Gat nodded, looking mollified.

To change the subject, Jim asked, "Have you caught any?" 

"One," Chekov said proudly, lifting his basket. Something dark thrashed furiously. Uhura and Gat both took a step back.

"You grabbed that?" Jim asked, impressed. 

Chekov laughed. "It grabbed me," he replied wryly, holding up his left hand. A gash by his thumb drained watery blood. 

"Are you alright?" Jim asked.

The ensign shrugged cheerfully.

"Chekov, for goodness sake," Uhura said, rummaging in her robes, patting for a cloth.

An older man, Jim remembered him as Gepri, stepped closer, eyes widening as he stared at the gash. Grabbing Chekov's arm, he pulled him toward Gat's friends. He spoke rapidly in dialect, holding the ensign's hand out for them to see. The men yelped in surprise, then clustered together for a hushed discussion in the local dialect. They seemed uncertain what to do, but finally, Gat grabbed Chekov's hand in both of his. The ensign tried to pull away, but Gat yanked him closer. He scrutinized the wound, sniffed it, looked at it again, and then gingerly licked it. He said something loudly, and the whole group laughed. Chekov smiled nervously and looked back at Jim. 

Uhura lunged forward and grabbed Chekov's shoulder. She pulled him away, lecturing in dialect. The men shuffled back, heads down. "What's going on?" Jim asked in Standard.

"They are surprised that he bleeds," Uhura said tensely in Standard. "I told them they're idiots." She turned to Gat and said in Merti, "Get me a cloth, I am going to wrap this up." 

"He ate my blood," a scandalized Chekov told Jim.

"I saw," Jim replied. "Gat, why are they surprised? Didn't they know the fish bite?"

"We aren't surprised about the bite, but that he bleeds," Gat said as he ripped a piece of cloth from his tattered robe and held it out to Uhura. 

She took the dirty rag unwillingly and said to Chekov in Standard, "This is filthy. Show the wound to McCoy tonight and have him rewrap it."

"Yes, ma'am," Chekov said.

"Why are they surprised?" Jim asked again.

Looking scornfully at Gat and his friends, Uhura said in Merti, "Apparently, they now think it's possible he's not a daka."

Gepri replied softly, "Excuse these ignorant trades, kind lady. Most of them have never been out of the desert. When I lived in the city, I saw an entire caravan of colorless people like these. They spoke gibberish, in voices like rocks sliding down a hill, just as you do. I told them, but they would not believe me. I had been trying to think of a way to convince them that the boy is mortal. The deity too recoiled from their ignorance and sent her servant the fish, to bite your trade. Her justice is everywhere!"

Jim started to laugh. Forehead wrinkled, Chekov asked Gat, "How did a fish biting me prove I am not a daka?"

"A daka is made of water," Gat explained, "You are made of blood."

"Logical," Chekov said, so seriously Jim laughed harder. 

"But it looks like a daka, and acts like a daka," one of Gat's friends said. "How is this possible?"

"Perhaps," Gats said excitedly, "it is half a daka." His friends nodded, murmuring agreement.

The old man said grandly, "It doesn't matter what its father was; it bleeds, therefore it is mortal, and I win." He grabbed Chekov's head and shook him back and forth, a gesture of affection between trades Jim had seen before. "You won me some spice today, my friend."

"Happy to help," Chekov laughed. One of the young men still in the water called to him. He waved and added, "I should go. I would hate to miss all the fun, I guess."

Uhura said, "Try to keep your hand dry."

He saluted and trotted out to the pond. He had gone only a few steps before he slipped and fell. "Never mind," Uhura sighed.

"This stupid robe gets even longer when it gets wet," Chekov explained cheerfully, tucking it into his belt before shloshing out to join the others.

"I can't believe he's not a daka. Is it possible he's a fish?" one of the Metiolns asked thoughtfully. 

Jim looked over at Uhura. "Hear that? They think he's a fish. I guess maybe now you'll believe me when I say I'm not jealous," he said.

Chapter Text

Chapter 14
The Traveler's Tale

After what seemed to Jim an endless wait, Tunton finally summoned them to drinks with Rang. As he followed Uhura to the keth's tent, Jim ran scenarios in his head, trying to decide which of the keths would be more likely to be helpful. Between two tents, Gat sidled up nervously and said, "The hunting party with your man is overdue. It is the second this moon, and the keth is not happy. You should avoid discussion of it."

"Oh, Gat, your friends," Uhura said softly, stopping and touching his shoulder sympathetically, "this must be very hard for you." 

Gat's mouth fell open. He said, "You think of me, an unchosen trade before yourself? Truly, you are not like any other female I have ever served."

"Oh, I no, that can't be true," Uhura stuttered, aware too late she'd slipped out of character. Jim couldn't help feeling a little pleased and thought, Not so easy, is it?

Gat shook his head. "You are so kind," he said. "My conscience compels me to warn you."

"Warn me?" Uhura asked.

Gat leaned closer and whispered, "Be wary today, dear madam. The keth has learned of your servant's mortality. She is bitterly disappointed."

Uhura said slowly. "I suppose then, she also understands I am not a sorceress?"

Damn, thought Jim, we waited too long. I knew we should have started immediately.

"Bitterly disappointed," Gat said again, glancing nervously around. "There's more. The other trades whisper that Rang laces her wine with wake water."

"Wake water?" Uhura asked.

Gat nodded. "There seems to be no other explanation. They say every evening with Rang ends with mischief. It's so dependable that Craton won't drink her wine. Unfortunately, our beloved keth will."

"What do you advise? Uhura asked.

"I am a trade, madam, unchosen," Gat replied. "How could I advise you?" He scurried away.

As they approached the keth's tent, Jim saw several women from the previous night's dinner seated on rugs spread across the little courtyard. Craton was there, and most of the elders. The keth's young men sat inside the tent, watching the meal and listening. Tunton patted a space by her, and Uhura took a graceful seat. Jim dropped to the ground behind her, wiggling to make the sand more comfortable. Uja leaned out from behind the keth to glare at Jim, who smirked, then remembered his hood and made a show of nodding politely. Uja scowled and looked away. The keth handed Uhura one of the carved Metioln bowls. "Catch up," she advised. "We're on our second glass."

"You are," Rang muttered. "Not all of us have your talents, dear Tunton." The keth laughed, but Jim noticed the other clan members exchanged nervous glances. He peered over Uhura's shoulder as she slowly swirled her glass. The dark liquid smelled yeasty and wasn't as thick as Tunton's brew. Different, like Gat said, he decided, maybe it actually is wine. Who knows, but at least we should be able to stay awake.

A group of boys arrived, carrying baskets of food. Chekov offered bread to the keth, who grabbed his arm and pulled him down beside her. Pushing back his hood, she squeezed his jaw to hold his face still, and said, "Look at this, Rang, it's Uhura's. Have you ever seen anything like it?"

"What are you doing?" Craton barked, "Leave Uhura's people alone!" But Rang leaned across the blanket. She muttered to herself in her own language, grabbed Chekov's arm, and yanked him closer. She squinted into his face critically, then reached into his robe. Chekov jumped back, spilling bread onto the blanket.

"Hold still," Rang ordered. Reaching deeper, she felt around. Chekov froze, eyes big.

"Can you believe this isn't a daka?" Tunton asked angrily.

Rang snorted. "Of course not," she said, rooting for several more seconds. Finished, she frowned at Chekov, then said, "Give me your hand." Chekov blinked at her confusedly; she slapped his arm and said, "Your hand." 

The ensign held out his hand. Rang peered at it and then stroked it gently. "Not even calloused," she murmured appraisingly and rubbed her hands on her robe. Turning to Uhura, she said, "Your story moves me. He's no daka. Probably worthless, but I have some contacts, and since I am going anyway, I'll take him to the city and try to foist him off there. I will give you a better than fair price, because we are both guests of dear Tunton." 

"We don't sell trades here," Craton snapped.

"He's not for sale," Uhura echoed. She sounded pleasant and respectful, but her smile looked forced.

"Oh, you're one of those," Rang said, squinting at Uhura. "Fine, we'll trade. You can pick any of the boys traveling with me." 

"No," Uhura explained, "He's a member of my household." Her tone was still light, but her posture was rigid.

Rang laughed, an odd, barking sound like someone pounding on wood. "My dear, your household consists of you, your mate, and four trades. You're completely dependent on Tunton's hospitality. She won't object to you arranging one less mouth for her to feed."

"It doesn't eat much," Tunton replied, leering at Chekov.

Rang continued, "I can't offer more. My expenses will be high. No one will buy such a thin boy. It'll be expensive to thicken him, and even then, he'll have to be painted before I can pass him off to someone in the city. That's not free, and if they discover the ruse before I leave, there could be complications. I'm willing to risk my reputation only because of the sympathy your story invokes." 

Craton muttered, "Your reputation," scornfully.

Uhura took a deep breath. "Are you finished with the bread?"

"Nearly," Rang said, and reached for a piece. Chekov, busily picking up the pieces he'd dropped, jerked away when she reached toward him. Rang laughed again, a joyless, staccato sound more indicative of pretended pleasure than the actual thing, and said, "Don't worry, I can't steal you away while your keth is watching." Chekov gave a little bow over the basket before holding it out to Uhura. 

"That is charming, the way he bobbed like that," Rang said. "Did you teach him that?"

"No, he came up with that himself," Uhura sighed.

"Can he sing?"

Uhura looked up at Chekov, who was staring at Rang with his mouth open, and didn't notice. After a few seconds, Uhura murmured, "I'm not sure."

"No formal training then," Rang said thoughtfully. "It would be nice if he could, but it doesn't really matter. I'll give you half a sack."

Tunton snorted. "He's worth far more than that."

"How would you know? You've never sold a trade," Rang snapped.

Craton said, "You're right. We don't sell our trades. It is a sin to profit from our young. Do you ever worry about your soul, Rang?"

"The world is not Clan Tunton," Rang said, "and we can't all afford the purity of your life here in the mountains. I'll give you two-thirds of a sack."

"He's not for sale," Uhura said again.

"Good for you, Uhura," Tunton replied, "so moral. Still, Rang is right about your situation. Perhaps you should trade with me. I am so worried about you that I'll give you a warrior for him. And you don't have to worry, I will be good to him. All our trades are treated like clan members, even those that remain unchosen. Look at Uja, he's done nothing but mess my blankets for years."

The ladies laughed, Uja flushed, his mouth a thin, furious line.  

"Your offer is exceptionally kind," Uhura said, glancing up at Chekov, who shrugged and held the bread out to her again. She took two pieces and handed one to Jim. "Go along," she told Chekov, "and cover your face. You are mine." He nodded, bowed again, and hurried away, pulling his hood up.

"Look at those ankles. How does he even walk on them?" Tunton sighed. "So delicate, like rain; you can see through him. I can't believe he's not a Daka." 

Rang leaned out to look after the young man and said, "I'll give you 3/4th a sack." When Uhura didn't reply, she added, "I wouldn't wait too long. If you do, he'll get worldly, and there are those who prefer them shy like that."

Tunton signalled to have her glass refilled. "There is no chance he will lose his shy around Uhura," she said resentfully. "She doesn't enjoy him." 

"Maybe not the way you would, but some of us realize a male can have a purpose beyond warming your bed, Tunton," Rang said. 

Several ladies tittered. Tunton shrugged and said, "Our cousin Uhura and you have something in common besides not knowing how to enjoy yourself, Rang. She, too, has seen a dragon."

"Is that true?" Rang asked, setting down her drink to peer at Uhura.

"Yes," Uhura replied, Jim was pleased to note, with confidence. "I led a caravan to the city. We were attacked in the desert, just under a day's journey from here. I lost all our animals and most of my people. I nearly despaired but was ultimately rescued by our host, the keth of the great clan Tunton."

Around the table, the older women smiled and nodded, clearly pleased with Uhura's response. 

"In the desert?" Rang asked sharply, glancing at Tunton. "How is that possible?"

"That's what we wondered," Tunton said bitterly. 

"We did not know there was an oasis," Uhura said, "and packed water accordingly."

"So you explained," Tunton agreed. "Strange though, there is only one trail through the mountains, and none of my hunting parties reported seeing you. You appeared as if by magic." She raised a knowing eyebrow at Rang, who snorted.

"I am not a sorceress," Uhura said firmly. Jim sighed loudly. She turned, offering him her half-full glass and a warning look.

"No, apparently not," Tunton said resentfully, "and yet somehow you got past us."

"You see magic everywhere, Tunton," Rang said. "You always have. Tell me, oh soothsayer, why would a sorceress strong enough to bewitch a daka need your charity?"

Tunton's mouth tightened angrily. Glaring at Rang, she said, "You're lucky my people found you, Uhura. Rang would have left you to bake in the desert, then stolen any of the trades that survived."

Rang laughed. "I would certainly have saved the daka. I would have to see the others to say if I would save them. But, tell me more of your story, Uhura."

"We would do better to hear yours," Uhura replied.

"If you insist," Rang agreed, sounding pleased. She threw her shoulders back and began to speak in a sing-song manner. "I am Rang, of Clan Choxtec. I followed my sisters onto the road, for all my clan are traders. I traveled with my aunt, journeying each fall and spring toward Greatcity. When my aunt grew old, I took her path for my own, and have been keth of my own caravan for twenty-four journeys. So regularly do I travel the path that each rock is known to me. Each night, the stars and I discuss the next day's journey. I have faced many perils, rain, sickness, lame myleth, and thieves. Always, my commands have inspired my warriors, and I have triumphed. No tent holds me, the road is my true home. 

"Talk about the dragon, Rang," Tunton said, refilling her glass, "and stop trying to impress Uhura. She won't sell the boy and has nothing else of value."

"You always think short-term, Tunton. It comes from having power," Rang said with another mirthless laugh. "I, conversely, must nurture my hopes for the future. As the old ones say, a stone dropped in a well causes ripples in the sea."

"You're no well, and she's no sea. Stop bragging and get to the dragon," Tunton replied.

Rang frowned, "I stop here for your oasis, Tunton, not to be ordered about by you. You charge enough spice for it; I will tell my story my way." 

Tunton grunted and took a noisy gulp of Rang's purple wine.

Rang continued, "Three days ago, I arrived at the Scren Clan, known everywhere for their metal work, with a load of ripe melons. I took five swords with shields from them and no less than ten trades for that load of old melons and some dried lizard meat. I led my caravan away, well pleased with the trades, and started up the mountain. The path, which I know so well, was inexplicably altered."

"How?" asked Craton.

"It was completely blocked, as if it had rained rocks," Rang replied. 

Or like someone blasted the side of the mountain with a phaser, Jim thought, and was pleased that Uhura sat up straighter, leaning forward with interest. 

"My niece thought it a trick by ghosts or other mischief spirits. She wished to return to Scren and get their help to clear the path. I saw an attempt by a bandit to divert us and refused. Rather, I ordered every trade to work and instructed them to clear the way. The work was slow, however, and I soon became aware of a new evil in the air."

"The dragon?" Tunton asked hopefully.

"Not yet," Rang said, shaking her head. "But the myleth sensed evil. We all know that given a chance to rest, myleth take it. But on that morning, on that road, mine would not settle. The sky was clear, yet they pawed and clucked, waving their heads about as if rain were coming. Their nervousness unsettled me, and I ordered the boys to work harder. They doubled their efforts at my command."

"Hah!" Tunton said loudly to Craton, who shushed her.

Rang frowned, but continued, "The rocks were so many that it was clear we would be delayed for hours. I then did two clever things."

Rang paused dramatically. Tunton sighed loudly, then asked, "And what were those, dear Rang?" 

Rang replied triumphantly, "First, I opened my store of wake water and served it to my warriors. They grew quarrelsome almost immediately. I told them the best way to hurt our enemy was to deny her my possessions. In their rage, they pushed the boys aside and began to move stones, fighting to show who could carry the heaviest."

"And the second clever thing?" asked Craton.

Rang twisted a stone ring as she spoke. "I made the myleth move."

"Myleth will not go over loose stones," scoffed Craton.

"Not willingly," Rang agreed. "But most living things will do the unexpected if offered the right incentive."

"You're lucky they didn't gut you," Tunton said dismissively. "Alright, you tortured frightened animals to save your possessions. Did it work?"

"It did, but I had gotten less than half my caravan across when there were screams in the brush above us, and warriors ran toward us, cudgels raised."

"What clan?" asked Craton.

Rang replied, "They were robeless, refusing to announce membership in any clan."

A concerned murmur ran through the older ladies. It seemed to please Rang who smiled and continued, "I screamed for my niece, Kenlti, to take the myleth already across the barricade and ride on hard. She obeyed reluctantly and led away those of my people who could ride. Those that remained, I ordered to battle. Thanks to my foresight in giving them the water, my warriors raised their cudgels eagerly and rushed the riders. Such was their fury, that it appeared the battle would be short. But then, the dragon entered the fight."

"Finally," muttered Tunton, frowning at her cup

"What did it look like?" asked Craton.

"I didn't see it," Rang replied, "but I saw its breath. Like red lightning, fire shot through us, catching my niece Tral, a boy, and Weged, the packer, now with your healer. Weged's myleth was struck by the same bolt that hit his rider. In its panic, it ran up and over the barricade. Faced with a dragon, others followed it. I managed to climb on a myleth as it ran past. I escaped, but fully a third of my caravan remained."

"How many did Byten get?" asked Craton.

Rang took another swig. "Six fully laden myleth, their riders, and twenty boys. A few managed to escape and caught up with us that night, when we stopped to burn Tral's body."

"She died," Uhura gasped. 

Rang dropped her head. "Twenty-three years old, and the favorite of her mother," she said. 

"What about the boy?" Uhura asked.

Rang shrugged, "How would I know? We left him behind."

"What of the warriors?" asked Tunton, glancing up. Jim watched her carefully. She kept her tone light but her dark eyes focused tightly on Rang. She's hiding it, but she knows how important this is, he thought.

"Four warriors were across," replied Rang, "I ordered the others to join me as I escaped. Only three did. The rest are mine no more."

"They'd had the water and were in the rage. I am surprised you could get that many. That means Byten got, what, twelve?" asked Craton.

"More. There were eighteen when we left home, and I had been traded eight more."

"Nineteen, and all trained," Craton said softly, looking at her sister. Tunton scowled.

At last, Jim thought, she's beginning to see how this could affect her. He glanced at Uhura, hoping she was noticing.

"Given the others we've heard of, she has sixty at least," Craton said softly to her sister.

"Was it the same for you?" asked Rang.

It took Uhura a second to recall she was being spoken to. "Oh, yes, very similar." 

"An entire caravan, all your wares, warriors, and beasts, lost to the dragon," Rang sighed sympathetically, "and I understand you lost another trade today. What a shame, you can hardly stand to lose more at this point."

"None of us can afford to lose trades," Tunton snapped, glaring at Rang. "She lost one, I lost an entire team of hunters, their myleth, tools, saddles, and game, but you spare no worry for me."

"They may yet return," Uhura said soothingly. Tunton swirled her drink, mouth a hard, angry line. 

"Do you know so?" asked Rang.

"I don't know it," Uhura replied, "but..."

Rang interrupted with her staccato laugh, "Divination must not be among your witch's talents, Tunton," she wheezed.

"No," Uhura tried, but Rang talked over her, "Don't worry, dear Tunton. You still have your oasis. Or you do until Byten parades her dragon into the village and takes it. Poor little Uhura has nothing." She leaned over the table, adding sweetly, "Sell the boy, recoup some of your losses."

"Enough," Tunton screeched, lurching to her feet. Bowls tottered, spilling dark wine. Uja reached out to settle it, and Tunton kicked crankily at him. He scurried back, giving her room. The clan women watched, faces impassive.

"As always, all responsibility falls to me," Tunton snarled, "I must stop Byten before she can not be stopped." 

Scowling, Craton said, "You would send your warriors against our blood cousin?"

Tunton snapped, "What choice do I have? Every day it gets worse, Craton! Where are my hunters? They were due back hours ago. No one will say it, but we all know. She stole them from me, her rightful keth! Rang's caravan is the first to come here in days. It is autumn, where are the traders who barter for our water? Afraid or dead, but not traveling! Rang is right, next she will bring her dragon here and let it drink our oasis dry."

Bingo, Jim thought happily.

"Dear Tunton," Uhura said gently, but Tunton waved her hand dismissively and turned to her sister. "Craton, how soon could we arrange a battle with Byten?" she asked.

"A day to prepare, a day to ride," Craton replied, "then, it would depend on how long it takes to find her."

Tunton snarled, "I will risk our prosperity no longer. In two days, I will take my warriors to the mountains and take the dragon for our own. We will bring Byten here to work in the kitchens." 

Rang caught Tunton's wrist in her bony fingers. "Keth Tunton, your decision is based in righteousness. The deity will bless your efforts. I will accompany you into the mountains. My warriors will perform with yours."

Tunton asked contemptuously, "You'd give them as a gift?" 

"As a loan," Rang replied quickly. "While they are with you, they can reclaim my property."

"Your property," Tunton hissed, "is now Byten's property, and it will be mine when I take it from her. I don't want your help, Rang."

Rang wheedled, "My warriors are superior."

Tunton snorted. "Your warriors were defeated by Byten already." 

"That was robbery, not a battle," Rang insisted. "I keep only the best and most graceful warriors."

Tunton shook her head, scowling. "You gave them the water, and they still lost. Why would they perform better as loans to me? I don't need your help and won't share my spoils. Rest your myleth now, but I want you gone when I return with my dragon. Any warriors here when I return victorious will be mine. You can buy them from me when you travel this way again in the spring." She grabbed a skein of Rang's wine and stumbled toward the open door of her tent. Uja jumped up to follow, and the boys in the doorway scattered.

We've fixed nothing, Jim thought. She has to act now. We can't waste this chance. "We have to go with her into the mountains, Uhura," he said. 

"It's not the right time," Uhura replied, shaking her head. "She's drunk and angry and scared. Wait."  

They spoke in Standard, but Tunton guessed the topic. She whirled around, pointed a shaking finger at Uhura, and said, "Or you. We rescued you, fed you, and humored your rude trades. Why? So that you would help us. But you've done nothing for my people. I will share with you exactly what you have shared with me. Nothing. What I claim will be my reward, not yours. I'll keep that dragon. Do you hear?"

"Ask her," Jim ordered. Uhura ignored him. He stood up and called, "I will go with you, Keth Tunton. I will fight your enemies."

Tunton sneered. "Control him, Uhura," she snarled, "or I will feed him to the myleth," and staggered through the door. Uja darted after her and pulled the flap closed.

"If only she'd served our spice wine," one of the old women said sadly. "It makes her sleepy."

"Perhaps the keth will feel differently in the morning," Uhura said.

Rang shrugged. "She very likely may, but it won't matter. Tunton often acts a great stupid oaf, but she is not. To back away from a pronouncement like that, made in public, would suggest weakness. Your only hope would be to buy her favor, and I do not think you are that rich." 

Uhura nodded. Ignoring the sympathetic murmuring of the other women, she rose and walked silently away. Jim hurried after her. When they passed the warriors' tents where the men were lounging outside, sharing soup and beer, Hendorff and Tan left their friends and joined them. They'd been drinking and were in good spirits, chattering together until they neared their tent, when Hendorff asked, "What's our plan, captain?"

Still angry at the missed opportunity, Jim said. "I need to think."

"You needed to think a few minutes ago," Uhura hissed.

Jaw tightening, Jim pretended not to hear her.

Uhura stepped in front of him. "Sir," she whispered angrily. "We need to discuss what happened and what we will do about it."

Stepping around her, he said, "Lieutenant Uhura, I will tell you when I, your captain, reach a decision."

"Yes, Captain Kirk, sir," Uhura told his back. 

I'm not sorry, and she's crazy if she thinks I'm going to apologize, Jim thought. He reached for the tent flap and said, "We have to get included in that war party."

Uhura came after him. She said, "Sir, I don't believe we will accomplish that goal."

Jim stopped, biting his lip. Uhura continued, "I have years of training to interpret body language in humanoid species. You brought me on this mission because of my expertise. You put me at point, and I told you what we needed to do. Then you disregarded my advice." She paused, smiled, and nodded at some elderly villagers passing their tent. She turned back to him and continued more softly, "Sir. I do not understand your decision."  

Jim pushed past her into the tent. In the gentle fluttering glow of an oil lamp, he saw Chekov and McCoy sitting together on the floor. The ensign jumped up, respectfully acknowledging his captain, but avoided meeting Jim's eyes. Noting the ensign's pale unhappiness and McCoy's tight lips, he decided, they've been arguing. McCoy grunted a greeting. It bothered Jim far more than it usually did, but he didn't stop to think about it, only said, "You missed dinner." 

"On purpose. Today turned my stomach," McCoy replied, pulling a small skein from his pack. He opened it and poured dark fluid into a small Metioln bowl. 

"What's that?" Jim asked.

"Bourbon," McCoy replied. 

Uhura asked, "Where did you get it?" 

"That's what's in the extra bag Scotty slipped in my pack," McCoy replied. He set the bowl down carefully, retied his bag, and added, "Man's psychic. He knew I'd need it on this one."

Chekov glanced nervously at Jim, who said, "We're on duty, Bones."

"I realize that, Captain Kirk," McCoy replied sarcastically. "Do you honestly think I would be sitting on a dirt floor pouring good bourbon into a hollowed-out rock if I had a choice?"  

He'd been struggling to control his anger since the dinner, but a cold fury Jim hadn't felt in years reached up out of his gut. He wanted to punch something, even his friend, scream that he couldn't keep them safe if they kept making everything harder. Instead, he swallowed his anger and forced himself to breathe slowly. I am the captain. I'm responsible for these people, even when they don't cooperate, he told himself. "Dr. McCoy," he said quietly, in a voice he knew most people couldn't ignore, "I'm warning you, I've had enough insubordination for one night. I'm asking for a report. I expect an answer."

McCoy stood up, his jaw thrust forward like he too was spoiling for a fight. "While you all enjoyed your dinner, I attempted to help the local healer treat a disruptor burn. Therapy consisted of spooning herbal cordial into the patient's mouth. 'Course they couldn't even do that until he was too weak to insist on keeping his face covered. Agony before dishonoring the clan, I guess. Probably didn't matter much, as far as I could tell the syrup didn't do him much good."

"He died?" Uhura moaned. 

"At least it was just a trade," Tan said. Hendorff shot him a warning look, but it was too late. The senior officers' heads jerked in his direction, like kites on a string. Aware too late of his mistake, Tan said, "I only meant a laborer probably wasn't going to affect history all that much."

Uhura replied sharply, "Leaving aside the moral value of every individual, on a practical level, we can't know who's important, Tan. Now, even the children that particular individual would have fathered will never accomplish whatever things they would have done."

"What are the chances?" Tan began. Hendorff shook his head and stepped away. 

McCoy interrupted, face scarlet. "I don't care if he intended to live the next 80 years completely alone in a hole in the ground. I don't care about what he was supposed to do; I am furious about what he did, which was to die in agony while I stood there, full of knowledge that could have saved him, and unable to use any of it." 

"It's not your fault, Bones," Jim said gently, his anger evaporating as quickly as it came. "On this world, death occurs every day. It was that way before we got here, and it will be that way after we leave. Bourbon won't change it."

"Don't patronize me. I'm a doctor. I've seen plenty of unnecessary deaths. I don't need you to explain it to me," McCoy said grimly. He thrust the bowl of bourbon at Chekov. "Drink it," he said, then looked back at Jim. "It's medicinal."

"What's wrong with you?" Kirk asked.

Chekov eyed the doctor warily. "Nothing, sir," he murmured.

"What's wrong with him? Among other things, he's marooned on a backwater planet that practices slavery and doesn't use antibiotics," McCoy snapped. "He's had a shock, and bourbon is the best help I can offer."

"I'm talking to Ensign Chekov," Jim said firmly, then addressed the younger man, trying to sound encouraging." Listen, Chekov, I understand Rang was a little embarrassing at dinner, but different cultures have different standards. You'll have to toughen up if you want to go on away missions."

Chekov opened his mouth but closed it quickly and looked away, blushing.

McCoy scowled. "What's a Rang?" he asked.

"The keth of the visiting caravan. You saw her-the take-charge, tall woman in red. She wants to sell Chekov in the big city, or something," Jim explained. "She...investigated him at dinner."

The doctor scowled, "Is that so?" he asked Chekov. 

Beet red, the younger man shrugged.

"Why didn't you tell me?" McCoy muttered and splashed a little more bourbon into the bowl while telling Jim, "Chekov's upset because the healer pressed him into service disposing of the body."

"Oh," Jim felt a surge of pity, but reminded himself that Chekov was an officer and needed to act like one. "That couldn't have been pleasant," he said, "but the principle is the same. You have to remember, Chekov, every society has unique rituals around death. It may seem very bizarre to us, but we..."

McCoy interrupted, his tone bitter. "Tell them what happens to an unmated man when he dies on Metiol, Chekov."

The young man didn't reply. McCoy continued, "Imagine Ensign Chekov's surprise when the healer said they needed to be quick or the corpse would cool off." 

"Perhaps rapid disposal of the dead is a part of their religion?" asked Uhura.

"No, it wasn't that. Apparently, the myleth will only eat fresh meat," McCoy replied.

"The myleth?" Hendorff asked.

"Yes," McCoy continued. "The healer had them drag the body over to the corral and feed it to the myleth. Turns out that a male is only as important as what he can do for the clan; giving his body as animal fodder is the very last thing an unmated trade offers his keth."   

"Oh, Pavel," Uhura said gently, "I'm sure that was hard to see, but the captain is right; views on dying and disposal of bodies are culturally specific. Try to remember, he was past suffering."

"I understand," Chekov said. "I'm sorry, but," 

"Common decency isn't something you apologize for, Chekov, "McCoy interrupted. Turning to Jim, he added, "He had a panic attack."

"No," Chekov insisted more forcefully than Jim had ever heard him address a superior officer.

"It was a perfectly appropriate response, Chekov," McCoy said. He looked at Jim. "In my professional opinion, he needs some sleep. On the ship, I'd prescribe a relaxant. Currently, my medicinal supplies are limited to liquor." He pointed to the bowl and said, "Drink up, boy."

The ensign's jaw tightened rebelliously, but he took the bourbon. He drank it, grimacing at the taste as he handed McCoy the bowl. After checking to see it was empty, the doctor ordered him to bed. Chekov pulled a rolled rug from the stack and dropped it to the ground. He kicked it open and lay down, staring silently at the lamp, its flickering light reflecting in his pale eyes. 

McCoy busied himself rearranging his pack, loudly questioning the security guards about their days while sneaking sideways glances at Chekov, who lay stiff, white-faced, and uncharacteristically silent. When McCoy stepped out of the tent to visit the gardens, Uhura pulled a rug close to Chekov, leaned over, and whispered in Russian. He replied, softly, but at great length, breaking off and turning over when the doctor returned.

Jim glanced at the ensign's rigid back. Maybe Bones is right, and this planet is cursed. It managed to get even Chekov in a bad mood, he thought.

Tan and Hendorff sat by the lamp using small rocks like dice to play a game they'd learned from the warriors. When Tan yelped over a good throw, McCoy ordered them angrily to be still. After several resentful minutes, they too got out their rugs and lay down. "Hey," Tan asked, "Did you hear the hunting party is overdue?"

"That's a good thing, though," Uhura said quickly, glancing at Chekov. "We assume it means Lieutenant Sulu's plan worked. Perhaps he has already found the phasers and is starting back. Maybe we will leave for the Enterprise tomorrow." She tapped Chekov's shoulder and added, "If so, we'll need you to lead us to our beam-out spot, so you should rest."

Rather than reply, Chekov pulled his hood over his head and curled into a ball. Shortly, Tan dozed off. Hendorff started snoring a few minutes later. 

Jim waited until he was certain his youngest officer was asleep to gesture for the doctor to come outside. Rising quietly, Uhura followed. Once he'd closed the tent flaps, Jim whispered, "Is he going to be alright?"

McCoy snapped, "Are you asking if you can count on him to perform his duties? I assume so. Not that I can do much about it if he isn't. No such thing as restricted duty on a planet where one mistake means you're dinosaur food. I warned you about this, Jim. No one ever listens. If you ask me, no child,"

"I didn't ask, and he's an officer of Starfleet, not a child," Jim interrupted wearily. "I just wanted to know if I could help."

"Alright, kid," McCoy said more quietly. "I know. You're right." He fidgeted for a minute, then said, "He had a panic attack." 

"That's not what he says," Uhura said.

"He's just embarrassed," McCoy replied.

"He's never done anything like that before," Uhura insisted.

"Well," Jim said, "seeing your first body torn to pieces is always a bit of a shock. How bad was he?" 

McCoy shrugged. "It wasn't dramatic; I might not have even picked up on it if I hadn't been sitting right next to him. He got pale and a little short of breath; he didn't answer me when I spoke to him. He'd pretty much got it under control by the time you all lumbered in here."

Uhura said. "He told me he was sad, not scared, and you misunderstood." 

"Well, when he gets an MD, I'll be interested in his opinion," McCoy said.

"Why was he sad, or panicked, or whatever? What were you doing before it started?" Jim asked.

"Talking."

"You were talking?" Jim asked suspiciously. "About what?"

McCoy scowled. "He came in and told me about the myleth."

"And?" Jim asked.

"Well, I won't pretend I was excited to hear what happens to unclaimed bodies around here. When it occurred to him that it's probably already happened to Sulu, that's what set him off." 

With narrowed eyes, Jim asked, "It occurred to him, or it occurred to you and you had to mention it?"

"It sure as hell occurred to me," McCoy replied.

Jim threw out his hands and said, "Did you honestly think it was a good idea to tell him a dinosaur ate his friend?" 

McCoy snapped, "I prefer to be prepared when things go wrong." 

"Bones," Jim barked, "I know it's how you let off stress, and the things you say don't mean that much to you, but they can mean a lot to the people that hear them."

Uhura crossed her arms. "He said he tried to explain, but you wouldn't stop insisting he was scared."

"He should be scared. Hell, we all should be. Have you looked around? We're stuck in the middle of the dark ages with dinosaurs. We're no closer to leaving here than when we started, and we're already missing one of our crew."

"Stop," Jim said, "Sulu isn't missing; he never planned on returning. Chances are good he's doing reconnaissance in Byten's camp right now." 

"You hope," McCoy said. 

"That was the plan," Jim reminded McCoy and himself. Yes, that was the plan.

"But we don't know," McCoy said. "And the chances are just as good we'll never see him again. Maybe I should be glad it's just a matter of time till we all end up as dinosaur food. At least when we're all dead, I can stop worrying about us." When no one replied, he kicked at a rock and muttered, "I hate this planet. I had a bad feeling about this place before we materialized."

"Bones," Jim said, "I swear to you, I am going to get those weapons and then we're all getting off. I won't let that happen to any of us."

"Me either," Jim admitted. "It was like suddenly everything,"

"Just kind of exploded," Uhura finished for him.

Jim nodded. "It was weird," he said.

"Yes," Uhura agreed. She cleared her throat. "Sir, I trust you completely, and I don't want to replace you, Captain Kirk, but this mission would go easier if you would trust me too."

"That's for sure," McCoy nodded.

"However," Jim said, "the mission is the important thing, I didn't ask for it, but..."

"Yes, you did," she interrupted. 

"What's that supposed to mean?" McCoy asked.

"I'm a communication specialist," Uhura explained. "I can read lips. He didn't just volunteer; he teased Admiral Komak into giving us this mission. He wanted to prove he could do it and he didn't know what he was getting into."

McCoy turned to him, eyes wide. "I didn't know everything," Jim started, but he stopped. His stomach twisted painfully. I did what I always do, he thought, jump in without looking, but this time I brought all of them along for the fall. 

Uhura went on, "You say the mission is important, but you act like the important thing is that everyone realizes you're in charge. And it's not just you. Hendorff and Tan are in some sort of pissing contest with the local bodybuilders. The doctor," she glanced apologetically at McCoy, but continued without faltering, "complains to everyone about everything, and Sulu's off on some quixotic solo weapons retrieval. I ordered you all to act like Metiolns, and Chekov is the only one even trying." 

"And he's not great at it," McCoy threw in. "What the hell is a daka anyway?"

"You're right," Jim told Uhura quietly. "I was excited about the possibility of a retrieval mission before we even left the ship. I focused on that instead of the mission we had. You did the prep work; you'd be better qualified to lead this mission than I, even if Metiol weren't a matriarchy. Look, I won't pretend I've ever been good at taking orders, or honestly, even suggestions. And I did want this mission; I don't apologize for that. But nothing is more important than getting my crew back safely. I will do anything to get us out, even if I don't like it."

"Right," Jim said, "we work together." Too late, he realized he'd restated Uhura's orders again. However, the communication officer didn't say anything, so he followed her into the tent, promising himself he'd be more careful.

Chapter Text

The Fourth Day
Chapter Fifteen
An Idea at Last 

Jim opened his eyes. Somewhere outside the tent, Bones said, "I was a doctor before you had permanent teeth. Don't you argue with me." Sighing, he pushed the blankets back, hurried out the door, squinting in the brightness of the sun just beginning to rise. Past the neighbors' garden, he could make out Bones standing in the path beside Chekov. Now what? Jim wondered and cut through the garden to join them.

"Sir," the ensign said, coming to attention.

"What's up?" he asked, tucking his hands under his arms against the morning chill.

"Tell this young fool to get back to bed," McCoy said.

Uhura slipped out of the tent and joined them. Jim felt embarrassed again about the previous evening, but he nodded politely and asked Chekov, "How do you feel?"

"I feel fine, sir," Chekov said.

Jim nodded. "Let him go to work, Bones."

"The hell I will, he's had a shock."

Chekov rolled his eyes. "I am sorry I caused you concern, Dr. McCoy. I should not overthink things. It is a bad habit. I will not do it again. I will be late if I don't go now, sir." 

"Go," Jim replied. 

Chekov took off like a shot, running into the dark toward the kitchen, calling, "Thank you, sir," as he disappeared. Uhura smiled gratefully at Jim.

"I thought we agreed to accept each other's areas of expertise," McCoy huffed.

"Yeah, we did," Jim agreed. "His is doing dishes, so let's let him get to it. And now that we're all up, what's our plan, Uhura?" 

"I've been thinking all night," Uhura said, "I think we should attempt to apologize to the keth. If I do it publicly enough, she may be willing to make a display of generosity. Maybe."

"Okay," Jim said. 

Uhura eyed him skeptically, "You're going to have to seem contrite, sir."

"Yes," he agreed.

"Apologizing is definitely not your area of expertise," McCoy snapped.

"Well, we're all stretching on this mission," Jim replied. "I get it, Uhura. I'm ready to grovel. Lead on, my keth."

The meadow was nearly empty, no warriors lounging at their table or workers waiting for food. The ladies were already eating at the main table, but neither Tunton nor Rang was present. Uhura asked after them, and one of the older women said Tunton had eaten at home because regrets taste less bitter in private. Several laughed, but another hurried to suggest the keth was dining at home to supervise the packing of her war robe. 

With no Tunton to impress, behaving seemed like a waste of effort, but Jim sat quietly and waited for his portion while Uhura asked about the war party. Every time she brought it up, the clan women changed the topic or talked over her, refusing to discuss anything that had happened the night before.

Discouraged, they finished their meal quickly and walked through the village.

"Well, that didn't go too well," Jim said. 

"I'm at a loss," Uhura said. "I don't understand what we're missing." 

Jim said firmly, "It's obvious she needs help; it's in her best interest to allow us to help her." 

"It's obvious to us."

He shook his head. "It's obvious to her, too, Uhura. Tunton doesn't stay ruler of the wealthiest clan in the neighborhood without knowing how to recognize a threat. She knows she needs to fight. She knows she's going to need all the help she can get. She was impressed when she saw us sparring. She has some reason for refusing us." 

Uhura considered. Finally, she said, "It's got to be cultural. Ordinarily, we'd have sent social scientists in for years of observation before a first contact. The long-distance scans give us descriptions but no context about how a society works. We're missing something."

"Uhura," Jim said, "we're running out of time. If we can't get her to help us, we'll have to do it ourselves. We have to get those phasers."

"Could we travel behind the war party and take advantage of the battle confusion to find the weapons?"

"But once we have the weapons, we have to get them out. There's no cover coming down the mountains or on the journey back to the beam-out spot. It would be easy for either side to catch us and steal the weapons back."

"I didn't even think about returning them to the beam-out spot," Uhura murmured. "It's another reason for building a cooperative relationship."

When Jim didn't reply, she said more gently, "You're right about the exit being complicated. Maybe we could get Rang to sell us some myleth?"

Jim squinted. "Tunton will probably insist that all available animals go to battle with her." When Uhura raised an eyebrow, he shrugged and said, "I would. And even if we could get animals, we'd need supplies."

Uhura said. "It would be obvious we were leaving, and they'd want to know why. The myleth are part of these people's lives. They're going to be better at managing them than we are. If we stole some, we couldn't count on being able to outrun them." 

"Exactly," Jim agreed.

After a few seconds, Uhura said, "I think our best bet is to continue to work on Tunton. If we have to fight, it would be better to do it in a culturally appropriate and not suicidal way."

Jim growled, "I wouldn't ask suicide of any of you. We've beaten tough odds before."

Rather than argue, she said again, "We need Tunton." 

"But what if we don't get her?" Jim asked. "You saw that man yesterday. We can't let Byten use our technology to hurt people like that. We have to stop this, and we need to do it soon." 

She nodded, lost in thought. They walked, considering options, till they again came to the oasis. The boys were again wading through the water. It was easy to pick Chekov out, walking in his filthy white robe, wiggling his fingers well above the water.

Jim laughed. "Look at that; he isn't taking any chances on getting bit again."

Uhura shook her head. "No," she sighed. "He's trying to fish like the cook asked and keep his hand dry like I told him to. It's hard to serve two masters."

"I suppose," Jim replied, his attention on Gat and some of his hunter friends, sitting by the water's edge, cleaning their bloody gear. They nodded respectfully. "Still not a daka," Uhura said, nodding toward Chekov.

The men laughed, and Jim added, "I'm not a daka either."

The men laughed more loudly. One said, "No one would mistake you for one."

"Why not?" Jim asked.

Gat said kindly, "A daka is happy, charming. It brings pleasure wherever it goes. You aren't like that."

"Oh, my God," breathed Uhura. "Why, why wasn't I carrying a tricorder for that?"

Gat continued, "No, the speculation was that you were a ghost."

"A ghost?" Jim asked. "Uja called me that. Why would they think I am a ghost?"

"Because you look dead," one of the men said, patting Jim's arm below his sleeve, "like a corpse left to rot in the desert."

Another added, "And your temperament is quarrelsome and unsettled. That is common among the dead."

"And," the first man said, "you appeared after a rainstorm, which everyone knows, raises the dead."

"Everyone," Uhura agreed mischievously. 

"Of course, not everyone believes it. Some point out that the dead don't speak," Gat said, "and you are seldom quiet."

"This just gets better and better," Uhura murmured. 

Jim joined the laughter, but an idea had come to him. "Gat," he said slowly, "is your keth unwilling to accept assistance from mine because she thinks I am a ghost?"

Uhura turned to Gat hopefully, but the Metioln said dismissively, "My keth is afraid of nothing. When Uja warned her against sitting you at her table, she said if your keth could tah a ghost, she could eat with one."

The other men laughed loudly. Uhura shook her head disapprovingly. "What's tah? I didn't understand," Jim asked.

"Tah is dialect for, um, well, for what mates do," Uhura explained quietly. "It isn't a very polite way to say it."

"Don't discuss our tah situation, Uhura," Jim said in Standard. "If we end up stranded here, I'd like to cultivate a certain image."

Uhura rolled her eyes but didn't reply. 

Gepri said, "Tunton is not afraid of you; she resents the insult you've offered." His friends nodded, murmuring their agreement. 

"It is one thing," one of the Metioln said, "to accept rudeness from a sorceress who comes to claim her stolen dragon. It is quite another to tolerate it from a child lost in the desert."

"But, how were we rude?" Uhura asked. 

The men stopped speaking, exchanging guilty looks. They gazed at the sky, or the pond, anywhere but at Jim and Uhura, and didn't reply.

"Uhura," Jim said in Standard. "I think this may be important, and they're too worried about insulting you to say more while you're here. Order me to stay put and then go inspect the view from the other side of the pond."

Uhura nodded. She frowned and said in Marti, "Your coarse language makes me long to speak to someone sensible. Stay here, Captain Kirk, I want some peace." Lifting her robe, she walked imperiously through the soft mud to join some women.

The men watched her go. "Are you in trouble?" asked one.

"No," Jim said. "She has a short memory for my failings."

"You're lucky," one of the hunters sighed.

Jim shrugged. "She was angry with me last night."

"I told you, Rang adds wake water to her wine," laughed Gat, "You drank it anyway! You don't need the water, my friend!" The others agreed, and several recommended that Jim use more spice.

Jim continued, "My keth believes my forwardness insulted yours. Do you think that is true? Was my rudeness why your keth won't include us in her war party?"

The men looked surprised. Gat said, "Our keth would not care about the drunken rambling of someone else's mate. Her concern is to protect the clan."

"From what?" Jim asked.

Gat looked surprised. "From the dragon, of course," he said, throwing out his hands, as if it were obvious. 

"We don't have the dragon," Jim said cautiously.

"But you plan to get it," the old man said.

Jim had a brief spurt of panic, but told himself the keth couldn't possibly know they were hoping to retrieve their weapons from space. They mean dragon literally, Jim thought. They think we are going after a lizard that breathes fire. He tried to sound soothing as he said, "No. Uhura was robbed. She wants revenge, as any Metioln would."

Gat patted Jim's hand, "Revenge? No. You want the dragon, you speak of almost nothing else."

"We do?" Jim asked, chagrinned to remember he'd instructed the crew to use that phrase to get more information. 

"Our keth is worried about what you will do with the dragon once you get it," Gepri said. "What if Uhura turns it on the warriors and takes our oasis? Keth Tunton could not risk it."

"Uhura would never do that," Jim said.

"She's done nothing to imply she wouldn't," one of the men said. Several of his friends nodded.

"How could my keth convince yours she doesn't want to steal from her?" Jim asked. 

Gat said, "The usual things."

"The usual things?" Jim asked, trying not to sound too eager.

"Yes," Gat said. "Most people start as soon as they arrive."

How do I get you to tell me what the usual things are? Jim wondered. This is the sort of circular conversation that drives me crazy. He tried to imagine what his communication officer might say. He came up with, "What did the last people who needed help do?"

Gat looked at his more established friends for help. One said. "They provided a meal for the clan and presented the keth with weapons and trades. As Gat said, nothing unusual."

"Trades?" Jim asked, "But I thought?"

Gat interrupted, "Clan Tunton doesn't buy trades, but there is no harm in accepting a gift," he said virtuously. 

The men nodded. One added, "Most desiring a bond start immediately, with small gifts and compliments. You have left it so long that you will have to offer a lot. The problem is that yours has so few things that anyone would want. She could go to the city and sell the boy. He is low, but we wouldn't be the only ones to mistake him for a daka. The right buyer, a collector, for instance, might pay quite a bit for him. The problem is, the battle will be over before you can return."

Jim said, "I couldn't sell him."

"You wouldn't, your keth would," laughed Gat, then added, "She'd still have you, until she tires of you, which may be soon if you don't stop drinking."

"If he has been raised at all correctly, he will be honored to assist your keth," Gepri stated, "As part of a collection, he would be harem. I have seen promenades of the great keths in the city, displaying their collections. Magnificent. The members live in great comfort."

Most of the men nodded.

"We couldn't do that. We don't treat our trades as you do," Jim said firmly. "He's used to being acknowledged as an individual."

The men laughed harder than ever. Several poked Jim, a sign, he knew, that they considered his joke excellent. "What's so funny?" he asked.

Gat replied, "We have all seen how he jumps when you speak. Your clan treats your trades just as ours does, but yours have more people to obey." The Metiolns hooted appreciatively for Gat's wit. 

Jim flushed. "It's not the same," he started, but was interrupted by Gepri saying thoughtfully, "It would be faster to skip a step."

The Metiolns' laughter grew more raucous, and there were calls of, "That's right," and "She would like that!"

"I don't understand," Jim said.

Gat could barely speak for laughing, "Gepri is saying even if he isn't a daka, for that pretty boy our keth would happily forgo the meal and the weapons."  

"What do you mean?" Jim asked.

"Your keth could just give the daka to ours," Gat explained. 

"That would be enough?" Jim asked uncertainly.

Gat raised an inquiring eyebrow to his friends. One of the men said, "She wants him. Deity knows why. I suppose having him to trot out for caravans would make it easier for her to pretend those lazy boys she feeds are a collection."

"She wants to be city sophisticated," agreed another. "It would flatter her if she thinks you see her as she sees herself," The village men laughed harder, slapping each other in their enjoyment. 

Gat said thoughtfully, "He is not a son of the keth, but Uhura said he was raised in her tent. That is close. It would be a generous gift."

"Seriously?" Jim asked. He looked skeptically over the pond, where Chekov stood, hands well above the water.

"She has a weakness for his type," the old man said. His words set off another round of giggling, but the others nodded their agreement.

"Have you not seen Uja, whom she treats as her mate? What would he be useful for, except as a tent ornament?" one of the men asked, laughing so hard he could hardly be understood. 

As the Metiolns around him made crude jokes, Jim thought. At last, he interrupted to ask, "You're certain this is what we need to do to be accepted into the war party by your keth?" 

Gat nodded. "If your keth really wishes her warriors to perform, she must establish a sisterhood with Tunton."

One of the boys in the water yelped and clutched a hand to his chest, a long gray snake hung from his thumb, thrashing wildly. Other boys ran to him and started pulling at the animal. The young man cried out in pain. The hunting party hurried to the shore for a better look. There was laughter and encouraging calls from the shore. Uhura hurried back to Jim.

"Are you finished?" she asked. "I really would prefer not to watch this."

"Done," he agreed. "Let's go back to the village and find Bones. I have something I want to discuss with you both." 

Chapter Text

Chapter Sixteen 
The Idea Becomes a Plan

Uhura was nearly vibrating with fury, and Jim realized he wasn't the only one struggling to control his temper. Glaring at him, she said, "You are seriously considering selling a member of the crew to a brothel in exchange for military assistance."

"Vital military assistance, Uhura, and we aren't selling him, we're building a relationship; it was practically your idea." Uhura's eyes narrowed, her eyes tightened, and Jim added quickly, "It's a queen's home, not a brothel."

"There must be some other way," McCoy said, dropping slowly to the pile of rugs and rubbing his chin.

Jim was tired of repeating himself, but forced himself to try again anyway, "We're not selling him. We're just going to loan him out for a few nights. Think of it as a temporary assignment. It's not that big of a deal. We leave scientists at research stations all the time. He's an ensign. They're supposed to get field experience."

"This isn't a research station," McCoy said. "It's a medieval village on a no-contact planet. And the only research would be finding out precisely what an alcoholic despot expects from her harem." 

"He'll be perfectly safe," Jim argued. "In fact, he'll probably be safer here, away from the battle. Sulu said the warriors fight under the keth's direction. That means she'll be up in the mountains with us, and he might not even see her. We'll find the phasers, buy him back, and be on our way."

"What if she won't sell?" Uhura demanded. 

"There's no way I'd leave him here, Uhura. Worst-case scenario, he'd sneak off and meet us outside the village. It wouldn't be hard. He's not going to be chained to her bed. Those boys wander around doing what they want all day."

"What if something goes wrong, Jim?" McCoy asked. "He'd be alone here."

Nothing will go wrong, Jim thought angrily, but said, "Something could go wrong for any of us at any time, Bones. It's a risk we all agreed to."

McCoy's mouth twisted skeptically, and Uhura's lip curled disdainfully. Jim pretended not to notice and continued, "People spend their whole careers trying for the chance to embed in a no-contact world. It will look great on his record. It's a fantastic opportunity. He'll remember this experience all his life."

"Yes," agreed Uhura, "every Thursday when he relives the trauma with his therapist."

"This is his life you're playing with," McCoy added. 

I'm not playing with anything, Jim thought, but kept his voice calm and said, "This is a mission. We have three days to retrieve the phasers and make the first beam out. There are seven of us, six actually, since we aren't sure where Sulu is. We have no weapons, no supplies, no real idea where the phasers are, and no transportation. To have any chance of success, we must have Tunton's help. Gat says to get it, I have to give her some trades. He's who she wants. If either of you has a better idea, I would happily hear it." 

"I don't," McCoy admitted, "but I don't like this."

Jim stood a little straighter. "I don't like it either, but I wouldn't ask him to do anything I thought was dangerous." When neither of his crewmen replied, he added, "I wouldn't ask him to do anything I wouldn't do."

"I know that, Captain," Uhura said. "I wouldn't think it was a good idea for you either."

Jim gave up. "It's time to put the plan in play. Lieutenant Uhura, tell the keth that we are putting on a dinner tonight and have a special surprise for her."

Uhura flushed angrily. After a second, she put her chin up and said, "I would like to object formally, sir."

"Your objection is noted. Do as I ordered."

"Yes, sir," Uhura said, and saluted. Turning sharply, she pulled her hood into place and marched out of the tent. 

Jim watched her go, then turned to McCoy. "Go ahead, Bones, I know you have more to say."

"Fine," McCoy agreed. "Are you insane?"

"Bones, you saw that man last night." Jim paused to let the doctor recall the burns. "Our weapons are going to hurt more people. I have to get them back. This is the only way I can figure out how to do it."

"I know you didn't make this decision lightly," McCoy admitted grudgingly, "and I know you wouldn't willingly place any crew member in a vulnerable position, but..."

Jim interrupted before his friend could finish. "That's right," he said, "and to be honest, Bones, I am insulted Uhura thinks I would." 

"She doesn't think that, but..." McCoy started.

Jim interrupted again, "I wouldn't do this if I could think of an alternative. There is none. We have our orders. Mine is to get those weapons back; Chekov's is to assist me in any way he can."

McCoy gazed at him skeptically, right eyebrow raised. Jim stared back, daring him to argue. The doctor sighed. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

Jim shook his head. "I'll do it. But first, I need to go through the packs and get our peppercorns. I need to buy a bunch of eels from some teenagers, then bribe the cooks to fix them."

"I'm sure they'll be happy to help," McCoy said. "No doubt, so will Chekov. I'm not."

"Your objection is noted, too," Jim snapped, grabbing a bag of pepper from Tan's pack.

"It's not my objections that will keep you up nights if anything goes wrong," McCoy replied. 

"Then let's hope nothing does," Jim replied, pushing through the tent flap into the hot sun.

The boys were pleased to sell their fish. On his way to the kitchen, Jim ran into Uhura. She turned her hooded face away, but he stepped closer and whispered, "Did you speak to the keth?"

She nodded.

"And?" he asked.

"She is looking forward to the dinner and told me no gift was necessary. However, her reaction and the villagers' relief made it clear that a gift is very necessary." Uhura sighed, "She basically licked her lips. I still can't believe you're going to do this." 

"I definitely am," Jim assured her. 

She asked, "Have you spoken to the victim?"

"If you're asking if I've had a chance to speak with Ensign Chekov yet, then no," he replied.

She said softly. "Have you thought about how you're going to tell him? Do you honestly think it will be possible to look him in the face and tell him he's expendable?"

Jim gasped. He wanted to argue, but instead said firmly, "Watch me." 

"That, sir," Uhura replied calmly, "I do not choose to do," and walked away quickly, without looking back.

"Don't forget I need you for dinner tonight," he called. When Uhura didn't acknowledge him, he said more firmly. "Be at our tent before dark, lieutenant." 

A family of villagers gathered in their tent for the mid-day rest stared out at them curiously. Jim sighed and, switching to Merti, called, "Darling, see you at dusk." She didn't reply, he watched her go, then started to the kitchen, kicking angrily at anything in his path as he went. We have a mission. Why can't she just get on board? Does she think I'm doing this for fun? I told all of them; they're all here because of their unique talents. Well, he has more than one, as it turns out. How is this different from asking him to use the sky for directions? I am using the crew's skills to ensure the mission's success. That's what command is. He gave one rock a particularly hard bump, then watched it bounce down the path, spraying red sand, and thought, This is a perfect example of why I prefer to do things myself.

"Where's Chekov?" Jim asked Tunton's chief cook. She was resting in the shade with her staff, offering privacy to their metaphysical parents. 

"Playing stones in the shade of the low tent," the cook replied, holding out her hands for the drippy basket of eels like she'd been expecting them. "The keth's favorite," she said. "This will sweeten her mood."

"Not as much as the daka will," laughed one of the many trades lounging in the shade.

"No," agreed the cook, "she has wanted that since the sorceress arrived. Our Keth Tunton is not used to waiting." 

"She wants the daka more than she wants spice!" one of the cook's daughters suggested.

Her mother nodded. "For now, at least. Thanks to the sorceress's search for her dragon, our keth can have both!" 

They seemed to know more about what's happening than I do, Jim thought. Concern that he was being manipulated made him try again to think of an alternative plan. But raucous laughter distracted him, and looking up, he saw Tan and Hendorff, hoods back, faces sweaty, laughing with the warriors in their tent. His men jumped up when they saw him, and, leaving the shade, walked with him.

"The warriors are packing, preparing for a battle. They say they'll be going out in the morning," Hendorff said.

"They seem disappointed we aren't going too," Tan added. "If you don't mind, sir, why aren't we?"

"I'm working on that," Jim said. "Be ready."

"I'm ready now, sir," Hendorff replied.

"Security is ready anytime, sir," Tan agreed.

"Good men," he said. "Do you know how to make arrows, Hendorff?"

"Yes, sir. I have extensive training in weapon creation using found objects."

"Great," Jim said, "but I only want arrows today. Make me as many as you can. We need them for the keth. We're planning to buy our way into the war party."

"That's good news, sir. I'll take care of it," Hendorff said, exchanging pleased grins with Tan.

When they arrived at their tent, they found McCoy inside, talking quietly with Ensign Chekov. Seeing Jim, Chekov asked enthusiastically. "The doctor says there is something you would like me to do?"

McCoy hovered at Chekov's shoulder, scowling. Tan and Hendorff watched curiously. Jim took a deep breath, but found he had trouble starting. I should have practiced, he thought uneasily. As the quiet dragged on, Chekov began to fidget nervously. 

It's a mission, Jim told himself, like any other mission. Everyone needs orders. "Tan," he said, "Hendorff, this mission is important. If you hear anything that surprises you today, remember we are trying to pass as unremarkable and don't overreact."

"Yes, sir," the security replied in unison, exchanging curious looks. 

"Now, get out of here and go to work," Jim finished. As the security guards scurried to obey, he glanced at McCoy and added, "You too, Bones."

McCoy raised a surprised eyebrow, but for once didn't argue, just patted Chekov's shoulder and walked out of the tent without saying anything. 

Jim turned to the ensign, who was now watching him with wide, anxious eyes. This is a Starfleet operation, and I'm his commanding officer. It doesn't matter what he feels. I tell him what to do; he obeys. That's how it's done. Stretching his lips into what he hoped was a confident smile, Jim said, "There's been some developments, Chekov. I need to bring you up to speed."

Chekov stood straighter, shoulders back, automatically at attention. "Um, Jim faltered, "let's sit down and talk." He sat on the closest pile of rugs, wondering how to begin. Chekov sat gingerly on the same pile, but at the edge, as far away as possible.

Okay. Stick to the facts, no explanation or apology, Jim told himself. He cleared his throat and started. "I'm sure you've heard Keth Tunton has announced a plan to engage Byten." 

Chekov nodded. 

"We must go with her," Jim continued. He looked at Chekov doubtfully. "You understand why?"

Chekov took a deep breath, clearly preparing to enumerate every conceivable reason. Jim cut him off hurriedly, "We have to be there to take possession of the weapons. It would be catastrophic if Tunton found them." The ensign nodded again, and Jim continued, "I did a lot of research this morning. I know what we must do to win the keth's assistance."

"That is excellent news, sir," Chekov said.

"Yes," he agreed. Just tell him, he told himself, but instead he said, "They have some traditions here, which seem strange to us, but not to them." Chekov nodded again. Jim continued, "To win the keth's support, we need to give her some gifts, and one of them pretty much has to be a person, a trade. That's how they do it here. Every Metioln I talked to agreed."

Chekov nodded again, but slowly, less enthusiastically.  

I'm making this worse, Jim thought, I need to just spit it out. "I'm giving you to the keth,"  he said. 

Chekov's eyes widened. "Keth Tunton?" he bleated. 

"Yes," Jim said.

Chekov nodded again, very slowly. Remembering Uhura's comment about expendable, Jim kept talking, speaking quickly, saying more than he needed or planned to, just trying to make the plan sound noble, or necessary, or at least less mercenary. "I'm not really going to give you to her, Chekov. Well, I am, I guess, but I don't expect you to stay with her. It'll only be until we get back with the phasers, and she will be very busy with the war; you might not even see her."

Brow wrinkled, Chekov listened without comment. The ensign's silence bothered Jim far more than any of Uhura's arguments, and he kept going, "Really, this tradition plays into our hands. It's a good cover. I need someone to stay behind. It's important because," Jim paused, struggling to think of why it would be good to have someone stay in the village. "Because if something goes wrong, you can try again to get the weapons. You're our backup," he finished with satisfaction. "You're essential."

"I am?" Chekov asked.

"Essential," Jim said again. When Chekov didn't respond, Jim asked, "Do you have anything to say?"

After a few seconds, Chekov replied tentatively, "Yes, sir?"

"I'm not looking for an acknowledgement, Chekov."

"Oh," Chekov said, "then what? Are you asking me if I wish to do this?"

Jim shifted uncomfortably and decided to be truthful. "No. We have to go with that war party, and the locals say the only way to do that is to give Tunton a valuable trade. But I realize this must be a surprise, and you may have some concerns. We should take this opportunity to discuss them." 

Chekov shook his head and said, "There is nothing to discuss. I would choose me to stay here too."

"You would?" Jim asked.

Chekov nodded, "You are going to a battle, I would be far less help than anyone from security. I don't have the skills of Miss Uhura or Dr. McCoy. And you, of course, are essential, the head of the mission. It has to be me."

"So, you understand?" Jim asked gratefully. He'd considered many scenarios, acquiescence had not been among them.

Chekov shrugged. "Even if I didn't, it would not matter. You are the captain, sir. I follow your orders." 

Relief made Jim a little giddy. "Somehow," he laughed, "you are the only person on this team that seems to remember that. You should have heard McCoy this afternoon. And Uhura was worse. If we were really married, I'd be getting a real divorce, that's for sure. In fact, Chekov, next time you see Miss Uhura, make sure you tell her how excited you are to be the keth's trade."

Chekov smiled vaguely, clearly not entirely understanding, but happy to have pleased Jim, who continued, "Listen, Chekov, I'd do it myself, but I'm married, and apparently that makes me undesirable. Wow. What a relief! I should have known. Do you know what's great about you?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov replied, "I am quite gifted mathematically."

"What?" Jim stopped. "No, who would say something like that?" he asked.

Chekov shrugged. "Teachers, fellow officers, a great many people, actually."

"Well, don't listen to them; listen to me. The great thing about you, Chekov," Jim said, "is you never make things harder."

Chekov looked at him skeptically. 

"No," Jim said, "I mean it. Picking the right person for a job is one of the hardest things about command. I wouldn't even consider leaving most of the ensigns. I can trust you to do the right thing without supervision. I can't say that about everyone. I know you will do a good job." 

Chekov's eyes grew soft, and he murmured, "Thank you, sir."

Jim wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to be so guileless. Feeling less happy, he grabbed the tent flap and held it open, saying, "Let's go find Gat; there's bound to be some sort of protocol; he can help you prepare."

Chekov immediately stepped back. Like a cadet, Jim thought, he still can't bring himself to walk in front of a senior. He pulled his hood into place as he went through. The ensign followed politely.

McCoy was waiting outside. "Well?" he asked.

"Mr. Chekov and I discussed everything. He is pleased to play such a vital role in this mission," Jim said, a little surprised he didn't feel more satisfied.

McCoy snorted, but Chekov looked at Jim seriously and said, "Sir, I appreciate your trust."

The younger man's evident sincerity embarrassed Jim. His face grew hot under his hood. He thought uncomfortably that he could not remember the last time he had blushed, and was grateful Chekov couldn't see. He muttered something about doing his best and thought, please, please don't get hurt.

Chapter Text

Chapter Seventeen
Dinner and a Declaration

Jim left Chekov with Gat and checked in with his security team. A proud Hendorff handed him some arrowheads. Jim thanked him, but decided the weapons weren't impressive enough and went looking for Rang to ask about buying weapons. He found her, but she insisted he come back with a woman before she'd do any business. It took everything he had to ask Uhura, but when Jim explained the situation, she went with him and told Rang he acted at her behest. Rang seemed intrigued when she heard they hoped to buy their way into Tunton's war party. 

"Bold. The rewards will be significant if you succeed. If that happens, hurry to the city. If I am still there, I will help you dispose of any trades she gives you at the top price."

"You leave today?" asked Uhura.

"No," laughed Rang.

"I thought Tunton said you must," Uhura asked.

Yes, but I've had an emergency." She clutched her chest and continued pathetically, "One of the myleth is lame. I can't possibly go, it's too dangerous. Probably won't be safe until after Tunton leaves." 

"Wouldn't Tunton sell you a myleth?"

Sounding like she was speaking to a co-conspirator, Rang whispered, "She's busy with her preparations. She won't notice until dusk, when it will be too late."

"But," Uhura asked, then paused, trying, Jim assumed, to figure out how to politely ask what Rang was planning.

Rang seemed to understand and explained, "With Tunton gone, I won't have to acknowledge her hospitality."

Uhura asked, "Didn't she say Uja would accept the payment for her?"

"She did say it," Rang cackled, "and he'll most likely try. It's one of the ways he pretends he is the keth's mate. But he isn't. She's never married him. He won't be able to demand anything of me."

"Won't Tunton be angry at him?" Uhura asked.

Rang shrugged. "Probably, but it's her fault. If she married him, he could speak on her behalf. As it is, Tunton spoils him, but she gives him no power and offers him no security. Fear makes him petty. It's too bad, really. He's better at managing her affairs than she is." 

While Uhura struggled to respond appropriately, Rang continued, "I will explain that I was upset about the myleth and struggling so with my concerns about not following her orders, I forgot my responsibilities. When I return this way, I will give something big to whoever is keth. That way, if Tunton's warriors fail to perform and Byten is in charge when I return, I won't have wasted a gift on Tunton."

"Hedging your bets?" Jim couldn't stop himself from asking.

"I don't know that expression. I think it might be more correct to say betting on the dragon," Rang replied. "Your war came at a convenient time for me. I don't care who wins."

"You called her sister. Isn't Tunton your long-time friend?" Uhura asked.

Rang shrugged, "You buy Tunton's support, I manipulate it. The result is the same."

Uhura drew herself up and took a deep breath. Jim thought she was angry, but decided he was wrong when she asked calmly, "Is it far to Greatcity?" 

"From here it is an unpleasant day's ride," Rang said, "or three days of walking. Unfortunately, no caravan can go faster than the walkers in it. This year, though, thanks to Byten and her dragon, I have so few trades that I am considering letting them ride. It is a balance; they're worthless if you exhaust them, but it's expensive to feed enough myleth to let them ride. You understand the problem."

Uhura gave a tight nod. "Please deliver my purchases to the dinner, Rang. Come along, Captain Kirk," and quickly left.

Once she was sure Rang was out of earshot, Uhura hissed, "She thinks we're the same. It's disgusting."

"The same?" Jim was glad Uhura was talking and wanted to encourage rapprochement, but he wasn't sure why she was so upset. 

"She thinks I trade in sentient beings," Uhura said.

"That is disgusting," Jim agreed, "But she's wrong, so don't worry about what she thinks."

Uhura stopped; she glared at him, every muscle taut. In a voice low and angry, she said, "No, captain. She's correct. We're trading for opportunity, not money, but we're doing it. And it makes me ashamed."

For a second, Jim was too shocked to reply. Then, he touched Uhura's arm and said, "It's pretend, Uhura. It's not real. And he wants to do it. He's willing. Ask him."

"They're all willing, Captain Kirk. Not one of Rang's trades is objecting to going with her. That doesn't make it right." Uhura waited. When Jim didn't respond, she sighed and said, "I'll see you at dinner," and walked away.

Jim walked the other direction. It's not the same," he told himself. This is a tactic for a mission; I don't like it, but it's necessary. Why can't she get on board?

He went to the low trade tent and found Chekov playing dice with several hunters in the shade. Gat greeted Jim by saying, "We're happy to hear of the feast. It took your keth longer than most."

"We assumed she was a sorceress, unbound by the rules of normal life," offered another. "It turns out she is just rude."

Jim had to raise his voice to be heard over the raucous laughter. "Are you ready?" he asked Chekov. The younger man nodded.

"We've told him everything we can," a man said. "The rest is up to him."

"We are trying to convince him to get a spice rub," laughed Gat, "Looking so much like a daka, the little man has set some high expectations." 

"But not unrealistic," Chekov laughed. The trades howled approval.

"This is something your keth would like?" Jim asked.

"Everyone likes it," Gat laughed.

Jim turned to Chekov. "Why aren't you doing what they suggest?" 

The ensign shrugged and said, "I don't like the smell." 

Annoyed, Jim thought, only you could make a choice about cologne into a big deal. Pulling a small sack of peppers from his pocket, he tossed the seeds to Chekov. "If the keth likes it," he said, "do it." 

The Metiolns applauded by kicking the ground, several reached out to shake Chekov's head affectionately, and one called, "Go to Veltu, Chekov. She has plenty of oil and will happily show you how to use it."

"She may not even charge you," laughed another.

Chekov laughed, twirling the sack of peppers around his head, and, followed by teasing and catcalls from the trades, left. Jim asked Gat for help hiring musicians for the evening and finding village children willing to gather extra fuel for the bonfires.

Everywhere they went, Metioln congratulated Jim on his keth's good sense. Each conversation made him more certain that his plan would work, and just as dusk fell, he headed back to collect the crew. His confidence evaporated as he approached their tent, and he paused just outside to prepare mentally for the expected argument. Okay, Uhura won't be happy, that's a given, but she won't deliberately disobey an order. Bones might. I need to make it clear that I won't let him mess this up. At least Chekov's good with it. That helps. I'll get him to say he's alright, that could quiet some of the complaints.

He took a deep breath, put his head up, and reached for the tent flaps, ready for a fight. He was surprised to hear laughter inside. He peeked in and saw Tan sitting on the ground, playing the dice game with Chekov, who lay upside down on the rug roll beside him. "Wake up!" Tan said, shaking Chekov's shoulder.

"Again?" Chekov said drowsily and dropped the stones haphazardly. He tilted his head back to watch and laughed when the stones bounced away. 

"Stop it, Chekov. I'm done looking for them," Hendorff warned.

"Sorry. I'm just sleepy."

Tan laughed, "I don't understand how getting a massage messes up your aim."

Chekov shrugged. "Veltu said the spice goes through the skin. She is such a smart, nice girl. Do you know what she did?"

"Yes. You've told me like fifteen times what she did," Tan muttered. "Congratulations."

Chekov rolled over and let his head hang over the piled carpets. "It's hard to explain," he chuckled, "I feel like my body isn't mine. I'm not even thirsty. I've been thirsty since we got here, but not now. It can't be a coincidence, but I don't understand what one has to do with the other?"

"Stop talking," Tan ordered.

"Okay," Chekov agreed cheerfully, "but first..." He broke off midsentence when he noticed Jim. "Hey!" he said, breaking into a wide, happy smile. "It's the captain! Captain in the tent! Hello, sir!"

His crew looked his way. Their varying expressions of joy, concern, or sadness struck Jim with a sense of how much control he had over their lives. Suddenly unable to make any of the grand statements he'd planned, he sighed, "Yeah, it's me," and stepped inside. 

Uhura asked glumly, "We're doing this?"

"We don't have any choice," he replied, "and we need to start." Opening the flap, he gestured for her to lead them out.

The crew, except McCoy, followed. Not today, Bones, Jim thought wearily. He called, "You have your orders, commander." 

McCoy rummaged through his backpack. Pulling out his extra skein, he replied, "Yes, sir," with mock meekness, then handed it to Uhura. "Here."

"I forgot," Uhura said. Shaking her head, she added softly, "I'm not sure I can do this."

"Don't worry, Miss Uhura," Chekov said. "I am sure you will do great."

"What's the bourbon for?" Jim asked suspiciously.

"I got a plan," McCoy replied, giving Jim a sour look. "You're not the only one who has plans." Turning to Uhura, he continued, "Just wait till the time is right, Uhura. You'll do fine. You both will. Chekov, do you remember what to say?"

"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed, then wrinkled his forehead and added, "but only when I concentrate."

"For God's sake, Chekov. This is no time for jokes. I gave you an order," McCoy said, "are you planning to follow it or not?"

"Da, da, da, da, da," Chekov murmured, tossing his head back and forth and giggling.

For a surreal second, Jim thought the ensign was singing, but then realized he was simply chanting 'yes' in his home language. What's this about? he thought, and grabbed Chekov's arm. Pulling the smaller man closer, he hissed suspiciously, "Are you drunk?"

"Don't yell at him," Uhura snapped, grabbing Chekov's other arm.

Chekov looked quizzically from one officer to the other. "Everyone wants me," he told Tan with a big grin, "because I am so good at washing dishes."

"Focus, son," McCoy said. "This is serious."

"He's been weird all afternoon," Tan offered, shaking his head.

"I am not weird. The spice is weird. I'm sleepy. And happy. I'm both. I'm hapeepy," Chekov said and laughed. "I think it's the oil," he continued, "but I don't care. The captain said, 'Get oiled.' I always do as the captain says, and so I'm oiled." 

"Chekov, stop talking; McCoy, you too. Look," Jim said as calmly as he could. "I know none of you approve, and I wish there were some other way, but there isn't. The mission is the important thing. We have to get those weapons."

Chekov drew himself as tall as he could and said, "I approve."

"Well, we can all just relax then," McCoy snapped.

"Yes, sir," Chekov agreed. "Remember? I said so. I said, 'I understand this mission may alter or end my life and will do what is required of me to complete it successfully,' and I will. Count on me. Everyone will be satisfied. Even the keth. I gave my word."

Tan snorted. Uhura blinked away what Jim feared were tears. He said slowly, "You did, Chekov, and I know you'll keep it. How about I give you my word, this will all work out fine?"

"Thank you, sir, that is very kind," Chekov said, shaking free of both officers. Surprised, he looked around at the twilight and said, "It's getting dark. We should hurry; wait till you see, sir! Dr. McCoy has a plan."

"We wouldn't want to keep Keth Tunton waiting," McCoy agreed. 

"Come on," a grim-faced Uhura said and led them to the clearing. It was crowded when they arrived, arranged as it had been on the first night: families on the ground, warriors and workers in their designated areas. Tan muttered, "Okay, well, see ya," without looking at Chekov and slunk toward the warriors. Hendorff barked, "Good luck," and followed. McCoy started toward the workers, but stopped, turned back, and said, "This is no time for you to start thinking for yourself, young man. You know what to do." He shot one last resentful glance at Jim and stamped away.

The ladies and Rang were already seated when they arrived at the head table. Tunton was flushed with drink. Her gleeful expression made Jim positive she knew what was coming. "Dear Uhura," she called, "come here by me." Wordlessly, Uhura obeyed. Jim took his usual seat behind her and gestured for Chekov to sit beside him. 

The boys began to serve the meal. The roasted eels were served whole with their faces still on. There was not enough for the entire clan, so they were offered only at the head table. The other villagers were given a stew. There were many remarks on the meal's excellence. Uhura took one taste and quickly handed the rest of her portion to Jim. Chekov, clutching his robe shut with both hands, shook his head, so Jim ate it all. He found it greasy and very fishy. Gepri held up a fish head, "Recognize him?" he teased, pretending to bite at Chekov. But the ensign was watching Tunton with glassy eyes and didn't notice.

A drink, neither Rang's wine nor Tunton's, was passed several times. The Metioln ladies got louder with each round. Once the food had been served to the low trades, Tunton turned to her friends and roared, "What a fine meal. I must thank the cooks." 

"This fine meal comes from another," the oldest woman at the table recited. 

"Another? But who?" asked Tunton. "I will thank her." Gat had explained that the ritual was for Tunton to pretend to be surprised.

Uhura stood. "No, Keth Tunton, it is I who must thank you. I have been slow about it, for which I am ashamed. Now I would like to thank you properly for all your kindness. I have some gifts and hope they show how much I value you."

There were delighted hoots from around the field.

"Dear Uhura, your friendship is enough for me," insisted Tunton, peering into the dark to see what goodies were coming.

"I insist," Uhura said. "I will not allow you to refuse me. I have brought weapons for you and now place them at your disposal."

Craton stood up. "It is true, my keth," she said leadenly, "just this day six longbows were delivered to your armory. Six longbows, with arrows and quivers, two handfuls of stone arrowheads, three small axes, and a pole axe."

"I would have refused," Tunton intoned, smiling greedily, "but now it is too late. Very well, I will accept your gift."

"We have more," Uhura replied. "Accept these." She held out several of the glass disks they had found, knotted in leather so they could be worn around the neck."

There were gasps from the keth's ladies, and even Tunton looked a little taken aback. "It is solid, yet you can see through it. What is it?"

"It is from my land. We call it glass," Uhura said, sighing. She and Jim had argued about whether something they had found on the planet could be considered a violation of the Prime Directive. Jim had overruled her again.

Tunton clutched the necklaces and asked, "What else?" Her ladies looked at her with surprise. She shook her head and said, "I mean, this is enough, too much, I can accept no more."

"I have one more gift," Uhura said. 

"That's me," Chekov murmured, and shimmied out of his robe. He jumped up and stood naked beside Uhura, throwing out his hands proudly. Jim let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Earlier, Chekov had asked several times if there was any way he could be traded with his clothes on, until Gat, sounding scandalized, said, 'Of course not.' Jim had expected him to be shyer when the time came. 

Grim-faced, Uhura recited, "Accept this boy, raised in my house. I had intended to offer him to the keth of Greatcity, but so great is my affection for you, I offer him to you instead. Take him into your collection, and when you see him, think of me, who longs to be your niece."

Tunton laughed and rubbed her hands. "I accept with pleasure," she said, and snatching Chekov's arm, pulled him closer. He stumbled into a bow. Tunton laughed delightedly. Squeezing him against her with one huge hand and stroking his ear with her other, she said, "I got the daka, Craton, do you see?"

"It's not a daka," her sister muttered. 

Tunton ignored her. "Where's the robe I told you to bring?" she asked Uja.

"I forgot it," Uja said sulkily.

Rubbing her hands through Chekov's hair, Tunton growled, "Your tricks will not prevent me from accepting this gift, Uja. Give him yours."

"It's mine," Uja whined. "You gave it to me."

"And now I give it to him," Tunton replied, slipping her hand under Chekov's chin and tilting his face up, staring greedily.

Uja scowled and pulled the blue fabric from his hair. Tunton snatched it and said, "I want him in a blue robe. Go get him one or give him yours, Uja."

Scowling, Uja scampered off toward the kitchen. Tunton pushed Chekov into Uja's place beside her seat. "Sit here, my little daka, in the position of honor, and I will dress you." She pushed the rag over his head and arranged it so that it hung around his neck like a dirty collar. "See, it is my blue. You are with Clan Tunton now, you lucky boy."

Chekov nodded, smiling nervously.

Uja returned and threw a robe at Chekov's head. The crewman dived for it. Uja used the opportunity to take his usual seat. The keth pointed to a space farther back. Uja pretended not to notice. Tunton raised a hand like she intended to strike him. Face flushed, Uja scurried back. He sat on the ground, arms folded around his skinny knees, and alternately glared at Chekov and stared beseechingly at Tunton.

"Doesn't he look pretty?" Tunton asked Uhura eagerly, wrapping the far too large robe around Chekov and pulling him closer. "So darling," she murmured, "like a little toy." She stroked his ear. The ensign took a deep breath, then looked up at Tunton with an adoring expression.

That's pretty good, Jim thought. 

Uhura's lips tightened. "Now, Keth Tunton, will you think of me as a niece?" she asked. This was off script.

"A niece, no. I accept your gift," Tunton said, "and say aloud: we are sisters now. When you arrive, you may stay with us, and your myleth will drink as if they live here. We will welcome you as if you were coming home. We will trade males and vegetables with you, as if you were always known to us."

"Sister," Uhura said. "I promise you, your joys are now mine, and your battles are also mine. I will bring my warriors, such as they are, and I will ride with you in the morning."

That's it, she's done it. Say yes, Jim thought, fists balled to contain his excitement.

"Yes, yes," Tunton said disinterestedly. "But, morning and battle are hours away. First, we will enjoy now, and then we will enjoy the night."

The droning Metioln music started, and the dancers rose, silhouetted against the fire. Tunton used one hand to hold her drink and the other to play with Chekov's hair. Uhura stared across the meadow. "Look how shy," Tunton said to Rang. "Confess, Rang, I know you envy me."

"Envy you? No," Rang replied. "Out of respect for our friendship, I will take him away for you. Maybe he will live long enough for me to get rid of him in the city. I will give you half a sack."

Tunton replied, "Not for three sacks, Rang. This is mine." 

"He will certainly die before spring. He looks half dead already. What if he infects your village with whatever he has? Three-quarters of a sack."

"They say he is supposed to look like that. Anyway, why would I care? I don't plan on spending much time with him in the light," Tunton said. "Have you seen how delicate his legs are?"

"Thin like a weathered corpse. The myleth wouldn't eat him. Are you sure he's not a ghost?"

Tunton laughed. "A ghost? Don't be ridiculous. He's a daka." She reached down and pinched Chekov's arm. "Come and sit closer to me, Little Daka," and pulled him onto her lap. She reached into his oversized robe, whispering. Chekov's eyes widened, and he glanced at Jim. 

Uhura stood up. "I forgot, my sister," she said. "I have one more gift for you."

"More," Tunton said happily. "Did you hear, Rang? They have more."

Uhura held up McCoy's skein. "This drink is very special. It was brewed in my land. I intended it as a gift to the keth of Greatcity, but I care nothing for her now. You are my sister, I want to give it to you."

"Today I got two gifts intended for the great keth," Tunton said, tilting Chekov's face so he had to look at her. "Isn't that right?'

Chekov nodded, then scrambled up. "Let me serve you, my keth," he asked.

"You are finished with that kind of work, Little Daka," she said, and reached for him again.

"But, great keth, it is an honor to serve you," Chekov insisted, pulling back playfully and reaching for the skein from Uhura. "Please?"

"Does this remind you of anything, Uja?" she asked. "Remember how happy you were when I first paid you attention?" She ignored Uja's scowl and handed Chekov her bowl. "So, Little Daka, you are happy to join our clan?" she asked.

Chekov nodded eagerly. "I am lucky," he said.

Tunton said something in dialect that made the ladies laugh and Craton sneer. Rang rolled her eyes.

Chekov filled her bowl to the very brim and handed it to her carefully. "I know how to do this," he said eagerly. "I used to serve the keth in my old clan. She wouldn't let everyone do it, only me, because she knew she could trust me with it." He leaned closer and whispered, "This drink is magic. When I was young, I tried it. It burned me like fire. I spat it out, but it didn't help. Rather than punish me, my generous keth explained it is brewed only for keths. The stronger and wiser one is, the better it will taste." He cocked his head endearingly and handed Tunton the goblet.

Tunton took it and drank eagerly. Her eyes widened, and she made a choking noise but managed to swallow.

"She likes it," Chekov said to Uhura excitedly. 

"She is a keth," Uhura agreed stiffly. She had difficulty lying and wasn't even good at bluffing in poker. 

On the other hand, Chekov sounded as enthusiastic as if he were discussing an update to the transporter. "She will want more and more, because she is so wise and kind," he said, using the skein to refill Tunton's goblet. "To her, it must taste like honey. Do you want more?" he asked Tunton.

"Of course," Tunton replied, her voice hoarse and her face flushed. She grabbed the glass and quickly drained it. She spilled part of the third glass Chekov poured for her. He apologized for his clumsiness and refilled the glass.

"See how she loves it," Chekov said to Uhura. "She is the wisest and strongest of keths."

"I'm glad I thought to share," Uhura replied, glancing towards McCoy's table. Glassy-eyed, Tunton sipped the bourbon and swayed in her seat, singing along with the musicians.

Rang yawned noisily. "Don't you wish to leave early tomorrow?" she asked. "Perhaps you should go to your bed."

Tunton snorted, "Byten will still be in her mountains whenever we arrive. I want some spice," she added.

"No," Craton replied firmly. "It is too late. Serve it now, and the whole village will play all night. We already sent messengers to Byten. Your warriors need to be able to work in the morning."

"But I don't have to work," Tunton whined, laying her head on Chekov's. "I think we should move our battle back, sister. I will be busy most of tomorrow."

"No," Uhura and Craton said together. Craton continued, "We have prepared the warriors, Tunton, and packed the kits. We sent runners to notify Byten of the ceremony. It would be insulting to keep her waiting so you can play with a new toy. And don't plan to bring it, or any of the others. They aren't your husbands, and you have work to do. They will be here when you return."

Tunton scowled and hugged Chekov against her.

"We will be victorious together," Uhura said firmly. "Sisters, sharing a battle." She asked the oldest woman, "Did you not hear the keth say it?"

"The keth said that?" asked one old woman of another, who shrugged.  

"Go to sleep, Tunton," Rang said, "or you will miss the cool of the morning. Your forces will have to march in the sun."

"What Rang says is true, my keth," Craton said. "Tomorrow we go to war."

Tunton laughed loudly. "Rang wants me to leave early because she hopes to avoid paying me for the water her myleth sucked and the meat they ate. You are wrong, Rang. My Uja will not let you leave without paying what you owe."

Uja smiled and nodded. Rang sneered and asked, "Why don't you just marry Uja? He is not my taste, but he has more sense than you do, for all he is male and was once the lowest trade in the village."

"How would you know what he is?" Tunton laughed, resting her chin on Chekov's head. "You give no thought to any of them beyond the spice they bring you."

"I don't use them like you do, but I am an excellent judge of males," Rang replied, "It is acknowledged everywhere. When I arrive in Greatcity, buyers flock to me. I sell all my trades by the first evening."

"And all your trades are happy to be in even the lowest of new homes instead of sleeping in the dirt of the street because you are too cheap to provide straw for them to rest upon," laughed Tunton.

Rang frowned. "So magnificent was my stock and fine were my bargaining skills last year that for one lot of eight boys, I received two warriors in trade." 

Tunton snorted, "Did some bad girl trade away her grandfathers?" The Metiolns at the table laughed, Uja quite loudly. Tunton looked very pleased with herself. "Where is that Keth Water, Little Daka?" she added.

Chekov wiggled off her lap and opened the skein. Rang watched him skeptically, then said, "Since Craton refuses us spice tonight, will you share your present, Tunton?" The ladies at the table looked interested. 

Tunton wrapped her free arm around Chekov, pulling him closer, and rubbed her face along his chest. "Neither one," she said, and laughed loudly. "The water is for me and so is the trade." The drums picked up. "Oh, I love this one," Tunton said, relaxing her grip to sway to the music.

Uja yanked the skein from Chekov. "Don't touch her," he hissed, then stood close to the keth, ready to pour for her. Chekov settled himself on the ground. He shot one reassuring smile to Uhura, then fixed his eyes on Tunton, looking adoring and hopeful. Jim was impressed. 

Around the fires, the warriors formed a circle, arms on shoulders, and began to sing about the glories of obedience to the keth. The workers and some family men stamped their feet, swaying in time to the song. As the kitchen boys finished their work, they danced, jumping about, hooting and screaming with excitement. 

It continued for hours. Rang yawned noisily, then made a show of dozing in her chair. Craton sat with her arms crossed, staring angrily at her sister. The older ladies politely hid yawns. The men on the ground, some of them quite old, shifted uncomfortably, sighing and yawning. Uja stood rigid beside Tunton, refilling her glass, smiling and nodding every time she spoke. The dancers were hobbling around dying flames when the keth crashed face-first into the table.

"At last," Rang said gratefully. "Get her to bed, Uja."

Uja tried to lift the keth, but she was too heavy. Chekov jumped up to help, but Uja shoved him away. "Don't you touch her," he hissed. "Stay back or I will stab you in the face." Chekov shrugged and picked up the skein. 

Other trades came to help. "Be gentle," Uja instructed them. "Anyone who drops her answers to me. Take her to our rug and leave. I will sit up and nurse her." 

With many grunts and a few groans, her trades lifted Tunton over their heads. Chekov glanced over his shoulder at Jim and Uhura, then followed the entourage as it staggered toward the indigo tent. As soon as their keth was gone, the villagers began hurrying to their beds.

"Uhura," Jim whispered, grabbing her arm, "You did it! We're in the war party!"

Uhura nodded distractedly, her attention on Chekov's blue robe disappearing into the night.

Chapter Text

The Fifth Day

Chapter Eighteen
Preparation for War

The wind down the mountain was, if not cool, then less hot. It lifted the edge of their canopy, then dropped it with a soft sigh. Gazing out at the miles they still needed to travel, foot tapping in frustration, Jim wondered angrily how long before they could begin. 

Craton, lounging on a thick pile of rugs, nodded toward Jim and asked, "What is he doing?"

"Relaxing," Uhura sighed.

"He relaxes by pacing and sighing?" asked Craton.

In the north," Uhura explained, "they generally travel all day without stopping. His preference would be for us to do so too."

"Barbaric," Craton sniffed. 

Uhura gave him a sympathetic glance and said in Standard, "These people stop every day at noon and rest for several hours. They won't change their traditions no matter how clear you make it that they think they should."

She's right, Jim admitted unhappily. Everywhere he looked, under every blue canopy, Metiolns relaxed in the shade. They dozed, chatted, snacked, or peacefully played their dice games, but none showed any interest in moving. After a frustrated snort, he forced himself to sit down again. 

It had been a long day. The war party had been ready at dawn, the myleth loaded and the men eager to march. Their enthusiasm faded as they waited hours for Tunton to stagger out of her tent. When she'd finally appeared, Craton had ordered an immediate departure. Cheering warriors rushed for their myleth. Jim had seen Chekov among the villagers who came to wave them off. He'd stopped to speak with him, but Uhura had whispered, "They don't consider him ours anymore. We can't be interested in him."

Jim didn't allow himself to look back.

The war party headed north, following the most direct path to the summit, frustrating Jim, who had assumed they'd go west first, seeking better cover. Progress was slow. The myleth did well, but the warriors and trades struggled on the steep trail. They'd waited so long to begin that after only a few hours of travel, the noon horn sounded. Everyone stopped, dismounted, and began to set up the shade canopies. 

The warriors and trades had separate quarters, even on the road bound for war. As soon as the officers' canopy was up, Tunton had thrown herself on a pile of rugs and ordered wine. Boys scurried to obey, but Craton had sent the skeins back. Tunton had moaned until Craton poured a single glass of the oily pepper wine from a small skein she wore. Tunton drank it and fell asleep. 

McCoy, whom Uhura had declared her personal servant so he could travel with them, sniffed Tunton's glass suspiciously and said, "I wish I had a tricorder. This smells like the syrup they gave the dying trade."

"One is probably a distillation of the other, and they're both made from the spice they're all so crazy about," Jim said. They spoke in Standard and kept their tones light, like they were gossiping about home.

"The captain and I had some. We didn't care for the taste," Uhura explained.

"It made us sleepy and amorous," Jim supplied.

"It didn't make me amorous," Uhura said quickly.

"Sleepy and amorous is drunk," McCoy clarified. "It made you drunk."

"Takes more than a mouthful of wine to make me drunk," Jim countered.

"And damn near nothing to make you amorous," McCoy agreed, "so, don't drink the wine."

"Or do," Uhura suggested, "if it would get you to relax."

"We are still hours away from the pass," Jim said. "No one is tired, and yet here we are. Wasting the best hours of the day."

"They live in a desert. For them, avoiding the midday sun is better in the long run," Uhura replied.

"Really?" Jim asked sarcastically, "Because generally, the goal of a war party is to win. And unless Byten is an idiot, she's up there right now, watching this ridiculous caravan and finishing up her ambush while we lie here and avoid tanning."

"We should probably discuss that," Uhura said.

"Discuss what? That if I were Byten, I would be hiding in the bush and drawing a bead on Tunton right now?" Jim asked. 

McCoy jumped up, walked to the edge of their canopy, and peered into the sunny desert. "We'd seen them coming," he muttered.  

"You wouldn't see me," Jim countered.

"True, and that is exactly what we need to discuss," Uhura said. "You understand you're not in command."

"Yes," Jim snapped. "I get it, you've told me that a hundred times. I'm not in command, I'm not supposed to look like I'm in command."

"Sir," Uhura said, "for this war, battle, whatever, you're not only not in command, you're essentially a foot soldier. The Metiolns get to draw up the battle plan, choose the weapons, and make all decisions. We get to follow their instructions. Are you sure you understand?"

"Our mission is to get the weapons, Uhura. I plan to use the battle as cover for searching for them," Jim said. "Beyond that, I have no interest in it."

"Good," Uhura said, "because we have sworn to introduce nothing to the society. Nothing. You can't teach them battle techniques or rescue them if things go wrong. We've never seen combat on this planet. It could take any form. They may play patty cake for all we know. If you take over and accidentally teach Tunton how to run the first sneak attack in Metioln history and she uses it to become ruler of this continent, sinking the whole place into a greedy, alcoholic fog, it would violate the prime directive as effectively as giving them phasers. These people have a right to self-determination, even if it means you are on the losing side for the first time in your life." 

"Uhura," Jim retorted. "I get it. I'm not in charge. I don't know why you think I'm so bad at this."

McCoy snorted, but Uhura only said, "Alright, sir. I trust you," in a tone that suggested she didn't.

Forgetting he'd decided to relax, Jim jumped up again and paced to the edge of the tent. He stared into the desert and chewed his tongue to keep from commenting on the waste of time. Craton's lieutenant, Prahtne, watched him from her comfortable pile of rugs with large, unblinking eyes. Finally, she turned to Uhura and asked for permission to speak with Jim.

"I would prefer he stay with me while you do it," Uhura replied, eyeing Jim nervously.

"Of course," Prahtne shrugged. Turning to Jim, she said, "You don't think we should stop?" It was a question, but her tone implied she was stating a fact.

Uhura shifted, signaling her discomfort. Jim pretended not to notice. "I don't," he said. It felt great to speak his mind. "We left late, the men aren't tired, we've only been traveling for a few hours. All we are doing is giving Byten time to prepare for us."

"She would prepare nothing during the midday rest," Pahtne replied.

"Of course not," Uhura said quickly. "Even battle is different in the north. Sometimes my mate forgets that civilized people have rules to respect and follow." 

Under his hood, Jim rolled his eyes.

"What else would the Upmen do differently?" Prahtne asked.

Before Uhura could cut him off, Jim said, "I wouldn't march us in a group. We're broadcasting our battle plans. I'd have sent us out in groups disguised as hunters." 

"Sir," Uhura hissed warningly.

"Byten knows we're coming," Jim insisted. I don't care about the Prime Directive. No mission is important enough for me to hand my people over for slaughter, Uhura.

From a roll at the edge of the bed, Craton sounded patronizing, "Of course, Byten knows. I sent a messenger to her as soon as Keth Tunton announced her plan. You can't commence a battle without announcing it."

"You announced the battle?" Uhura asked, then quickly corrected herself. "Of course, you announced the battle."

"But your mate has some other idea," Prahtne said, studying Jim with her dark eyes. 

Uhura glared at him. "It doesn't matter," she said. "He is mine and fights at my direction only."

Craton nodded approvingly, but Prahtne raised a speculative eyebrow at Jim.

"As my keth said," Jim sighed. "I fight at her direction." Turning back, he stared out at the desolate view and thought, And she'd better give it soon.

Chapter Text

The Seventh Day

Chapter Nineteen 
An Announced War

Jm muttered indistinctly, counting the flames in the distance. "I get fifteen," he said at last. Uhura nodded and glanced over her shoulder at the soldiers behind them. Jim sighed, "We've got twenty. I already counted." 

All around them, at fires Jim assumed were just as visible as their enemy's across the field, Tunton's soldiers shared dry bread and stories. They made no effort to be quiet, and happy, excited voices, even the occasional laugh, gave away their position nearly as effectively as the bright flames. 

"Twenty suggests we have more soldiers," Uhura said tentatively. 

Jim didn't bother to reply. He'd spent the long days of the march mining for information, listening for discussions of strategy or battle plans. There had been none. The warriors gossiped about home, and the officers obsessively discussed the weather. No one seemed to be even thinking about the war.

On the first night out of the village, they'd made camp in a meadow, a clearing far too easily seen for his comfort. They hadn't set perimeter guards, and the entire war party had spent the night singing and telling stories. The atmosphere was more like a festival than a war party. When he'd realized Craton was making no effort to protect the group, Jim had told Uhura, "I'm not letting my people be sitting ducks because Tunton is the worst military leader in the history of the galaxy. We'll take turns sitting guard."

"You can order Hendorff and Tan to do so, sir," Uhura had replied blandly, smoothing out their sleeping rugs, "if you can find them and do it secretly. You and I are sleeping here, in the officers' tent. We've had enough attention paid to our relationship this week, and there is no plausible explanation for us to wander away for hours at night. You need to stay with me."

"What if Byten sneaks in and kills us all, Uhura?" he'd asked. "Would dying be culturally appropriate enough for you?"

Uhura had refused to back down. Lips tight, she'd said firmly, "This is the Prime Directive in action, sir." 

In the morning, Prahtne and Craton had ridden up the mountain alone. He'd gotten an old warrior to explain that they'd gone to discuss a site for the battle with Byten, but no information beyond that. 

Eventually, the women returned, but there had been no checking of weapons, no plans outlined, no preparation for battle at all. Rather, the officers had spent another evening relaxing in their tent, listening to the warriors' battle songs.

Jim had suggested, cajoled, and finally ordered Uhura to help him get some information. She'd gingerly introduced the topic of battle strategy several times, but wasn't able to inspire anyone in the keth's tent to discuss any specifics. Jim had been forced to spend two seemingly never-ending nights lying beside his fake wife, straining to hear anything that might signal the camp was under attack over Tunton's snoring.

Evening of the third day of the war, their sixth on the planet, Jim lay down beside Uhura, ruminating morosely. Uhura sighed deeply, "We'll miss the first beam out," she whispered.

"I know," he agreed. And there's less than a week before the arrival of Admiral Komak's team, he thought dolefully. I can't stand this. I've got to do something. As he started to rise, Craton kicked Tunton's roll and said, "Go to bed. There's no drinking tonight. We promised to be in place at dawn. The success of the entire battle depends on you, Tunton."

Jim held his breath to hear better. Craton continued, "I've given the boys torches so they can ready the cups in the dark. You must be there to order them to drink it. 

Tunton, lounging on her rugs, asked, "What's it taste like, Craton?"

"How would I know? I'm not a warrior," Craton snapped. "We're speaking of your responsibilities, Tunton. We agreed dawn, and you must be ready! I will wake you when I rise, but I'll have to hurry to the warriors. I can't leave them alone with the water." 

"I want to try it," Tunton said thoughtfully.

"You won't be doing any fighting," Craton said firmly, "therefore, you won't be drinking any water." 

"It's my battle, I deserve it as much as any of them," Tunton insisted.

"It's your battle, which you won't fight," Craton said. When her sister scowled, she added, "You have a role, Tunton. The water would only distract you. Your warriors need it. You don't want them stopping at the first injury, do you?"

"They better not," Tunton replied. "I feed them every day and seldom ask anything of them. It's the least they can do. Besides, it is a glorious honor to fight for your keth and clan."

"An honor which hurts," Craton replied, "They need the water. You don't." Discussion over, Craton lay down on her rug, stretched out, and closed her eyes. 

Beside him, Uhura raised a questioning eyebrow. Jim nodded that he'd heard. Finally, something's happening, he thought, but felt, if anything, more keyed up. He spent another sleepless night rehashing the conversation over and over. He'd learned that in the morning, Tunton would at long last engage Byten. Tunton would not be participating, but Craton was tasked with ensuring an adequate supply of water for the troops. While reassured to learn that there was at least a plan, Jim chafed at being left with nothing to do but wait.

True to her word, Craton left the tent in the dark. Uhura popped up as soon as she was gone, proving to Jim that she, too, was nervous. Together, they went out into the cool, dark. The troops stumbled about, dressing and eating dry bread. Energy was high, like in every battle prep Jim had ever been a part of; however, none of the officers were issuing orders, and no one yelled. By the light of the moon, the trades had lit fires and passed bread as they did every morning, and everyone had settled in to wait. 

And now they stood, staring at the fires on the other side of the meadow, Jim's eyes straining in the predawn dark as he tried to understand what he was seeing. Really worried for the first time since landing on the planet, he turned to Uhura and asked in Standard, "Why is it we're the only ones remotely concerned about going to war?"

"We don't know how to win a war on Metiol," Uhura said quietly. "This is their fight, captain, they're in charge of it, remember?" 

"I won't march my people into a slaughter," Jim insisted. "I want to know what's happening. Now." 

"Metiolns wouldn't need to ask, sir," she said. "That's why no one is talking about it."

"Ask them, or I'm going to."

He gave her a few seconds to comply, then called in Merti, "Craton, why are there no weapons? How will the warriors defend themselves?"

Craton frowned and replied dismissively,  "Weapons? They have their weapons. Or, they can find rocks. The water will tell them." 

"You are going to send warriors with cudgels to fight a dragon?" Jim asked. "You plan to beat it to death? Our only chance is to surprise it." Uhura grabbed his arm and squeezed it, but he ignored her and went on, "Have the archers shoot into their numbers. Even firing blindly, in the dark, we'd hit enough..."

"Captain," Uhura growled.

Craton, sounding astounded, asked, "Before the ceremony?"

 Uhura laughed as if embarrassed. "Traditions are different in his home country," she told Craton. "I apologize." 

"Listen to me," Jim began, but Craton cut him off. "Arrows are for killing animals for meat, not battle. During the ceremony, the warriors will have the water and manifest the keth's strength. Nothing else is required."

"I apologize," Uhura said again.

"Archers!" Craton continued, contemptuously. "We brought them for the dragon, not for Byten's people, and we have to see it to use them."

"Of course," Uhura murmured, glaring at Jim.

"I don't understand," Craton continued, "are you saying battles in the north are decided by the number of deaths? That is disgusting. Only the myleth would benefit from the destruction of Byten's clan. No, not even the myleth. They couldn't eat all the fallen. The bodies would rot and become ghosts wandering the desert searching for a keth for all eternity."

"I'm sorry," Uhura murmured again.

Craton didn't seem to hear. "Disgusting," she said again. Turning to her lieutenant, she said, "What a barbaric place the north must be. How is life possible among such people? He acts as if he has the water every day."

"My hope," Uhura said, "is that my mate will learn much by watching today."

"He'll see nothing without Tunton. Where is she?" Prahtne asked, "The sun will rise soon. The battle starts when a flag can be seen waving. If we miss it, we'll have to wait until tomorrow." 

Craton's jaw tightened. "She'll come," she said firmly, but her tone told Jim she wasn't positive.

Prahtne nodded respectfully, but Jim thought she did not look entirely convinced. He'd noticed the lieutenant's words often belied her tone. He, however, didn't care. Apparently, he thought, war on Metiol is hand-to-hand combat. Great. My people excel at that. In fact, it might be the best possible scenario. Either Byten will bring the weapons and it will be obvious where they are, or in the confusion of the battle, we can make our way to her camp, find them, grab myleth, get Chekov, and head into the desert. We could reach the beam-out spot by tomorrow before sunset, only one day late, and well before Komak's people arrive. He looked across the field at the fires around which Byten's warriors were likely waiting. If they ever start, he thought.

Beside him, Craton stood, hands on his hips, and proudly surveyed the clan's warriors. "Look at them. Not a sip of water, but ready. I think they'd battle without," she said approvingly. 

"Imagine what they will be like after the ceremony," Prahtne agreed. "They'll be as fierce as vrell, wounding all that come near." She pointed to some of the odd parasol trees, now covered with pale green leaves. "Speaking of, have you noticed how green the vrell are up here? They've had rain." 

Craton nodded. "Yes. I wish we'd done this earlier in the season, but one can't change time or a keth's mind, as the old women say."

"Do you think we'll be able to return to the village tomorrow?" Prahtne asked.

"Tomorrow?" Uhura asked, surprised.

Craton nodded, "I think it's the soonest we can hope for. The battle may take hours, and they'll want to celebrate if it's dry. Yesterday's clouds looked very worrisome."

"Do you think if we gave them enough wake water, our warriors would fight in the rain?" Prahtne asked.

"They might," laughed Craton, "but Tunton wouldn't." Prahtne snorted amusement. Craton asked curiously, "Would you?" 

"I don't fear ghosts," Prahtne replied, glancing Jim's direction. 

A group of a dozen young men, their faces painted Tunton blue, scurried up. Each held a large platter covered in small clay cups, but no weapon. They looked eager, excited, and Jim wondered what role they would play in the coming battle. So, they don't start wars on Metiol until they get the water stations set up? 

"The horizon is lighting; where is she?" Craton murmured.

"There," Prahtne said and nodded into the crowd. "I see her."

Craton sighed with relief. "I told you," she told Prahtne happily and called, "My keth, we are eager to begin." 

"Yes, yes," Tunton said. She hurried toward them, carrying a rough sword and a large cup. "Tell the boys to give the warriors their cups, Craton. It's nearly time."

Craton turned to the painted trades. "Quickly," she directed them. "When every warrior has a share, you can split what is left. I will watch, and if you do well, fight bravely, there will be a place for some of you in the warriors' tent."

There were pleased gasps. The young men began running from warrior to warrior, handing each a small mug. Craton followed, working her way through the crowd, instructing the warriors not to spill and urging the boys to hurry. There were many excited comments from the warriors, but no one drank. A boy handed Jim a mug. 

"That's wasteful," Tunton laughed. "Uhura's mate doesn't need the water."

"He was born full of wake water," Prahtne agreed dreamily, and Jim felt her eyes linger on him.

Tunton cried, "Today, we battle! We'll all drink!" and, grabbing a cup from one of the trades, dumped it into her ornate cup.

"You plan to drink?" Prahtne asked Tunton. 

Tunton checked to see that Craton was still busy with the soldiers before replying, "Later, perhaps, after I finish my role. I wouldn't ask any of my clan to do what I am unwilling to do." 

Prahtne sounded skeptical. "You plan to swing a cudgel?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Tunton said, holding her large mug protectively. "I'm not a warrior. I am curious to experience the water, but I wouldn't be surprised if I felt nothing at all. I am a keth and not like other people."

"The sky is lighting," Craton called, "Metiol's lover caresses her. Start, my keth." 

Tunton raised her sword above her head. "Warriors," she called, and the field fell silent. Every eye was on their leader, every muscle tensed and ready. The air pulsated with an electric excitement that Jim recognized from every other pre-battle ritual he'd ever participated in.

The sound of stamping filled the air. "Warriors," Tunton called again, and the men silenced. They held their cups tightly in both hands and stared at the keth, barely seeming to breathe.

"Byten, though a clan member, has stolen from me," Tunton continued. "Today, I ask for a service. Drink courage and force her to return what is mine." She raised her mug to the sky.

The warriors drained their mugs and threw them to the ground. Jim brought the cup to his mouth and took a cautious sniff. The dark fluid smelled musky. Sure it wasn't the peppery spice wine, he took an exploratory sip. The drink tasted like old meat. He swallowed quickly and threw the mostly full cup away. Around him, warriors began to stomp on the ground, quickly, urgently, crushing the clay vessels beneath their feet. He watched a very young man, a low trade, lick spilled drops from his tray, then drop it to the ground. Throwing back his head, the boy shrieked, "Tunton!" Others joined in, and the chant surged.

Jim's heart pounded in his chest, beating in time with the chant. How strange, he thought. 

"The flag!" Craton screamed over the noise. Prahtne pulled a blue scarf from around her neck and handed it to Tunton, who began to wave it over her head. Across the field, someone waved a white flag back. 

Tunton, holding her cup close to her heart, yelled, "I, your keth, order you to fight!" The chanting was so loud Jim doubted the men could hear, but somehow they knew, and Tunton's warriors ran onto the field, screaming her name. 

From the other side, Byten's men raced toward them. The faint light of the dawn illuminated the field enough for Jim to see each side's fastest warrior meet in the middle. Tunton's man swung a cudgel. Byten's dodged it, then barreled into his opponent. The two rolled together on the ground. All around them, warriors met, paired off, and began to swing fists, cudgels, and elbows. They fought in groups of two or three, with no cooperation or planning. The battlefield was a series of brawls. 

All we have to do is wait for someone to fire a phaser. This chaos will keep anyone from noticing us, Jim thought. His lips burned where the Metioln drink had touched them, and his heart continued to pound. But his muscles felt loose, ready. He trotted onto the field, thinking he'd be that much closer to slipping away when the fire came. 

A Metioln shoved another into his path, and Jim stumbled back. Get out of my way, he thought angrily, I've got a mission. The warriors moved on, punching and gouging. Their grunts echoed in Jim's head in an infuriating way. "Shut up," he snarled, then paused, thinking that wasn't like him. The warriors, focused so tightly on each other, ignored him. Their inattention galled Jim more, and he started after them, fury building with every step, thinking, You'll ruin everything.

He knew his orders and remembered his plan, but the frustration he'd controlled for days rocketed out of his gut. He grabbed a fist-sized rock from the ground and looked about for someone to use as a target. The mission, he told himself, but a dozen yards away, a Byten knocked his opponent to the ground and smacked his own chest, a disgusting, infuriating display. Jim yelled, "Uhura, you have the conn," and ran into the battlefield.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty
Battle

Jim parried, then swung his stolen cudgel over his head at the giant Metioln, who ignored the blow. The larger man lunged at Jim, who wheeled and kicked. The force knocked the Metioln off his feet. He grunted loudly as he struck the ground. Raising his cudgel again, Jim ran at him, but the man didn't get up. Loosing interest, Jim pivoted and trotted up the field as another volley of rocks rumbled down the hill. Jim ignored the noise, intent on finding another opponent. He trudged past men fighting in pairs, punching, kicking, and wrestling. He ignored them, too, and focused on finding a partner. 

Fabric clung annoyingly to his sweaty cheeks. Stupid mask, he thought angrily, and pushed it back, off his face. Light, painfully bright, burned his eyes; quickly, he yanked his hood back into place. It shouldn't be so bright, he thought irritably, glancing at the sky. He stopped, squinting through the protective fabric. The sun was nearly overhead. That's not possible, he thought. He'd run on the field at dawn, minutes ago. It couldn't be noon.

But it was.  

Think, Jim told himself, but his head felt foggy. He recalled dim images of jumping and swinging, but no specific opponents. He tried harder, rubbing distractedly at a cramp in his right arm, and noticed his cudgel was discolored at the grip. That looks like blood, he thought, and opened his hands. Raw, open blisters oozed across his palm. When did that happen? And why didn't I notice, he wondered. Why doesn't it hurt? Thinking about it, his palms began to itch, then burn, feeling not painful, but not right. He became aware of a similar warmth radiating from his left leg. Lifting his robe, he found a swollen, purple bruise that ran from mid-thigh to knee. Where did that come from? 

A few meters away, one of Tunton's men collapsed. His opponent stepped back and waited, chest heaving. When the warrior stayed down, the victor ran off without a backward glance. 

That's not right, Jim thought, but wasn't sure what action would have been better. He stretched his now aching hands and tried again to remember. He'd been standing with Uhura, and things had started to bother him. I was angry, he thought, angry like I haven't been in years. Why would that be? 

The morning after that was a blank. Something is wrong, Jim decided. I need to figure out what's going on. He started to jog across the field. With every step, his body seemed to wake up. He became more aware of his burning palms and throbbing bruises. His head cleared, and as he passed potential combatants, he was able to force himself not to fight.

Jim ran up the hillside to a boulder sticking out of the hill. He climbed to the top and stood, chest heaving. Shaking out his now-searing palms, Jim studied the battlefield below. At the far edge was Tunton's indigo canopy. He assumed it was the keth he saw reclining on a thick pile of rugs. Others, Metioln women in blue robes sat in the shade. He recognized Uhura's white one, a tiny figure peering at the battle, looking tense even at this distance. He was closer to the other canopy, a white one. He could see figures in it, too, wearing every color of the rainbow. They were paying more attention to the field than Tunton, though still less interest than Uhura. I don't understand, Jim thought. They called it a battle. They said there would be a winner, but they act like they're watching neighborhood kids playing a game. Is war a spectator sport here? How do they pick the winner of a war on this crazy planet? 

He watched the battle for several seconds more. Tunton's warriors had pushed well past the midline toward Byten's side. Badly outnumbered, Byten's warriors were still fighting. But the eventual outcome seemed obvious to Jim. Why did Byten agree to this? I would have ambushed us on the trail, he thought, but stopped, suddenly recalling that his mission had nothing to do with the battle. What's wrong with me? How could I forget? This is the opportunity I wanted. I need to search the camp for the weapons. 

Byten's camp, he remembered, was in the mountains above the field. I'll follow the path left by Byten's fighters coming to the battle, he thought, and slid down the boulder. Suddenly, a red light shot out from a cliff above him, sending rocks tumbling onto the fighters below. Jim dove automatically to the ground, rolling away. Phaser, he thought, and lay still, expecting screams about dragons. But none came. Jim cautiously raised his head to look and saw smoke from vaporized grass surrounding a pair of motionless bodies. Nothing else had changed. None of the warriors had stopped fighting to run from the flame. They ignored everything but their opponent.

This makes no sense, Jim thought. Why aren't they afraid? Then he noticed burn marks skittering along the dry ground of the battle. That wasn't the first blast, he realized, and I was so engrossed with fighting I didn't notice the others either.

The flame shot out again, arching well over the battle and then bouncing along the ground as the inexperienced shooter corrected their aim. The shot glazed a rock, and it exploded, raining shrapnel on the warriors around it. One of Tunton's men collapsed, screaming; his opponent stepped over him without glancing down, looking for someone else to fight. A few of Tunton's warriors scrambled up the hill toward the shooter. Another light, this one more orange than red, shot toward them. The shot was short, but every bush in its path burst into flame. 

That's a disruptor; she's switched weapons, Jim thought as the warriors dove for cover. We need to stop this. 

A figure in a blue robe ran across the field a few dozen meters below. Jim recognized Tan. My people, he remembered. I left my people. Jumping up, he ran down the hill. But before Jim got to the field, a Metioln in yellow ran roaring at Tan. The ensign swung a cudgel into the chest of the much bigger man, who staggered but didn't go down. The Metioln raised a thick stick. Jim yelled a warning; Tan sidestepped the blow and smacked his opponent across the knees. The Metioln collapsed, screaming. Raising his cudgel, Tan hit him in the back of the head. As Jim ran up, Tan stepped over the still body and said, "I don't need help." 

Jim said, "There's only one shooter. He's up the mountain. We need to get him."

"Why? There's plenty to fight here," Tan replied, hopping back toward the battle.

Jim grabbed the ensign's arm and yanked him back. "This isn't our fight. We have orders."

Tan dropped his stick and shoved Jim back with both hands. Coming from one of his most junior crew members, the action was utterly unexpected, and Jim hit the ground hard. He scrambled up, but Tan was gone, back into the battle, leaving his weapon on the ground. Furious, Jim grabbed it and started after him.

A dusty figure in a disheveled blue robe ran up and pushed his hood back. "Are you alright?" McCoy gasped.

"Tan won't be when I find him," Jim replied, ignoring his friend to search for Tan in the melee of the battlefield.

"Tan? Did you see the phaser fire? The energy beams are several different colors; there's more than one type of weapon."

"He shoved me down, that's assault of a superior officer. I'm gonna kick the,"

"Jim," McCoy interrupted, grabbing his friend by the shoulders, "The mission? The weapons? We're supposed to use the battle as cover to look for them. We need to go."

"There's plenty to fight here," Jim replied, then stopped, remembering Tan had said the same thing. "What's wrong with me?" he asked. "That's not what I think. The mission is the important thing; why am I having so much trouble remembering?"

"Let me guess," McCoy snapped, "you drank the water they handed out?"

"Just a sip," Jim admitted. 

His CMO snorted. "Of course you did. Why listen to me? Well, I've been helping with the injured. They're hyperreactive; their heart rates are elevated, and their pupils are dilated. I'm positive they're all drug-affected. It's like rage floods their central nervous system and pushes everything else out. They can't feel pain; they'll fight until they collapse. Hell, they fight me trying to take them off the field. I suspect that's what the ceremony is for: to get everyone high so they won't stop fighting. I don't know precisely what that stuff is, but it's making everyone crazy."

"That would explain Tan," Jim acknowledged. "How long does it last?"

"I don't know," McCoy replied. "No one seems dead from it yet. I can't believe you all drank something without knowing what it was. What is wrong with you all? Is there some hypo you get in command school that makes it impossible for you to be practical?"

The doctor's tone seemed insulting to Jim, and his hands tightened into fists. The pain made him remember again. He shook his head and said, "I really want to grab a stick and smack you right now." 

The doctor stepped back. "Well, don't," he suggested.

"Stop talking or I'll lose control," Jim warned. "It's probably the drugs, but." 

"Probably," McCoy agreed. Then, in a soothing tone, he said, "I watched closely. Our shooter's behind that grey striped rock on that overhang up there. There are different color flames, but never more than one at a time, so I think there's only one shooter."

"I agree," Jim said, "and he, or, I guess more probably, she, is switching between weapons. We'll need to get above her to take her out."

McCoy looked up the hill and sighed. "That's the plan?" he asked.

Jim nodded, then pointed up the mountain. "It's steep, but climbable. Hopefully, she's distracted enough by the battle that she won't notice us. There's some brush coverage above it. If we could work our way up there and surprise her, we could end this. You try to work your way up on the shooter's right. I'll go left; that gives us two chances to take her out."

McCoy nodded slowly. "I'm not much for taking people out," he said.

"I know, Bones, but this is important. You don't have to kill her, unless she kills me," Jim said, "then, you might not have a choice."

McCoy scowled, but pulled his hood down, saluted quickly, and left, scurrying from cover to cover, working his way toward the target. Once he was sure his friend was safe, Jim started up the mountain on his own. With any luck, I'll have this done before he even gets up there, he thought.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty-One
Up the Mountain

Jim climbed, scurrying from bush to rock, until the thin mountain air forced him to rest. Crouched below a chartreuse parasol tree, he took advantage of the time to plan his next move. Distance made the battlefield screams sound gentle. Tunton's warriors were well past the field's midline and were clearly overwhelming Byten's. The battle might have concluded if not for the phaser fire that periodically complicated it. Phaser is on stun, fortunately, Jim thought, watching it strike a group of warriors. Three collapsed, the single fighter left standing moved away, waving his cudgel and looking for another fight. It was probably on stun when she took it off the pirates. She doesn't know you can change the settings. She grabs something more lethal when she gets scared. He looked up at the rock Bones had described, thinking, From here I need to be careful. Even she might be able to hit me, and I can't leave this for the others to deal with. 

Dropping to his knees, Jim began to crawl, slowly working his way to a rocky point above the shooter's post. Arriving, he crouched under a bush, waiting. When he heard a phaser's hum, he assumed she was distracted by the battle and raised his head, craning to see the shooter.

Behind a baricade of loosely stacked rocks, a woman, very similar in appearance to Tunton, watched the fighting far below. He couldn't see a phaser, but a cudgel lay in the dirt beside her, and a short sword leaned against the short wall. As Jim watched, she opened a skein hanging around her neck and took a pull. She grimaced, then threw the flask to the ground, cursing. 

The woman carefully set a small phaser on the rock wall, then knelt and pawed at the ground, pushing leaves and rocks aside to search for another skein. I got to get those weapons, Jim thought and rose silently to his feet. Jim licked his lips, preparing to rush the post. Something brushed against his shoulder. He whirled, punching out instinctively. His fist connected hard, and he scrambled forward, pinning his assailant to the ground. Jim raised his fist again, then realized he was sitting on a white robed figure. 

"Sorry," Jim whispered and slipped off.

Sulu sat up and pushed his hood back. He touched his rapidly swelling cheek, then moved the finger to his lips, signalling for quiet, then gestured for Jim to follow. They scurried a short distance up the mountainside, then dodged into a fissured rock that formed a small cave.

"Did she hear us?" Jim asked.

"She'd have shot us if she had," Sulu replied. He smiled apologetically. "Good to see you, sir. I'm sorry about the, uh, greeting. I tried to get your attention without making any noise, but it didn't work. I didn't mean to scare you."

"You surprised me," Jim corrected, "but never mind that. What've you got, Sulu?"

Sulu replied, "Once Byten's scouts announced Tunton was coming, I took advantage of the chaos in the camp and collected as much of the Somerville's gear as I could find. I've been carrying it out in my pack," he added, nodding to a small pile of PADDs, tricorders, and tools in the back of the cave.

"Did you get the weapons?" Jim asked.

Sulu shook his head. "Everything but the weapons. I've seen two phasers, an Orion disruptor, and some hand weapon I don't recognize. It shoots a heat wave. There's a plasma rifle, but the safety is on, and she thinks it doesn't work. She was playing with it last night, but didn't have it with her this morning. After the battle started, I doubled back and searched the camp. They weren't there."

"That's good work, Sulu. At least we know what we're looking for now. Let's go back. We've got to get the weapons."

Sulu nodded. "We can't kill her," he said, "it could affect the timeline."

"She's not going to give up her weapons without a fight," Jim said. They stared thoughtfully at each other.

"How about," Jim said. "I sneak up behind her. When I get close, you make some noise to distract her, I jump on her, and knock her out."

Sulu grinned. "How about," he asked, "WE sneak behind her together, I jump in and distract her, you jump in, grab a phaser, set it to stun, and shoot her?"

Jim shook his head. "She'll shoot you as soon as she sees you."

"No, sir," Sulu replied, shaking his head. "You'd shoot me as soon as you saw me, and I'd do the same. But that's because our primary goal is to win as quickly as possible. Metiolns have a different set of values. I've learned some things up here. I believe if I challenge her with a sword, she'll respond with hers."

"You believe?" Jim asked skeptically. "Byten is not supposed to be much of a Metioln. She might not play by the rules."

"Yes, but Byten is making a play for the big time, sir," Sulu replied with a confident smile. "She needs to impress people, and swordplay is for keths exclusively. She'll relish the chance to use the weapon." 

"What if you're wrong?" Jim asked. "No insult, Sulu, but I'd like to minimize..."

Sulu interrupted. "I'm not wrong, sir. I'm male and smaller than her. She won't be able to resist putting me in my place."

While Jim tried to think of an argument against the plan, Sulu continued, "What do we have to lose by trying it my way? If I'm wrong, you'll step up and take her on alone, which was your original plan anyway."

"Watching you get shot at close range with a disruptor isn't in my plan, Sulu," Jim said irritably. 

"No, sir, but again, I don't think she'll shoot me. Not once she sees this beauty." Sulu reached back and pulled out a heavy Metioln sword. "I found this while unloading stolen myleth."

"You stole something?" Jim asked, grinning. He considered Sulu straight-laced. It seemed very out of character for the lieutenant to have stolen anything. 

Sulu shrugged. "I figured, when in Metiol, do as the Metolns do. Anyway, I nabbed this and I'm kind of excited to try it out." He swished the blade expertly. He looked at the captain hopefully. "Frankly, sir, swordplay is my specialty, but your aim is legendary. I'd feel better if you were firing the phaser."

Jim laughed. "Legendary? Do you think if you flatter me, I'll do what you want?"

Sulu shrugged, still playing with the sword. "Did it work?"

Jim ran through his options, then said, "Okay. We'll try it your way. We'll get as close as we can and try to catch her off guard. But, Sulu, be aware. Even she won't miss at this distance. If she goes for the disruptor, do whatever you need to defend yourself." He paused and added, "Kill her if you have to."

"Yes, sir," Sulu agreed solemnly. He took a deep breath, used the sword to salute, then bolted from the cave. Jim followed more slowly, sneaking past his original viewing spot toward the shooter's den until he found a boulder to hide behind, about four meters behind and above Byten. 

Sulu jumped up on Byten's left side, brandishing the sword and screaming a challenge. Jim braced himself, hoping not to see Sulu die, but Byten laughed, tossed the phaser she'd been using aside, and grabbed the ornate sword on the ground beside her. She spoke to Sulu in dialect, her tone mocking, then jumped out of her den. Weapon raised, she charged. As she did, Jim slid down the hill into the den, grabbed the phaser, and fired. Nothing happened. He shook the little weapon and realized it was overheated. The safety program had kicked in and automatically shut it down. Dropping to the ground, Jim pawed through the trash on the floor of the den, looking for another weapon. Grunts and clangs filled the air. He touched something hard and pulled up a second small phaser. He set it to stun and jumped to his feet. Sulu and Byten danced about, blades swishing. Jim climbed closer, looking for a clear shot. 

Byten swung hard and missed. Sulu pushed his advantage and shoved her hard with a shoulder. She stumbled back, and Jim fired. Byten went down, sword hitting the ground. Breathing hard, Sulu saluted again. "Thanks."

"My legendary aim sometimes takes a while," Jim said. 

Sulu laughed. "Let's get the guns before we have company," he said.

They rifled through the trash and leaves of Byten's fort and found all the weapons Sulu had seen but the plasma rifle. They took them to Sulu's little cave, quickly disassembled them, and tucked the pieces into the packs. Just as they finished, they heard voices. Jim grabbed for the sword, but Sulu peered around the cave opening and saw Uhura and McCoy. "We're here," he called. 

Uhura hugged Sulu and said, "I was worried. I'm glad you're alright. Did you find the weapons?"

"Most of them," Jim explained, "Everything but a rifle. It's not here. We'll search the camp."

"We'll need to hurry," Uhura said, "the battle's over. Everyone's coming this way."

"Everyone?" Jim asked.

Uhura nodded, "Byten's people are bringing Tunton up to help her loot their camp."

"Darndest thing I ever saw," McCoy interjected. "The fighting didn't stop until the last of Byten's people went down. As soon as he did, Tunton had her horns blown. Everyone cheered, and I mean all of them, even Byten's warriors, and if they could, they hauled themselves up and started stripping themselves out of their torn robes. Tunton's warriors helped them up and hugged them like long-lost brothers." 

"All these men," Uhura agreed, "who moments before had been trying to beat each other to death with their bare hands, suddenly embraced and turned to introduce old friends to new ones." She shook her head and added, "Describing it makes it sound beautiful, but watching it was very confusing."

"Right now," McCoy continued, "the worker trades are dragging large sleds over the battlefield, lifting the wounded onto them. Again, it seems to make no difference on which side the warriors had been fighting. They're all being treated gently. Everyone's helping each other up, dressing each other's wounds."

"No hard feelings," Uhura agreed. "Everyone's acting happy, celebratory, even."

McCoy's mouth twisted. "Well, not everyone. There were a few casualties."

"Yes, of course," Uhura said quickly. "I don't want to minimize,"

"You came up here looking for the weapons?" Jim interrupted.

"The uninjured warriors aren't far behind us," Uhura agreed. "They'll be here soon. I ran ahead. I thought I should light a brush fire."

"Why?" Jim asked.

"Because a mother dragon would scorch some earth when she came to collect her baby." When no one replied, she added, "How else do you plan to explain why we don't have Byten's dragon? It's a reasonable explanation."

"It is?" asked McCoy.

"It's reasonable to the Metiolns," Uhura clarified. Nodding agreement, Jim instructed his team to pile brush in Byten's fort. He dragged Byten to a safer space, then quickly assembled the smallest phaser and used it to start a fire. Once the flames were well established, the crew hid by Sulu's cave and watched until the advancing warriors stopped to extinguish the fire. There were many excited shrieks when Byten, still unconscious, was discovered. The crew took advantage of the activity to rejoin the group, and Jim heard Craton send Prahtne for Tunton and a myleth to carry Byten. 

The soldiers scrambled up the mountain toward Byten's camp. As Uhura had anticipated, there was much discussion of dragons. Several soldiers swore that they had seen more than one flying over the battlefield. 

Once they reached Byten's encampment, Craton gestured at the ragtag tents and told the warriors to help themselves. While the crew watched, all the men, including many of Byten's former clan members, stripped the place. It was happy chaos, the men running about, screaming with each new treasure.

It was some time before Tunton arrived, riding her blue myleth. "You didn't wait for me?" she asked, slipping out of the saddle.

Craton ignored the question. "Where is our cousin?" she asked.

Our cousin?" asked Tunton.

Craton turned to her angrily. "Byten. She was below. I left her, thinking as a family member you would wish to carry her up on your myleth."

"I never saw her," shrugged Tunton, looking past Craton to the camp. Slipping off her myleth, she said, "I have work to do. Without me, I will be robbed by my own warriors." The keth pushed her hood back and cupped her hands. "Warriors, trades," she called, "raise your masks. We are one clan here, and I am your keth. Today we share in victory."  She strode forth among her clan, who cheered wildly.

Craton turned to Prahtne. "You were there, what did you see?"

Prahtne replied, "Tunton rode ahead while I supervised the collection of the bodies and the injured from the battlefield. I was surprised to catch her, but she explained she'd stopped to attend to a body."

"A body?" Craton asked, sounding doubtful, "In the mountains, above the battle?"

Prahtne nodded. "I came upon the keth just as the trades dragged a corpse to the myleth," she replied. "It was impossible to judge its robe color for all the blood. Tunton told me it was some man who had died in the fighting." 

Craton sat down, twisting her hands. "Tunton found a body?" she asked, "and didn't send for you?"

"I thought only it was unlike Tunton to be so unconcerned about spirits," Prahtne agreed, "but did not think it was my place to comment."

In a troubled voice, Craton whispered, "Show me this body."

"It's gone," Prahtne said, "fed to the myleth with the others, as my keth instructed."

Craton chewed her lip, then turned and stomped off. Prahtne followed.

"So much for leaving Byten alive," Sulu murmured.

"Did Tunton kill her?" Uhura asked, sounding horrified. "Why would she do that? They don't even purposely fight to the death on the battlefield; it makes no sense." 

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "I don't understand a lot today."

"I understand that we need to get out of here," McCoy muttered.

Jim nodded. "Sulu says there's a plasma rifle hidden around here somewhere. We find it, we get Chekov, and then we get out. I promise."

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty Two
The Search for the Rifle

Byten's camp rang with whoops and screaming laughter. Men tore through bedrolls and pulled down tents. The crew watched the anarchy until Jim said, "If someone stumbles on that rifle, we're back to square one."

"It's not in the camp, sir," Sulu said. "I've had several days. I searched the main living area well, but couldn't get into Byten's tent."

"Then we'll start there," Kirk said and gestured for Sulu to lead the way. They wound through laughing warriors, screaming with joy as they looted Byten's camp. No one stopped them, no one even seemed to notice them until Tan and Hendorff called for them to wait. Hendorff's face was badly bruised, and Tan opened a very swollen mouth to show off two missing teeth. While McCoy fussed, one of Tunton's soldiers lurched up and handed Jim a skein. "You fought bravely today, and honored your keth with every blow," he slurred.

"Is it wine?" Jim asked, taking the skein. 

The soldier laughed, "You're greedy! Not yet! There's work to be done! It's skein water only until we've packed the keth's treasures. Afterward, we'll share Byten's spice."

Satisfied, Jim took a long drink of the water. He handed the skein to Sulu and explained to the Metioln, "We are going up to search for the dragon."

"Don't bother. It's gone," the man replied.

"How do you know?" Jim asked. 

Many people report seeing it fly off with a dragonlet on its back," the man said. "Stay close. After we repack her treasures, our generous keth may reward us."

Uhura stepped in front of Jim. "I require their efforts."

The warrior stepped back, dropping his head, and Jim realized the man had only been so talkative because he hadn't seen Uhura behind him. "Of course," the Metioln said, timourously and bowing to Uhura, scurried away.

"What's with the bow? Is he copying Chekov?" McCoy asked.

"They all are," Hendorff replied. "People were bowing to each other all over the village yesterday."

"Speaking of Chekov," Sulu said, "could we all agree to be patient? If you think he was annoyingly excited about this mission, he's gonna be frantic about his first in-person battle. He's going to want to tell us all about it in great detail. Probably about fifty times."

"Hmm, I'd guess not, as it turns out," McCoy muttered, glancing at Jim, who was surprised by a flush of guilt. Not helpful, he told himself. 

"What?" asked Sulu, sounding confused. 

But Tan distracted everyone by saying, "Hey! Chekov started a fad. Don't you think that's a violation of the Prime Directive? Can I tell him? Please?"

The ensign's excited delight, juxtaposed so sharply with his battered appearance, made Jim laugh. Feeling better, he said, "Tan, if we get off this planet and the only lasting change is that people bow to each other, we'll all deserve commendations." 

They continued through the camp, dodging falling tents and soldiers stuffing packs with the keth's new possessions. Uhura asked, "Where are the children and old people?" 

"There aren't any. This isn't really a village, more a military encampment. Everybody was a warrior," Sulu explained. "Byten didn't have gardens or any other work for low trades. They barely even cooked. They ate stolen goods and, when they ran low, they'd go out and steal more. There weren't even real homes. When they found tents, they put them up, and people moved in."

"They picked a new place every night?" guessed Uhura.

"Sulu snorted. "More like, slept wherever you passed out. That's why I'm sure the rifle isn't in the camp. There was never any place I couldn't go, so I conducted a very thorough search."

"But Byten had her own tent?" Kirk asked.

Sulu nodded. "She was usually in it, so I didn't get to search it, but I tried. We're nearly there." He pointed to a sparse thicket of sickly looking trees slightly beyond the main camp. A small tent, each section made from a different-colored fabric, stood in the weak shade. "Byten's home base," Sulu said. 

Stepping inside, Jim's first thought was that the tent wasn't well-maintained. Tears in the fabric walls let the breeze through, but it still smelled stale. Empty skeins littered the unswept dirt floor, and the rugs were jumbled, not rolled and neatly stacked as they were in Tunton's village. 

Lifting the pile of rugs that had been Byten's bed, Jim rifled through it, but dropped it when he found nothing. The others searched too. They found jewelry, and several sacks of the peppers the Metiolns used for cash, but no weapons of any kind.

"You're sure you saw a rifle?" Jim asked Sulu, who nodded. 

Jim walked outside and cast a speculative look at the sky. It was still light, but the sun was on its way down. Now that the wake water and adrenaline had washed out of his system, his muscles were stiffening, and he was tired. The smell of cooking meat suggested the Metiolns were beginning to calm down. The thought of going down, grabbing some wine, and a soft bed was very appealing. But he sighed, then faced his people and said, "Byten hid the plasma rifle somewhere. It can't be far. She would have wanted all the weapons where she could keep an eye on them; she'd have worried about her clan stealing from her. Let's split up and search. Rendezvous at dusk at whatever fire Craton is partying at down below."

There were no complaints, just murmured acknowledgements, then Uhura and Sulu left together, walking east. Tan and Hendorff went the other direction, and watching his people limp away, Jim was overwhelmed with pride, thinking, I have the best crew in the galaxy.

"Guess we're going up," Bones commented, gazing up the scruffy mountainside with poorly concealed distaste.

"Guess so," Jim agreed, and started up. They worked slowly, checking anything that looked like a potential hiding place. They disarrayed dozens of small rock piles, without success. It took them more than an hour to get out of sight of the tent. Half an hour after that, they poked sticks into what appeared to be a freshly disturbed patch of ground, finding not a rifle, but a nest of strong-jawed insects.

"Of course, this hellhole comes complete with fire ants," Bones groused, shaking the creatures off his sleeve. "It would help if I knew what we were looking for."

Jim said sarcastically. "Unfortunately, command school didn't cover what would look like a good hiding place to an alcoholic, seven-foot despot." Before he could continue, a rock shifted under his boot, and he slipped. He overcorrected, pitched forward, and slid toward one of the wheel trees. He rolled to avoid striking its fierce thorns and skidded to a stop, lying on his back staring up into the foliage. 

"You alright, kid?" McCoy called, hurrying down to check on him. 

"I'm better than alright," Jim said with a smile.

"Did you hit your head?" McCoy asked suspiciously.

"No," Jim replied, "and I'm sorry I was short with you." He pointed into the branches. 

McCoy looked up and asked wonderingly, "How do you do this? How do you do this every time?"

In the branches above their heads, nestled against the trunk of a parasol tree, was a length of dirty fabric wrapped loosely about something long and sturdy, almost certainly a plasma rifle.

"Every single time," McCoy said again. "You always pull good luck out of bad. We'd have never seen it if you hadn't fallen right below it."

"Finding it wasn't nearly as hard as getting it down is going to be," Jim replied, climbing to his feet. "Any ideas?"

They looked for sticks but didn't find any long enough to use. They threw rocks at the package, hitting it several times, but it didn't fall. Jim pounded the trunk with a rock, trying to break off enough thorns to make it climbable, but injured himself when one pierced his thumb. Finally, Jim had McCoy climb on his shoulders, but they still couldn't touch the package.

Staring darkly up at the bundle, McCoy said, "She was taller than us, but not that tall. She had to have stood on something to get it that high. Whatever she used, it must be in the tent. I'll go back there and find it."

"No," Jim said. "The Metiolns might see. We don't want to raise their suspicions. We'll make a pile of rocks. I'll get it that way."

McCoy scowled, but nodded, then plodded off in search of rocks. Jim did the same. And half an hour later, they had a knee-high pile of stones. Jim climbed on it to see how much higher it needed to be. The pile collapsed when he stood on it. "We need bigger rocks," he said.

"Or, we could go back to the tent and get whatever she used," McCoy countered. 

"And waste all the time we already put into it?" Jim laughed. "Come on, Bones, let's go find one rock, maybe a meter square, we'll roll it into place, and I'll use it as a base. I know it'll work."

Half an hour later, sweat ran off Jim's face and stained a large piece of granite as they pulled, dragged, and pushed it to the tree base. 

"Help me," Jim urged, and with one last shove, they moved it into place.

McCoy collapsed to lean against the stone. "I think I finally understand why they spend every afternoon hiding in tents."

Jim climbed to the top of the rock, balanced, and reached, but couldn't touch the branch. He jumped, threw himself toward the package. He touched the rifle but didn't move it. The thorns had impaled the wrappings, holding the weapon in place. "I need a stick," he said.

"There aren't sticks, there's nothing but dirt, bugs, sun, and rocks for miles," McCoy said.

"Then I need a bigger rock," Jim said firmly.

McCoy moaned. "One more, just a little bigger; inches, enough for me to stand on and use as a base," Jim insisted. "I can jump up, knock the package down, and we can go home."

After a long, loud sigh, McCoy agreed grudgingly, "One more."

They walked uphill until Jim saw a room-sized boulder, dotted by scrubby plants growing from its fissured surface. He hurried over and found that a piece had broken loose and lay nestled in the dirt at the larger rock's base. Jim ran his hand along the smaller one and said, "Here it is."

"We can't carry something that size," McCoy insisted. 

"Help me pull it free. We'll give it a good kick, and it'll roll down the hill," Jim said. "We'll hardly have to touch it."

"Jim," McCoy said in a low voice.

Jim braced himself against the larger rock and pushed the smaller one. It shifted slightly. "I know it's hot, Bones," he said encouragingly, "but this'll work. Once we get that rifle, we'll go back to the village, nab Chekov, and head out to the transport spot."

"Jim," McCoy repeated, staring at the rock.

"We'll be back on the ship in less than 24 hours. You can watch while I call HQ personally. Seeing Komak's face when I say, 'mission accomplished' will make all of this worthwhile."

"Jim, shut up and look," McCoy whispered urgently.

Surprised, Jim glanced at his friend. McCoy was staring at something above them with big, frightened eyes. Turning, Jim followed his gaze and felt his heart thump painfully. 

Above them, hanging over the bigger rock, was the head of an enormous lizard. Its tongue flicked out and back between rows of razor-like teeth. Its golden eyes stared at them, unblinking.

"Okay," Jim breathed. "No sudden moves."

"It looks like a dinosaur," McCoy whispered. 

"It's just a lizard, like the guard ones in the village, but bigger. It's probably more afraid of us..." Jim started. The lizard-like creature snapped its jaws, hissing threateningly. 

"No," McCoy moaned, "not afraid at all."

"Step back, Bones," Jim said. "Go slow, and smooth, but get ready to run." He bent slowly and cupped a loose rock in his fist.

Slowly, keeping their faces to the snapping lizard, they began to inch away from the pile of stones. The lizard snapped and growled, waving its head threateningly. Suddenly, its massive body, as thick as a man's, poured over the rock, and it started toward them.

"Run," Jim commanded. But McCoy was already gone, moving faster than Jim had ever seen him go before. Jim threw the rock with all his might. It struck the lizard in its shoulder, causing it to stumble, and Jim ran too, hoping it was enough. But when he looked back, the animal was up again, limping, but running. Jim swerved right, hoping to draw the animal after him, but it kept going, following McCoy downhill. Jim grabbed another stone and ran after them, yelling.

McCoy dodged behind the tree that held the rifle. The lizard shot past him but corrected quickly and turned back. McCoy grabbed a rock and heaved it, then darted uphill. The lizard paused briefly, then started after McCoy.

Running hard, Jim jumped onto the not-high-enough rock. His wrist slammed into the thorny branch, but his fingers connected with the edge of the rifle. It sailed out of its wrappings and flew through the air. Jim sailed too, rolling as he hit the ground. He grabbed the gun and was on his feet in an instant, not even conscious of arming and aiming.

McCoy was meters away, dodging the lunging lizard when Jim pulled the trigger. There was a pop. The lizard lit up and disappeared. McCoy stared at the space where the animal had been, then turned to Jim and screamed, "You fired that thing right at me!" 

"I didn't hit you," Jim said.

"You could have," McCoy ranted.

"I didn't," Jim repeated, then added, "I didn't have time to make a plan. I just did it."

McCoy sputtered, too upset to form words. Jim added, "I'm usually lucky."

"Yeah, I know," McCoy said, a little more calmly. "You've mentioned that several times." 

"This time, even you've got to agree," Jim laughed and began gently trying to pull a thorn out of his arm. "Well, this hurts," he said.

McCoy came up, watched him, then swatted at his hand and took over. "I hate this planet," he said.

"I know, Bones," Jim said, "but right now I hate these thorns more."

"You realize," McCoy said, "we gave Tunton the bourbon? We don't even have alcohol to wash this with. You'll probably die of infection."

"Well," Jim said, "at least that means I won't have to explain to Komak that I blasted a dinosaur in direct defiance of the Prime Directive and his specific orders. All in all, death doesn't sound so bad."

McCoy's lips twitched. "What dinosaur? I didn't see a dinosaur," he said. "We found the rifle hidden in a tree, and it misfired as we got it down. The end."

"Thanks," Jim said with a grin.

"No, captain, thank you," McCoy replied, tearing a strip off his robe to wrap around Jim's bleeding wrist.

"You're welcome," Jim said. 

"How in the hell did you do that?" McCoy asked.

"Get these things stuck in my arm? I wasn't thinking, I punched the tree."

"No, jump five feet straight up, knock a rifle to the ground, fire it, and kill the dinosaur? You didn't aim. You didn't even slow down. It was impossible. How did you do it?"

"Oh, that. Well, frankly, Dr. McCoy, my aim is legendary."

McCoy snorted.

Jim smiled ruefully and asked, "Want to go home?"

"So much," McCoy growled, "but at this point, I'd settle for going back to the ship."

Jim nodded, laughing. "Let's go get our crew," he said.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty Three
The Spoils of War

Jim and McCoy broke the rifle down, then made their way slowly down the mountainside. The long day was finally ending; the sun was dropping behind the mountain. Somewhere below, the warriors, now seamlessly Tunton's, were singing. Following the music, they made their way to the remnants of Byten's camp. Several large fires blazed, with pots nestled in the flames. Men ambled about, singing and drinking. A stranger tripped and ran into McCoy. Jim helped him up, and the man stopped to hug them both. "Now we drink," he bellowed through split lips, handing them a skein.

Jim laughed and took the skein, but Bones shook his head. "Smells like you've done enough of that for both of us," he said. Pointing to Jim's still oozing wound, he asked, "Can you recommend something for this?"  

"When did you punch a vesula?" laughed the Metioln. "You drank too much water, my friend. You'll have to get the poison out." 

"And how do we do that?" McCoy asked.

The man replied, "Mest will do it. It will hurt; better drink some spice."

"I'm not afraid," Jim said. 

Rather than answer, the Metioln grabbed Jim's wrist and squeezed it. Jim pulled back, yipping in surprise and pain. "You shoulda feared the tree," the old man laughed. "Go find Mest and have him clean the wound." 

An hour later, every thorn had been yanked from Jim's arm by Mest, a toothless old trade. He rubbed the wounds until they bled, then wrapped them in a filthy rag. "I've done my best," he said, patting the arm. "Next time, drink less water. The trees don't fight fair."

After thanking the older man, Jim and McCoy wandered through the camp's remains, searching for the rest of the crew. McCoy complained about the camp's hygiene, food, and noise level. Jim nodded sympathetically and thought, How can I get Craton to tell me anything about a timeline for returning to the village?

McCoy scowled and asked, "Are you listening to anything I say?"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure," Jim replied.

"I'm telling you," McCoy said, "you need that wound sterilized and to spend an hour under the restoration unit."

"Soon as we get back, Bones," Jim promised.

"You wait too long, it's going to scar," McCoy warned.

"If I get off this planet with nothing to regret but a few scars, I'll be thrilled," Jim laughed. But his arm throbbed, and the thought of a clean bed, even in the medical unit, sounded great.

They found Tan and Hendorff sitting before a large fire, flushed and sleepy-looking. When Jim told them about the rifle, Hendorff rose unsteadily and hugged him.

"That's unexpected," Jim said uncertainly.

"Congratulations," Hendorff yelled, while Tan giggled.

"Had some wine, lieutenant?" McCoy asked.

"Sir, it's a celebration," Hendorff explained.

"Stop drinking it," McCoy snapped. "I'm not telling any of you people again."

"You say that, but you always do," Tan said, laughing harder. McCoy's expression almost made Jim join him. It roused Hendorff enough to lecture Tan on the standards of decorum expected of officers in the security division, but the bigger man kept leaving out words, and his speech was so slurred that nothing he said made much sense. Mid-sentence, Tan yawned, stretched out beside the fire, and fell asleep. The snoring began almost immediately. 

"Oh, for crying out loud," McCoy said, "he's drunk."

"No, sir, Doctor," Hendorff paused, furrowing his brow thoughtfully. 

"McCoy?" Jim prompted.

"Yes," Hendorff nodded enthusiastically. "That's it, thank you. Dr. Macky. He's not drunk. We didn't hardly drink anything. One sip, just to be polite." 

"I don't think you're too reliable a witness, Hendorff," McCoy huffed, "but if you really didn't drink much, then whatever that spice is, it's very effective in humans. None of you is to take any more of it, and that's an order. Now, sit there by Tan's head and tell me if he stops breathing."

Hendorff complied, perched by the fire, staring anxiously at his fellow officer. Jim shook his head. "Relax, he's not going to stop breathing. He just needs to sleep it off. But the doctor is right. Let's avoid the spice. We need to be ready to move."

All around them, the party grew fiercer. Drinking games were popular. They watched one in which men copied progressively more specific poses and actions, each success celebrated with a long pull on one of Byten's skeins of spice wine. Raucous laughter split the air as drinkers tripped and fell. The fires raged higher as partiers threw more of Byten's possessions on them. 

Several Metiolns stopped, concerned about not seeing Uhura. "She's searching for the dragon," Jim explained. 

"She went without you?" several asked, sounding puzzled. Others, drunk, laughed and made suggestive jokes about Uhura being gone with Sulu. McCoy tried to argue, but Jim insisted he ignore the soldiers. "Let them think whatever they want, Bones," he said.

Again and again, men offered to share the peppery wine. 

"Don't mind if I do," Hendorff said groggily, reaching for the skein.

"I told you no," the doctor said, slapping his hand away. "There's quite enough crazy here without us adding to it."

"Don't you brew spice in your land?" one of the men asked. "Everyone loves it. Even the lowest trade has spice every day. Spice makes life possible and bearable."

"I, uh, don't feel right enjoying myself until my wife returns," Jim said.

"Very proper," the man said, as if that explained everything. "I will not force you, but remember you will need to drink the rainwater," and he wandered off into the dark. 

Hendorff said sulkily, "So, we'll just sit in the dark and watch everyone else enjoy themselves."

"Exactly," McCoy replied with satisfaction. 

There was stew. It wasn't good, but Jim hadn't eaten since breakfast. After several bowlfuls and some water, Jim was considering joining Tan in a nap when Sulu and Uhura finally appeared out of the darkness, walking slowly, their clothes sweat-stained. Jim scooted over to make room for them.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we didn't find the rifle," Uhura said, collapsing heavily beside Jim.  

"Don't worry, the doctor and I did," Jim said.

Uhura exchanged a tight-lipped look with Sulu, who shook his head and sat beside her.   

After an uncomfortable silence, McCoy asked, "I suppose you were looking all this time?" 

Sulu sighed. "We searched diligently until the sun started to set." He accepted a bowl of stew from Hendorff and added, "As per the captain's orders, sir."

McCoy cleared his throat, "We didn't know where you were, so there wasn't any way to tell you when we found it."

"Just out of curiosity, did you try?" Sulu asked. His eyes were red, and his face drawn with exhaustion.

"Well," McCoy said, "It's not like we have communicators like normal people would." 

Sulu nodded. "You could maybe have sent someone out in the general direction of the team members still searching," he suggested. "It might have demonstrated an interest in the welfare of the rest of the team. I remember in command school, they stressed we should always be aware of the entire team."

"Is that a dig about Chekov?" McCoy asked. "That was a command decision, and it's completely inappropriate for you to comment on it."

Jim gave McCoy a surprised glance. Sulu shook his head. "What's Chekov got to do with us hiking in the desert for hours while no one thought to tell us the mission had concluded?" he asked. He drank a bit of stew and asked. "Where is he anyway?"

"Chekov? That's kind of a long story," Hendorff replied.

Sulu set the bowl down and asked, "Did he get hurt?"

"He's fine," Hendorff said. "Probably better than us, actually."

Sulu sighed noisily. "I can't believe you left him out there by himself. You know he won't come back until he finds it. He couldn't stand to disappoint any of us. Let me get a drink, and I'll go look for him."

"That's not necessary," McCoy said.

Sulu put up a hand to stop him. "It's not safe for him out there alone," he said. "There are lizards as big as bears. He'll pick up a rock, get distracted figuring out the best angle of trajectory, and get eaten."

Jim opened his mouth to explain, but Uhura beat him to it. "He's not here, Hikaru. He's still in the village. Like Hendorff said, it's a long story, but the important thing is that the mission is complete and we can go home."

"What do you mean, long story?" Sulu asked.

"I wish we could start back tonight," Uhura sighed.

Why can't we?" asked Hendorff. "We could slip off in the dark and be most of the way back by morning."

"None of the Metiolns would understand why we would do that," Uhura explained. "If anything went wrong and we needed the villagers' help, we wouldn't be able to explain our behavior. Everything will be easier if we can act like them just a little bit more. We need to participate in the celebration, then go back to the village with the group."

"Well," Hendorff said slowly, "then why aren't we participating? I mean, if we're going to stay, shouldn't we join in the festivities? It would make us look more average, right?"

"On this mission, you're the chief of security. Your primary responsibility is the protection of the crew," McCoy chanted. "You're crew, Hendorff. Protect yourself."

"I know my responsibilities, sir," Hendorff replied, "I'm just saying, how come we have to act Metioln unless it's fun, and then suddenly, we can't?"

"No fun allowed," Uhura agreed wearily, spooning some stew into a dirty bowl.

"I still don't understand. Where's Chekov?" Sulu asked. 

Uhura looked up at Jim. Sure, he thought, more amused than angry, you're the leader until it's time to explain something a little tricky. He cleared his throat. "There was some support work back at the village," he said, "I assigned it to him. Get something to eat, Sulu. We need to sleep."

Sulu looked dissatisfied, but he nodded and murmured, "Yes, sir."

The crew sat quietly, watching the long lines of stumbling drunks spinning about as they danced, nearly missing fires when they fell. Even the injured drank, new friends gently holding skeins for those too weak to hold their own.

"They are remarkably civil to their enemies," McCoy said.

"You're misinterpreting their motivation," Uhura said. "Most members of the Federation fight only in support of an ideology or in the interests of self-protection, but no one in this culture would ever consider that a possibility. Warriors fight at the order of their keth. They don't ask why. They aren't angry at each other because none of it is their fault. They would all fight for the other side if their keth demanded."

"The wake water helps," Jim said.

"The what?" Hendorff asked. 

"The drink they shared this morning, before the battle," Jim explained.

"I remember that! Do you think it might have been drugs?" Hendorff asked.

"You think?" McCoy asked sarcastically.

"Yes, sir," Hendorff replied earnestly. "I do. It was weird. I remember drinking it and starting to feel mad, and then I don't remember anything for hours. When I came to, I was hot and covered in bruises I don't remember getting. Tan told me he doesn't even remember losing his teeth."

"It was as if everyone suddenly transformed into Berserkers," Uhura said. "Craton told me I couldn't have gotten you to stop if I tried, until the wake water wore off. They were surprised I was so interested in the fight; they were so unworried that they barely paid attention. Craton said the outcome was out of our hands, that Metiol gave them wake water and she'd decide the winner." She paused, then added softly, "I tried to copy them, but it wasn't easy."

"What do you mean, unworried? They didn't care who won?" Jim said. 

Uhura nodded, "Tunton did, she ranted about it. But Craton seemed to think caring was in bad taste. She accused Tunton of having drunk the wake water; like that explained her interest." She frowned, remembering. "I don't believe Craton would have objected if Byten's forces had won. She'd have just changed her robe and become head of the guards of Clan Byten. It seems extraordinary to us because we value winning. But this culture values compliance."

"They were all obedient to their old keth, and now they'll all be just as obedient to their new one," Jim added.

"Until she trades them," McCoy muttered, shaking his head.

Somewhere in the dark, there was a crash, followed by screams of laughter. "It's going to be a long night," Hendorff said whistfully.

"Meaning we've got plenty of time to hear long stories," Sulu muttered. Jim pretended not to hear and cheerfully offered to take the first watch. Hendorff objected, but Jim promised to wake him for the second watch. His people stretched out by the fire. Warm and tired, they quickly fell asleep.. 

Wrapped tightly in his robe, Jim gazed into the fire, planning. The trip downhill should be faster. If we can get going at a decent time tomorrow, we'll be back to the village by dark. We can ask Tunton for myleth and leave early the next morning. It's half a day tops to the beam out. We will be back on the ship by supper time tomorrow. Then, I'll call Komak. I'll do it from my chair on the bridge. Or, is that too obvious? Maybe from my ready room? Yeah, that would be better. 

Gradually, he became aware that someone was watching him. Looking up, he saw Craton's lieutenant, Prahtne, standing on the other side of the fire. Seeing his attention, she walked deliberately around the sleeping bodies of his crew and took a seat on a stone next to, but above, him. She sat staring at him speculatively.

"Do you want me to wake up Uhur, I mean, wake up the keth?" he asked.

Prahtne shook her head, eyes narrowing speculatively. "I wish to speak to you."

"Okay," he said, "but I'm a married man and I seem to remember your boss is kind of a stickler for protocol."

"Tell me your plan," she said.

"My plan?"

"This day, before the battle, you wished to do it differently."

"Oh, yes," he said. "I did, but my keth reminded me that I fight only as she directs me."

"What would you have done?" Prahtne asked.

Jim considered, then said, "Your trades fought bravely, and you have defeated Byten. Surely this means your plan was the right one."

"You seemed very sure at the time," Prahtne said.

"My keth would prefer I not talk about it," he said, hoping that would end the discussion.

"Your wife," she corrected.

"Yes, my wife, Uhura," he agreed.

I have noticed you do not often refer to her as your wife. Among my people, it's customary to use the title. It is an honor to have been chosen forever by any female; most men are proud to brag of it," Prahtne said.

"I'm proud," he said. "However, Merti is not my first language, and I use different words."

"Like Lieutenant," Prahtne said.

"A term of affection," he said quickly.

"Which you also use for Sulu and Hendorff," Prahtne said.

"You have a good ear," Jim muttered unhappily. 

"And a sharp eye," she said. "It is not the only way you do not seem like a married couple. Even as she did it, I could see in her face how little she wished to give the daka to Tunton. Why? Low trades are interchangeable, yet she worried about where it would go, as if it were a son. The soldiers say she went into the mountains with Sulu while you were here in the camp. He is her warrior, not her man. Look at her now, asleep beside him while you stare at the fire. She sleeps while you sit alone. That is not the way of married couples." She paused and added, "You are unnatural."

"We have different traditions," Jim said again. 

Prahtne lip curled contemptuously. She asked, "You are male, it is obvious. How is it that you are keth?" 

“I’m not keth. Uhura is the keth," he said.

Prahtne shook her head and said. "She pretends to be keth, but she is not. All of them turn to you for permission before every action. The males forget, she remembers and does not ask with words, but her eyes do."

"You're mistaken," Jim said, forcing a laugh.

She shook her head and whispered, "I trained to lead warriors under Craton, who is a wiser woman than our current leader. I know to watch for weakness and strength. I know a leader when I see one."

"I should wake Uhura," he said.

"Don't bother."  Prahtne studied him with eyes like dark lasers. "Males," she continued, "crave to serve; that is the natural way of things. Craton considers you aberrant, dangerous."

"No," he said, "not dangerous."

She said, "Craton fears you will spread your perversion through our clan."

"I have no interest in changing your society," Jim said firmly, glad to have a chance to speak truthfully.

"In one way," Prahtne continued, "Craton is correct. You are not like our males. She fears that difference."  She slid down to sit beside him. Leaning against him so that her face was only a few inches away, she whispered, "I welcome it." 

Jim blinked. Prahtne stared back with huge dark eyes. He recognized the look; he'd seen it many times before and was suddenly grateful for Uhura's many reminders of the local expectations for marital fidelity.

"Scripture," Prahtne said, "instructs the faithful to ignore a mated man. To do otherwise risks the family. A good family is like Metiol." She took a handful of the dry soil and held it up to him. "Solid, reliable, unchanging." She tossed the soil into the fire and added, "I say Metiol is dry dirt and those who have water have power."  

What is this about? Jim wondered.

Prahtne continued, "I didn't understand the words when you argued with Uhura, but I knew what you were saying. You wanted to attack. She prevented you." 

When he didn't reply, she said, "You would have gone to the fight without the ceremony, without warning, arrived by night, slipped into Byten's camp like a desert kuant into the nest of a mestre."

"You misunderstood," he said, "I was eager to begin, to fight for my keth, but she reminded me that the goal of conflict is to avoid it. I am so grateful for her wisdom."

She continued as if he hadn't spoken, "To do as you wish is heresy, but you don't care." He could feel her hot breath on his face, smelling faintly of the peppery Metioln wine. She whispered, "I don't care either."

"I don't understand," he said quietly. But he did.

"Tunton slit Byten's throat, and fed her to the myleth like a trade," Prahtne said. When Jim did not reply, she continued, "She was their blood cousin. To kill clan is specifically forbidden in scripture. The deity Craton speaks of so much should have struck Tunton dead," she said, "but did not."

"It's early yet. We don't know what happens eventually," Jim suggested.

"She ran a finger along his breast, tickling his clavicle. She leaned closer and whispered, "I don't believe your story."

"My story?" he asked.

She smiled. "There were nearly a hundred trades and warriors in Byten's camp. Only one was yours; the man you sent to search for the others. Where is your great caravan? You didn't even ask about them, which is convenient, since they seem to have disappeared, almost as if they never existed."

"We spoke about it among ourselves," he said quickly. "We are disappointed, of course, but don't wish to ruin your celebration with our tragedy. We can only assume they perished by the dragon."

She raised an eyebrow. "Or perhaps they never were. Perhaps you are serving some secret keth? Or perhaps investigating Tunton's vulnerabilities?"

"No," he said firmly. "My wife considers Tunton a sister."

"Your wife, suddenly she is your wife." Prahtne tilted her head thoughtfully and, reaching up, cupped his right ear with her fingers. She rubbed it gently. It tickled, but in a pleasurable way, and he had a sudden, entirely inappropriate desire to return the gesture. 

Prahtne whispered, "Join me, I will let you fight as you wish."

Instead, he whispered, "I'm Uhura's." 

She shook her head. "You're not. That, Craton is right about."

"The traditions," he began.

She pressed against him, close enough to rub her lips against the skin in front of his ear. "We could take the oasis from Tunton, trade water for warriors until we can march into Greatcity and take it. Once we control the port, we could take the province, then the continent. We will be the new deity."

Jim pulled back. "My wife is right here," he said, pointing to the slumbering Uhura.

Prahtne sighed, then nodded. "You are right. I am not yet ready to strike. Observation risks everything. We must wait." She stood up, wavering slightly. "We will speak again," she whispered. Reaching out, she gave one more quick squeeze to his ear, then slipped away into the dark. 

Jim watched her go, then flipped another dung disk onto the fire and thought, Huh. That was unexpected.

"Do you want me to take the next watch?" Uhura whispered, voice thick with exhaustion.

"Oh, sure, now you wake up," he said.

She sat up and stretched. "If you needed me, sir, you should have woken me. Did I miss something?"

"I've had a weird evening," he said, offering her a hand. She took it and let him pull her up. "You were right."

"That's nice. Do you know how hard it is not to say, of course?" she asked, yawning. She gave another stretch and asked, "What about this time?"

"Craton thinks I'm a dangerous lunatic. Or maybe a heretic. Maybe both."

"So do we all, sir," she yawned.

"And," he added, "I am pretty sure Prahtne just propositioned me."

She sighed, "I didn't see that coming, but I suppose it's not surprising. Please tell me you said no?" 

He snorted. "As good-looking as she is? I laid her right down here on the ground and got to it." He waited for her disgusted huff, then said, "I'm not an idiot, Uhura. Of course, I said no. And, what do you mean it's not surprising?"

She said crankily. "It's been days. You're overdue. It wouldn't be an away mission unless someone begged you for sex."

"That's not true. Anyway, Prahtne's really just interested in me because she thinks that with my brains and her brawn, we could change the world."

"Really?" Uhura asked, suddenly completely awake.

"She's plotting revolution and thinks I might be of use to her. The bad news is neither one of them believes you're my keth or that we're married."

"I knew it," she moaned. "You need to be more obedient."

"You need to be more affectionate."

She grimaced and shook her head. "We've got to get off this planet."

Jim held out a water skein. "That will probably be easier than convincing people that you and I are married," he said.

Chapter Text

The Eighth Day Chapter

Twenty Four
Back to the Village

The sun was well up when Jim awoke. He sat up slowly, every muscle aching. Once he remembered where he was, he jumped up, nearly stumbling over Tan's snoring form. "Why didn't you wake me?" he asked. "We need to get going." 

"Relax," McCoy said. "There's no rush. It's another one of those not going anywhere fast mornings."

"What's that mean?" Jim asked, sitting back down. Uhura offered him a mug of steaming broth. He reached for it and grimaced. The blood-soaked bandage on his injured arm pulled uncomfortably, and his muscles were stiff. He'd slept poorly, awoken several times from bad dreams by a nagging certainty that something was wrong.

McCoy shrugged, "There's no sign of the keth, which means no sign of breakfast, which means so much for our hopes of getting home soon. We'll be lucky to start in time for our three-hour avoid-the-heat siesta. At this rate, we'll be lucky to get back to the village tomorrow." 

Jim glanced around the camp. Most of the fires were out. There were no smells of cooking or sounds of myleth being loaded. Still figures, yesterday's warriors, littered the campground, wrapped in their robes and snoring.

"Let's make some noise, maybe we can speed things up," Jim urged. He pushed at Tan with his toe. "Get up, we've got work to do." 

The ensign sat up, yawning. "Wow. What time is it?"

"Late," Sulu replied. "Help me get some water, Tan. We want to start waking people up. We need to get on the road."

"Okay," Tan agreed. He gently rubbed his swollen, bruised mouth. "This hurts. I should get back to the ship and have my teeth fixed."

"Yes," McCoy groused, "you and the captain have appointments to keep. So, let's get this done." He stood up and shouted, "Look at that sun, gonna be another beautiful day!" The two warriors nearest them moaned. One rolled over, but the other sat up and glared at McCoy.

Jim laughed at the man's expression. The Metioln glared at him for a few seconds, then lay down and pulled his robe over his head. Jim laughed again, but motioned his people in and said quietly, "Hey, if anyone asks, getting started is Keth Uhura's idea; I had nothing to do with it."

"Right," Sulu said. 

"Also," he said, dropping his voice even more and carefully avoiding Uhura's eyes, "there's been some suggestion that Uhura and I are having marital issues. If possible, please mention to your friends the sex Uhura and I had last night."

Uhura made a disgusted noise. Tan muttered, "How did I sleep through that?"

Hendorff said, "Just say, 'Yes, sir,' Tan."

"No, don't. We all need to say, 'yes, ma'am' a lot more," Jim said quickly, "and you didn't, Tan. We didn't, but we need to try and make it seem like we did."

"Yes, sir, uh, ma'am," Hendorff said. He stood up, stretched, and grabbed a bucket, then nodded to Tan to join him and started off to look for water, talking loudly about the weather.

Jim sent Sulu and McCoy out to gather fuel while he sat by Uhura, trying to look satisfied while he folded blankets. 

"You seem worried," she suggested. Jim nodded but didn't reply. "Why?" Uhura asked, "It took a little longer than we hoped, but your plan worked. The mission is a success. I thought you'd be insufferable." 

"Yeah," Jim agreed slowly. Uhura cocked her head and looked at him curiously. He sighed and asked, "Do you ever just know something's not right?"

"Sure," Uhura replied. "I mean, occasionally everyone makes mistakes."

Jim wondered if it was worth trying to explain. Before he could begin, a trade called to them that the keth would like them for breakfast. "That's our cue," Uhura replied, forgetting the discussion. Jim followed dutifully, wishing he could put his nagging worry aside as easily.

They joined Tunton at Byten's ket table, which offered a good view of the camp. While he ate the bread Uhura handed him, Jim watched the camp come to life. He was glad to see myleth being saddled, but before the men could begin loading them, the keth started eating, and the warriors left their work to line up for food. The trades that weren't cooking stood behind them, and packing came to a standstill.

Tan and Hendorff rushed to join the line, but Sulu and McCoy stood apart, talking intently. Uhura nodded toward them and said in Standard, "Looks like the doctor is filling Sulu in on the Chekov situation."

Jim's stomach knotted. I did what I had to, and have nothing to feel bad about, he reminded himself. But he was suddenly no longer hungry and dropped his breakfast bread to the ground. Uhura glanced at Craton, then leaned closer, made her tone playful, and continued, "Sulu doesn't look happy." 

Should I talk to Sulu? Does that make me uncertain? Not quite able to match her tone, Jim said, "I don't have to explain my decisions to my lieutenants, lieutenant."

Her lips tightened. Rather than reply, she handed him a piece of fruit and turned away to speak with Craton. Jim forced himself to eat it, but found it very difficult to swallow.

Tunton didn't rush. The warriors and even the trades finished and went back to work while the keth leisurely discussed her victory, listing the treasures she'd taken. Jim wanted to scream at her to shut up and get to work. But, he forced himself to sit silently until finally, Craton said, "We should go, my keth. The clouds look restless. See how they hide the top of the mountain?" Craton asked, pointing.

"It means nothing," Tunton said, but stood up immediately. She took Uhura's arm and led her to the saddling area while yelling at the trades to hurry. Jim followed, too distracted by his internal debate about talking to Sulu to pay much attention, until angry whistles and snorts jolted his interest.

The myleth were fighting, or attempting to fight. While the trades yanked reins and wrestled with blindfolds, trying to control the loaded animals as up and down the line, myleth pawed at the ground or lunged or slashed at each other. A harassed-looking trade spoke with Craton, who, gesturing at the pawing, nervous animals, told Tunton, "This is your fault. You insisted we tie the myleth carrying your pick of Byten's treasures to your mount, but it's not trained to walk in tandem. They tried to blind each other. The noise spooked the others."

"I want my treasures safe," Tunton insisted. "Repack them on another beast."

"Have you looked at the sky?" Craton fumed. "I'll take your second mount myself. You'll trust me, I assume?"

"You'll be careful?" Tunton asked, but looked skyward and, sounding suddenly subdued, added, "We need to hurry." 

Craton huffed angrily and turned to Uhura. "There were more myleth than riders," she said. "Can your warriors help with driving?"

"I can," Tan interjected. "I know I could do it, sir, ma'am." His excitement reminded Jim of Chekov, and another wave of foreboding shot through him.

Craton got the crew positioned, giving Jim and Uhura their own myleth. Once everyone was saddled, the caravan started down the mountain. A stiff wind was blowing. The day was cooler than any other Jim had experienced on Metiol, especially when the occasionally dark clouds hid the sun. Even the myleth seemed happy to start and waddled eagerly down the mountain trail.

The progress improved Jim's mood. But at noon, the horns blew and everything stopped for the afternoon rest. The Metiolns, tired from the battle and drinking, didn't even bother putting up the canopies but laid carpets in the shade of rocks and fell asleep almost immediately.

Frustrated, Jim stared at the desert, snapping at anyone who spoke to him. Finally, McCoy stood up, told him they were going for a walk, and led him firmly away.

Once he was sure they were out of Craton's earshot, McCoy asked, "What's your problem?"

"Nothing."

"Then why are you acting like a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs?"

"What?"  

"Nervous," the doctor explained. "You seem nervous."

"Oh. I want to get going."

"Nothing you do is going to make any of these people move any faster, Jim. On this planet, everything's on the keth's timeline, remember?"

"I'm not likely to forget," Jim snapped. They walked a little further. Jim stopped and faced his friend. "You're right, I know," he admitted, then decided to be honest. "We need to hurry, Bones. I woke up this morning with one of those feelings. Something's wrong; I know it."

"Relax," McCoy said soothingly. "No disrespect to your gut. It's gotten us out of many tight places, but there's nothing left to worry about. We found Sulu, got the weapons, and are on our way out. We'll grab Chekov and be at the next beam out. We'll be back on the ship tomorrow at the latest. Even I'm willing to admit this one might not be a catastrophe."

He didn't really feel better, but Jim couldn't help but smile. 

"You're making everybody nervous," the doctor said, "but if you think you can control yourself, we should head back. Uhura's probably tired of explaining where we are, and the last thing we need is more people mad at you."

"If you mean Sulu," Jim said stiffly, "I don't have to explain myself to my lieutenants."

McCoy raised a surprised eyebrow. "No," he agreed, "but you usually do. If that's what's bothering you, let it go. Sulu was hot, tired, and hungry last night. It surprised him not to see Chekov, but he's not questioning your decision. Nobody is. Even if they wanted to, they can't, because it worked. Your whole plan came together like clockwork. You won, Jim. Let it go."

He's probably right, Jim told himself. 

McCoy nodded, "Now, let's go back. Hiding in the shade all afternoon is the one sensible thing these people do. This might be our last chance, let's not miss it."

Jim tried harder. Sulu and Uhura were both dozing, so he forced himself to play dice with the security team and teased Tan about his teeth. But beneath it, the certainty that something was wrong scratched at him. When the horns finally screeched, ending the rest, he was the first one to the myleth. 

Sulu easily mounted, but McCoy slipped trying to climb into the saddle behind him. Jim reached up to steady him just as Sulu grabbed at him from above. They bumped heads and were forced to acknowledge each other. 

"I'm sorry, sir," Sulu said.

"I'm fine, Sulu. How about you?" Jim asked.

After a pause just a little longer than usual, Sulu gave a tense nod and said, "Fine, sir. I'm eager to get back to the ship."

"We all are," Jim said. Sulu nodded again and kicked his animal to get it moving. 

"We all are," Jim repeated softly, watching him go. Uhura glanced up at him sympathetically. "Yes, sir," she agreed.

The march resumed. Jim found the pace agonizingly slow. The trades walking around him were all that kept him from giving his myleth a good kick and rushing back to the camp. 

Several hours later, they were winding single file through a bushy area when Craton suddenly stopped. Reversing her animal, she trotted past all the marchers to the keth. The trades jumped out of her way, murmuring in uncharacteristically low voices. Tunton and her sister whispered urgently. "What's up?" Jim asked Uhura, but she only shook her head. 

Craton jerked her myleth's head and kicked it into a gallop toward the back of the line, calling urgently to Prahtne while Tunton dismounted, screeching for her tent.

Now what, Jim wondered, more frustrated than ever. A horn sounded, different from any other he'd yet heard. It was a throbbing, urgent sound. Hearing it, the trades scattered, scurrying up hills to rocks, kicking bushes over while riders dismounted and pulled ornate masks out of their saddlebags. The remaining trades grabbed at reins and held myleth still as the riders began slipping the masks over the animal's heads. The masks, Jim noticed, had no eye holes. 

"What's wrong?" he asked. 

"Rain," the rider next to him replied tensely, and began to pull his blindfolded mount up the mountain.

"Rain?" he asked Uhura. 

"I don't understand either. Try to pretend you know what to do. See if you've got a myleth blindfold in your bags and then follow along," she suggested.

"You expect me to put blinders on that thing?" he muttered, but a very young trade grabbed his reins and looked up at him expectantly, so he searched through the bags and found a thick leather mask. He leaned over the animal and gingerly slid it over the myleth's head. The trade tied it in place as Jim helped Uhura down.

"Come, Keth Uhura," the boy said, "the rains are coming. We are looking for safe places and will put a tent up for you." He handed Jim the myleth's reins. "Up there," he said, pointing up the mountain where several warriors were leading animals.

"Wait," Jim called. He handed Uhura the pack with the rifle pieces, saying, "Take care of this, my wife." 

As the young men hurried Uhura away, Jim tugged the myleth's reins, forcing it to follow the others. A quarter mile up the hill, Jim found warriors lashing cudgels into a makeshift corral. Boys were stringing blankets together to make a rough roof over the blindfolded mylith. The animals were pinned down, their reins wrapped tightly around pegs driven into the ground. The animals were curled up very closely. The beasts looked miserable, periodically moaning and snapping at the air. The men ignored them, hurrying through their work, tying another myleth down as soon as the previous one was in place. 

A light rain bounced against Jim's robe when he left the shelter. The few myleth still waiting to be bedded down flinched and jumped with every drop that struck them. "Stupid beasts," Jim heard a trade say. "They'll kill someone if we don't get them out of the wet soon."

Jumping and sliding down the hill, Jim stopped to help a group of warriors raise a tent in the worsening rain. Once it was in place, they pointed him toward the officers' tent. He could barely hear them urging him to hurry over the howling wind.

Rather than the canopy they generally used, the officers' tent had four sides. It was situated so that the flaps faced out of the wind and were closed up tight. He had to yell to be let in, and when he was, Prahtne tied the tent flaps tightly behind him.

"Leave the water at the door," Prahtne said, and began to untie his robe. He pulled it over his head and held it in front of himself. She began to pat him with a homespun cloth. Her expression made Jim want to pull away. Be a Metioln, he told himself.

"Uhura can do that," Craton called. Prahtne stopped, handed Jim a blanket. "Your wife is over there," she whispered. "She did not seem particularly worried about you."

"Thanks," he muttered, and wrapping the rough cloth around himself, hurried to Uhura's side. He dropped to his knees. "I have supervised the bedding down of the myleth, dear wife. Have no worries." Conscious of Prahtne and Craton watching, he cuddled closely to Uhura, dropping his head on her lap and gazing up at her adoringly. Uhura's eyes widened with shock. "Play along," he urged in Standard, smiling fondly.

Looking grim, she stroked his hair. "I was worried," she said in Merti. "You should let the trades care for the animals."

"I wanted to do this for you," he said, sneaking another look at the Metiolns. Prahtne sneered, but Craton directed all her attention to Tunton, who sat in the middle of the tent, twisting her hands nervously. "Do you hear them, Craton?" she asked.

"I hear the wind," Craton replied gently. "There is nothing else to hear." 

"The rain pushes them out of their homes in the sand," Tunton moaned.

"No," Craton crooned, "Rain rising the ghosts is a story old women tell bad children to keep them inside, nothing more." 

"If there are ghosts, one more wanders tonight," Prahtne said languidly.

Tunton looked about nervously. "I had no choice," she whispered. 

Craton replied, "I know you don't like the rain, Tunton. None of us does, but it happens. Lay down. Sleep. It will pass."

"I will never sleep," Tunton cried. "I remember her as a child, in the tent we shared with our grandmother. And now she is dead. It was not me, it was the wake water." 

"Who's dead?" Craton asked.

"Our cousin," Tunton moaned. "Dead and gone, a ghost in the sand."

Craton's head jerked up. She glanced at Prahtne. "You saw the dragon kill Byten?" she asked. 

"Don't say her name," Tunton moaned.

Prahtne shrugged. "I saw no dragon. It was the keth who told me the dragon killed her. I would not doubt my keth."

Craton turned angrily to her sister. "You told me Byten's stolen dragon turned on her. Was I wrong to believe you? Tell me truthfully, Tunton. What happened to Byten?"

"Don't call her!" Tunton shrieked. "She'll hear you and come this way. I beg you, Craton." 

Craton's mouth fell open. She glanced around the tent and whispered, "Tunton, what have you done?" 

"It wasn't me, it was the wake water," Tunton moaned, "It was Rang's fault. She forced me into war: she and her talk of vengeance. I desired only peace. She used me; I would never have done it otherwise."

"No, Tunton," Craton sighed. "I won't believe it. You are afraid and making stories. That is all."

Tunton sobbed.

Prahtne pointed to Jim and said, "How is it, my keth, that you are not afraid of that ghost?" 

"My mate is not a ghost," Uhura snapped, "all his people look like him."

"I wonder, do the ghosts know of the north?" asked Prahtne. "Is it not more likely that, seeing him, they will think they are welcome here too? It is an interesting question."

"Put him out, Craton," begged Tunton. "Don't let him draw the ghosts here."

"I will not! He is Uhura's mate. It would be unspeakably rude," Craton said.

"I have an idea," Prahtne said silkily. "I will take him with me to the warriors' tent. I will watch him closely, so that our keth can rest." She looked at Jim like a cat might watch a mouse.

Surprised and a little impressed, Jim tried not to smirk. Uhura drew herself up majestically. "You are not taking my mate anywhere," she said. "He is mine and I will keep him."

"Of course," Craton agreed, scowling at Prahtne. "No mated couple would agree to be parted in weather like this."

As if to agree, the wind howled, beating water against the tent. "I can not bear it," Tunton wailed. "Send him away with Prahtne."=

Craton sighed and looked quizzically at Uhura.

Uhura replied coldly, "If he leaves, I will accompany him."

Craton asked, "Could we cover him? Just until she goes to sleep? I need to think, and can't spend the night listening to the drunken wails of my glorious leader."

Uhura glanced doubtfully at Jim. He shrugged and pulled the blanket over his head, arranging it so that he had a peephole view of Prahtne, glaring contemptuously at Tunton.

"See that?" Craton asked the sobbing Tunton. "He's covered. No one can see him."

"That's better," Tunton agreed, struggling to catch her breath. "But, is it enough?"

Prahtne snorted contemptuously. She untied the flaps again, and the wind pushed a wall of rain through the opening. Tunton wailed and drew back. Prahtne ignored her and slipped out. Careful, Jim thought, to leave the flaps whipping. Craton jumped up, tied them carefully, and addressed the keth. "You're ridiculous, sister," she said. "No one likes the rain, but an adult endures it. We've placed the tents in an area unlikely to be washed away, and we will not leave them. Your fear changes nothing. Would you do this at home in front of that gaggle of boys you keep? The whole clan would hear of it. No one would respect you."

Tunton said, "When it rains at home, Uja sings for me. He doesn't leave me for a minute. It is only here, in the desert, that I have to hear the ghosts. If Uja were with me, I wouldn't be afraid."

"Your problem, Tunton," Craton said, "is that you are greedy. You want the comfort of being mated without the responsibilities. Marry Uja if you are so eager to keep him, but you will need to act like a mated woman. Now, you do neither thing well and embarrass us in front of others." She nodded at Uhura and Jim.

"We are sisters now, the secret is safe with me," Uhura said.

"We appreciate that," Craton said coldly. 

"It gives me concern, though," Uhura continued. "I gave you a very valuable gift, a trade from my own tent. How do I know she won't suddenly toss him out the next time the rain comes?"

"Uja told me it was a ghost," Tunton said, her voice rising. "I should have listened. It's cursed our clan, Craton. It is all the sorceress's fault."

"There is no sorceress, no daka, and no ghosts," Craton growled. "There is only greediness. Perhaps that is what caused the rains to come early. Perhaps it is your punishment."

Uhura said. "He was raised to be a plaything for wealthy women, not to tolerate nights in the open air. I didn't give him to you so that you could throw him away."  

"She won't," Craton sighed. "Once the rain stops, Tunton will be her greedy self again."

But Tunton wailed, "I don't want it in my tent, its bleached bones glowing in the dark. I don't want it."

"Tunton, you're drunk," Craton said.

A powerful gust of wind shook the tent, whistling as it snuck under the walls. Tunton shrieked. "Promise me to take it away, Uhura," she moaned, "I don't want it." 

"If that is really what you want," Uhura said. "I will take the trade with me to Greatcity."

"It is, it is," Tunton nodded. "Promise me to take it away, Uhura. Don't leave it in my tent."

Under his blanket, Jim bit his lip to keep from laughing. I have the best crew in the galaxy.

Craton shook her head disgustedly, "You're acting like a spoiled child, Tunton," she said, "and like a spoiled child, you must learn the consequences of thinking only of yourself. Be warned, I will hold you to your word."

But Tunton only continued to praise Uhura's generosity and friendship until she fell asleep, mid-rant. Jim waited until he was certain, then tossed the blanket back and sat up.

Uhura grinned at him triumphantly.

"You are amazing," he murmured in Standard, and, conscious of Craton watching, reached over and began to rub her ear gently.

Chapter Text

The Ninth Day

Chapter Twenty-Five
The Blue Lizard

Craton woke up early. Sometime during the night, the rain stopped and when she untied the tent flaps, Jim heard her exclaim excitedly. Concerned there was some new danger, he jumped up and followed her out. He stopped in the opening and stared at a changed world. Everything was green. Every plant, lichen and tree had leafed out. The colors softened the landscape, and flowers sweetened the morning air. The parasol trees were more unusual than ever, each ring edged in leaves like fluffy chartreuse feathers. "Wow," he breathed, not meaning to speak aloud.

"The daka have come," Craton said reverently. "It is pretty but dangerous. There will be water everywhere, the soils roll away under its weight. I'm relieved we are going home where we know the tents are safe. We e must be careful on the journey."

The keth joined them, in an excellent mood. She said nothing more about ghosts, but ordered bread for everyone then went about the camp, greeting the trades and encouraging them to work hard. The victorious caravan started home as soon as the myleth were loaded. The warriors sang as they marched. Jim almost forgot his anxiety; it was impossible not to be hopeful on such a beautiful day.

The Metioln enjoyed the journey less than he did. The wet soil slid under the men's feet, causing many falls and a few injuries. They were forced to detour around a pile of shale that had slid down the mountain in the storm, blocking the path. The group stopped several times to remark with more fear than delight at small water falls casused by rain water oozing out of saturated soil over rocks. 

"They really don't like water," Jim remarked to Uhura.

"It's a love hate relationship," she clarified. "All living things need water, but in a desert community storms wash things away. Water represents chaos to them, and they avoid that as much as possible."

"Makes sense. One way or the other, it won't be our problem much longer. Some of it was tricky, but things are ending well. We have the weapons, none of us is hurt. You got her to give us Chekov, we'll grab him and be on our way. With any luck, we'll get to the beam-out site today."

"I wish all our missions went as well," Uhura agreed, "Are you going to want me to apologize for doubting you?"

"Yes, absolutely," he laughed. "Wait, though. I'd rather hear it on the ship and in front of a crowd. How about in the officers' club, you can buy me a drink."

"Anything else?" she teased.

"Wait, Uhura," he said gently. "I'm confident, but I'll still feel better once we get everyone home."

Despite the concerns the water generated, the trip down the mountain was faster than the trip up. A few hours after the noon rest, the guard lizards announced their arrival, and the villagers came out to meet them, beating pots and shouting with excitement. The noise made the myleth skittish, and it took everything Jim had to control his as it jumped and started. He was relieved when, at the oasis, the trades rushed forward, eager to take control of the beasts. He jumped down, careful to keep a tight hold on his pack of weapons, then reached up to help Uhura.

"This is crazy," she yelled, trying to be heard over the villagers. He nodded, and still clutching his pack, followed her as they joined the crowd following the keth toward the center of the village.

The kitchen must have expected them. Once they reached the eating area, a feast of cold meats and breads was served. The warriors took their seats on the ground, forming a large circle around the field. The rest of the clan stood behind them, stamping and cheering. Tunton went her table where some of the young men from her entourage were waiting. They embraced her, cooing how happy they were to see her. Uhura took advantage of the keth's distraction to instruct the crew to sit by her, hoping, Jim assumed, it would facilitate an early exit.

Uja presented Tunton with a small lizard. It was a cunning little thing, a lovely pale blue. It had been trained to do tricks, and the keth was charmed with it. As Uja leaned against her, she stroked his hair and ears while exclaiming over the animal in amazed tones.

"Where's Chekov?" Sulu asked, scanning the trades as they passed food.

"Probably in the kitchen trying to set a record for most dishes done by a Federation member on a quarantined planet," Tan replied. 

"Be polite," Uhura warned, "What he did was important too. We don't want to make him feel worse about being left behind."

When Tunton, laughing and cheerful, had eaten her fill, she ordered spice wine for everyone. The villagers cheered as the boys hurried to serve it. 

"Drinking in the middle of the day," McCoy said in Standard, "how does this woman run anything?"

"They had a major victory," Uhura reminded him. "They're celebrating."

McCoy nodded. "Well," he said, "I guess it isn't every day you win a battle by doing absolutely nothing." 

Uhura shushed him. Once everyone was served, Tunton stood up and began to describe the battle. She spoke dramatically, but in dialect, and Jim couldn't understand. Uhura listened carefully and periodically leaned over to translate. The talk, Jim thought, was long on praise for Tunton's inspiration and short on acknowledgement of the warriors' contributions, but the village seemed to enjoy it. The warriors stamped their feet and slapped at each other any time Tunton mentioned their cohort, and joined the families in drumming feet on the ground each time Tunton mentioned herself. The kitchen help pounded the ground enthusiastically for everything, since none of the laborers were mentioned. 

Sulu kept shifting and twisting, trying to see over Uhura. Peering across the clearing at the kitchen and the villagers, he asked, "Uhura, where's Chekov?"

"Working," Uhura replied without turning away from Tunton.

"I don't see him," Sulu insisted, still studying the crowd, "and he would be excited to see us." 

"That's for sure," McCoy muttered.

Sulu continued more urgently, "He would have been in the front of the line to greet us. Something's wrong."

The ladies at the table looked Sulu's way, frowning at his rudeness. "Then he's in her tent. Be quiet now and let her finish, and then I'll ask her to call him," Uhura said impatiently.

Jim studied the kitchen boys sitting together by the laborers' table, but didn't see Chekov's fair head or dirty robe. "He's not here, Uhura," he said, and his nagging concern that something was wrong blossomed into certainty.

"Shh," Uhura hissed, waving her hand behind her back. The ladies at the table nodded approvingly.

Tunton talked for another half hour while the village drank and cheered. When she described the number of warriors she had earned, her people broke out spontaneously in song, a loud keening testament to Tunton's glory. 

Tunton swayed with the music, and the older ladies at the table joined in the singing. Taking advantage of the noise, Jim leaned close and whispered, "Uhura, we need to find Chekov."

She glanced back at him, clearly annoyed. "Now," he said firmly. 

As soon as the music stopped, Uhura turned to Tunton and said, "What fun this is! But, my sister, it is clear your cousin did not take my caravan. I must seek revenge elsewhere. I will leave tonight for Greatcity. I should prepare my people. Where is the other? I want to tell him of our agreement. He'll need time to recover from the disappointment of leaving your kind care. Could you call him?"

"What other?" asked Tunton.

"You know perfectly well what other," Craton said, "the one you promised to return to her last night. Her trade, the one you insist is a daka."

The ladies of the table exchanged worried looks. 

"Oh, yes," Tunton said. "I had forgotten. I was overwrought that night. I would not wish to insult my dear sister by returning her gift."

"No insult at all," Uhura began, but Craton interrupted her.

"No, Tunton," she said firmly. "You promised to return it, and you must do so. The younger is better than the older, but that is very little praise. I want them gone. Send for the boy."

Tunton sighed. She turned to Uja and said, "Go get the little daka."

Uja, busy stroking the lizard, didn't reply.

"Uja, your keth spoke to you," Craton said sharply.

"He isn't here," Uja said without looking up from the lizard.

"Where is he?" Craton asked.

Uja shrugged. "I don't know."

"Perhaps he is in the tent?" Uhura asked.

Uja shrugged again, smiling secretively.

One of the older women at the table said nervously, "The boy left with Rang."

Uhura said sharply, "He wouldn't have done that." 

"He did," Uja said, with a sly, satisfied smile. 

Craton narrowed her eyes. "Why?" she asked.

Uja didn't answer, but an old woman spoke up, saying, "Uja sold him."

"I traded him," Uja corrected, "for the lizard." He held it out to Tunton, smiling sweetly. "For you, my keth." Tunton laughed and took it, caressing Uja with the other hand.

"He wasn't yours," Craton said incredulously. When Uja didn't reply, Craton lunged at him, snarling, "Who do you think you are? Keth? You are nothing, a toy!" Uja yelped and dove behind Tunton, whimpering. The music stopped, warriors scattered, and the women at the table jumped up and backed away.

Tunton, clutching the lizard in one hand, shifted her body to shield Uja. "Leave him be, Craton," she said. "He got me a gift."

"I traded him," Uja whimpered, reaching out to paw at Tunton's leg," for the lizard. I knew you would like it."

"You aren't a woman," Craton yelled. 

Uja cowered, whining, "I did it to protect you, my keth. He was a ghost, an evil spirit trying to slip into our village. I could tell by his eyes; he looked like something drowned."

"Do you hear? He did it for me. You didn't like him either, Craton. No one liked him but me, and now I have the lizard, so we are all happy," Tunton said, holding Uja's head against her thigh. "The boy had been returned to Uhura. It isn't like Uja stole from me."

Craton stepped back, astonished. "Is it better if he stole from your guest?" she asked. "Can you really think that, sister?"

Uhura bent down and asked kindly, "Where did they go, Uja? Where did they take him?"

Uja ignored her and cuddled against Tunton's leg.

Exasperated, Craton said, "There is only one way to fix this, Tunton."

Tunton clutched Uja's head to her thigh and said, "I won't do it, Craton. He did it for me."

Uja wailed and clutched at her thigh. "I did it for you. Don't trade me, beloved. I want to be with you."

"I don't want Uja," Uhura said. "I want the one she promised me."

Craton made an exasperated sound. She raised a shaking finger at Tunton. "First Byten," she said, "and now this. The strength of our village comes from the deity; when did you decide you could disregard all Her rules? I wonder, Tunton, was it the ghosts that caused this, or is there something rotting in our village that called them here?"

Tunton didn't answer, just hugged the sobbing Uja against her. 

"Either way," Craton said, "It is left once again for me to fix it. I will do what I can." Turning to Uhura, she said, "Come with me," and stamped across the field. 

Mothers grabbed their babies, but older children and warriors followed Craton, swarming around the crew as they struggled to keep up. At the edge of the clearing, Craton turned back and yelled, "Rang is right, Tunton. You need to marry Uja. Then at least he will have to be with you, and I can keep him out of mischief." Uja wailed more loudly. Craton made a disgusted snort and barked, "Come on," to the crew. 

The crew followed Craton to the corral, struggling to keep up with Craton's angry stride. They saw Gat's hunting party, returned with several large lizards, and Uhura ran to ask, "Gat, do you know what happened to Chekov?"

"He's gone with Rang," the Metioln replied, smiling pleasantly. "They left while you were gone."

"You were here when Rang left?" Craton asked. The men stopped their work and nodded nervously. Craton continued, "She took the boy with her?"

"Several boys, ma'am," one replied. "There were eight, I think."

"Including the keth's?"

There was a nervous pause, then one of the hunters asked, "My lady?" uncertainly.

"The daka," Craton corrected herself. "Did Rang take the daka?"

Yes, my lady," Gat nodded.

"How did that happen?" Jim asked. "He was supposed to stay here." Craton scowled, but he didn't care. I've had enough pretending, he thought. I'm taking over.

Eyes on Craton, Gat replied, "Shortly after the war party left, Rang ordered her people to pack. While they worked, she brought a lizard out and played with it. It was a clever thing, trained it to do tricks. Uja was captivated by it and wanted to buy it. Rang demanded the daka. Uja agreed, and the trade was made."

"When did they leave?" Jim demanded. 

"The day you did," a man replied, "later though, after the rest."

"Rang said it was a three-day hard walk. We need to hurry," Uhura said.

"They didn't walk," Gat said.

Craton said dismissively, "Rang does not tire her myleth carrying trades capable of walking."

"This time she did," Gat insisted nervously.

"The ladies encouraged her to wait till the next day," one of the other hunters added. "But Rang insisted on leaving quickly. She made her people work through the rest," he added. Craton drew herself up in surprise, but the other trades nodded.

"Not Chekov," Gat clarified. "Rang took a rope of mother's gut and tied it to his wrist. The other end she fastened to a saddle. She left him there while she supervised the packing."

"In the sun?" Craton sounded scandalized. The trades nodded solemnly. Craton turned to Uhura, voice quivering with emotion, she said, "This is what you brought to our clan; boys being lashed to myleth like dead lizards. This is unconscionable." 

"Unconscionable treatment of my trade," Uhura reminded her. Turning to Gat, she asked, "Was he hurt?" 

Gat shook his head. "No, not at all. In fact, Rang was concerned for his appearance. It was all very strange. Many of the villagers were concerned by the," Gat paused, struggling for the proper word. "the strangeness of the trade. Chekov himself didn't object in words, but he seemed unhappy. So, I put up a small canopy and sat with him. We shared my daily allotment. At first, he refused it. He is funny about the spice, but I reminded him thatit is impossible to pass through the desert without the spice's help. Once he understood, he agreed. As we drank, I told him how proud I was to leave my mother's tent when it was my turn, and how each time I was passed on, I had honored my keth's decision and gone, as is proper. I reminded him that a boy has no home until he is chosen by a clan, and no place he could go if he refuses a trade. I told him that is the way the world works."

"Very sensible," Craton said reluctantly. The hunters nodded, murmuring agreement.

"I don't know if the spice calmed him or my words did, but gradually he came to his senses. I remember he said, 'Yes, this is the way of Metiol, and I promised to follow it.' I thought that very strange. Promised who? Do you think he was a daka after all, my lady?" Gat asked. 

Craton snorted. "Mother's gut binds spirits, but it also binds mortals. Rang is thinking of her profit; restraining him will make him look more like a daka when she takes him to market."

Gat shook his head thoughtfully and sighed, "I suppose it doesn't matter, but there was one more strange thing. As they left he called to me and charged me to deliver his first keth a message."

"He's no longer her clan," Craton said. "What care would she have of what became of him?"

"That is what was so strange," Gat agreed. "I asked twice if he meant Keth Tunton; he was very specific, the message was for Keth Uhura."

Uhura bit her lip. "What did he say?" she asked.

Gat grimaced, struggling to remember, then nodded, "He said to tell you he can be trusted to fulfill his duty."

"Damn, damn, damn," Sulu said to no one, crossing his arms over his chest.

Craton said thoughtfully, "This was well done, Gat. The boy was not normal. If he does well, he will owe his success to you. I'm sorry, Uhura, but if the caravan was mounted, they reached the city days ago. He's been sold. I did not like him, but I admit he is pretty. I'm sure he has gone to one of the big houses. You will not see him again. Take Uja, he is the best I can offer." 

"I don't want Uja," Uhura snapped. Turning to Jim, she said, "We should leave now, go after them."

Jim agreed, but he knew it was impossible. "It's getting dark, Uhura," he said unwillingly, "We couldn't find the way."

"Your mate is correct," Craton agreed, "and the desert is dangerous at night."

"I," Sulu started, then stopped, got himself under control, and said, "need to leave," and walked off into the dark.

Frowning, Craton asked, "Why does the warrior care what happened to the trade?" 

"Sulu and Chekov are close friends," Uhura sighed. 

Craton shook her head. "How could they be? Sulu is an accomplished warrior. Outside a harem, the boy was at best a low trade. They will never eat together or sleep in the same tent. Other than when the boy delivered his food, Sulu would have no cause to speak to him."

McCoy said, "Where we come from, it isn't a job that makes someone important; it is their personhood. We are all worried about our friend."

"That is foolish," Craton said. "In one's life, you will meet hundreds of people. It is impossible to be concerned about all of them. It is enough to be concerned about one's family."

"That, ma'am, is the difference between your traditions and mine," McCoy said.

"Your traditions don't belong here," Craton said firmly. "This is our place. And you should be grateful, because our traditions call for Tunton to pay her debt. We cannot bring the daka back, but I will order myleth for you and have them packed by sunlight. You can make your way home in any way you choose, and we will go back to what was."

Chapter Text

The Tenth Day

Chapter Twenty Six
A Search

The village celebrated all night, with singing and cheers punctuating the darkness. But the crew's tent was silent. Jim wasn't sure if anyone else slept, but he spent the night awake, bouncing between guilt and dread, and wondering what he could have done differently. He left his bedroll as soon as the sun came up and sat by the tent opening, waiting for the summons to breakfast.

When the call finally came, the crew followed one of the new trades, who seemed less sure of the procedure than they were, to the kitchen clearing. The village was silent; almost no people were up. Food had been prepared, but only Hendorff had any appetite, and he seemed a little ashamed of it. He ate quickly, reminding Tan loudly several times that they had a long day ahead of them. Uhura handed him a full bowl, but couldn't bring himself to take much beyond a few swallows. The food seemed dry and tasteless, and the silent village seemed threatening. He could barely force himself to sit still and was very glad when Craton appeared.

Craton was obviously eager to have them gone. As she led them to the oasis, she explained she'd been up before dawn supervising preparations for their trip. She presented them with saddled myleth, and while the low trades loaded a few last provisions onto the beasts, she gave Uhura directions to the city. Lacking written language, the Metiolns used detailed verbal recitations of landmarks for directions. In the hope that between them they would remember enough to be useful, Jim tried to listen closely. Unfortunately, as Craton spoke, more villagers arrived. Each loudly added details to the directions. The cacophony of landmarks was overwhelming, and Jim wasn't sure he'd recall any of them.

They were preparing to mount the myleth when Tunton and her entourage arrived. Craton made no pretense at being pleased. She muttered angrily as Tunton presented Uhura with additional water skeins. "Use them sparingly," Tunton said, "There are no wells between our oasis and Great City."

"Spice, sister," growled Craton, "is of more use in the desert."

"Uhura prefers water," Tunton said smoothly.

"Or perhaps you prefer to give a cheaper gift," Craton suggested, "and so send her into the desert poorly prepared."

Rather than reply, Tunton launched into her own instructions to Greatcity. As soon as the keth stopped speaking, Jim climbed onto a myleth. Prahtne stood beside his mount and stared at him with desperate eyes. Pretending not to notice, he offered Uhura a hand. She ignored him and continued to speak with Tunton. He told himself guilt and worry were making him too sensitive, but he wished he could ride with McCoy, who he knew would be truthful even in contempt. I'd rather know what they think than have to guess, he thought. When Uhura finally took his hand and let him pull her up, it seemed to Jim that she scooted as far away from him as she could. She has every right to be angry. She told me this would happen.  

When the crew was mounted, Uhura gave the order, and Jim kicked his myleth. The animal began its swinging trot. The villagers got them past the guard lizards, the ladies called kind goodbyes to Uhura, and they started to Greatcity. 

The day was overcast and cooler than any Jim had yet experienced on the planet. They rode along a well-established trail, the same path they had taken to the village, but it was nearly unrecognizable since the rain. Every bush had expanded, most were covered in flowers, and the parasol trees' thorny branches looked feathery and soft from leaves. Even the sticks had come to life, leaves telescoped out of what were now obviously trunks and stretched toward the sky seeking more moisture. 

They rode for several hours. Several times, Jim started to speak, thinking he'd like to try to explain. But Uhura's grim expression always stopped him. Finally, Jim burst out, "I know you're mad."

"What?" Uhura asked distractedly.

"I understand you're angry with me," Jim started, but she shook her head.

"No," she said. "I'm worried, scared, I guess, but not angry." When he didn't reply, she said, "It's probably hard for you to believe, but I'm not thinking about you at all. What is, is, Captain. You did the best you could."

No, my best works, he thought angrily. I keep my people safe. But Uhura said no more. He waited, then asked in a low voice, "How about Sulu?" 

"Do you really want to talk about this?" Uhura asked.

"We'll have to address it at some point," Jim insisted. "I'd like to know what I'm dealing with. How's Sulu?"

"How are you?" Uhura asked.

"Not good, obviously," he replied. 

"Well, I think it's fair to say he's somewhat worse than you," she said.

"I didn't want this," he said.

"No one thinks you wanted it," she sighed. "No one's angry, no one blames you. Right now, we're too raw to feel much but sad. Okay?" 

He let the conversation die and watched the scenery. Even the rocks were green. Lichen, called to life by the rain, carpeted everything. In some places, the newly leafed plants were so thick the myleth could barely push through them, slowing their progress. After hours of recognizing nothing, Jim was relieved to arrive at the first landmark Tunton and Craton had told them to look for, the large rest camp where they'd met Gat. Tunton said this was a six-hour walk from camp. We've been going, what, at least four on myleth, which means we are not making good time. He wanted to push on, but knew the animals needed water. 

While Tan filled buckets for the myleth, Jim wandered through the camp. There was no smoke from recent fires or birds picking at spilled food. And no Chekov searching for treasure, he thought guiltily. A grim-looking Hendorff said, "There's nothing here. Not a footprint, or dung, nothing. If they were here, it was before the rain."

"So, they're ahead of us," McCoy said. "We already knew that. We're not stopping. We'll catch them. Tunton said the next path is wider. We'll make better time once we get on it."

"We'd catch them if they were walking, which they aren't," Hendorff said. "They got to the city days ago." He turned to Jim, "Sir, if I remember correctly, the road to Greatcity would lead us away from the transport site."

"What's your point?" Sulu asked.

Hendorff said quietly, "We're going away from where we need to be to get beamed to the ship."

"Because we need to collect Chekov," McCoy said.

Hendorff shifted uncomfortably. "We have to consider the possibility that we won't find him."

"No, we don't," Sulu said quietly, narrowing his eyes.

At the same time, Uhura said, "It's far too early for that."

"Sir," Hendorff said, "As the mission's chief security officer, I have a duty to remind you of our orders."

"You don't have to remind me of anything," Jim snapped, his throat was dry, his heart pounding.

Hendorff continued, "We have in our possession technology the presence of which on this planet is strictly forbidden by Federation law."

"Everyone knows that," McCoy said, "and as soon as we find Chekov, we'll get it off the planet."

"Okay," Hendorff said, "I didn't want to be the one to say it, but they got to the city days ago. He's probably been sold; we don't know where he is, and we have no way of finding him."

Sulu tried to interrupt, but Hendorff continued, "Sir, Admiral Komak was very clear about our orders."

"The admiral isn't here," Sulu got in. "We are, and I am not leaving until we find Chekov."

Hendorff eyed Sulu skeptically, then turned deliberately to Kirk. He was a few years older and had been in Starfleet longer than Jim. "Sir, we've already lost one crew member."

"We didn't lose him," Sulu snapped. 

Hendorff continued, "The longer we remain on Metiol, the greater the chance someone else will be killed, or injured, or inadvertently expose technology to the citizens of the planet. Our orders were to retrieve the weapons and return to the ship as soon as possible. We've already missed one beam out. There's another scheduled in a matter of hours. To make it, we will need to leave for the transport site now."

"He's eighteen years old," Sulu said.

Ignoring Sulu, Hendorff continued, "Every beam out we miss increases the chance that the ship will leave, stranding us all."

"He's eighteen," Sulu said again, louder.

Hendorff jerked his head toward his ensign and said, "Tan over there is 23. What if he gets killed trying to rescue Chekov? Would that somehow be less of a tragedy? Chekov was young, but he took the same oaths we did. He understood the risks. That's what he was telling Uhura. We don't endanger an entire team or the welfare of a planet because one ensign got lost. I liked him; he didn't deserve this, and I'm really sorry, but he's gone. We're not going to find him."

"He didn't get lost," Sulu repeated more quietly. "He was deserted. We don't do that. We don't decide that some of us are expendable." He looked at Jim and said,  "Sir, we have to try."

"Sir, our orders," Hendorff said.

"Enough," Jim said. His stomach churned, his muscles ached. He wanted to punch something, probably Hendorff, but he was careful to appear impassive while he considered his options. Uhura tried to do the same, but her eyes betrayed her worry. McCoy and Sulu glared at Hendorff, who stood very erect, arms crossed, watching Jim but meeting no one's eyes. Tan stayed back and watched the discussion curiously.

Hendorff asked, "Sir, what are your orders?"

Jim sighed. "Everyone, shut up and listen. I don't want to say this, but Hendorff is right. We have to get the weapons off the planet. At this rate, it will be all we can do to get to the transport spot in time."

Uhura gasped, covering her mouth with her hand. Bones shook his head disgustedly. "Sir," Sulu said quietly. 

Jim stood up straighter and put his shoulders back. He said, "If we go to the city and don't find Chekov right away, it will be two or three days before we can get to the transport spot, and every day increases the likelihood the ship will be called away. We have to get the weapons off planet."

Sir, respectfully," Sulu tried again.

"I've made my decision, Sulu," Jim said. "Mount up." 

The helmsman's mouth was a tight, angry line. Uhura touched his shoulder gently, but Sulu jerked away.

Jim cleared his throat, "We will use the resources on the ship to locate Mr. Chekov."

"I thought you said that wouldn't work," Tan said, "that we aren't different enough from Metiolns or something?"

Sulu glared contemptuously at the ensign and said, "Sir, I request permission to go on to the city alone."

"Request denied," Jim replied. "One lost crewman is enough."

"Sir, I can't just," Sulu said.

"Yes," Jim said, "you can. Get on your myleth, we ride out immediately. That's an order. Uhura, you can ride with Sulu." He strode purposely to the myleth, grabbed the reins of his mount, and held them tightly to allow a scowling McCoy to pull himself onto the saddle. Tan and Hendorff were up quickly, but Sulu's animal picked up on its rider's emotions and jerked uncooperatively. Uhura stepped back anxiously while Sulu tried to settle it. 

Jim didn't mount; instead, he looked up at the heavy sky, then down the path they needed to follow. Okay, think, he thought.

"I can't drive this thing. Are we going or not?" McCoy asked. 

Jim snapped, "I need a minute to think."

"I thought you made your decision, captain," McCoy snarled. 

Just don't argue, Jim thought. Just this once, cooperate. He said, "I have. We're going, but I'm getting my bearings so I can find the transport site."

"Don't you know?" McCoy asked, his voice rising

"I need to think for a second," Jim said through gritted teeth. 

"We're heading into a desert bigger than the Mojave," McCoy sputtered. "There's no water for miles, and you need to think. I knew this would happen. What did I tell you? Chekov was the only one who could figure out where we are on this god forsaken hellhole, and he's been fed to a myleth by now."

Sulu dropped the reins and walked over. "What did you say?" he asked, in a tone Jim had never heard him use before.

"We have no reason to think that," Uhura said soothingly, hurrying after him.

"Maybe it's better," Tan offered, "that we'll never know exactly."

"All of you get on your myleth now, that's an order," Jim barked. "I need to concentrate for a second," he added, squinting into the horizon and trying to remember.

Ignoring the order, Sulu dropped his pack to the ground and jerked it open. It was the last straw for Jim. "Get on your ride, Mister," he growled. Hendorff slid off his myleth and started toward them, hand at his waist, as if he were reaching for a phaser.

"You'll need this, sir," Sulu said, tossing a small package to Jim. The pain in his eyes melted Jim's fury. Embarrassed, he dropped his head and fumbled to open the package, wondering what to say. He found a cloth painted with stylized Metioln figures, and a small bowl. Inside it was a rough needle and a flat piece of bark.

Wow, Jim thought. He looked over at Sulu and said quietly, "This is genius."

"Yeah," Sulu said sadly, "well, consider the source."

"What is it?" McCoy asked.

Sulu continued, "He gave it to me before I left with the hunting party. I think he was afraid I'd miss the beam out, but being Chekov, he couldn't bring himself to draw me a standard map because of the Prime Directive. This is what he came up with."

"I don't get it," McCoy said, "How's a beat-up bowl going to help?"

"It's not a bowl, Bones," Jim said. "It's a compass. Mr. Chekov left us a navigational aid made of things the Metiolns have."

"A compass?" Uhura asked. "Is it accurate?"

Sulu shrugged. "It was for getting to the village from Byten's camp." He pointed at a series of dots near the top of the cloth. "One of the guys in my hunting party told me that's the lizard constellation. The local people navigate by it. Chekov circled the pole star. If you don't have water, you could line it up with the real pole star for a rough orientation. The blue dot is the village, the smear is the ocean, and the crescent is our beam-out site."

"Are we going to have to wait till dark to figure out which way is north?" McCoy asked.

"No," Jim said. "He thought of everything." He laid the towel on the ground, then squeezed water from his skein into the bowl and floated the bark in the water. After rubbing the needle through his hair several times, he set it gently on the bark. Slowly, the bark turned, shifting until the needle pointed into the desert. Jim aligned the bowl so that the circled dot aligned with the needle.

"According to the map, to get to the beam out spot we'll take the road in the opposite direction Tunton recommended until it bends to the east," Jim said, "then we'll continue north."

"He wanted to make sure I could find the beam site," Sulu said. "Ironically," he added hollowly.

"We're not leaving him here, Sulu," Jim said.

"So you've said, sir," Sulu replied. "Of course, Mr. Tan said something different. Let's go, Nyota." Grabbing roughly at his myleth's reins, Sulu bent his knee so that Uhura could use it to climb back into the saddle, then swung up beside her. She glanced at him sympathetically but didn't comment. Sulu, face grim, kicked the myleth, and started.

McCoy watched them go, finally commenting, "I don't think I've ever seen him like that."

"I swear," Jim started, but stopped, and poured the water out of the little bowl. He carefully repinned the bark. "Let's go," he said, and helped McCoy mount.

The sun was still shining when they arrived at the gully. Jim's heart sank when he saw the steep wash. It was now a sea of green. We'll never find the right bush, he thought. He could see nothing that marked their pathway. Their footprints were long gone. The bushes and rocks along the ridge were unexceptional, and nothing looked familiar.

"We're going to need to split up and search carefully," he said, thinking, No. I need to make this work. It's here somewhere. We'll pull every bush on the hillside if we have to, but we'll find it. We've got to. I've got a lot to get done before Komak's team gets here, and missing another beam-out will push the away team to the breaking point. 

"Wait," Tan said, jumping off his saddle. "I just remembered. There's a marker." He balanced on the top of the wash, then took six careful steps toward the desert. He walked parallel to the edge of the drop, dragging his feet. The remainder of the crew followed the young man. After five minutes, Tan bent down and studied something he'd kicked. He looked up, grinning and called, "Here it is! We have to go straight down the hill from here. It's roughly forty paces."

"How do you know?" Hendorff asked.

Tan shrugged and pushed back bright green bushes to reveal a branch, broken so that it bent in six places, a simple spiral. Seeing it, a wistful grief washed over Jim, leaving him closer to tears than he'd been in many years. 

"You know what that looks like?" McCoy asked.

"The symbol for engineering," Jim finished quietly. "I think we can guess who left it."

"I didn't see him do that," Uhura murmured. 

Tan shrugged. "He found the stick while we were hiking out. He broke it, then arranged it so that the end pointed into the gully. He said that if something happened, it would help me find the beam-out spot. And he was right. Weird, huh? Do you think he had a premonition?" 

Sulu pushed past Tan and started down the ravine.

When he found the transport, Jim realized how lucky they'd been to have a marker. The bush they'd chosen to hide it was almost too effective. It looked very different, covered in pompom-like leaves that completely hid the rock underneath. Retrieving it, Hendorff found a spot big enough for them all to stand and set the rock carefully in the middle. They unpacked the myleth. Tan gave each a long drink and removed their bits. The animals ran off without looking back.

"We'd better hope the Enterprise is still up there," McCoy said.

"Let's build a fire," Jim said, "we can eat, and then it'll be time."

Tunton had sent an entire pack full of dung, but no one joked about it. Tan got a fire started, and the crew sat down to share yogurt and jerky. "Where's Sulu?" Jim whispered to Uhura.

"He's walking the ridge," she replied. "He needed a few minutes." 

Jim's gut churned. "Tell me the truth, Uhura. Did he sneak off after Chekov?" he asked. That's what I'd do.

Uhura shook her head, "No, I understand why you'd think so, but he would never do something like that. He just needed a few minutes alone. He's kind of protective of Chekov, and this is hard on him." 

"I'll go talk to him," Jim said.

"Let him have a chance to get himself under control, captain. He'll be back," Uhura said.

Jim sighed. "Alright," he said.

Uhura's mouth dropped open. "You're taking my suggestion?"

"Don't act so surprised,' Jim snapped. "I take your suggestions regularly. You did a great job leading this mission. If I had listened to you more often, we might not be where we are right now."

Uhura smiled sadly, "Maybe, but if not for your pushing, we'd probably never have found the weapons. Still, it's good of you to say so." She sighed and added, "I enjoyed parts of it, but I want you to know, sir, I am glad you had to be the one who decided what to do today."

I let everyone down, Jim thought, but he only said, "I'm going to fix this, Uhura."

Twenty minutes later, Sulu joined them at the fire. He nodded but did not speak, and only shook his head when McCoy urged him to eat. After several minutes of silence, Jim said suddenly, "Sulu, I'm sorry."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said stiffly.

"I know you're friends, and I want you to know I didn't make this decision lightly, none of my decisions. I honestly believe I had no other choice."

"You are correct, sir," Sulu said, "I am friends with Mr. Chekov, and as," he faltered, but went on strongly, "as unhappy as I am, I can say with complete certainty, he was pleased to have a role in this mission. I don't blame you for anything that happened. Even if I did, it would be inappropriate for me to express my opinion, sir. You're the captain. I understand what that means. Further, I know you take your responsibilities seriously, and I trust your instincts."

"No one blames you, Captain Kirk," Uhura added. "We're sad, but we don't blame you." McCoy smiled grimly and nodded.

"It's totally true," Tan said reflectively.

"That we trust our captain?" Hendorff asked. "I should think so."

"No," Tan said. "I mean, it's true Chekov was pleased to be here. In fact, he sort of thought he was like, the star of the mission."

"How would you know that?" asked McCoy.

The younger man continued, "He told me." He looked at the others' skeptical faces and said, "He did. He mentioned it like fifty times. We used to talk a lot while we were doing all the work."

"Tan," Hendorff said warningly.

Tan shrugged. "He was a good guy. Not judgey like most gold shirts, funny. Like, he said he'd always wanted to make history, but he hadn't planned to be the first ensign so bad at fighting that the captain actually refused to let him participate."

Sulu gave a short, bitter laugh.

Jim barked, "I had a plan."

"He was joking, sir," Tan explained. "That's how we do it. It's better to throw something embarrassing out there. If you say it first, nobody else gets power over it. He got that. He laughed when I said I'd rather fight ten Metioln warriors with my bare fists than spend a magical night with the keth. He said anyone could swing a stick, but it took someone special to satisfy a keth."

"He knew about that?" McCoy asked.

"Knew what the keth wanted?" laughed Tan. "Sure. She was pretty open about it. She pawed him every time she saw him. You want to know what's really funny? He was convinced the captain didn't know."

"What?" Jim was incredulous. 

Tan nodded. "He said you kept saying he'd work in her tent. He thought that might be some kind of slang, but I told him no, so he decided you didn't know what the keth wanted."

"He said what?" Jim started, then remembered the conversation in the tent. "Oh, wait, yeah, he did, but the way he said it, I didn't, I mean. He sounded like that's what he thought." 

"He said not to talk to you about it," laughed Tan. "He thought you'd feel bad about leaving him if you knew. I told him he was a moron."

Uhura sighed. "Was he frightened?"

"Frightened?" Tan said with scorn. "He was eighteen, not twelve. Look, according to him, and I admit, he might have lied, dishes weren't the only thing he was doing in the kitchen. He claimed there were real benefits to being a daka."

"What?" Jim asked.

Tan smirked, remembering. "Most of which you don't want to hear, believe me. I reminded him that all it got him in the long run was the keth's attention. He said he'd do his duty no matter what."

McCoy grumbled, but Sulu chuckled. "That would be exactly what he'd say," he said. "He'd be analytical about it."

"Yeah," agreed Tan, "Did you see how he looked at me when the keth passed out? Like it was all part of his master plan." The ensign's smile faded. He stared into the fire, then added, "You know, I halfway expected him to be here waiting when we rode in. It seemed like the kind of thing he could do."

"Not this time," Sulu said wistfully. "Did he say anything else?" 

Tan added, "He said not to worry, if we failed in the battle, he'd sneak out of the keth's tent and go get the weapons."

Because that's what I told him, and he always believes me. Jim was glad of the shadows; it made it harder to see the others' faces. "It's nearly time," he said, "We need to get ready." He started to rise, then grimaced and added, "Help me up, Hendorff."

"What's wrong?" McCoy asked.

"It's my wrist," Jim said, "where the thorns were. It's been getting sore, and my muscles are achy."

"Why didn't you say anything?" McCoy demanded. "It's probably infected, let me see."

"We'll be on the ship in minutes, Bones, you can scan me then," Jim said, and allowed Hendorff to pull him up. He took his position at the stone. "Put your packs on, look around carefully. We mustn't leave anything. We won't be back."

The others followed, more slowly, until Sulu sat alone at the fire. Jim cleared his throat. Sulu didn't react. Uhura called softly, "Hikaru?"

"I don't think I can do this," Sulu said quietly.

"Mr. Sulu," Jim said. "I am ordering you to prepare for transport."

Sulu nodded, stood, but didn't move.

"Mr. Hendorff," Jim said, "please assist Mr. Sulu to prepare for transport."

"Aye, sir," Hendorff sighed. 

Sulu shook his head. "That won't be necessary," he said. Expression grim, he walked over to stand by Uhura, head up and shoulders back. From the corner of his eye, Jim watched Uhura offer Sulu a hand. Sulu ignored her and pulled his hood over his face. Jim glanced at Bones, who nodded, his eyes both troubled and compassionate. Hendorff stood at attention, face impassive. Tan studied his superior, sighed, and tried to copy his expression. Just when Jim was beginning to think he couldn't wait any more, there was a faint buzzing noise, and the familiar glow enveloped him.

Chapter Text

Chapter Twenty Seven
An Ignoble Return

Coalescing in the transporter room, Jim blinked his eyes against the disorientation transportation always caused, and thought, Here we go. Stepping off the pad, he locked eyes with Giotto, his chief of security, standing by the control booth, clutching a PADD and looking grim. Seeing him, the chief came to attention. There he is, Jim thought, obstacle number one. I need to play this just right. He put a confident smile on his face and stepped forward to greet the chief. Commander Scott popped out of the control booth, eyes flicking from face to face. Jim stopped and dropped his head, unable to bear watching Scotty realize who was gone.

Giotto didn't seem to notice. "Welcome back, Captain Kirk," he said. "Was the mission a success?" 

No one replied for a few seconds, then Hendorff said, "We got the weapons," and stepped off the transport pad.