CRACK IN THE MIRROR

by

Sheila Clark

EARTH

Old City. A conglomeration of slums where lived only the desperately poor, it was a mere shadow of the once-great city that it had been. Even its original name was no longer spoken, for it was no longer the place that name referred to.

One minute it had been a flourishing, wealthy metropolis, Capital of Earth - and therefore of the Empire; the next, it was a gigantic ruin, almost completely destroyed in one violent upheaval of the ground. The earthquake had lasted only seconds; the fire that followed had finally been quenched almost a week later by the rain of a thunderstorm.

It had long been known that the ground was unstable, too close to a tectonic fault; the survivors in the government were those who had chosen to make their homes in a dormitory town nearly a hundred miles distant, preferring a lengthy journey each time they attended a meeting to the uncertainty of living so close to a major fault. That hundred miles was enough to save it from more than a mild shake and a few broken plates, so the Emperor - whose main residence, fortunately for himself, was half a world away - decided, on the recommendation of his chief advisers, not to rebuild on the original site, as had been done at least once before, but rather to move everything to the safer site where the originally small dormitory town was already growing large.

With the government had gone those who had survived of its army of workers, the shopkeepers who depended on the wealth of those workers for their livelihood... and left behind were those unfortunates whose jobs had been permanently lost, who were too old to be employed, who were unwilling to leave the area where they had always lived, who still insisted, even as New City was expanded, that the government couldn't do this, couldn't move and leave them destitute.

But the government could, and the government did, and those who were unwanted or who were unwilling or unable to move were abandoned to the ruins of Old City.

Life was not impossible there; the earthquake had been fickle in its destructiveness, and in some areas, particularly the newer outskirts, a few buildings had survived, some of them in quite a reasonable state of repair - until neglect took its toll. A handful of entrepreneurs provided work of a kind - low-paid, monotonous, near-slave labour that churned out the sort of hand-made goods that gave the employers a high income for a low output. The government even set up a tax and law-control office in a reasonably well-preserved building, and also a series of shops where poor quality meat and bread could be bought - stale bread and fatty meat that could not be sold in New City, even to the 'poor' - for even there it did not take long for a poor class to emerge. The word 'poor' was however comparative; compared to the poor of Old City they were quite affluent.

Nobody did anything to stop the wretched beggars who remained from building themselves hovels among the ruins of once-proud skyscrapers, using whatever materials they could salvage. Old City and everything in it had been abandoned by the government. It did not care what the inhabitants did with the remains. The government's only interest in Old City lay in collecting as much money as possible from the people there in the form of taxes and the sale of barely edible 'food'.

Life expectancy tended to be short - infant mortality was high, and few adults reached their fiftieth birthday. The handful who did were ones whose metabolism needed very little food, for the almost total lack of fresh food, the poor quality of government-supplied rations, and the low income kept everyone close to starvation. Deficiency diseases were common.

During the first few years after the earthquake some of those who stayed moved out, finally - reluctantly - accepting that their city was finished and would not recover; they made their way, if not to New City, to some of the smaller towns nearby that had escaped the worst of the havoc wrought by the earthquake. But as the years went by those who were left adapted, developing their own way of life. It was a life of hardship, certainly; a usually short life of almost permanent hunger; but it was a life of relative peace in the vicious Empire, for most of the men of Old City were, because of those very hardships, medically unfit for conscription into the Empire's armies.

The people of Old City filled in no census forms, no employment forms, for where there were no schools there was no literacy and it was not worth the effort of getting government officers to interview them and fill in the forms for them; it was the employers who gave the government a list of the names of those who worked for them. They paid their taxes at the tax office - reluctantly, but they paid them, for the alternative was a raid by government forces, who would loot, rape, kill, and generally render the level of life even more unbearable than it already was. They had found that out the hard way. Otherwise they barely existed to the Empire, were of no more importance than the Tellarites, those confirmed agoraphobes whose planet was being systematically stripped of minerals. The Tellarites themselves, hauled willy-nilly into an Empire they did not, could not, understand, had no defence against this legalised theft, for they degenerated into gibbering idiots at the first sight of the stars of open space. Their planet was perpetually shrouded in a thick layer of cloud; their language did not even have a word for 'sun'.

He was known simply as The Vulcan. If he had a name, nobody knew it.

He had lived in the slums of Old City for so long that even Grandfather Robbins, who was older than anyone else in Old City, claimed that he could not remember a time when he was not. Grandfather Robbins could not, he said, even remember The Vulcan as being young; The Vulcan had been (he said) an adult for all of Grandfather Robbins' almost unprecedented sixty years of memory. Of course, it was said that Vulcans lived for a long, long time, that a Vulcan could outlive eight generations of Humans - even the Humans who lived in New City, whose grandfathers, born in the same year as Grandfather Robbins, could expect to outlive him by at least twenty years.

Neither did anyone know where The Vulcan lived; he would suddenly appear on the edge of a crowd, watching silently, and after a while he would vanish again on whisper-soft feet, seemingly able to pick the exact moment when nobody was watching to make his departure.

He was never seen to buy meat; instead, he patronised the few stalls that sold fruit and vegetables, expensive though they were, buying only enough for one day at a time. It did seem, however, that he left Old City occasionally, for sometimes several days, even weeks, would pass when nobody at all saw him. Once it was even nearly a year, and the people thought he had gone - but one day he reappeared, looking as if he had never been away, slipping easily back into the position he had always held.

He bothered no-one, giving no trouble; neither did he ask for any assistance. He was, it seemed, perfectly self-sufficient. Nor did he ever offer assistance, although he was perfectly willing to lend his 'neighbours' his strength if he was asked for aid - if that aid was truly needed. It seemed that he could tell if someone was trying to take advantage of him. Yet even then he never became angry, merely raising an eyebrow and saying, "You have all the assistance you require," before turning away. Money he never gave.

Even rumour, that most lying of jades, was silent when The Vulcan was mentioned. Nobody knew why a Vulcan, a member of one of the Empire's most clannish races, a race that always protected its own, should be living in obscurity here in the slums of the old city that was once the centre of government of Earth, and supposition, usually rife when fact was unknown, became dumb when he was named.

He was simply there.

And he was very, very lonely.

Thomas was the younger of the two surviving sons of one of the senior government officials unfortunate enough to be assigned to the tax office of Old City.

As a government employee, the boy's father was - by the standards of Earth - quite rich, but his life was totally ruled by the demands of his work. He had no say either in where he was assigned, or for how long; he went unprotesting to wherever he was sent, for he knew that protest would quickly lose him his employment and the prestige that went with it. Civil servants were the elite of Earth's workforce, no matter where they worked, and there were many hopefuls, sons of his fellow workers who did not want to lose status, anxious to fill any gaps in those august ranks.

When he was assigned to Old City, his wife was eight months pregnant. It had been a difficult pregnancy, and he knew that the move would probably mean her death, but even so he took her with him, knowing that the government would look askance at any attempt on his part to leave her in New City, no matter what his reason, no matter how short the time before he sent for her. He still felt a mild affection for her, but she was easier to replace than his job would be.

She had gone into labour prematurely, almost immediately on their arrival in the new government dormitory town that had been built near Old City, and - as he had expected - she died, but the child lived. It had been easy enough to obtain a wet nurse for the child, and even easier to persuade the woman to become his mistress - though not for one moment did he consider marrying a woman from Old City. She was philosophic about it, considering her position an improvement on her previous condition, and quietly, discreetly, but tenaciously, she set about acquiring as much money as she could from him, careful not to be too greedy - she was not a fool - and saving the bulk of it against the day that would undoubtedly come when he either tired of her or was moved away.

She had the sense to treat her paramour's children, especially Thomas, the baby who was her main responsibility, as well as if they were her own, and was gratified that both her own infant and her year old daughter were accepted by them. Indeed, her own children were more readily accepted by the older children than she was, though they understood why she had to be there. Perhaps fortunately, they were all too young to understand that she shared their father's bed as well as providing sustenance for their baby brother.

The baby, somewhat to his father's surprise, thrived.

A fever epidemic when the infant was some eighteen months old carried off half of the children throughout the world, and many of the adults too. Even in New City, where lived the favoured few and where medical attention could be obtained - albeit at a price - a third of the children were struck down, most of them to die. Some places were more badly affected than others - three out of every four of the undernourished children of Old City died. The fever, carried to the rural dormitory village that had been built near Old City by the adults who lived there and worked in Old City, killed Thomas's foster sister as well as his sibling sister and the younger of his two brothers, and left the remaining brother ailing for some time; neither the motherless infant nor his foster brother even sickened.

Thomas grew into an adventurous youngster who never ailed and who seemed destined to bounce back unharmed from anything life cared to throw at him; and his foster brother followed him, unprotesting.

His father cared little enough for his children; his foster mother, although she never neglected either boy, gave them little overt affection, deliberately holding herself slightly aloof so that they would not become too attached to her, for she was only too well aware that one day - and as the younger boy grew older, she could see it coming closer and closer - her usefulness would end and she would be sent away. She cared enough for the children to wish to spare them the unhappiness that they would know if they lost a loved adult. She tried to discourage the friendship that existed between her younger charge and her own son, but without success. Thomas found his foster brother a more satisfactory playmate than his own brother.

When Thomas was eight his father was given a promotion that meant his permanent assignment to the tax office of Old City - unless he should be lucky enough to be promoted again. It also meant that instead of living decently in the government village and commuting to and from Old City, he - and his family - had to live in the apartments attached to the tax office. He took advantage of the move to dismiss his mistress, who had begun to bore him, thankful that she accepted her dismissal quietly and without protest; but when he offered to give her son a home - he saw in the youngster a useful servant for his own children - she accepted gratefully. Now she only had herself to consider.

On the day they moved to the new house their father took his sons - and their erstwhile playmate, who was now to be their servant - to the window and stood gazing over the broken rooftops for a long time. At last he turned to the boys. He felt no great love for them - or anyone - but he did feel a certain sense of responsibility for them.

"You must never go into the city," he told them firmly. "Never."

The older brother looked at the ruins and shuddered. "I wish we were back in the country," he said, knowing even as he spoke that if he wanted to return to the country he must find work that would take him there.

Thomas looked out of the window with a curiosity that neither his father nor his brother would ever know, and said nothing. His foster brother watched him, half guessing at his unstated interest, and ready, as always, to follow where Thomas led.

Their father hired a tutor for them, the best he could afford - and he could afford a good one now. On consideration, he even agreed that the servant boy should join the classes; it could be useful to have a literate servant to act as secretary. Jonathan was competent at his lessons, and learned far more than he let anyone suspect; he was quick to guess that his 'guardian' would be angry if the son of a commoner from Old City proved to be as good at his work as the sons of a government worker.

George, whose school career in the government suburb had been uninspired, soon showed an aptitude for the biological sciences, a subject that had been virtually neglected at the school. His father was pleased, for the subject was one that opened up a wide range of job opportunities; still-overpopulated Earth was desperate for improved food crops; and there was also a need for crops suited to Terran metabolism that would grow on colony planets. His older son would certainly be able to find a job in the country where he was so anxious to live.

Thomas showed no positive aptitude, and at first his father was displeased; but when the tutor pointed out that his younger pupil was proving quick to learn everything, he realised that this would open up a very wide range of career possibilities. He smiled in satisfaction at that. His younger son was bound to be a success in life.

It was a gratifying thought.

The tutor was correct; Thomas was indeed interested in everything, and it was not long before his overwhelming curiosity made him begin to wonder once more about the ruined city - that forbidden area where his father said he must never go.

From wondering, it was a short step to considering disobeying his father's orders.

He had no reason to think that his father actually cared what happened to him. He could not have put it into words, but young though he was he suspected that the order had been given from a combination of pride - the son of a government official was above mixing with the riff-raff of Old City - and just possibly a slight touch of guilt that he did not care.

Thomas dismissed the fleeting thought that it might indeed be dangerous. After all, the people of Old City lived, didn't they? They didn't spend their time attacking each other, did they? He was not old enough to appreciate that while they might not attack each other they would have little compunction about attacking a stranger and none at all if that stranger was one of the advantaged class.

He knew better than to ask his brother to accompany him; George was not quite lacking in courage, but the fever he had suffered had left him slightly delicate. As a result he was nervous of disposition and easily upset. Besides, his nature was to be obedient to a stronger will. Thomas had no doubt that his was the stronger will, but George would obey his father before he would obey his younger brother. And even Thomas, though he was not given to fearing easily, thought twice before openly opposing his father, whatever he might think of doing in secret. He was also unwilling to involve his foster brother, who would certainly be happy to join him, but who could so easily be sent away. All it needed was his father to decide that the son of a woman from Old City was a bad influence, even though, as an incomer, Jonathan's life in the ruins of Old City could - would - be measured in hours rather than days.

But his curiosity about Old City, once aroused, refused to go away. He must behave circumspectly, but the first chance he got, he promised himself, he would go into the city.

His opportunity came when his father was called away for a few days to a meeting in New City. The man's own expenses were reclaimable, but he could not claim for his family, and in any case it was hardly worth the upheaval to move his entire household for a week; so he left the boys in their tutor's care.

Well aware of the responsibility resting on his shoulders, and disinclined to risk losing his well-paid and - even here - prestigious position, the tutor kept an eye firmly on both boys, though never for one moment did he dream that his younger charge had an adventurous spirit that fretted at the restraint imposed on it by over-cautious adults and longed for release.

Two days later the tutor fell ill. He might have presumed to call in the doctor from the government village for the sake of his charges - their father did not neglect their physical well-being, no matter how careless he was of their emotional health - but he knew well enough what ailed him; a recurrance of malaria, the result of a mosquito bite he had suffered several years previously when his then employer lived in tropical Africa. He sent for the boys, assigned them work sufficient to keep them occupied for three or four days, and returned to his bed where he shivered and sweated, swallowed the medication he kept on hand - knowing he must replace it as soon as possible - and wished he could die.

All three boys took their books to their rooms, but while George and Jonathan set to work immediately and conscientiously, Thomas dumped his books on his bed and slipped back out of his room, down the stairs, and out of the house.

He knew he must be careful; it would never do to get lost. But if he was careful to memorise the route he took, he would surely find it easy to make his way back.

He picked his way carefully down the filthy, garbage-littered street that backed onto the tax office, wrinkling his nose at the stench which was normally filtered out of his home by the air conditioning, and looking about him curiously.

He had not gone far before he realised how out of place he looked. The people he passed wore dirty, sometimes patched and often torn clothes; his clothes were clean - what was more, they were whole, unpatched and without holes. He began to feel slightly self-conscious, but it was not until he noticed a boy, just a little smaller than himself though far, far thinner, watching him enviously that he began to worry, for he realised then what a prize the clothes that he took so much for granted would be. He was sure that he could hold his own against one assailant, but if a group of these ragged slum boys chose to join forces and attack him, he would stand little chance.

Reminding himself that foolhardiness was not courage, Thomas turned to return home, and discovered that he was being followed by several boys of about his own size. He suspected that it was a group of individuals rather than a gang, but he realised that they might very well form a temporary alliance in order to defeat him, and then probably fight amongst themselves for possession of his clothes, leaving him to struggle home as best he could.

He glared at them, trying to cow them by sheer willpower, but, strong-willed though he was, he was not yet old enough for a mere glare to win the day, though he noticed two of them backing off.

Not enough, he thought, resigning himself to the beating he was sure he would receive - and the thrashing that would surely follow when he did return home. His tutor might not tell his father, for he would fear to be dismissed for failing in his duty towards his charge, but he would certainly take punitive action himself.

And then the group scattered.

The boy turned, and found himself staring at a Vulcan. He gaped, manners forgotten in the unlikely sight of a Vulcan in Old City.

Unlike everyone else he had seen, The Vulcan was clean, but his clothes were old, faded and patched, and the boy wondered for a moment if The Vulcan, like himself, had come here out of curiosity, but had come better prepared for the conditions.

"You should not be here, child," The Vulcan said quietly. His voice was unusual; deep and semi-educated, with overtones of the city patois, the voice of someone who belonged to Old City and yet - somehow - should not.

"I... I know that now," Thomas said, conceding the point. "My father always told me to stay out of the city - and I wondered why. He's away just now, so I thought I would... explore."

"You are more likely to die," The Vulcan told him frankly. "If you want to explore Old City, find yourself old, worn clothes, clothes that are not worth the stealing. Dirty your face and your hair, so that nobody looks twice at you, to see that you might be worth a ransom."

"You aren't dirty," the boy protested.

"Neither am I a helpless child who is hopelessly out of his depth, who has never had to fight in order to survive. This is my home; I have lived here longer than I care to remember."

The boy was not old enough or experienced enough to recognise subtleties of expression, but he sensed an underlying grief in the deep voice. And there was something in the words that he could not understand.

"But you're a Vulcan - and the Vulcans live among the stars."

An expression that was not quite a rueful smile passed briefly over The Vulcan's face and was gone, leaving only a trace of sadness in the dark eyes.

"Not all of us, child. Not all of us."

He seemed to shake off depression and his back gave the impression of stiffening. "Come now. I will see you safely back to your home. I will not say do not come again. You are old enough to make your own decisions; you have been warned, and you have seen one of the dangers. I will say only this - if you choose to come into the city again, heed my words to you."

"Will I see you if I come again?" Suddenly it seemed important to the boy that he should see The Vulcan again.

The Vulcan smiled, openly this time. "Do you truly wish to see me again?"

"Yes."

"Then I will watch for you."

Thomas had not been missed - indeed, he had been away barely an hour. As he settled in his room to catch up on his studying his mind was only half on his books. The other half was considering his wardrobe. Were any of his clothes old enough, shabby enough, ill-fitting enough that he could use them as disguise to go back into the city? Hardly. His father was jealous of his position in the government service, and his family was kept well dressed as a sign of his status - regardless of the fact that there was nobody here to impress. Here in Old City nobody outside the family saw either boy. It had been different in the government village, and Thomas sighed wearily.

It was so dreary, living here!

And then he remembered. He did have a shirt and trousers that had been torn, not badly, but badly enough for his father to tell him to throw them out. Although he had known he could never wear them again, he had kept them, for he had liked them, and they were tucked carefully away in the back of his wardrobe where nobody - he hoped - would find them. If he ripped them just a little more...

From then on Thomas made occasional sorties into the city. More than once he found himself involved in a fight, and he quickly learned how to fight dirty, for he dared not go home bruised. He explored with interest and open eyes, seeing much that was normally hidden from the children of the elite.

More satisfactory than his solitary visits were the times when he saw The Vulcan, who did indeed watch for him, and they became as friendly as two so dissimilar people could be. The Vulcan taught him a great deal about life - a great deal that Thomas realised he would never have learned if he had remained safely at home, and that his brother would never learn. Sometimes he thought about bringing Jonathan, but he decided against it. He wanted to keep The Vulcan to himself.

The boy quickly realised that he was the only person who had learned where The Vulcan lived. His happiest hours were the ones that he spent in The Vulcan's home, two rooms that had survived undamaged in an otherwise collapsed building, entered through a crawlway where fallen walls had been propped up. From the outside the place looked totally derelict, and the boy wondered how The Vulcan had ever found the undamaged rooms. But he decided that it might be better not to ask.

And then one day everything changed. His father returned from work beaming.

Promotion.

No, they would not be returning to the government village.

They were going to New City!

Even in the rush to pack, Thomas managed to slip out for half an hour to see The Vulcan and tell his friend that he was leaving. Then, almost before he knew it, they were on their way to New City.

If anything, Thomas liked New City even less than Old City. Old City, derelict though it was, had... yes, an honesty that New City lacked. New City was soulless, a hotbed of scandal and corruption, masked and disguised by the routine of government life and the apparent respectability of everyone who lived there. But underneath the respectability Thomas sensed the jungle, all the more deadly for being hidden.

Three months after Thomas and his family left the office in Old City another earthquake, long predicted but undatable, hit the patchily repaired ruins of the once-proud Old City. Fire, the major hazard that follows immediately after a serious quake, spread quickly, and many of those who did not die in the actual collapse of the buildings were suffocated in the choking smoke or were burned where they lay trapped in the ruins of their houses.

Of the thousands of people who had lived in Old City, a few hundreds survived. Most of them lived at the southern edge of the town.

Thomas heard about the earthquake at school. (Their tutor had been retained to teach George, but his father had decided that Thomas would benefit from the more varied curriculum at school. Jonathan's school days were officially over; but Thomas, to clarify things in his own mind, went over his homework with his foster-brother, and from that Jonathan's education continued with only Thomas knowing it.) At home, his enquiries gained a little more information, but left the one question he dared not ask unanswered.

He did learn that the Tax Office had been badly damaged, although nobody there had died or was even seriously hurt. However, it would not reopen. The few survivors of the earthquake - like it or not - would be resettled. The burned-out ruins would be left to Nature.

There was no mention of a Vulcan.

Sadly, Thomas was forced to the realisation that his friend must be dead. He could only hope that The Vulcan had died instantly in the quake, rather than suffer an agonising death in the fire.

In front of his family he managed to hide his grief; but that night, in bed, he sobbed helplessly in the knowledge that his Vulcan friend was dead.

By morning he had control of himself again - but his life had been changed completely. Never again, he swore, would he allow himself to become truly fond of anyone.

The only exception to this was his foster brother Jonathan, of whom he was already fond. In the cut-throat world of the Empire he would need one person to trust, and the bond of affection that already existed between them would ensure Jonathan's loyalty. For his brother, Thomas felt little affection. George was too delicate, too quiet, too anxious to please to be a good companion on the path to success - for only success was worth anything in the Empire. For his father he felt nothing.

As for the new acquaintances that he would make - he was determined that they would be nothing but acquaintances. He would never again risk the heartbreak of losing a dearly-loved friend.

THE ENTERPRISE

Farrell, his chief operative, moved quickly to his place at his master's right shoulder as Commander James Kirk stepped off the transporter platform to face the senior officers of his new ship. Insecurity, his frequent companion, stood at his left shoulder as he faced them, for all had been on this ship for some time; he was the incomer, the stranger here, and he did not know - could not know - how they would react to him.

With the ease of long practice he kept his nervousness hidden. It was no joke being Starfleet's Golden Boy; the youngest First Officer in the Fleet, he was well aware of how easy it could be to become the youngest Captain and then the youngest failed Captain, for a good First Officer - and he knew he was good - does not always make a good Commanding Officer; and in addition a First Officer's personal guard, no matter how devoted, might not be ruthless enough to protect the Captain in those first days following a take-over - traditionally the most likely time for a new Captain to be overthrown in his turn.

What if he should fail? Fail to win the loyalty of enough of this seasoned crew to enable him to stand a reasonable chance of survival. So much depended on the way his predecessor had behaved. Fortunately their previous First Officer's death had been a hazard of the Service. There was nobody to seek revenge for it.

The one other officer who wore a Commander's insignia took a single step forward.

"Spock, sir. Science Officer."

"Mr. Spock."

A Vulcan? Here, on a predominately Human-manned ship? He had thought all Vulcans in Starfleet were on board the Intrepid. Well, he had never suffered from the almost universal Terran awe of Vulcans. Indeed, he rather liked them and fully appreciated their abilities.

The Vulcan half turned to indicate the other crew members.

"Lt. Commander Scott, Chief Engineer. Lt. Sulu, Helm and Security Chief. Lt. Uhura, Communications; Lt. Mitchell, Navigation; Dr. Piper, Medical. Captain Pike sends his apologies. He is... unavoidably detained."

You're not a good liar, Mr. Spock, Kirk thought. How can he be busy with all the senior officers here?

He allowed nothing of his scepticism to show on his face. "Gentlemen. Miss Uhura." He assessed them rapidly, as any senior officer with aspirations to promotion soon learned to do.

There was no obvious hostility directed towards him that he could see. They appeared to be willing to give him the opportunity to prove himself. He could not, however, believe that none were ambitious. Sulu, for example, wore an expression that clearly said, Don't get in my way.

He flashed his most charming smile at them. Uhura and Mitchell responded, it seemed half shyly; Scott and Spock both nodded slightly, acknowledging but not responding; Piper grinned widely. Only Sulu gave no obvious reaction but continued to watch him, without obvious hostility but with a degree of caution, as if he half suspected that the surface charm hid something less attractive. For someone who did hide a ruthless interior under a deceptively smooth, plausible amiability, that caution might be an open invitation to sly bullying; for Kirk, who took no pleasure in ruling through unnecessary fear, it aroused only a determination to win the man's trust, coupled with a faint curiosity as to why the man should be so wary.

Wary. A Security Chief, wary? Never! That was a contradiction in terms. Kirk made a mental note to treat Sulu with circumspection.

He began to wonder about his new Captain. He knew Pike only by reputation as a man who ran a tight ship; was it possible that he ruled only through fear? That was not a good system.

He glanced round the others again, considering.

Only Piper was openly responsive; but then he was the only one who did not answer completely to the Captain. The two more senior officers, who did, were clearly holding themselves, if not aloof, certainly to themselves. The three more junior officers were in varying degrees more cautious, and - apart from the Security Chief - that was understandable. A senior officer could treat his underlings with whatever severity he chose, and there was nothing they could do about it but submit. Careful juniors trod warily in the presence of the Captain or the First Officer.

Which brought him back to Pike. Many Captains were almost paranoid about ambitious junior officers; an able junior with an eye to promotion had to tread a narrow, narrow path if his Captain were to notice his ability yet not feel threatened by it. It was possible that the wary Sulu had made the mistake of being too efficient...

The thoughts flashed through his mind even as he turned his attention back to the Vulcan. "Would you care to show me around the ship, Mr. Spock?"

"Certainly, sir."

Kirk tried to analyse the Vulcan's response but found himself unable to read anything more than the surface agreement, and knew that he would have to watch this man carefully. Spock had a good poker face, and clearly kept his own counsel very well indeed.

Farrell fell into step behind him as they left the transporter room; and as the door swished shut behind them, a Vulcan guard moved to Spock's shoulder. He and Farrell eyed each other suspiciously, each trying to assess the other's competence, but both willing to wait until their respective masters should decide whether or not to trust each other.

The first thing that struck Kirk as he entered the corridor was how clean everything was. He knew that the ship was in the second year of a five-year mission; at the end of the five years she would get a refit and repaint, but by this stage he would have expected the paintwork to be showing some signs of wear. There was none; the corridor looked as if it was freshly painted, and he wondered how Pike managed to keep it that way.

The second thing that he discovered was where Pike was. The tour of the ship very soon took them past the Agony Booth; Pike was standing there, watching the writhing of a young ensign with an attention that could only be called avid. He was clearly getting a sick pleasure out of every second of the girl's pain. As Spock led him past the Booth towards Pike, Kirk had time to notice that the setting was on full.

Spock paused where Pike could see him, and the Captain's eyes flickered past him to Kirk.

"Commander Kirk reporting aboard, sir," Kirk said evenly. Pike nodded, neither greeting nor dismissing, his uninterest apparently complete. It was an attitude calculated to rattle someone whose self-assurance was in any way shaky.

"Carry on, Mr. Kirk." Kirk would have expected him to sound bored - boredom would have matched his careless gesture; instead he sounded irritated, as if he was annoyed at being interrupted.

Spock glanced at the new First Officer and led him on along the corridor. Once out of earshot of the Agony Booth Kirk said quietly, "Full intensity? What has she done?"

"Refused to go to the Captain's bed." Spock's tone was noncommittal.

"Refused...?" Stunned disbelief showed through Kirk's careful control, but he knew that Spock could read his reaction as either shock at the 'crime' or shock at Pike's over-response to it. It would be interesting to see how Spock replied.

"The Captain sees her refusal as a threat to his authority." He threw a look at Kirk as if to assess his reaction to this. "She is not the first, but she has been the most stubborn."

Kirk grunted, thinking of Sulu. "Men, too?"

Spock nodded. "The Captain's tastes are most varied."

They walked on in silence for several paces. The exchange had been interesting, and Kirk was sure he had not betrayed the full extent of his disapproval; but neither was he sure of the extent of Spock's.

Alone in the cabin assigned to him, Kirk took only moments to unpack the single small case that carried his few personal possessions. First he took out a small carved cube, pressed five of the carvings in a specific order and slid one side open, then, having flicked a switch, he closed it again and left it sitting on his desk, an apparent ornament, confident that the small electronic scrambler would ensure that he was not being spied on. Then he shook out a simple civilian suit in a neutral, inconspicuous dark grey, its design carefully chosen to look smart without being over-expensive, stylish without being ultra-fashionable, and the off-white shirt to wear with the suit, and put them onto hangers in the small wardrobe; then he slipped the case with his medals and the tapes that held his personal log into his safe; and last of all he took out his most valued possession - an old, real paper book of poetry. He laid it on the small table beside his bed.

His unpacking complete, Kirk moved to sit at the desk, still empty apart from his scrambler, and considered what he had learned already.

One sure assumption - if an assumption could be said to be sure - was that Pike could not be liked. He was undoubtedly feared; he was probably hated, and hated by everyone aboard. Only Kirk himself did not yet hate him - or even dislike or fear him - but he had no doubt that it would only be a matter of time before the lack of respect he already felt deepened into something more personal. The Agony Booth was an excellent disciplinary measure... but it was the ultimate punishment, used for behaviour that threatened the ship, not for something as petty as refusing to warm the Captain's bed.

Did Pike really want an unwilling partner?

Kirk frowned. It was possible. There were men whose mentality was so warped that they needed the fillip of resistance - even the resistance of unwilling agreement - before they could achieve sexual release.

Such a man had no place on a Starship.

The new First Officer half smiled. When opportunity arose... It was unlikely that Pike's personal guard would even try to stop a determined assassin - if that assassin showed them that he could offer more than the abject fear that Pike clearly demanded.

The buzzer trilled for attention and he sat up alertly. No matter that he clearly had no work to do - yet.

"Come."

It was Farrell, of course, and Kirk allowed himself to relax again.

"Hello, Jon - everything O.K.?"

"This isn't a happy ship, Jim." Farrell spoke with the freedom privacy granted to an old and trusted servant.

"Happy? In the Empire?" Kirk's voice held a sardonic note, but Farrell knew exactly what he meant.

"Well, let's say she's an unhappy ship. Pike's well hated."

"Yeah. That doesn't surprise me."

"I've had several asking what you're like as Master."

"Already?"

"Says a lot, doesn't it? I told 'em you pay well. They're interested," he reported succinctly.

"Good, Jon. Good."

"Pike - he doesn't pay. Not even the crew bonus. And anyone who objects..."

"Agony Booth?"

Farrell nodded. "Men have died in there." His lips tightened. "Women, too. There's one in there now - unconscious."

"The one we saw?"

"No. Another one."

"Another...? What had she done?"

"Spilled His Lordship's brandy."

"You're joking." He looked at the disgusted expression in Farrell's eyes. "You're not."

"As for the one we saw before - "

"She wouldn't go to Pike's bed." He knew Spock's voice had been too quiet for the bodyguards to hear.

"I don't blame her. Even the Booth's better."

"Huh?"

"The last woman he bedded died of a ruptured gut a couple of days later. He'd beaten her up first. Gets kicks out of sadism." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Another one got pregnant; he ordered an abortion and made the Doc sterilise her at the same time - for her carelessness. And... " He hesitated.

"Go on."

"Children. Any planet that resists - once it's beaten, he demands so many high-born children as hostage for their adults' behaviour. And yes, they do end up in a Starbase eventually; servants - no, slaves - to high-up officers and their ladies. But by the time they get there, Pike's had them all in bed. Boys as well as girls - and as young as five." He looked sick.

Kirk muttered an expressive Andorian curse, learned from a fellow victim of Kodos the Executioner - a victim who had not survived the Massacre of Tarsus. For anyone who understood Andorian it left no doubt where the recipient's final destination was wished to be.

"I could wish him worse than that," Farrell muttered. Kirk nodded, his face grim. Service in the Empire was no place for the squeamish, but the deliberate illtreatment of the helpless was guaranteed to infuriate Farrell, who had never forgotten his humble beginnings. Kirk, too, while he could be ruthless when ruthlessness was called for, had learned on Tarsus, if nowhere else, what it was like to be young and helpless.

"Don't worry, Jon. I'll get him." Kirk's voice was soft but held a determined note.

"Be careful, Jim," Farrell said quietly. He knew Kirk's often impetuous nature well.

"Very careful," Kirk agreed. "Now - what about - "

He was interrupted by the intercom as it buzzed sharply for attention.

"Commander Kirk report to Captain Pike's quarters immediately."

Kirk flicked a switch. "On my way."

Farrell followed Kirk out of his cabin, falling into step the regulation pace behind him, his face the expressionless mask of the hired killer.

Pike was sitting at his desk when Kirk entered, a discontented expression on his face. He scowled at Kirk as his new second-in-command halted in front of the desk, snapping off a precise salute.

"Stupid bitches, women - all of them," Pike growled.

Unsure of the reply expected of him, Kirk remained silent.

"Spill your brandy... won't come to your bed... " Pike muttered viciously. "Don't know what's good for them." He glared up at Kirk. "What do you think?"

"Discipline must be maintained." No matter that he was parrotting the unofficial motto of Starfleet; it committed him to nothing.

"You're damn right. So that obstinate bint can just take full intensity in the Booth until she says yes - and she can get through her work, too."

Kirk whistled silently to himself as he fought to remain expressionless. Starfleet was no place for a weakling, and punishments were usually brutal, but even Starfleet accepted that someone exposed to full duration in the Booth was entitled to a little recovery time before returning to duty. Far from permitting that, Pike was condemning his victim to working overtime to make up for the hours she spent in the Booth for what was, in the last resort, a fairly minor 'crime'.

He must have been unsuccessful in completely masking his expression, for Pike glared at him. "I take it you disagree?"

"It's your decision, Captain. Discipline is all-important. If an underling once ceases to fear you, your career could be finished." That at least was true.

Pike's glare continued undiminished. "And you, Kirk - do you fear me?" He was toying with a small dagger.

Kirk watched Pike's hands cautiously. "You have a widespread reputation for running a tight ship, sir. I would be chary of crossing you." That, too, was true. He had every intention of biding his time, of not moving until he saw an infallible opportunity of doing away with Pike. His first move would also be his last; if it failed, he knew he would not get a second chance.

Normally he might have been expected to make some mention of "profiting from Pike's leadership", but the phrase had two meanings; he already knew from Farrell that he could forget the financial profit and he had no wish to learn Pike's professional methods - and he could not bring himself to lie.

"You would be wise to remain chary." The voice was cold, vibrant with hidden menace. Kirk heard a silent echo of Farrell's voice - Men have died in the Booth...

"Now - " Pike suddenly became brisk, businesslike. "Your duties."

The list was comprehensive, and included several duties that the Captain would normally assume personally.

Kirk assessed them mentally, considered what he had not been told to do, and his contempt for Pike increased.

Pike wanted all the advantages - and none of the disadvantages - of command.

Finally, Pike scowled at his subordinate. "Any questions?"

"No, sir." In fact, he had several, but it was the only sensible reply to make. He resigned himself to a position as Pike's whipping dog - for a little while.

"Dismissed."

Outside, he nodded to Farrell, who fell into step behind him once more. Neither spoke as they strode along the corridor; both suspected that among the neatly spaced crewmen busily painting the ceiling there were some who, from fear, would immediately report any unwary comments to Pike.

And Kirk was beginning to wonder just how much time off anyone - except Pike, of course - actually had.

It was customary for one of an officer's personal guard to ward the cabin door while his master was inside; but any officer new on board any ship was only able to take with him one of his bought men, officially as his yeoman. Once on board, of course, it was possible for him to arrange for any others of his men that he might want to be transferred to his new ship. Kirk felt no particular loyalty to the men he had left behind, however; apart from Farrell there had never been any that he considered irreplaceable. But it would take some days for Farrell to assess the reliability of the men on the Enterprise and recruit his new guard.

Farrell could not, however, remain on duty day and night until he recruited a new personal guard. Kirk beckoned him into the cabin.

"You've put out feelers already for recruits." It was not a question. "How long before you actually take any of them on?"

"A day or two," Farrell said. "Some of them were almost too keen. I want to listen around the gossip..."

"If there is any," Kirk commented. "I'm sure Pike has his spies... "

"Sure he does. But the crew'll know them, keep quiet when they're about. You can't keep a crew from talking, Jim. Not even when there's a sadist at the top. In fact, that's when they'll often talk most. They have to get the complaints off their chests."

"You've got a point there. Want to go off now and make a start?"

"Can do."

"O.K., take a couple of hours, then come back and we'll go and get a meal."

"Will do."

Kirk watched him leave, then security locked the door. He was not too worried about his safety as yet - even the most ambitious junior would require time to come up with a plot to dispose of him, for they would certainly want time to assess what weaknesses he might have - but there was no point in taking an unnecessary chance. Then he flicked on his viewer and called up ship's records.

Working hours... He stared at the screen in blank disbelief.

Two shifts on and one off?

Standard hours were one shift on and two off. Established emergency procedure allowed for one on and one off - but he had never heard of any crew being expected to work two on and one off under any circumstances.

It certainly explained why the ship was so unnaturally clean. The extra shifts were spent scrubbing down and painting - with the cost of the paint deducted from the crew's wages.

Kirk frowned. Was Pike so sure of the efficacy of the fear he held over everyone's heads that he risked such a dangerous course?

He investigated further.

The officers' allowances were untouched. So - Pike retained that much sense. An officer who assassinated the Captain was tacitly patted on the back for removing an inefficient senior; but a crewman who attempted it (unless he was protected by being the personal guard of an officer and acting either with him or on his orders) was considered guilty of murder or attempted murder and executed - painfully.

Certainly, if an officer was hated sufficiently by everyone, it was possible for Security to fail to capture the crewman who killed him, with the unspoken agreement of the other officers; even Starfleet Command was forced to accept a malfunction in the security system, a blank in the tape, a lack of witnesses... but Pike was clearly cunning enough to maintain the loyalty of his senior officers by leaving them their basic pay and allowances even when they got little in the way of bonuses.

Kirk checked on, careful not to spend an excessive amount of time over each record, knowing that the Security Chief would be aware of his use of the computer. He could, however, justify it as long as he accessed each record for only long enough to study it; not even the paranoid Pike could deny the new First Officer's right to familiarise himself with the crew and the way the ship was run.

Most of the crew records were run-of-the-mill, nothing particularly outstanding either for or against any individual. One or two had an unusually high record of sessions in the Agony Booth against them. Moreau had the highest number of punishments recorded; of the men, Sulu had the greatest number. He was also one of several crew, the rest of them women, who had a record of a lengthy period in sickbay almost immediately following their last session in the Booth. Kirk frowned slightly, remembering something Farrell had said.

Eventually he reached the 'Punishments' record, and nodded, unsurprised, as he registered the 'official' reason for each punishment.

Not even the Captain could falsify the duration and extent of each use of the Agony Booth, but he could falsify the reason. 'Insolence' appeared with almost monotonous regularity. 'Carelessness with Empire equipment'. 'Laziness'. 'Disobedience' - though that appeared less often. Most were offences that would normally be punished by the agoniser; only a martinet or a sadist would use the Booth at such intensity for those particular 'crimes'.

Kirk was certain that 'disobedience' and 'insolence' covered Pike's spiteful reaction to being refused, but there was nothing here that an ambitious First Officer could use to plant doubts of Pike's rationality in the collective mind of Starfleet Command - the sole method other than assassination that could speed up promotion, and a more risky one too, for Starfleet Command had been known to leave a raving lunatic in a position of authority when he could continue to produce results.

And Pike did produce results, as Kirk quickly discovered when he called up the log for the past year - the record he had chosen to leave until last, reckoning that he could read between the lines more readily if he had some background knowledge of the ship, her crew, and how Pike operated. However, he viewed with a cynical eye the reports of success in first contact missions; now that he knew how Pike worked, Kirk could see a succession of tortured planetary leaders trying to buy release, little guessing that the moment the Empire knew that the planet possessed valuable assets, it was doomed; to annexation if it was reasonably developed, to slavery if it was primitive and weak.

The only escape was the unlikely chance that the planet had no exploitable resources - and Kirk did not recall ever hearing of even one planet so poor that the Empire could find nothing worth seizing.

It was perfectly possible however to accomplish the takeover with subtlty. Garrovick had shown him that - and Garrovick's record, until his ship was invaded by a gaseous creature whose touch was death, had been fully as impressive as Pike's.

Not that Garrovick had been in any way weak. He had known when to be ruthless too. He punished treachery without mercy. The difference was - Garrovick had not enjoyed it.

It was Garrovick, too, who had taught him a valuable lesson; that self-interest was a powerful motivating factor, and the certainty of reward was usually more persuasive than fear. Fear could drive a man - or a race - to desperation, since a man driven to desperation might very well feel that he had nothing left to lose; that even death was preferable to enduring even one more day of terror.

Yes; it would probably be very easy to buy Pike's personal guard... and probably most of the officers, too.

There were two of the officers who were unknown quantities; Spock and Sulu. And he was not altogether sure that he trusted Mitchell. There was something about Mitchell... nothing positive, nothing he could put a finger on, but he did not like the man.

Of the other two, he suspected that Sulu would never trust another senior officer, and that he would be wise to keep a cautious eye on the Helmsman. Whatever the limits of Sulu's ambitions had once been, it was certain that he would now seek to rise as high as possible - the higher the rank the more likely a target, but the less chance of being dominated.

And Spock?

Kirk doubted that the Vulcan approved of Pike, and doubted even more that the Vulcan respected Pike; but he was of too high a rank to be forced to go to Pike's bed, which was probably the one sure way to alienate a Vulcan. Vulcans were known to be completely loyal to their commanding officers, although it was also known that they expected their commanding officers to be equally loyal to them.

Ah - perhaps that was the key to Spock.

Was Pike loyal to anyone except Pike? So far Kirk had seen no sign of it. He sighed, then closed down the computer, starting to rise preparatory to moving into the sleeping area, planning a quick wash before dinner. It was Farrell's task to recruit as many of the crew as possible to the service of the new First Officer; it was Kirk's own job to persuade the officers to back him when he moved against Pike.

A thought struck him, and he sank back into his chair.

His success in getting the crippled Farragut back to a Starbase had brought him to the notice of Starfleet Command, and had won him a promotion on merit to third in command of the Lexington. He had been on the Lexington for less than a year when this further promotion had landed in his lap. He was capable of holding down the job, he knew, and quite clearly Starfleet also believed him capable, but he could not deny that he was very young for his present position. Had Starfleet assigned him here deliberately, knowing that he would inevitably compare Pike with Garrovick of the Farragut and Wesley of the Lexington? Had Starfleet assigned him here in order to get rid of Pike, despite the man's success? Had Starfleet Command seen through Pike, realised that his brutality could be sufficient to cause a rebellion?

It was, he decided, well within the bounds of possibility.

The buzzer sounded; when he unlocked the door, Farrell entered.

"I'll just be a minute." Kirk headed off for his shower.

As it happened, an opportunity to rid himself of Pike arose much sooner than he had any right to expect.

The summons to Pike's quarters was quite unexpected. The Captain never invited anyone to enter his cabin except Dr. Piper and those unfortunate underlings unlucky enough to catch his eye. Kirk knew how lucky he had been with Garrovick - and with Wesley, too. Certainly, on the Lexington he had been too high-ranked to be victimised, but he had never seen Wesley take advantage of any of the crew. Here, he was glad that he was by far too senior to be fair game to Pike.

He buzzed at the door; the "Come" sounded slurred, and on entering he found that Pike was drunk, lying back in his chair, a half-full glass on the desk in front of him, beside an almost empty bottle. One hand lay on the desk near the glass; the other hung limply, out of sight.

It would be easy to kill him now, flashed though Kirk's mind. Too easy. This is a trap.

"Yes, Captain?" He was careful not to allow his contempt to show.

Pike waved a too-casual hand towards the viewer on his desk, inviting Kirk closer. The way the viewer was angled, it would be perfectly natural for the First Officer to move around the desk, closer to his almost-incapable Captain... and kill him.

Far too easy.

Kirk moved forward to the desk, reached out and swung the viewer round. Even as he studied the verbal report on the screen, his peripheral vision was registering Pike.

The Captain had suddenly sobered. He sat forward and, thinking himself unobserved, slid a phaser out of sight, his attention apparently on Kirk.

"What do you think, Kirk?"

He had not even the subtlty to maintain the pretence that he was half drunk, and Kirk, who had silently acknowledged to himself that Pike's move was cunning enough to trap someone less cautious than himself, found his Captain not only dropping back to square one but actually going down yet another notch in his estimation.

"The Vegan miners are expressing dissatisfaction with the level of taxation being levied," Kirk said slowly, mentally interpreting the double talk on the screen. For the first time, he looked directly at Pike. "A revolt appears imminent."

Pike nodded. "That's how I read it."

"We're the nearest ship?"

"Yes." There was a cold satisfaction in Pike's voice.

Kirk allowed his own eyes to narrow, as if calculatingly. "Once in orbit, might it be... advantageous... to wait until the miners actually rebel? Or even... to push them until they do?" His tone made a question of it, rather than the suggestion it was. He was sure that Pike would grasp the suggestion and claim it as his own.

"Just what I was about to say," Pike commented. Avarice showed in his eyes, and Kirk knew that the bait had been taken.

The trip to Vega 9 took two days. Kirk barely had a moment to himself - and neither did Farrell.

The First Officer knew that his timing had to be exact. Move too soon and Pike would have his hide; too late and he would fall with Pike - not all the way, but his opportunities would be drastically reduced, probably permanently. It might suit some men to be Captain of a scout ship, but for a man who had been First Officer on a Starship such a position would be a terrible disgrace.

As Farrell moved among Pike's men, recruiting them to Kirk's service, the First Officer altered the duty rosters so that when the ship reached Vega everyone on duty would be either his men or Scott's - the Engineer, he knew, had no wish for a command that would take him from his engines. It took a certain amount of ingenuity, and he had to hope that Sulu, Chekov and Spock would not interfere, for he had nobody available to fill those positions. He did feel reasonably confident of Sulu, who had every reason to hate Pike, while Chekov, too junior to be a direct threat to him, would almost certainly see Pike's removal as an opportunity for advancement with no danger to himself. But what of Spock? Vulcan loyalty to a commander might take precedence over what Kirk was only guessing was the Science Officer's dislike of Pike's behaviour. He was the completely unknown factor.

Pike would suspect nothing, for Kirk knew that he had disarmed Pike's suspicions of him. He had ignored the 'chance' Pike had set up, and he was sure Pike lacked the understanding to realise that Kirk had seen through the trap. It was also possible that the man's egoism was sufficient to persuade him that Kirk - who was known to have made no moves against either of his previous Captains - would be equally loyal to his third.

Well, if that was the case, he would soon learn his error.

"Approaching Vega, sir." Sulu's voice was cold, unemotional.

"Assume standard orbit," Pike ordered. He sounded expectant, and Kirk knew that Pike was mentally counting his profits.

"Standard orbit, sir."

"Communications - contact the colonists."

"I have the Governor, sir," Uhura said after a brief delay.

"On the main screen, Lieutenant."

Governor Fayah's face shimmered into view. It bore an almost desperate expression.

"Pike, commanding the Enterprise. What's all this nonsense about a complaint?"

"No nonsense, Captain Pike, but the understandable dissatisfaction of men who see fully three-quarters of their income taken in taxation. We have no hope of ever saving enough money to retire. We seek only a reduction in our taxation to the general level levied on the Empire's home planets."

"The cost of establishing your colony and providing the mining equipment must be met," Pike said. The words were reasonable; the tone was not.

"We estimate that we have repaid that twice over."

"If the Empire High Council deems it necessary you will pay the amount three times over," Pike snarled.

"Then I have no option but to declare Vega 9 an independent planet," Fayah said. "I have the authority of my people to make this decision. We are no longer part of the Empire!"

Pike stood. From his post beside the library computer, Kirk turned; his phaser whined and Pike dropped, dead.

Then Kirk strode forward, confidence in his every move.

"You would defy the Empire?" he asked, his voice deceptively quiet.

"We reject the Empire," Fayah replied equally quietly, although shock at the events he had just involuntarily witnessed was still clear on his face.

"I ask you to reconsider your decision."

"Will the Empire reduce the level of our taxation?"

"I have no authority to make such a concession," Kirk told him. "I can, of course, carry your appeal to the High Council."

Fayah shook his head. "We have already made such an appeal, nearly a year ago. We received no answer. We repeated it a month ago. There was still no answer. There seems little point in repeating it again. No - I have declared Vega 9 independent of the Empire. We will pay no more taxes; we give the Empire nothing, and ask the Empire for nothing."

"So be it." Kirk made a cutting gesture with his hand and Uhura cut contact. "Mr. Chekov."

"Yes, sir?"

"Programme phasers on the mining settlement - if the mines themselves are damaged I'll have your hide."

Chekov flicked switches. "Phasers programmed and ready, sir."

"Fire."

The few miners who survived the first barrage surrendered, of course.

Kirk beamed down with a security detachment into the centre of chaos. The settlement was a total wreck. Some buildings were still burning. Bodies lay everywhere. Some of the handful of survivors had phaser burns of varying severity.

Kirk steeled himself against the pity he felt. The terror must be maintained or the Empire was finished.

There was hatred in the eyes of the miners who met Kirk, and he knew that it was only the phasers of his guards that kept him alive. These miners would die gladly if they could only dispose of him first.

One of the older men stepped forward to act as spokesman.

"Where is Governor Fayah?" Kirk asked sharply before the man had a chance to speak.

"Dead." The miner gestured towards one of the still-burning buildings. "My name is Loftus. I'm one of the foremen - the senior man left alive."

"Kirk, in command of the Enterprise." He looked sternly round the group of miners. "Be glad that my predecessor is no longer in command of the Enterprise," he added, keeping his voice matter-of-fact. "He would not have left any of you alive."

"Captain Kirk, the miners here are desperate. We have been forced to submit this time, but unless the level of taxation is reduced, even the memory of this - " he gestured around the ruined settlement - "will not prevent another revolt. We have repaid - and more than repaid - the cost of setting up the colony; we owe the Empire nothing. By now we should be paying only the standard rate of tax."

"All I can do is deliver your message to the High Council," Kirk said quietly. "Meanwhile - the Empire's laws must be upheld. I have the authority to impose a fine - "

"A fine? Captain, we have nothing left - nothing!"

"A shipment of ore, perhaps, waiting to be uplifted?"

"Well, yes - "

"That will be sufficient."

"But we have a contract! Nondelivery has a penal clause... and we need the income from that load to buy food... and we'll be taxed on its value, too - "

"There are fewer of you to feed now," Kirk reminded him, a hint of mockery in his voice. In fact, he felt a great deal of sympathy for the position in which these miners found themselves, but he had his own position to think of. He still needed to prove himself ruthless so that Starfleet Command would confirm him in his self-promoted position, and the 'fine' would be useful to help buy the loyalty of his crew, to show any doubters that it was in their own interests to support him.

"Then you might as well kill us now. It would be more merciful," Loftus said quietly, his voice bitter.

"I gave specific orders that the mines be left intact," Kirk said. "Diligent attention to your job will give you an even chance of replacing the confiscated ore. You will, of course, need to begin immediately."

"But... but we need to bury our dead. If we don't, disease - "

"That is easily dealt with." He glanced around at his men. "Dispose of those bodies."

Phasers set to vaporise whined. Among the group of miners, a man moved as if to rush forward, crying, "No! Cliff!" He was held back by two of his fellows. Kirk looked at Loftus.

"His brother. Their religion believes in interment," Loftus explained.

"Too bad." Kirk had no sympathy with that preference, for he believed that cremation, by fire or phaser, was cleaner and more hygienic than interment. He returned his attention to his men.

"Mr. Hainez, take half the men. Vaporise any bodies you find."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk turned back to Loftus. "I'm declaring you temporary Governor," he said. "Makes your position official." He glared at the foreman miner. "That means you are now answerable for the behaviour of the others."

Loftus gave a helpless shrug. "Miners are an independent lot, Captain. If they decide to rebel again, I can't stop them."

"If you value your life - you'll find a way," Kirk told him.

As the buzzer sounded, Kirk looked up from the clutter of Pike-neglected paperwork that littered the Captain's desk.

"Come."

Spock entered, crossing briskly to the desk. "I have a valuation on the ore, Captain. Approximately five million credits."

Kirk's eyebrows lifted. "That good?"

"Yes, Captain. It's a particularly rich ore. I suspect that the miners were holding on to it for a private buyer in an attempt to avoid paying the full tax on it."

"By passing it off as standard ore?"

"It seems probable." He allowed himself a half smile. "Do you have a buyer in mind?"

"I hadn't thought about it," Kirk admitted. "I was waiting for your report... but this is far better than I'd dared to hope."

"There is a merchant on Vulcan who would give you the full market value for it," Spock suggested.

"You can contact him?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Then do so." He hesitated. "Spock - "

"Yes, Captain?"

"I'll need a First Officer. Would you be interested in the position?"

"I do not look for command, Captain. I prefer my scientific duties."

Kirk grinned. "Which - from my point of view - makes you an excellent choice for First Officer, doesn't it?"

"I comprehend that you do not wish for a First Officer who would seek to remove you... as you removed Captain Pike."

Kirk shrugged. "He rather asked for it - wouldn't you say?"

"Indeed, you picked your moment well," Spock agreed. "I assume you persuaded him that firmness was the answer, and thus ensured continued resistance? Then, when the rebels announced their withdrawal from the Empire, you acted, your excuse - if one were needed - being that he caused the revolt; and you ensured for yourself the credit for suppressing it. You have established yourself as a Captain who will serve Starfleet well.

"For yourself - calling your... acquisition... of the ore a 'fine' was clever. Captain Pike was never so subtle," he added thoughtfully. "He preferred outright theft, and of course his victims habitually hid as much as they could, although I doubt he ever realised it. Your method appears to be more productive."

Kirk nodded, his mind already busy considering the subject. "I understand that Captain Pike did not give crew bonuses."

"Correct."

"Well, that's about to change. Ten percent each to Captain and First Officer, 30% split between the other senior officers - ie heads of department - and the remaining 50% split among the crew depending on rank. I'll let you work out the amounts."

"That will be a popular move, Captain."

"I'm about to make another one. As of now, we're reverting to the standard one shift on and two off."

"That will gain you much support among the crew."

"I thought it might. But seriously - the continuous repainting is not necessary. It's makework. I expect the crew to jump to it when they're on duty and when there's a yellow alert. I expect strict discipline to be maintained. But I see no reason why the crew should not be permitted time to relax. It improves efficiency."

That had been a maxim of Garrovick's. Kirk had no qualms at adopting it as his own, for he intended to make Garrovick his model.

"I believe that may indeed be true for Humans, Captain," Spock said slowly.

"For Humans? What about Vulcans?"

"Vulcans do not require the activities that Humans call recreation, Captain. On my planet, to rest is to rest - to cease using energy. A Vulcan obtains relaxation through meditation."

"Yes, of course." Kirk had known only one other Vulcan, years previously, who had also spoken of the value of meditation as a means of relaxing. He had taught Kirk how to meditate, and the Human still found it helpful when he was particularly stressed. He was not about to admit that, however.

As he had intended, Spock took his comment as an acceptance of Vulcan custom unusual in a Human.

"Next - Ensign Moreau. Her sentence to the Agony Booth is cancelled immediately, and she's to get three days sick leave, my responsibility. She can apply to Piper for medication if she wants." She would probably pass up the opportunity - sickbay was nearly as bad for the crew as the Booth, with painkillers dispensed with a miserly hand and severely injured personnel often being used as test subjects for new treatments or experiments. Even the senior officers were not automatically immune; a wise Captain cultivated his Chief Medical Officer.

"Yes, sir."

Kirk thought he saw a spark of approval in the dark eyes and knew that Spock had indeed despised Pike's methods.

"Finally - you didn't answer me earlier. Be my First Officer - at least temporarily - until Starfleet gets round to assigning one."

"Very well."

Kirk knew that with luck Starfleet would accept his choice of Spock as First Officer, especially if he was able to combine the post with that of Science Officer which he already held, for it would save most of a senior officer's pay. Holding a double post, Spock would be paid at the senior rate plus 25% of the rate for the lesser position.

It was of course possible that the increase in pay alone would tempt Spock into retaining the double post; Kirk planned on insisting - if necessary - that he get the double bonus as First Officer and as Head of Department. Not that he anticipated having to do much persuading; while it was possible that Spock, like Kirk himself, had a private income, only a fool turned down the chance of increasing his personal fortune.

And that, if nothing else, would buy Spock, keeping between him and an ambitious junior a Vulcan, with Vulcan operatives, who had reached the height of his ambition.

The fact that he liked the Vulcan was merely a fortunate bonus.

Kirk's self-acquired promotion was confirmed without demur, and he was even privately congratulated by Admiral Komack for retrieving the situation Pike had escalated. Komack also implied that Starfleet was grateful to Kirk for ridding them of Pike. Starfleet Captains were expected to be ruthless and few questions were asked regarding their methods, but Pike's methods had long been known to be extreme.

Starfleet also confirmed Spock's promotion, not altogether to the Vulcan's satisfaction.

His watch finished, he retired to his cabin to consider his position.

Kirk had pressured him into temporary acceptance of the position. He had been willing to oblige Kirk as a temporary measure, but he had not realised that he might be landed permanently with the post. Although it was not unknown for a junior officer to hold down two positions, he had not expected Starfleet to agree to anyone holding two senior appointments, and he had had every intention of refusing to trade his place as Science Officer for that of First Officer by pointing out that he was one of the Empire's most highly qualified scientists and that it would not be in Starfleet's best interests to lose his scientific expertise.

Certainly, as he had to admit to himself, it would be quite a challenge to hold down the double position. Interesting as his scientific duties were, and with considerable opportunity for private research, he seldom felt challenged. He was, quite simply, too good at his job for it to provide him with much of a challenge. His new position would certainly do that.

He flicked on the intercom.

"Spock to Security. Lt. Solan, report to my quarters." Without waiting for an acknowledgement he closed the connection and moved to sit behind his desk.

The buzzer sounded within two minutes.

"Fh'ler'ig."

The door swished open to admit his top operative. Spock waved towards the chair opposite him, and Solan sat, giving the gesture that indicated respect for a superior.

Not even the members of the Security department knew which of them was in the dreaded secret police. The one thing that was certain was that at least one, and probably more, of the Security guards was of the secret police. If there was more than one, even each of them did not know which of the others it was.

Although the senior officers were supposed to be trustworthy and free from surveillance by Security, Spock was quite certain that all the cabins had a surveillance unit tucked away somewhere - he did not trust the integrity of anyone in the Secret Police - and besides, it was a wise officer who took steps to ensure that his privacy would remain inviolate. Spock's own method was to talk to his operatives in the dialect of his home region - its resemblance to standard Vulcan defeated the translator - since all his operatives came from his father's estate, intelligent villeins granted the opportunity of bettering their position and tied to him through gratitude for that opportunity and also through generations of loyalty to his family... and additionally, to a certain degree, by the fear that if they failed him and lived their families might suffer - though with the positive knowledge that if they died in his service, even vainly, their families would be well compensated. Vulcans were ruthless towards their enemies, but loyalty towards their own was highly regarded, and a landowner's responsibility for the welfare of his faithful servants was one of the pillars on which their civilisation stood.

It amused Spock to think of the secret police's futile rage at being unable to understand his conversations with his men - for of course they could not admit openly that they spied on his cabin - and even if they did, he had every right to use his own local dialect when speaking to his men.

Solan waited until it pleased his master to speak.

And waited.

It seemed that Spock was in no hurry to inform his operative of what was in his mind, but Solan sat patiently; it ill became a mere villein, even one raised to an important position, to express curiosity or seek to hurry his master.

Had he only known, Spock's mind was far away; recalling his early days in Starfleet.

On the basis of his Academy marks, which were the highest ever recorded, Spock had been assigned to the Beagle immediately following his graduation instead of gaining experience aboard a smaller survey vessel first.

His attention to detail quickly brought him to the attention of Commander Hanssen, the then Science Officer.

A mere Ensign did not normally rate any operatives; his position was rarely at risk. Neither, however, was an Ensign normally taken as an operative by one of the senior officers. Hanssen, never predictable, approached Spock and offered him a position as one of his men.

Spock hesitated, considering his own future.

"If I accept this position, how will it affect my prospects for promotion?" he asked bluntly. "I do not wish to remain an Ensign for ever."

"It would be a waste of your scientific ability," Hanssen agreed. "I would not attempt to block your promotion, and as one of my declared men you would actually have increased opportunity to participate in landing party duty, thus widening your experience."

So Spock, though not without a few residual doubts, became one of Hanssen's operatives.

The two years he spent in that position had indeed been a profitable period for the young Vulcan. Hanssen had been as good as his word; promotion to Lieutenant, on merit, had come inside the first year. In addition, Hanssen gave him more and more responsibility, and did not regret it.

Twice in those years Spock stepped between Hanssen and an assassination attempt. The first was a botched affair by one of the senior Lieutenants who wanted to advance a step closer to the position of Science Officer; the second was more ingenious, and prevented only because Spock noticed the out of place wire that would have electrocuted his senior officer. The author of that attempt remained undiscovered, but both Hanssen and Spock suspected Sitchi, Hanssen's second; so Spock quietly and efficiently arranged an accident for Sitchi, using Solan, a young Vulcan from his father's estate who had recently obtained a position on board through Spock's influence and whose loyalty to Spock was complete.

With Sitchi's death, Spock moved a step up the ladder of promotion.

And then Hanssen died in a landing party accident, a rockfall that nobody could have foreseen. Spock, working at Hanssen's side, was injured, and might even have been killed as well had Solan, working with him as unskilled help, not pulled him clear. Solan had then tried to reach Hanssen as well but had been knocked unconscious by a falling stone.

Both Vulcans were seriously enough hurt that Captain Merrick decided to leave them both at Starbase 8 until they recovered.

It was their good luck. The Beagle set off again - and disappeared without trace.

Spock - taking Solan with him - was assigned, despite his youth, as a senior scientist on the Enterprise. Hanssen had been as good as his word; better than his word, for the reports he had sent Starfleet on his Vulcan junior were positively glowing.

Spock promptly contacted his father and arranged for three more of his dependants - one a woman to be his yeoman - to be recruited into Starfleet and assigned to the Enterprise. The woman would also be insurance against pon farr, not only for himself but for all his men.

He then sat down and considered his position.

He was now senior enough to be a possible target for an ambitious junior. He had already taken one defensive measure. What others could he take?

He could use Vulcan mysticism. Most of his crewmates were Human, and - as he had discovered - regarded Vulcans with a superstitious eye. With Vulcan operatives whose complete loyalty was assured to back him, and a little misdirection, he could practically ensure for himself a reputation that would make most of the juniors avoid him, choosing instead any other of the seniors for an assassination attempt.

It had worked.

He waited, biding his time while further promotion came through merit - and the ambitions of others. His plans were successful; within eight years he had risen to second in the Science section without once disposing of a senior officer on his own account - others had done that - and without once having to counter an attempt on his own life.

During those years there had been two attempts to kill the Science Officer, one completely unsuccessful and the other - which was responsible for Spock's promotion to second - missing the Science Officer but killing his second. Two very junior scientists, brothers, were condemned to the Agony Booth for it, and one of them died there.

Spock kept a cautious eye on the survivor who, he was sure, had not lost one iota of his ambition, but either the youngster had been led by his brother or he had learned caution, for he made no other obvious move to push himself forward. It was as well; he was not a particularly inspired scientist, and although he was competent enough at routine laboratory research Spock would at that time have felt it his duty to Starfleet to dispose of him if he had obtained promotion by any method. As it was, he made sure that Carstairs was kept busy at the work he could do well, and even gave him a degree of responsibility in the lab in an attempt to keep the lad satisfied with what he could do.

A few months later, Science Officer Ruykens died. A simple appendix operation that was botched - and Spock was far from sure that it was not deliberate; a subtle opportunist assassination. It was not however easy to see who would benefit from it apart from himself, and he could find no link between any of the junior science staff and the medical staff.

And as he stepped into his new position, Spock realised that he must regard the medical section as possible enemies too.

He contacted his father for a further six men, specifying that two at least should have medical training.

In the years since he had quietly reorganised the Science Department, transferring anyone of whom he had doubts by recommending them for promotion. He was left with a department of skilled but unambitious scientists. The only one remaining of whom he had any doubts was Carstairs.

He had had a lengthy discussion with the young man, who had placed all the blame for the assassination attempt on his brother, saying that he had merely supported him; and admitted that he knew he was best at laboratory routine.

Spock decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, for he was by then proving to be a reliable research assistant who could, in a year or two, be promoted to be Chief of Research; but at the same time he assigned two of his new operatives as lab assistants, with instructions to keep an eye on Carstairs.

And so far, Carstairs had made no suspicious moves.

It was the steadiness of the Science Department, in part, that encouraged Spock to accept Kirk's offer of the post of First Officer, never expecting it to be made permanent. Now that it was, he knew he must rethink his position.

He was not a target as Science Officer - not now. As First Officer, he was; and it would not be as easy to get rid of anyone he doubted throughout the ship in general, for many of the appointments were made direct by Starfleet. The men behind the desks too often had sons or daughters or grandchildren or nephews or nieces, or were sponsoring their secretaries' children or the children of someone to whom they owed a favour or wanted to have grateful to them.

At last, Spock raised his eyes from the surface of his desk.

"Solan, I will require several more operatives," he said bluntly.

Solan allowed one eyebrow to lift in enquiry, aware that Spock would permit the first and most trusted of his operatives that small impertinence, and continued to wait, knowing that he would learn his Master's mind in due course.

"Captain Kirk asked me to take on the position of First Officer as a temporary measure. Starfleet has confirmed me in that position."

Solan lowered his head in acknowledgement of the information. "May I ask if you are to continue as Science Officer?"

"I am."

"You will be well able to hold both positions, my Liege."

"I do not doubt it. However, it places me in a far more vulnerable position. Your task - and that of your men - is, as of now, more difficult, and will remain so."

"I understand." Solan gave no indication that he found the thought of the increased responsibility disconcerting. He had managed to save almost all of his Starfleet pay and had even added to it through a private enterprise, and the total was accumulating at a steady rate; he had been anticipating the day - certainly many years in the future - when Spock eventually returned to Vulcan, knowing that he would have enough money to purchase a small farm, possibly even one large enough for him to employ a man or two. He would remain Sarek's - or Spock's - feudal bondman, but he would be rich enough to be, in his own way, a minor feudal superior.

Spock's promotion suddenly threw that future into uncertainty. His loyalty to Spock was complete; as long as he performed well, his family on Vulcan was secure, his savings would go to them if he died; but he himself might not live to see his hoped-for ambition come to pass.

That he was the victim of a kind of moral blackmail never occurred to him. The people served their feudal superior, and in bad years their superior saw to it that they were fed. People who failed in their duty were simply evicted, and ended up labouring in towns, possibly their own masters but with no security.

In his years with Spock he had seen many social systems in operation, and had seen none that he felt gave most of the common people more security than Vulcan's. Most systems seemed to provide wealth without responsibility for the few, poverty without hope of relief for the many.

"I will be advancing at least three more helots to the position of liegemen, although I do not expect them to be ready for some months," Spock continued. "What training would you suggest for them?"

Solan thought for a moment, secretly pleased at the implied compliment; then he continued his thought aloud.

"Engineering is no danger to you. Yeoman Perra is yours. You have two liegemen in Science, two in Medical, one in Navigation; one in Stores, two in Maintenance. In Security there is only myself, although four Human guards will follow me... It might be best to have more of your own men in Security."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Four Human guards?"

"They were unattached when they came on board some months ago. Even then I felt that it might be advantageous if you had additional operatives in my department, since there had already been one attempt on my life; I employed them as my operatives, on the understanding that they were also to consider themselves your men, my Liege."

"How do you pay them?" Spock was well aware that his Chief Operative had no official income other than his Starfleet pay; unlike the operatives of the Human officers, who were well paid for their loyalty, his Vulcans received no additional pay from him - protecting him was considered part of their feudal duty.

Solan permitted himself a half smile. "I run a fairly lucrative money-lending scheme, my Liege. The interest is relatively low - I charge only an initial twenty percent; the return is therefore excellent, since most of the men who wish to borrow come to me."

"Twenty percent?" Spock asked. "That is double what they would pay a bank."

"Yes, indeed, my Liege, but banks are far away; and since most 'Fleet lenders charge at least twenty five percent, my twenty percent is seen as highly favourable." He allowed his smile to broaden a little. "Some lend so much that it is impossible for the borrower ever to repay the loan; their entire pay, month by month, goes to repay the interest. I make sure that I lend no more than it is possible for the borrower to repay inside three months, loan and entire interest. They are then free to ask for another loan on the same terms. If, however, they do not pay back the whole inside three months, I then charge twenty five percent." He shrugged. "It is amazing how many cannot pay back a loan in three months; some Humans are unable to refrain from gambling in the hope of amassing a fortune overnight. There are at least five gambling schools on the ship. Only one of these is honest," he added as if in an afterthought. "The crew has not realised this yet."

"And you use this money to pay your operatives?"

"Yes, my Liege - and I still show a reasonable profit."

"Hmmm. Some time - not necessarily immediately, but fairly quickly - let me have a list of those of the crew who are in the habit of borrowing money; and a second list of those who gamble to excess. And the names of those who run the dishonest games." He did not approve of gambling, but it was accepted that those in the lower ranks must have some such 'entertainment' for their free time - and although in Pike's day free time had been limited, the crew's need for entertainment would have been correspondingly greater. The senior officers knew that gambling schools existed on all ships, but pretended not to know. "Is this the only purpose for which money is borrowed?"

"No, my Liege. Some of the female yeomen augment their pay by selling their bodies," Solan told him, distaste on his face. That Perra was, to all intents and purposes, a whore for the Vulcans on board did not occur to him as comparable, for she was not paid for her sexual services.

"Are there any bad debtors?" Spock asked.

"There are two who have not repaid their debts for many months; they gamble their pay the day they get it in the hope that a big win will enable them to pay me and still leave them money to spare. They smile behind my back because I do not insist on payment... and I have heard them suggest to others that they, too, should 'forget' to pay me. The others are wiser, for they realise that I only bide my time. One day I will claim payment, and when that day comes, I may not ask for money. These two are Sulu's men."

Spock smiled, understanding. "You have surprised me, Solan. I commend your initiative and your intelligence. I will not forget.

"Now - to return to business. The new liegemen will be trained for Security. Next - the Captain's men. I have no wish to become Captain; I am content with my scientific duties. This promotion will not interfere with these to any great extent; promotion to Captain assuredly would. It is in my own interests if you assist his men in keeping him alive.

"What is your opinion of the Captain's Chief Operative?"

"Farrell is completely loyal and appears to have a great deal of autonomous power. He had bought over most of Pike's henchmen into Kirk's service before the assassination."

"Astute, whichever of them thought of it."

"I believe it was initially Farrell's idea, my Liege, although Kirk would have to have approved it. Farrell does not have the income to pay these men himself. I have seen nothing that could be used to weaken his allegiance to Kirk; he is one of the few Humans on board who does not gamble, nor does he patronise any of the prostitutes. He has found a woman who shares his bed in return for his protection, but they appear to be genuinely attached to each other - even in Security the women often prefer to have a male protector," he added parenthetically. "At least half of Security is now in Kirk's direct employ. He does not, however, have men in any other department."

Spock grunted. Most senior officers employed as personal guards the men of their own departments; Captain and Security Officer between them employed most of Security. He was unusual in spreading his liegemen around so many departments; but he had seen assassination attempts that crossed departmental barriers.

"Loyal to him?"

"While he pays them. But he does pay well; he must have a considerable private income."

That was unusual. Most rich Humans stayed safe on Earth. Yet it was not, after all, so surprising. There was in Kirk a restlessness to do that Spock had already noted; a restlessness to accomplish; to seek excitement.

"Speak to Farrell. Point out to him that I am content as First Officer, and propose an alliance; although it might be wise for this to remain secret, even from the Captain, if Farrell will agree to this, and - as far as he is aware - from me.

"Now - is there anything you wish to bring to my notice?"

"Yes, my Liege. If our numbers are to increase, a second female would be of value. Perra has not complained, but I know she does not find it easy to accommodate so many of us and still perform her routine duties."

"You would accept a Vulcan female in Security?"

"Human females manage. Can a Vulcan do less?"

"Your pride in your planet is showing," Spock said lightly.

"I ask forgiveness, my Liege." Solan lowered his head.

"Unnecessary," Spock replied. "We both know that Vulcans are physically superior to Humans; and most are mentally superior to most Humans. That is fact.

"Do not forget, however, that our Captain is a superior Human. We would be foolish to underestimate his intelligence."

"I will not forget, my Liege."

The planet was uninhabited by any intelligent race. There were animals in plenty, even animals that showed signs of intelligent behaviour; but signs of a species that could develop a civilised culture there were totally lacking.

Most of the Science Department had beamed down once it was established that the planet had colonisation potential. On consideration Kirk had also ordered down most of the other crew members, telling Spock that they could at least take tricorder readings to be examined later in detail by Science. Only a skeleton crew was left on board the Enterprise.

The crew had been convinced to willing obedience by simple bribery.

"You all know the bonus paid to a ship that discovers an exploitable planet," Kirk had pointed out. This alone might not have persuaded them - in Pike's day it would not have done - but they had already learned that Kirk did pay crew bonuses. The Vegan affair had proved that; even the lowliest yeoman, a rank where chronic underpayment was the deliberate norm, had received a few credits.

So they plunged, with the enthusiasm of total ignorance, into the mysteries of planetary survey.

They were not careless; they were considered to be Empire property, and carelessness with Empire property was instantly punishable; they simply did not know how to interpret the readings. It was not long before a junior helmsman, too worried about the painful rash and swelling that were rapidly losing him the use of his hands to care about either punishment or the risk of being used for experiment by Piper, contacted the ship.

He was the first of several.

Piper came to the obvious conclusion; something on the planet was responsible. He promptly contacted Spock.

"I've got several patients up here," he reported. "Same symptoms - rash and swollen hands. First one who called in, the swelling is spreading up his arms."

"I would think... There's a plant here that gives poison readings. It's relatively common, but easy to avoid if you know what you're looking for. I take it none of the casualties is from Science?"

"Correct. They're all personnel who wouldn't normally be in a landing party."

"I'll send you up a sample of the plant."

As Spock had said, the plant was common enough for him to obtain a sample without difficulty. He placed it in a collecting box and had it beamed up to the ship, where one of the medical orderlies collected it and took it to Piper.

The Doctor looked at it carefully, then ran his scanner over it and grunted. To his experienced eye the poison reading was clear, but he could appreciate that inexperienced crew, who had been told simply to gather data, would not be able to read it, if indeed they had even tried.

He punched the intercom. "Lab."

"Lab here, sir."

"I have a planet here for analysis."

"I'll send someone right down."

"Be careful; it's poisonous. If anyone in your department is affected, I'll use him for testing medication."

"Yes, sir." The line clicked shut.

Piper turned back to his patients and frowned as he studied the readings - especially the readings above Helmsman Tomasi's bed. His gaze shifted from the diagnostic panel to the man on the bed.

Tomasi's arms were so swollen that anyone could have been excused for thinking that they belonged to a three-day corpse bloated in death. The man's face was twisted with a pain that he was still attempting to keep unvoiced. Piper guessed that he would be unable to remain silent much longer - the pain level was high and rapidly getting higher.

The door opened and a lab assistant ran in. Piper nodded to the box containing the plant, the man grabbed it and ran out again. Piper grunted a reluctant approval as he mentally assessed the time since his call. The lab had wasted no time at all.

He moved forward towards Tomasi's bed, reluctantly deciding that the man had reached the limits of pain that he could be expected to endure. Even as Piper made his decision, Tomasi's control broke and he whimpered, a thin thread of sound.

Terror shone in his eyes as he realised Piper's proximity, and he tried to choke back the sound.

"No," he managed to gasp. "No... Please... "

"I've nothing to try yet," Piper told him. Any other attempt at reassurance would be worse than a lie, for Tomasi - as the first affected and most advanced case - was the obvious guinea pig to test whatever brew the lab concocted.

"No... " Tomasi gasped again, then he gave a choked scream, his head fell back and the diagnostic readings abruptly peaked - and then slid silently to zero.

Piper called an orderly. The quicker the autopsy was begun the quicker it would be done.

Gary Mitchell sighed resignedly. The thought of a second bonus, so soon after the first, was welcome; he needed some more extra cash quite urgently to settle a gambling debt. Solan had refused to lend him anything, frankly telling him that he was a bad risk, and he knew that Kelso was merely biding his time; if he was caught beating up another crewmember he would be instantly subject to the Agony Booth for damaging Empire property, but if he could catch his victim unaware and unseen, it was Mitchell who would go to the Booth for doing something that left him at risk - and if he betrayed Kelso, he knew that he would suffer for it later. His only hope was to pay his debts - but he had no real friends who might help him, either financially or physically. This survey bonus was probably his last chance.

But welcome though the thought of clearing his debt to Kelso was, the work was utterly boring. Not for Mitchell the joys of fresh air and green grass. Now if they had been set to discover the weaknesses of an inhabited planet where one could see