"There must be some sort of malfunction," Strickland presumed. "Shut down the engines." 

A look of panic flashed across Kysoria's face. "They are not responding." 

Strickland could tell from the hum of the engines the second mate was right. "Reverse thrusters!" Several red lights began flashing across the boards. 

"Multiple malfunctions in thruster systems." 

"The base just appeared on scanners," Gordon reported. A screen lit up with a shaky, grainy picture of a desolate planet, with several buildings dug into the hard, rocky ground. Gordon did some quick calculating. "At this rate, we'll be on the ground in five minutes!" 

"Plowing through the ground, more like it," Strickland said, pulling open a console panel, "unless we can our speed under control." 

Kysoria opened the intercom channel. "All hands, brace for impact! Repeat, brace for impact!" 

One deck above, Harper and McGovern were still on their way to engineering when they heard the announcement. "That can't be good," McGovern said. 

"The phase cannon must have disrupted some systems when it overloaded," Harper concluded. Her face was flushed, and both were out of breath from the hurried pace. 

"It's always something," huffed McGovern as they found the next set of steps. 

In main engineering, the other crew members were strapping themselves to chairs and machinery. Pang looked up from one console. "Kartikay Base is sending signal!" 

"Can you put it on this station?" Strickland asked. Moments later, a woman's face appeared on his screen. She had short, dark hair, which hung in bangs across her forehead. 

"Warren?" the woman said. "Is that you?" 

"Good to see you again, Abby," Strickland said. "Afraid we've got some problems for you today." 

"What's your status?" 

"We got attacked by pirates just inside the system," Strickland said. "The captain and the bridge are all gone. Autopilot's working, bringing us in, but the engines aren't responding. We're coming in hot, Abby." 

"Understood," the woman said. In the background, Strickland could see red lights starting to flash. "Emergency crews standing by. Good luck, Warren." 

"Thanks." The screen went blank just as Harper and McGovern appeared at the fifth level hatchway. 

"How are we doing?" Harper asked. 

"Not so good," Gordon stated. "Thruster control is down. We're coming in too fast." 

"Backup systems?" Harper asked. 

"Offline," Strickland said. "Contact in three minutes, twenty seconds." 

"The phase cannon overloaded," said McGovern. "That must be what knocked out the systems." 

Strickland stopped and stared off into space. "No," he said. "That's not how... Quick, cut all power to the phase cannon!" Kysoria turned and flipped a dozen switches on the bulkhead behind him. Instantly, the red lights disappeared across the boards. 

"Thruster power restored!" Pang cried. 

"Hope it's in time..." Strickland breathed as he leaped on the auxiliary helm. "Hang on!" 

The skies were grey over Kartikay Base. The sun was no more than a bright star just over the horizon, and dust in the empty atmosphere dispersed the dim light enough to give it a flourescent glow. A second light appeared in the sky and quickly got much brighter. Thrusters helped slow the ship's speed but it was still coming in at a steep angle. It cleared a range of low hills to the west, avoided a sharp valley, and managed to level out over a dusty plain. 

All braking thrusters were on full power, and the ship was still coming in too fast. Scanners showed several acres of flat land directly ahead. Strickland decided to go for it. "Landing gear down!" he ordered. The walls squealed as the legs extended from the belly of the ship. 

The buildings of Kartikay Base rolled closer as the ship touched down on the rocky surface. Each of the landing pads plowed into the ground, carving one hundred meter-high rooster-tails of dust behind the ship. The ship jumped violently back and forth. One crewman went flying across the cabin, striking the far wall with a sickening thud. With horrible scraping noises, the Amonak Ra screamed to a stop just inside the base perimeter. It listed off to starboard a few degrees as the dust rained all around the hull, and then all was silent. They had arrived on Kartikay III. 

Gordon looked up. The lights in main engineering had dimmed to emergency settings. As he stood, the regular lights flickered and came on. One by one, everyone looked up from their crash positions. Gordon breathed a sigh of relief; everyone seemed to be all right. 

The console in front of Strickland coughed. "Amonak Ra, come in!" came a voice. Gordon realized the communication panel was next to him. 

"This is Amonak Ra!" he said, fumbling with the controls. "We're down! We made it!" 

"Emergency crews on the way," said the voice. "Transfer vehicles connecting at airlock two." 

"Understood," said Gordon. 

Harper stood on shaky legs. "Everybody okay?" 

McGovern climbed to his feet, and spotted the prone crewman on the deck. "Charlie, got a patient for you," he pointed. It was Pang. Gordon went to the Andorian's side and gently rolled him onto his back. One of his antennae was bent in two, and his breathing was labored. Gordon pulled out his medical scanner and waved it over the man's chest. 

"Looks like a couple of fractured ribs," he reported. "Doesn't look like any internal bleeding." He opened his medical kit, and set up an hypospray. 

Forward of their position came the sounds of metal on metal, followed by a rush of air and the sound of feet. A human face appeared in the hatch above them. It was a young man in his twenties, with short blonde hair. "Captain Strickland?" 

"Present," Strickland replied, rising to his feet. 

"Ah," said the young man, coming in to stand at the balcony. "Governor Caine sent me to greet you. My name is Ambrose. If you and your party will follow me..." 

"We have some injuries down here!" Gordon called out. "This man needs an infirmary." 

The one called Ambrose leaned over the balcony and looked directly down at Gordon. "Emergency crews are on the way," he said in a soothing voice. "The medics will take care of him. Now if you'll come this way, Governor Caine is waiting." 

McGovern stepped over to the ladder and began climbing. Strickland followed, but Harper stopped. "Are you coming, Charlie?" 

Gordon looked up from the prone Andorian. The crewman was groaning, his face twisted in pain. "I gave him a sedative, but it's not working... You go on ahead, Frannie. I'm gonna wait for the medics. I just want to make sure he's stable. I'll be right along." 

Harper smiled, admiring Gordon's dedication. "All right. I'll save you a seat." She climbed the ladder, and disappeared down the corridor. 

At the airlock, a short umbilical had been set up to a land vehicle. Harper caught up with the others. Ambrose was ushering them through the hatch. "What about the crew?" she asked. 

"Another vehicle is on the way," Ambrose said with a genial smile. The waiting transport was about the size of the spaceport bus they'd ridden on Alpha Centauri, but much cleaner. The interior walls and floors were colored a soothing pale blue. Closing the airlocks behind him, Ambrose retracted the umbilical, then signaled the driver. The transport jerked beneath their feet, then took off across the dusty plain. 

"Where's Charlie?" McGovern asked. 

"That crewman was still hurt," she replied. "He's waiting for the medics." 

"Good for him," the general thought out loud. The transport's only windows were directly in front, for the driver. The travelers watched as the transport headed for the lights of the mining colony. Ambrose, who had been conversing with the driver, came back to join the travelers. 

"Facilities are being prepared for you on the base," he said. "I suppose you will want to clean up after your journey." 

"That's for sure," Strickland said. His shirt was soaked with sweat, and his thin hair lay slick across his head. 

"David, you did a magnificent job bringing that ship in," Harper said, giving Strickland a little hug. Strickland merely smiled in reply. It felt good to pilot a ship again, even if he did steer it into a crash landing. 

"Yeah!" said McGovern, slapping the captain on the shoulder. "Great job! Let's hope that's all the excitement we get today!" 

Back on board the Amonak Ra, Gordon was watching Pang's vital signs. The sedative finally kicked in, and he started relaxing. He looked up to see Kysoria standing over him. "I think he's gonna be okay," Gordon said. "Are there medical facilities in the base?" 

"Yes," Kysoria said. He cautiously looked over his shoulder, then leaned over to the doctor. Speaking in a hushed tone, he said, "Before you join your friends, could you check the belonka?" 

Before Gordon could answer, two humans in clean grey worksuits appeared on the balcony. "Second Mate Kysoria?" one asked. "We need to secure the forward fuel conduits." Another human appeared dressed the same, except for a white stripe on one sleeve. Gordon recognized him as a medic. 

"On my way," Kysoria replied. The Andorian turned to the medic and said, "This crewman needs medical attention." Kysoria crossed to the ladder, then stopped; looking at Gordon, his eyes darted knowingly towards the starboard hatchway. Gordon nodded his understanding. When Kysoria topped the ladder, the medic slid down quickly and knelt at Pang's side. 

"I think he's got some cracked ribs," Gordon said as the medic went to work. As the human wrapped gauze around Pang's bent antennae, Gordon backed away slowly until he was at the starboard hatch. Making sure no one was looking, he turned and left main engineering. 

He was in a corridor he was sure he had not seen before. Dark and smelly, it ran forward towards the cargo holds. Gordon made his way carefully, feeling the way with his hands. There was a pale green light ahead. It was over a locked hatchway. Markings on the door told him he was at the main cargo hold. He looked behind him, back towards engineering, but he was alone. Kysoria's request confused him. Why check down here? All the crew were accounted for. 

A panel on the wall held a set of three switches. Gordon flipped them all, and heard the hatch door unlock. It swung open on creaky hinges. Through the door was the bare side of their cargo container. It was almost flat against the wall. Gordon had to squeeze down the tiny space to get around the length of the container. Once he rounded the far side, it got much brighter in the cargo hold. The container seemed to be in one piece, with no damage... and then, he heard a moan. 

Blinking at the light, his sight adjusted. Beyond the container, the length of the cargo hold stretched before him. The floor moved, and Gordon stared at the dozens of people lying prone before him, some of them writhing in pain, some not moving at all. "What the hell–!" Gordon gasped. These were not crewmen. Where did they come from? The dim lights that ran the length of the hold cast deep shadows and framed most in ghostly silhouettes. 

Gordon stepped forward, and almost stepped on the arm of someone lying on the deck before him. He knelt down beside the figure, pulling out his medical scanner. It was a male Romulan, mature but very thin. Gordon realized the male was dressed just as the passing prisoners way back on Anabelska Station. He looked around. Everyone was dressed the same. Were they all prisoners. 

"Who–?" the Romulan asked, his voice a harsh whisper. 

"Shhh," hushed Gordon. "It's all right. I'm a doctor." He frowned at the scanner results. The Romulan appeared to be malnourished, dehydrated, and had numerous bruises and cuts. He would have to get the man into a sickbay to know more. "Who–?" 

Something tugged at Gordon's ankle. It was another prisoner, reaching from out of the darkness. "Please," he said, "If you are a doctor, please, help my wife..." 

Hands began to reach out towards him. The moans swelled like the sound of approaching bees. The odor of sweat and urine was thick and overpowering—- 

Suddenly, a light appeared. A beam shot across the cargo hold and landed on Gordon's face. "Hey!" came a voice. "Who are you? What are you doing down here?" 

Gordon raised his hands to shield his eyes from the light. "I'm a– I'm a passenger on the ship," he said. "That's our storage container back there." There was a silhouette standing in the hatchway at the forward end of the cargo hold. The light got closer, with thick boots walking underneath. Gordon made out the form of a human in a gray worksuit, like the ones that came into engineering. He was large, his hair cut short across his head. 

"You with Captain Strickland?" the voice asked, sounding tired and annoyed. "The governor was waiting for you and your friends." 

Gordon rose to his feet, still shielding his eyes. "Would you mind pointing that..." The light turned away, and a beefy hand tightened around Gordon's arm. 

"You'd better come with me," the voice said, pulling Gordon back towards the far entrance. Shapes in the darkness rolled and crawled away from the big man as he walked. 

"Wait," said Gordon helplessly, trying to watch where he stepped. "Who are these people? What are they doing down here?" 

"Workers for the mines," the man said as they arrived at the hatchway. He effortlessly lifted Gordon's body through the hatch. Gordon turned around at the hatchway. There was another guard far behind them, a human, clothed in grey and carrying a short club. A hand reached out from the darkness and grabbed at the guard's leg. The man in grey pivoted on one foot and kicked at the figure. The prisoner grunted and rolled over in pain. 

"Wait!" Gordon said. "That man's hurt–!" 

"No big deal," the guard said. "They're just belonka." A hand appeared at Gordon's shoulder and pushed him through the hatch. Gordon found himself in a small airlock. A red-headed guard was working on a box of cables set in the wall. He turned to the crewcut guard, and frowned in frustration. 

"Airlock's jammed," the redhead reported. "Damage from the blast. We'll have to go out through the main cargo hatch." 

The guard with the crewcut grunted. "It's always something... We'll all have to ride in the garbage truck." 

On the surface, the pale blue transport rolled under a huge metal archway as it entered the base. The transport kicked up grey, glittery dust as it rolled along. There was a wide courtyard, and ahead the travelers could see tracks in the dust led to a row of metal gates. One was open, and the transport rolled into a high-ceilinged garage. Once inside, a big gate began to close behind them. Ambrose turned to face the travelers as the vehicle came to a stop. "Welcome to Kartikay Base," he smiled. "It will take a couple of minutes for the air to re-circulate." Beyond the windows, lights were coming on inside the garage. 

Harper turned to Strickland. "Have you ever been here before?" 

"No," said the captain, smiling. "But it's laid out just like every other Emby bases I've been to. It's like... coming home again." 

McGovern caught Ambrose's attention. "We've got a container that'll need to be unloaded..." 

"Oh, yes," Harper added. "And we still had items in our quarters, before the attack–" 

Ambrose held up his hands. "It will all be taken care of, I assure you." Behind him, green lights flashed on the pilot's console. 

"Air pressure normal, sir," the pilot said. Ambrose opened the airlock hatch. Outside, the air in the garage was chilly, and smelled vaguely of petrochemicals. Two humans in grey suits were rolling a set of steps up to the umbilical. Ambrose led the travelers down the steps to the concrete floor of the garage. A fresh-faced young human male rode up in a small white cart and came to a stop in front of them. 

Ambrose waved a hand a the young man. "This is Mr. Barrows. He will show you to your quarters." 

The one called Barrows blinked as he looked at the travelers. "I thought there were four of you..." 

"There are," Strickland said, pointing over his shoulder. "He'll be coming along as soon as he can." 

"Shotgun!" called McGovern as he sat down next to the driver. Harper pursed her lips but said nothing as she looked at the rear bench seat. 

"When can I speak with Ab–I mean, Governor Caine?" Strickland asked as they climbed into the cart. 

"Governor Caine requests your presence for dinner in two hours," Ambrose replied. "She's looking forward to seeing you all." They barely had time to wave goodbye to Ambrose before the cart took off across the garage floor. A set of doors opened before them, and they found themselves zooming down a long, well-lit corridor. 

"Guest quarters are in the administration building," the young Mr. Barrows explained. He turned a corner, and drove down an arched passage. Windows curved over them as they sped along. McGovern squinted into the darkness beyond, and guessed they were on a bridge leading from the hangar section to the administration area. Jagged hills rolled off towards the horizon. Ahead loomed a wide, ashen building, with a tower on one corner. A bright light rotated atop the tower. 

Far away, Gordon rubbed his elbow against a tiny window. Through the grime, he could see a blinking light in the distance. It was through that window that he watched their storage container unloaded from the ship onto a flatbed lorry. The view was very limited; he wanted to see the damage to the bow of the ship. Someone pushed him, and he turned away from the window. It was standing room only inside the lorry, nicknamed the "garbage truck;" all prisoners, except for two guards and himself. The prisoners, still clad in simple green outfits, were silent, all avoiding eye contact. The lorry rolled away from the wrecked ship and bounced across the surface, creaking and groaning. The air was humid and foul. A radio coughed. The guard with the crewcut pulled a small black unit out of his jacket. 

"Corral to J.R." it growled. "Come in J.R." 

"J.R. here, Eddie," replied the guard with the crewcut. 

"Full load this trip?" 

"Nah," said J.R. "Twenty-seven, and two for the boneyard." 

"Copy that," the radio said. 

"Wait," said Gordon, looking over the bowed heads of prisoners, "what did you mean ‘boneyard?'" 

"Not your concern, sir," the guard called J.R. said, putting away his radio. 

"It was Breen," whispered a prisoner to Gordon's left. He could tell from the ears the man was a Romulan. "And his son. They died in the crash–" 

A grey-suited guard appeared through the crowd and brought a nightstick down hard on the prisoner's head. "Nobody said you could talk!" the guard cried out. It was the redhead from earlier, his face twisted in sweaty anger. The stricken prisoner clutched his head and crouched down in pain. The other prisoners all around them shirked away in fear. 

"Hey!" said Gordon, who made a move to help the hurt prisoner, but J.R.'s beefy hand grabbed his arm. 

"When we get to the corral, sir, it'd be best if you stay close to me," he said. Just then, lights appeared outside the dirty window, and the lorry stopped jumping around, as if it had pulled onto level ground. 

Inside the administration building, the cart hummed along peacefully as it turned down other corridors. They passed humans in clean grey jumpsuits, walking along or riding in similar carts. Mr. Barrows pulled into an area that looked like a hotel lobby and brought the cart to a halt. 

"These are your quarters," he said has he climbed out of the cart. The walls were white; tasteful, white-framed pictures of flowers accentuated a seating area. The air smelled fresh, with a scent of lemon, and somewhere harp music was playing. A wide window on one wall overlooked a dark, sweeping plain, lit only by stars. "Sleeping quarters are through there," Barrows pointed, "and your meals will be served out here." 

"Our meals served?" McGovern asked. "We don't have to cook our own food?" 

Barrows smiled. "Oh, no, sir. Nothing but the best for our guests." 

A second cart arrived in the lobby. "Our luggage," pointed Harper. All the effects from their quarters on board the Amonak Ra were in baskets on the cart. Strickland and McGovern quickly unloaded their belongings. 

"The governor was also going to find us some transportation," Strickland said as he set his bag down in a chair. "We need to load our supplies aboard." 

"Yes," said Barrows. "A ship has been reserved for you in the fleet area. I'm sure the governor will have more information for you." 

"Thank you so much, Mr. Barrows," said Harper. "You've been very kind." 

"I'll leave you to get freshened-up from your trip," Barrows said, climbing back into his cart. "A driver will return for your dinner with the governor. Enjoy your visit." 

"Thanks!" said Strickland, waving goodbye as both carts glided away. He looked at his grimy hands and dirty shirt sleeves. "I could use a shower. It'll be good to be clean again." Harper noticed a side archway. 

"The showers must be back this way," said Harper, picking up her backpack. Looking back at the general, she added, "And I'm calling shotgun!" 

"Dang," said McGovern. 

Inside the lorry, the outside lights disappeared, and the front end of the vehicle suddenly dipped down, throwing everyone to their knees. The tiny flourescent lights in the ceiling cast a ghostly pall over everyone inside. Several prisoners cried out in fear. Gordon struggled to regain his balance. "Where are we going?" he asked J.R. 

"Down into the mines," he said. "We'll drop off this lot, then get you back up to the surface." The vehicle seemed to be picking up speed as it plunged down the steep grade. Many prisoners were holding onto each other for support. Gordon's hands searched for something to hold onto. With one final bounce, the lorry leveled out, and after a few rumbling moments came to a halt. The airtight door to the umbilical opened with a hard, grinding sound. Yellow lamps lit up the interior, and a cloud of hot, dry air rolled into the vehicle. 

"Everyone out!" shouted the redheaded guard. He started pushing and shoving prisoners towards the hatchway. Gordon got caught up in the rush, and stumbled down the ramp outside the vehicle with the rest of the prisoners. On solid ground again, Gordon looked around. They were in a hot, noisy cave, deep underground. The vehicle just barely fit under the low ceiling of shiny, black stone. Light units hammered into the hard walls cast bleary yellow light through the cavern. 

A Romulan prisoner in green pajamas stood bent-over at the bottom of the ramp, his hands on his knees. Gordon put a hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm a doctor. Are you all right?" he said quietly. 

"Tired," the man said in a raspy voice. "No food... for days..." Gordon's eyes looked up, and followed the line of prisoners snaking their way down the cavern. Guards were pointing the way for the prisoners, yelling at them and pushing when they slowed down. The lights in the walls cast harsh shadows on the exposed rocks. There was a junction about twenty meters down the cavern, where the cave widened. Tracks in the ground led out of one tunnel and into another. 

The Romulan looked up at Gordon, his eyes sad and lost. "Help us, please... help us..." 

"Keep moving!" came a shout as the redheaded guard cracked his club against the Romulan's spine. He straightened up, arching his back in pain, a wordless gasp escaping from his lips as he automatically started stumbling forward. Gordon was furious, and stepped between the Romulan and the guard. 

"Was that really necessary?" Gordon demanded. 

"No need to bother yourself, sir," said the guard called J.R., who suddenly appeared at Gordon's side. He nudged Gordon along, away from the redhead, who stood his ground, fuming, fingering his club in a disturbing fashion. 

J.R. half-carried Gordon along the cavern, past the tracks in the ground, and into a small alcove off the main hollow. "It'd be best for you to wait here," he said, his voice grave and threatening. He turned to leave, then stopped. "Hey, you're a doctor, right? I'll be right back." Gordon watched him depart. After a few moments he peeked out the entrance at the caverns beyond. 

He kicked at the dirt floor in frustration. He was abandoned, alone in a cave deep in an unknown planet, with no idea of how to get out. It was worse than being stuck on the USS Cody –how many days ago was that? He thought of Frannie, and hoped she was all right. He looked around: there were barrels stacked in the small cave, a table, boxes piled head-high. Everything had the Emby stamp on it. There was a canteen on the table; an inspection found it full of water. A single yellow lamp was mounted in the far wall. The air smelled of oil, and sweat. Pacing across the bare dirt floor, Gordon noticed something glittering in the dirt, like tiny specks of gypsum or quartz... 

J.R. appeared at the entrance, dragging a Romulan prisoner along with him. The Romulan stumbled forward, then crumpled to his knees. "This one says he's sick," J.R. said. "If you want, you can look him over while I go see about getting you topside." Gordon did not watch the guard leave; he was on one knee, supporting the grey-haired prisoner. 

"Okay, I'm gonna lie you down, all right?" Gordon said, easing the man to the dirt floor. The man was frail, and his bones felt sharp against his dry skin. Gordon pulled out his medical scanner and adjusted for Romulan physiology. "What's you name?" 

"Rabi," the old man whispered. His clothes were torn and paper-thin. His hands were calloused, his hair dirty, and half his teeth were gone. Gordon eyed the scanner. The device said he was malnourished, dehydrated, and recovering from multiple bruises. Gordon rose and retrieved the water canteen from the table. 

"Here, drink this," Gordon said, tipping the opening towards the old man's mouth. The man happily took the water. "Slowly, that's it... how did you get here?" 

The old man coughed, then looked up at Gordon. "I... I was a dissident... I criticized the Praetor's leadership. I was arrested and sent here to the mines." 

"So, you're a political prisoner?" Gordon asked. "Are there any more like you here?" 

"Hundreds... many hundreds." 

Gordon leaned closer. "Is this a prison?" 

The old Romulan coughed again. "It is... hell..." 
 
 

The clean, little cart pulled up to the lobby and came to a stop. The humming sound of the engine woke McGovern, who had been dozing on a comfortable chair. "I'm up, I'm up!" he insisted. 

Strickland emerged from his room, cheerfully stretching his arms. He had showered, shaved, and changed into clean clothes. "I had a little nap, too," he said as he watched McGovern get up. He noticed Harper staring out the window, drumming her fingers. She had showered and changed into her beige outfit. "What's up, Frannie?" 

"Where's Charlie?" she replied. "It's been almost two hours. Where could he be?" 

"Ah, you must mean your companion," said Barrows, emerging from the cart. "I received word he entered the base through the cargo entrance. He should be joining you shortly." He smiled, and motioned towards the cart. "Shall we go?" Harper reluctantly joined the others in the cart. Barrows backed up the vehicle out of the lobby, then accelerated down the corridor. Everything the passed was clean, well-lit and structurally sound. The Emby logo was everywhere. 

Strickland beamed with pride at the efficiency all around him. He breathed deep the clean air as they rolled into a wide courtyard. High, dark windows towered above them as they cross towards a set of elevator. Beside him, McGovern scowled. Something was not right. A facility that big needed lots of personnel to keep it going– but, where were the workers? Harper was silent. It seemed out of character for Gordon to be out of contact for so long. She also realized how much she missed having him around. 

Barrows brought the cart to a halt in front of the center elevator. "Here you go!" he said cheerfully. "The governor is waiting for you on the top floor." The travelers exited the cart and stepped into the open elevator. The walls were all clean, white and smooth. McGovern waved to Barrows as the doors closed in front of them. 

As the elevator rose, Strickland noticed the worried look on Harper's face. "I'm sure Charlie's fine, Frannie," he said. "He must have got hung up on some doctor thing." 

"Yeah," said McGovern. "He can be pretty complete about stuff." 

Harper's eyebrow raised, surprised they had guessed her thoughts... but their words made sense. His choice to stay behind on the ship was for the right reasons. She had even admired his dedication. She sighed. "I guess you're right," she said. "Only... he's going to miss dinner." 

McGovern shrugged his shoulders. "We'll save him some cake," he decided as the elevator doors opened. Beyond was a large, comfortable lounge, with long couches and clean, thick carpets. Everything was in white. The decor had a reverence to it, like the inside of a temple. Silent, they stepped out of the elevator. 

"Warren!" came a melodious voice from the left. A tall, thin mature woman approached. Her auburn hair was streaked in grey, cut straight and short. She wore a white pants suit with black piping and black boots. "It's so good to see you again!" 

"Abby!" said Strickland as he stepped forward and embraced the governor. "You haven't changed a bit!" 

"Oh, go on!" she shushed. "I don't believe I've met your friends." 

"Ah!" Strickland said. "Allow me to introduce my friends Francine Harper, and David McGovern." 

"Call me Frannie," Harper said, shaking the governor's hand. 

"Please, come in," Caine said. She blinked her eyes. "I thought there were four of you...?" 

"Charlie, that is, Dr. Gordon," Harper said, "is a little indisposed right now..." 

Caine's mouth pursed. "That's too bad," she said, turning to lead them into the dining room. A long, rectangular table lay before them, set with glittering china and shiny silverware. "Please, sit down," the governor said, taking a seat at the head of the table. Once everyone was seated, waiters appeared in dark blue suits. Everyone received a small bowl with a tossed green salad. Harper could smell the fresh tomatoes and lettuce. Strickland ran a hand over the freshly-starched white tablecloth. McGovern watched the waiters as they left the room, making a mental note about exits. 

"So," said Caine, taking a bite of salad, "what brings you all out here to the end of the universe?" 

McGovern started to reply, but Strickland spoke first. "Exploring," he said simply. "Going places we've never been before." 

"It's been interesting so far," Harper admitted. "I would have thought there would be more Klingon activity in this region." 

"There is, sometimes," Caine said. "This area is between the Romulan and Klingon empires, at the fringes of patrolled space. Sort of an undeclared neutral zone. I think both parties prefer the arrangement." 

"We did some Romulan activity coming through Anabelska," Strickland said, thinking of the prisoner transfer they witnessed. 

"Both empires have interests in the Outremer," Caine said. "Strictly business." 

"Dangerous business," McGovern interjected as the waiters took away their salad bowls. The main course seemed to be vegetarian lasagna. "Pirate activity seems to be high out here." 

Caine nodded, dabbing the corners of her mouth with her napkin. "Piracy is a problem. I've been wanting to organize the shipping fleets into convoys, but some of the other governments have been resisting the ideas." 

"Because of logistics?" Harper asked. Caine shook her head. 

"I think because some of them are the pirates." 

Strickland dug into his lasagna, savoring the aroma. "I can't get over how nice it is here," he said. 

"Indeed," Harper agreed. "This base is most impressive." Cained smiled in response. 

"Yeah," followed McGovern. "For the end of the universe, you seem to be doing all right out here." 

"Almost no one comes here voluntarily," the governor said as she shrugged nonchalantly. "We benefit from being in the right location. Kartikay is a vital part of this region's shipping circuit. Ore from the mines gets shipped to Klingon ports, where fresh food is picked up. That produce is shipped deep inside Romulan territory, where supplies for the mines are picked up and brought back here. And Emby Shipping profits at every stage." She smiled at Strickland, who raised his glass to her in salute. 

Harper nodded. "The cargo the Amonak Ra was carrying. The belonka –-is that how you pronounce it?" 

"How is your food?" Caine asked McGovern. "Lasagna is one of our chef's favorites." 

"Very good," he said, taking another bite. He didn't realize how hungry he was. 

"Remember the mess hall on the Gina Faye?" Strickland asked. "Peanut butter sandwiches every Tuesday. Like clockwork." 

Caine nodded, smiling. "And tomato soup every Sunday!" Strickland asked about one of his former officers, and Caine replied that he'd retired and moved back to Earth. Harper and McGovern ate silently as the other two reminisced about the old days. The food was good, the meal was pleasant... but Harper could not help but notice how the governor had changed the subject when she mentioned the ship's cargo of spare parts: the "belonka." 

Far below in the mines, Gordon's patient blinked his eyes open. "Feeling better?" Gordon asked. The Romulan called Rabi took a deep breath and sat up. 

"Yes... Yes, I do," he said, sounding a little surprised. "What happened?" 

"You passed out," Gordon said, "so I gave you some vitamin supplements and pain relievers." 

The old Romulan ran a hand over his chest. "My thanks to you." 

"What did you mean, this place was hell?" the doctor asked, putting his medical scanners away in his shoulder bag. 

"People come here, almost no food, no water, work until they drop," the old one said. 

"Romulans?" 

Rabi shook his head. "Andorians, Tellarites... humans, too," he said, pointing a finger at Gordon. "They die." 

"Can you show me?" Gordon asked. The old Romulan seemed to shrink down in size as he looked around suspiciously. The cave was empty except for the two of them. Slowly, he rose to one knee. 

"Follow me," he whispered. Gordon helped him to his bare feet. The old one silently moved to the entrance, peered cautiously out into the corridor, then gingerly took several steps. Secure no one was coming from either direction, Rabi waved Gordon to follow him as he stepped off to the left. Gordon followed the Romulan a dozen meters to another junction, where they tuned to the right. The passage led down a steep grade, twisting and turning, the air getting progressively hotter and foul smelling. Rabi stopped at every curve, every corner, carefully peeking around the corner before continuing. Gordon noticed more of glittery specks he'd seen on the cave floor, but now they were all around-- in the walls, shining down from the rock ceiling, decorating every stray stone they passed. At last, the two of them came to a landing. 

Rabi turned, and put his fingers over his lips, signaling Gordon to be quiet. They were on a narrow ledge cut out of the rock. Before them was a wall of swirling steam. Gordon squinted against the steam as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Below them, he could see lights. He heard voices. The steam dispersed. Gordon could see they were in the upper gallery of a huge cave, carved out of the solid bedrock. Below them were dozens of prisoners in tattered green pajamas. Under the watchful eyes of grey-clad guards, they pushed rail cars full of ore, carried buckets, pulled on cables, and were silently marched in and out of a half dozen corridors ringing the cavern. Some of the living skeletons carried shovels and picks. None wore shoes or protective helmets. 

The stench of sweat and feces was overwhelming. Gordon covered his mouth to keep from coughing. To the right, he saw one prisoner trip and fall to his knees. Immediately, a guard was at the prisoner's side – not to help him up, but to beat him with a long, heavy stick. 

Gordon blinked in astonishment. He had never seen such brutality, such inhumanity first-hand before. Something grabbed his arm: it was Rabi, pulling him away from the ledge and back into the cave entrance. They climbed back in silence, Rabi carefully leading the way. At one junction, Gordon put a hand on Rabi's shoulder. "I don't know how," he whispered, "but I'm going to do what I can to help you all." 

Rabi looked him in the eye, and lowered his gaze. "There is no hope for us," he sighed. "We are already dead." 

The pair made it all the way back to the storage cave before they were spotted by the guard J.R., coming around a corner. "Hey!" he cried out. "Where are you going?" The two froze in the middle of the corridor. 

"Um," said Gordon, "he was just showing me where the latrine was." J.R. came forward and grabbed Gordon's arm. 

"You can take a leak topside, with your friends," he said, pulling Gordon back down the corridor. "And you!" he cried over his shoulder at Rabi, "Get back to work!" 

Gordon managed one last look back at Rabi's lost face before he got pulled around a corner. 

Far above, Governor Caine lifted her glass of wine. "A toast," she said cheerfully. "To good friends!" Everyone sipped the wine, which was a delicious Chianti. 

"I don't mean to be rude," McGovern said, "but Warren said you might be able to help us out with some transportation..." 

"No offense taken," the governor said. "We have a small fleet of, shall we say, used, but very capable ships. One of them is standing by as we speak: the Esmerelda. In fact, my people are loading the contents of your storage container on board right this moment." 

"Ooh," said Harper. "Perhaps we should help with that." 

McGovern smiled excitedly. "Can we see her?" 

"I can show you from here," Caine said, standing. She walked over to a set of controls on one white wall and started punching buttons. "On your way here, you were brought through a covered courtyard. The north entrance from that courtyard leads to an airlock, where the Esmerelda is docked." An image appeared on a screen mounted in the wall. The ship was parked on a landing pad next to a high wall. It was blue and purple, shaped roughly like a narrow wedge, with warp nacelles mounted on either side. An umbilical ramp extended from the building to the ship's starboard side. 

"Speed?" Harper asked. 

"Warp five," Caine replied. "Twenty-five meters long, the cabin's about four meters wide. There's sleeping quarters for four in the stern." 

McGovern put on his glasses and looked closer. "Weapons?" 
 
"One phaser emitter," Caine replied quietly. "Are you anticipating trouble?" 

"Never hurts to be prepared," McGovern smiled back as he put his glasses back in their case. 

"Don't mind them," Strickland said. "Force of habit. She does look like a fine ship. Mind if we go take a look?" The governor sighed. 

"You always did enjoy pre-flight," Caine said. "Be my guest. The ship is yours for as long as you need it. I'll send a cart to take you back to your quarters when you're done." Strickland stepped closer to the governor. 

"Thanks, Abby," Strickland said. "I really appreciate this." 

"My pleasure," she replied. "I hope we'll get a chance to talk again before you leave..." 

"I'm sure we will," Strickland said. Just then came a loud tapping behind him. He turned to see Harper and McGovern standing at the elevator doors, examining the controls. 

"How do you get this thing working?" McGovern grumbled. 

Strickland flushed a little. "I'd better go help them," he said. 

As he turned to leave, Caine asked, "What did you mean when you said ‘Force of habit'? Were your friends ship captains, too?" 

"Well," Strickland replied, "just Frannie. She was an admiral in Starfleet." 

Caine blinked her eyes. "Did you say, admiral?" 

Strickland nodded. "Retired, like Dave. He was a general in the Starfleet Marines." 

A smile forced its way across the governor's face. "Really? How interesting. We must... talk about that." A bell sounded behind Strickland as Harper got the elevator doors to open. 

"Gotta go," he said, joining his friends. Caine watched as the elevator doors closed behind the trio. She returned to the wall console and pressed a green button. "Mr. Ambrose, could you join me in my office?" 

"On my way, Governor," came the reply. "What's going on?" 

"We," began Caine, "... we may have a little problem with our guests..."