"All the way down there?" he asked. "Aren't you going to take me?"

J.R. tapped his timepiece with his finger. "My shift's over. Sack time for me." With a gentle shove, he pushed Gordon out of the cart, who almost tripped on the clean, white tile floor. "Exercise will do you good," J.R. said as pulled the cart around and drove it back the way they came, disappearing down a clean, white passage. 

Behind Gordon, a cheerful bell chimed. Two doors opened, and out of the elevator stepped Strickland, Harper and McGovern, laughing over some mild joke. The laughter stopped when they spotted Gordon. 

The doctor stood before them covered in dust and soot. His hair was mussed and his face was streaked in dirt. Harper gasped when she saw him. "Charlie!" she said. "What happened? Where have you been?"

"Down in the mines," he said. The others closed in around him. "It's awful down there. Those prisoners we saw at Anabelska Station –- this is where they brought them. They make the prisoners dig until it kills them. Frannie," he said, looking into her eyes, "this is a slave colony." 

"What?" exclaimed Strickland. "That's impossible. I don't believe it!" 

"There's hundreds of them down there," Gordon said, as he sat down wearily in a nearby chair. "They work them to death, digging in the mines. That's what was in the cargo hold of the Amonak Ra -- prisoners headed for mines. I was down there; I saw them." 

The look in Gordon's eyes told Harper he was telling the truth. "The crew said we were hauling belonka –- ‘spare parts,'" she realized. "Disposable parts. Slaves would be disposable."

Strickland heard a gasp, and turned to see McGovern staring off into space. "Supplies for the mines," McGovern whispered. "That's what the governor called it. But it was workers. And she knew it was workers for the mines. She knew!" 

"No, no," said Strickland. "This can't be!" 

"I talked to a prisoner named Rabi," Gordon continued. "A Romulan. He said he was jailed for being a dissident. I think a lot of them down there were." 

"Political prisoners?" Harper said. "They would come from inside the empire." 

"Like the mines of Gasko," McGovern realized. "That makes sense. The Romulans get rid of their political prisoners by sending them to work in the mines, never to be seen again."

"The ore from the mines goes to the Klingons," Harper remembered Caine saying. "They get food for the Romulans, where they get a fresh batch of prisoners for the mines."

"The ‘Middle Passage,'" McGovern said. 

"And the shipping company profits all around," Harper said quietly. 

"No!" cried Strickland. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. "You're saying my company is involved in slave trading? The company I spent thirty years working for? I can't believe it!"  

"All right, all right," Harper said, holding up her hands for silence. She looked at Strickland. "Warren, if they're using forced labor in the mines, that violates at least three interstellar treaties, that I can think of. It doesn't matter if they're doing it in undeclared space. There could be criminal charges. Emby Shipping could lose all rights to do business inside the Federation." 

"It... it has to be a mistake," Strickland said, running his fingers through his thinning hair. He looked at Gordon with pleading eyes. "Charlie, it's gotta be a mistake."

"I saw what I saw," Gordon said simply. 

McGovern looked over his shoulder, along the walls and edges of the high ceiling. He didn't see any cameras, but that could just mean they were well-hidden. "All right, folks," he interjected, his voice subdued. "This is gonna take an investigation by people more important than us. We can't fix this today. And we'll never get it fixed while we're still on this planet." 

"David's right," Harper said. "We need to get packed and get out of here immediately. Warren," she pointed, "take Charlie and go get our stuff from the guest quarters. David and I will check out the ship and get ready for take-off." 

Gordon stood. "Sure would be nice if we had one of those little carts to ride around in."

McGovern pointed off to the south end of the courtyard. "You mean, like that one?" 

Moments later, Gordon and Strickland were zooming out of the courtyard in a compact white cart, disappearing down the main corridor. McGovern and Harper got the gates to the airlock opened, and entered what looked like a receiving area. Tall, rectangular windows showed the ship outside on the landing pad. The airlock itself was open, and they could see the umbilical beyond reaching to the waiting ship. The airlock was empty, and there were no signs of anyone else around. 

"They certainly run a minimal crew here," Harper commented. Their footsteps echoed as they crossed through the umbilical and entered the ship. A long, narrow cabin took up most of the interior. Familiar bundles and boxes filled the space. 

"This looks like all our stuff, all right," McGovern said. Stepping over one of the Kirosian mining suits, he added to himself, "Maybe we packed too much..." There were two seats at the bow for pilot and co-pilot, with seats for navigation and communication behind them. 

"I'd better run a systems check," Harper said, moving up to the pilot's seat. She sat, and began flipping switches. A loud noise made her turn around. "What was that?"

McGovern was holding the side of his head, his face in a hard frown. "I hit my stupid head!" He turned and shook his fist at a low-hanging yellow unit mounted on the ceiling. 

"Watch yourself, David," Harper cautioned as she went back to work. The pilot's console seemed very familiar somehow. In one glance, she found technology from three different classes of ship, all jerry-rigged together. This will be fun to fly, she decided sarcastically.  

In another part of the building, the white cart turned down a familiar passage. "Right down here," Strickland said. Gordon turned into the lobby of their quarters and brought the cart to a screeching halt. 

Strickland climbed out, and started going from room to room picking up items. Harper's tricorder was on her nightstand; he picked that up and tucked it under his arm. Gordon sat in the cart for a moment, collecting his thoughts. I could really use a shower, he thought. He spotted the door to the bathroom. Out of the blue, he realized he had to urinate. He climbed out of the cart, his muscles suddenly stiff, and disappeared behind the door. 

Harper's backpack was lying on her bed. Strickland stuffed everything he could find inside and closed the flap. There was movement in the lobby. "Charlie?" he said, "I think I found everything..." He opened the door to see two large humans, in grey suits, standing next to the cart. 

"Captain Strickland?" the bigger one said. "Would you come with us, please?" 

"The governor wants to see you right away," the other one said.

Gordon figured he didn't have time for a shower. He washed his face in the sink, and was drying off with a fluffy towel when he heard the loud hum of an engine outside. The door was open ajar. He peeked through in time to see a white security cart driving away –- with Strickland in the back seat. Gordon stepped out of the bathroom, and noticed Harper's backpack left on the floor. He scooped it up and hurried to the corridor, where he saw the cart disappearing around the corner. Gordon looked around for a weapon, then suddenly spotted the broken blaster pistol McGovern had been working on. He tossed it into the backpack. 

Gordon threw the pack into the cart they had borrowed and sped after the guards. 

"Patrol One to Control, where is the governor's current location?"

"The governor is inspecting a transfer at junction C-12," came the reply.

"Right," said the guard. "C-12," repeated to the driver, who turned at the next junction. The cart sped across a big room, then into an ajacent hallway. The floor suddenly sloped downward, and the white walls changed to hewn rock. The path was lit by illuminated panels mounted on the rock walls every few meters. The bumpy tunnel evened out. Lights appeared ahead. The cart rolled out of the passage and came to a halt inside a large chamber. The air was hot and stifling. 

Governor Caine was standing on the edge, her hands on her hips. "Why did you bring him down here?"

"You-- you said you wanted to see him right away, ma'am," the guard stammered. 

"Brilliant. Just brilliant!" Caine spat. "Get out of my sight!" The guard hurried away down the ramp. 

The ledge extended the length of the cavern. Below, a wide trench cut deep into the solid rock. Weary, green-clad figures walked in single files, shuffling along from one end to the other. They carried jagged rocks and heavy stones in their bony arms, removing them to the far end of the cave. Another group just below Strickland was chopping at the hard rock with small metal pick axes. Their faces streaked with soot and dirt, their eyes lost and blank, they shambled along mechanically from spot to spot, all under the wary eyes of guards in grey close by. Off to the side, one prisoner lay on the ground, half-buried under a pile of rubble, his limbs twisted in an unnatural position. 

"My God," Strickland breathed. "Oi gavalt... it's true. I didn't want to believe it, but it's true. You're running a slave colony here!"

"Don't be so dramatic," Caine said casually. "We are optimizing our resources. Come here, you might as well see it all." She waved him closer to the edge. Strickland approached carefully. 

"Ten years ago, company explorers found dilitnium deep inside the planet," she explained. 

"A few years ago, I made a deal with some important people in the Romulan government. I needed workers, and they had people that needed to ... disappear."

"Nobody comes here voluntarily," Strickland said, remembering her comment at the meal. 

"It's been a mutually acceptable arrangement," Caine explained. "Everybody's happy."

"Except for them!" he cried, pointing to the prisoners below them. Some of them turned and looked up at the outburst. "Do they look happy? Do they look satisfied with your arrangement?"

"This is better for them," Caine reasoned. "Instead of just taken out and shot, they have the opportunity to make themselves useful--"

"Before you work them to death!" Strickland replied. "Abby, how could you? This is inhumane! This is illegal!"

"Nothing's illegal on a planet with no laws," Caine said, waving her hand in dismissal. "Besides, the company profits from this operation. In fact," she said, turning to face Strickland, "you profit from it. This is a company operation, our company, yours and mine. Everyone in the company profits from what happens here. Whether you knew about this or not, your company ties make you as guilty as me."

"Not any more!" Strickland spat back. "When I get back to Federation space, I'm reporting this place to Starfleet and the Federation Trade Office. The other employees of Emby Shipping are decent, honest people... They're my family, and I'm not gonna let you drag them down with you!"

Caine sighed. "I was hoping it wouldn't come to this." She turned to walk away, and casually waved to a dark-haired guard standing by. On her command, the guard pulled out his club and started advancing toward Strickland...

The white cart came flying out of the tunnel entrance and smashed into the back of the guard's cart. Taken by surprise, the driver did not have time to jump before he and the cart went rolling over the rock ledge, tumbling to the dusty earth below. Gordon stood up in the cart, brandishing the blaster pistol. "Nobody move!" he cried. 

"Charlie!" cried Strickland in surprise. The guards all froze at the sight of the pistol. Strickland was also startled for a moment, then dashed under the barrel of the pistol to climb into the passenger side of the cart. 

"Here," said Gordon, handing the pistol to Strickland, "We've got a bus to catch!" Strickland leveled the weapon at the guards as Gordon revved up the cart's engine. 

"You're making a big mistake, Warren!" Caine cried out as the cart turned around and headed back up the access ramp."Warren! Get back here!" It disappeared through the tunnel in a cloud of dust, the rear wheels kicking up specks of dirt that splattered across Caine's white trousers. "Dammit!" Caine yelled in frustration.

"You there!" yelled the dark-haired guard at a group of prisoners. He pointed to the overturned cart below the ledge. "Get over here and turn that cart back upright again!"

"Never mind that," growned Caine, pulling a communicator out of one pocket. "Control, this is the governor," she said, her eyes narrowing with anger. "Two of our guests are heading up the C-12 ramp, Mr. Ambrose. They're probably heading for the central courtyard. Send guards to rendezvous with them -- with extreme prejudice!"

On board the Esmeralda, McGovern was rearranging their gear in the back of the ship. Everything was spread out across the narrow deck. "Whoever loaded this stuff sure didn't care where it went," McGovern commented. Moving a box of tools, he noticed one of the deck plates was loose. He could see part of the frame beneath. McGovern pulled out his glasses, and leaned forward to take a closer look. "Holy crap," he breathed. 

Harper stopped her checklist. "What? What did you say?"

"Frannie, get back here!" McGovern said. Harper left the pilot's seat and went aft, careful to duck under the yellow utit mounting on the ceiling.

"What is is?"

"Look at that," McGovern pointed, "and tell me I'm not seeing things."

At first, Harper didn't know what he was talking about. Then she saw. Imprinted on the frame strut under the deck plate was the Starfleet emblem, and the words ASSEMBLED MCKINLEY STATION 2367. 

"Oh, my God," Harper said, slowly standing erect. She glanced back towards the back of the bay, and then forward to the pilot's section. "Oh, my... David, this is a Runabout!" 

"What?" he said, looking around. "A Runabout? It can't be. It's too narrow."

"It must be one of the prototypes," she said quietly. "I know they ran field tests for years. They widened them out before putting them into service. It's been Frankensteined since then, but she's definately a Runabout." Harper looked at the date again. "2367... twelve years ago. That was the year we fought the Borg at Wolf 359."

"We lost a lot of ships there," said McGovern, sitting back on the floor. A shadow fell across his eyes. "A lot of good men... It was months before Starfleet could salvage all the ships. Some of them must've been carrying prototype Runabouts. You think this was stolen from one of the wrecks?"

"Probably," said Harper. "God... and Emby Shipping had to have known it was Starfleet property."

McGovern's face was grave. "And they used it anyway."

"The sooner we get out of here," said Harper, "the better. Charlie and Warren should have been back by now. I'm going to go out in the airlock and look for them." The admiral turned to leave the ship. McGovern heard a loud thump behind him. He looked around to see Harper standing under the yellow unit. She was gingerly rubbing the top of her head. 

"Yeah," McGovern said. "It got me, too,"
 

The front wheels of the cart left the ground for a split-second and Gordon drove it full speed out of the ramp. The tires screeched as he made a sharp turn and sped down a gleaming white corridor. "Sorry about that," Gordon said. 

"No apology necessary," said Strickland, looking over his shoulder. He sat back and examined the pistol in his hand. "When did Dave get this working again?"

"I'm not sure he did."

"What?"

Gordon started to reply, but stared straight ahead. At the end of their corridor another white cart appeared. Two grey-suited guards sat in the front of the cart. One of them raised a long device to his shoulder and took aim. "Warren, look out!" Gordon managed to yell as he made a sudden turn to the right. A bright blue beam of energy shot just past them and exploded against a wall to their rear. 

Strickland looked back at the smoking crater in the wall behind them. "Those are some friends you've got here!" Gordon commented. 

"They're not my friends," Strickland said. He sighed with a bitter huff, a tear in the corner of one eye. "I don't know them at all."

Gordon slowed down the cart as they came to a junction. "Which way do we go now?"

"Turn left here, then turn right the next chance you get," Strickland said. "That should take us back to the airlock."

"Are you sure?"

"I navigated my way around the Alpha Quadrant for 30 years," said Strickland, checking behind them. "I think I can find my way out of a building." Gordon turned left, and accelerated the cart as fast as it would go. At the next junction, they turned right. Sure enough, fifty meters past the turn, the courtyard opened up for them. They were at the south entrance. At the far end, the open airlock beckoned. A figure appeared in the open airlock. 

"Hey," said Gordon, "I think that's Frannie!" 

Strickland raised his hand to wave, but just then a blinding explosion kicked up the left front corner of the cart. It came crashing back down on the floor, sending the cart into a bouncing skid across the covered courtyard. A beam of blue light shot across the open space, striking a white couch and setting it on fire. Gordon brought the cart to a screeching halt, but not before Strickland tumbled out the passenger side, rolling across the gleaming white floor. Gordon shook his head to clear his senses. He could see three grey-clad guards at the east entrance, taking up shooting positions behind a couch. Gordon tried to start up the cart again, but the engine was unresponsive. He climbed out of the cart, keeping his head down, then stopped. He reached back inside and grabbed the blaster pistol Strickland had dropped. 

"Charlie!" Strickland cried out. "I'm hurt!"

"Be right there," Gordon said, the calm in his voice surprising him. He hurried around behind the stalled cart, and aimed the pistol at the attacking guards. He pulled the trigger. The blaster vibrated in his hand, and then a dull orange beam of light emerged from the barrel, streaking across the courtyard and striking the guard's protective couch. The couch ignited in a bright cloud of sparks, sending the guards flying backwards to the floor. 

Gordon looked at the pistol in his hand. "Huh!" he said. Gordon reached inside the cart, looped Harper's backpack over his shoulder, then raced around the far side of the cart. He pulled Strickland to his feet, bent his head under Strickland's left arm, and supporting the captain half-carried him across the courtyard. He kept glancing back at the east entrance, but the stunned guards were not moving. 

"Frannie!" Gordon cried as Harper ran up to them, embracing them both. "Are you all right?" she asked. 

"I think it's my shoulder," Strickland said, pointing to his right. Harper carefully supported Strickland's right side as the two helped him along. 

"We've got to get inside the airlock," Harper pointed. As they passed under the archway of the airlock, another blue beam of light struck the wall in a shower of sparks. 

"Close the doors!" Gordon yelled, pulling Strickland's weight all on himself. Harper freed herself from his side and ran to the wall controls. With the pull of a lever, the big blast doors closed securely behind them. 

"David!" cried Harper through the umbilical. "Warm up the engines! We--" Her sentence was cut off by a disturbing sound: the sound of the blast doors opening again. 

"The hell-?" Strickland said. The blast doors opened wide enough for a blue beam of light to stab its way through and explode just above the umbilical ring. Strickland dove towards the ground for cover. Harper pulled the lever again, and the doors sealed up again. 

"They must have door controls on the other side, too!" Gordon 
said. "Is there a lock on those doors?"

Harper scanned the control panel, and then the frame of the blast doors. "Not that I can see!"

"Locks would be on the interior side," Gordon pointed out. 

Strickland was looking elsewhere. His eyes scanned the ceiling of the airlock chamber until they focused on a small sphere hanging from a steel beam. It was no bigger than a man's fist. "Charlie!" cried Strickland, "Shoot at that ball up there!"

Gordon looked. "Why?" The gears of the blast doors sounded like they were about to open again. 

"Just shoot!" 

Gordon aimed and fired the weapon. The beam of orange light struck the silver orb. It exploded with a shower of sparks and a loud popping sound. 

Out in the courtyard, Governor Caine rolled up in a white security cart. It came to a halt behind a group of twelve guards that had gathered in front of the blast doors, weapons ready. "...Confirmed, Governor," came the voice of Mr. Ambrose over a small communicator. "Scanners show the ship is still on the landing pad. They have not yet launched."

"Well?" said Caine, climbing out of the cart, "What are you waiting for? Get in there!"

"We can't get the doors open, ma'am," said the guard called J.R. 

"You can't open the doors?" she repeated, standing in front of the doors, fists on hips. "Why the hell not?"

"The command controls have been overridden by life support," ma'am," he explained. "They've vented the airlock."

Caine frowned in confusion. "They vented the air out of the airlock? Why on earth would they do that?"

A red-headed guard shrugged his shoulders. "Don't know, ma'am. But the computer says there's no air in there. See?" he pointed to a status screen on the wall. 

Caine thought for a moment, then pivoted on one foot and back-handed the redhead hard across the face. "You idiot!" she cried as the guard went flying. "It's not vented into space. They took out the air sensor so the computers think it's vented into space! Now, all of you, put your backs against these doors and get them open!" 

"Umbilical?" asked McGovern, sitting at the pilot's station. 

"Closed!" said Gordon, sealing the flexible portal behind him.

"Seal the hatch!" Harper appeared at Gordon's side. With a hand on his chest, she gently maneuvered him back so that she could close the ship's hatch. "We're secure!" she called out. 

"Let's blow this popsicle stand!" McGovern said, firing up the engines. He elevated the ship several meters over the landing pad, turned its nose around, and accelerated away from the buildings. The bleak, scarred surface of Kartikay III sped past beneath them. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief... except for Strickland, who sat motionless in the co-pilot's seat, watching the planet slowly sink below them. His gaze was hard, the lines of his face etched with hurt and betrayal. 

Governor Caine stood in the airlock chamber, fuming. The blast doors had been forced open by sheer human strength, but too late. She watched through one of the tall windows as the ship sped away from the buildings, arching slowly into the starry sky.  

She shook her head. Holding out a hand, she said simply, "Communicator." One was produced from a guard's pocket and placed in her open hand. Without looking up, she spoke into the unit, "Caine to Control."

"Control –- Ambrose here," came the reply. 

"Mr. Ambrose," she began, "It looks like we're going to have to report a loss of capital expenses this quarter... Call up the codes for the Esmeralda, and execute remote termination code omega."

"Termination code omega, yes ma'am," Ambrose repeated. "Stand by."

Caine looked out the window at the vanishing speck in the starry sky. "Sorry, Warren," she said to herself. "You understand, I have to protect my investment." 

The interior of the Esmeralda was still cluttered with their gear, scattered all across the floor. Gordon was pleased to see his faithful storage container parked in the rear corner of the ship's bay. McGovern had intended to hang up the mining suits on the walls, out of the way, but only had a chance to do one of them. Harper stepped around the suit, careful not to trip over boxes and bundles on the floor. Gordon took Harper's hand, and she smiled at him as he helped her step over a coil of rope. She ducked her head –- and then realized there was nothing there to duck under. 

"Hey," she said, "It's gone." She gazed at the sudden bare spot on the ceiling of the craft. The annoying yellow unit was gone. 

McGovern looked over his shoulder. "Oh, yeah, I took it down," he said. "Guess I hit my head on that damn thing one too many times. We didn't need it, anyway."

"Why? What was that thing?" Harper asked. McGovern shrugged. 

"Said on the side it was some kind of anti-theft device," the general replied. He accelerated the ship towards the upper altitudes of the planet. On the eastern horizon, the gleam of a new day began to glow. Harper looked around the floor and back at the piles of gear. 
 
"So... where is it?"

"Termination code laid in, Governor," the voice of Ambrose reported. "Awaiting your order."

Caine shook her head. "Initiate, Mr. Ambrose." She lowered the communicator to her side. The ship just a dot on the horizon, but not for long. What a waste, she thought. What a waste of a good ship. But at least I'll be able to include a replacement on the next fiscal year's budget-- 

Off to her right, something started making a noise. She and the dozen guards around her all turned to look. There, on the floor of the airlock chamber, was the yellow anti-theft unit, beeping wildly. 

"Oh, my –-" breathed Caine.

The explosion filled the room and blossomed out of the airlock chamber, pushing out through the walls and ceiling in a bright red fireball. Pieces of the building were ejected high into the airless sky, raining down on the cheaply-built outlying buildings with disastrous results. The heat ignited the couches, chairs and artwork across the adjacent covered courtyard. Structural failure caused the entire north wall of the courtyard to collapse. The compressed air of the administration building rushed out the gaping hole at hurricane strength, snuffing out the fires in the courtyard... 

An alarm went off on the pilot's console of the Esmeralda. It even shook Strickland out of his silence. "What's that?" he asked. 

"Sensors are picking up a large energy discharge... it's from back on the planet!" McGovern reported. 

"They're shooting at us!" Gordon concluded. 

Harper looked at the data on the sensor screen. The data was garbled and incomplete; the original sensor relays on the old Runabout were malfunctioning. They did not have time to check all the systems before launch. She looked again at the energy output levels. It might not be a weapons discharge, but...

"David," she said, "Take us to warp speed now!"

"You got it!" the general replied. He punched in the coordinates for the Lysana Nebula and engaged the warp drive. With a comforting, trilling hum, the engines came to life. With a sparkling glow, the Esmeralda sped away from the Kartikay system, disappearing into the infinite black of space.  

An hour later, the little ship was zooming through the Beta Quadrant at a respectable warp four. McGovern had settled back in the pilot's seat, enjoying the view of passing stars. Back in the bay of the ship, Harper and Gordon had spent the time arranging their gear. They had managed to clear a path through to the cabins at the aft of the ship. Gordon emerged from the cabins with four rectangular packages all stacked in a pile. 

"Suppertime, folks," he announced. Harper looked up from her tricorder, where she had been tweaking her climbing program, and took the top package from the stack. 

"Pod packs," she observed. "Yum." 

"They're better than nothing," Gordon said. He handed out the remaining pod packs to the others. "There's not a lot of these, either, so we'd better make these last." 

Sitting in the ship's only four seats, the travelers ate in silence, except for Strickland, who kept making little frustrated grunts to himself. Long since awakened from his melancholy, he had spent over a half hour fussing with the antiquated co-pilot controls. 

"What is it you're doing?" McGovern finally asked, between bites. 

"Running simulations," Strickland explained. "She –- I mean, this ship is supposed to make warp five, but we're barely doing warp four," he explained. "We should've done a full maintenance check before we took off."

"Yeah, well," said Gordon, spooning up some generic protein from his pod pack, "we were kind of in a hurry."

"If it's all the same," Harper said, "I would just as soon not have to fight my way out of the next place we visit, if you don't mind." Gordon nodded in agreement. 

Strickland cleared his throat and looked at McGovern. "Speaking of fighting... Is it true what that one Klingon said about you? Way back on the Blue Corsair? Did you really kill a dozen Kru warriors at Clarinda, single-handedly?"

McGovern looked at Strickland for a moment, then shook his head with a sigh. "I never started that story," he said. "I came back from a recon, and everybody's talking about me. The story just kept getting better all by itself." He poked at his meal with his fork. "Man... you accidently kill one guy by tripping over him on your way to the latrine, and everything gets blown out of proportion..."

A light on the pilot's console started to blink. "Is there any water?" Harper asked. Gordon pointed to the rear of the ship. 

"I'll get a canteen." He stood and began to walk back towards the cabins. McGovern was still thinking of his tour of duty on Clarinda when he noticed the blinking light on the console. Just then, the light turned red. 

"Uh, oh," McGovern said. Strickland noticed the warning light just as McGovern shoved his meal packet off onto the floor. "Hang on!" he said, his fingers dancing across the controls. 

"What is it?" Harper said, the tone of the general's voice alerting her. 

"Inertia damper field fluctuating," Strickland said, pointing to the warnings scrolling across a data screen. 

"Drop out of warp," Harper said, but McGovern was already reducing speed. As the ship popped back into normal space, a ripple went through the warp field. The ship shuddered and lurched suddenly. 

"Okay, I got it, I got it," McGovern said, regaining control of the ship. Harper held onto her seat during the turbulance, but looked back in time to see Gordon lose his balance and fall hard against the starboard bulkhead. 

"Charlie!" she cried. The ship came to a full stop. Gordon was already sitting up when Harper appeared at his side. He frowned, sucking air through clenched teeth. He looked carefully at his left wrist, which he held immobile at his side. "Are you all right?" she asked. 
 

"Maybe... a fracture," Gordon said. With his right hand, he pointed past Harper. "Get my bag. Need... to run a scan." 

In the forward section, McGovern and Strickland already had a panel off the port bulkhead. "Here's the problem," he announced. "Some of the circuits in the compensator relay got jarred loose. We'll get this fixed in no time." McGovern found the ship's toolkit and was sorting through the jumbled pile of devices. 

Harper ran the med scanner over Gordon's exposed forearm, which had already started to swell. "Radius and ulna are intact," she said. "Looks like just a really bad bruise. That's not so bad." She touched the bruise, and Gordon jumped.

"Ow!" he said. "It's bad enough! Hand me the hypospray. I'll need a pain-killer." Harper withdrew the hypospray but held it out of his reach. 

"Hold on," she said. "I'm the doctor here." She loaded the device with anti-pain and anti-inflammatory medicine and applied it to his arm. Immediately, Gordon seemed to relax. She turned back to the bow. "How are we doing?"

"Compensator relay," McGovern reported. "Shouldn't take too long to fix."

"Come on," Harper said, pulling Gordon to his feet. "Let's find you a place to lie down. You'd better take it easy." 

"Thanks, Frannie," Gordon said. 

"Keep an eye on the scanners," Harper called up to Strickland. "There still might be pirates out there." McGovern waved, and Strickland nodded as he went back to work on the circuitry. 

The "cabins" in the back were basically cots with a privacy door, two starboard, two port, with barely enough room for a person to stand inside next to the cots. The only light came from a single dinner plate-sized panel in the ceiling. Harper got Gordon sitting down in the nearest cabin. "There you go. You'd better get some rest." She turned to leave. 

"Frannie," he said, his voice quiet as she stood in the doorway, "you don't have to go." He reached out and touched her hand. His touch sent an electric spark through her body. Her fingers coiled around his. She found herself drawn back, sitting down on the cot facing him. 

"I," she whispered, "I don't want to go, either." She felt his breath on her cheek as they faces drew closer. Their lips touched, just barely brushing against each other, then tighter and deeper as he pulled her into his arms. She reached around him, holding tight as they kissed, her fingers running through his thick brown hair. 

Their lips parted, and she opened her eyes to look at him. "Wait," she said, her voice low and hungry. She stood, and closed the cabin door. She turned to face him, leaning back against the door frame, her blouse opened slightly at the top, a hot smile on her face. 

In the forward section, McGovern had on his glasses, examining the compensator circuit. Strickland was seated opposite him, taking apart the frequency modulator. It was silent in the ship when they both heard the loud, metallic thunk of the door locking. Both stopped what they were doing. Both looked back at the cabin, then looked at each other. It was Strickland that spoke first. 

"Good."

"About time." 

They both went back to work.