Kirk scrolled through the report, suppressing a smile. Their latest discovery was a human society which showed none of the traits Commander Spock insisted were human trade marks. There was no recent history of active warfare, no outward expansionism, no sign of exploitation of the planet's resources beyond what was sustainable, no overpopulation, and no evidence that it was avoided through genocide, plague or starvation. And none of the obvious ills of stagnation either. This appeared to be a world whose inhabitants were in perfect harmony with themselves and their environment.

McCoy put his own copy of the report down. "I think we should just tiptoe away, Jim. What can we offer them? Their cities are beautiful. From the broadcasts we've picked up, their music is fit for angels. Our long range scans show no evidence of pollution..."

"What we can offer them, Bones, is protection from their nearest neighbours. So long as their larger environment includes the Klingon empire, they have a problem, even if they don't know it yet."

Spock shook his head. "There are anomalies. Our scans did reveal large stockpiles of low grade weapons."

McCoy shrugged. "Leftovers."

"This world does not conform to any of the usual patterns for human societies," the Vulcan insisted. "We have observed other worlds that you, or the captain, have compared to 'paradise'. All have turned out to be deeply flawed in one or more ways."

"Well, maybe this time they got it right," McCoy objected.

Kirk shrugged. "Maybe that's so, Bones, but whether we like it or not, the Klingons are part of the equation. We need to know whether they can use their weapons to defend themselves, or if we have to step in and offer our help."

"Or they might wish to ally themselves to the Empire," Spock pointed out correctly. "What is certain, however, is that a planet so rich in non-synthesisable elements will not be allowed to remain in its current peaceful isolation. One might even say that the Federation is fortunate that the Klingons give us an excuse to intervene." He raised an eyebrow provocatively.

"Open up a channel, Lieutenant," Kirk said before McCoy could splutter a response. "Since they have to choose, let's make sure the Empire doesn't strike them as the best option."

There was no response to their hail. Uhura tried another frequency band, and another.

"You were picking up broadcasts," Kirk said, coming to stand by her and look down at her panel.

"I don't want to use a public broadcast frequency," Uhura pointed out. "It could start a panic. I need to find a channel where somebody is listening out for unscheduled messages, navigation signals, or military traffic, but I haven't identified anything like that."

"This isn't usually a problem," Kirk said, after watching her monitoring and dismissing a multitude of frequencies.

She shook her head. "Their communications net just isn't set up to receive external traffic, and I can't identify government channels. Shall I risk breaking in on a private family conversation, or an educational broadcast?"

"No, of course not." The captain turned to look doubtfully at his science officer. "Are you sure this society is as advanced as we think? Wouldn't they have at least half an ear out for messages from outside?"

"There is evidence of space travel in the past. One of the planet's three moons has been visited at some point. There are artefacts at… four sites. Three resemble the by-products of expeditions similar to early Terran explorations of your own moon. The fourth looks like a crash site." The human members of the bridge crew glanced at one another while Spock continued to concentrate on his sensor readings. "But the remains are all approximately two to three hundred years old. These people no longer seem to be looking beyond their own world, Captain," Spock informed him. "In fact, their communications net is designed very elegantly for accurate signal transmission without interference from extra-planetary sources."

Kirk thought about it: an ideal society, that wasn't interested in the rest of the galaxy. It was a classic scenario from the Prime Directive book of when not to interfere. Only Klingons didn't read that book.

"Can you visually identify a military or government headquarters, somewhere we could land a shuttle without frightening anyone?"

McCoy barked a sharp laugh. "If you want a warm welcome, I'd recommend the kindergarten baseball square over an army camp any day, Captain."

Spock did not answer immediately. After a moment, the viewscreen flickered and showed a broad, green expanse that focused down to grass lawns and trees. Off to one side, there was a lake. Low, red-roofed buildings were laid out in neat rows. There were also a few long thatched huts a little way from the rest, and beyond those, larger, hanger-like structures and a runway. "This is the largest apparently military installation on the planet, Captain. There are very many similar, smaller developments."

"Just because they've got rows of huts, doesn't mean they're boot camps, Spock," McCoy objected. "Could be TB sanitoria."

"They coincide with concentrations of low yield explosives, armaments and aviation fuel," Spock pointed out. The doctor shrugged defeat.

Kirk looked over his shoulder at Uhura. "Still nothing obvious?"

"No, sir."

"We can't afford to make a mess of this. The Klingons have probably already noticed we're here. We need to establish a working relationship with these people quickly. So we don't want to offend them or terrify them, or waste time in the talking shop of some two horse community. Uhura..."

"I could interrupt a data stream from what appears to be a weather monitoring satellite. That way, we might at least get through to a scientist employed by the government."

"Yes, try that."

'Okay, who's messing around on my frequency?' a youthful female voice suddenly demanded.

Kirk grinned. "My apologies for interrupting your work, miss, but..."

'Oh, you bloody pilots. You'll be the first to complain when a storm front hits you without warning. Get off my wavelength, boy.'

"I'm not a pilot. This is..."

'Then get off the air before I track you down and have your balls fried for breakfast,' the lady snapped, her tone more indulgent than her words. Chekov and Sulu studiously didn't look at each other, but to Kirk it seemed like their shoulders were grinning.

"Madam..." he began again.

'Get .Off. My. Wavelength. Boy.'

"Sir..."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Kirk turned to Uhura, his statement beginning to betray a little impatience.

"If she's expecting horseplay from certain people, male people..."

"Okay, go ahead. Give her your best schoolmarm impression."

"Please identify yourself," Uhura said, politely but coolly.

'You talking to me, mum?' The woman suddenly sounded younger and slightly nervous.

"Yes .Please identify yourself."

'Gado verelles Garado, attendant in charge at the 47th Meteorological Station. Those pilots break in from time to time, mum, but it's only because they're bored.'

"Gado..."

'Garado, mum.'

"Garado, I need you to listen to me carefully. Okay?"

'Of course. I'm listening.'

Kirk smiled as Uhura took a steadying breath before plunging into the psyche-shattering announcement.

"I am Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications officer of the United Federation of Planets starship, the USS Enterprise, currently in orbit around your world. We do not intend you any harm. We wish to communicate with someone who has authority to speak on behalf of all the people of your planet." She waited a few seconds to let her words sink in. "Garado?"

'Uh, yeah, I'm still here. You're not kidding me, are you?'

"Do you have the means to track your weather satellites?"

'Yes, mum… I mean, yes, Lieutenant.'

"That's good. I broke into a downlink from a satellite in order to speak to you. Can you monitor that satellite?"

Sulu looked over his shoulder and Uhura nodded at him.

'I have it on my screen now, mum. It's in an equatorial orbit, currently...'

"That's the one. We're going to move it to an orbit..." There was now a complicated series of hand signals between Kirk's communications officer and helmsman, terminating with a thumbs up from Sulu. "...twenty percent higher than at present. Then we'll put it back. The manoeuvre should take… eleven point three minutes. We're going to start… now."

Chekov switched the viewscreen away from the planet's surface to show the satellite, a spiky construct of white metal, being picked up by their tractor beam.

'Oh… my...' Garado breathed with admirable restraint. 'I guess you're not kidding me. Twenty percent isn't necessary. You'd better put it back before someone else notices and panics.'

"Do you have a recording of that?" Uhura checked.

'I sure do. Let me just… I made a backup and I'm printing out hard copy of the telemetry.'

The lieutenant grinned and muttered, "Someone give that girl some candy," well away from her audio pickup.

'I suppose I should say something memorable, shouldn't I? Um… Welcome to Limina, Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, and peaceful greetings from all the citizens of Limina to the people of to the Federation of Planets. Will that do?'

"Perfectly .On behalf of the member worlds of the Federation of Planets I accept your greetings and thank you for your welcome. Now, Garado. Can you put me in touch with the appropriate person? And forward a copy of your records to..."

'The appropriate person? I'm… I'm not sure what you mean, mum.'

"Okay .Never mind that for the moment. Tell me, how is your society governed?"

'By democratic consensus.'

The answer came back quickly enough, but Kirk groaned at its implications. "Not just a two horse community; the whole damn planet is run by a talking shop."

Uhura ignored him. "Right .I see. Do you have an elected leader, a president?"

'Uh… no.'

"If there were a major disaster, say an earthquake, who would co-ordinate aid?"

'The emergency services; First Resort Service, then MedicMobile and FastFood, with temporary accommodation organised by SpeedShelter and...'

"Okay .You sound like a really well organised bunch of people. Now… This is not for real. We're not going to attack you, but who would you contact if you thought I was lying about that?"

Garado was silent.

"FastForces?" Sulu suggested sotto voce. "RapidRaiders?"

"ProntoParatroopers?" McCoy threw in. Kirk frowned at him.

'I guess I'd call the army, mum,' Garado answered eventually, sounding quite pleased with the idea. 'That's what they're for.'

"And who's in charge of the army?"

'The Grandfather.' Garado sounded a little doubtful. 'But I don't really know how you'd get in touch with him. I can tell you where he is. Um… the name of the place won't mean anything to you, will it? What if I give you cartographic co-ordinates?'

"We should be able to use that."

The woman rattled off some numbers which Sulu and Chekov argued over for a few seconds. Then Chekov switched the viewscreen back to Spock's original guess at the world military headquarters.

Kirk smiled and shook his head while Uhura thanked their informant and signed off.

"No time to waste," Kirk decided. "The less time we leave for rumours to spread, the better. We'll take a shuttle, and with luck, their air traffic control systems will pick us up. Once they see us, they'll probably use radio to try to get in touch. Uhura, I want you with me, but make sure your relief knows to monitor all channels from up here. If they do break their silence and contact us, that'll give us the frequency and protocols for communication." He glanced across at Spock. "So… You have the bridge, Mister Spock. As they're apparently human, I think you should stay here for now. Let's introduce them to one new idea at a time. Doctor McCoy..."

"Sir..."

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

Uhura turned away from her station. "Since we've been picking up their broadcasts, I've seen some dramatised history I think, and I've also watched a documentary on the works of one of their most celebrated visual artists. I realise that it's dangerous to leap to conclusions, but there seems to be a strong tradition that in negotiations of any kind, a deputation is made up of a senior officer, male, and a much younger male aide. As I say, it's historic, from the times when they had several opposing geopolitical groupings rather than a single, homogeneous society as appears to be the case now. But I think it would be recognised as appropriate. And there's no apparent female participation from either side." She looked disappointed, as if she was more than half hoping the captain would disregard her advice.

Kirk considered swiftly. "Put together a summary of any other pointers you think you might have identified. Mister Chekov, you can pilot the shuttle for me. Let's go."

***

The morning was fresh and bright, rain clouds just chasing away on a dying breeze as Chekov painstakingly followed the Liminal air traffic controllers' directions to the millimetre and brought the shuttle in to a perfect landing on a hard standing a couple of hundred metres from the main buildings on the site.

"Nicely done, Mister Chekov," Kirk said absently, rising from his seat as the ensign shut everything down and locked the shuttle controls.

"There is a welcoming party, Captain."

It seemed that Garado had passed on the news of their arrival to the right person after all. They were expected.

"Hm .The bigger the delegation, the longer the negotiations take." Kirk gestured at the crowd assembling outside. "Looks like we're here for a few days at least. "

"Phasers, Captain?"

"No .Leave them in the lockers. And if they ask to examine our communicators or tricorders, let them. If we should get into any trouble, Mister Scott is standing by to beam us out." He led the way down the steps and stopped face to face with a powerfully built middle-aged man. A younger Liminal hovered at his right hand. Kirk beckoned Chekov to take up a similar position next to him. The rest of the Liminals stayed a couple of paces back. They were visually a mixed bunch. All wore what Chekov guessed was uniform, shirt and pants in mid-grey, the older men with jerkins over their shirts. But skin colours and facial characteristics showed slightly more variation than Earth humans.

"Captain Kirk." The spokesman nodded regally. "I am Father Bargos, chief of staff here. I welcome you on behalf of the Liminal Armed Alliance." Bargos had skin of jet black, a broad, flattened nose and white hair cropped close to his head. His salt and pepper beard was similarly short, but grew over most of his jaw and cheeks, giving him the appearance of a benign and wizened monkey. A few of the older men looked as if they were naturally free of facial hair, but otherwise all were bearded. Among the younger Liminals, it seemed normal to be clean shaven.

There were further introductions and formalised greetings. One by one, the older members of the welcoming party stepped forward, each one shadowed by a younger man. The youngsters said nothing, and weren't introduced. Then, the opening ceremony plainly completed, Bargos stepped forward again.

"I presume your visit to Limina is for some specific purpose, Captain. May I suggest that you tell us about it. Let's go inside where we can talk in comfort."

As they turned to go, six further Liminals, wearing shoulder holsters, took up positions around the shuttle. Kirk glanced at Bargos, who smiled. "To keep the curious away, Captain. If you require access, I will give the order to allow it. Please, follow me."

Kirk nodded easily and fell in beside Bargos, while Chekov and the older man's shadow walked behind them, exchanging curious glances.

The ensign had little to do during the initial meeting. He carefully observed the younger Liminal men, picked up that they appeared to act as secretaries and gophers, and copied them as far as possible, only offering an opinion when Kirk directly sought it. By lunch time, as a result, he was getting restless, although he hid it well enough. Kirk was almost as restless himself: the pleasantries and generalities seemed to be lasting well beyond what was strictly necessary. When Bargos suggested Chekov might like to 'get some fresh air, this afternoon, and meet a few of us informally', the captain accepted the invitation immediately.

"Try to find out something concrete: anything concrete," he briefed the ensign discretely over lunch. "All we've learned this morning is that they're as fond of stuffy meeting rooms, uncomfortable chairs and the sound of their own voices as a bunch of Starfleet admirals."

***

Almost as soon as Chekov had disappeared with a group of the younger Liminals, Bargos reappeared. "This afternoon..."

"Is it possible for us to meet with the Grandfather?"

"You misunderstood me, Kirk. The Grandfather will not deal with this until my colleagues and I have spoken to you at some length, and formed a judgement. We must identify the options open to him, and develop alternative strategies to achieve an optimal outcome. Only then can we make our recommendations, which he will almost certainly accept. There is no real need for you to see him. He is an old man, and no longer in the best of health."

"So this afternoon, we'll continue where we left off this morning?"

Bargos nodded. "If you're not too tired after this morning?"

Kirk smiled. "Not at all, Bargos. Not at all."

***

By the end of the afternoon, however, Kirk was very tired indeed of Liminal procrastination. At the close of business, he'd been taken to the quarters he was to share with Chekov. The officer escorting him paused to see if he was happy with the accomodation. It was a large, sparsely furnished room, full of light from a generous window whose small, square panes bowed outward slightly, giving a broad view of trees, grass, and neatly tended flower beds. Outside, the sun was getting low in the sky, clipping the tree tops.

The captain glanced around distractedly at the facilities. A door to a gleaming bathroom, cupboards, a table and two padded chairs, a broad wooden framed bed…

He'd been suspecting all day that the older Liminal officers were paired sexually with their shadows. The lone bed, along with a multitude of subtle gestures between the natives, seemed to confirm this. He sighed, hoping Chekov would turn out to be a quiet sleeper.

"That's fine, thank you."

"If you need anything, there's always someone around," the Liminal assured him, before closing the door.

Kirk turned on his tricorder and settled down to study Uhura's lengthy dissertation on Liminal diplomacy. He reckoned he had time to look at some of the background, not just the conclusions, and paged first to the literary excerpts and clips of lavish costume dramas. The first thing that struck him was that it was all horribly out of date. Speech patterns were different, mannerisms changed. And there was something wrong with the way the characters were represented that seemed to go beyond mere cultural variation. He couldn't put his finger on what had unsettled him, but he was beginning to consider the exercise a waste of time anyway. The Federation council would not be impressed by someone who turned up today behaving like a papal envoy from sixteenth century Earth. Uhura had done her best but been unable to find anything that gave any contemporary guidelines, like news reports of political activity, or proceedings from a legislature. Truly, the Liminals no longer seemed to have a government in any form that an outsider could come to grips with. He sighed and placed the tricorder on the table, looking out of the window. Their shuttle was within view, a few hundred metres away. He had another reason to worry. Uhura had identified several dramas and historical reconstructions in which the traditional two man deputation became hostages when negotiations failed to progress, or the home team began to suspect they were not going to get what they wanted.

Kirk realised he was missing Spock, or Bones, someone to bounce some ideas off. He could speak to them, of course, but neither had been there to pick up the unspoken currents in the meeting. And Chekov had been gone for several hours. There was a fair amount of coming and going outside the window, but no sign of the ensign.

He restlessly paced the length of the room, beginning to feel an unreasonable irritation with the navigator. After all, as a guest of the Liminals, Chekov was no more master of his situation than Kirk was at the moment. Presumably they'd bring him back when they were good and ready. Kirk could only hope that they were truly as benign as they appeared and that Chekov would return in good condition.

There was a sudden eruption of noise in the corridor outside the door, full throated laughter in a variety of pitches from bass to alto. It sounded good-natured.

Kirk returned to his seat by the table. There was nothing to be gained by letting them think he was worried.

The door swung open and Chekov entered. Kirk immediately pushed to his feet. "What the..."

Then he realised that Chekov was smiling, a little awkwardly, and that his uniform was dripping mud, not anything more sinister.

"What the hell have you been doing?"

One of the middle aged Liminal officers came into the room behind the ensign. "He's been on the assault course, Captain. I'd have sent him to the showers with the others, but I wasn't sure they… I thought he should come back here to clean up. I'll make sure someone brings clean clothes."

Chekov was clutching his boots in his arms, but he was still trailing mud behind him.

Kirk experienced a rush of anger that told him he'd been more worried than he'd admitted even to himself. If he wasn't careful, it would come out as a totally misplaced tirade about their hosts' floors.

"Get in the bathroom."

"Yes, Captain."

Chekov vanished through the door. Kirk looked back at his chair, then at the trail of footprints. He decided to clean them up as a gesture of solidarity. He had no excuse to sound even mildly annoyed.

He pushed the bathroom door open just as Chekov was pulling off the last of his clothes and dropping them into the little tub that doubled as a hip bath and shower tray. "Is there anything in here I can use as a floor cloth?"

"I'll clean up, Captain."

"I've had nothing to do most of the afternoon. I want to wash the floor. Believe me."

"There are plenty of towels." Chekov leaned across the shower tub and pulled a small one off a shelf. There was still mud dripping out of his hair into his eyes.

"What did they do to you?" Kirk asked, accepting it. "I thought the idea of an assault course was to get over the mud, not crawl through it."

"You get over it, then someone pushes you into it. They did not seem to take the exercise very seriously."

Kirk turned the shower on to soak the towel. He looked down into the tub as he wrung the excess moisture out of the fabric. "Two-seater showers. Do you think that's intended as an economy measure?" He glanced up at Chekov, smiling, but the ensign's statement clamped down into a bad-tempered frown.

"Never mind." Kirk sighed inwardly. Chekov had obviously realised what the local customs were and wasn't prepared to see the funny side of it.

It was going to be a long three days.

***

Ten minutes later, Chekov emerged from the bathroom, one hand firmly clutching a single towel toga-style with his hair in rat tails. "They said they'd bring me some clean clothes..."

Kirk frowned. Someone had indeed come by and picked up the muddy uniform Chekov had discarded, and they couldn't reasonably be expected to launder and return it this evening, but he still wasn't keen to have Chekov blend into the background too much on this assignment. He didn't feel he'd communicated the urgency of the Klingon threat to his hosts. Any reminder that the Liminals had aliens in their midst, he felt, would be a good thing.

"They only just took your uniform. Maybe they wanted to use it to check your size. So, anything to report?"

"Well, yes. I talked with two Liminal officers about their culture. It's… a little strange."

"Hm ?How?"

There was a firm but quiet knock on the wooden door into their room. Chekov clutched his towel a little tighter and made no move to answer it, which Kirk had to recognise was sensible. If this was some Liminal dignitary come calling, an accident with a bath towel might not go down too well. He waved the ensign off to the bathroom and opened the door himself. "Don't worry. They've brought your clothes. Come on in."

He stood aside, and the most mismatched pair of young men he could ever remember seeing accepted his invitation. One was as tall and fair as the other was small and dark. They smiled respectfully. The tall one looked nervous, his companion pugnacious.

"Thank you," Kirk said, seeking to set them at ease. "Ensign Chekov appreciates it."

"We spent the afternoon with Pavel, showing him around the camp, Captain. Oh, this is Dirs, and I'm Inya. We… uh, we wondered if he might want some help getting these on right. I remember when I had my first uniform. I came out with my undershirt back to front and the laces all threaded down my sleeves..." The blond giggled a little. Kirk suddenly realised the Liminal was wearing glitter on his face. At least, he assumed he was wearing it, that it wasn't natural. None of the older Liminals he'd talked to that day had sparkled.

"Oh, shut up," the darker man said. "Excuse him, Captain, he always talks too much."

Kirk glanced across at Chekov, who seemed to be struggling to come up with an excuse to decline the offer of help. "Sure .Give him a hand."

The two of them swept the ensign into the bathroom like a pair of determined retailers escorting a customer to the fitting rooms. With a slightly alarmed statement, Chekov vanished behind the closed door.

Kirk pulled his tricorder back out. Now that he knew Chekov was safe, he could concentrate.

***

"You need to get your hair cut properly," Inya complained to Chekov, trying it in one style then another, none of which apparently suited him. "I know..."

Dirs was called over to assist, and before Chekov could politely decline, his newly dried hair had been plastered to his scalp with a light, nutmeg scented oil from the shelves in the bathroom.

"Better .Now..."

His new clothes left his shoulders bare, which both of his self-appointed dressers seemed to approve of. The white singlet was cut deeply around his arms, and short in the body, leaving his stomach bare. The three quarter length pants by contrast were high-waisted and tight. He looked, dismayed, at the large mirror, then realised that what he was wearing was more or less the same outfit as the other two. He was probably less conspicuous like this than in his Starfleet uniform, but he couldn't help wishing they'd provided him with something more like the outfits they'd been wearing during the day.

"And your face..." Inya produced a tray of colours that had been hidden under the folded clothes and handed it to Dirs.

"I don't think I..."

"But you look half dressed." Inya laughingly pinned Chekov to the tiled wall. Dirs pulled up a stool and knelt on it, sitting on his heels, so that he could work comfortably with the brushes and pigments. Chekov didn't struggle, afraid that Inya might not let him go. He preferred hoping that he would to knowing he wouldn't .

When Dirs finished and backed away, letting Chekov see himself in the mirror opposite, he was amazed. "That's… okay." He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but there seemed to be a vaguely familiar vid star, a good looking one, gazing curiously back at him. He couldn't pinpoint differences, until he stepped closer to the mirror, and saw the shades of darker colour around his eyes, the highlighting along the top of his cheeks. Now that he was relaxed enough to examine the Liminals, he could see that they were both wearing cosmetics. Dirs seemed to have chosen subtle shades close to his own colouring. Inya hadn't .He glittered like a Christmas card.

Inya released Chekov and sat down on the stool himself. "Come on, genius," he exhorted Dirs, picking up a damp washcloth and wiping over his face. "Make me beautiful too."

Chekov ignored the two natives, engrossed in his own transformation. Dirs had emphasised his Russian cheekbones, even though that wasn't a local characteristic, and made his nose look narrower, somehow and turned his whole complexion into a kind of porcelain. He touched his cheek, half surprised to find it still warm and flexible.

"We're ready!"

Dirs silently put away his brushes and washed his hands, while Inya turned his face to both sides to let Chekov admire whatever improvements Dirs had made. The ensign smiled politely. He couldn't see any difference to the earlier version.

"How much longer is this going to take?"

Kirk stood in the doorway to the bathroom, frowning. Dirs let his hands fall to his sides, spilling a frosting of golden powder on the tiled floor. Chekov pushed past him and out into the bedroom beyond, followed by the captain.

"I think they have finished."

Kirk carefully inspected the ensign, top to toe. "Hm .You don't think you're going too far, do you?"

"Well, I… They all wear… colour, and… During the day, they don't look as striking, but apparently they wear more… uh, cosmetics in the evening."

"I see." Kirk didn't seem convinced. "Well, if they've finished making you over, could they go now? I need to call the ship, and I don't want those two giggling in the background."

Chekov nodded hastily. He ducked back into the bathroom, which Dirs had restored to its former immaculate condition. Chekov shut the door but before he could start a polite explanation for their having to leave, Inya did it for him. "He's jealous!" the man exclaimed.

Chekov was about to deny all this, then he stopped. In view of what he'd learned that afternoon, perhaps he shouldn't contradict Inya's interpretation of events. He shrugged. "Inya, please..."

"No problem. Go make nice to him." The Liminal scooped up his belongings and pushed Dirs towards the door. Then he turned back to Chekov and unexpectedly kissed him. "We'll see you tonight."

The ensign was left in the bathroom. He put a hand up to where Inya's lips had pressed on his own.

When he emerged into the living area a minute later, determined that it meant nothing, Kirk was sitting with his communicator, a glass of wine by his side. Despite the frustration in his voice, he looked quite at home.

"...No, I wouldn't say we were making much progress. We can afford to give it another three days. In the mean time, I want as much analysis of the industrial base and technological capability of this planet as you can get from sensors. I'm going to have great difficulty getting that kind of information from down here. We're in military hands and that appears to be a completely separate outfit from government and commerce."

Chekov tuned out. He wandered over to the window and helped himself to a drink from the jug of wine on the sill.

"So what's strange about it?" Kirk had signed off . He looked at the rather full glass in Chekov's hands and shook his head. "Don't have too much of that. You said their culture was strange in some way."

"Sir ?Oh. Well. The segregation of males and females, mostly. I'm not used to it."

"Hm .I realise that there are no women among the Liminals we've dealt with officially, but I saw a couple of female gardeners this morning. And I thought I caught sight of a cook when we were eating at midday. So the mud bath this afternoon was men only?"

Chekov grinned a little. "Thank god. I don't think I looked my best."

"Well, an all male military, that's not so odd, really. A couple of hundred years ago, you probably could have spent two or three years working on an American or Russian army base, and only seen a woman if you got sick and needed nursing."

"But a group of men would talk about women, one way or another. This is more like a… a..."

Kirk shook his head. "Maybe they're being careful what they say to you. After all, they don't know what your taboos and prejudices are."

Chekov sat down in the spare chair and took a deep swallow of his wine. "I don't think Dirs and Inya know how to be careful."

"Hm .Not quite your practical, Starfleet types, are they?"

"But they are soldiers, yet… It all seems to be a game. The assault course was… just an excuse to fool around. Before that, we were supposed to be target training, but there wasn't enough space. The practice ground was far too small for the power of the weapons. It was ridiculous."

Kirk smiled. "Maybe they want us to think they're incompetent."

"Oh, yes," Chekov conceded. "But then, if it is just to deceive us, why keep such big guns on such a small site? They had been in place for some time, and I don't think the buildings beyond the boundary were constructed today for our benefit."

"Well, you can try to solve that mystery if you like. Was there anything else you saw?"

Chekov shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. I was with junior officers. I'm not even sure they truly are officers. They have no rank badges, that I could see. And they don't appear to use titles. An older man gave some instructions, and Dirs seemed to be responsible for implementing them. I thought I saw some children watching the exercise, boys of about ten or twelve. But… nothing else. I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be, just so long as you keep your eyes open. I don't want either of us to offend anyone by being too curious. Were your two friends willing to answer questions?"

"Not really. They seemed to misunderstand when I asked about government and economics. In fact..."

"Yes?"

"They only really seemed interested in talking about sex."

Kirk spluttered into his wine. "Is that a problem?"

"They… kept talking about the other men we were with. Saying who was attractive, who was paired with whom and… that kind of thing. They..."

"Mm?" Kirk was wearing an amused smile that Chekov suddenly found very annoying.

"I suppose it is not important."

"No, it probably isn't .So they wouldn't talk about anything else?"

"Eventually .Dirs told me..."

The door opened slightly and the captain stood up. "Yes?"

A young Liminal, not one either of them had seen before, came into the room. "Father Bargos asked me to inform you that dinner will be served shortly. You're invited to join the Fathers."

Kirk nodded. "Does that mean now?"

"Yes, Father… uh, Captain Kirk."

"Thank you. Come on, Chekov. You must have worked up an appetite this afternoon, splashing around in that swamp. You can tell me what Dirs had to say later, for what it's worth. Let's see what's on offer."

***

Kirk walked into the dining room with Chekov at his side, but noticed immediately that the Liminals had grouped themselves broadly according to age, or maybe rank. It was hard to tell if rank existed as a concept apart from age, in the absence of any obvious insignia. No one was in uniform now. The older men dressed differently, but that struck Kirk more as a matter of taste or fashion than a reflection of status. Most wore a short sleeveless jacket that flared out to enormous fullness at the lower hem. The basic shape was always the same, but the patterns of stripes and chevrons were each unique. The younger men showed off flat muscular stomachs under their cut off singlets. They wore brighter colours, and cosmetics, of course. Seeing them all together Kirk wondered how he could have failed to notice it before. Chekov blended in alarmingly. "I think you should go mix with the junior officers," Kirk told him softly.

"Can I just have a glass of wine first?" the ensign pleaded.

The captain laughed. "Go ahead." He let Chekov pour a glass for each of them from the self-service bar, then headed off to join Bargos. The dining room was a deep veranda. The outer wall consisted of blinds, and these had been rolled up. Outside, neat lawns sloped down to a lake. The sun was setting.

"Isn't it a glorious evening, Kirk?" Bargos boomed good-naturedly. "Impossible to believe that rose tinted sky holds alien hordes ready to despoil our bodies and raze our cities to rubble, eh?"

It was exactly the message Kirk had been trying to get across all day, but Bargos still seemed to regard it as a joke. Biting back his irritation, the captain played with his glass. "I think what the Klingons probably have in mind is some highly inequitable schemes to purchase your mineral resources at rock bottom prices and exploit your work force, but… It's a beautiful sunset, yes."

Bargos chuckled. "And speaking of sights to charm the eyes, I see Ensign Chekov has adopted our native dress. It suits him."

Kirk glanced back into the main part of the room. Chekov had joined up with Dirs and Inya as part of a larger group of Liminal officers. He was laughing at something, but Kirk knew him well enough to see that he was tense still. And it occurred to Kirk now that Chekov didn't usually drink wine at all. Something must be bothering him, something that he hadn't wanted, or felt able, to tell his captain. Making a mental note to ask him about it directly before the day was over, Kirk allowed himself to be drawn towards one of the two long tables that almost filled the room. Bargos pulled out a chair for him and sat down in the next place. A few moments later, another, older Liminal came and took the empty place on the other side, and dishes of food began to appear, delivered to the table by women wearing white tunics. Their manner was utterly formal, and brisk, discouraging any attempt at conversation. Kirk decided to concentrate on business instead.

"So, did you come to any conclusions this afternoon?"

"Let me refill your glass, Captain. It's a wonderful wine, isn't it? Do you have anything like this noble beverage at home?"

"We do, but I prefer the stronger spirit we distil from it. It's called brandy. Perhaps I could arrange for my ship to send some down..."

"You distil wine, to concentrate the alcohol? Well… That idea hasn't occurred to our brewers, or the ladies have kept the secret from us." Bargos laughed. "I should like to try it, yes, perhaps when our negotiations are complete. Until then, I think I need a clear head. This is a Southern vintage. More flavour, and alcohol, but less finesse. You must try the other bottle too. And some of this excellent roast meat. It's a little spicy, I'm afraid; overpowers the wine. Try it."

Kirk sniffed the bouquet, then sipped from his newly filled glass and smiled his appreciation. "It is excellent. Do you think tomorrow..."

"Brandy, eh? It sounds like an excellent notion. For men who can hold their wine. Do you allow young Chekov to drink it?"

"I don't think he's particularly partial to it. He prefers vodka, a spirit brewed and distilled from grain. It's a traditional product of the part of Earth where he was born."

Thus encouraged, Bargos started to say something about the different wines produced by his own native province. Kirk answered politely, but he'd noticed one of the servers exchanging a couple of words with a Liminal officer at the end of the table, and she was working in his direction, collecting empty dishes. He waited until she slipped an arm between him and Bargos to retrieve a serving platter, then turned to her with a smile.

"The meat is delicious. Thank you."

She stopped and looked at him curiously. "You're welcome, I'm sure." The dish clattered onto the pile already balanced on her other arm, and she bore it away to the kitchen.

"...Although the region is better known for its livestock..."

Kirk scowled inwardly and began paying attention to Bargos again. If Bargos wouldn't talk business, and the women were so unsociable, at least he could learn something about Liminal agriculture. Chekov might be having more luck.

He checked again. The ensign was sitting between Dirs and Inya at the other table — Kirk realised belatedly that the age divide extended to the seating arrangements — and listening, with every sign of conscientious attention, to a third Liminal. Someone was refilling his glass. Chekov picked it up immediately, then, as if he knew he was observed, glanced across the room. Kirk shook his head and the ensign put the glass back down.

***

The meal over, the older men took their drinks out onto the terrace. The younger men finished eating too and scattered among their seniors. Chekov suddenly realised that Dirs and Inya had abandoned him. The fading daylight was supplemented by lanterns and it took him a moment to locate Kirk in the shadows. The captain was with a group of senior officers, Bargos among them. The Liminal noticed Chekov before Kirk did. He smiled and nodded approval. Kirk caught the gesture. He moved to make a space on the bench for Chekov to join him. Dirs sat opposite, his feet up on the bench, leaning against an older man. He smiled at Chekov too, but didn't say anything, for once. The man he was with had iron grey hair and skin weathered into leathery wrinkles. He was listening intently to Bargos and drinking steadily. Whenever he emptied his glass, Dirs refilled it. Kirk's glass sat forgotten on the table beside him.

"Chekov?"

The ensign jerked awake. There was a full, reddish moon in the sky. He must have been dozing for over an hour. The seats around them were empty, and the air had turned quite cool.

"I'm sorry, sir." He reached for the hem of his shirt to pull it straight and found himself tugging on air. Then he realised that Bargos, not Kirk, had addressed him. "Sir?"

"Fill the captain's glass."

Chekov blinked, then felt himself blush at the implied criticism. He picked the jug up and did as he was told, then settled back into his seat.

Bargos and Kirk were talking about power generation, or at least the captain was. Bargos was nodding politely.

"In our own culture we've found that communal ownership of assets and resources leads to inefficiency. Wasn't that the case in Communist Russia, Chekov?"

Sleep and wine had clouded the ensign's wits and he wasn't prepared for giving historical commentary. He straightened. "Yes, sir. Um. Electrical power was free, and buildings were not designed to conserve heat. That is one example. But charges for public transport were also artificially low, and that is still the case in most modern societies. It has been recognised to be efficient on a macro-economic scale, even though an individual may make unnecessary journeys. And one could argue that it was more efficient to waste cheaply generated electricity than to have the hospitals full of avoidable cases of pneumonia."

Kirk patted the ensign on the shoulder. "Go back to sleep. You're making me look stupid."

"Yes, sir… I mean..."

"What is he?" Bargos pointed at Chekov. "I don't understand his function."

"He's a member of my crew, a junior officer. In normal circumstances, he's a navigator, but for the moment..."

"He's very young, isn't he? Very inexperienced?"

Chekov tried not to take the comment personally, but Kirk didn't allow him time to reply.

"He's one of the better navigators in Starfleet. It's a matter of natural ability as much as age and experience. And by being here, he's gaining the experience to become a commander. Just as your younger officers are..."

"Yes," Bargos conceded. "They observe, they learn. We all studied in that way to become leaders. But… you ask his opinion, consider his judgement. Do you expect us to do the same?"

Kirk shrugged. "Well, if that's not customary for you, we're happy to fit in with your way while we're here. I think it's a waste of Mister Chekov's talents to limit him to opening doors and pouring drinks, but..."

"Quite .And that's the other thing that arouses question."

"Yes?" Kirk prompted helpfully, but Bargos dipped his long, crooked nose into his glass and didn't surface until he was ready.

"You have to understand, Kirk. I'm old. The passion has burned down. I've been promised the end of the world on account of my follies until I begin to feel cheated that it never happened. This makes me tolerant, but don't assume that younger men, and men of more tradition, will be so easy on you."

"What have I done that might offend them?" the captain asked simply.

"You spoke to one of the kitchen workers. And the gardeners, you walked among them when we stopped to rest before lunch."

"And that isn't allowed?"

"Allowed?" Bargos seemed surprised. "Of course, all things are allowed to the Fathers. But why would you want to talk to them?"

Kirk shrugged now. "I'm interested in your culture. Since your division of labour, between military and domestic or commercial, is so complete, I can only learn more by speaking to the women."

"They don't know anything of any military significance," Bargos said negligently.

Kirk frowned at the Liminal's narrow viewpoint. Munitions factories were as important as guns, and food supply chains were more vulnerable to attack in the fields than in armed convoys. "Of course," he agreed, "but I enjoy their company."

Bargos spat into his glass. "Then it's true."

"What?"

"That you are a..." He stopped, as if searching for a term that would be acceptable in the current well mannered discussion. "You are one who enjoys the company of women."

"Yes .Is that unusual here?"

"Don't admit it to anyone else." Bargos looked anxiously around the half-deserted terrace. "Not to anyone. There are men of fever who would kill you for it first and worry about retaliation from the Federation only as they dug a pit for your body."

"Very well. Thank you for the warning," Kirk agreed amiably. "I'll try to pretend the women don't exist."

"You're laughing at me!" Bargos slammed the glass down. "They exist. We know this. We had mothers, and our sons have mothers and their sons shall have mothers. One merely… one doesn't have to..." He stumbled, throwing another awkward glance at Chekov. "Does he know how your species propagates itself?"

"I think so," Kirk responded dryly.

"And presumably he has been warned then of the dangers of this, the way a man is weakened by the touch of a woman, how she drains his strength and his courage during mating, how she wastes his power by demanding his attentions while she is nursing or pregnant, how her body turns his power into milk for the baby, even if it is only a girl. And into potency for herself."

"Well..." Kirk began, not sure how vehemently to protest this point of view.

"And it's unnatural!" Bargos exclaimed. "How many sons can one woman bear, in good health? Five? Ten? And yet how many times does she demand the produce of a man's body? It drains the will of the Warrior class. No, we'll have none of it. We give our power to our young men, to build their spirit. We pay women, and lie with them, so that they can bear sons for us. We forgive them," he admitted generously, "their daughters."

"That's all very different to the way we organise our lives," Kirk said brightly. "But I'm sure your social arrangements, like ours, are well suited to your environment and the particular character of your species."

"They are." Bargos spoke without irony. "In the past, other ways have been tried. Those tribes have vanished. Their young men were mesmerised by the soft bodies of women, and by wives who caressed them and brought them sweetmeats. But there came a time when the men realised that old women took young boys into their beds, and men and women became disillusioned with one another. Or they were weak, and easily defeated in battle. Who can tell; they've passed into history. And those who remain, men and women, are friends and partners in running our world. But at a distance. They in the factories, in the kitchens, on the land..."

"They provide the labour..."

"No, Captain," Chekov interrupted hesitantly. "All the land is owned and controlled by the women, along with industry, banking systems, communication nets. They run all the social administration, research, everything. That was what I was going to tell you before..."

"I see what he's for," Bargos said glacially. "An ear for you among our young men and their foolish chatter… They mistake him for one of themselves and talk like rivers in spate..."

"I asked only general questions, quite openly. And I answered their questions," Chekov protested. "I'm not a spy."

"Perhaps not," Bargos conceded. "Go on then. The captain is listening."

"Well..." Chekov was disconcerted at receiving permission from Bargos rather than Kirk. "That was all, really. Boys stay with their mothers until they're about seven years old, then they go off with the men. And that's practically the last contact they have with anyone female, except as… "

"Except when they're fathering children."

"None of the people I was talking to seemed to know anything about that, Captain. So I didn't really ask about it. They know women as the people who do everything that isn't military, but they never get close to them. They don't seem to want to. It's as if they're frightened of them."

"And did you tell them that we're different?" Kirk asked worriedly. It wouldn't help to have both of them lynched for blatant heterosexuality due to an ill-timed revelation.

"I started to, Captain, but… They seemed to misunderstand me. Some of the younger boys are very homesick when they first leave their mothers. They interpreted what I said in that way."

"No," Bargos said. He was smiling. "No, young as you are, I think you are past crying for your mother. That's a polite way of referring to a stage many young men go through. They hang around at the kitchen door and beg biscuits from the cooks and people laugh and say they're missing their mothers. But they are simply unsure of their feelings, their passions. They settle down within a few months, as young warriors. It means nothing. In most cases. But if a woman is tempted to take advantage of such naiveté… Or if a man of maturer judgement behaves in the same way..."

"We don't want to offend anyone, Father Bargos," Kirk said, very openly. "Is it enough for me to simply show no interest in the female members of your race?"

Bargos considered. "As men age, their passions flux and fade like the moons. There is no need for you to be lustful, as some Fathers are. But an outward compliance with our forms would be easier. For us and for you, probably." He hesitated. "I will be honest. Neither you, nor the news you bring us, is welcome. Many of the fathers don't wish to listen to you. They would like to believe that if they don't listen, you and your Klingons will turn out to be a bad dream. The more you seem like creatures from a nightmare, the easier it is for them to believe it. And also… The young men are sometimes thoughtless. If you seem not to have any regard for Chekov here, others may think he is available. He'll be teased; perhaps, without the armour of your regard for him, seduced by an older youth. But you must decide what to do."

Bargos pushed to his feet and departed, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.

"'Creatures from a nightmare...' Well, Mister Chekov." Kirk put down his empty glass then gave his navigator a conspiratorial smile. "I can't have you seduced by an older man, or let you get yourself into trouble because you euphemistically miss your mother. Are you prepared to play Patroclus to my Achilles, in public?"

Chekov looked alarmed. "To your… Well… If it is necessary."

"I think it is, or… perhaps Bargos is exaggerating the risk so that we'll behave in that way for reasons of his own. But if we're to make any progress here, Chekov, I think we have to be more acceptable rather than less."

"But what if this is a dead end, Captain?"

Kirk frowned. "You're saying that we should be talking to the women anyway? Why?"

"I tried to discover how their system works. The military is paid the proceeds of a… an army levy. A tax, effectively, to pay for the armed forces. They use it to procure equipment and pay wages. The wages are then used for quarters and rations, and, I suppose, to pay mothers for bearing children. But the levy has not been changed, in purchasing power, for generations. For about as long as the whole planet has been at peace. And they are not under threat from anywhere else, at least until now. This world doesn't need an army. I think the whole thing is a trick..."

"So that the men can carry on playing soldiers although they're effectively redundant?"

"No, sir. To keep them out from under the women's feet."

Kirk stared at him for a moment, then started to laugh. "Yes, you might be right. The men have their keep, guns to play with, enough sex, with each other, obviously, to keep them more than content, and a load of folk beliefs that frighten them off considering any alternatives. Meanwhile the women have the power, influence and all the increase in living standards that modern technology can provide. Well then, we are talking to the wrong people. I hope Uhura can work out a way to talk to the right ones, but she hasn't reported any success so far. They'll talk apparently, but they won't come to any conclusions. So we'd better be model soldiers on the outside while we work out an effective and discreet way to cross the divide. If there are women in a position to make decisions, Bargos probably knows them. We need him to trust us and make the introduction. Are you going to have any difficulty playing along?"

"Captain, if you had to pretend you were married to a female officer, for some reason, no one would think anything of it, would they?"

"I don't imagine so." McCoy would tease him within an inch of his life, Kirk reflected, but most people would treat such a charade as no different to native costume. "And most of it looks like polite subservience for you rather than sexual licence for me." Kirk hesitated, unsure how to calm whatever fears Chekov might have. "Look, if anything happens that bothers you, you can call a halt. And our quarters are private. It doesn't have to come inside that door."

"No, sir."

Kirk looked around at the near empty garden. Almost everyone had gone. A lone Liminal was going around extinguishing the lamps. No one was within earshot. The captain took out his communicator.

"Captain," Uhura acknowledged crisply. "Are you in company?"

"Just the two of us."

"We've received intelligence reports that the Klingons are moving resources into this sector. It seems likely that Limina would be an early target for an approach under the terms of the Organian treaty. Command has increased the priority of this mission to an Alpha Plus."

"Noted," Kirk said, picking up his near empty wine glass and looking distinctly unruffled by the news.

"We've also lost contact with the civilian population of Limina. They've stopped talking to us. They didn't give a reason, or even a warning. The channels we were using were operational one moment, dead the next."

Kirk put the glass down and sat up. "Have you any idea what might have caused that? Can you summarise what was said on both sides in the lead up..."

"No, Captain. I don't think I can. We were getting lots of questions, and answers to our questions, but they weren't coming from a central point. We might have said something that scared someone, but I can't pinpoint it. I've reviewed what we said..."

"We ?Who's been talking to them, apart from you?"

"Once we connected to the Liminal net, Captain, we were receiving communications from individuals all over Limina, simultaneously. I brought in some of my staff to help deal with it, within strictly defined parameters. The Liminals appear to have no concept of a chain of command, or a spokesperson. When I tried to deal with everything, it just looked to them as if they weren't getting through and we were refusing to talk. Mister Spock approved..."

"No criticism intended. Okay, so it's down to me. Let me know if anything changes. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Good night, Captain."

Kirk closed his communicator. "Hm .The ladies won't talk at all, and Bargos and his colleagues won't talk about anything that matters." He stood up and stretched. "I hadn't noticed how cold it is now. You must be frozen. Let's get indoors. And let's make it look as if we're going to bed."

Chekov picked up his wine glass. "If you say so." He lifted the still half-full goblet to his lips.

"Hold on!" Kirk took it out of his hand and put it back down on the table. "We'll be having a strategy meeting once we're private, not an orgy. I want you to have a clear head." Kirk put his arm round Chekov's shoulders. "Come on. No Dutch courage required."

***

They walked slowly back to their quarters, exchanging greetings with the few Liminals they passed on the way. Kirk was thinking, hard. Bargos' unwillingness to make any moves could mean several things. One, the most worrying, was that it was a stalling tactic, while preparations for war were made behind the scenes. Uhura's problems might support that view, although Kirk would have expected more subtlety than the wall of silence she was suddenly encountering. Alternatively, Bargos might simply be acting as a front while the real power brokers assessed the situation and decided their strategy. If that was the case, Kirk needed to identify them, and give them a kick up the backside.

The moment the door closed behind them, Kirk turned eagerly to his ensign. He waved him to one of the chairs and took the other himself. "I'm boxed in, Chekov. Bargos won't talk to me about anything that matters, and he's blocking any move I make to talk to anyone else. I need to know what's going on, particularly if they're making any military preparations. How much freedom do you really have to move around and talk to people? How much technical stuff are they letting you see?"

"I'm never left alone, and I don't think any of the equipment I've handled has been vital to them, or useful to us."

"What do you mean by 'not alone' ?Just with other junior officers like yourself, or supervised by older men?"

"Always with at least two other officers," Chekov confirmed reluctantly. "And when we were handling weapons today, there were more senior men there, always."

"Were you ever alone with those two who were in here this evening?"

"Yes .I spent most of the afternoon with them. I think they've been told to stay with me."

"Have you talked to them, about why we're here?"

"They are curious about… about the Enterprise, our weapons and engines, how fast we can travel. They don't seem interested in anything else. And their understanding of cosmology is… very basic."

"If you could put our point of view, get their sympathy..."

"They think it is the responsibility of the Fathers to worry about why we are here. And they expect that to take some time. They seem to think we will be here for several days… at least."

" You said yourself we might be talking to the wrong people. Can't you put that to them? They could stir up some reaction themselves, demand their superiors get on and do something."

"I don't know what else they expect their leaders to do, Captain. Just because you and I think that..."

"But people can be persuaded to expect something different..." Kirk hesitated. "You just have to make them want to be on our side. Then they'll listen to whatever argument you manage to come up with."

"I understand that, Captain. But how do I make them want to be on our side? As far as they're concerned we're potentially alien invaders."

"Normally, I'd suggest that you used your liberty to look out for someone you could chat up, but..."

"Yes .I see," Chekov assured him hastily. "But I'm not sure it would work, because from what I've seen, the junior officers are paired up with senior officers, not each other. They assume you and me already..."

"Yes, we know that. But that's the official position. I'm not going to stop you playing the field. What about the other junior officers?"

"What about them?"

Kirk thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand in exaggerated aggravation. "Dirs, Inya. Someone else. Can't you… flutter your eyelashes at one of them?"

Chekov thought hard. "You're asking me to break their rules."

"I'm considering ordering you to break their rules, if it is a matter of rules. Is it?"

"Sir?" Chekov swallowed. "I know it happens. But it's not… It isn't about talking. They just… do it. If I made a pass at someone, we'd have sex and two minutes later it would all be over."

Kirk stared at him. "Have you been propositioned?"

"Several of them have… made it obvious that they are interested if I am."

The captain fell silent. "I had in mind something a little more platonic than that," he said eventually.

The ensign stood up. "I think I'll turn in now, Captain, if that's all?"

"In a moment. There are women around. And you're more likely to find yourself alone with one than I am. Make all the opportunities you can. We need to find out why they stopped talking to Uhura. Understood?"

"Yes, of course."

Kirk turned back to his tricorder, judging that Chekov didn't want to prolong what was clearly an uncomfortable conversation. The ensign hesitated for a moment, then headed for the bathroom.

***

After another frustrating morning, Kirk was a little late to lunch, held up by a Liminal who seemed to want to talk politics, but turned out only to want to discuss some petty dispute between himself and Bargos. Kirk nodded absently as the man recited a litany of what sounded like very minor slights and insults, punching the air with his fist at intervals to emphasise his point.

"There's Chekov. I want to catch him before..."

"We can continue this later," the man said. "After lunch."

"I'll find you," Kirk promised recklessly. "Chekov!"

The ensign glanced across the paved yard and hurried over. "Captain..." His face was glowing. Coming up close to him, Kirk realised the pale skinned Russian had quite a dose of sunburn.

"What have you been doing?"

"Flying .Biplanes. Single-engined fighters, with a crew of two and short range ballistic weapons. It's incredibly difficult to hit a target. You have to get so close, and there's no guidance, or laser targeting or..."

Chekov was breathless with the excitement of it. Dirs, laughing, clapped him on the back. "Slow down, Pav. He did well, Captain Kirk. I couldn't believe he'd never flown before."

"Propeller driven winged fighting machines? No, I don't imagine he has."

"They're made of wood and canvas with open cockpits, Captain, to keep the weight down, and they're very slow, but it doesn't seem slow when you're flying them..."

Kirk suddenly realised what Chekov was saying. "You piloted one of these air planes?"

"Yes, sir. Not solo, of course, but..."

Kirk smiled pleasantly at Dirs. "It sounds like he had fun this morning. Thank you." Taking Chekov by the arm, he lead him firmly away to a currently empty table in the dining hall. "I thought you were looking for women to talk to. A flying lesson several thousand meters up seems like a bad place to find any."

Chekov's face suddenly turned serious. "Oh, I forgot."

"You forgot why you're here? Ensign..."

"No, Captain. I'd forgotten… I did meet some Liminal females this morning. And… It wasn't a very useful encounter."

Kirk glanced around. They hadn't started serving lunch yet. There was no sign of Bargos, or any of the other older men. Maybe they were meeting somewhere, discussing the morning's lack of progress. He took a deep breath. Well, it was a good opportunity to let Bargos find the two of them in a suitably Liminal position. "Here, sit down." He caught hold of Chekov's arm again before the ensign could drop into a single chair, and pulled him down next to himself on a long bench with a low back to it. "Remember, we have to keep up appearances."

"Oh, yes. I forgot." The blush turned Chekov's sunburn almost scarlet.

"Just lean up against me. We'll have a nice, affectionate chat about your morning. So, tell me about these ladies. Did they..."

"They were not ladies," Chekov interrupted.

"Oh ?Tell me more."

Chekov sighed. "Dirs and Inya took me to the hangers before everyone else arrived. There was a maintenance crew; not for the planes; mending a broken door. They..."

"Look over there. See those two who have just come in? Can you try to look that relaxed with me?"

"Uh, yes, sir." Chekov frowned and leaned against Kirk's shoulder. "They whistled at us. And called out things… Do I have to do that?"

The couple they were watching had just kissed, full on the mouth.

"No, thank you, just stay as you are." Kirk slid his arm round Chekov's waist. "And then?"

The ensign shifted uncomfortably. Plainly he was finding this more difficult stone cold sober than he had last night. "I thought it was just another way they were different, and I ignored it. But then Dirs told me to stick close by him. He and Inya both seemed worried..."

"By a couple of women?"

"There were eight of them, Captain, and two or three were quite… imposing."

"Uh...huh."

"We were carrying out the pre-flight checks on a single engine fighter. Dirs had said if we were able to start early, he might get permission to give me a lesson. It was his idea..."

"Never mind that now. So you were busy checking over the plane..."

"I was inspecting the landing gear. One of the women walked past me, and I… I said something. I can't remember. The rest of them stopped what they were doing and came over. They were laughing, and joking. I couldn't follow everything they were saying. Then one of them grabbed me. I yelled. Dirs and Inya helped me, but we were outnumbered. Then Dirs said if they let me go, he'd… he'd do what they wanted. He went with a couple of them, behind some crates. I didn't see..."

"So you owe him one." Kirk tried to keep his tone light. Chekov had grown increasingly tense as he recounted the event.

"I asked Inya if we should go to get help, but he said Dirs had done it before, that he didn't care. He didn't seem distressed when he came back. He was laughing. Inya seemed more angry. But the women had gone, and we continued with the checks. And other people started arriving soon after. Neither of them reported it, as far as I know."

"Sounds like horseplay. If Dirs wasn't bothered..."

"I was bothered," Chekov insisted. Then he backtracked. "At least… I didn't know what to do. It was… strange."

"They were behaving like a pack, the women?"

The ensign looked up at Kirk in surprise. "I suppose so, yes."

"Do you ever see women around on their own? One at a time?"

"Yes, but they… they are less bold. It's difficult to… to get their attention. Especially when there are several men present."

Kirk heaved an exasperated sigh. "Okay .If you do manage to come across an isolated woman while you're alone..."

"I will try to talk, yes, sir," Chekov said doggedly, as if he'd been ordered to do something unpleasant and potentially dangerous.

"So what about the planes, anything to report there?"

The ensign seemed more than willing to change the subject. "The planes are fun to fly, Captain, but they are not very sophisticated. No missiles or torpedoes. No targeting systems, no..."

"And you don't think they have anything more advanced?"

"I saw nothing to indicate that."

"And there was no evidence that they're making ready to defend themselves?"

Chekov shook his head. "It is surprising. We know that it is unnecessary, and would be pointless if it were necessary, but they don't."

"I checked with Spock. There's no sign of increased military activity anywhere else." Kirk squeezed the ensign's shoulder companionably, receiving a quickly smothered scowl in response. "I don't get it either, Ensign. If they've decided they're at our mercy, or even that they trust us to defend them from the Klingons, why don't they say so? Come on, they're serving lunch."

Chekov closed his mouth on his answer and followed Kirk to the join the queue.

***

During the afternoon, in the breaks between ever more unproductive discussions, Kirk was offered the opportunity to stretch his legs on the lawns, but he was still almost twitching with excess energy by the time Chekov returned at the end of the afternoon. This time the ensign was clean and tidy and his sunburn had subsided to a healthy tan, but he looked very subdued. "What's wrong?" Kirk asked, wondering if the Liminals were going to destroy Chekov's confidence in a way neither Romulans nor Klingons had managed to date.

"Nothing, Captain. Really."

"Did you get the chance to..?"

"Not… No. I did find out more about them, but..." Chekov trailed off into silence, staring out of the window.

"Chekov, what happened?"

The ensign continued to gaze at the deserted garden outside. "I told you yesterday, that they take the little boys away from their mothers when they're still quite young?"

"Yes .Go on."

"They have some very strange ideas about raising children."

"I'm sure they do. And if you decide to settle down and raise kids any time, neither Starfleet nor the Liminals will pass comment on how you do it."

"No .Of course. I didn't say anything, Captain." Chekov looked straight at Kirk for the first time since he'd come in.

"Good."

"But I couldn't..."

"Couldn't what?"

"They believe that a warrior can pass on his skill and courage in his… Well, in his..."

Kirk almost smiled at Chekov's reluctance. "Semen ?There were times and places where that was believed on Earth, Ensign."

"In America?"

"Not as far as I know," Kirk assured him rather severely. "But it fits in with the general misogyny, doesn't it? It's probably similar to the European tradition of Droit de Seigneur. According to that, a female virgin had magical powers that only a strong man, measured in terms of social status, was safe from. We'll probably find that in Liminal beliefs, only a senior officer can spare enough of his warrior power to actually risk fathering a child. And boys can only become warriors if they get the power from somewhere."

"But for such a technologically advanced culture as this..."

"Even if you discount religious belief at face value, its traditions are often socially beneficial. I've noticed you don't eat pork..."

"That's just… My mother never cooked it. I wouldn't refuse it..."

"But you'd politely choose something else. Or weren't you offered a choice today?"

"There was a choice. Which little boy..."

Kirk realised that his cool, academic approach to the problem wasn't quite what was needed. Chekov was actually trembling. He pushed the ensign into a chair. "Okay .It's shocking. It's exploitative, if the adults are just doing it for pleasure, but if they honestly believe it's in the best interests of the children..."

"Like making them eat their vegetables?" Chekov now sounded bewildered, verging on betrayed. Kirk looked away for a moment. This was pretty fundamental to anyone's idea of right and wrong, but the ensign had to get past it and deal with these people. And so did he.

He put a hand on Chekov's shoulder. "Did the children seem frightened, or reluctant?"

"No .But they don't know any better..."

"They don't know any different, perhaps. Imagine if… if Bargos was right and you'd never learned the facts of human reproduction. What do you think your reaction would be if I sat you down now and told you blow by blow what you had to do, then put you into bed with some woman you'd never met before?"

Chekov looked as if he was having difficulty visualising the situation.

"Wouldn't you be a little reluctant?"

"But, Captain, they weren't even adolescents..."

"For all you know, it may even be biologically necessary in order for the species to mature fully. Did you know that a human mother is more likely to suffer complications of pregnancy if she hasn't been having sex with the father for some time before conceiving? Maybe there's a similar immune function operating here..."

"I don't see how you can be so reasonable about it," Chekov said bitterly.

"Probably because it didn't happen to me. They weren't annoyed that you wouldn't..?"

"No .I don't think so. They were surprised, just surprised."

"Okay .What else happened this afternoon? You can't have taken that long over refusing to participate in this… ritual."

Chekov looked blank, as if the one event had driven everything else out of his mind. "Nothing… nothing useful. They were asking me a lot of questions… about growing up on Earth… I'm not sure… that they really understood… "

"And were they willing to answer your questions in return?"

"No." The ensign frowned, as if he'd just realised something. "No, captain. They did not really let me ask any questions… They were… less willing this afternoon than before." He shook his head worriedly. "I really don't think I made them angry. It was… they were different. I can't explain how. Not angry, but… different."

Kirk's face mirrored Chekov's frown. "I wish I could work out what they were thinking. You do understand, don't you, that the sooner you find a way to talk to the women, or spot something that I can use to persuade Bargos to really talk to us, the sooner we can leave? You have to distance yourself from all this. However… bizarre you find this place, I expect you to stay calm and disciplined. Understood?"

Chekov nodded. "Yes, sir."

***

Kirk made notes on the day's discussions while Chekov showered and changed. When the ensign appeared, ready for the evening meal, his face was bare.

"I thought Dirs left you some of those coloured powders."

Chekov shrugged. "I don't know how to use them."

"They'll think you've sickened for something. Let me give you a hand."

"Do you know how?"

Kirk grinned. "I've watched a few experts. Let's see what we can do."

His subject sighed and fetched the tray from the bathroom. He put it down on the table and sat down next to it. Kirk considered the palette of colours. They all had a pleasing pastel intensity to them. "You have a tan today. You'll need darker colours."

"Okay .Dirs started with that one, all over, and then..."

"I get the idea." Kirk scooped up a little of the foundation cream and paused to consider his canvas. Chekov had closed his eyes and tilted his face up, but his mouth was set into an unwilling, straight line.

"It's just as well you use a beard inhibitor. This would be impossible over five-o'clock-shadow."

"Yes, sir."

"Right .You look like a very well kept corpse. We need something to warm you up..."

"A large vodka?"

"No, this stuff here looks about right… over the cheekbones and out towards the tips of the ears… and just a trace everywhere else, to make you look a little less vanilla… Right. Eyes. These mouldy green colours?"

Chekov opened his eyes and looked suspiciously at the captain. "Oh, those. Yes. I think he used those… Or maybe those. I can't remember. I wasn't really paying attention, Captain."

Kirk tutted in mock-disapproval. Chekov closed his eyes again and managed not to flinch even once at the strange sensation of someone finger-painting his eyelids.

"Lips?"

"Captain?"

"Did he put anything on your lips? I can't see any suitable colours here."

"No."

"And no glitter."

The captain sounded vaguely disappointed. Chekov shook his head. "Maybe only blonds wear glitter."

"Maybe .Go look in the mirror. Don't be afraid to tell me if it's all wrong..."

"How would I know?" Chekov's voice came back from the bathroom. "No, I think… it's no stranger than yesterday."

There was silence for a long moment, then Kirk went and looked over Chekov's shoulder at the mirror. It really did look acceptable, a little toned down from yesterday, but pretty much what the average young Liminal was wearing this summer.

"Thank you, Captain. Perhaps, if we are still here tomorrow, I will try to do it myself. It did not seem too difficult."

Kirk crossed over to the basin to wash the last traces of colour off his fingers. "Chekov..."

"Yes, sir?"

"Are you advising me not to give up Starfleet for a career in cosmetic arts, or was that a polite way of telling me to keep out of your space?"

Chekov turned from the mirror, looking anxious. "No, I… I think I know how now. Nothing else."

Kirk shrugged. He was pretty sure he knew what Chekov meant, even if Chekov hadn't quite worked it out himself.

***

.

After the evening meal, a dice game started among the younger officers and Kirk encouraged Chekov to stay with them. The ensign was still tense, his anxiety making him noticeably clumsy with the unusual Liminal eating instruments. Little boys, Kirk mused. Chekov was probably worried every moment about what perversion was going to be offered to him next. The captain wandered outside into the courtyard, poured himself a glass of wine from the jug on the table and sat down across from Bargos.

"Where's Chekov?" the older man asked.

"He's tired. I thought he'd relax more if he wasn't sitting with us. Is that acceptable?"

"Of course," Bargos agreed easily. "Of course. Is he not feeling well? Maybe our food doesn't agree with you?"

"I'm not aware of any problems myself," Kirk reassured the Liminal.

"Good .I've been wondering, when will he be initiated?"

Kirk looked at the alien. His mind hung rituals of mutilation and torment on to the word. Someone had said… someone had said that from the twentieth century onwards, rites of initiation into adulthood were replaced by the awarding of driving licenses…

"Because he declined the boys he was offered today. Politely, of course. He's a very polite young man, if he is, in fact, a man."

Bargos looked intently at Kirk.

"He is a man," Kirk said flatly, not offering any qualification that Bargos could pick at.

"But what are your customs?" the Liminal persisted. "What rite of passage do you observe?"

"In our culture, a boy becomes a man, and a girl a woman, at the age of eighteen Terran years. Certain social groups have rituals of celebration, but they aren't universal, or obligatory."

"Then he is not a man," Bargos said.

Kirk shrugged. "I think he is."

"And if you observe no ritual, no passing, neither are you."

Cool concern for Chekov's safety was replaced by a tremor of fear, mixed with anger. Kirk forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly. "My people say I am."

Bargos was already standing, waving to a passing youngster. "Fetch the chelate! And the saccobar!"

"Bargos, I assure you, I have passed through the formalities that my own culture demands."

All around the courtyard, heads were raised.

"Kirk, we cannot treat with a leader who is not even a man. Be thankful I'm not the kind to kill you because I feel insulted, or declare you an untried boy and send you to the long houses. No, I understand that alien ways are bound to be different. What's appropriate for we Liminals is one thing, for you humans, quite another. But for the sake of form, we must at least have it clear that you are a man, or Liminal law won't recognise any treaty you sign."

That, Kirk admitted to himself, was a valid point. He didn't want the Liminals declaring him a minor and overturning any agreement they made with the Federation on this occasion.

Older Liminal males were clustering around them. One placed a large bottle of wine on the table, another laid a short, striped jacket over the back of one of the wooden seats.

"Remove your uniform, Captain," Bargos instructed.

Kirk bit his lip as he pulled his tunic over his head. He couldn't see Chekov. He rather suspected he was about to be humiliated in some way, but he still wanted Chekov here, the support of another man. He flung the garment on to his seat and noted that none of the junior, but presumably adult, Liminal officers were about. Insisting on having Chekov present would probably be bad manners then. He stripped naked as quickly as he could with any dignity, and casually reached for the Liminal outfit. Bargos stopped him.

"There's a little more to it than a change of underwear, Captain."

Someone had already started intoning, a chant that made Kirk shiver with apprehension.

"Who is the jeehavvass?" Bargos demanded. The question sounded ritualistic, but there was some doubt apparently about the answer. Eventually, after muttered discussion, a burly Liminal with grizzled, receding hair, pushed out of the crush of spectators.

"I'll be his jeehavvass," the man evidently volunteered. There was a smattering of vocal approval.

"Anoint him, then," Bargos ordered, deeply into his role as master of ceremonies.

Kirk gritted his teeth, but the anointing involved only pouring most of the bottle of wine over his head. It was cool and sticky.

"And now, give him the final gift of a warrior to a boy."

The captain felt his stomach descend into the abyss. After Chekov's experience that afternoon, he couldn't even pretend to himself that he didn't understand what was to happen next.

"Kneel, Kirk."

He sank deliberately to his knees. The jeehavvass loosened his tunic and the closure of his leggings, lifting a flaccid penis into the failing evening light.

Kirk closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open as the Liminal inserted his organ between the unwilling lips. As he stood there, the jeehavvass gave himself a half dozen encouraging strokes with his hand. His knuckles hit Kirk in the mouth, until the captain realised that the best way to avoid the discomfort, and shorten this humiliation as much as possible, was to do what was expected of him. He tightened his lips round the man's organ and set about bringing him off without delay. The jeehavvass moaned aloud as his erection firmed and swelled, and Kirk felt hands on his shoulder, and the warmth of many bodies closing around him. He concentrated on the immediate task. More and more frequently, tremors of arousal passed through the penis in his mouth. He could smell the man's sweat and musk, taste salt. It would soon be over…

And then the jeehavvass was no longer content to be passively pleasured. He began thrusting uncomfortably deep into Kirk's throat. Gagging, the captain pulled back, only to find himself trapped by the men behind him. The man's cock gouged into the back of Kirk's mouth, springing agonised tears free of his eyes. Finally a hot rush of semen filled his throat, faster than he could swallow. Kirk coughed as the jeehavvass withdrew, fought to double over and contain the reflex that would have him vomit up the fluid. He was held, though, held fast by hands on every part of his body lifting him to his feet. More hands pulled at his buttocks.

Oh no, not that too.

'Relax, dammit, or you'll pay for it later,' he told himself.

He was astonished to find himself responding obediently to the mental command. The pain was sharp and sore, and worsened until the first of his attackers climaxed. After that, there was just the bruised ache and the sense of violation, of vulnerability.

He counted six separate episodes of penetration, three of which ended only when the man responsible ejaculated. Three seemed to be mere token insertions, courtesy calls on his ass, Kirk told himself, almost hysterically.

His vision cleared itself of tears and red haze to see Bargos holding up the half empty wine bottle. "You are a man! Congratulations."

Kirk took a breath deep enough to still the trembling of his knees. "Thank you," he said. He hoped he didn't sound as if he meant it. He panicked momentarily as something dark was pulled over his head. Liminal clothes. The clothes of an adult. When he could see again, the wine had been poured into a glass. He grabbed it and drained it. He heard approving cheers.

"Tomorrow, we will make you a Father. But for now, I think you need to rest."

Kirk tried to take a step, but his feet wouldn't obey him. "Could you… Bargos, could you call Chekov. I need to lean on someone..."

"Get Chekov!" Bargos yelled to someone. Then he turned back to Kirk. "But for tonight, don't sleep with him. Tomorrow, you will need all the power you can get."

***

"What's happening?"

Chekov was aware of raucous voices out in the courtyard, but since neither Inya nor Dirs was taking any notice, he'd ignored it up until now. Then it had occurred to him that his captain was in right in the middle of what sounded like the centre of Moscow on New Year's eve.

"Just stay where you are," Dirs told him. "You'll only get into trouble if you go out there now."

"What kind of trouble?" the ensign demanded. "Is Captain Kirk in any danger?"

The two young Liminals looked at each other. "No..." Dirs said.

"But it won't do any good if you run out there and try and stop them," Inya finished for him.

"Stop them doing what?" Chekov pushed his chair back from the table, only to have his arms seized by his companions, preventing him from getting to his feet. "Stop them doing what? What are they doing to him?"

"Nothing .Nothing to worry about. He'll be all right."

"Tell me what's happening!" the Russian demanded. "Now!"

"Well… neither of you is… There are things a boy has to do before he becomes a man… and things a man has to do before he becomes a father. It's called a Passing. Someone must have decided he wasn't a man yet and they're giving him his Second Passing. It's just something he has to do. I've done it. It's not so bad." Dirs shrugged and smiled at Chekov's disbelieving face but released his arm.

"It's not so bad if you know what's happening and you're ready for it," Inya said. He folded his arms and stared down at the table.

"What are they doing to him?" Chekov, free now on both sides, stood up but resisted the urge to run out into the courtyard and find out for himself. He could tell the yard was packed solid with Liminal officers. If the captain was in the middle of that crush, he couldn't do anything to help anyway.

"There are three Passings," Inya said. "The First when you come to live in the boy house, and the men feed you for the first time."

Chekov nodded grimly. After this morning, he knew exactly what Inya meant.

"The Second Passing is when you become a man. You move out of the boy house into the officers' quarters, and you start to get your power from the Fathers. If you're lucky, like Dirs here, some senior Father will choose you. If not, you take your turn with the rest. If someone's got his eye on you, he'll usually be your jeehavvaas. If not, anyone who likes the look of you at the time can do it."

"Jeehavvaas?" Chekov echoed, confused.

"Yes .At the Passing itself, your Jeehavvaas feeds you for the last time as a boy, and then three or six other Fathers give you power as a man, for the first time. Then you're given wine, which you shouldn't have ever had before, but most of us have. So you're supposed to get pretty drunk, and everyone gets a good laugh out of it. Then you usually throw up and someone takes you off and puts you to bed." Inya smiled. "The worst part is the hangover, so long as you know what you're expecting. So long as someone warns you and gets you ready."

"They… they will expect him to do… like the boys this morning?" Chekov asked. His face had gone very white. Dirs pushed him back into his chair.

"Yes .But..."

"And then… and then they will..." Chekov looked up at his companions, his eyes wide with concern. "Then what do they do?"

"Then they do what Fathers do, of course."

"Instead of sticking it in your mouth, they put it where you sit," Dirs explained crudely.

"He'll be pretty knocked about," Inya said. "Normally, you move up to the men's quarters a few days beforehand and someone takes you through it. If you haven't done it before anyway. Not everyone waits. And if you're sensible, you help yourself to some oil from the sanatorium. And everyone covers for you after, for a few days."

Chekov stared helplessly at the two Liminals. "But what if he… if he doesn't want to?"

Dirs shook his head. "I don't remember being asked myself."

"No, but Father Grao had been training you up for years. I don't imagine it came as much of a surprise to you." Inya grinned at his friend. His smile faded when Chekov's frown deepened. "They won't force him, Pavel. He's a guest… well, an emissary."

"A boy can hardly be an emissary," Dirs said. "If he refuses, they'll probably decide he isn't entitled to diplomatic courtesies."

"There is that," Inya admitted. He stood up. "Stay here for now, Pavel. He might want you to help him back to your quarters. I'll bring some things to you there."

"Things?" Chekov echoed.

"From the sanatorium."

As Inya left them, a resounding cheer went up in the yard.

"Sounds like they've finished," Dirs said negligently. He wandered over to the door, only to be brushed aside by an unfamiliar Liminal officer.

"Chekov?" the man demanded briskly. "Get out there. Kirk wants you."

***

Only the arms of the Liminals around him were keeping Kirk upright. He desperately wanted to fight free of them, but knew he'd only collapse to the ground if he did.

He felt the cool of night against his sweat damp skin as the crowd retreated and just two hands took his elbows and steadied him.

"Captain?"

He was aware of Chekov standing in front of him in his skimpy Liminal outfit. The still, close evening air reeked of sweat and the red wine that was still trickling down into his eyes, making them water.

"They said you wanted me."

Kirk shook his head to clear it. Had he said that? Had he told someone to get Chekov? He wasn't sure what he'd said.

"Do you want to go to our quarters? Can you walk?"

"Of course I can walk. Stop your damned fussing, can't you?"

The hands fell away. Kirk planted his feet a few inches apart for balance, despite the discomfort, and raised his eyes. Chekov quickly looked away.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. Yes, get me back to our room. Slowly."

It was all on the level, although stepping over the door sills was agony. The pain seemed everywhere, as if every muscle Kirk possessed had been fighting against the assault. He was trembling too. Chekov steered him to the bed, then went back to close the door.

Kirk remained standing. He could hear Chekov talking to someone in quick, anxious whispers, then the door closed.

"Sir..."

"Run me a bath. Not too hot, about twenty centimetres deep. And put some towels where I can reach them. Make sure there's some fresh water to drink, and make up a mattress for yourself on the floor for tonight. I… I don't want to be disturbed."

He heard the water running in the bathroom, then the clink of a jug and glass being put by the bed.

He walked into the bathroom, forcing himself to take natural, easy steps. He bit his lip on the pain and tasted blood. He wanted to wash his mouth out. He wanted…

"Sir..."

He stopped by the side of the bath, aware that manoeuvring over the knee high tiled surround was going to be a test of his balance. Chekov was standing in the doorway.

"Do you want me to..."

The Liminal tunic he'd been given had unfamiliar fastenings. Kirk stared down at them, realising he was, for the first time in over thirty years, unequal to the task of undressing himself.

"Yes .Okay."

Chekov came immediately to his side. The tunic was loosened and lifted over his head. Of course, Chekov was dressing like a native. He knew what he was doing. Kirk let the Russian unfasten his belt with capable fingers, steadying himself with a hand on the ensign's shoulder. He moved to kick free of his pants and gasped with pain.

Chekov's arm slid round him, keeping him upright, bracing him as he stepped into the bath and lowering him into water that felt neither hot nor cold. Perfect. He leaned forward and buried his face in his hands. "Shit." The arm released him and he opened his eyes. "Chekov… Don't go. I might pass out."

"I won't go."

It was merely a sensible precaution. Half of him wanted to be left alone with his pain and humiliation, and half wanted to grab hold of someone and hang on to them. It was difficult to fit Chekov into his contradictory needs. "Shit."

"Captain..."

"Too much to drink, too quickly." Kirk thought about that inadequate excuse. "It got a little rough out there."

"Sir..."

"I'll be fine in the morning."

"Yes, sir. Dirs and Inya..."

"That pair of freaks..."

"They told me some things I should do, to help you."

"What?"

"It's a rite of passage. They call it a Passing. You're supposed to be supported by your peers."

"Thank you for the cultural commentary, Ensign. I don't need any support. I just need to get into bed and sleep it off." Kirk gripped the bath side, ready to pull himself upright. He managed it too, without assistance. Chekov held out a huge towel and Kirk stumbled into it and pulled it round himself. "And get some sleep yourself."

"Yes, Captain. I could ask permission to get the medical kit from the shuttle."

"I don't need the medical kit." Kirk walked out of the bathroom. "And whatever this Liminal shit is, I don't need that either."

Chekov heard the salve that Inya had brought being flung onto the floor. He drained the bath, wiped the tiled floor, washed himself and turned out the light before going back into the bedroom. Kirk had simply fallen on to the bed with the towel still round him. Chekov looked at him for a moment. The air was turning chill, and temperatures would fall further yet. He picked up the thick, velvety throw that he'd intended to sleep on. "You'll get cold, Captain," he said, too softly to wake a sleeper. Folded double, the throw was still broad enough to make an adequate cover.

Kirk stirred. "What are you doing?"

"It's just a cover."

"Don't fuss."

"No, sir." Chekov waited a moment, then suggested, "He brought some pain killers too. I can check them with the tricorder. And..."

"And?"

"Inya said..."

"I don't care what that young… fool said. I just need to get some sleep." Kirk gasped on a sudden spasm of cramp.

Chekov winced. "Captain," he began.

"We need to get this sorted out and get out of here," Kirk admitted. "Preferably tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

Kirk turned over, trying to find a position where his bruises didn't want to keep telling him what had happened.

"So what do we do tomorrow?" Chekov asked. He didn't look away when Kirk frowned at him.

"You'll continue to obey orders, Mister Chekov. And when those orders change, I'll tell you."

"But..."

"Shut up. Go to bed."

"Yes, sir."

The ensign doused the light using the switch by the door, then, in the darkness, Kirk could hear him settling into whatever kind of bed he'd made up on the floor.

Tomorrow. They'd get out tomorrow.

***

Chekov woke early, but Kirk was already in the bathroom. The ensign folded the spare blankets he'd used last night and put them away again in the wooden chest where they were stored. Then he untwisted the covers on the bed, pulled the undersheet back across the mattress and spread the throw over the top. There was no sign of Kirk's uniform. Presumably it had disappeared into the Liminal laundry along with Chekov's .The ensign waited for Kirk to finish so that he could shower, but eventually gave up and dressed. He pushed Inya's first aid supplies into the chest along with the blankets and finally took out the tricorder and started playing Uhura's cultural commentary. 'Rape', he typed in, fingering the keys as if they were weaponry controls. 'No references', it came back. He stared at it for a moment, then hit the command for random access. He found he was watching a drama of some kind. Uhura had annotated it: 'according to intro, re-enactment of petition between major North South axial powers, approx.. four hundred years ago.' As the Lieutenant had noted, there wasn't a woman in sight. Or at least there seemed to be a fashion for facial hair that looked masculine. One really couldn't tell. Not having seen many Liminal women, Chekov reflected, he had no reason to suppose they weren't occasionally bearded, or equipped with poisoned talons. No, there was another note. 'Linguistic analysis suggests all participants are male - or are being addressed as male.' Some of the beards, Chekov thought, looked decidedly fake. Apart from that, the costumes were lavish and the scenes, as far as he could judge, had been created with an eye to detail. Yet something was wrong.

"What's so fascinating?"

Chekov almost dropped the tricorder. "Sir… I didn't hear you."

Kirk was towelling his hair. He'd put on the Liminal garments he'd come back in last night. He was pale, with purple smudges round eyes that looked scratchy from lack of sleep. And he was smiling, as if defying the ensign to comment on his appearance.

"I… I was just looking at these historical dramas. I think… I think all the actors are women."

"Really." Kirk took the tricorder from him and looked at it for himself. "Fascinating .Well… I'm not sure what that tells us. If anything." He threw the damp towel onto the bed. "I think they're serving breakfast. Let's go."

"Sir..."

"After you." Kirk held the door open, still smiling, like a shuttle attendant ushering passengers from a doomed shuttle into a slightly less doomed escape pod.

"Thank you, sir."

"Ah !Kirk! How's your head this morning?" Bargos yelled unsympathetically from the far end of the corridor. He took the captain's arm and steered him away from Chekov. "Fetch your captain some food," he ordered over his shoulder as he took Kirk with him into the dining room.

"I think you are asking after the wrong end," Chekov muttered rebelliously, but he went straight to the serving table where breakfast was laid out and started to fill two plates with food for himself and the captain. When he glanced across at the captain, Kirk seemed almost unbelievably bright and cheerful, nodding at what Bargos was saying and replying energetically . Still, the ensign considered, it wouldn't hurt to avoid the heavier, spicier dishes. Liminal cuisine, at least as it was served by the army, seemed to tend to dry and fiery curries, accompanied by fried battered vegetables that dripped grease. Breakfast and lunch were accompanied by a sweet milky drink, served lukewarm, that Chekov thought might almost be pleasant if it was not brewed to a strength suitable for caulking boat timber. He found a jug of the stuff that had only just been placed on the table and, taking care not to disturb the evil sediment at the bottom, poured out two pale mugfuls. Apart from that, he selected fruit and slices of a slightly savoury bread. He looked across the room again to where the earnest conversation between the two leaders was continuing at the table. Perhaps the Liminal had something to report at last, some progress in return for last night's… for last night. Chekov stood for a moment, wondering whether to disturb them. If they were finally talking about something important…

Bargos looked up and gestured at him impatiently.

"Thanks," the captain said, taking the tray out of Chekov's hands and setting it down on the table. He gestured at the seat next to him. "Sit down. We're talking about you."

"Sir?"

Kirk turned to Bargos. "It's okay to tell him?"

"Of course," the Liminal nodded. "It's a big day in a youngster's life. We rushed it a bit for you, Kirk, but it was just a formality in your case, regularising your situation. For Chekov here, we'll have time to organise a party, show you how it should be done. And of course, we can combine it with your own celebrations on becoming a father. I'm pleased at the way it's turned out."

"Yes," Kirk said, "It'll be another opportunity for us to find out more about you." He patted Chekov's hand. "Sit down, Ensign."

Chekov slipped into the seat, just as Bargos muttered an excuse and left them. "What's happening? What was he talking about?"

"Good news," Kirk said, without any hint of irony. "They seem to be taking steps to make sure we're qualified, according to their standards, to agree an alliance with them. Apparently, today, or I should say this evening, the Liminals are staging your coming of age party."

"What?" Chekov began to stand up again. "Captain..."

"Sit down!"

Chekov actually counted to ten before he obeyed Kirk's order.

The captain waited patiently, then continued as if nothing had happened. "And also it seems I'm due to become a father. As far as I can make out, that means I have to spend some time with a potential mother. If there are still problems with Bargos and his colleagues, that opens a second front. So, we'll hang on in here today, and see how it goes. There's no need to back out now and let the Klingons come along and snap this planet up..."

"They're welcome to it!" Chekov interrupted.

"Yes, I doubt if I'll be planning a vacation here myself any time soon. But I also have to consider that we set ourselves some objectives, and we now have a realistic prospect of achieving them, and there's still a chance I'll need you to play a part in this. Apart from whatever I can achieve this afternoon, apparently I get to have a celebration dinner tonight. It's one of the few times the sexes mix in a big way, and if there's any last minute hold up with the men, it might be a real opportunity to for both of us to impress on the ladies that this situation is urgent. So, that's what we're both doing today, keeping Bargos happy by going along with his plans, and finding ourselves a woman to talk to. Okay? Apart from that, you're to stay close to Dirs and Inya."

"I don't think they know anything vital, or have any influence, sir."

"That's not the point. They like you and they'll look out for you. So you'll stick by them.

Chekov frowned uncomfortably. "Yes, sir. But..."

"Yes?"

"Exactly how long will we stay tonight?"

Kirk shrugged. Then he spread his hands. "We can leave at a moment's notice, Chekov. And we will if the situation deteriorates and we're clearly not going to get the agreement we need. But I have to bear in mind that we probably won't be invited back."

"So we're playing chicken?"

"Pardon?"

"That's what Lieutenant Sulu calls it, when he keeps on an attack course until the very last moment."

Kirk frowned. "Yes .I suppose we are. But this is not just… bravado. We do have to reassure these people that we'll respect their values."

"But we don't .I mean… we will pull out, if… if we don't like what is happening?"

"Starfleet, officially, respects these people's customs."

"But last night, you said..."

"Last night, I was tired. I wasn't seeing the situation clearly and I wasn't speaking on the record. This morning, I can see that we still have opportunities."

"But..."

"Chekov, I will make the call. If, and only if, one of us is in serious danger, with no prospect of any gain by staying, we'll leave."

Chekov wanted to ask for definitions of 'gain' and 'serious danger', but he sensed that Kirk's patience was already tried to its limits. "Okay."

Kirk shook his head as he picked up a slice of bread in one hand and his mug in the other. "Whether or not you think it's 'okay', Ensign, that's how it is."

***

Three hours later, Chekov came back from the drill square, bored and cold from standing in a chill breeze while everyone else worked and he was only allowed to watch. He forced a smile for the captain. "I'm not a man yet, so I'm not allowed to join in with their training exercises today."

Kirk laughed, not quite naturally. "I'm in the same boat. No one will talk to me because I'm not senior enough to matter." For once, Kirk didn't seem concerned that the talks weren't progressing. Chekov guessed the captain had pinned all his hopes on this afternoon, or, cutting it fine, this evening.

"It's so stupid." Chekov had stopped hiding his frustration for a moment. He screwed his hands up into fists.

The captain frowned at him. "Come on. If you're back here, your friends must be around too. Maybe they'll give me some tips on what's expected of me later. None of the older men are willing to talk."

"No .They don't know. You don't find out until you are initiated. They won't talk to me about tonight since they realised I'm not really… well, they will one moment and they won't the next. It's so… infuriating!"

The two natives in question appeared and came over to join the visitors.

Dirs was looking worried. He hardly spared a glance for Chekov, turning instead directly to the captain. "Bargos told me to take you to the boyhouse, Kirk."

The captain flicked a look at Chekov, who immediately found the distant view absolutely engrossing.

"You don't want to, do you?" Inya said. "But you can't really refuse. It's… it's a duty thing. I mean, if you don't, it's hard on the kids. Bargos thinks you should, anyhow. It's only for today, that it's your duty to do it."

Kirk ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, I respect your customs, but..."

"If you don't," Dirs said, "it looks like you're too scared to waste your power, or too mean, or something. I know that's not the case. I can see you just do things differently. When Pavel wouldn't, I could see he wasn't scared."

"I could see he wanted to throw up," Inya interrupted.

Dirs gave his friend a dirty look. "Anyway, what I think doesn't matter. If there's someone among the Fathers who doesn't like what you've come to say to us, if someone can undermine you, by saying you didn't do your duty with the boys, they'll use it."

Kirk turned to Chekov. "How old are these 'boys'?"

"About seven, the youngest, I think," Chekov estimated. "Mostly older, up to… to when their voices start to break. And I think that happens a little later than with humans. Some of them are… older."

"And I get a choice?"

"Of course," Inya said. "Why not?"

"Do they get a choice? The boys?"

Dirs and Inya looked at each other and laughed, the way Kirk remembered laughing with his brother over the shared minor miseries of childhood. No, obviously no meaningful choice. Eat your greens. And equally obviously, the survivors of these bizarre rites didn't feel like victims.

"Let's get it over with."

***

The 'boyhouse' was a long, low building, with a veranda around it, raised on stilts. The roof was thatched with reeds of some kind. The windows were wide open and classes were in progress inside, judging by the chanting of answers to unseen instructors.

"This is a good time to come," Inya said, with another of his surprising bursts of perceptiveness. "The youngest squads are up in the fields. I'll find some 'nearlies' for you."

"'Nearlies'?" Kirk repeated.

"Nearly men," Dirs explained, as Inya vanished inside the hut. "Some of us like them older, some younger. The younger ones try harder. There!" He pointed to a smiling face at a previously blank window. "Hi, Toli!" He waved and the boy waved back. "When I'm a father, he's going to be mine, if someone else doesn't pick him out first."

Kirk realised Chekov was shaking his head and looking as thoroughly sick as he had the previous day.

"Well, I offered to share him with you yesterday, Pavel," Dirs said. "You don't know what you're missing."

Inya came out, herding two towheaded mid-teenagers before him. Both were smiling a little shyly. They came down the steps onto the grass and nodded politely to the visitors. One was a lanky boy, a whisker shorter than Chekov. He had eyes as blue as McCoy's and a broken front tooth. His companion was smaller, slim and round-faced, and a little more reticent. He stared at the ground and scuffed at it with one foot.

"One each?" Kirk said, not sure what to do now.

"No .It's too late for Pavel. He should have done it yesterday, while he had the chance. Just pick the one you like most, Captain."

Kirk took a deep breath. "There's no one here to see whether I do it or not, is there..."

"There are more people watching you than you realise, Captain," Inya said.

"Well..." Kirk rubbed savagely at his temples. "They're just going to be disappointed."

Dirs and Inya looked at each other. Then they looked at Chekov, as if they hoped he'd encourage his captain to behave himself suitably. Chekov shrugged. The boys fidgeted.

"Go on. Get back to your lessons. The captain's worried he's going to offend some father who wants you all to himself," Dirs said. The boys grinned at what was plainly a compliment and ran back inside.

"That doesn't solve the problem," Inya pointed out.

Dirs suddenly let out a triumphant yell. "There isn't a problem," he announced. "I should have thought of this earlier. I'm so stupid!" He grinned. He obviously meant the exact opposite. "Come here, Pavel."

Chekov took a step towards the Liminal, then stopped. "Why?"

"You're just a nearly, not a man. Come here."

The navigator glanced at Kirk. "What...?"

"It's not ideal, but at least it shows willing." Dirs' grin broadened. "And I shall enjoy it too." He pulled Chekov a little further away from Kirk. "Kneel down, and clasp your hands behind your neck, the way you saw them do it yesterday."

Chekov suddenly realised what was going on, too late. Dirs grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down onto his knees. "There."

"Chekov, get up. You don't have to..."

Dirs gestured at Kirk to shut up. "He's only a boy, Captain. This is for his own good."

Chekov opened his mouth to say something and Dirs slapped his open palm across it. His other hand was occupied freeing himself from his clothing. "Toli, don't you watch! You're supposed to be learning trigonometry this morning."

The boy's face vanished from the window.

"Let him go," Kirk ordered.

"It's not as if he hasn't done this before..." Dirs looked doubtfully at the expressions of the two visitors. "He hasn't done this before? Really? I thought… Well, be sensible, Captain. I'm not going to hurt him. Then you can do it, and you're all right. You've shown you're one of the men, and not frightened to do what's expected of you, to give some power away. That's all that's needed."

Chekov pulled himself free of Dirs' hold, breathless and red in the face. He got to his feet but didn't say anything. He just avoided meeting Kirk's gaze.

"Look, can't we… make out that I did this? Do I have to actually do it?"

Inya gestured at the hut, and Kirk realised that most of the windows now held two or three faces each, all watching with rapt attention.

Toli came strolling out of the hut, eating a piece of fruit as if for the express purpose of demonstrating that class was out. He wandered towards the group of men and stood looking at them. After a moment, he spoke, round a mouthful of fruit pulp. "Yesterday, he was a man. Today, he's a boy." He came closer to Chekov, who wasn't paying him any attention. "Which are you?"

When the ensign didn't answer, Toli spat in his face.

Dirs grabbed the boy by an arm, swung him off his feet and dragged him away, yelling at him.

Toli deliberately lost his footing and collapsed onto the grass. Dirs knelt down, pulled the boy over his knee and administered a short, sharp spanking. He came back grinning. "Little shit."

Toli had run off, then stopped. He was standing at what he evidently calculated to be a safe distance, still watching. "Let me!" he suddenly shouted. "Go on! Let me! I want to!"

Chekov finished wiping the mess of fruit off his face. He knelt down and wiped his hand carefully on the grass, then stood again. "I'll do it, Captain. I just need a little time to… to sort it out." He blew a breath out between barely parted lips like a woman practising for childbirth. "I can do it."

Toli had come closer again. "He's their Grandfather, Dirs. I want to. Please!"

"Fuck off, Toli," Dirs snapped.

"Is the boy really willing?" Kirk said suddenly.

"Of course he is," Inya answered. "You are the leader of your people, aren't you? That means you have the most powerful essence, far more powerful than Dirs, or any of the other men. And he can't taste one of the Fathers until he's a man himself. Not… not officially. It's a pretty big opportunity for him."

"How old is he?" Kirk demanded, then realised that the question was probably meaningless. He rephrased it. "How near is he to becoming a man?"

"Not that near. That's why I didn't call him out at first, but he's been doing this for years. I've been giving it to him since my Second Passing."

"Since before that!" Toli called out. "Since before that, Dirs!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Dirs yelled back. He smiled at Kirk and gave an embarrassed shrug. "You know how it is."

The captain reached a decision. "Chekov, go back to our quarters and wait for me there. Now."

"But..." the ensign objected.

"Now!"

***

The officers' block was cool and silent. Chekov went straight to the bathroom and stuck his head under the shower until the chill of the water started his scalp aching, then he shook the water off and buried his face in a towel. He felt sick and numb. And incandescently angry with himself. After what the captain had been through the previous night…

He stumbled out into the main room and sat down on the bed, rubbing at his hair ineffectually with the towel. The water had dripped down inside his shirt.

He didn't know what to do. He was supposed to be staying close to Dirs and Inya, but he never wanted to see either of them again. His stomach churned rebelliously at the mere thought of them.

And the captain… the captain was getting a blow job from what looked like a fourteen year old. Okay, an over-smart fourteen year old, with no respect for his elders and betters… but in God's name, what could you expect of a boy who had been having oral sex with those same elders and betters ever since they'd forcibly removed him from his mother's care and incarcerated him in a kind of paedophile production line?

Chekov clenched his fists in the bedcovers. It wasn't the captain's fault. It was his own. There was no point getting angry with Kirk, or even the Liminals. He could have stopped what was happening now. He'd just have had to show a little willing…

He surged back to his feet and began pacing up and down the clear space in the centre of the room. It kept getting worse. What had happened to Kirk last night would happen to him too, some time in the next twelve hours. And then there was the captain's Third Passing. They had no idea what abominations that was going to involve.

The room suddenly seemed too small. He flung the door open and stalked down the corridor. An open door led into gardens and he turned through it.

Fresh air. Blue sky. It felt a little better.

He concentrated on breathing slowly, re-establishing some self control. Really, he had no excuse to panic like this. Kirk had made it plain that nothing would happen to him. Whatever the cost.

They needed to talk to the women. Kirk had mentioned seeing one or two female gardeners, not dangerous gangs of them. This area of lawn and carefully cultivated flower borders certainly suggested there would be gardeners about somewhere. Chekov began to walk away from the officers' quarters, looking between the taller shrubs and stands of ornamental flowering trees for a gardener, or a wheelbarrow, or a tool shed. There. A figure bent over a stretch of freshly dug soil, she had a tray of seedlings which she was methodically placing into neat hollows in the freshly dug soil.

"Excuse me..." Chekov thought back hastily to their first encounter with the meteorologist. "Mum?"

A deep laugh shook the bent back, and an elderly man half straightened and winced. He held out his hand.

Chekov stared at it for a moment. Every piece of flesh on this planet was potentially unclean. The Liminal stuck it out a little further, with a questioning look. Chekov gave in and helped the gardener to his feet.

"You must be Ensign Chekov." The gardener brushed the soil off his hands, then looked down regretfully at similarly dirty knees. "Can't bend down. One of these days, I just won't be able to get straight and they'll have to bury me under my own dwarf honoria, bent over like a paper clip. Well. It's nice to meet you at last. I've heard a lot about you."

"I'm sorry, I..." Chekov bit his tongue. He couldn't say he wanted to speak to the women.

"Thought I was someone else? Hm. Gardening isn't much of a challenge for a soldier; at least I wouldn't have thought so when I was your age. But now… as you can see, it's about all I'm good for."

The man was leading Chekov over to a rough wooden bench, just a plank nailed to two tree stumps. He sat down a little heavily. "There." The Liminal pointed to the grass at his feet. "Seat yourself and answer some questions for me."

Chekov considered for only a second. Even if he wasn't allowed to ask questions in his turn, this might be a chance to get some information at last. "Yes, sir."

"Grandfather .Call me Grandfather. Now. You've been playing with our guns, and you've tried out the fighter planes over in the hangers. You haven't seen our battleships, but..."

"Battleships?" Chekov echoed, startled. "Oh .You mean on water."

"That's right. Fine ships. But they've only the same artillery as the guns you've seen here. I know you say you're not hostile to us… but if you were, how long do you think we could defend ourselves against you?"

It was the kind of direct question Bargos and his colleagues had been avoiding asking from the beginning. Chekov wondered whether to be tactful, at least, or just honest.

"It would depend on whether we wanted to preserve any of your infrastructure. Some societies are able to mount surprisingly successful resistance..."

"Minutes ?Seconds?"

The ensign shrugged regretfully. "Something like that."

"And these Klingons, the same?"

"They would not attempt to destroy you, but they would exploit you. And if you resisted..."

The Grandfather waved a dismissive hand. "What a folly. What a hopeless, shameful folly." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. "Bargos is spending this afternoon arguing with the wine merchant over which vintages he should uncork for Captain Kirk's Third Passing. Folly. Folly."

Chekov shifted as the dampness from the grass began to soak through the knees of his pants. "You are only one planet. We are a Federation of many worlds, and the Klingon Empire is also large and powerful. If you had fought among yourselves, you might have more weapons, and more effective ones, but you outgrew that..."

"Did we? Does it seem to you that Dirs and Inya, and even Bargos, have outgrown their soldiers' toys? We were supposed to be the defenders..."

"You have kept the peace here."

"There's been no threat to it. Chekov, will you do something for me?"

"If I can," Chekov answered readily. Something about the elderly Liminal inspired complete trust. He knew the Grandfather was not about to ask him to betray his proper loyalties.

"This afternoon, and this evening, will be hard. I do not know how the ladies will react to this news. I am not even sure if we should tell them. This was our task, the physical protection of our world from aggression. But Bargos, and others, may argue for war, for defiance. Or for inaction. Bargos thinks — claims he thinks — that you are no threat to us at all, and we need do nothing. Either party, if they do not like what I have to say, they may choose another Grandfather."

Chekov stiffened, guessing what was coming next. "Our rules don't allow us to interfere in that decision. You must make your own choices."

"What I will ask of you is allowed by our custom. I am old. I have long been… powerless. Let me be your jeehavvaas, at your Passing this evening. We can deceive those who watch, and they will not be so ready to dismiss me. They might suspect me of deceit, but not you." The Grandfather waited for a reaction. Chekov was too appalled to give one.

"Your captain won't allow it? Bargos told me that he doesn't lie with you as a Father. Or does the deception worry you?"

"W...what would people do, if they knew we'd lied?"

"It's a matter of sentiment, rather than fact," the Grandfather reassured him. "If anyone suffers from this arrangement, it is you, is it not?"

"How… Oh, I… I suppose so," Chekov agreed, without much conviction. He tried to think quickly and clearly, and found his thoughts were too clouded with warring emotions to allow either. "If… if you offer to be my… my?"

"Jeehavvaass."

"Yes, then I will… not… draw attention to any irregularities in your performance."

The old man chuckled appreciatively. "He may not be a Father to you, but Kirk is teaching you to be a good diplomat. Warn him. I don't wish to offend him. But as things are, he cannot expect to be your jeehavvaas." The Grandfather grinned then laughed heartily. "He might wish to, but he'll have no more power than I do by tonight. Go on. They'll be serving lunch soon. Someone is sure to come looking for me, and I don't want them to know we've talked."

Chekov stood up. "Thank you."

The Liminal shook his head. "You are merely doing your duty, Ensign Chekov. I should thank you for helping me to do mine. I wish I had the strength to do more than talk with you."

With that, the Grandfather got off the bench, patted Chekov's backside in a friendly fashion, and walked away.

***

The sound of many voices took Chekov by surprise, although his stomach was telling him, half-heartedly, that it was already late for the usual midday meal. The long tables had been moved out onto the lawn, and the dishes on them looked more than usually elaborate. The centrepiece of the buffet was a large metal platter in which a sizeable piece of something, rather resembling undercooked liver to Chekov's eyes, sat in a pool of white sauce flecked with green. The senior officers were filing past and a cook, a female cook, was carving slices of it and giving one to each man. She was even talking to them as she served. For a moment, Chekov dared to hope that Liminal society had undergone an unexpected change. Reminding himself that it would be more prudent to assume any changes had been for the worse, he joined the queue, but Dirs was immediately at his elbow, standing too close and grinning too familiarly.

"Hey… wrong table. You're over here with us, and that's stretching the rules. You should be eating bread and fruit with the little boys."

Chekov felt like punching the Liminal in the face, but didn't, somehow. "Why ?I know I'm not allowed to drink alcohol now..." And he needed it, badly.

"Well, you're not supposed to… Don't worry about tonight though. We'll take care of you."

"Tonight ?What do you mean?"

"When we get you ready, I'll sneak you a couple of glasses beforehand. It helps." Dirs steered the ensign to a smaller table, covered in the standard Liminal fare which seemed to appear at every mealtime.

"What is the difference?" Chekov said, gesturing at the dishes on offer to the junior officers. Food seemed like a safely neutral topic.

"It's Captain Kirk's Third Passing meal. It's his preparation for this afternoon. He's getting all the foods that help a man to generate power."

"Oh." Chekov looked back towards the other table. "What's that… thing? In the centre?"

"Afterbirth," Dirs said, spooning fried noodles onto a plate for himself.

Chekov gagged, then told himself not to be ridiculous. He wasn't going to be offered any. "From what kind of animal?" he asked, concentrating on identifying the vegetarian options on this table, just to be on the safe side.

Dirs shook his head, smiling broadly. "You are so… innocent, Pavel. From a woman, of course. Fresh this morning."

"You eat women?" Chekov demanded. Then he realised that wasn't what Dirs meant at all. "No, of course. I'm sorry. I'm finding this all… very strange."

"Well, when you think about it, it's necessary. I mean, the Fathers are always giving power to women, time after time. Apparently, they don't conceive every time. I've even heard that some of them do it when they can't possibly conceive, just to steal our strength." Dirs sounded scandalised. "This is just how the Fathers get some of their power back."

Chekov gave up trying to fill his plate and looked around for Kirk. The captain was sitting with Bargos, as usual, looking very pale. Maybe someone had told him what he was eating.

The ensign approached the table. "Captain?"

"Yes?"

"I… wondered if you were… okay?"

"Yes, I'm okay. Eat your lunch."

He slid into a seat, laying his plate quietly on the table. Kirk turned back to Bargos, ignoring him.

He picked at his food, cutting every morsel open before putting it in his mouth, waiting for a chance to speak to Kirk privately.

"Chekov, I told you to go straight back to our quarters and wait for me there."

The ensign felt his mouth fall open. He'd completely forgotten. "I'm sorry, Captain. I… I..."

"And I told you to tidy our quarters before lunch. Did you forget that too?"

Chekov swallowed. He didn't remember being given any such order. "I'm sorry, sir, I don't recall..."

"No .Because you walk round in a permanent daydream. You're an idle, good-for-nothing..."

Suddenly, it clicked. Chekov tuned out the insults. Kirk was play acting. Even if he wanted to bawl the ensign out for leaving their room, he wouldn't do it in front of Bargos without a good reason, a good reason he'd probably — possibly — explain later. And he certainly wouldn't make up imaginary offences. Unless he'd lost his mind after last night. And this morning. There was this morning too.

"Are you listening to me?" Kirk suddenly demanded.

Chekov took a gamble. If Kirk had a reason to appear angry, the most helpful thing a mere ensign could probably do was provide excuses.

"I'll go do it now," he said, with an ill-temper it wasn't hard to fake. He snatched up his plate and sent two top heavy water mugs toppling.

Kirk swore and stood, kicking his stool clear behind him. He grabbed Chekov by the shoulder of his shirt and cuffed him none too gently across the side of the head.

"I want to know why you left our room."

"I needed some fresh air. Sir."

Kirk was silent for a moment. Then he turned to the Father. "Bargos, if I was on my ship, I'd put him in the brig for twenty four hours. Do you have somewhere for a pigheaded adolescent to cool his heels overnight?"

The Liminal stared at Kirk. "He's due his Passing tonight. You're overreacting, Kirk. It's nerves. Don't take it out on Chekov."

The penny dropped. Chekov caught at Kirk's arm. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm truly sorry. I felt ill and I thought a few minutes in the garden would clear my head. I..."

Kirk scowled at him and brushed him away impatiently. "Keep your mouth shut," he snapped. "You're always full of excuses and good intentions for the future, and they never come to a damn."

"But sir..." The front of Kirk's tunic was damp with sweat. Bargos was correct, Chekov realised. Kirk really was under a great deal of strain. He also wasn't picking up Chekov's frantic attempts to divert him. "I'm… But it's my Passing. I want to..."

"I don't think you understand what's involved," Kirk said icily. He turned to Bargos. "I think it will reflect badly on the Federation if I allow you to confer adult status on him when he behaves like a child half the time."

The Liminal shrugged. He seemed puzzled. "Well, you know him better than I do, of course. We have a blockhouse, a detention block, but it isn't used for minor disciplinary matters. Normally, a boy..." He stopped and looked at Chekov doubtfully. "If a boy misbehaves, he's beaten. And of course, he can't be beaten one minute and be ready for his second Passing the next."

"Sir..." Chekov tried one last time.

"Go to our quarters, Chekov, I'll..."

"Kirk." Bargos caught hold of Chekov's arm and stopped him going. He continued speaking softly and intently. "I'm not sure why you're doing this..."

Kirk stared at him. "I gave you my reason."

"Excuse me speaking frankly, please. If you want to be his jeehavvaas, I can understand that. And of course, you won't be able to do that tonight. But if you really want an excuse to delay his Passing, you'd better let everyone see that it's a punishment for indiscipline, not just… partiality on your part. It looks bad."

"So what do I have to do?" Kirk demanded. "Make an announcement?"

"No, just don't sneak off and beat him in private. Chekov, stand over there."

Bargos pointed across the lawn towards the barracks. To one side of the direction he indicated was the veranda and the dining room, to the other, a flight of steps leading up to the second storey. Between was a length of blank, white wall, fronted by a strip of ground paved with flagstones.

Chekov glanced at Kirk, who nodded sharply. He hesitated a moment, praying that Kirk would give him an opportunity to say something. The captain merely picked up his fork and began pushing the food around on his plate. Chekov gave up and stalked over to the wall.

The sun glared off it, straight down on to the near-black flagstones. The heat from them was uncomfortable. He could see Dirs staring at him, then others looking up and taking notice.

***

"Who beats him, me?" Kirk asked, once Chekov was out of earshot.

"It's not usual." Bargos said, "And anyway, you should save your strength."

"If he gets beaten now, there's no possibility that he'll be… that he'll have his Passing tonight?"

"Nor any time soon. Shall I call him back? I can say it was a misunderstanding."

"No !Look, I hope I'm not going to offend you by saying this, but… what happened to me last night… It's not like anything we… If I had my way, the seven men who did that to me last night would be..." Kirk caught at the emotion in his voice, swallowed it, along with a mouthful of whatever slippery offal he was eating. "Well, I wouldn't be sitting here eating lunch with them."

Bargos leaned forward across the table. "How then do you control the violent sexual instinct? The urge to dominate and subdue? We surround it with ritual, and direct it towards young men who are strong and willing. The boys are protected from the full sexual energy of a Father in his prime. You weren't hurt last night. You were given a great gift."

"I don't see it that way."

"But I do, and so does every Liminal boy past weaning. What's about to happen now to Chekov, according to rules for his protection, it lessens the risk of some Father abusing a young man behind closed doors."

"This… discipline, is a thinly disguised sex show?"

The Liminal's full mouth curved into a smile. "No one is disguising it."

Kirk looked up anxiously. Chekov was standing by the wall, as ordered. The thin white fabric of his shirt was sticking to his back. He was staring at the ground, but he must have noticed how almost every man was watching him as they ate. Two or three, their meal finished, had taken their drinks and walked over to enjoy them close to the expected spectacle.

Dirs was among them. He called something out to Chekov, who looked up, squinting into the sun. Dirs was laughing.

"Have you eaten enough?" Bargos asked.

Kirk's plate was still half full, but he nodded. "Yes .I'm… not very hungry."

"Then we'll get started. You've enough to do this afternoon as it is."

Bargos was smirking. He led Kirk across the grass and there was a general movement like a wake behind them as men rose from the tables, talking and laughing.

"Maybe I should..."

"Don't be stupid, Captain Kirk," Bargos interrupted. "You can't do this today."

He picked out a man from the crowd. Kirk didn't recognise him, couldn't tell anything from his face. He might be the worst kind of sadist for all Kirk knew. And then Bargos tapped Dirs on the shoulder and nodded to him. Both men pushed through the front row of spectators to where Chekov stood. Kirk found himself considerately steered through the audience until he, too, was at the front. The ensign glowered at him for a moment, then went back to his study of the ground.

Kirk glanced around. There was no whip, no cane. The wall was bare. They evidently didn't plan to tie the prisoner to anything. So far, it didn't look too bad.

"Don't worry," a soft voice said by his ear. "It doesn't hurt too much. He'll be okay. You were probably right."

Kirk turned to find Inya standing next to him. "I was right?"

"To think he'd rather do this than the Passing, if all this is as strange to you as you say. This is nothing."

The older man Bargos had chosen stood to one side, as if waiting his turn. Dirs walked up to Chekov, and the crowd went quiet.

It was a very intense kind of quiet. Kirk felt himself begin to tremble. Everything was different to last night; the sunlight, the crowd behaving like a concert audience rather than a mob. And yet it was too much the same.

Dirs took a length of cord out of his shirt, pulled Chekov roughly around, jerked his arms behind his back and fastened his wrists together. Then he turned the ensign again and kissed him. It lasted a minute, maybe more. He began to unfasten the front of Chekov's shirt, one clip at a time, folding the collar further away from his neck with each clip, until the final fastening was released and the whole garment slid back away from the ensign's shoulders and down his arms.

The anger in Chekov's statement was beginning to melt into confusion, and fear. Kirk wasn't surprised. He swallowed, then swallowed again. He didn't feel nauseous, but saliva was flooding his mouth. "Inya, what exactly are they going to do to him?"

"You don't know? Don't worry. It's nothing, really."

"You keep saying that. Why's everyone watching if..."

"Same reason you are, don't you think?" Inya's voice was creamy with anticipation.

Chekov's face was blank now, as if he was trying to be somewhere else. Dirs was tracing his fingers in rings and spirals over the bare skin of the ensign's shoulders and chest, downward and then up again. He stopped, licked his fingertips and began to play with the Russian's nipples. For a few moments he got no reaction, then Chekov pulled away. The Liminal pushed him further, until he was backed up against the wall. He leaned down and took one nipple in his mouth. Chekov gasped, and a soft, frustrated little sigh rose from the men around Kirk.

'I don't know what to do,' he thought. So far, this was just… distasteful, but it could get worse, much worse. It could get as bad as the very thing it was supposed to prevent. "Inya, is he… are they going to… is there any actual sex involved in this?"

"I wish..." Inya sighed. Then he looked at Kirk, frowning at the distraction, but obviously aware that Kirk was worried. "No .Of course not. He's just a boy, isn't he?"

Dirs had moved on to the other nipple. Kirk could almost feel the roughness of the wall as Chekov squirmed against it. Then Dirs straightened up, pushed his hand between the ensign's legs and kissed him full on the mouth again. When he broke away this time, the Liminal turned, grinning at his audience.

They whooped and yelled their approval.

Like a showman, the young Liminal bowed. He clutched at his own groin, miming arousal. Then he unhooked the first clip at the waist of Chekov's pants. Because they were high-waisted, with a broad, fitted waist band, there were three clips. As Dirs dealt with each one, he let his fingers slide further inside the tight pants, performing a slow, circling massage of the ensign's stomach.

The Liminal's lips were moving. Chekov blinked at him, then shook his head fiercely. Kirk strained anxiously in a vain attempt to hear. It looked like Dirs was checking things out, trying to discover what his victim could and couldn't tolerate. The captain glanced round, to see if the crowd would disapprove. He found himself looking straight into the eyes of the jeehavvaas from last night. Looking right, beyond Inya, there were other faces he half recognised, maybe not his assailants, but part of the mob, men who'd held him for others to assault, if they hadn't taken part themselves.

Every muscle and joint in his body tightened up again. When he turned his attention back to Chekov, wanting distraction, the unknown Liminal had moved in and taken hold of the ensign, and Dirs was enthusiastically simulating intercourse. The crowd yelled encouragement.

Kirk felt a hand on his shoulder and Inya's voice spoke insistently into his ear. "It'll be over soon. What's wrong with him? What does he think he's doing?"

"Huh?" Kirk swung round, his anger suddenly spilling. "What do you mean? He's getting touched up by a couple of..."

"Captain, hasn't he done this before?"

Kirk realised there was honest concern in Inya's voice .

"No .He hasn't done this before. Neither of us has any idea what this is about. If Chekov's doing something he shouldn't, or..."

Inya seemed confused. "But he must know what to do. No one gets to his age without getting into trouble at least once."

"Inya, listen to me. We do things differently. If Chekov should know something, you have to tell him."

Chekov was struggling, clearly desperate to get out of the Liminals' grasp. There were discontented grumbles among the onlookers.

"Pavel!"

Dirs twisted at the sound of his friend's voice. "Hey, don't distract him, Inya!"

"Then tell him he's supposed to be enjoying this! Or are you doing it so badly he can't?"

After a split second of tense silence, a ripple of laughter broke from the watching men. Dirs grinned. "It's not my fault he's a terrified virgin. Blame Captain Kirk."

The laughter sounded again, louder.

"C'mon, Pavel, this is the good part. Inya's right. It's supposed to be fun."

"Ensign!"

Dirs loosened his hold on Chekov, letting him turn. He looked at Kirk, his face raw with humiliation . ' Captain, get me out of this,' every inch of him seemed to be pleading.

"They're not going to hurt you. Smile!" Kirk ordered, feeling like a pimp.

Chekov's statement turned incredulous, for just a moment. Then he looked at Dirs and grinned feebly. Dirs kissed him and pushed him back into the arms of the other man. He straightened his own clothes and stepped away from Chekov. His face was flushed and wet with sweat, and he pushed his hair back from his eyes, looking far too realistically post-coital for Kirk's liking. The other Liminal was untying Chekov's wrists. Then he twisted the rope round his own hand a couple of times, leaving the two ends and a single loop hanging free. Dirs ripped Chekov's shirt off and gripped him by the elbows, his left side turned to the audience. The older Liminal, a Father, Kirk realised, eased the white pants down over Chekov's hips with his free hand. He caressed the exposed flesh, slowly, the caresses becoming intimate, intrusive, a manual rape. Chekov leaned into Dirs, resting his face, half hidden, against the young man's shoulder. He wasn't smiling, but he was keeping the fear and anger out of sight. His fist, white-knuckled, grasped a handful of the Liminal's shirt.

"They don't usually go this far, but he's older, of course. They probably think he's used to this." Inya had gripped Kirk's arm, stopping him from rushing forward to object, or intervene.

"Why ?Why do it at all? What's the point of humiliating him like this? Isn't the beating enough?"

"Humiliating him? He's not being humiliated. He's..." Inya stopped, taking a moment to work out for himself what was happening. "He's done something wrong, but he's still one of us. We still want him. That's what this is for. He's going to get punished, but first we show him he's still one of us. And he has to show he wants that, by not looking so sour about it." He tore his eyes away from the mock rape to look at Kirk. "You ordered this to happen, didn't you? For him to be punished? And you thought he'd just be beaten?" The Liminal scowled disapprovingly. "Don't you care that he'll just be angry with you? That he'll feel excluded?"

"No .And if he did… I'd talk to him about it."

Inya frowned. "Well… words are easy, we say. But… Well, you do things differently. There, this is the part he should be worrying about." He gestured to the front, where Dirs was still holding Chekov as the cords landed across his back with a sharp crack.

The beating was only a token. At the end, the ensign's skin was grazed in half a dozen places. Dirs kept a steadying hand on Chekov's elbow for a moment, then bent down and picked up his ensign's shirt for him, holding it for him as he fastened his pants.

As Chekov silently slid his arms into the sleeves, Kirk turned and began to walk away, then run. He knew he should go to his ensign, but the men who'd raped him were in the way, part of the mass of Liminals still pressing round. He couldn't see himself getting past them to Chekov's side without turning to one side or the other to lash out at them. Instead he headed for the shuttle, brushing the guards aside to get in and find the medical kit. Chekov was okay, not badly hurt. Painkillers would take care of it…

When he came out again, a couple of the Fathers had arrived. One was yelling at the guards. The other intercepted Kirk. "You are not allowed access to your craft. You must ask permission if you need anything from inside. You must be accompanied. If you disobey these restrictions again, you'll be confined to the guest quarters."

"On whose authority?" Kirk demanded impatiently.

The Liminal seemed put out by the question. "Ours, as defenders of Limina."

With his arm clenched around the medical case, Kirk turned his back on the officer and headed for their quarters. When he got there, the door was open and he hurried inside, expecting to find Chekov laid on the bed, and Dirs, probably, acting as an unwelcome nursemaid. He felt himself begin to tense up at the thought of not laying that bastard out on the tiles.

Two of the Liminal Fathers were standing by the window.

"What's wrong? Where's Chekov?"

"Father Bargos told a couple of the youngsters to take him to the baths and clean him up."

"The baths? He needs medical attention." Kirk threw the case onto the bed. "Excuse me..."

One of the Liminals had already moved between him and the door, blocking his exit. The other stepped forward and grabbed Kirk's arm. "Forget the boy. You'll need all the strength you can get for this afternoon. You don't want to waste it on him. We'll make sure you have what you need."

"Get your hands off me."

"I don't believe I will, Captain. After that little display out there, I have power to spare."

The larger of the two Liminals began to push Kirk towards the bed. They were both bigger than Kirk, and it was obvious that they simply didn't think he was entitled to resist. They also had the advantage of not being angry and distracted. They laughed off his struggles. Kirk was thrown half across the bed and stripped of his clothes in a neat, four handed operation, pinned in position as each garment was removed. One of the men held his hands together on one side of the bed while the other knelt on the backs of his calves and raped him. Then they changed places and he was raped again. Every thrust was like salt and fire.

"Not so tight today," the second attacker said as he straightened his clothes, then rolled Kirk over and grinned at him.

"You..." Kirk closed his eyes. He wasn't ready to deal with the fact that this man had assaulted him twice. He was already more furious, more damaged than he dared admit. His guts were a solid knot of pain.

"The women will send someone for you in the next hour," the Liminal informed him. "If you fight like that, they'll probably send you straight back and you'll never have your third Passing."

"Get out of here."

The two Fathers looked at each other, annoyed. One shook his head. "Listen, Kirk..."

"We're here to help you. You can't be sent off to the women with no idea of what to expect. You need to know how to protect yourself, what to look out for..."

"How far to let them go."

Kirk sat up, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Get out of here. I don't need your damned advice..."

"But you do. It's important you get this right, do this the right way. Otherwise, they'll wring you dry."

"Get out of here!"

It was almost a relief when the Liminal's casual exasperation turned to anger.

"Are you giving me orders?" the man demanded. "Just who do you think you are? We came in here to help you out, not to be insulted." He grabbed a handful of Kirk's hair and pulled him to the edge of the bed, and off it, to land awkwardly on the floor. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs didn't seem to be obeying orders.

"We're here to help you. We'd rather be in the bathhouse, watching your little virgin shivering under a cold shower. So what do you say?"

"I say, I'd be willing to warm him up again," the second Father chipped in.

The captain got as far as his knees. He stopped, both Liminals' hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place.

"What do you say?"

Chekov. His first priority ought to be finding Chekov and making sure he was safe.

"Thank you."

"What ?I didn't hear you."

"I said 'thank you'."

Kirk heard the door close and guessed they'd gone. He felt around for his clothes and found he'd put his hands on his own uniform, clean and neatly folded. Dressed, he stumbled into the bathroom. Once he'd thrown up, he splashed his face but didn't bother to dry it. He had to do something. He didn't even know where the damn bathhouse was.

***

Chekov paused to catch his breath before he entered the barrack block. He was sure he'd seen Kirk head off towards the shuttle, but the guards had refused to allow him access when he'd followed him there. He couldn't imagine why the captain had left him like that. Was he still angry that Chekov had tried to argue with him? Even if that was the case, why would he abandon him? What was he trying to achieve? Chekov didn't allow the aching anxiety that Kirk might not be acting rationally at all to come to the surface.

Kirk was standing in the middle of the bedroom. For a moment, he stared at Chekov as if he didn't recognise him. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. "Chekov, are you okay?"

Chekov ignored the question. "Captain, I spoke to the Grandfather. He's on our side. But he doesn't think the Fathers will listen to him. He asked me to help him, to make sure they had no reason to depose him, but I can't now."

"I'm sorry about what happened back there. I wasn't expecting… But you don't know how bad the alternative was."

"He's impotent." Chekov spat the word out. "That means he doesn't have the strength to be their leader. He was going to be… to… to be the one I had to go down on at the ceremony this evening. I was supposed to pretend he could do it. We were planning to fake it."

"I couldn't stay there, because… I went to get the medical kit." Kirk turned to get it from the bed. "Do you want me to..."

"You're not listening to me."

Kirk turned back. "Where did I put it? I have to do something about your back. It must be sore. Are you okay apart from that?"

"Listen to me!" Chekov caught hold of Kirk's arms and forced him to stand still. The captain shook him off. He looked angry, predictably, and then he just looked tired.

"Okay .I'm listening. Go on."

Chekov took a deep breath and tried to organise his thoughts and make this as short and clear as possible. "I spoke to the Grandfather. He agrees with us. He doesn't think we'll be able to persuade the rest of them. In their eyes, if they can't defend their world, with weapons, they have no reason to exist. They don't do anything else, the men. Nothing else. And they can't admit they're powerless to do that. Because he's old, and impotent, the Fathers can depose him if they don't agree with his ruling. I agreed I'd fake sex with him so that wouldn't happen."

Kirk frowned. "What ?You said you'd have sex with him? Why?"

"You're not listening… Captain, are you okay?"

"Yes, of course I'm okay. But why do you want to sleep with the Grandfather? He's an old man, just a figurehead."

"No, he's not. He's their leader. He's important. You remember the boy, Toli, this morning..."

"And that's why you want to sleep with him?"

Chekov could feel impatience rising like acid in his throat. He swallowed it. "No, I do not want to sleep with him, I do not want to sleep with anyone, but if I did, then the Liminals could not claim he was impotent, and his opponents could not depose him."

"Why don't you want them to depose him? Is he going to help us?"

Chekov clenched his fists to stop himself taking hold of the captain and shaking him. "No, he will not help us, because if he does, he'll be deposed by his opponents. If you had not made it impossible, I would have had sex with him, everyone would have seen, or at least thought they'd seen, he wasn't impotent, and his decision would have been accepted by everyone."

Kirk looked as if he was processing this syllable by syllable. "I'm sorry. I'm… feeling dizzy. Yes, I understand. I didn't want you to get hurt, Chekov."

"It's just oral sex. I can do that. I could have done it this morning, if you'd given me time."

"It isn't just that. After that, it's anal sex. Several times over. I don't think you..."

"After having their hands all over me just now, I don't think it will make any difference."

Kirk shook his head. "No disrespect, Ensign. You don't know what you're saying." He went back to looking for the medical kit. Someone had moved it to the table. "Did anyone treat your back?"

Chekov sighed and gave up. This morning's plans were history, anyhow. "They sprayed something on it. It doesn't hurt too badly. I don't think that was the point of it. Do you?"

"Let me get you a hypo to stop any infection."

"Inya said it was clean. What are we going to do? They're not going to listen to us."

"I still have a chance to talk to the women this afternoon."

"Captain, this is nothing to do with the women. They won't make a decision about it. It's not their business. You can talk to them all day, if they'll listen. They probably won't."

Kirk sat down again. He clamped his hands together, but Chekov could see they were shaking. "Okay .The Grandfather… how sure was he that we were going to lose our case?"

Chekov began to pace up and down the tiled floor. "He… He seemed sure. It makes sense."

"And he's in favour of an alliance with the Federation, but he won't carry the rest with him, right?"

"Yes." Chekov nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, exactly."

"Could he just have been trying to… to get off with you?"

"What?"

"Persuade you to have sex with him. Come on, Chekov, don't be naive."

"You saw Toli. Why would he think he had to do something so complicated?"

Kirk shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe by their standards you're more attractive than that brat. Maybe… I don't know. You're sure about all this? Are you sure?"

"No, I'm not sure. How can I be sure? It might be they are all lying about everything." The ensign took another steadying breath. "But it makes sense. It all fits together. "

"Well… I can't think straight, Chekov. I can't… You'll have to decide. I just want to get away from here before any more.."

"Then I think we should leave, now."

Kirk looked relieved. "Do you? Then we will. If there's nothing to be gained by staying, we'll go." Accepting the decision seemed to clear Kirk's mind. He stood up and glanced around the room. "We might get some trouble at the shuttle..."

"Damn .I should have told you. I went to the shuttle on my way here, looking for you. The guards wouldn't let me near it. I hoped it was just a misunderstanding but..."

"The shuttle. I forgot. Shit. No. That's their safety net. They can refuse our terms and keep us as hostages. Someone should explain to Bargos that having a couple of Starfleet officers in his hands won't stop the Klingons wiping the floor with him. It doesn't matter. We'll beam out. It might offend them, but I doubt we'll have time to reopen negotiations anyway before the Klingons get here." Kirk put his hand to his belt and brought it away empty. He stood there looking at it. "The bastards," he said. "Where's your communicator?"

Chekov's native costume had nowhere to keep anything. The ensign crossed swiftly to the small cupboard on the far side of the bed and looked inside. "They've taken mine too." Still kneeling by the little wooden chest, Chekov began drumming his fists on its top. "We can't stay here. I can't stay here. Captain, if someone tries to… to… I'll fight. I'll kill them if I have to, or fight until they have to kill me. I'm not going to..."

"A moment ago, you seemed to think it was no big deal."

"I'd do it for a reason! To achieve something. Before you screwed up." He stopped dead but didn't apologise. After a moment, he sneaked a quick look at the captain. Kirk was just sitting there with his face in his hands.

"Captain?" Chekov stood up, uncertain what to do. "We need to think of something else. Captain?"

"I went to get the medical kit from the shuttle, in case you needed it." Kirk's voice was choked.

Chekov came over to him, puzzled. For some reason, Kirk, did, and didn't, want to tell him something, something that started with fetching the medical kit. He stood there for a moment, not sure what to do, how to help. He put out a hand to touch Kirk's shoulder, but drew it back. "You went to fetch the medical kit, and then?"

"Then I came here. Two of them were waiting here for me. I think they were part of it last night too..."

"And they… What did they do?" Chekov waited for Kirk to answer, in vain. "They took the communicators, and… What else did they do?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm just… it's the adrenaline. I want to smash something."

The ensign stepped into the bathroom and came back with a face cloth. He held it out to Kirk. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Shouting at you."

Kirk shook his head and used the cloth to wipe tears off his cheeks. His eyes still brimmed. "I should have realised you had something to say. I was so preoccupied with what happened last night, that kid this morning, all the rumours I was hearing about this afternoon. They keep dropping hints, making it sound like a cross between a Roman orgy and the Spanish Inquisition. Did you get any idea..."

"No .I think Dirs and Inya just don't know. I'm not even sure… I'm not sure they know the basic biology."

Kirk nodded a couple of times. Then he shook his head angrily. "I can't think straight. It's like… My mind keeps going back to the same thing."

Chekov sat down beside him. "That will be shock." He glanced round for their tricorder, but of course, that was gone too. "Let me..." He put a hand on Kirk's shoulder, and the other across his forehead. It was damp and cold. "I think you should lie down. I'll look in the medical kit. You need something that won't make you sleepy, or confused." He leaned across the captain to pull up the throw, but Kirk took hold of his arm.

"Don't… For God's sake, don't give me a sedative. I don't want to be any less in control. Just… just let me hang on to you for a moment. I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't do this, but I need someone… someone I can trust."

Chekov sat there rigidly for a moment. Kirk wasn't relaxing. "Okay, Cap… Jim. That's okay." He shifted a little and wrapped his spare arm round his captain's back. "If you trust me, then you can tell me what happened."

"Okay .I'll tell you." For a long moment, Kirk didn't say anything, then he sighed. "They raped me." His voice was quite calm. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, after that… sex show. They were like a pack of dogs round a bitch in heat out there, all of them."

"And last night?"

"Yes .The same. More… six of them, but I think these two were there both times. You couldn't… Did you realise, when you talked to the Grandfather..."

"Yes .Yes, I did. I knew what happened. Dirs and Inya told me about that."

"And you thought you could… How? How could you give a damn what happens to this sewer of a planet?"

"Dirs said… he said they help each other. He said he'd help me. I don't know. The Grandfather… He was trying to do the right thing. I'm sure he was."

"When Spock doesn't hear from us, he'll pull us out."

"But when? Before this evening?"

"I don't know. If the Liminals aren't arming, if there's no sign of trouble… Maybe not. I told him to give us as long as he could. If he does, pull us out, we won't have another chance. He knows that."

"And the Klingons will get Limina..."

"Does that still bother you? So long as we're not stuck here?"

"The problem is..."

"Hm?" Kirk shifted. The room was cool and his shirt was damp with sweat. He was beginning to shiver. Chekov reached out for the throw and pulled it round both of them. He felt like a rock, holding the captain, being there for him, a firm anchor. So long as no more storms blew up, the anchor might even hold.

"Well, what's the problem? Analysis, Mister Chekov."

"They're not unhappy, are they? He explained, if I had… had my Passing tonight, it wouldn't be the first time..."

"What ?What do you mean?"

"I mean, I think Dirs would have offered to do that first. And make sure I was half drunk, and he'd be there afterwards. It's a… a rite of passage. They would help you too, if you let them."

"And the way they treated you just now? What's your Pollyanna interpretation of that? "

"Pollyanna?"

"A child notorious for seeing good in everything."

"Oh." Chekov frowned. "Then I am not a Pollyanna. I hate this place. Well. I have looked at pornography, sometimes."

"Huh ?So you got a kick out of being the star this time?"

Chekov stiffened. "No .I… No, but it seems hypocritical to be angry with the audience just for that. And Inya explained..."

Kirk shook his head slowly. "Fine .Your objectivity astounds me. He explained to me too. Apparently every time I give you a ticking off, I ought to take you straight to bed in case your feelings are bruised. But I was just raped. Not just raped. They… they were trying to humiliate me, frighten me." He laughed. "And, well, they succeeded. Is that culturally approved, or are we outside the flimsy protection of Liminal custom now that we've been declared losers, ahead of time?"

"Maybe you..."

"What ?Asked for it? Thank you, Ensign, for that insight."

"I didn't mean that. You know I didn't mean that. Maybe you didn't do what they expected. Maybe you were supposed to… to be as turned on as they were. Captain..."

"Oh, so I didn't ask for it, but I should have?"

"I mean… They seemed surprised when you walked away afterwards. I think they expected you to..."

"What ?To do what? I went to get the medical kit."

"Yes."

"And that wasn't the right thing to do? Shit, I don't understand these people. I'm sorry I walked off. I was angry… I was too angry to trust myself. I thought Inya would look after you. I'm sorry I..."

"Sir?"

"I'm sorry I walked off. The men who raped me last night were there in the crowd. Smiling, enjoying what those two bullies were doing to you. I couldn't… And I'm sorry I wasn't listening to you, earlier."

Chekov sighed. "I can see why… why you were distracted."

"I just didn't want it to happen to you."

"Yes .I understand, but..."

"And then I thought it was going to happen anyway, when that sonofabitch started undressing you..."

Kirk was trembling again. Chekov pulled him closer. "Don't be angry. It won't help to be angry."

"Did they tell you that at the Academy? Well, don't spout that shit back at me. Maybe I'm not supposed to show it, but… I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm shouting at you. I'm meant to be the one who's in control… of the… fucking… stupid..." He choked, swallowed, sobbed.

Chekov felt a corresponding swell of panic inside himself as his captain threatened to fall apart again. He had to be a rock. When the storm got worse, the rock just had to stand firm. "Don't .Don't worry. After this afternoon, it can't happen again, once you're a Father. Can it?"

He felt Kirk take a deep breath. "Are you asking me, or telling me?"

There was a sharp knock at the door.

"The ladies," Kirk said, his tone armoured with sarcasm. "The gentler sex, supposedly. Wish me luck."

"You can't..."

"Well, I have no choice, do I? Saying no will only make things worse.

Chekov reluctantly released him, letting his captain back out into the storm. Maybe it would be okay. Up until now, nothing else had been okay, so maybe it was time something went right at last. And this was the captain's special expertise. He was famous for it. Maybe they would be nice to him. Maybe they wouldn't have his balls for breakfast.

"You stay right here, if you can. Lock the door after I go." Kirk got up to open the door, but their caller anticipated him and opened it himself.

Dirs stood there and looked at both of them. "Can I come in?"

Before either of them could answer, other Liminals, strangers, appeared in the corridor. "I'm just talking about the arrangements for tonight," Dirs called over his shoulder to them, and he pulled the door shut behind himself. He stood with his back to it.

"Inya says you're mad at me, Pavel. I'm sorry."

"I'm not angry with you," Chekov said. "Come in."

"It never occurred to me that you wouldn't be ready for that. Really."

"What do you want?" Kirk cut in harshly.

Dirs took a deep breath and came right up to the two men. He spoke softly but insistently. "Pavel told me you could get away from here without using your shuttlecraft. I think you should do that. Now."

"Why?"

"Because… I would if I was you."

"Our communication devices have been taken. We can't contact our ship to do that. So unless you can help us to get access to a radio transmitter of some kind..."

Dirs shook his head. "There are guards outside. I can't get you access to anything."

"You could signal our ship for us."

The Liminal looked down at the ground. "I won't do that."

"Why not?" Kirk demanded impatiently. "If you're willing to..."

Dirs looked at Chekov rather than Kirk. "Don't push me, Pavel. I like you, I'd rather not be your enemy, but I'm not a traitor."

"But if you are willing..."

Chekov grabbed the captain's shoulder. "He's trying to help us as much as he can. Dirs, what has changed since this morning? We were told this afternoon, Captain Kirk would be..."

"No .That's been cancelled, or delayed. I think Bargos realised if he allowed that, he'd have no excuse to put off making a decision any longer. There's been a lot of talk, grumbling. People are saying we should be getting ready to fight you, and if we do..."

"What ?What happens if you do? You know if you say no to us, even if you harm me and the captain, we'll just leave. We have no intention of forcing you to do anything."

Dirs looked out of the window. "What will happen is… I don't know what will happen. No one seems to know that. But I know what might happen."

"And that is?"

"You two will be kept as hostages. And if you don't… if your ship doesn't fight back when we attack, if it just goes, we'll have won."

"And?" Chekov prompted.

"And you two won't be needed as hostages any longer so… you will get your second Passing, first, so no one can say we'd do anything to a boy, and then ..."

"What?"

"This hasn't happened for generations. We haven't had a war for that long. But you'll be anyone's, both of you. They'll just… throw you to anyone who wants you, boys, men, fathers. Everyone will be drunk on victory, even if no one's fired a shot or split a barrel. You'll probably be dead in less than a day. That's what used to happen. We learn about it in history, and poems and things. I never thought… I never imagined it happening to someone I liked."

Chekov glanced at Kirk, whose shoulder had gone rigid under his fingers.

"You think Bargos will let this happen?" Kirk asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"It's not for Bargos to decide. He's not the Grandfather."

"Then will the Grandfather let it happen?"

"He might. I don't know. He's very old. He's not been powerful for a long time, but there's been no real reason for that to matter… Anyone could challenge him. If they do, because they don't agree with him, then any one of the idiots who wants to shoot your ship out of the sky could be Grandfather by tomorrow. You can't blame Bargos. I think he'd rather make an alliance with you. If he was Grandfather, the way everyone always thought he would be, I'm sure that's what he'd do. But he's not. It's all so… uncertain. We weren't ready for this, you see. We weren't really ready for anything..." Dirs trailed off. He sounded confused.

Kirk sat down on the bed. He looked up at Chekov. His face was dead white.

"Dirs, please," Chekov said quietly, "we are not asking you to be a traitor. Our ship will not attack your world. Please help us to contact them."

"I can't .I really… can't." The Liminal was unable to look at either of the Enterprise officers. "I think I trust you, but you're so different to us. Please don't ask me."

"Will you take a message to the Grandfather for me?" Chekov asked, his voice still barely audible.

Dirs frowned. "Yes, but..."

"Tell him, if I am going to die — like that — tomorrow, I want him to be my..." He looked at Kirk.

The captain blinked back at him.

"I can't remember the word," Chekov said, beginning to sound half way between angry and desperate.

"Jeehavvaas," Kirk whispered.

"Yes .Dirs, tell him now, urgently. It's important."

"But Pavel, didn't you understand, he's..." Dirs faltered.

"I know. I know all about that. He will understand what I'm asking for. Please. It can't be treason to take a message to him."

Dirs fidgeted on the balls of his feet. "I'll do it."

"Now .Please."

The door slammed shut on the heels of the departing Liminal.

***

Kirk pulled his tunic straight, then ran his fingers through his hair to try and get that under control too. "Tell me again what this… this Grandfather said."

Chekov sat down on the bed before he answered. His legs didn't feel too steady. "He… didn't spell anything out. But… he knows they can't defend themselves, from us or the Klingons. I think he knows we're not a threat, but… He knows they don't really have a choice. And it's their function to be the defenders. That's what they think men are for." He sighed. "It's almost all they think men are for. But it's a job that hasn't existed for… for centuries. They have been deceiving themselves, and it will be very hard for either sex to admit it. The men don't have the power to defeat us, and the women don't have the… the right, or the authority to make an alliance with us. The men could make a treaty if they knew they could beat us, but… to just give in to the inevitable, not to be able to fight… is too humiliating."

"That was his analysis?"

"I think that is what he meant."

"And you think he was being honest with you?"

"Yes."

"And no one will listen to him because he's past it?"

Chekov frowned. "Either because he's past it, or because they won't want to hear what he's saying. The fact that he can't… will give them an excuse."

Kirk nodded. "And they won't want to hear me say it either," he mused aloud. "I wonder if Bargos was thinking of that when he arranged for me to be so graphically put in my place. Or do you think he's just not thinking at all?"

Chekov couldn't help smiling. As depressing as Kirk's analysis was, the lively intelligence was back in the captain's eyes.

Kirk frowned. "What is it now, Pollyanna?"

"Nothing .I… I'm sorry. You sound more like yourself."

Kirk nodded distractedly. "I'm okay. Yeah."

There was a short silence. Then Kirk shook his head. "There's nothing like the threat of something even worse happening to take your mind off the last disaster. So, you hope he'll go back to plan A, keep quiet , let them think he's going to declare war on the Federation, until the two of you can prove he's still a real man, then suddenly tell them all he's in favour of an alliance?" Kirk didn't sound too convinced.

"Yes." Chekov coloured under his captain's cold gaze. "Have I forgotten something?"

"We don't know if he was being straight with you to start with, we don't know if what you originally planned will work at all, we don't even know he's not completely senile."

"Captain, if you have a better idea, or any idea at all..."

For a moment the two of them glowered at each other.

"No, I don't have a better idea. I don't even have a worse one. How many guards are outside?"

Chekov walked straight out the door. He was promptly escorted back inside by two uniformed Liminals. They were firm rather than rough.

"These two and four more," he reported shortly.

Kirk waited until they'd gone before standing on the bed to examine the ceiling and the overhead lighting. He climbed down and looked at the solid, tiled floor, shaking his head. "Plan A stands, Pollyanna. I like it. It has a lot going for it. How good are you at faking great sex with aliens?"

Chekov let himself respond to Kirk's half-teasing with a half smile. "I'm not sure. I thought he'd… know what he was doing."

The captain crossed over to the window and fingered the latches of the small — too small — opening panes. "It's got to be convincing. He should have jumped you right after lunch. Everyone would have believed that. Everyone else wanted to."

The ensign could feel the colour flood back up into his face.

"I'm sorry," Kirk said. "But I definitely got the impression you're the hottest thing on this base right now, and we have to use that. We might as well be straight up about what's happening. We can be embarrassed as hell later."

Chekov nodded.

"There's so much of this we have no influence over: we should make sure we're not going to fuck up the parts we can control."

The ensign began walking backwards, even though Kirk was nowhere near him. "No .I know I said I would, but I really don't… not with you. I can't..."

He hit the bed and sat down, shutting his eyes for a moment. When he forced them open again, Kirk was kneeling by his feet, looking up into his face. He had Inya's bottle of salve in his hand, gave it a brisk, suggestive massage. "It's about the right size. You could take it in the bathroom and practice."

"I thought you… I'm sorry… I..."

"The next Starbase we hit, Pavel, I'm going to hunt out a bar that stocks genuine Russian vodka and buy you every last quart. Tell me if you really can't do this. We can always go out through that door fighting: only I don't think it'll work, and it won't leave us any other options. Which would you rather gamble on? Inadequate brute force, or your ability to give good head?"

"I can do it, Captain. I'll be okay."

Kirk had to look down at the floor for a moment. "That's my Pollyanna. You'll be more than okay. You'll be great."

***

As the afternoon crept by, the sky outside soured to a stormy yellow-grey. Kirk had tried to sleep, but Chekov didn't think he'd succeeded. His own attempts to relax were equally fruitless. He lay with his eyes closed, his jaws aching and his cheeks burning from his attempts at fellating a medicine bottle. He thought about Toli instead, the boy's ardent desire to perform the required act. If he could be that convincing initially… well, he'd shock his Academy drama coach, even if he didn't manage to save himself and the captain from being sodomised into an early grave.

He sat up, the movement making Kirk open his eyes and blink irritably at him. "What?"

"Voices .Outside."

Kirk sat too, the creaking of the bed momentarily drowning anything else as they listened intently. The window was almost dark. Voices, definitely, arguing. The door swung partially open and Inya slid in. "Pavel..." He turned and checked the door was fully closed, then tiptoed over to the bed. "You talked to Dirs..."

"Yes," Chekov answered when Kirk didn't .The captain seemed to realise that these youngsters were happier talking to the ensign.

"You didn't tell him to do anything… stupid, did you?"

"I asked him to take a message to the Grandfather."

"I know. He told me that much, then he went off to look for him, I suppose. Only I haven't seen him since, and now no one can find the old man either." Inya looked around the room suspiciously then turned his attention to Kirk. "After what Pavel said about you being able to travel without your shuttle, I half expected to find this room empty and..."

"You thought we might have taken the Grandfather hostage?" Kirk suggested.

"I warned Father Bargos about what you can do, but I wasn't sure he believed me."

"I think he did. They've taken the devices we need to contact our ship."

Inya nodded seriously. "I'm sorry. I had to do what I thought was my duty."

"Of course," Kirk said. "I understand."

"Well, I don't," Inya snapped back. "Why don't you just force us to make peace with you? You could do that. It's as if you're teasing us, playing with us..."

"No one can force peace on anyone. We're letting you decide for yourselves. We're giving you the facts. We can't help them being unpleasant, and we can't help the history that makes it difficult for you to choose."

"But after tomorrow..."

"If our ship realises the danger we're in, they'd be justified in using force, in proportion to the danger, to rescue us. But I'm not sure they do realise, yet. And they'll be aware that using force, short of a total take-over, will only drive you into the hands of the Klingons."

Inya shook his head. "If we turn you down, we'll turn the Klingons down too, don't worry."

"What if they don't give you a choice?"

The Liminal shrugged unhappily. "The women are asking questions. They're demanding to know what's happening. Bargos is furious, and now no one can find the Grandfather. If he doesn't turn up in the next few minutes, I'm afraid Bargos will blame you whether you're responsible or not." He glanced over his shoulder as the door began to open. "They're not going to listen to me, but..."

"I know. You'll do what you can. Thanks."

***

Lieutenant Uhura fingered her medals nervously, then noticed she was doing it, and forced her hands down to her sides. The invitation, issued unexpectedly and anonymously, to join some kind of delegation of women, had left Spock little choice but to let her accept and beam down. They hadn't heard from the captain and Chekov in ten hours. Transporting the two men out would ruin everything. Conversely, letting Uhura go in might give them a chance to find out what was happening without simultaneously making matters worse. It might also simply put another officer in danger.

Spock ordered her, against her instincts, to take a phaser, a concealed communicator, and an experienced female security officer.

Now, she was walking, with a group of mostly middle-aged Liminal women, up a long, tree-lined avenue , to 'meet the men' .

The women were curious, and wary. That much she was certain of. The security officer, Lieutenant Rice, had clearly picked it up too. Uhura noticed her discretely scanning for ambushes or traps in the long shadows under the trees. She let Rice get on with it. She was more reminded of a party of suffragettes invited to send a delegation into Parliament, than of an army advancing into battle.

"What exactly is happening?" she asked the Liminal next to her.

She was a mountain of a woman, huge breasts tumbling down to broad hips that suggested a lap generous enough for half a dozen children. She'd introduced herself as Barco verelles Barchis, but Uhura hesitated to use the name. This person seemed to merit a title, just as the captain did. The other women called her Barchis, or 'gam'.

"You tell me. A party of Fathers came out, nervous as virgins, to tell us the Grandfather had ordered us to come observe a meeting with the Federation delegation. Of course, we told them to get lost. No sooner had they got back inside the camp than another party come out, twice as many of them, only this time we are invited to observe. So we send a message back telling them if they can't do their work without our help, they'd better admit it and invite us as delegates in our own right. Didn't expect another word out of them. Could have blown me over with a sigh when they came back, practically at a run, to tell us to send our delegation right in. Damn cheek!"

"Pardon?"

"Hah .Calling us in to do their work for them. And of course, that's when I thought about you. You said only your men were in there. Well, I thought, fair's fair. If we're having women involved, only fair you should too. So I suggested to everyone we open up the external net again, and let you know. Delegation, hah! Where we going to get a delegation from?"

"You mean you had no way to choose who should go?"

"No .In the end, I said, well, I'm the damn Grandfather's wife. I better go see what the stupid old man's up to now, and asked if anyone else wanted to come too. Lucky only a couple hundred said yes, or we'd have been all day debating who to leave behind."

"How did you choose?"

"First ten messages in. Seemed fair as anything. Plus you two. Thirteen. That'll throw them. They'll never be able to arrange us round a table. They like tables, men. Puts everyone who's not got a chair in their place."

A high fence became visible, crossing the road at a checkpoint. Armed men emerged, and a barrier rail began to rise, as if the women were expected.

"Looks like we're welcome!" one of the leading women called back. Her voice sounded very familiar to Uhura.

"Is that Garado, a meteorologist..."

"The youngster you spoke to first? Yes. She didn't ask to come, but so many others nominated her, we told her to get her ass over here and do her bit. She is so scared!" The woman hooted. "She's never met a man in her life, and here she is, walking right into the army's own yard. She ain't showing it, though, is she? She just told me in private, so don't say anything."

"You really have that little contact between the sexes?"

The guards were standing well back, rigidly at attention, as the women passed between the buildings either side of the gate. Rice had fallen back, guarding the rear, watching the front.

"That's right. I'll tell you how it is." Barchis paused and drew a deep breath. "This is how the story goes. We has a myth, that in the first family, there is a brother and a sister. They beautiful children and love one another deep and true. The boy protect his sister from danger: he kill a poisonous snake that crawl into her bed one night. And when he ill, she collect herbs and bark and roots and make a medicine to cure him. Then, when they grow older, the boy realise that she no longer a child, and he find that her body call to his body, and she hear his body calling to her body. Then he seduce her, and the first Father he find them, and he kill his son. And the daughter she give birth to a misshapen child, he die, and she go mad. And the first Father take all his sons away into the Forest, and teach them fight the dangerous beasts, and the tribes who might harm their sisters. And they take prisoners, among the sons of their enemies, to be husbands for their sisters. And the first Mother and her daughters, she stay and farm the land, and build a great city, and they lie with the sons of their enemies, and not their brothers..."

"Do you still do that, take children from one another?"

The woman laughed. "This isn't history, Uhura, this is myth." Her accent had softened. "It answers some questions and asks more. Maybe that happened in the past, if a tribe had lost children in a plague or disaster. And our law still don't allow brothers and sisters to mate. But whatever the source of the myth, it's still good sense. It works for us."

She looked down for a moment, then raised her face to look severely at Uhura. "But now, we have to face the fact that you have different myths, that you do things differently..."

"We don't want to change anything for you, but we are different. And just knowing that might be enough to make you want to… I don't know… consider other options. Or we might find your traditions offer some benefits." Uhura was glad it was getting dark. Despite a complexion that covered her tendency to blush, and years of dutiful mendacity over the commlinks, she knew she wasn't good at lying face to face.

They were well past the gate now, walking up a slow rise over cropped grass, to a low, red-tiled building. The light was failing rapidly, and lamps were being lit. The party stopped a hundred or so metres away from their apparent destination.

"Men!" Barchis exclaimed. "Meeting outside when any fool can see a storm's going to break any moment!"

"They too scared to let us inside!" one of her fellow delegates said scornfully.

"You mix men and women all the time?" Barchis asked Uhura, very quietly.

"Most of the time. Our culture varies from place to place. And some activities usually take place with the sexes segregated. But generally for work, education, things like that, there's no division."

"Uh-huh .The grandfather, he's a good man. He's given me two daughters and a son. Beautiful children, all three. And we've lain together other times, now and then. Not often. Not as often as I would like."

"But surely it's your choice, if you want to..."

The Liminal was shaking her head. "No, it's not right. We know that. Men and women come together to make children, and that's all. But the first time… I was frightened. And he was frightened too..." She laughed. "That big, bold soldier, as frightened as a little boy packing his toys to go away to his First Passing, trying to be brave and not cry where his mother can see. And when we did it, I said to him, 'Divian, this feels so sweet. Don't it feel sweet to you, man?' And he said, 'Yes, it surely does feel sweet, but if I stayed here and lay with you, woman, I'd shrivel up into a husk and blow away with the wind.' So he never stayed but only one night at a time, and only came back when he was strong enough to resist my magic."

The woman rolled her eyes.

Around her, other women were nodding in silent agreement with her account of Liminal life, but Uhura was frustrated. How much of this was wordplay, poetry, and how much was literal truth?

"There have been human societies in the past that have practised much more rigorous gender segregation," Uhura admitted, "and there may even be a few examples today, mostly for religious reasons."

"What's religion got to do with gender?" Barchis demanded impatiently. "That's the one place one Liminal is the same as any other, before God."

Uhura shrugged. "I'm not a practising member of any of those groups, so… I agree with you. But I can't see why someone's sex makes any difference at work, either."

"You probably right, woman," Barchis admitted unexpectedly. "Only, you work with a man, turn your back on him, he'll probably knock you on the floor and get himself inside you. No self-control, stupid animals."

"I… uh… well, we have social conventions to discourage that kind of… incident."

"So do we," Garado's voice piped up. "Put a fence round them and let them do it to each other. When they're a bit older and learned some manners, we let them out… one at a time."

"Ha .What do you know about it, girl?"

Uhura looked anxiously up at the building. There were shuttered windows, and occasionally a door opened. "So you wouldn't normally come in here at all?"

"No, no. Not a real fence. A fence of… what you call it? Social conventions. Quite a few women work in here, and the men come out if they want, which they don't seem to, much, least not the younger ones. But Garado's mostly right. They just screw each other. Saves us the trouble."

"You seemed to… regret not seeing more of your husband."

"My husband, yes. After he had the sharp edges knocked off him by another man, learned some manners, like Garado said. Probably wouldn't have given him space in my bed when he was younger. No, ma'am .Look, someone coming for us."

A Liminal male was walking down the lawn toward them. His manner was awkward. Uhura guessed he was as nervous as the women.

"Grandmother," he said, coming to a halt a few paces away from the visitors.

"That's me, young Bargos. We're invited."

"So I'm told. Do you know why?"

"No .You tell me."

Bargos looked flustered. "I expect the Grandfather wants to tell you himself."

"Well, tell him I don't have all night. I dare say it's about these Federation people. You can tell him I don't mind giving him the benefit of my opinion, but it's his job to make a decision. That's what he's been paid for all these years. You got somewhere we can sit down, man? It's a long walk in from town."

"Of course. It's all arranged. Follow me."

The group formed itself into a tight huddle as it approached the building, passing various men here and there along the way. They rounded the end of the block and were confronted with a long table set out on the lawn, laid for a meal. There were more lamps here, keeping the darkness at bay.

"If you ladies take this end of the table..." Bargos nodded and the delegates began to seat themselves. Uhura found herself a couple of places away from Barchis. All the seating was down one side of the table, facing a broad, empty space. Rice was at the far end.

"Why did we walk?" her left hand neighbour asked, leaning across her.

"Tradition," Barchis snapped. "When the women are invited to join a summit, they always walk."

"Only because it hasn't happened since before the invention of the wheel," Uhura's right hand neighbour said tartly.

The empty space was beginning to fill with men. They were coming out of the building in small groups, talking animatedly, occasionally raising their voices to address someone from another huddle. The mood was tense, even a little angry, Uhura thought worriedly.

Barchis now leaned over to address Uhura. "You heard anything from your men in here?"

"Not recently. Apparently, they were received well, and Bargos and the other senior men listened to them, but they seemed unwilling to make any decisions about anything. They just said it was up to the Grandfather. And then, after a message confirming everything was okay first thing this morning, we haven't heard anything more."

Uhura was reporting the substance of the message honestly, but she'd read a great deal more than that into Kirk's manner, and she guessed Spock had too. "We are a little worried about them," she admitted.

"Hm .They Fathers?"

"Well, not… they don't have children, either of them, but in a social sense, they both have the legal status of adult males." Uhura wasn't sure if she'd quite understood the question.

Her left hand neighbour snickered. "You might get them back in one piece. They good-looking boys?"

"Not boys, men. Be careful what you say," Barchis admonished almost absently.

Uhura forced herself to relax. If it was a sexual free-for-all in here, there was nothing she could do about it for the moment. The captain might even enjoy it, for a change. She wasn't sure whether he'd really be interested, but… but if he and Chekov had any sense, they'd have analysed the situation and agreed to cover for each other. She almost smiled. That would be fascinating to watch.

"Lieutenant!"

Uhura started. Barchis was now leaning across the backs of the two women between them and plucking at her shoulder.

"Looks like something starting to happen. I should say something here, you know."

"Yes?"

"It's nothing personal, what happens now. You do understand that?"

"You mean… you think the Grandfather will decide against an alliance?"

"This don't sound good. These men are spoiling for a fight. Either he'll let them have one, or… well."

The other women nodded their heads sympathetically, as if understanding some unspoken footnote.

"There won't be a fight, Barchis, I promise you. If you don't want an alliance with us, we'll leave you in peace."

"To face these Klingons you told us about?"

"Yes, but, I don't honestly think they'll come looking for a fight either." She didn't say that fighting with such a primitively armed world would probably seem about as honourable to the Klingons as stealing candy from babies - which, in practice, was what they would actually do. "If they can get what they want from you by trade… it won't be fair trade, but it won't be all out war..."

"These men want war, I think. I think someone's been stirring things. Idiots."

"We won't fight you," Uhura repeated.

"You say that now."

"I mean it. Why?"

"You know what happens if there isn't any agreement, and the Grandfather makes a hostile declaration?"

"We retreat?"

"You retreat, since they don't even know you're here, and I'm not about to tell them. But they'll keep your two men as hostages, to stop your ship launching any attack..."

"We won't launch any kind of attack. We'll leave orbit the moment you ask us to."

"Right .Then they won't need hostages any more."

"Oh .So what happens to the hostages if they aren't needed?"

"Two good looking men, whose army won't even fight? What d'you think?"

"They'll kill them?" Uhura said, stunned.

"Not deliberately, not if they're even a little bit good-looking, woman. Even a little bit. Now, sssh."

The grassy space was tight-packed now with men. Uhura shaded her eyes from the lamps hanging on wires over the table and tried to make out faces. They were old and young mixed together, and showed mixed emotions too, intense expressions of anger, even outrage, on many of them.

A gust of wind blew a drop of rain into Uhura's face as she focused herself on the crowd, and the man who had emerged to stand at their head, his back turned to table.

"The Fathers have considered the embassy of the Federation. We have delivered our advice to the Grandfather and he will decide whether we accept or reject it. Listen to him."

"Now for it," Barchis said cryptically. Uhura realised that the chairs along the other half of the table had filled, apart from the one next to Barchis, which was still empty. The man who had addressed the crowd walked off along the narrow gap between the front row and the table, and additional electric light suddenly focused on the empty chair, making the lamplight elsewhere seem a watery yellow.

A man, in late middle age Uhura judged, very straight backed, and wearing a full, embroidered jacket that swirled around his hips as he moved, was walking behind the seated men to the central chair. He nodded to Barchis. "Gam, good of you to come."

"Waste of time, but I know your cook. You are going to feed us?"

"Later .We've a couple of things to do first."

He turned to the crowd. "Are you ready for a decision?"

There were a few muttering, developing into a roar of assent. Among the simple 'yes's', Uhura could hear other comments:

"Give us the hostages!" one voice demanded.

"Give the order to fight!"

"Silence!" The man in the chair next to the Grandfather rose to his feet. He made a bow to his leader. "Grandfather, you must decide. You know the situation. Are we to make an alliance with these people of the Federation, or send them away? They say they won't attack us. Should we believe them?"

"No !Fight them!"

"Kill them!"

"Shoot them out of the sky!"

The Grandfather scowled at the men and their demands fell away to a discontented muttering. "Where are the Federation delegates? Bring them out!"

Uhura turned to Barchis, and the two women between them patiently leaned back in their chairs, out of the way of the discussion. "Do you have any idea what Captain Kirk might have done to provoke this hostility? If it's just a misunderstanding, perhaps..."

"He's here, and vulnerable. Your ship's up out of the way and could blow Limina to dust if you wanted. They want to prove their virility on unarmed prisoners and damn the consequences. Men." Barchis banged an empty glass on the table and looked accusingly at her husband.

Uhura slipped out of her seat and along the chairs to Rice.

"Ma'am?"

"I think the captain and Ensign Chekov may be in some danger..."

"Yes, ma'am, I understand," the lieutenant answered back immediately.

"No, hold on. I think this is going to be a close call. I don't know to what extent the captain is in control of the situation. If we react too soon, if we mistake what's going on, we might mess this up before it gets hopeless. I don't think you and I are under threat at all. And the immediate threat to Captain Kirk and Chekov isn't… well, don't do anything unless their lives are really in danger. Anything less… whatever… take your lead from me. Is that clear?"

"Um .No, it isn't." Rice grimaced apologetically.

"Okay .There might be a little harassment, maybe sexual harassment. I don't know what the situation is. It may take me a moment to weigh it up, to check with Barchis and make sure I'm putting the right interpretation on things. Clear now?"

"You mean… if they throw the captain over the table and..." Rice stopped. "Okay, I'll wait for your signal."

Uhura patted her escort's shoulder and hurried back to her seat, just as the crowd began catcalling again. Kirk and Chekov were led through the mob. The calls for action were joined by what sounded like personal comments, and a few whoops and whistles. When the pair reached the front of the crowd, and the Grandfather's spotlights lit their faces, Uhura was shocked at how tired Kirk looked. He certainly didn't give the impression of being in control of anything. Chekov seemed in better shape. His face had some colour in it, but his eyes looked enormous. He was oddly dressed, in tight, lightweight pants and a white shirt, obviously native costume.

"They've painted his face," Uhura said under her breath.

"Hm?" Barchis responded.

"Nothing .It's just… he looks scared."

The Grandfather rose from his seat and waited for silence. "I have made a decision, but before I announce it, we need to deal with a couple of things." He climbed on to the table, using his chair as a step up. As he straightened, his balance wavered a little. Uhura realised he was older than she had thought. He kicked some glasses aside, clearing a platform, then leaned forward and extended a hand to the two humans. Chekov glanced at Kirk, who nodded. The table wasn't particularly high and with the Grandfather's help, the ensign joined the Liminal on the improvised stage.

"Firstly, there's been some question as to whether the Federation delegates have the legal status to make an alliance with us: in short, whether or not they're men rather than boys. It seems unlikely to me that a civilised society would send a couple of children to negotiate an alliance, but to prevent any argument, I believe Bargos took it upon himself to ensure that Captain Kirk was more or less qualified by Liminal law. Is that right, Captain?"

Kirk looked up and blinked at the bright lights. "Yes."

The captain's attention seemed to be fixed anxiously on Chekov. He hadn't noticed Uhura. The ensign, barely an arm's length away, was staring at nothing, breathing jerkily. This close, she could the fine sheen of sweat on his face and shoulders, despite the cold evening air.

"Don't waste time, old man! Give them to us!"

The demand echoed from many voices. Barchis sighed heavily. "They're going to rip this one apart fighting over who gets to have him first," she said.

"You seem to have made your own decision," the Grandfather said, hardly raising his voice. Uhura realised he must be equipped with a microphone. His voice drowned out the heckling effortlessly.

"We want to hear your decision!"

"Get on with it, Gramps!"

The Liminal leader turned to look at his wife, a bright smile on his lips. "Before I speak, let's give this one his Passing. Fetch the chelate, and the saccobar!"

There was a roar of approval. The Grandfather nodded acknowledgement. "And we need a jeehavvaas. Captain Kirk… no, you're not a Father yet, are you, officially. I apologise for that change of plan, by the way. I didn't quite trust the ladies to give you back in working order. They don't always."

"Lying bastard," Barchis hissed.

He turned and grinned at her.

Chekov had his head down, like a footballer about to tackle someone twice his weight. He seemed to be muttering something to himself. Then he raised his face and caught sight of the lieutenant. He stopped.

"You need a jeehavvaas, don't you, Pavel, huh?" the Grandfather prompted.

His eyes fixed on Uhura's but glazed, almost blank, Chekov locked his hands together behind his neck and fell to his knees, rocking the table. "Grandfather, I want you to be my jeehavvaas." The microphone picked up his words and threw them out like a challenge to the audience, silencing them.

Barchis snorted, breaking the spell. "He'll be lucky. He'd have been lucky this ten years past."

The Grandfather put his hands around Chekov's shoulders and pulled him forward, so that his face was pushed into the Liminal's groin. "Were you watching this afternoon? I was tempted to take him then, but I, the Grandfather, have to keep to the rules. Rules some of you seem to have forgotten. Like treating honest emissaries honestly, like having regard for the consequences of defeat before starting a war."

There was a moment of silence before angry dissent boiled out of the crowd.

"Coward!"

"If we surprise them, we can defeat them!"

"Stand down, old man!"

"Stand down..."

"...Old man!"

It was a chant, implacable and overwhelming. A few of the front row in the crowd weren't joining in, but then they were, hammering the message home with raised fists.

"Now, Lieutenant?" Rice mouthed, the words lost in the uproar. Uhura shook her head and turned to Barchis, but stopped at the sight on the table in front of her. The Grandfather had cupped Chekov's face between his hands and the ensign was giving the Liminal a slow, thorough, blow job. No wonder Rice thought it was time to protest, or leave.

Now, Uhura realised Kirk was looking at her, had probably known she was there all along. He shook his head just a fraction.

So there was more to this plan than just survival. For a moment, Uhura was tempted to pull out her communicator anyhow. This was not fair. It was too much to ask of anyone. But she had no idea what would happen if she intervened now. Except that Kirk would never trust her again. He'd give her a clear signal if he wanted to escape, but all his attention was currently focused on the Grandfather.

The Liminal leader was standing quite still, a look of serene enjoyment on his face. Then he pushed Chekov away, smiling, and turned to face his men. His arousal was undeniable, and Barchis gave a little frustrated sigh.

"Never thought I'd see that again," she muttered. "Trust him to waste it on some no account boy."

Chekov still had his eyes closed, looking as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd done.

"Thank you, Pavel." The Liminal began to stimulate himself. "Well… whatever..." he announced, breathlessly, "I… think I… shouldn't waste this… on an outsider. Where's one of ours? Dirs..."

A young Liminal, slighter than Chekov but a little older, and with skin as dark as Uhura's to complement his straight, dark hair, vaulted on to the table, elbowed Chekov aside and took his place.

The crowd was entranced. Chekov sank down, sitting with his face against his knees now, trembling.

"Barchis, what does this mean?" Uhura asked. She slid a hand across the table top to touch Chekov's toes. His hand seized her fingers, the moment she made contact.

"I think it means we're going to have peace, woman. There, now."

The Grandfather climaxed, grunting like a bull elephant in rut. His eyes bulged alarmingly. His partner sat back on his heels and put his arm round Chekov's shoulders.

After taking a moment to adjust himself, the Grandfather looked out over the still-silent crowd. "Now, my decision. We'll have an alliance."

***

"Are you all right, Captain?"

Scott's soft brogue, considerately lowered, jerked the captain out of his thoughts. Kirk rubbed his hands over his eyes and pushed the padd with his nearly finished report away from him, to join a half eaten dinner and two cups of cold coffee. He didn't have the energy to get up.

McCoy had warned him. "You weren't badly hurt, physically, but even you can't pretend something like this has no emotional payback. You should take it easy for a week or so. You'll be short tempered, or more tired than you expect. Your judgement might be off."

He'd told the doctor, short-temperedly, and with a lamentable lack of judgement, that he'd damn well go back to work if he wanted to. The idea of sitting around for a week, just thinking, or talking to some shrink, was unacceptable.

Scott's statement was guardedly sympathetic.

"Go and baby your engines, Scotty. I'm fine."

The engineer nodded, clearly unconvinced. "You should turn in."

"I will, as soon as I finish this report. It's nearly done."

"Good." Scott lingered reluctantly. "Good night, then."

"Good night."

Kirk watched him walk away. He couldn't face the thought of going to his cabin, chasing after sleep he knew would elude him.

He should at least go and ask McCoy for something to deal with that problem. Only he was too damn tired to get out of his seat, and he'd probably end up snapping at Bones over some innocent remark. If he could just get through tonight, something might happen tomorrow to take his mind off it. That was what he wanted, something else to think about. The last thing, the very last thing he wanted was to go over it all again with anyone.

Lights in the rec room were dimmed for evening. A little pool of illumination spilled over his table, enabling him to work.He'd come in, late, to eat, and ended up sitting here over his padd. He'd been respectfully greeted by a few night owls coming off shift or collecting nightcaps before turning in. Most had noticed his grim statement and given his table a wide berth.

Not that the report was difficult. Things had happened. Unpleasant things. So, one listed them in order, said what decisions one had taken, or failed to take, and what the consequences had been, and moved on to the next mission. So why couldn't he finish the damn thing and sign it off?

Spock was on the bridge. In another five hours, his shift would end and he'd come down here and add his voice to the repeated suggestions that Kirk should go to bed. No one else much would be in between now and then. He thought he'd just wait.

McCoy was probably asleep. For at least five hours, no one was going to come and rescue him from himself.

Damn.

His gaze slid across to the yellow alert indicators. That was what he needed. Something to blast through this awful lethargy and wake him up. He actually wanted something dreadful to happen.

"Captain?"

He looked up, startled, not sure how many times the intruder had addressed him.

"I'm sorry, I was miles away..." he started to say automatically. Then he stopped. Chekov had picked up the dirty plate and cups and deposited them on another table. "Thanks .Did you come in here just to clean up after me?"

The ensign shrugged. "I was having difficulty sleeping. I thought I would get something to drink." He looked over his shoulder at the abandoned cups. "Can I get you anything?"

"Whatever you're having," Kirk agreed. He immediately regretted it. It would either be vodka or hot chocolate, depending on whether Chekov was planning to stay up and sulk or make a serious effort to get to sleep. Probably the latter. The navigator was on duty the following morning. As was Kirk. They should both exercise a little self-discipline and get to bed, but failing that, neither of them was going to get drunk.

"What the hell is this?"

Chekov was sliding a tray onto the table, loaded with two deep bowls of fragrant, red liquid with a swirl of white in the centre.

"It's borscht, isn't it?" Kirk answered himself. "Christ, Chekov, how can you eat borscht at this time of night?"

The ensign pushed the single plate of toast towards him. "Try it, then you'll know."

"I'm not going to make a habit of this," Kirk said defensively. He copied Chekov's example and broke the toast into pieces, dropping it into the soup. He tried some. It was sweet and savoury at once, but no more so than tomato soup. All kinds of flavours combined, none overpowering.

"It's not bad. Your mother's recipe?"

Chekov smiled round a spoonful of the steaming liquid. "No, Mister Scott's."

"Really?" Kirk poked cautiously at the bowl. The contents were almost transparent. There wasn't a slice of haggis in sight, just a few swollen fragments of toast. "Well, it's good."

"Yes."

Chekov continued to work his way determinedly through his bowl of soup and half the toast. Kirk was grateful that the ensign didn't want to talk, but at the same time, suspicious. Chekov didn't look like a man wracked by unpleasant memories, or struggling with insomnia.

"Uhura made sure the Klingons overheard something about the Liminal Treaty. We're waiting to see if they keep heading in this direction." He didn't want to talk about Limina itself, but there was no point denying that the eventual outcome had been favourable. And he didn't mind admitting that was mostly Chekov's work. The final, published report wouldn't mention everything that had happened, but his summary would include a whole-hearted endorsement of the ensign's contribution.

"So why can't you sleep?" he asked.

Chekov frowned. He polished off the last spoonful of borscht, lingering thoughtfully over it. "Mister Scott did not tell me that."

Kirk looked at the ensign's perfectly straight, open face. "He turned you out of bed and told you to come in here and make me eat soup?"

"No..."

"What then?"

Chekov pointed at the dispenser. There was a whisky bottle standing on the apron.

Kirk pushed his nearly empty bowl away with exaggerated disgust. "It's bad enough when McCoy mother-hens me."

"I thought it tasted quite good."

"You put it in yours too?"

The Russian shrugged. "I wouldn't waste vodka that way, but..."

Kirk realised with a stab of surprise that a smile had found its way onto his face. It felt as if it was the wrong size, or made for someone else, but there it was, all the same.

"Thanks," he said sarcastically. "I couldn't finish my report when I was sober, and now..."

"What is there to say? We conformed with Liminal custom, as per Starfleet standing orders, and the person empowered by the Liminal people to take such decisions chose to form an alliance with the Federation. End of report. If anyone wants to know what Liminal custom is, let them wait for the researchers to go in."

"But..."

"What are you finding difficult?"

"Do I really have to tell you?"

"Those parts will be under a privacy seal anyway."

"I still have to make the report."

"Put a reference to a non-existent file, or better, an empty one. If anyone tries to follow it up, they won't find it, and what will they do? Complain? On what grounds?"

Kirk looked sideways at his navigator.

"I never realised you were so subversive. Fetch that scotch over here."

"You can always create the file, later."

"Yes, I suppose I can."

Chekov stood the bottle on the table with a couple of glasses. He didn't sit down, just looked a little uncertain.

"Oh, you're included."

"Thank you." The ensign took his seat again, as the captain poured out two small tots.

Kirk put his own glass to one side and switched the padd back on. It took him a few seconds to insert the file references, create a dummy file with top-level security clearances, and turn the padd off again.

"Did you do something similar?"

"No." Chekov sipped the whisky and grimaced. "It was like my first space walk. Once it was over, it did not seem so… impossible."

Kirk grunted disbelievingly. He felt sleepy now, and he didn't really want the whisky. "I don't believe you were the least bit frightened before your first space walk."

"Yes, I was. I was terrified I would be ill, or that I would be unable to step outside at all."

Kirk waited for a question, an and you?, but it didn't come. He tipped his glass up to finish the scotch, then stood up. "I'm going to bed."

The ensign left his glass unfinished and stood too. He dimmed the light over the table and followed Kirk out of the rec room.

Kirk turned back at the door. "Thank you. For everything. You did well down there, when I let you."

Chekov shrugged. "You know what the Grandfather said? That I had a good teacher. Good night, Captain."

***The End***