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“We were sent merely to investigate the planet, and to report our findings,” Saavik replied evenly and with amazing calm. “But we are not enlisted in Starfleet. Of the technology behind Genesis itself, we have no knowledge.”

Kruge stepped up to Saavik until his face hovered just inches from hers, and stared into her unblinking eyes. Despite being a few feet away, David thought he could feel the hot draft from the Klingon’s breath. “Then I hope that pain,” Kruge growled, “is something you enjoy.”

Saavik’s only reaction to the taunt was to raise an eyebrow in mock allurement. “That,” she said, “would depend upon the circumstances.”

Kruge continued to stare her down for a few moments, but this time did not appear to find amusement in her impudence. David suffered a few tense seconds in fear of Kruge’s response before the Klingon finally backed away and turned to the officer who held Saavik in his grip. “Maltz, take them both down to the lower deck.” He continued to speak in English, obviously wanting his captives to understand every word. “Escort the woman to the brig. Torg, take the human to interrogation and…” He looked squarely at David. “Prepare him.” With that, he spun on his heels to the right and, several steps later, vanished through the door to the bridge.

“Move,” Torg commanded, pushing David and Saavik down the long corridor in the opposite direction. As they crossed from the forward hull into the main wing hull, they passed several doors to crew quarters and an open entrance into what appeared to be a rather primitive sickbay. The steady hum of the impulse engines grew louder as they approached the engineering section at the aft end of the ship.

David felt his heartbeat racing as his imagination conjured up a hundred potential techniques of Klingon torture, each passing through his mind in alarmingly vivid detail. He tried to calm himself by concentrating on the benign ones-perhaps they would have nothing more than a small wooden stool in a barren room with a single antique incandescent light bulb suspended overhead. He forced out a quiet laugh. “What do you think, Saavik? Will these guys do the old good cop, bad cop routine?”

Saavik looked at him with an expression of pained confusion.

“Never mind,” David said. “But don’t worry.” He held up his chin, feigning confidence as best he could. “After all, we don’t know anything, right?”

The young woman’s tone was of sad resignation. “Of course not,” she lied, glancing at their wardens. “But I somehow doubt they will accept that.”

“Enough talking!” Torg shouted as he directed them to a stairwell on their right, descending down to the lower deck, appearing even more dimly lit than the one above. At the bottom of the stair they were made to stop, each of them still held at gunpoint. Maltz directed Saavik to the right while Torg forcefully shoved David toward the left.

“Hey! Take it easy!” David shouted. “Why do you have to separate us anyway?”

“You don’t want her to watch this, human,” Torg sneered.

“David!” Saavik called out as the distance between them grew. “Remember your friends on Regula One!” And then she disappeared around the corner into the brig.

Less than a minute later, David had been flung into a plain metal chair adorned with restraints in the center of a small, sterile-looking room. Torg had holstered his disruptor, and presently was pinning David’s right arm down to the long, flat armrest of the chair while he worked to secure the large metal clasps to his forearm. For an instant David considered making a lunge for Torg’s weapon while both of the Klingon’s hands were occupied, but even if he were successful, David doubted that one man could get very far attempting to overpower a crew of a dozen armed Klingon officers.

He winced as the restraint tightened and bit into his skin, then Torg mercilessly began work on the other arm. David gazed around the room, noting the lack of any decor whatsoever, and in fact becoming amazed at the cleanliness compared with the rest of the ship, leading him to believe that the room had not previously