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Small purple dots now flitted across the display. Horr asked, “Desire: explanation of developments.” A couple of his eyes bent to study Kirk.

“We’re about to hit the slavers with the satellites your people placed in orbit around Farrezz.”

“Feeling of surprise. Query: chances of success?”

“Impossible to say. It should disable them if we aim them right.”

“Feeling of disappointment. Lack of patience.”

He wasn’t alone there. “I know that it must be difficult, given that more of your people are—”

The ship shuddered, then flung him to the deck as everything tilted hard to port. Lights flickered; Farrezzi shrieks mixed with human curses.

In the darkness, Kirk could only wonder what had gone wrong now.

When McCoy stepped into his lab, he was surprised to find Padmanabhan and Rodriguez dismantling the computers, and Sulu nowhere in sight. “… we’ll be working with the damage-control party on the bridge, if you need us, sir.”

“Very good. Carry on.” The monitor showed Sulu in auxiliary control. “Doctor, status?” he asked.

“Petriello, Santos, Fraser, and Salah are getting better. Bouchard is dead.” McCoy swallowed. “How’s the Enterprise?”

“She’s fine,” Sulu said. “The ship’s on course, and as we move from the center of the zone, the distortions lessen. There’ll be some turbulence, but the worst is well behind us. We’ll soon be clear.”

Padmanabhan chimed in unbidden. “Amazing—there’s so much out there, we’ve seen—even in just a brief squirt from the shuttle—it’s just like—”

Rodriguez put a hand on the ensign’s shoulder. “Okay, Homi.”

“Can we make it to Mu Arigulon now?” McCoy asked.

“There are still some distortions I’d like to avoid. I’d say we’re two days out.”

“Once we’re on course, Lieutenant, you should get some rest. Doctor’s orders.”

Sulu smiled as he replied, “We’re only here because I listened to you, so from now on, I’ll make sure to follow your orders, Captain McCoy.”

The tower’s interior thrummed with power. The room was small, barely large enough to contain the landing party. In the center of the circular chamber was an object resembling a cube, its faces covered with protrusions. Lights blinked, signaling the object’s working state. It did not possess an input screen of any kind.

“How much time do we have?” Saloniemi asked.

“Eleven minutes, forty-nine seconds,” Spock replied. “We must work quickly if we are to stop the overload. Ensign Seven Deers, have you determined the cause of the fluctuations?”

“No, sir,” she said, working her tricorder. “It’s almost impossible to get readings in here. Interference is strong.”

“Ensign Saloniemi, report.”

Saloniemi was running his tricorder over the glyphs on the device, moving from one to another. “It’s all technical terminology,” he said. “The UT is still working on it. This one”—he pointed to a prominent symbol on the top of the cube—“is marked ‘playback.’”

Seven Deers was right next to him with her own tricorder. “It connects to a set of holographic circuits,” she said.

“Press it,” Spock ordered. Saloniemi did, and the lights on the cube dimmed as a hologram appeared above it.

“That’s a Farrezzi!” Seven Deers exclaimed—unnecessarily, since the image matched the landing party’s recordings.

The image of the Farrezzi was frozen, but a voice emerged. “Occupants of this chamber have been identified as not of the Community of the Children of Farrezz. This message is for visitors to our world.” The voice stopped, and the image continued to hold still.

“That’s not Farrezzi,” said Saloniemi quietly. “It’s one of the Orion trading creoles. Yrevish.”

Spock nodded. It was logical to leave a message for off-worlders in a language that they would likely know.

The holographic Farrezzi began to move, its tentacles flexing slightly. A new voice, a little higher-pitched, began: “I am Benshor-Ka-Morafe, head of the Deep Burrow Project. If you have analyzed Farrezz, you have discovered that its atmosphere has grown toxic after centuries of industrial pollution. We traveled into space to find a solution to this problem, but found nothing and no one to