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That machine was killing him. Slowly, but it would do it.

Chekov pored over his readings. It looked like Yüksel was in rough shape even before they’d put him in here. There was a bruise on the back of his head, and his face was scraped. They must have knocked him out and thrown him in.

His communicator vibrated, disrupting his train of thought. Chekov pulled it off his belt and flipped it open, its volume low. “Sir, get out of there,” hissed Tra. “There are four coming right at you.”

Chekov could hear them. They were talking to each other in a weird multipitched way that reminded him of Mongolian throat singers. He hoped his tricorder could offer him a safe route back to Tra’s location.

“Query: not-I reason desire biped alive then?”

Chekov almost jumped out of his skin before he realized that the voice was emanating from his communicator, translating the squeaks of the approaching aliens, albeit somewhat poorly.

“Ignorance. Indifference. Nature of orders: biped transfer to capsules there.”

“Query: biped weakness, lack of size? Labor unsuitability.”

“Query stupidity! Order reason: not-labor!”

“Confusion. Query: statement not-I, ignorance indifference not-true? Possibility: Villach desire biped sale to Orions, inclusion in capsule complement.”

“Correction: Orions bipeds. Labor sufficiency among Orion abilities.”

The language left too much room for misinterpretation. However, the Farrezzi were almost certainly gathering up the cryopods to transport them somewhere, possibly under the orders of somebody named Villach, to sell them into Orion slavery. He hoped he was wrong. What kind of beings would sell their own kind into slavery?

If they took Yüksel’s pod away, the exobotanist might be lost for good, and it would be Chekov’s fault. He had to get the man out of the pod, and he couldn’t afford to waste any time. He started using the tricorder to map the power cables feeding the pod, trying to figure out a safe way to disconnect it.

“Admission: comprehension inability. Bipeds lack of size, lack of strength—”

“Sir.” The ongoing translation was cut off by Tra’s voice. “What are you doing? I can see you from here, and they’ll be on top of you in fifteen seconds. Get moving!”

“No!” Chekov hissed into the communicator. “I’m getting Yüksel first. I don’t want to lose him again.”

“I’m coming to get you,” said Tra.

“No,” Chekov said. “Get back to the captain and the others and tell them what’s happened. I’m staying here, and I’m getting him out of here. That’s an order.” He flipped the communicator shut and put it on his belt.

Kneeling in front of the pod, he began examining the wires and tubes that connected to its base. It was a pity he didn’t have Commander Scott’s engineering prowess.

“Admission: surprise, not-I/I agreement. Reason: biped transfer not-labor. Reason: information extraction—”

A new voice cut in. “Explanation!”

With a sense of dread, Chekov glanced up from the machinery he was hiding behind. Four Farrezzi had just come around the bending row of cryopods and into sight. One of them was pointing a tentacle at him. The others began moving in his direction—faster than Chekov would have thought, given their size.

He stood up and aimed his phaser at them.

“Biped! Query: reason presence?”

He took a deep breath, bracing himself for what was to come. “Greetings.”

One of them started to lunge at him, and he fired—but the Farrezzi absorbed the beam as though it was nothing at all and kept on coming. The stun setting evidently wasn’t strong enough.

Before he could adjust the phaser, a Farrezzi’s tentacle whipped out and knocked it from his hand. The weapon clattered to the floor, out of reach.

The other three Farrezzi drew in around him, blocking off his possible escape routes.

Ensign Chekov swallowed, thinking of something to say. There was no other choice.

“Take me to your leader.”

EIGHT

Nineteen Years Ago

They get married after the end of their senior year. It’s a week before Jocelyn’s twenty-second birthday. She’s already agreed to go wherever he goes for medical school. They end