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“So,” Kirk said, “are you ready to believe me now?”

The Farrezzi inclined its head slightly, to let all its eyes look at Kirk. He didn’t mind being the focus of its attention; perhaps this meant it was no longer so afraid of him that it wanted to run away. “That person over there is one of the slavers.”

Eyestalks turned and contracted, a limb curled upward, parting at the end to reveal two appendages that scratched the skin under the fur. The Farrezzi made a noise that sounded like a heavy sigh. “Not-I here defective youngchild repeat low-speed.”

At last, a first-contact exchange with a Farrezzi that wasn’t a slaver. But what was the alien saying?

Giotto heard thumps in the distance. This was it. He raised his phaser, ready for whatever they were about to throw at him. It was difficult to tell how many individuals there were. He’d just have to wait and see.

The first one was already coming around the bend. He didn’t give it a chance to get very far. A slight contraction of Giotto’s trigger finger released the energy that vaporized the target upon contact. He’d deliberately set the phaser to maximum because of the psychological aspect. When you saw a body drop in front of you, that was bad, but when it vanished, that was bound to even get to combat-trained warriors.

The Farrezzi didn’t immediately follow their unlucky comrade. They stopped just short of the bend, out of sight, but not out of hearing. The commander could make out some of their strange squeaks: “Order request” and “Unknown assailant.”

The shadows changed, there was a brief flurry of movement, and then something small and round came rolling along the tunnel, emitting a steady whine. Grenade!

He threw himself back into the room and grabbed the remote. He wasted precious seconds fumbling to find the right icon. Cursing himself for taking so long, Giotto squeezed the button as far down as it would go.

The grenade had almost reached him. Desperately, he stabbed the icon again. The door descended in a painfully leisurely fashion. It wasn’t going to make it. Giotto sprinted to the back of the room, throwing himself over the still unconscious Chekov.

He heard the thud-clang of the metal door hitting the floor. Then an enormous roar drowned out every thought.

Slowly, he stood up and opened his eyes. The door had closed just in time. However, the grenade had bowed the door. It wasn’t going to open again. Giotto didn’t mind—he and Chekov were safer in here.

He turned his head to check on Chekov. The ensign was still lying there, but his wide-open eyes bore a scared, pained look.

Giotto moved over to Chekov. “Hey, Ensign. You made it.” He noted with apprehension that he was barely able to hear his own voice. Hearing lost, hopefully only temporarily.

The ensign didn’t reply. He simply lay there, seemingly mulling something over. Eventually, he opened his mouth, forcing out, “Papa?”

Giotto leaned forward, making it easier for Chekov to take in his face. “I’m not your father, Ensign. Take a good look. Recognize me?”

“I… what…” the ensign stammered.

“Easy, now. You’re safe,” Giotto said. “I don’t know what they did to you, Pavel, but they’re not here now. We just need to be patient. The captain’s on his way.”

Chekov stared at him with glazed eyes.

A sound made Giotto whirl around. The heat coming off the door was considerable, but judging from the small crack at the bottom, the Farrezzi were trying to wedge it open.

He knew he had to do something. It would make things difficult later, but he had no choice. Grabbing his phaser, he quickly adjusted the setting and fired a continuous beam at the door edge. It didn’t take long for the door to heat up and seal them in the chamber.

Giotto looked over at the unconscious Farrezzi guard. He set his phaser on stun and fired, just to make sure the guard wouldn’t wake up. Then he pulled out his communicator to hail the captain. Hopefully, he would be able to do something. If not, Giotto and Chekov were done for.