The 'dinner' wasn't at all what Kirk has expected. He turned to Spock who stood just behind him in the throng of people with a wry look. The Vulcan shifted his weight to stand a little straighter and put his hands behind his back. They had beamed down to a large auditorium with high ceilings that seemed to stretch upwards into the night sky. Music, if you could call it that, thundered out from all sides, its heavy low beat pulsated through to the captain's very bones. The space was packed full of Aviorans – the Shonens in their orange robes, the Stritans in their green and red robes. There was clear delineation between the two groups but where they met in the middle, some were brave enough to mingle.
"Well, this isn't what I thought we were getting," said McCoy cheerfully, reaching for a small selection of foods from a series of long tables that lined every wall. "Makes a change from one of those endless formal dinners."
He surveyed the hall. Many of the Aviorans were dancing to the thumping rhythms, their bodies swaying to the primeval lilting melodies.
"Are you going to join in, Spock?" asked McCoy with a more than mischievous smile.
Spock did not even deign to look at the doctor. "No," he replied stonily. "Dancing is an illogical pastime. For ceremonial purposes I find it a pointless and an unnecessary use of time and as a bonding ritual it is inefficient."
McCoy munched on a small pastry. "That's because it's fun. You wouldn't understand. Mmmnn, this food is good. Not bad. Have some, Jim. Tastes delicious."
Kirk shook his head and smiled. "Not yet, Bones. I'll get the meeting with the Aviorans over first then maybe I'll think about food." He turned to his navigator who was stood next to Spock. "Chekov, have some food. McCoy tells me you've eaten nothing all day."
Chekov's eyes slowly focussed on the captain. He had been staring at the crowd but Kirk could tell he had not been looking at them - he had been deep in his own thoughts. He shook his head.
"I'm not hungry," he said in a surly voice, turning back to the crowd, folding his arms.
Kirk smiled tightly. "I could make it an order, Ensign."
The eyes slid back into focus again. "You could."
Kirk turned to his Security Chief, Lieutenant Park. "Keep an eye on him," he murmured.
Park nodded. "I'd feel happier if we hadn't had our phasers confiscated for the night."
Before Kirk had time to reply a voice rang out over the music. "Captain Kirk! What a pleasure it is to meet you again!"
Kirk turned to find the negotiation group he had been talking to for the past long weeks emerging out of the crowd. It consisted of members of the Stritan and Shonen governments – the very highest representatives of the planet. It had taken Kirk some time, but he had finally been rewarded with their co-operation and agreement in the negotiations. Formal introductions began as both Spock and McCoy were introduced to Ministers Ryewo and Shank. The usual platitudes and official proclamations were made as they approached. Kirk responded in kind.
"May I introduce Mr Spock my First Officer and Dr McCoy my Chief Surgeon," said Kirk politely, ushering forwards his crewmen. Hands were shaken and bows exchanged.
"And who is this?" asked Stritan Minister Ryewo finally, his eyes alighting on Chekov who stood mute and downcast in the background. "Is this…?" He turned to his entourage with a querying look.
One of his group stepped up to murmur in Ryewo's ear. "Yes, Minister. This is the Terran who was reputed to have been incarcerated and tortured in one of our prisons."
Ryewo turned his translucent blue eyes back to Chekov. "Tell me, young man, is this true?"
Chekov did not seem able to meet the minister's gaze. He looked down and away. "I don't know," he said fiercely. "I don't remember. When I joined my unit, they told me that was where I had come from. I didn't have any reason to doubt them. They were my friends. My brothers in the Cause."
"Mr Chekov is my navigator, Minister Ryewo, and a trusted and valuable member of my crew," offered Kirk hurriedly, shooting a glare at the Russian. "He went missing with two other members of my crew two months ago on their way to meet Minister Shank to offer our mapping services. We did not know there was a war on. Mr Chekov reappeared two weeks ago in a Shonen fighting unit. We have had no word of the others."
"That is most unusual," said Ryewo gravely. He turned to the rest of his group in query. "We have no record of him ever having passed through Strite, let alone being in one of our prisons."
"How thorough is your information, Ryewo?" asked Shank. "The Terrans certainly never made it to our meeting."
Ryewo gave a patient smile and shook his white-shocked head. "I see your line of questioning, Shank, and yes, I asked for full and complete accounts from all of our secret agencies. In the spirit of openness and reconciliation, I am confident that nothing was concealed from me. On my honour – your navigator was never in a Stritan prison."
"You're lying." Chekov's statement was more snarl than accusation. He looked up, his glare a brazen challenge.
Ryewo twitched in both surprise and anger at the young man's tone. "What did your boy say, Captain Kirk? Does he know with whom he is speaking?"
Kirk stepped forward and pushed Chekov back with one, firm hand. "I apologise, Minister Ryewo. Something happened to him on Avior. He's lost his memory. He's been brainwashed somehow. He isn't in his right mind. Dr McCoy will confirm -"
"Dr McCoy can theorise and wave his useless instruments over me, but it won't change the fact that I am a soldier and that I am loyal only to Shonen," interrupted Chekov, elbowing his way back past Kirk. "I don't care what Kirk says. I don't care what you say. The war will continue until Shonen is victorious. This false peace you are brokering will never last."
"Mr Chekov, remember where you are and who you are speaking to," commanded Spock.
"Chekov, that's enough," growled Kirk. "Don't make me wish I hadn't brought you. We're trying to help you."
"He's highly stressed," offered McCoy apologetically. "He has both physical and mental scarring from intensive combat in -"
"Don't patronise me!" spat Chekov, his anger suddenly flaring. "You're all lying. You're all trying to use me."
"Young man," a smooth voice cut into the burgeoning argument.
Chekov stopped suddenly as if frozen by the calm words.
"You have obviously been through some sort of terrible ordeal. Let our hospitality calm you."
A man in a long, silver hooded robe, moved forwards from the back of Shank's group. He raised his thin arm and snapped his bony fingers. A silver ring flashed in the bright lights of the hall. Two young women appeared out of the crowd. Each was beautiful in their pale white robes and with their pearl white skin. "These are Nejif girls. They will look after you. Go with them, young man. Forget the war for just one night. With your permission, Captain?"
Kirk nodded to the man. "We are here to accept your hospitality, Mr..?"
"Fhaj. Special Envoy to the Shonen Ministry. You and your crew have done so much for us to bring us to this point. Please, let us show you our gratitude and hospitality."
Fhaj motioned the girls to step forwards. Chekov, his mind still numb and reeling from the sight of the ring, let himself be led away by the hand by one of the girls. They pulled him into the crowd, deeper and deeper until he lost sight of the captain and the ministers. The people were packed close to one another, it was impossible not to move with the mass of bodies and to feel the vibrations from the music rise and fall within him as he moved in and out of the resonant frequencies. Some of the young people cast him strange and curious looks. His dark hair and eyes made him stand out in the sea of white heads and pale turquoise eyes. Most ignored him – too high on tassa to care who or what he was.
He suddenly felt an arm snake itself across his shoulder. He turned around. One of the Nejif girls with long blonde hair was dancing close to him. Her red and green robes, which seemed to cling to her shoulders as if held up by magic, carried a clasp of knotted gold. He knew what it symbolised.
"Peace and tranquility of mind, brother soldier," she said languidly, pulling his head down to her mouth. She kissed him before he had time to react. She let him go, laughing at his reticence. Her eyes were on the edge of unfocussed. She had had enough tassa to lose most of her inhibitions, but she still knew what she was doing, he guessed. Suddenly another arm slid up his back. He turned around to find the other girl smiling at him.
"Dance with us," she laughed, pulling him towards her and entwining her arms around his waist. "You're alien. Do you make love like we do?" she asked brazenly, her hands sliding forwards across his hips. Chekov caught her hands in his and held them at his side. Beneath her words he could hear a lack of conviction in her voice.
"You're Nejif girls. You're government paid prostitutes," he said, pushing the girl away. He looked her in the eyes. She wasn't high like the other girl. Underneath her short tousled cropped hair, her expression was haunted. "I didn't come to prolong your degradation."
The first girl laughed. "Degradation? You're funny! Don't be coy with us, handsome boy. You look like you know how to have a good time. Here," she said, reaching into a small velvet pouch at her side and pulling out a large piece of tassa. "Try it. You'll feel soooo much better."
He held up his hand and pushed the tassa aside. "No. I know what it is. I don't want any."
The other girl took it from the first and pushed it in front of him again. "Go on," she said abruptly. "It doesn't do any harm. It just makes you feel good. What are you? Don't you aliens like women, or something? Take it."
Chekov shook his head. "No. I don't want it."
"But we want you to. We insist," said the first girl, pouting and looking hurt.
"If you don't take it, they'll kill us." said the second girl in an aggressive whisper. "You're right. Our lives are a misery but we don't want to die."
Almost before he realised, the two girls had grabbed him by both arms. He struggled to pull away from them, but their grasp was strong – stronger than he would have guessed. They pulled him to his knees. The mass of dancing bodies barely parted as the group dropped to the floor. One of the girls pulled his head back by the hair. The sudden pain made him gasp. As he did so the second girl pushed the tassa into his mouth and closed up his jaw and pinched his nose.
"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper. "You shouldn't feel sorry for us. We have our orders. This is war."
He had to swallow. As soon as he did, they let him go. He fell forwards, choking. He felt them lift him up as the familiar coolness of the tassa numbed the back of his neck and down his shoulders. They pushed him on again through the crowd, swaying and dancing to the rhythm of the music. He tried to shake his head as if he could dissipate the thick mist of altered reality that was descending upon him. He put out his hands to steady himself against the other dancers, trying to grasp at their clothes to hold himself back but nothing impeded his forced passage through the crowd. Time passed. He wasn't sure how long. He lost himself in the sea of faces and kisses of the Nejif girls. Their lips were tainted with the bitter, musky taste of tassa. Eventually the music receded behind him and he found himself entering a small room. The man with the ring was stood waiting for him in the middle. Tall and thin, his robes folded round him like a bird of prey. The Nejif girls stood patiently at the door.
"Welcome back, Pavel Chekov." He held out his hand. The ring flashed like a beacon.
Chekov knelt and took his hand. "I have come. Is it time?"
Fahj smiled benevolently. "Yes, my boy. Your time has come. Are you ready?"
Chekov bowed his head. "Yes," he whispered.
"Even though you know the consequences?"
"Yes. I'll give my life for Shonen. You know that."
Fahj smiled and withdrew his hand, plunging it into a deep pocket in his robes. He pulled out a standard phaser and presented it to Chekov.
"You know how to use this. We took them from your landing party. Take it and use it well. Now go."
Fahj motioned to the Nejif girls to step forward. "Take him. Give him one last night of pleasure. He doesn't have long. Soon all Avior will be saved."
The girls pulled Chekov back out into the crowd. The rest of the evening passed in a blur. He eventually fell asleep - tangled amid soft cushions and the arms of the Nejif girls. He began to dream.
