A/N: Potentially rough content ahead; scroll to the end if you'd like a heads-up about what's to come.

Chapter 10

They rematerialized to shouting.

The supply shuttle was dark, primarily lit by the image on the viewscreen: the purple-white, swirling form of what had to be Rura Penthe, flanked in the distance by twin suns. Silhouetted against it, Rllan was practically on top of the lone pilot, one hand on his throat, a knife pressed to the artery just beneath his ear. There was a trickle of blood running down his neck. Kirk was on the other side of the pilot's chair, yelling at her:

"That's enough!"

Rllan ignored him. "The access code," she snarled in Klingon.

Uhura took a tentative step forward and Spock moved in tandem with her, catching Kirk's attention.

"Uhura, tell him we mean him no harm!" Kirk ordered, casting a sharp look at Rllan.

Rllan threatened to cut open the pilot's stomach and let him die holding his own intestines.

The pilot looked up at Uhura, wide-eyed, and it became instantly clear he was not and had never been a soldier. He looked young, too—perhaps barely older than Chekov. Uhura looked at Rllan, then back at the pilot. "Tell her what she wants and we will let you live," she said.

The pilot stammered out a series of digits and Klingon letters.

"Again," Rllan growled, and the pilot repeated the code. She nodded. She lifted the knife from the pilot's throat, then brought the hilt down across the back of his head. He crumpled, and Kirk caught him by the shoulders before he fell. Spock and Uhura moved forward to help, pulling the man out of the seat and into the back of the shuttle.

Kirk glared at her. "Was that necessary?"

"You want him to be able to fight back?" Rllan snapped, sliding into the pilot's seat.

"Captain, it would be advisable to restrain this man," Spock said, supporting the pilot's legs. "If we plan to use the same vessel to escape."

Kirk looked at him and then at Uhura, nodding. "Let's see what we can find."

Uhura stood, searching for the shuttle's emergency compartments, when the comm unit crackled to life. A low, tired voice sounded over the speaker:

"TaH Qoy'yaH Morska."

Both Kirk and Spock looked at her.

"It's a listening post—a guard checkpoint," she explained. "They'll want to know our registration number."

In the pilot's seat, Rllan turned, looking directly at her. "You speak Klingon," she said.

Uhura glanced at Rllan, then back at Kirk, who nodded. She stood and made her way to the viewscreen.

"Dujvetlh 'oh nug? Rin," said a second voice: what ship is that? Over.

Rllan picked up the comm speaker, pressing down the reply button, then parroted the supply ship's registration code and waited. After a few seconds, the one of the guards spoke again:

"Nugdaq ghos? Rin."

"They're asking for our destination," Uhura said quietly to Kirk and Spock.

"Rura pentedag. Rin," Rllan replied curtly.

A few seconds passed in silence, then a reply crackled over the speakers, followed by guttural chortling. Uhura turned back to Kirk and Spock, unsure how to translate it. "Don't catch any bugs," she said finally.

In Klingon, the expression was vaguely profane, a colloquialism with a standard response—Uhura had learned it back in April. She waited for Rllan to answer. And kept waiting. As laughter filled the cockpit, she looked at Rllan to find her face frozen in a mixture of confusion and outrage. It took Uhura another moment to realize why she wasn't answering: she didn't know how.

"Let me," she said, motioning for Rllan to hand her the speaker. Rllan looked sharply at her for a split second before handing over the speaker. Uhura held down the reply button and growled back: "If we do, we'll feed them to your mother!"

This provoked another roar from the guards on the other end, before the muffled sound of clearance bell. "Shuttlecraft, you are cleared for docking."

"Acknowledged," Uhura said. "Over and out."

Rllan cut the transmission. Uhura stared after her as she stood and moved away from the console to help Spock with tying up the unconscious pilot. Kirk glanced between her and Rllan.

"What was that all about?" he asked.

Uhura shook her head, staring after Rllan. "I don't know."

As the supply shuttle made its descent into Rura Penthe's atmosphere, it quickly became obvious why the surface was left unguarded. Howling wind buffeted the shuttle from the starboard side, causing it to jerk and shift with each gust, flecks of ice and rock scratching across the hull and the viewport. The cockpit was cast in a chemical purple glow from the distant, anemic light of the twin suns, filtered through the heavily polluted cloud layer.

Already on auto-nav, the shuttle traveled over the barren landscape, slowing and finally stopping to hover over a flat stretch of icy ground.

Jim glanced at Rllan, who was sitting in the pilot's seat. "Are we here?"

"Wait," Rllan said shortly.

Jim opened his mouth to reply, but stopped when beneath them, cracks appeared in the ice, and a rectangular cross-section of the ground was suddenly depressed down a meter. A heavy-looking trap door began to slide open, revealing a small docking bay, barely large enough for the shuttle to fit. Snow and ice spilled into the space beneath.

The shuttle began to lower itself into the bay, revealing high-ceilings and long, industrial fluorescent lights lining the walls. Storage transports on hover-pallets were stacked on all sides of the room, on ramps and catwalks surrounding a concrete pit—that the shuttle was descending into. At the right front corner of the room, there was a raised platform where a heavily-swaddled guard was operating a control console.

"Jim, it appears we are at a significant tactical disadvantage." Spock had appeared next to him and was also scanning the room.

Jim nodded, and started planning. "I see three guards. Platform at one o'clock, service door at eleven, catwalk at ten." He pointed out the third, a heavily-swaddled Klingon walking down a ramp toward the shuttle, holding a clipboard. "What about you?"

"There is a fourth beneath the platform," Spock said.

Though it cast a glare on the bow viewport, making it impossible for the guards to see in, the harsh fluorescent light also made it difficult to see out. Jim was grateful for Spock's eyes.

"I don't think we can come out shooting," Uhura said.

Jim looked between her and Rllan. "Do you two think you could get at least two of them in here?"

"Yes," Rllan said.

"Fantastic." He turned to Spock. "How's your aim?"

Spock handed over the phaser holstered to his belt. "I will likely be of more use in neutralizing the guards who approach the shuttle," he said.

Jim nodded, then turned to Rllan. "Listen, the last thing we need right now is a scene. Unless you want this to be over before it starts, that—" he pointed to the unconscious pilot, "—can't happen again. OK?"

Rllan shot him a glare. "I understand the risks."

"Good," Jim muttered.

The shuttle came to rest on the concrete with a soft thump, and there was a loud, clanking knock against the port hatch.

While Jim, Spock and Uhura flattened themselves against the port wall, Rllan tapped a command into the flight console, then stood in plain view of the hatch. With a hiss of depressurization, the hatch cracked open and slid to the left. Freezing air and wan yellow light rushed into the tiny cabin.

A heavy boot set foot inside, and Jim could just see the edge of the guard's datapad as he barked something at Rllan in Klingon, and Rllan gave a cool reply.

The guard took another step—then collapsed, the datapad clattering to the floor, Spock's hand at the junction of his shoulder and neck. Rllan grabbed the guard by one arm and dragged him in, then shouted something in Klingon. Jim glanced back at the viewport to see the eleven o'clock guard moving quickly down the ramp, scowling.

He appeared in the doorway a moment later and was quickly nerve-pinched by Spock—but not before he caught sight of the other guard and let out a shout of warning.

Jim didn't wait for the other two Klingons to move. He darted out onto the platform, took aim, and fired at the guard on the raised platform, who crumpled, stunned. The guard beneath the platform took off running in the direction of the service door. Jim's second shot missed as the guard lunged behind a high stack of crates.

Shit. If the guard made it to the service door, this was no longer a stealth mission. Jim darted forward, taking aim again.

There was a blur of movement to his left: Rllan, sprinting up the ramp.

The guard, who had peered around the corner of the crate tower, saw her coming and made a break for the service door, only to be slammed into the wall.

No longer in the enclosed space of the shuttle where a shot could damage control panels or necessary viewscreens, Rllan had opted to use the disruptor rather than the knife. She had the muzzle pressed under the guard's neck.

"Rllan!" Jim shouted, as she snarled at the guard in Klingon.

Unlike the boyish pilot, the guard was far past his prime, with grizzled, gray hair pulled back tightly from the crown of his head. At Jim's shout, he looked over, then turned back to Rllan, dark eyes glittering.

"Rllan," he repeated, then spoke to Rllan again, his lips parting in a grin.

Taunting her.

Rllan growled at him again, repeating whatever she'd said before, and the guard spat in her face. A split second's silence, and Rllan armed the disruptor.

"Wait!" Jim caught her arm as the charge whined. He turned to where Spock was racing up the catwalk, followed quickly by Uhura.

As the guard collapsed under Spock's hand, Rllan pulled away, holstering the disruptor.

"You want him to get up later?" she demanded.

Rllan looked archly at him, and for a moment, no one spoke.

Spock broke the silence: "Jim, the longer we remain here the more likely we are to be discovered."

Rllan moved first, bending over the unconscious guard and lifting him bodily by the wrist so that he dangled by his shoulder socket.

Jim frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Getting a map." She dragged the guard to a nearby wall console, lifting his hand and pressing it to an adjacent scanner, then letting him slump unceremoniously to the floor as the console unlocked. "He says my crew are in the mines."

"How does he know?" Uhura asked.

"They don't get many imperial traitors."

As Rllan and Uhura searched for a map to download to their comms, Jim and Spock dragged the unconscious guards out of sight, taking their disruptors and redistributing them so that everyone in the away team was properly armed. They reconvened in front of the service door where Uhura handed back comms and Rllan glared impatiently.

"You know where we're going?" Jim asked.

Rllan's answer was to push past him. "Don't fall behind."

"Shift change!" bellowed the guard at the head of the crowd, in Klingon. Like the guard in the cargo bay Rllan had used to get the map, he was bent and grizzled, and one of his eyes was covered by a permanent-looking patch. In one hand, he held a long particle stick like a staff, in the other a coiled leash, at the end of which was an evil-looking creature the size of a greyhound. Some kind of canine, but unlike any Uhura had ever seen, with tufts of mangy, white fur, beady black eyes, and large, uneven fangs jutting out of its jaws, fitting unevenly together.

Uhura shot a sidelong glance at Kirk, to her left, then turned back to the front of the narrow waiting area, her head bowed as if in defeat. Rllan, hooded and similarly bent, was ahead of her, Spock behind. Between the disguises and their unassuming postures, they were taking precautions to be as inconspicuous as possible, although she wasn't entirely sure they needed to worry. The inmates around them were dead-eyed: exhausted and—literally—ragged. Most were draped in thin garments that were all but shredded, either by the length of their time in the prison or by the harshness of their labor in the mines. They would find out soon, Uhura thought. If there was anything they needed to worry about, it was being singled out as newcomers by the state of their clothing.

They had wound up on mining duty half by logic, half by chance.

The service door had led them to a narrow hallway, strangely incongruous with the industrial, but fully-modernized cargo bay. The floor had been made of the same reinforced concrete, but the walls were jagged cave rock, lined with the same wan, industrial lamps, but strung together with thick, exposed wires. The ceiling was far above them, a faint crack between the two walls. It struck Uhura that they likely were in a natural cave—a series of them, linked to the dilithium mines.

They had moved single-file, Rllan, Kirk ahead of her, Spock behind, following the hallway as it curved to the left in a perpetual blind corner, until they came to a door: heavy and metal, like the cargo bay entrance, with a narrow, grimy slot of a window just at eye-level. As Rllan and Kirk peered through, Uhura pulled out her comm to check the map, to find that they were at a T-junction of sorts. Ahead of them, the hallway dead-ended. To their left was what looked like the prison kitchens, and to their right, a wide, open space the hallway had been curving around like the outside of a bowl.

"Prison yard?" Kirk had suggested quietly, and Uhura had shrugged. There was only one way to find out.

Kirk had been right.

They had found themselves in the belly of a high cavern, unevenly lit by broad-beam search lights and more yellow, fluorescent lamps. High above them were a series of metal catwalks, patrolled by guards carrying what looked like disruptor rifles. On the far side of the room, up a natural slope in the cave structure was what looked like a trap door, likely leading to the surface. Four guards were posted there, all heavily-armed, also accompanied by one of the deformed-greyhound beasts. Ahead of them were groups of inmates, milling quietly around. If they were an accurate representation of the population, then it was clear that more than half of the prisoners of Rura Penthe were Klingons, but a significant portion were from elsewhere in the galaxy. Uhura recognized a handful of Trills, Cardassians, Romulans, Andorians—even the odd human, though as they wandered through, Uhura heard no Terran languages being spoken. Most were slurping from tiny, metal bowls: they'd clearly just missed lunch.

A sharp cry had echoed through the cavern, followed by a shrieking retort in an unknown language. Several search beams had turned to the far corner of the room, where a fight had broken out between two inmates. Many of the prisoners rose, forming a circle around the combatants, jeering their support for one or the other. No guards moved forward to break it up. From one of the catwalks above, Uhura thought she heard laughter.

The fight had drawn most everyone's attention, and so the away team was free to slip through the yard unnoticed. They had made their way to the back of the room into another tunnel, before running into the group being led to the next mining shift and being snapped at by a guard to fall in line. Minutes later they were being handed headlamps and tiny, dull hammers—evidently the more effective laser-picks of modern mining operations were too dangerous in the hands of a bunch of prison inmates.

The lift nearest them rattled into place, and the guard cranked the doors open manually, revealing another group of prisoners, removing head lamps and flinching at the dim light. It was obvious they hadn't seen much of it during their shift. As they shuffled out, the creature on the leash sniffed at them with interest, only to be jerked back by the guard.

The new group was ushered forward from behind, cramming into the tiny elevator, the crowd condensing into a stream to accommodate the small doorway. Rllan was pushed through first, then Kirk. Another prisoner, a powder-blue Andorian woman with arms like sticks, was prodded in before Uhura. Almost inside, movement caught Uhura's eye, and her heart skipped a beat. The guard was looking into the crowd, right at her.

No—not at her. Over her shoulder.

His single eye narrowed. "Romulan," he barked.

Uhura whipped around to where Spock was standing, ignoring the jab she received as another prisoner elbowed past her.

Spock halted, regarding the Klingon coolly. Uhura looked back into the elevator where Kirk was staring after them, wide-eyed.

"You will wait for the next one," the guard said, a hint of a smirk on his face.

Kirk took a step forward, but Uhura preempted him, shooting the guard a hard glare. "He doesn't understand you," she said sharply.

The guard's working eye flicked over to her with interest.

"He doesn't understand Klingon," she clarified.

The guard raised a bristly eyebrow. "He'll learn quickly enough."

"No, he won't," Uhura snapped, executing the idea in her head as quickly as it came to her. She threw a decidedly disdainful look back at Spock, who barely reacted. "He's an idiot," she said. "His brain doesn't work right. He only does what I tell him to."

The guard leered at her. "So, you are his keeper. And what does he do for you in return?"

Uhura could see just enough of Spock out of the corner of her eye to see his fingers twitch. She ignored the obvious innuendo. "You want him to work well?" she asked. "You send him with me."

The guard looked her over, then looked back at Spock, weighing his options. Then he smirked and waved Spock forward.

They stepped into the lift, the last two inside before the inner doors rattled shut.

As the outer doors closed and the lift creaked into motion, Uhura looked ahead, hardly daring to move. Then, just audible over the mechanical scraping around them, there was a gentle breath by her right ear, a murmur in low Romulan: "Most effective."

The lift descended into darkness. It moved slowly, and for a seemingly impossible amount of time, narrow slats of light filtering through the crack in the doors every level they passed, interspersed with long stretches of rock. Well after her ears had popped, the lift creaked to a halt. A tinny, mechanical voice out of an unseen speaker grumbled in Klingon:

"First level."

The inner doors creaked open, followed by the outer, and it became immediately clear why the previous shift had flinched at the light: the caves were blindingly dark, lit only by the inmates' head lamps and a set of high-beam flashlights held by the guards.

They were ushered down a narrow corridor away from the lifts, then barked at to get to work! And prodded into one of the tunnels. After which point, the guards seemed to just…disappear.

"Not much of a security system," Kirk muttered.

"Indeed, though it seems the prisoners are subdued by other methods," Spock replied. "Deprivation of light and sustenance."

Kirk made a noise of assent. "Let's find who we're looking for and get the hell out of here. Rllan?"

Rllan flicked on her headlamp. "In Vattha's and my absence, my chief engineer is in charge. His name is Jojon. He will know where the others are."

"Right." Kirk glanced around their small circle. "Let's divide and conquer. If you don't find anyone, meet back here in ten minutes and we'll move on."

He moved forward into the tunnel ahead of him. Spock chose the tunnel immediately to the right, and Rllan the tunnel immediately to the left. Uhura walked past to the tunnel just beyond Rllan's. As her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, she noted the tunnel walls weren't solid, but perforated in places, cracked open, leaving tiny windows into the adjacent tunnels.

She hadn't taken two steps into the tunnel when a blur of movement through one of the cracks in the rock drew her gaze. She turned just in time to see a hand reach out and grab Rllan by the shoulder, and to hear a gasp in Klingon:

"Qowon HoD!"

Rllan turned and slammed the offender into the adjacent wall. Through the narrow window into the other tunnel Uhura could see the glint of Rllan's knife, could just hear the Klingon captain's response:

"Speak that name again and it will be the last words to leave your throat."

Qowon…?

It had to be her clan name. Uhura ripped the headlamp from her forehead and pressed herself against the rock, watching.

"I knew you would come, I knew it!"

The beam of Rllan's headlamp caught the person she had pinned and revealed another Klingon: a slender young woman, who seemed utterly unconcerned with the fact that she was being threatened at knife-point. She was beaming, revealing a crooked smile with missing teeth.

A member of the crew? A muscle in Uhura's thigh twitched for her to move, to rejoin Rllan, but then the other woman spoke again, causing Uhura to stop short, listening.

"Your crew—there is little time, many have already been killed. You must regroup with those who remain and return to Kronos."

"Who are you?" Rllan snarled. "How do you know me?"

"I am Davtargh, daughter of Qob." The girl said something else, but it was indistinguishable over a distant crash of machinery.

"Kronos is dead," Rllan replied.

"No!" the young Klingon shook her head vehemently. "There is hope. You still have allies there."

Another crash of machinery, and this time a shout, a yelp. Uhura leaned forward against the rock, straining to hear, but missed their next exchange. Whatever it was, something Davtargh said seemed to enrage Rllan. She pressed her forearm into the girl's throat. "QuSurgh was my ally, Noluy was my ally! Laovj was my ally! They all died for it! Mogh never breathed a word in our support!"

Davtargh pushed back and croaked something in response.

Uhura watched as Rllan said nothing—then begin to ease her grip, barely, allowing the girl to suck in a deep breath.

"You must return," Davtargh said.

"What makes you think anything has changed? Lorak is still Chancellor."

"These are turbulent times." There was a glint in the young Klingon's eye. "Turbulence affords opportunity."

Uhura felt her breath catch in her throat.

Rllan was silent again. Then she spoke. "You know where to find my crew."

"Yes."

"Take me to them."

Rllan lifted her arm from the young woman's throat. Uhura watched Davtargh move toward the tunnel entrance—heading straight in her direction. Uhura scrambled to her feet, moving down the tunnel and positioning herself in one of the hollow pockets of rock, flicking her headlamp back on. Rllan and Davtargh caught up to her in no time.

"Who's this?" Uhura asked in Standard, eyeing Davtargh. The less the girl knew about Uhura's knowledge of Klingon the better.

"She will take us to my crew," Rllan answered.

Davtargh led them deep into the tunnel, past chipping work crews, Rllan shooting her virulent glare at anyone who dared look their way. The further they progressed, the thicker the air seemed to become. Despite the persistent chill, Uhura felt herself sweating under her heavy thermal coat, struggling to keep up. Finally, just as they hit a dead-end, Rllan darted forward to a small group of inmates in the corner. The most visible was a bald Klingon man, with skin so pale that in the dim cave light it seemed nearly translucent. At the sound, he looked up and sprang to his feet.

"Captain!"

Rllan clasped his arm. "Jojon." She looked over Jojon's comrades. There were four of them, equally haggard, but all on their feet regardless, waiting for orders. "Where are the others?" Rllan asked.

"The rest of my engineering staff is in isolation," Jojon said, shaking his head.

Rllan's heavy brow knitted. "What about—"

"Dead. All dead."

Rllan was still for a moment, then nodded and turned to Uhura. "We must find Kirk."

Jojon's eyes widened almost comically. "Kirk?"

Rllan huffed out a breath as she began to lead them back the way they'd come.

"It's a long story."

Ten minutes had evidently passed, because Kirk and Spock were waiting for them in the original tunnel.

"You found them," Kirk said immediately, stepping over to Rllan, Spock close on his heels. Spock caught Uhura's eye for a moment, and she opened her mouth to speak—then closed it. She was still processing Rllan and Davtargh's hurried exchange in the adjacent tunnel. Now wasn't the time.

Kirk blinked at the tiny group. "This is everyone?"

Rllan shook her head. "Three others are in another part of the prison."

"Right."

"This is Jojon," Rllan said, gesturing to the engineer.

Kirk nodded to him. "Nice to meet you."

Uhura translated. Jojon didn't reply, but eyed Kirk suspiciously.

Kirk turned to Rllan and Uhura in turn. "Right. We need a plan to get out of here."

Rllan raised an eyebrow.

"Nearly all the guards are posted in the general vicinity of the lifts," Spock said. "They fail to patrol the tunnels with any regularity because the efforts of each shift are pooled."

"They sink or swim together," Kirk added, and it became clear that he and Spock had already discussed this.

Jojon and the other members of Rllan's crew were looking curiously at them; Uhura repeated what had just been said in Klingon.

Jojon frowned at her. "We outnumber them," he said, and Rllan translated.

"It won't help the rest of your crew if we have to fight our way out," Kirk answered.

Rllan looked as if she were considering this. She opened her mouth to speak, but never got the chance to. From around the corner of the main tunnel came an armored figure carrying a disruptor rifle.

"Hey!" he barked, pointing the rifle at the group. "You want to go to the surface?"

Uhura watched as Rllan placed a hand on the disruptor holstered at her belt, out of the guard's view. Kirk and Spock both took a step forward, and Jojon turned, the breadth of his shoulders shielding Rllan from the disruptor rifle.

Then a voice sounded in heavily accented Standard. "I help you."

Uhura turned, and realized it was Davtargh, standing at Rllan's elbow. She looked Uhura directly in the eye. "I help you," she repeated. She turned to Rllan and spoke in Klingon, her eyes bright:

"Remember me."

She struck like a rattlesnake, jamming the heel of her hand into Rllan's jaw, then snatching at Rllan's waist. Jojon and Rllan's crewmembers shouted and the guard took an involuntary step back, disoriented by the tumult. Uhura saw a flash of motion as Davtargh darted around the group, a glint of steel in her hand.

The guard started visibly and fumbled with the disruptor rifle, trying to take aim.

Too late.

With a berserker scream, Davtargh hurled herself forward, Rllan's knife aimed at the guard's throat. She made her mark: the guard let out a strangled cry and dropped as she slammed into him. A blast of disruptor fire ricocheted off the cave ceiling as the rifle tightened in his grip. The knife came up again, covered in dark, purple blood, and Davtargh plunged it down, still screaming—then a third time, and a fourth.

The guard's flailing limbs twitched, then went still. Davtargh pushed to her feet, her face and chest stained dark. She looked at them only once, then ran howling into the main tunnel, her path carrying her straight past the lifts—and the majority of the guards.

Moments later, far ahead of them there were shouts and disruptor fire. Davtargh's shrieking was still audible, echoing back to them through the tunnels.

For a few seconds, no one moved.

Then Kirk seemed to wake up. "Go," he said, pushing Rllan forward. "Go!"

The fanged canine was the first thing visible as Kirk and Rllan pried open the outer doors of the lift. Uhura's phaser blast caught the animal directly in the chest; it sunk to the floor with a whimper, stunned.

Its owner, the one-eyed guard with the particle stick, turned in surprise, just in time for Spock's hand to close on his neck. He dropped to the floor, and Rllan's crewmembers stepped over to him, searching him for inconspicuous weapons. Jojon picked up the particle stick.

"You said three more?" Kirk asked Rllan.

Rllan nodded. "In isolation."

"Where is that?"

Uhura had already pulled up the map. "Far side of the prison, on the other side of the armory," she said, holding it out for Kirk to examine.

"Captain," Spock said, "it is likely we are now too large a group to pass unnoticed through the prison. It would be logical for the majority of us to go back to the cargo bay and secure the shuttle while a smaller party proceeds to the isolation cells to rescue the remainder of Rllan's crew."

Kirk nodded, and Spock took a step forward. For a moment Uhura felt adrenaline jolt through her stomach—

—only to dissipate when Kirk spoke:

"Good thinking. You and Uhura, head back to the shuttle with Rllan's crew. Rllan and I will get the others."

Rllan glanced briefly at him before nodding and repeating the order in Klingon. Jojon cast Kirk another suspicious look, but obeyed, following Spock and Uhura down the corridor leading away from the mines. They parted at the next junction, Spock, Uhura and Rllan's crew heading left, Kirk and Rllan heading right.

"Good luck," Kirk said, glancing at Spock and Uhura, before followed Rllan.

"Same to you," Uhura said, and Spock nodded, watching Kirk disappear around the corner.

They made their way back down the tunnel, leading Rllan's crew, silent but for the occasional direction as Uhura read their path off the comm.

Uhura could feel her heart pounding as they walked. She glanced briefly back at Rllan's crew, then, when it was obvious none of them were looking at her, turned to Spock, and spoke to him in Vulcan.

Specifically, a sibilant eastern dialect: one she'd consulted him on frequently while working on her senior thesis. Standard was far too risky—Davtargh had demonstrated that—and Klingons were even more likely to speak the main Romulan dialects.

"I need to tell you something," she murmured.

Spock turned toward her a fraction.

"In the mines, I overheard Rllan and the young Klingon woman talking. She wasn't one of Rllan's crew. I think Rllan…" she paused, choosing her words carefully. "…hasn't been entirely truthful with us."

"What did you hear?" Spock asked quietly.

Uhura described the exchange: the revelation of what was likely Rllan's clan name, the mentions of dead allies, Davtargh's reference to opportunity. "Spock," she concluded, "at this point I seriously doubt she's a merchant."

"I am inclined to agree."

"And I don't think it's unlikely she might try something once we get out of here."

Spock was quiet for a moment. "Nyota, I find your logic sound. For now, however, we must focus on our escape. We will have to…" He trailed off.

Uhura glanced up at him to see his brow pulled into the slightest of frowns.

"Cross that bridge when we come to it?" she supplied, wincing at the awkward translation.

But Spock only nodded, briefly meeting her eyes before looking back to the tunnel ahead.

"Precisely."

The isolation unit was barely guarded, and for good reason: compared to the mining crews, the inmates inside barely needed watching.

The cells, Jim thought, following Rllan down the row as she peered into the narrow slot of a window on each cell door, were less like something out of The Great Escape and more like the pictures of ancient, 20th century prisons he'd seen in Terran history books. The floors were bowed to create a bowl and lined with tile to collect snowmelt that trickled down the concrete walls, leaving the humanoid occupants standing in a pool of ankle-deep, freezing water. The cells were also far closer to the surface of the planet, counteracting the heat that rose from the bottom of the caves.

The locks were heavy-duty, but rudimentary. As a wayward kid back in Iowa, Jim had done his fair share of breaking-and-entering; with the right tools, Rura Penthe could have a small-scale prison riot on their hands. The idea grew more and more vindictive in the back of his head, the more windows he looked into.

The thought of his own crew—and Rllan's—pulled him back to the task at hand.

"Anything yet?" he asked in a harsh whisper.

Ahead of him, Rllan turned and shook her head, then kept moving—then stopped short at the third-to-last cell. "Kirk!"

Jim dashed over. "These three?" he asked.

Rllan checked the other two cells, then turned and nodded, drawing her disruptor.

The remains of Rllan's crew were a trio of shivering engineers, one of whom seemed to be considerably less lucid than the others. He was all but mute, dark eyes glassy, being supported by the other two. All three were far too thin, and as ragged and filthy as those in the mines.

At a minimum, Jim thought, they would blend in.

Peering around a rock formation at the edge of the yard, he could see that the cavernous room was far more crowded than it had been when they'd passed through before. Maybe the Klingon girl's screaming rampage had prompted an evacuation from the mines. The passage to the cargo bay was just visible through the crowd.

"We will not pass unseen," said Rllan, from his left.

Jim nodded. "We can go in pairs, or one at a time," he answered. "Less conspicuous."

Rllan repeated the command to her crew, then pointed out the passageway on the other side of the room. They sent the two lucid engineers first, then a few seconds later Rllan, and the wavering third, his arm draped over her shoulder. Jim waited for them to get a decent head-start, then started into the yard himself, weaving a meandering path between groups of inmates, but making steady progress toward the other side of the room.

Three-quarters of the way across the yard, he passed a trio of prisoners drawn into a tight circle. The inmate on the far side of the group was a Romulan: a huge, gangling man with sandy hair sticking up in tufts, and jagged tattoos etched from temple to cheekbone. Sharp, water-colored eyes narrowed as he passed by them.

Jim kept walking, even as he saw movement in his periphery.

"Human."

The call was a bark, from directly behind him. Jim ignored it—maybe he could pass himself off as a non-Standard speaker. Ahead of him, on the edge of the crowd, he saw Rllan glance back, saw her arm tense beneath her robe, doubtless reaching for the disruptor.

"Human!" the Romulan shouted.

So much for that.

Jim suppressed a groan and slowed to an exaggerated halt, watching as Rllan stopped at the edge of the crowd. He shook his head, just slightly, waited for her to keep moving, then pivoted his heels, raising his eyebrows at the inmate.

"You know, you're gonna have to be a lot nicer if you're looking for a kept man," he said, giving the Romulan a feral smile. "Maybe buy me a drink first."

The Romulan approached him, eyes shining. "We don't get your kind here often."

"I'll just bet. So…that a yes or a no? 'Cause I'm partial to Saurian brandy."

A crowd was gathering now, prisoners of all kids looking directly at him, the room beginning to buzz with anticipation.

"You won't need a drink when I'm through with you."

Jim paused a moment to "consider," then shot back a smirk before turning to leave. "More's the pity."

"You can't lie to me, human," the Romulan said, his voice almost quivering with malicious glee. "I know your face."

Shit.

Jim felt his heart sink. It was this exact scenario he'd been counting on avoiding. Rllan and the wounded engineer had now rejoined the other crewmembers. Rllan was staring at him, eyes wide and demanding.

The inmate was now steps behind him. "Every Romulan knows your face."

Jim sent Rllan back a grimace, before mouthing: Go!

The rough hand on his shoulder was inevitable.

He turned swinging.

A/N: Potentially squicky content includes the following: depictions of physical violence, blood, physical and verbal threats, and malnourished people in horrible prison conditions, as well as discussions of unsavory, coercive relationships among inmates.

Credit where credit's due: some dialogue in this chapter is lovingly borrowed from Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country. For everyone who's been sticking with me despite the massive delays in posting, thank you-it means a lot. 3