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"Ve must be able to reason vit dem! Dey are intelligent beings!"
"I'm open to suggestions, Mr. Chekov," said the Captain wearily – he and the young navigator were held in a comfortable prison. Padded chairs, a table with food and drink, an adjacent bathroom – entirely cleared of blades and dangerous substances, of course. There was even a viewing screen, from which they looked out on the view of Trell below.

If not for the armed guards and cameras recording their every move and word, they might almost have been on holiday. Phasers and communicators, obviously, were forfeit – for a while it looked as though Chekov might try taking on the guard with bare fists, purely out of frustration. Kirk had told him to sit down and conduct himself properly. The ensign's spirit could at times be very heartening – at times like this, it grated.

The door buzzed open. A'alya stood in the doorway, flanked by more guards.

"Time grows short, Captain," said the separatist leader softly. "We cannot main our cloak indefinitely. Soon it will be necessary for us to leave orbit. I must press you for a decision."
"My mind is unchanged. No surrender."

A'alya sat down. Gone was the soldier – her posture was open, face reasonable – one commander to another. Guards edged in behind her surreptitiously.

"Why not? Are there some terms you desire met? Some agreement we can reach?" She glanced from one to the other.

"Ve do not bargain with terrorists," Chekov said.

A'alya closed her eyes. "You insist on that word. Yet have you never destroyed an enemy ship, even a hostile fleet? Would you not destroy a whole planet if it threatened everything you held dear? Would you not then be decorated – hailed as heroes – yet when we defend that which is dearer to us than life – then we are terrorists? Criminals?"
"You are criminals when you murder innocent civilians."
"And you will not be, if you condemn your crew to death?"

A clatter. Suddenly, Kirk's communicator appeared on the table between them. He was half-tempted to grab it, hail Scott and –

- six guns were pointed at him and Chekov, silently and simultaneously.

"Tell your people to surrender," A'alya pleaded softly. "All life is preferable to no life – is that not your belief?"
The communicator waited on the white surface between them.

No-one spoke or moved.

"Spock! Spock answer me!"

Coughs. Then: "I am undamaged, doctor. Are you or the minister harmed?"
"No, the rock fall missed us too. Just choking on the dust…."
"We are now in some difficulty."
"You can say that again!"
"I can pass the ciridium through a crack here in the rock. Do you think you will be able to repair the communicator yourself, by following my instructions?"
McCoy shifted uneasily. "I'm no engineer Spock. Why don't I just pass you the communicator?"
"I do not see a large enough opening. Attempting to move any of these rocks even fractionally would be manifestly unsafe."
"Then it looks like I don't have much of a choice, doesn't it?"
"I shall pass the material through."
McCoy cupped his hands to receive the ribbon-thin elements. His eyes were repeatedly drawn to the Trellian. Harek's dark eyes had taken on a glazed look now, and his breathing was laboured. 'Could just be pain…or the scanner might not be functioning correctly. He might have a fractured skull…internal bleeding we don't even know about…' A familiar sick feeling. Aside from the personal and professional concern of a physician, if there was one thing McCoy didn't need, it was a negligence suit from the Trellian high council. They had to get out here, and fast.

"Okay, Spock, I have the metal. Now tell me what to do."

"Open the front panel of the communicator by sliding the switch underneath. You should see a red wire and blue wire, both connected to a circular power centre."
"Uh huh."
"Above both of these is a minature circuit board, to which the red wire should be connected."
"But it's not."
"Affirmative. Now, this will be delicate operation. You need to extract the broken end of the red wire and twist a small amount of ciridium around the filament. Then, grip the wire by the plastic coating. Insert the wire back into it's connection point at the circuit board, which is marked with a triangular symbol."
"That thing? My God, I can barely see it!" This was not his forte. Minute surgical procedures he could handle with confidence, down to the reconstruction of cells – somehow, having a palm-sized electrical box as a patient was infinetly more difficult.

"As you make the connection, doctor, do not touch the metal. If you do you may be electrocuted."
"Anything else?"
Pause. "If it would give you confidence, I could call upon one of your own superstitions and….wish you luck?"
McCoy wasted several seconds trying to decide if that was a Vulcan joke, then a small noise of anguish from Harek brought his attention online. With infinite care, he pinched the red wire and extracted it, regarded with dislike the piece of filament torn in the fall. He chose a thin strand of ciridium, twisted it round the metal – drew his hand back and regarded his handiwork.

"Now pinch the plastic!" Spock urged, watching him through the crack: "If you are properly insulated it is illogical to fear you will be harmed!"
"Tell that to my nerves." McCoy steeled himself, took the wire by the coating, and inserted it into the circuit. He yanked his hand back like the metal was red hot:

"Excellent, doctor." It was impossible to tell if Spock was being ironic or not. "Now it simply remains to test it."
" If this doesn't work…" McCoy glanced to his patient and back. Then:

"McCoy to Enterprise, Enterprise come in!"
Static only.

"Well, that's that."
"Keep trying!"
"Enterprise? Enterprise? Uhura, do you read me?" He did what he did next on impulse. Spock might not have tried it. On the other hand, he might have seen some obscure logic in the attempt that the doctor missed entirely.

"McCoy to Kirk! Jim come in!"

A breath drawn.

"This is Commander A'alya, of the separatist vessel Sarda. We hold Captain James Kirk and his navigator as our hostages. State the purpose of your communication." Shock, elation and anguish flashed in quick sucession through McCoy's mind. Not Jim – they were alive – they were captives.

"Close the channel," a voice rasped suddenly from beside him. McCoy jumped –

"Harek?"
"Close the channel!" The Trellian commanded viciously, and lunged for the communicator. McCoy snapped it shut instinctively.

"Who was that?" he demanded.

"A'alya." Harek leaned back against the wall, exhausted by his effort. "Not her."
"You knew about the separatists," McCoy accused.

"We all know."
"Why didn't-…?"
"Their existence is not to be acknowledged. They are no longer Trellians. They are nothing."
"I'd say they just made their existence pretty damn clear, wouldn't you!"
"A'alya…" Harek's eyes closed. He appeared to be conducting some intense inner struggle, a debate with himself. Then: "Listen." Now his voice was stronger. "I know this network. A'alya and I, once…but times were hard, and she changed. In the early days, she told me some things – and I told her not to listen to the lies. But she was gone. They won her. Before she left me, I learned some things about the nature of the separatist movement. Their organization is carefully structured – they do not know the names of their leaders, or who there comrades are. It means that they cannot confess – when – we catch one." He drew a deep breath, battling with deep pain, not just from injury but from a sickness he was forced to acknowledge, a pestilence that festered in the world he loved so dearly. McCoy felt a sharp twinge of sympathy. 'They can scarcely bear to acknowledge this to themselves. To admit these things to aliens – it must be – torture.'

"There is a chance," Harek said, coming back to the present: "That I can beguile A'alya. She always believed that I would 'come around'…she wants this. If the codes are unchanged – I can get aboard that vessel, pose as one of them and – initiate self-destruct. Listen to me. The Sarda is a standard-design Trellian Fleet vessel. The separatists commandeered her. I know the layout like the back of my hand – I've done three years compulsory service."
"You'd die!" And so would Jim and Chekov. I'm sorry, but I can't give you permission to sacrifice the life of my captain and fellow crewman." McCoy held the communicator out of reach.

Harek smiled faintly. "Trellians love life. But there are some things we hold dearer." With a startling, abrupt movement, he summoned his strength and stood. Spock shouted a warning. But McCoy was too surprised to react fast enough as a sharp hand came down on the back of neck, and then there was dark for a while.