Cries of “Captain!” reached Jim’s ears as Walken dragged him from the makeshift interrogation room back to the place where he had been bound. Jim refused to make it easy on the bastard, playing weaker than he was, and Walken was sweating from his efforts. When they reached the other side of the barn, the man unceremoniously dropped Kirk to the floor and gave him a hard shove with his boot.

Olivares knew Klingon shockingly well. The insults she threw at Walken would have made a battalion commander blush.

Tappan passed by them at a more leisurely pace. He sounded quite unconcerned when he said, “Make our dear captain comfortable, Thomas.”

Jim rolled over to his side and sat up with his back to the post, kept his head down.

No doubt pissed that he had been denied another opportunity to cause pain, Walken quickly bound Jim’s hands and turned to follow the man he called Governor.

“Captain,” Blanca called to Kirk once they were alone.

Kolarski echoed her distress.

Jim looked up and saw that even Joran, fighting to remain conscious, was concerned.

“I’m all right,” he told them.

“You don’t look all right, sir,” the woman countered.

Jim started to smile and winced as the motion tugged at his split lip. “They’re only surface wounds, Lieutenant.”

“When I can move again, I’m going to teach that bastard a lesson—and then I’ll hand him over to Mr. Spock.”

Give Walken to Spock? thought Jim. Considering that the Vulcan commander was a pacifist except under duress, Jim didn’t think that Spock would harm the man very much.

Well, not physically. Spock did have a way of exacting punishment that could make a person wish he had been punched in the face instead.

In actuality, Jim worried more at the thought of one of his captors falling into Bones’ hands. There was nothing more frightening than a doctor’s protective instincts, especially when said doctor thought a patient under his care had been threatened or harmed. And Jim had discovered that where he was concerned, McCoy got particularly worked up. He would bet a month’s salary that becoming lovers only made Bones more sensitive about his well-being.

“Captain?”

Jim shook off his thoughts. “I know this is not news to any of you, but we’re in a very delicate situation. Our top priority right now is not to provoke the enemy.”

Olivares’ gaze sharpened. “Did Tappan tell you what he wanted?”

Jim pressed his mouth flat. “Yes, but it’s never going to happen.” He met each of their gazes. “They will try to use me against you and to use you against me. I want you to be prepared. I cannot and will not act as they want—” He swallowed down regret. “—no matter what that costs us.”

Kolarski nodded gravely. A kind of calm settled over Joran’s face.

“We understand, Captain,” Blanca said, and others did not gainsay her. “It has been—is—an honor to serve with you.”

“The honor is mine,” Jim replied heavily. “I couldn’t have asked for a better crew. Whether or not we survive this, everyone will learn of how brave you have been. I can promise you that.”

The silence that settled over their group wasn’t solemn or sad. Jim saw determination in his crewmen’s faces. He saw their pride. Despite knowing they were likely to suffer, even die, in the next few hours, their faith in him was strengthened.

Realizing this nearly brought Kirk to tears. This was, he decided, one of the worst and best moments of his captaincy.

Tappan gathered his most loyal in the town hall and reiterated that their mission was at its most critical stage. No one could waver in his vision of the future or they would all suffer failure.

“This colony belongs to us,” he said, “but unless we are willing to tear it from greedy hands, it will never rightfully become ours. I have shown you the true nature of your contract. You are not employed—you are enslaved! You will never see the profits of your labor. Despite raising your families here, you will never have the legal right to own your homes.” He opened his hands to the air. “And what of this beautiful education center? Another lie! The sponsor did not gift you with the tools to better yourselves. They are only to teach you how to meet their demands!”

Men and women started to nod. Tappan felt buoyed by their murmurs of agreement.

“It is said the human race overcame the age of servitude centuries ago, yet that is another lie. Sponsorship is servitude, and they think us too naive to recognize it! But we will not be laughed at as fools. We will no longer live in ignorance. Where others have cried for justice for years, wasted themselves in legal battles against the pitiless corporate monsters, we shall succeed in a matter of days because we are not afraid. We demand our future now! We make our own destiny! Fight for freedom! For your families! For the right to live on a world that you created with your bare hands!”

“Yeah!” cried some. “Ours!” cried others.

Tappan clasped his hands in prayer. “Ten years ago I was sent to guide you—no, not to guide, but to rule over you as a master who carefully grooms a generation of slaves. I was the corporate man. I am ashamed of that. Having stayed by your side all of these years made me realize why I should feel shame. I remember the hardships you struggled through. I remember the sacrifices you had to make. And I remember the joy each time you persevered. Now I know this is where I belong, here with you, as a man of this colony. I shall make you this promise: when the free state of Tassos III names me Governor, I will grant every boon that the sponsor would not. I will ensure the profits of our labors are shared equally. Place your trust in me, and I swear I am with you to the very end!”

His eyes gleamed behind his glasses. He reveled in the cheering, in the enthusiastic displays of devotion to his cause. Soon, these people would have all that they deserved—and him along with them.

Even as his gaze drank in the empowering sight, he noted a lone shadow which slipped from back of the hall. It caused his joy to dim.

The boy was a problem, always had been. Ramses had no understanding of, or willingness to understand, the politics at play. He thought his father was… mad.

Tappan’s smile dropped away, then, and the crowd, upon seeing their leader’s displeasure, quieted.

“What actions we take now are necessary for our survival,” he said, staring towards the back hall. “Do not stray from the path. To do so is death… for us all.”

With that final warning, he left the podium. “Find my son,” he said to the man waiting at the edge of the stage.

“Gov’nor?”

“Find Ramses,” Tappan insisted. “Lock him in the grain house. For his own safety.”

If Longwell thought the order was odd, he made no comment to that effect. The farmer simply gave a nod and disappeared from the gathering.

Ship’s Log: Stardate 4640.5. This is Lt. Cmdr. Scott speaking, in command of the Enterprise in the absence of Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock. The ship is locked in orbit around Tassos III, the last known location of the Capt’n and the crew of the Copernicus. Cmdr. Spock and Dr. McCoy, along with a team of Security officers, have transported to the surface to investigate. Interference from an unknown source leaves us unable to maintain contact with them, but we’re working as fast as we can on a solution to that.

A pause occurred in the recording.

It may be sentimental of me to say this on official record—aye, ’tis truly sentimental—but Capt’n Kirk is like me family, only second in rank to the fair Lady Enterprise herself, and I’ll take a photon torpedo doun there meself if—ahem. Lt. Uhura appears to have some news for me. Computer, erase last ten seconds of entry.

Another pause occurred in the recording.

What do ye mean ye cannae erase my transcription? Computer? Computer! Oh, I’ll take a wrench to you later. End log.

They beamed into a ghost town. As Leonard looked into the distance, he could have sworn a tumbleweed rolled lazily across the street. The lack of people coupled with the lack of sound set him on edge.

He ventured towards the stairway of the landing and cranked up the sensors on his tricorder to maximum capacity. He was about to motion for Spock to join him when Giotto called the Vulcan to the opposite side of the platform. Leonard watched from the corner of his eye as the two officers knelt to the ground and discussed something in soft voices. Then Spock twisted the broad strap around his chest to gain access to his tricorder and preoccupied himself with fine-tuning it.

He wondered what the Vulcan was looking for, then dismissed the thought and returned to his own instrument. To his dismay, it beeped in the negative. He broadened the parameters for life-signs not specifically Kirk’s and found plenty of them nearby (though hidden from sight), all specifically human.

He was frowning when Spock approached him and asked, “Anything?”

“Wish I could scan the whole colony in one fell swoop. The range on this thing is too short,” the doctor complained, frustrated that he hadn’t located Jim.

“I am aware of the limitations of your device, Dr. McCoy.”

Leonard pursed his mouth. “Mr. Spock, here’s a novel concept for you: why don’t you try to be helpful instead of a nuisance?” But his ire fizzled out as he began to peruse their surroundings. “Where did they land the shuttle? In a field?”

“It is highly doubtful we will find the Copernicus.”

“Why not?”

“I suspect it has been dematerialized.”

That answer had Leonard jerking his head around to stare at Spock. “Come again?” he said in disbelief. “I can’t have heard you right.”

“Mr. Giotto observed burn marks on the platform of a width and length reminiscent of a standard shuttlecraft. My tricorder detected pockets of rebounded protonic charges.”

“Residue from phaser fire,” Leonard said. “But, Spock, that almost always indicates a rifle or cannon was fired, not a handgun. Think of the amount of energy emission necessary to…” He trailed off and shook his head.

“It is possible, Doctor, with no less than six phasers firing at full capacity simultaneously on the target.”

The image alone was horrifying. “My god, someone really vaporized our shuttle?” Then he had a thought even more horrifying than that mental image. “What if—”

Spock interrupted him sharply. “We cannot preoccupy ourselves with conjecture. Time is of the essence.”

Well, that answered the question of whether or not Spock was willing to entertain the idea that Jim had been vaporized along with the Copernicus.

Leonard nodded because he didn’t want to entertain the thought for very long either. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

“If we operate in parties of three, we can optimize our coverage of the colony before we are required to search by artificial light.”

Giotto came up behind them. “Sir, we have company.”

Leonard swallowed his then what are we waiting for? and turned to watch the approach of several men. Most of them were dressed in the typical outerwear preferred by industrial farmers. It was the man leading them who looked like he had never touched the machines necessary to till the soil, plant, and harvest. His clothes were neatly pressed; he wore a pair of antique glasses that weren’t safety-shielded. He even had a small bow-tie attached to the collar of his shirt.

All that’s missing is the gold pocket chain, the mahogany cane, and a top hat, thought Leonard with a mental snort. Where did this fellow think he lived? At the Presidential Palace on Mars?

The man gave them a jovial welcome. “Hello there! Welcome to Tassos III! My name is Augustus Tappan. To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

Spock folded his hands behind his back. “I am Commander Spock, First Officer of the United Starship Enterprise.”

“Greetings, Commander Spock.” The man’s smile widened as he took in Spock’s appearance. “Why, you’re a Vulcan! I had no idea Vulcans worked in Starfleet.”

Spock acknowledged, “Very few do.”

“Oh, I wish Kirk had mentioned you. I have a certain… fascination with Vulcanians.” He cleared his throat, composed himself, and raised his right hand in a Vulcan salutation. “I hope my etiquette is appropriate.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows inched upwards before he returned the gesture. “It would seem so, Mr. Tappan.”

Leonard decided then and there he wasn’t going to be very fond this overdressed popinjay. He scowled and said, “Where’s our captain?”

The man blinked, then continued on as if Leonard hadn’t spoken. “I admit to some surprise at seeing you all. We have had no advance notice regarding your visit to our planet.” He added almost too casually, “I am certain you have a reasonable explanation.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied. “Our purpose is most reasonable. We have lost communication with Captain Kirk and the crewmembers who accompany him. Tassos III would be their last known location.”

“A missing starship captain? How very serious! Only… you won’t find him.”

Tappan smiled when he said that. The hairs rose on the back of Leonard’s neck.

“What I mean to say,” the man amended, “is that Kirk is not here. He left some hours ago, both your captain and his crew.”

Liar, liar, pants on fire, Leonard thought. “You won’t object to us looking ’round, then.”

Tappan focused on him for the first time. “Who would you be?” His tone of voice wasn’t nearly so pleasant.

“Dr. Leonard McCoy, Kirk’s Chief Medical Officer.”

Tappan tucked his hands over his stomach. “I see. Is there some medical emergency that requires you to be here, Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard bristled. Who was this fool to question his authority?

Spock fixed an unblinking stare on Tappan. “While your etiquette may be appropriate, your inquiry is not. Dr. McCoy’s presence is not your concern—although, should you fall ill, you would most certainly come to appreciate his skill in medicine.”

That was rather sweet of Spock to say, especially since Spock was the one who often labeled him as a witch doctor. Leonard would have to remember to thank the hobgoblin later.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and moved to the edge of the landing pad, Giotto and a second security officer flanking him. He addressed the group with a sternness that was usually reserved for subordinates who had pushed him past the limit of his almost infinite Vulcan patience: “Mr. Tappan, to clarify, this is an official investigation. We have every intention of searching these premises. We request your full cooperation. If you refuse, then by Federation law the minimum cooperation required is that you do not hinder the investigation in any way.”

“I… see. By Federation law, am I required to accommodate you and your men as well? Cooperatively speaking.” Tappan smiled again.

“We will not impose on you in that manner,” Spock answered with chilling formality. “We came prepared to care for ourselves.”

Leonard was certain that the flicker which passed through Tappan’s eyes was triumph. He just wasn’t sure why the man had reason to feel that way.

Tappan seemed to rein himself in, for he adopted a more neutral expression and said with some sincerity, “Let us not be hostile with one another, Commander. Your request for cooperation is granted. Once you have satisfied yourselves that your missing crewmen are not among us, please come find me. We shall have an enlightening conversation.”

He bowed, which none of his companions did, and led his group away.

“Spock,” Leonard said once the colonists were out of earshot, “Jim is definitely here.”

Spock looked from McCoy to the medical tricorder and back again. “Have you some indication of his location?”

“No,” Leonard admitted. “But it’s that pompous fellow who gave it away. He sounded so certain that we won’t find Jim. A man is usually only that arrogant when he believes he is a few moves ahead of his opponent.”

“Or when he is, in fact, correct in his calculations.”

“Jim’s here,” Leonard insisted.

Spock glanced away and replied, returning to his customary monotone, “Then we must make haste in finding him.”

Jim knew they were being watched long before the watcher made himself known. When the shadow that slid down the ladder from the loft revealed itself to be Tappan’s son, he was hardly surprised.

Ram loitered by the ladder for a minute before he strode across the barn with purpose and dropped into a crouch by Kirk. “Does it hurt?” he asked, staring at the bruise darkening Jim’s jaw.

Kolarski, oddly enough, was the one who snapped, “What do you think?”

“Andrew,” Jim said in warning. He transferred his hard stare to Olivares and Joran, ensuring that they followed his order not to engage anyone on his behalf.

“He’s not a bad person.”

Jim turned back to Ram and said nothing.

“He’s not… completely bad,” the young man amended. “My father, I mean.”

Still, Jim said nothing.

It was clear that his silence was beginning to bother Ram, for Ram began to fidget. “He’s convinced he is doing the right thing. And he’s not the only one.”

Got you, thought Jim. “But you are not convinced,” he commented at last.

Ram rocked back on his heels at Kirk’s shrewdness and wrapped his arms around his knees. “No, I don’t understand him.” He had a half-smile that was more sardonic than McCoy’s. “But what kid would claim to understand his parent?”

“Do you believe if you did understand, you would agree with his actions?”

Ram’s gaze lowered. “No, sir.”

“Ramses, I’m only going to tell you this once. You are an adult. You are not beholden to your father or to any other man or woman on this colony. Whether you choose to act with the others, to act against them, or not to act at all, there will be consequences. I suggest you make your decision in accordance with the consequences that you know you can live with.”

Ram snorted softly but the rigid line of his shoulders relaxed. “And here I thought, wow, maybe the great Captain Kirk will beg me to help him escape. I guess you don’t beg.”

Only under certain circumstances. But Ram didn’t need to know that.

Jim agreed flatly, “I don’t. And I won’t.”

Tappan’s son stood up. “Well, I wish you had come sooner, Captain.”

Before Jim could ask him what that meant, the double doors to the barn opened. Ram froze, as did Kirk and the others. Then, ashen-faced, the young man bolted for the ladder to the loft.

Jim saw Walken whip out a phaser and cried, “No!”

Ram had no time to react. The blast knocked him off the ladder and to the floor. He didn’t get back up.

Jim called Walken something worse than Olivares had, and he made certain to say it in Standard.

Walken strode forward. “Be glad I didn’t kill him.” For a moment, though, the man looked like he wanted to do exactly that as he stared down at the crumpled youth. He turned and beckoned three other men into the barn. “Longwell, here’s your little traitor. I’ve got Kirk. The rest of you take the others.”

“Take ’em where, Tom?”

Walken gave Olivares a nasty little smile. “Somewhere nobody’ll find the bodies.”

Jim pulled against his bonds. “No!” he shouted when one of the men pulled out a knife and went for Joran, who couldn’t do more than turn his face away. “Stop!”

“Poor Kirk,” Walken said in response to Jim’s distress, shaking his head, “you don’t get it yet. You were dead men the second you stepped out of that shuttle. Shoulda stayed on your comfy starship.”

Jim bit off a scream when the man with the knife forced Joran’s head back in his direction. But, rather than ending things with a quick slash, the fellow held up his weapon and warned Joran, “Try something stupid and this goes right into your gut.”

An emotion passed through Joran’s gaze that, to Jim, was eerily similar to the defiance of a dying man.

“Don’t struggle, that’s an order!” he barked.

Joran met his eyes. It took him a second longer than usual to say, “Aye, Captain.”

Walken blocked Jim’s view, then. “No need to worry about them. Where you’re going is a lot worse.”

Jim almost said, Go to hell.

His face must have expressed the sentiment, however; Walken flicked the phaser setting to heavy stun and without another word shot him.

They split into teams of three as Spock directed, determining who led the teams by who carried tricorders. Leonard would have found it surprising that the Chief of Security was proficient at operating a device used to detect scientific anomalies but Giotto was an extremely intelligent man with an aptitude for a variety of disciplines. Why he had chosen Security when he could have had his pick of the most elite career tracks was a mystery contemplated by several individuals and a never-ending source of frustration for Starfleet Resources. Leonard had posed the question to Jim once out of curiosity. Jim had said, much like everyone else, that he didn’t know what made Giotto tick but the man was excellent at his job and never complained, so Jim would settle for being lucky enough to count him as part of the crew.

While Leonard scanned the area, he contemplated the relationship between Kirk and Giotto.

Knowing that his superior wasn’t going to pressure him to follow a set path had to be a relief. Maybe that was why Giotto had made the first overture at befriending Kirk, even though Jim claimed that ninety percent of their interactions were always very formal. It was the remaining ten percent that had people lining the walls of the gymnasium to watch Kirk and Giotto spar like it was the most entertaining show on the ship.

It probably was. The pair’s version of “sparring” more closely resembled dirty street fighting. The first time Leonard had seen them in action, he had yelled at Giotto for letting their captain fling himself about like a demented cartoon. But Giotto was one of the rare individuals who could face Leonard’s temper without flinching. His calm explanation had been, “The more unorthodox the fighting method, the more likely a person is to succeed in disabling his attacker.”

“And the more work I have to do to put Jim back together!” Though Leonard had inwardly, if grudgingly, acknowledged the point, he made his stance on the matter clear: “The first time he comes to Medical with an issue more serious than a strained muscle, I’m writing you up for reckless endangerment of personnel and failure to obtain proper authorization—including my approval!—of a training program, recreational in nature or not.”

Giotto’s mouth had twitched. “Not a threat I haven’t already heard, Dr. McCoy, but duly noted.” Then he had left Leonard staring at his closed office door, wondering who had gotten to the man first.

Contrary to belief, Jim didn’t have many friends on the ship, a point which Leonard belaboured a time or two but of which he could never fully convince Kirk. Friendly interactions weren’t supposed to be stiflingly professional, and Jim was allowed be himself instead of always the Captain. But Jim was exceedingly bull-headed about some things and so, if Leonard could add a person to the small list of Jim Kirk’s Friends, he counted it as a win.

Giotto, he decided, was a friend—or friend-ish. At the very least, there was no doubt the man was determined to find Kirk.

On the other hand, Spock was most certainly Jim’s best friend (if, that is, Vulcans didn’t find it emotionally irrelevant to be the “best” at friendship with a person). Leonard knew how unique the relationship was. Sometimes he envied it, but mostly he was grateful. Jim needed that unwavering loyalty and the non-judgmental acceptance.

But this time in particular, Jim needed Spock’s determination to return him safely to the Enterprise. Leonard had a feeling if he wasn’t successful (and he hadn’t been so far) in his search, Spock would persevere. The Vulcan, he thought, would travel to the ends of the universe looking for Jim, maybe even to another universe altogether.

Clinging to that hope, occasionally Leonard checked his communicator to see if it was on. It was a silly thing to do just because there had been the radio silence so far, but the act made him feel the tiniest bit better.

His main focus was on scouring each and every building thoroughly while the two security officers with him watched his back. The first four small domes they encountered were homes of families who wouldn’t meet his eyes, and that included their youngsters. The fifth dome was a schoolhouse, and the sixth structure was an open hangar with two tack rooms, a few crop-dusters, and muddy farming equipment that had been brought in from the fields.

It was with waning hope that he moved on to the barn. The emptiness and silence inside depressed him further. One of the security officers went up the ladder to look around the loft. Leonard scanned the lower level, located an empty side room, and scanned that too.

He turned away, not expecting any results, so the chirp of the tricorder nearly made him jump. He looked at the readout more closely and frowned.

Weird. Concentrated moisture in the air.

Returning to the small room, he walked its perimeter until he located a spot on the wall that had high-moisture readings. There he opened his medkit, retrieved two swabs, and carefully wiped one across the surface. He stuck that swab into a tube for lab work. The second swabbed sample he stuck into the side of the tricorder for a quick breakdown of composition.

Fungal in nature, the tricorder told him. High bacteria content. Origins unknown.

Not good. Leonard hoped whatever was growing behind the walls wasn’t an infection of the variety that inhabited humanoid hosts. He didn’t have the proper equipment to take a reading for airborne spores.

“Doctor McCoy,” called the officer who had drifted into the room behind him.

Leonard hurriedly saved the results and crossed to the other side of the room. “What is it?”

The officer pointed a light beam at the floor. “Look. Is that blood?”

Recognizing the red sheen was almost instinctual. Leonard sank to his knees and flicked open his medkit again. In the back of his mind, he noted that his hands didn’t shake as he took a sample and analyzed it.

The tricorder confirmed that the sample came from a human. Then it told Leonard his worst fear.

“Find out where Spock is,” he said, still kneeling, heart starting to pound.

“Sir?”

“It’s blood, all right.” Leonard swallowed hard. “And it belongs to Captain Kirk.”

Jim came to in what he first thought was a prison cell. Gradually, as his senses returned, he realized the ceiling was far too high and the floor was weirdly uneven and lumpy. He couldn’t tell the shape or size of the room but that in large part was due to the pitiful light that came from above, not his spinning head.

“Captain Kirk?”

The whisper sounded like a child’s. It was Ram who leaned into Kirk’s line of vision. He looked frightened.

“I thought you were dying.”

Jim bit down on a snarky remark and chastised himself, You’re spending too much time with Bones.

Ram looked even more concerned, for the young man didn’t know the reason behind Jim’s stifled snort.

Jim sighed and went about the painstaking business of sitting up. There was a horrifying moment when everything started to lose color and slide together but Jim blinked several times until his vision stabilized. He also overcame an urge to throw up.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Inside one of the silos,” Ram replied a little too breathlessly, eyes wide.

Jim didn’t need to look at him too long to guess what the trouble was. “You’re claustrophobic?”

“…I guess so.”

Great. “It’s okay,” Jim said. He took one of Ram’s hands in his own. “Look at me, Ramses. I’m with you.”

“That’s… not something to be proud of, sir.” Ram’s voice cracked. “They pulled up the ladder. We can’t get out.”

In the semi-darkness, Jim could barely discern the small platform jutting out from the edge of the curved wall. He estimated it was more than the height of two men, which was bad news for them. “Damn,” he cursed, this time aloud.

“Yeah,” agreed Ram. “Damn.”

Jim patted the young man’s shoulder without thinking about it. “Help me stand?”

Together, they came to their feet.

“Can you see the opposite wall?”

“Yes, sir. My eyes adjusted a while ago. But, uh, technically we’re in a cylinder. It’s all one wall.”

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I know that, Ram. Just… count our steps.”

Ram counted them far louder than necessary, in Jim’s opinion.

The packed grain was remarkably brittle. It crackled underfoot as they carefully moved across the silo. At one point, Jim’s foot slid on a strange slick patch and he nearly fell, managing to catch and steady himself just in the nick of time. When he instinctively looked down for the cause, he saw that he had churned up the dry surface to expose a layer of darker, wetter grain heads. An odor wafted up that had him covering his nose with the sleeve of his tunic.

The pair moved forward, eventually finding the far wall. Jim put his back to it and gratefully dropped down into a sitting position. His eyes had finally adjusted to the low lighting so he watched Ram sit as well and fold his knees into his chest.

The horrid smell, having pervaded most of the silo by then, scratched at Jim’s memory. He stubbornly refused to go down that path and forced himself to study the smooth interior instead. It was odd that there was no second ladder to span the height of the structure. He could see that there was a trapdoor in the cone-shaped roof, but could anyone get up there?

Damn, damn, damn. This would be the perfect time to be wearing a pair of rocket boots.

Ram remarked, seemingly out of nowhere, “Grain’s rotting.”

Jim closed his eyes, stomach turning for a reason other than the smell. No escape, Kirk. Just face it.

He opened his eyes and asked, “Do you know why?”

The young man shook his head. “But I heard the head foremen talking with my father. Our lab couldn’t identify the strain of infection. It’s not any of the ones we know about. He wanted to bring in specialists.” Ram picked at a loose thread on his jumpsuit. “Dad said no.”

Jim ground his back teeth. There were only a few reasons he could think of why Tappan would deny the request for help, and he didn’t like any of them.

“I know what you’re thinking,” said Ram. “It’s not… like that. Dad is right. Whether or not we have help, we’ve lost at least a year’s crop. We were lucky to have enough good grain in storage to send off to market.”

Jim thought of the tightly sealed containers in the barn. Yes, that wheat had looked healthy.

Ram lowered his head and brushed fingers through his cropped hair. “There’s no way we will finish buying back the rest of the shares on time. Everyone’s upset about that. There was one year left. Just one year until this place was ours.” Disappointment aged his face. “My friends and I had already started to plan the celebration.”

Jim swallowed. He understood. Oh, how he understood. “Under the circumstances, wouldn’t your sponsor be willing to grant you leniency on your yield quota?”

“At what cost?” Ram asked bitterly. “Another five years to the contract?”

Who would be that heartless? Jim wanted to ask, but he was well-aware that there still existed conglomerates who only cared for the strength of their business and profit margins rather than the people who made their success possible.

He laid a hand on Ram’s shoulder. “There are others who would help you. The Federation was founded on the tenets of brotherhood and charity—and there’s no shame in needing either. Helping each other is what keeps us strong and united.”

Ram looked at him. “Even if we did something horrible, would you still help us?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“I believe in second chances. People can learn from their mistakes, Ram. They simply have to be willing to.”

Ram stayed quiet for a long time. Jim allowed him the time to think, for he needed to do some thinking of his own.

Tappan insisted Tassos III was going to be independent soon, despite knowing that the colony faced significant financial losses and years of recovery. That meant he had figured out an alternative plan for ending their sponsorship. What had he called it? Rebirth? Kodos had used the word sacrifice.

Bitter, Jim wondered if there would be any difference in the outcome.

His scratched memory finally began to bleed.

Throat working, he stared at the meager sunlight seeping in through the cracks of the trapdoor.

Next to him, Ram shifted. “I’ll help you,” he said, picking up the thread of their conversation once again.

Why did they have to die, Jimmy?

Sacrifice.

If he finds us, will we die too?

“Captain?”

The title helped. Jim broke the surface of the bad memory and he looked at Ram. What he saw was youth and innocence which hadn’t yet lived through the horror of Kodos.

Tappan. He meant Tappan.

Snap out of it, Jim!

Jim sat up straighter, then, surprised the Bones voice was still with him. “I would be grateful for your help, Ram.”

Ram’s nod was grave, as was his next request: “In return, sir, I hope you can forgive us.”

Jim forced himself to smile and lied, “I already have, son.”

He would find a way to make that lie become truth later. For now, it only mattered that the boy believed him.