Gold watched the away team’s progress on the forward viewscreen, though for minutes at a time they were out of sight due to the twists and turns of the platform. His responsibility weighed heavily on him at times like these—he knew those people were all in his charge, and while they were professionals, fully able to take care of themselves, in the end he was their captain and therefore would answer to himself—his own worst critic, according to Rachel—if anything happened to them.

Concern for their well-being, though, had to be balanced with the necessity of performing the task at hand. He’d been ordered to do this by Starfleet, and that was good enough for him. The fact that a one-time friend of his was on the careening space station entered into it, but not to a truly significant degree. Just as important as Gus Bradford—and Gus’s daughter, his own goddaughter—were all the other lives, human and alien, at stake. Gold weighed the threat to his own crew against the certainty of death for all those people if action wasn’t taken, and he knew what the answer had to be.

He remembered one of his many philosophical arguments with Gus back in their Academy days—an argument, he was sure in hindsight, that every single Academy cadet had at some point. They’d been walking, after dark, on the footpaths across the well-manicured Academy grounds. Crickets buzzed insistently around them and the occasional night-flying bird whisked by overhead. They’d been talking about the Prime Directive—Gus defending it in every instance, and Gold arguing for a more liberal interpretation.

“Imagine a planet,” Gold finally said, “full of intelligent, creative, insightful beings. They’re still developing as a society, but beginning to make great strides, in medical research especially. Within a few generations they’ll make incredible progress, learning how to prevent thousands of diseases and plagues around the universe. Billions of lives will be saved because of their research.”

“But of course, you can’t know that they’ll achieve this promise,” Gus had interjected.

“Not at the present, no—you can only judge how advanced they are scientifically now, and estimate what they might be able to do in years to come. But they won’t get that chance, because an enormous asteroid is on a collision course with the planet. When it hits, the near-total extinction of the race is a certainty. They’ve put their efforts into medicine, not interstellar travel. They have nowhere to go. We could save them—we could try to evacuate them, or we could intercept the asteroid and destroy it, or push it off course. But that would interfere with their ‘normal development,’ according to you. So not only are they doomed, but billions more across the galaxies, because they will never achieve their potential. So tell me, how is the Prime Directive beneficial here?”

Gus stopped on the path, hands on his hips. “It’s beneficial because it has to be applied with equal fairness in all cases, David. If you choose to interfere because you like that race, and you think they’ll be useful someday, do you also choose to save a vicious, warlike race from the same fate? Perhaps they will turn out to be a bane on the universe, enslaving and murdering billions.”

“Perhaps that’s the chance you have to take to save the good guys,” Gold argued.

“No surrender, Gold,” Gus said. “No surrender.”

Which meant, in Gus’s vocabulary, that the matter was closed, the argument over. It was infuriating, and yet somehow endearing at the same time.

He turned his attention back to the viewscreen, listening to the away team via communicators. Once they passed into the station, they’d be out of touch behind the prison’s still-functioning shields.

“We’re into the shuttlebay,” Sonya Gomez said. “We’re going inside now.”

“Be careful,” he replied, knowing she would anyway.

“My middle name,” she said simply.

“Don’t believe her, sir,” Duffy said. “Her middle name’s Guadalupe.”

*   *   *

Sonya found the access hatchway from the shuttlebay, and then stepped back to let Corsi and her security contingent go in first. The Kursicans were basically humanoid in size and physique, though with orange, pebbled-looking skin, heads that came to fairly sharp points, and hands that consisted of three prehensile tail-like appendages instead of fingers. But the hatches and furnishings of the station would be of a size and design that would be comfortable to humans.

Corsi held a tricorder out in front of her as she passed through the hatch. Apparently the readings were satisfactory, because she disappeared into the interior, motioning for Drew, Hawkins, and Frnats to follow her. In a moment, Sonya heard Corsi’s voice. “It’s an old-fashioned airlock,” she said. “Come on in, and we’ll take the next step.”

One by one, the others on the away team filed through the hatch. Kieran tried to let her pass first, but Sonya firmly insisted that she bring up the rear. Kieran shrugged and went in. When Sonya followed, she sealed the hatch behind her. There was no light inside, so everyone turned on their helmet’s overhead lamps, beams cutting this way and that through the gloom.

“The internal atmosphere is supposed to be within acceptable range for all of us,” Sonya reminded the others. “All three inhabited planets in this system are close enough to Earth-like for human habitation, even though Val’Jon is the only one with a substantial human population. And most of the prisoners here—not all, but most—are from this system. But we don’t know what the conditions are like inside, or even if the pressurizer will function in the airlock.” She touched the control panel that would equalize pressure. “Let’s find out.”

A hissing sound emanated from hidden vents, followed by a greenish fog. Corsi kept her eyes trained on her tricorder’s display, and when she spoke again there was urgency in her voice. “That’s poison gas, people,” she said. “Everyone’s still got filters on, right?” The others responded in the affirmative.

Fabian said, “I don’t understand—this stuff would be instantly fatal to Kursicans and everyone else who lives in this system.”

“It’s another security measure,” Hawkins suggested. “So unauthorized visitors don’t let themselves in. Maybe the airlock has to be operated from inside the station, or with some special code.”

“Code,” Soloman repeated. “Allow me.” He approached the control panel Sonya had used to fill the airlock with poisonous gas.

The Bynar floated before the panel—the airlock was still a zero-gravity environment—and began speaking to it in that strange, high-pitched computer language in which he was so fluent. Several minutes passed as he and the Kursican controls had an unintelligible dialogue. At the end of it, he touched the panel just as Sonya had.

She heard the hissing noise again, and the green fog dissipated. A moment later, Corsi announced, “All clear. We’re going inside.”

She opened the next hatchway and passed through. “There’s gravity, but the air’s not breathable in here,” she said. “And is it ever a mess.”