We HEAR a VOICE O.S., a voice that shakes slightly, trying to maintain a tenuous control. “Beckwith, give me one. Stop it, Beckwith” and as the CAMERA PULLS BACK we see one of the Enterprise’s officers LT/JG LeBEQUE, a French-Canadian with a strong face; but a face that is now beaded with sweat. And holding the Jewels of Sound is RICHARD BECKWITH, another officer, a man whose face shows intelligence and—something else. Cunning, perhaps, or even subdued cruelty. Cruelty kept rigidly in check, channeled to specific uses. Beckwith smiles as he stares with fascination at the Jewels of Sound.

“How long have you been my man, Lieutenant?” Beckwith asks, softly. He isn’t taunting, merely interested. “How long have you been hooked on the Jewels?”

The Lieutenant’s face tightens. He isn’t a toady, neither is he a weak man. But the Jewels of Sound have been listed illegal throughout the Galaxy because only one exposure is needed to make a man a confirmed addict. Swallow one Jewel, experience the Circe call of the strange music and lights the Jewels offer, and you are lost forever. And so LeBeque will swallow his pride, and answer the man who holds the delight he needs so desperately. “You gave me my first taste on Karkow, that was a year ago. I need one, Beckwith, stop playing with me.”

Beckwith extends one, a golden Jewel. But as the lieutenant reaches for it, he closes his fist over it, closing off the light, and LeBeque winces, as though the loss of light physically hurts him. “I want to know about that planet out there—and what the security log says about valuable commodities. I’ll want a landfall pass and I’ll want you to cover for me while I trade with the natives.”

“After the slaughter on Harper Five, you’ll do it again? If Kirk finds out—”

“He won’t find out, will he LeBeque? He won’t find out, or you’ll never hear these Jewels sing inside you again. Remember that. I’m coming back from this a rich man, and I’ll never have to go to space again. Nobody’s going to get in the way of that, LeBeque. I want to live an elegant life, but that takes resources.”

LeBeque gropes for words. “So you cheat aliens, get them hooked on illegal dream-narcotics, and steal what they could trade for cultural advances.”

“Hooked like you, LeBeque. Hooked like you.”

“Yes, like me. And I’m already paying.”

“But you’ll pay a little more. Do I get what I need?”