"I am a warrior," Ketrick said. "I want to return to my ship and fight in the war."
       "That war ended a few days ago," the Leopard King said. "Your side did not lose, but did not win. Everything is back as it was before the war. A new war is likely to break out any time now against a new enemy. You cannot go home. It is too dangerous."

       "I will take my chances," Ketrick said. "Send me home."
       "I cannot risk you being killed," the Leopard King said. "You are too special to me. Whatever else you want, I can provide. Would you like me to bring you a female of your kind?"
       "No," Ketrick said. "I want my freedom. I want to be somewhere that I can be a man, not a house pet. Responsible for my own survival, my own success."
       "Is there nothing I can do to make you happy here?" the Leopard King asked. "If there is, you have only to name it. I can bring others of your kind here, even arrange for you to have a ... simulator ship where you can re-fight all of your battles."
        "No," Ketrick said. "I can never be happy while I am a pet. I need to be on my own, to find my own happiness."
       "Very well," the Leopard King said. "I shall arrange it."
       Ketrick awoke with a start, realizing that he was outside, in the open air. More to the point, he was in a forest clearing, with a blue sky overhead. He could hear the noises of the wind, and of animals. He found quantities of packaged food, a small folded tent, hiking and camping equipment, a hatchet, a good knife, fire-starting equipment, and more, all of it of Klingon manufacture.
       "A good start," Ketrick said aloud to himself. "Let's see what it takes to get home." He sorted through the piles of equipment, which was far more than he could possibly carry. The clearing was sheltered and there was no better place to work from. He found a stream of clear water only two dozen meters away. "Let's do a recon," he said to himself, then laughed. If I'm here alone, I'm going to go crazy talking to myself. He spent an hour looking around, and found no sign of higher life forms. It was a pleasant forest clearing in a valley. The temperature and air pressure were about right for him, but he had noted a bundle of warm winter clothing in the pile. "Very well," he said, eating something from one of the food packs. "Set up camp, then hike half a day in each direction, returning here each night. That's a start."
       He set to work with the hatchet building a tripod and suspending the food well off the ground. He built a platform at knee height and spread out the bedding on it, then pitched the tent over it and stopped to eat again, this time warming the food over a fire he had built. Judging from the sun, he had arrived in the morning and it was now a good 10 hours later. (No timepiece was in the provided gear. There were no electronics at all.)
       Three days later, he was convinced of two things. One was that there was no one anywhere near him, nor had anyone set foot in this valley in some time. The other was that there was someone on this planet, as he had seen contrails in the sky twice.
       "Obviously," Ketrick thought aloud, "that cat expected me to spend my entire life in this camp. A cat would, I guess. But I know there are people, and people means contact off world, and that means a way home. I am going home." He felt good about that.
       "Plan one," he said to himself, "walk downstream until I find people or an ocean. Plan two, climb a mountain and look around." He studied the amount of equipment and supplies present, easily 10 times what he could possibly carry. Unless he abandoned most of it, any plan to move would involve multiple trips, half a day down stream with all he could carry, build a cache, then return to camp each night. It could take weeks to reach anything. "Better to climb the mountain," he decided, saying it out loud to see if he sounded as confident as he felt. "If I see nothing, I can still go downstream, but going downstream leaves the mountains behind. The mountain it is."
       Selecting his equipment and supplies carefully, he planned for a three-day hike: one day to reach the mountain he had selected, another to climb it, and a third to return to his base camp. He packed his gear and got a good night's sleep, then ate a warm breakfast (including a fish his trap had caught in the stream), and set off. He even took a moment to leave behind a written message (carved in a tree) saying who he was and when he would return. "Increase your odds," he remembered his instructor in survival training teaching him. "It takes but a few minutes to leave a message, even if you're certain no one will find it."

       On the afternoon of the third day (the mountain was farther and larger than he had estimated) he stood on the summit, easily two thousand meters higher than his camp, and looked around. "He could have left me a pair of field glasses," Ketrick muttered, knowing that the Leopard King had excluded anything that would have encouraged travel. He sat on the top of the mountain all of that afternoon, spent the night under rain clouds in a small tarp, and resumed his scan of the horizon the next morning. There was no ocean in sight, although there seemed to be a large lake downstream from his camp. He saw more contrails overhead. But what he did not see were roads, smoke, or anything that a higher life form might have constructed. He found a few nuts and roots to eat. He stayed on top of the mountain all of the second day, hoping that the second night would be clear.
       And there it was, a light, in the far distance. Using a selection of stones and sticks he had assembled for the purpose, he carefully built not one, but three piles, each of which was perfectly aligned on the light. He finally slept, having scanned in every direction for more lights and having found none.
       The next morning, he consulted the piles of sticks and stones and determined that the light had come from the side of a mountain many kilometers in the distance, far from his planned downstream path. In fact, he would have to climb the mountains on the far side of his valley to reach it. Given the experience of the last four days, he would be walking for a full tenday.
       "Return to camp," he said aloud to himself, planning the steps. "Gather up all of the food I can carry, hike as far in that direction as I can, return to camp, sleep, get equipment and the tent, eat as much as I can, cache the rest, and head for the light."
       Five days later, Ketrick awoke at the bottom of a cliff. Some large predator was only a few dozen meters away, ambling toward him. "I must have fallen," he said to himself. Pulling his knife out, he tried to reach for the hatchet with his left hand only to find that his arm was clearly broken by the fall. "Not good," he said to himself. The predator, some kind of furry thing with a lot of teeth, had stopped five meters away and was sniffing the air.
       "Not familiar, am I?" Ketrick asked the beast. With his left arm broken, fighting would be hard. Thinking back to his survival training, decades before, he hit upon an idea. "Most animals don't like humanoids," his instructor had said. "They think we're dangerous, because we are. Try yelling before you fight." Ketrick decided that it could not hurt anything to try that; he could always fight if the beast came closer.
       "Go away!" Ketrick screamed at the top of his lungs, swinging the knife wildly. "Leave me alone!" he roared. The predator, nonplussed by all of the noise, settled back on his haunches to observe Ketrick further. "Get out of here!" Ketrick yelled again.
       The predator calmly turned about and ambled away, in no particular hurry.
       Ketrick took stock of things. His pack was still on his back, and his legs did not seem broken. Ketrick pulled out a spare shirt, found some sticks, and managed to splint his arm, but the broken bones were exposed and infection was going to be a problem very quickly. His plans changed from reconning the light to just walking up and asking for help. Checking his bearings, Ketrick set off to climb the facing mountain. Reaching the top of it two days later, he scanned for any sign of habitation. Nothing.
       "Very well," Ketrick said, settling in for an afternoon of rest. He managed to build a fire and heat some rations. His pack was half-empty now, but he still had three days of full rations left, and he was, by any measure, well over halfway to the light. With nothing else to do, he gathered firewood and, as dark fell, he built up his fire as large as he dared. "They see me, or they don't." Then he walked a hundred meters to the side, to a place he had selected and supplied with sticks and stones, and waited until his eyes adjusted. "There," he said, spotting a light, not that far from the expected direction. He assembled a pile of stones and a carefully placed stick to mark the direction, then scanned for more lights. He spotted two, both much farther away.

        The next morning, Ketrick poked at the coals of his fire until some flame appeared, and threw some leftover wood on it. The fire warmed him and his breakfast. Walking back to his observation spot, he carefully noted the direction to the light, now only ten kilometers away, and took careful note of where he could cross the intervening stream.
       It was at that stream that he met them.
       They were humanoids of some kind, although Ketrick was unsure what species. They seemed cautious but friendly, even if they could not understand a word he said, nor they him. There were four of them, and one of them carried what was clearly a pistol of some type. Another had some kind of electronic device, perhaps a scanner or maybe a communicator. Two of the men had bows and arrows, and all of them had knives of some sort.
       Ketrick pointed to his injured arm, more to show he was less of a threat than to ask for help. One of the humanoids, apparently male and perhaps the leader, sent a young ... girl? ... running away down the stream. Ketrick assumed that a message was being sent, perhaps to get help. But for whom?
       The leader motioned for Ketrick to follow him. One of the other men offered to carry Ketrick's pack. Ketrick relented at that, giving over the backpack with some relief. He'd been carrying it for many days. He had, however, mostly given it up to show that he was friendly and not a threat. Either they were helping him or taking him prisoner; either had the same probability of getting him home or at least medical care. Of course, if he were in some other galaxy, or some other dimension, there was no home to get to, but he would deal with that when he had to.
       Soon the group reached what was obviously a well-worn trail, and in another two hours of steep climbing, they reached a cabin of some sort. An older female was there, and she offered him a tray with a piece of bread, a piece of fruit or maybe a vegetable, and a cup of some kind of drink. Ketrick suspected that this was some kind of formal welcoming ritual, and made some gestures and motions that he hoped they would take as friendly. The woman smiled at this, and Ketrick hoped that a smile meant the same to these people as it did to his own.
      They showed him to a chair built (locally?) out of wood and he ate the offered food. One of the men pulled up another such chair and pulled out his knife, but obviously not as a threat. He offered the hilt of the knife to Ketrick, and gestured toward Ketrick's knife. Either it's a trick to disarm me, Ketrick thought, or he just wants to have the only kind of conversation we can have. Ketrick handed over his knife, hilt first, and took the offered knife. It seemed to be good high-grade steel, obviously with some chromium in the alloy so it did not rust. The man looked over Ketrick's knife and then offered it in return, and Ketrick traded knives again.
      The other man, the leader, came and sat down with some kind of electronic device, and was pushing buttons and looking at the screen. After a few minutes, the man seemed to find what he was looking for, and sat back for a minute to think.
       Then he looked at Ketrick and said "Klingon" in badly accented and half-garbled Klingonese. Ketrick's heart raced. If the man had an electronic device that (apparently) had some kind of encyclopedia and had found a picture of a Klingon, then Ketrick was at least in his own galaxy and his own dimension.
       "Yes," Ketrick said, then realized that the man could not understand him. Ketrick tried nodding, assuming that this would mean the same thing to him. The man nodded back, then spoke another word that half-sounded like the Klingon word for "Rigellian" or maybe something else.
       Ketrick nodded again, his mind racing. If he's a Rigellian, Ketrick thought, I must be on some colony in the Federation. That cat said the war was over, so getting home should be covered by some kind of peace treaty. Even if I'm on my way to a prison, there will be other Klingons there.
       The man continued punching buttons on the device, occasionally trying another word of Klingon. It took over an hour, but Ketrick thought he had conveyed the idea that he was warrior caste and a military officer, and that he had understood the man to be a civilian colonist who lived as a hunter.

        The noise of a shuttle startled Ketrick and ended the conversation. Ketrick rose and followed the man to the clearing where the shuttle had landed. The door opened and three humanoids stepped out, two carrying rifles of some sort and the third wearing a pistol and some kind of badge on his shirt. They were all dressed alike so Ketrick assumed them to be police or military.
        The man with the badge had some kind of electronic device and spoke into it. Words of stilted and clipped Klingonese came out of the device. "Are you a Klingon?"
       "Yes," Ketrick said. The machine said some word.
        "How did you get here?" the device asked.
       "My ship was destroyed," Ketrick answered. "I escaped the explosion. I landed here some time ago. I explored and saw the light. Then, I walked here."
       "Are you alone?" the device asked.
      "Yes," Ketrick said. "I have been alone since the explosion."
       "Will you come with us?" the device asked, and the man with the badge motioned toward the shuttle. Ketrick nodded, handed his knife to his host as a token of thanks, and climbed into the shuttle along with the guards and the lawman.
        The flight was only a few minutes, and the shuttle landed in what was, clearly, a larger settlement with a mix of buildings. Some were built out of logs, others of some kind of bricks, but one of them was clearly a modern structure brought to the planet as part of a colony. It seemed to be some years old. It was into this building that Ketrick was led. The two armed guards followed. Ketrick was shown to a small room with a table and some chairs.
       "This is obviously a police interrogation room," Ketrick said. "I assume you can understand me. I accept that I am your prisoner, but I understand that the war is over. I want to go home to my empire. I don't want to make any trouble."
       There was no answer. Someone came in and offered Ketrick more food and several beverages, of which Ketrick selected one. The man showed Ketrick that a small door in the room led to a washroom. A woman was waiting when Ketrick left the washroom. She had what seemed to be medical instruments. She did a scan of his arm, and left, returning with a printed piece of plasfilm. On it were some Klingon words.
       Your arm broken. One bone, forearm.
       Do you want us to repair the bone?
       Yes.            No.
       Are you in pain? Do you want medication for pain?
       Yes.            No.
       Ketrick indicated that he would accept medical treatment for the broken bone, but did not want any painkillers. The pain was not that bad, having subsided to a gnawing ache, and he was not comfortable with the idea of being injected with something.
       The woman said something, and gestured him to sit down. Another man came into the room, and she directed him to hold Ketrick's upper arm firmly in position. She pulled on the wrist with one hand, using the other to manipulate the broken bones back together, then relaxed the tension.
       Ketrick felt waves of pain wash over him, and regretted turning down the painkillers, but the pain subsided again once the bones were back in place. She waved one of the devices over the arm for several minutes, and then scanned the arm with a different device. She smiled and left the room, then returned with another piece of plasfilm.
       The bone is in place, and regrowth was started.
       It will get stronger over time. The infection will end.
       Avoid using the arm strongly for several days.
       Are you in pain? Do you want medication for pain?
       Yes.            No.
       Ketrick again indicated that he had no need for painkillers. The woman packed up her equipment, but handed him some tablets in a small packet, pointing to the words medication for pain on the plasfilm. Then she left.
       Ketrick found the whole episode intriguing. If the policeman who collected me had a translator, why didn't this woman use one? He finally decided that, perhaps on a small colony world, there would not have been need (or budget?) for more than one translator. It was something to figure out later. Obviously, the woman was some kind of doctor or medic, and apparently her hospital computer had the ability to print written text for alien languages. Might be a standard feature of the system, Ketrick thought, a way to handle emergency cases.

       Someone else came into the room a few minutes later and handed him several sheets of plasfilm. They turned out to be 30-odd pages of Klingon and he realized that they were a children's story about a great king who had to select the best husband for his only daughter. Reading (he had seen nothing to read in 10 days or more) he felt that these were in fact actual pages of a Klingon book, not a translation of a Federation book. Apparently, they were concerned that he would be bored.
       Ketrick found himself intrigued by the story and was somehow happy that the king had selected the suitor Ketrick felt was best for the girl.
       He found the whole idea of being handed such a story, let alone enjoying it, somewhat surreal.
       Later, someone brought in a cot, blankets, and more food.
       The next day, a pair of new humans came into the room. Earthers, Ketrick thought to himself. One of them was holding an electronic device that translated his words into Klingon and Ketrick's words into some other language.
       "You are a Klingon military man?" the first man asked.
       "Yes," Ketrick said.
       "How did you get here?" the first man asked.
       "My ship was destroyed," Ketrick answered. "I escaped. I landed here. I explored and saw a light. I walked toward it for many days and was found by a group of people who took me to their home. They were most kind to me, offering me food and drink. Then a shuttle came and brought me here. The ... policeman who brought me here was very professional, as was the doctor. I was not mistreated in any way by any of your people."
        "What is your name? And your rank?" the second man asked.
       "Ketrick, Targis Ketrick," he answered. "I am a captain of Marines." That much was the truth. Ketrick was concerned that to mention he was also a commodore of the Deep Space Fleet might subject him to a more serious interrogation.
       "Did you arrive alone?" the first man asked.
       "Yes," Ketrick said. "There are no other Klingons or Subject Race people on your planet, not that I am aware of. If the war is indeed over, can I be sent home soon?"
       "Soon enough," the second man said.
       "Did you commit any act of violence, espionage, or sabotage while on this planet?" the first man asked.
       "No, I did not, other than catching a fish," Ketrick replied. It suddenly dawned on him that he was being scanned by a truth detector. Good thing I have not had to lie.
        The questioning went on for over an hour. Ketrick refused to give the name of his ship, and the second man said to the first "It is his right to withhold that information."
       The Federation is run by idiots, Ketrick thought to himself. Whatever. I want to go home. I want to walk the deck of a ship. I want to fight and win and one day become an admiral. Whatever you need to do, please get it over with.
       "You said you knew the war was over," the first man said. "Who told you that? The civilians who found you could not even communicate with you."
       "The leader had a device," Ketrick said. "We had several hours to try to converse, and by pointing to words and pictures, we could communicate after a fashion."
        The questions moved on to other matters.
        Finally, the first man pushed back his chair and gestured dismissively to the second.
       "Very well, Captain Ketrick," the second man said. "You have answered our questions truthfully. While you did not answer some questions and were clearly not giving full answers to others, those were matters within your legal rights. We will arrange for you to be sent home, although that will take some time. The regular cargo ship will not be here for several days. You leave then."
       "Even then," the first man added, "that will be a freighter that will take you to a commercial station. Another ship will take you from there to a military station, where you will be asked more questions and then sent on your way."
       'Under the treaty," the second man said, "we can only hold you if you committed war crimes while in Federation territory. Do you need me to explain your legal rights under Federation law?"
       "I have committed no crime," Ketrick said. "I am simply a soldier who served his emperor. The war is over, and I would very much like to go home."

        "If you have any concerns over your treatment at home," the second man said, "you can be granted permission to remain in the Federation for the rest of your life."
       "At a remote colony, like this one," the first man added. "We understand that the Empire Security Service can be very unpleasant toward soldiers who surrendered while still able to fight."
       "I do not fear my own people," Ketrick said. "No honest and loyal Klingon fears the security police. While I did surrender, it was not because I could not fight, but because there was nothing to be accomplished by fighting. What could I do with a knife and a broken arm? Murder a few civilians? To what purpose?"
       "Very well," the second man said. "I have business off-planet and will accompany you on the first leg of your journey."
       "In the meantime," the first man said, "you are free to walk about the colony, so long as you give your word, in writing, that you will commit no act of violence, sabotage, or espionage."
       "Certainly," Ketrick said. On this rock? What do you have here that I could sabotage? I mean, what's worth giving up my trip home for? Really, are you stupid?
       "I will arrange for a place you can stay," the second man said. "And we will issue you some vouchers for meals at the corporate food service facility. If your arm bothers you, or you need other medical treatment, we will arrange that for you."
       "You have been most professional," Ketrick said.
       "I will have papers for you to sign momentarily," the first man said, getting out of his chair. "Then your attorney can take you to dinner. Good day, Marine Captain Ketrick."
       "Good day to you as well," Ketrick responded. What is an attorney? he wondered. Ketrick finally decided that it must be the Federation term for "good cop." Well, better him at dinner than the "bad cop." At least, I am going home.