The hum of the transporter beam dissipated, and it took Kirk a moment to realize he was not, as expected, on the platform in his own transporter room. A room that should have been identical to the one he had left.
Instead, he stood, dropping ever so slightly to a ready crouch, in the luminescent hallway of a ship he was not familiar with. No, that wasn't entirely true--it was familiar, but not exact. The curve of the corridor, the hum of the engines, these he recognized. But yes, there was the emblem of Starfleet or whatever the hell they called it on a panel. He hadn't escaped at all.
Tricky bastards. Perhaps they were less foolish than he thought; they hadn't sent him back, but into new danger. Had they even known? There was no one here waiting to apprehend him, or worse. There was no one at all. But he knew better, this time, than to rage and bribe and threaten and wheedle. Knew enough, he hoped, to keep from suffering the same fate again.
First, he thought, was to get out of this uniform. Wherever he was, it wasn't the Empire. And he would be conspicuous. Eyes darting about, he padded silently down the hallway.