Pawn

by teegar

Chekov gets in trouble for volunteering for a hostage exchange without his captain's knowledge or permission

1. Chapter 1

Pawn

By Teegar Taylor and Jane Skazi

As his Charexian guard ran a scanner over him, Chekov began to have second thoughts about this entire venture.

"Turn around, please."

At first, the villa had seemed like an obscenely pleasant place to have a prison. It was beginning to take on a properly ominous atmosphere now.

The guard handed him a stack of clothing.

"Your uniform will be returned to you at the time of your release." The official representative of the Charexian government's tone was carefully non-apologetic.

'Whenever that may be,' Chekov added silently for both of them.

"You will be under surveillance at all times," the official continued as the ensign pulled on the garments he'd been provided. "You are forbidden to leave this domicile unless under direct instructions to do so."

The green coveralls were somewhat oversized. They must have been Dr. Kuznetsov's.

"The doors and windows are sealed electronically. You are to make no attempt to disable their locking mechanisms," the official warned. "Supervised walks in the garden are taken once a day - weather permitting. During these walks, you are to follow instructions carefully. No venturing into restricted areas."

Chekov took in a deep breath as he looked up at his guards. They towered over him, forbiddingly inhuman in their appearance.

"Remember that these security measures are taken for your protection as well as for our benefit," the official continued, his large, oddly flat eyes unblinking. "Failure to comply will result in the suspension of certain privileges."

Chekov wondered how often that had happened in the past ten years - and exactly what they considered a privilege.

"We will attempt to fill any reasonable request you may make in regards to your accommodations." The official gestured him forward. "However, bear in mind, our resources are as limited as our knowledge of your species. There are many things we simply cannot provide."

'Like a suitable new career for a quite probably ex-Star Fleet officer?' Chekov thought ironically.

The Charexian official paused before the door to the villa's common room. "Do you have any questions?"

'Billions,' Chekov replied silently. However, instead of sharing his doubts with the Charex, the ensign shrugged and smiled. "No."

Charexian expressions were hard to read, but the ensign was quite sure that the look the official was giving him was frankly dubious.

"Very well," the Charex said, signaling the guard to open the door to the common room. "I leave you to your companions."

"Ensign Chekov," Lt. Dave Hayward said before the ensign was two steps into the room. "Why are you still here?"

Chekov cleared his throat and folded his hands behind his back. "There has been a change in the situation," he began carefully.

"Where's Sasha?" Lt. Depp demanded.

"That is part of the change I wish to inform you of," Chekov replied, turning to her.

"You don't mean..." Lt. Hayward rose from the oversized sofa and approached him rapidly. "You're not trying to say..."

Although quite Human, Dave Hayward also towered over the ensign.

"Professor Kuznetsov is perfectly fine," Chekov assured him. "He and I..."

"No," Hayward interrupted, his face and voice going icy cold. "You didn't."

Chekov resisted the impulse to take a step backwards. Kuznetsov had warned him about Hayward. "Lieutenant..."

"Where's Kuznetsov?" Depp repeated.

"By now he should be on the Enterprise - probably in sickbay," Chekov replied. "He and I arranged..."

The ensign's reply remained unfinished due to the sudden impediment of Dave Hayward's big hands closing around his throat.

"No!" the lieutenant shouted, his grip growing tighter. "No!"

"Bones..." As soon as Captain Kirk entered the transporter room, he could tell Dr. McCoy was caught in a dilemma. The medical officer was holding a scanner over an elderly man with wispy white hair, a look of intense professional concern carved into his face. At the same time, it was apparent the doctor was haranguing his patient with unrestrained venom. "What's the situation, Doctor?"

"This is Kuznetsov," the physician answered shortly, seemingly reluctant to let whatever argument he was in the midst of drop.

Kirk recognized the patient from pictures of a younger, healthier Alexander Kuznetsov. That did nothing to explain what the man was doing in his transporter room. "The Charex have released him?"

McCoy scowled - and shot out a hand to catch at Kuznetsov's elbow as the old man staggered. "No. It's not that simple."

"Explain," Kirk ordered, wondering why McCoy was dragging this out.

The doctor took in a breath. "Well, I think the Charex had figured out that they were about to be down to two hostages. They suggested a swap."

Kirk began to have a sinking feeling in his stomach. He looked for the other member of his crew who should also be present in the transporter chamber.

"The professor here persuaded our rather starry-eyed ensign that it would be the gallant thing to do to take his place." McCoy paused to glare at the old man. "So, Kuznetsov gets to go home and enjoy his five or so remaining years of relatively good health while Ensign Chekov is stuck on Charos for the indefinite future. That's about the size of it, isn't it, Professor?"

Kuznetsov smiled complacently, exploding any notion Kirk had been entertaining that McCoy was bullying a helpless geriatric. There was a self-satisfied glow of victory on the man's face. "Mr. Chekov offered to take my place. Why should I refuse?"

Kirk frowned. "So Chekov is...?"

"A hostage on Charos," McCoy confirmed.

"Doctor..."

"Jim, if I could have stopped him I would have," McCoy said, anticipating his captain's unspoken accusation. "Chekov didn't exactly ask my permission. As far I can tell, the deal was made with Kuznetsov while I thought they were reminiscing about the old days in St. Petersburg. When I reported that we were ready to beam up, they simply did a swap. In fact, I'm not one hundred percent sure that Chekov even knew what the professor was up to..."

"Mr. Chekov was fully aware of what he was agreeing to," Kuznetsov insisted, in an accent that nearly duplicated the absent ensign's. "It was his idea... Although, I must admit, I would have been forced to suggest the exchange if he had not considerately done so first."

"Damn," Kirk commented succinctly. "The only orders I have from Fleet were not to interfere in this situation, and now..."

"And now I think the general verdict from those whose opinion is worth having will be that you have made the better of the deal, Captain Kirk," Kuznetsov said, with quiet arrogance. "An experienced political scientist with a reputation that spans dozens of worlds and at least five years of productive life left in him... for one dime-a-dozen ensign?"

The old man didn't seem to notice the sudden drop in the room temperature that his last statement caused.

"The chances are that they won't even keep him for long," Kuznetov continued. "Traditionally, the Charex have a general amnesty for hostages every seventy years. He'll only be - what? Forty-five? when the next amnesty occurs. Practically a young man. If not a very interesting one..."

"Now look here..."

"Dr. McCoy," Kirk interrupted before blood could be shed. "The professor should be taken to sickbay right away."

"Yes, Captain." McCoy steered Kuznetsov towards the door showing admirable restraint.

The medical team arrived at that moment and the old man was transferred to a mobile chair and the gentle hands of a nurse.

"On the planet, he was a lot more charming," McCoy said turning back to his captain. He didn't bother to lower his voice, obviously not caring if Kuznetsov heard his comments, "and seemed a good deal closer to death's door. On a personal level, I can understand how he could have influenced Chekov... an old man, dying, light years from home."

Kirk waited until the transporter room doors closed behind their unexpected guest. "He got royally taken in, Doctor," he said, grimly. "I'm going to talk to the Charex. You'd better go see to your patient."

"What I'd like to do..."

"Take it easy, Bones," Kirk cautioned, at the same time not envying the physician at all. "If Kuzentsov dies, this swap will be more pointless than it already is."

"Calm down!" Lt. Depp ordered. "Both of you!"

Chekov tried to catch his breath. He checked to see if his nose was bleeding. Lt. Depp was a tall woman, as thin and pale as an icicle. She looked like the product of ten years in a sunless prison. Dave Hayward was also tall. Unlike Depp, he was rather heavy set and wore a neatly trimmed beard. He was also intent on murdering Chekov.

The ensign had discovered that there were a very few privileges granted to the hostages. There were the walks in the garden the official had mentioned, native books and music, and the opportunity of access to the common room. He knew this because in the past hour he'd already lost his right to the first for a week because of his altercation with Lt. Hayward and stood in grave danger of losing the rest if the situation continued to escalate.

At present, the Charex had posted a guard inside the common room to keep the peace. Chekov and Hayward were supposed to stay on opposite sides of the room. This arrangement was not working very well. Hayward kept crossing over to the ensign's side and attempting to choke him to death. Depp and the Charex guard had just finished forcibly escorting the lieutenant back to his side.

"Who are you taking orders from?" Hayward thundered, shaking Depp and the guard off.

Chekov searched for the cold towel that the guard had given him earlier. Not only did his swelling eye need it, the search gave him an honorable excuse to retreat further away from Hayward. "No one."

"You're lying!" Hayward roared.

"David," Depp said, stepping in front of him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "It is possible that he isn't lying. Kuznetsov is an old, sick man. He could have just felt sorry..."

Chekov was beginning to feel rather sorry for himself as he sat down in one of the oversized chairs and pressed the cool cloth to his throbbing eye.

"No, no, no," Hayward interrupted. "I smell a plan here."

Hayward must be losing steam, Chekov decided. He hadn't simply pushed Depp aside like he had the other times.

"You're overreacting, Lieutenant," Depp said patiently.

"You're underreacting, Lieutenant," Hayward countered. He pointed at Chekov. "Look at him. Listen to him. He's Russian - from the same part of Russia as Kuznetsov."

Depp shook her head. "Coincidence."

"Is it?" Hayward asked acidly. "You knew him, didn't you?"

Chekov knew this question was directed at him, but didn't bother answering it. He reflected that it was a bad sign that after only one hour on this planet, he already found the furniture extremely uncomfortable. The Charex were larger than Humans. Everything was too large and built to accommodate a different anatomy. The ensign was sitting on the lowest chair in the room and his feet barely touched the floor. Chekov sincerely hoped that Dr. Kuznetsov was enjoying every second of his freedom.

"David," Depp began reasonably. "Think. We've been here ten years. Ensign Chekov was probably only twelve or thirteen years old when we arrived here."

"That doesn't mean that there's no connection," Hayward argued doggedly. "And what about his parents? That could be the connection to Kuznetsov. What are your parents' names?"

"Hmm." Chekov made a show of thinking about this. "I don't seem to remember. Perhaps that blow to my head..."

"Why you..!" Depp and the Charex grabbed Hayward before he could rush forward.

"Don't worry, Lieutenant." Chekov smiled. "I am sure it will come back to me as soon as I receive their letters. It should not take more than... oh, five or six years for the first one to arrive."

Hayward struggled to shake off the hands restraining him. "Listen, you little..."

"David." Depp shook him. "David. Stop and think. His father's name is Andrei."

"Andrei?" Hayward repeated.

Depp nodded. "Unless my understanding of Russian parentifics is completely mistaken."

"Pavel Andreivich," Hayward said, making the connection for himself. "Andrei... Andrei Chekov..."

Seeing that he was in a reflective state, Depp and Charex released Hayward. Knowing that reflection had previously been a prelude to further violence, Chekov braced for another attack.

Hayward paced for a moment, lost in thought. "Geothermal engineer," he said suddenly after several moments of reflection. "Moscow Academy of Science. That's right, isn't it?"

Chekov's insides went cold. His father was by no means a famous man. Under normal circumstances, there was little reason for Hayward to know anything about him. It was now quite obvious to the ensign that these were not normal circumstances.

Outwardly, he tried to stay cool. "It's a common name," he replied with a shrug.

"Listen, you...!" Hayward bolted forward, only to be intercepted once more by Depp and the Charexian guard.

"Hayward!" Depp said harshly. "Control yourself!"

"I'm going to kill the little bastard!" Hayward bellowed, struggling to free himself.

"No, you're not," she countered firmly. "You're going to wait." Depp turned long enough to give Chekov an icy look from over her shoulder. "You're going to wait and have the pleasure of seeing Star Fleet do so."

"Problems, Captain?" Spock asked as Kirk stepped out the turbolift and marched to his seat with metaphorical thunderclouds around his head. The junior officers pretended not to notice their captain's obvious bad mood.

"Get me the Charex leader, Lieutenant," Kirk ordered Uhura, ignoring his first officer's question.

"Yes, sir. On screen, now, sir."

An official of the Charex government appeared before on the main viewscreen. Kirk assumed that this was the one he'd spoken to before. He was not yet familiar enough with the Charex to be able to accurately distinguish between them.

"Minister Afax, here," the alien supplied helpfully. "Is there a problem, Captain Kirk?"

Charex physiognomy was difficult to interpret. They looked somewhat like lizards. However, Kirk thought the minister looked more worried than his voice sounded.

"I hope not, Minister. I must inform you that the... deal which you have made with one of my officers has no official recognition. I ask you to reconsider. While I'm not empowered to carry out negotiations..."

"That doesn't surprise me, Captain." Even through the translators, Kirk thought the Charexian's tone sounded bitter. "Throughout this entire affair, no one has wished to negotiate with us. You are only one more in a long line..."

"Minister..." Kirk began.

"If the current situation is not to your liking," the Charex interrupted in a dismissing manner. "I suggest you persuade your government to send us someone who is empowered and willing to negotiate a more congenial arrangement."

Kirk struggled to control his temper. "As a matter of principle, Minister, the Federation does not deal with people who take hostages."

"As a matter of principle, Captain, we will not negotiate unless we have such guarantees of good faith," the Charex countered. "I believe this sort of situation is known as a 'stalemate' in your language."

Kirk bit down on the impolite reply that sprang to his mind and was thankful that he was not a career diplomat. "Minister, I'd like to speak with my officer, if you can permit that."

"To what purpose?"

"To ascertain that I correctly understand what took place and to satisfy myself that he is unharmed." Kirk peripherally noted his bridge officers exchanging glances.

The alien looked at someone out of camera range, apparently for approval or permission to respond. "You may beam down and speak to him. I will take your place as..."

"That will not be necessary."

The alien had a strong facial reaction to this. The captain suddenly wondered if a refusal to accept hostages signified a lack of recognition of the status of people who offered to act in that capacity.

"I would prefer to trust you," Kirk amended to placate any sense of wounded pride. "As I said before, it is not way of the Federation to deal in hostages."

"Very well, Captain." The Charexian's voice sounded calm enough, but the alien's face had not returned completely to a neutral expression. "If that is what you wish. Go to the agreed coordinates and signal your readiness as on the last occasion. We will transport you."

The screen blanked.

"The Charex have detained Dr. McCoy?" Spock queried.

"No," Kirk replied, rising. "I don't think they detained anyone - in their eyes, at least. They swapped Chekov for Kuznetsov."

"Then they have made a tactical error," Spock concluded. "Ensign Chekov has little value in the larger political scheme of things - no more than the Star Fleet officers they already hold."

Kirk blinked at him, then shook his head.

"You'll get along with Dr. Kuznetsov very well, Mr. Spock," he said, heading for the lift. "If McCoy doesn't kill him first."

Kirk felt a slight shiver of apprehension as the transporter beam locked onto him and he reconsidered the Charexian offer of a hostage. Both Kuznetsov and Spock had logically pointed out that an ensign was a poor bargaining chip when the Charex already had two healthy lieutenants. Maybe this was a roundabout way of acquiring a captain.

Kirk dismissed the idea. Kidnapping him wouldn't improve their negotiating position significantly. The Charex demands... whatever they were - the entire situation was so old that its origins had become obscure - were clearly so outrageous that Star Fleet hadn't managed to find an excuse to give in to them. Giving in after negotiation, despite Kirk's earlier protestations to Afax, was Fleet's preferred method of dealing with such situations.

The Charex, however, were an honorable species according to reports. As a rule, someone who dealt with them in good faith would not be detained.

Kirk recalled that Kuznetsov's ship, the S.S. Bonadventure, had stumbled into Charex space due to a navigational error. Perhaps, he thought wryly, Chekov had some notion that since a navigator had gotten his countryman into such a predicament, he had some additional obligation to get him out.

Two Charex guards were awaiting him as he materialized. They searched him briefly and efficiently. The planet itself was shielded against unwanted transportation and the Charexian transport system prevented any tracing of their signal. Clearly, the Charex were taking no chances.

Two more guards flanked him. Although they did not draw their weapons, they positioned themselves so they could easily watch him with their large, flat eyes and keep their holstered weapons out of his reach. The driver of the vehicle was unarmed, smaller and dressed differently.

A civilian, Kirk guessed. Maybe of the other sex - assuming that there were only two involved here. Very little was known about the Charex. At the very least, when Chekov was finally released, he could make a career as an expert on his captors. Somehow that thought wasn't much of a comfort.

The vehicle emerged into the open. Broad avenues lined with weeping, flower-laden trees ran between elegant villas in shades of sun-bleached pastels. The place looked like a well-kept Mediterranean resort. Natives were in evidence, strolling, gardening, talking to one another.

Kirk's mode of transport did nothing to draw attention to itself as an armored personnel carrier or a Star Fleet shuttle would have on Earth. The vehicle hovered a few meters above the paved roadway, speeding along at a brisk pace.

The craft finally descended outside a well-kept house, indistinguishable from a hundred others - except for the presence of an armed guard at the gate.

Kirk was escorted forward. There was an exchange of salutes and he was admitted inside. His escort left him to wait in a pleasant, spacious room. The scale of everything was slightly off - handles and shelves were too high, the chairs were a little too big - but it certainly didn't give the impression that the hostages were being deprived or mistreated.

The door opened and Chekov walked in, sporting an impressive black eye. The height of the doorway combined with his disheveled appearance momentarily made the ensign look like a small boy.

"Chekov, what happened?" Kirk demanded, not wasting time on sympathy.

The ensign swallowed and touched his eye gingerly. "I had a disagreement with Lt. Hayward, sir."

Kirk reflected that Chekov was going to have a rather difficult time here if he couldn't get through the first hour of his captivity without getting into a brawl with his fellow inmates. "I want to hear about Kuznetsov," he clarified impatiently.

"Sir..." Chekov began hesitantly and apologetically. "Dr. Kuznetsov is an elderly man in very poor health... He has a family who has not seen him for almost ten years... who, considering his medical condition, possibly may never see him again..." The ensign paused and glanced around warily. "Sir, I am acquainted with members of his family..."

"You mean that you came down here planning this?"

Chekov shook his head. "No, sir. There was no way I could have anticipated... I wasn't expecting to have such an opportunity. I had no idea that the Charex would allow such an exchange..."

"You just seized the opportunity - or rather Kuznetsov did."

"No, sir," the ensign insisted. "Dr. Kuznetsov was most reluctant..."

"Ensign, he was about as reluctant as a drowning man would be to grab onto an unsuspecting plank," Kirk informed him coldly. "And apparently has just as much concern for your welfare as the drowning man would have for the well-being of a piece of driftwood."

"Respectfully, sir," Chekov replied stiffly. "That is an unfair evaluation. It was only with the greatest difficulty I persuaded..."

"I'm sure he allowed you to believe that. Chekov, Kuznetsov has made a fool of you. He was practically gloating when I left him." Kirk studied the ensign's expression for some hint of embarrassment, annoyance or remorse. The Russian merely looked stubborn. "Given the terrible position you've put yourself in, I don't think I need to say much about your disregarding my orders in this matter. In the unlikely event that you ever get back aboard the Enterprise, we will discuss it." This did provoke a quick flicker of dismay from the young man. "Exactly what happened with Hayward?"

Chekov ruefully touched his eye again. "He's insane."

Kirk managed not to point out that ten years of imprisonment among aliens light years from home could unbalance anyone. "Ensign, while you're here, he's your immediate superior. You are to obey his legal orders."

Chekov didn't seem to like the idea. "Yes, sir," he replied grudgingly.

"Star Fleet will, of course, do everything to secure your early release."

The ensign nodded dutifully, as if that meant something. Star Fleet had managed to get nowhere in the last ten years. There was no reason to suppose they'd have better luck now. "Yes, sir."

Kirk glanced around the room uncomfortably. "McCoy said the hostages were being well cared for and that Hayward and Depp were in good health..."

"That is also my impression."

"Chekov..." Kirk shook his head. "I was just about to give you the most glowing six month report an ensign could hope for."

"I'm sorry, Captain."

A Charex guard entered. The allotted time for the interview was obviously drawing to a close.

"Well, is there anything else? Any messages...?"

"Lieutenant Depp was saying..." Chekov broke off, seemingly embarrassed.

"Yes?"

"Sir, would you ask the Charex if you could transport some coffee down for us?" the ensign asked. "From what they say, the food is tolerable, but the coffee is very poor and very difficult to obtain..."

"I'll see what I can do." The pathos of the ensign's rather modest request struck Kirk first. After consideration, though, it was the calm practicality of the petition that bothered the captain. Chekov just didn't seem as upset by all this as Kirk calculated he should be. This could be due to sheer bull-headed resolution to see the situation though, or... the ensign's equanimity could be due to the fact that he was acting according to a pre-arranged plan.

Kirk dismissed the thought. Chekov would have had no way of knowing that Kuznetsov was ill in the first place, let alone anticipating that the Enterprise would be in this sector in time to respond to the call from the Charex and that he would be chosen to accompany McCoy planetside. "Try to stay out of trouble, Ensign. I'll see that your family is notified promptly."

"Thank you, Captain." Obeying the gesture of the guard, Chekov turned back towards the doorway from which he'd entered resolutely. However, Kirk heard a small sigh escape the ensign as if he weren't looking forward to whatever lay in wait for him beyond it.

Knowing there was nothing more he could do here, Kirk allowed himself to be led outside and down the path to the transport he'd arrived in.

As he was about to climb into the waiting vehicle, he was joined by a single guard and another of the smaller variety of Charex. This one looked familiar.

"Minister?" he guessed from the alien's clothing.

"Captain Kirk." The Charex executed a complex formal gesture of greeting. It looked something like a stretching exercise from Tai Chi. "I hope you do not mind my taking this liberty, but our discussions with Star Fleet - such as they have been - have met with so little success. I couldn't help hoping that an informal, face-to-face meeting might be productive."

"As I've already said, I have no authority..."

"No, I understand that. I merely wish to restate our demands - our requests, if you like. They are not excessive, and frankly, I must tell you that the housing, guarding, and feeding of three Humans is becoming an expensive drain on our resources. You realize that as a result of the trade embargo, we actually have to smuggle in supplies for them? It's positively embarrassing."

Looking at the alien, Kirk could add another emotional state to his catalog of Charexian facial expressions - distress.

"You could, of course, release them," the captain pointed out.

"That would be political suicide."

"I'm not familiar with your demands," Kirk said. "The entire negotiation process appears to be veiled in secrecy, presumably because of its delicacy..."

"What negotiating process? We attempt to contact the Federation at regular intervals. Generally, we receive the same reply. We are told that whoever is dealing with the matter is currently on vacation, or seconded to deal with more urgent problems. Or, on one occasion, that the official in question was on something called 'paternity leave'. Why is it that mammalian fathers are unable to work? This caused our xenologists great puzzlement. All we require, Captain, is that our boundaries with our immediate neighbors - as agreed at the Venista Nine Summit - be recognized by the Federation. We were told ten years ago that this would happen as a matter of course. When we grew impatient and took hostages to expedite the process, it suddenly seemed that such recognition was out of the question."

"That's all this is about?" Kirk demanded, thinking of the missing files, the confidential codings on those files that still remained in the Enterprise memory banks, the anguish of families and friends waiting for the return of loved ones, not to mention the expense to the Charex at looking after three exotic prisoners.

"Obviously not, Captain," the minister replied, as if reading these thoughts. "The trouble is that I cannot determine what exactly it is about. I would be eternally grateful to you if you could find out on my behalf."

Uhura turned away from her desk in the ship's Communication Center, tired and frustrated with the continuing static from the disturbances in the nearby stellar nursery.

Although the room was the hub of her section, she tried to avoid it. Coming down to the Center almost always meant that things had gotten too complicated to handle from her station on the bridge. She looked at the blinking consoles beside her. It was not a pretty sight. A backlog of messages, official and personal, was building up into a nightmarish tangle.

The fact that one of those outgoing was going to be less than welcome didn't make the lieutenant any happier that it was going to be delayed. She'd seen a holo of Chekov's mother. Now she kept imagining that cheerful, kindly face go pale and anxious.

"Lieutenant?"

Uhura was momentarily confused by the appearance of the white-haired man in the doorway, clad in a sickbay robe and slippers. He was smiling apologetically, like a favorite grandfather presuming on a child's affection for a favor. Surely this couldn't be the monstrous Kuznetsov? McCoy had made him sound more like one of Stalin's more enthusiastic deputies.

"Can I help you, Professor?"

He took a couple of hesitant, unsteady steps into the office. His hands were trembling. Perhaps this was simply the side he showed when he wanted help.

"May I sit down?" He pointed to a vacant chair.

"Of course." Uhura kept her tone brisk and efficient.

"As you may imagine, I'm eager to send messages to my family. I understand that subspace channels to Earth are out of action at the moment, but that in other directions..."

"Anything we send out towards the relay station at Questor will get through, but it will probably take longer than simply waiting for the storm to die down. I expect the interference to clear within twenty-four hours."

"Yes. I dare say this sounds... sentimental. I'm not very well... and perhaps I'm worrying unnecessarily. But there are a couple of messages I'd like to send now, myself, rather than just have them waiting in a queue somewhere. I know you would dispatch them as soon as possible, but I may not be here..."

"I didn't..." Uhura stopped herself. His state of health was none of her business. If he wanted to believe he was on death's door, that was up to him.

"Dr. McCoy tells me I'm good for a few years yet, but to be honest..." There was a slight, pathetic quaver in Kuznetsov's voice. Uhura wondered if he'd used it to hook Chekov. "I don't feel all that well. Can you indulge me?"

She hesitated. The request was bizarre on a practical level. The message would be subject to distortion and delay. In contrast, once a message was placed in the queue for transmission, it would get through even if the Enterprise itself was wrecked in the meantime - as long as someone picked up the communications log. Was Kuznetsov confusing his own mortality with that of the ship?

On an emotional level, she understood what he was asking for. It was as important as writing a love letter by hand rather than letting the computer generate it. This sentimentality was unexpected from Kuznetsov. McCoy had painted him as a man utterly devoid of tender emotions.

"I'd like to send a brief letter to my wife and one to... to..." The Russian's voice quavered and almost broke. "...to Ensign Chekov's parents."

Uhura unbent. She found the man a tape and sorted out the coding to ensure that the messages got through with minimum delay. She then accompanied the old gentleman back to sickbay.

He stopped at the door and thanked her effusively. "I've kept you at work after hours," he commented, noting the dimming corridor lights.

"I'm on call until this interference stops. You've provided a welcome distraction." Uhura felt a quaver coming into her own voice. "I don't mind at all."

"Come." Spock looked up from the computer in his quarters as the doors to his quarters opened to admit his captain. "Where you able to bring the situation with Dr. Kuznetsov to a satisfactory resolution, sir?"

"No, Mr. Spock," Kirk answered, more shortly that the Science Officer deserved. "The situation is not resolved. Neither is it satisfactory."

"Mm." The Vulcan only looked thoughtful in response to this outburst, not offended.

"The more I dig into this predicament with the Charex, the less sence it makes. Has Lt. Uhura been able to cut through the static that's been holding up communications?"

"Not yet, sir."

Kirk released a long, frustrated breath. "There is something odd going on between the Charex and Star Fleet. Since it seems I've got some time on my hands, I'm going to review all the information available before I speak to Star Fleet Command. See if you can't dig up a little more for me. I want to know exactly what's keeping this situation from being resolved."

"Yes, sir."

"But for right now..." He stepped forward and tapped the top of the Science Officer's computer. "I want you to run a check for me. Tell me if there's any connection between Chekov and Kuznetsov. He told me that he knew the professor's family..."

Spock paused in entering the query into his computer long enough to raise an eyebrow. "A remarkable coincidence."

"Yes, that's what I thought. Chekov runs into an old family friend light years from Earth, just at the moment when our ensign can do him an enormous favor. When you look at it from Kuznetsov's side, it's even more extraordinary. He's taken hostage, has no contact with the Federation for ten years and then when the first Star Fleet ship arrives, one out of the two people we send down is someone he knows... What would the odds be against something like that happening purely by chance?" Kirk asked, curious to see if Spock could figure them out to the last decimal place on the spot.

"Very high, Captain," the Vulcan answered disappointingly.

"I have the sneaking suspicion that someone might have been actively lessening those odds." Kirk frowned. "My orders from Star Fleet warned me that Kuznetsov might be difficult to deal with personally and parenthetically suggested that I send someone who spoke Russian down with the medical officer I chose - making Chekov the obvious choice for the second man on the team."

"But not the only choice," Spock pointed out. "There are other native speakers of that language on board and an even greater number of multilingual individuals who are fluent in that language. I'm certain, for example, that Lt. Uhura..."

"I know," Kirk stopped him. "But Chekov was right there under my nose. It would have been a pretty safe bet to predict that I would choose him."

"Or simply coincidence," Spock pointed out, doggedly pragmatic.

"Yes," Kirk agreed, completely unconvinced. "Just a remarkable coincidence.

The Science Officer directed Kirk's attention to the computer screen. "There does seem to be a connection between Ensign Chekov and Dr. Kuznetsov. Twelve years ago, both the professor and the ensign and their respective families lived in Moscow. Kuznetsov was the chair of the Political Science Department at the Moscow Academy of Science. Mr. Chekov's father was also employed by the institution at that time as a research consultant. It is possible that they could have met."

"Twelve years ago, Mr. Chekov was between ten and eleven years old," Kirk pointed out.

Spock nodded. "Perhaps a youthful attachment predisposed the ensign to react emotionally to the professor's plight."

"Very convenient, Mr. Spock." Kirk frowned and folded his arms. "Remarkably convenient for the good professor. Out of the hundreds of people on this ship that could have walked through the door to that villa on Charos, we just happened to provide Kuznetsov with the perfect pawn."

Chekov was already very sick of life on Charos. Although being barred from the common room was supposed to be a punishment, he had discovered that choosing to leave that room during the hours he was scheduled to be there was considered a privilege. He had been waiting for what seemed like hours now for his request to withdraw from the field of combat to pass through the proper bureaucratic channels. The ensign held a cold towel to his eye and tried to ignore the heated stare directed at him from the far corner of the room. His brief visit from Captain Kirk hadn't put Hayward in a notably better mood.

The lieutenant had also put in a petition to the Charex. Hayward had demanded to speak the minister in charge of the hostages - in person. Chekov thought that might be the reason why it was taking his captors so long to respond. They were so aghast at the lieutenant's unreasonable request they were ignoring his quite sensible one.

Lt. Depp was calmly reading a book. The Charex guard was rubbing ointment of some sort onto the livid bruise it had received in one of the recent altercations. Dave Hayward continued to hold a cloth to his bleeding lip and shoot murderous looks at Chekov.

They were all surprised when the door opened and a Charex official stepped inside. The alien was dressed very elaborately. Chekov wondered if this was usual.

"Lt. Hayward, Ensign Chekov," the Charex said, stepping briskly to the center of the room. "Let me begin by saying that I am most disappointed and shocked by your conduct. This violence against each other must cease immediately."

Hayward was up and out of his chair like a shot. "Minister," he said, crossing to the alien. "It is of the utmost urgency that I get a message to Star Fleet Command at once."

"That is completely out of the question, Mr. Hayward," the Charex responded firmly and turned to Chekov. "Ensign, since you are a newcomer to this unpleasant situation, I'm sure you don't realize the extra effort it takes to maintain surveillance on each of you individually. Normally, we discourage any hostage from separating him or herself from the main group. However, in this instance..."

"Minister," Hayward interrupted. "Do you want to see an end to this unpleasant situation?"

"What?"

"I asked if you'd like for this hostage crisis to be over," Hayward said, seeming remarkably calm and rational for a change.

"With every fiber of my being, Mr. Hayward," the alien replied.

"Then let me get a message through to the Federation."

Chekov swallowed the lump of apprehension that rose in his throat. Surely the Charex wouldn't let him. Surely it was too late now.

"Lieutenant," the Charex said wearily. "The Federation has virtually ignored your presence on our planet for ten years. What makes you think they'll listen to you now?"

Hayward shot Chekov another look filled with pure malevolence. "Call it a hunch."

*** Continued ***