Henize

by Izulia

Ensign Chekov is entrusted with top-secret co-ordinates. Who is out there waiting to get hold of their secrets?

Lieutenant Uhura walked into the Enterprise's mess hall just behind Lieutenant Sulu. It had been a long day on the bridge and not much had happened. In fact, the last exciting thing that had happened, she mused, had been an ion storm three weeks previously and since then she had been spending large amounts of her time fixing circuits in communications panels across the ship. She reminded herself that dull was good and dull was safe for all of them. Better to be on the threshold of monotony than death.

"What's on the menu today, Hikaru?" she asked lightly, stepping up to where the helmsman was contemplating a list in front of the replicators. "I need hot and spicy to – oh my..." she trailed off.

"Beans," replied Sulu, but feeling a tap on the shoulder turned round. "Huh?" He followed Uhura's discreetly extended finger towards the far side of the hall and caught sight of Ensign Chekov sitting at a table talking very intently to a young blonde crewman in red.

A broad grin spread across Sulu's face. "Look at him go... atta boy!" He turned back to Uhura with a quizzical look. "I thought he was seeing Tina Bradley from Engineering?"

Uhura shrugged. "How should I know? I haven't seen him for weeks". She batted Sulu on the shoulder with her hand before turning to a replicator. "And you just encourage him. Get your tray and let's gate crash. Who is she anyway?"

Sulu squinted over. "I think she's Ensign Taillarde, one of Chief DeLeon's new security guards. Some admiral from Starfleet Command assigned her a few weeks ago". He picked up his tray and began to wend his way after Uhura through the tables. "You know he got hauled over the coals for fighting with those Tellarites on Respa 5? Sounds like he's spent quite a bit of time being cross-examined by security recently. She's been giving him come-hither looks for a while anyway".

"And I suppose he hasn't noticed?" asked Uhura, rolling her eyes in mock despair.

Sulu turned and flashed her a wicked grin. "So he says! Ah ensign…crewman, mind if we join you?"

The petite security guard lifted clear blue eyes up to the two lieutenants and returned their greeting with a polite but obviously disappointed smile. "Not at all," she replied in a soft French accent. "Actually I have to check in with Mr Spock so I really should be going." She stood up and smoothed her uniform over her slim hips. Her petite stature belied a muscular frame. "If you will excuse me, sirs," Uhura nodded in reply apologetically. "I'll see you later, Pasha", she nodded to Chekov. Uhura noticed she tried to keep her tone dispassionate, but the tone of her voice belied more meaning.

Sulu and Uhura said nothing as she walked out towards the door, firmly ignoring Chekov's terse silence. As soon as she was gone, Sulu exploded into fits of giggles.

"Pasha!" he snorted. "Already it's 'Pasha' is it? Good lord, boy, you don't hang around, do you?"

Chekov regarded him in stony silence, hands interlaced on the table in front of him. "I don't know what you mean", he replied sullenly.

Uhura put out a hand with a fork and patted the navigator on the arm. "I think what Sulu is trying to say is, we thought you were still seeing Tina Bradley". She smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way.

Chekov turned from sullen to indignant. "Tina!" he shook his head firmly. "She dumped me last week".

"Oh?" Uhura raised her eye brows.

Chekov shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "She said I was too intense".

Uhura's eyebrows lifted another notch. "Oh?"

Chekov threw her a fleeting glance but buckled under her disbelieving expression. His shoulders slumped. "And that I drink too much and fight too much and work too much and that I talk in my sleep..."

"She's got a point," interrupted Sulu, nodding with a mouthful of beans.

Uhura silenced him with a glare before turning back to Chekov. "So what drew you to Ensign Taillarde? Does she have a first name?"

"Elodie," replied Chekov stiffly. "And what do you mean by 'drew'? I wasn't trying to make a pass at her, if that's what you mean. We were just talking. I met her in sick bay a few weeks ago".

"Did you break a nail on a console?" cooed Sulu with a smirk, winking at Uhura who rewarded him with another what-has-got-into-you glare.

Chekov returned to a sullen pout. "If you must know it was for a check up on my neck, after the Klingons... well, you know..." His hand went instinctively to rub his neck under his right ear, but he stopped himself, flustered and suddenly angry with Sulu. "We just got talking, that's all. She was in for phaser burn. She seemed nice."

Sulu splayed his left hand as a peace gesture. "Okay, okay. I was just asking. Just she's been hanging around you like she's been assigned to you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Chekov countered with just a little too much aggression. "She said she was interested in navigation, so we arranged to meet up".

Sulu and Uhura groaned simultaneously and sat back in their chairs. Chekov looked from one to the other in confusion.

"What? What is it?"

This last question elicited another groan from Sulu. Uhura shook her head. "Oh god, Pasha. Did you bore the poor girl with navigation formulae? Do you know how many girls you meet suddenly profess an undying interest in navigation?"

"All of them", interject Sulu.

Chekov's eye narrowed. "As a matter of fact, we didn't discuss navigation", he said, sounding insulted. "We just talked. She seemed friendly".

Uhura rolled her eyes. "Sulu, he's doing it again. He doesn't even know when he's reeling them in. He flutters his long eyelashes –"

"- No I do not – "

"- quotes Lenin or god knows what to them in Russian and they're hooked".

Sulu pursed his lips. "Don't be too sure, Uhura. I think he knows exactly what he's doing".

Chekov looked down at his hands and sighed, his anger dispelling. A ghost of smile played at his mouth that could have been amusement or slyness. "I don't know what you mean", he muttered.

Sulu harrumphed and returned to shovelling up his beans. "So if you've been dumped for a week, how come we haven't seen much of you recently? You've been finishing your shifts and vanishing every night."

Chekov jerked his head up. He shook his head quickly and smiled. "Mr Spock has had me running simulations of the Cygnus Head cloud. We're scheduled to survey it in a few weeks and he wanted navigation options".

Uhura regarded him intently. Had she imagined it, or had he hesitated for a heart beat before speaking? She returned to her food as he continued on about the stellar phenomena they would be encountering there. He didn't sound evasive and yet.. something wasn't right. She decided to dismiss it from her mind. Chekov wasn't that sort of a person, she reasoned. He was always honest with them.

"That's all very interesting," said Sulu, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin before throwing it on the table, "but what are you doing this evening? Uhura and I are going over to Scotty's later. He says his cousin has sent him a bottle of finest Laga...Laga-something whisky and we have to try it". He leant forwards on the table. "Well? Don't pull a face, Pasha. I know it's not vodka. I don't know why you drink that stuff. It's tasteless."

Chekov looked vaguely insulted. "You drink it to forget," he said sombrely.

"And what have you got to forget at the grand old age of twenty two?" asked Uhura with an amused snort, laughing at his mock-serious expression.

"I have to cultivate a deep Russian soul", he said primly.

"Ah!" said Sulu, turning to Uhura. "We're back to girls again. So, are you going to come?"

"Mr Chekov. Mr Spock would like to see you in Navigation Control, sir".

Their conversation was interrupted by a call across the hall from a security guard at the door. His features were the model of politeness and insistence.

Chekov stood up with a fleeting frown. "I guess that answers that for me" he said abruptly. He seemed to compose himself for a moment before smiling charmingly and apologetically at the two surprised lieutenants. "I'll see you both in the morning".

Sulu grunted in dissatisfaction as Uhura watched the young ensign walk out. There was something tense in Chekov's shoulders as he exited the mess hall.

"Do you think he's stressed, Hikaru?" she asked, thoughtfully, draining the last of her water, her eyes still fixed on the door they had just existed through.

Sulu cocked his head to one side, while gathering up the plates. "Maybe, but I doubt it. He hasn't got anything to be stressed about. He can do his job with his eyes shut, the cocky little whiz-kid. I think he's tired. Pulling in extra shifts with Spock isn't my way of unwinding after work, but," he leaned in conspiratorially, "I think this story about Spock is a ruse. I think there's another girl. Did you notice how shaky he looked when I asked him what he's been doing?" Sulu tapped the side of his nose. "I know what he's been up to."

Uhura gave him a pitying look. "Well I think Elodie is obvious, but another girl as well? Why do you always think the worst of him?"

"Because he's a twenty two year old ensign"

Uhura shook her head, unconvinced. "But Spock sent a security guard to get him," she pointed out.

"Yes", replied Sulu. "But why would Spock send a security guard? Chekov's probably set the whole thing up just to throw us off the scent. But he can't fool me".

Uhura looked worried. "I don't think that's it, Hikaru" she said concernedly.

Sulu stood up and picked up the trays. "Look, Uhura, don't cluck. He's old enough to make his own mistakes without us flapping round him like over-bearing siblings. If he wants to two-time a couple of girls, then that's his problem.

Uhura got up and set off after him. "How can you say that, Sulu?" she complained. "He's a nice boy, he's not like that".

Sulu paused long enough to cast a pitying look over his shoulder. "Uhura, I am sorry to say that he has you under his spell as well. If you'd heard some of the stories he's told me – "

" Ensigns' bravado. They're just stories".

"Yeah, right." Sulu put down the trays next to the replicators and was about to say goodbye when he noticed that Uhura looked genuinely worried. He put a hand on her arm. "Look, if you really think he's not himself, why don't you go and talk to him? He always opens up for you and maybe a chat will do him good."

Uhura looked up and nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I think I'll do that". She gave a tired smile. "I'll see you at Scotty's?"

"You bet."

Uhura walked back to her cabin, resolved to get to the bottom of Chekov's odd behaviour.

"Computer, end program". Chekov sat back him his chair and let his head loll over the top of it. He rubbed his eyes and ran both hands through his thick, dark hair.

"We have made good progress, Mr Chekov", said Spock, shutting down a console and stacking the data pads on the desk. "I have assessed and loaded all the data you required".

"Thank you, sir" replied Chekov awkwardly. It felt strange asking a superior officer to do work for him. He was just an ensign and it was ensigns who were supposed to do the laborious number crunching. Spock had done it without asking any questions and without a hint of curiosity. Perhaps the Captain had briefed him of the limits of which he needed to know. Nevertheless, Chekov still admired his discreetness.

"Will you be requiring my assistance again, Mr Chekov?" asked Spock with a look of patient enquiry that indicated he was ready to leave.

"No, Mr Spock," he replied, shaking his head. "Thank you Mr Spock," he added nervously. "Good night, sir".

"Good night, Mr Chekov".

The Vulcan made an unhurried exit into the corridor. As soon as he had gone, Chekov slumped onto the desk, his head buried in his folded arms in front of him. His head was spinning with calculations and data, with star names, co-ordinates, positions and algorithms. He lifted his head up and rubbed his temples with his knuckles as if trying to drill in all the information he had committed to memory. He wanted to be rid of the secret Starfleet had entrusted to him and go back to a normal ensign's life.

A swell of resentment rose up within him. He swept the data pads off the desk as he sprang up from his chair with a frustrated growl. Immediately he recognised the action for the petulant gesture it was. This was Starfleet and sometimes it made demands on you that you didn't want, but there was no way to avoid them. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself and deflated. "Oh, grow up, Pavel Andreevich", he said to himself under his breath. "You've been through worse". He picked up the data pads and the secured the computer console before following in Spock's footsteps out the door. Taillarde was waiting outside, standing at ease. She pulled herself smoothly to attention as Chekov appeared.

Chekov stopped abruptly, momentarily confused. "Elodie,"he said. "You're still here?"

Elodie smiled apologetically. "Captain's orders?" she reminded.

Two yeomen rounded the corner, clutching datapads. One was tall and dark, the other an Asian girl. "Hi Elodie!" called the taller of the two. There were quiet giggles as they headed down the corridor, the Asian girl looking over her shoulder with a wink.

"Yeoman Bayard thinks we're dating," sighed Chekov with a tired, embarrassed smile.

Elodie looked down the corridor after them. "Let them think. I don't mind", she said boldly, not meeting his look.

"Neither do I," he said quietly.

She turned to him. He looked exhausted.. "Are you alright, Pasha…sir? I guess I'm still on duty. Shall I accompany you to your quarters?"

Chekov shook his head and winced. "No, thank you, Elodie. I've just got a headache. That will be all. I have my communicator in case I need you. Good night."

Taillarde nodded smartly but with a hint of disappointment and set off at a brisk pace down the grey lower deck corridor. Chekov watched her go. He wanted to call her back and ask him to go with him but he knew he shouldn't involve her any more than her duty required. Besides, there was something a little odd about her. She was all over him and yet there was something cold in her manner. He seemed to attract girls like that, he figured. He turned away and headed into a turbo-lift. He bounced his fists off its walls as it carried him swiftly upwards. He pressed his back hard against the compartment, willing it to go even faster and not stop for passengers. He wasn't in the mood for company. With a slight lurch the lift reached deck six and the door hissed open. Chekov straightened himself and made the short walk to his cabin. Ensigns usually had to share but since he'd been promoted to chief navigator he had been assigned a bunk to himself. He was glad of that now. He keyed in the entrance code. He could see his hands trembling as they hit the buttons.

"Chyort vozmi!" he muttered angrily to himself. The stress was getting to him. He stepped inside his cabin and the lights came on automatically at a dim level. He hesitated before he walked in. Recently he had felt like he was being watched in the room. Pull yourself together, he told himself. He was starting to become delusional. He stepped inside and took in the room at a glance: the simple bed, the shelves dotted with curios from his travels, the work area with his untidy desk littered with data pads and star charts. He threw his communicator down on top of them. The computer flashed with a waiting message. It was from Scotty: My cabin 9 pm. Whisky. That's an order! A smile drifted over Chekov's face momentarily before the star charts reminded him of work again. He let out a sigh of breath that hadn't realised he had pent up and walked into his small bathroom to freshen up. He ran the warm water into the sink while pulling off his gold overshirt. He shivered as he did so. Again he felt like he was being watched. He turned to look behind him into the room, but he knew no one was there. He shrugged his shoulders to get rid of the feeling. Another symptom of stress, he wondered? What would be next? Hallucinations? Yet he still couldn't completely dispel the feeling. He scooped up a handful of water and splashed it onto his face. He caught sight of himself in the mirror. His face looked pale against the black of his undershirt. His eyes looked back at him, equally as dark, watching the water droplets trickle down his face from the strands of his wet hair and hang on his long eyelashes. Slavic cheekbones. He remembered Uhura's melodious soft voice laughing as she had drawn a perfectly manicured red nail softly down his face and along his jaw with a delicious tingle. We've got ourselves a handsome boy. She had teased him in front of his crewmates at the party to celebrate his promotion to the Bridge Crew. He remembered their laughter and his blushes and smiled faintly at the memory. He put his hand up to his jaw but pulled away at the sudden pain. The thin scar behind his ear held different, more painful memories of their encounter with the Klingons and the creature that lived on hate. He turned away from the mirror, disgusted with himself. That should be behind him. He had been given a task to do and here he was fretting like an Academy cadet. He grabbed a towel and scrubbed angrily at his face. He pushed himself away from the basin and back into the room. He pulled off his boots and threw them roughly into a corner before flinging himself face down on the bed. He needed to relax.

Still the memories of the last week rose unbidden. The Captain had called him to the Briefing Room. To his surprise, Chekov had found the captain with Admiral Parkinson, one of his father's old friends who had visited them often in St Petersburg. He remembered his kind grey eyes that matched his shock of grey-black hair. The admiral had changed somehow, he thought. His previous polite, cool English manner now seemed to have an aggressive edge to it. His eyes looked wolfish, as if he weren't comfortable in his surroundings. Chekov had dismissed his feelings as Parkinson had asked the Captain to leave. Chekov then listened in silence as the Admiral recounted the story of a survey ship in the Helion sector which had, by luck, like through a gap in the clouds, detected and located a planet in the Henize system with the richest dilithium deposits in the quadrant. Only they couldn't reach it. No one could reach it. The Henize system was surrounded by gas clouds and interacting asteroid fields so complex that only the most skilled navigators stood a chance of getting through. The survey ship had attempted it and been lost in the process. Now all that remained was the set of co-ordinates sent by priority back to Starfleet Command from the survey ship and the dense clouds of Henize that had closed again and blanketed all sensors from peering beyond.

"It's going to be a dangerous journey, Pavel Andreevich" said Parkinson, with a strange air of gloating. "To make matters worse, the news of the discovery has been leaked. We're trying to contain it, but we have no idea how far it has spread. There would be people willing to kill for those co-ordinates. It's made them very valuable. If they got into the wrong hands it could change the balance of power in our quadrant. If the Klingons, or Romulans or even the Orions got hold of them they might be able to use them to get into Henize. That's why I am personally giving you the co-ordinates and only to you. I don't want to endanger any more personnel than necessary. Not even Kirk must know. I have instructed him to do exactly as you tell him. The orders are sealed".

"The danger doesn't just lie with the co-ordinates, does it, Sir." Chekov mused to the Admiral. "Interested parties will want the navigation data… or the navigator".

Parkinson nodded without concern. "I'm assigning you to travel to Henize and navigate to the co-ordinate points I give you". He handed Chekov a disposable datapad. "When you get to Henize you will navigate through the system and record in the greatest detail possible your route through it. You must record it such that even an Academy freshman could follow you. Do you understand, Ensign?"

Chekov had memorised the co-ordinates in an instant and watched as Parkinson destroyed the datapad.

"Now only you have those co-ordinates," he said gravely.

The weight of the responsibility weighed heavily on Chekov's mind. The quadrant's power balance lay in his hands and his ability as a navigator. What if he should fail? What if he couldn't find a way through? He had tried to supress these thoughts as he listened quietly and attentively as Parkinson had continued to brief him.

Back on his shift, Kirk had taken him to one side.

"I don't know what Parkinson said to you," he muttered tetchily, "but he's brought along a security guard for you. He has asked me to assign Ensign Taillarde as your guard for the remainder of the mission. He says your life is in danger and she is to watch you discreetly. I don't know what Parkinson has given you, but he's ordered me to entrust the ship to your hands when the time comes. You know how much I like that idea. This is highly irregular." Chekov knew how much the captain hated handing over control of the ship to even Spock or Scotty. It must really irk him to be handing it over to an ensign. "I chose you, Chekov, to be the navigator of this ship out of all the Academy graduates. I asked for you especially". Chekov was shocked as this unexpected piece information. Kirk looked the young man in the eyes. "When it comes to navigation, I trust you completely. Whatever you need on this mission, just ask".

"Pasha". A soft voice behind him pulled him into the present and made him spin round onto his back. A petite female figure was silhouetted in the doorway, two long earrings dangling from either ear. "I'm sorry. You hadn't locked the door, it opened automatically..."

"Oh, Uhura, it's you". He silently cursed himself for not locking the door, but was relieved to see her. "You startled me", he said, pushing himself hurriedly up the bed with his elbows.

Uhura backed towards the door, pointing over her shoulder. "Look, I can come back later if you like", she started, but Chekov leant forwards.

"No, please come in", he found himself saying helplessly.

She took him up on his invitation and sat herself down on the end of his bed as the door swooshed shut behind her.

Chekov sat up and pulled his legs up to his chest resting his chin on his knees.

"What's wrong, Pasha?" she asked quietly. He always sat in that position when he was worried or upset. His eyes stared back at her with a dark intensity that Uhura found almost uncomfortable to meet. Sulu was wrong when he said Chekov's attitude was studied. No, his personality was a completely natural mix of charm and open emotion. Sometimes, she thought, he wasn't even aware of the effect he had on people. He could be relaxed and funny, or firey and proud, but he was always himself.

"You're looking stressed, Pasha. We're worried about you".

Chekov closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees. "It's nothing", he muttered. "I'm just tired".

Uhura shifted. He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. "Don't give me that look," he complained. "The one that says 'you're lying'".

"Well you are. At least partially," she countered. "You look tired, I'll grant you, but it's more than that, isn't it? What's troubling you?"

Chekov both marvelled at her intuition and cursed her for being so perceptive. He stared back at her, wanting to tell her but knowing he couldn't. He didn't know what to say. He was sworn to secrecy and even hinting at it could endanger her. He already felt that he had dragged his two friends into it. Damn them and their... loyalty, he thought.

"It's nothing" he repeated. Durachok! He chided himself mentally. That's the worst thing you could have said.

"Sulu thinks you're two-timing... or is it three-timing?" Uhura threw in with a probing look, unconvinced at her own question.

"Sulu is a fat head," Chekov replied emphatically.

Uhura smiled. "I thought that wasn't it".

A silence fell between them again. Uhura noticed how the dim light of the room cast shadows on his face. He suddenly looked very young and vulnerable.

"Is it work?" she asked eventually. "Is there something you're not coping with? You're very young to be the chief navigator, you know. No one would think any the worse of you if you felt it was getting to you in any way. You've been making it look too easy." She paused as he shook his head. "Or maybe your injury on Beta XII-A? You were very ill. Your recovery wasn't easy." She put out her hand to touch his cheek and he pulled away sharply.

"No, that's no it" he said a little more agitatedly that he wanted to sound. "It's nothing. I'm just tired..." His voice trailed way, sounding thin and dry. He ran his fingers through his hair and got up abruptly from the bed. "Oy blad!" he whispered, turning away from her.

"Chekov I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong" Uhura insisted gently.

"I can't tell you, Uhura, because there's nothing wrong!" he was frustrated at her insistence, disgusted at his lies. "Look, you're going to have to go. I haven't anything to tell you and I need to relax" he said with a little too much terseness. He wanted to lash out at something but could only grab the hair at his neck in a tight fist.

Uhura sighed and took the hint, feeling a little hurt and disappointed. "All right then, Pasha. If you think you're okay then I'll see you tomorrow. You know where I am if you want to talk."

He looked up and ran his hand over his head, nodding tightly. "Good night, Uhura".

She slipped out of the room and the door closed quietly behind her. He stood where he was by the bed, his hand still clutching the back of his neck. The feeling of being watched was suddenly stronger than ever. He walked over to his desk and suddenly felt dizzy. He put a hand out to steady himself and reached for a chair but the room began to fade. He missed the chair, staggering and fell painfully onto one knee. He gasped for air but the spinning room darkened around him. He needed to get to his communicator. He passed out.

"Yolki-palki" . Ensign Pavel Andreevich Chekov groaned these words half out loud as he woke up. His head felt like a balloon. He couldn't bear to open his eyes. He lay on his back for a few moments and then realised he was cold. He was lying on the floor. He opened his eyes. Worse. He was lying on the floor of the brig. He groaned and shut his eyes again. What have I done? He thought. Did I drink so much at Scotty's I've forgotten what I've been doing? He searched back through fuzzy last thing he remembered was talking to Uhura in his cabin. That didn't explain why he'd land up in the brig...

Suddenly two crewmen appeared and dropped his cell force-field. Their uniforms were the standard Starfleet red but they were florid - and the men carried knives at their belts. Chekov sat up in confusion. Fancy dress? They motioned for him to exit. When he got up they led him across the guard room and down the corridor into another room. It was large, dark and shadowy. One of the crewmen left and hit a security button. Chekov watched him go as the door slid shut with a heavy thud. Funny – doors didn't tend to thud on the Enterprise. Suddenly the other crewman grabbed Chekov by the arm, spun him round and threw him to the floor, catching him off balance. Chekov was furious. He scrambled to his feet in the poorly lit room and rounded on his aggressor.

"Crewman, you are -". Before he had time to finish the crewman punched him in the jaw. Chekov reeled back more in surprise than pain, raising a hand to feel the inevitable cut blooming on his lip. Was the man mad? Did he know he'd assaulted an officer on the Enterprise?

"That will do, Barnes," drawled a familiar voice behind him.

Chekov swung round in shock, searching in the darkness in the direction of the voice. "Sulu? Is this some kind of ..." His voice trailed off at the sight that greeted him.

Lieutenant Sulu sat on a chair in the shadows of the dull grey cell trailing his hand through a steel barrel of water next to him. He got up lithely as Chekov turned to him and went up to stand under the gloomy flickering light. He smiled a thin, malicious smile that made the scar on his cheek glow darkly in the dim light. Chekov drew in breath as he realised where he was. He'd heard the stories from the Halkan mission and the ion storm. They had passed through just such an ion storm three weeks previously. Could this be..? Sulu's smile became even more menacing.

Before Chekov had a chance to take any of this in properly, Sulu had grabbed his wrists and clamped a pair of thin magnetic handcuffs too tightly around them. As Chekov looked down in pain Sulu took the opportunity to lash out at him and punch him in the jaw exactly where the crewman's blow had struck before. Chekov staggered back, his head hitting the door. As he rebounded, Sulu stepped forward again, this time landing a punch to his cheekbone, sending him swaying with giddiness. Sulu slammed him back against the door by his shoulders and pinned him there, standing far too closely, his eyes searching his with a spiteful inquisitiveness. Chekov turned his head away, sick with pain and dizziness and unsure of what to do next.

"Welcome to the Enterprise, Ensign Chekov," grinned Sulu. "The Captain has given me the opportunity to talk to you personally, to find out about you in a more... old fashioned way".

Chekov turned back to glare at him, breathing heavily. He could feel blood trickling down his cheek.. The helmsman was now leaning heavily with an arm across his chest. "What do you want, Sulu?" he said, his throat sounding dry.

Sulu let him go with a shove. "Oh, we'll come to that in good time", he replied lightly. "But in the mean time it will annoy the hell out of my friend Pavel Andreevich when he finds out what I've been doing to you." He moved over to the chair and sat down on it with a flourish, crossing his legs. "Now, let's see what you two have in common. Still a navigator?"

"Yob tvoyu mat', Sulu. Tebe nichevo ne skazhu!"

Sulu's eyes widened in mock disbelief. "Well, there's a thing. You haven't any manners either. You see, Ensign, in our universe Russia has been all but wiped off the map. They didn't agree with the Empire about... oh, I don't know, it was so long ago. They revolted and the Emperor dealt with them accordingly. The universal translator won't even translate the language any more. There are not enough of you for it to be worthwhile". Chekov hated Sulu's mocking laugh. "Oooh, but I do love a rarity." Chekov lunged in a burst of anger at the helmsman but the crewman stepped in to hold him fast by the arms. Sulu got up and sauntered over to the door. Chekov watched him warily and instinctively flinched as Sulu put out a finger to run along his bruised cheekbone. Sulu stopped, smiled and suddenly shot out a hand and grabbed Chekov by the hair. He caught him off balance and pulled him away from the crewman and to his knees, sharply twisting his head by the jaw to expose the thin scar that ran from behind his ear and down his neck. Sulu gently brushed his hair to one side and dug his fingers into the scar.

Pain shot up through Chekov's head like a wildfire, giving him the strength to wrench himself free of Sulu's grip and fling himself towards the edge of the room. He pressed himself into the corner on his knees with a look of hatred, disgust and disbelief.

"You... you're sick!" he managed to spit out. "You're insane!"

Sulu sat back on his heels looking disappointed. "Hmm...Your reactions are almost identical!" he mocked.

Chekov clutched at his neck with his bound hands. The scar was a constant reminder of his last encounter with the Klingons and their agoniser device. For three days he had laid in sickbay drifting in and out of consciousness. Through the fog of pain and nausea he vaguely remembered shouting, throwing up, lashing out at Dr McCoy, screaming abuse at Nurse Chapel. Ever since then the scar had been like a thin covering over exposed nerves. The slightest touch had sent him shuddering, apologising and flying back to his cabin, pursued by haunting memories. It was poisoning his life, despite McCoy's assurances that it would get better with time.

Sulu was watching him dispassionately. "Klingons", he said drily. "Did they make you scream?" His eyes lit up with a sudden thought. "And did you get your revenge on that Klingon captain's woman? They say he could have let her go afterwards but he killed her anyway." Sulu shook his head, tutting. "Nasty little Russian boy".

"Sukin syn!" Chekov spat back at him.

"Well, I'm not here to trade insults with you, Pasha", replied Sulu in a businesslike tone, pulling out a curved dagger from his belt and toying with the blade. "You have information the Empire would find very useful, don't you?"

Chekov shook his head, wishing the walls of the room would swallow him up and let him be free of this insane place. How did they know?

"Lieutenant Sulu, I'm just an ensign, I do my job, I'm just a navigator –"

"Ah, well, there you see, you're wrong. You're too modest, Pasha. You're not just a navigator, are you? You're the best navigator Starfleet has". Sulu pointed the knife at the Russian. "You hold entire star charts in your head, you can plot three-dimensional courses quicker than the computer, you can calculate speed, distances, how interstellar phenomena affect your trajectory..."

Chekov glared back at him. "And how would you know?" he spat back, summoning as much arrogance as he could.

Sulu stood up in one easy movement. "Because I know you, Pasha. I know your alter ego is clever – way cleverer than he lets on. And he's using that scheming little brain of his and those big brown eyes to lie, cheat, murder and sleep his way to the top. I don't know how high he wants to go, but if he's going there – I'm going with him".

Chekov couldn't think how much he despised this Sulu. The fear that had pressed him into the corner turned to anger. He pulled at the cuffs in frustration. "Svoloch!" he hissed. "I don't care how much you know about me... or him. I won't tell you anything. Let me go. Send me back!"

Sulu adopted his most patronising look and walked over to the still kneeling Chekov. "I don't think so, Pasha," he cooed, dropping down to his level. He pressed the blade of the dagger against the Russian's neck. Chekov turned his head and tried to press himself against the wall.

"What if I opened up this old wound for you?" mused Sulu, pressing the point of the blade at the top of the scar.

"No... please..." Chekov heard himself say as if at a distance. He felt like passing out at even the prospect of the pain. Instead he felt himself being hauled to his feet by the waiting crewman and pulled swiftly across the room to the water barrel. Sulu grabbed him by the hair at the back of his neck and plunged him into the icy water in front of him. Chekov was taken by surprise. He hadn't an ounce of breath in him. He instinctively inhaled. Water filled his nose, mouth and down to his lungs. He panicked. He tried to struggle but Sulu's wiry hand and the crewman's strong arms kept him pinned forwards. He felt himself blacking out. The sound of water and blood rushed in his ears.

Then suddenly he was up. Sulu pulled him painfully by the hair and threw him onto the floor. He lay on his side gasping, coughing and retching into his bound arms. Sulu squatted down by his head.

"Now, Pashenka", he emphasised the name with cold familiarity. "Before we pulled you off the Enterprise you'd just received sealed co-ordinates from Admiral Fradkin to the largest dilithium mines in the Federation. And still top secret. Now, the Empire would very much like to know those co-ordinates, Ensign. If you don't tell me then I shall have to resort to the Booth, and if that doesn't work then Imperial Security will have to take you away and do the job themselves". Sulu gently wiped the hair out of Chekov's still tightly closed eyes and brushed away the water running over his cheekbones. "I know you're a clever, observant boy, Pasha. So just tell me the co-ordinates and you can go back to the nice, soft, fluffy Enterprise you came from."

"Go... to hell", coughed Chekov, finding the strength to roll onto his knees. "I don't even know what you're talking about".

"Oh, come now", laughed Sulu. "Haven't you figured it out yet? We beamed a monitor and an inter-dimensional transporter relay into your universe. We've even got one at Starfleet Command. We've been busy since the Halkan incident. We learned a lot and we've been monitoring your ship for three weeks now. The Empire had no idea how much useful information you would be able to give us. And then we heard you'd been entrusted with sealed orders to the largest dilithium mine ever discovered... well, we couldn't let that one go, could we? So Captain Kirk ordered a transporter relay to be sent and we pulled you over here. And here you are..." He splayed his hands in mock surprise.

So he was being watched, he realised. The feelings hadn't been imaginary. "I won't tell you anything," snarled Chekov.

Sulu pulled Chekov up by the shoulders in one swift movement and dragged him back to the barrel.

"You'll break, boy. I'll break you because you're young," he hissed viciously.

Chekov at least felt he had a few seconds to prepare and managed to gulp down a breath before his head was thrust once more into the dark water. Again he felt the rushing blood, the ever-nearing blackness, the awful consciousness of what was happening as his lungs gave way and the water rushed in. Each time he was pulled up Sulu continued his never ending monologue: what did it matter to him? He was a whole universe away, his actions wouldn't affect his universe, the co-ordinates were inconsequential. Then the crewman had stepped in and between them they'd beaten him till he was half senseless.

He could feel himself getting weaker and weaker. He had no breath left in him. Then Sulu held him down in the water for far too long. He felt it rush in. The pressure built up in his head then washed away. He passed out.

The next time Chekov awoke he found himself staring into his own eyes. It was an unsettling thing to wake up to. His alter ego was watching him intently from a bench next to the bed. He was tense, frowning and his eyes looked black with the thoughts hidden behind them. He got up when he saw that Chekov was awake. He helped him to sit up and then sat down next to him.

"Did Sulu do this to you?" he asked quietly and angrily in Russian.

Chekov nodded, pushing his still damp hair over the top of his head with a painful hand. He didn't know how to talk to this brooding person... to himself. His alter ego stared back at him. Chekov felt disoriented and ill. He could feel blood trickling out of his nose and over his bruised lips. His cheekbone was throbbing. Sulu and the crewman had beaten him black and blue and worked especially on his face – Sulu resented his flawless features when his were so scarred. He was sure several ribs were broken as well. He was in pain. But still, he had to know - who was this person? Who was he?

They were both silent. Chekov sat hunched on the bed and hugged himself, shivering.

"You're like me," said Pavel eventually.

Chekov thought back to all the things Sulu had told him, whispering in his ear like a serpent as he choked up the water. "You are nothing like me," he replied coldly, wincing at the pain of breathing.

Pavel's face showed no reaction. He turned away to stare into the guard area where a crewman was huddled intently over a console. "Is that what Sulu told you?" he asked gloomily.

"He told me you poisoned a fellow ensign to get a post on the Enterprise. He told me you shot Lt Botha because he insulted you. You betrayed a landing party for financial gain on Respa Five. You singlehandedly murdered fifty hostages on Shazhin..." He paused for a reaction. When none was forthcoming he carried on. "He told me you're a liar, a cheat, you're disloyal, self-seeking, violent, lecherous –"

"Yes, alright," Pavel cut him short, his face still showing no emotion. He fell to brooding again. Chekov sank back against the wall and shut his eyes. The unreality of it all was overwhelming. The physical pain of torture was bad enough. Had they sent him himself to torture him mentally as well? Was this an additional humiliation?

"You've got to give me the co-ordinates."

Chekov's eyes snapped open. He didn't know whether to laugh out loud or be angry. He was certainly disgusted and at the same time bewildered at the unexpected possibility that he could be betrayed by himself. He looked at the ensign sat an arms length away from him. There he sat, eyes half closed, looking tired and somehow blank, as if all his inner self had been hollowed out and discarded. He looked pale and ill.

"I most certainly will not," Chekov replied bitterly. Starfleet had taught him better than that.

Pavel turned to him again, his dark eyes narrowed. "Then you're a fool," he said scornfully. "If you don't give them to me then Sulu will get them and if he doesn't get them then Imperial Security definitely will. You can't win. They'll get what they want from you one way or another, and you won't survive it. You've only been here a day. What they've done so far – that's just a warm up. They have drugs that will change your mind and then kill you anyway."

"Then I'll die with the co-ordinates."

Pavel snorted contemptuously. "Naive," he said, half to himself out loud. "You'll break."

"So everyone keeps telling me. And what do you get out of it if I give them to you?" asked Chekov warily, although he knew he didn't really care.

Pavel leant forward, looking animated for the first time. "Although nothing can stop the Empire from finding those mines, if you give the co-ordinates to me I can take them to the Admiralty – maybe even higher - and I can use them to leave this ship and leave this life. I can leave this life and go home."

Chekov shifted uneasily at the sudden sincerity in his voice but just as quickly he recoiled from his thoughts. The people in this universe were animals who would do anything to get what they wanted. His alter ego was lying – playing on his sympathies. More torture.

"So what's at home? Your mother and father?" he asked, barely concealing his increasing loathing.

Pavel looked askance at him. "I don't know. Do you hear from them?"

"Of course, don't you?" Chekov wondered where this one was going.

Pavel shook his head slowly and stared back into the guard area. "I haven't heard from them since I was conscripted. The night I left I went out and got drunk. When I got back home I shouted my head off like an idiot while mother just sat there." He fell into silence again. Eventually he seemed to gather himself. "Anyway, I'm not allowed," he said with a forced sigh. "Rebels against the Empire are given few rights. I'm lucky to be where I am at all."

Chekov began to feel a curiosity about this alternate self but at the moment it was still mixed with mistrust and scorn. The events with the Klingons two months previously were still fresh in his mind and he had even come to doubt his own sub-conscious in that time. Now that he was here, face to face with the manifestation of everything he feared about himself, he couldn't help but reach out to it, to question it, to find out if he really could be so hateful. It was like putting a hand into the candle flame.

"Why did you kill her?" he found himself asking involuntarily.

"Who?" replied Pavel sharply, but it was obvious he knew exactly who Chekov was talking about.

"The Klingon captain's wife." Pavel shrugged in reply with forced nonchalance but said nothing.

"Didn't the alien bring her back to life?" Chekov tried again.

Pavel frowned at him. "What alien? There was some energy force when we first arrived but we destroyed it. No one came back to life. Everybody died," he added in irritation.

"You raped and killed her," said Chekov quietly. It was a statement, but he knew it was a question to himself.

"Yes, didn't you?" Pavel's blunt reply chilled Chekov to the core.

"I didn't hurt her – at least, I never meant to... The Captain stopped me."

Pavel smiled bitterly. "You see. You are like me."

"Are you saying what I did was inevitable? That that's who I am?"

Pavel shrugged again. "Perhaps".

"No." Chekov's reply was again to himself. "That's not who I am. But who are you? Don't you feel anything for anyone?"

"I am sleeping with the captain's woman, if that's what you mean." Pavel pursed his lips at Chekov's look of bewilderment. "I don't see anything in her. She's useful, that's all. How else do you think I found out about you?"

Chekov couldn't bring himself to reply. How could he – himself – end up like this? Dispassionately sleeping with someone for his own personal gain.

"I can't remember her name. I think she felt sorry for me. Said she'd been watching me...It would be good to know what Kirk's thinking..."

Chekov cut him off. "Please don't go on. I'm sorry I asked. I'd never sleep with someone because I thought that's how I'd get on. I don't betray my friends on a whim."

Pavel shot him a malicious glance and got up suddenly. He went over to a small table on the other side of the cell and poured himself a glass of water. Chekov noticed how his hand shook.

"Friends... Gospodi, you just don't get it, do you?" Pavel snapped angrily at him. The sound of the water splashing into the glass made Chekov feel faint. "Friends? Nobody has friends on this ship. Nobody has friends anywhere in the Empire. There are spies everywhere. If you don't use everything you have to get on you'll sink to the bottom and be crushed. Look at me," he gestured with his glass. "I'm twenty two years old, I'm a non-citizen and I'm nothing. If I wasn't Kirk's navigator I'd be in prison or I'd be dead. I never wanted my life to be like this. I was conscripted at 17, sent off to that torture house they call the Academy and I've been just about enslaved to the Empire ever since. If I don't play the game I die. I have no choice."

He gulped down the water and slammed the glass back down onto the table. "Not that you care," he muttered bitterly.

Chekov tilted his head back against the wall. "Do you want me to say you're not a bad person?"

Pavel looked sourly back at him. "I'm not your Raskolnikov," he sneered. "If you're expecting me to bow down at the crossroads and admit my sins – it's not going to happen."

Chekov looked over at himself again. Pavel had started to pour himself another drink. More out of nervousness than requirement, Chekov thought. He expected to see his face full of cunning and malice. Instead he saw only tiredness and unhappiness. Perhaps he had misjudged him?

"No," he said slowly. "That's not what I'm expecting. But I'm expecting you'll help me. You said yourself if I don't give the co-ordinates I'm going to die. So don't let me. Send me back. Help me to go home".

Pavel looked over sharply at him. A flicker of doubt passed over his face before it went blank again. Chekov could tell he was weighing his options. He walked back over to the bench and sat back down opposite Chekov, not looking him in the eye.

"I'm not going to help you. It would never work. I don't have enough supporters on the ship..."

"I didn't know I was a coward," said Chekov quietly.

Pavel's head snapped up, his dark eyes blazing. "You know that's not true!" He stabbed an accusing finger towards his counterpart. "You of all people should know that. Just last week I saved Ensign Lu from a fire on the away mission to..." He stopped as Chekov turned his face to the wall. "Oh... go to hell, Pavel Andreevich!"

He stood up sharply and spun round to leave the cell. He stopped dead as the main door in the guardroom opened. Sulu walked in flanked by two guards. As he caught sight of Chekov his face took on its usual smirk.

"Well just look at you two bookends," said Sulu, his sneer cutting through the silence. Chekov looked up to watch him walk over to the cell and lean against the wall with one shoulder. He folded his arms and cocked his head. "Don't judge him too harshly, " he said pityingly to Chekov, while pointing to Pavel. "He's a victim of circumstance". Pavel's face had assumed the cold emptiness he had first come to Chekov with. "That's enough, Ensign. Leave him and go", Sulu snapped at him.

Pavel moved without a murmur and went to leave the cell. As Sulu dropped the force field the lieutenant stood in his way. Pavel said nothing with his head bowed and tried to walk past. Sulu blocked his way again and, as he tried to push past, Sulu caught the younger man by the chin and roughly pulled his head round with a leer. Pavel did not meet his eyes and stared steadfastly towards the exit but Chekov could see how he flinched and pulled himself away with a shudder. "If I ever catch you here again, Pashenka," he emphasised the name as he had done with Chekov," I'll make you sorry you ever stepped foot on this ship." Pavel said nothing and continued to look towards the door. "Do I make myself clear, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir".

Sulu pushed him away. "Good boy," he said condescendingly. He watched Pavel walk out of the door and turned back to Chekov. "So, what did you think of yourself? Were you everything you expected yourself to be, or were you just a little bit disappointed?"

Chekov turned away and shut his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chin. He couldn't even bare to respond to his tormentor any more.

Sulu laughed again. "It's time you and I had another nice little chat about those co-ordinates..."

Pavel sat on the bench next to his sleeping other self in the gloom of the cell. It was nearly midnight and the only sound was the hum through the deck of the ship's engines. He had bribed crewman Taillarde, who was on duty that night, to take a walk for thirty minutes. He knew she wanted him and he had taken advantage of that. It was the best he could do under the circumstances. Chekov slept fitfully, turning and muttering hurriedly in Russian. His dreams were not peaceful ones. Pavel found himself feeling sorry for him. Pity wasn't an emotion he was used to and it made him feel strange – like a hand was pressing on his chest. With it came an empty knowledge that on another ship in another universe his life could have been good. It could have been happy and exciting and decent – a life his ancestors has tried to stand up for but had been brutally repressed. Nothing stood in the way of the Empire.

An evil thought crept into his brain: what if he modified the relay to send himself back to Chekov's universe? He could stand in his shoes and live his life and no one would be the wiser. Or would they? Could he, the casual killer, really blend in where people lived by morals rather than by murders? He'd be a monster, as much as Chekov here was a naïve innocent. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind as he looked objectively down at his sleeping self again. He was a young man who genuinely had his whole life ahead of him. He had colleagues who respected him, friends who cherished him, girls who loved him and parents who adored him. He was young and healthy and good-looking and he could use his intelligence and energy for exploration and adventure. And what would he, Pavel, bring to such a life? Before long his colleagues would despise him, his friends would mistrust him, the girls would use him and he would break his parents' hearts. He would still be young and good-looking but his talents would be put to personal gain and self-aggrandisement because that was all that had counted in his life and all he ever knew. No, he would never fit in Chekov's universe.

Chekov suddenly cried out and sat bolt upright on the bed, pulling himself out of his dark dream. He stared wildly at Pavel as if trying to sort out one nightmare from another and pushed himself up against the wall in horror. "You…" he whispered. "Why are you here?"

Pavel looked back at the swollen eyes and took in the bruised and cut cheeks. The feeling that he knew what he must do became stronger. He put out a hand, Chekov recoiled as if it were diseased.

"Pashenka, I've decided to help you" he whispered decisively. "I'm going to send you back".

Chekov's eyes narrowed mistrustfully. "And why would you do that for me?" he asked hoarsely, shaking off the sleep and nightmare that had awoken him.

"Because I need to know that somewhere out there is a life that has meaning. I can't live that life but you can", Pavel insisted.

Chekov looked intently into his eyes. Yes, they were similar enough that he knew he wasn't lying this time.

"And the co-ordinates?" he asked quietly.

Pavel sighed. "Keep them. Take them back with you. Destroy the relay and find the di-lithium. Live your life for me, Pasha."

Chekov nodded. "Help me up. I need to get off this ship".

Pavel took Chekov by the shoulders and helped him to stand, almost falling under his weight as his leg gave way with a yelp. Pavel hooked his arms under his and hauled him to his feet. "Do you think you'll make it?" he asked in concern. "I'm not strong enough to carry you." A poor diet and hours sat at consoles had done that to him.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm just a bit dizzy," replied Chekov weakly. "Come on let's go." Both knew that he was lying – he was in a bad state.

Pavel supported his limping double out of the cell and across the guard room. He propped Chekov up against the wall while he peered round the door. The bleak corridor was empty. The two navigators hurried as quickly as they could towards the nearest turbo-lift and fell into it. Chekov clung onto a support handle, breathing in short, wheezing gasps. He rested his head on his arms to try to catch his breath, wincing with pain. "What's your plan?"

Pavel avoided his look and stared blankly at the door. "I haven't thought of one yet."

Chekov groaned. "Gospodi, I'm a genius in this universe too." Pavel found himself smiling weakly. He glanced up and saw Chekov smiling back at him. They both laughed nervously.

"Guess we'll have to think on our feet. I have done a bit of groundwork, though. The inter-dimensional relay link is in the transporter room. Once you're through I can destroy it at my end but you'll have to destroy it at your end too or they'll be able to pull you straight back. I know there is one hidden in your cabin above your bed. It has a micro-shield. A tricorder will be able to pick up the phase variance.

The lift bumped to a halt. Pavel checked the corridor again and they both lurched out into it down to the transporter room. The door thumped open and they fell in.

"Nyet…"Chekov gasped in despair.

Captain Kirk stood by the curved dias with Sulu and Taillarde, toying with an agoniser device. He rolled it from one hand to the other, the light reflecting in his hazel eyes from its shiny golden surface.

Chekov watched as Pavel's face drained into the blank expression he treated all his superior officers with. Behind it, he knew, lurked a deep malice and loathing.

"Well, Mr Chekov," began Kirk with a vicious hiss. "I would have thought you'd learnt your lesson in the Booth. What have you been doing this time?"

Pavel stared over Kirk's shoulder. He wasn't sure when it was that Kirk had gone mad and at what point his ruthless mind had descended into chaos. Behind him he heard Chekov whisper "Nyet" again before he dropped to his knees in pain, his hand sliding down the wall. No one in the room paid him any attention.

Kirk stepped up to Pavel and faced him squarely, his head cocked to one side as he looked him in the eyes. A wisp of light brown hair fell over his forehead.

"If you weren't so damned useful to me, ensign, I'd shoot you right here myself", he said quietly, barely supressing his anger. A bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. "I could let Sulu here take you to the booth and disassemble your nervous system piece by piece, or…" he held up the agoniser. Pavel swallowed dryly at the sight of it. "I could let Doctor McCoy use this device at the right locations. What will it be? You know what an expert he is". He walked round behind him. Pavel could see Sulu smirking out of the corner of his eye. He looked over to Taillarde who stood looking vicious at his side.

"Suka!" he hissed at her.

"Enough!" roared Kirk, grabbing Pavel by the throat and pulling him back sharply against his chest, clamping the agoniser on top of the scar behind his ear. Pavel cried out at the pain screamed through his head and down his spine. He caught Kirk off balance by the violence of the contortion of his body as Chekov lunged from his position by the door to clatter into the captain, knocking him into Sulu and sending the two of them sprawling across the floor. Taillarde threw Pavel a phaser.

"I didn't betray you. I upped the stakes!" she shouted before diving behind the transporter console for cover. Sulu fired his phaser from the ground. Pavel felt the heat of its blast shoot past his ear. He took a shot at Sulu as he dived out of the way. Pavel was barely able to hold onto the weapon, his fingers were weak from the sudden rip of the agoniser. The helmsman screamed in surprise and pain as the shot hit him in the chest. He fell back to the floor. Pavel checked his phaser. Set to stun. Damn it. He quickly turned his attention to Kirk who was coming round fast from his fall. His eyes widened with rage as Pavel stood over him and coolly took aim.

"You wouldn't dare!" yelled Kirk.

Pavel fired, his hands more steady now, and watched as Kirk slumped back to the ground.

Taillarde appeared nervously from behind the console, her eyes fixed on Pavel and the phaser.

"Upped the stakes," muttered Pavel angrily. "You swapped sides at just the right time. Clever girl".

Taillarde flushed, breathing heavily, knowing he'd either shoot her or let her go. Pavel motioned with the weapon towards the door.

"Go. Get out", he commanded tersely. The guard did as she was told without a word.

Pavel hurried over to Chekov who was lying in a crumpled heap by the dias.

"Are you alright?" Pavel asked in concern. His counterpart, ashen white and breathing shallowly, nodded to him and pushed himself up onto his arms, coughing.

"I'll be okay. Help me up onto the dias".

Pavel lifted him up and half dragged him onto the transporter pad. Chekov sat with his head resting on his knee, looking sick. "Hurry" he said in a weak voice.

Pavel ran over to the controls and set them up for transport. "I won't be a moment" he called out, pressing the buttons and pushing up the phase bar.

"What will you do with them?" asked Chekov, nodding to the prone forms of Kirk and Sulu. "Will you kill them?"

"I don't know yet. Probably. That's the way it is here," replied Pavel coldly. Chekov shuddered inwardly at the lack of emotion. "We've got to hurry. Taillarde will be here with Spock in a minute".

"Pasha", said Chekov suddenly. "The co-ordinates – Henize system 547-281-283 mark 501".

Pavel looked up wordlessly and stared in confused shock. Then his eyes cleared and he nodded in thanks and pulled the bars down on the console…

"Dr McCoy! Thank god you're here. They say he just materialised – like he was transported out of thin air. I think he's alive, I'm not sure…"

Chekov was only dimly aware of a woman's voice, perhaps Nurse Chapel's, sounding urgent. She seemed to be very far away. He could barely hear her over the whistling in his ears. He could feel some one checking his pulse. A tricorder beeped insistently.

"Nurse Chapel, 10ccs cortrizine. He's got internal bleeding. There seem to be signs of drowning".

"Yes, Doctor".

"He's just a boy. How could they do this to him? Chekov, can you hear me? Chekov…We're losing him!"

"Welcome back, Pashenka".

Chekov woke to the hiss of a hypospray and a vicious whisper in his ear. The voice was unmistakeable – it was Sulu's. He didn't even have the will to open his eyes. He knew where he was.

"Do you want me to get to work on him now, Lieutenant?"

The disinterested, slightly slurred Southern drawl belonged to Dr McCoy. Chekov opened his eyes and saw the doctor stood in the corner of the room. He glanced around him bleakly. He was in sickbay lying on a biobed. An agoniser sat on a small table next to him. Dr McCoy met his gaze unflinchingly. How many tortures had the doctor attended? Chekov shuddered at the thought. Sulu saw his look and patted his cheek.

"Don't worry, my boy", he sneered. "This won't take long, but I'm going to enjoy myself anyway".

Through swollen eyes, Chekov took in the surroundings beyond the scope of his bed. The door to the ward was open. Strangely, there was no security. With an energy he didn't know he could muster, he flung himself off the bed and skittered across the smooth deck, diving for the door. As he rounded the corner he could hear Sulu's laughter echo after him.

"Nowhere to run, Ensign!"

He ran down the corridor, which seemed to go on forever. There were no crewmen here, but he didn't care if the decks were full or deserted – he needed to get off the ship by any means possible. Maybe he'd go down to the hangars and take a shuttle. He rounded the corner and found his way blocked by the back of a female crewman in red. She turned round. It was Uhura.

"Hi honey", she purred seductively, sliding a hand down his chest. "Why are you running away from us?" she asked with mock hurt. She pulled his head down by the back of his neck and rested her chin next to his ear. He could feel her hot breath on his cheek.

"Chekov!" she said urgently. He pushed away from her, searching her face for signs of urgency. Instead she looked at him with a languid droop of her eyelids and put her hand up to his face. "Slavic cheekbones!" she laughed lightly. "We've got ourselves a handsome boy!"

Chekov backed away in confusion. The other Uhura on the other Enterprise had said that – not her. How could she…? He turned and fled onwards down the corridor, his breath coming in shorter and shorter bursts. He rounded another corner and skidded to halt with a gasp. Leaning against the wall with his arms folded was himself. Pavel looked at him with an arrogant stare, his chin raised in haughty defiance.

"You!" yelled Chekov, his fists clenching. "You betrayed me! How could you? I trusted you!"

Pavel unfolded his arms with a jerk and took a threatening step towards him, till they stood toe to toe.

"I betrayed you? It was you who betrayed me! Those co-ordinates you gave me were incorrect!" spat Pavel.

Chekov backed away, shaking his head. "No. No. They were correct." Admiral Parkinson had given them as sealed orders. He had memorised them as instructed. Pavel was lying. Why?

Pavel caught him by the shoulders and pushed him roughly against the bulkhead.

"Chekov!" came the same urgent voice.

Chekov looked at him in confusion but saw only loathing in his dark eyes where he had expected to find concern. He tried to push back but his arms felt weak. He felt himself start to shiver uncontrollably. Pavel pushed him up against the wall again with a thud.

"Chekov!" This time Pavel's lips hadn't even moved and yet the voice came to him sounding clear and high pitched. It was a woman's voice.

"Ensign!"

Pavel's face dissolved into a mist along with the corridor. He pushed back with a cry and found himself back in sickbay, kneeling on a biobed, his arms clenched around Nurse Chapel's upper arms, shaking in juddering waves.

"It's alright, Ensign" she was saying soothingly. "Take some deep breaths and calm down. The cortrizine will wear off soon. That's it. Deep breaths. Your shivering will stop".

Chekov's grip on the nurse's arms relaxed. His breathing was still ragged and his throat was a raw as sandpaper. His hair was damp with sweat as he rested his forehead on her shoulder.

"Thank you, Christine" he said in between breaths, still shaking like a leaf. Anyone watching would have envied the easy familiarity between the nurse and the navigator. Chapel coaxed Chekov back down onto the bed and pulled the shiny thermal blanket over him. She took some readings, giving him an encouraging simile before leaving him to join Dr McCoy in his office where the doctor was talking animatedly to the captain.

Chekov shut his eyes and threw an arm weakly over his face, trying to chase away the hallucination. He lay still, his chest rising and falling with the laboured effort of breathing. His arms were blue with bruises and his face was very pale. The doctor's voice carried over the hum of the monitoring equipment. He caught snatches of the conversation and realised that the doctor had repaired his more serious injuries but had yet to finish the minor ones. He had worked through the night with Dr M'Benga to repair broken ribs, a punctured lung, internal bleeding and the effects of drowning. The doctor's voice fell away… "torture"… "barbarians".

Kirk walked out of McCoy's office and into the ward, approaching Chekov's bed. Sensing someone approaching, Chekov pulled his arm off his face and looked at him with tired, swollen eyes.

Kirk placed an encouraging arm gently on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling, ensign?" he asked quietly.

Chekov smiled weakly. "Like hell, sir".

Kirk nodded in silent understanding. Bones had already filled him in on the extent of his injuries. The captain knew what their mirror selves were capable of and was grimly amazed that his navigator was even alive.

"The relay?" Chekov asked hoarsely.

"Spock has disabled it, don't worry". He still didn't know the mirror ship had done it, but they had found a relay in Chekov's cabin above his bunk.

Chekov looked relieved.

"Now I still don't know what business Admiral Parkinson has had with you, but he was very keen to know what had happened to you. He's sent a level 1 communique to me with this question: What did you tell them?

A flicker of a question entered his mind. How did Parkinson know he'd been taken to the mirror universe? They had been half way to Henize. Surely a message couldn't have reached Starfleet in that time. Chekov squeezed his eyes shut, dismissing his thoughts. An even greater problem reared up in front of him. He suddenly questioned his decision to give Pavel the co-ordinates. Had it been the right thing to do? It was all too late now.

"Nothing," he replied, slightly horrified at his easy ability to lie to his captain. "I told them nothing".

Kirk nodded and folded his arms with an expression that said he had expected nothing less. Chekov felt shame at the betrayal of such trust.

"Parkinson has instructed me as soon as you are fit for duty to follow your instructions regarding your sealed orders. McCoy says you'll be fit and up in about a week and he's asked Dr Irvine from psychotherapy to call in on you later for an assessment. I expect you to co-operate…"

Chekov nodded. Now was not the time for stoic silence. Kirk knew he wasn't the type to keep his emotions to himself, in fact, he was known for being quite the opposite.

"I'll leave you be, Ensign. Get some rest".

"Thank you, sir".

He watched the captain walk out if the door with his usual confident stride. He sighed and closed his eyes, wondering what had become of Pavel in the mirror universe. Had he been able to use the co-ordinates to his advantage? He guessed he'd never know.

Three weeks later Ensign Chekov stood outside a meeting room in the long grey corridor with his arms folded. At a discreet distance stood Ensign Shu, his newly assigned 'guard'. The deck was busy. Crewmen walked back and forth, going about their duties. Those he knew greeted him. He acknowledged them with a tight smile: they knew why he was standing there. He pulled his arms out from under his folded arms and wiped damp palms on his black trousers. He tugged down his gold shirt but immediately felt at a loss of what to do with his hands again. He folded them with a sigh and sank back against the wall.

The meeting room door flew open with an aggression that Chekov knew he could only have imagined. A tall crewman in red with jet black hair and blazing eyes strode furiously out of the room, his right arm bound with a repair bandage. He clipped Chekov's shoulder deliberately as he pushed by, making the ensign stumble to one side. Chekov watched as he stomped down the corridor and round the corner without a backwards glance.

"Mr Chekov, in here – on the double!"

Chekov swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He straightened himself up and marched into the room, coming to halt in front of the table at which Captain Kirk was sat. He brought himself stiffly to attention as he remembered from his Academy training. The captain was making notes on a data pad. He didn't look up as he walked in. A bad sign, Chekov noted bleakly.

After what seemed like a very long minute to Chekov, the captain turned off the computer with a punch of a button and looked up at him. Kirk took in his navigator's regulation stance but he could see the obvious tension in his jaw. Good, he thought, he's taking this seriously. Here was a young man, only just mature, clever enough to steer them through everything the galaxy could throw at them and yet still stupid enough to end up on a report. Kirk got up and walked around the table. Chekov continued to stand, his dark eyes narrowed. He could feel his heart beating just a little too fast.

"Pull your chin, down mister!"

Chekov snapped his head down and cursed himself. He always stood to attention as he had been taught at the Vorontsov school in St Petersburg – chin high, full of pride. It had become so second nature to him that if he didn't concentrate it was the posture he always assumed at attention. Unfortunately it wasn't regulation Starfleet and it stood out like a sore thumb.

Kirk stalked behind him, his arms folded behind his back. It had been a long day and this wasn't how he had planned on finishing it.

"Computer, entry in Report Log, Star date 532.516"

"Working," the computer chimed back in a monotone.

"Ensign Pavel Andreevich Chekov, Chief Navigator, accused of brawling with Crewman Jorge Ramirez in the mess hall, 19.00 hours".

The computer gave an unsympathetic beep of recognition. Chekov tried to take a steady breath as he listened to it. Kirk walked round in front of him and looked him directly in the eyes. Chekov looked back at him nervously, his mouth going dry before he had even said anything.

"What were you thinking?" the captain asked with barely concealed anger.

Chekov took this to be a rhetorical question and kept his mouth firmly shut.

"How old are you?"

"Twe-," the word came out in a dry squeak. "Twenty-two, sir."

"Old enough to use your brain?"

"Yes, sir."

Chekov continued to meet his steely gaze. They had entered the Henize system a few days ago. Kirk knew Chekov was under the greatest stress and he had only been back from the mirror universe for a couple of weeks. Kirk's instincts, however, told him this was more about personal matters.

Kirk paced off to the right towards the door.

"Crewman Ramirez tells me you threw the first punch. Is that true?" Kirk stopped and pointed at the report log.

Chekov's eyes did not waver from his forward gaze.

"Yes, sir." he said clearly.

Kirk resumed his pacing to the left.

"And that you used unnecessary force in your argument…"

"I…I may have hit him a couple of times, sir."

"You broke his arm, Ensign!"

"Yes, sir."

Kirk sighed. "Mister Chekov, when I chose you to serve aboard this ship I took into account your exemplary academic record but I also chose to ignore… how shall I put it? Your extensive report record."

Kirk sat down on the edge of the meeting table and noted the sinking flicker of the ensign's dark eyes. "I hoped that, once serving aboard this ship you would put your frankly cadet-like behaviour behind you and rise to become a mature member of my crew. However, this is the third time this year that you have found yourself on report. Now please kindly tell me, Ensign, that there was some justification to your actions?"

Chekov didn't know where to begin. It seemed petty now. He had decided to end his relationship with Taillarde. Although she had thrown herself at him from the moment she arrived on board her attitude had quickly turned strange… somehow cold, even when they were at their most intimate. When they were together she seemed to be somewhere else. He'd grown tired of it quickly - he'd had enough of that with Martha Landon. Combined with all the worry of his sealed orders he had thought it best that they split up. Taillarde had been furious – but not upset, Chekov noted. However the next day there were rumours going around the ship that she'd spent the night with Crewman Ramirez from the Armoury and had been doing so for a while. In the rec room later that evening Ramirez had rounded on him about his treatment of Taillarde. It was quite obvious she'd been lying and had set him up to it, for reasons he couldn't even begin to fathom. Chekov had been tried and exhausted and Ramirez had ignited a spark of anger that Chekov knew was his ever-present flaw. Everyone on the ship knew it and it wouldn't have been difficult for him to know exactly which red button to press. The whole affair had been banal and stupid.

Kirk looked sternly, still waiting for an answer.

"When Parkinson assigned you a guard, I don't think he expected you to… have intimate relations with her. That was a judgement error." He sighed. "Couldn't you have restrained yourself just this once, Ensign?"

It was all Chekov could do not to look incredulously at his captain… He could talk.

Chekov thought he'd give Kirk the bare bones of the story. "We got into an argument about Elodie Taillarde. He insulted me. I over-reacted. It's my fault. I'm sorry, sir."

Kirk harrumphed with a small amount of satisfaction and stood up again. "Well this is going to have to go onto your record, I'm afraid. Please try to restrain yourself in the future. This isn't going to help your career, you know that?"

"Yes, sir" replied Chekov glumly.

"You're confined to quarters as of 21.00 hours until your shift tomorrow. Dismissed".

Chekov left the meeting room relieved but still annoyed with himself. Ensign Shu fell into step with him.

"How was it?" he asked.

Chekov shrugged. "Could have been worse. I'm confined to quarters later so at least you'll get some time off".

Shu seemed quite satisfied with this piece of information. His face suddenly clouded. "You're not going back to Auxiliary Control till then, are you?" The thought of standing guard at the door for hours on end while Chekov worked on some calculation, filled him with dread.

Chekov looked at him impatiently. "No. I'm going to bed."

They found themselves at the turbo-lift. The door opened and Chekov found Sulu and Uhura standing inside.

"Ah, there you are." said Sulu. "We've been looking for you."

"Going our way?" asked Uhura with a smile.

Chekov gathered himself, but he couldn't think of a good enough reason not to enter the turbolift. He stepped inside with Shu, giving Sulu an involuntary wide berth. Although all his reason since his time in the mirror universe told him this Sulu wasn't the same as the other, a basic instinct made him wary. He knew Sulu had noticed, but the helmsman understood completely. Chekov needed time and he was happy to give it to him. Sulu knew only one way to behave with his friend and he hadn't stopped treating him any different. This had been a help to Chekov. It was a good route to recovery and normality.

"Where are you headed?" Sulu asked.

"My quarters".

"Deck six"

The turbolift purred into movement. An uneasy silence ensued. Chekov looked at his feet.

"Look," said Uhura as the turbolift started to slow down. "We're meeting up in the rec room in an hour. Do want to join us?

Chekov flicked his eyes up long enough at her to see the concern in her eyes. He softened a little.

"I'm sorry. I can't. I'm confined to my quarters as of 9pm." he muttered.

"The trouble with Ramirez?" guessed Sulu.

Chekov nodded and looked down at his boots again.

"In that case," said Uhura decisively, taking Chekov by the elbow, "you can come with us to the rec room till then. Deck 5"

The turbolift moved off to one side and the door opened. He tried to pull away but found Uhura's grip firmer than expected.

"You can't force me to go," he said peevishly, tugging again to get away.

"Oh?" Uhura looked at him in the way she always did when she was in big sister mode. "And what did you think rank was invented for, Ensign? That will be all, thank you Shu." She turned to Shu. "You can go now. We'll take him from here."

Ensign Shu needed no second invitation and hurried off down the corridor and disappeared.

"He is supposed to be guarding me you know," grumbled Chekov.

"We've got you out of more scrapes than he ever will," reminded Sulu.

"Only the ones you keep getting me into."

Meanwhile Uhura pulled Chekov towards the rec room, oblivious to his sounds of protest.

The trio walked in through the rec room doors and entered the hall which was busy with relaxing crewmen. Some were in uniform while others were more casually dressed. No one paid them much attention as Uhura half dragged the still protesting Chekov to an empty table in the far corner of the room. She sat him down with a pull of his still firmly grasped elbow.

"Pouting isn't going to get you out of this" she chided.

"I do not pout." retorted Chekov.

This elicited a guffaw from Sulu. "Why are you always in denial? Let me get you a drink." He held up his hand. "And yes, I already know what you want."

"With some food" insisted the navigator. "I'm not an alcoholic."

Sulu raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I'll find pickled fish in the replicator."

Chekov shot him an unamused scowl. "Bread will do."

Uhura settled back in a chair and watched Sulu walk over to the replicator, while keeping half an eye on Chekov. He looked exhausted.

"Don't worry," she said, leaning forwards and placing a hand on his arm. "Things may seem a mess now, but you'll get through it."

He nodded and took her hand, studying her slim fingers and perfectly manicured nails.

"I've been an idiot," he admitted. "I shouldn't have let Ramirez get to me."

Uhura untangled her fingers. "This isn't about Ramirez though, is it? What part has Taillarde been playing in all of this? Is she weird, or what?"

Chekov rested his jaw on his hand and started into space, thinking. His pensiveness made him look boyish, Uhura thought. "She set Ramirez up to this. She must have done."

"Hell hath no fury…" chimed Sulu, reappearing with the drinks. He gave Uhura a small shot of Saurian brandy and presented Chekov with a shot of vodka and a chunk of bread before settling himself next to Uhura with a glass of water.

"That's just it." said Chekov slowly. "I ended it and she wasn't hurt or upset. She was furious. Like I'd ruined her plans, or something." He picked up the bread and toyed with it. "Ramirez said I had been two-timing her and not treating her right, that I'd bullied her into going out with me in the first place. That wasn't true. None of it was true. Why would she say that to him? What did I do wrong?"

"What I want to know," said Sulu, taking a sip of his water, "is why an admiral would bring her on board specially to guard you? Who assigns nut-cases?"

Chekov's frown deepened. "And that's another thing. When I met Admiral Parkinson before he gave me my orders, he didn't seem quite right. It was him, in every way that I remember from when I was a child, only it wasn't him. He was different. He used to be kind and funny. When I met him he was odd… his kindness had gone. It was as if he'd never ever met me."

"Time changes people," suggested Uhura.

"Not like that, though," mused Chekov. "The two of them are linked in a way that isn't obvious… Na zdorovie." He downed his shot and took a bite of the bread, chewing it in silence. "Gospodi," he said eventually, smiling weakly. "Do you think I'm starting to see conspiracies around every corner? Elodie has probably just flipped with annoyance at me, picked up Ramirez on the rebound and vented her spleen at me. He's overacted. End of story."

"Well, that's not the way it looks to me," warned Uhura with a shake of her head. " Her behaviour is irrational to say the least."

Sulu took another gulp of water. "It's not the first time a girl has got irrational over him". Uhura sent him a withering look. "OK. Maybe," he shrugged and played his hands in defeat. "But I'd watch yourself, Pasha. You're acting under sealed orders. Nothing good ever comes of them."

Chekov nodded and down the remainder of his drink.. "Look, it's nearly 9. I've got to go." He stood up and brushed bread crumbs from his shirt. "Thank you for listening to me. I'll see you tomorrow."

Sulu and Uhura gave him nonchalant waves and smiles. "Any time. Good night, Pasha."

As soon as he had gone, Uhura turned to Sulu. "He's right, isn't he? There's something odd going on with Taillarde and Parkinson."

Sulu looked grim. "I'm guessing so. But what? Parkinson knows what's in the sealed orders. And why would he assign a guard for him? It doesn't make sense."

Uhura sighed and took the last sip of her brandy. "I don't know Sulu… but it all has something to do with Henize."

The Enterprise lurched violently to the left setting off a cascade of alarms and reports. The lights momentarily dimmed and flickered.

"Laddie," came the voice of Mr Scott across the Bridge. "Will you watch what you're doing with my ship?"

Captain Kirk sat in the command chair and smiled inwardly. Scotty was as possessive about the ship as he was. For Kirk it was about something intangible – for Scotty it was about the perfection of the sum of the parts and he hated them being messed with.

Chekov, the cause of the disruption, and seemingly trying to shake the ship back into its original pieces, refused to look up from his console where he was deep in the middle of a calculation. His eyes darted from different sets of data as he punched in the numbers he needed. "I missed gravitation co-efficient," he muttered to himself, oblivious to the noises around him.

Kirk spoke on his behalf. "Gentleman, I'd appreciate it if you didn't distract my navigator from the task at hand…"

Scotty gave an audibly dissatisfied huff before grabbing a hyperspanner and dropping to his knees to open a panel under his console. He stuck his head in began to chunter. The odd word could be heard, including something about 'poor bairns'.

They had been crossing the Henize system for six days and the journey had become unrelenting. Chekov was navigating – no one knew where to - but the space they had been travelling through was a thick mixture of gassy clouds and asteroid fields made up of a soup of rocks and particles that played havoc with all the sensors. The fields moved around in a pattern so complex that Chekov had started to work two hours on and one hour off. When he wasn't working, the ship stopped. Progress had been tortuous but he admitted that he couldn't concentrate safely for any longer. Added to this, gravitational effects and distortions spread out like wave crests from unseen bodies, further complicating the work. It was only thanks to the skill of all the crew that they were still in one piece.

Chekov sat back in his chair and screwed his eyes up to look at the whitish orange gas clouds swirling in front of them on the viewscreen. They were so lurid that Chekov's eyes had started to play tricks on him and he was sure he could see patterns in them. When he looked away he was left with blotches on his over-stimulated retina.

"562-471-439 mark 7, sir," he reported tiredly to the captain, rubbing his eyes. "Follow course for 50 million kilometres. That's it. We should be through."

Sulu looked over in surprise at the captain. Their progress had been so slow that he had despaired of ever making it to their destination. He had found the piloting a chore: small course corrections and a start-stop pattern at impulse power had tested his patience to the limit. He even noticed how his back ached with the tension.

"Engaging thrusters now, sir," Sulu reported, his fingers dancing on the console.

The Enterprise slipped quietly through the fogs on her path, interrupted only by a brief course correction from Chekov, muttering something about 'resonance feedback'. Uhura watched the clouds swirl and billow in front of them. Their orange colour in this last part of their journey had made her feel faintly queasy, as if they had been adrift on an old sailing ship on a vast ocean. All communications had been down with the galaxy beyond, so she had been working on internal improvements. She had had her team listening out for any signs of life in the system, but if anyone had been listening, no one had bothered to reply. It was hard to think that anything lived in that noxious soup out there.

The doors opened and Ensign Taillarde walked in and took up a place at the back of the Bridge. No one paid her much attention. Uhura caught sight of her out of the corner of her eye. She didn't really want much to do with her since the incident in the rec room.

A few hours later, the clouds started to become thinner. Was that the dim glow of a sun she could see?

"Captain…"

"Yes, I see it, Uhura," replied Kirk. "Are we through, Ensign?"

Chekov checked his readings to be sure before he gave the captain a half turn over his shoulder. "Yes, sir. This is the Henize central solar system. This is our destination". The relief was obvious in his voice.

Fifteen huge planets emerged out of the fog, some with multiple rings, circling around a bright white sun. A myriad of small moons hung like icy blue and yellow necklaces around them. Spock's science station sprung into life, scanning and collecting a deluge of fresh data. The Vulcan put his face to the blue light of the library computer and watched as the new information was downloaded into the database. Suddenly something caught his eye. He bent down even closer to review what he had seen.

"Captain. I am picking up data relating to dilithium… if I am reading this correctly, the seventh planet from the central star has an outer crust composed of 95% pure dilithium crystal."

The news sent a murmur across the Bridge.

Kirk leant forward in his chair. "But that's incredible. Deposits that size could fuel the fleet for…"

"Approximately one hundred twenty seven Earth years and sixty three days, Captain."

Kirk felt some of the awe of the moment had been dampened by this statement, but it was still one hell of a discovery.

"Mr Chekov, were you aware of this? Is this the reason we are here?"

Chekov turned round fully to face the captain. Parkinson hadn't elaborated, but he guessed that now was probably an acceptable time to explain his mission.

"Yes, sir. Admiral Parkinson advised that this is the largest single dilithium deposit discovered in our sector. As Mr Spock says, this will fuel the fleet for years to come. My mission was to create a complete and exhaustive navigational database – to chart a route through - so that other Federation vessels can follow us. We must return the database to Starfleet Command as soon as possible."

"I'm afraid that won't be happening, Pavel Andreevich."

A strident female voice cut across the calm of the Bridge. Everyone looked up and froze. Ensign Tailllarde was standing by the door holding a phaser. Her attitude was one of complete calm. Kirk weighed up the distance between himself and the guard. At the top of the steps, she had the advantage. Suddenly Scotty made a sudden lunge from his position on the floor below his station, trying to tackle her by the legs. Taillarde was ready for him. She made a perfectly aimed shot at his shoulder that sent him reeling back across the floor and into the panels below consoles. He cried out before hitting the floor but lay seemingly lifeless. Kirk tried to take advantage of the distraction and dashed up the steps, but came face to face with the muzzle of the phaser.

"Don't try anything, captain," she said coldly, not even bothering to move. "Just give me what I want and I'll be on my way."

Kirk assessed her composure – it was absolute, and her look was determined.

"What do you want?" he asked, hating the feeling of being put on the back foot. "Let me get help for Scotty first. Let me call Dr McCoy." He gestured to the prone Scotty with a helpless hand.

"Mr Scott is only stunned," she replied with disinterest. "I want the navigation database. Give it to me."

Kirk looked over his shoulder to where Chekov was half out of his chair. At least she didn't mean to kill them all.

"Ensign?"

Chekov turned slowly back to his console. "It will take some time to download this database." He shot Sulu the most fleeting of looks, that he hoped Taillarde would not notice and emphasised 'this' lightly .

Sulu looked back at him in confusion, trying to figure out the meaning of the word. Chekov turned back silently and began to upload his data. Sulu watched him. 'This' database… did that mean there was another one – a copy somewhere? Where would Chekov put it? Somewhere prosaic, he guessed. In the meantime Spock had almost imperceptibly been moving towards an alarm button on his console. He slowly put out a long finger to press the button. A blast of searing phaser fire nearly took his hand off. He jerked his hand back away from the sparking, burning components.

"Please don't do that, Mr Spock," smirked Taillarde. "Besides, Chief DeLeon is engaged down below with a firearms incident that I have set up for him."

"Why are you doing this, Ensign?" Kirk tried to engage her in conversation. Perhaps he could talk his way out of this situation.

Taillarde looked back at him with cold eyes. "For reasons you could never understand, Captain." She replied haughtily. She looked past him over his shoulder. "Chekov, hurry up. What's talking so long? Don't try to stall me, Russian. You'll be sorry."

"I'm nearly finished," he snarled back angrily at her. "There's a lot of data. I have to decouple the database from the system."

A tense silence fell on the Bridge, broken only by the calls of the ship trying to reach them. Kirk felt he could scream in frustration. He hated being holed up on his own Bridge

"Hurry up!" Taillarde pressed again with increasing irritation.

"Da ladno!" Chekov spat back. "I'm finished."

"Bring it here."

Chekov looked sullenly at Kirk for confirmation. Kirk was out of ideas and nodded to the navigator to comply. Chekov opened a small panel and knelt down to reach in, feeling with expert fingers for the catches to remove the database from the side of the console. He stood up and brought it up to Taillarde under the unwavering watch of her phaser. She held out her hand for the database. Chekov unwillingly handed it over, looking her in the eyes defiantly.

"Well done," she said patronisingly. "By the way, Captain, the database isn't all I need from you."

"Oh?" Kirk raised an eyebrow, wondering with dread what her next demand would be.

"I need your navigator as well."

"No," said Chekov angrily, taking a step back, looking at Kirk. "I'm not going."

"Oh," laughed Taillarde, her blue eyes turning icy. She pulled out a stun grenade. Kirk looked aghast at the weapon. Taillarde might be a security ensign but she didn't have access to remove those kind of weapons from the… Armoury. Suddenly it clicked into place. Ramirez worked in the armoury. He could easily have supplied her. He was probably the author of the firearms incident Taillarde had referred to. Taillarde watched the dawning realisation on his face and pressed the button with a smile. She threw it towards the middle of the Bridge. "I don't think you have a choice".

Chekov didn't even have time to dive for cover. The grenade exploded in a flash of white light and suffocating static. He lost consciousness.

Chekov opened his eyes with a painful slowness. His head felt like it had been used as a punch bag and he was sick to his stomach. He hated the effects of a stun blast. He shook his head to try to clear some of the fuzziness but this just made the room spin round. He decided to try to focus instead. As his eyesight cleared he could see the Henize system spread out in front of him and there, not far away, hanging like a jewel around the outermost planet, was the Enterprise. He looked around him. He was in a shuttle and he was sat in the pilot's seat. He caught sight of the chronometer in front of him. Thirty minutes had passed.

"Finally."

With a sinking feeling Chekov recognised the harsh voice of Ramirez.

The guard moved from behind him and jabbed a phaser against the side of his head so hard his neck bent away under the pressure. He could feel the tingling warmth that meant it was set to stun. Small consolation when it was at point blank range. "He's awake".

"Good." Taillarde now appeared next to him in the co-pilot's seat and started to punch in figures on the console ahead of her. "I need you to disable the Enterprise," she said bluntly, casting him a look of contempt. "While they're all still asleep."

Chekov shut his eyes and lent his head back on the seat, turning away. "No, I won't do it," he replied with quiet determination.

"Don't be a hero," growled Ramirez, jabbing the phaser against his temple again. "Do as she says."

Taillarde pushed the phaser aside and spun Chekov's seat round to face her. She stood up and placed her hand on the arm rests on either side of him, looking down and glaring.

"Either you disable the ship so they can't follow or I destroy it," she said menacingly. Chekov opened his eyes and looked back at her with loathing. The depth of his feeling caught her slightly off guard. She stood up, more flustered than she cared to admit and moved back to her seat. "I'm not a killer, Pasha. But it's up to you."

Chekov tried to weigh up his chances of overpowering her and snatching Ramirez' phaser, which was now returned to his right temple. The guard's arm was healed and he was built for a fight. Taillarde on the other hand was about his height but she was quick and strong and very calm and in control. The dangers of phaser fire in such a confined space made the venture too risky.

"I want you to disable their navigation system so they can't follow us," she went on, turning back to her console and entering launch sequence commands. "Last year you submitted a report to Starfleet Command on a design weakness in the fleet's starships that could knock out the entire navigation array."

Chekov turned, pushing Ramirez' phaser away with his hand, not caring what happened. "How could you know that?" he demanded. "The report was classified by Captain Kirk. It was sent directly to the Design Arm. No one outside of the Admiralty could have known about that."

Taillarde smiled sarcastically at him. "Just look at your face! Wouldn't you like to know? You'd be amazed at my sources."

Chekov looked over his shoulder at Ramirez. Even he seemed surprised, he noted. Razmirez saw him looking and raised his phaser again, recovering himself. The look of confusion did not completely leave his face. Taillarde continued to punch in her data. "I know enough about it to know that you can calculate a phaser blast of the right strength, duration and location on the port forward navigation sensor to send a feedback pulse through the whole system taking… oh, at least a week to fix out in deep space with a good engineer. Let's see," she raised her finger in mock moment of thought. "Oh, Engineer Scott thought he could interfere. I wonder if he's still available?" She turned and nodded to Ramirez to move the phaser to aim between Chekov's eyes. "Be a good boy and make the calculation."

Chekov looked back at her in repugnance, wondering what he had ever seen in her. Her blonde hair and delicate features made her pretty, but her blue eyes were harsh. He wondered how he had never noticed it when they had been together. Their intimacy now made him shudder. Still, he told himself, he needed to know what her motivation was.

"Why are you doing this, Elodie?" he echoed Kirk's question from the Bridge.

Taillarde's demeanour did not waver. "Everyone wants to know!" she said with exasperation. "My motivations are the highest ideals and not your concern," she said smoothly. She pointed at the console. "Shut up and start the calculation."

Chekov pulled himself forwards and turned his attention to the information in front of him. "It's going to take longer from here," he scowled. "The shuttle's computers don't have as much processing power as my systems do."

Taillarde was unimpressed. "Just do it."

It took him about fifteen minutes to finish the calculation and load the data into the system. Taillarde watched him like a hawk. He knew she had some navigation experience – a lot more than a security guard should have. She must have had some training – another odd thing. But he knew the calculations required for this manoeuvre were far above anything she could possibly know. He entered the data exactly as it should be – with one exception: the location of the phaser hit would be just off target – only by a fraction, but just enough to give the same visible effects but without ripping apart the navigation system. They would still be disabled, but only for a couple of hours. Taillarde wouldn't know the difference.

"I'm ready." He said finally.

Taillarde looked triumphant. "I want you to have the honour of firing the shot. I want to savour the irony of you stranding your ship using the very same calculation you hoped would save the fleet."

Chekov was not in the mood to appreciate her irony. "Why do you hate me, Elodie?" he asked bleakly..

Taillarde raised her eyebrows in surprise. "I don't hate you, Pasha. It's nothing personal. Now, stop stalling and fire." Ramirez' phaser added insistence to her words again.

Chekov closed his eyes for a moment and prayed he hadn't made any mistakes. With great unwillingness he pressed the button on his console. He watched as the golden beam streaked away with a scream from the shuttle towards the innocent waiting target. The Enterprise rocked as the phaser struck home, the navigation sensor exploding in a flash of light and debris from the front of the ship.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot up Chekov's right arm. He put his hand up and looked down in surprise to find Taillarde holding a hypospray against him. He felt the drug surge like a thick sludge towards his head, making the room spin like a whirlpool.

"Thank you, Ensign," he heard Taillarde say through the descending vortex of blackness. "I won't be needing you for the rest of the trip…"

An Orion slave market. Chekov scanned the crowds bleakly though the bars of his raised cage. The sea of people merged into one heaving mass of bodies before his eyes. Above the din of voices music could be heard. It was the harsh reedy sound of an Orion salve-girl dance. Chekov looked through the crowds and could see the slim green skinned girls performing their sinuous seductive dance for a group of assembled buyers. Slavery wasn't forced upon them, a Denosian trader had once told him. With the right buyer an Orion woman could attain great power. Chekov had wondered how bad a society had to be before slavery became a good career move. The girls continued to move their hips and toss their hair languidly from side to side. Chekov found himself transfixed by it. A heavy fug of narcotics filled his lungs and made his senses dull. Some passers-by stopped in front of him and peered in intently, forcing him out of his reverie. Chekov looked down and froze, staring back in fear at the brown faces with their deep ridged foreheads and small black eyes gleaming above their large coarse noses. The Klingons exchanged muttered words. One of them put his hand in to pull navigator down to their level. Chekov fell backwards in panic, pushing himself across the small space to get as far away from them as possible. Was he about to be sold? The Klingons laughed and looked intrigued, but after a few more words they moved on. Chekov let out his pent up breath and sat with his arms resting on his knees, his head in one hand. He fingered his hair. It felt thick and matted with grease and dirt. He ran his other grimy hand down his clothes to wipe the sweat off his palm. He had been put in a dark green, stiff jacket, studded with gold coloured buttons over a thin white shirt, like hussar's tunic. His boots had been replaced by knee length shiny black ones with silver straps up the calf which were too tight and made his feet hurt. He couldn't remember at what point his uniform had been taken away, or who this new one had belonged to. He had spent days moving from one holding cell to the next, crammed in with species from all over the sector. A couple of the guards had singled him out for 'special treatment'. Once he had found out from the other prisoners what this meant, Chekov had put up such a fight before they had even got him half way out of the cell that they had thought better of it and thrown him back into the corner from which they had dragged him. While he sat there, glowering, he had tried to think back to his journey from Henize. He could barely remember any of it. Through bouts of unconsciousness, his waking hours were a blurry, drug-tainted fuzz. He had been locked in one of the shuttle's rear compartments, visited only by Ramirez, who increasingly refused to look him in the eye. When he finally did, Chekov saw only shame. Occasionally he was brought out to help with a difficult calculation, but his work on the Enterprise had been so thorough, he was rarely called upon. The last time he had been let out he had watched as Taillarde and Ramirez argued. Ramirez had finally figured out that Taillarde wasn't doing this as a big wild adventure out of love for him. He had suddenly realised that he was in way over his head and he wanted no more part of it. Taillarde had cruelly replied that his usefulness was over. Then she shot him. Chekov wasn't sure if she'd stunned or killed him. He half expected her to do the same to him. Instead, he had received another armful of surpressant that made him sick to his stomach, making him throw up the meagre amount of food he had been given, before passing out. The next thing he knew, he had woken up in the cells, his uniform gone, feeling very alone.

Chekov rested his head on the cool bars of the cage. He tried to make sense of everything that had happened to him recently. On the Enterprise since coming back from the mirror universe he had received the best medical and psychological treatment. Everyone had been nothing but kind and patient. He had to admit, this had helped. Yet he hadn't been able to rid himself of the feeling that somehow he should be coping better. Time and again he had seen his crewmates face insurmountable odds and seem to shrug them off and carry on regardless. Where he took everything to heart, they were bullish and determined. 'What would Captain Kirk do in this situation?' he thought. He would be looking for a way to escape, to choose his moment and make a break for it. Chekov raised his eyes bleakly to look around him. He was trapped in a cage in a market on a planet where the Federation had no say and never visited. No one would know he was here and his crewmates were probably still lost in Henize. He faced a future of servitude, or worse, to some as yet undetermined buyer. His database was gone and its contents had lost a secure future for Starfleet and would probably plunge the sector into war. He felt as far from hopeful as he could be. When he left the mirror universe he thought it would be he who would get the better life. He now hoped that Pavel had fared better. He wondered if he'd ever see his parents again. He shut his eyes. He pictured his mother, stood by the lake near their house in Russia, her smooth dark hair shining in the afternoon sun, laughing as his father, a bear of man with dark honey-brown hair, rowed back to shore waving a large fish he had caught. The mosquitoes danced above the lake and the pine trees and fields rolled into the distance. This only made him feel more depressed. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing them again.

He opened his eyes again to chase away the memories and turned his attention back to the crowds. Greens, browns and blues milled around like a boiling alien soup. Suddenly a familiar profile caught his eye. A man dressed in a mottled grey and black knee-length jacket was pushing his way through the crowd. Although the man wasn't in uniform, Chekov could have sworn that it looked like Admiral Parkinson. He stood up quickly, hanging onto the bars, straining to see over the crowd. Was it him? Or did it just look like him? It couldn't possibly be him so far from Earth.

"Admiral!" Chekov shouted, standing on tip toes. He had to try. "Admiral Parkinson. Over here!" Perhaps he was with a rescue party?

The Admiral turned, seeking out his voice. It was him, his shock of hair and piercing eyes were unmistakable.

"Here!" shouted Chekov again, clinging onto the bars with a desperate hope.

Parkinson saw him. He looked surprised, Chekov noted with an odd twist in his stomach, but not with any kind of joy. The Admiral pushed his way unhurriedly through the crowds towards the cage and came to a stop in front of Chekov. The ensign took a step back. This wasn't right.

"Shouldn't you be trying to get me out?" he asked quietly, rubbing his arms nervously.

Parkinson looked back at him and smiled sarcastically. "My boy, I'm glad you're in there." He gave the door a shake to make sure it was secure. "From what the guards tell me, you're quite the fighter. I'm impressed."

Chekov felt his stomach lurch. "You put them up to that?" he asked with an empty tone.

Parkinson continued to examine the lock. "I had to give them something," he replied indifferently.

Anger welled up in Chekov like an unstoppable pressure. He threw himself at the bars, banging his fists off them, making Parkinson recoil in sudden shock. He quickly regained his composure, shaking his head. "Such a little spitfire!" he sneered. "We'll soon have that sorted."

Chekov chose to ignore the jibe, certainty coalescing in his mind. "You're not Admiral Parkinson," he flared up. "He would never do anything like this." He thumped his fist off his chest. "You don't even know me, do you?"

Parkinson stepped closer to the cage and looked up at Chekov with a vicious stare. "Where I come from, young man, someone like me would never associate themselves with Russians – with traitors like you."

"You're from the mirror universe." Chekov spoke the words out loud to confirm the situation, rather than in surprise.

Parkinson stepped back again and clapped slowly. "Well done. You figured it out. I can see why Kirk keeps you around. Not just a pretty face, are you? And the other Kirk… well, he just keeps your counterpart alive so he can use him. You're just a chattel in both universes, aren't you?"

"I don't intend to stay this way."

"Such pride. We'll soon strip you of that as well, my boy," replied Parkinson condescendingly.

Chekov released the bars, turning and running his shaking hand through his hair and down his neck. "Why are you doing this to me?" he demanded resentfully. "Where is the real Admiral Parkinson?"

Parkinson raised his eyebrows with an unamused frown. "So many questions for someone who doesn't deserve to know anything," he retorted.

Chekov turned back and bent down to look him in the eye. "Indulge me," he snarled.

A savage smile twisted Parkinson's upper lip. "Well," he said thoughtfully, putting a hand through the bars and absently fingering Chekov's jacket. "I suppose it won't harm." Chekov pulled away, hugging himself against a sudden chill, his skin crawling at the touch of the man. "After the Halkan incident," Parkinson continued, watching Chekov with his vulture's eyes, "we put a lot of effort into studying the effect but after several months we managed to come up with the inter-dimensional relay. We were able to peer into your universe whenever we wanted to. At first we had the relay installed at Starfleet Command. It was there that we first found out about Henize only, like you, we could do nothing with the information."

"So you used the relay to come into our universe, kill Admiral Parkinson and steal the co-ordinates?" Chekov continued, voicing thoughts that had already been coalescing in his mind.

"Bravo again," sneered Parkinson disdainfully. "It would have been too dangerous for me to take them back to my universe. A man of my age finally gets tired of so much risk. But in this universe…look at the easy profits to be made! The ripe fruits of the universe are just waiting to be picked. You and your mirror self were the only ones capable of creating a database detailed enough for any navigator to follow, so I decided to give you the co-ordinates and take the results when you'd finished. If I'd given them to your other self, he might have used them for his own purposes and there's no way I'd let a Russian better himself at my expense. Kirk nearly ruined my plans by pulling you over to our side. He has good contacts at the Imperial Fleet Headquarters, he must have got wind somehow. I thought that criminal Sulu would have taken you apart –."

Chekov lifted his chin slightly, realising that Parkinson had no idea he'd shared the co-ordinates with Pavel. A glimmer of victory warmed his spirits. "Well he didn't," he said defiantly.

Parkinson looked unimpressed. "No, and just as well he didn't. You're far too precious a commodity. I needed you to chart the course so that I could have an extra marketable product. I can sell the database as many times as I can. And, of course, having you is just the icing on the cake. Your father works in Earth's government, doesn't he? I bet there's no amount he wouldn't pay for the ransom of his only son."

Chekov gripped the bars tightly, his knuckles going white. "You make me sick," he spat, his voice thick with contempt.

"Oh come now, my boy," replied Parkinson patronisingly. "That isn't going to happen yet. I've already found a buyer for you." He turned back to the crowd. "Look. Here comes Elodie now."

As if on cue, Taillarde appeared out of the crowd and glided smoothly to Parkinson's side, slipping an arm around his neck. Her uniform had been replaced by a pale pink chiffon-like top and loose trousers. Her hair was down and flowed around her shoulders. She placed a kiss on the admiral's cheek without breaking Chekov's gaze. She wanted to see his reaction, he realised.

"What are you doing, Elodie?" he asked dully. "This man isn't who he says he is."

She looked back at him in mock surprise. "Really? I know exactly who he is and where he has come from." She gave the Admiral another lingering kiss.

"And what part do you have to play in all this? Just the side kick?" asked Chekov bitterly.

Taillarde assumed a sickly sweet expression. "I did all this for Adam." She stroked Parkinson's shoulder and laid her head on it. "I'd do anything for him. You're absolutely gorgeous, Pasha, but you're not my type. I prefer somebody more… mature." She laughed lightly at Chekov's look of disdain. "But don't worry. I recommended you to the girls – those who hadn't had you already," she added with a sneer.

"Elodie, I'm jealous," murmured Parkinson. "Just look at his face. He can't comprehend how a pretty young thing like him can have been out-manoeuvred by an old admiral. But how rude of us. We're taking up our guest's time. Let's get down to business. Where is our buyer?"

Taillarde stepped to one side. "May I introduce Miss Saia Galla, representative of the Callastrian Trade Consortium."

The trader stepped forward, flanked by an Orion guard. She was a tall humanoid with blackish brown skin and light purple eyes that tapered towards her temples. They contrasted sharply with her billowing neon yellow robes, which seemed to envelope her in multiple layers. She looked up at Chekov with interest and indicated to the guard to open the cage. The Orion lumbered forward and undid the lock with an unusual dexterity for such large fingers. He pulled Chekov out by his arm with a huge green paw. Chekov was unable to resist nearly stumbled down the steps. The Orion caught him, taking a length of coarse rope from his belt and quickly tying his wrists together. He thrust him in front of Galla, holding the navigator's arm so tightly he felt it start to go numb. Galla pursed her dark brown lips as she bent over slightly to peer into his face, as if examining a joint of meat at a market.

"Is this what you have brought me here for?" she growled in a deep voice. "A Terran boy? Is he a cadet, or something?" She straightened up. "I wanted a Federation navigator, Mr Parkinson, not some pup. He's disgustingly dirty. Have you fetched him out of a sewer?"

She turned as if to go, swirling her robes around her like the arms of a spiral galaxy, but Parkinson put out an arm to stop her. "Miss Galla, he is a navigator of the highest quality. I have credentials that prove he is the chief navigator of Starfleet's flagship."

"The Enterprise?" Galla stopped and turned back grudgingly and suspiciously, looking Chekov over once again. She put out her hand to hold his jaw. Chekov recoiled back into the arms of the Orion but he had nowhere else to go. The guard shoved him forwards again. Galla's bony fingers grasped him firmly as he flinched away, turning his head from side to side.

"He's been in the wars, hasn't he?" she addressed Parkinson with dissatisfaction, pointing at the scar behind his jaw. "I do a lot of trade in Klingon weaponry. This is a scar from an agoniser." Her long eyes glittered at Chekov, who stood with his head pressed against the Orion's sweaty chest, praying Galla would move onto something – anything else. Chekov closed his eyes as memories began to form. He tried to force them down and concentrate on the situation at hand. "Doesn't say much, does he?" Galla went on. "Still, they say the shy ones are the most interesting to break in. And they tell me you can navigate into Henize. Is that true, boy?"

Chekov remained silent with his eyes firmly shut, fear mixing with anger. The Orion's grip was starting to become painful.

"Answer her! We have proof anyway," came Parkinson's voice.

"Yes," Chekov said reluctantly, opening his eyes and glaring at Galla.

She smiled knowingly. "That's better. There's a pride in you, isn't there? But this is the trouble with you Terrans, Mr Parkinson. You're trouble-makers, and not just for yourselves but for everyone else. You make notoriously unreliable slaves – always looking for your precious freedom. I don't know if this youth is worth the risk. Are you trying to tell me Starfleet is going to let its best navigator go and not come looking for him? I'm not sure I want Starfleet Security on my tracks for the rest of my days. The Consortium's business is too valuable for that kind of venture."

Parkinson gave an expansive gesture. "Let's just say I made sure that no one will come looking for him. Believe me when I say that no one knows he is here."

Galla made a grudging noise that could have been dissatisfaction. "I admire your confidence. We shall see. Just one thing, Mr Parkinson, how did you happen to come by Starfleet's best navigator at just the time these rumours started about Henize? A bit of a co-incidence?" Cunning and suspicion were suddenly writ large across her face.

"I am an enterprising man, Miss Galla," replied Parkinson haughtily. "and I don't like to miss opportunities. If you need further proof, I have the database this navigator produced. I'm sure that will prove my honesty."

Galla narrowed her violet eyes. "Is the database included in the deal?"

Parkinson laughed mirthlessly. "My dear Miss Galla, the navigator and the database are two separate items!"

Galla shot Parkinson a poisonous look and turned back to Chekov. "But what do I do with you when you're not navigating?" she asked thoughtfully, putting a long sharply nailed neon talon of a finger up to his throat. "You might scrub up nicely." He turned away from her coarse laugh.

"But let's talk money, Mr Parkinson," she said brusquely. "I like the look of the goods. How much do you want for him?"

Parkinson suddenly felt the deal getting closer. He knew he was gambling, but risk-taking had propelled him to the top of the Imperial Fleet. Compared to his old life, this was child's play. "Five million credits," he said boldly.

"Five million!" Galla shrieked, her eyes shooting up to her temples. The passing crowd momentarily stopped to look at her. Even the dancing Orion slave girls stopped their snake-like dance to peer over in casual curiosity. Galla ducked her head down as the crowd's heads turned back and the throng resumed its restless motion. "I could buy a whole freighter for that!" she hissed. "And if you sell the database separately, I'm going to have to hire a hit man to get it. Five million is outrageous."

Parkinson exchanged glances with Taillarde and looked unconcerned. "But the navigator is much the better part," he said soothingly. "You'll get to Henize so much faster than the rest and, believe me, the race will be on. I intend to make as much money as possible out of these two commodities, Miss Galla. I will sell copies of the database as many times as I can. You will find me… uncompromising."

Galla began to twirl the edge of her neon robes with one finger, uncertain as what decision would be the right one. Parkinson read her in an instant.

"Well, if you're not interested," he said smoothly, "I'll continue my negotiations with Commander Karragh. The Klingon Empire is starting to become very interested. What wouldn't they pay for the flagship's navigator?" He wasn't even able to hide his guile on his face.

This piece of news filled Chekov with dread. "No," he pleaded. "You can't." He struggled in the grip of the Orion, but the guard's grasp was concrete.

"Be quiet!" snapped Parkinson, not even bothering to look at him.

Chekov continued desperately. "If the Klingons get the database there will be war!" He didn't even want to start to think about what information they would want to extract from him beyond this and how they would go about it.

"I said shut up!" Parkinson spun sharply on his heel and slapped Chekov hard across the face. Blood spurted from his nose and down this white shirt. He fell backwards into the Orion, his face stinging with the burn from the blow. "Who doesn't profit from war?" snarled Parkinson.

Galla started to look panicked. "Kingons, you say? How interested are they? If you're lying to me, Parkinson, the Consortium will hunt you down and terminate you."

Parkinson looked impassive. "Oh, they're interested. But Karragh is an imperial soldier and at the moment he's facing some imperial bureaucracy. He's just not being fast enough."

"Well then, you leave me no choice. I do indeed have a race on my hands," muttered Galla, her eyes flashing from deep violet to light purple. "The Consortium will pay you your five million."

"Then I will meet you at the trade desk in an hour," said Parkinson briskly. "No need to wait, is there?"

Chekov sank back into the arms of the Orion, despair clutching at his chest. He tried to wipe the trickle of blood on the top of his arm, but only succeeded in smearing it across his already grimy face. The deal was sealed, he realised bleakly. There was no going back.

"Hold it there, Admiral."

Chekov's ears caught the clear, familiar and commanding voice of Captain Kirk. He looked up. Emerging out of the rapidly retreating crowd he caught sight of six red-shirted security guards, headed by the Captain, all brandishing phasers. At his side was Dr McCoy. Parkinson and Taillarde saw them too. Taillarde looked to the admiral with a look of questioning panic, expecting him to tell her what to do, but he had already taken in the situation. He made a dash towards the crowds mixing near one of the exits without giving Taillarde a second glance. Galla likewise saw what was happening in an instant. She tried to slip away but ran into the waiting arms of two guards, who dragged her back to the group. Her purple eyes narrowed to slits but she kept quiet, waiting to see what would happen next and act accordingly. The Orion guard, realising he was no longer required, let go of Chekov with a growl and lumbered away. He had other duties to attend to rather than become embroiled in Terran squabbles. Dr McCoy hurried forward as Chekov swayed, suddenly weak. He hadn't realised how much adrenaline and tension had been keeping him going. The doctor sat him down on the steps of the cage and took out his scanner from his medi-kit, beginning his checks. Chekov sat huddled over, cradling his still cuffed arms to his chest.

"Adam!" shouted Taillarde, realising escape was hopeless. Incensed, she looked at Parkinson's quickly retreating form. "You bastard!"

He ignored her and began to push his way towards the door, mingling with a group of bluish-white Andorians. The aliens jostled with him, their antennae twitching, angry at being shoved out of the way. Cries of alarm and rage went up like bubbles from boiling water. Parkinson put his hand out to grasp the handle of the large outer door but found himself grabbing the hand of Jorge Ramirez. Parkinson looked up in shock. "You!" he exclaimed as Ramirez clasped his hand and twisted it sharply up and behind his back. "I thought you were –." The admiral cried out in pain and doubled over.

"Dead?" growled Ramirez, shoving him in his back dragging him back over to the group. "Try again."

Taillarde was stood sullenly in a similar grasp of another security man. "You're hurting me, Griskune," she said peevishly.

"Then I'm not holding you hard enough," he replied, giving her arm an extra twist. "You left us to die, remember?"

"That will do, Lieutenant," said Kirk. "We'll deal with her soon enough." He turned to Parkinson, who stood, trying to look upset.

"Captain Kirk," he said breathlessly. "You've got to let me go. You've got the wrong idea." He nodded with his head towards Chekov. "I was trying to save this boy. It was her, Taillarde, she was trying to sell him and the Henize database. I had to go along with her till I could choose my moment. I wanted to let him go when they transferred him to the Callastrian ship."

Kirk looked unimpressed. "I don't believe the Captain Kirk in your universe would be such a fool as to buy that, so I don't see why you think I should believe you."

"I… I don't know what you mean…" replied Parkinson with an attempt at a nervous stammer.

Kirk shook his head. "You can stop lying. We know who you are. I contacted Starfleet Command. They found Admiral Parkinson's body in his apartment and they found an inter-dimensional transporter relay – just like the one that was installed on the Enterprise."

"But it was her," he persisted. "She's the one to blame, not me. You've got to let me go."

Taillarde let out a roar of animal rage and kicked at the security guards legs, trying to get some leverage to launch herself at Parkinson. "You said you loved me," she spat. "You said we could be together and live in a luxury you said the Federation could never give us. I trusted you!"

"She's mad, Captain!" said Parkinson, unable to master the fake outrage he was trying to convey. "She killed your Parkinson, not me!"

Kirk looked from one to the other, lost for words. He wasn't sure whether to be angry or insulted. He turned to Ramirez and Griskune and indicated with his phaser. "Take them back to the ship. Throw them both in the brig… just not anywhere near each other. I think there'll be far too much… arguing. And I for one have no intention of listening to it."

"Aye, Captain." The two security crewmen nodded and dragged their prisoners away, still shouting insults at each other. Kirk gave them one last look before turning to Galla. The Callastrian pulled herself up to her full height and stood just taller than the Captain. Her flickering eyes flashed through various shades of purple, assessing the man in front of her.

"I knew this would happen," she hissed. "Terrans always cause trouble."

Kirk raised his eyebrows. "Then you should have left us alone, shouldn't you?" he said without sympathy.

Galla grunted. "You know you can't hold me, Captain. The Federation has no say on Orion. What I did," she waved a neon diaphanous arm, "was just business."

Kirk nodded slowly in agreement and moved his phaser to her jawline. "That may be true. But then in that case, the Federation would have no say in what actions I would choose to take."

Galla flashed her sharp teeth. "Captain, such actions might prove to be unwise."

Kirk returned her grin with a polite smile. "Then don't make me take them." He lowered his phaser. "Sinkhyan, Barber, release her, please."

Galla gave a mildly satisfied but un-triumphant look. She didn't want to provoke the man any more than necessary.

"Thank you, Captain. You are a wise negotiator," she said by way of a grudging compliment, gathering up her robes.

"I've had a lot of practise," he replied curtly.

Kirk watched as Galla floated away. He didn't need to hold her to account, he realised. In this part of the quadrant, pirates and bootleggers were part of the scene. There was nothing he or the Federation could do about it. He gave wry smile and turned his attention to McCoy and Chekov. The navigator sat on the step, his head in his tied hands, looking pale and sick. McCoy was busy waving his scanner above his head while taking readings from this medical tricorder. The doctor didn't look too worried, Kirk noted with relief. Chekov raised his head as Kirk approached. He looked exhausted but calm.

"How did you find me?" he asked tiredly.

Kirk squatted down next to them as McCoy took out a hypospray and filled it with a pink fluid from a small bottle before jabbing it unceremoniously into the ensign's arm. Chekov gave the doctor an aggrieved look and rubbed at the injection site awkwardly with his bound hands.

"Thanks to your subliminal message to Sulu, we found the database copy in your quarters," replied Kirk, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You hid it well. We found it in a drawer of socks."

Chekov gave a lop-sided smile. "To boldly go…"

"Not into a drawer of socks, Ensign," said Kirk admonishingly. "But after that little bit of sharp shooting you tried on us, I thought we might never make it out of Henize alive. I take it Taillarde got the information from Parkinson on the weak spot in the navigation array? He must have stolen it from the paper we sent to Starfleet Design Arm."

"They had a phaser to my head, I…" Chekov suddenly felt ashamed of his actions. Maybe he should have resisted her more? Perhaps he should have died rather than left his crewmates so exposed and stranded in an unknown system?

Kirk read his thoughts. "No, Ensign. You did the right thing. Scotty had the system up and running in a couple of hours. We were able to use your database copy and pick up your ion trail. We followed you all the way here to Orion. At a discreet distance, of course. We found the shuttle, or rather Ramirez found us."

McCoy harrumphed. "Only just. We had to pull him back from the dead. Taillarde had shot him but the phaser burn was so clean it had passed straight through him. He'd lost a lot of blood but he'd managed to cling on and send out a distress signal. They sure make them tough at the Security Academy."

Kirk nodded. "He told us where you'd been taken. I think he's seen the error of his ways…"

"We've all been used," muttered Chekov, holding out his wrists as Dr McCoy tugged at them to take more readings.

Kirk rubbed his chin. "Ramirez will have to answer for his part in all this." He watched as Dr McCoy folded shut another recording device and put it into his bag. "Well, Bones?"

McCoy gave a nod of satisfaction. "He's dehydrated and undernourished and he could do with a sonic shower, but he's otherwise ok. I think we can return him to the ship now."

"Good." Kirk stood up and helped the doctor to pull Chekov onto his feet. "We'll get that rope off you soon enough. By the way, what are you wearing?"

Chekov shrugged in consternation. "I know. I look like I've lost my cavalry horse," he said with embarrassment.

Kirk smiled and fished out his communicator. He flipped it open and waited for its familiar chirrup.. "Enterprise, this is the Captain. Three to beam up."

Uhura exited the turbolift and climbed the small flight of stairs to the open gallery above. The room, at the very back of the ship, was dark and cool. It was used as a viewing deck – a place to get the full panoramic scope of space. A window stretched the whole length of the room which was sparsely furnished with a few simple sofas and tables so that nothing detracted from the vastness and majesty of space. She stood for a moment at the top of the stairs and took in the view: the silver grey arms and nacelles of the warp engines stretched away in front of her into the star studded blackness. She let her eyes adjust to the faint glow of starlight as she turned to look around the room. She quickly found what she was looking for. In a corner, by the window, lay Ensign Chekov, asleep on one of the sofas. He lay on his side, his arms underneath his head. He looked deathly pale in the cold blue stellar glow that bathed the room. His hair fell across his eyes. He needs another hair cut, she thought drily. She walked over quietly. An old-fashioned book lay on the floor, folded in half, cover side up. She read the title in Russian: Prestuplenie i Nakazanie. Uhura bent over the sleeping ensign. She didn't really want to wake him, he looked so calm. He hadn't looked so untroubled in a long time. She remembered her orders from the Captain and put out a determined hand and touched him on the shoulder.

"Pasha, wake up," she gave him a slight shake. When he didn't stir she shook him harder. He sighed and raised his head groggily, still not opening his eyes.

"Pasha, wake up," she repeated gently.

Chekov opened his eyes and looked around him in confusion. He had been in deep sleep. He eventually focussed on Uhura and his expression cleared. He gave an apologetic smile and sat up stiffly with a groan, slumping against the back of the seat.

"What time is it?" he asked slurring his words tiredly. He ran both hands through his hair and arched his back with a yawn. "How long have I been here?"

Uhura sat down next to him and settled into a corner of the large sofa. She tucked her legs up underneath her, picking up a small cushion next to her to hug. "It's seven o' clock and I don't know how long you've been here."

"I was reading… I must have fallen asleep," he said tiredly.

"So I see," Uhura smiled wryly. "The Captain sent me to find you." Chekov sat up nervously. "No, no, don't worry. You haven't done anything wrong." Uhura waved a hand at him to bat him back down onto the seat. "He has the delegation from Gallonius visiting this evening and there's going to be a formal dinner. He wants you attend. Their navigator wants to speak to you. Seems they haven't had warp capability very long."

"Yes, I met him yesterday." Chekov rubbed his forehead in slight irritation. "He wants me to explain metastable matter effects on warp trajectories. It's easy. He'll get it."

Uhura looked at him askance. Chekov often seemed to forget that what was easy for him in navigation was usually quite complicated for others. No wonder Spock had taken him on as his protege. But even the Science Officer had once confided in her, Chekov possessed a certain 'arrogance of youth'.

"Well, you've got an hour. It starts at eight."

Chekov didn't move. Uhura turned to look at him. He was gazing out into the blackness in front of them. Two Gallonian ships were just drifting into view, their lumpy white construction made them look as if they had been built by adding pieces on, rather than by design. Chekov didn't seem to see them, however. The starlight cast shadows on his face, highlighting his cheekbones, making his Slavic features look gaunt. He had lost weight in the past few weeks, as if that were possible, thought Uhura.

"What's wrong?" she asked softly, leaning forward and putting a hand on his arm.

Chekov turned his head, briefly meeting her gaze before his eyes flickered back towards the window. "Aliens coming to visit us again," he said seriously. "I hope they don't mean us any harm."

Uhura shook her head slowly and smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging manner. "Not the Gallonians, Pasha. The Federation has been trading peacefully with them for a number of years now. That's why we're here. We've moved onto the next level and offering them our technical support."

Chekov leant forward and propped his arms on his knees and rested his head in his hands. "I hope they see us as equals, not as objects to be traded," he muttered to the floor.

"Well in that case they have more to fear from humans than we do from them."

Chekov raised his head in understanding and nodded. "You're probably right."

They fell silent.

"Ramirez is facing his court martial tomorrow," said Uhura eventually, thinking out loud. "He's expected to be given leniency for helping to find you, but his career is over."

"I know. I've got to give evidence," Chekov replied with a sigh. "But I suppose he was used, like a lot of people were." He put his head back down. "But you know what? I'm tired of being used, Uhura." he said testily. "Ever since the mission to Henize began people have been trying to use me for what I am – a navigator with information," He tapped his head. "up here, in my skull. When I was on Orion I had time to think about who I am and what I am doing, and I realised – I am who I am because of the choices I am able to make. Parkinson, Taillarde, the other Kirk – they all wanted to take away my freedom to stop me making choices. I chose to joint Starfleet, to learn the knowledge it gave me and to use it. I'm not special but I sure as hell am not a walking star chart."

He got up abruptly and walked over to the window, resting his forehead and hands on the icy cold glass. "Why can't I deal with this, Nyota? Why is it that all of you get pulled around the galaxy and into parallel universes and the next day you're sat at your stations as if nothing happened? Why is it me who never seems to know what's coming round the corner? Why is it me who ends up with nightmares at just the thought of a Klingon?"

Uhura looked at his slim silhouette with his broad shoulders which hinted at the man he was becoming. The frustration in his voice was clear.

"You're only young, Pasha. Don't be so hard on yourself. You've been through a tough time recently – more than anyone should have to go through. And what you've just been though – you went through it on your own." Uhura frowned. She shuddered slightly at the memory of her time in the parallel universe, recalling her own dangerous encounter with Sulu. "When I went to that parallel ship I was with the Captain and the others and we were able to rely on each other. I don't know what I would have done if I'd gone there on my own. Those people were monsters."

Chekov turned round and pressed the palms of his hands against the cool glass behind the small of his back. "On Orion… I thought that was it. I think I'd almost given up. Starfleet officers aren't supposed to do that, are they?"

"What are you asking yourself? What would you have become if we hadn't rescued you? Would it have broken your spirit?"

Chekov shook his head uneasily and looked down at the floor, his hair falling down over his face. "No, I think what I really feared was that I would become like him. Like myself in the other universe. I thought at first he was just evil, that he was nothing like me, but when we spoke, when I got to know him, I realised that he hadn't been allowed to become me. He had been given no other choice but to follow a different path. He was a slave to his environment as much as I was about to become. That's what really scared me. I had it in me to become like him." He flicked his head up and turned back to the window, resting his forehead on his forearm over his head. Deep in thought, he began to draw three letters in careful cursive Cyrillic in the condensation of his breath on the window.

Uhura swung her legs down and stood up, moving over to join him. "Your initials?" she asked. Chekov nodded silently. The Gallonian ships were making their approach, their windows flashing reflected light from the Enterprise's powerful, long-reaching landing bay floodlights. They both stood and watched for a moment in silence, shoulder to shoulder.

"Are you angry or afraid?" asked Uhura, turning to him.

Chekov exhaled, the window misting up over the three letters with his warm breath. "Angry," he replied determinedly, still staring out at the blackness beyond.

"Then you are coping."

He straightened up and returned her gaze in silence with one of his intense, searching looks that always caught her off guard.

"What's he not coping with?" Sulu's deep jovial voice cut through the cool air like a warm zephyr. Uhura pulled herself away from Chekov's electric gaze and turned round, feeling unexpectedly flustered.

"Pasha here is coping absolutely fine," she said, seeing Sulu stood at the top of the stairs. She brushed away a strand of hair that she found wasn't there. "With what he's been through recently I think he's doing remarkably well. I was about to say we're here to help – whenever he wants us to, that's all."

Sulu sauntered further into the room and threw himself down on the sofa. "Was he giving you one of his looks?" He crossed his legs and pointed a finger accusingly at Chekov. "Were you giving her one of your looks?"

Chekov looked exasperated. "One of my looks? What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Pavel Andreevich," said Sulu admonishingly.

Chekov turned to Uhura, throwing out a questioning arm. "Uhura, what is he talking about?"

Uhura opened her mouth to speak but Sulu cut her off, turning his accusing finger to point at the ceiling in a halting gesture.

"A-a! Stop practising your sultry Russian pouts on Uhura here and save them for Tina Bradley. She's been making discreet – well, perhaps not so discreet enquiries about your availability."

Chekov let out a frustrated noise and spun round to face the window, crossing his arms and leaning heavily against the glass. "Is now the time, Sulu? I've had it with Tina Bradley," he muttered. "She now thinks being kidnapped and nearly sold into slavery is somehow romantic."

"Well then, Marzena Pjatikowskaja is queuing up next," Sulu continued, enjoying his wind up.

"Sulu, are you still talking? Uhura, make him stop," said Chekov, putting his fingers in his ears and glaring at the helmsman over his shoulder.

Uhura walked back over to the sofa and picked the book up from the floor, folding it back together carefully, trying not to let Chekov see her smile. She shook her head. Sulu had an uncanny ability to thump through an atmosphere with a sledge hammer.

"Hikaru, stop trying to match make for him. I think he can do that quite well on his own," she scolded in jest.

Sulu made an insulted noise. "She said she really liked you in that uniform you came back in," he tried enticingly. "With you all…" He wiggled his fingers in a leering, scruntchy way. "Grubby and rough!"

"Sulu, will you stop it?" tried Uhura again, raising her eyes to the ceiling.

Chekov took his fingers out of his ears. "Did she?" he asked, breaking out into his boyish smile.

"Aaaah, you see, he's listening!"

Chekov laughed together with his friends. It felt good, he realised. But it felt like years since he had last done it.

"But what about you, Hikaru?" Chekov peeled himself off the window, an impish feeling suddenly rising in him. "I think you only bait me to distract us from asking about you."

"Now, now, you two. No fighting." Uhura waved at them with the book.

"Come on, Chekov. You know she only wants to mother you," yawned Sulu, not rising to his enquiries.

"No, I do not." Uhura raised the book and prepared to hurl it at Sulu.

"The other option is worse!" he laughed mischievously, preparing to duck.

Chekov gave Sulu a withering look on Uhura's behalf.

"Yes, but what about you, Sulu?" Uhura parried, joining in with Chekov. "I haven't seen you with anyone lately."

Sulu smiled graciously. "That's because I spend far too much of my time with you, Uhura, shepherding our kid brother here." He leapt up and stepped forward lightly on his toes in a mime of a fencing thrust. "You know I like to defend the weak and helpless."

"I'm flattered," said Chekov sarcastically.

"Well come on then," said Sulu stepping back with a flourish, pleased at seeing his friend laughing. "The Captain sent me to find both of you. The Gallonian dinner starts soon and you both need to be spruced up for our visitors. Well, you do, Chekov. Uhura is always fragrant and lovely, as we both know."

"Thank you, Sulu," said Uhura bowing her head in a regal manner. "Let's go, we've not got long."

They descended the steps together, still laughing and talking, leaving the deck and space to its still, dark peace.