Uhura took a deep breath and pressed the door chime to Chekov's quarters. She felt Sulu squeeze her elbow in encouragement. She gave him the briefest of grateful looks before squaring her shoulders and nodding a hint of tension out of her neck. She smoothed down her colourful flowing African dress as she waited for what seemed like an eternity for the door to open. Dr McCoy had briefed them at the end of their shift on their friend's condition but she still wasn't sure what sort of a person she would find beyond the door. Anyone but the easy-going and light-hearted navigator she knew so well was going to be a struggle to come to terms with. Lt Mathews, who had been on guard duty outside his door for most of the night, had reported that everything had been quiet. She hoped that, however long the recovery might take, it would start here.

After what was in reality only a few seconds, the door slid open. Uhura was momentarily nonplussed. The changes in Chekov's character that the doctor had described had subconsciously prepared her for someone that wasn't the person she felt she would fundamentally recognise. However, it was the familiar Chekov she had said goodbye to two months earlier who stood physically in the doorway in his bare feet in loose-fitting standard issue light blue pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. He ran a hand through his thick tousled dark hair and raised his heavy eyes to the newcomers. He looked like he had just woken up. He looked suspiciously from Sulu to Uhura, leaning against the door jamb like it was the only thing keeping him from falling down.

"Yes?" he asked with surly indifference, a slight slur to his voice.

Uhura shot Sulu a look of concern but she was unable to catch his eye. The helmsman was looking at him with a mixture of curiosity and deep concern. As the Captain had reported, the worst thing was the complete lack of recognition in their friend's face. Instead of breaking out into his habitual boyish grin, Chekov looked them up and down, his eyes lingering on Uhura for a length of time that could only suggest improper thoughts. She chose to ignore his unpleasant gaze and immediately fell back on her communications training. In tense circumstances it kicked in like an automatic reaction. She softened her expression and relaxed her stance a little.

"May we come in?" she asked gently but firmly with a subtle gesture towards the cabin behind him. "Because we think we might be able to help you. We may be able to explain what's happened to you and why you're here. Or at least partly explain."

Chekov's tired eyes narrowed to black impenetrable slits. "Who are you?"

It was the question Sulu had been dreading. He hated the distrust in the young man's voice.

"We're your friends," he said simply. It felt strange having to express that fact to someone they had both come to know so well after the past year – someone who they trusted their lives to on a daily basis.

Chekov folded his arms defensively. Uhura noticed the deep blue bruises on his arms. Dr McCoy had told them that he had come straight from the fighting on Avior. If these were the outward signs, then what were the inward wounds, she wondered.

"Well, you may as well come in. I don't suppose I have a choice," Chekov muttered angrily. "You've had a guard on me all night. If I say no I expect you'll only find a way to force me. You're no better than the Stritans."

He turned his back on them and walked back into the room. Sulu and Uhura exchanged glances and followed him in, Sulu placing a comforting hand on Uhura's back as the door closed behind them. He watched as Chekov went over to a small cupboard next to his desk on which sat a set of six small cut-crystal shot glasses and an open bottle of vodka. Quarter of the liquid was gone and one of the glasses was full. He picked up the full glass and knocked back the liquid with a defiant stare at Sulu's raised eyebrows. He put the glass back down on top of the cupboard with a casual air and picked up the bottle, raising it to examine its viscous contents at eye level.

"I don't know what this is," he said smoothly, turning the bottle round. "But it's very good. We don't have anything like this on Avior."

Sulu moved over to him and pushed the glass to one side.

"It's still morning. Don't you think it's a little early to be drinking vodka? Even for you."

Chekov locked eyes with him, his lips showing the hint of a sneer, while he picked up another glass and splashed the clear liquid into it. From the slight clumsiness of the movement, he could tell that this wasn't the first glass he had had that morning.

"I'm a soldier." He raised the glass to his lips. "I'll enjoy myself whenever I can."

Sulu plucked the glass from between his fingers and put it gently back down on the cupboard top.

"I think that's enough enjoyment for now."

Sulu was relieved when he did not protest but merely glared back at him spitefully. He thought for one moment he might lash out at him but he saw his expression change and accept a temporary defeat. The Russian gave a slight snort as the sneer reappeared on his face.

"So how do you enjoy yourself? Are there any girls?"

"None for you," replied Sulu calmly.

Chekov looked Sulu up and down as if trying to assess his resolve. He turned silently and threw himself down onto his bed, rolling onto his back and placing his arms behind his head.

"I know I'm your prisoner and this is going to be an interrogation," he said icily, staring up at the ceiling. "So just get on with it. But I will tell you now – I won't do anything to betray Shonen and my people."

"This isn't an interrogation," said Uhura kindly, taking a seat at his desk and pushing aside a pile of starcharts so that she could rest her arm on the surface. As usual it was littered with data pads and notes hand-written in Chekov's spidery Cyrillic. He didn't seem to have touched much since he had been in here. She wondered whether it meant anything to him any longer. She remembered that she herself had had to be completely re-educated after her mind had been wiped by the Nomad probe. For her, memories had only had to be recovered. What if Chekov's had been replaced? What if they might never return? She didn't much like the young man lying on the bed in front of her. He was as dangerous as a coiled snake, she felt.

"So who are you then?" asked Chekov, closing his eyes.

"I'm Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, Chief Communications officer and this is Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, Chief Helmsman. As I said, we're your friends. We want you to remember who you are."

"And who am I?"

"Well, you're Ensign Pavel Chekov, Chief Navigator on this ship."

Chekov opened his eyes at Uhura's words and turned his head to face the window. He watched the stars slip by like soft streaks of gold and silver. Snatches of half forgotten dreams fought for his attention but faded like ghosts before he could latch on to any of them. He was sure he had seen these people before in his dreams. How could these people be both here and in his dreams? What plot were they playing out? Was it mind control? Were they manipulating him? Why? Since he had been on this ship he had felt there were times when reality was slipping away from him. He had to be strong.

"I am a soldier in the Shonen Republican Army. I've been fighting in the mountains and in the cities of Avior. I've lived in dug-outs and ruined buildings. I've witnessed the suffering of our people and I've seen my friends killed. I hope I've inflicted as much pain on our enemy as I have had to endure," he said harshly.

"And before that?" asked Sulu. "Remember, you were only found two weeks ago."

"Before that I was prisoner of Strite," he replied firmly, but he knew it was as much to convince himself in the absence of certainty. "I was rescued from there. They told me."

"And what were you before you were a prisoner of Strite?" Sulu asked, perching on the edge of the desk next to Uhura. "Can you remember that?"

Chekov frowned. "I... a soldier, I suppose," he faltered. He sat up cross-legged, suddenly angry with himself for doubting what he thought he knew. "I was a soldier. I have always been a soldier. But it doesn't matter about my past. My present is about fighting for the Shonen cause."

Uhura was dismayed at his attitude. She couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. "Aren't you sick of all that killing?" she asked.

Chekov's look was almost blank. "Strite must be defeated at all costs. Our lands must be returned. All wrongs must be avenged."

Uhura shook her head sadly. "That's just propaganda, Pasha. You knew nothing about what was happening on Avior two months ago. None of us did. You're not a soldier. You're an officer on this ship. You're a scientist. Even our Chief Science Officer respects you enough to let him do his work when he isn't there. You're respected for who you are and what you can do. You have friends and talents and a future ahead of you that involves more than just killing people, which is all you seem capable of now. You were never meant to become a pawn in someone else's war. Look around you." She cast her arm into the room. "This is your cabin. You know it is. Look at the things you've collected and been given by other cultures." She got up and picked up a type of sextant that a captain on Circinus had given him as a thank you for navigating their stranded vessel through a nebula and back to their homeworld. "You were so honoured to receive this. You said it was one of the most meaningful presents you'd been given. Why would we bother to go to such lengths to try to fool you? Did anyone else on Shonen speak the same language as you? Could any of them read the same alphabet as you? You're a Russian. You're Terran, like we are. That can't be made up."

For all the time that he could remember being on Avior he knew that he was different. He sounded different and looked different, and yet his troop had taken him in as one of their own. There had been no mistaking their comradeship and sense of shared purpose. But here were also more people who wanted to treat him as their friend and brother. He felt he was being pulled in two. He was fighting desperately against feelings of familiarity but when he tried to push those feelings further it was as if an iron door slammed shut in his face. He couldn't explain it. It made him afraid and angry.

"I only know what I know. I must fight for Shonen. I must do everything in my power to secure its future and see Strite defeated. I'm lucky – I'm young. I can give the rest of my life to the Cause."

Uhura did not like the obsessive tone in his voice. He spoke his words as if someone else had put them there.

"The Chekov I know may be young, but he often has an old head on his shoulders. He has an agile mind that is ruled by reason, not bigotry and self-delusion," she said calmly. "He likes dancing and girls and hates cleaning inspections and Andorian epic poetry."

"I'm sure he's wonderful," he replied sarcastically.

This woman – Uhura – her sultry black eyes seemed to lure him back towards his dreams. He had seen her occasionally in them. Who was she? He felt as if he knew her. She was intelligent and kind. He watched her sigh and put down the sextant before picking up a datapad. She turned it on and scrolled quickly through various pictures. She stopped at one and threw the pad down onto the bed in front of him. He picked it up. The picture was of a group of people in uniforms just like the ones his visitors were wearing. The doctor, nurse and captain from sickbay were there, his two visitors were there, a man with dark brown hair and twinkling eyes and a man with pointed ears and green skin were also among the group along with several others. With the exception of the green man they were all smiling and raising glasses.

"My birthday," he whispered spontaneously, staring at the picture. "I was twenty one."

Something about the group was so familiar. A mixture of joy and sadness overcame him but without him realising why. Again an iron door slammed shut inside his mind. He jerked his head up furiously at Uhura. "How have you done this? You're messing with my memories. I've never seen them before and yet I know their names. What are you doing to me?"

This wasn't quite the response she had expected. She thought she had been making progress. "Nothing. We're not doing anything except trying to help you remember," she said soothingly, attempting to placate his rising temper.

Chekov slammed the datapad down on the bed and leapt up with a snarl, stalking over to Uhura.

"Your captain is working with Strite," he spat, standing over her. "You want what I know about our troop movements and weapons placements. I'll never tell you. If you think a cosy chat in someone's quarters is going to get it out of me, you're much mistaken."

Sulu stood, worried by his sudden aggressive attitude, and placed a hand on his chest. It wasn't what he was used to and, knowing his recent violent past, he wasn't sure where it was leading. "That's enough, Pasha. Calm down. This isn't getting us anywhere."

Chekov knocked his hand aside."Don't touch me," he said viciously. "If you think I'm some weak and feeble-minded boy, you're much mistaken. I refuse to be a part of this charade."

Sulu made an exasperated noise and turned to Uhura. "He always was obstinate but I never knew he could be this bad!"

"Stop talking as if you know me," said Chekov disdainfully, clenching his fists and squaring up to the helmsman.

Sulu turned to face him. "Believe me, right now I wish I didn't. I want my colleague back – I want my friend back and at the moment you are a poor substitute."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I could put you over my knee and give you a good spanking, if that's what you want."

"Try it and I'll kill you."

"I'd like to see you try."

Uhura heard the threat in Sulu's voice. He was normally so calm and relaxed but any anger in his voice was a warning sign of imminent trouble. Sulu could be pushed and pushed but when he went, he meant business. She stood up quickly beside him, fearing they would come to blows.

"Alright... alright." She splayed her hands and stood between the two men. Her calming, smooth voice immediately defused the brittle atmosphere. She turned to Chekov. "If we can't convince you ourselves, then maybe you need to hear it from the Shonen authorities."

"What do you mean?" asked Chekov roughly. He spun away and stalked over to the window, turning his back on them.

"I mean that after Dr McCoy has finished his tests today the Captain has ordered that you and we attend a formal dinner tonight on Avior for the Shonen and Stritan Ambassadors."

"I'm not going," came Chekov's immediate obstinate reply.

"Yes, you are." Sulu could tell from the set of his shoulders how tense he was.

"Political prisoners cannot be forced to act for their captors," muttered Chekov, staring out at the stars.

"You're not a prisoner, Pasha," said Uhura, walking over to stand next to him. "It's just a dinner. The Captain is hoping that the ambassadors will shed some light on your disappearance and with you there to hear it, it should help your recovery."

"The Stritans tried to kill me in prison. Why would I want to dine with murderers?" he hissed, throwing her fleeting glance.

"Pasha, I don't know enough about Avior's politics to know who's right and who's wrong. All I can see is that this war is tearing a planet apart and that the Federation is the best opportunity for hope and a resolution that these people have had in decades. It seems to me that you have been made to represent an outdated and unhelpful view that cannot have a place in any future that this planet has. Someone has filled you with lies and hatred at the expense of your own history and at the expense of your own future. I don't know why someone would do that to a member of this crew, but we are all determined to find out."

Images from his dreams crowded into his mind. The shuttle, explosions, a young woman screaming, running down a dark corridor, a flashing silver ring on a gnarled finger. He didn't know which was real any longer – his dream or his reality. He suddenly felt overwhelmed. He pushed himself away from the window and sank down onto the bed in silence, resting his elbows on his knees and putting his head in his hands.

"Do what you want then," he murmured apathetically, closing his eyes. "Mnye nadoyelo."

Uhura moved over to him and sat down next to him, motioning Sulu to stand back as he stepped forward, suspicious of Chekov's every move.

Uhura put her shoulder against his. "When the Enterprise reached your shuttle's last know location we found readings of weapons fire. The data was too badly degraded for Spock to identify who had caused it – we only know that it wasn't Federation or anything that Avior could produce. All your telemetry had been wiped. Is there anything you remember that might help us? Anything at all?"

After a long pause he looked up at her, his eyes intense and dark. He wasn't sure if he should divulge the information in case it would make him appear weak. "I have dreams," he whispered eventually. "Sometimes you are in them and him." He motioned with his head towards Sulu. "And others on this ship. How can that be? I never dream of the fighting or the war, or the things I've done on Avior, and I've done some terrible things... I only dream about the shuttle and the screaming girl. It doesn't make sense to me."

Uhura took his hand and squeezed it gently. Her touch initiated a flood of feelings that he hadn't experienced in what felt like a very long time – warmth, friendship, complete trust. It was like an electric charge.

"Who fired on your shuttle, Pasha?"

He dropped his head, frustrated. "I don't know. In my dreams they board our ship but their faces are always hidden."

The brief wail of his cabin's communicator cut through the sudden silence. Nurse Chapel's voice sounded across the room.

"Ensign Chekov, please report to sickbay."

Sulu walked over and thumbed it on. "Sulu here. I'll bring him over." He turned back to Chekov. "Come on," he said kindly. "I'm sorry about what I said before. It's not your fault. Let Dr McCoy finish his tests and maybe he can find out a bit more about what went on. He'll let you look through our ship's computer. You can find out all about your family, your past, this ship, who we are... anything you want. We won't hide it from you. We just want you to get better."

He held out a hand which, after a moment's hesitation, Chekov took gratefully. He felt the strength he knew he had felt a hundred times before. He let himself be hauled off the bed and onto his feet. He looked down at his pyjamas.

"I can't go like this," he muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

"Oh, we can help you find your uniform," said Uhura, turning to a wardrobe door.

Chekov put out his hand. "No, it's ok. I think I know where to find everything."

"OK. We'll wait for you outside."

Uhura turned to Sulu as soon as the door shut behind them in the corridor.

"He's in there somewhere," she said. "I'm sure of it."

Sulu nodded. "Hopefully the ambassadors will give us some answers and Doctor McCoy can find the cure."