Three months later Hikaru Sulu stepped out of the turbolift onto Deck 2 and was confronted with a maelstrom of noise, smoke, people and equipment. Wires and cables of all different colours lay strewn across the floor. Boxes of tools were stacked along the walls, their silver lids glinting red in the dull emergency lighting. He waved the smoke aside and moved into the corridor, edging his way past bustling crewmen and along walls whose innards, normally enclosed behind smooth grey bulkheads, sagged outwards as if trying to block his way. He tapped an ensign on the shoulder. The young woman was trying to open a bulkhead panel with a small laser torch.

"Have you seen Mr Scott?" he asked her, raising his voice over the sudden screech of a nearby drill.

She looked up and nodded, pointing further down the corridor. "Junction 12, sir," she replied loudly.

Sulu nodded his thanks and set off in the direction indicated. He climbed over a collapsed girder and pushed his way past a thick swathe of cabling before he found, on the other side, Mr Scott standing, shielding his eyes from a brilliant blue welding arc coming from the wall. Small yellow sparks flew out from behind a bulkhead door panel and crackled onto his boots.

"Mr Chekov, will you watch what you're doing with the CR supressor. If you weld it to the field sensor we're never going to know where we are again."

"No, Mr Scott," came the muffled sound of Chekov's tired voice from within the bulkhead.

"And make sure you shield the inverter from the phase transducer."

"Meester Scott," Sulu smiled to himself as Chekov's accent became more pronounced in a flash of frustration. "I know perfectly well what I am doing."

Scotty also heard the warning sign and paused. "Aye… I suppose you do, laddie". He caught sight of Sulu and raised his eyebrows, pulling a grimace. "Well, as you were then, ensign". He grabbed a cloth from a tool stand next to him and wiped his hands. "We've been down here for twelve hours and we're all tired. So, what brings you down here?" He turned to Sulu. "Have you come to give us a hand?"

Sulu stepped back as more sparks began to spit out of the bulkhead. He could see Chekov sat on the floor in a space only just big enough for him, his knees almost up to his ears, a small portable superheating welding kit wedged in next to him as he fused the equipment sat on the floor between his legs. The black welding goggles gave his face an eerie blackness in the blue welding light as he concentrated on the job at hand. He stopped momentarily to pull up the collar of his engineering fatigues to stop the sparks from going down the back of his neck.

"Everything going ok?" Sulu asked Scotty.

Scotty gave a rueful sigh. "As well as can be, Mr Sulu. For a warning shot across our bows, those Klingons have given us a whole heap of trouble and an awful lot of work."

Sulu nodded. "I think we've gone as far as we can in this sector. The captain's called meeting a in the Briefing Room in ten minutes. He wants you and Chekov to attend."

"Ten minutes," muttered Scotty testily. "Doesn't he know how busy we are done here? Well, alright. I'll be there. I just need to brief Mr Kyle on the transporter repair schedule. I'll see you up there."

Scotty pushed his way past the cables and disappeared back down into the smoke of the corridor, shouting orders as he went. Sulu took the opportunity in a break in Chekov's welding to prod him with his toe.

"Come on, ensign. That means you too."

He bobbed down onto his haunches as Chekov turned his head, pulling up his goggles to push back his thick dark hair. Streaks of oil made two crescents of dirt underneath the white pressure marks of where the goggles had been.

"How did you manage to get oily while welding?" Sulu asked incredulously.

Chekov pursed his lips. "I didn't. The oil is from the navigation sensors micromotors. They blew up in my face when I was repairing them – before I got given this to do." He wiped a bead of sweat from his hairline with a finger. "It's as hot as hell in here."

Sulu reached up to the tool cabinet where Scotty had left his cloth. "Here," he said, throwing the cloth at Chekov. "Down tools. You're coming with me."

Chekov caught it and gave his face a perfunctory wipe before climbing gingerly out of his hold. Sulu smiled as he held out a hand to help him up. Chekov had only succeeded in smearing the oil across the rest of his face.

Chekov looked at him suspiciously stretching his back to pull out the tension across his shoulders.

Sulu shook his head. "I don't think Lita Morell is going to think much of you looking like that," he laughed, taking the cloth off him before pulling Chekov by the arm through the curtain of cables. Chekov cast him a sideways glance, pulling the goggles gingerly off his head without trapping his hair as they headed back down the corridor. They stopped at the turbolift door.

"What do you mean?" Chekov asked with a yawn, expecting criticism. "Do you think engineering fatigues don't suit me?"

Sulu cast him a pitying look. "Well, they're not a good start for a date."

"Since when do you offer fashion advice?" asked Chekov sourly, stepping into the lift as the door opened.

Sulu followed behind him. "I don't. I wear a uniform all day every day, remember? Ask Uhura. Deck 5."

"I've already had enough date advice from Uhura recently," muttered Chekov, swaying slightly as the lift set off sideways. "Like I don't know what I'm doing."

"That's because she thinks you're still sweet and innocent" said Sulu. "I try to tell her what you're really like but she won't listen".

"She's looking after me," said Chekov smoothly. "And what do you mean 'what I'm really like'? What are you trying to insinuate?"

Sulu gave a derisive snort, staring at the door. "That you just like female attention."

Chekov shrugged and looked up at him askance. "What's wrong with that?"

Sulu continued to study the door. "Because this one is on my team and I'm looking out for her as a favour to an old friend. I don't want you turning her into an emotional wreck."

"Like I ever do that. I really don't know where you get your suspicions about me," complained Chekov, with a note of hurt in his voice.

"Because you're the only ensign I've heard of who would sleep with two of Harry Mudd's robots, for instance", replied Sulu. "I mean, robots?"

"We've already discussed this. Those were vicious rumours."
"I really wish I could believe that."

"They were very human though."

"Urgh. Please take that grin off your face, Pasha."

The turbolift drifted to a halt and the door quietly opened. The two of them stepped out into the corridor and made the short walk to the meeting room. As they walked in, Scotty was just sitting down next to Spock. The entire bridge crew was there headed by Captain Kirk at the top of the table. Chekov took a place between Dr McCoy and Uhura, nodding his greeting as he did so. He suddenly realised he had brought the googles with him and put them on his lap under the table. Sulu swung a chair round and sat down opposite him on the other side of Spock.

"Thank you gentlemen," began Kirk looking up from the computer. He glanced round the table, his keen hazel eyes alighting on Chekov's smeared features and fatigues. "Ah… Mr Chekov." He waved a vague hand. "What have you been doing? Goggles?"

Chekov looked uncomfortable and shifted in his seat. He could have sworn the captain couldn't have noticed them as he had walked in. He slowly brought them up from his lap and put them on the table. "Replacing the port navigation beacon, sir." He looked to Scotty for support.

"Aye, captain," said Scotty unapologetically. "Apart from me, the lad's the only one that knows how it goes back together."

Kirk's brow furrowed. "And if Mr Chekov were to disappear out of an airlock, what would you do then?"

"Well…" Scotty began to think in his plain way that always left Kirk bemused." I suppose I'd have to find the drawings and do it myself."

Kirk sighed. "Mr Scott, I don't want my Chief Engineer or, for that matter, my Chief Navigator up to his arms in oil and circuitry when they have other more important jobs to do. See to it that someone else gets trained up immediately. I've drawn up a repair rota so I'd ask you to stick to it."

"Aye sir," replied Scotty in a businesslike fashion. He could sense the captain was in a no nonsense mood.

Kirk turned back to the rest of the table and punched up a star chart of the sector on the table's three cornered viewer.

"Right. I want this to be quick. As you are aware, ladies and gentlemen," he ploughed on, "I think we have reached as far as we are able to go in this sector. We have Klingons on all sides apart from the way back."

"Starfleet were unaware that the Klingon Empire had recently expanded in this region of space," spoke up Spock, leaning forward. "After our encounter yesterday, however, we have been able to inform them otherwise."

Kirk nodded. "That was a warning shot we received yesterday," he said gravely. "I decided not to retaliate. We are out here on our own and I for one have no intention, or any authority for that matter, to start a war with the Klingons."

"Where do we go from here then, sir?" asked Sulu, pointing at the viewer. Seven red triangles circled the white circle of the Enterprise on the screen. "Retrace our steps?"

Kirk nodded. "Precisely, Mr Sulu." A ripple of concern drifted over the room. "But that doesn't need to be as negative as it sounds. Lieutenant Uhura?"

Uhura straightened up in her seat a little, tapping at the datapad she held in front of her. "We have received instructions from Starfleet Command to return to Triskelion at our earliest convenience." Almost imperceptibly, she felt Chekov freeze at her side.

"Why?" asked Dr McCoy from the other side of him. "We were there… what?" he looked round for confirmation from the others, "six months ago? Hasn't the Federation got ships out to them yet? Have we really come all this way just to turn around and go on a house call?"

Kirk splayed his hands on the table. "I really don't see what else we can do in this situation. We've got Kingon outposts identified in the Talliss system, the Epsilon Tau system, Teston and the Cat Nebula. We've not just come up against a few stray raiding parties – we've hit the wall of the Empire. We can't go on."

McCoy sat back with a grunt. "Well, alright then. I don't want a fight with the Klingons. But what does Starfleet want us to do at Triskelion? We liberated a planet of slaves from their disembodied masters. I thought the Providers were happy to take on the challenge of educating them."

"Well, yes, so did we," replied Kirk, "and the Federation sent a flotilla of aid and medical ships straight away to get them on track. Unfortunately nothing has been heard from them since – neither the planet nor the ships."

"So Starfleet want us to make contact and find out what's been going on?" asked Uhura.

"Precisely, Lieutenant," interjected Spock. "At high warp we can reach Triskelion directly in two weeks. Mr Scott, is the ship ready?"

Scotty's face clouded. "Aye, I can give you warp speed but I'll need to double the repair crews. The integrity of the port hull on deck two needs a lot more care and attention and half of the navigation systems have been vaporised. If we don't get the plasma interchange ducts cleaned then we'll lose some manoeuvring capability and if we leave the reaction coolers running as they are we won't make it to warp six…"

"Yes, thank you Mr Scott," said Kirk soothingly. "You can have your repair crews. It doesn't have to be perfect but if you give us what we need for now we can worry about the details on the way." He knew that Scotty wanted only perfection when it came to the running of the ship and it was sometimes difficult to get him to understand that there were occasions when they just had to get by.

"Aye, captain," sighed Scotty with an obvious note of dissatisfaction. "You'll have warp speed in a couple of hours."

"Thank you." Kirk turned back to the rest of the table. "Mr Chekov." Kirk raised his voice slightly. He could the young man was staring blankly at the table, lost in a world of his own, not even seeing the goggles he was absently toying with. It was obvious that he hadn't been listening. Uhura discreetly nudged him in the ribs. He looked up at her, suddenly becoming aware that everyone in the room was looking at him – including the captain. He bit his lip and put down the goggles, a frown forming across his face.

"Yes, sir," he said quickly, hoping he wasn't starting to blush.

Kirk glared back at him, wondering whether he should reprimand him now or later. "Mr Chekov, I know we're short of navigation sensors at the moment, but do you think you can still plot us a course back to Triskelion?"

Chekov nodded firmly, hoping this would show willing and overcome his previous inattention. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"Good…" said Kirk suspiciously, giving him one last warning glare before pressing a button on the computer. The screen winked off. "That will be all then. Resume your duties. I'll see you all on the Bridge tomorrow. 0600 hours"

The meeting broke up. Chekov stood up quickly and made for the door, his head down. He knew Uhura and Sulu had seen his reaction and would want to question him, but he couldn't explain to them why even the name of Triskelion struck such fear into him. He couldn't explain it to himself. He could remember his time on the planet. He had been taken there against his will with the captain and Uhura to be trained as a gladiatorial slave for the amusement of the Providers. The Providers had lost their corporeal bodies along with their morals millennia ago – all that was left of them were their brains and their ruined cities. Having conquered their physical environment, all that eluded them was Chance and the thrill of life and death and they indulged in this with gambling and cruelty. In return for the freedom of the crew and the thralls, Kirk had bet himself against three of the best thralls – and won. In return, the Providers had taken on a new challenge – to care for the thralls and educate them. Chekov could remember all of this quite clearly, but he was aware of a chasm – a black hole in his memories that he couldn't account for. He wasn't even sure if anything was missing at all. He didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to push it to the back of his memory. At least for now.

"Hey, slow down," said Sulu laughing. "What's the big hurry? Where were you in there?"

Chekov looked down and saw what he expected – Sulu's hand firmly clasped around his arm. He took a deep breath and tried to assume a pleasant expression. "I'm sorry. I've been really busy. I have a lot of work to do." He stepped over the threshold into the corridor, finding Uhura waiting for him the other side. Her expression was one of concern.

"What's wrong, Pasha?" she said, untangling Sulu's fingers from his arm and leading him along the corridor. "The Captain could have given you a hard time in there if he'd been in the mood."

He stopped. He didn't want to be dragged to the rec room for a cross-examination by his friends again. He shook his head with a forced smile. "I've been working all day. I'm really very tired."

Sulu looked nonplussed. "You weren't tired half an hour ago," he countered.

"That's what the Captain's meetings do to me," he tried to say lightly.

Uhura gave him an unconvinced smile. "Your trouble, Pasha, is that you can't hide what you're thinking, and you were fine in there till he mentioned Triskelion."

Chekov froze again. He cursed himself. Even the name of the planet made him rigid with fear and Uhura's understanding of him was as keen as a surgeon's knife. She never missed a thing. The sense of dread sat at the back of his mind like a dark, looming ghost – always just out of sight, always threatening to break out and overwhelm him.

A shiver down his back brought him back to life. "Look, I've got to go," he said hurriedly. He took a step back but found himself up against the bulkhead. His friends had penned him in – a manoeuvre he had fallen for time and again.

"Chekov, said Sulu seriously, placing a hand on his shoulder. "What's wrong? What are you not telling us? Did something happen on Triskelion that you haven't told us about?"

Chekov stared back at him. "Nothing…" his voice faltered. "There's nothing…"

"Hi Pasha. Where have you been? I've been waiting for you." The singsong voice of Lita Morrell cut through the silence as she appeared from round the corner. Sulu and Uhura turned as she approached. Chekov saw the opportunity and ducked under Sulu's arm to greet her.

"Privet, Litochka," he said, smiling and taking her hand. Her warm brown eyes and soft wave of chestnut hair dispelled his frozen mood in an instant. "I'm sorry. Scotty had me working on deck two and then the captain called a meeting. We were just finishing up, weren't we?" He turned back to Sulu and Uhura.

Uhura's tense stance dissipated in defeat as she watched the young navigator's hunted look break seamlessly into a dazzling open, boyish smile. She saw Lita melt at the thrill of his touch and admitted defeat.

Sulu did the same. "Yeah," he said with a disgruntled look. "Just finishing."

Uhura suddenly felt like an older gooseberry – a feeling she and Sulu had had to undergo with predictable frequency. "That will be all then", she ground out through clenched teeth, unimpressed at his sudden transformation. "I'll want to speak to you again, Ensign", she offered him sternly as a parting shot, poking him squarely in the chest with her finger.

"Yes, sir", he replied formally, coming half to attention. He turned back to Lita.

"Come on. Come with me to auxiliary control. I'll be ten minutes, then I'm off duty," said Chekov, slipping his arm around Lita's waist.

She laughed. "Ok then. Come on."

Sulu and Uhura watched as they headed off back around the corner.

Sulu gave a dissatisfied harrumph. "He's not getting away with it that easily," he said to Uhura. "Something happened on Triskelion that he's not talking about. It's something serious."

"I know what you mean," replied Uhura, folding her arms. "And it's going to come back to haunt him in two weeks when we get there, that's what really worries me…"