Chapter thirteen
Going in Circles
Koloth had beamed down to the planet and had been met by several guards. They had led him into a briefing room and told him to confirm the role of Alexei in this incident. After he had explained this to them, they had led him further down into the building and thrown him in a cell. He was sitting in the corner on the stone floor with his arms wrapped around his knees, hugging them to his chest. He was cold and confused. Kirk had wanted help and now he had handed him over to the government. Koloth felt used. He couldn't get to his half-brother or protect his friends from here. He had failed. Miserably. The thought consumed his mind wholly as he sat, waiting to see what would become of him now. Footsteps approached the cell rapidly. Suddenly two guards came into view wheeling a trolley. A small form rested on the trolley. Koloth froze in shock as he suddenly realised that the thing hanging down from the side of the trolley was an arm. He looked away suddenly as the guards opened the door. Much to his surprise, they hefted the body from the trolley and threw it into the cell with him. Then they shut the door and walked off.
Koloth stared in silence for a moment. The young Klingon waited in silence, watching for any slight movement. Curiosity eventually won over Koloth's revulsion towards the body. He reached out with a trembling hand but couldn't bring himself to touch it. This could be a test, he suddenly thought. Koloth retracted his hand. In his mind, he thought over and over about whether an honourable person would help something that looked so hopelessly dead. He slowly crept towards it. It was facedown. Koloth eyes scanned over the injuries on the person's back before gently rolling them over. He was terrified and infuriated to find his half-brother facing him. Koloth refused to acknowledge that he couldn't see his brother breathing. Instead he crept even closer to the body and looked down into his face. Pavel's eyes were shut.
"Good God! What did they do to you?" Koloth asked. For a moment, all he could do was stare. He gently pushed two fingers into Pavel's neck and for a horrified minute, he couldn't feel anything. "No!" Koloth yelled and dug hi fingers further into his brother's neck. This time, he felt, to his relief, the faint flutter of a heartbeat. The half-Klingon knew it was too weak. Gently, he took his older brother's shoulders and shook them. "Pavel, Pavel." He whispered. "Pavel Andreivich!" Koloth sighed through his nose but he kept trying to rouse Chekov. Hot tears of anger spilled down Koloth's cheeks as he worked. He stopped after five minutes to check Pavel's pulse. It was fading. "No! Don't you dare die now Pavel Andreivich!" Koloth cried. He slammed one hand on Chekov's chest in frustration. His dark brown eyes shot open and he started to choke. Koloth looked down in surprise and rolled Pavel onto his side. He slowly blinked back his tears as his brother choked up the congealed blood from where his mouth had evidently been kicked.
"Was that an order?" Pavel croaked wearily. Koloth laughed with relief as his brother smiled weakly at him.
"You're alive!" Koloth grinned. He leaned over and gently lifted Pavel so that his head was resting in his lap. Pavel let out a pained sigh and Koloth gently smoothed out his hair. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't-"
"No," Pavel sucked in a breath "it's okay." His eyes fluttered gently shut.
"I talked to your captain." Koloth sighed. "I told him… a lot." He admitted.
"Why did you help him, your father?" Chekov murmured.
"I'm scared of him, Pavel." Pavel looked at Koloth for a moment. Then his eyes slipped shut again. "I told Jim how you used to sing to me."
"Why?" Chekov breathed. Although he could see the pain it was causing, Koloth knew that there was still every chance that his brother would die if he didn't keep him awake.
"I just wanted someone to know. I always think about who you could have been, you know, if he hadn't…" Koloth trailed off. "Well, if things weren't like they are." He watched Pavel's face closely. The corner of his lip twitched slightly into a smile.
"I wouldn't sing, if that's what you mean." He whispered. "I sang when people were scared. I couldn't sing in front of an audience." Pavel continued. "Besides," he added "when I left, you weren't a bad singer yourself."
Koloth thought about this for a minute and concentrated on the regular – if shallow – breaths that Pavel was taking. "Sing to me Koloth, please."
"You promise you'll get better?" Koloth asked. He felt oddly the way he had as a child, longing for approval from someone, even if it was just the weak humans that his father encouraged him to hate. Pavel nodded with his eyes shut. Koloth took a deep breath and began.
"Hey brother, there's an endless road to rediscover.
Hey sister, know the water's deep but blood is thicker.
Oh, if the sky came falling down, for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do.
Hey brother, do you still believe in one another?
Hey sister, do you still believe in love, I wonder?
Oh, if the sky came falling down, for you, there's nothing in this world I wouldn't do." Koloth finished the song after one verse.
"That was good." Pavel croaked. "I didn't know you knew Avicii."
"You used to sing it to me on a night time. Did you think I wouldn't look it up?" Koloth chuckled.
"You were always asleep when I sang that."
Koloth shook his head. "Not always." Pavel smiled gently. Koloth looked up sharply at the sound of footsteps approaching the cell. One guard hurried towards the cell. He glanced furtively in each direction down the corridor before letting himself in.
"Thank God he's alive." The guard muttered to Koloth. "Has he woken?"
"Who are you?" Koloth growled.
"I am Gavril, one of the guards sent to capture him. I grew up near you two; I know what happened to him."
"You're… you have green eyes." Pavel rasped. The guard nodded as Pavel slowly opened his eyes.
"Yes. I can help you. Stay awake!" he turned to Koloth. "They want you to enlist and help capture your father. I've been sent to take you there. I'll come back and beam you out of here. I can't get you to your ship, but I can get you out of Moscow. I can send a message to your ship though."
"Pavel, will that be alright?" Koloth asked.
"Yeah, you go. Be careful."
"Stay awake!" Gavril hissed as he locked the door.
Jim punched the intercom button in his chair as soon as the screen cut off.
"Bones get up here." He sighed. Sulu was still staring at the black screen, his mouth slightly ajar in shock. Uhura was sobbing into her hands and Scotty and Spock were watching Jim closely. "Spock, take the conn." Jim muttered as he left the bridge. Behind him, Spock's eyebrows raised into his hairline.
Jim stalked through the Enterprise until he reached his quarters. He threw himself miserably behind his desk as the doors crashed shut. With a sudden feeling of inferiority, he slammed his fist down onto the surface in front of him. The pain that streaked up the side of his hand was the distraction he had been looking for.
"Fuck!" He screamed. Jim stood and paced angrily around the confined space. Chekov was dead and it was his fault. Worse than that, Chekov had died believing that he was not worth all the effort that they had put in to getting him back. The Russian president had been so calm and assured that Jim could not threaten him in any way. It toyed with Jim's mind until he realised that he had seriously overlooked the president. "Computer, display the last document that the United Federation of Planets and Russia signed." He ordered grimly.
As the document appeared, Jim scanned each line quickly. Eventually, he found what he was looking for. "Fuck," Jim repeated in a whisper. The previous Russian president had forced the rest of the countries to sign a document which made them unable to help should anyone attack Russia. The captain took in the facts so rapidly that after a while the screen became a blur. His mind whirled. The Russian people had sacrificed themselves. They had known, known all along that the Klingons would win and they had ensured that the Klingons couldn't have the rest of Earth. Further down, Jim had seen that they had also constructed a shuttle barrier around the country and destroyed all the beaming stations. Anyone who was in Russia could only be beamed out. Anyone who wasn't in Russia couldn't get back in without assistance.
'Russians don't always win, but we don't lose' Jim couldn't count the times he had heard Chekov tell him that. Only now, he understood what Pavel meant. The Russians hadn't won against the Klingons for now, but the people could endure, and they would endure until they could win. The sheer selflessness of the nation struck Jim. No wonder Pavel saw himself as unworthy. How could he – a single man – ever be worth all of their efforts when the entirety of his nation had left themselves under the cruel reign of the Klingons, in order to save the rest of Earth?
Jim switched the computer off with a sinking feeling. It didn't matter now. Chekov was dead. Grief swelled in his chest as his heart struggled to comprehend what his mind knew. The doors behind him opened and shut quickly.
"Captain," Spock greeted. "How are you?" Jim turned to face his first officer and sighed.
"He's dead, Spock. How do you think I am?" He replied harshly.
The Vulcan's eyebrow rose. "You blame yourself for his death." It wasn't a question, and Jim knew it. He lifted his hazel eyes and latched them onto Spock's eyes. He didn't need to reply. They both knew that Jim blamed himself.
"Spock, what can we do?" he asked. "The family, Koloth… I don't know what to do." Jim finally confessed. Before Spock could offer any solace, the shrill intercom whistle erupted.
"Kirk here," He said as he pushed the button set into the desk.
"Captain, we are receiving a transmission from Russia. It appears to be in some sort of code." Uhura's voice trembled slightly and Jim winced. He had walked out on his crew when they had needed him most.
"On my way." He answered.
"Most curious, captain. This is not a code, but a combination of three languages." Uhura elaborated as Spock and Jim arrived on the bridge.
"Russian, Klingonese and Standard." Spock confirmed. Jim frowned.
"A known sender?" he asked. Uhura shook her head.
"No sir, its origin has been kept hidden." She paused and looked at Jim. "I could translate it." The captain nodded.
She cleared her throat and began to read. "P.A.C. not dead. Am beaming out. Cannot reach you. Will beam outside Moscow. Must get there. Success rate not good." She suddenly faltered. "This isn't… this is in Vulcan!"
Spock leaned forward and quickly translated. "Needs immediate attention. Goods are perishable." He frowned. "This…message might be easier to understand if we knew what P.A.C. was."
"Who," Sulu cut in immediately. "They're his initials. Pavel Andreivich Chekov. P.A.C." He looked at his commanding officer. Jim's mind reeled.
"Repeat that first sentence!" He ordered.
"P.A.C. not dead!" Uhura cried. Jim felt a wild grin spread across his face.
"Spock, start sensor sweeps of Russia! We have to find him!" He swung into the command chair and watched with a sense of pride as his crew scurried to obey his orders.
The captain was suddenly aware of a feeling of dread settling back into his stomach. Chekov wasn't dead, he was dying. They had to find him quickly.
Koloth was led by Gavril through many identical cream-coloured corridors. He let his mind wander as they walked. Eventually they arrived in a hall. There were several desks, each covered in forms and PADDs. At each desk, there was a queue of young boys, Klingons and humans, waiting to fill in the forms. Koloth was led up to a desk by Gavril. A form was thrust towards him and he took it. "Just sign it." Gavril advised. "If you don't, they'll kill you." Koloth looked up in confusion.
"I don't understand."
"They want you to sign up and help them find and kill your father. If you don't, they will kill you." Koloth's eyes widened. "They want you to prove that you're on their side, not his."
With a trembling hand, Koloth picked up a pen and signed the form.
Ambassador Drogaff stalked angrily through the woods, following the all-too-obvious trail that his step-son had left. He stepped quickly around a foxhole and was – for a second – amazed that Pavel had dared to rest. He continued on his way even faster now. This trail was so undisturbed; he thought he was surely catching up with him. The midday sun could hardly penetrate the dense covering overhead and the Klingon walked on without any discomfort. Rakaia frowned as the trail seemed to get confused. There was a large, body-shaped imprint on the foliage and another two sets of footsteps around it.
For a moment, Drogaff paused. He decided to follow the footprints and was soon rewarded when he realised that there were three distinct sets. Someone had found him and helped him. Rakaia smiled. The chances that anyone would let him go in the state he had been in were low. He had almost reached his quarry.
Suddenly, he heard the unmistakable sound of a transporter beam. He whirled to the source of the sound and saw a small group of government soldiers with standard issue phasers walking towards him. His insides turned cold when he saw Koloth among them. Anger swelled in his chest and he slowly brought his wrist up to his mouth. "Alexei, I need back up. Now." He whispered gently. There was the sound of another transporter beam and the harsh clash of phaser fire. Drogaff grinned and aimed his own weapon at the chest of his son.
Jim began to get impatient pretty soon. They had received and translated the message and then been unable to locate Chekov in any of the suburbs surrounding Moscow. He tried to tell himself that whoever had sent the message may not have been able to help the Russian yet, but there was uneasiness in the captain's stomach that he couldn't quell. "Sensor sweeps report negative, sir." Spock broke the silence on the bridge. Jim's eyes closed. He momentarily wished that he wasn't the captain in these situations.
"Increase magnification and then sweep again." He finally murmured.
"Captain, at that range of magnification, it will take four hours to cover Moscow alone."
"It takes as long as it takes. Start scanning where we are most likely to find him, Spock." The captain snapped. Spock turned silently back to his console and carried out his orders.
Jim sighed. Combing Russia was not going to be a quick thing.
The ally was dry. Blood oozed out of … everywhere. His body felt numb, his vision badly blurred. In this sleeting rain, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He reached the entrance to the dry ally just as he collapsed. Beaming, he thought desperately. Beaming had made this worse. Of course, he had known that this would happen. At any time, beaming could cause severe injuries – even death – if it detected damaged cells. The machine couldn't break down damaged cells into molecules so ill and injured people weren't generally beamed anywhere. His injuries had been effectively doubled. He remained in the ally and felt the cold seep into his bones. His eyes slipped shut as a vague glimmer of yellow appeared at the end of the street.
Koloth could feel his breaths coming and going too quickly. His body didn't seem to reap the benefits of the oxygen it was taking from the air. He knew that his father had seen him. Koloth could tell by the anger in his posture. The phaser he carried felt heavy and awkward in his hand. His fingers gripped the handle steadily and he raised it on the command. He couldn't get over hearing the voice of the captain in his ear. The small device was clever though, the captain could whisper orders. They would work as a unit seemingly without guidance. They were efficient. Koloth took a huge gulp of air as the first phaser fire mingled with the sound of a transporter beam. He felt the blood drain from his face as he realised the inevitable. They were vastly outnumbered. Pain erupted-