Chapter 1

If the youngest crewmember of the Enterprise was absent from the bridge, you were likely to spot him on the observation deck. The place had become a favorite haunt of his soon after their service under the newly promoted Captain Kirk commenced and it was not hard to guess why. Massive windows revealed the vastness of space, bathing the room and anyone in it in a gentle, heavenly glow. It was an oasis, a haven for those seeking peace and tranquility or simply craving a break from the ship's high-tech, efficient activity.

Many a romantic conversation had transpired under the endless dusting of stars, even a proposal or two, but Ensign Pavel Chekov never came looking for romance. He came to clear his head, to remember that the universe reached far beyond the navigation panel he stared at for hours every day. Exploring the beyond was, after all, the reason they were out here. The reason he was out here.

This particular visit, however, was a little different. This time, though he sat beneath the twinkling canopy as usual, he hardly noticed it. Something else had his attention in the palm of its hands, or rather the words of its pages.

The archaic book his nose was buried in had been given to him as a birthday gift a couple of days prior, and this was the first free moment he'd had since then to crack it open and really soak it in. And as soon as he started, he became a willing captive of its world with no hope of rescue, oblivious to all else…

"Oh, hello!"

…Until an unfamiliar voice reached in, grabbed him by the ears and yanked him back to the present.

Startled, Chekov blinked up at a pair of eyes peering at him through horn-rimmed glasses set on a round, freckled face framed by auburn.

The short science officer shuffled apologetically. "Sorry, I…I can't help but notice the book you're reading. Haslam…he's one of my favorites."

Confused as he was by this abrupt interaction, it brought a smile to the ensign's face. It had never occurred to him that someone else aboard the ship, or anywhere else in the galaxy, for that matter, would be familiar with the book or remotely interested in its subject matter.

"Mind if I sit down?"

He'd never cleared a space so quickly.

"Thanks." She returned his smile, seeming taken aback by his swift accommodation.

"So, you…you hef read this book?" Chekov pressed eagerly.

"Yeah, several times. It was required reading at the Academy, but after the first time through, I could never stay away from it. Haslam just has this way of turning what could be a boring chapter, say on the dispersal of artifacts throughout layers of sediment, into an academic yet exciting…mind adventure…thing…" She trailed off, sounding a bit embarrassed by her unconventional description and began fiddling with a lock of hair. "That made no sense whatsoever, did it?"

He'd known her all of thirty seconds and was already reveling inwardly at the prospect of befriending someone weird and a little awkward. Someone kind of like him.

"No, no, I've been wondering how to phrase it in Standard and now I know, thanks to…er…"

"Briony. My name is Briony and I'm a xeno-archaeology specialist. What about you?"

"Chekov, Pavel Andrei—" He caught himself. It was a reflexive response, the result of having undergone several years of intensive command training. Like many other officers, there were times when drilled protocol came easier to him than breathing. "I mean…I'm Pavel. Just Pavel."

"Okay, then, 'Just Pavel'."

"Uh, no, zat is not what I—"

"Whoa, hang on, I know you!"

Aaand here we go again.

Every time it came up, which was more often than not, he was left wondering if he would ever escape the notorious "Russian Whiz-Kid" title. Being treated like a child was one thing, but being regarded as an underage robot by those who hadn't bothered to get to know him was getting exasperating. He cringed.

"You're that guy…the…the, uh…" She snapped her fingers, as if doing so would produce the answer she was looking for faster.

"'Russian Whiz-Kid'?" Chekov muttered.

The young woman's eyebrows knit together. "What? No! I meant you're the guy who almost ran me over in the corridor a couple days ago."

Caught off-guard by the unexpected reply, Chekov began to babble. "Oh! Oh, I, uh…yes. Yes, zat was…zat was definitely me. I'm so sorry about zat, I was running wery late—"

"I noticed," she giggled. "Both the running and the late. But don't worry about it, it's all good. I imagine you've got enough to think about being on the bridge anyway."

"How did you know I was heading to ze…"

"Pft, are you kidding?"

Ohhh no. The fact that she hadn't heard the annoying nickname was nothing short of a miracle, but his unusual reputation in command was getting more and more difficult to dodge every day. He braced himself yet again.

"You don't have to be on the command crew to know how to get to the bridge, silly. It was pretty obvious that's where you were going."

Again, she'd stunned him with her less than typical response. Was this lady for real? Better yet, had he finally met a person he could talk to without getting his unintentional wunderkind label shoved in his face every other minute?

"I have heard of you, though. Kind of impossible not to given your, uh…unique circumstances, Mister Braincase."

He just had to get his hopes up.

"'Braincase'? Well, zat is a new one…" he grumbled.

"I transferred to the Enterprise when she docked for shore leave several weeks ago," Briony continued, much to Chekov's surprise and relief. "Probably explains why we've just barely run into each other."

The word left his mouth before he could stop it. "Literally."

Briony laughed, a loud sort of snorty-barking sound that earned them a few irritated glances from fellow stargazers.

"Sorry," she said, ducking her head. "Sorry, everybody. I must've missed the 'no displays of amusement whatsoever' sign on the way in."

It was Chekov's turn to snort, which did little in the way of improving the moods of their comrades. Sure, hers wasn't the most attractive laugh he'd ever heard from a human being, but it was genuine and it was her own. Why should she have to apologize?

"Some people, I swear." Briony made an almost comical show of composing herself, then sighed. "Anyway, 'Just Pavel the Braincase'," she gave him a playful nudge as if she'd known him for years, "how did you end up on the observation deck reading about Nvvorian culture?"

"Well, I…I come here often, but usually I am looking at ze stars. Real stars. Not graphics on a console. It's wery…"

"Comforting? Peaceful? Mind-blowingly vast and awe-inspiring?"

He gave a light chuckle. "All of ze above."

She returned with a vigorous nod. "Oh, no, I'm right there with you. There's nothing better than the real thing, right? I've gone through piles upon piles of computerized archaeological data and holograms, but you just can't beat holding an actual artifact, seeing it up close and personal with your own eyes."

Chekov couldn't suppress a thrill of utterly geeky happiness at this confirmation of common interests. He could get used to talking to Briony the xeno-archaeology specialist.

"Funny, isn't it?" she said. "We spend so much of our time zooming through the stars, yet hardly ever take a minute to appreciate how amazing they are. I guess that's what makes this place special to me. Don't get me wrong, the rest of the Enterprise is incredible, it's just…I'm still getting used to it. Coming here gives me perspective, an anchor in a sea of change…" She faded off, reaching up to adjust the antique glasses. "Wow, I'm sorry, that was…I'll stop. You probably didn't need to hear any of that."

"No, no, don't stop!" Chekov said quickly. "Zat was wery poetic! I want to hear what else you hef to say."

She stared at him, a slight pinkish hue tinting her cheeks as one corner of her mouth twitched upward.

"Really?"

"Da, really."

"All right, then," she went on, taking the book from him and running a couple fingers lovingly over the front cover before flipping through the pages, "but not until you tell me how you met up with Haslam in the first place. And how did you ever score a physical copy?! You barely see these anymore."

"It was a birthday gift." Starting to feel surprisingly relaxed and content in the presence of this newcomer, Chekov leaned back to watch the silhouettes of a couple crewmembers passing in front of the view.

"Aw, well, happy birthday, Just Pavel! Whoever picked it out certainly has good taste. How…how old are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

And she'd finally gotten around to the age thing. The tranquility of the previous moment evaporated.

"Um, I…I'm eighteen."

"Oh…" She paused to consider, nodding after coming to a conclusion. "I'd heard you were young, but I was thinking, like, twenty or twenty-one-ish."

It was inevitable, but unlike most other conversations where his youth always seemed to become the foremost topic, this was light and in passing. In fact, aside from simply wanting to learn more about him, she didn't appear to care about it at all. She was conversing with him like he was a colleague. An equal. This was a fairly rare occurrence outside of Chekov's relationships with the rest of the senior staff…and it felt wonderful.

"Hm, when I was your age, I was just another dumb cadet messing around at the Academy like everyone else, not sitting on an observation deck neck-deep in archaeological theory. Well, whatever warps your starship, I guess…" She blinked, looking confused at what had come out of her mouth. "That…sounded extremely weird, I'm so sorry. Sometimes things make a lot more sense inside my head than out loud."

"I like weird," Chekov replied, offering an encouraging smile.

Briony's face lit up. "You do?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, "not many people in my line of work share that sentiment. It's kind of sad."

"They must be wery boring people, then," said Chekov.

"A few of them are, yes, but I can already tell that you, Just Pavel, are definitely not boring. Not boring is good. 'Weird' has the potential to take you places, I guess you could say. It gets things done, makes you stand out. 'Boring' doesn't. Besides, unconventional weirdos are responsible for all the best theories, stories, inventions, philosophies, practices, and so on, aren't they? They're the ones who make history."

Her priorities were beginning to reveal themselves. She hadn't come aboard the Enterprise in the interest of personal gain, but rather to embark on a quest with ample opportunities for knowledge and experience on the horizon. She was here for the ride, wherever it may take her.

Chekov tilted his head. "I hef never considered zat before. When I think about it, all ze weird people I hef ever met hef turned out to be some of ze most creative, brilliant, and brave friends I could ask for."

"Exactly." Briony nodded, then, without warning, nudged the chat into a slightly different path. "So...you're the one driving this thing, huh?"

Chekov snickered, never having heard it put quite like that before. "I…I don't 'drive' ze Enterprise, no. I just tell her where to go. I'm a nawigator. What is it you do?"

"I basically live in the archives and archaeology lab, and when I'm not busy with research or collecting data, I'm preserving and cataloging artifacts. Not the most glamorous job, I know."

"I think it sounds wery interesting, to be honest."

Her expression turned skeptical. "Seriously?"

"Da! Yes! Please, tell me more, I want to know everything."

She beamed. "Alrighty, Just Pavel, you got it."

The two fell effortlessly into deep and stimulating discussion. Chekov learned of her affinity for history and culture, which brought up the subject of the glasses. After explaining that they were more of a retro accessory than actual corrective eyewear, they detoured into a brief tangent about the meaning of the Standard term "old school". Soon enough, Chekov found himself relating how he'd found a home in Starfleet and expounding on his recent interest in archaeology.

An hour slipped by, then two. Shipmates came and went, sometimes giving the pair a sideways glance, but otherwise leaving them to themselves. Eventually the conversation steered toward the subject of dig sites and the recovery of artifacts Briony had participated in. She had more than a few entertaining stories and loads of fascinating facts and somehow, Chekov got the feeling that she'd been waiting a long time for someone to share them with. Someone other than a fellow xeno-archaeology expert, who was genuinely interested and could hold his own and maybe offer a few fresh perspectives in a discussion of this caliber. The archives, he guessed, were probably not the most social of places on the Enterprise. Then again, he couldn't know that for sure since he'd never been there.

"I've...never been to ze archives…" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Whaaaaat?" The look Briony gave him was a mix of surprise and pity. "You've never been to the…? Okay, you're really missing out and that makes me sad. No one should ever be deprived of the opportunity to experience the bottomless pools of knowledge that are the archives. It's just…it's just unacceptable."

He blinked. "If I would hef known zat, I would hef—"

The science officer patted his shoulder. "Not to worry, Just Pavel. This is easily remedied. Why don't we meet here again sometime tomorrow?"

"Nineteen-hundred hours." Chekov replied a little too eagerly. "Zat is when I'm off-duty."

"Perfect! Nineteen-hundred hours it is, then. And I have to tell you, I've been dying for a change of pace and I'd love to give you a personal tour. Y'know, show you what we do, maybe take a look at some artifacts. We do have a few Nvvorian pieces in our collection. How does that sound?"

Chekov could think of nothing he'd like better.

…

When the newfound friends parted, the teen returned to his quarters feeling physically tired but mentally awake. This was nothing new considering that his mind was a ceaseless hurricane of perpetual motion, but his lengthy conversation with Briony had sent his head spinning in a few new directions.

In the long months since the unexpected Narada incident and its aftermath, the Enterprise had gradually fallen into a steady, almost monotonous rhythm. Every day it was wake up, report for duty, do the job, eat and sleep. Chekov hadn't realized it, (and it wasn't as if he was hoping for another disaster to pop up any time soon) but a new friend to talk to and a break in the monotony were exactly what he could use right now.

As soon as he entered his room, however, his immediate needs shifted to the forefront of his thoughts. Two whole hours of conversing enthusiastically in Standard had left him feeling a bit tongue-tied and thirsty, so he tossed the book onto a nearby table and headed in the direction of water. A mere three steps later, the dull thud of an object hitting the ground brought him swiveling back to find the book lying open on the floor, pages gently waving as if beckoning him to return.

Chekov obliged, coming over and stooping to pick it up…and then he froze with one outstretched hand hovering a few inches above it. The pages had parted at the middle and settled, revealing a folded sheet of lined paper stuck in the crease between them.

Previous endeavor now all but forgotten, Chekov snatched it up. He was always happening across scraps and notes and bookmarks hidden within the bodies of the various tomes he collected, and always thought it fascinating to see what they contained. In a way, it was like stealing the tiniest glimpse into the world of the previous owner and the history of the book itself. Sometimes they were blank, while on others he found to-do lists, cheesy love notes, the occasional reminder about meeting a family member or coworker for lunch, all tidbits of day-to-day life immune to the passage of time.

This paper, he soon realized as he unfolded it, was nothing of the sort. At the center of the otherwise completely blank page, scrawled in black ink and circled several times, was one bold word.

HELP

…

There was a slight spring in Briony's step, something that hadn't been present for the past few days. She was feeling a little more confident, lucky even, now that she'd found someone she could really talk to. Someone who seemed to understand her better in the first five minutes of their acquaintance than anybody in her own department after several weeks.

This was her first stint as a member of a science team aboard a Federation starship. Her coworkers in the archives and lab were mostly easy to get along and work with (there was an exception or two), but as of yet, she'd never felt completely settled or at home. Though she was just as knowledgeable and qualified as any of them, she was more accustomed to rigorous fieldwork than the sterile, streamlined research happening on the Enterprise, which in turn gave her the impression that she didn't quite fit among her more seasoned comrades.

This didn't dampen Briony's pure love of the subject and she did her job every day not out of obligation to impress anyone, but to feed an insatiable appetite for knowledge. Even so, her efforts did not go unnoticed. She had grown to respect and greatly admire her superior xeno-archaeology specialist, who had taken the young woman under his wing soon after her arrival and become a mentor and role model. He was kind, dedicated, supportive, astoundingly well-versed in his profession, everything she hoped to be someday, although he didn't exactly fulfill the need for a friend or confidante. At the end of the day, he was still her superior and that was the limit of their relationship.

But what if things were changing? What if she'd finally singled out a kindred soul from the hundreds of people living and working on this vessel? She didn't act on impulse often, but her split-second decision a few hours before to get out and visit the observation deck this evening was a good one.

She smiled as she tapped the touchpad outside of her quarters and slipped in through the door. The room was small and nothing fancy, nothing like the private officer's quarters a few levels up, of course, but for now it was the closest thing to home.

Stepping over a scattering of her roommate's belongings, Briony plopped down on the bed, kicked off her boots and reached for her tablet. Sifting through messages was something of a nightly ritual. She used the time to wind down, catch up on news of family and friends, and reconnect—although distantly—with life outside of xeno-archaeology. She found it to be an effective method of keeping at least one foot firmly grounded no matter where in the galaxy she happened to be.

Tonight's session would be short. Only a handful of notes awaited her, one announcing the birth of a cousin's baby boy, another from her grandmother informing of her decision to rent a condo in Florida, several more from friends out on surveys or digs or serving on other starships. All familiar and typical…

Wait, no, not all familiar and typical.

She was at that border in the inbox where the old messages ended and the new ones began. Sitting on top of the last-read communication from the day before was what appeared to be a memo. These were usually sent through a specific departmental network separate from personal mailing systems, so Briony assumed it to be a harmless glitch. Not uncommon.

Naturally, expecting a note about an upcoming department meeting or some other mundane work-related thing, she tapped it. What she got instead was a loud, high-pitched screeching sound accompanying a horrific image of a corpse lying face-down in smear of blood. Flashing violently over the picture in bright red were the words "THIS COULD BE YOU".

Shocked to the core, Briony shrieked, flinging the tablet across the room.