Chapter 3

"That…was…incredible!" Briony burst out once she and Chekov made it to the hallway. "You totally owned Swannie back there! See? What did I tell you? Right under the scanners. Kapow!"

Chekov's face reddened. "I was just pointing out a fact."

"Yeah, but what a way to deliver. That might actually have been the greatest thing I've seen since that time Jared Meyers dissolved most of a countertop during chemistry class back in back in high school, and that was pretty epic, I won't lie. Nobody's ever shut Swannie down like that before."

"Wonderful. An angry science officer with a grudge against me is exactly what I need."

"Aw, I wouldn't worry too much about Swannie," Briony continued. "He's not as amazing as he thinks he is and it's about time somebody put him in his place. I should bring you to the archives more often."

"But I wasn't trying to—"

"I know you weren't," she interjected, stopping by one of the blue-tinted compartments in the wall, "but you have no idea how satisfying that was. You can at least give me a few seconds to gloat, can't you?"

Chekov smiled. "Okay, fine. Go ahead."

"Yay!" She paused, grinning up at the ceiling in an exaggerated stupor or sheer happiness, then released a contented sigh. "Ahh, thanks, that really hit the spot. All right, tour time. We'll start right here."

…

Briony's tour proved to be both informative and entertaining. She had a story for almost everything she pointed out and related each in the most animated way possible. She introduced Chekov to a few coworkers, dragged him around by the arm some more as they moved from one point of interest to the next, practically had to pry him away from the database, and they ended up back in the lab.

This was what Chekov had been anticipating most. The part where he might actually get to see an artifact. A real one uncovered by real experts on a real dig. He shivered eagerly as his guide cleared a space on a workstation, then filled it again with the small container she produced from beneath it.

Unable to curb his curiosity, Chekov moved in for a closer look while Briony entered a code into the touchscreen on the crate's side. With a soft hiss, the lid popped open.

"Ze box is pressurized," he said, "to aid in ze preserwation of ze artifacts?"

"Exactly. And these particular crates generate an inner suspension forcefield to prevent damage to the artifacts during transport, which makes our jobs a lot easier, let me tell you. Go ahead and take a peek."

Chekov peered over the lip of the container and immediately recognized the faint electric glimmer. Hovering within its protective confines was a chunk of weathered stone. He blinked, knowing that artifacts would naturally vary in an infinite number of ways…but this...?

"What do you think?" Briony prompted.

"I think…I think you found a wery nice piece of rock." He offered an apologetic shrug. "You did say you are an archaeologist, not a geologist, no? Or did I lose zat somewhere in translation?"

She laughed. "As cliché as it is, you're not the first person to ask and you won't be the last. Here, let me prove to you that this isn't just any old 'rock'."

In a practiced, fluid movement, Briony reached inside the crate and lifted out the stone, causing a minor flickering disturbance in the otherwise tranquil forcefield. After placing it on the countertop, she pulled over a large, illuminated magnifying glass and switched it on.

As soon as it was awash in cool, artificial light, what had initially appeared to be random scratches across the artifact's surface revealed themselves to be neat, delicate inscriptions. It was impossible to know what language they were written in, but it was clear that a sentient, intelligent individual was responsible for putting them there.

Briony beamed. "I personally excavated this little guy on Ondridia-5 a week before I transferred to the Enterprise."

"It's beautiful," Chekov said in admiration. "But…if it's not a rock, what is it?"

"So far, all we've been able to determine based on similar findings from this era of the planet's history is that it might be part of a sacred text used in ceremonies to worship a sun deity. Emphasis on the 'might'. There's still a lot of research ahead to confirm this, but that's the fun…" she faded off, tilting her head. "Okay, you look like I just handed you the lost city of Atlantis on silver platter."

"How do you do zat?"

"Do what?"

"How do you get all…" Chekov waved a hand at the artifact, "all of zat by looking at a rock?"

Briony flashed a sly smile. "How do you tell the difference between stars and planets by looking at a chart?"

Chekov considered this a moment, then nodded knowingly. "Hm. Tooshy."

She squinted at him. "Sorry, what...did you just say?"

Oh, no, not again.

Chekov's stomach clenched with a horrible feeling of impending embarrassment.

"I…I said zat word for when ze other person makes a good point in a debate…didn't I?"

Briony lifted an eyebrow, then appeared to comprehend.

"Wait, you mean 'touché'!"

"Yeah, zat…" Chekov laughed nervously, gaze dropping to his feet. "Too-shay. Zat's what I meant. What…what did I actually say?"

"Ahaha, nothing close to 'good point', that's for sure."

"Ayyy-yi-yi," Chekov groaned with a facepalm.

The xeno-archaeologist responded with her signature giggle and placed a finger under his chin, lifting his head up again.

"Don't worry, you'll figure out the subtle, maddening mysteries of Standard, I know it. Just need a little more practice, that's all. Besides, we don't judge here because we're xeno-archaeology, not linguistics. I think they're one level up and not nearly as awesome as us."

That brought a reluctant smile to one corner of Chekov's mouth.

"So," Briony pivoted, scooping the artifact off the countertop and extending it toward him, "do you want to hold it?"

"Er…sure, I guess." Swallowing, Chekov held out his hands and winced as the weight of the stone fell into them. At first, he was certain the ancient relic would crumble if he so much as breathed on it, but curiosity won out and his doubts gradually melted away until he was turning it over to study it from every angle.

"Don't drop it!"

"Aagh!" Instinctively, Chekov's fingers clamped around the piece and he clutched it to his chest like a mother would a flailing infant. "Don't do zat!"

"Oh, relax," Briony said with a gleeful snicker. "I was teasing…sort of. Really, though, you probably couldn't make a dent in that thing if you threw it against a wall. I think the wall might come off worse, actually."

"You're probably right…"

The two turned to find Dr. Sylar standing in the doorway.

"…but for the sake of the wall, I suggest you avoid testing that theory. Now, if you don't mind putting your tour on hold for a moment, Briony, I need a second opinion on those spearheads from the Regelo expedition."

"Of course, Dr. Sylar." She started after him, then paused just shy of the door. "Feel free to wander," she called back to Chekov, "just don't touch anything. I'll be back in a couple minutes. You can stay out of trouble for that long, right?"

With a friendly wink, Briony exited, leaving Chekov to answer the question for himself.

Still gripping the artifact like it might fling itself to the ground, he turned a slow circle, surveying the room and everything in it with hesitant curiosity. Finally deciding that it might be safer to explore without a priceless piece of some planet's history in his hands, he held the stone over the crate and let it sink safely into its former state of suspension. He was no stranger to the physics of forcefields, but there was something satisfying, almost hypnotic in watching a hunk of solid rock float and sway weightlessly in a pool of shimmering energy.

Chekov was considering giving it a poke and treating himself to a repeat performance when something across the countertop caught his attention.

Briony's notebook.

It lay wide open, pen resting in the crease exactly as it had landed earlier. Circling the workstation, he noted the black ink, her confident handwriting, one partially torn page…

Human…

Chekov's heart skipped. Was that…a voice?

Young Human. Do you hear us?

No, the faint, chilling whisper was more a feeling than a sound. The feeling of a thousand microscopic shards of shattered ice piercing his mind, running down his spine and spreading through his every nerve. It enveloped him like a net, rendered him incapable of movement, of drawing breath, even of thought for several tense moments.

His own voice, when he remembered how to use it, was thin and frightened.

"Who's th-there?"

No answer. Silence. Only the whoosh-whoosh-whoosh of his blood pulsing in his ears. Could he be dreaming?

Pavel Andreivich Chekov.

It was real. Something was talking to him, trying to get his attention. And it was coming from right behind him.

Find us. Help us.

Without thinking, Chekov whirled and attacked the opposite countertop, rummaging through a layer of clutter as fast as he could. What he discovered underneath was rather curious.

It was a small metallic sphere. Perfectly smooth and round except for an odd interlocking design at the very top unlike any Chekov had ever encountered, it was just the right size to fit in the palm of a hand.

His hand.

Spellbound, the ensign gingerly ran his fingertips over the raised design, taking in its complexity and mentally dissecting it, reorganizing the pieces, putting them back together to estimate how they might fit, wondering why it was there to begin with. There were no other evident lines or hinges on the sphere's surface to suggest that it could open. And if, by some miracle, it could, what would he find inside? Whatever the lock was designed to protect appeared to be no light matter.

Magnetic interest overwhelmed him, drawing him toward that brink where innocent speculation takes a deadly plunge into a river of serious consequences. He knew perfectly well to keep his distance from this ledge, he knew that he shouldn't test it…he knew…

All at once, the artifact was in his hand. He held it aloft, searching for better lighting under which to proceed with his examination.

"What—"

The rest of the sentence would never come to be. A searing arc of electricity exploded from the sphere and hit him squarely in the forehead while another traveled through his arm. For a split second, the powerful bolt gripped him in a blast of white heat, rendering every muscle in his body rigid with shock. Then, as fast as it had happened, it was over.

Chekov dropped to the ground.

…

"Side-by-side, the serpent carvings on this one appear to be slightly different from the rest, don't you think?"

A couple rooms down from their lab, Dr. Sylar and Briony hovered over a row of ancient Regeloan spearheads spread across an examination table.

"They do look a little off," Briony replied, bending in for a closer look at the single spearhead in question. "Could be from that other settlement farther up in the hills. I say we run a second scan and calibrate for copper content."

"Good call."

The older xeno-archaeologist carefully picked up the relic and placed it in the clear plate beneath a tube-like piece of scanning equipment.

"This shouldn't take long." He tapped the calculations into the instrument's computer, then turned back to face her, looking as if he were about to comment on the weather. "So, our new ensign friend seems nice enough."

"Oh, he is. He's funny and sweet and everything, but I think there's more to him than most give him credit for. And not simply because he has an IQ higher than all of earth's population combined—although I bet that helps."

"You barely know him."

"See, that's the thing. He really seemed to get me, right from the start. And I'm not the easiest person to understand. You can trust me on this one, I live inside my head all day."

"I would be a little concerned if you didn't, my dear."

"He's kind of a dork, I'm kind of a dork, we speak the same language, boom. Instant connection. But he's got…he's got some substance to match the brains."

Now armed with a tiny brush, Dr. Sylar removed a lingering speck of dirt from another spearhead beneath a magnifier.

"He would have to if he's sitting on the bridge with the captain. That's not a job for just anyone. Anyway, how did you two meet again?"

"Observation deck. You wouldn't believe it, but he was reading Haslam's studies of Nvvorian culture…for fun."

"Ah, I see." Sylar's words contained a touch of amused astonishment. "That's certainly not something you find in the hands of an average eighteen-year-old. But, as they always say, great minds do tend to think alike."

"Ha," laughed Briony dryly, "right. When I said there was a 'connection', I was referring to personality, not brainpower. We're not even in the same universe in that respect. He's a child-prodigy, for crying out loud."

"Yes, he made that impeccably clear in that informative and—I have to say—entertaining exchange with Schvaneveldt earlier."

The scanner beeped, prompting Dr. Sylar to retrieve the specimen.

"'Entertaining'? That wasn't entertaining, that was pure brilliance. I mean, he wasn't even trying and he punched a massive hole in Swannie's bloated ego."

"That he did." Dr. Sylar chuckled with a shake of his head, setting the tray down on the examination table. "The boy knows how to take care of himself. I imagine constantly being the youngest in a world of adults would bring that out in an individual."

"Personally, I don't know what would be more embarrassing," Briony chattered on, "not knowing what classical conditioning is or having it explained to me in simple terms by a teenager." She paused, briefly lost in thought. "Wow, I don't think I've actually met a certified genius before, let alone made friends with one."

"This should be a very interesting experience for you, then. At any rate, I'm glad to see you're meeting new…"

A prolonged and violent flickering in the room's lighting stalled the conversation.

"Was...was that normal?" asked Briony. Largely unaccustomed to the workings of large starships, it was sometimes difficult to tell what needed to be worried about and what was simply part of basic daily functions.

"No..."

"Um…good or bad?"

"Computer," Dr. Sylar left the question unanswered, addressing the ship's system instead, "locate and identify the source of any recent power surges within the archives."

They waited.

Power surge detected in archival lab number three, the sleek digital voice replied. Source unknown.

"Lab three—" Briony started, throwing her mentor a worried look.

Sylar mirrored the expression a split second before darting for the entrance. The young woman was quick to follow and the two of them raced down the hallway. Briony reached lab three's door first, pounded the code into the touchpad, and squeezed through before the door could even open all the way.

The place was…empty? This couldn't be right…

"Hello?" she called as her colleague moved past her to investigate. "Chekov? Are you still in here or did we scare—"

Dr. Sylar's gasp sent her running across the room to join him between the two counters where they had last seen the boy. He was still there…only sprawled on the floor, eyes partially open and glazed, one hand clutching a smoking metallic sphere.

"Oh, no," choked Briony, jerking backwards in horror, "he's…is he—t-tell me this isn't happening!"

"Electrocuted," Dr. Sylar said tersely, pushing two fingers into the ensign's neck. "Not breathing—"

At those words, Briony felt her own breath catch as her throat closed over a wave of nausea. Her pulse gained speed, lungs throbbing in the early stages of hyperventilation.

"W-what?!"

"Call medical!"

Sick and nearly sobbing, she stayed where she was, a statue of shock and disbelief. Things like this were only supposed to happen to other people, to command and security officers fully trained and equipped to handle such dire situations, not to a xeno-archaeologist.

"I—he's d-dead!" she cried. "How is he dead, he was standing here three minutes—I can't—I don't—"

"Briony!" Sylar barked at the panicking girl, scrambling to his feet to grip her shoulders. "Briony, listen to me! He's not dead, but if we don't get a team down here right now, he will be!"