Chapter 5

"No," Briony insisted, "I'm telling you, it wasn't there anymore."

"Yes, ze file is likely gone," Chekov confirmed, standing up carefully to avoid another dizzy spell, "but definitely not without a trace, as you say."

"Wait a second," she watched him cross the room, "are you…"

From a corner, Chekov snatched his laptop computer and returned to the table, plunking it down in front of his skeptical-looking friend.

"No way. Don't tell me you're a navigator and a hacker."

"Bongo."

"You mean 'bingo'."

"Agh, yes, bingo, whatever."

No sooner was the laptop open than his fingers began dancing across the keyboard at lightning speed. Curious and more than a little baffled Briony scooted her chair around to his side of the table for a better view.

"Okay, what are you up to, Braincase?"

"I'm remotely accessing your department's system."

"You can…you can do that?"

"Da." He sent her a sly, sideways smile, then shrugged. "It shouldn't be too difficult to track your missing file and, in turn, ze indiwidual who created it."

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute, you can get into serious trouble for stuff like this, can't you? I'm not going to let you throw away your career just to—"

"I used to go after scam artists when I was a little kid at home in Russia," was all he said in reply.

"So, what, when you were, like, five?"

"More or less. Still do, on occasion."

"Um…how are you still alive?"

"Bingo."

"So...so you...ohhh man, I don't even want to know."

"Ze trick is not to get caught."

"Well, I figured as much."

Unable to suppress a mischievous snicker, he hit enter a couple times, bringing up another black screen crawling with code.

"Aha! Zat wasn't so hard. Your smuggler left behind a trail for us to follow. How wery kind of them."

"This is…this is insane." Briony stared at the laptop, openmouthed in disbelief. "I've been so worried over the past week. If only I could have known all I needed to do was find the smartest kid with the craziest computer skills on the whole ship…"

"Oho," Chekov lifted an eyebrow, waggling a mock-accusing finger at her, "so zat is why you were so eager to get to know me."

She waved him off. "Pfft, nah. I just thought you might be my free ticket onto the bridge."

He halted, leaning back to stare at her.

"Kidding."

"Oh. Eheh..."

"Honestly, though, you seemed like an interesting, smart, friendly crewmember. Simple as that." She thought a moment. "I guess…at the same time, I may have subconsciously hoped that if the thief really were lurking around watching me, they might be intimidated by you."

Chekov choked back a snort. "Intimidated? By me? If you were aiming for intimidating, you should hef gone to someone with more authority, like Commander Spock. Or ze keptin. Trust me, they can be wery intimidating."

"I believe you, but wouldn't that've been too conspicuous? Besides, I wasn't 'aiming' for anything. Striking up a friendship with a goldshirt from command just happened to have the added benefit of…well, being friends with a goldshirt from command."

"No, no, I see how it is," Chekov picked up the feigned tone of childish insult again. "Go for ze middle guy. Ze ensign. Someone at ze bottom of ze rank ladder so as not to raise suspicion…"

He glanced aside from the screen and was glad to see that her smile had returned, however briefly. She wasn't the same person without it.

"Oh, come on, JP…"

"…but high enough to be a threat. Someone 'unassuming', who can 'fly in under ze scanners and get away with whatever he wants'."

Briony grinned at the serpentine flying motions he made with his hands, complete with sound effects.

"Pew-pew! Problem solved."

That one brought out her full-on, barky laugh. Odd as it was, it was an encouraging sound.

"You're hilarious. And no, it's not like that at all. I told you, I've only been aboard the ship a few weeks, and up until a couple nights ago, I was basically alone. Sure, I've met plenty of nice people, but never, you know," she locked her fingers together tightly to demonstrate her point, "connected with anyone. When this issue popped up, I had no one but myself and it made me nervous. Very nervous. That's why I went to the observation deck that night. In a way, that place makes me feel…safe."

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

"All I wanted was a distraction, to escape for a while, and when I saw you sitting there with your nose stuck in Haslam's Nvvorian theory…" She gave him a playful nudge. "Nobody just reads that book for fun. Nobody except weirdos like you and me, so I knew…I knew you were different. In a good way. It had nothing to do with your rank or your age or the situation I was in. I felt a connection with you, the person beneath it all, and at that moment, that was more important to me than anything else."

He cleared his throat, hoping the flattered warmth in his face wasn't too obvious.

"So, uh…why ze note?" he pushed on. "Why not just ask for help?"

"Like I said, I wasn't actually looking for help, but after we started talking, it occurred to me…"

"Zat you could drag me into this?" Chekov prompted with a wink.

Briony sighed, rolling her eyes. "I was going to say that maybe you could help, but I guess that works too. Anyway, going back to the creepy potential stalker-thief, subtlety was my best option, so, I took a chance, figuring you would either find the note and respond or pass it off as a random fluke and never be the wiser."

A shot of guilt traveled through the young navigator upon realizing how perilously close he'd been to the latter. What would she have done had he dismissed her plea as an anomaly?

"I…I'm glad you found it."

He stopped typing and turned to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You know what?"

"What?"

"I am glad I did too."

Briony opened and closed her mouth a couple times.

"Chekov…" she said at last, eyes flicking up to meet his, "the first of the threats I received came shortly after the file was erased. It said 'keep out or you're next'. I've gotten three more since then, each worse than the last and I…I have no idea what to do. I'm scared. I don't want…"

The young woman took his hand in hers and squeezed, wordlessly communicating her darkest fears.

"I don't want to be 'erased'."

Chekov squeezed back. "I won't let zat heppen."

…

The ground beneath his feet was stone; cold, aged and solid, as were the walls of the passage he was standing in. It was dark, save for a brilliant line of vertical light ahead of him. Though distant, warmth and safety radiated from it like a midday sun, gently beckoning him.

He walked cautiously, each step in time with his heartbeat. Soon enough, the tunnel ended, opening into a wide, circular chamber. The source of the light, he discovered, was a beam stabbing through the impossibly lofty ceiling like a pillar to illuminate a perfect, fire-rimmed circle in the middle of the floor.

The circle held within it a great power, a source of life but also of cleansing destruction. He could feel it pulsating, calling to him and him alone. The desire to see what fate awaited him inside the flames was suddenly insatiable. As he was about to run to it, he found himself immobilized by an invisible force. He struggled against it in fear and confusion, fighting the prickling energy.

"Not yet, Young One."

Immediately, he halted.

That voice.

It sounded like a single being, but carried legions of others with it. Commanding and reassuring, it was everywhere at once, yet nowhere at all. Above, below, inside him.

"You are worthy, but you are not yet ready."

"Who are you?" he asked.

"We are the Last Ones, the displaced remnants of a once vast and glorious civilization, and now we shall be the first. The time has come, for Araxis approaches. We feel his presence near."

"Ar...Araxis? What is…what do you mean?"

"We are those you have been chosen by the Vessel to protect. You are The Guardian and you must bring us home to begin the cycle anew and restore what was lost."

To his dismay, the shaft of light began to fade and darkness rapidly closed about him. Black, starless darkness. The worst kind.

"Wait! I-I don't understand!" The force released him and he reached—for what, he couldn't comprehend—only to grasp nothing. "Don't leave me here! Please!"

"Follow the stars, Young One, for they will not betray you."

"But there aren't any here! I can't see them! I can't see the stars! I can't see the…I can't…see…"

With a yell, Chekov sat bolt upright, eyes snapping open. Gasping, he realized he was on the floor. How he'd gotten there, he could only guess. Wiping droplets of sweat from his brow, he scrambled to his feet, only to be greeted by the same grinding headache he'd been plagued with all day…

How long had he been out?

He made the mistake of spinning around to snatch the alarm clock from the shelf at the head of his bed and reeled, ending up back on the floor, this time on his knees. When his sight cleared enough, he looked up…and froze in horror. Jagged scratches and gouges marred the once smooth wall above the bed. They appeared random and crude, like the work of a crazed caveman, nothing more than a series of lines and zigzags…except for the unmistakable beginning of a large arc at the bottom. The alarm clock slipped from his numb fingers and it was then he realized his other hand was still clutching something.

What in the—? he thought, gaping at the object he held.

A screwdriver?

Had he just…attacked his wall?

Chekov threw the tool across the room like it was a poisonous snake, then stood, pressing his fists into his temples as he bolted for the shower. Without even bothering to undress, he jumped in and cranked it to the highest, coldest setting. The jets of water were not nearly as shocking as the electricity from the sphere, but strong enough for a reality check, which was what he needed more than anything right now. He forced himself to stand in the icy downpour for several minutes, letting the rivulets cascade from his head, trickle over his face, run down his back.

Breathe…you've got to breathe…

What was wrong with him? Had the demands of serving aboard a starship at such a young age finally caught up with him? Could he be having a mental breakdown or mid-life crisis at the tender age of eighteen?

No. No way. He was simply stressed and overreacting to a weird dream and a random bout of sleep-walking…wall-scratching…whatever. These things could happen to anyone, right?

I should go back to medbay…

But what could he tell Dr. McCoy that wouldn't get him committed for the rest of his life? Normal, healthy people didn't go crazy on walls with screwdrivers they didn't even know they possessed, especially not in their sleep—

Ugh, I am NOT going to medbay and I am NOT going insane.

…And yet, here he was, standing in the shower fully clothed and arguing with himself.

Chekov shut it off and leaned against the frosted glass door, forehead on his crossed arms. As much as he didn't want to believe it, this was really happening. All of it. To him.

With a groan, he opened the door and stumbled out of the shower stall. Maybe he wasn't insane yet, but his situation was quickly driving him in that direction. Why was he suddenly the universal go-to problem solver for everyone and everything in existence? First an artifact thief, now the entirety of a disembodied civilization had apparently chosen him to be their savior. What was next? A call from Starfleet demanding he negotiate peace between the Federation and the Klingon Empire by himself?

In a haze, he finally decided that standing here dripping wet and panicking wasn't going to get him anywhere. Shivering, he peeled off the soaked clothing and replaced them with a t-shirt and sweatpants. It always felt a little odd to be out of uniform, but if he was going to be off-duty and stuck in his quarters with a thief to catch and a confusing hallucination to contemplate for forty-eight hours, he might as well be comfortable.

Toweling his hair (which thankfully no longer resembled a sheep), he plopped into the chair by the table where his laptop was still open and running. Hours before, Chekov had set up a personalized, concealed monitoring program through the ship's system, and with Briony's permission, he was now remotely tracking both her movements and the activity in the archives.

Instead of going through the security cameras, which would have made it more difficult to camp out in the Enterprise's electronic hub without being noticed, his program utilized the ship's built-in sensors to lock on to Briony's coordinates and feed the info directly into his computer. He could pinpoint exactly where she was at any time and could even read her vitals. If someone decided to go through with a threat, he would know within moments.

It was actually Briony who'd brought up the idea. Chekov had been hesitant, pointing out that it felt a little too close to stalking, which made him uncomfortable and besides, wasn't one person watching her enough?

"It's not stalking," she'd insisted. "It's a precaution. First, it's for my own safety. Second, I suggested it, which means I've agreed to allow it. And third, I'd feel a lot safer knowing at least one pair of eyes belongs to someone I can trust."

He couldn't counter that.

When his friend left, the young Russian, headache and all, began tackling the challenge. As was to be expected, it took quite a while for him to create even the tiniest crack in the ship's army of hefty firewalls. It was difficult, but not impossible. If he had learned anything during his many forays into the danger-ridden world of expert hacking, it was that every system, however elaborate, had a weakness.

The Enterprise was tricky, playing coy and leading him to believe more than once that he'd discovered how to get under her shell only to nimbly dodge him at the last second. This was exactly what she was designed to do, so, unperturbed and determined to treat her like the sophisticated cybernetic lady she was, Chekov coaxed her little by little into letting him squeeze through her defenses.

Once he'd unlocked her "mind", there wasn't much she could hide from him and she told him almost everything; where to access the sensors, how to acquire and integrate the information needed for tracking Briony, what Sulu was having for dinner—which was purely by accident. In return, Chekov vowed to patch up the hole in her system's wall after this issue was resolved and leave it better than he'd found it. He would never compromise her secrets.

Now, hours later, he tapped the keyboard a couple times, sifting through various screens and windows until he found the one he was looking for. A quick scan of the readouts informed him that Briony was currently in her cabin with a roommate, unmoving, her breathing slow and stable, her pulse even. She must be asleep, which made Chekov wonder if this might be the first peace she'd had this week. It was satisfying to know that by doing what he could to look out for another, he was allowing them some worry-free rest.

Unfortunately, the worrying was now his responsibility, tired as he was. The alert app Chekov had designed specifically for the program would notify him of any suspicious activity, however, he felt better watching in real time. Well, for now, anyway. He didn't know how much longer he would last before sleep claimed him too.

With barely a twitch of a finger, he brought up a detailed live schematic of the archives. A few colored blips with ID numbers floating above them told him they were still active. He wasn't surprised, as the ship hummed with activity around the clock, but one particular blip caught his interest. While the other individuals wandered about the space in wide, casual movements, this one remained relatively stationary in a remote corner of an annex space labeled "vault".

81DD7

Why was this ID number so familiar…?

…

It was always so blessedly quiet here in this tiny nook no one else seemed to know or care about. He found it amusing that a ship full of trained officers could overlook a breach like this so easily, which only made it that much more satisfying. They were so stupid. So pitifully, hilariously stupid. Every single one of them.

He leaned over the artifact he was meticulously duplicating, bits and pieces of mental data flickering before his eyes as he processed every crack, every nuance, every detail at incredible speed. Of course, there had always been the option of replicating the fakes, but they never turned out as convincingly as they did when created with that superior touch a machine simply wasn't capable of.

Accuracy was vital in this line of work, but these people were idiots, never noticing what was right under their noses for months...well, until she came along. She had to be the exception. She had to be the one to stumble upon his documents and send him scrambling to wipe the evidence.

It was the closest he'd ever been to a slip-up thus far in his quest and it could never happen again. Fortunately, just one week prior, he'd taken the precaution of tricking the ship's system into switching his identity with that of coworker, one he particularly despised.

Satisfied with the outcome of his current project, he placed the doppelganger relic inside the crate with its genuine counterparts. The authentic one it had replaced went into the larger box he'd been busy preparing for transport for the last few hours. It was full of precious artifacts—carefully selected from the archives' inventory so as to avoid detection while garnering the highest price possible—and ready for delivery to his contact.

Now there was one item of business left to take care of. He'd made a few extra duplicates, and tonight, along with a real artifact or two, they would find their way into a certain colleague's locker. Very soon, if everything went smoothly, they would get the blame, they would be arrested, clearing his tracks and eliminating an annoyance all at once. Then he would be free to continue with the mission he was really here for.

Where was it?

He was so close to his goal now that he could feel its resonating aura. Day by maddening day, it grew stronger, taunting him at every turn like the scent of fresh meat. He just had to locate it, then the real fun would begin. No more hiding, no more pretending, no more searching.

With that, he was reminded of the need to double check his itinerary. Unfortunately, drop-offs were the most complicated and dangerous part of this loathsome business, but mistakes were not an option. If anything was out of place, it would seriously complicate things, unraveling the useful network he'd built up, setting him back months, maybe years.

Mentally reviewing the list of details that needed solidifying before it was safe to proceed with the drop, he picked up his glowing PADD. Just as the tip of his finger touched the screen, it went blank. He was about to curse the troublesome bit of lowly technology when, much to his surprise, large, bold-faced words began marching across the blackness…

I AM WATCHING YOU

Confused at first, he attempted to swipe the malfunctioning device clean. Instead of having the desired effect, more words appeared.

I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING

This was impossible! How...who…where…?

AND IF YOU HURT ANYONE…I WILL KNOW

There was a pause, almost as if whoever (or whatever) was sending the messages was waiting for a response. His pulse picked up, a thousand worst case scenarios whirling through his head, none of which turned out in his favor. Someone out there, some literal phantom being he couldn't see, hear, touch, or eliminate, had found him.

Who are you?

He held his breath in anticipation of the answer.

I AM THE GUARDIAN