Chapter 6

Chekov awoke wondering why his pillow felt so hard and flat, only to realize he was face-down on his laptop's keyboard. He couldn't recall falling asleep and for a fleeting moment, his mind was blissfully absent. There were no mysterious voices, no dangerous smugglers, no gouges in the wall. Too soon, however, the beginnings of a dull headache dragged the bizarre events of the past two days back into his memory.

Maybe…maybe it was just a dream? A really, really stupid, stressful dream. I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy…

In the deepest pit of his stomach, he already knew it was no dream, but a guy could hope, couldn't he?

Okay, on three. One…two…three.

Lifting his face off the keyboard, he sat up and pried his eyelids apart.

Why did I even bother?

There on the screen of the laptop was the schematic of the archives, now bustling with dots and identification numbers, one of which, he noted briefly, was Briony's. Groggy and quickly losing faith in his sanity, Chekov stood and turned a slow circle, wincing with every reminder of his odd experience he took in. To his right, the pile of sodden clothes he had shed after the impromptu shower was still in a heap on the floor. Behind him, he found the screwdriver lying exactly where it had landed after he'd thrown it. And finally, there was the damaged wall.

With a grunt of frustration, he whirled around and flumped backwards onto his bed.

"I knew it," he moaned, covering his face with his hands. "Why did I hef to touch zat stupid sphere? Whyyyy?"

"Funny you should ask," said a clear, deep voice from somewhere behind him, "since it called and you answered."

With a very unflattering shriek, Chekov catapulted off the bed and went sprawling on the floor beside it. The pain in his backside was nothing compared to the shock of discovering a dark-haired man in a long green coat standing before him. His appearance was that of an average human; medium height and build, brown skin, a friendly, symmetrical face with broad features, even a goatee that looked like it had been attached to his chin simply for the fun of it. The intruder could have passed for anybody one might run into on an earthly street…except for the eyes. Those were definitely alien. Pupil-less, they glowed an unnatural and intense shade of aquamarine.

"Forgive me," the newcomer said, sounding as if he was about to meet a long-idolized hero, "but you're the first being I've encountered in eons who meets every qualification for this job. And, as your kind are so fond of saying, that's a huge deal."

Trembling, Chekov could only blink.

"I admit, I never thought this day would come." The clear voice wavered with emotion. "I guess I never should have doubted. Can…can I hug you, Young One?"

The boy yelped in horror, crab-crawling backwards until he hit the corner. There, he made up for the abrupt lack of an escape route by continuing to vocalize his sheer, dumbfounded shock in no quiet manner.

The man rubbed his forehead, slightly amused by this, if not a little irritated.

"Sorry, sorry, I wasn't serious about the hug. You can stop yelling."

Chekov managed to choke off the sound, but his mouth remained wide open, the now silent scream hissing out of it like air from a punctured tire.

"And feel free to close your mouth whenever you want. Come on, you're making this weird."

"Who are—h-how did—where—INTRUDER ALERT!" Chekov scrabbled outward until one hand closed around the screwdriver. Without hesitation, he flung it full-force at the man, then gaped in bewilderment as it sailed right through him.

"Please don't do that," the man sighed, rolling his eyes. "I feel awkward enough in this human manifestation as it is. Speaking of which, what do you think?" Arms outstretched, he twirled in place. "I mean it's kind of generic, but all in all not bad, right?"

"S-SECURITY!" Clamoring to his feet, Chekov snatched his communicator from a nearby shelf and fumbled it open.

"Oh, you probably shouldn't do that, either."

"ENSIGN CHEKOV TO SECUR—" The rest of the sentence was trapped behind his teeth as his entire body seized and went rigid as stone. It felt exactly like the chilling, invisible force from his strange dream the night before, which only made it more frightening. Had the option been available then, Chekov would have panicked and bolted, and that, he concluded, was exactly what the alien was preventing.

"Shh!" hushed the man—almost comically—before swiping the communicator from Chekov's stiff fingers and crunching it to bits.

"Hrr!" the teen exclaimed through clenched jaws, unable to pry them apart. "Lrt mrr grr!"

"I'll let you go as soon as you promise keep it down."

"Er-kr! Er-krrrr!"

The man tilted his head, his expression one of genuine confusion. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Er srrd er-krr!"

"You said 'okay'?"

"Yrs!"

"Okay. And you're not going to run away from me?"

Chekov had to think about that one. An alien life-form, he could deal with. Remaining frozen and unable to do anything, including defending himself from said alien if necessary, was much less appealing.

"Nr."

"Was that a 'no'?"

"Rrrgh, yrs, ert wrs er nr! Lrt…mrr…grr!"

"Alright, alright. But seriously, you have got to stop with the yelling." The man brandished a finger. "You'll have the whole crew in here, the rate you're going."

"Zat's ze idea!" Chekov snapped as his body loosened.

"Take it easy. It was for your own good, you know, and as long as you stay cool and work with me, it won't happen again."

This was beginning to sound a lot like blackmail, however, it probably wasn't a good idea to mention that out loud, Chekov thought.

"You're the only person in the universe who can see or hear me," the man continued, "so calling security wouldn't have gotten you anywhere but the psych ward, and we really can't have that. Not at a time like this. And I'm not going to harm you, Young One, you have my word. My name is Matharus and I'm here to help you."

"I…I…you…" was all the boy could splutter as he backed into a wall.

"Yes, while we're on the subject, allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for the scare. I took this form in hope of evading such a reaction, but I guess humans are a little more…ah…mentally fragile—or was that fragile-ly mental?—than I thought."

"I'm not frag—how did you get in here?"

Matharus shrugged, aiming a thumb over his shoulder. "The same way you did. Through the door." The man lifted a hand before the other could respond. "Ah-ah, I know what you're going to say, and the answer is that I'm not really here. I mean, not in the physical sense. Well, I exist, but I'm not...ugh, you know what? Let's just say I'm in your head and leave it at that for now."

"You are—urghk…" the ensign had to pause to fight the growing nausea, "…inside my mind? Then how are you standing—ze screwdriver…it went st-st-straight through you, b-but—this makes no sense!"

"The rules are complicated," Matharus agreed, folding his arms, "and, to be completely honest, I don't have it all worked out myself, but we can discuss the actual physics—or lack thereof—later."

"This isn't physics," Chekov muttered. "This is ridiculous."

"Hey, the good thing is that since I'm in your head, I know everything you know. Uh—almost everything. Don't worry, we thought it might be wise to allow you to maintain at least a little privacy, for obvious reasons."

"We?"

Matharus huffed. "Yes, 'we'. We are the last of a highly-advanced civilization…"

"Wait, when you say 'last of a ciwilization'…how much is 'last'?"

The alien calculated a moment. "Eh, I'd say around a million, give or take—whoa!"

Reeling, Chekov slid down the wall, wobbly legs having finally failed him. Matharus caught him under the arms as he hit rock bottom.

"No—nope—no, this is important. I'm sorry, small human, I understand it's a bit much for your finite intellectual faculties to process, but you can't pass out on me now. Deep breaths, deeeeeep breaths, stay with me, that's it…"

He propped the young man up as well as he could, making sure he was stable enough before going on.

"Okay, where was I? Oh!" Matharus cleared his throat purposefully, puffing out his chest. "I, Matharus, have been charged by The Supreme Council to act as a liaison between you—The Guardian—and my people. Brief rundown: before all life on our home-planet was wiped out, we uploaded every consciousness we could save into the Vessel—blahblahblah, lots of drama and explosions—and we've been stuck in there for the last few eons. Get all that?"

Matharus allowed Chekov a moment to cling to the wall while attempting to comprehend. It wasn't bad enough that he was seeing things, oh no. This particular delusion had to come with its own healthy sense of sarcasm. Or was it humor? Either way, it was annoying and potentially dangerous and didn't bode well for his future.

"Congratulations! You're the lucky guy responsible for returning us home and setting us free so we can pick up where we left off. The survival of our entire race depends on you."

At that, the ensign uttered a strangled moan, grabbing his hair in his fists and lurching toward the table.

"Zat's it. It's finally heppened. I hef completely lost it. Snapped! Got ze bats in my belfries! There goes my career, there goes my life, my sanity…everything, swoosh, down ze drain!"

"I thought we might have some trouble," Matharus said. "And I can assure you, you're not going insane."

Chekov shot him a dark look. "Right, like I'm going believe zat coming from a hallucination."

"And I'm not a hallucination. Listen to me, Young One, the sooner you stop trying to understand and agree to cooperate, the sooner we get out of your brain and leave you alone. Trust me, this arrangement is just as awkward for us as it is for you, so it'll be a win-win for everyone involved."

This hit a sensitive nerve. There was no way he was going to let a figment of his overly-taxed mind tell him what to do, especially when it believed his mind was inferior and wanted him to "stop trying to understand". That simply wasn't going to fly.

"No!" The boy threw his arms out in total exasperation. "No, I understand perfectly! I am not going to listen to you and I am not going cooperate. I've got enough to worry about and I'm through, Mister Thesaurus—"

"That's 'Matharus—"

"Don't care! I'm about ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure you're not real, and if you are, you're going to hef to find somebody else for this imaginary 'job'!"

"There is no one else—"

"You hef got to be kidding me!" With an animated gesture, Chekov indicated the small viewport across the room. "There are trillions upon trillions upon trillions of other beings out there. One of them is bound to be a much better choice than me, so take your pick and go away!"

"Well, someone woke up on the wrong side of the laptop today…"

"I hef a headache, no thanks to you!"

"Understandable, but it doesn't work like that. I can't just go away."

The argument dropped into silence briefly as a triumphant smirk made its way across Chekov's lips.

"Or can you?" He could tell by Matharus's shrinking posture that he didn't like where this was going. Good. "If you really are inside my head, as you say, then there should be no stopping me from making you disappear. Right here and now."

"What?!" cried Matharus as he began to fade around the edges. "You're not supposed to be able to—I'm inside your mind!"

"Oops." The navigator shrugged, the very picture of innocence. "I guess humans are not as 'mentally fragile' as you thought."

The manifestation looked down at his steadily dissolving form. "Help! I'm melting, melting! How did I not see this coming?!"

"Sorry, my brain, my rules." Chekov saluted. "Do svidaniya, Metatarus."

"Stop—don't—that's not my n—"

With a tiny pop, Matharus was gone.

Ha! Who's inferior now?

Several breathless moments past before Chekov felt confident enough to move, after which his first act was to spin a quick circle and thoroughly survey the room. Once satisfied that he was alone, he threw on some shoes and a jacket, scooped up his laptop, and headed for the door.

He wanted out. He wanted to be with other people, real people. Strangely, he felt as if the safety of tangible company might deter a reappearance of the bizarre hallucination. And what he needed more than anything else was someone to listen, preferably someone who wouldn't immediately drag him off to medbay, but keep him grounded and help him better understand this problem without all the poking and sarcasm.

As he entered the lift, he pulled the jacket's hood up over his head. Though he sought escape from isolation, he wanted to be with the right person—whoever they may turn out to be—and he hoped to avoid unnecessary attention along the way. But which way? Who was he trying to find?

Chekov sifted through the familiar faces of his bridge family. Uhura or Sulu would have been his first choices, but as far as he could remember, both were on duty and would not be off for several more hours. Chekov wasn't sure he could wait that long, let alone if he should. Captain Kirk? No way, he had enough on his plate already. Besides, he was…well, the captain. What about Spock? No, no, no, absolutely not. The Vulcan would understandably want to observe the issue at its source via mind-meld, and the last thing Chekov wanted right now was one more consciousness rooting around inside his head.

The lift stopped and, much to Chekov's distress, the doors parted to admit two chatting officers; one tall and gold and holding a mug, the other much shorter and clad in red. This might as well be his stop, the young man thought, and ducked his head, charging forward. However, in his effort to make a hasty exit and appear inconspicuous, Chekov bowled into the taller person, causing the contents of the mug to slosh all over their front.

Chekov's stomach dropped, eyes widening as he slowly, cautiously lifted his face.

"K-keptin!" he blurted in horror.

Blinking, Kirk pressed his lips together, giving a huff before glancing down to assess the condition of his now not-so-gold uniform shirt. The ensign couldn't quite tell if his commanding officer was upset, amused, or simply annoyed.

"Well, Mister Chekov," he said after clearing his throat, making a vain attempt at wiping the growing stain. "What a surprise."

"Where are yeh off to in such a rush, laddie?" queried Scotty. "Yeh look like yeh've seen a ghost."

"To…to, um…the archives." It was the first place that came to Chekov's mind, which wasn't exactly a bad thing. Now he just needed to back it up. "I'm, er…doing research…sir. It's important."

"Research?" The captain shared a brief glance with the engineer, then returned to the boy with raised eyebrows. "Chekov, it's great to see you up and around, but shouldn't you be in your quarters recovering from an electrical shock?"

"Uh, y-yes, Keptin." Chekov scurried past his seniors into the hallway. "But…I was just…I got bored and there was this—ahem—thing zat heppened and I need to…figure it out. Wery important."

"Yes, you already mentioned that."

"I did? Oh…oh, yeah, sorry…"

"So, what is it?" Scotty said. "What happened? Something we can help yeh with?"

"No, nope, not at all. Everything is…everything is under control, and I am definitely not insane—I mean in trouble—I mean in need of ze assistance…whatsoever. Eheh…"

Kirk tilted his head. "Are you sure you're—"

"No!" The younger officer threw out a hand, quickly hiding it behind his back upon realizing how guilty it made him appear, then strolled casually backwards toward the nearest adjoining corridor. "I mean yes, I'm sure. I'm great! I feel great, sir."

The captain and the chief engineer both eyed him.

"I'm wery sorry, Keptin, but I-I hef to go…" Flashing a thumbs-up and painfully fake grin, Chekov turned and rounded the corner.

"Well, that was…interesting," he heard Captain Kirk mutter.

"Aye, kids these days, am I righ'?"