Chapter 12

"Sorry, watch out, important stuff happening!"

A blur of blue zigzagged down the corridors, scattering people left and right, skirting around clumps of surprised science officers, nearly running over clusters of maintenance workers, and hurtling past members of security.

Seconds after exiting medbay, the gravity of Chekov's situation sank in all the way, setting off a shot of alarm. Briony suddenly realized that she might be the only one standing between her friend and an unwarranted court-martial, and that was a heavy thought. She might very well hold his career, even the rest of his life in her hands. If she couldn't find a way to validate his condition…

Finally screeching to a stop at the entrance of the archives, she could barely keep still long enough to tap in the code.

Access code denied, the computer replied calmly. Please re-enter and—

She jammed a fist into the touchpad. "Ow! Stupididioticpieceacrap—you know who I am!"

The indignant computer bleeped back at her.

"Don't you sass me! Open up before I tear you from the wall, rip out your wiring and—"

The doors slid apart.

"Thank you."

As soon as there was space enough, she forced herself through and dashed to the lab. Had that door been closed as well, she may have suffered a painful and embarrassing collision on top of already having had to deal with uncooperative technology. Instead, she went sliding the last few feet through the open doorway, nearly losing her balance before catching the edge of a desk.

"Uhh—Dr. Sylar!" she gasped.

The man in question emerged from between two workstations, arms full of broken odds and ends.

"Well, aren't you in a hurry? If I'd have known you were this eager to help clean up, I would have called you a lot soon—"

"Dr. Sylar," she repeated. "P-problem!"

"What?"

Without explanation, his winded assistant hurried past him, scooping up her notebook and a PADD.

"Briony…did you run all the way here?" Dr. Sylar quickly joined her.

"Yes."

"And was that you I heard yelling at—"

"Y-yes."

"Is something wrong?"

"No—" she stopped short, "um, actually yes, but not with me."

"What is it?"

"Just…it's just…" She spread her arms out as wide as they would go. "B-big problem."

"You already mentioned that." Now visibly concerned on several levels, Sylar deposited his load on the countertop. "What's going on?"

She gulped in a breath. "I…it's Chekov, he…" How could she put this? "He's in trouble…"

"Oh, you noticed—"

"No! No, no, it's not about—well, it is, but—the sphere!"

"Briony..."

She launched into a disjointed attempt at an explanation, gesturing wildly with every word she tripped over. "Th-the mandala—he's not—there's this advanced civilization—"

"Briony."

"—it's all in his head—no, not the way you think—"

"Briony," Sylar took her firmly by the shoulders. "I don't know what to think at the moment because I can barely understand you. Slow down."

"But he needs our help—"

He held up a hand. "Then hyperventilating and passing out on the floor isn't going to do him any good, is it? Come on, take a deep breath…"

"Listen—he's going to be—"

"No, I need you to listen to me." The man's stern look and matching tone brought his protégé to silence. "We've talked about this. You have…to breathe."

First step is to breathe...

She nodded and closed her eyes, visualizing those words, willing her mind to reset itself, her heart rate to slow, the rising panic to dissipate before it spread.

"This anxiety doesn't define you. You're the one in charge."

I'm in charge...I can handle this…focus…

"In through the nose, out through the mouth," Syler coached, "in and out, in and out, that's it."

Breathe...remember to breathe...

"Good, good. Try to collect your thoughts and start from the very beginning."

"That's a very good place to start," Briony exhaled as his grip slackened, already feeling a bit more stable.

"It usually is, my dear. Now, let's try this again. You say Chekov needs our help because of the sphere?"

"Yes." She blinked her eyes open to meet his, choosing her words carefully. "The sphere…it's…it's a sort of vessel or ark designed to preserve displaced consciousnesses. He says it contained the last souls of an ancient civilization."

"'Contained'? As in 'used to contain'?"

"Exactly. Somehow, this entire alien race was downloaded into his mind the instant he touched it and now he is the vessel. They're literally living inside his head—"

Sylar's eyes widened. "They?"

"Yes, 'they'. And 'they' have chosen him to return them to their ancestral planet."

"Chosen," Sylar repeated distantly to himself, turning to lean into the countertop on his palms. "This may very well explain why the sphere has baffled us for so long. None of us were the 'right one', so to speak."

"He went all psycho and tried to take the ship because these people are trying to get home."

"Of course... An entire civilization housed within a single human mind. Briony, this is extraordinary—"

"Yeah, the rest of the ship doesn't think so. H-he's going to be court-martialed, possibly institutionalized if I—I mean, if we can't help him."

Lines of worry deepened in the man's face as he considered this a moment.

"These are serious charges for a serious crime, Briony. Hijacking a starship…" he shook his head, "not something you can easily talk yourself out of, especially with a wild story very few are likely to buy. You and I understand from research and field experience that stranger things than this have happened throughout the finite sliver of this galaxy's history we've uncovered. But just how do you suggest we go about proving his innocence to Starfleet?"

"That's why I came here. The database—I'm sure I've gone over a specific case like this before, some instance of a consciousness taking a physical host. If we can find enough documented evidence of a similar occurrence, maybe we can convince the captain…" She drifted, seeing that Dr. Sylar was momentarily lost in his own thoughts.

"You know, my dear," he said at last, "it's a longshot, but you may be onto something here."

…

"Are you out of your corn-fed mind, Jim?"

"No," Kirk replied to the ruffled McCoy, standing and moving quickly toward the doorway, "but Chekov might be and he needs our help."

"And where do you think you're you going?"

"Sickbay. Where else?"

The doctor snagged him by an arm. "Oh, no, you're not! You already have command of the ship, I don't need you barging into—"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, doctor," Spock interrupted, following as Kirk broke free and started off again, "but a moment ago, I was under the distinct impression that you had exhausted every advanced medical diagnostic method or tool available."

Knowing the Vulcan was right and unable to counter, Dr. McCoy scowled, but trudged after the two nevertheless.

"We're still here, you know." Uhura was on her feet and right behind with Sulu and Scotty in tow. "Any time you feel like sharing..."

"A Vulcan mind meld, that's what," snapped the doctor without turning around. "Spock, do you have any idea what that could do to the kid's brain in its current state? We're talking going from mind meld to mind meltdown in a matter of seconds!"

"I am well aware of the dangers involved," the first officer returned, stoic as always, "however, our immediate lack of options logically compels us to—"

Dr. McCoy huffed, throwing out his hands. "Huh, right, 'logically'. Why do I ever bother asking?"

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. "I have begun to wonder the same thing."

"Bones," Kirk stopped the entourage in the middle of the corridor, taking McCoy by the shoulders before he could fire back, "we have to try."

"Try to kill him? Is that what you want to do?"

"Come on," urged the captain, "it's a chance, which is a lot more than we had ten minutes ago, and I don't know about you, but it sounds better than sitting by and doing nothing."

"Nothing?!" McCoy fumed. "Is that what you think? You think I've been sitting there beside an unconscious teenager with a riled-up beehive for brains for hours doing nothing?"

"You know that's not what I was imply—"

"WAIT!"

As one, the group wheeled to see a breathless young science officer dashing toward them, arms full of ancient-looking books and an older officer on her heels.

"Wait!" she shouted again, although unnecessarily as she was now within twenty feet of them. "Stop! You can't do this!"

"I'm…I'm, sorry, I don't remember you." Kirk confessed after a confused beat.

"Science Officer Briony Woods, sir," she gasped. "Xeno-archaeology."

The captain sent a quick glance in Uhura's direction. "I take it this is the girl you were talking about earlier."

"Transferred…transferred a few weeks ago from Starbase Eight," Briony said before Uhura could confirm, "so you probably don't know me, but I know Chekov—I…I mean, I've gotten to know him over the past few—anyway, I—we—have important information—he's not—you can't—I won't let you courtmartial him without a fair trial!"

Face set underneath the pair of large antique glasses sitting on her nose, she planted herself squarely in front of them like a one-woman brick wall.

The befuddled captain shared a look with his equally befuddled comrades. "Hold on, who said anything about courtmartialing?"

"If Ensign Chekov is found competent," Spock clarified, "he must stand trial for the offenses he committed."

"Yes, I know, but I meant that since it's not on the immediate agenda… Look, even if it gets to that point—and let's hope we can find some way out of this so it doesn't—it would be a while."

"And that's exactly why we're here." The stalwart Science Officer Woods was guided gently aside by the older man. "Take a moment, my dear. You know what to do." He then addressed Kirk directly. "My apologies, Captain. It's been a very…interesting day for many of us."

"Don't remind me. And it's 'Sylar', right?"

"Yes, I'm Dr. Trenton Sylar, also of xeno-archaeology. Briony and I believe we've found some useful information related to Ensign Chekov's escapade."

Kirk raised both of his hands, shaking his head. "Whatever it is, I'm all ears."

"Permission to speak freely, Captain," the young woman jumped back in, sounding surprisingly more grounded after a few deep breaths.

"Grant—"

"None of this was Chekov's fault—the attempted hijacking, damaging the ship—none of it."

"Well, it has to be somebody's," replied Dr. McCoy. "If not his, then whose?"

"I think I might have an answer to that."

After receiving an encouraging nod from her mentor, Briony pulled in a breath. When she spoke again, her tone was even, her words distinct and rational, suddenly calm and professional instead of frantic. It was obvious she was about to expound upon a subject in which she was so well-versed that knowledge overcame panic.

"I've been talking to Chekov for the past few days. In fact, I talked to him just before the incident and again a little while after in medbay." She cracked open one of the books and took something small and white from its pages. "I watched him draw this this morning in the rec hall. He didn't seem to be aware of what he was doing."

Kirk took the napkin, studying the bizarre circular scribble inked on one side as the others looked on.

"That's...that's really odd…"

"Oh, you noticed," retorted Bones under his breath.

"The security team found a design pretty close to this while investigating Chekov's quarters. I was there. I saw it myself. It was like...it was like he'd totally lost it and started gouging it into the wall for no reason. I didn't even realize it had a pattern until now."

"And that pattern looks a lot like what he was starting to draw on the panel when he attacked the bridge," Sulu added.

"Dr. Sylar," Kirk continued, "do either of you know what this is? If it means anything?"

"We've encountered mandalas like this before," replied Sylar, "all with varying purposes. The complete version of the design on the vessel in the archives might tell us what…"

"Eh, what's this aboot a vessel?" Scotty interjected "Yeh never mentioned tha' til now."

"I was getting to it, but we have reason to believe our young Ensign has unwittingly gotten himself chosen as host to the remaining souls of an ancient civilization."

"Well, that settles it," the chief engineer clapped McCoy on the back, "there's yer swarm o'brains righ' there."

Kirk blinked, then sighed and rubbed his forehead. "It couldn't have been anything less weird and complicated?"

Briony picked up the explanation again, consulting the topmost book from her armful.

"Captain, this phenomenon has been documented extensively throughout many cultures across many worlds." She handed the heavy tome to the commanding officer, pointed out a paragraph, then flipped open another. "As you can see, the occurrences we've uncovered appear to share certain similarities." She deposited the second book into his arms as well. "From what we've gathered, a highly advanced being or group of beings construct and use some sort of special vessel, or 'ark', as we like to call them in the profession, to preserve their collective consciousness and way of life after their world comes to a cataclysmic end."

"Can you maybe not—" Kirk grunted as the next book was delivered, "—do that—never mind…"

"In Chekov's case, the ark was specifically designed to choose a worthy host and transfer the preserved souls into its mind in order for said host to transport them to their ancestral home world."

"Wait, home world," muttered Uhura eyebrows coming together, "he did keep saying he wanted to go home. Could this be what he was talking about?"

"If it was him doing the talking in the first place," said Sulu.

"There's a spherical artifact we've been studying in our lab for some time," Dr. Sylar said, watching as his protégé placed the PADD on top of the tottering tower of books in Kirk's hands, "the artifact we now know has the complete mandala. Briony was giving Chekov a tour of the archives and we both had to step out for a moment…"

"Let me guess," Bones interjected dryly, "kid just couldn't keep his hands off."

"And as soon as he touched it, every single soul residing within the vessel was 'downloaded' into his mind. That was how he got shocked."

"Now hold up a wee bit," Scotty stepped toward the two science officers, one arm raised and face lined with concern. "How can yeh be so sure this artifact was wha' shocked the lad and no' a broken conduit or anything like tha'?"

Briony and her senior shared a glance. "Well, we didn't actually see it, but as far as we could tell, that's what happened. I don't know how it could've been anything else because the artifact was in his hand when we found him. Nothing else in the room had been damaged by the current…or whatever it was, if that counts for anything."

"Your eyewitness accounts and subsequent research are in line with what we have also concluded," Spock said, "but none of it will be considered credible unless we have actual proof."

"Proof, right..." Kirk handed off the books to an unprepared Scotty minus the PADD, which he handed to his first officer. "Spock, can you access the security logs from here?"

"Yes, Captain." Spock took the tablet, bringing up a live video feed of the lab in the archives. With a few strategic taps, he reversed it to the point just before a white-hot flash blotted out the entire screen and let it play as the others gathered around.

Clutching a small object, Chekov ambled cautiously between two workspaces. He paused, dropping the object into a small storage crate, then seemed to become distracted by something lying on the countertop across from him, which brought him around the other side to investigate. Just as he arrived, he froze, looking confused if not genuinely terrified. It was as if he'd heard something behind him and couldn't quite muster the courage to turn and see for himself what it was. His lips moved then, but without audio, none of them could make out what he'd said. One thing was certain, however, and that was that he was completely alone. Judging by the security details on the feed and what they could see with their own eyes, there was no one in the room with him.

Suddenly, Chekov snapped around and began to paw through the clutter on the opposite workstation like a dog searching for a buried bone. And then it appeared. The small, spherical artifact the two xeno-archaeologists had described. The captain's breath caught as he watched his young friend study and then reach for the metallic sphere.

Don't touch it, Pavel, please don't...

Chekov picked it up, holding it high above his head, his intentions obviously nothing more than innocent curiosity...

Kirk winced at the silent explosion of electrical light. Beside him, Uhura released a sharp gasp of horror as the boy's glowing skeleton became visible for a split second before the scene cleared to reveal Chekov's lifeless form sprawled on the floor of the now darkened room.

"Of course," murmured Kirk gravely. "Of course. Now it makes sense why he never told us what really happened."

"You…you mean you didn't know?" asked Sylar.

"Everybody thought he'd been messing with some faulty wiring and hit a live one. I was starting to have some doubts about his story, but—"

Bleetbleet

"Now what?" McCoy snatched the communicator from his belt without hesitation. "McCoy here, what's—"

"Medbay to Dr. McCoy!" The female voice was shrill and tense. "It's Chekov! He's…he's escaped from medbay!"