Chapter 13

With a tidal wave of special curses reserved for occasions like this, Dr. McCoy took off down the hallway. At exactly the same time, Kirk whirled to face Sulu.

"Take the conn and secure the bridge. Nobody gets in or out until I give the all-clear."

"Aye, sir," the helmsman nodded, then went sprinting in the opposite direction.

"Scotty—" the captain spun again, this time in search of his chief engineer, only to see a pile of scattered books where the man had been standing seconds before, "—is already on the way to engineering, never mind. Spock, go to yellow…"

Spock was one step ahead, busy entering his authorization code at record speed into one of the computer consoles built into the corridor walls.

Yellow Alert. All personnel report to designated stations immediately.

For the second time that day, the computerized voice, flashing lights and the unsettling wail of the alarm filled the hallways as crew members rushed to various posts.

"Computer," Spock said evenly, "locate Ensign Pavel Andreivich Chekov."

A holographic, three-dimensional cross-section of the Enterprise materialized in midair above the console and, despite the commotion, Briony's attention was drawn instantly to the stationary island of dots and ID numbers marking the group's current position in the ship. The layout was very similar to the schematic she and Chekov had been studying that very morning.

That very morning.

It all seemed so distant now, like a weird dream dredged from the bottom of her memory. How had it gone from a conversation over breakfast to near-death, insanity, a prospective court-martialing, and a yellow alert?

The horrific image of Chekov's accident replayed in her head and her heart sank to her already nauseous stomach as it occurred to her that she might be responsible for much of what was happening now. If she had simply kept her mouth shut and her stupid problem to herself, she and Chekov never would have met. He never would have touched the sphere and nearly died. The ship wouldn't be damaged, and they would all be continuing their peaceful, if not somewhat dull, daily routine—

She blinked.

One of those ID numbers was familiar. Disturbingly familiar. Breath catching in her chest, she leaned slightly closer to make sure she'd seen what she thought she had.

81DD7

There was no mistaking it. Standing less than two feet away from her was none other than the mysterious hovering dot that had previously occupied the space just beyond the vault. How was this even possible? Schvaneveldt had been caught red-handed only hours before and everything pointed to him as the thief…

Unless…

But then that must mean…no, it couldn't be. Absolutely couldn't…

"Ensign Chekov is located in section B between decks three and four," replied the computer, bringing her back to the present.

"Between?" the captain asked. "How can he be between decks? That makes no—"

At his first mention of the word "between", Briony's frantic train of thought screeched to a stop.

"Oh, passages!" she blurted, then shrank a little as eyes gravitated toward her collectively. "The, um…passages. It—it's how he's getting around?" Briony gulped, then shrugged, trying to appear cool and unruffled. "Like, you know, through the walls…or whatever. But really, I have no idea what I'm talking about because why would I…"

"I believe what Miss Woods is implying," Spock clarified, "is that Chekov could be utilizing the Jeffries tubes and other crawlspaces within the ship's interior workings as a means of traveling to his intended destination." He eyed her. "Although I am not entirely certain as to how a crew member of your status and profession could be aware of their existence in the first place."

"Uh…well, I…that is…" The young science officer paled, faltering under the Vulcan's hard gaze. Fortunately, the captain himself came inadvertently to her rescue.

"It looks like he's heading for the shuttle bays," he said, eyebrows furrowing. "And fast. Really fast."

"But he's coming from the wrong direction," Sylar pointed out. "Medbay is all the way up here—"

"The archives!" Briony blurted yet again. "He's—the artifact! He must have gone down to the archives for the sphere!"

"Oh, no." Uhura's voice was tight with worry, "looks like he—I mean, that thing controlling him—is making a break for the back door."

"We have to stop him—er, it—before it does something stupid… I mean something else." Kirk paused, shaking his head. "This is getting confusing. Okay, Spock, Uhura, you're with me."

"Wait, what about—" Briony started.

"You two go back to the archives and start digging up what you can about that mandala." Captain Kirk trotted a few steps and motioned for Uhura and Spock to follow. "I want a full report, everything you can possibly find. I have a feeling we're gonna need it. Let's go!"

With a nod, Sylar immediately obeyed orders, starting down the corridor almost before the captain had finished speaking, but Briony hesitated a moment. A dozen or so steps later, he finally took note of her absence by his side.

"What are you doing?" he called over a shoulder. "You heard the captain. Hurry!"

Suddenly overcome with an indecisive apprehension, she scanned him, taking in all she could in the blink of an eye.

It was him. No matter what angle she took it from, no matter which way she tried to spin it, she knew deep in the pit of her heart that Dr. Sylar was not what he seemed. Instead, the man she had grown to admire professionally over the weeks, the man who had taken her under his wing upon arrival, the man who was the very essence of what a good, moral, respected scientist should be, was nothing more than a low-life liar. He'd been hiding right under her nose, playing the role model the entire time, and she'd been too stupid, too wrapped up in his fake mentorship to see him for the snake he really was.

And, she realized with a sickening jolt, she was going to have to confront him. Alone.

"Coming, Dr. Sylar."

With a breath, she summoned her remaining wits and courage, forcing one foot after the other until she was at a trot.

Briony had never faced a situation quite like this before. Difficult team members? Yes. Random injuries on digs? Naturally. Making her way to the archives on the heels of a criminal? Never. Ironically, Dr. Sylar was one of the first people she would have run to seeking advice on something like this, but those days were over. She was on her own this time and it was up to her to handle. But…how?

She trailed behind a ways, making sure to keep up just enough to avoid suspicion while maintaining a safe distance. She had to come up with something, act before he caught on that she'd discovered his dirty little secret. Her options were fairly limited as the man was obviously a master of deceit and an expert manipulator, so confronting him verbally was probably not the best idea. Perhaps a more direct physical approach would be more effective?

She cringed. She had, of course, been through the necessary basics of hand-to-hand combat and phaser training, just like any other cadet. However, xeno-archaeology wasn't high on the list of fields requiring much use of those skillsets. And, just like any other cadet, she'd been swept up in the excitement of future exploration and discovery and never gave it a second thought once she'd earned a passing grade.

They rounded the last corner and entered the deserted archives.

"Let's search the ship's local database first and branch out from there."

She nodded, making as if to follow, then hung back a few seconds at the emergency locker right beside the lab door. As quietly as she could, she put in the code—it was a miracle she remembered it at all three weeks after her initial orientation—slid it open and curled her fingers around a phaser. The weapon felt foreign and volatile in her hands, like a smooth and deadly serpent.

When she was certain he was distracted at one of the computer stations, she held it aloft, making sure her shaking hands were in the correct position, and clicked it into stun mode.

Sylar glanced up at the unfamiliar sound, then retreated several paces in alarm. "Briony?! Wh-what is this? What are you—"

"Sorry, the innocence card won't work on me anymore." She hoped the slight waver in her voice wasn't too audible. "Secret's out."

Raising his hands, Dr. Sylar opened and closed his mouth several times before he was able to speak. "What are you talking about?"

Anger coursed into her veins at his blatant denial, giving her added strength. The phaser steadied a bit.

"I…I know you're the one who's been stealing from the archives and sending me threats."

"Th-threats?" The man's eyes widened in dawning comprehension. "Oh…oh, no, Briony, my dear—"

"Don't call me that! Don't you ever call me that again! And I understand, trust me. I know who you are, I know you've been messing with the system to switch ID numbers and frame Schvaneveldt. I know you've been watching me."

"That's not true! Please, Briony, you're overreacting to a terrible misunderstanding and I need you to listen—"

"NO!" she shouted, advancing a step as the tears she'd kept at bay until now overflowed. "No, I'm done listening to you! You and your stupid, fake advice and encouragement. I…I respected you! You were everything I ever wanted to be and now I'm disgusted just to be in the same room with you."

The senior xeno-archaeologist ventured forward as well.

"Don't—" Briony brandished the phaser, "y-you stay right there!"

"Briony," he said again after a tense pause, "please hear me out. You've gotten all of this backwards and you're going to regret pulling that trigger, I'm telling you. Put the phaser down and give me a chance to explain before you do something stupid…"

"Oh, I don't need an explanation," she spat. "Save it for the captain."

"NO, WAIT—"

Much to her own surprise, she fired, hitting him square in the chest. While he flew several feet and crashed into a countertop, she whirled and threw herself out the door. As soon as it closed, she unleashed the phaser pointblank on the touchpad, only ceasing when she realized she'd turned it into a sizzling, melted lump.

Then, full realization of what she'd just done made her double over in near-agony, driving her down the corridor and around the corner to the vault. Once she staggered inside, she could go no further and collapsed to her hands and knees, letting the tears fall freely.

Breathe…breathe…move on…

"Keep it together," she lectured herself after a minute or two. "Keep it together…for Chekov…"

"If that brat is the reason you're down here, I'm afraid you're a bit late."

With a startled yelp, Briony scrambled to her feet, fumbling with the phaser until it was aimed in the general direction of the voice. There in the doorway of the restricted zone—which had been reduced to a pile of shattered glass—was a tall, shadowy figure. Set in the dark void of its head like burning jewels was a pair of glowing amber eyes.

"The little punk got here just before I did, unfortunately. Kind of ruined my immediate plan," the specter strode into a thin slice of light, "but who am I to complain when an opportunity practically falls into my lap? Oh, this is going to be so...much...fun."

"Swannie?" Briony could barely gasp the name before it escalated into a scream and the phaser was ripped from her hands by a vicious, unseen force.

"How many times do I have to tell you," growled the advancing creature, "not to call me SWANNIE?"

…

Puffing and red in the face, Dr. McCoy descended upon medbay like a hurricane on the Gulf.

"Chapel!" he shouted for his righthand nurse, who was sifting rapidly through readouts and data at the main console. "Christine, what—how?!"

"I don't know, doctor," she said, "I really don't know. You need to see this.

Nurse Chapel, the tall, blonde medical professional that had been by his side for several months now was not easily shaken, but McCoy detected a note of trepidation beneath her words.

Without another exchange, the two hastened through medbay, stopping just within the entrance of the psych unit.

"He became violent again. We tried to sedate him, but he was…he was too strong."

McCoy's eyes narrowed. "Too strong? He was strapped to a biobed."

With a slight, almost fearful nod, Nurse Chapel indicated the darkened space Chekov had been and should still be occupying.

The doctor swore under his breath as he approached the area, or rather what remained of it. The light in the ceiling had not been extinguished so much as obliterated and sparks rained from exposed wiring, leading his gaze to the chaos below. The monitors were shattered, their bases bent and twisted as if they'd been through a shredder while other medical debris littered the shattered cupboards and floor. And at the center of it all was the biobed. Its straps, which were supposed to keep things like this from happening, weren't even there anymore.

…

Uhura was getting used to running after Kirk as he charged headlong toward death and danger or whatever the catastrophe at hand entailed. After all, someone had to keep him from getting himself killed. But this? This was different. This wasn't a crazy exploit involving vengeful time-traveling Romulans with a ship the size of Rhode Island. It was personal. A friend they all knew and loved dearly was in great danger and if they couldn't reach him fast enough, they faced the very real possibility of never seeing him again. Though she'd been through some trying events, all of which made her stronger, losing Pavel was one storm on the horizon she wasn't sure she could weather.

The lieutenant kicked it into high gear at this thought, coming alongside Spock, who was right on Kirk's heels. She was much smaller than the other two, but in top physical condition, as any Starfleet officer was expected to be, and perfectly capable of keeping the pace…for now.

Flicking a sideways glance at her boyfriend, she wasn't surprised to notice he wasn't even breathing hard, let alone breaking a sweat. It was an oddly reassuring sight, knowing that if she or Kirk were forced by their human limitations to the sidelines of the race for Pavel's life, Spock's Vulcan physiology would allow him to keep going. For miles, if need be. If they faltered, he might still be able to reach Pavel in time.

Might.

In this context, the word was loaded with heavy implications. She hated them all.

As they passed the next corner, the bleetbleet of a communicator brought them skidding to a brief halt.

"Captain," came Sulu's voice.

With a practiced movement, Kirk swiped the little device from his belt and flipped it open. "Kirk here. Go ahead."

"Captain, we've locked onto Chekov from the bridge. It looks like he's going for shuttlebay six."

"Got it," he replied. "On our way. Kirk out."

With a course correction and renewed urgency, the three were off again. Never had the ship seemed so endlessly huge to Uhura. Corridor after corridor, corner after corner, she lost count and felt as if they might as well be running backwards for the progress they were making.

Pavel. We have to find Pavel. We have to help him.

It was the only thing in the universe that mattered. It became her mantra and she inwardly chanted it in double-time to the pounding of her boots. It was almost a relief to nearly crash into the captain when he finally hung a sharp right and slid into the entrance to shuttlebay six.

"Captain," cried Zahra, one of the security officers dispatched to the site, "he's shut us out from the inside."

Kirk brushed past her to poke at the keypad a few times, slamming a fist into it and muttering a few choice words when nothing happened.

"It is likely that the being residing within Ensign Chekov has acquired the ability to deactivate the override codes."

"No, really," grunted Kirk as he made a few vain attempts at pushing and kicking the solid metal door.

"Okay, seriously?" With a huff, Uhura nudged him aside and tapped the intercom option on the panel. "Chekov? Chekov, can…can you hear me?"

No answer. She honestly hadn't expected much of a response, but the total silence was unnerving.

"Pavel, are you there? It's Uhura. We're here to help you."

A longer pause, and still nothing.

"Maybe he's not in there anymore," suggested the other guard.

Swiping the nearest phaser, Kirk once again took a stance before the door. "I don't think we'd be locked out if he wasn't. Stand back, everybody."

The other four barely had time to jump clear before Kirk—perhaps a little too enthusiastically—blasted the lock to bits.

"Ha," he said, shoving the door open with some help from Zahra, "works every time. Come on."

Uhura was about to ask if the theatrics were really necessary, but was hit by a wave of cold air that froze the words to the tip of her tongue. The shiver it induced was contagious, running through each member of the group in turn. Even Spock, now with a chirping tricorder in hand, seemed disconcerted by the prickling chill coming from the darkness beyond.

"Temperatures are approximately thirty-seven-point-three degrees below ship-wide average," reported the Vulcan.

"Only thirty-seven?" The captain stood with his arms wrapped around his middle. "It's like a walk-in freezer in here."

Uhura gasped, seizing Spock's wrist tightly and pointing into the vast space. "Look. Over there."

As if on cue, a faint, bluish glow flickered to life at the very center of the room.

"Is…is that…" Kirk moved forward, but Uhura held out an arm.

"No, wait…" she admonished, "let me."

"Nyota…" Even at a whisper, the concern in Spock's tone was easy to register.

"I'll be fine, Spock, just…just let me try to talk to him. Maybe...maybe I can get through." She paused, sending him what she hoped was a reassuring smile and not a fearful grimace. "After all, I am a communications officer. You, of all people, should be able to see the logic in that."

Without waiting for a reply, she commenced her cautious journey into the gloom ahead.

"Phasers ready," she heard Kirk whisper to the guards behind her, "but only on stun. I don't want anyone hurt if this goes downhill."

Uhura relaxed a tad. She and Captain Kirk may have started off on the wrong foot in their pre-Starfleet days, but his heroic actions during the encounter with the Narada had proven many of her misgivings wrong. Though, in many ways, he was still the same bull-headed Jim Kirk she'd shared countless classes and lectures with, he'd shown himself to be much more than the pompous, womanizing jerk she'd initially taken him for. He'd grown. He was captain's chair material; competent, bold, passionate about his job and the people he worked with. She was steadily come to look up to and trust him both as a commanding officer and a close friend, and knowing he had her back was incredibly heartening.

A reappearance of the strange light about twenty-five feet away brought her focus back to the task at hand. Uhura paused, listening carefully. Through the thud of her own racing heartbeat, she discerned what may have been a small sob wrapped in ragged breaths.

"Pavel?" she ventured.

The breathing caught.

"It's okay, Pasha," she said, tiptoeing a little closer, "I know you're frightened, but we're here to help you. We'll always be here to help you and you can count on that."

The light, which she noticed was actually a strange luminescent frost, slithered in tendrils along the ground from a central point where a human shape hunched on its knees.

"Pasha?" The breath behind the name left her mouth in a puff of steam.

"Stay away."

The warning had the exact opposite effect and she approached his huddled form swiftly, sinking to her own knees before him. The boy's body was wracked by a violent, shivering spasm. She reached, hoping that a touch of warmth would at least provide some comfort and perhaps a vital channel to more information.

As soon as she made contact, he went rigid.

"It's okay," Uhura repeated gently. "Please, Pasha, let us help you."

"You…you c-can't," he choked. "It's already t-too late."

"No, no, don't say that. It's never too late."

"You d-don't under…understand. I'm…dying."

After a stunned beat, Uhura collected herself, scooting forward to grasp him by the shoulders.

"I refuse to believe that. Come with us. We can figure this out, I know we can."

"Follow ze stars," was all he mumbled in reply.

"What?"

"I must…follow ze stars. It is ze only way. I…I hef to go."

"Go…where?"

Slowly, he uncurled himself and opened his eyes, causing Uhura to gasp and recoil involuntarily. Instead of their usual bright, friendly green, his eyes glowed a vivid, pupil-less aquamarine.

He extended his hands outward, releasing the object he'd been clutching to his chest. Free at last, a small silver sphere rose into the chilly darkness. Uhura took in a sharp breath as the frost spread rapidly across the floor in every direction once more, travelling right underneath her as if she weren't even there. She knew then that it wasn't merely a dusting of abnormal ice crystals, but a physical manifestation of great power.

At a sudden intense flash, she flung an arm over her eyes as her head snapped up to witness a tiny line slicing its way around the circumference of the artifact. An odd hum throbbed from its core, washing over them in pulsating waves. Then, with a mechanical click, the two hemispheres split apart, hovering one over the other while the light confined within burst forth and bathed all present in an indescribable warmth.

Uhura stood, eyes widening at the wispy, mesmerizing projection beginning to take form high above them. Billions of bluish-white particles of what could only be pure starlight gushed from between the two halves and flicked about, leaving shimmering trails in their wakes that danced and swirled and eventually weaved themselves into an intricate orb—a perfect three-dimensional version of the mysterious mandala.

And then, as if by the crumbling of a mental wall, it became clear to her.

This was not a mandala, as they had previously thought. Not at all. This was a beautiful, complex map crafted with great care by beings of unfathomable intelligence. A living star chart which, by some cosmic twist of fate, had found its way into the most capable—however unsuspecting—pair of hands in the galaxy.

Chekov raised an arm, pointing to one of the foreign symbols drifting serenely inside the orb.

"There."