Chapter 14

The orb dimmed. The two halves of the sphere rejoined and dropped to the ground with a loud clatter while the brilliant glow faded from Chekov's eyes.

"Pasha!" Uhura lunged as he tipped, falling to her knees and gathering his limp form into her arms.

The others came running and the captain crouched beside her, searching under Chekov's jaw for a pulse, then trading it for a wrist.

"Come on, don't do this…"

"He's not…please tell me he's not…" Uhura began.

Shaking his head after a tense pause, Kirk huffed with relief. "Spock, I think now might be a good time. Make it quick."

The shuttlebay descended into silence as, without a word, the Vulcan knelt at Chekov's side, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Then, he reached for him, placing each finger of his right hand at precise points on the ensign's face.

"My mind to your mind," Spock chanted, "your thoughts to my thoughts. My mind to your mind, your thoughts to my thoughts. My mind to…"

…

A searing white flash nearly caused Spock to break the connection prematurely, but a force like he'd never felt before suddenly immobilized him. This was most unusual. He should have gained access to the boy's memories by now. Instead, all was disconcertingly dark and quiet.

"Hello, Mister Spock," came a deep voice from somewhere in the nothingness.

A man in a long green coat materialized before him in a pool of soft light. The force lessened until Spock was able to move freely.

"I do not believe we have met," he said.

"We haven't," the man replied, "but I've learned a lot about you."

The Vulcan lifted an eyebrow.

"Let me put it this way: our young friend admires and respects you greatly." He smiled, then gestured to the vast space around them. "Please forgive me for the odd manner of our meeting. This mind melding ability your kind possesses is quite remarkable. However, owing to the gravity of our current situation, I'm afraid I've been compelled to make a few, ah…modifications to your technique. I hope you don't mind."

"That is…logical."

"I thought you might say something like that. Well, then, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Matharus and I represent the displaced remnants of an ancient and highly advanced civilization, but I'm sure you already knew that since our Host has tried multiple times to inform your companions."

"We were unaware of your existence until very recently and were under the impression that he was suffering the psychological effects of a traumatic injury."

"Yes, I noticed," Matharus nodded, "but not to worry. Now that you're here, we can clear this little matter up and move on."

"Where is 'here'?"

"Your Vulcan mind meld allows you to see the thoughts of those you connect with as if through a window, but for the sake of time and clarity, I have temporarily joined your consciousness with our collective. You are literally standing—well, maybe not literally-literally—but you're inside Chekov's mind."

"Fascinating."

"Yes, yes, it really is. Also, very convenient."

"Is he aware of my added presence?" Spock asked.

"Possibly. He's not quite unconscious—otherwise this conversation would be taking place on your terms, not mine—therefore, I'm almost certain he can see and hear us, but for the moment, is likely incapable of responding. The strain of housing the essences of an entire race is quickly taking its toll, as you may have seen out there in the physical world. It's a wonder he's come this far at all. From what I've observed, most other species would have mentally disintegrated under the pressure by now."

Spock quirked his head. "I…do not understand."

"Chekov has proven to be somewhat of an anomaly, even within his own people, having an unusually strong and complex mind, which is why we suspect the Vessel chose him to be our Guardian in the first place. He's fighting a difficult fight, and faring remarkably well given the circumstances, I might add, although he won't last forever."

"My fellow crew members and I are prepared to provide assistance in any way possible."

"I have no doubt you are. If I've learned anything from this experience so far, it's that humans thrive on the strength and comfort given freely by those they hold affection for, and likewise, on the benefits of the strength and comfort they give freely to others. This may be the reason they're a much sturdier, more advanced people than we initially assumed."

"I have drawn similar conclusions during my time among them."

"I would think so, given that you are part human yourself."

"True."

"As our Guardian, returning us to our world is now Chekov's responsibility, but it doesn't mean he has to do it alone. He knows what to do. He knows where to go. However, the bond of friendship you all share could very well be what sees him through to the end. Once he completes the task, Chekov and my people will go their separate ways and his mind will…hopefully heal with time."

Spock pondered briefly. "Your use of the word 'hopefully' implies a significant risk to the well-being of Ensign Chekov."

"Unfortunately, Mister Spock," Matharus bowed his head, "you are correct. The longer we wait, the greater the chance he may never recover when all is said and done. It was never our intention to cause harm to anyone, I assure you. In choosing Chekov, the Vessel was simply doing what it was designed to do eons ago and he happened to be the individual it deemed best for the job. Personally, I think it would be a waste to damage a mind—and more importantly, a heart—like his."

Spock's brow furrowed. "There was nothing in our chief medical officer's diagnostic reports to indicate that he might have a cardiovascular defect…"

Matharus sighed. "No, I mean his soul…his spirit. He has great potential to do great things. He's a good person in possession of an incredible gift, and that's a combination you don't come across every millennium. I, for one, believe the Vessel made the right selection, no matter how human he is or how inadequate he feels—"

A sudden jarring from the outer world violently dropped everything back into blackness…

…

"Spock?" First to regain his footing, Kirk stumbled quickly to the aid of his sprawled first officer. "You okay? Spock!"

Spock gasped as the captain tapped his face, eyes snapping open and flicking about in momentary confusion. The distant but powerful explosion had knocked everyone, including the Vulcan, to the ground.

"Spock, are you all right?" Uhura repeated worriedly. She'd been able to keep hold of Chekov, although in doing so, had sacrificed her right side and elbow in order to spare him a hard landing.

"I am…I am unharmed, Nyota," Spock confirmed, sitting up. "What happened?"

"No idea."

"Time to find out." Kirk snatched his communicator on the way to retrieve the sphere. "Bridge, report."

"Explosion near main engineering, Captain," said Sulu. "Shields, stabilizers, and life-support systems functioning at slightly decreased, but non-life-threatening levels. No word from Mister Scott."

"Go to Red Alert and keep trying."

"Aye, sir."

"Kirk out. Zahra," the captain then addressed the guard, "find Hendorff, get a team together, and go check it out. Could've been an accident, but with everything else that's happened today, I doubt it."

"Aye, sir," she affirmed and the two guards dashed for the entrance.

"Matharus…" Spock said from the floor. "I spoke with Matharus."

"What?"

"The being Chekov mentioned…he is indeed real and I can confirm he poses no threat."

Kirk hauled the Vulcan up. "No—rgh—threat? How does forcing a teenager into trying to hijack my bridge translate to 'no threat'? You sure you're okay?"

Back on his feet, Spock hurried to help Uhura with Chekov, pulling one of the ensign's arms over his shoulders. "There's no time for a detailed explanation."

"Then give me what we do have time for." Kirk mirrored Spock's actions on the boy's other side and the two hoisted him between them.

"Everything Chekov has been trying to communicate is true. His mind is currently host to the entirety of an ancient alien race, and they are, in fact, attempting to find their way home. Their 'possession' of Chekov was, for all intents and purposes, involuntary, and, due mainly to a lack of understanding on both parts, neither they nor Chekov can be directly blamed for anything that has transpired over the last few hours. The only way to save him and Matharus's people is to help him take them their ancestral system. And quickly. The longer we wait, the more his condition deteriorates. As do their chances of survival."

"Well, that…wasn't as helpful as I'd hoped it would be," Kirk mumbled as they reached the entrance and turned into the corridor, "but it sounds like you had a nice chat. Did this guy happen to say anything about how to, oh, I dunno, maybe get them all out of Chekov's head?"

"Chekov has already given us much of the necessary information."

"So…so he really is dying, then?" Uhura opened the lift doors and ushered them inside.

"Yes. I am afraid he is."

"What do we do, then? We can't take him anywhere with a damaged ship."

"Let's just start by getting him back to medbay first," Kirk replied. "Bones'll come up with something…unless he's developed an aneurism by now—"

Bleetbleet

"Captain?"

Eager for more news, the commanding officer picked up his communicator in his free hand.

"Kirk here, what've you got for me, Sulu?"

"Sorry, sir, but it's nothing good."

"Of course it's not. Tell me anyway."

"Right, sir. We've just heard from Scotty."

"Is he okay?"

"Pretty worked up. Could barely understand him through all the cursing."

"He's fine, then."

"The transmission was patchy but he—casualties so far—omething about—in the coolant—at—temp—failu—"

Sulu's bleak report dissolved into static just before the lift was jolted to a halt by another blast. Once again, the group found themselves on the floor.

"The explosions...they're coming from inside the ship," Uhura gasped, clawing her way upright as the lights flickered and dimmed.

"Sabotage…?" Kirk wondered aloud while he and Spock maneuvered Chekov back into place on their shoulders.

"What's the point of sabotaging an already damaged ship? We're not going anywhere!"

"Yeah, don't remind me. Here…" the captain handed his side of the boy off to Uhura in order to pry a panel from the wall. Once it was free, he tossed it aside and began probing the lift's emergency manual controls. "Well, we almost made it to medbay. Looks like we'll have to go through the top hatch and climb the rest of the way. Shouldn't be far."

Chekov moaned, trying to lift his head. "Uuungh...wh...where..."

Uhura and Spock lowered the boy to the ground, propping him against the wall.

"Stay still, Pasha. Don't try to talk."

"Uhh, we've got another problem to add to the list," grunted Kirk. "Hatch might be jammed. Aren't we supposed to have inspections so that these kinds of things don't happen?"

"Want me to file a formal complaint with Starfleet?" Uhura asked flatly.

"Yeah, do that. Put it in a little P.S. at the bottom of the other one about the teenaged Russian rebel thing—OW!" He sprang back from the panel in a miniature shower of sparks, shaking out a hand before shoving a couple fingers into his mouth. "Mmmstupidpiecea—"

"The use of expletives will not improve our situation, Captain," Spock remarked, taking Kirk's place at the controls. Within seconds, the square hatch popped open.

"Wha—I just—really?" Kirk allowed himself a second to pout, then shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"Thank you, Captain."

…

Chekov drifted through a bleary haze, wanting nothing more than to find somewhere to lie down for a while. He was exhausted, dizzy, and confused. Last he remembered, he was cuffed to a biobed in sickbay, talking to Matharus, discovering he had powers he didn't even want, and seriously freaking out about it. Everything after that was a swirled mess.

…Except for Spock's unexpected appearance inside his brain. Chekov had been able to see and hear most of what had gone on, slipping in and out of focus once or twice as they conversed, but came away with one crystal-clear point: he wasn't alone anymore. No more awkward encounters with friends and coworkers, no more questioning his sanity while weighing his options. Now his friends had at least some idea of the bizarre web he'd been caught up in and were ready to do whatever they could to help untangle him.

Chekov relished the thought, sliding beyond consciousness for a while, then becoming vaguely aware that he was bumping around in somebody's arms. Someone was carrying him…?

"Hang on, Chekov." The voice belonged to the captain. "Almost there."

Almost where?

"Medbay's just around the corner."

Chekov cracked his eyes open as much as he could without feeling like they were on fire, which wasn't far. Above him, the cool, clean medbay ceiling lights sped past in wobbly streaks. The captain slowed and, to his relief, took the path away from the psych ward. Soon he was being deposited onto one of the biobeds near medbay's main hub. If he remembered right, these ones didn't have built-in restraints.

"What in the Sam Hill's going on, Jim?" Dr. McCoy appeared above him and, without hesitation, proceeded to stick wires to his head and chest and replace the IV line Chekov had pulled out before his earlier escapade. "I've got people flooding the place in all sorts of conditions! Burns, broken bones, lacerations…"

"Casualties?"

"None so far, thank the all-merciful heavens. Let's just hope we can keep it that way. And where was he?!" The doctor brandished a hypo in Chekov's direction. "His room looked more like he'd had a visit from the horsemen of the apocalypse than—"

"Shuttlebay six. You're welcome." Kirk held out something round and shiny. "Here, I think this…kind of belongs to him."

Chekov followed the exchange and watched Dr. McCoy hastily place the sphere on the bedside table.

"Listen, Bones, I've got a few small problems I need to look into right now."

"Only a few?" McCoy drew the divider curtain partway closed as he followed. "Jim, how in the cotton-pickin'…"

The rest of the doctor's sentence was drowned out by distance and the bustle of incoming patients, but Chekov didn't care. Whatever the IV was pumping into him was starting to work wonders on the headache and that was all that mattered. After a few minutes of staring absently at the ceiling while the cocktail dampened the world around him, he turned aside to take the sphere, noting with mild interest that he'd ended up one bed over from a still unconscious Schvaneveldt. The man looked a lot better than Briony's description of the accident had lead him to believe; several bruises and cuts, maybe a cracked rib or two. Chekov snorted. At least the guy didn't have an entire civilization stuck in his brain.

On that note, the ensign shifted his attention to his own monitor, hoping to catch a glance of anything interesting it might be picking up from his head…and froze.

I AM WATCHING YOU

Those words...

Those were his words scrolling across the screen in bold-face.

I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE

I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE DOING

Ignoring the sharp jab of pain brought on by sudden movement, Chekov sat up, eyes widening and heart racing.

AND IF YOU AREN'T IN THE VAULT IN FIVE MINUTES WITH THE ARTIFACT IN YOUR SORRY LITTLE HANDS…

SHE'S DEAD

YOUR MOVE, GUARDIAN

"Briony," he whispered hoarsely. "Oy, nyet…Briony!"

Without a second thought, he sprang from the biobed, yanking off every single one of Dr. McCoy's freshly replaced wires. He had just freed himself of the IV when a strong jolt, like a focalized earthquake, sent him toppling forward. Fortunately, the vacant bed next to him cushioned the brunt of the fall.

Dazed, he scrambled back to his feet to gauge the torrent of medical personnel, crew members, and patients rushing past him. As his head began to spin out of control, he had no choice but to hope for the best and dive in.

The jostling current swept him toward the entrance. Traffic in the hallway beyond the brief bottle-neck at the doors was faster, not as constricted. He darted between people like a hunted gazelle, hung a left into an adjoining corridor and continued his panicked dash until he came to a functioning lift.

"Hey, what're you doing?!" yelped the previous occupant when Chekov grabbed him by the shirtfront and pulled him out.

"Move-move-move!"

Swapping places with the bewildered crewman, Chekov poked the touchpad over and over until the doors closed. Woozy as he was, the moment the insufferably slow lift opened onto the right deck, he sprinted all the way to the archives, passing through them without too much difficulty before approaching the darkened vault.

"Bri…Briony!" he called breathlessly, sliding through the entrance. "Briony, where are you?"

"Stop yelling, pajama-boy," came the answer from somewhere in the blackness, "she's right here and she's fine."

That voice...he recognized it, however it seemed off-kilter, slightly warped in some way he couldn't quite place. Chekov wheeled in every direction, searching until he spotted an unsettling pair of fiery amber points of light hovering in the void of a deep corner. They were eyes, he realized with a sickening pang, and, though pupil-less, he could sense them scoping him thoroughly. Instinct and ingrained protocol training caused him to reach for his sidearm, only to remember he didn't have one when his hand closed on empty air.

"And she'll stay that way as long as you make the right choice."

"Wh-who are you?"

"What, you think I'm just going to tell you?" scoffed the voice. "Hm, no fun in that. How about I amp up the entertainment factor a little—my entertainment factor, not yours—and let you take a guess? Hey, you've even caught me in a relatively good mood, so I'll be generous and give you a hint."

Chekov's mouth dropped open as out from the shadows stepped the last person he expected to see. Wrapped tightly in one of his arms with a phaser to her throat was a squirming Briony. Much to his relief, she seemed more angry than frightened or hurt.

"Sh…shcna..vanadelt?!" he spluttered out finally.

"Ugh," the much more menacing, almost inhuman version of the tall xeno-archaeologist rolled his eyes, "not even close. My bad, I forgot the whole speech impediment thing you've got going on."

"It's an accent," snapped Briony, "not a speech impediment, you idiotic—"

"Don't care." Schvaneveldt shoved the phaser deeper under her jawbone, then cleared his throat, businesslike. "Right, anyway, on second thought, I think I actually will just tell you who I am. My name—my real name—is Araxis."