Chapter 17

As if punishing it for being the bearer of bad news, Captain Kirk squeezed the communicator until his knuckles went white. Then, without a word, he jammed the device back into his belt and marched toward the entrance.

"Whoa, whoa, hold it, I know what you're doing…" Uhura rushed after him and seized an arm just before he crossed the threshold.

"Uhura—" he began.

"You can't seriously be thinking of going after them…"

Kirk faced her with his jaw set. "Yes, Uhura, I am. That man—or whatever he is—seriously damaged my ship, injured dozens of crewmembers, kidnapped one of them—he took our friend. We can no longer afford to consider him anything less than a terrorist, and as long as he's out there, he's a threat. Somebody has to track him down before he does something worse."

"Exactly." She grasped his arms tightly, looking up at him with a determined glint in her eyes. "And that's why you are not going out there alone. I'm coming with you."

The captain huffed and opened his mouth to counter, but there would be no persuading her otherwise.

"For Chekov. For our Pasha. He's a genius and clever and so much stronger than he lets on, but…but, like you said, he's only eighteen. He's just a kid and he's sick and this is obviously something he can't fight alone. He's going to need all the help we can give him."

Kirk nodded after a moment. "Okay. Okay, you're right." He then turned to the two scientists. "Doctor Sylar, this is just a hunch, but I feel like an expert archaeological consultant might be a handy addition to the team for this particular mission."

"Aye, sir," said Sylar. "But wouldn't it be better if both of—"

Kirk picked up his communicator again, resuming his quick pace with Uhura trotting at his heels.

Not about to be left behind, Brinoy sprang after them. "Hey, wait a minute…"

"Spock, there's been a major development. Remember that unauthorized beaming signal we picked up a minute ago?"

"Affirmative."

"Chekov," Kirk said. "He's been taken by the nutcase responsible for trying to punch the place full of holes."

"I assume that the ensign's abduction directly correlates with his condition?"

"It would be a bad idea to assume otherwise, don't you think?"

"Agreed."

"Captain, wait! I want to—"

"Not now, Woods," he muttered aside to the archaeologist. "Spock, I'm putting together a rescue team. Ship's all yours until we return. Patch her up the best you can and keep the motor running. We may need backup if things keep going south."

"Aye, Captain, and good luck."

"Same to you. Mister Sulu…"

Briony caught up as the other three exited into the corridor from the archives, squeezing past Sylar and Uhura. "Captain, please listen to me. I think I can—"

Too distracted by the urgency of the mission at hand, Kirk continued giving out orders as if she weren't even there. "Get me the last known coordinates of that unidentified vessel and see if you can come up with some kind of trail for us to follow."

"Yes, sir, but just warning you, it might be patchy."

"Better than nothing."

"Got it, standby for transmission."

"Captain Kirk!" Briony slid around him, planting herself in front of the doors of the lift just as he reached for the button. "I'm requesting permission to join the away team. Aside from Doctor Sylar, I'm the only person with any advanced information on that sphere."

"That may be, officer, however, I—"

"With all due respect, sir, I have reason to believe I should be included on this mission." With a visible surge of confidence (or maybe it was desperation), Briony straightened, clearing her throat and adjusting her glasses. "Uh, several reasons, actually."

"And those would be…?"

"Two degrees in archaeology—emphasis in cultural anthropology and a masters in xeno-archaeology, three years of intensive scientific training at the Academy graduating within the top ten of my class, two solid years of professional field and lab experience plus an extensive body of research with several published findings…and a museum studies certificate on the side. I've got it all framed on the wall in my cabin if you need further proof."

The captain blinked, a bemused smile playing on his lips. Although he'd known her less than an hour, this officer's surprising confrontation seemed slightly out of character. It wasn't every crewmember who would risk their career just to be included on an away mission, especially one who seemed to have difficulties keeping her head in a crisis. But her credentials were considerably more than he'd expected, and her request was obviously sincere.

"Always happy to vouch for Miss Woods, if needed," put in Dr. Sylar while Briony beamed next to him. "I'm confident she would prove to be a vital asset to the group. As they always say, two heads are better than one, and I'm certain that applies to archaeology experts as much as anything else."

"Captain, please," continued Briony. "I know I may be a little out of line and I'm probably not what you'd consider 'qualified', but I really think I can help. I want to help." She clasped her hands earnestly, "Chekov…Chekov is my friend, too. Probably the best one I've made since I've been here. You all know he's brave and kind and freakishly brilliant, of course, but I've only known him a few days and he's already made me feel less like a number and more like a person than anyone else on the Enterprise. He even went out of his way to help me solve a small, um…personal crisis that popped up. I was confused, alone, and frightened, and…and he's probably feeling exactly the same way right now, wherever he is. He saved my sanity, possibly my life. Don't you think I owe it to him to help save his?"

…

Zyrete launched through the cargo bay hatch into the cockpit. Instead of automatically heading for the controls as usual, she hung a right and stormed down the passageway into the small common area between the ship's living spaces. There, she found Araxis bent over the tiny table at the center of the room. On the surface before him, two halves of a metallic sphere sat open and seemed to be the source of a projected orb of glowing lines and symbols.

"…can't be possible," he murmured to himself, and she could swear his voice was tainted with the faintest drop of uncertainty, maybe fear. "He shouldn't be able to do that. He's too weak, too human—"

"You!"

He jerked out of his thoughts, scooping up the two pieces and snapping them together. The floating orb dissolved as he shoved the whole sphere into the pocket of the long black coat he was now sporting. Quickly recovering his cool haughtiness, he sat back and spread his arms, indicating his outfit.

"I was really sick of that stupid uniform. Like it?"

Zyrete growled and advanced, narrowing her eyes to slits and clenching her hands.

"Take that as a 'no'. So, where have you been for the last—"

"Whatever you detonated after we took off damaged my ship!" she spat. "And where've I been? I've been making sure your little prisoner doesn't die of an infection before you get wherever you're going!"

"Oh, yes, thank you, that would be very counterproductive to my plans if he were to—"

She slammed both fists into the tabletop. "I'm not finished! Where's my cargo, huh? Who is that kid? And what was that glowy thing you were looking at?"

Araxis, altogether unfazed by her angry advanced, shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other. "Easy there, fur-for-brains, one question at a time."

That was enough. With a snarl, Zyrete leapt on top of the table, landing in a crouch and unsheathing her knives. She crossed the blades, causing a brilliant crackle as electric currents converged, and she forced him against the wall with his neck between them.

"Don't…call me that again," she hissed, fangs bared.

"Ooh, very nice," Araxis approved after a moment of mild surprise. "I'll have to remember to get couple of those—"

"These'll be the last things you ever get if you don't tell me what's going on. Right. Now."

"Simmer down and put those ridiculous things away before somebody gets hurt."

"In case you haven't noticed, somebody's already been hurt."

"Touche," snickered the man without the slightest trace of remorse. "All right, all right, listen, I won't refer to you as anything fuzz-related for the rest of our time together, however long that may be. I'll also reimburse you fully for your trouble, the damage, and the cargo. I'll even shell out half up front."

Zyrete retreated slightly, eyeing him from top to bottom. "What's the catch?"

"The catch?"

"There's always a catch."

"Ah, yes, I forget you 'traders' are all the same. So suspicious. Well…it's not so much a catch as a condition."

She lowered the weapons slowly and stepped off the table, remaining coiled in a defensive position nevertheless. "What is it, then? Let's hear it."

"No. More. Questions." Locking her in his inhuman gaze, Araxis rose to his full height. The eyes were back to what she assumed was a normal color, but no less sinister, no less intense. "None. Don't ask me where the cargo went. Don't ask me about the boy. Don't ask me anything."

"Yeah? Or what?"

"Think of it in terms of an ancient Earth adage I know…how does it go again? Oh, yes, something like 'curiosity killed the cat'."

She released another deep growl at the insult.

He lifted his hands. "But I swear no harm will come to you if you fulfil that one simple request."

The pilot was no stranger to shady deals (or threats), and this one was already as shady as they came, however, she was usually dealing in valuable objects, substances and resources. Never before had she been involved in the trafficking of living, sentient beings, and she'd vowed long ago that she never would be. Aside from being just plain wrong, there were penalties for such operations in many parts of the known galaxy, and were especially harsh and more numerous the closer one got to Federation space. The sooner she could get this guy off her ship, the better…

But what about the boy?

She thought of how frightened he'd been after finally waking up. She thought of the phaser wound and other injuries she'd finished treating only moments before. She wondered what kind of fate he was doomed to once he stepped off the Riibu…

Whatever it was, it was none of her business, she decided. She wanted no part of it. The last thing she needed was to be caught up in the crooked, filthy world of slave-trading and lose everything. She'd done all she could for the kid, and, honestly, what else could she do other than send them on their way and forget the whole thing?

"I'll take you as far as the Outer Gulch," she said at last. "That's it. No further. Non-negotiable."

"Reasonable enough, I guess," Araxis sighed glancing upward. "There's always some other lowlife idiot out there desperate for a job. I'm sure they would be particularly prevalent in a place called the 'Outer Gulch'."

"When we get there, you will cough up the rest of what you owe me. All of it."

"Of course."

"And then I never want to see your disgusting face again."

He feigned affront. "Ouch. You're mean."

"You think that was painful?" she snapped. "You think I'm mean now? Just wait. If we ever happen to cross paths in the future, I will shoot you."

…

A clanking ruckus invaded Chekov's quiet mental cocoon, but he stayed still, hoping to avoid the pain he knew was waiting to ambush him. Naturally, it was no use, and a rising ache quelled any hopes of sinking back into sleep.

There was nothing else for it. Might as well face his circumstances head-on and get it over with.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, dreading what he would see. Sure enough, his first blurred sight was the dull metal walls and ceiling of a ship's cargo bay. Of course, it was too much to hope that it had all been some terrible dream. What else had he expected?

Groaning, he rolled to one side, gradually realizing that the ground seemed the slightest bit softer than he remembered. He discovered himself to be lying on a thin sleeping mat woven out of dried grass. Furthermore, he found a scratchy blanket draped over him with another rolled up to cushion his head.

Confused and groggy, he raised himself on one elbow for look around. The hold was mostly empty, aside from a few large and dented solid metal crates that appeared to have been shoved or battered by an unnaturally violent force. He was certain he knew what that force was, and was able to confirm his suspicions when he caught sight of the scorch marks marring the center of the floor. This could only be the aftermath of his struggle with Araxis.

Choosing, for the time being, not to dwell on the notion that he was sharing a tiny ship with a powerful, god-like being trapped in human form, he eased into a seated position and folded the blanket back to examine the phaser wound. Instead of the stomach-churning patch of burned flesh he was expecting, he was relieved to see a clean bandage wrapped around his leg several times just above the knee. Curious, he reached up to touch the side of his head, and felt a piece of gauze taped over the previously bleeding lump near his hairline.

His attention shifted to a silver thermos next to a folded pile at the foot of his makeshift bed. Suddenly ravenous, he grabbed it and popped it open to find it full of a meaty orange liquid. It was unfamiliar, but it was hot and smelled delicious, so he immediately tipped it back and gulped it down in a few swallows. Once finished, he wiped his mouth on a sleeve and reached for the clothes, grateful to have an alternative to the thin hospital attire.

It was quite a bit colder here in the belly of a small cargo vessel than the perfectly controlled atmosphere he was used to on the Enterprise. He pulled on a pair of dark grey pants, a clean shirt, a jacket, and some boots, topping off the ensemble with fingerless gloves and a knit hat. The outfit was a little loose and shabby, but comfortable and warm, two things the medbay garb were definitely not. He wasn't about to complain.

Feeling a tad steadier after a change of clothes and getting something in his stomach, he decided he could try to stand and perhaps investigate the noise. Clinging to a nearby crate for support, he hauled himself up and began to limp in the direction of the doorway on the far side of cargo area. It was slow going, and he had to stop more than once, but he managed to make it to the top of the metal stairs leading down into what he guessed was the engine room.

He jumped a little as the mechanical din made a reappearance, followed by cursing in a language he recognized but couldn't understand.

Grasping the railing and taking a breath, Chekov made his way down the stairs and found the pilot busy at a hub of pipes, valves and other workings with her back to him. It looked like she'd been grappling with the ship's insides for some time now as she'd peeled down to the tank top layer, leaving the jacket on the floor to serve as a catch-all for an assortment of tools.

The ship grumbled.

"Eyy, easy, my Mouruka-Riibu, I know. I'm doing my best. I have no idea what that guy hit you with, but he sure did a number on you, didn't he?"

"I m-might be able to help you." The words were out before Chekov fully realized what he was saying.

With a hiss, Zyrete whirled around, back slightly arched and tail bushing out.

The boy made a quick backwards retreat, grimacing as he stumbled into the opposite rail. "Ay-yi-yi, wery sorry! I d-didn't mean to frighten you."

Seeing he was nothing to be worried about, she relaxed into a casual stance, one hand on a hip. "So, you do speak."

"I…I heard ze noise, and…I can try to help you fix your 'lucky bird'. If you will let me, I mean."

"And you speak Filosian? Impressive."

"Uh…" Chekov felt his cheeks redden, "n-no, not really, only enough to know zat 'mouruka-riibu' means, in rough translation, 'lucky bird'."

"Well, now you know my name and my ship's name. Will I ever be so fortunate as to learn yours?"

"Chekov. It's…Chekov."

"Good to meet you, Chekov. And good to see you on your feet."

"How…how long was I…"

"Mm, six hours, give or take. You were banged up pretty bad." With a concerned expression, she paused as if on the verge of asking an important question, but thought better of it at the last second and turned to resume her work. "How's the leg?"

"A little…better?" He eased himself down a few more steps on his good leg, gingerly testing the other one when he made it to the bottom. The pain was still very much there, but manageable.

She nodded. "Hurts like a beast, but kaw spit is probably one of the best natural burn treatments you can get."

"Kaw…spit?"

"Yeah, that slimy yellow stuff. Comes from these big reptile-bird things back home on Filos. They're always flying around and…well, they're kind of a nuisance and pretty stupid, so we use them to train the kitlings who are just learning to hunt. Also, aside from having many useful qualities," she licked her lips, "they're delicious. Mmm, what I wouldn't give for a freshly grilled, juicy leg of kaw right now with some of my brother's amazing fire sauce drizzled on top."

"You hef a brother?"

"Yes. His name is Asha'an and he can be a huge pain in the etla, but I miss him terribly." Her words were full of longing and a hint of deep-rooted regret.

Not entirely sure how continue the conversation, Chekov shuffled and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I…well...I wery much hope you get to see him again soon. Also...thank you. For everything."

"Least I could do." After wiping her hands on a rag, Zyrete faced him again and tilted her head, one ear twitching. "Not to change the subject, but I can't help noticing you sound…different than many of the other Earth people I've met."

"Different?"

"Yeah, you have a very strange…"

"Accent?"

"If that's what you call your thick 'r's and your 'v's that sound…"

"…sound like 'w's, I know," mumbled Chekov, stepping carefully off the stairs. "I am from a country on Earth called 'Russia'."

Zyrete tested the word quietly before attempting it out loud. "R…Ruh-si-ah?"

"Yes, Russia. Federation Standard is not my first language."

"Hm, I came across a guy from a place called 'Can-ah-dah' who spoke Frunch, but I don't think I've ever met anyone from Ru-si-ah before.

"You mean he spoke French?"

"Yeah," she aimed a wrench at him, "that. So, tell me, how can a young kitling barely away from the litter possibly know anything about fixing ships?"

Chekov came up beside her. "I sometimes help our chief engineer when he needs an extra hand. At least…I used to, until…" he trailed into uncertainty, head drooping.

As expected, Zyrete was skeptical. "You mean to tell me you actually…work on that starship? Like, as part of the crew?"

"Yes. I am a nawigator."

"A what?"

"I said I am a naww…a naawwvi…ugh. I am ze one who tells ze ship where to go."

"Ah, I see. Aren't you a little young to be serving on the bridge of a Starfleet vessel?"

Chekov chewed a lip.

"Sorry. You must get that a lot."

He nodded and the two dropped into a few moments of awkward silence.

Finally, Zyrete cleared her throat. "Hey, uh…that freak fried some of the wiring over there." She indicated the panel in question with a nod. "System's been on the fritz ever since. How are you with computers, if you don't mind my asking?"

He shrugged. "I hef picked up a few useful tricks here and there."