Chapter 18
After handing him a spare set of welding goggles, Zyrete sent Chekov off to work on the electronic panel. He appreciated the distraction of rewiring and rebooting part of the Riibu's central system processor. For a little while, he forgot where he was. He forgot why his body ached. He forgot the looming danger. It was him and a computer, the closest to a comfort of home he was going to get right now.
Located in a tiny annex off the engine room, the main console's set up was more or less standard but small and outdated. Fortunately, the Academy required all cadets focusing on computer science to cross train on several different eras of equipment. Computer science hadn't exactly been Chekov's main focus, but one of several (advanced mathematics, engineering, and physics, to name a few others), and he chose Command specifically for the opportunity to utilize a broad spectrum of skillsets on the job.
Never was he more grateful for these honed capabilities and the added confidence Command training had given him than now. Now that his life depended on them.
After reconnecting and soldering a few wires inside the panel and replacing the cover, he stood before the blinking console and cracked his knuckles. It took some time to get going as everything was in Filosian, but once he dug up a simple translation program, it was relatively smooth sailing. This gave the teenaged part of his brain a little room to wander.
He was all too aware that he was still in great danger. It was plain that Zyrete despised Araxis as much as he did, and she'd patched him up while he was unconscious, but he wasn't sure she could be completely trusted. For the time being, he had no intention of divulging anything other than his name and occupation. And she remained aloof, apparently uninterested in learning any more about him than was necessary—which seemed strange, considering how upset she had been when they beamed aboard. However, he was in desperate need of an ally and fixing the computer system might earn him some favor in the pilot's eyes.
In the meantime, just because he was a skinny eighteen-year-old with a colony of lost souls inhabiting his head and dangerous powers he couldn't fully handle didn't mean he was helpless. He'd somewhat accepted that his demise either at the hands of his enemy or by mental collapse was inevitable, but right now, while Araxis needed him alive, was his time to act. He longed for his Enterprise family. He needed Captain Kirk's loyalty and quick thinking. He needed Uhura's compassion and strength and Sulu's cool-headed determination. And more than anything, though he barely knew her, he yearned for Briony's optimism and intelligence. He knew they would come for him. The least he could do was make it easier for them to find him.
The idea came as soon as Zyrete mentioned the fried system. What he really wanted to do was go back to the mat in the cargo hold and fall asleep, however, he would be stupid to pass up an opportunity that had basically landed at his feet. He may never have such a chance again.
Rebooting the system was easy, and once he finished, Chekov divided his attention between keeping a lookout and implementing the beginning stages of his plan. Armed with a basic understanding of Filosian paired with a taste of the system he would be working with, he plunged in headfirst.
Ignoring the growing throb in his head, he tapped furiously at the keyboard and flicked through window after window full of code. Constantly having to refer back to the translation program slowed him down much more than he would have liked, and he had to start over twice. That, and what the Riibu lacked in comparison to the Enterprise's sleek and efficient cybernetic structure, she made up for in pure, tenacious resilience. It was almost as if she knew what he was trying to do and teased him mercilessly, staying just beyond reach no matter how much he begged simply because she could.
He was about halfway through his third attempt of reasoning with the machine when he heard bootsteps. Immediately, he swiped all the coded windows and pulled up a decoy system reboot status. No sooner had he covered his tracks than Zyrete walked in. He hoped the sweat on his face wasn't too obvious.
She stopped behind him to observe the now functioning console, folding her arms and nodding in approval after a moment.
"Hey, not bad. Gotta admit, I had my doubts, but have you proved me wrong, or what?"
Chekov smiled at her stiffly.
"Thanks, kid. I owe you one…" she paused, squinting at him. "Hm. Maybe you should go lie back down. You look terrible. Here…"
He didn't know why he was surprised when she pulled one of his arms over her shoulders and started helping him out of the room. Maybe it was because of how rough around the edges she initially appeared. Or because he was still on the fence about trusting her. Whatever the reason, this most recent act of compassion tilted his opinion on the latter ever so slightly in her favor.
She guided him to his temporary bed, lowering him down.
…
He was back in the void, however, this visit had one significant difference from any before: he'd found his way here himself. No longer afraid of it now that he knew he was simply seeing the inside of his own head, he turned.
"Matharus?" he called.
Chekov didn't have to wait long for the man to appear in front of him with a raised eyebrow.
"Back again so soon?"
"Aren't you the one who told me that together we could be unstoppable?"
Matharus blinked, genuinely puzzled by the direct nature of the question. "I…you…what?"
"You heard me. Well, aren't you?"
"Um…yes…"
"And aren't you also the one who said you were here to provide guidance if I ever needed it?"
"Yes…" he said again, slower and more suspiciously.
"And, correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember you telling me that I won't be alone, that you'll be here to the end."
Eyes shifting left and right, Matharus stroked his goatee. "Yyyyes… Are you feeling all right?"
"A little better than the last time we talked, actually. But please answer me. You told me you were going to help me, right?"
"Right, but…"
"I have a plan, and I need your help."
Immediately, Matharus flashed a bright, mischievous grin. "I thought you'd never ask! What exactly did you have in mind?"
"I would like you to try to talk to the ship's computer."
The grin turned into an openmouthed gape. "Uhhh…I'm sorry, did you just ask me to talk to a computer?"
"Yeah. I'm trying to send a distress signal to my friends back on the Enterprise before we're too far out of range, but she's being very…difficult…" Seeing the look on Matharus's face, he trailed. "Um, something wrong?"
"Oh, no, no, everything's fine, I just… have you lost your human mind?!"
"Ha," Chekov snorted, "now you ask me that. You would be the first to know. I thought, since you belong to an advanced race with superior technological capabilities and all, you might know a better way to get through the firewalls."
The boy's complimentary words had the desired effect. Matharus puffed out his chest a little, suddenly beaming with importance.
"I…I guess maybe I can take a look. But what do you mean by 'she's being difficult'? Computers are only as smart as the user. I thought you were supposed to be a genius—"
"Don't finish that," grumbled Chekov. "Just don't. I mean that it's taking too long for me to sit around trying to argue with an outdated computer that's coded in a language I barely understand. Under normal circumstances, if I had a few days, it wouldn't be a problem, but I don't. We don't. Besides, how is talking to a computer any weirder than me talking to you inside my head?"
Matharus considered. "Hm, well, if you put it that way… I do have to wonder how you intend to get me from your brain into the machine."
"I 'thought' you away once, remember?"
Matharus stuck out his bottom lip in a pronounced pout. "Yes, I remember."
"What's to stop me from thinking you somewhere else? Like, into the computer? If I can do it once, I can probably do it again."
"Wait a minute…waaait a minute, you may be on to something." Smiling again, Matharus threw him a wink and poked him in the shoulder. "I'm finally starting to like the way you think. Who would have thought this day would come?"
"Haha. You are so funny."
"Yes. Yes, I am. Seriously, though, connecting with another living being is one thing, but a bridge between a human and a non-sentient machine without a brain?"
"What other choice do we have?"
"Valid point. Anyway, you know this won't be easy, don't you?"
"Since when has any of this been easy?"
Matharus nodded. "Yet again, a very solid point. Your idea might actually be plausible, but it will require more than I can ask of you this early in your training. You will have to open a portal and keep it open. The connection must not be severed prematurely, or I'll be trapped inside the computer forever."
"How long do you need?"
"Well, long enough to slip across the bridge, tell the computer to shape up, and slip back. It's nearly impossible to estimate a timeline for these kinds of things, especially in human terms. And…more importantly, I worry about how you're going to hold up through all of this. Even after only a matter of hours, your skills are progressing faster than any of us could have anticipated, but…but I'm afraid your mind will weaken just as quickly the more you stretch yourself."
"I…I'll be okay," Chekov said after a beat, hoping the unease hadn't seeped through his words. "I have to do something. I can't get out of this by myself. I need my friends. I need…you. Will you help me?"
"I'll do my best. But this will probably be easier if you're conscious…"
…
Chekov awoke with a start. He hadn't intended to fall asleep so quickly once he made it back to the mat. He had to have been out a least a couple hours, and while this was good in terms of his physical condition, it could be disastrous for his plan. He had to move quickly.
You have to move quickly, Matharus urged.
"I know," Chekov replied at a whisper, "but if I stand up now, I will probably pass out. Not good."
No, no, you're right. Not good.
The teen sat up, taking advantage of the need to let his head clear to sit still and listen. To his relief, all was quiet. There was no clanking or swearing coming from the engine room, no voices that he could discern, only the rhythmic thrum of the engines.
Encouraged by the lack of sound or movement and spurred by necessity, Chekov pulled himself to his feet. It wasn't as difficult as it had been before, which was heartening. Silently, he repeated his earlier trek to the engine room, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen again.
Nothing. He was clear.
You're clear.
"Matharus, you don't hef to tell me everything I'm already thinking."
Oh, right. Sorry, little nervous.
Chekov hobbled down the steps faster than before, reluctantly parting with the railing at the bottom to limp to the computer room. There was the flickering console, just as he had left it, except the space above it where the windows projected was empty. Good. His progress hadn't been disturbed.
"Hello," he whispered. "I'm back. Did you miss me?"
The Riibu hummed to life with barely the touch of a finger. It was like she'd been expecting him, eager for another round of sweet humiliation.
Bathed in a bluish glow, Chekov resumed his position in front of the console and brought up the last section of code he'd been working on before Zyrete walked in.
"Okay, Matharus."
He waited.
"Matharus…?"
Oh, no. Maybe something was wrong...
"Matharus? Are you there—"
With a flash and a tiny pop, the man in question appeared beside him rather abruptly.
"Gaa!" Chekov yelped, jumping aside and wincing upon landing. "Aaagh—what were you doing in there?"
"My apologies," whispered Matharus. "I got, ah…distracted."
"Within ze last ten seconds? By what?"
Matharus shuffled. "I was…watching some antiquated yet epic work of fiction called…'Star Wars'? I can take in information at least four-hundred times faster than any human, so I was..."
"I don't believe this." Chekov groaned and rolled his eyes.
"Eheh, I couldn't help it. You have the whole story and its extended mythology memorized in such fine detail. Wonderful legend, although I'm a little confused about how this 'Force' thing works…"
"Will you please focus? We hef got a job to do!"
"Yes, sorry." Matharus cleared his throat, straightening his tunic. "Focused. Lead the way, Young One—uh, I mean…"
"Don't worry about ze name," hissed Chekov, tapping away at the console and skimming windows at an unnaturally high speed until he found the one he needed. "Bingo! Communications."
"Well done. Now for the connection, then the portal. Let me just…"
"Agh!" Chekov yelped again, holding his head as the other man's consciousness jumped back into his mind. "Why do you always hef to do zat?"
So sorry, I keep forgetting.
"I am beginning to think you do zat on purpose."
Do not!
"Riiiight. A higher being conveniently forgets—"
It happens, okay? We'll discuss this later. What do you say we give your plan a try?
Chekov nodded, swallowing. "Okay."
Good, good. We're going to have to make this quick. Is everything ready? Coordinates?
"Yes."
Frequency?
"Yes…"
Message?
"Yes, Matharus!"
Okay, okay, just making sure. Let's do this.
Pulling in a nerve-steadying breath, Chekov placed the palm of his right hand at the center of the touchscreen on the console. Somehow, it seemed like the most logical way of creating a link between it and his mind.
The unsettling hum began at the center of his brain. Success.
Easy…easy…don't force it…
He let it bloom in his mind and trickle into his spine like a stream of cool water.
That's it. You're doing marvelous.
Very carefully, Chekov opened his eyes. The tiny dots of light crawled over, around, and through every surface, all feeding into his being. They flowed past him in delicate threads, and he realized then that he could touch them, pull at them, make them do anything he wanted. The concept wasn't nearly as frightening as he'd thought it would be.
You're beginning to understand them. How they connect, how they shift, how they can be used. Kind of brings new meaning to the term "pulling strings", doesn't it?
Awestruck, Chekov remained silent and glanced back down at the console where his hand marked the center of a swirling, miniature galaxy.
The 'eye'. This is where you concentrate you power. This is the gateway.
Bowing his head, Chekov sent a surge of energy from head to hand. A familiar prickling cold shot through his veins, causing them to glow a pale blueish-white.
Open, he thought. Move the stars. Make a doorway. Create a path.
The eye expanded, revealing a black abyss.
All right, said Matharus. It's now or never. Wish me luck.
A needle-like electricity shocked his nerves, nearly making Chekov recoil in alarm. Following the flow of energy, a blazing white pinprick of light far brighter than the others skimmed along just under his skin. With an odd pinching sensation, it exited his and was immediately swallowed by the growing darkness.
That was it. Matharus was gone, and Chekov suddenly found himself harboring intense worry for the safety of the man. Without his constant presence and running commentary, his mind felt sort of…empty. Maybe even lonely.
The micro-galaxy continued its gentle, mesmerizing rotation. In a less life-threatening situation, he might have considered it eerily beautiful. For now, it reminded him of the ever-spiraling storm he couldn't escape.
At that moment, Chekov was accosted by a sudden pressure on his open hand, a resistance akin to trying to stretch a thick rubber band with only his fingers. To his horror, he found that the vortex was closing.
"Oi, nyet…"
Droplets of sweat formed on his face and he began to tremble as every thought turned into a morbid possibility. If he relented, if he weakened for half a second, the swirling iris would collapse, trapping Matharus inside the computer, forever separating him from Chekov and the rest of his people. His only lifeline to information would be cut off, he would lose his only guide…he would lose a friend.
Keep it open, keep it open… he chanted inwardly. For Matharus…you have to make sure he gets back through…
Conjuring another branch of energy, he placed his left hand over his right, hoping it would provide further support. It worked until the pressure increased to nearly double its initial force.
"Ay, no!" Chekov cried out in panic. "Matharus, where are you?"
All ten of his fingers curled.
"I can't hold ze portal! Please hurry!"
It was too much. There was nothing more he could do.
"MATHARUS—"
A white speck zipped from the portal into his arm just as his strength failed him and the eye of the tiny galaxy snapped closed. Chekov stumbled backwards and went sprawling onto the floor where he lay gasping in a tense silence…
"M-matharus…? Did we do it? Did you conwince ze computer to send ze distress signal?"
Ugh! I have never encountered a more uncivilized piece of technology! Absolutely barbaric. And so rude.
"Is zat a 'yes'?"
Yes! Whew! That was too close. Let's not to this again.
Chekov actually laughed out loud in relief, but his joy quickly soured into surprise and horror.
"Have I missed something?" Araxis sneered above him, eyes gleaming over a wicked smile. "I feel like I've missed something. Oh, wait, you were talking to yourself…about sending a distress signal."
Chekov remained frozen, too exhausted and stunned to respond.
Araxis tsk'd at him, filling the gap. "Uh-oh! Somebody has been very bad and isn't playing by the rules like a good boy."
The villain seized Chekov, hauling him out of the computer room. Upon reaching the stairs, he swapped his grip on the boy's collar for an arm around the neck and dragged him back into the hold.
"No…n-no!" cried Chekov, struggling in the man's arms when he realized where they were headed. "Don't—I'm sorry! Please d-don't put me in—"
"You aren't playing the game the right way, so you get to sit in time-out until we land, which should be in about…oh, four hours, or so. Lucky you!"
With a malicious snicker, Araxis unbolted the door of the nearest shipping crate.
"PLEASE!" Chekov screamed. "Let me go—"
"As you wish." Araxis tossed him inside, then waved. "Have fun in jail. Do not pass 'go'. Do not collect two-hundred dollars, and do not try anything."
Chekov scrambled to his knees. "Wait—"
The metal hinges screeched and the door swung to right in his face.
"NO! NO-NO-NO!"
Though he knew perfectly well it was pointless, he threw himself against it multiple times, pounded it with his fists, screamed at it until his voice became strained and raspy. Defeated, he turned to face the blackness of his ten foot long prison, choking on the knot of fear swelling in his throat. Unable to staunch a flood of tears, he slid down the door to the ground, curling into a shaking heap with his hands over his head.