brighteyedjill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brighteyedjill) wrote2009-11-03 09:28 pm
brighteyedjill) wrote2009-11-03 09:28 pm
Fic: I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly To Be Fearful of the Night (Part One)
Title: We Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly to be Fearful of the Night - Part One
Art: by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wheres_walnut is here
Fanmix bysnarkyrainbow is here
Characters/Pairings: McCoy/Chekov, Chekov/others mentioned, plus ensemble cast
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slavery, non- and dub-con, violence (but no explicit torture), emotional abuse, but none of it inflicted by the good guys. Also, explicit sex.
Authors Notes: Thanks toredandglenda for catching my mistakes, vellum for not letting me get away with anything, and jaune_chat for everything always.Title quotation from The Old Astronomer to His Pupil by Sarah Williams.
Summary: More than anyone else on the Enterprise, Leonard McCoy knows that space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. As much as he’s seen in the two years since the Narada incident, he’s not prepared when a simple mission ends in the disappearance of a crewmember. The crew must adjust to the idea that one of their own may never come home.
PART ONE
Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov slid a finger across the conn, tracing the trajectory he’d calculated to take the Enterprise to her next destination. The math was correct, he knew, but he liked to feel out the path anyway, to feel it in his bones. When there was time, he liked to imagine different paths, perhaps not so direct, but maybe a trail a little more scenic, or a route that drew a more graceful line across the galaxy. When the Enterprise went to warp, there were no sights to see, of course. Still, Chekov imagined the pleasure of knowing they were passing by the Gamelan Nebula, or the double-ringed planet Mitos III, which Chekov had never seen in person. Chekov always found the most efficient course with ease, but the idea of the long way captured his attention and his imagination during many hours at the conn.
“Well what’s the point in getting there quickly if we won’t be able to help?”
Chekov’s musing was interrupted by the arrival of the Captain on the bridge, followed by the first officer and ship’s doctor. Their discussion had evidently begun some time ago, since Spock’s slower-than-usual speech pattern meant that he was repeating himself. “We will be able to more accurately assess the situation on Rellis after Doctor McCoy has a chance to examine the disease’s victims personally. It may be difficult to access the citizens infected by the outbreak.”
Sulu shot Chekov a significant look to which Chekov responded with a glare to cover his blush. No ship’s chief medical officer should have a reason to be on the bridge often, but Doctor McCoy had made twenty seven appearances on the bridge (including this one) in the three days since Chekov had confessed a certain secret to his friend. Now each visit by the doctor renewed Sulu’s efforts to encourage Chekov.
“Supplies, Spock,” Kirk said through gritted teeth. He managed to keep his voice at a civil level as he stalked across the bridge. “Even if we break through—or fine, talk our way through—the blockade, how are we going to stop the plague without the right supplies?”
“Doctor McCoy assured us that the medical bay is well stocked--.”
“To an extent,” McCoy broke in. “But Rellis is at the po-dunk end of the galaxy, and if we can’t figure out how to make a vaccine from what we’ve got on hand, well, you can’t get blood from a stone.”
“The relevance of the Doctor’s colloquialism is doubtful at best,” Spock shot back. Chekov wished he dared turn and see the scowl that without question marked the doctor’s face. “Components of most common vaccine ingredients are easily synthesized.”
“But,” McCoy countered. “If it is what their doctors think it is, this rare plague, then the vaccine ingredients won’t be common. And I doubt that the military will let us break their blockade a second time if we had to leave for supplies.”
“A reasonable assessment. However, despite the locals’ reports, the odds of this outbreak being caused by an undocumented virus are--.”
McCoy cut him off. “How many years into the damn mission, and you still haven’t learned the futility of quoting the odds on this ship?”
“Ensign.” Kirk abandoned his feuding companions and appeared at the conn beside Chekov. “How long to get us to Rellis?”
Chekov slid his hand away from the circuitous paths he’d been tracing so that Kirk could see the projected course. “Six hours, sir.”
“According to reports from Rellis, the death toll is rising every hour, Captain,” Spock said. Chekov chanced turning slightly in his chair to watch the exchange. Spock was composed as ever. He neither passionately defended a course of action nor vigorously opposed one; he simply presented facts and conclusions which he intended to speak for themselves.
McCoy, though his ever-present scowl knit his brows together and turned down the corners of his mouth, seemed merely concerned, and not about to come to blows with Spock, the way he sometimes looked during these debates on the bridge. Personally, Chekov speculated that the doctor respected Spock more than he let on, and only delivered his counterpoint opinions with such vigor to keep up appearances. McCoy shot back to Spock, “If we waste time going there and have to come back for supplies, the death toll will climb even higher. If their doctors say it’s this rare fever, we’ve got to be prepared.”
“I agree, Doctor. However, Mister Scott expressed his confidence that the ingredients could be synthesized--.”
“Could be. That’s a chance, not a guarantee. The only sure thing is to make sure to bring the right damn supplies.”
“Bones,” Kirk broke in. “What supplies would we need if this outbreak is what they say it is?”
“There’s a plant. Ptelea convivus. Grows on several M-class planets.”
Chekov and Sulu both moved at once, entering information into their consoles. Sulu piped up first. “Sir, the nearest planet where the plant grows is Janus II.”
“Janus II is not far out of the way, sir,” Chekov said, bringing up a new map on his console display. “Depending on how long it took to gather the specimens, the delay in arriving at Rellis would be about eight hours.”
Kirk leaned over Chekov’s shoulder to check the readout, then nodded. “Let’s do it.” He headed back to the command chair as he began spouting orders. Once the captain decided on a course of action, he was always sure of himself. “Chekov, plot a course for Janus II. Bones, figure out exactly what we’ll need. Spock, let’s put together a plan to lay in those supplies quickly. I want us at Rellis with as little delay as possible.”
“Aye sir,” Chekov said. He’d begun plotting a course as soon as he’d identified the planet, fingers flying surely over the conn. “Course set.”
Kirk settled back in his chair. “Take us out, Sulu. Warp six.”
--
When Hikaru Sulu walked into sickbay, McCoy and head nurse Chapel were hard at work assembling the apparatus to mass-produce a vaccine.
McCoy caught sight of him in the doorway and called, “What do you want?”
“We need to talk about your planet. Ptelea convivus.”
McCoy gave a harder-than-necessary twist to the knob he was turning. “Don’t tell me there’s a plant blight on Janus II, or that the plant only grows in the disputed territory of two warring tribes or any of that nonsense. I’m not in the mood.”
“No, there’s plenty of the plant, and it’s easily accessible,” Sulu said. “I just have a concern about harvesting it.”
“A concern.” McCoy stopped tinkering with the medical equipment and fixed Sulu with a suspicious glare. “Don’t we have botany specialists on this ship? Why are the two of us having this conversation?”
“First, because I’m the only one with a botany background qualified to lead an away team, and second, because the captain said you’d probably bite the head off of whoever came to talk to you, and I know how to defend myself,” Sulu said reasonably. Kirk hadn’t exactly said that Sulu was the only one who McCoy couldn’t easily intimidate out of sickbay, but then again, he hadn’t volunteered to come deliver the news to his friend himself.
“Okay then,” McCoy said slowly. “What is this concern?”
“Ptelea convivus is a powerful allergen.”
“Is that so?” McCoy snatched up the nearest data padd, punched in a command, and frowned at what he read there. “Seems ridiculous to make a vaccine out of a flower that most Federation species are allergic to,” he muttered. He headed deeper into sickbay, back toward his office, and Sulu followed.
“I didn’t come up with the vaccine.”
“Fine,” McCoy said. “Just make sure none of the away team’s allergic. My staff won’t have time to treat them if we’re busy manufacturing the vaccine.”
“That leaves out the captain.”
“That’s for damn sure. Man’s allergic to everything under every sun.” McCoy sank down into the chair behind his desk, still frowning at the data padd.
“I’m not allergic,” Sulu offered.
McCoy looked up hopefully. “You’re sure?”
“I have one of these plants in the collection in my room. And before you ask, no, the plants are impossible to synthesize.”
“Damn. How many more do you need for the away team?”
Sulu quickly tallied up the amount of manpower he would need. “Three more would be great.” On a whim, he added, “Chekov isn’t allergic.”
“You’re an expert on allergens, now?” McCoy furrowed his brow.
“He’s never had a reaction to my plant.”
“Okay then,” McCoy said slowly. “I can do allergy tests to find others who aren’t allergic.”
“Two more should be enough.”
He hit the com on his desk. “Nurse Chapel, can you call in the next twenty crew members on the away team rotation?”
“Yes doctor,” her answer crackled through the link.
“Should we do the test on Chekov just for good measure?” McCoy asked as he went over to a cabinet and began removing supplies. “How close has he been to this plant of yours?”
“He’s touched it with no ill effects. That’s all we need, right? I mean, he spends a lot of time in my quarters.”
“Does he,” McCoy said sourly.
“No, that’s… We’re friends, Doctor,” Sulu said quickly. Chekov would never forgive him if he let the object of Chekov’s affection think the ensign was taken. “I guess I should be flattered that you think he’d… But no. I’m not his type.”
“Hell, Sulu, I didn’t mean--,” McCoy said gruffly, and waved a hand in chagrined apology.
Sulu saw an opening, and even as his higher brain functions tried to rein in his mouth, his fighters’ instincts went for the point. “You’re his type.”
“Excuse me?” McCoy froze in mid-gesture, with his hand at an awkward angle in the air.
“You’re really haven’t noticed anything?” Sulu asked. The doctor might be excused for not recognizing Chekov’s interest, because the kid hadn’t exactly been obvious about it. Sulu was supposed to be his best friend, and he’d known for less than a week. If it hadn’t been for Chekov’s slip-up after leaving a game of drunken mah-jongg, Sulu might never have found out. However, now that he knew what to look for, Sulu recognized Chekov’s signs of nervousness every time McCoy walked into the room, and he marveled he hadn’t noticed before. He’d thought that the man the glances were being directed to would have noticed, but the doctor looked completely stymied, and Sulu began to regret his hasty words. “Forget it. I’ll send him to get the test, just to be sure.”
Sulu retreated at top speed, wondering how exactly he was going to break this to Chekov.
--
Chekov hopped up onto the bio bed and rolled up the right sleeve of his uniform shirt. “I am fairly sure I am not allergic,” he offered. He tried to sound cheerful and carefree, but his heart raced in his chest as if it wanted to climb into his throat.
“That’s what they all say.” McCoy held Chekov’s forearm steady and dabbed a concentrated liquid on his skin, just below the elbow. Chekov thought McCoy must surely be able to feel the blood pulsing overly-quickly through his veins, but if he could he made no comment. “We hold this about a minute.” His hands were gentle, as they had been on the few occasions Chekov had been treated in sickbay.
Chekov watched the doctor’s eyes, which were fixed firmly on the task at hand, and tried to imagine what McCoy was thinking. His choices were either to continue to worry in ignorance, or seize the moment and turn it to his advantage. As a tactical officer, he knew his duty. “Hikaru told me what he said to you,” he began. McCoy glanced up at Chekov from under furrowed brows, but his expression remained sardonic. “I am very sorry if he caused any embarrassment.”
“Don’t worry about it,” McCoy said gruffly.
“He apologized to me, because it was not his secret to tell,” Chekov continued. And if they hadn’t been on the bridge, Chekov might have throttled him right there. He’d stared down at his control panel and counted to ten, first in Russian, then in Standard. Then he’d counted by sevens backwards from a thousand. Then he’d listed the first fifty prime numbers, then the digits of pi. His anger hadn’t gone away, but at least he’d been able to talk himself out of plotting to murder Hikaru in his sleep. By the time he’d surrendered his station to Lieutenant Kelso, he had been feeling charitable enough to give Hikaru an annoyed eye roll, a signal that all wasn’t forgiven yet, but that it could be eventually.
Now that Chekov faced the source of the problem, he could at least feel grateful that Hikaru had given them something to talk about. “However, I think perhaps he should apologize to you. If it made you uncomfortable, I mean.”
“It’s not a problem,” McCoy said. He dropped his eyes back to Chekov’s arm, and the motion triggered a vague suspicion. The doctor was not a shy man. He always said what he thought, and said it to the face of whoever was around, up to and including superior officers. From the crew’s first days together, facing the Narada, Chekov had surmised that McCoy never bothered to hide his emotions. Perhaps his response meant something more than he was saying.
Chekov considered, then, how Sulu’s boldness might have won him an opportunity, if only he was brave enough to seize it. “Okay then,” Chekov said thoughtfully. “What kind of not a problem is it?”
McCoy looked up again, and Chekov’s suspicions were confirmed; McCoy’s poker face was terrible, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at Chekov’s line of questioning. “I…”
“Doctor?” Nurse Chapel stepped around the corner. “The next away team candidates are here for their tests.”
“Right. Yes. Be right there,” McCoy said. As Chapel left, McCoy pulled the patch off Chekov’s arm and pulled it closer to look at the skin. “Test’s clean. Looks like you and Sulu were right. About being allergic, I mean.” He quickly let go of Chekov’s arm and stepped back from the bed. “You’re cleared for duty, Ensign.”
“Thank you.” Chekov turned his sleeve back down. Before McCoy could leave, he called, “Doctor.” McCoy paused, and turned halfway back. “Could I perhaps come back to sickbay tomorrow?”
McCoy shook his head slowly. “Kid, I don’t think--.”
“Well, think.” Chekov jumped off the bio bed. “Just think a little bit about it, and tomorrow maybe when I stop by you will tell me to get the hell out of your sickbay, and I will understand.” He stepped past McCoy, but paused for a moment at the entrance to the room. “But maybe you will not tell me to go away.” He turned back to flash McCoy a smile. “Only think. Goodbye, Doctor.”
--
On Janus II, great flat plains stretched out in all directions as far as Chekov could see. It reminded him of visiting his cousins in Ulan-Ude, on the great steppe. That summer on the vast, flat plain, practicing his running, he’d felt as if he could have run all day, lost himself in the great sameness of the fields, and been content to keep running forever. As lighthearted as he felt right now, he would have loved to run. But duty called.
He hoisted the strap of his specimen carrying bag up onto his shoulder and turned to watch as Sulu finished demonstrating the equipment for the other two members of the away team.
“Close it like this, so the plants don’t get bruised.” Sulu motioned for Chekov to come join them. “Okay. The mature plants are the ones best suited to making the medicine we need,” Sulu explained. “They have deep orange flowers.” He held up an example. “Immature plants have yellow flowers, and they’re no use to us. We need to gather as many plants as possible to give Doctor McCoy enough material to work with. Any questions?”
The other two members of the away team, an engineering ensign and a yeoman from security, shook their heads.
“Use your communicators if you see any unusual life forms or run into any trouble. Planetary scans suggest that’s unlikely, but it’s better to be safe. We’ll meet back at these coordinates at 14:00 hours.”
Thus dismissed, the other two crewmembers headed off into the fields. Chekov lingered a moment to say, “I am not mad at you anymore.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Sulu said. He offered up a chagrined smile. “I know you’re vicious when it comes to payback.”
Chekov wagged a finger at him warningly. “Tell you what. Let us make a bet. If I bring back more plants than you bring back, then I get to do something for revenge anyway. If you bring back more, you are off the hook.”
“You’re on.” Sulu shouldered his own bag. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Don’t you know? The Russians invented plant harvesting.” Chekov flashed a wide smile. “May the best man win!” He tossed Sulu a jaunty wave before stepping off into the endless fields of waving, pastel plant life.
--
Sulu arrived at the rendezvous site two minutes early. His pack was stuffed with a bountiful harvest of ptelea convivus, plus a few individually sealed samples of other plants for further study. This part of Janus II was mind-numbingly flat, and Sulu easily picked out the red uniforms of Ensign Dupris and Yeoman Taylor as they made their way back through the endless fields of waving flora.
Sulu smiled as he realized that he and Chekov, in their gold uniforms, were nearly invisible in this landscape. He squinted out across the sun-bathed meadows, making a game of trying to pick out his friend: the sandy hair, pale skin, and mustard-colored uniform would give him near-perfect camouflage. By the time Dupris and Taylor had reached Sulu and dropped their full packs to the ground, he still hadn’t been able to spot Chekov. He glanced at the chronometer on his communicator: six minutes past the time they’d agreed to meet.
“He coming?” Dupris asked.
“Probably just got caught up,” Sulu said lightly, but he found it difficult to believe that Chekov was capable of losing track of time. Chekov arrived ten minutes early for every shift on the bridge. He beat Spock to staff meetings. He was the first one to show up at every ship social gathering. Still, like other geniuses, he did occasionally get caught up in his work. Sulu imagined him kneeling in the dirt next to some unusual specimen of tree, gathering every possible reading with his tricorder. True, that kind of absorption was more likely to occur around star charts than plant life, but anything was possible. Sulu flipped open his communicator. “Sulu to Chekov.”
Every second of silence that passed sent Sulu’s heart rate galloping upwards. “Come in Chekov.”
Nothing happened. The three of them stood there, listening to a gentle breeze flutter through the plants around them as the communicator remained silent.
Sulu glanced up at Dupris and Taylor. “Did either of you see him out there?”
“No,” Dupris said slowly.
Taylor shook her head. “Nothing but plants.”
Sulu waited another minute, staring at his communicator and willing it to chirp with an incoming message. He looked back up at the horizon, where still nothing moved but plants waving in the wind. He hit a button on the communicator. “Sulu to Enterprise.”
“Uhura here. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
“We’re having difficulty with Ensign Chekov’s communicator.” Sulu was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. “Can you locate his signal?”
“Stand by.”
Sulu stood calmly, and flashed a thin smile at the away team. He’d meant to be reassuring, but the two crewmembers exchanged a worried glance. Sulu went back to scanning the horizon until his communicator crackled back to life. He was disappointed to hear only Uhura’s voice.
“We’re receiving no signal from Ensign Chekov’s communicator. Are you sure it’s functioning properly?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Uhura… Check again.”
--
“No,” Kirk said firmly. “I am not warping into a war zone without my navigator or my helmsman.” He threw himself down in the command chair and tapped a finger against the arm as his mind raced, looking for a solution.
Spock came to stand beside him with hands clasped behind his back, composed as ever. “There are other qualified officers on board to man those posts.”
“You expect me just to leave them here?”
“Give Lieutenant Sulu more time to search,” Spock said. “Send down proper supplies and a security team and allow him to remain on planet. We can retrieve them when we return from Rellis.” Spock’s tone was even, calculated to soothe, Kirk knew. It was mostly working.
Kirk allowed himself another minute to examine the situation, turn it over in his mind, and try to identify another solution. Finally he said, “I don’t like this.”
“Consider, Captain, if the missing crew member were a close personal friend of yours.” Spock stepped in front of him, forcing eye contact. “For example, Doctor McCoy. In such a case, I predict there would be an 89% chance of your breaking protocol to continue a missing persons search despite Starfleet orders. I suggest you extend Mister Sulu the same opportunity.”
“McCoy,” Kirk muttered. Though he had to admit Spock’s comparison was accurate. He’d broken the rules plenty of times for McCoy, or for Spock, for that matter. That didn’t mean it was a sound strategy. “You’re suggesting that I show favoritism?”
“Not at all Captain,” Spock said, and if possible he seemed to stand up straighter. “I only suggest that Lieutenant Sulu would not do his best work if he were called back to duty at this time.”
“You make a strong point.” Kirk’s eyes slid past his first officer to take in the sight of Janus II glowing on the main viewscreen. “Make it happen. Then take us to Rellis.” He stood up quickly. “You have the bridge, Spock.”
Kirk fled the bridge not out of cowardice, but to remove the temptation of second-guessing himself. Spock was more than capable of seeing that Sulu was properly outfitted. So Kirk took the liberty of a few minutes to walk off the tightness in his stomach that came with a difficult command decision. His feet carried him down to deck seven. A crewman holding an unmarked box stepped out of sickbay and headed down the hall. Kirk glanced inside the open doors to see a handful of blue-shirted medical personnel bustling about with equipment Kirk didn’t recognize.
He stepped inside, navigating the crowded room adroitly until he made it back to McCoy’s office. Bones was inside, standing over a flower-filled bag laid open on his desk.
“You all set here, Bones?”
McCoy didn’t even look up, just continued sorting flowers. “Got all the plants we can use for this damn vaccine.”
Uhura’s voice came over the ship-wide communications, but it held a sharper edge than usual. “All crew, prepare to go to warp. We’ll be arriving at Rellis within two hours.”
Kirk gripped the doorframe hard. Although he knew there would be no jolt when the ship entered warp, still he felt the strain of leaving part of his crew behind.
Bones didn’t seem to notice his behavior. “I trust since no one came to my sickbay with hives and tingling extremities that the away team proved not to be allergic to this stuff. All made it back okay?”
“Actually.”
“What?” Now Bones did look up, and at the expression on Kirk’s face his hand closed into a fist, crushing the flower he held. “Jim, what?”
“Chekov,” Kirk said softly. “Chekov’s missing.”
Bones seemed unable to form words. His lips parted slightly, and his brow furrowed as if he were about to deliver a particularly cutting reply, but nothing came out. Finally, he croaked, “You left him on the planet?” He drew himself up to his full height as shock gave way quickly to righteous anger: a coping mechanism at which the good doctor excelled. “Alone?”
“Sulu and the rest of the away team are looking for him.”
“You left them on the planet?” he repeated, louder this time.
“Bones, we have to get to Rellis with this vaccine,” Jim said. He looked down. “People are dying.”
“I know that, Jim.” On hearing that vulnerability creep into Kirk’s voice, McCoy relented a little. “When you say missing…”
Kirk knew what he was asking. He had “lost” crewmen before, of course, but the word had always been a euphemism for getting crushed by a rock monster, or blown up by a phaser blast, or eaten by unfriendly fauna. It had never meant simply gone without a trace. “We just don’t know where he went.” He forced out a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “He’ll be okay. Sulu will find him, probably knocked out by the pollen of some crazy plant no one’s documented. We’ll name the subspecies after him when we get back from Rellis, and we’ll all have a good laugh.” He jumped up and rolled his shoulders back to work some of the tension out of them. But talking had sent his mind racing again. The work on Rellis might take days, and by the time they returned, any clues of where else to search would be stale. And if Chekov was hurt, or trapped somewhere, Sulu might not have the right equipment to get him out. Or--.
“Jim…” Bones started around the desk with a hand outstretched, but Kirk turned his back and headed for the door.
“We need the vaccine, Bones. We’ll be there in a few hours.”
--
Leonard McCoy was no man’s savior. The mission on Rellis was going as well as could be expected, but McCoy couldn’t be happy about it. Their gratitude stifled him. Usually he enjoyed these sorts of missions; helping people up close and personally reminded him why it was worth flying around the dangerous vacuum of space in a glorified tin can. Today, however, he begrudged the Rellisites every moment spent diagnosing the disease—it was Tellarian spotted fever after all—, distributing cases of hypospray cartridges filled with vaccine, and walking the royal physician through a treatment plan. He knew every minute spent on Rellis was another moment the Enterprise’s full capabilities were not devoted to recovering her missing navigator.
At least the political situation hadn’t caused too much delay. Jim had been in the mood for problem-solving, and had talked the Enterprise through the military blockage with remarkable ease. The man may have cultivated a persona of recklessness, but McCoy knew his friend could apply his genius to diplomacy when necessary. In this case, he’d enabled Bones and his team to beam down to the plague-stricken city with no interference from the hostile military.
Now that the worst cases of the plague were being treated, McCoy had a moment alone to sit in an out-of-the-way corner and sort through the inventory of the Enterprise’s medical supplies to determine what they could leave behind for the Rellisites. As he checked items off the list, McCoy couldn’t help thinking of Chekov, lost and alone on a strange planet. Odd how often the ensign entered his thoughts, considering how different their positions were on the ship. By all rights, a ship’s CMO should have no reason to visit the bridge, but the Enterprise wasn’t quite like any other ship in the fleet. McCoy was on the bridge often, offering advice or criticism even when Jim didn’t ask. And as navigator, Chekov wasn’t required to perform other duties, but his boundless curiosity took him everywhere on the ship and off of it. McCoy had often found Chekov in sickbay, asking about how a piece of equipment worked, offering to program a more efficient subroutine to store data from the biobeds, or pestering McCoy to get the captain to install a proper track so Chekov wouldn’t have to run on a treadmill. A real track would be better “for health purposes,” he claimed. And he missed running, he said, when he didn’t go anywhere.
Nurse Chapel touched McCoy’s shoulder, and he nearly dropped the padd he was working on.
“Doctor,” she said sternly. “You’ve been up almost forty hours.”
“Just like med school again,” he said wearily. He set down the padd, which had begun to blur in front of his eyes.
“You should go back to the ship. Doctor M’Benga can finish supervising the treatment for now.”
“We’re not ready to go yet?”
Christine shook her head. “Almost. We’ve distributed the vaccine. Once the rest of the infected patients are stabilized, the Rellisites can handle the rest.”
McCoy stood up, wincing at how his knees ached. “I’m staying until the work’s done. Where are these patients?”
“You’re exhausted. We have the situation under control. There’s plenty of time to rest.”
“No, we have to get back. We left him. Left them.”
Christine caught his arm. “What are you saying? Left who where?”
McCoy looked away. Of course there hadn’t been a ship-wide announcement, no flashing memo from the captain saying they were abandoning an away team. Jim kept the crew up-to-date on most things, but he didn’t see a reason to worry the whole ship unnecessarily. Only a few on board the Enterprise understood the need to speed back to Janus II. “It’s nothing, Christine,” he said. His exhaustion suddenly seemed crushing. “I’m just tired.”
“I know,” she said soothingly, and steered him back to the corner where he’d been sitting. “You’re not treating anyone in this state. I’ll give you the prevention of infection procedure to review before we hand it over to the royal physician.”
“Fine,” McCoy muttered, but he took the padd that Christine offered. “Let me know the minute M’Benga’s done, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
--
Sulu hadn’t slept, but he wasn’t tired. He’d spent all day yesterday organizing search grids and supervising the security team walking every square meter of the surrounding plain. When the sun went down, Sulu ordered rest in shifts and kept groups up searching by artificial light in an ever-expanding pattern until he was sure they’d gone further than Chekov could have walked. Halfway through today, he’d had the search team modify their tricorders to scan for organic masses beneath the surface and scan the ground they’d already covered in case the earth had swallowed Chekov up. By late afternoon the second day, the Enterprise had returned, and Uhura’s voice asking for a status report left Sulu feeling more defeated than ever in his life.
There was nowhere else to search.
Sulu had sent the security team back to the ship and walked back to the original rendezvous point: the last place he’d seen Chekov. Sulu stood looking out over the field, praying to the god of his childhood that if he just stared hard enough at the waving fields, Chekov would come walking toward him, carrying a bulging bag of ptelea convivus and apologizing for having caused a fuss.
“Sulu,” Kirk said. He stepped up behind him on the grassy knoll that barely rose above the rest of the rolling yellow plain. Sulu hadn’t even heard him beam down.
“Sir,” he said wearily.
They stood together watching the light from the sinking sun turn the fields orange. “He’s not here,” Kirk said at last. “You would have found him if he were.”
“He’s not dead,” Sulu snapped.
“I didn’t say he was, Sulu.”
“He’s not.”
“Okay.”
“We can’t just leave him here.”
“He’s not here,” Kirk said, more firmly this time. “The ship’s scanners aren’t picking up anything, and more importantly, you didn’t find anything. If I trust anyone to have done this job right, I trust you.”
Sulu flinched. Kirk had trusted him to keep the away team safe, too, but he hadn’t succeeded in that either. “If he’s not here, where is he?”
“Off planet, maybe,” Kirk said, as gently as he could.
“He didn’t just wander off planet,” Sulu snapped. Belatedly, he added, “Sir.”
“Yeah.”
Sulu was profoundly grateful that Kirk didn’t offer empty words of comfort and tell him they were sure to find Chekov soon. Kirk didn’t deny what they both knew: terrible things happened in space. The two of them had cheated death together enough times to know its threat was real. “What’s next?” Sulu asked.
The plains had turned red in the sunset, and in the deepening shadows, Kirk’s face was difficult to read. “We file a missing in action report. An alert goes out to the rest of the Fleet. If there’s any news--.”
“Do you really think there will be?”
“Why? Are you giving up on him?”
“No!” Sulu said quickly. “No.”
“Okay then. Kirk to Enterprise. Two to beam up.”
--
Lieutenant Uhura scanned the report on the display in front of her one more time before she raised a finger to get the captain’s attention. He heaved himself out of the command chair and casually made his way over to her station.
She pitched her voice below the hum of activity on the bridge. The other officers were already on edge, and Uhura had no wish to raise anyone’s hopes unnecessarily. The captain had to know what she’d found, but she particularly wanted to keep this knowledge from Sulu, who sat a half-dozen paces away at the helm, staring intently at the darkness of space rushing by on the main viewscreen.
“Captain. I’ve been monitoring local communications channels in case they turned up any sign of…” She paused, glancing over the bridge, and Kirk nodded.
“I get it. Go on.”
“It’s not a busy sector, sir. Most of the vessels in the area are commercial or private craft, mostly Federation. A few non. There’s a Coridan mining ship, an Usite trader, a cruise ship from Elas, a Nausicaan mercenary outfit--.”
“Now that sounds suspicious. What are they doing here?”
“They said they’d just returned from an engagement on Troyius protecting a dilithium refining operation from feuding local factions.” She brought up a view of the credentials she’d been sent. “I contacted the Troyian authorities, and they check out.”
“Damn. Other leads?”
“I’m monitoring all civilian frequencies, including encrypted ones. If any mention is made of Janus II, I’ll know.”
“You can do that?” Kirk asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t mention it to Commander Spock,” she said.
“Ah. Against regulation?”
“Somewhat.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said with a smile. “Did you send out the message I asked you to?”
“Yes.” She switched the view to the missing-in-action report she’d transmitted to the fleet hours ago.
“Thank you.” He turned to go, but Uhura touched his shoulder to stop him.
“Sir, we get one or two missing-in-action communications from Starfleet every week,” she said. No one could hope to read every message the Enterprise received, but as the officer who monitored all ship-board communications, Uhura made it a point to keep an eye on all communications from the fleet, even those that weren’t required reading.
Kirk stepped back closer to her station and lowered his voice again. “Why have I never seen one?”
“They’re sent to you along with all other standard priority paperwork.”
“Which I could never hope to keep up with.” His mouth tightened into a thin line, and Uhura recognized the signs of his building frustration. “So you’re saying that sending an MIA report is useless?”
“Not exactly,” Uhura said. She had given the matter some thought as more hours passed since Chekov’s disappearance. “There are four other ‘Fleet ships within audio communication range. If you contact their captains directly, they may be more likely to help.
“That’s brilliant, Uhura. Can you get me a private link in my quarters?”
“Yes sir.” Uhura began initiating the sequence on her station that would create the necessary protocols in the captain’s quarters, but paused when she realized Kirk still stood beside her, staring out at the main viewscreen where Janus II loomed. “Sir.” When he turned back to her, he looked tired. “We’ll find him.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze which she didn’t begrudge, and strode off the bridge.
--
Lieutenant Kelso pointed from the navigator’s chair at a flashing light on the conn. “Hey, watch--.”
“Damn it!”
Kirk turned around from where he stood looking over a report with Spock at the science station just in time to see Sulu scrambling at the controls. Apparently, he couldn’t move in time to accomplish whatever he’d meant to do.
Everyone on board the bridge reached for something solid as the floor beneath their feet tilted precipitously in a way for which gravity control wasn’t equipped to compensate.
Kirk hauled himself upright against a chair and called, “Status report.”
Kelso opened his mouth to speak, but Sulu jumped in ahead of him. “All clear, Captain. There’s no danger.”
Kelso checked something on his panel. “And it looks like there’s no damage from the asteroid. Our shields took the brunt of it.”
“Asteroid? Is that what we ran into?” Kirk marched over to the helm to peer at the display. Sure enough, the glowing dot that marked the Enterprise flashed on the screen at the edge of the Seminil Asteroid Belt, more than a hundred thousand kilometers off the projected course.
Kelso looked at the display, then up at Kirk apprehensively. Sulu pointedly kept his eyes on the panel in front of them. “Fine,” Kirk said. “Kelso, make sure there’s no damage and double check our course heading, please. Mister Sulu, a word?”
Sulu stood up silently and followed Kirk off the bridge. Kirk steered them into an empty alcove in the deserted corridor outside. Sulu still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” He cursed himself for sounding like every authority figure he’d ever hated as a child.
“I’m sorry Captain,” Sulu said immediately. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not worried about the damn asteroid, Sulu. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I can do my duty. I…”
“What?” Kirk glanced around, but they were alone. “Sulu, what?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked. The request sounded strange coming from a man who’d saved Kirk’s life, and had his saved in return a dozen times over in the past two years.
“Of course,” Kirk said impatiently.
“It’s been a week.” Sulu’s breath caught in his throat—restrained anger, Kirk recognized it well—but he pushed through it. “A whole week, and we haven’t done anything.”
“Sulu--.”
But Sulu showed no signs of stopping now that Kirk had given him an opening. “If someone took Chekov off that planet, they could be anywhere, and you haven’t even looked for him.”
“Sulu.” Kirk grabbed his shoulders to stop him. “Listen to me. We are looking. I’ve been in contact with three other Federation captains in the area. They’re stopping every suspicious ship that’s been anywhere near Janus II. We’re in contact with the local authorities. We--.”
“It’s not enough. There’s got to be something more I—something more we can do.”
“I’m open to suggestions, here. We’ve done everything but start turning over rocks.”
“Every day that passes there’s less chance of us finding him.” Sulu began to say more, but checked himself. Finally he settled on, “Every minute he could be getting further away.”
“I know. I want to find him too.”
“In there just now, when I should have been thinking about keeping us out of the damn asteroid fields, I was thinking about how we might find him.” Sulu scrubbed a hand through his hair, and Kirk noticed for the first time how strained he looked, how close to the edge he must be running. “That we’d suddenly run into a Klingon ship that was demanding ransom for a captured enemy combatant. Or that he’d somehow gone along with a colony ship because they’d had some engineering emergency that he knew how to fix, and then he didn’t have any way to contact us. And those were the more realistic scenarios I came up with.”
Kirk understood. The captains he’d spoken to hadn’t provided any new leads, although they’d promised to do what they could. But even for as active an imagination as Kirk’s, the possibilities were dwindling. Still, to Sulu he said, “A million things could have happened. We’re going to keep looking.”
Sulu nodded, but the movement was jerky, as if he’d half-forgotten how to make his body obey simple commands. That stiffness was the only physical indicator that Sulu was eating himself up with guilt over Chekov’s disappearance. Kirk marveled again at Sulu’s toughness; he’d held together admirably over the past week, but hope couldn’t endlessly survive being crushed by the passage of time.
“Have you contacted his parents?” Sulu asked.
“It’s a bit soon for that,” Kirk said quietly, thought it wasn’t, really. He’d thought about calling them two days ago, and yesterday, and again this morning. Each time, he told himself he’d wait to hear if Uhura had a new report, or he’d try contacting the science outpost on Janus II’s moon once more, or maybe there’d be a message waiting for him on the bridge.
“When you do, is it alright if I talk to them?” Sulu asked. “They’ve met me, at least.”
“It’s my responsibility,” Kirk said. Chekov’s parents deserved that much, at least.
“He’s an only child. They’re probably already wondering why they haven’t received his weekly message.” Sulu laughed weakly. “He writes them about every silly little thing that happens on this ship.”
“Spock told me that Chekov modified the data storage parameters to give himself more mail allotment.” Kirk shook his head at the memory.
“Trust Pavel to hack the system just so he could store more letters from his mother.” Sulu’s smile looked as if it pained him, and his eyes fixed on the bulkhead behind Kirk, seeing another time, another place.
“Sulu, take the rest of the shift off,” Kirk said. He didn’t like to lose the services of his best pilot, but he’d lost them already, he knew, in Sulu’s preoccupation with his missing friend. The man needed time to mourn. “In fact, take tomorrow, too.”
Sulu’s face hardened in resolve, and he looked more like the tough-as-nails officer Kirk was accustomed to. “I don’t want to sit in my quarters. Sir. I want to help.”
“There’s nothing any of us can do that we aren’t already doing,” Kirk said firmly. “And you can’t be on the bridge in this state.”
Sulu nodded his acquiescence. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No harm done. We’ve hit worse things than asteroids.”
“No,” Sulu said roughly. He looked away, down the hallway. “I mean I’m sorry I lost him. I was in charge down there. It’s my fault.”
“Things happen that we can’t control. You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done,” Kirk said, though he knew the words weren’t much comfort.
“Maybe.” Sulu shook his head. “But if I’d have figured out sooner that he was gone, if I hadn’t let them go alone, if we’d maintained radio contact…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes sir,” Sulu said grudgingly.
Kirk knew Sulu didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know what else to say. Sulu would have to make his own peace with what happened, and no one could help him with that. “Go get some rest.”
“Yes sir.”
“Sulu,” Kirk called, and he turned back slowly. Kirk wanted to make sure Sulu wouldn’t retreat into himself, wouldn’t keep himself at the distance Kirk was already having trouble bridging. “Meet me in exercise room three after alpha shift and bring your swords. I’ll let you run me around the mats.”
“Can I come back to duty tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
--
McCoy had hoped that walking into sickbay would end the conversation, but Jim was relentless.
“Will you talk to him?”
“Damnit Jim.”
“Come on, please.”
“I’m a doctor, not a grief counselor.” McCoy headed right to his office. He’d certainly need to break out the flask if this conversation lasted much longer. He had no interest in examining his own feelings about Ensign Chekov’s disappearance, let alone someone else’s.
“He won’t talk to the counselor.”
McCoy waited until the door hissed closed to mutter, “So, because Doctor Chalmers is terrible at his job, I have to pay the price?” He dropped into his desk chair.
“He won’t talk to me either.” Jim leaned against the edge of McCoy’s desk. “Bones, I can’t…”
McCoy sighed. That half-confession, Jim’s well-guarded vulnerability, pricked at him. In the years that Kirk had been in command of the Enterprise, he’d gotten much better at solving problems without his fists, but it was still difficult for him to admit that some things were beyond him. Even though all McCoy wanted to do was crawl into a bottle every time someone brought up Pavel Chekov, he’d go rub salt in his wounds if it would help his friend. “All right,” he said. “I can’t guarantee anything.”
Jim slapped him on the shoulder harder than necessary, to cover his genuine relief. “Thanks.”
--
McCoy half hoped that Sulu wouldn’t answer his door. Any sane member of alpha shift would be asleep by now. McCoy hadn’t exactly been putting off this visit, but he’d stayed in sickbay longer than necessary busying himself with make-work: checking up on the nurses, completing some overdue paperwork, and re-stocking an emergency med kit.
An interminable moment after McCoy rang, the door slid open to reveal Hikaru Sulu in standard-issue sleep pants and black undershirt. His eyes looked dark and sunken in, and a scowl worthy of McCoy’s own marred his face. “You make house calls now?”
“Hello to you too.” McCoy had to admit a certain grim satisfaction at the sign that someone else looked as wrecked as he felt about Chekov’s disappearance.
Sulu stepped aside grudgingly. McCoy stepped in, and the door slid closed behind him.
“The Captain send you?”
“Yes.” No reason to deny it. “Anything you want to say?”
“It’s been four days. Can you tell the captain I can go back on duty?”
“Depends. You want to talk about what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Then no. Drink?” McCoy held out his flask.
“Yes please.” Sulu retrieved two clean glasses from a storage cabinet by the bed and set them on the little table in the front of the room. He sat down while McCoy poured.
McCoy doled them out a generous measure apiece, then screwed the lid back on his flask. Sulu raised his glass briefly to McCoy before slugging back the whole drink.
McCoy frowned and sipped at his own as Sulu considered his empty glass.
“Whiskey?” Sulu asked.
“Bourbon.”
“Not my drink of choice.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking, anyway. You haven’t been sleeping, have you.”
“This the ship’s doctor asking?” Sulu asked guardedly. “Because I am fit to go back on duty.”
“Don’t lay that crap on me.” McCoy poured them both another round. “You’re a mess.”
“You’re one to talk,” Sulu snapped. Then he scrubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Here.” McCoy pushed the fresh drink across the table. “And sip this time.”
“You must have a good supply of this stuff.”
“Used a lot this past week.” McCoy flinched as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but he covered it by taking a gulp of his drink. He’d come here to get Sulu to talk, not to dump his own baggage on a man who was already struggling.
Strangely, the admission seemed to put Sulu at ease. “Look, I’m sorry I told you that, about his… About the way he felt about you. I mean, now that all of this--.”
“Forget about it,” McCoy told him. He knew he was trying to. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
“He was pissed when I told him what I said. I think the fact that we were on the bridge at the time was the only thing that saved me from a punch in the face. It’s funny, when you don’t know it might be the last time…” Sulu picked up McCoy’s flask and refilled both glasses. “If he would just come back, I’d keep a hundred secrets for him.”
McCoy picked up his fresh drink and considered it. “He wouldn’t ask you to.”
“No, you’re right. I never thought you knew him that well.”
“I don’t,” McCoy said grudgingly. And now, selfishly, he was glad. Knowing how many bottles he’d emptied in the last week, he didn’t want to think what a state he’d be in if he’d been as close to Chekov as Sulu was. “I just see the way he acts around his friends.”
“Sounds like you’ve given him some thought.”
“He’s nineteen. We don’t exactly run in the same social circles,” McCoy muttered. Sulu watched him appraisingly until McCoy felt the need to go on. “But fine, yes, maybe I’d given him some thought. Just theoretical speculation, mind you.”
“Of course. He has a way of drawing people into his orbit, even when he’s not making an effort.”
“Well, it’s not as if we’re best friends.” McCoy clutched his drink tighter. “But of the two of you are. Best friends.”
Sulu nodded tightly. “Just happened that way.”
“So tell me something about him,” McCoy said, and sipped at his bourbon. If they were going to get drunk together, they may as well tell stories, too.
“You remember our shore leave on Rigel II?” Sulu twisted his glass in his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Well, when all the other officers went to that bar, the one with the veil dancers, Chekov dragged me outside the city limits so we could look at the stars. He always said he liked to see how they looked from a planet’s surface. He collects constellations. Did you know that? Every place we visit, when he gets a chance, he finds out what constellations they name. He says you can learn a lot about a people by what they name their constellations.”
“That time we were stranded on Minnegon for a night, he kept us all entertained by naming his own constellations.” McCoy stared at the rich, golden bourbon where it caught the light filtering through the glass. He’d passed around his flask that night, too: just him, Chekov, Jim, and Spock on some alien rock looking up at a sky crowded with stars. “I couldn’t see most of them he tried to show us, but I remember one he made up. Yegor, the hunter. Kind of squarish formation with a bump, but he said it looked like a man holding a phaser.”
Sulu’s chuckle dried up in his throat. “We shouldn’t be eulogizing him. He’s not dead.”
“Right.” Anyone else would probably be dead. McCoy was under no illusions about what space could do to a man. But Enterprise’s entire crew seemed to have nine lives. Besides, Chekov had surprised McCoy before. If Sulu could keep hope alive, McCoy could do the same.
Sulu raised his glass. “To Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”
“To Chekov.”
Master Post
Next Part
Art: by
wheres_walnut is hereFanmix by
snarkyrainbow is hereCharacters/Pairings: McCoy/Chekov, Chekov/others mentioned, plus ensemble cast
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: slavery, non- and dub-con, violence (but no explicit torture), emotional abuse, but none of it inflicted by the good guys. Also, explicit sex.
Authors Notes: Thanks to
redandglenda for catching my mistakes, vellum for not letting me get away with anything, and jaune_chat for everything always.Title quotation from The Old Astronomer to His Pupil by Sarah Williams.Summary: More than anyone else on the Enterprise, Leonard McCoy knows that space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. As much as he’s seen in the two years since the Narada incident, he’s not prepared when a simple mission ends in the disappearance of a crewmember. The crew must adjust to the idea that one of their own may never come home.
PART ONE
Ensign Pavel Andreievich Chekov slid a finger across the conn, tracing the trajectory he’d calculated to take the Enterprise to her next destination. The math was correct, he knew, but he liked to feel out the path anyway, to feel it in his bones. When there was time, he liked to imagine different paths, perhaps not so direct, but maybe a trail a little more scenic, or a route that drew a more graceful line across the galaxy. When the Enterprise went to warp, there were no sights to see, of course. Still, Chekov imagined the pleasure of knowing they were passing by the Gamelan Nebula, or the double-ringed planet Mitos III, which Chekov had never seen in person. Chekov always found the most efficient course with ease, but the idea of the long way captured his attention and his imagination during many hours at the conn.
“Well what’s the point in getting there quickly if we won’t be able to help?”
Chekov’s musing was interrupted by the arrival of the Captain on the bridge, followed by the first officer and ship’s doctor. Their discussion had evidently begun some time ago, since Spock’s slower-than-usual speech pattern meant that he was repeating himself. “We will be able to more accurately assess the situation on Rellis after Doctor McCoy has a chance to examine the disease’s victims personally. It may be difficult to access the citizens infected by the outbreak.”
Sulu shot Chekov a significant look to which Chekov responded with a glare to cover his blush. No ship’s chief medical officer should have a reason to be on the bridge often, but Doctor McCoy had made twenty seven appearances on the bridge (including this one) in the three days since Chekov had confessed a certain secret to his friend. Now each visit by the doctor renewed Sulu’s efforts to encourage Chekov.
“Supplies, Spock,” Kirk said through gritted teeth. He managed to keep his voice at a civil level as he stalked across the bridge. “Even if we break through—or fine, talk our way through—the blockade, how are we going to stop the plague without the right supplies?”
“Doctor McCoy assured us that the medical bay is well stocked--.”
“To an extent,” McCoy broke in. “But Rellis is at the po-dunk end of the galaxy, and if we can’t figure out how to make a vaccine from what we’ve got on hand, well, you can’t get blood from a stone.”
“The relevance of the Doctor’s colloquialism is doubtful at best,” Spock shot back. Chekov wished he dared turn and see the scowl that without question marked the doctor’s face. “Components of most common vaccine ingredients are easily synthesized.”
“But,” McCoy countered. “If it is what their doctors think it is, this rare plague, then the vaccine ingredients won’t be common. And I doubt that the military will let us break their blockade a second time if we had to leave for supplies.”
“A reasonable assessment. However, despite the locals’ reports, the odds of this outbreak being caused by an undocumented virus are--.”
McCoy cut him off. “How many years into the damn mission, and you still haven’t learned the futility of quoting the odds on this ship?”
“Ensign.” Kirk abandoned his feuding companions and appeared at the conn beside Chekov. “How long to get us to Rellis?”
Chekov slid his hand away from the circuitous paths he’d been tracing so that Kirk could see the projected course. “Six hours, sir.”
“According to reports from Rellis, the death toll is rising every hour, Captain,” Spock said. Chekov chanced turning slightly in his chair to watch the exchange. Spock was composed as ever. He neither passionately defended a course of action nor vigorously opposed one; he simply presented facts and conclusions which he intended to speak for themselves.
McCoy, though his ever-present scowl knit his brows together and turned down the corners of his mouth, seemed merely concerned, and not about to come to blows with Spock, the way he sometimes looked during these debates on the bridge. Personally, Chekov speculated that the doctor respected Spock more than he let on, and only delivered his counterpoint opinions with such vigor to keep up appearances. McCoy shot back to Spock, “If we waste time going there and have to come back for supplies, the death toll will climb even higher. If their doctors say it’s this rare fever, we’ve got to be prepared.”
“I agree, Doctor. However, Mister Scott expressed his confidence that the ingredients could be synthesized--.”
“Could be. That’s a chance, not a guarantee. The only sure thing is to make sure to bring the right damn supplies.”
“Bones,” Kirk broke in. “What supplies would we need if this outbreak is what they say it is?”
“There’s a plant. Ptelea convivus. Grows on several M-class planets.”
Chekov and Sulu both moved at once, entering information into their consoles. Sulu piped up first. “Sir, the nearest planet where the plant grows is Janus II.”
“Janus II is not far out of the way, sir,” Chekov said, bringing up a new map on his console display. “Depending on how long it took to gather the specimens, the delay in arriving at Rellis would be about eight hours.”
Kirk leaned over Chekov’s shoulder to check the readout, then nodded. “Let’s do it.” He headed back to the command chair as he began spouting orders. Once the captain decided on a course of action, he was always sure of himself. “Chekov, plot a course for Janus II. Bones, figure out exactly what we’ll need. Spock, let’s put together a plan to lay in those supplies quickly. I want us at Rellis with as little delay as possible.”
“Aye sir,” Chekov said. He’d begun plotting a course as soon as he’d identified the planet, fingers flying surely over the conn. “Course set.”
Kirk settled back in his chair. “Take us out, Sulu. Warp six.”
--
When Hikaru Sulu walked into sickbay, McCoy and head nurse Chapel were hard at work assembling the apparatus to mass-produce a vaccine.
McCoy caught sight of him in the doorway and called, “What do you want?”
“We need to talk about your planet. Ptelea convivus.”
McCoy gave a harder-than-necessary twist to the knob he was turning. “Don’t tell me there’s a plant blight on Janus II, or that the plant only grows in the disputed territory of two warring tribes or any of that nonsense. I’m not in the mood.”
“No, there’s plenty of the plant, and it’s easily accessible,” Sulu said. “I just have a concern about harvesting it.”
“A concern.” McCoy stopped tinkering with the medical equipment and fixed Sulu with a suspicious glare. “Don’t we have botany specialists on this ship? Why are the two of us having this conversation?”
“First, because I’m the only one with a botany background qualified to lead an away team, and second, because the captain said you’d probably bite the head off of whoever came to talk to you, and I know how to defend myself,” Sulu said reasonably. Kirk hadn’t exactly said that Sulu was the only one who McCoy couldn’t easily intimidate out of sickbay, but then again, he hadn’t volunteered to come deliver the news to his friend himself.
“Okay then,” McCoy said slowly. “What is this concern?”
“Ptelea convivus is a powerful allergen.”
“Is that so?” McCoy snatched up the nearest data padd, punched in a command, and frowned at what he read there. “Seems ridiculous to make a vaccine out of a flower that most Federation species are allergic to,” he muttered. He headed deeper into sickbay, back toward his office, and Sulu followed.
“I didn’t come up with the vaccine.”
“Fine,” McCoy said. “Just make sure none of the away team’s allergic. My staff won’t have time to treat them if we’re busy manufacturing the vaccine.”
“That leaves out the captain.”
“That’s for damn sure. Man’s allergic to everything under every sun.” McCoy sank down into the chair behind his desk, still frowning at the data padd.
“I’m not allergic,” Sulu offered.
McCoy looked up hopefully. “You’re sure?”
“I have one of these plants in the collection in my room. And before you ask, no, the plants are impossible to synthesize.”
“Damn. How many more do you need for the away team?”
Sulu quickly tallied up the amount of manpower he would need. “Three more would be great.” On a whim, he added, “Chekov isn’t allergic.”
“You’re an expert on allergens, now?” McCoy furrowed his brow.
“He’s never had a reaction to my plant.”
“Okay then,” McCoy said slowly. “I can do allergy tests to find others who aren’t allergic.”
“Two more should be enough.”
He hit the com on his desk. “Nurse Chapel, can you call in the next twenty crew members on the away team rotation?”
“Yes doctor,” her answer crackled through the link.
“Should we do the test on Chekov just for good measure?” McCoy asked as he went over to a cabinet and began removing supplies. “How close has he been to this plant of yours?”
“He’s touched it with no ill effects. That’s all we need, right? I mean, he spends a lot of time in my quarters.”
“Does he,” McCoy said sourly.
“No, that’s… We’re friends, Doctor,” Sulu said quickly. Chekov would never forgive him if he let the object of Chekov’s affection think the ensign was taken. “I guess I should be flattered that you think he’d… But no. I’m not his type.”
“Hell, Sulu, I didn’t mean--,” McCoy said gruffly, and waved a hand in chagrined apology.
Sulu saw an opening, and even as his higher brain functions tried to rein in his mouth, his fighters’ instincts went for the point. “You’re his type.”
“Excuse me?” McCoy froze in mid-gesture, with his hand at an awkward angle in the air.
“You’re really haven’t noticed anything?” Sulu asked. The doctor might be excused for not recognizing Chekov’s interest, because the kid hadn’t exactly been obvious about it. Sulu was supposed to be his best friend, and he’d known for less than a week. If it hadn’t been for Chekov’s slip-up after leaving a game of drunken mah-jongg, Sulu might never have found out. However, now that he knew what to look for, Sulu recognized Chekov’s signs of nervousness every time McCoy walked into the room, and he marveled he hadn’t noticed before. He’d thought that the man the glances were being directed to would have noticed, but the doctor looked completely stymied, and Sulu began to regret his hasty words. “Forget it. I’ll send him to get the test, just to be sure.”
Sulu retreated at top speed, wondering how exactly he was going to break this to Chekov.
--
Chekov hopped up onto the bio bed and rolled up the right sleeve of his uniform shirt. “I am fairly sure I am not allergic,” he offered. He tried to sound cheerful and carefree, but his heart raced in his chest as if it wanted to climb into his throat.
“That’s what they all say.” McCoy held Chekov’s forearm steady and dabbed a concentrated liquid on his skin, just below the elbow. Chekov thought McCoy must surely be able to feel the blood pulsing overly-quickly through his veins, but if he could he made no comment. “We hold this about a minute.” His hands were gentle, as they had been on the few occasions Chekov had been treated in sickbay.
Chekov watched the doctor’s eyes, which were fixed firmly on the task at hand, and tried to imagine what McCoy was thinking. His choices were either to continue to worry in ignorance, or seize the moment and turn it to his advantage. As a tactical officer, he knew his duty. “Hikaru told me what he said to you,” he began. McCoy glanced up at Chekov from under furrowed brows, but his expression remained sardonic. “I am very sorry if he caused any embarrassment.”
“Don’t worry about it,” McCoy said gruffly.
“He apologized to me, because it was not his secret to tell,” Chekov continued. And if they hadn’t been on the bridge, Chekov might have throttled him right there. He’d stared down at his control panel and counted to ten, first in Russian, then in Standard. Then he’d counted by sevens backwards from a thousand. Then he’d listed the first fifty prime numbers, then the digits of pi. His anger hadn’t gone away, but at least he’d been able to talk himself out of plotting to murder Hikaru in his sleep. By the time he’d surrendered his station to Lieutenant Kelso, he had been feeling charitable enough to give Hikaru an annoyed eye roll, a signal that all wasn’t forgiven yet, but that it could be eventually.
Now that Chekov faced the source of the problem, he could at least feel grateful that Hikaru had given them something to talk about. “However, I think perhaps he should apologize to you. If it made you uncomfortable, I mean.”
“It’s not a problem,” McCoy said. He dropped his eyes back to Chekov’s arm, and the motion triggered a vague suspicion. The doctor was not a shy man. He always said what he thought, and said it to the face of whoever was around, up to and including superior officers. From the crew’s first days together, facing the Narada, Chekov had surmised that McCoy never bothered to hide his emotions. Perhaps his response meant something more than he was saying.
Chekov considered, then, how Sulu’s boldness might have won him an opportunity, if only he was brave enough to seize it. “Okay then,” Chekov said thoughtfully. “What kind of not a problem is it?”
McCoy looked up again, and Chekov’s suspicions were confirmed; McCoy’s poker face was terrible, and he couldn’t hide his surprise at Chekov’s line of questioning. “I…”
“Doctor?” Nurse Chapel stepped around the corner. “The next away team candidates are here for their tests.”
“Right. Yes. Be right there,” McCoy said. As Chapel left, McCoy pulled the patch off Chekov’s arm and pulled it closer to look at the skin. “Test’s clean. Looks like you and Sulu were right. About being allergic, I mean.” He quickly let go of Chekov’s arm and stepped back from the bed. “You’re cleared for duty, Ensign.”
“Thank you.” Chekov turned his sleeve back down. Before McCoy could leave, he called, “Doctor.” McCoy paused, and turned halfway back. “Could I perhaps come back to sickbay tomorrow?”
McCoy shook his head slowly. “Kid, I don’t think--.”
“Well, think.” Chekov jumped off the bio bed. “Just think a little bit about it, and tomorrow maybe when I stop by you will tell me to get the hell out of your sickbay, and I will understand.” He stepped past McCoy, but paused for a moment at the entrance to the room. “But maybe you will not tell me to go away.” He turned back to flash McCoy a smile. “Only think. Goodbye, Doctor.”
--
On Janus II, great flat plains stretched out in all directions as far as Chekov could see. It reminded him of visiting his cousins in Ulan-Ude, on the great steppe. That summer on the vast, flat plain, practicing his running, he’d felt as if he could have run all day, lost himself in the great sameness of the fields, and been content to keep running forever. As lighthearted as he felt right now, he would have loved to run. But duty called.
He hoisted the strap of his specimen carrying bag up onto his shoulder and turned to watch as Sulu finished demonstrating the equipment for the other two members of the away team.
“Close it like this, so the plants don’t get bruised.” Sulu motioned for Chekov to come join them. “Okay. The mature plants are the ones best suited to making the medicine we need,” Sulu explained. “They have deep orange flowers.” He held up an example. “Immature plants have yellow flowers, and they’re no use to us. We need to gather as many plants as possible to give Doctor McCoy enough material to work with. Any questions?”
The other two members of the away team, an engineering ensign and a yeoman from security, shook their heads.
“Use your communicators if you see any unusual life forms or run into any trouble. Planetary scans suggest that’s unlikely, but it’s better to be safe. We’ll meet back at these coordinates at 14:00 hours.”
Thus dismissed, the other two crewmembers headed off into the fields. Chekov lingered a moment to say, “I am not mad at you anymore.”
“Well that’s a relief,” Sulu said. He offered up a chagrined smile. “I know you’re vicious when it comes to payback.”
Chekov wagged a finger at him warningly. “Tell you what. Let us make a bet. If I bring back more plants than you bring back, then I get to do something for revenge anyway. If you bring back more, you are off the hook.”
“You’re on.” Sulu shouldered his own bag. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
“Don’t you know? The Russians invented plant harvesting.” Chekov flashed a wide smile. “May the best man win!” He tossed Sulu a jaunty wave before stepping off into the endless fields of waving, pastel plant life.
--
Sulu arrived at the rendezvous site two minutes early. His pack was stuffed with a bountiful harvest of ptelea convivus, plus a few individually sealed samples of other plants for further study. This part of Janus II was mind-numbingly flat, and Sulu easily picked out the red uniforms of Ensign Dupris and Yeoman Taylor as they made their way back through the endless fields of waving flora.
Sulu smiled as he realized that he and Chekov, in their gold uniforms, were nearly invisible in this landscape. He squinted out across the sun-bathed meadows, making a game of trying to pick out his friend: the sandy hair, pale skin, and mustard-colored uniform would give him near-perfect camouflage. By the time Dupris and Taylor had reached Sulu and dropped their full packs to the ground, he still hadn’t been able to spot Chekov. He glanced at the chronometer on his communicator: six minutes past the time they’d agreed to meet.
“He coming?” Dupris asked.
“Probably just got caught up,” Sulu said lightly, but he found it difficult to believe that Chekov was capable of losing track of time. Chekov arrived ten minutes early for every shift on the bridge. He beat Spock to staff meetings. He was the first one to show up at every ship social gathering. Still, like other geniuses, he did occasionally get caught up in his work. Sulu imagined him kneeling in the dirt next to some unusual specimen of tree, gathering every possible reading with his tricorder. True, that kind of absorption was more likely to occur around star charts than plant life, but anything was possible. Sulu flipped open his communicator. “Sulu to Chekov.”
Every second of silence that passed sent Sulu’s heart rate galloping upwards. “Come in Chekov.”
Nothing happened. The three of them stood there, listening to a gentle breeze flutter through the plants around them as the communicator remained silent.
Sulu glanced up at Dupris and Taylor. “Did either of you see him out there?”
“No,” Dupris said slowly.
Taylor shook her head. “Nothing but plants.”
Sulu waited another minute, staring at his communicator and willing it to chirp with an incoming message. He looked back up at the horizon, where still nothing moved but plants waving in the wind. He hit a button on the communicator. “Sulu to Enterprise.”
“Uhura here. Go ahead, Lieutenant.”
“We’re having difficulty with Ensign Chekov’s communicator.” Sulu was amazed at how steady his voice sounded. “Can you locate his signal?”
“Stand by.”
Sulu stood calmly, and flashed a thin smile at the away team. He’d meant to be reassuring, but the two crewmembers exchanged a worried glance. Sulu went back to scanning the horizon until his communicator crackled back to life. He was disappointed to hear only Uhura’s voice.
“We’re receiving no signal from Ensign Chekov’s communicator. Are you sure it’s functioning properly?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly. “Uhura… Check again.”
--
“No,” Kirk said firmly. “I am not warping into a war zone without my navigator or my helmsman.” He threw himself down in the command chair and tapped a finger against the arm as his mind raced, looking for a solution.
Spock came to stand beside him with hands clasped behind his back, composed as ever. “There are other qualified officers on board to man those posts.”
“You expect me just to leave them here?”
“Give Lieutenant Sulu more time to search,” Spock said. “Send down proper supplies and a security team and allow him to remain on planet. We can retrieve them when we return from Rellis.” Spock’s tone was even, calculated to soothe, Kirk knew. It was mostly working.
Kirk allowed himself another minute to examine the situation, turn it over in his mind, and try to identify another solution. Finally he said, “I don’t like this.”
“Consider, Captain, if the missing crew member were a close personal friend of yours.” Spock stepped in front of him, forcing eye contact. “For example, Doctor McCoy. In such a case, I predict there would be an 89% chance of your breaking protocol to continue a missing persons search despite Starfleet orders. I suggest you extend Mister Sulu the same opportunity.”
“McCoy,” Kirk muttered. Though he had to admit Spock’s comparison was accurate. He’d broken the rules plenty of times for McCoy, or for Spock, for that matter. That didn’t mean it was a sound strategy. “You’re suggesting that I show favoritism?”
“Not at all Captain,” Spock said, and if possible he seemed to stand up straighter. “I only suggest that Lieutenant Sulu would not do his best work if he were called back to duty at this time.”
“You make a strong point.” Kirk’s eyes slid past his first officer to take in the sight of Janus II glowing on the main viewscreen. “Make it happen. Then take us to Rellis.” He stood up quickly. “You have the bridge, Spock.”
Kirk fled the bridge not out of cowardice, but to remove the temptation of second-guessing himself. Spock was more than capable of seeing that Sulu was properly outfitted. So Kirk took the liberty of a few minutes to walk off the tightness in his stomach that came with a difficult command decision. His feet carried him down to deck seven. A crewman holding an unmarked box stepped out of sickbay and headed down the hall. Kirk glanced inside the open doors to see a handful of blue-shirted medical personnel bustling about with equipment Kirk didn’t recognize.
He stepped inside, navigating the crowded room adroitly until he made it back to McCoy’s office. Bones was inside, standing over a flower-filled bag laid open on his desk.
“You all set here, Bones?”
McCoy didn’t even look up, just continued sorting flowers. “Got all the plants we can use for this damn vaccine.”
Uhura’s voice came over the ship-wide communications, but it held a sharper edge than usual. “All crew, prepare to go to warp. We’ll be arriving at Rellis within two hours.”
Kirk gripped the doorframe hard. Although he knew there would be no jolt when the ship entered warp, still he felt the strain of leaving part of his crew behind.
Bones didn’t seem to notice his behavior. “I trust since no one came to my sickbay with hives and tingling extremities that the away team proved not to be allergic to this stuff. All made it back okay?”
“Actually.”
“What?” Now Bones did look up, and at the expression on Kirk’s face his hand closed into a fist, crushing the flower he held. “Jim, what?”
“Chekov,” Kirk said softly. “Chekov’s missing.”
Bones seemed unable to form words. His lips parted slightly, and his brow furrowed as if he were about to deliver a particularly cutting reply, but nothing came out. Finally, he croaked, “You left him on the planet?” He drew himself up to his full height as shock gave way quickly to righteous anger: a coping mechanism at which the good doctor excelled. “Alone?”
“Sulu and the rest of the away team are looking for him.”
“You left them on the planet?” he repeated, louder this time.
“Bones, we have to get to Rellis with this vaccine,” Jim said. He looked down. “People are dying.”
“I know that, Jim.” On hearing that vulnerability creep into Kirk’s voice, McCoy relented a little. “When you say missing…”
Kirk knew what he was asking. He had “lost” crewmen before, of course, but the word had always been a euphemism for getting crushed by a rock monster, or blown up by a phaser blast, or eaten by unfriendly fauna. It had never meant simply gone without a trace. “We just don’t know where he went.” He forced out a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “He’ll be okay. Sulu will find him, probably knocked out by the pollen of some crazy plant no one’s documented. We’ll name the subspecies after him when we get back from Rellis, and we’ll all have a good laugh.” He jumped up and rolled his shoulders back to work some of the tension out of them. But talking had sent his mind racing again. The work on Rellis might take days, and by the time they returned, any clues of where else to search would be stale. And if Chekov was hurt, or trapped somewhere, Sulu might not have the right equipment to get him out. Or--.
“Jim…” Bones started around the desk with a hand outstretched, but Kirk turned his back and headed for the door.
“We need the vaccine, Bones. We’ll be there in a few hours.”
--
Leonard McCoy was no man’s savior. The mission on Rellis was going as well as could be expected, but McCoy couldn’t be happy about it. Their gratitude stifled him. Usually he enjoyed these sorts of missions; helping people up close and personally reminded him why it was worth flying around the dangerous vacuum of space in a glorified tin can. Today, however, he begrudged the Rellisites every moment spent diagnosing the disease—it was Tellarian spotted fever after all—, distributing cases of hypospray cartridges filled with vaccine, and walking the royal physician through a treatment plan. He knew every minute spent on Rellis was another moment the Enterprise’s full capabilities were not devoted to recovering her missing navigator.
At least the political situation hadn’t caused too much delay. Jim had been in the mood for problem-solving, and had talked the Enterprise through the military blockage with remarkable ease. The man may have cultivated a persona of recklessness, but McCoy knew his friend could apply his genius to diplomacy when necessary. In this case, he’d enabled Bones and his team to beam down to the plague-stricken city with no interference from the hostile military.
Now that the worst cases of the plague were being treated, McCoy had a moment alone to sit in an out-of-the-way corner and sort through the inventory of the Enterprise’s medical supplies to determine what they could leave behind for the Rellisites. As he checked items off the list, McCoy couldn’t help thinking of Chekov, lost and alone on a strange planet. Odd how often the ensign entered his thoughts, considering how different their positions were on the ship. By all rights, a ship’s CMO should have no reason to visit the bridge, but the Enterprise wasn’t quite like any other ship in the fleet. McCoy was on the bridge often, offering advice or criticism even when Jim didn’t ask. And as navigator, Chekov wasn’t required to perform other duties, but his boundless curiosity took him everywhere on the ship and off of it. McCoy had often found Chekov in sickbay, asking about how a piece of equipment worked, offering to program a more efficient subroutine to store data from the biobeds, or pestering McCoy to get the captain to install a proper track so Chekov wouldn’t have to run on a treadmill. A real track would be better “for health purposes,” he claimed. And he missed running, he said, when he didn’t go anywhere.
Nurse Chapel touched McCoy’s shoulder, and he nearly dropped the padd he was working on.
“Doctor,” she said sternly. “You’ve been up almost forty hours.”
“Just like med school again,” he said wearily. He set down the padd, which had begun to blur in front of his eyes.
“You should go back to the ship. Doctor M’Benga can finish supervising the treatment for now.”
“We’re not ready to go yet?”
Christine shook her head. “Almost. We’ve distributed the vaccine. Once the rest of the infected patients are stabilized, the Rellisites can handle the rest.”
McCoy stood up, wincing at how his knees ached. “I’m staying until the work’s done. Where are these patients?”
“You’re exhausted. We have the situation under control. There’s plenty of time to rest.”
“No, we have to get back. We left him. Left them.”
Christine caught his arm. “What are you saying? Left who where?”
McCoy looked away. Of course there hadn’t been a ship-wide announcement, no flashing memo from the captain saying they were abandoning an away team. Jim kept the crew up-to-date on most things, but he didn’t see a reason to worry the whole ship unnecessarily. Only a few on board the Enterprise understood the need to speed back to Janus II. “It’s nothing, Christine,” he said. His exhaustion suddenly seemed crushing. “I’m just tired.”
“I know,” she said soothingly, and steered him back to the corner where he’d been sitting. “You’re not treating anyone in this state. I’ll give you the prevention of infection procedure to review before we hand it over to the royal physician.”
“Fine,” McCoy muttered, but he took the padd that Christine offered. “Let me know the minute M’Benga’s done, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
--
Sulu hadn’t slept, but he wasn’t tired. He’d spent all day yesterday organizing search grids and supervising the security team walking every square meter of the surrounding plain. When the sun went down, Sulu ordered rest in shifts and kept groups up searching by artificial light in an ever-expanding pattern until he was sure they’d gone further than Chekov could have walked. Halfway through today, he’d had the search team modify their tricorders to scan for organic masses beneath the surface and scan the ground they’d already covered in case the earth had swallowed Chekov up. By late afternoon the second day, the Enterprise had returned, and Uhura’s voice asking for a status report left Sulu feeling more defeated than ever in his life.
There was nowhere else to search.
Sulu had sent the security team back to the ship and walked back to the original rendezvous point: the last place he’d seen Chekov. Sulu stood looking out over the field, praying to the god of his childhood that if he just stared hard enough at the waving fields, Chekov would come walking toward him, carrying a bulging bag of ptelea convivus and apologizing for having caused a fuss.
“Sulu,” Kirk said. He stepped up behind him on the grassy knoll that barely rose above the rest of the rolling yellow plain. Sulu hadn’t even heard him beam down.
“Sir,” he said wearily.
They stood together watching the light from the sinking sun turn the fields orange. “He’s not here,” Kirk said at last. “You would have found him if he were.”
“He’s not dead,” Sulu snapped.
“I didn’t say he was, Sulu.”
“He’s not.”
“Okay.”
“We can’t just leave him here.”
“He’s not here,” Kirk said, more firmly this time. “The ship’s scanners aren’t picking up anything, and more importantly, you didn’t find anything. If I trust anyone to have done this job right, I trust you.”
Sulu flinched. Kirk had trusted him to keep the away team safe, too, but he hadn’t succeeded in that either. “If he’s not here, where is he?”
“Off planet, maybe,” Kirk said, as gently as he could.
“He didn’t just wander off planet,” Sulu snapped. Belatedly, he added, “Sir.”
“Yeah.”
Sulu was profoundly grateful that Kirk didn’t offer empty words of comfort and tell him they were sure to find Chekov soon. Kirk didn’t deny what they both knew: terrible things happened in space. The two of them had cheated death together enough times to know its threat was real. “What’s next?” Sulu asked.
The plains had turned red in the sunset, and in the deepening shadows, Kirk’s face was difficult to read. “We file a missing in action report. An alert goes out to the rest of the Fleet. If there’s any news--.”
“Do you really think there will be?”
“Why? Are you giving up on him?”
“No!” Sulu said quickly. “No.”
“Okay then. Kirk to Enterprise. Two to beam up.”
--
Lieutenant Uhura scanned the report on the display in front of her one more time before she raised a finger to get the captain’s attention. He heaved himself out of the command chair and casually made his way over to her station.
She pitched her voice below the hum of activity on the bridge. The other officers were already on edge, and Uhura had no wish to raise anyone’s hopes unnecessarily. The captain had to know what she’d found, but she particularly wanted to keep this knowledge from Sulu, who sat a half-dozen paces away at the helm, staring intently at the darkness of space rushing by on the main viewscreen.
“Captain. I’ve been monitoring local communications channels in case they turned up any sign of…” She paused, glancing over the bridge, and Kirk nodded.
“I get it. Go on.”
“It’s not a busy sector, sir. Most of the vessels in the area are commercial or private craft, mostly Federation. A few non. There’s a Coridan mining ship, an Usite trader, a cruise ship from Elas, a Nausicaan mercenary outfit--.”
“Now that sounds suspicious. What are they doing here?”
“They said they’d just returned from an engagement on Troyius protecting a dilithium refining operation from feuding local factions.” She brought up a view of the credentials she’d been sent. “I contacted the Troyian authorities, and they check out.”
“Damn. Other leads?”
“I’m monitoring all civilian frequencies, including encrypted ones. If any mention is made of Janus II, I’ll know.”
“You can do that?” Kirk asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.
“I wouldn’t mention it to Commander Spock,” she said.
“Ah. Against regulation?”
“Somewhat.”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” he said with a smile. “Did you send out the message I asked you to?”
“Yes.” She switched the view to the missing-in-action report she’d transmitted to the fleet hours ago.
“Thank you.” He turned to go, but Uhura touched his shoulder to stop him.
“Sir, we get one or two missing-in-action communications from Starfleet every week,” she said. No one could hope to read every message the Enterprise received, but as the officer who monitored all ship-board communications, Uhura made it a point to keep an eye on all communications from the fleet, even those that weren’t required reading.
Kirk stepped back closer to her station and lowered his voice again. “Why have I never seen one?”
“They’re sent to you along with all other standard priority paperwork.”
“Which I could never hope to keep up with.” His mouth tightened into a thin line, and Uhura recognized the signs of his building frustration. “So you’re saying that sending an MIA report is useless?”
“Not exactly,” Uhura said. She had given the matter some thought as more hours passed since Chekov’s disappearance. “There are four other ‘Fleet ships within audio communication range. If you contact their captains directly, they may be more likely to help.
“That’s brilliant, Uhura. Can you get me a private link in my quarters?”
“Yes sir.” Uhura began initiating the sequence on her station that would create the necessary protocols in the captain’s quarters, but paused when she realized Kirk still stood beside her, staring out at the main viewscreen where Janus II loomed. “Sir.” When he turned back to her, he looked tired. “We’ll find him.”
“Thanks, Lieutenant.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze which she didn’t begrudge, and strode off the bridge.
--
Lieutenant Kelso pointed from the navigator’s chair at a flashing light on the conn. “Hey, watch--.”
“Damn it!”
Kirk turned around from where he stood looking over a report with Spock at the science station just in time to see Sulu scrambling at the controls. Apparently, he couldn’t move in time to accomplish whatever he’d meant to do.
Everyone on board the bridge reached for something solid as the floor beneath their feet tilted precipitously in a way for which gravity control wasn’t equipped to compensate.
Kirk hauled himself upright against a chair and called, “Status report.”
Kelso opened his mouth to speak, but Sulu jumped in ahead of him. “All clear, Captain. There’s no danger.”
Kelso checked something on his panel. “And it looks like there’s no damage from the asteroid. Our shields took the brunt of it.”
“Asteroid? Is that what we ran into?” Kirk marched over to the helm to peer at the display. Sure enough, the glowing dot that marked the Enterprise flashed on the screen at the edge of the Seminil Asteroid Belt, more than a hundred thousand kilometers off the projected course.
Kelso looked at the display, then up at Kirk apprehensively. Sulu pointedly kept his eyes on the panel in front of them. “Fine,” Kirk said. “Kelso, make sure there’s no damage and double check our course heading, please. Mister Sulu, a word?”
Sulu stood up silently and followed Kirk off the bridge. Kirk steered them into an empty alcove in the deserted corridor outside. Sulu still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Do you want to tell me what that was all about?” He cursed himself for sounding like every authority figure he’d ever hated as a child.
“I’m sorry Captain,” Sulu said immediately. “It won’t happen again.”
“I’m not worried about the damn asteroid, Sulu. I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine. I can do my duty. I…”
“What?” Kirk glanced around, but they were alone. “Sulu, what?”
“Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked. The request sounded strange coming from a man who’d saved Kirk’s life, and had his saved in return a dozen times over in the past two years.
“Of course,” Kirk said impatiently.
“It’s been a week.” Sulu’s breath caught in his throat—restrained anger, Kirk recognized it well—but he pushed through it. “A whole week, and we haven’t done anything.”
“Sulu--.”
But Sulu showed no signs of stopping now that Kirk had given him an opening. “If someone took Chekov off that planet, they could be anywhere, and you haven’t even looked for him.”
“Sulu.” Kirk grabbed his shoulders to stop him. “Listen to me. We are looking. I’ve been in contact with three other Federation captains in the area. They’re stopping every suspicious ship that’s been anywhere near Janus II. We’re in contact with the local authorities. We--.”
“It’s not enough. There’s got to be something more I—something more we can do.”
“I’m open to suggestions, here. We’ve done everything but start turning over rocks.”
“Every day that passes there’s less chance of us finding him.” Sulu began to say more, but checked himself. Finally he settled on, “Every minute he could be getting further away.”
“I know. I want to find him too.”
“In there just now, when I should have been thinking about keeping us out of the damn asteroid fields, I was thinking about how we might find him.” Sulu scrubbed a hand through his hair, and Kirk noticed for the first time how strained he looked, how close to the edge he must be running. “That we’d suddenly run into a Klingon ship that was demanding ransom for a captured enemy combatant. Or that he’d somehow gone along with a colony ship because they’d had some engineering emergency that he knew how to fix, and then he didn’t have any way to contact us. And those were the more realistic scenarios I came up with.”
Kirk understood. The captains he’d spoken to hadn’t provided any new leads, although they’d promised to do what they could. But even for as active an imagination as Kirk’s, the possibilities were dwindling. Still, to Sulu he said, “A million things could have happened. We’re going to keep looking.”
Sulu nodded, but the movement was jerky, as if he’d half-forgotten how to make his body obey simple commands. That stiffness was the only physical indicator that Sulu was eating himself up with guilt over Chekov’s disappearance. Kirk marveled again at Sulu’s toughness; he’d held together admirably over the past week, but hope couldn’t endlessly survive being crushed by the passage of time.
“Have you contacted his parents?” Sulu asked.
“It’s a bit soon for that,” Kirk said quietly, thought it wasn’t, really. He’d thought about calling them two days ago, and yesterday, and again this morning. Each time, he told himself he’d wait to hear if Uhura had a new report, or he’d try contacting the science outpost on Janus II’s moon once more, or maybe there’d be a message waiting for him on the bridge.
“When you do, is it alright if I talk to them?” Sulu asked. “They’ve met me, at least.”
“It’s my responsibility,” Kirk said. Chekov’s parents deserved that much, at least.
“He’s an only child. They’re probably already wondering why they haven’t received his weekly message.” Sulu laughed weakly. “He writes them about every silly little thing that happens on this ship.”
“Spock told me that Chekov modified the data storage parameters to give himself more mail allotment.” Kirk shook his head at the memory.
“Trust Pavel to hack the system just so he could store more letters from his mother.” Sulu’s smile looked as if it pained him, and his eyes fixed on the bulkhead behind Kirk, seeing another time, another place.
“Sulu, take the rest of the shift off,” Kirk said. He didn’t like to lose the services of his best pilot, but he’d lost them already, he knew, in Sulu’s preoccupation with his missing friend. The man needed time to mourn. “In fact, take tomorrow, too.”
Sulu’s face hardened in resolve, and he looked more like the tough-as-nails officer Kirk was accustomed to. “I don’t want to sit in my quarters. Sir. I want to help.”
“There’s nothing any of us can do that we aren’t already doing,” Kirk said firmly. “And you can’t be on the bridge in this state.”
Sulu nodded his acquiescence. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“No harm done. We’ve hit worse things than asteroids.”
“No,” Sulu said roughly. He looked away, down the hallway. “I mean I’m sorry I lost him. I was in charge down there. It’s my fault.”
“Things happen that we can’t control. You didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done,” Kirk said, though he knew the words weren’t much comfort.
“Maybe.” Sulu shook his head. “But if I’d have figured out sooner that he was gone, if I hadn’t let them go alone, if we’d maintained radio contact…”
“You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Yes sir,” Sulu said grudgingly.
Kirk knew Sulu didn’t believe him, but he didn’t know what else to say. Sulu would have to make his own peace with what happened, and no one could help him with that. “Go get some rest.”
“Yes sir.”
“Sulu,” Kirk called, and he turned back slowly. Kirk wanted to make sure Sulu wouldn’t retreat into himself, wouldn’t keep himself at the distance Kirk was already having trouble bridging. “Meet me in exercise room three after alpha shift and bring your swords. I’ll let you run me around the mats.”
“Can I come back to duty tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
--
McCoy had hoped that walking into sickbay would end the conversation, but Jim was relentless.
“Will you talk to him?”
“Damnit Jim.”
“Come on, please.”
“I’m a doctor, not a grief counselor.” McCoy headed right to his office. He’d certainly need to break out the flask if this conversation lasted much longer. He had no interest in examining his own feelings about Ensign Chekov’s disappearance, let alone someone else’s.
“He won’t talk to the counselor.”
McCoy waited until the door hissed closed to mutter, “So, because Doctor Chalmers is terrible at his job, I have to pay the price?” He dropped into his desk chair.
“He won’t talk to me either.” Jim leaned against the edge of McCoy’s desk. “Bones, I can’t…”
McCoy sighed. That half-confession, Jim’s well-guarded vulnerability, pricked at him. In the years that Kirk had been in command of the Enterprise, he’d gotten much better at solving problems without his fists, but it was still difficult for him to admit that some things were beyond him. Even though all McCoy wanted to do was crawl into a bottle every time someone brought up Pavel Chekov, he’d go rub salt in his wounds if it would help his friend. “All right,” he said. “I can’t guarantee anything.”
Jim slapped him on the shoulder harder than necessary, to cover his genuine relief. “Thanks.”
--
McCoy half hoped that Sulu wouldn’t answer his door. Any sane member of alpha shift would be asleep by now. McCoy hadn’t exactly been putting off this visit, but he’d stayed in sickbay longer than necessary busying himself with make-work: checking up on the nurses, completing some overdue paperwork, and re-stocking an emergency med kit.
An interminable moment after McCoy rang, the door slid open to reveal Hikaru Sulu in standard-issue sleep pants and black undershirt. His eyes looked dark and sunken in, and a scowl worthy of McCoy’s own marred his face. “You make house calls now?”
“Hello to you too.” McCoy had to admit a certain grim satisfaction at the sign that someone else looked as wrecked as he felt about Chekov’s disappearance.
Sulu stepped aside grudgingly. McCoy stepped in, and the door slid closed behind him.
“The Captain send you?”
“Yes.” No reason to deny it. “Anything you want to say?”
“It’s been four days. Can you tell the captain I can go back on duty?”
“Depends. You want to talk about what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
“Then no. Drink?” McCoy held out his flask.
“Yes please.” Sulu retrieved two clean glasses from a storage cabinet by the bed and set them on the little table in the front of the room. He sat down while McCoy poured.
McCoy doled them out a generous measure apiece, then screwed the lid back on his flask. Sulu raised his glass briefly to McCoy before slugging back the whole drink.
McCoy frowned and sipped at his own as Sulu considered his empty glass.
“Whiskey?” Sulu asked.
“Bourbon.”
“Not my drink of choice.”
“You shouldn’t be drinking, anyway. You haven’t been sleeping, have you.”
“This the ship’s doctor asking?” Sulu asked guardedly. “Because I am fit to go back on duty.”
“Don’t lay that crap on me.” McCoy poured them both another round. “You’re a mess.”
“You’re one to talk,” Sulu snapped. Then he scrubbed a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Sorry.”
“Here.” McCoy pushed the fresh drink across the table. “And sip this time.”
“You must have a good supply of this stuff.”
“Used a lot this past week.” McCoy flinched as soon as the words came out of his mouth, but he covered it by taking a gulp of his drink. He’d come here to get Sulu to talk, not to dump his own baggage on a man who was already struggling.
Strangely, the admission seemed to put Sulu at ease. “Look, I’m sorry I told you that, about his… About the way he felt about you. I mean, now that all of this--.”
“Forget about it,” McCoy told him. He knew he was trying to. “You couldn’t have known what was going to happen.”
“He was pissed when I told him what I said. I think the fact that we were on the bridge at the time was the only thing that saved me from a punch in the face. It’s funny, when you don’t know it might be the last time…” Sulu picked up McCoy’s flask and refilled both glasses. “If he would just come back, I’d keep a hundred secrets for him.”
McCoy picked up his fresh drink and considered it. “He wouldn’t ask you to.”
“No, you’re right. I never thought you knew him that well.”
“I don’t,” McCoy said grudgingly. And now, selfishly, he was glad. Knowing how many bottles he’d emptied in the last week, he didn’t want to think what a state he’d be in if he’d been as close to Chekov as Sulu was. “I just see the way he acts around his friends.”
“Sounds like you’ve given him some thought.”
“He’s nineteen. We don’t exactly run in the same social circles,” McCoy muttered. Sulu watched him appraisingly until McCoy felt the need to go on. “But fine, yes, maybe I’d given him some thought. Just theoretical speculation, mind you.”
“Of course. He has a way of drawing people into his orbit, even when he’s not making an effort.”
“Well, it’s not as if we’re best friends.” McCoy clutched his drink tighter. “But of the two of you are. Best friends.”
Sulu nodded tightly. “Just happened that way.”
“So tell me something about him,” McCoy said, and sipped at his bourbon. If they were going to get drunk together, they may as well tell stories, too.
“You remember our shore leave on Rigel II?” Sulu twisted his glass in his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Well, when all the other officers went to that bar, the one with the veil dancers, Chekov dragged me outside the city limits so we could look at the stars. He always said he liked to see how they looked from a planet’s surface. He collects constellations. Did you know that? Every place we visit, when he gets a chance, he finds out what constellations they name. He says you can learn a lot about a people by what they name their constellations.”
“That time we were stranded on Minnegon for a night, he kept us all entertained by naming his own constellations.” McCoy stared at the rich, golden bourbon where it caught the light filtering through the glass. He’d passed around his flask that night, too: just him, Chekov, Jim, and Spock on some alien rock looking up at a sky crowded with stars. “I couldn’t see most of them he tried to show us, but I remember one he made up. Yegor, the hunter. Kind of squarish formation with a bump, but he said it looked like a man holding a phaser.”
Sulu’s chuckle dried up in his throat. “We shouldn’t be eulogizing him. He’s not dead.”
“Right.” Anyone else would probably be dead. McCoy was under no illusions about what space could do to a man. But Enterprise’s entire crew seemed to have nine lives. Besides, Chekov had surprised McCoy before. If Sulu could keep hope alive, McCoy could do the same.
Sulu raised his glass. “To Pavel Andreievich Chekov.”
“To Chekov.”
Master Post
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