Begun by Jane Seaton & T. S. Taylor
Finished by Katherine L. Burke

Chekov landed face first on the floor of his cell with a skidding thud. His head cracked against the far wall hard enough to make his eyes water. By the time he rolled painfully over and up onto his elbows the tiny room's only door was shut and electronically sealed. He pressed the back of his hand against his lip to check if it was bleeding.

"Darn," he swore at the tiny smear of blood he found.

* * *

It had all begun innocently enough. The Enterprise had put in for two weeks leave on Bidoah, a moderately developed planet with a Federation base. He and Scotty had arranged to visit the Cochran Institute to witness a series of experiments demonstrating a new design for an inertial damping system... not exactly a weekend on Wriggley's Planet, Chekov had to admit, but certainly a career-enhancing experience that he'd not have been able to attend without Scotty's patronage.
The engineer had been scheduled to go on leave a few hours earlier than Chekov, so they'd agreed to meet at the Black Hole, a local bar. Looking back on it all now, Chekov knew that he should have realized he was heading into trouble as soon as he stepped out of the fresh, clean atmosphere of Bidoah's main square and into the murky darkness of that seedy den of iniquity posing as a legitimate business.

"Here, lad!" Scotty haled him, just as he was preparing to take a giant step backwards. The engineer was surrounded by a tableful of strangers whose appearance was forbiddingly odd, to say the least. "Come meet me mates!"

From the sound of Scott's voice and the expansiveness of his gesture, Chekov could tell the engineer had not wasted a second of his leave so far on dry pondering of damping fields. Putting a polite smile on his face and crossing his hands behind his back, Chekov stepped forward, resigning himself to the fact they'd probably not get
to the Cochran Institute tonight.

"This is Pivel... Povel... Puvel..." Scotty sighed heavily as the initial vowel of Chekov's first name eluded him completely. "Ach, lad, what's your name?"

"Chekov," Chekov supplied, deciding he'd prefer not to have his given name bandied about by this motley crew.
"Aye, this is Chekov," Scotty didn't seem to notice his stand-offishness as he draped an arm across the shoulders of the thin, rat-faced man beside him. "And this, this is me old mate, Bardon Goudchaux, the scurviest mother's son to ever sail the galaxy."

"Hello, Chekov." Goudchaux's grip when he reached out to shake Chekov's hand was as thin and icy as his smile. "I see you're Star Fleet but I'm afraid I can't read your rank."

"Not much rank to read, for he's an ensign!" Scotty announced with a bellow of laughter. "But one of our best. Lad, Goudchaux and I shipped out together in the Merchant Marines when we were no older than you are now. Our ship was the Lideo Low... Lodia Lie..."

"Lydia Lee," Goudchaux supplied.

Scotty raised his glass in a solemn toast. "An' a fine ship she was."

Chekov could see the sort of evening this promised to be and decided to exercise the better part of valor. "Meester Scott, I think I'll meet you at the Institute."

"You're not going to have a drink with us?", a tall blonde woman at the end of the table asked. A metallic patch covered one of her eyes, but the other was a deep shade of blue. "I think I'm insulted."

"Ach, we've got plenty of time to get to the experiments," Scotty argued, pouring him a drink. "And I know you, Chekov. You're not one to refuse a drink... or insult a lady."

Normally this was true -- even of lovely, one-eyed pirate ladies, but Chekov's instincts were screaming that this was not wise company for him to keep. "Thank you, but there is an opening lecture at 1800..."

"1800?" Goudchaux laughed and nodded to the huge Asian man sitting at his side, who rose to his full six feet and five inches of height and moved to take a position behind Chekov. "Why, it's only 1600 now."

"Aye, lad, we've plenty of time," Scotty added. "I've got me chromimiter... chronanater...chronoo... I know what time it is."

"Chen, show Mr. Chekov to a seat," Goudchaux directed and a grip of iron clamped onto Chekov's shoulders. "I think there's a seat next to Moray Morgain."

"If you insist," Chekov said, trying to look like he was retaining some control over his destination as Chen guided him firmly to an empty seat that appeared next to the blonde woman.

He barely had time to recover when the woman grabbed him by the chin. She tilted his head from side to side inspecting him. "Hello, Angel. Y'know, I've always been a sucker for men with brown eyes."

Chekov carefully pulled himself free of her grip, cleared his throat and straightened his tunic. "Thank you," he said, deciding that it would be wisest not to comment on her remaining eye.

The black man with slanting green eyes sitting opposite Chekov leaned over the table and grabbed a handful of his shirtfront. "I'm Khwaja," he growled, pulling Chekov roughly towards him.

"Pleased to meet you," the ensign replied.

"Sir!" Khwaja seized Chekov with both hands and shook him roughly. "You will call me sir! I am Zakaria Munfaz Khwaja, prince of Riordan, heir to the house of Zovfasta!"

Chekov smiled wryly. "Actually, Riordan is an oligarchy, not a monarchy. A member of the ruling class is called a Vastafah, not a prince. I believe the Vahshadons are the ruling clan, not the Zovfasta. And you should take your hands of me...now!"

Scotty exploded with laughter. "He's got you there, Khwaja!"

"Yes..." Goudchaux smiled as Khwaja released Chekov. "You have to work very hard to fool an Academy boy like this one."

"Where's his drink?" Scott demanded. "I know I poured him one."

"I've got it." Chen passed a glass to the blonde woman. "We're drinking Black Forests."

"Black Forests?" Chekov eyed the murky liquid as the blonde held it out temptingly.

"Aye, it's got vodka in it," Scott informed him enthusiastically. "I know you'll not turn that down."

"Silurian wodka," Chekov noted, finally recognizing the drink from it's licorice aroma.

"With a touch of anasinsel." The blonde's red lips curved into a smile. "They say you should never drink it with a stranger."

Chekov's eyes followed the glass as if hypnotized by it. "Because the smell, taste, and appearance of the drink vill hide almost any drug someone might care to add to it."

"Well, there's just one cure for this situation." The blonde woman put her hand behind his head and drew him into a long, deep, and quite unexpected kiss. She winked at him with her one eye as she released him. "Now we're not exactly strangers, are we?"

Chekov could hear Scotty laughing as the blood rushed to his face. "I didnae think he wanted to go."

"Vhat did you say your name was?" Chekov asked as she pressed the glass of black liquor into his hand.

The pirate lady picked up her drink, downed it in a single gulp, then threw the empty glass over her shoulder. "Moray Morgain," she answered, offering a hand for him to shake as the glass shattered on the barroom floor.

Chekov took a deep breath before surrendering to the inevitable. He then downed his drink and sent his glass crashing after hers. "Pleased to meet you, Meess Morgain," he said, taking her hand and giving it a courtly kiss instead.

The table roared with laughter at this. Even the surly Khwaja guffawed and slapped him on the back.

"But he's so sweet!" Morgain reached out and tousled his hair. "What'ya say, Goudchaux? If I promise to feed him can I keep him?"

"What did you do with the man we threw you last week?" Goudchaux returned with a leer.

As Chekov tried to brush his hair back into place, he decided that he simply had to get something to eat. Just that one drink had made him very light-headed. "Meess Morgain..."

"Don't ya love the way he says that?" She grinned as she slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him into another spontaneous kiss.

When she finally pulled away, Chekov opened his eyes and found something had gone terribly wrong with his vision. He couldn't quite put his finger on how or why, but nothing looked exactly as it should. Moray Morgain, who had been rather deficient in the eye department, seemed to have developed several.

"Two... Three... Four..." Chekov counted her extra eyes as they appeared. "Five... Six... Seven..."

"Eight!" Morgain exclaimed as he fell forward senselessly into her arms.

* * *

Chekov awoke with a start when a booted foot prodded his ribs. He slowly opened one eye and peered up at the face of his antagonizer. Everything was blurry and he could not see. Chekov rolled onto his side and cautiously sat up but he promptly lowered his head into his hands when the room began to spin. He slowly counted to ten and opened his eyes again. Chekov immediately wished he had stayed unconscious.

The room had the compact look of a space ship although it was quite large. It had three doors, two of which he could see led to sleeping quarters, but unfortunately it had a few rather unsavory occupants.

An Andorian sat at a small table, his cerulean skin highlighting the tint of the illegal Romulan ale that gleamed from a glass in his hand. Khwaja, the stylized prince, sat opposite the Andorian. Both creatures were armed with phasers and several other weapons.

Chekov took all this in with barely a glance as his attention was swiftly diverted by the man whose boot prints were imbedded on his chest.

It was Chen, the Asian Goliath. He seized Chekov's arm with an iron grip and pulled him to his feet. He then laughed gruffly as Chekov struggled to maintain his balance, and shoved a glass into his hand. Chekov stared suspiciously at the transparent fluid. It certainly looked safe but memories of the sleep-inducing Black Forest surfaced in his mind. It would probably be safer to go without.

Chen laughed again. "Drink it," he ordered.

Chekov looked at the liquid and suddenly realized how dry his mouth was. Just how much he wanted something to wash away the woolly taste on his tongue. There shouldn't be any objective in drugging him again, he reasoned, since he was already a prisoner. Shrugging his shoulders, Chekov drained the glass. The refreshing non-taste of water filled his mouth. He frowned thoughtfully as he handed the glass back to Chen.

Come to think of it -- why had they knocked him out in the first place? Chekov could feel the years of Star Fleet training kick in. He had to assess the situation and form a solution. But first he needed some answers. Chekov glared up at Chen. "Vhat am I doing here?", he demanded.

The heavy-weight ignored Chekov and turned to Khwaja. "Go tell Goudchaux the little guy's up."

After the man had left the room Chen turned his gaze back to the captive. "Vhat am I doing here?", Chekov repeated his question.

The outer door wooshed open before Chen could answer. Chekov turned to see Goudchaux and Morgain enter the room. "Hey, Sweetie," Morgain drawled, winking her sapphire eye at him. Chekov blushed and quickly focused his attention on the figure entering the room behind her.

"Meester Scott!", He blurted in surprise.

Scotty looked Chekov in the eyes before he spoke. "I'm sorry, lad. I'd get ye out o' this if I could."

Goudchaux ignored the exchange and stared pointedly at Chekov before looking at the engineer. "Well, Scott," said Goudchaux. "Are you going to help us or not?"

Scotty sighed dejectedly. "I don't have any choice. Aye, I'll do it."

Goudchaux clapped his hands together. "Well then, make yourselves comfortable gentlemen. Morning comes early on this ship." His voice took on a dark tone as he continued. "Behave... or you'll live to regret it."

Chekov waited for the room to empty before he spoke. "Vhat is going on, Meester Scott?"

Scotty walked over to the table and dropped into a chair. He waited for Chekov to take a seat before he answered. "Goudchaux needs some work done and he wants me to do it."

"But, Meester Scott, vhy not hire an engineer? There are many awailable."

Scotty shook his head. "Aye, but how many can install a cloaking device."

Chekov started. "A cloaking dewice?" Scotty nodded, his chin in his hands.

Chekov leaned back in his seat and slipped into deep thought. What could they be doing with a cloaking device? Smuggling?

Chekov looked up at Scotty. "Meester Scott," he said, his voice low. "Ve've got to find out vhy they have a cloaking dewice."

"Aye, lad. Tomorrow I'll snoop about in engineering while you get out o' this room. See what you can find out sneakin' around."

"Yes, sir." Chekov saluted smartly. His spirits were beginning to rise now that he had a course of action.

"For now," Scotty continued, "we'd better get some rest. I've still got a headache from whatever they slipped in my Black Forest."

* * *

Early the following morning Khwaja arrived to escort Scotty down to the ships engine room. Chekov was left isolated in the living compartment, a guard stationed outside. He wandered around the room inspecting every piece of furniture as he pondered his plan of escape. It was dangerous but might work.

Chekov took a deep breath and began to pound frantically on the door that led to the hall. "Meester guard! There is smoke coming from the refresher in my sleeping quarters! Something's on fire!"

The door slide open and the Andorian entered. He motioned with the phaser in his hand for Chekov to stand back. Then he quickly coded the door lock and stepped toward the sleeping quarters. "Which room?" he asked, a faint lisp in his words.

"The first one," Chekov pointed, his hand brushing against the alien's bluish arm.

A soft hiss filled the air and the Orion crumpled to the floor.

Chekov slid the hypospray back into its concealed compartment on his belt. "Never know vhen some hydrochloride might come in handy," he muttered as he bent to pick up the dropped phaser.

Chekov set the phaser on stun before slipping into the hall. To the left were several doors; to the right the hall continued several meters before splitting in two directions. Hefting the phaser in his hand, Chekov turned to the right. At the intersection was a small computer console. Chekov crossed his fingers for luck before touching the computer.

No alarms sounded.

Taking a deep breath, Chekov set to work. First he found and memorized the ship's coordinates; a sigh of relief welled up inside of him when he discovered they were still in orbit around Bidoah. Then he called up the ship's map and learned as much of the layout as he could. Finally he gazed apprehensively at the screen. "Computer, list all cargo on board or scheduled for loading."

* * *

Stepping softly down the hall Chekov turned a corner and paused outside a lift. Once inside, Chekov leaned against the wall and sighed.

"Where to, sir?" The computer's voice, deep and metallic, interrupted his thoughts.

"Engineering."

The lift began to move, a sharp jolt accenting it's movement. Chekov shook his head, nowhere near the quality of the Enterprise, he thought smugly.

* * *

The engine room was a disaster. Cables lay stretched across the floor, wires hung in colorful disarray, Goudchaux's men men rushed about the room, and Scotty stood king in the midst of it all.

"Not over there, ya fool! Put it against the wall!" Scotty shook his head in disgust. "I'm surrounded by idiots." he muttered under his breath.

Chekov strode boldly from the lift and was immediately engulfed by the confusion. He tried to blend in by grabbing a toolbox and heading down the hall. He casually slid by Scotty, trying to catch the engineers eye. Unfortunately, he collided into Moray Morgain and she immediately recognized him.

"Hey! How did you get here?"

Chekov dropped the box and turned to run but Morgain tackled him before he'd taken three steps. The two tumbled down to the floor and landed at Chen's feet. The man reached down, grabbed Chekov by the collar and hoisted him into the air. Chekov dangled like a puppet on a string.

* * *

Scotty stumbled into the bare room; he had just enough time to flatten himself against the wall before Chekov came flying through the door. The ensign groaned, a lump blossoming on the top of his head. He lay on the floor and nursed a split lip for several moments before turning to the engineer. "Vell?"

"The store-rooms are sealed up tight. They wouldn't let me any closer than three meters."

Chekov felt the knob on his head carefully. "I searched the computer. Vhatever they have, it's classified. "

Scotty slid to the ground before holding out his hand. "I noticed you dropped something."

Chekov leaned forward to peer at the object in Scotty's clenched fingers. "I did?"

Scott's hand slowly relaxed, a gleam of light reflected off of the smooth surface of the phaser. Chekov whistled in appreciation and stood to his feet. He examined the room carefully, his thoughts back on the ship layouts he'd seen in the computer. He lightly smoothed his hair as he turned to face the wall furthest from the door. "If you cut through the wall here we should find a repair-shaft. Then we can worry about getting to that store- room."

Scotty wielded the small phaser and faced the wall grimly. "Get back, lad. This won't be pretty."

* * *

Chekov slipped the phaser in his pocket and touched the door tentatively. It had already cooled enough for him to touch and he pushed it open with his hand. He entered the store-room and stood aside for Scotty to enter. A soft purring filled the air.

Scotty gazed about the room and turned to the ensign. "We've got to stop 'um, laddie." His voice was low.

Chekov opened his mouth, but the blaring of an alarm filled the air before he could speak. He grabbed Scotty's arm and dashed back into the engine room. Tossing aside the grating of the ventilation system, he shoved Scott toward the dark tunnel. The engineer scrambled inside, Chekov close on his heels. They crawled for several moments in silence, the faint noise of the alarm fading in the thick walls. "I think they know ve've escaped," Chekov gasped between breaths. He tugged on Scotty's ankle. "Let's get to the transporter room."

Scotty nodded, not sparing any air, and continued down the tunnel. He stopped a moment later and peeked through the grating into a hall. "Coast is clear," he tossed over his shoulder. He reached out with his hands, grasped the woven metal and pushed for all he was worth. It gave suddenly and clattered to the floor. He squeezed out of the confines of the tunnel and reached out a hand to Chekov.

The ensign clambered into the hall. "I think it's that way," he said, pointing to the left. He hadn't taken two steps when a shout was heard from behind, and a flash of phaser fire toppled Scotty.

Chekov dropped to the floor next to the engineer a mere instant before an energy beam filled the air where he'd been standing. He glanced at the prostrate figure and sighed in relief. Scotty was breathing, he must have only been stunned. Down the hall, he glimpsed Moray Morgain leveling a phaser in his direction. He jumped to his feet and dashed around the corner, desperately tugging at the weapon in his pocket.

* * *

Ten seconds later Chekov burst into the transporter room. It was unmanned. Chekov whispered thanks as he used his phaser to meld the door shut. Crossing quickly to the controls, Chekov looked down at the console. It was still set from its last use. Hoping his luck would hold out, he set the delay on the controls and stepped onto the transporter platform. The last thing he heard before the room disappeared was the pounding of feet, and hands banging on the sealed door.

* * *

Chekov materialized in a dank, malodorous alley. Judging from the coarse laughter and shouts around the corner, he judged that he must have beamed down outside the Black Hole. The young ensign walked briskly out of the alley and down the street, phaser tucked discreetly into his belt but easily accessible. When the bar was well behind him Chekov leaned against a tree to think.

He had to rescue Scotty but he needed help. Realizing that it would only be a few minutes before the transporter room door was opened, he made his decision. Call the Enterprise.

* * *

Chekov jogged down the road as he anxiously searched for a communications booth. He spotted one within five minutes but had to wait while the occupant, a rather long-winded Vulcan, finished his conversation.

Having finally gained entrance to the booth, Chekov called up an operator and was put through to the Enterprise. The bridge appeared on the screen but before he could speak Captain Kirk immediately began to ply him with questions.

"Chekov! Where have you been? Where's Scotty?"

"Ve were kidnapped, Keptin! You must stop them! They have Scotty and they are going to start a var!"

"A war!" The captain's face settled into lines of grim determination. "Kyle, beam up Chekov. Uhura, get the Bidoah government. Let's get to the bottom of this."

Chekov stepped clear of the communications booth and waited. Soon, he felt the familiar sensation of a transporter beam and the Enterprise appeared around him. "You'd better head up to the bridge," Kyle said, grinning at him from behind the console. "The captain wants a full report in two minutes."

* * *

Chekov felt all eyes center on him as he entered the bridge. Captain Kirk looked up from his conversation with Spock, and motioned the ensign to follow him. They entered the briefing room and Kirk perched on the edge of the table, facing Chekov. "All right, ensign. Report."

* * *

Several hours later, Chekov sat at a table in the Cafeteria, trying to enjoy his dinner. He wasn't having much luck since Uhura and Sulu were pumping him for information on the past days events.

"But how did you know a war would be started?", asked Uhura, who'd been busy placating a confused Bidoah official during Chekov's report to the captain.

"Ach, let the lad eat a bite." Scotty left the food replicators lined on the wall and took a seat across from Sulu. He set his tray on the table, a generous serving of haggis overflowing his plate.

"Well, you see," Sulu explained to the communications officer. "With the cloaking device, Goudchaux could sneak into the Klingon empire, drop his cargo, and blame it on the Romulans."

Uhura sighed in exasperation."What cargo? Blame what on the Romulans?"

Chekov smiled at the expression on her face. "The tribbles."

"Tribbles?!" Uhura was beginning to look desperate.

"Their store-rooms vere full of tribbles. They vere going to leave the creatures vith the Klingons. Then the Klingons vould blame the Romulans because a cloaking dewice vas used."

Scotty nodded in agreement. "Aye, but Chekov put a plug in their plans by getting away and warning Captain Kirk. The captain notified the Bidoah government, rescued me, and here we are."

"Here we are..." Uhura gazed at her friends, a smile dancing across her face.

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Copyright © 1997 Katherine Burke.