Part I: Dangerous Liaisons

by P B Wrapper

Sulu held the spectral analyser while his colleague struggled with the stubborn input lead. "Just another half turn," he encouraged.

She stopped and looked at him. "And what would you know about it, Mister Sulu? It's not exactly your field."

He shrugged. "I've done a little of most things. And encouraging unco-operative equipment to co-operate is something I've always been good at."

She locked eyes with him deliberately. "So I hear. There. It's done. Thanks."

"My pleasure," he responded lightly. She moved a hand's breadth away from him, along the laboratory bench.

"What now?" Sulu asked, gesturing at the apparatus he'd helped her assemble.

"Now, I get on with checking for damage in the hull from that ion flood the captain had us generate."

"Well, if you need any more help..."

She smiled coolly. "I don't think I do."

"Really?" Sulu rubbed at the tip of his ear. "I wouldn't leap to conclusions about that, Lieutenant Moreau. I really wouldn't."

The sound of the lab door opening startled both of them. Sulu took a step clear of the chemist and turned to scowl at the intruder. The scowl became a smile as soon as he realised who had disturbed them.

"Chekov... Not dead yet?"

The ensign blinked and shook his head. "What are you talking about?"

The security chief turned and grinned at Marlene Moreau exaggeratedly. "I'm talking about your remarkable ability to stay alive."

Chekov frowned. "Am I interrupting something? I was doing some work in the physics lab and..."

"You were what? Oh, is that the new strategy, Ensign? Hard work? Moving out of the mainstream into academia? I think you're a little... dangerous for that to work."

"Dangerous?" Chekov looked for a moment as if he was considering passing out. "I wasn't doing anything dangerous. Just a transporter simulation."

"Oh," Sulu said dismissively. "Tech stuff. Yeah, you might be okay there. Good luck to you."

"I think he's going to faint, Sulu," Moreau suddenly chipped in.

The ensign promptly proved her right. Sulu stood and looked at him. "Oh, great. Three days with the transporters off limits while we tried to recreate the Halkan effect, and now it looks like they're still not straight. The captain is not going to be pleased."

"Shall I call medical?" Moreau asked, "Or fetch a bucket of water?"

Sulu smiled lazily. "I'll deal with him. I've been meaning to have a little talk with Ensign Chekov."

"I can imagine. Why didn't Kirk kill him? Presumably someone reported the assassination attempt?"

"I did, yes. And the captain, against my advice, decided it would be wiser to wait until we knew who put him up to it before we killed our only source of information."

Moreau nodded. "I see."

"We both believe in cultivating useful sources of information."

Moreau nodded again, sharply.

"Did I see you moving into a new cabin, one... less convenient for the captain?"

"I don't know what you saw, Mister, but it's none of your business."

Sulu ran a finger across Moreau's perfect cheek. "It is my business, if I choose to protect you from the consequences of your stupidity. The captain threw you out, didn't he? Because you didn't instantly spot the double. Or was it because you preferred the double?"

"Get your slimy hands off me, you creep," Moreau hissed. "And take your garbage out of this lab, before I use it to calibrate something."

"Don't say anything now that you might regret later," Sulu replied evenly. "There are a lot of women on this ship who don't like you. And a lot of men who'll want to take advantage of your loss of status. You should pick which one you plan to favour with care, Lieutenant, while you still have a choice. You can't afford another mistake."

Sulu waited a moment to watch her complexion pale, before bending down to hoist the still unconscious ensign over his shoulder. Instead of heading out into the corridor, towards sickbay, he went through the door back into the physics department.

Kirk entered the briefing room to find everyone he'd summoned waiting for him. He paused for a moment to enjoy the tension. He'd been in a volcanic temper for the previous four days, ever since the Halkan incident. It was a good feeling. He knew it ensured the best performance from his crew. Certainly, no one had slipped up over anything since Halkan. Although Scott...

Kirk turned his attention first to the engineer. Commander Scott fiddled with the stack of printouts in front of him, clearly nervous.

"What have you managed to salvage from yesterday's debacle, Scott?"

"I know why it didnae work."

"Yes?"

"The Halkan effect can only operate as it did on the first two occasions if transporters in both universes are in use simultaneously. All the other conditions were identical. The ion concentrations we induced on both sides of the dimensional flaw were as planned, the..."

"So, the only thing that went wrong was the one thing we can't control?"

"*I* can't control it. Not as an engineer, sir. It's..."

"Then you're dismissed."

Scott grabbed at his papers. "Aye, sir."

"No, wait. All the transporters are to be maintained in a state of permanent readiness for the experiment to be repeated. Will that interfere with normal use?"

"Aye, sir. The two aren't completely compatible..."

"Make them compatible, within twenty four hours."

Scott opened his mouth to object, then closed it again.

Kirk moved on to his Chief Medical Officer, ignoring the engineer's hasty retreat. A skilled surgeon with a taste for strong liquor and other substances easily available to a doctor on a starship, McCoy was, as usual at these meeting, drinking strong black coffee and paying little attention to the business of the day.

"Have you completed the plastic surgery?"

"Yes, Captain. And if I say it myself, I've done a brilliant job. Your Security Chief has the complexion of a new born baby. Lucky I just happened to have a new born baby the right colour to take it from." McCoy smiled slightly at his own joke. "I see you let Spock shave his own beard."

Kirk cursed under his breath. "And other medical history that might enable the Federation to identify an exchange..."

"I tracked down tricorder scans the other McCoy made of the doubles when they first arrived. It's not very detailed stuff, but it suggests a ninety five percent overlap between their medical history and ours. And no predictable pattern to the other five percent. So, there's nothing more I can do. You'll just have to make sure it doesn't occur to them to carry out a full medical on any of you."

"What about your addiction to alcohol, Doctor?" Spock inquired. He looked self conscious in his newly shaven state. More... innocent, Kirk found himself thinking. He sneered at the idea. The Vulcan, while he affected a distaste for Kirk's style of command, had never displayed any difficulty in working with it.

McCoy smiled nastily. "The Federation doctor drinks too, Spock. They're not that different to us. It's only a matter of degree. If anyone queries it, I'll say he's -- I've -- been faking my own medicals for years."

Kirk slammed a hand down on the table and everyone jumped. "Spock's right. Everyone on the active list is banned from taking any drugs or alcohol that aren't prescribed. That includes you, Doctor. Stay out of your pharmacy."

"I will communicate the order to the relevant personnel," Spock confirmed smoothly.

"Does anyone have anything further to report?" Kirk ran his eye around the table. Lieutenant Uhura had had nothing to say so far. "Have you made any progress with picking up communications across the dimensional flaw?"

"No, Captain. The distortion is just too great. I have improved on the accuracy of our tracking. We have the relative position of the Federation Enterprise identified at all times now."

Kirk smiled at her. "Well done."

She smiled back. "Thank you, Captain. And the psychological profiling..."

"Oh, yes." Kirk glanced at the ship's psych-observer, Milne, a quiet, dark man who normally worked closely with Sulu rather than taking part in mission planning. "Summarise your report."

Milne's smile revealed his suspicion that Kirk had merely neglected to read the lengthy document. "A system of government founded on universal, or near universal suffrage is inherently unstable and inefficient. It would ensure that the strong went to the wall along with the weak, by compromising their ability to operate effectively and combat outside threats. We can assume that this 'Federation' is a transient, aberrant social ordering. We can also see that any team effort will be reduced to the level of the weakest member. Therefore, support for the weakest member, enhancing their productivity, may well be valued. Of course, this will dilute the overall achievement of any collective undertaking, but in terms of ensuring that our people can 'fit in', until they're ready to take over, I've planned some role play sessions, to enable the target personnel to practice the necessary behaviour."

Kirk rolled his eyes. "I have no intention of taking classes in kissing babies and helping old ladies across the street, Doctor Milne."

"Of course, Captain," Milne agreed obsequiously. "I have also prepared individual reports based on what we observed of the four doubles here. The... uh... persons concerned might find them... interesting, and useful."

"Noted. Dismissed." He waved a hand, indicating that the order was general, not just for Milne.

As Uhura left, she looked back over her shoulder at the captain and paused. He considered. She was attractive. He'd always been aware of that. But Moreau had seemed to him to have more potential, more willingness to throw in her lot with the right man. Uhura struck him as just a little too independent.

Perhaps it would be rewarding to show her the virtues of developing a dependence on the right man. And she was vital to the current project, while Moreau was not. There was no evidence that Marlene Moreau had ever existed on the other side.

Kirk nodded slightly to his communications officer, then turned to Spock, who had remained seated at the table.

"What did you think of the latest communication from Starfleet?"

"I think they are allowing you more rope with which to hang yourself, Captain."

Kirk frowned. He stood up and paced around his first officer. "What's eating you, Spock? Ever since we got back -- and even more now you've shaved -- I keep finding myself wondering if I've got the right damned Spock here at all. You heard what Milne said. Their system is illogical..."

"Doctor Milne is speculating in a vacuum and is a victim of his own propaganda. Their system has proved as efficient as ours; in the case of this ship, and some if not all of the personel aboard, exactly as efficient. I believe it may actually be more sustainable, for the very reasons he stated. It allows more variety, and therefore more resilience and adaptability..."

"That's more crap in a vacuum, Spock, and you know it. You should remember that you live in this universe, along with me, the Empire and the agony booth."

"Yes, sir. I merely wish to ensure that you --that we -- do not underestimate the difficulties of this mission."

"By the time we get back from this mission, Spock, succeed or fail, another ship's captain will have secured the Halkan dilithium. My future hangs on establishing a beachhead in a new universe. You can rest assured I don't intend to underestimate anyone."

Sulu slid his uncomplaining burden onto his bunk and sat down at his desk to think. He was no expert on transporters, but the logs, until he'd amended them, showed clearly what had happened. The simulations Chekov had been carrying out, in combination with the adjustments Scott had made, and not completely reversed, had led to an accidental firing of the circuitry. Chekov had either not noticed, or had merely accepted that he'd been on a pointless round trip. Either way it probably explained his sudden dizziness.

Now all Sulu had to do was wait until the ensign awoke to check out his other suspicion; that they had managed, finally, to duplicate the Halkan effect. The unaltered logs certainly bore a more than casual resemblance to the two known previous instances of dimension-jumping transports.

And while he waited, the Security Chief had to decide what to do once Chekov did come round. If this was *his* Chekov, then it was time to straighten out their relationship. But if it wasn't... information on the Federation was going to be at a premium. The longer Sulu could keep Chekov's double unaware, and talkative, the more he stood to gain.

That brought to mind Doctor Milne's report. Sulu had little respect for the psych-observer, but he'd had some practical things to say about the charade they were planning. And there were some other practical matters. Sulu switched his computer on to review the psych report again, and pulled off his uniform tunic as he did so, letting it fall to the floor. He kicked it under his desk and concentrated on Milne's recommendations. 'Supporting the weaker members of the team...' Yeah, if that didn't apply to Chekov, Sulu was a Tellerite. So, how to be supportive...

Chekov groaned. He opened his eyes. After a moment, he turned them in Sulu's direction and blinked.

"What... happened?"

"You had too much to drink. I brought you in here to keep you out of trouble."

"Thanks." The ensign's brow wrinkled. "But... I was on duty, wasn't I?"

"Don't worry. You didn't let the Federation's flagship fall into enemy hands."

The frown deepened. "I was only doing transporter maintenance."

Sulu's heart leaped inside him at this passive confirmation that he had the Chekov he wanted. "Yes. And then we went for a drink and... here you are."

Chekov nodded and Sulu smiled to himself. The Federation weren't such a bunch of killjoys that a drink at the end of a shift was out of the question then.

"Were we... drinking for some special reason?"

"I wasn't," Sulu said. "I don't know about you."

"I can't remember. Sulu, I don't remember anything after... I came into the Chem Lab, and you were there with Lieutenant Moreau..."

Fact one, Sulu chalked up. He knows Marlene Moreau.

"And we all went off to the rec room together." Sulu smiled ingenuously. "Is that so puzzling?"

"Lieutenant Moreau has never even spoken to me before today."

"Well, she more than made up for that this evening," Sulu improvised recklessly.

Chekov sat up, still frowning. "I think I need some coffee."

"Sure." Sulu sat there for a moment, then realised that Chekov expected him to fetch it. He hesitated before deciding that if that was what he had to do to get the information he wanted, that was what he'd do. Still, he couldn't help wondering how he'd have to demean himself next. Why would anyone risk their life for promotion in the Federation if they ended up making coffee for their subordinates? It didn't seem to make sense. He swung out of his chair and froze. How did this Chekov take his coffee? Would he be expected to know?

"Black double strength?" he suggested, making it sound like a joke at the expense of Chekov's supposed hangover.

"With extra sugar. I feel very light headed."

Sulu brought the mug over to his visitor. He sat down on the edge of the bunk. Chekov looked a little surprised.

"So... uh, how's things?"

The ensign took a large swig of the coffee. "What things?"

"Things in general." Sulu frowned slightly. What he wanted to know was the command structure on the Federation Enterprise, its captain's current orders, details of hand weaponry and other security provisions on board... And those were all areas where questions would provoke suspicion in any universe. He decided to try a stab in the dark. "I heard the captain is considering a reorganisation of the junior command. It's probably just a rumour, but..."

He stopped. Chekov was looking at him out of eyes as round and dark as the black coffee in his mug. "Because of what happened at Halkan?"

"Maybe," Sulu agreed, pleased that Chekov appeared to be up and running now.

"But that's... ridiculous. I'm not responsible for what those cossacks did, and neither are you."

"Well, no..." Sulu nudged.

"The captain should have seen his double, before he worries about how our doubles behaved. Anyhow, I was probably only obeying orders..."

"Whose orders?" Sulu couldn't help himself snapping out the question.

"How am I to know whose orders? I wasn't there."

"No, but... you can put yourself in your double's place, can't you? I mean..."

Chekov put his coffee down on the floor by his feet. "And you can sympathise with someone who propositions female officers on the bridge?"

"Uh..." Sulu was lost. Where was he supposed to proposition them?

"And Lieutenant Moreau should sympathise with someone who sleeps with the captain and kills his enemies for him?"

It was all Sulu could do to suppress a smile. Well, maybe not sympathise, but identify, certainly. Chekov, anyhow, had suddenly stopped. He picked up his coffee again. "We weren't supposed to know about that part, were we," he admitted with half a laugh.

"The captain's only human," Sulu filled in for him.

Chekov looked at the lieutenant over the top of another mouthful of coffee. "You think our captain..."

"No, of course not." Sulu could feel he was beginning to catch on to this. The Federation Kirk obviously maintained a facade of unsullied virtue. Maybe their whole government operated in that way, ruthless behind the scenes, pandering to the sentimentality of the masses on the outside.

"So," he began again. "Marlene Moreau was the captain's hit woman. She never struck me as the type..."

"She didn't have to get her hands dirty," Chekov pointed out. "When you can kill people so easily, so undetectably, it may be easier to forget what you're really doing."

"Yes," Sulu agreed, although the Marlene he knew had no scruples, and probably would have happily operated an assassination system that involved disembowelling people in her cabin, if the benefits were high enough. He looked at the ensign, sitting on his bunk, drinking his coffee. On the outside, it could be the same man. There was just no way to tell the difference. And that fact was going to work to his advantage very shortly. "So, what exactly did Moreau have to do? How did Kirk target people? How did he translate that into having them killed?"

Chekov frowned. "Where have you been hiding these last few days? It was called the Tantalus field, and there was a viewscreen in the captain's cabin. That must have been conventional surveillance hardware, although it seemed to cover the entire ship." The ensign didn't notice Sulu's sudden shiver of discomfort. "But there was also a control, that enabled the viewer to simply..." Chekov shrugged, for want of an exact term. "...to simply vanish the person who is currently under observation. The captain never determined whether the system operated off the ship, or the mechanics behind it--"

"No. He hardly had time," Sulu agreed. He sighed and stood up. The captain's secret strength lay in a relatively simplistic surveillance device that incorporated the power to remove an identified enemy without trace. It needed an operator. It might include recording or filtering technology, but that didn't seem to be the case. After all, Kirk hadn't been able to foresee Chekov's assassination attempt, or discover who had ordered it after the event. So long as Kirk, or his current accomplice, were out of his cabin, his enemies were safe.

It was almost an anticlimax.

Sulu took the coffee mug away from Chekov and stood up. "Thanks. You've been very helpful."

The ensign blinked at him. "What?"

"Now, let me be helpful in return, Chekov. First off, you're not where you think you are."

The ensign glanced bemusedly around Sulu's cabin. "It looks like..."

"You're familiar with my cabin? That's interesting. This is my cabin, you're right. But I'm not who you think I am."

He watched the Russian work out what he meant. It took him a surprisingly long time, given that they'd been talking about the Halkan incident only moments before.

Chekov stood up. "You mean that this is the Empire... the I.S.S Enterprise? But... Uhura said your face was scarred..."

"Did she? What else did she have to report about me? My good manners? My easy going personality?"

Chekov's silence confirmed that the report hadn't been favourable. Sulu smiled at him. "Perhaps she was lying to you." He shook his head. "Not a possibility? Try plastic surgery. Now, I'm going to make you an offer. Your life is in danger here. You tried to assassinate Captain Kirk. He's choosing to act like he believes you did that because he was flouting the empire's orders, but he, and I, both know that wasn't the case. You were put up to it by someone else. I don't know who, and I want to. That person might do something to let you know who they are, or they might kill you. If you can find out for me before you get killed, I'll help you to get back to the Federation. And in case you don't think I can do that, I downloaded the logs of the transporter incident that got you here. I have all the information."

The double's thinking rate seemed to be speeding up. "You might not help me. Once I tell you..."

"Oh, but I want my Chekov back."

"You mean, he's--"

"In your uniform. In your cabin. In your seat on the bridge. Yes. And he was alert and aware of the possibility, so I don't think he'll stand out like a Vulcan in a whorehouse the way you did when you arrived."

Chekov swallowed. "I see. But why... why is it so important that he comes back?"

"You mean, why should you trust me? That's just my little weakness, that you can exploit, Ensign Chekov. You see..." Sulu took a step forward and slid a hand round to the small of the Russian's back. He pulled the other man close to himself. "Pavel and I are lovers."

Outside in the corridor, Chekov considered the possibility that Sulu was lying. He went over each element of the helmsman's -- the security chief's -- story in turn. The symbols on the walls, the gloomier lighting, the altered uniforms of the ship's personnel, all of whom looked away as they passed, all confirmed that he was indeed on the ISS Enterprise. It was embarrassing to realise that he hadn't noticed the small changes in his own uniform, but hardly surprising. He wasn't in the habit of checking at regular intervals that he hadn't been transformed into a fascist stormtrooper.

If Sulu claimed he was in danger from an unknown source, that was simply a wise assumption to act on anyhow. And as for that last, undermining, manipulative claim...

Chekov dismissed that too. It didn't affect what he had to do. He needed to contact Spock. Captain Kirk had said that this Spock was like their own. He glanced up the corridor for a comm unit and found one exactly where he expected it. It would probably be monitored, but he wasn't going to say anything incriminating.

"Chekov to Spock."

"He's not available," Uhura's voice answered him.

Chekov blinked. Officers on the Enterprise were never just unavailable. If they were busy, or off duty, one automatically spoke to the next person in the chain of command.

"For that matter, Ensign Chekov, no one is available to speak to you."

"But..."

"I'm so sorry."

The channel went dead.

Kirk turned in his chair to look at Uhura. She seemed to detect his interest because a moment later, she too turned.

"You enjoyed that, Lieutenant," Kirk commented.

"And if I did?"

"There's no reason you shouldn't enjoy your job. I'd say, it's a shame if a beautiful woman doesn't enjoy her job."

"Thank you, Captain," she said glacially, turning back to her board. Kirk rose to his feet and went over to her. It was early evening and the bridge crew was only at half strength, winding down to the graveyard shift. Spock was fully occupied at his science station, Farrell was piloting, with no navigator beside him. An engineering ensign was too insignificant to consider.

"A beautiful woman should enjoy her job," he repeated, "and if she does it competently, she should be rewarded."

Uhura smiled again, more warmly. "Not promoted?"

"Now... I don't know. Maybe. Maybe if she were to do something... extra... to show that she deserved a promotion."

The communications officer lowered her voice. "What do you want, Captain?"

Kirk shook his head. "I want you to think about what I can do for you. Wouldn't you like... to be the captain's woman?"

He was sure the lieutenant winced.

It didn't take Chekov many seconds to locate his own cabin and Spock's. While he was using the library computer terminal he also checked his duty roster, only to find that he, along with everyone else he knew to have been involved in the Halkan incident, was on a fairly minimal schedule.

That puzzled the ensign. Had there been some ill effect of the transporter accident that their own Doctor McCoy hadn't noticed? He considered looking at medical logs and records of mission de-briefings, but thought better of it. Such files were likely to be restricted in this universe. Access to terminals, however, was not, and it was the work of only a few moments to discover that Spock was currently making use of his own extensive file library from the science station on the bridge.

Chekov decided to investigate his own quarters while he waited for Spock to finish.

The ensign keyed his personal code into the lock on his cabin door. He held his breath for the fraction of a second while the door considered and responded. It was unbelievable that in a universe so different, a Pavel Chekov so twisted that he would try to assassinate James Kirk would still choose his mother's name day to unlock his quarters.

None the less, it worked.

Inside, few things were changed. The Imperial insignia on the wall was chillingly different. A cupboard door stood a little ajar and a dirty glass had been left on the desk.

Chekov smiled a little to himself as he noted that, unlike Captain Kirk, he was not to be startled by the presence of a strange woman on his bed.

He worked his way methodically through the drawers and lockers, checking clothes and other personal possessions. His few casual garments were, like his uniform, a little gaudier than what he had left behind in the other universe.

His computer gave him access to personal mail. There was nothing of interest. A newsreader occupied him for a half an hour. The Emperor was visiting Mars, following the quelling of a labour dispute. Casualties were numerous. The ringleaders had been executed. Chekov sat at the desk, his stomach churning acid. The circumstances of the dispute so closely mirrored a dispute on his own Mars, but that had been solved by a renegotiation of production bonuses and the employment of additional Andorian mining engineers, to re-establish fail-proof safety measures for all employees. The financial loss due to withdrawal of labour and acts of destruction by the miners in the Empire was almost credit for credit what had been lost due to the shut down while improvements were made in the Federation. It was uncanny.

Chekov was about to switch to another news story, as curious as any cat, when he remembered his first priority. According to the tracer he had set up, Mister Spock had just left the bridge, or at least shut down the programmes he'd been using. Chekov made his way to the Vulcan's quarters.

"Come."

Chekov had never been inside Mister Spock's cabin, but that didn't stop him looking for imagined differences. The compartment was dimly lit. It was difficult to pick out any details at all.

"Ensign Chekov," Spock said, drawing the navigator's attention to himself.

Chekov blinked. There was definitely something wrong with the first officer, but annoyingly, he couldn't identify it.

"I... I need to talk to you about... about something important, Mister Spock."

"Indeed."

"May I... may I come in?"

Spock nodded.

Chekov's heart was pounding as he entered the cabin and the door closed behind him.

"What is this important matter?" Spock enquired.

"Captain Kirk told me I could trust you--" Chekov started. He halted again. Spock had raised one eyebrow.

"Really? I would hope that Captain Kirk does regard me as trustworthy. The current question, surely, is whether Captain Kirk trusts you."

"I mean my Captain Kirk. I mean... I'm not who you think I am, Mister Spock. I was working on transporter maintenance this afternoon and there was an accident. We were swapped. Your Chekov and me..."

"Fascinating," Spock said.

Chekov stood there and looked at him. He thought he'd prepared what he was going to say, but now he'd forgotten it all.

"So, you intend to set yourself up as a supposed expert on the Federation in order to avoid the expected penalty for your assassination attempt? Have you considered, Ensign, that the captain might well be so desperate to extract all the available information for his next planned campaign, that you might fare better with a straightforward execution?"

The ensign paled. "He's planning to invade the Federation?"

Spock's eyes narrowed a touch. "As you are fully aware." Then the Vulcan seemed to reconsider. "You seriously expect me to believe that you are from the Federation ship, the USS Enterprise?"

Chekov took a bold step forward. "If you don't believe me, you can use the Vulcan mind meld. I have nothing to hide from you. I know you already melded with Doctor McCoy."

Spock raised his hand but didn't quite make contact with Chekov's face. After a moment, during which Chekov forced himself to remain perfectly still, Spock lowered his hand again. "I believe you. Humans in the Empire are quite convinced that the mind meld is inevitably agonising and destructive. Chekov in particular has always been most apprehensive of my telepathic abilities."

The Vulcan fell silent.

"Lieutenant Sulu said... that he wanted to know who ordered me to kill Captain Kirk. Why didn't he just ask you to... to find out?"

Spock looked puzzled. "Is that how the matter would be investigated in the Federation?"

"No, of course not. But..."

"You do not seem to realise the difficulties under which Mister Sulu operates, Ensign. There is nothing to prevent me from lying about what I discovered inside your mind, is there? Does he know who you really are?"

"Yes. He... he realised before I did. I was disorientated when I arrived. I fainted and he..."

"Came to your assistance? How odd. Does he know that you are speaking to me now?"

"I don't think so. He just told me that if I could discover who was behind the assassination plan, he'd help me to get back to the Federation..."

"And you wisely decided to put a backup plan in place."

Chekov stared at the Vulcan. He was used to Spock's coolness. He had even learned to see through it, usually, to the respect for all his colleagues, sometimes even the affection, underneath. But this version of Spock seemed to be carved from ice.

"I... I thought you would help me."

Spock, in turn, regarded the Russian with untroubled brown eyes.

"You are very different to your Imperial counterpart."

"Am I?"

"You seem so, and yet... how different can you be? The parallels between the Federation and the Empire are astounding. The more I have researched the subject, the more incredible the situation appears. I am familiar with the theory of near-parallel universes, diverging from a single event, a crisis, a crossroads, but it seems almost as if our two universes are converging towards some overpowering point of attraction..." Spock stopped. "Which is not logical."

Had this been his own Spock, Chekov would have been only too pleased to point out observations of his own which supported the Vulcan's speculations. He was silent.

Spock seemed to have forgotten he was there, but then he started speaking again. "You are correct. I mind-melded with your Doctor McCoy. I gained much information, some of which was of immediate use, and some I am only slowly reviewing and assimilating now."

Chekov looked up. "And?" he said, in response to the question that seemed to underly the Vulcan's statement.

"I do not understand something. The USS Enterprise was charged with obtaining dilithium from the Halkans. When they refused, you accepted their decision, because of something you call 'The Prime Directive', which forbids you to interfere. You did not have to take the dilithium using crude force. You could have resettled the Halkans. Or offered substantial payments to individual citizens until they questioned the wisdom of their government, or pointed out that their decision left them vulnerable to Klingon greed, or..."

"Our Prime Directive forbids all those things. It forbids any interference in cultures outside the Federation, even positive interference, or what seems positive to us..."

"Yes. I am aware of what it appears to demand. And yet..."

"Sir?"

"And yet your Captain Kirk sought to persuade me to change the course of a whole universe."

Chekov blinked. "But... but that's not... But that's not interference..."

"Why not? The ideas he presented to me were completely new. I had never contemplated such a philosophy. He exorted me to apply it, here. Tell me, did I misunderstand him?"

"But..."

Spock stared, coldly, at the ensign. "I find myself in an impossible position with regard to your James Kirk. What he said was attractive. His principles resolve many of my own dissatisfactions with the workings of the Empire, and yet... I cannot apply them without violating them."

"No. You don't understand. The Prime Directive says that we can't interfere here, not that..."

"But Kirk did. He sought to persuade me to spare the Halkans, and more."

Chekov shook his head. "No. You're wrong. The Directive isn't... it isn't like that. Your society... the Empire... is as advanced as the Federation, almost exactly. We aren't allowed to use superior technology to exploit or alter less developed cultures. Once worlds are capable of warp flight, it's impossible to prevent the exchange of ideas. The Directive becomes... irrelevant."

"The most powerful, or persuasive philosophies triumph?"

The ensign shrugged uncomfortably. "Yes, but... Not because anyone says that they should. It would be impossible to stop them."

"Or the most seductive philosophy, or merely the one that most efficiently and ruthlessly propagates itself."

Chekov rubbed at his temple with the tips of his fingers.

"I suppose... yes."

"The philosophy of the Federation does not belong here, Ensign Chekov. It is... an intruder."

The Russian's heart sank, although he couldn't have said why. His first concern was not to convert this universe to any particular political creed. He simply wanted to go home.

"I suppose you want my help to return you to your own universe?"

"Yes. I..."

"Unfortunately, I can't give you any help, even by default. The Empire is already too interested in the possibility of a dimensional transfer. Success will be disastrous, either for the Federation or the Empire. If you find a way to return, others can follow you."

"But..."

"You must remain here. I would say that you must refrain from interfering but..." Spock stood up and moved over to his desk. "I do not believe you could achieve anything even if you tried. I suggest you investigate the possibility of camouflage. You are dismissed."

Chekov went to the rec room. It was starker than he was used to, less comfortable. There were pictures taped to the wall, mostly of women clad in leather, or nothing. The food dispensers looked the same as always, but were supplemented by a bar, manned by a vaguely familiar woman in a strapless dress that clung to her generous curves.

He swallowed. Her eyes, the whites startling against her dark, chocolate complexion, seemed to stare through his skin and weigh his soul.

"Orange juice, Ensign Chekov?"

"P... pardon?"

"Would you like an orange juice?"

"I'd prefer a vodka," he said, trying a smile on her.

She just looked back at him.

A glass arrived on the polished black counter. "Enjoy."

He picked up the drink and sipped it cautiously. He frowned. As far as he could tell, it contained a substantial slug of alcohol, almost certainly vodka. He couldn't pinpoint the brand through the sweet acidity of the juice.

"Thank you."

"My pleasure. Lieutenant Sulu? Can I get you a drink?"

Chekov almost spilled his screwdriver. The security chief moved like a cat. Maybe, probably, his own Sulu did too, but he never materialised just inches behind the navigator's shoulder and laid a possessive hand on him.

"You're not giving him alcohol, are you?" Sulu asked.

"After the last fight in here? Do you think I'm stupid, Lieutenant?"

"I think you have a soft spot for him."

The bartender smiled as she handed a tall, narrow glass to her new customer. There was a small quantity of a transparent liquid in the bottom, which went cloudy when Sulu added water from a jug on the counter.

"Come and sit down, Pavel. I've been thinking."

Not giving him any choice, Sulu took hold of his arm and steered him across the rec room, to a small table some distance from the bar. The woman began polishing glasses.

Chekov sank into one of the chairs. He stared at his glass.

"Was Spock any help?"

"What?" The ensign grabbed his glass and took a convulsive gulp. Spock had failed him. He wasn't ready to deal with Sulu now. He wasn't ready to face the fact that for the rest of his life -- his probably quite short life -- this monster was his Sulu.

"You've been to see Spock. What did he say?" Sulu toyed with his glass, swirling the white haze until it was evenly distributed. When Chekov didn't answer, he continued. "Well, either he'll help you, or he won't. From your less than cheerful mood, I'd say it's the latter." Sulu smiled indulgently. "I think you should be grateful."

"Grateful?"

"Yes. I've been thinking about *my* Pavel. What he's probably doing. He's... more of a survivor than you. Than you've needed to be, at any rate. Presumably you have the same potential as him. I think he'll be keeping his cover, for now. But he'll blow it. He won't be able to resist the temptation."

"What temptation?" Chekov felt like a bird charmed by a snake.

"Revenge, of course. Now, the question is, will he take his revenge on Captain Kirk, Mister Spock, or... me. Or all three. And if all three, will he do it serially, or simultaneously. Will it be Terryllian lizard venom again, or whatever mysterious potion he used to get rid of Maddox without leaving any traces? What do you think, Pavel? Are you an expert on poisons too?"

"You think he'll kill..."

"Maybe. Afterwards."

"After what?"

Sulu smiled. "When I said that he and I were lovers... well, let's just say I'm not sure that's how Pavel saw it."

Chekov stood up, knocking over the dregs of his drink. "I've got to go back."

"Sit down. Mister Scott's men are all over the transporters right now. And if Spock doesn't want you to go back, he'll have someone watching to make sure you don't. And then there's me. I don't want you to go back. Yet."

"But..."

"I said, sit down. Don't you obey the orders of your superiors in the Federation?"

"Of course we do. And we do not stab them in the back immediately afterwards." Chekov hesitated for a moment, then sat down.

Sulu smiled. "You're so easy to manipulate. I used to like that about you, but it got boring. It's a little disappointing that the two of you are so alike."

"I thought you wanted him back," Chekov said.

Sulu shook his head. "Mm. I was thinking about that. I do, but not yet."

"Why not?"

"I think you may have something that he didn't. Something I want."

"I know. Information about the Federation. But..."

"Yes. That too. Have you ever slept with a man, Pavel?"

Chekov's mouth fell open.

Sulu smiled again. "Oh, good."

Uhura finished her shift on the bridge and entered the turbo lift. It was a relief to be alone. The captain had been ignoring her, but his proposition had made her hyper-sensitive to the interest of every other man on the bridge.

She cursed herself for a fool. One didn't often get such a good offer. And one didn't ever refuse it.

Of course, she hadn't yet. She could claim she was just playing the coquette, enjoying the chase. For a while. But it would make the captain more violent, more eager to assert his dominance when she did capitulate. Or when she finally made it clear that she wouldn't.

The lift stopped for Ensign Chekov. She automatically gave him her 'smile for the lower ranks', and his eyes dropped to the deck.

She frowned. The little creep really was on the way out, and it looked like he'd realised it at last. She wondered idly how long Kirk would play cat and mouse with the ensign before he lost patience and sent him to the agony booth to spill his guts and his secrets. Now, maybe, there was her salvation. If she could encourage the captain to get his kicks out of tormenting Chekov for a while, just for a couple of weeks, and if meanwhile she could work on Captain Decker to ask Kirk to let her transfer... Matt Decker probably wouldn't be interested in her as a lover again, but he was always generous to his ex-paramours.

She glanced at the panel. They should have been at deck eight by now. The indicator was flashing red.

"Damn, what's happening?"

Chekov glanced over at her. His eyes seemed to stick on her bare midriff as if it was fly paper. "Uh... Maintenance?"

"Don't be stupid."

The doors slid open, revealing one of the engineering levels, and three of Kirk's bodyguard.

Uhura tensed. So, the captain had tired of waiting for Chekov to lead him back to his puppet master. Or he'd tired of waiting for her to say yes.

"Get lost." One of the thugs took Chekov's arm and pulled him out of the lift.

"What do you think you are doing?" the ensign demanded with unexpected passion. He twisted out of the man's grasp.

"Do what he says, Chekov," Uhura said tiredly. She didn't want the Russian to either watch her humiliation or participate in it.

"Why should I? What's happening?"

"It's no concern of yours, sir," he was told. "We're following the captain's orders."

"What orders?" Chekov was blocking the door. Two of the heavies were outside, and one inside.

Uhura decided to take the opportunity before it vanished. She shoved Chekov towards one of the men, and slipped past the other. A hand caught hold of her uniform top and ripped it apart, but she broke free and sprinted down the corridor.

"What the hell is the matter with this ship?"

Kirk was furious.

Chekov dabbed at the blood trickling from his lip. He'd met this Kirk before, very briefly. He had no illusions of getting help here. Spock's camouflage option sounded much more promising, so long as the Vulcan hadn't already informed his captain of the swap. In this universe, at least, Chekov could hope that he hadn't.

"Since when were you authorised to interfere with men carrying out my orders, Ensign?"

"They could have been lying," Chekov said.

"If you were that concerned, you should have checked back with me. Why would you care anyway? You don't owe Lieutenant Uhura anything."

The ensign was aware that he should try to justify what he'd done, but he couldn't think of anything 'in character'. He defaulted to looking surly, which Kirk seemed to accept.

"Give me your agoniser."

Chekov blinked. "Captain?"

Kirk just held out his hand. When Chekov still looked blank, the guard who'd brought Chekov in stepped forward and snatched a small device off the ensign's belt and handed it to the captain.

Kirk looked at it thoughtfully. "I would have thought you'd be taking more pains to avoid this. Everyone says people are more sensitive for a few days after they've been in the booth. Perhaps you can confirm that for me. I'd like to know."

"The booth?" Chekov said. Kirk suddenly seemed to be speaking a different language.

Kirk frowned.

"Oh, yes, the booth," the ensign agreed belatedly. It was fairly obvious what an 'agoniser' was, of course.

The captain glanced at his bodyguard. "Did he get a knock on the head on the way here?"

"No, sir."

"Find the lieutenant. Tell her she has a reprieve. I'll see her this evening. For dinner. In my quarters. Appropriately dressed. You're dismissed." Kirk turned back to the ensign. "Now. I think it's time you and I had a little talk."

Chekov woke some time later. He looked up at the ceiling of his cabin. One fixing was missing from a corner of the ventilation grid over his head. He stared listlessly at it. His mind, like his body, felt numb.

Kirk had worked him over methodically, starting with what Chekov had only slowly realised was the very mildest setting on the agoniser. It shot bolts of pain like battering rams between the point of contact and his spine. When it was applied directly to his spine, or skull, the pain seemed to come from all directions at once. He usually blacked out after those assaults, but always came round again before the pain had ebbed away altogether. Kirk realised quickly that the agoniser was best used where its effect seemed less pronounced.

It was a full five minutes before Kirk started asking him questions, questions he couldn't answer. By then, Chekov was beyond offering information to shortcircuit the process. All he could do was repeat endlessly that he didn't know and plead for the captain to stop.

After such a long, long time Kirk did. He pulled Chekov back to his feet, his movements neutral. The ensign stumbled a couple of steps on uncoordinated legs and tipped on to the bed.

"On your face."

When he didn't obey, because he couldn't, the agoniser was held underneath his jaw.

"I haven't even begun to get interesting with this thing yet," Kirk told him regretfully, "but I do want you conscious for the next part."

"I can't turn over." To Chekov's horror, tears began to run down his face. He wanted to do as he was told. He'd do anything he was told, if only... if only...

"Then I'll help you."

Chekov couldn't interpret any external sensations for a few seconds. He was suddenly beset with stinging pains in all his muscles. When full feeling returned, he realised Kirk was massaging his calves. The quilted metallic fabric covering the bed had been harsh against his face.

Now, Chekov raised his fingers to his chin. It was sore, grazed. Feeling it reminded his nerves of other abused surfaces, other bruises and abrasions.

It reminded him of the possibility of revenge.

He visualised himself, lying on his bunk, a universe away, plotting revenge.

Would he be content with a clean kill? That he might well achieve, with surprise on his side.

Chekov realised that there was no way his counterpart would settle for mere quick death. First, he would torture and humiliate.

He would torture Sulu for being the last in a long line of people who had manipulated him and exploited him.

He knew all about the long line, because the captain had just told him, in detail. The captain had apparently had his background thoroughly investigated. He even seemed to know the specific sexual tastes of each of Chekov's former lovers.

The captain had called him a typical 'Fleet whore.

Next, he would torture and kill the captain.

Finally, he would kill Spock, because Spock hadn't helped him.

Chekov rolled over and sobbed into the cover of his bed.

He froze as he heard his cabin door open.

Starfleet boots clicked across the floor.

"The captain told me you might need medical treatment. I think he hopes if he keeps telling me his partners are split in two from crutch to clavicle I'll go to bed with him out of simple curiosity."

There was a friendly chuckle in Christine Chapel's voice that made Chekov feel like sobbing even harder. Her hand settled warmly on his back, giving a comforting little massage to his clenched shoulders.

"If he wants to... sleep with you... how can you stop him?" he asked his pillow.

Her hand stopped. He heard her take something from a medical kit. A tricorder beeped.

"Chekov, you know the answer to that. Every man on board knows the answer to that, unless I've been getting complacent."

"Oh, yes," he said, in a half-hearted attempt to follow Spock's advice.

"Only the men I actually like know it's a lie," the nurse continued. A hypo hissed at his shoulder.

'Now I know it's a lie... whatever it is. Only men she likes know it's a lie. Therefore I am a man she likes...'

Chekov rolled over and felt his mouth fall open. Christine Chapel was a brunette.

Fortunately, she was looking at the tricorder again. Chekov sat up, so that he could turn away from her and concentrate on putting his boots back on.

"So how is the great James Tiberius Kirk in bed? Did he have you drooling for more?"

"No."

"Feeling sorry for yourself? I didn't think his vanity would let him be *that* bad."

"I don't think he meant me to enjoy it."

He heard Chapel put the tricorder down.

"He didn't question you, did he? What did he ask about?"

"He asked about people. Who is working for who, if I was working for them. All kinds of questions."

She reached out and gently turned his head so he was facing her. "He knows all that. It sounds like he just wanted an excuse to work you over."

Chekov didn't tell her, but he'd come to the same conclusion himself, that the primary purpose of the interrogation had been to punish him for trying to defend Uhura, not to extract information.

She leaned forward and kissed him, causing Chekov to jerk away as if he'd been slapped.

Her face hardened. "I told you, Chekov, I like you."

"Not... not now. Not after..."

"Okay. But you owe me, one way or another. I don't let slip the combination of the medical safe to just anyone..."

Chekov shook his head. "I'm grateful, but I don't understand why you want to sleep with me. I don't have any power. Everyone here despises me. The captain is only keeping me alive so he can find out who ordered the assassination attempt...

He felt her hand go still and heavy, then the mattress of his bed shifted as she stood.

"Such a blank, innocent face." Chapel reached out and touched his lips with her finger tip. He remained quite still.

Her finger tracked over his chin and down his chest. "The captain ordered the assassination attempt himself. You told me that already. Why would you forget telling me that? Hm?"

"I..."

She nodded slowly to herself, as if coming to conclusions. "Tell me, Ensign Chekov, in the Federation, is Spock mine? Or is that just another of James Kirk's lies?"

"Wh...what?"

"A lie. Oh, well. You know, Chekov, you've never really lived up to your promise. And now, well, you're right. You're definitely -- your Imperial counterpart is definitely -- on the downward slide. You'd be dead if they didn't think they might need you to make a successful transport. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes, I know that."

"So you should try to get back soon."

He stared at her. That was so obvious, he didn't know why she bothered to say it. Did she think he liked it here?

Her finger slid an inch lower. "What do I have to do, to persuade you to take me with you?"

His mouth fell open. "I can't. I don't know how to get back myself. And your double..."

"What about her? Is she... your lover?"

"No!"

"She has some hold over you, you owe her... or you know something about her..."

"She's... she's my friend... and..." Chekov felt the tears begin to leak again. "She's just my friend. I wouldn't... I couldn't..." Suddenly, he was more irritated than frightened and humiliated. "Don't you understand? It's because no one there blackmails anyone, or controls anyone, or would ever, ever send anyone here deliberately, that you want to go there. Just how stupid are you?"

Her sapphire eyes flashed angrily back at him. "Not as stupid as you, obviously. Now, let me see, they need you alive, but McCoy needs someone to infect with Borellian testicular rot so he can try out a new vaccine. Of course, the vaccine isn't quite ready yet, but I can doctor your medical records so you fit the criteria and no one else does... It's only occassionally fatal, but never reversible..."

The threat was so bizarre, Chekov was tempted to laugh. The impulse escaped without dignity as hiccups. "Go away. Get out of here. You bitch. You monster..." He forced his fists under his diaphragm to try and stop the spasms. "I hate you. I'd rather die here than let any of you loose in my universe. I hate you. I hate you."

Her hand took a firm grip on his chin, and forced it up. His throat convulsed painfully.

"Listen, Chekov, like I said, you owe me. And I don't have long to collect. From what I heard Scott reporting to the captain just now, it looks like they'll be heading for your universe in a matter of days. That means you only have days to pay up. If you won't, or can't, get back and take me with you, you'll have to find some other way to settle your account."

He didn't see her go, but he heard the door close.

Chekov was woken by the computer telling him he had an appointment with Spock in two minutes. He'd slept quite soundly, eventually. Once he'd made his mind up.

There was no way he could get back to warn his own captain. Spock, Sulu and now Chapel would all be watching him. But he could throw a spanner, if only a small one, into this Kirk's plans. They needed him alive. So he'd make sure he was dead.

Two minutes was nowhere near long enough to do it properly. He didn't have a phaser and if Spock sent someone to investigate his non-appearance, poison, hanging or any other improvised methods of self-destruction might be reversible.

He pulled his boots back on, did his best to straighten his crumpled uniform and headed to Spock's cabin.

The science officer was seated at his desk, his computer screen streaming data of some kind.

"Sit down and be quiet."

Chekov perched on the edge of the bed. A moment later the display came to a halt and the Vulcan turned to him. "I need to check the crew manifest of the USS Enterprise against that of this ship. Can you mark all the duplications?"

Spock slid out of his seat and gestured for Chekov to take his place.

The ensign's heart stopped. Spock had seen through him so effortlessly. As one out of six or ten known duplicates, he might be significant. Once the Empire knew just how many of the crew were the same, his own absence would count for nothing.

"Why should I?"

Spock gestured again to the vacant seat. "Let me explain. This universe is similar to yours, but not identical. The differences are fundamental. Opposed political and ethical systems: compromise and cooperation in the Federation, coercion and exploitation in the Empire. The similarities are trivial, but specific and localised. The two universes and converging, and using the information that your Doctor McCoy gave me, I have identified a focus for that convergence."

He leaned forward and hit a key. The computer screen changed to a graphical display of white lines meeting at a single point.

"Of course, in interpreting social and economic data, I have introduced estimates, subjective judgements. But..." A second set of lines in red overlay the first. All still passed through the one point. "...the behaviour of the fabric of space as measured around this ship confirms my conclusions. The two universes will intersect, somehow, in thirty one point four two hours. And they will intersect here."

"Here?"

"Where else? Consider, Ensign, two systems, one which assigns crew by merit, one which eliminates them by assassination. And yet the crews of the ISS and USS Enterprises were ninety nine percent identical according to Doctor McCoy's knowledge when I melded with him. I believe that you and I together, adding our knowledge of changes since that date, would establish that the crews are now the same."

'I can't even make any difference by dying then,' Chekov told himself.

"Further, in order to advance his plans, the Captain is at this very moment giving orders that will eliminate almost all technical differences between this ship and yours within the next thirty hours."

Chekov sank into the empty seat as his knees buckled. "What will happen?"

"I have no data. I believe there is a ninety four percent probability that the universes will survive. They will emerge from the intersection point..."

"Both of them?"

"Both... and neither. Each emerging universe will contain elements of the other."

The Russian stared helplessly at the diagram on the screen. He reached out a finger and traced the lines that represented 'after'.

The Vulcan continued impassively. "We spoke, Ensign, of powerful and persuasive philosophies. In the aftermath of such a catastrophy, in a universe that suddenly finds itself half Federation and half Empire, which philosophy, do you think, will propagate itself most successfully?"

"The Empire?"

"I believe you are correct. Morality, democracy, cooperation all take time. Evil takes the advantage."

Chekov's head shot up as he was suddenly filled with irrational hope. "You are on my side. You are going to help me."

"No, I can't help you. You can't go back. I have no way to do that."

"Then what can you do?"

"I... you must destroy the focus. You must destroy this ship."

Half an hour later, Chekov could feel cold sweat running down his back inside his uniform tunic. He was sitting in the rec room, supposedly eating breakfast. Spock arrived and put his own tray down next to the ensign's. He placed a data cassette in front of Chekov. "Your report, Ensign," he said in a carrying voice. "It is inadequate. Resubmit it by oh nine thirty."

Chekov picked up the camouflaged phaser, gripping it a little too tightly. His fingers whitened under the pressure.

"I'm not sure I can do it."

The Vulcan looked at him coldly. "You are an accomplished assassin, Mister Chekov. You can."

Chekov swallowed. "I am not an assassin."

"You are capable of it, I assure you."

"Who have I killed?"

"Doctor Piper, on the instructions of Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell, on the orders of Captain Kirk, Lieutenant Bailey, who was your predecessor as Chief Navigator, Lieutenant Kevin Reilly, on my instructions..."

"Who ordered me to kill Bailey?"

"As I recall..." Spock picked up his cup of coffee and took a slow, maddening sip. "...you said you killed him for his pay, his rank and his woman. But I wouldn't be at all surprised if you also arranged to be remunerated by a third party. That is your usual modus operandi."

"Then why am I still an ensign?"

"Captain Kirk was grooming Bailey for something. He resented your interference. Are you convinced yet that this ship is... dispensible?"

"What if my counterpart destroys the other Enterprise?"

Spock, for the first time ever that Chekov could recall, looked surprised. "Why should he?"

"He's an assassin. You said yourself..."

"Are you telling me that someone in the Federation would pay him to destroy the USS Enterprise, and arrange for him to leave the ship?"

"No, but..."

Spock reached out a hand and gripped Chekov's wrist, another most uncharacteristic gesture. "That Chekov will not give up his own life for anything, even revenge. Believe me. I know him well."

"But you are."

"I am about to lead a small scientific team to visit a malfunctioning surveillance station." The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at Chekov's stunned expression. "I see no merit in pointless sacrifice." Spock stood. "Oh nine thirty, Ensign. I will be most... unsympathetic to any delay."

Chekov went back to his breakfast, finishing it mechanically before laying his cutlery neatly on the empty plate.

Sulu blocked his exit from the rec room. The security chief rested his palm on the Russian's shoulder, then gripped a handful of uniform and pulled Chekov roughly towards himself.

He spat in the ensign's face. "Trash."

"Let me go!"

"How long have you been here? Eighteen hours? And you're already back to whoring. Or did you decide if you were going to lose your virtue, you might as well do it to the highest bidder? I wanted you, Pavel," Sulu continued, his lips nearly in Chekov's ear. "You know I wanted you, and I wanted you first. I don't like being told I can't have something I want."

Chekov gripped the cassette so hard he felt its casing crack. "He forced me."

"Oh, really? And did you plead with him to leave you intact? Did you tell him who you really are?"

"Of course I did, and that you had failed to report what you knew."

Sulu turned white. "Bastard." He pushed Chekov aside and entered the rec room. The ensign didn't waste any more time on him. He had to take cover until the time Spock had given him... Or did he? The longer he left it, the more likely he was to be prevented from carrying out the sabotage.

The only people who would gain from a delay were Spock and his science team.

And Spock was good, or at least better, or... or simply afraid that if the two universes did collide, the Empire might actually come off worst.

Chekov was sure of one thing. If his Spock had to order the destruction of the Enterprise, the Vulcan would be the last to leave, not the first.

The ensign turned his feet towards engineering. In the turbolift, he prised open the fake cassette and set the phaser unit inside to overload in one minute. At the door to the engineering department, he didn't attempt to gain entry, remembering Mister Scott's account of even a Chief Engineer's inability to gain access to sensitive areas on this ship. He half noticed, as he waited for the guard to call a member of engineering over, that the Imperial insignia had gone from the door. Kirk's plan to transform the ship was underway.

"From Commander Spock, for Mister Scott," he said, handing over the plastic case to a regrettably attractive female engineer.

The door closed in his face, and he walked away, trying to remember to breathe.