by L. A. Graf
Adrenaline seared through him at the sight of a potential weapon. Twisting aside, he threw his shoulder against the intruder’s outstretched arm and pinned it tight against the wall. He blocked a wild swing to his head, and struck back in the same moment Aaron Kelly’s voice yelped in panic.
Chekov felt every muscle in his left arm twinge as he stopped his blow just short of a full extension. He knew even before Kelly hit the deck that he’d broken the auditor’s nose, but hoped for both their sakes that he hadn’t done anything worse.
“Get up, Kelly.” Chekov caught Kelly by the front of his dark suit and hauled him to his feet, wishing he had time to be more gracious. “You’ve got to get out of here.”
Kelly slumped groggily against a doorway with his hand clamped over his nose. “What are you doing here?” he slurred in confusion. Blood dripped from under his hand to splatter all over the deck and his shoes. He seemed almost as interested in those Rorschach patterns as in Chekov’s attempts to push him back into the doorway’s relative safety. “Did you come from Deck Seven?”
Leaning an arm against Kelly to hold him still, Chekov hissed the auditor into silence. “There’s an intruder alert,” he whispered, peering up and down the hall for signs of movement. No one, and probably no chance of surprising anyone now, intruder or otherwise. “I was down the hall when it went off.”
“Oh—” Kelly surged unsteadily against Chekov’s hold, trying to swing his right hand up in front of his eyes. “Oh, Lieutenant Chekov, this is terrible!”
Chekov glanced irritably at Kelly, and at the bright metal device in Kelly’s hand. A stopwatch, he realized. He’d just broken a man’s nose on account of a digital stopwatch.
The sound of running feet reached them ahead of the small security squad that appeared at either end of the corridor only an instant later. “This’ll probably ruin everything,” Kelly lisped as the guards came to cluster around him. He sniffed a little, then winced and depressed one of the watch’s buttons with his thumb. “Mr. Taylor isn’t going to like this at all when he hears.”
Chekov had a feeling he didn’t like this already. “Mr. Kelly, what are you talking about?”
Kelly blinked at him with pain-watered brown eyes. “The test.” He swayed a little when Chekov released him to stand on his own. “I’m fairly sure your being here invalidates the test, Lieutenant.”
The guards exchanged uncertain looks, but Chekov only braced his hands against either side of the doorway and asked grimly, “Did you set off that intruder alert, Mr. Kelly?”
The auditor nodded limply.
Suddenly deprived of any real emergency, Chekov’s tension flared inside him as cold anger. “You falsified a shipwide alert? For what?” He snatched Kelly’s wrist and jerked the stopwatch up between them. “To time security’s response?”
He could feel the auditor trembling through his grip on Kelly’s wrist. “It’s an essential component to determining efficiency,” Kelly offered in a tiny, blurry voice.
“Damn your efficiency!” Chekov sharply released Kelly’s hand, resisting an urge to reach out and shake the man. “Is efficiency worth endangering personnel with false security alerts? Is it worth getting yourself killed? My God!” He pounded both hands against the jambs, then pushed away from the doorway to pace in frustration. “Why is it that we have people lining up to waste themselves just to prove they can?”
“But Mr. Taylor—”
Chekov spun to glare at Kelly, and the auditor choked down into silence. “Did Taylor put you up to this idiocy?”
Kelly, eyes wide behind his hand, nodded. “He needs some sort of data for his recommendation, and you won’t let me into anywhere else in your division.”
“Recommendation?” Chekov came to stand in front of him again, hands kept carefully at his sides. “What kind of recommendation?”
“His recommendation to the Auditor General.” Kelly’s eyes darted back and forth among the collected guards, finally coming to rest on Chekov as though terrified of what was coming. “About when and how to restructure your department when we get back to Sigma One.”
“You’re telling me this entire investigation is because you don’t like the way I run my division?”
“That,” Taylor admitted from one of the sickbay’s diagnostic tables, “and other things. But mostly that.” He waved irritably at Purviance to silence whatever the liaison officer had opened his mouth to say. “Frankly, Lieutenant,” Taylor said, sitting up and glaring across the foot of the table at Chekov, “your division is a mess.”
As near as Chekov could tell, the only advantage Taylor had at the moment was that they were all in sickbay, so there’d be a medic team nearby when Chekov decided to tear the auditor limb from limb. “Captain Kirk has had no complaints.”
“Of course he hasn’t,” Taylor said through a sneer. “For a ship as highly regarded as the Enterprise, an awful lot around here could stand redefining. Your captain is no doubt the main reason.” He hopped to his feet, chin high. “That’s why I’m here.”
“You’re here to audit ship efficiency,” Purviance intervened.
Chekov tried to appreciate the awkward good intentions that made Purviance step in front of Taylor, but instead found himself resenting the other’s intrusion. “Maybe if you kept your people to their official duties, unfortunate run-ins like this wouldn’t happen.”
“Maybe if you minded your own business,” Taylor snapped, “we could spend more time working and less time kissing up to Captain Kirk.”
At the edge of his vision, Chekov saw McCoy glance up from setting Kelly’s broken nose; he made himself repress his temper before the doctor interfered. Being scolded by the ship’s chief medical officer wouldn’t do much for his credibility in Taylor’s eyes. “Have you ever served in Starfleet, Mr. Taylor?”
The auditor crossed his arms with a frown. “Of course not. But—”
“No,” Chekov cut him off, “no buts. Until you’ve served on a starship and faced the things that come up here every day, you haven’t any idea what constitutes a well-run department.”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Arms still crossed, Taylor paced slowly to his right, moving from behind Purviance and forcing Chekov to either turn to face him or wait for the auditor to circle back around in front of him. Chekov decided to wait for him. “Regulations tell me everything I need to know, Lieutenant. When I see personnel exhibiting continual, flagrant disregard for regulations concerning duty assignments, scheduling, division of responsibility—well, it’s my job to ferret out whatever causes those problems.” He planted himself in front of Chekov and poked the lieutenant once in the chest. “Take a guess what that cause usually is.”
“Mr. Taylor,” Purviance objected weakly.
Chekov curled his hands into fists so tight his wrists ached. “If you really care about efficiency,” he said slowly, “you should be judging us on our performance, not on our adherence to every minor regulation.”
Taylor gave a short bark of laughter. “Performance such as nearly killing one of my junior auditors?”
“Yes!” Turning away from Taylor’s infuriating scowl, Chekov gestured to Kelly on the bed across the room. “What was our response time?”
“Fantastic!” Kelly popped into a sitting position despite McCoy’s colorful protests, and leaned around the doctor to make eye contact with Taylor. “Lieutenant Chekov reached my position in just under seventy-eight seconds, and the official squad got there only about a minute later.” He grinned at Chekov, the growing bruises under his eyes making him look sleepy but pleased. “That’s the best time for any starship I’ve ever tested.”
“In other words,” McCoy said over his shoulder to Taylor, “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” He pushed Kelly flat to the bed again. “Lie down!”
Taylor heaved an impatient sigh, but didn’t look away from Chekov. “This isn’t really your concern, Dr. McCoy.”
“No,” the doctor readily agreed, “but it is my sickba
y, and I can assure you my efficiency is not being improved by you two standing here barking at each other.” He deposited his medical scanner on Kelly’s chest, admonishing the auditor against moving with a finger shake Chekov recognized all too well. “Let’s see if you can’t make yourselves useful. Taylor!” He waved the taller man toward the door, brow furrowed with a savage frown. “I’m still trying to get my hands on the rest of your auditing team for a radiation exam. Now, unless you want your entire party to drop dead at your feet, I suggest you see what you can do about getting them in here.”
Taylor bristled at the doctor’s tone. “Lieutenant Purviance is the liason officer. Let him find them.”
Purviance actually managed a wry little smile. “I’m the liaison officer, but you’re the man in charge. I suggest you do as the doctor says and get out of here.”
“You heard him,” the doctor said with a smile. “Get!” When the auditor finally gave up posturing and headed for the exit, McCoy said more quietly to Chekov, “I need to see that second-in-command of yours, too. Lemieux tells me he was on the bridge during that radiation surge, and I want to check everyone who was on the upper decks just to make sure there won’t be any problems.”
Chekov nodded, only half-listening, and watched Taylor hesitate again at the door before finally taking his leave. Don’t worry, he wanted to tell the man, I’m sure we’ll talk about this again later. He wasn’t looking forward to the discussion.
“Lieutenant Chekov?”
Blinking his attention back to the moment, he looked around to find Purviance studying him in that quiet, professional way that only the best career Starfleet people seemed to have. Chekov glanced across the room at McCoy and Kelly, just to have somewhere else to look.
“Nobody in his right mind could look at the way Captain Kirk runs this ship and think there’s anything wrong,” Purviance said, too quietly even for McCoy or Kelly to hear. “From what I can tell, security’s every bit as good as a man like Kirk deserves.” He dropped a hand on the lieutenant’s shoulder with a surprisingly fatherly smile. “I suggest you just do your job. Let idiots like Taylor take care of themselves.”
Easier said than done when this particular idiot controlled an audit sheet that might mean the dismantling of his department. “How can you work with him?” Chekov asked. “Knowing what he plans to do to this ship, how can you stand to be his liaison?”
Purviance considered a moment, his pale brown eyes turning inward for a moment of thought. “I like to think I have a higher purpose for being here,” he said. Then, flashing Chekov an ironic grin: “People like John Taylor are just the price of doing business.”
It wasn’t much of a comfort, but Chekov appreciated the thought. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.” Turning, he caught McCoy’s attention from across the room, and called, “Contact security for an escort whenever Mr. Kelly’s finished.”
“An escort?” Kelly lifted his head in mild alarm, peeking around McCoy’s arm. “To where?”
“The brig.” When the auditor only squeaked in reply, Chekov explained, very patiently, “Under Starfleet regulations, Mr. Kelly, setting off a security alert without due cause is a criminal offense. You understand.”
Purviance laughed aloud.
“But I’m not a Starfleet officer!” Kelly called to Chekov’s retreating back.
“I know.” Chekov paused in the doorway only long enough to turn and smile thinly. “And that’s the only reason I’m not going to court martial you.”
Chapter Six
SULU SIGHED IN RELIEF, hearing the turbolift begin its distinctive whistling drop from the bridge down to crew’s quarters. He rubbed a hand across the tense muscles at the back of his neck, then glanced over at Uhura, Bhutto, and Howard. All his shift-mates looked as exhausted as he felt. Starting the day with a crisis always had that effect.
“I think I need more shore leave,” the helmsman said.
Ensign Howard’s face lit with a tired smile. “We almost had some, sir. If you hadn’t noticed the helm damage from that radiation pulse—”
“—we’d be back on Sigma One right now.” Sulu smacked a hand against his forehead. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you were too busy spotting invisible nebulas,” retorted Bhutto. The turbolift sang itself to a stop at Deck Five, and she stepped out. “See you guys at supper.”
“Right.” The turbolift doors hissed shut, but for a long moment nothing happened. Uhura glanced up at the monitor panel in surprise. “Deck Six,” she reminded it.
The computer chimed acknowledgment of her command, but it took another long moment of silence before the turbolift whistled to life again, resuming its downward journey.
“That’s odd,” Sulu commented. “I wonder what caused that delay.”
The tall security guard shrugged. “It happens on space stations all the time—the computer programs too many lifts into one shaft, and some of them have to wait.”
“But the Enterprise has never had that problem.” Uhura’s gaze met Sulu’s, the same suspicion flitting into both of them. “I hope those Federation auditors aren’t trying to improve the efficiency of our lift systems.”
Sulu chuckled. “Mr. Scott will weld their cabin doors shut if they are.” The turbolift doors slid open again, this time on the familiar curve of their own corridor. “Remind your boss he’s eating supper with us tonight, Ensign,” Sulu told Howard as they stepped out.
“Aye-aye, sir.”
Uhura gave him an amused look as the turbolift closed behind them. “With all the emergencies we’ve had on board today, do you really think Chekov’s going to take time to eat supper with us?”
“Hey, it never hurts to try.” Sulu walked down the hall with her, pausing to punch his access code into his cabin door. “One day, that boy’s going to wake up and realize he needs a social life. After all, he’s—”
His cabin door slid open, abruptly slicing off Sulu’s voice. Smashed plants, scattered clothes, and broken shards of Iotian crystal trailed a tornado-erratic path from the cabin door to his worktable. The sweet, wet smell of crushed leaves drifted out from the destruction.
“Sulu?” Uhura’s voice from outside made the helmsman start. “What’s wrong?”
He resisted an urge to keep her from seeing the extent of the chaos. That was always his first instinct in a crisis—seal off the damage, emotional or physical, so no one else could get hurt by it. Fortunately, the years he’d spent working with Uhura had taught him that her delicate exterior masked a woman who could handle a crisis better than most galactic diplomats.
He sighed and stepped aside to give her a clear view of the debris. “Somebody wrecked my room,” he said unnecessarily.
“Oh, my God!” Uhura followed him in, her coffee-dark eyes widening in shock. Dirt carpeted most of the floor, with uprooted plants and tumbled shelves scattered across it. Uhura knelt to rescue a small violet fern, half-buried under its potting soil. “Is anything missing?”
Sulu sighed and squatted down beside her, finding the fern’s pot and scooping in some soil for her to slide the bare root stem into. The small bud that had been about to curl into feathery blossom now dangled on a broken stem. He plucked it off with gentle fingers.
“Actually,” he said, glancing around, “it’s kind of hard to tell. The only thing I know is, the water chameleons are gone.”
Uhura scanned the room in dismay. “Are you sure they’re not just hiding?”
“If they are, they’re not making any noise.”
“But they don’t when they’re scared.” The communications officer picked her way gingerly through the trail of debris, patting at the rumpled clothes to feel for lizard-sized lumps. “They could be anywhere.”
Sulu looked at the trail of crushed plants the intruder had left through the room and winced. “Oh, God, I hope not—”
The door to his quarters buzzed, bringing him to his feet in a nervous surge. Fortunately, Sulu was still close enough to the wall to tr
igger the release without having to step on any chameleons. Chekov stepped in, his eyebrows climbing when he saw the scattered wreckage. “Shto bardachnaya dyela!” His gaze swung around to snag on the helmsman. “What happened?”
“What does it look like?” It was amazing how often you had to restate the obvious in a situation like this, Sulu thought wryly. “Someone demolished my room.”
Chekov scowled at him. “While you were here?”
“Of course not!” Sulu said indignantly. “Do you think I would have let it happen if I were here? And watch where you’re walking—you might step on one of the water chameleons.”
“I doubt it,” Chekov said, “since they’re still in my cabin.” He colored under the force of their astonished looks. “I just thought someone should keep an eye on them, that’s all.”
“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” Sulu picked up one of his favorite plants, a pale red ginger palm, and carefully tamped the soil in around it to hold it straight. Somehow, knowing the little lizards were all right had lifted his spirits enough that he could actually undo some of the damage, not just survey it. “I guess that’s why you’re the security officer, and I’m the pilot. Now, if you can find out who threw all my plants on the floor, I’ll owe you a supper back at Sigma One.”
Chekov’s cheeks turned darker red. “I didn’t throw them on the floor,” he said stiffly. “I put them there, very carefully.”
Uhura looked up from gathering shirts over her arm. “You put them there?”
“Well, there wasn’t enough room for the swimming pool, otherwise.” Chekov gestured at the marble lily pond, now upside down and embedded in a heap of spilled potting soil. “And I didn’t know where Sulu wanted it.”
Sulu gave him a skeptical look. “So you threw some dirt down on the floor to set it on?”
Chekov snorted. “No, your visitor did that. I left it on the end of the worktable.”