A sinister pounding shook the Enterprise.
“My Tholian flycatcher ate my Denebian fire lily!”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Aw, Sulu, he just wanted a good hot meal.”
A white sphere hurtled through the air. A hand, following it, smashed into a wall and a woman’s face contorted in pain.
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
“We’re going to get spoiled. We haven’t had an alert in two days.”
Alarm klaxons howled a nightmare symphony.
“Damn it, lad, that was my favorite spanner.”
Footsteps pounded down a darkened corridor. Pavel Chekov, barefoot, raced headlong after a fleeting figure. He turned down a long hall lined with crew’s quarters.
Dread. Terrible, heart-stopping dread.
Halfway down, the corridor intersected a smaller side passage. Running full tilt he approached the junction.
Pavel, stop!
Pavel, turn around!
A shadowy figure melted out of the darkness behind him. A bolt of phaser fire caught him square in the back. He fell in full flight, his arms flailing wildly. His phaser flew out of his hand and skated away down the hall. Convulsions shook him briefly and then he lay still. His open brown eyes stared sightlessly at nothing.
With a gasp, Uhura sat up in the darkness. A wave of grief so powerful it was almost physical struck her. She snatched up a pillow and hugged it to her, sobbing into it. He was dead. Chekov was dead. Gunned down in the corridor outside her very door. After a few minutes she stopped crying and took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding and she was trembling all over.
“Computer, what time is it?”
“The time is 3:23 A.M. ship’s standard.”
Uhura slid out of bed and found her robe and slippers. She left her cabin without turning on the lights and took a turbolift to deck seven. Just outside the entrance to the security corridor she stopped and pounded on a cabin door. There was a muted rustle of movement within and a heartbeat later the door slid open. Pavel Chekov stood looking down at her, tousled but alert and very much alive.
She was so relieved her knees almost buckled and, at the same time, she was suddenly acutely aware that she had no plausible reason for being outside his quarters at 3:30 in the morning.
“Uhura, what is it? Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” she faltered. “Of course not. I, er, I couldn’t sleep and I, um, just wondered if you might have a book I could borrow.”
“A book?” Chekov looked at her as if she had sprouted horns. “Of course. I have several hundred thousand. So do you. They’re in the ship’s library. The computer can access it for you.”
“Oh, right,” she laughed nervously, “silly me! I’m sorry. Well, good night.” She turned away but he caught her arm and pulled her into his cabin.
“Come in here and sit down.” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed her into the chair by his compulsively tidy workstation. He peered at her intently, his face full of concern. “You’re trembling all over. Have you been crying? Uhura, please, what’s wrong?”
Uhura studied the back of her hands in her lap, feeling foolish. “Pavel, I’m sorry. I just had a really bad dream.” She could feel his tension melting away into relief. “I’ve had the same dream for the past three nights and every time is more vivid than the last. Tonight it was so realistic that when I woke up I thought it had actually happened.”
Chekov patted her shoulder reassuringly and crossed to the food synthesizer. A moment later he was back with a steaming mug, which he pressed into her hands.
“Hot chocolate,” he explained, pulling another chair around and sitting down to face her. “With nutmeg. Very good for tension.” He looked her in the eye. “It’s a Russian invention,” he told her blandly.
Uhura rewarded him with a tiny smile. “The chocolate or the nutmeg?”
“Both,” he lied with a boyish grin. “So, would you like me to go sweep your cabin for monsters?”
Her smile faded and she contemplated the chocolate swirling around in her cup. “I keep dreaming about you getting killed,” she said softly.
“Ah,” he said, enlightened. There was a long, comfortable silence between them. Uhura drank her chocolate.
“Nyota,” Chekov said at last, “I know it must seem very strange for a navigator to suddenly turn policeman. But this job is important to me. I can make a real difference here. I can save lives. And I can respect myself. I couldn’t always do that before. I know there are dangers and I do what I can to guard against them. Beyond that, there’s just no point in dwelling on what might happen. I don’t do it. Don’t you do it either. Please?”
Uhura sighed. “I’ll try,” she promised, “but it would help if you weren’t always getting shot or stabbed or bitten by vicious alien plants.”
Chekov stood up to walk her to the door. “That wasn’t my fault,” he protested. “I was trying to keep Sulu from taking cuttings.”
“Oh, Chekov!”
“I’m serious!”
She favored him with an affectionate smile. “Good night, Pavel.”
“Good night, Uhura,” he answered. “Sweet dreams.”
* * * * *
Hikaru Sulu stomped across the officers’ mess and slammed his breakfast tray down on the table. “You’ll never believe it,” he stormed, dropping into a seat between Scotty and Chekov. “My Tholian flycatcher ate my Denebian fire lily!”
Uhura froze.
From the end of the table the ship’s chief surgeon, Leonard McCoy, drawled, “aw, Sulu, he just wanted a good hot meal.”
There was a crash of glass and everyone turned to stare at Uhura. A puddle of orange juice oozed across the table in front of her and mingled with the shards of her broken tumbler, but she ignored the mess and stared at Dr. McCoy with an expression of horror.
The doctor ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “Come on, Uhura, so I’m a doctor, not a comedian.”
Uhura turned to Chekov. “My dream last night,” she said urgently. “That was part of my dream.”
“Dream?” Scotty asked in his soft, Highland burr. “Wha’ dream was that, lass?”
“Uhura had a bad dream last night,” Chekov offered.
‘The last three nights,” she corrected him, “and Sulu and his plants were part of it.”
“You’ve been having nightmares about my Tholian flycatcher eating my Denebian fire lily?”
“No. Well, yes, but it was about Chekov.”
“You dreamed Chekov ate my Denebian fire lily?”
“No! I . . . “
“You dreamed my Tholian flycatcher ate Chekov?”
Uhura glared at the helmsman and he threw up his hands in mock self-defense. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he laughed. “I was only teasing.” He got up and came around the table to put an arm around her shoulders. “Come on, Uhura, don’t be mad. Tell us all about your big, bad dream.”
“Yeah, Uhura, go ahead,” McCoy chimed in. “Maybe we can help.”
“Dreams are often triggered by fears and anxieties.” Even Spock, at the far end of the table, had put down his data pad to join in the conversation. “Perhaps if we can determine the cause of your nightmares, Commander, they will cease.”
“Besides,” Chekov added, “you never did tell me how I’m going to die. Uhura woke me up in the middle of the night to find out if I was still alive,” he explained to the others. “I was,” he added unnecessarily.
“Are you sure?” Sulu asked, poking him with a fork.
“Do that again and I’ll show you,” the security chief replied in a dangerous tone.
“Shut up lads,” Scotty told them complacently. “I want to hear about Uhura’s dream.”
The communications officer looked around the table. All her friends were watching her with interest so she gave a small shrug and complied.
“It’s kind of hard to describe,” she said, “because there’s several things happening and they’re all jumbled up. Sulu and Dr. McCoy talking about Sulu’s plants is one of them. But the main part of my dream, the bad part, is about Chekov. It’s night and there’s an alarm going off. Chekov’s barefoot and he’s chasing somebody through the ship.”
“Barefoot?” McCoy asked.
Uhura shrugged and went on. “He’s running down the corridor outside our cabins.” She looked to Sulu as she said this; the helmsman’s quarters were opposite her own. “Just before he gets to the junction with the hall that leads to life sciences, someone steps out of one of the doorways and shoots him in the back. My dream always ends with him lying there dead. It’s horrible, and very realistic.”
“Well,” McCoy leaned back and stretched, “I’m not surprised you’re having bad dreams. It’s been a tense mission – it’s only natural for you to worry about your friends. And, since Chekov switched to security, he’s the one who always winds up going into danger. That’s probably why he became the focus of your fears. To be honest, Uhura, the boy’s given me a few nightmares, too.”
Chekov snorted. “You should know some of the nightmares I have about all of you.”
“But what about Sulu’s plants?” Uhura asked. “That was part of the dream and now it’s happened.”
“It’s a coincidence,” Chekov said firmly. “Sulu’s flycatcher has already eaten half his other plants. It was only a matter of time before the lily got it. I don’t know why you don’t get rid of that thing,” he added.
“Are you kidding?” Sulu exclaimed. “That plant has personality.”
“So did Rasputin, but I wouldn’t want to share my quarters with him.”
“Commander,” Spock spoke up, “you said there were several elements to your dream. Can you remember any others?”
“Well,” she considered, “I remember hearing the captain say we were going to get spoiled because we haven’t had an alert in two days.”
“A not un-characteristic remark,” Spock noted.
“And Ensign Larrabee broke her wrist playing volleyball.”
The doctor laughed without mirth. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Since we left Starbase Seven she’s broken her left wrist twice, sprained her right knee and cracked three ribs. She’s more determined than graceful, I’m afraid, and much too proud to accept any advice.”
“So far you’ve just dreamed about things that are likely to happen anyway,” Sulu observed. “Except for Chekov running around barefoot, of course. Anything else?”
“No, I don’t . . . wait! Yes! There was one more thing. You were in it,” she told Scotty. “You were annoyed because someone broke your favorite spanner.”
The chief engineer leaned back and beamed at her. “Now, lass, you’ve left the realm of possibility. A spanner is a verra sturdy tool, Nyota, love. I’ve had me best one nigh on seventeen years. It’s seen three hull breaches, two explosions and a shuttle crash. And once I even dropped it right down the side of a mountain. Nothin’s goin’ to happen to that spanner.”
“And nothing’s going to happen to me either,” Chekov added. “So stop worrying and try to get some rest tonight, okay? You look tired.”
“Chekov’s right,” McCoy said, “this mission’s been enough to give anyone nightmares. Why don’t you come by sickbay tonight and let me give you something to help you relax?”
Uhura sighed and nodded a little. “Okay, I will. Thanks.”
“Good.” McCoy stood up and grinned at her. “And I’ll go pull Larrabee’s file, just in case.”
* * * * *
Captain’s
Log. Stardate 37564.9:
After three weeks
of mediating peace talks between the neighboring planets of Tiermah and Devai, we have
finally found something they can agree on: they both hate us. So far this peace accord, although greatly
desired by the people of both worlds, has been threatened by paranoid officials, religious
conflicts, and the presence of two cumbersome and incompatible beaurocracies. More serious, however, is the sabotage which has
plagued the ships of both delegations and for which each blames the other. Mr. Spock believes the sabotage to be the work of
an unknown third party, probably an arms dealer profiting from both sides of the conflict. Capturing this saboteur would go a long way
towards establishing peace. Mr. Chekov is
certain he could capture the saboteur, but, unfortunately, neither side trusts us enough
to allow him to implement his security measures on their ships.
Captain James T. Kirk closed his log and felt the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. He was aware, before he raised his head, that all activity on the bridge had come to an abrupt halt. He looked first to the screen, afraid of what he would find there, but the delegate vessels still drifted peacefully off the Enterprise’s bows. Then he glanced around the bridge and was surprised to find that he, himself, was the focus of everyone’s attention.
Lieutenant Bhutto, he saw, was as much in the dark as he was. The young navigator was looking at her shipmates in bewilderment. But Scott and Sulu were watching him uneasily and Uhura was staring at him in open dismay. Chekov wasn’t looking at him, but he obviously knew what was going on because he was studiously ignoring it. Spock, too, remained involved with his workstation, but he had raised one elegant eyebrow and after a moment he looked to Uhura.
“As I pointed out this morning, Commander, a not un-characteristic remark.”
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” the captain demanded.
The turbolift doors slid open and McCoy walked out onto the bridge. His eyes widened slightly as he took in the charged atmosphere. He tiptoed over to the captain’s chair. “Hi,” he said in a stage whisper. “What’s going on?”
“You tell me,” Kirk answered. “I was just dictating my log and all I said was . . . “
The doctor held up a preemptory hand. “Wait! Don’t tell me! We’re going to get spoiled because we haven’t had an alert in two days?”
Now it was Kirk’s turn to stare. “How did you know?”
McCoy gave him a smug, superior grin. “If you didn’t skip breakfast,” he needled, “you’d be up on all the gossip.”
“Uhura’s been having a recurring nightmare,” Sulu explained at last.
“And it’s starting to come true.” The communications officer’s voice was barely a whisper.
“It’s still a coincidence,” Chekov insisted stubbornly.
Kirk swiveled his chair around to stare at Uhura with frank curiosity. Her lovely, dark face did look a trace haggard. “I’d like to hear about your dream, Commander.”
With some reluctance, Uhura again recited the details of her nightmare. When she had finished Kirk sat back thoughtfully. “No wonder Mr. Chekov keeps insisting it’s a coincidence. What do you think, Spock?”
The Vulcan science officer considered. “Are you asking if Uhura’s dream could be in some way precognitive? The possibility certainly exists. For centuries there has been evidence of cryptaesthesia among humans. Unfortunately, due to its sporadic nature, it is a phenomenon which lends itself poorly to empirical research. The fact that two of the things she dreamed about have now taken place is certainly suggestive of prescience.”
“Well,” McCoy drawled, “that’s clear as mud.”
“I think he said that if I get shot it will be fascinating,” Chekov offered.
“He said that my dream could have a basis in fact,” Uhura told them. “Honestly, Chekov! This could be a warning that you’re in mortal danger and you won’t even take me seriously!”
“Uhura, think,” Chekov said reasonably. “You said I was in the corridor outside your quarters, yes? And the person who shot me came out of one of the doorways, yes?” The commander nodded. “Uhura, all the doors on that hall lead to officer’s quarters. Do you really think one of the officers is going to come out and shoot me in the back?”
Uhura gazed down at her console, feeling sheepish. “No, I suppose not,” she conceded with a slight grin.
“Besides,” the lieutenant added defensively, “I am taking you seriously. This morning after breakfast I hunted up Ensign Larrabee and offered to teach her how to fall so she won’t get hurt so much.”
McCoy, the only one who knew Larrabee, looked at him askance. “What happened?”
The young Russian turned red and tugged at his collar. “She told me I wasn’t her type.”
The ensuing burst of laughter broke the tension on the bridge.
“Ensign Larrabee’s loss, I’m sure, Mr. Chekov.” Kirk grinned at his security chief and returned to his paperwork. The bridge resumed its normal atmosphere of quiet efficiency.
“I’ll tell ye what, though,” Scotty spoke up suddenly. “When I get down to engineering I’m goin’ to take that spanner and lock it up tight!”
* * * * *
Chekov stood in the doorway of his office and watched Sulu. The helmsman was sitting on the corridor floor with a tool pouch beside him and the cover off a service hatch and he was apparently engrossed in running a diagnostic sensor over the tangle of cables and relays within. After a moment Chekov went to join him.
“Hikaru, what are you doing?”
“Hmm? Oh, Pavel, hi. I’m just checking out the navigational sensors.”
“Why? Is there a problem?”
“No. Oh, no. Just routine maintenance.”
Chekov considered. “You are not the navigator.”
Sulu snorted. “Yeah, I know,” he said dryly, “but our new navigator isn’t as experienced as our old navigator was, so I thought I’d lend a hand.”
“You’ve been sitting by that hatch for almost an hour.”
“So? I’m trying to be thorough.”
Chekov squatted down beside him. “Sulu, there’s only one sensor that runs through this sector and,” he cast a quick, professional eye over the panel, “it’s fine.” He slammed the hatch cover shut and turned to look his best friend in the eye. “Is this supposed to be a stakeout?”
With a frustrated sigh, Sulu pushed to his feet and paced across the corridor to lean against the wall. Chekov followed. There was a long moment of silence. “Ensign Larrabee broke her wrist playing volleyball this afternoon,” Sulu said at last.
“Ensign Larrabee is careless,” Chekov replied curtly.
“Yeah, well, Scotty didn’t make it to his spanner in time, either. One of his ensigns dropped it through an access hatch into the warp core.”
Chekov glanced down the hall to where a trio of crewmen in red shirts was doing something arcane inside a ceiling panel. “I suppose that explains why I keep tripping over engineers.”
“It’s not funny, Pavel,” Sulu said with annoyance.
Chekov spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.
“You could try being careful. Have you ever considered being careful?”
“I am careful.”
“You’re not careful!” Sulu’s deep voice rang suddenly with anger. “You’re careful with your duties and you’re careful with the ship, but you’re not careful. You spend more time in sickbay than Larrabee, Pavel.”
Chekov was starting to get angry himself. “Since I took over security our mission success rate has climbed and our casualties have dropped,” he growled defensively.
“You take care of your people,” Sulu conceded, “but how often do you buy their safety with your own?”
“To me, their safety is worth the price.”
“Did you ever think what your safety is worth to us?”
There was a long, unhappy silence.
“Sulu,” Chekov said at last, “I admit this is very eerie. But if I let myself worry about it I won’t be able to do my duty.”
“There were five things in Uhura’s dream. Four of them have happened.”
“If I can’t do my duty I am not a good officer.” Chekov gazed at his friend, pleading with him to understand. “If I am not a good officer, I am not a good man.”
“You are a good man,” Sulu countered with conviction. “That’s why we don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Chekov had no reply to that and they stood shoulder to shoulder, leaning against the wall in silence. The Russian was looking down at the floor and presently he scuffed the side of his boot against Sulu’s.
“Sulu, look. Her dream can’t come true. I am not barefoot.”
Sulu glanced down and acknowledged this fact with a small grunt.
“It’s getting late,” Chekov told his friend gently. “We’re all tired and it’s been a strange day. Go home, Sulu, and get some sleep. In the morning this will all seem as ridiculous as it is.”
Sulu sighed unhappily, pushed away from the wall and snatched up his tool pouch. “Oh, all right,” he grumbled, “but call me when you take off your shoes.”
* * * * *
Chekov finished recording a letter to his parents in Russia, tagged it to go out with the next routine transmission, and was reaching to turn off his workstation when the com light came on. He answered it and his second-in-command, Ensign Howard, looked back at him. The tall young guard looked as though he were trying very hard not to laugh.
“Um, Chief? Have you looked in the hall lately?”
Muttering darkly to himself in Russian, Chekov dropped his head into his hands and ended the transmission without bothering to reply. He left his cabin and almost tripped over Uhura, who was curled up in his doorway with a pillow and a blanket.
Chekov threw up his hands in exasperation. “What in the name of insanity do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m making sure you don’t go chasing off down the halls barefoot,” she told him stubbornly.
He got her by the wrist and hauled her to her feet. “Uhura, I am the chief of security. I do not need a bodyguard. Especially a short, unarmed bodyguard who’s suffering from sleep deprivation! I thought McCoy was going to give you something.”
“I couldn’t take it,” she said, almost desperately. “I was afraid it would make me go to sleep and in the morning I’d wake up and you’d be dead.”
“You cannot sleep in the hall,” he told her firmly.
“I can’t sleep anywhere else,” she insisted. Her face was lined with exhaustion and her voice shook. Chekov’s annoyance melted away rapidly into concern. He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilted her face up to his.
“Would it make you feel better to know I’m nearby?”
“Yes!” she said definitely.
He nodded once, as though coming to a decision. “All right,” he said, “there is a very comfortable couch in my outer office.”
“You’d let me sleep on your couch?”
The young Russian’s eyes widened slightly. “Of course not. I am an officer and a gentleman. You will take my cabin and I will sleep on the couch.”
“Chekov! I can’t take your bed!”
Chekov’s voice turned stern. “You can either go in there and go to sleep – and I mean now – or you can go with me down to sickbay to see Dr. McCoy!”
“You can’t give me orders,” Uhura bristled, “I outrank you.”
Chekov folded his arms over his chest and loomed over her menacingly. “I’m bigger than you are.”
For a long minute they stood and glared at one another. Then Chekov scowled ferociously and Uhura sank back against the wall, half-laughing. The security chief never relented.
“All right?” he demanded, raising both eyebrows.
“All right,” she conceded, “and thank you, Pavel.”
His scowl fled away and he tossed her a wink as he signaled the cabin door open for her. She started through and then caught his arm.
“I know I’m being a terrible nuisance.”
He leaned down close and spoke very gently. “I think you are worrying needlessly,” he told her, “and it distresses me to see you so upset. But it is very nice to be cared about. Please don’t ever think that I don’t appreciate it.”
She reached up to brush his cheek with one small hand. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he promised. “But something’s going to happen to you in about two seconds if you don’t get in there and go to sleep!”
Smiling, she let him push her through the door. When it had closed behind her he gathered up her discarded blanket and pillow and headed for his office. Ensign Howard drifted out of the duty room.
“Nice to have friends, isn’t it, Chief?” he asked innocently.
“Yes, Mr. Howard,” Chekov agreed warmly, “It is nice to have friends. Even when they are a pain in the butt, it is always nice to have friends. I just wish I wasn’t lying when I said this was a comfortable couch.”
Bidding the guard good night, he crossed his office and spread Uhura’s blanket out on the couch. Then he pulled off his shoes and socks and settled down to sleep.
* * * * *
“Intruder alert on deck 6! Repeat, we have a single, armed intruder on deck 6! Lieutenant Chekov, do you read me?”
Spock’s terse voice dragged Uhura into wakefulness, the howl of alarms accompanying her out of nightmare and into reality. She heard Chekov answer from his office next door. His reply was muted by the intervening wall, indistinguishable words spoken in the familiar cadence of a well-known voice.
With a cry of horror she flung herself out of bed and fell over a chair in her headlong flight towards the door. Chekov was in the corridor now, shouting orders to his guards. She made it out of the cabin in time to see him disappear around the corner at a run. He carried a phaser in one hand and a communicator in the other.
He had not stopped to put on his shoes.
Desperate, Uhura grabbed a nearby guard. “Give me your phaser!”
The guard looked at her in horror. “Commander, I can’t!”
“Ensign, give me your phaser!” she insisted. Reluctantly the guard unhooked his weapon and Uhura snatched it from his fingers and ran.
In parts of the ship where crew’s quarters were located the corridors were dimmed during third watch to simulate night. Uhura stepped off the turbolift onto deck 6 and into her nightmare. She turned towards her own quarters and saw Chekov, barefoot, approaching the same corridor from the opposite direction.
“Uhura, stay here!” he shouted when he saw her. He disappeared around the corner at a dead run and Uhura followed with her heart in her throat. She got to the end of the hall just as Chekov approached the passage that led to life sciences. A shadowy figure melted out of the darkness. With a wild cry of alarm, Uhura raised her weapon and fired. The shadowy figure ducked back into the darkness and her phaser beam lanced past down the hall.
And struck Pavel Chekov square in the back.
He fell in full flight, his arms flailing wildly. His phaser flew out of his hand and skated away down the hall. Convulsions shook him briefly and then he lay still. His open brown eyes stared sightlessly at nothing.
The shadowy figure emerged again and resolved into Sulu. “Uhura, what happened?”
“I shot him,” she breathed in horror. “Oh, Sulu, I’ve killed him.”
She staggered down the hall and dropped to the floor beside the security chief’s still, pale form. She pulled him into her lap, cradling his head in her arms and sobbing convulsively while Sulu stood looking down at them with an expression of horrified dismay.
Kirk and Spock approached them down the long hall while McCoy came up behind them with an anti-grav litter.
“I had a hunch I might be needed,” he said grimly.
Kirk stopped across the corridor junction from his junior officers. He took in the scene in the hall and glanced towards life sciences and his face hardened into lines of grief and anger.
“Chekov’s guards caught the saboteur,” he said quietly. “At least you can know that his murderer won’t go unpunished.”
“But, Captain, it was me,” Uhura sobbed.
Kirk dropped to his knees and crawled towards them across the intersection. “Uhura, no. It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was,” she insisted. “It was me. I shot him.”
Kirk sat back on the hall floor with a thump. “You shot him?” he asked incredulously.
“I was in security when the alert came in,” she explained tearfully. “I took a phaser from a guard and followed him. It was all just like my dream. When Sulu came out I thought he was an assassin. I shot at him and missed and the phaser fire hit Chekov!”
The captain took a deep breath. He felt as though he hadn’t been breathing for several minutes. “Uhura, your phaser! What’s the setting on your phaser?”
She stared at him uncomprehendingly for a second, then snatched up the weapon and looked at it.
“Stun,” she said foolishly. “It’s set on heavy stun.” She turned wide, wondering eyes on the captain. “He’s not dead?”
Kirk met her gaze with a smile. “He’s not dead,” he agreed.
McCoy was checking the lieutenant with a medical tricorder. “He’s a little banged up from falling so hard, and being shot, even on stun, is never very pleasant. But don’t worry, Uhura, he’s going to be just fine.”
Sulu dropped down beside her and gave her a fierce hug. The helmsman’s voice was rich with laughter. “I can’t wait to hear you explain to him why you shot him in the back!”
“Fascinating,” Spock observed.
His words brought back Chekov’s prediction on the bridge and Uhura looked up at the science officer in horror. “Oh, Mr. Spock! Don’t say that!”
Spock fixed her with a thoughtful, penetrating gaze, one eyebrow slightly canted. “But it is, Commander. In attempting to prevent the incident in your dream you contrived to bring about the exact set of circumstances which allowed it to take place.”
“A self-fulfilling prophecy,” McCoy said, trying not to sound interested.
“Indeed,” the Vulcan agreed. “Furthermore, had her prophecy not fulfilled itself, Lieutenant Chekov would certainly be dead right now.”
This statement was greeted with silence.
“How d’you figure that?” the doctor asked finally.
Kirk and Spock exchanged a knowing glance. Kirk turned to the others. There was an odd, intense light in his hazel eyes.
“What you don’t know,” he said, slowly and distinctly, “is that there’s a Klingon disruptor fastened to the wall of this side corridor. Now I haven’t stopped to examine it yet, but I’m willing to bet that it’s set to cut down the first person who steps in front of it. Spock?”
The science officer had taken out his ever-present tricorder and was scanning something out of sight around the corner. “Indeed,” he said after a moment. “It is triggered by a simple electric eye. If the lieutenant had continued down the corridor he would have broken the beam. The blast would have struck him,” he paused, measuring the Russian’s height against the device on the wall, “it would have struck him in the chest, on the left side.”
Spock looked at each of his shipmates, one by one. “It is set to fire at full power.”
Uhura felt shivers running up and down her spine and she heard Sulu, beside her, take a deep, shuddering breath.
“Good Lord,” McCoy said softly. “A full-power disruptor blast directly to the heart. And at almost point-blank range.” His gaze fell on the unconscious security chief and he dropped a protective hand on Chekov’s shoulder. “There wouldn’t have been a thing I could do except zip up the body bag.”
They sat in silence while Spock disarmed the disruptor and removed it. Uhura brushed Chekov’s hair off his forehead with trembling fingers. She suspected she wasn’t the only one in the hallway who was shaking.
When the coast was clear McCoy leaned over and slapped Sulu on the shoulder. “Come on,” he said. “Help me get Sleeping Beauty down to sickbay. I need to give him something for shock and then we can wake him up and tell him how lucky he is to have a friend to shoot him in the back when he needs it.”
They lifted Chekov gently onto the litter and bore him away down the hall. Spock also disappeared, in the direction of the bridge.
Uhura stayed where she was and Kirk looked down at her in concern.
“Uhura? Are you all right?”
The communications officer gazed up at him. She looked stunned.
“Captain,” she said, bewildered, “I, I don’t know what to say.”
“I know what to say,” he told her. He helped her to her feet, then put his hands on her shoulders and grinned down at her.
“Lieutenant Commander Uhura,” he told her, “may all your dreams come true.”
Star Trek Index