by Jane Seaton

Part 4/4

"The admiral appears to have been in semi-retirement for the last two years," Spock reported. "But he was not idle."

"What was he doing?" Kirk asked, wondering why Spock found that noteworthy. Surely retired Vulcans were not idle. Maybe they died at their desks.

"He was carrying out a campaign of correspondence and personal lobbying for the amendment, or preferably the repeal of the Compromise of 2005. He had not made any significant progress, however. He gained access to many influential people but to no effect. He was no longer the powerful and energetic individual of earlier years. He tired easily. Several visits to Earth were cut short because of health problems, and even a transit accident."

Kirk frowned at the unusual concept. "I know I've asked this before, but why didn't he just buy Chekov out, if it meant so much to him?"

"I have discovered a letter, from Admiral Nogura, warning Fleetwood that a 'political action' of that nature would lead to calls for his full retirement from Starfleet."

"But if he felt so strongly about it..."

"Once retired, and by implication relegated to the categories of 'the elderly, confused and quite possibly eccentric'..."

"No one would think that of Woodie. He had a mind like a razor."

"I am quoting from Admiral Fleetwood's reply to Admiral Nogura. He was convinced that attempts were being made to discredit him. Had he paid for Chekov's freedom, he thought it likely that a scandal would have been manufactured, characterising him as an elderly yet rapacious homosexual, or worse, in his opinion, accusing Chekov of being..."

"That's ridiculous. No one who knew Woodie would..."

"But in political terms, hardly anyone did know the admiral. He did not say this himself, but from a review of events, I think it entirely possible that attempts were made on his life."

Kirk stared at the Vulcan. "Who would do that?"

Spock shrugged.

"Come on, Spock, you can't hypothesise a crime without a criminal. Why would anyone want to go to those lengths to maintain the existence of CredStat? It's never begun to pay off what the Russian state owed at the start. You've seen the problem I had with Chekov. You can't force the Russians to work, and you have to feed, clothe and house them whether they work or not..."

"That puzzled me initially," Spock admitted. "There have been allegations made that Russians are used to test pharmaceuticals and other synthetic substances, and that prostitution occurs..."

"I'd never heard that," Kirk objected quickly, mentally adding the caveat until today.

"On Earth, news broadcasters are subject to commercial pressure, while on Vulcan, the principle of non-interference restricts anyone who might disapprove of the situation. The products of several Terran manufacturers are not imported as a result of the perceived moral problem."

"It still doesn't add up. Commercial drug trials use cloned tissue, and..."

"What is the one resource on Earth which is finite, Captain, despite technical advances at the margin, and the one which cannot be supplemented by imports?"

"Well." Kirk had a horribly guilty feeling that this was suddenly making sense. "Land."

"Quite. The Russian sphere of influence in 2005 occupied an area of twenty two point four oh three million square kilometres. Since 2008, ninety three point one per cent of that area has been leased to, among others, the Mishuno Corporation and the New Tokyo Bank. The annual rent represents less than point zero zero three percent of the outstanding CredStat debt. The financial summaries of those organisations do not make explicit the profits that are earned by subleasing, by agriculture and by mineral extraction."

"How did you find all this out?" Kirk demanded angrily.

"From the public record. Some facts I was already aware of. I assumed you were too. Jim, there is no way you could be dismissed as senile, and your resignation or retirement from Starfleet would attract immense publicity."

"I'm a starship captain, not a politician."

"The politicians have failed, or maybe they have not even tried. If not you, Jim, then who else can do this? Doctor McCoy has said to me, that a man will not beat another man's dog. It seems to me that the entire human race, or the free part of it, is conspiring to abuse the Russian people."

Rhetoric, as usual, left Kirk relatively unmoved, but a memory of Pavel flinching away from the belt in his hands struck home.

"You can't put something like this straight overnight, Spock," he parried half-heartedly.

"But you can begin."

Sulu turned away from the waldoes and realised that Chekov had gone. He took a deep breath as he considered what he should do. The Victoria was securely anchored to a 'tender' point, designed for a ship that could use its own transporters or a shuttle of some type to transfer cargo and personnel on and off the station. Chekov had shut down everything aboard and input an access code that could be left with whatever remained of the port authority for Starbase 4.

They'd overheard Drake and his team referring to the proposed dismembering of the damaged arm. Chekov could hardly intend to stay here. Apart from the salvage technicians, living in prefabricated dormitories, there was no one here any more. The surviving inhabitants of Starbase 4 had limped home to Earth, to Vulcan, to Andor and a dozen other worlds. If the Russian was hoping to contact friends, he would be disappointed.

The mood Chekov was in, he'd consider anything rather than go back to the Enterprise, Sulu decided. He headed for the point where they'd beamed aboard, the desire to hurry making him awkward in the low gravity. Drake was still busy at the control console.

"Where's Chekov?"

"Gone," Blake said shortly.

"Gone where?" Sulu demanded.

"With one of the guys from the Mishuno team. They lost a lot of their people. Offered him a job piloting a maintenance shuttle around. He accepted."

"But..." Sulu began.

Blake turned his back on his control panel. "Listen to me, Lieutenant. I'm sure you mean well. I'm sure Starfleet means well. I'm sure you mean to send Pasha home safe and sound. But he doesn't want to go back to Earth with Starfleet or anyone else. I've watched him around Starfleet people, and when the admiral wasn't there, most of them treated him like dirt. Now, I know the admiral signed something to say he wouldn't let Pasha up and go, but the admiral's dead, God rest him, and there's nothing holding Pasha now, so..."

"He went with someone from Mishuno? Someone Japanese?"

Drake gave him an impatient scowl. "No. It was Danny Cocker, their maintenance manager here. He's European, or at least he looks it. Why? What the hell difference does it make?"

"Pavel wouldn't have gone with anyone he thought was Japanese," Sulu said, not sure why this scenario worried him so much.

"Well, he's here with you, isn't he?"

"Where exactly did they go, Mister Drake?"

Drake jerked his head towards one of the three corridors leading out of the hub. "They're cutting out some equipment down there for salvage. Cocker took Pasha with him."

"He has to come back to the Enterprise with me," Sulu said firmly.

"Why?" Drake demanded. "What's the problem? Look, guy, if you're simply doing your job, I suggest you go back and tell your captain Pasha just vanished. What's the harm?"

Sulu hesitated. The guy from Mishuno would just be exploiting Chekov's skills. But then, wasn't that exactly what Kirk wanted to do? What was the problem?

Sulu set off into the corridor. "I'm not sure you should go down there," Blake yelled after him. "They're starting demolition right now."

Sulu ignored him. The corridor became darker as the emergency lights were spaced more widely. He couldn't hear any sounds of anyone working. Then, suddenly, he walked into brilliant white illumination in the adjacent hub.

A middle aged man, European looking, as Drake had claimed, was leaning against the twisted framework of a trashed control console. Two younger men were holding Chekov. They were wearing Mishuno badges, and phasers. And they were unmistakably Japanese. Sulu wasn't armed. This wasn't supposed to be that kind of situation.

The Russian's left eye was closed and his nose was bleeding profusely.

"Lieutenant," Cocker said pleasantly. "We weren't expecting you yet."

Sulu's training, and a year of observing James Kirk, cut in and kept him reacting smoothly. "I'm sorry. Was I disturbing something?" He realised that Chekov was looking at him, seeing all his expectations fulfilled.

"Not at all. Just tidying up this loose end. I really don't know whether to be mad at him or not, you know? It's a damned shame to see so much Mishuno technology atomised but... the Federation will pay us to replace it."

The horror behind what the man had casually said hit Sulu like a shock wave. The destruction of Starbase 4 wasn't the result of a malfunction, an accident. It was sabotage. "That's... true," he said after a moment, striving for neutrality.

Obviously he didn't quite achieve it. "Did you lose friends here, Lieutenant?" Cocker asked. "I'm sorry. We recalled as many people as we could without causing ripples."

As many as they could? What, half a dozen senior Mishuno technicians? Or did Mishuno have its tentacles so deep into Starfleet that it could move Fleet personnel around at will? It certainly seemed that Cocker had been expecting at least one bad apple to show up around now.

"If I did," Sulu said silkily, cold, controlled anger driving him now, "I know who to blame."

"Quite," Cocker agreed. "But Fleetwood is dead. Of course, if he hadn't been so damned hot for security, we could have picked him off away from the Starbase, him and the Russian both. Still... What's done is done, eh?"

Sulu nodded. "And what still needs to be done..."

"Since Commander Steele blew it, yeah. We're taking out the gravity generators in the next module," Cocker explained obligingly. "This pup'll misunderstand an order, wind up on the wrong side of a bulkhead. Salvage is notoriously dangerous." The man gestured to his henchmen. "Take him through. If he gives you trouble, be careful, don't use phasers, just in case there's an autopsy. Who knows, Lady Fleetwood might have been as sweet on him as her old man was."

Chekov let himself be dragged through a wide hatch into a large compartment where two massive, still purring grav units were visible. It was quite reasonable that they should be a salvage priority. If nothing else, they could be used to manipulate the wreckage and, in time, to manoeuvre the framework of the new Starbase into place. But they were huge. The plan must be to remove the whole outer skin of the compartment and lift them out. Sulu and Cocker followed. The Mishuno name was emblazoned proudly on the casings of the units.

Sulu's eyes scoured the cavernous space for weapons, shelter, e.v. suits, comm equipment...

"Just a couple more minutes," Cocker explained. "We're priming the bolts holding the outer skin with explosive charges."

Chekov was just standing there, waiting for his two minutes to be over. There were two more Mishuno technicians working along the walls. They were Japanese again, but unarmed. Presumably not from the 'internal security' department of Mishuno, or whatever polite name they gave to their strong arm division. Still, would Cocker send them away before he made the final arrangements for Chekov's death?

Sulu knew he could walk out of here, a few metres down the corridor, and use his communicator to call for help. He also knew that Chekov could be dead before a security team was mustered and beamed in two hundred yards or more away from them. And he knew that any more direct attempt to intercede on the Russian's behalf could lead to instant death for both of them.

He could call for the Enterprise to catch Chekov in the transporter the moment the module was opened to space... if it weren't for the residual radiation from the explosion. And the person Cocker had been expecting could be walking down the corridor right now...

Still scanning the compartment for inspiration, Sulu met Chekov's good eye. It stared at him indifferently.

Sulu could still walk away from this. He didn't owe Chekov anything. He hadn't been around in 1998, or 2005, or two days ago when Mishuno killed Fleetwood and three thousand other innocents...

Just then, the two technicians finished. Slipping their tools back into the multitude of pockets in their overalls, they nodded with traditional Japanese respect to Cocker and left the module.

The other two, the Mishuno heavies, now split, one retaining a lazy hold on Chekov, the other walking towards Cocker, which would bring him past Sulu first...

And the man holding Chekov had been told not to use his phaser, so he'd hesitate... If Chekov had been Starfleet trained, or more to the point, if he'd had any reason to co-operate with anything Sulu did, this was their opening.

Chekov wouldn't help. Helping might save his own life, but only if he realised quickly enough what Sulu intended. And he had no reason to believe Sulu intended him any good at all.

Only there was no other choice.

"Pasha!"

Sulu grabbed the phaser from the man's belt as the bastard passed him, swinging to train it on Cocker in the same movement. He waited for Chekov's remaining guard to shoot him in the back.

It didn't happen.

"Get over by that column, both of you!" he ordered sharply.

"What the fuck are you doing, Muro?"

"I'm not Muro." Sulu raised the phaser an inch, increasing the threat that he'd use it. Cocker and his minion retreated.

Sulu heard the whine of a phaser behind him. He resisted the instinct to turn and look.

"Pasha?"

He didn't need to risk looking, he decided. Cocker's face announced what was happening clearly enough.

"He shot him! Cold blooded bastard. Look, whoever the fuck you are, this crazy Russian is going to kill us all."

"I stunned him," Chekov said stonily, "but I can kill him if you want."

"No, don't. Come over here with me, Pasha," Sulu ordered.

The phaser sang again and both the remaining Mishuno men fell to the deck, their collapse made almost comical by the low gravity and its misalignment.

"Listen," Chekov said, coming up close to the lieutenant. "You don't know that in Russia, to call someone Pasha, this is for friends only, good friends."

"I had to get your attention. I didn't have time to explain."

"I know."

"I had to make you think you might trust me."

"Yes. I understand," Chekov said flatly, almost impatiently.

Sulu couldn't work him out. "All right. I won't call you Pasha again. Okay?"

Chekov looked at him for a moment, then nodded.

"I'm going to call for Security from the Enterprise. It'll take them a few minutes to get here."

Sulu flicked open his communicator and adjusted it for the blast of static. "Enterprise? Lieutenant..."

"Sulu?" a voice responded, sounding almost startled. "Hold please. The captain just asked me to get you. Captain..."

"Lieutenant, are you still with Chekov?"

"Yes, sir..."

"Where?"

"On the arm still, sir, and..."

"Get him back to the transporter pad now. Immediately. His life's in danger. If he doesn't want to come, tell him we'll talk about it when he gets here. I don't mean him any harm. Do you think you can convince him of that?"

"A Mishuno official and two of his henchmen just tried to kill Chekov, but he's okay. We're both okay. I think we should get our security people over here, just to be in the way of any kind of cover up, Captain."

There was a moment of surprised silence. "There won't be a cover up, Lieutenant. I suggested to Admiral Nogura that Mishuno, among others, had a motive to silence Fleetwood. When Nogura raised the matter with their President, he was told not to ask questions. He's in the process of making a statement to the Federation council. Copies are being handed to all the major news agencies simultaneously. I've had Commander Steele taken into custody for the attempted murder of yourself and Pavel Chekov. If Mishuno are still out to kill Chekov, it's because no one's countermanded the order. But get him back here, just to be safe."

The rec room was crowded but oddly quiet when Sulu walked in two hours later. A few faces turned to look at him, a few seemed to be studiously ignoring his arrival.

"Hi, everyone," the lieutenant said, loudly. He caught Uhura's eye and she gave him a watery smile.

"Where's the Russian?" Craigie asked from over by the food servitors.

"Why?" Sulu demanded. Chekov was with the captain, talking to Starfleet investigators, Sulu supposed, since Starfleet was by default the only law operating among the remains of Starbase 4.

"I owe him an apology," Craigie said. "Apparently your friends at Mishuno had private detectives spying on him and the admiral, trying to find evidence that Fleetwood was... you know. Only they didn't... find any, I mean."

"Where did you hear that?" Sulu said. They were talking across the width of the big room and everyone else was silent now.

"On the updates." Craigie gestured at the big screen on one of the walls. It wasn't often used. Among so diverse a crew, there weren't many events that commanded everyone's attention. The collapse of the three hundred year old conspiracy would affect almost everyone, one way or another. "Seems he was the only Russian not getting screwed."

Sulu nodded. Publicity was probably the best way forward, although some griefs might be easier to bear in private. And he hoped people would be more tactful when Chekov was around.

"I don't have friends at Mishuno," Sulu said. He sat down at a table, as if that closed the matter. There were maybe fifteen Japanese nationals on board, many more individuals with some links with that country. It wasn't always very clear where people's roots lay, if they didn't choose to make an issue of it. He just hoped there wasn't going to be any kind of backlash.

"You had a Mishuno scholarship to the Academy," Uhura reminded him.

Sulu turned and looked at her. "What? What are you suggesting?" He stood up again and slowly surveyed everyone in the room. Some met his gaze, none hostile, exactly, all... uncomfortable. He walked slowly over to the low raised area in one corner of the room and turned to face everyone.

"I'm not suggesting anything, Sulu," Uhura said. "I don't suppose you did anything to get that scholarship but pass a few school exams. My father works for UEI, if it comes to that."

United Extractive Industries: Sulu had spent half an hour researching the exploitation of Russia in the ship's library. UEI, originally a North American/South African mining conglomerate, leased mining rights in Russian territory from Mishuno.

"Everyone here who was raised on Earth probably benefited somehow from the Compromise," Farrell said from his seat near to Uhura. Compromise, Sulu realised, was going to be a dirty word from now on.

"But this is about Starbase 4, isn't it?" Sulu said evenly. "Not about Russia at all."

"I never even thought about Russia," a young ensign called out. "It all happened so long ago. It wasn't something we did. Sure wasn't something the people on Starbase 4 did."

There was a murmur of agreement.

"UEI didn't wipe out a Starbase," another voice stated. Sulu couldn't see who'd said it.

"If everyone here had thought about Russia, once in a while, it wouldn't have done Mishuno a damn bit of good killing Admiral Fleetwood, would it? So who are we going to blame?" Sulu demanded. "Some centuries dead financiers and politicians, who saw a chance to line their own pockets and make their voters rich, or Admiral Fleetwood, for realising it sucked when... when a bright Russian kid crossed his path, and for being prepared to say something about it? Or all the people he talked to who found it easier not to listen? The Mishuno team that rigged the explosion or every last stockholder and pensioner who took the profits from robbing the Russians blind? Are you just so desperate to avoid admitting you share any of the blame for this that you want me to take responsibility because Mishuno paid my tuition fees when I was sixteen?"

"You took the Russian's money," an engineer, Hickstead, pointed out.

Sulu shot him a blistering look, then realised that the lieutenant was feeding him a line.

"Yeah. Does everyone know that? I teased the kid about how much he owed me, how much he owed everyone. So he paid up. It took that to make me realise he was... he was... Well, that he was human, I suppose. How about the rest of you?"

There was a thick silence.

"So it's okay with you that we come out here wearing our idealism on our fucking sleeves, founding the Federation with all its charters of sentient rights, when the whole first interstellar space project was financed out of slavery under another name? Well, it's not okay with me. I'm shamed that Mishuno bought my education by denying Chekov his. That I ate well while he probably went hungry. And I dare say I got decent healthcare and he got sick. Well, all I can do now is vote to put it right as fast as that can happen, and I don't just mean voting in elections. I mean voting with my savings, with my influence on my family and my friends, and starting with how I treat the only Russian there is out here."

Sulu had already turned to stamp angrily off the stage when the clapping started. It swelled to a thunder of applause as he pushed between the tables, hands reaching out to thump him on the back as he passed.

He hesitated, unsure where to go next. He was still furious with Uhura for dragging up the stupid scholarship thing. He glanced across at her, saw her hugging Hickstead. Damn woman had set him up.

"If you don't watch out, Sulu my boy," a hydroponicist said softly from the seat next to where he'd halted, "they'll be nominating you for UFP President one of these days."

Sulu recalled Chekov's roundabout declaration that they weren't friends. "There were two hundred and eleven million Russians at the last count. I don't see them voting anyone Japanese onto the council in the next few hundred generations, let alone as candidate for the presidency."

"Is something happening in here?"

Sulu almost jumped at the sound of Kirk's voice. The captain was standing in the doorway, with Chekov hovering at his shoulder. The Russian looked intimidated by the crowd.

"No, sir. Everyone's just a little shocked at the news."

Kirk frowned at the room full of his crew. They were all talking quietly to one another now, actively avoiding staring at the new arrivals. "Take Mister Chekov along to the Senior Officers' Mess, please. He'll be accepting a commission in Starfleet tomorrow, subject to medicals and so forth."

Sulu was so surprised he forgot to answer for a moment. "Oh, yes, sir. Of course. Immediately."

"I expect he'll have some questions for you about what he's letting himself in for. And he'll need to see the quartermaster for permanent accommodation, uniform and pay details, as soon as he's eaten."

Sulu could feel a huge, uncontrollable grin appearing on his face. "Yes, sir."

Kirk led the two younger men out into the corridor. "Is there going to be any resentment about this? It's a little unorthodox, giving someone a commission for a bridge position without an Academy background, apart from any other... prejudices. But he's certainly qualified, practically and academically."

Sulu glanced at the new ensign, to see how he'd react to that suggestion. He couldn't read Chekov's expression. "I think everyone will do all they can to make sure he fits in easily. And if he wants tuition in any area, on Starfleet procedures or the theoretical stuff, I'll be happy to help."

Kirk smiled approvingly. "Okay, Chekov?"

"Yes, sir."

Chekov quietly followed Sulu along the corridor towards the smaller dining room. Once there, Sulu watched him select the standard menu for the day.

"I'm surprised you're staying. I'm glad, of course, but I didn't expect it. You could go home."

"I am coward."

"What?" Sulu punched up a cup of coffee for himself and followed Chekov over to a table. "What do you mean?"

"It will be difficult for a long time. It will be slow, people will be impatient, and angry. I am happier to be here."

"In Starfleet? A few hours ago, you hated us, particularly the captain. Have you forgiven us that quickly?"

"No," Chekov said flatly. He was looking at his meal as if having second thoughts about it. "But we can all start again. Captain Kirk says this."

"Well, that's... practical, I guess."

"Yes."

Sulu took a swig of coffee. "Good. I'm glad you have all that sorted out."

"He apologised," Chekov said, clearly hearing the doubt in Sulu's voice. "And I accepted."

"That's... good." Sulu could imagine it: it would take more steel than Chekov probably possessed to resist the captain if he'd made up his mind to apologise. For a moment, Sulu envied Kirk his charm. He could do with a little of it now himself.

"You don't have to stay with me if you don't wish," Chekov said after a moment. "I have no questions, and I know Starfleet procedures like a new Academy graduate, I think. The admiral taught me and I can use the computer if I am unclear. Also, I know where is the quartermaster's office. There is no problem."

"Chekov, people want to help you. You're going to be lonely as hell if you don't let them."

"If they wish, I will be pleased." Chekov finally stuck a fork into the paella the synthesizer had given him.

"I would like to help you."

Chekov retracted the fork and stared at Sulu with smouldering brown eyes.

"I mean it. Maybe you can ask the computer when you're supposed to turn up for evac drill, or how to carry out a pre-launch check on a shuttle, but it won't go on shore leave with you or send you a birthday card. It's crap at poker too."

Chekov nudged a piece of chicken onto his fork and looked at it.

"Look, I don't know if you're understanding me right or not..."

"I understand you. I speak Standard. I know that you saved my life, and I am grateful, even though it was only to have another pilot on board. Thank you. Is there more?"

Sulu took a turn frowning at the paella.

"I'm not asking you to thank me. I did it because... because someone was trying to kill you and you didn't deserve to die. And... because I like you."

"Pardon?"

Sulu glanced across the table and realised that Chekov wasn't simply being awkward, he was honestly puzzled. Then the pieces fell into place.

"Pasha, I like you."

Chekov heaved an enormous sigh and smiled. "I like you too."