"If it isn't Peterson," Jessie Alleyn greeted him at the docking bay. "And from what I understand, it isn't."

"Peterson?" Sulu repeated.

"It's a long story..."

"Not that long." The helmsman grinned. "But I can't wait to hear your version of it."

Chekov felt his cheeks colouring. "Miss Alleyn, if you'd care to go on to the bridge. I need to speak to Mister Sulu alone for a few minutes."

"Sure." To make matters that much worse, the madame pinched the ensign's cheek familiarly before exiting.

"You look like you've joined the circus," Sulu commented as Chekov moved past him to enter the smaller craft. "Wrestling bears or something. What's happened to your face?"

"Slightly less than what happened to the rest of my body," Chekov replied shortly, opening the door to the cockpit. "Lock that hatch. I don't want any unannounced visitors."

"Sure." The helmsman secured the entryway then followed his shipmate to the craft's control centre. "Where did you get those bruises?" he asked, settling down into the chair next to the navigator.

"Where did you get this ship?" Chekov countered.

"Starfleet supplied it, although it's obviously not a Starfleet design. From the mix-match of components, I'd say it's an Orion vessel, but the Orions don't have cloaking."

"Unless they've advanced in their negotiations with the Klingons," Chekov mused, remembering a comment Brecht had made.

"You sound like you've become an expert on Intergalactic politics."

"Not at all," the ensign replied ruefully. "So, Starfleet sent you after me?"

"And Mister Scott. As soon as it was discovered the two of you were missing, several pilots were recruited to try to trace vessels that left Bidoah about the time you went AWOL. I just got lucky enough to draw the right one, it seems. I've got to admit I lost you a dozen times. If I hadn't got the message you sent..."

"The message I sent?"

"Yeah. These coordinates and your birthday. I figured it had to be you."

Chekov almost laughed. One of Goudchaux's crew must have been trying to transmit the Orlan Du code to a cohort. Not knowing it was supposed to be the location of a fabulous Orion treasure, Sulu had come to the same obvious contemporary interpretation that had been plaguing Chekov since he'd first seen the numbers.

"I decided it was a rendezvous point," Sulu continued, although clearly puzzled by his shipmate's incongruous reaction. "On my way here, another message was relayed to me from a port called Quondar, from Miss Alleyn, who was making inquiries using your service number. I stopped and picked her up and got an earful all the way here."

"I can imagine." Chekov could feel his cheeks glowing hotly as he punched a series of commands into the computer console in front of him.

"Apart from that, we were attacked by a mystery ship full of suicidal maniacs..."

Chekov continued working. He looked up eventually. "Really?"

"Well, I can see you're not interested in my little adventures. So what's going on?" Sulu demanded, exasperated.

"I'm not sure."

"Then what are you doing?"

"Something so foolish, I would prefer that no one watched me do it," Chekov replied, finishing his programming. He knew there was no way his theory could work, but was also aware that he was probably going to be endlessly questioned about the bluff he'd used on the pirates. He might as well try it. After all, there still wasn't a rational interpretation for the numbers, but they seemed charmed somehow.

"No one except me?" Sulu asked.

Chekov took a deep breath before hitting the transmit control. "You might want to close your eyes."

Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for a long, predictable, normal, logical moment and then...

"We're getting a transmission," Sulu announced.

Chekov's fingers went cold as they moved to receive the message. He knew that they had crossed the boundary into the territory of the unpredictable, the bizarre and the illogical even before the picture came up on the small craft's main view screen. He looked at the face on the screen silently, then looked at Sulu. Chekov didn't want to be the one to say it.

Sulu, not being aware of the absolute impossibility of the statement he was about to make, merely blinked in surprise. "It's you, Chekov."

The image on the screen suddenly jerked into life, the sound disconcertingly out of synchronisation with the grainy picture. It looked like a log tape, or a surveillance recording.

"Sulu..." Chekov's alter ego looked momentarily embarrassed. "...And Chekov. Go home now. Don't attempt to rescue Mister Scott. Summon assistance from Starfleet. Just go while you have the chance."

A shout sounded from off camera, accompanied by the angry buzz of damage alerts. The speaker twisted away from the screen, as if to discover what was happening. The movement revealed Goudchaux's bridge behind him. One of its bulkheads suddenly turned incandescent.

"Oh, hell." The other Chekov turned back towards them. "Just do it."

The screen exploded into random sparkles, then went dead.

There was a moment of silence.

"When I want to remind myself to do something," Sulu commented, "I usually just tie a string round my finger."

Chekov didn't answer.

"How did you know I was going to be here?" the helmsman puzzled. "I always like to be on hand to dig you out of trouble, but I didn't know you were beginning to depend on me for it."

Chekov shook his head slowly as he continued to stare at the blank screen. "I had no idea you would come."

There was something unsettling about the ensign's manner... Unsettling and terribly lonely.

"Chekov... What's happened?" Sulu put his hand on his friend's shoulder and was surprised when the ensign wrenched away from under it.

"That's not important now." The ensign leaned across from the co-pilot's station where he'd seated himself and began flicking switches to fire up the engines. "We've got to get to the nearest Federation..."

"Hold on. I've come for Mister Scott too, not just you. If you think we've got to leave in a hurry, fine, but not without him."

"He'll be all right," Chekov replied with surprising coldness. Sulu could see the navigator was now going through the preliminary steps to releasing the docking link to the Nell. "Besides, you heard what he said..."

"What who said?"

"What I said. I said we have to leave now, and I..."

"Chekov..." As fast as the ensign was setting controls, Sulu was calmly following behind him switching them back again. "Slow down. Talk to me. Why did you leave yourself a recorded message? Has someone wiped your memory or something?"

Chekov reluctantly drew his hands back into his lap as Sulu caught up with. He knew that his actions must seem odd to his friend, but there was no way of conveying to Sulu -- who was faithful in all things -- the untrustworthiness, the sheer unprincipled opportunism of everyone he'd met in the past few days. "Can't you simply trust me? Please?"

For an answer, Sulu hit the control that powered down the little ship from flight readiness to standby and activated the security lockout to keep it that way. "Not until you tell me what's going on. Who's ship is that?"

Chekov sighed. "Goudchaux's. Bardon Goudchaux."

"Yeah. He's one of the people the local security services said you and Mister Scott were seen with on Bidoah."

"He's a pirate."

Sulu's eyes lit. "Really?"

"I am not joking, Sulu," Chekov assured him grimly. "Goudchaux was going to trade Mister Scott for one of the fragments of the Orlan Du medallion..."

"Someone's found the missing piece?" Sulu interrupted, jumping ahead.

Chekov ground his teeth in frustration. At this rate, it looked like there was a chance the docking link might decay from space rot before he'd be able to explain to Sulu why it was so urgent that they leave five minutes ago. The ensign realised his eyes were scanning the cockpit for loose, heavy articles and brought them back under control.

"Goudchaux has all the pieces."

"Then what does the medallion say?"

"These coordinates and my birthday."

"Coincidence. But it was very smart of you to realise I would interpret them that way. Oh..." The lights seemed to be slowly coming on inside the helmsman's brain. "...You didn't send the message at all though, did you? Someone else did."

"Sulu... Hikaru..." Chekov stumbled in his attempt to get his colleague's serious attention quickly. He didn't often use the helmsman's given name -- few on the Enterprise did. "The medallion contained exactly the information you received. I assumed... in light of other evidence, but not really expecting results... I had to maintain the impression I knew something or they would have killed me... I assumed -- as you assumed -- that the numbers were coordinates -- using Starfleet conventions and a radio signal to activate that message from a beacon... or something. Think. It did activate a beacon. Therefore..."

"You made it here, set up the beacon, someone wiped your memory and..."

Chekov shook his head impatiently. "I would do that *knowing* that someone was going to wipe my memory? They would allow me?"

"Well..."

"No. Listen to me..."

"The tracer signal from whatever's out there is beginning to fade. Like battery failure, or..."

"Tracer signal?" Chekov scanned the controls for the communications panel.

"There." Sulu pointed him in the right direction. "Ever since your message stopped, that's been bleeping away."

Chekov blinked at the regular signal registering on the comm screen. "Please, Sulu, we must leave now. If we stay, you're going to find out why we should have left in a very unpleasant way."

"Pavel..." Sulu leaned across him to activate a tractor beam and haul in the source of the tracer signal. "Do you know what you're saying? If you're right, that's the treasure of the Orlan Du."

"Damn the Orlan Du," Chekov said, seizing the helmsman's wrist. "Sulu, we're docked to a pirate ship. Let's get out of here. Let them have the stupid treasure!"

"Chekov." Sulu patiently pried his fingers loose. "If they're really pirates, then they're the bad guys. They shouldn't have the treasure. We're the good guys. We should get the treasure. We should also figure out a way to get Mister Scott. And then, I promise you, we'll get out of here. Okay?"

Chekov angrily crossed his arms and sat back, allowing Sulu to continue unimpeded. There was no logical reason why they shouldn't be able to accomplish all that the helmsman intended. The ensign just knew from hard experience that things were never so easy where the Nell and her crew were involved. He watched the tractor controls register contact. 'Target acquired' flashed up on the screen in front of Sulu. If Chekov had learned anything from this trip it was that greed equalled danger. There was a look of eager anticipation on the helmsman's face as the distance between them and the three thousand year old Pandora's box began to shrink. To Chekov, that look blared a red alert.

"The treasure of the Orlan Du..." Sulu whistled appreciatively. "Do you know what that means?"

"No. But the version of me who told you to go home did."

"Oh, c'mon, Chekov,"

"Consider this." Chekov leaned forward. "What if I misinterpreted the message? Then your being here and my being here are both only because we made the same mistake."

"If that's true, then what have I got at the other end of this tractor beam?"

"I don't know," Chekov replied pointedly. "Do you think you know? Is it worth the risk we're taking?"

Sulu thought about this as the capsule continued to reel in. "Well, we'll find out when we open it, won't we?"

"We will indeed," a female voice said from just behind them.

Chekov twisted around and found himself staring once more into the barrel of a disruptor.

"How did you get in here?" Sulu demanded. "I locked the..."

"Get up, slowly, and move over there." Esme gestured at the far side of the cockpit, a tight metre and a half behind Sulu's chair but the best she could do in terms of keeping control of him while she shackled Chekov with the manacles she'd pulled out of her pocket with her free hand, as was obviously her intention. "I've spent my whole life breaking into things... when I wasn't breaking out. Don't worry, Mister Chekov, I don't want you. I just want what's in that capsule out there." She slid the manacles across the floor to his feet. "Put them on."

"But I left you..."

"Chained up? With the manacles I took off you earlier... the ones Mister Scott put on you?"

"Oh." Chekov slipped the cuffs around his wrists and felt them lock together. He wondered how much longer it would be before, like an old-fashioned life prisoner released into open space, he would panic at the sensation of freedom.

"I don't like to depend on a lucky break like that, but look at it this way... If I hadn't drawn the long straw, someone else would have. Maybe Khwaja or Goudchaux..."

There was that, Chekov conceded silently.

"Put your hands up against the bulkhead behind your seat... That's a good boy. And now for your friend."

Sulu held out his wrists just grudgingly enough, but Esme was ready when he fisted his hands and swung them up towards her face. Chekov heard the sigh of the disruptor and watched his colleague sag to his knees, folding over his seared hands and forearms protectively.

"You could have killed him!" he protested, pulling fruitlessly at the manacles that stopped him from going to Sulu's assistance.

"No." Esme stepped forward and looped another set of hardware around the helmsman's wrists, ignoring the purple blisters the weapon had raised. "You can use a disruptor like a scalpel if you take the time to learn."

The cuffs clicked down to the floor, holding Sulu on his knees at Esme's feet. She held the disruptor close to his head.

"Don't," Chekov pleaded. "He's not going to make any trouble for you..."

"And neither are you. I assume there's a code or a signal needed to open that pod without a violent response. What is it?"

"I don't know. I've used every number from the medallion to get us this far."

"Try harder." The disruptor hissed again, at a level far lower than Chekov had realised it could be set. Sulu's body jerked away from the blast in a sickening spasm.

"Maybe it isn't coded at all," Chekov said quickly. "Perhaps you can just open it... Please, don't! I swear I would tell you if I knew. I don't care if you get the treasure. I don't care who has it. I don't want it..."

Esme placed the mouth of the disruptor's barrel squarely against Sulu's temple. "I wonder how much of this he can take before his brains start to run out of his ears..."

"Please, don't," Chekov begged. "I really don't know any more."

"Well, that's a pity, because now that my curiosity's been roused..."

"Esme, please!"

She released her grip on Sulu's shoulder and he slumped. Chekov thought he was still breathing... hoped he was.

"You think I'll stop out of pity?"

"Yes... Yes, I think you..."

The medic jerked Chekov's head up by the chin. "I let you go because I thought you'd lead me somewhere useful. That was the only reason. I was very disappointed in you. Now I'm very disappointed in you again."

The ensign discovered that a disruptor also hurt when it was used to strike one across the face.

"Why do you think..." He paused to let the ringing in his skull abate. "Why do you think I know anything?"

"Oh, Chekov, I'm supposed to believe it's a coincidence you found that container here? And your friend?"

"I just used the coordinates from the medallion in the most obvious way, that's ..."

"I know. And it worked. That can only mean one thing, can't it? The medallion's a fake."

"But Goudchaux must have some genuine..."

"Quite. So if it doesn't mean the only thing it can mean, we'll have to give up and look at the thing we both know it can't mean. You put the code in the medallion in the first place, or someone close to you did. Put that together with all the fairy tale elements of the Orlan Du and what do we have?"

She nudged him with the disruptor when he didn't answer. "Well, come on, what do we have?"

He was looking at her in blank astonishment. "Time travel," he admitted grudgingly. "I suppose."

"Quite." She sat down on the control panel, facing the ensign.

He got the feeling that she was no longer on the attack. She wanted someone to listen to her theories, to agree with them.

"I can't turn my back on the chance to do this. There are things I have to put right. Isn't there anything in your life you want to change? Someone you need to pay back? A wrong choice?" She touched the graze left on his cheek by the rough handle of the disruptor. "Isn't there anything you regret?"

"Going into a bar on Bidoah..."

"You'll thank Montgomery Scott for this one day. If you live so long. Don't you see the possibilities?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"I think you do. I'm not stupid, Chekov. I came to the same conclusion you did. Those numbers couldn't mean anything to anyone who didn't know something already. And then why wouldn't they know everything? You had to have the key. I thought about it. I read the legends again. I wondered if they were fairy stories or reports of people and technology out of place -Human people, Human technology. I thought about what it meant, what it could mean to me, what it could mean to an ambitious Star Fleet ensign with some imagination..."

Chekov remained stubbornly unimaginative. "Are you asking me to help you in some way?"

"I'm asking you to help yourself. You won't notice the little I want, child. And I'd rather rely on you than..." She stopped as if she didn't wish to reveal the weakness of her hand.

"Who are you relying on?" he asked, wondering if there could possibly be a configuration of these demons he might find preferable to another.

"What a shameless liar!" Moray Morgain said from the doorway. "Jessie Alleyn told me your friend was as cute as you. Well, if she thinks that, she can have him."

Sulu groaned as the pirate lady's boot touched him in the side. Esme gave Chekov a quick smile, as if she was claiming a share in his relief that the helmsman was showing signs of life.

"He'll be fine in a few minutes," she informed Morgain carelessly. "Don't try and drag him now. You'll strain your back. Put him where this one was." The medic stood up. "It's time to look at the fish we've caught. Come along, Chekov."

She clicked something that freed the manacles from the wall above Chekov's head.

"I'm not leaving Mister Sulu here alone with her," he replied, remaining seated.

"That's not your choice," Esme informed him, levelling her weapon at the helmsman's head again. "I will, however, let you choose whether we leave him here alive or dead."

Morgain laughed as he rose. "Let's take a look at our new yacht," she said, turning her attention to the controls of Sulu's little craft. "Mmm. The lady is fast. Or does that disqualify her from being a lady, angel?"

Chekov ignored her.

She, in turn, pretended not to notice he had done so. "...But I still think it's stupid to leave them alive. They'll be after us. If the Nell will do warp six for Goudchaux, she'll probably do warp eight for Scotty."

That was an assessment the ensign had to agree with. He wondered what the women's intentions were. It sounded as if they planned to hijack Sulu's ship. He wondered if the two women were working together -- or if Morgain only thought they were.

"We'll be long gone before they sort themselves out, won't we, Chekov?" Esme shoved him out through the entryway, following close behind, her voice low enough not to carry back to Moray Morgain. "About three thousand years gone."

"I really don't know what you are talking about."

Esme pulled him around to face her and gave him a long, considering look. "We'll see."

***

To Chekov's surprise, Scott was carrying out repairs on the bridge of the Nell. Admittedly Jessie Alleyn was holding a pistol on him, but he looked as if he was working conscientiously and good-naturedly.

"Back in irons, eh?" he said cheerfully as he turned to see who had come in.

Esme smiled thinly at Chekov's baffled expression. "I explained to Scotty that this ship was his only hope of getting away from here and he agreed to carry out some essential repairs." She looked across at Jessie. "Have you got the sensors working yet?"

"Mm. It was no great deal. They're probably no better than they were before, but they're no worse either. That's what Pavel here had on tractors..."

Scott turned along with the two women to look at the screen. "I hope you know what you're getting us into, lad." He moved closer to the display and looked at the black shadow that now showed up clearly in silhouette against the starry background.

"What *I'm* getting us into?" Chekov echoed. "I was simply planning to attend a lecture. If I had realised what was going to happen..." He stopped at the smile on Scott's face. "Am I amusing you, Mister Scott?"

"You have the worst luck of any man I've ever known... and worse instincts. Now, don't feel too bad, Chekov. It was stupid of you to trust Jessie Alleyn, but I probably should have just made it clear that she's no better than the rest of this crew. And you've been under a lot of pressure of late..."

Chekov bristled. "If you think my 'bad luck' is responsible for everything that has gone wrong since I met you on Bidoah, Mister Scott..."

"There's no need to apologise now, lad," Scott dismissed. "You've got enough troubles to worry about as it is. I dare say you'll have learnt your lesson by the time you get home again."

"Well, Chekov," Jessie Alleyn said, barely looking away from the capsule. "What next? We have the treasure. Are there any tricks to opening it?"

The ensign carefully closed his mouth and took a minute to think. He ran a quick mental check on the medallion's numbers to confirm that he had indeed used all of them. "I'm not telling you. Not until you've released me, given me weapons and released Sulu too. You can keep the treasure, but I am not helping you to get it unless I'm in control of my own destiny."

"His own destiny, hm?" Alleyn mimicked. "Sounds good."

"I think we can persuade you to cooperate without too much trouble. Spare yourself the pain." Esme smiled apologetically. "I'd prefer you didn't force me to hurt you. You know that."

"Oh, we don't have to hurt him," Moray Morgain said from behind Chekov. He turned to look at her. "He'll tell us in order to protect his friend. Won't you?"

"No." Chekov didn't meet her eyes. "There's no point. You'll try to hurt him regardless of what I do or say. I am through playing this your way."

"I don't think you mean that -- or at least, I think you'll change your mind when it actually comes to it."

Scott swung around the pilot's chair and seated himself. "You'd better tell her, Chekov."

"Why?" the navigator demanded angrily. "Why are you always on their side?"

"I'm not," Scott replied. "I just suspect Goudchaux of a loose tongue and there's a more than even chance someone in this crew -- other than you -- was sending messages to friends. If the Orion families knew the treasure was about to come to light, or that there was even the possibility, there'd be fighting ships converging on these coordinates like wasps in an orchard. Brecht may have got word out..."

"Where is Brecht?" Chekov interrupted.

"Down below. If the Orions catch these ladies with their property, they aren't going to stop and ask if you were along of your own free will, lad. You want to spend the short remainder of your life in an Orion jail?"

The ensign shrugged unhappily, unconvinced. "So you think I should help them?"

"Yes. I'm none too sure of my legal ground, or I'd make that an order." Scott turned to the other occupants of the bridge. "In return, ladies, I'm asking you to treat him decently. He won't double cross you. And you'll survive longer if you let him watch your backs. Take the other one, too. Once you've got clear away from here with the treasure, whatever it is, you know you'll be safer in Federation space -- with only the legal authorities to worry about. Drop the two lads off somewhere. They can make contact with Star Fleet. It's only what you meant to do anyway, Jessie, isn't it?"

Alleyn took Chekov by the arm and pushed him in the direction of the engineer. "We need to confer," she said to her colleagues.

"I hope you've really got something this time," Scott said softly, turning his back on the women as they drew together for a quick discussion. "They're not going to keep buying that same song and dance forever."

"What are you doing?" Chekov asked in similar hushed tones. "If we all stay together, we might have a chance of handling Goudchaux and the others..."

"Mister Chekov, I'm giving you and Sulu the best chance I can to survive. From what Jessie says, there are rumours around about what Goudchaux was up to. I don't expect the Nell to get away from here. And Sulu's ship won't take more than five."

"What about you?"

"We'll see. We'll see. I don't make any promises. The Orions will be looking for the Nell. They won't be aware of Sulu's involvement, unless he said something he shouldn't have at Quondar."

The matter of fact way Scott was discussing his own prospects, which suddenly seemed no better than when they were first abducted, made Chekov profoundly ashamed of his own earlier despair and anger.

"There must be something..." he began, but was interrupted by Morgain pulling him backwards.

"Thanks for the advice, Scott," Esme said, coming forward. "We've decided to take it, up to a point. We'll take Chekov along because he has the answers we want, but not as an equal partner. No need for that. And we'll be a little more careful than Goudchaux was in letting him have the run of the place..."

"What about Sulu?" Chekov tried not to make it a plea, without success.

"Make up your mind, angel." Morgain smiled cruelly. "Do you care what happens to him or don't you?"

"Of course he cares, you heartless harpies," Scott answered over the scathing reply at the tip of Chekov's tongue. "Take the other lad. He's a good pilot, with a good head in a crisis."

Chekov had the odd feeling that even though these three were planning to leave Scott to the Orions, the engineer's characterisation of them as harpies stung.

"Fine," Esme replied. "We'll take the other one too. But I want your word, Chekov, that you won't..."

"His word?" Morgain repeated incredulously. "His word? What is this? A scout troop?"

"Shut up, Moray. I wouldn't take your word that two and two equalled four," the medic said shortly, then turned to the ensign. "But you aren't her sort, are you, Chekov? I want your word that you'll obey me as your captain, that you won't do anything to harm any one of us and that you'll make getting us safely back to Federation space your number one priority. In return, I'll give you and your friend passage. And remember, you're also responsible for his good behaviour."

Chekov looked at each of the four faces in turn. His word meant a good deal to him. He suspected Esme appreciated that only because it gave her a hold on him. The threat from the Orions was real. Sulu's mistake with the coordinates could be repeated easily enough. Jessie Alleyn's presence strongly suggested that there had been talk of some sort at Quondar. There was no other reason for her to come chasing after him. She'd never struck Chekov as a pure philanthropist.

He considered making counter-demands. He had nothing to lose, after all. "I give you my word -- under two conditions. If you lie to me or put these manacles back on me, the deal is off. And if Moray Morgain touches me again..." He pulled himself free of her grip on his arm with one violent wrench. "...I will kill her."

"What a little spitfire!" Morgain responded.

"Agreed." The medic gestured for Jessie Alleyn to unfasten the cuffs on his wrists. "But if you break your side of the deal, I'll tie you up and deliver you to her myself. Fair enough?"

Chekov nodded as he held his wrists out to the madame.

"All right. Keep your hands off him, Moray. Perhaps his friend will be more willing to oblige you."

"And what if I don't like 'em willing?" Morgain challenged, crossing to her station on the bridge. "What do you expect me to do then?"

"Do without, honey," Alleyn advised unsympathetically.

"Now, Mister Chekov." The medic folded her arms. "How do we get into the pod? Is it booby trapped?"

"How would I know?"

The medic didn't look altogether pleased. "Right. Moray, haul it into the aft cargo bay. We'll isolate the bay and then he and I will go take a look."

Moray Morgain picked up the pod where the other ship's tractors had left it and gently nosed it in through the small cargo aperture on the underside of the Nell. It was roughly two metres long, cylindrical with an oddly organic surface -- like something dredged coral-encrusted from the ocean floor. That, Chekov supposed, was a form of camouflage, preventing the pod from reflecting clear signals to anyone who might otherwise accidentally find it.

Esme stepped forward. "And if there are traps..."

"I'll get my hands blown off," Chekov replied, "if I'm lucky." He shot an accusing look at Scott and was startled by the expression on his face; the engineer looked as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

Scott shook himself.

Esme interrupted anything the engineer might have said. "That's right. You got it in one. But I'll be right there with a medical kit. Is that agreeable to everyone? We can't exactly run off with whatever we find there."

Moray was already checking out the cameras in the cargo bay on the viewscreen in front of her. Caution rather than trust drove these women.

At the medic's nod, Chekov followed her out of the bridge. She made no comment as they rode the 'lift to the lower deck. When they exited, she put her hand on his shoulder and made a show of pushing her reluctant prisoner in front of her, whispering fiercely into his ear all the while. "I don't suppose you know exactly what we're going to find... but I think we'll recognise the device we need to conceal from everyone else. Let me deal with it. I've more experience at that sort of thing than you have..."

"Since I have none..."

"Exactly."

The cargo bay doors snicked open and the two of them stepped inside, suddenly wary. The pod lay on the deck, a metre or so from the now closed outer hatches. It looked ancient, but Chekov reckoned that three thousand years was no time at all for meteor damage and ion corrosion. It must have looked like that when it was first launched.

The medic nudged him forward. "Go on then."

The inner doors had closed too, leaving them alone together. It occurred to Chekov that anyone who wanted them dead could very easily keep the tractor beam on the pod and evacuate the bay now.

Two less to share the imagined treasure. Was that the plan? He tried to put the thought out of his mind. He knelt by the pod and examined it. Its outer surface gave few clues. After a moment, he thought he detected a fine seam around its circumference, as if it was meant to break open like a twig snapping, rather than like the torpedo tube it resembled. There was no hint of a lock or catch. Or even hinges. "Open sesame," he muttered ironically.

The pod sighed as air rushed in through the loosened central joint. Chekov stared, startled. At least this madness was displaying a consistency of sorts.

Esme was smiling. She darted forward and helped him ease one end of the canister away from the other. What spilled out was bright, garish. Even with three thousand years on it, the trove was unmistakably Orion. The ensign found himself reacting like a magpie, picking up first one shiny item then another.

"It was true," he breathed.

Esme was combing more of the assortment of jewel-encrusted artefacts out onto the deck, single-mindedly giving none of them more than a second glance.

"Not so disinterested now, are you?" she sneered before turning back to her self-appointed task of searching for what must be here, the way to the past.

"Hit paydirt?" Moray Morgain's voice filtered in over the intercom system.

"Yeah." Out of sight of the surveillance cameras, the medic uncovered a plain-looking box roughly the size of a tricorder.

"Is it all there?"

"Yeah," the medic repeated absently.

"No."

Esme turned to stare at Chekov who sat cross-legged with mounds of jewels piled around him.

"No," he repeated, shaking his head slowly as he draped several priceless pendants over his arm. "It is not all here."

"What are you saying?"

"Look." The ensign held out a king's ransom on either arm. "These pieces are not in the condition they are shown in the historical tapes. Several stones are missing."

"Oh, Jesus!" Morgain's voice exclaimed with a short laugh over the loudspeakers as Esme rolled her eyes. "He had me scared there for a minute."

"Shut up, Chekov," the medic ordered him irritably. "This isn't an archaeological expedition."

"No, it certainly wasn't," the ensign agreed quietly, picking up another damaged piece. The pattern of plunder was obvious. Cordinium nuggets had been systematically removed as well as mordite, ziphite, and every large chunk of dilithium. Someone was trying to repair a warp drive.

'I wonder who?' Chekov asked himself facetiously. Staring at a blank hole in an elaborate head-piece that should have been filled with a translucent jewel, the ensign felt a past with which he never knew he had any connection pulling him like a whirlpool.

"No signs of any traps," Esme reported, emptying out the canister. There was also no sign of the plain box that the ensign had seen her uncover earlier.

"Great," Moray said. "What next?"

"The young man I left in the docked ship needs some medical attention." The medic straightened her tunic carefully. "I'll see to him, then have him and this one help me transfer the treasure to that ship."

"Okay."

"Do what you need to secure the Nell. We should be ready to get underway within an hour."

"Right. Be careful, Esme. Keep a sharp eye on my little sweetheart. He's full of surprises."

"Don't worry." The medic smiled coldly as she took the headpiece out of Chekov's fingers. "I think our young friend has just about run out of tricks."

***

Sulu groaned as his eyes fluttered open. He managed a lopsided smile for the person standing over him with a hypo. "Well, you told me so."

Chekov shrugged. "That doesn't make much difference now."

It had fallen to the ensign to treat Sulu's wounds. The medic was too busy puzzling over the device she'd found among the Orlan Du's plunder.

The helmsman looked down at his arms which were not only bandaged but also manacled together. "What's going on?"

"I'm not quite sure." Chekov put his hands on his hips and looked over his shoulder at Esme. "The pirates have recovered the treasure of the Orlan Du. But as fabulous as it is, it doesn't seem to be enough for at least one of them."

"Watch your mouth, Chekov," the medic warned as she sorted through the mass of components contained inside the Orlan Du's box. "A little knowledge could be a dangerous thing for your friend... But then again... He is a pilot, right?"

"What difference does that make?" Sulu asked. "Where are we going?"

Esme sat back and sighed disgustedly at the mass of electronics in front of her. "Nowhere. I've never seen anything like this. It's certainly not Orion in origin."

"If it is what you think it is," Chekov said carefully, "then it is beyond all known current technology. There's no reason to believe the Orions of the Orlan Du's time period could have devised it."

"What are you suggesting?" the medic snapped. "That this was stolen from some time-travelling alien stranded in the past?

The ensign shrugged. "Why not? Is that any more incredible than anything else we've learned thus far?"

"Time-travelling..?" Sulu repeated.

"Go back to sleep," Esme ordered irritatedly. "It doesn't make any difference where it came from. The important thing is getting it to work... Wait, there's an inscription on the back of this piece. I believe it's in an old Earth alphabet... A mathematical symbol... pi, I believe... A... B... E... another mathematical symbol... an upside down h..."

"Then another E?" Chekov guessed.

The medic nodded. "You recognise it?"

"I should," he said, reaching out for the component. "It's my name."

"Wait, wait." Sulu shook his head, as if attempting to clear it. "How can your name be on a three-thousand year old..?"

The helmsman's question died unanswered and unfinished.

"Pavel Chekov," Chekov read, translating Cyrillic characters easily. "If you are, as you say, a man of honour, then this device must be returned."

"Can someone tell me what's going on?" Sulu demanded.

The medic ignored him. "Anything else?" she asked Chekov.

"Of that message, no. However..." He turned the flat piece of material over and tapped a raised segment. "...This looks like a data chip. It may be readable by this ship's computer." he gestured towards the console. "May I?"

"Go ahead."

"Chekov," Sulu pleaded, as numbers and symbols began to scroll up a tiny screen on the console. "Tell me what's going on."

"I really have no idea, Lieutenant," the ensign replied as he rapidly read the characters.

"It's instructions, isn't it?" Esme asked, peering past him.

The ensign nodded slowly, never taking his eyes off the screen "Yes, I think so."

"Will we be able to travel in time?"

"I don't know. Certainly not in this ship." Chekov froze the characters and pointed out a specific line. "Not enough power."

"But the Nell..."

Chekov sighed as he nodded, feeling again the inexorable pull of the past sucking him towards an unknown and grisly fate. After all, it had been the Nell's bridge he'd seen in the message he'd sent himself.

"Well..." Esme gave both the other occupants of the small craft a long, appraising look. "It looks as though I'm going to have to slightly retool my original plan."

"What are you doing?" Chekov asked, as the medic's fingers began to fly across the controls. "Just a moment... Wait, wait! Stop! You're going to..!"

The medic put her arms up to shield herself from the sudden shower of sparks that erupted from the panel in front of her.

"...short out the drive circuitry," the ensign finished, from the protective position he'd taken between Sulu and the panel.

"Esme!" Jessie Alleyn's voice crackled over the intercom. "We registered a small explosion. Are you all right?"

The medic drew her gun and levelled it at the two Enterprise officers. She motioned for silence, then reached for the comm button. "I'm fine."

"What happened?"

"It seems our young friends had a few surprises left in them after all. They neglected to tell me they had the drive controls sabotaged. The whole panel blew when I tried to get an ETA on a projected course. Send Scott down here as soon as you can."

Chekov shook his head, immediately seeing the medic's plan. She thought she could get Mister Scott to install the time travel device in the Nell. Sulu caught his eye and nodded fractionally. The ensign knew what he was thinking. If Scott was here with them, it would be relatively simple to overpower the rather frail Esme. The damage to this ship's controls was fairly superficial. Scott could fix it within minutes. Chekov tried to swallow the surge of optimism that swelled in him. Perhaps, at last, a real chance to escape!

"What are you going to do with the two you have with you?" Jessie Alleyn asked.

"I'm going to lock them up." Esme smiled as she watched the spark of hope die in the ensign's eyes. "Just to be on the safe side."

***

You expect me to believe this?" Sulu asked.

"Well..." Chekov spread his hands and leaned back against the wall of the familiar holding cell in which the medic had confined them. At the helmsman's insistence, Chekov had reluctantly told him the whole story -- or at least an abridged version. He had systematically omitted certain disagreeable details here and there, particularly those involving Moray Morgain or Khwaja.

"Secret agents who may not be secret agents," Sulu listed incredulously. "Mister Scott involved with pirates and prostitutes. You sending yourself three thousand year old messages?"

"I know, I know." Chekov shrugged. "I don't quite believe it myself, but it is the truth."

"Or what you've observed as the truth," Sulu corrected.

Although the lieutenant's dubiousness hurt, Chekov was pleased by it in a way. It was safer for Sulu to quickly get used to the fact that he couldn't completely trust anyone... not even Chekov.

"What do you think is happening now?" Sulu nodded upwards to the bridge. "you don't think he'll actually agree to help that crazy old woman, do you?"

"I don't know." Chekov felt like he'd been saying that over and over for the past half hour. "I can't predict what he'll do from one moment to the next."

Sulu gave him the same disbelieving and faintly disapproving look he'd been giving the ensign over and over for the past half hour.

Chekov was beginning to wish the cell was considerably larger than five feet square when there was a sudden thud. The ship's gravity dipped in a way that could only mean one thing to the two men, a sudden jump to warp. Then the deck rocked under them.

"Incoming phaser fire," Sulu said.

There was another shuddering thud.

"It must be the Orions." Chekov reached out to steady himself against the wall as yet another volley made contact.

"Brace yourselves, lads!" Scott's voice crackled over the intercom system.

"Mister Scott..!" Sulu began.

"Damage control, ladies!" Scott ordered over him. "Damage control! Keep our left flank to him, Moray!"

"Shit!" Moray cursed loudly as the ship rocked again.

"Aft shields are down!"

"Worse than that," they could hear Moray say. "We took a hit to the cargo bay. I think we just lost our damned treasure."

"Never mind that," Scott replied. "Brace yourselves. I'm going to..."

The ship shuddered again, but this time it wasn't from a phaser volley. It was the strangest sensation Chekov had ever experienced: like all the electrons in his body suddenly re-polarised. He couldn't tell if the sensation lasted for a few moments or a few years. Somewhere, as if from a great distance, he could hear alarms going off, but the alert panels in the walls of the cabin only glowed feebly.

"What was that?" he asked as soon as reality stabilised.

"There's only one thing that feels like that," Sulu said, his face drained of colour. "Time travel."