Broken Image

-CHAPTER 2-

Tasha leaned back and let the ship drift into the turn on its own. There was no danger: her ship had a cloaking device the Enterprise could not yet read through. So, she circled the ship again at a slow, luxurious pace, letting her breath seep out in a measured sigh that was somewhat of admiration.

It was glorious. She shown as if with a glow of proud awakening and birth. The bathed white hull was sleek and streamlined and she spread herself upon the star-dusted skies like an albatross lifting upward, swelling upon the wind. Amused at herself, a glistening smile swept across Tasha's tan features. This ship she almost felt as much as her own. But the name Enterprise emblazoned across her hull was a disgusting blot, and it was still more revolting to think that Spock commanded her. She didn't deserve such a fate. A cold shiver ran through Tasha as she thought of Spock.

She had little motivation to ever see the man again, and had it not been for the ship...It was totally renovated and she found it hard to believe this was the same ship she had left such a short time ago. Either the Captain had purposefully avoided telling her that they were building a new ship or he had blatantly lied to her about his new commodity. Lied and conceiled it, because she'd have known.

"Damn him." She might be returning to his ship, but it was on her terms. She'd know everything there was to know about it long before she went anywhere near him.

Slowly, she swung her attention back to the controls and turned the ship easily alongside the larger vessel. She looked out into the blackness of space. Yes, she was ready to meet Spock again. This would be the battle of the century. And where had Maret disappeared to? It didn't matter, she thought, swinging her chair around and striding into the other room. She ran her fingers over the controls, scanning the other ship, Deck 12, it was empty: no life forms. She located a suitable spot and set the panel on standby. Glancing around the controls quickly, she made a slight mental nod of satisfaction. All was in order: her repairs were holding well. Flicking the release switch, she swung into the transporter. There was a slight swish and a moment later, she was standing in the corridor aboard the Enterprise.

Chekov leaned back, staring at the computer readout screen, and swore softly as if it were listening. He repunched the buttons once again. Static flashed across the screen before the same readout appeared. "INCOMPLETE DATA...INCOMPLETE DATA...READINGS DO NOT COMPUTE."

He sighed and pushed himself out of the chair. So much for automatic tie-ins.

"If you need me," he said to the technician as he left, "I'll be at the instrument panel on Deck 12."

She nodded and went back to work.

Taking a brief inventory of her surroundings, Tasha slipped out her communicator and activated the hidden panel on it. She triggered the homing beacon on her ship, then slid the communication device back into place on her sash.

Chekov sighed luxuriously as he strode down the halls of the empty deck. The computer malfunctioning and refusing to pick up the readings off the instruments did have its advantages after all. It was a pleasure to walk alone through the silent ship.

He swung leisurely around the corner, but froze suddenly as the woman turned. Their eyes met for a long moment before she turned and disappeared into a cabin.

She listened in silence as the door slid shut behind her. She hoped, in vain, that he wouldn't follow, but knew inevitably that he would. Leaning against the wall in the cabin, she let her breath out uneasily and dropped her hand from the badge on her sash which activated her cloaking web. That had been much too close; she'd have to be far more careful. Close calls could easily mean death. This was not going to be the fifth rape attempt on the part of Lieutenant Commander Chekov, not if she could help it.

Chekov hesitated for a split second, his hand starting for the phaser his mind had already told him was not there. He should have carried a weapon because he was Chief of Security, but he chose not to. He'd never admit it to himself, but he made up for it in the way he bore himself. It took more skill to face an opponent and reason with him unarmed than it did to fall back on the crutch of a weapon, and Chekov felt there was little danger. Even trained spies found it innately revolting to shoot an unarmed person, and if the situation was anticipated, he always had one of his men nearby. Chekov enjoyed utilizing every ounce of skill he had and, in the end, it gave him that extra measure of self confidence that was known as courage.

Whoever the woman had been, she had disappeared without further trace of being. He made his way down the hall as cautiously and noiselessly as possible. Pausing every few seconds to listen to the eerie silence, he wondered if he was foolishly chasing phantoms. It wasn't unusual, after all, for people to dart out of sight on this deck and it was quite possible that he simply hadn't met a new crewmember yet. The outfit she was wearing was unique, but no one could have been familiar with the possible range of native dress 430 crewmen could come up with and on this deck, he thought wryly, anything was possible. Yet, the whole argument seemed to grate on his nerves, almost childishly, he thought. He should have-no-he would have been informed of a new crewmember. He was the Chief of Security and should have personally given permission for anyone to come aboard.

He only hesitated a moment before punching the door open. He stiffened, half expecting an embarrassing confrontation. The room that greeted him was dark and empty, however. He relaxed in noticeable relief.

Tasha deftly stepped aside as he passed her again. He'd made an exhaustive search of the cabin, not only for her presence, but for clues indicative of both her presence and any and all possible avenues of escape. There, of course, were none, and she took the opportunity to study him.

She was openly impressed by his thoroughness. It was his very thoroughness, however, that made her uneasy. It was the only trait that seemed characteristic. His uniform, the missing air of haughtiness, his very movements were different. Something was definitely wrong.

He glanced one last time around the cabin and left with determined strides. This time, the corner was taken at full speed, but he stopped abruptly again at the feminine gasp.

Chekov straightened slightly, trying not to laugh at the situation. The Ensign had only graduated from the Academy a month ago and still had an awe-struck, wide-eyed response to superiors, and that in itself was funny since his immediate superior-Chekov-was a full foot shorter than he. Yet, the senior officer stood there watching the Ensign's face slowly turn crimson.

"Good-afternoon-Sir," he finally managed to choke out.

Chekov smiled slightly. "I'm sorry to change that. Report immediately to the Defense Lab and tell Nordel to declare a Yellow Alert and to assemble the entire team."

Finnegan seemed to have turned to stone for a long moment before he spoke. "But, Sir, I'm off duty."

"Not any more."

Chekov strode past the two, but turned, knowing the thought that must be on their minds. "I have no authority over your personal life and if I did, I'd have no right to make value judgments concerning it. Your personal life is yours-after the Yellow Alert."

He started to turn again, but Gillain's voice stopped him.

"Sir! I hope you don't think that..."

Chekov shook his head. "I don't think anything Yeoman, I don't have the time."

The Defense Team was assembled in what seemed like just minutes. They barely had time for the light banter and theories of curiosity before Chekov strode into the lab.

Latching his hand onto the back of a chair, he swung it around and planted a foot on the seat so that he could lean forward as he addressed the team. His dark eyes swung around the faces gathered. "This team is on Yellow Alert. Nordel, I want five groups to conduct a priority one search on Deck 12."

There was a surprised and unified uneasy shift.

"Deck 12, Sir? But..."

"Deck 12," Chekov repeated evenly. "Normal and Yellow Alert stations will be maintained until I specify otherwise. I want a report of anything suspicious, is that understood?"

"But, Sir," Finnegan protested. "Our new security system is impermiable! We'd know if there were an intruder."

Chekov opened his eyes wider in slight interest. "The second law of security: For every system that is purportedly impermiable, there is one entity which can penetrate it with relative ease."

"What's the first law, Sir?" The young officer bit his lip. He hadn't really intended to ask the question. He had blurted it out foolishly out of simple curiosity.

The Chief of Security smiled ever so slightly, his eyes darkening. He didn't seem to notice the fresh edge the Ensign was so afraid was in his voice.

"The first law of security is that the amount of impermeance claimed by any particular security system is directly proportional to the irresistible challenge that same system presents to any entity told that they can't break it."

Chekov dropped his foot off the chair and, with a nod of dismissal, turned to leave. The team began to stretch and shuffle position, but the Second's voice sliced through the unnecessary noise.

"Sir, are you going to tell us what we're looking for?"

Chekov hesitated at the door long enough to glance back at the team. "No." he said flatly, and strode out.

Finnegan laughed with relief. "Then that means its just a drill!"

Nordel's laugh had a soft, evil tone to it. "No, it means no and we'd better find whatever it is. C'mon, get off your duffs. You heard the Chief's orders: whoever finds it gets a new feather in his war bonnet."

Outside the room, Sulu pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning against waiting for Chekov.

"Pav!"

Chekov pivoted slowly and fixed the approaching man with an evil glare.

"Don't call me that," he muttered through clenched teeth.

"Okay," Sulu shrugged. "Andriech."

Chekov closed his eyes briefly in exasperation before confronting Sulu again. "Timothy, do you remember when we first met? I was seventeen and you were my big brother at the Academy?"

"I may forget," Sulu smiled, "but the Academy never will."

"We have been best friends since that time. I am now twenty-eight. I would think by now you would have realized that I don't like nicknames. My name is Pavel Andreivich."

Sulu stopped him with his hand and with great exaggeration bellowed: "If my parents had wanted me called Pav, they would have named me Pav!"

The gleam of mock anger in Chekov's eyes seemed slightly unnerved that Sulu had finished the punch line to one of his most effective speaches.

"Yes," he responded simply. "When are you going to realize that I don't like being called Pav?"

"Probably," Sulu chided. "the same day you realize that I don't like being called Timothy!"

The argument was useless, since it'd been resolved years before. Sulu had become used to, even fond of, being called Timothy instead of Tim and Chekov was always Pavel unless Sulu felt like teasing him.

"Was there some purpose to this conversation?" Chekov asked.

"Yes. Are you going to eat or are you working through again?"

"Working through. Don't shake your head like that, you look like my mother."

"Thank you for the compliment. or haven't you noticed-I'm in love with your mother?"

"I noticed. So is my father."

"He can be gotten rid of."

"Really?" Chekov asked with a delighted smile. He poked a finger at Sulu. "Well, if you know how you'd better keep it quiet. There are plenty of people who would pay a bundle for the method."

"I know," Sulu nodded. "Speaking of whom, have you seen him lately?"

"Who?"

"Whom."

"Who?"

"No, Whom."

Chekov refused to answer, knowing Sulu could drag it on forever.

"Your father. Have you seen your father lately?"

If he hadn't known Sulu, Chekov might have had an unconscious fear that he'd heard unpleasant news. The warm sparkle of friendship in his eyes clearly transmitted something else, though Chekov wasn't sure what.

"No. You know that. You were with me the last time I saw him."

"Oh really?" Sulu smiled. He glanced pointedly at the defense lab Chekov had just emerged from, then at Chekov's face. "Why don't you try taking a look in the mirror?" he asked before striding off.

The stars still glowed dully from the aftermath of the ion storm, their silver light hazily reflected on the viewscreen. T'Shar pivoted slowly, her eyes shifting away from the three-sided screen as she resumed her restless pacing. She was in no mood to go chasing her second in command or attempting an explanation of her rather sudden disappearance to the Fleet. Not this time. She glanced up at the silent panorama of stars, cursing softly.

Kasheera! Tasha had just returned from a four week mission that still remained veiled in secrecy. Through the link T'Shar had sensed the utter exhaustion surrounding the Kainan. No matter what Tasha insisted, that mission had drained her far more than she was willing to admit. Now, she was gone again.

'Shari, Tasha; take care' she sent through the Kaishar mind link, to receive no response: not even a snide remark. She stopped pacing, concern and confusion mirrored in her eyes. The mind link between them was still there, but faint, stretched over an unexplainable distance.

"She can take care of herself," Feran said softly from beside her.

"I know, but I worry about my friends," T'Shar replied.

Feran's hand slid onto her shoulder. "So do I," he said quietly. "You haven't eaten yet."

She turned to him, smiling. "No, I haven't. You have the Con."

He slid into the relinquished chair.

"I'll be eating in my 'library', if you need me."

The Commander nodded in understanding. "Take your time."

T'Shar strode into her cabin and activated the lever in the bookcase, which swung open into the alcove. The secret alcove between her quarters and Tasha's was known only to an elite few. It was a place they could both retreat to away from the tensions of command. A place to share and enjoy their friendship.

T'Shar wandered over to the table and glanced down at it. A game of Kaicamdrean Solitaire lay there, waiting for the players to return. It had been started four weeks ago: four weeks. The challengers would play solitaire facing one another until one of them won, and that wasn't easy. Kaicamdrean Solitaire was a difficult, complex game that one had to use all thought to win, and even then fate could play against you.

T'Shar studied Tasha's cards. Nearly all the playing cards were placed, and the trev required one remaining card before it was closed out. The Zyldshen lay face down in the center. The card of fate: of life or death. One could fight an excellent battle and win, but the Zyldshen held the ultimate fate. When turned at last, it could defeat. In one fell swoop, it destroyed everything won in the battle, or it could triumph: add glory to a well played victory.

Gingerly, T'Shar reached out to the center of the board, her fingers resting tentatively upon the corner of the card. She hesitated, temptation and curiosity willing her to turn it. With casual abruptness she drew her hand back leaving it unturned. She smiled slightly, glancing momentarily at her own cards before returning her eyes to Tasha's Zyldshen. Undoubtedly it had triumphed, as always. To her knowledge, the Kainan had never lost at Kaicamdrean Solitaire. An uneasy disquiet accompanied that thought, but she brushed it aside, unexplored.

She glanced again at her own cards, but decided to let them be and sat down on the couch. The events of the past few hours drifted through her mind. The Enterprise, the ion storm, the Zyldshen's disappearance...somewhere there was a tie in. A faint memory tugged at the back of her mind. It had been an event that had occurred several years ago, concerning a part of one of Tasha's former missions. Kirk had been involved in that one, but how?

She got up abruptly and began pacing the length of the room. Why was it so familiar? What had Tasha said while trying to explain it to Feran...an ion storm over the maximum force variance could create a fission in the double alternate effect-a door in the Mirror. T'Shar stopped short, staring out the viewing port.

"A door to a Mirror Universe," she muttered softly to the silent room.

It had happened then and, if she remembered correctly, that storm had been only half the magnitude of this one. Had it happened again? A Mirror Universe and Tasha was in it somewhere, along with the Enterprise. If she was right, it was definately out there and the door should still be open. Without hesitation, T'Shar strode out into her cabin, through the main doors and headed for the bridge.

He paused at the door and pressed the buzzer.

"Come."

Kirk glanced up momentarily as Chekov strode in. He smiled. "Pavel, sit down. I'll be with you in a minute."

As he glanced down at the papers again, Kirk's gaze caught a brief image of Chekov's eyes. He realized again how when he studied Chekov as an up and coming officer, he sometimes overlooked the light sparkle and charm of youth that still lingered with him. Chekov still had leeway to be impetuous: to have sword fights with Sulu and play practical jokes. It was something Kirk envied to a degree.

The younger man smiled as he sank into the chair across from him. "Looks like fun. Fleet reports?"

Kirk nodded, and marking his place, leaned back in the chair. "Would you like to proof read them for me?"

"I'm honored that you asked me," Chekov insisted. "But I'm not worthy enough to proof read a Captain's reports."

Kirk frowned. "How would you like a week of K.P.?"

Chekov smiled again. "Not really, I've got my own reports to do."

Kirk turned to the shelf behind him, but glanced back at Chekov ."Are you on duty?"` "No."

"Then would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you," Chekov said as Kirk turned back. "I'm going on in a half hour."

Kirk nodded in silence, and let his eyes drift over the Lieutenant's slim form critically. There was hardly anything to be critical about, he looked no different than usual, but, deep in thought, Kirk looked concerned about something he had apparently noticed.

He frowned slightly. "You've been working awfully hard lately," he commented. "You should take some time to relax: go to the gym and work out or something."

Chekov glanced up and met Kirk's gaze with a blank stare of non-emotion. He'd heard the suggestion a dozen times over and was becoming sensative to being the object of the ship's lottery.

"So," he drew out with a tone of bitter sarcasem. "How much do you have riding on me?"

Kirk raised his eyebrows in a look of pure innocence, but his gaze darkened in warning. "Half my pay, so you'd better win."

"Half your pay?!" Chekov exchoed shocked. "What are you..." his voice trailed off in sudden realization of whom he was addressing. Shifting slightly, he echoed the same though in more polite words. "Captain, you shouldn't gamble like that."

"Why?" Kirk shrugged, with the same innocent look. "Are you planning to lose?"

Chekov shook his head helplessly. Even his eyes showed that he had given in to Kirk's line of reaosning. "No, I haven't lost yet."

"I've always admired your modesty," Kirk marveled with a glint in his eyes. "But seriously, Banner's been practicing five hours a day getting ready for the Ship Olympics. I haven't..."

"Captain," Chekov interrupted. "If one more person tells me to go practice I'm going to drop out, I swear."

"Banner's pretty stiff..." Kirk's voice trailed off when Chekov muttered a comment about Banner in Russian.

"You'd better watch it or I'm going to transfer him to security so you`ll have to learn how to get along with your fellow officers." It wasn't that Kirk particularly liked Banner, because he didn't, but he felt it was his duty at that moment to promote tolerance for other people.

Chekov responded with a dirty look that Kirk though was hysterical. The junior officer would have liked to say something to add to the look, but didn't.

There was a long moment of silence before Chekov spoke again. "Captain," he said in explanation. "I like sword fighting. I do it for fun and I practice when I feel like it. I enjoy it. I'm not going to practice so much it becomes tedious, because then I won't have anything I enjoy anymore."

Kirk nodded silently, then looked at him curiously. "I've always wondered what you do with all your gold medals?"

"I eat them."

"Eat them?!"

"They are chocolate, Captain. I saved the first one and it melted all over my drawer."

"I see your point," Kirk nodded, but then smiled suddenly. "So, that's what Sulu's always refering to when he talks about chocolate underwear."

Chekov smiled. "Yes."

There was a familiar sparkle in the Lieutenant's eyes that Kirk leaned back and smiled enthusiastically at. "Well, well, well," he drew out. "You've got something to tell me."

"No," Chekov said straight faced. "I came here because the chairs are more comfortable."

"Smart-ass."

"579D subsection 18J. Vulgar language to crew and junior officers," Chekov said sarcastically.

"643B subsection 23D. Sarcasm to Superior Officers," Kirk smiled.

"901A subsection 12B," Chekov spat out. "Willfully obstructing the duties and interfering with the morals of fellow or Junior Officers or crew."

Kirk stared at him for a moment.

Chekov smiled smugly and leaned back. "Time's up. You're slowing down in your old age."

"1023 subsection 31A," Kirk spat back emphatically. "Insulting a Superior Officer."

"There's no such regulation!" Chekov challenged.

"There is now," Kirk said. "You didn't read last weeks bulletin. Regulation 1023 subsection 31A was signed into effect by Starfleet Council last month."

Chekov sank into the chair and frowned. "That's the most ridiculous regulation I've ever heard."

Kirk nodded, a sparkle in his eyes. "How about 427B subsection 39C?"

Chekov shifted uncomfortably under the Captain's gaze. "I know, but I've been busy. I didn't have time to read the Starfleet bulletin. Didn't look interesting anyway," he muttered.

"It wasn't," Kirk smiled. "Just read it this morning. So," he continued. "What've you got?" Chekov pushed the tape into the console. "Captain, do you remember the ion storm of Stardate 5327.04?"1

Kirk's eyebrows raised with interest and he nodded a definate yes. "The Mirror Universe." "Yes, Sir." Chekov paused. This was going to be hard to explain. "Captain, this is only a theory, but..."

"But?" Kirk prompted.

"Sir, I don't believe the ship we encountered was moving; I believe we were."

Kirk blinked, then studied Chekov. "We?"

"Yes, Sir," Chekov replied. "I believe we went into the Mirror universe."

Kirk sat forward abruptly, the chair legs he had been leaning back on dropping to the floor with a crash. "Mister Chekov," he demanded, but paused to let the words be assimilated by his own mind. "Are you trying to say that we found a DOOR to the Mirror Universe and that we actually passed through it?"

"Yes,Sir," Chekov replied.

It was a simple reply to an astounding question with limitless possibilities. Kirk leaned back again slowly, his eyes marveling at the novel situation. "A door," he repeated quietly to himself.

Turning back to Chekov, he motioned that he go on and present his evidence. As the Lieutenant leaned forward and pressed on the tape, the stars during the ion storm appeared on the screen. He advanced the tape in slow motion. When the stars began to dim, he stopped the tape.

"Here, Captain, we encountered the door." Kirk's eyes were frozen on the screen, deep in thought, as Chekov advanced the tape again. The stars became almost a blur.

"Where we went through it."

Then suddenly, the stars cleared. Chekov stopped the tape."And when we came through to the other side. There's the ship."

Kirk nodded. "Yes."

"Captain," Chekov began. "everything in the universe must have a counterpart."

Kirk glanced over at him with a frown of interest.

"What I mean, Sir, is that you can not experience soft without first having experienced hard. There can't be cold without hot, no black without white, no kindness without cruelty." Chekov's voice was becoming emphatic. "In the simplest terms we are good and the Klingon's, evil. If I am to understand your information from the Mirror Universe correctly, the Federation in that universe was evil."

"Yes," Kirk answered, realizing what Chekov's point was going to be.

"Captain, they must have a counterpart. It is probably that the Klingons in that universe are good."

"Yes," Kirk nodded. "The Empire did have enemies. And if the Klingons weren't good-so to say-there would have been nothing to balance them out and the universe couldn't have survived." Kirk glanced at the screen again. "That ship looks like a Klingon ship, so..." he drew out in thought, "what we encountered may have been the Klingon's counterpart in the Mirror Universe."

Chekov nodded. "From the information I can get, this ship is one step above the Klingon's in technology, and they may be our allies."

Kirk studied the screen in silence.

"Captain," Chekov continued after a moment. "There's one more thing." He pressed the controls, moving the tape so that the ship was no longer in the center of the screen, but in the upper right hand corner. In the lower left was a smaller ship. Chekov pointed ot it. "A small scoutship moving toward us fast. Technologically advanced, it's large enough for two people. Readings show one humanoid aboard. Captain, watch this closely."

He started the tape again. After a second, the stars dimmed amd just as they cleared, Chekov stopped the tape. "Here we came through the door into our own universe."

Kirk sat up abruptly and pointed at a blur in the lower left hand corner. "That's the scoutship."

"That's what I thought, Captain." It followed us back into our universe."

"What happened to it?" Kirk demanded.

Chekov shook his head. He began the tape. Before he moved his finger from the button, the blur disappeared. "Readings show the ship took heavy damage. Probably destroyed."

Kirk leaned back again with a frown. 'Probably'-he didn't like that word, not in this situation.

Noticing the frown, Chekov shrugged slightly. "It's all just a theory, Sir."

"But the computer confirmed that it was a possibility in these circumstances?"

"Yes, Sir."

Kirk nodded, then glanced at the Lieutenant knowingly. "There's something else..."

"Yes, Sir," Chekov admitted. "I was on Deck 12 this morning..."

Kirk raised his eyebrows in delight and suddenly interrupted him. "What were YOU doing on Deck 12?"

Chekov smiled snidely in response to the sparkle in Kirk's eyes and said something gutteral in Russian.

Because of the tone of Chekov's voice and the expression on his face, Kirk didn't need a translation, and wasn't at all sure he ever wanted one. He understood the basic gist of it.

Chekov interrupted what Kirk was going to say with a Holier-than-Thou tone. "Captain, I'm an officer. Deck 12 is the haven for Ensigns and crewmembers. Besides," he added, "I've got a private cabin, what would I need to go there for?"

Rubbing his temples with a hand, Kirk tried to suppress a smile. "I don't know. What was the point?"

"Well, while I was there I think I saw a woman who wasn't one of the crew."

Kirk shook his head. "We don't have any passengers or guest on board."

"I know," Chekov replied flatly. "I don't think she belongs on board."

Kirk studied Chekov for a moment." Are you trying to say we have an intruder, Mister Chekov?"

Chekov sighed uneasily. "I believe so, Sir."

"The intruder alert alarms should have gone off."

"Yes, Sir." Then, before Kirk could ask, "We've checked them. They're in perfect working order and haven't been tampered with."

Kirk held up his hand more to slow down his own though processes than to stop Chekov. His mind was racing too fast, making connections that could cause serious and embarassing mistakes.

"Step by step. When did you see her?"

"About eleven. The lab computer wasn't picking up the readings so I went down to copy them. I had just turned into the corridor and there she was."

"What was she doing?"

"I don't know. I only got a glimpse of her. She ducked into a cabin when she saw me."

"That's not unusual behavior for Deck 12, Chekov," Kirk insisted.

"I didn't say it was!" Chekov retorted, but stopped abruptly and lowered his eyes in an attempt to gain control of the angry edge that had crept into his voice.

"It's okay," Kirk nodded. "this is a pretty nasty situation."

"Captain," Chekov said evenly as he looked up at Kirk again. "She does not belong on this ship. She has BLACK eyes and though it was totally unfamiliar to me, I swear she had some kind of uniform on. It was a long black vest trimmed with silver, grey breeches and black boots with a powder blue shirt. There was a silver sash around her waist that hung down to her left knee with a dagger on it and what may have been a gun in the back. And there was a black and silver insignia on the left of the vest."

Kirk shook his head, lost in thought. "Nothing I've ever seen."

"Captain," Chekov said, "She-she looked like a pirate."

Kirk studied him for a moment. "A pirate? A pirate renovated Klingon ship? They won't like that." He sank back into deep, silent thought. there were so many possibilities, so much at stake, and nothing really tangible to latch onto.

"You say you only got a glimpse of her?"

"Yes, Sir. I looked for her, but she vanished. The Defense Team is still on Yellow Alert and I had them make a through search of Deck 12."

Kirk laughed delightedly at the though. "I'm sorry, but the empty emergency cabins on Deck 12 do have the reputation of being the Peyton Place of the ship. It must have been an interesting search."

A smile swept over Chekov's face. "Yes, from the looks on some of their faces I'd say they found a few things they weren't counting on."

"I'd say," Kirk echoed, then nodded to him. "Check those alarms again, and keep the team on Yellow Alert. A glimpse..." his voice trailed off, but he didn't need to complete it. A glimpse wasn't much to go on.

"Yes, Sir," Chekov responded.

Kirk nodded, thoughtfully, then added. "Thank you."

"Of course, Sir. Captain, may I be dismissed? I'm late for duty."

Kirk smiled. "Yes. 6010 subsection 13D: Tardiness."

Chekov shot a glare at Kirk as he left, but the Captain only shook his head and remained in his pensive position. After a long moment, he pushed himself up and paced to the viewing port, hands clasped behind his back.

A possible door to the Mirror Universe, and a possible intruder. The first situation was probably past, the second probably never present. It had only been a glimpse. Chekov was tired, under stress, and on Deck 12-well, just about anything was possible.

His common sense assured him the situation offered no problems. The door had occurred and was gone, and the woman was a crewmember affected by an active imagination.

Yet, somehow, his intuition fought his common sense every inch of the way. Down deep in his gut, he couldn't rest easy. And what was more, there was still something Chekov had not told him about the woman, something he was keeping to himself. A possible door and a possible intruder-Damn, he hoped his common sense was right.

Sulu sighed heavily and pushed the controls in a circle before gazing into the viewer again. After a moment, he scribbled an unintelligible note on the clipboard beside him.

He hesitated suddenly, he pen freezing in mid-air as he jerked up his head. He sat absolutely motionless for an eternal moment, listening as the eerie silence echoed and reverberated around him. It froze every nerve within him and set the hairs prickling on the back of his neck. With infinite care, he placed the pen gently on the desk and reached slowly until his hand grasped the leather hilt of the fencing foil leaning by him. He rose to his feet and moved stealthily through the connecting doors of his work area and into the lab.

The solemn heaviness that hung in the air sent a familiar shudder running up his spine. He silently passed Gertrude, noting the soft whimpering issuing from the plant. 'Somebody' was definitely in the lab. Dropping down to a squat position, he began to move forward with calcualted steps. The tenseness fairly cracked the air. He tightened his grip and extended the foil before him. The three feet of steel gleamed dully in the light.

His opponent stood frozen behind the shrub. Staring through the leafy greenery, he judged the distance with a practiced eye. His quarry had come out of its secluded hole and advanced warily, but had oddly passed out of his vision. It didn't matter, since the intended prey would no doubt follow a prescheduled path. In a few seconds he'd launch the attack.

Sulu edged his way around another bush, swatting gently at the questioning tentacles that drew back, recognizing their benefactor. There were only two possible positions for the intruder-he decided on the one farther to the right: the least likely, but the most probable. Without hesitation, he moved across the remaining few feet.

There was a sudden movement and a swish as metal sliced the air above his head. A sly smile alit Sulu's face as the war cry trailed off and his foil plunged at the Chief of Security.

"Surrender, or thou shalt never have children!"

Chekov reeled backward, gasping in surprise. "Hey!" then, with an injured tone in his voice. "You don't play fair!"

Sulu snickered, straightening. "Since when have I ever played fair?"

"My father's been coaching you, hasn't he?" demanded Chekov with a sneer.

"Oh yah!" Sulu replied with enthusiasm, a twinkle brimming in his eyes. "I learn quick." "Well take that!" the younger man suddenly declared, lunging at Sulu. Sulu caught the sword with his foil and returned the attack with energy.

It hardly lasted a minute before Chekov had Sulu's foil immobilized. It wasn't fair by any means: Chekov's heavy military sabre against Sulu's delicate fencing foil, but it didn't matter to either of them. Sulu smiled enjoyably as the swords dropped. "So, what bringest thou down into my parlour?"

Chekov shrugged slightly. "I was bored, and what better thing to do when you're bored than to attack a lone botanist?"

Sulu smiled slightly. It wasn't true of course, Chekov hadn't come anywhere near being bored for the last three weeks. Almost unconsciously, he took in Chekov's weary features that seemed to be weighted down.

"How's your intruder?" he asked lightly.

"Still intruding," Chekov replied with a slight sigh. "Do you feel like dinner?"

Sulu frowned and seemed to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. "No, actually I feel like Sulu."

Quickly he ducked Chekov's fist and bolted toward the door. "C'mon, my treat. Last one to the cafeteria gets caviar!"

Neither of them felt very energetic and not quite knowing why, they jogged all the way. And if it didn't increase Chekov's appetite, it increased Sulu's image of Chekov's appetite.

"I'll throw up if I eat all this!" Chekov protested.

"That'll be the day," Sulu muttered. "Here, wait. Take some of this."

"No, hey-stop it! I don't want any more. You're going to make me sick."

Sulu snorted incredulously, adding still more food to Chekov's tray. "The day you get sick from eating too much, I'll eat your boots. You know, some people are all heart, but you," he drawled, patting Chekov's middle, "are all stomach. I swear there's nothing there but one huge stomach: no liver, no kidneys, just a stomach! You're a bottomless pit. I'll bet you're the only human in existence that still uses your appendix as a spare stomach."

"That's not true," Chekov protested, his frown bordering dangerously on a pout.

Sulu laughed delightedly, and propelled his friend to a small table. "C'mon, you've got enough."

"For a couple of years," Chekov mumbled. "You know," he continued as they sat down. "I think you're just annoyed because I haven't eaten with you for two days. You piled all the food on my tray so I'll be stuck sitting here for a year."

"No," Sulu corrected. "It's that you haven't eaten period."

Chekov paused in arranging his utensils and looked at Sulu with wide eyes of disbelief. "Oh, come now. After that speech you just gave about my stomach, you think I went without food?"

"I mean edible food."

"What's edible?" Chekov asked, indicating the tray in front of him.

"Just eat," Sulu smiled.

They ate in silence for a long while, just feeling confortable in each others presence. It had been quite some time since the two friends had had an uninterrupted moment together, and without realizing it they sat and studied each other.

Chekov's appraisal had a light tone to it. He observed that Sulu was on one of his strict vegetarian sprees. The helmsman went from gorging on meat to preferring vegetables, then emerging as one of the galaxy's most dedicated vegetarians. Chekov spent several moments trying to decide if one of the vegetables actually had blue eyes.

Sulu's study of Chekov was much more silent and thoughtful. He again noted the wearied features that Chekov's face always bore when he was worried or in the midst of something. It was the look of an officer, a dedicated and resourceful man that was an asset to the military. It occurred to Sulu suddenly how terribly old Chekov looked-how much he had grown and yet, how terribly young he was to be in such a position.

It had been a good change, a maturing, but at the same time it sent a wash of remorseful sadness through Sulu. It was a long, saddened moment: that sudden moment when your own aging becomes evident to you. He suddenly remembered a lot of times he'd forgotten in the past and remembered, with a type of longing, a thoroughly delighted laughter that was somehow missing now.

They remained in silence for several minutes before Sulu spoke.

"Do you suppose everything's opposite across the Mirror?"

Chekov shrugged without really meaning to. "I don't know."

"I suppose Chekov and Sulu are bitter enemies." It took Sulu a long while to draw out the statement. Their eyes met warmly before Chekov replied.

"I can't imagine being enemies with you."

"But it's not us," Sulu maintained.

"No," Chekov drew out, "But from what I understand form Kirk, they're not enemies. They're more like cohorts in crime."

A smile swept swiftly over Sulu's face. "Some things aren't different."

"No," Chekov laughed, an unmistakable gleam in his eyes. The laugh suddenly deepened as he spoke again. "Do you remember the time we glued my father's shoes to the floor?"

"He almost killed us both," Sulu smiled, but the smile faded off his face until there remained only a lingering wistfulness. "Ya know, I've been thinking. What if we really did go through a door in the Mirror and what if, what if it's still there? What if it's a permanent door?"

A slight frown flickered over Chekov's features: it was something that had obviously already occurred to him. "We could form new alliances," he drew out after a moment, "and new enemies.

"And so much new territory to explore," Sulu added, an edge of excitement creeping into his voice. "Not really new: the same, only different. It will be facinating to go there."

"I don't know," Chekov said slowly. Suddenly, he shuddered visibly. He straightened and met Sulu's eyes with his, shaking his head. "I wouldn't want to meet myself."

The same terrible, cold shudder ran through Sulu. "No," he admitted, "Neither would I."

They resumed eating again until Sulu's delighted laughter brought Chekof's gaze up. He paused in mid-chew and let his eyes follow the Yeoman that had spurred Sulu's laughter. Swallowing the food, he turned back.

"What's the scoop?"

Sulu smiled devilishly, refusing to respond with anything but a horrible demonic glint in his eyes.

"Oh, common'," Chekov protested. "You're not going to tell me something about our youngest, most sweet, innocent yeoman?"

"I don't know how innocent she is."

"C'mon what is it?"

"I don't know if I should tell you," Sulu responded with a laugh.

Chekov kicked him under the table.

"Aw! Cut that out. Okay, okay." Sulu laughed, leaning closer to Chekov in the fashion of a conspirator. "Well, you know ever since you and Karen broke up she's been sort of mentioning why."

Chekov snorted, almost in annoyance. "It wasn't much of a break, I only went on three dates with her. And I know, I know. Last I heard I was intent on entering a Catholic seminary."

"Where'd you hear that?" Sulu asked with a frown of interest. "I heard it was a Shaker Community. Sins of the flesh and all that, you know."

"I know, so what's this got to do with Yeoman Roush?"

"Well," Sulu drawled. "She cornered me this morning and asked if she could ask me something concerning you. Of course I said yes: I'm always willing to tell people nasty things about you."

"So?" Chekov demanded in frustration.

"So, she asked me..." Sulu's voice trailed off as he dissolved into a peal of laughter. it was a very long moment before he managed to choke it out. "She said she knew that you must know about you-know, but, she wanted to know if, you know, you knew how to you-know."

Chekov froze, his eyes widening incredibly. "You're kidding!"

"No," Sulu laughed. "It's the God's honest truth. It was hysterical: she was so awkward. There she had the guts to ask me and she couldn't even say it. She just kept saying 'you know'."

"No," Chekov said shaking his head. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Sulu laughed. "Even I couldn't make up something that good."

Chekov laughed delightedly after a moment, almost a giggle. "Well, what did you tell her?" "I told her that I hadn't had the personal opportunity to find out and she would have to ask someone else. But I did get the distinct impression," Sulu confided, "that if you didn't know she was perfectly willing to give you some personal instruction in the matter."

Chekov grinned devilishly, a peculiar light coming into his eyes and he drawled something in Russian.

Sulu gagged, the smile dropping off his face. "Oh, God. Must you be so graphic? I'm eating. What kind of sewer did you learn to talk in anyway?"

"Sewer?" Chekov asked, raising his eyebrows. "What happened to the gutter?"

"No," Sulu replied definitely. "your language is even too low for a gutter. In fact, it's more disgusting and lower than a sewer, but I can't think of anything quite that low."

Chekov shrugged. "I don't know what you're complaining about, you can't even understand me."

"That one I did. You said it once before and I asked your father to translate."

"What did he say?" Chekov smiled.

"Well, first he said that he was pleased you were teaching me such basic Russian vocabulary, then he muttered something about you being able to shock a sailor. I can't believe it: all these crewmen convinced you're ready to become a priest. You're so innocent: if they ever knew what kind of mouth you have..."

"They can't understand me," Chekov shrugged.

"Yah, well you'd better be careful," Sulu warned. "We do have a few more Russians on this ship."

"I know," Chekov replied. "I slipped up this morning with Ilya. I muttered something about a crewman's report on Deck 12 and I turned around and his face was white. Fortunately, he'd never quite heard those words used in quite that sequence before, so he just assumed he'd heard my mutter wrong. I'm all mouth, anyway," Chekov shrugged again. "And you're all eyes," he added, motioning toward the magazine tucked under Sulu's tray.

Sulu straightened defensively. "This is Hank's, I'm holding it for him."

"I bet."

Chekov laughed suddenly, a burst of devilish mischief in his eyes.

"What," he slowly drew out, "would a man be like that had the experience of my mouth, your eyes, and Kirk's body?"

A smile spread over Sulu's face. "Thoroughly disgusting."

They both dissolved into delighted laughter that lasted for several minutes. Then there was a crack from the apple Chekov bit into as he stood. Sulu glanced up quickly, studying Chekov's spotless tray with suspicion.

"You didn't have an apple!" he accused indignantly.

"No," Chekov shrugged. "But you did, and you've got enough vegetables there to keep you in the bathroom for a week. Take care, I've got work to do."

Sulu watched Chekov deposit the apple core in the waste recepticle and stride out, still not sure he hadn't been swindled out of something.

Chekov stretched slightly as he walked, trying to decide whether to take a shower at the same time he changed into a fresh uniform. He concluded he would quite possibly fall asleep if he didn't.

Tasha watched the corridor cautiously from an adjoining hall. She'd take no unneccessary chances, not on this ship. She ran her hand down the uniform. It was bulky, awkward and uncomfortable compared to her own. Still, it was more practical than many.

Chekov rounded the corner and she quickly ducked back into the hall. Deactivating her cloaking web, she stepped out unobrusively.

He hesitated, then lurched forward and caught her by the arm. She turned and looked at him in innocent curiosity.

He smiled slightly and shrugged in embarrassment. "Hello."

He played his part well, she thought. He actually just seemed interested in meeting her.

She returned the smile and nodded in interest. "Hello."

Dropping his arm, he began walking with her. "I haven't seen you before, you're new aboard ship."

"Yes," she admitted. "I haven't been here long."

He nodded silently, then motioned toward the stripe on her sleeve. "Lieutenant?"

"Yes," she replied. "And you?"

"Yes. Pavel Chekov, Chief of Security."

Raising her eyebrows, she laughed slightly. "I really manage to run into the big guys, don't I?"

He smiled. "You'll have to excuse me, I'm not wearing my Chief's feathers today."

She laughed slightly, but he nodded.

"I'm serious. The Defense Team bought them for me because they thought I should have the traditional trappings of my position."

"I'm Tasha," she replied to his gaze of curiosity. "I've been working in the labs." "Tasha?" he questioned, scrutinizing her as they paused.

"Yes," she answered. "But I'm not Russian."

She glanced momentarily at the name plate on the wall, but she didn't need to in order to know whose cabin they happened to pause in front of.

Chekov hesitated for a moment, trying to decide exactly how to word what he was going to say. In that brief moment her eyes met his and she replied to the unspoken question with a smile that flowed over from her lips into her eyes. He returned the smile, his perhaps a bit more gentle and cavalierish, and as he unlocked the door his arm snaked around her waist.

She moved closer to him as the door slid shut behind them and enveloped them in the blackness of the cabin. He reached for the light, but stopped as she turned and wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips clinging to his gently.

He dropped his hands to her waist. He meant to push her away, but for some reason didn't. She pulled away after a moment and gazed at him His eyes answered all her questions and satisfied her doubts.

She dropped her arms and eyes shyly. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "I couldn't resist."

He fumbled for the light switch and, mercifully, found it. There was a mock frown of severity on his face as the light flooded the cabin.

"Well don't let it happen again," Chekov warned.

She stiffened. "I swear."

He broke the tense scene with a smile. "Have a seat," he suggested as he motioned to the couch. "Thank you."

As she did so, he tentatively made his way over to what could have been called a bar. He glanced back, more to note her position than to be polite.

"Would you like a drink?"

"Please," she replied appropriately, if not honestly.

"I hope you don't mind, I've only got Vodka."

That was a lie, she noted. Well concealed behind the Vodka bottles were bottles of Saki and expensive wine. Almost laughingly, she thought she should feel slighted that she wasn't considered worth opening a bottle of wine for.

He took a painful amount of time pouring the drinks. His lips clung stubbornly to the memory of the taste of hers. He wondered what she could possibly have in her lipstick, wondered if it even could have been her perfume. Amused at his own temporary weakness, he forgot the line of thought and slowed even more in his task. He knew well the layout of his own cabin, and, given her position and the fact that he'd be expected to sit beside her, he calculated the easiest way to call Security without alerting her.

He replaced the bottle pensively, before turning and moving toward the couch. Given the situation, his slow movments appeared soft and sensual. Tasha, however, saw them for the calculating coolness that they disguised.

So the stakes were laid. They were both merely actors in a play and this was a contest to see who would fulfill his role first.

He sank down on the couch beside her, and leaned forward to place her drink on the table. In doing so, he caught a whiff of her perfume which prompted him to edge close to her before settling with his arm resting on the couch behind her.

He let his eyes drift over her again, but found his masculinity interfering with what the Chief of Security was trying to do. He blinked purposefully.

"Where are you from" he asked quietly, taking a long draught of Vodka.

She sighed slightly and leaned forward to pick up her own drink. "Oh, from what seems like a thousand light years travel from here."

She hesitated in the motion, suddenly aware of how close her face had come to his when she leaned forward. She raised her eyes to him.

It was a look he could have read in absolute blackness and he studied her for a moment, more to enhance the moment than to think. It was exactly the opportunity he'd been waiting for.

He bent down and caught her mouth with his, letting his arm drop off the couch and encircle her shoulders. He dropped the glass as she moved against him and enfolded her in both arms. Tightening his clasp with his left arm, the other arm reached slowly toward the alert signal on the other side of her. She broke away from him just before his hand touched the button. Perhaps she had felt the movement and interpreted that he was attempting to move too fast. In the moment before the feeling of passion dissolved he thought it worth another try.

He moved toward her again, but stopped as their eyes met. They were depthless and haunting. The large ebony eyes seemed to go on forever, seemed to be full of every churning emotion imaginable, as if they were soaking in the atmosphere itself. He stared into them, absorbed and enchanted, wanting to crawl right into them to discover their very depths.

1 Episode: Mirror, Mirror has no stardate!

BI – CHAPTER 2 - 20