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As a new officer, he’d worked in multiple departments to familiarize himself with all areas of the ship’s operation, intending to develop a specialization later. So far, he’d alternated primarily between the sciences and operations. Today, he was not only serving as the senior science officer of the Columbus, but also security backup.

As soon as the call from Captain Kirk had come in, Chekov had began running toward the part of the complex Yüksel had set off for, phaser in one hand, tricorder in the other. Chyort poberi! How could he have done something so stupid? He couldn’t get a fix on Yüksel’s communicator, nor did his tricorder detect any human life signs. There was a small amount of interference, but he didn’t think it was blocking all scans. There was nothing here to find.

He found himself becoming tangled up in vines, barely able to move. Captain Kirk’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Mister Chekov!” He couldn’t see the captain, but he sounded close.

“Over here, Captain!” he called back.

There was some rustling off to Chekov’s side, and moments later, Commander Giotto emerged from a bush, Captain Kirk and Ensign Seven Deers right behind him. Giotto immediately began surveying the area, while Kirk walked over to Chekov.

“Ensign,” he said, looking stern, “report.”

“Yüksel was looking at this part of the complex, while I was inspecting the launch pad.”

“Have you detected anything unusual?” asked the captain.

“No, sir,” said Chekov.

“You split up?” asked Giotto.

“Yes, sir,” said Chekov.

“Ensign, what did we say when we landed?”

“I know, sir. I am sorry, sir.”

“You might be sorry, but he’s—” Giotto cut himself off when the captain shot him a look.

“Right now,” said Kirk, “we need to focus on finding Yüksel. It sounded like he said ‘beneath the surface,’ so check for ways underground. Tricorders out, phasers on stun. Commander, you’re with me. Chekov, you and Seven Deers stick together.”

Chekov nodded. “You can count on me, sir. We’ll find him.”

“I hope so, Ensign,” said Giotto.

Did he have to rub it in? Chekov elected to ignore Giotto and took a look at his tricorder screen instead. “There are two areas of dense plant life ahead, sir. I believe that he would have gone to one or the other if he was—”

“Good thinking, Mister Chekov,” said the captain. “Giotto and I will take the far one. You and Seven Deers wait for Tra and Rawlins, then take the other.”

After about an hour, most of the casualties had been discharged, though McCoy had retained a couple to monitor their injuries. He’d ordered Odhiambo, Brent, and Abrams to get something to eat—Chapel too, but she said she wasn’t hungry. He didn’t believe her, but he had enough to worry about.

In his office, McCoy sat down with the readouts of Ensign Bouchard’s brain scans. It was a damned puzzle: no trace of a current infection, nor any other plausible cause, and yet the man was dying. What could be wrong? Since Chapel was so intent on helping, he had her check with phaser control to find out exactly what had happened.

He skimmed through a few dozen pages of data before a whiff of a very subtle perfume reached his nose. Chapel had returned and was standing in his office doorway. “Go ahead and sit down, Nurse.” She deserved some time off her feet; she looked at least as tired as he felt—and of course her shift had started quite a while ago. “What did you find out?”

“According to three witnesses, he fell over after the distortion. Everything was steady and clear. Bouchard was crossing the room when he suddenly collapsed.”

McCoy nodded. “That fits with his injuries. Some bruising on the shoulder from where he hit the floor—but nothing else.”

“Nothing in the cranial region at all?”

McCoy spun his monitor around to show Chapel Bouchard’s readouts. With M’Benga off on Mu Arigulon, McCoy didn’t have another physician to discuss medical conundrums with, but Chapel had been a promising bio-researcher before enlisting. He would have consulted her even if M’Benga had been on board. “Symptoms, but no