The Long Shot

       When it came time for the lunch break, Uhura moved swiftly to intercept his movement toward the lift. "Hungry?" she said brightly. "I know I am." She took his arm in an apparently casual gesture and walked with him into the lift car. When the door closed after them, she said, "Messhall," then turned a stern gaze on him. Chekov decided on the best defense.
       "And what exactly did he tell you?" he demanded quietly.
       "That he didn't want to discuss it," Uhura returned, not pretending to misunderstand his question. "And don't even think about telling me the same thing."
       "Very well, I won't think of it," Chekov stated, and set his gaze ahead of him, focusing on nothing.
       She waited a measured ten seconds, then sighed. "Chekov, you've got to..."
       "No, I don't," he interrupted. "The subject is closed."
       There was another, longer pause before she murmured, "Pavel, what happened?"
       "I said..." The lift door opened and Chekov took the opportunity to stop the conversation by leaving the car. He didn't expect Uhura's quick re-taking of his arm, nor the casual way she steered him to the replicator in the mess.
       "I'm having salad," she said, her tone as nonchalant as her actions. "How about you?"
       "Nothing. I am not hungry," he replied.
       "Just coffee, then?"
       "No. Nothing."
       "Vodka?"
       "Uhura!" More memory assailed him
       "Another?"
       "Yes, please."
       "Such nice manners."
       He set his jaw.
       "Well, that at least got an honest reaction," the lieutenant mused. "If you think I'm going to just let the two of you play this stupid game and give each other the silent treatment..."
       "It's none of your concern," Chekov said, suddenly harsh.
       "Pavel, you know I'm always concerned about you." Her voice was very soft and very private. He made the mistake of glancing at her. Her warm brown eyes were full of misgiving.
       "Uhura..." he began.
       "Nyota," she corrected, and it was too much. No. I will not allow this. I will bury it.
       "I have nothing to say to you," he stated, then disengaged his arm from hers and walked quickly away.

       Uhura watched Chekov leave with a mixture of sorrow and disappointment. Not that she was ready to give up so quickly. One of them will have to talk eventually, she thought. Sulu will probably be the easier nut to crack, but that's only going to make Chekov that much more stubborn. Of course, if she knew what had happened, she'd have a better idea of how to approach the whole thing. But with neither one of them willing to open up...
       You're the Chief of Communications, she reminded herself. There are other ways of gathering information.
       About something that happened in the privacy of someone's cabin?
       And how 'private' are starship cabins anyway?
       With a final rueful glance at Ensign Chekov's retreating back, she retrieved her salad.

       Sulu had focused his attention on the helm all morning. He had deliberately not avoided the inevitable contact between his hand and Chekov's, ignoring the noticeable flinch from the navigator when it happened. He'd had three weeks of that kind of reaction, and he was almost used to it. He refused to let the sorrow that accompanied it into his thoughts, storing it up, he knew, for another bout of weeping in the shower - like a little girl, Pavel's voice in his head added. Chekov's voice, he determinedly corrected himself.
       It's never going to get any better if you let him stay in his self-righteous shell, his brain scolded him.
       It's never going to get any better, period, he corrected. You blew it. Your own impatience, your own smug certainty fucked it up beyond all repair. Maybe, in another three weeks, you'll get back to something more than cold formality. But face it, you'll never be friends with him again. He'll never want to go drinking on leave, or play a game of chess, or joke with you about hearty breakfasts and shaving and...
       Stop. Save it for the shower.
       He glanced up as Chekov resumed his seat. The navigator had gone with Uhura for lunch, but Sulu had had no appetite and so simply stayed at the helm. It was a safe bet that the communications officer was going to resume her distant propriety as well. "I have talked about - things - with Nyota..." Yeah, I just bet you have. 'He beat me, Nyota, bound me, he made me do horrible things...'
       And are you going to deny it?
       Sulu felt the lump growing in his throat and steeled himself. "Navigation at norm," he told the ensign, standard procedure when his helm partner returned from a brief absence.
       "Acknowledged," Chekov returned, correct and nothing more.
       Nothing more. God, Pavel, I'm sorry.

       The day seemed to go on forever. When end of watch finally came, Chekov left the Bridge without a word to anyone. He let his brain go numb and made his way to his cabin on instinct. When the door hissed closed behind him, he found himself slumping against it, his hands coming up to his face.
       It will get easier, he told himself. The memory will fade...
       As it did three weeks ago? Not even with Nyota's help, and she will not be here to help this time.
       You could amend that part of your decision, Pasha.
       No. I will tell no one.
       Why are you so ashamed?
       It is not shame! I simply do not wish to explore this any further.
       Bullshit! Sulu's voice was like the crack of a whip in his mind - like the crack of a strap - and Chekov quickly shut it out. He became aware of his stomach growling. He had not eaten all day, but he wasn't prepared to go to the mess and face anyone. And the decision of what to order from the replicator in his cabin seemed like too much effort. All he wanted was for his thoughts, his memories to leave him in peace.
       Pasha, you must eat, came the stern reminder that sounded a great deal like his mother. A smile touched his lips and he allowed himself to revel in the recollection. Matushka. A strong woman, a proud woman. She and his father had had a good marriage, though Chekov had always known who it was who ran the household. Not that his father had been a weak man - far from it. Andrei and Illyana Chekov had fought as hard and as loudly as they had loved. Pavel had grown up in a strict but caring home and had learned patience, self-reliance, control, attention to detail, and stubbornness. He almost chuckled to himself. Yes, and stubbornness, but we are Russian, after all.
       So eat before you waste away to nothing.
       For once a memory having done him good, Chekov went to the replicator, calling up a bowl of borscht and some good, hearty black bread. He was just sitting down to eat when his door signal sounded. He ignored it. If it were something involving ship's business, whoever wanted to see him would use the intercom. It sounded again. He ignored it again. The third signal began and didn't stop. After a few moments of loud, insistent buzzing, Chekov sighed and went to the door. "Yes?" he inquired.
       "Pavel, let me in," Uhura's voice said.
       "I am eating. Go away," he returned dourly.
       "You know I'm not likely to do that," the communications officer said.
       "And I am unlikely to open the door," Chekov replied, then turned to head back to his dinner. The buzzing started again, then he heard the comlink on his desk switching on. "So it's 'Captain, I can't find Mr. Chekov," Uhura said softly, urgently, "and he was supposed to meet me for dinner and he hasn't answered my calls. Can you use your override to...'"
       "You wouldn't," Chekov frowned.
       "Oh, honey, wouldn't I?"
       The frown became a scowl, but Chekov walked back across the room and manually opened his cabin door. Uhura moved past him and he sighed deeply, but squared his shoulders and once again returned to his desk. He didn't invite her to sit, and resolutely resumed eating.
       "This is ridiculous, Pavel," she stated.
       "No, it is borscht," Chekov replied. He heard her disgusted sigh, but didn't look up see the look on her face.
       "We talked about double-think and submissiveness, you know," she went on. The spoon stopped half-way to his mouth, but he quickly recovered and continued his meal. "I told you to go to Sulu and experiment more..."
       "I have told you, Uhura, that the subject is..." he began.
       "Nyota," she said, and he winced. After a pause, she asked, apparently casually, "So why wouldn't you call him 'Hikaru'?"
       Chekov nearly choked on his soup. After taking a moment to recover, he snarled, "I thought you said you and he did not discuss..."
       "We didn't," Uhura interrupted.
       "Then how did you..."
       "I know everything, sugar," she purred. She bent down, whispering in his ear. "Including that he brought you off before you got so damned stubborn." She was so close he could feel her breath tickling his ear. "And that you liked the vodka not so much."
       In panicked shock, Chekov bolted up from the desk, knocking the large, wide bowl over. Uhura calmly moved to the head, returning with a towel to soak up the borscht.
       "How did you...?" Chekov stammered, his voice barely audible.
       "I already told you, sugar," Uhura said as she carefully mopped up the dark red liquid, "I know everything." She finished, tossed the towel into the laundry unit, then went and sat on Chekov's bed. "Now are you going to come over here and talk to me or do I have to continue to embarrass you?"
       Chekov felt his legs moving, obeying her suggestion, but his thoughts were quite frozen. When he sat, Uhura gave him a warm hug and kissed his cheek. "Not that there's any need for you to be embarrassed," she told him. "I already know you're a submissive."
       "He did not have to restrain me," Chekov found himself mumbling.
       "No, he didn't," Uhura agreed easily. "He didn't have to do any of the things he did. The thing is - " She paused, searching his eyes, " - you wanted him to."
       Chekov quickly looked up, his lips a hard line. "I did not want..."
       "Oh, but you did, sugar. And what's more, you knew it. You smarted off to him and made him angry on purpose, didn't you." It wasn't a question, and Chekov flushed, remembering that he had told himself the very same thing. "Pasha," she went on gently, "can't you see why your refusing to admit it makes him so angry?"
       "I..." Chekov had to swallow before he could go on. "I tried to discuss it with him..."
       "No, you tried to tell him you were a poor, innocent lamb who is led unwilling into strange and frightening landscapes by the power of his voice," Uhura returned, and though the words were sarcastic, her tone was not. "And while you may be poor - I haven't checked your bank accounts lately - and you're certainly innocent, and the landscapes he's showing you may well be strange and frightening to you, you are not - I repeat, Pavel, NOT unwilling."
       Chekov lowered his head miserably. "Uhura, I honestly do not know if I am willing or not."
       "Should I say 'bullshit'?" she asked disapprovingly. His head came up again. "Because it IS bullshit," she continued. "What you don't know is how to accept that you're willing. What you don't know is how to allow yourself to be willing. You want to be, in fact, you ache to be. You devise situations in which you WILL be. But you can't face it."
       Chekov shook his head. "Nyota, I am weary of trying to make sense of this," he whispered, defeated. "I feel - lost, confused. What I feel - how I react... I cannot understand it. I have tried to analyze it, to apply logical reasoning and..."
       Uhura laughed, but it was soft and understanding. Her hand reached up, ruffling his hair. "You goof! You can't apply logic to matters of the heart."
       "Matters of the...?" Chekov began with a frown.
       "Yes. Or do you think sexuality is all body parts and physical reactions?"
       "You have always discussed it as though..."
       "That's because I've been trying to speak your language," she admitted easily. "I think I may have made a slight miscalculation there."
       Chekov stared at her, the consternation he was feeling obvious in his eyes. He folded his arms. "If that is truly the case, one should not engage in casual sexuality," he stated.
       "I didn't say that," Uhura returned.
       Pavel stood up, his eyes flashing, his entire body unyielding. "Now you contradict yourself," he snarled. "Is it any wonder I cannot make sense of this thing?"
       "Pavel, Pavel," Uhura soothed, "You're seeing things way too black and white. No, sexuality isn't all body parts and physical reactions. But it's not always true love and eternal fidelity either. I said it was a matter of the heart - which is an illogical, inconsistent and sometimes very conflicted organ."
       Chekov considered correcting her, that the heart was no more than a specialized muscle, but thought she would only scold him for being too literal.
       And should she not, since that's what you are being? You know very well what she means.
       He shook off the internal argument and tried to focus on what the communications officer was trying to tell him.
       "Let's take it one step at a time, shall we?" Uhura said. She patted the bed and Chekov sat down again. "One: For whatever reason - and let's not get sidetracked by the fact that you don't know the reason and neither do I - for whatever reason, you're a sexual submissive. Agreed?"
       Pavel frowned. "I am not sure I can accept that terminology..." he began.
       "Alright, my stubborn Russian. You are aroused by the thought of being controlled."
       "No, that also is incorrect," Chekov broke in. "I have never reacted this way to anyone except..."
       "Fine, you're aroused by the thought of Sulu controlling you."
       Pavel let out a breath through his nose. "Yes," he said at last, "I can agree to that."
       "Two," Uhura went on, "you like that arousal. That is, the sexual stimulation his controlling you brings you feels good."
       "This is where we..." Chekov began.
       "No, stick to the bare facts," Uhura interrupted. "You like the sex. It feels good."
       "Oh," Chekov grunted. "Yes, it feels physically very good."
       "Three: you have a great deal of trouble admitting that fact." She grinned. "Obviously."
       He shifted uncomfortably, but nodded.
       "Four," Uhura said, and took his face into her hands. "Though you have trouble admitting it, you deliberately provoke situations in which you know it will happen. You decide on an 'experiment' to force Sulu into behaving in a way he described as dominant and violent, but pretended it was no more than 'information-gathering.' You deliberately taunt him, deliberately insult him so that he'll again have a reason to be dominant and violent with you." She again searched his gaze. "Pavel, I know that Vargik was threatening you and Sulu. I know you didn't have a choice in what that Mergonian bastard would've done to you. But having Sulu take your virginity was your idea."
       Chekov stiffened. "No, Sulu led me to..."
       "As I recall, you told me he said it was a worst case scenario that you'd never done it before. But you also said he mentioned that a) you didn't want to, b) you hated Vargik and c) Vargik was a sadistic son-of-a-bitch, all as elements of 'worst case,' right?"
       "Yes," Chekov answered slowly.
       "So if he was leading you to suggesting that he screw you, why didn't he mention that a) you wanted to with him or b) that you didn't hate him or c) that he wasn't a sadistic son-of-a-bitch?"
       "I... I don't..." Chekov stammered.
       "And you asked if it would make a difference," Uhura went on relentlessly. "You made the suggestion."
       "But he didn't agree just to attempt to ease..." Chekov began, his emotions rising.
       "Not 'just,' no, but that's not the point," Uhura broke in fiercely. "The point is that you were controlling the whole thing even before there was a whole thing to control."
       "No!" Chekov shouted, once again jumping up from the bed. "He wanted me, he had fantasies about me..."
       "Which you didn't know at the time, did you?"
       Chekov stopped short.
       "That conversation came later, Pavel," Uhura's voice was once again gentle. "All you knew at the time was that Sulu had an inkling of what Vargik wanted, and had offered to give himself to Vargik in your place. And you interpreted that to mean your helm partner was - what? Experienced? Well, I suppose you already knew that. Deviant? After all, how else would he know? And in the time between your finding out what Sulu had offered and your asking for his 'help,' what did you think about? Did you think about his voice, castigating you for your rather lax military deportment? Did you think about how much he must actually care for you, to make that kind of offer? Did you think about the secret thrill the thought of his instructing you in this forbidden and uncharted territory sent into your loins? You told me Sulu's kisses were arousing. Were you aroused before he started kissing you?"
       "Enough!" Chekov shouted. "I thought none of those things!" He was trembling, and Uhura stood.
       "You have to consider, then, Pavel, just exactly what you did think. You have to come to terms with whatever it was that made you suggest that Sulu be the one to take your virginity. If it was no more than an attempt to save yourself some physical pain, you have to come to terms with why you blamed him for it. I thought we'd worked all that out, but here it is again." She reached up, gently kissing his cheek. "It may not have been conscious at the time, Pasha," she murmured, "but it was there. And you have to accept it or it's never, never going to happen again."
       "And if that is what I want?" Chekov replied stubbornly.
       "Then, sweet Pasha," she said, and the words burned him, "you have to accept that." She rose from the bed and again gently kissed his cheek. "I'll be in my cabin when you're ready to talk about it."
       She left the room before he could formulate a response or a denial.

       Sulu had an empty bottle of sake in front of him, but he still wasn't drunk. He'd had another sob-fest in the shower, but it hadn't cleansed him. He hadn't even tried eating; the very thought made his stomach twist.
       That could be the sake, his brain suggested. He ignored it.
       What I need... he thought instead.
       Besides Pavel, his traitorous brain taunted.
       ...is another bottle of Daiginjo-shu.
       He was sitting cross-legged on his bed and rose to go to his cabinet when the com sounded. His heart thudded once, loudly, and he shut off the sudden, desperate hope. It won't be him. He moved to the desk, thumbing the connection open. "Sulu," he said.
       "It's Uhura," the communications officer's voice said. "Can you come to my cabin for a bit? I'd like to talk to you."
       Sulu sighed. "Nyota, if you're gonna yell at me, don't bother. I've already called myself every name in the book..."
       "Good for you, but this is important."
       "Is it about...?"
       "Will you come or not?"
       The helmsman sighed again. "Why not?" he said, then added, "But I'm bringing sake with me."
       "You do that, sugar. Just get your buns over here." The com clicked closed before he could respond with a jesting, "yes, ma'am." Sighing for a third time, he got the bottle from the cabinet, grabbed the warming flask and cup - then impulsively grabbed a second - and headed out of his cabin.
       When he arrived at Uhura's door, it slid open even before he could signal. Uhura grasped his arm, pulling him inside. "I don't know how much time we're going to have," she said without preliminary, "so let's not waste it with social pleasantries."
       Oh god... "Uhura, I can explain..." Sulu began. Uhura took the bottle, flask and two cups from him, setting them down on her desk.
       "You don't need to explain a damned thing to me sugar," she purred. "We both know that Pavel wants what you can give him.
       "Yeah, but until Pavel knows that Pavel wants what I can give him..."
       "He's working that out now," Uhura interrupted, "and we have to be ready when he's done." She was rummaging around in her closet, and Sulu shifted his weight uncertainly.
       "Ny, I really don't think your brilliant strategies have worked all that well so far." She turned, eyeing him suspiciously. "I mean, a lot of this was your idea, right?"
       "The only idea I had was that Pavel should be honest with you and with himself," she said archly.
       Sulu sighed. "I'm sorry, I thought..."
       "You thought wrong. If it had been my idea, I wouldn't've left it to Pavel to fuck up."
       A rueful grin touched Sulu's despairing features. "There is that," he agreed. He craned his head to attempt to look past her. "So what's the plan now?"
       "The plan is for you to be honest with him," she returned.
       "I have been," the helmsman protested.
       "No, I don't think you have." She turned, placing her hands on her hips. "Have you told him how you feel about him?"
       Sulu nodded. "I told him I've fantasized about him since..."
       "No," Uhura broke in. "Have you told him how you feel about him."
       He took a deep breath. "I've told him he's beautiful, I've told him I want him..."
       Uhura's foot was tapping. "Have you told him you love him?"
       Sulu paused, considering. Had he? He carefully recalled all he had said to the Russian.
       "The thought of Vargik raping you - worse, forcing you to cooperate - was so intolerable that I would've done anything - anything to take some of the pain from you."
       "You mean more to me - our friendship means more to me."
       "You'll have to find someone who won't give a good goddamn what happens to you afterwards. That's not me, not by a long shot."
       "Pavel, this thing is making love."
       Then came another thought, stronger than all the others.
       "I do not know if I love you, Sulu."
       And how could I tell him after that?
       "No," he admitted softly. "I haven't told him. Not outright."
       "And why not?"
       The helmsman swallowed. "He - he wasn't ready to hear it. He was talking about experimentation and gathering information and it being a casual thing..."
       "So naturally you decided he was ready for a full-blown domination scene complete with bondage, hmm?"
       Sulu winced. "No," he said miserably, "that just happened. After he deliberately made me angry..." He sighed again, utterly defeated. "I told him I was sorry, but I know he didn't believe me." He shook his head, "God, Nyota, why is he so provoking?"
       "Well, sugar," Uhura returned with a slight smile, "a part of the reason is because you love him." She turned back to the closet. "Another part is that's just how he is. I don't know the reason for it anymore than I know why he wants you to top him. Ah!" she exclaimed with sudden satisfaction. When she turned around again, she was holding up a man's costume; a romantic, flowing white shirt and tight, dark pants.
       Sulu found himself chuckling. "Nyota, you've got to be kidding," he said. It was an outfit he'd worn on the Shoreleave planet before Chekov had signed aboard, when he and Uhura had played at swashbuckler and neither-fair-nor-maiden. "I didn't know you kept that."
       "You were breathtaking in it," she reminded him. "And you certainly swept me off my feet."
       "Okay, but you were ready and willing to be swept," Sulu said.
       "And so is he."
       "And wearing a pirate's costume is supposed to change his mind about..."
       "No, a romantic fantasy in the rec chamber is supposed to change his mind," Uhura corrected.
       "And just how are you going to get him to agree to participate?"
       "You leave that to me, Lieutenant."
       Sulu took the clothing, but hesitated. "Uhura," he started, then paused, "you and I both know he doesn't want this kind of..."
       "Get him to fall into a romantic fantasy and he'll admit it," she assured.
       Sulu was still uncertain. "Sure, like he did with his 'experiment', but when the lights come back on, so to speak..."
       "That's when you'll tell him you love him."

       "You have to consider, then, Pavel, just exactly what you did think."
       Chekov sat on his bed, trying to stop the pounding of his heart. Uhura's perceptions had upset him badly. He wanted to deny with all his soul the things she had intimated, but her question was a piercing indictment within his mind. He couldn't recall clearly all that had gone on in his jumbled, frightened thoughts that long, terrible night. Had he thought at all, or had he simply steeled himself to what seemed at the time his inevitable death? He could remember his shock at Sulu's assertion that the lieutenant had offered to go with Vargik. But why was he shocked? Was it simply because he could not comprehend that the helmsman would allow himself to be violated, coupled with the fact that Chekov hadn't really understood what that violation would entail?
       No. Nyota is correct. There was more to it than that.
       But what?
       He couldn't remember. He had blocked it all out, knowing only that he had been determined no one would make such a sacrifice for him. But when Vargik threatened Sulu's life, when he had spent the afternoon in the yard, nearly freezing to death... what had his thoughts been then? That was when he had made the decision to ask for Sulu's help. Why? What exactly had he been thinking?
       Did you think about his voice, castigating you for your rather lax military deportment?
       No, ridiculous. I was not aroused by his voice then.
       But you recognized its authority, its power...
       Of course. He is my superior.
       And if you are, as Nyota insists, sexually submissive, would that fact have not contributed to any considerations that included the idea of sexuality? Authority, power and superiority would have left an impression, yes?
       His thoughts frowned. But I do not concede that Nyota is correct. He let his thoughts continue to her next question.
       Did you think about how much he must actually care for you, to make that kind of offer?
       Ah, that comes closer. I did realize that. And it was a part of the reason I was so shocked.
       A piece of memory came back to him, and it was difficult to look at. When Sulu had asserted that he would've given himself to Vargik, a rapid series of emotional reactions had flooded into Chekov's mind, effectively shutting down his ability to continue the conversation. He carefully examined them now, forcing the emotions away, able to only because the danger was no longer imminent.
       Reaction number one: Moy bog v'raya, he cannot be serious!
       Reaction number two: Why would he do such a thing?
       Reaction number three: Does he care so much for me?
       Reaction number four: Would it be so terrible for him? He does sleep with men.
       Reaction number five: He is quite promiscuous.
       Reaction number six: Is he also indiscriminate? Does the partner make no difference?
       Reaction number seven: Is that true of all homosexual encounters?
       And the final reaction, the one that was painful because it carried with it a wound Chekov had not been prepared for: And if that is so, he would not care for me as he does not truly care for anyone he sleeps with.
       And why was that wounding, Pasha? Because you did not like thinking that your friend was so immoral? Or...
       Chekov's eyes closed, a sudden lump in his throat. He had not been conscious of how much he cared for Sulu.
       You trusted him. You wanted to trust him. And so you closed your heart to the truth. And when Vargik threatened him, you told yourself that even if it would not be an act of caring, he would be careful. More, you told yourself that it would be no more than that to you.
       And so he was stiff and formal. He used his self-reliance, his attention to detail, his stubbornness to counter every indication or intimation that his helm partner might feel something other than physical, sexual desire....
       ...to protect yourself against the hope that he might. And it is this need for protection that has driven your actions, that accounts for your paranoia and your unreasoning accusations. It is this need to safeguard yourself that keeps you from admitting to him...
       Uhura's voice again came back to him:
       "And you have to accept it or...
       Nyota, I am afraid! If I relent, if I admit to him, and if I am no more to him than all the countless others....
       ...it's never, never going to happen again."
       Chekov stood, trembling. He had to decide. He was aroused by Sulu not because he was sexually submissive - although you cannot deny how good it feels when he controls you - but because he was aroused by Sulu. Did he dare confess it? Was the risk to his heart, his soul worth the so-very-distant possibility that Sulu might care for him?
       "I'll be in my cabin when you're ready to talk about it."
       Chekov took a deep, steadying breath, and left his cabin, heading for Uhura's.

       Sulu called upon the very depths of his romantic soul to create a fantasy scenario that might appeal to Chekov. He decided to keep the fantasy on board a ship, though, not, of course, a starship, because he wanted Chekov to realize that this was a 'shipboard' situation. He added elements of a rescue because Chekov had first approached him in that kind of situation: he had 'rescued' the navigator from Vargik. He added the element of a disparity of power for obvious reasons; Pavel responded to being controlled. And he added an element of the more dominant character - himself, of course - being completely and instantly smitten with his younger partner because that, too was the truth. He cleared it all with Uhura before programming the rec chamber, asking again how she was going to get Chekov to participate. She again dismissed his concern with a 'leave that to me,' and so Sulu stood on the deck of an 18th Century frigate, waiting.

       "Remember, play along," Uhura instructed firmly. "This is fantasy, and he's programmed it just for you. Let the situation tell you what he really feels. Don't think about the detention camp or the last couple of nights or the last month. He's a young captain, you're a poor, innocent youth, and he's just rescued you from being shanghaied into servitude and certain violation."
       Chekov couldn't stop the frown. He was wearing a tattered shirt tucked into equally tattered breeches, with rags wrapped around his feet for shoes. Uhura had deliberately mussed his hair after insisting he get it thoroughly wet. She stood with him just outside the recreation chamber, and he was nervously glancing up and down the hallway. "Uhura," he began, "I've never been very good at acting..."
       "Don't," she told him. "Just react to what's going on around you. If you get lost, let Sulu run with it." She grinned. "He's very good at fantasy, you know."
       Chekov blushed, nodding and Uhura gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Luck, Pavel," she whispered, then pressed the button to admit him to the chamber's already-in-progress program.

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