Return to Part Five
Daffy pressed her fingertips into her temples, grinding small circles against the bone as if she could physically push back the headache that had been tightening its grip for the past three hours. Above her desk, holographic images of the snow goose rings rotated in lazy circles—seven ethereal sculptures of light, each tagged with a woman's name and festooned with layers of annotations that represented weeks of obsessive research.
Seven rings. Seven stories. Seven threads that wove together into something far darker than she'd imagined when this had started as simple jewelry envy. Now Gollub sat at the center of a web connecting war crimes, espionage, and a long-dead Haven who'd been brave enough—or foolish enough—to try exposing it all.
The door chime's sudden blare made her flinch hard enough that her elbow knocked against a stack of datapads, sending them sliding across the desk's surface.
"Come," she said wearily, not bothering to look up.
She heard the Russian’s footsteps before she saw him—that distinctive careful tread he had when he was trying to be diplomatic. Her stomach tightened. She hadn't spoken to him since their fight.
"Dafshka..." He stopped in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back in a posture so formal and proper it could have come straight from the Academy handbook. "I have some unfortunate news about your investigation."
"Oh?" The anger flared hot and instant in her chest, burning through the tentative thoughts of reconciliation she'd been nursing all evening. He stood there looking crisp and composed in his pristine uniform, every hair in place, radiating calm authority—while she sat disheveled and exhausted, drowning in research that had consumed her life. The contrast felt like mockery. "And you thought you'd give yourself the treat of coming down here to deliver it in person?"
Chekov blinked, clearly taken aback by the venom in her voice. "No. Actually, I thought you might prefer to hear such things in the company of a sympathetic listener."
“Oh, is that what you are?” she shot back sarcastically before turning back to her work. “Well, too late. Jer already warned me I was about to get scrubbed, yesterday, so…”
“Jeremy Paget?” An edge entered the navigator’s tone.
“Yeah,” she replied, trying not to sound defensive. “So?”
The Russian crossed his arms as he stepped into the cabin, apparently no longer feeling that an invitation was necessary. “And why did the ship’s Chief of Security take an interest in your inquiry?”
Gollub shrugged diffidently. “Because he’s a friend…”
She could almost hear the processors in Chekov’s brain scanning this explanation for flaws and immediately flagging its many glaring inadequacies.
“…And,” she admitted before the barrage of follow-up questions could commence, “because I had asked him to check on a few things for me.”
"So." His tone grew thick with disapproval. "You involved Paget as well as Uhura?"
“They helped me out a little,” she retorted sharply, still pretending to keep her attention on her report. “So what?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, sounding as though he very much did know and didn’t care for that scenario one bit. He crossed his arms and glanced around her cabin as if the very décor of the place was becoming more suspect with each passing moment. “I came here thinking that Headquarters had perhaps over-reacted in sending you an official notification to cease asking your questions about the rings, but now it seems I may be wrong. Behind my back, you seem to have assembled an entire team and launched a full-scale investigation…”
“Behind your back?” The chemist whirled around to face him indignantly. “Like you think I need your permission or something?”
The Russian put his hands on his hips and met her gaze with equal fire. “I am a rather central figure in this matter, am I not?”
"You?" She let out a contemptuous snort. "You have no idea what we've uncovered, do you?"
"Other than a list of the names and locations of women whom I have dated or befriended since graduating from the Academy?" Chekov's voice went stiff and formal, wrapped in offended dignity. "No."
"No! No!" Gollub's hands sliced through the air in sharp, adamant gestures. "That's just the tiniest part of this thing!"
"Then what is it about?"
"Space!" Her arms swept wide, as if trying to encompass the entire galaxy. "And treason! And espionage! And a really, really brave—and probably really, really dead—Haven. And Rhonda Brezhnova. And the High Stakes. And a merce—"
“Admiral Brezhnova?” The Russian’s orderly mind plucked a familiar name from the chaos of the list.
“Yes!” Gollub snapped her fingers eagerly and pointed him towards her viewscreen. “Let me show you…”
Curiosity drew him closer. As he approached, his sharp observational skills began cataloging details -- the sheer volume of research materials scattered across every surface, the multiple layers of open files and cross-referenced data – and labeling them as the unmistakable signs of ongoing, active work.
“Oh, Daphne,” he groaned. “You are not working on this still, are you?”
"No, no." She tried to unobtrusively close some of the more incriminating datapads that contradicted this assertion. "Gage made us promise we'd quit and file a report for the Admiral. I was just collecting my notes, and I—"
"Gage?" The Russian's eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. The Haven's name emerged from his mouth dripping with icicles of disdain. "Ambassador Gage?"
"Yeah..." Gollub managed a weak smile, belatedly remembering Pavel's deep distrust of the trader. Chekov didn't have her long history with Gage, but he'd managed to accumulate his own collection of awkward and unpleasant encounters on various missions. She mentally kicked herself for forgetting to edit the trader’s presence out of her story. "I did mention the probably very dead Haven in the story, right? We did a little off-the-record consult with him."
Chekov's frown deepened into something approaching a scowl. "He's an official for a hostile government."
“The Havens are our allies now,” the chemist reminded him.
"For the moment," the Russian granted with heavy cynicism. "Until a better offer comes along."
“Right,” Gollub said, deciding it was not an opportune moment to debate the political advisability of the Haven Alliance. “Well, he told us about…”
Chekov was still frowning. “I thought you did not like that person.”
“He weirds me out...” Daffy admitted, trying her best to speed through this portion of the conversation. The only thing that made her more uncomfortable than being around Lane Gage was talking to Chekov about why it was uncomfortable to be around Lane Gage. “Anyway, this wasn’t about me. Uhura set this up for us. You know that Uhura and Tomor Rand are…” Gollub made a kiss-kiss gesture with her fingers accompanied by smooching noises to shorthand the sort of relationship she was getting at. “So, his talking to us was more of a favor to her, right?”
The Russian's arms remained crossed, his frown mighty and unmollified. "What could that avaricious Cossack possibly know about rings made by my uncle?"
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you if you’d let me get a word in edgewise.” The chemist brought up an image on her viewer. “Here’s the guy we’re talking about, Luk Barilon. He commissioned the rings from Uncle Max.”
The Russian leaned forward to peer at the portrait. “I am surprised my uncle’s reputation extends even to Haven traders.”
The image showed a Haven male who appeared middle-aged—though given their species' slower aging process, the doctor might have been ancient when the portrait was captured. Like all Havens, Barilon had golden skin and brilliant black-on-black eyes. His raven hair was shot with white accents at the temples. His fashionably trimmed goatee sparkled with graceful threads of silver. He looked very much like all the many other suave and handsome Haven men that Daffy had met. Nothing in his features suggested exceptional bravery or moral conviction. She wondered what internal fire had driven him to go against everything his culture valued: profit, company loyalty, self-preservation. What made someone risk everything to expose war crimes committed by his own people, knowing it would lead to nothing but disaster and death?
“Barilon wasn’t a trader, “ Gollub said softly. “He was a physician.”
“Oh.”
Chekov's tone suggested he didn't understand enough about Haven culture to see much distinction between the professions. Given his low opinion of the entire species' ethical standards, Daffy didn't bother elaborating. The truth was that Barilon's job title didn't explain his behavior at all. Haven physicians weren't trusted healers like their human counterparts—they were more like congenial potential blackmailers, holders of damaging secrets about their patients' most intimate weaknesses. By Haven standards, Barilon's decision to expose his people's dirty dealings would seem like a puzzling breakdown of the carefully balanced system of bribes and threats that guaranteed loyalty.
“He was a ship’s doctor during the pre-Alliance skirmishes between the Haven Trading Empire and the Federation,” the chemist explained instead. “The vessel he served on operated in disputed territory. According to Gage, Barilon was witness to mercenaries engaging in actions designed to escalate and perpetuate conflict in these zones.”
This alarming revelation, the navigator did grasp immediately and firmly. “Oh, no,” he breathed, his brown eyes going wide.
“Oh, yes,” she replied, confirming the serious implications she knew he was automatically imagining.
"And the rings?"
"Gage thinks Barilon meant them to be a message. Or a key. Or something." She gestured to her holographic images of the rings in frustration. "Max said Barilon asked about 'keeping secrets in silver.' That the actual ring—the one that was never made—was supposed to be embedded with data about war crimes – or maybe just a message about a contact point… where they could meet.”
The navigator fell silent, his eyes moving thoughtfully from ring to ring as they rotated in the air. "That is... actually quite clever. A coded message hidden in jewelry. Easy to transport, easy to explain if intercepted."
Gollub brought up a second portrait. “I think the rings might also have been intended to send a message about this man – Charles Donne.”
Chekov studied the image of a middle-aged Human male. His features had a sort of rugged charm.
“Should I recognize him?” he asked.
“No, but Rhonda Brezhnova would.” Gollub tapped the screen confidently. “Donne was a mercenary. Was involved with the Haven-Federation conflict. Had some kind of connection to Luk Barilon. Lane Gage said he called him Brezhnova’s lover, but I think he was more than that. When you look at the dates and… well, here’s a picture of Christy Chaz, Admiral Brezhnova’s daughter.”
The chemist split the screen to include an image of a serious-faced young woman with long black hair and striking blue eyes that seemed to look right through the camera.
"And the Admiral," Daffy added, bringing up Brezhnova's stern features to complete the trio.
Chekov was notoriously bad at detecting family resemblances. The two women did share the most obvious similarities. However, even he couldn't miss the unmistakable connection between the blue-eyed mercenary and the blue-eyed young woman.
He pointed back and forth between the images. "You are thinking that he is her father?"
Gollub nodded. "In English, 'Chaz' is an old-style nickname for Charles. That could just be coincidence, but..."
"A strong possibility." The Russian blew out a long, unhappy breath as he straightened. "Well... I must admit, this is all quite disturbing."
Gollub crossed her arms and gave him a defiant smile. “Not quite the waste of time you thought it was, huh?”
"Not at all what I thought it was," Chekov agreed, looking at the accumulated research materials with new eyes. His expression grew even more disapproving than before. "Very disturbing. You are lucky to have not gotten into any more trouble than you did. If I were a member of your investigation team, I would have insisted you close down your efforts even before this."
The chemist narrowed her eyes. “Oh, you would have?”
The Russian shook his head at the floating images of the snow goose rings. “I am very worried about my uncle.”
Daffy's defiance immediately softened. Max Rostov did seem to be an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire of intergalactic drama. Pavel was perfectly right to be concerned.
“Everyone says that the ring that would have been really dangerous – the one with Barilon’s data or message embedded in it never got made,” she assured him quickly. “So at least from what we’ve found out -- Max doesn’t really know anything that would put him in jeopardy. Also, we got good indications that your uncle’s shop is under surveillance by both Starfleet and Haven special intelligence.”
Chekov curled his lip at mention of the Havens. “The last is not terribly reassuring.”
“At least they can keep an eye on each other,” the chemist offered with a shrug.
"Oh, I almost forgot." The navigator tapped his temple. "Of course, you may already know this, but I located Lieutenant Rahna Pelias. She was... uhm..."
Gollub saw him begin to explain his relationship to the lieutenant, then notice the holographic ring labeled with Pelias' name floating above the desk. A rather annoyed look crossed the navigator’s face as he realized any explanation was completely superfluous. Instead, he rolled his eyes, sighed, and skipped ahead to, “She has a ring and would be willing to part with it.”
Daffy stared at him as if he’d sprouted horns.
"This should resolve your desire to have one," he continued in a rather brisk, business-like manner. "The ring is yours, and you can stop pursuing this investigation that's clearly putting you at risk—"
"No."
"—and we can move past this unfortunate—what?"
"I said no." The chemist's voice was firm and final. "I don't want it."
Pavel's confusion was almost comical. "But... you said you wanted one of the rings. This entire matter has been a result of your pursuit. I thought—"
"You thought you could solve my problem with a subspace call and a pretty bauble?" The anger surged up hot and bitter in her throat. "You thought you could just... fix me? Manage my feelings? Give me a participation trophy and send me back to my proper place in the chemistry lab?"
"Daphne, I—"
"You were trying to make me stop. There's a difference." She leveled an accusing finger at him. "I don't want a ring from one of your ex-girlfriends. I never did… Not really."
"Then what do you want?" He threw his hands up in frustration. "First you are furious that I gave these rings away, then you're investigating them like they are some grand conspiracy, and now you won't even accept one when I've gone to the trouble of acquiring it for you!"
"Because it's not about the rings!" The words burst out louder than she'd intended, echoing off the cabin walls. "It was never about the rings, you putz!"
"Then what is this about?" he shot back, his voice going cold and hard.
The chemist gestured at her research adamantly. "It’s about Luk Barilon and Admiral Brezhnova and a mystery that goes back years. About a Haven physician who was scared enough to look over his shoulder. About a mercenary who might be alive or dead. About a secret that people might have killed to keep buried." She stopped to take in a deep, shuddering breath, looking up into his face. "So no, Pavel, I don't want some random ring from a former crew member who barely remembers you. I want to understand. I want to know why someone would commission something beautiful and then make it disappear. I want to solve a real mystery."
“And it looks as though you have.” The Russian mimicked her gesture, directing her back towards her research. "You did solve it. You found your answers.” He held up a cautioning finger. “However, you also have orders now to stop now. Will you listen, Dafshka? Will you -- for this one time -- realize when too much is enough?"
These words created a painful echo inside her heart. She turned away to silence them.
“Don’t patronize me," she demanded curtly to cover how much they stung her.
"Patronize you?” His mouth dropped open in outraged disbelief. "Is that what I am doing? Because I wish you to be safe from whatever dangerous people might not want you asking questions about mercenaries and war crimes and—" He cut himself off, breathing hard.
"I don't need you to protect me, Pavel. I need you to trust me."
"Daphne—"
"You trust me to run chemical analyses. You trust me to follow protocols in the lab," she accused, hoping that the fury of her counterattack would cover the fact that for some reason she seemed to suddenly be on the verge of tears. "But you don't trust me to handle anything messy or complicated or real. You want me to be simple. Manageable. Someone who can be satisfied with a pretty ring and a pat on the head."
The navigator let out an incredulous snort. "Then I seem to have quite a problem, don't I?"
She spat back, "Your problem is that you think 'I love you' means 'let me fix you.'"
He met her gaze evenly, unflinching. "I am not so stupid as to try to fix someone who clearly has no desire for repair."
On most days, Pavel Chekov was a nice person. A true gentleman. But you had to remember he was Russian. In a fight, he would swing the truth like a baseball bat without hesitation or remorse.
His comment made the question of the reality of her situation as obvious as it was unavoidable. In continuing to pursue this investigation, was she trying to bring closure to a line of inquiry that instinct was telling her was still being left dangling? Or was her failure to let go symptomatic of something else? Was there something in her psyche that moved her to cause problems for herself because there was something within her that made her cling to brokenness?
What if the answer was a complicated mix of all of the above?
The couple stood glaring at each other across the small cabin, both having reached their pain threshold for this particular match, neither sure of the next move.
Before either could escalate or retreat, Gollub's comm chimed. She glanced at the display and felt her stomach drop like a stone.
"It's Admiral Brezhnova," she announced, panicked.
Even Chekov went pale. "She knows about your investigation."
"Of course she knows,” the chemist hissed. “She's the one who issued the shutdown order." Daffy took a steadying breath and accepted the call. "Lieutenant Commander Gollub here."
Brezhnova's face materialized on the screen—severe and composed, with piercing black eyes that seemed to catalog every detail, every weakness, every lie. "Commander. I understand you've been making inquiries into matters concerning me."
"Yes, ma'am. I—"
"Save it." Brezhnova's voice was clipped. "I've read the reports. From Gage, from Paget, from Uhura, from half a dozen other sources. You've been remarkably thorough."
"Admiral, I apologize if I overstepped—"
"You did overstep. Considerably." Brezhnova's expression remained granite-hard. "You dug into classified operations that have nothing to do with your duties aboard the Enterprise. You spoke with high-level Haven operatives about sensitive matters without proper clearance. According to one report, you were even preparing to contact my daughter, possibly compromising the location of her vessel while she is engaged on a classified mission."
"Yes, ma'am." Daffy's mouth went dry as dust. "I was... uhm..."
"I know what you were doing," the Admiral snapped. "Would you like to hear the list again? I could add details."
"Not necessary, Admiral," the chemist said quickly. "I understand, ma'am. It won't happen again."
"No. It won't." Brezhnova paused. "Because I'm officially ordering you to cease all inquiries into this matter. That's a direct order, Commander. Acknowledge."
"Acknowledged, Admiral."
"Good." Brezhnova's gaze flicked to something off-screen. "I'm also ordering you to file a complete report of everything you've discovered. Every source, every conversation, every theory. I want it on my desk by 0300 tomorrow."
“Admiral…” Gollub swallow hard, gathering her resolve despite the furious shaking of her knees. This was more the tone of a meeting that she had feared rather than hoped for. However, she knew if she did not speak now, she would never have another opportunity. “I do have a question, though.”
Brezhnova’s dark eyes bore into her forbiddingly. “Yes?”
The chemist's hands trembled as she reached for a datapad. "There was something I came across that I doubt the others have included. I wasn't sure if I should include it either."
"What?"
"As you know, Max Rostov made seven sample rings for Luk Barilon. He showed the Haven those rings. Those are the rings I investigated. However, something Barilon said stuck in Rostov's mind." Reading slowly and carefully, articulating each word, Gollub quoted, "In reference to the snow goose legend, he said, 'The geese flew home, but the hunter followed.' After hearing that, Rostov created this variation on his design..."
Gollub displayed an image of Max's version of the snow goose ring—the geese flying toward each other as if heading home.
The Admiral's face stayed carefully immobile, but the chemist caught it: a momentary flicker in her eyes, a quick dilation of her pupils that betrayed... recognition? Understanding?
"Because Barilon never saw this sample ring," she continued carefully, "I wasn't sure it was appropriate to include it in my report."
"For your reports to me," Brezhnova ordered, her voice slow and weighted with meaning, "no detail is too small or observation without some interest." Then, slipping the official mask back into place, she continued, "On my desk by 0300."
Daffy's mouth dropped open in dismay as she glanced at the chronometer and realized how very little time this left her. "0300?"
"Did I stutter, Commander?"
"No, ma'am. I'll have it ready."
"See that you do." Brezhnova leaned forward slightly, and for just a moment, her expression shifted—something almost like approval flickering across her features. "Although this was not an appropriate area for investigation, Gollub, your instincts were not bad. You asked the right questions. You assembled a good team. You found connections that others missed." She paused. "However, you also put yourself and others at risk, and you interfered in operations far above your clearance level. Never do it again."
"Uhm... uh... Understood, Admiral."
"Brezhnova out."
The screen went dark.
Daffy and Pavel sat frozen in stunned silence.
After a long moment, Gollub stopped shaking enough to blow out a breath. "That was very..."
"Very, very," her boyfriend agreed emphatically."Very, very," her boyfriend agreed emphatically.
Daffy felt a slightly hysterical laugh building in her chest. "Did she just..."
"Threaten you in one sentence and then compliment you in the next? Yes." The navigator nodded. "I think Admiral Brezhnova ordered you to stop investigating while also ordering you to tell her everything you found so she can investigate the matter herself."
"Devious." The chemist gave an admiring whistle.
Chekov nodded approvingly. "Very Russian of her."
"Very smart of her." Daffy stood and began gathering her datapads with renewed energy. "She shut down the official investigation, which keeps Starfleet Intelligence happy. But she's getting all my research, which means she can keep searching without anyone knowing."
"So..." The navigator gestured to the viewscreen that still displayed images of Brezhnova, Christy Chaz, and Charles Donne. "Are you satisfied that you communicated your findings about the message that may be contained in my uncle's sample ring?"
"Well, you saw for yourself her great big non-reaction, right?" Gollub gestured to the now-empty screen. "What does your secret Soviet lack-of-body-language decoder tell you?"
"She got the message," the Russian confirmed.
Daffy gave another shaky laugh. "And she didn't bust me down to assistant ship's dishwasher, so maybe she's grateful?"
"Perhaps." Chekov nodded, still too wary for optimism. "Who knows? The remainder of this story is up to her."
Daffy considered that. For the first time, she finally felt the weight of the rings' story lifting from her shoulders. She wouldn't get to see the mystery through to its conclusion. Wouldn't know if Brezhnova would ever find Charles Donne, or what had happened to Luk Barilon. The story would remain unfinished—at least for her.
However, she'd done what she set out to do. She'd found the truth. She'd proven that the rings mattered, that they were part of something bigger. And maybe, just maybe, she'd helped a mother in her search for answers.
"Yeah," she said after a moment. "I think you’re right."
"I am," the navigator said lightly, reminding her that he had the capacity for humor, "upon occasion."
"Sometimes," she agreed in the same joking vein. "Just for variety."