Ruth had listened to Sulu's startling explanation with a growing sense of alarm. She immediately went to the First Officer's quarters, only to find that he was already investigating the transporter logs with exactly the same suspicion. She related the events that Sulu had described, including the fact that Jilla was ashamed of her own unavoidable response and therefore did not wish any official action taken. But there was one thing about that which was troubling her, and she broached the subject with the First Officer.

"Mr. Spock, there's one problem with this whole transference between universes idea," she said, then added, "well, two, actually. First, Jilla's Indiian. Shouldn't she be able to feel if Chekov wasn't Chekov? I mean, her tia would tell her there was a different emotional reality present, wouldn't it? Second, while I didn't scan him or anything, wouldn't I be able to tell?"

Spock pursed his lips, bringing the fingers of his joined hands to them. "The theory of transference," he began, "is predicated on the idea that one's consciousness may be separated from one's physical being and made to inhabit the physical being of one's counterpart in another reality. As far as I know, there have never been any studies of what, precisely, an Indiian's sensitivity detects. Emotion, yes," he continued, forestalling his assistant's obvious counter, "but where is it that emotion resides? If the theory that emotion is a biochemical process is correct, that biochemical process would reside within the physical body, and not a state of awareness. This, in fact, would tend to be borne out by the Indiian assertion that tia is tia - that is, one cannot alter one's basic emotional make-up."

"So the reason Chekov would still feel like Chekov is because whoever-he-is is using Chekov's biochemical processes," Ruth mused.

"Precisely, Miss Valley," Spock returned. "And while empathy is not exactly the same process, the same parameters regarding the sensing of emotion would apply, explaining, also, your inability to automatically detect such a transference."

The Antari frowned. "But if I did scan him..."

"In theory, you would know instantly."

"I can do that, Mr. Spock."

One eyebrow rose. "Would that not be an invasion of mental privacy?" the Vulcan asked.

"Sure, but if the welfare of a crewmember requires it..." she shrugged.

"Indeed," was Spock's response. "If the transporter records indicate there was the power fluctuation required for such an event, your abilities as a keheil could confirm it."

Ruth bent down over Spock's computer, one hand resting on the back of his chair. "How will you know if the glitch was the right kind of glitch?" she asked.

"You forget, Miss Valley," Spock replied. "It has happened before."

The last thing Pavel wanted to do was report to the Bridge, but Sulu had pointed out - between lascivious nips at his ear - that to do otherwise would raise undue suspicion. The navigator had tried to argue that, with the captain expecting certain disciplinary actions, it might look odd if he did report for duty. The Security Chief replied that he could take care of Kirk's suspicions - if, of course, the man was smart enough to have any. So Pavel straightened his uniform, gathered his courage and all the acting ability he possessed - admittedly not much - and stepped from the turbolift onto the Bridge of the I.S.S. Enterprise.

The first thing he noticed was that the con was nearly throne-like in size, Navigation and Helm were dwarfed before it. Kirk was a dictator in it, though his bearing seemed outwardly just as much at ease there as did the captain of Pavel's Enterprise. Uhura at Communications gave him a seductive smile, then favored Sulu with one of equal sensuality. Commander Spock turned from the Science Station, the bearded face momentarily giving the Russian pause. One elegant eyebrow rose in some kind of acknowledgment, the hooded eyes piercing and inquisitive. Not knowing how to respond, Pavel didn't, moving to his station with quick, determined strides.

"Fit for duty, are you, Mr. Chekov?" Kirk's hard voice chuckled.

"As always, sir," Pavel replied with what he hoped was the right mixture of disdain and wary respect.

Kirk grunted, but said nothing more. The navigator quickly checked course and heading, having to spend a moment deciphering the positions from the expanded array of controls before him. He reported the information to the captain, hearing Sulu add, "situation at norm, sir."

"Really?" Kirk sneered. "With my Chief Engineer dead, I hardly think so, Lieutenant."

An almost condescending grin pulled at the Security Chief's lips. "Situation normalized, then, Captain."

"I certainly hope so, Mr. Sulu," came Spock's voice as he stepped down into the command well. "Field promotions under such - trying - circumstances can cause disruption in any ship's routine."

"I've got it well in hand, Mr. Spock," Sulu said, and glanced at Pavel, his eyes gleaming. "Well in hand."

Pavel felt his skin reddening in a flush, and tried desperately to stop it. "Do you indeed?" the First Officer murmured, and the Russian was certain he detected some anger beneath the unperturbed tone. "Then you have properly vetted Mr. Scott's replacement?"

"Of course, Commander," was the Security Chief's reply. "Scott's assistant will adequately suit the needs of this ship and her captain." Sulu turned, glancing up at the Vulcan. "Or do you disagree?"

Spock turned his gaze to Kirk. "Captain?" he deferred.

"You handle the details of ship's crew, Spock," Kirk nearly yawned.

Spock nodded. "Then the promotion of Mr. DelMonde to Chief Engineer is confirmed," he said to Sulu.

The name was out before Pavel could stop his mouth. "DelMonde? Noel DelMonde?" He caught the slight shake of Sulu's head, but the half-grin remained on the Asian's lips.

"I was not aware you were familiar with members of the Engineering staff," Spock rumbled above him, and Pavel froze.

"I - I knew him - at the Academy, sir," he responded. He heard Kirk's snort, and his flush renewed. With the amount of casual carnality that passed for social interaction aboard this ship, he was suddenly and acutely aware of what such a statement undoubtedly implied.

"I see," the Vulcan murmured, and without another word, stepped back up to the Science Station.

Pavel fought with his physical reactions, finally getting them back under control, only to lose it again when, after some time, Kirk rose from the con, striding over to Spock to discuss some matter of ship's business. Sulu leaned over and whispered. "Rookie mistake, pet. Never admit to knowing anyone - whether or not and regardless of how - well - you do." He chuckled, and Pavel shuddered.

At the end of a long and harrowing Watch, during which Pavel did not relax for a moment, he rose gratefully from Navigation and went immediately to the turbolift, hoping he could avoid another grope-session with Sulu. He breathed a small sigh of relief when the First Officer entered the car with him. The relief, however, was short-lived, for a few moments into the ride, the Vulcan ordered, "Hold," and the lift car stopped its progress. Spock turned to him. "I wish to know, Lieutenant, why you felt it necessary to lie regarding Mr. DelMonde," he said.

Pavel swallowed. "Lie, sir?" he asked.

"Not only do you not know Mr. DelMonde, you never attended Starfleet Academy," was the calm, frightening response.

The Russian tried to think quickly, despite his shock that there was some way a person could receive a commission in Fleet without attending the Academy. Then he remembered Kirk's reaction. "I thought - considering my somewhat precarious position - it might afford the captain some slight amusement to think of such a possibility," he managed.

"Indeed," the Vulcan returned. "And did you think it would also somehow amuse me?"

"I - I ..." Pavel had to look away from the alien eyes. "I hadn't considered that, sir."

"There is much you have not considered in the past two days," Spock said. He stepped closer to the lieutenant. "Is Mr. Sulu aware of the grave danger he courts?"

"I - I am sure he doesn't care about any..." Pavel's words were broken off by a sudden and overpowering kiss.

"Never forget to whom you belong, my rilain," Spock growled. In unthinking panic, Pavel pushed away from the Vulcan. He brought the back of his hand up to his own mouth as if to wipe away the taste of copper and spice. He didn't see the First Officer's sudden frown as Spock stared closely at him, turning away with a crisp "Resume" to the lift car.

Pavel tried not to race into the quarters of his counterpart. He desperately needed to be alone, to attempt to process what had happened, to find some way to use the information he had gleaned from Sulu's security logs. I must get away from this madhouse! cried within him. When the door of the cabin closed behind him, he slumped against it, eyes closing, his hands making automatic, unconscious fists. He called me 'little one,' he thought, even now his mind unwilling to comprehend the obvious. It is what Spock calls Jilla Majiir. It is affectionate, intimate. How - why does he apply that term to me? How can a commissioned officer never have been at the Academy? How can this Sulu know 'Dafshka,' how does he even know Russian? How is Noel aboard this ship, how did my grandmother's priceless dolls come to be in these quarters?

It wasn't that he didn't understand the phenomenon of alternate universes. He remembered quite well the incident in which Captain Kirk, Uhura, Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy had been so exchanged. He had known where he was the instant he'd seen the wall in the transporter room, the scar on Sulu's face. It was the details that were tormenting him, the steady accumulation of fact that was overwhelming him. The rampant use of sex for control, as bribe or threat, was not something he understood. The all-pervasive need for such control was something quite beyond his imagination. There was no refuge in his usual reactions of analyzing or observation. He was being pushed and pulled into action and reaction, left jumbled by the constant surprises in all that should be familiar - and yet was all horribly distorted.

Mr. Spock tells me I belong to him. Sulu calls me 'pet.' Daphne agrees to a sharing of her body with lewd abandon...

The panic within him was abruptly interrupted as the door behind him opened. He nearly fell, stumbling as he regained his balance.

"Pasha, darling, are you alright?" Daphne said, her arms coming around him to help steady him. "Don't tell me that bastard gave you a Boothing already!"

"No, I am not alright," he snapped. "Leave me alone!"

The chemist backed away, her eyes going wide. "I'm sorry," she rasped. "Please, Pavel, I didn't mean to..."

The Russian took a step forward, intending to move past her - then stopped as she winced and gasped, her arm immediately coming up as if to deflect a blow to her face. He stood blinking at her as she warily glanced at him.

"Pasha?" she whispered.

"Daphne, it has been a trying day," he said, dropping his gaze to the deck. "I am tired, and I do not know what Lieutenant Sulu has planned for me this evening."

Her arm lowered, her head tilting to one side. "Do you still need to play his game?" she whispered. "Can't Spock protect you?"

Pavel started. "You know...?" he began.

"I know he can protect you," she returned, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. Her eyes were veiled, but Pavel could see the truth behind them. She came close to him, her arms going hesitantly around his neck. "Go to him," she murmured. "If Sulu comes looking for you I'll tell him I don't know where you are. You can even hit me, and I'll tell him you left angry at me."

The Russian pulled away. "Hit you?" he managed. An expression that was half silky smile, half grimace touched her lips.

"It would add a little realism, yes, Pasha?"

Pavel again found himself staring at her, dumbfounded. He hits you, his numbed brain repeated. He becomes angry and he hits you. And you allow it? You invite it? As you invite who you think is your lover to - go to - He was unable to make himself finish the thought.

"No," he said instead. "It would not."

She sighed and leaned forward. "He thinks he's really got you running scared, doesn't he," she said, again very softly. "Turn the tables on him, darling. Take it to Spock. If anyone will know what to do, that damned Vulcan will."

Pavel heard the bitterness in her tone, her resigned acceptance of a thing she couldn't change, her loathing of it nonetheless. But he also heard, deeply buried beneath imperial machination, how greatly she feared for her Pasha's life and well-being, and how much she would sacrifice to insure it. How much, Pavel realized, she must love him.

And though things are twisted here, does that mean that, at home, there is some of that within Daphne for...

He shut off the unsettling thought, replacing it with another. That damned Vulcan will know what to do. Spock, Science Officer, the one who helped the Captain and the others return home the last time this happened.

"Yes, Daphne, I think you are right," he said to the woman who stood so close to him. "I think Mr. Spock will know exactly what to do."

"Captain, I need to speak with you and Mr. Scott immediately," Spock said as he stepped onto the Bridge. Jim Kirk turned in the con.

"Is there something wrong, Spock?"

"Yes. It concerns the anomaly during the transport of Mr. Chekov two days ago."

The puzzled look on Jim's face quickly changed to one of alarm. "An anomaly in the transporter?" he repeated.

"Yes, Captain. It is a matter of some urgency."

Jim rose, turning to Uhura. "Have Mr. Scott meet us in my office," he told the Communications Officer. Then, with a worried glance at Spock added, "On the double."

Montgomery Scott studied the readouts Spock had produced, his face set in an uneasy frown. "Aye, Captain," he said to the man standing next to him. "It could've caused another transference all right. But this wasna due to any ion storm."

"If my interpretation of the data is correct," Spock put in, "this transference was deliberate. The fluctuations recorded would indicate that the field density was carefully calibrated."

"Can it be recreated?" Jim wanted to know.

"I'll have to do some calculation and recalibration myself," Scott replied, "but aye, I think it can."

"Where is Mr. Chekov now?" Jim asked.

"I would assume his quarters," Spock returned.

"His quarters," Jim said, then his face grew concerned. "He requested that Miss Gollub move in with him."

"Ach, a devil from that damned place has the lass all to himself?" Scott questioned, his tone clearly conveying the anxiety they all felt.

"Miss Valley has reported a number of uncharacteristic interactions with Mr. Chekov," Spock provided, "and with Miss Gollub."

"He'd better not have harmed a member of my crew," Jim said grimly.

"I fear, Captain," Spock rejoined, "that that is all too likely."

"Then let's get him out of there and in the brig while Scotty figures out how - if we can send him back where he belongs."

Chekov pulled a bleeding, sobbing Daffy into the shower, shoving her under a spray of cold water. "You will clean yourself up, blyadina," he hissed at her, "and then you will prepare my dinner. After I have eaten, you will serve me in any way I tell you. Is that understood, Dafshka?"

She didn't answer him and he slapped her face, bringing a terrified cry from her lips.

"Is that understood?" he repeated harshly.

"Yes!" she shrieked. He patted her firmly on the buttock.

"There's my good girl," he snarled. He left the bathroom, sucking on the knuckles of his left hand. The too-soft skin was upbraided and he scowled at it. His own hands were much tougher. It was obvious that Daphne was not the only one who lacked discipline. He went to the computer, calling up the schedule for the ship's gymnasium, entering a standing reservation for an hour's worth of time each day.

The door chime sounded, and he quickly picked up what was left of the civilian clothing Daphne had been wearing, placing it in the recycling chute. Checking to be sure there were no telltale bloodstains on the carpeted deck, he crossed the room, opening the door.

"What is it..." he began, and was startled when Sulu and an armed Security team pushed their way into the cabin.

"Where's Daffy?" Sulu demanded.

The Russian made his eyes go wide and confused. "She is in the shower," he replied. "Sulu, what is...?"

"Drop the act, bastard," the helmsman broke in. "We know who you are."

Chekov blinked. "Of course you do," he said. "We are friends..."

"Please!" Sulu spat. "You don't want to give me an excuse to use this." His eyes flashed down to the phaser, but his aim remained rock steady.

So the Federation ilioty have caught on, have they? Chekov thought, and folded his arms, allowing the usual disdain of his features to have expression on this too-gentle face. "Do you think you can, mal'chik?" he sneered.

"Try me," came the soft reply.

Chekov readied himself to rush this so-much-weaker version of Sulu, confident in his own ability to take him down as well as avoid the others in the security force. Then he caught sight of the Antari in the corridor, her face set in a glare that would've been ugly if it were not so amusing. "A woman, an Antari as reinforcements, Sulu?" he laughed. "How desperate you must be."

He started forward with a move that was sure to disarm the helmsman, then fell back in surprise as his body refused to cooperate.

"Get him, Roy," Valley snarled.

Chekov grunted in helpless distress as Sulu began systematically applying very painful physical force with fists and elbows and feet. "Let him defend himself," the Asian rasped. "Give me an reason to cause some real damage!"

"That's quite enough, Lieutenant." The voice of Captain Kirk stopped the one-sided battle, and Sulu gave the Russian a final kick to the genitals.

"That's for Jilla!" he growled, then stepped back.

"And this - " Valley added, and Chekov felt a burning pain in his skull, centered at the back of his head, "is for Daffy!"

Daffy wept helplessly in the shower, slumped to her knees, her hands covering her face. She could feel the bruises starting to come up on her skin, could taste the blood in her mouth. Her sense of self was in tatters as ragged as the clothing she was no longer wearing. Pavel had ripped them off of her piece by piece, ramming his fists into her body again and again. He had called her vicious and vile names, taking particular delight in bruising her breasts and genitals. He had even grabbed a piece of her jewelry, one of her wide hoop earrings, and had thrust it through one of her nipples, telling her he would see other, more sensitive parts of her pierced as well. All the emotion she had once felt for him was ashes, burned away by his cruelty and barbarism. Yet she had stopped fighting him. She had cried and sobbed, trying only to deflect his blows, all defiance and courage beaten out of her. There was no way anyone could consider her 'daffy' now.

She heard the shower door opening and cowered away. "No more," she heard herself begging. "Please, Pavel no more..."

"Oh god, Daffy!" It was Ruth's voice, and she blinked water and tears away and saw only golden arms reaching for her. The cry of release burst from her and she threw herself into her friend's embrace, weeping in grateful relief as the Antari's empathic power sang along her veins, healing both her broken body and her broken mind.

"Commander Spock?" Pavel's voice was hesitant as he approached the First Officer. Spock sat at the computer in his office. "If I might speak to you - privately, sir?"

The bearded face looked up, the expression grim and thoughtful. "Yes, Mr. Chekov, I believe it is about time you did," he returned.

The Russian took a few tentative steps forward. "I - I don't know where to begin..."

The Vulcan stood. "Then allow me." He moved from behind the desk. "I have already instructed Mr. DelMonde to prepare the transporter," he said. "I will send you back where you belong."

"You - you know...?" Pavel stammered, uncomfortably aware that they were the same words he'd spoken to Daphne.

"Yes. And I must retrieve my Lieutenant Chekov," Spock returned. "For reasons I made inadvertently clear to you in the turbolift."

"I - I don't understand," the navigator replied.

"Do you need to?" the First Officer murmured, then came closer, looking down into the brown eyes. "Indeed, Mr. Chekov, do you want to?"

"You called me rilain," Pavel whispered. Spock's eyebrow rose.

"And I see that you are familiar with the term," he surmised. "Then perhaps you understand more than you wish to."

Pavel flushed and the Vulcan nodded. "Come with me, Lieutenant," he said.

There was one final shock for Pavel to endure. The Noel DelMonde who stood at the transporter's controls was painfully thin, his movements quick and erratic. The black eyes had an intensity to them that was far more frightening than even the most piecing gaze of the Russian's former roommate. When Spock gestured Pavel to the transporter's pads, the engineer rasped, "You do what you promise, non? I get Sulu?"

"I will see to it. Mr. DelMonde," the Vulcan returned. A sigh like a cold winter wind escaped the Cajun's lips, and he smiled

"Calibration complete, coordinates laid in, sir," he said.

Spock again turned to Pavel. "Mr. Chekov, I trust your brief visit was not too terribly unpleasant."

"Your trust is misplaced, Mr. Spock," the Russian replied bitterly.

The Vulcan seemed to shrug. "Energize, Mr. DelMonde."

"Energize, Mr. Scott," the captain said. The man in restraints on the transporter pad snarled a final time, then disappeared in golden shimmer. After a pause of a measured three seconds, Scott reversed the switches of the transporter's controls, and shimmer again filled the chamber. Pavel Chekov straightened in obvious shock at the bindings on his arms, then looked pleadingly toward first the transporter room wall, then at Scott and Spock and Ruth Valley, then at Sulu, then at the captain himself.

"I am home?" he rasped.

"Miss Valley," Kirk said, and Ruth closed her eyes. Then she smiled.

"It's him," she announced.

The captain grinned and Sulu moved forward, quickly releasing Pavel's hands. "Welcome back, Pav," he said warmly.

"So, you're back," Daffy Gollub said as Pavel entered the rec room where Ruth had told him the chemist would be. Her off-handed manner surprised him, and hurt him. He had been expecting a cry of "Bubee!" and the chemist flinging herself into his arms - or at the very least a smack on the back of his head with some version of "and so you thought this was a good idea?" But she seemed distant - and not at all glad to see him.

"Yes," he answered, just a little coldly himself. "I am back."

She turned away from the reader she had been staring at, rising from her chair. "Have fun, did you?"

"No, I did not." He folded his arms. "Yourself?" he asked.

He was watching her, and so saw the shiver. "Not particularly," was her response. Her reaction worried him, and he ached to comfort her.

"Daphne, can we go somewhere private? To talk?" he said plaintively.

The hesitation in her was so obvious and so violent that he couldn't stop himself. He stepped up to her, intending to take her into his arms. When she backed away, he froze helplessly.

"Please, Dafshka," he murmured. "I don't know what has happened the past two days. I want to - to understand and to - to resolve any issues which may have..." His voice trailed off with his inability to express or even to fully know what he wanted to convey.

She stared at him for so long that he thought she surely wanted him to go away. He bent his head, preparing to do just that, when she suddenly let out a long breath.

"Okay, Pavel," she said. "Let's talk."

"My cabin or...?" he began.

Again she stared at him, then shook her head. "Mine," she said.

"This is tidy," was the first thing he said after entering the quarters the chemist shared with Ruth Valley.

"Spring cleaning," Daffy replied. She sat down on her bed, and when he moved to sit beside her, she said, "No. You sit over there," and pointed to a chair next to the room's divider.

He sighed, but sat where she had indicated. "I take it things were not pleasant with him," he said bluntly.

"You were there, what do you think?" she retorted.

"That things were not pleasant," Pavel reiterated. "But Daphne - whatever happened between you..."

"And how do you know anything did?" she interrupted.

"First, because of the way you did not greet me," he returned, "second because of the way you will not allow me to come near you. Third because, as you said, I was there. I know what his relationships were like."

"He had relationships, did he?"

"Yes," the Russian answered tersely, and added, "unpleasant ones," before she could ask. "But I am not him, and he is not me. If he did or said things to hurt you..." He leaned forward, reaching for her hands. "Daphne, it was not me."

She stared at his hands for a moment, then her own moved to his gentle clasp, slowly, haltingly, as though they had a mind of their own. "I know that, Pav," she whispered. She looked at him, and there was a pleading in her eyes that cut him, though her tone was its usual insolence. "And what was Evil Daffy like?"

"I - I didn't spend much time with her," Pavel equivocated. "I was too concerned with staying alive and finding a way to return home."

She nodded, and looked away. Her eyes were veiled – just like - The thought began and he immediately cut it off. "Did he harm you?" he asked instead, and knew his eyes were filled with the same pleading that had been in hers.

"I didn't see much of him either," was Daffy's reply. "The schmuck spent all his time insulting Ruth and trying to get Jilla in the sack." She gave him a smile that was all teeth. "He gave me the creeps."

"Trying to... with Jilla... And Sulu allowed him to live?" Pavel stated incredulously, deliberately changing the subject.

"Between you and me, bubee," Daffy confided, "if we hadn't needed him to get you back - no fucking way." Her smile was closer to genuine this time, and Pavel returned it. He gave her fingers a tender squeeze, then gently pulled away.

"Are you hungry, Dafshka?" he asked brightly.

"I could go for a nosh," she replied carefully.

"Then shall we see what's good in the Mess?"

"It's replicated food," she said. "It's always the same."

"Not when I create a nice big bowl of borscht," he offered jauntily.

She made a face. "I hate borscht. How about some chicken and dumplings?"

"Bah! Peasant food!"

She smacked the back of his head, and Pavel smiled.

The End