CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 7204.9 - After a six-month tour of continuous duty, the Enterprise is currently en route to Parion IV for a well-deserved, much-needed shore leave. Despite threats of a fresh outbreak of Klingon hostilities, we perceive no immediate cause for concern.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy, after having enjoyed a quiet dinner in Kirk's quarters, were now lingering over drinks discussing the forthcoming shore leave.

"I hear that Parion IV is virtual Garden of Eden, Jim," McCoy said as he poured Kirk and himself another drink. With a look of pure innocence on his face, he turned and held out the open decanter towards the vulcan. "Spock?"

"Thank you, Doctor, but I find this quite sufficient," Spock replied, indicating the Vulcan beverage he was holding.

McCoy caught the slight smile that played on Kirk's lips and smiled in return. He was trying to bait the first officer and they all knew it. With a shrug of defeat, McCoy resumed his chair.

"It is, Bones. It's an untouched land of incredible beauty. Just what the doctor ordered." Jim settled back and closed his eyes, remembering.

"Indeed, Captain, the crew has been displaying distinct signs of stress," Spock observed.

The captain sighed and shook off the remembrance, straightening as McCoy responded to Spock's comment.

"Well, you'd be displaying signs of stress, too, if you had just spent the past six months patrolling the very edge of the neutral zone, not knowing if or when the Klingons were going to run amok."

Spock's level gaze pinned McCoy. "But, Doctor, I have."

"Damn! Chalk up another one for Spock," McCoy thought acidly. "Seriously though, Jim, I'm especially worried about Chekov."

Kirk was disturbed by this news. He hadn't seen much of Chekov since McCoy had released him from sickbay, but since McCoy had okayed his return to duty, Jim had assumed the young man was all right.

Seeing Kirk's expression, McCoy continued, "His injuries are all healed, Jim. It's just that his memory of those months while he was missing still hasn't returned. It shouldn't impair his ability to function on duty, though."

"He doesn't remember anything?"

McCoy shook his head. "Apparently, whatever happened to him was so traumatic that he's buried it extremely deep in his subconscious. I've done everything medically possible, but..." He shrugged.

"I don't understand. You've certified him fit for duty, if a loss if memory is the only problem, why are you so concerned?"

"Jim, of all people, you ought to realize how disconcerting it is to lose your memory. Chekov's partial memory loss may not be as drastic as your total amnesia was, but he's still extremely upset by it."

Kirk nodded, recalling the incident to which McCoy referred. He decided that he would have a talk with Chekov; perhaps he could help him though the problem. "You've made your point Bones."

Spock spoke up with uncharacteristic hesitation. "Doctor, if you feel there is a need... I could,,, endeavor to engage in the Vulcan mind meld with Mr. Chekov."

McCoy, who seemed even more uncomfortable at the offer than did Spock, took a second before replying. He realized how difficult such an offer was for the First Officer to make; the mild meld was an intensely personal thing for a Vulcan, and to indulge in such with a human could be distasteful, to say the least.

"That's commendable of you, Spock, but let's wait a bit. Perhaps this shore leave will be all Chekov needs to set him straight again. If that doesn't help, well, then..."

"Dr. McCoy, there is no need to feel embarrassed, for I certainly do not. I am sure you have done all that your professional skills enabled you to do." Spock's needling brought McCoy's feisty nature to the fore once more, but before he could retort, Uhura's voice came over the intercom.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk."

With a sigh, Kirk thumbed the switch. "Kirk here."

"Captain, a priority one communication has come in from Starfleet Command, from an Admiral Harrison."

"Well, there goes our shore leave," McCoy muttered.

Kirk shot him a quick look, silently hoping that he wasn't right. "Patch it through, Lieutenant." His face lit up as his old friend appeared on the screen. "Bob, this is an unexpected surprise. What can we do for you?"

"This isn't a social call, Jim."

Kirk frowned at the sharpness in the other's tone. Harrison immediately looked apologetic, but continued quickly, a frown wiping out the momentary softening.

"I have a very unpleasant task before me, Captain. The Klingons have accused one of your men of various barbarous crimes against the Klingon Empire, including the murder of the Imperial Commander's only daughter during a raid on one of their outposts. They are demanding that we turn this individual over to them for immediate execution. If we do not, they vow to kill every human being in the Federation in retaliation. Even one attack by them will lead to all-out war, Jim, given the tenseness of the state of diplomacy between us right now." He paused to let the impact of his words sink in, then continued, "I'm sorry, Jim, but considering the circumstances and the evidence they've presented against him, we have no choice but to comply with their demands. We are therefore ordering you to proceed immediately to the Trihedron system, where you will rendezvous with Commander Kazan and relinquish to him Lieutenant Pavel Andreievich Chekov."

Kirk sat in stunned disbelief, a silent "What!" on his lips. After the initial shock wore off, he assumed a stern, authoritative demeanor. "Admiral Harrison, you cannot expect me to hand over one of my crew to the Klingons without proof of..."

Harrison interrupted. "Captain Kirk, I resent your implication that we would turn any member of the Federation over to the Klingons without substantiated evidence. However, I understand your concern, and, although I need not justify Starfleet's decision, for the sake of our longstanding friendship, I will show you the evidence against Chekov."

The screen darkened, then refilled with a scene of total chaos. A full-scale battle was raging in and around a small Klingon complex. Amidst all the confusion, one solitary figure stood out; Chekov.

Heavy smoke filled the air as Chekov and several other men exchanged phaser fire with the Klingons. Kirk watched as Chekov slew one individual after another. Finally, the massacre was over. As the smoke cleared, only Chekov remained standing. With an evil sneer, he surveyed the mutilated bodies strewn about him.

Suddenly, a savage cry rent the air. As he whirled, a young female Klingon plunged a jeweled dagger into Chekov's chest. As she backed away, Kirk could see that she was strikingly beautiful, or would have been, if it weren't for the hatred and terror that marred her features. Before she could flee, Chekov grabbed her wrist. Wrenching the dagger from his chest, he spun her around and pulling back her head, proceeded to slowly and methodically slit her throat. Releasing her limp body, is smile grew as she crumpled to the ground. The dagger's jewels sparkled in the sunlight, as did the insanity in Chekov's eyes.

The screen darkened again and Harrison reappeared. "As you can see, the evidence is irrefutable."

Kirk's mind reeled. "I can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "Chekov is just not capable of committing such a hideous crime. It has to be a trick. There has to be another answer!"

"I wish I could tell you that was the case, but computer and biometric analyses of the tape verifies that it is Lieutenant Chekov. That, coupled with the fact that the incident happened concurrently with his reported disappearance, leaves no doubt as to his guilt. I'm sure that I need not impress upon you the seriousness of the situation and the importance of the rendezvous with Commander Kazan."

Kirk closed his eyes, a look of pain on his face. "No," he replied in a low voice.

"Harrison out."

"That would seem to explain the mystery of Mr. Chekov's disappearance and subsequent memory loss," Spock commented thoughtfully.

"Spock, you've worked with Chekov for years!" McCoy shouted indignantly. "How could you even begin to think him capable of such atrocities?"

"By the evidence of my own eyes, Doctor. We have just witnessed Mr. Chekov sustaining an injury to his upper lateral chest region. Unless I am mistaken, you treated him for just such an injury upon his return to the ship. Logic would seem to dictate that..."

"To hell with your logic, Spock! This is Chekov we're talking about!"

"I am well aware of that, Doctor. However..."

"Let's see what Chekov has to say about all this," Kirk said, reaching for the intercom switch.

Chekov had pleaded with Dr. McCoy to be allowed to return to duty. Lying in sickbay for hours on end with nothing to do but think was driving him crazy. Now, staring at the pile of paperwork sitting on the desk before him, Chekov wondered if he had made a wise decision.

Once again he ran the sketchy bits of information through his mind, hoping something would jar his memory. The episode began when he and four other men were temporarily assigned to act as a security escort for a small band of archeologist and the priceless artifacts that had discovered on Q.X.D. They were two days into their return journey to Starbase 12 and everything was going smoothly, then... nothing. He couldn't remember a thing until he woke up in sickbay aboard the Enterprise.

The captain had provided him with some additional details concerning his amnesic period. Apparently all communications with their ship had been lost. For nearly three months, there had been no trace of them. Then one day Starfleet picked up a very weak communication from Chekov. He had told them that a magnetic storm had caused numerous malfunctions and the expedition had been forced to land on an uninhabited planet. During the landing, the ship and communications equipment had sustained considerable damage. They had been unable to repair the ship, but had managed to eventually restore communications.

Since the Enterprise was patrolling the sector, Starfleet assigned them the task of picking up Chekov and the others. However, when they arrived, they discovered that everyone, including a group of Klingons who had been manning an outpost on the small planet, had been brutally murdered. Except for Chekov, who, with a gaping hole in his chest, lay near death. When he had been questioned later, he had had no memory of any of the events, and his continuing efforts to remember had all been in vain.

Frustrated, Chekov let loose with a string of Russian obscenities. Just then, a smiling Sulu appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Pavel, you look as though you could use a cup of coffee. Want to join me?"

Chekov, his irritation spilling over, snapped. "Can't you see I have a lot of work to do? I don't have time for coffee!"

The smile faded, to be replaced by a look of sympathy. "Sure. Maybe another time." Sulu left.

Chekov immediately regretted his outburst, the hurt look in Sulu's eyes adding to the weight of his misery. He leaned forward and massaged his aching temples. "Damn! What's the matter with me? Sulu was only trying to help." They were all trying to help, all his good friends aboard the ship, yet he was invariably moody and short-tempered with them. He knew this was hurting them, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Again his thoughts were interrupted, this time by the intercom.

"Kirk to Chekov."

"Chekov here."

"Mr. Chekov, I want to see you in my quarters immediately."

"Aye, sir, on my way."

Chekov stared aghast at the now-blank screen before him, his mind unable to comprehend the scene his eyes had just witnessed. Those same eyes pleadingly questioned the faces around him and were shocked to see only inquisitive looks in return.

"Captain, you don't think that I... You couldn't possibly believe... You know I could never..." His voice trailed off in the face of their continued silence.

After a few seconds, James Kirk spoke up. "Mr. Chekov, can you tell us anything... anything at that that might repudiate the evidence against you?"

Chekov slowly shook his head, unable to speak.

"Chekov, I'm sorry..." Kirk began.

But the young Russian turned deaf ears to the pain in his captain's voice. With his jaw stubbornly set and his eyes staring in glazed fury at the wall, he came to attention. "Sir. Shall I wait for an armed escort to take me to the detention section, or do you trust me to find my own way?"

"You will be confined to quarters, Mister. Dismissed." He waited until the door hissed shut behind the young officer. "Dr. McCoy, I want you to run a complete medical diagnostic on him. Spock, I want you to do an analysis on the tricorder readings taken on the planet where we found Chekov and the others."

"What exactly are we looking for?" McCoy inquired.

"Anything that will clear Chekov of the charges against him."

Spock started to speak, but apparently changed his mind. He turned and quickly departed, McCoy following him out the door. Now alone, Kirk slammed his fist on the table.

"Damn!" He dropped into a nearby chair, slumping in frustration. Thumbing the intercom, he said, "Kirk to bridge."

"Bridge. Sulu here."

"Mr. Sulu, set a course for the Trihedron system."

"Aye, sir. Course plotted and laid in."

"Damn," Kirk echoed in a softer tone as he thumbed the switch off.

PERSONAL LOG: Stardate 7209.7 - Time grows progressively short as we proceed towards our destination. Word has spread rapidly throughout the ship as to the nature of the assignment. I have become increasingly aware of an atmosphere of dissension among the crew, most specifically directed at me. Despite this fact, I have decided not to take any disciplinary action. Although Dr. McCoy and Mr. Spock continued to work around the clock, they have as yet been unsuccessful in disapproving the charges against Chekov.

Kirk once again surveyed the bridge personnel. He couldn't blame them for their unrest. Damn Starfleet and their righteous diplomacy and stringent regulations! It was situations like this that gave him cause to resent the restrictions imposed on him by those regulations. So lost was Kirk in his own thoughts that he was unaware of McCoy standing at his side. It wasn't until he turned to check Spock's progress that Kirk noticed the doctor.

"Anything?"

McCoy shook his head regretfully. "I can find no evidence of internal or external causes that might have induced Chekov's amnesia."

"You don't think that he's..." His voice tailed off, his frown deepening. The possibility that Chekov might be lying about his memory loss was inconceivable. "What about his injury?"

"Analysis confirms that it was a knife wound, just as we knew when we first brought him aboard."

"There has to be something we've overlooked!" Kirk insisted. "Some shred of evidence that will prove Chekov's innocence."

At the captain's outburst, the bridge personnel turned and eyed him expectantly, but he was too caught up in the emotions of the moment to notice them, and they one by one turned back to their stations. Kirk vented his frustrations on McCoy.

"I want answers, Doctor."

"I've checked everything a dozen times. There's nothing." Exhaustion from working long hours and irritation at failure sharpened his tone.

Before Kirk could retort, Spock, who had silently some to stand beside them, spoke in a low tone. "Gentlemen, we have a seemingly insurmountable task ahead of us. I suggest that it would be in the best interest of everyone concerned if we were to address ourselves to the matter at hand calmly and logically."

Kirk nodded, his anger draining away. Spock was right, of course. It wasn't McCoy he was angry with, it was himself and the hopelessness he was feeling. "Bones, I'm..."

"It's okay, Jim. We're all a little tired and on edge."

Kirk smiled in gratitude. "Spock, have you...?"

"Negative, Captain. My research has merely succeeded in corroborating the charges against Mr. Chekov."

"Damn it, Spock, yours is one of the most analytical minds in Starfleet. If you can't prove that Chekov is innocent, then..." He stopped abruptly as the full impact of the situation struck home once more, and he sank into his chair, cold inside.

Except for the times when McCoy had requested his presence in Sickbay, Chekov had remained confined to his dimly lit quarters. Several of his friends had stopped by in an attempt to express their support for him and their belief in his innocence, but Chekov, too confused and too thoroughly engulfed by feelings of anguish and disbelief to deal with the intrusions, refused to see them. He was haunter by the questioning looks from Spock, McCoy and the captain at their last meeting, the one where Captain Kirk had played for him the tape presented by the Klingons. It was the captain's reaction that had hurt him the most. That he could even begin to believe Chekov of being capable of such treachery! Chekov had believed that, through the years, he had come to know James Kirk, but that reaction had made him reach the conclusion that he really didn't know the older man at all. With this realization had come a sense of disillusionment, of doubt. "No!" he thought firmly. "I couldn't have done anything like that. I just couldn't! Anger flared anew at his accusers.

The door buzzer interrupted his brooding. Chekov tried to ignore the sound, but the caller was persistent. Finally, an irritated McCoy shouted at him to let him in or he'd have security override the lock.

Resignedly, an equally annoyed Chekov released the lock and let McCoy in. He was carrying a tray of food, which he set down on the desk near the Russian.

"Chapel tells me you've hardly eaten anything in three days." He eyed Chekov expertly. "And from the looks of it, you haven't slept much, either, so," he said, sounding rather pleased with himself, I had the replicator prepare some of your favorite dishes."

Chekov turned away from him in disgust, muttering that he wasn't hungry. McCoy's voice took on a commanding tone.

"You'll either eat that, or I'll have security haul you down to Sickbay, where you'll be fed intravenously. The decision is up to you."

"What are you trying to do, Doctor? Fatten me up for the kill? Or is it that you're serving he condemned man his last meal?" Seeing the hurt expression on McCoy's face, Chekov was immediately contrite. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know you're only trying to do what you think is best for me. It's just that with all that's happened, I'm not thinking very clearly."

"That's quite all right. I understand how you must feel."

"Do you, Doctor?" Chekov snapped sarcastically. "Do you honestly think you understand what I'm going through? You couldn't begin to comprehend!" He finished with an anguished laugh.

"Maybe not. Maybe I don't understand," McCoy shot back, his own anger rising, "but I do know this: Until we rendezvous with the Klingons, your health is my responsibility. And as the ship's Chief Medical Officer, I am ordering you to eat. I expect that tray to be empty when I return.

Chekov stared after the other man for a moment, the turned his attention to the tray. Lifting the lid, he eyed the food defiantly. A sudden rush of emotions overwhelmed him and he hurled the lid at the door through which McCoy had just exited. He pushed the tray away and it fell to the floor with a resounding crash. In the silence that followed came the revelation of what he must do, the path he must follow.

McCoy had ordered Jim Kirk to get some rest. At first Kirk had protested, but now, as he lay on his bed absently staring at the ceiling, he was glad he had relented. At least this way he wouldn't have to deal with the accusing stares from the others on the bridge. Kirk smiled sadly. He could just imagine Spock telling him that self-recrimination was illogical, that the only course of action he could follow was to abide by Starfleet orders. If that were the case, Kirk mused, then why did he feel so damn guilty?

He felt like a man who had to choose between the lesser of two evils. Either he turn Chekov over to the Klingons to be killed, or countless lives would be forfeit. Over the years, Kirk had come to know Chekov as an individual governed by his emotions, one whose anger at times could get the better of his judgment. He had never known Chekov to wantonly take a life, let alone many, in such a cruel, vicious way, yet with his own eyes he had seen him do just that. There had to be some explanation, but what? All the evidence indicated his guilt.

If only he had more time! But time was something they had precious little of. Starfleet had been adamant in their decision and Kirk new they wouldn't relent. Deep inside, Jim's instincts told him Chekov was innocent. He couldn't turn him over to those butchers without knowing the truth. What he was considering was a blatant disregard of Starfleet orders, virtually mutiny. Did he have the right to involve the crew in such actions? Would they follow his lead if asked? He knew they would. He headed for the door, intending to talk to Chekov first. The door slide open to reveal the Russian standing outside.

"I was just coming to see you. Where's the security..." He stopped abruptly as he saw the jeweled Klingon dagger clutched in Chekov's hand. He retreated as Chekov advanced with a murderous gleam in his eyes. "Chekov, what is the meaning of this? You were supposed to be confined to quarters."

"I've been waiting a lone time for an opportunity like this," Chekov said thickly, his face set in an evil sneer. With a maniacal laugh, he lunged.

Kirk parried the first blow, but the second caught him and he was sent reeling. Struggling to his knees, Kirk laid a hand on the table in an attempt to push himself up, but he was too slow. He stiffened, a surge of pain filling his body as Chekov plunged the dagger into his back.

Kirk crumpled to the floor. Chekov stood over the inert form, a smile growing in proportion to the stain of Kirk's blood as it slowly spread in a pool around him.

"I shall savor the sweetness of my revenge," he told the prostrate form, laughing maniacally.

Chekov stole silently down the empty corridor, heading for auxiliary control. Entering the room soundlessly, he quickly dispatched the technician, then proceeded to override the bridge controls so no one could prevent his escape. Once this was done, he went to the hangar deck, but stopped as Ensign Parrish from security confronted him.

"No disrespect meant, sir, but aren't you supposed to be confined to quarters?"

"True, but I was going a little stir crazy cooped up in there, so I thought I'd take a little stroll. I don't think the captain would mind. After all, it's not as though I'm trying to escape. Where could I possibly go, out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"But where is your guard?"

"Oh, the captain dismissed him. He knows I am reliable."

Parrish wasn't convinced. "Excuse me, sir, but I'll have to check this out." He turned to go to the intercom.

Chekov landed a crushing blow to the back of the security man's head. The limp body dropped with a sickening thud. Chekov reached down and plucked the phaser from Parrish's belt.

With a remorseful look, he told the prone form, "Sorry. I may have need of this later."

Sulu smiled grimly to himself as he watched Spock going over the data yet another time. If he were ever in trouble, he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather have on his side than the captain and first officer. Turning his attention back to his board, he noticed the flashing light on the console.

"Mr. Spock, hanger bay three's doors are opening. Reading indicate a shuttle craft us preparing to takeoff."

"Seal off the hanger bay," Spock ordered, moving into the center seat.

"I can't, sir; my panel shows control has been moved to auxiliary."

Spock thumbed the intercom switch. "Spock to auxiliary control. Auxiliary control, come in please." No answer. "Lieutenant Uhura, notify security of the situation. Mr. Sulu, bypass the override."

Sulu feverishly complied, only to stop after a few moments. "No good, Mr. Spock. Shuttle's away."

The entire bridge crew watched as the shuttle came into view on the forward screen.

"Mr. Spock, security reports finding Technician T'Chun unconscious on the hanger deck, and Ensign Parrish..." She looked up in disbelief, "dead."

"I don't understand. Who would want to steal a shuttle?" Sulu questioned.

The answer to Sulu's question wasn't long in coming.

"Security to bridge."

"Spock here."

"Lieutenant Chekov is not in his quarters. Flaherty, his guard is, though; he's been murdered. Ensign Avery reports having seen someone answering Chekov's description in access corridor G-17 about twenty minutes ago."

"Report noted." Spock turned to Sulu. "It would appear that your question has been answered. Lieutenant Uhura, please try to raise the shuttle."

Uhura's attempts were futile. "Shuttle is refusing to acknowledge, sir."

"Lieutenant Sulu, lay in a tracking course," Spock ordered.

CAPTAIN'S LOG: Stardate 7212.6 - First Officer Spock reporting.... Following futile attempts to contact the captain, I dispatched a security team to his quarters. He was found unconscious, having apparently been attacked. Analysis shows the weapon used to inflict the wound is the same dagger employed by Lieutenant Chekov on the Klingon outpost. Our efforts to contact the stolen shuttle have been unsuccessful. Since his use of shields prevents us from beaming him aboard the Enterprise, we are continuing to track the shuttle.

Spock waited in McCoy's outer office. After what seemed an endlessly long wait, a haggard McCoy joined him.

"It was a nasty wound. He lost a lot of blood, but, barring complications and given a few days of rest, he should be as good as new in no time."

Spock's look was one of relief.

"I've given him a sedative, but he's insisting on talking to you."

Spock entered the room to find Kirk swathed in bandages. He glanced at the life signs monitor. The readings were low, but steady. Kirk appeared to be sleeping, but as Spock moved closer, his eyes fluttered open as if sensing Spock's presence. When he spoke, his voice was weak.

"Spock, why? Have you been able to find out anything? Why did he do it?"

"We have been unable to question Mr. Chekov, Captain," Spock began. He gave a brief accounting of Chekov's escape. "We have only two alternatives that I can see, Captain. We can continue to follow the shuttle to it's destination and perhaps apprehend Mr. Chekov there, or we can..."He hesitated a moment in distaste at the second alternative. "Open fire on the shuttle now. Whatever your decision, I feel that Starfleet should be notified of the situation."

"What? Notify Starfleet," Kirk echoed vaguely, his thoughts elsewhere. "No, I need time to think. Maintain tracking." His eyes closed, the sedative taking effect. "Need time to think..." he mumbled again as he drifted off.

Kirk's return to the bridge three days later met a mixed response. Along with the expressions of sympathy he could sense feelings of confusion and embarrassment; the crew had been positive of Chekov's innocence and were now feeling lost and betrayed by his behavior. Kirk could sympathize. He knew exactly what they were feeling, as he had felt that way, too. But his recovery period in Sickbay had allotted him ample time to think, and in going over the events in his mind, he had come to a conclusion, gaining peace within himself that he hadn't felt since this whole ugly mess started.

Spock came to stand beside the command chair. "Captain, we are now 26.2 hours late for our rendezvous with the Klingons. If we had contacted Starfleet when I suggested that we do so, they would have had sufficient time to inform the Klingons as to the cause for our delay. As the current situation exists, it would take approximately two days for a subspace message to reach them, delaying notification still further."

"I am well aware of that, Mr. Spock. We will not be making the rendezvous because I have no intention of turning Chekov over to the Klingons."

"What?" blurted as astonished McCoy as everyone on the bridge turned to stare at Kirk in disbelief. "You can't be serious! The man tried to kill you! It was only sheer luck that he didn't succeed. And are you forgetting what he did to T'Chun, Flaherty and Parrish?"

"Not for a second, Doctor, and I am deadly serious. It wasn't Chekov who attacked me."

McCoy looked confused. "But you said..."

"Not the Chekov we know," Kirk continued. "Before he attacked me, I had an opportunity to look him in the eye, and what I saw was not Chekov, but the very essence of evil. It's strange, but at the time I was reminded of Jekyll and Hyde."

"What the devil is a Jekyll and Hyde?" inquired McCoy.

Spock, as usual, provided the explanation. "Jekyll and Hyde refers to a story written by Robert Louis Stevenson in the year 1886. It tells about a doctor who thought he could free the humanity of the inner conflict between good and evil. He believed that each of these natures could be housed in separate identities, then the evil self could go his own way unfettered from the aspirations and remorse of his good self. Likewise, the good self would be freed from the guilt of the evil side's wrong doing.

"Through the compounding of certain elements, he developed a drug which transformed him from the generally good-natured Henry Jekyll into the infamous Edward Hyde. In time, the transformations became uncontrollable. Jekyll, who began to hate the vile inhuman creature he was becoming, decided to take his life..."

Scotty broke in, an edge of hope in his tone. "Is that what you think happened to Chekov, Captain, that some kind of drug is making him behave this way?"

McCoy shook his head emphatically. "The lab tests showed no trace if ant agents or chemicals that would account for Chekov's recent behavior."

"That, or some other cause," Kirk replied. "If you will recall, thanks to a transporter malfunction, I have reason to be very familiar with the dual nature of personality. Bones, I've... we've known Chekov too long to take this thing at face value. There has to be some reason for his actions. I'm not about to turn him over to the Klingons until I've exhausted every conceivable explanation."

McCoy's expression remained stern, but his sigh of resignation told Kirk that he had won this round."

"Captain, there is still one thing that puzzles me."

"What's that, Spock?"

"The fact that when we brought Mr. Chekov on board, he did not have the dagger in his possession."

"Perhaps he hid it in the consignment of artifacts we recovered and retrieved it later," Sulu suggested.

"Perhaps," Spock replied, but his tone indicated that he wasn't entirely convinced this was the case.

Several hours later, Spock looked up from his console. "The shuttlecraft is in landing approach to the third planet in this quadrant."

"Q.X.D.?" Kirk asked, already knowing the answer.

"Affirmative, Captain."

"How did you know, Captain?" Uhura asked.

"Because if I were Chekov, that's where I would go. I'd retrace my steps, hoping to find some clue as to what happened. Mr. Sulu, bring us into orbit around the planet."

"Aye, sir."

"Sensors indicate a molecular disturbance in the upper atmosphere," Spock reported. "It will make tracking the shuttle to its exact destination impossible. However, I should be able to compute the shuttle's landing coordinates by its approach course and rate of descent."

"That won't be necessary. I have a feeling I know just the place to start looking for Mr. Chekov." Kirk's glance traveled to the forward view screen and fixed on the rotating planet below. "Lieutenant Uhura, notify the transporter room to lock in the coordinates for the archeological survey site."

Before Uhura could acknowledge the order, Sulu spoke up excitedly. "Klingon battlecruiser, bearing .002."

The klaxon sounded as Kirk ordered a red alert.

"Magnification six."

Sulu complied and the cruiser came into view. Through the din, Uhura's voice called out.

"Captain, the Klingons are signaling. It's Commander Kazan."

Kirk's head rose quickly at this news, but he immediately suppressed his surprise.

"Put him on visual, Lieutenant."

Kazan's appearance made Kirk realize that he was going to be a formidable opponent. His presence emitted a keen sense of authority and foreboding. Kirk rose to the challenge.

"Commander Kazan, I demand to know what you are doing so deep in Federation controlled space."

Kazan, undaunted, ignored the question. "Kirk, I demand to know why you failed to show up for the rendezvous. If you are trying to start a war, you may very well have succeeded!"

Kirk settled back in his chair, a smile on his lips. "Commander, we have no intention of starting a war," he replied pleasantly. "A slight difficulty has merely delayed our presence at the rendezvous point."

Immediately on the offensive, Kazan questioned contemptuously, "And what is this slight difficulty?"

"One of my crewmen has killed two of our people and injured two others. He commandeered a shuttle and proceeded to the planet below us. We are currently engaged in recovery operations."

Kazan was incensed. "For this you..." He broke off suddenly, checking his temper. Once under control, he began again. "Very well, Kirk, you may continue your recovery operations. However, since we are both here and now, I can see no reason for you to delay turning that murderous pig over to us."

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

Swearing in Klingonese, Kazan's face darkened in fury. "What kind of treachery is this? You have no reason to delay any longer! If you do not turn him over to us, we will take him by force!"

Kirk leaned forward in his chair. "Commander, we cannot turn Lieutenant Chekov over to you because he is the crewman we are pursuing."

A smile spread across Kazan's face. "Then you should have no objection to us joining in the pursuit. Better yet, call off your men and we shall capture the jackal ourselves."

"No."

"Kirk, you are trying my patience."

"Oh? I didn't realize that Klingons had any. Commander, as I previously stated, Lieutenant Chekov has killed two crew members and attacked two others, one of whom was myself. He will be turned over to you only after he has been tried and convicted for the crimes he perpetrated against the Federation." Kirk smiled slyly. "That is, if there is anything left of him to turn over to you."

Kirk's comment had the effect he was striving for. For several moments, Kazan was speechless.

"All right, Kirk, you may have your justice... or should I say, revenge? But I promise you this: Any tricks and I shall take great pleasure in blasting you and your ship into nonexistence."

"Agreed. Kirk out." As soon as Kazan's image faded, Kirk turned to Uhura. "Lieutenant, notify security to send two men to the transporter room. Dr. McCoy, your assistance may be needed." As he rose from his chair, Sulu spoke up.

"Request permission to accompany the landing party, sir."

Kirk smiled understandingly. "Permission granted."

They headed for the turbolift, but stopped as Spock confronted them.

"I also request..."

"Sorry, Spock, I need you to remain here. And you, too, Scotty," Kirk added as Scott opened his mouth to speak. "Kazan agreed a little too quickly. He might try something while we're down on the planet. I'd like to know that the Enterprise is in capable hands while I'm gone."

The five men materialized in the shimmering light of the transporter beam. Surveying the desolate terrain around them, they could easily perceive why life had ceased to exist on the planet. Kirk's hunch proved to be correct as they spotted the shuttlecraft a short distance away. A quick inspection showed that Chekov was no longer aboard.

"Well, Captain, sir, what do you suggest we do now?" a disgruntled McCoy asked.

"Mr. Sulu, scan the area for life forms," Kirk ordered, ignoring the doctor.

"Sorry, sir, but the tricorder doesn't seem to be fully functional in this atmosphere. Something to do with the molecular particles. I'm not getting any life form readings at all, but there are some remnants of structures in that direction," Sulu commented, indicating the direction with a nod of his head.

"That would be one of the archeological survey sites," Kirk remarked. He led the way, a grumbling McCoy following.

The heat was stifling and the landscape made the going difficult. Traveling on a downward path, they spotted Chekov on the valley below them. Kirk called for Chekov to halt, his voice echoing across the distance. Startled, the crewman stopped abruptly and glanced in the direction from which the call had come. Spotting the landing party, he emitted a strangled cry at seeing Kirk alive and drew his phaser, firing wildly at the plateau of rocks over their heads. With a deafening roar, the rubble cascaded down on the group. When the dust cleared, one security guard lay dead and the other had sustained severe internal injuries. Sulu had a fractured collarbone and arm, and McCoy was unconscious from a head injury. Kirk, aside from multiple lacerations, appeared to have survived unscathed. He pulled out his communicator and hailed the ship.

"Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, we've run into some difficulty down here. Chekov attacked the landing party. Notify Sickbay that three injured are beaming aboard and have the burial detail sent down to these coordinates. I'll remain here to continue the search."

"Do you wish me to assign additional security personnel to accompany you, Captain?"

"No, I'll handle this alone. Kirk out." He knelt beside McCoy, who was moaning softly. "Hang in there, Bones, everything's going to be okay." Wincing from the stabbing pain in his back as he rose, Kirk moved to check on Sulu.

"Captain, you look as if you could use some medical attention yourself. Why not return to the ship with us, resume the search later?"

"That won't be necessary," Kirk said with a dismissive wave of his hand. Trying to conceal his pain, he smiled and added, "I'm fine."

"But, sir..." Any further protest Sulu might have made were cut off by the hum of the transporter beam.

The terrain became smoother and Chekov could see the remains of ancient dwellings in the near distance. His uniform was drenched with perspiration and his throat was parched from the heat. Aware that the Enterprise landing party would be following, he pressed onwards. So intent was he on merely placing one foot in front of the other, he was unaware of the creature preparing to attack him.

The creature was small in stature, but its grotesqueness gave it a frightening and menacing appearance. Flaming red eyes glared out from a reptilian head, yet the body was covered with dense fur with a scorpion's tail and hawk-like talons rather than hands. Lunging at its unsuspecting prey, the beast embedded its claws in Chekov's back, bearing him to the ground.

Chekov grazed his head against a rock, momentarily stunning him. Quickly regaining his senses, he twisted violently to try and free himself. The endeavor was successful as the creature was caught off guard by the sudden maneuver. Unrestrained, Chekov reached for his phaser, only to discover that it had become dislodged and now lay a few feet away. He slowly inched towards it, never taking his eyes from the creature. Suddenly, the hideous beast attacked again, clawing viciously at his face and chest. Chekov's tunic was now in bloody tatters.

The creature's tail whipped around to sting Chekov in the leg. He gave an agonized scream at the blinding pain and stumbled backwards, his hand scrabbling desperately for the phaser. He clutched it and fired; the beast disintegrated.

Getting unsteadily to his feet, Chekov continued onward. The umber sunset was in all its glory as he staggered into the ancient city. Waves of dizziness swept over him as he sought refuge from the rapidly chilling night air. The building did not afford much protection, since hardly any of it remained standing, but Chekov was too tired to go further. He collapsed in a heap, consciousness drifting away.

Two hours later, a beam of sunlight fell across Chekov's face, its rays glittering on the beads of perspiration that dotted his sallow complexion. Coming slowly and painfully awake as waves of nausea washed over him, he shivered uncontrollably from the shill. Panicked by the sudden realization that his body was numb, he forced open his heavy eyelids. Everything was a blur; there seemed to be a massive shape hovering over him. He forced himself to focus on it. As his vision cleared, he found himself looking at himself. Closing his eyes, he shook his head to clear it.

"You are not hallucinating, nor are you dreaming," Chekov heard his own voice say. Opening his eyes, he once again stared into his own reflection. Noting the look of confusion, his mirror image was amused. "I see that you still do not remember. The Klingon mind sifter must be more powerful than I thought."

The statement brought total recall and the memory of those missing months came hurtling back. This madman was his counterpart from the parallel universe that the Enterprise had encountered during their negotiations with the Halkan Council. He had killed the scientists and the security team, and had only kept Chekov alive in an attempt to discover the whereabouts of the Enterprise. When intense interrogation had failed to provide the desired information, the mirror-Chekov had used a stolen Klingon mind sifter on him.

"He must have been the one who stabbed me," Chekov thought as he tentatively touched the knife wound scar.

"Ah, I see you are remembering," the parallel-Chekov said with an evil smile. "Good. I want you to know what I... or should I say, you... have done before I kill you."

"YOU! You killed them!" he cried, making a feeble attempt to rise.

"How perceptive of you," mocked the other. "I also killed some of your crewmates... and took my revenge on that pompous, overbearing captain of yours. My only regret is that he didn't know it was I who killed him."

Chekov's mind reeled. "But why?"

"Because your Kirk ruined me. His interference in our universe deprived me of my rightful place. I swore I would make him pay!" His thick accent became more pronounced as he continued. "The fates provided me with an opportunity when a magnetic storm transported me and my men into this universe. They were with me when the fates delivered you into my hands. Since you existed, I thought why not let everyone believe it was you who was responsible for the raids on the Klingons. You would be blamed and I would still be free to continue seeking my revenge." He chuckled, a malevolent sound. "Rather poetic, don't you think? I performed every deed for which you have been accused, and you will take the punishment meant for me." His laughter reached a hysterical pitch.

Nausea overwhelmed Chekov as he involuntarily shook. The mirror-Chekov wavered before his eyes. Through a thick tongue, he muttered,"But why me? I never did anything to you."

Hate flames in the other's eyes. "I resent you." I resent the fact that you are Chief of Security while I am a wanted criminal in both universes. But I've shown all of you. I've gained my revenge against Kirk and now I will settle with you." From beneath his shirt, he pulled out the jeweled dagger. Turning it over in his hands, he studied its glimmering jewels. "The Klingons were thoughtful enough to provide me with this beauty. It's ironic that something so beautiful can be so deadly. Yet I prefer it to a phaser. It's a much more..." He paused, looking for the right word. "Satisfying weapon, don't you think?"

"I don't think so," Kirk said as he stepped from behind a once majestic column. "This charade is at an end."

"Damn you!" The parallel-Chekov rushed at Kirk. The battle was fierce. The mirror-Chekov, through his madness, seemed to have super-human strength, while Kirk was weakened by his injuries. He managed to knock the dagger from the other's hand; in the scuffle to retrieve it, it was knocked even further from their grasp.

Kirk was tiring, the pain in his back growing in intensity. Backing away from the advancing madman, his breath coming in gasps, he fell over some debris. His vision went black as the pain momentarily blinded him. When his vision cleared, he saw his adversary advancing on him with a shard of stone clutched tightly in his hand. Kirk struggled to rise, but was unable to as the pain flooded through his back. Mirror-Chekov smiled, pleased at his victim's helplessness.

"Now you die."

Kirk watched as his foe raised his arm and poised for the blow. Suddenly, the parallel-Chekov stiffened and a look of astonishment spread across his cruel features. The shard fell from lifeless fingers as he tumbled forward, falling on Kirk. The captain watched as a red stain spread across his assailant's back. Tearing his gaze from the sight, he looked up to see a bedraggled Chekov standing there staring transfixed at the bloodied dagger in his hand. Swaying unsteadily, he let the dagger fall.

Kirk pushed the lifeless body from a top him and, after several exhausted attempts, succeeded in struggling to his feet just in time to catch Chekov in mid-fall as he collapsed. Laying him gently on the floor, Kirk noted the numerous scratches caked with dried blood and the deathly pallor of his complexion. He touched Chekov's forehead; it was fevered. Pulling out his communicator, he was about to signal the Enterprise when he heard voices. He managed to make it to a nearby window and cautiously peered out, ducking quickly as he spotted Kazan and several of his men. Returning to Chekov's side, he hurriedly completed his call to the ship.

"Enterprise. Spock here."

"Mr. Spock, I've located Chekov. He's injured and requires immediate medical attention. Have the transporter room beam him up at once."

"And what about you, Captain?"

"I'll be beaming up shortly, I hope." he added under his breath. "Kirk out."

As the last glittering traces of Chekov faded, Kazan burst into the ruined room. Spotting the crumpled form of the parallel-Chekov, he went and knelt beside it. Detecting no trace of life, he rose, cursing. "Kirk, what is the meaning of this?"

"He refused to surrender. There was a struggle. He..." Kirk indicated the body with a nod of his head, "lost."

Although obviously displeased at having such a prize stolen from his clutches, Kazan smiled.

Seizing upon the opportunity, Kirk continued. "You may, of course, have the body as proof of his death." He eyed the body distastefully. "We have no use for traitors."

Kazan pondered the offer. "Very well, Kirk, I accept." His tone held a touch of sarcasm. "Especially since justice appears to have been served on both sides."

Kirk breathed a sigh of relied as the Klingons and the body of the mirror-Chekov dematerialized. Retrieving the hidden tricorder from behind the column, he once again surveyed the dismal surroundings. Contacting the ship, he ordered wearily, "Enterprise, one to beam up,"

As they headed for the Sickbay forty-two hours later, Spock voiced the question that had been uppermost in his mind. "Captain, I was wondering why you didn't tell the Klingons the truth. Why you let them believe that our Chekov was responsible?"

Kirk stopped and turned to face Spock. "Because I didn't see any harm in letting the Klingons believe whatever they wanted to. And because I didn't want them to become aware of the existence of the parallel universe. Can you imagine the consequences is they were to discover its existence?"

"I see your point," Spock replied thoughtfully as they continued on their way. Arriving at Sickbay they were greeted by a smiling McCoy who, aside from a small layer of plastiskin on his forehead, seemed no worse for wear.

"You know, sometimes I even amaze myself," he boasted. "When Chekov was first brought on board, I thought for sure he was a goner. The poison from that creature's tail was acting pretty rapidly, but good ole Doc McCoy pulled him through."

"You're sounding rather pleased with yourself, Doctor," Spock commented dryly.

"And why shouldn't I be? Chekov's well on the road to a complete recovery and he's been cleared of all charges. This whole nightmare is finally at an end."

"Not quite," Kirk stated solemnly as he went to stand at Chekov's bedside. "Chekov," he called softly, unsure whether he really wanted to disturb the sleeping lieutenant.

Chekov slowly opened his eyes. Seeing the captain, he made an automatic attempt to rise, but was gently pushed back down by Kirk.

"Take it easy, Chekov. You still need your rest."

"Sir, I heard about Starfleet dropping the charges against me. I wanted to thank you for that and for..."

Kirk silenced him with a wave of his hand. "Your parallel self's confession cleared you of the charges. I just happened to be lucky enough to get it recorded." Kirk hesitated, searching for the words to convey his feelings. "Chekov... Pavel.. I want to apologize for ever having doubted you. It's just that..."

"No apology necessary, sir. Under the circumstances, I would have reacted the same way. Things being was they were, even I wasn't certain as to my innocence." He frowned thoughtfully. "Sir, there is still the matter of my stealing the shuttlecraft."

"No need to worry about that, Lieutenant. The shuttle was recovered and besides..." he added with a conspiratorial grin, "if I can get away with disobeying a direct order from Starfleet, then you should be able to get away with borrowing a shuttle. Isn't that right, Mr. Spock?"

The gloom that had been hanging over the Enterprise was dispelled by the warm laughter that followed as Spock's only reply to Kirk's question was his all-too-familiar raising of an eyebrow.