Identity theft, p.10
Identity Theft, page 10
“Ha-ha.” Ryjo reclaimed his ball and stuck his sweaty fingers into it, wondering again why there were only three holes and not five. “Very funny.”
“Guess you’re just off your game tonight.” Sulu shrugged. “Happens to us all.”
Keep thinking that, Ryjo thought. Although Sulu was clearly just ribbing his old friend, all in good fun, Ryjo worried that he was already endangering his cover by failing so conspicuously at bowling. He had only one more roll left. He needed to turn this around before anyone started getting suspicious for real.
If he could.
He had hoped that his new body’s muscle memory, and maybe even some lingering impressions on Chekov’s brain, would get him through this challenge, or at least compensate for his newness at both bowling and being a human, but those hopes had gone sadly unrealized so far. Perhaps he was trying too hard? Maybe he needed to step aside, mentally, and let Chekov’s brain and body do what came naturally to him?
Worth a try, he thought. I couldn’t possibly do any worse.
Hefting the ball, which had been automatically cleansed of any stray dust or grit on its return to the rack, he took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind completely. Easier said than done under the circumstances, but letting the pressure get to him was not helping any. His displaced mind had to get out of this body’s way.
Relax. It’s just a game. “We’ve” done this dozens of times before…
Approaching the lane, being careful not to step over the foul line in his mandatory bowling shoes, he released his ball one last time. For once, it didn’t bounce before rolling down the center of the lane. He watched anxiously, waiting for the ball to succumb to the seemingly insatiable pull of the gutter, but, to his amazement, it stayed on track for the pins, hooking only slightly to the left.
That’s it, he urged the inanimate sphere, furiously willing it to remain on course as though he actually possessed telekinetic abilities. He swerved his body in an instinctive, irrational attempt to influence the ball. Keep going…
Strike!
Falling pins knocked over others, triggering a chain reaction that left no pin standing. The resulting clatter was music to Ryjo’s ears. He punched the air in triumph as the thrill of victory swept away his growing anxiety.
Thank you, Mister Chekov! You trained this body well!
“That’s more like it!” Sulu leapt to his feet, openly happy for his friend. He gave Ryjo a hearty slap on the back. “You’re on a roll now, literally.”
A rush of warmth and camaraderie lifted Ryjo’s spirits—before he caught himself.
Sulu was not his friend. Nobody on the Enterprise was.
He mustn’t forget that.
“Congratulations,” a new voice chimed in. “I’d applaud if I didn’t have my hands full.”
He turned to discover a dark-haired woman, attractive by human standards, approaching from the adjacent snack bar, bearing a bag of the exploded grain kernels humans seemed to find so snackable. A crisp white uniform and telltale medical insignia (bizarrely mixing wings and serpents) revealed she was assigned to sickbay, but he didn’t recognize her from his careful study of the Enterprise’s crew roster back at the villa. A recent addition to the crew? He had been afraid that the intel provided by Imperial Intelligence might not be entirely up to date. He kicked himself for not scouring the ship’s current roster for any such additions at the first opportunity, but it wasn’t as though he hadn’t been occupied impersonating Chekov on and off duty.
“Er, thank you… Nurse?”
“ ‘Nurse’?” She looked slightly nonplussed. “A tad formal when off duty, don’t you think? Pretty sure I asked you to call me Simone.”
Anxiety came creeping back, gnawing at whatever transitory relief his lucky strike had brought him. The woman—Simone—eyed him expectantly, while Sulu looked on with what struck Ryjo as rather too much interest. He felt he was missing some crucial subtext here. Was this the unnamed nurse Sulu had alluded to on the bridge a few days ago, when Ryjo had first taken Chekov’s place at the nav controls? The one he’d assumed Sulu was interested in? For better or for worse, she hadn’t come up since, and Ryjo had been reluctant to press further for fear of betraying that he’d had no idea whom Sulu had been referring to.
“Sorry,” he improvised. “Force of habit, I suppose.”
She regarded him quizzically. “Habit?”
“Addressing people by their ranks and titles, I mean, after serving on the bridge all day. You can take the officer off the bridge, it seems, but not the bridge out of the officer.” He congratulated himself on the deft use of a human expression while attempting to smooth over his apparent faux pas. “Nothing personal, Simone. How are you this fine night?”
And who are you to Chekov?
“My social calendar is still fairly open.” She held out the popcorn, offering to share. “Speaking of which, I haven’t seen you around sickbay since I got back from Tykona. Not exactly sure what to make of that, to be honest.”
What did she mean by that? He helped himself to a handful of popcorn as he assumed Chekov would. The exploded kernels were surprisingly tasty as human refreshments went, not all that different from the salted nuts and seeds Voyzr enjoyed snacking on. He munched on the treat while he formulated a hopefully innocuous reply.
“Just lucky, I guess.”
“Lucky for who?” She stepped back, withdrawing the popcorn. Her sunny smile dimmed a few degrees. “You or me?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sulu cringe. I’m messing up, Ryjo gathered, but he wasn’t precisely certain why. He peered into Simone’s dark, enigmatically human eyes, searching for a clue. Doctor Morval had warned Ryjo that there might be some psychic seepage between his memory and Chekov’s; he could really use a stray flashback regarding this nurse right now. Who was this woman? What did she expect from Chekov? What was he doing wrong? The merest flicker of a memory crossed his mind, like a fragment of a half-forgotten dream:
Simone leans toward him in sickbay. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
He was once her patient?
“Me, of course,” he hastened to explain. “Lucky in that I’ve been fortunate enough not to require your expert care… as exceptional as it is, to be sure.”
“I see,” she said coolly, any previous warmth turning wintry. “Well, in that case, I’ll leave you to your game. Do try not to strain anything, Commander. Heavens forbid you should have to swing by sickbay again.”
She strode away briskly, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth before vacating the bowling alley altogether. Ryjo experienced a peculiar pang as he watched her depart, which made no sense. He ought to be relieved that their perilous encounter had ended sooner rather than later, before he could seriously endanger his cover, yet he felt a sudden, distinct sense of regret about whatever had just transpired between him and this “Simone” person, as though he’d let something precious slip through his fingers. A missed opportunity?
For Chekov, he reminded himself. Not for me.
“Wow.” Sulu shook his head in dismay. “You really are off your game tonight, and I’m not talking about bowling. What was that even?”
That’s what I need to know. Ryjo wanted to ask Sulu what the other man thought had just happened and what exactly he was reacting to, but how to do so without raising suspicion? He couldn’t afford to seem too oblivious about matters that ought to be familiar to him.
“You think I said the wrong thing?”
“You tell me,” Sulu said. “I thought you were keen on getting to know Nurse Tovar better the first chance you got, and that you and she had definite potential, but you barely tried to connect with her just now, let alone chat her up. Did I miss a major course correction somewhere?”
Offal, Ryjo cursed silently. Seemed he’d misread Sulu’s earlier remark on the bridge; it was Chekov who was interested in “Nurse Tovar,” not Sulu. He replayed his brief encounter with her to see how badly he’d flubbed it. He hadn’t actually snubbed her or brushed her off, that he recalled, but he probably should have appeared more enthusiastic when she approached him, given his previous interest in her, however far that might have gone. Calling her “Nurse” had clearly been a misstep, but how was he supposed to have known that? She wasn’t in his briefings. If only Vonnu had extracted this vital bit of gossip out of the real Chekov like he was supposed to!
“Well,” Sulu persisted, “have you even reached out to her since we left Tykona? I’m just asking as a friend.”
Ryjo felt another snare tightening around him. How was he to handle this? A romantic entanglement, under false pretenses no less, could only complicate his mission and, honestly, struck him as distasteful to boot. On the other hand, his unaccountable coolness toward Simone Tovar was already raising eyebrows. How was he to finesse this dilemma?
“You’re up.” Ryjo nodded at the bowling lane, where the pins had been automatically reset in anticipation of Sulu’s final turn. “You still have to finish this frame.”
“Uh-uh. You’re not changing the subject that easily.” Sulu hoisted his ball and pulled off another strike with aplomb. He didn’t wait for the echoes of the falling pins to die down before picking up where he left off. “No more evasive maneuvers, my friend. You getting cold feet where Tovar is concerned?”
“Not exactly,” Ryjo hedged. “I don’t think.”
An incoming party of bowling enthusiasts, waiting patiently for their lane, bought Ryjo a little more time as he and Sulu surrendered their spot and, at Sulu’s insistence, relocated to the snack bar, where they found a relatively quiet corner to continue their conversation. Sulu acquired a cup of tea and a plate of synthetic sushi from one of several available refreshment slots, and Ryjo ordered the same; he would have liked something stronger to steady his nerves, but he needed to keep his wits sharp to avoid any more mistakes. He nibbled on the sushi; it lacked the satisfying crunch of his favorite stems and nuts, but his newly human palate found it agreeable. Sulu’s persistence was much less so.
“Talk to me, Pavel. What’s up? Last I knew, you and Tovar were hitting it off pretty well. So what, if anything, has changed?”
Mind your own business, he wanted to reply. Unfortunately, everything he knew about Chekov’s close friendship with Sulu ran counter to that impulse. Regardless of what it felt like to him, this wasn’t Sulu mercilessly grilling a suspect; this was simply two old friends taking an interest in each other’s personal lives, no different from the way he and his cohorts used to talk about does back on Tykona, before he fully committed himself to the Exile cause. Chekov would not take offense at Sulu helpfully inquiring about his love life, so neither could he.
“I’m not sure,” he said, deliberately vague. “Maybe now is not the right time? With the mission to Voyzr and all?”
“It’s just an embassy opening,” Sulu countered, “not a covert mission deep into the heart of the Romulan Empire. Nothing that precludes a date or two along the way.”
Just an embassy opening? Ryjo seethed inwardly at the human’s blasé attitude toward the despicable state of affairs of Voyzr. Easy for Sulu to make light of the Federation sinking its hooks deeper into Voyzr, cementing its ties to the corrupt regime that had cost the Exiles everything; he hadn’t lost his family and future to the very “peace” the Enterprise was on its way to celebrate.
Not that this would bother Chekov…
“Maybe.” He swallowed his resentment, as though he indeed had nothing more important on his mind than a pretty human nurse. “But perhaps I should take things slow? How well do I truly know her?”
Feel free to volunteer any details, please. How well do I know her?
“That’s the whole point of asking her out,” Sulu said, less than helpfully. “Learning more about her, getting to really know her, is the fun part. Well, one of the fun parts, that is. You’ll never know if you slow to impulse now. Faint heart ne’er won fair maid, et cetera.” He gave Ryjo an encouraging smile. “Where’s the brash, hot-blooded Russian I’ve known all these years? The one who somehow managed to romance that Troyian envoy years ago, even while we were being held hostage by a renegade artificial intelligence?”
Ryjo balked, recalling the trap Vonnu seemed to fall for back at the villa while pretending to be Ratikin. He couldn’t be sure, but it probably wasn’t a coincidence that Chekov had tried to make a rapid exit right after Vonnu pretended to remember some scandalous episode from their past. From what Ryjo had seen, observing the “reunion” via hidden cameras, he suspected that Chekov had tricked Vonnu into exposing himself by inventing a fictitious anecdote out of whole cloth.
Was this a similar test? He recalled studying the exploit in question, rogue computer program and all, but there had been nothing about any alleged romance in the official Starfleet records, although that was perhaps simply a matter of discretion and privacy. Was Sulu testing him? Should he “remember” this dalliance or not? Or just try to duck the issue entirely?
“Maybe not so brash anymore.” He affected a self-deprecating air. “I’m not getting any younger, you know.”
“Don’t give me that.” Sulu wasn’t having it. “You’re younger than I am, kid, and I like to think that neither of us is ready to swear off affairs of the heart just yet.” He took a sip of tea. “Just think about what I’m saying, okay?”
Ryjo pretended to take Sulu’s unwelcome meddling in the spirit in which it was intended, smiling amiably. “When have I not?”
“You want a list?”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Sulu, Chekov!” Lieutenant Godwin from engineering dropped in on them, along with a few other crew members, whose faces Ryjo mercifully recognized. “Sorry to interrupt, but we need a few more players for a round of shufflelight. You interested?”
“Count me in.” Sulu looked at Ryjo. “Up for trying your hand at another game?”
Not remotely. Ryjo saw a chance to make a smooth escape. “Think I’ll call it a night if you don’t mind.” He politely fended off efforts to change his mind. “Probably better off reviewing the latest security reports.”
And studying Nurse Tovar’s file.
“All right,” Sulu assented. “See you tomorrow.”
He and the others wandered off, quickly finding volunteers to fill out their shufflelight teams. Ryjo lingered in the snack bar, finishing his tea and sushi before judging it safe to head out himself.
The nearest turbolift was located at the forward end of the Enterprise’s spacious, split-level rec deck, one of the largest public spaces on the ship. It was roomy enough to accommodate a wide assortment of recreational amenities and diversions, including an immense wall-sized viewscreen, currently displaying vintage twenty-second-century fractal-art videos; reading lounges; gaming tables; sunken conversation pits; and a large arcade platform offering various interactive entertainments, including a tournament-length shufflelight board, where Sulu and company were already getting started. Players used ionized paddles to try to speed or deflect a luminous puck to or from the goal pockets at each end of the board; the trick being to keep track of which phosphorescent disk was the real puck and which were just holographic decoys. Ryjo gave them a friendly wave as he leisurely made his way toward the portside turbolift, not wanting to appear too eager to get away from his fellow crew members.
Nice and easy, he told himself. We’re almost clear.
Then he spotted Simone Tovar dead ahead.
She was exiting a recessed conversation pit between the arcade and the viewscreen. He paused, unsure if she had noticed him yet or if she was simply ignoring him. Perhaps he could slip past her and postpone any further interactions until after he’d thoroughly reviewed her file and devised a suitable strategy for dealing with her? Or would conspicuously giving her the cold shoulder now just compound his earlier missteps?
He peeked over his shoulder, hoping Sulu was too immersed in his shufflelight match to be watching, but once again fortune was not with him. Sulu nodded at him from across the crowded deck, egging him on. Ryjo could practically feel Sulu giving him an encouraging nudge with his elbow. He sighed in resignation. It appeared there was no way out.
Maybe just as well. The sooner I remedy this, the better.
He strolled toward Tovar, resolved to make the best of the situation now that it had been forced upon him. This was his chance to lay to rest any questions about his recent incongruous behavior.
“Hello again.”
She turned toward him, making eye contact. “Commander.”
“Touché. I had that coming, I suppose. My apologies for being so… impersonal… before. My head was elsewhere.”
“How flattering.” Her expression resisted ready interpretation. Wary but not entirely on red alert, with perhaps a hint of amusement as well. She looked him over, arms across her chest, as though trying to diagnose a particularly elusive medical mystery. “For a minute there, I half expected you to pretend not to see me and walk on by.”
“Never,” he lied. “I was just taking a moment to… collect my thoughts.”
“About what, precisely?”
Careful, he thought. He needed to walk a fine line between acting interested but not getting too involved with Tovar. He couldn’t risk anyone getting too close to “Chekov” before he completed his mission. That would be courting disaster.
“About how to get back into your good graces.” He assumed what he hoped was a disarmingly sheepish air. “Can we perhaps start over again, Simone?”
She rewarded him with a smirk. “All right. Let me ask you again: How come you haven’t come by to see me since Tykona?”
Was he expected to? He was fumbling in the dark, with no idea how Chekov had left things with Tovar before beaming down to the villa. Curse you, Vonnu. You had one rutting job…
“Waiting for the right moment? An inspired excuse?”
“What made you think you needed an excuse?” She stepped closer, seeming to lower her shields by a few percentages. “So, about that stroll you promised me?”
