Phantom Nemesis
by
Diane Doyle
“There’s this Russian kid who can beat you at Breaststroke!” Aidan Christensen heard the taunting voice of his longtime nemesis,
Henry Schiavone, as he walked back to his team area after his race.
Aidan Christensen, a senior at Sherando High School in Winchester, VA, had just won 100 Meter Breaststroke at the Virginia State High
School Championship Swim Meet taking place at the Ziegler-Anderson Natatorium at George Mason University. He had finally out
touched Scott Ferguson of Midlothian, VA whom he had lost to the previous two seasons. His current time was good enough for the
meet record, the State record, and the National High School record. It was his second win of the day, as he had already won the 200
Individual Medley event, which itself was a state record. His teammates and coaches were jubilant and thrilled with history being made.
The press in attendance took numerous pictures of him on the block after the race was over.
One person was obviously not thrilled and that was Henry Schiavone. Henry had been an elementary school classmate and a summer
league swim rival. During most of their initial years of swimming competition, Henry had been the best swimmer in the town of
Winchester, VA and surrounding regions. At least that had been the case, until they were 10 years old and Aidan had earned an upset
win over Henry in the 9-10 year old Boys’ Individual Medley race, due mostly to a much superior swim on the Breaststroke leg.
Throughout sixth grade, Henry Schiavone was upset enough with Christensen to convince several of the boys in their class not to be
friends with him and, many times he succeeded. At the end of the year, Schiavone gave an Elementary School graduation party where
he invited all the sixth grade students, even the girls, except for Aidan.
Schiavone continued to torment Christensen throughout middle school. Luckily for Aidan, Henry enrolled in a different high school than
him, with Aidan attending Sherando High School and Henry attending Handley High, a nearby rival. They still saw each other at swim
meets and at morning swimming practice. Henry would taunt him, both in person and in e-mail messages, “You may be the best
breaststroker here but you can’t beat Scott Ferguson and never will.”
Aidan had hoped that his victory over Ferguson would finally silence Henry’s taunts. But that was obviously not the case.
“How do you know?” Aidan was skeptical, recalling that Henry was learning disabled and probably did not wish to do any more research
than necessary.”
“Nick told me. He’s from Russia, you know.”
Henry was referring to Nicholas Visnevsky, a swimmer at Handley High School, who had lived in Russia until this year. Nicholas was a
good breaststroker who had finished second in the Regional Championship and third at States. Nicholas also had a tendency to
trumpet Russian superiority in most endeavors.
Not trusting the assertions of either Schiavone or Visnevsky, Aidan decided to do his own investigation. He signed onto the family’s
home computer and requested searches for Russian breaststrokers. Only problem: most of the information was in Russian. While the
computer could accept voice commands in most of the major terrestrial languages, translating extensive amounts of material would take
a prohibitively long time.
“Where’s Starfleet’s Universal Translator when we need it,” grumbled Aidan as he turned away from his computer, grabbed his personal
communications device and punched the code to contact his friend, Dennis Zyuzin. Dennis was a fellow swimmer on his high school
team who was in several classes with him and whose family was originally from Russia.
As soon as the image of Dennis appeared on the communications screen, Aidan inquired, “Is it true that there’s this kid in Russia who is
better than me at Breaststroke? Henry Schiavone and Nicholas Visnevsky claim there is.”
Dennis shrugged, “I don’t know.”
“Henry can’t handle me being the best so he’s gone out of his way to find someone better.”
Dennis gave his friend a sympathetic look, “That Henry Schiavone has been nothing but trouble for you over the years.”
“No kidding!”
“And as for Kolya, you have to remember that since his family just came over this year, he still thinks of himself as Russian while I think
of myself as North American since I’ve lived here most of my life.”
“That’s a fact,” Aidan acknowledged.
Dennis continued, “Kolya’s getting more Americanized, much as he hates to admit it. Many of his high school friends call him Nick rather
than Kolya. Like Henry. Don’t get me wrong. I get along well with him but sometimes he can get a little crazy when it comes to thinking
the Russians are the best at everything. And then he’s at Handley, so of course he enjoys it when anyone from Sherando gets beat. I’
m sure he’d especially enjoy it if someone from his homeland could outswim any of us.”
“It’s amazing! The Cold War ended more than 2 centuries ago. Nations no longer have their own space programs since Starfleet
essentially handles all space exploration. Despite that, the Russians still want to one-up the Americans in everything. It doesn’t matter
whether it’s science or sports.”
“And the same is true of the Americans.” Dennis paused for a moment before continuing, “Anyway, Aidan, I have this cousin who goes
back to Russia every summer and swims in a summer league there. I’ll ask him if he knows of any super fast breaststroker.”
“Sure.”
**************
Two days later, Dennis brought Aidan to his house after school. The plan was to study Calculus and Advanced Physics together. They
sat on a couch in the family room and worked out problems together. Eventually, they needed a break from the intense work load.
Dennis looked up from his work. “I talked to my cousin, Alexei. He actually knows of this fast breaststroker.”
“Oh really!” Aidan’s eyes widened.
“He’s in Alexei’s summer league but on a different team. Alexei barely knows him but had heard all about him from other people. This
kid didn’t start competitive swimming until he was 9 or 10. He swam year round but only 3 days a week. But for some reason, he had an
awesome breaststroke. He also played youth hockey for years and was good at that also. When high school came along, he was on
the hockey team and ran track. Not until last year did he focus on swimming but as soon as he did, he was setting records right and left.”
Aidan was shocked, “Oh my God! How does he do it?”
“I don’t know. Some people are just naturally gifted.” Dennis shrugged his shoulders. “I wish I had his talent.”
“Join the club. I’m good but I’ve swum year round since I was 6. And 5-6 days a week since I was 12.”
Dennis jumped up from the couch and led his friend upstairs to a room that was being used as a combination library and home office
and seated themselves at a computer work station. Dennis spoke a series of commands in Russian to the computer. In response, a
video display was shown. After further dialog with the computer to refine the search, the monitor displayed some images of high school
swimming, with voiceovers in Russian.
“And hear he is.” Dennis announced to his friend as the computer monitor displayed the picture of a teenage boy in Russia along with
chart of swimming times for various strokes, including Breaststroke. The name was listed in Cyrillic characters.
“Chekov, Pavel Andreievich,” Dennis read the Cyrillic text.
“Pavel Chekov.” Aiden repeated, raising his voice. “So that’s my Russian rival!”
As Aidan and Dennis studied the statistics more closely, Dennis offered, “I’ll show you his times in each of the strokes.”
“I may not know Cyrillic but they use the same numbers as us.” Aidan turned to Dennis. He studied the numbers more closely before
looking up. “It looks like I’m better than him in everything – except Breast.”
Dennis nodded, “That’s the truth. And even in Breast, he’s only beaten your best time once. You’re consistent while he apparently got
hot this one day. You’d clean his chronometer in IM since his butterfly’s a disaster.”
Aidan’s voice displayed resignation. “Except that you’re judged on your best time, not your average. And this Pavel Chekov kid has a
better best time. So Henry Schiavone now has just enough ammunition to rub it in.”
“At least now you know what you’re up against. I’m sure you’ll beat him in the Olympics three years from now. You’ve already qualified
for the Trials and I’ve never seen anyone get as psyched up for competition as you. And you’ll definitely be motivated.”
“I doubt if I’ll ever do the Olympics. I’ll most likely be going to Starfleet Academy this fall and will probably be on a space cruise during
the summers, which pretty much shoots going to the Olympics.”
“That is most unfortunate.” Dennis’s face fell. “Somehow, it just doesn’t seem fair that this Chekov guy’s this good with barely any effort.
I’d like to see someone put him in his place.” His tone of voice changed to confidence. “But I’m sure you’ll do very well in Starfleet.
Maybe you’ll serve on one of the state-of-the art starships that they’re building.”
“Maybe.”
***********
A week later, Aidan’s AP World Literature began studying the play “Uncle Vanya” which was written by the 19th century Russian
author/playwright, Anton Chekhov. The name jolted Aidan’s memory.
He thought to himself, with an uncomfortable feeling. “Of all the last names to have, the same one as that fast Russian breaststroker.”
Throughout the period while his class studied that play, he was reminded daily of his unseen rival. His academic performance in that
class posed no problems although he was stronger in mathematics and science than in language arts. By the time they finished with the
play, Aidan reflected he would remember more details about Anton Chekhov and his works than any other literary figure.
********
In the meantime, Christensen received his acceptance notice from Starfleet Academy, along with acceptances from the University of
Virginia, Princeton University, and Stanford University.
Aidan mulled over his college choices. “I’ll get a good education at any of those places.”
His father, Dan, smiled, “I faced similar choices. I nearly went to the Academy after high school but ended up going to UVA instead.
After graduation, I went to a training program at the Academy for college graduates. I got to be a pretty good pilot but left after a year
because I figured being out in space for long periods of time was not exactly compatible with raising a family.”
His mother, Adriane, smiled affectionately, “Your dad couldn’t leave me for too long.”
“That’s right,” Dan nodded his head in agreement. “I met a girl named Adriane Considine and didn’t want to leave her.”
“There’s one difference between you and me. I don’t have a girlfriend I’m leaving behind.” Aidan pointed out. He did not mention
anything about looking forward to leaving behind Henry Schiavone and his taunts.
********
On Saturday April 12, at 1300, Starfleet Academy was giving a reception for accepted cadets. This was a good chance to tour campus
and meet prospective classmates before the final reply deadline of May 1. Aidan and his parents took a shuttle to Washington, DC
and, from there, took a rapid transit tube to San Francisco, California. They had a late breakfast and proceeded to the reception at
Archer Hall.
He scanned the room and noticed that other students attending this reception represented a range of nationalities from Earth, along
with a few aliens. Since he had arrived a few minutes early, Aidan headed over to a food and beverage table to grab refreshments. As
he turned around, he noticed a young man, slightly taller than he, who had reddish brown hair and grayish blue eyes and began
conversing with him.
“I assume you’re also a prospective cadet.”
The young man held out his hand. “Yes, I am. I’m David Garrovick, from Sacramento, California.”
“I’m Aidan Christensen, from Winchester, Virginia.” Aidan shook Garrovick’s hand.
They continued to converse until a gong sounded, signaling all guests to sit down. Christensen and Garrovick sat down next to each
other. The commandant of Starfleet Academy, Admiral Erich Von Steuben, addressed the prospective students. “Welcome to the
reception. I’m sure most of you are considering attending the Academy. It was one of the most memorable periods of my life and I think
one of the more rewarding parts of my job is to mentor our young people through this respected institution….” For several minutes, he
declaimed the virtues of the Academy. He finally paused, looked towards his audience, saying with a hint of regret. “This is the last
prospective student reception I’ll be attending in my current capacity of Academy Commandant for this is my last year in this position. I
will complete the year and then I’ll turn over the reins to my successor, Admiral Manual Acta.” The outgoing commandant directed the
audience’s attention to a dark haired man standing to his right who then took over at the podium.
“I’m really honored to accept this position. Like my predecessor, I consider it very rewarding to guide our young people to a good
education and be ready and able to meet all challenges…” Admiral Acta began his speech and spoke for several minutes.
At the end his speech, he directed everyone’s attention to a young woman of medium height who had just entered the rear of the stage
and now stood to the left of him on the stage. “This is Charlotte Mayevsky, a third year student and the chair person of this year’s
prospective cadet welcoming committee. Once she says a few words, I would like our prospective cadets to take a tour of our facilities.
Several of our third year students will conduct the tours. Being as our fourth year students are busy preparing for graduation activities,
we have deemed it more appropriate to have our third year students become more involved with activities for prospective cadets,
especially when they will be next year’s firsties.”
Charlotte Mayevsky spoke, a hint of a New England accent obvious in her voice. “Welcome future Starfleet Academy cadets. Being a
cadet at the Academy has been one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I have not only gotten a great education in the
sciences but also in how to work together in teams. That is an important skill when serving on a starship far away from Earth….” She
continued to speak for few more minutes.
Once she finished speaking, Admiral Acta spoke into a microphone, “Will all our prospective cadets please gather on the right side of
the stage. We will assign you into smaller groups for a guided tour of the campus here.” He directed everyone’s attention to the tour
guides who had assembled at the foot of the stage.
Aidan and his newly found friend, David Garrovick, found themselves in a group of approximately 25 prospective cadets. The guide for
his group was a smallish young man who appeared to be of Asian descent and had a cheerful facial expression. The guide flashed a
smile as he addressed them, “I’m Hikaru Sulu. My primary specialties are botany and astrophysics. The Academy is practically in my
back yard, as I grew up in San Francisco.”
Aidan’s facial expression was bemused. “Botany and astrophysics. That’s an interesting combination of subjects.”
Sulu smiled in return, “People consider my hobbies interesting also. I enjoy collecting plant species from many worlds. Occasionally, my
roommates here have touched them and gotten stung or pricked, as a result.”
“Maybe you ought to put a sign on them,” cracked a male prospective cadet, with dark blond hair. The rest of the group guffawed, with
laughter.
Sulu guided the group to the Academy Athletic Complex. As they crossed the marked track that surrounded the perimeter of an athletic
field, Sulu was reminded of his own sports interests. “For the last three years, I’ve been a member of the Academy Cross Country,
Fencing, and Track teams. I’ve been Fencing champion the last three years running.”
The young Asian turned to his group, flashing a smile. “I’ll admit I’ve been talking too much. So, it’s now your turn to talk. Do any of
you guys do sports?”
Garrovick was the first to answer. “I’m a runner. I’m captain of my high school Cross Country team and also do track. Since my father
was a Starship captain, I’ve learned the importance of being in good physical condition.”
Hikaru Sulu’s ears perked up, “Good choice. I was wondering, do you plan to spend the night in this area?”
Garrovick inched closer to Sulu. “I’m here in town with my uncle. My mother’s back home in Sacramento taking care of my younger
brother.”
“Then you can come run with me tomorrow. Every morning, I run 5 kilometers and I would like to offer prospective cadets the
opportunity to run with me. I plan to start my run at 0630 tomorrow morning. Anyone wanting to run with me can join me at the main
entrance of the Academy cafeteria.”
“I’ll be there.” Garrovick promised.
Other prospective cadets describe their sports experiences, once Garrovick had broken the ice, so to speak. The answers showed
experience in a variety of sports. Hikaru would become more interested when anyone else was either a runner or a fencer. As he did
with Garrovick, he would attempt to convince any runners to join him in his workout and he would usually get an affirmative answer.
It was soon Aidan’s turn to speak, “Well, I’ve swum for many years. I was Virginia State Champion in 100 Breaststroke and 200 IM this
year.”
Hikaru reacted with an enigmatic smile. “I used to swim summer league but never was serious. I was always more into running and
fencing, although I did play Little League baseball.” He leaned closer to Aidan. “I understand that being a good swimmer really helps
with running. You did mention you’re from Virginia. Right?”
Aidan nodded, “I certainly am.”
“Do you know that there was once a high school swimmer in Virginia who also did track? When he finally decided to concentrate full
time on running, he was the first high school runner in over a generation to break the 4 minute mile?”
Aidan’s eyes lit up with recognition. “I know exactly who that was. Alan Webb of South Lakes High in Reston, VA, back in 2001. In fact,
my dad graduated from there.”
A young man, with olive skin and dark hair, cracked, “Hikaru, I bet you’d make up a similar story for any other sport, just so you could
convince every cadet to take up running.”
“Except this story is really true,” Aidan confirmed.
Sulu gave the group a tour of the campus, which not only included the athletic fields and the parade grounds, but also the main
Academic buildings. This included the science laboratories, the main flight simulators, and classrooms. He even guided them through a
hallway that included memorials to heroes in Starfleet.
When the tour was over, Hikaru turned to the group. “It was great to meet all of you today. I hope to see you this fall as cadets. I’ll give
you all my communications code so if any of you have any questions, whether about joining me on my run tomorrow or any other topic,
you can contact me. If you’re staying in San Francisco tonight, you’re welcome to join me on my run, even if you haven’t already done
so. As I mentioned before, meet me in front of the Academy cafeteria at 0630.”
******
After the reception was over, Aidan’s first destination was the Natatorium. He gazed at the pool deck from the stands and noticed the
facility contained both a long course 50 Meter pool and a short course 25 Meter pool. Aidan marveled, “This is a really nice pool.
Looks like it’s state of the art.”
As he wandered around the facility, he encountered Ray Fishman, the new Academy swim coach. Fishman had formerly coached at
Stanford University and Christensen had originally met him during a visit to that campus the previous year. Fishman was smiling from
ear to ear. “Well, Aidan, do you plan to attend the Academy next year?”
Aidan smiled in return, “I believe so.”
The coach confessed, “I enjoyed coaching at Stanford. The kids and the atmosphere were very good. But I felt it was time for a new
challenge. I believe that since kids who come to the Academy are so disciplined, they will apply that discipline to whatever sport they
choose. Admittedly, the Academy can’t really recruit for athletics and there is the 5 year commitment to Starfleet upon graduation but,
so far, I think the cadets I’ve dealt with so far are a pleasure to work with and I’m anticipating a very good year, next year.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
Fishman grinned widely. “If you come on board, we’ll truly be set for Breaststroke. I’ll now have two of the best. The Russian high
school breaststroke champion came by earlier today to tell me that he’s coming to the Academy next year. Says he’s been dreaming of
coming to the Academy all his life.”
Aidan was shocked at the news. He stammered, “You mean Chekov! Oh my God!”
Fishman nodded, “Yes, Pavel Chekov! Well you’ve certainly scoped out your competition.”
“Considering that my high school’s arch-rivals have been rubbing it in for the last two months.”
“That must be some rivalry.”
“Well, there was this kid I knew from elementary school. He had never forgiven me for beating him in a race. He ended up at my high
school’s main rival and happened to hear about this Russian kid who’s better than me and won’t ever let me forget it”
Fishman tried to reassure Aidan, “Well, now we’ll find out who’s better. In any case, thanks for coming by. And good luck. I hope to see
you swimming with us.”
“Thanks.”
*****
After his meeting with Coach Fishman, Aidan walked dejectedly from the Natatorium. He thought to himself, “I can’t seem to escape
Pavel Chekov! Of all the people to be going to the Academy! Chekov is probably a totally cocky, obnoxious fellow, especially if Henry
Schiavone is so high on him.”
He wandered through the campus courtyard and was greeted by a cheerful voice. “I believe you were one of the future cadets in my tour
group.”
Aidan turned around and noticed Hikaru Sulu, his guide, who was accompanied by Charlotte Mayevsky, the student who had addressed
the prospective cadets at the reception. “Yes, I am.”
Sulu flashed a grin, “Charlotte here was very helpful in recruiting more people to run with me tomorrow. Some of the members of her
tour group will join us.”
“Oh really!” Aidan’s eyes lit up with interest.
Charlotte looked pointedly at Sulu. “You did want me to convince some future cadets to run with you. Well, my group included a smallish
fellow from Russia who commented on my last name and proceeded to talk all about Russian superiority. He figured we had common
ground, even though my ancestors left Russia in the late 20th century.”
Sulu cracked a smile, “I guess we’ll need an American runner to put the Russians in their place. It seems that the Russians are still
trying to get back at the Americans for winning the Cold War.”
*******
Aidan decided to forget his worry about his unseen rival by organizing a dinner outing. Luckily he had obtained the communications
code for David Garrovick at the reception. They had both expressed the idea of getting together that evening but had not made any
definite plans.
Christensen pressed the communications codes for Garrovick. It’s me, Aidan Christensen, the fellow from Virginia you met at the
Academy reception. I figure we ought to finalize our dinner plans.”
“Why don’t we go to O’Doul’s?” suggested Garrovick. “It’s a good place for food and drinks and discussing sports.”
“Sounds fine. What time you want to meet?”
“1700 hours. Would it be okay if another fellow joins us? I met this guy named Mal Hendorf at the reception here, also.”
“No problem.”
“See you then.”
*****
Aidan went back to the hotel where he was greeted by his parents.
“How’d the Academy reception go?” His mother got up from the couch where she sat.
Aidan replied, “Okay, except for one thing – Pavel Chekov’s going to the Academy next year.”
Adriane Considine looked at him, blankly, “What’s wrong with that?”
Aidan’s annoyance was obvious, “Pavel Chekov’s this kid in Russia who once got a better time than me in Breaststroke and Henry
Schiavone and his friends at Handley won’t let me live it down.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No,” Aidan shook his head.
“Maybe if you got to know him, he wouldn’t turn out to be so bad.”
Aidan looked dubious. “Anyone Henry Schiavone’s this high on has to be a jerk.”
His mother countered, “I bet Henry hasn’t met him either.”
After several more minutes of conversation, Aidan announced. “I’d like to get together tonight with a guy I met at the reception.”
Dan Christensen was supportive. “This seems like a good chance to network in advance.”
“His father was a former starship captain.”
His father’s face perked up. “Then it’s truly a networking opportunity.”
His mother smiled at her son. “Well, I’m not surprised you found some new friends to go out with. Have fun!”
Dan spoke again. “So now, Adriane and I will go out to dinner ourselves and see tonight’s performance of the San Francisco Symphony
Orchestra.”
“See you later,” Aidan waved to his parents as they walked out the door of their hotel room.
******
There was an hour to go before Aidan was scheduled to meet his newfound friends. He figured he would tour the area, including
walking through some of the hilly areas of San Francisco. He strolled through the Russian Hill area, enjoying the cool breezes of the
early evening. He climbed to the top of the hill and tried to cross a street. Unfortunately, as he stepped off the curb, his left foot did not
land cleanly. Instead, he lost his balance and crumpled to the street. His ankle began to throb with pain. Aidan tried to get up but it
was a futile effort.
“Oh no! I must have twisted my ankle big time!” Aidan thought to himself after an unsuccessful attempt to stand.
Ruefully, he crawled back onto the sidewalk and pondered his options. He knew he was not going to meet his friends at O’Doul’s since
he could not walk over there. He would need to get medical treatment for his ankle first. He tried putting weight on his foot again but
the pain he experienced made it clear that he could not walk to any emergency medical facility, without assistance. His parents would
not be able to get him since they were attending the symphony. “It hurts to move,” Aidan thought, as another stab of pain shot through
his ankle.
Soon, a smallish dark haired young man climbed up the hill and approached the sidewalk where he sat. His hair was worn long, with
bangs nearly falling into his eyes. As he came closer, Aidan thought he looked vaguely familiar. Eventually, he recognized the man as
a fellow guest at the Academy reception but one who had not been in his tour group.
“Excuse me,” the young man looked down at Aidan. “Were you at Starfleet Academy reception today?”
Aidan’s tone of voice betrayed the pain from his injury. “Yes, I was.”
“You appear to have need of …… pomachi.” He hesitated as though he was searching for the right word to use. After speaking some
commands into his personal tricorder, he addressed Aidan again. “You … seem to need help?”
“I just hurt my ankle,” moaned Aidan.
“You walk at all?” The intonation sounded like a question and the words were pronounced with a thick accent.
Aidan shook his head. “I was supposed to meet some friends at O’Doul’s at 1700.”
The young man’s tone of voice was determined. “Listen. First, you have need of doctor but can not walk. We need ride.”
Aidan considered his situation. He was dependent on help from a future Academy student whose native language was not English and
did not appear to be fluent. He recalled that Starfleet would issue Universal Translators to crewmembers on starships. Yet, here he
was, trying to communicate with a fellow human who spoke a different language. A Universal Translator would be useful now.
The potential benefactor whipped out his personal communicator and began communicating with someone in his native language. After
he completed his conversation, he turned to Aidan. “My parents give us ride in her Air Car.”
“Thanks for helping me when you don’t even know my name or vice versa. I’m Aidan Christensen, from Winchester, VA.” He held out
his hand to his new-found friend.
”The name’s Chekov, Pavel Andreievich Chekov. I was born in St. Petersburg but live in Moskva.”
Aidan stared at him with a shocked expression upon hearing his name. “You’re the Pavel Chekov? Holder of the world high school
record for 100 Meter Breaststroke!”
Pavel’s tone of voice was almost embarrassed. “Da! I am! How’d you know?”
“I’m the guy who set the North American record around that same time. But then these guys from a rival high school found out you were
better and kept rubbing it in. One of them used to live in Russia while the other one is my worst enemy and is happy to hear of anyone
better than me.”
“Bozhe moi!” Pavel’s face now registered shock. Then, he grinned slyly, “It must have been all those plies I did in ballet. Russian
children study ballet in pre-school and learn plies. Not to mention all the lessons I had in figure skating where I learned front and back
swizzles. So all that help my breaststroke kick.”
“I never had ballet,” Aidan laughed.
At that moment, Chekov’s parents arrived via Air Car. “Momma, Poppa, this is Aidan Christensen who may go to the Academy next
year. He hurt his ankle.”
Pavel opened the door to the flitter. He and his father helped Aidan climb into the back seat. At that moment, Aidan contacted David
Garrovick via personal communicator.
“Listen, this is Aidan. I hurt my ankle and I’ll need to go to an Urgent Care Center.”
“Thanks for letting me know. Which Urgent Care center are you going to? Maybe Mal and I can meet you there.”
“I’m getting a ride with this Russian guy who plans to attend the Academy next year, Pavel Chekov.”
“Let me speak to him. I’ve studied Russian. The language is not too dissimilar to my ancestors’ language. They came over from
Croatia in the late 19th century. Plus, I know this area pretty well since my father was in Starfleet. Unfortunately, he died on a mission
when I was 10.”
******
Aidan, accompanied by Pavel and his parents, was treated at the Urgent Care Center. Because injured ankles were not considered life-
threatening emergencies, there was a long wait to get treated. Hence, Aidan and Pavel had plenty of time for conversation. They
learned they had much in common, besides planning to attend the Academy that fall; both were strong students, especially in Math and
Science; both had taken place in Math Counts competitions during their scholastic careers. They were only a day apart in age, with
Pavel being born on September 14 while Aidan was born the following day. They were able to communicate even though Pavel’s
command of the English language was not overly fluent and heavily accented, besides. Sometimes their conversation got loud enough
to prompt the receptionist to tell them to quiet down.
They were still waiting for treatment when David Garrovick and Mal Hendorf came by the Urgent Care Center with a bag of food from the
restaurant. Garrovick placed the food on a waiting room coffee table. “I figured we’d order you guys something since I know how long
emergency room waits can be.”
As they ate, Aidan smiled at his friends, wryly. “I obviously won’t be running with junior cadet Hikaru Sulu tomorrow.”
“You can watch the rest of us and join us for breakfast,” Hendorf suggested as he swallowed a mouthful of food.
As they continued to wait for treatment, they learned more about each other’s backgrounds. Garrovick entertained the others with
stories about his father’s adventures on the U.S.S. Farragut and reported that his father’s successor as captain made it a point to send
Christmas presents to him and his brother every year. With more friends waiting with Christensen, besides Chekov, the conversation
became even more load and animated, prompting more warnings from the receptionist to quiet down.
Finally, it was Aidan’s turn to be treated. The diagnosis was a simple fracture of the ankle. He would wear a cast and a regeneration
device for 24-30 hours and could have it removed after that.
When his parents finally arrived at the Urgent Care Center, his obviously flustered mother apologized profusely. “I’m sorry we didn’t get
your message sooner since we were at the symphony and had to turn off our communicators.” She then eyed the group of friends
surrounding him. “You’ve never met a stranger, Aidan. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you knew these guys all your life.”
Aidan gave his mother an enigmatic smile. “Mom, you’ll never guess who I got a ride with over here!”
“One of the guys you were planning to have dinner with, I presume.”
“No, but they’re here.” Aidan directed his mother’s attention to Garrovick and Hendorf who were trying to suppress laughter.
“Henry Schiavone, by some fluky chance?”
“No, but you’re on the right track.”
“Who, then?”
“Pavel Chekov.”
“The very boy you were so worried about. Goes to show you, you need to meet people before you judge them.”
“My phantom nemesis.”