Relative Discord
by
Patricia Wright
There was something wrong with the pattern of stars. Chekov adjusted the view screen to 0% magnification and studied the star field
displayed before him. It was nothing the sensors had detected, nothing any instruments had picked up--and yet he knew there was
something wrong with the stars he stared at.
Like many people who ended up in space, he had grown up gazing at the stars. Happy memories of cuddling with his father and staring
up at the darkened canopies of the heavens filled his childhood. It was even family legend that only the sight of the stars would soothe
his fitful crying as an infant.
Of course, the Chief Navigator thought ruefully, part of his father’s job was to collect and preserve fairy tales. He had found the man
adept at creating his own tales as well, so the young man was quick to discount any such stories about himself.
Still…Chekov thought, his eyes raking the stars almost angrily. He did not have his father’s photographic memory, but patterns instantly
became etched into his brain. He needed symmetry to be at peace. He could not stand artwork to be askew, rooms to be disorganized:
Sulu was known to move things about in his cabin simply to drive him insane.
Insane--like the stars he now stared at were driving him. His skin was crawling and his spinal cord vibrated resolutely into the base of his
skull.
“Are you sure you want to do this with a Fleet Admiral coming aboard, Boss?”
Chekov turned wide brown eyes on Riley and fixed him with a steady and unwavering gaze. The ‘Boss’ comment was a good-natured
ribbing that had eased Chekov’s transition to his Chief Navigator position. Riley outranked him, had been in navigation longer, had
been on the ship longer: but when the Chief Navigator had died it was Chekov the Enterprise’s Captain had given the position to. A
potentially explosive situation, he had found instead the entire Navigation department thrilled by the choice. He was not only a better
Navigator than any of them, he was a better supervisor and they knew it just from their time working beside him.
He was the kind of supervisor that took the time to teach those working for him, the kind of supervisor that had earned a respect that
made his team know, in a fundamental way, that any task he asked of them was important.
Chekov was also the kind of man whose sense of humor and irreverent view of life made him easy to work for. It was amazing how long
he was able to hold the gaze of Riley’s green eyes without allowing his smile to creep out. The Lieutenant dissolved first, laughing and
throwing his arms into the air in a great show of melodrama.
“Fine. If the Chief Navigator wants the ship torn apart, than we’ll tear the ship apart,” he announced loudly as he spun on his heel and
moved to dissolve back into the Navigation center of the ship.
“Riley.” Chekov’s word stopped the older man and he turned back, interest in his eyes.
The Chief Navigator gestured with his wide brown eyes past Riley, though the dark-haired person he’d seen had quickly vanished from
his line of vision. “Who’s that?”
“Nick Paul,” the Irishman answered without having to turn. “New crewman that posted just yesterday. Good navigation skills, although
personally…well, he’s quite…intense.” Riley leaned closer, his green eyes sparkling. “Already ousted the person in the ‘most likely to be
a Klingon agent’ spot.”
“Humph,” was Chekov’s response, understanding completely after only having briefly glimpsed the new man’s glare. “Make sure he
keeps all that hair out of his face,” he added absently.
* * *
The skin crawled on the back of James T. Kirk’s neck as he stood, straight-backed and immobile, in the din of silence that filled his ship’
s shuttle bay. Fleet Admiral Mikhail Leonov wasn’t even in charge of this sector of the Fleet, he thought with irritation. Wasn’t it bad
enough he had to deal with his own Fleet Admiral as often as he did?
Space itself had been downright dull lately: routine missions with only a peculiar ion storm in recent days peaking his crew’s interest.
There was no discernable reason for the Admiral to be delaying the Enterprise, no reason for the man to be accompanying them for an
interminable amount of time.
Kirk knew of Fleet Admiral Leonov only by his sterling reputation throughout the Fleet and had never had reason to think otherwise of
him. Now, it had taken only one oblivious communication from the Admiral for the Captain’s estimation of the man to turn sour and his
expectation of the visit dismal.
As the Star Fleet cruiser settled into the spit-shined docking bay Kirk felt self-satisfaction in his ship and the life she carried aboard
her. This surprise visit didn’t need either warning or a flurry of activity to ready the ship. Not the Enterprise.
The Bo’sun’s pipe split the air then with it’s wild, unbridled shriek. It was a foul sound to most, but not to those whose life upon ships had
come to see it as a comfortable ceremony that bound them to the long history of men who had journeyed into the unknown. To them the
blast of noise was a life-affirming lifeline to the past.
The Captain waited with a military man’s steadfastness as the Senior Starfleet officer disembarked the ship and decisively strode the
distance to where he and his officers stood. The only thing missing in the precision in which he stopped in front of Kirk was a click of his
heels. “Fleet Admiral Mikhail Leonov,” he reported. “Requesting permission to come aboard, Sir.”
“Permission granted,” Kirk replied pleasantly. “I’m Captain James T. Kirk, commander of the Enterprise. Welcome aboard, Sir.”
The man’s broad face, prominent cheekbones and fine brown hair were clearly, undiluted Slavic in origin. He also had a conspicuous,
profound nose and thick lips which Kirk noticed as he uneasily studied him closer. The Fleet Admiral’s oldest son was a fellow Captain--
a man somewhat older than Kirk, yet he now faced a Mikhail Leonov with a flawless continuance and entirely brown hair. The Admiral
looked so…young.
“I’m honored to be welcomed aboard,” the visitor was saying. “And pleased to have the opportunity to meet you as well.”
“The honor is ours,” Kirk replied somewhat honestly as he forced himself out of his reverie. “Your reputation far precedes you.” The
man took his hand in a beefy, strangled handshake. It was the kind of handshake that declared formally and instantly who had the
power in a relationship.
The Captain was nagged subtly by the tone of the man’s voice that made it clear he had not, in fact, ever heard of Kirk. He dismissed
the notion as vanity and pressed on with the expected formalities. “Allow me to introduce the Enterprise’s Command Officer’s.” Turning,
he indicated the line of waiting officers in turn.
“Commander Spock, First Officer and Science Officer; Chief Engineer, Lt. Commander Scott; Chief Medical Officer, Lt. Commander
McCoy; Chief Communications Officer, Lt. Uhura; and Chief Helmsman, Lt. Sulu.”
The Admiral cordially greeted each of the officers, proceeding down the line with his fierce handshake. He stood silently at the end of
the line of officers then, staring pensively at poor Sulu after folding his hands behind his back. Pale green eyes slowly turned and
raised to meet the Captain’s hazel ones.
“Captain Kirk, there appears to be a major deficiency in the make-up of your command team,” he charged.
McCoy almost laughed out loud, but covered it with a cough before Kirk’s glare reached him. The Captain nodded in reply and moved
toward the Admiral. “You would be referring to our Chief Navigator, Ensign Chekov. He’s currently involved in an overhaul and refit of
our navigation system and I felt it in the ship’s best interest to allow him to continue. You’ll be introduced to him at a later time, if that’s
acceptable, Admiral.”
The issue of an introduction seemed irrelevant to the man. “An overhaul and refit?” is what he asked with sudden intense, curiosity.
“What kind of problems have you been experiencing?”
“None,” McCoy rasped immediately. “The man just likes to routinely tear apart the ship for no reason. Frankly, I think he needs a good
hobby.”
Kirk’s glare did reach the man this time, but Spock was already speaking.
“Mr. Chekov administers his department in a manner to best ensure its efficiency.”
Appearing slightly amused, the Admiral smiled. It was a thin and obviously practiced gesture that never reached his eyes. “A starship
Captain is dependent on officers that ‘own’ their departments.”
“Indeed, we are,” Kirk agreed sincerely. “Can I ask to what we owe this visit?” he pressed to the heart of the matter.
“Privileges of rank,” the man replied with a trace of a somewhat guilty smile. Turning, he guided Kirk’s attention behind him. “My
grandson.”
A startled Captain now saw a young boy standing behind and off to the side of the Admiral, where he seemed content to wait motionless
and silent.
The boy had brown hair like the Admiral’s and the telltale Slavic cheeks, but bore no resemblance to Leonov beyond that. His hair hung
down onto his back, twisted neatly into a short braid; his lips and nose already carried the image of classic, fine features; and his
enormous, soulful eyes resembled a warm, melted chocolate bar. The boy, by far, qualified as one of the most adorable children Kirk
had ever seen.
All this occurred to the Enterprise’s commanding officer in an instant but passed through his mind without any real acknowledgement.
What occupied the Captain was the fact that the boy was, without a doubt, standing perfectly ‘at ease.’ This family drilled it into them
young, he thought ruefully.
“Come here, Dimitri,” the Admiral summoned. Obviously having waited to be addressed, the boy now moved over beside his
grandfather and dutifully took his place at the man’s side. He stood politely among the adults with his expressive dark eyes roaming
about the group with bright interest. In an obvious recognition of their heritage, the boy had been dressed in a traditional peasant’s
outfit. He wore a crimson silk peasant shirt edged with fine gold embroidery and cinched by a black leather belt, black trousers and
highly polished black boots.
The boy looked like a toy someone took down off a shelf: the most adorable little toy peasant doll imaginable.
“Dimitri Ivanovich,” Leonov continued. “I’d like to introduce you to our host, Captain James T. Kirk.”
The child drew smoldering, depthless eyes slowly over to the Admiral and let them linger there a moment before turning to the Captain.
He proffered his hand to Kirk just like a real person. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”
James Kirk only noticed for a millisecond the calluses on the small hand, already took for granted the well-trained military decorum.
What instantly struck and held captive the Enterprise’s commanding officer was the enormous dark eyes that deliberately sought out
his. Written clearly there was an apology that the Captain had been seemingly reduced to the post of cruise director by the Admiral’s
choice of words. Chekov’s claim that a real Russian’s eyes betrayed truths, which they learned to control, came back to him. The
remarkable eyes Kirk now faced, when one caught their gaze, betrayed an intelligence and maturity hidden by the cherub innocence in
the boy’s face.
“Thank you, Dimitri,” he said as he dropped the child’s hand. What he was being thanked for the Captain knew the child would
understand.
Oblivious to the silent exchange, Leonov continued. “I promised Dimitri a tour of a constitution class starship—in service—before his
ninth birthday.” The man gave Kirk a wry smile, shrugging. “I underestimated his memory abilities. I guess you could say my hand was
somewhat forced and your ship happened to be available.”
Kirk looked at the lad for a moment. He seemed to be a wholly pleasant child on first appearance and had impressed the Captain
already with his manners, sense of propriety, and keen wit. He even felt a pang of regret. Not that large a pang of regret, however.
“Admiral,” he enjoined. “A starship in service--especially in deep space--is no place for a child.”
Kirk saw the color change in the Admiral’s face and the man stood silent a long moment. Fleet Admiral’s didn’t get to where they were in
life without expecting to get what they want while being wholly unused to being questioned about it.
Kirk, however, didn’t have the finest ship in the Fleet because he let anyone treat it like an amusement park ride.
“Captain Kirk,“ Leonov finally intoned, and it was clear that he was controlling his voice. “This boy already has his first pilot’s ticket and
is working on his second. He can navigate a space ship and sailing ship equally well. He is advanced in his class work and could easily
find his way around your computers better than many of your crew.” Stopping then, he fixed his green eyes on the Captain deliberately
before continuing.
“Dimitri here is quite gifted in many areas. He and all my grandchildren are the future of Starfleet and you would do well to remember
that. My family supplied this Fleet with its genetic code and we have always been its lifeblood.”
“I’m well aware of your family history and the debt the Fleet owes to you,” Kirk stated patiently. How could he not know? It was legend
and, hell, the Leonov’s didn’t let anyone forget.
A Russian Cosmonaut named Leonov and an American Astronaut named Jarvis had together chiseled out the mold and become the
founding fathers of Starfleet. In fact, the Leonov family had been leading Earth’s way into space since the first tentative steps off her
soil. The first EVA, the first moon colony, the first Mars expedition: those born into the family now gave no thought to their future for they
knew they were destined for Starfleet careers. There were so many of them in the Fleet you couldn’t throw a rock without hitting one of
them. Frankly, Kirk didn’t know how he’d been spared having one of them on his ship. It wasn’t something he regretted. Many of the
Leonov’s were arrogant, pretentious and downright mediocre now, their name alone serving as the only skill they needed to advance
through the ranks.
“This is a ship of the line,” the Captain repeated, “and there is no predicting the dangers we might encounter at any moment. It doesn’t
rest easy on a commander to risk the lives of commissioned officers, no less obviously gifted children who the future of the Fleet relies
on.”
The Admiral’s eyes widened at that, both amusement and respect at Kirk’s clever answer in their depths. He was not to be dissuaded
from his decided course of action, however. “Captain, I’d wager that Dimitri knows as much about this ship as you do already. He’ll be
fine. It’s me you need to worry about,” he chuckled thinly in a poor attempt to lighten the situation.
Kirk glanced at the perfectly trained little solider standing next to Leonov. The huge, dark eyes of melted chocolate were fixed sedately
on the Captain in somber innocence. Whether it was from the recitation of his skills, the memory of Chekov’s words about Russian eyes,
or the glimpse into the child’s eyes he’d had before, James Kirk knew this boy was far from as innocent as he projected. His experiences
with children on his ship before were always disastrous and a boy as cleverly manipulative as Dimitri clearly was made the Captain
shudder. Obviously, family ties destined the boy for a career in the Fleet but it was an eight year old child who had wormed his way onto
Kirk’s ship. Clever and spoiled.
In the boy’s wide brown eyes there then appeared hidden, toying amusement. Kirk straightened imperceptibly, fixing his own dark gaze
on him. He understood far too well what thoughts the child was tormenting him with: was a Starfleet Captain afraid of a little boy on his
ship?
Kirk scowled at him malevolently, his jaw shifting.
“Captain,” the Admiral was asserting. “We’ll just follow the Yeomen here and get settled in. I’m looking forward to the opportunity to
acquaint myself with the operations of a constitution class ship from a sector of the Fleet I’m not normally familiar with. I’ll contact you to
make arrangements for the inspections I’ll be interested in conducting while Dimitri, here, tours the ship at his leisure.”
“Yes, Sir,” Kirk replied, feeling nowhere near as cooperative as he sounded when the Admiral and the boy left, following the Yeomen
carrying their bags.
“What an precious little angel!” Uhura exclaimed as soon as the door slid closed behind the two visitors.
“Admiral Leonov?” Scotty asked innocently.
She glared at him, pressing her hand against her chest. “No, Dimitri Leonov. He’s such an adorable little gentlemen: a real charmer.”
“Humph. It’s the cute ones you have to watch out for,” Sulu observed cynically.
“Gentlemen,” the Captain cut in even though the amusement was easing the tension in his neck. “You’re dismissed to go about your
business.”
“Jim,” McCoy cut in as the rest of the group dispersed through the door. “I just have one tiny question.” He waited until the Captain
turned and gave him his full attention. “Please correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the Admiral just tell you that he’s going to be doing the
standard inspections with you while that kid’s going to be wandering freely about the ship—alone?”
There was silence as the Captain stared at the Doctor’s steely blue eyes. It was apparent to his friend that the new thought was being
analyzed. The blood slowly drained out of the Captain’s face.
“Ah,” McCoy nodded. “I thought so.”