Chekov lay back and relaxed in the cramped space. It was a peculiar thing to be able to do, but he had long ago developed the not-so-
subtle talent. Tracing the pathways on the chip he held with both his eyes and a delicate finger, he searched with artistry for any
abnormalities in its patterns.
"Are you the Chief Navigator?"
The young voice that drifted into his private sanctuary seemed eerily familiar. Was it the slight, but distinct, echo of a Russian accent
that peaked some inner curiosity?
"If I am not, will you alert Security?"
"No." The voice answered with such a firm note of assuredness that Chekov smiled. "I would just assume the Chief was smart enough to
get you to do his work. That’s what I would do if I were him.”
The Navigator's smile broadened as he put the circuit panel he was working on back together. Having heard the Admiral had brought
his grandson aboard, he lazily wondered which one and he turned over their names and images in his mind. None of them seemed to
match the descriptions he'd been given of this boy, however.
Chekov slid himself out from his tight environs and onto the deck. Sitting up and resting his arm on top of his bent knees, he looked for
the child who had addressed him. “Unfortunately, the current Chief Navigator does not appear to be anywhere near a clever as you,” he
responded.
The boy was on resting on his knees with straight legs and a stiff back, not too far from where the Chief Navigator now sat. “Yes, well a
boy can be clever, can’t he?”
Chekov didn’t answer this time. He sat paralyzed as the sight of the boy’s familiar features filled his vision and took over his soul. Cold:
instantly frozen from the inside out, the Chief Navigator had never felt such an empty vacuum of thought and emotion.
For the first time in his life he wished he were a Western Russian. Like all mature planets, the peoples of Earth had become nearly
indistinguishable from each other, but in Russia there were those who stubbornly insisted on raising their children immersed in their
traditional culture and values. They were referred to as traditional Russians--not always with respect--and you could always tell them
apart from other Terrans. It was their eyes.
The child’s remarkable chocolate brown eyes converged with Chekov’s now, holding fast in a primitive union that left no room for
pretense. The traces of the question in the boy flitted through and out of the depths of his gaze in almost an instant. He recognized the
utter certainty in the Navigator’s eyes which the man couldn’t hide.
It erased all doubt in the boy: he knew.
Clearly uncomfortable with that information, Chekov’s fist slowly closed as his jaw tightened. Where were they to go from here? What
were they to do? More importantly, why was he completely unable to think?
He swallowed carefully, seized by the dread that any action on his part--no matter how small--would produce a chain reaction of disaster.
It was not so unreasonable a dread.
“What are you doing here?”
“I’m touring the Enterprise with my Grandfather.”
“You shouldn’t be here.”
Long lashes fluttered several times over wide brown eyes. “Where should I be?” he asked soberly after a moment.
The Chief Navigator stared back at him, his soul hollow and his mind a vacuum. “I don’t know,” he admitted. He sighed tremulously, the
slight sound rippling through their shared silence.
“You’re the Chief Navigator on this ship?”
The man’s dark eyes remained somberly on the boy. He lack of answer weighed heavily on the air.
“When the Captain said your name,” the child observed, “of course I wondered: but it never occurred to me that it could possibly be
you.”
"You should always consider all possibilities,” Chekov replied quietly. “That should be obvious at the moment.” Possibilities now
inundated the Navigator’s brain which brought it to a near immobility he had to fight his way past.
“You don't belong here," Chekov attested and he wasn't referring to Auxiliary Control. “You and your grandfather should leave this ship
immediately.”
“A assertion it seems the Captain would heartily agree with,” the child smirked impishly.
The Navigator actually smiled at this, but he continued as sternly as he could. “You have to leave.”
Shrugging in an elaborate gesture of simplicity, the child gazed up at him from under the long lashes. “I’m eight, remember?”
Point well made, Chekov thought. Childhood, even for spoiled Russian children, was a cautious, ever shifting balance of power with
adults who wielded control over their world and lives. Whether the Admiral and his grandson stayed depended very little on anything the
grandson had control over.
Eyes narrowing, Dimitri stared at Chekov as he sat lost in thought. “What’s wrong with your voice?” he asked.
“Wrong?” the Navigator asked curiously, then suddenly straightened: becoming indignant when he realized what the child meant.
“There’s nothing wrong with a Russian accent!” he retorted.
“Of course not,” the child agreed pleasantly, his own voice having only a trace of an enchanting lilt along its edges. “But what the hell
kind of accent is that garbled mess coming out of your mouth?”
Dark eyes sparkling wickedly with a decided note of triumph, it was the man’s turn to smirk. “I grew up traveling, so my accent isn’t
specifically regional.”
“I’ll say,” the child snorted.
Indeed, anyone with a linguist’s ear could identify regional pronunciations in Chekov’s voice from St. Petersburg, Moscow, Siberia,
Georgia, the Ukraine and several other areas of the far-flung Independent States of the Russian Federation. “Let’s say I’m fond of
variety,” he said.
He received a grin in response.
“You being here is a problem.”
“A problem for you,” Dimitri responded levelly. “An opportunity for me.”
“I have to get you off this ship somehow,” Chekov said then, urgently, not replying to the comment. “And you can’t be here with me: it‘s
not safe. You have to go. Besides, your grandfather will wonder where you are," he added, feeling stupid as the words came out. It
wasn't as if the boy didn't fully understand the reasoning behind his insistence, or that Chekov didn’t understand the child’s relationship
with his grandfather.
They boy smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his dark eyes. "He wouldn't notice if I were sucked into a black hole."
"I think he would," Chekov intoned. "He would have to tell your father he lost you, after all."
This time the amusement did reach the boy's eyes and an urchin-like grin lit up his face. "That would be worth seeing."
"You need to go," the Navigator repeated, trying to make his voice stern: but he knew his eyes shared the boy's amusement.
“I want to talk to you. You can keep working: I won’t get in your way.”
“No.”
He sat down on his heels in a defiant gesture. "I want to talk to you."
“You can’t always have what you…” Chekov stopped suddenly, the child’s sedate brown eyes making the startling words from his own
mouth sound like alarm klaxons in his head. Good Lord, he fought to keep down the horror he felt at himself. Have I been away from
home that long?
In Russian culture children were simply never told ‘no’. Outsiders didn’t understand why the rural villages were not populated with
horrid, monstrous urchins. The culture they held onto so fiercely, though, guaranteed the survival of their tight knit communities and
well-behaved children.
Sighing silently, Chekov shrugged slowly. He luxuriously drew out the type of words he heard echoing even now in his dreams. “If you
want to stay and talk to me, than that’s your choice. Of course, thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of people may cease to
exist. Planets may explode, stars go nova…the very fabric of the universe as we know it could alter forever.”
The child jerked to his feet, his face sullen and hard. Dark eyes glared at Chekov from beneath lowered lids. “I think you’re being a
somewhat over dramatic,” he bit out angrily.
Shrugging again, the Navigator gestured broadly. “Than stay and talk. It’s your choice,” he reminded him.
Spoiled, yes--and made to understand from the very beginning of life that each action affected everyone and everything with a ripple
that was unending.
The boy stood there without moving for a long moment, dark eyes fixed on the grown man’s gaze. “I just wanted to ask you some
things,” he explained deferentially, folding his hands respectfully behind him. With just the slightest shift of his head, his eyes became
liquid chocolate again and widened as he managed to gaze petulantly at the still seated Navigator.
Did the child actually think the perfect little boy routine was going to work on him? Chekov wondered with slight amazement. It had the
opposite effect intended, making the man more resolute. He simply sat there in silence, returning the child’s steady gaze.
Dimitri sighed lazily in defeat and turned and walked away. “It was bad enough that I have to put up with Dedushka, but now I have to
put up with you too,” he muttered.
“Yes, well if people knew you like I do, you’d be in chains.”
The child paused at the door and turned to flash him an impish smirk. “How soon will you have the Captain send us away?"
It was clearly a threat, but Chekov’s dark eyes filled with a caustic malice the boy recognized all too well.
The boy rolled his eyes and finally disappeared out into the corridor without further comment, but the Chief Navigator knew better than
to think that he had won. His eyes drifted over to the viewscreen on the wall. Wrong, he thought again. The stars were wrong.
Quickly and swiftly, he reassembled the auxiliary control navigation station. It was not in his nature to do it less than perfectly, but at the
moment he could not remember any task ever having taken so interminably long to complete.
He may have been meticulous about restoring the Auxiliary Control room, but Chekov found he had paid somewhat less attention to his
own personal appearance after having been squirming around on the starship’s deck. He shamefacedly straightened his uniform as he
hurried toward the Captain’s cabin and stopped long enough to brush any stray dust off the damn black pants.
Chekov hesitated again, his fingers hovering over the door chime. It wasn't that he was hesitant. It was just the ever-present irritated
thought crossed his mind that he should be able to hear if the chime sounded or not. At what point had a knock become technologically
inefficient?
He brushed his hand over the mechanism and the Captain's summons into his cabin told him it had sounded.
"Captain."
The Commander of the ship looked up at him from where he stood at his desk. On it's top was a sprawl of clearly disorganized and
disarrayed papers, clipboards, computer tapes and stylus'. Kirk had several of these items in his hands and he was clearly searching,
sorting.
"Mr. Chekov." Kirk returned the greeting curtly without looking up.
Chekov stopped the frown from creasing his forehead. The thought occurred to him, however, that it was not the most reassuring
predicament for a junior officer to see his Captain in.
"May I speak to you a moment, Sir?"
The older man didn’t hesitate in his frantic paced organizing. "This is not a good time, Chekov. Let me get in touch with you later."
If there was a hesitation, it was only in Chekov's mind. "Sir, this is very important. I need..."
"I said not now, Ensign," and Kirk hesitated to raise his hard, cold hazel eyes to the younger man.
Chekov didn't need to hear the tone, see the eyes, or even hear the use of his rank to know the Captain was irritated with the upstart
young officer. He persisted anyway.
"It's ship's business, Captain. Important ship's business, Sir."
Kirk stared at him deliberately a moment. The junior officer didn’t need to be a traditional Russian to understand the sentiment in the
Commanding Officer’s eyes. "I have a meeting with the Admiral, then a tour," he said without emotion. "I will contact you at a convenient
time, Mr. Chekov."
The unsaid words were as clear to Chekov as the spoken ones. It was bad enough the Captain had to explain himself to his superior
officers: he should never have to offer an explanation to a junior officer. He was the kind of commander who did it anyway.
Chekov stood there in silence, knowing now was the time to say 'yes, sir,' and exit without another word.
He knew more firmly that he should not leave this cabin until the Captain listened to him. In truth, in the pit of his soul, he didn't feel he
should ever leave this cabin. Chekov was seized with the feeling that he was not safe out there, out beyond these bulkheads. No one
Kirk is responsible for is safe while the Admiral and his grandson walks the ship's corridors, he thought.
"It's important, Sir," he insisted aloud, and he heard the accent in his voice fade. “It’s about the Admiral.”
Kirk was silent another minute and thought sourly: It’s all about the Admiral. However, he knew Chekov better than to think he would
barge in here with such fierce determination if he didn't think he had good reason.
"I'll contact you," Kirk repeated, but this time there was an acknowledgement of the young man's agenda in his voice. "I'm late." He
looked back down at his desk in obvious dismissal.
"Yes, Sir."
Chekov stopped in his tracks when the door to the Captain’s cabin slid closed behind him. Standing alone in the corridor, he suddenly
became aware of how ridiculously wide and expansively long the ship’s passageways were. The corridors went on forever, sweeping in
every direction, and the Navigator quickly pressed his back instinctively against the bulkhead, feeling horribly exposed and unsafe. He
felt free-form panic rise as the thought settled on him that he could not simply stand there cowering against the bulkhead for an
indefinite period of time. If only because he was an officer and the crew would no doubt latch onto the notion that he appeared to have
been sent to the principal’s office.
His own cabin was next door, but the boy would have already figured that out. What was he to do? Where could he possibly go where
he would be away from the boy and safe? Where could he go that everyone would stay safe? Go away from everybody, his mind said
desperately. Find isolation. Be nowhere...
It didn’t matter that the Russian language didn’t even have a word for privacy originally. Pavel Chekov had learned from the people
around him to cultivate the concept with guilty pleasure. Through careful investigation, he had even found that on a crowded starship
solitude was still possible and he sought it out now with a vengeance.
The blackness of space filled his vision as he sat suspended in the midst of the expansive starfield. From here the panorama was
perfect. No magnification distorted the view; no projection from the computer of an image that belonged elsewhere obstructed the mind.
He pressed his palms down on the walkway’s edge and leaned out from under the railing. Peering down at his booted feet dangling
among the stars gave him the sudden, thrilling impulse to launch himself off the walkway into a freefall among the luminous, heavenly
jewels that surrounded him.
“You’re avoiding me,” came a subdued observation from the doorway.
A chill gripped him at he sound of the voice. He sighed and let resignation settle into the very pit of his soul. Of course he knew from the
very beginning that he was defeated.
“I told you to go away,” he responded flatly without turning his eyes from his feet hanging amidst the stars.
“I did. I found you again.”
“Fine. Now go away again.”
“I want to talk to you,” the child persisted.
The voice, so eerily familiar, caused his ears to ache. Chekov straightened, but he let his deep brown eyes only rise to the starfield
directly in front of him. “So you’ve told me. It isn’t wise,” he answered tentatively. He didn’t know why exactly--but Dimitri’s presence
scared him.
“Why?” The youngster’s words were even and determined: a maddening simplicity for any adult to combat.
The older man drew a ragged breath and tried to seek solace in the stars before him. “No one comes to this Observation Lounge,” he
said, avoiding the question. “How did you find me?”
“I checked the blueprints in the ship’s computer. This is the only view of the stars on the ship that’s actually a window, not a viewscreen.
I know you, remember?”
“Don’t turn on the lights!” Chekov snapped as he sensed the movement. He shifted his eyes and watched as the boy dropped his arm
dutifully from the light switch he’d been reaching for.
The child stood there a moment: not hesitantly, but calculating. He turned his eyes to the rows of benches rising in the darkened gallery
on the other side of the walkway briefly before looking over at the Navigator. “Why are you sitting on the floor in the dark?”
He received no answer, so he moved soberly over to where Chekov sat and quietly climbed down onto his knees. Letting his hands
come to rest on his thighs, the young man raised his eyes up, peering under the protective rail at the massive window that filled the
expansive wall of the room. He then let their dark depths follow along the curve of the window as it disappeared under the walkway.
“Oh,” he said breathlessly in understanding, then giggled as Chekov instinctively reached out to stop the boy from leaning out too far
and falling under the deck.
“Yes,” the child quipped. “You best: Lord knows what a klutz I am.”
Chekov turned to look at him finally. The young face was bathed in the shadows of the dark room, but the eyes were brilliant with self-
satisfied amusement that came not entirely from the reflection of the stars. He studied the face—the classic Muscovite bone structure
and features—and the fine brown Russian hair with just a hidden trace of red beginning to creep in. The child’s eyes were a reflection
of Chekov’s people: wide and expressive, able to somehow communicate more than most people could with words. It was the utter,
depthless darkness that the Navigator occasionally caught a glimpse of in those eyes that held his attention: it spoke clearly of at least
some non-Russian ancestry.
“You’ve never fallen have you?” the boy finally asked. Chekov saw in those eyes now that Dimitri had knowingly waited, patiently, until
the older man’s scrutiny was complete.
“I’m not eight.”
“Neither will I be next week,” came the quick reply, and he turned to squirm around and hang his feet over the edge like Chekov. He
leaned out over the edge again and the Navigator clenched his teeth to stop himself from restraining the boy.
The man turned his attention, instead, to imitating the child’s movements. They sat there in silence a long while staring out at the stars
together. While Chekov was just enjoying the rare view, it became apparent the child was engrossed in contemplation. “They don’t give
you many opportunities for EVA’s, do they?” he surmised.
The Navigator eyed the Dimitri warily, recognizing immediately the scheming child’s attempted manipulation to get him to talk. This
particular question did seem benign, though. “No,” he finally answered. “We train in the Academy, and EVA’s are occasionally needed
in deep space, but not often.” Staring down at the stars again, he smiled slightly at the child’s instinctive understanding of what drew
Chekov to sit here. “This is usually the closest thing to a spacewalk on the ship without actually going AWOL.” He found himself self-
satisfied that hadn’t played into the boy’s hands. Or so he thought.
“You would think,” Dimitri drawled carefully, and turned calculating eyes on the Starfleet Officer, “that routine drills would ensure that
you’d do the most efficient job when called upon.”
Chekov’s eyes widened in alarm at the demonic, triumphant look in the child’s eyes. He growled deep in his throat. “You can’t go around
changing things.”
“Bet I can,” the boy quipped.
“You’re a little shit,” the Navigator blurted out in frustration.
“You would know,” Dimitri shrugged. He began swinging his leather boots in happy rhythm.
“Spacewalks are in my blood,” he continued easily. “It’s genetic: Alexei Leonov did the very first one on March 18, 1965.”
“So you’ve taken the first step in becoming the next Leonov family historian,” Chekov commented with ill humor.
The boy twisted his head around on an angle, letting his wide brown eyes stare at the older man blankly as he blinked his long lashes
several times.
“Alexei was one of the first twenty cosmonauts chosen in 1959,” Dimitri stated simply after a moment, turning back to look at the stars
with some amount of disinterest now. “He was scheduled to be the first man on the moon, but the launch was cancelled after the launch
pad explosion in Balkynor. He was also scheduled…”
Letting his eyes close, Chekov let out a groan. He had, after all, walked right into this.
“…and it was a good thing he got sick, because all the cosmonauts on that flight died in space when they ran out of oxygen. Alexei did
fly the Soyuz-Apollo hook-up flight later, though.”
“And when he retired he became an artist, which is what he intended all along,” the Navigator interrupted irritably. “I do know something
of space flight history.”
“I’m working on Dedushka to let me start doing EVA’s soon,” Dimitri continued, as if having not heard the older man. “I want to do lots of
them when I’m in the Fleet too.”
Chekov fixed a cold stare at the child. “In Russia children may be spoiled, but don’t expect the rest of the universe to give you
everything you want.”
The child stood, and grabbing the rail, twisted down to eye the man, the light in his eyes dancing. “Your semantics are wrong. In Russia,
children know how to get what they want. And it’s a skill I imagine the clever ones don’t forget.” He flashed a mesmerizing smile, as if in
illustration.
Chekov scowled dramatically at the boy and turned away, looking down but not seeing the stars. It didn’t matter because he could still
hear the child giggling outlandishly at the older man’s attempt to hide his smile.
“Tell me,” he asked. “Are you planning to torment me the entire time you’re here?”
“I don’t know. It had occurred to me.”
The Navigator turned back around to fix his gaze on the child. “You found me again. You talked to me like you wanted. You even found
a way to wreck havoc in both our lives while you’re here. Now why don’t you go wander away again—find someone to talk into giving us
more EVA’s,” he suggested, knowing it was the boy’s intention anyway. With a sinking feeling only a baited animal could have, he
braced himself for however it was the boy was figuring to manipulate him. “I’m waiting to tell the Captain that you need to leave. So go
away.”
The boy twisted his arms around the railing. “I suppose I could go explore the Bridge. It is the heart of the ship and I haven’t been up
there yet. Uncle Grigory lets me spin in the command chair when I’m on his bridge.”
Chekov’s eyes shot open in alarm and he would have gasped with horror had not all the air been pounded out of his body.
“I could go to Engineering too, and I could play with the transporters,” Dimitri continued, twisting about the railing with utter happiness.
The sledgehammer was pounding repeatedly into Chekov’s chest.
“Uncle Grigory would let me and he’s a Captain. So Captain Kirk wouldn’t mind…after all, all Captain’s are the same aren’t they?” The
boy’s patent stare was downright demonic. “Aren’t they?”
The Navigator blinked several times, willing himself to breath again. Despite expecting it, he was still genuinely impressed with the swift,
bloody attack the child had settled on.
Dimitri tilted his head down without moving his gaze. The eyes fixed upon Chekov were neither warm nor brown. They were dark and
gleaming—shining up through his dark lashes to intensify the effect. A slow smile creased over his face then. It was a smile that could
only have been rivaled by Satan’s when he was given Hell to reign.
The Navigator pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arm around them. If I can’t keep myself safe from this willful child,
what hope does the rest of the ship have? he wondered with hollow dread.
“You want me to give you a tour of the ship,” Chekov stated finally, staring back at the child and wishing he could feel more defeated
than impressed.
“Well, I can get to most places, you know. I want see the more important areas, though, and I can tell Kirk is the kind of Captain that
expects his ship to be respected. Besides, I should have supervision when I’m not in my cabin: I just can’t roam around freely. I am, after
all, only eight.”
Dimitri’s eyes had shifted again and Chekov met in the shadows the wide-eyed glimmer of practiced innocence in the dark gaze. He
twisted his head away swiftly and snorted involuntarily—the air escaping his mouth as his body shook.
The boy straightened, blinking at him suspiciously. “What? Are you laughing?” he demanded.
The man turned back to the child then and let a brilliant, gleaming smile sweep over his face and spill over into his dark shining eyes.
“Yes,” he said, allowing the laughter to overtake him then.
“I’ve never been on the receiving end of your particular…charms,” Chekov concluded when he was able to stop chuckling.
The innocence sank out of the boy’s eyes then, and their depths reflected maturity beyond his years. “My father taught me well,” he
observed with a conspiratorial smile.
“Oh, please,” Chekov intoned as he shook his head. “You were taught by a person that can get anyone to drop at their feet.” He stood
up then, bending over so his sparkling eyes met the boy’s gaze. “Your mother is the architect of your particular talents.”
The child hid an urchin like smirk of agreement on his features.
The Navigator sighed lightly then: they both knew who had won this particular battle of wills. Frankly, Chekov was exhausted by the
effort. He took the boy’s hand and straightened back up. “Let’s see what we can do about a tour,” he said. At least it will pass the time,
and minimize the danger while I wait for the Captain.
The child hesitated when Chekov tried to move him forward. “Mr. Chekov,” he said, “My name is Dimitri Ivanovich.”
The man eyed him curiously a moment. He had not, in fact, called the boy by name yet. “Is it now?” he asked, a strange tone in his
voice. Dimitri Ivanovich had been Russia’s first hero. “He changed the world,” Chekov finally said. “Tell me, Dimitri Ivanovich, are you
going to change the world?”
The boy’s face was completely overcome by a petulant scowl. “I don’t even like to change my clothes!” he blurted out.
The laughter burst out of Chekov unavoidably. Grinning wickedly, the boy pulled him out of the lounge while he was still laughing.
Maybe the kid won’t be that horrible to be around a short while, he thought.