Kirk recognized the utterly ethereal look on the man’s face and withheld a smirk he would rather have let show. Human women usually
inspired such a guise on a man’s face, but with the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer females of another sort were more often than not the
cause. Strolling up beside him, the Captain let an easy smile spread over his features.
“Mr. Scott,” he said. “I take it the Admiral’s ship meets with your approval?”
“Aye,” the man grinned boldly, his eyes shining with delight. “She’s a beauty.”
The Captain’s smile thinned at Scotty’s enthusiasm. There was apparently nothing here to take Leonov’s attention away from Kirk’s ship.
“Captain, I’ve never seen such a fine antique,” Scott continued. “Although I expected a newer model for a Fleet Admiral--top of the line,
if you know what I mean.”
Kirk shifted his weight from foot to foot, his gaze glancing over the lines of the Admiral’s ship next to him. “Antique? What do you mean?”
“This class of cruiser stopped being constructed fifteen years ago,” the Engineer explained, gesturing as he moved over to the ship in
question. He took a moment to slowly run a hand along the hull.
“This lady has been loved, Captain,” he said with a sigh of admiration. “She is in absolute pristine condition. This ship has been
maintained so well and kept so clean, if I didn’t know better I’d say she hadn’t been in service more than a year or two.” His voice had a
note of wonder in it as he spoke.
The Captain did allow himself to smirk this time. If the Enterprise’s Chief Engineer could understand only one thing in the universe, it
was the devotion he saw that some unknown person had given to care for this small cruiser. A large part of the shine in the Engineer’s
eyes Kirk recognized as respect for whoever that person was.
While Scotty could understand the care some unseen person had given this ship, it was the Admiral’s obvious indelible bond to her
elusive soul that touched something deep within Kirk. Not every ship bound herself to her commander like this and James Kirk could not
help but idly wonder what the Admiral and this lady had seen together that caused him to keep her with him after all these years.
That the cruiser’s pristine condition gave the Admiral no cause to linger with her—and free Kirk—settled like an oppressive weight on
the Captain. Then again, that means there’s nothing to delay Leonov’s departure, thought Kirk: except that damn kid.
“Thank you, Mr. Scott,” he intoned easily before strolling over to the control panel where the Admiral stood.
Turning as the Captain approached, the senior officer gave him a smile of practiced pleasantries. “Captain,” he said. “I’m going to stay
here until Mr. Scott is finished and then he’s going to give me a look at Engineering: if that will fit into your schedule,” he added, as
though the Captain had any say in the matter.
The relief had to be evident in James Kirk’s eyes and he wondered vaguely if the Admiral was telepathic. He flashed the man a
handsome smile—a human gesture that signified nothing more than non-hostile intentions. “That will be fine, Sir,” is what he said. “Be
sure to contact me when necessary.”
“Yes, yes: of course,” came Leonov’s absent reply.
The Captain moved to the edge of the control panel, letting his eyes drift over the indicators there. He wasn’t actually looking at them,
as there was nothing in the display to interest him. All he needed to know at the moment was if the shuttle bay had a breathable
atmosphere and he was, after all, standing erect. Reaching out, he let his fingers tap a gentle pattern over the control panel.
He had to give credit to the Admiral for having a sound knowledge of how a ship ran beyond what the blueprints showed. The man was
only using Kirk as a basic tour guide, the Captain acknowledged. At each department, Leonov latched onto the Chief of the department
for his in depth tour and information. The man also made sure to connect with the people who made up the department: showing an
innate understanding very few senior officers seemed to grasp.
The Admiral’s tour was the least of the Captain’s worries at the moment. “Your Grandson…I hope he’s finding his way about the ship?”
Kirk had heard nothing to concern him, but that was what deeply concerned him.
The Admiral looked up and, tilting his head, turned his full attention to the Captain. He flashed an amused smile. “You needn’t worry. I
told you, Dimitri’s parents drag him all over constantly. He had learn how to get along on his own at a very young age.”
Kirk let his hand fall off the panel. The complete dismissal he clearly heard in the older man’s words left him cold with subtle dread. “He
must be lucky to have a stabilizing influence like you in his life,” he observed carefully. “Are you able to see him often?”
The man sighed heavily, a growl buried somewhere in the sound. “A few years back Dimitri got it into his head that he wanted to join the
Fleet. When he calls, I send someone to get him.” The Admiral scowled and shook his head with distaste. “I’m hoping this trip finally gets
that damn fool notion out of his head and I can spend my time in more fruitful matters.”
Kirk stilled as he studied the man with interest. “I thought every Leonov joined the Fleet, Sir.”
“Eh…” the man growled again, scratching the back of his head as if he was ridding himself of some infestation. He turned and strolled
into main area of the shuttle bay. “Dimitri’s no Leonov: he’s my daughter’s child.”
“Admiral, that would still connect him to the Leonov bloodline,” the Captain observed, keeping his tone respectful as he moved to follow
the man’s steps.
“Dimitri is his father’s son,” the senior officer man declared with a bold, dramatic voice. “He looks like him, talks like him, acts like him—
he even walks like him. The man already has him in that ridiculous navy, or didn’t you notice the braid?”
“The Russian Navy?” Kirk asked, stunned at the man’s attitude. The question itself made no sense and he was embarrassed as soon
as the words escape his mouth. Only one Navy currently existed on Earth, and in fact the sailing ships it was comprised of were merely
living history museums. “I have the greatest respect for the vision the Russian Federation showed in preserving the Earth’s maritime
heritage.”
“Vision?!” the Admiral exploded with fire in his green eyes. “That ‘vision’ is an insane and dangerous waste of time and resources. No
one will be able to silence the outcry the first time some poor fool dies on one of those ‘romantic’ deathtraps that were once safely killed
with the birth of the twentieth century!”
Kirk took a practiced moment to pause before speaking to the senior officer carefully. “Sailing ships did offer dangerous occupations to
those who worked on them,” he said. That Leonov’s grandson was one of those people in danger, and yet he saw no future for him in
Starfleet, as an alternative, was puzzling. The Captain spoke carefully again.
“Given how gifted Dimitri is, it seems he has a promising career ahead of him in the Fleet, despite any current resemblance to his
father.”
“Oh, he’s gifted, yes,” snorted the Admiral, and his boots echoed his weight on the deck as he moved. “He is bright, likes to learn, is
ahead in his studies and already knows several languages. But those aren’t his gifts,” the man continued, brushing that idea aside with
a hand. “Oh, no. Dimitri can belt out a song that will make you weep, can blind you with the power of a tap dance and can work an
audience as though they’re nothing more than wet clay.
“Dimitri Ivanovich,” he spat out, “Is Russia’s version of Shirley Temple.”
Well, thought Kirk with irony, I certainly hope they don’t curl the poor boy’s hair.
“You ever hear of a tap-dancing captain?” Leonov snarled with derision. He stopped by his ship and turned to regard Kirk.
Hazel eyes meeting the man’s green ones, the Captain flashed a wry smile. “I know of one that sings opera,” he quipped.
The older man remained regarding him without a change in countenance, making his opinion of Kirk’s humor more than clear.
“He really is one hell of a performer, Captain,” the Admiral went on with a reluctant note of respect in his voice. “We’ll eat lunch at the
Captain’s table tomorrow and I’ll arrange for him to perform: you provide the food, I’ll provide the entertainment.”
Kirk stared at him in thinly veiled horror, wondering how having children on his ship always got him into these ridiculous predicaments.
He wondered too how incredibly bad this child’s ‘talent’ really was and how horribly long the ‘performance’ would be.
The horror obviously showed because the Admiral smiled easily. “Really, Captain: your Shirley Temple was an amateur compared to
him.”
James Kirk decided instantly that he was going to have to force others to suffer through lunch with him.
“Than I’ll look forward to it,” the Captain lied in a pleasant tone. “As for Dimitri’s future in the Fleet, I wouldn’t rule anything out. After all,
he is only eight: I know my father’s influence helped keep my interest alive.”
The Admiral sighed heavily, bringing his hands together before him to twiddle his thumbs. Kirk straightened fiercely, as he knew from
Chekov that Russian’s used the gesture to indicate a person had lost their mind. Did the man assume he wouldn’t know this? Kirk
thought bitterly.
Leonov scowled then, shaking his head. It became clear he wasn’t referring to his current companion by the gesture. “Dimitri’s father is
addled, I’m afraid, Kirk. The man rewrites fairy tales.”
The Captain stood there stiffly for a long moment as he tried to process such strange, incongruous information. “I’m sorry, Sir. You
said…”
“He rewrites fairy tales. You know, ‘Hanzel and Gretel’, ‘Jack and the Beanstalk’.”
“I see,” Kirk responded, although he certainly did not have any grasp of how that could be an occupation. He held onto the idea that the
man was mentally ill. “There are cures, Admiral.”
The man laughed sarcastically at him. “Captain, you can’t force someone to accept treatment. His father has the family living in one of
those peasant villages,” he sneered. “It’s impossible to get someone out of those cults.”
Kirk shifted the weight on his feet. “Dimitri lives in one of the Historic Districts?” he repeated, intrigued. His Chief Navigator had also
been raised in one of the nineteenth century areas where they taught traditional Russian culture and values.
“God, yes,” the man almost moaned. “I don’t know why we wasted our time trying to force them to move into modern areas. They’ll all
die of starvation eventually anyway.”
Trying to still his insides, the Captain stood silently for much longer than he knew was polite. Still, it was better than throttling the
Admiral. He was a Fleet Admiral, after all, Kirk reminded himself. The Captain, however, had unending admiration for the Navy and deep
respect for what he had learned about Chekov’s people in the short time he had known him. His respect for Admiral Leonov was all but
disappearing. He may know Fleet business, but he seemed to know very little about people. The Captain realized now that the man’s
dealings with his crew were simply as cogs in the machinery.
“Even peasant villages have the ability to turn out people with exceptional abilities,” he noted.
The Admiral chuckled absently, green eyes distant. “Oh, it’s not as though any village or Fleet tour will affect his future, anyway,” he
commented. “The whole world has known my grandson’s future since he was five. Dimitri Ivanovich is Mother Russia’s answer to Mozart,
Captain.”
“I thought Tchaikovsky was Russia’s answer to Mozart,” Kirk quipped instantly, even though he knew the man was referring to the boy’s
young age. Shirley Temple and Mozart, he thought cynically. Well I hope the boy doesn’t do them both at once.
Green eyes stared at him again. “Dimitri Ivanovich won the European Piano Competition this spring,” he stated, deadpan.
“I didn’t know they had a junior division.”
“They don’t.”
And that, Kirk thought, must have pissed off a whole lot of adult competitors. So why does my ship have to be the instrument to burn out
all of the child’s fantasies about his future endeavors? “Than I’m sure he has a bright future,” is what he said aloud. “Admiral, I’ve kept
you from your tour long enough. I’m sure Mr. Scott will assist you in whatever way you need.”
The Captain of the Enterprise felt addled himself as he made his way to the Bridge of his ship. The underlying, festering irritation that
was pervasive to every one of his thoughts would not go away. A Fleet Admiral from some other part of the Fleet didn’t belong on his
ship, especially not for the inane reason of some kind of pleasant holiday. A child wandering about alone most certainly didn’t belong
aboard her and Kirk couldn’t help but feel the ship he was bound silently to protect was infested with some moldering virus.
The child’s big, dark eyes and general pleasantness haunted him. Kirk knew from Chekov that in Russia’s rural villages the children
roamed about freely and everyone was expected to keep an eye on them all. Although not the cults the Admiral claimed they were, the
communal nature of the villages certainly accounted for Dimitri’s apparent ability to thrive with a mentally absent father and for his father
to subsist without obviously needed medical attention.
Dimitri wandered alone on the Enterprise as well, but here no one monitored his not necessarily benevolent behavior. The Admiral
appeared to expect nothing of the child but to exist until he took his rightful place in Russia’s cultural future. Without the restraints and
expectations of his natural environment, the child possessed an unlimited potential for havoc.
As he stepped into the lift, Kirk considered what Pavel Chekov must have been like as a peasant child. It was not surprising that the
thought brought to mind Andrie Chekov, his Navigator’s father. The man had outright adopted Sulu into their family and Kirk leisurely
wondered if he would likewise welcome a child. If Dimitri was only given the kind of attention and stability any young person deserved,
perhaps the Earth’s ‘next Mozart’ wouldn’t grow into the complete monster Kirk envisioned an adult Dimitri as.
The Captain had met Andrie once when the ship had run across his path and although the meeting had lasted less than five minutes,
he was the kind of man who left an impression. Instantly his thick, curly black hair, neatly trimmed beard and Russian mustache gave
Kirk the idea that father and son bore no resemblance to each other. The man’s fierce, joyful, grasp of life and all-encompassing
irreverent sense of humor quickly changed that notion.
On first view his wide, brown eyes seemed to mirror Pavel’s as well: but it took only a second to move beyond that idea. When Andrie
looked at you he became absolutely absorbed and the unnerving sensation that the world around had vanished could actually cause
your ears to ache. His attention to you never wavered, never hesitated. You walked away from Andrie Chekov with the underlying
feeling that he had secretly discovered that there was something about you that was vitally important.
The Captain never again wondered where Pavel Chekov had gotten his unwavering self-confidence and rock solid self-image.
Every human deserves just five minutes with Andrie Chekov, Kirk thought, wondering absently what the man’s his ‘government job’ for
the Russian Federation was.
The lift doors opened then and he froze, startled to be confronted with both Dimitri and Chekov. The Navigator twisted sideways and the
child stepped back quickly beside him.
Military decorum, Kirk thought ruefully, although now he suspected it had very little to do with Leonov, who seemed to ignore the child.
The man had mentioned Dimitri was a cabin boy in the navy: perhaps reinstating that particular custom was pushing the limit, the
Captain considered.
The child was staring up at him sedately, innocently, patiently, with his wide brown eyes. It unnerved him. He didn’t like to be looked at
by the boy and he hoped, now that he knew Dimitri was from the same region as Chekov, that it was the similarities bothered him.
Having stood there for an inordinate amount of time, it suddenly occurred to Kirk that he had ought to say something. “Good afternoon,
Dimitri. Are you enjoying your tour so far?” was what he managed to accumulate. He thought it turned out pleasant in the end.
“Yes, Sir: thank-you,” was the boy’s chipper and respectful response. “This spring I was able to tour the Excalibur while she was being
fitted in dry-dock, so having the comparison of a ship in service has been very educational.” He twisted his neck to look up at Chekov
before turning back around to smile at the Captain. “I’ve encountered things here I never expected.”
Well trained by his military service, the Chief Navigator didn’t move, didn’t even blink: but his face paled several shades lighter.
“Mr. Chekov was very kind to accompany me while I tour off-limits areas, such as the Bridge,” Dimitri added.
“We’ll both have to thank him, then,” Kirk said with a pleasant smile. Truth be told, unless it had a security code, they all knew a Fleet
Admiral’s grandson could go anywhere he pleased. He had to thank Chekov in private. “I won’t keep you, young man.”
The Chief Navigator and the boy entered the lift as Kirk moved onto the Bridge.
“Oww!”
The Captain’s step faltered and he snickered, grinning when the sound escaped the closing lift doors.
“Chekov!” The indignant protest from Uhura did little good, even though it brought her to her feet. The lift was gone and he couldn’t
possibly have heard her. “Captain, I don’t think he should be hitting the child!”
Kirk sighed as he lowered himself into his command chair, trying to reign in his smile. “Oh, I don’t know as I’d judge, Lieutenant. I haven’t
spent any time with the boy.”
The Communications Officer moved away from her post to make better eye contact with her Commanding Officer. “Captain, that is the
most adorable, charming little gentleman that it has ever been my good fortune to meet.”
Casting a wicked glance at McCoy, who stood by his chair, Kirk turned sparkling hazel eyes at her. “Why Uhura, are you telling me
Dimitri Ivanovich has turned his charisma on you and roped in his true love?”
“If he were a few years older,” she answered without missing a heartbeat and planting her hand on her hip. Then added: “That boy is
going to be fighting suitors off in his time.”
There was a ripple of laughter that scattered over the bridge as Uhura retook her post. Kirk moved to turn back to the viewscreen, but
muttered to McCoy as he did so. “Bones, I don’t trust that kid.”
“Jim, I have to say: everybody seems to love Dimitre,” the Doctor responded, blue eyes shining. “And he does seem to get around.”
The Captain scowled deeply. “If I remember,” is what he said, “Everybody loved the orphans from Triacus as well.” He shot a glare at his
Chief Surgeon then. “Until they took over my ship!” he roared at his friend.
“I hardly think eight year old Dimitri is plotting to take over your constitution class star ship on his own,” McCoy commented.
“He is showing more than a child-like interest in the ship, Captain,” Spock informed him.
Kirk turned slowly, insides growing cold, and eyed his Science Officer. “What do you mean by that?”
Stepping down next to the command chair, Spock folded his hands behind his back. “From the human children I have observed aboard
before, they all seemed to wish to know what all the controls do and what the readouts mean. Dimitri, on the other hand, has expressed
no interest in this. His inquiries are more theoretical: how each system works and how they tie in together to make a functioning ship.”
The Captain studied him a long moment. “Opinion, Spock?”
The Vulcan tilted his head and raised an eyebrow elegantly. “Dimitri Ivanovich has different interests than the human children who have
previously visited the Enterprise.”
Shifting a jaw muscle expertly, Kirk stared at the man. “Thank-you, Spock.”
“Indeed.”
“Spock?” the Captain continued quietly, with a furtive glance behind himself.
“Yes, Sir?”
“Why is Lieutenant Uhura on duty? Alpha shift has been off duty for some time now.”
Both of Spock’s eyebrows rose at this. “Lieutenant Soto was required in sickbay for the first three hours of his shift. Lieutenant Uhura
volunteered for the extra time.
“My understanding, Captain, was that your recent order eliminated double shifts without your express, prior consent. It was not my
understanding that this order eliminated the availability of overtime for either officers or crewmen.”
“Oh, good God, don’t do that!”
“Bones?”
“Jim,” the Doctor said in a rush. “It is my express medical opinion that if you eliminate Chekov’s ability to work on Spock’s pet projects
after duty, he’ll drive the entire crew insane! You know there’s just not enough to keep him busy on a starship.”
“I’ll take your input under advisement,” Kirk said drolly, then turned back to Spock. “You’re correct. The order was meant to have no
affect on overtime, within reason.”
The First Officer nodded, then observed: “I did submit the duty schedules for you to review, as per regulations, before they were
posted, Sir.”
Like I’ve had time for routine paperwork with the Admiral leaning over my shoulder. Hell, he thought with a sudden twinge, I haven’t even
found time for Chekov. The Captain gave Spock a thin smile and wondered, not for the first time, if it were remotely possible for the
Vulcan not to be able to read what his smoldering glare meant.
McCoy leaned over his shoulder knowingly. “Jim, if it worked, you know he’d deny it anyway.”