Excerpt from Chekov's Enterprise some material by Rick Endres, Chris Dickenson, Elizabeth Knauel, d. William Roberts Heroism always feels and never reasons. Ralph Waldo Emerson December 10th 2294 Leningrad was frozen over this time of the year. There was snow on the ground, a freezing wind gusting through the streets. Chekov was home. He walked from the transporter station down the nearly deserted streets. Russians were not fools; they knew staying inside was infinitely preferable to braving the weather. Many Russians had taken to having personal transporter sites within their homes, but Andrei Ivanovich Chekov would never do that. Down another alley, and across an empty street, he made his way. The cold cut through him like a knife, even though he was wearing a field jacket designed for such inclement climes. He shivered violently. Was it the cold? Or was it the chill in his heart that was making him shake? He opened the little gate and moved up the walkway to the small cottage. He knocked on the door, and steeled himself for the mental assault he knew would be coming. The door swung open, and Andrei Ivanovich Chekov smirked at his son. "Well, if it isn't the mighty Starfleet bus driver come to visit his parents..." Pavel Chekov said nothing. To say something, to say anything, would be to invite a verbal attack. "Come inside, you dolt. You're letting the heat out," grunted Andrei, and Pavel entered his family's abode...an abode of strife. "Pavel Andreievich!" called his mother, and she came running from the kitchen to greet him. "Oh, we are so glad you could come." "Hello, Mother. It is good to see you." Pavel hugged his mother Lenka. "I have missed you." "And I, you." "Come sit down by the fire and tell us all about driving that space bus," Andrei taunted. "I vwould not liken a starship to a bus, Father, and I am no longer the navigator. I am captain of the Enterprise." "Phah! A waste of good resources and funds. They should put the funding into the arts; that has more relevance on my life than what you do." "Vwhat I do and vwhat I haf done is save this planet from destruction on more than one occasion," Pavel argued and then instantly wished he hadn't. "Phhtttt. And aren't you full of yourself?" Andrei sat down in his lounger by the fire, his 85 years looking like 185 by the firelight. "So, no longer the driver of this space bus. Captain, you say. Huh. Now they don't even let you drive the bus." Lenka Chekov sat down on the sofa and said nothing. "Leave the boy alone," came the wizened raspy voice of Helena Bondarenko. "He's a hero, and you treat him in this way?" Chekov's 134 year old grandmother shuffled into the great room from the hallway, leaning heavily on her cane for support. "Nana," Pavel rushed to give her a hug. He squeezed her fondly. "Oooh, careful, Pavel, you might break my hip." "If he does, at least we will have you out of the house," Andrei grumbled. Helena slammed her cane against the armrest of his lounger, barely missing his fingers. "This is my house, Andrei Ivanovich. Remember that. Pavel is my guest, and you will treat him with the respect he deserves, or I will ask you to leave." "Mother," implored Lenka. Helena shuffled around to face her daughter. "What, Lenka? Can't an old woman say what she will in her own house?" Andrei laughed. "And what could stop you? You old yenta. What could possibly stop you from interfering in my family's business?" He snorted. "And what could stand between you and this good-for-nothing son of mine? Always chasing his dreams...Never having his head here on Earth...His mind elsewhere...amidst the stars, no doubt. Starfleet...what a waste of time and money..." Helena turned to Pavel who stood there, taking the abuse wordlessly. "Ignore the old goat, Pavel." She tweaked her grandson's cheek. "Let's go for a walk," she suggested. "Nana, it's only eighteen degrees outside." "That's far warmer than it is in here. Wouldn't you agree, Lenka?" Chekov's mother stared at the dishrag she held in her hand, kneading it with her fingers. "I've made your favorite, Pavel: krepla." "He's coming for a walk with me, and we'll be back in five minutes," Helena insisted. "Get me my coat," she ordered. Both Pavel and Lenka helped dress Helena in a large parka. "Let's go, Pavel. Take my hand." Lenka opened the door and closed it behind them as they made their way outside. In the moonlight, Chekov and his grandmother could see quite clearly. Reflecting off the ice and snow, the streets were eerily aglow. The almost glass-like faint tinkling of the trees and bushes as the wind blew made for an even more surreal setting. They came to a bench, and Chekov brushed the snow off it. "Well, that could've gone better," he remarked casually. She snorted. "Not so long as your father is alive, Pavel. He is a bitter old fool with no love for Starfleet." "And with no love for his son," amended Chekov. "And with no love for anyone, Pavel," she corrected him. "Not even himself." She looked at his grandson with such love that Chekov no longer felt the slightest chill. "I am so, so very proud of you, Pavel. As a girl, I longed to do what you do: travel among the stars." "You and I share the same dream, Nana." "Pity you can't share that starship with me..." "Who says I can't?" He reached into his vest and withdrew his communicator. "Chekov to Enterprise. Two to beam up from these coordinates." "Aye, sir. Locking on." "Energize." They rematerialized on the transporter platform in an instant. Chekov helped his grandmother down the steps, and issued her into the corridor, studiously ignoring the reaction of the transporter technician. They walked down the hall, her weight on his left arm until they came to the forward rec deck. The doors opened, and they entered. It was early morning on the Enterprise, and the smell of bacon, eggs, cheese grits, waffles, doughnuts, pancakes and coffee bombarded their senses. Chekov directed her to the same table he had shared with Uhura, and they sat down. "Thank you, Pavel," she whispered as she gazed out the window at the blue globe of Earth rotating below. "I love you, Nana." "And I love you, too, Pavel. And so does your mother." "Then why-" "Why does she put up with your father? I have no idea. I never even understood why she married him. He never has treated her with respect or love." Helena looked around the ship, at the smiling faces of the young officers and crew as they breakfasted. "So young..." Chekov nodded. "Almost as young as I was, I'm told." Helena Bondarenko nodded. "I want you to take care of yourself, Pavel. I won't be here in seven years when you come back. I'll be dead and buried, probably in some unmarked grave, knowing your father." He chuckled. "You say that every time I leave, Nana." "But this time you and I know it's true. I'm one hundred thirty-four years old. I've had a good life. It's time for me to move on. But promise me one thing." "Anything, Nana. Anything." She chuckled. "It won't be easy, but I want you to stay in touch with that old boor of a father of yours and that pathetic daughter of mine once I'm gone." "Nana, now-" "Hear me out, Pavel. They are your family. I'm not saying that you have to cherish what time you have left with them. But spend some time with them. For your mother's sake." "My father wants nothing to do with me, and my mother won't stand up to him." "Don't argue with your grandmother. Even if your father doesn't want you around, she does. Visit them for her... For me. Don't engage in the ultimate Russian sin: pride, Pavel. Foolish, idiotic pride." "Yes, Nana. Would you like to see the bridge now? Or the engine room?" She suddenly looked very, very tired. She pretended to look at her watch. "Oh, damn, it's getting near my bedtime. Take me home, Captain." Chekov walked her down the corridor to the transporter room. "Yes, Nana." |
