Real Russians
Kirk studied his Chief Helmsman, hazel eyes lost deep in thought.
"Jim." McCoy's growled word was laced with a not-so-subtle protest.
"Jim." Sulu's quiet, yet demanding tone served as a more gentle recall to himself. The man glanced at the Doctor briefly before his gaze held the Captain's again. His dark eyes and measured breathing clearly challenged his commander.
"It's obvious to all of us that you're irritated that he's not your friend."
Kirk's jaw shifted and he answered in a measured voice. "My Chief Navigator's charm and friendliness has been a constant, Hikaru."
Sulu nodded, his gaze never wavering. "Ahh, but that's the point. He's already your Chief Navigator, been on the Alpha Bridge Team for over a year and yet…" He hesitated long enough to pointedly note the presence of both McCoy and Uhura in the Transporter Room. "Chekov's not a member of your Bridge Team in the same way that, well, even Spock is. He's not actually your friend."
"He's your friend. He's quite well liked aboard."
"But not your friend," Sulu insisted evenly.
The Captain smiled easily and took a step toward him with a shrug. "Hikaru, I don't make it a requirement of my command team to all be my good friends. He's a man and a good officer: that's what I require."
Sulu continued as though he hadn't heard Kirk. "He doesn't use the gym us, swims at bizarre hours, eats in his cabin at times..."
"He has the right to whatever measure of privacy he's comfortable with," Kirk insisted with gentle confusion. Sulu regarded the Navigator as a younger brother: it seemed to the Captain he should understand that better than anyone.
"He won't play poker with us."
That Kirk reacted to. He knew it was obvious because Sulu visibly gloated.
"He says he doesn't play well," was the Captain's quiet response.
"Fine," Sulu sighed. "Maybe you're right. Mature planets like Earth have one basic culture: but not in all of the Russian Federation. Sure, there are the 'Western Russians', like us, but there are the pockets of rural Russians who still hold on to their traditional culture: the 'Real Russians'.
"They say few people can handle the intensity of a friendship with a 'Real Russian'. They're friendly, but only their friends know much about them." He shrugged. "Maybe you just don't have the fortitude to make the effort, Jim."
Kirk straightened at that, his jaw hardening.
The Helmsman smiled devilishly suddenly. "Jim, Pavel always has at least one deck of cards with him on shore leave."
A glint sparkling in his hazel eyes, the Captain returned the smile. "I could, perhaps, teach him a few things," he observed thoughtfully.
"Jim," McCoy rasped urgently. "We're talking about shore leave. The boy doesn't even swear!"
"Not in English," Uhura remarked in a mutter. Both McCoy and Kirk glanced at her, but the innocent look on her face offered no further clarification.
"Shore leave," the Doctor reminded him.
"Oh, please." Sulu burst out laughing, fully understanding the tone in the man's voice. "He's taken me to places in Russia that I wouldn't even take Jim to. And," he continued, shooting a dark glance at the Doctor. "He's no 'boy'. You of all people should know not to let that pretty face fool you."
A devilish smile swept over Kirk's face. "Bones, you can do what you want, but I'm…" The smile deepened and sparkled in the depths of his eyes. "I'm going to hang out with the three musketeers here."
Sulu grinned with happy triumph at this and Uhura laughed.
McCoy groaned loudly and rolled his eyes, but any comment he was going to make was waylaid by Chekov's entrance into the transporter room.
He hesitated as the door slid shut behind him, immediately sensing something different in the way they turned to look at him.
"Pavel Andrievich," Kirk said immediately, his tone as bright as he could manage. "We've decided to all hang out together this shore leave. Uh," he added with hesitation when he saw the stillness come over the younger man's face. "If that's alright with you, of course."
The Navigator eyed the Captain warily. He smiled finally. "Of course, Sir."
"We're on leave," Kirk said broadly. "It's Jim." He knew the young man's bright, easy smile: Chekov was not actually smiling. The Captain shifted, not sure how to extradite himself, or if he should.
The Helmsman stepped up quickly and gave his helm partner a boisterous shake of the shoulders. "Jim, you should know that Russian's think it intolerable to be rude." He leaned in toward the Captain conspiratorially, seeming to forget that the action brought Chekov with him. "Probably considered rude to tell someone they're mispronouncing your name."
Kirk's face turned ashen. Damn, he thought. It was the first time he had called the man by name, true, but he had admittedly practiced it for this occasion.
"Captain's privilege," Chekov blurted out in Kirk's defense.
The Captain gave a slight, wry smile at this. No, traditionally you didn't point out minor things to the Captain...like he had forgotten his pants and such. "Andrievich," he repeated the Navigator's middle name carefully. No, not middle name, Kirk corrected himself: patronymic. The custom had generally fallen out of use, but the old Russian tradition had each person bearing his or her father's name. Son of Andrie: he should have known Chekov grew up in the traditional culture just by his name.
"Perfect," Chekov burst out proudly, jerking away from Sulu and adjusting the duffle over his shoulder. "Are we leaving?"
Chuckling, Sulu leaned against Kirk's shoulder. "Paw-vel," he whispered. "Not Paah-vel."
Damn, he thought again, that mistake was simply humiliating.
"So tell me," McCoy drawled as he stepped up on the transporter platform next to the Navigator. ""Is it just English you don't know swears in?"
Chekov scowled instantly and shot a glare at Sulu. "I know English swears," he corrected the Doctor. "I just don't use them around English speaking crewmen. It would be rude," he maintained with an air of arrogance.
McCoy eyed him for a moment, understanding what the man hadn't said. "So, how many languages can you swear in?"
There was a moment of silence. Finally, the younger man shrugged luxuriously and answered without looking at him. "Don't know. Never counted."
Uhura, behind them, laughed and Sulu's deep-throated chuckle could be heard from beside her.
"Humph, Andrie Chekov must have had a mouth like a sailor."
The Ensign turned at this, his dark eyes touching the Doctor's steel blues ones. They held them for a long moment. "No," he finally said. "My father doesn't swear." He turned back around, seemingly finished with the conversation, but he suddenly added: "One of my father's friends thought it was funny to teach me the things he didn't think my father would want me to know."
McCoy chuckled and reshifted the pack on his own shoulder as Kirk joined them on the transporter platform. "Must have pissed your father off."
Chekov's face split into a crooked grin and his eyes sparkled as he stared at the opposite wall. "Probably wouldn't have if Sergie had stopped at the colorful language."
"Jim, there's something I'd like to point out. We're on shore leave: and we're shopping."
Kirk eyed his friend. "Bones, it's not as if I haven't dragged you into my own share of bookstores."
The man leaned his back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest in a clear protest of impatience. The Captain grinned and turned his attention back to the stack of books in front of him.
"Cap…"
The Navigator stopped when the hazel eyes met his in recrimination. He shifted. "Jim," he corrected. "Look."
Kirk gave the book in his hand to the Doctor in a not-so-subtle taunt and went around the corner to where the young Russian stood. He handed his Captain the leather-bound book he held.
The commander breathed reverently as he opened the volume and touched the still pliable pages. "It's Shakespeare, Pavelotchka. 1845 American edition."
"Don't call me that."
Hesitating at the unusually even tone, he glanced at the younger man. "I've heard Nytoya call you that."
"Yes," Chekov nodded. "She also calls me 'sweetheart', 'love' and 'doll' on a routine basis. Frankly, I'd rather you not use any of those nicknames."
"Malyenki, look, LOOK!" Sulu exclaimed enthusiastically as he bounded up to them and shoved a thin volume at the Navigator. "Peter and the Wolf!"
Pavel took the book and regarded the man dismally. "You already have several versions of 'Peter and the Wolf'."
Sulu chuckled and winked at his Captain. "I know. The stubborn little shit reminds me of a friend of mine. Besides, look at the illustrations in this edition."
Without bothering to open the book, Chekov added it to the pile in front of him.
"And this one for Mikhail," the Helmsman said, adding yet another book.
Kirk was smiling as he motioned for the shopkeeper. "I'd like to buy this."
"It's not for sale."
The Iowa native looked at him quizzically. "This is a bookstore, but this book is not for sale?"
The red-skinned alien shrugged. "Not any more: he bought it." A stubby finger was shoved in Chekov's direction.
"Wrap it for him, will you? And these for me."
The Captain shook his head vigorously as the shopkeeper took the book from his hands. "Pavel, I can't let you do that. I know how much that book is and I know what an Ensign is compensated by the Fleet."
The Helmsman chuckled again as he walked past. "Take the book, Jim. It ain't coming out of his Fleet salary."
"Thank-you," the Captain acquiesced to Chekov after another moment of hesitation.
"Brownnoser," McCoy muttered as the Navigator moved away to join Sulu.
Kirk's eyes shifted to the Doctor again as he absently accepted the package. They both knew now where the precious books that randomly showed up in his cabin had been coming from. "Then he's a stupid one, Bones," he commented quietly. "It's pretty ineffective sucking up if the person doesn't know who's responsible."
"Pasha!" Uhura beckoned urgently from the door. "Are you done yet? I found an exquisite jewelry store just down the block."
Chekov grinned with an outlandish shyness that was too charming to endure. "Yes," the Navigator responded. "I think I'm done." He hesitated as he felt Kirk's glance at him.
"You can call me that," he responded to the Captain's unasked question. "Or Malyenki: everyone calls me that." Turning, he followed the woman out of the shop's door with a happy step.
"She didn't seem to care if we were done," McCoy rasped good-naturedly.
Picking up Chekov's purchases, Sulu laughed. "We're not Russian," was his puzzling comment as he moved to follow the two.
Kirk and McCoy followed and the group found the two in the bright, wide shop. Deep glass counters stood several feet out from all the walls and ran down the center of the floor.
Uhura already had a wide bracelet on her left arm, large blue stones encased by a chain of smaller, and brilliant, clear stones. In her everyday life, she treasured and wore nearly all accessories native to her homeland in Africa. Anyone who knew her, however, knew of her sheer senseless delight in extravagant pieces she would most likely never have any use for.
"If you're going to have this kind of jewelry, you need to learn to wear it like a Russian," Chekov drawled, his accent purposely so thick he was nearly unintelligible. The shopkeeper pulled several more items out of the case at his direction.
Kirk watched as the Navigator added a strand of red stones to either side of the bracelet already on Uhura's arm. Another wide bracelet chain of clear stones was added on both sides of the arrangement.
"There, that's better."
"Gaudy," McCoy commented easily from where he leaned on the counter further down.
"Baroque," Kirk corrected.
"I'll take them."
Uhura relinquished the jewels to be packaged with shamefaced guilt tracing over her face. Chekov laughed at her with the delight of a child and the communications officer responded in kind.
"Pavel, did you see these? What are these stones?" Sulu asked the shopkeeper, then back to Chekov as he moved up next to him: "Do these remind you of anything?"
Kirk gripped his book possessively as he moved about the shop. His eyes studying the contents of the cases as he passed, he had to admit Uhura was right. The shop's selection was exquisite.
Being a Terran colony, the Captain thought he recognized most of the stones and settings. They were far from Earth, however, and scattered among the familiar were startling different stones and metals. Whether Uhura had just acquired sapphires, rubies and diamonds from the gracious Chekov he could not actually tell. He realized that the thought she might have somewhat unnerved him.
He paused at the case Sulu still stood at. A quick glance told him his Chief Navigator had wandered off and was now engaged in a discussion with McCoy and one of the shopkeepers at another case.
The Captain turned his attention to the stones that had caught Sulu's attention. They were opaque: a pale green fog swirling about in them with threads of gold whirling through their depths in no particular pattern. "Sea foam green," he commented on the color.
The Helmsman nodded, tapping on the glass as he smiled. "Pavel's mother's eyes." He chuckled with self-satisfaction. "Even the flecks of gold."
That explained the pieces Kirk could tell were missing from the collection spread out before him.
"Jim! Jim, you have to see this!!"
Kirk turned, amusement streaking into his hazel eyes as the Doctor bounded up to him with enthusiasm. Pale blue eyes ablaze in delight, the man beamed as he actually tugged on his friend's arm.
"Remember my great-grandfather's watch?"
"I don't know. The one that'd been in the family for centuries and was destroyed in the fire?" the Captain mused. "I think you've mentioned it…" He exchanged a glance with Sulu, then grinned broadly. "At least one once or twice, Bones."
The man's grip on his arm turned fierce. "Well, I swear they have its duplicate: chain and everything. I just want you to see what I've been talking about."
Kirk's grin deepened as his friend pulled him to the other end of the shop.
"Well, are you going to buy it?"
"Are you kidding? The price nearly gave me a stroke. It's right…"
The utter joy evaporated from the Doctor's face as his eyes fell on the case he'd led the Captain to. There was clearly no old-style pocket watch, with or without a chain, on display there.
"It was right here!" he blurted with astonishment.
Sulu and Uhura, who had followed the two over and were now standing on either side of the senior officers, exchanged a look.
"You didn't happen to show it to Pavel, did you?" Sulu asked.
"Well, yes. He came over and actually had the woman open it up for us. Chekov claimed they were the original works. Jim, they were clean as a whistle and still working!"
Uhura leaned on the counter luxuriously. "Leonard McCoy," she advised, "you don't understand what it means to have a Russian friend.
"If you admire something," she continued patiently. "And it's within their means, it's yours. Time you started calling him Pavel," she added in admonishment, "And watch what you admire."
As if on cue, the shopkeeper reappeared and pushed a small package into the Doctor's hands. "Thank-you: enjoy the rest of your day."
McCoy stared down at the box in his hand in stunned silence for a long moment. "This is ridiculous," he finally rasped. "I've worked with Russian's: have two on my staff now."
"Western Russians," Sulu quipped. When the Doctor glared at him, he merely smiled slightly.
"Real Russians," Uhura drawled as she swept her hand over the glass counter. "Are nothing like us."
Sulu, for his part, began methodically drumming his fingers on the same counter. His eyes were riveted to the motion.
"Hikaru?" the Captain ventured.
He glanced up at Kirk, then moved his eyes to locate his friend. Their dark depths swept back to touch both the Doctor and the Captain. He cleared his throat. "Please," he said quietly. "For the rest of this leave, just nobody even offer...You don't understand Russians: he'll be offended to the point of humiliation. I'm serious," he added dramatically.
Both senior officers straightened and exchanged a glance. "You mean we're supposed to let Chekov pay for..." the Doctor stopped as the ship's Navigator rejoined the group. The Russian part of the explanation didn't even register. McCoy and Kirk both had secretly suspected Pavel Chekov of the silent, occasional generosity that seemed to touch people on the ship. Packages from home, pen pals out of nowhere... It was only a bizarre code of silence among friends that had brought Kirk and McCoy not to bring up the books. What was boring through the man's brain was the means that made it all possible.
He threw a glare up at the young man and shoved the box toward the Navigator. "Pavel Chekov, am I to understand you spent your childhood with a silver spoon in your mouth?" he demanded.
The young Russian blinked, his eyes widening as he gave the Doctor a confused look.
"He's asking if you grew up in a wealthy family," Sulu confided with a wry grin.
Chekov's look turned ludicrous and he shook his head energetically. "No," he replied with all seriousness. "No, Doctor, I ate no tableware as a child."
The entire group burst into sudden, uproarious laughter. Chekov looked confused again, but Kirk saw the sparkle deep in his wide brown eyes. The young man already knew how to use his natural gifts to manage the people around him: a necessary talent for a commander that was nearly impossible to teach.
The Navigator's features screwed into an exaggerated pout then at their laughter. "I'll take this stuff back to the hotel," he said dismally, pulling the packages out of everyone's hands. "Can you find a place to eat that I can meet you? I'm starving."
It was Kirk who let his laughter dim into a smile. "Pavel, has there ever been a time in your life when you weren't hungry?"
Chekov frowned deeply as he hesitated at the shop's door. "Not that I can remember, Jim."
This renewed the group's laughter.
"We passed a place down before the bookstore," Kirk observed. "We'll wait for you on the street outside."
McCoy stared up at the marquee of the restaurant they had chosen and shifted uncomfortably. "This is an American café," he observed. "Considering…. can't we find someplace he might like better?"
Sulu gestured at the restaurant and smiled knowingly. "This will be fine, believe me."
The amusement bubbled up in Kirk again. "Pavel does seem to consume vast quantities of anything both dead and not nailed down, Bones. You should check him for a tapeworm," he said as an afterthought.
"High metabolism and continual activity," the Doctor scowled. "He'd loose five pounds before lunch if he missed breakfast."
"Does this restaurant actually serve people standing around outside or are we going to have to go in to get food?"
"Wise ass," was the older man's mutter this time.
The entry lobby was hauntingly familiar to the three Americans in their group. "Home," Kirk said wistfully as his eyes surveyed the surroundings.
"We'd like a table for five, please."
"Certainly," the host told Uhura genially, but then gave the seated groups of people scattered about on upholstered benches a significant look. "It'll be approximately a thirty minute wait."
"That'll be fine," Kirk answered him. He shrugged at the group gathered about him. "If it's better anywhere else, the wait will be worse."
"I'm going to find the restroom."
Sulu peered around his Captain's form and watched until Chekov's retreating figure was out of sight. He turned to Uhura then, folded his arms across his chest dramatically and let out a loud, heavy sigh. A massive groan. "Well, he's not going to put up with this hospitality," the Helmsman announced loudly to his friend. Embarrassingly loudly.
"Hikaru…" Kirk cautioned, eyes shooting around the lobby furtively.
The plea only seemed to increase the volume of the man's voice and he stepped forward to lean his back against the host's podium. "We'll be leaving the minute he comes back. Believe me, I wouldn't want to be the owner of this establishment when he finds out just WHO he drove out of here!"
The Captain yanked the younger man back with irritation. The activity in the corner of his eye caused him to look back, however. The ship's Helmsman had caused the sort of commotion he'd apparently been aiming at. The young host was hurriedly talking to a middle-aged man who had appeared at the sound of Sulu's voice.
"No," Kirk said hurriedly. "I'm sorry..."
"I'm telling you..." If it was possible, the Helmsman's bass voice was louder, broader. "There'll be a whole lot of people that won't be coming here when he tells them how he was treated. Not the quality of clientele I'd want to loose if I was planning to stay in business."
"Miss!" the older man with the host suddenly exploded, darting around the podium. "Miss, gentleman," he urged, gesturing rapidly to Uhura. "Right this way: I have a table for your party all set."
"Pasha, c'mon," the Communications Officer said, grasping the younger man's hand as he rejoined the group. "They've found us a table."
He looked confused as Uhura propelled him through the dining room. "They said there was a wait…"
"Something opened up, I guess," Sulu said, shrugging innocently in response.
The host had not been exaggerating, Kirk observed, as they wove their way through the main dining room. Every table was crammed, many with more patrons than they were comfortably meant to fit. They were led out of the dining room, however, and down a hall, where they were let into a room off to the left.
"Enjoy your evening. Please, if you need anything let me know."
The door closed them into a spacious room dominated by a large, round wood table that was polished to a high gloss: unlike the prefab furniture they had passed in the dining room. The high-backed wooden chairs they took eased themselves into had thickly padded and upholstered seats.
Chekov's eyes took in the crushed velvet on the walls and the ornate server pressed against the wall. He swiftly prevented the young man that was already present from filling his water glass and shot dark, cold eyes at his helm mate seated beside him.
"Is something wrong?" the Asian man asked innocently. "OWW!"
The impact of Chekov's booted foot on Sulu's shin was forceful enough for everyone in the room to wince at the sound of it.
"Not any more," the young Russian commented as he turned his eyes to his elaborate menu.
"Hey," McCoy complained as his glass was filled. "These menus don't have any..." He stopped abruptly when he caught a meaningful glance from Sulu. "Lamb," he finished uncomfortably.
Sulu smiled slightly in approval.
"Are you ready to order?" a woman asked brightly as she entered.
"I am," Chekov spoke up immediately as he handed her his printed menu. "I'll have two large cheeseburgers--everything on them, a double order of fries and a large coke: room temperature, please."
She hesitated, frowning at him. "We have chilled soda, Sir."
"You don't have any in the storeroom waiting to go into the chiller?"
"Well, yes."
"That will be fine, then. No ice, please."
Shrugging, she pushed her long auburn hair behind her shoulder.
"I'll take the same," Sulu added, but grinned at his friend. "Except cut my order in half and make my soda cold: also no ice."
"You can bring me that too," Kirk agreed.
The other two concurred, except the Doctor asked for ice--lots of it-- and the woman collected the rest of the menus. She hesitated, holding the door open as the young man reappeared with a tray of appetizers, crackers, cheeses, butter and warm breads.
The Doctor spent time studying the room they were in until they were alone again. "Exactly who are you Pavel?"
"Me?" Chekov asked innocently, then glanced darkly at the man sitting beside him. "I'm a man with a loud mouth friend desperately in need of acting lessons."
The Captain grinned. "In poker, we call it a bluff, Pavel."
"Well, what about this silver spoon you grew up with, boy," McCoy drawled, eyes bright, obviously unwilling to drop the subject.
"Doctor," the Navigator said, taking the time to carefully arrange his napkin in his lap. "I didn't spend my childhood with a silver spoon in my mouth." He raised large, soulful eyes to the older man. "I spent my childhood working my ass off on the deck of a sailing ship."
Steel-blue eyes started, blinking several times. "Excuse me?" he finally asked.
Kirk nodded solemnly as he smeared cheese on a dark piece of bread. "That's right: it's in his record, Bones. He served in the Russian Navy before entering the Academy."
McCoy chewed on a piece of cheese slowly. "You entered the Academy at seventeen," he intoned quietly.
"Yes," Chekov agreed. "The Navy takes recruits younger."
"But why?"
The Navigator blinked this time. "I had to do something until I could go to space." He grinned as the group laughed again. Accepting his drink from the young man that re-entered the room, his warm brown eyes rested on McCoy.
"Doctor, the Navy provides your food, clothing, shelter, recreation," he explained. "I wasn't old enough to spend my pay on the interesting options left. It just sort of accumulated, I suppose."
McCoy said nothing for a moment, but straightened and took a sip of his drink as he restored his dignity. "So, what's with the warm soda?"
"Russians have a long-standing belief that cold drinks cause throat infections and colds," Uhura remarked.
The Doctor straightened more and regarded the younger officer with amusement. "You don't actually believe that superstition, do you?"
Chekov's eyes sparkled. "Superstitions often have a solid basis. Even the Academy teaches you not to drink the water in anywhere but your homeland."
"Absolutely," McCoy agreed. "Local water often has organisms in it that the bodies of locals are used to, and yours is not: so it's unwise to drink water from anywhere but your own locality. We're not talking about water," the man reminded him.
"No," Chekov said, eyes in his glass as he took a drink of his own soda. "Tell me, what is it they made your ice with?" he asked curiously, his accent thick.
McCoy froze, his own drink poised at his mouth.
The younger man smiled devilishly. "I wouldn't worry about it. After all, you are a Doctor."
The Communications Officer chuckled. "You would have thought of the water issue if you'd ever gotten ice in St. Petersburg." She winked conspiratorially at McCoy. "Swamp water."
"With decaying bodies in it," Sulu added. "OWW!"
"Food!" Kirk interjected as their meals arrived. "Now, maybe we can end the cultural history lesson, perhaps?"
"And you can tell us," Sulu prompted. "Did you ever find that place you were looking for, Jim?"
Kirk grinned. "I certainly did: something to look forward to after we eat."
The Doctor glanced at Uhura. "Jim," he asked uncomfortably. "What about…?"
Laughing, the Captain's grin merely broadened. "Bones, this place will satisfy everyone's tastes, whatever they may be."
"You were right, Jim my boy," McCoy drawled broadly as he waited for their room's door to be opened. "Remind me to leave you in charge of entertainment from now on. Are you sure this is the right room?"
"No," Kirk shook his head, "but it's the key they gave me."
The entire group hesitated after taking a step into the room in question: except for Chekov, who found the first couch available and unceremoniously dropped onto his back along its length.
"Am I insane, or is this not…"
"It's not," Kirk confirmed the Doctor's thought. It was definitely not the humble room he and McCoy had reserved early that morning. No, this was an opulent suite and, as Kirk explored, he found in addition to a large living area and full kitchen, it had three large bedrooms: each with two large beds. Kirk and McCoy's things were in one, Sulu and Chekov's in the second, and Uhura's in the third. Several luxurious bathrooms were scattered throughout. This was definitely not the cramped, rough room they had reserved: but Kirk was not moved to complain.
When he returned from the large scenic balcony to the main room, he found McCoy at an open doorway.
"Room service," a voice on the other side was saying.
"Come in, come in."
The Doctor shook his head as two large carts were wheeled into the center of the room. "Not that I can possibly eat or drink another thing."
Kirk approached the carts with the covered food and he drew his eyes over to his old friend. The smell that assaulted him was unmistakable. He smiled delightedly. "I can, Bones. It's hot pizza and cold beer!"
"You're in charge of entertainment from now on," McCoy nodded deeply as he met the Captain's gaze. "And from now on, we bring the boy."
Lying on his bed, Kirk sighed miserably. Lord, he wondered to himself. How long had it been since he'd drank that much real beer? His head was filled with a sharp, omnipresent ache. Only I didn't drink that much, he realized. And something was different. Hangovers were not steady, sharp pain…they were dull, throbbing. Kirk's mouth and throat were moist and contained the overpowering taste of some bitter, metallic substance. Parched…they should be parched: alcohol dehydrated humans.
The sharp ache that was in his head was everywhere: it gripped every joint in his body and he could feel that bitter metallic taste in his very blood flowing through him.
Captain Kirk sat bolt upright. He gasped. It was the last thing he should have done.
The Starfleet Officer didn't need to open his eyes to know he was no longer in the opulent suite he had fallen asleep in. None of them were.
He did open his eyes to confirm that every one of his crew had recovered from whatever drug they'd been given. McCoy, Sulu and Uhura were all sitting up on makeshift beds that ringed the small, dingy room. Not one of them seemed entirely comfortable with their current physical condition, but the Captain could tell they'd ultimately be fine.
There were no windows in the room and no furnishings beside the rudimentary beds. Against the end wall, behind McCoy's bed, was the image of a door that no longer existed.
Chekov, Kirk thought, forcing his eyes to the bed opposite his. Chekov was not sitting up. He was curled in a fetal position facing the wall, his right arm bent on top of his head. Probably the position they'd all be more comfortable in, but it reminded the Captain there were unnerving things about spending time with the young man he rather not be reminded of.
The Enterprise's Chief Navigator always slept flat on his back, hands resting on his stomach in what Sulu called an unnerving imitation of a corpse. Strangely, unlike most humans, he didn't shift from that position no matter how long he slept. Not strange at all, Kirk suddenly realized. Not strange at all for someone who'd learned to sleep in the cramped bunks relegated to sailors on sailing ships.
Suddenly, the one door in the room burst open and a tall, muscular man consumed the entire doorframe. He had long, stringy black hair and fierce, dark eyes. A vest of thick, black leather armor covered his brown tunic and loose leggings.
Sulu, on the bed next to Kirk's and closest to the now open door, shifted swiftly toward the Captain.
"Maligant is a moronic asshole!!" the man screamed to everyone in general and no one in particular.
Kirk stood instantly and moved to confront the man, despite the violent reaction that exploded through his body. He was actually thankful that Chekov's voice cut of anything he might have said.
"Trafus, I certainly hope you didn't come in here expecting any kind of disagreement from me."
The intruder's jaw shifted and Kirk could here his teeth grinding. Clenched fists and raspy, sharp breaths added to man's intense fuming.
"Well, because of him, now we're going to need your cooperation, Pavel Chekov."
"Sounds like Maligant and I are going to be spending more time together," was the Navigator's terse reply from his fetal position.
"I don't know what you want," was Kirk's added retort, his hazel eyes cold. It was not lost on him that Chekov already had made their captors acquaintance. "You can't actually think you can hold the Command Team of the finest starship in the Fleet hostage. You had to drug us to get us to get us here," he reminded him.
The Captain hesitated inwardly, but stood firm when another…person appeared behind the first man. This male had to nearly bend in half and turn sideways to get through the doorframe. The giant behind him dwarfed the first man. What caught Kirk's attention was not his massive size and well-developed muscles, but the upswept ears and eyebrows that were evident beneath the strangely balding head.
"By Pan's flute!" McCoy breathed and moved up next to the Captain.
Yes, Kirk thought. This man was definitely half-Vulcan. That meant he had strength behind those muscles that the Captain daren't underestimate.
Trafus fixed his dark eyes on the Captain. "Just have your Navigator here give us his code key: we'll settle this quickly and all go home."
Kirk's insides stilled and he felt his very cells going cold. Sulu stood and moved in between he and the intruders then, however. The Helmsman's dark eyes were both confused and outraged at the same time. He shot a glance at Chekov's still curled form. "You have him," he growled. "What the hell do you need his code key for?"
Only Sulu knew and, staring at the half-Vulcan behind Trafus with the same outrage on the Helmsman's face, so did Kirk. A person's code key was only a back-up security measure for use when the standard security access was not available.
"Bones."
McCoy was already next to the ship's Navigator's bed, but the young man's arm flew out furiously and slammed into the Doctor's chest, knocking him back into an approaching Sulu.
"Boy never did like Doctors," the man mumbled as the Helmsman righted him to his feet.
"Doctor?" Trafus asked, eyes suddenly bright. He turned and shot a glance through the doorway, past Maligant who moved aside. "Shanna!"
"I heard," a woman's voice came through the door before her form did. Shoulder-length brown hair framed a face of porcelain beauty. She wore a pale cut-off shirt and a matching skirt slung low on her hips, the ragged bottom brushing along the tops of her high boots. Slung over her shoulders and hanging from her clenched hands were the bags belonging to the Enterprise officers. The woman moved past her two male companions and unceremoniously dropped all the bags at McCoy's feet.
"Get your equipment out and use it," she commanded.
Chekov finally pushed himself up at this, turning and hanging his right leg over the edge of the bed. He pressed his left knee against his chest. His fingers interlaced around his bent leg.
Uhura sharply caught a gasp, turning away to gain control her features.
"Pasha," Sulu breathed gently.
The young man's wide brown eyes raised and his gaze held the Doctor's firmly. Well, Kirk thought dismally, what had once been warm, expressive eyes. They were filled with pools of blood beneath their surface, their whites stained wholly red. The depths of their brown warmth were an ugly, molted mix of colors that Kirk hoped was less painful than it was to look at. The Navigator's left eye was nearly swollen shut.
His lips also swollen and blood-caked, Chekov's face was a misshapen mass of dark colors and blood steaks.
Security systems: of course they needed the man's codekey. No way, Kirk considered angrily, would any computer in the universe recognize this man's retina scan. Not, the added thought occurred to the Captain, that his face was truly recognizable anymore either.
"I'm on shore leave," McCoy replied evenly after a moment, cold blue eyes shifting to meet the man's standing beside Kirk. "I don't drag my medical equipment along."
The Captain felt himself stop breathing, but realized instantly that, despite his injuries, Chekov had still been able to communicate with his gaze. And McCoy had understood. The caliber of the officers on the Enterprise gave Kirk no small sense of self-satisfaction.
The giant let out a low, beastly growl, but Trafus threw his arm out against the half-Vulcan's chest.
"Pavel, Shanna here is one of the galaxy's finest cryptographers. She's already learned everything there is to know about you."
The Navigator smiled, a thin gesture warped by his swollen features. "Good, then you should have my code key in no time without my help."
"Just tell us your code key!" Maligant exploded, lunging past Trafus and then at Chekov.
The young Russian merely leaned in to the half-Vulcan, their noses nearly touching. "Eat shit and die," he growled arrogantly in return.
Kirk was at the bedside in an instant, but Trafus had already grabbed onto the monster's shirt back and pulled him away from Chekov's impending doom.
"Later, Maligant," he said as he pulled the giant back. "We'll let Shanna get us what we need." He gestured the others back into the other room and followed them. The woman shot Chekov a triumphant glare before she slammed the door behind her. The sound of several barriers behind jammed into place echoed after them.
"Even with Maligant, there are only three of them," Kirk asserted as his gleaming eyes swept over the gathered Starfleet officers. Chekov was slowly shaking his head, however.
"I've been in the other room," he said with a glance at the door. "There are no exits in this building. We had to all have been transported in here."
"There is obviously a computer they want you to access in there. We could use it..."
The Navigator shook his head more fiercely. "It's just a simple interphase unit. There's no way to contact anyone through it."
"They have to have a way to contact someone and get out of here," the Captain insisted.
"They have our communicators," Uhura sighed, standing from where she had been searching the bags on the floor.
"If we could just get hold of one of…"
"Maligant smashed them." Chekov met Kirk's gaze with the one eye that was still visible. His vision had to be murky at best, the Captain thought, and it occurred to him that the young man was risking permanent damage without medical treatment. "I watched him: not even Mr. Spock or Mr. Scott could manage to make one functional. He's quite thorough."
Sitting back down on the edge of his bed, the Helmsman sighed gloomily. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't opened my big mouth than no one would have ever checked..."
"Right, and I had to go to the restroom right after leaving the hotel. We've been friends for years: I was hungry."
Sulu only sighed again and leaned forward, his arms on his knees as he stared at the floor.
"That's it," came Chekov's bright voice. "Sulk a little while longer: that will be sure to get us out of here."
"Oh, hell," Sulu shot back, his head snapping up. "There's the pot calling the kettle black."
"Yes, well you haven't learned how to do it right. Idiotic American idioms," he added.
The Helmsman's eyes gleamed and he snarled something in Russian. Chekov's eyes merely widened, but Uhura giggled aloud.
Both Kirk and McCoy turned to her. She shrugged. "Hikaru has been trying to help Pavel, here, to better understand American culture by coming up with translations for common idioms."
"What did he say?" Kirk prompted.
She shrugged again, eyes sparkling. "He said 'your mother dresses in military clothing'."
McCoy burst out laughing and he grinned at the Captain's perplexed look. "Your mother wears army boots," he translated.
Kirk grinned slightly himself, but it was at the subtle appreciation of the camaraderie in his command team that touched him. Sulu was right. As their Captain, he counted on the way they were able to sense and respond to each other and their situation.
"Why don't you tell them how to say 'when pigs fly'?" the Navigator suggested, dropping his other leg over the edge of the bed.
Sulu scratched his head, scowling. "Yes, well they don't all work out."
"So what's the translation?" the Doctor prompted.
Chekov snickered. "When pork chops grow wings."
Wry smiles scattered through the room, but the Helmsman growled under his breath. "My cat watches you while you eat," he snarled.
"Now, what does that mean?" the Communications Officer asked.
The man scowled again. "How the hell should I know? It's a Russian idiom and I haven't gotten a translation.
"You should have stayed in Russia," he continued. "You could have worked for your father. This wouldn't happen to you in Russia."
The younger man nodded. "Yes," he agreed soberly. "A ship in harbor is safe. And it wouldn't have happened to any of you either," he added.
The guilt-ridden tone struck the Captain as wholly characteristic. "Pavel, this isn't your fault," he began, but anything further he would have said was cut short by the opening of the door again.
Trafus pushed back into the room. He paced over to Chekov's bed and thrust his face into the Navigator's. "Pavel Chekov, what is your code key?"
The Navigator scowled. "Eat shit and die."
"You're going to give me your code key."
"I told you, eat shit and die." He pushed himself back and leaned against the wall. "What, Shanna's not as brilliant as originally thought?"
"She's tried everything."
"Good. Then you have my codekey."
Kirk shifted his body to stand in front of Chekov's cot. The young man had already been brutalized and he knew they only stood to make the stubborn man more resolved.
"Pavel, come with me."
Chekov pulled himself off the bed reluctantly and sighed. Sulu sprang to his feet in outrage, but Kirk grabbed him and held him back.
"Sulu," he cautioned quickly.
The Navigator hesitated as he passed and patted his friend's shoulder. "A ship in harbor is safe," he reflected again. Then he smiled: not his brilliant, infectious smile, but a soft smile that meandered somewhere in the recesses of his brown eyes. Wisdom dwelled there: a wisdom Kirk had caught in rare painful glimpses like this, for the wisdom had certainly come too early at a cost.
"We can't just let them take him in there!"
Kirk turned and paced away quickly, his fingers curling into his palms. "Uhura," he bit out, hazel eyes hard. "If we disarmed Trafus--assuming he has the only weapon--there'd still be Maligant to deal with. Even the four of us couldn't handle him," he asserted.
"We have to do something."
"The only way we could help Pavel is to get out of here ourselves," Sulu advised quietly.
"What's that?" McCoy asked as the three other officers turned their eyes to the Helmsman.
The man shook his head, eyes distant. "He's Russian."
"Hikaru, I don't see..."
"No, you don't," the man spat out with irritation, dark eyes finally sweeping over his companions. "That's the point: you don't get it. Americans...most Terran cultures are downright proud of their fierce individuality. Real Russians are not: they're a community. There is no self in their thought process. The family, community, country, planet, Federation, shipmates, Fleet...it all comes first. He won't do anything to protect himself as long as we're in danger.
"Besides," he added, his eyes and voice dropping soberly again, "A ship is safe in her harbor."
"But that's not what ships are made for," Kirk finished the statement, squeezing the man's shoulder. "We both saw his eyes, Hikaru. He may be a lousy poker player, but he's a damn fine chess player.
"He's up to something," the Captain concluded, moving over to sit on the edge of his bed. "For now we wait." His words didn't reflect how disturbed he was. Kirk was not a man given to either relinquishing control or waiting.
Despite the length of time he was gone, Chekov appeared to have only a few additional injuries when he returned. There were enough to make McCoy scowl and get up to move over to the younger man as he sat down on his own bed. A deadly, dark glare halted him in his tracks.
"Leave me alone," he growled demonically.
"Christ!" McCoy spat out, throwing up his hands furiously. "Why don't you just give them your damn code key and end all this?"
In unison, four pairs of eyes turned slowly to the medical officer.
"Bones," the Captain intoned evenly. "You know this man as well as they do if you think there's any force in this galaxy that's going to get Pavel Andrievich to give anyone his code key."
"So we all know the boy's a spoiled brat," the Doctor snarled. "Just why is it when people accumulate more funds than they possibly need they become so all-fired possessive of them?"
"Can't get rid of it," Chekov muttered to himself in irritation. He rubbed the back of his neck painfully. "Sin for Russian peasant to save money."
"Dr. McCoy," Uhura said quietly, stepping closer to him. "You know a person's security clearance gains him access to a lot more than his financial accounts. Pavel Chekov is a Starfleet officer: he has access to the ship, the Fleet, the Federation itself."
McCoy straightened, scowling curiously. "He's the most junior officer here," he remarked. "If they want to get into secure areas, why aren't they using your retina scan, Captain?"
Kirk remained motionless a long moment. "It would depend on what secure areas they wanted to access," he contended with quiet deliberation. He stopped, turning as he felt Chekov's intense, challenging stare. He straightened and considered Chekov's own words to Reilly and others. "Pavel's father," he revealed with not a small amount of regret, "works for the government of the Russian Federation," he concluded. The access that might be incurred by such a relationship Kirk left for the other's imaginations to elaborate on. "Pavel Chekov is not going to give anyone his code key," he finished.
"The Doctor has a point, though," the young Russian mused out loud. "It doesn't seem possible any of them have considered they could access restricted areas with a code key. Giving it to them would contradict the first rule of combat, though."
"What's that?" McCoy asked.
Chekov chuckled, wincing slightly at the movement it caused in his face. "You never give bullies what they demand: it just makes them greedy."
As if on cue, Trafus shoved his way into the room again. "I think Shanna's fixed the machinery, so you can rejoin us again, Chekov."
The Navigator sighed and shook his head. "You realize that you have the finest Doctor in the galaxy here? If you're having trouble with your medical equipment, I'm sure he could help."
McCoy did a violent double take, blinking and his eyes growing wide as they stared at Chekov. "You don't even like me!" he rasped in a whisper.
The Navigator straightened, his dark eyes shifting to the senior officer's. "I like you just fine. And just because I don't like Doctor's poking at me doesn't mean I can't recognize a good one!" he said indignantly.
"We're doing just fine without his help," Trafus spat.
Chekov snorted.
"C'mon: move. Or do I have to get Maligant to help you?"
The young man dropped his legs over the side of the bed with a loud, dramatic, and downright ludicrous sigh. Pressing his palms on the edge, he pushed himself up to a standing position.
"You know, I getting sick of this!" he spat out suddenly, shooting a dark glare at the group's leader. "I'm never going to give you my code key, so why don't you just shoot me and get it over with?"
The man stood staring at Chekov silently a long moment. Slowly, he reached into a deep pocket and withdrew a phaser pistol and leveled at the Navigator's head. He stayed motionless, their eyes locked.
"Fire."
Trafus's lips twitched slightly and he swung
around, the weapon coming to rest on Sulu's standing form.
Trafus raised his left arm,
leveling a hand phaser at Sulu's head. "Shanna's research was thorough. Sulu,
you're his best friend: tell me his code key."
The Helmsman laughed out loud. "The man's not crazy. Do you think he's actually going to give his code key to someone that..." He just laughed again.
"Then he'll give it to me," the man responded without hesitation, powering up the phaser with his thumb. "Or I'll kill you."
Chekov's eyes shifted from the man to his Helm partner. "That sucks," he observed.
"Ya," Sulu agreed easily. "Well?" he prompted Trafus with irritation.
Their captor's jaw tightened. "After him, I'll go through them: one by one."
"You don't want to buy that kind of trouble," Kirk warned, pacing up to him menacingly. "Torturing and robbing the Enterprise's Chief Navigator warrants you enough problems: kill the finest command team in Starfleet and you'll hunted without mercy, by the best that's left."
"Of course," the young Russian interjected quickly in a fierce tone. "If you harm any of them in any way, I'll kill myself. Then you'll never get my code key."
He left no doubt that he meant it.
"Besides, you don't need to kill anyone: you don't want my code key," Chekov intoned as he joined Kirk and Trafus.
The man glanced at him ludicrously. "We don't?"
"No. It's not my codekey you want," he explained. "You want to do something with it. Maybe if actually asked for what you want you'd get a different answer."
The gun in his hand shifted as Trafus studied the young man. "We want your funds. You need to transfer your financial assets into our blind account."
Chekov's jaw shifted. "My funds from which account?" he asked.
The armed man blinked in obvious surprise, but the Navigator continued before he could speak.
"Doesn't matter," he shrugged. "You should have just asked for the money to begin with. If money means this much to you, I'll transfer all the funds. Take it. You'll let all of us go then?"
Trafus eyed him guardedly. "Yes," he affirmed tentatively.
"Well," the younger man prompted after they stood staring at each other a moment. "Won't we need to use your computer terminal? It's in there, isn't it?"
"Yes," he replied with a start, indicating for the Navigator to precede him.
"Time?" Chekov muttered as he moved past Sulu.
"Just about 12," he responded after checking. "Keep enough to buy yourself a watch already."
After Chekov and Trafus disappeared, the group of Enterprise officer's milled about silently. Hearing nothing alarming, one by one they began to sort themselves out and settle down on their beds: McCoy sitting down next the Captain.
Chekov rejoined them after a short while, sat down on his own bed, and curled his legs underneath him.
"You weren't gone long," Uhura commented tentatively.
He shrugged. "Doesn't take long to transfer funds."
"We're still here," McCoy observed.
"They want to confirm the transfer," Kirk said, pulling his own feet onto his mattress and pressing his thighs against his chest. He clasped his shins, his thoughts troubling him. "You did break the first rule of combat, Pavel," he mused in trepidation. "You gave them what they wanted without a fight."
Sulu shook his head with a sigh. "Now they're just going to think that if you cared so little about that, there must be something you have worth hiding."
"You're in deep shit," Uhura observed not so subtly, casting a glance at her younger friend.
Chekov shrugged. He was now squatting on the floor, searching through his pack there. "I'm not worried about it," he commented almost as an after-thought.
He sat down on the rough floor then, cradling in his hand what he had been looking for and kicking the packs in front of him aside. "Poker, Captain?"
"You want to play poker now?" McCoy demanded, outrage in his voice. "For two years you've been refusing and now you pick to play?"
"Bones," the Captain cautioned as he moved to sit across from his Navigator. "It'll pass the time." Inwardly, however, he acknowledged the significance that it was the first time Chekov had called him by rank since they beamed down.
No one else joined their private game. As the younger man shuffled and dealt the cards, Kirk did consider that it might, indeed, be an opportunity to hone the Navigator's skills. Or at least his build his confidence enough to join their games.
Only Kirk was stunned as he quickly lost the first hand.
The younger man's face remained impassive as he dealt again. The wildly emotional man had a perfect poker face, the Captain mused in mild surprise. He turned his attention back to the cards in his hand.
Only he lost again.
"You've won every hand," McCoy observed from where he stood watching after the fifth hand.
"I'm Russian," was the man's off-hand comment.
"And that has to do with what?"
Kirk accepted his two cards and watched as Chekov took three.
"Russians don't lose."
The Doctor laughed, but the Captain eyed his opponent. It was not the usual prideful, nationalistic boast. Chekov had meant it.
He lost again.
"Okay," McCoy said with noticeable self-satisfaction. "I do know something of history. Russians retreated from Moscow when Napoleon arrived, didn't they?"
"Yes," Chekov admitted, placing down another winning hand. He raised unemotional eyes to the Doctor. "And then we burned it."
He climbed to his feet, leaving Kirk to gather the deck. "The Tartars, the Huns, the Mongols, the Romanovs, the French, the Soviets: the Nazi's trapped us in Leningrad for nearly three years with no food or fuel coming in. We burned everything in reach to keep warm and ate..." he hesitated with an eerie grin. "Each other. Real Russian people know how to suffer, so we put up with a lot. But we don't lose."
"You said you can't play poker well," Kirk interrupted. He didn't hesitate to admit silently that the Navigator's tone and dark eyes were unnerving him: not the grand boasts that were amusing.
"I can't play poker well," he agreed, accepting the cards.
"I do," the Captain retorted. "Yet you won every hand, Pavel."
"Yes. Russians don't lose."
The man's hazel eyes bored into him without mercy.
"I don't play poker very well," Chekov finally conceded. "But I do cheat very well."
The door opening again waylaid Kirk's sly grin. All three of their captors stepped into their small bedroom.
Trafus smiled happily. "Have you any idea how much those accounts had in them?"
Chekov took a moment to drop the cards in his still open pack. "Well, I know how much is in them now: but I will get my Starfleet pay at the end of the week. That should last me a time."
Shanna's eyes raised in interest. "I have to check out the current pay scale the Fleet uses."
"Sulu, what time is it?"
"12:45," came the answer, but the Helmsman scowled and folded his arms across his chest. "I am buying you a watch."
"Russian peasants don't wear watches," Chekov said, rubbing his arms as he answered. He cocked his head and eyed Trafus as if a sudden thought had occurred to him. "Your research did tell you I'm a traditional Russian, didn't it?"
"Yes." The man seemed annoyed. "You grew up in rural Russia in the traditional culture."
"People just don't understand what that means," the Ensign muttered, shaking his head slowly. His gaze dimmed into the distance somewhere. "The poriadok--community--is what we are. Like an ant in a swarm, every individual an important part of the whole. Everybody matters. Everyone cares about everyone else. The whole community spoils all the children."
"That sounds pleasant," McCoy commented.
"They're also ingrained with an overpowering sense of social responsibility," Kirk observed, eyeing his Navigator, who avoided his gaze.
"We all know everything everyone else does. We do nothing as individuals, as every action affects the community." He smiled wistfully. "Nothing goes unnoticed.
"When I sneeze on the Enterprise, there is instantly a box of remedies arriving from home."
Shanna let out a low growl from somewhere deep in her throat. "Is there some purpose to this touching little anecdote?"
Cocking his head sideways again, Chekov's dark gaze fixed on her, then shifted to Trafus. From across the room, Kirk saw the gleam sparkle in it wickedly.
"Yes, as a matter of fact there is," he said with a thick accent. "Nothing a real Russian does goes unnoticed by the poriadok. Did you actually think it possible for a Russian to empty all his financial accounts and no one would notice?"
Slipping his hand around Uhura's arm, Chekov stepped back against his cot, pulling her with him. Kirk pulled the Doctor against his bed instantly without a thought why.
The Navigator smiled then: a wild, wicked smile that brought him pain. "Like most people, you don't understand anything about Russians, Trafus."
Suddenly, the roar of an explosion seized the building. The wall of the room behind McCoy's bed burst into the room in a thousand bits of rubble and smoke. An onrush of red-clad Enterprise Security members materialized.
The Enterprise Command Team grinned in self-satisfied triumph. Through the settling dust and debris, a tall blue-clad figure emerged.
The First Officer raised an eyebrow at his Captain. "Jim, I believe you extended me an invitation to join you on this shore leave."
Kirk laughed out loud. "I believe I did, Spock. You're late."
"Spock!" McCoy exploded. "How the hell did you know we were here?"
"There's more than one way to kill your pet," Chekov insisted dramatically with a thick accent.
All of the Enterprise crew shot a glace of horror at the young man, except Sulu, who laughed.
"Pavel, that's 'skin a cat'."
The Ensign scowled petulantly in irritation. "What would you want with cat skin anyway?"
It was Uhura that answered the Doctor's question. "Pavel just meant there's more than one way to send a message."
Kirk nodded, studying the Navigator. He patted McCoy on the back. "Pavel Andrievich knew that emptying his financial accounts would not only get noticed, but go back to Earth as a distress call. It worked."
"Indeed," the First Officer nodded. "Ensign, it was requested that you contact Russian Federation's Ministry of Culture at your earliest opportunity."
The young man's face colored swiftly. "I'm sure that's not what they said," he muttered under his breath.
"It was the content of the message," Spock explained patiently.
"The Ministry of Culture?" Sulu gasped, his face turning ashen as he stepped toward his friend. "Holy hell, Malyenki, just what accounts did you empty?"
Chekov shrugged, sinking into a sulk. "Well, really: it's not like anyone actually cares what I spend my own money on. They wouldn't have noticed for weeks. Besides," he finished in a not-so-confident tone. "I'm sure they have the funds back already."
"You better hope they do!"
The Chief of Security pushed through the three captors, now in restraints, from behind. A second Security Team had broke their way in from the back of the second room and now filtered out from behind the Chief and the captors after finding the other room secure.
"Captain," the Chief of Security asserted with dark urgency as he approached Kirk. "Captain, there's a Aldeberran Truth Machine in there. Is everyone alright?" he asked, his eyes quickly surveying the group.
"Jesus!!!" he exclaimed, startled, as he saw the ship's Chief Navigator.
The Ensign shrugged. "I tripped."
"Into what?!"
"Did you say an Aldeberran Truth Machine?" Kirk demanded, jaw hardening as lines furrowing deep into his forehead. His eyes shot over to Chekov and he swallowed hard, even as he tried not to let what he knew about the machine to register. No wonder there had been no additional visible injuries.
"They're deadly," the Captain concluded.
"Not necessarily."
"Chekov," McCoy growled. "With every inaccurate answer there is an increase in…." he hesitated and swallowed before he continued. "It's known to be fatal to any human who continues to lie within five minutes."
"Only if it works," Trafus spat out, which earned him a shove from the nearest security guard.
"That machine back there is in perfect working order," the Security Chief maintained. "I checked it myself."
"Well, it didn't do anything to him and he just said 'eat shit and die' every time we asked for his code key," Shanna snarled.
Spock's eyebrow slowly and elegantly rose.
"What is it, Spock?" McCoy asked.
The First Officer casually folded his hands behind his back. "If the machine tortures a person who is not accurately answering a question put to him, than a person who is not tortured by the machine could only logically be assumed to have been answering accurately."
McCoy blinked. "Do you speak any English, Spock?"
The Communications Officer burst out laughing, folding her arms across her chest. "Why, Pavel Chekov, you little shit! That means your code key must be…"
"Eat shit and die," Kirk concluded simply. He grinned wryly. "Bones, the man's code key is 'eat shit and die'. Chekov actually gave them his code key a dozen times over: every single time they asked for it."
"I'll have to change it now," the young man muttered with ill humor. His gaze shifted to the Captain. "Don't we still have some leave time left?" Chekov asked, his face brightening.
"Not until I get you into sickbay," McCoy retorted with a growl. "For someone who doesn't get sick, you certainly do your best to find ways to keep me busy." The Senior Officer folded his arms across his chest and leaned over toward Chekov. He winked conspiratorially. "Don't worry: rumor has it I'm the best Doctor in the galaxy."
The Ensign let out a heavy sigh. I've doomed myself, he thought miserably.