Renegotiations

The ship shuddered under him, straining as the waves of the storm slammed into her again and again. The Captain could do no more than sit stoically in his chair with an air of confidence, relying on the men and women around him to get them all through this alive. They were trained experts and reacted instantly and intuitively to what the instruments before them told them. Occasionally, Kirk was fed information that he needed to quickly direct to the appropriate team in his ship.

The Captain's eyes remained fixed on the viewscreen before him. The storm had sprung up without any warning and, like most storms in space, there was nothing visibly out of the ordinary: but he could feel his ship's struggle against its forces. He had the view at 0 magnification so he could see the asteroid field that streaked across the right side of the screen and could keep track of their drift toward it. There was none.

More than any department in the ship, the Enterprise's helm team was responsible for keeping them in one piece at the moment. All of his officer's were experts, but he was glad it was the Alpha Helm Team on duty. Kirk considered Sulu and Chekov the best Helmsman and Navigator in the fleet and their friendship made their reaction time to each other both instinctive and eerie.

As the final shudder streaked up his spine and jammed into the base of his skull, the Captain had to resist the urge to pat the command chair in reassurance. He heard the lift doors open but didn't turn.

"Uhura," he charged, "Department reports."

"Yes, Sir: coming in."

"Dozens of injuries, but all minor, Jim," McCoy said as he stepped up beside the Captain. "Lots of burns: we've got wide spread circuitry damage."

"That's confirmed, Sir," Uhura informed him. "All minor: nothing which should affect the functioning of the ship beyond reducing her efficiency. Department Chiefs all report damage teams setting to work as we speak."

"Good. Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Also, Captain," she continued with an ominous tone. "Mr. Scott and Mr. Hamilton are requesting to meet with you."

Kirk grimaced. His ears already ached from the berating he was due from his Chief Engineer and Environmental Chief, as though the battering 'their' ship had taken was entirely his idea.

"Fine," he replied, glancing back at her. "Tell them I'll meet with them in an hour in the Chief Engineer's office."

"Yes, Sir."

"Sulu, Chekov," he continued, turning back around. "Excellent work. On behalf of the whole crew, I thank you. It'll be noted."

"Thank you, Sir," they replied in unison, glancing back at the Captain.

"Any damage I should know about?"

"Nothing to speak of," Sulu replied, turning back to his console. "It'll be repaired post-haste."

Chekov shot his helm partner a sullen look of disapproval, but it didn't concern the Captain. Kirk knew Chekov considered anything but perfection in his systems unacceptable. The Helmsman's estimation would always be the more reasonable one.

The two had been at their posts when Kirk had arrived, before Alpha Shift was on duty. They ha obviously raced to the bridge when they heard the storm warning to relieve the Helm Team that was winding down the previous shift and at the tail end of their efficiency.

James Kirk was often given reminders of both the efficiency and skills of his crew. He would remind all of the Senior Officers later to note any extraordinary efforts such as the Helm Team's. As a commander he believed recognition the basis of growth. While his crew had grown to expect this of him, they even more so expected themselves to be held to the highest of standards.

"Mr. Chekov," he continued, motioning the Navigator with two fingers as that thought lingered with him.

Chekov was admittedly both young and inexperienced to be Chief of a department already. Even James Kirk had been a Lieutenant before he'd earned that privilege. The man had earned it, the Captain believed fiercely, but he was vigilant that he didn't allow his confidence in Chekov's obvious skills to overshadow the signs of his youth. One of an officer's main job functions was to ensure the proper development of those who served under him.

As Kirk stared at the viewscreen at any given moment, the Helm Team were always occupying his peripheral vision. Anything out the norm with them would necessarily nag at him. Kirk studied the young man resolutely as he stood and faced his Captain.

"Yes, Sir?"

"Ensign, what happened to your face?"

He saw the man resist the urge to touch it, as though he didn't already know what Kirk was referring to. "I cut it, Sir."

"I see that." It was a fairly deep, ragged cut that streaked across his left cheekbone. "On what?"

It was a rhetorical question. He didn't want the inevitable quip that he'd hit it on some non-existent doorknob. They both knew the hot-tempered, impulsive man had got into another scuffle.

"Mr. Chekov, whether this ship made it through that storm may have depended on whether its Chief Navigator was on duty or in sickbay with blood poisoning from some infected cut. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Sir," came the insistent reply.

"An officer is responsible for maintaining himself at peak efficiency."

"Yes, Sir."

Of course the man knew that. The Academy drilled that basic fact it into them until they could stand it no more: both in courses with disguised names and interlaced in curriculums it had no place in. Every cadet handpicked, the Academy invested too much in each of them to lose one to stupidity.

Fixing his wide eyes on some distant point, Chekov clasped his hands deferentially behind him. He swallowed before he continued.

"I was in sickbay this morning, Captain. When the medical team was put on red alert, I thought it better to leave them open for emergencies and return later to be treated for such a simple injury. It was poor judgment, Sir."

"Poor judgment was obtaining the cut in the first place. It won't be tolerated on this ship."

"I understand, Sir."

"Good. I expect to see that comprehension in action in the future."

Chekov would never haul off and hit a fellow shipmate, but the Captain knew his temper still got him into childish tussles occasionally. Absolutely unacceptable. Especially for an officer.

What Kirk knew more firmly was Chekov would never offer excuses for his behavior: nor would he lie. So why the Captain see the shadow of discomfort pass over McCoy's face? Even if it were in the Navigator to lie—which it wasn't—McCoy, medical logs and security tapes would have immediately exposed such a lie on Chekov's part.

Stranger still, the Captain saw none of the deep self-recrimination he had come to expect on the Chief Navigator's part in any situation like this. Chekov could be counted on to be his own worst disciplinarian. Kirk understandably wondered what this particular disagreement had been about that obviously caused Chekov no real remorse. After all, the young man was of such high moral standards that he could always be counted on to defend the honor of any of his shipmates: especially his Captain.

Kirk stood. "Mr. Spock, have a substitute helm team report for duty."

Alarm did flash through the Navigator's dark eyes at this, but he made no movement to betray it and Kirk didn't address it. There had only been a yellow alert, so only Kirk and Spock had arrived on the bridge early. Everyone else had reported on duty as scheduled—except the Helm Team.

"When they arrive," he continued. "Mr. Sulu and Mr. Chekov: take time to get some breakfast. Afterward," he said, glancing pointedly at the Navigator. "Have your face seen to, Ensign."

"Yes, Sir."

"Bones, will you join me for breakfast?"

Blue eyes uneasy, the Doctor hesitated. "I should probably see to Chekov first."

"You have an entire sickbay of Doctors. I'm sure the best Navigator in the fleet can locate one of them, Bones. Come along.

"Uhura, you have the con."