AN: Apologies for not updating last night, real life exists too!
I, on the suggestion of Sisikyou, have decided to extend Heroes Are Made. Updates will probably be intermittent, but I will get there in the end!
Please note that text in Italics is in Russian.
Nikolai Viktorovich Demochev cursed under his breath and took another swig of vodka from the bottle hidden in his desk drawer. He shook it experimentally, and the alcohol sloshed around loudly. It sounded about half-empty.
Damn! Better go easy, or I'll get in trouble for being drunk again.
He was a Careers advisor at this tiny high school. It was a dead-end job, he wouldn't go anywhere, and it would take a hell of a lot for him to lose this job. He never really did much, apart from listen to teenagers with massive hopes and dreams, and nod and give them forms and brochures on their PADDs. It was boring and useless and didn't pay well. But it was the only job he could get, and he did have to eat. But it annoyed him, sitting here in his tiny cramped office, which used to be a storeroom, day in, day out, watching kids flit in and out with massive dreams he knew they'd never achieve. He'd had those same dreams. They never came true. He'd tell those kids to stop dreaming, to stop saying I want to serve in Starfleet, become a multi-billionaire, a lawyer, a doctor. He wanted to tell them that they had no chance.
But he'd be fired if he did that.
No, it was just his job to go along with what the Principal said, to encourage those kids, even those with no hope to achieve their lofty ambitions.
There is a knock at the door. He curses again and hurriedly hides the flask of alcohol in his desk drawer.
'Come in!'
A skinny, curly-haired boy timidly enters. He doesn't recognise this one. He looks too young to be a senior student. They're usually the only ones he sees.
'Good afternoon, sir. I was wondering if you had a moment. I would like some advice, please.'
Nikolai just stares at the boy.
'Do you see anyone else here, kid? I've got time now, make it snappy.'
The boy nods, a little put off by his sarcasm and manner.
'Well, I am graduating this year, and I want some advice on what to do next.'
'You're graduating this year? Pull the other one, boy.'
He doesn't look a day older than thirteen. The boy looks offended, and bounces on his heels as he replies indignantly.
'I am thirteen!'
'Exactly. You are too young to be graduating. What is your name?'
He wonders whether he can report the boy to the Principal for annoying him. Probably not, but he can try anyway.
'Chekov, Pavel Andreievich.'
Absent-mindedly, he pulls up the kid's records, and realization dawns.
This boy is the genius that all the teachers talk about in the staffroom. This is the kid that they say will reach the stars.
He doubts that. He's seen quite a few bright kids, and few of them have actually made it. Granted, he's never had a genius come through that door. But really, what are his chances? Youthful dreams are one thing, but the wisdom and cynicism of age is more often right.
The boy's still standing there quietly.
'So where do you want to go, kid? Starfleet?'
Apparently, the boy has a gift for physics and maths. Every student he's seen with even the slightest aptitude for anything has wanted to go to Starfleet Academy. He doesn't think any have made it through the entrance exam yet. He doesn't believe this one is going to be any different.
'Yes! I want to go into space!'
Nikolai glances at the application forms he has for Starfleet Academy. He never gives any student one of these. Many have gotten them from somewhere else, of course, and tried anyway. None of them have ever made it, and he thinks it is a waste of time. They're all kids with egos and a taste for glitz, glamour and prestige. It's not a practical job, at least not out here in this city in Russia. Why should this kid be any different?
Once upon a time, he'd been this boy, with dreams. Now, he's an old man who does nothing but sit here and drink vodka. He's that boy all grown up, that boy whose dreams passed him by. He'd old and bitter and cynical, pessimistic to a fault.
But this boy who's standing in front of him is young and fresh, full of idealistic dreams. They say he's a genius, they say he'll make it to the stars. He knows he won't. But perhaps he should give this one a chance. Perhaps, he really should believe. Perhaps, just this once, he can make an exception. After all, this boy, according to his records, goes through a lot in this school. Perhaps he'll give him a break.
He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a PADD download.
'Here, take this, boy. It's the application form.'
'Thank you, sir! Thank you very much!'
'Don't come crying back to me when you don't get in, boy. Dreams don't come true. Stay grounded whatever you do. Those people out in the world, who say that you'll reach the stars, they're wrong.
'I know, sir, I know. That is very good advice, I will remember it. But there is always hope, and I believe I can do it!'
He shakes his head. This kid's optimism is ridiculous. He waves him out of his office.
It is a couple months later when he hears Pavel Chekov has been admitted to Starfleet Academy. He shakes his head in disbelief, but the next year, he hands a Starfleet Application Form to the girl who asks.
It is three and a half years later when he hears Pavel Chekov is a Federation hero. He spits out his vodka in disbelief. The kid's actually done it. Perhaps self-belief gets you somewhere. Perhaps dreams really can come true.
He stops drinking on the job. He starts giving advice.
After all, wisdom comes with age.
Disclaimer: Do you really think I own Star Trek? Of course I don't!