Star Trek:
Here Be Whales
Chapter 1
Admiral James T. Kirk personal log, stardate 2273.10: Today is the anniversary of the death of Lieutenant Pavel Chekov. As I always try when I am planet-side— which is almost always since I accepted a position at Starfleet Headquarters—I have taken the day off to visit his grave.
Jim looked around at the cool Russian landscape around him. It was early in the morning, on a warmer-than-seasonal winter day. There was little snow on the ground, the groundskeeping robots were good about that. Altogether, the feeling Kirk had was one of 'greyness.' Which, he supposed, only made sense.
He looked again at the gravestone in front of him. He looked at the Cyrillic inscription, which he knew said "Here lies Pavel Andreivich Chekov c. 2241-2266. 'To Serve All My Days'." Kirk looked at his feet.
"If only…" he said to himself, for the hundredth time since it had happened.
"Why wasn't it me?" he asked almost as often.
He was just a kid. He was too young to die. He was too smart to die. He meant too much to die. All these thoughts had gone through Jim's head when Pavel had died and recurred every anniversary. Kirk was never one to let the death of a 'redshirt' off lightly, but there's still a world of a difference between a person and a friend.
"I thought I'd find you here," someone said behind him. Jim's head shot up.
"Piotr," he said with a grim smile. Pavel's younger brother, junior by four years. He and Kirk had met at Pavel's funeral.
"My mother tells me you've been coming here every year," Piotr continued.
"What's she know about it?" Jim asked, immediately regretting how it had come out.
"You know this is her family's cemetery, right? She reviews all the visitor logs."
"Of course," Jim said absently, "don't know how I forgot." He was looking again at the gravestone, or at least in the direction. His face bore what they used to call 'the thousand yard stare.'
"You know, we have a memorial service this evening, like every year. Friends and family members, I think we're expecting members of your old crew this year."
"I…just want some private time with Pavel," Jim said without looking away, "I can't socialize."
"We're human, Admiral, we need to socialize, we need each other to deal with out losses. All this," he said indicating the graveyard, "isn't for the dead. It's for the living."
"How can you say that?" Kirk said, again regretting how aggressive it sounded. He breathed in, breathed out.
"I'm due back at headquarters."
"I understand," Piotr said as the Admiral walked away, "I understand."
