Chapter Fourteen: In which Karina finds yet another tie to her past, the identities of our cryptic background characters are finally revealed, and Chekov receives a disturbing message.
Since there is a significant lack of Camille, Jim, and Bones in this chapter, I shall turn the next bits over to them! Enjoy!
Jim: Hey, could you guys do me a favor and review browneyedgirl29? She loves it! Your reviews give her life!
Bones: Actually, what would give her life is not staying up till all hours reading fan fiction.
Camille: Bones, lay off the girl! She's reading about you. You should be flattered.
Bones: Flattered? Frankly, I find the whole matter disturbing.
Camille: ANYWAY, browneyedgirl29 doesn't own Star Trek. She only owns Kari and I. Though, can we discuss the nature of my being owned...?
Bones: See? What did I tell you? This whole "reading into our lives," "ownership of specific characters" doesn't raise a few red flags with you?
Camille & Jim: Ummmmmm...
Jim: (grabs hypospray and uses it on Bones for once) Okay. He's sedated for the duration of this chapter. Ignore him! Read! Read, good people, read!
Camille: Do you even know what that was?
Jim: Sure, it's harmless...right?
Camille: (looks at the thing) Nope. This is deadly in excessive doses. Excuse us. READ!
"I can't believe your name didn't click for me!" General Osbourne exclaimed. "Absolutely, of course! I remember Anthony and Linda. Good people."
Karina's head tilted to one side. "You knew them?" she asked, barely able to suppress her excitement. "What were they like?"
Osbourne shook his head. "I didn't know them well," he said. "But of course, MACO and the CIA had some dealings together in the past, all of which were before you were born. I knew he'd had a kid, but I never knew your name, much less whether you were a son or a daughter. Sad to hear of their deaths."
Karina was sure her disappointment was evident on her face. They'd began working on teaching her the fine art of chess, but it long since lay forgotten as General Osbourne had started conversation as well. He and his daughter were much alike in that area, not that Karina could claim she wasn't a chatterbox when she wanted to be. She guessed Pavel would just have to teach her when she got back, though she'd hoped to become some kind of master over the break and surprise him when she got back by completely decimating him in a match.
"So, you can't tell me anything more about the way they died?" she asked. "Or the people who killed them?"
He shook his head. "I'm sorry, dear," he said. "I can only tell you that it almost started a war between the nations, namely Russia and practically the entire North American continent. We were prepared to battle over it, but it was only a few months after the end of an extended show of hostility by the Romulans. It didn't seem worth it when no other advancements were made. The Russian government insisted that it was an isolated incident, not sanctioned by them in the least, and the small branch of Starfleet stationed in Moscow also denied involvement. There wasn't much else we could do at that point."
Karina nodded. "Oh, well," she said, shrugging. "I didn't really expect anything more. Thanks for what you did tell me. I just don't understand how it's so easy to keep something like this secret. It seems like everyone but me knew about it."
"Well, it was a big deal at the time," he said. "But I don't see why the nuns couldn't tell you, unless it was for your own protection. Are you doing anything else to look into it?"
"Not really," she said. "I don't really have time. This assignment from Captain Pike has kept me pretty busy since I've been back at the Academy."
"Ah, yes," he said, looking, for the fifteenth time, as though he were ready to go back to their chess game, but then frowning and sitting back so he could look at her better. "The tutoring assignment, right?"
She nodded. "Teaching, mostly. I believe there's a difference."
"What did you say the boy's name was again?" General Osbourne asked.
Fervently praying he didn't have the same matchmaking tendencies as his daughter – and, for that matter, his wife – she replied, "His name's Pavel Chekov. Why do you ask?"
His frown deepened, and she somehow got the feeling he wasn't testing out the sound of "Karina Chekov" in his head. It halfway relieved her, halfway worried her.
"Chekov," he muttered. "Why does that name sound familiar?"
Karina felt her stomach swoop slightly. What was he getting at here?
Shaking his head, he said, "I suppose it's nothing. Has to be a common enough name among Russians, right? Which brings me to another question: How do you feel about a road trip tomorrow?"
Curious, Karina said, "Where would we be going? My willingness depends on that, I suppose."
"I appreciate your honesty, kiddo," he responded. "I was thinking we could drive you up to the abbey you grew up in. You could talk to the nuns, and see if they're more willing to give you information in person. Of course, there is the possibility that they actually have told you all they know. But, like you, I doubt it."
Karina grinned and threw her arms around the man. "I would love to!" she said. "What about Camille and Mrs. Osbourne? Have you talked to them about it?"
"Cam's all for it," he said. "But Tricia? I think she'll be staying here. She doesn't have much patience for traffic, and it'll be a madhouse on Thanksgiving weekend."
"I'm not sure Cam will be a big fan of the nuns," Karina said, the image amusing. "And they probably won't appreciate her trying to drag any more information out of her. I think she and Jim formed a reputation the past couple of months. Especially Jim."
"I'll make sure she behaves," Osbourne said, appearing as though he was actually going to get back to the game.
This time, however, Karina saw fit to be the distraction. "No offense, sir, but good luck there. I'm pretty sure no one's ever gotten Camille to behave in her life, right?"
A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Always knew you were a smart kid."
"So, when do you plan to make this trip over to America?" asked Vladimir. "The last time you mentioned it was a month ago. Have you not waited long enough, if I'm so bold as to inquire?"
"Boldness was what I always liked about you, Vlad. Don't overdo it," his friend said.
"Have you not waited long enough? I know it's important to you that this go smoothly, without any interference from Starfleet itself, or the American government for that matter, but it seems to me that the longer we wait, the more likely that is to occur."
"I have my reasons," the other said, his voice completely level, but his eyes speaking of a hidden inferno deep inside. For most people, that look compiled with that tone would equal stark terror, including the man's own children. However, Vladimir had been his partner for too long to be intimidated by it. They may be friends, but that meant little in this business. The one thing that was important was that his friend needed him, and that would serve to keep him alive for the moment.
True, he also had a long memory, but Vladimir didn't foresee getting out of his good graces any time soon.
"What are they, then? Answer me that!" he demanded. "Do you have some sick, sadistic need to be in control, so much so that you would risk our lives, our freedom for such a thing? You will prove nothing by this, man!"
He turned to go, then whirled back. "We can't control our children much longer, you know. They will leave us eventually, and we won't be able to stop them."
"Perhaps you can accept that, Vladimir, but I cannot. This is a prestigious line of work, and you know it's my desire that it be passed down to future generations," the other continued evenly.
"You have another child, you know. Pass it on to her heirs, if you so desire."
"The family name, however? Whether I like it or not, her family name will change one day. What do you think my purpose was in having a son in the first place, Vladimir?"
"You've got me. She always was your favorite. No wonder he ran away."
The other pushed to his feet. "You forget to whom you are speaking!"
"Last I checked, we were equals. You may be richer than I am, Andrei, but in this business, we are one and the same! Also…this is my house. So at this point, I believe I am well within my rights to tell you to get out and come back when you have a date for me."
Andrei Chekov rose to his feet, the fire in his eyes now evident in his tone as well. "I had a date, in case you were interested. January 1st. The New Year. Prepare yourself for a journey, Vladimir. Brief though it may be."
Andrei stalked out, leaving his friend standing in the center of the room, groaning in frustration.
"Stubborn kulack," he muttered, turning away from the door and not noticing his own son, Dimitri, peeking around the door. Dimitri, seeing that his father was occupied and figuring it probably not the best idea to question him on this matter – or, in fact, any matter – slunk off down the hallway.
Dimitri's mind was racing at one hundred miles per hour. He was no genius, but it didn't take one to figure out what was going on here. Andrei and his father were going after Pavel, and he needed to get word to his friend somehow. Dimitri was still looking for a way to get out from under the thumb of their fathers, no way was he letting Pavel get dragged back under it, too.
The message board had told him there was something for him in the mail room, which had Chekov a little concerned. He couldn't think of anyone who might be sending him a letter, except maybe Karina, but she was due back tomorrow and had only been gone for four days. Unless… no, he pushed that possibility to the back of his mind. There was no way after this long his past had caught up with him.
The "mail room" was actually a series of computers meant strictly for the purpose of sending letters. And letters weren't written on paper anymore, but rather a message that popped up on a screen. Just like everything else in this world. Chekov didn't really mind using paper for writing, but for one thing, he didn't write that much and for another, he guessed it had helped preserve a tiny patch of rainforest somewhere.
He tapped on the nearest computer's screen. A completely blue background popped up, and the computer's voice, in absolute monotone, said, "Authorization please."
Fortunately, it still accepted his code in Russian at this point. He really was not in the mood to translate into English. The homework Karina had given him over the weekend was the hardest she'd come up with so far – was it supposed to be a parting gift or something? "Here, I'll miss seeing you this weekend, run a few marathons with your brain!"
He could practically hear her saying it, too, in that overly cheerful tone she used when she knew she was giving him something unpleasant to do and enjoying herself far too much in the process. Shaking his head and realizing he was actually really looking forward to seeing her again tomorrow, he told the machine his authorization code.
To anyone observing from over his shoulder, it wouldn't have looked out of the ordinary, just rather short. But perhaps that was a…whatever language that was custom. There would have been no reason for his very visible reaction. It was just a single line of Russian characters, nothing out of the ordinary to someone who couldn't decipher it.
But as he read the message, Chekov's eyes widened and the blood drained out of his face. And considering the fact that he wasn't exactly tan to begin with, anyone passing by would possibly have expressed concern for his health. Fortunately – or unfortunately, the mail room was deserted but for him. Because the message, though rather vague, was nevertheless disconcerting.
Watch your back. You may think you're safe where you are, but you're not.