Chapter 3
"Lay off, Bones."
"I just said it was very equitable of you."
"Being a captain doesn't preclude a man from getting his own dinner!" Kirk spat out, striding toward an empty table with a purposeful step.
"Your poor Yeoman isn't going to know what to do with herself," McCoy said worriedly as he followed.
"Find another topic," the Captain advised as he set his tray down. "Or another dinner companion."
The Doctor sighed in a melodramatic show of resignation. He took the seat next to Kirk and began moving his dinner dishes onto the table from his tray. "It looks like people think the spaghetti is going to finally lure our Russian Officer out of hibernation," he observed.
Kirk's eyes shifted to the milling group of officers and crewman that were gathered at the opposite end of the main dining hall. Despite the incongruous diversity of the departments they came from, the group had nonetheless become a common sight aboard the ship. Every one of them was a citizen of the Russian Federation back on Earth.
"I'm sure they're just concerned about Chekov," the Captain said dismissively.
"It's more than that and you know it. Has it occurred to you what effect losing our Russian Officer is having on the morale of this ship?"
"Bones, I've told you a thousand times to stop calling Chekov that," the Captain said irritably. "We don't have a 'Russian Officer' any more than we have a 'French Officer' or 'American Officer.' "
"Well, maybe you should consider it," McCoy urged. "We have a rotating 'Morale Officer' designation. It's the same principle."
A smirk tugged at Kirk's lips. "This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that you're Morale Officer this month, would it?"
"No," the older man retorted with a note of indignation. "Those people from the Russian Federation have come to rely on our Navigator to keep them in touch with each other and their heritage: their roots back home."
The Captain took the time to wrestle the writhing mass of pasta on the fork into his mouth. "He did seem to be their mascot."
"That's not fair, Jim."
Only Kirk's mouthful of food disguised the smile that the Doctor's defensive tone brought.
"Chekov is a natural leader and his uniting that group who share a common cultural bond and background is no less than a stroke of diplomatic genius," McCoy insisted. "They have a forum to talk about shared childhood experiences, passionately debate literature, philosophy..."
"Drink vodka, eat caviar," the Captain supplied helpfully.
The Doctor gave him an impatient scowl. "Do you know what a shot in the arm it is to just be able to chat in the language your brain thinks? Our modern society and Fleet may have common ground as their driving principle, Jim, but it's our diversity which makes us strong."
"Bones, philosophy and meatballs?" Kirk mused with amusement as he dragged a napkin across his lips. He knew, of course, that McCoy was right–as was usually the case when it came to the crew. The Captain, however, also recognized something unsettling in his Navigator's relationship to the other Russian citizens on board. They were drawn to the young man, universally pulled by some strange force and they let no new Russian crewman come aboard without being shuffled immediately before him for formal welcoming and initiation into their group.
Kirk had the vague feeling that a sect loyal to a separate entity than either he or the Fleet was festering, unchecked, on his ship. The unflappable devotion they showed their unappointed leader was a wound in the wider shipboard community and it held promise for serious ramifications. He dropped his napkin in his lap. "Doctor," he intoned carefully. "When you join the Fleet you swear to give up all your old allegiances. Fostering our differences can be a dangerous thing: our history has demonstrated repeatedly that it's like having a poisonous snake as a house pet."
"I won't agree with you," McCoy pronounced with a deliberate, forceful shake of his head that he punctuated with a gesture of his fork. "I've seen the energy they come away with after just touching base with each other. Tell me that you honestly wouldn't be thankful for a good old, all out, fourth of July blast. Hot dogs, hamburgers, potato chips, corn on the cob..."
"I'm just thankful for the spaghetti at the moment, Bones."
"I'm not advising you to schism the crew into nationalities, Jim," the Doctor insisted, refusing to let the topic die. "I'm just saying you should consider that the things we share uniquely with others can give us strength. Chekov keeps those people informed of what's going on back home and never lets a Russian holiday pass by unacknowledged."
Kirk allowed himself an outright, rueful, grin this time as he stirred the cream into his coffee. "Like the day honoring apples? Bones, I think he makes up half those holidays. The man just likes parties."
"Jim..."
"Bones..." the Captain began to redirect, but suddenly stopped, his cup of coffee hovering in mid-air. "That's it!" he pronounced with certainty as he glanced quickly at the Doctor. "That's what's been bothering Chekov!"
A line etching across his forehead, McCoy eyed him warily. "What–we failed to pay proper tribute to apples this year?"
"No," Kirk said, setting down his cup with a sharp finality. "We've been looking in the wrong place entirely for what's been causing his foul mood. It's not on the ship, it's back home."
The Doctor hesitated, shifting his jaw. "Are you saying that something happened back in Russia?"
"Yes. That's why they're here," the Captain concluded as he indicated the group of Russian citizens. "Chekov does keep them up to date with what's going on back home, but when they get together, they don't just debate the meaning of life–they hash out differences of opinion about current events." Which is why Kirk hadn't done anything about the existence of the seemingly separatist group yet. Political happenings back home could quickly erupt passionate opinions into a near war among national groups that were impotently removed from the events. That dangerous possibility in the contained quarters of a starship had to be in the forefront of any captain's mind, and Kirk knew of one otherwise competent commander who had ended his career by simply not allowing any news to come into his ship as his solution.
While such censorship was an affront to Kirk's modern sensibilities, as a captain he fully understood the kind of conditions that had inspired it. It was an unsettling reminder today. The hushed, earnest tones of the group as they spoke reinforced what the Captain knew to be their deference to Chekov and his natural mediating skills, but their willingness to wait for him to discuss the matter said something else to Kirk about the seriousness of the situation.
McCoy was shaking his head. "There hasn't been news about anything remarkable–or even interesting–going on anywhere back on Earth and we haven't had a mail delivery in a month. Jim, it's a little farfetched to believe even Chekov spent a week stewing over something before he got upset about it."
"True," the Captain nodded agreement as he gestured for Uhura and Scotty to join them from the serving station they were leaving. "But we both know Chekov doesn't rely on ordinary channels for his information.
"Seems like the spaghetti has lured everyone to the main dining room," he continued with a smile when the other two officers joined them with their trays of food.
Uhura smiled conspiratorially as she took a seat. "It takes a rare treat for me to get Scotty away from his technical journals."
"The new technical journals may save your life tomorrow, lass," the Chief Engineer insisted.
"I'd rather have your company today," Uhura said, shooing him into a seated position. "Besides," she said, winking Kirk. "I think you just like reading your own articles, Scotty."
She received an outlandish glare from the Engineer in response.
The Captain waited for her light-hearted laughter to settle before addressing her again. "Uhura, has Mr. Chekov received any private communications in the last month?"
She hesitated in arranging her plates on the table. "Sir," the Communication's Officer answered carefully without looking at Kirk. "As you know, we have to note the specifics of every communication contact in our daily logs for your review. There are exceptions, such as the encrypted traffic that comes in on the Platinum Channels. Security regulations by and large restrict us to noting the time of any contact on the Platinum Channels; not the length, origin or receiver of such messages."
Uhura's dark eyes shifted and held the Captain's. "No matter how often they're getting them, Sir."
Kirk squared his shoulders perceptibly. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he acknowledged quietly after a moment, then shifted his eyes to the Doctor. "I should have thought to look for that kind of traffic as soon as Chekov got surly, Bones. He's known something the other Russians have just found out."
"The Platinum Channels are restricted to government use, and eyes-only stuff at that," Scott insisted as he attacked his pasta with both a knife and a fork. "Even Starfleet doesn't use them. Now why would the lad be getting messages on one of them?"
"His father works for the Russian government," Uhura reminded him. "Chekov said both his parents have government jobs."
Scotty lowered the forkful of food he was about to eat. "Nae, his father wanders about writing down children's stories and square dancing and such."
"He does," the woman agreed with an affectionate pat on his arm. "Andrie catalogs folk tales, folk songs and folk dances: both his parents do. They're cultural anthropologists–folklorists by specialty, but they work for the government."
"I thought Chekov said his mother was a teacher," the Engineer protested with an annoyed scowl.
"She is. But she...they're both...anthropologists...for the government. It's all very confusing," she admitted finally.
Kirk felt the clandestine nature of the Doctor's glance at him without even seeing it directly. They both knew the confusion about what Chekov's parents did for a living was by the young man's deliberate design, but it wasn't something either of them were at liberty to discuss.
"Italian food does have remarkable drawing powers," the Captain observed aloud as he watched Sulu enter the room with Chekov in tow. Almost physically in tow. The kitchen's fresh food offering of spaghetti and meatballs might have served as an incentive, but it was clear that the younger man's presence was due mainly to the Helmsman having dragged him there.
A quick shift of Kirk's eyes confirmed by their reaction that the group of Russian citizens had, in fact, been hoping to see Chekov. The Captain turned his attention back to his rapidly cooling coffee and watched as the ship's alpha watch helm team approached his table with their trays. It somewhat surprised Kirk; although it was abundantly clear that Chekov was none too happy with Sulu's choice of dinner companions for them.
"Good evening, everyone," the Helmsman said brightly as he took a seat opposite McCoy. This left the only available chair in front of the Captain and Chekov showed noticeable restraint as he took it. Given his mood lately, Kirk half expected the Chief Navigator to simply walk off and sit alone.
"I'm glad you've joined us, lad," the ship's Chief Engineer commented amiably. "It's been quite a spell since we've all been together."
Chekov's fork tines clanged against his plate as he jammed them into one of his meatballs. "We are together every alpha watch duty shift," he replied tightly.
"Now, that's not what I meant!"
"He knows that," McCoy's said. "Chekov," he advised in a fatherly tone. "Lighten up."
The Ensign hesitated just long enough to glare at him, which left the ship's Chief Surgeon completely unaffected.
While the exchange of awkward pleasantries continued, Kirk focused his attention on his coffee and watched as the group of Russians approached their table. A tall, beefy Lieutenant from ship's services was the one who broke off from the group to speak.
"Mr. Chekov?" He waited a prolonged period of silence before addressing the Ensign again. "Mr. Chekov?"
"I'm eating, Mr. Avdevyev," the Navigator responded tersely without looking up from his food.
"Yes, Sir," the man who had apparently been appointed the group's spokesman replied deferentially. "We don't want to disturb you, but we wanted you to know..." He broke off, hesitating, as his eyes shifted uncertainly to Chekov's dinner companions.
A member of the ship's maintenance staff standing behind him jabbed him hard in the ribs. Avdevyev slapped the man's hand away irritably, and he apparently decided to continue despite the presence of Kirk and the others. "Sir, we just wanted to assure you that we know that what they're saying about your father isn't true. It's simply political posturing–someone is trying to make a name for themselves using him and it's going to be exposed as the complete and utter nonsense it is."
Chekov made no movement but the fork in his hand dipped forward, bending in half in surreal slow motion.
"In the meantime, if there's anything you need," Lt. Avdevyev continued. "If there's anything at all we can do for you, just let us know."
Chekov lurched to his feet, the chair slamming backward into the deck as he spun on the group and let loose a vile, snarling tirade into Avdevyev's face. It didn't matter that Chekov stood a full seven inches shorter than the older man: his ferocious verbal attack held the man–and everyone else in the room–frozen. Kirk didn't know what Chekov was saying, but he understood clearly the anger in his voice. The Captain was half out of his seat when the Ensign made a feigned backhand at Avdevyev and then stormed out of the room.
"There's a reason I eat in my quarters," Scott declared.
"What was that about?" Kirk asked Uhura as he reseated himself.
She only shook her head in apology at everyone who was looking to her for a translation: including the group of Russians still standing there. "I don't know what he said," the Communications Officer explained. "I'm not familiar with the language he was speaking. It wasn't Russian. Captain, it wasn't even from the Slavic language tree."
"He said 'If you want to do something for me you can leave me alone'," Sulu said blandly as he continued eating. In fact, he was the only person in the room who hadn't stopped. "I suggest you do it."
"You understood that language?" Uhura asked.
The Helmsman finally stopped eating for a moment to cast her a dim look. "I don't need to understand the words to know what he said."
"What the blazes is going on with Chekov's father?" McCoy demanded. Although the question was directed at Avdevyev, it was answered by the Head Nurse, who had just entered the room and joined them hurriedly.
"Chekov's father has been arrested by the Russian government," Chapel said in a rush. "I wasn't sure it was his father at first, but the man's name is Andrie and in all the footage..." her voice had a note of dismay as it trailed off. She finished quietly: "It's on all the channels: news, broadcast: special alerts are even going out over all the private channels."
"It wasn't Chekov's father," Sulu assured her with a chuckle. "No one's going to arrest Andrie: the man's a national hero."
Kirk glanced over at him sharply. The Helmsman caught the look and shifted uncomfortably. Sulu's verbal assertion was a clear violation of the trust his best friend had placed in him and indicated how disturbed he actually was by the news. What the Captain knew was that if Andrie Chekov had, indeed, been arrested than any hope Pavel ever had to maintain his private life behind the sanctum of his precious wall–even on this remote, deepspace starship–was utterly gone.
"Andrie Nikolaievich has been charged with high treason against the peoples of the Russian Federation," Avdevyev said tersely. "They claim he's been embezzling government funds. It's not true."
"Embezzling?" the Helmsman blurted out incredulously, dropping his fork on the table. He laughed. "Of course it's not true. Why do they even spread such nonsense before they've checked to see if there's even the slightest facts to back it up?"
"Sulu," Chapel asserted. "According to the news reports they detained Andrie last week and didn't charge him or release the information about the case while the investigators conducted their initial review. They say they have proof he's been embezzling funds–which qualifies as stealing them from the Russian people."
Sulu stood up, twisting his gaze around to face everyone at once and looked like he was ready to take on the world. "We're talking actual monetary funds here, right? That's simply not something Andrie would do."
There was a terse silence in the room; a barely audible murmur at its depths as people shifted uncomfortably. Everyone on the ship knew Sulu had grown so close to the Chief Navigator's father that he actually called him "Papa" himself.
"Sulu," the Head Nurse explained, "They found it during a Class One Audit of the Russian Federation government accounts conducted by the United Earth Alliance. The full Class One Audits aren't done very often and in this case..." Chapel pulled herself up to her full height and steadied herself visibly by placing a hand on her stomach. "According to UEA auditors, Andrie has been secretly diverting government funds into blind accounts on a weekly basis for at least ten years. It's billions of credits."
Sulu's dark eyes grew somber, his jaw tightening. "How is that even possible?"
"It was done by someone very good with computers," Avdevyev said. "According to news reports, government funds are being diverted routinely. They can see that the funds' transfer is initiated properly, but then the tracking information is severed in a blind, clean end. Whoever set this up left no trace of themselves or what they did. It's such an expert job the funds simply seem to be going nowhere."
The color washed visibly out of the Helmsman's face. "No," he said in a cracked voice. In silence, he began shaking his head determinedly, then pronounced: "Andrie did not do this. Excuse me."
"No wonder Chekov has been so upset," Uhura remarked as she watched the Helmsman's form vanish into the corridor. She stood. "Sulu's going to want to talk to Andrie. I should go make sure the call goes through as quickly as possible."
"He can't talk to Andrie," the Captain stated with surety. "Even Chekov can't talk to him. Treason is a crime of conspiracy," he explained in a neutral tone. "They isolate you to make sure you can't get hold of your compatriots: for obvious reasons."
"They'll lift the communication's block eventually," Uhura asserted.
"Yes," Kirk agreed. "Let me know when that happens. Excuse me," he added as he stood and made his way out of the room, quickly and deliberately striding down the corridor. He understood far more than he wanted to about what had been happening for the last week.