Borzoi Puppies

St. Petersburg was experiencing a rare early fall day. There was no rain, little wind, and the False Summer temperature hovering near 70 F already gave the morning a particularly brilliant shine. Kirk's dress uniform would have been the perfect choice for being here: if he'd had a choice.

He stood on the spit of Vasilyevsky Island looking out over the Neva River. It split apart here to rush into the city behind him and fill the dizzying number of canals. An entire rainbow of colors filled his vision from the buildings that lined its banks – every one a brightly colored spectacular masterpiece of neoclassicism and Baroque style. Their universal 4-story height felt comforting. To the left the golden spire of the Peter and Paul Fortress declared its majesty in the sky above them.

The river in front of the buildings was lined with sailing ships that rode the gentle rise and fall of the water with a restful ease. Their wooden hulls were each decorated with their own majestic plumage of paint and gold leaf and elaborately carved figureheads: all above their universal red keels. The Aurora's dull grey steel structure was the exception. He'd never understood its two sail masts next to its engine stacks but he understood why this particular ship was still here: it had, after all, started the Russian Revolution. The sight of the wooden ships and the steel one together gave Kirk a swell of pride that he had no right to.

All of the ships were 'dressed to the nines': all nine yardarms (or however many each had) and all the supporting ropes flew a dizzying array of pennants and flags as they put on their finest array in celebration. Tomorrow was the International Day of the New Imperial Russian Navy. Established as an Earth-wide celebration nearly a decade ago, September 27th was also a convenient date for all the Northern Hemisphere ships to return to port for the winter months, and for all the Southern Hemisphere ships to begin their summer sailing season.

Kirk understood it was far more than that. He sought out the Peter and Paul Fortress with his gaze and, locating the cannons, followed their aim with his eyes: turning to the city behind him. He couldn't see the Admiralty from where he stood at the water's edge, but he knew the cannons were aimed at it. A specific design by the city's planners, those cannons would destroy the Admiralty should the city ever be invaded. They were still kept in service by firing a blank round every day at noon.

Between Kirk and the unseen Admiralty stood the Rostral Columns. One of the symbols of St. Petersburg, the massive 32-meter-high Doric columns were decorated with sculptures of naiads, sea creatures, anchors, and prows of fictional ships. Before he beamed down he had thought the columns were mere yards from each other which, in retrospect, was ridiculous – as they were originally beacons for the ships that used this port to indicate where the river split in two. Today, as part of the NIRN celebration, the brick red columns had eight-yard-high raging flames bursting from their tops in a heart-stopping spectacle.

Kirk began walking towards them: the grass beneath his boots feeling odd and unstable to his shipboard legs. He stopped at the base of the statue that stood in the middle of the grassy spit. A ship's immense main mast – made of marble - thrust up into the sky: it's top a dangerous, broken and jagged spire. A carefully carved stone sailor hung off it: his right hand grasping the mast and his bare feet balancing against it as he leaned dangerously out and downward. The man's left hand clutched the arm of another sailor: a sailor that was falling and was held to safety only by the first man's precarious grip.

Though a fairly new statue, the weather had already added depth and shading to the men's rain and windswept clothing and features. Straining, bulging muscles; new gaping wounds; ripped clothing – it was all a vivid portrayal of the sailors fighting the storm. The wind had been so powerful that it had broken that enormous mast, so Kirk found it a bit odd that they were depicted wearing their hats. He did understand the reasoning: their beskozirkas are what identified the men as sailors in NIRN.

Men, he chastised himself ruefully. He kept calling them "men" in his mind, but that was the farthest thing from the truth. The sailor about to die was a teenager of 17. And the one attempting to save him? Well… Kirk thought as he studied the features carved into marble. He's just a child…a 14-year-old child.

Though this statue made it clear that being a "man" had nothing to do with chronological age. If the child risking his life in the storm, in the dark, to save his shipmate wasn't a man, Kirk thought, no one was.

The Captain didn't know what was more harrowing: the scene depicted or the marble portrayal of the two men held only together by their single arms grasping each other's. It took your breath away: both the scene depicted and the worry that the second marble man could break away at any moment and drop on your head. That was probably the sculptor's intent, he realized. It brought the spectator into the heart-stopping moment. Genius.

Kirk had come here to see this. A statue of the Admiral had originally stood here: a surprise for him that had so horrified him that he'd had his men take sledgehammers to it. It was replaced by this portrayal of a lone sailor attempting to save another in the middle of a hurricane. A real event, Kirk thought, that summed up the Russian Navy.

The Navy wasn't Andrie. The Navy was the sailors: men who had willingly chosen to live primitively in the past. They did grueling work to build and maintain wooden ships in every imaginable kind of weather. They tirelessly learned folk dances and songs, taught them to audiences, and served as ambassadors in seeking out the lost songs and tales.

Because history matters, Kirk thought. Without ships, the plague didn't spread, the peasant population wasn't wiped out, the middle class didn't arise – and the Earth remained mired in Middle Ages. And the folk songs put a Human face on that history: told the story of how they endured it with a resilience and positive mindset that marked the people of Earth uniquely.

It may have been Andrie's dream, but the Russian Navy was thousands of men risking, and sometimes losing, their lives for something they believed in. That was something Andrie had such a firm grasp of - that the thought of the "NIRN Statue" being of himself was unforgivably offensive.

Instead, it was this: an everlasting image of a kid trying to save this 17-year-old just moments before he died. He was the first NIRN sailor to ever die in the line of duty.

How could they have believed for a second the man who insisted the sailors be acknowledged instead of himself was stealing from governments around the Earth? "He takes bribes, but only in Borzoi Puppies" – Andrie was without a dishonest bone in his body. That's one of the reasons people feared him, Kirk realized: he always told the truth.

Kirk shifted the small case in his right hand to his left, touched the base of the statue and then bowed his head briefly – one military man to the others: showing respect and acknowledging their service and their sacrifices. After a moment, he paced away from the statue.

In what he thought might have been the laziest thing he'd ever done in his life, Kirk called the ship and had them beam him up – then down again into the converted Russian prison. He wasn't lazy: he just didn't want to walk through the sea of Russian sailors that filled the streets of the city. They were still there – more of them, in fact – keeping vigil in support of their Commander in Chief.

Not still, Kirk corrected himself as he paused inside the entrance door to the building. They were there again. He'd learned that only an Honor Guard stayed the night on the building's steps while the rest of the sailors returned to their duty stations: something Andrie had insisted on when he lost the battle of having them go away entirely. He suspected that there was a fight for the honor of being one of the ones that stayed all night to show the Admiral that their support was unfailing.

The sea of white "Cracker Jack" uniforms still sweeping the steps and beyond was a reassuring sight, Kirk found: as the Russian Government building he beamed down to didn't feel like the same one he was at only a day before. It had been closed to the public today and the hallways were nearly empty except for armed security guards. Half of the guards were Starfleet so he didn't feel completely out of place walking by them in his dress uniform: but it was still an eerie experience.

The closed building and guards spoke to the number of government officials from around the planet that were attending the trial of the two NIRN Admirals. The building had been closed but the trial proceedings themselves were not. Massive screens had been set up around the city so the sailors – and the general public – on the streets could watch the proceedings. Someone had wisely deduced that trying to get them all into buildings would have been complete folly. The sailors would not be moving until they were escorting their Admiral home.

Kirk felt himself giving a nod of respect to those men – as he had at the statue – before he moved on. The guards along the walls gave him amiable directions with subtle movements of their heads whenever he hesitated. The door to the courtroom, when he eventually found it, was blocked by two large, imposing men with rock hard jaws and steely, frozen eyes: their forms practically filling the doors. It punctuated the difference in the building from yesterday to today.

He began composing what he was going to say to them as he approached but, when their eyes shifted to him, they stepped aside and pulled open the heavy oak doors. Given the list of the people who were allowed in the courtroom, Kirk's Starfleet uniform made him easy to identify, he reasoned.

He nodded a thank you as he entered the courtroom, then stood there as the doors closed behind him. It was clear the large courtroom had been altered for these proceedings: it looked to be set up for court martial instead of the civilian court it was claiming to be. There was a long table against the far wall with name plates at the front of each seat and computers buried in the tabletops. Shorter tables of the same set up sat at both ends of the room as well – to accommodate the large number of accuser judges: each from a major country that had discovered the "embezzlement" in their accounts.

Three smaller tables were lined up in front of the large one. The center one, forward of the others, he immediately identified as the 'witness stand". The other two, set back on either side, were recognizable as "defense" and "prosecution". These tables, sitting on the floor of the courtroom, were several feet below the judges: a clear, intentional statement of the judges' power over everyone else in the room.

Behind the tables a railing stretched the width of the room. Four rows of chairs sat behind both the defense and the prosecution tables.

The Admiral's wife, Mariya, was already seated in one of the front chairs to Kirk's immediate left. He recognized her immediately. In her 40s, her fine porcelain features and bright blue eyes were still remarkably beautiful - but her presence overshadowed that. There was a confidence, a steady surety that emanated from her - a rare trait in a Human. She was someone who knew who they were and how they fit into the world - it marked her immediately as a potential wall that could not be moved.

'Chekov's mother', Kirk added to his assessment for the first time since meeting her several years ago. And it made sense. Chekov had that same confidence and surety. He knew who he was and was steady and comfortable with it. He got that from this woman – not from Andrie, who seemed to not belong in this world. Chekov got his self-confidence from her - and his fine, straight brown hair.

She didn't appear to notice when the Enterprise Captain entered.

Because Andrie was already there, seated at the "defense table". His jet-black hair made the white Admiral's uniform eerily emit an angelic glow back up at his face. Someone had dressed the man, Kirk noticed as an after-thought. Every button, medal, and gold rope were in their precisely correct position. Not only did the Admiral not care, but Kirk also believed Andrie couldn't have even identified what went where on the complicated dress uniform.

Even though they weren't looking at each other, there was a palpable electricity in the air between Andrie and Maria that you could feel anywhere in the room. It connected them inexplicably – as if they were one and in deep communication with each other. It made you believe you'd walked in on a private moment but Kirk had experienced this on his ship. It was just the way it felt when they were together: nothing remarkable to them, despite its startling existence to the rest of the universe.

As if Kirk's presence had caused a ripple in the energy field, Andrie turned and focused his eyes immediately on the Captain. Whether it was disappointment or disapproval of his presence in the dark eyes, Kirk couldn't tell.

He heard the door, Kirk chastised himself. It was nothing otherworldly involving energy fields.

Kirk felt a nudge and, for the first time, became aware of the two guards standing beside the doors inside the room. He winced an apology to the guard who'd nudged him and nodded a greeting to Andrie before he made his way along the row of chairs. He took a seat on one of the chairs against the wall directly behind the Admiral. If he meant it to make him inconspicuous, he failed. There were, after all, only three of them sitting in the courtroom.

Kirk placed the case he carried on the seat beside him before shifting his eyes to Mariya: who he felt watching him. He smiled slightly and nodded a greeting to her. There was no mistaking the disproval in her bright blue eyes but she just returned the nod politely before turning back around.

Sulu entered the room then: two steps ahead of Chekov. Kirk knew that, as usual, on the rare occasions that they were home, the Helmsman had taken leave with the Navigator. He was surprised, however, to see Sulu wearing a crisp white Cracker-Jack sailor's uniform rather than civies or any semblance of a StarFleet uniform. His hat had a bright red ribbon encircling it rather than the black one the sailor's wore and Kirk wondered if that marked his outfit as "not really a NIRN uniform but an outfit honoring them."

Chekov's entrance shook Kirk instantly out of any rumination.

He was dressed as a Russian Navy Admiral.

Kirk was used to seeing the Navigator in a sailor's uniform because the man wore most of it as his pajamas aboard the Enterprise. This was entirely different.

The basic jacket was where any similarity to Andrie's uniform ended. Unlike Andrie, who's uniform dripped with multiple gold braids, Chekov had only two gold braids encircling his left armscye and threaded through the white fabric epaulette on his shoulder. His left chest was emblazoned with campaign bars and awards, and several medals hung next to them - including the red, white and blue of the Hero of the Russian Federation. Above the medals was the large, dramatic breast star that corresponded with the black and gold ribbon around his neck, from which hung the Order of St George neck cross.

Kirk had known about the last two awards, which is why he recognized them. Chekov was the youngest to ever receive them – and the last person to get that 2nd class Order of St George was a Romanov.

Kirk knew about them because those two should have been attached to the man's Star Fleet dress uniform as well. There were some recognitions that were so weighty that the Fleet acknowledged that they were beyond "who" had awarded them. But the Captain had never seen the awards in person.

Which meant that his Chief Navigator was out of uniform every time he had appeared in his dress uniform. Kirk had known the man was technically violating the Starfleet Uniform Code – but Chekov was embarrassed to even wear the Starfleet awards he'd earned and, somehow, Kirk felt a victory that he had those on at least. The Captain had considered that if Chekov didn't want to explain the two from the Russian government to people, he didn't care enough to press the issue.

Kirk realized now how wrong he was. Military awards weren't given lightly and keeping them in a drawer dishonored the service. He wouldn't let it go in the future.

The starched white Nehru-style jacket seemed to have made him grow inches. From perfect posture, Kirk guessed as he studied him. It wasn't just the ramrod straight back and squared shoulders that shook Kirk. The somber man with unreadable, depthless eyes was the one the Captain had encountered in his ship's observation lounge – and he had also outwardly aged years.

Sulu was arguing with the guard: in Russian. Mariya was standing and watching the exchange.

Kirk didn't know what the argument was about – but he also hadn't known how fluent the man was in Chekov's native language. Yes, Chekov spoke Japanese: but Sulu….?

The other guard stepped in and made a gesture of futility – apparently on Sulu's behalf. The original guard gave up and stepped back.

Satisfied, Sulu stepped back too: giving Chekov the space to greet his mother and pick her up off the floor in a deep embrace.

That was the ultimate stupidity, Kirk thought as he realized the guard had been preventing Chekov from greeting his mother. Because….why? She'd slip him…what? Poisoned cookies to take out all the judges? he thought wryly.

In his peripheral vision, Kirk became aware of the Admiral's body moving. He glanced over at the man's back - which was shuddering, his head down toward his chest.

Kirk's insides stilled. Andrie is sobbing, he thought. For good reason. The Captain could understand the profound effect seeing Chekov in his Admiral's uniform had on Andrie: the deep grief that his son had been pulled into this and had his life destroyed. Kirk felt grief himself – Chekov didn't want to be in the Navy – he'd made it clear a dozen times over to Kirk alone. He'd had enough of the rigors of working a sailing ship to last a lifetime. He'd always, even as a child, wanted to go to space.

Andrie covered his downcast eyes with a hand as a renewed quake shook his body.

Kirk looked over at Sulu and was relieved to see he'd noticed too.

The Helmsman went on leave with Chekov to stay in Andrie and Mariya's home. The Captain was glad someone he knew had noticed Andrie's sobbing. Chekov and Mariya were still lost in their reunion.

Sulu stepped around the mother and son and pushed his way through the hinged gate in the railing. As he approached, Andrei looked up at him.

There were tears streaming down his face: but they weren't from sobbing.

He was laughing: hysterically.

It tapered off into a wide grin as Sulu approached and he stood up.

The Helmsman beamed happily in response, raised his hands, and spun slowly: modeling his Russian Navy uniform for the Admiral. When he finished, he pointed to Chekov in a clear assignment of blame.

Still grinning, Andrie nodded in understanding. He stood then and held out both arms to the newest recruit to the Russian Navy. Sulu stepped into them and returned the man's bear hug enthusiastically.

The mutual hug of deep affection was an odd sight to Kirk. Sulu was so uncomfortable with public displays of affection he'd broken up with a woman who had demanded to hold his hand the rec room - but he accepted Andrie's hug with an air of overwhelming relief.

While Sulu was the older brother Chekov never had, Kirk realized for the first time that Andrie had become the father that Sulu never had. Warm, affectionate, supportive, encouraging: the opposite of Sulu's own distant and uninvolved patriarch. Chekov's family really HAD "adopted" Sulu.

Sulu finally backed away, the two men still grinning as they began chatting quietly, but energetically: in Japanese. Andrei was acknowledging who Sulu was in the easiest of gestures.

Chekov inadvertently interrupted them when he pulled Sulu's hat off. The Helmsman turned and scowled at him, but Chekov only used the hat to hit him in the stomach with a glare.

Covers are not worn inside. Starfleet didn't have them, so Sulu wouldn't have known that, Kirk thought. So why did he let him ever wear the hat indoors? They clearly walked to the courtroom together, Kirk thought as he watched Sulu retreat and take a seat next to Maryia: still holding his hat obediently.

For Andrie: so he'd see the full effect of Sulu's uniform, Kirk concluded. His laughter was a planned reward.
Chekov was carrying his own peaked officer's hat and placed it on the table next to Andrie's. While their uniforms differed, their hats were identical, Kirk noticed.

Chekov and Andrie didn't embrace when the younger man stepped up to his father. They clasped each other's arms in their hands - standing so close their chests were nearly touching. Chekov began talking quietly, urgently: but not in Russian. The cadence, the sounds themselves were different: more musical and not at all Slavic.

Georgian, Kirk concluded. It shouldn't have surprised Kirk after his conversations with Chekov in the observation lounge, but it did, nonetheless.

The three prosecutors arrived and took their seats at the other table. Then their witnesses arrived: and the sheer number filled the seats behind them.

Kirk felt Andrie and Chekov looking at him. When he looked back at them, Chekov was saying something to his father. They both looked at Sulu in response: their eyes moving in unison as if they were one person.

It's unnerving, thought Kirk. They both caught Sulu's gaze and then together they drew their eyes over to Kirk.

If Sulu hadn't understood the order, Kirk certainly had.

The Helmsman got up and made his way over to Kirk as the panel of judges began arriving and filling in the seats at the tables along the walls.

Sulu took a seat next to him but then just sat there silently. His right hand twisted around the fingers of his left as if he could unscrew and remove them. While he was an Enterprise officer, Sulu's current navy uniform disputed Kirk's authority over him at this moment. Sulu was with his commanding officer, but he was on Shore Leave and not actively in his service.

Kirk looked at him and raised his eyebrows in curiosity. This shouldn't have created such conflict in the Enterprise's Helmsman. Shore leave was, after all, shore leave.

"Nifty uniform," he commented easily.

Sulu glanced down at himself briefly as if he had forgotten what Kirk was referring to. "It's Chekov's."

"He doesn't need it anymore."

"What's he going to sleep in?"

They both chuckled despite themselves.

Kirk shrugged. "I'm sure he's got more than one." He certainly had more than one of the striped undershirts. Kirk had seen him in long sleeves, short sleeves, and tank versions. The exchange had put Sulu at ease: which was the Captains' intention.

Sulu shifted slightly. "You figured out all the money is going into Chekov's account," he said.

"It wasn't rocket science."

Sulu didn't answer immediately. He pressed his lips together hard a moment. "If you end up testifying don't mention that."

The Captain eyed him. THAT was what the two Admirals had sent him over to say? THAT was the one truth they drew the line at: that they as Admirals didn't want revealed?

Yes, by no means let the universe know how Chekov was using his father's computer illiteracy against him.

"I don't see how it will be pertinent," he finally answered.

Sulu shot a dark warning look at him – nearly insubordinate. It was clear to the younger man what Kirk hadn't said – that he would reveal it if it did, in fact, become pertinent.

"Don't do it," Sulus said as he got up. He glanced at the two Navy Admirals and turned his back to them as if it was a natural part of his rising. "You're wrong," he said in an urgent, low voice, as he moved to leave. He glanced back to verify that he hadn't been heard by either Admiral as he moved to take his seat next to Mariya again.

There was no chance they'd heard him: Chekov and his father had stopped talking and were standing locked together in a bear hug. Their fingers were burrowing into each other's backs with an intensity Kirk had expected to see instantly when they were reunited. This father and son had achieved what so many others strived for. They weren't friends (something no parent and child should ever be) but they had grown into two adults who respected and admired each other. It made their love deep and profound.

There was no mistaking it this time: tears were streaming down Chekov's face. Though he couldn't see Andrie's face, Kirk knew he was crying in joy as well.

Kirk suddenly became aware of the silence. It was as intense and profound as the men's embrace – and it was painful.

He turned, his eyes sweeping the courtroom. The judges, the prosecutors, the witnesses: they were all there in what looked to be a PR photoshoot for the planet. Every race, every nationality, every gender was represented in the sea of faces spread over the courtroom.

Well not every nationality, Kirk reasoned. But certainly enough for a PR poster.

And none of them were moving or making a sound. There was no shuffling of papers, no shifting of bodies, no hushed conversations. They all just sat silently, staring at the two men embracing. No one had the slightest thought of breaking them apart to get the proceedings going.

The news footage could not convey what this patent silence did. It was the first time Kirk truly understood this family's place in the hearts and minds of the residents of Earth. THAT was the utter respect they all had for those two men, Kirk thought. The men, that nonetheless, they were accusing of high treason. That anyone had moved beyond the utter respect to charge them and end up in this courtroom was profound and shocking.

When they finally broke apart, they took their seats, wiped their faces dry with cloths that were somehow magically hidden in their hats, and then waited silently.

The Admirals settling back into their chairs set the court into action. The central judge in the long table called the court to order in Terrand Standard laced with a Russian accent: then ignited the prosecutor into action.

The prosecutors and their witnesses droned on endlessly. Hours passed. The number of people allowed in the room may have been limited - to eliminate the chance of a mob drama - but the proceedings were being broadcast, live, around the world and out into space. And everyone came prepared for that.

There were great dramatic scenes played out by people who'd clearly taken a crash course in acting at the local community theater. Charts, graphs, and documents splashed with color projected on the courtroom walls. The proceedings were conducted in Terran Standard because the world was watching, but the 'no need for translators' just made their acting even more infuriating, more interminable.

Chekov and the Admiral sat silently next to each other, making no movement or sound as the prosecution dragged out the case. There was no one seated with them: no attorney on their behalf.

And why would there be? Chekov had confessed to doing it, and hiding it. Andrie had confessed to instructing him to do it. It hadn't caused the societal collapse that Chekov had thought it would. Maryia had explained Pavel was homeschooled, it was a computer science assignment, they'd forgotten about it. And that was that. It's a brilliant twisting of the facts, Kirk thought. One that should have eliminated this trial.

Funds had been sent out and had disappeared. One - maybe two documents - proved that hours ago. The rest of this was just theater of the absurd. Every single country represented apparently needed to prove the same thing with their own choreographed performance in an attempt to outdo everyone else. It was like a legal version of the Olympics, complete with the pomp and circumstance.

Sulu sat, twisting and turning his hat with a ferocious energy. It became so distracting that Kirk looked directly at him. Not getting his attention with his glare, Kirk went to move – but at that moment, Mariya's hand suddenly grabbed the Helmsman's wrist.

She didn't need to say anything, didn't even need to look at him. Sulu slid his hat onto the chair next to him and clasped his hands in an iron lock in his lap.

Kirk ducked his head to hide his amusement but saw that Chekov was openly smiling at his 'older brother' getting scolded by their 'mother'.

The Captain's eyes lingered on Chekov and his father. It was a well thought out performance. The two men sat there confident, dignified, authoritative - and unrepentant. Their white uniforms splattered with awards - that neither of them thought they deserved – glowed and shone in a way that was nearly blinding to the others in the courtroom. It was a deliberately scripted "how dare you" that he knew Mariya had orchestrated. It was a masterful silent declaration that neither of the men would have thought of. He doubted Andrie even realized it: though Chekov was probably complicit in the proud defiance.

As his gaze lingered on them, Kirk chastised himself.

The two men had the same nose, the same ears, the same eyes, the same mouth and smile - they had virtually the same face except Chekov's was more rounded, more Slavic. Had the fact that Andrie had black, curly hair, eyebrows, mustache, and beard while Chekov had his mother's straight brown hair and a clean-shaven face really stopped the Captain - for the two straight weeks the Admiral was on his ship - from noticing that the younger man was practically a physical clone of his father? Yes, it had. Kirk knew then, without a doubt, that Chekov would never grow a beard. How the hell did I not notice the resemblance?

The performance continued. Kirk began to wonder if there was, in fact, some kind of acknowledgement in their legal community like the Tony awards.

He shifted impatiently and unintentionally growled quietly, deep in his throat.

Chekov twisted his head back and looked at him in disbelief.

It ignited the impatience in Kirk. He snapped to his feet. "Excuse me!"

"Sir, take your seat! There are procedures to be followed..."

"And I'm one of the witnesses slated to testify," Kirk declared loudly as he grabbed his case and brushed by the guard that approached him. He pushed through the center gate in the railing unapologetically and stepped up to the witness table, laying the case on it before him.

"I think we can all agree that we've well established that these men," he stated as he gestured at the two navy Admirals. "Diverted government funds from where they were supposed to go - and have been doing it over a decade. They admitted it. We've seen the documentation."

There was a theatrical murmur at both the prosecution table and among the judges panel.

"Esteemed judges: can we just agree to a point of order that there is proof that the Russian Navy's funds have been diverted in every country on Earth in which the Navy operates? Let us accept into the record all the evidence and move on. If we have lengthy testimony from every country detailing each piece of evidence…we'll be here for months before the defense can speak. No one has that kind of time to spend here."

The Admiral dipped his head for the first time and said something quietly to Chekov. The younger man shook his head tersely. Kirk didn't need to speak Georgian to understand the Admiral had asked his son what the hell the Captain was doing - and Chekov didn't have an answer.

One of the guards was still hovering next to Kirk: waiting for instructions to remove him.

"Captain Kirk, there IS no defense. Are you suggesting we just move on to sentencing?"

Kirk thought it was ridiculous that it was the President of the United States that was trying to reason with him: as if their shared heritage would make him heard better.

"I am the defense," Kirk declared.

Kirk felt Chekov's gaze trace over him. It was dark and threatening. The glance only emboldened the Captain. The Russian government said he had a place there - it didn't matter what Chekov wanted.

Kirk waited through another long period of muttering and paper shuffling. Why the judges had piles of paper when they had computer screens in front of them was beyond his understanding. In the midst of it, the guard standing ready to pounce on him was sent back to his post at the door: which the Captain took as progress.

While he waited, it occurred to Kirk that he didn't actually know the roles of the people seated at the long tables. There were representatives from every major country that NIRN operated in: but they'd been testifying in tandem with the witnesses seated behind the prosecution. Who were the 'judges'? Were they all both prosecutor and judge? It certainly seemed that way.

Kirk's outrage swelled in his chest. Of all the kangaroo court inquisitions….

The central man at the long table finally waved his hand to silence the murmurs and he leaned forward on one arm and balanced his chin on the other in obvious disdain.

"Let the record so show." The judge shot a warning glance at the prosecutor who was halfway to standing. The man obediently sat back down.

"You may proceed, Captain." His Russian accented Terran Standard told Kirk he was this country's representative.

"Esteemed judges…"

Chekov was on his feet instantly. "I confessed!" he proclaimed. "And I wave my right to a defense. Just pass sentence and take me to the gallows." There was a look of triumph on his face when he glanced over at Kirk.

"You were 12," one of the judges argued.

"I was precocious," Chekov quipped: his accent thick.

"I also confessed." Andrie was on his feet as well. "I also wave my right to a defense. I ordered him to do it – I should go to the gallows alone."

Kirk paced over to the two. "Sit down," he rasped at them. "No one's being killed for treason in the 23rd century. Especially on these charges."

The Captain glared at Chekov for his grandstanding. As if they'd use gallows…

Chekov met his glare, unflinching: the stubborn rock-hard jaw and gleaming eyes a familiar sight. Andrie's dark eyes were on Kirk too – a clear order in them. He met the order unapologetically. Really?

He shifted his attention to the judges.

"We all know they're guilty," he agreed. "But do we want to finish and bury this issue for all eternity without knowing WHY?"

It was if he ignited a torch. A light sept through the judges and prosecutors. All their eyes widened as their universal committee-think was suddenly revealed. Kirk's suspicions were validated: the logical follow-up question had never occurred to them.

"Sit down." The Russian judge echoed Kirk's instructions to the two Admirals. The balding man had a medium build that was tightly packed. An Olympic gymnast in his early years, he had a reputation of spending more time on athletic pursuits than he did on the government business. His barely buttoned shirt reminded people of that.

It took both guards approaching them before the two Admirals finally complied and took their seats again. A short exchange in Georgian between the two and Chekov's brilliant, hard eyes communicated they still weren't happy with the situation.

"Introduce yourself for the record, please."

"Captain James T. Kirk of the United Starship Enterprise," he said and, with a glance toward the Admirals added: "Andriech serves aboard my ship."

He strolled back towards the central witness table. "We know they diverted government funds. What I don't hear anyone asking is the important question," he continued loudly. "WHAT money was being diverted?"

The lead prosecutor was on his feet. "I don't see how that matters. They…" he stabbed a finger at the Admirals angrily. Took money from every country – every month for over a decade – BILLIONS of credits."

"But they didn't," Kirk spat back at him, echoing McCoy's earlier revelation. "The governments were never short of any funds. Each and every government sent funds out to settle a legitimate expense. They paid a known 'bill'." He shot a glare at Chekov. There was nothing embarrassing about the Russian government not detecting it. "That's why it went unnoticed for so long."

The truth of the information made the prosecutor wilt in his seat.

"Those government payments were diverted from where they were intended," he continued. "It's the intended recipient that the funds were 'stolen' from."

He waited for another theatrical murmur to quiet.

"So the question is: where was the money supposed to go? Did they take money from some poor starving orphans? Was it supposed to build a new gulag?"

The great, insulting errors didn't have the effect on Chekov they should have. There were no protests that there were no starving orphans, no gulags in modern Russia. His face was grey as stone, his breath shallow. The Admiral's dark eyes were also fixed on the captain. The both knew what Kirk was about to reveal. Andrie was watching: learning from how Kirk was orchestrating the revelation of his information.

Kirk flipped open the case onto the table and pulled a data tape out.

"It's true: the computer work is so flawless that even the best experts in the galaxy can't decipher where the funds were diverted to. But did anyone – anyone – ask where it was supposed to go? All of these countries on Earth," he continued, gesturing to take in the three panels of government representatives. "And NO ONE ever complained they weren't getting paid for TWELVE years?"

He shook his head in disbelief at the judges whose attention was riveted on him.

"How long does it take to figure out where the money was supposed to go?" he asked casually.

Kirk then held up a data tape. "Took us 10 seconds."

Kirk pushed the data tape into the computer panel on the table. Adjusting the readout, he sent it to all the officials in the room and up on the large display screen behind him.

Then he waited.

One by one, the prosecutor's team went pale where they sat. The blood draining out of their faces felt to Kirk like it was pooling on the floor in a bloodbath of guilt.

The Captain clasped his hands behind his back and pressed his lips together. "Esteemed judges," he continued easily. "The payments being diverted are all payments to Andrie Nikolaievich." He gestured with his head to the prosecutors, not even affording them the respect of looking at them. "What these men are accusing the Commander and Chief of - is directing his own salary and bonuses away from his own account.

"It goes without saying," he concluded. "It's perfectly legal to send your own funds wherever you want them to go."

"But where has it been going?" one of the judges pressed.

Kirk didn't see which one. He glanced at Andrie briefly.

"I don't know," he answered, turning his attention back to the judges. "And it doesn't matter." He gestured at the two Navy Admirals. "They don't want you to know: and that's legal. It's none of our business. It's his funds, he can do with it what he wants." Even if it's to supply his spoiled son's extravagant spending.

"The Commander in Chief hasn't been getting paid for – 12 years?" one of the judges asked with obvious doubt.

"Not a single credit." Kirk replied. "His account has had the same 1 credit in it for 12 years."

He waited again.

They began arguing loudly amongst themselves.

"Admiral, how have you been surviving without getting paid?" a large woman in kente cloth finally demanded.

The Admiral looked startled at suddenly being the focus of attention of the eyes of everyone in the court room – as if the entire trial wasn't about him.

"What do I have to spend money on?" he asked with a tone of sheer honesty.

Kirk shrugged in simplistic agreement as he turned his attention back to the judges. "His housing, food, clothing – all supplied by the government," he repeated Chekov's earlier explanation. "So," he concluded, "What's he have to spend money on?"

There was uncomfortable shifting and Kirk suspected a few of those present were worried someone was going to ask why they needed a salary.

"What about entertainment?" another woman demanded.

Kirk's chuckle reeked of accusing her of stupidity. "He provides his own entertainment."

As well as entertainment for the masses. It is his job as an educator of folk history.

"These charges were simply an error of some accountant not asking the logical follow-up question. It's embarrassing," he acknowledged. "But I don't think there's anyone on Earth who can't relate to that mistake. It's just the Human condition to see something alarming and run with it: without stopping to ask questions. It's not the first time it's happened on this scale."

The Spanish Inquisition was a prime example.

"This isn't just his salary."

"No," Kirk agreed. "It's every payment sent to him for any reason."

His eyes swept over the panel of judges and he stepped out, in front of the table. "Did you know he gets bonuses every time a ship sails?"

"Of course. We want to encourage their…"

"It's a dangerous precedent," Kirk interrupted as he paced down the line of judges. "An unscrupulous man could send out ill equipped, unsafe ships to pad his account."

He chose not to point at some of the legitimate, built-in stupidity. Ships that were constantly moored at a dock and didn't sail for safety reasons had to be turned around twice a year so they weathered evenly. And every time they left the dock to 'sail' in a circle around the harbor and moor in the opposite direction – the Commander in Chief got a bonus.

"Are you saying Admiral…"

"I'm saying Andrie Nikolaievich isn't going to be Commander in Chief forever," Kirk said brusquely. He stopped and gestured at the man with an apologetic look. "Everyone dies. It's sheer incompetence to not plan for the future of the Navy."

He purposely avoided any mention of the 'heir presumptive' sitting at the same table.

"The charge is misappropriation of government funds," one of the prosecutors said loudly, wrenching the attention to his purpose there. "We've proven they're guilty beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"And they confessed," another added needlessly.

Kirk stared at the prosecutors. Then he looked around at the panel of judges – who were nodding and murmuring in agreement. The last time he'd seen so many pompous, asinine people gathered it WAS at a court-martial.

Strolling over toward the Admirals, Kirk demanded: "You're going to let the charges stand. Knowing it was his own funds."

"It wasn't his funds…yet," insisted the prosecutor.

"The treason charge is dropped, clearly," the Russian judge in the center of the panel said. "But…"

"If he'd redirected the funds after they were deposited in his account, that would be an entirely different matter," a man in native Polynesian dress explained. "As it is, it wasn't his funds yet to send elsewhere."

Silence dropped on the room as the judges nodded to each other in firm agreement.

Kirk drew his eyes around the panel: one by one: stupefied. Finally, he made a futile gesture towards the large screen at the back of the room. "The entire planet is watching this live. They are expecting you to do the right thing."

"We are well aware of our obligations to the people of Earth," the prosecutor declared. "That's why this must be dealt with."

What followed was a silence so profound it was painful.

Kirk drew a deep breath, trying to strategize what to say to combat this utter stupidity. They are bound and determined to not admit they are wrong, no matter the cost.

"The galaxy is watching you," is what he finally reminded them again.

And that, Kirk knew, was the problem. The failure to ask the appropriate follow-up questions wasn't as embarrassing as the universal incompetence of the governments in the oversight of the Russian Navy. They were bound and determined as a planet to save face.

One of the heavy oak doors to the courtroom opened unexpectedly. Spock entered, carrying a single data tape and a pile of papers. He stopped and handed most of the papers to one of the guards before proceeding to the witness table where Kirk stood. While Kirk had brought copies of his data tape for the judges – which turned out to be totally unnecessary given the set up of the computers at their seats – Spock had only brought the one copy of his tape: but paper copies for all of them.

"Spock…"

"Captain," Spock shut down his question by turning it into a greeting.

As the Science Officer took a stance next to Kirk, his eyes drew over to the Admirals. His gaze caught – and held – Chekov's for a long moment.

Kirk followed them and found an odd mix of guilt and relief in the younger man's eyes. The Enterprise's navigator nodded almost imperceptibly to Spock: who acknowledged it by doing the same.

"Captain," he continued, turning his attention back to Kirk. "I have discovered where the funds are being redistributed to."

Kirk immediately understood the exchange with Chekov, and knew why Andrie's face was now grey.

Kirk began to turn to the prosecutor, but hesitated: the sight of Chekov catching his eye. He was leaning forward, his right arm resting on the table, his left elbow supporting his arm and the hand that rubbed his temple furiously. Andrie was staring at Chekov as well: brow knit in interest as if memorizing the response for future use.

Whatever Andrie then whispered to him, Chekov's answer was, strangely, in Terran Standard – and audible.

"He's very skilled."

Though Kirk didn't understand how that was a lie, he recognized it immediately. Kirk's eyes narrowed. Chekov was a poor liar – worse, apparently, when lying to his father.

Kirk's mind raced as he considered his options. There was no way now to get Spock to retract his statement and disappear. The entire galaxy was about to learn the truth about "Andriech".

A rapid, urgent request from Andrie only caused Chekov to shake his head tersely and drop his hand, grabbing his father's in support. Who was supporting who wasn't clear.

"We object," the prosecutor interjected loudly. "This witness wasn't approved by the court."

"Then I'll present his evidence, if necessary," Kirk bit out. His voice held contempt for the possibility of that ridiculous need. He wouldn't have chosen to destroy what was left of Chekov's life, but here they were.

And Kirk had plainly heard it….Spock had said "redistributed" not "diverted". It was an odd choice of words – which the Science Officer had chosen carefully, as always.

"Sit down," the Russian judge ordered the prosecutor. He leaned back in his chair and gestured at the Enterprise officers with a note of futility. "Proceed…?"

"Commander Spock, of the United Starship Enterprise," the Vulcan answered the unvoiced question at the end of the man's statement.

"He's a computer expert," Kirk elaborated.

The man at the end of the table on the left glowered at Spock over the tops of her eyes. No, thought Kirk. He hadn't stopped to put on his dress uniform. Deal with it.

Kirk turned back to Spock expectantly.

The Science Officer spread out his papers on the witness table, then replaced Kirk's data tape in the computer portal with his own. "We know where the funds have been diverted to," he repeated louder for the courtroom. "The funds intended for the CIC are being redistributed to the sailors and junior officers."

Kirk looked from the paper, to the viewscreen behind them, to Spock. His confusion echoed in the tension in the room. If no one else was going to verbally admit it, Kirk was.

"I don't understand. What are we looking at?"

"The funds that were intended for the CIC's account are being redistributed to everyone else in the Navy. All of them – equally."

Kirk shifted, his eyes narrowing in thought. That's what the paper and readouts were clearly saying. It makes no sense.

A woman with hair a flaming red that didn't exist in nature spoke up. "You're saying that instead of paying the Admiral, we've been paying the sailors extra every month?"

Spock's eyebrow rose. "I would debate the validity of the 'extra' label," he replied. "But, as to the basic question: yes. Everyone in NIRN receives both a salary and a bonus payment each month. The 'bonus' is their equal share of the deposits intended for the Commander In Chief."

Out of his peripheral vision, Kirk could see Andrie's face go white. Chekov's eyes were downcast, but Andrie's were desperately wild.

STOP THIS.

Kirk heard Andrie's thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken the demand out loud.

Why would both Pavel and Andrie want this hidden? He wondered, confused. It made no sense. This only makes Andrie and the Navy look better.

"The exception is the Admiral's family," Spock clarified. "Mariya, Pavel, and Hikaru do not receive a bonus payment."

"Who hates being compensated for their work so much they give their salary to other people?" the United States judge rasped.

Chekov, the answer popped into Kirk's head immediately. Chekov said he hated the amount he was being compensated by every source: and he backed that up by spending it on extravagant gifts for friends and strangers, paying for parties and special events on the Enterprise, supplementing the Logistics Officer's fresh food budget…

It was a contempt for compensation he'd clearly learned from his father

"The question you are looking for an answer to," Spock concluded patiently, "Is why?"

He shifted the display. "My research revealed that each year the CIC negotiates the Navy budget with the Russian government. The agreed-on budget," he continued, glancing around the panel of judges to cut off their visible protests of innocence in the matter, "Is adopted by every other government."

He shifted the displays again. "Each year the CIC is given a sizable raise, in addition to a myriad of bonuses and, of course, prize money for such awards as the Nobel. Each year, the record documents that the Admiral protests and argues against this, and demands raises for the sailors and officers serving under him instead. Every year those raises have been denied."

The shock of the realization shot through Kirk and took his breath away. There it is, thought Kirk. The embarrassment that Chekov couldn't bear to have the galaxy know. It wasn't that Chekov was getting both their salaries. He wasn't.

"Are you saying," Kirk demanded, "That the sailors had never gotten a raise in pay – in TWELVE years?"

"No," Spock replied. "I am not saying that. I AM saying," he continued, "the officers and sailors of the Russian Navy have never gotten a raise: not since the inception of the Russian Navy twenty-six years ago."

Kirk straightened as the words sunk into his soul with a shot of ice. Not since…

He drew his eyes around the judges' panel. They were all, every one of them, wearing interminably blank and innocent faces..

Spock's words meant nothing to them. Andrie was giving all his funds to the men below him. A noble – but boring – fact in their opinion.

Kirk felt Andrie's eyes on him. Though the set of the shoulders echoed resignation to what was happening – the brilliant, dark eyes issued a challenge to Kirk.

The Enterprise Captain didn't need it.

Kirk turned to directly face the viewscreen behind him. As he considered the situation the ice in his soul slowly turned to blocks. The sailors were still getting the same wage as when the Navy was conceived: when they were thought to be nothing more than a drunken men's club that happened to hang out on a deteriorating wooden sailing ship. It had kept them contained: out of the way of functioning society. It had come as an absolute shock when that ship had set sail: proving they'd actually been fixing it.

"This," Kirk asked, pointing at the screen. "This is the salary of a sailor in the Russian Navy?"

"It is," the Science Officer answered. "The average wage for a sailor in NIRN is 1 credit per hour: less while the ships are at sea, more in the winter. Because of the number of hours worked in each situation," he explained.

"Yes, we all know how math works, Mr. Spock," the prosecutor commented, eyes downcast as he rolled a stylus on the table.

And yet they weren't embarrassed, Kirk observed.

Kirk paced along the panel of judges. No one had anything else to add. He stopped square in front of the Russian judge in the center of the panel and squared his shoulders. "Do you know why 'International Day of the New Imperial Russian Navy Day' is September 27th?" he asked in carefully measured tones.

The judges' eyes all darted around to each other, but no one offered a suggestion. They don't know.

He turned to look at Chekov again. Their eyes met. For the first time, Kirk couldn't tell what was being communicated back to him in the dark depths. Was it a plea to stop? A grim acknowledgement that he knew it was inevitable? Sheer, cold horror at where the trial had led them? Probably all of them, Kirk decided. The younger man had accepted the inescapable, no matter how much he wanted to run and hide.

Kirk turned around, his eyes slowly moving over every judge in the room. "Is it the day 12-year-old Andrie decided he wanted to work on a sailing ship?" he questioned. "Was September 27th chosen because it is the day 17-year-old Andrie stepped onto a rotting ship and declared he was going to sail it? The day, perhaps, that ship first set sail?" He shrugged deeply. "The day that the Articles of the Navy were signed?" he suggested.

"No," he concluded. "Because none of those – made it the New Imperial Russian Navy."

Kirk turned then and slammed his hands down on the table in front of the prosecutors. "How do you not know this?" he demanded. "There's a statue right out there - right between the Rostov Columns that answers this!"

He straightened and his gaze raked over the judges. "September 27th," Kirk continued, his voice becoming hard. "Is the date that Yuri Ivanovich, a 17-year-old man, became the first sailor to give his life in the service of the Russian Navy. September 27th is the day that proved NIRN was a thing so noble, so necessary – that it was worth dying for."

An uncomfortable shift ran through the judges. He was reminded once again that people who lived on modern planets weren't exposed to the reality of life enough.

"It's the 23rd century: we're the masters of our world," he observed: then gestured. "Except weather – it's always there to remind us otherwise: to humble us. Do you know what it's like to furl a sail at night in the middle of a hurricane?" He shrugged after a moment. "I don't. And I have no intention of every finding out," he assured himself as much as them.

"Of course we understand that it can be dangerous."

"Do you?" Kirk challenged. "Do you really?" He searched their faces: noting the sheer ignorance, the vapid empathy, the condescending patience.

The Captain began pacing again, meeting each judge's eyes as he moved past them. "A mainsail is 3900 square feet of heavy canvas. It weighs over 1200 pounds – dry. Put that 150 feet in the air, soak it with water, add the weight of a 35-knot wind, make it pitch black – and give yourself a piece of rope to stand on." He stopped in front of the Russian judge and looked pointedly at him. "And, for good measure, let's add: if you don't get this thing tied up every person on the ship will die."

Kirk could feel the eyes of both Navy Admirals and Spock on him from behind – all of them forcefully withholding their duty-bound need to speak. Yes, he was not precise, but, no: he didn't need the Admirals to give the exact square footage and weight of the sail. And, no; he definitely didn't need Spock to calculate the precise load of a 35-knot wind on 3900 square feet of canvas. He was close enough.

"September 27th," he repeated as he moved back to the witness table so he could see them all at once. "Is the date that a sudden hurricane hit the Nelzya in the middle of the night. The force of the wind and the waves broke her main mast and sent five men who were trying to furl the mainsail over the side into the vast, dark nothingness. Clinging to the broken mast's ropes as they were battered by the wind and the water, these men knew the hope that they would survive was utterly futile. Eventually the water or the wind would yank their grip away and they would either drown or be beaten unconscious by the waves." He stopped and met one of the judges' eyes. "It's a toss-up which death each of them were hoping for."

He leaned his backside against the table then, gripping it's edge with his hands. Despite his pause, no one spoke. They all knew the story: hell, there was a statue to remind them of it constantly.

He drew in a deep breath then, and sighed. "Only there weren't five men trying to furl that sail in the raging hurricane: there were six."

Kirk didn't need to see it: he could feel Chekov's wild, pleading look.

"The last man on the yard didn't go over the side of the ship: through some God-ordained miracle, he managed to stay aboard."

He glanced over at Chekov then and met his eyes and held them with a totally unapologetic gaze. The man's breath was shallow, his eyes brilliant. He wanted Kirk to stop.

Turning back, Kirk met the Russian judge's eyes with the same unapologetic one.

"That man could have stayed on the ship. He could have run below deck to safety: out of the raging wind and crashing water," Kirk observed. "But he didn't.

"That man climbed out on the broken rigging and - in the pitch black, in the tormenting wind and waves, and with his last ounce of strength - pulled four men to safety. The fifth: he couldn't save. He best friend, he couldn't save."

"And that man – was no man," Kirk finished darkly. "He was a 14-year-old boy." He pushed himself up off the table edge and began slowly pacing down the lines of judges. "On September 27th a 14-year-old boy crawled off the safety of the ship, out into a hurricane, and saved the lives of four grown men." He stopped and fixed a glare on the Russian judge. "And he watched his best friend die."

Kirk didn't go on. He didn't detail how, after saving his shipmates, the boy himself was then washed overboard and clung to ropes on the side of the ship for seven hours in the storm. Kirk didn't describe how the boy was beaten to such a bloody pulp by the hurricane smashing him against the side of the ship that he was thought dead when finally rescued the next morning. And Kirk didn't remind them that when it was discovered he was alive the boy was so unrecognizable they couldn't tell which one had survived.

They knew. Everyone in the room knew: but maybe the millions of people watching the feed – maybe the Enterprise crew – didn't know.

Kirk didn't remind them that the "boy" was sitting right there in the courtroom.

You can thank me later, thought Kirk. And if you didn't realize that your Captain was well aware of 'the actual hell' of your teenage years, you're an idiot. It took Chekov almost a year to recover from the storm's battering...and it was only the first of the incidents in his teen years.

"A 14-year-old should not have been on that ship," the woman with the flaming red hair declared self-righteously.

Kirk turned and fixed her with a dark glare: but said nothing. They all knew that the only reason a 14-year-old was on the ship was the same reason a 3-year-old had been on it: he was born on it. It's where his family lived.

"17-year-old Yuri Ivanovich was the youngest recruit ever accepted into the Navy," he disputed her words needlessly. He paced back to the witness table.

"So we all agree that these traditional wooden sailing ships are dangerous to work on: even for a man with 14 years sailing experience."

He looked at the Russian judge, then at the prosecutors. "You walk by the statue every day. It's not of Andrie – because Andrie Nikolaievich isn't NIRN. You can parade him around forever as your sparkling symbol, but Andrie will never be NIRN." He gestured to Sulu, sitting there in his sailor's uniform - the only 'sailor' he had available as a model. "NIRN is the sailors: the men that set and furl the sails, tar the seams, polish the brass, batten down the hatches and hold the ship together in the pouring rain."

He could feel both the Admirals bristle. They both hated the use of the "NIRN" acronym. Kirk ignored them.

"The NIRN statue captures that 14-year-old boy and the exact moment of Yuri Ivanovich's death." He paused, settling his shoulders. "It's bone-chilling. And it's humbling," he added. "To be reminded of what these thousands of men risk their lives doing on a daily basis."

"Perhaps It's time we reconsider if sailing ships have any place in our world," the woman in the kente cloth said bluntly. "When it started out….no one expected it to come to this. There are hundreds of these ships in Earth's oceans now."

"Hundreds of ships, thousands of sailors…"

Oh, Kirk thought, some people had expected it.

"I must go down to the sea again,

To the lonely sea and the sky

And all I ask is a tall ship

And a star to steer her by

And the wheel's kick and the winds song

And the white sails shaking…."

The sea and the stars call to certain men had not silenced because the tall ships stopped sailing. Kirk hesitated, considering what he was going to say. In the end, he just shook his head. "Millions of people on this planet will disagree with you."

It was a silly thing to even propose, Kirk thought. Now that the ships were back, no one was going to be successful in retiring them. Everywhere there was water, thousands came out to see the ship's majesty. They stirred something primitive in a Human's soul.

He also didn't elaborate on the detail he'd noticed when the Nelzya crew was on the Enterprise for two weeks. Many of the men called were examples of the failure of the modern advanced education system and the failure of modern society's ability to accommodate everyone with a meaningful occupation. It wasn't spoken about, but those rare individuals who found computer interfaces baffling existed. They thrived on NIRN's ships.

"Tall ships aren't just tourist attractions," is what he finally said. "Their history is important. When we went into space they reminded us of the good – and the bad – of exploration. We have a Prime Directive directly because of the tall ships on Earth's oceans."

"And the New Imperial Russian Navy isn't just about the ships," Kirk reminded them. "They collect, restore and teach our cultural folk history: something that was being lost. Before NIRN our folk history was disappearing. Our world was becoming black and white."

He gestured. "Apples grew around the United States because that's where farmers decided the soil was right. Black and white," he repeated.

James Kirk, himself, had never heard of Johnny Appleseed until the Russian Navy was on his ship.

"NIRN has brought color back to our world. And it's all important: it's vital. We were dying: our souls were dying as a people."

"They're only…"

"What connects us," Kirk interjected. "Our songs, our stories: they connect us on a primitive level. And we can't lose them or we lose our Humanity."

The snicker that went through the room was maddening.

"EVERY culture tells the story of the person in the woods that's a danger to children," Kirk argued. "Russians. Germans. Americans. Vulcans. Klingons have the same story."

Kirk didn't know if that was actually true: the whole premise was something a drunk Chekov had claimed one night in the rec room. Looking back now, the Captain realized that the handwritten piles of paper the man had were a new book by Andrie that the navigator had been giving notes on…and he was clearly weary of the Boogeyman, Baba Yaga, Hansel and Gretel, and all their compatriots.

"THIS is how we survive: finding the commonalities with new cultures. It's how our galaxy survives."

Kirk turned around and pulled the data tape out of the computer port. He stared at it, turning it over in his fingers: then held it up, showing it to the judges. "These men risk their lives on a daily basis to restore the lost history and cultural heritage of this planet."

And for all of that, you acknowledge their worth by paying them - nothing," he shrugged. " You are paying them like they're Sea Scouts on a Saturday field trip scraping barnacles off a museum exhibit."

The pay structure reflected how the governments saw NIRN: that Andrie was NIRN and the sailors were an afterthought. It was, in fact, the opposite.

"The Commander in Chief has rectified that: by paying them out of his own pocket. And THAT, esteemed judges, is what you've been calling treason."

Kirk turned, his eyes slowly and deliberately moving down the row of judges, making eye contact with each one. "You have a LOT more work to do than just dismissing these ridiculous charges.

He hesitated as he caught Chekov's eyes. These people DESERVE to be embarrassed, he thought in argument against the displeasure he saw in them.

"DO BETTER," he ordered.

He threw the data tape back onto the table then strode out the doors.