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thatcrazycajunWritten several years ago during Star Trek: Voyager's seventh and final season.
"Computer," said the short young Asian in the black-and-gold uniform standing in the middle of an empty room lined with metal gridwork, "integrate psychographic profile of subject into hologram to provide authentic interactive behavior and compile." He straightened his gold-shouldered black one-piece outer jumpsuit as if expecting an inspection.
"Psychographic data integrated," said a female voice from somewhere in the gridded walls of the holodeck a few moments later. "Program compiled. Activate when ready."
"Run program," the young man said.
A man not much taller than the ensign appeared out of nowhere in front of him, followed by a simulacrum of the office in a captain's cabin aboard a Starfleet ship of about a century previous, with chairs and a sofa, a desk and personal effects such as trophies and plaques on the bulkhead shelves. An antique brass samovar and a matching serving tray, the latter laden with gilt-edged china cups and saucers bearing the inscription NCC-3403, graced the top of an equally elegant cherry-wood credenza against one wall. A wide picture window dominated the opposite wall, showing a black starfield beyond.
The man had a full head of dark hair graying somewhat at the temples, with a thick beard to match, and his face had laugh lines as well as worry lines etched into it. His features were vaguely Slavic with a touch of Anglo-Saxon, and he wore the wine-red tunic with buttoned chest flap and white turtleneck undershirt that was the regulation uniform of that era. A wide leather belt with the Starfleet logo for a buckle bisected this, and black pants below ended in high, gleaming black boots. A wide white stripe around the wrist of each sleeve carried a brooch that denoted captain's rank.
"Good evening, gospodin," the man said in an almost theatrically heavy Russian accent. He looked around with concern but not hysteria. "To what do I owe the pleasure...and what in the world are you wearing?"
"Forgive the intrusion, sir," said Kim. "I'm Ensign Harry Kim, my ship's science officer. This is standard day uniform these days."
"An ensign?" The older man looked amused and rueful. "Well, they seem to be bringing up officers younger and younger these days." He looked Kim up and down. "And still designing uniforms I wouldn't put on my dog—no offense meant."
"None taken, sir," said Kim easily, grinning. "I don't like them much myself. I created your program: Captain Pavel Andreivich Chekov, commanding officer of the USS Potemkin, a Petrograd-class light cruiser. You're one of my personal heroes; I've studied your career quite extensively ever since I first read about you at the Academy. It's an honor to meet you, sir...even if this is only your simulacrum."
"Really?" The simulacrum allowed his chest to puff out a bit and drew himself up to what there was of his full height. "And what, pray tell, are you doing in my simulated cabin so late at night? And what ship are you from?"
"USS Voyager, sir. And I need...I need some advice." Kim looked troubled. "I've just had my first command, and... um...it turned out kind of badly."
Chekov's face softened. "We all have days like that," he said sympathetically, nodding and gesturing to the sofa behind Kim. "Have a seat. I'll make us some coffee—beans from the Caucasus," he added with pride. "I made sure to stock up, but good, on our last Earth leave...and you don't want to know how many hundreds of credits it cost me. Tell me what happened." He moved to the samovar and started busying himself in the preparation of good, strong, black Russian coffee while Kim related his experiences as "captain" of the Nightingale.*
When Kim had finished his tale of woe, he looked at Chekov for his reaction. He seemed to be cogitating, reflecting on what he had heard. "That sounds like a very difficult position to be in," he mused sympathetically, now seated across from the young ensign and sipping his cup of coffee. "You think that you have failed on your first time out."
Kim nodded, sipping his own cup and wincing at the bitter taste while trying desperately to hide the fact. "I can't believe I blew it so badly," he said angrily. "I've been trained for this, worked years for this kind of chance."
"Better get used to it. Every commander has his bad days. And a real command situation can always present you with things no simulation can anticipate." Chekov smiled not unkindly. "If you want some cream and sugar, go ahead. It's not a crime—just a sin."
Kim gratefully grabbed the tureen of cream and poured some in. "Everyone makes mistakes, Ensign," Chekov went on, "even captains... but it's the ones who pick themselves up and get on with the job that are worth the most to Starfleet."
"That sounds like a quote. Did someone tell you that?"
Chekov nodded. "One of my own personal heroes, my first captain."
"James T. Kirk of the Enterprise," Kim supplied instantaneously.
"The one and only." The captain gave another sage nod. "And you know, he was right. It took me a great many years after he said it to fully learn its meaning, but it's something I've always tried to live by ever since."
"That's why I came—I need to know. What makes a good commander, sir? You and he were among the greats. You, Archer, Kirk, Decker, Sulu, Garth, Pike—all your missions are required reading at the Academy to this day."
Chekov chuckled. "Well, now, you put me in some pretty heady company."
"It's true, sir. But even though I've studied them all, I can't see what the common factor is."
"That's because there's more than one 'common factor,'" Chekov said. "It's not any single thing that makes a great commander." He seemed to reflect. "Or any great leader, in fact; we Russians knew that clear back in the days of the tsars." He stroked his beard contemplatively. "Let me see...a great captain never asks anyone under him to undertake any job, any risk, he won't undertake himself. He's always willing to get his hands dirty—if it's called for."
Kim nodded. "Kirk was like that, wasn't he?"
"To a fault," snorted Chekov with a grin. "He kept on leading the way into danger, no matter how many times Mr. Spock or Dr. McCoy or anyone tried to talk him out of it. When I think of how many times he almost got himself killed..." He shook his head.
"That must be why they came up with the 'no more Kirks' reg," Kim said.
"They named a regulation for him?" Chekov's heavy eyebrows shot up.
Kim nodded. "Starfleet Uniform Code of Conduct, 15th Edition, Chapter Four, Section Six, paragraph six, regulation 24A; we had to memorize it in my Command Procedures course. 'A Starfleet captain is far too valuable, in terms of Starfleet's considerable investment in her training and skills and to her crew, to risk herself unnecessarily in dangerous, life-threatening situations. Accordingly, no captain shall enter upon any mission or course of action which places her personally at risk of life and limb when assigning crew members to such duty is possible and more appropriate.'"
Chekov chuckled. "That sounds like one Jim Kirk would have inspired, all right."
Kim went on, reciting from long-buried memory. "'Likewise, one of an Executive Officer's primary duties shall be to advise her Captain against unnecessary risk of life and limb and to prevent such risk at all costs and by any means available, up to and including the use of physical force and/or disciplinary action. Exceptions can be made in case of absolute necessity; but in general, other than for diplomatic or ceremonial purposes, a captain's place is on the bridge of her ship.'" He looked at Chekov. "Did you ever have to do that? Keep your captain from risking himself by force, I mean."
"Oh, yes," the elder man replied. "When I was First Officer on the Reliant, I had to put my captain in the brig once to keep him from taking a shuttlecraft down to rescue three of the crew from a planet with boiling lava for a surface and a poisonous atmosphere."
"Get out! You put your Captain in the brig?!" Kim was openly stunned and admiring all at once. This hadn't been in the material he'd read; he made a mental note to do some more digging into what he could find in Voyager's computer of the old logs from the USS Reliant.
"You bet your ass I did," Chekov said proudly. "I gave him a choice: either that or being relieved of command under Section C, with a psych diagnosis of 'suicidal' from Dr. Reynolds. He chose the brig, once he saw that I was quite serious. And we saved those other three, too."
Kim chuckled appreciatively. "Reliant," Kim mused. "That would have been Captain Clark Terrell?"**
"The very same," Chekov nodded. "'Terrible Terrell,' they used to call him—but anyone who said it where I could hear wound up pulling waste-recycling duty for a week." He smiled in grim satisfaction tinged with a faint sadness. "Which brings up another thing: a great captain can be expert in a dozen different fields—but he always knows when to delegate and trust the skill and experience of his subordinates." He gestured to his temples. "These gray hairs you see came from me not learning that lesson soon enough. Now, about Kirk: when I served under him, I was an ensign myself, as green as you..."
"Now, wait a minute—uh, I mean, with all due respect, sir," Kim said. "I mean, I'm young, but I don't think you could call me 'green.' I've been out here in the Delta Quadrant with Voyager for seven years."
Chekov smiled indulgently, as if to a child protesting he was not either afraid of the dark. "Did you not say this was your first assignment out of the Academy?"
Kim nodded sheepishly. "Well...yeah, it is, but..."
"Trust me, sonny boy, you're still green." Chekov grinned. "But so was I, back then. Kirk used to tear me a new one when I was overzealous or insubordinate...but he always gave me a chance to do better. He believed in me even when I made what I thought were my worst mistakes." His expression and tone sobered, giving Kim the feeling he was seeing into the depths of the man's heart. "For that alone, I would have followed him into hell itself and back again...and I did on more than one occasion, too, let me tell you."
"My captain's kind of like Kirk herself," Kim said, smiling at the thought. "A lot like him, in fact. If it weren't for Chakotay—he's our XO—she'd be out getting herself shot at or blown up every day. Kind of funny when you realize Chakotay was the one who joined the Maquis."
"The what?"
"Never mind, long story. But I'd never have expected him to be the straight arrow always pulling her back. She's Starfleet down to her toes, but she's been more like Kirk since we came out here than any captain I've heard of."
"Good for her!" said Chekov emphatically. "Jim Kirk had his flaws, but you could still do a whole lot worse for a role model." He took another simulated sip of coffee. "Let's see now...what else makes a great captain? A sense of duty, to be sure...but also a sense of pragmatism. Or as my old Uncle Vanya used to put it, 'knowing when to stand pat and when to drop the cards and run like hell.'" He smiled in fond remembrance as Kim snickered in spite of himself. "There now, you're smiling. Feeling a little better?"
"Starting to," Kim assented. "But please, go on."
Suddenly a female voice that was not the computer's came over the comm.. "Janeway to Kim."
Kim almost leapt up out of his seat and tapped his combadge to respond. "Kim here, Captain." Chekov's simulacrum also looked up with interest.
"May I come in, Mr. Kim?"
Taken aback by his captain's politeness, Kim stammered, "Er, um...sure...I mean, yes, ma'am, please do. Computer, door."
The samovar and credenza vanished, along with a chunk of the bulkhead back of them, to be replaced by a double door that slid apart to admit a slim woman, just entering middle age but still quite striking, in a uniform identical to Kim's save for the command-red yoke on the shoulders in place of engineering/sciences gold...and the four small pips on her collar to Kim's one. Auburn hair swung around her face in a pageboy bob.
"Did you need me, Captain? Am I late for my shift?"
Janeway smiled and waved a hand. "Relax, Ensign; as you were. Nothing disastrous is going on; actually, I have to confess I'm taking slight advantage of rank. When I heard you were recreating the legendary Captain Pavel Chekov in here, I couldn't resist stopping in to see for myself. If I'm intruding, though..."
"Oh, no, ma'am," Kim said with a small sigh of relief. "Captain Chekov, would you mind if my Captain joined us?"
"With compliments like that, how can I refuse?" Chekov said grandly. "You do have me at a disadvantage, though."
"Oh. Forgive me, " Janeway said offering a hand. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, USS Voyager. I'm sure Mr. Kim here has told you all about me."
"Only good things, I assure you." He took Janeway's small, slender hand in his and bent over it to plant a light, dry kiss on her knuckle. Janeway was slightly startled, then smiled appreciatively. "Oh, my. Such gallantry."
"To welcome a fellow disciple of James T. Kirk, nothing less would do. Not to mention one who carries the first name of one of Mother Russia's greatest leaders."
"Hm? Oh, Catherine the Great." Janeway nodded as recollection came. "Yes, I remember reading about her; I seem to recall she died in a rather...unusual way. Something about a horse...?" Her eyes glinted with mischief.
"That is an old wives' tale," Chekov said hotly, scowling. "A baseless canard, I assure you. Never happened."
Janeway chuckled. "Get your feathers down, Captain; I was just teasing." She turned to the ensign. "What brought this on, Harry? Still feeling embarrassed about how your first command turned out?"
"I think I should learn more to do a better job next time," he said quietly. "The Captain and I were just discussing what it takes to be a great leader."
"Well, if you were including Kirk in that discussion, I know an Academy instructor or two who would slap your wrist for it. He's not always looked upon as the best example for impressionable young cadets...or officer candidates."
"Then the Academy needs better instructors," Chekov said tartly. "His methods may not always have been the best, but no one can argue with the results he got. He was partly responsible for the Organian Peace Treaty and the Khitomer Accords...to say nothing of saving Earth and/or the galaxy from certain destruction at least two or three times a year. And that gives me another rule of great leadership: Learn the rules thoroughly and follow them to the letter...so that you know where and how you can bend them when they need to be bent." He motioned to the sofa where Kim sat. "Have a seat, Captain, and join us. Would you like some coffee?"
Janeway shook her head and held up a hand, her dark brown eyes merry. "Oh, no, you don't; I've had some of that decommissioned plasma coolant you Russians have the nerve to call coffee. A slander to the very name. Give me good old Blue Mountain Roast any day."
"Piss water it is, then," said Chekov cheerfully. The samovar and credenza had reappeared at their former location when the door closed, and from there the hologram of Potemkin's old commander served up a cup of piping hot coffee to a helplessly guffawing Janeway while Kim looked on in astonishment, wondering if it was all right for him to laugh too.
This went on for quite some while, Janeway sitting next to Kim on the sofa and nursing a cup of her beloved Blue Mountain while Chekov drank his stronger Russian brew, regaling each other and Kim with reminiscences of past commanders and incidents both terrifying and hilarious. They each tried to pass on to Kim what wisdom they felt they possessed, through dint of hard-earned experience, and Janeway tried to gently jog her young subordinate into a more balanced view of his own conduct and qualifications; but Kim still seemed shadowed by the sense of failure that had brought him to the holodeck. The poor kid, she thought in empathy and frustration. If we don't find some way to nip this in the bud right now, it could cripple him the rest of his Starfleet career. Then inspiration struck. Wait a minute...that's it!
"I think I know one way I can help rebuild your confidence right now, Harry," Janeway said thoughtfully, a slow smile spreading across her lovely face. "You said it yourself: Seven years out and you're still an ensign. Most ensigns manage to make lieutenant inside of two years, back in Alpha Quadrant space. Since it's due at least in part to my oversight that you haven't, I think it's high time I rectified matters." She laid her cup down on the coffee table at last, stood up and took a deep breath, facing him. "Ensign Harold Leong Kim, stand forth," she said in her best ceremonial command voice.
Kim drew in a breath sharply. "Beg pardon, ma'am?"
"Get up, mister, and stand at attention," she said more sharply...but there was a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Kim got up and ramrod straight in a hurry. Janeway took a pip from her collar and said, looking him squarely in the eye the whole time, "Ensign Kim, in recognition of your excellent record of service, your courage in the line of duty and your exemplary performance of that duty under the most extraordinary of circumstances, I am hereby invoking the authority vested in me as a Captain in the Starfleet of the United Federation of Planets and as commanding officer of this vessel to award you a field promotion to full lieutenant, together with all of the responsibilities and privileges attendant upon that rank." She was smiling broadly now. "Computer, note and record this presentation in the ship's log. Please instruct First Officer Chakotay to see to it that all appropriate revisions to ship's records and assignments are made accordingly."
"Change to Voyager personnel rank confirmed and logged," said the computer's female voice.
Kim's heart went straight up into his mouth. "Here, ma'am? Now?"
"No time like the present. In fact, you're long overdue. Of course, if you'd prefer a formal ceremony, I can convene the crew in the mess hall. Maybe even shoot video of it to send to your folks on Earth."
Kim thought a moment. "Um, that's all right, Captain. Now will do."
"As you wish," she said. She smiled broadly and held out the pip in her hand. "Shall I pin it on you or would you rather do it yourself?"
"Captain..." Kim said uncertainly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Sounds like what you're really asking is 'Do I deserve this?' You'll never make Captain thinking that way. A Captain can be wrong...but never uncertain." More gently, she said, "Harry, if I didn't honestly believe you'd earned it and could handle it, I wouldn't be offering it. Surely you know at least that much about me by now."
Kim felt his eyes begin to water and a lump form in his throat. He stared at the pip in Janeway's hand, trying to take it in. He swallowed hard and said, "Thank you, ma'am. I'll try to be—to keep being worthy of your confidence." He took the tiny piece of brass and turned it over between his fingers. Finally he said, "Um...would you mind if I asked Captain Chekov to do the honors?"
Janeway's smile was wider now. "Not in the least...if he doesn't mind." She looked to the hologram of a long-dead officer questioningly.
Chekov gave her an answering smile as wide as the steppes of his homeland. "It would be my pleasure." He took the pip from Kim and then looked at it with a puzzled frown. "Um...How does this go on? And where?"
"It's electrostatically charged, sir," Janeway replied. "Just press it against his collar, next to the one that's there already."
"Ah," Chekov said, nodding. He raised the pip to the collar of Harry's outer jumper and did as instructed. Then he whipped a hand to his brow in an old-fashioned hand salute to the newfledged shavetail. "Congratulations, Lieutenant."
Kim mustered up enough presence of mind to return the salute and said, "Thank you, sir." Then, all at once, his shoulders shook and he started tearing up. He was mortified. In front of two of the best captains in the fleet!
"Harry!" Janeway said. "What's the matter? I thought this would make you happy."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Kim blubbered. "It does. It's just that...I wish my mother could be here to see this. And I..." He choked back sobs. "I don't know if I'll ever even see her again. Or anyone back home. They'll all be dead by the time we make it home, for all we know!" He lost it altogether and was bawling like a baby.
Janeway pulled the boy to her, let his head sink to her shoulder as the sobs kept coming and held him in her arms until the worst of it passed. She winced inwardly, knowing she was at least partly to blame for his plight.
"I'm sorry, Captain," he said at last when he had regained some measure of composure. "I know this...this isn't terribly becoming to an officer. I don't mean to seem ungrateful."
"Computer, a box of facial tissues, please," was all Janeway said in response. On the desk appeared a varnished wooden case with a slot in the top out of which a white square of tissue paper protruded. She grabbed it and handed it to Kim. "Blow your nose, Lieutenant. There's no need to apologize, Harry," she said more softly. "Being a good officer doesn't mean being an emotionless martinet...unless you're a Vulcan officer, of course." She grinned as Kim blew his nose into the tissue. Chekov, remembering a certain Vulcan officer of his acquaintance who fit that description at least outwardly, wore a grin of his own under his beard.
"For what it's worth, Harry," Janeway went on, "I don't know your mother...but I can't imagine she wouldn't be fit to bust wide open with pride in her son right now. I know if I were she, I would be; hell, I'm your CO and I damned well am! I promise you, the next time Project Pathfinder contacts us, I'll personally see to it that a recording of this little ceremony gets included in our return packet so your mother can see it. And do you know what the best part is? You're still young yet; your greatest accomplishments lie ahead of you. If what you want is to be a captain, all you have to do is work like hell at making yourself the best damn Starfleet officer you know how to be...and all the rest will fall into place." She smiled again. "From where I sit, you're already a pretty damned good one. You've helped keep this ship and crew together and alive for seven years, as much as Chakotay or B'Elanna or anyone else aboard. You've had to deal with things none of us could have imagined when we signed on...and come through like a champion. We never could have come this far without you. And so help me God, no matter what it takes, I swear to you we will make it the rest of the way home safely...before you have more white hairs than medals."
"And there is perhaps the ultimate mark of a great captain," added Chekov quietly, putting a hand on Kim's shoulder. "She can make her crew believe that there is hope...even when there seems to be none. If you believe in yourself and in those under you, they will believe in you...and the reverse is also true: If you don't believe in yourself, you give others no reason to believe in you."
"Thank you, sir. I'll...I'll try to remember that," Kim said past a sniffle. "Request permission to come back to see you again from time to time? When I need some good advice...or just someone to listen to me?"
The hologram grinned again. "Permission granted. Being as the real me has probably been dead and buried for at least half a century now, I don't suppose I'm going anywhere. And I certainly won't be too busy."
Janeway chuckled. "Come on, Lieutenant," she said, obviously savoring the word, with a pointed look at Chekov...but her eyes were twinkling. "Let me buy you some real coffee in the mess hall."
Kim considered. "I'd like that, ma'am," he said at last. "Thanks."
"And remember one more thing, sonny boy," Chekov said, pointing to a plaque on the shelf and reading its inscription aloud. "Illegitimi non carborundum."
Kim's look was questioning. "Beg pardon, sir?"
"It's Latin," the commander of the USS Potemkin replied, grinning. "It means, 'don't let the bastards wear you down.'" He shook Kim's hand. "It's comforting to know the future of Starfleet is in such capable hands. Carry on."
Now Harry finally managed a wan smile. "Aye, aye, sir." Then he looked up and said in a louder voice, "Computer, end program and save." The cabin and the legend vanished and he followed his Captain out the door.
*Star Trek: Voyager episode #256, "Nightingale." Teleplay by Andre Bormanis from a story by Robert Lederman & Dave Long.
** As played by Paul Winfield in the Paramount motion picture Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982).
Star Trek: Voyager and the characters thereof are ©1995-2008 by Paramount Pictures Corporation, created by Rick Berman, Michael Piller & Jeri Taylor, based upon Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry.
SOME GOOD ADVICE
A Star Trek: Voyager¨ Short Story by Matt G. Leger
"Computer," said the short young Asian in the black-and-gold uniform standing in the middle of an empty room lined with metal gridwork, "integrate psychographic profile of subject into hologram to provide authentic interactive behavior and compile." He straightened his gold-shouldered black one-piece outer jumpsuit as if expecting an inspection.
"Psychographic data integrated," said a female voice from somewhere in the gridded walls of the holodeck a few moments later. "Program compiled. Activate when ready."
"Run program," the young man said.
A man not much taller than the ensign appeared out of nowhere in front of him, followed by a simulacrum of the office in a captain's cabin aboard a Starfleet ship of about a century previous, with chairs and a sofa, a desk and personal effects such as trophies and plaques on the bulkhead shelves. An antique brass samovar and a matching serving tray, the latter laden with gilt-edged china cups and saucers bearing the inscription NCC-3403, graced the top of an equally elegant cherry-wood credenza against one wall. A wide picture window dominated the opposite wall, showing a black starfield beyond.
The man had a full head of dark hair graying somewhat at the temples, with a thick beard to match, and his face had laugh lines as well as worry lines etched into it. His features were vaguely Slavic with a touch of Anglo-Saxon, and he wore the wine-red tunic with buttoned chest flap and white turtleneck undershirt that was the regulation uniform of that era. A wide leather belt with the Starfleet logo for a buckle bisected this, and black pants below ended in high, gleaming black boots. A wide white stripe around the wrist of each sleeve carried a brooch that denoted captain's rank.
"Good evening, gospodin," the man said in an almost theatrically heavy Russian accent. He looked around with concern but not hysteria. "To what do I owe the pleasure...and what in the world are you wearing?"
"Forgive the intrusion, sir," said Kim. "I'm Ensign Harry Kim, my ship's science officer. This is standard day uniform these days."
"An ensign?" The older man looked amused and rueful. "Well, they seem to be bringing up officers younger and younger these days." He looked Kim up and down. "And still designing uniforms I wouldn't put on my dog—no offense meant."
"None taken, sir," said Kim easily, grinning. "I don't like them much myself. I created your program: Captain Pavel Andreivich Chekov, commanding officer of the USS Potemkin, a Petrograd-class light cruiser. You're one of my personal heroes; I've studied your career quite extensively ever since I first read about you at the Academy. It's an honor to meet you, sir...even if this is only your simulacrum."
"Really?" The simulacrum allowed his chest to puff out a bit and drew himself up to what there was of his full height. "And what, pray tell, are you doing in my simulated cabin so late at night? And what ship are you from?"
"USS Voyager, sir. And I need...I need some advice." Kim looked troubled. "I've just had my first command, and... um...it turned out kind of badly."
Chekov's face softened. "We all have days like that," he said sympathetically, nodding and gesturing to the sofa behind Kim. "Have a seat. I'll make us some coffee—beans from the Caucasus," he added with pride. "I made sure to stock up, but good, on our last Earth leave...and you don't want to know how many hundreds of credits it cost me. Tell me what happened." He moved to the samovar and started busying himself in the preparation of good, strong, black Russian coffee while Kim related his experiences as "captain" of the Nightingale.*
When Kim had finished his tale of woe, he looked at Chekov for his reaction. He seemed to be cogitating, reflecting on what he had heard. "That sounds like a very difficult position to be in," he mused sympathetically, now seated across from the young ensign and sipping his cup of coffee. "You think that you have failed on your first time out."
Kim nodded, sipping his own cup and wincing at the bitter taste while trying desperately to hide the fact. "I can't believe I blew it so badly," he said angrily. "I've been trained for this, worked years for this kind of chance."
"Better get used to it. Every commander has his bad days. And a real command situation can always present you with things no simulation can anticipate." Chekov smiled not unkindly. "If you want some cream and sugar, go ahead. It's not a crime—just a sin."
Kim gratefully grabbed the tureen of cream and poured some in. "Everyone makes mistakes, Ensign," Chekov went on, "even captains... but it's the ones who pick themselves up and get on with the job that are worth the most to Starfleet."
"That sounds like a quote. Did someone tell you that?"
Chekov nodded. "One of my own personal heroes, my first captain."
"James T. Kirk of the Enterprise," Kim supplied instantaneously.
"The one and only." The captain gave another sage nod. "And you know, he was right. It took me a great many years after he said it to fully learn its meaning, but it's something I've always tried to live by ever since."
"That's why I came—I need to know. What makes a good commander, sir? You and he were among the greats. You, Archer, Kirk, Decker, Sulu, Garth, Pike—all your missions are required reading at the Academy to this day."
Chekov chuckled. "Well, now, you put me in some pretty heady company."
"It's true, sir. But even though I've studied them all, I can't see what the common factor is."
"That's because there's more than one 'common factor,'" Chekov said. "It's not any single thing that makes a great commander." He seemed to reflect. "Or any great leader, in fact; we Russians knew that clear back in the days of the tsars." He stroked his beard contemplatively. "Let me see...a great captain never asks anyone under him to undertake any job, any risk, he won't undertake himself. He's always willing to get his hands dirty—if it's called for."
Kim nodded. "Kirk was like that, wasn't he?"
"To a fault," snorted Chekov with a grin. "He kept on leading the way into danger, no matter how many times Mr. Spock or Dr. McCoy or anyone tried to talk him out of it. When I think of how many times he almost got himself killed..." He shook his head.
"That must be why they came up with the 'no more Kirks' reg," Kim said.
"They named a regulation for him?" Chekov's heavy eyebrows shot up.
Kim nodded. "Starfleet Uniform Code of Conduct, 15th Edition, Chapter Four, Section Six, paragraph six, regulation 24A; we had to memorize it in my Command Procedures course. 'A Starfleet captain is far too valuable, in terms of Starfleet's considerable investment in her training and skills and to her crew, to risk herself unnecessarily in dangerous, life-threatening situations. Accordingly, no captain shall enter upon any mission or course of action which places her personally at risk of life and limb when assigning crew members to such duty is possible and more appropriate.'"
Chekov chuckled. "That sounds like one Jim Kirk would have inspired, all right."
Kim went on, reciting from long-buried memory. "'Likewise, one of an Executive Officer's primary duties shall be to advise her Captain against unnecessary risk of life and limb and to prevent such risk at all costs and by any means available, up to and including the use of physical force and/or disciplinary action. Exceptions can be made in case of absolute necessity; but in general, other than for diplomatic or ceremonial purposes, a captain's place is on the bridge of her ship.'" He looked at Chekov. "Did you ever have to do that? Keep your captain from risking himself by force, I mean."
"Oh, yes," the elder man replied. "When I was First Officer on the Reliant, I had to put my captain in the brig once to keep him from taking a shuttlecraft down to rescue three of the crew from a planet with boiling lava for a surface and a poisonous atmosphere."
"Get out! You put your Captain in the brig?!" Kim was openly stunned and admiring all at once. This hadn't been in the material he'd read; he made a mental note to do some more digging into what he could find in Voyager's computer of the old logs from the USS Reliant.
"You bet your ass I did," Chekov said proudly. "I gave him a choice: either that or being relieved of command under Section C, with a psych diagnosis of 'suicidal' from Dr. Reynolds. He chose the brig, once he saw that I was quite serious. And we saved those other three, too."
Kim chuckled appreciatively. "Reliant," Kim mused. "That would have been Captain Clark Terrell?"**
"The very same," Chekov nodded. "'Terrible Terrell,' they used to call him—but anyone who said it where I could hear wound up pulling waste-recycling duty for a week." He smiled in grim satisfaction tinged with a faint sadness. "Which brings up another thing: a great captain can be expert in a dozen different fields—but he always knows when to delegate and trust the skill and experience of his subordinates." He gestured to his temples. "These gray hairs you see came from me not learning that lesson soon enough. Now, about Kirk: when I served under him, I was an ensign myself, as green as you..."
"Now, wait a minute—uh, I mean, with all due respect, sir," Kim said. "I mean, I'm young, but I don't think you could call me 'green.' I've been out here in the Delta Quadrant with Voyager for seven years."
Chekov smiled indulgently, as if to a child protesting he was not either afraid of the dark. "Did you not say this was your first assignment out of the Academy?"
Kim nodded sheepishly. "Well...yeah, it is, but..."
"Trust me, sonny boy, you're still green." Chekov grinned. "But so was I, back then. Kirk used to tear me a new one when I was overzealous or insubordinate...but he always gave me a chance to do better. He believed in me even when I made what I thought were my worst mistakes." His expression and tone sobered, giving Kim the feeling he was seeing into the depths of the man's heart. "For that alone, I would have followed him into hell itself and back again...and I did on more than one occasion, too, let me tell you."
"My captain's kind of like Kirk herself," Kim said, smiling at the thought. "A lot like him, in fact. If it weren't for Chakotay—he's our XO—she'd be out getting herself shot at or blown up every day. Kind of funny when you realize Chakotay was the one who joined the Maquis."
"The what?"
"Never mind, long story. But I'd never have expected him to be the straight arrow always pulling her back. She's Starfleet down to her toes, but she's been more like Kirk since we came out here than any captain I've heard of."
"Good for her!" said Chekov emphatically. "Jim Kirk had his flaws, but you could still do a whole lot worse for a role model." He took another simulated sip of coffee. "Let's see now...what else makes a great captain? A sense of duty, to be sure...but also a sense of pragmatism. Or as my old Uncle Vanya used to put it, 'knowing when to stand pat and when to drop the cards and run like hell.'" He smiled in fond remembrance as Kim snickered in spite of himself. "There now, you're smiling. Feeling a little better?"
"Starting to," Kim assented. "But please, go on."
Suddenly a female voice that was not the computer's came over the comm.. "Janeway to Kim."
Kim almost leapt up out of his seat and tapped his combadge to respond. "Kim here, Captain." Chekov's simulacrum also looked up with interest.
"May I come in, Mr. Kim?"
Taken aback by his captain's politeness, Kim stammered, "Er, um...sure...I mean, yes, ma'am, please do. Computer, door."
The samovar and credenza vanished, along with a chunk of the bulkhead back of them, to be replaced by a double door that slid apart to admit a slim woman, just entering middle age but still quite striking, in a uniform identical to Kim's save for the command-red yoke on the shoulders in place of engineering/sciences gold...and the four small pips on her collar to Kim's one. Auburn hair swung around her face in a pageboy bob.
"Did you need me, Captain? Am I late for my shift?"
Janeway smiled and waved a hand. "Relax, Ensign; as you were. Nothing disastrous is going on; actually, I have to confess I'm taking slight advantage of rank. When I heard you were recreating the legendary Captain Pavel Chekov in here, I couldn't resist stopping in to see for myself. If I'm intruding, though..."
"Oh, no, ma'am," Kim said with a small sigh of relief. "Captain Chekov, would you mind if my Captain joined us?"
"With compliments like that, how can I refuse?" Chekov said grandly. "You do have me at a disadvantage, though."
"Oh. Forgive me, " Janeway said offering a hand. "Captain Kathryn Janeway, USS Voyager. I'm sure Mr. Kim here has told you all about me."
"Only good things, I assure you." He took Janeway's small, slender hand in his and bent over it to plant a light, dry kiss on her knuckle. Janeway was slightly startled, then smiled appreciatively. "Oh, my. Such gallantry."
"To welcome a fellow disciple of James T. Kirk, nothing less would do. Not to mention one who carries the first name of one of Mother Russia's greatest leaders."
"Hm? Oh, Catherine the Great." Janeway nodded as recollection came. "Yes, I remember reading about her; I seem to recall she died in a rather...unusual way. Something about a horse...?" Her eyes glinted with mischief.
"That is an old wives' tale," Chekov said hotly, scowling. "A baseless canard, I assure you. Never happened."
Janeway chuckled. "Get your feathers down, Captain; I was just teasing." She turned to the ensign. "What brought this on, Harry? Still feeling embarrassed about how your first command turned out?"
"I think I should learn more to do a better job next time," he said quietly. "The Captain and I were just discussing what it takes to be a great leader."
"Well, if you were including Kirk in that discussion, I know an Academy instructor or two who would slap your wrist for it. He's not always looked upon as the best example for impressionable young cadets...or officer candidates."
"Then the Academy needs better instructors," Chekov said tartly. "His methods may not always have been the best, but no one can argue with the results he got. He was partly responsible for the Organian Peace Treaty and the Khitomer Accords...to say nothing of saving Earth and/or the galaxy from certain destruction at least two or three times a year. And that gives me another rule of great leadership: Learn the rules thoroughly and follow them to the letter...so that you know where and how you can bend them when they need to be bent." He motioned to the sofa where Kim sat. "Have a seat, Captain, and join us. Would you like some coffee?"
Janeway shook her head and held up a hand, her dark brown eyes merry. "Oh, no, you don't; I've had some of that decommissioned plasma coolant you Russians have the nerve to call coffee. A slander to the very name. Give me good old Blue Mountain Roast any day."
"Piss water it is, then," said Chekov cheerfully. The samovar and credenza had reappeared at their former location when the door closed, and from there the hologram of Potemkin's old commander served up a cup of piping hot coffee to a helplessly guffawing Janeway while Kim looked on in astonishment, wondering if it was all right for him to laugh too.
This went on for quite some while, Janeway sitting next to Kim on the sofa and nursing a cup of her beloved Blue Mountain while Chekov drank his stronger Russian brew, regaling each other and Kim with reminiscences of past commanders and incidents both terrifying and hilarious. They each tried to pass on to Kim what wisdom they felt they possessed, through dint of hard-earned experience, and Janeway tried to gently jog her young subordinate into a more balanced view of his own conduct and qualifications; but Kim still seemed shadowed by the sense of failure that had brought him to the holodeck. The poor kid, she thought in empathy and frustration. If we don't find some way to nip this in the bud right now, it could cripple him the rest of his Starfleet career. Then inspiration struck. Wait a minute...that's it!
"I think I know one way I can help rebuild your confidence right now, Harry," Janeway said thoughtfully, a slow smile spreading across her lovely face. "You said it yourself: Seven years out and you're still an ensign. Most ensigns manage to make lieutenant inside of two years, back in Alpha Quadrant space. Since it's due at least in part to my oversight that you haven't, I think it's high time I rectified matters." She laid her cup down on the coffee table at last, stood up and took a deep breath, facing him. "Ensign Harold Leong Kim, stand forth," she said in her best ceremonial command voice.
Kim drew in a breath sharply. "Beg pardon, ma'am?"
"Get up, mister, and stand at attention," she said more sharply...but there was a twinkle of mischief in her eye. Kim got up and ramrod straight in a hurry. Janeway took a pip from her collar and said, looking him squarely in the eye the whole time, "Ensign Kim, in recognition of your excellent record of service, your courage in the line of duty and your exemplary performance of that duty under the most extraordinary of circumstances, I am hereby invoking the authority vested in me as a Captain in the Starfleet of the United Federation of Planets and as commanding officer of this vessel to award you a field promotion to full lieutenant, together with all of the responsibilities and privileges attendant upon that rank." She was smiling broadly now. "Computer, note and record this presentation in the ship's log. Please instruct First Officer Chakotay to see to it that all appropriate revisions to ship's records and assignments are made accordingly."
"Change to Voyager personnel rank confirmed and logged," said the computer's female voice.
Kim's heart went straight up into his mouth. "Here, ma'am? Now?"
"No time like the present. In fact, you're long overdue. Of course, if you'd prefer a formal ceremony, I can convene the crew in the mess hall. Maybe even shoot video of it to send to your folks on Earth."
Kim thought a moment. "Um, that's all right, Captain. Now will do."
"As you wish," she said. She smiled broadly and held out the pip in her hand. "Shall I pin it on you or would you rather do it yourself?"
"Captain..." Kim said uncertainly. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Sounds like what you're really asking is 'Do I deserve this?' You'll never make Captain thinking that way. A Captain can be wrong...but never uncertain." More gently, she said, "Harry, if I didn't honestly believe you'd earned it and could handle it, I wouldn't be offering it. Surely you know at least that much about me by now."
Kim felt his eyes begin to water and a lump form in his throat. He stared at the pip in Janeway's hand, trying to take it in. He swallowed hard and said, "Thank you, ma'am. I'll try to be—to keep being worthy of your confidence." He took the tiny piece of brass and turned it over between his fingers. Finally he said, "Um...would you mind if I asked Captain Chekov to do the honors?"
Janeway's smile was wider now. "Not in the least...if he doesn't mind." She looked to the hologram of a long-dead officer questioningly.
Chekov gave her an answering smile as wide as the steppes of his homeland. "It would be my pleasure." He took the pip from Kim and then looked at it with a puzzled frown. "Um...How does this go on? And where?"
"It's electrostatically charged, sir," Janeway replied. "Just press it against his collar, next to the one that's there already."
"Ah," Chekov said, nodding. He raised the pip to the collar of Harry's outer jumper and did as instructed. Then he whipped a hand to his brow in an old-fashioned hand salute to the newfledged shavetail. "Congratulations, Lieutenant."
Kim mustered up enough presence of mind to return the salute and said, "Thank you, sir." Then, all at once, his shoulders shook and he started tearing up. He was mortified. In front of two of the best captains in the fleet!
"Harry!" Janeway said. "What's the matter? I thought this would make you happy."
"I'm sorry, ma'am," Kim blubbered. "It does. It's just that...I wish my mother could be here to see this. And I..." He choked back sobs. "I don't know if I'll ever even see her again. Or anyone back home. They'll all be dead by the time we make it home, for all we know!" He lost it altogether and was bawling like a baby.
Janeway pulled the boy to her, let his head sink to her shoulder as the sobs kept coming and held him in her arms until the worst of it passed. She winced inwardly, knowing she was at least partly to blame for his plight.
"I'm sorry, Captain," he said at last when he had regained some measure of composure. "I know this...this isn't terribly becoming to an officer. I don't mean to seem ungrateful."
"Computer, a box of facial tissues, please," was all Janeway said in response. On the desk appeared a varnished wooden case with a slot in the top out of which a white square of tissue paper protruded. She grabbed it and handed it to Kim. "Blow your nose, Lieutenant. There's no need to apologize, Harry," she said more softly. "Being a good officer doesn't mean being an emotionless martinet...unless you're a Vulcan officer, of course." She grinned as Kim blew his nose into the tissue. Chekov, remembering a certain Vulcan officer of his acquaintance who fit that description at least outwardly, wore a grin of his own under his beard.
"For what it's worth, Harry," Janeway went on, "I don't know your mother...but I can't imagine she wouldn't be fit to bust wide open with pride in her son right now. I know if I were she, I would be; hell, I'm your CO and I damned well am! I promise you, the next time Project Pathfinder contacts us, I'll personally see to it that a recording of this little ceremony gets included in our return packet so your mother can see it. And do you know what the best part is? You're still young yet; your greatest accomplishments lie ahead of you. If what you want is to be a captain, all you have to do is work like hell at making yourself the best damn Starfleet officer you know how to be...and all the rest will fall into place." She smiled again. "From where I sit, you're already a pretty damned good one. You've helped keep this ship and crew together and alive for seven years, as much as Chakotay or B'Elanna or anyone else aboard. You've had to deal with things none of us could have imagined when we signed on...and come through like a champion. We never could have come this far without you. And so help me God, no matter what it takes, I swear to you we will make it the rest of the way home safely...before you have more white hairs than medals."
"And there is perhaps the ultimate mark of a great captain," added Chekov quietly, putting a hand on Kim's shoulder. "She can make her crew believe that there is hope...even when there seems to be none. If you believe in yourself and in those under you, they will believe in you...and the reverse is also true: If you don't believe in yourself, you give others no reason to believe in you."
"Thank you, sir. I'll...I'll try to remember that," Kim said past a sniffle. "Request permission to come back to see you again from time to time? When I need some good advice...or just someone to listen to me?"
The hologram grinned again. "Permission granted. Being as the real me has probably been dead and buried for at least half a century now, I don't suppose I'm going anywhere. And I certainly won't be too busy."
Janeway chuckled. "Come on, Lieutenant," she said, obviously savoring the word, with a pointed look at Chekov...but her eyes were twinkling. "Let me buy you some real coffee in the mess hall."
Kim considered. "I'd like that, ma'am," he said at last. "Thanks."
"And remember one more thing, sonny boy," Chekov said, pointing to a plaque on the shelf and reading its inscription aloud. "Illegitimi non carborundum."
Kim's look was questioning. "Beg pardon, sir?"
"It's Latin," the commander of the USS Potemkin replied, grinning. "It means, 'don't let the bastards wear you down.'" He shook Kim's hand. "It's comforting to know the future of Starfleet is in such capable hands. Carry on."
Now Harry finally managed a wan smile. "Aye, aye, sir." Then he looked up and said in a louder voice, "Computer, end program and save." The cabin and the legend vanished and he followed his Captain out the door.
END
*Star Trek: Voyager episode #256, "Nightingale." Teleplay by Andre Bormanis from a story by Robert Lederman & Dave Long.
** As played by Paul Winfield in the Paramount motion picture Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan (1982).
Star Trek: Voyager and the characters thereof are ©1995-2008 by Paramount Pictures Corporation, created by Rick Berman, Michael Piller & Jeri Taylor, based upon Star Trek created by Gene Roddenberry.
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Date: 2008-01-09 03:18 am (UTC)I can write original characters, but I have a great deal of difficulity with established characters. Thank you for letting me see this delightful side of yourself.
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Date: 2008-01-09 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-09 04:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-09 10:40 pm (UTC)