![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
PS-El: Part II
At oh-eight-hundred in the morning following Lieutenant Pavel Chekov's well-intentioned abduction of a spatially and temporally-displaced teenager, Chekov is on his way to medbay to retrieve said teenager for an interview with Captain Kirk, Commander Spock, and Doctor McCoy.
His own interview had started nearly an hour and a half ago, very shortly after Kirk woke up and read Chekov's recently-submitted incident report. Chekov regrets flagging his report as urgent; perhaps he would have had time to catch a nap if he hadn't. Then again, how could he have fallen asleep with the very real threat of disciplinary action hanging over his head?
Fortunately, none of Chekov's superior officers had suggested a court-martial or stripping him of his rank. They weren't happy with him, by any means, but Kirk and McCoy had been relatively sympathetic, and Spock's main concern was Chekov's lack of communication with him or the captain. It was agreed that El was likely better off in the safety of their medbay than on the base; Starbase 17's commander, Chekov was told, is a notoriously unpleasant individual who prioritizes Federation interests, scientific or otherwise, over things like morals and ethics. That said, Chekov hadn't known anything about El when he brought her aboard, and they still only knew as much as Chapel's medical scans revealed. Captain Kirk and Spock hoped to determine what level of threat the girl posed, if any, by talking to her.
(McCoy thought Kirk and Spock were foolish for being so worried about a hungry seventeen year-old who clearly needed their help. Chekov is inclined to side with the doctor, but he realizes that he is somewhat biased.)
The Russian enters medbay. Chapel -- still on duty even though gamma shift ended hours ago -- looks up from her datapad. "Welcome back, lieutenant," she says, waving him in.
"I am still welcome?" Chekov means it as a joke, but it comes out a little too earnest to be convincing. "You have a double shift?"
"I asked M'Benga to trade shifts with me. I'd rather pull a double than explain all of this to someone else."
"You are an angel, Christine, thank you," the lieutenant replies, although he knows Chapel well enough to know that this is not strictly true. He looks towards where he left El. Hopefully she's awake... he will feel bad if he has to wake her up. "I need to borrow El, if she can be discharged. The captain would like to speak with her."
Chapel looks... relieved? "She's free to leave."
"Thank you." Chekov turns his full attention to their visitor from another time and place. "El? Would you come with me, please?"
His own interview had started nearly an hour and a half ago, very shortly after Kirk woke up and read Chekov's recently-submitted incident report. Chekov regrets flagging his report as urgent; perhaps he would have had time to catch a nap if he hadn't. Then again, how could he have fallen asleep with the very real threat of disciplinary action hanging over his head?
Fortunately, none of Chekov's superior officers had suggested a court-martial or stripping him of his rank. They weren't happy with him, by any means, but Kirk and McCoy had been relatively sympathetic, and Spock's main concern was Chekov's lack of communication with him or the captain. It was agreed that El was likely better off in the safety of their medbay than on the base; Starbase 17's commander, Chekov was told, is a notoriously unpleasant individual who prioritizes Federation interests, scientific or otherwise, over things like morals and ethics. That said, Chekov hadn't known anything about El when he brought her aboard, and they still only knew as much as Chapel's medical scans revealed. Captain Kirk and Spock hoped to determine what level of threat the girl posed, if any, by talking to her.
(McCoy thought Kirk and Spock were foolish for being so worried about a hungry seventeen year-old who clearly needed their help. Chekov is inclined to side with the doctor, but he realizes that he is somewhat biased.)
The Russian enters medbay. Chapel -- still on duty even though gamma shift ended hours ago -- looks up from her datapad. "Welcome back, lieutenant," she says, waving him in.
"I am still welcome?" Chekov means it as a joke, but it comes out a little too earnest to be convincing. "You have a double shift?"
"I asked M'Benga to trade shifts with me. I'd rather pull a double than explain all of this to someone else."
"You are an angel, Christine, thank you," the lieutenant replies, although he knows Chapel well enough to know that this is not strictly true. He looks towards where he left El. Hopefully she's awake... he will feel bad if he has to wake her up. "I need to borrow El, if she can be discharged. The captain would like to speak with her."
Chapel looks... relieved? "She's free to leave."
"Thank you." Chekov turns his full attention to their visitor from another time and place. "El? Would you come with me, please?"
no subject
Still, this whole thing seems weird to her. Her mom had taken her to one or two Star Trek movies in the past, when the cheap theater was running old Next Generation films, and they didn't seem like the type of universe where a random teenager would be viewed as a potential civilizational threat. That kind of paranoia was the domain of right-wing media and Tory politicians.
"I'm seventeen," she says dryly. "What do they think I'll do, graffiti a building?"
no subject
Nero who, like El, emerged from an anomaly and went on to destroy the Kelvin and, ultimately, all of Vulcan. Admiral Marcus. The Section 31 worker who had blown up an entire Starfleet facility. Former Starfleet Captain Edison. There had even been a young Romulan infiltrator at the Academy, and she nearly killed Chekov in an attempt to frame Kirk for murder. The Federation and, by extension, Starfleet, has existed in a constant state of alert since before Chekov was born, and the universe has done nothing to encourage them to let down their guard.
"Not so long ago," Chekov continues as they exit the turbolift and enter a new maze of polished hallways, "someone posing as a refugee led us into a trap that destroyed the ship." And between the crash and Krall's actions on Altamid, nearly a quarter of the crew had died. Captain Kirk had likely been thinking of that incident when he'd scolded Chekov for bringing a stranger aboard without alerting any of his superiors.
But he doesn't blame El for thinking that it's odd for them to treat her as a potential danger. Chekov thinks it's a bit silly too; she's clearly just a girl from a different time and place.
Of course, Chekov hadn't suspected that Kalara was anything other than what she'd claimed to be. It's just as well that no one asked for his opinion.
no subject
Chekov may or may not notice a slight shift in El's demeanor since the night before; she's almost something kind of maybe in the same galaxy as friendly. It's heavily discolored by grief & bitterness, but it's there. She's spent her entire life desperate for friends & angry at people for never giving her a chance; when she finally got friends, the universe ripped them away from her, leaving her as desperate and lonely as before and even more afraid to reach out.
This manifests as snark.
"So how much trouble are you in?" she asks.
no subject
The straightforward question gets a smile. "Not as much as I ought to be, considering that I did abduct you from a Federation facility."
He comes to a stop in front of a door that looks like every other door on the ship. "Are you ready to meet the captain?"
no subject
Instead, she snorts derisively. "Like it matters if I'm ready or not," she scoffs. "Let's just get this over with."
no subject
"I could probably create an emergency," Chekov offers, clearly joking. (Putting this off has some appeal, however -- he's not in a hurry to go back in there.) But El seems ready enough, so he opens the door to the meeting room.
The room is small, and the window-wall opposite the door faces out into open space. Captain Kirk and Dr McCoy are seated at the room's solitary table across from two empty chairs; both men have datapads and comically large mugs of coffee in front of them. Spock is standing just behind them, hands behind his back and expression wholly unreadable.
Kirk gets to his feet as the door opens. "Hello, El. Welcome to the USS Enterprise-A." He offers a hand to shake, smiling affably. In spite of his friendliness and casual body language, the captain's expression lacks Chekov's openness. He's on guard, analyzing El's every movement. "I'm Captain James T. Kirk. This is my first officer, Spock," he gestures to the stone-faced Vulcan, who nods in polite acknowledgement, "and Chief Medical Officer Leonard McCoy. And you already know our head navigator, Pavel Chekov. Now if you'd like to take a seat, I have a few questions I'd like to ask you."
McCoy stays silent, but his brow is furrowed in either confusion or dismay. He's clearly doing his best to maintain a smile even as he re-reads something on his datapad.
Chekov sits in one of the two empty chairs. His expression is quite grim, as if he fully expects the captain to order him to pack his bags and leave Starfleet. (He does not actually expect this.)
no subject
Kirk seems far too young to be captain of a starship. He reminds her of that Silicon Valley executive who spent two weeks at the commune, on a quest to "ground himself" because he was an Important Person who Changed Lives. It's the confidence of someone who was handed a great responsibility at a young age, managed not to fuck it up too badly, and thinks that makes them special. He was born on top and has never once bothered to look down on the people whose backs he stands on. El hates him on sight.
Spock is clearly the other half of that same coin: though his demeanor is different, he's also clearly too young and has that same entitled confidence. The "bad" cop to Kirk's "good" cop, probably.
Dr. McCoy is the only one who looks like he's put in the time to earn his job title. He seems ill at ease -- El guesses he's strongly disagreed with his younger "superior" officers about how to handle her, and that's a little alarming... as is Chekov's suddenly grim expression.
Moreover, there's something viscerally unsettling about being in a room with powerful white men. It instantly raises El's hackles, so instead of sticking with her plan to be tragic and sympathetic, she goes on the attack.
"Back where I'm from," she says, continuing to stand, "it's illegal for authorities to question children 17 and younger without the presence of an appropriate adult and a solicitor." She doesn't actually know this for a fact, but it feels right so she's rolling with it. "Or has the Federation decided that anyone who might possibly be a 'threat' doesn't get legal rights?"
no subject
Fortunately, no one else in the room seems to be bothered by her confrontational attitude. McCoy is outright smirking, undoubtedly having a grand time watching a young woman berate Kirk.
Kirk's poised and polite captain smile breaks into something more genuine. He takes his seat and leans back in it. "This isn't an interrogation, El, and I would've sent a way more intimidating security detail to escort you here if I thought you were dangerous."
"What gave you the impression that the Federation perceives you as a threat," Spock adds blandly, "and which of your legal rights has been infringed upon?"
no subject
“I got the ‘impression’ from being TOLD,” she says icily to Spock. “And since you lack basic hearing comprehension and critical thinking skills, I’ll spell it out: I should have an adult and a solicitor to look out for my interests while being questioned.
“And forgive me if I don’t believe you,” she snaps at Kirk. “Friendliness is known to be a more effective interrogation technique than intimidation.”
no subject
"Who told you this?" Spock presses, a raised eyebrow the only sign that he's the least bit perturbed.
Chekov, still standing next to El, wonders if anyone would notice if he made a run for it. It's standard procedure to do a threat assessment when a stranger comes aboard, and he hadn't thought that there would be any harm in telling her what was going on. He fixes his eyes on a spot on the floor in front of him and stays quiet.
no subject
(And yes, she’s aware she’s making Chekov’s life difficult. She doesn’t want to; he’s been perfectly decent to her so far, but she’s not going to let a bunch of white men walk all over her for his sake.)
no subject
"I'm not about to throw a kid in the brig, but I can't say the same for Commander Anderson over on Starbase 17. He's a real hard ass." Kirk leans forward and looks up at El, expression serious. "You can cooperate with me and hear me out, or you can walk off the ship and take your chances on the starbase."
"Jim --" McCoy interjects.
"That's the way it is, Bones." Kirk shrugs. "El, I won't keep you here against your will. I hope you'll sit down and hear me out, but I won't force you to. If you want to go, just say so I'll have Chekov show you the way to the base."
Chekov glances over at El, sincerely hoping that she doesn't take Kirk up on that offer. He doesn't know the starbase commander as well as his superiors, but he's confident that she'll be treated better on the Enterprise. He wouldn't have brought her here if he wasn't sure of that.
no subject
And considering the way both Chekov and Kirk have spoken about their government, their society is already pretty unstable. Just how many attacks have they been under? Are they actually at war? If so, with who? She wishes she’d been able to figure out how to find newspapers on the data pad.
After a moment, she sits gracefully in the offered seat, regal as a queen — and with the dark aura of a predator waiting for the right moment to pounce.
“I’ll hear you out,” she says. “You’ve had hours to study me, question Mr. Chekov, and look at whatever logs you keep about the anomaly — what have you learned?”
no subject
Chekov relaxes ever-so-slightly after El sits. This still isn't going as swimmingly as he'd hoped, but at least she seems (grudgingly) willing to cooperate and he's not currently in trouble for revealing too much about Starfleet's inner workings.
"Thank you," Kirk says sincerely. "We haven't learned much about the anomaly that spit you out -- any readings on that belong to the starbase, and Anderson's not gonna share them until I explain why my navigator was in the room when it happened and how he got back on the ship without being caught by their cams."
"I can report the incident to him immediately," Chekov offers. It's a very reluctant offer; from what's been said about Commander Anderson, he won't be too inclined to forgive things like taking El to the Enterprise, leaving superior officers in the dark, and hacking the (admittedly ill-protected) security cameras on Starbase 17.
"Hell no." Kirk's answer is sharp and decisive. "You'll talk your way into a court martial and I'm not in the mood to deal with that. Leave it to me, got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good." The captain turns his full attention back to El. "What have I learned? You're a kid from the twenty-first century, you were in rough shape when you got here, and one of the toughest doctors in the fleet described you as... what was it Christine said, Bones?"
"'Inexplicably unnerving,'" McCoy replies without referencing the datapad in front of him. "That's not a crime. If it was, we'd be down a first officer."
Spock's eyebrows rise a few millimeters. "Amusing, Doctor."
"Believe it or not," Kirk says to El, tone conspiratorial, "they're worse when we don't have company over."
no subject
She gives him a dead stare, thoroughly unimpressed with his attempts to make her feel like “one of them.”
“In other words, you haven’t learned anything.” She leans back, crossing her arms. Now she has to decide how much she’ll share. There’s no rule against telling mundanes about magic; there’s just never been a point, since it’s pretty much impossible to show magic to someone who doesn’t believe in it.
But she doesn’t have to frame it as magic, does she? Any sufficiently advanced science looks like magic and all that.
“I don’t know much either,” she says. “I was traveling through a portal to go home and ended up here instead.” A brief hesitation, then “There should be people in London who understand how the portals work. If you get me there, they can figure out what happened.”
no subject
The mood in the room shifts from casual to serious as soon as El mentions portals.
"You're a good two, three months out from London," Kirk says. "I can drop you off at the next hub with Earth-bound traffic. Spock, when's our next scheduled layover at a major Starfleet outpost?"
"In forty-six days, Captain, if there are no delays."
"There you go. I can't guarantee you'll find what you're looking for there, though." Kirk seems genuinely apologetic. "I've got some of the best physicists in the galaxy on my ship. If you're willing to work with some of my crew, we might be able to help."
Spock, undoubtedly one of those physicists to which Kirk is referring, looks about as skeptical as he can. "That depends on the nature of these... portals, and how much similarity they bear to the transversable subspace distortions native to our universe."
"See?" Kirk says, smiling like Spock actually said something encouraging. "Experts. Spock is also the ship's lead scientist, and Chekov here published a bunch of papers on portals."
"Only two, sir," Chekov says by way of correction. He's almost as uncomfortable with this sudden (misguided) praise as the earlier tension. Having his accomplishments, however modest, pointed out does not usually make people more inclined to like him.
Kirk shrugs the correction off. It's definitely two more papers than he's had published.
no subject
“Your vice captain’s right,” she says. “Their expertise isn’t going to help.”
Still … three months. She hadn’t expected them to drop everything to take her to earth, but they can travel faster than light! She didn’t think it would take that long. And of course all of this assumes she can even find the London enclave and that they would be willing to help her.
“But thanks,” she adds grudgingly. “I appreciate the ride to that outpost.”
no subject
Kirk is undeterred. "Just think about it. You've got some time to kill and nothing to lose."
"Or," McCoy says, "we can stop telling her what to do. It doesn't work on teenagers who aren't already enlisted, believe me."
"Fine, meeting adjourned." Kirk claps his hands together and stands. "El, Chekov's gonna show you around and set you up with quarters and any permissions you'll need. Chekov? You're confined to the ship for the rest of our stay. You're with me, Spock. We're going to have a chat with Commander Anderson."
And with that, the captain and first officer head out. Chekov doubts that he's entirely off the hook for his actions; if things don't go well over on Starbase 17, he's sure he'll be called back for another round of questioning. He'll take the reprieve even if it's necessary. He's so grateful, in fact, that he goes about collecting the empty coffee mugs without being ordered to.
McCoy lingers, fiddling absently with his datapad. "Sorry about all this," he tells El. "I told Jim to keep it casual, but God forbid he do anything without as much pomp as possible."
no subject
While she waits for Chekov to finish with the coffee mugs, she instinctively situates herself for maximum security: close enough to the door to run, but not so close that she'd be the first attacked if anything came through; far enough away from furniture that nothing could sneak up from under it to get her, and with as much space between her and the two men in the room as she could get. She's annoyed that the doctor lingers. Despite being gruff, he reminds her of her mother, and dealing with a knock-off version of the person she loves most in the world isn't something she wants to do.
"He can pomp all he wants, as long as I can get home," she says with the characteristic edge in her voice, and looks to see if Chekov is finished yet.
no subject
Chekov dumps the cups in the recycler and then starts fiddling with the replicator and screen set into the wall next to it. He's mostly trying to look busy until McCoy leaves; he and the doctor get along well, but he doesn't really want to be fussed at for not keeping a regular sleep schedule in front of El.
"You'll get there," McCoy says, not put off by El's tone. "Jim might seem scatterbrained, but he has a way of making things work out." The doctor stands and looks back down at his datapad. "Now... while you're with us, I want you to try to eat regularly, alright? I've also got a nutrient tablet that I'd like you to take for a week or so."
no subject
Her stomach grumbles loudly, as if it knows it's finally in a position where its demands can be met.
no subject
"Yes sir," Chekov replies.
"And make sure you eat something too," McCoy adds, giving the lieutenant a stern look. "Something besides coffee. You look like you're about to twitch out of your skin."
Chekov winces. "Yes sir."
"Thanks." Satisfied that everyone has been scolded into eating a proper breakfast, McCoy finally starts for the door. He pauses at the threshold. The confidence that he had while issuing orders has faded into awkwardness. "Medbay's always open, El, if you need anything."
no subject
"What are replicators?" she asks. "And can it make a fry-up with laverbread?"
no subject
Chekov relaxes somewhat once all of his superiors are out of the room. He taps the device in front of him; it's essentially a foot-by-foot-by-foot box set into the wall with a screen next to it. "This is a replicator, or a matter conversion unit." El's request doesn't sound like food to him, but what does he know? He addresses the replicator directly. "Computer, make a fry-up with laverbread."
"Request not recognized." The ship's computer has a slightly different voice than the starbase's, but it's still flat and feminine... and apparently unimpressed with Chekov's pronunciation.
The lieutenant sighs and tries again, forming the words very, very carefully. "Computer, make a fry-up with lay-vvver-bread."
The machine makes a soft chiming sound. Light appears in the box, swirls, and condenses into a full breakfast plate (two sausages, two slabs of bacon, scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms, beans, and fried tomatoes) and Welsh laverbread.
Chekov eyes the 'bread' curiously. "Is this correct?"
no subject
"Yep," she sputters, "that's correct." She'd forgotten how much she hates laverbread. Luckily, there's plenty of delicious sausage to cleanse the palate.
Her mouth full and her mind whirling with possibilities, she takes a chance. "Computer, can you make a chai latte with whole milk and whipped cream?"
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
damn I had a longer tag in mind but I think that feelings dump would work better later in thread
I assure you I do not care about tag length (as long as you don't mind the long ones)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)