Pavel Andreievich Chekov

ACTION;
[Chekov may have woken up with a cluster of sullen, chatty balloons that look like they belong at a misery-themed party shadowing him, but he's not about to let a nonlethal thing like that prevent him from going about his day as usual. They follow him during his morning jog (he takes care to avoid the pockets of strangeness that have been popping up, as there is only so much weirdness that he likes in his life at any given moment) and to the City Solutions Laboratory. They trail him to the labs that have been taken over by Starfleet (he doesn't linger there) and to the hospital where he visits friends who were injured in the recent attacks, glowering, as ominous and dark as any potentially hostile region of space.

( More action! )

VIDEO;
[Judging by the view--the back of Chekov's head--this is not an intentional recording. He's sitting at Lucy's baby grand, tense, posture hinting at anger. The talking balloons are still hovering over him like a raincloud, chatting away. There are fewer than there were earlier, but the remaining faces seem eager to make up for this by being exceptionally strident.]

Vy ubili yeye.
Failure.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
Slishkom medlenno.
You killed her.
Their deaths were your fault.
Bespoleznyy.
Useless.

[They've been at it all day and Chekov doesn't want to hear it anymore. In an effort to drown them out, he launches into what must be the angriest and most aggressive interpretation of Rachmaninov's Prelude in C sharp minor of all time. He's not great--out of practice rather than untrained--and it only takes about a minute and a half before the balloons, which have only grown louder to combat the piano, reduce the boy to discordant keysmashing.

He gives up after a particularly enthusiastic plunk of the keys and mumbles something at the balloons. The network device doesn't pick his words up, but it's safe to assume that he didn't say anything pleasant to the specters.]

Failure.
Slishkom molod.
Ty brosil svoyu sem'yu.
You'll never succeed.

[Maybe an angry rendition of something by Balakirev will be more effective. Watchers won't get to find out; the video ends abruptly.]


[COMMENTS]

[It's immediately obvious that this video is being shot outside--in the garden, likely. The setting is somewhat incongruous with Chekov's tendency to post about technology he has been working on, but there he is. Judging from the seventeen year-old's expression, he is prepared to explain something. At length.]

I am not sure if this is of interest to the medical staff of the City's hospital, but I believe I have a device that may be of use to you. I will require the aid of City Solutions to replicate this, but...

[He trails off and pulls a small, boxy item into view. It doesn't look that impressive; honestly, it could pass for an early cell phone if it weren't for the screen.]

This was, originally, a medical tricorder, which I assume has been introduced to the City, since Doctor McCoy had one. Usually they are used only in the field, but a full-sized medical diagnostic array is far beyond me. But I was saying... at home, where I am from, we also have instruments called psychotricorders--specifically programed to display brain activity--that are not typically attached to other devices. Unless I have made a mistake, this is capable of performing all activities that a psychotricorder can, in addition to those of a medical tricorder.

[reluctantly] The data chips may, perhaps, need to be reprogrammed by doctors, the psychotricorder chip especially. I am not a specialist in the field of biochemistry, but it is simple enough to alter the program. I can show a medical professional how.

But how it works is like this. The detachable scanner is used [he removes a smaller device from the back of the modified medical tricorder] to gather readings. The information it gathers is sent to the central processing unit [the midsection of the device is indicated], and the information is displayed on the screen, here. Very simple. Not that the information itself is useful without a doctor or someone sufficiently schooled in interpreting medical readouts to analyze it... make a diagnosis.

Ah, and I have perfected--to the best of my abilities--my early modifications that allow this tricorder to serve also as a dermal and osteogenic regenerator. Only good for small breaks and relatively minor injuries, but useful, I hope. So, with this, physical and psychological diagnoses may be made without intrusive procedures, and some wounds may be fixed in minutes.

[Chekov looks rather pleased with himself. Understandably so, perhaps.]

Please, if you are associated with the hospital and would like to make use of this technology, contact me. I would like to be of help.

Saya, if I may--there was a curse the last time you offered to show me how the Impala works. Would you still be willing to teach me about it?

[And with that, he ends the feed. Chekov will be loitering in Xanadu, should anyone wish to come across him.]

[COMMENTS]