Pavel Andreievich Chekov

[Chekov is in the cottage's living room, red engineering uniform on, surrounded by all of the things he can't take home with him. (The important things are in a dufflebag and a backpack, and Everett is coming along, too. A genius can probably think of a way to explain the suitcase, the dog, and the decidedly non-regulation haircut, right?) He's smiling at the network device. No need to end on a teary note.]

I have been here for seven-hundred and twenty-four days. It would have been two years, as of the sixth of March. Not so long as many people, but I have outstayed most of my crew--some of them twice--and the majority of friends I made when I first arrived. Overall, I have been happy--happier, sometimes, than I am at home. But I will be glad to return. I last left home during a difficult time, and there will be many funerals and speeches to endure before our long leave, and after leave, the five-year mission. Everett will go to Petersburg to live with my father; he is lonely and will enjoy the company. I will have the chance to see the night sky from Earth. I've missed them, more since I traded my memory of them to the witches in October. Maybe the memory will return.

Mostly, I'm glad that I will keep my memories. Forgetting has been my greatest fear about leaving. Too many memories, bad and good but all important, have been made in the City to be forgotten. It will be strange since almost no one will have any of these memories, and I may find it difficult to explain some things, such as aging slightly. But memories! Those are more valuable to me than anything else I am taking with me. As long as I remember those I have met, leaving will not be so hard as it would be otherwise.

I will not go into a long discussion of memories and friends because it is too soon for nostalgia, but I want to share an old Russian saying: If all the options are bad, choose the one that hurts the least. None of us, I think, are happy to be leaving, even if we miss our homes. Personally, I'm unsure if I have made the decision that hurts the least, but it is the right one. I hope that for you, my friends and even those who are not my friends, the option that hurts the least is also the right one. Try not to be too sad. As long as we all go home with our memories, we will continue to exist in the lives of one another. Saying goodbye does not erase someone from your life.

There is one more Russian saying I want to share, and it is a happier one, I promise. Nothing is permitted and everything is possible. This is my favorite saying. The City has proven it true, and it will always prove true in our futures. Maybe we will meet again. The laws of physics may not allow it, but it is not impossible.

Also, is there anyone remaining in the City who would like a motorcycle? I have a very nice one, but it is too cumbersome to take it with me.

And finally, I would like to say goodbye to most of you in person. This is no way to say goodbye.


[Private to the Voyager Crew]

I wanted to have something clever or insightful to say to you, but all I can think of is thank you. I had forgotten what it was like to be a part of a crew until mine arrived, and when they left, you allowed me to be a part of yours. I will always be grateful for this. Thank you also for sharing some of your science with me. Captain Janeway, I promise that I will not use any advancements from beyond my time, except, perhaps, for personal use.

If I am still alive in your time and you return home--and you will return home--please say hello. That me will be very different from me, but he will like meeting new people and discussing whatever scientific advancements will be current. If I am not still alive, I hope that I died very heroically. Should that be the case, don't be sad.

Maybe interuniversal travel will be mastered in your lifetimes. If that is so, I hope to see you.


[Private to Lucy]

I know that you will not want to say goodbye in person. Please reconsider? You are my first everything and I think I will keep being too in love with you to fall in love again, so please, I would like to see you a final time.


[COMMENTS]

[The scene: a roof. Which roof is unclear, but, judging from the book and notebooks visible in the dim glow of the network device's screen, Chekov was probably stargazing. Of course. What else would a sensible person be doing on a roof in the middle of the night?]

I have asked this question to individuals, but I am curious: what, generally, is the opinion on becoming attached to others here? From what I have heard and read, most seem to think that suffering the loss of someone they have become close to when they leave the City is a small price to pay for companionship. Then there are a few--or maybe there are not so few as I think--who would prefer to stay unattached to avoid being hurt. Is this assessment correct?

And those who, in theory, believe that it is wisest not to grow close to people... are they successful, or do they form attachments in spite of what they believe to be best for themselves?

[His tone is one of genuine curiosity. This is not a rhetorical question.]

I am of two minds on the subject, but I dislike the thought of being alone for however long I may stay here enough to make remaining unattached distasteful. And, when I am not theorizing and simply talking to others, it is impossible not to form friendships. Even though friends will leave and forget all experiences in the City, I keep making them, and it seems very foolish and maybe reckless when I think about it--making friends, I mean--but I feel it is better to accept loss.

It is like home, in some ways. I have always been moving and now, at home, I am in a position where having friends die is very possible and has happened. Is it different, losing a friend to death and having a friend leave the City? Logically, death should be more difficult to accept, I think, but I am not finding that so.

[A contemplative pause.]

The curse where we were turned into dogs--there was a little girl who was good enough to feed me, and I would like to thank her now that I am a person again. I think she was ten, maybe, and very pale, with light hair.

As to this last weekend's curse, no, Lucy and I are not married, although she is very kind and I mean no insult to her when I say that I am pleased to be unmarried again. Sincere apologies to anyone who was anticipating the reception.


[Filtered to the Deities // Unhackable]

Hello. When you have a moment, I would like to discuss another exchange with you, please.


[COMMENTS]