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“Pavel, what the hell are we doing out here in this hut on the Arctic Circle?” said Admiral Hikaru Sulu.
“Well, my friend, you vere the one who gave me the information from Ambassador Dax that Klingons only take compliments if they feel vorthy ov it,” the Admiral Chekov said, knocking back another shot of vodka.
Sulu rolled his eyes. “Ah, now I know why you called me out here taking me from my grandchildren. You just wanted me for my Klingon knowledge.”
“Not only that, Hikaru, but yes, that’s part ov it. I also thought you might vant to see the future ov Starfleet.”
“The future of Starfleet? Pavel, you’ve gotten strange in your old age…or senile,” Sulu quipped. Chekov grinned at him. Sulu grinned back, thinking that it always seemed that the other man had never lost that boyish, mischievous personality. It was one thing he always liked about him since their days on the Enterprise. Then it came to him. “Oh! Klingons and Starfleet? You’ve lured that new cadet up here!”
Chekov’s grin widened into a big smile. He poured two more shots of vodka.
Sulu’s eyes widened. “You’re the anonymous admiral?!”
Checkov handed him one of the shots, which Sulu gratefully drank down. Chekov chuckled and Sulu’s deep laughter joined him as he asked, “You cheeky bastard! Why?”
“If you vait another hour or so, you’ll find out vhile you get to see the look on his face vhen I tell him vhy.”
“I suppose that’s worth sticking around for, then,” Sulu said. “Even if it’s way too cold up here!”
“I assure you, it vill be vorth it!” Chekov said. “And vhat do you mean? It’s a beautiful day! Quite a balmy minus ten! It’s refreshing!”
Sulu just shook his head at his old friend, snuggled further into his parka, and moved closer to the heater. Chekov chuckled again and poured more vodka.
***
The wind whipped against Worf’s face as he stepped out of the transporter station in Norilsk. The frigid air nearly knocked the air out of his lungs, but all Worf did was double check his Starfleet issued cold weather gear and consult the padd with the map on it. He wasn’t sure who this admiral was that had ordered him up here, but it appeared they knew about Klingons and how this kind of quest would appeal to him. Worf was impressed in spite of his low opinion of the admiralty. He also appreciated the opportunity to leave the Academy for the day. While he enjoyed the challenge that the Academy provided, he was still the only Klingon in Starfleet. Not all of those in the Federation were enamoured of the Khitomer Accords.
He sighed, realizing that he’d have to be aware of the politics of the Federation and the Empire for the rest of his life.
“Are you all right, Cadet?” asked the Andorian security officer outside the station.
“Yes,” he replied.
“Where you headed?”
“About 30 kilometers outside the city.”
The officer whistled. “That’s a long way. Sure you don’t want to take the transporter there?”
“No. I was ordered to walk from here.” Worf tapped his padd to show the orders and handed it to the Andorian, who shook his head.
“Well, Cadet, whichever Admiral this is, they either have it in for you, or they have a sick sense of humor! This is weather only an Andorian could love.”
“I do not understand.”
The officer re-read the orders, then tapped the padd a few times. Their antennae perked up for a moment, then they handed back the padd to Worf. “You have your communicator in easy reach, Cadet?”
“Yes, sir!” Worf said.
“All right then, good luck on your trip. If you need help, don’t hesitate to call. But I have a feeling that you won’t need to.”
“Yes, thank you,” Worf replied. He was even more confused at the Andorian’s words, but it didn’t matter. He had orders to follow. He lifted his pack, checked the map, and headed into the snow.
Worf looked at the bland lines of the light grey Starfleet emergency shelter from his position in the snowy brush. His binoculars showed that there were no security officers around it, but his tricorder registered three humanoids in the structure. His instructions where to just come here and go to the structure, nothing more. He scouted the territory, though, since Worf didn’t want to take any chances. This Admiral took great pains to conceal his anonymity, which meant he was probably someone very important, or in Starfleet Intelligence, or maybe even the admiral who had sponsored him. Worf didn’t want to be the one to lead someone here who might harm whoever it was.
After a good half hour of checking the perimeter, he finally made his way to the door of the shelter and knocked. A woman with captain’s pips, wrapped in her own cold weather gear, opened the door. “Come in Cadet Worf. They’re waiting for you.”
“They?”
She smiled. “You’ll see, Cadet.” The captain closed the outer door once he walked in, then led him through the inner door, closing it behind her.
“Thank you, Janice,” said a deep voice. The captain took herself to a desk on one side of the room.
“Vell, Cadet, aren’t you going to say hello?” said a higher pitched voice, and Worf finally managed to get a good look at the people who were waiting for him. The Kligon’s jaw dropped. Both men had white hair and looked to be in their eighties or nineties. One was balding, with a mischievous smile. He was the one with what he recognized as a Russian accent. The other was of human Asian descent. He was also grinning at him. They both wore Grand Admiral uniforms. It took him a moment to put it all together, but then he knew exactly who had summoned him here. “You! You are…!”
“You were right, Pavel! Waiting here in this god-forsaken cold was well worth it to see a shocked Klingon!” said Admiral Sulu.
Admiral Chekov laughed. “Come, sit! Have a drink!” he said, and poured three shots of vodka. Worf automatically sat in the chair in front of the two legends and took the glass, downing it in one gulp. Chekov grinned. “How vas your trip, Cadet?”
“Cold,” Worf said. “But refreshing.” Sulu winced and Chekov laughed.
“Ov course! So, now you are vondering vhy you are here!” The Admiral poured Worf another glass of vodka and said, “I’m sure you’re curious about who sponsored you to the academy, yes?”
Worf drank that one, too, then replied, “You two sponsored me to the academy?”
Sulu shook his head. “Not me. It was all Pavel’s idea. Although, now I’m thinking I should have been in on it with him from the beginning.”
Worf turned to the Russian man. “Why you? I went to every admiral I could find at headquarters and the Academy, but they all turned me down!”
“Vell, first you vould have had to find me. I keep a low profile since I do vork vith Starfleet Intelligence these days.” Chekov’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Second, I had already told them all I vould sponsor you. It took so long to get the paperwork done because I vas on a long term assignment in Cardassian space. You know how it is vith Starfleet, yeah? All that paperwork!”
“But you didn’t answer my question. Why did you sponsor me?”
Sulu smiled sweetly at Chekov. “Yes, Pavel, why did you sponsor him? I’ve been dying of curiosity since you brought me here. And of the cold!” said Sulu.
Chekov sat up straight, puffing out his chest a little. “It’s quite simple, really. You may be Klingon, but you vere raised by Russians! You vere made by Russians! Everything good comes from Russia! Like quadrotriticale and the Garden of Eden!”
The Admiral raised his glass to him, and downed it. Worf raised his glass too. He was proud because of his parents and being raised Russian, but a bit confused about the quadrotriticale and Garden of Eden remark. It did remind him of his father and some of his tall tales. He looked to Sulu, who rolled his eyes then looked away, trying not to laugh out loud. Worf took a sip of the vodka, then said, “Thank you, sir.”
Sulu stood up. “Um. I’m going out for some air.” He quickly walked out the door, but barely made it to the vestibule before he started laughing. Worf raised an eyebrow at the other Admiral, who was looking smug.
“I can’t help but mess vith him vhen ve get together. But I’m glad he went out. This is hard for me to admit, but the other reason I sponsored you is because…” he looked down at the glass in his hands for a long moment. The silence stretched on for long enough, that Worf almost asked what was wrong, but before he could do that, the Admiral said, “I can’t forgive vhat the Klingons did to my brother, Cadet, but you are not responsible for vhat your ancestors did. You deserve as much ov a chance to prove yourself at the Academy as I did. Starfleet command knows who sponsored you and because it’s me, that should, I hope, make things a little easier for you, yes?”
“The Academy has not been easy,” Worf said.
“No, I didn’t think it vould be, but that is mostly from students, I’m sure. I promise you, no instructors or administration will stand in the way of your goals with me as your sponsor.”
Admiral Chekov looked him squarely in the eye and Worf was surprised to see a strong warrior spirit coming through. Worf knew then, that he could trust the Admiral to keep his word, and that he had been given a great honor by the man. “Thank you, Admiral. I am very honored.”
“As vell you should be!” the older man said loudly, grinning again. He pulled out a communicator. “Sulu, get back in here before your soft Admiral’s body freezes to death!”
“On my way!” Sulu said, and as he came back in, Chekov reached behind the camp table that had the vodka on it, bringing up a bottle of bloodwine.
“Now, is time for the bloodvine!”
“You drink bloodwine?” Worf said, surprised.
Sulu laughed. “Pavel, you’re going to give the boy a heart attack if you keep shocking him like this!”
“Ah! He’s Russian! He can take it!” he said, giving Worf a wink as he pulled the cork off the bottle and poured. “The Klingon Ambassador assured me this vas a very good vintage. Qapla’, Cadet!”
“Qapla’!” said Sulu.
Wide eyed with the honor of having two living legends drinking with him, Worf lifted his glass and bellowed “Qapla’!”
***
Admiral Chekov sat in the shelter alone after Worf and Sulu had left. They had switched back to the vodka after they had polished off the bloodwine and had dinner. He ordered Worf beamed back to San Francisco and Sulu back to his daughter’s house in Japan. He’d told his Andorian secretary to come for him in a hour or so, so he could have some time to himself.
Chekov poured the last of the vodka into his glass and set the bottle on the floor. He still wasn’t entirely sure why he had told Worf about Piotr, but he hadn’t lied to the cadet, either. Downing the last shot he said “‘Za nas, Piotr!” to the empty room, then left the shelter to enjoy the cold night air.