What Navigators Do

(Hornblower Was Never A Sailor)

With a stony face, Chekov stared at the configuration of wood, hemp and fabric moving subtly before him.

"You've got to be kidding.

"Sir." He added, but there was neither deference nor respect in the tone.

"Chekov," Kirk smiled charmingly, hazel eyes sparkling. "I'm putting you in command."

"This is not how I pictured my first command assignment from you," the younger man retorted. Admittedly, he had felt honored when he was invited along on shore leave with the Enterprise's senior officers. At first. Now he realized there was far more enticing things for him to do in the Russian Federation. He hadn't a clue his Captain planned to hurl him out onto the vast Pacific Ocean.

Of course, he was also considering the fact that he'd be locked in a deathtrap with these people that he'd only known seven months. He'd actually imagined he might live through an entire year in Starfleet.

Or at least have the dignity to die somewhere in deep space.

"Frankly, Captain, I think you have a problem with competition," he blurted out.

"Mr. Chekov!" Kirk proclaimed. "Think of this as a team training exercise. You're Chief Navigator now: that makes you an essential part of the ship's senior command team."

Brown eyes wide, the younger man stared at him quietly. "Starfleet recommends that Department Heads on starships be at least Lieutenant grade officers. I don't recall receiving the final approval for my posting yet."

The Captain scowled elaborately. "Ensign, are you saying that you have no confidence in my persuasive abilities with Starfleet Command, or with my judgment of my command personnel?"

"No, Sir. I'm saying I'd rather spend the rest of my life in Kolymar."

"Russian nuclear gulag," Sulu supplied helpfully from his position standing next to the Navigator, arms folded patiently across his chest.

A wry grin split Kirk's face. "You see, Chekov: you've already managed to make great strides in the confidence level you have in confronting your Commanding Officer with conflicting opinions."

"You can't order me to spend my shore leave with you," the Navigator maintained stoically.

"No," the Captain agreed, nodding deeply. He gestured at the people assembled around them. "But I can appeal to your sense of loyalty to the Enterprise. Do you actually want the command team of the Valiant to beat your own ship's team?"

"Why can't you just challenge them to war games?" he answered sullenly. "You know: in space."

Like a normal Captain… Chekov didn't say it, but James Kirk's hazel eyes reflected that he had definitely heard it anyway.

"You served in the Russian Navy on a sailing ship before entering the Academy. With you in command, we can win."

"Who told you that?" the Navigator demanded.

"It's in your file."

"Who reads those things?" he muttered.

"I do."

Chekov jammed his arms across his chest tightly, his dark eyes moving back to the ship docked behind his Captain. "Russia refounded her Navy as a living history museum, Sir. I never raced anyone."

"But you know how to sail," Kirk insisted.

The younger man paced up to the edge of the wharf. "She's a schooner: I served on a frigate. They're square rigged."

The Captain stepped up next to him, folding his hands behind his back. "You served on the Nelzya: her mizzenmast is fore-and-aft rigged," he stated without looking at the man. "I own a sailboat. Between the two of us, we'll be unbeatable."

Captain Kirk had far too much time to read, Chekov decided darkly.

"I know you've had Sulu on the ship you used to serve on," Kirk revealed. "You've already got a trained helmsman."

"I can't steer a wooden sailing ship," the Enterprise's Helmsman blurted out, himself alarmed now. "I can barely walk on one, Sir!"

"Pavel," Kirk entreated warmly, using the man's given name for the first time since they met. "Haven't you any of the sea left in your blood? Look at her! Doesn't she still call to you to tame the wind and the water: to venture out on her in the footsteps of Horatio Hornblower…"

"Hornblower was NEVER a sailor, Captain!"

Kirk glanced over at him, sharply, blinking in mild surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean just what I said, Sir. Hornblower was an officer. He never served before the mast: he didn't ever actually work the ship. He was an officer," Chekov repeated curtly. "You know, like you!"

The Captain straightened, understanding full well that he'd just been insulted by the Navigator's reasoning.

Besides, Chekov thought morosely. Hornblower and all his adventures were fictional. Could Kirk actually not realize the difference?

"You see that," Uhura added, moving up behind her young friend and slipping both her arms around his waist. "Haven't you any sense of responsibility for keeping your shipmates alive, sweetheart?"

He glanced back at her and she let her long lashes flutter over her dark eyes several times. "They told me I was incorrigible," he sneered.

"Besides," she drawled. "You're not the only one here who reads Russian, you know." She patted his chest significantly.

Chekov's eyes glanced down at her hands and he paled noticeably. In the most casual of civvies, he was dressed in athletic shoes, jeans and a T-Shirt. They'd all seen the shirt on the Enterprise occasionally: his father had given it to him and it was one of his favorites. Across a compass, several Cyrillic words were scrawled on it's front. When asked, he always said 'it says what I do.'

"That's blackmail!"

"Whatever yanks your chain, sweetheart."

"What does it say?" Kirk asked now, craning around to peer at it again. Chekov tightened his arms around his body, color flushing into his face.

Uhura giggled, undraping her arms and sauntering away. "Oh," she drawled lovingly to the Captain. "It does describe what he does for a living.

"I'll tell him," she shot back at Chekov, eyes bright. "Unless you help us win this race."

Sulu smirked and glanced away.

"I think we're being left out of something," McCoy rasped.

"I know we're being left out of something," Kirk retorted.

The Captain also knew his Chief Navigator had been studying his perspective command while he stood there. "So, you'll accept this command assignment?" He gestured to encompass Chekov, Uhura and Sulu. "With the three musketeers, the Doctor and myself, we can't lose. You've got a winning crew."

I've got a migraine… Chekov corrected mentally.

"We can alter her as necessary?" the Navigator inquired aloud as his eyes continued to move over the schooner.

"Yes," Kirk responded in victory. "Yes!"

Chekov snorted, turned on his heel, and strode toward the land end of the dock.

"Where are you going?" McCoy demanded in outrage.

"To get scuba gear," the Navigator retorted. "I'm not getting on that thing without checking her hull."