"Is Meester Sulu here?" he asked.
She nodded but didn't step aside. "Who are you?"
"Pavel Chekov. Who are you?"
"Demora."
"Demora, like the city?"
"Just like."
"Vell … most unusual. I am a friend of Sulu's. Are you?"
She appeared to consider it. "The jury's still out on that, frankly."
He was surprised by her apparent erudition. Then again, Chekov didn't have a great deal of experience with children, so he wasn't entirely certain what to expect.
"May I come in?"
She stepped aside, giving him room to enter.
He'd always liked Sulu's apartment … not that Sulu had a great deal of time to spend there, what with being gone for years at a time. Furnished in dark browns, with real wood furniture (lord only knew where Sulu had acquired it). His antique weapons collection, ranging from swords to firearms, was secured behind plexi cabinets. Pictures or portraits of his various ancestors hung on the walls. Sulu was fairly big on families, and could trace his ancestry back centuries.
"Vere is Sulu, do you know?"
She chucked a finger. "In the kitchen. Making dinner."
"I'll just go talk to him then."
"Fine," said Demora with a shrug. She moved over to a couch and sank down into the cushion.
Chekov found Sulu in the kitchen. "So … vat mysterious and exotic dish are you preparing?"
Sulu was busy scooping something from a pot and pouring it over rolls. "Chili," he said. "It's what Demora wanted."
"Ah, Demora. Your sentinel at the gate. Interesting little girl. She's … vat? Eleven? Twelve?"
"Just turning seven."
"She seems older."
"Well, that's appropriate. I feel older."
"So who is she? Niece?"
"Daughter."
"Whose daughter?"
Sulu stared at him. "Mine."
It was clear that Chekov was having trouble digesting the information. "I'm sorry … vat?"
"She's my daughter."
Chekov looked in the direction of the living room, where Demora was seated, and then back to Sulu. He looked stunned. "Your … daughter."
"Yes."
"Your daughter. Your daughter?"
Sulu put the plates down, making no attempt to hide his impatience. He spoke in a low tone to keep their voices from reaching Demora. "Are we going to move past this sentence anytime soon?"
"You have a daughter?" Chekov whispered. "And you never mentioned her to me?"
"I didn't know! I didn't know until a few hours ago."
"Do you know who the mother is?"
"Of course I know who the mother is."
"Oh, now you say 'Of course.' Considering you didn't know the child existed, the idea of you not knowing who the mother is doesn't seem all that farfetched."
"It's Ling Sui. You remember her."
"Of course I remember her. The woman from …" And then he thudded his hand against his forehead. "Of course. From Demora. I should have realized it vasn't simply coincidence." He hesitated. "So … so vat do you do now?"
"I don't know," said Sulu in exasperation. "She has no other relatives but me. She's just lost her mother. She doesn't seem especially interested in me. And I'm scheduled to ship out with the Bozeman."
"Does she know that?"
"She knows it, yes."
"Vell, perhaps the reason she's not especially interested is because she doesn't vant to make the emotional investment in someone who is leaving."
Sulu transferred the dishes onto a serving tray. "Since when are you the great child psychiatrist?"
"Since ven are you a father?"
Sulu sighed. "All right. Touché."
As he started to head into the dining room, Chekov stopped him and said, "Uhm … you didn't mention to me at the time that you and Ling Sui …"
"It was just once."
"That's all it takes."
"So I've heard," said Sulu.
The meal didn't go precisely as planned.
For one thing, Chekov didn't plan for himself and Demora to hit it off as well as they did. He had grown accustomed to thinking of children as odd, separate creatures, rather than simply small humans. Beings with their own rules and own manner of communication to which no adult could be privy.
Demora was quite the opposite. She was, he suspected, very much her mother's daughter. She spoke with intelligence and education about a startling number of topics, ranging from archaeology to the present condition of Federation politics. Chekov found himself becoming quite fond of her during his visit, and he suspected that Demora felt likewise.
Sulu, for his part, kept his own counsel. His gaze would dart from one to the other as they chatted. Chekov interacted with Demora with such ease that Sulu felt torn. On the one hand he was pleased that they were hitting it off so well. On the other hand … he was a little jealous.
But he realized why it was that Chekov felt so at ease with her. It was because he was going to be able to leave. This was Sulu's problem, Sulu's situation, and Chekov was just a visitor to it. He could get to know Demora as a person, chat with her, laugh with her … and Sulu got to worry about what in hell he was going to do next.
Chekov stayed late into the evening, regaling Demora with stories about his and Sulu's time together in the service. A couple of times Sulu tried to hush him up, but Chekov was not easy to stop. Each anecdote would remind him of another, and he'd say with growing excitement, "And then there vas the time …"
The hour grew later and later, and finally Sulu said, "Demora … I really think it's time for bed. I showed you where the guest bedroom is. . . ."
"That's because I'm a guest?"
He looked from Demora to Chekov and back again. Clearing his throat, he said, "That's … just what I'm in the habit of calling it, that's all."
"It's early for me still."
"Well, I think it's time you went to bed."
She squared her shoulders and said, "Mother lets me st …"
And then she caught herself, speaking of her mother in the present tense. It was a slip that had a very visible effect on her, and she looked downcast. It was the first time since he'd met her that he'd seen anything from her acknowledging her loss. She certainly pulled herself together quickly, however, as she said, "All right. Good night then." She turned and walked briskly away toward the rear of the apartment, and Sulu had the feeling—probably legitimate—that the reason she retreated so quickly was because she didn't want him to see her cry.
Chekov leaned over and said to Sulu in a low voice, "She's a great kid, isn't she?"
"Oh … fabulous," Sulu said. "So how do you suggest I handle this?"
"Vell—" Chekov gave it a moment's thought. "—you could try and talk Starfleet into letting you bring her along."
"You mean on the Bozeman? Against regs. Never happen." He looked down, drumming his fingers. "I'm … going to make arrangements."
"Vat kind? You'll leave her vith your family?"
"There are schools. I've done some checking. Boarding schools and such that will take care of the child year round. Educate her, feed her. That would be best, I think."
"Vile you're off exploring the galaxy," said Chekov.
"You make it sound trivial."
"I don't mean to," said Chekov. "And you know I don't feel that vay. I'm just saying …"
"What? What are you saying?"
He raised his eyes and studied his longtime friend. "I'm saying that here's a child who vill have lost her mother and never really gotten to know her father. And that's a lousy vay to grow up."
"Oh really. How do you know?"
"Because that's how I grew up."
Sulu said nothing for a moment, then went back to tapping his fingers on the coffee table in front of them. "You turned out okay," he said after a time.
"Perhaps. But maybe I could have turned out better. I'll never know."
"And if I leave her, she'll never know. Is that what you're saying?" Sulu rose, looking down at Chekov. "What are you telling me, Pav? That I should quit? Turn down the first-officer position? Walk away from the thing I know most about in the galaxy so that I can try being a father to an instant family, something about which I assure you I know absolutely nothing? Chekov … it's crazy. It wouldn't do her any good, and it certainly wouldn't do me any good."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm sure!"
"Then I suppose there's nothing more to say."
"Apparently not."
Sulu sat back down. It had never seemed so quiet in the apartment before. It was as if the absence of noise had become an entity unto itself.
"It's just ironic, that's all," Chekov finally said.
"What is?"
"Vell … years ago, you were telling me how life on Earth couldn't be exciting. How there was no adventure. And then you were pulled into the entire business vit Ling Sui, and you thought you had found adventure. But that was only a few days. There is no greater adventure than raising a child."
"You're speaking from experience, I gather," he said sarcastically.
"I vish. Just gut instinct. The same instinct that tells me leaving her behind couldn't be right."
"Maybe you'd feel differently if the situations were reversed."
"Maybe," agreed Chekov. "But … they're not. And so I don't."
"What do you want from me, Chekov?" Sulu said in exasperation. "What do you expect me to do? Have some sudden burst of paternal affection that I never had before? Look at this child who is, to all intents and purposes, a stranger to me, and feel so protective of her that I reorder my life around her? Chekov, I … I have responsibilities …"
"Yes. You do," said Chekov sharply. "And vun of them is in the 'guest bedroom' right now. So the only question is: Vat are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to do right by her," Sulu said. "It just may be that you and I have different definitions of what's right."
"Actually," Chekov replied, "I don't think ve do. Ve simply von't both admit to it, that's all."
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