Liberty Maneuvers
By
Patricia Wright
Colors. The overpowering intensity and sheer complexity of the pallet of colors sweeping about always astounded him whenever he
returned to this blue planet, swirling with whiffs of white cotton-candy clouds.
His eyes were riveted on the landscape rushing beneath him. From St. Petersburg to home was only a short shuttle trip—especially
given the way he flew, he thought with a guilty smirk. Since he was alone, he took the time to evaluate his place in life at the moment.
One of his first shore leaves from the Enterprise, he was young enough, and still cocky enough, to feel like he was returning home the
conquering hero.
Yet he knew those feelings, that cockiness, would not be allowed to linger within him long once he got home. The people in his
community knew him before he received his posting on the Enterprise and a society that depended on the contributions of every
member couldn’t afford to let anyone be uppity. He had been out of reach of his community and family, immersed entirely in a strange
culture among strangers, and he knew at home they would be eager to put him soundly back in his place.
Once they found him, he smirked. He was good at not being found.
What Pavel Andrievich Chekov craved right now was solitude. Yes, certainly one could be alone on a Constitution Class Starship.
Wherever you were on a ship, however--through the bulkhead beneath your feet, above your head or through the bulkheads at your
sides…were people. Thinking, feeling, living people going about their lives and business, interconnected with you. Any sentient being
was aware of that in their thoughts: so it was impossible to truly be alone. It was not much different in rural Russia.
Being alone didn’t mean being lonely. Being alone was the luxury of being without the physical company of other beings. While
loneliness involved not having anyone to share your thoughts with, solitude brought the blissfulness of being able to ruminate on them
without having to share them.
Chekov set the shuttle down past the back gardens and nestled near the forest’s edge. He peered out the front screen into the expanse
of colors that were now eye-level. The laws governing the National Historic Districts of Russia restricted what could be brought into the
District in order to preserve their historical integrity. Shuttles certainly fell outside those perimeters and where he set it to rest hardly
disguised the fact that it was there. Besides, when there was no air traffic over your home a shuttle whizzing by overhead produced
attention. The smirk danced about in the depths of his dark eyes, however: he had no fears of recriminations for his actions. Not only
did his father work for the government, Pavel Chekov was also an adorable only child and he was used to being indulged.
His eyes swept the grounds of the large, ancient manor house for movement he knew would not be there. No one could predict the
exact time of arrival of a starship setting in for routine maintenance. His parents were working at the moment. The men that worked for
them and stayed here for convenience were with them, of course. The entire group could be expected to return near dinnertime. Sulu,
who also usually stayed here for leaves, would be at his Aunt’s attending a cousin’s wedding in San Francisco until later that evening.
Chekov decided to take advantage of his place in the family and left both his and Sulu’s bags in the shuttle. Knowing that they
contained gifts for family and friends, the men would have them off the shuttle and emptied before Pavel could mention where they
remained.
He carefully made sure every system was shut down and locked out before he hopped off the shuttle, the door sealing itself as he
strolled toward the back of the manor house. There was a bounce of sheer delight in his step as he felt the sensuous delight of
Russian soil beneath his feet. Holding out his hands, he let his fingertips brush along the thick garden foliage he passed along the way.
Chekov sprinted up the wide marble steps onto the broad rear patio and with long strides, reached and swept open one pair of glass
doors that led into the splendor of the golden second floor ballroom. The candles in the room’s three chandeliers were not lit, but bright
light from the nearly noonday sun streamed in from outside through the expansive glass wall of doors. The brilliant, golden walls
shimmered from the sunlight that caressed them. The crystal shards that hung from the massive antique chandeliers caught the stray
sunbeams, pulled their light apart, and sent rainbow colors of light spearing throughout the room.
The grin completely seized his face as he swept with a light step to the center of the immense room’s gleaming floor. Closing his eyes,
he breathed in deeply, the smile never leaving his countenance as the smell of home filled him. He stretched out his arms and then
spun joyously as quickly as he could.
He laughed out loud at himself. He enjoyed the sound of his merriment filling the room and bouncing off its acoustically brilliant
architecture. Opening his eyes, he giggled again at himself and the utter abandon he felt at being alone in this grand house that some
noble had built in the nineteenth century to impress the Tsar. Yes, he knew which noble…but hell; he didn’t care at the moment about
the home's history.
He left the ballroom then and ambled down the hall to the right toward his bedroom. He detected no noticeable change as he
proceeded. The same antiques, the same paintings preserved the way the house was when it was built. The white marble walls and
floors gleamed so brilliantly he could see his reflection in them when he looked. Memory served him that this effect was not achieved
without effort and he offered up gratitude that he no longer had to wax anything in his life.
All the doors in the house were swung open. They valued their community ties here and rarely did one find a closed door meant to seal
themselves in—or others out. Chekov hesitated just inside his spacious bedroom.
The welcome of his family and the men that lived here met his gaze wherever he looked. Fresh flowers stood on the table by the
window, their petals scattered on the fresh linens that swathed his pillows. Hot water filled the samovar and there was fresh tea in the
pot at its base. He moved into the room, noticing the new pillows on his couch and the new chessboard on the table in front of it. The
layers of covers on the bed were turned down and on it there lay a full and fresh set of peasant clothes.
Chekov smiled softly. Wearing even a watch could bring you up for ridicule among these people: it was considered that you were trying
to show off as being better than they. A full Starfleet uniform? Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t taken his share of ribbing in his life.
His grin widened in glee as the thought occurred to him again that he was alone…luxuriously alone for hours. He could do exactly what
he wanted without being bothered by anyone. Especially at home, he was used to being spoiled. He always got his way.
Pavel quickly stripped off his boots and then every layer of his clothes with an enjoyment that was thorough. He pulled a thickly woven
robe loosely over his shoulders before padding barefoot across the rugs strewn over the stone floor of the room and to push open the
thick wooden door opposite his bed.
Once in the bathroom, he rested his rear on the edge of the large, deep, old tub that dominated the room. An adjustment to the metal
hardware sent water gushing over his fingers. Another advantage to living in the old manor house, he had running water at his
disposal--something no one else in the village had. He waited until he had made the temperature just a tad too hot before sealing the
drain and adding a generous amount of powdered soap. Immediately, frothy mounds of bubbles swelled up and filled all of the available
space.
Pavel got up then and retrieved the woven birch basket set against the wall. Returning to the tub, he retook his seat on the edge before
carefully removing the basket’s cover. Intricately carved wooden ships of every conceivable configuration filled the container’s depths.
He carefully, lovingly, sent the ships sailing through the expanding islands of bubbles in the tub’s expanse. Sasha had made these ships
for him as he had grown up. They were solid, hardwood, and sturdy, so he had little worry they could be damaged. Long solitary hours
playing with these ships in a bubble bath was one of his most treasured childhood memories, however, and the care he treated them
with was care for that memory. The empty basket he returned to its place against the wall before shutting the water off.
He hesitated and pulled his robe closed with irritation as he realized that he had failed to bring towels into the room. With a sigh of slight
annoyance, he padded back across the stone floor and into the bedroom. He rummaged for and obtained several luxuriant, natural
fiber towels before returning to push the bathroom’s heavy door open again.
Pavel Chekov froze in his tracks.
Sunk deep in the water filling the tub was an attractive young woman, her knees poking up through the blanket of bubbles coating its
surface.
“Tiana!” he exclaimed, a brilliant, cock-eyed smile sweeping over his face. Warm brown eyes sparkled happily as he took a step closer
to her and the tub. “What are you doing here?”
Crystalline blue eyes regarded him with patient innocence. “I live here, Pavel Andrievich.”
A scowl traced over his features. Yes, of course she lived here. His parents had taken a young Tatiana Semonova into their home when
she needed the help of guardians and she had stayed, having become an unofficial member of their family. The woman he called his
sister had a bedroom next to his, separated only by this bathroom that they technically shared.
Younger than him, the true Russian beauty had hair the color of clover honey and eyes that could put a sapphire to shame. Her pure
skin was the color of porcelain and the texture of a flower petal. Her energy and optimism were downright exhausting.
Frankly, she was the biggest pain in the ass he'd ever met. A real pest of a little sister, there was no end to the ways she found to
annoy him. He said prayers nearly nightly for the pitiful man who would end up stuck with her. He also called her Tiana just to piss her
off. Russian’s had dozen’s of nicknames, but Tiana was not an acceptable one for Tatiana.
“I thought everyone was at work,” he intoned, eyeing her with an irate scowl.
“I’m not.”
“Obviously.”
“I’m on vacation, Andriech.”
His scowl deepened into a pout. She knew he hated that nickname. The thought began to simmer that as far as he could tell, she never
worked. Every time he was home she happened to be on vacation. Just to annoy him, no doubt.
“That’s my bath,” he suddenly bit out.
“No, it’s mine.”
“It’s my bath,” he insisted with irritation.
“I’m in it, so it must be mine.”
“I drew it.”
“You weren’t in here when I came in.”
“I went to get towels. It’s my bath.”
“It’s mine. Take one afterward.”
“I don’t want to take one later. That’s my bath. Get out.”
“You’re a spoiled brat!”
“I am spoiled,” he retorted defiantly. “But I’m not a brat. Get out of my bath.”
“No. You’ll have to wait.”
“No, I don’t have to wait. That’s my bath: Get out.”
“I’m not getting out.”
Pavel Chekov stared at her for a long moment, his teeth clenched as he considered his options. He was used to getting what he wanted
and he was not about to let this pig-headed little pest stop him. “Well, that’s my bath and I’m getting in, so I suggest you get out.”
“I’m not getting out.”
“Well, I’m getting in!” he retorted and dropped his robe off his shoulders, triumphantly glaring at her.
Her eyes sank down slowly over his defiant form. “Well,” she said after a moment, her gaze fixed on him. “Am I supposed to be
impressed?”
The contempt roared in him and he thrust his feet impudently into the tub, letting the length of his form drop beneath the fiery water.
She lowered her head toward the bubbles and then lifted her gaze toward him from the other end of the tub. Long lashes fluttering
charmingly, her blue eyes sparkled and she giggled wickedly. He grinned easily in return and splashed a wad of bubbles at her,
laughing as well.
The grin on his face hesitated and he straightened, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the landscape of bubbles and water stretched
out between them. Chekov glanced sharply at the basket, which was still empty. His eyes swept the floor quickly and thoroughly.
“Where’s my fleet?” he demanded indignantly.
Blinking, her eyes widened in innocence. “What’s that?”
“My ships!” he spat out, slapping at the bubbles. “My ships! Where are all my ships!?”
“I daresay,” she drawled, stretching her hands to caress her exposed knees. “That I don’t know what you could be talking about.”
His dark eyes glared at her. It was clear she knew exactly what he was talking about. “Tell me where they are or I’ll look for them!”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I will!” he replied hotly. “Give me my ships!”
“Don’t even…ahh!” she screamed as he plunged his hand under the water toward her.
“Give me!
“Pavel Andrievich, don’t you dare!!!”
Indifferent to her protests, he dove forward and as she scrambled to get away, water sloshed over onto the floor and a small wooden
brig popped to the surface of the water.
“Mine!” she claimed in victory as she grabbed the ship.
He realized suddenly that she was restraining the ships in question under her upturned knees. Growling in victory, he thrust both arms
under the water with energy, searching for her firm legs and the space beneath them without any thought to the water splashing over
the side in waves.
Screaming, she kicked out at him to force him back from the ships she protected. “No! No! Get back! Leave me alone! Argh!”
Pavel pursued her relentlessly, diving forward onto his knees and chasing as she scrambled back against her end of the tub. “Give me
my ships!”
“No! Get away from me!” She screamed again then, kicking out at him repeatedly as he lunged on top of her and grabbed for the ships.
“Get away from me!”
The door that led to her bedroom opened then. Andrie Chekov stepped into the bathroom, his real leather shoes sloshing into the deep
puddle of water that filled the stone floor. The impeccable, dignified man stood there, his hand on the doorknob as he stared at the tub.
Both his grown son and daughter were there, naked, in what little water was left.
Hell, someone must have alerted him the Enterprise had arrived.
Pavel stared back at his father, frozen on his hands and knees as he quickly realized what the scene looked like and how the screams
that prompted the visit must have sounded. He swallowed hard.
“Papa,” he said in a desperate explanation. “She had my ships.”
Kind face impassive as he stood, Andrie’s wide brown eyes regarded the two of them silently a long moment. They shifted to meet
Tatiana’s gaze finally.
“My Dear,” he advised, “Never, never hold a man’s fleet captive.”