Turtles: the final frontier

[starcharter]

Characters: Chekov and YOU
Date: Today-ish
Location: Absolutely everywhere
Situation: Chekov has been snatched from the Enterprise and dropped shoeless and confused into a city on the back of a turtle. Clearly the solution is to look around and go shopping.
Warnings/Rating: None


At first, he'd thought it was a very, very strange dream. Of course, that theory was debunked about two minutes in when he pinched himself. Then he was carted from a grand palace to a reasonably large city. He couldn't identify this particular race of aliens, but it's clear that their technology lags far behind the Federation's. So he stays quiet. So do they, actually. The few questions he asked-- generic questions-- he'd gotten little scraps of information and a lot of 'that's the Emperor's business.' A monarchy. That explains the palace, he supposes.

Once they show him his suite (it was pretty nice) and dropped some money into his hands (money? How outdated), Chekov decides to set off. He needs to change out of his uniform, just to be safe. The Prime Directive is that one rule you don't want to break in Starfleet. Even hinting at the fact that he was from a world more advanced than this one is a bad idea. He needs to blend in as much as he can.

A little hard to do when you're standing shoeless in the middle of Metal Sector.

Alright. He focuses: clothes, food, crew, answers. Without any kind of Starfleet communication device, he's going to have to hoof it around the city. Just as well: not having a mental map of this place bothers him; he might as well start making one now.

Comments

[imaginate]

Sinbrilee is the place to be, if one discounted all the mysterious archways, but Kyle's not feeling it after reliving some of his worst nightmares. Instead, he takes to the streets of Keeliai, intending to indulge in some retail therapy. Shayera needs some groceries, after all, and if they're going to wall up at her place they need to be able to withstand a siege.

It's during this ill-advised adventure that he runs into a familiar looking uniform on a much tinier person, who has shoes, and is looking at the window of a small clothes store. Kyle hasn't bothered much with his appearance, but hey, if this is one of Jim's, it's a detour he can afford.

'Hey,' he calls out. 'Short on cash?'

[starcharter]

Chekov turns when he hears a voice (he should pay more attention, but he's busy taking in the sights, trying to commit as much information to memory as possible). The question clearly surprises him, but he smiles as he prepares to dismiss the stranger's generosity.

His accent is thick and clearly Russian, but he's not too difficult to understand.

"No, the kedans gave me some juulans. I just do not go shopping for clothes often."

Because space.

[imaginate]

Thick accents aren't a problem. All kinds of species are in the Corps (some don't even use words, it's more like a series of strange whistles that Kyle wasn't even going to try and replicate), so he flashes Chekov a bright smile.

'Well, my friend, you're in luck. I happen to know exactly where an enterprising Starfleet man can get some threads.'

Hey, he's cool.

[starcharter]

At this point, Chekov isn't even surprised that this man knows about Starfleet. Nearly everyone he's met so far has. They've also known something (rather, someone) else.

"Thank you. I suppose you know Captain Kirk?"

It sounds like a safe assumption.

[imaginate]

'He's a man who knows where his towel is.' The tone's teasing, he clearly knows Jim well, and more than that, likes him. He's even sassed that hoopy frood.

Kyle walks up to Chekov, and holds out his hand. The light in his eyes and smile is almost - almost - comparable to Jim's own.

'Kyle Rayner. Green Lantern Corps. Any friend of Kirk's is a friend of mine.'

[starcharter]

Chekov frowns, not quite getting the reference. (Then again, he preferred non-fiction.)

Chekov grins back brightly and takes Kyle's hand.

"Ensign Pavel Chekov, navigator. Very nice to meet you. It seems the Captain has made many friends."

[imaginate]

He releases the handshake and puts his hands in his pockets, not aggressively or despondently, and tilts his chin up to study Chekov. While his posture is amiable and calm, his gaze is sharp, searching.

'Nice to meet you, Pavel. You all caught up?'

[starcharter]

He's not quite sure what Kyle is searching for, so he continues the conversation perfectly amicably.

"Yes, I have spoken with the Captain already."

His reticence is because they spoke in private-- he knows this Emperor is likely monitoring them. It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

"I could use help with the more practical things here. Particularly with the food."

Chekov would rather not accidentally give himself food poisoning, you know?

[imaginate]

Good. He nods. Any timeline muck-ups were already sorted out, and he could pop in to see Jim later to see his views on the subject.

For the moment, he was going to get to know Chekov. The kid looked what, seventeen? Same age as Jaime, and Kyle was extremely protective of the third Beetle. Their origin stories were far too similar.

'Sure. Name it, and let's go get it.'

[starcharter]

"Perhaps we could start with the store you mentioned."

Because right now he could use a hot shower, clean clothes, and hot food. Sleep is impossible right now, though.

[imaginate]

'Follow me!'

Cheerfully, he waves and starts walking, briskly.

[starcharter]

Chekov follows along, keeping pace easily. He's quiet for a bit, just looking around and taking in his surroundings, but then he remembers his question.

"What is the 'Green Lantern Corps'?"

[imaginate]

Kyle answers immediately, 'Starfleet with better colour schemes.' A pause. 'Well, we're peacekeepers first, and explorers second. Most of our universe is already known, it's just a matter of getting all the languages right.'

[starcharter]

"Green, I presume?"

He likes his command golds, tyvm.

"Your Corps does not have a linguistics division?"

Starfleet has a rather large one-- necessary for diplomacy, after all.

[imaginate]

'Green.'

Best colour ever, if anyone asks.

'No. We have a universal translator.' He holds up his ring, and flexes his fingers, to emphasise. 'Anything more sophisticated, we usually have a Lantern from that culture to act as a mediator.'

[starcharter]

"How did your Corps explore the entire universe? Theoretically, the universe does not stay at the same size."

PHYSICS.

[imaginate]

He frowns. 'Maybe I should have been more specific. There's not much left to explore, just the frontier and we've got enough means and time to explore it once the other stuff's sorted out.'

He shrugs. 'Order is the main priority.'

There were too many wars.

[starcharter]

"The balance of power and use of diplomacy?"

Despite the relative peace, even his universe had issues with the balance of power.

[imaginate]

'Yeah. We've got extreme disparities in levels of technology; cultures that haven't invented the wheel alongside those who grow people in test tubes. I tend to level the playing field.' A beat. 'Sometimes literally.'

[starcharter]

"Not dissimilar from my own universe. Starfleet is more hands-off, even if some would prefer otherwise."

His tone says he disagrees with their opinion.

[imaginate]

Kyle casts him a curious glance. 'Interference of the diplomatic kind is necessary, sometimes. And force too, can be useful in the right circumstances.'

He's not deliberately contradicting Chekov's opinion, but the fact remains that Jim's crew are peaceful explorers, and Kyle's always been a soldier first.

[starcharter]

"I know. We double as a defense organization."

He imagines Kyle already knows that. But this shoptalk has gotten kind of depressing.

[imaginate]

Which he senses. Poor kid, dragged into this. The cynical part of Kyle knows they're not there to protect the universe, their job is to die trying.

He claps an arm over Chekov and guides him into a shop. 'Here we are, civilian clothes aisle. Pick whatever you like, and don't worry about money.'

[starcharter]

It's lucky he's used to Kirk-- he doesn't even flinch at the contact. He looks over at Kyle.

"There is no need-- they gave me money."

But there's something telling him that, like Kirk, Kyle is going to insist.

[imaginate]

Meet Jim's dark-haired kind of clone, Chekov. Kyle does exactly that. 'Please. First day here? Let it be my treat. C'mon, pick something or I might have to do it for you.'