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Katya Pavlova: Dear Diary

Irina Pavlova

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((Casa Printzyessa, Duronis Embassy))


::Katya was sitting quietly in her mother’s room, working on a school project, while Jazmine was downstairs watching a holovid.   Her mother and stepmother were up playing on the new ship, and for the first time Jazmine was left in charge rather than getting a babysitter or the two girls going to stay with Admiral Turner’s or Major Parker’s families.  To Katya it was pretty cool having Jazmine in charge, though not so cool that she still had to do her homework.


Math finished, she turned to her history reading, and then her Laudean language homework and finally her science.  When finished, she stood up to head down to the kitchen when something caught her attention from the corner of her eye.  It was the dented metal box that Irina had dug up four-years-ago when they were first rescued from the Columbia.  Katya remembered that trip to Sochi, Russia like it was yesterday even though she wasn’t even five yet at the time, and more than that, even though more than half of her physiological aging had taken place at a vastly reduced rate in a cryostasis tube.


The box looked now as it did then; dented, faded and dingy.  Sliding the bench from the foot of Irina’s bed over to the closet, Katya climbed up and took hold of the box and then brought it down to the floor where she sat and just looked at it for a few minutes as she tried to decide whether or not to open it.  She knew what was inside already.  A few trinkets, some old photos, and an old book, Irina’s diary, that only went up to her departure for Starfleet.  Her curiosity was getting to her.  What was Irina like as a child?  What was her family like?  What things did she enjoy doing?  She knew she wasn’t supposed to look, but she couldn’t help herself and finally opened the lid and took hold of the photos.


Irina looked much the same a she did now, only her hair was a shinier yellow/blond instead of the duller blond it usually was now, or the black that she dyed it a few days ago.  There were pictures of Irina as a young girl as well, and while her youth was obvious, so too were facial features that were pretty constant from about the age of six.


There was a picture of a very young Irina, perhaps 4, smiling as she played the violin.  Another of a roughly 10-year-old Irina at a skeet range looking very serious as she stood at the firing line as the only child shooting amongst a group of very serious-looking adults.  Another of a teenaged Irina in a bikini smiling with a boy of about the same age as they both held surfboards, and another of a young-looking adult Irina in her 22nd century Marine uniform.


Katya thought to herself about what her mother’s life must have been like, and how long ago it really was.  In history class she learned that Federation and Klingons had only become allies in the last century, but that picture of Irina was taken more than a century before even that.  The amount of time was something that frequently caused Katya to lose herself to her imagination, wondering what it must have been like before replicators were invented and when kids like her didn’t love Klingon food.


Katya heard a crash and a bang from downstairs and knew that Jazmine had dropped something.  Not hearing any screams, she went back to looking in the box and finally removed Irina’s diary.  For a few minutes she just held the old book in her hands, still in its plastic cover, but finally she pulled it out and opened it to the first page.::



((Diary Entry))


January 5, 2154

Today is my tenth birthday.  I clothes (boring) and a full-sized violin that sounds much better than my old 3/4 size, that will go to Anatoli and then eventually to baby Ekaterina.  Anatoli is still too small too small for my 3/4 size, but he plays pretty good on the half sized violin that also used to be mine.  It still has the glue line from where I dropped it and cracked the back.


Mom gave me this book to write in for special days, and a bigger one to write in every day.  Since its my birthday, I’m writing in the special one.


((End Entry))



::Katya flipped through a few more pages and only skimmed as they were pretty boring.  She stopped at a longish entry that had to be better than just a list of birthday presents.::



(Diary Entry))


October 7, 2160

Dimitri is finally off his crutches, but he still has the cast on his ankle.  At least he gets around a little better and I’m glad he doesn’t blame me, even though the accident was my fault.  We rode our bikes down the trail and I could barely avoid the rocks at the speed I was going, and should have known he would keep up instead of slowing to a safer speed.  I need to remember he just isn’t that well coordinated.  Actually, he’s a total klutz, but he always reminds me that his grades are much higher than mine so I guess its fair.


Today we both snuck out of class and into the faculty men’s bathroom where Marco, Pavel and Nadia met us with a big bottle of vodka and half pack of cigarettes.  The cigarettes taste terrible and made me cough, but it was fun to smoke them.  The vodka was warm, but we got very drunk anyway.  Mr. Karatov came in and saw us, smiled, [...]ed and then left without saying a word and I was sure we’d all get busted in seconds, but minutes passed and then we just started drinking and smoking again.  I bet he did the same thing when he was our age.  I wonder what he’ll say when I come to Russian class tomorrow, or if he’ll just smile.  He’s so handsome with his short brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses.


((End Entry))



::Katya flipped through more of the book and finally decided to read the last entry.::



((Diary Entry))


July 20, 2169

Tomorrow I ship out on Columbia, and as I close this book, I close my childhood and upbringing with it.  Dimitri and I are having dinner tonight and then probably go to a jazz club, and then tomorrow morning he goes back to Camp Pendleton and I report to USS Columbia as Chief Armory Officer.  I still can’t believe I was picked for this mission, by the commodore himself, but I will focus on my duties and make sure not to let Commodore Moretti or any of my shipmates down.


As the whales said in one of my favorite old books, I now also say to my childhood.  “So long, and thanks for all the fish.”


((End Entry))



Katya: Fish?  What fish?




Katya Pavlova


Author ID  O238908HA0

Edited by Irina Pavlova
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