The kid who slides up to the bar early in the night looks like he's up past his bedtime, the green coin in his hand will--he hopes--encourage the bartender to ignore that fact. Chekov has a hell of a time getting strict establishments to serve him alcohol. For some reason, no one takes his word for it when he says he's eighteen.

"Hello, sir," he says amiably through a thick Russian accent. "Stoli, please?"