Starfleet Academy: The Edge

by Rudy Josephs

  “It seems we have both come here for the same reason,” Spock said. “To work in solitude. If that is the case, I do not see why we cannot work in solitude together.”

  “I thought all the instructors had their own offices.”

  “Work is being done on mine at the moment,” he said. “The environmental controls are malfunctioning. The temperature is currently set to below freezing.”

  She could see how that would be especially problematic for someone from a desert climate. That explained why their paths hadn’t crossed in the observation deck in the past three weeks. “Well, pull up some floor,” she said as she went back down to get her PADD.

  “Actually, I have found the ledge by the window to be more suitable to my needs,” he said as he moved over to the glass picture window. A metal ledge ran along the window at waist level. It looked like anyone who sat on it would have to perform quite the balancing act.

  The skepticism must have shown on her face, because Spock explained as he sat. “It is best to sit in the corner,” he said. “Lean back, and use the wall to prop yourself up. It is actually quite comfortable. Certainly more comfortable than the floor.”

  He did look comfortable in the little cubby that formed where the wall, window, and ledge met. She got up and mimicked his position on the opposite end of the window, leaning her back against the glass. He was right. It was a better choice than the floor. “Thanks.”

  They sat at the window, across from each other. Their backs were to the view and their heads down on their work, focused on their respective projects in quiet contemplation. They sat working for the better part of an hour, until they were interrupted by the tweet of the communicator attached to Spock’s belt. In the silence of the observation deck, it sounded as loud as the red alert Klaxon on a starship.

  Spock wore an almost sheepish expression as he grabbed the device and opened it. “Spock here.”

  “Commander Spock,” a voice said from the communicator. “Please report to Admiral Bennett’s office.”

  “Acknowledged,” he replied, signing off without another word.

  Uhura looked up from her PADD. She’d seen the Academy dean speak several times in front of the students, but she’d never met him in person. She assumed the faculty interacted with him more often, but it was still impressive that Spock was being called to meet with the admiral.

  The abruptness of the conversation was equally as interesting. If someone had ordered her to the admiral’s office, she surely would have had a few questions for whomever was on the other end of the line.

  There did seem to be a glimmer of puzzlement on Spock’s face as he rose from the ledge. It probably wasn’t every day that he had an audience with the admiral, Uhura thought as she grew more curious about the call.

  “Thank you for sharing your study space with me,” Spock said.

  “It was yours first,” she said. “Guess I was just keeping an eye on it for you.”

  “I am certain that it is now in capable hands,” Spock replied.

  She tried to contain herself as he left. A compliment from a Vulcan! She wasn’t even sure that they were able to do such a thing.

  It was interesting. There had been nothing particularly special about their encounter. And yet, after spending a little time in Spock’s company, Uhura found herself feeling like she had a better grasp of Interspecies Protocol.

  Kirk slipped an extra chocolate chip cookie into the pocket of his uniform and continued down the mess hall line. It wasn’t stealing since the cadets’ meals were provided for them, but he had to hide it nonetheless. The Academy kept strict control over the students’ calorie intake. An extra dessert would be recorded in his file.

  Yet another reason he thought Starfleet might not be the right place for him. Even his dessert came with rules.

  He still hadn’t decided exactly how he felt about the Academy. For every success he’d had over the past months, there’d been an equal failure. In some classes he shined. In others, he was struggling. The only bright side was that his ankle had healed on its own.

  Kirk slid his tray through the scanner, placed his thumb on the monitor, and recorded his calorie intake. He grabbed another cookie on the way back to the table. It wasn’t that Kirk had much of a sweet tooth. He just didn’t like being told what to do.

  “Dessert?” Lynne asked when he reached their table. A pile of brownies sat in the empty spot across from her. He wasn’t the only one who appreciated minor rebellions.

  He added his cookies to the pile. “It’s like we’re both eight, and our mothers told us to keep our hands out of the cookie jar.”

  “Don’t know any eight-year-old who could get a perfect score on the phaser firing range on her first try.”

  “Still bragging about that?”

  “And I plan to keep bragging about it until you beat my record time,” Lynne retorted. “Or until you take me out on that date you’ve been promising me.”

  Kirk motioned to the packed mess hall. Dozens of conversations echoed around the room as the cadets sat under the harsh institutional lighting. “What? We’ve got food. We’ve got ambiance. You don’t consider this a date?”

  “No.”

  “What about the night we went stargazing with the astronomy class?”

  “No.”

  He leaned across the table. “Or how ’bout that time we—”

  She pushed him back. “Definitely not.”

  “Then I give up,” he said, digging into his lunch. “I’m turning over the date planning to you.”

  “That’s not very gentlemanly.”

  “And here I thought you were a modern woman,” Kirk said. “Besides, you’re the one who brought up this whole dating thing in the first place.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you’re not interested?”

  “It’s my way of telling you that maybe I’d liked to be wooed a little. I’d like to be the one getting the massage.”

  Lynne raised an arm and waved across the mess hall. “Thanas!”

  Kirk’s fork landed on his tray with a clank. “Is this your way of telling me you’ve moved on?”

  “With Thanas?” she asked. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “You called him over here,” Kirk reminded her. “Him and his legion of followers.”

  The Andorian’s popularity had dipped in recent days. It had been more than two months since he won the survival course. He hadn’t really done anything to make himself stand out since then. Everyone else was pretty much focusing on their own accomplishments. At least Kirk was. Still, he was annoyed to see that the guy had a few hangers-on still following him to their table.

  “You know what they say about keeping your friends close and your enemies closer?” Lynne replied right before Thanas arrived.

  “Monica,” the Andorian said with a leer.

  Kirk didn’t like how Thanas was calling Lynne by her first name. It was a tradition to refer to one another by surnames in Starfleet, especially while in uniform. It was a sign of respect. Certainly, Kirk called her Monica on occasion, but that was during more personal moments. Not when he was greeting her in a packed mess hall.

  If he were being honest, Kirk would have acknowledged to himself that he didn’t care about tradition. He was jealous. There was no reason to be, but jealousy rarely followed reason.

  “Thanas,” she replied curtly. “You know Jim Kirk?”

  They exchanged nods of greeting. They knew each other all too well. Their paths had crossed several times in Combat Training. Usually with painful results.

  Thanas sat beside Lynne. He’d brought three friends with him. There were only two open seats. Kirk watched with annoyance as Thanas’s female followers jockeyed for a position through a game of musical mess hall chairs, except without the music. A cute, red-headed, green-skinned Orion girl was the one left standing. Kirk could tell she was vacillating between finding a chair and forcing her way into the group, or leaving.

  She made up her mind, moving on
without a word. Kirk was glad to see that she recovered quickly, finding a guy at the next table who was willing to open up a space for her when she flashed him a flirty smile. Thanas didn’t even notice she had gone.

  “You guys hear the news?” Thanas asked.

  “What news?” Lynne responded.

  “’Bout my roommate,” he said. “Jackson.”

  Kirk and Lynne shared a look. They hadn’t heard anything, but neither of them wanted to prod Thanas on. He was obviously parsing out the information in a way that would keep him the center of attention for the longest time possible.

  Thankfully, one of his admirers filled that role. “What about him?” Karin Andros asked between bites. Her tray was overloaded with food, and she was eating like it was the only meal she was going to take time out of her day for. Out of her week, really, considering how quickly she was scarfing down the food. Eating that way could not be healthy.

  “Died,” Thanas said. “This morning. Or last night. Not quite sure.”

  Everyone at the table froze, except Thanas. He’d actually taken that moment to start eating. Kirk wanted to smack him for being so blasé. “A cadet died? How? What happened?”

  Thanas shrugged between bites. “Beats me. Probably allergic to gravity. He was from your lunar colony.”

  Kirk wondered if he was the same kid who fell during the survival course. The lunar colony wasn’t that populated. Couldn’t be that many cadets from there. The odds were good that it was the same person.

  The fall had been pretty bad, but he’d seen the cadet around campus since then. He didn’t seem to be in any pain. “Why haven’t we heard anything about it? None of my instructors have said anything.”

  “Mine either,” Lynne agreed.

  “You think admin wants this thing to get around?” Thanas scoffed. “Only reason I know is because I found him. Being he was my roommate and all. Wonder if this means I get all As for the semester.” He looked to the girls flanking him. “Isn’t that the rule if your roommate dies?”

  Nobody could answer his question. Probably since everyone was so horrified that he could turn news of his roommate’s death into something about him.

  Lynne dropped her fork onto her tray. “Think I just lost my appetite.”

  “Really?” Thanas said, missing the point. “Didn’t peg you for the sensitive type.” He nodded. “I like that.”

  “Excuse me,” Lynne said as she grabbed her tray, and got up.

  Kirk still had his appetite, but wasn’t about to spend the rest of lunch with Thanas and his fan club. He took one last heaping bite of his pasta, wrapped a brownie in a napkin, and followed Lynne with his tray.

  She was dropping her food into a composting station when he reached her. “He’s a pig.”

  “No argument from me,” Kirk said. He didn’t think reminding her that she was the one who had called Thanas over in the first place was a good idea. “You think he was on the level about Jackson?”

  Lynne grabbed a pear on her way out to the quad. “Don’t know why he’d lie about it. Then again, I don’t get much of what Thanas does.”

  The campus grounds were buzzing with students and faculty going about their day in the beautiful San Francisco sunshine. People were laughing, rushing to class. A pickup game of flag football had broken out.

  Not a single sign that death had visited the campus last night.

  Kirk wondered if the administration could really cover up something like that. It didn’t seem likely. Word was bound to spread, especially with someone like Thanas in on the news.

  Lynne and Kirk walked in silence while they both thought over what they’d been told. It was another strike against the Academy in Kirk’s eyes. He’d expected the place to be tough, but never imagined it would kill anyone. Of course, he didn’t know that the kid died because of the Academy. It could have been a totally unrelated event.

  Somehow he doubted that.

  “Let’s focus on a happier note,” Lynne said. “Our date?”

  “Uh-uh,” Kirk said. “I’ve decided I want you to surprise me. Please show me how easy it is to put something together, considering our busy schedules.”

  “I accept your challenge,” she said with a bow. “Block out your evening. I’ve already got an idea.”

  “Today?” Kirk had two different study groups this afternoon. Since he couldn’t remember what classes either was for, he figured that he could probably blow them off. If that meant getting to spend some time alone with Lynne, he would definitely do it. His smile gave her his answer.

  “Okay, then,” she said as she started off. “I’ll send you the details later.”

  He called after her. “Remember, I expect to be impressed.”

  She threw him a backward wave as she took off toward the student union. Kirk watched her leave. Though he still felt badly for the kid that he hardly knew, Kirk also felt like he had something to look forward to in this place. That alone brightened his mood dramatically.

  “Commander Spock, I’m sure you’re wondering why you’ve been called to the principal’s office.” Admiral Richard Bennett said from behind his desk. He sat between that desk and a large picture window that overlooked half the campus. The office was by far the largest and most extravagantly decorated in the administration building.

  Spock assumed the “principal’s office” reference was a quaint colloquialism, the kind he often heard while on Earth.

  In the few years Spock had spent living on his mother’s home world, he’d come to accept the fact that humans overly relied on culturally specific references, expecting those who did not grow up on their world to understand them. In his early days as an Academy cadet, Spock had to endure the somewhat condescending glares from his peers when he interpreted a comment too literally or simply misunderstood a reference. He endeavored not to make that mistake in front of the dean of Starfleet Academy.

  Instead, he focused on the point of Bennett’s question. “I find conjecturing on such matter to be a distraction. I see no reason to wonder about an issue that you will surely reveal to me at the proper time.”

  “Well, be that as it may, I’m sure you understand how well regarded you are by the rest of the faculty here.”

  “Yes,” Spock replied.

  The dean paused. Spock’s response seemed to catch him off guard. It was possible that the admiral had anticipated an expression of gratitude for his compliment.

  On Vulcan, Spock’s instructors had never expected to hear a “thank you” for a mere assessment of his superior work. The admiral was just relaying information that had been passed along by his subordinates. Still, the silence that was building was growing noticeable.

  Spock pushed aside the logical response in favor of meeting the requirements of Earth customs. “Thank you.”

  This elicited a smile from the admiral and allowed him to proceed. “Impressive, indeed. First Vulcan cadet at Starfleet. Graduated at the top of the class. And, of course, programming the Kobayashi Maru scenario in your senior year. That was a feat of considerable achievement.”

  Another pause.

  “Thank you.”

  “And now the head of your department tells me that you have proposed some truly advanced plans for your classes. A great start to the school year.”

  A third pause.

  This was growing tiresome.

  “Thank you.”

  “Which leads me to my unorthodox request,” Bennett said, pausing for a second. “A situation arose this morning. Something that may be a unique incident . . . or possibly the sign of a deeper problem.”

  Spock noticed that the admiral was choosing his words carefully. Being intentionally vague as if he did not wish to address this mysterious “situation.” It was odd, considering it was the very subject Spock had been called into the office to discuss.

  A soft whooshing sound alerted him that the door behind him had opened. He rose along with the dean. “Captain Warde, thank you for joining us,” Admiral Bennett said. “You know
Commander Spock?”

  “Certainly,” she said as the pair exchanged greetings. Warde had been one of Spock’s instructors during his first year at Starfleet Academy, back when she was still a lieutenant commander. She’d been the Academy’s leading expert on Federation law and security training.

  If Spock had such a thing as a “favorite” teacher, she would have qualified. When she was known as Lieutenant Commander Warde, she was one of the few instructors who hadn’t been intimidated by his intellect upon their first meeting. What other members of the faculty had mistaken for arrogance on his part, she insightfully understood was merely his way of clearly delineating his thought process without needless emotion.

  Warde had left Starfleet Academy after Spock’s first year as a cadet to serve as Chief of Security on the USS Exeter. It was curious that she would return before her five-year mission on the starship was complete. Her promotion to captain suggested that her shorter service had been exemplary.

  “Please have a seat,” the admiral said, resuming his position behind his desk. “Captain Warde, perhaps you could bring Spock here up to speed on the case you are investigating.”

  The captain dove right in to her story without preamble, providing Spock with the details of the death of one Cadet Jackson. She listed the collection of wounds that were discovered during the autopsy, along with the evidence of questionable surgical practices. Warde ran through the facts without comment or unnecessary emotion, laying out the situation in a concise manner that Spock found refreshing. She ended with a simple question. “Your thoughts?”

  Spock considered the facts. “It is not surprising that a weaker student might try to find a way to enhance his abilities,” he said. “Starfleet Academy is one of the foremost institutions in the galaxy.”

  “Thank you,” the admiral said, throwing Spock off momentarily by the unexpected interruption.

  “However, it must be noted that the cadet’s chosen course of action was particularly ill-advised,” Spock continued.

  “Don’t be so polite, Spock,” Captain Warde interjected, throwing her first real emotion into the proceedings. “It was stupid. Pure and simple.”