Starfleet Academy: The Edge

by Rudy Josephs

  The ruse seemed to do the trick, if Thanas’s reaction was any indication. He turned to his female companion and asked, “We can go to your dorm room, right?”

  “I was hoping to have your assistance,” Spock quickly added. The ruse was useless if Thanas left.

  Thanas let out a snort of a laugh, and ignored Spock. “Well?” he asked his friend.

  She got up off the bed, not looking very disappointed so far as Spock could tell. “Can’t,” she said. “My roommate is hosting a study group. Maybe tomorrow night.”

  Thanas put out his arm, blocking the doorway before she could leave the room. “I may have plans tomorrow night,” he warned.

  “Then it will be your loss,” she said. Even Spock recognized a good exit line as she slipped under the cadet’s arm, and they both watched her saunter through the door and down the hall.

  Thanas eyed Spock with uncontained hostility. “You have no idea what you just interrupted.”

  Spock chose not to challenge that assertion. It wasn’t difficult to imagine what Thanas had been hoping would occur.

  Spock started to assemble the boxes so they could be filled, unfolding them into their more useful position. “It will be helpful for you to remain here so that I do not accidentally pack any of your belongings.”

  Thanas dropped down on his bed without offering a hand. “No worries there.” He pointed to the opposite side of the room. “Everything over there was Jackie’s. Everything over here is mine. Our stuff didn’t really comingle.”

  Once the boxes were assembled, Spock made a visual inspection of the room. Thanas was correct in his assessment of his personal quarters. The room was well delineated between his side of the room and Jackson’s.

  The Andorian was lying in bed in the midst of the most cluttered space Spock had ever witnessed. The room would never pass inspection. It also said much about the cadet’s quality as a romantic partner, considering he did not respect his former guest enough to straighten up before he invited her in.

  Cadet Jackson’s side of the room was immaculate. A textbook case of the proper care for one’s quarters. This resembled more of life on a starship, where cleanliness and order were the ideal. The mess that Thanas lived in could be dangerous onboard a starship. Malfunctioning environmental controls had been known to disrupt the artificial gravity, which, in an extreme case, could turn any number of the items surrounding the cadet into projectiles. Good thing they were still planet bound.

  Spock was envious of one element of the living situation. His roommate during his first year did not respect personal boundaries. He was constantly borrowing Spock’s property without asking. Spock still suspected that his former roommate had left with a number of his personal belongings when he was discharged. Cadets Thanas and Jackson clearly kept their items separate. That would make Spock’s task easier.

  Captain Warde had already been through the room earlier, looking for anything that could be considered evidence. Still, she had instructed him to take note of anything she may have missed as he catalogued the remaining items. She seemed to indicate that Spock could learn a lot about the cadet from examining his belongings. He did not see how that would be relevant to the investigation, but tried to keep an open mind.

  He began with the cadet’s desk. It was unlikely there was any information on the illegal surgery the cadet undertook, but it seemed the logical place to start. As he collected Jackson’s items, Spock tried to engage the boy’s roommate in one of his least favorite past times: small talk.

  “You said earlier that you disliked your roommate?” Spock asked, beginning his informal questioning.

  “What? No. Jackie was okay,” Thanas said. “Just didn’t have much in common. “Didn’t like him. Didn’t not like him.”

  Spock had a difficult time following that line of reasoning. “So you weren’t enemies?”

  Thanas picked a purple tennis ball off the ground and tossed into the air above him as he lay in his bed. “Didn’t have anything to be enemies about. We weren’t exactly in the same league.”

  “You did not consider Cadet Jackson a peer?”

  “Well, yeah,” Thanas said. “He was a peer. Wasn’t much competition.”

  “Starfleet Academy is a serious educational institution,” Spock reminded him. “It is not a competition.”

  “Guess you didn’t hear I came in first during the Desert Survival Course.” There was a momentary silence. “Oh, that’s right, the teachers act like that doesn’t happen. Well, I figured word spread.”

  “From what I understand, Cadet Jackson finished in a respectable place himself,” Spock said. He’d read it in the cadet’s file. Very little occurred at the Academy without the administration’s knowledge of it. That held true for many of the unsanctioned events.

  “Only respectable place in that race is first,” Thanas said. The tennis ball made another high arc, almost touching the ceiling. “Maybe Vulcans don’t get that whole competitive thing. Don’t care much about winners. Or losers.”

  “Were you concerned about Cadet Jackson outperforming you?”

  “Already said we weren’t in the same league,” Thanas repeated.

  “What about Cadet Andros?”

  Thanas trapped the tennis ball in his hands and turned to glare at Spock. “What about her?”

  “It is my understanding that you are in a relationship.”

  “Did she tell you that? No. We went out a couple times. Had some fun. What do you care? You interested in her?” He looked Spock over. “Doubt she’d go for you.”

  Spock was almost offended that Thanas would think that comment would offend him. “I was just . . . surprised that you would be romancing another young woman when Cadet Andros lies unconscious in a medical bay.”

  This finally got the Andorian’s attention. “Seriously? Anything I should be worried about? Nothing contagious, I hope.”

  Again, Spock was caught off guard by the lack of concern in his voice. Andorians weren’t the most emotional of races, but they had no problem expressing themselves. “No. She is experiencing a different type of ailment.”

  “Good to know.” Thanas leaned back and resumed throwing the tennis ball into the air.

  “Interesting though that both your roommate and your . . . casual partner would be struck with medical conditions in the same twenty-four-hour period.”

  The ball stopped again. “I don’t think I like what you’re suggesting.”

  “I was merely commenting on the statistical—”

  Thanas rose from his bed. “I don’t like your statistics, either.”

  “I assure you,” Spock said, “I meant no offense.”

  Thanas grabbed the box Spock was holding. “Know what? I think I’d rather pack up Jackie’s stuff for him. Show some respect for his family. You can go.”

  Spock was not done with his questioning. “The job will go faster if both of us perform the task.”

  “That’s okay,” Thanas insisted. “I’m good here.”

  Spock realized that he had offended the cadet. Even if he managed to convince Thanas to allow him to stay, he doubted that any useful information would be forthcoming. Spock gave him a nod of thanks and left the room, mentally berating himself for failing in his mission to obtain any answers for the investigation.

  Lynne had chosen a table out on the deck, with a spectacular view of water stretching out across the bay. The table kept with the intentionally tacky beach theme. It was painted to look like it had been built from driftwood. The chairs were modeled after canvas beach chairs. But it was the grass hut in the middle of each table that was the weirdest element by far. Kirk couldn’t figure out what purpose it served, other than as a freakish centerpiece.

  They sat beside each other in chairs facing the gorgeous vista. The sun was setting off to their left. The fading glow made for a nice reflection in the water off the north-facing shore. A chill breeze drifted inland, but heat lamps—and his proximity to Lynne—kept Kirk warm.

  He didn�
��t want McCoy’s story to get in the way of the date, but it was hard to put aside what his friend had said. It seemed tasteless to think of relaxing with Lynne when Jackson’s body was lying in the morgue and another cadet was fighting whatever it was she had over at Starfleet Medical.

  “Someone’s deep in thought,” Lynne said, pulling him back into the moment.

  “No,” he said. “I’m just the strong, silent type.”

  “Too bad I like them weak and mouthy,” she replied.

  Her comment brought his thoughts right back to Jackson. It was horrible to think that way of the dead. Jackson wasn’t weak. Just misguided. Kirk could understand the pressure the kid was under. He’d been feeling it enough himself. But he’d never understand going to such crazy lengths.

  He felt Lynne’s hand on his. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  It wasn’t that she was overly perceptive. It would have been hard for anyone to miss that something was weighing on him. “It’s nothing, really,” Kirk said. “Now, what do you have planned for us tonight.”

  “That’s a surprise,” Lynne replied with a cryptic smile. She tapped some commands into the computer screen built into the driftwood table. The mix of modern technology and throwback furniture was weird, but Kirk didn’t comment on the aesthetic. He was too busy trying to peek over Lynne’s shoulder. She’d leaned her body so that Kirk couldn’t see what she was ordering.

  “I take it whatever you’re ordering is a surprise as well?”

  Lynne’s response was a broader smile that brightened her entire face, with a crinkled nose, and a twinkle in her eyes. The twinkle was more the reflection of light off the water, but Kirk enjoyed it all the same. “I’m full of surprises,” she said.

  As if punctuating her comment, a pair of colorful drinks appeared beneath the grass shack centerpiece. Kirk pulled the drinks from under the canopy. “You’ve got to be kidding,” he said, genuinely impressed.

  It wasn’t magic. It was a tiny transporter built into the table and disguised to match the theme. Now that Kirk was paying more attention, he saw the painted transporter pad built into the fake driftwood.

  He’d heard that a restaurant in San Francisco had adapted transporter technology to use for commercial purposes. Obviously this was the place. It seemed like a waste to him. Federation starships were equipped with transporters to send people and cargo across distances in the blink of an eye, not to save a restaurant from having to hire waiters.

  But then he took a sip from the icy orange and red mixed beverage and forgot all about those concerns. The drink was delicious. A burst of mango and tropical fruits was only the initial experience as he took his first taste. There was the refreshing sensation of ice cold liquid going down his throat, gradually warming as it went on its journey. When he put his glass down, he was even more surprised to see that the drink was suddenly a mix of blue and green.

  Lynne smiled when she saw the confused expression on Kirk’s face. “It’s called a Risian Rainbow. Every sip promises a new experience.”

  Another swallow revealed the drink now had the odd pairing of apple and blueberry. Kirk didn’t like that as much as the first sip, but the now purple and yellow drink suggested a new sensation was forthcoming. “Interesting.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “It is a little froufrou for me,” he said, playing up the tough guy image he’d honed through years of practice. “I don’t usually do drinks that come with umbrellas. Or in pastels.”

  “This is one of the healthiest drinks in the galaxy,” she explained.

  “Even worse,” Kirk joked.

  “Thought it would be good to get some vitamins in you if you plan to keep up with me tonight.”

  Lynne’s words made his body temperature rise quite a few degrees, but Kirk tried to play it cool. He took a long chug of his frozen drink, risking brain freeze to show her that he was up for whatever she had planned.

  He was somewhat relieved when Lynne pulled the glass from his lips before he finished it. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” she said, laughing.

  He put the nearly empty glass back on the table. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

  Lynne ran her finger around the rim of her still mostly full drink. As her finger passed, the liquid changed color along the top edges. “Patience. I thought we could relax a bit first. Actually talk about something other than our classes. We’ve barely had any real conversations since we met.”

  “Sometimes silence is a virtue.”

  “Sometimes silence is overrated,” she said as they fell into a comfortable, quiet moment together. Kirk was never big on the deep soul-searching conversations. Those usually just wound up with him talking about things he didn’t want to discuss. This silent moment with Lynne was perfect as far as he was concerned.

  But it didn’t last nearly as long as Kirk had hoped.

  “What brought you to Starfleet?” Lynne asked, bringing up the one subject he most did not want to discuss.

  “An overcrowded shuttle,” Kirk replied. It was a snotty response, but it was the only one he had. Captain Pike’s challenge for Kirk to live up to his father’s legacy was certainly a part of it. But he still wasn’t sure what ultimately convinced him to join the Academy. And he definitely wasn’t ready to share those feelings with anyone. Not yet, anyway. “What about you?”

  He’d expected Lynne to respond with a joke, but she was deadly serious when she said, “My application was filled out on my first day of elementary school.”

  “Parents wanted it, huh?” Kirk said. “I get that.”

  She let out an unrestrained bark of laughter. “Not even close. Joining Starfleet was the last thing my parents wanted for me.”

  Kirk leaned closer. “You’ve got my attention.”

  Lynne took a long drink from her glass as she gathered her thoughts. They both watched the Risian Rainbow change color. Kirk wasn’t going to push her. If he didn’t want to talk about his reasons, she certainly didn’t have to share hers. Even though she was the one who asked the question in the first place. “My granddad was lost on one of the early deep space missions.”

  “I’m sorry,” Kirk said. Obviously, he knew how that felt. She was probably under the same pressure he was to live up to someone who had come before.

  “Not like your dad,” she quickly added. “His ship was literally lost. The Coronado. Failed to make contact three months after leaving space dock. Never heard from again. Just gone. No explanation.”

  Kirk thought that might be worse than what he’d been through. At least he knew his dad was dead. Lynne still had hope for her granddad, unlikely though it was. “So you joined Starfleet hoping you could find him one day?”

  “I’m not that big a dreamer,” she replied. “Space is a big place. I don’t expect I’ll ever know that answer.”

  The conversation took another pause as they watched the last of the fading sunlight on the water. Tacky tiki lights blinked on around them, and torches flared to life.

  Lynne took another sip from her drink, which changed to a melancholy blue to match her mood. “Growing up not knowing my granddad . . . I did all I could to find out about him. Made me feel closer to him even though we never met.”

  Kirk nodded. “Big hero?”

  Lynne smiled. “You’re really bad at this. Why don’t you let me tell the story on my own?”

  Kirk sipped from what remained of his ever-changing drink, and waved her on.

  “He was still an ensign when the ship was lost. Dad was about ten, living on Earth with Grandma when they got the news. Granddad was only a blip in Starfleet records.”

  Kirk wanted to ask her how she’d researched him, but knew he’d only get a smart response again. He took another sip as the rest of his drink shifted to an ominous black.

  “I found his journals one day when I was staying with Grandma—my parents were vacationing on some planet,” she said. “I had the actual journals that he’d written by hand. Dozens of them from high schoo
l, through his time at the Academy, to his first posting on a starship. It was the find of my life. Nothing else mattered to me after that.”

  Kirk hadn’t seen an actual book in a while. He wasn’t much of a reader, but what he did read was always on a PADD. He could imagine how it affected Lynne to be able to read her grandfather’s handwriting, to touch the pages that he’d touched.

  “Granddad didn’t know anyone when he applied to the Academy,” she explained. “He didn’t have some officer writing him a recommendation. No recruiter came to town to seek him out. His grades were never great. He wasn’t a star in school. He just contacted a recruiter and made his case.”

  She wasn’t speaking directly about Kirk, but she could have been. Sure, she knew about his dad, but the rest of it wasn’t exactly common knowledge. As far as he knew, Lynne was totally unaware that his path randomly crossed with the recruiter in a bar one night.

  “They let him in, naturally,” she said. “Weren’t as picky back then. Not like it is today.”

  Kirk wondered what the Academy was like “back then” when space was still an adventure, not a political minefield. Back when they were still coming up with all those rules and regulations.

  “Every day he wrote in his journal about how he struggled in his training,” she continued. “How hard it was for him to pass the tests. To excel on the field. And this was in the early days of Starfleet. Nothing compared to what they expect from students today. I doubt he would have made it one week in our class.”

  Kirk’s thoughts went to Cadet Jackson, lying dead in the morgue at Starfleet Medical. Maybe he would have made it through training back in the days Lynne’s granddad was at the Academy. Or maybe he just wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle after all.

  “When I read those pages, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to be a blip on the radar, only to disappear along with my ship. I started training right after I finished the first of his journals. Studying up on starships. Learning combat and flight procedures. Taking in all I could.”

  “And here you are,” Kirk said, “finished in the top three in the Desert Survival Course.”