Starfleet Academy: The Edge

by Rudy Josephs

  She was an hour in to those studies when Spock made his entrance. “I suspected that I might find you here,” he said.

  She was on her feet in a second. “Commander Spock. Tell me.”

  Spock ran through the events she’d missed since he left her the night before. He told her about the relative ease with which they secured the clinic. The mysterious arrival of information mere minutes before they found the same files. How they had only found those two files and nothing else. That Dr. Schaeffer admitted to the information they’d found on him, but refused to reveal anything more.

  Spock was as succinct as Uhura had expected him to be, conveying every single piece of pertinent information, but he still left her wanting more.

  “That’s it?” Uhura said. “After all that, you were only able to find two files? Nothing else?”

  “Dr. Griffin also named the cadets and officers who they helped alter their medically ineligible status. He maintains that he did not know which cadets were involved with Dr. Schaeffer’s more radical experiments. With Griffin’s testimony we will be able to prosecute the operator of the clinic,” Spock said.

  “But more cadets had to be involved in Schaeffer’s secret experiments,” she insisted. “He needs to go away forever.”

  “Dr. Schaeffer will serve a significant amount of jail time,” Spock assured her. “And both doctors will be stripped of their medical licenses. Griffin will be dishonorably discharged from Starfleet. Neither will be able to commit these crimes again under Federation jurisdiction.”

  “It’s not enough,” Uhura said.

  “I fail to understand the human fascination with punishment,” Spock said. “They will both face rehabilitation for their actions.”

  Uhura’s thoughts turned to Jackson again. The promising cadet he would have been. The possible friend. “It’s not enough.”

  Spock was about to respond, but stopped short when he looked directly into Uhura’s eyes. It was odd, but if felt to her like he was seeing her for the first time. Really paying attention to her. He nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

  Uhura appreciated that he wasn’t going to turn this into a philosophical discussion. Whether or not he understood how deeply she felt about this, he clearly respected her emotions. This Vulcan was turning out to be very different from what she’d expected after years of hearing about the cold and unemotional race.

  While their eyes remained locked in the silent moment, Uhura thought she saw something else there as well. “What is it?”

  “I do not understand the question,” Spock said. “I filled you in on all the pertinent information.”

  She did her best to control the smile wanting to escape. “I can tell by the look on your face that something else is bothering you.”

  “I assure you that—”

  “Nothing’s bothering you,” Uhura finished for him. “Right. But there is something else on your mind.”

  Now his expression switched to perplexed. Probably not used to someone reading the emotion—and yes, it was emotion—on his face. “No one in the office admitted to sending the file on Cadet Jackson to Captain Warde,” Spock said. “One would think they might use that piece as leverage to avoid prosecution for being involved in the clinic.”

  “Especially since not many people outside the Academy would have even known Captain Warde was in charge of the investigation,” Uhura added.

  “That thought had also crossed my mind.”

  “It certainly is a mystery,” Uhura said. “But a mystery for another day. We should celebrate.”

  “I also fail to see the human preoccupation with celebrating success,” Spock said. Again, it looked to Uhura as if he was nearing a smile, but not quite getting all the way there.

  “We caught the bad guys. Okay, they might only be getting a weak punishment, but it’s something. And, almost as important, this kind of thing is going to look great on our records. That is cause for celebration.”

  “I see,” Spock said. “Unfortunately, unless I’m mistaken, we both have class in less than a half hour.”

  “Well, at least we can relax for a bit before class.” She turned toward the observation window. “You know, this place actually has a nice view when your head’s not buried in your studies.”

  “That it does,” Spock agreed.

  They both gazed out at the early morning sun lighting the San Francisco Bay. It was the first quiet morning Uhura had had since she arrived at the Academy. She liked that she could share it with Spock.

  Of course, there was still one outstanding mystery that she was not about to give up on. She turned to Spock, flashing him a playful smile. “By the way, don’t think I’ve given up on finding out your Vulcan name.”

  McCoy ran the scanner from the medical tricorder over Kirk’s lower leg. “No doubt about it,” he said. “You busted it up good.”

  The back of Kirk’s leg brushed up against the exam table. He winced at the pain. “Yeah, I guessed that. Can you fix it?”

  “Depends.” McCoy moved to the table, reaching for the bone regenerator. “Care to tell me how I got out of trouble so fast?”

  Kirk shrugged. “Heard something about a raid on some clinic last night. Why are you asking me?”

  McCoy eyed him skeptically as he ran the bone regenerator over Kirk’s ankle, healing the break. “Just thinking it was awfully fast.”

  There was a tingling sensation in Kirk’s ankle as the bones knit back together. That was it. No pain. Hardly any discomfort. Within seconds the bones were healed. It was as if he’d never hurt himself at all. He stood to test out the ankle. It was fine. “I had nothing to do with it.”

  That was the truth, actually. He had absolutely nothing to do with the raid. That had been entirely unplanned and totally unexpected. As it turned out, all Kirk had managed to do last night was to protect Lynne and keep the administration from finding out what other misguided cadets had been up to.

  That last bit didn’t sit too well with Kirk, but none of it did, really. He’d signed on to be part of an organization that forced people to be their best, rejected them when they weren’t, and then punished them when they tried to do whatever it took to meet that extraordinary goal.

  He’d heard about some cadets being rounded up because they sought unnatural means to overcome their medical ineligibility to join Starfleet. Officers too. They might walk away with a slap on the wrist since the damage was done. It probably depended on the degree of medical quackery Dr. Schaeffer had performed to get them through the physical exam and admitting into the Academy. There was no news on the other cadets, the ones whose files he’d deleted.

  “Whatever you did or didn’t do,” McCoy said as he put away the device, “I just wanted to thank you.”

  “There’s nothing to thank me for,” Kirk said as he watched McCoy document the injury in his personnel file. On his permanent record. It seemed such a ridiculous concern at this point.

  They made plans to grab dinner that evening, and Kirk walked out of Starfleet Medical with no noticeable limp and no residual pain. Funny how his break was so much less of a problem than his sprain had been. He knew there was a lesson in there about seeking medical attention, but he didn’t care to acknowledge it. He’d already had enough lessons over the past twenty-four hours.

  Twenty-four hours?

  Had it only been last night that he fell off the Golden Gate Bridge?

  Life moved fast at Starfleet Academy. So fast that it shouldn’t have been a problem that he hadn’t seen Lynne since the night before. But it was. She’d avoided his calls when he tried to contact her over the comm. She was ignoring him. That much was clear. But why?

  Kirk bypassed the mess hall and went straight for her quarters. The odds were better that she’d be spending lunch there. Away from him.

  He was right.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked upon seeing him on her doorstep.

  He stepped into the room before she could shut him out, not quite sure why he thou
ght that was a possibility. “Hello to you, too.”

  “Sorry,” she said. “Bad morning.”

  “Have you heard about the clinic being shut down?”

  “Why do you think I said it’s a bad morning?”

  Kirk reached out to her, but she pulled away. “They’re not going to find out about you. I destroyed the files.”

  “All the files?”

  “I’m pretty sure.”

  She didn’t look convinced. “And what about Schaeffer? You manage to destroy his memories of me?”

  It wasn’t like she didn’t bear some responsibilities for her actions. Kirk wasn’t about to take the blame for what he did. If anything, he’d protected her by destroying her file, along with the files of the other cadets. “Rumor has it he’s not talking,” Kirk said. “At least that’s what McCoy heard.”

  “Well, that’s something,” she said. “See how long that lasts. Still, the damage is done. That clinic will never reopen.”

  “I don’t get it,” Kirk said. “You already had the surgery. What does it matter if the clinic is there or not?”

  “I don’t think they were doing a bad thing,” she said.

  “But Schaeffer led you on,” Kirk said. “Made you feel like you needed to do this.”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Look, Monica, I know you think this was the right thing to do, but it wasn’t. You don’t have to change yourself to succeed here. You’re good enough on your own. You’ve got to stop letting this place mess with your head.”

  “Starfleet Academy did not mess with my head.”

  “It made you doubt yourself enough to go to that clinic.”

  “No, it didn’t,” she said.

  “Look, I get it,” he said. “You’re not a victim. But Griffin should never have sent you—”

  “Griffin didn’t send me anywhere,” she said. “I knew about the clinic before I got here. I started the gene therapy before I got here.”

  “You did?”

  “I found out about the clinic on my first tour of the Academy,” she said. “A year ago. I was talking to the cadet who gave the tour. Told him how I was afraid I wouldn’t get in. How I wasn’t going to let anything stop me. He said something weird about knowing how I felt. Well, it wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. So I pushed him on it when were away from the group. Next thing I know, he’s telling me about this clinic. I went as soon as I could get away.

  “Schaeffer had only started doing gene therapy treatments back then. I was one of the first to sign up. He only did minor adjustments to start. A little extra strength. Some extra stamina. Just a few visits over the next several months. Nothing major. Until the weekend after the survival course. I asked him to step up the treatment. I did this to myself. And I don’t mind.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t,” she said, stopping him cold. “Don’t try to convince me I’m wrong. Don’t try to be a hero. I’m not a damsel. I don’t need rescuing. We just see this differently.”

  “Monica, I think you should go see—”

  “And don’t suggest therapy,” she said. “You know, you can be a little condescending.”

  He would have argued the point, but he was about to suggest she see a therapist. She needed to talk to someone. Someone better than him at making her understand what she was putting herself through was wrong. But he couldn’t force her to do it. He couldn’t make her see it.

  “We just have different opinions,” she said. “Maybe too different.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  She held out her hand formally. “It was very nice knowing you, James T. Kirk.”

  Kirk was stunned. He was rarely ever dumped. “What? Why?”

  “Because I can’t spend all my time here, wondering if or when you’re going to turn me in.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Not on purpose,” she interrupted. “You’re no snitch. I know that. But things have a way of coming out. You might complain about the rules and regulations. You might rebel in your own little ways. Sure, you might bend those rules. Break them from time to time, even. But in the end, you’re a good guy. The white knight who rushes in to save the day. Whether or not it needs saving. You’re never going to cross the line. You’re exactly the kind of person they want here.”

  “You are too,” he insisted.

  “I know,” she said. “But in different ways. I’m willing to change to fit in here. You’re going to force the Academy to change to fit you.”

  “Did Dr. Schaeffer give you some kind of sage wisdom along with the gene therapy?”

  “You’re cute,” she said. “But you already know that.” She moved to her door, which she opened for him. “I had fun. See you around campus.”

  There was no point arguing. Kirk saw the determination in her eyes. No matter how little sense she was making, it was perfectly clear to her, and he couldn’t dissuade her. Maybe over time she’d see it, but not today.

  Kirk stepped out into the hall and said good-bye. It wasn’t exactly a teary-eyed, dramatic farewell, since they still had some classes together and were far from out of each other’s lives.

  But it was final.

  As he walked back to his quarters, he had to admit that Lynne had been right about one thing: He wasn’t about to let Starfleet Academy change him. There was nothing plebian about Jim Kirk. Nothing common. He was the best and the brightest, and he was going to make sure Starfleet Academy knew it.

  He was also going to be the best on his own terms.