But this time, Kirk’s emotions were too muddled for Mitchell to get an accurate reading on him. So he just took a stab at it. “You don’t feel comfortable around women?”
The lieutenant shook his head. “I feel very comfortable around them. I even had a steady girlfriend for a while back home. But ... I don’t know. Women don’t seem to feel comfortable around me.”
Mitchell tried to think about it calmly for a moment. “Well,” he said, “I guess we shouldn’t be all that surprised. With all those solemn looks and officious frowns of yours, you come off like a walking freezer unit.”
Kirk looked at him. “Freezer unit?”
“That’s what I said,” the underclassman told him, standing his ground. “If a woman sat next to you, she’d probably get frostbite.”
[94] The lieutenant bit his lip. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am a little ... I don’t know. Too serious.”
“Damned right you are,” Mitchell replied.
Kirk slung his towel around his neck and sat down on a bench near his locker. “But there’s ...” He shrugged.
“There’s what?”
“There’s a reason I act that way,” the lieutenant said.
“I’m dying to hear it,” the plebe responded.
“It’s a long story,” Kirk warned him.
“No problem. I’ve got nowhere to go,” said Mitchell, “and a whole lot of time to get there.”
The lieutenant took a deep breath. “All right, then. You asked for it. You see, back in high school, I was like anybody else—a regular guy, a slightly above average student. Certainly not Academy material.”
That didn’t sound right. “You? Not Academy material?”
“Believe it or not.”
“But you’re the A student to end all A students,” Mitchell reminded him. “People talk about your grades with reverence in their voices.”
“My grades here at the Academy have been great,” the upperclassman conceded. “But they weren’t that way then.”
“Okay,” said the plebe, willing to accept the information for the time being. “So what changed?”
Kirk sighed. “A couple of important people went out of their way to get me into this place. They put their reputations on the line, you could say, and I promised I wouldn’t let them down.”
[95] “Important people.”
“That’s right,” the lieutenant confirmed.
Mitchell started to ask who those people might be. Then he stopped himself. If Kirk had wanted to identify them, he would have.
“So,” he said, “if I understand you correctly, you’re getting top grades because you’re afraid not to?”
The lieutenant mulled the analysis over for a second or two. “Those are your words,” he decided, “not mine.”
“But they’re true, aren’t they?”
Kirk shrugged. “In a manner of speaking, maybe.”
The underclassman shook his head. “That’s a hell of a motivation, if you ask me.”
The lieutenant shrugged again. “I suppose.”
Mitchell regarded Kirk as he sat there. Hunched over, his towel draped over his shoulders, the lieutenant looked pitiful despite all he had going for him. Pitiful and lost.
Every time he talked to the man, Mitchell found himself with a bigger job on his hands, a bigger challenge. But he wasn’t a shirker. He’d undertaken Kirk’s reclamation and he wasn’t about to give up on the project now.
He just had to focus on one problem at a time. He chose to focus on the one nearest and dearest to him.
In other words, women.
“You know what, Kirk?” the underclassman declared. “You’re a good guy underneath those lieutenant’s bands. You’re the kind of guy any girl would be glad to go out with, once she got past the freezer burns and saw what you were like.” He stroked his chin [96] thoughtfully. “The problem is convincing someone to give you a chance.”
Kirk looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“Leave that to me,” said Mitchell.
The lieutenant’s expression became a stricken one. “You’re not talking about a blind date, are you? Because you can forget it—I’m not going on any blind dates.”
The plebe frowned. “I can’t help you,” he pointed out, “unless you let me.”
“Then don’t help,” Kirk told him, waving away even the suggestion.
“You’re sure?” Mitchell asked. “I mean, it could change your whole life.”
“I’m sure,” the upperclassman insisted.
Mitchell saw that Kirk was serious about it. But then, so was he.
The underclassman shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. But in the privacy of his mind, he was already trying to think of a likely suspect he could steer in Kirk’s direction.
Chapter Eight
AS MITCHELL took his seat in Kirk’s Federation History class along with all the other cadets, he noticed the lieutenant standing in the front of the room, considering some notes on a computer padd.
A few moments later, the instructor looked up, the epitome of authority. It was difficult for Mitchell to reconcile this Kirk with the one who had stalked red-faced off the racquetball court.
“Does anyone have any questions about the Battle of Cheron?” the lieutenant asked abruptly. “About the tactics Earth forces employed or the reasons they employed them?”
No one did, apparently.
“Good,” Kirk responded. “Then I’ll proceed to our next topic—the aftermath of the battle. As you’ve learned, Earth forces won a decisive victory at [98] Cheron. If we had wanted to, we could have pushed the Romulans all the way back to their homeworlds. But we declined to do that.”
He looked straight at Mitchell.
“Any idea why, Cadet?”
Mitchell was surprised, to say the least. He thought he and the lieutenant had made their peace about his behavior in class. After all, he had paid attention the day before—or, at least, done a damned good job making it seem that way.
Now the man was sticking him with the very first question of the day. It didn’t seem to the cadet like a coincidence.
Still, he had to come up with an answer of some kind. Putting his resentment aside, he turned the question over in his mind. And, of course, he studied Kirk’s face for clues.
“Why didn’t we push the Romulans all the way to their homeworlds ...”
The lieutenant nodded. “That’s what I asked, Mr. Mitchell.”
Then, before the plebe could glean anything from him, Kirk turned away and took what seemed like a renewed interest in the padd he had left on his desk. All Mitchell could see of the lieutenant was the man’s back.
It wasn’t any accident, either. The underclassman knew that as surely as he knew his name. Kirk was trying to get him to answer the question without resorting to his intuition.
It left Mitchell with only one tool: common sense. [99] He applied it as best he could, under the circumstances.
“There wasn’t anything to be gained by it,” he responded.
Kirk didn’t look at him. Instead, he continued to gaze at his padd. “Nothing at all, Cadet? Not even the destruction of the enemy’s vastly productive shipbuilding facilities?”
Mitchell hadn’t considered that aspect of it. “I suppose that might have been a worthwhile objective. But the Romulans could always have constructed new shipbuilding facilities.”
“True,” Kirk conceded, still intent on his padd. “But we could have destroyed the machinery that created new shipbuilding facilities. And yet, we didn’t ... why is that?”
The cadet felt the muscles in his jaw start to flutter. “Because it would have been too costly in terms of human lives.”
“We had lost plenty of human lives to that point,” the lieutenant noted grimly. “Why not expend a few more to make certain the Romulans could never trouble us again?”
Mitchell took a breath, let it out. He wasn’t going to let Kirk get to him. He wasn’t. “The Romulan worlds were too far away?”
“No,” said the lieutenant, continuing to study his padd. “Remember, our propulsion systems were superior to theirs, and they had made it all the way to Earth. So why didn’t we chase the Romulans to their lair the way they chased us?”
The cadet racked his brain, but he couldn’t think of [100] any other possibilities. Finally, with a faintly mocking tone he hadn’t intended, he replied, “I don’t know, sir.”
Kirk turned to him. “Don’t know?” he echoed.
Mitchell felt the scrutiny of the other cadets. He didn’t appreciate being embarrassed this way, especially when he didn’t think he deserved it.
“That’s correct,” he replied.
“I see,” said the lieutenant. He turned to another of his students, a slender woman with long, black hair whom Mitchell found rather attractive. “Cadet Ishida ... why did we decide not to attack the Romulan homeworlds?”
“Because we didn’t know if we could take them,” Ishida answered. “We humans dug in when they came after Earth; more than likely, the Romulans would have defended their homeworlds with the same fervor.”
Kirk nodded approvingly. “That’s one reason—the uncertainty of accomplishing the objective. Can you think of another ... Mr. Hagen?”
Hagen was a burly blond fellow. “Even if we managed to seize their homeworlds, sir, we could never have held them. The Romulans would eventually have made it too difficult for us.”
“Good point,” the lieutenant remarked. “Scientifically underdeveloped populations can be held in check for long periods of time—just ask the Klingons—but not a people as advanced in technology as the Romulans.” He paused. “On the other hand, Mr. Hagen, we wouldn’t have had to occupy the Romulans [101] to destroy their warmaking capabilities. Isn’t that true ... Ms. Hilton?”
Hilton, a sturdy-looking woman with short, brown hair, responded crisply. “It is, sir. According to Torriente, the reason we didn’t invade Romulus and Remus is we didn’t want to make it personal.”
“Personal ... in what way?” asked the lieutenant.
Yes, Mitchell thought. Tell us, Ms. Hilton.
“The Romulans were a proud people, sir,” the woman noted. “That much was obvious to us. If we handed them a humiliating defeat, they would have remembered. They would have held it against us. And as soon as they recovered, they would have come after us even harder.”
“Can you give me an example of that?”
Hilton bit her lip. “Germany,” she said after a moment, “after Earth’s World War One. The Germans were so shamed by their defeat, they spent the next twenty years plotting their revenge.”
Kirk smiled. “A little melodramatic, but essentially correct. Humble an enemy and all you may have done is postpone hostilities till he rearms himself. But if you’re gracious enough to leave him with his self-respect ... who knows? You may never have to fight him again.”
A cadet named Ibrahim raised his hand.
The lieutenant recognized him. “Yes, Cadet?”
“Couldn’t that strategy have backfired?” asked Ibrahim. “Couldn’t the Romulans have seen our restraint as a sign of weakness?”
“They could have,” Kirk allowed. “But it wasn’t all [102] that likely, given what we had learned about them. After all, the Romulans themselves had exercised restraint on several occasions where further aggression wouldn’t have gained them anything.”
“But what if it hadn’t been the Romulans?” Ibrahim ventured. “What if we were at war with a species so belligerent, so intractable, the only way to ensure our survival was to annihilate them ... not only their warmaking capabilities, but the species itself?”
Kirk’s expression became a sober one. “The annihilation of a living, thriving civilization is not an option—at least, not in my opinion. There’s always another way, Mr. Ibrahim. You just have to find it.”
The cadets absorbed that. Mitchell absorbed it, too.
But it wasn’t the discussion at hand that really captivated him. It was the discussion he planned to have with Kirk after class.
When his class ended, Kirk watched the majority of his students file out of the room. But Mitchell remained in his seat, silent and unmoving, his expression one of marked belligerence.
The lieutenant couldn’t say he was surprised. He had expected the underclassman to be a little taken aback by his behavior. In fact, he had been counting on it.
“Permission to speak freely,” Mitchell said.
“I told you,” Kirk replied, “I wouldn’t give you that permission anymore.” He paused. “But in this case, I’ll make an exception.”
“Thanks. Then, if it’s not too much trouble, maybe you can tell me why you singled me out for ridicule.”
[103] “I didn’t,” said Kirk. “I asked you a question, the same way I asked questions of Ishida, Hagen, and Hilton. The difference is they gave me answers and you gave me a funny look.”
“You turned your back on me.”
“Damned right I turned my back on you,” Kirk told him. “You’re not in this class to make clever guesses, using talents other people don’t have and can’t take advantage of. You’re here to learn.”
Mitchell remained silent for a while. Finally, he said, “Be honest with me. Does this have anything to do with what happened yesterday on the racquetball court? Is it possible you’re putting some distance between us so you won’t have to be embarrassed that way a second time?”
Kirk shook his head. “It has nothing to do with my behavior ... and everything to do with yours.”
“You’re lying,” said the cadet.
The lieutenant smiled, having already considered the charge in the confines of his own mind. “No. I’m telling you the truth. I guess even that intuition of yours can be wrong once in a while.”
Mitchell’s eyes narrowed. “Just why is it so important to you that I toe the line? I mean, what difference does it make to you if I get by with my so-called clever guesses?”
Kirk looked at him. “Remember Ben Finney?”
The underclassman’s brow creased. “What about him?”
“He was endangering the lives of his fellow crewmen. And if someone doesn’t take you to task now, that’s what you’ll be doing someday. You’ll find [104] yourself in a situation where you don’t know what to do—”
“Because I didn’t do my homework in Jim Kirk’s Federation History class?” Mitchell’s reaction was more instinct than argument, more counterpunch than coherent response.
“Maybe not,” the lieutenant said evenly. “But I’ll bet this isn’t the only class you haven’t been studying for.”
It was true. He could see it in the underclassman’s reaction. Mitchell had been coasting in his classes, just as he had coasted all his life, depending on his so-called flashes of insight to get him by. But he hadn’t thought about it hurting anyone down the line. He hadn’t thought about it in terms of Finney.
Now, thanks to Kirk’s remark, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking that way. And the more he thought about it, the less he would like it ... the less he would like himself.
At least, that was the lieutenant’s plan.
“Tell you what,” Kirk added for good measure. “I dare you to study. I dare you to do well in your classes without using your intuition. You like a challenge, don’t you? Well, I’m throwing down the gauntlet. Let’s see if you’ve got the guts to pick it up.”
Mitchell regarded him for a long time. So long, in fact, that the lieutenant wondered if he had gone too far.
“You know,” the plebe said at last, “it’s been a while since I did something I didn’t want to do. But it’s also been a while since anyone suggested there was something I couldn’t do.”
[105] Kirk smiled. “Then you’ll accept my challenge?”
Mitchell nodded slowly. “Sure. Why not?”
“Good.” The lieutenant cleared his throat. “And maybe next time, I won’t run off the court at the first sign of the opposite sex.” The underclassman seemed surpri
sed. “You mean you’ve reconsidered my offer to set you up with someone?” Kirk grunted. “Let’s not push it, all right?”
When Mitchell returned to his quarters, he found Brandhorst hunched over his workstation. No surprise there, he thought.
“Message for you,” said the redhead.
Mitchell looked at his screen. Sure enough, the Starfleet icon in the upper right-hand corner was blinking red. Sitting down in front of the monitor, he brought up his communications menu.
There was only one message. It was from the Academy commandant, Admiral Pearson Everett.
Mitchell had a sudden, heartfelt premonition that he was getting jettisoned from the place for his study habits. Or, worse yet, for engaging in a slugfest with a certain lieutenant in a certain corridor.
No, he told himself. That can’t be right.
He had been at the Academy less than a month for godsakes. No one except Kirk and Brandhorst knew how little he studied ... and as far as he knew, no one had witnessed his fight with the lieutenant. The commandant must have been contacting him about something else.
His curiosity piqued, Mitchell called up the [106] message. As he read it, he had the distinct feeling it was meant for someone else.
‘“What is it?” asked Brandhorst. He had looked up from his work, obviously more than a little curious himself. “Fan mail?”
Mitchell sat back in his chair and chuckled to himself. “No. Actually, it’s an invitation.”
His roommate swiveled in his chair to face him. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. To report to the Republic, where I’ll be serving under a Captain Bannock. I’m to head over to the Academy transporter room at 0800 hours.” He looked at Brandhorst. “This is a joke, right?”
The redhead was aghast. “Wait a minute. You’re shipping out on the Republic? You, the guy who never even sits down at his workstation ... except to research the schedule for the women’s hypergravitational aerobics classes? And me—the hardest-working cadet in the entire freshman class—I get to stay home?”
Mitchell shrugged. “I feel your pain, Karl-Willem. Believe me, I can’t figure it out either.”
Brandhorst looked at him. “Unless ...”
STAR TREK: TOS #85 - My Brother's Keeper, Book One - Republic Page 8
