Class of 2372 - Part 2 of 5: Persona Non Grata

Robert April Annex Path:

Hrelle walked along the winding path, memories returning of all the times he would risk the wrath of that old Groundskeeper by crossing paths to beat a more straight line to the Mess Hall or Study Hall. The grounds had been remodelled in certain places – for which he was glad, because it helped wipe away some of the memories of times of supreme humiliation for him, humiliation at the hands of the Arringtons, humiliation sanctioned by their patriarch, the then-Superintendent. 

It still made his stomach churn, despite the decades that had passed, and all the more terrible things he had since experienced. Kami once counseled him that it was because those moments of bullying had gone unresolved, which made sense. He just wished he was man enough to put it to rest once and for all-

“Captain!”

He paused at a juncture, watching three Caitians approach, the one male he recognised, the two females he didn’t, but guessed from their scent their relationship to the cadet. “Mr Rrori, I see your family has arrived for the big ceremony tomorrow.”

Rrori beamed. “Yes, Sir. This is Mriri Rrori, Matriarch of our Clan, and my mother, Ntruuer.”

Hrelle nodded politely to each of them, half-expecting the traditional Caitian hug whenever their people met away from the Motherworld, but neither female gave off such a welcoming scent. Indeed, both stared with such outright hostility that he half-expected their claws to be bared. “Well, you two should be proud of this cadet, he has proved to be a talented and-”

Mriri raised her cane and smacked him on the chest with the gold tip. “You! You have some nerve!”

Hrelle took a step back, his hackles raised. “Excuse me, Madame?”

Rrori looked aghast. “Grandmother, no! You promised!”

“No she didn’t,” Ntruuer reminded her son, stabbing a finger at Hrelle’s muzzle. “Don’t think that we don’t recognise a naked display of favouritism on your part! A bias against my cub in favour of yours!”

His jaw dropped in utter confusion. “Excuse me, Ms Rrori? I don’t understand-”

“Captain, I’m sorry!” Rrori pleaded. “Let me explain it to them-”

“You think you can get away with awarding your cub the honour of Valedictorian?” Mrirl demanded loudly, smacking him on the chest again with her cane. “Well, you can’t!”

“Madame-”

“Esek?”

He turned at the sound of his wife’s voice, acknowledging the approach of Kami, Sasha, and Ma’Sala from another path, his delight at their arrival not offsetting his confusion.

Ma’Sala strode up, offering her fellow Matriarch a sharp glare. “Unless you want that cane rammed up your ass, I suggest you get it out of my kin-son’s face. Now.”

Mrirl snarled – but complied, as Ntruuer gathered her righteous anger in the face of the increased numbers on Hrelle’s side now, sniffing their scents and recognising Sasha. “So, you’re the one who steals honours from more deserving individuals?”

“Sorry?” Sasha squeaked, perplexed.

“Not yet you’re not, cub! When I’m through with you, I’ll-”

“You’ll do nothing,” Ma’Sala warned, growling.

“Esek, what’s going on?” Kami asked.

He was beginning to comprehend, if not understand. Why would they think Rrori was in the running for Valedictorian, after he told them about the incident with the Rising Star-

Then he saw the guilty look on the cadet’s face. Oh.

Anger rose within Hrelle as he finally replied, “It appears Mr Rrori’s clan believe he didn’t make Valedictorian because of influence on my part. They don’t realise that he put himself out of consideration for it 18 months ago.”

The Rrori females started, their Matriarch snapping, “What?”

Kami drew in closer to her husband, but looked reprovingly at Rrori. “You didn’t tell them? That wasn’t fair on them, Cadet. Not at all.”

The females looked to Rrori, who swallowed and offered, “Please- let’s go somewhere where I can explain-”

“No,” Hrelle denied sharply. “You’ve had plenty of time to do that before subjecting your clan, and us, to this embarrassment.” He faced the females again. “Eighteen months ago, Mr Rrori was a shuttle pilot on an Away Mission to what was believed to be a derelict ship, the SS Rising Star. The ship proved to be inhabited, and because of a misunderstanding, they fired upon the shuttle.

Had he followed orders and withdrawn the shuttle at the time, the matter could have been settled peacefully. But he didn’t follow orders, he argued with his mission commander, and as a result, serious injuries occurred. When his commander beamed aboard the Rising Star to lend assistance, he ordered Mr Rrori to take no aggressive actions. But Mr Rrori ignored that order as well, because clearly being so handsome and well-bred, he must have known better.

He didn’t. More lives were put at risk as a result of his actions.

Under normal circumstances, he would have been expelled from the Academy for these multiple infractions. But he did perform a heroic act in safely landing the Rising Star and saving the lives of those onboard, so all he ended up with was a loss of credits and a note on his Academic record; but these were sufficient to kick him off the shortlist for Valedictorian.”

The Rrori females looked to the cadet again, his mother noting acidly, “I remember you mentioning how wonderful you were landing that vessel. But nothing more.” She looked back at Hrelle. “Our apologies, Captain, for insulting you—and in front of your Matriarch and family, too.”

“I understand, Madame,” Hrelle replied, glaring at Rrori. “I don’t blame you for this.”

Rrori was gasping, almost shaking. “Captain, I’m- I’m sorry for-”

“I’m last in line for your apologies, Mister. And I’m not interested in hearing them.” He turned, motioning for his clan to follow and leave the Rroris to deal with it.

Ma’Sala grunted. “I wouldn’t be in that cub’s place for all the shuris on the Motherworld.”

“How could he keep shtum about that?” Sasha asked.

“He’s a preening little coward,” Hrelle snarled. “That’s how.”

Kami slipped an arm around his. “Hush, you. He’s a young cub who makes mistakes, like any other young cub. And he’s under immense pressure from his clan to live up to their exalted standards. I’m sure he thought the subject would never be raised again. And he has improved a great deal since then. He’ll make a fine Starfleet officer.”

Ma’Sala chuckled now. “Though I’m sure he wishes he took Mi’Tree’s suggestion to get into the vivid business and be a star.”

Mention of the name brightened Hrelle’s mood. “Mi’Tree! Where is he? You said he was accompanying you! And where’s my Warrior Prince as well?”

“They’re both together elsewhere, safe and sound.”

*

“MISHA!” Mi’Tree bellowed, frantically looking around. “Misha! Answer me, young cub! I know you can hear me!” His eyes darted about, pointed ears twitching madly, having stopped trying to scent the cub, knowing that his nose wasn’t what it once was.

He was terrified. He had only looked away for a moment, to greet some passers-by who had recognised him from his Clawback vivids, a rare treat when he was offworld, and he took some commemorative images with them. And when he looked back, the little terror had vanished! Mother’s Cubs, his parents were going to kill him! And then Ma’Sala would make a rug out of his old hide! He should have expected this; the cub moved like a starship at high warp!

He looked to a dark clump of trees – and saw an elderly human male in a utilitarian jumpsuit waving towards him. Mi’Tree rushed towards him, ignoring the protests from his heart, his lungs, slowing down as he entered a clearing where bright colourful flowers were being planted in elaborate patterns – and where Misha knelt, assisting. “CUB!”

Misha glanced up as if nothing was wrong, beaming. “Grumpy! Flowers!”

Mi’Tree stopped, the stress and exertion catching up with him, and he doubled over, heaving. The human approached, gently guiding the Caitian over to a nearby bench and sitting him down, before saying, “Misha, bring your grandfather that water bottle.”

The toddler dutifully obeyed, the human taking the bottle and offering it to Mi’Tree. “Short sips, when you’re ready.”

Mi’Tree nodded, recovering enough to help himself to the water, relief washing through him as well. “Thank- Thank you, Mr-”

“Boothby.”

Mi’Tree nodded again, drinking once more before returning the bottle, before pointing a trembling, angry finger at Misha. “Young Cub, never, never go off alone like that again! Do you understand?”

Misha’s jaw began quivering, and his eyes welled with tears. “Trouble Time?”

Immediately the Caitian’s anger melted as he dropped his finger. “No, Cub. Not Trouble Time. Just don’t wander off like that again.”

Boothby looked at the toddler as well. “Your grandfather’s right. Now, why don’t you go finish planting those Bajoran firewheels for me?”

Misha nodded, looking unsure if he was in trouble or not, but relieved to be returning to something he wanted to do.

Boothby looked to Mi’Tree again. “Don’t be too angry at him, he was caught short, as we say here, and needed a place to water the bushes. Then he got interested in the flowers.”

The Caitian nodded, “Thank you, sir, for finding him, and keeping him safe.”

The old human shrugged. “I didn’t do much. I’m sure you would have found him soon enough… once you got past your pride.”

“Eh?”

Boothby looked at him. “You could have called for help from anyone around you from the very beginning. Any of the cadets or faculty would have gladly assisted, or called Campus Security.”

Mi’Tree harrumphed. “I didn’t need- I mean, I could have- that is-”

“Hmph. Typical Caitian pride, especially with you males. I’ve seen it all the time.” He pointed to the circle of flowers where Misha knelt, his tongue sticking out in concentration as he filled dark moist earth around the latest plant. “Right on that spot, decades ago, there was a Caitian male cadet who would get regularly harassed by a clique of over-privileged snots. They would call it ‘hazing’.

I called it bullying, plain and simple. I tried to get him to complain, to report it, but he was determined to manage it himself.” He shrugged. “Hopefully something good will have come from all that pain and humiliation he endured.” He looked at Mi’Tree. “And how are you feeling now?”

The Caitian grunted. “I feel… like a dilapidated old shadow of my former self. Once I could have outrun that cub, you know, tracked him down by sound and scent across kilometres, the way I used to do for his mother when she was his age and went off on adventures. I’m… I’m not the man I once was.”

Boothby smirked. “Who among us is?”

Mi’Tree shook his head. “I was a star in the action vivids back home. I was admired. I was even desired. And when the vividmakers decided to revive the Clawback franchise, they approached me, and I was delighted… until they told me they only wanted me for one scene, while some fit young cat took over the role. Can you believe that? Thinking I’d be satisfied with a cameo, while another took the role I made famous?”

“You don’t seem the type to settle for anything less than all the spotlight,” Boothby noted with a smirk.

“Indeed not.” He sighed wistfully. “The only offer I’ve had of late has been to take over as the new Taleteller.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“A popular broadcast among the cubs back home, someone chosen to narrate stories from around the Federation.”

“Sounds like a decent gig.”

“Bah! It’s a job for actors at the ends of their careers! Ones who have stopped being sex symbols and have become... grandparents!”

Boothby stared at him without comment.

Mi’Tree harrumphed again.

A familiar male voice cut into the silence. “And where’s my Warrior Prince?”

Misha’s head shot up at the sound of his father’s voice, and he rose and scampered over to the approaching group, launching himself into his arms. “Papa! Flowers!”

Mi’Tree and Boothby rose to their feet, the former murmuring, “Um, let’s not say anything about...”

Boothby patted him supportively on the shoulder as they approached the party, Ma’Sala looking at her husband and smirking. “What’s wrong, you old cat? Grandcub wearing you out?”

Mi’Tree stuck out his chest. “I’ll be dancing on your grave, woman!”

“Yeah, probably looking for a place to piss for the fiftieth time.”

Hrelle stared at Boothby, frowning. “Do I… Do I know you? Have we met?”

“Maybe. Doesn’t matter, what’s past is past. Keep that in mind.” But when he saw Sasha, he smiled. “Hello again, Spitfire. Still stirring up the hornet’s nest?”

Sasha grinned, folding her arms across her chest. “Whenever I can, Mr Boothby.”

“Good. Keep them stirred and stay true to yourself.” To Misha, the Groundskeeper added, “And thank you for your help, young man. Maybe someday I’ll see you back here as a cadet, like your sister and father.”

The toddler grinned. “I go now!”

*

Schooner Academy Bar:

“Goddammit!”

Neraxis has been studying the brass and wood fittings and ropes hanging around their little corner table, when she turned in alarm at Jonas’ exclamation. “What’s wrong?”

He was staring at his pocket PADD, before slamming it down on the table with uncharacteristic carelessness, ignoring the looks from the people at the adjacent tables. “My Mom’s transport’s had drive trouble! It won’t reach Earth until the day after graduation!”

Neraxis’ heart plummeted. “Aww, shit… I’m sorry, Jonas, really!” She leaned closer, putting an arm around him and hugging him. “I’d be gutted if it was my Mom...”

He looked caught between rage and despair. “It’s not fair! She’s travelled nearly a thousand light years to get here, without a problem! And then this happens, practically on our doorstep! And it’ll be because of something I could fix in my sleep!” His hands clenched into fists. “If we were on the Surefoot, the Captain would just let me get out there and take care of it! Son of a bitch!”

“I know,” she agreed gently, hugging him.

“Oh, look! Ostrich is back!”

Jonas started, eyes wide at the trio of Ensigns looking in their direction from the bar. “Oh, shit.”

Neraxis looked up at well. “Who are they?”

“The asswipe in the middle is Finnemore,” he replied sullenly. “He was an Engineering upperclassman before I joined the AWE Program… and he made my life miserable here. I’d hoped he’d moved on somewhere far away after he graduated.” He clenched his jaw as they approached. “Let’s get out of here.”

But she tightened her hold on his arm. “No, it’ll be okay. We’re all adults now.”

The man in the centre of the trio was tall, tanned and blonde, broad-shouldered and broad-jawed, and looking like he was missing his surfboard. He glanced at his flanking minions as he indicated Jonas, making some of the beer in the glass in his hand spill out onto the wooden floor as he laughed boisterously, “I told you, Ostrich was back! I’d recognise that silver hair and virgin’s face anywhere! And here I was, thinking you caught a glimpse of a naked woman somewhere along the way and died of terror!”

Neraxis felt Jonas force himself to stay calm and relax as he replied, “Still calling me Ostrich. It’s as funny now as it was four years ago.”

Finnemore’s grin degenerated into a sneer. “Yeah, well, you’re as short now as you were four years ago.”

Neraxis chuckled. “Such wit! You’re up there with Oscar Wilde, Maixor Riss and my left asscheek.”

Now the Ensign focused on her. “Are you okay? You look a little blue.”

“Whoa, more of that wit! Better be more sparing, you only had half to start out with.”

“Are you supposed to be his girlfriend?” Finnemore snorted. “I knew he’d be desperate, but really, screwing a Bolian must be like sticking your piece in a jar of acid.”

Jonas started, but Neraxis tightened her hold on him, never taking her eyes off of Finnemore. “Why don’t you go try it yourself? Then afterwards, we can hold a very, very tiny funeral for it.”

He stared at her, before drawing in closer, eyes glinting as if imparting some confidential information as he te thumbed at Jonas. “You should have seen him back in the good old days. We used to slip some hot shots of Orion porn and profanity into his reports, hire girls to turn up in his room just before inspections, reprogram the fabricators to make his uniforms fall apart during parades.”

“Yeah,” Jonas agreed sarcastically. “The good old days. What are you doing back here, looking for someone else to harass? That’s pretty much the extent of your ambition, isn’t it?”

Now the older man sneered. “Watch yourself, Ostrich! I’m a big man with a top-secret project team at Starfleet HQ! One call to the C-in-C, and you and this little blue bitch will be stationed out with the Nybarites!”

Neraxis felt Jonas’ rising anger, and set down her drink and rose. “You’re right, we should get going.”

“Yeah.” Still glaring at Finnemore, he pocketed his PADD and rose too, making a wide berth around the trio.

“Is your Mommy gonna be there tomorrow for you, Ostrich?” Finnemore offered as the cadets began departing. “Or is she too busy whoring somewhere? Send her my way, I’ll be her Daddy-”

Jonas spun around again, charged and punched the ensign square in the face repeatedly, sending him sprawling onto the table behind him and scattering glasses everywhere. Finnemore’s friends recovered quickly enough to try and grab Jonas and drag him off, before Neraxis joined in, protecting her lover but using minimal force, aware of her superior training against the ensigns, and determined to get Jonas and herself out of there before-

“SECURITY! HALT!”

*

Senior Cadets’ Quarters:

Eydiir lay in bed and stared up at the plain white ceiling, remaining silent and still until Falok turned onto his side and faced her, studying her. “Are you well? I believed I performed satisfactorily, but if there is room for improvement-”

“No.” She allowed herself a smile of contentment, in time for an afterwave of pleasure to pass through her. “Improvement is not necessary. It was more than satisfactory, thank you.” Her smile dropped as she met his gaze. “I have been troubled by thoughts… but I do not wish to disturb you with them.”

He softened his expression. “I believe I would be more disturbed by the idea that you could not share such thoughts with me after all this time.”

The Capellan considered his response, before accepting it. “I am reconsidering my decision to go to Starfleet Medical Academy.”

His brow furrowed. “You do not wish to be a doctor anymore?”

“I do. It is simply the path that is in question. I do not believe I can tolerate spending another four years or more on pure study and residency. I can return to active duty as a nurse and study part-time.”

He nodded. “It will take longer for you to reach your goal.”

“True. But in the interim, I will gain immense practical experience, as well as save lives, especially in the coming months.” She reached up and touched his face. “But I know that with your posting at Starfleet Command, we will not be as physically close as we had originally planned.”

He reached out to her now, his fingertips touching specific points on the side of her face. “No. But I suspect we have reached a level of intimacy where physical closeness will remain desirable, but unnecessary. And I would be remiss in my role as your lover if I did anything less than fully support whatever decision you might take regarding your career.” He paused and asked, “May I?”

“Please.”

Then she felt his mind join with hers, tendrils of thoughts and feelings unshared with anyone else mingling, connecting, building bonds that would linger for long afterwards…

*

“Giles, just listen to me,” his father instructed, for what seemed like the hundredth time since they had arrived at the restaurant.

Giles was certain that was precisely what he had been doing, since he was replying, offering what he assumed was direct, relevant and cogent responses to his father's repeated insistence that his son accept a place in Starfleet Headquarters as his first posting, rather than his preferred choice on a border ship.

If anyone wasn't listening, it seemed to be his Dad.

And their first course hadn't even arrived yet. Giles was devouring the breadsticks like a Horta with a marble cake, washing it down with a red wine that was making his head spin.

Meanwhile, his uncle Matthew maintained his expected level of usefulness by occasionally punctuating Dad's arguments with, “He's right, Giles.” And Aunt Lucille? She sat there, the silent partner in this attempt to gang up on him… though sometimes it seemed as if she would rather be anywhere else.

And then the Hrelles walked in, taking a large table near the main windows, overlooking South Bay: the Captain, the Counselor, Sasha, Misha and the Counselor’s mother and one of her fathers. They didn’t notice the Arringtons, or at least pretended to not notice. Giles was glad, but was also self-conscious, wondering if they could hear what was being said over here.

“Giles, listen to me,” his father repeated, oblivious to the new arrivals. “I understand, really. You want to make your own mark in Starfleet. But really… a border ship? They’re small, overworked, understaffed, antiquated-”

“Sounds awful, Dad. Why haven’t you been doing something about it?”

Will Arrington flinched. “Making Admiral doesn’t impose us with Godhood, Giles. As it is, they are working on improvements, which is why they’re putting together a team that you can be a part of.”

“He’s right, Giles,” Uncle Matthew affirmed dutifully.

Giles forced down his frustration, wondering if the calamari would get here before he lost his temper. “Dad… I know our family has a history of making their mark in Starfleet.”

Will smiled, as if his son had somehow made some concession towards the truth.

Until his son continued. “But don’t you see that can’t be the case anymore for us? We’re not making a mark, we’re reinforcing it.” He leaned forward. “It’s not an achievement if people think you got there on your name rather than on your merits.”

Will grunted. “You sound like him.”

He didn’t have to elaborate.

“Dad, I’m needed out there! Especially with what’s coming up! I’ve been out there!”

“You’re being stubborn, Giles!”

“Your father’s right, Giles,” Uncle Matthew added.

“HI GILES!”

His head turned, as did the others, to see Misha, sitting in a high chair beside the Hrelle’s table, looking over at him, beaming and waving and ignoring his mother’s entreaties for him to quiet down and not disturb the other patrons. Despite the tension at his own table, Giles couldn’t help but grin and wave back. He had helped mind Misha Hrelle on more than one occasion, and found the cub a charming, wonderful little thing, making him feel like a big brother.

An attitude apparently not shared by the rest of his family. Will sighed as if facing some onerous trial. “Them again...”

Uncle Matthew looked at the toddler and smirked. “I didn’t know they let pets in here.”

Giles stared at him in sheer disbelief – and something snapped in him. “YOU PRICK!”

The man’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me, young man-”

Giles rose to his feet, gripping the sides of the table. “There’s no excuse for you! You’re a prick! And a stupid prick, too, because I’m pretty sure they can hear everything we’re saying over here! You should stick to just kissing my father’s ass, it’s all you’re good for!”

“Now that’s enough, Giles!” Will scolded.

Giles glared at his father. “I’m fed up with this! It’s like trying to debate with the Borg!”

“Giles-”

But the young man stormed away, noting Hrelle and Kami rising from their tables as he passed, offering them, “Sorry about that.”

Misha did his best to turn in his chair. “Hi Giles!”

“Hi Sport.” Giles looked ready to cry.

Misha pointed in the cadet’s direction but looked to his mother, appearing concerned. “Mama! Giles sad!”

Kami patted her son’s arm as she rose. “I know, Sweetheart, I know-”

Now Misha pointed a commanding finger at her. “Help Giles! You help!”

“Settle down, Misha,” Hrelle breathed.

Will was following his son’s departure – until Kami stepped in front of him. “Wait, Admiral!” To Sasha she asked, “Go get him, keep him outside.” As the girl rose and departed, she returned to Will. “Admiral, if you want to have any chance of salvaging something with your son, you need to listen to me.”

Will bristled. “Excuse me, Counselor, but I don’t see how any of this is your business-”

“Admiral, I’ve been your son’s Counselor for two years, he’s spent more time with me than you… and I know what you’re hiding from him. He’s old enough to hear the truth.”

Matthew and Lucille Arrington had arisen and approached, too, Matthew sneering, “You people never know when to quit, do you? Will, just get him transferred anyway-”

“Shut up, Matt!” Lucille snapped suddenly. She ignored her brother’s reaction, and the reactions of the others around them. “Just shut up! Giles is right about you!” She looked at Kami. “And you’re right about Giles. Will, listen to her. Do what she says. She knows what’s she’s talking about. More than any of us.”

*

The restaurant was built overlooking South Bay Marina; gulls circled lazily overhead, as if waiting for the sails on the boats below to stop chasing them away. Giles’ boots pounded on the wooden slats of the quay as he stormed off in the direction of the public trams.

“Giles, wait up!”

He stopped and turned, not expecting who was calling him. “Sash?”

She rushed up to him, thumbing back towards the restaurant. “Hold on- Kami wants you to come back-”

“No! Forget it! I’m finished with them!”

He turned to go, but she reached out and took his forearm, drawing closer. “Don’t walk away from them like this… please, Giles, trust me, I don’t know what Kami has planned, but I trust her to know what she’s doing.” She squeezed his forearm and looked longingly at him. “You don’t know if you’ll ever get to see your family alive again. Don’t walk away.”

“Giles?”

He turned away from Sasha, to see his father there, and Kami close at hand, patting the man on the shoulder encouragingly to draw closer. He looked into his father’s eyes, saw the hesitation, the struggle… it was a vulnerability that Giles had not seen before had not expected, and it stopped the snarky response he was prepared to deliver. “Dad?”

The man approached, hands held out. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry I haven’t been honest with you. About why I want you here… it’s not because of tradition, or family loyalty or because you’re better than anyone else…” He stopped, reached out and almost tentatively clasped Giles by the shoulders. “It’s because I’m afraid. I see what’s coming, what’s coming for all of us. And… And I can’t lose you. I know you’re all grown up, I know it...” Tears welled up in his eyes. “But you’ll always be my son. I’m sorry… I should’ve been honest with you from the start...”

Giles felt a slight nudge forward in his back, as Sasha walked around the two men to join Kami and finally give them the opportunity to hug.

*

In the restaurant, Hrelle stood there with Matthew and Lucille, while Ma’Sala and Mi’Tree pretended not to be involved – and Misha looked up and around at the newcomers, smiling and waving. “Hi Mister! Hi Lady!”

Lucille smiled at the toddler. Matthew swallowed and blushed, before giving a half-hearted wave back. “Hi.” To Hrelle he noted, “Um, you have, ah, a handsome son, Captain.”

“Thank you. We’re lucky the restaurant allows pets.”

Just then Giles, Will, Sasha and Kami returned, the last smiling. “It’s okay, everything’s been sorted… well, it’s not getting any worse, anyway. And I’d suggested it’d be a great idea if we all ate together.”

“You did?” Hrelle asked, quickly stifling any further protest with a look from her. He shrugged and signalled to the waiter. “Four more chairs over here, please.”

In moments the table had its additions, drinks were transferred over, and people stared at each other, or in the case of Misha, focused on picking his nose.

“So...” Hrelle ventured, hoping someone else would pick up the conversation.

Sasha looked across at Matthew. “Good afternoon, Commander.” When she caught his attention, she smiled. “I haven’t seen you since my first week at the Academy.”

Matthew blanched, Hrelle rolled his eyes, and then Ma’Sala looked across at Matthew too, pointing a finger at him. “Are you the kussik who tried to bully Sasha into quitting?”

“Mama!” Kami scolded.

Beside her, Mi’Tree set down his drink and bellowed, “You did WHAT? ”

Misha looked back at Matthew now, pointed and helpfully offered, “Uh oh, Trouble Time!”

*

Campus Security Headquarters:

Neraxis sat with her back to the stark cell wall and smirked. “You know what I love about you, Scrappy? All the wonderful prisons you get us in.”

He sat opposite her, leaning forward, his head in his hands, never moving as he reminded her, “I’ve only got us into one holding cell before this one. A holding cell, not a prison.” Now he looked up. “And I’m sorry. I said I was sorry about twenty times already. How many more will it take?”

“One more will do.”

“I’m sorry.”

She waited for a handful of heartbeats before replying, “Sorries won’t cut it, mister.”

He looked up again, not mollified by her humorous, forgiving expression. “I should have just walked away.”

“Damn right you should have walked away. Maybe you should remember that, from tomorrow, you’re not a cadet, you’re a full-fledged member of Starfleet, and you’ll be judged that way the next time you’re provoked into fighting someone.”

“Maybe.” He hung his head again.

“And if it helps, Jonas,” she added with a soft, gentle voice that grabbed his attention again. “Bear in mind… I can’t marry a man if he’s gonna keep me worried that he’ll end up on assault charges.”

He stared at her.

But before he could respond, the force field around their cell dropped, and two familiar female figures walked into view, the coal-furred Caitian snapping, “Alright, prisoners! On your feet! Time for your strip search!”

Beside C’Rash, T’Varik’s expression was hardened. “You speak with jocularity. However, you may proceed if you believe it will help curb Mr Ostrow from future appearance in facilities such as this.”

The cadets rose, Jonas stepping forward. “Commander, I’m fully responsible for what happened, Neraxis was doing her best to get me out before things escalated-”

“I believe you, Mr Ostrow, and I believe in your contrition. This does not alter the general question of the ease to which you resort to physical violence.”

Neraxis stepped forward. “Commander, I promise you that I will be kicking his ass about this for the rest of the summer, but he did get some bad news just before this prick Finnemore stepped in and started hassling him-”

“Bad news?”

“Yeah,” Jonas confirmed half-heartedly. “My Mom’s transport’s broke down just past Barnard’s. She won’t be here tomorrow for the graduation. I know it’s no excuse-”

“You are correct. But it is an explanation. I have spoken with Campus Security. They are prepared to drop the charges for all concerned if you are prepared to apologise for starting the fight.”

“Of course,” Jonas agreed immediately.

“Wait!” Neraxis looked between them. “That stroke-off had been bullying Jonas for years! I don’t give a shit if he’s some big man in some top-secret project now at HQ, you can’t expect Jonas to kiss his ass after that-”

“Yes!” he denied. “Yes, they can! I’ve caused enough trouble to you, to my superior officers, and to our friends! I’m supposed to be the mature professional here! Now let me have a chance to show it!”

*

Moments later, they entered a nearby holding room in the Security offices, where Finnemore was sitting on a bench with his friends, a PADD in one hand and his bruised lip in the other, rising when the Surefoot officers and cadets entered, T’Varik announcing, “Gentlemen, Mr Ostrow has something to say.”

Jonas swallowed, breathed out and finally contributed, “I’m sorry I lost my temper and hit you. It was wrong of me.”

Finnemore grunted in reply, a look of victimhood plastered on his face as he glared at Jonas.

T’Varik continued. “Under the terms agreed upon with Campus Security, this matter is now settled. Good day.”

But as the Surefoot quartet began to depart the room, Finnemore returned to rubbing his mouth and muttering to his friends, “Little pussy...”

T’Varik stopped at the doorway.

She spun around in place and returned, until she was centimetres from his face, her expression cold steel as she ordered, “State your name, rank and serial number.”

Finnemore started. “Huh? Wh- Why do you want-”

“Is that how you respond to a superior officer, Ensign?” C’Rash barked from the doorway.

The ensign straightened up, years of discipline snapping back in place. “Finnemore, Chris; Ensign; Serial Number JS-844-078, Ma’am!”

T’Varik’s expression remained unblinking, unwavering. “Who was the target of that utterance, Ensign?”

“Uh- Commander, I didn’t- it wasn’t-”

“Answer the question, Ensign!” C’Rash growled.

“Uh-Ostrich- I mean, Ostrow! Ostrow!”

“From this point on you will refer to him as ‘Mr Ostrow’,” the Vulcan informed him coldly. “He deserves nothing less. I am aware of three definitions for the word ‘pussy’, of varying degrees of offensiveness. Knowing the mindset of certain young male humans, I believe your most likely chosen definition would be that of an alleged weak, inferior man. Did you mean it in that sense against Mr Ostrow, Ensign?”

Finnemore was turning scarlet from the relentless scrutiny. “C-Commander, you don’t- you don’t understand-”

She drew in a little closer. “Ensign, a word of advice: do not even begin to attempt to educate me on what you think I do or do not understand. I will ask you one more time: did you mean to imply that you believe yourself superior to Mr Ostrow?”

He was visibly shaking now, managing a weak nod.

“I have been informed that you are a ‘big man’ with some ‘Top Secret project’ at Starfleet Headquarters. Is this true?”

“I- I can’t- I can’t say-”

“No, but you can apparently boast about it in a public venue, and get yourself arrested in the process. I will contact Admiral Trenagen and inform him that you are a security risk in whatever project this is that you are undertaking for Starfleet Intelligence-”

He looked ready to faint. “NO! P-Please, Commander, I’m- I’m not-”

“You are not a ‘big man’ with a classified project,” she prompted. “So I already surmised; you are not the first male I have encountered with a propensity to exaggerate size.”

“L-Look, we were just having some fun-”

“Your definition of ‘fun’ leaves everything to be desired.” She held out her hand. “Your duty PADD. Give it to me.”

He looked down at it. “W-Why- Why do you want-”

C’Rash took a step forward, teeth bared. “If I have to take it from you, Ensign, fingers will be taken as well!”

Finnemore handed it to T’Varik. The Vulcan activated it, quickly swiping through the pages of data she found. “This appears to contain your duty logs at Starfleet Headquarters for the last two years since your graduation. And they mostly consist of assignments to repair and maintain… door sensors.” She looked up at him again. “Are they Top Secret door sensors, Ensign?”

He swallowed. “Uh- Ma’am-”

“Door sensors- oh, and occasionally, corridor lighting strips and floor cleaners. And according to these performance reports from your superior officer, despite this limited responsibility given you, you have still managed to receive reprimands for substandard work, lateness and rudeness.”

Without giving the Ensign a break from her returned gaze, she pointed in Jonas’ direction. “Look at him. Look at him and do not look away.” As Finnemore complied, she continued. “In the past two years, while you have been at Starfleet Headquarters maintaining door sensors and lighting strips, that man – and do not err, he is a man, as opposed to the parody that stands before me now – has been commanding Engineering Teams and Away Missions while holding the provisional rank of Lieutenant.

He had an article published in the March 2372 issue of Starfleet Engineering Maintenance Procedures on suggested improvements to warp core refits, improvements I am told are being considered for approval in future technical manuals.

He devised a method of tracking pirate ships hiding in dark matter nebulae.

He helped uncover a Cardassian plot to invade Federation space across the Arkady Cluster.

He discovered a means of defusing Nekrosi subspace mines, thus saving his Squad Leader’s life.

He helped – I did not give you permission to look away, Ensign, keep looking at him – he helped deflect an asteroid from striking a populated planet.

He has participated in hand-to-hand combat with hostile forces who invaded our vessel.

He has been wounded in battle.

He is the recipient of numerous citations, including the Starfleet Medal of Commendation for Exceptional Valour.

He has helped save many lives. Including my godson’s.

And he has accomplished all of this before he has even graduated.

Any commanding officer would consider themselves exceedingly fortunate to have him as a member of their team. Myself included. Look at me now.”

As he did, she finished with, “Do you still consider yourself superior to him?”

He didn’t give an answer.

She didn’t require one. “I will be monitoring you. If I hear of you harassing anyone else, I will place on your record a reprimand of such potency that it will follow you for the rest of your career in Starfleet.” She handed him back his PADD. “Such as it is.”

*

Once in the open, Jonas turned to T’Varik, visibly relieved. “Thank you for that, Commander, really! I don’t know what to say-”

She gave the Vulcan equivalent of a sigh. “I would prefer you demonstrate your gratitude by remembering that your next commander might not be as appreciative of your many talents, and consequently may not be as willing to defend you.”

“He will, Commander,” Neraxis promised. “Um, we have to hurry to get to the spaceport, before my family arrive and demolish it.”

T’Varik raised an eyebrow. “Having previously encountered your siblings, that is not beyond the realm of possibility. Dismissed.”

As the cadets ran off, C’Rash slipped an arm around T’Varik’s. “You delightful bitch!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The way you devoured that thick slab of beef!”

“I did no such thing. I am a vegetarian.”

“Oh hah hah… Seriously, though, let’s get back to our guest quarters! My nethers have gone nova over you!”

“Don’t be vulgar. I need to make an urgent call to the Starfleet Transport Authority.”

C’Rash leaned in closer and purred against her. “Can’t you make the call in our quarters? On your back? It’d be more efficient: you do the call, I do you.”

After a moment, T’Varik conceded, “It would be more efficient...”

Part 3 of 5: Carpe Diem