Fic: The Plebe, Chapter 1

[elliewood]

The Plebe, Chapter 1
The Ark Lands -- In Admin -- Roommates

“Nyota. Nyota, oh my God, turn around. You won’t believe it.”

Such dramatic pronouncements from her roommate were common, so Nyota Uhura was prepared to be underwhelmed as she shifted her shoulder bag and twisted slightly to her left to look behind her. But this time, she had to admit Gaila was right; for a moment, she in fact didn’t truly believe what she saw. An ancient, mud-spattered automobile — at least, something that looked like an automobile — was making its painful way up the drive, its progress marked by the cycles of slowing and accelerating that signaled either a highly inexperienced driver or someone who just didn’t know where the hell he was going.

Christine Chapel raised one hand to shield her eyes against the bright slant of the afternoon sun, her nose wrinkling. “What on Earth is that…thing?”

Nyota squinted from beneath the bill of her cap as the car lurched toward them, the whine of an old electric engine protesting against the final steep climb toward the Administration Building. “I don’t know. It says ‘Tesla’ on it, but that’s like no Tesla I’ve ever seen.”

“It has…oh my God, are those rubber tires?” Gaila stood on tiptoe, clutching at Dr. McCoy’s upper arm to balance herself and peer over the top of Christine’s head. “How old is that car?”

“21st century. My granddaddy kept one like it in the garage.” McCoy’s curiosity overcame his good manners as he too stared at the ancient car’s approach. “Couldn’t drive it anymore, but he let me sit in it a time or two. Looked a lot like that one there. Except,” he added wryly, “Papaw’s didn’t look like it’d been to hell and back.”

The engine sighed to a stop as the car finally crested the hill and came to rest directly in front of the main entrance to Admin. Christine muffled a snort with the back of her hand. “Hope they're not planning on leaving anytime soon. I think it just died.”

“Oh my God, Chris, shut up, they can hear you.” Gaila removed one hand from McCoy’s arm to swat at the back of Christine’s head. “Have some tact, can’t you? Not everyone has…ooh! Wait, here they come!”

The driver’s side door opened with a grinding creak that set Nyota's teeth on edge. She tried to mask the grimace with a smile aimed at the young man who sprang out and glanced back at her briefly before turning away to heave the door closed behind him and sprint to the other side of the automobile. He had to tug repeatedly on a mechanical handle to open the passenger door, eliciting another huff of suppressed laughter from Christine and a squeak of excitement from Gaila, who sprang up lightly onto her toes to get a better view of the new arrival.

McCoy crooked a half-smile and patted the hand whose nails dug into his biceps as it eagerly clutched his upper arm. “My dear, he’s not your type.” He nodded at the boy’s decidedly unfashionable apparel, worn denim jeans and work boots and a faded flannel shirt topped with an ill-fitting canvas barn jacket. “Got ‘hayseed’ written all over him.”

The words were spoken quietly, but the youth raised his head as though he had heard, affording the friends their first good look at him as he gazed at them over the roof of the car. Nyota saw he was younger than she had first thought, his build straight and slight under the too-large jacket, with sun-bleached sandy hair and a fair complexion that still bore the marks of a summer tan. The eyes that stared back at her, amber-green and fringed with heavy lashes, were wide with curiosity and a bit of apprehension, an expression so open and frank that she felt her mouth relax into a genuine grin. She freed her fingers from the strap of her shoulder bag to flutter them at him in welcome and was rewarded with a shy smile and a faint flush before he lowered his eyes to the now-open car door.

“Oooooh,” hissed Gaila in an easily discernible whisper, her long auburn curls bouncing on McCoy’s shoulder as she hopped up and down in a near-frenzy. “He’s fucking adorable.”

His blush deepening, the boy extended one hand toward the car to help out the occupant, a slender blond woman who emerged with some difficulty to steady herself on his arm. Nyota saw her smile gratefully up at him, the fresh beauty of her face at odds with the apparent infirmity of her body, and glared at Gaila in warning.

“Word to you all, hands off this one. He’s just a baby.”

McCoy frowned as the youth pushed the automobile door closed with a groaning slam that made them all jump. “He can’t be that young. Starfleet’s not so desperate that they’re taking in children.”

“Maybe she’s the recruit.”

“Could be.” McCoy’s eye had noted the tremor in the hand that reached for the boy’s and the brief tension that had flitted across her face as she stepped out of the car. “Doesn’t look like she’s in much shape for basic training, though.”

All eyes were on the pair as they walked slowly around the automobile to the curb, the youth carefully averting his face away from them and toward the woman on his arm. Gaila, her bouncing mercifully ceased, narrowed her eyes as she petted McCoy’s forearm.

“Mm. Mm hmm. Look at that ass. Tasty.”

“Down, girl,” growled Christine. “Didn’t you hear her? The kid’s jailbait.”

Gaila nodded raptly. “Tasty jailbait.”

“Jailbait who knows his manners.” McCoy watched as the couple navigated the short flight of stairs up to the front door of the Administration Building, the boy’s hand just grazing the small of the woman’s back as he shepherded her through the door. “You don’t see that much any more.”

Christine sniffed with disdain as the pair disappeared inside Admin. “Looks like a mama’s boy to me.”

“How they treat their mothers is how they’ll treat you. Give me a mama’s boy any time.” Nyota linked her arm through Gaila’s to pull her off of McCoy and toward the downhill path to the residence halls. “Come on, let’s go to the dorm and check the fourth class roster. There might be a new entry on it.”

“Ooh, that’s a good idea.” The bouncing began anew as the friends started down the walk. “We can find out his name…and where he’s from…and what room he’s in..”

“And you’re going to stay away from that room.” Nyota tried to look stern, but she felt her own curiosity rising and quickened her pace to keep up with Gaila’s excited skipping.

“Oh my God, I’ll just be friendly! What if he needs help with his homework? Or shopping for some decent clothes?”

McCoy waited until they were out of earshot before remarking, “I hate to disappoint her, but that boy’s not up to snuff, even if he is legal.”

“What makes you think she’d be disappointed?” Christine snickered as they turned to head back toward Medical. “She’ll enjoy the challenge.”

 

***

 

The administrative assistant briefly shifted his gaze from his terminal to the ID chip before glaring up at the pair that stood in front of his desk.

“Kirk, James. You’re late.”

The boy’s cheeks colored slightly. “Yes, sir, I know. Sir. We were, uh, delayed.” He looked down at his mother, then back at the frowning assistant. “But I’m here now and I’m ready to start classes.”

“You are.” The statement was more accusation than acknowledgment, and the flush on Jim Kirk’s face deepened as the scowling assistant inspected him closely before turning back toward his terminal to swipe and tap at its surface. “Semester started over two weeks ago. Your slot in the dorms has been taken; we held it as long as we could while we waited for you to show up. I’ll need to find you another room.”

“I’m sorry. We got here as quickly as we could.”

“I’m sure you did,” came the reply, but there was nothing conciliatory in the muttered tone or the snort that accompanied it as the assistant glanced through the window toward the dilapidated car outside before returning to his tapping. “There might be room— “

“Excuse me for a moment.”

The assistant’s lips tightened in irritation at the interruption as Jim looked down to the woman next to him.

“Mom, do you want to sit down?”

His mother smiled gratefully and nodded, her hand gripping his arm as they turned toward the bank of chairs opposite the assistant’s desk. He noticed that she sat with some difficulty and watched, his expression softening a little, as her son wedged a few of the reception area’s decorative pillows around her left elbow and hip before turning back toward him.

“You were saying something, about finding another room…?”

“Yes, that there might be room for you in the old Watson dorm. Down the hill.” He jerked his head over his shoulder toward the window in what Jim surmised was the general direction of the dorms. “No parking over there, so you’ll have to leave your car in the guest deck on the east side of this building and walk your things down.”

“May my mother stay here while I do that? It looks like it’s too much of a hike for her.”

“I suppose,” came the reply, but the assistant was frowning at his terminal as he spoke. “But wait, don’t go yet. You’ve got another issue.”

Jim waited and wondered what other offense he had unknowingly committed as the assistant stabbed at the terminal screen a few more times before frowning up at him over the rims of his reading glasses.

“It says here that you’re registered for twenty-one hours. That’s an overload, and we don’t allow overloads for fourths.”

“But I really want those classes. I promise you I can handle it.”

“Oh, you can.” The assistant swiveled in his chair to face Jim directly for the first time. “Well I’m sorry to inform you that we can’t just take your word for it. You need the associate dean’s approval to register for more than fifteen hours your first year at the Academy. I’m looking at your registration form right now, and I don’t see any approval signature on it. You’ll have to drop at least two of these classes.” He turned his screen toward Jim and leaned back in his chair, pointing. “Look for yourself.”

Worried eyes scanned the screen before looking back imploringly toward the assistant. “There must be some mistake. I reviewed my transcript with…uh, my transcript was reviewed and my course requests were approved. I thought they were, anyway.”

“You can see that they’re not.” His expression grew kinder at Jim’s obvious distress. “Listen you don’t want to do that to yourself anyway, pile on classes like that and overload yourself your first semester here. My advice is to drop three of them, get down to twelve hours. That’ll be something you can handle.”

“But if I only take twelve hours, I’ll have to take classes over the summer, and I can’t do that.” Jim glanced over toward his mother to find her lips clamped together in a straight line, her eyes closed against the pain that whitened her face. He turned back toward the assistant. “Please, I need to go back home over the summer, to help out. I need that overload now, and it was approved when I registered, honestly.”

“Really?” The irritation was back in the assistant’s voice. “Then who approved it? And why isn’t it on your record?”

The door at the opposite end of the office swished open.

“At ease, Mallory. I approved the overload.”

“Commander Pike!” Mallory rose behind his desk and turned, as did they all, toward the tall, dark-haired officer who entered the reception area and scanned its occupants before coming to rest on the woman seated in the chair.

“Winona!” He strode across the room toward her, hands outstretched. “You should have told me you were coming.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.” She reached up to clasp the officer’s hands with her own. “It ended up being more of a surprise than I intended, though. We couldn’t leave Riverside until almost a month after we’d planned. Medical issues,” she frowned slightly, “on my part, not Jim’s.”

He turned toward her son and took in the directness of the gaze, serious even in the smiling face under the freshly cropped hair, before looking back down at her. “Sure you’re ready to let him do this?”

“I couldn’t talk him out of it. He simply wouldn’t wait another year. Or change his mind, either.” Winona looked up at her son, and Pike saw the battle raging in her features, pride and worry each fighting for control. “I think this is the right thing for him. It’s just maybe not the right thing for me. Perhaps it’s harder when it’s your youngest.”

“I’m sure that’s true.” He turned back toward Jim. “What do you have to say, young man? Are you ready for the Academy?”

Hazel eyes met blue ones with the perfect frankness of youth. “Yes, sir. I am.”

Pike nodded and released her hands to turn toward Mallory. “Have someone transfer Mr. Kirk’s bags to my car. I’ll be escorting him to the dorms. What room?”

All trace of officiousness was gone from his voice. “Watson 242, with Mitchell.” Having evidently decided that it was simpler to help with the bags himself than locate another pair of hands, Mallory rose and moved toward the door, Jim trotting along behind him.

Winona studied them through the window, smiling a little ruefully as Jim yanked open the rusted trunk lid to haul out one large and obviously weighty duffel bag. “He’s been ready for months. Years, really. He’s spent so much time studying the first-year curriculum that I’m afraid he’ll burn out in a few weeks.”

Pike seated himself next to her and watched alongside as Jim, the heavy duffel slung easily over one shoulder, followed Mallory around the corner of the building and out of their sight. “If he does,” he replied, “I’ll comm you right away. But I don’t think he will. I’ve seen that look before.”

“Oh, I know I worry too much.” She closed her eyes briefly with a tiny sigh before continuing. “But I can’t help it. After what happened with Sam…”

Pike patted her hand. “He won’t burn out, and he won’t quit. He’s ready for this. It won’t be like Sam.” A sudden thought creased his forehead. “How are you getting back? Is Frank…?”

A huff of laughter eased the concern on Winona’s face. “Hardly. He’s back at the farm doing God knows what. I’m heading back tonight, very slowly, with frequent stops. I’ll be fine.” 

He knew her well enough not to argue and gave her hand a final pat before rising as Jim and Mallory re-entered the admissions office. “You want to head down to the dorm with us, check out his new digs?”

Jim took Pike’s place next to her and put one hand on her shoulder; she covered it with her own and shook her head. “No, we agreed we’d part ways here. Too…emotional, you know, otherwise.”

Jim leaned in to kiss her cheek with no trace of self-consciousness. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. You just take care of yourself and make sure you leave something for me to do when I get back in the summer.”

Pike nodded and shifted his gaze to where Mallory stood waiting. “I’m sure Mrs. Kirk would like some refreshment while I take the cadet over to Watson. I’ll be back shortly.”

She waited until after her son had followed Pike out the door before inclining her head toward Mallory, her smile faintly sardonic. “Bourbon and water, if you have it.”

 

***

 

“Wait, this is all you brought? A bunch of fucking books?”

Gary Mitchell looked up at Jim from the eviscerated duffel, brown eyes wide in genuine disbelief. Despite the implied criticism, Jim smiled back; it was impossible not to like the energetic young man who, having politely relieved Jim of his duffel and shaken hands with Commander Pike, had immediately tossed the bag onto his own bunk to gut it of its contents once Pike had left their small dorm room.

“It’s not all books. There’s a few clothes in there too.”

“Understatement of the year, my man.” Mitchell removed an armload of books and dumped them unceremoniously to the side before resuming his excavation of Jim’s belongings. “T-shirts and tighty-whities. And ooh, surprise, more fucking books. Paper books, for fuck’s sake. Don’t you own a PADD? Christ, man,” he muttered as he pulled out the remaining volumes from the duffel. “No wonder your bag’s so fucking heavy.”

“I just love to read, that's all.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that message loud and clear. Damn, brah,” he breathed as he held up two pairs of carefully bundled white crew socks, “you’re not gonna get any unless you kick it up like a million notches.”

“Get any what?”

Mitchell snorted and tossed the socks at Jim’s chest. “You planning on studying the whole time you’re here, book man?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Jim answered as he lobbed the socks back, a little mystified at the question. “But those aren’t textbooks. They’re for fun.”

“Oh they are. For fun.” Mitchell flipped a shock of dark hair out of his eyes and turned his attention to the pile of books on the bunk. “That’s like the one thing you don’t need at the Academy,” he said over his shoulder. “More books. You should have brought some better threads instead.” He began to inspect the titles one by one, his brow wrinkled in mock consternation.

“I figured I’d be in uniform most of the time, so I didn’t pack much.”

“Most of the time, not all of the time, you know what I’m saying. S’okay, I got stuff you can wear. We’re about the same size.” His forehead creased further with every volume he examined, bringing each to his face in turn to read the titles. “The Art of War…Two Years Before the Mast…Kir’Shara…Jesus fucking Christ.” He squinted at Jim’s dog-eared copy of Histories and waggled it at him accusingly. “You actually read this shit, James R. Kirk?”

“That’s a T. I had terrible handwriting when I was a kid.”

“When you were a kid? What the hell does that make you now?”

Jim colored slightly. “I’ve finished high school, took a gap year, then came here. I’m not a kid.”

“But you read this…” He leafed through the book before tossing it back onto the pile. “…when you were. Seriously, brah? This is your idea of fun?”

The exaggerated dismay on Mitchell’s face made Jim laugh out loud.

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll even let you read them.”

“That’s cold, man. Seriously.” Mitchell flipped the book over his shoulder and sprang up off the bunk. “Listen, we’ve got about an hour before mess at eighteen-hundred. I’ll take you on down to the CS to get your reds.” He turned to the small closet set into the wall near his bunk and pulled out a black leather jacket. “Change into this first, though. I can’t be seen with you looking like that.”

Jim frowned as he pulled off the barn jacket. “Why not?”

“Screams redneck, loud and clear. You’re gonna wreck my cred.” Mitchell darted back to the bunk to seize a t-shirt from Jim’s duffel. “Here. Give me that lumberjack shit too.”

Jim pulled off and folded the flannel shirt, which Mitchell snatched from his hand to toss on the floor. Wrinkling his nose, he dropped the barn jacket on top of it and kicked both into the closet. “Smells just like it looks.”

“What do you mean?"

“Shit, man. Smells like shit. You shovel shit back home or something?”

“My family owns a farm. In Iowa.” Jim felt the blood rise in his neck as he pulled on the t-shirt, then shrugged his arms into the leather jacket.

“Fuck me, Iowa? That’s actually a place?” Mitchell swatted at Jim’s hands. “Don’t zip, man, come on, you’re killing me.” He smoothed the jacket over Jim’s shoulders and nodded approvingly. “Fits you good. You can keep it. We’ll do something about those fugly-ass shoes later.”

“They’re work boots. I don’t have any others.”

Mitchell clapped Jim on the arm and pushed him toward the door. “You will.”

 
 

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