Fic: The Plebe, Chapter 2

[elliewood]

The Plebe. Chapter 2
Day One -- Tea and Little Sympathy

“Grab that table, at two-o-clock. It has the best stations.”

A firm hand clamped onto the base of Jim's neck to steer him toward a table near the center of the lecture hall; he tried, with some success, not to trip over the dozens of booted feet that seemed to come between him and the target toward which they navigated in tandem. Having reached their goal, he laid his bag on the table and slid into one of the chairs, only to be shoved over to the adjoining station as Mitchell scooted into the seat in his place.

“This one’s mine; I got my porn all set up on the station. That one’s clean, I think. I can get you the hack code if you want to, you know, customize it.”

“Your…?” Jim bit back the inquiry almost as soon as it formed; he had known Mitchell for less than twenty-four hours but had already learned that asking a question every time something confused him would earn him an eyeroll, a disbelieving exclamation of Jesus fucking Christ, and occasionally, as had been the case the previous evening in the mess hall when Jim asked why he should avoid the broccoli parmesan, a stinging punch to the shoulder. He had already endured a second blow earlier that morning when Mitchell found him packing two books into his shoulder bag.

“What the fuck, man, you bringing books to class?”

“Yeah, I might have time to do some…ow, Mitch, cut it out!” He had zipped the bag quickly and ducked out the door of their room before Mitchell could pull the offending books out, the persistent ache in his deltoid a reminder that, at least for the present, learning might be less painfully accomplished by observation rather than by inquiry. The screen before him now proved resistant to this strategy, however, as it yielded nothing to his gaze other than a slightly blurred Starfleet insigne and a steadily blinking cursor.

“You enter your username, family name plus any initials, so you’d be kirkjt, OK now enter your ID number…now say your name out loud so it can voice-print you…no, dumbass, your name, not your username…OK, you’re in. Sign out when you’re done by saying ‘Exit.’” Mitchell thumped him approvingly on the back. “Good job, brah. Do that like a million times and they’ll let you graduate.”

“Mind if we sit down?”

“Ladies!” Mitchell sprang up and gestured suavely to the two remaining open seats. “Please.”

Jim looked up at the new arrivals and recognized the girl from the other day, the one who had been friendly to him in front of the Admin building, and her lively redheaded companion. He rose in greeting, tugging slightly on the jacket of his uniform to straighten it, and flushed nervously as the latter looked him up and down before aiming a deliberately enchanting smile at him.

“Hi, James Kirk. I’m Gaila.” The eyes that stared into Jim’s were sky blue, direct and inquisitive, and in spite of his discomfort at her scrutiny, he found himself grinning back as he wondered how it was she already knew his name.

“I’m pleased to meet you.”

Her friend reached out one hand and he instinctively enfolded it with his own, noting the strength beneath its softness. “I’m Nyota Uhura. Welcome to the Academy.”

“Thank you,” he smiled. “Jim Kirk. How do you do.”

He bowed slightly over her hand, oblivious to Gaila’s wide-eyed appraisal of his backside as he did so. Mitchell caught the look and guffawed as Gaila sank into her seat and pulled off her cap to fan her face with it. “Mitch,” she breathed, her voice low and urgent, “please. Please.”

“Don’t worry, baby girl, I got you.” He patted the last remaining empty seat as he winked at Gaila. “Uhura, he’s here. Time to rock.”

She kept her hand in Jim’s as she sat, pressing it slightly before releasing it, and frowned at Gaila in warning; she had noted the exchange between the two and found it unaccountably annoying even as she herself had stared at Jim a little longer than was necessary for a polite greeting. The fitted cadet reds he wore revealed what the shapeless barn jacket from the previous day could not: a surprisingly muscular and broad-shouldered frame that, while still lean from immaturity, held a tantalizing promise of strength yet to come. And as he turned slightly away from her to sit, she had to admit that one could well understand Gaila’s sentiment with respect to his ass.

She removed her own cap, smoothing the straight black hair beneath as she forced the frown off of her face, and looked expectantly toward the front of the room. Jim followed her gaze to where it rested on a tall, slim figure whose measured entrance silenced the dozens of chattering students that now filled the hall. In contrast to the sea of red uniforms before him, his was black, as severe and uncompromising as the curveless slant of his eyebrows and the perfectly neutral, almost wooden, expression on his face as he approached the lecturer’s podium and surveyed the room.

“A Vulcan!”

Jim had only murmured the words, pleasantly dazed from this first encounter with an individual of so exotic a species, but the dark head immediately swiveled toward him, the black eyes beneath those brows boring into his across the crowded lecture hall. Discomfort prickled the back of his neck until he was finally released, an eternity later, by a curt nod, and he exhaled with relief as the instructor’s gaze dropped to his own station.

“Is he really the instructor? He looks too young.”

He had spoken in what he hoped was, to the lecturer at least, an inaudible whisper, his head angled toward Mitchell who pointedly ignored him to type on his touchscreen.

mitchellgs: look whos talking shut up asshat

Jim blinked at the screen before raising his eyes to Mitchell’s, stifling a huff of laughter at the comical scowl of exasperation he saw there before forcing his own expression into one of what he hoped was calm anticipation.

“We will begin,” intoned the instructor, “with a problem based on last week’s lecture. Please refer to your screens as I read the problem aloud.”

The smooth baritone was definitely not the voice of a child. Jim straightened and fixed his attention on the problem that now flashed on his station’s screen.

A binary star has a major axis of orbit of 100 AU and a period of 100 solar years. Calculate the masses of the two stars if they have maximum Doppler velocities of 15 km/s and 30 km/s.

The silence in the hall dissolved into urgent whispering as the occupants of each table grouped tightly together to discuss the problem. Across their table, Gaila leaned in to purr at Jim, affording him a view of the impressive cleavage visible through the collar of her slightly unzipped uniform jacket.

“He likes to set it up as a competition, to motivate students to work on the problem instead of slacking off. Your team gets points for being the first to get to the right answer, and the table with the most points at the end of the week gets a bonus on the next unit exam.”

Jim nodded, tearing his eyes away from the display before him and looking down at his own screen to type his answer. Hitting Submit Response caused the problem to fade from view; by the groans that floated throughout the hall, he guessed that it had disappeared from all the other stations as well. He looked up to smile at Mitchell with satisfaction, only to be met with a glare of what was now genuine irritation and a painful backhanded slap that landed squarely on his left nipple. To his right, Nyota laid a hand on his knee. “We’re supposed to work on it together,” she murmured in his ear, the reproof soothed by a reassuring squeeze.

“But…she said we have to be fast.”

Nyota shook her head. “Not at the expense of teamwork.” She tipped her chin toward the front of the lecture hall where the instructor was tapping on the lectern’s touchscreen. Jim swallowed, feeling an odd flutter in his chest as his entry flashed onto the large screen at the front of the room.

8.34 * 10^30 kg, 16.7 * 10^30 kg

The instructor glanced at the screen for a moment before turning to look at their table, one eyebrow raised in what Jim surmised was disbelief. He kept his own gaze steady and hoped he wasn't visibly sweating as the flutter turned into an uncomfortable pressure at the instructor’s words.

“I expected the answer to be expressed in terms of solar mass.”

mitchellgs: penalty for wrong anserw thanks a lot u fuckkup

“However,” he continued, “if one includes that value in the calculation, to three significant figures, the answer shown here is correct.” The eyebrow lowered back into impassivity as Uhura nudged Jim with her shoulder in silent congratulations.

“We will proceed with today’s topic: astrometric binaries for which only one star is visible. In these situations, one can still calculate the combined mass if certain assumptions are made…”

mitchellgs: how the hell u do that so fast

kirkjt: shut up asshat

 

***

 

“The unit test will take place next Wednesday. My office hours have been singularly underpopulated; I suggest you make plans to visit me before then if you are having difficulty with the material. Good day.”

The lecture hall rumbled with the sounds of bodies rising from chairs and bags being slung around shoulders. Mitchell stretched ostentatiously as he rose and stifled a yawn. “Lunchtime. Fuck yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it with his fingers before pulling his cap on. “Let’s get on over to the mess before they run out of brownies.”

Jim grinned and reached for his own bag just as the instructor spoke again, his voice penetrating the din like a laser. “Mr. Kirk. Please remain.”

They all froze in surprise. Jim caught the silent exchange between Gaila, whose forehead wrinkled in a questioning frown, and Nyota, whose raised eyebrows and slight shrug of bewilderment only fed the tension in his gut as he nodded, suddenly dry-mouthed, and set his bag back down. Mitchell seized his forearm and gripped it tightly.

“You’re okay, man. I’ll be waiting for you in the mess hall.”

His roommate’s expression definitely did not project okay. Jim tugged on his uniform jacket and waited as the lecture hall emptied. At the front of the room, the instructor did the same, his taciturn features revealing nothing.

Spock. His name is Spock.

Jim mentally practiced saying the name, rehearsing the proper inflection as he gazed covertly at the Vulcan and wondered again how he could be, with his smooth, unlined face, old enough to serve as an Academy instructor.

The last of the students left the room, and the instructor wasted no time.

"Mr. Kirk.”

“Yes, Mr. Spock.”

Oh, that came out so wrong. He winced as he heard himself mispronounce the simple name and felt a flush of perspiration on his palms.

“It is my practice to enjoy a cup of tea after class. I request that you join me.”

The words were congenial but the alien face was curiously expressionless, the disparity casting doubt in Jim’s mind as to how enjoyable this appointment would actually be. He wiped his hands on his pants.

“Yes. Sir, I mean. Yes, sir.”

Spock ignored his incoherence, or so he hoped, and moved toward the door, clearly expecting Jim to follow the wordless command. He did so, snatching up his bag and cap and stumbling a little in his haste to hurry after. Despite the Vulcan’s apparently easy pace, Jim found he had to almost trot to keep up with him, his bag slapping uncomfortably against his hip as they exited the building toward the library annex a few hundred meters away. The midmorning sun that had been so welcoming when he and Mitchell had crossed the same rolling green an hour earlier now shone hot on his back where a trickle of sweat was already pooling at the waistband of his trousers. He was nearly panting with exertion by the time they reached the library entrance, grateful that the lack of conversation gave him a few moments to steady his breath as he followed Spock through the welcome coolness of the library to the maze of narrow corridors that housed faculty offices at its rear.

A wall of dry heat smacked Jim in the face as Spock opened the door to the small room that served as his office. He motioned for Jim to precede him inside and seat himself in one of the two chairs that faced each other across a rectangular desk. Several more moments passed in silence as Spock prepared two cups of tea from the brewer on one side of the desk while Jim stared at the only other piece of furniture in the room, a coat rack in a back corner, and willed himself to stop sweating.

The fragrance of the tea that Spock finally pushed across the desk toward him was pleasant enough; its flavor was not. Jim fought not to choke on the mildewy taste, managing to swallow what he hoped was a sufficiently polite quantity before placing his cup back on the desk and clasping his hands, waiting while Spock unhurriedly sipped his own drink. The combination of steaming tea and the oppressive heat of the office was almost unbearable. Finally, Spock spoke.

“Tell me, Mr. Kirk, how you judge your performance in class today.”

Jim frowned a little as he recalled the rest of the lecture and the problems embedded within its contents. “I think I did pretty well. I answered all the questions.”

“That is correct. However, today’s participation grade for you and everyone at your table will be entered as ‘Fail.’”

Despite the heat, Jim’s hands suddenly went cold. “Fail? But I thought…Didn’t I get the right answers?”

“Indeed you did. Your computational skills are superior.” Somehow it didn’t seem like a compliment.

“Then why…?”

“As I stated, your responses to the problems were appropriate. However, I require that you demonstrate your reasoning processes and methods of calculation. In none of the instances in today’s class did you do so.”

Jim blinked in disbelief, a knot of discomfort forming in his gut. “But I don’t understand why all that matters if I know how to do the problem and get the right answer.”

Spock sipped his tea, his eyes on Jim’s over the rim of his cup. He set the cup down.

“Cadet, why are you here?”

“You mean, here at the Academy?”

“Yes.”

The knot grew; he had not expected an interrogation.

“To serve on a starship. Explore the galaxy.”

“To command a ship of your own?”

“Yeah, eventually.”

“Then imagine this. You encounter a new star system with a planet that you suspect may be capable of supporting life. You ask your science officer to analyze the prudence of transporting down to this planet to explore it. Do you accept his word that it is safe to do so without his providing any evidence to support his claim?”

“If I trust him, yeah. Sure.”

“You would entrust him with your life in that situation?”

“Yes.”

“And the lives of your entire landing party, not just your own?”

Jim was silent at that. Spock nodded and took another sip of tea.

“You see the difficulty. The young are prepared to risk their own lives for so little. But as a commander, you must take into account that you are responsible for everyone under your command. To stake their lives on the word of one person, no matter how competent, is foolhardy. You must therefore demand that everyone under your command justify his or her assessment of every situation. Someday your commander will in turn demand information, or an opinion, or analysis, from you. For you to supply it without any justification puts your commander in the situation of having to take your word at face value in what could very well be a life or death situation. To do so would be, again, foolhardy.” He set his cup down and pushed his PADD toward Jim. “Demonstrate for me, please, how you arrived at your answer for this problem.”

The first question of the day floated up at him from the screen. A binary star has a major axis of orbit of 100 AU and a period of 100 solar years…

“Well, I used Kepler’s third law, then the mass ratio equation.”

“That is the correct strategy. But I requested that you demonstrate, not report, your solution.” Spock tapped the PADD’s attached stylus with one slender finger. “Please, write out the process you utilized.”

Jim picked up the stylus and twirled it between his fingers as he stared at the PADD. Spock waited, observing the initial flush in Jim’s cheeks drain away to leave him pale and sweating. Finally he set the stylus down.

“I can’t.”

One straight, black eyebrow shot upward.

“I mean, I can’t…write it down. I just do it in my head. I don’t know how to write it,” he finished lamely.

“Indeed.” Spock reached across the desk to retrieve the PADD and tap on its surface before returning it to Jim. “What is your response to this question?”

What is the approximate main sequence luminosity of a star of 2 solar masses?

He watched Jim pinch his lower lip between one thumb and forefinger as he scanned the screen briefly before looking up, his eyes unfocused and darkening to green as the pupils dilated with effort. A sweep of the long lashes closed those eyes for a moment, then reversed to reopen them, clarity returned. “Eleven. Eleven solar luminosities, I mean. Approximately. It’s closer to eleven point three-one-four if you want more precision.”

Spock blinked twice; the entire process had taken less than four seconds. “Tell me how you arrived at that answer.”

“By using the mass luminosity relation.”

“Again, correct. Please write down your calculations.”

Jim reached for the stylus, his hand hovering over it for a moment before dropping back into his lap, his stomach leaden with defeat. “I’m sorry. I just…I really don’t know how. I can’t explain it.”

“Fascinating.” Spock poured himself another cup of tea and sipped it reflectively. “You must correct this deficit before the test next week, or you will surely fail it as well.”

“Wait, you mean…I’ll fail the exam if I can’t show my work? Even if I get the right answers?”

“That is correct.”

“But…” Jim bit back the complaint before it left his mouth and forced himself to change tack. “How do I learn how to do that? Show my...process, I mean.”

“I imagine,” Spock remarked as he placed his cup back on the desk, “that there are any number of physics tutors who are available to help you. You might visit the Academic Enhancement Center on the second floor of this building.” He rose and straightened his uniform jacket. “I suggest you do so without delay.”

“Okay, uh…thank you.” Jim stood as well at the obvious dismissal and moved to leave before turning back toward Spock. “Oh, wait. I have another question.”

“Proceed.”

“You said that everyone at my table would also get a failing grade for the problems we did today?”

“That is correct. Collaborative work is an important part of my class. As you saw fit to answer all the questions yourself, you robbed your colleagues of the chance to demonstrate their own learning. That they in turn chose to abdicate their responsibility for answering the questions by allowing you alone to do so merits their failing grades.”

Jim closed his eyes at the memory of Gaila’s excited hugs, the last question of the day earning him a press of her lush lips against his cheek. “Sir, I…I respectfully request that you not fail my teammates. I was happy that they let me answer the questions myself, I wanted them to. I think maybe...I liked the attention. I wanted to impress them.”

He faced down the impassive gaze, his gut rolling with nervousness, until the dark head finally inclined slightly toward him.

“Mr. Kirk, I shall consider it.”

 

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