elliewood | Fic: The Plebe, Chapter 4

The Plebe, Chapter 4
Exam Day -- The Thunderbolt -- My Dinner with Finn -- Breathe In -- Exam Day Deux

Calculate the rotational period of a binary star system if each star has a mass of 3.0x10^30 kg and the distance between them is 2.0x10^11 m.

Jim read the question, then glanced up at Uhura, already bent over her screen and writing, and Gaila, who twisted her stylus between her teeth as she winked saucily at him. The seat to his left was empty.

mitchellgs: they wont let me out mild concussion hurled all over chapels tits haha kick ass today

He took a breath.

"Look here," Finn had said, pointing to his right eye. "Look right here, and breathe in."

***

It was the color of his eyes that Jim had noticed first when Finn had entered the clinic, a blue that darkened in spots to the deep grey of a summer storm. They had widened as they rested on him, shirtless and barefoot with one leg dangling off of the biobed, then continued to stare at him with such an odd intensity that Jim felt his cheeks begin to warm. He was unaware of the picture he made as he held Mitchell's hand, worry over his roommate as clear on his face as sunlight on a stream; Finn had watched, transfixed, as the concern for Mitch shifted into curiosity upon his entrance, then into shyness, his gaze dropping from Finn’s face to fix on the button at the collar of his unfastened lab coat. Neither of them noticed the look exchanged between McCoy and Christine before the former spoke up.

“Finn, this is James Kirk.”

Jim had to reach upward with his free hand to shake Finn’s; he noticed then how tall he was and how oddly the turbulence of his eyes contrasted with the fairness of his skin and the nearly colorless chin-length hair, as pale and fine as corn silk.

“Finn’s a psych major who works here part-time. He also helps out in the AEC. He might be just the guy you’re looking for.”

The cool firmness of Finn’s grasp contrasted with the faint air of disorientation on his face as he continued to inspect Jim, the words tumbling helplessly from his mouth.

“I certainly hope I am. Just the guy, I mean. I do a lot of tutoring, all different subjects, not just psych. All kinds.” He paused for a breath, realized he was still holding Jim’s hand, and released it with a flustered laugh to push his hair behind one ear. “Whatever you need, I can probably help. Except organic chemistry, Orgo Two especially. Never did get a handle on that, you know, just enough to pass. Barely.” The nervous laugh, again. Christine’s eyes narrowed.

“Mr. Kirk knows his material.” The interruption drew Finn’s startled gaze away from Jim for a moment. “He doesn't need tutoring.”

Jim cleared his throat, suddenly uncomfortable at the baldness of her compliment. “Yeah, I need help with something else. It’s, uh, kind of hard to explain.” His gaze finally traveled upward from the the few light hairs at the V-neck of Finn’s scrub top to meet and be held by the stormcloud eyes. Finn drew a breath.

“Listen, I work here until seventeen-thirty, then I’m free. Why don’t you meet me for dinner tonight, eighteen-hundred at the Officers' Club. We can talk there about what you need."

Three pairs of eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“What he needs is help showing his work in astrophysics. You think that’s in your wheelhouse?” Christine’s question had an unexpected edge to it. McCoy ducked his head and pretended to check the neat dressing on the scalp of the now overtly snoring Mitchell.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his gaze still fixed on Jim. Her frown deepened as she glared at Jim, waiting for his reaction.

"The Officers' Club sounds pretty fancy," Jim finally answered, his tone doubtful as he mentally reviewed the inventory of Mitchell’s closet and his own paltry wardrobe. "I don’t think I have anything to wear."

"Your reds are fine. Just make sure you show up with a shirt on, and shoes. No shirt, no shoes, no service, am I right?" Finn reddened slightly and raked his hair back with one hand, leaving it to rest on the back of his neck. "And, uh, bring an example of the types of problems you have to solve. Your PADD too, of course. It’ll be a working dinner."

Jim hesitated, then replied with what Christine had to admit, with some irritation, was an adorably bashful smile. "All right, eighteen-hundred. I'll see you there. And thanks."

McCoy had waited until Finn had retreated back to the lab and Jim had padded out of the clinic, wet and bloody towels in hand, before turning on Christine. “Just what was that all about?”

She shrugged, not meeting McCoy’s questioning eyes as she rotated the rails on Mitchell’s biobed upward. “He came on a little strong, that’s all. Needs to tone it down.” She wheeled the bed past him to move it out into the corridor and toward a private room.

“Christine.” She stopped and waited, not turning to face McCoy. “Finn’s a good man,” he went on.

“I know that.” She continued down the corridor, the unspoken postscript plain in the straightness of her back.

And I don’t care.

***

Jim had arrived at the Officers’ Club nearly ten minutes early to find Finn already waiting for him outside. Gone were the rumpled lab coat and scrubs, replaced instead with the neatly pressed red-over-black of a first class cadet, the swinging curtain of white-gold hair now combed back and secured into a neat ponytail. He smiled with relief as he spied Jim and held the door open, motioning for him to enter.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t show. I probably should have picked a less stuffy place for our first meeting.”

Jim wouldn’t have used the word stuffy; the Officers’ Club was well-lit and almost as lively with chatter and the clinking of silverware as the mess hall. But the smaller tables with their starched cloths and matching napkins signaled greater formality by a full order of magnitude as did the glint here and there of candlelight on glassware.

"How come you get to eat here?” he asked as he edged toward the wall to dodge a server and his dangerously overloaded tray. “Isn't it only, I mean, for officers?"

"I serve on the Honor Council and the Board of Faculty Relations; it comes with a few meaningless perks. I eat here when I want to be by myself, you know, because it’s more private, not a bunch of loud cadets. Plus the food is better.” He shepherded Jim toward a table at the rear; a quick nod to a pimply waiter and two raised fingers got them tumblers of water, a basket of assorted bread, and the evening’s special. They seated themselves as the waiter tapped in their order.

"So tell me about yourself,” he asked Jim as he took a roll and buttered it. “First year here?"

"Yeah, that's right. Does it show?"

Finn’s smile was kind. "A little. Where did you transfer from?”

The question caught Jim off guard. “How do you know I transferred?” he parried.

“Because I haven’t seen you on campus before. I’m pretty sure I would have noticed if you’d already been here a year.” A flush of pink tinged his cheeks. “Well, that and the astrophysics. It's generally a second-class course but it's available to advanced thirds, which I figure you are."

"I already had four semesters of physics before I transferred." A few swallows of water helped the half-lie go down easier. Finn nodded knowingly.

“So, like Chapel said, that’s why the material itself isn’t a problem for you. But explaining it is?”

“Right. It’s like I can’t write down how I do math. Which is,” he added ruefully, “kind of a problem for my instructor.” He bit into his own roll and chewed, relieved to be telling the truth.

“That’s great, that gives me a place to start. We’ll try an exercise that might help. After dinner.” Finn leaned forward slightly. “Right now I want to hear more about you that doesn’t have to do with astrophysics.”

Jim took another sip of water and gave what he hoped was a nonchalant shrug. “There isn’t much to tell. I’ve had a pretty quiet life. Just Mom and me for most of it.”

“What about Dad?”

“Died the day I was born.” Finn saw Jim’s eyes shutter, their normal transparency veiled, and wisely abandoned the line of questioning.

“Almost the same story with me.” He nodded politely as their waiter set their plates in front of them and picked up a fork. “My mother died when I was a baby, so I have no memory of her at all. Just Dad and me since then. Plus a few girlfriends, on his part I mean, but nothing lasting.” He stabbed a baby carrot and chewed thoughtfully. “One thing I do know, I have her to thank for my weird name. Dad claims no responsibility.”

“Weird?” Jim looked interested.

“Yeah. Bentley Corentin Gadish Finnegan. Quite a mouthful, huh? You can see why I just go with Finn.”

Jim felt a sudden warmth in his chest. “I go by Jim. Same reason.”

Finn grinned broadly as he harpooned two more baby carrots. “Jim it is.”

***

“Okay, tell me what your issue is first.” Finn pushed his half-empty coffee cup to one side and folded his hands on the table. “No math yet, just verbally, you know, describe it in words.”

“I…I don’t really know.” Jim frowned at his own lack of articulation; he had searched his mind throughout the course of their meal how for a way to explain it to Finn and had come up empty. “I just calculate in my head but can’t record the process, in writing or keyboarding or anything. Can’t even describe it, really.”

“Try.” Finn reached across the table to pull Jim’s left hand off his own cup and pull it toward him, palm up, one thumb pressing gently on the wrist. “Imagine it in your head. Maybe you see images, or hear something in particular, or even smell something. Think about the whole experience of solving an equation. What do you sense?”

“I…I guess it’s like a picture, but not really. More like watching a vid, sort of. I don’t know.”

“Close your eyes and breathe in.” The pressure on his wrist was steady, soothing. “Now out. In. And out. Now open your eyes and look right here.” Finn pointed to one blue-grey eye. “Keep looking right here while I ask you a question. Let the solution flow in your head. Don’t think about it too much, and don’t say anything, don’t tell me the answer. Just watch the answer present itself to you, like a flower opening, and focus on what you sense. Ready?”

Jim nodded.

“What’s the square root of ten?”

He lost himself in that eye, the swirling blues and greys and the inky depth of the pupil that widened into a silence and calm so profound that there was nothing anymore, no dining room and no Finn and no anxiety over Mitch or the upcoming test, just himself and the problem at hand. It twisted before him, its contours shifting, colors playing over its surface, a beautiful thing he could almost hold and touch. An eternity passed until his next intake of breath, and it startled him so much that he drew back in surprise, the room coming back into view, Finn’s face tilted questioningly at him, his wrist still firmly in Finn’s grasp.

“How…how long…?

“One or two seconds. Did you get to an answer?”

Jim nodded mutely, his eyes wide.

“All right, now I’m going to ask you a similar question. Do the same thing you just did, but this time, I want you to talk about what you’re seeing while you’re seeing it. Don’t think about it, just open your mouth and start talking, whatever comes out, just go with it. No judgment or editing, you know, just stream of consciousness. Like Joyce.”

“How did you know I read Joyce?”

Finn smiled and shrugged. “Just a good guess. Ready?”

“Yeah.”

“Look right here. Breathe in. And out. In.”

yes

“What’s the cube root of 15?”

Jim felt his jaw release as he felt the question in his mind, the words forming lazily like the swaying of a hammock on a shady afternoon. “Two, eight, three, twenty-seven, two-point-five, fifteen-point-six-two-five, two-point-four — ”

“Jim, wait.” The cool thumb stroked across his wrist more firmly. “You’re giving me a string of numbers, so we know your calculating using repeated iteration. What I want you to do is describe to me what you’re doing. Tell me what you see in your mind.”

That was harder; the question evaded his inspection like a floater in the eye, rushing away as he tried to pin it down. “It’s like…I feel like I’m actually inside a cube, in three dimensions. At least my head is. In the cube, I mean. If it’s too big, I make it smaller. If it’s too small, I…I don’t know, inflate it or something, until it fits what I want.”

what do you want

“I want the edges of the cube to equal 15 when multiplied together.”

“Good! That’s very good. Give me your PADD.” Finn removed the stylus and pressed it into Jim’s right hand. “Now write it down, as much as you can, however you can.”

Jim dragged his gaze away from the tranquility of Finn’s right eye to stare stupidly down at his paralyzed fingers. “I can’t…it’s like it won’t, I mean, I can’t even move my hand.”

“That’s all right.” Finn looked down at the PADD for a moment, his eyes narrowed in thought, before smiling reassuringly. “Here, try this. He released Jim’s hand and transferred the stylus into it. “Try writing it with your left hand.”

“But that’s going to be even harder,” Jim objected. “I’m not left-handed.”

“Humor me.” He took Jim’s right wrist in his hands and massaged the pulse point with his thumb. ”Just give it a try.”

A few clumsy scrawls later, Jim dropped the stylus in defeat. “See? It looks like crap.”

“Don’t give up. Try writing backwards if you can’t write forwards.”

“How do I even do that?”

“Don’t think about how to do it. Just let your mind direct your hand.”

relax

yes

“Breathe in. Now out. And look right here.”

Jim closed his eyes, breathed in, and opened into the calm dark grey of the pre-dawn sea.

***

Calculate the rotational period of a binary star system if each star has a mass of 3.0x10^30 kg and the distance between them is 2.0x10^11 m.