“Is something wrong?” Seven’s voice cut through the overload of thoughts traveling through Icheb’s cortical array. It was more of an accusation than a question. Icheb looked up in surprise. Despite his enhanced hearing, he hadn’t heard her come in.
“I was looking for the PADD with my class schedule,” he told her.
She raised her eyebrows. “It is in your hand.”
Icheb looked down and his eyes widened in surprise. He was, in fact, holding the device.
One corner of Seven’s full lips quirked upward as if she was fighting a smirk, but she quickly regained control. She looked at Icheb critically. “Your anxiety is apparent,” she told him. “Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you to campus?”
Icheb shook his head emphatically. “I have to do this on my own, Seven,” he said. “It’s my second year. I will be fine.”
Seven frowned disapprovingly. “It is your first year living on campus,” she reminded him, “and your first time meeting the other students. Our reception so far has not been … pleasant.” Her concern was evident as she looked at him. “I am willing to go with you.”
As Seven had been speaking, Icheb had been full of nervous energy, constantly shifting his physical position and searching his memory to recall whether there was anything he still needed to do to prepare for his first day of classes. Now, he stopped and gave her his full attention.
“I know you are, Seven,” he said, looking into her cool blue eyes. “I appreciate your care and concern. But this is something I have to do myself.”
Seven held his gaze for a long moment and then nodded. He knew she didn’t like it, but he thought she understood.
If they had been anyone but who they were, they might have hugged. Instead, Seven held out one cybernetically-wired hand. “I will hold your PADD so you do not … misplace it,” she said, her eyes shining with amusement. With a sheepish smile, he handed it over. “Now go retrieve your things.”
*****
“Welcome to Carmichael Hall.” The human third-class cadet sitting behind the “P-Z” sign flashed John a gorgeous smile. Her straight, chestnut brown hair was pulled into a ponytail high atop her head, and her wide blue eyes framed by long, dark lashes. “Name?”
“John Brendan Quigley,” he answered, with a flirtatious grin of his own. Next to the pretty brunette, behind the “H-O” sign, was a Bolian girl, also attractive, but John had heard horror stories about guys who had gone too far with Bolians.
The human girl fished around in the container of PADDs behind the sign. “Quinn … Quimby … Quigley. Here we go.” She grabbed a PADD which screensaver prominently displayed his name. “ID?” she asked him. He pulled out his Federation ID card and showed her. She handed over the PADD. “Room 408-A,” she said, with another flirtatious smile. “Welcome to Starfleet. I’m Kali Evans. I’ll see you around.”
John blushed. “See you around,” he echoed, with a solicitous grin.
This place was already amazing.
*****
Maren rolled her eyes as the tall, good-looking blond boy ambled away from the check-in table, looking extremely pleased with himself. She had been standing there for a good thirty seconds waiting for someone to notice her. Finally, the Bolian girl looked up. “Hi, welcome to Carmichael Hall,” she said, in subtly accented Standard. “Name?”
“Maren O’Connor,” she answered. “Middle name Siobhan.” She rubbed at her shoulder a little where the strap to her travel bag was digging in.
The Bolian flipped through her crate of PADDs until she found the right one. “O’Connor, Maren Siobhan,” she said, marking something on her own PADD. “I will need your ID.”
Maren already had it out.
“Thank you,” the Bolian said. She handed Maren the PADD. “You are in 312-B. Your roommate is Rachel Quinteros.”
Maren frowned and looked down at her PADD, swiping it with a finger to get to the main screen. Quinteros. Where had she heard that name before? Quickly, it dawned on her. Quinteros had been the officer in charge of the Bynar integration project. Maren remembered reading about it extensively back in grade school. She had found the Bynars’ society fascinating, and their skill with technology awed her. She wondered if her new roommate was any relation.
“Thanks,” she told the Bolian, who nodded, looking right through her. Maren smirked. Apparently, she wasn’t sufficiently tall, male and handsome to earn recognition by these two. She glanced over at the young Vulcan man sitting behind the “A-G” sign. He sat there efficiently doing his job, apparently impervious to the shameless flirtations of the two women with whom he was working. Maren grinned and shook her head as she walked away. This was going to be an interesting year.
*****
The Academy was even more beautiful in person than it had been in holoimages or through the windows of the skimmers that had carried Icheb back and forth between his temporary residence and the courthouse. Sleek metal towers stretched into an unusually brilliant blue sky. The sun was shining brightly on this late summer day, and a few small cumulus clouds drifted high above the crowded city.
His few possessions filled only one large travel bag, which was slung over his left shoulder. In his free hand, he carried the PADD with his room assignment and class information. As he walked toward the dormitory where his private room would be, he attempted to match up the class locations on his schedule with the buildings all around him.
So absorbed was he in this task that at first, he did not notice the other students noticing him. That is, until his sensitive ears picked up the sounds of people talking.
“That’s him. The Borg they brought back from the Delta Quadrant.”
“Seven of Nine?”
“No, Seven of Nine is the woman. This one has a name. I can’t remember it.”
“I can’t believe they let him in.”
“I know.”
Icheb looked up from his PADD in the direction of the conversation, his ears growing hot with the knowledge that he was being discussed. Two human cadets were standing under a shade tree, staring at him and talking to each other quietly. He knew they didn’t realize he could hear them. When he looked up, they looked at him in surprise, then quickly looked away.
Then Icheb noticed they hadn’t been the only ones watching him.
He stopped walking, lowered his PADD to his side and looked around. There were a number of other cadets nearby, and most of them were staring at him with varying levels of hostility. He could hear simultaneous conversations going on nearby, and most of them were about him.
“A fucking Borg drone. Starfleet has really lost it this time. What are they thinking?”
“I don’t know, he looks kind of normal. Is that really him?”
“Look at that thing on his face. It’s a goddamn ocular implant. He can probably see right through your clothes.”
. . . .
“That bastard won’t last the week. Can you imagine what Atherton is going to do to him? Holy shit, I almost feel sorry for him.”
. . . .
“I heard they gave him a private room.”
“Well would you want to bunk with him?”
“No, I guess not.”
Taken off guard and a little embarrassed, Icheb put his head down and quickly resumed walking toward his dorm. As he passed by the other cadets, it looked like there was a force field perimeter around him. People stepped back, into the shadows, into the grass, off the path, making sure to stay many meters away from him. Most weren’t shy about staring.
He hurried toward his room.
*****
Whoever Aaron Henson was, he had awesome taste in music. John recognized the familiar rock beat pounding through the door before he ever entered his code. He couldn’t help moving his head in time with the music as he tapped in his security code. The door slid open to reveal a sparsely but comfortably furnished two-bunk room with a window overlooking the gardens.
“Nice!” he exclaimed, with genuine enthusiasm.
One of the two beds had an open suitcase full of jumbled clothing on it, so he tossed his stuff onto the other bed. “Hello?” he called out.
A redheaded, blue-eyed kid stuck his head out of the lavatory. “Hey, you must be John. Give me a sec, I’m just putting my shit away. This lav is fucking tiny.” His accent was not North American, but it wasn’t quite British or Irish, either. John’s best guess was that the kid was Australian.
He smirked. At least Starfleet hadn’t matched him up with some uptight Vulcan. He walked over to the window and looked down at the gardens. The pathways were full of cadets – some walking empty handed, but many more lugging travel bags and suitcases. The girls, on the whole, were gorgeous.
“Hey,” Aaron’s voice spoke up behind him. John turned around to face him. His new roommate was a lot shorter than he was, but at 1.93 meters, most people were. Aaron stuck out his hand. “Aaron Henson. Nice to meet you.”
John took his hand and gave it a shake. “John Quigley. Where’re you from?”
“New Zealand,” Aaron answered. “Christchurch.” Ah, so that was it. “How about you?”
“Edmonton. It’s in North America.”
“I know where it is,” Aaron replied with a lopsided grin. “Great skiing there at Banff.”
John smiled. “Yeah, there is.” After a brief and awkward silence, he gestured toward the speaker sitting on one of the two desks. “I love this album.”
Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Yeah? I saw them in concert last year in Sydney. God, that was great. They’re coming to San Fran in December, you know. Awesome show. Don’t miss it.”
John couldn’t help but grin. Something told him this assignment was going to work out just fine.
*****
When Maren arrived at her assigned room, she was annoyed to see the door was jammed open by a hard-sided suitcase. Do you know what that does to the gears? she wondered. She stepped over the suitcase and entered the room. She was surprised to find it filled with other cadets. A curvy, pale-skinned Latina girl with a head full of black curls sat on one of the two beds, surrounded by five others – three men and two women. Two of the guys were human; one was Andorian. One girl was Bolian, and judging from her deep black eyes and penetrating gaze, the other was probably Betazoid. They had been talking and laughing animatedly, but as Maren cautiously entered the room, they stopped short and shared at her expectantly.
“Uh, I think I’m in the right place?” She pulled out her PADD. “312-B?” She tapped at the touchscreen to bring up her dorm assignment.
“Maren O’Connor?” the Latina girl asked.
Maren glanced up from the PADD. “That’s me,” she acknowledged, with a hesitant nod.
The girl grinned. “You’re in the right place. I’m Rachel Quinteros. Welcome to Starfleet.”
“Thanks.” Maren smiled nervously. It was awkward enough meeting a new roommate, but she hadn’t counted on doing it in a room full of mostly upperclassmen. All three boys were third-class cadets, and the Betazoid girl was a second-class. Only Rachel and the Bolian were plebes like Maren.
With an apologetic smile toward the group, she lugged her things over to the remaining empty bed and heaved them up onto the mattress. She decided to start with her suitcase full of tech crap, because the idea of the upper-class boys watching her unpack her underwear was mortifying.
As she zipped open the bag, the others again grew quiet and turned their attention to her.
“Wow, what is all that?” Rachel asked. Maren looked over and realized that the five cadets were staring at her curiously.
Maren glanced down at the contents of the bag. She shrugged, feeling heat creep into her cheeks. “Um, it’s just stuff I thought might come in handy.” She had three different toolkits in the bag – one for small electronics, one for larger machinery (like the door she suspected would be broken by the end of the day), and one for everything else. She also had a dozen PADDs of varying vintage, each used for a different purpose.
Rachel raised her eyebrows skeptically while the upperclassmen shared a private giggle. “Well … at least you’re prepared?” she offered, but added, “You know they provide that stuff in class, right?”
Before Maren could respond, there was a grinding noise and then a loud snap. They all looked at the door in surprise … except for Maren. She simply shrugged.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll fix it.”