The early morning heat was uncommon for San Francisco, even in late August, but Icheb wasn’t going to complain about it. It was beautiful outside. The sun’s radiation pleasantly warmed his skin, exposed as it was by his athletic uniform shorts and t-shirt. He felt self-conscious about the scars all over his body and the stray stubs of two old implants protruding through the skin on his upper arms, but there was nothing he could do about that. Regulation called for the uniform. After the hostile reception he’d had upon his arrival the day before, he realized it was obvious to the other students what he had once been, anyway.
Feeling physically energetic after six hours of regeneration, he walked at a brisk pace toward the track and field complex, which was right next to the bay’s edge. The overheated atmosphere looked almost liquid with refracted light, shimmering above the concrete, glass and landscaped surfaces. He could see the bay was already crowded with watercraft, as people took advantage of the warm weather and sought to enjoy the waning days of summer. Out on the field, hundreds of cadets were assembling in groups, some stretching, some talking, many eyeing the incoming freshman class with curiosity.
Icheb quickly found his own group among the others, thanks to an instructor holding a large card that read ‘Class III Squad 24.’ He was among the first to arrive, and immediately began stretching to warm up his muscles. As he did, he looked around the field at the other groups and took it all in. Never before had he been around so many people his own age.
Never had he felt so alone.
The instructor, a tall, pale-skinned Vulcan male holding a PADD and whose t-shirt had four stripes on the sleeve, indicating he was a first-class cadet, walked over to where Icheb was on the ground stretching. “Name?”
“Icheb.” He gave the Vulcan a wary look, but the older boy simply marked something on his PADD and moved on to the next cadet.
A few meters away, a human boy was also stretching. When Icheb said his name, the boy looked over in surprise. His eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the implant on Icheb’s face.
“You’re the drone.” His voice was filled with disdain.
Icheb shot him an irritated glance. “I am not a drone. I am an individual and a Starfleet cadet.”
The boy glared at him. “The Borg took my mother at Wolf 359. Excuse me if I don’t roll out the welcome mat.”
Icheb met his gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, but his voice sounded defensive to his own ears. He couldn’t help it. He was already tired of apologizing for things he had no control over, and he had a feeling he had just barely begun.
“Whatever,” the boy muttered. He quieted as the Vulcan walked over to him.
“Name?”
“Eric Atherton.”
The Vulcan marked something on his PADD. “Admiral Atherton’s son,” he noted aloud.
Eric nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“Sir,” the Vulcan countered.
“What?”
“You will address me as ‘sir,’” the Vulcan clarified, “or Squad Leader Tivrik.”
“Oh, right. Of course, sir.”
About thirty meters away, someone started shouting loudly. Icheb turned away from Tivrik and Eric to see what was happening. Just across the grassy field, a short, stocky first-class human cadet was screaming at a group of fourth-class cadets in formation. She had singled out a slender blonde human and pulled her in front of the group. With his enhanced vision, Icheb could easily see that the girl looked embarrassed and terrified.
“How did you qualify for the Academy not knowing your left from your right, Plebe?!” the instructor screamed at her. “Twenty pushups, go.” The older girl didn’t even give the younger a full second of reaction time before screaming, “What are you waiting for?”
The girl quickly dropped to the grass and began doing push-ups. The other fourth-class cadets in her group looked on with varied expressions ranging from amusement to horror.
“You call those push-ups?” the instructor yelled at the blonde. “I’ve seen Elaysians with better arm strength than that. You’ll be washed out by Friday, O’Connor, mark my words.”
Icheb could see the freshman blush bright red as she forced her body into more perfect form and redoubled her efforts. He felt a rush of compassion for her. Whatever she had done, he couldn’t imagine it had warranted this type of public punishment.
“On your feet, Cadet Icheb.” Tivrik’s voice cut through his thoughts and he realized he was the last one in his group still stretching in the grass. “Unless you envy the fate of that plebe.”
Icheb jumped to his feet and joined his squadmates in formation.
He couldn’t resist casting one last glance at the girl.
*****
Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Maren counted pushups in her head as she tried desperately to figure out how things had gone so wrong, so fast. It was barely six-thirty in the morning and her PT instructor was already screaming at her. Fine, she had fallen briefly out of step. Had the Vulcan girl really needed to point it out so the instructor could hear?
It’s a competition, Maren, she reminded herself. The truth sat in her empty stomach like a stone. The first year of the Academy was nothing but a fight to the proverbial death to see who would make it – Darwinism at its finest, survival of the fittest. By the year’s end, easily a third of them would wash out, and most wouldn’t be leaving by choice.
Maren’s cheeks flared hot, not with embarrassment, but with anger. She might have been angry at the smug Vulcan girl for playing the game so well, but she was angrier at herself for screwing up.
It wouldn’t happen again.
She managed to get through the rest of formation drills without error. Then their squad leader, Tanith Benson, led them over to the track.
“Fifteen hundred meters, on my mark. First one to complete gets ten minutes’ extra shut-eye tomorrow morning. Last place meets me here at oh-five-hundred.”
A race. Maren’s heart beat a little faster as she anticipated a chance to redeem herself. Running had been a huge part of her life back home. When she wasn’t conjuring up new mathematical formulas or tinkering with tech, she was on the trails around her parents’ house, running and thinking and dreaming about the future. She was fast. Really fast. She had won the regional championships for cross-country four times in a row, with a final race time fast enough to qualify for the Federation Olympics, if she had bothered to try out. Recruiters never understood her when she told them she wasn’t interested. But running races wasn’t going to help her fly a starship.
She eyed her competition as they spread out across the wide track. Most of her squadmates were either human or Betazoid. She would probably beat them all. Two were Andorian. They would be tougher. Mostly, though, she eyed the Vulcan. If she defeated no one but her, she would be satisfied.
When Tanith gave the signal, twenty-six pairs of feet took off running down the track. It didn’t take long for Maren, the Vulcan girl, and an Andorian boy to pull ahead of the pack. It was obvious that the competition was between the three of them. No one else was even close.
At first, Maren hung back a bit, conserving her energy. A 1500 wasn’t a long race for her, but she would need every bit of strength if she planned to overtake the other two at the end. Even so, she couldn’t resist trying to psych the Vulcan out. In a short burst of speed, she caught up to the dark-haired girl, whose pixie haircut revealed her perfectly pointed ears, and matched her pace.
“You won’t defeat me,” the Vulcan told Maren calmly, without looking over at her. “I possess superior strength and endurance.”
“You also possess an attitude problem,” Maren replied, between controlled breaths. “You didn’t have to do what you did.”
“I demand excellence of my colleagues as well as myself,” the Vulcan answered. “You were in error. I merely corrected you.”
Maren didn’t bother to reply. She simply accelerated. I’ll show you excellence. If she had to sprint the rest of the way to prove herself to this Vulcan, she’d do it.
The element of surprise carried her about ten meters ahead of the Vulcan before the other girl reacted and increased her own pace, quickly catching up. In response, Maren ran even faster, struggling to maintain her form and breathing as she sprinted around the track.
They had long since passed the Andorian boy, but Maren didn’t notice. She was too caught up in the furious rhythm of her sneakers hitting the track. No sooner did one foot hit the ground then the next one followed, again and again and again. All she knew was that she had to stay ahead of the Vulcan girl, and so far, she was pulling it off. She didn’t notice a crowd had formed, yelling and cheering at the spectacle.
The finish line was now in sight. Maren could sense her adversary closing the tiny distance between them. She could hear the Vulcan’s breathing, heavy now, almost labored. The sound alone gave her satisfaction. Superior strength and endurance, my ass. Her own heart pounded and she had lost firm control of her breathing at least 100 meters ago, but she was close, so close. Victory was so near she could taste it.
She crossed the finish line just a hundredth of a second before the Vulcan, to the sound of at least two dozen cadets screaming. Among them a small group of humans chanting “Earth! Earth! Earth!” Maren couldn’t help but smirk as she slowed herself down. Beside her, the Vulcan girl also slowed to a stop, showing no reaction to her narrow loss.
“Well done, cadets,” Tanith said to the pair, noting their finish times on the PADD she carried. “O’Connor, you’ve earned a late morning. Congratulations.” The aggressiveness the instructor had showed toward her earlier was gone, replaced by a grudgingly admiring tone. As the slower cadets started arriving, she turned her attention back to the finish line to record their times.
Still out of breath, Maren turned to the Vulcan girl and extended her hand. “Good race,” she said, panting.
The Vulcan was also still breathing hard. She ignored the proffered handshake and simply nodded. “Your speed is impressive for a human,” she conceded. “Your emotional control, however, is not.” With that, she walked away to cool down, hands on her narrow hips and sweat trickling in rivulets behind her pointed ears.
“That was awesome,” a nearby brown-haired boy with a faint California accent said. “It’s not often you get to see a human smoke a Vulcan in a race.”
Maren smiled between deep breaths, still pacing back and forth. “I hardly smoked her,” she said. “I’d bet my last credit that will never happen again. She wasn’t expecting me, that’s all.”
“Still,” he said. “Nicely done.”
“Thanks,” she grinned. She accepted congratulations from a few of the other impromptu spectators, then rejoined her squadmates for dismissal. As Tanith announced the top three times, she learned that the Vulcan girl’s name was Sukari and the Andorian boy was Ehraan.
The moment PT ended, she made a beeline back to her dorm. All she wanted was a shower and a fresh start. She couldn’t wait to put on her cadet uniform and get on with the academics. That afternoon, she’d have her first flight control class. She imagined herself at the helm a starship and smiled. No matter how many Sukaris she faced at the Academy, she wasn’t going to let them get in the way of her dream.
******
John Quigley had never been so ready for lunch. His first full morning of actual instruction at Starfleet Academy -- now that the waivers had been signed, the orientation briefings concluded, and the lectures on the rules and regulations completed -- had tested his wits, his intellect, and even his body beyond his expectations. The prospect of sitting down for a few uninterrupted minutes of sustenance was incredibly appealing.
As he headed for the bank of replicators along the wall at the back of the main Academy replimat, he was so preoccupied by his anticipation of the meal ahead that he almost missed noticing the short, tentacled alien skimming across the floor on an anti-grav platform. At the last moment, he quickly jumped to the side to avoid a collision, but in the crowded replimat, it was impossible. He didn’t hit the octopus-looking cadet, but he slammed into someone else -- hard. He heard a startled cry and then a crash, and spun around to see who he had run into.
Sprawled out on her back on the floor was another human first-year cadet, her uniform now covered in broccoli soup as her tray slid to a stop a few meters away. As the fallen young woman pushed herself up to a sitting position, John’s breath caught. She was pretty, with blonde hair pulled into a simple knot at the nape of her neck, green eyes, and a slender frame. She also looked shocked and like she was about to tell someone off. He guessed that person was him.
“I’m really sorry, are you okay?” he asked, mortified. The blonde cadet looked up at him, her lightly freckled cheeks flushed with indignation, but to his surprise, her expression instantly changed when she saw his face, and she started to giggle.
“What’s so funny?” John asked, confused.
The girl pointed to him, still laughing. Great, just great, thought John. “You should see the look on your face,” she said, and as she looked down at her soiled uniform and spilled lunch, she started to giggle harder. “Oh, my God,” she gasped, “this is so appropriate after the morning I just had. Help me up,” she requested, trying to get her giggles under control, and reached out a small, almost fragile-looking hand. As John took it and helped the soup-covered cadet to her feet, he was pretty sure he might have just learned the meaning of ‘love at first sight.’
“I’d offer to buy you a replacement lunch, but it’s all free,” he said, a bit lamely. “Can I help you get cleaned up, though?”
The young woman smiled. “Sure. Can you grab me a few napkins?”
“I think you might need more than a few,” John quipped as he headed for the last place he had seen a napkin dispenser. When he returned to the scene of his crime with a thick stack of napkins, the thin blonde had already gathered up the parts of her lunch that weren’t dripping down her uniform and piled the remains on her tray.
“I’m so sorry,” John repeated, once again blushing with embarrassment. “I was trying not to hit that kid who looks like an octopus and I didn’t see you behind me. I’m so sorry.”
“Well, it’s probably difficult for you to see all of us little people,” the girl teased. John blushed even harder. “How tall are you, anyway?”
“One point nine-three meters,” John replied. He didn’t know what else to say, and an awkward silence settled over both of them for a moment. Then John said, “Look, I know I just knocked you to the ground and all, but would you like to have lunch with me? I don’t really know anyone but my roommate yet and he’s --”
“I don’t know anyone, either,” she interrupted. “My roommate is a legacy and she knows all kinds of people and so she doesn’t really need me, I guess, and you wouldn’t believe the day I’m having, and ...” she trailed off, then quickly apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m babbling.” John raised his eyebrows in amusement at the sudden rapid-fire flood of words gushing out of the girl and smiled. She smiled back almost shyly and said, more slowly, “I’d love to make a friend. My name’s Maren O’Connor.” She offered her little hand again, and John shook it as if trying not to break it, even though her grip was pretty firm.
“John Quigley,” he replied, consciously trying to smile the smile that had worked so well on the girls back in high school. The problem was, this wasn’t high school, and something about this girl was shaking his normal confidence. He wasn’t sure what it was. She wasn’t that stunning ... more like the high end of cute. There was just something about her that had grabbed his attention.
They quickly dumped her spilled lunch into the recycler, then she wiped the front of her uniform as best she could and they grabbed new lunches from the replicator. After a few laps around the crowded seating area, they finally found an empty table. As they sat down, John noticed a small piece of broccoli stuck in Maren’s hair, and without thinking, reached out to grab it.
As Maren looked at him strangely, he held up the offending vegetable and said, “You had broccoli in your hair.”
“Thanks,” she said, blushing. She paused as if trying to think of something to say, and went with the standard, “So, where are you from?”
“Edmonton. What about you?”
“Morgantown, West Virginia. For the Academy, that makes us practically neighbors,” she joked, looking around at the many species collected in the replimat, from planets spread across half the galaxy.
John grinned. “I guess,” he said. “But I’m thinking you’ve never played hockey.”
Maren laughed. “No, ice hockey isn’t real big in West Virginia. Field hockey, though ... I was pretty good at that. Cross country was my sport, though. Four-time regional champion,” she added. Suddenly, she paused as if remembering something; then grinned to herself, looking incredibly self-satisfied.
“Impressive. Maybe we should race sometime. I’m pretty fast, I think I could take you,” he teased her.
“I’d like to see you try,” she replied with a confident, but friendly smile. They sat in silence for a few moments, eating their lunches. John stole a couple of glances at the pretty cadet as he chewed his sandwich.
“So why are you here?” he finally asked.
Maren gave him an odd look and held up her soup spoon. “Lunch,” she said, as if it was obvious.
John rolled his eyes. “Not here, here. I mean, what brought you to the Academy?”
“Oh,” said Maren. “Same as everyone else, I guess -- this is how you get a starship.”
“Command track, eh?” John asked with a smirk. “And what is a little girl from West Virginia going to do with her own starship?”
“See the universe,” she replied with a smile. “What about you? What brings you to the Academy?”
John almost winced as he thought about his real reasons for being here. Underlying every goal he might have here was the single goal that drove everything else in his life -- escape. “Same as you. Get on a starship, see the galaxy,” he replied, but he knew his attempt at a carefree smile had fallen flat.
Maren looked at him critically, and for a moment, John thought she could see right through him, but then she returned his smile. “Command track?”
“I hope so,” he replied. “We have to get through the first year, first,” he reminded her.
She sighed. “Tell me about it. I thought I was smart and tough until I came here. It’s the first day of classes and I’ve already been humiliated four times, not counting our little lunch incident.”
John winced. “Sorry about that,” he reiterated.
Maren’s eyes grew wide. “No, I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly.
“It’s okay,” John said. “You thought the look on my face was funny, though, you should have seen yours,” he added with a smirk. Maren pursed her lips in mock irritation, but her eyes danced with humor. John suddenly imagined himself kissing her, and quickly looked down at his plate, feigning inordinate interest in his replicated meal.
“You’re blushing,” Maren pointed out. “You do that a lot. At least five times in the last ten minutes. The first-class cadets are going to have a field day with you if you don’t find a way to stop that. Any sign of weakness ... ” she trailed off. Yeah, well, as long as you’re not in my squad, I won’t have a problem, John thought.
“I’ll get right on that,” he replied wryly. “So, how did you get humiliated four times this morning?”
Now it was Maren’s turn to blush, and John felt bad for asking. She sighed, and explained, “Okay, first thing this morning, during PT, I fell out of step with everyone else and this awful Vulcan called me out. So the drill instructor screamed at me and made me do pushups in front of everyone and told me I’d be washed out by Friday. I know they’re supposed to do that, but it was still awful. Then, later, I sat in the wrong class for five minutes before I realized it, and had to get up and leave. The instructor yelled at me for getting up, and then the instructor in my assigned class yelled at me for being late and made me do seventy-five jumping jacks in the back of the lecture hall, which seemed to please a few of the guys in the class to no end, which was really embarrassing.”
I’ll bet, thought John, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as his body reacted to the mental picture she’d just painted for him.
“Next time, same class,” she continued. “Introductory Survey of Federation Cultures. I was trying to show off to make up for being late and asked a question I thought would make me sound really intelligent, only I mixed up the Argosians and the Algolians and of course, there just had to be an Algolian in the class who got mad at me and set me straight in front of everyone. And then on the way here, I got lost and asked for directions from a second-year, but I forgot to say sir, and he made me do more pushups, on the walkway, while a bunch of people stood around and laughed at me. Oh, and then, after all that, I got knocked down by some guy in the replimat.” She smiled weakly at John.
“Well, ‘some guy’ is sorry about that. And I’m sorry your morning was so terrible,” he said sympathetically, glad nothing that bad had happened to him this morning.
“It can only get better from here, right?” she asked.
John decided to be bold. “I hope it’s getting better now,” he said suggestively, with his best flirtatious smile.
Maren blushed again, and looked down at her tray, smiling, but her smile faded when she saw the nearly dried soup on her jacket. She looked back up. “I have to go,” she said. “I have to get out of this stained uniform before my next class or I’ll end up doing more pushups and jumping jacks, and I don’t know how much more of that I can take.”
“Can I walk you to your room?” John asked. “I won’t let you forget to say ‘sir’ when we ask for directions,” he added teasingly.
Maren smiled. “Forward, aren’t you?”
“I didn’t mean it like that, I -- ”
“Relax, I’m just teasing you. I’m pretty sure I can find my way back, though. But if you ever want to look me up, I’m in Carmichael Hall. 312B.”
“Hey, that’s my dorm, too,” John exclaimed. “408A. Now we really are neighbors.”
“I guess we are,” she replied. She smiled at him and stood up with her tray to take it to the recycler. “It was nice running into you, John Quigley,” she said, grinning at her own silly pun.
John grinned. “Likewise. Let me know if I can do it again sometime,” he joked. She shot him a last amused smile and walked away. He watched her retreating form and didn’t even try to hide his admiration at the view. She was damned cute. Not too short, but not tall either, maybe one-point-seven meters. A little on the thin side, but it was an athletic thin, like someone who ran a lot. Cross country, he recalled from their conversation. He wondered if he would see her again.
He would make it happen, he decided.