A/N and Disclaimer: no profit to me; characters and backgrounds belong to Paramount/CBS, yadda yadda yadda; situations based on my personal experiences in Enlisted Boot Camp, re-imagined as Coast Guard/Naval Academy Swab Summer (about which there is precious little info on the internet because it's a SECRET SURPRISE)! OCs (c) SpockLikesCats.
Stylistic note: I use the gender-neutral pronoun "hir" instead of the awkward "their" or "them" for the third person possessive/singular. I use "Zir" to replace the stupid one-sex "Sir" they used in previous iterations of Trek.
To my knowledge there has never been a mishmash of a story like this. To my knowledge, I say. And yes, Shitbirds are real. Or at least they used to be.
Comments are welcome and appreciated! Tell me what you liked!
Swab Summer
She wore Cadet Reds, the tailored dress uniform with the high neck, miniskirt and the optional black leggings and tall black, highly polished boots – not worn aboard ships, but for Academy "spit and polish." She wore a red cadet "cover" – hat – with a tall peak and the Starfleet arrowhead at the front. Leggings seemed odd to McCoy until he'd experienced a few days of San Francisco's "summer." The cool temperatures made the air feel like October in Georgia.
Uhura was really lovely, with golden-brown skin and dark eyes, but not so lovely with the veins standing out in her throat and those angry-looking eyes, McCoy reflected. She was from Kenya, and her last name meant "Freedom."
Something they would have little of for a while.
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The swabbies wore dark grey sweatpants and black T-shirts. They worked hard enough not to need sweatshirts until they were done on the Quad. (Each swabbie's sweatshirt lay neatly folded in the place where hir chest would touch during "cranks.")
And they hadn't earned the Starfleet emblem yet. Nor the long-sleeved black wooly shirt and black, pocketed trousers.
Nor the red dress uniform. Daily wearing of the red uniform was reserved for cadets, those who made it through, those who survived. And who, once they reached Second/Class status, would spend a summer "pushing boots" of their own, depending on their class ranking.
"Boots – Swabbies – Plebes." Right now that was them.
"For the next three months you are SWABBIES! You are lower than WHALE SHIT! I'm your frikkin' mother; I'm your frikkin' father; I'm one frikkin' step down from GOD. When I talk you LISTEN and you OBEY or I will make your life HELL. HELL, I say! Do you understand me?"
"Zir yes Zir!"
"I caaan't heeeaaarr you!"
"Zir yes Zir!"
She cupped a hand behind her ear. "What did you say? I can't hear you!"
"Zir yes Zir!"
She had a habit of walking the ranks and lightly, quickly tapping out with the back of her hand. If a swabbie's abdominal muscles weren't tight Uhura could tell. And those unlucky few had to stand braced up in front of the billet, loudly calling out, "Zir ONE, Zir! Zir TWO, Zir …." while hir fellow swabbies did push-ups.
"Ten-HUT! That means a straight back, chin to your chest, tipped-back pelvis, tall crown – you'd better be proud to be in Starfleet! – thumbs along your trouser seams. If you pass out you do it at attention, do you hear me? Keep your knees slightly flexed so you don't turn out to be one of those unfortunate dumbasses."
"Zir yes Zir!"
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There was a lot of shouting and temporary humiliation. McCoy knew it was team-building: he'd been through some similar humiliation at the hands of residents in rounds, early in his medical training. And when he was a resident himself, there were doctors and surgeons who delighted in sarcasm, so this kind of crap was nothing new. A medical student or resident, however, did not have to holler hir answers.
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The swabbies were fitted at the end of Second Week with their Reds – which they could only wear for Formal Inspection; visits to their advisors for tracking into the courses they'd begin in Fall; Chapel or Meditation once per week, if they were so inclined; or for the much-looked-forward-to Liberty Weekend after Fifth Week.
"I didn't realize you were the meditative sort, Jim," McCoy said one night as they settled into their racks, which - due to alphabetical assignments - were next to each other.
"You should be, too," Kirk whispered, grinning in the dark. "Meditation hour is a great place to meet women. After all, I need to spend Liberty Weekend with somebody besides you."
"Hey," McCoy protested.
"I mean, somebody who's not just a friend. A man has needs."
"Women do too," Lakshmin whispered loudly from two racks down the row in the Women's Section. "And right now we have a need for rest, understand?"
"Sorry," Kirk mumbled, and was instantly asleep.
Len envied him.
McCoy had never slept among so many other people. And aliens, to boot, some of whom made very strange sounds during sleep, or some of whom, eerily, didn't need much sleep. This was bipedal humanoid territory though; Earth, San Fran Starfleet Academy. (Caitians, though they were bipedal, trained in different venues because of their crepuscular activity periods, with extended sleep between those intense training times. On a starship they would work two four-hour shifts per day vice one eight-hour shift.)
But there was at least one species at the Academy that had reflective eyes. McCoy was disconcerted the first time he came across a man in the dim light of his shortcut from Medical to the swab barracks. His footsteps barely made a sound. Len could make out the man's slender shape, and heard a precise greeting, but the greeny-gold shine of his eyes, at McCoy's same height, took him aback. Lucky sonuvabitch can probably see clear as day right now. Wish I had that ability. Sure would be nice to check on patients without waking them by turning on the lights all the time. If I were that guy, or a Caitian, I could be quiet as a cat.
He sighed, breathing deeply and nestling his head into the pillow, trying to relax. Wish I could sleep as easily as a cat, too.
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