Star Trek: Scions
Season 1, Episode 1
An almost imperceptible shudder ran through the Rhadamanthus as it exited warp. Following almost immediately on its heels came another, more subtle wave that rippled not through the walls, but through the passengers. Something changed in the young men and women packed into the wide passenger hold of the long haul transport. The quiet fatigue of the long journey burst in an instant, replaced by an exited buzzing. A hundred conversations leapt up at once in two hundred languages and a number of the passengers began to drift out of their seats and towards the wide windows that covered the long sloping hull of the transport.
Christopher looked up from his PADD. The Bolian in the chair beside him was chattering away; rarely pause to take a breath. Christopher nodded politely but remained silent. He didn't speak Bolian. The blue skinned alien's face split in a wide, rubbery smile and he shook his head energetically before he turned to the girl on the other side of him and started gibbering at her. Christopher blew out his cheeks in relief and turned away from the two of them, his eyes wandering around the cramped compartment. It was like a small riot contained within a thin metal tube, a swirling mix of alien colours, smells, and sounds that set his teeth on edge. While he was in no way a stranger to the sights and sounds of galactic civilization, he'd put in a few years working the spaceport back home before he'd put in for a transfer to the Surveyors, but so many, all at once was a little overwhelming. He recognized a few of the species; his Bolian neighbor, a few spotted Trill, severe looking Vulcans and even a Klingon woman who had claimed an entire row to herself in the back of the compartment. Christopher went back to his PADD, bringing up once again the still image of the sunrise other the low ridges of the mountains that framed his colony's rift valley. Home.
Christopher grunted as he cleared another rise. Overhead, birds chirped and called as they sailed lazily across the range's early morning updrafts. Every now and again, one of the bright plumaged animals would swoop with dizzying speed into the valley below, seeing from its lofty height some heedless prey animal. Christopher wiped his sweaty brow with a handkerchief, leaving a dusty smear. Behind him, the heavily laden breaths of his partner joined him.
"I don't know why you feel the need to run around all the time, Verrill," the man groused. "It's not like these mountains are going anywhere." The squat man finally gained the ridge. He bent at the waist and leaned heavily against his knees to catch his breath.
"What, Otto, and take all the fun out of it?" Christopher laughed and took a swig from his canteen. "Besides, with so much still out here to see, how can you stand to just walk everywhere?" He let the canteen hang loose on his harness and fumbled about in his pack for the imager, planning to commit the scene to film.
"Your idea of fun and mine seem to be irreconcilably different, my friend," Otto wheezed. He straightened up and pulled the map from its waterproof case at his waist. The plasticized paper crinkled in the gentle breeze morning breeze. "Never the less, I can't argue with your point. We've two sectors to cover today and the terrain looks tougher than the high altitude imagers would have suggested." He stowed the map and wiped his own forehead. "Verrill?"
"Oops, sorry!" Another passenger who had been hustling up the dividing aisle collided roughly with Christopher, shaking him from his reverie. His PADD went skating under the seat in front of him. Cristopher shot the other man a glare. The interloper was tall and lanky, with sandy brown hair cut a little longer than was fashionable back home. His tan skin was covered in paler patches that seemed to flake at the edges and spots of thick dandruff collected at his hairline and dotted the shoulders of his loose tunic. Contrition was written deeply on his face. Chris relented and helped the guy back to his feet.
"No trouble," he replied, conscious of the twang in his colonial inflection. The other boy didn't seem to notice.
"Yeah, thanks." He dusted off his tunic. Loose flakes dropped to the floor. "Nick, by the way." Nick held out his hand. Christopher shook it.
"Christopher."
"Right. Thanks, Chris. I guess I'll see you around." The man turned and continued up the aisle. Christopher shook his head and turned back to pick up his PADD. The corner of it just peeked from under the chair in front of him. He reached for it, but the slick plastic slipped away from his grasp and skated even further under the seat. Christopher swore to himself and leaned to feel under the seat. His hand found nothing. He ducked into the aisle and tried to peek around to the row in front. His PADD lay on the floor of the next row, right between the booted feet of the seat's occupant. Christopher leaned back into his chair and blew out his cheeks. He really couldn't afford to lose that PADD, but then again… He craned his neck to get a look at the person in front of him. All he could get from his vantage point was a glimpse of glossy black hair before he slumped back into his seat. He took a deep breath and made to clear his throat. Another passenger passed by in the aisle and Christopher shrunk back into his seat again. Come on, Christopher, just ask for your PADD back. Super easy, should only take a second.
"Excuse me," he said tentatively, raising his voice above the low din of the compartment. The person ahead didn't even react. He tried again, louder and more clearly. "Excuse me." Still nothing. Christopher deflated. What if they didn't understand? No, they probably have a translator. Then what? Are they ignoring me? In the end, Christopher didn't have a lot of choices. He steeled himself and leant forward to tap the next seat's occupant on the shoulder.
The girl whirled around with an expression that mixed irritation and curiosity written across a soft, diamond-shaped face. Her expression softened and she reached up to her hair, plucking an earpiece from below the dark locks. "Can I help you?"
Christopher instantly felt stupid. He left his arm outstretched, just short of the girl's shoulder. Words stuck in his throat. "You, uh, you speak Chobsky trade tongue?" Mentally he slapped his palm to his forehead. This was all going horribly wrong.
"Uh, yeah, I guess," the girl said in a voice hung halfway between disinterest and humor. She looked past him, as if looking for someone playing some kind of practical joke. "So, is there anything I can help you with, or are you taking a survey?"
"Uh, no, I mean yes." Christopher paused to reorganize his thoughts. The girls thin lips quirked into the shadow of a smile. "What I meant was, my PADD slid into your row. Do you mind passing it back this way?"
"Oh, sure," the girl visibly relaxed and popped the earpiece back in, thumbing something off on the casing. She lifted her boot and scooped the grey plastic hand terminal off the carpet. Her eyes flickered down as she handed it back over the head rest. "That's a really nice picture, is that from home?"
"Yeah," Christopher replied, picking some fuzz off the screen. "That's the Woodridge Mountains, just north of where I grew up on Taranko."
"Taranko? Can't say I've heard of it," the girl said. Her face popped up over the head rest to get another look at the screen. "I've never seen a sky do that, either." She motioned at the sky behind the rocky ridges.
Christopher smiled. The picture didn't really do the Taranko sky justice. Especially not at sunrise, where the planet's distant sun turned the entire horizon to fire and the sky glowed the golden yellow of his mother's homemade honey. "We're a pretty small colony, maybe thirty thousand in a dozen or so settlements. I'm not surprised you haven't heard of us. And that's actually the clouds doing that. Some kind of airborne bacteria that messes with the light, or something. I'm not really an expert or anything, I mostly look at rocks."
The girl offered a half smirk. "You look at rocks?"
Chris felt his face heat. "And other stuff too. I'm… I was a surveyor. I… surveyed things," He made a desperate bid to change the subject. "I'm Christopher, by the way. Christopher Verrill." He wanted to hear that name at least one more time, even if it was from a stranger sitting in front of him on the transport.
"Nice to meet you Chris… sorry, Christopher," the girl's eyes fluttered as she paused. "Vivian Kiemud, of Betazed." She didn't offer a hand to shake, but she did sketch a half bow. "I too look at rocks on occasion, though not professionally. High energy physics and robotics are really more my speed, though I'd be happy anywhere in the Science Division. Are you planning on striking blue as well?"
"I guess I never really thought about," Christopher admitted honestly. "I…" he was interrupted by the sharp whistle of the transport's intercom. The pilot's voice addressed them, thankfully in one of the more common trade languages.
"Attention Cadet Recruits, we are beginning our final approach to Starbase One. If you direct your attention to the port side gallery, you'll see it once we bring up the magnification." The voice stopped with a crackle. The quiet rumble of voices rose to fever pitch as men, women, and aliens rushed over to find a spot next to the long rows of outside view screens. Outside, the blue-white globe of Earth spun beneath them, the massive space station that served as its primary port of call and space-bourne headquarters to Starfleet still only a bright speck on the horizon. Across the seatback, Vivian had gotten to her feet and was making for the windows. Christopher scrabbled to stow his PADD and follow the woman. By the time he'd gotten to his feet, Vivian had disappeared into the crowd by the gallery. Christopher felt his face fall a little before he caught himself and shook his head. He picked up his small duffel and slung it over his shoulder and joined the rapidly growing crowd. The image on the view screens shuddered for a second before expanding to fill the space. The gleaming point of Starbase One resolved itself into a slowly spinning space station.
Christopher marveled at the size of the thing, it had to bigger than everything ever constructed on Taranko combined. The massive domed saucer and long stem made the station look like a great steel mushroom hanging in space. Christopher's eyes traced the shape of the smooth topside, pausing at the proudly emblazoned starfield and crossed laurels sigil of the Federation in blue paint just above the cavernous bay doors. ("I heard that the amount of paint in that symbol could turn an entire Galaxy-class blue. I think my brother said they make the cadets go EVA and repaint it as a punishment detail.") Smaller ships buzzed around it like so many flies, each one a large vessel in its own right, but dwarfed by the megastructure. ("That's an odd shaped shuttlecraft going into the bay there." "That's a Steamrunner, you dolt.") His eyes continued past the lip of the station's saucer and down the stem to where it blossomed into a second bulbous structure. (Those are the antimatter containment pods. You know they keep enough in there to fuel the entire station and First Fleet for a whole year!" "That's ridiculous, they wouldn't keep that much just hanging in orbit. If that thing went up with that much antimatter in it, it'd crack the Earth's crust!")
"It doesn't seem to be getting any closer," Someone muttered nearby. Another voice rose up to correct them almost immediately. "Well of course it doesn't look like it's getting closer; they're adjusting the zoom for us as we move in. Look, there in the corner, we're almost down to only three times magnification." The voice was right, a counter in the corner of the view screen was rapidly ticking down to one to one as the ship sailed in at what had to be breakneck speeds. Chris unconsciously took a step back from the view screen as a new bay irised open in the skin of the station and began to grow until it stretched to swallow the transport whole. The magnification ticker dropped to zero and the point of view shifted, switching to the ship's forward view. Bright blue light spilled out from the portal to the starbase's interior, momentarily whiting out the monitor.
Christopher had to blink away the afterimages of their entrance, but when he did he was assaulted by fresh wonders that made his breath catch in his chest. They were in a huge open space, wide enough to disguise the details of the far side from the naked eye. Inside hung a miniature constellation of starships, their winking running lights creating a false night sky towards the chamber's top. All manner of ships floated at moorings dotted about the space, from the narrow and blocky profile of the ubiquitous Danube-class runabout, to the long and sleek tapered curves of Sovereign-class battlecruisers. As Christopher watched, one of the wide saucered Nebulas came to life, its warp nacelles brightening until they glowed cherry red. The ship drifted away from its mooring and out towards the wide doors set above us. The transport seemed to shake slightly at its close passing.
The other recruits oohed and ahhed appreciatively, but Chris' eyes had already found something else. The gallery of view screens was now showing a multitude of perspectives, each taken from optical sensors positioned all over the outer hull. They had stopped moving forward and were now drifting leisurely to port, moving ever closer to the wide flat personnel sections of the station that jutted out into the central chamber from the walls closest to the bottom. Already one of the closest balcony-like swellings was moving a gangway into position. At the base of the ramp, a crowd of people moved about in a rapid yet orderly fashion. From here, Christopher still couldn't make out details, but they just had to be Starfleet officers. The atmosphere changed throughout the throng of candidates as more and more of them shifted their view from the ships and the station towards the rapidly approaching docking bay. The idle chatter and the awed whisperings gave way to the nervous vibrational energy that surrounds the imminent unknown. Somewhere further to stern a cadet made what sounded like a joke in another language and a quiet smattering of hollow chuckles rippled through the crowd. The pilot's voice came on over the intercom again.
"Attention, Cadets. We will be docking shortly and immediately commencing debarkation. Please collect any personal effects and form an orderly line in front of the fore and aft airlocks." The words dropped like a stone into a ground wasp nest. All around him students scrabbled to get back to their seats and haul out their luggage. They pressed like a wave and almost drove Christopher from his feet. Fortunately, the Tarankon was a veteran of a half dozen mountain rockslides and more than a few livestock stampedes. He side stepped the worst of the clawing mass that his new classmates had become and slipped outwards to press as close to the view screens as he could press himself. As the rush subsided he let out the breath he'd been holding and thanked the Absent Stars that he'd thought to grab his duffel bag before he'd gone to look. Back in the aisles, the other cadets were desperately climbing over each other to drag out their various bags, boxes and cases from overhead compartments and out from under seats. They all struck Christopher as an overly laden lot. He pulled his bag's strap closer to him and made his way lightly towards the closest airlock sign. He was surprised to see some of his fellows had already begun forming a somewhat orderly line, apparently mostly to the efforts of a slim and curious looking human woman. The girl had blonde hair that hung in tight ringlets to frame an aristocratic face. She had the bearing of an ancient Earth noble from a holonovel and openly berated her classmates in a high clear voice. Christopher didn't understand her words, but they carried the clear hiss of veiled insults and condescension. He stooped into line before he could draw the ire of the fearsome cadet.
More and more cadets filed in behind him. At first, the line held under the stern glare of its petite warden, but soon the eagerness won out over the fear of a tongue lashing and the single file bent and bulged as each additional candidate added their own weight to the press. Christopher tried his best to stay out of everyone's way, but in the close quarters of the narrow airlock corridor, collisions were inevitable. Chris kept his head down and apologized profusely at the trail of stepped on toes and bruised elbows he left in his wake. Something outside the hull clanged like a bell and the vibrations translated through the ship, sending shivers through Christopher's boots. The airlock door clicked loudly. The sound drove the cadets in front back a step, a motion that compressed the line even more. Christopher found himself shoved roughly from both sides as the press of bodies behind him resisted the backwards motion. Then the doors opened. Like a fluid loosed from a pressurized bottle, the cadets didn't so much a walk but poured out onto the ramp down to the platform and its waiting officers. Men and women stumbled to catch their steps as the weight of numbers forced them to half jog, shoulder to shoulder, down the shallow gangway. Christopher barely kept his feet under him in the sudden, bewildering rush. The first thing that struck him was the noise. After the buzzing of excited voices inside the ship, he'd thought he'd known true confusion, but out here, in the body of the station, the tumultuous noise seemed to take on a life of its own. It crashed against his ears like a summer storm against the mountaintops, layer upon layer upon layer of sound. The high whine of industrial machines, booming and distorted announcements in a dozen languages that seemed to overlap and play into each other, the deep throated shouts of the closest Starfleet instructors, they all melded together until they formed a solid wall of sound that hammered against his eardrums. The burly men and women in the pressed black and grey closed file with whip-like precision. The flood of incoming cadets met the neat lines of Starfleet and parted. The instructors did not waver as the crowd pushed against them. Instead they acted like a funnel, splitting and sorting the recruits with practiced ease. They directed, sometimes none to gently, with simple points of the finger and pats on the arm, but Christopher had no doubts that they'd have no qualms picking up a student set on breaking the rules by the lapels and tossing them into the right line. When it was his turn to be sorted he acquiesced as gracefully as could be managed given the circumstances and found himself being whisked away. It was like being driven through a complex machine made entirely of cloth wrapped muscle. Stern faced officers directed him to take out his PADD and briefly checked it before moving him onwards to a long row of tables laden with bundles and baskets. Behind them stood more instructors. Each one tapped their mark on his PADD and pressed something into his arms, announcing its identity as they did so in clipped mechanical tones.
"Three tunic. Three pair, pant. One pair, boots. One Belt. One commbadge." What he realized was his new uniform built itself before his eyes as he dazedly continued to follow the trail out and away from the transport. Before he realized it, someone had whisked his duffel off his shoulder, tagged it, and tossed it into a growing pile on the floor. He turned to protest, but he had already been swept away. And then he was on the other side of the sapient mill, staring around like a struck sheep with his freshly pressed tunics and pants and shoes clutched to his chest. He looked for any kind of familiar face in the crowd of similarly corralled recruits and found none. Somewhere deeper into the station, a man was shouting.
"You are the last group to arrive today. You are late! Transport to the San Francisco Starfleet Academy campus will begin immediately. So that you will not all miss the Superintendent's address, we will be fast-tracking things. Please head towards the transport pad immediately. A technician will explain the procedure to you if you have not transported before." As the man began to repeat himself, this time in a language that Christopher was not familiar with, answering voices rose from the swelling crowd of cadets. They shouted questions up at the man were he stood. "I cannot answer questions at this time," He raised his hands defensively. "Proceed immediately towards the transport pad. I say again…"
Reluctantly, the crowd began to move towards the great glass enclosure marked "Transporter Control" in large, friendly, and most importantly comprehensible letters. Christopher shuffled towards them; still clutching his uniform to his chest like it was his own newborn son. Another man in a crisp uniform stood at a podium alongside two Vulcans in Ops gold. He held up his arms in a halting gesture.
"Alright recruits, the Superintendent's speech is set to start at 1400 hours, local time. It is currently 1327. In order to get you all to the surface, we're enacting a fast track transporter protocol. You'll be transported direct to the parade grounds. Your effects will be transported directly to your assigned dormitories. Now, I'm going to give you some very simple instructions, but it is very important that you follow them to the letter. Am I understood?" He waited for assent until continuing. "Now, you'll be going down in groups of fifteen. You will each stand with feet shoulders width apart on one of the energizers marked in yellow on the floor. Now this is the important part. Extend your arms straight out in front of you, palms up with your uniform resting in your hands. Do not grasp the uniform, do not let your arms drop below ninety degrees, and do not move once transport is initiated. Now, first group, move forward."
A clump of cadets moved away from the group. Christopher felt suddenly very exposed at the new leading edge of the crowd. The fifteen recruits stumped up the short ramp and took their places inside the wide glass tube of the station's transporter. They shuffled about, finding their place and raised their arms as they had been instructed. One earned a sharp bark from the transporter operator as she dropped a boot. When they had all settled to the officer's content, the glass doors closed with a barely heard whisper. "Energize" At first nothing happened, at least not visually. Then Christopher caught the building hum. With a shock of bright blue light, the fifteen were enveloped in a shower of tiny fireflies. They faded from view, leaving only the tinny ringing of a million whirring particles being whipped away and shot at the planet down below. The glass doors opened. Chris swallowed on a dry throat. It wasn't that he'd never seen anything transported before. It was just that he never thought he'd have to step onto the pad himself. The open glass chamber suddenly felt very, very dangerous.
"Next group, step forward," The operator bellowed, having apparently confirmed the safe arrival of the first group. Christopher stumbled, his feet trying to move him forward while his subconscious brain tried desperately to root him to the spot.
"Quel est le problème? Êtes-vous trop bête pour savoir comment le transporteur fonctionne? Allons, homme lent, certains d'entre nous ont des endroits pour être !" A sharp voice startled him from behind and a small hand shoved at the small of his back. Chris found his footing again and stepped quickly forwards into the enclosure. He nervously shuffled over to the furthest yellow dot from the entrance and stood there waiting, his arms outstretched. He felt incredibly silly. The other recruits took their places before him and adopted the same position. The glass doors closed with a snip and Christopher scrunched his eyes closed as tightly as possible while focusing very hard on not holding onto his bundle of clothes with as white knuckled a grip as he could manage. Outside the glass case, a muffled "Energize" rang out. Immediately his ears filled with the tinny ringing, this time joined with a thick thrumming buzz that seemed to press past his ears until it sloshed into his skull and dripped down his spine. He first noticed the creeping lightness in the ends of his fingertips, the signals barely reaching his brain before is bundled uniform was suddenly no longer in his arms. There was a slight full body pinch and the sound was gone. Christopher simultaneously felt the shock of not having anything under his feet and the relief of his boots coming into contact with blessed hard ground.
"Blech," he grunted as his eyes snapped open. His arms were still stretched out in front of him, clad in the cadet uniform's soft grey. Christopher blinked in shock and looked down. Yes, he was definitely standing outside in the bright sunshine, wearing his cadet greys all the way down to the freshly polished black boots. He slapped at the baggy utility pockets and found his PADD stowed inside.
"Yeah, they really just transported you right out of your clothes and into you uniform. Wild, right?" said a voice to his left. Christopher looked over to see the flaky faced boy from the transport. He was beaming wildly, looking for all the world like a giddy child on his first day at school. Which, now that Christopher thought of it, it really was.
"Yeah, wild," he replied weakly. "Should we, I don't know, clear the area. They aren't going to drop the next group down on top of us, are they?" As if summoned by his words, the air shimmered and another fifteen cadets appeared out of thin air.
"I guess not," the boy who had introduced himself as Nick answered. He looked around, as if taking in their surroundings for the first time. "Well, Welcome to the Academy, I guess."
Christopher blew out his cheeks and followed the other boy's gaze. The parade ground rolled away from them, a pristine green blanket bordered by flagstones and terminating in the bright blue waters of the bay. A massive bridge spanned the gap, resplendent in burning orange under the wide open sky. "Yes, welcome to the academy indeed."
There was some form of commotion just past the slope of the hill they'd transported onto. Small clumps of the new arrivals were already drifting in that direction. Christopher motioned in that direction and Nick offered a noncommittal shrug and the two ambled off over the grass following them. Christopher snuck a look at his wrist chronometer and whistled softly. 1348. He did the mental math and shook his head. Either the shock of the station had warped his perception of time, or he'd ridden that transporter beam for much longer than he'd thought. "We'd better hurry. They'll be starting soon." They picked up the pace, cresting the hill. Below a veritable sea of folding chairs stretched out on the grass before a stage built out of what looked like glass. His PADD chimed as he drew closer. He fished it out of his pockets and scroll to an official looking notification. He groaned inwardly as he read it. It was a directive stating that cadets would be seated alphabetically. He very much doubted his until now reassuring anonymity would survive whatever speech the Superintendent had in mind. His assigned chair was marked out in the directive, numbered in rank and file with burning red numerals.
"I think this is where I leave you," Nick said, his own PADD out. "Hey, I'll see you around once this is done, right." He added as he left. Christopher just nodded, though he highly doubted it, given the absolute ocean of humanity and its allies slowly taking its seats around him. There hadn't been a gathering of this size on Taranko since the election of the last governor back when Christopher was young. The tumult of people was almost overwhelming, especially since they'd all soon know. He dejectedly headed to his marked seat, shuffling past a pair of Caitians that had to be twins and skittish looking Trill. He lowered himself into his chair with a huff.
"I think you're lost, Cadet," a girl said beside him.
"Huh?" Christopher turned to see the amused face of Vivian looking back at him.
"I suppose the alphabet might work differently where you come from, but I'm fairly certain that Kiemud and Verrill don't sit together." She flashed him a thin smile.
"I guess there must be some kind of mistake then," he answered weakly. "This was the number I was given."
The girl shrugged. "Guess there are glitches in any system. Oh, look, the speech is starting."
A hush fell over the assembled cadets as a dignified looking old human rose slowly to his feet. He walked up to the glass podium with the well-choreographed steps of a career politician and the sweeping, critical eye of the educator. He smiled warmly at the incoming class and sipped delicately from a glass of water at his stand. When he spoke, his voice boomed apparently unaided across the grass.
"Cadets, welcome. Welcome, to Starfleet Academy," there was a smattering of polite clapping, which he quickly waved off. "Please, hold your applause for Graduation, we're really very serious here." Chuckles. "But as I was saying, welcome. As you know, the Federation, this great institution that has stood for hundreds of years, has been built and supported on the backs of heroes. Heroes like you, those who have come here to offer themselves to the duties and responsibilities of the Starfleet Officer. You who have come here to continue the grand tradition that stretches to our earliest founding. That tradition that calls the best and brightest of a thousand member worlds to come forward and become, Heroes."
He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes surveying the crowd. Christopher felt his heart leap into his throat as those eyes fell on him and locked.
"It is heroes that make the Federation great, and it is heroes that will pull us all out of these troubling times and into a new golden age of exploration, science, and most of all, safety. It is for this reason that I am delighted to say that the legacy of one of the Federation's greatest heroes is alive in these very halls, right now. It is a great personal honour for me to introduce you to the return of a Legend to this Academy. Christopher Kirk, please stand."
Christopher's heart beat once.
So this is it.
Christopher's heart beat again.
Four little words and Christopher Verrill ceases to exist.
Christopher's heart beat a third time.
"I don't know why this is necessary." Christopher said as the Starfleet Medical officer fed the small vial of his blood into the analysis module of her tricorder. The blue clad woman gave him a professionally crisp smile that matched her immaculate uniform. The commander and the other officers of the Federation relief team had been there for a week since the accident and Christopher had yet to see any of them show up to the clinic sporting even single crease out of place. Marian, his next door neighbour, said it was because they were angels sent straight from the Stars to save those men who'd been hurt in the accident. Christopher was starting to think that it was because they were all robots.
"We've been over this, Chris," The doctor said. Christopher winced at the overly familiar form of address. He wasn't 'Chris,' even to his closest friends. "When the Ocelot went down it had a number of highly volatile substances in its hold. We're just running a few simple blood tests to make sure you haven't picked up any dangerous contaminants."
Christopher leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms, somewhat petulantly even he'd admit. "Like I told Doctor Samuel, I feel fine. I mean, I wasn't really near the crash site for that long anyway." That earned him the slightest hint of a frown. So they did have emotions after all.
"Mr. Verrill," the woman said sternly. "You spent over six hours digging through that crash site and another two hours in transit, more than enough time to become severely contaminated. Now here on the frontier you might be happy to just take on lethal doses of radiation and refuse treatment out of some foolish sense of self-sacrifice, but we at Starfleet Medical are not content to let our patients get themselves killed!" that last statement had almost been shouted. The doctor flushed, apparently embarrassed by her outburst. "You'll forgive me, Mr. Verrill. My last assignment was a combat posting. I've… lost more than a few good men and women."
Christopher nodded sheepishly and uncrossed his arms. "Sorry, I didn't know." The woman across from him seemed to deflate a little.
"You couldn't have," she admitted. "It was wrong to explode at you. It's just this place, you're so isolated. The rest of the quadrant has been at war for so long, coming here is like stepping into a whole different time. To be honest it's been a bit of a shock for all of us." The tricorder trilled sharply, drawing the doctor's eyes back to its readout. She scanned through the results with an air of routine resignation. The tricorder trilled again and her eyes widened.
"What's wrong," Christopher asked. He could hear an unwelcome tremor in his voice; despite the brave front he'd been doing his best to project. "Did it find something? Am I contaminated? Am I going to die?" the words stuck in his throat as the doctor looked back up at him with an expression of disbelief. It wasn't, as he had expected, the face of a woman about to tell another patient he had days to live at best. It was much more frightening. Nestled behind those wide, surprised eyes was a flicker of awe.
"It didn't find any significant contamination. It found something else."
Christopher sat alone on the nigh deserted parade ground. The Superintendent's speech had washed over him unheeded, just so many empty words. He'd recalled the moment he'd found out that his future had ceased being his own and sunk further into his chair with each passing moment. He wasn't sure what was worse, the way his fellow cadets had gawked at him like he was some kind of curiosity, the hunger eyes of reporters barely kept at bay on the side lines by stern faced security officers, or how used it all made him feel. Names floated by him as the Superintendent went on to point out a few of the other students that would be sharing his company. Legacies, he called them all. Paris, N., Liddle, M., Shepard, J., Picard, M. He'd felt eyes burning a hole in the back of his neck at that last one, but couldn't muster the energy to turn to look. The ceremony had dragged on until it finally wound down and the class had been dismissed to find their quarters. He'd expected to be mobbed by his fellow students at the end of the speech. A few of them didn't wait until then to start peppering him. "Is it true?" "Are you related to the Kirk?" "What are you, his son or something?" "Do you think this makes you special?" That was especially stinging. Of course he didn't think that made him special. Why would it? He was just the great grandson of a man who had once visited his tiny colony on shore leave and left something behind. It happened all the time all across the Federation. He just had the misfortune of being descended from the leavings of a man who went on to become famous.
"Son, if you'd come with me, I'd like a word with you."
Christopher was about to shout something at the voice that had so rudely interrupted his pity party when he recognized the voice of the Superintendent. He raised his gaze and tried not to look sullen. "Of course, sir." He'd spoken to the Superintendent only once before, and by long-range telecommunication. The man had struck him as blustering and dismissive, only excited about having such a prestigious name attend the academy during his tenure. All he'd wanted to talk about was fast-tracking Christopher's application. 'An unnecessary waste of time,' he'd called it. In person he was an entirely different creature. The bluster was still there, but there was a presence that didn't quite transfer across the screen. Christopher wasn't sure what this man was behind the mask of affability, but there was one thing he could be certain of. He was no fool.
"Excellent, excellent. If you'll follow me to my office, Cadet Kirk." He motioned towards the great slab-sided steel and glass structure that housed the administration building. Christopher nodded glumly and levered himself up out of his seat. The Superintendent smiled emptily and led the way through the thicket of chairs. Christopher half expected custodians to rush in after them and start picking up the ranks upon ranks of seating. Instead, there was a sharp thrum and at once the parade ground was wreathed in blue light. "Site to site transport," the elder man explained. "It cuts down on set up and break down time considerably."
"Yes, sir," Christopher replied. "Sorry, I'm still not used to seeing things disappear like that."
The Superintendent nodded as they entered the admin building through a huge set of sliding glass doors. "I suppose you wouldn't, would you. Shuttles only on Taranko, yes. Something about interference with the carrier beam."
"That's right, sir. It's the clouds. Or, it's in the clouds. There's this organism that grows up there and messes with the signals or something. It comes down in the rain too and messes with our isolinear circuitry."
"Yes, yes," the Superintendent said, brushing him off with a wave of his hand. Christopher's jaw clicked shut. "Well, there's a lot you've been missing out on. I'm sure we'll have you caught up to speed in no time, of course. The facilities here are first rate, as you've no doubt heard. No more combustion heating and digging your own latrines for the issue of Kirk, that's for certain." He chortled as if he'd made a particularly funny joke.
"We do actually have plumbing on Taranko, sir," Christopher tried to correct him. The Superintendent continued on as if he hadn't heard him.
"Ah, here's my office now," he took an abrupt left and the doors whisked open ahead of him, revealing a well-appointed room with a wide view of the grounds and out over the bay beyond. The decorations were a paradox, obviously chosen by an ostentatious man who prided himself for his humility. Plaques were hung on the wall without ceremony or attempts to call attention to themselves. Despite this, their placement seemed so strategically chosen to put them in the eye line of any incoming visitors that it couldn't have been mere coincidence. A number of medals lay in a plain display case on the glass desk. Christopher didn't recognize the awards, but the number and size of the attached devices spoke to significant and repeated commendations. Even the windows were designed to subtly highlight the office's owner, Christopher realized as the two of them sat on opposite sides of the large yet understated desk. "So, here you are. Cadet Kirk." The man seemed overly fond of the appellation.
"Verrill, sir," Chris said. At this point it was a token argument, one that he'd already lost too many times to count, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to state his case just one last time. "My birth name was Christopher Verrill. It's the name I put on my application to the Academy. And it's the name I would have signed to my entrance examinations, had I been asked to sit any. I would prefer to be called by that name."
"Hmmm." The Superintendent let out a long humming sigh and leant back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Well, I'm sorry to hear about that. Sadly, these things can't be helped. You see, the application that was transmitted to this office was marked 'Christopher Kirk.' Now I understand that you may have been called by another name in the past, but it is simply a legal truth that you are a Kirk."
"Sir, my Father's name was…"
"The records of Taranko colony have since been corrected," the other man said quickly, as if it was that simple. "Now, as I was saying. For as long as you are a cadet at this institution, you will be referred to by your correct and legal name. I trust you'll respond as is appropriate, I don't want to be hearing from the Dean of Students that you've been cited for disciplinary concerns." The Superintendent smiled another of his empty smiles. "Now, let's put this unpleasantness behind us. You have a bright future ahead of you at this Academy, Cadet Kirk. Don't see this as a burden, but as an opportunity."
An opportunity I never asked for. Christopher kept the subversive comment to himself, though it boiled within him dangerously close to the surface. An opportunity to be a puppet on the strings of admirals and politicians. "Yes, sir."
The Superintendent smiled broadly. "I'm glad to hear it. Now, I trust you'll be able to find your own quarters. The first year dormitories are not far from here. Just take a left out of the office and follow the main corridor. You can't miss them."
The man rose, motioning for Chris to do likewise. Christopher stood and dutifully shook the Superintendent's hand before excusing himself. He left the office in an angry funk and began the trudge towards what he hoped was a modicum of privacy. The hallways of Starfleet Academy's administrative offices were curiously empty as the reluctant cadet wound his way through their labyrinthine passages. As a colonial surveyor on Taranko he'd come to feel at home in all manner of caverns, caves, and tunnel systems, but here surrounded by the hard lines and glass walls of the Academy he couldn't feel further from it. Never the less, the old habits stuck with him. Christopher found himself stepping lightly, checking the walls for hidden fissures, and listening carefully to the faint echoes that whispered through the empty hallway. It was the last one that alerted him to the approach of them. His first hint was the stampede-like sound of running feet, faintly to start but rapidly building. Whoever it was was coming fast and by the sound of it coming right at him. Christopher looked around for a side passage; anywhere he could duck into and get out of the way should he have to. He didn't know what kind of emergency the Academy could be facing to draw so many running feet, but he had no desire to get swept up in it. To his dismay, the corridor he found himself was just a long, straight, and undeviating passage, no doors or turn-offs. He was trapped, probably by design he would later conclude.
They turned the final corner separating them from the young cadet. He immediately recognized the head mounted video recorders and the audio capture tricorders. Reporters. Media men. Christopher steeled himself for the oncoming storm. They all had questions. "Mr. Kirk, Henry Marshall, Federation News Network. What does it feel like to walk the same halls that your Great Grandfather once walked?" "You have some big shoes to fill; do you believe you'll be up to the challenge?" "When do you think you'll take your first command?" "Do you think you'll captain the Enterprise?"
"Please, I just want to get to my quarters." Christopher said half-heartedly, struggling to keep his face neutral. He tried to simply keep walking despite the living roadblock, but the breathing barricade clung close to him and held him in place with the press of their bodies. Lost in the whirlwind of probing questions and barely concealed hooks and barbs masquerading as polite interest, Christopher felt his blood begin to boil while externally his face was leeched of emotions. If he didn't get out of here soon he'd explode, saying something he'd regret if the Superintendent had anything to do with this. That or he'd shut down and curl into a ball on the ground.
"Hey! Cut the guy a break, why don't you?" A voice cut through the hubbub of the swarm of reporters. A slightly sheepish silence spread from the source of the yell until the entire hallway was filled with nothing but the self-conscious shuffling of feet and awkward coughs from the camera carriers and recorder bearers. It was the man from the Radamanthus, Nicholas… Paris, Chris recalled. Son of an admiral or something. He groaned internally. Another glory hound legacy student jealous that he was hogging the spotlight, no doubt. Or maybe he saw a kindred spirit in the descendant of the Great Kirk and was eager to join in on the media circus. Either way, Christopher was willing to accept it as the lesser evil if it meant escaping out from under the pile of ravenous mediamen. He gave the closest reporter a surreptitious nudge and began slipping his way out towards the edge of the scrum. Nick Paris shot him the kind of sardonic grin that looked like it had taken generations to develop. "Hey, roomie. Looks like you found some new friends."
"Roomie?" Christopher raised his eyebrow inquisitively. Then he saw the PADD in the other man's hand. It looked like a list of names, and after a quick glance it turned out to be room postings. The two of them were right next to each other, Room 2319.
"I figured when your stuff showed up and you didn't, you might have been dragged into something." Paris said in an aside stage whisper. He looped an arm around Chris' neck and turned them both towards the cameras. "Gentlemen, ladies. It's so good to see the local broadcaster's showing an interest in the curriculum here at the Academy." He said, raising his voice so that it was cast to everyone in the crowd at once. "Or at least I assume that is why you're here. Probably going to interview a broad spectrum of the student body, I'd wager." At the reporter's confused looks, he continued. "Or at least I hope that is your intention, since Federation media code 417.88 clearly states that while engaged in study, no cadet may be singled out to comment on their schooling experience. Shall I go next?" He flashed a charming smile to the closest reporter. The crowd as a whole looked about awkwardly before dispersing with half heart excuses. When the last one had turned the corner, he released the slightly shell shocked Christopher and brushed off his crumpled uniform. "Sorry I didn't show sooner, looks like they were just about ready to eat you alive."
"Thanks," Chris replied, still a little shaken. "I guess I owe whatever clerk roomed us together, yeah?"
"Oh, that was just a clever bit of fiddling on my part. Although, I guess we are stuck together now." Nick said with an unusual casualness for someone freely admitting to breaking into the computer systems of Starfleet Academy. "Almost worth having to quote all that regulation garbage. Ugh, leaves an awful taste in my mouth. Well, shall we be off?" The other man strode off, gesturing for Chris to follow.
Chris tugged on the edge of his uniform and peered about, cursing once again the name of Kirk.
Author's Note:
So this is a project I've had kicking around for a while. It started as a National Novel Writer's Month attempt a couple of years ago but never quite made it past the outlining process. This chapter's about all that ended up getting written, but I think it might have some legs in it should it garner some positive feedback. That being said, with all my ongoing projects and my somewhat overloaded schedule not leaving much room for writing, this will obviously not be a priority unless it absolutely explodes overnight. Either way, let me know what you think.
-Liddle Out