"Welcome to the demobilization and accuracy course, please select your weapon and await the countdown."
James T. Kirk stepped up to the firing line alongside fourty or so other cadets as the monotone and feminine voice of the simulator rang out over their heads. He didn't hesitate to reach for the lightest looking phaser pistol on the rack that had slid down from the ceiling to greet him as he approached the dark glass enclosure. He found that he preferred smaller weapons, the type II phaser didn't have the power some of of the heavier rifles offered, but he felt the range of movement and concealability more than made up for it. He layed the weapon on the stainless steel bench down range to secure his earbuds and slid his fingers over the small buttons of the wireless music player tucked into his waistband. Satisfied with his song selection, he straightened his posture, set the weapon to stun for safety and aimed down the target line just as the long countdown blaring over the firing range's speakers was drowned out by Beastie Boys "Intergalactic". Call him old fashioned, but classical had a way of settling his nerves in a way that the nu age electronic his dormmates preferred could not.
There was a single flash of one last warning alarm and the holographic image of a moving target blinked into existence before him. Reacting an impressive fraction of a second later, his finger curled down to meet the smooth cylindrical surface of the phaser trigger. The beam burst out and struck the dark and flickering image of a humanoid threat, not hitting the figure squarely in the chest but in the leg to wound. The projection realistically crumpled to the ground and faded just as another took its place behind a moving obstacle. Jim was fast, his eyes flicking back and fourth in increasing concentration as the course increased in difficulty. Multiple and varied humanoid targets were popping in and out of sight, giving him a small window of action as some of them were intertwined with the noticeably blue sillhouettes of simulated hostages. When one of them appeared to have its arms around one of the civilians in a threatening manner, Jim didn't hesitate to aim right above the squirming shoulder of the featureless yet distressed hostage hologram and shoot to kill his target. When the chaos of the moving threats had him pulled into the tunnelling routine of reload, aim, fire and repeat, the previously opaque barricades on either side of him turned transparent. Thrusting him into the difficult challenge of concentrating admist the distraction of his adjacent neighbors and consequently, their targets. Hostages were turning red from misaimed shots at the corner of his eye but he carried on until almost abruptly the targets stopped coming. He had made it through four songs by the time the weapon racks were sliding back down to greet him at the end of the simulation.
James let out the breath he'd been holding and pulled out his earbuds. Chatter filtered in around him as others were stretching the stiffness out of their shoulders and turning to compliment each other. It was easy to read the anxiety, some of the confidence in their faces as they were already trying to predict their performance scores. Jim was honestly just happy to have made it this far; but with just under a year of training and examination left he didn't think he could deal if he failed at this point. The past three years had been surprisingly taxing and not as unstimualting as he'd originallly suspected going in. He'd only consciously missed two out of just over a hundred possible targets, an accomplishment at this level. Yet he couldn't muster the same confidence in his performance that he had up until now, the last simulation he'd been put through hadn't gone as expected.
"I'm sure it was a cake walk for you, Jim." Someone clapped a hand on his back and he snapped out of thought as he realized that at some point he'd been surrounded by a group of other cadets standing in his area. He looked up, flashing a smile at his friend and dorm neighbor, Sulu before answering, "Nah, but I think I did alright."
"I did not think that it would be so intense." The light and heavily accented voice of Sulu's roomate and partner in crime Chekov piped in. Jim found himself distracted once more as the teasing about Pavel's predictably excellent performance started amongst the group. There was one person still standing near Jim's spot at the firing line. The weapon rack was still down and waiting for the user to return their weapon. The immediate area was consequently still bathed with crimson light to signify the station was in use but no one seemed to pay any mind. Sensing something was off, Jim took a step towards the turned back of a cadet aiming at something in front of him.
"Mitchell?" He called out to the familiar back of his classmate who didn't turn around to face him. The brunette seemed to be staring and pointing the phaser at something just beyond the bench, but when Jim followed his line of sight he found nothing at the end of the barrel. Only blank space and the shaky grip of the man holding the weapon. He covered one of Mitchell's hands with his, and pushed lightly to lower his aim. "Everything alright, Gary?"
"I missed every shot."
Jim shifted uncomfortably in place, "What?"
"I missed every shot, didn't you see?" He fixed Kirk with a piercing look. "Didn't you see," He repeated, "You were right next to me."
"No I guess I just keep my eye on my course." He regretted it the minute it came out of his mouth, "But you know I'm sure it wasn't that bad." He raised a hand to clap his friend on the shoulder reassuringly, but stiffened when he noticed the unreadable expression Mitchell was fixing him with.
"If you're sure." Mitchell responded. The man held the phaser away from his body in what seemed to be an offer to Jim, but it was hard to tell with the way he was staring at him and the fact that the weapon was aimed towards him. Jim still accepted and gripped the weapon, trying to keep the ejection end away from his body as he turned to replace it on the rack. If he noticed that the rifle was set to kill, he didn't choose to comment at that moment, instead watching Gary's as he turned away from the station and headed out into the hall.
"Everything alright?" It was Sulu, who had likely been standing close by the entire time.
"Yeah, just stress I guess." But he didn't have to guess. He'd noticed the changes in his once friendly fellow cadet and he knew he wasn't alone. People were saying Mitchell would wash out of the program and Sulu had probably heard the rumours as well.
There was a commotion by the door and the trainees were suddenly rushing out, presumably to see the scores that had appeared on the screen just outside the range. Sulu glanced at him reassuringly and they both followed the rest of the group out into the hall where the crowd had formed.
COURSE 26400: ACCURACY
4546835...100%
The words seemed excessively large and bright on the screen as a long list of identification numbers scrolled to the top of the seconds after he joined the crowd. Jim didn't need to scan the endless row of numbers for his own ID, his was the first one that popped up on the screen. He'd done well, in fact he'd gotten a perfect score. He swore that he missed two targets at some point, but it was hard to say for sure with so much going on towards the end of the course. There was another perfect score under his own name, and below that the next highest score was at ninety percent and the scores dropped from there. Before he could think too hard about the other person with his score he was being rushed by a very excited Chekov and Sulu. "I can't believe we scored in the top ten!" A few other cadets glanced over at them with mostly amusement. "Well, how'd you do?"
Jim scratched the back of his neck and smiled, "I didn't do bad."
Sulu cocked his head in doubt.
He completely caved, "Alright I aced it." Chekov vibrated in place in response while Sulu and a few others nearby congradulated him, "We have to celebrate." the younger cadet insisted.
"I don't know I might just cut out.." Jim was abruptly interrupted by someone shoving past him roughly. "Watch it!" He called out, and then stopped as the person turned to look at him. It was Mitchell, and Jim caught not a small amount of anger in his eyes before he turned away and pushed past the crowd to leave.
"That was very rude." Chekov commented.
By the time Jim stepped out of the bar he'd been dragged to just outside of the Presidio he was practically gasping for the fresh air. The place in question was some seedy and rather smokey little bar that probably kept itself open purely on the patronage of the trainees in his own dorm block and a few older starfleet officials avoiding the buzz of the busier parts of the city at this time of night. Still, he'd appreciated the distraction and the entertainment courtesy of Sulu and Chekov's drunken singing. They had insisted, upon Jim's announcement that he would be returning to the building, that he stay and leave with the group. He'd instead declined their offer, and after making sure that they wouldn't be stumbling home without a ride from one of the other cadets in their group, headed out to start the long walk home and a rare opportunity to clear his head.
He thought of what had happened with Mitchell. They'd been fast friends the first year of training, and he remembered the ease at which the other cadet had taken Jim under his wing when he'd first enrolled. It hadn't been easy to say the least, to accept the discipline that Pike had noticed was missing in him the day he'd found him on the floor of that bar back in Iowa.
"So your dad died, you can settle for less than an ordinary life, or do you feel like you were born for something better, something special?"
But hadn't he settled? Pike had offered him a position in Starfleet. He'd even boarded that shuttle to San Francisco with full intention of leaving Iowa behind for sure but like so many things he hadn't followed through. He couldn't be George Kirk, and for a while he convinced himself that finding his own path mean that he didn't have to be. But then he'd watch a shuttle break orbit on quiet evenings and wondered if in his attempt to find his route to being a better man he hadn't gone the wrong way.
He hadn't realized how dark it was until now when he found that looking back he could barely make out where the marsh began and where the path ended. He continued down what he assumed was Old Mason street for his dorms, and found himself hyperaware of the silence that greeted him, interrupted only by the sound of gravel crunching beneath his feet as he moved among the trees. He stopped. He thought he heard the extra crunch of an extra pair of feet behind him. When he looked back to see if anyone was there, he was only greeted by the sight of swaying trees and the blinking and distant lights just outside the Presidio.
"Is someone there?"
Predictably, he didn't get an answer. But he doubted that another student would be skulking back to the dorms at this time of the night on a tuesday, and if it was someone with ill intent they were unlikely to answer.
"If you're out there...you should know that I'm not unarmed." He was lying, but his mugger didn't need to know that. He scoffed at his own paranoia and continued to along the path.
He estimated that about ten minutes passed; he was making out the buildings of his dorm block some distance away, and he heard it again. This time he didn't stop moving, instead looking over his shoulder with an unexpected and severe sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach that he'd never admit to feeling. This time he was certain and now he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him, just out of sight. He was willing but not quite ready to have to defend himself after leaving the bar with a few drinks in him. Instead he picked up the pace and sighed a breath of relief when a few minutes later he was stepping into the illuminated stretch of academy housing and dorms.