Disclaimer: Star Trek characters belong to Paramount. Tora is mine.

Author's note: The story is set during Spock's last year at Starfleet Academy. References to Vulcan's Glory by D.C. Fontana (I borrowed Caitlin Barry from that one) and The Entropy Effect by Vonda McIntyre, but nothing very important.

Betas: SLWatson, Verenna

Editor: Lil black dog. Thank you, Cuppy, for supplying me with ammunition for my eternal struggle with the English language. To quote T'Pau, this fight is to the death. Meaning obviously that I will either succeed in killing it or die trying. ;-)

Warnings: A mild case of adult language

Codes/Rating: S, Pike, N1, OC. General.

Summary: The events taking place during Spock's final year at Starfleet Academy continue to shape him into the person and officer he will become. A tale about friendship and adventure.

'

'

Expanding the Oecumene

By

Anna Amuse

'

There are places I remember

All my life though some have changed

Some forever not for better

Some have gone and some remain

All these places have their moments

With lovers and friends I still can recall

Some are dead and some are living

In my life I've loved them all

-

But of all these friends and lovers

There is no one compares with you

And these memories lose their meaning

When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection

For people and things that went before

I know I'll often stop and think about them

In my life I love you more

The Beatles, In My Life

'

'

Chapter 1

The lazy afternoon sun was tapping gently at the San Francisco bay, sending splashes of light over the dozing city. The mischievous, naughty drops of sunlight were playing touch with well-seasoned roofs, green park lanes and busy squares. They were winking impishly at each other from every window, making an occasional passerby stop and blink, giving the lights the time to tease their eyelashes with more golden glimmer.

Chris Pike stood leaning on the parapet over the familiar cheerfully greenish grounds of Starfleet Academy. The mid-May air was sweet, almost intoxicating, inducing everyone who happened to inhale it with nothing but pleasant, relaxed thoughts. Chris Pike was no exception. He had fought the effect for some time when he had first arrived at that spot, but it had been long since that his pose became less rigid, and his face assumed a peaceful, pensive expression, with some hints of a smile curling around his lips.

His thoughts drifted away casually, as he watched cadets and officers walking across the lanes, talking, sitting on the grass, playing hover ball. A long time had passed since Chris had last been here. He hadn't been overly enthusiastic about visiting the place again, but now that he was here, he couldn't help remembering his own days as a cadet. It wasn't all that bad, he thought blandly. But it felt like a very, very long time ago.

"Captain Pike?"

He straightened up instantly, whirling around on the spot, not quite jumping to attention, but coming close to it.

"Admiral Reese."

The Head of Starfleet Academy was a slightly chubby middle-aged man, with silvery-white hair and twinkling light-brown eyes. The Admiral smiled at Pike gently.

"At ease, Captain," he said, extending his hand. "You're among friends here. It's nice to see you again, Chris."

"Likewise, sir," Pike said, returning the shake.

The Admiral sighed and shook his head. Last time they saw each other, he had almost managed to convince Pike to call him by his given name. But for some reason, informal settings never came naturally to one Chris Pike.

"Let's take a walk," Reese gestured to the shadowy alley.

Silently, Pike agreed, and, without much hurry, they descended the crumbling staircase and walked under the shade of the old oaks.

"How have you been, Chris?" Reese asked nonchalantly, sighing inwardly at the younger man's somberness.

"Fine, sir," came the prompt answer.

"Congratulations on the Enterprise. She's a fine ship."

"A very fine ship, Admiral."

"You've been on board already?" Pike merely looked at him, and the Admiral chuckled. "Of course you have. Must have been the first thing you did when you got back."

"Not the first thing," Pike smiled a bit ruefully. "I went to see my mother first."

"How's she doing?" Reese asked with genuine concern.

"Fine, sir," Pike bit his lip. "She talks to her squirrels. A lot. I stayed for two days and I wasn't sure if she said nearly as much to me as she did to them."

"What is she talking to them about?"

"Everything," Pike shrugged. "The weather. Her health. Me."

Reese looked at him sympathetically.

"She's not getting younger, Christopher."

"I know."

They walked in silence for a few moments, while the Admiral was getting ready to change the subject. The cadets who happened on their path gave way with a respectful nod or a formal salute. Their eagerness made Pike cringe inwardly, as he remembered himself at their age.

"Have you heard about the big maneuvers?" Reese asked blandly, giving him a sideways glance.

"On Federation Day?" Pike asked grimly. "I assume that's why they held up our launch. Want to make us waltz for the President."

"It's the anniversary of the foundation of the Federation," the Admiral admonished him softly. "It's an important date, Chris."

"I know, but surely there are other ships that can do the honors of flying in circles between Earth and Centauri Prime. The Enterprise is a long-range mission vessel. They need us in the Bordering Zone."

"And you'll get there as soon as the festivities are over," Reese said. "Another four days won't make that much difference."

"Four days?" surprised, Pike stopped in his tracks. "Admiral, just how big are these maneuvers?"

Reese grinned.

"Big enough for the Enterprise to feel one of many."

They resumed their walk slowly, as the news sank in.

"There is actually quite a program planned," Reese continued. "I think even you would find it challenging, Christopher."

Pike looked unconvinced, but it was clear that he had accepted the inevitable delay.

"I'll need to cut my crew's shoreleaves short," he said. "Not a prospect I'm looking forward to."

"That's the pleasant part of it, you won't have to," the Admiral turned to look at him with a soft smile. "Why do you think I asked you here, Chris? You'll have most of your crew back on board by tomorrow anyway, right? The rest will be filled by our senior cadets."

Pike came to an abrupt stop, as if having bumped into an unexpected obstacle. He was staring in the Admiral's smiling face horrified.

"Cadets?" he asked hoarsely. "Richard, you can't do this to me."

"Do what to you?" the Admiral raised his eyebrows innocently. "They are Starfleet cadets, Chris, not zoo monkeys. What's more, they're graduates, six months from their final tests. We're giving you the best of the best."

Pike was watching him sternly.

"Whose idea was this in the first place?"

"Why, mine if you must know," Reese grunted, averting his eyes. "We've got to show our accomplishments, too, Chris. What do you want my kids to do—give a concert on the training ground?"

Pike grimaced.

"How about a cutter parade? That's what we did."

"They're doing it, too," Reese waved his hand dismissively in the air. "And they are stationed on every starship. Really, Christopher, they are not children. You can entrust some minor operations to them."

At this very moment, a frisbee came flying directly at them, and it was only Pike's well-developed reflexes that allowed him to catch the disk in midair, before it reached his face. Holding the offending toy firmly in his grasp, Pike turned to Reese, looking belligerent.

"My ship is state-of-the-art technology, Admiral. Do you really want to let this," he shook the disk emphatically, "loose on board?"

The Admiral only shrugged, unimpressed.

"We'll tell them not to bring those."

Pike gritted his teeth to suppress a growl.

"Admiral, sir!" A young boy, obviously one of the first-years, was standing in front of them at his parade best. "Permission to address the Captain, sir?"

"I believe this is yours," Pike said coolly at Reese's nod.

"Sir, yes, sir!" the boy yelled with nervous enthusiasm. "I'm terribly sorry, sir!"

"So am I," Pike muttered. "Cadet."

"Sir!"

"Your aim is lousy."

"Yes, sir!"

"Unless you want to pull additional shifts in the gym, I suggest you make your aim better."

"Yes, sir!"

"This thing isn't balanced properly," Pike commented, studying the frisbee. Then, without warning, he made a quick backswing and threw the disk forward giving it breathtaking momentum.

The three men along with a dozen other spectators watched the disk disappear in the shiny sky to come back down almost at the opposite side of the park. At the final point of its descent, it hit the surface of the small pond and jumped off it several times, spilling sparkles of water over a group of female cadets sitting at the pond's edge. The girls screamed. The spectators giggled and cheered, and the frisbee's owner whistled in appreciation. Pike shot him a forbidding glance, and the boy stiffened to attention once more.

"Target practice is important," Pike said in a stern voice. "You certainly could use some."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Dismissed," Reese broke in, much to the boy's relief. He lost no time leaving.

Pike fought to suppress a smirk.

"Sucker."

Reese laughed. "You enjoyed it."

"I most certainly did not," he looked at the Admiral and sighed. "All right. I'll take them. But," he stressed the word pointedly. "Don't give me anyone for Command piloting. Non-essentials are fine. Medics, scientists... Engineers are fine, too," he added suddenly as if struck with an idea. Mischief kindled in his eyes. "My Chief Engineer has been complaining about being bored. Let her have some fun with the youngsters."

Reese shook his head in exasperation.

"You are impossible."

"No Command students, Richard," Pike reiterated firmly. "The rest I think I can handle."

"Chris, sooner or later you're going to have to start coaching people in Command," the Admiral said with a sigh. "It's one of the captain's duties."

"I've only been captain for three years, Admiral."

"And you've seen and done in these three years more than others have in thirty. What you did just now," Reese nodded in the direction of the retreated frisbee player, "it counts, too. You're a good teacher, Chris. I remember how you helped the younger cadets when you were here. You have a natural gift."

Pike listened to him without interrupting, though the frown on his face had deepened. He met the Admiral's gaze squarely.

"No Command students. That's final."

Reese sighed. "Very well. Somehow I knew you were going to say this. We've made a list of candidates already. They'll report to you tomorrow at oh-eight hundred. That's all right with you?"

"Fine, sir. If that is all?"

The Admiral smiled somewhat sadly.

"I suppose you can't be persuaded to stay for dinner with me and Muriel?"

The renewed tension that flooded Pike's features was almost palpable.

"Under other circumstances I'd be honored, sir, but I have to—"

"That's all right," Reese interrupted him. "You have a schedule to meet, I know. I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

"Thank you, Admiral."

They shook hands, and Reese headed back for the main building. Pike stood in the comforting shadow of the tall oak trees for another minute or two. His schedule was tight indeed, and savoring sweet mid-May air was not part of it. This treacherous air was notorious for making one's guard go down, and that could bring nothing but trouble.

With a determined frown, Pike reached for his communicator and called for a beam up.

--

"I thought climbing trees was illogical."

Spock looked up from his cozy setting among the branches to find Tora smiling at him, somewhat reproachfully. The branch she was standing on was trembling ominously under her considerable weight.

"I required solitude," he said, offering her a hand so that she could reach a safer position. She nodded gratefully and sat down carefully next to him. The huge crown of the old oak was hiding them effectively from view.

"What's all this?" she nodded at the pile of padds sitting in a natural wooden hold.

"The notes I've taken on the conference and the data I need to process before my next test."

Tora regarded the mounting pile thoughtfully for a moment, then decided to let it go.

"We were waiting for you last night, you know," she said keeping her tone light.

He looked up at her, startled, and she suppressed a sigh.

"Forgot again?"

"It would appear that way," he said slowly, his cheeks turning slightly greenish. "I ask forgiveness."

"It's okay," she forced her smile to return. "I figured you might have changed your mind. But I stopped by your room later, and Peter said you never showed up."

"How would Mr. Wells know that?"

Tora chuckled.

"Pete keeps tabs on everyone who lives on his floor, didn't you know?"

"Indeed, his observation skills are... impressive."

"So where were you?" she asked again, watching him closely. "It's not like you to disappear without a word. I was worried."

Spock looked away, as if fighting off embarrassment.

"Doctor Daystrom hosted a seminar at the Tokyo Computer Technology and Cybernetic Center. I attended."

She stared at him incredulously.

"All the way from here to Tokyo in one night?"

"Not in one night," he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. "The seminar ended early in the evening. It was still midday in Europe. It was possible for me to make it in time for Professor Lafayette's class in Sorbonne. And then—"

"And then you couldn't help visiting d'Orsay again."

"The late impressionists," he confirmed even softer. "I was always... fascinated by their works, and..."

He trailed off helplessly, while she didn't know whether to laugh or to yell at him. She opted for the latter, softening her tone considerably.

"There's only one way you could have done all that in twenty-four hours. And I know for a fact, Mr. Phileas Fogg, that you've spent your transporter credits through some three weeks ago. I don't think the editors of those scientific journals are paying you for submissions, so where the hell did you get the money?"

He was quiet, staring fixedly at the distant horizon.

"Well?" she pressed menacingly, with determination of a good Security officer. "Cat got your tongue?"

His blush became more pronounced, as he finally looked up at her.

"The Public Transporter System requires constant maintenance. It includes tryout transportation."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How did you convince the operator to use you for one?"

Spock looked away.

"This mode could be engaged automatically. It requires access codes, but it is not difficult to override this safeguard."

"Really?" She stared at him, incensed. "Tell me, just how much extra 'maintenance' did you perform?"

Spock bowed his head.

"You do not understand. Doctor Daystrom was only on Earth for one day. I studied his works on integrated computer systems and artificial intelligence. I could not miss an opportunity like this."

"Oh, really?" she was clearly angry now. "What if someone caught you tampering with essential systems? It's not even within Academy grounds, you've been doing it on a planetary scale! You know what they'll do to you if they catch you?"

He sighed, still not meeting her eyes.

"That is a highly unlikely possibility. I have been using this means of travel to obtain more knowledge for three point two years now. There have never been any complications."

"So they aren't smart enough to catch you, huh? That makes it all right somehow? What if someone gets wind of this and reports you?"

Spock glanced up at her. "You are the only person in the know," he said.

"Well, what if I report you?" she asked, irritated to the core. "I am a Security officer-to-be, in case you've forgotten."

"Indeed." His calm gaze was boring into hers still, his tone infuriatingly even. "It is your direct duty to report any such transgression."

"Then, why are you telling me all this?" she asked in frustration.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You requested the information."

Tora groaned at the face of such naivety. It was impossible to continue to feel angry with him. She saw nothing but trust in his slightly confused eyes, and her annoyance transformed into exasperation. How could a creature like that possibly survive on his own in this cynical and cruel world?

"It didn't occur to you," she said, with a mixture of pity and scorn, "that I might have had an ulterior motive? It didn't occur to you that when someone's asking a question like this you might wanna keep the truth to yourself—in order, you know, not to go to prison?"

His gaze remained serene, though an imperceptible wave of deepening seriousness washed over his features.

"You are a close associate of mine. I found it dishonorable to be untruthful with you."

She let out a sad laugh. "The word 'friend' simply isn't in your vocabulary, is it, Spock?" she paused, trying to find some means of reaching him. "Doesn't the thought that what you're doing is illegal bother you at all? It's cheating. And it's hardly safe."

"I am the only one taking the risk and I do it voluntarily."

"So that's how you deal with your conscience? You know, Vulcan terms of morality never cease to amaze me."

Spock looked away again, and Tora had a distinct impression that this time she managed to get to him.

"I have been told before that I am not an ideal Vulcan," he began to speak slowly, looking fixedly at his hands. "If there were any other way, I would never... But Doctor Daystrom was only on Earth for one day. He is the chief designer of all modern integrated computer systems. There was so much I wished to hear him explain, like his new network algorithms or power recirculation—he hasn't published his findings in this area yet, and..."

He continued to talk, but Tora stopped listening, concentrating on watching him instead. His speech was getting quicker and more passionate than he would care to admit, as he progressed deeper into the scientific fields. Gradually, his embarrassment melted, and he was now positively beaming with enthusiasm, or as beaming as a Vulcan could get. His eyes became alight as his fascination with the subject grew, and he even made a couple of gestures to emphasize his point, which was so blatantly against his Vulcan upbringing that one couldn't wish for a better indicator to measure his eagerness.

She sighed inwardly. She had heard it all before, numerous times. Computer science. Biomechanics. Interstellar Law. Archaeology. Warp theory. History. Stellar Chemistry. Astrophysics. She could not think of a subject or a field of study for which Spock wouldn't have shown keenness or at least a passing interest. After swallowing, almost literally, every byte of information the library computers could supply him with, he started to diligently follow every written or spoken word of every major expert in the field.

Tora remembered vividly, how he smuggled himself to Lunaport on a mail courier vessel in order to attend Liza Borova's lecture on exobiology. Doctor Borova had a reputation throughout the quadrant, and Tora shivered to think exactly how Spock managed to get admittance to the event. But then, it was a minor mystery, compared to him participating in the debates on interspecies cultural exchange held in the Andorian Embassy, or him being present at Professor Lee's conference dedicated to the Prime Directive and its applications.

She had no idea how he managed all this when, in point of fact, no cadet was allowed to even leave campus without permission. But that, Tora had to admit grudgingly, was the easiest part. There hardly was any single cadet who didn't manage to take an unauthorized walk every once in a while. Though, admittedly, they didn't go all the way to Jupiter Station and back, when they did so.

And with all that, Spock was never known to miss a class or to be caught on the grounds after curfew.

It wasn't that she didn't understand his zeal for knowledge. But she couldn't grasp what he meant to accomplish with all this mildly chaotic activity. Not to mention that he was frequently in trouble with one or two Academy instructors and quite frankly had no financial means to support his endeavors.

Spock never talked at length about his family, but Tora got the impression that it was an important one. Spock also mentioned once that he owned some property on Vulcan, including land and real estate. She remembered asking him, quite bluntly, why he wouldn't use those funds, which must be considerable, to at the very least buy some normal civilian clothes.

When they had just met she thought he was always wearing his uniform because of some heightened sense of duty and respect for the service, until she discovered that he quite simply had no other clothes that would fit. Reluctantly, Spock had explained that he still continued to grow when he first came to Earth from Vulcan, and since then he didn't have the opportunity 'to acquire new garments.' Not that he needed any, of course.

Of course, she snorted then, looking at him incredulously. How could he own a quarter of a city and not be able to pay for his plomeek soup had he wished to seek some off campus, she asked, perplexed. Spock frowned then and explained, studying the nearest wall, rather than looking at her, that the property in question had been a family possession until his birth when he automatically inherited it.

'I cannot legally return the property to my family,' he said. 'It is mine by birthright and it will pass back to them only with my death. My father considers me to be an unworthy heir of the House. At this point, I tend to agree with him in this assessment. I did not do anything to earn this estate, and although I cannot refuse it, using its funds does not seem proper under the circumstances.'

'Hold on a second,' she couldn't quite grasp it. 'You won't use the money, which is yours and not your family's, because... because you're too proud to do so?'

He did look at her then, and she could have sworn his eyes flashed with some unidentifiable emotion.

'Pride is a human trait to which I am not prone. I believe I have sufficiently explained my reasoning. I would consider further inquiry in the subject prying.'

'As you wish,' she said. 'But it's not like I'm trying to talk you into buying a personal dome on Mars. A new sweater maybe? I know you're cold in this pathetic coat they give us. Hell, Spock, even I'm freezing if I don't put on something underneath my uniform during field training. For you, it must be—'

'The level of discomfort is not critical.'

'Does it have to be? Look, you don't want to use your own money for some crazy reason, fine. Why on earth can't you take this up with your supervising officer? He's there to help you, you know. Or is it beneath your would-be absent pride as well?'

'Human capacity for interfering with matters that do not concern them is truly limitless,' he snapped then. 'This discussion will now cease.'

The conversation happened fairly early in their association, and Tora lost no time leaving him alone, furious that she'd been wasting time trying to help an arrogant bastard who clearly didn't want any assistance. She'd been fuming for a couple of weeks in her own corner. She never noticed the moment when she started to debate silently whether she should alert Spock's supervisor herself, for he clearly was determined not to utter a word.

'Stubborn ass' were the words that frequently came to her mind whenever she happened to catch sight of him, but still she didn't say anything. Some well-grounded instinct was telling her clearly that Spock would never forgive her for exposing him in this manner, and although he still was labeled as an undeserving idiot in her mind, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Instead, she went to a familiar shop and bought a nice cozy sweater made of the finest Andorian wool, thin yet warm and pleasant to the skin.

Spock bluntly refused to take it.

'You are not a member of my family. You and I are not in a relationship. I cannot accept any gift from you.'

They were in his room, where she had invited herself unasked. She looked in his closed, set face and wanted nothing better than to walk out and never talk to him again. He didn't even try to make it a polite refusal. He clearly wanted her to leave.

'Take it as a payment,' she heard her own voice unexpectedly. 'For tutoring me.'

Spock raised an eyebrow.

'Tutoring in exchange for any kind of wealth, as well as any other paid activity, is strictly forbidden within Academy grounds,' he said.

'That's only for the subjects they teach us,' she told him, harvesting her sudden inspiration. 'I wish to study Vulcan language.'

This time, his surprise was more evident.

'For what purpose?'

'So that I could tell one stupid, arrogant, self-important and damn stubborn son of a bitch to learn a little appreciation. Clearly, common English is beyond his comprehension.'

Spock looked at her for a very long time.

'Why are you so determined to help me?' he asked at last.

She grinned, sensing a close victory.

'I have no idea. Why don't you make use of it, until I've figured it out?'

And she shoved the sweater into his arms again. Spock hesitated for another eternity, making her wish to strangle him, then finally accepted it.

'On one condition,' he said. 'This will be the one and only gift you will ever give me.'

She smirked. 'I wasn't planning on buying you a wardrobe anyway. So how about that lesson now?'

Spock deposited the sweater on his bunk, looking pensive.

'Very well,' he said at last, turning back to her. 'Repeat after me. Ayie lim meh ka'tur mayan shkrwatzuh Vulkhan'su den kyrrh a'meh.'

'Whoa.' Having meant the whole thing as a joke, she wasn't expecting this. 'Could you say that again?'

Spock repeated. Slowly, patiently, word by word, until she finally managed to remember the whole phrase. However, he wasn't satisfied. He continued pestering her for the better part of an hour, trying to make her pronunciation 'discernable at least'. By the end of the exercise, Tora, who had always considered herself a complete language idiot, was positively fuming with effort. She was hugely relieved when Spock had finally pronounced her attempt acceptable.

'Ayie lim meh ka'tur mayan shkrwatzuh Vulkhan'su den kyrrh a'meh,' she said again in one go, happy that she had achieved it. 'What does it mean anyway?'

Spock lifted an eyebrow at her.

'I am surprised you did not ask me before. It means: I am the most illogical human any Vulcan could ever have the misfortune to meet.'

'What?' she stared at him, furious. 'You son of a bitch! You spent an hour making sure that the only Vulcan phrase I would ever learn in my life would be something like that?'

'Indeed,' he confirmed calmly. 'It has been... gratifying hearing you finally say something reasonable.'

'Reasonable?!' she started at him, raising her fists instinctively. Only then did she catch a barely concealed, definitely amused glint in his eyes. 'Spock,' she let out accusingly. 'You're laughing at me!'

'I am not.'

'Yes, you are, dammit! You smug Vulcan imp, you're practically howling with laughter! Son of a bitch,' she took a deep breath with difficulty, shaking her head in indignation. 'Son of a bitch. What does it really mean?'

He was looking at her with an enigmatic expression, while she balanced between fury and mirth.

'It means: This human is a friend of Vulcan people,' he said.

'Oh,' she breathed out, instantly sobered. 'Why third person?'

'It is an ancient formula,' he explained. 'It is familiar to any Vulcan. It used to refer to the representatives of other cultures, before that—of other clans. Those who used it were automatically granted protection. It does not have any legal force now, however.'

'But your people still remember it.'

'Indeed.'

She nodded thoughtfully then and left shortly. And on her way back to her own room, she couldn't decide what had just happened there. Did Spock simply teach her a bit of Vulcan courtesy to get her out of the door? Or did he admit, however indirectly, that he needed a friend? She didn't know.

She still didn't know now, almost three years later. It was always guessing with Spock, never knowing. As precise as he was in his scientific projects, he was vague at best when talking about anything remotely personal, if he could be pushed into talking about any such subject at all.

"Spock," she said resolutely, interrupting his animated retelling of Doctor Daystrom's last article. "I couldn't care less if he invented the next best thing since dilithium. You can't continue screwing the rules as if they were written for someone else, not you."

He blinked, having been knocked abruptly off his high horse.

"Some of these rules are illogical."

"It's not your place to decide that!" she flared up again. "These rules have been working fine for every Starfleet cadet for decades now! We're not gonna throw them out of the window just because Spock of Vulcan says he's too good for them! I gotta tell you, you've got some nerve—"

"Shh," he raised his hand suddenly to silence her.

"What the hell?" she asked irritably, but he just shook his head, listening intently.

In a moment, Tora heard it too. Someone was definitely circling under the tree. Simultaneously, they glanced at each other in mute inquiry: Did they hear us? But it became clear almost instantly that it was too late for worrying about that.

"Hey, Bonnie and Clyde," the familiar voice of Lieutenant Ridley came loud and clear from below. "Get down here. Now."

Shooting a disgusted look at Spock, Tora started to climb down carefully. He was faster than her, as always. By the time she reached the lower branches, he was already standing on the ground, ready to catch her.

Lieutenant Max Ridley hid a smile, as he watched Spock assisting Tora to the ground. There was something distinctly amusing in a slender, rather fragile looking Vulcan playing gentleman to a young woman easily his height and seemingly twice his weight. Tora Jonnson was not the captain of a rugby team for no reason. There weren't all that many male cadets who fancied being paired up with her in a fighting exercise, much less engaging her in a real fight. She didn't feel particularly comfortable not having her feet on the ground though, that was true. Still, the sight was rather peculiar.

"Sir!" Both cadets snapped to attention in front of him.

Exorcising the ghost of humor, he frowned at them, looking over Tora's rather disheveled hair and the greenish traces on Spock's uniform.

"You do know that climbing trees is forbidden in this park?" Ridley asked strictly.

"Yes, sir!"

They both said it, but it was only Jonnson who actually put some fervor into it. Spock merely bothered to open his mouth in time, or so it seemed. He spoke first, without asking for permission, and in the same calm tone.

"It was my fault, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Ridley focused his attention on the Vulcan. When he had accepted the position of a supervisor at the Academy some six months ago, he was merely hoping to earn more points for a quicker promotion, as did a lot of his fellow officers of the same rank. The Academy was constantly in need of qualified instructors, but not that many officers preferred such an assignment to starship duty. That was why Starfleet Command offered considerable benefits to those who did decide to devote some time to teaching, and skipping several years of the promotion queue was one of them. This measure didn't attract too many people, but it did attract some, and Max Ridley was among them.

He was filing some hours as a social instructor, but his main job was supervising a group of cadets whose progress was his personal responsibility. In a manner of speaking, he was to be a Big Brother for twelve to sixteen young men and women. With most of them, he got along pretty well, though there were still several who caused him mild headaches every now and then. All in all, his record had been rather successful with one major exception.

At first, when Ridley was informed that his group would include the first Vulcan to ever sign up for the main branch of Starfleet Academy, he was delighted and intrigued. He knew Vulcans to be highly industrious, intelligent and law-abiding creatures, and he expected Cadet Spock to become the shining star of his group.

Only he didn't. Instead, he turned out to be the greatest pain in the ass Ridley had ever met in his life, in Starfleet and beyond.

For starters, Spock was never there. Apart from scheduled classes and practical field assignments, it was virtually impossible to locate him. He haunted the library, the canteen, the gym, was periodically spotted in the general area and in the gardens, but he was never there when one would expect him to be. And then, there was an odd number of hours when Spock couldn't be found anywhere on the grounds, and yet the entrance logs would show that he was there all the time. Ridley remembered spending his first month as a supervisor literally chasing him, trying to 'establish the dialogue in a comfortable environment.' He had given up the idea by the end of the fourth week and simply ordered Spock to report.

He did. Reporting as ordered, looking every bit as prim and serious as Ridley expected him to be, Spock stood respectfully at attention, while his new supervisor was trying to put him more at ease. When Ridley had finally prompted him to speak, he stated that he had no problems, difficulties or questions of any kind, did not believe that he required supervision, but was willing to fulfill any request the Lieutenant might make of him, and respectfully suggested that Ridley's time would be spent more efficiently assisting other cadets.

For a minute or two, Ridley was rendered completely speechless by this odd mixture of emphasized respect and audacity. He tried to make the Vulcan tell him something about his background, but every attempt at questioning in that area was politely but firmly rebuffed. Feeling the urgent need to regroup, he dismissed the cadet.

From then on trouble ensued. Ridley might have been having difficulty locating Spock most of the time, but Spock's instructors had had absolutely no difficulty locating Ridley. Every time one of them ran into him, he was ready to hear an earful, either ecstatic or incensed, but never anything in between. He had become as jumpy at spotting a professor in the corridor as he used to be during his own Academy days. But the worst of it was that Spock always seemed to have a very logical explanation, which Ridley couldn't beat, for whatever wrongdoing he was accused of at any given time. And as a final blow, he always assured Ridley of his readiness to endure whatever disciplinary action the Lieutenant would see fit.

Just as he did now.

Swallowing the reprimand for desecrating the old oak, Ridley handed Spock a padd.

"What do you make of that, Cadet?"

Spock took the padd and studied it carefully for a few moments.

"I am on report," he said, elevating one eyebrow. "With the quartermaster, the Martial Arts instructor, and Professor Nikem."

"Three reprimands in one day—Mr. Spock, are you trying to set a record? Would you mind explaining yourself?" Ridley asked irritably, taking the padd back. "Mr. Happassalla says you have misplaced another uniform. Care to tell me how it happened?"

"Chemistry Lab accident, sir."

"Classwork?" Ridley asked, suspecting the answer.

Spock appeared hesitant.

"Research, sir," he replied with caution. "I was attempting to synthesize a very promising compound. I believe I have found a way to alter the molecular structure of the commonly used plexiglass sufficiently to extend its—"

"Cadet," Ridley interrupted him firmly. "I have already heard as many lectures on chemistry as I needed."

"Yes, sir."

"What happened with Mr. Robertson? He says you were deliberately insubordinate in class. You refused to obey his order."

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"Specify, Cadet. Which order?"

"Sir, Mr. Robertson ordered me to..." Spock suddenly stumbled. "He ordered me to…"

"Sir, Mr. Robertson ordered him to drop his control, sir," Tora said, realizing Spock was no more willing to admit it than he had been to comply.

"Ms. Jonnson?" Ridley turned to her hopefully.

"If I may, sir. I was present at the training session."

"Your group was there, too?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Robertson divided us into pairs and Cadet Spock was paired up with Cadet Voronin," she reported clearly, ignoring the look Spock was giving her. "Cadet Voronin believed Cadet Spock was holding back, sir. He complained to Mr. Robertson about it, sir."

Ridley glanced at Spock sharply.

"Were you holding back, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir," Spock acknowledged gloomily.

"Mr. Spock, remind me of the purpose of the Martial Arts training."

"To master the practical art of hand-to-hand offence and defense to the best of one's abilities."

"Unless this one doesn't want to stretch his abilities to their limits?"

Spock bowed his head. "No, sir. However..."

"Yes?"

But Spock fell silent. Tora looked at him sidelong, and sensing Ridley's growing displeasure, stepped forward again.

"Sir, Mr. Spock is a Vulcan. He can no more stop controlling his physical reactions than you can stop breathing, sir."

Ridley snapped up at her. "Are you now his advocate, Ms. Jonnson?"

"No, sir."

"I thought not. Cadet, it's hardly the first time Mr. Robertson puts you on report. You have to put more effort into your physical training, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look, Spock," Ridley tried a different tack. "I know you don't like to fight very much, and I know in your first year there were... accidents. But if you are going to be a Starfleet officer, you're going to have to do it. Yes," he added, interpreting Spock's frown correctly. "Even officers serving on science vessels have to do it from time to time. The galaxy isn't as peaceful as your home planet, Mr. Spock."

"Indeed, sir."

"Now, about Professor Nikem. Why have you dropped the course? Temporal Mechanics is a major field of study for a science officer. You cannot graduate without completing it."

"Sir, Professor Nikem only allows one theory to be correct in his class," Spock said. "His own. I do not share it, for it is clearly flawed."

Ridley's jaw dropped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dr. Mordreaux, as well as a number of other scientists, has developed a much more convincing theory regarding temporal equations. Professor Nikem has forbidden us to acknowledge it in any way, despite its clear advantages over that of his own. I cannot agree to that. Such a position is illogical and unscientific."

"Spock," Ridley was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown a pair of horns. "Do you want to graduate at all?"

Spock looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Yes, sir. Is that not the purpose of my studying here?"

"Spock, I don't know what the purpose of your studying here is, except to drive me insane, but I guarantee you that you won't be permitted to take the final tests if you don't settle your business with Professor Nikem."

"Sir, Professor Nikem wants me to submit that his postulates are correct," Spock told him, sounding mildly incredulous. "Obviously, I cannot do that. This would be a crime against scientific truth, sir. I can prove—"

"I don't care," Ridley snapped. "Spock, I don't care if he tells you to sign a paper which states that the Earth is flat. If you want to be an officer, you've got to know that sometimes it's your duty to shut up and do what your superior officer tells you to do."

"Even if they are incorrect?"

"Even if they are incorrect. Cadet, it is not your place to question your superior officer's judgment. You have a sworn duty to obey their orders. You're a smart person, Mr. Spock. Which part of this do you not understand?"

"I understand, sir," Spock replied quietly. "I shall endeavor to do better."

"I should hope so," Ridley glared at him for another moment. "Actually, I have come to tell you that I have an assignment for you."

"Sir?"

"The big fleet maneuvers on Federation Day. You are assigned to the Science division on the USS Enterprise. You must report on board tomorrow at oh-eight hundred. You will receive further instructions there."

If Ridley didn't know better, he'd say Spock looked alarmed.

"No objections," he snapped before Spock could say anything. "I don't care which experiments you're running or whether you see any sense in serving aboard a starship or not. You have a problem, Cadet. You're appearing on report way too often. At this point, your chances of becoming a Starfleet officer are slim at best. I had to ask a lot of favors to get you this assignment, so I suggest you take it seriously. This might be your last chance to prove your worth to Starfleet. Am I making myself clear?"

"Very clear, sir," Spock said in a defeated voice.

"Good," Ridley nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. "Brushing up on your starship operations might be a good idea. And God forbid you should argue with any of your orders there. Dismissed."

Spock bowed his head in compliance, and the look he threw at Tora before turning to go was one of utter dismay. Ridley sighed, watching him leave, and shook his head in exasperation.

"Why do I get the feeling that he's having a second childhood now?"

Tora knew he wasn't addressing her as much as he was complaining about the weather. She answered anyway.

"From what I heard, sir, he didn't have much of a first one."

He looked at her in helpless confusion.

"Ms. Jonnson, I swear, I look at him and I don't know if he's the next Zefram Cochrane or a village idiot. Maybe both."

She glanced at him warily.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant. Is he in trouble?"

Ridley laughed sardonically.

"Let me put it this way. His commanding officer says one word against his performance—and he's out. I'm not kidding and I'm not trying to frighten you. I know he listens to you, so maybe you can make him see that his attitude is not the kind Starfleet wants. He's argumentative, he questions every order, he makes decisions without telling anyone... He might be a science genius, I wouldn't know. But he's not officer material."

Clearly disturbed, Tora stared down at her feet, trying to figure out anything to say. For a long moment, they stood there in silence.

"You know what," Ridley said suddenly. "I'll talk to your supervisor. Lieutenant Kelly, is it? I'll see if we can send you to the Enterprise as well."

Her head snapped up hopefully at that, and he smiled at her tiredly.

"Someone's got to help him, Ms. Jonnson. I don't think I can. You're up for the task?"

"With pleasure, sir."

"Good," he clapped her on the shoulder, then dropped his hand hurriedly. "I'm curious though. He obviously considers you a friend."

"I wouldn't go that far, sir," she shook her head with a mild smile. "He tolerates me for some reason, that's all."

"Yes, but that's a great deal more than anyone else has achieved with him as far as I've noticed. And you're not even a fellow scientist. How did that happen?"

She smirked and shook her head.

"It's a long story, sir. When I graduate and it wouldn't be against regulations for you to buy me a beer, I'd be pleased to tell you."

He snorted.

"I don't think I'll survive that long. But I'll keep that beer cold, just in case."

She grinned at him amiably and started back for her quarters.