Chapter 11
"Cadet Torres, please inform us of the date of the launching of the original Enterprise under the command of Captain Robert April." Professor S'Korn asked from the front of the room.
B'Elanna was certain he was secretly torturing her, but his Vulcan poker face never wavered. "Ah…um…" B'Elanna stumbled for a response. She hated Vulcans, they were so perfect and…logical. Glancing at the clock, she saw it ticking off the mere seconds before she could leave and avoid further embarrassment.
"Cadet, your answer, please." The passive Vulcan pressed. B'Elanna heard some snickers behind her and knew that she would never be able to live any of this down, ever. "Cadet?" S'Korn asked again.
Damn, he could be so annoying. He was the hardest professor at the Academy besides Admiral Paris, whom B'Elanna had the liberty of never meeting. The difference between the two was that every cadet had to take interstellar history but most cadets could avoid Admiral Paris' class.
The bell rang and every cadet was heading for the doors, and S'Korn stood up from his seat and faced the class. "Cadet Torres, can I see you for a moment. Everyone else is excused." He said, looking straight at B'Elanna. Sighing, she collected her belongings and moved forward to Professor S'Korn's desk.
"Cadet Torres, your progress has been unsatisfactory. You could not answer my question in class and you scored the lowest in the class on your midterm." He paused, letting it sink in. "I have a third year cadet who is also having the same problem. I will discuss it with him and if he is willing, I will give the two of you a chance to work together on a project so you can pass this class." After informing her of her status, he turned away abruptly, ending the conversation, and giving her no chance to argue.
B'Elanna hated lunch time, but this year was more tolerable than last year, since Dylan had refused to talk to her since that last incident and Tam had her lunch this year. Grabbing a tray of food, she sat down at a table. Moments later, Tam joined her. "Hey B'Elanna. What's wrong?" She asked when she saw her friend's face.
"Professor S'Korn decided I needed to do an extra project with some 3rd year cadet." B'Elanna sighed. She wasn't exactly looking forward to her grade depending on the corporation of some twenty-year-old hormone crazed pig.
"Oh, that bad, huh?" Tam said in response to the sour look on B'Elanna's face. "What are you going to do?"
"Probably the same thing I did with all the guys I worked with on the home-Q'nos. Sleep with him so he'll corporate."
Tam hated it when her friend thought so little of herself. Sometimes B'Elanna acted as though what happened to her was really unimportant, as though she cared nothing for herself. The one thing Tam had learned about B'Elanna was that it was not a good idea to provoke her into an argument if you valued life and limb. With a sigh, Tam changed to much less controversial subject: the upcoming decathlon.
T'Nya was not having a good day. Her boyfriend of two years had left her and she was failing two classes. This morning, her mom, via an interstellar transmission, had told her that she would no longer pay her tuition to the Academy. What T'Nya really wanted was a good stiff drink, but she couldn't have one, due to the fact that drinking before going to a class was illegal on Academy grounds, and next she had a basic communication class. Maybe a fight would be almost as good, she decided. Singling out her victim, she headed over to a table where two-second year girls were hunched over, deep in conversation.
B'Elanna was so engrossed in hearing the latest gossip from Tam that she didn't notice the burly Bolian until the girl's fist connected with her jaw. B'Elanna jumped straight up into the air and spun around, knocking her chair over in the process. The girl had surprised her, usually B'Elanna got some type of warning before a fight-but not this time.
B'Elanna sat in the dean's office. It wasn't the first time she'd been there. She reached her hand up to rub the sore spot on her jaw, but lowered it when she saw the sticky blue Bolian blood still remaining on her hand. She sight made her kind of sick to her stomach. She had lost control of her temper and beat the other cadet up pretty badly.
"Cadet Torres." The elderly dean growled as she stomped into her office. Dean Maria Thompson was rather elderly, and looked like she was about to retire any day. "A broken jaw, fractured clavicle, three broken ribs, a large gash along the right eye…what I'd like to know, Cadet, is what happened. Why did 4th Class Cadet T'Nya Samoian end up in the hospital and you walk away with only a few bruises?" Dean Thompson was almost yelling. She continued to fire rapid questions at B'Elanna for twenty minutes before she calmed down enough to begin lecturing her. Taking out a padd, she laid it out on her desk and took a deep breath.
"Cadet, these bar room brawls are unacceptable behavior for an aspiring Starfleet officer. I can see this is not the first time, either. I just don't see what the pattern is. Fights after aggravations, arguing with professors, Ms. Torres, if these incidents were isolated occasions, it might be excusable, but barley a week has gone by that an addition to your permanent record has not been made. I'm just not sure Starfleet is the right place for you." Thompson paused. B'Elanna was beginning to feel really mad. She had worked for years to get into the Academy, and even ran away from home, just to get into the Academy. And now she was getting kicked out because she had got into some fights with a few racists students, and she'd had few arguments with some teachers. "Now, I'm not expelling you this time, but I would like you to really consider if Starfleet is where you belong. I'm sure on Q'Nos they accept this kind of behavior, but in Starfleet-"
The Dean tried to continue, but B'Elanna cut her off.
"If you knew anything about Klingons, you'd know that they wouldn't accept me. That is why I came here, to get away from the hate and racism, but it seems to have followed. You are right about one thing, though. The Academy and your precious Starfleet are not the place for me." B'Elanna cried, then stormed out of the office, slamming the door. Her outburst scared the timid Betazoid secretary sitting at the desk so bad she must have jumped three feet into the air.
B'Elanna stomped all the way to her dorm. When she arrived, she began throwing the few meager processions she owned into a duffel bag. Tomorrow she would get everything worked out with the main office. If things went as they should, she could be in her way by Sunday.
After throwing all of her civilian clothes into a bag, she walked over to her desk and began throwing some padds into her bag. One in particular caught her eye. Quickly, she accessed the file and began reading.
Commander Paul Torres
Species: Human
Field: Geological Science
Age: 46 earth years
Marital Status: Married, divorced, remarried
Descendants: B'Elanna Torres, 17 (Daughter of D'Elaine Torres), Michael Torres, 13, Shannon Torres, 8, Noel Torres, 5 (Children of Helen Torres)
Commander Torres was married first to a Klingon woman by the name of D'Elaine of the house of Dursa. This short union produced one daughter (B'Elanna Torres). Shortly Torres and D'Elaine were divorced and he remarried to Helen Lindsay. His second marriage produced three offspring (Michael Torres, Shannon Torres, Noel Torres). Paul Torres is currently posted under Captain Helen Torres on the U.S.S. BEE on a 10-year deep space geological survey mission. The U.S.S. BEE is expected to arrive back to earth in 8-years.
End of transmission.
B'Elanna couldn't believe it, she was reading the information she had downloaded over two years ago when she had first arrived on earth. Gods, that seemed like ages ago.
Her father's bio explained a lot to her, mainly why he never wrote or visited. He had moved on with his life and started a new family. Not only did he desert her, but he also completely forgot about her. Now she wished she had never read her father's bio, it was like pouring salt into an open cut. B'Elanna quickly deleted the single file on the padd and laid it down on the desk. For the past fourteen turbulent years she had carried around the hope that her father missed her terribly but couldn't get to her. It was a fantasy she had indulged in for as far back as she could remember. In a few minutes, her dream was destroyed and her fantasy world came crashing down on her with fantastic bang. She was all alone with no where to go and no where to stay. She didn't know where to turn to, but she knew she couldn't stay were she was. She had to leave. She had started a cycle of running away from her problems and it had become way too comfortable for her. If you can't beat them, and can't join them, might as well run.
***
Counting every moment
Biding all my time
Standing out here on my own
Searching for that someone
To heal this heart of mine
And keep me from being alone
But when will it be
And how will I know
I don't want to wait here forever
-Somebody Love Me
-By: Michael W. Smith
***
"Mr. Paris, please inform the class of what date the Federation first made contact with Klingons."
The question or comment was more like it, made Tom feel about two inches big. Professor S'Korn always seemed to know how to do that. Then again, Vulcans always made Tom feel two inches big. They always seemed to know more than everyone else did.
Tom racked his mind for the answer. He knew the answer, he knew it! He suddenly wished he remembered more from when he was little. Back then, he knew everything about Klingons. He tried to come up with a suitable answer, but found himself staring at the professor in dumb confusion.
"You have no response." S'Korn said blandly.
"No sir." Tom replied and sat down. He heard snickers coming from the back of the class and he sighed.
"Does anyone else know the correct answer?" S'Korn asked and about 98% of the class raised their hands. Tom felt like dying. Especially when he heard the answer.
I knew that! He told himself.
He was failing Interstellar History and knew it. He had put off the class since joining the Academy, but gave in and signed up for the course. It was more trouble than it was worth.
Who needed to know all the stuff S'Korn talked about? Tom wanted to be a pilot, not a historian.
"Cadet Paris, might I have a word with you?" S'Korn's annoying bland voice stopped Tom three feet in front of the door at the end of class. He turned around, hesitated, than nodded.
"What's up?" He asked, going to the Professor's desk.
S'Korn turned his desktop monitor to Tom so that he could see. Each assignment was listed, along with how many points possible for each one. There must have been 10 assignments on the screen. Tom had turned in two.
He felt the blood rush to his cheeks. He glanced at S'Korn, who watched him carefully. This was not good.
"As you can see, Cadet Paris, you have turned two out of ten assignments that I have assigned the class. Do you have an explanation for this?"
Tom tried to come up with an excuse, any excuse, but found none. "No sir." He replied miserably.
If S'Korn was human, he would have sighed. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow. "Cadet Paris, I understand that your father is a highly respected man here at Starfleet. Is that correct?"
"Uh, yeah, I guess."
S'Korn nodded once. "Than you know that many professors here use that to give you a passing grade." Tom felt the ground drop out from under him. He stood in stunned surprise, which slowly cycled into anger. That explained why he was passing certain classes he knew he normally wouldn't do well in. He knew not all his classes, but maybe 2 or 3. S'Korn continued. "I, however, will not succumb to that policy." He handed Tom a padd. "I have decided to give you a chance to make some extra credit. One of my 2nd year students also has the same problem. For credit, I would like it if the two of you would work on the project I have described on the padd."
Tom stared down at the padd, though not really seeing it. Extra credit project? With a 2nd year student? Had S'Korn gone mad?
The Vulcan stood up. "The two of you will begin Monday. You are dismissed."
Tom walked out in the hall. He stood there for several minutes, staring at the padd. The hall became clear of kids and Tom was left alone in the hall.
On Sunday, Kevin returned from break. He had gone to Bajor, which was now trying to rebuild its colonies.
When he entered the dorm, he found Tom sitting on his bed, staring at a padd in silence.
"Something wrong?" Kevin asked, throwing down his duffel bag.
"I'm failing Interstellar History." Tom's voice sounded a little odd, and Kevin frowned.
"That's it?"
"S'Korn is making me a project with a 2nd year cadet. About…" He checked his padd. "The adventures of Captain James Kirk and the U.S.S. ENTERPRISE." He tossed the padd on the bedside table. "Why am I ever going to need that?"
Kevin shrugged. "I don't know. But I do know that it's not going to be a boring project." He sat down. "James Kirk is pretty interesting to learn about."
Tom grumbled something and stood up. "I'm going out. You want to come?"
Kevin shook his head. "No, you go ahead. I'm going to take a nap."
Tom didn't say anything, just sulked out of the dorm.
The grounds of Starfleet Academy never looked so dull and gray, despite the Californian sun that made the day very hot.
Tom was miserable.
All that time he thought he was doing well in, say, Exochemistry, he actually wasn't. It was the professors who were scared of his father. Tom had thought about it all Saturday and most of that day.
Why didn't he see it? Was he really so blind? Was all he really cared about girls and his reputation? All that got him this and Tom was just realizing it.
He and this partner of his had better do well on this stupid project. He was going to prove to S'Korn that he could get something done right. Besides, maybe this 2nd year student wouldn't be so bad.
"Watch out!"
Tom jerked his head up at the call, only to see ancient flying disc come hurtling toward his head, then blackness.
Tom awoke with a groan. He opened his eyes and blinked, only to be looking up at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She had long red hair and bright green eyes, and a figure that was perfect for someone like her. She stared down at him, eyes concerned.
"Are you all right?" She asked, helping him up.
Tom nodded, rubbing his head where the frisbee hit. He was in the Academy's medical bay. He looked at the girl. "Yeah, I'm fine." He held out his hand. "Tom Paris."
She shook it. "I'm really sorry about hitting you. I had no idea it would go in that direction…"
"I'm fine, really." Tom grinned. "What's your name?"
The girl blushed. "I'm sorry. I'm kind of forgetful. My names Casey Brown."
"Ah, good, you're up." A new voice broke in. The Academy's physician, Dr. Anna Peterson, walked in, carrying a medical tricorder. "It's a good thing that the frisbee didn't hit the side of your brain." She turned to Casey. "Why on earth were you using such an ancient piece of entertainment, anyway?"
"Well, I-"
"Hey, Anna!" Dr. Peterson looked up. One of the Dean's secretaries had entered the bay. "Do you have the medical files of the Torres girl?"
Peterson frowned. "Yeah. I think they're somewhere in my computer bank. Why?"
"I don't know. The Dean wants them."
"OK, I'll get them. Really, I've never seen one person in here more than Torres…"
"Tom, if there's anything you need…" Casey was saying.
"Sure." Tom smiled at her. "I'd like it if you agreed to have lunch with me. My treat."
Casey grinned. "I'd love to."
"OK Professor, I'm here. Where's my partner?"
S'Korn looked up as Tom walked into the class. "Ah, Cadet, I'm glad you've decided to arrive." Tom was 15 minutes late.
"Sorry, I stayed up late last night. Uh, I didn't get very much sleep." Tom felt slightly embarrassed. In truth, he stayed overnight at Casey's and he was sure S'Korn knew that by the look on the Vulcans face.
But he seemed like he cared. "You're partner will not be joining you."
"He sick?"
"No. She, Cadet, has left the Academy. Therefore, you will continue on the project alone."
Tom ended up doing the whole project by himself.
