Thank you everybody for the very encouraging reviews! I'll do my best and meet expectations with the second chapter There will be more of Spock in this chapter, as promised. Enjoy, and please review! Special thanks to Starlette, your comment made my day! ^_^

~Aiji

~o~

The objective of the exercise was to minimise casualties, conditionally through avoiding damage to the shuttle and make as quick a time as possible to base, to ensure the theoretical evacuees who were experiencing radiation poisoning would get the necessary medical attention. The gravitational pull-

Something was missing. Jim thoughtfully tapped his temple with his stylus. He could reason and explain all he wanted, but no report was complete without references to some discoveries or theorems some old guy or other had come up with. When they should have been out having healthy exercise instead of cooking up formulas to make the lives of Cadets everywhere miserable. Examiners loved that… Give them a pedestal, and they'd give you an A. Better still, something they didn't expect. A memory niggled the back of his mind- something about certainty and optimal outcomes against probability. There was a theorem somewhere…

"Hey Bones," he said out loud. "There was a theorem about certainty and probability, I think we took it under Piloting and Navigations, or Reasoning and Psychology in Space. Probably one of the earlier modules. I can't for the life of me remember the name of it."

"Don't know why you're asking me, Jim." Bones grunted. "I specialise in medicine. I'm a doctor, not a pilot."

"Wilkinson? No, his is the theory of cross-dimensional relativity. Nevecerel, parallel bivalve dynamics…" He ticked the names off with his fingers. He reached his pinky and paused, frowning.

Bones finished a sentence and sighed, leaning back in his chair. "We're in a library, Jim."

"-Bridge psychology, maybe. What? Oh." Jim pushed his PADD a little further away. "I don't even know which module it's in, though." He made a face. "There's no way I'm going to go through the whole of Year One and Two theorems."

Bones felt as if he really was talking to a child. He adjusted his grip on his stylus. "Why don't you ask the library staff? It's their job to know the material, after all. Ask them, and let me write my report in peace."

Jim was still not convinced. "I don't know. I'd ask old O'Donnell, but I think he was asked to go back and be a professor." He caught sight of Bones' glare. "Alright, I'm going, I'm going…" He stood up and stretched. Then, PADD under his arm, he made his way through the long, spotless shelves in search of someone to ask.

"Unbelievable," Bones muttered, turning back to his PADD.

Meanwhile, Jim was feeling unsure. It wasn't something he enjoyed, nor something he encountered very often. Whether it was making a controversial decision in the simulation deck or flirting with someone he didn't know, he always knew what he was doing. How do you ask for the name of the guy who came up with a theorem you couldn't remember? 'Hello, who was the guy who came up with that equation about probability and outcomes?' That just didn't work. If he only knew the module…

The librarian's counter was empty. O'Donnell never left the counter unmanned, even when he was making his rounds.

Jim regarded it for a moment, feeling annoyed. He could wait for whoever was on duty to come back. Or there was also the option of browsing aimlessly to try and luck out. His fingernail tapped against the shelf on his left. The chances of hitting the right disc in the vast library archives was abysmally small, but then, he hated waiting. Well, nothing for it. He picked a section and pulled out several titles at random.

A pair of brown eyes stared back at him. He almost dropped his PADD.

They stared at him through the gap the removed discs had created. He quickly composed himself; James T. Kirk didn't let a pair of eyes shake his composure and his aura of awesomeness. He might devote some thought to how his reputation would suffer, despite all the flawless examinations, legendary simulation showings and less formal conquests. If only those eyes would stop staring.

"Um. Hi." He smiled, then realized belatedly that it was like smiling at a wall- of course the person couldn't see him, whoever it was. On account of the shelf being in the way. How awkward. But let it not be said that Jim Kirk is not a social animal. He slotted the titles back, swaggered to the next section and smiled again. And stopped.

"Do you require assistance?"

The man was Vulcan. Which pretty much rendered the term 'man' invalid. Jim had assumed it was a 'he' almost immediately (he had met some females taller than him… none had been humanoid when it came to skin tone) from what he had been able to wean from the gap in the shelf, but he would never expect a Vulcan. The eyebrows and pointed ears were unmistakeable.

He realised he had been asked a question, and looked at the Vulcan curiously. "Actually, yes." He paused. "I am not sure if you can help me, though." He was undoubtedly a staff member, for all his youthful looks. The black uniform let on that much. The librarian? No, impossible, he knew the library staff. If by 'knew' one meant having memorised shift schedules to accommodate that one fling he had with the petite library trainee. There had been no Vulcan, he was sure of that.

"It is illogical to come to that conclusion unless you pose a question I am unable to answer."

How about if I am unable to even ask the question in the first place? Jim thought sourly. He tried to phrase the question in his mind, but it didn't sound right no matter how he arranged and rearranged it. Bugger. "I'm looking for… a theorem. I know I've come across it, but I can't remember what module it was." he laughed uneasily. "I don't really remember much about it. It was about certainty, probability and outcomes, I think." He hated how unsure he sounded. Indecisive. Weak. Well done, Jim. Stellar. More for the staff to talk about over coffee break. Did Vulcans drink coffee? Everybody drank coffee. Maybe black. No, better make that cappuccino. His imagination, rising unbidden like dough with too much yeast, yielded an image of the Vulcan before him with a foam moustache.

Seemingly unaware of the Cadet's undignified ruminations, the Vulcan thought for a while. At least, that's what Jim assumed he was doing, since he wasn't talking and neither was he, but the lack of body language made Jim a little uncomfortable. Most people at least shifted a little. Or folded their arms. Tapped the table, maybe let their eyes wander.

The Vulcan just stood there, steadily upright with every manner of control that just felt short of being describable as 'stiff'. Jim felt the urge to fidget, mentally kicked himself, and compensated with a slight lift of the eyebrows and an easy smile. The other's response was a much better executed eyebrow raise. If his own eyebrow had a mind, it would be feeling inferior.

Now, there was a strange thought.

"You may be referring to a theorem not frequently employed by the teaching staff in the classroom," came the Vulcan's voice, interrupting Jim's thoughts. "Kholovsky's theorem of certainty and predicted outcomes, perhaps?"

Something in Jim's brain went click. The niggling feeling disappeared, and he suddenly remembered. "Applied psychology and mathematics! Module 6 in Intermediate Piloting, of course!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. A few heads turned to look at him in mild accusation, and he lowered his voice. "Ah- sorry. Yeah, that's the one I was looking for. Is there a disc on it?"

"Certainly." The Vulcan replied. He reached up into a nearby shelf and pulled one out. He held it out to Jim, who took it. It didn't look new, in the same way an unused building doesn't look freshly built, but he could tell it had never been on the 'Most Frequently Loaned' list. The Vulcan's first comment only reinforced the thought. Then, "Do you require further assistance?"

"No, that should be all. I couldn't remember the theorem, though it's only been two years.. But that's it, everything else should be fine." He smiled. "I'm writing a simulation report, you see. Thank you for your help, Mr…?"

The implied question was completely ignored. The silence stretched awkwardly… The brown eyes were staring at him again. If it came down to an eyebrow war, he knew he was going to lose spectacularly.

"Ah, well, I'll go write that report." Jim rallied. "Thanks for the disc!" He left the Vulcan standing where he was, and made his way back to where Bones was making good progress. He thought he was imagining it, but the hair was standing on end on the back of his neck, as if he was still being watched. He glanced around, past several sections at the place where the encounter had taken place, but whoever it was, he was gone. What a strange guy. Jim found himself wondering about Vulcan customs and protocol; had he insulted him in some way? That was Uhura's area of expertise after all, not his… He hadn't even known there was a Vulcan in the Academy, staff member or otherwise. They had their own academy after all, didn't they?

Jim looked down at his PADD. Snippets of the lecture floated through his mind. It was in his first year at the Starfleet Academy, and he had just gained permission to cut short his Basic Piloting in favour of the Intermediate level. He had been inordinately proud of his knack with a ship's controls, and the professor had been glad to be rid of the cadet that surpassed his own simulation score by 2 percentage points… He had signed the necessary paperwork with obvious relief. And so the next day, Jim Kirk was armed with three signed letters and joined the Second Years for a lecture on Applied Psychology and Mathematics. It was only for simulations and lectures, unfortunately… He still had to sit through the Basic Piloting tutorials. But it would be worth it.

They won't know what hit them, Jim thought as he slid the disc into a slot in his PADD, his mind turning to the simulation examiners. You want a full-length report? I'll give you a full-length report. James T. Kirk-style.

When Jim and Bones were leaving the library, the counter was being manned by Simmons, a librarian Jim recognised. The Vulcan was nowhere to be seen.

This was, in fact, due to the individual in question sifting busily through staff records in the staff lounge database. 'Busily' being a word that could be used to describe everything he did, with method and purpose. At the present moment he was drawing up a list of professors and lecturers who taught Applied Psychology and Mathematics two years prior, and cross-checking student data.

It was unorthodox, and completely illogical. Yet strangely fascinating, nonetheless. Kholovsky was as brilliant and obscure as they came.

A door to his left slid open with a barely audible hiss, admitting a short, deceptively mousy individual with sharp eyes. They quickly darted over the Vulcan, taking in his actions. "Mr Spock. Up and about, I am pleased to see. Something bothering you, sir?"

The Vulcan- Mr Spock- looked up. His face was completely emotionless. "My mind is at ease, Mr Brudeau. I merely find myself occupied by an unforeseen matter at hand." He looked back at the records the computer was showing on the screen. "Yet I find myself at somewhat of a loss."

"Looking up some cadets, are you?" he peered at the screen. "Not that I find anything wrong with it, but if you don't mind me asking, Mr Spock, why?"

"A Cadet inquired about Kholovsky's theorem of certainty and predicted outcomes, for his simulation report," the Vulcan called Mr Spock replied smoothly, and the other man looked at him in interest. "As it is referred to in Second Year curriculum, I meant to ascertain the Cadet's identity through lecture records." and inclined his head slightly towards the screen. "There must be some mistake. If the module was taken two years ago, he is certainly a Fourth Year."

The man Mr Brudeau glanced at the screen. "Pas du tout, Mr Spock. Your method is logical, but flawed. If I may." The Vulcan allowed the man to tap something into the computer. A photograph appeared on the screen. "Is that your Fourth Year, Mr Spock?"

The pixels assembled into James T. Kirk's face, smiling lazily into the unseen camera. Mr Spock's eyes, before they slid to the data beside the picture, noted a slight shadow dusting the cadet's cheekbone, as if he had been in a fight. "A Third Year?" His eyebrows knit together almost imperceptibly. Then an asterisk under the column marked 'Modules' caught his eye. "Ah."

"Remarkable cadet, that boy. Memory like nothing I've ever seen," Mr Brudeau rubbed his arthritic knuckles enthusiastically. "I must say I am surprised he remembered the theorem, I am quite sure I did not spend more than ten minutes on it, out of a three-hour lecture. He's writing a report, you say?"

"Indeed."

"I shall make sure to bully Linda over in simulations a little so she'll let me read it," Mr Brudeau cackled. "Good day, Mr Spock." And he let himself out with another soft hiss of the doors.

Silence filled the staff lounge. Then, with a few rapid clicks wiping the screens blank again, Mr Spock went to make some tea.

James Tiberius Kirk.

There it is, Chapter Two! It's a tad longer than the first, probably because it's more descriptive… Less flirting, more Spock. I hope it's alright.

'Pas du tout': 'Not at all', French. I got his name because I suddenly randomly thought of Amelie, and simplified the name Brodeteau/Brotedeau. Amelie is fantastic

I'm sort of having fun inventing the names of modules and subjects befitting a space academy. Please forgive me if I stray from actual ST reality a little!

Thank you for reading, please review!

~Aiji