Chapter Three: Xenophobia
Disclaimer: I neither own nor profit from these characters—at least not in the literal sense. Metaphorically is another matter.
"You're joking, right?"
Gaila is standing at the foot of her bed, sorting through several scarves piled there. She picks up one and discards it to the floor, then chooses another and wraps it around her shoulders. With a twitch of irritation, she pulls it back off and drops it, too.
"Check your mail," Nyota says, leaning down to pick up the scarves. "It's in the afternoon bulletin."
With a huff, Gaila flops backward onto her bed. Nyota drapes the scarves over a chair near Gaila's desk and then sits on her own bed, turning to face her roommate.
"It's just a precaution—"
"I feel like I'm in prison!" Gaila exclaims. "I can take care of myself!"
Nyota starts to speak but Gaila heads her off with a raised hand.
"And don't tell me that this is for my own good, either! This is crazy. This is an overreaction—"
"Gaila—"
"I've been walking past them every day this week and no one—no one—has said anything to me!"
Gaila sits up and waves her arms over her head.
"The media has blown this all out of proportion," she says loudly, "and now I'm having to pay the price."
No use arguing with her when she's this torqued up, Nyota decides. Gaila's probably right, too—the anti-alien protesters who have camped outside the Academy gates in the past couple of days have been relatively quiet and few in number, at least until today. Requiring all cadets and active-duty personnel to travel with partners to and from the campus is an inconvenience—and an insulting one at that. If they can't handle some disaffected protesters here—
Well, Gaila is right to feel annoyed—though Nyota points out that off-world cadets are not the only ones who must abide by the travel restrictions.
"We're still going out tonight," she says, and Gaila's face lights up.
"That's true," Gaila says brightly. "You and me and Jerzy Markum--"
"What?!" Nyota says, and Gaila looks intently at her own fingernails.
"Didn't I tell you?" she says, honey and innocence in her voice. "Jerzy said he wanted to come dancing with us—"
"Gaila, this was supposed to be a girls night out—"
"Naturally I told him no, but he was so broken-hearted, Nyota, I just couldn't do that do him. You don't mind, do you? Please?"
In spite of herself, Nyota laughs. Gaila bats her eyelashes and rests her chin on her folded hands.
"Please?"
"Well, if you think—"
"He said he had a friend for you, too—" Gaila says, and Nyota's face hardens quickly.
"Nope, nope, nope. Forget it. If you want to go dancing with Jerzy, go. But leave me out. Not interested. Definitely. Not. Interested."
"He's coming by at 1900," Gaila says, hopping up from her bed.
"I won't be here," Nyota replies, gathering up her satchel and putting several PADDs and folders inside. "I have work to do in the lab."
"Oh, yeah," Gaila says mischievously. "Work in the lab. Will the Commander be there? Late?"
Nyota feels a rush of heat creep up her neck as she slips on her shoes and looks around for her purse.
"In fact, he won't," she says. Gaila's "hmmpf!" denotes as much surprise as disbelief.
"His mother," Nyota says, "is in town, and he's going to be with her tonight. Stop snooping. It's unbecoming."
Gaila smirks and gives a little trilling laugh as Nyota opens the door to leave.
"Don't forget," Gaila calls, "1900 hours! Jerzy and I will wait for you!"
Nyota slams the door and Gaila adds, "Or maybe we won't."
X X X X X X X X
"You aren't going to like it," Natalie says, handing Chris Pike a printout of his schedule for the coming week. "This new order is putting the kibosh on everybody."
Pike takes the paper and scans it as he takes a seat behind his desk in the same room where he had conducted Spock's interview three days earlier. Natalie watches him from the corner of her eye and waits for him to look up before she begins talking.
"Two of the candidates on the short list can come by this afternoon," she says, "but Lieutenant Commander Simms drew escort duty for the next two days. And Johnson, too. As long as the brass are worried about that crowd turning violent—well, better safe than sorry, I guess—"
She lets her words drift off and Pike frowns.
"And Commander Spock? He's walking cadets around, too?"
Pike says this with a tone in his voice that catches Natalie by surprise.
"No, sir," she answers. "He said he has another commitment. He made his apologies."
Pike taps a stylus idly against the PADD on his desk.
"Reschedule Simms and Johnson," he says. "I'll talk to Barnett later and see when he's thinking about rescinding this ridiculous thing."
"It might not be so ridiculous," Natalie ventures. "The news last night—"
"I saw it," Pike says. "But that was just a couple of drunks giving some cadets a hard time."
"Maybe," Natalie says. "Or maybe this thing is growing. That crowd by the gates is larger every day—and louder."
Pike sighs and puts his stylus down.
"I know," he says. "It just feels….wrong."
Natalie waits another moment before saying, "Want me to reschedule Commander Spock, too?"
"Did he say what that prior commitment was?"
"No, sir, just that he was unable to meet with you today or tomorrow. I can call and ask."
"Forget it," Pike says. "If he were really interested, he'd get free."
"Did you look at the rest of the schedule?" Natalie asks, and Pike picks up the paper. Again Natalie watches his face carefully, and sure enough he reacts as she expects.
"No, Nat, no!" he says. "You promised you'd get me out of that conference."
"Sorry, old man," she says with a grimace, "but Barnett himself said you were going."
"Wait until I talk to him—" Pike begins, but Natalie sits up and shakes her head.
"Don't even try," she says. "He made it clear that he wants you there."
"But—"
"No but's," Natalie says firmly. "Consider it the price of being the captain of Starfleet's finest. Part of what you have to do is PR—so just suck it up and go. You might even have a good time."
"At a conference with a bunch of sociologists—and linguists—and ethnobiologists—please! Maybe at a conference on the physics of warp coil configurations—but please, please, don't make me sit and chat up a bunch of specialists on culture—"
"You're going, so get over it!" Natalie says laughing. For all his bluster, Pike is an extrovert who enjoys talking to strangers—and anything that he thinks will help his ship is interesting to him—even technical papers on obscure alien dialects. But he is busy—and the conference means a trip to Amsterdam and the loss of several days of work.
"I really have to go?" he asks, and Natalie nods.
"I'll send you the details," she says. "You want to wait until you get back to finish the interviews? Maybe by then things will quiet down—"
"No, go ahead and call them in. Those two guys—"
"Simms and Johnson?"
"Yeah, see if they can come in before I leave. I want to get this settled as soon as possible. I need someone to start going over the preliminary manifest—"
"And Commander Spock? You sure you don't want me to get in touch with him?"
"Natalie," Pike says, suddenly serious. She puts her hands in her lap and turns to give him her full attention. "I don't think…I mean, I thought about what you said—and I don't think I'm being unreasonable here."
Natalie frowns slightly and Pike adds, "I don't think his being a Vulcan is influencing my decision."
"Okay," Natalie says.
"I'm not a xenophobe—"
"I know that."
"But this guy isn't making it easy. Look, I was going to give him another interview and he turned me down. What can I do?"
"Nothing, I guess," Natalie says. But she doesn't look up at Pike as she speaks, and she knows he can read her disapproval.
For a moment they sit in silence, and then Pike says, "If I still don't feel good about any of these other candidates, I'll call him again when I get back from Amsterdam this weekend. How's that?"
Natalie sighs and looks up.
"Chris, whoever you choose as your first officer is your business."
"Thanks, Nat—"
"But choosing a first officer isn't like making a snap decision in the middle of a battle—you don't have to rush this. I know you like getting things settled—that's how you are—but something this important might need a little more time. That's all I'm saying."
Pike nods and smiles slowly.
"Thank you, mother," he says. "Duly noted. Now, how about a drink somewhere? I know a little bar just off the Embarcadero that I've been wanting to try."
A/N: Thanks for the suggestions and the willingness to suspend your disbelief when you run into the inconsistencies in my fiction!