Chapter Twelve: Kobayashi Maru Redux
Disclaimer: Don't own but wish I did.
"Just the person I want to see!"
Nyota feels an arm drape over her shoulders as she starts up the steps of the biological sciences building. Without pausing, she turns her head and glares at Jim Kirk.
"I have a class in five minutes," she says, shrugging off his arm.
"Not a problem," Kirk says, his signature grin lighting up his face. "I only need one minute of your time. Please? I came all this way to see you."
Nyota rolls her eyes. "Don't you live in that dorm right there? The building next to this one?"
It's a statement, not a question, and Kirk chuckles in response.
"Okay, so maybe I didn't come all that far, but it's important. And I'm desperate."
Clearly she isn't going to get rid of him easily. With a sigh, Nyota shifts her PADD in her arm and pauses on the top step. "Alright," she says. "I'm listening."
Kirk's expression is suddenly serious. "Remember when you said you'd be part of my Kobayashi Maru team?"
"I was, remember? I watched you go down in a spectacular defeat."
"Yeah, so," Kirk says, pursing his lips, "I've asked for another go. A redo. It's allowed," he says, as if to head off the objection she's already formulating. "I checked. I've already signed up. Today, 1800."
Nyota's jaw goes slack. Why would anyone want to do the Kobayashi Maru twice? The test is not graded—or at least the cadets never know exactly how the Academy uses the results. A character assessment—that's all anyone is ever told. Only those students in the command track are required to take it, though almost everyone has participated in some way or another.
With a start, Nyota closes her mouth and tips her chin down. "Okay, but why are you telling me this?"
"I want you on my team again," Kirk says, a note of pleading in his voice. "On communications. I need you."
"No thanks." Nyota starts toward the door. "I already helped you once."
"But you're the best in the communications program. I can't pass it without you."
"You can't pass it with me. You already tried."
"But this time I know what to expect," Kirk says. "I know how to plan."
"Good luck with that. Now move. I have to go before I'm late."
As she reaches out to pull the door handle to enter the building, Kirk's hand darts out to grab her forearm. Nyota looks down at his outstretched fingers and then up at him, and to his credit, Kirk blushes and raises his hands like someone in surrender.
"I'm sorry," he stammers. "That was uncalled for. It's just—you promised to help me. I was counting on you."
"I did help you," Nyota says. "Promise kept."
"Your actual words," Kirk says, his grin sliding back into place, "were I promise to help you when you take the Kobayashi Maru test. Period. You didn't promise to help me one time only, but whenever I take it. I'm taking it again, so I need your help again. Like you promised."
Puppy dog eyes—that's what Gaila calls Jim Kirk's expression when he asks for something this way. Despite herself, Nyota laughs. Kirk lifts his arms in celebration.
"Then you'll do it! Thanks so much, Sally! Or Susan! Or whoever you are, Cadet Uhura! You won't be sorry!"
"I already am," she says, but Kirk is leaping down the steps, not listening.
Walking down the hallway to her xenobiology class, she mentally runs through her schedule for the rest of the day. She's supposed to work in the language lab all afternoon, but she can tell Spock that she needs to finish early.
Nor surprisingly, Professor Lafferty isn't yet in the biology lecture room. Nyota takes her seat and taps open her PADD mail queue.
I need to close the lab at 1700, she types. Almost as soon as she hits the send button, Spock responds.
Explain.
In the past—before she knew him better—that kind of one word reply would have sounded abrupt. Well, it is abrupt, but she would have interpreted it to mean more than it does. Now she knows it is Vulcan verbal efficiency, pure and simple. She gives a little smile.
One of the cadets is taking the Kobayashi Maru at 1800 and asked me to be a team member. I agreed.
The noise level in the class rises suddenly and Nyota looks up as Professor Lafferty enters. Raised on Terlilian, he's an expert on xenoamphibians in the ring colonies. He's funny and gregarious and popular—and often late and disorganized. As much as Nyota appreciates his lectures, she finds his freewheeling attitude about time and grades an annoyance. Give her a professor like Spock any day—punctual and exacting to a fault—over someone so casual.
Today is no different. Surrounded by several students, the professor makes his way slowly to the front of the room, talking and laughing and completely oblivious to the students who are already seated and waiting for him to begin. With a little huff, Nyota looks at her PADD. To her surprise, Spock has written back only a single word.
Unwise.
Immediately she's rankled. What does he mean? That it's unwise to close the lab early, or unwise to help a cadet with the Kobayashi Maru? Is he disappointed that she's leaving early because he wanted to spend time with her, constrained as it is? Or is he commenting about Jim Kirk? As the lead programmer of the Kobayashi Maru, Spock would know who was requesting an unprecedented retake.
So much for Vulcan verbal efficiency. What good is it if it causes confusion? Her fingers fly over her PADD.
You explain.
Again Spock's reply is almost instantaneous.
Lab hours have been posted. Students expect you.
Nyota's face flushes; she feels scolded, and angry. It's not like Spock to state the obvious, and she holds her fingers over her PADD, ready to tell him so.
"Cadet Uhura!" Professor Lafferty's voice reverberates in the lecture hall. Nyota jumps and looks to the front of the room where the professor is standing, one hand pointing to her. She's startled—not just because he called her name or that he has obviously started class while she was distracted, but because every eye in the room is now on her. "Yes, you, Cadet. Your research on the divergent evolution of bloodtooth nematodes was exemplary. Do I have your permission to post it as a model for all of those who did not turn in an acceptable paper?"
Professor Lafferty sweeps his gaze around the room meaningfully as he says this—and Nyota flushes in embarrassment. Although xenobiology is not a particular interest of hers, she works as hard in this class as she does in her communication courses and it shows. And of course Spock does have a particular interest in xenobiology and is willing—even eager—to spend hours discussing it with her. The payoff is that she feels as comfortable in the class as if she were a biology major, like most of the other students.
"Uh, no, that's fine," she stutters. Some of the eyes on her are filled with admiration; others with envy. Well, she can't do anything about what people feel. She didn't ask for special recognition.
"Thank you," Professor Lafferty says. "Now, if everyone will direct your attention to the screen, I want to show you some pictures of a recently discovered species of eels on Cestis Three—"
Relieved when the students turn their attention from her, Nyota lowers her eyes to her PADD and rereads Spock's last comment: Lab hours have been posted. Students expect you.
Taking a deep breath, she writes, You could staff the lab for me. Problem solved.
She's half joking—but half serious, too. Spock usually works in his office while she works with students in the language lab—so technically he's available if anyone needs his help. How much trouble would it be for him to sit in the lab for an hour instead of in his office?
Her PADD makes an audible ding as his reply flashes on the screen—and the student sitting to her left puts his finger to his lips.
"Sorry!" she says, mortified. With the flick of her thumb she mutes the sound and then angles the PADD to read.
I will be unavailable at that time. Your presence is necessary.
No, it isn't! She sets the lab hours. She can change them! What was she thinking just a few minutes ago—that she preferred Spock's fondness for following the rules more than Professor Lafferty's loose-in-the-saddle style?
The student to her left shifts in his seat and glares, but Nyota pointedly ignores him and continues to tap her fingers hard on her PADD.
I'll make up the lost time later this evening. My presence at the Kobayashi Maru test is necessary.
Part of her annoyance is with Jim Kirk for putting her in this position. Not that she wants to waste a fruitless two hours watching him crash and burn again—which she has no doubt he will.
But another, larger, part of her annoyance is with Spock—for being prickly or rigid or something about her helping out another cadet. If, in fact, that's why he is being prickly or rigid or something.
Peering at her PADD, she waits for Spock's reply. Nothing.
"Cadet Uhura? Do I have your attention?"
Professor Lafferty again—and with a start Nyota realizes that she must not have heard him call her name the first time.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I was…busy."
No one actually laughs, but Nyota feels a wave of amusement at her expense travel around the room. If anyone was envious of her being called out before, surely now they aren't.
As the professor calls on another student, Nyota resists the temptation to slump in her seat. Instead, she sits up straight—almost defiant—and spends the rest of the hour both listening to the lecture and planning what she's going to say when she sees Spock.
X X X
"Hey, it's going to be alright." From the simulation control room window overlooking the mock-up, Spock watches as Nyota drapes her arm over Jim Kirk's slumped shoulders. "You gave it your best shot."
"Yeah, that's what bothers me." Cadet Kirk's voice is rough with what Spock assumes is the distress humans typically demonstrate when faced with failure. Pulling her arm away, Nyota pats Kirk lightly on the back, like someone comforting a child.
Which in a way she is. Cadet Kirk should have known better than to think he could beat the Kobayashi Maru with pure bravado. If anything, his performance this time was worse than the first. Granted, the test wasn't exactly the same—though the titular ship was still the focus. This time instead of three Klingon cruisers, the test crew had to deal with two cloaked Romulan warbirds—requiring a much more nuanced strategy than the one Cadet Kirk tried to employ.
The young man walks out of Spock's field of vision, exiting the mock-up room. Slowly, Nyota turns toward the glass, puts her hands on her hips, and looks in his direction.
He's doubtful that she can actually see him—but she appears to know where he is. Spock feels a shiver he can't account for. Gathering his briefcase, he hurries out of the control room and down the stairs. By the time he reaches the bottom, Nyota is already there.
"Was that really necessary?"
Her question catches him up short. The tone denotes that she is angry, though why she is escapes him.
"The cadet requested the test," he says simply, taking a step down the hall to the exit. After a moment, Nyota follows and catches up.
"Did you have to make it so…so… impossible! Are you trying to beat him down?"
A sudden pang in his side shortens his breath. She's angry on Cadet Kirk's behalf. What does that signify?
Swallowing, Spock says, "The test was within prescribed parameters—no more challenging for Cadet Kirk than for other trainees—"
"Romulans! Cloaked ships! What trainee can deal effectively with those? That would hard for experienced starship captains!"
"Precisely," Spock says, trying to sound calmer than he feels. "The test was designed to offer realistic but challenging scenarios."
"But you're setting cadets up to fail. Do you know how discouraging that is—how demoralizing it is?"
"Learning to deal effectively with negative emotions is an essential part of any cadet's education. No one should be in the command track who hasn't gained that measure of control."
"You're saying that a starship captain shouldn't have emotions."
"I am saying that mastery of emotions is a critical aspect of command."
"I guess you'd be happier if Vulcans were in charge."
As soon as she says the words, her hand is at her mouth—a fruitless human gesture indicating a desire to withdraw a spoken comment.
"I'm sorry," she says, her eyes brimming. "I didn't mean that."
Spock pauses before the door leading outside the building and considers how to respond. It's an entrenched human idea, the notion that Vulcans are emotionless, and one Nyota surely does not ascribe to. However, even if she does not mean her words literally, she is telling him something.
"Perhaps you should tell me what you do mean," he says at last, pushing open the door and waiting as she exits first. The sun has been down for 32 minutes and the temperature has dropped accordingly. Nyota shivers visibly and Spock struggles not to press against her as they begin walking across the commons toward the language lab.
"I mean," she says slowly, "those cadets who fail the Kobayashi Maru, they're going to be disappointed. They're going to be upset. That doesn't mean they won't make good captains one day. Humans just don't have the control you have. You don't understand how hard it is to not feel something."
For a few moments their footfalls are the only sound. To his dismay, Spock is stung by Nyota's words—and by what they mean.
"Is that what you believe?" he says. In the twilight her face is in shadow, her expression unreadable. He goes on.
"I have not taken the Kobayashi Maru test, but if I did, I would feel anger and dismay and disappointment when I failed—and I would fail. Negative emotions are not unknown to me. I know what it is to be lonely and afraid, to feel regret, to be ashamed—"
"I didn't mean that you don't feel!"
Another declaration about what she doesn't mean. Picking his words carefully, Spock starts again.
"I control my emotions because I must, Nyota, or they will overwhelm me. Just as every starship captain must control his emotions for the safety of his crew. There is no choice in the matter. The Kobayashi Maru is, above all, a test of character. If such a lesson causes discomfort, that is unfortunate but unavoidable."
Darting a glance in her direction, he can see that her head is tucked down, her arms crossed across her chest in an ineffectual attempt to conserve body heat. As they reach the broad white steps of the language building, Nyota jiggles from one foot to another in the cold.
For a few moments they stand in silence, and then Spock says, "You are incorrect when you say that I do not understand how hard it is to not feel something." He waits a beat and then adds, "Our relationship is proof that I do understand."
He should say more—he can tell from her head canted to the side that she is listening intently, that she expects him to continue.
But how to put into concise, precise words what he means—that from the first time he saw her he has struggled not to feel, not to be pulled, not to indulge in fantasies and dreams about her. How his mind has lost an unequal battle with his metaphorical heart, how his literal heart speeds up when he sees her.
He should try to tell her all this—but he is suddenly very, very tired.
Later, maybe, after she finishes the make-up hour she's scheduled in the lab, he'll try again to let her know that more than anyone he understands the Kobayashi Maru—how each day he fails his own character test, willingly, risking his career in Starfleet, and hers, too, for this feeling he can hardly name, that he can hardly control, that threatens to consume him.
A/N: I've been out of town and off the grid—but hopefully my muse and I are back for awhile! Your reviews help! Thanks to everyone who reads and leaves a note!