The skinny dipping experience had been a one-time occasion. But at least three times a week after classes Christine would trade in her crimson uniform for a bathing suit and head out to the bay waters.
Sometimes she'd go with Janice and other cadets while other times she'd go by herself. After two weeks of getting water in her ears and nose, Christine began to feel a constant rhythm whenever riding on the waves and perfecting the butterfly crawl. She discovered that she could tread water for long periods of time and keep an eye out for any incoming tidal waves, plunging underneath them just in time to avoid a head-on collision. The water seemed to clear her mind of any stressful recollections. She began swimming further and faster as the semester went on.
The constant exercise and fresh salty air increased her appetite. She'd come back to the mess hall feeling refreshed and heartily dig in to the prepared hot meals waiting for ravenous cadets. After chatting with her friends over dinner Christine would take a hot shower, climb into her clean little bed, and fall into a deep relaxed sleep.
Gradually Christine's body began to change. Her legs became toned from working out and her ribs didn't stick out of her sides anymore. Her face became fuller, her breasts rounded out, and a pleasant tan turned her skin honey-colored. A few freckles spread across the bridge of her nose and even her eyelashes looked thicker and longer. Gaila had generously given her another bottle of Orion hair lotion so Christine added it to her personal daily hygiene plan which kept the bob cut shiny and made her blonde hair glisten in the morning sun.
A-A-A
Months later:
It began like any other ordinary school day.
Christine was in one of the test rooms, a studio stimulated to look like the interior of a Starfleet sick bay. If not for the emergency exit sign and the vinyl paneling on the walls to block out any sunlight, she would've sworn they were already on a starship.
She and five other cadets were taking notes and watching the instructor demonstrate the inner chambers of the Cormethian heart valve. She was trying to be attentive but the intense heat of the room was making her sleepy and irritable. Christine shifted from one foot to another, trying to listen to the instructor and all the while hoping the session could end faster. She wanted to rip off her uniform and go plunging into the ocean. Was her jacket always this tight across the chest? Did her feet pinch up this often?
"After clearing the passage it is necessary to keep the heart at an even steady rhythm and maintain an exterior temperature of 82.7 degrees Fahrenheit. The smallest and most delicate chamber of the heart is a first priority and it is called..."
The instructor glanced at his students, waiting for an answer.
Christine's hand wiped a strand of sweat from her forehead and she waited for someone else to respond. No one did. Reluctantly, she raised her hand ever-so-slightly to avoid detection of the sweat that was staining her underarms of the jacket.
"Is it the vascular proton chamber, sir?" she asked.
"Correct."
After what felt like an infinity of standing in the testing room, a few musical bells chimed to mark the end of the period. Christine skipped out ahead as quickly as possible to avoid the rush of students who were only too eager to get out of the humid chamber. Once outside she undid the buttons of her jacket and began fanning the red shirt underneath against her body. The afternoon breeze was a blessed welcome on her damp skin.
"Ow!" she cried out suddenly. The sharp point of a PADD had jabbed into her arm, almost knocking her off balance. She staggered sideways in time to see Beru Noir slip the PADD under her arm and stroll off towards the dormitories.
"I just don't get that girl," a fellow cadet remarked with a shake of her head. "She can rattle for hours on about shoes and jewelry but once in class the only thing Beru knows about is making us miserable."
"She should be expelled," someone added.
"Yeah, when hell freezes over. The Noirs fund Starfleet with the best space equipment in this sector so the rich family calls the shots."
"I don't care. Someone's gotta do something about Beru!"
"And someone will," Christine muttered under her breath. Maybe it was the constriction of her clothes or just the time of the day. But for once she wasn't feeling so sweet or polite. She hadn't said a word to anyone else about the ruined uniforms or humiliation at the conservatory or even reported Beru to the other instructors.
But now the irritancy that boiled up inside of Christine was so strong that she was determined to give Beru a piece of her mind...if not a fist to the nose.
A-A-A
Beru was clad in a sequined cocktail gown and putting on the finishing touches of her makeup when the panel door slid open. Christine had taken off her jacket and was carrying it over an arm, the other hand placed firmly on her hip. Beru didn't even look up from the vanity counter. She spoke to Christine's reflection in the mirror while swabbing her eyelids in blue powder.
"Well, well. If it isn't the Chicken of the Sea," she drawled out. "I hope you bath after all that crazy swimming. Boys don't like girls that stink of fish."
Christine just stood there, azure eyes blazing into the back of Beru's neck.
"If there's something you want to say then speak up. I'm having dinner with the mayor in twenty minutes."
"Yes, there is something I want to say to you." Christine took a step forward. "Why do you go out of your way to torment us? Does it actually make you feel good to humiliate other people?"
"Yes," Beru answered tartly. "It does."
"And what if you were the one being picked on? Still think it would feel so good?"
Beru, who had been lining her mouth with a thick red gloss, glanced back at the other girl's reflection. She was trying to smack her lips together and feign disinterest but Christine could tell she was listening.
Christine straightened up as tall as she could. Reminded of Mrs. Donovan's short but efficient lectures she spoke firmly and candidly.
"I have a piece of information that might enlighten you, Beru Noir. Saying that someone else is ignorant, ugly, or pathetic will not make you any more intelligent, pretty, or productive. You may feel different after insulting someone but the facts remain the same."
Noir slammed the tube of lipstick down on the table fiercely and turned around to face Christine. "Oh really? And what are the facts?"
Christine took another step closer.
"You have a diseased ego. And if you were paying the slightest bit attention in class then you'd know people get nauseous from being around someone with a diseased ego. It makes them sick. You can't buy someone's respect the way you buy Centari diamonds."
Christine never imagined Beru would throw herself out of the chair and stride up to her, red hair flaring around her face like a lion's mane. The words spit out of Beru's mouth with venomous hatred.
"How dare you speak to me like that!" she shouted at Christine, shaking a finger in her face. "You, the Ms. Perfect of the advanced classes! You have no idea what I have to put up with! You have no right to tell me how I feel, or that I have a-a-diseased ego," she sputtered at last.
"I have as much right as anyone who paints my uniforms," Christine shot back.
"Of course, your precious uniforms. You must love Starfleet to death," Beru sneered. "You're such a goody two-shoes. But what about me? Do you think I like being in Starfleet? Facing dull classes and these awful uniforms day after day? Not getting a chance to breath or think or ever say what I want? I hate it here! I goddam hate itand I hate you! "
She finished the tantrum by stamping the floor with her foot and then collapsed into a chair, out of breath and flushed from screaming.
Christine remained still and numbed in place. She was too surprised at this new side of Beru that seemed to have exploded out of nowhere, revealing a new side to her personality. She had no idea how much Beru was hurting inside…or what had brought the fit on.
In a calm voice she asked, "If you hate Starfleet so much then why are you here?"
Beru hit the side of the chair with her fist. "Come on! An insignificant person like you can't imagine what it's like coming from a family with such high standards. My goddam father didn't think I was getting enough stimulation on Centari. Thought I could 'build character' if he put me on the first shuttle to California and sent me to a fancy school."
She seemed to be talking more to herself than Christine but the young woman continued to listen attentively.
"Imagine it. Me, Beru Noir, in a military academy." Beru gave a short bitter laugh. "I'm not a solider or an engineer and I never will be. Zipping around the cosmos in some crazy ship with Klingons firing at you while someone hurls into a bucket every ten seconds? Never. I wasn't made for this kind of a life. I love beautiful clothes. I like having a good time at parties and rubbing elbows with important people. That's who I am and if nobody likes it then they can go to hell."
She threw one last glare in Christine's direction. "So now you know, little miss perfect. Now get out of here so I can stew in the rest of my miserable life."
Christine did not leave. She did not speak or move for thirty seconds. To think that all this time Beru had been tormenting Christine because her own life was fractured and unfulfilled. She actually felt sorry for the red-headed girl. Her own family didn't support her at all. She probably didn't have any friends in Starfleet, at least friends as good as Janice-
"You heard me. GET OUT!" Beru screamed. "Or do I have to throw you out myself?"
In the softest tone she could muster Christine asked Beru, "Why don't you go to New York City?"
Beru's head swiveled around sharply. "Why the hell would I do that?" she snapped.
"Janice Rand is from New York City," Christine explained. "She says it's a busy metropolis. You could move there and you wouldn't have to worry about what your father says."
"I would worry," Beru retorted. "If he found out I dropped out of Starfleet, I'd be disinherited. Cut off without a credit to my name."
"So get a career of your own and do what you want," Christine insisted. She couldn't believe she was giving Beru advice but somehow the idea seemed logical.
"You could use your family connections to get in touch with people on the East Coast. It's a very glamorous place."
Her words must have done something because Beru seemed to have calmed down a little. Instead of yelling at Christine she was starring at her with a dazed expression. For once she seemed to be taking Christine's words seriously.
"It can't be any worse than Starfleet, can it?" Christine pointed out. And then to add just a note of optimism she added, "New York has to be better than here for you."
Beru did not give her a direct answer. She stood up straight and smoothed out her dress to compose herself again. One hand reached up to remove a wisp of stray hair that had fallen into her face. Within seconds her calm mask of a social woman was in place instead of a shrieking cadet.
"I'm going to be late," she announced in a strained voice. She wrapped a heavy fringed shawl around her shoulders, picked up her purse, and walked out of the room without giving Christine another glance.
A-A-A
Two days later at Starfleet Student Medical Clinic:
"The only reason your uniforms are so tight is because you've grown so much," explained the female physician. She motioned for Christine to step off the body scanner and line up against a wall.
"Hmmm, yes." Her blue intennas waved in the air while she glanced at the computer screen monitoring Christine's vital signs. "You were almost 18 when you entered Starfleet so...now you're 19?"
"Nineteen and a half, ma'am," Christine answered. "I get my license for medical training in a few months."
"Tsk tsk, but you forgot to attend your own checkup last year," Dr. Quami chided her with good nature. She clicked her tongue while she read off the vital signs. Aside from slightly calloused feet, Cadet Chapel was in remarkably healthy condition and looked tenfold better than when she had first arrived at Starfleet. The retina scanners revealed clear blue eyes while her teeth were white and strong.
"Dear me, nearly four inches taller and you've gained some weight nicely. I thought I saw a bloom in your cheeks when you walked through the door. What on earth have you been doing lately, Ms. Chapel?"
"Nothing, just swimming and eating and sleeping."
"Well, keep up the good work. You're in fine shape." Dr. Quami picked up a sonic tape measure and wrapped it around Christine's waist, then her chest. "Hmmm, somebody's grown some nice curves as well. You'll need a new uniform jacket. Size R-291 should fit just fine."
She handed Christine a laser-imprinted card and instructed her to the next building for a refitting. The girl behind the counter at the uniform's office read the card Christine gave her and nodded in approval. She instructed Christine to stand behind a wall panel and began handing her new clothes to try on.
Christine pulled on the larger size R-291 jacket and was doubly grateful when the buttons secured smoothly down the front instead of straining at her chest. A uniform skirt that once hung loose on her hips now wrapped around them sensuously...and she did have curves? Christine ran her hands up and down her hips. They didn't go straight but moved in and out when shaping her figure. Yes, those were definite curves. The new uniform seemed to hug her body in certain places that she hadn't noticed before. The clothes felt form-fitting yet comfortable.
Her feet had grown too. Size 585-4 boots were slid back to the panel for her to try on. Christine's toes wiggled happily at the free space inside her new roomy footwear when she slid them on and zipped them up to her calves.
She was pacing the floor to get a feeling for her boots when Christine heard the girl at the front desk murmur to her peer. "Another dozen cadets just last week. Dr. Quami thinks it's just a flu case but nobody knows what's causing it."
"I hear you. Last week Akiko came back after her weekend in Napa Valley and spent half the night throwing up in the lavatory."
"So it's not just on Starfleet campus?" the first girl asked.
"Haven't a clue. But a lot of cadets are getting sick."
"Next thing you know they'll insist on those old-fashioned condoms..."
"Sex doesn't kill you, N'yota!"
"I know it doesn't so what is?"
The conversation piqued her curiosity but Christine was eager to get out of there. Taking up the heavy bundle of new uniforms, she dumped them into the sorting compartment and waited at the other side. A wrapped package stamped with the Starfleet insignia popped out in five seconds.
When she marched out of the office Christine noticed a few male cadets looking in her direction at the doorway. Not so long ago she would have tried to keep her head down and avoid their attention.
What if she tried something different? After all, they weren't in class. Nothing wrong with trying to acknowledge her presence, was there? She lifted her head up and walked by them, her skirt swaying casually around her legs while she made proper eye contact. Christine was a foot away when she murmured a "good afternoon" and gave a polite nod in their direction.
She had almost reached the doorway when one of them swiftly rose up and approached her. If he was wearing a hat he would've tipped it in her direction. Instead he stood up straight like any good Starfleet officer and gave her a friendly grin.
"May I carry that package for you, ma'am?" he offered politely.
The smile on her face was radiant. "Yes, thank you. That's very kind of you." She handed him the parcel and he tucked it under his arm. She was rather pleased—and extremely surprised—when he offered his arm to her. Linking her arm around his, Christine strolled out of the office with the cadet.
"Damn," one of the boys said out of earshot. "How does Sulu do it?"
A-A-A
Five months later:
Christine had finished her studies and was pondering what to do for the rest of the day. She had caught up with her computer data programs, finished cataloging various antidotes for Dr. Perry, and taken her early afternoon swim. Gaila was out sick and Janice had taken a day trip to St. Louis for another art show so there was no one she could anticipate joining her.
Her chair swiveled to the stuffed elephant in purple slacks that lay on her bed, a belated present from the children of the Sanctuary House. It has arrived yesterday along with a miniature snow globe and some handmade cards wishing Christine congratulations on her birthday. But the most appreciative gift was from Mrs. Donovan's last transcript. She had informed Christine that everyone missed her but they were extremely proud of her accomplishments at Starfleet and sent their blessings.
Christine picked up the elephant and hugged it to her chest. "Looks like it's just you and me tonight, Sumatra. Not much of a party, huh?"
The panel on the wall flickered, causing her attention to shift to the monitor screen. It was none other than Lieutenant Uhura. Christine quickly tossed Sumatra onto the bed and let her in, wondering what was wrong this time or if Ben had finally faced doomsday.
To her relief the lieutenant's face was calm and controlled. In fact she looked rather pleased.
"I don't know how you did it or what you even did to her," Uhura began. "But we all think you should get a medal anyhow."
"I beg your pardon?"
"At twenty-two hundred hours last night, Beru Noir left Starfleet campus for good. Rumor has it she said she was heading east," Uhura announced.
"A-are you sure?" Christine stammered. She automatically felt a weight of concern lifted off her chest when Uhura's news hit her ears but was still in bewilderment at the possibility that the woman who had tormented so many cadets was finally gone. It was almost too good to be true but Uhura went on to confirm her report.
"Positive. Her dorm room was cleaned from ceiling to floor and she canceled all of her courses." Uhura rocked back and forth on her heels. "A couple of cadets from Advanced Biomedics said they saw you heading to her quarters after class. What on Earth—or on any planet—did you do to get her miserable annoying backside off this campus?"
"That's my little secret," Christine answered with a relieved smile. Uhura returned hers with one of her own.
"Frankly, I think Starfleet should order a new code of respect for cadets who successfully remove pests. In the meantime, how'd you like to get a drink at the White Lotus?"
"That's um...a bar, right?" Christine winced. Liquor had never been one of her preferences.
Uhura put her hands on her hips and cocked her head to one side. "I had a feeling that you're sharp as a tack and a decent person. I like that. But you've got to take off those training bloomers, Cadet Chapel."
"Christine. Please call me Christine."
"N'yota Uhura." The words flowed off her tongue smoothly. "Don't call me Lieutenant," she insisted. "Makes me think everyone's afraid of me."
"Well, you can be scary at times," Christine admitted.
"Ben Harrero? Oh right." For once, Uhura looked sheepish. "I guess I did get carried away with myself before the competition. But he sent me a bunch of carnations and penned an apology letter all by himself when I got back. I couldn't refuse him after that."
"As for the bar," Uhura went on. "I know a nice place in downtown San Francisco. It's actually more of a lounge: low-key but upscale. I promise not to get you drunk or start gambling. I'm no slacker myself and you can trust me."
"I already do," Christine assured her.
A-A-A
The White Lotus was not some back alley booze diner. It was situated next to a local park and had several windows open, allowing the sweet scent of flowers and late afternoon air to breeze into the room.
Only a few patrons were around when Uhura and Christine arrived. It was still considered too early for "happy hour" to being so the sight of two stylish cadets in red uniforms did not attract cat-calls or brazen remarks. The few businessmen continued discussing work over cocktails while a pair of tourists—who looked like newlyweds on a honeymoon—were quietly sipping drinks on the terrace.
"What do you think?" Uhura asked Christine.
"This is really nice," she complimented. Christine slid into a plush leather booth and watched several spheres glow soft lavender light as they flitted around the room. "Electromagnetic energy, right?"
"Right. They say it adds to the atmosphere." Uhura sank into the next seat and brushed her long hair off her neck. "They do poetry slammings every Thursday night too. Although during my first year I was always going to any sound shack across the country with friends. I'd come back with headaches."
"Then why did you do it?"
Uhura shrugged. "Social expectations, I suppose. When you're outgoing people expect you to stay that way. So instead of listening to my conscience I'd get in the spotlight, grab a beer, and flirt with anyone who looked at me." She paused and added, "I should've calmed down a bit."
"But that's over now. You're a lieutenant and you know better," Christine pointed out. Uhura gave her a nod of approval and waved to a waiter.
"Bachi," Uhura called out "Come meet my friend. Christine, this is Bachi Ko. Bachi, Christine Chapel."
An eight-foot tall creature lumbered over to their booth, the vibrations from his heavy footsteps causing the drinks on the tables to quiver. Bachi was a cross between a giant ape and oversized teddy bear. Humanoid in physical creation but sprouting thick tuffs of orange hair on his arms, face, and chest, he beamed down at the two girls.
"Nice to meet you," he boomed in a loud voice. "A friend of Nyota's is a friend of mind." His paw gripped Christine's hand in a numbing shake that shook up to her shoulder.
"So, what'll it be ladies?" Bachi asked. "We've got a special tonight, the Port of San Fransisco. It's sharp but sweet."
Christine was concerned about ordering anything stronger than lemonade but Uhura seemed to know what she was doing. "Sounds good, Bachi. We'll take the special. And a fire tea for my friend here and two Slushos for me."
"Am on it," Bachi nodded. He lumbered off with their order while Uhura turned back to Christine.
Eventually the discussion fell onto similar interests and experiences. Uhura mentioned that another Noir was in her linguistics class and had shown certain disdain for the lieutenant, which made Uhura only more determined to outdo her in class. She agreed with Christine on the merits of swimming although her opinion of Jim Kirk was slightly less-than-friendly. The Oxford Linguistics Competition, for the record, had been a triumph for Starfleet. Uhura was honored with a gold rating for flawless dictation in sub-space levels.
"That's fantastic. But what does a gold rating do for you?" Christine asked.
"It's a merit of approval to work with the most prestigious crews. And that's my goal. I want to serve on the finest that Starfleet has to offer." Uhura folded her arms on the table. "And what about you? Have any favorites that you'd like to share?"
"I guess any starship will do—" Christine began to say.
"Any starship?" Uhura nearly threw up her hands. "Christine, 'any starship' means you could be working on some hunk of scrap metal in an unknown sector of the galaxy. They rank according to size, materials, and commanders on board. You have to make it clear that you deserve to work with the very best."
"I guess so," Christine admitted. "I've never really thought about it much. My biggest priority is knowing that I can work with doctors who trust and respect their staff."
Uhura nodded in approval. "Is there anyone that meets your standards?"
Christine thought hard for a moment. "I like Dr. McCoy, because he's honest and sincere in his work. I think he'd be a good mentor but I haven't had any training with him since I got into Starfleet. And besides," she added with a shrug. "The doctors choose the nurses and assistants for their starships—not the other way around."
"Overlords calling the shots, eh?" Uhura said.
Their orders came soon. Fire tea was a delicious cinnamon brew that burned her throat a little but warmed Christine down to her toes. Uhura showed her how to drink a Slusho and rub your tongue across her teeth so it made electric blue sparks spurt out of her mouth. The special from Bachi was a concoction of ruby port and cherry cordial. Not a bad birthday outing after all, Christine thought happily.
"You're studying medicine. Do you have any idea why Starfleet cadets have been getting sick?" Uhura inquired.
"I've thought about it. Gaila's your roommate, right? I heard she's also at the clinic."
Uhura nodded. "She said she was feeling ill the other night."
"Well," Christine twirled her spoon around in the dish. "I've asked a few cadets what they were doing before they got sick: where they went, what they ate, who they were in contact with. So far all I found out is that they were cloud jumping a day or two before getting the symptoms."
Uhura looked up from her Slusho. "I'm surprised you know what 'cloud jumping' is, Christine," she smirked.
"I am a Starfleet student," Christine replied as-a-matter-of-fact. She knew what the taboo term for sex was among other students even if she didn't participate in the mentioned activity. Yet.
"Although judging from what I've learned in classes I don't think this is a sexually transmitted disease. It's got to be something else." Christine added. "Would you mind letting me see your dorm room? I want to see if Gaila had any clues around."
"Sure thing, Nancy Drew."
They quickly finished their drinks, paid, and thanked Bachi before leaving the White Lotus. Then girls headed back to Starfleet campus where Uhura let Christine into her dormitory room.
Christine noticed that Uhura's area was neat as a pin while Gaila's room left much to be desired. She carefully stepped over pairs of lingerie in soft pink and purple colors and almost upset a table crammed with various perfumes. The floor was littered with collectable figures, romance audio files, sound chips for music, and several food wrappers.
Christine turned over the tangled sheets on the bed, looking for any evidence. Lying on the mattress was a half-eaten box of chocolates. She picked it up and read Casparus Love Box: Sensuously Daring Sweets off the label.
"They say chocolate and sex go hand in hand, right?" Uhura asked from the doorway.
Christine opened up the box and sniffed. There was a bitter scent of almonds in the paper that overpowered the usual fragrance of cocoa. When she rubbed her hand over the lining a reddish-brown powder stuck to her fingers.
"Is something wrong?"
"I don't know," Christine admitted. She continued rubbing her fingers together. "But it's not supposed to do that. In the meantime don't let Gaila or anyone else eat this kind of stuff."
A-A-A
Student Botany Laboratory of Starfleet Academy
Jim Kirk casually strode through the back hallways with a wandering eye examining the equipment. He wasn't used to coming to this place (the tool sheds and archive library where much better hiding places) but he had to admit it was rather interesting. Now he could see what they were actually messing with around here behind the scenes. Pushing aside a giant green leaf, he followed the sounds of a conversation.
"As I was saying before, the term 'darmek' does not mean 'cure'," a crisp nasal voice was explaining. "Darmek' refers to any combination of two or more organic materials that can prevent respiratory diseases."
"Does that include Vengra oil?"
The unmistakable tone of Christine Chapel's voice was almost melodious in contrast to her colleague. Jim glanced around a corner to see the student wearing a heavy orange smock over her uniform and massive rubber gloves up to her elbows. She was in the process of snipping off a few small blue tube-like plants with a pair of sheers.
Her companion shook his head while the tassel on his cap wiggled back and forth excitedly. "Not exactly, Cadet Chapel. Vengra is extracted mostly for the relief of congestion. But it is an affective resolution for coughing and wheezing, not to mention Vengra's ability to grow in hostile climates."
"Not to mention their ability to regrow the following year," Jim piped up. "It's called asexual reproduction." He looked at Christine with a grin, who returned his gesture with a smile.
"Jim, I'd like to meet Professor Usimarit. Professor, this is Cadet James Kirk."
Usimarit's own rubber glove came off revealing a three-pronged hand that shook Jim's politely. "Delighted to met you. Cadet Chapel and I have been discussing particular herbal extractions that will be useful on long space voyages. Not only does Vengra oil help with whooping cough but it is excellent for refreshing one's skin."
He gestured to the blue tubers. "Would you care to have some massaged onto your face?"
Before Jim could respond, a data monitor on the wall began beeping rapidly. The professor skimmed the request before turning his attention back to the cadets. "It seems that I'm needed in Greenhouse 17. Cadet Kirk, would you be so kind as to assist Cadet Chapel with the rest of the Vengra? It shouldn't take more than fifteen minutes."
"No problem," Kirk assured him. Once the professor was gone, Kirk slipped on a pair of gloves and turned to Christine. "What do we have to do?"
"Just keep clipping the Vengra at the base of their stems." She handed Kirk a pair of sheers. The two of them snipped the azure stalks in silence for a few minutes until Jim lowered his voice.
"You wanna tell me why you really asked me to come back here?"
"I need to ask you for a favor," Christine whispered as softly as possible.
"What kind of favor?"
"Let's just say 'out of sight, out of mind'. Janice said you know how to override Starfleet security banks. Is that right?"
"Yes. But-"
Jim suddenly looked serious. "Why you need to look at the security banks? Are you in some kind of trouble, Christine? I wouldn't want to screw up any chances for your future at Starfleet."
"It's not for me. This is far more important," she explained. Christine cupped a hand to Kirk's ear and whispered urgently, taking pains to make certain they couldn't be overheard. When she was done, he nodded very carefully at her.
"All right, I see your point," he agreed. "But are you sure you've tried other options?"
"I have," she insisted. "The local Starfleet doctors think it's not a student's business to interfere. This is the only way I can get all the evidence I need to find out what's behind this 'epidemic'."
Jim extracted a few more plants while he mulled it over. "I can build the mechanism in a few hours," he finally said. "But you have to promise me that you'll be careful."
"I will," Christine promised him.
A-A-A
Later that night:
"Shhh, we're gonna get into trouble!" Christine whispered between clenched teeth. While she hushed and tiptoed down the corridor, Janice Rand giggled and winked behind her. They had to keep their voices down to avoid detection from the oral scanners. The corridors, usually flooded with sunlight and the sound of laughing cadets, were chilling and ominous in the late hours of the night.
"Isn't this exciting? We're like ancient ninjas," Rand gushed. "Or glamorous Cold War spies."
"I'm serious about this investigation," Christine insisted under her breath. "Eighty one sick students must add up to something."
"Yeah, and they all have one thing in common," Janice smirked.
"It's not 'cloud jumping' and you know that," Christine pointed out. "Something fishy is going on around here. I just need to know if all the cases have something in common."
They continued the rest of the trip towards the security office in silence. Having swapped their boots for thin untraceable slippers, Janice and Christine's feet were barely audible on the smooth tiled floor. At last they reached the appropriate door, and the soft pidder-padder of feet stopped. Christine fumbled in her pockets before extracting two small metal cylinders. One of them she placed on the door lock and began fiddling with the knobs.
Janice looked on inquisitively. "How'd you get one of those?"
"Jim Kirk. He said one of them will open up the pass code. The other one is to block the alarm signal so nobody knows that we were here."
"And how does it block a signal?"
Christine shrugged. "I'm not sure. He said it 'jams' the auto-waves, somehow." Engineering was not Christine's forte. She was just going to have to trust Kirk's word on it.
"I can't believe you actually asked Jim Kirk for help," Janice murmured. She watched Christine's fingers nimbly turn the lock just as Kirk had instructed her. To her relief, it slid open without hesitation. Christine stepped into the room, her eyes flitting over the various computer screens that lay blue and blank.
Christine sat down in front of a computer and attached the second metal cylinder to the hypo-drive. When the screen flashed from blue to the Starfleet logo, she knew Kirk had been correct. Her long nimble fingers began typing in codes. Janice was already pulling out files from an auto-drawer and turning them over.
"Hey, I think I found what you need." She handed Christine a thin sheet of plastic. She had to squint in the computer's hazy light to see what it read. "Is that good?"
"It's very good, Janice. Thanks. I'd hate to think a chocolate factory was behind this but it must be the source of the problem." Christine folded up the plastic file and slipped it into her pocket.
"So, what is the problem?" Janice asked.
"Damianatus," Christine muttered under her breath.
"Dami-what?"
"I'll explain once we get enough record files and are out of here."
While she continued to pull up student health records and download them into her personal information files, Janice continued searching around the room. She pressed a button on the wall and a panel slid open, allowing something to fall on her in a clattering heap.
"Yeeeeeaaah!" Janice howled. Christine jumped up from her seat and ran to her friend's side. Janice threw the object at Christine, making hundreds of pieces clink against each other rapidly. "Get it off me! Get it off me!" she cried.
Christine felt the cold material against her skin and shuddered, too frightened to scream. When something bony and pointed jabbed her shoulder, she realized what had caused the commotion. She gripped what felt like a hollow rod and pulled the object around her. Something on wheels creaked when it rotated to face her.
It was only an old-fashioned human skeleton, one of those silicon plastic ones strung up on a pole that you could exhibit in the classroom. Christine wondered how it had ended up in the security office closet.
Turning the skeleton around, she noticed someone had placed a sign that read FUCK ME on the back in big red letters. Very funny, she thought. I'm not letting a bag of bones get the best of me.
"Come on!" Janice waved her hand madly. "The oral sensors may already be picking up!"
Christine shoved the skeleton aside and ran back to the computer. She quickly closed up all of the files, programmed the computer to shut down, and ripped the jamming device away from the hypo-drive. Janice seized her by the wrist and tugged Christine out of the office room, making sure to remove the other device from the security lock.
The girls skimmed down the corridors as quickly as they could, never stopping for breath until they had gotten out of the building and were running towards the dormitories. At last, when they were a safe distance from the offices, the girls collapsed on the dew-drenched grass. Janice had a hand over her chest and was breathing rapidly.
Christine could feel the moisture seeping into her slippers and socks. She welcomed it. It was a reminder that she was still alive.
"Damn." Janice grinned. "That was scary."
Christine just slid a hand under her uniform to make sure the plastic sheet was still there.
Janice lightly touched her friend's shoulder. "Hey, you okay, Christine?" To her relief, Christine looked only a bit frazzled in her direction.
"Let's not do that again," Christine said at last. "For a long long time."
"Agreed."
A-A-A
9 hours later:
The events of the previous night still had consequences for Christine.
She had to get back into her dorm room and reorganize the materials she downloaded on her private computer notebook. Then she had to access a tiny file from Moon 7 and scan all the student records to insure that their symptoms were identical. The sky was already fading from black to gray and birds were chirping when she sealed up the computer screen and lay down on her bed for a half hour of precious sleep.
For once in class she was not paying full attention. The instructor's voice was a monotone repetition of cells and protein cycles that went into one ear and out the other. Christine's eyelids dropped listlessly from exhaustion. She had to rest her head in her hands to appear focused in her desk. As he continued to rant on in the same steady tone, she wondered if she could just take a small nap...
"CADET CHAPEL, REPORT TO THE MAIN AUDITORIUM!"
The holovision and announcement that blared over the speakers caused heads to turn and whispers to emerge from the classroom. Christine's head jerked up instinctively. She was suddenly wide and awake and aware that everyone was looking at her.
The instructor's beady black eyes bore into Christine with vicious precision. He was not accustomed to having his lessons disturbed and severely disliked hearing excuses of students trying to skip class—or missing class for any valid reason.
"Did you expect a private appointment, Cadet Chapel?" he replied crisply. Mr. Sevenford was tenfold as precise and stringent as Drs. McCoy and Perry combined.
"No sir," she answered meekly.
The speakers repeated the order. "CADET CHAPEL, REPORT TO THE MAIN AUDITORIUM IN FIVE MINUTES!"
"Well, hurry it up and come back within the hour. Otherwise you'll have two demerits to your name," Mr. Sevenford cautioned her.
With a burning red face, Christine slowly rose from her seat and walked out of the room. She stepped through the parting doors and made her way across the vast green lawn towards the designated meeting area.
To her surprise, the auditorium was nearly empty. Thank goodness for that. She wouldn't be able to stand up straight with hundreds of eyes looking at her. Instead there were only four people standing behind a low wide table in the center of the auditorium. Christine approached cautiously, her gaze flickering from one person to another.
One of the people being the table was Captain Pike. She had not seen him since the day he had approached her at the Winter Festival and she wondered why he was at the summoning.
Another person present was Monsieur Jean LeBeau, whom Christine recognized from the health department. A third was a Starfleet supervisor she didn't know, a woman with a smooth oval-shaped face and a sheet of silvery hair to her waist. The shining plate in front of her read COMMANDER ROWEN MCGAIL.
The last of these officers was the tallest of them all, someone in a harsh black uniform with hands clasped behind his back. It was only when Christine ventured close enough did she noticed the long pinkish ears that tapered sharply at the ends. She wracked her brains for a definition.
Vulcan. Definitely Vulcan.
They were rumored to being a brilliant but aloof and intimidating people. This one fit every criteria.
His features were aesthetically pleasing; a combination of youthful visage and mature refinement. He couldn't be more than thirty and Christine found herself studying his alien face with fascination. The shiny dark hair above his high brow was perfectly combed into place. His posture was composed but graceful, the long face angled with sharp cheekbones than narrowed down to a firm chin. Janice would have been ecstatic for the chance to sketch such a dignified profile.
But the heavy slashing brows over his eyes and the immaculate poise of which he stood informed Christine that this person demanded respect from inferior officers. When he noticed her attention, his dark eyes locked on Christine with such an intense stare that she felt a shudder in her stomach.
The sound of the health department manager clearing his throat brought Christine back to reality. LeBeau glanced up from his computer screen and gestured to Christine. "Pleeze seat down, mademoiselle."
She bent herself into one of the rigid chairs and after crossing ankles, placed both hands on her lap. The four officers sat down behind the table and looked at her. McGail removed what looked like a small wooden hammer from a box next to her nameplate and tapped it twice on the table.
"This meeting in now in session," McGail announced as she set the traditional gavel back in its box.
Whatever blood was left in Christine's head seemed to have transported down into her toes.
She was on trial.
