Surefoot 30: Class of 2372

Now, however, she was beginning to realise how much time would be wasted listening to inane drones bleat about things she had already learned in the field, interspersed with endless excuses to attend pointless parties and play politics with the staff and with preening vapid fools she could easily pummel without a second thought.

Then the fool at the podium continued. "But now you'll be facing the real challenge: four more years of intense study, internship, residency, and with the possibility of further study should you wish to specialise in a particular field. Now, let's go through the 42 major fields you can specialise in..."

Eydiir ground her teeth.

*

Administrative Building 1:

Giles Arrington braced himself, took two breaths, then a third for luck, and entered the office.

They were there, as expected: his father, Admiral William Arrington, currently assigned to Starfleet Intelligence; his uncle, Commander Matthew Arrington, currently working in Starfleet Logistics; and his aunt Lucille Arrington, currently... looking strange in civilian clothes, on Medical Leave following her... problems while serving as captain of the Impala.

He looked to each of his family in turn, before settling back on his father, nodding and concluding with, "Hi."

His father smiled cordially. "Hi, son."

Giles held his breath. Things hadn't been easy between them since Giles sided with Captain Hrelle during the family's inexplicable feud with the Caitian. It was especially tense with his Aunt Lucille, who at one point had tried to physically strike him for his alleged betrayal of the family. He had met with one or more of them since for family events, and lastly for the funeral of his grandfather, former Academy Superintendent Admiral Jeffrey Arrington.

But each time, this awkward entrance, and he fully expected there to be additional issues given his choice of first posting on a border ship, rather than something more prestigious, something worthier of their family's alleged Starfleet dynasty. He was ready for browbeating.

But then he remembered Captain Hrelle quoting one of the Ferengi Rules of Acquisition: 'Every once in a while, declare peace -- it confuses the hell out of your enemies'. He grinned. "So, shall we head for that restaurant I heard about in South Bay? New rule: we buy the rounds in reverse order of age."

*

Omnivores Restaurant, Fisherman's Wharf, San Francisco:

Kit was practically jumping as he moved through the crowds, his lime-green mottled skin flushing with excitement as he clutched Hafsa al-Samra's hand to keep up with her. "Intimate Friend Hafsa, are you sure you want me along? They are your parents, after all-"

"Yes, they are, sweetheart! And they made it clear that you had to come along! So stop fussing!" She looked back at him, grinned and winked, throwing back her mass of curly black hair as she raised her other hand and shouted, "Mom! Dad! We're here!"

The bronze-skinned couple stood outside of the restaurant, but smiled and waved back as the cadets raced up to them, Hafsa letting go of Kit's hand to embrace her parents. "Oh, it's so good to see you again! I have so much to tell you!" She was practically giddy with delight as she drew in Kit. "Mom, Dad, this is Kit! Kit, this is my Dad Naazil and my Mom Muneera."

Kit bowed politely to each of them in turn. "It is an honour and a pleasure to meet you both! Intimate Friend Hafsa's talked at length about you."

The couple nodded back politely, though Mr al-Samra, a tall, goateed man with slicked back black hair and a dark eyes, frowned. "'Intimate Friend'?"

Hafsa nudged him. "That's just the way his people talk, Dad! I told you! it's charming! Come on, I'm starving, I couldn't eat breakfast, I was so excited to get together with you!"

They entered the restaurant, confirmed the reservation and followed the waiter to a table overlooking San Francisco Bay and the Academy. Hafsa sat next to Kit, nudging him. "You'll like this place, I chose it because their advertisements say they cater to insectivores."

"Insectivores?" Mrs al-Samra repeated, looking with some consternation at Kit. "Do you mean you eat... bugs?"

"Yes, Respected Lady," he replied. "Most insects, in fact, not just bugs."

"There's a difference?" Mr al-Samra asked, looking as if he didn't particularly care about the distinction.

Not that Kit seemed to notice. "Indeed, Respected Gentleman. Bugs have a stylet, a mouth shaped like a straw, which they use to suck juices from plants. Insects are characterised by three-sectioned bodies, usually two pairs of wings, and three pairs of legs-" Then he paused and added, "Sorry. Please forgive this... insectually explicit talk." He looked to Hafsa to see if she got it -- her snort indicated she had.

Her parents remained deadpan, silent until the young people had calmed down, before Mrs al-Samra suggested, "Why don't you go order the drinks now, dear? It'll save time, and we can get to know your... friend... a little better in your absence."

Hafsa beamed. "Sure. What's your poison?"

"Spican flame whiskey for both of us, neat for me, on the rocks for your father."

"Make mine a double," her father added, never taking his glare off of Kit.

Oblivious, Hafsa nodded, kissed Kit on the cheek and rose and departed for the bar. Kit watched her leave, aware of the drop in the temperature at the table, but assumed he was misreading things. "So, Respected Parents of Intimate Friend Hafsa-"

Mr al-Samra cut in. "We want you to stop seeing our daughter."

Kit paused, not quite sure what he had heard, his round bronze eyes narrowing. "Excuse me, Respected Sir? I- I do not understand."

"It's quite clear, young man," Mrs al-Samra confirmed. "We don't approve of your relationship with her."

Kit's stomachs twisted into knots. "B-But... why not? What have I done wrong?"

"You haven't necessarily done anything, per se," the man admitted. "It's just that we don't believe humanoids should mix with reptoids."

"W-What?"

"Gorn, Saurians, Selay, Toseen, Arkonians, Cardassians... you're all..." The man just shivered. "Slimy and scaly."

Kit gripped the edge of the table, confused and alarmed by this sudden unexpected turn of events. "Please- I must respectfully protest this attitude! It is bigoted and wrong! My relationship with Intimate Friend Hafsa-"

"You keep using that word," Mrs al-Samra declared darkly. "'Intimate'. Are you having... carnal relations... with my baby girl?"

Kit gasped, suddenly conscious of the notion that perhaps Hafsa hasn't informed her parents of the extent of their relationship. "I- I-"

Just then Hafsa returned with a tray, setting the drinks down. "Okay, let's get stuck in-" She handed the emptied tray to a passing waiter and took her seat again, noting Kit's expression. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

"They- They-" He swallowed.

She looked to her parents in alarm. "What have you been talking about?"

"Nothing, dear," her mother replied mildly.

"Nothing at all," her father affirmed. "Like most reptoids, he just gets... hiss-sterical."

The quartet froze, the cadets watching as the parents looked to each other... and burst out laughing, the laughter subsiding until Mrs al-Samra snorted, sounding uncannily like her daughter, and triggering another explosion of laughter between them.

Hafsa exhaled audibly and reached for her glass. "Oh." She looked to a thoroughly confused-looking Kit. "They were playing a joke on you. They have the worst sense of humour, ever."

Mr al-Samra was still chuckling, but his eyes shone with genuine warmth as he regarded Kit. "We're sorry, son, but we couldn't resist!"

"So you- you do not hate reptiles?"

Her father grinned. "It'd be terrible for me if I did, I'm a doctor specialising in reptoid races!" He peered just past Kit's left earhole. "I can prescribe something for those dry scales, if you like."

"Oh, thank you, Respected Gentleman."

"Call me Naazil!"

Mrs al-Samra reached out and patted her daughter's arm. "Hafsa couldn't stop telling us everything about you two! We love it that you're a couple! You seem ideal for each other! Such obvious chemistry!" A sly glint caught her eye. "I'll bet it extends to the bedroom, too-"

"MOM!" Hafsa rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Kit, I should have warned you. Moms and Dads on Earth are like this."

Relief washed through Kit, as he nodded and reached for his glass of nectar. "That is... a-parent."

The four of them stopped. Looked at each other.

And guffawed again, raising their glasses for a toast they couldn't actually get out for laughing.

*

Challenger Academy Park:

"Gramma! Grumpy!"

Misha left his mother's and sister's grasp and raced up to Ma'Sala and Mi'Tree Shall, the latter dropping to one knee and holding his arms out wide, the ash-furred elderly male's eyes wide as he boomed, "Yes, Sweet Cub! It's us!"

The toddler rushed into his grandfather's embrace, leaping up -- and kicking Mi'Tree in the crotch, making him stifle a curse. Barely.

Kami suppressed a grin as she drew up to them. "Misha! Watch your Grandpa's Dangles!" She hugged her mother, and then after Mi'Tree released Misha to hug Ma'Sala, she did the same for her father. "Hello you two! I'm so glad you could make it! And how's Papa Bneea?"

Mi'Tree was still recovering from his grandcub's kick. "Your other father is well, thank you, my dear, and sends his regrets at not being able to attend, owing to clan business." Then he grinned as Sasha drew up for her hugs. "There she is, our brilliant Tailless Grandcub!" He looked to Ma'Sala. "She's Valedictorian! That means she's the best!"

"I know what it means, ass." But the elderly female hugged Sasha tightly, murmuring, "And I know how proud I am of you."

Once they broke hugs and started towards the Guest Quarters, Mi'Tree lifted up Misha, huffing a little from the effort as he asked, "And where is my kin-son Esek? And young C'Rash?"

Kami slipped an arm around her mother's. "Esek is in a meeting with the Superintendent, and promises to join up with us soon for dinner. But C'Rash has extended security briefings because of the worsening situation with the Klingons."

Mi'Tree was pointing out some birds on the manicured lawns to Misha, but continued to listen to the conversation. "Ooh, that business with the Klingons is all just sensationalist media nonsense! Nothing will ever come of it! You mark my words!" He snuggled into Misha. "Isn't that right, little cub?"

"Right, Grumpy!"

"No, cub, it's 'Grandpa'."

"Grumpy!"

"No, 'Grandpa'! Who told you it was 'Grumpy'?"

Misha pointed to Ma'Sala. "Gramma!"

He harrumphed, looking to Sasha. "And have you prepared a worthy speech, dear cub?"

The cadet stuck her hands in her jacket. "Well, I've put some words on the screen, erased some, added some more, swore at it, got drunk, and finally we agreed to divorce."

Mi'Tree's eyes brightened. "Perhaps I could help? I am a most accomplished orator. Some of my most favourite speeches from my best vivids have been used in Drama classes back home."

"But you never actually wrote any of your dialogue, did you?" Ma'Sala pointed out. "The Females are Gathering. Why don't you take our grandcub over to the fountain to dip his hand in the water?"

"Excellent notion!" He looked up at the grinning toddler. "We can go for a swim!"

"No, Papa!" Kami scolded. "This isn't Cait, he has to keep his clothes on in public! And for that matter, so do you! And keep an eye on him! He's like lightning!"

"Yes, yes, my darling cub, I managed you for many years, I think I can manage him."

*

Administration Building:

Commander T'Varik had been departing from the offices to obtain lunch when one of her Academy Liaison counterparts, a Benzite male named Genderan, fixed himself upon her and proceeded to provide an unsolicited account of his experiences with his own AWE Program cadets onboard the USS Shrysia, a tug in the Deneva sector. "It was tedious beyond belief! Moving decommissioned and derelict vessels out of the shipping lanes, performing customs and safety inspections of Merchantfleet freighters, maintaining communication and navigation buoys! No doubt your time onboard the Surefoot has been just as uneventful."

"No doubt." She quickened her pace, indulging in 0.43 seconds of hope that both this and her taciturn responses would be enough to dissuade him from further chatter.

But he kept up with her. "And the Captain was the most boorish creature, a Tellarite, and you know what they're like! Always complaining! Don't you hate people like that?"

"Indeed."

"And as for the cadets- Goddess, always asking questions, seeking advice, harassing me constantly-"

"Indeed. I am certain educational professions would be much improved if we could eliminate the students."

"What? Oh, I see; I didn't know Vulcans had a sense of humour. But you know what I mean! I think I might have to go back to media consultancy, this business is not for me-"

"I agree. You sound supremely inadequate to manage such an important responsibility." She halted and looked to him. "Can I stop you here for a moment?"

The Benzite braked, the mist from the breathing apparatus in front of his mouth catching up with him. "Yes, of course."

"Good."

Then she proceeded on her way, examining her feelings of disgust at her peer's attitude -- one shared by more than a few she had encountered since her return. She considered whether it was the result of having to manage hundreds of cadets rather than the relatively smaller number under T'Varik's responsibility while on the Surefoot. She wondered if she had held the same attitudes before the Program, and what that said about her-

"Excuse me, Commander?"

She stopped again, not recognising the voice calling to her from behind, and turned to see an Orion female in a cadet's uniform race up the path to join her, pausing to catch her breath. "Thank- thank- Thank you, Commander-"

T'Varik drew up formally. "Is that how superior officers are addressed at the Academy now, Cadet?"

Now the shapely, green-skinned girl -- petite, her dark-green hair ponytailed back -- shot to attention. "Ma'am, Cadet Zir Dassene reporting as ordered!"

The Vulcan regarded her, noting the Second Year insignia on the girl's collar -- and the subdermal implant visible near her carotid artery, the implant producing pheromone suppressant so as not to affect those around her. It was that ability, plus her people's notorious history and conflicts with the Federation, which made Orion cadets relatively rare within Starfleet. "And what can I do for you, Ms Dassene?"

The Orion breathed in, visibly collecting her resolve before responding. "Commander, you are involved with the Advanced Work Experience program, selecting and supervising gifted cadets to serve onboard vessels-"

"You state the obvious, Cadet. And if you have approached me to solicit your own name for inclusion in the next Program in September-"

"No, Ma'am! I'm not here on my behalf, but my roommate's."

"Your... roommate sent you?"

She smiled. "Um... actually he doesn't know. If he did he'd probably burn through to the floor below with embarrassment."

T'Varik raised an eyebrow, and folded her hands behind her. "Explain yourself."

Dassene swallowed. "His name's Stalac. He's a Horta." After a pause she added, "They're from Janus IV, non-humanoid silicon-based lifeforms-"

"I am familiar with Hortas, Cadet, thank you. Continue."

"Yes, Ma'am, of course. Well, Stalac -- it's short for Stalactite, by the way; he picked it himself, he has that sort of sense of humour -- is majoring in Science, and he has top marks, plenty of praise from his instructors, he'd be perfect for the AWE Program-"

"Has he applied?"

Her eyes sobered. "No."

"Why not?"

"Because... he doesn't want to cause a fuss."

"A... 'fuss'?"

Dassene nodded. "He's keenly aware that because he's basically a big lump of fibrous rock that eats minerals and sweats acid, that there are a lot of concessions that have to be made to help him adapt to life among us carbon-based types. He's eager to serve, to excel, but he's very self-conscious about his... requirements. I think he'd be quite satisfied to be put on some distant outpost somewhere doing routine research where he wouldn't feel like he was causing inconvenience. But I don't think he should have to settle. He deserves more."

"I see. And do you believe the same for yourself? Have you applied for a place on the AWE Program?"

The Orion frowned. "Commander, I told you, I'm not here for my own benefit, I'm here for Stalac's."

"Why?"

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"

"The question is explicit, Cadet. Why is Cadet Stalac's welfare of concern to you?"

Dassene regarded her, as if wondering if she was being tricked or manipulated somehow. "May I speak freely, please?"

T'Varik nodded in assent.

Finally the girl replied, "He's my friend. He's the first roommate I'd had here who didn't ogle me when I was changing, or was afraid that I would somehow turn off my implant and enslave them with my pheromones. Then I got to know him, and we ended up helping each other study, and we'd share jokes and listen to music and- frankly, he doesn't make any assumptions about what I'm like because I'm Orion, because I have to tell you, it's tiresome hearing all the same jokes about slaves and syndicates and do I dance or-" She stopped herself. "Sorry, Commander. I don't have many friends here -- but I'm passionate about helping those I do have."

"Evidently so. May I ask what your Primary is at the Academy?"

"Command, Ma'am."

The Vulcan nodded. "Very well, Cadet. It is not standard procedure, but I will examine Mr Stalac's academic records. Dismissed."

The younger woman beamed. "Thank you, Commander!" She turned and departed quickly, T'Varik guessing that she was probably rushing to tell her roommate the so-called good news, despite T'Varik not having promised anything more than what she had. Then the Vulcan continued towards the Staff Mess Hall, using her PADD to summon the records of Ms Dassene's roommate.

And Ms Dassene herself.

*

Robert April Annex Path:

Hrelle walked along the winding path, memories returning of all the times he would risk the wrath of that old Groundskeeper by crossing paths to beat a more straight line to the Mess Hall or Study Hall. The grounds had been remodelled in certain places -- for which he was glad, because it helped wipe away some of the memories of times of supreme humiliation for him, humiliation at the hands of the Arringtons, humiliation sanctioned by their patriarch, the then-Superintendent. It still made his stomach churn, despite the decades that had passed, and all the more terrible things he had since experienced. Kami once counseled him that it was because those moments of bullying had gone unresolved, which made sense. He just wished he was man enough to put it to rest once and for all-

"Captain!"

He paused at a juncture, watching three Caitians approach, the one male he recognised, the two females he didn't, but guessed from their scent their relationship to the cadet. "Mr Rrori, I see your family has arrived for the big ceremony tomorrow."

Rrori beamed. "Yes, Sir. This is Mriri Rrori, Matriarch of our Clan, and my mother, Ntruuer."

Hrelle nodded politely to each of them, half-expecting the traditional Caitian hug whenever their people met away from the Motherworld, but neither female gave off such a welcoming scent. Indeed, both stared with such outright hostility that he half-expected their claws to be bared. "Well, you two should be proud of this cadet, he has proved to be a talented and-"

Mriri raised her cane and smacked him on the chest with the gold tip. "You! You have some nerve!"