"We were going to get the captain to do his male stripper act," Chief Louise Chehardy said dryly. "But he was all booked up for the month."
"Is it our fault you decided to go back to school in the middle of yearly inventory?" Biolab technician Donna Campiere stretched back on the bunk, wriggling off her boots and letting them drop to the floor with a pair of thunks. "You want excitement, leave during the off-season."
A buzz at the cabin door elicited a groan from the three women. Finally, Rand dragged herself to her feet. "Captain probably can't find his extra pair of socks," she muttered to the other women. "Come in."
Lieutenants Uhura and Chapel entered the cabin, weighed down by armloads of food and packages. The three enlisted women sprang immediately to attention as the officers entered.
"Uh, at ease," Uhura gasped. "Could somebody... Help!" Rand and Chehardy leaped simultaneously for the falling packages. Relieved of her burden, Uhura managed to roll her eyes. "Great time to remember protocol, ladies," she muttered.
"We heard you were having a party." Chapel deposited her bundle on the desk and pulled out a tall package wrapped in rainbow-colored tissue. "If we bring presents, can we crash?"
Campiere dropped back onto the bunk. "Only if you brought the captain in his Orion slaver costume."
"Sorry," Chapel deadpanned, "But I can have McCoy in a surgical gown for you in ten minutes."
"Sorry, it's not the same thing."
"We brought munchies," Uhura interrupted. "Chapel waylaid the food synthesizers for a couple of hours. We've got brownies, cake, popcorn--"
Rand looked through the wrapped platters on the desk. "You were bored, weren't you?"
"If I had to fill one more inventory sheet today, I was going to scream." Chapel reached over and pulled out two brownies, stuffing one in her mouth and handing the other to Campiere.
"Besides, it isn't everyday one of our own gets accepted into the Academy." Uhura grabbed the gift Chapel had put on the desk. "A gift from the communications department. To get you through Tactics." She grinned as Rand removed the wrapping to reveal a full bottle of Saurian brandy. "You'll need it."
"Fortunately," Chapel said through her second brownie. "Medical track didn't have to take Tactics. I hear Okan is a bear."
Rand blanched. "A bear?" She reached behind Uhura to take a handful of popcorn. "What exactly do you mean by `bear?'"
Chehardy laughed. "You know, a big, ugly, hairy animal with three-inch fangs and razor-sharp claws specifically designed for ripping yeomen to shreds. A bear." The chief winked conspiratorially. "Sure you want to go to officers' training, Jan? Why not work for a living like the rest of us?" She nodded in mock humility towards Chapel and Uhura. "Begging pardon, of course, ma'ams."
"And darn the socks of James T. Kirk for the rest of her career?" Campiere groaned. "Janice, you're doing the right thing getting out of the ranks. Just think how much better your life will be."
Rand sighed. "I don't really mind being the captain's yeoman. But I want to do more with my life; I want to contribute something. I want to do more with my time than filling out requisitions and coordinating schedules."
Chapel and Uhura exchanged a long, knowing glance, then burst into laughter.
"What?"
Chapel laughed again. "Nothing, nothing. It could happen." Unable to maintain her straight face, she burst into giggles again.
Uhura coughed down her own laughter. "That's right. Don't let them scare you, sweetie. You'll do fine." She plopped down next to Chehardy on the floor. "Just don't take any crap from anybody."
"I don't want to be an officer, I don't want to be an officer, I don't want to be an officer." Janice Rand paused her litany for the opening door, then continued as she hurried through the corridor to the class for which she was already late. Five hours in the Registration office had already caused her to miss her first two classes, so of course the one class she'd have to walk in late for was Okan's Tactics class. "Was running errands so bad? Did you really mind playing Girl Friday to Captain Kirk? Okay, so he was a little touchy-feely at times; at least he didn't..." Rand's voice trailed off as she realized, somewhat belatedly, that she had entered the classroom still grumbling to herself. Her face went a lovely shade of beet red as all eyes in the room centered directly on her. I don't want to be an officer, I don't want to be an officer, I don't want to be an officer.
"Cadet, if you would be so kind as to explain your tardiness, as well as your disruption of this class?"
Rand looked for the source of that withering voice, expecting to see the Varginian Water Demon itself at the other end. When she finally found the dreaded Okan, he was something of a letdown. If he was a bear, then he was a teddy bear--about sixty years old, soft of face and feature, big brown eyes and an almost gentle posture. How could anyone be afraid of--
"We are waiting, Cadet." The teddy bear showed his claws.
Rand struggled not to squirm under his suddenly hard gaze. "Uh, I was caught up in Registration."
"That should have been done prior to the first day of classes, Cadet..." He looked down into his class roster. "Rand, if this roster is to be correct. Cadet Janice Rand, ladies and gentlemen. Please remember this name, cadets, as the woman who put you a full minute behind on your classwork. One minute in my class can mean the difference between the flagship, and..." The old man's eyes narrowed, lighting coldly on Rand. "Clerical Services. Please have a seat behind Cadet Chekov, Cadet Rand. And try not to cause any further interruptions." The instructor nodded to the young male cadet. "Mr. Chekov, perhaps you would care to enlighten our new cadet on the three theories of..."
Rand sunk into the seat behind the dark-haired young man, and silently cursed herself for any ambition she'd ever thought she had.
"Vait up."
"Oh, wonderful," Rand muttered to herself. She'd just spent the most excruciatingly humiliating hour of her life learning how much she didn't know about starship tactical theories. All she wanted now was to crash in the student center for an hour before facing her afternoon classes, and here was this know-it-all Czech, or Bulgarian, following her around.
He skidded to a walk next to her, his face flushed with exertion. How old was he, anyway? Sixteen? Rand had always hated precocious people; on a day like today, Cadet Chekov or whatever his name was, didn't stand a chance. "Yes?" she said haughtily.
"Ve have not been properly introduced," he said with a little bow. "I am Pavel Andreivich Chekov."
A Russian. Dear gods, a Russian. "How do you do?" Her perfunctory tone did little to dampen the young man's enthusiasm. He took her hand, shaking it firmly.
"I am wery sorry you had to go through that vith Doctor Okan. I had him last semester for Advanced Rhetoric. He is wery frightening at first, but he is fair."
"Advanced Rhetoric? That's an upper level course." Rand gave the cadet another look. He had to be at least five years younger than she. "Why are you taking Tactics?"
"Scheduling mishap. I tested out of it originally, but somehow I'm stuck taking it anyway. I vill be graduating at the end of this semester," he said with a touch of swagger in his voice.
Oh, gods, a gifted Russian. "Well, this must all be quite dull for you," she said blandly, trying to figure out an inventive way of dumping this guy without being completely rude.
"Oh, no," he assured her. "Tactics is perhaps one of the most interesting class at the Academy. You can see the change in tactical theory all the vay from Lord Nelson to Keptin James Kirk."
Rand groaned. "Captain Kirk is in the text book?"
"Absolutely." Chekov seemed surprised she'd even asked such a question. "He is vithout a doubt one of the most innovative tacticians of our generation."
"Great. I'm going to have to study him in class, now."
"Vhat are you talking about?"
"Oh, nothing. It's just difficult to see a man as a hero after you've been picking up his dirty socks for six months."
Chekov paused long enough for Rand to veer off towards the entrance to the student center. "I do not understand."
Rand tilted her chin. "I served as Keptin Kirk's personal yeoman for six months on the Enterprise," she said. The look of amazement on Chekov's face gave her an immense satisfaction. That would teach him to be smug with her. "He's not so impressive in person."
"And Cadet Rand, would you care to explain to the class the Pixel Maneuver?"
Janice Rand stifled a groan, cursing her decision to ever leave the safety of anonymity. On board the Enterprise, she had hardly ever elicited anything but the most perfunctory interest from others. But here in Tactical Hell, she seemed to be the only object of interest to the esteemed Doctor Okan. "Uhhh..."
"This was in your assigned reading, Miss Rand," the instructor informed her, his tone wavering precariously between warning and displeasure.
"Well, yes, but--"
"Do you or do you not know the Pixel Maneuver, Cadet?"
"Well--"
Okan turned to Chekov and said, "Cadet, perhaps you will be able to refresh Ms. Rand's memory."
"Absolutely." Chekov straightened himself in the chair. "The Pixel Maneuver vas first inwented by Keptin Robert April in the Battle of..."
Rand let the cadet's musical accent drone off as her mind wandered. God, she hated show-offs.
"Cadet Rand." Chekov's voice followed her down the corridor as she made her way to the cafeteria for lunch. "Vait up."
Rand sighed and slowed her pace, silently wondering why it seemed her fate in life to be followed around by overachieving adolescent boys. "Yes?"
"I vould like to speak vith you," he said plainly, juggling his bag of supplies in one hand to relieve her of the load she carried.
"Uh, that's okay, Chekov. I can carry my own things."
"Oh. Of course, I vas just--" He stopped as the doors slid open and Rand stepped into the cafeteria. "I vas just thinking about Tactics."
Rand pulled a tray of the shelf and stepped into the line at the counter. "Oh, really," she asked.
"Yes." Chekov struggled to balance his supplies and tray, following her through the line. "I vas noticing that you seem to be--"
"Extra sauce, please," Rand told the man behind the counter. "I'm sorry, Chekov, what were you saying?"
"None for me, thank you." The young man grabbed two apples and a glass of milk.
"Huh?" Rand filled her tray and pushed her way to sit at the nearest available table. "What were you saying?"
Chekov plopped down next to her, dumping his bag on the empty chair next to him. "I vas saying that you seem to be having trouble in Doctor Okan's Tactics class."
Rand glared at him. "You followed me all the way here to tell me that?"
Chekov smiled. "Actually, I have a proposition for you."
Her eyebrows lifted right into the intricate weave of her blonde hair. "I'm not interested," she said flatly.
Chekov paused for a moment, then said hurriedly, "Oh, no, nothing like that. I vould like to tutor you in your Tactics. I could help you vith your assignments, explain anything you did not understand, and help you study for the examinations."
"I see." Rand's eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "And what's the catch?"
A slow smile spread across the young man's face. "You can tell me about the Enterprise."
"Are we talking classified information or campfire stories?"
The young man leaned forward. "Anything. You see, Janice, I vill be on that ship vhen I graduate," he said confidently. "And I vant to know everything," he smiled. "Everything about her before I go."
Rand's smile reflected his. "You mean you're going to help me pass Tactics in exchange for Enterprise gossip?" When he nodded, Rand grinned. "You have a deal."
"Vould you please concentrate?" Chekov frowned at his `student' in exasperation. "This is not a wery difficult concept to grasp, you know."
Rand tossed back her head with a disgusted grunt. She and Chekov had been reviewing for their midterm exam for hours, and she seemed no closer to passing now than she had been when they'd begun. "Who am I kidding? I don't know this stuff!"
"Listen to me. Vhen the two opponents have--"
"I need a break." Rand stood up, heading for the closet.
"But ve are not finished. Ve still have the entire fifteenth chapter to cover, and you haven't--"
"We'll get to it," Rand assured him, pulling carefully at her duffel bag, which was stashed at the top of the closet. She tugged at the opening and removed the bottle of Saurian brandy Uhura had given her. "I need a drink."
Chekov's eyes bulged as he saw the bottle. "Janice, it is against regulations to have alcohol on campus."
She stared at him, not certain if he was serious or not. When he continued to stare at the bottle as if she'd pulled a live Menduvian scutter rat out of her bag, Rand said, "Oh, come on. The Cadet Police are not going to swoop down from the rafters and blast us for one little bottle of brandy!"
"If you are ever going to be an officer," Chekov scolded smugly, "You must first act like an officer."
Rand laughed and poured herself a glass.
"Vhy do you laugh vhen I say that?"
"Who do you think gave me this? The communications officer of the Enterprise."
Chekov shook his head in disbelief. "I do not believe Lieutenant Uhura vould encourage you to break the rules," he said stubbornly.
Rand started to answer, then hesitated. "Do you know the name and position of every officer aboard the Enterprise?"
"Of course not," Chekov snorted. "Only the bridge crew."
Rand laughed softly. "You are so anal-retentive it hurts."
"I am not. I just believe it is a good idea to be prepared." He refused the glass of brandy Rand offered him and shook his head as she drank it, then poured herself a third. "You vill never learn this if you get intoxicated."
"Good. I don't plan on getting intoxicated; I plan on getting drunk."
"Janice--"
"Loosen up, Pavel," she urged, plopping down on the bunk. When the young man began to pout, she sighed. "Oh, all right. Next example."
Chekov turned to his notes. "All right, this vill be an easy one for you. `Describe in detail the maneuver Keptin James T. Kirk used in the encounter against the Balok.'"
Rand sat up on the bunk. "You're kidding!" She leaned over the foot of the bed to read over Chekov's shoulder. "That's in there?"
"Of course it is. I vould not have asked it if it vasn't." He raised an eyebrow. "You vere there?"
"I was on the bridge."
"Vell then," he said plainly. "It should not be difficult to answer this one. Vhat move did Keptin Kirk make?"
"Well, he had me in a death grip, and I think he was trying to grab my ass for a moment there."
"That is not a wery funny joke, Janice."
Rand rolled her eyes. "Who's joking? What else is there about the captain?" She pulled the notes from Chekov's hand. "`In the expedition at M-113, Kirk found the remains of an alien culture...' Boring." She flipped the page, scanning for anything remotely interesting. "This is a joke. These people are rewriting history."
"No, they are not."
"Don't tell me he's your hero, too." Rand poured herself a fourth glass of brandy as she began to read. "`In the case of Charlie Evans, the threat to the ship was not from another ship, but from a malevolent individual.' Charlie wasn't malevolent; he was just horny."
Chekov eyed the bottle of brandy, which had grown steadily emptier as Rand's mood improved. "I believe you are drunk."
"I know he was horny because the little bastard followed me around for heaven knows how long trying to get in my pants."
"Yes, you are definitely drunk."
Rand stared at the notes. "This is amazing. They're deifying Captain Kirk, and he isn't even dead yet." She grinned lopsidedly at Chekov. "Oh, he's a good captain, but he is no saint."
"You don't know vhat you are saying, Janice. Perhaps we should go on vith some other chapter--"
"I mean, what do you make of a man who spends his evenings locked in his cabin with his Vulcan first officer?"
"You mean Mister Spock--"
"Oh, they say they're playing chess, but I'm not so certain. I mean, it's downright unnatural."
Chekov turned pale. "I do not believe it. I absolutely do not believe it."
"I'm not saying there's anything funny going on, although there have been rumors." She leaned conspiratorially onto one elbow. "But it just strikes me as strange, you know?"
"I do not vant to hear this," Chekov muttered as his illusions shattered around him.
"I always wanted him to look at my legs," Rand continued nostalgically. "Of course, there was the time his evil half tried to rape me in my quarters, but other than that..." She didn't see Chekov's stunned expression as she continued, "Nothing but chess. Just doesn't seem normal."
"Chapter fifteen," Chekov said firmly, but his heart wasn't in the studying. "Who vould have thought it? Something as innocent as chess."
Doctor Okan paused as he handed Janice Rand her test results. "Eighty-three percent, Cadet," he said tiredly. "Not much of an improvement, but an improvement nonetheless."
When he reached the tired-looking Chekov, a look of faint disapproval crossed Okan's face. "Eighty-nine percent, Mr. Chekov. That's three percent lower than last time. I suggest you reread the sections on recent events, especially those of the Enterprise."
Chekov stole a quick glance at Rand while Okan continued to return the exams. She shrugged noncommittally. "You said you wanted gossip."
One year later...
Chekov hurried towards the recreation room, scuttling past crewmen in his efforts not to be late. He'd promised to meet Sulu for drinks after shift change, and he was already late.
He swung a sharp left at the corner, hurling himself into the nearest turbolift, almost colliding with Captain Kirk as he did so. Chekov's eyes widened as he recognized the captain. "Keptin, my apologies. I vas--"
Kirk lifted one hand, a grin broadening his features. "Think nothing of it, Chekov. You need to slow down."
The ensign nodded his head. In an aside to the turbolift computer, he said, "Recreation deck."
As the turbo shifted and began its upward climb through the maze of turboshafts leading to the recreation deck, Kirk leaned against the wall and said, "I was reading the report on your tutorials, Mr. Chekov. You show a notable affinity for tactical maneuvering."
"Thank you, sir."
As the turbo slowed towards the rec deck, Kirk said, "Perhaps one day you'd like to join me in a game of chess."
The ensign blanched, his jaw dropping suddenly, eyes bulging. As the doors slid open, he hurried out, nodding to the captain vigorously. "Uh, perhaps, vell, maybe, um--" The doors slid shut before he could complete a coherent statement.
Kirk stared at the closed door for a moment, then shook his head. "Strange kid. Talented, but strange."
The End