CHAPTER TWENTY
Tammas picked up his tray of food and wandered into the cafeteria, looking for someone to sit with. He spotted her almost immediately, which wasn’t hard since she had the table all to herself. She was in his warp physics class and she was by far the smartest person he had seen when it came to warp physics. That wasn’t including Wesley Crusher, of course, but since Crusher’s grade was so far above everyone else’s that the cadets tended not to mention Crusher’s ranking when they discussed scores. Yes, she was clearly the top in warp physics. Of course, he was biased. He easily identified with her because she was of mixed species, and she seemed to have equal trouble relating to others. He imagined that she felt lonely, sitting by herself, very much the way he had felt at the Vulcan Academy of Science. So he decided to change that.
Cadet Torres was eating and reading over a PADD, when Tammas made his camp site across from her. He sat down directly in front of her as if there were no other seats available in the cafeteria. He pretended not to have noticed her and started on his lunch rituals. He opened an alcohol wipe and cleaned his hands.
“I thought you were supposed to be this social genius?” Torres asked.
“I’m a sociologist, not a genius,” Tammas offered.
Torres leaned a little closer. “Then let me spell it out for you. I don’t want you sitting by me. I don’t want you talking to me, looking at me, or in any other manner interacting with me or even appearing to be interacting with me. Got it?” Torres asked, her voice loud enough to be heard by half the cafeteria. “If you continue in this fashion, I will lodge an official harassment complaint against you.”
Tammas could see that she was very serious and began to believe this went beyond what he imagined to be her normal reclusive tendencies. Her reaction to his simply sitting across from her seemed over the top, at least to him, but then, perhaps he was just being obtuse. Or, perhaps she was just being Klingon. If the latter were the case, he would know for sure she liked him the moment she starting throwing things at him. At any rate, he understood her not wanting to be social in class, but here, in the cafeteria? He decided to risk further insult by pressing for details.
“Before I depart, never to bother you again,” Tammas hedged, “Is there something specific I did to offend you that I can correct?”
“Other than merely being?” Torres asked.
Ouch, Tammas thought. He would rather she had simply dropped kicked him into the next room. He felt a bit warm and imagined there were a few smirks on the faces he knew must be observing him. Shields up, he thought. Red alert. Perhaps she just couldn’t afford being friends with him. After all, they were both social outcasts, so to speak, and being in league with him might be too much for her to handle. “I see. Well, I guess there are some things beyond our control,” he said, pivoting on the bench to make a hasty retreat.
“Like writing ‘The Other Klingons,’ was out of your control,” Torres mumbled.
“Oh,” Tammas said, his intrigue rising to a new level. He had been all set to go, but now, he turned back. “You read that?”
“My mother, full Klingon, made me read that,” Torres said.
“Good for her,” Tammas said. “Reading is fundamental.”
Torres glowered at him.
“It was fiction,” Tammas said.
“My understanding is, the only reason you published it as historical fiction was because the academic world wouldn’t touch your research with a three meter pole, with rubber gloves on,” Torres said.
“The research material was considered too controversial to be published by academia, yes,” Tammas agreed. “But just because I avoided being politically correct doesn’t mean that the facts in the book were wrong.”
“Besides nearly toppling the existing Klingon government, you nearly started another Earth Klingon conflict, and you still believe it was all about not being politically correct?” Torres demanded.
“There are still a few Klingons that have knives with my name on it,” Tammas agreed, musing aloud. “Are you one?”
“If I practiced that line of honor, you would be dead,” Torres said.
Tammas nodded, distancing himself further from his emotions. “If the Klingon Empire, or what’s left of it, is so volatile and fragile that examining its own history brings about its own demise, then maybe its time to bury it. I will not bury truths because they are too difficult for people to examine in full light.”
“Truths? How about opinions?” Torres said.
The premise of “The Other Klingons,” dealt with the disparity between the two types of Klingons. There were the biological Klingons, who were easily recognized by any who encountered them, whether it was by smell, or their large size, or their unmistakable ridges that lined their foreheads, framed often in braided hair. They wore armor, and brandished weapons, spoke loud, and carried on in what might appeared to be uncivilized behavior by any who were not apt at seeing through the illusion to the harsh social structure which governed every aspect of their lives. They were no less civilized than the Norsicans, a race that went out of its way to adopt everything the Klingon culture had to offer. The Norsicans had been sucking up to the Klingons ever since the Klingon Empire established a colony on the Norsican world. Of course, the Norsicans would have had no chance assimilating into the human culture as easy as it did with the Klingons, simply because their appearance didn’t garner any human sympathy. It’s easy to adore and want to protect and adopt a cute little furry critter, but not so easy when that cute fury critter has breath that could skin a cat, and fangs reminiscent of the monster that every human child carried in nightmares.
The Others were a humanoid race, almost indistinguishable from Humans, appearance wise. Some suspected that they were humans, perhaps brought to the planet that the Klingons discovered and conquered, by a race called the Preservers. At any rate, when they were confronted by the Klingon and the Norsican race, they had a choice, they could perish, or they could mirror the ruthlessness they saw in their conquerors. With these two, fierce looking races hovering over them it was no wonder that the Others went out of their way to be cruel. The Others wore the black and gray uniforms of those that were impressed into duty by their Klingon conquerors, which meant they were little more than slaves. They were a people who wanted only to please their masters and find a way to prove that they deserved some autonomy and equality within the Klingon government. To make up for being seen as “weak humans’ by the Klingons, the Others had to be twice as fierce, twice as strong, and totally unreasonable and irrational, from a human standpoint. And there were a number of times where they might have tilted the balance in the Klingon’s favor had the Enterprise and her crew not been there to stop them.
“The Other Klingons was not based solely on opinions. They were a race of humanoids driven to ruthless behavior simply to impress their Klingon captors. They tried proving that they were worthy of joining the Empire, and being called Klingon, through terrorist acts,” Tammas said.
“They were Klingons, just genetically altered,” Torres said.
“Where did you get that information?” Tammas asked. Not that it changed his hypothesis any, since the regular looking Klingons didn’t accept the Other Klingons based on their human appearance. The Others still would have needed to overcompensate for their minority perspective. “What are your sources?”
“Please, everyone knows it,” Torres said.
“So, you’re telling me that the Klingons never conquered any humanoid races that looked like humans?” Tammas asked.
“The Klingons conquered everyone in their path,” Torres said.
“So whether these Others are genetically altered bio-Klingons or conquered humanoids is irrelevant. And whether they were officially sanctioned or not by the Klingon government is also a mute point. The facts are that the biological Klingons chose not to acknowledge the Other’s unscrupulous behavior because at the time it was working in their favor. The fact that these Others’ were ‘allowed,’ to behave in this way, without official sanctions from their Klingon rulers, was because the bio-Klingons were loosing the territorial and technological war with the Federation. Because the Empire needed every advantage it could get, it chose to look the other way. There were whole generations of Earthers who had never even met a biological Klingon, and when they did, they found it very hard to trust them, first because of their appearance, and second, because of the behavior of the people they had so poorly governed. Honor and respect took a back seat, and by looking the other way, by ignoring everything the Klingon culture valued about integrity and strength, the Empire ended up seeding its own demise. Every race that encountered these Other Klingons was practically driven into the Federations fold out of fear of loosing every ounce of self respect and freedom they had known previous to Klingon contact. That was a hundred years ago, and the Klingons are still doing damage control. And until they own up to this policy of supporting and encouraging criminal behavior, and start cleaning house, you will continue to witness a sect of the Klingon people trying to attain power through nefarious and cowardly means,” Tammas said.
“Again, this is your opinion,” Torres said.
“No, it’s my prediction, based on social evidence and knowledge of history,” Tammas said.
Torres sat there a long moment, quiet, staring hard at Tammas, but revealing no emotions. Tammas returned the stare, unwilling to back down. “You know,” Torres said, finally. “Your book did actually help me with something.”
Tammas blinked. “It did?”
“It helped me understand why Earthers hate us so much,” Torres said.
“I think you need to read the book again,” Tammas said.
“What?” Torres said.
“You got it all wrong. I don’t hate Klingons. I love Klingons!” Tammas said.
“And that’s why I should reread it?” Torres said.
“No. You should reread it because you obviously missed something. I wrote it out of esteem for all the good that the Klingon culture has to offer,” Tammas said. “Earthers don’t hate Klingons. Well, there has been some hate, but a lot more love than hate. We both have quite a lot in common, and the greatest thing that we share is this idea that our enemies can teach us more about ourselves than any friend ever could. I wouldn’t be sitting here with you now if I didn’t love Klingon, honor, integrity, the direct way your culture handles conflict resolution. I am actually interested in getting to know you. Who knows, maybe I did have some misunderstandings when I wrote that book. I was only fifteen. If I am that far off the mark, this could be your chance to show me where I was wrong. That is, if you’re willing to tolerate being around someone as insufferably opinionated as I am.”
“It’s not my job to go around saving everyone from their own ignorance,” Torres said.
“Oh, but it’s your job to walk around with a chip on your shoulder because you’re fed up with how ignorant everyone else is, but unwilling to even educate, much less speak to, someone who’s expressing interest in you?” Tammas asked.
“I didn’t come in here for this,” Torres said.
“You’re right. You could have eaten in the privacy of your room,” Tammas said. “By eating in the cafeteria, it’s kind of an unwritten rule that you might like company. And I was hoping to have a nice lunch with you.”
“You’re not just trying to make up for all those Klingons who want to kill you by befriending a Klingon?” Torres asked.
“The ones that want to kill me have either not read the book, or are one of those Klingons who would forsake his culture of honor simply to stab me in the back,” Tammas said. “Any Klingon with honor who would choose to challenge me in a proper duel will walk away after I announce ‘I am not Klingon,’ for not only is it a dishonor to kill a weaker opponent, it’s a crime to kill someone who won’t fight. And I’m a strict pacifist by nature.”
“Yeah, I heard what your idea of pacifism did to Denton’s leg,” Torres said.
“I said I was a pacifist by nature, not a martyr,” Tammas said.
“I would have classified you as a passive aggressive,” Torres said.
“I’m a lot of things,” Tammas agreed, standing and gathering his tray. “Some would even say I’m a hypocrite, but I prefer the simple term, human. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”
Tammas gave Torres a slight bow, as if he were bidding farewell, Asian style, and walked away. Torres frowned, stirred her food, and then tossed the fork down. She actually liked Tammas a lot more now that she had vented and opened up to him. Damn him, she thought. She put her tray up and returned to her room to study.
Tammas put his tray and uneaten food back into the recycler and stormed out. Tatiana, who was just coming out of the food line, saw him and followed, ditching her food into the same recycler. She caught up to him just as he exited the building.
“Hey, Garcia,” Tatiana called after him. “Wait up.”
He turned, recognized her, and then paused to allow her to catch up. He then walked slowly, aiming for the shade offered by the trees even though it really wasn’t hot enough to avoid the sun. Earth was nothing like Vulcan. It was actually pleasurable to be in the sun, in San Francisco, at noon.
“What’s wrong?” Tatiana asked.
“Oh, nothing, other than I am a slow learner,” Tammas said. He began to talk with his hands, but the gestures were saying he didn’t know what to say, then he just sort of gave up, threw his hands in the air, and sighed. “I just don’t seem to be attracted to the right females.”
“I don’t guess I could help you with that one?” Tatiana said more than asked.
“Probably not. I keep falling for the non-human types,” Tammas said. “And stupid me, I keep being surprised that we’re not compatible.”
Tatiana sighed, her tone changing slightly to change the emphasis. “Like I said, I don’t guess I could help you with that one.”
“Uh? Oh. I’m sorry,” Tammas stuttered. “I’m just rambling about me. Did you want something?”
“I guess not. I just can’t compete with aliens, computer games and holodeck programs,” Tatiana said, casting a quick glance down at her breasts. “You know, if technology gets any better, there won’t be a human race.”
“Uh?” Tammas asked, wondering where all her sarcasm was coming from.
Tatiana turned to storm away, got a few steps, stopped, walked back, kissed Tammas hard on the lips, and then stormed away. Tammas stood there beside himself, wondering what had just happened. Did he just kiss his room mate or had she kissed him? He wasn’t sure of anything until Lenar pulled up along side him and waved his hand in front of Tam’s eyes.
“You okay there?” Lenar asked.
“I don’t know,” Tammas said.
“Well, if you have time to go over a few things, we have that big test tomorrow, and with you being the game master, I was hoping we could go over a few scenarios,” Lenar said.
“You’re still fretting over this Kobayashi test?” Tammas asked.
“No one has passed it in over a hundred years, if rumors are accurate,” Lenar said. “That means it is reasonable for me to fret a little. You’re being much too cavalier about this. This affects your grade point average, you know? Especially since you’re the Captain.”
“No one else wanted the job,” Tammas said.
“That’s because no one wins,” Lenar said. “Come on.”
The Kobayashi Maru scenario had changed very little over the years. The only significant change was that the Klingons were no longer the enemy, as they had protested against the vilification of their species. Wasn’t it obvious, they argued, we would never attack a wounded prey? Where would the sport be in that? Where’s the honor? So, naturally, the Klingons were taken out and the Romulans were inserted in. The Kobayashi Maru was still a freighter, only, instead of eighty crew members and three hundred passengers in need of rescue after their ship serendipitously discovered a mine, it was now two hundred crew members, and six hundred passengers. The change reflected the improvements in technology, keeping the appearances that it was just barely possible to accomplish the goals. Students on the command track would volunteer to take the test and were allowed no more than three chances to beat the simulator. Would be captains were permitted to pick their crews, drawing from anyone that was currently enrolled at the Academy, from the pool of those who had not been in the test more than three times. Drawings were treated as a summons by most cadets, because anyone who was “requested” had to comply as if they had been drafted. If the would be captain was nice, he or she could excuse you from participating, but most of the time if you were chosen you were chosen because you were believed to hold a skill necessary for the successful completion of a mission. And since, win or loose, your performance was evaluated, the “draftees” would never maliciously sabotage the mission out of petty retaliation.
Or so it was believed.
The simulator itself was a full scale star ship, which was named after the Enterprise, out of respect to Captain Kirk, the first only one to boast beating the test. Though all the professors referred to the “test” as a “no win” scenario, everyone went into the test believing it was possible to win if only they performed the correct number of tasks, in the correct order, and in a timely fashion. Everyone wanted to beat Kirk’s record. Especially Garcia, who was quite annoyed at how his first test had just played out.
Professor Thalymum patted him on the shoulder. “Relax, Garcia. It builds character.”
“Umphf,” Tammas said. It was obvious to everyone on the “Enterprise” bridge still smoldering from the fake fires that he was unusually angry. It was rare to see any outward display of emotions on him and even his room mates were taken by surprise at his sudden animation. “Character is over rated.”
“Well,” Professor Chapman smiled. “You still have two more tries.”
“This wasn’t a fair test,” Garcia protested.
“It’s a no win scenario, Cadet,” Thalymum said. “You’re not graded on successfully completing the campaign. You’re graded on your performance and on your decision capabilities. If it’s any consolation, you prolonged the inevitable longer than any cadet previously since the establishment of this scenario. That’s something you can be proud of.”
Tammas stormed off the bridge. He had played games before. True, he had written most of his scenarios for his holosuite experiences and so he had never made anything he couldn’t eventually win, with a little effort and practice. But the more he thought about the Kobayashi test, the more he was convinced there wasn’t a winning option available to him. He was certain he did everything right and was confident that everyone else performed their duties to the best of their abilities. His classmates were bemused by the way he was “sulking” through the rest of the day’s classes. Jean Hajar stopped him to schedule an appointment for a massage, which he agreed to gracefully. “Tell the others to email me,” he told her, and then continued on, “sulking.” He didn’t think of it as sulking, but rather as brain storming. Trini called it an obsession, even going as far as referring him to Captain Ahab. Even Joshua, while in Thalymum’s class, leaned over to him and said, “You need to let it go.”
He cleared the emails in his account as he rode the tram home, declining an invitation to have dinner with Admiral McCoy, who had no doubt heard of his performance in the test. He went right to his room and began scrutinizing over all the details of his Kobayashi Maru test. Everyone who participated had filed a report and using all the information available to him, he made a list of everything that had gone wrong. It was amazing how much paper work was generated by a crew that was supposedly killed to the last man, but it gave future file clerks papers to file, future battle and crash analysts something to study, and future commanders a real time look at how fast things can go bad. And that was one of Tam’s first clues that the scales were weighted against him. There were mechanical failures that had crept up that even in the most horrific battle would not have happened. Or, at least, so unlikely that it would be statistically impossible. It wasn’t like starships were constructed with Tombstone Technology, technology already developed but not put into use until the cost benefit analysis demanded it. Star Fleet took safety very serious.
Tammas became so convinced that there was a conspiracy involved, some sort of personal vendetta against him winning, as opposed to just everyone in general, that he spent two hour searching for a way to download a copy of the Kobayashi Maru’s program via the Earth Net. The security involved was tough, but it was no Kobayashi Maru test, and he managed to complete a download without tripping any alarms. It was too big a program for his neural implant, so he had to use his PADD. He was so studious that when his neural implant’s alarm clock went off, he realized he risked being late for class and shut down his home computer system. He had spent the whole night on his pet project, and had been so focused, that he hadn’t even bothered with sleep. He washed up, grabbed some fresh clothes from the replicator, dressed, and hurried out the door.
“Breakfast?” Tatiana called after him.
“Not today. See you later,” he answered.
“It’s just a game!” Tatiana reminded him, calling to him from the threshold of the kitchen.
Before Tammas closed the door, his eyes met Tatiana’s eyes, he saluted with his PADD, and smiled a mischievous smile. “Of course, it is. One I am going to win.” He hurried down the side walk and caught the tram to the Academy.
As he read over the program, he began to silently fume. He had been right. The program actually was written to prevent anyone from winning, and so, for the first time in his life, he could truly say, there was indeed a devil maliciously pushing buttons to make his life miserable. And he was staring at the devil, a series of default lines that would ultimately begin a series of cascade failures that would guarantee to end the mission swiftly. “Who the devil would have written a program with no possible way to win?” he wondered.
An urgent email rang an alarm in his implant. It was from Lenar, so he opened it. “I got a cryptic message from Crusher. It read, ‘Got you!’ So, heads up, everyone. Incoming practical joke. Lenar.”
“Damn it,” Tammas thought. So much for his negotiated truce, and per his agreement with Locarno, he would not be able to complain if he were hit as an innocent bystander, or even a direct target. And chances were, he would be a direct target. “I don’t have time for this crap, Crusher.”
None the less, he left the tram wary of a possible attack. He had played assassins enough in the holosuite to know how the game was played. Some innocuous person, perhaps reading a paper or drinking a cup of coffee would easily slip up next to you unawares, spill something on you, and poof, you went around with orange skin the rest of the day. “Well, not today, Crusher,” Tammas said. He was halfway across the courtyard when he felt something irritating his arm. He looked down half expecting to see a bug trying to bite through his uniform, though he knew it unlikely. Uniforms were designed to naturally repel insects, as well as resist the growth of bacteria. The bacteria elimination cut down on body odor by nearly ninety eight percent. What he saw was puzzling. His clothes were beginning to fizz at an ever increasing rate of speed, as if he was wearing a tonic water so shaken up that the carbonation was spewing away the entire drink. In the middle of the courtyard, between the biology and physics building, right in front of his very eyes, and the eyes of many peers and a chance of faculty, every last stitch of his clothing disappeared into a light cloud of smoke which drifted away on the morning breeze. There was just a hint of an ozone smell, the kind that followed a summer morning rain.
All the injustice of the Kobayashi Maru test faded, gone, just like his clothes. Tammas became aware of Crusher and Albert, walking swiftly away from him, but evidently laughing hysterically. There was also another message from Lenar.
“Hey, everyone. If you used the replicator to produce clothes this morning, find shelter immediately. The replicator has been reprogrammed to produce clothes that will disintegrate after approximately thirty minutes exposure to ultraviolet light…”
Tammas opened a live chat window with Lenar via his implant. (Confirmed. The Emperor has no clothes.)
Lenar. (LOL. Do you want me or Tatiana to bring you clothes?)
Tammas. (No.)
Lenar. (What are you going to do?)
Tammas. (What do you think? I’m going to class.)
Tammas stopped and ordered an iced raktajino. Not that he needed the extra kick. Thanks to Crusher, he was very much awake, and acutely aware of himself and his surroundings, even though he had pulled an all-nighter. The Klingon coffee was simply to add to the illusion that nothing was out of the ordinary. And the caffeine wouldn’t hurt. Sure, people were taking second glances, and even the Andorian at the coffee shop was over heard asking her fellow employee, “I thought humans were uncomfortable with public nudity.” The employee’s response was simply to shrug.
Tammas took his usual place in Chapman’s class, front row, and for all his “being late” he still arrived early enough that most of his class mates were still in the process of arriving. Conversations would stop and eyes would divert as people entered, and someone in the back yelled, “Hey, this is Earth, not Betazed!” There was laughter at that, but Tammas just pretended everything was the same as it always was.
One thing that was different, beyond his lack of clothing, was that the seats to either side of him remained vacant, and the last one in the room, Torres, was forced to sit next to him. She was about to tell the person to move from her usual seat, when she noticed Tammas in his birthday suit, sitting comfortably, A PADD in front of him on the desk. He seemed to be enjoying a raktajino. She could smell the coffee, and knew it wasn’t watered down, which was almost enough to distract her from the other facts about Tammas. About the same time, Professor Chapman entered, and told Torres to find a seat. She shot an evil look to the guy occupying her usual spot, and then sat next to Tammas.
Professor Chapman set his briefcase down, and began retrieving his materials, while simultaneously addressing the class. “We have a lot to cover in class today,” he said, turning around to face the class. His lips quivered for a moment. No one else laughed, either. He turned to face the electronic chalk board, sighed, scratched his nose, shaking his head sadly, said one word, then paused as he tried very hard to keep in control, and called up the first bit of info he was going to cover. “As you know, you have an exam next week, and I want to go over some examples.”
He had full composure as re turned back to face the class, though there was moisture in his eyes from his effort to maintain himself, and a bemused smirk kept trying to appear. “If you’ll download the first example,” Chapman said.
Everyone in class retrieved their PADDs and downloaded the first problem in the queue. No one waited for permission to start trying to solve the equations.
“You may be wondering why I’m starting with what should be the easiest test question ever,” Chapman continued. “I’ll tell you. It never fails that someone inevitably forgets the basic laws of physics. If you don’t know the law that an object at rest tends to stay at rest, and an object in motion tends to stay in motion, unless acted upon by a force, then you need to pack up and go home now. Whatever your attributes are before entering warp will be your exact same attributes when you exit warp. So, even though you may have just come out of warp in the gravity well of a new star or planet, before firing up your thrusters, you must orientate yourself to your new environment. If you don’t, and you fire up the thrusters, you may be quite surprised where your ship ends up. Besides that, you will flunk this test.”
Chapman tended to wander as he lectured. There was laughter coming from outside the classroom and he wandered over and shut the door. Tammas knew what the laughter was about and he recognized a couple of the voices. It had been Jaxa and Hajar, and Garcia glanced up to see Locarno pointing at him as if his fingers were a gun, indicating, “got you,” as the door was pulled to.
“Also, outside of warp, the speed of light is still nature’s speed limit,” Chapman said. “You can run your impulse engines from now until eternity and you will never push your ship past the speed of light.”
It was always a race to see which one of the students finished the problem first. Normally, Torres was first. But today, Tammas was, and she came in third. Chapman nodded as he looked over the responses arriving on his PADD. “Very good, Garcia. At least you haven’t forgotten everything.”
Tammas couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud at beating Torres and he wanted a little boasting, mostly to distract himself from his anger and discomfort of being naked. He leaned a little towards her and whispered, “If I had known you were so easily distracted, I would have started coming naked to class much sooner