CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
Admiral Madison office was on the hundredth floor. The reception room was large with a vertical, opaque, monolithic fountain in front of the far wall, and a couch arranged for the comfort of guests. The monolith was self illuminated with a soft glow, varying in hues. Sunlight streamed in freely from the plate glass wall, which added to the warmth of the room. The secretary looked up as Tammas entered and gave him a huge smile. She even went as far as standing to greet him, adjusting her skirt as she stood.
“Hello, Captain Garcia,” she said, enthusiastically pumping his hand.
“Please, I’m not a captain,” Garcia said. Her desk was transparent, no drawers, or file cabinets, but if you looked at the desk just right you could see the computer interface which had several documents opened that she was obviously working on. His file was one of them.
“Not yet,” she said, brushing her hair out of her eyes, with her free hand. She continued to pump his hand. “I’m Arlene Barton. Will you remember that?”
“For the rest of my life,” Tammas promised her, matching the strength in her grip.
Madison poked his head out of the office. “Garcia? What are your intentions with my grand-daughter?”
Tammas actually blushed. “Just saying hi,” Tammas said, pulling his hand free from hers.
“Well, now that you have, get in here,” Madison growled.
Tammas glanced back at Arlene as he passed over the threshold and into the office. Arlene mouthed the words, “call me.”
The Admiral pulled the door shut, passing a warning glance to his grand daughter through the closing space. She smiled innocently at him. Admiral Madison had been in conference with Professor Chilton, chair of the Criminal Justice Department. Chilton stood to greet Cadet Garcia. Tam was left wondering just how much trouble he was in.
“This is Captain Chilton. Have you two met?” Madison asked
“Not formally,” Tammas said, shaking the man’s hands. “You conduct the Academy’s orchestra.”
“Yes, a little hobby, mostly, but I much prefer playing to conducting. Especially jazz,” Chilton said. “I’ve seen you in the recital hall, listening to the orchestra practice. What do you think?”
“Are you asking my personal opinion, or my professional opinion?” Tam asked.
Both Madison and Chilton laughed, taking their seats again. Madison, a big, heavy set guy, leaned forward over his desk. He set into motion an old desk toy that was perhaps useful in demonstrating the laws of physics, but nothing else. Two silver weights swung from their chain, collided with companion weights sending an equal amount of mass swinging away at the opposite side, which in turn fell back and collided again with their mates. Tam found the rhythm annoying, and not just because it clashed with the rhythm of the grandfather clock in Madison’s office. In general, he had come to hate toys that made noise. Even someone drumming their fingers set him on edge.
“Really, what do you think?” Madison asked, telling Garcia to sit with a wave of his hand.
Tammas took a seat, wondering if he should be as direct as he was in his classes. He really did believe classes should be active participation, but this was not a class setting. This was supposed to be a discussion of his punishment. Then again, maybe talking music would lessen the severity of the pending punishment. Then again, he knew how sensitive humans were about music, and if he were too harsh…
“Spit it out,” Madison said.
“All of your selections will pass,” Tammas said. “Except the Vulcan piece you’re working on for the finale. It won’t be ready for the graduation ceremony, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Chilton nodded, and to Madison he said, “I told you.”
Madison frowned. “The Vulcan Ambassador, Lamone, came to me when she heard we were going to perform this piece and she asked me to drop it.”
“I haven’t met Ambassador Lamone,” Tammas said. “But she gave you sound advice.”
“Explain this to me,” Madison said.
Tammas sighed. “This work is so rooted in Vulcan philosophy and history that it resonates to the deepest part of their being. If you were to perform this piece, and just one note is off, whether it be flat or sharp, even if it is off by a tenth of a percent, undetectable even to a dog’s ears, every Vulcan in attendance will stand up and walk out of the ceremony, whether they’re in the audience or in the graduation ceremony itself. And the Ambassador from Vulcan who has asked you not to attempt this piece, she’ll pack her bags and head home to Vulcan. That’s how serious it is.”
“And if it is performed flawlessly?” Madison asked.
Tammas shook his head. “Alright. If you want to play what ifs. If you get it right, you will have every Vulcan in attendance so mesmerized that you might, just might, see tears forming in their eyes.”
Madison sat back in his chair. He rocked a little. “I want you to make this piece happen,” he said finally.
Tammas nearly fell out of his seat. “Oh, no. Oh, hell no. I don’t want to be in anyway associated with this fiasco.”
“Consider this your punishment for cheating on the Kobayashi Test,” Madison said, his voice a bit gruff.
“How does committing professional suicide return balance for cheating on a test that was rigged against me to begin with? If I were to do this I’d never be allowed to set foot on Vulcan again!” Tammas said, coming to the edge of his seat. He reached out and stopped the motion of the toy to bring silence. “Look, I’ve seen the choir’s and orchestra’s performance. They can’t do it. Not in six months. Not in two years!”
“This graduating class has done some remarkable things,” Madison said. “And it seems only fitting that their hard work is exemplified in a challenging piece like the one I’ve chosen. I have heard this live and it’s the most awesome thing I’ve ever heard. It moved me and I’m not the sentimental type. And since the Vulcans refuse to make recordings of it, I want us to perform it. I want this piece. You’re a highly recognized musician, with a Doctorate in musicology, from the Vulcan Academy of Science no less, which is unheard of for a human, considering how damn perfect they want their music, as if it were a science and not an art, and I believe you are the one to accomplish this mission. I want you to make this happen.”
“I’m schedule for a training cruise two weeks from now and I will be gone for two months. There is insufficient time to get this piece ready,” Tammas said. He looked to Chilton for help. Chilton just shrugged, but Tammas could see in his eyes that he was just relieved someone else would be responsible for the “fiasco.” For a moment Tammas thought about quitting. He would just up and quit. Forget the Academy. Forget Star Fleet! He didn’t need this.
But he wanted this. So, what were his issues about complying with Madison’s request? No lives were at risk. Was this about him being embarrassed? Was Madison trying to ridicule him? Probably not. He was just trying to see if Tammas would go into a no win scenario, knowing the full cost to him and his reputation. That was probably all there was too it. Maybe at the last moment they would pull the selection out of the concert.
Madison and Chilton waited for his answer. The sound of the old, weight driven, grand father clock clicked in the back ground. Tammas wanted to smash it. Looking out the window, Tammas could see the blue of the sky over the other buildings. Clouds like lambs grazed over the blue. The next building over had a garden on the top with a fountain in the center. The sun was crisp, sparkling against the water spraying into the air, and the garden reminded him of a funeral, minus the people in black. His funeral. They wanted to see him fail. Alright, then, if they want me to fail, let it be big time, he decided.
“I’ll want complete artistic license over this,” Tammas said.
“You got it,” Madison said. “You just make this happen. By the end of the concert, I expect to see crying Vulcans.”
“Is that all?” Tammas asked, wondering if releasing tear gas into the audience qualified.
“I’ll email you the names of all the performers,” Chilton said. “You might call some emergency sessions before your training mission.”
“Any chance I can postpone that mission?” Tammas asked.
“No,” Madison said.
“If that’s all, I’ll guess I be going,” Tammas said.
“There’s one more thing,” Madison said. “The press wants to talk to you.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Tammas said.
“You just pulled off the Kobayashi Maru test, and people want an interview with you,” Madison said. “And I promised BBC an exclusive.”
Tammas glowered at the Admiral.
“Your interview is with Ms. Brighton in one hour,” Madison said. “Put a smile on, be nice, and don’t walk out on her like you did on that reporter for the Fox channel.”
“Is there anything else?” Tammas asked, containing his anger. Most of it, anyway. He really didn’t care if the Admiral saw the anger on his face.
“Yeah. Stay away from my granddaughter,” Madison said.
“I prefer aliens,” Tammas told him.
“Dismissed,” Madison said. “And try not to embarrass Star Fleet during your interview.”
Tammas closed the door on the way out of the office and Arlene turned around to greet him again, leaning forward in her chair, deliberately showing off several of her assets. “You don’t look happy? Did he threaten you about seeing me?”
“Had he done so, I would date you just to spite him,” Tammas assured her.
“Awesome,” she said. “So, are you free this week end?”
“Your grandfather just increased my work load for the near rest of my life,” Tammas said. “But, email me your schedule and we’ll figure something out.”
ldquo;I’ll hold you to that,” Arlene said.
After visiting with Admiral Madison, Tammas transported directly to the studio for his interview and asked if there was some place he could get cleaned up before he met with Ms. Brighton. After cleaning up, he made his way to Ms. Brighton’s office. She was expecting him and met him with a warm smile. It seemed sincere, so he relaxed a little. She was a brunette, about 33 years old, and was dressed professionally.
“You don’t know how much I appreciate you doing this interview,” she said, inviting him into her office. “You’ve been completely incommunicado ever since you came to the Academy. You haven’t even updated your official web sites.”
“Well, they sort of made this an order, Ms. Brighton,” Tammas said.
“Amy, please,” she said. “I’ll try and make it painless. Have a seat, make yourself comfortable. And may I call you Tam? Am I saying it right?”
“Yes, and yes,” Tam said.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to record our pre-interview before we go live,” Brighton said.
“Go ahead,” Tammas said.
“Great, now the questions may seem sporadic, but that’s mostly because I’m looking for sound bites,” Amy explained. “After the show begins, I will be asking you questions that viewers have emailed me. I don’t direct the flow too much.”
“I’m familiar with your show format,” Tammas said.
“Really?” Amy asked, using her PADD to activate her cameras.
“As you’re probably aware, I am a subspace ham enthusiast, and, well, the BBC frequency is still the best test to verify that your radio is working. If you can’t tune in BBC, well, your radio’s most likely broken,” Tammas said.
Amy nodded. “Wow. That’s an old joke. Is there any topics you would like to avoid during the live interview?”
“I’d prefer to avoid speaking of the Vulcan incident,” Tammas said.
“The abduction incident or the computer virus vandalism incident?” Amy asked, pouring herself some tea. She offered some to Tam.
“Thank you,” Tammas said to the tea, and then to her questions. “Both of them, actually. The moon thing was a childhood prank.”
“I heard you did it for love,” Amy said.
“Really? You heard that?” Tammas asked, sipping from the tea. “Nice.”
“It would seem the animal enthusiasts protested your last book, Both Hands Full,” Amy said. “What’s that about?”
“Will fortune never come with both hands full?” Tammas quoted Shakespeare. “It’s written from the protagonist’s perspective, a cliché narrative style. On catching one particular bad guy, he makes a comment that ‘he was squirming like a dolphin stuck in a tuna net.’ He makes quite a few animal analogies similar to that.”
“You don’t like dolphins?” Amy asked.
“I love dolphins,” Tammas said. “It was just an off beat analogy by a gumshoe detective…”
“But you wrote it…”
“If writers have to start screening everything they write because someone might be offended then there will be no literature. There is always someone, somewhere, that’s going to be offended by something,” Tammas said.
“Is it true that you said the Borg are not evil?” Amy asked.
“If you’re referring to the quote in my BLOG, then you’re taking it out of context, but it proves my last statement,” Tammas said.
“Can you put it into context for me?” she asked.
“As opposed to you actually reading it?” Tammas asked. He examined the pattern on the arm of the couch cast by the sun-light refracting through his glass of tea and ice. “My BLOG entry two days go was in response to the esteemed Federation Council Member Delaney who is trying to rally the troops in response to the greatest evil the Federation has ever faced. I’m paraphrasing, of course, and his intentions are good. The Borg is a serious threat, but they are no more evil than a rattle snake. What kind of fool am I if I get mad at a rattle snake for biting me if I step on its tail or cross its path? It’s just doing what rattle snakes do. This use of the archaic word evil suggests that the Borg are manifestation of something supernatural and they’re not. We don’t have time for myth building. We need to stay rational and deal with the facts.”
“So, you don’t believe in evil?” Amy asked.
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” Tammas said. “And to quote Ghandi, the only devils are those running around in our own hearts.”
“You can quote Ghandi but you dis Spock in a paper you wrote?” Amy asked.
“I assume you’re referring to the Iotian paper?” Tammas asked, and when she nodded, he continued. “I didn’t disrespect Spock. I hold Spock in very high esteem. I merely pointed out that the scope of his response to the Iotian problem was inadequate due to insufficient data and the lack of sophistication with the computer software he relied on for his analysis.”
“Sounds like a dissed Spock to me, and you have reportedly dissed quite a few Starfleet heroes in class,” Amy said.
“I have formed a few opinions,” Tammas said with a smile. “Which might explain the popularity of my BLOG.”
“Yeah, I just think it’s funny that you dis people like Kirk, when rumor at the Academy makes you out to be the next Kirk,” Amy said. “How do you feel about that?”
“I’d say, no one will ever replace Kirk,” Tam said. “Besides, one legend is sufficient.”
“We could always use more heroes,” Amy said, checking her time and her list of questions. “Well, five more minute till we go live. You’re not going to walk out on me, are you?”
“I don’t know,” Tammas said. “Did you watch that Fox interview?”
“Yes, and I will try to avoid the FAQs listed in your public profile,” Amy said, referring to the frequently asked questions to which the answers were available. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No, I’ll be fine. When do you insert your theme song?” Tam asked.
“The computer does it for me and gives me the cues on my PADD. Why did you join Star Fleet?” Amy asked.
“I wanted to see the Universe, and, I wanted to be part of a team,” Tammas said.
“Well, the Academy isn’t keeping you so busy that you’ve stopped publishing,” Amy said. “I guess your music fans are relieved about that.”
“Well, music is a bit of an obsessive compulsive thing with me. The music is just in my head, and so, if I want to sleep, I have to write it down,” Tammas said. “I wake up with songs in my head. They creep into my head during the day. I am compelled to write music.”
“And you can join fleet with OCD?” Amy asked.
“The only way a physical or mental handicap might disqualify someone is if it would prevent that person from performing their duties,” Tammas said. “There are lots of people with artificial limbs and organs.”
“But you don’t let someone with schizophrenia fly a starship,” Amy said.
“I don’t have schizophrenia,” Tammas said. “But if I did, they would cure it and reevaluate me, and offer me work suitable to my level of proficiency.”
“Rumor has it that you don’t sleep,” Amy said.
“Oh, I do sleep,” Tammas assured her.
“But this last piece of music you published has a time stamp of like three in the morning,” Amy pointed out. “Most of your publishing have early morning time stamps.”
Tammas nodded, and decided it was time to address the myth that he didn’t sleep. “The secret to my success, I suppose, is that I do much of my creative work in my sleep, while lucid dreaming. I have a neural implant which facilitates the recording of my dreams directly to a computer where I can later edit the audio visual information. I can also put it down directly into musical notation, and I often write my stories and letters while sleeping. So, though it may appear as if I don’t sleep, in reality, I’m only this productive because of technology. Technology in tandem with being able to remain lucid while dreaming. Lucid dreaming is better than being on a holodeck. I highly recommend learning the skill.”
“Well, you have to admit that’s still a pretty phenomenal feat,” Amy said. “Very few people are able to lucid dream.”
“As with anything, it takes practice,” Tammas said. “Anyone can do it.”
“That is one thing I would have to argue with you,” Amy said. “Not everyone can do it. That’s why you’re so unique and why you have the following that you do.”
“Everyone has the same potential,” Tammas argued.
“Maybe, theoretically,” Amy said, pausing long enough to form her words. “But even you, as a sociologist, have to admit that the statistical reality of the idea that everyone can achieve just doesn’t pan out.”
“I don’t like reducing everyone, people, down to a statistical formula,” Tammas said. “Look, sociology is a tool, a very useful tool for understanding the dynamics of social interaction, but that’s all it is, a tool. You can’t take everything in that field, or any other scientific field, and make it an absolute.”
“The Earth goes around the sun,” Amy interjected.
Tammas sighed and shook his head. “I think what you’re trying to get at is that it would appear that not all people are equal. And, on the surface, I would agree, that seems to be true. Under the law, everyone is equal. Our technology guarantees everyone a minimum level of comfort, with access to food, shelter, medicine, and education. That minimum is far superior in degrees of comfort than say the most pampered of royalty eight hundred years ago. It also seems, and this is a generalization, that people are so comfortable that there isn’t sufficient driving force to compel people to push themselves to the next level of being…”
“Which you define as productivity?” Amy said.
“No. You, Amy, are defining it as productivity, and you’re using me as your measure,” Tammas said. “You’re saying, how do you do all this stuff? Look how much you do, and are doing, but in reality, everyone has access to the same stuff.”
“You just refuse to admit that you’re exceptional,” Amy said.
“There’s another way to look at it,” Tammas offered. “If being normal or average is doing considerably less than what I am presently doing, then I must be the one with a problem.”
“So, you’re saying people shouldn’t hold you as a role model, or aspire to be you because you’re abnormal?” Amy asked.
“Statistically, that seems like a reasonable conclusion,” Tammas said. “We can’t all be Captain Kirks. Where would the fun in that be? If we were, we’d all be fighting for the command chair and the big chair isn’t that big. I’m quite happy that there are Picards and McCoys and Spocks.”
“Well, whatever it is you’re doing, it seems to be working. It seems your contribution to literature and contemporary music is enjoyed by multiple species,” Amy said.
“I’ve been very fortunate,” Tammas agreed.
“You say music is an OCD thing with you. Do you have a song in your head now?” Amy asked.
Tammas simply smiled at her. As fast as she was hitting him with these questions, she might actually get enough material to have a second show.
“Would you be willing to sing it for me?” Amy asked.
Tammas sighed. He was willing to sing to her. The song in his head was an old, Earth, pop song that had come from a sound track to a popular movie maybe four hundred years before his time.
“Can I access the auditory system on your PADD?” Tammas asked. Amy consented and using his neural implant he used the PADD’s MIDI system to lightly accompany his voice with instrumental music. He sang, “If I were a sculptor but then again no, or a man who makes potions in a traveling show, oh I, know it’s not much but it’s the best, I can do, my gift is my song, and this one’s for you…”
“That’s very pretty. Did you write that?” Amy asked.
“No,” Tammas said, shaking his head. Because he had just sung it, it was now louder in his head. “That was written by Sir Elton John.”
“Never heard of him,” Amy admitted. “Let me guess: you down load truck loads of songs and play them in your sleep?”
“The more experiences you have, the more material you have to synthesize new material,” Tammas said.
“Nearly lost all track of time. Here we go, three, two, one,” Amy said, and then looked towards one of her cameras. “Hello, everyone, and welcome to the Brighton show. I’m Amy Brighton, and today’s special guest is none other than Tammas Parkin Arblaster Garcia. Hello, Tam. Thank you for coming today.”
“Hello, Amy,” Tammas said. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“My pleasure. You’re a regular hot topic these days, especially here at Star Fleet Academy,” Amy said. “Has it been easy making the switch from being a celebrity to working towards being a Star Fleet Officer?”
“You mean there’s a switch?” Tammas asked playfully.
“Your fame hasn’t gotten in your way?” Amy said.
“I don’t think so,” Tammas said, sipping from his tea, deciding to make her work a little. Why make it easier for her? If he really wanted to get mean, he could simply answer with “yes,” or “no.”
“So, no one’s accused you of getting an easier go at it than others?” Amy asked.
“I don’t think anyone doubts the integrity and energy that I put into my work,” Tammas said, engaging in one of his relaxation techniques. “I don’t ask for special favors and I push myself as hard as anyone else.”
“I heard you don’t even study,” Amy said. “How is it you consistently score in the upper percentile when you don’t study?”
“If you’re assuming that because I don’t frequently carry books or a PADD that I don’t study,” Tammas said. “You’d be mistaken. I study.”
“How? Or better, when?” Amy asked. “You’re schedule suggest that you’re super human. You attend classes, you volunteer at an animal clinic, you run a weekly gaming session for a local adolescents club, and teaching Tai Chi at the academy. When do you sleep? When do you study? Are you sure you’re not an alien in disguise?”
“I study,” Tammas assured her.
“And you never miss your own recreation,” Amy pointed out.
“My down time helps me process information,” Tammas said.
“And speaking of down time, can you talk about this thieves and assassinations guild thing you’re a member of?” Amy asked.
“It’s a game where certain players compete to build a better mouse trap and the other players try to steal the prize,” Tammas explained. “Other players volunteer to become targets, and others try to take them out of the game. Sometimes it’s mixed.”
“Are you a thief or an assassin?” she asked.
Tammas only smiled.
“Isn’t this game incompatible with Star Fleet code of ethics?” Amy asked.
“It’s a game,” Tammas reaffirmed.
“One that can be pretty rough, if I’m not mistaken,” Amy said.
“It’s strictly voluntary,” Tammas said. “The members are people that need an extra challenge in their lives, and no one has been killed in three game cycles, and that was an accident. But if you want to look at it as a club for deviants, well, that was my area of expertise in sociology. It gives me a means for studying the activities and behaviors associated with an element of society that is usually anti main stream. It’s a classic cops and robbers game, and really, that’s just two sides of the same coin. It’s stereotypical for me to say it, but there’s a certain segment of society that is preoccupied with what the old world would deem criminal, and they satisfied that compulsion with either engaging in criminal activity or engaging in counter criminal activity. Ninety percent of criminal activity was abolished with replicator technology. There’s no need to steal because everyone has equal access to material wants. But the game is still on. It may be that part of being a complex social animal means it is compulsory to play games.”
“And you love games,” Amy said.
“Yeah, I suppose you can say that,” Tammas said.
“You don’t like to loose,” Amy said.
“I don’t like to loose,” Tammas agreed, honestly. “And from what I hear, you won a pretty big trophy today, something very few Star Fleet cadets have ever won. Would you like to brag about that here, or should I tell them?” Amy asked.
“If you’re referring to successfully completing the Kobayashi Maru test, there’s nothing to brag about,” Tammas said. “Star Fleet is about team work, and I had a superior team, extremely dedicated, and what we did today, we did together.”
“Are you just being modest?” Amy asked.
“Please, I’m not modest. Just ask any of my fellow cadets. They’ll tell you I can be as about as vocal and opinionated as they come, and I do love to be right,” Tammas said. “But really, it’s not modesty when I say I couldn’t have done the Kobayashi test alone. The crew earned it with sweat and virtual blood.”
“You assembled the team,” Amy pointed out.
“I had some influence in that regards,” Tammas said.
“This win puts you right up there with Kirk. It took him three times to beat this test,” Amy added.
“There is some variability when it comes to luck,” Tammas said.
“If I understand this right, they’re also evaluating your performance to see if your defense against cloaked ships is a feasible tactic,” Amy said. “Flooding an area with lit probes was pretty ingenious. They’re already calling it the Arblaster-Garcia Defense.”
Garcia laughed. “Don’t forget the life pod gambit. That’s a ploy of last resorts, which means you’re probably not expecting to come out of it alive. You loose points for that sort for thinking.”
“You still passed,” Amy pointed out.
“Again, I had an excellent team,” Garcia said.
“Any rivalries at the Academy?” Amy asked.
“No,” Tammas said.
“Not even with Crusher? Aren’t you and he fighting for the top scores in all of your classes?” Amy asked.
“He’s got the top score in warp physics and exobiology,” Tammas said. “He earned it.”
“Yeah, but you’re a vet,” Amy said. “Aren’t you even a little miffed that Crusher, who specializes in math and warp physics, beat you at your own game?”
“What are you looking for, Amy?” Tammas asked.
“Is it friendly competition or is it mean spirited?” Amy asked.
“Though the Academy is designed to help people worked together, I admit there is a spirit of competition that develops between the students. There is quite a bit of pressure to perform,” Tammas said. “But we keep things in perspective. And, Amy, I am a human being, not a grade point average. Crusher is a better test taker than I am. There’s no shame in admitting that.”
“Did you and he exchange practical jokes,” Amy said.
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