Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. The Kirk-Brandt Chronology lists all the stories, both in order of occurrence and order of creation.
"There's nothing wrong with you that hasn't gone wrong with every other human male since the model first came out."
Brandt crossed the common, her eager steps sending the dry leaves flying. Ahead, she could see Gary Mitchell seated on a bench under the centermost tree. Since her return from a three-week training cruise the night before, she'd had little opportunity to speak with her friends except for quick conversations between classes. She'd had to turn down an invitation to have lunch with Kirk and Mitchell because of a scheduled meeting with her adviser, but Mitchell had suggested he meet her after her last class. There had been no time to find out why Kirk wouldn't be there, but she was sure that Mitchell would catch her up on everyone's news.
As she approached the bench, she saw that he had thoughtfully provided food.
"Welcome back. How'd you do on the Magellan?" he asked as he tossed her a paper-wrapped sandwich.
"Great. I got to do an entire shift at navigation." She beamed proudly, pleased that Gary had provided an opportunity for her to brag a little. Damn few midshipmen even made it onto the bridge during their first training cruise. "What's new around here?"
She unwrapped her sandwich and lifted the top piece of bread. Instead of the synthesized mystery meat she'd been expecting, she was relieved to recognize ham and swiss.
"Well, let's see," Mitchell said. "I've been appointed Red Squad Leader for next week's war games."
"Thanks. What else? Oh. Jim and I almost failed an inspection because Finnegan filled our shower with popcorn."
"He covered the floor with kernels and turned on the sonics. When we got to our room, the sides of the stall were puffed out like JiffyPop."
"That stuff they banned a few years ago?"
"The very same. We had a hell of a time cleaning it up."
"I wish I'd seen that!" Brandt chortled appreciatively.
"Me, too. We could have used an extra hand."
"Oh, I wouldn't have helped you clean it up. I would have just stood there and laughed. How's Marguerite?"
Although Brandt was just asking to be polite, she couldn't help enjoying the way Gary's chest puffed out at the mention of the curvaceous redhead who had been his steady since early spring. The quiet USF literature major seemed like a strange match for the boisterous Mitchell, but Brandt imagined that Marguerite hadn't chosen him for his literary insights, a suspicion that was confirmed by his leering response.
"Oh. Well, she's fine. Want me to set you up with her brother?"
"No, thanks. Anything else going on?"
"They finished the upgrades on the synthesizers and now the food tastes worse than ever. That's why I got the sandwiches from the deli. Consider it your welcome home. And Jim has a new girlfriend."
Brandt saw him watching her as he bit into his sandwich and resolved not to give him the satisfaction of being peppered with questions.
"He always has a new girlfriend," she said nonchalantly.
"What's so different about her?"
"See for yourself. Here they come."
He nodded toward an approaching couple who were backlit by the low afternoon sun.
Brandt shaded her eyes but couldn't make out any details. A small woman with a better than average figure and a lumpy head--no, that was her hair--was walking arm-in-arm with Kirk. She wore a long, flowing dress--where were they going, the Admiralty ball?--and the tails of a cape flapped in the autumn breeze. Brandt would have conceded that she was graceful, except she seemed to be having trouble navigating the lawn. High heels! Sheesh. Brandt couldn't decide which was worse--wearing the heels because she enjoyed impractical footwear or wearing them so she could use her clumsiness as an excuse to cling even more tightly to her escort.
Finally, they were close enough for Brandt to see her features--saffron blonde hair shining with lacquer, a vacuous smile buttressing two pink chipmunk cheeks and displaying teeth as uniformly white and even as Tri-Chiclets, eyes as crystal blue as a freshly skimmed swimming pool, and eyelashes as black as the sludge in recycling that no one liked to think about.
Kirk lowered his head and said something to his companion, whose expression turned to one of wonder and adoration.
Brandt choked on her sandwich, which resulted in Kirk greeting her by pounding her on the back.
"Yes!" she croaked. "Stop hitting me."
She looked around for a napkin but Mitchell had neglected to provide any. She was about to wipe the spittle off her chin with her sleeve when a small hand proffered a delicate handkerchief.
"Here. My name is Ruth. And you must be Susan."
"Suzanne," Kirk corrected her gently.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I would have remembered, but Jim always refers to you as Brandt. Until I asked him, I'm wasn't sure he even knew your first name." She laughed lightly.
Brandt looked levelly into warm, ingenuous eyes and said, "Thank you for the handkerchief."
Ruth greeted Mitchell and asked if she could sit with him and Marguerite at the baseball game on Saturday.
"Marguerite won't be there. But sure, I'll welcome the company."
"And don't forget about Suzanne," Ruth added graciously.
Kirk laughed. "She'll be out on the field with me, won't you, Brandt?"
"That's right. I'm the catcher."
"Oh!" Ruth seemed a little taken aback. "Well, that's wonderful. But isn't it frightening? I've seen Jim pitch and if I saw something coming toward my face at that speed, I'd be scared to death."
"Scared? Her? Not a chance," Mitchell drawled and Brandt realized he was enjoying her disgruntlement. "Besides, she wears a mask. But you wouldn't mind a broken nose, would you, Brandt?"
"No, but I bet you would, pretty boy."
Mitchell laughed and pounded a couple of noogies on Brandt's head until she broke free of his grasp. Then, eyeing Ruth with something that could have been mistaken for admiration, he said, "That's some dress, Ruth. Are you going somewhere special?"
"Oh, no, I just got through at work. I have to change before we go out tonight."
"What do you do?" Brandt asked.
"Really. What kind of lab work do you do?"
"I do makeovers for the Laboratorie de La Belle Femme. Daddy thought I should get some experience in 'the real world,' so he got me this job."
"Well, we have to move along," Kirk said. "Ruth wants to see the arboretum."
"Wait a minute." Brandt stopped them. "Your father got you a job at a makeup counter?"
"Daddy is La Belle Femme." Ruth giggled behind her flawless manicure. "He hates when I say that, but it's true. By the way, you have lovely skin. Do you use anything special?"
"Whatever I can cadge from my roommate." Brandt shot a quick glare at Kirk and Mitchell. "And don't tell Fig--she thinks her stuff is evaporating."
"Come to the store sometime," Ruth said. "I'll give you all the free samples you can carry. I'm there on Tuesday afternoons."
"Ruth," Kirk interrupted, "we really should get going."
"It was very nice meeting you, Suzanne."
"I'll be there on Saturday to cheer you on." She raised her fist--thumb inside the fingers--and smiled toothily as she said, "Rah!"
"Rah!" Mitchell replied enthusiastically as he punched Brandt in the shoulder.
Brandt faked a friendly laugh and punched him back. "It's just an exhibition game. Fall ball."
Seeing Ruth's puzzled expression, Kirk explained, "To keep us from getting rusty."
"Oh. Well, I'll be cheering for you anyway."
Giving Brandt a friendly jostle, Kirk said, "It's good to have you back."
"I've kept notes for you. I'll drop them off tonight."
"Jim, darling," Ruth cajoled, "We're going to my cousin's concert tonight, remember?" She proudly explained to Brandt and Mitchell, "He's making his debut as concert master with the North American Symphony."
Kirk shrugged apologetically in Brandt's direction. "Tomorrow at breakfast?"
"Fine," Brandt said, her heart sinking at the thought of trying to absorb three weeks' of material in one hour.
"Oh, Suzanne, don't look so glum," Ruth said sympathetically. "All your teachers know you've been on a cruise, don't they? They couldn't possibly expect you to be caught up by tomorrow."
"She hasn't met Commander Luce, has she?" Brandt asked with barely concealed contempt. "He'll expect me to be caught up yesterday."
Ruth clucked her tongue in commiseration and turned an adoring gaze up at Kirk. "I don't know how any of you do it."
I'm sure you don't, Brandt thought, wondering if Kirk would still give her his notes if she said it aloud.
Curling his hand around Ruth's, Kirk gave her a smile that made Brandt mentally review a list of other people from whom she could get the class notes.
"Jim darling, we really should get going."
Ruth turned to Brandt and Mitchell long enough to say, "See you Saturday!" Then she slipped her hand into the crook of Jim's arm, saying, "I'd love to go on a cruise sometime. They're so romantic. I think it's wonderful that the school takes care of your social life like that."
"Ruth, it's not that kind of a cruise," Kirk explained gently as they started in the direction of the arboretum.
And then they were blessedly out of earshot. Mouth agape, Brandt turned slowly toward Mitchell.
"Well?" he asked, grinning in malicious expectation.
"Oh my god," she whispered in an awestruck tone. "Kirk's dating a cupcake."
Over Mitchell's laughter, she continued.
"Did you see all that makeup? I've seen shielding that wasn't that heavy. And that drippy voice! 'Jim daaaarling.' Stop laughing! She's horrible. He must be blind!"
"He was driving me crazy. Commander Finney is so impressed with him, he's letting him teach that history class he tested out of. He went mad with power. 'Can you support that theory, Mr. Mitchell?' I had to do something."
"So you invented a device that turned his brain to mush?"
"No, I found the right weapon and aimed it at his weak spot. It's too bad that third-class midshipmen aren't eligible for the tactical medal."
"Can I assume that she'll self-destruct as soon as you pass the class?"
"Nope, sorry. My plan didn't include that contingency. Besides, Jim likes her. A lot. In fact, I think this could turn into something serious."
"Don't be silly, Gary. These things never last with him."
"He's goofy about her. He's hardly looked grim at all lately. He walks around smiling . He daydreams ."
"I'm sure you're exaggerating. She'll be a memory by mid-term."
"Care to put some money on that?"
"If I had any, I would. It would be like taking candy from a baby."
"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"
"Do the math, Mitchell. We've known him almost exactly a year, and in that time--" She paused as she calculated. "--he's had six girlfriends, not counting whatever he did during summer break. And they were all serious. Over a ten-month school year, that's a new girlfriend every one-point-six months--"
"Well, if it isn't Ned the Wonder Horse."
"When did he start seeing her?"
"Right after you left for the Magellan."
"So she's nearly halfway there already. Trust me, in six weeks, Jim will be sweeping up the cupcake crumbs with somebody else."
When Mitchell and Ruth arrived at the ballfield on Saturday, she was crestfallen to learn the reason the seats are called bleachers and they missed the first inning due to an emergency trip to purchase sunscreen. When they returned, Kirk was stepping onto the pitcher's mound and as they settled into their seats, Ruth gushed, "Oh, doesn't Jim look cute in his outfit!"
Mitchell excused himself to get a beer and, upon his return, he was treated to a commentary unlike any he'd ever heard at a sporting event.
"Poor Suzanne, getting her hair all crushed under that hat! ... Ewww! Jim isn't actually going to drink out of the same bottle everyone else has been using, is he? ... Doesn't Suzanne realize how it looks when she squats down like that? ... Spitting?!? I think they should lose points for that. ... Oh, look at Jim swinging the bats! What a darling!"
But five innings and three beers later, he was completely oblivious to her chatter and actually enjoyed the way she bounced up and down when Kirk scored.
He only wished Brandt were there to see it.
After the game, they found Kirk and Brandt down on the field arguing over who had been in whose territory when they'd collided halfway between the pitcher's mound and home plate in pursuit of a pop fly.
"Look, I'm the catcher! That means it's my job to catch."
"Fine! The next time a ball is about to plop down on top of me, I'll just wait for you, shall I?"
"All right," Mitchell interrupted. "Neutral corners, you two. You can argue about it later."
Ruth kissed Kirk on the cheek and said, "I thought you were wonderful. Oh, and you, too, Suzanne."
"Thanks," Brandt said flatly. "I'm going to get cleaned up."
"Gosh, Jim, I wish you wouldn't," Mitchell simpered. "You look so cute in that outfit."
Kirk gave him a puzzled look and said, "Shut up." He turned to Ruth. "He hasn't been too annoying, has he?"
"Gary is a perfect gentleman."
"That's right, kid. I didn't belch once all afternoon."
"Turning over a new leaf, Gary?" Brandt asked. "Does this mean we'll no longer be treated to you belching the alphabet?"
"I'm working on the periodic table. Listen--h!drogen, h!lium, l!thium---"
Ruth looked appalled, Brandt brayed with laughter, and Kirk cuffed Mitchell sharply.
"You thought it was funny in the chem lab!" Mitchell protested, rubbing his head.
"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Ruth."
" And Suzanne," Ruth interjected sternly.
"Ladies, my humblest and deepest apologies."
"Gary, I thought it was funny," Brandt chuckled.
"That's why I love you, Brat."
He grinned and reached for her, but Brandt evaded the incoming noogies and said, "I'm hitting the shower."
"Make it snappy. If we hurry, we can get a booth at Freddie's before it fills up. Jim? You and Ruth coming along?"
Kirk looked at Ruth who sweetly smiled up at him.
"I can't go," Brandt moaned. "I've got to review the notes on quantum field theory. Dr. Memkata has scheduled a special session for me tomorrow and he'll have my ass if I'm not ready. And Kirk, those notes of yours aren't exactly--"
"I know, but he was going so fast that I couldn't get everything down."
"Well, it's an all-nighter for me. Bring me a burger, will you?"
"Jim darling," Ruth said. "It would be a shame for Suzanne to have to study all night. Why don't you stay and help her?"
"Now, now," Ruth scolded as she took his hands and swung them from side to side. "It won't hurt you to go without a goodnight kiss just this once. And I'm sure Suzanne would help you if you needed it."
Surrendering willingly, Kirk said, "You are so sweet. Isn't she sweet?"
"The sweetest," Mitchell agreed. "Right, Brat?"
Before Brandt could reply, Ruth said, "Oh, stop! You'll make me conceited. I already love being fussed over too much."
"How can anyone resist fussing over you?" Kirk asked as he leaned into her.
Watching them kiss, Brandt rolled her eyes at Mitchell. "Wake me when it's over."
Laughing, Mitchell said, "Break it up, lovebirds! Our resident cynic has hit her limit."
Kirk scowled at Brandt. "I want to be around when you fall in love."
"I don't," said Mitchell. "She'll want us to clean up the mess after she devours her mate."
"You boys are just awful!" Ruth scolded. "Don't mind them, Suzanne." Her expression softened as she put her hands on Kirk's shoulders. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." She pecked him lightly on the cheek and after congratulating him on a "good game," she leaned into Suzanne and whispered, "And he was in the wrong place for that catch."
After crinkling her nose in girlish conspiracy, she took Mitchell's arm.
"Hey, Gary!" Kirk called after them. "Take her straight home, you hear me?"
As Brandt and Kirk started off toward the locker rooms, she said, "Thanks, JT. I'm sure this isn't your idea of a fun Saturday night."
"What do you mean? Going over quantum field theory and eating food out of a synthesizer? It's hard to imagine anything more exciting. Besides, it will give me a chance to draw you a detailed diagram of exactly where the catcher's territory ends."
For the next two weeks, Mitchell's main source of entertainment was Brandt's stubborn refusal to acknowledge that her estimation of the Cupcake's shelf life might have been faulty despite all evidence to the contrary. He made it a point to ask Kirk about their plans whenever Brandt was around and he could hardly believe she didn't pick up on what he was doing. But just the mention of Ruth's name seemed to blind her to all other considerations.
"This is getting ridiculous!" she griped after Kirk ducked out of an after-class party to help Ruth pick out flowers for a charity luncheon. "Every time I see him, he's either with Ruth, has just left Ruth, or is on his way to Ruth."
"I find it very interesting," Mitchell said as he took her empty mug and held it under the keg's spigot. "Who would have thought the tomcat would be housebroken so easily? This is starting to look permanent."
"Don't be silly, Gary. She's got two more weeks at the most."
"I wish you had money to bet on that." He handed her the brimming mug, took his own from her, and they made their way across the crowded terrace until they found an empty spot at the railing. Turning his back on the lush arboretum below, Mitchell tapped his glass to hers and said, "And speaking of money, you really missed a golden opportunity last night. Kirk and Durant weren't in the game. You might have won a hand."
Wide-eyed with shock, Brandt sputtered, "Now he's missing poker games? This is too much! Next thing you know, he'll be late with an assignment! He might even skip a class!"
"Whoa whoa whoa!" Mitchell wrapped his hands around her mug, halting the emphatic gesturing that was on the verge of splattering two nearby upperclassmen. "Drink first, then rant."
She gulped down the rest of her beer and continued in a slightly more moderate tone. "I think as his friends, we have an obligation to--"
"Forget it. You're not roping me into any evil plan to exterminate the Cupcake. All last year, you kept saying the Kid needed to loosen up. Now he is. And it wouldn't hurt you to let go a little, either. Why don't you get Fig to take you to wherever she preys on unsuspecting longshoremen?"
"I don't have time for that. Look what showed up this morning." She dug a data wafer out of her pocket and waved it in his face. "Thanks to JT, I did so well in warp physics last year that I've been appointed lab proctor."
"If I don't get someone to switch with me weekend after next, I won't be going on the camping trip!"
"I bet Durant would do it. Doesn't he still owe you for last year when you set him up with Zelli?"
"Yeah...Durant...Good idea. How'd he do in warp physics?"
"Not really, but as a good lab proctor, I had to ask." After a thoughtful pause, she said, "He passed, didn't he?"
She drained her glass, scanned the area until she sited her prey, and set off at a determined pace. "Hey, Durant!"
Laughing quietly, Mitchell promised himself he'd make it up to Durant later. But at least it distracted her from the anti-Cupcake campaign. And--
Wait a minute...If the Brat wanted to have a catfight with the Cupcake, well...
He only hoped there was a mudpit nearby when it happened.
A week later, Brandt burst into the quarters shared by Kirk and Mitchell and hurried to the desk where Kirk was staring at the computer monitor.
"Is the game on tonight?" she asked excitedly.
Without looking up, Kirk made a quick note on his padd and said, "2100. You in?"
She pulled a credit disk out of her pocket and held it in up, happily pointing to the bright blue indicator.
"My allowance came in." She sat on the edge of the desk and watched as Kirk rose and went to the bookshelves.
"Good," he said. "I could use some extra walking-around money."
"Dream on, Kirk. Durant's been coaching me."
"Did he tell you I chew my tongue when I'm bluffing?" he asked as he pulled a book off the top shelf.
Mitchell came out of the bathroom, displaying his bare chest above sharply creased khaki slacks.
"Oh, Mitchell!" Brandt sing-songed, waving her credit disk. "Look what I have!"
"Let me see that." He took the disk from her and examined it. "Looks like the real thing."
"Of course it's the real thing." She snatched it back from him.
"I thought maybe you hacked the First Galactic Bank."
"Robbing banks is grounds for expulsion."
"But trying to get into a poker game with a credit disk made out of chocolate isn't?" He positioned himself in front of the mirror and flexed his muscles, studying his reflection. "A cadet does not lie, cheat, steal, or try to pass off chocolate as legal tender."
"Hold on there, mister! Chocolate is legal tender! Back me up here, JT!"
"She's right, Gary," Kirk said. "When I was in grade school, Debbie Garrett gave me a kiss in exchange for a chocolate-covered caramel."
"That explains your account at Mrs. See's Old-fashioned Candies," Mitchell retorted. "But now that the Brat has real money, maybe I'll cancel my date with Marguerite. Then I'll be able to afford a new power injector for my flitter."
"My days of financing your flitter repairs are at an end, Mitchell. I feel lucky. The wind is blowing my way." Brandt slipped under Mitchell's arm and stood in front of him, curling her arms in a classic bodybuilder's pose.
"Is that the same wind that blew you into a stint as lab proctor?"
"No, but it's the one that got Durant to cover for me so I can go camping." She put her right bicep under Mitchell's nose. "Feel this. Like titanium, right?"
Mitchell fingered her upper arm and said, "Not bad. Want to take me on? I'll spot you two inches."
Though tempted to reply, "Keep your crummy two inches," she knew she'd be defeated instantaneously without them. So she screwed her face up into the fiercest countenance she could manage and growled, "You're on."
The two contestants went to the desk and sat down across from each other. Kirk turned away from the shelves, his arms now full of books and disks, and regarded them with dismay.
"Hey, guys? I'm studying here."
"Just be a minute, kid," Mitchell said.
"Yeah, but stick around. Your roommate's going to need an ice pack."
"Two inches, right?" Mitchell asked as he took two books from Kirk and stacked them on Brandt's side of the desk.
"Gary," Kirk warned, "she's smaller than you are--"
"Shut up, Kirk!" Brandt snapped. "One--two--three!"
They locked hands, eyes, and wills.
"Oooo, Brat, you're stronger than I thought. I may actually have to put up a fight," Mitchell said with a sly wink in Kirk's direction.
Kirk went to his bunk and sat down with a heavy sigh.
"You know, Brat, if he breaks your arm, you can't go on the camping trip."
"I'm--in no--danger," she grunted.
"Don't--worry--I'll be--uggghhh--gentle!"
The comm buzzed and Kirk turned away from the battle of the titans.
"Hello, Jim," a soft feminine voice cooed.
He quickly picked up the handset, smiling warmly. "Oh, hello."
"Uhhhhh--UHHHHHH--NOOOOOO YOOOOOOU DOOOON'T!" Brandt roared as she repelled Mitchell's assault.
Kirk covered the mouthpiece and shouted, "Hold it down, will you! It's Ruth."
"Hi, Ru--AAGH!" Mitchell pushed back, wondering if Brandt's sudden aggression had anything to do with the person on the other end of the 'phone.
Kirk turned his back on the competition, covered one ear, and hunched down into the 'phone. "Mitch and Brandt are just arm wrestling. ... Don't worry, he won't hurt her."
"What was that? I couldn't hear you. ... Really? That's great! ... What made you change your mind? ... Well, I would have missed you, too. ... All right. ... Ruth? I promise you'll enjoy it."
Glowing with satisfaction, he put the handset back in its cradle and announced, "Ruth's coming along on the camping trip."
"What?! OWWWW!" Brandt howled as Mitchell pinned her arm to the desk.
"The winner and still champion!" Mitchell crowed, taking a victory lap to the door and back.
"Brandt, are you all right?" Kirk went to her and offered a solicitous hand. "Can I--"
"Get away from me. I'm fine." Scowling, she shoved past him, muttering, "It's not like I'm some fluffy little--"
"So Ruth's going camping." Mitchell smirked. "Who would have believed it?"
"I think it's great that she's willing to give it a try," Kirk said proudly.
"I do, too. I think I'll ask Marguerite. What about you, Brandt?"
"I hope all four of you get eaten by bears. In fact, after I beat you tonight at poker, I'm going to hire some bears."
Captain Figueroa slowly turned in the command seat, surveying three hundred and sixty degrees of beefy manflesh. The sight of her crew, the finest in the fleet--not to mention the handsomest and hottest--filled her with pride and lust. And each and every one wore the leather mini-skirts that were now regulation, at least on Fig's ship. Facing the viewscreen once more and inhaling the sharp funk of testosterone, she thought of the four hundred similarly clad men on the other decks, not to mention the new recruits waiting to beam up--
"Huh? Wha--" Heavy-lidded, Fig looked up into her roommate's eager face. "Oh, shit, Brandt. I was having the best dream--"
"No, you listen--" She yawned, turned on her side and propped her cheek on one elbow. "What time is it?"
"A little after midnight. I just--"
"I finished my report on replicator mechanics half an hour ago. I'm pooped. This better be important."
Fig flopped back on her pillow, resigned to hearing Brandt out.
"You're not going to believe it," Brandt whispered urgently. "I ran into Kirk and the Cupcake coming out of a tri-vee so we all went out for coffee. Fig, listen to me! He's not even getting any! "
"Wake up, you idiot! I'm talking about the Cupcake!"
"If she's cream-filled, Jim hasn't found out yet."
"Will you stop talking in code?"
Realizing she wouldn't be allowed any rest until the conversation was over, Fig sat up and shook herself awake. Then, fixing Brandt with a malevolent gaze, she said, "How do you know?"
"She cornered me in the ladies' room and asked if I would be her tentmate on the camping trip. She doesn't want Kirk to 'get any ideas.' I almost fell into the recycler."
"I told her I'd think about it."
"Yeah, I can just see you and the Cupcake, cuddled up in your sleeping bags, whispering and giggling and doing each other's hair."
"I might learn something interesting."
"Like why the hell Kirk puts up with her."
"I have a better idea. Why don't you share his tent? You could help him out."
"Nookie. Cream filling. You don't expect me to believe that you're all worked up over this because you hate to see Ruth missing out on a good thing."
"All right, forget I said anything." Fig burrowed down into her blankets with an exasperated huff. "But can I just point out one thing? You're not getting any either."
"That's different. I've chosen to concentrate on my studies. But if I wanted a boyfriend, I'd make damn sure I got one I could get some from."
"Whatever you say. Now will you let me get some sleep?"
"All right," Brandt grumbled. "I just thought you'd be interested. I thought you might have a theory about it."
"About why Jim's willing to wait so long."
"I dunno. Maybe he's a virgin."
After a moment's stunned silence, Brandt whispered, "Do you think so?"
"Maybe he struck out with all of them so he keeps moving on, hoping to get lucky. After all, he's only seventeen. My brother's his age and I'm pretty sure he's a virgin."
"But your brother's a herbert."
"Yes, he is. He just happens to be a good-looking one. And he's dating a cupcake, for god's sake. That's proof of some type of deficiency."
"Okay, have it your way. But he's got a lot of growing up to do, and from the look of it, so do you. So either trot over to his room and make that boy into a man or go to sleep. But leave me out of it."
Fig turned her back on Brandt and scrunched her pillow with determination. As she pressed her cheek to its welcoming softness, she closed her eyes and soon the sounds of her roommate getting ready for bed dreamily segued into the slap of leather miniskirts hitting the deck.
Brandt sat up in bed and squinted until she could read the glowing numbers on the chron. Almost four hundred hours. If she fell asleep right now, she'd get two hours of sleep, not nearly enough to face morning calisthenics followed by an astrophysics exam.
She lay down and began going through every sleep inducement technique that she could think of--relaxing her muscles starting at the toes, breathing slowly and evenly, imagining her mind as a computer screen and giving the "Clear" command...
Ten minutes later, she was once again staring at the chron and thinking, Less than two hours' sleep.
With an exasperated sigh, she resigned herself to using the one technique that was almost sure to work. She reached under the covers and pulled up the hem of her nightshirt, finally giving free play to the persistent fantasy that had been sparked by Fig's sleepy theorizing.
Slow down, cowboy, she imagined whispering to a virginally eager James T. Kirk.
"Good work, Brandt," Commander Stokes said after double-checking the information on her padd. "You cut twenty-seven seconds off your time."
"Thank you, sir," she gulped, trying not to look as winded as she felt.
"Care to tell me what lit a fire under you?"
"You've never run the obstacle course like that before. You took the wall in four steps. What's the big hurry?"
"Is that what they call it these days?" She looked at Brandt suspiciously. "All right, dismissed."
Brandt smothered a grin as she turned away. Out of class ten minutes early, which made it almost certain that she'd be able to catch Mitchell before he left--
"Brandt!" the instructor snapped.
"The showers are that way." She pointed toward the gymnasium.
"You skip that shower, mister, and you'll be running laps straight through dinner. Do you get me?"
Brandt reversed course, wondering how much time she could shave off her shower.
Brandt hurried to the dormitory's front station, pushing her wet hair back from her face as she leaned over the counter. As two drops of water plopped down on his padd, the young man sitting desk looked up with a sour expression.
"Brandt, do I come to the warp lab and drip on your work?"
"Sorry, Thomason." She took a step back. "Has Mitchell signed out yet?"
"I'm not sure. I just took over. Let's see--"
"Just about to," said a familiar voice behind her.
"Gary! Oh, good. I need to ask you something."
"Can't it wait?" He took the padd from Thomason and pressed his thumb against the slot next to his name.
"Midshipman Gary Mitchell signed out," droned the computer.
"No, Gary, now," Brandt insisted.
"See, Thomason?" he smirked as she dragged him away. "They can't keep their hands off me."
"So what did you need to ask me? And make it quick," Mitchell said as she hustled him into a secluded corner.
She hesitated and stared out through the tall windows at the rolling lawn. Now that she was faced with Mitchell frowning impatiently, she couldn't find the words. She'd hoped to bring the subject up casually, but chance had played against her all day and if she didn't ask him now, she'd have to wait until morning for another opportunity. And dammit, she wanted a good night's sleep and she didn't want to earn it by exhausting herself with ridiculous fantasies.
"Well, I was wondering...about...about Kirk..."
"Did you know that he and the Cupcake aren't, um, they aren't..."
After a few moments of nervous silence, Mitchell tapped his fingers against her forehead.
"Mitchell to Brandt. Your message is breaking up. Please repeat."
Pursing her lips, she decided to go with a euphemism.
"Did you know he still has every reason to respect her in the morning?"
A stunned frown creased Mitchell's face.
"Is that what's so important?"
"Well, no, it's not really important but I want to know. So is he..." Her courage failed her once more.
"Getting any?" Mitchell asked helpfully. "No. Poor kid."
"Look--" He grasped her arm, leaned down until their heads were close together, and spoke in a low tone. "When a guy takes a very long shower after every date, it's not because he wants to go to bed clean."
He raised both eyebrows in a silent 'Get it?' and Brandt nodded thoughtfully.
"Guys don't do stuff like that."
"Someday I want you to explain the code of guys to me."
"I can't. That's part of the code."
"Whatever gave you that idea?"
"Actually, it was Fig's idea. But it makes sense. If he knew what he was missing, I don't think he'd--"
"Did he tell you? Because he could be lying. Isn't that part of the code of guys, too?"
"Brandt, I know . He did that dark-haired girl. What was her name--Charmaine?"
"Doesn't he know how to override the door system?"
"Yes, but someone--probably Finnegan--hacked ours so that it only looked like it was overridden. When I walked up to the door, it let me in."
"Yes. Look, I told Marguerite I'd take her out to her parents' house to pick up her camping gear. So can I go or is there more to this interrogation?"
"No, you're dismissed," she replied absently.
After giving a mocking salute that went unnoticed, Mitchell left her at the window. Brandt leaned against the cold glass, her face puckered in an aggravated scowl. She'd assumed that Ruth's hold over Kirk was sexual until Fig's latest theory had thrown her into a tailspin. But now--he wasn't a virgin, he wasn't getting any, and he was still goofy over the Cupcake.
Though they had hoped to arrive at the campsite early enough to allow some time for exploration, the group encountered various difficulties in keeping to schedule. Commander Luce kept Kirk after class for an hour-long discussion of his innovative solution to a battle scenario, neither Ruth nor Marguerite was ready when they went to pick them up, and Mitchell's flitter failed during the journey, necessitating a full power charge in Fresno. By the time they arrived at the small lake in the Sierra foothills, the descending sun was nearing the tops of the sequoias. Luckily, the hike from the flitter to the ridge above the lake wasn't a strenuous one and they began making camp with nearly an hour of daylight left. Mitchell and Kirk had been there in the early summer with a group of cadets and had chosen this site because of its access to good fishing and a wide variety of hiking trails. Additionally, it wasn't high enough in the mountains to present any real weather problems in early November.
Brandt soon concluded that it was easier to pitch the tent herself than to coordinate with Ruth's tentative attempts at assistance. Although her borrowed tent was supposed to spring into shape at the push of a button, she'd discovered that all the pieces had to be positioned precisely or it collapsed immediately. And Ruth's guesses on what piece went where weren't exactly helping matters.
"I'm sorry to be so clumsy, Suzanne, but I don't want to break a nail."
"Look, I'll set up the tent. Why don't you, um--" She racked her brain for an activity that wouldn't endanger any of Ruth's grooming. "Why don't you go look at the lake? You can see it from the top of that ridge."
"But isn't there something I can do?"
"Well...if you see anyone, ask them how the fishing is."
As Ruth headed off toward the lake, Brandt saw Kirk start after her.
"No, you don't, kid!" Mitchell yelled as he and Marguerite struggled with the poles of their tent. "If you're done with your tent, there's plenty of other gear to unpack."
"But she might get lost," Kirk protested.
"We should be so lucky," Brandt grumbled under her breath.
Catching her comment, Mitchell grinned and said, "Jim, it looks like the Brat could use some help. Give her a hand before she gets crabby. Consider it your contribution to morale."
A half an hour later, there was a small fire blazing within the semi-circle formed by the three tents. Kirk and Brandt were sorting through the food packs as they waited for the water to boil. Having loudly proclaimed that he couldn't wait any longer for food, Mitchell was lounging near the fire and sharing a candy bar with Marguerite.
"Look!" Ruth exclaimed brightly as she stepped out from the trees, delicately holding out a string of five fish. "I ran into a man who'd been fishing. He said they're 'jumpin'. He had more than he could eat, so he gave these to me!"
As the others ran to greet Ruth and relieve her of her haul, Brandt muttered, "There is no god," and began tossing the food packs back into the storage container.
That night, Brandt lay in her sleeping bag, propped up on her elbows and watching in fascination as Ruth methodically brushed her hair. She couldn't help mentally counting the strokes as Ruth chattered.
...seventy-two, seventy-three...
"You know, Suzanne, I'm surprised you don't have a boyfriend. You're pretty enough."
"I don't have time for a boyfriend right now. Though I wouldn't mind getting laid."
...eighty-three, eighty-four...
"I mean it. If Jim and Gary ask you what to get me for Christmas, tell them I'd like a hooker. I can't afford one myself."
"It's the gift that keeps on giving."
"Suzanne Brandt, I'm not going to listen to one more word of this. I know you're not serious."
"Well, not one hundred percent serious. But by Christmas, I might be."
Ruth put her brush into her cosmetics kit--which Brandt had disdainfully noted took up nearly half of her back pack--fluffed her now shining hair, and stood. Assuming Ruth was about to turn out the light, Suzanne settled into her sleeping bag. To her surprise, Ruth parted the tent flaps and started out.
"I thought I'd say good night to Jim."
"You can't go out there alone."
"Why not? His tent is only a few feet away."
With a quizzical expression, Ruth turned out the light and returned to her sleeping bag. As she settled in, Brandt said, "Look. I didn't want to tell you this, but..."
"Didn't you hear what happened around here a few days ago?"
"You know the personality adjustment center a few miles north of here?"
"Well, there is one. I think they try to keep it quiet."
"A friend of mine is a security guard there."
"Well, last week, an insane Klingon escaped."
"He's dangerous, too. He's obsessed with the idea of keeping humans from procreating."
Ruth's face crinkled in puzzlement.
Resolving to stick to more simplistic words in the future, Brandt explained, "Making more humans."
After a beat, Ruth's eyes opened wide. "Oh!"
"Well, a few nights ago, there was a couple necking in a flitter near here. They heard these noises outside. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Then it stopped, so they kept on making out. But it started up again. Scraaaatch. Scraaaatch. Finally, they decided to leave. But when they got home..."
"Guess what they found hanging from the door handle."
After a long pause, Ruth asked in a small voice, "Did they catch the Klingon?"
For several minutes, Brandt watched as Ruth curled into a tight ball of trepidation. She waited until her tentmate's shiny, well-brushed hair--visible even in the darkness--had almost completely disappeared into the sleeping bag, and then she sniffed loudly.
"Ruth, do you smell something? Something kind of sweet?"
"You sealed that honey up, didn't you?"
"Oh, yes. Jim warned me about bears, so I had him check it."
"Good, because bears aren't the only ones who like honey."
"You think Gary will eat it all while we're sleeping?"
"No. Honey is like catnip to Klingons. "
Brandt nodded sagely. "Honey and rosemary. Drives them crazy."
After a tense silence, Ruth said in a trembling voice, "Suzanne?"
"Mmmmm?" Brandt responded sleepily.
"I use rosemary and honey shampoo."
"You do? Well, I'm sure it will be all right. By the way, your hair looks great."
Brandt turned over, half-hating herself. This was just the kind of stunt people used to pull on her little brother, and she'd beaten them up for it. But Ruth was such an easy target. And maybe if Jim saw what a ninny she was...
She scraped her fingernails against the side of the tent.
"Ruth?" she whispered. "Did you hear that?"
"Yes, you are. It's not funny."
"Suzanne, I swear that wasn't me."
Brandt wished she had something sharp to tear the fabric. Ruth would probably wet her pants.
"Shhhh! I'm going to see what it is."
"No! Don't do that! Let's just scream for Jim."
"It probably is Jim, trying to scare us."
"Well, I'll just check. Stay here." She climbed out of her sleeping bag and slipped her shoes on. "Seal the flaps after me."
"But you might be the Klingon."
"I'll do one short scratch and one long one."
"Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing." Brandt turned back and regarded Ruth with a worried expression. "Do you have any insect repellant?"
"Yes." Ruth scrambled to her pack and retrieved a large spray canister.
"Spray it on your hair." When Ruth hesitated, Brandt said, "I can smell your shampoo all the way over here."
Ruth nodded nervously, closed her eyes, and held the can up to her head.
Concealing a wicked grin, Brandt unsealed the tent.
Ruth held down the button on the canister and sprayed her hair in a large arc, hoping the Klingon would hate the smell as much as she did. Then she scurried to the opening and re-sealed it with shaking hands. Deciding she'd better be prepared to run, she put on her shoes and stood in the middle of the tent, fearfully clutching the can to her bosom. After several moments, she reapplied the bug spray, and, as she was shaking the can for another round, she realized that even an insane Klingon wouldn't like having insect repellant sprayed in his eyes. Planting her feet in what she hoped was a defiant stance, she pointed the can at the entrance with both index fingers trembling on the button.
She whimpered softly as she waited for the rest of the signal, silently mouthing a fervent prayer.
Please be Suzanne, please be Suzanne--
Sighing with relief, she moved to the entrance and began unsealing it.
Ruth screamed and stumbled backwards.
Choking on laughter, Brandt ducked around to the side of the tent and listened to the cries from within. To her delight, Ruth apparently hit the take-down control and the entire tent collapsed. Howling, Brandt clutched her sides and fell to the ground as the mound of canvas flopped frantically in all directions. When the others came rushing out, she managed to gasp, "Ruth's stuck in the tent!"
Kirk tore open the flaps and dove into the cloud of noxious vapor. The commotion within the tent became even more agitated as his roar of indignation joined Ruth's screams. Wheezing with laughter, Brandt struggled to her feet and staggered over to Gary and Marguerite.
"What the hell is going on?" Mitchell said. "And what's that smell?"
"B-b-bug spray!" Brandt blurted, losing control once more.
At that moment, the conquering hero emerged from the tent, coughing and wiping tears from his eyes yet still managing to gently guide a trembling, sobbing Ruth. At the sight of her tentmate's sticky, disheveled hair, Brandt once more doubled over with laughter. Mitchell and Marguerite hurried to Ruth and joined Kirk in trying to elicit a coherent description of what had happened.
"A Klingon! And a flitter! And scratching! And--and--and--"
Brandt finally recovered herself and joined them just in time to see Jim pull Ruth close and murmur, "Shhh. Shhh. It's all right." Looking over her shoulder, he gave Brandt a suspicious glare.
"What?" she said. "I told her a ghost story. How was I to know she'd get hysterical?"
"That was very cruel, Brat. And collapsing the tent--"
Rolling her eyes, Brandt approached Ruth and patted her on the shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Ruth. Really. Come on, let's go back to bed."
"No," Kirk said. "I'm not leaving her alone with you. Come on, Ruth, you'll sleep in my tent tonight."
"Don't worry. I'll sleep right outside so you'll feel safe. I like sleeping under the stars." As he led Ruth away, he turned back and said, "And don't anyone dare help Brandt set up that tent."
The next morning, Brandt rose early but none too happily. She hadn't slept well, kept awake by the sounds of Gary and Marguerite going at it in the next tent and her own frustration at the way her plan had back-fired. But she didn't want to be the camp pariah all weekend, so she decided to concentrate on redeeming herself.
When she stepped outside, she saw Kirk's sleeping bag neatly rolled up in front of the tent where Ruth was presumably still sleeping. Kirk himself was nowhere in sight, but remembering how important morning coffee was to both him and Mitchell, she assumed he'd gone to replenish the water supply.
Gathering her fishing gear, she decided that she would provide breakfast. And she would catch it herself.
As she walked along the trail, she sourly repeated in a pinched little voice, "He had more than he could eat, so he gave these to meeeee! Oh, goody! Three cheers for the Cupcake!"
Making her way along the ridge that sloped down to the lake's edge, she saw someone was already there and, as she drew closer, she realized that Kirk had beaten her to it.
He was reeling in a large lake trout when Brandt came up beside him. He turned to her and said, "I've got six. That should do for a while."
"Are you going swimming or shall we walk back together?"
"Are you kidding? The water's freezing. I'll walk with you."
They started up the hill and walked in silence for several minutes until they reached a point where the path leveled out along the edge of a thirty-foot ledge. Below, the deepest part of the lake glistened in the morning sun, its rich blue water flecked with silver and gold.
Stopping, Kirk said, "Hold on. I've got a rock in my shoe."
He bent down to fix it and Brandt looked out over the lake.
"Gary said the kayaking here was wonderful."
"It was. Too bad the boat rental has already shut down for the season."
Kirk stood and brushed the knees of his jeans.
"No. I want to talk to you about last night."
"I know. But look, Ruth isn't like you or the girls at the Academy. She's...well, she's softer. I don't like to see someone take advantage of her..."
"Gullibility?"
"Trusting nature. And she likes you. She wants to be your friend. Could you give her a chance?"
She hesitated and he could see she didn't welcome the idea of buddying up with Ruth. He waited, counting on what he hoped was a guilty conscience. Finally, she sighed and said, "All right. When we get back to San Francisco, I'll take her out to lunch to make up for it."
"Will you lend me some money?"
"Sure. By the way, do you have an extra set of clothes with you?"
He grabbed the back of her shirt collar in one hand and the seat of her pants in the other and hurled her into the lake. She screamed all the way down--sounding much louder than Ruth to his ears--hit the water with a resounding splash, and surfaced moments later, sputtering and shaking her fist. He watched until she began swimming toward shore in strong, angry strokes. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled,Laughing, he called, "See you back at camp!"
He picked up the fish and his gear, leaving Brandt's for her to gather on her trip back, and went on his way, his occasional bursts of laughter startling a few birds. When he arrived at camp, the others were gathered around the fire, exhorting the coffee to boil faster.
Ruth looked up and greeted him with a smile. As he sat down beside her, she asked, "Jim darling, have you seen Suzanne? Her tent is empty."
"She decided to go for a swim."
On the other side of the fire, Mitchell caught his eye and guffawed.
Having changed into dry clothes, Brandt set her wet shoes on a flat rock in the sun and began hanging her other garments on nearby tree branches. She could hear the others laughing and talking as they prepared for a hike along a trail to the west of the lake. She tried to feel some resentment that Kirk hadn't asked her if she had another pair of shoes with her but she knew she'd earned her morning swim.
"Can I give you some friendly advice?"
She turned and saw Mitchell straightening the legs on the jeans she'd hung up moments earlier.
"Sure, why not?" she said tiredly.
"If you're trying to split up Jim and the Cupcake, that stunt last night was a bad idea."
"I know, I know. Jim and I already had it out. Now I have to be her friend."
"You don't get me. You can't stand her because she's silly and weak. But picking on her just makes you look like a bully and gives Jim every reason to protect her. Remember how he bailed us out in Warp Physics? He's a hero. And last night, you enhanced Ruth's image as a maiden fair who's very much in need of a knight on a white horse."
"So what do you think I should do?"
"You could mind your own business. You were positive this was going to run its course, remember?"
"I can't wait that long. Every time I see her..." She shuddered.
"Brat, get over it. Maybe if you got a boyfriend, you'd quit worrying about Kirk's love life. Besides, he's already making noises about dropping you off at the personality adjustment center on the way back."
At the sound of Kirk calling, "Mitchell, come on!" he said, "Gotta go. Have lunch ready when we get back, all right?"
Monday morning found Brandt sitting next to TJ Durant outside the office of the Commandant of Cadets. Having waited in taut silence for seven minutes, she thought she would shatter if she had to disguise her agitation much longer and she didn't have to look at Durant to know that he was suffering the same agony of uncertainty. She looked across the room at the commandant's aide. Since ushering them into the straight-backed chairs at the window, he had not acknowledged their presence but she was sure that one word from either of them would bring a glare that would further erode their dwindling self-possession. Suddenly, a short buzz shattered the silence. The aide flipped a switch on his desk console and a low conversation ensued, none of which was audible to the two nervous midshipmen. After acknowledging the order he had just received, he picked up his padd and went into the commandant's office. Taking advantage of his momentary absence, Brandt turned to Durant and whispered through clenched teeth, "For god's sake, what happened?"
Slumping in his chair, Durant replied, "They were doing the simulation of shutting down the warp core, but it wouldn't go."
"Did you turn on manual override?"
"Well, we started getting these readings that were completely off the scale and the next thing I knew, we were doing Warp 11--"
"Tell that to the computer. The lab was shaking like we really had a hot warp core. Then the computer said that we'd gone back in time and Tsang had killed his own grandmother. O'Bannion pointed out that maybe Tsang no longer existed and Tsang got hysterical, so I peeled him off the ceiling and shut the lab down."
Durant shuffled his feet and mumbled, "Turned out the lights and locked the door."
Now it was Brandt's turn to slump miserably.
"Leaving the lab running all weekend at Warp 11. No wonder every circuit is fused."
"Look, Brandt, I'm really sorry. I ran the simulation myself beforehand to make sure I knew it. It wasn't your fault."
"Yes, it was. My watch, my responsibility." She dropped her head to her hands.
"No, it's my fault. I told you I could handle it. So when we get in there, I'll say--"
"Forget it, Durant. The old man will never buy it. Just promise me one thing."
"If, through some miracle, we're not kicked out over this, and if, through a second miracle, we get into command school, I don't want you near the simulator during my Kobayashi Maru."
"Don't worry about it. I seriously doubt that I'll be in command school."
She gave him a withering look and asked derisively, "What are you going for--security?"
"I'm thinking about switching my major to temporal physics. I feel like I should check on Tsang's grandmother."
The aide returned and said, "Brandt, the commandant will see you now."
After three minutes spent standing at attention as the commandant read the report on his monitor, Brandt felt the beads of sweat forming around her hairline. Flop-sweat. Humiliation-sweat. I-can't-believe-I-was-such-an-idiot-sweat. She had hoped never to stand in front of him this way. She remembered her pre-admission interview. After grilling her for an hour, he'd sat back and studied her as she'd tried not to hold her breath. Finally, he'd nodded curtly and said, "You'll do."
You'll do. She'd been walking on air for days after that. And now she most definitely hadn't done. She'd abandoned her responsibility as lab proctor to go camping with Kirk and Mitchell--to have some time together, just the three of them--and then that idiotic Cupcake had come along, and Marguerite too, although she wasn't too bad--and now--
She was doing it again! Forget the damn Cupcake! she ordered herself.
"Computer, clear," the commandant said and turned a baleful gaze on her. She felt a thin stream of perspiration slither past her ear. He leaned forward and his words were made all the more fear-inspiring by the quiet rumble in his voice.
"Brandt, did you check Mr. Durant on that exercise before going off for the weekend?"
"No, sir." To her dismay, her words came out in a nervous croak.
"Speak up, mister, I couldn't hear you."
She forced herself to speak clearly. "No, sir, I didn't run the exercise with Mr. Durant."
"There's always an explanation, Brandt, even if it's negligence."
Her throat constricted around a hard lump and she swallowed with some difficulty. "Yes, sir, it was negligence. I take full responsibility."
"It's a little late for that, isn't it? As of Saturday afternoon, the Academy doesn't have a warp lab. Brandt, I know you probably regarded your appointment as lab proctor as an unwanted burden but every job in Starfleet includes at least one of those. Right now, you're mine. Or do you imagine that I enjoy conversations like this one?"
"I want to be very clear about this. There's nothing wrong with delegating. In fact, several of your instructors have noted that it's a skill you need to develop. However, your failure to prepare Mr. Durant to lead the simulation was simply irresponsible. I never would have expected it of you. What were you thinking? Brandt? Answer me. What were you thinking of?"
Unable to imagine what response would be propagated by a completely honest answer--'Midshipman Kirk's idiotic girlfriend, sir'--she drew a shallow breath and said, "Camping, sir."
"Camping." The commandant studied her narrowly. "In case you haven't noticed, Brandt, you're not at a girl scout jamboree. This is Starfleet Academy and you have to earn your place here every day. So I suggest you re-focus your thinking."
"I think a few hours of punishment duty might help you do just that."
"Report to Commander Taku in Recycling at twenty-one-hundred hours. You'll work for him for three hours tonight and every night until the programmers have that lab up and running. And while you're scrubbing out the sludge tanks, I want you to think about your classmates who aren't going to get cleared on those simulations until the lab is repaired. And I also want you to think about what might happen to the people under the command of an officer who puts her own pleasure ahead of her duties."
"Never been in Recycling before, have you, Brandt?" Commander Taku said as he stepped into the turbolift.
"No, sir," she said, shuffling after him a little awkwardly. She was already sweating inside the cumbersome environmental suit and she'd only had it on for a few minutes. Taku had told her she'd get a helmet "downstairs" and she wasn't looking forward to carrying the additional weight.
He ordered the lift to "The Tanks" and she grabbed a handhold as they plummeted downward. The journey was short but the speed of their descent threw her stomach into a series of flip-flops and when the lift came to an abrupt halt, she felt the jolt from her knees to the top of her spine. Taku looked back at her and smiled.
"Not too bad, Brandt. Your partner was green as a space-sick Vulcan after that little drop."
"Sir, I thought Durant was doing a later shift--"
"He is. But no one works in the tanks without a partner and yours--well, I think you'll have an interesting time with him."
The doors opened and she was immediately hit by a strong stench. Her stomach rolled over again as she trotted to keep up with the commander. Soon she could barely see him through the tears filling her burning eyes.
"Are you going to dawdle around breathing this shit or do you want a helmet?"
Choking on the foul air, she ran in the direction of his voice. She found him standing near a door marked 'Recycling Tanks.' He had removed two helmets from a wall compartment and he tossed one to Brandt and put on the other, effortlessly closing the locks that sealed it to the neck of his suit. After watching her struggle with a stubborn closure for a few moments, he put his hands on either side of her helmet and shook her from side to side until it closed with a loud snap. Suddenly she was breathing an atmosphere that carried no discernible taint other than the faint metallic taste of filtered air. Almost limp with gratitude, she gulped down the fresh air but her relief turned to alarm when she realized that that everything around her was a frightening shade of green.
"Are you seeing green?" The commander's voice crackled through the speaker at the back of her helmet. "Good. That means you're sealed. Got it?"
He winced. "You don't have to shout. If the seal is broken, your faceplate will turn red. If that happens, come out here, get out of the suit as fast as you can, and get into the decontamination chamber." He pointed at a clear, seven-foot cylinder that stood opposite the doorway. "Stay there until help arrives. Watch your partner, too. If his faceplate looks brown, get him out. Are we clear on that?"
Feeling a sudden rush of dread, she yelped, "Yes, sir, perfectly clear!"
Shaking his head, Taku turned to the doorway and muttered, "Why do they all shout?"
The door slid open and they entered a cavernous room filled with row upon row of round-bottomed tanks, each standing three meters high and five across. Feeling small and vulnerable, she stopped just inside the doorway and took a moment to collect herself.
"Brandt!" Taku barked. "This isn't a sight-seeing tour!"
She ran to catch up, casting quick glances from side to side and glad to see a reassuring veil of green. When she stood beside him near one of the inner tanks, he called up to a heavy-set man who sat perched on the edge.
"Lieutenant, this is Midshipman Brandt. Set her up and then report to me in Analysis."
Taku left and the lieutenant looked down at Brandt, tapping his faceplate.
"You know about green and red?"
"All right, let's put you to work. Grant, is it?"
"Well, Brandt with a B, the ladder's on the other side. Climb on up and I'll fill you in."
As she neared the top of the ladder, Brandt peered into the tank and saw that it was empty except for one person standing at the bottom. He was wearing a protective suit like her own and carrying a cumbersome canister marked "Handle with Care." In his other hand, he held a nozzle and was spraying the opposite wall of the tank with a blue liquid that thickened on contact and slowly slid down to his feet.
"You missed a spot there, Finnegan," the lieutenant's voice buzzed mockingly.
Finnegan? She was going to spend her evening in a sludge tank with Finnegan?
Hiding her discontent, she swung her legs over the edge.
"Scoot over here, Brandt," the lieutenant ordered. "Come on, move it. I haven't got all day."
Guiding herself with her hands, she edged her way along the top until she was next to the lieutenant.
"I'm Lieutenant Utley, your guide to recycling engineering, or sloppy seconds, as we like to call it."
An hour later, Finnegan's voice broke the silence.
Brandt looked over her shoulder and saw him sitting against the opposite side of the tank, idly tossing his scrub brush from hand to hand.
"We've got this tank and the next to do before Lieutenant Utley gets back," she said curtly as she turned and leaned into her brush.
"C'mon, lass, we're entitled to a break."
"You can take a break if you need one but this is going to be the cleanest damn--"
"Brandt, they don't give out medals for scrubbing sludge tanks. Besides, it's wasted effort. Humans can't even get near the chemicals you need to clean these things. That's why they have the bots."
She stopped scrubbing and turned to him. "How do you know?"
"My father told me. He was an instructor here when they installed the recycling system. Up until then, punishment duty consisted of marching around the quad or digging holes and refilling them. This is even more distasteful and just as pointless."
Heaving a sigh, she sat down and began rubbing her aching knees.
"So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Finnegan asked. When she didn't reply, he crawled across the bottom of the tank with an inviting smile. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."
She couldn't help noticing the pleasing lilt of his voice despite the distortion of the suit's comm system.
"Did you hear about the warp lab?"
"Yes," he said carefully, "but I thought that was Durant's doing."
She shook her head. "I was supposed to be the proctor that afternoon. I got Durant to fill in for me, but I didn't check him out on the exercise."
After staring at her for several seconds, Finnegan began rocking with laughter. "Oh, lord! Mother of god, what a to-do! Oh, Danny my lad, you've screwed it up something royal this time!"
Brandt slowly pointed an accusing finger. "You..."
"You snake! You belong in a sludge tank! You are sludge!"
"Oh, now, don't be that way. I didn't mean to get you with my little prank. I heard that popinjay Durant bragging about being in charge of the warp lab and I couldn't resist. You should have seen him when the computer said Tsang's sainted old granny was dead. You would've laughed, I swear you would have."
"I can't believe they didn't expel you!"
"They don't know it was me and they're not going to find out, are they?"
"Brandt, you wouldn't rat me out now, would you? For a harmless joke? When I've taken you into my confidence and all."
"Harmless joke? The lab is practically scrap metal!"
"I didn't know Durant would be fool enough to just walk away from it."
"It doesn't matter! You destroyed Academy property!"
"I see I'll have to take you into my confidence a little further. My family's buying the Academy a new one, in memory of Rear Admiral Donald Finnegan. It's been planned for months but it won't be announced until next week. It will be installed right after that. So the Academy will have two warp labs, I've had a good laugh--" He smiled winningly. "--and I've made a new friend."
"You're not? Ah well, you're my sludge partner. I'll settle for that for now."
"You're insane, you know that?"
"Well, that's true enough," he said cheerfully. "But it's a fine madness and I intend to enjoy it. Let's get back to work."
"I thought you said we didn't have to do anything."
"Oh, they can still tell if the tanks have been scrubbed or not. But we needn't get carried away." He stood and handed her both brushes. "Why don't you climb up on my shoulders to do the high part?"
"Why? Is your suit wired to give me an electric shock?"
He laughed. "I'll remember that just in case I ever have Kirk as a sludge partner. Not that he'll ever step out of line."
"Call me Danny. It's Suzanne, isn't it? That's a lovely name."
"Don't blow smoke at me. Danny, why do you do all those awful things to Kirk?"
"Suzanne, I know you're his friend and all, but even you have to admit that young Jimmy's a bit of a stick."
She noticed that he made no mention of his own disgruntlement at the way Kirk's abilities had gained the notice of the Academy brass from his first day there. Being outshone by the son of an obscure Security officer had to be a bitter pill for the scion of a renowned military family. She remembered the persistent rumor that Kirk had pulled down one of the highest entrance exam scores in the Academy's history. Finnegan would certainly have heard it and she wondered if it was true that he had taken the exam three times before passing. She didn't have to wonder about Kirk; she happened to know that, in his case, the scuttlebutt was true. She'd overheard Captain DeMarc telling Commander Finney about it.
Hearing something like hurt under the rancor in Finnegan's voice, she almost felt sorry for him until he added, "In fact, he's a pompous ass, not to put too fine a point on it."
"No, he isn't," she snapped. "He's going to do amazing things, I know it."
"Then he should be able to hold up under a few wee jokes. And he certainly shouldn't need to send a young woman to his defense."
"He didn't ask me to talk to you. In fact, he'd probably kill me if he knew I'd said anything."
"No, he wouldn't. He'd get up on his high horse and give you a good scolding until you got so fed up, you'd be begging me to put liquid soap in his pancake syrup."
"Well, what about Durant and Mitchell? What have you got against them?"
"They're Jimmy's friends. That's reason enough."
"What about me? I'm his friend."
"I think there's hope for you. And besides, you're a girl and my mother raised me to respect girls. But since you took the hit over my warp lab prank, I'll let up on Mitchell and Durant as a favor to you."
He gave a sharp snort of laughter. "Darlin', I wouldn't let up on him if the fate of the Federation depended on it." He dropped to one knee. "Now up you go."
Brandt gingerly climbed up onto his shoulders, carefully balancing herself as he stood. When they'd settled into a steady position, she leaned into the top of the tank's inner wall and began scrubbing.
"If they didn't catch you on the warp lab, what are you in for?"
"Well, it's a rather complicated story. I don't know that I could tell it properly while balancing you on my shoulders. But if you're free Saturday night..."
"Sorry, I don't date my friends."
"I upgraded you so that I'd have an excuse not to date you. So what did you do?"
"I put liquid soap in the maple syrup. Unfortunately, Admiral Crawford decided to have breakfast with the underclassmen that day."
On Tuesday afternoon, Brandt was dealt another even more frightful blow as a result of her weekend activities. Ruth had turned down her lunch invitation, explaining that she rarely ate more than one meal a day. As Brandt was fumbling around for an alternate activity they could share, Ruth had squealed enthusiastically, "I know! You can come to the store and I'll do a makeover!"
"Oh, please, Suzanne. You know," she said sadly, "it took me over an hour to get that bug spray out of my hair."
Wondering how many others had given in to those hurt puppy-dog eyes against their better judgment, Brandt had reluctantly agreed.
Now, seated on a tall chair at La Belle Femme's counter, she fidgeted unhappily as Ruth held up what appeared to be a scanner. Pink with white trim, it emitted an annoying twitter as Ruth slowly waved it in front of Brandt's face.
"Don't frown, Suzanne. It will give you wrinkles. Just relax. This is the latest in cosmetic technology. Aaaaaaand there!" She attached the instrument to a yellow machine. "Now in just a minute, this will give me a full color analysis of your skin, eyes, and lips."
"Couldn't you get that just by looking at me?"
Ruth let out a trill of laughter. "Oh, don't be silly, Suzanne! That wouldn't be scientific! Now let me just run this through your hair," she said, brandishing a three-pronged lavender comb.
Brandt pulled away with a sharp, "Don't do anything to my hair."
"I can't do the makeover without a color reading." She began gently combing Brandt's hair. "Is this natural?"
"The curl, too? Oh my, aren't you lucky. You should really let it grow out. Boys love curls. Just think, you could wear it piled up like mine and then, when you let it down..."
"Thanks, but I like it short."
"All right, but I'll bet you change your mind when you see yourself after I'm through. I know what I'm talking about, Suzanne. There's no reason for a girl to go through life looking however she happens to look, not with all the wonderful products available today. And you don't even need that much. You have good skin, pretty eyes, and curly hair. If you would just emphasize those, no one would even notice that you don't have very much up here." Ruth gestured toward her own bosom.
"Ruth," Brandt said coldly, "couldn't you just give me some moisturizer?"
"No, you said I could do a makeover."
Ruth pouted prettily and Brandt silently cursed whatever god had blessed the Cupcake with the ability to sulk in an attractive way.
"I didn't say you could insult me."
"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were sensitive about being flat-chested."
"Don't worry, you're probably just a late bloomer. I was lucky, mine popped right out when I was thirteen. But I have a friend like you--" She gave Brandt a knowing wink. "--and she got tired of being a late bloomer so she went to Venus Body Shaping and now we call her Clarissa Cleavage. So if you're concerned about not having boobies--"
The yellow machine pinged and rolled out a long scroll.
"Oh, the judges have reached a decision! Now let's see. Hmmm... Hmmm..."
Ruth ducked behind the counter and Brandt watched as a dismaying quantity of powders, brushes, and creams were lined up one by one.
"Ruth, how long is this going to take?"
"Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes." Ruth came around to the front of the counter. "Now tilt your head up." She began dotting Brandt's face with blobs of lotion and her voice took on an authoritative tone. "This foundation has a sun screen and a moisturizer and tri-hydroxical acids and...um, lots of other scientific stuff. It's specially formulated for young, healthy skin."
"If my skin is so young and healthy, why does it need this stuff?"
"So it won't get old and sick." She began smoothing the lotion over Brandt's cheeks and returned to her canned speech. "This is La Belle Femme's lightest foundation..."
At the sound of the door opening, Fig looked up from the quantum physics text. Her mouth fell open and she looked again. And again. And again. Then she rose slowly from the desk and approached the person who had entered the room.
"Yes," Brandt muttered miserably.
"The Cupcake gave me a makeover."
"Makeover, hell! You look just like her. She even made your cheeks look chubby." Fig leaned in and examined her roommate's face. "I don't believe it. I never would have thought the Cupcake could master cloning technology. You even smell like her."
"She spritzed me before I could stop her. Help me sort through this." Brandt went to her bed and dumped out the bag of cosmetic products. "There's supposed to be something in here to take this stuff off."
"I hope so. Otherwise you might have to use those chemicals you're cleaning the sludge tanks with."
"Fig, I'm really not in the mood for jokes."
"What is all this junk? Moisturizing Essence for Daytime, Moisturizing Infusion for Nighttime, Luminescent Blush of Roses--what, no schedule for blush? Distillation of Purifying Extract--what the hell is that?"
"We're looking for cleanser, remember?"
Fig picked up a heavy jar, read the label, and shuddered.
"I don't even want to know what Extra Strength Facial Repair Cream is."
"Hang onto that. I think we can use it to fix the crack in the wall where you hung your Men of the Outer Rim calendar."
"Why didn't you wash that stuff off after you left the store?"
"I had the Cupcake with me. She wanted to say good-night to Kirk."
"You walked across campus like that?"
"No, of course not. I took her through the arboretum."
"He asked which of us is the evil twin."
In silent sympathy, Fig handed her a bottle of La Belle Femme Foaming Cleanser for Vibrant Skin.
"The Delosians and the Phurzons had been on the brink of war for years," Captain DeMarc said as he slowly paced the front of the classroom.
He looked around, please to see every head turned in his direction. Last year, he'd force-fed them Basic Strategies of Interstellar Military Action, throwing in a few surprises along the way just to show them they didn't know it all, even if they had studied it as part of their Academy pre-work. But this year, the material needed no help from him. With each new scenario he presented, they dug deeper, throwing themselves into the history that would inform their futures. It became personal for them and knowing what they would face when they left the Academy made it personal for him, too.
"The arms build-up on both sides had been escalating for over ten standard years, with the Phurzons consistently showing a marked superiority in ships, weaponry, and number of troops. When war finally broke out, the Phurzons carried the battle straight to Delos. Yet their initial invasion gained them only a toehold on the planet's harshest terrain. Subsequent invasions gained them little more. Eventually, the Phurzon government nearly bankrupted itself with military spending, the Phurzon people rebelled as the war dragged on, and the government narrowly averted full-scale revolution by petitioning the Delosians for peace." He looked around the room until his eyes fell on one individual. "Mitchell. What's your take on this? What happened to the Phurzons' advantage?"
"Sir, the Phurzons failed to take into account the fact that the Delosians would fight more fiercely in battles on their home turf."
"True, but with the Phurzons' superior capabilities, that shouldn't have been a deciding factor. All of their analyses showed that they should have been able to overpower the Delosians, despite the disadvantage of fighting a war on foreign soil. Anyone else? Brandt?"
"The Phurzons didn't throw everything they had at the Delosians, sir."
"Initially, because they didn't think they had to. They believed they could defeat the Delosians with a modest outlay."
"And later? Why didn't they escalate their efforts?"
"The war became too unpopular at home. By the time they realized that it couldn't be won by half-measures, they were facing revolution from their own people."
"Yes, but there's something you're missing. Why didn't their strategies project any of that? How were the Delosians able to hold out so long? Did any of you read the supplemental materials?"
Yes, of course they had. He could see it in the puzzled looks on their faces. They'd read those materials without understanding the implications. He sighed.
"The Delosian military budget? See anything unusual there? What about all that money going to the Delos Institute for Pyschosociological Studies? Did any of you think it was worth looking into that?"
DeMarc suppressed a smile. He might have known.
"Sir, during the arms build-up, the Delosians financed a sociological study of the Phurzons. The Phurzons were in the middle of an economic boom and the Phurzon people were quite comfortable with the ways things were. The Delosians concluded that the average citizen wouldn't support a war when he couldn't see the threat to him personally. Although the Phurzon government understood what was at stake, they'd never been able to communicate that to the population. Even some of the military leaders were confused about the long-term goals of the conflict. The Delosians concluded that if they just held out long enough, the Phurzon people would end the war for them. They knew they had no hope of winning by traditional means, so they waited it out, mounting only enough of a defense to keep the war going."
"Exactly. The Delosians won the war because they understood the Phurzons' psychology, and that can be as powerful a weapon as a phalanx of photon torpedoes, sometimes more so. It's not enough to know what the enemy is capable of. What will they actually do? And why? To defeat the enemy, you must learn to think like the enemy. Otherwise, you'll expend your resources needlessly, just as the Phurzons did. Brandt, did you want to say something?"
"Are you sure? You looked like you were about to jump up and shout 'Eureka!'"
"No, sir, I was just wondering if the same sort of study could be applied to a smaller action with a shorter time frame."
She smiled. "I think it could, sir."
That night, while Fig was working in the chemistry lab, Brandt applied all the makeup Ruth had given her and stared into the mirror for a very long time.
To defeat the Cupcake, one must understand the Cupcake. Think like the Cupcake. Be the Cupcake.
Despite the excessive amount of warpaint and repeatedly opening her eyes wide as she tilted her head just so, her inner Cupcake remained unawakened. She concluded with some relief that she didn't have one. As she wiped off the pastel camouflage, she decided that closer observation of the genuine article was required. The next morning, she called Ruth and wrangled an invitation to Sunday brunch at the Cupcake's family home in Monterey.
Running up the walk, Ruth threw her arms around the man who held his hands out in welcome.
Walking beside Kirk, Brandt looked around at their surroundings. On the one side of the walk, a stand of towering pine trees climbed up the rocky cliff. On the other, the ground dropped away sharply and she could hear the Pacific Ocean roaring below. Ahead loomed a multi-level house that looked as if it had grown out of its natural surroundings. Its walls were composed of wood and stone, smoothed and bleached by the wind and sun. Sheet upon sheet of sparkling glass looked out from every angle, the sharp bevels catching the sunlight. She caught herself wondering how many sludgebots it took to keep the seaspray from leaving its mark on the glistening windows.
"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Kirk said.
"I believe the appropriate response would be 'wow.'"
Kirk chuckled and pointed toward the top level of the house. "Look up there."
She saw the corner of a deck that swept around to the ocean side. Looking carefully, she could just make out the slender stilts that supported it and disappeared into the foliage below.
"The view is incredible," he continued. "We'll have to go out there at sunset."