School Days Episode III
By James C Jones II

 

Today, My Husband started our self-defense training. He waited this long because he wanted us to get into ‘the rhythm of school.’ Commander Cranston and Lieutenant Russell joined us. I made a mental note that the Lieutenant avoided eye contact. I have found that Humans tended to avoid eye contact when embarrassed. His attempt at seducing me backfired and no doubt it was still bothering him.

“Class,” My Husband began, “I am your instructor.” He paused and surveyed our group. “Any one here would like to share what they know?”

No one said or did anything.

“It’ll help me decide how much to teach you, if at all.”

Cadet Litchen stepped forward, “Yes, Sir. I learned some Kung Fu from a Master Busogu.”

My Husband thought for a moment. “Long Arm Chain?”

Litchen looked surprised, “Right, Sir.”

My Husband laughed. “I hadn’t seen that in a long time. Master Busogu is still teaching? The man must be at least two hundred and thirty!”

Litchen nodded.

“Okay, Cadet, let me see the Kata.”

Litchen bowed to My Husband and then to the group. He bent his knees slightly, and then lifted up on the balls of his feet. Litchen stepped through a series of chops, punches, blocks and kicks. The majority of strikes were with his arms extended, presumably the reason the style was called “Long arm chain.” After he finished he bowed to My Husband and the group.

“Very well done, Cadet. You’re 7 th belt, which is excellent for someone your age.” My Husband stepped out to an open area and took the same stance as Litchen did. Then he performed the same Kata but added half a dozen more moves. More elbow and knee blows. When he finished he bowed to Litchen and the group.

Litchen bowed back, “Captain, I had no idea.”

My Husband faced the group, “Anyone else?”

Gr’eel stepped out, “Yes, sir.”

My Husband smiled.

Gr’eel’s style involved seemingly powerful downward swings. She was surprisingly quick and vicious in her attacks. When she finished My Husband mimicked her style. He added several additional strikes. Gr’eel rocked her head side to side.

“Class, I’m not an expert in either of the two styles, however, I just demonstrated how easily one can add to and modify a style. That’s what this block is going to entail, mainly saving yours. This week you will learn a military martial art known as Combative. It’s simple and easy with only 20 strikes, kicks, and blocks. Once you’ve mastered that style I’ll show you how to improvise. And after you’ve perfected hand-to-hand you’ll learn how to use hand weapons: knives, swords, sticks and stones. You’ll be able to protect yourselves and anyone else you want to protect with practically nothing and with anything. By the time we’re finished here you’ll be confident that you can handle nearly any situation.

We practiced for 3.8 hours. After which, we had several hours free until our duty cycle started. I met My Husband in our Quarters and we re-acquainted ourselves. He had three hours before his shift and I had four. We put two and one half hours to practical use. Afterwards, we showered together and talked. I told my Husband that things were going well and that I was satisfied with the training. He smiled, gave me a customary kiss on the forehead, told me not to be late for duty and left for the bridge. I dressed in my duty uniform and headed to my assignment. I was to guard the hangar deck. When I arrived, Gr’eel was already there. We were both ten minutes early. Three days earlier My Husband had told me this was the dogwatch. I answered that this was not a watercraft or a pound. He replied that it was analogously close enough and it was an old Terran Navy tradition. He further explained, anticipating my rebuttal, that Vulcan did not have a Navy and therefore it was understandable that I was reluctant to readily accept these shift labels. I replied, “But My Husband, we are in space. The rising and descending of a stellar body do not regulate us.

He laughed, kissed me on the forehead, and said, “My Sweet T’Irs has caught me again.” He left. We are still on this Navy schedule.

Gr’eel yawned loudly. “I am sorry, T’Irs. Guard duty sucks – did I use the correct word this time? Duck, suck, luck, truck, they all sound so similar.”

I replied, “Yes, ‘sucks’ is the most appropriate word for this occasion.”

She rocked her head side to side in a gesture I grew to know as a grin.

Commander Cranston told us to make sure no unauthorized personnel walked off with the Hangar Bay. His statement seemed odd at first. Then I remembered My Husband once told me that when he and the Commander were on the Shadowstar, Cranston had been known as an “asshole.” I had queried the Computer for the meaning. It replied, “There are several meanings associated with the word ‘asshole.’ The anus, or a thoroughly contemptible, detestable person, or the most miserable of undesirable place in a particular area. In addition, it is an insulting term for people who are stupid or irritating or ridiculous. I felt certain My Husband was not calling Commander Cranston an Anus nor would he refer to him as an undesirable place. I considered the meanings carefully. To make sure no unauthorized personnel walked off with the Hangar Bay was absurd. Therefore, the Commander was being ridiculous. He was an asshole.

I surveyed the hangar deck. Six warp cycles were neatly lined up against the wall, two Silhouette shuttles against the other. Commander Pok had just inspected three of the cycles and yelled, “No! No! No! We need all three at 105%.” On of the Lieutenants said something back. Pok shook his head, “105%. Not less. Not 103 or 104. Trust me, the Captain will know. And who do you think he’ll mention it to?” The Tellerite looked up at the male Human. Pok was nearly 48 centimeters shorter. After a few more seconds of talking, Pok walked off and the Lieutenant turned back to the three cycles.

It occurred to me that as the Captain’s wife I had been shielded from nearly all the day-to-day activities needed to run the Johnson. I knew everyone’s name. The entire crew was respectful and cordial toward me. I only spoke with Dr. Foster, Commander Lant, Commander Kar’nl and My Husband on a level more intimate than mere “helloes.” Signing up with Starfleet had placed me in a different world. This new situation had given me a mix of apprehension and fascination. As the lieutenant moved to the second cycle, the klaxon’s sounded. Krunare’s voice came over the intercom. “Red alert, red alert. All hands ready stations.”

I looked at Gr’eel. She returned the stare.

She said, “Are we supposed to be someplace?”

“I believe our place is still here.”

Then our comm badges chirped. “Cadets, this is Lt. Cmdr Cranston, report to security. At once.”

I tapped the badge and said, “Cadet Gr’eel and Cadet T’Irs acknowledge.” We left and walked quickly to a turbolift. My Husband had instructed Gr’eel on how to increase her gait without over taxing her energy. It worked – reasonably well. We reached security. The other cadets were waiting just outside the doorway. After a time the doors opened and Commander Cranston stepped out. Lieutenant Russell was with him.

“Cadets,” Cranston began, “we have a possible crisis.” He passed out Security PADDs. “Here is the situation. Each of you has been assigned to shadow a security officer. Things may get fast and furious so I want you to stay on your toes, understood?”

We all nodded.

I looked who I was assigned to. It was the Commander. Gr’eel was assigned to Lieutenant Russell. In confidant, Gr’eel said she thought Russell was the most beautiful Human male she had ever seen. Anticipating where she was leading to I interjected, “I don’t think he is into Gorn physiology.” Gr’eel laughed and said, “I could still fantasize.”

Stephanie had remained quiet through our exchange. Later, when Gr’eel had an early class, Stephanie admitted that Gr’eel sexual fascination with the Human male disturbed her. I told her that in my experience, and that of My Husband’s, individuals of one species might be overly attracted to other, sometimes very dissimilar, species. She looked disgusted. “Now that is gross!” she said.

I reminded her that during the first moments of our meeting she asked how the Captain was. I told her that she was referring to his sexual prowess and not his well being – as derived from subsequent conversations.

She nodded and said that the Captain looked normal.

I raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” I replied.

She blushed and said, “I meant he looks like a person.”

I responded with, “Looking like a person, a Human person is your criteria for having intercourse?”

She remained silent for a moment. “You make me sound like a specist!”

I replied, “Stephanie, we are all specist in some form or another. No one is forcing you to accept interspecies relationships. It is your decision. You forget I am Vulcan. Logic dictates that all species are allowed to choose their own preferences. It is when you begin to force others to conform to your preference is when it is wrong.”

She seemed relieved, “For a moment I thought you were going to hate me?”

I replied, “Are you going to keep Gr’eel from appreciating the human male?”

“No,” she answered.

“Are you going to shun Gr’eel for appreciating the Human male body and sex organ?”

Her face twisted up in a peculiar expression. “No, I like Gr’eel.”

Then there is no reason to ‘hate’ you, though I must stress that I do not ‘hate’ individuals. Hatred is an emotion.

Stephanie looked at me and said, “Yeah, right, whatever. Everyone has emotions Silly.”

I replied, “No, Silly, I have chosen to control my emotions.”

She stared at me for a moment and then laughed. “Okay, T’Irs, I like you, we’ll leave it at that.”

After that, Stephanie was much more tolerant of Gr’eel’s preferences. At times, she even encouraged Gr’eel to tease Litchen. As of now Gr’eel has not confided in us the outcome of her “date” with Litchen.

Then Commander Cranston’s comm badge chirped.

He tapped it, “Cranston, here.”

It was My Husband’s voice. “Cranston, tactical please.”

“On my way, Sir.” Then he looked at me. “T’Irs, you’re with me.”

I nodded, “Understood, Commander.” I followed him to the nearest turbolift.

We stepped in. He said, “Bridge.”

The lift started up and I felt the quick surge of acceleration.

“T’Irs?”

I replied, “Yes, Sir?”

He smiled, “In private, you don’t have to address me as Sir.”

I nodded, “Yes, you have mentioned that on several occasions.”

“Then? –“

“Yes, Cranston?”

“Thank you, T’Irs. Did I happen to mention that you’re doing an excellent job?”

“Thank you, Si—Cranston. I am trying.”

He nodded, “Chiita is proud.”

The doors opened before I could respond. We stepped onto the bridge. For the first time since I was on the Johnson I understood what My Husband meant by Bridge chatter. Different types of sounds filled the air and I began to understand My Husband’s fascination with being on the bridge. This had been my first time on the bridge since leaving Starbase 412. It was a curious thing but I was beginning to understand esprit de corp. These were not Starfleet members or Starship personnel. They weren’t just soldiers. They were people who experienced similar beginnings. We all shared a common bond. Everyone went through the Academy in some form or another. This I understood. On a deep level I began to appreciate the position. It was that moment I decided to do whatever it took to excel. I wanted My Husband to be proud of me. It was a strange revelation, but not an unwelcome one.

Cranston had moved to Tactical. I stepped in behind him and found a corner nearest and unoccupied. My husband swiveled his chair over and caught a glimpse of me. He smiled, nodded, and turned the chair back forward.

The screen pixilated and formed an image of my Husband wearing a traditional Vulcan day robe. The writing on the edge said, “Director of looped time.”

My Husband said, “Greetings Skaaran.”

The image replied, “Director Skaaran, please, as I will address you as Captain Scar’an.”

My Husband nodded. “I bet you are wondering why I am here?”

The image replied, “For the Singular ‘I’ you are using I would assume you mean your entire vessel. Also, Seeing myself in a strange uniform on board a strange space vessel does beg the question, ‘who are you and what are you doing here?”

“I see you have a sense of Humor, Director.”

The image frowned and leaned forward. “Starting off our first meeting with insults is highly inappropriate and counter productive. Please answer my question.”

From my position I could see that My Husband became irritated. I looked at the image on the view screen. It had his same facial features. The hairstyle, however, was traditional Vulcan. The way he spoke was not that of My Husband. I further understood the term ‘asshole’ and concluded that one of two things happened. We traveled to an alternate timeline or the timeline had been changed around us. In either case our situation might be dire.

“Director, may I come aboard? If you like you may come aboard the Johnson. It would be better to answer your questions face to face.”

The imaged seemed to ponder the offers. “Unadvisable in either scenario, I will have to seek approval. You will be contacted shortly. In the meantime, please stay where you are. I am advised to assess the situation.”

Then the communication ended.

Krunare said, “Captain, connection was severed on their end.”

My Husband frowned. “Change status to Yellow Alert.”

“Aye, Sir.” was Krunare’s reply.

My Husband turned to Cranston, “Can you get anything useful on that ship?”

Cranston nodded.

I noted that the Commander was targeting items that seemed vulnerable to phaser or torpedo fire.

Kar’nl looked up from her terminal. “Captain, I’m reading a temporal shield around that vessel. It’s a Time Ship.”

My Husband walked over to Commander Kar’nl. “Not surprised. Start gathering a plausible reason for the change.”

Kar’nl nodded.

My Husband walked back to his chair and sat. He was troubled and I could not relieve him of this state. It was ironic that in my pursuit to be able to physically protect My Husband I could no longer mentally help him. I sensed his mental state but was now bound by duty and responsibility. I could only observe. I decided not to break protocol and stayed confined to this corner on the bridge. My Husband has a resilient mind. He will find a solution.