Part 6 (1/2)

”We have a proverb where I come from. 'A sweet taste does not remain forever in the mouth.' Were you running simulations with the mouth-breather hiding under your bed? Or did you mean 'stimulations'?”

Not in the least embarra.s.sed despite being caught in flagrante delicto flagrante delicto-or at least in dishabille dishabille-Kirk emerged from beneath the bed and stood up on the far side. Uhura's underwear, he noted with a touch of regret, was disappointingly conventional.

”Hey, I got one, I got one,” he volunteered. ”'A man on the ground cannot fall.'”

She didn't know whether to laugh or applaud. ”That's a South African proverb. I'm not from Southern Africa.”

He raised a hand, his voice solemn. ”And thus by such stealthy means we draw ever nearer to your actual first name. Your hearing's pretty good. You sure sure both your parents are human?” both your parents are human?”

She shook her head and sighed. ”Get gone, Jim. It's my a.s.s too if Administration catches you in this room.” She nodded in his direction. ”Never mind in that condition.”

”In what condi-oh.” Having the grace to finally look somewhat abashed, he began climbing into the pile of clothes that had been discarded on the far side of the bed. While he put on his clothes, Uhura addressed her roommate in Orion Prime. Already she had sufficient command of numerous alien humanoid tongues to render her tone disapproving. She was utterly indifferent to her current state of undress.

”You know he's been through half the cadet corps since he got here? There are rumors not all of them were even humanoid.”

Such a comment might have drawn an emotional response from another human female. To an Orion the veiled accusation amounted to little more than a straightforward, utterly uncontroversial statement of fact. Cadet Gaila's response was tart and matter-of-fact.

”Which half are you you in?” in?”

Uhura shrugged. ”He's not my type. Too abrasive, too self-centered, too much in love with himself. I prefer someone capable of a little more self-effacement and a lot less impetuosity.” s.h.i.+fting back to standard Federation English, she looked at Kirk. ”Stop staring. Put your pants on.”

Kirk pulled his s.h.i.+rt down over his head.

Nude from the waist down save for his underwear and boots, he smiled at her-and spoke in Orion Prime. ”I would, but you're standing on them.” Switching back to English he added, ”And hardly half. half. You're rounding up that number. Not that I'm not flattered, mind.” You're rounding up that number. Not that I'm not flattered, mind.”

Taking a step back, she picked up his pants and threw them at him. He caught them easily, hoping she would notice the grin he flashed in return. He took his time pulling on one leg, then the other. When he was done he strode confidently past the two women: a disapproving Uhura with her arms folded over her chest, a winsome Gaila with arms behind her back.

”And,” he added as he made his exit, ”they were all all humanoid-I think.” humanoid-I think.”

The communications officer's tone was more than bored: Uhura sounded almost resentful. ”We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. Kobayas.h.i.+ Maru. U.S.S. Kobayas.h.i.+ Maru. The s.h.i.+p has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them.” The s.h.i.+p has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them.”

Whipping around in the command chair, James T. Kirk hastened to correct her.

”Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them-Captain.”

She glared at him sharply, then turned back to her console. From another station, McCoy recited in a resigned monotone.

”Klingon vessels have entered the Neutral Zone and they are firing upon us.”

At this point in the simulation cadet responses varied from panicked, to confused, to nonexistent. On this occasion Kirk succeeded in providing one that, insofar as any present could recall, was entirely original. Not necessarily sensible, not even wholly coherent, but original.

”That's okay.”

His fellow cadets gawked at him. Even Uhura turned from the communications station. It was left to McCoy to comment.

”It's okay okay?”

From the command chair, Kirk waved diffidently. ”Yeah-don't worry about it.”

Above and to one side of the simulation bridge, puzzled test administrators and technicians exchanged a number of profoundly bemused looks.

”Did he just say 'Don't worry about it'?” one administrator asked his colleague.

Turning back to the simulation chamber, his cohort's eyes narrowed as they focused tightly on the cadet presently occupying the command chair.

”What's he doing...?”

”Three more Klingon warbirds decloaking and targeting our s.h.i.+p,” McCoy reported from his position. He glanced toward the command chair, occupied by a friend who possibly had lost his mind. ”I don't suppose that's a problem either?”

Kirk let himself slide a little lower in the chair. ”Nah.”

The cadet manning tactical reported in. ”They're firing, Captain. All All of them.” of them.”

Kirk nodded in understanding. ”Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged s.h.i.+p.”

”And how do you expect us us to rescue to rescue them,” them,” Uhura pointed out sharply, ”when Uhura pointed out sharply, ”when we're we're surrounded and under attack by the Klingons?” surrounded and under attack by the Klingons?”

Briefly, he sounded like someone in command. ”Alert medical.” ”Alert medical.”

Visibly annoyed, she complied.

”We're being hit,” McCoy reported. ”s.h.i.+elds at sixty percent.”

”I understand,” Kirk replied blithely.

How have I let myself be roped into this farce? McCoy found himself wondering. ”Should we at least, oh, I dunno-fire back?” McCoy found himself wondering. ”Should we at least, oh, I dunno-fire back?”

Kirk's brow furrowed as if he were deep in thought. ”Mmm-no,” he finally replied.

”Of course not,” McCoy muttered under his breath. ”What an absurd notion. Forgive me for bringing it up.”

Above and outside the perfectly replicated command deck, a number of technicians busied themselves at their consoles fine-tuning simulation variables according to the responses propagated by the crew training in the room below them. Computer programs could be learned, predicted, and defeated. Computer programs undergoing continuous modification by live partic.i.p.ants possessed critical aspects of ongoing variability that could not be memorized. In other words, the simulation technicians supplied the real-life responses no program could provide.

As they followed the progress of the simulation, the test administrators and technicians were careful not to get too close to the tech seated slightly off to the left at the main console. With her bright green skin she was immediately identifiable as an Orion humanoid. Since it was both visually and chemically unavoidable, admiration of such beings was permitted, so long as the admirer did not linger in the vicinity. It was recognized that extended proximity to an Orion female was distracting to other humanoids. In fact, it could be downright dangerous.

Anyone who happened to be looking in her direction suddenly found themselves wrenched back to reality.

Instrument consoles suddenly went berserk and died. Information that should have been transmitted was not. Commands to the simulation consoles below died aborning. Perplexed monitors and baffled instructors struggled to redirect, rea.s.sign, and reboot important instrumentation, all to no avail.

Then, as abruptly and inexplicably as every monitor had gone blank and every console had died, lights came back on, monitors winked back to life, and telltales resumed spitting out information.

Below, Kirk continued to relax in the command chair, waiting. The report he antic.i.p.ated was not long in coming.