Academy Days Ch 1
Title:Academy Days
Author: geriatricfool
Characters: spock/oc's
Rating: PG (to be safe)
Warnings:
Summary: A random account of Spock's life at Starfleet Academy, from his first day until his last.
A/N: This was written back in the 1980's, before most films and certainly before Reboot; it was just my projection of Spock's life at the Academy, and predates most accepted canon. For this reason, please forgive it!
An aircar touched down at the Arrivals point, and disgorged a crowd of laden newcomers of varying sizes and hues, amongst them a young Vulcan carrying a single travelling case. He moved slowly through the already crowded area towards the huge reception hall, managing without apparent effort to avoid being jostled and pushed by those around him who all seemed to be in a far greater hurry than he. His youth was evident to anyone accustomed to Vulcans, but he carried himself with the dignity typical of his rate, and an air of calm and stillness set him slightly aside from the seething groups of young people surrounding him in the hall and spilling out through the exits.
He walked unhurriedly in the general direction of the flood, and then halted at the sound of his own language, spoken under, rather than over, the cacophony of voices. The words he heard were a traditional greeting, originally associated with the tiny isolated communities of contemplatives who gave shelter to desert wanderers, and now used when welcoming any stranger to a new place. An eyebrow slightly raised in surprise, he turned to see a Vulcan male, by appearance a little older than himself, wearing the insignia of a Starfleet Academy Third Year Cadet. The hand was raised in formal greeting.
"I am Sarvan," he said, speaking now in English. "I am here to meet you and to welcome you to the Academy." At that, he bowed his head slightly.
"My name is Spock," said the newcomer and, since he found himself still clutching his travelling bag in his right hand, he offered greeting with the left, murmuring appropriate noises of thanks. "I had not expected to hear my language immediately on arrival," he commented, by way of conversation.
Sarvan moved off, inclining his head to advise Spock to follow. "I would imagine not, and you will not hear it spoken much again whilst you are here. However ..." he paused again, his expression changing almost imperceptibly.
Spock nodded.
"We will find your room and I will show you there," Sarvan went on. "If you wish, I can then show you around the Block in which you will live and study. Come." They walked across the hall to an exit and swam out with the flood.
During the long walk which followed Sarvan took the opportunity to inform Spock in brief and concise verbal paragraphs of the general pattern of a First Year's day, interspersing his discourse with desultory enquiries as to Spock's current state of health after his long journey, his level of specialist education to date, his aptitude for adapting to mass-produced food and other such matters, intended, presumably, to orientate the 'fresher' to what could immediately be expected in his new home. Spock said little, and just listened and looked, until, after a maze of corridors, walkways, elevators and staircases, the pair arrived at one end of a long, blandly decorated shiny-floored corridor with identical doors opening from both sides at not very great intervals. Spock followed Sarvan along and stopped next to him outside the room numbered 5174.
"Your room," announced Sarvan unnecessarily.
Spock opened the door and went inside. Sarvan remained in the corridor. "Would you like a tour of the Block now, or would you like to rest?" he enquired, giving no hint whatsoever of the answer which he would have preferred to hear.
"I will stay and unpack," Spock replied, indicating the trunk standing in the middle of the room, "since my belongings have arrived. But I am grateful for your assistance. Perhaps we will meet later." He put down the travelling case and turned to face Sarvan, who nodded.
"Should you wish to contact me for any reason, my room is in Y Block, room 3130. Please feel at liberty to visit me at any time. Meanwhile, the first sitting of the main meal will be at 1930 hours. You will find the dining hall back along this corridor, left, right and right again. It will be clearly marked. And now, I will return to Reception. I trust that you will settle in comfortably.
"Thank you, I'm sure that I will." Spock returned to the door, and gracefully gestured farewell. "Goodbye, Sarvan." Sarvan bowed slightly once more, and walked away, and the miserably nervous and ill at ease young Vulcan closed the door sharply and leaned back against it with his eyes closed.
After a while, he opened them again slowly and, without moving from his spot by the door, took a long slow look around the room. It bore no stamp of any previous occupant, and its complete anonymity reassured him sufficiently to push himself away from the door and move towards the window. At least, he thought briefly to himself, he did not have to cope with the lingering atmosphere of someone else's lifestyle imprinted on the room. In here, at least, he was starting with a blank slate.
He glanced out of the window, registering the view of covered walkways between high buildings without really seeing it. Then he toured the room in the same fashion, acquainting himself with his immediate surroundings by touch and impression, lingering nowhere.
His jangled nerves would not yet permit him to rest or reflect.
Nor to unpack. The trunk sat in the middle of the bare room, remorselessly inviting its owner to remove the carefully packed contents, to spread them out around the room, and thereby to commit him to occupancy, and Spock could not do that yet. He steadfastly remained detached, and continued his examination of the narrow bed, the wardrobe, the table, tape input, chair, store cupboard, shelving, until he felt that there were no hidden surprises left to jar his precarious equilibrium. Then he sat down on the 'easy' chair in the centre of the room, rested his elbows on the arms and clasped his hands loosely in his lap.
He shifted position slightly.
He stared abstractedly at his feet, and shifted again.
He looked up, and his gaze lighted on the trunk which was sitting next to him quietly but reproachfully.
At lightning speed, he formulated the speediest method of transporting himself and it away, which would only require a call to the porter's office and a quick check on the times of the cars leaving for the nearest port. He could be out of the area in two hours at the most and on his way.
Back home.
His thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt as they reached the door of the house. There they paused briefly, and then turned and retreated in a contrite manner back to the present, depositing him firmly back in room 5174, with the trunk next to him, and the harsh afternoon light streaming in through the window.
It was not a good plan.
"Prejudice is illogical," he thought to himself. Prejudice founded on opinions based on inadequate data. Therefore, the fact that he had been utterly repelled by everything and everyone he had seen since his arrival should be ignored. He had thought it all out many times, both before and since his decision to come. So...
"You are being ridiculous," he told himself implacably.
"No. I'm not," oozed the reply miserably from the depths.
You're stuck here, said the trunk, as he glanced at it again.
He settled himself more comfortably in the 'easy' chair. (It wasn't.) He deliberately regulated his breathing and relaxed, slowing his racing heart beat, and calming his mind to a state receptive to constructive thought. He began to return himself to that state of mental strength and self control which he had managed to attain during the last stages of his journey, continually aware as he sat there of the sounds of slamming doors, chattering voices and clattering footsteps ringing from all around the Block. He drew away from them into himself. He felt a lot better.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
Spock waited for a good six seconds for his heart to return to its correct position and for the buzzing in his ears to stop. "Come in," he said eventually, noting with some surprise as he spoke that he was standing up.
The door opened.
"Hi!" boomed the tall, broad, bronzed, rugged Human male from the doorway, the deep tan serving to emphasise the brilliant white of the teeth revealed in the hearty grin. "My name's Frieburg, Nick Frieburg. I live in 5832."
He advanced into the room like a friendly tank, his huge hand extended before him. "Welcome to the Block."
"Mr Frieburg," said the Vulcan in his cool assured tones. With a slow deliberate movement he brought his right hand from behind his back, and raised it in the Vulcan salute. "I am honoured by your courtesy. My name is Spock." His hand returned to clasp the other behind his back. His dark eyes regarded his visitor steadily and expressionlessly. The visitor's grin faded slightly.
"Ah," he said, "Spock. Well, hi, Spock."
He found himself at a loss as to what to do with his right hand, which was still protruding forwards like an antenna. He let it drop to his side, then flapped it backwards and forwards once or twice against his hip, and then finally scratched the top of his head.
The Vulcan did not move.
Frieburg began again with vigour. "Well, Spock, I just came to say that if you wanted any help about anything, or just wanted to get to meet a few people on your first day, y'know, well, ah, there's a kinda party...sort of a meeting kinda thing in my room and a few others next door to me, and, ah, we'd all be real glad to see you along with the other First Years, to meet up and kinda get to know everyone and... ah..." He fizzled out.
This Vulcan was just too much.
Those eyes.
Oh boy.
He flapped both arms this time, and then produced the Grin again. "Anyway, it's after the meal." The Grin broadened, desperately.
"Thank you, Mr Frieburg..."
"Nick, please!"
"Thank you, Nick. I will be there if I am not too tired by that hour. It is good of you to take this trouble..."
"Oh, no trouble at all, no trouble at all," hooted Nick, as he began to back towards the door. He started to hold out his hand again, and then changed the movement to a wave. "Room okay?"
"Quite satisfactory, thank you."
"Fine, fine. Well, I'll leave you to unpack your gear then. I'll see you later. "Bye." The last word brought his back against the door, and with a fumble for the handle, another grin and a wave, he was gone.
Outside in the corridor he let out a low whistle.
Inside the room Spock did something similar.
Then he sat down in the chair again, and crossed his legs.
The trunk glared at him.
Muttering something extremely fierce under his breath, he pushed himself abruptly back to his feet, turned on the offending receptacle and snapped open the locks.
By making use of the food which his mother had insisted on including in his luggage ("You never know what the food there might be like"), and by leaving the sanctuary of his room only for the most essential expeditions, he succeeded in spending the rest of the day and the night in complete isolation. He did not attempt to rationalise the sensations of horror which arose when he contemplated the notion of walking into the dining hall or joining in with Frieburg's get together; they were in fact compounded of a mixture of acute shyness and insecurity and of a deep-seated conviction that, in respect of the party at least, it was simply not the thing to do for one such as himself. The problem could not long be avoided, however. A notice board which Sarvan had pointed out to him on their way to 5174 directed him to report to number 3 Assembly Room at 0830 hours and, after finishing off Amanda's thoughtful enclosure in lieu of his breakfast, he began his Academy career by finding a seat at the back of the huge hall at the due time.
The first days of bewilderment, anxiety and tension crawled painfully by, and then moved faster from morning to night as he gradually accustomed himself to the rooms, the smells, the sounds and the faces. One of the major worries which had cost him several additional hours of recuperative meditation proved in fact to be unfounded; he discovered from the first class that he would be more than able to keep up with the work, and one recurring nightmare evaporated in the light of reality. However, the ease with which he completed the set preparation for the preliminary seminars left him ample time for concern over the other aspects of Academy life, particularly in view of the fact that, judging by his initial observations, the set work appeared to be the last thing on the minds of his fellow cadets.
He watched them. He saw how, from the first day, the isolated 'freshers' formed into small groups of acquaintances, arriving at the lecture rooms together, finding seats together, and pushing out through the doors at the end in bursts of noisy energetic relief, disappearing towards various rooms or bars, or standing around the notice boards. He saw these groups quickly re-form and form again, as the cadets found their feet and recognised friendships based on more than just mutual insecurity and loneliness. Each evening began with the now familiar sounds filtering in to his room of slamming doors and racing footsteps, to be followed by a heavy silence broken by an occasional burst of music or laughter. Each day was spent moving from lecture hall, to tutorial, to dining room, to gymnasium, to his room, backwards and forwards, and all the time he watched them and he couldn't understand them.
He kept himself aloof for the simple reason that he had no idea how to talk to them. The only Human he had even known well had been his mother, and after only two days he had reached the conclusion that his mother must have been a very unusual Human. She spoke in quiet moderate tones, for one thing, and Spock found it very difficult to tolerate the Humans' apparent compulsion to shout at all times, even when they were addressing him from a distance of some two feet away. He also began to regret the number of times he had accused her, either directly or to himself, of a penchant for illogical statements. Although he had to appreciate that these Humans seemed to understand each other without difficulty, he was now forced to either re-define his previously maintained concept of illogicality or to accept Amanda as well worthy to continue the tradition of Surak. Following one incident in which a fellow First Year, sprawled in a lounge chair in a common room reading a tape which was clearly unconnected with any of his studies, looked up and drawled to the passing Vulcan, "All go, isn't it, Spock?" the latter was moved to send a message tape to his mother telling her of his news in terms more affectionate than any he had employed since he was ten years old.
The agony which he had initially experienced when entering any crowded place such as a lecture room or dining hall eventually subsided; although he came no closer to being able to behave as they did, and daily moved further away from wishing to do so, he did finally realise that he was only one person among many and, sensing his reserve without necessarily knowing the reason, the others were content to let him be. Those who recognised him nodded greeting when passing in a corridor or courtyard, but word passed around that attempts to initiate conversation with him would be met by a poker-stiff sobriety and formality, and, in general, such attempts ceased.
Author: geriatricfool
Characters: spock/oc's
Rating: PG (to be safe)
Warnings:
Summary: A random account of Spock's life at Starfleet Academy, from his first day until his last.
A/N: This was written back in the 1980's, before most films and certainly before Reboot; it was just my projection of Spock's life at the Academy, and predates most accepted canon. For this reason, please forgive it!
An aircar touched down at the Arrivals point, and disgorged a crowd of laden newcomers of varying sizes and hues, amongst them a young Vulcan carrying a single travelling case. He moved slowly through the already crowded area towards the huge reception hall, managing without apparent effort to avoid being jostled and pushed by those around him who all seemed to be in a far greater hurry than he. His youth was evident to anyone accustomed to Vulcans, but he carried himself with the dignity typical of his rate, and an air of calm and stillness set him slightly aside from the seething groups of young people surrounding him in the hall and spilling out through the exits.
He walked unhurriedly in the general direction of the flood, and then halted at the sound of his own language, spoken under, rather than over, the cacophony of voices. The words he heard were a traditional greeting, originally associated with the tiny isolated communities of contemplatives who gave shelter to desert wanderers, and now used when welcoming any stranger to a new place. An eyebrow slightly raised in surprise, he turned to see a Vulcan male, by appearance a little older than himself, wearing the insignia of a Starfleet Academy Third Year Cadet. The hand was raised in formal greeting.
"I am Sarvan," he said, speaking now in English. "I am here to meet you and to welcome you to the Academy." At that, he bowed his head slightly.
"My name is Spock," said the newcomer and, since he found himself still clutching his travelling bag in his right hand, he offered greeting with the left, murmuring appropriate noises of thanks. "I had not expected to hear my language immediately on arrival," he commented, by way of conversation.
Sarvan moved off, inclining his head to advise Spock to follow. "I would imagine not, and you will not hear it spoken much again whilst you are here. However ..." he paused again, his expression changing almost imperceptibly.
Spock nodded.
"We will find your room and I will show you there," Sarvan went on. "If you wish, I can then show you around the Block in which you will live and study. Come." They walked across the hall to an exit and swam out with the flood.
During the long walk which followed Sarvan took the opportunity to inform Spock in brief and concise verbal paragraphs of the general pattern of a First Year's day, interspersing his discourse with desultory enquiries as to Spock's current state of health after his long journey, his level of specialist education to date, his aptitude for adapting to mass-produced food and other such matters, intended, presumably, to orientate the 'fresher' to what could immediately be expected in his new home. Spock said little, and just listened and looked, until, after a maze of corridors, walkways, elevators and staircases, the pair arrived at one end of a long, blandly decorated shiny-floored corridor with identical doors opening from both sides at not very great intervals. Spock followed Sarvan along and stopped next to him outside the room numbered 5174.
"Your room," announced Sarvan unnecessarily.
Spock opened the door and went inside. Sarvan remained in the corridor. "Would you like a tour of the Block now, or would you like to rest?" he enquired, giving no hint whatsoever of the answer which he would have preferred to hear.
"I will stay and unpack," Spock replied, indicating the trunk standing in the middle of the room, "since my belongings have arrived. But I am grateful for your assistance. Perhaps we will meet later." He put down the travelling case and turned to face Sarvan, who nodded.
"Should you wish to contact me for any reason, my room is in Y Block, room 3130. Please feel at liberty to visit me at any time. Meanwhile, the first sitting of the main meal will be at 1930 hours. You will find the dining hall back along this corridor, left, right and right again. It will be clearly marked. And now, I will return to Reception. I trust that you will settle in comfortably.
"Thank you, I'm sure that I will." Spock returned to the door, and gracefully gestured farewell. "Goodbye, Sarvan." Sarvan bowed slightly once more, and walked away, and the miserably nervous and ill at ease young Vulcan closed the door sharply and leaned back against it with his eyes closed.
After a while, he opened them again slowly and, without moving from his spot by the door, took a long slow look around the room. It bore no stamp of any previous occupant, and its complete anonymity reassured him sufficiently to push himself away from the door and move towards the window. At least, he thought briefly to himself, he did not have to cope with the lingering atmosphere of someone else's lifestyle imprinted on the room. In here, at least, he was starting with a blank slate.
He glanced out of the window, registering the view of covered walkways between high buildings without really seeing it. Then he toured the room in the same fashion, acquainting himself with his immediate surroundings by touch and impression, lingering nowhere.
His jangled nerves would not yet permit him to rest or reflect.
Nor to unpack. The trunk sat in the middle of the bare room, remorselessly inviting its owner to remove the carefully packed contents, to spread them out around the room, and thereby to commit him to occupancy, and Spock could not do that yet. He steadfastly remained detached, and continued his examination of the narrow bed, the wardrobe, the table, tape input, chair, store cupboard, shelving, until he felt that there were no hidden surprises left to jar his precarious equilibrium. Then he sat down on the 'easy' chair in the centre of the room, rested his elbows on the arms and clasped his hands loosely in his lap.
He shifted position slightly.
He stared abstractedly at his feet, and shifted again.
He looked up, and his gaze lighted on the trunk which was sitting next to him quietly but reproachfully.
At lightning speed, he formulated the speediest method of transporting himself and it away, which would only require a call to the porter's office and a quick check on the times of the cars leaving for the nearest port. He could be out of the area in two hours at the most and on his way.
Back home.
His thoughts skidded to an abrupt halt as they reached the door of the house. There they paused briefly, and then turned and retreated in a contrite manner back to the present, depositing him firmly back in room 5174, with the trunk next to him, and the harsh afternoon light streaming in through the window.
It was not a good plan.
"Prejudice is illogical," he thought to himself. Prejudice founded on opinions based on inadequate data. Therefore, the fact that he had been utterly repelled by everything and everyone he had seen since his arrival should be ignored. He had thought it all out many times, both before and since his decision to come. So...
"You are being ridiculous," he told himself implacably.
"No. I'm not," oozed the reply miserably from the depths.
You're stuck here, said the trunk, as he glanced at it again.
He settled himself more comfortably in the 'easy' chair. (It wasn't.) He deliberately regulated his breathing and relaxed, slowing his racing heart beat, and calming his mind to a state receptive to constructive thought. He began to return himself to that state of mental strength and self control which he had managed to attain during the last stages of his journey, continually aware as he sat there of the sounds of slamming doors, chattering voices and clattering footsteps ringing from all around the Block. He drew away from them into himself. He felt a lot better.
There was a sharp knock at the door.
Spock waited for a good six seconds for his heart to return to its correct position and for the buzzing in his ears to stop. "Come in," he said eventually, noting with some surprise as he spoke that he was standing up.
The door opened.
"Hi!" boomed the tall, broad, bronzed, rugged Human male from the doorway, the deep tan serving to emphasise the brilliant white of the teeth revealed in the hearty grin. "My name's Frieburg, Nick Frieburg. I live in 5832."
He advanced into the room like a friendly tank, his huge hand extended before him. "Welcome to the Block."
"Mr Frieburg," said the Vulcan in his cool assured tones. With a slow deliberate movement he brought his right hand from behind his back, and raised it in the Vulcan salute. "I am honoured by your courtesy. My name is Spock." His hand returned to clasp the other behind his back. His dark eyes regarded his visitor steadily and expressionlessly. The visitor's grin faded slightly.
"Ah," he said, "Spock. Well, hi, Spock."
He found himself at a loss as to what to do with his right hand, which was still protruding forwards like an antenna. He let it drop to his side, then flapped it backwards and forwards once or twice against his hip, and then finally scratched the top of his head.
The Vulcan did not move.
Frieburg began again with vigour. "Well, Spock, I just came to say that if you wanted any help about anything, or just wanted to get to meet a few people on your first day, y'know, well, ah, there's a kinda party...sort of a meeting kinda thing in my room and a few others next door to me, and, ah, we'd all be real glad to see you along with the other First Years, to meet up and kinda get to know everyone and... ah..." He fizzled out.
This Vulcan was just too much.
Those eyes.
Oh boy.
He flapped both arms this time, and then produced the Grin again. "Anyway, it's after the meal." The Grin broadened, desperately.
"Thank you, Mr Frieburg..."
"Nick, please!"
"Thank you, Nick. I will be there if I am not too tired by that hour. It is good of you to take this trouble..."
"Oh, no trouble at all, no trouble at all," hooted Nick, as he began to back towards the door. He started to hold out his hand again, and then changed the movement to a wave. "Room okay?"
"Quite satisfactory, thank you."
"Fine, fine. Well, I'll leave you to unpack your gear then. I'll see you later. "Bye." The last word brought his back against the door, and with a fumble for the handle, another grin and a wave, he was gone.
Outside in the corridor he let out a low whistle.
Inside the room Spock did something similar.
Then he sat down in the chair again, and crossed his legs.
The trunk glared at him.
Muttering something extremely fierce under his breath, he pushed himself abruptly back to his feet, turned on the offending receptacle and snapped open the locks.
By making use of the food which his mother had insisted on including in his luggage ("You never know what the food there might be like"), and by leaving the sanctuary of his room only for the most essential expeditions, he succeeded in spending the rest of the day and the night in complete isolation. He did not attempt to rationalise the sensations of horror which arose when he contemplated the notion of walking into the dining hall or joining in with Frieburg's get together; they were in fact compounded of a mixture of acute shyness and insecurity and of a deep-seated conviction that, in respect of the party at least, it was simply not the thing to do for one such as himself. The problem could not long be avoided, however. A notice board which Sarvan had pointed out to him on their way to 5174 directed him to report to number 3 Assembly Room at 0830 hours and, after finishing off Amanda's thoughtful enclosure in lieu of his breakfast, he began his Academy career by finding a seat at the back of the huge hall at the due time.
The first days of bewilderment, anxiety and tension crawled painfully by, and then moved faster from morning to night as he gradually accustomed himself to the rooms, the smells, the sounds and the faces. One of the major worries which had cost him several additional hours of recuperative meditation proved in fact to be unfounded; he discovered from the first class that he would be more than able to keep up with the work, and one recurring nightmare evaporated in the light of reality. However, the ease with which he completed the set preparation for the preliminary seminars left him ample time for concern over the other aspects of Academy life, particularly in view of the fact that, judging by his initial observations, the set work appeared to be the last thing on the minds of his fellow cadets.
He watched them. He saw how, from the first day, the isolated 'freshers' formed into small groups of acquaintances, arriving at the lecture rooms together, finding seats together, and pushing out through the doors at the end in bursts of noisy energetic relief, disappearing towards various rooms or bars, or standing around the notice boards. He saw these groups quickly re-form and form again, as the cadets found their feet and recognised friendships based on more than just mutual insecurity and loneliness. Each evening began with the now familiar sounds filtering in to his room of slamming doors and racing footsteps, to be followed by a heavy silence broken by an occasional burst of music or laughter. Each day was spent moving from lecture hall, to tutorial, to dining room, to gymnasium, to his room, backwards and forwards, and all the time he watched them and he couldn't understand them.
He kept himself aloof for the simple reason that he had no idea how to talk to them. The only Human he had even known well had been his mother, and after only two days he had reached the conclusion that his mother must have been a very unusual Human. She spoke in quiet moderate tones, for one thing, and Spock found it very difficult to tolerate the Humans' apparent compulsion to shout at all times, even when they were addressing him from a distance of some two feet away. He also began to regret the number of times he had accused her, either directly or to himself, of a penchant for illogical statements. Although he had to appreciate that these Humans seemed to understand each other without difficulty, he was now forced to either re-define his previously maintained concept of illogicality or to accept Amanda as well worthy to continue the tradition of Surak. Following one incident in which a fellow First Year, sprawled in a lounge chair in a common room reading a tape which was clearly unconnected with any of his studies, looked up and drawled to the passing Vulcan, "All go, isn't it, Spock?" the latter was moved to send a message tape to his mother telling her of his news in terms more affectionate than any he had employed since he was ten years old.
The agony which he had initially experienced when entering any crowded place such as a lecture room or dining hall eventually subsided; although he came no closer to being able to behave as they did, and daily moved further away from wishing to do so, he did finally realise that he was only one person among many and, sensing his reserve without necessarily knowing the reason, the others were content to let him be. Those who recognised him nodded greeting when passing in a corridor or courtyard, but word passed around that attempts to initiate conversation with him would be met by a poker-stiff sobriety and formality, and, in general, such attempts ceased.