this is the test I left land for
title: this is the test I left land for
universe: AOS
pairing: Pike/Number One
author:reogulus
rating: G
wordcount: ~1,400
disclaimer: Not mine, not real, not used for profit
summary: James T. Kirk isn't technically the first Starfleet cadet to pass the Kobayashi Maru.
notes: Uh, I blame introductory for everything except for my writing.
As Pike seats himself in the observation room for the hundredth time this semester, he wonders, once again, how anyone here is fit to judge the cadet in that cheap replica chair when none of them have undergone the simulation on the other side of the glass. He and every one of his colleagues, with their PADDs glowing and words flowing, every number on the central monitor screen a testament of its cruel brilliance and brilliant cruelty. The play’s the thing, where they’ll catch, well, probably another cheat patch.
Pike refreshes the marking scheme to a blank page. There is nothing special to command school, at least, not as special as the infamous simulation may lead a cadet to believe. Sometimes, out there in space, wearing the command gold can feel like the result of standing under a shower of piss for too long. Under those situations, whether a cadet has what it takes to make it to captaincy, is often just a matter of how long they can withstand that feeling.
But first, they’ve got to pull through this shit storm called the Kobayashi Maru.
*
The lead actress in this afternoon’s circus is the furthest thing from theatrical. There is something curious in the manner that she speaks, which makes the bridge seem far less simulated. Exhibits seasoned calmness in commanding style, Pike jots down before pulling up her file. Her name is Number One, and she is, quite literally, at the top of her class in every course, including Pike’s Tactical Analysis from last semester. Further down the page are sparkling academic commendations from several names that Pike recognizes. On paper, she doesn’t appear to be much more than a type-A personality with an impressive jawline.
Clearly, Number One’s file does not do her justice.
“The Klingon warbirds are decloaking and targeting our ship-”
“Helmsman, get us out of their firing range. Navigator, plot a course of retreat to the nearest starbase.”
“Course laid in, ma’am.”
Pike can hear murmurs of disapproval buzzing around him. Another deserter, I bet. He doesn’t contribute to the premature criticism, eyes fixed on the simulated bridge with his undivided attention on the captain’s chair.
“Contact Starfleet command and report our situation, request them to send us the complete files of any and all Klingon ships that are still in custody of Starfleet. Helmsman, keep us in the safety zone for now and head for the starbase at maximum warp on my order.”
“Report and request sent, Captain. Data transmission has started and will be completed in two minutes.”
Number One nods curtly. “Open a channel to the Klingon warbirds fleet command.”
The observation room grows quiet when the holographic image of a Klingon commander appears on screen. If Pike’s eyes haven’t fooled him-there is a gleam in the cadet’s stern blue eyes as she begins her speech.
“This is the captain of the USS Trainer speaking. With respect to the existing treaties between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, I have decided to abort rescue efforts for the Kobayashi Maru. All I ask is a chance for negotiation under mutual ceasefire.”
“I see no reason for further communication, Captain. Your freighter trespassed in the neutral zone, and has been taken prisoner to await judgment. My fleet has no patience for your games.”
“I appreciate your sound analysis of the current circumstance, commander, but I believe I have more to offer than just games.” The communications officer hands Number One a copy of the transmission. “I just received a transmission from Starfleet command that indicates the Federation’s interest in exchanging an undamaged Klingon vessel in custody for the surviving crewmembers of the Kobayashi Maru. I trust the possibility of such a negotiation is enough incentive for the Empire to treat its recent captives with adequate care?”
The hologram freezes for a brief second, as if in shock. The murmurs return. Pike blocks out the words and leans forward in his seat.
“Your mission was not meant to be a diplomatic one, Captain.”
“This mission was not meant to be a winnable one for a starship captain who limits their skill set.”
For the first time since Number One stepped onto that stage, she looks up at the glass box of balcony seats and scans the crowd. Her eyes are blue, sharp and subtle like the sheath of an antique sword.
The curtain falls, and leaves him wondering how he hasn’t known her.
*
The test itself is technically impossible to pass, but that doesn’t mean they will actually fail everyone. Academic regulations state that all cadets who have taken the test must articulate the reasoning behind their command decisions in a one-on-one interview with an instructor, and the majority of their grade for the simulation will depend on the presentation of their arguments.
It took minimal string-pulling for Pike to get Number One’s interview assigned to him, as most instructors wouldn’t touch anything Kobayashi Maru with a three-foot pole if given a choice. The cadet walks into the room precisely ten minutes before the scheduled start, dressed in crisp clean crimson.
“Cadet,” he nods. She nods back, taking the seat opposite of him only at his request.
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
She raises one of her finely plucked eyebrows. “I’m here to present to you the rationale behind my actions as the captain of the USS Trainer in the Kobayashi Maru scenario, sir. If I haven’t been misinformed-”
His chuckle interrupts her before his words. “Have you checked your grades, Cadet?”
A quick blink is all she has to show for her confusion. “I was under the impression that the final evaluation for my performance will not be determined until the end of this interview.”
“The fine print on this rubric states that if you pass the simulation component of the test, you don’t have to sign up for the interview component.” He shows the screen of his PADD to her, pointing at the bottom. “You did strike me as someone who pays attention to details regarding her schoolwork.”
For a second, the room is quiet enough for Pike to hear her putting it all together inside her head.
“I did not expect this outcome, sir.”
Pike has to laugh. “Nobody who didn’t expect themselves to pass would even consider walking onto that bridge and sitting in that chair.”
She doesn’t banter. “Why me?”
He looks into her eyes and the sword is unsheathed.
“Because,” he pauses and breaks eye contact, you didn’t aim for victory, or self-preservation. You aimed for completion. Half of the twenty kids I graded last week chose to abort the mission, and they just stopped there. I have no doubt that they will have success in command school, but what you did is worthy of real command.”
“Sir,” says Number One, her eyes unreadable. “Taking the test was necessary for me to qualify for training as a helmswoman, thus, going through with it is the logical thing to do. I seek no sport nor glory in the simulation. I am thankful to have passed the Kobayashi Maru, and while I acknowledge the honour your commendation has bestowed on me, I prefer to stay out of the spotlight and the campus grapevine.”
Pike doesn’t bother to mask his surprise. “Are you saying you want me to rescind the passing grade?”
“For the simulation component, yes.”
Pike leans back in his chair. “Cadet-you do realize that there are two minutes left for your allotted interview time, and you haven’t explained your command reasoning to me yet.”
The corners of her lips curve into a half-smile. “I have no doubt that everything I have to say has already crossed your mind, sir.”
“Has it?” He asks, already making adjustments on his PADD.
“You didn’t pass me because you think I would really make a great captain. You passed me because I did what you would have done in my shoes-you just didn’t know it until you’ve seen me.”
“Well, Miss…One,” Pike looks up from his PADD. The name rolls off his tongue less smoothly than expected. “Congratulations. You have just passed the Kobayashi Maru test with flying colours-despite your abysmal failure in the actual simulation.”
Number One smiles at him-really smiles this time, before she heads for the door.
“Cadet,” Pike calls from behind her. “I look forward to seeing you at the hangar someday-a ship, with any luck.”
She answers without turning around. “Likewise.”
He spins his chair around to face the window when she shuts the door behind her, and closes his eyes in the warmth of the summer sun. He's going to think about this day the next time he sits in a captain's chair, and probably remember it for a long time after that.
*
“Where is Helmsman McKenna?”
The lieutenant with long black hair turns around in her seat at the helm. “He has lungworm, sir. He couldn’t report to his post.”
For a moment the words seem to have stuck in his throat: “Maximum warp. Punch it.”
“Yes Captain,” answers his helmswoman before the engines hurl them into the stars.
universe: AOS
pairing: Pike/Number One
author:reogulus
rating: G
wordcount: ~1,400
disclaimer: Not mine, not real, not used for profit
summary: James T. Kirk isn't technically the first Starfleet cadet to pass the Kobayashi Maru.
notes: Uh, I blame introductory for everything except for my writing.
As Pike seats himself in the observation room for the hundredth time this semester, he wonders, once again, how anyone here is fit to judge the cadet in that cheap replica chair when none of them have undergone the simulation on the other side of the glass. He and every one of his colleagues, with their PADDs glowing and words flowing, every number on the central monitor screen a testament of its cruel brilliance and brilliant cruelty. The play’s the thing, where they’ll catch, well, probably another cheat patch.
Pike refreshes the marking scheme to a blank page. There is nothing special to command school, at least, not as special as the infamous simulation may lead a cadet to believe. Sometimes, out there in space, wearing the command gold can feel like the result of standing under a shower of piss for too long. Under those situations, whether a cadet has what it takes to make it to captaincy, is often just a matter of how long they can withstand that feeling.
But first, they’ve got to pull through this shit storm called the Kobayashi Maru.
*
The lead actress in this afternoon’s circus is the furthest thing from theatrical. There is something curious in the manner that she speaks, which makes the bridge seem far less simulated. Exhibits seasoned calmness in commanding style, Pike jots down before pulling up her file. Her name is Number One, and she is, quite literally, at the top of her class in every course, including Pike’s Tactical Analysis from last semester. Further down the page are sparkling academic commendations from several names that Pike recognizes. On paper, she doesn’t appear to be much more than a type-A personality with an impressive jawline.
Clearly, Number One’s file does not do her justice.
“The Klingon warbirds are decloaking and targeting our ship-”
“Helmsman, get us out of their firing range. Navigator, plot a course of retreat to the nearest starbase.”
“Course laid in, ma’am.”
Pike can hear murmurs of disapproval buzzing around him. Another deserter, I bet. He doesn’t contribute to the premature criticism, eyes fixed on the simulated bridge with his undivided attention on the captain’s chair.
“Contact Starfleet command and report our situation, request them to send us the complete files of any and all Klingon ships that are still in custody of Starfleet. Helmsman, keep us in the safety zone for now and head for the starbase at maximum warp on my order.”
“Report and request sent, Captain. Data transmission has started and will be completed in two minutes.”
Number One nods curtly. “Open a channel to the Klingon warbirds fleet command.”
The observation room grows quiet when the holographic image of a Klingon commander appears on screen. If Pike’s eyes haven’t fooled him-there is a gleam in the cadet’s stern blue eyes as she begins her speech.
“This is the captain of the USS Trainer speaking. With respect to the existing treaties between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, I have decided to abort rescue efforts for the Kobayashi Maru. All I ask is a chance for negotiation under mutual ceasefire.”
“I see no reason for further communication, Captain. Your freighter trespassed in the neutral zone, and has been taken prisoner to await judgment. My fleet has no patience for your games.”
“I appreciate your sound analysis of the current circumstance, commander, but I believe I have more to offer than just games.” The communications officer hands Number One a copy of the transmission. “I just received a transmission from Starfleet command that indicates the Federation’s interest in exchanging an undamaged Klingon vessel in custody for the surviving crewmembers of the Kobayashi Maru. I trust the possibility of such a negotiation is enough incentive for the Empire to treat its recent captives with adequate care?”
The hologram freezes for a brief second, as if in shock. The murmurs return. Pike blocks out the words and leans forward in his seat.
“Your mission was not meant to be a diplomatic one, Captain.”
“This mission was not meant to be a winnable one for a starship captain who limits their skill set.”
For the first time since Number One stepped onto that stage, she looks up at the glass box of balcony seats and scans the crowd. Her eyes are blue, sharp and subtle like the sheath of an antique sword.
The curtain falls, and leaves him wondering how he hasn’t known her.
*
The test itself is technically impossible to pass, but that doesn’t mean they will actually fail everyone. Academic regulations state that all cadets who have taken the test must articulate the reasoning behind their command decisions in a one-on-one interview with an instructor, and the majority of their grade for the simulation will depend on the presentation of their arguments.
It took minimal string-pulling for Pike to get Number One’s interview assigned to him, as most instructors wouldn’t touch anything Kobayashi Maru with a three-foot pole if given a choice. The cadet walks into the room precisely ten minutes before the scheduled start, dressed in crisp clean crimson.
“Cadet,” he nods. She nods back, taking the seat opposite of him only at his request.
“Is there anything you’d like to talk about?”
She raises one of her finely plucked eyebrows. “I’m here to present to you the rationale behind my actions as the captain of the USS Trainer in the Kobayashi Maru scenario, sir. If I haven’t been misinformed-”
His chuckle interrupts her before his words. “Have you checked your grades, Cadet?”
A quick blink is all she has to show for her confusion. “I was under the impression that the final evaluation for my performance will not be determined until the end of this interview.”
“The fine print on this rubric states that if you pass the simulation component of the test, you don’t have to sign up for the interview component.” He shows the screen of his PADD to her, pointing at the bottom. “You did strike me as someone who pays attention to details regarding her schoolwork.”
For a second, the room is quiet enough for Pike to hear her putting it all together inside her head.
“I did not expect this outcome, sir.”
Pike has to laugh. “Nobody who didn’t expect themselves to pass would even consider walking onto that bridge and sitting in that chair.”
She doesn’t banter. “Why me?”
He looks into her eyes and the sword is unsheathed.
“Because,” he pauses and breaks eye contact, you didn’t aim for victory, or self-preservation. You aimed for completion. Half of the twenty kids I graded last week chose to abort the mission, and they just stopped there. I have no doubt that they will have success in command school, but what you did is worthy of real command.”
“Sir,” says Number One, her eyes unreadable. “Taking the test was necessary for me to qualify for training as a helmswoman, thus, going through with it is the logical thing to do. I seek no sport nor glory in the simulation. I am thankful to have passed the Kobayashi Maru, and while I acknowledge the honour your commendation has bestowed on me, I prefer to stay out of the spotlight and the campus grapevine.”
Pike doesn’t bother to mask his surprise. “Are you saying you want me to rescind the passing grade?”
“For the simulation component, yes.”
Pike leans back in his chair. “Cadet-you do realize that there are two minutes left for your allotted interview time, and you haven’t explained your command reasoning to me yet.”
The corners of her lips curve into a half-smile. “I have no doubt that everything I have to say has already crossed your mind, sir.”
“Has it?” He asks, already making adjustments on his PADD.
“You didn’t pass me because you think I would really make a great captain. You passed me because I did what you would have done in my shoes-you just didn’t know it until you’ve seen me.”
“Well, Miss…One,” Pike looks up from his PADD. The name rolls off his tongue less smoothly than expected. “Congratulations. You have just passed the Kobayashi Maru test with flying colours-despite your abysmal failure in the actual simulation.”
Number One smiles at him-really smiles this time, before she heads for the door.
“Cadet,” Pike calls from behind her. “I look forward to seeing you at the hangar someday-a ship, with any luck.”
She answers without turning around. “Likewise.”
He spins his chair around to face the window when she shuts the door behind her, and closes his eyes in the warmth of the summer sun. He's going to think about this day the next time he sits in a captain's chair, and probably remember it for a long time after that.
*
“Where is Helmsman McKenna?”
The lieutenant with long black hair turns around in her seat at the helm. “He has lungworm, sir. He couldn’t report to his post.”
For a moment the words seem to have stuck in his throat: “Maximum warp. Punch it.”
“Yes Captain,” answers his helmswoman before the engines hurl them into the stars.