Psychotic Academy

The first year of officer training had rushed by for Wall and Damerell. They had begun to learn their trades, the specialisations they would follow for most of their careers. Wall, true to his instructions from Commodore Dillard, had stayed away from Tactical and Security (which he never really wanted to do anyway), and got himself onto the pilot’s training scheme. Damerell, who had been unable to decide what he wanted to do, had been drafted to the navigator’s course, where there were still spare places. He had quickly gone out and bought a copy of ‘Collin’s Guide to Federation Space and Its Environs’, initially as an aide-mémoire, rather than as a method of getting out of scrapes.

Now, as they approached the end of their third year, they had to sit the practical exams that would test their proficiency in their specialisations. This had been enough to set them panicking by itself, but then, when they discovered that they were to sit their exam together, that nearly tripped them over the edge. They had both been told to report to the Academy shuttle park at 0600, where they would find their instructor alongside the shuttle Bratwurst.

They both knew the format the exam would take. First, Damerell would be required to navigate them along a complicated course around the Earth, then they would head out to the Jupiter training ground, where Wall would sit his pilot’s test. They’d just never thought they’d have to sit it together. Needless to say, it was drizzling when two very nervous cadets arrived outside the shuttle Bratwurst. Their instructor was nowhere to be seen.

Damerell, rain dripping off his nose, said to Wall, “Promise you won’t snigger if I get something wrong.”

“I promise.”

Damerell yanked Wall’s hands out of his pockets to check the fledgling shuttle pilot wasn’t crossing his fingers. Now it was Wall’s turn.

“And you promise not to complain if I dent anything.”

“Since when have I said anything?”

“You did that time I backed into Phobos!”

“You hit a planetoid at full reverse impulse! I think I was entitled to scream a little bit.”

“You were putting me off!”

“What do you mean, putting you off?!!! You’d just mashed the shuttle up against a thumping great lump of rock. We couldn’t go anywhere!! That’s the last time I go with you on a fishing trip!”

Before their argument could get any further, their instructor stuck her head out of the side of the shuttle, and said, “Have you two quite finished? Only, I’d like to get this over and done with.”

Wall and Damerell abruptly shut up. Of all the accursed luck, they’d managed to get Captain Tomkinson for their test. Tomkinson was well-known for being the toughest of the Academy instructors. They’d probably already failed.

They boarded the shuttle, and Tomkinson said, “Cadet Wall, you sit in the back. Cadet Damerell, you come with me.”

While Wall clambered into a booth at the back of the shuttle and stared out of the window, Damerell nervously joined Tomkinson in the cockpit. Just to reassure himself, he checked to see the atlas was still in place. He’d wedged it down the front of his trousers, behind the belt to keep it in place, and it was starting to chafe. How he was going to get a look at it, he had no idea, but he knew he wasn’t going to get through this exam without it.

Tomkinson took the shuttle off, while Damerell clutched at his seat and prayed. After half an hour, Tomkinson brought them to a hover somewhere over the Pacific, and said, “Right, Mr Damerell, I want you to plot a course for Tokyo.”

Damerell stared blindly at the panel in front of him. Inspiration came to him just in time, and he remembered how to do his job. Glancing across at the shuttle’s position indicator, Damerell typed the position into the computer, then typed ‘Tokyo’ into the computer, hoping Tomkinson wouldn’t notice. The computer, markedly more intelligent than the average cadet, processed the information and displayed the course on Tomkinson’s board. She set the shuttle going again, and they sped off over the Pacific. Damerell felt it was safe to risk relaxing now.

He’d been staring out of the window for half-an-hour when Tomkinson suddenly said, “Change of plan. We’re going to Sydney instead. Get on with it.”

Damerell prepared to go through the same routine again, except this time, the computer wouldn’t accept Sydney as a destination point. Tomkinson had noticed. Damerell began to panic.

Almost without thinking, he said, “Gosh, what’s that?” and pointed out of the window.

As Tomkinson said, “What?” Damerell yanked out his atlas and looked up Sydney. By the time Tomkinson had given up trying to spot whatever it was this obviously deranged cadet had seen, Damerell had stuffed the atlas down his trousers again, and was tapping in the co-ordinates for Sydney. The shuttle changed course, and headed southwards.

For the next two hours, they carried out steadily more and more complicated course changes, extrapolating new courses by integrating the co-ordinates of the previous destination, flying by the stars, and, most terrifyingly of all, low-level work over Hawaii where Damerell was continuously calculating course changes as they flew blind at treetop level past the volcanoes of the island.

Finally Tomkinson turned to Damerell and said, “Right, this is the final part of your test. You have to plot a course for the Jupiter pilot training ground, taking into account planetary drift, changes in gravity, accepted trade routes and no-go areas.”

Damerell suddenly felt very weak. “Erm, before we start, can I go to the loo first?”

“Go on then.”

Damerell staggered out of the cockpit, and headed aft, where he found Wall snoring. Hitting him until he woke up, Damerell hissed, “Help me! I’m about to fail!!!!”

“Eh? Whassup? Whatcha mean?”

Damerell explained his predicament. Wall clicked his fingers.

“Give me the atlas,” he said, holding out his hands for it.

Damerell dug the atlas out, and Wall, seeing where it had come from, held it by the tips of his fingers. Then, Wall dug a small, flesh coloured lump out of one of his pockets, and said, “Shove that in your ear.”

“But it’s covered in fluff!”

“Do you want to pass?”

“Yes.”

“Well then. It’s got a tiny microphone built into it, so I can hear what’s going on.”

Reluctantly, Damerell pushed the object into his ear. Wall then fished out a small microphone, and whispered, “How’s that?” into it.

Damerell nodded, and Wall said, “This way, I can read out the course changes to you, and you can stick em in the computer.”

“Great!”

Damerell made his way back to the cockpit, feeling a little better.

“Ready now?” Tomkinson asked sourly.

“Yup.”

“Good. Let’s get on with it. Set a course for Jupiter, avoiding Spacedock, Earth Station McKinley, and the moon.”

“Right.”

Damerell tapped randomly for a few seconds, whilst, in his ear, he could hear Wall’s voice saying, “Right, now then, Jupiter, missing Spacedock, Earth Station McKinley, and the moon. Tough one. No, no, that ought to work. Right then… Course heading, um, let’s see, five minus four is two, no, one, multiply by seventeen… damn! Ran out of fingers. Okay, let’s get those boots off… ah, yes, that’s it! The miracle of toes… hmm, nasty verruca there.. right, now divide by the number you first thought of, and the course is 156 mark 4.”

Damerell plotted the course, and Tomkinson engaged it.

The Bratwurst rose out of Earth’s gravity well, and, scraping perilously close past Spacedock, headed out beyond the moon.

Just as Damerell thought it was safe to relax again, he heard Wall’s voice say, “Oh, SHIT! I knew I’d done my sums wrong. I was supposed to count that toe, not leave it off. Right, um, course change needed. New course is 244 mark 3.”

Damerell made the necessary change, and the shuttle shifted round. Squinting ahead, Damerell could see they were bearing down rapidly on Mars. He was trying to think how to communicate this information to Wall when Tomkinson said, “That doesn’t look like Jupiter to me.”

“Erm, no, it isn’t. I thought we’d take the scenic route. You know, take a good look at MARS first.”

In his ear, a little voice said, “Oops.”

Much counting of fingers and toes later, Wall said, “Okay, this time, I promise we’re on course for Jupiter. 132 mark 1.”

Damerell entered in the final course, and the Bratwurst headed for Jupiter.

 

A few hours later, when they reached the pilot test ground, Tomkinson turned to Damerell and said, “Congratulations, Cadet, you’ve passed. Now go and sit in the back while I put your colleague through his paces.”

Damerell bounced happily into the rear portion of the shuttle, where he found Wall waiting nervously.

“Good luck,” Damerell said.

“Yeah, cheers.”

Wall slouched into the cockpit, and Damerell took the seat so recently vacated by Wall, and sat down to have a snooze.

Wall took the pilot’s seat and flashed a mock-confident grin at Tomkinson.

“Right, Cadet, when you’re ready.”

Okay. Right. Sensors, locator beacon, thrusters. The time-honoured drill. Wall checked his sensor display, made sure his locator beacon was functioning correctly, and slowly took the Bratwurst out. Tomkinson looked at his readings and made a note on her padd.

“If you wouldn’t mind proceeding straight ahead for the moment.”

Wall nodded, too nervous to speak. In the back, Damerell slowly drifted off to sleep. Occasionally, Tomkinson gave orders for minor changes to their attitude, or speed, or course, as they slowly circled the perimeter of the course. Wall stayed alert, ready for the order to turn in to the course proper. It came when he was least expecting it.

“BREAK LEFT!!!!!” Tomkinson screamed.

Wall threw the shuttle into a violent turn automatically. In the back, Damerell was thrown out of his seat and plastered against the bulkhead.

“Well done, Cadet,” Tomkinson said. “Your reflexes are obviously good.”

Wall, a black eye forming where his head had impacted with the edge of a monitor, glared at her. As he brought the Bratwurst back under control, he realised that he was in the middle of the testing ground. This was the crunch point, Wall thought. On reflection, perhaps crunch wasn’t quite the right word.

“Very well. I’d like you to steer between those two asteroids please.”

Wall nervously took the shuttle between the two asteroids, taking care to park it exactly dead centre between the two. He knew the manoeuvre that was coming next.

“Okay. Turn me round in the channel please, by means of forward and reverse thrusters, without touching either asteroid.”

The purpose of this exercise was to demonstrate the cadet’s ability to swing a shuttle around in its own length. Wall had become notorious in his year when, on his first attempt, he had missed the correct switch, and the shuttle had bounced off one of the asteroids. He could still see the chunk he’d taken out of the rock ahead of him.

Very carefully, Wall activated the bow and stern thrusters, and slowly, the Bratwurst began to rotate. Wall knew the tough part was stopping the turn when the shuttle was facing the other way. That was where he’d gone badly wrong the last time. As open space appeared ahead of him, Wall carefully slowed the shuttle’s turn, and felt a tide of relief hit him as he realised he’d got through that one.

“Good. Now, please go straight ahead.”

Tomkinson took him away from those asteroids, through a tightly laid-out course marked out by buoys, to the site of the next major manoeuvre.
#
“Now, I want you to reverse me around this meteor.”

Wall set the shuttle up next to the meteor in question, and selected reverse thrust. This one was tricky, because he had to rely on the miniature tactical display set into the console beside him. Staring intently at the display, Wall began to move the shuttle backwards, adding a tiny percentage of portside thrust to begin the turn.

Ever so slowly, the shuttle began to slip round the meteor.

Then, Wall’s sweaty hands slid across the controls, and the shuttle’s speed increased dramatically.

Fighting to compensate, Wall piled on the turning speed, and the shuttle whipped round the rest of the turn in record time, before coming to a sudden halt as Wall regained control.

Damerell came flying into the cockpit to flatten himself up against the window.

Tomkinson, rubbing her neck, said, “Not bad. A little faster than I’m used to, maybe, but not bad.”

As Damerell unpeeled himself, and, giving Wall an ugly look, headed astern, Tomkinson said, “Now, I’d like you to take us to the shuttle base at the centre of the testing ground.”

Wall brought the shuttle about, and headed for the centre. He knew he had one manoeuvre left before he was done. This was possibly the hardest of them all. Parallel parking.

The Bratwurst approached the base, before turning to fly parallel to a line of (thankfully) empty shuttles. Tomkinson ordered them to stop just as they passed a gap in the line of shuttles. Wall wiped his hands on his trousers, before activating reverse thrust. He couldn’t allow the shuttle to slip out of control like it had before, otherwise… Kentucky fried shuttle.

Wall didn’t want that to happen. He inched the shuttle backwards, turning it inwards, then straightening out hurriedly and bringing the shuttle to a stop. Checking his display, he saw that he’d done it!

Wall sat back in relief, and barely heard Tomkinson say, “I’m happy to tell you that you’ve passed your piloting test.”

Then, she indicated to him to get out of the pilot’s seat so that she could take them back to Earth.
Wall eagerly clambered out, but as he did so, he accidentally hit the thruster control panel. The Bratwurst accelerated rapidly downwards, pinning all three of them to the ceiling. They were stopped by the timely intervention of an asteroid directly in their path.

 

One month later, when they were allowed out of the Academy Infirmary, Wall and Damerell found out that they’d passed their specialisation training, and more importantly for Wall, the Board of Inquiry had found that the destruction of the shuttle Bratwurst was an accident, and the incident wasn’t mentioned on his record.

Later, Wall found Damerell pacing their quarters anxiously.

“What’s up?”

“I’m wondering if I should admit I cheated at my exams.”

“WHAT?!!!” Wall grabbed Damerell and shouted, “YOU HAVE TO BE KIDDING!!!!! YOU’LL DROP US BOTH IN IT!!!!!!!!!”

“I know,” Damerell replied plaintively. “But I’m feeling really guilty about it.”

“Okay. Fine. Did you not wonder how I came to have that kit on me? How I managed to produce precisely the right piece of equipment at precisely the right time?”

“Um, no, not really.”

“Let’s put it this way. You’re not exactly the first navigator to cheat on his exams.”

“Who…?”

“Ever heard of Pavel Chekov?”

“What?!!!!” Damerell was astounded.

Wall nodded. “Yup. Pavel Chekov cheated his navigation exam. Same technique. And look how he turned out.”

Damerell gave this some thought. It made him feel a little better. But there was one question that was bothering him. “How did you find out about this?”

Wall blushed a little bit. “You remember when he came to give us a talk a few months back? Well, afterwards, we got talking in the bar, and, well, he’s a bit of a lightweight really, well, I suppose it could have something to do with me adding neat alcohol to his vodka, and anyway…”

“You got one of Starfleet’s greatest legends DRUNK?!”

“Um. Something like that. Point being, he told me all about how he’d beaten the system, how he’d managed to follow in James Kirk’s footsteps. He explained how he got a friend to sit in the back and tell him what course to plot. Why do you think he got himself transferred to security, then Reliant? He had to cover up the fact he was a crap navigator somehow.”

“I can’t believe you got Pavel Chekov drunk!”

“Were you listening to me?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Well then. Do you still want to report it?”

Damerell thought about it for a second, then thought, if Chekov could do it, why not him?

“Nah.”

“Good. Let’s go for a drink.”

“Okay. Hey, hang on just a second. No neat alcohol or anything, okay?”