Psychotic Academy

Cadet Damerell paused at the entrance to his dormitory building. He’d only been at Starfleet Academy for three hours, and already he’d made four new enemies. A series of collisions with other cadets and his copious baggage had resulted in them chasing him around the parade ground several times. Hopefully none of them would be in here. He stepped inside, immediately noticing how bare the walls were. It occurred to Damerell that those pictures in the Academy prospectus might just have been doctored. They had shown the dormitories as mansion-like buildings, with lavishly-decorated rooms. In reality, the dormitories’ construction seemed to owe more to nuclear bunkers than mansions, and the rooms were like cells, small spaces occupied by two cadets, although any health-and-safety official worth his salt would have raised Cain about one person being forced to endure such cramped quarters.

Damerell hunted along the labyrinthine corridors, trying to locate his room. His ticket, handed to him by an elderly Chief in the Academy lobby, told him he was in Green 40. Trouble was, he couldn’t find Green 40. All around him, cadets were settling in, whilst he was left roaming the corridors. Damerell decided to go door to door. Starting at the first door he found, he knocked on it, waited until it was opened, then asked as politely as he could, “Is this Green 40?”

Half an hour later, after having learnt how to say “Piss off!” in twelve different languages, and having seen just how friendly some cadets had got with each other within hours of arriving (he was still blushing a bit from that room), he found the correct room, and opened the door and began pushing his many bags inside. Once the last one was inside, Damerell squeezed into the now very full room, and looked around. The cadet who was to be his room-mate for the next four years had already claimed the top bunk, and was fast asleep on his back, snoring loudly through a wide open mouth. Deciding not to disturb him, Damerell began to push his luggage into the one tiny locker he was allowed. It very quickly became clear that he wasn’t going to be able to fit it all in. Wedging the bulging locker shut, Damerell stuffed the rest under his bunk. He then found that that lifted the mattress so high he couldn’t actually lie on it.

Before Damerell could ponder how he was going to solve the luggage/mattress equation, a loud siren blared through the building, and a loud voice said, “Now hear this! All new cadets to the briefing room!” The other cadet yawned, stretched, muttered, “Wassat den?”, then jumped off the bed as he realised what was being said, and legged it. Damerell, his mind still in a whirl, set off in hot pursuit.

They arrived in the briefing room to find a crush of cadets all trying to find seats. Damerell managed to get himself a seat at one side of the hall, near the back, where he hoped he wouldn’t be noticed. As the last cadets sat themselves down, a senior officer strode into the room and took the podium at the front of the room.

“Oh, crumbs! My name is Vice-Admiral Forster, and I am the commander of Starfleet Academy. For the next four years, you will be put through the most difficult experiences of your young lives. At the end of it, assuming you stay the course, you will take your places as some of the finest people in the galaxy. It won’t be easy, but remember, we’re doing it for your own good. Some day, your life, and the lives of others, will rely on your being able to do things you will learn here. D’you see?”

Damerell wondered if it wasn’t too late to leave. Vice-Admiral Forster stepped aside, to be replaced by another officer.

“Right, gentlemen, my name is Commodore Dillard, officer in charge of basic training. I will be your immediate commanding officer in your first and second years here. But that’s enough about me. I want to hear from you. What are your hopes and dreams? Why did you join Starfleet?”
Damerell immediately began to shrink lower in his chair.

“You, stand up.”

To Damerell’s relief, Commodore Dillard was pointing at somebody else. “Why did you join Starfleet?”

The cadet, a young woman in a science uniform, stammered, “B-b-because I want to study the flora and fauna of the universe, sir.”

“Hmm, that’s good. Boring, but good. How about you?”

Another cadet stood up. By this time, Damerell was sliding so far down into his seat that he could barely see the heads of the cadets in front of him, never mind anyone else.

From somewhere over to his right, the cadet said, “I want to be the first guy to pull off a handbrake turn in a starship!”

There was a general laugh, and Dillard said, smiling, “Very funny. Sense of humour. You’ll go far. But seriously, why did you join Starfleet?”

“That is why I joined Starfleet!”

Dillard stopped smiling, and made a note on a datapadd. “Alright. Sit down. Now, how about… you?”

Damerell realised in horror that Dillard was pointing at him. Slowly, reluctantly, he stood up. “Me, sir?”

“Yes, you, sir. Come on, why did you join Starfleet?”

Damerell glanced around desperately. Everyone else was trying to slide nonchalantly away from him, as if he was standing on high-explosive and didn’t know it. “Erm, well, I think I joined because, um, well, in all honesty, because I got fired from my last job.”

“I see. And what was that?”

“I was, um, a pizza delivery guy. Sir.”

Dillard’s face suddenly held an expression of intense pain. “Right. Sit down, please.”

Later that day, after a ridiculously brief lunch, the cadets found themselves embarking on a “relaxing” five-kilometre run, just to break them in. Damerell, who still had a mouthful of bacon sarnie, found himself running unwillingly along the steep hills of San Francisco, through the centre of the old town, in company with the other cadets of his year.

As he ran, wishing fervently that he hadn’t had second helpings of chips, he heard a voice say, “Oy, you! I want a word with you!”

He looked round, and realised that the four cadets whose shins had made the unwelcome acquaintance of his luggage were following him. The expressions on their faces could best be described as murderous. Damerell attempted to run a bit faster. The other cadets, fitter than he was, accelerated. Damerell began to panic. The burst of adrenaline that gave him opened the gap between him and his pursuers a little, but not enough to lose them.

As he ran, he tried to think about his problem, consider it from all angles and come up with a rational solution that he could implement. Unfortunately, he found it nearly impossible to do this as his mind was screaming “OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT!!!!!!!”, thus blocking out any forms of rational thought. With panic in full control now, Damerell turned off the main course, and headed down a side street. Looking behind him, he realised that this had not worked. The four cadets were still following him, and he was now away from the dubious protection of the rest of the cadets. So much for instinct. Damerell began to look around, frantically trying to find out where the hell he was. As this was the first time he’d been to San Francisco, he didn’t have a clue. He knew that the Academy was somewhere near the coast, though. So he had to head back that way.

He turned right again, taking a route back down the hill. As he turned, one of his pursuers threw what appeared to be a large brick. When it hit him around the back of the ankles, he realised that it was. He fell over. The steep camber of the hill meant that his forward momentum translated neatly from vertical to horizontal, or, in English, he began to roll down the hill, screaming madly.

Every so often, when his head was facing in the right direction, he could see the four cadets who were chasing him. They had now armed themselves with large sticks from somewhere, and didn’t look very happy. Suddenly, everything went dark, before clearing again. A few turns later, Damerell realised that he’d just rolled under a hovertruck and out the other side. He began to whimper in between screams.

At the bottom of the hill, he slowed enough to pick himself up. Brushing himself down, he was about to running again, when he was trampled from behind. Unbeknownst to him, the rest of the cadet body had run up the hill, across a couple of blocks, then down it again, and were heading back towards the Academy. After the first crush of cadets had passed overhead, Damerell found himself being picked up by another cadet. He was about to thank the cadet, but whoever it was kept running, waving cheerily over his shoulder. Damerell put his legs into gear and tried to keep up with the others. The cadets who had been chasing him were somewhere behind him now, and Damerell felt a little safer. He swallowed the last mouthful of bacon sarnie.

That afternoon, they had their first class. It was a role-playing exercise, designed to ease them into Academy life more simply. Commodore Dillard, with a suspiciously large smile playing across his face, had announced that it would also sort out the wolves from the sheep. It was a simple exercise, using two basic starship bridge mock-ups, testing the cadets’ skills in negotiating with an unfriendly power. Each bridge mockup was manned by cadets who would watch their classmates and, hopefully, learn something before it was too late. It also had the advantage of being a good way to get the cadets introduced to the layout of a console.

They had been going at it for two hours when it was Damerell’s turn to be captain. He was herded unwillingly into the command chair by Commodore Dillard, and he sat down uncomfortably. His first thought was, ‘Great, this chair’s warm. I hate warm chairs!’ When the viewscreen flicked on, revealing an innocuous pattern of stars, he flinched. Then, another cadet handed him a padd, with his mission orders on it. Damerell read them through nervously. They said:

Okay, that wasn’t so hard, he thought. A few exchanges of pleasantries, a couple of winning smiles, and hey presto. Then, the viewscreen changed to show him his opposite number. It was one of the cadets who had been chasing him, Cadet Norbert. Damerell blanched. This wasn’t his day.

The other cadet leaned forwards in his command chair, with an expression of extreme hatred on his face.

“So, it’s you!” he hissed.

Damerell, who’d been pushing himself back into his seat, quavered, “Ahem. Hahaha. Yes, it’s, um, me.”

“I will have nothing to do with you! Farewell!”

The viewscreen flicked off. Damerell was momentarily non-plussed. Then, he became aware of the other cadets turning round to look at him. Realising that something was expected of him, he warbled, “Hail them, uh, please.”

A second later, the viewscreen flicked on again, and the other cadet was still there.

“I don’t want to talk to you!” he snarled.

Before he could terminate the conversation again, Damerell said, “Uh, look, I realise that you don’t particularly like me, but surely that doesn’t have to impede the progress of the negotiations?”

“Yes! Now go away before I open fire on you!!”

“Um, look, just a second…”

“Right! That’s it!! Weapons control, lock phaser and photon torpedoes on target! Shields up!”

The channel closed in a burst of static. Damerell began to cry.

“Um, sir, shouldn’t we do something?”

Damerell looked around. His science officer, a female Andorian cadet, was asking the question. Damerell sniffled loudly.

“We can’t just start a war over a bit of an argument, can we?”

A second later, the phoney bridge jolted as the first torpedo hit struck home. Damerell was thrown out of his chair, into the bridge railing. Marvellous. Abso-frigging-lutely marvellous. His first day at the Academy, and he was going to be killed. In the heat of the moment, the fact that this was an exercise slipped his mind.

“Prepare to return fire!” he yelled, resuming his seat.

“What?” Several people turned in their seats to face him. “You’ve got to be kidding!”

“Shields up! Arm phasers and photon torpedoes!”

If the other guy wanted to play nasty, then so could he, Damerell thought.

His weapons officer, well, cadet, punched the air, yelled, “Yes!! This is turning out to be better than I thought!” and let rip with everything the computer had.

On the screen, Damerell and the others watched as the representation of the Janavian ship blew apart.

“Oops,” said the weapons officer. “I didn’t mean to hit it that hard.”

At that point, the simulation ended, and Commodore Dillard came storming onto the bridge. Pointing at Damerell and the weapons officer, he bellowed, “Right, you two, I want to see you in my office right now!”

They found themselves in Dillard’s office along with Norbert. Dillard sat himself behind his desk, fuming. “Right! YOU!! EXPLAIN YOURSELF!” He pointed at Damerell violently as he said it.

“Um, well, erm… he started it!” Damerell whimpered, pointing at his adversary.

Dillard, his face now an interesting shade of purple, turned to the other cadet. “WELL?!”

Giving Damerell a venomous glance, Norbert said, “Earlier today, sir, he whacked my knees with a large piece of luggage.”

For a moment, Damerell was convinced that the top of Dillard’s head was going to fly off.

Then, the Commodore calmed himself. “I see. Well, that’s interesting, isn’t it. You two are amongst the most petty, small-minded, pathetic individuals outside the flag officer’s wardroom it has been my lack of privilege to meet. You’ll both have this noted down on your record. And as for you…”

He now turned on the third cadet, who had been smirking away as the punishment was doled out, “If I find out you’ve joined Security, or Tactical, I will hunt you down and hang you from the top of the Golden Gate Bridge by your big toe, do I make myself clear?”

“Um… right or left, sir?”

“What?!!!!”

“Right or left big toe, sir?”

“GET OUT!!!!!!”

The three of them scarpered. Damerell’s adversary disappeared, leaving Damerell and the other cadet left standing there.

“That wasn’t too friendly,”

Damerell moaned. “Tell me about it.”

“I mean, it wasn’t my fault!”

“Exactly.”

As they walked, Damerell discovered that they had both headed back to the bunker in which his quarters were located. He took another look at the cadet, and realised it was the cadet he had found in his room earlier. “Um, look, you realise we’re roommates?”

“We are? Oh, yeah, so we are!”

“I suppose I’d better introduce myself. I’m Phil Damerell.”

“Hi, I’m…”

The cadet didn’t get a chance to finish, as by then they had reached their room, and found Norbert inside.

“Right! Now I’m going to deal with you once and for all!!”

He dived for Damerell, but Damerell, whose self-protection instincts were probably the finest on the planet, jumped out of the way. Damerell’s roommate then grabbed one of Damerell’s suitcases, and whacked the cadet over the head. There was the sound of breaking glass, and Damerell winced as he realised that his glass model of the Golden Gate Bridge, bought that morning from a souvenir store just outside the Academy, had been in that case. Before he could inspect the damage, they heard footfalls outside.

“Quick! Shove him under the bed!” Damerell’s roommate said, and they pushed the now-unconscious cadet under the bed. Then, they stepped forwards, standing shoulder to shoulder to block the view inside as a senior cadet arrived at the door. He tried to look over them, but they stood up on tip-toes to block the view.

“Er, hi. I’m Fourth Year Cadet Hill. I’ve been assigned as your liaison cadet, to show you around, explain where things are, and so on. Anything you particularly want to see?”

Damerell and his roommate looked at each other, then answered, “No!” simultaneously.

“Oh. Okay. Good. Well, here’s my card. Feel free to stop by at any time if you need anything.”

Hill walked off, bemused. The two cadets breathed a sigh of relief. “Where were we?”

“We were pushing that guy under the bed.”

“Oh yeah.”

They fished the groaning Norbert out, dragged him into the corridor, and deposited him, still groaning, into the hallway, before closing the door.

Once safely inside, Damerell breathed a sigh of relief. The other cadet grinned, and said, “We still haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Gavin Wall.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

They shook hands.

“Do you think the rest of our time here is going to be like this?” Wall said.

“Nah. I reckon we’ve had our excitement. It’s probably downhill from here on.”