Psychotic Academy

“Class will begin!” The senior surgeon running the basic anatomy class at the Starfleet Medical Academy watched as the class pulled the sheets back from their cadavers and read off their instructions from the datapadd each cadet had been handed as they entered the dissection room. Three weeks into their first year, and they were now facing their first proper look at a body. Some cadets were already looking green, and the surgeon knew that they had probably already failed. If you couldn’t stand the look of death, there was no hope for you as a Starfleet doctor.

Those of the cadets who were calmly studying their instructions and then setting to work the surgeon studied with interest. They were the future Starfleet doctors, the men and women who would someday have to save lives in the unforgiving environment of deep space. Then, just as he was in danger of getting carried away with emotion, the surgeon noticed that one of the cadavers was unattended. One of the students had not arrived. Frowning slightly, he summoned over a technician.

“We’ve lost a cadet. Find them and get them in here quickly.”

 

Cadet Jackson wandered through the hallways of the Medical Academy with a vaguely puzzled expression on his face. He knew he was due for anatomy class now, but couldn’t for the life of him locate the class in which it was supposed to be held. He wasn’t even sure where exactly he was. He was pretty certain he was in the right building, but that was about it. He stared at the plaques by doors in an attempt to get his bearings, but it wasn’t helping much. He noticed with interest that Starfleet Medical certainly had a lot of preparation rooms.

Jackson knew what he was supposed to be doing, namely, dissecting a cadaver. He presumed that, therefore, what he was looking for was a room with a body in it. Armed with this knowledge, he moved on. Finally, he found a door open, and looked in. Sure enough, there was a body lying on a bed. Jackson checked the plaque by the door, just to be certain. It informed him that the room was a study centre. Had to be the right place. There were even medical instruments on the desk in the corner of the room. Granted, they were antique metal scalpels, but still medical instruments. Presumably they wanted cadets to start with the basics and work upwards, Jackson thought. Strange that there were no instructions.

Jackson decided that this must be an initiative test. He settled on a complete dissection. Limb removal first, then extraction of all major organs, cataloguing and sorting. Selecting a cutting saw, Jackson set to work. It was then that he noticed another interesting point. This body was still dressed. Jackson, who knew he was late, decided not to worry about it, and began to frenziedly cut the body’s right leg off.

 

The technician was two corridors away when he suddenly heard a hideous scream erupt throughout the building. Instinctively turning towards it, he broke into a sprint. Bouncing off walls in his hurry, he arrived bruised but intact, in time to see a horrific tableau. Writhing on the floor in agony was another technician, with a surprised-looking medical cadet clutching the technician’s leg. What made it horrific was the fact that the leg was no longer attached to the technician.

“What the hell happened here?!” the technician blurted as he knelt to check his fallen comrade.

The cadet looked puzzled as he replied, “He’s supposed to be dead.”

“You inhuman…” The technician backed away from the cadet, and slammed a security alarm on. An earsplitting klaxon started up, and as the cadet dropped his saw, several security guards piled into the room. The technician, bellowing over his colleague’s screams, shrieked, “Arrest him and get help!” Two of the guards grabbed the dumbfounded Jackson, and lifted him bodily out of the room.

 

“Cadet Jackson, you are hereby charged with attempted murder. Your court-martial will take place the day after tomorrow. Do you want any particular individual to act in your defence?”

“He was supposed to be dead.”

“I’ll take that as a no then.” The rather annoyed-looking Captain left the cell-block, and Jackson was left alone in his cell. He couldn’t understand it. He’d done what he was supposed to do, except it had been with a live body instead of a dead cadaver. In his first rational thought for a while, he began to see the beginnings of a potential defence. He would expose a trail of incompetence that would lead all the way to the top of Starfleet. He would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that there existed a rotten core in Starfleet that allowed mistakes such as leaving a live body where a dead one was supposed to be. He would…

“Fancy some food?”

“Eh?” Jackson’s triumphal reverie was broken by a voice. It belonged to a man standing in the doorway.

“I said, do you want some food?”

“Oh, um, yes please.”

“So, aren’t you the one who cut someone’s leg off?” the man said as he brought in a tray of food.

Jackson began eating hurriedly, and between mouthfuls, said, “I am. But it was an accident!”

“It would have had to have been,” the man replied.

“No, it was! Look, they left me a live body when I was supposed to have a dead one to dissect! That’s not my fault! I can’t be blamed for Starfleet’s incompetence!”

“Ah, I see. Is that your defence at your court-martial?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Just that, I heard that you were in a study room, not your classroom, when you tried to hack his leg off.”

“I was?”

“You were.”

Jackson stopped chewing for a minute as he watched his court-room triumph go down the drain. “Who are you, anyway?” he asked, just to change the subject.

“My name’s Matt Stark. I work for Starfleet Catering here in the Academy. You’re Daniel Jackson.”

Jackson held out a hand, somewhat sticky from the sauce on the chicken-leg he’d just devoured.

Undeterred, Stark shook it.

“Look,” he said, “I can’t hang around here for too long, bit I’ll drop by later with dinner and see how you’re doing, okay?”

“Um, okay,” Jackson replied.

As Stark left, he turned and said, “Maybe you should plead insanity?”

Jackson nodded uncertainly as he finished off his meal and tried to decide what he was going to do.

 

Later that evening, Stark returned with Jackson’s dinner, as promised. As Jackson polished off his steak and kidney pie, Stark made polite conversation. “So, who’ve you got to defend you? Anyone famous? Anyone good?”

“I was going to defend myself,” Jackson admitted. “Until you showed up, I had the perfect defence.”

“It wouldn’t have worked though,” Stark said, not wanting to point out the obvious but feeling he had no choice.

“Well, maybe so,” Jackson conceded, “but that’s not the point, is it? I had everything worked out until then.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Stark said, feeling sorry for this lunatic despite everything. Then, he made the offer that he would live to regret. “I know, I’ll defend you! Goodness knows I’m bored enough doing the cooking for all the prisoners round here. It’s the same old grot day after day. I haven’t done a flan in months. I could do with a change.”

Jackson considered the cook he’d known for the best part of four hours, sized up his chances in a courtroom by himself, then said, “You’re hired.”

“Okay,” Stark said, for the first time realising what he might have got himself into. “Have you had any other ideas about what your defence is going to consist of?”

“Erm, no.”

“Oh. Right. So, um, where should we start?”

“I don’t know.”

“How about we plead insanity?” Stark suggested in exasperation.

“But I’m not insane!” Jackson protested.

“No, no, I don’t suppose you are,” Stark replied, whilst thinking, but I will be before long.

 

“Your honour, I’d like to request a break,” Stark said.

“Why? We started this court-martial two minutes ago. I haven’t even read out the charges yet.” The judge looked understandably confused.

“Sorry, I was just practicing my lines.”

“Perhaps you should have done that before the session began,” the judge suggested.

“Sorry,” Stark said.

“As I was saying,” the judge continued, throwing a quick glance at Stark just in case he felt like saying something else, “I declare that the General Court of Starfleet Academy is now in session. Cadet Daniel Jackson will rise. Charge: Attempted murder. Specification: that on Stardate 8526.34 you did cause grievous injuries to Technician Second Class Steven Williams whilst attempting to terminate his life without authorisation from a higher authority…”

“Your honour,” Stark said, rising, “Who exactly is that higher authority?”

“Who do you think?” the judge said testily.

“Um… God?”

“Try Starfleet Command, son,” the judge said. “Can I please get on with this? How do you plead to this charge?”

Stark and Jackson exchanged glances. “Not guilty, your honour,” Stark said. There was a buzz of excitement around the courtroom.

“Objection, your honour!” the prosecution counsel shouted.

“What?!” the judge said.

“It is already on record that he did it! He can’t deny it! For crying out aloud, Williams is one of our witnesses!!”

“I object to that objection, your honour!!” Stark yelled. He was starting to get into the swing of things.

The judge’s head banged against his desk. “Why?” he eventually said weakly.

“Well, for starters he’s interrupting, which isn’t exactly polite…” the judge began to bang his gavel against the back of his head, which was still resting on the desk, “…and anyway, I thought that the whole point of this was that we’re supposed to disagree with him!”

“Against all the odds, you actually have a point,” the judge said. “But so does he. It is a matter of record that Cadet Jackson was caught red-handed. How do you propose to prove otherwise?”

“Am I allowed to say that just yet? I mean, it’s kinda my whole argument.”

“Oh, God,” the judge said. “Fine, whatever. Prosecution counsel, put your case.”

The young officer rose and consulted his notes. “Your honour, I would like to call Technician Second Class Steven Williams.”

“Go on then. Don’t let me stop you.” Stark and the prosecutor exchanged glances. The judge had still not raised his head. “Erm, Technician Williams, take the stand.” Williams handed over a datachip with his service record on it to the court recorder, who placed it in the computer. The computer voice began to recite “Williams, S. 346-1785-G. Service Rank: Technician, Second Class. Position: Laboratory Assistant. Current Assignment: Starfleet Medical Academy.”

“Mr Williams,” the prosecutor began, “Can you confirm that you are indeed the victim of this terrible crime?”

“Well, yeah,” Williams said. “Would you like me to show you the scars where they re-attached my leg?”

“No, no, that’ll be fine, thanks,” the prosecutor said hurriedly. “What were you doing when the crime in question was committed?”

“I was taking a break in one of the storerooms when I suddenly found my leg being sawn off by that psychotic moron!” Williams gestured wildly at Jackson.

“So you didn’t provoke the cadet in any way?”

“No! I was asleep!”

“No more questions, your honour.”

Stark stood, and approached Williams, apparently deep in thought. Actually, his mind was a complete blank, but he’d seen enough legal dramas on holovision to know that you didn’t admit that in a courtroom. “Um, Mr Williams, you say you were asleep when the, um, incident occurred. How can you be sure that it was my client who carried out the… amputation?”

“I woke up pretty damn quick when he started sawing my leg off!!”

“Oh. Right. Good point. So, what did you do when your leg was being removed?”

“The usual; shouted, screamed, bled copiously!” Williams yelled.

“But did you try to stop my client in any way?”

“How could I have done?”

“How could you have done, indeed…. Erm, no more questions, your honour.” Stark wasn’t entirely certain what he’d proved, if anything, but he’d run out of things to ask the witness and was starting to get a headache.

“Call your next witness,” the judge said.

The prosecutor looked vaguely panicked for a second, then said, “Your honour, I would like to call Cadet Jackson.”

“Hey, he’s my witness!” Stark said.

“Yeah, but I haven’t got any other witnesses, so I want to call him.”

“What about the guy who found them?” Stark asked.

“He’s still in therapy. His counsellor says it wouldn’t be a good idea to make him take the stand at this point.”

“Oh. Okay, well, um, no objections, your Honour.”

Jackson took the stand somewhat nervously. The computer churned out his details. “Jackson, DJB. 449-4087-R. Service Rank: Cadet, Starfleet Medical Academy. Position: Cadet. Current Assignment: Starfleet Medical Academy.”

“Right, then, Cadet,” the prosecutor announced, “Let’s hear your side of the story.”

Jackson cleared his throat. “Well, I knew I was late for class, so I was hurrying along…”

“Ah! You were hurrying!”

“Well, yes. I didn’t want to be any more late than I already was.”

“Obviously. But you admit that, in your hurrying, you were leaving yourself open to misreading the signs on doors, an act of carelessness, yes?”

“Erm, yes.”

“Objection, your honour!” Stark shouted.

“Go ahead?” the judge said.

“Prosecution is stealing my argument!”

“I beg your pardon,” the judge said, whilst the prosecutor looked confused.

“He’s trying to get the witness to state it was a careless accident, which is my argument!”

Everything went silent in the courtroom for a long moment as the judge pondered this latest accusation. “Good grief,” he said finally. “You do actually have a point.” The prosecutor looked green.

The judge thought for a moment longer, and said, “Objection sustained, and, before we go any further, I’d just like to pose a question to the prosecution. Do you have any other lines of questioning?”

“Not really, your honour.”

“So your attempt to prosecute someone for manslaughter involved getting them to say it was a careless accident?”

“Well, in a manner of speaking…”

“I see. Will the counsels approach the bench.”

Stark and the prosecutor came up close to the judge’s bench. “Right, you two, this is the way I see things. This court-martial is rapidly descending into farce. Anyone have any serious objections if I just pull the plug here and now, kick that hapless berk out of here and we can all go home?”

“Prosecution has no objections.”

“And the defence?”

Stark considered his position. “What if I object?”

“Then, we carry on this ridiculous case, get more and more bogged down in petty details no-one, least of all you two, will understand or appreciate, and the ruling comes out the same anyway. This way, we all get to have an early night.”

“Defence has no objections.”

“Right then. Go back to your desks.”

Stark returned to the desk, where Jackson had returned to after his questioning fell apart.

Jackson looked up and said, “What just happened?”

“I think they call it plea bargaining.”

“Oh.”

The judge then banged his gavel, and announced, “This court has decided, in light of the facts, to acquit Cadet Jackson of the charge of manslaughter….”

“YEEES!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Jackson stood up, punched the air, then dragged Stark around in a brief waltz, before letting him go again.

“As I was saying,” the judge continued, “However, I have decided that the carelessness, lack of general awareness, coupled wih my own suspicions about his mental stability, make Cadet Jackson unsuitable for Starfleet service. I hereby strip you of your rank and dismiss you from the service. You may go, Mr Jackson.”

“Oh.” Jackson was deflated, to say the least.

“In conclusion, I would just like to state that this has been one of the worst trials it has ever been my lack of pleasure to preside over, and I intend to try and forget about this one with the aid of a large bottle of brandy. Court is dismissed.”

Everyone else piled out, leaving Stark and Jackson stood alone by the defence table. “What are you going to do now?” Stark asked.

“I don’t know. Guess I’ll have to find another job,” Jackson replied mournfully.

“Well, I might be able to help you out there,” Stark said. “I can always find work for someone who’s useful with a knife…”