Pathways - Jeri Taylor [83]
Standing in the empty holodeck was a Starfleet officer, Commander Stern. He wore the red uniform of command, which did not become his florid complexion. He was balding, with only a fringe of brown-gray hair around the sides and back. He spoke quietly, but his voice was steel. “That’s enough, Cadet.”
B’Elanna stared at him, trying to reconcile the officer’s presence there, swimming up from a consuming fire, forcing her mind to reintegrate what felt like disparate elements: This is a holodeck, that is an officer, I am Cadet B’Elanna Torres.
I’m in trouble.
“This is an unauthorized use of the holodeck, Cadet,” said Stern. “What’s going on?”
B’Elanna took a deep breath, tried to get her racing heart and her breathing under control. But her voice came out ragged and gasping. “Sir, I’m just putting in my self-defense exercise time. Five hours a week, required.”
Stern’s gaze, from pale blue eyes, was cool. “Sensors indicated a holodeck program being run without the safeties in place. That’s strictly forbidden.”
She started to feign innocence, but hated the thought of lying to this fussy little bureaucrat, and instead lifted her head, looking him directly in the eye. “I know that, sir. But sometimes I like to push myself just that extra bit harder. After all, there won’t be any safeties when we’re on actual missions.”
“The Academy has rules for a reason, Cadet. It’s not your place to decide whether or not they work for you.”
B’Elanna felt anger simmering in her again. Authority for authority’s sake. Everything in her rebelled against these gratuitous expressions of control. Who did this icyeyed autocrat think he was? Rules, rules, rules. That’s about all she’d heard since she arrived at the Academy a year and a half ago. She took another deep breath and tried to quell these rebellious feelings. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
He was still staring at her, pale eyes squinting. “You’re Torres, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I remember correctly, you’re already on report for causing a melee on the hoverball court. I’ll check the logs, but if I’m right, this means a four-day suspension.”
“Don’t bother checking. It was me.” Her voice was surly, even to her ears. Stern’s eyes snapped to hers.
“And that’ll be another day for insubordination.”
Every pore of her body cried out for her to leap on him, fingers raking his face, thumbs plunging into the sockets of his eyes until he was left writhing and sightless on the floor. But with supreme effort, she managed to hold herself still and return his gaze. “I understand, sir.”
“Report to your quarters.”
“Yes, sir.” She exited the holodeck without looking at him again, imagining the satisfaction of squeezing his eyeballs in her fists until they ran like jelly.
• • •
When she entered her room, she felt the dark gaze of her roommate, a compact young woman named Mary Ellen Regan, known as Mellie. She was, in B’Elanna’s mind, the most perfect person she’d ever met. Strikingly lovely, she was also intimidatingly intelligent and talented in any number of fields: she sang, she played the flute, she was a graceful gymnast. She made B’Elanna feel unworthy and even unclean.
“You’ve gotten another transmission from Mexico,” said Mellie. “It’s logged on to your console. I thought you’d want to know.”
“Thank you.” B’Elanna, still smarting from what she considered Commander Stern’s unprovoked punishment, marched to her bed and flopped down on it, arms under her head, gazing up at the ceiling. Mellie regarded her carefully.
“A bunch of us are going to take a picnic dinner to the park. Would you like to come?”
“I’m on suspension. Confined to quarters.”
“B’Elanna, I’m sorry. What happened?” Mellie’s concern was genuine, but B’Elanna didn’t feel like recapping the incident in the holodeck.
“Let’s just say I messed up again.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I really just want to be alone. Don’t worry about me— I’ll be fine.”
Five minutes later, Mellie