It’d been a grueling five years -- physically, mentally, emotionally --
but finally, finally, there was just one last year to go. Just a few
more weeks and Regan and T’Pren would be free for a whole glorious summer.
Every Starfleet cadet who could see the light at the end of the tunnel
was playing hard tonight. Well, not the Vulcans. But all the cadets
with a sense of humor. Included in that bunch was Pren, pointed ears
covered by long hair, leaned back on a chair in a darkened corner
where she could watch the whole bar. There were myriad empty glasses
in front of her, not all of them hers, and she was already very, very
drunk on her typical sugary drinks (because the best way to get the
half-Vulcan half drunk is through sugar, of course). Now, though, she
was waiting on the next round.
“I wanna wipe that non-expression right off his smug Vulcan face.”
"Don't say that too loud, freaky face." Regan set two drinks on the
table in front of her friend - a sugary cranberry cocktail for Pren,
and a whisky neat for herself. "he'll hear you and then where will we
be? He'll logic you into next year and I'll have to graduate alone."
Regan took a sip of her whisky - real whisky, this was one of the few
places you could get it in San Francisco - and lowered her voice,
"besides we can wipe that smug non-expression off his face a lot
easier if we make a plan."
She took another look at the Vulcan in question. By all accounts a
sage-looking man, sitting in the opposite corner reading some dry
alien literary text. He'd had been a literature teacher for longer
than anyone knew. Legend said he was one of the founding teachers of
the federation. But even Vulcans can't live that long... can they?
Regan shuddered. If he was that old, he stayed alive purely to spite
his students.
"Ugh. I thought Vulcans were too logical to be assholes. He's had it
out for us since we got here, and don't try to tell me that's in my
head." Regan took another sip of her drink. She was drunker than she
thought. "He's the reason I don't trust Vulcans anymore no offense."
“None taken,” and Pren lifted her drink in a cheers to show she meant
it. “I am Vulcan and he makes me not trust them...me. Us?” She
frowned, shrugged, and took a drink.
"You know he always...always...went out of his way to put something
about logic or that my writing was too emotional or..." That resent
turns into a disgusted sneer. This wasn't something Regan hadn't heard
before. Pren had probably said this a hundred times before that
moment. "I'm convinced he's the reason I'm tied for second. Convinced.
He knocked my scores down on purpose."
She made fists and released them before turning back to the Trill
across from her. "How do you get back at someone who only cares about
his own ego?"
"Ok. Here is what we shall do," Regan said with exaggerated drunken
clarity, "we send him a letter. No. Yes. We ask him to edit a new
magazine about intergalactic poetry that will bring him much more
logical satisfaction than the education of a bunch of fed whelps. and
then when he beams there he'll go to the address we give him and he
will find..." she lowered her voice dramatically, "that there is no
one there." even in her drunken state, she could tell this was a
stupid idea, but rather than let that show, raised her eyebrows and
leaned forward, waiting for Pren's opinion.
T'Pren laughed at the punchline of the plan, but she was already
shaking her head. "No, no, he needs everyone to know how great he is,
that's why he's so insufferable. He needs to feel superior." She
paused and waved a hand to clear what she'd just said, "He needs to
know he's superior." Regan was given a flat, sarcastic look. "I don't
know if you know this, but Vulcans are above emotions."
The idea dawned across her face with the quickness of a Cardassian
Sunrise, draining her expression of everything but drunk realization.
"What'd be great is...is if we could get him to just...explode." For a
moment, she looked deeply concerned. "Not actually explode, but
emotionally explode. In front of everyone. We'd have to push him in a
lot of little ways, secretively, so that everybody starts to think
he's lost it. But we'd have to think more Vulcan than him so he
doesn't catch on." Her brow knit like a concentrating toddler's.
"What's the word for that? Making someone think they're crazy?"
"Gaslighting." Regan finished her whisky in a final gulp, "I'onno how
t'act Vulcan though."
“Yeah, light gassing,” T’Pren agreed, nodding seriously. She took a
big gulp of her drink to keep Regan company. That’s what friends are
for, after all. “But you don’t have to act Vulcan. We just have to
be...he just can’t be able to trace it back to us.” The half-Vulcan
fell quiet for a long moment, letting her gaze drift over to the
teacher in question. “But how and what.” Eventually she gives up and
shrugs lightly. “Or we could sculpt a statue of him with a stick up
his ass and put it on the lawn. When everybody’s families are here for
graduation.”
Regan had been looking sadly into but at the suggestion of putting her
art skills to use, she slammed the glass down, "YES." several people
in the bar (including the object of their discussion) turned to look
curiously at them. She swatted a hand at the curious onlookers, and
turned back to Pren. "we should start Right. Now." she whispered.
“DRUNK SCULPTING!” Pren half-squealed/half-stage whispered. Best.
Idea. Ever. She tossed back the rest of her drink and shot a nasty
look at a Bolian girl who was judging them from afar. “We’re gonna
need a lot of clay, a lot. We can build it in my room...my roommate’s
always staying with some guy in town.”
"Now." Regan stood and gathered her things, "Let's go. Let's go right
now." She dragged Pren to her feet.
“We’re going to be legends,” T’Pren announced a little too loudly as
she stumbled up to her feet with Regan’s assistance. She patted her
hips and made one slow circle, staring down at the floor. “Where’s
my--“ Whatever it was, she realized, “Oh, I didn’t bring it. Come on!”
Her turn to drag Regan through the crowd toward the door. But first,
of course, they’d have to pass by Karatek, the cranky old Vulcan
himself.
"Professor." Regan gave an entirely unnecessary little bow before
power-walking out the door. Karatek raised an eyebrow and returned to
his book.
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