Snippet 1i

---*---

"72 hours ago the Federation's fleet was dispatched to counter an attack from the Borg. An attack that as you well know caused significant damage to our outer defenses. The last transmission received from them was outside the solar system by nearly five light years, and the waiting limit has passed. I now have no choice but to call in the recruits. Every cadet and person of age on the draft list is being called in and will report to the academy's training facilities the day after tomorrow at 0800 hours. It will be up to you to get them in shape. Mr. Spock, the fate of the fleet may very well be in your hands and the hands of those you train. Teach them well. You have two weeks to complete your training and then the ships will leave regardless of the readiness of their crew. Good luck and God's speed."

*

The doors to the upper training levels opened. The cool air hit him and he swallowed as he continued to walk smartly down the hallway and toward the doors that led to the oversight room. He shifted his fingers along the PADD that he held at his side and adjusted his perfectly pressed collar. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he quickly wiped it clean with a handkerchief before stopping just outside the doors.

"Ok." He whispered consolingly to himself, taking a deep breath and clearing his throat as he looked himself over and put the handkerchief back in his zipped pocket. He straighted his shoulders as he exhaled therapeutically and stepped toward the door and caused them to open.

Just ahead of him stood a still figure dressed in a blue uniform - hands clasped neatly behind his back as he looked down at the room below. His stance suggested a calm control, and even the air in the room agreed. It was not the room, however, that was causing the approachee's distress. It was that he knew what the calm, collected figure was looking at - and what he was looking at would have caused any other figure in power to have anything but a calm and controlling air.

As he closed the distance to about seven steps worth, the figure turned toward him and caused him to stop in his tracks. "You have the list?" he asked, and for a moment the figure that had entered could only nod.

"Yes, sir." The cadet said, stepping forward and handing him the PADD. "There were more drafted than anticipated."

The brown eyes, alien in their intensity, scanned the device. "So I have observed. Have them ready and separated into groups of 12. I shall follow you shortly."

The cadet nodded, giving him a respectful bow before turning to leave the room. His relief could not be felt more intensely.

The doors closed, and Spock continued to glance at the list. Without a doubt, this would be one of the most singularly challenging activities he would be assigned during his duty at Starfleet.

He glanced to the side as a rampant shoe hit the glass.

Without a doubt.

*

"Alright! Would everyone please count off in groups of 12 and then find your respective groups! You will be trained with those groups for the remainder of these two weeks. You there! You start."

"1!"

"2!"

"4!"

"JAMESON!"

"Sorry."

"I don't believe these people!" A dark haired man in the back exclaimed, running a hand through his hair incredulously. "We're going to die up there. No questions man - we're all toast."

"Chill out, man, it's only the first day," a young, blonde-haired man beside him commented, a casual smile on his face before he randomly called out: "13!"

"I haff lost track of count," the thick accent of a very young-looking fellow said worriedly from the midst of the crowd, looking around. "...sewen?"

"All right, all right, STOP!" one of the orderlies shouted out at the milling crowd. "Start again. You - there! Yeah, you! Start the count again, and the next person to call out a phony number is packing up for a trip home on a tumbleweed!"

The man rolled his eyes. "One!" He called drolly.

"Two!"

"Three!"

"Ach, where's my Scotch...?"

"He's four, I'm five." Another dark haired man called, folding his arms afterwards and looking slightly disgruntled. "Pay attention."

"I did," the irritable Scotsman responded, turning to give him a black look. "But I lost ma' Scotch."

"Six!"

"Seven!"

"I'd like a pan-fried noodle!"

"Oo! Sweet and pungent shrimp!"

"That's - not - funny," the orderly ground out sourly as the crowd's noise quickly began to escalate in noise, all contributing to the playful words and cat-calls that were quickly beginning to spread around.

"Silence!"

The call rang through the room, and all the recruits turned to see a figure stepping into the room with a PADD in his hand. The look in his eye made even the most riled up ones stand a little bit straighter, and he continued to watch them all as he stepped up to where the orderly had been. The fact as well that he was a Vulcan was not lost on them. "You will assemble here swiftly and silently every morning at 0800 hours." He put his PADD down as he did so to emphasize his position. "Any of you that do not follow those simple instructions will answer personally to me. I will not tolerate lack of attention. This is Starfleet, and you will treat it as such."

The group was very quiet.

Then, very carefully, the young blonde-haired man who had spoken before raised his hand.

Spock's eyes turned to him and he nodded. "You may ask your question."

"Uh - are you our instructor?" the man asked, looking slightly wary. "You're Mr. Spock, aren't you?"

Every eye turned quickly onto Spock again.

Spock nodded. "And what is your knowledge of hand-to-hand combat, Cadet Kirk?"

"Uh...minimal to bar-fight?" Kirk said with a guilty smile, sparking a small wave of laughter in the crowd. "Really - uh, I just kind of swing at whatever comes at me."

"Perhaps you would care to demonstrate our first lesson. Step forward."

Kirk's smile dimmed in slight alarm, and he stepped forward, his eyes glancing warily around as he did so. Everyone in the group was instantly staring at him again. "Uh...okay?"

As he stepped forward, Spock looked out at the group. "Upon your arrival you were given a handbook consisting of the basic defensive and offensive moves. You have had ample time and warning to study them during your travel here, and Cadet Kirk will demonstrate to us the importance of knowing them and their application."

The group began to murmur quietly amongst each other, some of them fixing sympathetic looks on the back of Kirk's neck.

Kirk, for his part, looked slightly alarmed. "Um...okay," he said again, sounding distinctly uneasy. "So...what do I do?"

"Attempt to block me for as long as possible." Spock explained, stepping over to him. "I will use only the basic offensive, and you may use what tactic you wish."

"Oh...okay, sure," Jim said, regaining some of his confidence as he stepped back slightly, striking a defensive pose with a smile at the Vulcan. "Bring it on!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, but got into position as well. After a brief moment of silence Spock lashed forward, hitting Jim solidly on the shoulder.

"OW!" Jim roared, much to the amusement of the other cadets. He stumbled backward, giving Spock a rather alarmed look. "What the hell?!"

"The counter attack to the one I just performed was the first demonstrated in your handbook." Spock replied, standing now easily with his hands behind his back as he observed him. "Were you unaware?"

"Uh..." Kirk stared at him, vaguely rubbing his arm over the tittering of the other cadets. "...I'm actually pretty sure I didn't read the handbook...actually..."