But that was before he saw the uniformed police officers circling them, phasers out—set to stun, Will hoped, considering the nonlethal nature of the combat. “Guys!” he shouted, and then much louder, “Zeta Squadron, attention!”
That did the trick, for his group at least. They snapped to, well trained enough to respond appropriately to the command. Their sudden surrender alerted Omega Squadron to the presence of the police, as well. Fish were returned to their rightful spots on the display tables, but the damage was done: seafood parts littered the ground, and the cadets—even Paul and Will, who had stood by without participating—were covered in scales and guts and fishy residue.
One of the police officers, who seemed to be in charge, separated herself from the pack and stepped forward, holstering her weapon. “What’s going on here?” she demanded, her nose wrinkling involuntarily at the stink.
“Sir, we’re cadets from Starfleet Academy,” Paul explained quickly. “We’re on a special project, and, well, I guess we got carried away with the competitive spirit. Obviously, we’ll reimburse for any damages.”
“You will at that,” the police officer agreed. “And if I had my way, you’d serve some time as well. But if you’re all from the Academy, I think I’ll just turn you over to Starfleet Security and let them deal with you. Save me some time and trouble.”
“Just wonderful,” Boon muttered, but Estresor Fil silenced him by stomping down on his instep.
“You shut up, Boon,” she hissed. “You got us into this.”
The police officers herded both squadrons to a waiting transport vehicle. Just before leaving the Fish Market stall, Will set down the canister he had held onto throughout the whole fish fight, and pocketed the slip of paper that had issued from it. He had already memorized its brief message: “Congratulations, Zeta Squadron, on the successful completion of your mission.”
Superintendent Vyrek perused her ten charges with the keen eye of an experienced appraiser. They all stood shoulder to shoulder, at attention, in her office, feeling her gaze bore into them as she paced a slow, even circle around them. She hadn’t spoken yet. The longer she dragged out the time before she did speak, Will knew, the worse it would be. And she would speak eventually, there was no question of that.
Admiral Paris, who waited in a corner of the large office, just might have a few words to say as well.
Finally, the Vulcan superintendent broke her silence. “I amsurprised at you,” she said. “Some more than others, but nonetheless, as squadrons overall, yours are among the last two I would have expected to engage in ... would ‘hijinks’ be the appropriate term? ... like these. Mr. Boon, Zeta Squadron is under your command, is it not?”
“Yes, sir, normally that is, sir,” Boon answered. “But sometimes on group projects we elect a leader just for that project, so everyone gets a chance, sir. On this one, Cadet Haynes was in charge.”
“Dennis Haynes?” Superintendent Vyrek asked with surprise. “You have never been involved with anything like this in your time with us. Or at your previous school, if you don’t count—which I won’t—that one incident when you were eleven.”
Does she knoweverything about us?Will wondered. He’d heard rumors that she had a virtually eidetic memory—that she read through each cadet’s file once a year, and remembered everything she saw. He had always discounted the rumors, though. Until just now.
“No, sir, I haven’t,” Dennis replied. “And I’m sorry that this happ—”
She cut him off mid-word. “Did I ask for a response, Mr. Haynes?”
He hesitated, as if unsure if she had this time either. “No, sir,” he finally said.
“That is correct. I am merely expressing my shock and dismay at this outrageous behavior, not asking you to explain—or worse, make some feeble and doomed attempt to excuse—it.”
Dennis remained silent, but his cheeks went crimson. Superintendent Vyrek continued her journey around the group, looking each cadet up and down, sometimes moving closer to peer at a fish-inflicted bruise or scrape.
“Is there anything remotely logical about battling with seafood, Admiral Paris, to your knowledge?”
Admiral Paris looked surprised to be spoken to, and Will had the impression that he wasn’t much more comfortable in the superintendent’s presence than the cadets were. “I confess that I don’t see the logic in it, Admiral Vyrek,” he replied.
“Nor do I,” the Vulcan said. “And yet, it happened. These cadets—second-year cadets, not raw freshmen—engaged in it. Creating a disturbance, damaging property, wasting food—that police officer said she was tempted to charge them with incitement to riot. How does one explain such behavior?”
Will swallowed hard. “May I speak, sir?” he asked.
“Cadet Riker. If you can enlighten me, I would be delighted to have you speak. You, I am sorry to say, I am not terribly surprised to hear were involved in such an unfortunate affair, given your history of altercations with fellow students.”
Those “altercations” she mentioned had been a series of fights Will had found himself having shortly after his father had abandoned him. He’d had a chip on his shoulder and a short fuse, and it had been a bad combination. But that had been well before he’d even applied to the Academy, and the fact that the superintendent knew about it gave even more credence to the eidetic memory theory. Not to mention confirming the “permanence” of permanent records.
“I don’t think our behavior can be excused, sir,” he said. “But it can be explained, to a certain extent. We were all under a significant amount of stress, with the end of our project looming, and the various personality conflicts that arise whenever a group of people is banded together closely for a number of days. We made a mistake, let our emotions get the better of us, and cut loose. We shouldn’t have done it. Had we thought it through we never would have done it. But we weren’t thinking, we were only reacting.”
“That sounds correct,” Superintendent Vyrek said. “Especially the fact that you were not thinking, any of you.”
“Yes, sir,” Will agreed.
“Interestingly, my understanding from the officer is that you were not taking part, Mr. Riker. Nor was Mr. Rice. Is this true?”
Will wanted to glance at Paul but he forced his head to remain still, eyes front. “Yes, sir. We were not fighting. However, we were apparently not doing enough to restrain our fellow cadets, either.”
“Should you have done more? Was that your duty?”
“Sir, if the fight had been with deadly weapons instead of fish, then it would certainly have been an abrogation of duty to let our fellow cadets become involved. I think that the principle is the same, regardless of the weaponry.”
“I have to agree with you, Mr. Riker. You and Cadet Rice are every bit as responsible as those who were flinging fish. You will all jointly work to reimburse the fishmongers whose stand you destroyed. There will, of course, be notations on your permanent records. And your summer plans will be altered—none of you will be going off-world this summer, so I hope you were not looking forward too strongly to any long trips. Admiral Paris?”
Will felt his heart sinking as the admiral stepped forward to face his students. “I won’t apply any further punishment to what the superintendent has outlined,” he said. “However, as Omega Squadron didn’t finish the assignment, the five of you will be repeating my survival class next year. Zeta Squadron, you completed your assignment—narrowly—before the altercation started, so your grades will stand. Congratulations to you.”