Zimmerman drew himself up. “I should hope not! Not when there have been so many inconvenienced by your negligence.”
“I’m sorry, “Jayme repeated. Starsa glanced up, for once noticing the edge in her voice.
“You’ll have to be more than sorry,” Dr. Zimmerman continued blithely. “You have to look alive to be an engineer–”
“So maybe I should quit,” Jayme interrupted. “Sir,” she added belatedly.
“Quit? Starfleet?” Zimmerman rolled his eyes. “Now, let’s not be dramatic.”
“No, I mean quit being an engineer. Obviously I’m not cut out for it.”
Starsa was staring at Jayme as if she had just swallowed the holo imaging scanner. “Quit? You can’t quit!”
“Quite right,” Zimmerman agreed, turning to Jayme. “Don’t be absurd. You’ll make a perfectly acceptable engineer. Ifyou can keep your mind on what you’re doing.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be an engineer,” Jayme insisted.
“Why not?” Starsa spoke up, her voice cracking in utter surprise. “I thought you always wanted to be an engineer. Everyone in your family is an engineer!”
“Maybe I’m not.” Jayme stubbornly set up the scanner and began her work.
“Well,” Zimmerman said doubtfully, “you’ll probably feel better in the morning.”
“It’s not a stomachache,” Jayme said in exasperation. “It’s not something I can just get over.”
“Perhaps you should speak to your advisor about this,” Zimmerman suggested, eyeing her in disbelief. “Or a counselor.”
“Thank you, sir,” Jayme said flatly, concentrating on the imager, trying to get the work done so she could get out of there. The silence was thick with resentment and unspoken criticism.
Once they were back in the corridor, Starsa asked, “Are you serious? You’d really quit engineering?”
“I just said that to get under his skin,” Jayme tried to pass it off.
“Really?” Starsa didn’t seem convinced. “You’re more than halfway through the Academy. Why change now?”
“You’re right,” Jayme agreed, walking very fast, trying to get away from her, too. “I’d be crazy to switch majors now.”
“You want to quit engineering?” Professor Chapman asked.
“Yes, sir,” Jayme said, holding her chin level.
“To do what?” Chapman asked incredulously.
“I want to try to get into Starfleet Medical School, sir.” Voicing her desire for the first time, especially to her academic advisor, was more difficult than she had imagined.
“Stop acting so formal,” Chapman ordered irritably. “How can I have a conversation with you when you’re at attention, staring over my head?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Jayme apologized. “It’s been a difficult decision.”
“I can imagine,” Chapman agreed with understatement. “Isn’t this a rather sudden change for you? Your secondary schooling was pre‑engineering, wasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t mention you had doubts about your work at our beginning‑of‑the‑third‑year review.”
“No.”
“Are you going to speak in monosyllables this entire converation, Cadet?”
Jayme swallowed, realizing she had to snap out of it. Professor Chapman had always been sympathetic, and the two classes she had taken with him proved he was a brilliant engineer.
“I’m not cut out for this, sir. I love diagnostics, but the routine maintenance work is driving me crazy. You . . . you know about the graviton system malfunction on Jupiter Research Station?”
“I was notified,” Chapman admitted. “I’m starting to get used to hearing about your reprimands.”
Jayme blushed. “I’m not suited to engineering.”
“But you are suited to medical studies? Which you’ve had no preparation for.”
“Sir, I know I want to be a medical doctor. I’m an excellent diagnostician, and I’ve realized I would much rather work with people than machinery.”
“Yes, but a doctor?” Chapman seemed doubtful.
“Yes; I’ve been working on the EMH here at Jupiter Station, and it’s fascinating. I would much rather talk about speculums and seepage rates than rerouting circuitry.”
“The EMH? Isn’t that Zimmerman’s program?” Chapman muttered more to himself than Jayme. “I should have known he was involved in this somehow.”
“It’s not Director Zimmerman,” Jayme assured him. “I’ve been talking to the EMH holoprogram tied into the medical database. I’ve known what I really wanted to do for a while, but I couldn’t face it until that graviton accident.”
“You can’t let one mistake upset all your hard work. Your grades aren’t as high as they could be, granted, but you’re not failing.”
Jayme shook her head. “I’m barely a good technician, and that’s taken every bit of effort I can muster. I just don’t have my heart in it. You have to admit, sir, I’m no B’Elanna Torres.”
“Torres left the Academy,” Chapman said, his voice hardening with resentment.
Jayme tightened her lips, somehow frightened by the idea of leaving Starfleet. She had been shocked when she had found out Torres had left–the half‑Klingon who was ten times the engineer she would ever be. “I hope I don’t have to quit the Academy,” she said fervently. “I don’t know what other life I could have outside of Starfleet.”
“Well, it hasn’t come to that,” Chapman said, somewhat mollified.
“It will if I have to keep studying engineering,” Jayme said slowly. “I’ve been able to fake it up to a point, but now I have to make a real choice. Now I’m endangering people.”
“You will have even more responsibility as a medical doctor,” Chapman cautioned.
“That sort of pressure I can handle, I know it. You must agree that having a passion for something makes for nine‑tenths of the success.”
“What about your field assignment at the Jupiter Research Station?” Chapman asked.
“I’ll finish here, of course,” Jayme quickly said, realizing that was the only right answer.
“Very well then, you may submit an official change of majors, Cadet Miranda. I will approve your choice pending a thorough discussion with a premed advisor, so you know what you’re up against.” Chapman shuffled through electronic padds piled on his desk. “I’ll try to track down an understanding advisor. Give me a few days, will you?”
“Thank you, sir!” Jayme exclaimed, grateful that she wasn’t going to be denied her chance to try for medical school. She knew better than anyone if her grades weren’t good enough, no amount of wanting it would get her in. It wasn’t like she had a slew of relatives who were doctors who could vouch for her.
“. . . and clamp the artery at the base of the aorta.” The EMH was describing a procedure, his hands twisted to show the angle. “That will allow you to staunch the flow of blood to see the angle of intrusion–”
“Why are you always talking to that holo‑doc?” Starsa asked, coming up behind Jayme.
“At least he’s not an engineer,” Jayme told her. “There’s nothing but engineers on this station.”
“And you,” Starsa said helpfully.
“What am I?” Jayme retorted.
Starsa shrugged, her eyes wide. “Whatever you are, you’ve got a call coming in.”
Jayme turned to the EMH. “Thank you, Doctor. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
The EMH nodded to her, giving Starsa a reproachful look. “Don’t bring your friend next time.”
Starsa was looking with interest at the EMH. “Hey, are you the one who brainwashed Jayme into quitting engineering?”