Chapter Text
The synthetic light of the Excelsior’s mess hall threatened to bring on a headache. Elnor winced and rubbed his forehead, trying to summon the courage to eat the protein ration on his tray.
His stomach was still churning slightly from when he’d been sick earlier, although the taste of bile had long disappeared. That had been happening a lot in recent weeks: nauseous soon after awakening, followed by a gradual return to normal. He didn't miss classes or exercises but that terrible morning feeling in his gut wasn't fun, so he'd gone to medical two days ago and been seen by a Vulcan nurse. She ran some tests and assured him that he was fine.
That was strange, but he didn't question it. He didn't want to - the last thing he desired was to be taken off duty for further testing. His scores were excellent and he was being recommended for a security position after graduation. Besides, the other cadets in his shared quarters were starting to warm to him now: the daily puking inspired a rumor that he was a covert party animal. His upward mobility increased when he said he might be able to score them some Romulan Ale.
Cadet Halloway approached, interrupting his thoughts. Halloway, a human, and his cronies had been circling for days, like a pack of vultures. Elnor tried to ignore them - he’d known that being the first full-blooded Romulan to join Starfleet would rankle some cadets who’d lost family members to warbirds. But it was hard.
"So, Elnor," Halloway said, sliding into the chair opposite him. "We were just talking about the upcoming tactical sims. Think a Romulan can actually handle a fleet maneuver, or are you just going to try and stab the command console?"
"I have never stabbed a command console."
Halloway snorted. "You know what I mean."
"No," Elnor said. "I don't. If you're asking whether I can perform a fleet maneuver, the answer is yes. If you're suggesting that Romulans are unsuited to command, that remains to be seen, doesn't it?"
He tilted his head slightly.
"If you're attempting to insult me, you should do so more intelligently."
The table went quiet. Halloway’s face reddened. "See? This is why nobody invites you anywhere. You think because you’re a 'warrior,' you get to act like a condescending freak?"
"Merely stating facts."
"Oh, we all know you love doing that," Halloway sneered, leaning in close, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. "Now here's some truth for you. You were abandoned by a broken old man who now uses you as an attack dog. You’re not a cadet. You’re a charity case."
Elnor’s grip tightened on the tray. The Way of Absolute Candor demanded he speak the truth, but it didn’t demand he be a target for their cowardice. One of his few friends, a human from the engineering track, had said yesterday, "If they push you, just show them the middle finger. It’s a human gesture. It says, 'I’m done with this.'"
Halloway leaned closer. "I’m talking to you, Zhat Vash reject.”
Elnor shrugged. "Then speak with more care. At the moment, you're only embarrassing yourself."
Halloway’s face reddened. "Why you -"
Elnor simply looked at him, his expression blank. Then he slowly, deliberately, extended his middle finger.
Halloway glared. "You want that shoved up your ass?"
"You'd like it more than I would."
The mess hall went silent. Then laughter exploded.
"Nice one!"
"How's that for truth, Halloway?"
Halloway surged forward, his fist swinging. Elnor didn’t flinch. He pivoted on his heel and caught Halloway’s wrist mid-swing, using the cadet’s own momentum to redirect him into a nearby support pillar. A sickening thud echoed through the room, followed by groaning.
Two more cadets lunged from the sides, attempting to tackle him. Elnor parried a clumsy jab with his forearm and delivered a precise, open-palmed strike to the second cadet’s solar plexus, knocking the air from his lungs.
The third attacker managed to grab Elnor’s shoulder, trying to pin him against the table. He shifted his center of gravity, hooked his leg behind the cadet’s calf, and used a swift, downward shove to send him crashing to the synthetic flooring.
Every strike was calculated to incapacitate, not to maim. But the exertion was punishing. Each time Elnor lunged or braced himself, his stomach rebelled. He was faster, sharper, and more dangerous than any of them, but the effort left a thin sheen of sweat on his brow.
In the meantime, other cadets clustered around.
"Come on, Halloway! Show that fucking Romulan what's up!"
"Mess up that fake Vulcan!"
Some of them were clearly on Elnor's side.
"Halloway got fingered by a Romulan!"
"Not the way he wishes, the bitch!"
By the time security arrived, the mess hall was a wreck. Halloway was clutching his ribs on the floor, and the other two were running for the door. At least that’s how far they got before security arrived.
Elnor stood amid the wreckage, his uniform torn at the shoulder. He remained perfectly still, hands at his sides and breathing slowly as he wondered whether joining Starfleet had been his biggest lost cause ever.
******
He stopped at the brig's medical bay to patch an eyebrow cut. It stung but Captain Benbassat’s office was far worse.
Halloway and the two other cadets stood in a stiff line, their uniforms disheveled, faces marked with fresh bruises. Elnor stood apart from them, his posture straight, hands clasped behind his back.
Captain Benbassat didn't look up from his display until the silence had stretched to an agonizing degree. When he finally leaned back, his eyes were like flint.
"A mess hall brawl," Benbassat said, his voice tight. "I’ve seen better discipline in a Ferengi trade dispute. You four have managed to turn the mess hall into a war zone, and for what?"
Halloway shifted. "Sir, the Romulan started it. He gave me -"
"I don't care about the gestures," Benbassat snapped, slamming a PADD onto the desk. "I care about the fact that you, Cadet Halloway, thought it appropriate to harass a crewmate over his heritage. And you, Cadet Elnor," the Captain pivoted, his gaze boring into him, "you were trained to be a protector, not a brawler. If you think you can tear up the ship because you hear something you don't like, you’re mistaken."
"Yes, Captain."
Benbassat raised an eyebrow.
Elnor continued.
"Cadet Halloway's conduct was inappropriate. Mine was as well."
He kept his gaze forward.
"I was angry. I allowed that anger to dictate my actions. That was a failure of discipline."
Benbassat let out a sharp, incredulous huff. "Failure of discipline? You’re under immense scrutiny, Cadet. Every move you make is being watched. There are personnel looking for any excuse to have you removed from this vessel - and from Starfleet. Do this again and you’ve handed them the ammunition they need."
The Captain stood, walking around the desk to loom over the line.
"You’re all restricted to your quarters for the next two cycles except for duty shifts. Halloway, you have an extra shift in the plasma manifold scrub-down. If I see a single bruise or hear one more word about 'heritage' or 'treachery' on this ship, you will all be off this assignment and heading to a disciplinary hearing."
Benbassat paused and signaled to the door.
"Get out of my sight. All of you.”
As the others filed out under the watchful eye of the security detail, Halloway shot Elnor a look of pure, unadulterated venom. It said what he didn’t dare to.
Next time you won’t be so lucky.