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Guest Laarell

One-Hundred Twenty Days, Pt. V

Day Four


Laarell moved in to her office, quickly displeased by how tightly cramped quarters were for the lesser-favored faculty.


Then she realized that her computer was a much more outdated model than what she'd had on Excalibur.


Then, she found the replicator didn't work. Nor did the coffee-maker.


Nor did the lock.


Nor did she had Admiran's minions to call upon at a moment's notice to correct said issues.


The best they offered was one of their failing engineering students to come by and do a bit of work to see if he couldn't pull up his grades from the summer semester with the extra effort. Laarell grimaced.


Day Five


The engineering student came by, wearing a tank-top (shouldn't he have been in uniform?) that proudly showcased the very creative tattoo "BEAST" on his arm.


When he left, the door was sticking, the coffee-maker he'd taken "to work on", and the computer was slower than ever.


Laarell felt like crying.


Day Six


"Beast" came back, and announced that the coffee-maker was "toast", and maybe if she talked to the right people, he suggested, she could get another one put in. As for the replicator, it was way out of his field. It was "Domestic Uses of Starfleet Engineering 302" that he'd failed over the summer, after all.


This time Laarell was sobbing when he left.


Day Seven


The first day of class.


Laarell had four full classes, Monday through Friday. Determined not to let her ill start to teacherly duties offset her mood, she plastered a smiling face, and reviewed her schedule.


8:00 - Advanced Computer Programming - 400

10:30 - Introduction to Scientific Protocol - 100

13:00 - Computer Programming - 300

15:00 - Dialectal Linguistics - 300


Laarell muttered in her native tongue quite loudly in regards to the last course, which had been switched out with another programming class at the last minute due to some equal opportunities clause about non-gender bias. They had a Hermat teaching that course instead.


Stupid bureaucrats.


She coughed a few times as the class came to order, looking over the group of perfectly-neat, perfectly-polished cadets in freshly-pressed uniforms.


Give it a month, she thought wryly, and they'll be coming in hungover.


Day Eight


Scientific protocol had gone well the day before. Exceptionally well, in fact -- the sophomore crowd on Monday seemed interested and still wide-eyed at the prospect of dealing with the incredible ideas of non-humanoids and non-corporeal life.


All the wide-eyed-ness that went away when, say, they had to fight a species like the Scorpiads.


Don't be cynical, her conscience chided.


But this morning, apparently, was not to be so. Before she could even say a single greeting to this round of cadets...


Someone wolf-whistled.


Heads turned -- including, likely, the guilty party's -- and Laarell stared out, trying not to glare, cringe, or otherwise look affected.


She glanced out the window at the windswept rain, and smiled, as if she hadn't heard the whistle a few moments before. "Hello, everyone." A normal round of replies, and Laarell kept smiling. "Before we begin normal course-work, I'm going to introduce you to another side of scientific protocol.


"So many people think science consists of laboratories and computer renderings. But this is not the case! So many times in Starfleet," she continued, with fake brightness, "we're forced into situations where it takes quite a good deal of physical strength to complete scientific objectives or obtain data.


"So, class, today we're going to work on the physical side of science. To make sure we're in shape, we're going to do laps around the fields for the duration of class." And she smiled.


Day Nine


Laarell quickly grew fond of her first morning classes -- the kids in there were the easiest to work with. They were the ones truly committed to whatever skill they were honing, and willing to sit down in the hardest levels of computer classes and give it their all.


They were about ten years younger than her and she was calling them kids. That was sad.


The computer geeks' work, it seemed, matched their appearances -- neat, exact, and thoughtful.


And no one leered at her. That was nice, too.


Day Ten


Laarell brought Citrus to her scientific protocol course that day. Combined with the rain-run of Tuesday, there were no wolf-whistles.


Day Eleven


Yeah, Laarell really liked the morning classes -- and knowing that she was at the end of the first long week helped.


After work, Laarell enjoyed another luxury Earth had to offer beyond the Federation's best and brightest pupils -- the abundance of non-syntheholic alcohols, and ended the week that was soon to become the routine.

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