Genesis Doubts

Posted on 01 Jun 2020 @ 12:54am by Lieutenant Yam Prat

665 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Past Prelude
Location: Starfleet Academy

The simulation program projected holographic targets at thirty click intervals. In the virtual generated range phaser shots went off at steady cadence, the rhythm expressed in calm, controlled bursts. Yam had just cleared the third rank of the obstacles which in the past had been his limit. Simulations tested mental fortitude more than anything else and the firing range was no exception. Most students were usually nearly collapsed once they completed their sessions; never finishing past the third round.

Yam had never completed the third rank either.

With his Cardassian tenacity always driving him to be better, Yam was perpetually vexed at the continual string of failures he suffered whenever attempting the fourth rank. His scores were near top of the class in other subject areas, even keeping pace with the few Vulcans that attended the Academy. It wasn't enough.

Today, razor sharp focus stilled his mind after each shot of photonic energy struck home unerringly. It had been so during the previous attempts. As the final blast hit it's target and a monotone voice signaled the completion of the third rank trial, Yam's projected self released the grip on his thoughts, allowing his mind to function normally for a spell.

The modulated voice announced his performance scores with the same disinterest Yam felt in hearing them. It was rehashing the conquering of a peak traversed already; it held no accomplishment for him any longer.

After a prologue highlighting strengths and weaknesses in his grouping, fire rate, and accuracy--all of which were 5th percentile--the prompt giving him an option to continue on to the next rank sounded. The few peers that were seen as equals would sometimes describe the strange sensation of perspiration on the skin of their mental projection when facing a sentimental milestone. Emotions. It was a defect plaguing nearly all races in the galaxy; it was why the Empire had been able to hold up against Starfleet in past skirmishes despite the obvious disadvantage of allies at its side.

Yet…

An unnerving chill crept its way through Yam’s physical and mental being as he replied affirmatively. The countdown began and the detached hands clasping his phaser slowly pointed the weapon down range as targets and obstacles were rapidly generated. What if I can’t do this? What if I fail like the others did? Brutally and swiftly, the thoughts were put down, squeezed away into a sequestered corner of the mind where frivolous thoughts belonged. Yam was firing emitter beams before being properly conscious of the action. The awareness of the firearm being a simulated reality did not take the heat that poured into his palms nor did it take the sharp bite of adrenaline as target after target came into view. The difference between the third and fourth ranks were imperceptible at first; a tougher angle to a shot around a blind corner, a greater number of obstacles. The changes were slight, but enough that even an above average marksman would have difficulty. Coupled with the exhaustion from completing three sets of trials consecutively, the fourth simulation level was the equivalent of being stranded in hostile territory with little food and water, being sleep deprived, and surrounded by unfamiliar landmarks.

Challenges whirred by in a blur and when Yam ejected from the program his skin was clammy with sweat. He hadn’t waited for the results as he stumbled hurriedly from his rig, eyes unfocused as he moved brushed past other cadets. Another failure, an internal sneer jibed in his mind. Perhaps you’re not quite as good as you thought. Perhaps he was accurate in his assessment of you…

The words poisoned Yam’s ego like the venom of a rhirzum. When he found his way back to the cadet quarters where he bunked with several others, Yam’s vision was rimmed in red and he didn’t say anything to his Bajoran bunk mate as he flopped into his cot.

 

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