I’d joked with Matt Gurney that he should be angry with me, since he was in first place until I received this particular story. Being the gracious sort, he told me something to the effect of, “I’d rather read another good story than worry about whether I was first or 25th.” Good attitude.

That’s not all there is to it, though: Christina had emailed me with the announcement that she just couldn’t bring herself to write anything at the moment—that she was going to, regrettably, miss the submissions deadline. She asked me to be understanding.

Instead, I was a prick. I wrote her back telling her that not being motivated to write was a test of a writer’s character… and that I expected her to, as we used to say in the Air Force, “suck it up and run tough.”

What can I say? The lady did just that… and I couldn’t be more pleased, or proud.

“Concerning Advancement”

by Christina Moore

A rare sigh escaped her lips.

Pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb, Sera MacLeod set the PADD in her hand down on her desk and leaned back, deep in thought.

It isn’t as if he’s a particularly ignorant man, she thought. In fact, Luciano Mantovanni had one of the sharpest minds she’d ever come across, no doubt due in large part to his Vulcan upbringing—in and of itself a rare thing for a human. Not to mention one had to be of a particular sort to even pass the Starfleet Academy entrance exam, human or not. Captain Mantovanni having taken a decades-old, obsolete version of it seemed to have become his Achilles’ heel.

Time spent caught in a temporal vortex had seemed mere moments to Mantovanni and the crew of the Constellation-class Intrepid, but had been more than 70 years to the rest of the galaxy—years in which science and technology had made countless advances, some of which would have been considered science fiction by late 23^rd century standards. Despite the overwhelming differences between the time he came from and the time in which he now lived, out of sheer stubbornness—and perhaps more than a little pride—Mantovanni had decided to attempt what his modern peers had deemed impossible, at least for him: Re-qualify for a starship command.

Military tactics and personal combat were, of course, his forte, which was why he had both audited and served as a guest speaker in Advanced Tactical Training last month, and been asked (by the very people who expected him to fail at regaining a ship of his own) if he’d teach Advanced Martial Arts for the upcoming semester. He had proven quite good at social and cultural studies, as well. The man was actually doing very well at nearly every subject he applied himself to, even making marked progress at understanding the advanced technology of his new era. The sciences, on the other hand—and temporal mechanics in particular—even Mantovanni had admitted he was at a loss to make heads or tails of.

“That’s what science officers are for,” he’d muttered one evening, after failing the initial exam with Sera as his tutor had put him in a particularly testy mood.

“A captain who has no clue what his science officer means is of no use to his ship,” she’d replied bluntly, hitting him where she knew it would hurt the most: the very reason he was currently unfit to command a starship.

She’d been tutoring him for almost a week, at the request of her friend Serutian Hale. Though she had enjoyed what she’d considered at first an interesting diversion from her own work at the Starfleet Science Academy, she was beginning to wonder if Seru’s overwhelming recommendation had been a bit presumptuous. Nothing in either her Vulcan or Starfleet training had prepared her for the challenge Mantovanni had presented. He was a highly intelligent man, and obviously not incapable of learning, as his progress in other areas had proven. Just what it was about the sciences that kept stonewalling him, however, she was simply at a loss to understand. The PADD she had just finished reading was yet another failed quiz.

Thinking that fresh air might do her some good, Sera left her quarters and went for a walk. She hadn’t gotten far before encountering a colleague she’d not seen in several years.

“Professor?” she queried.

Patrick Demorest looked up from his work. Pressing the pause key on his PADD and removing a pair of antique spectacles, he offered her a smile.

“Dr. Sera MacLeod, how good to see you. It’s been a while.”

Sera nodded. “Too long, sir. You are well?”

“Oh, certainly. And yourself?”

“Yes.”

Demorest smiled again. “Ah. There’s that Vulcan flair for simplicity I’ve missed so much. Tell me… ‘Lieutenant,’ now, I see… what brings you here this evening?”

If Starfleet Academy was known for anything other than a legion of brilliant officers educated there each year, it was these gardens. The myriad topiary and floral arrangements, nestled here and there among the immaculately-manicured lawns, had been known to distract even the stodgiest military personnel. And they weren’t the only ones: Many a civilian who worked at or had visited Starfleet Headquarters, as well as the residents of San Francisco, were seen walking the grounds admiring the beauty surrounding them and allowing the still and quiet to refresh their minds.

They were relatively empty at this hour, but it would seem she and Demorest had had the same idea. Still, Sera couldn’t resist arching an eyebrow. “Perhaps I am simply going for a walk,” she replied at last.

Demorest shook his head. “I know that look, Sera. You know… the one you get when something’s got you stumped.” He patted the bench, scooting over as he did so. “Come tell ol’ Pat all about it.”

For a moment she considered saying no, but decided it couldn’t hurt to hear another teacher’s opinion. Without revealing any personal information about Mantovanni, she explained her situation.

“He’s not stupid, Patrick, and I don’t think he’s being purposely stubborn. There’s too much at stake for him to be that careless. I just don’t understand what it is about temporal mechanics that he can’t, or simply won’t, comprehend.”

Her companion thought for a moment. “If I may, perhaps you’re going about this the wrong way,” he said.

Sera’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Demorest looked down at his glasses, then back at Sera. “Perhaps the student is no longer the problem.”

Sera straightened. “Are you implying I’m the reason he’s not making progress?” she asked.

Turning to face her more fully, Demorest tried to smile. “Understand, I mean you no offense or disrespect. You are a remarkable educator, Sera, but how long has it been since you really taught anyone? Whatever Starfleet R&D has you doing over in the science labs has kept you out of the teaching loop for some time now. I’m not saying you can’t teach, and since your I.Q. is like, six times mine, we both know you’re more than qualified. It’s your application, your technique, that’s… flawed.

“The way I see it, you’re not looking at this situation from the pupil’s point of view. First of all, he’s frustrated. I don’t think he gets why he doesn’t understand the material either, and that’s got to hurt his sense of self—maybe even his pride, a little.”

Oh, I’d wager a lot, Sera thought.

“It’s like you said, he’s not stupid, so why isn’t he learning what he needs to know? Second, I’d guess he’s a little intimidated—both by the material and you.”

Sera couldn’t help a showing of surprise. “Me? Why would he be intimidated by me?” she asked.

A chuckle was her immediate answer. Patrick Demorest stopped short of a full-blown laugh. “It’s public knowledge, my old friend, that you are literally one of the five smartest people in the known universe. Hasn’t that ever intimidated anyone you know before?”

She could think of one fiery redhead in particular who had once been intimidated by her intelligence. Now the two women were the best of friends.

“Perhaps there have been a few,” she admitted, the barest hint of a smile gracing her lips.

“Well there you go,” said Demorest. “Personally, I was more wowed and awed than intimidated, but then we’re in the same field. Science is my specialty, as well. All this student of yours had to do was be curious enough look you up and he would know about that astronomical I.Q. you have. I’m not saying he’s an egomaniac—as I don’t know him myself, I’m not qualified to make that judgment. I’m only saying that perhaps discovering just how smart his teacher really is was a little intimidating. He might be feeling that you expect him to understand simply because you do.”

Sera thought about his words, let them sink in for a moment before responding. “Do you think I should stop tutoring him?” she asked.

“That’s a decision only you can make,” Demorest replied. “Do you know him well at all? If not, perhaps getting to know him better might help you figure that out.”

“He is a very… private individual.”

Demorest shrugged. “Get him to talk. Or talk to someone else who knows him well. Maybe understanding him is the key to understanding how to teach him.”

“Might I ask when you retrained in psychotherapy, Dr. Demorest?” Sera asked, smiling openly now.

One of the things Demorest had always liked about Sera MacLeod was that she was a Vulcan who wasn’t afraid to show a little emotion. It probably helped that she was only half, the other being human. In secret, he’d always thought her smile made her quite beautiful.

Tossing that particular thought aside, Patrick flashed yet another of his own. “Your waspy wit is something else I’ve missed about you. I should have kept in better contact.”

“As should I. A good friend is always a welcome gift, and to lose sight of that gift tarnishes its value.” Sera glanced down at his PADD. “What has brought you to the gardens tonight?”

“Oh, this?” He lifted his PADD, his grin sheepish. “What’s the one thing I swore I’d never do?”

“Teach at Starfleet Academy.”

“And where are we?” he asked, looking purposefully at their surroundings.

Sera’s eyebrow rose.

Demorest’s laugh was rueful. “Exactly. ‘Course, it helps that the commandant offered me a big, fat ‘paycheck’—to use the archaic term—and only slightly restricted access to the labs in the science department. So you’ll be seeing more of me in the future, maybe. Only downside is I just got here today… and I start next week. This here’s the first vestiges of a lesson plan. At least I’ve got the syllabus already prepared…”

It pleased her that he had finally given in and accepted a position with Starfleet, something the Academy had been after him for years to do. Seeing more of him would also be welcome, as he was a good friend and sounding board.

“What will you be teaching?” she asked.

“Advanced Temporal Theory,” Demorest replied. “Always one of my favorites, since it usually stirs up paradox debates.”

Sera nearly laughed, as that was the very thing that had brought her and Serutian together four years ago. Perhaps she ought to introduce the two of them.

“At least it will get your students thinking,” she told him.

“Indeed,” he replied. Noticing the twilight had given way to nightfall, Demorest rose. “I really should be going. It’s getting late, and I’ve got an early meeting with the commandant tomorrow. It was good to see you again, Sera. Give what I said some thought.”

Sera stood. “It was good to see you again, as well. You’ve given me a great deal to consider.”

“I certainly hope so. Good night.”

Sera watched Patrick walk away, then turned and headed in the opposite direction to her own home. She turned his advice over and again in her mind. How was she going to get to know Captain Mantovanni better? How could she get him to open up? Serutian had spent almost three hours talking to the man the same amount of weeks ago, but hadn’t seen him since, while she had seen him nearly every day, and yet her Trill friend probably knew more about him than she did.

Considering the initial reason for the younger woman’s visit that night, however, Sera understood why her friend was keeping some distance for now. Once the shock and shame wore off—as it was sure to any time—Seru would be back, bright as she ever was, and turning Mantovanni’s life as inside out as he would let her.

If getting to know Mantovanni better was the key, and she wasn’t sure precisely how to broach the subject with him personally, then whose counsel could she seek? As she entered her building, a phrase she’d said to Seru concerning Mantovanni came to her.

Sa kaht haadin—Kin through house alliance.

Suddenly, she knew precisely who to talk to.

***

“Good morning to you too, Lieutenant,” Luciano Mantovanni said as Sera MacLeod breezed by him into his apartment without comment.

She turned, prepared herself mentally for what she was about to do—what she had to do—and handed him a PADD. “You need to familiarize yourself with this and acquire the appropriate texts. You start next week.”

Mantovanni arched an eyebrow before turning his attention to the device in his hand. He hadn’t gone far when it dawned on him what it was. “A course syllabus?”

“Yes… for Advanced Temporal Theory, with Professor Patrick Demorest. I shall continue to tutor you, of course, if that is your wish, Captain—”

Mantovanni cut her off. “I believe I explained to you that I would not–”

It was Sera’s turn to interrupt. “–sit in a classroom like a common cadet. Yes, Captain, I remember. However, I’m sure you’re aware that the average cadet knows more about temporal mechanics than you do.”

The eyebrow came into play again. In the weeks she’d known him, she’d begun to think he employed it far more than Vulcans were known to do. Sera was sure it usually had the desired effect, so most people were likely not to pay attention to how often he did so, attributing the mannerism as a side effect of being raised by a Vulcan. She, on the other hand, was relatively immune.

After all, she was Vulcan.

“Is that so?” Mantovanni replied with some edge to his voice. “Then explain to me, if you would, precisely how I’m supposed to successfully complete a course in Advanced Theory when I’ve yet to master Intermediate Principles? Considering that the average cadet knows more about it than I do, that is.”

Be firm. Be his superior. In this case, that is entirely accurate.

Reaffirming that advice in her mind, Sera squared her shoulders. “I am confident that Advanced Theory will help you achieve insight you currently lack.”

“The teacher is a civilian.”

“I happen to know Professor Demorest quite well, and I assure you he is more than qualified as an instructor for academy level students,” Sera countered.

“You’re supposed to be qualified, too. Isn’t that what Lt. Hale said?”

In a letter delivered to Mantovanni by Sera, in which she had lauded the scientist’s ability to tutor him, Serutian had said just that. “I am,” Sera replied. “But I can only teach you so much. I can see you are hesitant, which is understandable, but I’m afraid you haven’t the option of taking the class or not.”

This time Mantovanni’s eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Keeping her rigid stance, matching his stare with one of her own, Sera replied, “I’ve already enrolled you in the class, Captain. You have only two choices: You can take the class, pass it, and prove to your detractors the error in their lack of confidence; or you can refuse…

“…and thus forfeit any chance you have at ever commanding a starship again.”

Mantovanni stared at Sera for several long moments before emitting a non-committal noise from the back of his throat. It would seem, once again, that his own actions were coming back to bite him in the ass. This whole situation was eerily familiar; it was, perhaps, precisely where MacLeod had gotten the idea.

“I wasn’t aware extortion was one of your talents, Lieutenant, but it seems to work well for you. You’ll have to give Serutian my best when next you see her, as it appears she’s not yet ready to see me again,” he told her at last.

“Actually, sir, it was Sevek who gave me the idea. ‘Give him no choice. Make it an order. If what you say is true, it would appear my son could use a lesson in humility.’”

“You spoke to Sevek?” he asked.

Sera nodded. “Last night. I got the impression you haven’t been completely forthcoming about your difficulties.” She tilted her head to regard him anew. “He’s concerned about you. You should talk to him.”

“Should I, now?”

What did she know? How could she possibly understand the complexity of his relationship with Sevek?

Deciding to let that subject go for now, Mantovanni reluctantly resumed reading the course syllabus. He stopped about a third of the way through and said, “Are you sure about this?”

Sera nodded and chanced a slight smile. “I am certain of it. Taking this class is the first step onto your next bridge.”

As she was due in the lab, Sera left him then, with a promise to go over the course requirements during their session that evening. When the door had closed behind her, she allowed herself a few moments to let the shakes run their course.

I hate confrontations.

***

They stared at him from the moment he entered the room, partly because they already knew he wasn’t Starfleet. Part of it might also have had to do with what he was wearing: black loafers, charcoal gray slacks, a cream-colored turtleneck sweater, an old-fashioned tan sport coat… and glasses. Almost no one in the 24^th century wore glasses: Medical technology had advanced to the point where most optical deficiencies could be corrected with a simple procedure. Patrick Demorest wore his mostly because they made him look distinguished.

At least, that’s what he’d been told. Besides, they were more for reading than anything else.

“Good morning,” he greeted his students, most of whom were third- and fourth-year cadets, although there were a handful of officers as well. There was even a captain. “As you already know, I am Professor Patrick Demorest, and you are going to learn from me the finer points of Advanced Temporal Theory. You will have noted, I’m sure, that I am not a Starfleet officer. Well, as of this moment…

“…neither are any of you.”

There were murmurs from among the students, and not just the cadets.

“In this classroom,” Demorest went on, “you are all equals. I am the only superior here. I will address you as Mister, Miss, or Missus, for any of you ladies who are married and would prefer that title. You’ll call me Professor.”

“Excuse me, Professor,” spoke up a commander in the fifth row. “Those of us who are officers have worked long and hard to achieve the positions we’re in, and I should think that even a civilian such would understand that any officer of rank is due a certain level of respect—from everyone.”

Demorest braced himself against his desk with one hip. “And you think that my little rule is an affront to your rank?”

“I think it’s offensive, yes. Officers earn their ranks, Professor. I know I certainly earned mine.”

A number of the officers could be seen nodding their heads, or were heard murmuring words of agreement. The commander indulged in a smile.

“I’m certain, Commander,” Demorest said, addressing the man formally, “that each and every officer in this room earned the rank he or she has been given, no doubt through a combination of blood, sweat and tears. However, I am the instructor and you are the student. This is my classroom and I make the rules. Rules, I might add, that the Academy Commandant approved. If you are uncomfortable being addressed as Mister, you are welcome to leave and request transfer to another class.”

The commander flushed a deep crimson. Already embarrassed enough by the confrontation, he wasn’t about to refocus attention on himself by leaving—especially now. It would serve no purpose but providing fuel for gossip—plenty to which he was sure he’d contributed already. His only response was to stare Demorest down and cross his arms, as if to say, “I dare you to teach me.”

Demorest only nodded, and then addressed the entire class. “I assume—correctly I hope—that everyone here has read the first two chapters of Gateways to the Unknown?... and that you found it as fascinating as I did?

“Of course, it helps that I know the author personally….”

Demorest’s class lasted for two hours. Some of the students discussed what they knew about temporal mechanics and what confused them. They covered the material in the first two chapters of their text, then, at class end, were assigned two more and an essay on all four as an assignment. Even the commander who had confronted Demorest before class nodded to him as he left.

The professor was gathering his materials when the last student to leave approached him. He recognized the man—at least, he thought he did. It was the only captain, the highest-ranking officer in his class, who had sat in the back of the room and kept whatever opinions he had to himself. Demorest was sure now he was about to hear them.

“Pardon me, Professor, but do you really think it wise to be antagonizing the officers in your class?”

Demorest studied him. He was tall, his features dark and slightly angular. If he were to guess, this man was of European descent, either Italian or Spanish. His name would tell.

“You are one of them. Is my rule offensive to you, too, Captain…?”

“…Luciano Mantovanni, Professor. And I haven’t yet decided whether to be bothered by it or not,” the captain answered.

Definitely Italian. “Then why do you ask?”

“Call me curious. Why did you make up this rule?” Mantovanni wondered. “What purpose does it serve?”

“Intimidation, Captain Mantovanni. I want everyone who takes my class to feel like they’re equal to everyone else, because basically you are—to me, anyway. When I was informed I would be teaching officers as well as cadets, I knew that the cadets would feel intimidated by their presence. Intimidation makes the learning environment more stressful than it already is, thus making it difficult for any student to learn, ” Demorest replied.

“Stress and intimidation are factors of Starfleet life. Officers are required to deal with both in any number of situations and extremes on a daily basis,” Mantovanni pointed out.

“I’m sure that is perfectly true. But these kids are still in the transition from cadet to officer. Why force upon them any more stress than they already face?” Demorest leaned again against the desk. “They’re already faced with having to pass this course in order to advance with their respective classes, or in order to graduate. Officers in the classroom, whether working to advance their careers or simply to expand their knowledge of the subject matter, might have the cadets thinking they have to perform at an even higher level than is currently expected of them.”

Working to advance their careers… Had Lt. MacLeod spoken to her friend about his trouble with temporal mechanics? Mantovanni wondered. Would she have told him if she had?

Did it really matter?

It rankled a bit to think that MacLeod had been discussing him with a perfect stranger; bad enough people knew he was struggling as it was. To him, his problem was a private matter, except where it concerned his qualification to command. Mantovanni then realized it was also going to be difficult getting through this class without someone asking him to discuss his own temporal experience (as he’d already done a number of times), an incident that had immediately gone into the history books to be discussed and disseminated by cadets and officers for years to come. He decided that the latter possibility outweighed the former, and concluded that Lt. MacLeod, if she had spoken to Demorest about him, would likely only have done so in order to seek another educator’s advice.

In response to Demorest’s statement, he queried, “Why assume that the added pressure, if any, felt by the cadets would be of a negative nature?”

“Why take the chance?” Demorest countered. “If the cadets wish to address an officer directly by his or her rank, they’re more than welcome to follow protocol. I’m not asking any of you, really, not to. I wouldn’t want either cadet or officer to feel awkward. I’m simply saying that I won’t be addressing anyone by rank.” His expression changed to one of thoughtfulness. “Perhaps I should have made that a little more clear to that commander.”

“Perhaps you’re right.”

Mantovanni nodded then, and left.

The next class wasn’t for two days, two days during which Mantovanni read and re-read the chapters they’d been assigned. He hoped to have enough material absorbed to write an essay that was at least semi-intelligent. But once again, he was having trouble.

“Who writes this stuff, anyway?” he asked himself aloud. “It reads like a technical manual.”

“If it was a military treatise, would it be any easier to understand?”

Mantovanni turned to find Serutian Hale standing just inside his door, hands behind her back and a timid smile on her face. “I would ask how you got in, but I’m sure I can guess.”.

“Actually, I rang your chime three times, but you didn't answer, so I just used my 'key.'”

“How are you, Lieutenant?”

Her smile grew slightly. “Good, thank you. I would have come by sooner, but…”

Mantovanni’s expression softened. “No apology necessary. You were right to stay away. We both needed space, and time to think—though I admit I didn’t expect it to be this long before I saw you again.”

Hale shrugged. “Along with both of us being distracted and busy, I figured you needed as much time to get used to Sera and the tutoring as you could get. I take it things aren’t going well?”

“I’m surprised she hasn’t told you how she coerced me into taking a class,” he told her.

Hale did her best to suppress a laugh, though Mantovanni’s arched brow told her she hadn’t tried hard enough. “I’m sorry, sir. Sera’s known for being quite the pacifist; I just can’t imagine her forcing anyone to do anything, let alone you sitting in a classroom, PADD in hand, ready to take notes.”

“Well, if she hadn’t spoken to someone I wouldn’t consider crossing in any lifetime, I wouldn’t be.”

Curious, but making no remark on that comment, Hale stepped further into the room, and asked, “So what are you taking?”

“Advanced Temporal Theory. And before you say it, I know I was struggling with Intermediate Principles, but your friend Sera—”

“–thinks you can do this. I’ve known her for four years, Captain; I know something of how her mind works,” his visitor interrupted him. A mind meld actually told you a lot about how the other person’s mind worked, she thought, but she didn’t mention that to Mantovanni. “Sera probably thinks that by passing Advanced Theory, Starfleet Command will have no choice but to take your bid for re-qualification seriously.”

And so will that nitwit Montrose, Mantovanni thought. Not usually a vindictive man, the Sicilian could just imagine the look of utter disbelief on the stuffy admiral’s face when he got the news. It was enough to make him smile.

“That’s certainly true, Lieutenant. I’m beginning to like Sera MacLeod more already,” Mantovanni remarked.

“I did pretty well in Advanced Theory myself, Captain,” Hale offered. “Which book is your professor using as the main course text?”

Mantovanni cast a sideways glance at the offending PADD. “Gateways to the Unknown. The author must have…”

He stopped when Hale began to laugh. Soon, she was half doubled over, holding both her side and the back of his couch for support.

“What?” he asked suspiciously.

“Do you… r–remember what I said… in m–my letter?” the Trill stammered, trying vainly to regain control.

He thought back… and abruptly, it came to him: In the same note where she’d praised MacLeod’s intellect, Hale had made what he’d thought an offhand comment about Sera not only having read the proverbial book on temporal mechanics, but probably having written it as well.

Mantovanni closed his eyes and sighed.

“Let me guess. Dr. B.I. Scott is really Sera MacLeod?”

Her continued laughter was answer enough.

***

Two weeks into the class, Professor Demorest gave them their first test. Even having continued his tutoring sessions with the ever-patient Sera MacLeod, Mantovanni had been dreading the inevitable exams, as he’d failed nearly every quiz MacLeod had given him. When the time came, and the test was before him, it was a welcome surprise to find that he knew some of the answers right away. He actually remembered—and more to the point, thought he understood—much of what they’d covered. It would seem that MacLeod had been correct in assuming the advanced class would somehow give him greater insight.

For the first time in more than a month, Mantovanni thought he had a real chance. Another starship command might just not be a flight of fancy after all.

God willing, Admiral Montrose and everyone who believed as he did would have to eat their words.

Mantovanni walked into class the day they were to receive their exam results almost as nervous as one of the cadets. So much was riding on this class; so much more than his career was at stake. He had admitted, though only to himself, that self-esteem and pride were on the line, too. He’d never thought of himself as a slow learner, only his peers and the adults on Vulcan had thought so. Because he was human, he couldn’t possibly learn as they did. So just to spite them, he’d worked harder than ever to prove that not only was he smarter than they believed him to be, but he could learn the same concepts in the same fashion.

He’d begun to apply the same techniques for memorization he had used in his youth to his current learning difficulties, and it was during that first test that he realized they were working just as they had before. He only hoped his newfound confidence wasn’t too presumptuous.

Many in the class were staring at the stack of PADDs on Professor Demorest’s desk, anxiously awaiting his arrival. When he appeared, he began by handing them out, saying nothing until each student had his or her test in their hand. Then he stood in front of the class and faced them.

“Some of you didn’t do quite as well as I’d expected, and others did better than I’d hoped,” he said. “If you didn’t pass the exam, however, don’t feel too bad. It’s only the first, and we have two and a half more months together. I am available at certain hours for assistance if you need it—some of you, you’ll notice, I recommended it to. See me privately to schedule a time.

“Now let’s discuss the exam. Who would like to go first?”

He’d passed. Barely—he’d earned a C minus—but he’d passed. Mantovanni almost couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the grade. Taking this class hadn’t been such a bad idea, after all. Why hadn’t he done it sooner? Perhaps if had he wouldn’t have struggled for so long.

He stopped again to speak to Professor Demorest when class was over.

“Why didn’t you suggest I seek assistance?” he asked.

Demorest shook his head. “I don’t know why you’re asking, Captain; you got a C minus. Besides, you already have a wonderful tutor. I’m not so sure she’d welcome my interference.”

The last was said with only the slightest of smiles, and before Mantovanni could formulate a comment, Demorest excused himself and left the room. So, MacLeod had spoken to him after all, the captain thought. Maybe that’s why she’d chosen to enroll him in this particular class; Demorest must have said something that made sense to her that was merely affirmed during her conversation with Sevek.

He wondered if she knew he was using one of her books? In all the time since he’d found out, he’d been too distracted studying to ask her.

Well, that could be rectified.

The two women met at his door, and Hale asked, “Why do you think he invited us both to dinner?”

“I cannot be certain, but I believe he received the results of his first Advanced Theory exam today,” Sera replied. “It may have something to do with that.”

Serutian shrugged and rang the door chime, as opposed to overriding it with one of her recently earned security codes as she had done the last time she was here. Mantovanni nodded at each and welcomed them both warmly. They sat down to dinner right away, and it wasn’t until each had eaten several mouthfuls that anyone spoke.

“So…how’d you do?” Hale asked.

Mantovanni shook his head. “Don’t beat around the bush much, do you, Lieutenant? As a matter of fact, the exam is why I asked both of you here. I wanted to thank you.”

MacLeod looked at him curiously. “Might I ask why?”

Both women looked at him expectantly. Mantovanni cleared his throat. “I received a ‘C minus’ on my test. Not the greatest grade, but a lot better than I got studying Intermediate Principles with you, Sera, as you well know. If you hadn’t forced me into taking this class, I’m not sure I’d be as close to my goal as I am. And if you, Serutian, hadn’t been poking your nose into my business that first night you came to see me, I don’t think I’d have taken it upon myself to seek a tutor. I wanted to prove I could re-qualify on my own, and you showed me, without my having to ask, that there was no shame in needing help.”

“So this is a celebration?” Hale suggested.

“Not precisely,” Mantovanni replied. “It is, however, a step in that direction.”

Both women smiled. “I would like to propose a toast,” Sera said, lifting her glass. “Concerning advancement, may the captain soon receive a new command…

“…and may we all become better friends.”

“Amen,” Hale said beaming.

Mantovanni nodded as the three touched glasses, in total agreement with every word.

***

JM: Let me begin with an appalling pun: After reading your prize-winning entry, more than a few readers have inquired as to whether we'll have "more" from Christina. What are the chances?

CM: LOL.

I have more. Maybe not quite the same caliber, but then, I was in a pinch with this one.

JM: As in, afraid I might hunt you down and pinch you.

CM: As in I really didn't want to "hear" your mouth if I didn't turn something in.

Don't print that.

JM: It seems as if you produce well under deadline pressure. Do you have professional aspirations. Such a quality will stand you in good stead, if so.

Oh, and… of course I'm going to print that. My readers know what a prick I am.

CM: Gee. Thanks.

JM: They'll think, “That bastard. The poor girl.”

CM: Actually, I would love to write professionally. But sometimes I have a problem either starting or finishing a project. And I've also been told it's very difficult to get a literary agent.

JM: Quality will out, though.

Serutian Hale is the central figure in your own fanfic, Star Trek: Journey. Will we be seeing that ship take flight this year?

CM: God, I hope so. I've got more than one story running around in my head. Now I just have to write them.

JM: Should I continue issuing threats? I'm out of cash at this point.

CM: Nah. I know that I could be writing stuff down by hand, then copying on computer, as I've done in the past, but my apartment's enough of a mess. Most of my Journey stuff is on disk, and the computer is at my dad's house. I don't get over there very often. Thus, nothing really gets written.

JM: Pesky real life.

Are you an avid Liberty reader, or were you just looking for quick cash?

CM: Not avid as in "I've read every single story and can't wait for more," no. But I have read a number of Liberty stories. And no, I wasn't out for a quick fix.

JM: Well, pardon me while the author puts his ego back into whack.

CM: [Grins]

JM: She's spunky, ain't she, folks?

This from the woman who once said of me, "Your skills are... unmatched."

CM: Couldn't let you get too swelled, could I?

JM: Don't you hate when people use your own words against you? :-D

CM: I don't recall those exact words, but it doesn't mean I didn't say them. I do recall saying you were very gifted.

And by skills, I meant in regard to Star Trek.

JM: Actually, you said it, or something similar, on your old website, baby.

CM: If have to read something unrelated to know if you are truly the master.

JM: Actually, Trek is my weakest material... but that's another story.

CM: [Shrugs] Perhaps you are right.

JM: Speaking of other material... what else do you write?

CM: I've written Smallville fan fiction and I've a couple of projects in mind completely unrelated to either Smallville or Star Trek, both of which I someday hope to have published.

JM: Where can we get a load of your Smallville stuff?

CM: I used to have a website for it through Tripod… but I can't even locate it, so it must be out of service. I haven't written Smallville in a while, either.

As you said earlier, “pesky real life.”

Among other things.

JM: You wrote, "Joe Manno, author of Star Trek: Liberty, for your encouragement and counsel. Your talents, thus far, are unmatched." :-D

CM: Like I said, I wasn't denying I said it. Just didn't recall having done so.

JM: You're such a prickly pear. :-) It's really kinda cute.

CM: By the way, I should let you know that all my Journey stories are undergoing some editing, and that the site will be updated when I'm finished.

JM: Cool.

CM: Of course, there's no telling when I'll get it done.

JM: Remember to post a link to "Concerning Advancement," so's your fans can drool over your pretty plaque.

CM: [Grin] I will.

JM: Christina, it was a genuine pleasure interviewing you; your talent is formidable—as is your... personality.

CM: [Raises an eyebrow] I hope that last bit was meant to be a compliment. [Grins]

JM: I'm sure you do. :-D