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Spock stared at his PADD for an additional 1.2 minutes before surveying the occupants of the public shuttle a second time. Illogical, since upon his first thorough observation he had not encountered anything suspicious, but he had been unable to curb the initial reaction of startled confounded curiosity.
There, on his 2.3 months old PADD, on which he had been pursuing the latest science articles published in his preferred prescribed journal up until 3.1 minutes ago, a separate message box was opened with the neat computerized curves of Standard's letters bidding him a good morning in a most illogical manner. He knew these public transportations utilized a wireless communication system to which you could log on, and proceed to contact anyone else operating the system within the shuttle. Which was precisely why he had blocked the system from accessing his own PADD, for he had no desire to converse with anyone during this unfortunate stretch of time he spent on transportation such as this; vocally, telepathically or by written messages.
And yet, there is was.
Good morning sunshine!
Since observation had resulted in no further answers to the questions this provoked, Spock then proceeded to back-track the signal in order to locate the device which had obviously hacked his own.
Not gonna work, coz I'm too awesome.
Spock frowned at the interruption, the lines of codes rendered useless as they encountered a line of corrupt numbers. Apparently this person did not want to be found. Perhaps another tactic then.
Who are you, and for what purpose have you hacked my PADD's security system?
He did not bother with pleasantries, for the situation did not warrant it, and he was…slightly irked. Unnerved. He had files on this PADD which should not be seen by anyone with a rank less than Commander, much less anyone outside of Starfleet. They may not be of a significant threat to security or Starfleet in general, but to have someone access it so seemingly effortlessly was…unnerving.
He put in another code as he finished his query. The reply did not take long.
I'm a bored person on a crappy shuttle, with too much time on my hands, and an interesting person within sight. You can't blame me for wanting to entertain myself.
Raising a brow, Spock entered the last bit of code and tried again, only to have the screen beep and flash red for 1.3 seconds. No results.
That is illogical. There are exactly 13 people utilizing this service quite willingly, as opposed to myself. I ask again; why have you hacked my system? How did you do it?
This time, a rather crudely drawn figure of some kind appeared on his screen, before followed by a reply. He stared at the uneven lines, wondering what it was supposed to look like. A simplified face, as he had seen his mother draw, with dots as eyes and a curved line as mouth. Smiling.
You're much more interesting than anyone of those 13 could ever hope to be. As for who I am…why don't you try to find out?
That had been precisely what he had been doing, but as the transport slowed and the press of people made to get off, Spock was unable to reply before the line of unexpected communication was broken.
You've changed PADD. Afraid I'll look at your porn and read your diary?
It had been illogical to expect the stranger would find him once again, but Spock had, and although he had been unsure if it would be necessary to switch to a new PADD that held no more files than those necessary for his short daily trip he was now pleased he had done so.
That is illogical; I am not in possession of either of those. However, it was a necessary precaution, considering the documentation of sensitive files I had stored on the device. I would not risk them being exposed.
Psh, I can get a hold of that any time I wanted, with or without your PADD hooked online.
Spock frowned.
You are Starfleet?
Perhaps.
Or I might just be a really awesome hacker. I'd say the latter is pretty conceivable. Yeah?
Or both.
Or both.
It continued for days. Not necessary every day; Spock was looking for patterns in how often and at what times he was contacted but it was always on the same shuttle. Spock had several theories, and even as he discarded some, new ones presented themselves. The unknown person engaging him in idle, frustrating but surprisingly fascinating communication was offering him little to no information which could aid him in narrowing down the possibilities.
When the topic of the shuttle's mechanics and finer operations were broached, he thought the person might be a mechanic. Then he quoted Shakespeare, and further on, several Terran and extraterrestrial classics – some Vulcan, he'd noted with surprise – which would suggest literature to be of interest. Then there was physics, and mathematics, and somehow Spock felt more intellectually stimulated than he did conversing with his colleagues.
Well, this is my stop. See you around, sexy.
It was the first time there had been any indication as to where the person might be going, and the fact that Spock was already preparing to get off himself at the usual station provoked a rather illogical physical response of his heart skipping a beat.
Looking around, he searched for someone, anyone, engaged with a communication device; PADD or otherwise. He saw none. Against the press of bodies, he quickly typed a message.
You are a cadet.
He was in a sea of red, after all. They were by the stop closest to the Academy.
Or I'm messing with you, and leading you off your trail. I think I like your guess of 'Professor' better. But good guess! You're improving.
You want me to find out who you are. Yet you will not tell me. Why? Where are you? What do you look like?
He got no response, and the crowd of cadets was already noisily making their way through the gates into the Academy. It wasn't until he was taking his lunch, going through the afternoon classes' notes one final time, that these strange series of events took another step in whatever direction it was headed, and his PADD flashed with an unexpected, but now familiar, message.
I'm your negative to the positive, as you're the positive to my negative.
I'm a cadet.
Opposites; that was all it could mean. He'd spent the time he was supposed to be meditating thinking about it, having doomed the usual activity impossible in his current state of mind.
What was his opposite? The first one would indeed be cadet, as he was an instructor. It would also be someone who appeared illogical, he gathered. If it had been a response to his inquiry of physical features, it would be someone shorter, of fair coloring. Perhaps blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe green. Could it be a female? Pink complexion instead of green. Cool skin.
The person had become human in his mind before he could consider the illogic of simply assuming such a thing.
What should I call you?
It was the 7th time he had posed this question, although this time, he had opted to word it…differently. He noted it was more efficient than "State your name" as his PADD beeped softly with an incoming message.
You may call me J.T., Mr. Spock.
He was the only Vulcan in Starfleet, and so it should not provoke any reaction at all that this person already knew his name. Yet…he swallowed, and wondered why this J.T. had not addressed him by his name prior to this. It would certainly have been more logical than sunshine, sexy, handsome and any other highly subjective adjective that had been used.
The list of cadets with the initials J.T. is impressively long.
You'll just have to narrow it down then, won't you?
Indeed.
But who said that was my full set of initials?
Spock fought the urge to toss the PADD aside in frustration and decided it would be beneficial for a short period of meditation before he left for his next lecture.
"Narrow it down", J.T. had asked him to, and he had done so, using as basis their previous conversations, which he had all saved on a separate chip safely put away in one of the drawers in his quarters. It "narrowed it down" to a cadet taking advanced computer programming; most likely he or she was invested in tactical as well, given J.T.'s impassioned discussion on strategies and the fascinating chess games they had shared online. More accurate than that, Spock could not….guess. The cadet was proficient in such a wide variety of subjects it would be impossible to form their study plan with the data he currently possessed.
And so he set his computer on scanning the system for a cadet with initials including J and T (it had been "hinted" that these were not the only ones, so he made for it to include other possibilities as well) with above average grades, taking tactical and computing sciences, with a few unlikely species excluded. The resulting list was shorter, more manageable, but he expected it would take 3.2 months to arrive at a viable answer without any further data.
Not ideal, but agreeable. It would seem he would just have to collect more data, and continue this search, if only to confront the cadet properly on Starfleet conduct and illegal hacking.
So…I'm bored. Entertain me.
I do not have the time to engage you. Might I suggest you turn your attention to your studies, or friends, if you possess such social ties?
Hey! Play nice! That's not nice… And yes, I do have friends, but he's kicked me out of our room. Turning his attention to his studies. I'd be very attentive with Xenobiology too you know. If I took it, would you give me…private lessons, Professor?
As I do not possess a degree in anything medical, and only took the necessary courses on Xenobiology, there is no logical reason for me to consider private tutoring, Cadet. If you are interested I suggest you apply for the course next semester and seek out the proper individuals for tutoring. Such as your friend, perhaps.
God, I love it when you talk-well, write, really-like that. But seriously, there's a very logical reason for private tutoring involving you and me. Let me in your office and I'll show you.
It would seem likely that you know where my office is located, Cadet. You may present this "logical reason" by reporting to it during my office hours.
Oh, I will, once you figure out what I really meant by all that. Because you don't know, you're just trying to trick me into revealing myself.
Indeed. I am to assume you will reveal yourself once I have discerned the subtext of our conversation?
Well, that's up to you, Commander.
Also, "I do not have the time to engage you"? Bull. You just "engaged" me. Later, handsome!
"….." Spock stared at the screen, feeling his left brow twitch but ignoring it in favor of taking a 1.3 deeper breath, exhaling slowly.
J.T. was roomed with a cadet studying Xenobiology, and did not take the course personally. He made a mental note to add these criteria in his computer's scanning program at a later date. First, this experiment had been neglected 4.5 minutes too long (it had required repose for 20.3 minutes during which he had intended to wait, but Cadet J.T. had interrupted 2.1 minutes into this).
Illogical.
Spock considered the file before him. 22 years old, human male. Repeat offender previous to Starfleet, yet his aptitude tests were abnormally high. Enrolled in the Command track, the fast program reduced from 4 to 3 years, designed by Spock himself for Cadets with higher than normal intellectual needs. Fascinating. Even more so with the suspicious amount of sealed or missing files in the Cadet's history, beginning with his birth.
Stardate 2233, there was a lightning storm in space resulting in the starship USS Kelvin meeting its violent end against an impossibly advanced Romulan vessel. The sacrifice of Acting Captain George S. Kirk saved 800 people, among those, his wife Lieutenant-Commander Winona Kirk and…their son, James T. Kirk.
J.T.K.
It was a logical conclusion to make. Cadet Kirk would be skilled enough to hack a computer system, and had the dubious morals to conduct such a thing as well. His aptitude tests reflected the wide breath of knowledge revealed in their conversations, and the Cadet's picture showed a young man with the telltale human pink complexion, dark-blonde hair and intense blue eyes. Illogically attractive and compelling; it was only a picture.
In many ways this Cadet was the negative to his positive, and the positive to his negative.
You are James T. Kirk.
It was not a question. He did not receive an answer, even after 29.4 hours, which was 3.2 hours past the longest pause between messages so far.
After researching the illogical practice of idioms in Human conversation, I have discerned that you wish to engage in sexual intercourse with me.
He waited.
And if I did, Commander?
It is against regulation.
That wasn't a "no".
It was not.
It was illogical to experience such anticipation, when he should merely be pleased he finally had all the data needed to confront the Cadet on his conduct. He should be visiting his dorm with the threat of brining him up on charges, and yet…
And yet the Cadet had not hacked onto any Starfleet computers, to his knowledge, only his private PADDs, and he had not accessed any files, merely established a link of communication that would have been available to anyone possessing his private contact information. His Academic records were also very…promising. Spock did not doubt there were a fairly large amount of Cadets who had previous records on less than admirable conduct prior to Starfleet, and the fact that Cadet Kirk had been accepted to the Academy showed his records were not of any special concern.
There was also the fact that between the bouts of illogical conversations riddled with idioms and subtext he had no way of clearly understanding, their discussions had been…compelling; fascinating. Engaging.
Perhaps he was trying to justify the undeniable interest he had developed for this Cadet from initial contact to finding his true identity.
Perhaps.
There was a knock on his door, and Spock looked up from the lesson plans he was organizing. "Come."
The door flung open with unconcealed enthusiasm and he was met with the sight of a grinning cadet; intense blue eyes catching the light from his windows.
"I'm here for my private lesson, Professor!"
"Indeed. Perhaps one in manners would be suitable, Cadet Kirk."
Silently pleased at the illogically attractive laugh that escaped pink lips, Spock watched with an unfamiliar kind of anticipation as the door closed behind a slender body clad in Cadet-red.
"Call me Jim, gorgeous."