"You have no class," murmured the small, reptilian-like figure standing in the ramped, hallway leading up to the Science Labs. She reached for her holster, but instead, she grabbed a pencil from her back pocket to check off an item on her ledger. "You also have no cleaning duties, consider it a blessing." Farfoudottir, the offspring of the highly decorated Admiral, and legendary war strategist, Farfoud, breathed a sigh of relief as she failed to complete any of her Starfleet readings or practicums the night prior.
The tall, gangly Betazoid immediately turned around and walked quickly down the ramp, trying to hide her glee as she narrowly escaped major embarrassment - or rather, any further demotions during the year. This behavior is not looked upon highly by her family. She is the Rose Kennedy of the Formaner Clan (Farfoud's proper, formal name was Pilabdurate Formaner, a name inherited by her daughter). Cousins, Uncles, Grandmothers all have their name etched on Starfleet Brass, contributing in not just small ways, but typically great leaps forward. She comes from a long line of highly decorated tacticians and scientists. Yet here she is, in her 3rd year of the Starfleet Academy, and barely a passing grade.
"Ms. Formaner --," a voice beckoned from the top of the ramp. Farfoudottir stopped in her tracks. "Before you scamper off, I'd like a word with you please."
She was so close to retire back to her quarters to catch up on her studies without a stern lecture. Who was she kidding? She was going to celebrate a few more hours of down-time with a good read on 23rd century Architecture. Floybins' grand movement to build down, and not up. Skutt's meticulous forms. Tleetok's breathable walls. Geniuses.
Pikasaffe, Farfoudottir's mentor and teacher, walked after her down the ramp with her small steps, and crouched gait. "Follow me."
TO BE CONTINUED