Please understand the following disclosures before reading "How Davir and Andrew Met."
"Author's personal log, supplemental.
"Davir Benmata and Andrew G. Hunter are Starfleet officers and long-time friends. This is the story of how they initially met as cadets at Starfleet Academy. One of their instructors approaches them with the need to undertake a seemingly benign errand in the Chulan System for extra credit. However, things go awry when Dav and Hunter arrive planetside, and the young cadets eventually need to be rescued.
"This Benmata Chronicles backstory is a collaborative work that's being written at this time.
"Computer, end log."
Michael Rosado
April 22, 2020
As I said in the introduction to “A True Way Resurgence,” I’ve written these stories non-canonically because I generally prefer the liberty of my own imagination, and I don’t necessarily agree with every aspect that canon dictates. Canonical sources sometimes conflict. Even Ambassador Spock said, “Canon is only important to certain people because they have to cling to their knowledge of minutiae. Open your mind! Be a Star Trek fan and open your mind and say, ‘Where does Star Trek want to take me now?’ “ – L. Nimoy (Reuters, May 2009). I heartily endorse the sentiment. Here are some of the more significant ways this story departs from Star Trek canon.
Correlating Star Trek's stardates is messy business. There’s no one canonical timeline for everything Star Trek. Many such calendars exist, and people disagree on their underlying assumptions, but I’ve decided to use TrekGuide.com’s TNG/DS9/VOY stardate calendar.
The first time Ferengi are canonically identified as a species is in TNG: "The Last Outpost," which took place in the mid-2360s. This backstory takes place in 2347, but it refers to them as Ferengi anyway for continuity even though that species was canonically unidentified at that time.
Michael Rosado
April 11, 2024
It was a bright, crisp, wintry day in early November 2347. San Francisco Bay was dotted with sailing ships as recreational boaters plied the sheltered harbor’s choppy waters, their tall masts and colorful triangular sails a throwback to a more bygone era.
Starfleet Academy, Starfleet Command’s primary military campus, occupied a large part of the southern peninsula that formed the harbor’s mouth. It was a huge school, with smaller academies emphasizing many fields of study from agriculture to zoology. Every military branch in Starfleet Command was represented as well, and the complex annually churned out large classes of cadets in every qualification. Some joined Starfleet Command immediately upon graduating, hoping to be assigned to a ship of their choice so they could begin a career in galactic exploration and discovery. Others entered civilian service, equally qualified and just as eager about their chosen craft or practice.
Starfleet’s Engineering School was on the lee side of the campus, facing the harbor’s interior. Several buildings strong, the main one bordered the shoreline. It had three tiers of classrooms and offices, a transporter on every floor, and two shuttle pads on its roof. Labs and additional offices were in smaller buildings next to it. There were enough classrooms to admit almost a thousand pupils, and a fair amount of remote instruction happened besides.
Cadet Davir Benmata stared out the second story window of his quantum physics class, listening idly as the teacher droned on endlessly about how Heisenberg compensators worked. While he certainly appreciated the fact of transporter technology, Davir was befuddled by its details, and he heartily wished he were elsewhere.
A small cutter slid by quickly just offshore, heading towards a nearby marina.
I wish Uncle Eli were here to take me sailing again, he thought.
That brought back memories of summer days spent as a young boy in Florida with his extended family. Eliakim and Dav’s father Erik Benmata co-owned a vehicular repair business in Sarasota. Dav had grown up learning to work in their machine shop, making parts, repairing machines, and programming holographic computers, but fishing in the Gulf had always been a favorite vacation activity. Dav was a quick study at mechanical engineering and physics with an inventive mind for programming simulators. Both Erik and Eliakim had encouraged his aptitude, and Dav had applied for Starfleet’s Engineering School as soon as he was old enough.
Now, at 17, he found himself buried in coursework he barely understood, hoping to be just good enough to graduate and get a billing on anything capable of leaving the atmosphere. All he wanted to do was be a Starfleet engineer on the biggest ship he could find and be a contributing part of a team. That dream seemed so far away right now, and he was bored with trying to grasp the nuances of Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle as it related to transporters.
He sighed despondently, still staring out the window.
The teacher cleared his throat loudly. “Mr. Benmata,” he called, “would you please remind the class why checking the Heisenberg compensators is a level one procedure when diagnosing a malfunctioning transporter system?”
Davir started, glancing nervously around the room. It was very early in the new school year, and he knew very few of his classmates, but most weren’t even looking at him anyway. Apparently, none of them knew the answer either and were just as glad they’d not drawn the instructor’s negative attention.
He thought about it for a moment, then replied, “Because the compensator's the only thing that keeps the matter-energy stream coherent enough to form or reform. Without it, you can’t transport anything. It’ll just disintegrate.”
The teacher smiled smugly. “Nice try, Mr. Benmata, but I didn’t ask what Heisenberg compensators do. I asked why checking the compensator is a level one diagnostic procedure.”
He addressed the class. “Transporters can’t define or acquire a matter stream without a working compensator. A level one diagnosis requires shutting the transporter down first because if you don’t, trying to diagnose an otherwise working transporter will yield the same result as a higher diagnostic that doesn’t require shutting it down: nothing happens. If you disable the transporter first, the compensator can be analyzed in isolation from the rest of the transporter system. Effectively, a broken compensator can’t be discovered in conjunction with the rest of the transporter system online – transport will fail anyway. You have to test it by itself to see if it’s broken. A level one procedure facilitates that – higher diagnostics don’t.”
The lecture continued as Davir’s interest continued to wane. He looked idly around and noticed that the young man sitting at the next desk was busily taking notes on his PADD. Davir couldn’t tell what the other cadet was writing about, but the teacher was droning on about the course’s syllabus, so Davir imagined it had something to do with that. The cadet didn’t notice Davir was watching him.
The young man had a shock of dark brown hair atop an oval face with equally brown eyes. A strong nose bridge led down past high cheekbones to a thin brown mustache and goatee that lined a squared chin. His overall frame was medium in height with a fairly strong musculature and presence.
I’ll bet he hopes he’ll make commander, maybe captain someday, Davir thought, but that takes a lot more than boyish good looks.
Davir had smaller goals, wanting nothing more than to fix things and be part of a great crew. He’d never been any farther than Earth Space Dock, and he hoped to be assigned to a ship of the line like an Excelsior-class heavy cruiser so he could see the galaxy, but he would settle for anything extrasolar as long as he could be useful as an engineer.
"Mr. Hunter, Mr. Benmata,” the teacher interrupted, “you’ll be paired on the term paper."
Wha–? Davir started, worried the teacher had singled him out again for answering incorrectly. He looked up to see that the teacher’s piercing gaze included Dav’s neighbor.
The cadet reached over with an inviting handshake. “Hi, I’m Andrew Hunter.”
Davir materialized on one of Earth Space Dock’s transporter pads amidst a crowd of humans and aliens.
ESD was the main spaceport for the Sol System and the central hub of all spaceborne traffic to and from Earth. Since Earth was the seat of the United Federation of Planets, every planetary government in the Federation was represented as well as alien species from all over the galaxy. Besides being a political waystation, ESD housed thousands of support personnel in every professional expertise plus equipment bays and labs for all manner of construction or experimentation. It was, simply put, the largest and most important space station Dav had ever seen or known about.
Not that he’d been any further than this. The truth was he’d never been off-planet except to ESD. There were other stations in the Sol System, and he’d always wanted to visit the Utopia Planitia Shipyards above Mars, but ESD was the only station he’d ever been to.
As he stepped off the transporter platform, he reminded himself that he and Andrew had made dinner plans at Club 47 to discuss their mutual class assignment. The restaurant was three floors up, and Dav was already late. He’d been waylaid by a call from his father, inquiring about how he was adjusting to school and if he needed anything.
I hope Andrew hasn’t been waiting long, Dav thought anxiously as he wound his way through the crowded hallway and stepped into an elevator car.
Club 47 was one of the most popular establishments on the station. It was always open for business, and it was famous for hosting large parties for any occasion. It was the dinner hour, and it was very crowded by the time Dav got there. As he climbed the ramp leading to the restaurant, the smells of various foods wafted out to greet him, and his mouth started to water because he’d skipped lunch. The doors opened as someone exited, and he could see that the foyer was equally crowded with people waiting for a table.
I’m glad Andrew thought to make reservations ahead of time, he thought gratefully and went in.
The restaurant’s main dining area was to the right of the door, the bar was in the middle, and a dance floor with additional tables was on the left. DJ Zuza was playing very loud music in a style Dav hadn’t heard before, but it was raucous with a driving beat, and Dav decided he didn’t like it.
I hope Andrew didn’t pick a table in the dance room, he wondered. We’ll need to talk, but I can’t hear myself think in there.
He didn’t see his classmate anywhere, but the restaurant was very large, and not every table was visible from the entrance.
Best just to ask rather than wander around the place, he thought, and he approached the attendant at the front desk.
“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for Andrew Hunter’s table, please.”
The maitre d’ consulted the computer before her. “He’s waiting for you at table 12,” she replied. “This way, please.”
Table 12 turned out to be a booth at the back of the main dining room. It was big enough to seat four, but Andrew was the only one in it. He waved Davir over as the maitre d’ went back to the main desk.
“Sorry I’m late,” Dav apologized, sitting down. “My dad called at the last minute to check up on me.”
‘It’s fine,” Andrew replied nonchalantly. “I took the liberty of ordering for both of us.”
Davir was mildly surprised. “How did you know what I might like?” he asked curiously.
“You told me after class that you’re from Florida, and your last name sounds Hispanic, so I figured you’d like Mexican or Caribbean food,” Andrew answered. “Was I wrong?”
Smart guy, Dav thought, smiling slightly.
“It’s Jewish, actually,” he corrected, “but yeah, I love Caribbean food. Not replicated?”
“Heck, no,” Andrew retorted. “Prepared, always.”
Davir smiled widely. “I think I’m gonna like you,” he said, nodding.
A waiter arrived at their table a few minutes later laden with two platter-sized plates and their entrees. There were two seasoned flat steaks in red sauce with corn tortillas, Spanish rice, pinto beans, and guacamole on the side. There was also a small pilón of fried mofongo with small boiled shrimp.
Dav’s stomach growled in anticipation.
The waiter paused, looking at the empty bench in their booth. “Excuse me,” he said to the cadets, “but we’re somewhat overbooked tonight. There are two young ladies at the bar who are very anxious to find a quiet place to sit down, and I noticed you aren’t using the other side of this booth. Would you mind sharing your table?”
Davir looked up, surprised at the unusual request, as Andrew glanced questioningly at him.
Dav shrugged noncommittally. “It’s your reservation.”
“Sure,” Andrew told the waiter. “We’re just gonna talk about school work over dinner. As long as they don’t mind that, we don’t either.”
Planning the essay
A minute later, the waiter brought the girls up to their booth.
“Thank you so much,” the taller one gushed as they both sat down opposite the cadets. “I really didn’t want to spend another moment at the bar."
Dav noted her 1.8-meter height and very statuesque frame. She had lavender skin and alien features, and she wore a Starfleet comm badge with a science insignia. Although he wasn’t interested socially, he liked her appearance, but the mature impression told him she was somewhat older and well above his station.
Andrew, on the other hand, was immediately taken with the younger, human woman, momentarily forgetting about the essay. He noted her long, brown hair, well-tanned complexion, and tailored clothes. At only a little over 1.5 meters, she was using every millimeter of it to her advantage, and he liked her overall allure.
“I’m Tama and this is Marisa,” the taller one said by way of introduction. She waited expectantly.
“I’m Andrew and the shy one’s Davir,” Andrew replied coolLy.
He ignored Dav’s annoyed glance and continued, “Go ahead and order. We’re going to dig in while ours is hot.”
Dav briefly blessed his food while Marisa and Tama ordered their dinners, then he and Andrew began eating while engaging the two women conversationally.
“I can tell from your yellow uniforms that you’re Starfleet cadets,” Tama began. “What’re your fields?” she asked, curious.
“We’re both engineers,” Davir replied, “or we’re going to be.”
“In fact, that’s why we’re here,” Andrew added. “We’ve got a term paper to do together for a quantum physics class. We decided to discuss it at dinner, and this is my favorite off-world restaurant.”
“Mine, too,” Marisa said, glad to find compatible company.
“What do you do for a living, Marisa?” Andrew asked.
“I’m in security management, or at least that’s what I’m studying,” she answered proudly.
“And you?” Dav asked Tama.
“I presently work in life sciences at a facility that designs climate control satellites,” Tama answered, “but I used to be an environmental science officer aboard the U.S.S. Roosevelt.”
The idle conversation continued apace until, after a little while, the waiter interrupted it to bring the girls’ meals to the table. Once everyone had food, the girls allowed the conversation to become one-sided so the cadets could get down to business.
“So,” Andrew said to Dav, “getting back to our quantum physics paper, we need to decide on a topic.”
Dav nodded. “What do you want to write about?” he asked.
“That’s what I was going to ask you,” Andrew replied.
Dav pulled up his PADD. “Computer,” he said, “suggest quantum physics essay topics.”
The cadets went through several suggestions between them as the girls looked bored. After a few minutes, they had a short list of abstract ideas.
“I like all of them,” Dav said, uncertain.
“Well, we gotta pick something or come up with more ideas,” Andrew replied.
He shrugged and showed Marisa the PADD. “What do you two think?”
She shrugged. “Not my field and not my grade.”
Dav sighed, making up his mind. “I’ve had experience fixing shuttles in my dad’s repair business, and I’m mostly interested in warp drives. I vote for the first one or the second.”
Andrew was satisfied with that. “Dilithium-based quantum effects it is, then,” he said. “Should be interesting.”
“If you say so,” Tama commented. “Like she said, it’s not my field either.”
Dav nodded understandingly. “I’ll start taking notes when I get back to my room,” he said.
Andrew nodded, too. “Sounds good.”
He glanced speculatively at Marisa. I wonder if she’d like to dance? he thought.
He turned to Dav. “Think I’ll stick around for a while.”
Dav easily took the hint. “I’ll catch up with you later, then.”
He smiled at the girls. “Ladies, your company’s been a pleasure, but I’ll retire now. Keep the booth as long as you want.”
“Good night, Davir,” Marisa said.
Dav headed back towards the nearest transporter, still wondering how the paper might turn out. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the subject – he was long used to the counter-intuitive nature of quantum mechanics anyway. Rather, this was the first collaborative assignment he’d been given since arriving at Starfleet Academy a few months ago. He didn’t know Andrew well enough to gauge his expertise at the subject, and he wanted a good grade. It was too early to judge.
Just work with it, he told himself inwardly as he stepped onto a transporter pad.
The confinement beam dissolved his atoms into energy, and he disappeared.
A C! Dav thought, dismayed, fuming, and confused. How dare he give us a C!? Andrew and I thought that was a damn good essay. Did the teacher not agree with our topic or approach? Were our conclusions wrong? Why’d he give us such a lackluster grade? What should we do?
Quantum physics was a requirement in Starfleet’s warp engineer certification program. Dav wanted to get at least a B in it. He didn’t know if Andrew had seen the grade yet and, if so, how he felt about it, but Dav needed justification for the average grade their term paper had received on the subspace effect that warp coils produced when conducting high-energy plasma. He resolved to confront the teacher privately to convince him to re-grade their paper.
It was Thursday. While instructors had the weekend to themselves, Davir knew their quantum physics teacher, a Caitian named Professor M’Grish, liked to stay in his office and catch up on things.
He touched his combadge, and it chirped. "Hunter," he asked, "what are you doing on Saturday?"
Dav walked quietly down the hallway with Andrew towards Professor M’Grish’s office. Only the engineering school’s administrative offices were on the building’s upper levels. Staff offices were in the basement. The building’s sublevels were brightly lit with dark blue carpeting and beige wall paneling. Sliding rectangular doors lined the left wall every few meters. Most were locked until school resumed on Monday, but the professor’s door panel indicated he was waiting inside when they arrived.
M'Grish's Office
The door swished open, and M’Grish looked up as they entered. His narrow face was framed with thick gray and brown fur, and the short whiskers below his wide nose were white. Outside of that, he had widely spaced eyes with cat-like irises and tall, stiffly pointed ears. He was dressed casually. His yellow eyes flashed dimly in the office’s bright lighting as he rose to his thin, 1.8-meter height to greet them.
“Come in, gentlemen,” he said in a mild baritone with a cat-like accent. He gestured to two chairs in front of his desk as the door closed. “I understand you wanted to discuss the grade on your term paper.”
“Yes,” Andrew answered shortly as they sat. “With all due respect, Sir, we think it’s worth more than a C.”
M’Grish folded his hands underneath his hairy chin and smiled. “Do you? How’s that?” he asked.
“Our subject was relevant, and our explanation of how high-energy plasma creates subspace fields when passed through a series of warp coils was spot on,” Andrew said. “There was nothing wrong with our conclusions either.”
Dav nodded agreement.
“So why did you give that paper only a C?” Andrew asked petulantly.
M’Grish sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He didn’t usually need to defend his grading policies, but first-year cadets in particular could be troublesome if they felt that a Starfleet education should be normally easy to get. As a former chief engineer, M’Grish knew the high expectations befitting that role on a starship. As a teacher, he was resolved to help his students reach their potential before graduation, and he felt that cadets Hunter and Benmata needed to understand their shortcomings in order to improve.
“Because there was nothing in it that warranted a higher mark,” he answered.
“While your work was correct enough to pass, Starfleet values innovation and ingenuity in the field. That’s true academically, too. Everything in your paper was something the average Starfleet warp core engineer could get from a textbook, but there was nothing else. You made no attempt to discuss alternatives in generating or manipulating dilithium-based warp effects, nor did you mention any creative innovations from the fleet. Understand: what you did wasn't wrong, but you did so little that your paper was too understated to warrant an A or a B. This is consistent with how I graded the other term papers in your class,” he explained confidently.
The hell it is, Andrew thought angrily, but he realized there was no way to disprove the teacher’s airtight rationale.
Davir was incensed, too, so he tried a different tack.
“You should’ve made those expectations clear when you gave us the assignment, Professor,” he complained. “Telling us now about an approach that might’ve made a difference in our grade is too little too late. I think you owe us a B for that negligence.”
Now it was M’Grish’s turn to be angry. He wasn’t going to coddle a pair of upset cadets who’d put a lackluster effort into a significant part of their grade, but Davir had a minor point in that M’Grish hadn’t told them what he’d expected on a high-quality engineering paper. He’d just hoped the students were up to the task. Disappointed by the situation, he considered an alternative.
“And you could’ve asked me while you were writing it,” he counterpointed evenly.
“Regardless, I’m not going to re-grade it as that would upset the class’s grading curve on that assignment, which is unfair to the other students,” he concluded.
Andrew inhaled to retort and Davir looked hopeless, but M’Grish held up a furry hand to forestall their objections.
“What I will do is make you two an offer,” he added conspiratorially. “I find I’m in need of some help, and you two are perfect for the job. Wanna earn some extra credit?”
The Danube-class U.S.S. NILE was cruising quietly past Neptune on its way out of the Sol System. The aged shuttle had seen better days. She was in fair shape, but it had taken Davir and Hunter most of a week to repair her sufficiently for an unexpected trip. She was barely space worthy but functional. The jury-rigged autopilot was still under Jupiter Station control, so the cadets let the station handle course and speed adjustments per their flight plan. The comm console beeped once in warning of an incoming message. Davir saw it was from Professor M’Grish, text only, so he opened it as Andrew looked over his shoulder.
“STARDATE: 26993.0
“FROM: Professor M’Grish, Starfleet Academy
“TO: Cadets Davir Benmata & Andrew Hunter, U.S.S. NILE
“SUBJECT: Mission profile & revised syllabi
“First, thank you both for fixing my shuttlecraft. That couldn’t have been easy. I know the NILE isn’t much to look at, but she’s all I could get on short notice. I trust she’ll get you to where you’re going.
“Speaking of which, I’m sending you to the Federation’s mining colony on Chulan II. You’re to meet security officer Red Huxon in Chulan’s terminal tomorrow afternoon. He knows what you look like, and he’ll have additional instructions for you when you arrive. Follow them to the letter, and bring me whatever he gives you.
“I’ve taken the liberty of arranging for you to have the week off from attending classes, but there’s no sense in relieving you of the need to study while you’re traveling. Attached please find revised syllabi so that you don’t fall behind your classmates.
“Again, thank you for undertaking this errand for me, and I wish you success. If you do succeed, I promise you’ll each receive the extra credit you desire on your term paper.
“Call me when you’re enroute back to Sol.
“Professor M’Grish”
Huh, Davir wondered, that’s it?
He glanced at Andrew. “What do you make of that?” he asked.
Andrew looked non-plussed. “I wonder what he means by ‘if we succeed?’ Does he expect something to happen?
“And it’s not much to go on, really,” he continued. “Everything depends on this Red Huzon person. He knows to look for us, but how do we know what he looks like? What if he turns out to be a Romulan or something?”
While Davir didn’t have a problem with one-sided recognitions as long as they worked, he was more concerned with the likelihood of succeeding with the mission. The NILE was fickle and rickety, barely spaceworthy for a Danube-class shuttlecraft, and he wasn’t sure she’d make it to Chulam, never mind home again. The work he and Andrew had done throughout the week had been just enough to get NILE recertified for use in deep space, and this mission was her test flight. They’d made it to Jupiter on impulse power alone – they hadn’t used the warp drive yet. Chulan was still several sectors away, two days at warp four.
Maybe M’Grish has private doubts about the NILE's reliability, too? he thought nervously. Then why rely on her in the first place? To see if a couple of engineering students could fix it? What’s the point in that? I think I’ve already earned a better grade just for fixing the door.
The more Davir thought about it, the less he liked using the NILE on a deep space mission fraught with too many unknowns even though he’d consented because he wanted a better grade. As Andrew’s similar situation was the only other reason he’d agreed to do this, Dav decided to assuage his classmate's fear.
“I’m sure M’Grish was just wishing us luck,” he said nonchalantly. “In this tub, we’ll need it, I’m sure.”
Andrew pinched his lips into a thin line and said nothing as he perused the control panel. Everything was green.
“Did you bring any spare parts?” he asked.
“Not much,” Davir answered, nodding towards a crate near the back of the flight cabin, “but I brought my tools. The replicator works well enough, and it’ll make small items, so there’s that.”
“Let’s hope the NILE doesn’t need a gantry anytime soon,” Andrew replied, shrugging.
Davir sent the shuttle’s updated flight plan to Jupiter Station. Then he stood up and stretched to ease his tension. “I’ve been staring at control readouts for over an hour. Your turn to drive,” he said. He went to the cabin in the back to look at his new syllabus.
Andrew obligingly took the helm, set course and speed, and engaged the FTL drive.
The stars became bright streaks as the NILE disappeared into a warp flash.