Sinak looks at me from the viewer with an air of dispassionate disapproval. "Please be brief," I say. "I have duties to attend to."
"Indeed." My father's long, austere face is almost devoid of expression, but I know him well enough to gauge the emotions he is suppressing. "I wish to know what plans you have for these duties to end."
I sit forward a little in the command chair. From the side of the Orb Weaver's bridge, my exec, Commander Dezin, shoots me a brief glance, her black Betazoid eyes showing concern. "Specify," I say.
"Now that an armistice has been declared," Sinak says, "the logic of your decision to join Starfleet no longer holds. I therefore expect that you will be returning to Vulcan to take up a civilian career. It would be useful to know in advance what your plans are, so that accommodations may be made."
He is revisiting this argument. If he were not a Vulcan, and my father, I would suspect him of irrationality on this subject. "You are in error," I say flatly.
"There is no longer war with the Klingons. Your participation in the conflict must, logically, come to an end."
"I did not join Starfleet because of the war with the Klingons," I say. "I anticipated, true, that some such conflict would eventuate, but that was not my principal concern. In any event, the armistice has only been concluded because a new and graver threat has arisen. The need for competent personnel in Starfleet has not diminished. It is my intention to continue to supply that need."
"I see." If he were given to displays of emotion, he would be showing disappointment. "It is held by many of our acquaintances that your behaviour, in serving as a Starfleet officer, is inappropriate, in that it has brought you into conflict with your own people."
Oh, now, this is worse than I had thought. It was an error to receive this call on the bridge: I should have taken it in a private setting. "If you refer to the victims of the katra of Bresar who constituted the self-described Hegemony, then I consider that conflict to have been a regrettable necessity."
"It is the opinion of many of my acquaintances that there was much of value in the teachings of Bresar," says my father. "The extent of the threat posed by the Hegemony is also, I believe, open to question."
I will not show emotion before my father. I will not. "Having participated in the defence of Andoria, I can speak from direct personal knowledge when I say that the threat was not exaggerated. Your acquaintances do not possess such direct personal knowledge. As to the teachings of Bresar, they are presumably of historical and philosophical interest, but it is demonstrably an error to attempt to put his social and political theories into practice."
"I must take account of your personal involvement."
"That is logical."
"However, since you remain set on your current career, we have nothing more to discuss at present. You may now resume your duties." And the screen goes blank.
Twosani Dezin comes over to stand by the command chair. In the soft golden light of the Tholian-designed bridge, her long dark hair frames her pale face, and turns her eyes into two pools of blackness. "That didn't sound good, sir," she murmurs.
A Tholian commander stands in the centre of the bridge, walled off away from their subordinates by a ring of consoles. We have rigged chairs for the bridge crew, but have otherwise preserved the arrangement. It is possible to talk privately, in low tones.... My father did not moderate his voice. "It is not important," I say.
"Sir." Commander Dezin is my executive officer; also, she wishes to be my friend. "I know your people don't show emotion - I also know that doesn't mean you don't feel it. You're not a simple blank, like Pascale -" she shoots a glance in the direction of the impassive green-haired android at the tactical console "- I could sense the emotional radiation coming off you in waves. Sir -"
"Family matters always inspire emotional reactions. My father disapproves of my choice of career. He takes every opportunity to make this plain. I will be sure to take future communications from him in private."
"I'm not sure that will help you, sir."
"It will. It will remove a possible cause for concern - I need not worry about showing emotion before my crew."
"Only before your father." She senses, I think, what a humiliation that would be. "Sir, if he's really a supporter of the Hegemony of Bresar -"
"I do not think he is. I suspect that was a pose, adopted to cause additional weakening of my resolve. It will not succeed."
"That, I don't doubt. You've always been completely single-minded about your career.... Although, sir, why did you join Starfleet? You've never said -" She recollects herself. "If you... don't mind my asking, sir."
"I do not mind. I joined Starfleet because its function is necessary. It requires personnel, and there was no logical reason why I should not supply that need."
She looks a little taken aback. "Is that... all there was?"
"It was a logical decision."
"I... see." She gives a little smile. "I suppose I can't fault your logic, sir."
"Thank you. Regrettably, my father can." She still looks perplexed. "Do you believe there should have been stronger motivation? Why, for example, did you join Starfleet?"
"Me? I -" She takes a deep breath. "I was only a baby during the Dominion occupation of Betazed, but... I grew up with loss. Too many faces in pictures, faces of family that I'd never know - too many ruined buildings on the streets of my childhood. I knew I had to do something... so I joined Starfleet. To try and make sure it never happened again."
"I see." I consider. "In essence, you saw a need, and chose to fill it, just as I did. You were made aware of the need by an emotional process, whereas I reached that same decision by a logical one. The result is the same, merely prompted by different cultural imperatives."
She looks at me strangely. "I never thought of it like that, sir."
"I think my father would prefer it if my decision had been prompted by emotion. He would find it easier to challenge that decision, then. However, it was not. It was a simple rational process. Apparently, that is difficult for some people to accept. They believe that, since the decision was simple, it must also have been frivolous. It was not."
"No, sir. I don't think anyone who knows you would ever think you were frivolous."
"Thank you."
"Still," she adds, "it's not going to make your current job any easier, is it? You're going to be facing people with lots of different motivations -"
"I am not overly concerned. The coming task is not a complex one. That reminds me." I raise my voice, addressing the crop-haired human at the helm. "Mr. Karas. How long now to our destination?"
"We're in Sol System traffic control grid now," Nelson Karas reports. "Estimate one more hour to Spacedock, depending on traffic density."
"Thank you. An hour," I say, and stand up, "will give me ample time to make any final preparations."
Twosani Dezin shakes her head. "I think most people would rather face the Borg than what you're up against."
---
Starfleet Academy is much as I remember it: cool, humid, filled with a clear, clean, white light. I walk down from the air tram terminus, along the corridors, into the main hall, and I see one of the people I am looking for, almost at once.
It is not the blue skin and the antennae that make her stand out; Andorians are common enough here, even though that ice-adapted species must find the environment here trying. But Tylha Shohl is tall, even by the standards of an Andorian shen, and the U-shaped scar on her right cheekbone is distinctive - and, of course, she is not in cadet uniform. She has chosen, as I have, semi-formal black uniform, and the operations pin at her right shoulder gleams as brightly as the science division emblem on mine.
Last time I saw her, her uniform was covered in grime and dust, and she was liberally coated in a foul-smelling tellurium compound. She is much improved, today.
She is standing by the side of the bar, holding a glass of a milky fluid which I believe is the Andorian Dh'syara tunnel wine. She spots me as I approach, and smiles. The smile is a little lopsided, the right side of her face being stiffer and less mobile than the left.
"T'Pia. Good to see you."
"Vice Admiral Shohl," I reply. "Good day."
"I've confirmed all the arrangements," she says. "We have lecture hall two, and - hmm, the time's getting on, isn't it? I suppose we'd better compare notes." She picks a PADD off the bar with her free hand. She looks very composed and unconcerned.
"Everything is well?" I ask, as we make our way to a free table.
"Oh, yes. Thanks. We've all put Tiaza Zephora behind us, at least."
"Indeed. I understand that ecological reconstruction arrangements are under way - a joint Imperial-Federation effort; possibly the first such project since the armistice."
Tylha nods. "I hope we can help those people. I pulled all the strings I could with the disaster relief agencies, but.... Well, I guess it's out of our hands now. What about you?"
"All is going well. Repairs to the USS Kyllikki are nearly completed, but I am considering remaining aboard the Tapiola, nonetheless."
"She's a Tholian Orb Weaver, isn't she? Tholian ships do have some interesting resources." Tylha sips her tunnel wine.
"Indeed. I understand that some of the modifications to the internal systems are based on lessons learned from your King Estmere." Tylha operates from a converted Tholian Recluse carrier.
"I'm glad we can be of some use," she remarks.
I nod. "Besides the engineering details, I suppose I also owe you the name of the ship."
She frowns. "How's that?"
"The naming convention you adopted for your ships. With so many ships under construction, the authorities seized upon any reasonable scheme for naming them."
"I name my ships after compositions by a human musician. Gustav Holst."
"Starfleet's bureaucracy adopted a similar methodology for the vessels under my command. They chose a different musician, though. One Jean Sibelius."
"Ah," says Tylha. "I thought that name was vaguely familiar. He was a contemporary of Holst - heavily influenced by the mythology of his homeland. Tapiola... the land of the forest god."
"As Kyllikki is a spirit of the water - and another composition by Sibelius." I raise one eyebrow at her. "I must confess that I would be interested to learn how an Andorian comes to be so conversant with antique human musicians."
Tylha gives another lopsided smile. "It started, believe it or not, with my linguistics classes at the Academy. I found a reference to Holst, and how he learned an old Earth ancestor language - Sanskrit - just so that he could set its poetry properly to music. You have to respect that sort of dedication."
"Indeed," I say.
"So I started learning more about Holst, and I found that his music... spoke to me, somehow. He's best known for a suite of pieces about the other planets of Sol system. It's all based on their mythology in Earth tradition. The first one, 'Mars, the Bringer of War' illustrates his techniques wonderfully. You know that human martial music is often based on a simple four-beat rhythm?" She drums on the tabletop with her fingers. Her face is more animated; clearly, she is a genuine enthusiast for her subject. "Well, that would have been an obvious choice for a bringer of war, but Holst chose another approach, a five-four beat which still suggests the martial, while being, somehow, more... insistent, more sinister...." Her fingers drum, now, in a more intricate pattern, shifting and sinuous.
"Intriguing," I say.
"Yes. Initially, it seems like a wrong choice, but in fact it's very right. Anyway." She stops drumming. "I listened to a lot of Holst, live performances when I got the chance. It broadened my mind... I think, at the time, my mind needed broadening. I'd never really been exposed to other cultures before."
"This is often the case, at the Academy."
"True.... Anyway, when I took command of the USS Hammersmith during the Vega incursion - well, Holst wrote a 'Hammersmith Suite' among his other pieces. So that started what's become a tradition."
"The USS Hammersmith?" I repeat.
"Yes." Tylha's face turns grim. "Later, attached to your survey group... and destroyed by D'Kalius's isolytic weapon." One of the last casualties of the desperate defence of Andoria against the Hegemony. "She was a good ship... she didn't deserve to go out like that."
A silence falls over the table now. "Returning to the present," I say, deliberately breaking it, "perhaps we should discuss how we intend to proceed." I take a PADD from my tunic and place it next to Tylha's on the table. "I have prepared my presentation, of course, but we should make sure it dovetails with yours, and with the third... when our colleague arrives."
Tylha nods. "I've stuck to, well, pretty much the traditional format," she says. "These presentations are a tradition, really, aren't they? They don't really tell the freshman class anything they don't already know about the three main divisions of Starfleet."
"Still, it is wise to ensure that all basic information is available. As I recall from my own experience, the talks were useful in codifying and presenting this introductory matter. And it is fitting that serving senior officers should present it, rather than Academy staff who may be seen as detached theoreticians."
Tylha grunts. "I suppose I do remember the one I sat through," she says. "Admiral Sterk from Science division, Odil th'Zeph for Tactical, and Wilton T'Shombe for Operations. Th'Zeph did make Tactical sound pretty appealing, actually, but I already knew I was good with my hands - practical engineering, that sort of thing."
"I knew that I had scientific aptitude." And that a career in Science division would be the only one even minimally acceptable to my father... but there is no need to mention this to Tylha Shohl. I compare the texts on the two PADDs, noting down the talk Tylha intends to give. "I am relieved that you are not exhibiting anxiety over this presentation," I tell her.
"Neither are you."
"I see no reason. My executive officer, though, seems to expect it. She is Betazoid, and given to emotion."
"Well," says Tylha, "some people do find standing up in front of an audience... difficult. I suppose there are a lot of ways to look at it. Some people see it as an ordeal, some an honour, some a chore, some an opportunity -"
"I see it as a task which must be performed. I am pleased that you share this practical approach."
"Well." Tylha's lopsided smile is very broad. "I would, normally, be suffering from a bit of performance anxiety, myself... but I know there's no need. You see, no one is even going to notice our bits. It's the section on Tactical division that's going to be... memorable."
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