Homecoming - Christie Golden [3]
Admiral Paris came as close to openmouthed gaping as Tom had ever seen in his life. Tension raced through him. Time to drop the other shoe: “B’Elanna will be so happy to see you, sir.”
He knew Admiral Paris knew who B’Elanna Torres was. A half-Klingon and, like his son, a former Maquis. Silently, Tom pleaded that the fragile new camaraderie they had just established would weather this new storm.
There was a long, taut pause. Then a slow smile spread across the lined face. “It would be a pleasure.”
When Tuvok reported to sickbay per the Doctor’s orders, he felt a rush of surprise, which he quelled at once. Standing there calmly, his hands folded behind his back, was his eldest son, Sek.
“Greetings, Father,” said Sek calmly. “It is good to see you.”
“And you, my son. I assume that the Doctor requested your presence to administer the fal-tor-voh?”
Sek nodded. “Admiral Paris contacted me approximately fourteen hours ago. I studied the disease extensively during my trip to rendezvous with Voyager. I believe I am adequately prepared to meld with you, Father.”
Privately, Tuvok wondered. A few hours spent [8] reading material on such an intricate, complicated procedure hardly rendered his son, intelligent though he was, “adequately prepared.” But he knew the situation was worsening. He looked at the Doctor, who answered Tuvok’s wordless question.
“The genetic link is more important than actual familiarity with the procedure,” the Doctor said. “And frankly, Commander, time is of the essence. I don’t think anything would be served by waiting until Sek has learned more.”
“Very well,” said Tuvok. To Sek, he said, “We’ll return to my quarters.”
“If you don’t mind,” said the Doctor, “I’d rather have you here, so I can monitor your response. Not to insult you, Sek, but there’s a chance that something might go wrong.”
“It is impossible to insult me, Doctor,” Sek replied. “I have no emotional response to critiques or commentary on my skills or lack thereof. Therefore, I can be neither flattered nor insulted.”
“Vulcans,” the Doctor muttered, rolling his eyes. Tuvok hesitated. This was an intimate, private ceremony. And yet, he was forced to admit that the Doctor had logic on his side. Reluctantly, he lay down on the biobed. He glanced over to see B’Elanna watching him; then she quickly looked away and returned her attention to nursing her child.
“I offer my congratulations on the healthy birth of your child,” he said, somewhat stiffly.
“Thank you, Tuvok,” she replied. She uttered no question or commentary on what she was witnessing, [9] for which Tuvok was silently grateful. “Doctor,” she said suddenly, “Tom and his father are coming down to meet me and Miral. I’d like to receive them in my quarters, if that’s all right.”
“As long as you go directly from that bed to your bed, you should be fine. The brief walk won’t hurt you, and actually would be good for you. But if you start feeling weak, let me know at once, and don’t overtire yourself.”
“Believe me, I won’t,” said Torres. She eased out of bed, tapped her combadge, and, cradling the infant, headed out of sickbay while talking. “Tom, can you meet us in our quarters? I’m getting very tired of sickbay. ...”
Tuvok gazed after her, grateful for her discretion. The Doctor brought a chair for Sek, then placed cortical monitors on both Vulcans’ heads. Discreetly, he stepped as far away as possible.
Tuvok looked up at his son. To his consternation, he felt a rush of emotion. He had missed his family so much. Sek saw the reaction and recognized it for what it was: a sign that the disease was progressing.
“Do not worry, Father,” he said gently. “Soon, these distractions will be gone.” Sek closed his eyes, calming himself, then reached and placed his long, slim fingers on his father’s brow. “My mind to your mind ... your thoughts to my thoughts. ...”
Sek’s presence in his mind was like oil poured on churning water to Tuvok. At first, there was only a surface calm; then, gradually, Sek’s thoughts