Pathways - Jeri Taylor [102]
Many of those memories, everyone realized, would be of assimilating other species, and not the kind of events that would make for good listening. Tom was sorry he’d asked Seven to speak, and hoped he hadn’t made her feel awkward or uncomfortable.
But the beautiful Borg was staring right at him, not at all hesitant. “I think you should speak instead,” she announced in her forthright way, a statement which caught Tom somewhat off guard. But the rest of the group quickly sided with Seven.
“Good idea,” said B’Elanna wryly. She had peppered Tom with questions about his life ever since their friendship had started developing, and he had managed to answer in the vaguest of terms. That would be his instinct in this instance, too, but after Chakotay, and Harry, and especially B’Elanna, had been so honest, so intimate—anything less from him would seem cowardly.
The thought of releasing some of his buried feelings was suddenly appealing. He was aware, as were they all, that this prisoner-of-war camp might be the occasion in which they weren’t able to cheat death, and if that should prove the case, Tom wanted, finally, to unburden himself. For the first time in his life, he felt confessional.
“Okay,” he said to the group. “I don’t know how this will come out. But here goes.”
CHAPTER
8
“TOM! TOM, WAIT UP!”
The voice rang through the cool morning air in Buchanan Quadrangle and Cadet Tom Paris turned to see his friend Charlie Day trotting toward him. They had grown up together in the Portola Valley, competing genially with each other all through school in both sports and academe and finally both earning coveted acceptances to Starfleet Academy. They’d been on campus for a month now, gradually adjusting to the grueling Academy routine.
Charlie jogged up to him, his round, cheerful face wreathed in a toothy smile, dusty brown hair managing as always to look shaggy and unruly in spite of the regulation haircut, big brown puppy-eyes radiating warmth. Charlie had a face that always made Tom feel good, no matter what his mood might be.
Now, Charlie’s gaze made a quick sweep of the quadrangle, as though to insure their privacy from eavesdroppers. “I can’t say this is for certain,” he said conspiratorially, “but Bob Dehan heard it from Jim Bradley who heard it from the trainer.”
Tom knew what was coming, but as he didn’t know quite what he wanted to do about it, he chose to stay noncommittal. “Coach Patton made the final cut?” he said carefully.
Charlie leaned in closer to him, all but bursting with the good news. “He did—and we’re both in.” He clapped Tom solidly on the shoulder and Tom had to work not to wince; Charlie’s face, round and doughy, was deceiving. He was a superbly conditioned athlete, body lean and muscled, quick and lithe as a Varkan jungle cat.
“I knew you’d make it—nobody can cut around left flank like you—but Dehan swears we’re both on the team.” He stood smiling at Tom, buoyant with anticipation. “You know what this means, don’t you? It means the team has a real shot at being Parrises Squares state champions. Maybe even the nationals. But whatever you do, don’t tell your father until Patton makes it official. Okay?”
It was only now, Tom realized, that Charlie began to notice his lack of enthusiastic reaction. A slight puzzled frown appeared on his brow and he stepped back slightly as though to scrutinize his friend. “Try to control your excitement,” he muttered, “people might notice.”
Tom drew a breath. He’d known this moment was coming and he’d chosen to ignore it until it came. Now he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do. As he looked into the cherubic face of the friend he’d known since he was a baby, he felt miserable. And tried to prolong the moment of decision a bit longer.
“Of course I’m excited,” he began, “but I had a late night. Big test in geomorphology this morning.”
He wondered if Charlie believed him. His voice sounded hollow in his own ears and he