Pathways - Jeri Taylor [103]
“You aren’t having second thoughts, are you?” queried Charlie. “We’ve been waiting for this chance ever since we started playing.”
Tom was feeling worse and worse. Charlie was right— they’d trained for years to make the team at California’s Academy Institute, Starfleet’s preparatory school, and led it to divisional championships their last two years. How could he tell Charlie he wasn’t sure he wanted to be on the team now that they were at the Academy?
“Charlie,” he equivocated, “let’s not start celebrating until we know for sure, okay? No point in setting ourselves up for a letdown.” He smiled with what he hoped was reassurance, and kept talking before Charlie had a chance to reply. “I’ll see you tonight. Got to hit the library before that exam.” And he moved away quickly, leaving Charlie standing, slightly perplexed, in the center of the quadrangle.
The next day, he received a summons to his father’s office.
Commander Klenman, the clipped British woman who had been his father’s aide for years, smiled warmly at him when he entered. She was a diminutive woman with iron-gray hair and a strong jaw. Her dark eyes were sparkling with some ill-kept secret, and Tom wondered briefly how, if she were ever captured by an enemy, she could fail to telegraph everything she knew.
“He’s just finishing a transmission with the Vulcan ambassador,” Commander Klenman said crisply. Or maybe it wasn’t so much that she made the statement crisply as her aristocratic accent gave that impression. Tom had always liked Klenman, who had virtually seen him grow up, often attending school functions in his father’s stead when the admiral was otherwise occupied.
Tom took a seat and the commander smiled at him. “How’s the first month been?” she asked.
“A little rough. I’d be a liar if I said otherwise,” Tom answered. “I’m learning to get by on less sleep than I thought was possible.”
“Every first-termer says that. But things usually begin to settle down after a few months. As you get into the routine.”
“Do you know what my father wants with me?” he probed. A summons from Admiral Owen Paris was something to make even seasoned veterans quail, and his son frankly felt no different.
Klenman’s smile broadened. “No idea,” she lied. And at that point the door to his father’s office opened and Admiral Paris appeared, smiling just like his aide. “Good morning, Cadet,” he intoned with false formality, “come in, please.”
Tom followed him into the office, which was, as always, festooned with pictures of him and his sisters. Seeing that array always made Tom feel vaguely uncomfortable, and he wondered what others thought when they scanned the desk full of family portraits. That Owen Paris was a proud father, a devoted family man?
Now his father was shaking his hand, his eyes squinting in a smile, cheeks quivering slightly as he pumped Tom’s arm. “I wanted to be the first to congratulate you,” he said. “I made Patton withhold the announcement until I had a chance to talk to you.”
Even Tom couldn’t deny there was unabashed pride in his father’s voice. He’d heard that tone all his life, as long as he could remember, and didn’t doubt that his father had expressed pride in the way Tom rolled over in his crib.
“I couldn’t be happier about this, Tom. You and Charlie Day are two of only six first-termers to be named to the Parrises Squares team.”
Okay, thought Tom, this is it. Take it slow, no need to rush. Take a breath. Smile.
“Thank you, sir,” he heard himself saying, his voice echoing in his ears as though he were listening to someone else entirely. “But . . .”
His voice caught in his throat, and he hated himself for revealing his nervousness. He coughed, hoping that might somehow explain the crack in his voice. “Actually, I’m not sure I’ll be accepting a place on the team.”
His father stared at him. A long moment passed, and then the admiral said, merely, “I see.”
“It’s a huge commitment, for one thing. Everybody knows Coach Patton makes you eat, sleep, and breathe the sport.