Pathways - Jeri Taylor [120]
They achieved orbit four hours later, and spent two more studying the planet, its weather conditions, and topography. They determined a location for their first day’s outing, and then settled in for a night’s sleep until daylight came to the mountain they’d chosen.
But sleep was hard for Tom to come by, his mind smoldering like a volcano that was nearing eruption. Again and again he told himself there was no point in dwelling on the disappointment, that he should let it go and move ahead. But it was as though a tiny black hole had lodged in his mind, dense and powerful, pulling every stray thought into its event horizon.
It was his father’s voice that rumbled through his mind, strident, determined. It was a voice that had the power to flay him, strip him of every shred of dignity and leave him emotionally naked and shivering.
How had it come to this? He was twenty-two years old, ready to graduate from Starfleet Academy, an outstanding student and pilot, and yet his father had this capacity to make him feel helpless and unworthy. How could he continue to let it happen?
Even as he vowed not to grant the admiral this crippling power, his mind churned with fury and resentment, and he didn’t fall asleep until it was nearly time to get up.
The morning on Epsilon Eridani IV dawned crisp and golden. The foursome transported down to a mountain that was part of a large transverse range. Pure powder snow lay silken on the undulating slopes, inviting them to plunge into their untrammeled depths.
They stood for several moments, drawing in the cold, sweet air, reveling in the majestic sight of the endless mountain range that lay before them. “This is incredible,” breathed Odile, her voice tinged with awe. “And just think—no one has ever skied this snow before.”
Tom couldn’t fully appreciate the grandeur of the moment. He was edgy from lack of sleep, and his eyes felt welded to millions of tiny grains of sand. His throat ached vaguely and he realized with irritation that he might be catching a cold and hadn’t brought any antivirals along. He’d made coffee before they left the shuttle, which rested securely in synchronous orbit some thirty thousand kilometers above the planet, but it had had an acrid, sour taste and he didn’t finish it. He hadn’t been hungry when the others had breakfast, but now his stomach was rumbling to protest its emptiness.
All in all, not a great way to start the day they’d looked forward to for so long. Yesterday he had longed to throw himself full speed down the mountain, but today it hardly seemed to matter. Nothing was going to make him lose this black mood.
Charlie was scanning the slopes with a tricorder, a safety precaution they always took, scanning the snow pack for instabilities that might indicate the threat of avalanche. “Looks good,” he announced finally, and snapped it shut.
“Let me check it out,” Tom said, and he realized his voice was harsh. Charlie’s eyes betrayed the slightest surprise at his friend’s surly tone, but he handed over the tricorder. Tom scanned swiftly, verifying what Charlie had said: he could detect no instabilities. Stuffing the tricorder in his pack, he nodded his approval. The four made final checks of their skis, goggles, and poles. When they were ready, they turned to Bruno, who would lead the first descent, a task they rotated among themselves.
Bruno drove forward with a whoop that echoed endlessly through the mountains, skis plunging into the deep powder, snow spray kicking up around his body. Odile followed, then Charlie, and finally Tom.
Within minutes his mood began to lighten. The raptures of the day were irresistible—cobalt sky, virgin snow, the glorious sensation of plunging headlong down the slopes, powder spraying a fine exhaust, the exquisite silence of the mountains—and for the first time in days his mind began to quiet and its dark bile subside.