Pathways - Jeri Taylor [204]
“Good morning, Tuvok,” said his father, and Tuvok felt comforted by the gentleness in his father’s voice. Sunak was not a typical Vulcan, though Tuvok would not come to realize that until he was much older. All he knew at this age was that his father’s presence was calming, and, given the singular beginnings of this day, he was glad his father was not at the temple but here, at the table, kind eyes resting on his son.
Tuvok’s eyes drifted to his mother’s, and a unique sensation began to overtake him. How would it be described? A disquiet, perhaps, a lack of ease. Curiously, it manifested itself in his stomach, in the form of a tingling which he found thoroughly unpleasant. He made a mental note to describe the sensation in his journal, for the purpose of objectifying and then controlling it.
For now, there was no control. The sensation resided in his belly like a school of tiny fish, flickering this way and that.
He hoped his mother wouldn’t continue to speak to him in the formal mode.
“Your initial schooling will be completed within four months,” T’Meni announced without preamble. Tuvok nodded, this pronouncement being obvious and unremarkable. His mother hesitated before saying the next, but when she did, it was with firm conviction. “You will be going off-world at that time.”
The school of fish reeled in his stomach as though they were trapped in a whirlpool. Going off-world? What was she saying? This had never been in his plans, never even been discussed.
His eyes swept toward his father, and he tried to interpret what he saw there: Pity? Compassion? Pain? None of it made sense. He drew a breath and turned toward his mother, whose elegant eyes immediately held him in her sway.
“Could you explain, Mother?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could muster. “I had never contemplated going off-world.”
Something he’d never seen and couldn’t identify flickered in his mother’s eyes, and then was gone. “You have been accepted to Starfleet Academy, on Terra,” she said quietly.
Tuvok pressed his fingers as hard as he could against the solidity of the marble; it held. There was stability in the universe. In his belly, the fish darted this way and that, careening into each other, colliding with his stomach wall. A faint taste of bile rose in his throat.
“I am entering the temple,” he began, doing his best to eradicate the tiny quaver he noticed in his voice. “It’s been planned for years. I will study the Disciplines, and become a priest, I’ve pledged myself to cthia, to the writings of Surak, it’s all I’ve ever wanted . . .” He heard himself babbling, almost out of control, and closed his mouth before he embarrassed himself further.
His mother’s eyes had become hard, like shale. “It is that desire which is unhealthy,” she announced flintily. “It comes dangerously close to passion, which has the power to usurp reason. You must first cleanse the mind with science. Then, if passion recedes, we may reconsider.”
“I have no need of science. The Disciplines will cleanse my mind. I am well on the way to achieving mastery of my volatile elements and believe I should be allowed to continue on my present course.”
“The decision has been made, Tuvok.”
Something hot and unpleasant burned in him. He realized the tiny fish had disappeared from his stomach, only to be replaced by a scalding ember. He drew a breath as though in physical pain, and felt his heart hammering against his ribs. Desperately, he repeated a prayer in his mind, striving for control. Heya . . . heya . . . heya . . . The image of Seleya, the sacred mountain, cooled his mind and his breathing became more regular.
“It is illogical to make this decision without me,” he began, but his mother quickly snatched that line of defense from him.
“Do not invoke logic to support your desire. It is clear you are ruled by emotion in this matter. It must be purged, and the object of your desire denied you. Only in that way will you truly achieve cthia.”
Tuvok