Pathways - Jeri Taylor [48]
But when it was all done, he felt good. Nothing had seemed beyond his capacity, nothing had come as a surprise. His years of arduous study had stood him in good stead. He transported home that evening, exhausted but elated, and told his anxious parents that he’d done as well as he possibly could have. They erupted in smiles of relief, and his father made them tea while he told them about the rigors of the exam.
Then the waiting began. No one would be notified of the test results until everyone who had applied had had the opportunity to take the examination. It might be weeks before that information came from some of the far-flung outposts of the Federation. Then, after the results were in, the second phase of selection would begin: those who had made it past the written test would be given an oral examination. This was actually the more difficult aspect of the process, and the thought of it made Harry’s stomach lurch. It was one thing to write answers in a padd, and quite another to sit in a room with three Starfleet officers and respond verbally to a barrage of questions. He knew they would be judging not just on the answers he gave, but on his personality, his composure, his articulateness—all of them important factors to consider when grooming Starfleet personnel.
His tutors had been giving him verbal exams for three years in order to prepare him for the process, and he determined to use the weeks of waiting to hone his abilities. He wanted to be as impressive as possible when he appeared before the examining committee. The more he practiced, the better he would be. So he devoted every waking moment to answering test questions orally, focusing on presenting himself in the best possible light. He recorded himself on his console and reviewed his performance, critiquing himself severely. He studied a dictionary and thesaurus, increasing his vocabulary substantially.
In January, he received a communiqué from Starfleet Academy. It came as a transmission on his personal console, and when he saw the notification of the message, his throat constricted and his fingers tingled unpleasantly. Four times he started to key the control that would open the message, but at the last minute withdrew his hand.
Finally, he went to his mother, who was singing as she prepared dinner.
“I have a message from the Academy,” he told her, and heard his voice catch inexplicably.
She whirled, excited. “What did it say?”
Harry hesitated. He felt suddenly foolish, unaccountably childish. This wasn’t how a prospective Starfleet officer should behave; he should have boldly opened the message and shouldered the responsibility of whatever it said.
But his mother knew him too well. She brushed his hair from his eyes, and said, “Why don’t I come with you while you open it?” Relief flooded him and he nodded.
But even with his mother, his pillar of strength, at his side, it was hard to force his fingers to open the message. They were shaking as he keyed the controls, and when the message flashed on screen, he wanted to close his eyes and squint them open gradually. But he made himself look at it.
The first word was “Congratulations.” At that, Harry let out a whoop and his mother gasped. He pulled her to her feet and twirled her around the room, laughing with a manic intensity. Nothing else mattered; he had made the first cut.
Finally he sat down again and they read the entire communiqué, which announced that he had passed the written examination in the highest percentile and should report to Starfleet Academy for the oral exam in February. In under three weeks, he would face the second battery of tests.
But Harry felt strangely relaxed about the oral. The written exam was the difficult one, the one that weeded out most of the applicants. Far fewer failed to make it past the verbal interview, and Harry had been practicing assiduously. This obstacle held no fears for him.
In February he transported from his school to Starfleet Academy, wearing a suit his mother