Pathways - Jeri Taylor [76]
“Tell us about you, cousin.” He smiled. “What is life like for a Klingon on Nessik?”
The question caught B’Elanna like a blow to the belly. Never in her life had anyone made such an inquiry, never sought her opinion, her feelings, her reaction to her own life. Her father had disappeared and her mother proceeded to tell her how she ought to live her life, her teachers were not unkind and treated her as they did the other children, and the children of course ignored her. But no one had ever asked that most simple of questions: What is it like for you?
Her eyes stung and she blinked fiercely in order to keep any moisture from escaping, but K’Karn and Lanna both realized what was happening. There was a stunned silence, and B’Elanna knew in the next moment they would move off, embarrassed by this weak cousin, and leave her alone once more. That she could endure; that was familiar.
But to her surprise K’Karn rose and crossed round the table to her, taking her arm and pulling her upward. “Come on, cousin, this isn’t a night for tears. Lanna, let’s show her the caverns.”
And they escorted her outside, one on either side, chattering as though nothing were amiss even though tears were spilling over B’Elanna’s cheeks.
An hour later, they sat in an amazing, glowing cavern, whose walls were studded with tiny mothlike insects that were iridescent and beautiful, casting a light from within. B’Elanna had told them both of her life on Nessik, of her nonexistence, her isolation, her utter and complete rejection.
When she was done, K’Karn’s face had hardened, and he rose to his feet, seething with energy, pacing the floor of the cavern, low growls occasionally punctuating his diatribe. “VeQ ngIm,” he snarled. “Humans don’t have the courage to settle things in an honorable fashion. You should challenge them, B’Elanna, and then they’d know immediately who was superior.”
This was startling advice. Challenge them? To what? B’Elanna felt confusion invade her mind, but K’Karn didn’t seem to notice.
“How is your warrior training coming? What level of fighting skills have you achieved?”
“Warrior . . . training?” B’Elanna had no idea what he was talking about.
“Surely you’ve begun by now, at least the martial skills,” said K’Karn, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“No, I . . .” B’Elanna felt herself stammering. She was suddenly embarrassed to admit to him that she had no desire to train as a Klingon warrior, no intention of doing so. “There isn’t any place to train,” she said quickly. “We’re the only Klingons, after all.”
“Then you must stay here and enter the training program at Ogat as soon as possible. You can live with Aunt B’Kor—she’d love to have a young person in the house again.”
B’Elanna had no idea how to respond to this outlandish suggestion. Live here, on this crowded, noisy, chaotic world with inedible food and rude people who pushed and shoved and yelled their way through life? It was an unbearable thought, and she panicked at the thought that others, the grownups, might get wind of it and think it a wonderful idea.
“I can’t do that—I couldn’t leave my mother.”
“Maybe she’ll move back here. No one ever understood why she left in the first place. Her roots are here, B’Elanna, and so are yours. This is your true home.”
A panic so complete it overwhelmed everything else took firm hold of B’Elanna Torres. She lost sight of the fact that this relative was offering her what she had never had— acceptance, kinship, support—and could only imagine the terrors that awaited her on this planet of wild people. She stood up, pulse racing, mouth dry.
“I’ll talk to my mother about it. Thank you.”
K’Karn and Lanna rose to join her, and the two of them babbled endlessly on the walk back home about the fun they’d have together when B’Elanna moved here, hunting, fighting, and preparing for their warrior rituals. By the time they reached the home of B’Kor and Torg, B’Elanna was sick to her stomach.
The scene in the house didn’t help any. The adults, it seemed, had been drinking ale, and had become even