Pathways - Jeri Taylor [94]
“VeQ ngIm!” she spat, and heard Tom chuckle. She turned and glared at him. “What’s so funny?” she asked sharply.
“You—sounding like a Klingon mercenary. Just seems incongruous, somehow. You’re not like any Klingon I’ve ever known.”
“I hope not.”
He looked at her quizzically. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She drew a breath. She was never comfortable talking about herself, and Tom was about the last person she would want to discuss her most private feelings with. “Let’s get this log up,” she countered, hoping he’d get the hint. They heaved once more and the log took its place on top of the last one. The wall was steadily growing.
“Is your father Klingon? Or your mother?” He wasn’t going to drop it.
“My mother.”
“Is your father Starfleet?”
“If we have to talk, could we talk about something else?”
He looked at her solemnly for a moment. “How about a dip?” he suggested. “Time to cool off again.”
She took a breath and then nodded. It really was too hot to work for any length of time without taking steps to cool themselves. They stripped off their gloves and headed for the stream that ran through the woods.
“You know, we were at the Academy at the same time,” Tom said casually. Her head whipped toward him.
“I didn’t know you.”
“I wasn’t that noticeable. But everyone was aware of you. There aren’t that many Klingons who attend the Academy.”
Irritation nibbled at her. Did it have to be like this? Was she always going to be defined by her lineage? “My father was Starfleet,” she said. “I never laid eyes on him after I was five years old, but his name did get me permission to take the entrance exams.”
“Why didn’t you see him after you were five?”
She sighed. He was certainly in an inquisitive mood today. Maybe she could dispatch all his questions at once. “He left us.”
She felt his blue eyes on her and resisted the impulse to look back at him. “Why?” he asked.
There was that funny little constriction of her heart, the one that seemed to clench her every time that particular question arose. “I don’t know,” she replied honestly. She could hear the stream ahead, through the trees, and was glad this conversation would soon have a natural break.
They had reached the stream, a cold, lush current nearly ten meters across which ran swiftly on its pell-mell course toward a valley below. At this point in its descent, it leveled briefly, forming a large pool which, though still flowing, was less turbulent than its extremities. B’Elanna waded right into it, gasping slightly at the shock of the icy chill on her sun-warmed body, hoping the plunge would divert Tom from this relentless pursuit of her past.
He followed her, half-diving into the cold pool, surfacing quickly and spitting water like a blowing whale. She laughed, and the tenseness of the previous moments was dissipated. He playfully shoved a spray of water toward her and, enjoying the childlike abandon, she splashed him back. They continued in that way, laughing and choking, forgetting the stifling heat of the clearing as they frolicked like bear cubs.
Then she submerged. She was a strong swimmer, and knew she could catch him unawares, circling him and coming up behind him. She reached for his legs and upended him, toppling him into the water in a heap. She surfaced to enjoy the spectacle, careful to stay out of his reach. He came sputtering to the surface and immediately looked around for her. She smiled and ducked under once more. She would lead him on a chase he couldn’t win.
The water was colder beneath the surface and the currents stronger, but neither was problematic. B’Elanna knew where she was headed: a series of boulders that formed a mazelike arrangement in the center, deepest part of the stream. She pulled strongly toward them, unable to see in the rushing