To Storm Heaven - Esther Friesner [71]
He wants more than her professional notice, Picard thought, regarding Hara’el’s slumped shoulders. He turned his right hand palm upward, took the little spray of blossom he had picked, wedged it between his fingers, and held it out so that the sun shone full and bright upon it. “Hara’el, what do you see in my hand?” “What did you say?” The Orakisan was bewildered.
“What do you see in my hand?” Picard repeated patiently.
“I see… that orange flower. I think the bovereem call it va’n’kast, but perhaps I am not remembering it correctly.” “Is that all you see?” “I… yes?” Hara’el no longer sounded sure.
“Then what is this?” Picard pointed to where the feathery blossom cast an equally feathery shadow against the lined skin of his palm.
“But that—that is only the plant’s shadow.” “And what are you and all your diplomatic training when you stand with your father?” Picard asked gently. “If you can’t see this flower’s shadow, how can you expect Ambassador Lelys to see you?” Hara’el frowned. “You insult me, Captain Picard.” “I tell you what I’ve observed. No insult is meant.
Perhaps I shouldn’t speak so frankly, but this place seems to be conducive to washing away all the layers of protocol, leaving nothing but honesty behind. I’ve seen how you act when you’re with your father. I’ve heard you agree with him or keep silent rather than contradict him, and I’ve wondered whether two adults could be in such perfect accord on every possible point under discussion.” “I do not always echo my father!” “Don’t you?” It was not said as a challenge, but as an invitation for the young man to look inward and find an honest answer.
Hara’el opened his mouth to snap back a reply, but none came. A thread of thoughtfulness crossed his brow. He brought his lips together and stood there for a few breaths, considering what Picard had said. At last he spoke. “Is that it? Is that truly why she treats me so?” “I can’t say so for sure, but I wouldn’t be surprised.
Hara’el, I’m not telling you to attract her attention by deliberately contradicting Legate Valdor. That would be as foolish and as childish as always agreeing with him. I’m asking you to remember your own principles—yours, not your father’s—to find your own standards, to know your own boundaries and then to take a stand only when they need to be defended. No, on second thought I’m not asking this of you, I’m only suggesting it.” Hara’el nodded slowly. “As you… suggest, Captain Picard, I will do. Do you know that when I was at school I was a noteworthy debater? Do not think me vain, but I not only won awards, often I brought my opponents around to share my point of view. Then I entered the diplomatic service and was placed under my father and everything changed. I was no longer the champion of my class; I was only a little boy again, with Father always there to point out the countless mistakes I made on every case assigned me. It never mattered whether the outcome of our mission was favorablemhe never mentioned thataonly the errors I had made that might have cost us success.” “Sometimes it’s difficult for a parent to see his child grow up,” Picard said. “It’s even more difficult when that child has chosen the parent’s career for his own and might someday outshine him. It makes him afraid, and frightened people strike out at what frightens them even if it’s something that they love.” “Do you think that is why my father treats me so?” Hara’el asked earnestly. “Because he is afraid of me?” He sounded as if he could never believe such a thing.
“Whatever his actions, whatever his reasons, he can’t treat you as less than you are unless you submit to it. If you speaka” “Captain! Captain!” Picard and Hara’el turned their heads sharply at the summons and saw one of the bovereem hastening toward them on the path. He was a portly man, above middle age, and he puffed audibly as he neared them, a piece of paper clutched in his fist. When he reached them he was panting too hard to speak, and so he handed over the paper without explanation.
Picard read the message, his face rapidly