"What’s all the noise about over there?" Somehow the Randalls had found themselves together again and it was Ian who tended the question. Susan quickly turned around to see.
"Ah!" She pursed her lips and chuckled. "Klingon justice; the Counsellor’s just sorting out some erring juniors.
"So, are you enjoying yourself?"
"I am." He sounded surprised. "Have you seen Elek around anywhere? I’ve been wanting to talk to her about allocating some of her personnel to sciences until we’re up and fully running."
"At a party?" Exasperated, she fondly shook her head at him. "You’re supposed to relax here!"
"If I can get this done tonight, that’s one less problem I have to face tomorrow, so it’s relaxing. Anyway, have you seen her?"
"I think I saw her leave a little while ago."
"Oh well, tomorrow it is, then. I might call it a night myself. Do you want me to get the kids on the way, or are you coming soon?"
"Hmmm… I’ll get them and I’ll be with you shortly - I have to see off the brass, and I wanted to speak to Rell, Daniels and K’Teira before I go, but that shouldn’t take too long. Would you believe that she’s been working all evening?"
"Yes, I would. Maybe you should be telling her off!" Before she could reply to that, he kissed her softly on the cheek and said, "I’ll see you soon."
Elek’s quarters were in darkness, just as she preferred when trying to meditate. Though her training had enabled her to attain her inner balance in almost any situation, it didn’t mean she couldn’t have a preference. The absence of outside stimuli usually made it a little easier to quench the fire of her basic, hidden nature, but today that nature was winning.
The secret that ruled and defined her life was hard to bear. At times it ate away at her, while at others, it was simpler to immerse herself in the lies until she could almost believe in them. Yet the lies led her to her carefully instilled logic, and that logic dictated that lies were all they were.
Pure logic left her empty, hungering for something more she would never find. Perhaps under the burning Vulcan sun the coldly precise forms of thinking brought surcease from the heat, but Elek had been raised on a starship far from the Steps of Mount Seleya amongst the irrepressibly emotional humans, and despite her parents’ best efforts, logic wasn’t enough. Unfortunately, it was the only way she knew of keeping her darker passions under control, so she had no real choice about it, no matter the incongruities it inspired.
This was a new ship with a new Captain and crew. Who would be the first to find out? Who would cast the first stone? She knew she was prone to emotional outbursts - she had come so close to yelling at Daniels today she still felt muscles tremble with repressed rage at the mere thought. Sometimes her logic was swayed by her imperfect nature, and stray feelings still clouded her judgment.
Who would be the first to see these flaws?
Her breathing was slow, deep and regular, just as it should be; yet relief did not come. The inner war raged on unabated.
The Captain knew - of that Elek was certain. It was logical. The CMO would also know, for there were too many differences in her bio-chemistry to let that pass by. But the Counsellor? The Klingons hate… us. she thought.
Logically, K’Teira being a Klingon meant that she should also react in that way, so would it be wise for such an unknown quantity to be privy to such important information? Why, she could quietly influence these emotional beings around her without even being conscious of it, and then that would negate all that the restricted access was to have done.
Yet if she wasn’t included, her observances could again prove the end of Elek’s command career. Even if she didn’t know Elek was genetically Romulan, the differences between her behaviour and that of a typical Vulcan would lead to questions at the very least.
Logic dictated the Fleet would alert K’Teira to Elek’s status, seeing as she was the one entrusted with evaluating mental performance, but emotion had little to do with logic, and Elek had long ago found that logic couldn’t account for every possibility where creatures were concerned.
When would the slurs begin? The ignoring of directives, the disregarding of her words? These things happened amongst the emotional races towards individuals of an enemy race. Logically, it would also happen to her…
Damn this logic!
Elek’s abrupt departure after K’Teira’s little joke had left Grieg with all of his intended targets met and greeted. He would have liked to have extended his conversation with the Counsellor, but she was busy, and he had to console himself that at least he had had the opportunity to meet her when he first arrived.
So he left with the intention of following the Counsellor’s advice.
Those from the twentieth century, and even the twenty-first century would not recognize the contemporary surface of the Earth’s natural satellite. Back then, it had been a lifeless ball of rock and thin grey powder, completely different to the surroundings which Grieg found himself in now. Over the years that powder had been treated until it became fertile enough to support plant life. The gravity which had forced Neil Armstrong, "Buzz" Aldrin and the rest to bounce across the moon’s surface instead of walk had been enhanced with gravity coils beneath the surface, save in those farms, factories, museums, children’s playgrounds and in the Starfleet bases that required the lower gravity; and of course the ground was now covered with buildings as far as the eye could see.
The problem of keeping air on the moon’s surface had originally been solved by building huge silvery domes across the initial suburbs of Copernicus City, but once terraforming techniques had improved enough to provide the Moon with its own air, it had been decided that at least one of the domes would remain as a monument to history. This silvery hemisphere curved high over James as he walked through the pristine white and chrome streets of his home town, making the bright blue ball of Earth looming above seem hazy, ethereal, even surreal, reminding him of the visions on some of the ‘Speculative Fiction’ novel facsimiles he’d seen. It was quite humbling to think that artists and writers from so long ago could have accurately captured a moment they shouldn’t have been able to conceive of. The imagination of those ancient people was astounding, as well as a little frightening.
It was heading towards evening here in Copernicus, not that the light level ever dimmed from its bright luminescence to indicate it. Yet by some unseen sign the people of the city were deserting the streets for their homes, leaving mostly children unwilling to give up the joys of play too soon, tourists on their various ways to see more sights or to search a good restaurant, and those travelers like James - sure of where they were going, but still with some distance to go.
It had been some time since he’d been here; perhaps three years since the Portsmouth had last seen Earthside, and he was stunned as he moved into the more familiar territory of the streets of his youth. He’d decided to walk from the transport station instead of shuttling in from the transport station in order to literally walk down memory lane, but now he looked around himself with a quiet awe. The more things change, the more they stay the same! he thought, wondering at the differences even three years had made. Those tiny little saplings so many of the ‘Settlers’ (as those who lived in Copernicus still referred to themselves) had planted in response to the Council’s requests had now grown into huge trees heavy with scented blossoms. Other plants grew as well - roses and chrysanthemums, fuchsias and even well tended orchids grew well behind their forcefields. Why, even old Mister Davidson had managed to get ivy to anchor itself to the plasteel fronting his home, and everyone knew how bad he normally was at growing things. He’d probably had a lot of help!
However, despite all of this new, fresh green, some things had remained the same. Some of the faces had changed, and those he recognized were obviously older, but there was still a bunch of kids laughing in a front yard, chasing one another up and down the street and generally avoiding their parents. It had been the same every time James had come home - why, once he and his brothers had been the main core of them!
Closer to his goal, James spied ‘The Gossip Mongers’, as his brother Christopher had tagged them. Some of the older faces were missing now, but he noticed that younger ones had taken their place as they spread their news and tales from all over the city. Quickly he put his head down, feeling a tingling rush of amusement at the half-forgotten mannerism he’d affected as he hurried past them, glad he’d thought to change out of his uniform before going home. He could just imagine the malicious delight with which those busy-bodies would spread that Halin’s boy, the new First Officer of the USS Fairburn, had had to walk from the transport station. If he was lucky, this way they mightn’t realize it was him until he got in the front gate, and perhaps even then they mightn’t put two and two together. He rather hoped they wouldn’t notice him at all.
Then, finally, came his parents’ house, the home of his childhood. Like everything else around here, it had changed yet remained the same; the infusion of green had washed over this front yard as well, but in a twist that was so uniquely indicative of his mother’s style, these plants weren’t simple decoration. Although beautifully set out and tended, these plants were primarily for eating, with a myriad of herbs dominating.
Chuckling to himself, James stepped down the stone path and wondered what the neighbors, particularly Drokusai next door had had to say about it!
The door was still programmed to open at his approach, and as he stepped into the dimmer hallway beyond, the old familiar smell took a hold of him once more. A mixture of the ubiquitous herbs, old artifacts and fresh plants, it told him more than anything else that he was back in Halin Grieg’s realm. Knowing that at this time of day his mother would be found at its source, the kitchen she’d fought so hard to have installed, he headed that way, happily taking the time to appreciate the old Masai artifacts he’d once ignored as an average part of his everyday existence.
The little woman at the table rose as he stepped in, and she regarded him without surprise, or any obvious reaction at all.
"Hi, Mum." James said softly as she clasped her hands together.
"I thought it might be you." she told him in her gentle contralto, cocking her head to one side as she slowly approached. "Let me look at you."
One unpracticed in reading Halin’s reactions would not see the deep love softening her rich brown eyes and touching her beautiful, ageless face. In fact, one of her own sons, Thomas, had never seen it and had left years ago in frustrated disgust, but James always had. It was an almost palpable wave that came from her, warming him with every little movement she made, buoying him with its unspoken pride. He knew, and had always known, that there was more love in his mother’s quiet studyings and remonstrances than in a thousand barren kisses and spontaneous hugs. It was simply her way.
"You don’t eat enough." she finally concluded, softly touching his face, though the tiny woman had to stand on tiptoe to do it. "Here - you sit here and I’ll get you something."
"What if I’d already eaten tonight?" He had to make a token resistance, for his own ego, if nothing else!
"Ah." Guiding him down on to the chair she’d vacated, she teased, "But you haven’t, have you? Just a mug of that rhangosh you’re always drinking, yes?"
"Yes." He didn’t add that he’d known he was going to be fed again while he visited here no matter how much he said he’s eaten at the reception, so he’d seen no point in eating while he was there. "Have you been spying on me again?"
"It’s Mother’s Magic." she told him as she pottered around her kitchen. "I know you, so when I heard the Portsmouth was in orbit, I knew I would see you today; just as I knew you wouldn’t have eaten before you came. All I had to do was give you enough time to see your new Fairburn."
He shook his head affectionately. She might know him well, but didn’t she see he knew her equally as well?
A companionable silence fell between them as she pottered around, taking a bowl from a rack to fill it at the steaming cauldron she had set up in a corner. They both knew the value of silence, and each took pleasure from the fact that each was simply there. Neither felt the need to fill in every quiet moment with meaningless conversation, for both knew that conversation could only come in its own time; it couldn’t be forced.
James took the opportunity to really look at his mother. He knew that first impressions were often misleading; he knew that is perceptions were bound to be coloured by the happiness he felt at returning home.
She had changed in these last few years - the tiny plaits in her hair had a little more grey through them, and he could see that under her homespun robe her body was more stooped. Obviously she hadn’t been taking her doctor’s advice to keep away from the dig back on Earth. I should talk to Dad about it; she’d never listen to me. But will she listen to him? he thought fondly, deciding that would be his next course of action, and so would follow it out as soon as he could. And if that failed, he could always alert the others in her crew to her status - he still had a few allies amongst the team that could stand up to her. His mother was strong willed and determined, and it was going to be hard for them to make her give up any of her independence, even - or especially - if it was for her own good, but perhaps a concerted effort of her peers, husband and other contemporaries might make her see reason.
It pained him to note her slowed walk as she brought the bowl of hot stew to the table to set it before him. She’d once been so vital, but old age even caught up with those who sought to defy it.
"Now you will eat!" she instructed, sitting herself down on a chair opposite, ready to watch him. That was another of her customs, waiting for the man of the house to finish his meal before starting her own. Whether it was her own habit or one of her Masai heritage James had never ascertained, but it was quite disconcerting as well as ego-boosting. "It’s probably because she wants to see if we’ll drop dead first!" Christopher used to joke, and it was true that her cooking wasn’t even the equivalent of a mediocre replicator! Yet James ate of it, for not only would she not let him get away without eating, he knew she cooked for fun, and it was polite to eat of it.
"Where’s Dad? I thought he would have been here today?" James asked, chewing his way through a not so tender morsel of meat.
"He’s down at the dig. He’s so proud of himself now that I’ve let him take over down there, but he was getting bored all the time when he wasn’t down there, and I had to do something to keep him out from under my feet up here!" She chortled, then continued in a warning tone, "Don’t you get in the way of your wife when you retire from Starfleet, my boy, or it won’t just be her boxing your ears! I’ll have something to say about it too, you know!"
First I have to get married! he thought with a laugh. "I suppose Dad’s been a lot of help down there with his sciences training and experience?" he continued.
"Well, yes." she admitted. "Starfleet covered all of the areas in Science evenly, and your father is a skilled scientist, but an archaeologist?" A soft smile. "He still needs a lot of work, but he is learning, and he does let me get my research done without having to worry about administrating the site as well."
"He’ll be glad to know that." he replied seriously. The two silently regarded each other for a moment, each acknowledging the other’s wry jest. "And that reminds me, I have something here for you…"
Oops.
Her inner humour suddenly became anger as the woman’s eyes began to burn.
"You don’t give me gifts, Jomo! Especially in my own home!" she warned, her beautiful face going cold. "It’s not your place to. How many…?"
"It’s not a gift, Mum!" he calmly explained, raising his voice only so that she could hear him over her own tirade. "It’s just those reports you wanted on the digs at L’Scod VII." He pulled out a chip he’d half been reaching for when she’d started in on him and now held it out, questioningly looking at her. "Aslen transferred them for me yesterday so I brought them with me. But if you want them sent with my next letter," He moved as though resignedly putting the chip away again. "then that’s what I’ll do."
Deflated somewhat, she sat back in her seat with a muffled ‘plop’, but she looked at her son proudly, almost defiantly. Then she held out a hand, which he wordlessly put the chip into.
A pause, then,
"You’re a good boy, Jomo. Thank-you. Have you finished your dinner?"
"Yes. It was nice." He tried not to sound surprised.
"No." she disagreed. "It was edible, though, and that’s the main thing. You should eat some more."
"Uh - no, not right now, thanks." He was full but she had her own ideas on the stomach capacities of her children, and so wouldn’t believe him. He was only her baby, after all. "Perhaps I’ll take some back with me."
Her lips quirked.
"Perhaps. Now, tell me of the great Starship you’ve been assigned to." she said, getting back to her feet to fetch the bowl out from under his nose. He gripped it tightly.
"Only if I can wash my bowl for you." he offered lightly.
"You? Wash? Disintegrate, you mean, you mean!" she scoffed, trying to wrench the bowl away with arms strengthened by years of toting heavy machinery, relics and children. "No. This is my home, you are my son and my guest, and this is something I can still do. Now let me go!" She smacked at his fingers.
For a moment James imagined he was outside himself, watching the scene from the observer’s perspective. Suddenly he saw how ludicrous it would seem; here was the great Commander, second in command of the newest Flagship classed starship in the Fleet, fighting with his mother over the rights to wash a stew bowl! With a mental laugh he surrendered, and bowed his head to show he’d been vanquished.
"You may have the bowl, for I have been beaten." he intoned formally.
His mother looked intently at him.
"You’re silly." she informed him before putting the bowl in the wash basin. "Tell me about your ship."
So he did, detailing the variety of races he’d encountered amongst the crew so far; the sheer size and complexity of his new assignment; and most lovingly about the personalities he was to be working with. It was strange to think, but he already had some great stories to tell his mother about his shipmates, and he hadn’t even spent a full day in their company yet! How many would he have in a week? A year?
"…And so the Klingon got you and the Second Officer to help set the juniors in line? Without resorting to reports or punishments?" she asked at the end of his final tale.
"I think that like me she believes in giving the benefit of the doubt for the first few days of a new mission." he suggested, still feeling the tickle of a laugh warming his belly as he thought of K’Teira’s novel solution. "And what they’d done really wasn’t that bad, just thoughtless. At least K’Teira put the wind up them a little."
"Well, it sounds as though you have a good and varied group there, but don’t be too harsh on that man Daniels over his run-in with the Second Officer."
"Daniels? Why?"
She exhaled incredulously.
"Why, you don’t see it?" she quizzed. "He and the Vulcan will clash - he was just acting as his personality makes him. Keep him away from her and he will work out - you’ll see."
"How do you know?" He had come to similar conclusions herself, but somehow his mother could be quite uncanny in her perceptions.
"I know the type." she smiled. "And I know how they interact with the Vulcan type. They don’t understand each other nor know where to begin to start to. Keep them apart."
"Yes, Mum."
She looked suspiciously at him, mirth just hidden under her dark glare, but she found no sign of impudence in his face. She was certain it was there, however. She continued to glare, even coming closer so that she could peer more closely at him. He never flinched.
"So." she added slowly. "what are you going to do with yourself now that you’ve done your duty to your poor old mother?"
He didn’t see the need to dignify her self-deprecating joke with a response.
"I was going to go down and visit Dad, seeing as he’s not here, and then I was going to go back to the Fairburn and have a good look around."
"No, you’re not." She locked him in that look that only a mother can deliver; the one that tells you that she knows you better than anyone else in the universe, including yourself, and she was temporarily taking control of your destiny. "You’re going to go into your bedroom and fetch your diving gear - you’ll notice it’s been freshly recharged,; I had your brother Christopher do it when he was here last - and you are going to go diving in some nice, restful place. The Red Sea would still be in daylight, wouldn’t it, and after a nice few restful hours you can go back to your Starship, or you can come back here and stay the night." She smiled slightly at her son, modifying her commanding tone to tell him, "You look tired and you need to relax before you take on such an assignment. In fact, you should have had the foresight to have taken an early shoreleave from the Portsmouth so that you could have spent some time relaxing. I’d bet your Klingon would tell you much the same thing."
"She has."
"She’s a smart girl." she approved. "Starfleet needs more like her. So," And she gripped his arm in a vice of steel to haul him to his feet. "you’ll go now, and see your father. I will tell him you’re going on to diving afterward, so don’t try and escape that way."
"No, don’t do that…" An idea had occurred to him, and he needed to stop his mother’s plans before she had completely decided upon them. "I’ll go, but I’ll go diving first, then see Dad. It’ll be getting dark by the Red Sea before it will in Kenya, so I’ll make the most of the daylight while it’s there. But can I take some friends?"
"If you have some." she joked in a serious tone.
"Thank-you!" he smirked, trying not to laugh again. At this moment, like so many other times, he couldn’t see the ‘dragon’ his other brothers, especially Thomas, routinely referred to her as. Couldn’t they see that she didn’t mean half of what she said, and that the other half was just her way of seeing things? Maybe it was because he was too much like her as Thomas said.
"Hmph. Don’t get too cheeky with me, Commander." she warned him, nearly non-existent eyebrows raised arrogantly. "I’ll be checking up on you, you know. Now go and get your things while I get you some stew to take to your father. He also needs a meal in his belly." As James retreated down the corridor to his old room, he still heard her murmuring, "…Sometimes I think you two are too much alike for your own goods. Starfleet trains you in the sciences and how to run a Starship, but how to look after yourself? No! Technology and a medical staff do that for you…"
James chuckled lovingly only when he knew his mother wouldn’t hear him.
He felt like a dutiful Cadet when he brought his diving kit, suit and re-breather out, standing at a near-attention as his mother inspected every nuance of him, seemingly inspecting him to see if he really was going to follow her instructions.
"Good." she finally concluded. Handing him a sealed metallic serving dish, she told him, "Now, give this to your father and make sure that he eats all of it - he has a tendency to leave large portions of his meals out for the birds to pick while he ponders on which site to excavate next and the like. Also tell him that I’ll be down in the next couple of days to give him a bit of relief; it’s not fun coordinating everything on your own, and he is still rather new at it.
"As for you, I expect you to go and have some fun while you’re back. Don’t waste your time; being First Officer is a big job, and you’re going to want to be rested so that you can do it properly. I worry about you out there, Jomo. Sometimes I think you do too much."
"No I don’t, Mum; come to the ship one day and you’ll see that."
"I may just do that."
Then came a silence, and abruptly the woman raised her chin and turned away, but not before he noticed the wave of colour that reddened her flawless ebony skin. Something had changed here, and concerned, James stepped forward to take his mother’s shoulders.
"Mum?"
No reply; not even a breath.
"Mum; are you alright?" Gently he turned her around, and saw one glistening tear winding its way down her cheek. James was horrified, for never before had he seen his mother cry. That tear set off a cold feeling in his stomach that was seeping out to slowly chill the rest of him. She was a strong woman with firm beliefs on the inappropriateness of showing weakness to her men-folk; for her to break that meant that this was terribly, horribly important to her. "Mum?"
Regally she raised her chin to look him right in the eyes and he realized that she wanted him to see this. Her voice broke with emotion as she touched a gentle, wondering hand to his face, caressing his own smooth cheek.
"My little boy." she crooned. "My little Jomo. Not so little anymore, but still my Jomo. A Commander in Starfleet, and the First Officer of a Flagship class vessel." Her lower lip trembled, and another tear followed the first, but she didn’t stop. "My heart is filled for you; I am so proud of you that I am ready to explode. You have done your name and we, your parents, proud… My little boy!"
It was hard not to join her in their weeping, but he didn’t. In fact, while a lump caught in his throat, he also felt strangely numbed by her display and words, and that helped him to maintain his distance from her emotions. He knew that by her standards for him to also show this kind of emotional lapse would ruin any impression of manhood he had gained in her eyes. Worse, he would become less of a person as well. So he simply stroked her cheek in return and meant every word of the "Thank-you." he intoned.
Just as suddenly the moment was gone, and she was pushing him imperiously out of her kitchen.
"Now it is time for you to go, before you can come up with some clever excuse not to go diving!"
"Yes, Mum." Quickly fetching his bits and pieces from the floor where they’d dropped in his haste to get to his mother, he found himself being given a flurried escort to the front door. Yet just as he was going to make his customary hurried goodbye as he was rushed out the door, for the second time that day he was taken by the notion that he hadn’t properly honoured the one he was leaving.
So as his foot was going over the join between floor and path he turned, and tried to send back some of the love he felt emanating from her. He smiled gladly at the little woman, happy that she was his mother and that he’d visited today. She’d had a tough time raising them, more or less alone, and it was nice to feel and know in the way Thomas had always wanted that she felt that all of her hard work had not been in vain.
"I love you, Mum." he said, quickly leaning down to touch his lips to her forehead.
This caught her by surprise; so flabbergasted was she that she appeared trapped between a smile and a dropped jaw, with her undecided which expression she would ultimately go for as she raised her hands to her face.
Then her dark eyes snapped on to him and she scowled, gesturing down the street.
"Now go!" she cried, heaving him bodily out the door. "I will see you next time or if you return tonight. Goodbye." And the door closed between them.
He couldn’t help but laugh as he shouted back,
"I’ll write if I don’t!"
"Good! Go!" was her muffled reply.
With a shrug, James hoisted his burden into a better position in his arms and started back down the garden path, musing on this quick visit. Perhaps, he thought things have changed a bit more than appearances would suggest. But not by that much!
