Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  What was unmistakably a smile pulled at Sarek’s mouth. “It’s called ‘short-sheeting,’ Cadet,” he said, and his wise eyes twinkled as he said it. “It’s an ancient tradition on Earth and I wouldn’t imagine it’s going to go away any time soon. It’s not meant as disrespect, just as a kind of irreverent fun.”

  Tuvok pondered this reply, but found no satisfaction in it. He decided to try another example. “I have found that, at least among the males of this species, there is endless delight taken in stories which involve the functions of the toilet. They will howl with laughter over a description of almost anything that is a bodily function. Does this not strike you as odd?”

  The smile on Sarek’s lips was even more pronounced this time—in fact, a gentle laugh was escaping them! Tuvok stared, fascinated. He couldn’t ever remember having seen a Vulcan laugh.

  “It seems that at approximately age four, human boys become fascinated with bodily functions and deal with this fascination by making fun of these physiological necessities. It has a term—‘bathroom humor’—and you are correct in your observation that the females seem not to share in it. Unless, of course, the female is like my wife, who is much saltier than most human females. At any rate, men seem not to outgrow this infantile behavior, and continue for most of their lives to find amusement in stories about the bodily functions.”

  Tuvok had pondered statements like these for days afterward, hoping there would be contained within them something he could grasp, something that would help him to endure the beings with which he was now surrounded. But it seemed to come down to the fact that Sarek enjoyed humans, while he could summon no such response.

  And then there were the women.

  They had proven as astonishing as anything Tuvok had encountered on this singular world. He was accustomed on Vulcan to women of uncommon power, but Earth women were extraordinary in their brazenness. Audacious, forward, impertinent, bold—they struck him as not unlike hungry lematyas, the fearsome beasts of Vulcan who often hunted in packs.

  It was not unusual for one or more human women to follow him across campus, striking up conversation for no apparent reason, or to sit themselves down with him at dinner and begin asking the most probing of personal questions. On several occasions he had returned to his dormitory to find one of them sitting on the floor outside his room, who would then follow him into his quarters unabashedly, as though this were commonplace and proper.

  He had received from them countless invitations to dances, concerts, and lectures—and he had, at times, accepted, depending upon the appeal of the occasion. But he never failed to feel somewhat breathless and disoriented after an encounter with one of these frank and disarming creatures.

  One of the most memorable of these adventures involved a young woman, Lily Astolat, whose name Tuvok found unremarkable, ignorant of its origin. She was delicate, with honey-golden curls and pale brown eyes, and skin that was so smooth and flawless it looked as though it had been replicated.

  She sat next to him in his calculus class, and seemed to absorb the mysteries of calculus with an effortlessness he found intriguing. She also seemed less bold than some females, and he appreciated that. So it was that, after struggling for several days with a problem in metric differential geometry, he accepted her offer of help.

  They met in one of the study rooms of the dormitory and found it, for once, empty. The fact that it was eight o’clock on a Saturday evening, a day and time when there seemed to be many social activities, undoubtedly accounted for the privacy they enjoyed now.

  Lily proved an excellent tutor, and sorted through the intricacies of the problem with him. She clarified the rules of tensor-product formation, and once he had grasped those basic concepts, the rest fell into line. Inspired, he worked through the rest of the problems while she watched, smiling.

  But then, as he finished, she rose and sat herself down in his lap, twining her arms around his neck! Tuvok was dumb-founded, and could only think to sit quietly, not encouraging her. She was murmuring to him as she stroked his head, mouth whispering the most outrageous suggestions into his ears.

  Then her tongue snaked out and began dancing on his ear tips, a curious but not particularly pleasant sensation. It would never have occurred to him to lick parts of another’s body, and he believed that Lily had taken leave of her senses.

  Then her mouth was on his, kissing him deeply as she locked her hands around the back of his head, pulling him hard against her, tongue continuing its remarkable oscillations on his lips.

  It was time to put an end to this.

  Tuvok put his hands under her armpits and stood up, placing her firmly on the floor in front of him. She stared at him, wild-eyed, breathing hard. “What’s the matter?” she murmured, coming at him again.

  “Thank you for helping me with the differential geometry problem,” he said calmly, all the while holding her at arm’s length. “It was good of you to take the time. I shall see you in class on Monday.”

  “Tuvok, don’t you find me attractive?”

  The question was unbelievably forward. Tuvok drew himself to his full height and gazed down at the disheveled young woman. “You are a cadet of great intellectual prowess, particularly in the field of mathematics. I predict a long and successful career for you.”

  Her snort of disdain and frustration puzzled him, but he wanted nothing more than to remove himself from this disquieting situation and return to his room to meditate. Tentatively, he released her wrists and then began backing away from her, watching her carefully all the while.

  “Again, thank you. You have great skill as a tutor. Have you considered a teaching career? It might suit you quite well.”

  And then he was at the door, which opened as he approached it, and then gone, hoping he had handled the situation with appropriate courtesy.

  Tuvok had not yet experienced his first Pon farr, and consequently knew nothing about it, Vulcans being loath to discuss this most primal of their lives’ milestones. It would not be until several years later that he passed through what was historically known as the Rapture, and be transformed. At that time, he remembered the incident with Lily, and for the first time, understood.

  Now he stood on the infield of the stadium, breathing the chill April air, enduring the felicitations of his teammates and of Scott, who persisted in pounding him on the back in exultation. And Scott was saying something in his excitement that Tuvok hoped he was misunderstanding.

  “She’s dying to meet you, old Vulk. She has a thing for pointy ears, I guess, I don’t get it myself. But she’s primo, Tuvok, absolutely choice. We’ll be waiting outside the locker room.”

  And Scott—who knew him only too well—disappeared before Tuvok could scotch this uninvited introduction.

  Sure enough, when Tuvok ventured from the locker room, showered and dressed, Scott was standing there, a female cadet at his side. There was no escaping.

  “Tuvok, this is your lucky day. May I present Sophie Timmins, of Somerset, England.”

  Tuvok looked into large, grave eyes, the color of a dusky pearl. They held his gaze solemnly, the most remarkable feature in a face that was defined by its symmetry and balance. A straight, unobtrusive nose divided the planes of the face and pointed to lips that outlined a somewhat small mouth. The woman was tall, almost as tall as Tuvok, slender and straight. Her hair, which seemed almost the same shade as her eyes, was pulled off her face and hung down her back in a plait.

  There was a reserve to her that Tuvok found familiar and, consequently, comfortable. Nonetheless, he had no desire to spend time with this woman, and was determined to extricate himself from her as quickly as possible.

  “I’ve made reservations at Momo’s,” Scott continued relentlessly. “There’s a Bolian singer there who’s supposed to be amazing. A five-octave range.”

  “Thank you, but after a race, I always meditate. It’s part of my training program.”

  “Since when—” Scott began, but the woman, pearly eyes fastene
d on Tuvok, cut him off.

  “I’ve always found Vulcan meditation rituals more satisfying than any others when it comes to slowing the heart rate. But they seem to increase the activity of my mind, rather than reduce it.”

  Tuvok was curious in spite of himself. He appraised the poised young woman who held his gaze so unflinchingly. “How did you become familiar with Vulcan meditations?”

  “My mother travels to Vulcan frequently as a cultural liaison. I began accompanying her when I was a small child. I’ve spent several summers studying at the Temple of Amonak.”

  Tuvok regarded her with bemusement. He had long wanted to study at the Temple of Amonak, a notion supported by his father but disapproved of by his mother, on the grounds that he needed more well-rounded activities. “He’d spend all his time in a temple if he were given the chance,” he’d heard his mother say on more than one occasion. And now he was face-to-face with a human who had been able to accomplish what he had been denied.

  “With whom did you study?”

  “Primarily with the priestess M’Fau. She held special classes daily for young people. She was remarkable. I think she may be the reason I find it difficult to still the mind when I follow her meditations—I’m always reminded of her, and I begin thinking about how wise she was, how much I learned from her—and pretty soon my mind is a jumble of thoughts.”

  Curiosity was giving way to something else, something Tuvok had experienced before and which he strove rigorously to control. He had no words for these incipient feelings—for that is unmistakably what they were—but they had to do with this cool human woman and the fact that she had had experiences which he had been denied. He had a wish to hear of those experiences, and a sense that there was something wrong if a human could study with M’Fau and he could not . . .

  Some of these sensations were unpleasant (those which others would identify as resentment and jealousy), and Tuvok used all the techniques at his disposal to suppress them. Another sensation was less bothersome, and seemed somehow less treacherous; it was like a curiosity but magnified a thousandfold. He allowed the sensation to roil within him for a moment, testing it, trying to decide if it had to be quelled or if he could act upon it. He decided he could.

  “I would very much like to speak with you about your experiences at Amonak,” he intoned. “It would be interesting to hear of your classes with M’Fau.”

  He was vaguely aware of Scott’s surprised and elated expression, his quick good-bye and equally swift departure. Tuvok was completely focused on this provocative woman with the dusky gray eyes and the forthright manner that was so . . . so Vulcan.

  He spent inordinate quantities of time with Sophie Timmins during the last months of his senior year at the Academy, discussing the teachings of M’Fau, meditating communally, and discussing the profundities of cthia. He discerned that Sophie’s fascination for things Vulcan was not merely an intellectual curiosity; she seemed to want, on some deeply felt level, to be Vulcan. She pored over Vulcan history, and studied Surak’s writings assiduously.

  She was the first true friend Tuvok had made among humans, and that only because she did everything she could to disavow her humanity and to inculcate Vulcanism.

  But in the end, she, too, wanted more. She was unable to free herself completely of human longings, unable to quell the fiercely passionate spirit that seemed to inhabit all Terrans. She wanted a physical intimacy that he could neither understand nor satisfy.

  The end came during an evening in June, when the weather was uncharacteristically warm for San Francisco. Tuvok and Sophie sat in a gazebo situated on the grounds of the Academy, secluded within a grove of eucalyptus trees. They had been studying the tenets of Kolinahr, the most rigorous of the mental disciplines of Vulcan, when suddenly Tuvok heard a catch in Sophie’s voice, and he turned to see tears falling from her eyes.

  He had seen this phenomenon in humans before. Mostly in the females, although it was not uncommon for the males to indulge in this release of excessive emotion as well. He had observed a teammate, a pole vaulter, racked with sobs in the locker room after he failed for the third time to make his vault at a height of six and one half meters, a relatively easy height, thereby losing the match. Tuvok found it a disquieting experience, and worked the Disciplines for an extra hour after witnessing it.

  Now as moisture overflowed from Sophie’s eyes, he was similarly uneasy. Tears signified unhappiness so urgent that it couldn’t be ignored, pain that could no longer be assuaged. These were situations which Tuvok was singularly ill equipped to handle, and at this moment, he didn’t know how to proceed.

  He simply waited, hoping the moment would pass, and indeed, he could see Sophie struggle to suppress this moist display. But each time he thought she had succeeded, a small choking gasp would emit from her throat and the tears would begin anew.

  He had observed certain behaviors among humans when one of their kind shed tears. In the locker room, as the pole vaulter had held his head in his hands, sobbing, other humans had come by and patted him on the back, offering solicitations. The track coach had sat close to him, arm around his shoulder, murmuring comfort in quiet tones. And finally, when the distraught young man regained some control (to Tuvok’s relief) and stood, a teammate enclosed him in what Tuvok knew to be a “hug,” a commonly used gesture of succor.

  Should he try one of these behaviors on Sophie? He wouldn’t be able to whisper to her, because he had no idea what he should say. But if it would help to stroke her arm or pat her back, would that be appropriate?

  His mind turned the question over, assessing its relative merits and defects. If it caused her to cease this display of emotion, his solicitude would be justified. On the other hand, it might be interpreted as sanctioning such over-wrought demeanor, and that would surely be in error.

  And while this internal debate unfolded, Sophie gradually regained control and wiped at her eyes, which, he noted, were now swollen and tinged with an unpleasant red.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “It’s just . . . getting more and more difficult . . .”

  He was pleased that she was verbal once more, for that meant they could discuss the situation, resolve the problem, and return to the study of Kolinahr.

  “What is becoming more difficult?” he asked pleasantly, hoping his attitude would neutralize the situation. It was, therefore, with some dismay that he observed that her response to his question was not an answer, but a fresh display of tears, seemingly more intense than before.

  This time he decided on a course of action. It was only logical to emulate human behavior in a situation as out of control as this one seemed to be. Though he didn’t understand why physical contact would be helpful, he had observed it to be so, and at this point he would frankly have done whatever was required in order to put an end to this inordinate exhibition of emotion.

  He extended his arm and began to tap her softly on the back.

  This gesture produced a remarkable result. Sophie wailed aloud and flung herself upon him, arms holding him close, head pressed against his chest, body shuddering violently in a fresh outburst of sobs. Startled, he held his arms away from her, afraid of what might happen if he touched her again.

  She was clutching at his uniform, which was now damp from her tears, kneading at him in the way baby sehlats kneaded their mothers’ underbellies as they suckled. “Sophie,” he remonstrated, “strive to regain control. Remember the Disciplines, remember cthia.”

  She wailed aloud and flung herself away from him, rising to move to the gazebo’s entrance, where she clung to the wooden rail and drew three deep breaths, which was the prelude to the First Discipline. Gradually, the breathing calmed, Sophie pulled herself erect, and turned to face him. He was about to congratulate her for her mastery of her emotions, but when she spoke he realized she was still in some kind of anguish.

  “I don’t understand,” she said, and her voice was hoarse from her crying. “Vulcans become intimate. They mate, and have children. D
on’t you ever . . . have such urges?”

  He stared at her, uncertain how to answer the question. It was as though she were speaking in an alien language that the Universal Translator couldn’t translate. “I have assumed,” he stated carefully, “that one day I would have a wife and family. I have never associated that decision with . . . urges. I don’t believe I can answer a question which I fundamentally don’t understand.”

  Her hair was damp at her temples, and he noticed the tendrils had a tendency to curl, ringing her face in a delicate frame. She looked quite young and vulnerable in the growing dusk of the evening, and Tuvok was suddenly struck with insight into the inevitable outcome of this extraordinary situation. She was moving toward him through the growing shadows, fragile and ethereal. “I love you, Tuvok. I’ve never felt this way before. I want to be with you always . . . and . . . I want intimacy. It’s part of life . . . can’t we have that?”

  A calm settled over Tuvok as he saw his course with clarity and precision. He experienced a gratitude for the teachings of Surak, for they always proved reliable, leading the way from any entangled situation into lucidity.

  “Do you remember,” he said firmly, “the initial notes Surak made as he was developing cthia?”

  She looked at him, smoky eyes a deeper gray in the growing darkness. He could detect disappointment in them, but he continued nonetheless. “Ideally, do no harm,” he intoned, on surer ground now. “Harm no one’s internal, invisible integrities. Leave others the privacy of their minds and lives. Intimacy remains precious only insofar as it is inviolate: invading it turns it to torment.”

  He looked at her, trying to discern what impact these words had on her. Would she understand what he was trying to say? “I wish you no harm, Sophie,” he assured her, “and it becomes clear that our being together does you great harm. Surely that violates the integrities of both of us, and is therefore an intolerable situation.”