CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Tammas was still in quarantine a full week after “the Crisis at Vulcan,” as the news media was referring to it. They couldn’t come up with any thing better than that? Even he had better writing skills than that, he thought. Lots of people wanted explanations, but fortunately Vulcans were not prone to hysteria. If this had happened on Earth, he wondered if the civilian population would be so quiet. He knew just about as much as any one else did, he supposed, more than the media was releasing, anyway, and yet he was still unable to look away from the news feeds. Every now and then they would release footage of the event that hadn’t been seen previously. It was generally footage of the Venson’s destruction, only from a different angle. The Serenity no doubt had some good recordings, but Star Fleet wasn’t releasing those as of yet. The alien ship hadn’t been identified, but it was now public information what they had done. They beamed in, took hostages, and beamed out. It had been such a precision act that there was suspicion that it had been in the planning for years and that there had to be inside help. Rumors and accusations abounded.
The force field that kept Tammas in quarantine came down, and his Doctor, a Vulcan named Kelars, entered. Since he was not in a suit, Tammas figured he was deemed clean.
“You’re free to go, Dr. Garcia,” Doctor Kelars said.
“Call me Tammas, please,” Tammas insisted. He really hated the title, especially now that all of a sudden every Vulcan that approached him was using it, and in a respectful way. “Can you tell me anything more about the virus, other than I was immune.”
“I’m afraid not,” Doctor Kelars said. “It’s been made classified by Star Fleet.”
“Naturally,” Tammas said.
“There’s a transporter pad on the next floor up,” Doctor Kelars said. “I recommend you use it to go home.”
Tammas laughed. “I’ve had enough of transporters for awhile,” Tammas said. “It’s time to stretch these legs.”
Tammas departed, bidding farewell to the nurses as he passed their station. At the end of the hall, he took a lift down to the main floor, passed through the lobby, noting an increased number of Star Fleet security officers around. He saw a female Vulcan that had taken classes with him at the Academy and for the first time since he had known her, she slowed and recognized him. She actually nodded at him. He didn’t know what to think about this new level of attention. He was polite and nodded to her as well.
Tammas was stopped by a security guard.
“Sorry,” he said. “You have to check out.”
“I’m Tammas Garcia,” he offered, showing his STC badge. The badge basically said communication’s division, but there was also a small label that noted he was Starbase personal with a level twelve clearance, with exceptions. That was usually an instant black flag to the security officer who recognized it for what it was: probation. Tammas waited for the usual follow up questions, such as name of probation officer, where have you been, where are you going…
“Doctor Garcia,” the security officer said, returning the badge. “I believe you would be more comfortable using the transporter. I can arrange a site to site if you like.”
Tammas was again taken off guard. His badge didn’t have his title as Doctor on it, because that’s the way L’Nora had wanted it. If she had had her way, she would have had the Academy strip him of his credentials. As it was, he didn’t mind his credentials being left off. Even back when he first got the titles, people had often felt awkward referring to a teenager as “Doctor,” so he had never pressed it and simply got use to hiding the fact that he had titles.
“Um, I would really like to walk,” Tammas said. “I’ve been cooped up too long.”
“Very well,” the guard said. “Can I at least get you a car?”
“No, that’s fine,” Tammas assured.
“Have a nice day, Doctor,” the guard said, and turned to go about his business.
Tammas shook the strange feeling off and exited the building. Before he made it half way down the marble stair he was assaulted by a number of different reporters from various channels. They had cameramen with them, and blinding lights, which caused him to squint. As if the Vulcan sun didn’t offer enough light, Tammas thought. He heard his name from twelve different directions, as well as two questions that blurred together into something unintelligible. By the time he had a second thought about walking, it was too late. He was surrounded.
“How does it feel to be a hero, Doctor Garcia?” the closest reporter asked, putting her microphone up to his face.
Oh, hell no, he thought. Looking back to the hospital. Neither of the guards on the outside seemed to notice he was in over his head. The closest reporter was wearing a short dress, and he was getting a good view of her cleavage as she leaned into him. He quickly looked away as he remembered the cameras were on him, but no doubt, the point of interest where his eyes had lingered was witnessed by potential billions, and any one that wanted to scrutinize the tape further would be making a profile on him. He could hear it now: “Leg man. Cleavage. Red heads. Make sure you get a reporter that fits that description on him, pronto!” This one was all teeth, fluttering her eyes at him, and she knew exactly what she had to do to get that interview. She was wearing an earphone, so it was possible she was also being directed. “Step up with your left foot… Make eye contact. Touch his arm.” If it wasn’t that, she had done some homework on him.
“I think you have me confused with someone else,” Tammas said, deciding to push through them.
That comment only spurred on more questions and speculative comments from some of the reporters who knew they weren’t going to get close enough to Tammas to get a story. They followed him down the stairs like bees to a queen.
“Doctor?” The cute one was stuck to him like Velcro. He had seen her before on one of the local networks and had always thought she was cute. Now, he was having second thoughts. “Can I have an interview? Please?” She wet her lips with her tongue.
He stopped to look at her, which was probably a mistake because now the reporters were free to surround him. They would have, too, had a car not pulled up at that moment, horn flaring, the passenger door flying upwards.
“Get in,” Melinda yelled.
Tammas jumped into the passenger seat, followed only by lots of question. The last one he heard before the door fully shut was, “Is this your girlfriend. How does your wife feel about this? Have you heard from her?” It was the attractive one, bending over so now her cleavage was right there at eye level.
Tammas forced his eyes to meet her. “Watch your head,” he said.
The door came down, shutting out that world.
“You okay?” Melinda asked.
“I’d like to leave,” Tammas said.
She stepped on the accelerator. Fortunately, reporters were wise enough not to step in front of a car. Too many have gotten squashed. Tammas shivered.
“I’m surprised you aren’t more familiar with such scenes,” Melinda said.
“I don’t understand,” Tammas said.
“You are really very good at down playing your abilities and success,” Melinda said, looking a little angry. “People were asking me all sorts of things about you. I kept thinking they had the wrong Tammas Garcia.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tammas said.
She mimicked him pretty well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Indeed! For starters, you really did write the Escape series. I’ve read every one of those books! I live for the next edition. And I never knew you wrote them.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Tammas said. “Thank you for reading?”
Melinda just shook her head. “You are just over the top. I don’t know what to say.”
“Take this street,” Tammas said.
“Why,” she asked, turning.
“You’re taking me home, right?” Tammas asked.
“Is that where you want to go?” Melinda asked.
“Yes,” Tammas said.
“So, everything I’ve heard about you lately is true?” Melinda asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t know about everything,” Tammas said.
It didn’t take long for Melinda to deliver Tammas to Sarek’s home. She pulled up in the drive, but didn’t turn the car off.
“You want to come up?” Tammas asked.
“Not this time, I think,” she said.
Tammas nodded. “You holding up okay?”
“Better than some,” Melinda said. “There’s a lot of people worse off than I am right now. I keep telling myself that, thinking it will help me feel better.”
“We must be pretty selfish, eh?” Tammas asked.
“You feel it to?” she asked.
“I’m human,” Tammas assured her. “This is normal.”
“It sucks,” Melinda said.
“Yeah,” Tammas said. “But what are you going to do?”
She nodded. The door to Sarek’s home opened and Perrin peered out.
“Better go,” she said. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
“Sure,” Tammas said. There was an awkward moment where he wanted to kiss her and he felt certain it was mutual but he didn’t give in to the impulse. He knew given the opportunity, he would gladly have melted into her arms just as he had surrendered to Persis. “Tomorrow, then.”
He climbed out and went up the stairs. Perrin immediately fell on him with hugs and kisses. She told him to go sit and she would bring him a drink. He entered to find Admiral McCoy and Sarek in the family room. Sarek was petting Sparky as he chatted with McCoy. Apparently he had lost all track of time, for even if McCoy pulled strings to come to Vulcan as fast he could, it would have still been about an eight day voyage. Of course, McCoy may not have been on Earth, as much as he still got around.
McCoy and Sarek stood.
“We saw you on the videos,” McCoy said. “Figured you’d be home soon.”
His eyes watered at seeing McCoy. “How do you handle it?” Tammas asked, meaning all of it, the social pressure of being considered a hero, being in a traumatic situation, living on a knife’s edge knowing your next action could costs someone’s life.
“One day at a time, son,” McCoy said.
“There was really no need for you to come down here,” Tammas said. “I’m okay.”
“Well,” McCoy said. “I just wanted to make sure, and, I wanted to ask if you would like to come back with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Tammas said, plopping down in his chair, mentally exhausted. Sparky came over to him and pawed at his leg.
“Sarek would like to read something to you,” Perrin said.
Sarek revealed an official document that carried the official seal of T’Pau’s office. “Doctor Tammas Parkin Arblaster-Garcia. In recognition of your outstanding performance during the recent crisis, I hereby declare your debt to Vulcan society paid in full. Live Long and Prosper. T’Pau.”
“You have been fully discharged,” Perrin said. “L’Nora herself sent her compliments.”
“Get out of town,” Tammas said, even with the crisis weighing heavy on him, hearing that was like a weight removed from his shoulders. “I want to see that message.”
“I think you should hear McCoy’s message,” Perrin said.
McCoy pulled out a document just as official as the one from which Sarek had read. “In light of your peer reviews, and outstanding academic career at the Vulcan Academy of Science, your application for entry into Star Fleet Academy has been overwhelmingly approved. Please respond at your earliest convenience. Sincerely, Admiral Brand.”
“What peer reviews?” Tammas asked. “You two didn’t?”
“Neither of us lifted a hand to assist you in this regard, as per your request,” Sarek said.
“You did this all on your own, Tammas,” Perrin said.
“But what peer reviews?” Tammas asked. “Who would have recommended me but you?”
“I suspect the staff at Vulcan STC put in a word or two,” McCoy said. “I can find out if you are that curious,”
Tammas slid from his chair to the floor to be closer to Sparky. “No,” Tammas said. Sparky licked his face. It finally dawned on him. He was leaving. But he couldn’t leave. Could he? Tammas hugged Sparky and began to silently cry. He didn’t care that tears were streaming down his face in front of witnesses. He began to sob. Perrin moved to the chair he had been sitting in and rubbed his back.
“Sparky can stay with us,” Sarek said.
“I know you will take good care of him,” Tammas said.
“You don’t have to leave if you don’t want,” Perrin said. “You can stay.”
Tammas stood. “No, I want to go. I need to go. It’s time I earned my own way.”
“You’ve always earned your own way,” Sarek said. “And you are always welcome here.”
“When do we leave?” Tammas asked.
“As soon as you’re ready,” McCoy said. “The Hood is waiting to escort me, us, back to Earth.”
Tammas had ferreted out enough information from McCoy to learn that he had not just been at Vulcan to see him, but also to investigate the aftermath first hand. The NCC Hood was now taking McCoy back to Star Fleet for him to make his report in person. The whole point of the alien incursion, apparently, had been to kidnap some people. Only a dozen people were taken, all females, one of which was the grand daughter of T’Pau, who Tammas had met. No reason or ransom was given.
The fact that Tammas got to travel with McCoy should have been extra, but Tammas was wary about being seen with the “good doctor,” less a relationship be assumed, and his entrance to Star Fleet be marred with suspicion from his peers to be. He was ten light years away from Vulcan when he realized he had just stood Melinda up for the last time. He sent her an email, even though he expected not to hear from her again. Ever. Tammas had been given his own guest quarters and he expected it to be the last bit of luxury he would experience for a good while. The room was spacious and he could watch the stars streaming by. He wondered if they were actually stars, or just a visual effect caused by the warping of space time around the ship. Perhaps the warp field was like a bubble magnifying and twisting the star light into their full rainbow spectrum.
Tammas was so concerned about associating with McCoy on the way to Earth that he was reluctant to even have meals with him, fearing that potential reputation. But he was more afraid of not having meals with him. How does one behave around someone who is biologically your father but not responsible for your life? he wondered, and not for the first time in his life. McCoy was still “Pa Pa” Bones, a grandfather type figure, but in public, it was always Admiral McCoy. McCoy knew what was up, and returned the favor, “Doctor Garcia,” but with an obvious edge of humor that might lend a more observant person to imagine a stronger kinship, or friendship. Tammas tried to convince himself his worries were just that, and no one would ever suspect a kinship with McCoy unless he told them. Even a doctor doing a routine genetic scan wouldn’t see the relationship unless they were specifically looking for it and comparing samples and records in an effort to research genealogy. And even if they did, they wouldn’t believe what they found. Another Enterprise Child? He shuddered at the thought.
Tammas was having his last meal aboard the Hood, when Doctor McCoy came and sat down across from him.
“Nice to see you don’t have all your meals in your quarters, Doctor Garcia,” McCoy said. “I’d hate for some of those rumors about you to be proved true.”
“What rumors?” Tammas asked, seriously concerned.
McCoy chuckled.
“Are you playing with me?” Tammas asked.
“You’re going to need to lighten up,” McCoy said. “People are going to think you’re a Vulcan.”
“Well, I am, now, in many respects,” Tammas said.
“More like the laughing Vulcan,” McCoy said.
“Without a dog,” Tammas mused. Sparky was not a dog, but he fit the lyrics well enough to be a ‘dog,’ from a literary stand point. The fact that he missed Sparky was apparent to McCoy, but they both knew the sehlot would not do well coming to Earth, especially at its age. They were creatures of habit, and outside its familiar territory, it would be lost and its health would deteriorate. Tammas changed the subject. “I haven’t seen Commander Riker.”
“Riker?” McCoy asked. “Oh, yeah. I seem to recall that he was transferred to the Enterprise some time back.”
“I thought there was a Picard in charge of the Enterprise,” Tammas said.
“There is. Picard is the Captain, Riker is the First officer,” McCoy confirmed.
Tammas shook his head. “I thought if Riker was transferred, it would be to command his own ship. I guess I still have lots to learn about Fleet.”
“You’ll never completely figure it out. It has a life its own, or so it seems,” McCoy said. “And every now and then, the people that make up Fleet can do the most surprising things, even to the point of renewing your faith in the human spirit, and our purpose in the cosmos.”
“And what is that purpose?” Tammas asked.
“To seek out new life and new civilizations…” McCoy began, and Tammas finished the mission statement with him. “And boldly go where no one has gone before.”
“That is the greatest mission statement ever,” Tammas said.
“No,” McCoy said. “Never forget who you are, and don’t be a stranger while you’re on my planet. That’s a better mission statement for you.”
“I’ll visit you,” Tammas promised.
Admiral McCoy nodded and pushed himself away from the table. For the first time, Tammas noticed that McCoy was not getting around like he remembered. His movements were tired, requiring more effort. It reminded him of Sparky, and he was tempted to reach out and help McCoy. A thing McCoy would not approve of in the slightest. Tammas nearly broke down in tears, thinking, “God, I’ve been wasting so much time he could die any second and then I would never really get to know the real man behind the legends and rumors…” Tammas stood, and was about to rush over and hug him, and announce out loud his love for his father. Instead, McCoy was greeted by the Captain of the Hood.
“Your shuttle is ready, Admiral,” Captain DeSoto said. “It would be a privilege to pilot you down, Sir.”
“Let’s be on our way, then. I got a lot of work to do, and I’m not getting any younger,” McCoy said, he looked over to Tammas and winked at him.
“Legend has it you’ve been old before and got younger,” the Captain said.
“Yes, but I was much younger then,” McCoy laughed.
The door slid shut behind them.
“Welcome to Star Fleet Academy,” Tammas had expected. Something. A sign. A valet. Anything. Someone to meet him as he stepped out of the transporter alcove. At least give him a reward for using the transporter without having his arm twisted. But he got none of it. It took him thirty minutes just to find his way to where he should be to start the check in process.
Tammas pulled up the chair towards the administrator’s desk. The administrator’s name, according to the plaque, was Fielding, R. S., and he had gone out of his way to personalize his work space. Pictures of his children, one of him and his wife, and combinations there of, were strung out in a row. A small holographic projector cycled through an image of his daughter twirling, falling, laughing, and starting all over again. A grotesquely shaped coffee mug, like a melting lump of clay with an affixed handle sat prominently in reach. When he sat it down, Tam read the words scratched into it; “To Dad, Love, Cynthia.” Fielding, R. S., even had an antique pen holder, with actual writing utensils in it, and a booklet of paper he was using for a scratch pad. He turned his oversize PADD slightly crooked, as if it were a piece of paper, and then used a stylus from his pen holder to open various pools of information by touching the screen, as if his fingers were too large for the delicate task. Tammas noted even the graphic display on Fielding’s PADD was personalized, so that where new information appeared a faint ripple of light spread out to the corners of the display and bounced back to the origin, until it was all absorbed. It was a distraction that Tammas wouldn’t have been able to keep in his work space and remain functioning.
“Tammas Garcia,” Fielding R.S. read, not even bothering to take Tam’s proffered I.D. It was all connected through wireless technology, but it was customary for an I.D. to be physically examined out of courtesy. (Of course, Tammas reasoned, Earth customs may not be the same as Vulcan customs, or even Betazed customs. Still, out of all the fiction he had read, most humans relied on a certain level of convention, so he was puzzled by Fielding’s behavior.) “We’re going to have to put you up at the Galaxy Hotel.”
“Um, excuse me?” Tammas began to ask.
Fielding, R. S., looked up with a face that said he wasn’t accustomed to being interrupted, and yet, at the same time, a face that looked quite bored. He blinked.
“I thought part of the experience of being a cadet was being in the dorm room, and maybe making a friend, and…” Tammas paused. He wasn’t about to mention that he feared being put up at the hotel might single him out as being different, his celebrity status making him special.
“The dorms are full,” Fielding, R.S. said. “And you’re entering into the Academy Mid-term. Hell, I didn’t even have a room for that Crusher kid when he arrived, and he has actual rank and experience. I had to accommodate him first. So, relax. I might be able to put you in a dorm with an actual room mate in about six months, if you’re willing to broaden the species parameter with whom you can tolerate sharing living space.”
“I’m willing to room with anyone, of any species,” Tammas said.
“That hasn’t been my experience with Vulcans,” Feilding, R.S. answered.
“I’m not a Vulcan…” Tammas began, and then felt the need to back pedal when he saw the expression on Fielding’s face. “Well, maybe a quarter Vulcan, but I don’t subscribe to any special philosophy that would require me to be an isolationist.”
Fielding, R.S. filled his cheeks with air and let it out slowly before beginning to speak again. “None the less, we’ll be accommodating you at the Galaxy Hotel for the time being, unless you have relatives here in the Bay area you would prefer to stay with?”
Tammas considered. He would of course be welcomed to stay with McCoy, but if he did that, he feared it would definitely get out that he was related to one of the greatest living legends in Star Fleet and be treated differently than the other cadets. That was one thing he needed to avoid at all cost. Life was tough enough being a genius, but add celebrity status, and then relations with legends on top of that, and life could be down right unbearable. He wanted no rumors or accusations of getting a free ride, his recent feelings of family and closeness to McCoy once again being squashed.
Fielding, R.S. grew tired of waiting for Tammas to respond to his question. “Look, I can get you in the dorm in six months. We have had an exceptional year at recruiting cadets and space is at a premium. We’re still trying to fill all the vacancies from the Borg incident, you know.”
“Yeah, and I suppose that parasite invasion thing didn’t help any,” Tammas mused out loud.
“What parasite invasion thing?” Fielding, R.S. asked.
“You know, the one with the little insect like creature that entered the mouth, and stuck its horn antennae out the back of the neck thing?” Tammas said.
Fielding, R.S. shuddered. “Oh, yeah. Wouldn’t worry about that. We have transporter bio-filters and scanners programmed to detect such things now. That won’t happen again.”
“Please, that can’t be completely true,” Tammas argued.
Fielding, R. S. leaned forward, putting his weight on his arms on his desk, pushing his coffee mug about two centimeters. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well, the bio-filters and scanners we use are only as perfect as the people using the equipment,” Tammas said. “Take the Trills for example. They’ve been in the Federation for nearly as long as the Vulcans have been around, and yet, it wasn’t until that incident with an Ambassador Odan, if I remember correctly, that the whole symbiotic relationship was revealed. It happened on the Enterprise, what a couplemonths ago? It still amazes me that it was so well played down and that there wasn’t instant hysteria in the streets. At the least, one would imagine a few darker conspiracy theories would have evolved out of that one, especially in light of that parasite that nearly took over the Federation. It certainly made for a great story. Fourth biggest download out of all my books, which suggest that I’m not the only one that saw a conspiracy, and yet our society just rolls right on as if nothing significant has happened.”
Fielding, R.S. blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Just attribute this to my over active imagination,” Tammas said.
“Right. Says here you’re a writer, among other things,” Fielding, R.S. said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Tammas wasn’t sure if the disgust on his face was due to him being a writer “among other things” or because the man’s neck itched. “Yeah. Mostly science fiction,” Tammas agreed.
Fielding R.S. smirked. “More like fantasy and magic crap. I took a look see before you came in, try and get a feel for you… Couldn’t abide it myself.”
“Today’s magic is tomorrow’s science fact. Imagine what our ancestors would think about transporter technology, even as little as three hundred years ago…” Tammas said.
“I try not to think of these things. It complicates life,” Fielding, R.S. said, scratching the back of his neck even harder. He rolled out a drawer to his desk, pulled out a worry stone, and began massaging it. “I transmitted your info to the hotel. You can check in at your convenience. And though I’ve e-mailed your schedule to you, none the less, I am obligated to remind you not to miss orientation today at nine thirty, our time. Orientation is compulsory for all students entering the academy and visiting the campus. Please make sure you adjust your chronometer, or by whatever means you keep track of time, so that you’re in step. I don’t want to hear you started out on a bad foot, because I always get questioned as to whether or not I gave you all the information.”
Tammas stood, as he could see Fielding, R.S. was obviously finished with him. As he turned to walk away, he called out to him.
“Oh. Just occurred to me,” Fielding, R.S. said, putting some ointment on his fingers and massaging it into the back of his neck. “There’s an alternative to the hotel if you’re interested.”
Tammas expressed interest nonverbally, raising an eyebrow.
Fielding, R.S. wiped his hands in a towel, tore off a sheet of paper and scribbled down an address that was just barely legible. “A group of students got together and purchased a home about ten years ago. It’s got six private rooms, connected to a shared living area and kitchen. It’s been passed down to other students as people have graduated and taken assignments. One of the occupants just got orders and is shipping out. The remaining five cadets are interviewing people. It might be worth a look see, given how opposed you are to the hotel. I personally would jump at the hotel, but then, there is no pleasing everyone.”
Orientation was awe inspiring, and as he listened to the speaker, and glanced around the room at his potential friends and fellow students, for just a moment he felt safe and warm. These were all beings with the same spirit of cooperation, to be a part of a team that was greater than the sum of its parts. His delusions were quickly dispelled when he realized that, once again, people are people, and no matter what part of the galaxy they came from there were always social games to be played. Rivals were being made and clicks were being formed even as they sat there sizing each other up, all born in a spirit of competition. It was like being on the play ground and the would-be captains were picking their team players while isolating those they imagined had weaknesses that would hold them back.
Tammas frowned. Even here, at Starfleet, he thought. Perhaps even more so, for this was competition at its best, Olympian style. People weren’t just being evaluated for their potential weaknesses. That would have made the game too easy. Because everything was literally a game to be won, anyone that seemed to have an advantage was viewed as a threat. And Tammas generally fell into this latter category. If he went the way he had at the Vulcan Academy of Science, Tammas would adopt an aura of meekness, and avoid discussing any of his achievements, tending to underscore his own ability. If he did this here, especially with his emotions in check, he would be labeled a pure Vulcan by the end of the day, and no doubt treated like a p