Inconvenient Truths
Posted on 24 Sep 2023 @ 2:30pm by Brek - Timeless Treasures Art Gallery
Mission:
M4 - Falling Out
Location: Obsidian Command, T’Sheng Quarters
Timeline: M4 D2 Afternoon, some time after “An Introduction on Choppy Waters”
1476 words - 3 OF Standard Post Measure
The initial meeting with the ‘Voice of Irix’ had been, in T’Sheng’s opinion, satisfactory. Obviously, the two Korinn refugees and their allies would continue to play the sympathy card. What species would not, in the same situation? It was the easiest thing to do. With the advice of its allies, the Voice was bound to achieve a grand symphony of fears and lamentations where the Pyrryx would be seen as an unavoidable and constant menace. Thankfully there was such a thing as common sense, and also limited resources. Funds were malleable. Just as the Ferengi liked to inundate every quadrant with their pernicious latinum, she appreciated every opportunity to curb blatant extravagances. With Admiral Harshman’s direction, she could see to it that credits were made, if not unavailable, at the very least awkward to obtain. Convoluted measures and obscure decrees were her weapons of choice.
And then there was Derma IV, a recent protectorate, and the planet that Cmdr Rubens had cited in example. She needed to find fault with it. Its dilithium, its mines. There ought to be a few inconvenient truths about this planet.
But right now, she wanted to take advantage of the fact that the debates had barely started to have a conversation with her daughter. Twenty minutes, she surmised, would be all that she needed to sort out the difficulty that T’Evara had created.
So as to make her presence more effective, T’Sheng had requested a holo-interview with her daughter. One where she would appear, in holo-form, inside the family’s conservatory, lined with fragrant desert flowers, several rustic wicker chairs, and in the background, visible through the windows, Tel-alep’s stark white sand drifts.
She found T’Evara standing on her feet, looking pensively at the desert. She was wearing her blue school uniform, a rigorous appearance that was marred by the frivolous beads, silver in colour, that the young woman had placed in her hair. And what was it that she had just glimpsed on her neck? A small green pattern. A tattoo? Was Strerres aware of this?
“It is good to see you, T’Evara.” T’Sheng announced, her voice as pleasant as it could be. This was true, the two of them hardly spoke anymore, using Strerres to send their greetings and suggestions to each other. Who had started this trend, she was not entirely sure.
“You too mother,” T’Evara said, her voice sharp, impatient, as she turned round to inspect the holo-image, austere as usual, of her mother.
“Do you have a busy schedule?” T’Sheng asked.
“No more nor less than usual, but I certainly did not expect to have to make time for a consultation with you.”
There was an accusation in this ‘you’, T’Sheng noticed. It was the ‘you’ of someone who never agreed with anything. The ‘you’ who always insisted on having the last word. How could this be otherwise, though, when this ‘you’ was always right?
“Should we take a seat?” T’Sheng asked.
“If you insist.”
The two women sat opposite each other, very slowly, behaving more like enemies than family. The young one looked rather wary, while the older one was motivated by a firm determination. The issue that had brought them here today would be resolved swiftly.
“I spoke to your father,” T’Sheng started, with the same severity she would use if she was announcing a change of plan to Admiral Harshman. “He informed me that you were interested in a different career. You would be willing to abandon a path for which your father’s family has thrived for generations, to take a brand new direction. One in which we have no contacts, no allies. Do you see value in a needlessly complicated life?”
T’Evara looked at the windows, as if captured by faraway dreams. “The way you speak, it is a wonder you are a diplomat, mother.”
“What have I said that you find so untoward? I am trying to understand why you are so intent on throwing away your heritage. Ours is a solid legacy. One to be proud of.”
“Indeed a solid legacy. A very long one too, where decisions are never ours. You can no more decide what to do tomorrow than I can.” This time T’Evara stared at her. “Your professional life belongs to this Admiral that you follow everywhere and your private life is still in the hands of your own parents. The legacy that you are so proud of is a prison.”
T’Sheng blinked, and she wished she hadn’t. “You do not make much sense. How can we not be tied to our work, to our decisions? If a lack of choices is a prison, then you created your own cell. You failed your science examinations. You are rejecting your heritage. Without the social structure that our family built over centuries, there would be no comfort in your life, and you would not even be able to study. Where are these choices of yours leading you?”
“They are giving me freedom, mother. Freedom from the likes of you and your Admiral,” The young woman still held her gaze, as she had been taught to. Only insecure, and hence weak people, allowed their eyes to wander. “The decisions you make hurt people. Such is the inconvenient truth. I will not allow this to happen to me.”
The diplomat contemplated her daughter for a few seconds. She didn’t look particularly fragile, but In terms of experience, T’Evara was just a child. Not the sort of statement the young woman would want to hear, of course. Yet it was a fact. A Vulcan child who had allowed emotions to control her life. A child who was also at a loss because what she wanted the most was seemingly out of reach. “If your father had not spoken in your favour, T’Evara, you would be spending the rest of the week speaking to a Counsellor.” T’Sheng resumed. “It is unfortunate that you do not yet possess the tools to express yourself with eloquence. You lash out like an unsophisticated Terran. It is not a pretty sight.”
“I hate you so, you and everything that you represent.”
The words had been whispered, but they obviously stung. Yet what was the value of such a sentence in a mind so young and naïve?
T’Sheng, keeping her poise, went on. “I wish you would stop saying foolish things. Your entomology studies will be allowed. It is obvious that, at this point in time, you are unable to focus on large political concepts. You might, then, turn your attention to the study of insects and their relationship to sentient beings, their environments, and other organisms.” T’Evara was about to say something, but T’Sheng interrupted her by raising her hand. “However, you are not receiving the authorization to live like an adventurer. You will follow the teachings of the most eminent entomologists alive today. I’ll prepare a schedule for you.”
T’Evara said nothing and looked neither satisfied nor dissatisfied. There was, in the nicely scented air of the conservatory, a sort of unspoken understanding, which to T’Sheng was palpable. The knowledge that she was the sort of diplomat who sorted out everything through schedules. When life gives you trouble, you rearrange it until the new patterns you conjured up fit your new circumstances. In other words, she was flexible, but in a way that was seldom appreciated.
“Does the solution fit the problem?” T’Sheng asked at last. She didn’t want to check the time, but she knew, by instinct, that the twenty minutes she had allocated to this discussion were now gone.
“You... will allow me to drop chemistry for entomology?” T’Evara asked, as prudent as a wildcat venturing into new territory.
“This is the decision that your father and I have taken. Now you will have to excuse me, T’Evara, I have a busy day and I must return to my duties.”
“Admiral Harshman, I suspect.”
“This is my life, T’Evara. Do not judge when you know so little. The Admiral is an excellent officer. One who is working relentlessly for the well-being of the Federation and its allies.”
The communication ended soon after, preceded by the obligatory assurances that mother and daughter were in perfect health. Now that the setting around T’Sheng had reverted to the unremarkable décor of her Starfleet quarters, she felt much better. There had been, in the conservatory, one last question, unspoken by T’Evara, but very much present in her eyes. Can you remain a good person when your duty is so vastly important, or do you lose yourself in your tasks?
Does anyone even have an answer to that?
