Tales from the Captain’s Table (36 page)

The Starfleet people also talked with the all-tribal council. Father had been invited to be a member, and in later years he would accept the honor. But now he wanted nothing to do with them. “I am an elder in my own tribe, and that is enough,” he always said. That bothered me—others were elders in their own tribes and still served on the all-tribal council. I knew it was because my father disapproved of the other tribes’ liberal use of technology and involvement with the “offworlders.”

Most of the sessions were held, if not in secret, at least not in public. But there were a few that were open to all the colonists, and at these, Sekky, Blue Water Boy, and I eagerly gathered.

We weren’t sure half the time what the Starfleet people were talking about, and frankly, I didn’t really care. I just wanted to look at them—their uniforms of red and gold and blue, their combadges, their tricorders and phasers. Some of our people had similar technology, but it was old and I had explored it thoroughly.

Watching me one day, Blue Water Boy whispered, “You are hungry, Chakotay.”

I looked at him, bewildered. We’d all just had breakfast. “What do you mean?”

“You are starving to get this into your life,” he said. “I look at you and I see the look of a famished wolf staring at a deer.”

I didn’t know what a wolf or a deer was—some kind of animal native to Earth, I supposed. From his words, I gathered that the wolf ate the deer, and I had to nod. As always, Blue Water Boy was right. I was hungry for what these people had.

At one point, Captain Sulu caught me staring at her. She cocked her head and stared back, a slight smile tugging at her lips. I immediately lowered my eyes—staring at a female so intently was discourteous. My heart raced and my palms were wet. A woman, captain of a starship. It was still hard for me to get my mind around it.

When I next dared to look up, Sulu’s eyes were elsewhere but T’Piran was looking directly at me. The blood rose in my cheeks and again I dropped my gaze. I didn’t dare lift it again, and spent the rest of that morning’s council session staring at my feet.

Sekaya nudged me and giggled. She tilted her head in T’Piran’s direction and waggled her eyebrows meaningfully. I wanted to throttle her, but I couldn’t even say anything—after all, I owed her four. When the council session broke for lunch, everyone headed for a large table spread with native delicacies. We waited for our honored guests to choose first, then the council members, then the adults. By the time we got to the table it was pretty well picked over.

I loaded up my plate with cut-up vegetables and bread and a few fruits. Embarrassed by being caught staring at a Starfleet captain and her first officer, annoyed at Sekaya’s bold teasing, and generally in a defiant mood, I also heaped some cold fish onto my plate.

Sekaya was scandalized. “Chakotay! What are you doing?”

“Fish is supposed to be good for you,” I shot back. Then I took a slice of some other animal flesh I didn’t recognize.

“You’re just being contrary,” she said, sniffing slightly.

And that, too, annoyed me. I made a sound and turned away. She looked to Blue Water Boy for support, but my friend just shrugged. “I like fish,” he said. “Everyone should eat it. It’s good.”

“Oh!” Sekaya stamped her sandaled foot, stared at the spread, then put some fish on her plate too.

Blue Water Boy sighed. “You’re a bad influence, Chakotay.”

“Hey, you’re the one who said everyone should eat fish.”

“Excuse me.”

The voice was as cool as a river in spring and we all three started. I turned around to see Commander T’Piran. She held a carved wooden plate that bore a selection of grains, fruits, and vegetables. There was no hint of animal flesh.

“Vulcans are vegetarians,” she said mildly. “There is no shame in it.”

I could do nothing right. For the most fleeting of moments, I wanted to hurl my plate to the ground and storm off. Instead, I clutched it until my knuckles turned white and said, “I am not ashamed.” I was pretty sure that was a lie. “I merely want to experience things other than what my tribe teaches.”

“Most logical,” T’Piran said. I knew that was high praise from a Vulcan, and I felt my spirits lift just the smallest amount. “You are Chakotay, is that correct?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Captain Sulu would like you to join us for lunch.”

I’m sure I gaped. “Um…of course. I would be honored.” I turned to give my friends a look that I hoped was mature and confident, but what I now think was probably one of barely suppressed glee. Both of them looked surprised, but Blue Water Boy, again, had that faint look of consternation on his face that troubled me.

But I wasn’t going to let it trouble me. Not today, not under a blue, cloudless sky when I was about to dine with a captain of a starship.

T’Piran took me back to a private area where the captain lounged beneath a canopy. She was reading a padd and sipping from a glass containing a red beverage when we approached. She looked up and smiled, the expression genuine, curving the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth into semicircles of pleasure.

“I’m so pleased you could join us, Chakotay,” she said in a warm, friendly voice.

Like I’d say no to a luncheon with a Starfleet captain,
I thought.

“The honor is entirely mine, Captain Sulu,” I replied with as much graciousness as a fifteen-year-old boy could muster.

She gestured that I should sit. I perched on a carved wooden stool, awaiting…whatever was going to happen.

“I’d offer both of you a glass of this excellent vintage, but you’re underage, Chakotay, and T’Piran doesn’t drink.” She sipped the beverage, clearly savoring it. At my expression, Sulu grinned. “Captain’s privilege. I don’t usually drink when I’m on duty, but a glass of wine now and then with a meal is good for one…and, well, I outrank everyone here.”

I was shocked. I had imagined that Starfleet officials were a bit like my father—no bending the rules, no exceptions to anything. “By-the-book” was the term I’d heard. And yet here I was, dining with two women in positions of great power, talking about sipping wine when on duty. I felt almost as giddy as if I had drunk some of the wine.

“So a little bird told me that you are very interested in Starfleet,” Sulu continued.

A little bird named Sekaya?
“Yes, I am,” I answered honestly.

“What is it, exactly, that intrigues you so much?”

I set my plate on my lap and looked her full in the eye. If ever there was a time to speak from the heart, I sensed it was now.

“When I was younger, it was the technology,” I said truthfully. “I was fascinated by it. Phasers, tricorders—everything.”

T’Piran frowned a little. “But your people have access to Federation technology,” she said. “It is nothing unique to Starfleet.”

I turned toward her and for perhaps the first time I fully realized what an attractive woman she was. I’d seen her before on many occasions, but always saw the officer, not the woman. She was tall, her shiny black hair pulled back in a ponytail, her ears tapered to graceful points. Her body was fit but not overly muscled; curvaceous, but not lush. Her expression was controlled, of course—she was Vulcan, after all—but there was real curiosity on her lovely, aquiline features.

My brain turned to mush for a moment, then I remembered the question. “Um…that’s true. Sort of.”
Well, that was eloquent.
I tried again. “The technology is here on the planet, but my tribe tries to involve itself as little as possible with it.”

Demora Sulu, under no cultural restraints to control her emotions, drew her still-dark eyebrows together. “Don’t tell me your tribe denies itself proper medical treatment?”

“No,” I said hastily. Contrary that I was, I suddenly didn’t want to paint my tribe as being primitive or, worse, stupid. “No one comes to harm through lack of technology. We just don’t use it as much as the other tribes do.”

“Interesting,” said T’Piran. “What is the term among humans—forbidden fruit?”

I hadn’t heard the term and looked inquiringly at Captain Sulu. “It means that often, we want what we don’t have.” She smiled again, and again the years dropped off her face. “We have
lots
of quaint phrases to describe that phenomenon.”

I suddenly realized what they were getting at. They thought that my interest in Starfleet was that of a child—a “deprived” little boy wanting to play with toys. No, they couldn’t think that—they just couldn’t!

“But it’s become more than that,” I said quickly. “I’ve talked to lots of the people who have come here. I’ve heard their stories. I know about what’s going on off this world, about the Cardassians and everything, and it fascinates me.”

The two women exchanged glances. T’Piran arched that eyebrow again, and Sulu continued to hold her smile. “So you’ve outgrown a desire to play with toys and have graduated to wanting adventures,” Sulu said.

I sagged on my stool. I couldn’t make them understand. Just like my father, they saw me as a child: a little boy wanting to enact a fantasy.

“Chakotay? What’s wrong?” Sulu’s voice held almost a motherly tone.

I swallowed hard. I had been famished before, but now the food on my plate—especially the meat and fish—looked unappetizing. I had lost already. They had mentally classified me, and nothing I could do could make the situation better. It didn’t matter now if I made it worse.

“Captain Sulu, did you invite me here to make fun of me?”

“Chakotay,” said T’Piran in a warning voice.

“No, T’Piran, it’s all right.” Sulu fixed me with an intent gaze. My mouth went dry under that scrutiny. Suddenly I saw just why Starfleet had seen fit to promote this woman to a captaincy.

“You have a right to ask,” she continued. “And I certainly did not invite you here to make fun of you. I’m a little disappointed that you even thought that.”

Inwardly, I cringed. How often had I heard that?
I’m disappointed in you, Chakotay.
My father always knew that that word would crush me more than
angry
or
upset.
How often had I seen that look on his face, that sorrowful resignation? To know that I had, again, failed him as a son. No doubt he secretly wished that young Kamaran had been his son instead of me—Kamaran was so perfect, he knew all the old legends and—

“I asked you here because you intrigued us.” She gestured to T’Piran. “You’re not the only one on this planet interested in Starfleet, you know. But there was something different about you. Something that we both noticed. An intensity, if you will. A passion. Starfleet is not all fun and games, Chakotay. It’s life and death, sometimes. It’s being willing to die, and what might be even harder, being willing to kill for something you know is right. And there’s boredom aplenty. Did you see the look on the faces of my crew when they came down for shore leave? We don’t want to crowd Starfleet Academy with starry-eyed youngsters who quit once they get a taste of what it’s all about. We don’t want cadets who enrolled as an act of rebellion.”

She leaned forward in her seat, her brown eyes blazing with intensity. “What we want are young people who would make fine officers one day.”

My heart leaped at the unspoken words. I desperately tried to think of something appropriate to say, but my tongue cleaved to my mouth and all I could do was stare at her.

“You mentioned that your tribe rejects modern technology,” came T’Piran’s cool voice. I dragged my gaze from Sulu’s face to hers. “What would your family think of your attending the Academy?”

It was time to choose: truth, or a lie. For a moment, I was torn, but only a moment. With a wisdom that I now marvel at, some few decades later, I knew with unshakable certainty that I would never learn to be happy staying home. I knew, too, that I would not be able to serve as I wanted there, either. My destiny lay before me: Starfleet, or tribal tradition.

I made my decision. “My father is quite forward-thinking for our tribe,” I said, marveling at how firm and believable the words sounded. “He encourages me to meet and talk with you. I’m certain he’d be pleased if I were to attend.”

“That is good,” said T’Piran approvingly. “Perhaps we can arrange to meet your father and discuss what is necessary for your admittance.”

Panic fluttered in my gut. “My father is very busy right now,” I said, and that much, at least, was true. “He is involved in creating a rite of passage ritual for the young men of our tribe. I can study for the exam on my own. Once this is over I’m sure he’d be delighted to meet you.”

All right, then, a little lie on the end of a great big truth. The world of black and white absolutes in which I had been raised had suddenly gone very, very gray.

The two women exchanged glances. “We will need to get his permission for you to attend if you are accepted,” said Sulu. “But in the meantime, if you want to handle the studying all by yourself, then more power to you, my young friend.”

To my shock, she lifted the glass of red wine and toasted me.

I drifted home that day. Secreted on my person were the contraband padds that contained the necessary information to prepare for the exam. I sneaked away as often as I could to peruse them. It was almost like reading a foreign language, everything was so different. If only I’d been born on Earth, or at least to the Navajo or Lakota or Hopi tribes here.