Pathways

by Jeri Taylor

  It seemed a paltry reward.

  Now that Seleya was within reach, his stomach full and thirst abated, he was more doubtful than he had been when he was near death from dehydration and starvation. This observation flew in the face of reason, and disturbed him more than he cared to acknowledge. It seemed that his expedition would end with no genuine resolution, no satisfaction, no enlightenment.

  What, then, had it been for? He glanced down at the sehlat, trotting strongly at his side, and was struck again with the impossibility of explaining any of this. The answers will come when they will come, said a voice in his head, not when you decide you need them. It was a calming thought, and he decided to trust it.

  No sooner had he made that decision than the ground beneath him trembled slightly. It was a mild quiver, nothing more, and though he paused for a full minute after that, uncertain whether to proceed, there was nothing more. He stepped forward once again, his eyes trained on T’Khut, which seemed to foam in the dark sky, fiery volcanoes spewing fire. He felt it was appropriate that T’Khut be visible on this, the last leg of his journey; it brought his pilgrimage full circle.

  The ground shuddered again, this time more emphatically, and the sands shifted uneasily beneath his feet. Tuvok stopped, recognizing the tremor as a small earthquake. What other phenomenon of nature would this barren wasteland produce for him? Drought, wind, rainstorm, and now temblors. He glanced up at Seleya, as though its snowy summit might suddenly erupt with volcanic activity.

  Another quake, and Tuvok half crouched, unable to keep his balance on the moving sand. He realized with some disquiet that there was no solidity, no permanence to sand; it was quite possibly the worst place to be during a series of earthquakes. If the tremors became violent enough, great sinkholes could develop, yawning chasms which could suck him into their depths and bury him beneath thousands of kilograms of sand. He looked for the sehlat and saw it standing, frozen and alert, dark fur standing on end.

  Now the ground was shaking violently, and he fell to it, unable to keep his balance. He spread his arms and legs wide, to reduce the risk of his being swallowed by the now heaving sand. A great roar ensued, a sound that reminded him of the fierce howl of the Winds, but infinitely lower, deeper, as though a thousand tympanums were resonating. The rocking of the earth was now violent, and for perhaps the dozenth time since he began his journey, Tuvok anticipated his demise.

  Then a strange darkness descended and the frenzied vibrations subsided. Tuvok dared to look up from his spread-eagled position on the now quiet sands.

  T’Khut had disappeared, as had Seleya.

  Confusion clawed at his mind. The earthquakes might have toppled Seleya, but how could they have affected T’Khut, who sailed majestically in orbit, unassailable by planet-based temblors?

  Gingerly, he came to his hands and knees, looking upward, searching for an answer to this latest mystery. He saw only darkness above him.

  And then the darkness spoke. With a searing assault, images invaded his mind, tumbling, overwhelming, drowning him in visions. He gasped from the impact of it, and then drew desperate, ragged breaths of air into suddenly oxygen-starved lungs. He saw sights he could not have imagined, strange, swirling worlds awash in color and blood, songs that he saw rather than heard, except that he heard them too, a cacophony of dissonant melodies, exotic and overpowering.

  Then, with startling clarity, he understood what was happening, and he stared up at the Underlier which had risen from beneath the sands, its immensity blocking the night sky and obliterating the sight of Seleya and T’Khut. Its huge mass arched above him, gargantuan, and in its roar was contained the knowledge of the ages. Into Tuvok’s head vaulted images of enormous scope: he saw the births and deaths of civilizations, he witnessed the great events of history on every settled planet; he was both an observer and a participant in the great battles of all time, from the ancient to the future; he created poetry and music and lived a million lifetimes, until he was a witness to the end of the universe, the entropy that consumed everything in the great heat death, and then he saw the form of the Other and knew he was able to grasp infinite truth, it was just beyond him, a fingertip away . . .

  . . . and then with stunning intensity he possessed it: the answers to all questions ever asked, the revelation of the wisdom of the universe, the secrets of starbirth, insight into the infinite. It was a glorious, dazzling, joyous sensation, and he howled with delight, his puny voice absorbed by the Underlier, joined with it, until they became one and Tuvok’s mind opened further and further and then the face of the Other was just about to be revealed to him, a great white light was bursting and it was there, there, right before him, he could reach out and touch the face of the Other—

  With an enormous hiss, the Underlier began to sink beneath the sands once more. It happened remarkably quickly as the great being sank down, down, down, to the black depths where there was no light, no air, nothing but the crushing weight of the sand.

  Seleya and T’Khut were in their rightful place once more, stately and serene, as though a miracle had not just taken place.

  The sehlat had disappeared.

  Tuvok stood alone in the darkness, trying to hold on to what he had just experienced, but everything was dancing away from him, sparkling motes in the air that he tried to grasp but which eluded him and then dissolved into nothingness.

  The silence was monstrous. He put his hand on his chest and felt his heart thundering against his ribs, and he took several deep breaths in an automatic response to bring it under control. Then he sat down to contemplate what had happened.

  The vast insights of his experience had vanished. He no longer understood the universe, he no longer knew infinite truth. He couldn’t summon up the face of the Other. All that knowledge had been his for the briefest of instances, and then it disappeared beneath the sands with the Underlier.

  But one thing that was revealed, he retained: the reason he had undertaken his journey. Though he hadn’t known it at the time, it was to see the Underlier, a’kweth, the repository of all knowledge. For one brief and transcendent moment, he, too, had possessed that knowledge, and if he no longer did, that was as it should be; man is too flimsy to bear the weight of that much wisdom. A half-second’s insight is almost too overwhelming, and one would surely perish if required to retain it any longer.

  He had touched something holy, and he was fulfilled. He rose to his feet and continued marching resolutely toward Seleya, but in fact his passage was complete. He had held the infinite in his mind and no one could ask more than that.

  Two days after that, when he emerged from the desert wilderness and came to the base of Seleya, he was greeted by a group of Vulcans who stared at him with barely concealed curiosity. He couldn’t imagine how he must look after having lived in the desert for months, but it was a sight that obviously had an impact on his normally stoic countrymen, who spoke to him uncertainly, as though believing he must be a madman. They seemed relieved when he responded lucidly, and when he related his adventure they were almost reverent in their awe, recognizing his feat as something unique and wondrous, something they would never attempt. They arranged for him to transport back to his home as soon as he had paid whatever obeisance he had planned to the sacred mountain.

  But that was now irrelevant to him. Tuvok had made decisions. He could no longer live the life of an ascetic, and he must give something back to the universe in return for the gift it had shared with him. He would never abandon his family, for they completed him, but he would petition to rejoin Starfleet, and pledge his life toward exploration and investigation. A debt must be paid.

  His reinstatement as an ensign might have been difficult for some people of his age to accept, but Tuvok saw it as a just decision. He had made his choice years ago to leave Starfleet; it should be he, not Starfleet, who paid the consequences.

  His only impatience came with the schedule of his return to deep-space duty. Starfleet had seen fit to assign him to Headquarters, to serve
on the review board as tactical officer, and he had spent months evaluating captains’ procedures with regard to weapons and tactics, a task requiring meticulous attention to detail, which suited his skills well. But it was also a limited and repetitive chore with little of particular challenge to him. His promise in the desert had to do with exploration, not with endless assessment of tactical logs.

  Nonetheless, he accepted the assignment without protest, and applied his skill and intelligence to it, working diligently and thoroughly, to the delight of his Starfleet superiors. They were so enthusiastic about his performance, in fact, that he wondered if they would elect to keep him here, on Terra, at the same redundant task, until he retired.

  Most of the reviews he conducted were routine. Starfleet captains didn’t get to their positions by ignoring regulations, and Tuvok examined scores of logs that were models of precision and flawless performance. In general, he had only to mark “approved” on the padd and his job was done.

  His immediate superior was Admiral McGeorge Finnegan, a generous, expansive man in his fifties with a thatch of red hair graying in spots, and a ready smile. As Tuvok sat in his office one gray November afternoon, methodically studying a set of logs from the U.S.S. Appalachia, which had just returned from a mission to the Barnard’s Star system, Admiral Finnegan rapped casually on the doorjamb and leaned in, padd in hand.

  “You’ll have to put the Appalacia aside for the moment,” he announced. “We have a first-mission review that Owen Paris has personally asked to be put at the top of the list.”

  The Vulcan’s eyebrow lifted automatically at this news. It was unusual for Admiral Paris to make such a request, and Tuvok was curious as to the reason.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” said Finnegan with a smile. “This particular captain seems to be one of Owen’s pet projects. He’s been like a nervous father for the last few days.”

  Tuvok frowned. He felt this attitude was unsuitable, and he was reminded, as he was every day, of the willingness among humans to allow emotional involvement to determine procedure. But he had long ago stopped thinking he could change their nature. All he could do was to perform his own duties with as much intellectual rigor as possible.

  When he reviewed the tactical logs of this particular captain, one Kathryn Janeway, he was appalled. For the first time, he felt his position was justified, and was gratified that the many months of studying logs had given him the experience necessary to ascertain that these particular records were abominable. Captain Janeway had taken her ship, the Bonestell, into the Beta Quadrant and gathered information on microsecond pulsars, and he hoped her scientific methodology was more precise than her attention to tactical matters would seem to indicate. He was somewhat amazed that a captain would dare to submit an accounting that made her look so inept.

  Tuvok began taking notes on all the transgressions, and stayed in his office long into the night in order to write as thorough a report as possible. In all, he cited forty-one violations of tactical procedures, including an absence of test firings and battle drills, with only two weapons reviews during the entire six-month mission. He found it hard to imagine that a Starfleet officer would pay such lax attention to details.

  When he left his office that night, he noticed lights burning in several offices of Starfleet Headquarters. Curious, he stopped to see if Admiral Finnegan were there, and found his superior in his office looking wan and haggard.

  “It’s a terrible tragedy,” he said to Tuvok. “Owen’s son, Thomas, and three other cadets were in the Vega system, practicing asteroid deflection. There was a collision. The three cadets were killed.”

  “That is regrettable,” said Tuvok sincerely, thinking of his own children and allowing himself a flickering twinge of relief that they had chosen to remain on Vulcan and eschew the sometimes dangerous path of joining Starfleet. Although it was true that no one could predict the vagaries of life, it was unlikely that he would get a message similar to the one three sets of parents had received that day, and for that he was grateful.

  Disliking these unusual thoughts, he turned his attention once more to his task. “I am sorry to inform you, sir, that my analysis of Captain Janeway, Admiral Paris’s protégée, suggests an officer who is less than capable.”

  But Finnegan was too consumed with the recent tragedy to care about a minor tactical report. He waved Tuvok off, wearily. “We’ll deal with that tomorrow,” he sighed. “I’m waiting for the sensor logs in Cadet Paris’s shuttle to be downloaded.”

  Tuvok nodded and left. He understood the admiral’s priorities. But he also knew he had to keep his own in proper alignment.

  The next afternoon, he checked his notes thoroughly in order to make certain they were accurate. In doing so, he noticed two more violations of procedure which, though minor, must nonetheless be included. He left a message for Admiral Finnegan that he would be with them as soon as he had corrected the entries.

  As soon as he was done, he hurried to the paneled room in which reviews were always held, and found three admirals—Finnegan, Paris, and Nechayev—already there. Standing to one side was a dainty, small-boned woman who nonetheless emanated strength, whose brown hair was neatly coiffed, and whose gray-blue eyes reflected a keen intelligence. Admiral Finnegan was introducing them, gesturing to Tuvok and saying, “Captain Janeway, may I present Ensign Tuvok.”

  The woman extended her hand and he took it. “Captain,” he intoned, and then set a stack of padds on the table. Within minutes Finnegan had turned the meeting over to him, and without hesitation Tuvok launched into his review, citing each of the forty-three violations along with his opinion as to whether the infraction was major or minor. As he spoke, he was aware that Captain Janeway was studying him intently, and he was certain she intended to argue each point with him.

  When he had finished, Admiral Finnegan turned to her. “You may feel free to answer the charges, Captain.”

  The woman sat quietly for a moment, then rose. “Sir, I was raised in the traditions of Starfleet. I learned the precepts of this organization at an early age; I admire and honor them.”

  Her voice was clear and strong, and she spoke with earnest conviction. Illogically, but earnestly. When she had finished trying to rationalize her errors, Tuvok rebutted, and she rebutted that statement, and so on until they were sent into the hallway while the admirals decided the outcome of the hearing, which came quickly. As Tuvok had known they would, the admirals rebuked Captain Janeway for having violated tactical procedures.

  He was caught off-guard, however, when they announced that they intended to post him to her ship, for he had not anticipated such a maneuver. But he quickly saw its definitive logic. This was a captain who could be developing bad habits, and she required firm guidance. He had no doubt that, with his help, she might yet be molded into a passable officer.

  Five months later, he despaired of that task. The woman was simply the most stubborn, frustrating, impossible human he’d ever met. He had already decided to request another posting as soon as they returned from their present mission, a survey of supernova remnants in the Trige sector. In the meantime, he intended to keep insisting that she follow protocols.

  “Good morning, Captain,” he intoned as she came on the bridge. “Weapons systems are on-line and ready for weekly review.”

  “I’m sure I can leave that task in your capable hands, Tuvok.”

  “I have done so, as I do each day,” he replied, “but regulations clearly state that at least once a week the captain is expected to review weapons status.”

  “Strange. That seems to imply that the captain has no faith in her tactical officer, which I assure you is far from the case. I trust you implicitly.”

  Was there the slightest curl to her lips? Tuvok could never be sure. Captain Janeway was always poised, cool, implacable. He had learned that human humor took many forms, and he lacked the ability to distinguish between them, especially if they were subtle. But it was entirely possible that the captain was m
ocking him.

  “I did not think that you lacked faith in me, Captain. However, if you trust me so fully, why is it you pay so little heed to my recommendations?”

  “I believe in establishing a self-reliant crew, one that doesn’t need the captain looking over their shoulders all the time. Surely my time is better spent elsewhere.”

  Tuvok couldn’t conceal a deep breath that might have been termed a sigh. They’d been at this long enough for him to know she wouldn’t yield.

  “Very well, Captain. I will once again review the weapons systems. My report will be in your console within the hour.”

  “Thank you, Tuvok. I’m so glad you understand.”

  He didn’t deign to respond.

  On that morning, however, Tuvok would not complete the weapons review, for Captain Janeway indulged another of her habits: becoming so excited about a possible scientific discovery that she put herself in mortal danger.

  They were within scanning distance of a main-sequence star system consisting of seven planets, one of which intrigued the captain because it was an M-class sphere that closely resembled Earth, albeit at a much earlier stage of its evolutionary history.

  “Remarkable,” said the captain as she read the sensors. “It looks like Earth might have in the Mesozoic Era—one hundred and fifty million years ago. This planet might give us some insights into our own history. We’ve got to go down there.”

  “Captain, I point out that this is a highly treacherous environment. There are violent storms, volcanic activity, seismic temblors. I suggest that sensors and automated probes can perform any tasks of exploration that you might require.”

  But her face was shining, eyes alight with curiosity and determination. “How can I not see what it looks like? This is a chance to travel back in time, to see what our own planet might have been like millions of years ago. No, Tuvok, I’m not going to miss an opportunity like this.”