Strange New Worlds IV

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “I was not!” Kamin raised his voice at her, a thing that he had done only once before, and only then because she was deserving.

  Meribor seemed to dissolve at this, shrinking into her soft nightgown. Still, her young, eight-year-old voice remained as strong as ever, all girlish qualities vanishing for a moment. “Yes, you were, Father. I heard you. You said ‘I’ instead of ‘Captain Picard.’”

  This time, Kamin simply bellowed. It was something that he would later dearly regret; it would leave a deep, shameful scar upon his conscience for as long as he would remember.

  “Be quiet, Meribor! I said that I did not and I did not! Your father is not a liar!” He pointed a shaking finger down the hall. “Now go to your room! Go!”

  Eline quickly intervened, pushing Meribor behind her, scooping up Batai, who had begun to cry, from Kamin’s arms into her own.

  “Go to bed, it’s time for bed,” she said softly.

  She swept them off down the hall, attempting to hide Kamin from their view. Even so, Kamin saw Meribor peeping anxiously around the folds of her mother’s billowing skirt, her eyes wide and concerned.

  Kamin found himself trembling in the silence. He was not sure why.

  That black feeling was overwhelming now. The wind outside continued to shriek, screaming an almost anguished cry. Kamin took a deep breath, tried to contain himself. He was fairly sure of what was happening to him, desperately not wanting to recognize it. It hurt too much.

  Eline strode back into the room, a self-contained tempest, a smoldering fire.

  “Kamin!” she uttered his name in the loudest, fiercest whisper she could muster, without breaking into fuller tones. “Just what do you think you’re doing? What kind of story was that?!”

  Kamin strode past her with equal fervor, not bothering even to look at her as he stamped past, or to keep his voice at a reasonable level. “A true one, Eline. It was the truth!”

  And he disappeared into their bedroom, leaving his wife alone in the deserted living room, fuming, startled, and utterly dismayed.

  Kamin had waited five minutes or so, sitting in the darkness on his bed, listening to the wind howl and moan, before he decided Eline was not going to pursue him.

  That was fortunate. There were times when he was in a foul mood and he would retreat like a frail hermit into dark quiet, simply needing someone to listen as he spoke a hulking burden from off his shoulders. The small, soundless, almost imperceptible signal would be sent, whether he intended it to be or not. Soon, Eline would be there, serene and silent, waiting for him to speak … and he would have been waiting for her.

  This was not one of those times. Now, he wanted desperately to be left alone. He did not hear the soft pad-flop of his wife’s slippers, and he was eternally thankful that she could recognize his need for solitude. This did not mean that she was not upset with him, of course. That much was apparent. He would get an earful later.

  Now, as he was sure that he was alone in his shadowed room—and that it would stay that way—he allowed that part of him that he had for so many years kept hidden behind a curtain of tranquility to open up. These days that curtain had a tendency to remain diffidently shut, and very rarely did he peep through.

  “Q,” he whispered, his hands on his knees, staring at his shadow on the wall, which was itself flickering back and forth in synchronous rhythm with the small flame he had lit behind him. “Q, I’ve had enough.”

  He was completely quiet for a moment, as if waiting for a response.

  “I said that’s enough! There’s only so much a man can take.” He directed his gaze slowly upward now as he spoke. “You can’t expect me to live the rest of my life like this, can you?”

  Silence.

  “I’ve got a family. A family that I dearly love, Q. And whether you’re doing this merely to enjoy a long, hearty laugh, or whether you have some skewed purpose in mind … I ask you to end it. End it now, Q.”

  Kamin waited for another moment, his body tense, jaw muscles working. He grasped the end of the bedpost in his left hand and squeezed it without even knowing, as if his frustration and despair were somehow seeping through his hand into the wooden column.

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” he raised his voice slightly, “Yes, I know now that I was missing something on the Enterprise. I know that there was no way I would ever have allowed myself to love anybody like I love these people. It was impossible for me to contemplate sharing life with anyone other than myself. I never would have had a wife or children … I was indubitably selfish, Q, I know that.”

  He paused, his fingernails digging into the wood of the bedpost with feverish intensity. In the singular light of the flickering candle, his eyes glistened with tears that he would not allow to fall.

  “I’ve learned my lesson …” he repeated.

  And then he roared, “Now change it back!”

  His breathing was increasing in intensity, his heart rate thudthudding away as the organ to which blood was pumping grieved in desperate haste.

  But there was no response from the mysterious letter of the alphabet the man seemed to be addressing.

  Nothing at all.

  Kamin lowered his head, gripped even harder, and with quiet intensity, said “Dammit, I’m sorry …”

  And then he felt the pain shoot up his arm and to his heart. His eyes went wide, his mouth opened, suddenly feeling very dry and cottony. He felt utterly paralyzed, yet he did manage to grasp his chest and left arm before he collapsed to the dark, beckoning floor.

  “Daddy …?”

  Darkness.

  “Daddy …?”

  And then his daughter’s face.

  Kamin blinked his eyes several more times to clear away the groggy film of haze that thickly blanketed everything upon which he attempted to focus.

  “Daddy, you’re awake! I’ll get Mother!”

  “No!” Kamin heard himself rapidly respond.

  He had not really had time to process exactly what his circumstances were. But based upon the thin candlelight flickering to his left, the familiar smell of his bed and feel of his sheets, it was not difficult to guess.

  “No, wait,” he said, attempting to adjust his voice so that it didn’t waver so. “Not yet. She’ll bring the whole town in with her … come here for a moment, Meribor.” He wiggled his finger toward himself, an act which he found astonishingly exhausting.

  Meribor had remained in her nightgown, it appeared to still be dark out, and the wind continued to howl mournfully, so he gathered that he hadn’t been out for very long.

  Meribor looked warily at him, but stepped closer.

  “Mommy said that you were very sick and that I should not bother you.”

  “Oh, Meribor.” Kamin tried to sit up a little, but found it extraordinarily difficult to do so. “You never bother me. Never. You bring me the greatest joy that I have ever known.”

  “Really …?” She fidgeted with her hands.

  “Oh, yes.” He reached down as much as was physically possible so that she could climb into his arms, in the process noticing that some manner of thin, plastic tube was inserted into his arm, traveling up to who-knew-where.

  Meribor grasped her father’s large hands with her tiny ones and pulled herself up, being altogether too careful to avoid bumping the tubing, but as soon as she was within Kamin’s arms, she swiftly wrapped her arms around him and hugged him fiercely.

  “I love you, Daddy,” she said quietly, her face scrunched up against his chest. Kamin wondered how in the world she could breathe like that, then thought no more of it because his heart was melting.

  He reached down and gently brushed her long hair aside her soft face. “I … I love you, too, Meribor. Very much.”

  Not releasing him from her bear hug, she looked up at him. “I’m sorry.”

  He drew himself up slightly. “Whatever for?”

  “For asking all those questions. About you and Captain Picard. I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Kamin pulle
d her back slightly, just enough so she would know that what he said next was very important. “Meribor, there was nothing wrong with those questions you asked. They were … appropriate.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I was confusing myself with Captain Picard—I was telling the story as if I were him. You were right. This,” he said, gesturing to himself and the tube that jutted out of his arm, “is not your fault, Meribor. I simply got excited. It happens to daddies my age; but it was not your fault.”

  Meribor drew herself closer again, pressing up against him as if he were a lifeline. “Did you know him, Daddy?” she said through his shirt.

  “Know who?”

  “Captain Picard.”

  Despite himself, Kamin’s breath caught in his throat. He let it out slowly. Here came that feeling again.

  Push it down, Kamin! Push it away, for goodness’ sake!

  “I … I don’t know, exactly. It’s a—a very … confusing thing to talk about. It’s complicated, Meribor. It’s—”

  “It’s okay, Daddy. I understand,” she said, her face still pressed against his chest, her voice muffled.

  Kamin smiled. He did not understand. There was no way in the world his eight-year-old daughter could understand. But that was the beauty of it, wasn’t it?

  “You’re an extraordinary gift to an undeserving father, Meribor. Thank you.”

  “Daddy?”

  “Uhm-hm.”

  “Will you finish the story?”

  If Kamin’s thoughts had had feet, they would have stopped dead in their tracks. He did not want to finish the story. He did not want to talk about Commander Riker and Captain Picard any more. He dreaded it. The thought of doing so summoned that sickening, black feeling.

  He wouldn’t do it.

  “Yes,” he said.

  Damn!

  “But not tonight. Daddy’s tired.”

  Meribor relaxed her tight, warm hold on him to look up into his eyes with her penetrating blues. “Do you promise?”

  Kamin knew what that meant. He didn’t break promises—not to her. If he promised, then he would have to do it. But if he didn’t promise, she would know that he never intended to do it. Would she understand? Or would he break her heart? That had always been his fear—breaking his daughter’s heart. But she was extraordinarily mature for her age; he had raised her that way. Surely she would understand.

  He would tell her no.

  “Yes. I promise.”

  At that blessed assurance, his daughter once again relaxed against his frame, completely and utterly content in both the safety of his arms and his promise.

  “Daddy, you’re going to be all right.”

  Kamin smiled softly. “Promise?” he asked.

  “Promise … and you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I never break my promises.”

  Kamin had hugged her tighter, holding his daughter close … And then Eline had walked in, shrieked in delight at the sight of her husband, conscious and well. Indeed, Kamin had been right—Eline did have the entire, concerned town of Ressik stuffed supportively in their living room. The doctor had entered his room shortly after hearing Eline’s ecstatic exclamation, had attempted to maneuver around her brooding form to examine Kamin, and had then given him a clean bill of health.

  And so it was that the previous happenings of the evening were entirely forgotten.

  Or so it had appeared….

  Kamin was sleeping poorly.

  He tossed and turned, the sheets of his bed twisting themselves around his frail, stick-thin legs like a snake of satin coiling its way around a meager branch. The large tufts of bristly white hair poked and pointed in irreconcilable madness between his ears and bald head—even more so now due to the manner in which it was squished between his head and bunched-up pillows.

  He let out a long, wheezing sigh (as they all were these days) and lay as still as he possibly could. He very much needed his sleep tonight because Meribor was adamant about dragging him off to some sort of “launching” in the morning.

  He had never slept a full night since Eline had been gone. Inevitably he would turn over in the night and drape an arm over … nothing. He would wake up, startled, wondering who had stolen Eline from under his wing … and then he would remember. He would usually sleep restlessly from that point on, if at all.

  That was how it had been for nine years.

  Only tonight it was different. Something was wrong. Something inside him.

  That black, thistly feeling was back, gnawing at his stomach and mind like some kind of wicked disease.

  Only now he did not want to acknowledge it. His aged, decrepit body and his rigid, stubborn

  (not stubborn, for goodness’ sake!)

  mind were in direct opposition with one another. His body said yes and his mind said no. And although they were both in agreement that Kamin should not sleep, they warred over the ifs and whys and buts.

  Which was, in the long run, entirely pointless, because Kamin knew—deep down inside, where even he visited only once in a great while, he knew—that it was here, rapping on the tightly sealed door to his heart and soul.

  And now it was time to let it in. Time to bare his teeth and confront it.

  He had picked up his flute, dropped its tip into his mouth, and tried in earnest to play that blackness away—blow it through and out in notes at which his gnarled, old fingers could barely arrive. But neither his mind nor his heart was in the music, and he had discovered after a moment that he was simply blowing air, nothing more, not even a tune.

  Sadly, he had dropped the instrument and summoned Meribor, called her to his home in the middle of a dark, wet night.

  She did not bother knocking. It was her home as much as her father’s, perhaps even more so if it is true that home is where the heart is.

  And now she approached the door to her father’s room, the sulking shadows of the quiet house frowning and slithering slowly across her adult features. She stopped beneath the doorframe, seeing Kamin’s fragile silhouette upright and hunched over thoughtfully on his bed, the covers sprawled in every direction, his nightclothes wrinkled and disheveled.

  “Father …?”

  He glanced up at her dark form. “Meribor, come in.”

  She set down the small bag of night things she had brought with her from her own home just in case, and slowly, quietly made her way to the edge of the bed. She sat down, scooted close to her father, and put a slender, womanly hand on his spindly, frail leg.

  “What is it?” Her brow was creased in concern, although she could see that her father appeared to be fine.

  Kamin simply looked at her, his eyes glistening faintly from deeply sunken sockets. His deeply wrinkled, drawn, veined face gave not a clue as to what emotions were roiling beneath the surface of his countenance.

  And he continued to stare at her in stony silence, his breathing low and warm, his eyes dancing about Meribor’s face, as if searching for some place to hide.

  Meribor’s troubled expression grew deeper. “Daddy …?”

  And Kamin’s face began to crumble. It would have been difficult to discern exactly how strong his features actually were in his old age, how sharp and commanding they had remained beneath his pleated, rutted skin, unless one had seen now how they melted away. His brow drew impossibly upward, and his eyes narrowed to slits as his face crumpled into a pained, agonizing grimace. He slowly raised his shaking arms and, with all the passion and urgency he could physically muster, embraced his daughter.

  Kamin placed his old, tired head against her shoulder and let out a trembling sob. His small, gaunt shoulders began to slowly rise and fall in physical grief as each breath came in mournful hitches. Tears streamed down his face in small rivers, tracing the wrinkles of his contorted face.

  “I loved them,” he sobbed. “I loved them as much as I love you and Batai. As much as I loved Eline, I loved them all!”

  His fingers worked in fistfuls of Meribor’s shirt behind her back, and his body s
huddered against hers.

  “And I never told them. I never told a one!” Each breath he took in was a choked noise, and each he let out was a wail. “Not Data, not Worf, not Riker … not even Beverly.”

  Meribor held her father with all she had in her, not completely understanding what was occurring, but realizing that all her father’s hopes and dreams, fears and regrets were being poured out, and she was the one to whom he had chosen to bear his naked, raw soul.

  “Oh, Meribor. I loved them, I did. And now they’re gone and I’ll never see them again! I always—always expected that … that I might, but—” He cringed behind Meribor’s back as all that was rushing out was almost too much to bear. Salty tears rivuleted down his cheeks, pouring over his lips, which were pulled back in anguish, and into his mouth, where they burned with fiery remorse. “But I won’t…. If only I could see them—just once more, just … once … more!”

  Meribor now cradled her broken father in her arms like a small child. She felt tears stinging her own eyes, tried to hold them back, but failed, because all her might was in holding her daddy. “It’s all right, Father. It’s all right.”

  “Don’t hate me, Meribor. Don’t hate me for loving them,” Kamin sobbed, scarcely understandable in his choked spasms of tears. “They were my family … my family … and I’ve lost them.”

  He pulled himself back slightly, not caring if his daughter saw the crushing, twisted pain in his face, for she could see it in his heart. “Your mother … she could never understand.”

  “Oh, Daddy. I don’t hate you. I understand … I love you so much.” A tear slid down her own face and onto her quivering lips.

  “Thank God, Meribor. Thank you, thank you so much.”

  And she held him like that for moments that seemed both like hours and seconds, as he wept the blackness away, cleansed himself deep within, exposed that raw part of him that he had contained for half of his life—no … that had contained him for half his life.

  And when he was finally finished, when he was finally able to gain control of himself, streaked paths of red skin seeming to swell his face, from his eyes down to his chin, he simply sat there. His mouth hung open, his breathing was not labored, but strangely discernible, as the warm, hollow wind after a storm. Every breath he took seemed to be incomplete, until the immense, sudden, shuddering sigh that is the finale of profound emotional release tumbled through his body like a small, liberating aftershock.