Star Trek Page 6

  They want to meet me? thought Tilly suspiciously. Or do they want to meet my mother’s daughter? She flushed slightly at such an ungrateful response to what was surely simply a friendly offer. “That’s really kind of you, Sera. Really kind of your parents too,” she said, and smiled. “Yes, I’ve been sad that Mom, Dad, Granna, and Quinn can’t come. I’d love to meet your parents. They always sound so nice when you talk about them. I’d love to come along—thank you.”

  Risera smiled, and nodded, and went back to her work. Tilly felt happier than she had felt in ages. Things had been weird with Sera recently. Maybe it was just what happened after weeks of being busy. Maybe all they needed was a rest, and this would be the start of getting close again.

  Even though Siobhan wasn’t visiting, she still managed to impose her presence on the holiday. The midterm holiday also meant midterm results of a series of tests, and a report with teacher comments. Siobhan, having received the report, inevitably asked for a parent-teacher conference with Tilly’s year-group teacher, Ms. Keith.

  It was no different from any other parent-teacher conference that Tilly had sat in over the years, which meant that it was pretty excruciating. Tilly sat fidgeting and fiddling with a loose curl. Her mother was five minutes late for the call, apologizing for the delay in a perfectly polite manner, but not offering any explanation. Well, everyone knew she was a busy woman with plenty to fill her day, didn’t they? Everyone knew who she was. Why do you always have to find time for this, Mom? Why can’t you leave it to Granna, or, better still—leave me alone!

  As often happened in meetings with Mom, Siobhan seemed to be reading from several sources of information all at once. There was some background noise too, the low chatter of a news feed, and part of her attention was on this. “So I’ve had a look through these results, Ms. Keith,” Siobhan said. “I’m grateful to have received this information. I think we can see that there are some emerging issues.”

  Tilly groaned to herself about the familiar term. But Keithy hadn’t heard it before. She said, “I’m not sure what you mean—”

  “I say ‘emerging,’ ” said Siobhan, “although those of us familiar with Sylvia’s reports can see some continuing trends.”

  “I think this is an extremely good report,” said Ms. Keith firmly. “Tilly has only been here five weeks, after all. She’s had to learn a new environment, make new friends, get used to new schedules—”

  “Tilly?” said Siobhan. “Huh. I don’t like that, Sylvia. Let’s stick with what we know.” She turned back to addressing Keith. “I appreciate that this is a new environment for Sylvia. And I’m wondering whether or not the excitement of a new place and new opportunities means that she’s spreading herself too thin.”

  Ms. Keith gave a tight smile. Tilly, watching this conversation like a bystander with no vested interest, had to admit she was impressed with the way Ms. Keith wasn’t letting Siobhan railroad her. I wish I knew the trick, she thought, before realizing that Ms. Keith most likely dealt with pushy parents all the time. Lots of experience. Whereas I only have a sample of one . . .

  “I think with any student it’s important to emphasize the successes,” Ms. Keith said. “And they really are huge successes—the math and science scores are outstanding.”

  “Oh, they always are,” said Siobhan. “They always take care of themselves, and that’s good. But look at this for debate . . . It’s a real worry.”

  “I don’t think that score does Tilly justice,” said Ms. Keith (and Tilly could have hugged her for sticking to her guns on the name). “Tilly’s preparation—her research—for that assignment was outstanding. Probably the best in the year.”

  “But she didn’t win the debate.”

  “It was close.”

  “Close,” said Siobhan, “isn’t winning.”

  Tilly and Ms. Keith exchanged a look. For the briefest moment, Tilly thought that Ms. Keith was thinking: Is she for real? Well, I’m afraid she is, Keithy. She’s all too darn real. Welcome to Tilly-World. Population—me and my mom. It can get a bit intense here. You might want to make a dash for the border . . .

  “Again,” Ms. Keith said doggedly, “I’d like to emphasize how short a time Tilly has been here. She learned a whole new protocol for conducting debates. She had to come up to speed quickly with the personal preferences of her peers, something that other students have had years to learn. I think that she and her partner did remarkably well pushing the vote that close—”

  “But they didn’t win.”

  Ms. Keith shifted in her seat. “Sometimes we learn as much from not winning.”

  She wouldn’t know anything about that, thought Tilly glumly. She’s never lost in her life.

  “Mm,” said Siobhan, clearly not convinced. “Okay, let’s table that for the moment. What else is there? Language scores.” She sighed. “Not great, Sylvia. I’m starting to despair on that one, to be honest.” An aide came briefly into view, passing a note to her, which she took and began to read. “Excuse me for a moment, I’ve been waiting for this.”

  Ms. Keith moved smoothly into the gap. “Math and science scores are top of her year, comparable with the best of the grades being achieved by the seniors, and in some places higher. Some really fine work in economics, top three in political science and philosophy, top five in sociology and statistics. And I really want to commend Tilly’s extracurricular activities. She’s thrown herself into the life of the school—she’s started an engineering club, she’s part of a rowing team, and she stood in a couple of times at the last minute when one member of a string quartet was ill. And of course her research poster on astromycology has really been impressing the parents visiting this week—”

  Tilly winced. She should have asked Keithy not to mention that. Siobhan frowned. “Not that again!” she said. “Sylvia, I thought you’d be past that by now!”

  “Sorry, Mom. They’re just so—”

  “Whatever you see in them I’ll never understand. Look, Ms. Keith, I think this is only reinforcing my original point. All this extracurricular activity is distracting from what’s core. Some of Sylvia’s scores just aren’t up to scratch—”

  “Not one of her scores is poor,” said Ms. Keith, calmly and firmly. “Far from it.”

  Wow, thought Tilly, amazed at Keith’s sangfroid. How are you still standing?

  “But they are not high enough,” Siobhan said. “Sylvia, darling, I’m just trying to make sure you’re not pulling yourself in too many directions. The whole point of coming here was to focus on what we need to get you into the diplomatic corps. But there’s still these issues.” Siobhan shook her head. “Perhaps some extra classes could be arranged?”

  Tilly felt slightly faint. When, Mom? I have to sleep sometimes!

  “For the health of the students we don’t allow that,” said Ms. Keith very firmly. “All our students, including Tilly, have enough on their schedules.”

  “All right. Then we need to free up space in the schedule. Sylvia, is there anything you could give up?”

  Tilly, summoned to speak, hunched forward. “I’ve already given up the flute, Mom—”

  “Yes, I’m sorry about that. Okay, you mentioned an engineering club. What’s that all about?”

  There was a pause. Ms. Keith nodded at Tilly and smiled. Go on. It’s great! Explain it.

  “Um, it’s nothing big . . . Just four of us . . .”

  “Four of you?” said Siobhan.

  “We meet once a week in each other’s rooms . . .”

  “So it’s a social club?”

  “No, Mom! We talk about what we’ve been working on . . .”

  “Mushrooms, you mean,” said Siobhan.

  Tilly flushed. “Not just that! We do some programming . . . One of us is working on a game . . .”

  “A game.” Siobhan was not happy. “Okay, so this sounds like a social club. I think we can see here what I mean by slack.”

  “It’s research, Mom! It’s all really interesting!”


  Siobhan pounced. “Research? So taking up study time?”

  “Well, not much, not really . . .”

  “But some.”

  Tilly, cornered, sighed. “Maybe a little.” She glanced at Ms. Keith, who had a pained expression on her face. I’m sorry, Ms. Keith. Sorry I let you down . . .

  “All right, Sylvia,” Siobhan said, “I’m sure that this is all great fun, but we’ve talked before about how playtime needs to stop. You’ll be seventeen soon, honey. Remember what we’ve said? About serious people?”

  Tiny voice. Tiniest of voices. “Sure, Mom. I remember.”

  “I know it must feel hard, sweetie, but these are such a crucial few years! What you do now shapes your future. Try not to feel bad. You’re so lucky, darling! All these opportunities! I would have loved all this when I was your age!”

  Yes, Mom, but I’m . . . I’m not you I’m me . . .

  “So,” went on Siobhan, “I think we agree that games club has to stop.”

  It’s not games, Tilly thought mulishly. It’s engineering. But she said, “I guess.”

  “You don’t sound so sure, Sylvia.”

  Tilly sighed. “No, Mom. I’m sure. You’re right.”

  “Okay, we’re agreed. Ms. Keith, I’m going to have to end this call—I’m late already for my eleven o’clock. Sylvia, I know you think I’m being hard, but in fact these are some really promising results. I think we’re starting to get on track.” She ended the call. The Federation logo spun around for a while on the display.

  Ms. Keith reached over and turned it off. “Well,” she said. “That was all very interesting.”

  “You know it wasn’t a games club,” Tilly said in a low voice.

  Keith gave her a sad smile. “I know, Tilly,” she said. “What are you going to do?”

  “No more games, I guess,” she said. “Just serious things, for serious people.”

  “Are you sure?” said Keith with a frown.

  Tilly shrugged. What else could she do? Disobey Mom? Not likely. She was going to do what she always did—exactly as she was told.

  * * *

  After the meeting, Tilly went off to do a stint in the exhibition hall, where she stood by the poster display for the engineering club and explained to anyone who asked exactly how astromycology was pronounced and what it involved. After an hour, her duty done, she slipped back to her room. Risera wasn’t there—presumably off in Semett’s room or with the rest of the gang somewhere. Her parents weren’t due to arrive until the morning. For once, Tilly was glad to be alone. She’d had a message the previous day that her father’s ship, the Dorothy Garrod, was going to be briefly within range, and he was planning to try to speak to her in real time . . . Well, more or less; he wasn’t quite sure how well it would work. Still, Tilly was excited. It was a few months now since they had been able to communicate via anything other than recorded messages, and she was longing to speak to him. Not just because it had been ages, but because . . . well, her father was her last line of defense. Okay, so he’d never intervened between her and her mother before, not when it came to decisions about her schooling, but Tilly was sure, absolutely and completely sure, that if she called on him, Iain Tilly would ride in, like a knight in shining armor, and put himself between her and the dragon of her mother. That’s what dads were for, wasn’t it? Knights in shining armor.

  Tilly sat for a while at her desk. The time for the call came and went. Ten minutes . . . Twenty . . . After half an hour, Tilly opened a sociology essay and started tinkering with it. She was completely engrossed in theories of dysfunctional bureaucratic organizations when, seventy minutes late, her father’s call came through.

  The connection was awful, crackling and fizzing, but it was him, really him.

  “Sills!” he said. “I’m so sorry! I’ve been trying to get this damn call through for over an hour!”

  She closed her paper and smiled at him. “That’s okay, Dad. You’re here now.” Well, more or less. She frowned. The picture was breaking up, the image of her father turning into big hazy blocks of color. “Hey, are you still there? Dad? Dad ?”

  “—quite hear you . . . Oh no! There you are! Yes, yes, I’m still here. It’s so good to hear your voice, Sills!”

  “It’s great to hear you too, Daddy. Hey, I spoke to Mom today too . . .” Tilly trailed off.

  “To Mom? How is she?”

  “Oh, you know, the same as ever . . . We talked about my grades . . .”

  “. . . sorry, Sills, this is a terrible connection . . . So frustrating . . .”

  “Daddy? Daddy?”

  “. . . just read your report. Fantastic work, Sills!”

  Tilly beamed at him—or the big blocks that, if you squinted, looked very much like him. Look, that patch there was his red hair. Maybe.

  “Thank you, Daddy! Hey, I’ve been having loads of fun with the engineering club . . .”

  “The what?”

  “The engineering club!”

  “. . . Oh yes, you said something about that in your last message! All sounds really interesting . . .”

  “Mom wants me to drop it.”

  Silence. “Daddy?” Tilly felt a wave of panic. Had she said the wrong thing? She tried not to set her mother and father against each other, tried really hard, but this mattered so much. She felt like this was her last chance to do something that she still loved, that if this went, then there would be nothing left that was hers, and hers alone. She desperately wanted to carry on with the club, but she knew she couldn’t stand against her mother alone. She needed backup. She needed a knight in shining armor.

  “. . . Drop what? Sorry, Sills, I can barely hear you . . .”

  “Engineering club!”

  Another long pause. Then: “. . . do what you want, Sills—”

  The channel cut out, suddenly.

  “Daddy? Daddy?”

  Nothing. Tilly sat back in her chair. She felt like crying. “Do what you want.” What was that supposed to mean? Follow your heart? Or—you know, Sills, it’s not that important in the great scheme of things? Whatever it was, it was hardly a ringing endorsement. Tilly sat at her desk for another thirty minutes, but, for whatever reason, her father didn’t get the channel to work again. Maybe he’d only had a little time anyway, same as her mom. With a deep sigh, Tilly got up and went over to the bed. She lay down and stared at the ceiling. She’d wanted her father’s blessing, a reason to go back to her mom and say, “Ah, yes, but there’s another parent around here, another authority, and he’s on my side . . .” But that? That hardly counted as his blessing, did it? “Do what you want.”

  Well, she knew what she wanted—more or less—but she didn’t know how to get it. It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it? she thought frantically. Whatever I want to do, it’ll never be what Mom wants. And eventually, I’ll start to forget what I wanted, and it’ll be like I was never there at all. Hot tears sprang into her eyes. She felt her breath shorten, and her chest contract, as if the air in the room was growing thin. She sobbed, just once, but then the door burst open and Risera and Xoha fell into the room, laughing over some joke or other.

  “Tilly,” cried Xoha, “we knew you’d be lurking around in here. Come on, the revue’s just about to start, and the seniors are always super-snarky.”

  Tilly rubbed her eyes and put on her brightest smile. Armor, she thought as she followed her friends out of the room. I’m wearing my armor.

  * * *

  The next day Risera’s parents arrived. They did the obligatory tour of the school, and then came and sat in the armchairs in their daughter’s room, holding court as Risera’s friends called by to say hello. They remembered each one well, not just by name, but remembered their circumstances and families, and it was clear that some of them had been visitors to their home during vacations, or even joined them on family holidays. Old jokes and stories were brought out, and there was a great deal of laughter. Risera’s father—handsome and suave—could have charmed Klingons; her
mother was petite and pretty, and very sweet. She also didn’t miss a thing. Tilly had seen a lot of diplomatic pairings like this before, both working to support each other to make their careers a success. Risera’s parents were the perfect diplomatic couple: her father personable and intelligent; her mother unthreatening and paying attention to everything that was happening, inviting confidences and intimacies. She had always found these pairings fascinating, and she had often wondered why her parents had never gotten their marriage to work in this way. But then, Dad had something about him of the absentminded professor, didn’t he? He had a tendency always to be thinking about his latest line of study or pondering what a piece of evidence might mean. Dad had so many interesting things to say, but, if Tilly was being honest, his small talk was terrible. Meanwhile, Mom always wowed a room with her presence. She would walk in, and the center of gravity would shift toward her. People would gather around, wanting to be near her. But Dad must have known, when he’d married Mom, what he was signing up for. Mom had always made her ambition clear. So what had changed? Tilly thought she knew. It was fine when it was just the two of them. But then there were three . . .

  Tilly sat rather shyly to one side. Watching the family together, she found herself envious of Risera. She could see now where her friend’s confidence came from, and she wondered, rather sadly, what it would have been like to have parents like this—a team, working together, who knew the details of their daughter’s life so well, and supported and nurtured her talents. Mom . . . To be fair, Mom had taken her to some amazing places, let her meet some amazing people . . . But Tilly always felt out of place in them, like she was about to say the wrong thing, or do the wrong thing. Glasses would get knocked over. Uncensored thoughts would pop out of her mouth. Tilly always had the feeling that she was disappointing someone, somewhere, somehow . . . And after the divorce Dad was always at arm’s length, and then he had chosen to take the posting on the Dorothy Garrod, to go far, far away.

  Midafternoon, Risera’s parents left to go back to their hotel to get ready for the evening. There were huge hugs all around, even though the family would be together again in a couple of hours. When they’d gone, Risera fell back on her bed with a happy sigh.