Star Trek Page 7

  “They’re so great,” Tilly said. “You must really miss them.”

  Risera rolled over onto her elbow. “They’re not bad, I guess,” she said with a laugh. “They have their moments.”

  Tilly gave a rueful smile. Like many happy people, Risera didn’t realize what she had.

  When it was time to get dressed up for the evening, Tilly opened her closet and pulled out some of what she thought of as her “mom-clothes”: dresses chosen to make a splash at some diplomatic function. They were all designer. They were all custom made. And they were all, as far as Tilly was concerned, darned uncomfortable.

  Risera, seeing the clothes laid out on the bed, came over and stared. “Wow, Tilly,” she said. “Look at these labels . . .”

  “I know . . .” Tilly said. “Hey, why don’t you pick something out. It’ll probably suit you more than it suits me.”

  Risera’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

  Tilly grinned. “Really.”

  With a happy sigh, Risera started looking through the heap of clothes. She settled on a bright-yellow cocktail dress with a slightly daring V-neckline. The waistband was beaded with tiny crystals, and the skirt flared out, ending just below the knee. She gasped in delight when she put it on, swirling the skirt around. She looked great: the yellow beautifully complemented her dark coloring. Yellow, thought Tilly ruefully. With my hair. What was Mom thinking? But the color had been superfashionable a season or two ago. Siobhan had gotten away with it, but Tilly couldn’t. Tilly herself picked out something emerald green. That was more the right kind of thing. “Hey, Risera,” she said. “You look amazing!”

  They both, in fact, looked terrific, as their friends were eager to tell them when they went by. Tilly loaned Risera some jet beads that had been a present from Granna; Risera reciprocated by loaning Tilly a turquoise pendant on a silver chain. Risera put on high heels. Tilly opted for something lower. They both beamed at each other. Tilly thought she had never felt so happy. A pal, at last. Someone to dress up with; someone to giggle with. Someone to make some happy memories with.

  They hurried, laughing, down the stairs and to the transporter. Ms. Keith saw them off, with strict instructions as to when they should return. “Have a good time, girls,” she said. Then she smiled at them. “Look at you two! Don’t you look fine?”

  Risera’s parents met them at the transporter near their hotel. An official flyer was waiting to whisk them off to the theater (a pretty good production of a new play by a local writer, all about the period before Talaris joined the Federation, with lots of glimpses into the old regime). Then they went off to dinner. Risera’s parents had chosen a restaurant that had been receiving rave reviews for its Earth dishes. They’d picked it for her, Tilly realized, and felt really touched by this small kindness. She and Cesel, Risera’s mother, chose the wine together. Then, poring over her menu, she heard a word close to her heart across the table.

  “Are you talking about mushrooms?” Tilly said.

  “You like mushrooms?” Ibas, Risera’s father, said, looking up from his menu.

  Tilly could have hugged him. She felt like she’d been waiting years for a question like that. “Gosh, I love mushrooms!”

  “Well, great!” said Ibas. “I have to say they were one of my favorite discoveries when I first visited Earth. I studied there, you know.”

  “Well, you came to the right place,” Tilly said. “There’s some really interesting work going on—”

  Ibas blinked slightly at that but he carried on regardless. “Oh, I’m not talking about anything fancy,” he said. “Fried is best. Nothing like it.”

  Tilly looked at him in horror. “Oh, my goodness, no! No!”

  He looked at her in bafflement. “What’s wrong with fried?”

  “No! Goodness!” said Tilly. “That would absolutely destroy the sample—”

  Risera was by now in stitches. “Oh, this is priceless. Wait till I tell the gang about this. They’re going to love this.” She punched her father on his arm. “Dad, you idiot, she’s not talking about breakfast. Tilly’s hobby is mycology.”

  “Mycology?” said Ibas, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  “Astromycology, to be precise,” said Tilly.

  “Oops, sorry, yes,” said Risera. “I always forget the astro part.”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea what that is,” said Ibas.

  “Space mushrooms,” said Risera.

  “Is that a thing?” said Ibas.

  “Goodness,” said Cesel. “Whatever will they think of next?”

  “You’d better believe it’s a thing,” said Risera. She glanced at Tilly, who was starting to flush with embarrassment, and softened. “You know, guys, Tilly has a research poster up back at school. It’s probably one of the best pieces of work anyone at the school has produced.”

  Tilly’s blush turned from embarrassment into pride. “Is that true?”

  Risera smiled at her. “Yes! I overheard Keithy talking about it with Stavath. And you know Keithy. She’s not exactly what you could call effusive.”

  “No,” agreed Tilly warmly. “Gosh. I don’t know what to say.”

  Both Risera’s parents were smiling at her. Cesel said, “Your mom must be so proud.”

  “Um,” said Tilly doubtfully. “You know, if I’m being honest, I think she prefers her mushrooms fried too.”

  The whole family laughed. Tilly flushed again, but this time with pleasure. She often said things that made people laugh, but it wasn’t often that she intended to make them laugh. It was a nice feeling. It made her feel part of the club. The dinner carried on cheerfully. Tilly didn’t spill a drop of anything. Just before dessert she excused herself to use the bathroom. When she came back, she realized that the family was talking about her—and her mother.

  “She’s such a sweet kid . . . A little odd,” said Ibas. “Mushrooms!” He laughed.

  “It would be great for you to get an invitation,” said Cesel.

  Tilly coughed, and they all turned and gave her bright smiles. Risera said, “Hey, Tilly, it turns out we’re going to be on Earth for most of the next vacation. Mom and Dad were saying it would be great for us all to meet up—”

  “Sure,” said Tilly, “though I have to be honest and say that if you were hoping to be introduced to Mom, you’d probably end up seeing more of Granna and Quinn. Still, they’re fun and worth getting to know too.”

  There was a short, embarrassed silence, as if Tilly had somehow laid bare the transaction at the heart of the offer. She hurried to cover the gap. Shoot, why does it always come out wrong? “What I mean is, I’m usually at my grandmother’s house in France for the holidays. It’s pretty gorgeous there. Sunshine, wine, lazing around in the garden. Going to the market, coming home and cooking. Mom usually comes for a few days. Maybe we could do something then?”

  “That would be great,” said Ibas. Tilly nodded, although her heart sank a little. She was used to people showing more interest in her mom than in her. She’d hoped, though, that there was more to her friendship with Risera than simply a means for her parents to meet her mother. She clamped down hard on that thought. That wasn’t fair to them. It wasn’t fair to Risera, either, who had always been kind, if a little untidy and definitely not great on washing up . . . Tilly wondered whether it might be worthwhile drawing up a rotation, particularly if the rest of the gang were going to be spending more time in their room again . . . It had been nice to have them around again earlier that day, but, gosh, they did make a mess.

  “So, Tilly,” said Cesel. “What’s your plan for the mock summit?”

  Tilly blinked at her. “Excuse me?”

  Risera patted her mother’s arm. “I don’t think that’s come up yet.”

  Tilly looked at her in horror. “What have I missed?”

  “Nothing, honestly—”

  “A mock summit?”

  “It’s fun! Hard work though.”

  “It’s a great idea,” said Cesel. “Your year runs a mo
ck UFP summit. You all pick a member planet, research their history and culture and so on, and then present to the school.”

  “National dress,” said Ibas.

  “You’re kidding,” said Tilly. “You’re joking with me.”

  “He’s not,” said Risera with a laugh. “And—you’re going to love this bit, Tilly—you have to make a speech in one of the official languages.” She gave a sympathetic smile. “Sorry about that!”

  “Oh my goodness,” said Tilly, sitting back in her chair. “Oh my goodness. When? When do we have to do this?”

  “End of term,” said Risera. “It’s our year’s big project for the rest of the semester.”

  “Has everyone started work?” Tilly could feel her throat tightening. “There must be so much to do!” she wailed. “I didn’t even know this was happening!”

  Ibas and Cesel, surprised at the reaction, exchanged looks.

  “Honestly, Tilly,” said Risera, “it’s all fine! Don’t panic! Me and the others have chatted about it a few times, but most people don’t really start thinking about it until after midterm break. The teachers don’t bring it up because they don’t want us fretting about it early.”

  Tilly took a deep breath. “Okay,” she said. “So everything isn’t lost?”

  “Of course not!”

  Tilly eyed her friend suspiciously. “You’ve been planning yours for ages, haven’t you?”

  Risera had the decency to blush. “But only because I knew it was coming. Honestly, Tilly, I thought you knew—”

  Not when people start hanging out in other rooms, Tilly thought, a little bitterly. “Okay,” she said. “Okay. I can do this.”

  Cesel patted her arm. “Tilly, sweetheart,” she said. “You got the best mark on a science project that the school has ever seen. I think if you put your mind to it, you can probably do anything.”

  * * *

  Siobhan, as was her custom, had not been idle since the conference with Tilly and her tutor, and the substance of that summit formed the chief topic of conversation with her mother on their weekly call. “So she’s taken on too much.”

  Adèle didn’t blink. “Oh yes?”

  “Clubs, sports, you name it. Her marks are suffering.”

  Adèle, who had looked through the report in detail, and seen the glowing comments from almost every member of the staff, raised her eyebrows. “Are you sure about that, chérie?”

  “She’s never shown an interest in sports before,” said Siobhan, and sighed. “I don’t know what’s happened there. I was such a talented gymnast at school. You remember, don’t you, Maman?”

  “I remember,” said Adèle, with feeling. “My heart in my mouth, every time you went on that blessed beam. Sometimes I think that was why you chose to do it, but then, you have always liked pushing yourself to the extreme of your abilities.”

  “Iain, too—not what I’d call a great sportsman, not really, but we used to have some really good tennis matches, and of course he loves walking . . .”  Siobhan, who was not the kind to be nostalgic, shook herself, and went on, briskly, “Anyway, this interest in rowing is good news, and I don’t want her to give it up. Rowing could be good for her. Good for strength, good for coordination . . . Maybe, just maybe, we can do something about that girl’s posture—” She stopped. Adèle was rocking backward and forward in laughter. “What? What is it?”

  “Oh, chérie, I don’t know what you’re imagining, but this rowing that she’s doing—it isn’t the Boat Race!”

  Siobhan’s eyes narrowed. “So what, exactly, are we talking about?”

  “It’s an Arixxian sport—more a custom than a sport, if I’m being honest. Arixxian rowing. Go on,” said Adèle, amused. “Look it up.”

  There was a short pause while Siobhan researched the topic. Adèle watched her expression shift from attention to bewilderment to astonishment to—inevitably—annoyance. “Mother, what the hell is this all about?”

  “Yes, it is rather beautiful, isn’t it? It’s a very ancient tradition on Arixus, I understand. Tied to moon festivals and so on . . . I’m no anthropologist, Siobhan, get one of those bright interns you have on hand to research that for you.”

  Siobhan watched a short vid, her concentration intense. Adèle, hearing drums and pipes, covered her smile.

  “Sure, it’s beautiful,” Siobhan said at last, “but . . .”

  “Not what you were expecting, I should imagine,” Adèle said. “I gather her roommate got her involved. She’s from Arixus, you know.”

  Siobhan gave her mother a very dry look. “Do you really think I don’t know who Sylvia is sharing a room with? Risera Igova. Her father’s rather interesting—he’s done some very good work in his current posting on Ktaris. I wonder if he’s going to be on Earth at some point in the near future? He might be a useful connection . . .”

  “The rowing, Siobhan,” Adèle prompted patiently.

  “Oh yes,” said Siobhan. “Well, it’s very unusual, but it also looks like very hard work. She must be getting some first-rate exercise from it . . .” Siobhan peered at her mother, who, once again, was laughing to herself. “What now?”

  “Oh, Siobhan, can you really see our Sylvia pulling away at an oar? She’s the drummer, chérie! There’s practically no exercise involved!”

  “The drummer.” Siobhan ran her hand across her eyes. “You know, Maman, sometimes I think Sylvia does these things on purpose.”

  “Like you and the beam, eh?” Adèle muttered darkly, but her daughter did not hear.

  “We agree on something, and she always finds a way around it.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Siobhan, that’s not the case at all. And I don’t think that’s a helpful way to think about it. So combative! So untrusting!”

  “But—the drummer!” Siobhan shook her head. “What’s that doing for her, exactly?”

  “I think perhaps you should be less dismissive. There’ll be more to it than you think. She’ll be working with a team, giving instructions—”

  “When did you become an expert on Arixxian rowing?”

  “When Sylvia began taking an interest,” Adèle said pointedly.

  There was a short pause.

  “You know, Maman, I’m close to giving up on that girl.”

  Adèle smiled. “Alas, Siobhan, one cannot simply give up on motherhood. That is not how it works. One can, however . . .” Adèle stopped.

  Siobhan pounced. “Can what?”

  “You can be less hands-on about the whole business.”

  “I’ve already sent her to boarding school!” Siobhan cried. “She’s almost two weeks away!”

  “But you still insist on directing so much about her life!” Adèle shot back. “Her choices of subject, her hobbies . . . You would, I think, timetable her every hour, if you were able.”

  “I can assure you, Maman, that I really don’t have the time to do that!”

  “You would, though, if you could. You would employ an assistant, if you could, to schedule that little girl’s day from start to end—”

  “Whereas you relied on nuns—”

  “And yet, chérie,” said Adèle, “you seem to thrive . . .”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” muttered Siobhan. “All right, I give up. She can go ahead and choose what she wants to do in her spare time. Drumming in a boat festooned with flags, or games club, it’s up to her.”

  “Engineering club,” said Adèle firmly. “It is a serious endeavor.”

  “Engineering club, games club—Maman, I honestly couldn’t tell you the difference.”

  “No,” said Adèle gently. “I didn’t think you could.”

  The call ended with an exchange of genuinely loving expressions of affection (enlivened with some mutual exasperation). After they were done, Adèle went out into the garden to find Quinn. “I have prevailed,” she said, with considerable (albeit deserved) self-satisfaction.

  Quinn, who was practicing his putting, looked up. “Ah,” he said. “So the mushrooms are
back on the menu?”

  Adèle gave a rather wolfish smile. “Potentially. But, more importantly, she will be spending some time doing what she wants to do, and with some like-minded young people.”

  Quinn looked at his wife adoringly. “You’re grand, Adèle,” he said. “I’m glad you’re on my side. And I’m sure that girl’s glad you’re on her side too.”

  * * *

  That evening, Tilly was surprised to receive a short message from Granna. They usually spoke to each other once a week, at the weekend, catching up on all the gossip. Granna was the kind of person who stuck to her routines, so Tilly was surprised to hear from her now. She opened the message with some trepidation, fearing bad news.

  “Chérie,” Adèle said. “I have some good news.”

  Dad’s coming home early, was Tilly’s first thought, even though she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “I’ve spoken to your mother,” Adèle said. “I’ve explained to her about your engineering club, and how important it is to you to continue with it. She is still keen for you to cut back on your extracurricular activities in some way, but she is now of the opinion that she would be happy for you to keep up the club if you like. She suggests you might reconsider your commitments to your rowing team . . .” Granna sighed. “I know that would be a loss to you, Sylvia—ah, pardon, Tilly, oh, I shall never remember to get that right! But I think perhaps it would be a fair exchange?”

  Tilly put her head in her hands.

  “Anyway, my darling,” said Adèle, “have a little think. The choice is yours—and how rarely does that happen! Now, I know that rowing is good fun, but I think it would be a shame not to have the chance to work on your real love. Do consider what you would like to do. Speak to your teachers about it, perhaps? They might have some good advice. Ms. Keith strikes me as a sensible woman with your best interests at heart. Talk to her, yes? Good night, darling girl!”

  Tilly turned off the screen. A fair exchange. No question, of course, of doing both, like she had been doing all this time, and doing pretty darn well, in point of fact . . . Sometimes, Tilly had the faintest suspicion that even if she did everything her mother wanted exactly as she wanted, if she somehow miraculously developed a talent for languages, perfect posture, sparkling conversation, even then it wouldn’t be enough. Her mother would say, “Very good, darling, but I think we can see a few issues emerging here . . .”