“No, it’s not,” Sulu concurred. “It’s a lot more interesting than that.” Sulu had met and worked with the admiral on several occasions throughout her career, including being debriefed by him after the mission to Devron II, so she knew firsthand his shortcomings. More important, from her long friendship with Harriman, she understood the impact that Blackjack’s behavior as a father had landed on his son.
“I’ve never figured out why he feels the need to be so strident,” Harriman said.
“It’s his way or the spaceway,” Sulu said, invoking the old boomer saying. “That’s for sure.”
“He’d simply call it confidence,” Harriman said, walking back over to the sitting area. “Something he never thought I had much of.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sulu said. “From what Commander Dane told me, you showed the admiral quite a bit of confidence at Askalon Five.” She easily recalled the story she had been told almost twenty years ago by Enterprise’s executive officer at the time, about how the captain had transported the admiral from the bridge and into the brig.
“I doubt Blackjack thought of it as confidence,” Harriman countered. “Something more like insubordination.”
“Either way,” Sulu said, “you impressed him.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Harriman admitted. He was quiet for a moment, and his gaze drifted from Sulu. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he finally said.
For a second, Sulu didn’t know to what he was referring, but then concluded that he must mean the accidental destruction of Universe.“No,” she said, unable to keep a note of sadness from entering her voice.
“I think one thing that’s bothering me is that I don’t like my father,” Harriman said, looking back down at Sulu. “But I want to.”
Sulu sipped at her port, remembering similar feelings she’d had about her own father. “When my mother died and I had to go live with my father,” she said, “a man I’d never even met before that, I hated him. Right from the beginning, without even getting to know him. But when I got to know him, you know what? I still didn’t like him. But I also didn’t wantto like or love him, because he represented things to me: his own absence from the first six years of my life, the loss of my mother, change. But even though I didn’t want to, when I let go of those things, I eventually did come to like him and love him.” She paused, wanting to emphasize what she would say next. “Maybe you can do the same with your father.”
“Maybe,” Harriman said slowly. He turned and walked back across the room again. For as long as she’d known him, Harriman had been peripatetic; even in staff meetings, he had a tendency to wander from his chair and walk about the conference room while speaking. “But there’s really nothing to let go of. I haven’t liked my father for a long time, but I have forgiven him.”
“For what, exactly?” Sulu asked. She sipped again at her port.
Harriman reached the end of the room and headed back toward the sitting area. “For whatever he did that made him fail to be a father to me. For most of my life, he’s simply behaved like my commanding officer. But I don’t harbor that anymore. I used to, and I suppose I still could, but why would I? What good would it do me, or him, or anybody else? Mom’s gone, Lynn’s gone, my grandparents are gone; the only ones left are him and me.”
“And Amina,” Sulu said.
Instantly, Harriman’s bearing changed. He seemed to draw himself up, the troubles affecting him falling away.
“Yes, there’s Amina,” he said softly. He navigated around the table and sat back down on the sofa. “And there’s you and Xintal and Rafe and the others. I didn’t mean that there aren’t people who I love, or that there aren’t people who love me. I meant family.”
“You have two families, John,” Sulu told him. “The one you were born into, and the one you choose every day of your life.”
“Yes,” he said. “And my chosen family is very important to me. But I feel…adrift, I guess…that I don’t have the other. I know I haven’t had it for a long time, but I’ve still always had the potential for it. But if my father dies…”
“I think it’s natural to feel those things,” Sulu said. “I also think it’s all right to dislike your father. What would be worse would be to pretend to like him, or even to actually like him despite his bad behavior. Then you’d truly be a hypocrite.”
“I feel sorry for my father,” Harriman said, looking down. “He was estranged from his own father when hedied, and for his own life to end with him estranged from his son…it’s just sad.”
“It is,” Sulu said. “But you can’t change your father; only he can do that.”
“I guess I need to accept that,” Harriman said. “Accept all of it.” He sat quietly for a few minutes, and Sulu let the silence stretch out, wanting to allow him to deal with whatever he was thinking and feeling. At last, he looked up and said, “I’m also worried about my chosen family, Demora, and about the extended family of the Enterprisecrew.”
“We’ve been through a lot recently,” Sulu said.
“I want you to make sure they’re all right,” Harriman told her. “Work with the medical staff to get them through this difficult time. Morell and Benzon and some of the nurses have some psychiatric training.”
“I will,” Sulu said. “I was going to ask you if we should make counselors available to the crew.”
“Let’s encourage activities too,” Harriman said. “It’s been hard for a while. I know we’ve had little downtime, and we’re not likely to get much more right now. I’ve noticed a decline in social activities throughout the ship, so I’d like to do what we can to change that. I want the crew to have some enjoyment in their days, and to lean on each other when they need to.” He raised his arms and wiped his hands down his face, sighing heavily. “I hate that they’re going through this.”
“It’s not just them, John,” Sulu said, realizing that Harriman had not bothered to include himself as being affected by recent events.
He looked at her in shock, as though it had never occurred to him that the Universetragedy had impacted him the same as it had the crew. But then he seemed to recover from his surprise. “I know,” he said. “I’ll speak to Uta too. So should you.”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu said, recognizing the command as something more than friendly advice.
Harriman stood up from the sofa. “I should let you get back to sleep,” he said. “Thanks for listening. Sorry for stopping by so late.”
Demora got up from her chair. “At least I got to try some of this port,” she said. She lifted her glass, drank the small amount left in it, then set it down.
Harriman walked out around the table and headed for the door. Just before he got there, though, he stopped and turned back. He didn’t say anything right away, and he looked to Sulu as though he was trying to make a decision about something. Finally, he said, “I keep thinking about Iron Mike Paris.”
“He saved my life,” Sulu said, her reaction almost automatic. The memory of the events on Devron II remained as fresh for her as though they had happened yesterday.
Harriman nodded, and Sulu expected him to say more about Iron Mike, but instead, all he said was “Good night, Demora.”
“Good night,” she replied. As he left, she looked after him, sensing that he had just attempted to tell her something. She thought about it, but then, unable to conclude anything, shook off the feeling. She watched the doors slide closed, then sat heavily back down in the chair. On the table, she saw, Harriman’s glass of port sat untouched. She thought about drinking it herself, but instead, she got up and went back to bed.
It was a long time before Demora fell back to sleep, though, and when she did, she dreamed of Captain Harriman, Iron Mike Paris, and those horrible days on Devron II.
Azetbur, leader of the High Council, chancellor of the Klingon Empire, seethed. Even after she had calmed the uproar in her office, it required all of her willpower not to dive across the length of the table and wrap her hands around the throat of the Romulan envoy. Instead, she calmly rose, conscious not to allow her hands to roll into fists, though tempted by the release the feel of her sharp fingernails against her palm would have given her. “Thank you, Consul Vinok,” she said. “Please express my appreciation to the praetor for providing the Klingon Empire with this information.” She imagined the green blood of the envoy spurting through her fingers as she squeezed his ignoble life from him.