Conversations with Family - II: Elir

[Tachyon 0]

Conversations with Family – Part II

“Elir”

(+1 week)

Tandaris Admiran

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The Federation emblem blinked and was replaced by his father's face. Tandaris opened his mouth, but his father's image interrupted him, “Hi! You've reached Elir Brinn. I'm not here to answer your transmission right now, but if you leave a message after the signal, I'll get back to you.” There was a tone.

 

“Hi, dad. It's me, Tandaris. Apparently I called at the wrong time—I know, I never call. But considering I've been gone for awhile now, I thought that you guys would enjoy hearing from me. Say hi to mom when you have the chance. I'll try later. Bye.”

 

 

Several hours later

The beeping woke him up. His bed was uncomfortable to begin with, and the incessant noise reverberating through his skull did not improve his mood. Tandaris groaned and rolled over. He fumbled blindly with the buttons on the bedside panel, hoping that one would stop the beeping. It did. Unfortunately, it also accepted the incoming collect call.

 

“Tandaris? Are you there?” asked his father.

 

Tandaris rolled out of bed, on to the floor, and groaned again.

 

“Hi, Tandaris.”

 

Tandaris got to his feet. “Hello, dad. I see you got my message.”

 

“Yes, we just got home, actually. We were at the opera. And you were in the Gamma Quadrant. Was it inspiring?”

 

“Er—I guess you could say that. I thought up new ways to kill people, keep us alive, hide from things, and break reality.”

 

“Well done.” His father, much like Tandaris, did not appear fazed by the large and ambiguous abstracts that too often intruded upon everyday living. It was those small details that usually undid them. “I've accepted a position as curator of the pre-Manerist period at the Carasel.”

 

Tandaris' eyebrows went up. The Carasel was a prestigious gallery with thousands of works of art in its permanent collection spanning the entire history of Trill civilization. “Congratulations. When does your first exhibit open?”

 

“In about three months, if everything goes to schedule. I just need to secure a loan from the Sovan Gallery on Vulcan. I'm doing a comparison of pre-Manerism to classical Vulcan art.”

 

“Sounds ambitious.” Tandaris frowned and added, “When did you suddenly become so involved in art history, dad? What happened to your art?”

 

Elir shrugged and said, “I still paint occasionally.” He leaned forward. “Truth be told, Tandaris, but I got old. I know you might sometimes forget, having Admiran's lifetimes behind you, but we unjoined Trill lead briefer existences. And as I've grown older, as you guys have grown up, I've realized that I enjoy doing art, but I enjoy discussing art more. So I've changed.”

 

Tandaris hadn't noticed, which was what disturbed him more than the change itself. He and his father had never been particularly close, but they had never been particularly distant either. “I will try to make the opening if my scheduling works out.”

 

“Ah, yes, any word on your next assignment?”

 

“Actually, yes. I just had a conversation with Rezaran Prest over at Orith. He offered me a teaching position along with a spot on an R&D project.”

 

“You're leaving Starfleet?” Elir was surprised. Tandaris had always dreamed of joining Starfleet, even before he applied for the candidacy program.

 

Here came the sigh. Tandaris knew that this was as good a time as any to break the news to them. They would find out soon anyway. After all, they were his parents. “Believe me, I'm surprised too. If you had asked me a month ago, when we were under attack and things that weren't flammable caught on fire . . . even then, I would have said 'never'. For the past two years I've lived, breathed, and served Starfleet—on the Excalibur.”

 

“But now the Excalibur's done, and so am I. It's just a convenient opportunity. Being chief engineer on another starship doesn't interest me anymore. I'm a theory person. I like ideas, inventions, innovations. I'm not a mechanic.” That was what the past few months on the Excalibur had felt like. System after system would break, and of course engineering was expected to repair it. And he didn't want recognition, or to point fingers, or to engage in any of the bureaucratic nonsense that the Federation had wrapped around his art. “I'm just tired. So I've changed.”

 

Elir nodded. “I guess I'm not the only one growing older.” He shifted in his seat and clasped his hands together, changing the subject. “So what will you be teaching?”

 

Tandaris said, “Multi-vector field analysis, virtual particle interaction in n-dimensions, Hosster algorithms, and basic warp theory.” The words rolled off his tongue with a smooth, resonant sound. They were the lyrics to Tandaris' song. To his father, of course, they meant virtually nothing.

 

“That sounds . . . full. And what's this research project?”

 

“Subspace communications. I haven't received the details yet.”

 

“Well the new term starts in a month. When are you coming home?” asked Elir. His face seemed slightly more animated.

 

“I have a few more matters to attend to here on Earth before I leave. A week.”

 

“Well, your mother and I—all of us—we can't wait to see you again, Tandaris. It's been far too long. We'll talk to you later.”

 

“Bye, dad.”

 

The transmission ended, and Tandaris lay awake in bed. Far too long indeed. It had been so easy, isolated in the Gamma Quadrant as he was, to ignore his family affairs. He thought adjusting to “normal” life would be hard, but then again, when was family ever normal?