The Page Turns

Natima was the bearer of bad tidings. Teneer had passed in his sleep the night before. It seemed only right to Olmek though that the call should come from her. After all she'd been the one there by his father's side for the past four years between his visits back to Vulcan. One by one the trips had turned more and more bitter sweet as Teneer's illness progressed seemingly faster and faster. Looking back as he stared into the moving image of Natima's face, her cheeks soaked with tears, it was hard to miss that seeing her had been the highlight of those infrequent sojourns back home towards the end.

"He was proud of you. Proud…" her voice faltered as she tried to garner some composure, "every time I reminded him where you were. He told me to tell you that from time to time during his more lucid moments…"

Olmek, light years away, wished he could beam to Vulcan right then. To console her and grieve with her, but from where he sat all he could do was his best to appear strong. To project the composure and calm he knew Natima was struggling for on the other end of the com. "When will the services be?"

"A week from today," she replied. "I… I will start making the preparations tomorrow. I hoped the delay would make it easier for you to make the trip. You will make it?" Natima asked, her voice a mixture of restrained despair mingled with sparks of hope. Hope that Olmek could get leave. Hope that he could be there to place the cap stone on his father's memorial. Hope he would hold her while he was home, finally.

In four years her opinion of the boy she saw leave for the Academy who she had always regarded as a brute had changed. Occasionally concern, care and tenderness chanced the shine through when Olmek's stoic Cardassian front he maintained like a deflector failed on him. That usually happened during time spent with his father. What would he be like now though? With Teneer gone would the shields ever chance to drop again? Was death or the looming specter thereof the only thing that could bring down his defenses?

"Of course I'll be there. What son would I be if I didn't." Olmek paused and looked to the chronometer on the wall. "I have to go. My leave needs to be…" he trailed off realizing Natima wouldn't care to hear the particulars of procedure in a time such as this. For that matter he cared little for them himself, but since he'd arrived in San Francisco procedure had been drilled into him. An ordered list filled itself out in his mind. People to talk to, permissions to secure, passages to book and make ready for– all needing done now. "I'll be there soon," he finished simply.

Natima smiled softly through her tears and wiped her cheeks dry with her palm before silently closing the channel. She'd saved him from doing that. He hadn't been sure how to end the communique properly. What could you say? But that was just like Natima. Taking on what others found hard to do, or what they refused to do. Like watch their father wither away. His mind taken from him slowly. Piece by piece.

A sharp pain of guilt rushed through the hulk of a man as he stood from the desk. That's exactly what you did. You ran away. Ran like a vole all the way to Earth. The thought sent his blood into a rage. The pain turned, twisted in his guilt and before he could reign in the emotion his desk chair hurled across the room and slammed into the wall breaking into several pieces. He couldn't even remember picking it up. Standing there looking at it's broken remains Olmek felt lost.

Lessons learned through a childhood and adolescence on Vulcan, followed by four years of intense Star Fleet training quietly, subconsciously, began to whisper in his mind as he stood there. And, over the following few moments another list formed, one that took precedence over the previous one and indeed clearly needed completed before the preparing for a trip to Vulcan could begin. Slowly walking across the room to the wall with a view of the parade ground Olmek picked up a pyramid shaped meditation candle and a lit punt. Turning he sat it on the floor and came to rest with his legs crossed 'Indian style' and the candle a foot or so away. Lighting the candle he closed his eyes and began to picture the flame.