TITLE: Evening Thoughts
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
SERIES: Star Trek: Voy
PART: 1/1
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns these folks, but sometimes I wish they'd give 'em a bit more thought.
SUMMARY: Tuvok reflects on Kes's departure. Follows Season Four's "The Gift."
Evening Thoughts
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
On the planet Vulcan, there is a saying: "It is an honored teacher whose pupil surpasses him."
On the evening of the day in which Tuvok's pupil, Kes, transcended into the fabric of the universe, her burgeoning mental abilities far surpassing not only her teacher's own skills but also his most extravagant expectations, Tuvok recalled that ancient saying. It seemed, he reflected, entirely inadequate to his situation.
He was owed no honor for Kes's vast ability; it was not he, after all, who had imparted it to her. Indeed, he was not certain in what manner she had acquired it; whether she had been born to it, or whether some other factor had bestowed it upon her. With his limited knowledge of her species' mental gifts (and given that her knowledge of that subject had been hardly greater than his own), he had few ways of ascertaining what her natural capacity might be.
Additionally, during in the time in which he had known her, the young Ocampa had been involved in a number of situations which might have stimulated, even increased, her psionic ability: Her first encounter with Voyager's crew, back on her homeworld, probably the first time anyone still resident on that planet had made mental contact with members of alien races. Her limited contact with Commander Chakotay's disembodied essence. Her rapport with the Ocampa who'd studied their mental gifts under the female Caretaker, as well as her own connection to that mad but powerful being. Her possession by the alien warlord, Tiernan, and her subsequent battle with him. Her journey from Voyager's possible future to her own past. Most recently, the communication forced on her by the group mind of Species 8472.
He did not know what factor might have been decisive, though logic suggested that, had her natural gifts indeed been improved upon, it had either resulted from a combination of factors, or the more recent incidents had been the more influential. Had she acquired expanded powers earlier in their relationship, he, as her tutor, ought to have been aware of them. And he had not.
A human (had there been one aboard Voyager qualified to serve as a teacher of telepathy) might, at this juncture, have questioned the adequacy of his perceptions. //Did I fail to observe something of which I should have been aware? Did Kes suffer for my lack of discernment?// But Tuvok was Vulcan, and therefore not subject to irrational guilt or unfounded self-doubt. If he had previously observed nothing, he was certain there had been nothing that he might have observed. He had not failed Kes in any respect which a rational being might have foreseen.
Indeed, though there might have been causative factors in Kes's transition, there was, in fact, no question of fault. It had simply happened. She had grown beyond him, beyond all those aboard Voyager, beyond the very ship itself, and she had departed. Though the manner had been unusual, perhaps the process itself had been as inevitable as a child, on attaining maturity, departing its parents' home.
Ah. Perhaps he ought not have been seeking proverbs regarding students and teachers, but rather those regarding parents and offspring.
Tuvok was quite aware that it might be sentiment to consider Voyager Kes's home, or to consider any aboard the crew as her parents. Yet he was undisturbed by the concept, for, even if sentiment was involved, that sentiment had not originated with him. He had read it from Kes's own mind, more than once; she had occasionally even voiced words which confirmed it. While Captain Janeway had been granted the place of second mother to the young Ocampa, he had himself been cast in the role of Kes's second father.
Tuvok recalled another ancient saying: It is the duty of a father to be his child's first teacher.
At the time when he had first become aware of Kes's choice, he had been honored by it. Yet it seemed a strangely hollow honor now, with his erstwhile "daughter" absent from his life and likely to remain so.
Tuvok chastised himself. Failing to appreciate the compliment Kes had paid him, simply because Kes was now absent, would be as illogical as regretting one's parenthood simply because one's children no longer shared one's home.
He recalled the occasion on which his own oldest son, having completed his education and been selected for a job in his chosen profession, had departed from the family residence. Solemnly, Tuvok and T'Pel had congratulated their offspring, professing their desire, and their certainty, that he should apply himself to his duties and serve with distinction. The young man had assured them that he would endeavor to do so. There had been, Tuvok thought, no regret at that occurrence. It would be entirely illogical that there should have been, even had the parents involved been of a more emotional species than Vulcan. What parent would feel regret at his child's maturation and the increased opportunity for achievement, and self-improvement, that such maturation afforded?
How would Kes improve herself in her current situation? he wondered, not for the first time. What opportunities for achievement, for enlightenment, might she gain through her new powers and perceptions? Would he ever know?
Though residing and working in a distant community, Tuvok's oldest son had communicated with his family to the extent which his work permitted. Thus, they had remained informed of his attainments, and of his increases in knowledge. While of course it would be inappropriate to take pride in attainments other than one's own, Tuvok and T'Pel had been gratified to know that they had made sufficient educational provisions for the young man to allow him to benefit from his opportunities.
Though only Tuvok's youngest child would still be resident in the family home, Tuvok had no doubt that the others remained in contact with T'Pel to this day. They would appraise their mother of their knowledge and responsibilities, and allow her the satisfaction of knowing her role in adequately preparing them for adulthood.
In contrast, it seemed improbable that Kes would be able to retain any form of contact with her erstwhile "family." Without more certain knowledge of the limits of her abilities, Tuvok was not prepared to declare it impossible. Yet, he considered, if her abilities were truly so vast as to allow her unlimited freedom of communication, then she most probably would grow beyond interest in communicating with beings of so much lesser capacity than her own, regardless of their former sentimental significance to her.
Tuvok was aware, however, that he might be mistaken in that last assumption. To his knowledge, Kes had placed great store in sentimental matters; unsurprising, as she had been born to an emotional species rather than to a logical one. And she had lived out her life, to this point, in the company of others, so that even contact with inferiors might eventually come to seem more desirable to her than complete lack of companionship. Should she be capable of learning to communicate with them safely, the people of Voyager (many of whom experienced no lack of sentiment themselves) would welcome such communication. Surely Kes was aware of that.
Perhaps at that time she would advise him of whether he had adequately prepared her for her new state; whether the knowledge he had imparted to her in their lessons was of value to her in a situation so different from any either of them had anticipated. He would be gratified could he learn that such was the case.
Tuvok chastised himself again. It was illogical, and self-indulgent, of him to speculate on Kes's probable actions, when he had little real knowledge of her situation. He should compose his thoughts, meditate, and cease thinking of the young Ocampa for a time.
Yet, when he brought out his meditation lamp, he could not but recall the last time it had been used, the manner in which Kes had increased and diminished the flame, and her wonder and awe as she looked into the very structure of the fire. In those few brief moments it had seemed as if the lamp, so long his possession, had become hers instead.
He discovered that he could not rid himself of the belief that some part of her remained with it yet. Perhaps she had indeed left a tiny portion of her spirit behind, in that device which had enabled her to learn the nature of her expanded power. Perhaps she had thought she would want to reach Voyager at some future time, and so had left a marker, a beacon, to guide her back.
Tuvok told himself that such thoughts were foolish, illogical, blatantly sentimental in a manner no Vulcan should allow. He continued to tell himself so, even as he placed the lamp in the window, and looked out the portal in his best estimate of the direction in which she had gone.
After all, he knew that, even after a student had completed her education, a wise teacher always allowed her the chance to return to the classroom, perhaps to impart knowledge of her own.
And even after a child had departed her family's residence, a wise father always allowed that child the option of returning home.
END
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
SERIES: Star Trek: Voy
PART: 1/1
RATING: G
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns these folks, but sometimes I wish they'd give 'em a bit more thought.
SUMMARY: Tuvok reflects on Kes's departure. Follows Season Four's "The Gift."
Evening Thoughts
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
On the planet Vulcan, there is a saying: "It is an honored teacher whose pupil surpasses him."
On the evening of the day in which Tuvok's pupil, Kes, transcended into the fabric of the universe, her burgeoning mental abilities far surpassing not only her teacher's own skills but also his most extravagant expectations, Tuvok recalled that ancient saying. It seemed, he reflected, entirely inadequate to his situation.
He was owed no honor for Kes's vast ability; it was not he, after all, who had imparted it to her. Indeed, he was not certain in what manner she had acquired it; whether she had been born to it, or whether some other factor had bestowed it upon her. With his limited knowledge of her species' mental gifts (and given that her knowledge of that subject had been hardly greater than his own), he had few ways of ascertaining what her natural capacity might be.
Additionally, during in the time in which he had known her, the young Ocampa had been involved in a number of situations which might have stimulated, even increased, her psionic ability: Her first encounter with Voyager's crew, back on her homeworld, probably the first time anyone still resident on that planet had made mental contact with members of alien races. Her limited contact with Commander Chakotay's disembodied essence. Her rapport with the Ocampa who'd studied their mental gifts under the female Caretaker, as well as her own connection to that mad but powerful being. Her possession by the alien warlord, Tiernan, and her subsequent battle with him. Her journey from Voyager's possible future to her own past. Most recently, the communication forced on her by the group mind of Species 8472.
He did not know what factor might have been decisive, though logic suggested that, had her natural gifts indeed been improved upon, it had either resulted from a combination of factors, or the more recent incidents had been the more influential. Had she acquired expanded powers earlier in their relationship, he, as her tutor, ought to have been aware of them. And he had not.
A human (had there been one aboard Voyager qualified to serve as a teacher of telepathy) might, at this juncture, have questioned the adequacy of his perceptions. //Did I fail to observe something of which I should have been aware? Did Kes suffer for my lack of discernment?// But Tuvok was Vulcan, and therefore not subject to irrational guilt or unfounded self-doubt. If he had previously observed nothing, he was certain there had been nothing that he might have observed. He had not failed Kes in any respect which a rational being might have foreseen.
Indeed, though there might have been causative factors in Kes's transition, there was, in fact, no question of fault. It had simply happened. She had grown beyond him, beyond all those aboard Voyager, beyond the very ship itself, and she had departed. Though the manner had been unusual, perhaps the process itself had been as inevitable as a child, on attaining maturity, departing its parents' home.
Ah. Perhaps he ought not have been seeking proverbs regarding students and teachers, but rather those regarding parents and offspring.
Tuvok was quite aware that it might be sentiment to consider Voyager Kes's home, or to consider any aboard the crew as her parents. Yet he was undisturbed by the concept, for, even if sentiment was involved, that sentiment had not originated with him. He had read it from Kes's own mind, more than once; she had occasionally even voiced words which confirmed it. While Captain Janeway had been granted the place of second mother to the young Ocampa, he had himself been cast in the role of Kes's second father.
Tuvok recalled another ancient saying: It is the duty of a father to be his child's first teacher.
At the time when he had first become aware of Kes's choice, he had been honored by it. Yet it seemed a strangely hollow honor now, with his erstwhile "daughter" absent from his life and likely to remain so.
Tuvok chastised himself. Failing to appreciate the compliment Kes had paid him, simply because Kes was now absent, would be as illogical as regretting one's parenthood simply because one's children no longer shared one's home.
He recalled the occasion on which his own oldest son, having completed his education and been selected for a job in his chosen profession, had departed from the family residence. Solemnly, Tuvok and T'Pel had congratulated their offspring, professing their desire, and their certainty, that he should apply himself to his duties and serve with distinction. The young man had assured them that he would endeavor to do so. There had been, Tuvok thought, no regret at that occurrence. It would be entirely illogical that there should have been, even had the parents involved been of a more emotional species than Vulcan. What parent would feel regret at his child's maturation and the increased opportunity for achievement, and self-improvement, that such maturation afforded?
How would Kes improve herself in her current situation? he wondered, not for the first time. What opportunities for achievement, for enlightenment, might she gain through her new powers and perceptions? Would he ever know?
Though residing and working in a distant community, Tuvok's oldest son had communicated with his family to the extent which his work permitted. Thus, they had remained informed of his attainments, and of his increases in knowledge. While of course it would be inappropriate to take pride in attainments other than one's own, Tuvok and T'Pel had been gratified to know that they had made sufficient educational provisions for the young man to allow him to benefit from his opportunities.
Though only Tuvok's youngest child would still be resident in the family home, Tuvok had no doubt that the others remained in contact with T'Pel to this day. They would appraise their mother of their knowledge and responsibilities, and allow her the satisfaction of knowing her role in adequately preparing them for adulthood.
In contrast, it seemed improbable that Kes would be able to retain any form of contact with her erstwhile "family." Without more certain knowledge of the limits of her abilities, Tuvok was not prepared to declare it impossible. Yet, he considered, if her abilities were truly so vast as to allow her unlimited freedom of communication, then she most probably would grow beyond interest in communicating with beings of so much lesser capacity than her own, regardless of their former sentimental significance to her.
Tuvok was aware, however, that he might be mistaken in that last assumption. To his knowledge, Kes had placed great store in sentimental matters; unsurprising, as she had been born to an emotional species rather than to a logical one. And she had lived out her life, to this point, in the company of others, so that even contact with inferiors might eventually come to seem more desirable to her than complete lack of companionship. Should she be capable of learning to communicate with them safely, the people of Voyager (many of whom experienced no lack of sentiment themselves) would welcome such communication. Surely Kes was aware of that.
Perhaps at that time she would advise him of whether he had adequately prepared her for her new state; whether the knowledge he had imparted to her in their lessons was of value to her in a situation so different from any either of them had anticipated. He would be gratified could he learn that such was the case.
Tuvok chastised himself again. It was illogical, and self-indulgent, of him to speculate on Kes's probable actions, when he had little real knowledge of her situation. He should compose his thoughts, meditate, and cease thinking of the young Ocampa for a time.
Yet, when he brought out his meditation lamp, he could not but recall the last time it had been used, the manner in which Kes had increased and diminished the flame, and her wonder and awe as she looked into the very structure of the fire. In those few brief moments it had seemed as if the lamp, so long his possession, had become hers instead.
He discovered that he could not rid himself of the belief that some part of her remained with it yet. Perhaps she had indeed left a tiny portion of her spirit behind, in that device which had enabled her to learn the nature of her expanded power. Perhaps she had thought she would want to reach Voyager at some future time, and so had left a marker, a beacon, to guide her back.
Tuvok told himself that such thoughts were foolish, illogical, blatantly sentimental in a manner no Vulcan should allow. He continued to tell himself so, even as he placed the lamp in the window, and looked out the portal in his best estimate of the direction in which she had gone.
After all, he knew that, even after a student had completed her education, a wise teacher always allowed her the chance to return to the classroom, perhaps to impart knowledge of her own.
And even after a child had departed her family's residence, a wise father always allowed that child the option of returning home.
END