Disclaimer: I do not own these characters… I'm just kidnapping them for a bit.
Author's note: Sorry for so long of a delay. I've been working, housesitting, and trying to write by hand. It's not easy… and it takes much longer. Please review… and I will try to get to the next one a little faster.
Chapter 13: Communicating
"A scale model?" Malcolm waited until they were out of earshot of Jonathan and Trip's parents; he didn't want Trip to get into any more trouble. "I thought we were going for full size." He couldn't help but feel disappointed – he'd never thought Trip would be the one to scale things down.
"Scale," Trip confirmed. "It's not my fault he was too dumb to ask what scale."
"You mean…"
"Yourenotsp'osetocallpe'ol'edumbTrip." James looked up at his brother accusingly, the words barely understandable in the rush.
"Supposed. People. Enunciate, Jamesy. Anyway, he's a grownup… it's different."
"Enunciate?" Malcolm blinked at Trip – the southerner was hardly one to talk about enunciation, yet…
"Listen to how Malcolm talks, Jamesy. He's ten, too. Remember… take your time and speak slowly." Trip sent James into the bathroom. "He's in speech therapy… no one could understand him for a while… he speaks too fast and everything just runs together. The trick is to get him to slow down and focus at each word." Trip sat down on the steps and pulled a comb in an elastic band out from his back pocket. "Come here, Lizzie." The little girl pouted, but stood obediently in front of her brother.
Malcolm stared in fascination as Trip began to tease the tangles out of Elizabeth's hair. "I mean, one-to-one is still a scale." Satisfied that the hair was knot-free, Trip laid down the comb and tucked the elastic in his teeth, freeing up his hands for the delicate weaving of a French-braid. When he finished, he secured it with the elastic. He'd been quick enough – Malcolm realised – to complete the task by the time James returned.
"Did you wash your hands?" Malcolm caught it this time – the change in Trip's voice when he spoke to his siblings.
He does enunciate. In fact, Trip had a radically different tone and pattern of speech for every person he spoke to. Yet none of it came across as truly an act… instead he was like a master – well, actor – inhabiting each role with genuine equality. Not only that, but… It's like I'm the only person he's fully him around. Everyone else: parents, teachers, peers… even his brother and sister, got a guarded version, a reflection. In fact… as soon as Elizabeth had come crashing through the woods, Trip shifted. He dropped the subject of suicide instantly, forcing the darkness back down inside with a couple of blinks and gently scolding her for being undressed. He'd given Malcolm a warning look over her shoulder… one that said Malcolm had best not bring it up again, at least not while she was present.
"Now, you stay here with Malcolm while I take Lizzie in." Trip finished inspecting James' hands and stood up. "We'll be right back… make sure he doesn't get into trouble, okay, Mal?"
It didn't sound like an order… Malcolm got the impression he was being bestowed a rare measure of trust. The two ten-year-olds stared at each other while Trip disappeared with his sister.
"You talk funny," James blurted.
"That's because I'm speaking English." It was a nasty comeback, and he had a feeling his friend wouldn't be happy with it… but he didn't talk funny. James after all, was the one in speech therapy.
"IspeakEnglish." Malcolm had to fight to understand James' reply.
"Actually… you speak an American dialect." A dialect of a dialect, when you got down to it; Americans seemed to have an astounding number of regionalisms.
"I donknow Dilec. Ispeak English."
And this is your brother? James – it seemed – was nowhere near the same level of intellect as Trip.
"Yourestupid." James stuck his tongue out at Malcolm.
"I thought you weren't supposed to say that about people." Malcolm resisted the urge to make a face back.
"What are you two fighting about?" Trip came up, holding Elizabeth by the hand. "James…"
"HesaidI…"
Trip held up a hand. "James…"
"He said I don't speak English… He says he talks funny because he speaks English and I talk Dilec. I…" James stopped as Trip started to laugh.
"Jamesy… he didn't say you don't speak English… he says you speak a different kind of English. Malcolm's from England… so he speaks English English. You speak American English. A dialect. It just means… it just means a different kind of a language, that's all. He doesn't talk funny at all… he just has an accent."
I have an accent? If anyone had an accent, it was Trip.
"Oh. What's a tre… tri…"
"Trebuchet?" Malcolm decided he had a better grasp of this one… Trip could translate. "It's a…"
"It's a machine, Jamesy." Trip shook his head at Malcolm in another warning.
"Oh." James instantly lost interest.
"James prefers video-games and graphic arts programming," Trip explained. "He's not into construction at all. Speaking of… how accurate do you want to be on this?"
"Accurate?"
"I mean… do you want to go with the historical type design like you were showing me… or something a little more efficient… a little less wasted motion and energy? 'Cause if we can overcome the friction co-efficient, then I think we can change to a more linear motion type design… we could shorten the arm but get the same amount of energy transfer… maybe more."
"Okay." Malcolm hadn't considered adding improvements. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, if we put the throwing arm on rails… on a sort of cart set-up, and drop the weight bucket straight down… instead of going in an arc… we can transfer more of that inertia straight into the throw, as opposed to it going around. You get more of a snap to it… and that transfers more energy into the projectile itself. The trick, as I said, is going to be overcoming the extra resistance… but we can do it with the right lubricant… graphite would probably be best. I think I saw some in Genius Jay's stuff… it's a little messy, but damn near frictionless."
"I know I saw some pencils in his things," Malcolm volunteered. "If we have to, we can grind them up – it's what they did in World War Two."
"Cool." Trip looked impressed. "I think the toughest thing is going to be finding materials. I mean we've got a lot of trees around, but that's not the same as lumber."
"The Great Escape. It's not like they gave the POW's tunnelling materials and disguises… they had to scrounge them… be creative."
"Okay." Trip picked up his sister and they began walking. "So what do you suggest we scrounge from?"
"Well… they took a lot of theirs off of the walls… and extra slats out of the bunks."
"Didn't it get noticed? I mean, a huge gaping hole in the wall?"
Malcolm sighed. "They took them from places they wouldn't be noticed… like behind cabinetry… or inner wall supports. And there were mattresses on the bunks, just like ours."
A slow smile spread across Trip's face. "That could really work."
"Well… it won't be easy." After all… it was just the two of them. "They had a whole camp full of help, though… I don't think we're going to convince anyone to sing Christmas carols to cover the sound of us hammering."
"I know Christmas carols," Elizabeth volunteered. "I can sing."
"That's right, sweetie… but we don't need you to do that right now." Trip kissed his sister on the forehead. "Malcolm and I are talking about a movie."
"No, you're not." Elizabeth seemed to have problems with neither speech, nor intelligence. "You're talking about another thing, Trip. I wanna help."
"Thing?" Malcolm looked at Trip, questioningly.
"It's what Elizabeth calls a project." Trip seemed to be trying to control his pride.
"Are you gonna burn the carpet and get it all messy, like last time? When Daddy said that you might want to consider moving somewhere with child labour so you could get a job and pay for it? That your 'lowance was 'voked, forever?"
"I was helping James build a volcano for his school science project." Trip rolled his eyes.
"Volcano? Isn't that…"
"The easy project." Trip looked disgusted.
Actually… I was going to say isn't that something that doesn't generally involve dangerous materials? Malcolm kicked himself, mentally. Of course Trip would never do anything the 'safe' way. "What did you do? For your science project?"
"The physics of Skateboarding… like how it corners… what kind of pressures are going against the ground, and against the board and into the rider."
"Did you do well?"
Trip snorted. "I got D/Q'd. Apparently it was felt that there was not enough student involvement in the project. I did the entire damn thing on my own… I researched it all… wrote up the reports… hell, I even did all the filming and special effects to show how all of the forces were affecting each part. That wasn't easy… I had to set up a camera at a ton of different angles and heights… and run the same turn past it a million times. But someone claimed I couldn't have done it… and guess who got believed?"
"Surely they asked your parents…"
"Oh, yeah, they did. And my parents swore they didn't help me… but since they didn't stand over my shoulder either… there was no way to prove I didn't get help."
"But…" Malcolm fell silent as Trip shook his head again, and mouthed 'Later.' Obviously it was another sore point, and one he didn't want to discuss in front of James and Elizabeth. He's so protective. Which probably meant that he kept a lot of things bottled up… if he spent as much time looking after them as it appeared. They prefer him over their own parents. Not in a 'my parents are bad' sort of way, but more along the lines that Trip was the more familiar caretaker. 'Explosions are caused by an increase in inside pressure, past the point of sustainability of the container.' He wasn't sure which text-book he'd read that in… probably one of the old weapons manuals… but he suddenly realised that it pertained to far more than ordnances. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere safe." Trip stepped off the path and into the woods. "Come on, Jamesy." He resumed addressing Malcolm. "I mean… it's not like we can build this thing out on the baseball diamond… I don't think they'd buy the idea that we were putting together a pitching machine. I was thinking that that clearing over on the far side of the lake might be just perfect. It's got enough space to set it up in… and it's far enough out of the way that no one should notice it."
"That's a good idea." Malcolm felt a twinge of jealousy for not thinking of it himself. I thought I was a pretty good strategic planner. Trip – it seemed – thought farther ahead, though.
"Hey… you spend as much time as I do trying not to get caught… and you learn to think of these things." Trip seemed to sense how Malcolm felt. "It's not your fault you were raised to be honest."
"That's okay… I can learn." Malcolm smiled as Trip began to laugh. It was… he realised, his first truly successful joke.
"I guess I still find it hard to believe that Trip is actually getting along so well with another one of the boys here." Charlie shook his head as Jonathan finished up his story of Trip's rescue, leaving out the detail of the bite. "He's always had trouble relating to his peers."
Maybe it's because he doesn't have any. Jonathan stopped before he could say it, feeling like he'd had an epiphany. Maybe he had… because everything about Trip spoke so clearly when seen in that context. And I'm such an idiot, because he told me, and I didn't listen. Way to go communicating, Jon. How had Trip put it? Skaterboy-gearhead-musclebrain-geekfreak? From the sounds of things, even the outcasts wouldn't take him in… probably because they thought he was too popular.
"We've tried everything," Charlie continued. "Sports… intellectual pursuits… even the time he spent at computer camp was a disaster. He just can't seem to bring himself to fit in. The only two people he seems to get along with on a regular basis are James and Elizabeth… and I'm not sure that relationship is entirely healthy, either."
"Charlie…" Fiona gave her husband a tired look.
"He's more like a parent to them than a sibling. Half the time he won't let us take over… he has to do it himself. And it's gotten to the point that he's the only one they'll listen to half the time. He's obsessive, Fiona. When was the last time you cut up Elizabeth's steak for her, hmmn? It's not because she can cut it for herself… but Trip's the one that does it." Charlie stabbed angrily at a piece of potato salad. "He's twelve years old and a more diligent parent than I am. The stupid thing is, I would like to be given a chance."
"Are you afraid that the stress might be getting to him?" No, Charlie certainly wasn't as clueless as he'd first appeared. Jonathan spoke carefully, however, not wanting to open up something that hadn't been already peeked at.
Charlie sighed. "I'm scared that my son is going to burn himself out by the time he's seventeen. He has days where he doesn't eat… because he's too damn busy or too damn tense, or too damn something-or-other. Before Christmas, Elizabeth got sick from food-poisoning at some school event… she actually spent a couple of days in the hospital. I got more calls about him skipping class than ever… he spent every minute he could in her room, making sure she was okay, reading to her, playing with her... The doctor damn near hospitalized him, because he was hyperventilating and had tachycardia when they tried to remove him. He did put Trip on tranquillisers for a while… diagnosed it as being extreme anxiety. It took another two months before Trip stopped obsessing over Elizabeth's food… in fact, he still hasn't… completely. He'd probably forbid her to eat most of the things on this buffet for instance… simply due to the minute possibility of contamination."
"Didn't the doctor…"
"Do something?" Charlie finished. "It's kind of hard to prove stress when the patient convinces you that there isn't any. Like Fiona said, he can be very charming when he wants to be… to be honest I think he's paranoid that we'll use it as an excuse to call him an 'unfit parent' and take his kids away." Sarcasm dripped off the last sentence, but Jonathan sensed truth behind it as well.
"Have you considered taking him out of some of his other activities?" After all… if Trip was 'too busy' to eat, it might help to give him more time.
"We have…" Fiona answered this time, her voice sad. "… but it comes right back to James and Elizabeth. Most of the other activities… it's just an excuse to keep him away from them, let him be a kid. It got to the point where I forbid him to stay home if I was there to take care of them… I actually banned my own son from his house. I told him that if he didn't spend at least two hours a day on his own…"
Ouch. Done with the best intentions, perhaps… but it's got to hurt when your own parents say 'go away.' At the same time, if Charlie wasn't exaggerating, then Trip needed to be told to take some time and be a kid.
"Where are they, anyway? I thought this was supposed to be a family thing… not a grab your siblings and run, day." Charlie checked his watch. "It's been almost two hours."
"I'm sure…" Jonathan was interrupted by a laugh from the door.
"Isn't it cute… who's Mommy?" Dutretre's voice was unmistakable.
Jonathan turned to see Trip and Malcolm coming in, Trip with a child in each hand.
"Dickhead." The response came not from Trip, but from Elizabeth. Trip knelt and spoke to her, a stern look on his face. He then stood up and shot a glare at Dutretre that could have slagged steel.
"We have such charming manners in our family." Fiona's flat smile betrayed her bright tone.
Jonathan ignored her, sending his own glare in Kendricks' direction instead. You back your little buddy off… or I'm breaking your face, right here, right now. His own protective streak resurfaced… at least Trip was responsible enough to take care of a couple of kids. You, on the other hand… someone ought to cut your balls off before you can procreate. If – given the way Kendricks bragged sometimes – he hadn't procreated already.
As Charlie had predicted, Trip bypassed the buffet and brought James and Elizabeth straight to the table. He then crouched between the two of them, holding on to their shoulders. "I'm going to go get you guys something to eat, okay? I'll be right back."
"Trip…"
Trip gave his father a glare only slightly less intense than the one he'd favoured Dutretre with. "I am not serving them any of this. I will not risk my sister ending up in the hospital again because somebody couldn't keep a proper temperature check on that crap." Trip nodded towards the potato salad. "It's fine if you want to risk your own lives, but I will not take that chance with theirs."
"No, you'll teach her how to climb trees, so she can break her neck… but you won't take the miniscule chance that there might be a microbe in there." Charlie didn't blink. "You know we are capable of being competent parents. We did manage to raise you."
"Yeah, and we can all see how well that turned out." Trip smiled, but there was no warmth… it was more like a reflex grin to quell the gag impulse.
"Charles Tucker…" Charlie spoke through clenched teeth as well.
"I'm not taking that chance, Dad." Trip spoke simply, merely stating an inarguable fact. He turned and stalked off to the kitchen, presumably to find something suitable for consumption.
"Damn." Charlie's hand curled into a fist. "There are times when…"
"We debated not even coming." Fiona laid her hand on Charlie's arm. "We thought it might be better if he didn't slide back into this mode…" She stopped as Malcolm's head whipped up suddenly, and Jonathan felt his own face going pale.
That explains so much about breakfast. Trip had been doing so well… right up until Rodriguez had hammered on that weak point. And while he's crumbling in uncertainty, I go and grind him into the dirt.
"I'm glad you did decide to come, sir." Malcolm looked like he was trying not to start shaking. "Trip was very much looking forward to seeing his family again. The closeness that you share is quite enviable."
"Why, thank you." Both Trip's parents seemed to be caught off guard by Malcolm's manners. Jonathan could see them trying to square the idea of this polite young boy being friends with the hellion they knew for a son.
Hell, I'm still trying to do it… and I watched it happen. He felt like he was tap-dancing in a minefield, however. He didn't think he could stand up to it if the Tuckers started questioning him… so I'll be a coward and hand it off to the kid. Malcolm seemed to be dealing with it better anyway… he was respectfulling them into a state of shock. "Excuse me, for just a moment." He stood up, and headed out after Trip.
"Will you get him out of here?" One of the kitchen workers waved at the walk-in cooler as Jonathan walked through the door. "He's been quizzing us on food safety from the second he got in here… it seems that suddenly we're not good enough for him."
"He's a little protective," Jonathan explained. Trip's reputation had certainly spread, however. Any other kid and they would have bodily thrown him out… with Trip… well, they seemed to be afraid of getting bitten. He walked into the cooler and pulled the door shut behind him.
Well, your mother did say a room with no distractions. In your case, I don't think food is all that distracting. So it was cold as hell in here… Trip needed to cool off. "Am I allowed back into the human race again, or is my exile permanent?"
Trip crossed his arms over his chest, goosebumps breaking out on his skin as the fans kicked in.
"Okay… it's probably far easier for you to listen if you're not saying anything, anyway. I was wrong earlier today…"
The look on Trip's face said it clearly: 'I am not falling for that, again.'
"… I was wrong. I should have insisted that both of you knock it off, not just you. I admit it… I reacted without thinking, and I reacted stupidly. I'm sorry. I've been tense about today too… I've had a lot to worry about. To be honest… I never assumed that your parents might not show up… I didn't realise that it was a concern of yours. Now, again, that was my error in judgment… in placing you in a special category. It was very insensitive of me to assume that you would not have the same worries as everybody else… that you were something other than a person. But communication works both ways… I can't be expected to know everything if you don't tell me. Like for instance…" Jonathan locked his eyes on Trip's, making sure the boy was listening to this, "… why didn't you tell your parents about what happened to Malcolm. Most kids would have at least mentioned something, even if they left out the fact that they were the hero."
Trip shrugged, more than he'd done since breakfast. "Why should they believe me? I don't have friends, let alone ones I'd risk my life for." His control cracked, and the torrent of words broke free. His breath ghosted out in front of him… the temperature was dropping fast. "You saw the look on their faces when I introduced Malcolm – they're probably still out there trying to figure out how the hell he could be my friend. When I wrote about him? I'll bet you anything you want that they thought I made him up so that they'd think I was 'adjusting well' to this hell-hole. You heard my dad… he doesn't think I'm capable of handling James and Elizabeth… he was the one who let her get sick the last time. If it were up to him… I'd lay money I'd be in some psych ward somewhere…drugged up on God knows what… because I simply don't act my age. Did you know that? That he wanted the doctor to keep me on meds? I bet he didn't tell you that part. Oh, yeah, I was super-easy to control when I couldn't even think."
"Trip…"
"He's jealous, because I do a better job than he does. So he tries to say I'm obsessive and 'endangering my health.'"
"A racing heart is nothing to be dismissive of, Trip. Did you consider that maybe he's concerned about you? You're his kid too. Do you think that because you're the oldest, or because you've been a bit difficult at times, he doesn't love you? I'll lay money that he's scared to death about you. That he's scared that something's going to happen to you… and he's not willing to lose you like that. Look at you… you're so worried about Elizabeth that you'll go to any lengths to make sure that her food is safe to eat. Isn't your dad allowed to care about you in the same way?"
Trip's knees buckled and he sank down to the cold floor. "But he tries to keep them away from me… Mom does too."
Jonathan crouched down beside him. "I know… but maybe it's because they want you to spend more time being a kid. Parenting is hard work, Trip… and it's not easy to do on your own. It was hard for my Dad to handle it… and he was grown up. I'm not saying you don't do a good job… from what I've been able to see, you do a great job… but it's not a job that's meant for a twelve-year-old – even one as mature as you are. And you want to know one of the most important things about being a parent? My dad told me this one… and I believe him. You can't always be there to hold their hands… sometimes you've got to let them fall. Every parent wants their kids to have happy lives… but sometimes you've got to let them go enough to be able to live those lives." It seemed odd… giving parenting advice to a twelve-year-old… but that was the job Trip had taken on. Better to acknowledge it for what it was, than try to candy-coat it behind images of a responsible brother.
"What do you mean?"
"It's great that you want to protect Elizabeth… really great in fact. Most kids have some jealousy issues… it looks like you've managed to avoid that. But you can't protect her from everything… no matter how hard you try. You've got to consider yourself, and your own health, Trip. Elizabeth loves you, right?"
Trip nodded.
"Then don't make her have to go to your funeral. You might think you're okay, and that you can handle it… but your body can only take so much before it breaks down. Don't kid yourself, someone your age can have a heart attack, and you're already showing signs of stress-related illness. Your parents aren't taking you to the doctor because they think your 'unfit,' they're taking you because they're afraid for your health."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not, Trip. Fine doesn't go on two and three day hunger strikes… fine doesn't get crippling headaches and fine certainly doesn't go thinking that suicide makes sense. You need to see a doctor and be honest, Trip – no more lies. You can't keep going like this. Even the best parents need time for themselves – time away to be themselves."
"How would you know?"
Good question. He could hardly claim experience – Trip had him beat on that front. "Because when you're older, parents tell you more things… explain their reasoning a little better." Jonathan sighed. "I know this is a rough period in your life… it is for everybody…"
"I already got the school Health lecture. Body changes… blah, blah, blah, hormonal… yadda, yadda, yadda. Like that means anything."
"It means a hell of a lot." It felt strange, defending puberty. "You are going through a lot, and it can seriously mess with your brain chemistry."
"Is that why you feel sorry for me? Brain chemistry? Why? Because you did it too? I am so glad we have something in common."
Jonathan forced himself to keep his voice level. This is not just a bratty kid, no matter how much he sounds like it. Any other kid like this, and his first instinct would be to say that a good slap was in order. But you've been slapped a little too much, haven't yo,u kiddo? I don't mean that people have hit you…but you know what pain feels like. "All I'm saying is that it's another source of stress, and it's one you can't control. And having a little sympathy is not the same as feeling sorry for you." Jonathan sighed again, trying to think of a way to get through those defensive layers once more. "Anyway, you did good out there."
Trip stared at him, clearly not comprehending.
"I'll bet that most of those guys out there have written home about this weird kid who does all these crazy things – and is so rude – and is always getting in trouble. What their parents saw…" Jonathan smiled, wickedly, "What those parents saw was a well-mannered, responsible person who looks after his little brother and sister: the kind of kid they'd want to have themselves. It's going to be a lot tougher for anybody to convince their parents that you're the bad guy."
"Like that makes the slightest fucking bit of difference." Disdain cascaded from Trip's tone. "It's not like those are the people I have to deal with on a daily basis. You think seeing me with James and Lizzie is going to change Chess' mom's mind? Or Mr. Calvin's, or my principal's? Or how about my coach… oh yeah, I can really see him turning around and saying what a wonderful, responsible young man I am. And how much damn good is your sympathy going to do, when this camp is over, and you take off back to your happy little college life and your social-work future, and I'm stuck with the same shit?"
Jonathan's brow furrowed. "What makes you think I'm going into social-work?"
"It's written all over you. Trying to 'save' the trouble kid. Pretending I've got this good kid underneath… trying to make me believe it. Well, I didn't ask to be saved. And I know me better than you do."
"Actually," if they were going to go for full disclosure here… "I have no interest in social-work, whatsoever. Yes I'm in University… but I'm also intending to go to Starfleet Academy. As for you… I don't know, maybe I've just lost my mind. Or maybe there's just something in me who hates seeing a smart, talented person throw their life away because they've chosen to believe the worst things people have to say about them."
"Everybody in the world can't be wrong." Trip sounded subdued, though, as if he was thinking of something else.
"Uh, yeah they can. For the longest time everybody in the world believed that the Earth was flat, and that it was the centre of the universe." Okay, so it was a cliché, but it was the best Jonathan could think of.
"It is."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
Jonathan shook his head. "How can you say that the Earth is the centre of the Universe? Copernicus disproved that one."
"No… he didn't. He proved that the Earth goes around the Sun. That doesn't disprove that the Earth is the centre of the universe. If the Universe is truly infinite… which they haven't disproven yet, then any point in it is the centre... there's an equally infinite distance to any side."
I'm arguing mathematical philosophy with a twelve-year-old in the middle of a giant refrigerator. And I thought I'd have to wait until I got out into space for weird things like this to happen to me. "Okay… but you still can't say the Earth – as a whole, planetary body – is flat." He added the clarification, realising that Trip was willing to pick apart everything just to win. You are so competitive, kid. Now that was something that Jonathan did understand… the burning desire to win every contest. And I am not going to make it easy for you. "Everybody can be wrong… and you're not dealing with everybody."
"Everybody with power. I mean… congratulations for you. You get to do Starfleet… you think I've got a shot?" Trip's tone clearly indicated that he didn't think so. " 'Cause the minute they start asking about me… my counsellor, my teachers… nobody's going to have one decent thing to say about me. That means as much as grades… and I can't get those either, because I don't do things the 'right' way."
"… and because your teachers hate you." In Trip's case, it just might be true. His math teacher certainly seemed biased… jealous, maybe? "There are ways around that… you can challenge the exams… get different references…"
"Oh, like, from you?" Trip batted his eyes sarcastically. "I can so see how that would just make up for everything else."
You really haven't made the connection, have you? Charlie was right, when Trip finally found out, it would be a kick in the teeth. "Maybe… you'd be surprised how well inside references can work. And despite all the grief you've caused me… I think you'd do well there." If Trip wanted it… he'd probably be able to make himself fit in with most of the rules. "You're a hard worker… you probably work harder than any other kid I've met… even at things you don't like."
Trip said nothing… just stared at Jonathan, waiting for the older boy to continue.
"Talent only goes so far, Trip… you've clearly worked at your pitching… even though you apparently hate it. That's the kind of thing Starfleet looks for. I'm not saying it'll be easy… but it'll be impossible if you give up."
Trip still didn't say anything, just whistled a couple of bars of 'The Impossible Dream.' He shivered now, his light T-shirt doing nothing to stave off the cold.
Suddenly Jonathan realised how cold he was, too. "It's not impossible, Trip." He wished he could tell… but he still wasn't ready. Please say you'll do this, Dad. It'll mean so much more, coming from you. If Charlie was right, and Henry was a hero to Trip… well, lesser things had turned a kid around. And if I say he's good… he's right, they probably won't listen… but if you say it, they might sit up and pay attention. "But… I think we've been gone long enough… they're going to start to wonder about us… send out an expedition. And you were going to get some food for your brother and sister." Jonathan straightened up, his muscles stiff from the cold. He reached down a hand to Trip who took it. Finally Trip settled on some cryo-packed sandwich fillings (carefully checking for expiry dates) and some cheese slices – swiss and cheddar. He skipped the bread… clearly, it didn't pass the safety test.
"Mom and Dad will probably feed them some fast-food crap on the way home," he admitted, "but as long as I can take care of it…"
Jonathan nodded. "I understand." He did understand, too. It came with the competitiveness – a desire for perfectionism. If you were there and could control it… well it was going to be as good as you could damn well make it. And that my friend, is what we have in common. As for the other… familiarity doesn't always make for heroes.