This Is Not

He didn't speak her language.  He only knew logic and common sense.  That was all.  Teenagers – even a half-Khalindarian teenager – weren't interested in logic, or common sense.  They tested even Vulcan patience – and April wasn't Vulcan.

Arriving at the door, he hesitated.  Eve had gone on ahead, and he had not from her.  He assumed she would inform him if Neria had done something rash again.  Taking that as a good sign – he hoped – he waited a few more seconds, then announced to the voice-recognition sensors, "Neria... it's me.  Am I all right to come in?"

The door opened to reveal Eve.  Neria stood on the other side of the room before the viewport, back turned, watching the stars.  From her posture, arms crossed, April could tell she was tense.  He pursed his lips and looked at Eve, appreciative that she had shown the compassion and concern for his daughter that she did.  The three of them had a sort of special relationship: Eve was Bartokian, and the Bartokians had warred with the Khalindarians on and off for years.  And here he was, the father of a half-Khalindarian... a bridge between their two cultures.  Indeed, he played a part in Khalindar's admission into the Federation, of which Bartok was a part.  They had also shared a closer, personal relationship, when Neria served as a cadet on the Arc.  She and Eve were something akin to sisters.  April knew Eve saw him as a sort of surrogate father, though it went deeper than that.  Best friends, but it went deeper than that too.  Yet there seemed a gulf – not so much a rift, but a gulf – in the relationship of late, and Neria seemed to stand at the center.  Perhaps it was just the fact that he was retiring.

Moving in, April asked a question with his eyes: How is she?  To which Eve gave the facial equivalent of a shrug.  After crying on her shoulder, Neria had said barely a word, beyond pleading with Eve not to let her father send her back to Khalindar.  Eve had assured her he would never do such a thing.

"Neria..." April started.  She didn't move, didn't turn to look at him or otherwise react.  He glanced at Eve then tried again: "Neria, talk to me.  Tell me what's on your mind."

Neria heaved a sigh and turned around, but kept her arms folded.  Her eyes were bloodshot from tears.  It made Stephen April's heart ache, to see.  "Neria," he said gently.  "Tell me why you're here."

It was the one thing he couldn't figure out.  He knew that she and her older self had shared a dream.  They were, in a sense, the same person, just from different times... and it somehow compelled young Neria to flee the Academy.  But why?  Why come here, if she wanted to get away from it all?  For him?  Looking for him to save her?  Did she feel she owed him a personal explanation?  Had she hacked personnel records, learned of someone with her name serving as Arcadia's XO at the time?  He didn't get that impression – when she had met her older self, she was completely shocked.

"I... I don't know," she said, calm – drained.  Crying took a lot out of her.  She looked at the floor, thinking about it, then said it again: "I don't know.  I just... did.  I didn't know where else to go."  She fixed him with a defiant gaze.  "But I'm NOT going back to Khalindar."

"Relax, Neria."  April ordered the chair closer.  He stopped halfway to the window.  Outside, the 'spider-web' repair lattice had been retracted from around the visible Arcadia.  The repairs were complete.  They could leave any time.  "No one said you had to," he said, refocused on her.

"Good.  Because I'm not going back."  She resumed facing the window.

"So... where do you want to go?"

"I don't know...!" she said with an anguished cry, informing them she was far from not being an emotional wreck.  "I don't know what I want.  Well... actually, I do... but you wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"You won't get it.  No one does."

"I certainly won't if you don't tell me."

Neria gave them the silent treatment some more.  Finally she turned back around and faced him.  "I want you to listen."

"I've always been willing to—"

"No," she interrupted.  "You always told me what you thought was right.  Just like everyone else tries to do.  But you didn't LISTEN.  I want you to be quiet.  Don't say anything, father.  Just listen."

"All right."  He nodded.  "I'm listening."

Neria took a breath, trying to get the words out.  For a moment it looked as if she would change her mind, clam up again.  But finally she launched into it: "I'm not going back to the Academy.  Okay?  I don't want to be part of Starfleet."  She gestured wildly at the cadet's uniform she wore, at their surroundings.  "This is not my life... this is not my home.  This is not me.  I hate this."

April stared at her as if he had never known her at all.

"All my life, I've wanted something.  I've been looking for something, my whole life," she said.  "I don't know..."  She paused, shrugged.  "...what it is... I have no idea if it even exists..."  She started pacing the carpet furiously in front of the viewport.

April began to say, 'Neria, you're young', that she couldn't know what it was, but stopped himself before uttering a word and spoiling it.  He listened.

"No one else seems to need it, or understand," Neria went on.  "I thought Starfleet was it, but it isn't.  It's not all glamour and adventure and excitement like I thought it would be.  It's just a lot of hard work.  Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy when I try to explain; I don't get very far because I know how they'll react... and because I don't know what it is.  Maybe I am crazy... but I don't feel crazy.  I think... I think it's truth.  I want truth – and I want everyone else to know it.  I want it so bad it hurts.  Everyone tries to tell me what they think is the truth, except they're all full of contradictions; it's only what they think, but they don't really know.  They act like their way is the right way, and it's the right way for me, and they're full of targ shit, like that one overstuffed professor and his Zen attitudes.  They don't even question it; they just assume they're right.  And it makes me so mad.  I do question it – I don't want to, but I can't help it – yet it doesn't matter if I do or don't, because I'm not happy either way.  No one else knows I feel like this, not even you.  I want..."  She held up her hands, as if it was right there in her grasp yet eluded her. "I want there to be something... larger, than myself.  I want it to give my life meaning, a meaning I don't have to make up, that isn't empty... that I can touch and hold onto, and believe in – that I don't have to fear or question.  You gave me a new life, father, and for that I love you, and thank you."  She shook her head.  "But it's not enough.  Everything's too automatic; you want for nothing in the Federation, yet it's just not enough.  Does that make any sense to you, father?"

April's lips parted.  His eyes widened a trifle, in recognition.  He could not believe it.

Yes, he could.

Neria stared at him, imploring.  "Tell me, father... please.  Tell me what I'm supposed to do."

"Neria... I know exactly what you mean.  I do," he insisted at her dubious expression.  It was all he could do to keep from smiling.  He nodded towards the couch she had sat on earlier.  "Sit down... because have I got something to tell you... and it just might make all the difference."

Intrigued, Neria sat.