Chapter Text
T’Ralia’s third year at the Imperial Starfleet Academy had reached an end, and these years were spent much like those of her primary education: working twice as hard to prove herself worthy in the eyes of her Terran peers, living according to their customs, trusting no one, and deferring to Van Den Broeck’s advice at every turn and without question. The latter had proven to not be the most logical choice. His judgment was usually sound, but his insistence that she follow the command track seemed to be more about his own vanity than a fair assessment of his daughter’s skills or her best interest. A decision had been made, and it was best to share this development in person.
High-ranking and loyal Terrans like Van Den Broeck lived in luxury accommodations in San Fransisco. The interior was dark in color with warm, dim light that reflected in a glow off of the gilded accents. A Kelpian servant led T’Ralia to Van Den Broeck’s study where he waited seated at his desk. Behind him were shelves packed full of the trinkets of a man who fancied himself a conqueror: skulls (most animals, but some from people of assorted species), artifacts from cultures across the galaxy, and ancient weapons.
“T’Ralia.” He set down his PADD but did not stand to greet her. “I must admit this is a pleasant surprise. You’ve never been one for social calls. Have a seat. Can I get you a drink or anything?”
“No,” she answered as she sat across from him. “My visit has a specific purpose, and I do not plan to stay for long.”
“News you wanted to share in person?”
“Yes. I have reached the conclusion that the command track is not a suitable choice. I am changing the trajectory of my education.”
Van Den Broeck curled one hand into a fist and looked away. He clenched his jaw, and the muscles in his neck grew tense. “And it took you this long to realize this? Tell me, where is the logic in taking a wild change in direction when you were so close to completion?”
“I came to inform, not to seek permission, .” While Van Den Broeck fought to hold back anger, T’Ralia was as calm as the moment she stepped through the door. “I have suspected this for a while, but did not want to accept the truth. It is not logical to pursue a career where one’s best talents will not be best utilized.”
Van Den Broeck let out a beleaguered sigh. “Then tell me, where would your talents be best put to use?”
“Medical.”
He slammed a fist on the table and took a deep breath to try to steady himself. “Three years wasted. You’re practically starting over, and the additional schooling…”
“The pursuit of knowledge is never a waste, even if it is not directly applicable.”
“I went to great lengths to get you there, to prove that a Vulcan could be suited for command.”
“And for that, I am still grateful.”
Van Den Broeck clenched his jaw again. He hadn’t yet raised his voice, but there was a sharpness in every word. “Have you considered how this reflects on me, to make such a sudden and wild change to follow a less prestigious path?”
“Your ego is not relevant, Father, and neither is mine.”
He closed his eyes and took another deep breath. “I almost wish you would argue back, it’s like talking to a wall. Your mind is made up. I hope you made the right choice; I can’t imagine any Terran who would be willing to let you operate on them. Good luck in all this, T’Ralia.”
“Luck will not determine my success, Father. My own hard work will.” She stood up and offered Van Den Broeck a polite nod. “That was all I wished to discuss. I should go.”
In time, Van Den Broeck came around. He could admit that there was a certain glory and prestige in the medical profession, and after a short lull in communication he was back to his old self, with constant contact and an unshakable desire to be a guiding hand in his adult child’s life. And T’Ralia was right. This was a better use of her talents. She thrived, with a mind more suited toward medicine and a new burst of enthusiastic motivation that she hadn’t experienced in her previous area of study. She worked hard to dispel the prejudice that was baked into Terran culture, and while she usually succeeded, one instructor was stubbornly set in her ways.
Alejandra Caro taught advanced neuroanatomy. She was a small Terran with a shrill voice who from the start gave T’Ralia nasty looks and graded her according to a stricter standard. However, the inconsistencies were small. T’Ralia did not call attention to it because Caro could reasonably use plausible deniability as an alibi until she marked T’Ralia poorly on an exam where she had made few errors.
As the other students filed out of the lecture hall, T’Ralia moved against the crowd to speak with Caro, who looked up at her with a look of annoyance on her face as she gathered up her belongings.
“I wish to discuss the recent midterm,” T’Ralia began.
“Cadet Van Den Broeck,” Caro began with a sigh. “I made it clear from the start, I don’t negotiate.”
“I do not wish to negotiate. If I have made mistakes, I hope to learn from them.”
“You’ve only made one mistake, and that was joining my class.” She wasn’t speaking in her usual voice, each word was easy and measured as if she was waiting for the chance to say those words.
“If I have been treated unfairly, I will need to inform my father.”
“Is that really what you want to do?” Caro’s tone shifted, now taunting. “Because to me that seems like it would only prove that you can’t accomplish anything without him.”
She was right. Every success T’Ralia experienced was due to her adoptive father’s support and assistance. “Regardless, he values transparency, and I will be informing him.”