Free Star Trek: The Original Series: Seasons of Light and Darkness by Michael A. Martin Page B

broad chest swelled, as if to prove his point.
    â€œBut Jeen will probably have moved on by then,” McCoy said.
    â€œPerhaps,” Naheer said. “Perhaps not.”
    McCoy could see that the time had come to start walking the tightrope between pep talk and hard reality. Taking a seat on the boulder beside Naheer, he said, “Listen, you’ll be amazed someday at how quickly what you’re feeling right now has faded away completely. The everyday details of building your life and your future won’t give you a lot of time to dwell on the past.”
    Naheer shook his head slowly. “We Capellans do not build our lives, Mak-Koy. Our traditions build them for us.”
    Though the previous week’s political reversal bolstered Naheer’s argument, McCoy felt obliged to take the opposite side of the argument.
    â€œAre you sure about that, Naheer? Look around you. Your world may be about to change in some very fundamental ways.”
    The boy shook his head. “At night, do Gaar or Baan ever veer from the ancient skypaths they have traveled since the beginning of time? Does the son not always follow the father? Does the distance between them ever shrink or lengthen, either in the sky above us or on the earth beneath our feet?
    â€œLike the red stars of the Skyfather and His son, nothing will ever change here.” Naheer fell silent, as though he’d suddenly exhausted his daily allotment of words.
    â€œYou can’t stop believing that your world is capable of changing for the better,” McCoy said. Sometimes that hope was the only thing that kept him going.
    Naheer’s eyes became deep pools of sadness. “When I was small, I told my father I wanted to follow the path of the tribal talekeeper. Though he forbade it, one of the tribe’s matrons encouraged me in secret. She helped me gather much of the lore concerning Skyfather Gaar and His son, Baan. She even shared some of the songs and sagas with me. But because her knowledge was limited, she could take me only so far.”
    â€œTalekeeper,” McCoy repeated. It occurred to him that he hadn’t spent enough time speaking with Naar, the old woman who currently filled that function in the camp. The endlessly curious Lieutenant Plait always seemed to monopolize her time. “I think that might be just the job for you.”
    Naheer shrugged. “Perhaps. But I shall never know. The matron who helped me has been dead for nearly half a season now. There is no one to persuade my uncle to ask Naar to grant me an apprenticeship.”
    Nearly half a season , McCoy reflected. A little rough mental arithmetic converted that to a span of at least four Standard years—almost half the time Naheer had been alive.
    â€œI tried to entice Jeen with some of the tales the matron gave me,” the boy continued. “But she told me that she knew them already. She said she found the stories too inflexible, too unchanging—like our world. Perhaps she is right about both.”
    â€œI think I understand a little bit about how rigid your culture can be,” McCoy said. “I had some similar experiences back home. But even on Earth, a man can stitch a new ending onto an old story. Or maybe even weave something entirely original out of whole cloth.”
    â€œI am not certain I understand.”
    â€œI’m not sure I do either, kid. All I know is that any world can change for the better—but only as long as people like you believe that. And keep working for it.”
    Naheer stared up into the sky, his countenance taking on a contemplative cast. “Perhaps you are right. Thank you, Mak-Koy.”
    A harsh, angry male voice sliced through the ensuing silence like a hard-hurled kligat . “Where have you been, Naheer?! Subteer Keer’s hunting party waits!”
    Naheer sprang to his feet, his cheeks reddening. He had obviously lost track of time. “I will be there presently,