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“Did you know that Uncle Malcolm’s name means ‘serenity’ in Vulcan, Aunt Hoshi?”
The question came as T’Mir Tucker wandered around her godmother’s office, looking at the shelves stacked with books, artefacts, sundry interesting items, plants - not all of them from Earth - and photographs. T’Mir, her brother Lorian, and their Aenar-Andorian friend, Talla, featured in several individual photographs, and were together in at least two.
In one, the two girls stood in front of their parents, holding hands; they had only just met, but were already becoming fast friends; Talla's antennae, shy at first, were beginning to lift in curiosity. Behind them, Talla’s graceful Aenar mother, Aunt Jhamel, stood beside her Andorian husband, Uncle Shran, who had one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the other around his wife. Behind T’Mir, a serene-looking Mama held Lorian on her hip, while Daddy mirrored the Andorian’s pose from the other direction, a wide grin on his face as he looked at the camera. A smiling Aunt Hoshi stood beside Daddy, with Uncle Malcolm beside her, his arm around her waist, while beside Uncle Shran, Commander Karveth stood behind a radiant Miss Monica, his hands clasped at her waist and her hands resting on top of his blue skin; the photograph had been taken at their wedding.
The other photograph was far less formal, taken as it was in the living room of the house Aunt Hoshi and Uncle Malcolm had rented while attending the wedding on Mars. In it, T’Mir and Talla were seated on the floor, drawing, looking up at the camera; presumably, Aunt Hoshi had called their names to get their attention. Behind them, Uncle Malcolm lay on the couch, fast asleep, Lorian lying sprawled on his chest, blond head tucked into the adult’s neck, one tiny, delicately pointed ear visible. Their godfather’s hands rested on Lorian’s back, arms curved up to prevent her brother from rolling.
“I did, yes,” Aunt Hoshi replied, “although it’s pronounced a little differently, with an ‘o’ instead of an ‘a’. 'Mol-kom' instead of 'Malcolm'. Still, it’s a good descriptor of Uncle Malcolm, don’t you think?”
T’Mir thought about it; about her calm, sometimes rather solemn godfather, whose body she had sometimes seen go preternaturally still - usually in times when he thought there might be some risk to Aunt Hoshi, or herself and her brother, or their parents, or Talla. She hadn’t seen him do the same around Talla’s parents, but then again, she had seen Uncle Shran’s antennae stiffen and swivel and give much the same impression of alertness.
But that was beside the point, and she scolded herself a little for getting off track. She'd been thinking about whether the word "‘serenity’ suited her Uncle Malcolm, and it made sense. He wasn’t serene all the time, but—
“He is not always mol-kom, but he is around you, Aunt Hoshi,” T’Mir said, and watched as a smile spread across her godmother’s face.
“Thank you, T’Mir, that’s lovely of you to say.”
“Why? I am only telling the truth.”
“Because it is a testament to Aunt Hoshi’s ability to soothe your godfather, and therefore a compliment,” explained Mama in her own serene way, “regardless of whether or not you meant it that way.”
“Yes, exactly, thank you, T’Pol.” Aunt Hoshi seemed to be choking a little, eventually coughing into the back of her wrist before re-emerging with a smile - somehow more amused than before - on her lips.
“I see,” said Miss T’Mir, though she wasn’t entirely sure that she did. Still, it had made Aunt Hoshi happy, and that would make Uncle Malcolm happy, and that was a worthy enough outcome, she was sure.
“Would you like to sit in the reading nook while your mother and I chat, T’Mir?”
She perked up at the thought. “You have a reading nook?”
“I do, yes.” Aunt Hoshi got up from beside her desk and led T’Mir over to the window of her office, where a large, plush wing-back chair upholstered in a deep red stood in front of a little alcove overlooking the Academy below, the bustle of students muted by the double-glazed windows. “Do you have a book to read?”
“Unfortunately not, Aunt Hoshi,” T’Mir answered, just the slightest hint of melancholy in her tone. “Daddy was reading The Hobbit to us, but it was left at home.” She forbore to mention that it was Daddy who had left the book behind, despite her repeated reminders, and was quite proud of her discretion. The tiniest quirk of her mother’s mouth made her certain that she was correct to have done so.
Once again Aunt Hoshi coughed into her wrist; was she falling ill? T’Mir asked as much, and Aunt Hoshi shook her head, chuckling.
“Not at all, T’Mir,” she hastened to reassure, noticing the child’s quick, concerned glance at her heavily-pregnant mother. “Merely a dry throat. I’ll have some water shortly. But first let me get you settled in with a book.” She went to the centre of the bookshelf closest to the window, tapping her lip thoughtfully.
“Tell me, is Trip—is your daddy doing all the reading, or are you able to read the words, too?”
“I can read, too, Aunt Hoshi,” T’Mir said proudly. “Not all the words,” she felt compelled to clarify. “But most of them.”
“Well, then, I have just the thing!” exclaimed her godmother, moving to the door to open the messenger bag she had hung from the coat rack and removing a slim, well-worn volume wrapped in a piece of brightly-coloured silk. “This is my copy of The Hobbit. My grandfather Michio gave it to me when I was just a little older than you—eight years old, in fact—and I’ve kept it and reread it many times since then.” Her voice thickened for a moment and a quick sheen of tears covered her eyes and then was gone, though T’Mir was sure she hadn’t imagined it.
“Is it not special to you, Aunt Hoshi?” she asked, a little concerned. She would, of course, handle the book with the utmost care. It looked as if it would feel … not fragile, but delicate, in her hands.
“It’s very special indeed, dear girl,” was the reply, “but so are you, and I’m sure you’ll take excellent care of it while you read. I think my Jiji would have been thrilled that another young reader is looking through its pages.” She smiled “And when we get home, I have a far more robust copy that you are welcome to take on the journey back to Vulcan, so your father can read to you during the trip.”
“Thank you,” T’Mir said gravely, accepting the special book with the care it deserved. “That would be lovely.”
Helping her get settled on the chair, shoes neatly tucked under it and legs curled beneath her with permission of the owner, Aunt Hoshi brought a glass of chilled water to the small side-table beside the chair, checked that she was comfortable, and then left her to it. Smoothing the soft, thin pages under her fingers as she read, the adult voices behind her soon faded into a murmur. Now this, she decided, was something she could get used to.