The Path Not Taken: A Day In Okinawa (Part 1 of 3)

Posted on 26 Dec 2023 @ 4:22pm by Lieutenant JG Montgomery Vala & Ensign S'Ers-a M'Lyr'Zor
Edited on on 26 Dec 2023 @ 7:24pm

4,342 words; about a 22 minute read

Mission: Episode 19 - Tomorrow's Galileo
Location: Okinawa Prefecture, Japan, Earth
Timeline: Early 2396

Early 2396 - 4 years after the deletion of Cold Station 31 files.

[ON]

===Vala's Day===

Routine. People assumed that life on a starship was marred by the monotony of routine. That procedure, duties and the minutiae of the day would cause days to blend into each other, lead to cravings for anomalies, first contact and… action. Those people were mistaken. No where on Earth, at least, had less going on than the Xenogeology department at the Daystrom Institute.

Vala could tell that when this assignment had been decided upon, those that be had simply skimmed his file. Decades of work in theoretical physics? No. The word Gallicite must have stood out for some reason and in their haste they had condemned him to live out his days amongst rocks.

Every morning started much the same. Tamagoyaki for breakfast, Ozh'esta with S'Ers-a, then off to the municipal transporters.

He would arrive at Daystrom, walk to the Institute of Xenogeology, nod to various colleagues, find his office and… there he was.

On this particular day he sat heavily at his desk and scrolled through his messages. Another denied transfer request sat in his inbox. No surprises there. He'd been requesting a transfer, or even a discussion about a transfer since he had arrived. Starfleet Command did not wish to entertain him with any form of conversation so they just summarily denied anything he sent their way regardless of its content.

He was not a fool. He knew why he was here. It was the same reason Imin was over in Botany and S'anra was in the Zoological Institute. His fellow Rihannsu scientists were being put to about as productive use as he was. Pulled off their ships and confined to uninteresting, safe departments at Daystrom. There was even a Klingon working on terraforming knocking around, K'ratak. He was the first Klingon scientist Vala had ever met, and he seemed just as despondent as the rest of the pariahs. Worse, if anything, given the circumstances.

It seemed that regardless of their loyalty to the Federation, past affiliations had marked them as people that needed to be watched. For senior scientists it seemed that Daystrom was the place for that to occur. Vala's access pass should technically get him into any part of the facility, but it was an unspoken reality that if he tried to go visit a theoretical physics laboratory he would have been politely turned away by one of the dozen or so guards at the door.

The situation was, of course, outrageous. He was a Federation citizen, as were the others, but it felt like there was a change in the winds at Starfleet. Open war with the Klingons and terrible relations with the Star Empire had created a culture of fear that he had not witnessed since the Dominion War. It would have all been easier if there had been some sort of interrogation, a demand for loyalty. Anything. But instead it was quiet reassignment and then silence.

People's attitudes towards him had taken a noticeable turn in the past month or so, both inside the Institute and out in public. Furtive glances, scowls, looks of suspicion seemed commonplace expressions. In the early 2390s he'd never have imagined such a situation evolving, but for whatever reason tensions were building to incredible heights. Imin said that he'd been called 'pointy ear' for the first time in a long while. Vala suspected this would not be the end of it.

The morning passed uneventfully. He sent off another transfer request, mostly out of habit, then went over the latest research updates from the lab. He could go down there but, well, they were so enthusiastic and he was far from it. After six months he had done all he usefully could with Gallicite, and he had no interest or experience with other minerals. He sufficed to review a few papers, sent off a few messages, then got up and left for lunch.

His local canteen serviced many of the planetary sciences departments, xenogeology, botany, zoology, climate, metrology… In the early days, when he had been attempting to make the best of things, he had gone and sat with various different people. It had not been easy or worthwhile. It was either terribly awkward small talk, or in the case of Vulcans, stony silence. He had forgotten they didn't like to talk whilst having a meal, unlike his ailhun.

Now he sat with the other pariahs. Imin and S'anra, the former an elderly and austere ex-noble who had come to the Federation many years before Vala, and the latter a relatively young and energetic idealist, both Rihannsu. They were occasionally joined by two others, K'ratak the surprisingly articulate Klingon (Vala had realised he quite liked the Klingons who didn't prize bloodlust over their sanity), and Ludd, a Bolian who seemed to just like hanging around with them.

When Vala found their table he could see a bowl of Gletten waiting for him by an empty chair. One of the few silver linings of returning to Earth had been meeting his two fellow exiles, both having fled the Star Empire for similar reasons to his own. Imin was in the possession of real Rihannsu replicator programs, and had readily shared them with Vala and S'anra early on in their friendship. They had all bonded over their shared love for the cooking of their home, as well as their fears for the future.

He sat down, placing his fist over his heart in salute to his fellow Rihannsu, "Khnai'ra," he said graciously in their native tongue, before noticing their grave expressions, "What is wrong?"

Imin leaned forward, his watery blue eyes wide and his expression unusually haunted, "It is done, i'Varul," his imperious ch'Rihan accent colouring every word, "The Star Empire joined the Klingons at Bolarus," he slowly raised a hand to stem any interjection, "There is no doubt."

"Fvadt," Vala said softly, "I thought they might provide the Klingons with some sort of aid given how relations have become but… " He shook his head slowly, "To join directly…" His voice faded.

S'anra methodically stirred her Gletten, with quite some agitation on her face, "What will become of us?" She asked quietly, "If they win, they will string us up," she began stirring faster and faster, "They will come for us. Find us. We are not sa-"”

Imin gently put his hand on her arm, slowing her frantic stir, "Calm, we must be calm. We serve the Federation now. They will protect us."

Vala shook his head and ate a little Gletten, it was as satisfying as ever, though he did not have much of an appetite anymore, "We must be careful. We are gathered here for a reason. I hope the Federation continues to protect us of course, but we are clearly not trusted to still be aboard vessels." He sighed, then noticed the blue form of Ludd approaching. He did not look well.

"Ludd," Vala's accent intoning the name, "What news?"

"Only the most pitiful tidings," the Bolian shook his head, "Your former masters have seen fit to join the fight over dear Bolarus, curse them." Ludd knew their stories, parts of them anyway, and had always been sympathetic. Now his homeworld was under siege it had become more difficult to look them in the eyes.

"It is a dark day, Ludd. You have our sympathies, even though you do not seek them," Imin covered his heart with his fist in the traditional sign of respect, "If we can do anything, we stand ready."

"You cannot," he stood, swaying slightly, near the table, "I'm afraid I cannot stay," he stared into the middle distance, "I was approved for a transfer to the fleet, I leave tomorrow," he furtively glanced at each of them, "Wish me well." He then scurried off before anyone could react.

"His transfer request was approved swiftly," S'anra said snidely after he was out of earshot, "How many denials are you both on now? I hit my ninth today."”

"Do not be so cold S'anra. He is right to defend his home," Imin spoke with a sobre tone, "For me it is fifteen, as you mentioned it."

Vala rested his head on his hand, leaning on the table, "Fifteen also," he sighed with resignation, "What will happen now?"

"I imagine we will hear even more about the shape and form of our ears, or the tint of our blood," Imin replied with a bitter, sardonic smile, "Some humans are quick to show their true colours. Tch! You spend decades working for Starfleet, tirelessly serving, then one little war and the mask immediately falls off." He shook his head, "Spineless"

"Then we must steel ourselves," Vala said staring at his Gletten. He hoped S'Ers-a was okay. Some of the locals were not always adept at divining the difference between a Vulcan and a Rihannsu. He put his spoon down and looked up at his compatriots, "I apologise, I have no appetite. I will take my leave." He stood, grabbing the bowl and accepting nods of acknowledgement from his friends. He made his way to the recycler, then walked grimly back to his office.

The afternoon passed without incident. Vala went through the usual cycle of considering the implications of turning in his commission, realising it was probably what they wanted, then deciding not to give them the satisfaction. It was a daily ritual. He had no idea what he would do outside the context of Starfleet, away from Daystrom, anyway. Who is to say they'd let him do as he wished even if he did resign.

No, there was every chance this war would end soon and he'd be free to return to active duty.

As the sun began to ebb towards the horizon he gathered his things and left the office, nodding to his colleagues as he had when he arrived. A few averted there eyes and pretended not to see him. He tried not to let it bother him. These people had been raised on the idea that the Rihannsu were hiding around every corner, and now they truly were the enemy. He would have to endure worse, he was sure.

He left the department of Xenogeology and walked towards the transporter station, through the manicured parkland that surrounded the Institute. He usually rushed back to his ailhun, but today he caught a glimpse of a crowd gathered around the public holovid. He strayed from the path just close enough to catch the broadcast.

It seemed that Starfleet were claiming victory at Bolarus, despite his people's best efforts. Perhaps an early bloody nose would hasten the conflict heading to the negotiating table? He did not know enough about interstellar politics to form much of an opinion. He slipped back onto the path and proceeded to the transporters.

===Sera’s Day===

Sera arose before Sol’s light had crested the horizon every morning. It gave her time alone to meditate on the covered porch that looked out over the small interior garden of the Kominka house they had procured in Bise, a small fishing village on the west side of Okinawa island.

It was far west of Okinawa proper, but it was the only acceptable lodging that Montgomery and herself were able to find given their…background. It was a traditional village, filled with exactly 250 houses–she had counted–with very little in the way of technology, at least to the level she had grown accustomed to aboard a starship. Their little house was set back beyond the dense foliage of the fukugi trees which lined the sandy pathways of the quaint seaside village. About the only thing that was familiar to Sera about this place was the sand. The pathways were too narrow for motorized transport other than small bikes or speeders, so the place was quiet other than an occasional voice, or child’s laughter, or the buzzing rumble of a speeder as it passed.

They rented the house sight unseen, which was perhaps impulsive, but as the owner did not seem to care one way or the other regarding their heritage, they both felt that it was a necessary choice. It was quite primitive, in keeping with the traditional manner of when it was constructed hundreds of years ago. The house was laid out around a central living space, which served as kitchen, dining, and living room. At the center of the space was an inset with an traditional irori firepit, complete with an iron chain that ran to a load bearing beam in the ceiling that could hold a cast iron cauldron or teapot at an appropriate distance over the flames. Surrounding that were seating pillows and low tables which could be used for lounging to working on various projects to taking meals together.

The rest of the rooms branched off this main space, making a U around a small Zen garden at the center. A small preparation kitchen that held a stasis unit and sink to clean dishes, a cupboard for foodstuffs and utensils/dishware, but mostly there was little space for things like spices and containers, so they were put on any surface or ledge that would safely hold it. Their sleeping quarters at first glance was an empty space, covered with tatami mats and having sliding door alcoves where their bedding, personal effects and clothing was stored. That had taken a bit of getting used to, arranging the bedding at night and folding it back up during the day, but it occupied a few moments of Sera’s ample free time so she did not find it to be an onerous task. There was a small formal space off of the main area which held a low table and legless chairs with pillows for entertaining. The only entertaining they did was shooing away the ‘dust rabbits’ that settled on the dark wood surfaces. Finally a small, yet serviceable bathroom was set into the corner of the house. It was obviously an upgrade of sorts but Sera had still not gotten used to the water-based shower. It seemed highly inefficient compared to the sonics that were ubiquitous in Starfleet.

The house even came with a Terran feline, which they were unable to convince to find another domicile to inhabit. The ‘cat’ spent much of its day coiling about Sera’s legs as she moved about doing one inane task or another. However, it was good company, if not a bit ‘chatty,’ as it often called to her using its feline vocalizations. Sera had found herself conversing with the cat - in no way expecting any meaningful response, but it was agreeable to not be alone in such a place when Montgomery left daily to go to work.

The feeling of isolation was profound. In this small secluded place, the native Japanese culture was seen and felt everywhere. They even spoke in their own tongue, Japanese, which was indecipherable given her inexperience with Terran languages. Federation standard only got one so far here in Bise. At least here, people appeared to be more curious of Montgomery and her than anything else. That curiosity was quite absent when they went into Okinawa proper. Side-long, furtive glances seemed to follow the pair wherever they went within the city, and she was often lumped in with Montgomery when terse insults were traded. At first she tried to correct them, that she was not Romulan, but well…fear, when not controlled, made people say and do irrational things.

It made her, quite illogically, long for a life that was no longer an option. To go from being a Chief Engineer aboard a Starfleet vessel to…house wife was a difficult one. Sera had managed to fix just about every creaking board and loose cupboard in the house. The rice paper doors now glided seamlessly on their tracks and even the Zen garden was now carefully tended, not a rock or leaf out of place.

Her cooking had become adequate after many failures. Some attempts were so bad, Sera pitched the evidence and started over before Montgomery got home. He was gracious enough not to comment on the scorched smell that lingered in the house after such blunders. She appreciated that.

After Montgomery left for the day, Sera dressed for the day in a simple black and white spotted yukata with a jade green obi, and walked back out to the covered porch to sit and watch the subtle goings on in her garden.

Perhaps she would go into Okinawa today–there was some in season vegetation she had been wanting to procure at the local vendor market–and then maybe stop by Daystrom to give Montgomery a treat of sweet rice dumplings called ‘dango,’ from the bakery that he favored.

Sera smoothly rose from her pillow when she heard a commotion from across the shrub covered fencing that divided her home from the neighbors. She had been studying Japanese, but her command of the language was nominal at best…

“De te itsu te kudasai! Wtashi wa sono you nani houhou de damasa reru koto wa ari mase nichi. Kawaguchi douro goutou! Condencer wa kin to koukan suru no de wa naku, shuuri shi te hoshii desu!” (Get out! I will not be swindled in such a manner. Highway robbery! I want my condenser fixed, not replaced with gold!)

Their neighbor was an elderly woman, a widow…Mrs. Yamazuki with her only son living far away in Tokyo. A businessman, Sera recalled her saying. The woman sounded rather angry - but the word, condenser, Sera understood. The woman’s condenser, which helped remove the humidity in the houses, was apparently broken. She went into the bedroom and pulled out her satchel of tools and slipped on her geta sandals and walked over to her neighbor’s house. She walked past the two still arguing and pulled a small mat out of her satchel and knelt down in front of the condenser, ignoring the looks of the service technician and the woman as she got to work.

The two walked over to the Vulcan woman, dressed in traditional yukata with a long braid trailing down her back and watched in curious silence as Sera made quick work of disassembling the unit to determine what the problem was.

Ah…there was a short in the fan. Sera pulled it out and re-soldered connections that had corroded due to the high sodium content in the air with her hyperspanner, and began replacing what she took out until the condenser was back in one piece. She was inwardly gratified to hear the device turn over and the even tone of the fan indicated all was well with it again. She gathered her tools back within her satchel and rose, silently bowing to the two and walked the distance back to her house.

It wasn’t a warp core, but it felt satisfying to fix something again. With her impromptu task complete, Sera returned her tools and pulled out a knot bag made of cast off pieces of cloth and slipped her wrist through the loop. The small bag held her identification, keys to the home, her credit chit, and it was often used to carry what she procured in the city. It was all that she would need on this outing. Sera stepped out, closing the heavy wooden door, and began the walk to the municipal transporter which would take her across Okinawa island to the city proper where she could spend some of her day wandering about.

The repairs had cost her time, however, and she would miss Montgomery’s lunch hour. It was unfortunate, but instead he would come home to a surprise of Dango as a dessert after end-meal tonight. Her plan modified, Sera made her way to the bakery, ignoring the stares as she went.

It was a small place that they had frequented since Montgomery’s abrupt transfer. He had found the place during his last stint at Daystrom. It was a cramped place, making use of every square meter by having various stands and baskets to display the baked goods on offer for the day. Sera purposefully walked to the back of the store which held a case of confectionary treats and waited patiently to be served.

Two women were speaking to each other in rapid-fire Japanese. It was times like these Sera wished she still had her commbadge. The universal translator embedded into would have proven quite useful here. The clerk behind the counter noticed Sera and smiled, “Ohio goziamasu!” She greeted cheerily, having recognized her from previous visits. The woman standing being served turned and looked Sera up and down with an indecipherable expression upon her face.

“You serve her kind?! After Bolarus?!” The other customer asked the clerk, her expression shifting to something Sera did recognize…outrage.

Sera took a step back, not in retreat but to allow for correct distancing if…if what exactly? She looked at the clerk with a brow raised in question.


The clerk turned to the now angry customer and replied sharply, “I am happy to serve one of our oldest allies, Mariko-san. This is no place for such bigotry.”

“Would you care for some dango today, Sera-san, or can I tempt you with some freshly baked black sesame cookies?” The clerk asked Sera in Standard.

Sera’s expression remained serene as the agitated customer rushed past her in a huff. Tensions had been uneasy of late, but she did not know what might have caused an increase in mistrust. Bringing her mind back to the present, Sera answered. “A serving of each please.” The black sesame cookies were her favorite pastry here and were not often in stock. “I apologize if my presence is causing disharmony in your shop, Suki-san.”

“It is nothing, Sera-san. You and your mate are always welcome here. My father worked in Starfleet for many years and collected a number of friendships across many species. People are worried though. Fear always brings out the biting dogs in some.” Suki chatted as she selected the items Sera requested and placed them into two separate boxes. “You have heard that the Romulans have formally allied themselves with the Klingon Empire, yes?”

Sera’s placid expression shifted, and Suki inferred that the young Vulcan woman had not been informed of such news. “It's all over the holovids.”

“I had not heard.” This was certainly not good news.

Suki wrapped the two boxes with a bi-colored twine to keep the packages together and placed the boxes on the counter for Sera to take. The credit chit then changed hands, and Suki deducted the balance from it and handed it back to her.

“I will give you my ‘card,’ Sera-san. We deliver…just in case…”

Sera took the card with both of her hands and studied the data on it solemnly as was the custom here, and bowed her head in gracious acknowledgement. “I thank thee.” Sera replied formally.

Opening the cloth bag, Sera put the pastries into the cloth bag along with her credit chit and the business card.

Suki raised her hand in a clumsy ta’al and said “Sochya eh dif.” In poorly accented Vulcan. Sera’s emotionless expression softened. She appreciated Suki’s attempt at incorporating her culture. “Dif-tor heh smusma.” Sera replied back as she raised her hand in a reciprocal ta’al.

“Oh, Sera-san. There is extra dango in there. I know how Vala-san has a tendency to not share such things. He has told me so in the past.

“Indeed. He will thank you the next time he visits.” Sera responded as she turned to leave.

Her mind was in turmoil as she finished her shopping, obtaining some daikon and edamame from the local produce stall, and some nori and rice from another. Although her bag was now full, she indulged in a small Yubari melon that had just come into season, and carried it in her free hand.

The hour walk to return to their home was enough time to order her thoughts again. As she walked up to the covered porch that extended around the perimeter of their house she saw some wrapped in cloth on the deck in front of her door. After the news today, the unknown object filled her with trepidation, but she crouched down, placing her bag and the melon next to the brightly wrapped object and untied the fabric. Inside was a basket filled with vegetables, hakusai, mizuna, and kabu, no doubt from her neighbor’s garden. An offering of thanks.

She gathered up all of the goods from her porch and brought it in the house and put the food stuffs in the stasis unit to keep the items fresh until use. Tilting her head, Sera considered the time; Montgomery would be returning home shortly.

She walked over to the main room and crouched to open a low credenza against the wall and pulled out a bottle which contained a vibrant blue liquid and two rocks glasses. Pouring out two servings, Sera returned the bottle to the small cubby and closed the door. She walked through the opened rice-paper doors out onto the covered porch that overlooked the tranquil garden and sat on one of the pillows, placing the glasses on the low table set between the two ‘seats’ and waited patiently for Montgomery to arrive.

To be continued...

[OFF]

LTCMDR Montgomery Vala
Chair of Xenogeology
Department of Xenogeology, Daystrom Institute

S'Ers-a M'Lyr'Zor
First Born daughter of Clan Lyr'Zor
Currently between jobs

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