Different generations

Posted on Thu Aug 18th, 2022 @ 4:13am by Glin Slorir Varin & Commander Peter Horn

1,520 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: Episode 5 - Objects In Motion
Location: Promenade
Timeline: During USS Merlin leave time

Zirvell glanced around as he circled the promenade. In all his life, he'd not set foot on any of the Nor class stations, at least not insofar he could recall. He actually barely remembered having been in space before Lamenda III, where he'd spend most of his childhood.

"This feels so strange," he whispered as he pivoted, looking up. "So familiar, and yet so alien." Dressed in teal, the young Cardassian was clearly part of the Starfleet medical staff, and equally obvious, not part of the station staff. As he turned, he spotted a fellow Cardassians. His age was difficult to determine, as Zirvell spent very little time with fellow Cardassians. He hadn't, since his adoption by a Starfleet captain, nor had he really felt any desire to.

So, he just stood, and openly stared without really realizing he was doing it. Captivated by the simple sight of a fellow Cardassian.

Slorir Varin was annoyed, but that was pretty much his default state as he toured what had become known as Deep Space 21. When DS21 was built it was a hope for the future of his people, but instead it had been lost and perverted into the property of the Federation. The Union had agreed that it was better spent within the Federation's employ, but for Varin that was a dreaded loss. Now he had almost lost his own ship in defense of the station during their last mission and it was still under repair. Problem was more and more of their replacement parts were getting hard to come by. Even with the stores here it was a slow process.

Tapping a control on the replicator, "Oceanleaf tea."

"Is that a Cardassian delicacy?" Zirvell had worked up the courage to approach the man, not really having spoken with any other Cardassians since attending the academy, which, from current time frame was well over a decade ago. From his own perspective, it'd only been months.

The Cardassian Officer looked over his shoulder at the other Cardassian that stood nearby, glancing only quickly in the direction, "Indeed." He turned his attention back to the recently replicated beverage and took a drink from the alien looking cup, allowing the flavors to savor for a moment before swallowing. "Problem is that replicators never do it justice and real Oceanleaf tea is hard to come by these days. Ever since the Dominion obliterated Lakarian City the herbs used in its brewing no longer exist. All that remains of it is a pattern in replicators on ancient stations like this one," he looked around at the confines of the old Nor Class station.

"Can't get any of the botanists to cultivate it for you?" Zirvell asked as he came closer. "The planet I grew up on, food was pretty scarce after a while and most people left for better venues. If there was any of that tea, it was a luxury item. Of course, I'm talking twenty years ago, but even then I've actually never heard of it. Is it something you recommend consuming?" He glanced at the odd looking cup, trying to get a whiff of the aroma from the distance he was still away from the other Cardassian.

Internally, Varin was seething at the prospect of having to discuss the intricacies of Cardassian beverages with anyone. He had never thought this much about the Oceanleaf Tea in a long time and as the flavors embraced his senses he was longing for home, but the home he knew would forever be lost. He was about to let loose when he turned to see a Cardassian standing not far away, the source of the questioning that he had been engaging in. He looked carefully, studying the face, "I do not know you."

The young officer smiled shyly. "Nor I you," he returned softly. "I'm Ensign Zirvell Khen, I'm assigned to the USS Merlin's medical staff. Perhaps, at one time, you knew my birth father...or my sisters and mother. The latter were killed when I was still very small, and I barely remember them. My father abandoned me when I was not even fifteen, fled on the first transport he could find to get away from the colony. Though he might as well have years before because he never looked out for me when I was young." He shrugged. "Are you assigned here?"

Slorir stood staring silently at the child before him, his thoughts turning from dozens of emotions in rapid succession. In many ways this Ensign was no different than he. His father had been a soldier in the Cardassian Guard and was killed while investigating the devastating dissidents known as the Maquis. His mother had been killed at Cardassian Central Command for aiding Legate Damar's revolution. In many ways this child was like him, thrown to the wolves by the incidents inflicting his family. Where they were different was one had joined Starfleet while the other had chosen to help rebuild his planet.

The Glin sidestepped the question, "Why do you wear the uniform of the Federation, child?"

Child? Zirvell arched one of his ridges in surprise. "I am twenty-six standard years old," he answered quietly, "if not for that ion storm, I would've even been thirty-six. And I wear this uniform, because it is my home. I serve Starfleet." He frowned now. "The Union abandoned me when I was a child," he added, "the one person I put any trust in after my father abandoned me, tried to kill me. A Starfleet captain adopted me when I was fifteen, of course I wear this uniform. What else would I do?"

"Semantics," the older Cardassian grunted as he recycled the tea. "The Cardassian Union did not abandon you, Ensign," the last word with a sharp inflection. "Cardassians are a proud people, focused on family, and to be an orphan can be a challenge in our system. I should know, our backgrounds are not dissimilar. My father was killed while investigating the Maquis, my mother by the Dominion for aiding Legate Damar's revolution. That left me in a state not much different than yours. I grew up in a refugee camp run by the Romulans before I was able to return home to help rebuild our civilization. The true destiny of all Cardassian citizens is to serve the state." He paused, still looking at the uniform, "I suppose you did the same in a manner of speaking."

"Then where was the Union when I needed them? Why did my father pretend I didn't exist when he learned I didn't want to be a soldier? How very family focused of him then," Zirvell sneered, "to abandon me at the first chance he got, after years of neglect. Only when he learned a Starfleet captain took me in did he show up and demand I go with him. I refused. The one person ever showing any decent care was my adopted father. If I'm meant to help fellow Cardassians obviously I won't turn away. I did as a teenager, giving away what little food I had to those that needed it more than I did. I still would do that, without second thought. I'm a healer now, it's what I always wanted to do. Help those in need through means other than being a soldier. And I can, by serving Starfleet."

Slorir laughed, "At least your resolve is Cardassian, Ensign. The Union itself was broken and bleeding when that happened to you, in many ways it still is. Perhaps had I been taken in by the Federation I may have felt as you, but I was taken in by the Romulans and they had just as challenging a life as our people. When they learned that their star was to die they abandoned us again in a region of space where death was a way of life. The difference between us is simple: I returned home to strive for change."

"Technically, I should be thirty-six instead of twenty six," Zirvell pointed out. "I spent ten years in stasis after my shuttle encountered an ion storm. My family listed me as missing, but never stopped searching. It was the Merlin who found me and the doctor I traveled with. I regret the good doctor didn't survive stasis, as his pod failed. And there's nothing wrong with striving for change is there? Your upbringing made you who you are, didn't it?"

"Perhaps not," the older Cardassian answered as he shifted the weight of his feet, "perhaps though the reality is that the Union needs those who are willing to fight to restore it, to keep it safe from others who would continue to oppress," he looked carefully at the uniform. "If you will excuse me though, Ensign, I need to return to my vessel. It was damaged defending this station and I need to check on it."

Zirvell nodded slowly. "Perhaps we'll meet again sometime," he offered, though he actually doubted it, the way he felt he was being brushed off. "Good day sir."

"And to you," Glin Varin answered honestly before adding, "It's a small galaxy after all."

 

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