A Bolian Thanksgiving (Part 3 of 3)

Posted on 14 Dec 2013 @ 4:32am by Lieutenant Olsam Mott

1,219 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Episode 04 - Exodus
Location: Indiana, Earth
Timeline: MD 08 - 1300 hrs

[ON]

"Can't say as I understand what exactly you did to it, but that was hands down the best bird I ever ate in my life," Mr. Davis said, pulling at his belt buckle for some much needed relief from a full stomach. Across the room, his wife, Norma, stared daggers at him. He grinned in return, holding his right hand up in the air as if to swear an oath. "What, honey? I cannot tell a lie."

"It was pretty simple! First, I killed it myself. Then I just used a Ktarian spice rub and cooked it with an ancient Andorian convection method," Olsam chimed in. He turned and smiled at Norma. "Do you kill your own food? I would be happy to show you some culinary techniques I've picked up."

Norma gave him the sort of look that was only exchanged between mortal enemies. Before she could respond, Lieutenant Rebecca Davis stood up abruptly and cleared her throat.

"Uh, Olsam, would you like to take a post-meal walk? For your constitution?"

Olsam stood up and smiled, brushing down his uniform out of habit. He had no idea why she felt his constitution was dependent upon a walk (he attributed it to chemical bonds at the molecular level more than anything) or why she would want to walk in the unseasonably cold weather, but the Davis's had been such gracious hosts that he didn't want to turn down the offer. "Of course. I'd love to see your family's property. I think I saw a pond down the hill, is that right?"

"Why, yes, you did, Dr. Olsam, you surely did," Mr. Davis said, interrupting. His daughter, Olsam's shipmate, groaned as if Olsam had asked the wrong question. Mr. Davis began to lever himself out of his seat as he continued. "Built it with my own hands, I did. Took me two years on account of Becca decided to run off and join Starfleet instead of staying around the farm to help her old man. But anyway, I got it done. Stocked it with fish, and use it for the livestock sometimes. The heifers get down in that mud when it's hotter'n the walls of Hell in the summertime."

Mr. Davis crossed the living room to the door leading onto the back deck, grabbing his coat off a peg on the nearby wall. Olsam and Becca followed suit, and Mrs. Davis excused herself with some grumbling about handling the leftovers.

"In the dead of winter, you can even go down there for some ice fishing. You ever gone ice fishing, doc?"

Olsam shook his head earnestly. "No, not to my knowledge. I usually just ask the replicator. How exactly do you fish for ice?"

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"Bolians could use more culinary holidays," Olsam declared, breaking the silence as they walked along the snow-lined path toward the barn. Mr. Davis had excused himself earlier, leaving his daughter with her friend, while he tended to some pressing farm needs in the toolshed.

"But Thanksgiving is about more than just food. It's a time of giving thanks."

"Thanksgiving... Giving thanks." Olsam stopped and stared, clearly astounded by the connection he'd only just now made. Becca stopped and backtracked slightly to him. "Lieutenant, the Terran capacity for being clever never ceases to amaze me. For instance, I learned from Chief Bollingsworth that 'sonofabitch' isn't really one word. Did you know that? It's a pejorative phrase used to indicate someone is the son of a woman who is sexually promiscuous, like a female dog in estrus."

Becca smiled despite herself. "Well, Dr. Olsam, just as we have a capacity for amazing you, rest assured you have an endless capacity for amazing us, as well."

"Yes, I agree. Bolians are an interesting people," he replied after a moment of careful consideration. "My co-father taught us from an early age that the possibilities for cultural exchange and broadened understanding are almost limitless in the Federation. I think we try to live up to that, as a people."

Becca smiled in returned and resumed their walk. A small flock of pheasants took flight from a nearby field, perturbed by some unseen disturbance, but otherwise there was an otherworldly silence over the Davis farm. Olsam appreciated the silence; it seemed to be at its height after a fresh snow, like the one that had fallen earlier in the morning. Idly, he wondered if it had snowed in Crecy-la-Chapelle, yet.

The silence reigned over their walk for long moments, two friends just enjoying the ability to roam freely after three years in deep space. Eventually, Olsam spoke up. "For what do you give thanks on this day, Becca?"

She lifted her eyebrow and pursed her lips in thought. "Well. I'm thankful to be back home with my family. We missed three Thanksgivings on the Odyssey. Don't get me wrong, I'm thankful for the opportunities we had on the mission, too, but there's a rush that comes from setting your feet back on Earth. And I'm thankful for the turkey, Olsam. It really was delicious. What about you?"

Olsam grinned. "I'm also thankful for new experiences and turkeys. And I am thankful to be home, too."

"You consider Earth your home?" Becca asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes, my apartment is in a small village called Crecy-la-Chapelle, outside of Paris," he replied matter-of-factly.

"No," she shook her head, "I mean you think of Earth as home instead of Bolarus? Doesn't your family live there?"

Olsam gave her a wry smile. "Bolians are less inclined to have geographic attachments than humans, I think. Home is where we make it, even aboard a ship; although, I will admit to missing my apartment and the village sometimes. Most of my family doesn't live on Bolarus anymore. Really, we don't even see each other much. But that doesn't weaken our familial bonds in the least bit." He shrugged. "We're not just different because we're blue."

Becca was quiet for a few long moments, mulling over what he'd said. "I don't know what it says about me, but I just never really thought about a non-indigenous species considering Earth as their true home. I mean, not like those Terra Prime people were. But I never thought about Earth being a home for everyone in the Federation."

"It says that you're ethnocentric," he replied flatly, as if this were self-evident. "But don't worry, I think many humans are ethnocentric. You've been the heart of the Federation since its inception and when you're at the center then sometimes it's difficult to look around you. The rest of us understand."

Becca's brow furrowed almost immediately at the perceived criticism. Half a moment later, she sighed. Her initial instinct had been to be slighted. But he was really only being rude if she interpreted his statement as being rude; three years on the ship with him had taught her a lot about intercultural relationships. Olsam could be so culturally oblivious and blunt that it was disarming, especially when he was right.

"I'm thankful for you, Olsam," she admitted.

He turned his head slightly, looked at her out of the corner of his eye and gave a big smile. "I'm thankful for you, too, Becca."

[OFF]

Lieutenant (JG) Olsam Mott, M.D.
Starfleet Medical Corps
VM-899-6519

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