To Know Others...

Posted on 25 Mar 2015 @ 6:47am by Lieutenant Olsam Mott & Ensign Arandon Khnailmnae Ph.D.

3,954 words; about a 20 minute read

Mission: Episode 08 - NIMBUS
Location: USS Galileo, Holodeck 1
Timeline: MD -02 1900 Hours

[ ON ]

An alert on Arandon's work station in the botany lab flashed insistently until finally acknowledged, triggering a message to pop up:

Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D. requests the pleasure of the company of Ensign Arandon Khnailmnae, Ph.D. at a dinner in honor of their roommateship to be held at The Waldorf-Astoria Starlight Roof, 301 Park Avenue, New York City, at 1900 hours.

A small note attached to the end of the invitation indicated it would be a black tie event and provided directions to the one of the holodecks on the ship.

Arandon looked up from his work potting plants and looked straight ahead with a slightly annoyed look on his face. The only person who ever contacted him at work was Mott, who had somehow programed the communications system to give him his own personal ringtone whenever he sent a message. Tearing his gloves off his hands Arandon looked the message over and sighed a bit, not out of dissatisfaction, it was a nice offer, but these persistent anachronistic dinners with his new 'friends' were becoming tedious.

And there was no point in trying to turn him down, that didn't work on Mott. Arandon looked over at the clock on the far wall and gave a flick of a roll of his eyes. He had just under an hour, which provided the suitable amount of time to get dressed to Mott's no doubt high standards of fashion for evening ware. If only thoughts could adequately convey sarcasm.

Deck 5 - Holodeck

Arandon walked into the holodeck and was greeted to the grandeur of an Art Deco ball room with glittering crystals and anachronistically dressed people. Arandon hate suits and was dressed accordingly, with a high collared, short-sleeved garment that was black, stark and severe. He had a pair of fingerless opera gloves covering most of his arms and even in the 24th century, he was a bit of a fashionable, if frightening sight. Spotting Mott's blue skin like a blueberry in a bowl of beans, Arandon moved toward the side of the room near one of the white curtained windows.

"Hello Doctor," Arandon's voice was a bit clearer than unusual and had a bit of a sultry tone, or perhaps that was an illusion brought about by his outfit.

"Hm?" Olsam asked, looking up from his empty dinner plate. Evidently, he'd somehow been deep in thought even among all the noise and distraction of the band and the crowd. "Oh, hi, Arandon! I was worried you wouldn't make it, and I'd have to eat by myself. I programmed in a huge Terran seafood buffet. Of course, just between the two of us, their seafood options are a little limited compared to Bolarus, but you can pair almost all of it with butter and I love butter. It's divine, absolutely divine, wouldn't you agree?"

"I don't know if it's precisely good for you Doctor," His tone was not disdain full, or even concerned, but lurking in between. Never the less he sat down at the table and looked at the array of foods presented. "Well it's quite the collection of... meats." Arandon said awkwardly.

Olsam stood up to direct Arandon's attention to one of the dishes on the table, and it was only then that the absurdity of his outfit became fully apparent. The top half looked as if it fit perfectly well with the surroundings, even if it was incredibly snug around the midsection. In fact, the single button holding the waistcoat closed looked like it was under extraordinary pressure, as if it could at any moment snap loose and punch a hole through the holodeck wall. But where black pleated dress pants should have been, Olsam was wearing parachute pants constructed out of some extremely reflective mylar. As he moved to the far side of the table, the pants caught the light in the room and gave off a dazzling, near-blinding display.

"This is a lobster," Olsam said, picking up the entire lobster in one hand and holding it up. "You eat the tail. I guess you could eat other parts of it, too, but I just eat the tail. This is a King crab." He picked up a whole crab in the other hand. "I don't know why they call him the king, maybe something to do with Terran mythology. You can never tell with these people. You can eat both of them with butter but you have to crack them open first. I brought some hammers to help with that."

Arandon looked across the table with a look of desperation in his eyes. "Hammer for wha...?"

"And these are scallops, shrimp, oysters, crawfish, squid, octopus, and whale," Olsam said, pointing out each dish in turn. "What can I get you? Some whale? It's very fatty. I only eat a little bit. To watch my figure, you know."

Arandon recoiled in horror at the mention of the word 'whale' and was shocked at the carnivorous display before him. Slight sounds could be heard coming from his mouth but Mott banging open the exoskeleton of some poor sea creatures drowned them out. "I....I..."

Olsam stopped mid-swing and looked up at Arandon from his seat, wide-eyed. "What? Oh... Are you okay? You look a little pale. Wait. Do you not eat seafood? You've got a little...shell there...sorry...." Despite the enormous size of the table, the doctor had placed their seats quite close together according to Bolian dining etiquette so he was able to easily reach out and flick a piece of crab shell off Arandon's cheek. "Do you want a salad or something? I could replicate a salad. Do Risians not eat meat? I could have sworn there was a whole meat buffet the last time I was there...."

Arandon was stunned at the developments of the past few minutes and it took him a few moments to come out of his shock. "Ah... yes," He said with a shake of his head. "Yes I a...." He started again. "I'm from a vegetarian sect." Arandon's religion wasn't something he often got to discuss in explicit terms. Mostly people only wanted to know about Jamaharon or the other, sexual components of Risian religious practices. He doubted Mott wanted a discussion on theology but there was always a chance, it would take his mind off of the carnivorous carnivale before him.

"Sect of what?" Olsam asked, tearing out an enormous chunk of crab meat from a claw. He made an "O" with his mouth and held the claw up to stave off an answer. "No, wait, your salad first. I almost forgot." The Bolian unceremoniously dropped the food on his plate and lifted up the table cloth, sending all manner of silverware and utensils clanging and clattering at the place settings to his left. He called up a console menu on the tabletop and began running his buttery finger up and down the glass to move through the database. "I, uh, don't seem to have any meatless salads here... Do you have something stored in your culinary database?"

"Just... give me some of the parsley and lettuce beneath the," Arandon cringed with sadness as he said it. "the whale." Whales had a sacred place in Risian mythology, they often swam to the surfaces in great numbers during tectonic activity and were predictable evacuation alarms for once unstable Risian settlements. Occasionally mating periods were mistaken for signs of activity and vice versa, but lives were unquestionably saved. When the gods didn't always seem to make sense, knocking down cities indiscriminately, the cycles of Whale activity certain did.

"Okay, right, now... The vegetable sect. Tell me all about it."

"It's an orthodox sect of the mainline Risian religion," Arandon said, poking around his salad, his mind still occupied by the envisaged whale before him. "We haven't forsaken... well I guess it would be analogous to Ahimsa: non-violence."

"So, you don't eat meat because it's violent to eat meat?"

"Yes don't you here me chant...?" Arandon caught himself, remembering Mott's very loud snoring, and the noise dampening field he put in place. Mott was likely unaware of Arandon's songs whose lyrics spoke of the tail of Arishana, the Hunter. "Yes, we believe that taking any form of life is a violent act that prevents one from attaining spiritual enlightenment. Violence is a worldly concern, but unlike pleasure, it does not release your mind as well as your body. Negative energies enter your body like a poison, and they are very, very hard to remove." Arandon's voice trailed off. Seeing Mott cut away at creatures though, brought something out in him, something pious and a bit puritanical. "Violence... it ties you to the world, but not the people in it, it makes you grow cold. If you can kill one small thing? Why not a large thing? Why not two? Why not more?." He leaned in, his voice and expression intent.

"Oh, I wouldn't know much about the philosophy of violence. I'm a committed pacifist until I have to kill something," Olsam said, shrugging as he ripped the tail off a lobster and began removing the meat with a seafood pick. It was a leap of logic that only the Bolian could make, but if there was anything odd about it he didn't seem to pick up on it as he kept speaking. "I've never gotten anything very pleasurable or spiritual out of it, though. Occasionally, something is alive and needs to be dead, so you kill it. That's it."

Arandon wasn't satisfied with that answer, and the doctrines and socratic responses of the Priests entered his mind. "Don't you see though?" Perhaps it was a moot point trying to explain the finer points of theology to the Doctor but Arandon knew Mott was an intelligent man, you didn't become a Doctor unless you had some brains. "You've numbed yourself to the suffering of those smaller, more 'insignifigant' than you are."

"Have I?" Olsam asked, raising both of his hairless eyebrows. With the crab leg he was using to wave about for emphasis, it certainly seemed like he had. "But, this is replicated. So is the rest of it. It's just energy, organized into specific protein chains. I didn't catch and boil this crab; I replicated it. For all I know, it's made up of reclaimed energy from someone's waste extraction unit. Maybe yours." Olsam pointed the crab leg at Arandon. "Or maybe it's from recovered, damaged bulkhead. Or maybe it's straight from the reactor. But it's definitely not from an ocean."

Arandon moved his head to the side in acknowledgement. "Fair enough, but it is still made in its image, is it not? You wouldn't kill a clone just because it was born in a test-tube and not in a womb." It was perhaps an extreme example and Arandon was running the risk of comparing apples to oranges, but he was impassioned.

"Certainly not, because the same biological processes are at work with a clone. It might be a replica, but it grows into that replica. It has life. It's sentient and sapient," Olsam said, mercilessly cracking open a crab claw to dig out the meat. "But with the replicator, this crab was never an actual crab, or even an approximation of a crab. It was nothing sentient, just energy that got turned into the protein sequences of a crab leg." He paused thoughtfully and then shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it's all just an academic argument anyway, because I eat real crabs, too. I even butchered a turkey last year for Terran thanksgiving at my friend's house! But I also respect those who hold beliefs similar to yours. I understand the symbolism about the replicator; next time, we can have a vegetarian meal, and I'll bring my own meat."

Arandon gave a small, huffing laugh at the notion. "Well I suppose that works." It wasn't precisely the conversation that Arandon was hoping for but Mott was... a very intricate person in his simplicity. Or was it obliviousness? Or was it even that? Arandon still did not know.

"So, is it common practice on Risa?" Olsam asked. "Are all those meat buffets just for tourists?"

"Not all are as devout as I am, nor do we all follow the same religion." Arandon explained. "Our beliefs are less diverse and have more in common than Terran beliefs but we have different religious sects." He knew comparatively little about Human theology, but he knew the differences were often great enough that they were used as justification to kill, or at least as a pretense for violence.

"Bolians aren't a very religious or spiritual people. It's not practical. We're a very practical society, you know. But I appreciate spirituality. It seems to help produce art and other things I like, and I've always felt eating could be a spiritual experience in some ways. Oh, speaking of which, I almost forgot. I have a present for you."

Olsam grinned, like he could hardly contain himself, as he put down the crab legs and clarified butter and various utensils. The fact that he was shoving aside the food mid-meal obviously spoke volumes about the importance of the gift. He reached under the table and pulled out a modest-sized white box with a blue ribbon, expertly tied. He pushed it toward Arandon along the table top, and his grin broadened with every nudge.

"Go on, open it. I made it just for you."

Arandon carefully pulled the ribbon apart, his delicate and agile fingers being synched to the intent and care to which it was tied. Pulling the lid off the box with equal care, he pulled back the paper to reveal a wooden statue of something very familiar, and receiving it from the Doctor, Arandon was very shocked. "It's..."

"It's a horga'hn!" Olsam exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of several other holographic diners. "I carved it myself. I'm quite the accomplished woodworker, one of my little hobbies. Most people think all I do is cook and eat and doctor, but I get up to other things sometimes, too. When I left Bolarus I discovered woodcarving was a real thing! I could hardly contain myself, and I took it up immediately." The Bolian beamed. "I felt bad about mistaking it for a juicer, so I read a little bit about it in the database. Did you know it's a religious idol? Crazy. And so I thought I'd carve a nice one for you. It's mpingo wood from Earth. Isn't it lovely?"

"African blackwood." Arandon said, taking the Horga'hn out of the box with great care, almost like a doll. He ran his fingers down the figure for a moment, admiring the craftsman ship. After a moment he took the figure close to his nose and inhaled the aroma of the wood. "How thoughtful, thank you Olsam." Arandon said with a much warmer tone than he spoke with usually.

Olsam looked so pleased with himself he was practically glowing. "I figured since we have to live together, I should learn about your sex cult. It seemed the culturally appropriate thing to do, so that we don't have any interspecies incidents. I guess I skipped the vegetarian part, though... Anyway, did you know it's not even a sex cult? I was surprised. I was pretty sure it was a sex cult."

Arandon gave a small laugh and smirked at the notion. "I was indeed aware of that Doctor." It was a very sweet gesture and hopefully in his knowledge sojourn he had picked up a few things to be a bit more sensitive to Arandon's beliefs. Of course that meant he should probably learn more about Bolian customs as well.

"It must be very hard to be a practicing...whatever. Does it have a name? Probably. Anyway, it must be very hard to be a practicing that here on the ship cuz there are no other Risians. So you're alone, you know? Just you and your god and your horga'hn, floating through the stars... It must be how other Bolians feel. We're very communal. Except me, of course, I couldn't care less if I was with humans or Bolians or Risians or Ferengi... Well." His brow creased. "Maybe not Ferengi. Anyway, yeah, so it must be very lonely for you. Isolating. Do you feel isolated? You don't have to feel isolated. I'm always around to talk to. People say I'm a good listener. And talker."

"You certainly are at that Doctor Mott." Arandon said with a smile, completing ignoring the Doctor's comments and questions about being isolated. "I guess we're both 'aliens' around here." He said, putting his experiences in general, banal terms. Of course that would be breaking the reluctant if sure bond of friendship Arandon had built with Mott, or Mott had built with Arandon. "Sometimes I do feel a little isolated, I suppose I always have." He said, turning the conversation around. "I never quite know if it's myself and my own thoughts though. Being a telepath doesn't tell you everything, not if you don't want it to, or don't let it." He said, sitting back, but straight in his chair, moving his head and eyes around the table, though his mind was clearly not transfixed on something physical.

He didn't often open up to people, in fact really he wasn't opening up a page in his book that he hadn't shown to anyone else. It was often the first thing he talked about in abstract, and yet personal terms. Perhaps it was because of the part he played in his own isolation, and through dissection and attempts at self awareness, it became less sensitive and poignant a topic.

"I've always thought it must be horrible being a telepath. Uh, personally, of course. I can't say that as a doctor, terribly unprofessional," he said, shaking his bald blue head vigorously. "It's hard enough having one mind, but then all those other minds around you all the time, each chatting away. And there are so many more neurological diseases and pathogens that one is susceptible to on top of that. Do you ever find yourself thinking a thought but it's not your thought? Or maybe that's why you feel isolated..." Olsam muttered, almost having the conversation entirely with himself. "You shut all that off so you only think your own thoughts but that can leave you feeling alone."

Arandon's eyes shifted for a moment, his musing tone mixing with a musing, slightly melancholic voice. "People often think there's nothing worse than being alone, but there is, it's being alone in a crowd." It wasn't sadness, it was more like a conceit, a capitulation. Arandon rose from the table and went over to the nearby window. "To a culture with very few natural telepaths, it's like you're," Arandon hesitated for a moment. "gifted." The words were not easy for him to say, but he masked whatever croaking sound in his throat by pulling back the curtain. "But it's more like being smacked by the back hand of god if you ask me." Arandon's eyes narrowed a bit, taking in the lights and muted sounds of the city. "Either through societal conventions or your own experience, seeing the untamed thoughts of others is....disturbing. Sometimes you don't just read them you experience them, and they become a part of you, either the memory of a memory or perhaps they've actually entered into your own memories there's no way to tell." Arandon said with a soft shake of his head. "And when you're so sensitive that you can't even turn your abilities off fully, you passively hear music, just irradiating from everyone around you, and it tells you everything you need to know." Arandon's voice was a bit pained. His struggle with his abilities was one of the defining battles of his life, though recently it seemed more like a war that had flared up and come back with a vengeance, no doubt due to the shifting and alien nature of the new world around him.

Olsam watched the young man get up from the table and approach the window. The way he walked, the way he stood, and the way he spoke seemed to indicate that he was sad, which left Olsam torn between the need to comfort his new friend and the need to polish off the shrimp cocktail sitting in front of him. After a cringe-inducing hesitation that left him turning every which way in his chair, he finally grabbed up the shrimp cocktail and waddled over to the window. There was no reason he couldn't have his cake and eat it, too, which was of course his preferred method of cake-handling.

"It seems like a very great burden for someone so young. I'm sorry, Arandon," Olsam said with surprising clarity and sympathy. He put his empty hand briefly on the other man's upper arm and squeezed affectionately before dropping it to look out the window. "I bet it was easier on Risa. Everyone was just thinking about sex and meat buffets. People on this ship think weird things... Or, I assume they do given some of the injuries they come into Sickbay with."

Arandon looked over at Mott, somewhat cheered up by the Doctor's unique attitude towards all of this. Friends had utilities, and you naturally talked to different friends about different things, perhaps Mott was just the positive presence in his life, not the philosopher of life's deep questions. That wasn't a statement on the value of his friendship or presence in Arandon's life, but it was a statement of awareness of his place in it. His openness had been thrown in his face once again, but this time, he didn't necessarily mind it and resigned himself to the fact that Mott was not the person to start all of this with.

Perhaps Mott avoided sensitive topics as well, perhaps he was more astute and cognoscente than he often seemed. Well there was a world full of 'maybes' and 'perhaps', and Arandon was not going to dive into it. "Yes they are an eclectic bunch aren't they?" He asked, turning the conversation and his outward, projecting mood on a dime. Mott wasn't going to feed his self pity, and perhaps that was a good thing.

"Yes, we are," Olsam replied, stuffing a cocktail sauce-covered shrimp into his mouth and giving a cheeky grin. "You'll fit in just fine. You're pretty eclectic, too, with your horga'hns and your salads and that face you make when you first wake up. You know the one, where it's like..." Olsam's face twisted up in impersonation. "Maybe this is your home, and you just don't know it, yet. A place where you don't have to feel alone in a crowd. Or maybe you'll end up hating everybody but me. Who knows. It could go either way, really."

"Either way indeed." Arandon said softly with a small smirk of acknowledgement that there was some truth in the Bolian's words. "Was it like that for you when you came aboard?" Arandon asked, crossing his arms and tilting his head up and off to the side, his eyes trained on the Bolian.

"Oh, no, of course not. Everyone loves me wherever I go," Olsam said cheerily. He bounced in place a bit and smiled, though his eyes narrowed strangely as he peered out the window into the New York cityscape beyond. "Everyone...."

[OFF]

Ensign Arandon Khnailmnae
Botanist
USS Galileo

&

Lieutenant Olsam Mott, M.D.
Acting Chief Medical Officer
USS Galileo

 

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