Nozama'kar, Holodeck"I still often feel shame when I smile. On Vulcan, a small smile is akin to laughing maniacally in a crowded room."
'You shouldn't,' Jada remarked,
'You have a nice smile.' with a small one of her own. But privately, she was disturbed by what Solluk described of Vulcan culture. When she'd first heard of Vulcans, filtered through Orion gossip and misinformation to far-off, reclusive and xenophobic Thirat, to a child's ears, she'd pictured beings lobotomised to avoid all feeling and emotion, cold arrogant psychopaths who cared nothing for the feelings of others. The reality on coming to the Federation was very different, meeting people who seemed just impassive and repressed, and generally kind of boring and dorky. Solluk stood in counterpoint to that, balanced, open-minded, and charming, yet still the exception that proved the rule. But what he described now, with subtle flaws only an insider would realise, revived some of her old ideas of Vulcans. She couldn't imagine a people so similar and yet so very different to her own.
She led Solluk on through her village, or rather, this virtual reconstruction of it, steadily climbing the hill as they circled around it. The effort of climbing in this high gravity was wearying, and soon explained Jada's strong legs. On the way, she pointed out more sights, some mundane like a grand hall that was a community centre for meetings and events –
'Of course, this is the new one. The old one was destroyed in a fire three centuries back. It was really beautiful.' she described, as though she'd seen it with her own eyes and not through her parent's stories, as though three centuries old was still new. But then she had talked about being here ten thousand years.
Other sights were more unusual or shocking to Federation ears.
'That's the home of the lodubyaln – what you Federationen call Orion slave-girls.' The house was one of the largest and more beautiful, even palatial for this village, adorned with flowers and colourful pennants. These included some laundry, scarlet knickers included. Yet once again there was more beneath the surface.
'We only have one and her apprentice. D'lila is our chief entertainer – music, singing, poetry, dance, you name it, she can do it. She's a brilliant storyteller, knows all our tales and history and customs, especially when we forget. She organises celebrations and processions and helps negotiations go smoothly, keeps us getting along.' Jada spoke fondly of her; she sounded less like a resident prostitute or more like a keeper of culture and peace, even a much-loved leader. This was the traditional
lodubyal of classic Orion culture, not the tawdry imitation rented to outsiders.
'Good with her tongue too... I mean, she always knows the right thing to say.' she corrected hurriedly.
'She's owned by Chief Zorba, patriarch of the clan, and Momma Vada, matriarch. My great great grand uncle and aunt, I think.' She pointed to another house, far away from the slave-girl's and not nearly as remarkable, nor seemingly that interesting.
Yet there were some things Jada didn't explain, mention, or even look at, like the sealed hatch that led underground.
Walking through this holographic representation had stirred up so many memories for Jada, of happy times and sad times, too many to tell them all. She'd only been gone a few years, but after being in the strange alien environments of Federation worlds and Starfleet ships, everything seemed unusual or different, not quite familiar but not strange. Just... off. She couldn't trust that this was an accurate simulation or not. Were the windows too big? Were the trees too short? Was the grass the right shade of green? Like how things seemed bigger when you were a child, memories of home seemed more idyllic than the harsh used world lived in every day. And this was before the war, before the damage and the doubtless occupation and repossession by the Nomab. The holodeck presented virtuals and ideals, not the reality. This wasn't Nozama'kar, only holographs and memories. But that's all home ever really was in the end.
Jada went on with her earlier story, her voice tight and bitter in sad remembrance of their defeat. For a proud warrior, defeat was hard to accept.
'In the end, we were lost in the boardrooms and courtrooms, and in the fields. We had no chance... But we evacuated rather than let the Nomab take us and split up the Nozama. We destroyed our slavery contracts so they had no claim on us, withdrew our money before they seized our accounts, and spent our savings on a berth on a dingy transport off world. We were refugees. But the other Colonies didn't want us Thiratin... Thirat hasn't been willing to take refugees in the past, thinking that because it's so hard for others to live here, no one else should live here. They forget we had to adapt to this world as much as new people would... And we Thiratin kinda scare other Orions.'
Then we remembered d'Jada Nozama – I'm named for her. She served in the Orion Space Navy, and was an exchange officer in the Earth Starfleet over two centuries ago, fighting in the Romulan War. She brought back stories of Earth. So we went to the Federation, hoping this connection would be remembered. It wasn't, Starfleet apprehended us as illegal immigrants, but they gave us aid. I think the Federation feared us Orions too. We petitioned Holcomb's Planet, since they'd accepted Orions in the past. We settled their tropical region for them, exploring and finding pharmaceuticals, and keeping ourselves out of trouble.' It was just as well, Jada thought. She didn't want to see the Nozama corrupted by so-called civilised life like so many other Orions were, falling into crime. It was important to hold onto the roots they'd planted deep in the earth.
'My cousin and I joined Starfleet, to repay the Federation, to be hostages to our clan's good behaviour, according to our custom. s'Metra's a cadet, but I couldn't wait and enlisted in Security. Lots of Thiratin going offworld become mercenaries, we're good at fighting, so I guess it's equivalent... No, we're of the Federation now, and I still need to protect my clan, so this feels like the best way. And maybe I just couldn't shake the military life.' she admitted, musing on her various reasons for joining Starfleet. Far from sounding uncertain, she felt more confident in her choice. She didn't have to have only one motive for doing anything, while multiple reasons only strengthened her resolve.
Reaching the top of the mound, they came to a pleasant clearing that surveyed the whole village and even saw open sky through a gap in the jungle canopy. It was the only large flat area around, and could be used for sports or large gatherings. Jada stomped the ground.
'This mound is built up from the old bones of Nozama'kar: our buildings, plumbing, rubbish, even our bodies. Every part of Nozama'kar has been destroyed and rebuilt, again and again. But Nozama'kar remains and rises ever higher. The trails here were worn by our feet, making grooves in the land. We've shaped this landscape like water on a boulder. We've been here ten thousand years, long enough to evolve an immunity to the local s'm'kax spider. The ground all around here is soaked with our blood, sweat, tears, and, hells, other bodily fluids. They say if you sample the ground you'll find Nozama DNA. This will always be our land.' she declared, voice full of pride and determination, in full understanding of her connection to the land, one that went beyond legal claims, buildings, or custom, but to genetics and the soul. It was a promise, not just to herself but to her clan that one day they would return, no matter how long it took.
At last, Jada sat on the grass, stretching her legs out, feeling the blades tickle her bare skin, green on green, and gestured Solluk to follow for a break. The perspiration and effort of getting here took a lot out of one, and Jada had done a lot of talking and hard remembering.
'Computer, flasks of water and jellied wing-slugs.' Two flasks and a bowl of slimy dead slugs with membranous wings appeared before her. Playing a good host, she offered a flask and the bowl to Solluk.
'Please forgive me, I've been monopolising the conversation. Would you like a jelly slug?' They would be sweet but chewy.
OOC: Way too much probably, but I'll wrap up the tour and story and let you take the lead.