Hello!
This is a bit of fanfiction I wrote prompted by events in my Star Trek Adventures game, where the crew's shore leave on Deep Space 9 lead to involvement with time travel, Section 31, and a temporally-displaced ensign, all of which lead to our away team having an encounter with the Prophets via the Orb of Time as part of the process of returning the displaced ensign to her appropriate time.
The main focus of this is my PC, Lt. Virida "Vira" Cela, the Trill communications officer onboard the USS Hestia, and their interaction with the Orb of Time
The Orb of Time bursts with light, and, in an attempt to shield her eyes from the brightness, Cela ducks her head and steps back...
...into an incredibly familiar place, one she recognizes immediately.
The trio of sculptures meant to represent the ancient Earth concept of rhetorical appeals, the furniture arranged at precise angles to one another- it's all unmistakably her mother's design, with every aesthetic quality complimenting another. If there were an external light source, they're certain it would play across the furniture perfectly, just like in their mother's paintings, but here, there is only the station's lighting systems, and maybe some light from the distant stars.
She hates it.
(Some things don't change with being Joined, I suppose , she thinks. Even Talil enjoyed a little chaos from time to time, and Niasa definitely saw Vulcan reception rooms with more personality than this.)
It was too precise, too artificial, like the paintings her mother did of interiors where everything was arranged so neatly, it felt as if the room existed in stasis. It was as if no one lived there- even with their mother's sculptures, there was no indication of the personalities who occupied the rooms of her family's quarters.
She remembers being told off by her mother when she was twelve, because she moved the couch over to the window while their parents were away, in order to watch the starships docking at the pylon they knew was just beyond the window of their quarters. There was no shouting- Laussia Tral never shouted, only shifted her inflection in a way that anyone talking to her knew she was angry- only the disappointed shaking of heads and a promise from Cela (before they were Cela, when they were still Virida Tral) to never do it again before they were given a nod of approval and sent to practice their piano.
But this isn't that memory.
Instead, Cela is sat at the dinner table in her parents' quarters, picking at the pok tar that was part of dinner that evening while her parents watch her from across the table. The ornamental Rigellian starflowers that serve as a centerpiece can't hide the concern in her parents' expressions. Cela can pick it out in the way Sabin reaches for the pitcher of klah to refill his glass, and in the deft stroke of Laussia's knife through the soft body of the pok tar- there is something unspoken here.
Well, she knows that. She's been here before, at the dinner table the week before she was due to return to Earth, and two weeks before she was due at Starfleet Academy to repeat her final year. She knows what comes next, why her parents have been so careful in the last six months, and why the silence between them feels so delicately suspended, like a soap bubble no one wants to pop.
Cela supposes getting to see this moment again is like seeing her mother's sketches before they become paintings. She knows all the underlying shapes before they're given form and light with paint, and knows well enough to anticipate the way Sabin clears his throat before there's something important to say, or how her mother sets her fork down on the replicated plate in a deliberate enough way to gently disturb the soap-bubble silence. She sees the lines that will give way to a coherent form, and, feeling she is not limited to simply watching what she knows will happen play out, she makes a choice.
"I've booked passage on the Ballard for next week," she says with a firmness that might change what her parents propose next- part of her hopes it might make a difference.
Laussia furrows her brow, a brief question before it vanishes altogether. "I thought your classes didn't resume for another two weeks at least," she says, in a way that is not so much a question as a statement of fact.
"Three," Cela corrects, then adds, before their mother can speak again: "Commander Lusar suggested I return sooner, and complete re-matriculation in person."
This is not a total lie now, nor was it a lie at the time.
The first officer of the USS Atalanta had stated it would be better to complete re-matriculation in person, especially given that Cela had expressed interest in transferring to an Operations track, rather than continuing with Command. There would be assessments to complete to ensure her placement in final-year modules, mostly to confirm that her linguistic and navigational skills were still as sharp as they were when she took leave of absence. There was that, and there was also the adjustment period that the counselor assigned to Cela (a Denobulan woman who was alright once Cela got to know her, if a bit chatty) for the last six months had suggested.
More importantly, she wanted to leave.
Starbase 4077 was her home, but the moment her transport docked, Cela remembered how it'd felt less like returning and more like she was grounded. Any friends she had on the station had since gone off to pursue their own careers, and it felt like her parents didn't let her out of their sight. Even when her mother went to Betazed for a sculpture exhibition, her father spent time away from his work just to follow her around the station. He would hover over Cela's shoulder even when she was in the family's quarters, refining her thesis on Tamarian so she had something to show Professor Lehl when she returned to the Academy, but working under Sabin's close scrutiny had never yielded any fruit.
"Virida, are you sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" From her father, this isn't a definite statement, but an offer, but Cela can hear the concern in his voice- better now that she knows to look for it.
She shakes her head. "The school year starts in three weeks, and Counselor Telbem wants me to have time to adjust to being back on campus." Those were the same words she'd spoken then, only this time, Cela puts a careful amount of force behind them, curious about where that would steer the moment.
Her mother takes a sip from her glass- the small clink it makes as it reconnects with the surface of the dining table fills the brief silence before she speaks. "Your father and I've spoken with the head of admissions at the Tenaran Music Academy, and, even though your playing lacks feeling, they're willing to consider you for late enrollment."
"I'm not going to the Music Academy," she says- just as she had then- without thinking to stop herself. "I'm staying in Starfleet."
"I never said you had to leave."
"But you wish I would." The words leave her mouth before she can stop them, and she knows the moment she remembers is far behind. "It was the same when I joined the station water polo team, and when I took up Parrises Squares. You wanted me to quit."
"Virida, your mother and I just wanted you to be safe. Parrises Squares is dangerous- you've seen the accidents that happen on the court." Sabin glances at his wife. "And besides, it would be good for you to familiarize yourself with Trill before you become an Initiate."
He means well, Cela told themself, but they couldn't believe it, no matter how many times they repeated it in their head. They remember thinking that same thing when this happened the first time, that he meant well, and maybe it was Laussia who was the unreasonable one.
"But I'm happy ." She bites back the threatening tears, and wills firm resolve into her voice instead. "I don't care if it isn't safe, and Professor Lehl is certain I'll be just fine, even though I've never been to Trill- plenty of initiates are in the same position."
"Virida, we just want-"
"You want me to stay put." The fork she's been holding drops against the dining table, the metallic clatter barely audible. The moment changes further. "Because you can't accept that I'm not nine anymore, that I'm not going to happily go along with whatever lesson you put in front of me."
"Virida, please." There's the inflection in her mother's voice again- Laussia never raises her voice, but Cela wonders if she might then. "Your father and I love you very much."
"Then when are you going to accept that I'm not going to be what you want?" Cela raises her voice- she hadn't then, but something encourages her to do it now- and half-stands in her seat, making eye contact with both her parents the barrier of Rigellian starflowers between them. "I'm happy in Starfleet, and I wish you would accept that."
Laussia seems lost for words, and Cela wonders what her mother would even say in response to what she wish she could have said in that instance, instead of continuing to insist with quiet firmness that she would be returning to Earth next week, whether her parents wanted her to or not.
It seems Cela is just about to get her wish, but as her mother opens her mouth to speak, there is a burst of white-green light, and Cela finds themself back in the Bajoran temple, surrounded by the other members of the away team, who all seem to be as if recovering from the same sudden brightness she just experienced.
A quick headcount shows that everyone is accounted for, except for Lieutenant Janeway- but then again, that was the objective in the first place, to return Janeway to her proper time- and no one seems injured.
For a moment, she considers asking the vedek who had shown them in for another glimpse at the Orb, as if that will give her more answers, but thinks better of it when her comm badge beeps, bringing her attention back to the present.
I hope y'all enjoyed this. I might write more general Star Trek fanfiction in the future- probably a mix of stuff to do with my Star Trek Adventures game, and some canon-canon stuff.
Thank you very much for reading, and please feel free to leave any questions, comments, smart remarks, etc.