Chapter 8 - Ancestors

Hoshi sat at a table in the mess off to one corner by herself.  The sweet-natured ensign rarely sat alone.  But today, her thoughts clung to her like an invisible cloak that warded off any interlopers or interruptions.  It didn't help that Hoshi had also unconsciously positioned herself with her back to the rest of the room. 

Malcolm spied Hoshi as he carried his tray of resequenced protein away from the buffet.  Her back did no look very inviting.  Of course, this fortress could only be breached by an intrepid armory officer and Malcolm knew that he was the man for the job.  Or at least that's the kind of talk you give yourself before you dive into a pond that could very well be ice cold, he mused.  Better to just jump in and risk a heart seizure rather than dip your toe in and change your mind.  Faint heart never won fair lady and all that rot.  Malcolm balanced his dinner tray on his right arm and tapped her shoulder. 

Hoshi stopped spinning the same forkful of spaghetti that she had been worrying for the last five minutes.  When she looked up at Malcolm, he reflected that she resembled a pretty, but slightly unfocused owl blinking at him as her focus came back to the mess hall. 

"If you continue spinning the spaghetti like that, you'll wring all of chef's marinara right out of it.  Would you mind some company?" 

Hoshi's eyes were dark and clouded over with some emotion Malcolm couldn't quite fathom.  She blinked and looked up at him for a moment in confusion.  Awareness seemed to dawn when he nodded gently in the direction of her hand on the mess table.  Some spaghetti noodles were tightly wrapped in a mass around her fork.  The pale mass looked to be setting up and seemed thoroughly cold and unappetizing.  She looked up again and favored Malcolm with a halfhearted smile and gestured to the seat across from her.

"I guess Chef would not be too pleased if he saw what I've done with his noodles."

Malcolm sensed something wrong with Hoshi.  He had seen her nervous, even frightened before an away mission.  Tonight was somehow different.  Tonight there was a melancholy spirit that seemed to hover about the diminutive ensign. 

Reed meticulously unloaded the contents of the tray that he carried onto the table, allowing himself time to gather his thoughts.  Mr. Tucker was the natural for inspiring, or rather provoking, confidences.  Personal intimacies of this nature had never been Malcolm's forte - never even dreamed of with his family.  His time on Enterprise had stretched his abilities in this area.  He found his interest in Ensign Sato had further provided inspiration to stretch his empathic skills.

"Indeed.  It seems that your appetite tonight would not be seen as a compliment by our temperamental cook.  You seem preoccupied.  Is something bothering you, Hoshi?" 

She tried to smile to ease his concern.  The Malcolm that had originally shipped out with them would have never been so forward to use her first name.  As for asking her how she felt…

"I've been researching the spoken and written Jaxian dialects that we might encounter on the planet.  I guess that I'm having a little trouble with the thought that there will be no one actually there to converse with."  Malcolm noted that the forced lightness of Hoshi's tone was in stark contrast to the darkening in her eyes and furrows on her brow.

Malcolm's discomfort with this role of confidante caused him to study his plate as he gently suggested, "It's a dead planet Hoshi.  There is nothing to be afraid of there."  He finished with more confidence and met her eyes to gauge her reaction.  Maybe even a little confidence leaked into his voice knowing he would be with her down on the planet to protect her.

"I'm not afraid of ghosts, lieutenant.  It's not a dead planet that bothers me, it's that Jax is now a planet of the dead." 

With Hoshi's words, Malcolm realized that the picture he had fostered in his mind was of a planet sans humanoid life forms.  Suddenly, he pictured the images that her comments inspired.  At the beginning, early victims on Jax would have been buried with mourning and reverence.  Later as fear of contagion set in, mass burials or cremations would be likely.  Finally, when social structures fragmented and finally collapsed, the sick would die wherever they lay.  It was a grim vision that chilled even the jaded armory officer.  He reached across the table and covered her hand in his. 

"Ten years gives nature time to soften edges on a tragedy like this, Hoshi.  Our imaginations are probably far worse right now than what the reality will reveal tomorrow."

Hoshi sighed softly.  Only slightly frustrated, she understood the conclusions that Malcolm had drawn.  Question was, how did she explain the deep sadness that had preoccupied her?  Could she help someone from such a different cultural experience understand how the events on the planet they were approaching so deeply affected her?

All she knew was that it was important to make this man understand.  It mattered.  More deeply, in fact, than she cared to suppose right now. 

Very gently, Hoshi contradicted the lieutenant.  "No Malcolm, it's not that.  Tell me, are you familiar with Japanese traditions regarding death and the afterlife?"  Hoshi could tell from the fleeting emotions of concern and surprise that chased there way across the normally taciturn officer's face, that her question had taken Malcolm off guard. 

Under any circumstances, Lt. Reed was not a man that was comfortable being lead into a situation that he had not personally anticipated or reconnoitered.  Hesitantly, as if opening a door to a room that he was certain held a tiger rather than the lady, he answered, "I know that the Japanese hold their ancestors in deep reverence.  Other than that, not much."

Preoccupied in getting his answer right, Malcolm did not note, until he felt a gentle squeeze, that Hoshi's hand had slipped out from under his grasp.  It now gently rested on top of his.

"You're right and yet it's so much more."  Hoshi's eyes turned inward as she pictured her home in Kyoto, where she grew up with her parents.  "In an alcove in our home there is a small wooden cabinet.  You might refer to it as an altar.  We call it a 'butsudan.'  Every day, without fail, my mother lights the 'senko' or incense that she places in a polished brass bowl filled with sparkling white sand.  She also makes a food offering.  And she says a prayer.  Roughly translated 'For aid received, by day and by night, accept, August Ones, our reverential gratitude.'  You see, we believe that they are ever with us, guiding us, inspiring and supporting each member of the family."

"In our botsudan, there are five tablets with the names of my grandparents and my uncle that have died.  Also, there is a scroll that lists the names of all our honored ancestors.  In bring the dead into our home; we keep them a part of our life and love.  It is hard to explain, but to forget or ignore them would be considered an unpardonable cruelty.  Everything about the situation on Jax just seems so much more…unforgivably pitiless for robbing the entire planet of any descendants that could keep those that have gone before in their hearts."

Given the new perspective, Malcolm was beginning to grasp that the enormity of the crime perpetrated on Jax.  In Hoshi's eyes, it went far beyond the murder of the inhabitants.  With the complete loss of life, they had also lost the remembrance and the comfort of being surrounded and a part of the joyful noise of their living families. 

Malcolm could see that Hoshi's eyes were overly bright with unshed tears.  He felt his own chest tighten as he struggled to say something that would somehow ease her sadness. 

"Hoshi.  There is no giving back what has been lost on Jax.  But when we go down to the planet and collect a record of what happened there, we will give them remembrance.  Don't doubt that each of us that go down to the planet will take back some part of these people that will stay with us always.  You have the unique ability to seek out, interpret and share the literature, art and song of the Jaxians.  Hoshi, sweetheart, that is something, isn't it?"

Whether it was the uncharacteristic endearment, Malcolm's concern or the tiny beads of sweat on his forehead that she guessed were the result of his efforts to negotiate his way through an emotional minefield, Hoshi finally let loose with a genuine smile. 

"I'll do what I can to make it something, Mr. Reed." 

With that, Malcolm rose from the table and simply offered, "May I escort you to your quarters, ensign?"

"Why, yes indeed, Lieutenant."  They left their island table, waded through the ocean of crew in the mess.  Understanding, consolation and another tentative step in building a lasting relationship was taken.  No one around them was any the wiser, engrossed as each was, in Chef's delightful marinara sauce and there own micro-universe consisting of a table and a couple of chairs.

TBC…