[RO] LtCmdr Tristam Core, "Landing."

[Deliera Jay]

((Rodul))

::Tristam Daneil Core refused to admit how much he truly dreaded returning home.::

::It wasn't that he didn't want to come home - he was aching for Rodul's skies, constant peace, to set foot in well secured places that were never changing, sleep for as long as his body required for the first time in . . . well, years, really. Plus, he hadn't seen his brother in the flesh for the better part of five years. Yanata's visit had done plenty to get him motivated to make plans for his return home . . . but at the same time, she'd served as a reminder of just how much he'd lost touch with his own people.::

::His dread came from the fear that he would forever be an outsider on all sides of his life. Still to this day do people  in Starfleet question his Rodulan heritage, asking strange questions. And to return home with the knowledge that his time on a Starfleet vessel has provided him with a different philosophy, a different opinion, a different lifestyle . . . it was a troublesome prospect. He'd spent much of the trip here working on Basotile trying to stay calm - he had indeed wanted to return home, but being obviously affected by an anxiety at the mere notion of it may have sent Roshanara a message he hadn't intended. But if she'd noticed his restlessness, she hadn't yet mentioned it.::

::The moment he'd stepped off the transport into the interplanetary spaceport - since Rodul only had the one placed in Krzexxi's Eastern Gate - he'd realized he was breathing in Rodulan air.

::He was standing on Rodulan land.

::The port itself was peppered with garden areas, serving as a reminder of what waited outside - outside, where lush green grass and trees mingled well with the eco-friendly buildings of Krzexxi's gateway, where pathways could take someone anywhere they wanted to go. It was different to the strategically built and circular Myiron, but it was still comforting. Outside was the same sky. 

::Civilian travel across the Betreka Nebula had prompted a proper gateway into the Rodulan’s home planet, since for too many decades, transport ships would just drop people off at local transport hubs - problematic when Rodulan authorities couldn’t verify who came onto their planet when they weren’t even aware that they’d arrived. A minor skirmish between a tourist and a Rodulan artist (or what *Tristam* would now call a minor skirmish) had bolstered the planet’s security - though there were no police or guards or the sort wandering around the port, or even at security checkpoints. The doorways were all equipped with various sensors and weapons and viral detectors and there were security staff sitting somewhere in a room sipping hot drinks spending much of the day reading about political news or listening to trades reports. Should someone get caught by the system with something, which did not often happen, the corridor would shut down and the security would dawdle along in absolutely no hurry to check what the fuss was about. Legitimate threat to peoples safety? Sent immediately on the next transport to the Betreka Defense League’s contact station within the nebula for extensive questioning. Misunderstanding? “Our sincere apologies. On your way, sir” with what Terrans would consider to be a freaky smile and bow of the head. ::

::That was the other thing. He was just a “civilian” now. Sure, his family were impressed with his “Components Expert” title he’d earned during his years with Starfleet, maybe Medledore also, but on the street, where the majority of his Rodulan peers were artists, politicians, travel advisors and tradesmen, he would be blended into the crowd. His lack of Starfleet uniform had warped him back into the fold of “regular life”.

::Whatever that meant. It was almost disappointing that the average person on the street here in Rodul would not ask about his adventures and nightmares in Starfleet - the average person would not care.::

::There was no immediate assault of voices in his head. No strange looks directed at his eyes immediately judging him to be foreign. Speaking of eyes, there were swarms of people with black or dark blue whole eyes (since many populating the port were primarily of Krzexxi decent) walking around or working around this section of the port.  

::No. Instead, most of the stares here were being directed to his mildly spotted companion, many failing miserably at hiding their curiosity with deliberate turns to face her, ears touching shoulders as a tilt of the head, so forth - because they'd never been required to reign in their movements before. Subtlety was by no means an art of the Rodulan people, since most of their actions were as subtle as a fireworks display.::

Rahman: Response?

::Tristam couldn't help but laugh. Not because he found this amusing, but because he felt nothing but relief. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders - in some ways, he even felt healthier the more he kept breathing in this air. The tables had been turned - no longer was the the weird one. She was.::

Core: We don't get a lot of interplanetary visitors. When we do, they look vaguely Betazoid or Cardassian.

Rahman: Response?

Core: Cardassians have been making amends for years - since even before I left - for their part in the occupation of Rodul. Some of them just like coming for visits I guess. Betazoids tend to be doctors in telepathic studies. Everybody else just like the peace and quiet.

Rahman: Response?

Core: Once we get to Myiron, I'm going to have to sit for a moment and process all this, but right now I'm grand. We pulled in surprisingly early. ::He checked his chronometre.:: Tired?

Rahman: Response?

Core: It's only 2100 hours. We can either spend the night here in the Eastern Gate or push forward to Myiron - which is a single transit that might take an hour or two.

::Considering they'd just caught the end of the working day, it might take longer. And be surprisingly more crowded.

::It was weird being on a Rodulan schedule again.::

Rahman: Response?

Tbc . . .

LtCmdr Tristam Core

First Officer

USS Invicta

C238803SB0

I am not a sheep, ser.