JP: Ens. Nolen Hobart & NPC CPO Omar Hobart - A Taste of Home, Part II
Justin Partridge
((Interior. Federation Mining Facility, Relva VIII. Hobart-Tarn Personal Quarters.))
Omar Hobart settled back into the stool, propping up the COMM-PADD across from him on the opposite counter.
O. Hobart: =/\= Oh, a bit, sure. We would get some of her after-action reports during the troubles. Seemed like she saw a fair bit of action back then. I take it…that same tradition continues? =/\=
He said, knowing slightly the answer, but wondering just how honest Nolen was to be when presented with the question. He HAD gotten more and more ship reports, obviously. Just maybe a few weeks AFTER most people had them. The news cycle tended to run slower out here. But Omar loved talking to his son and often leapt at any and every opportunity to do so. Partly in an attempt to make up for the time he had wasted with him during his youth. When Omar’s priorities had been skewed and the realization that rank and position didn’t translate into your actual family the way he was brought up to expect.
But the other reason was…let’s say, sometimes you had to slightly convince (or at least communicate carefully) that Nolen’s sharing of things had to be HIS idea. You couldn’t force him to do…well, anything. Omar had learned that lesson the hard way before Nolen had left home. And it had cost him precious, now unattainable time with Nolen. He had no desire to walk headlong back into that particular pitfall. Not when they were just NOW starting to repair their relationship.
And so, he had kept his distance to a point. Quietly keeping up with his son’s career and the exploits of his new posting. Hoping for a time such as this where he could actually discuss it with him in a meaningful (but less pushy than normal) way.
N. Hobart: =/\= Yeah, a fair bit. Some of it sanctioned. =/\=
Omar’s considerable eyebrows raised in surprise. Candor. From Nolen. Might be all that time in space actually WAS doing him some good. He could remember a time when even accidental admittances like that one would have been unheard from his son. Omar let the moment settle as he tried to think of where he could steer the conversation next. Thankfully, Nolen didn’t allow it to lay too terribly long.
Nolen cleared his throat to cover up the awkward (but familiar) gap his father liked to leave. For a non-empath and an enlisted man, the elder Hobart had always been very good at drawing people into lengthy conversations they never expected to have.
N. Hobart: =/\= We’re stationed in the Alpha Isles, posted out of Deep Space 33. ::concerned look:: You know, I wouldn’t have thought they’d put something this old so close to the edge of Federation space =/\=
The decision-making by Starfleet Command had, in his short career, appeared to be something of a mixed bag. On the one hand, he thought planting a proper station in the Alpha Isles was smart, and cemented the Federation’s influence and control over the sector. On the other hand, there was the Libris. But none of that detail would get to his father’s ears. At least, not from him. Loose lips and all that.
Omar raised a playfully stern finger at the COMM screen.
O. Hobart: =/\= Are you trying to tell me something, Nol? I’m not THAT old…at least not according to the Starfleet Health Index…Besides, what’s that old tripe about youth and experience? =/\=
Nolen snorted a chuckle through his nostrils, then shook his head.
Omar beamed. His favorite music in the universe was the laughter of his wife and son. It had been…too long since he had heard either.
N. Hobart: =/\= It’s not the same. Old crew on a new ship works great. New crew on an old ship is just… hamstrung. She’s solid, and we’re making do. It’s just, I dunno. Maybe a Saber is better suited to last-line planetary defense, or busting Ferengi smugglers over Risa than dancing with the folks we see here in the Isles. =/\=
O. Hobart: =/\= But you do have a good group, yes? A ship is only ever as good as the crew who runs it. Are you finding that to be true, son? =/\=
The Ensign sat back and straightened himself out after that.
Omar kept a keen eye on the boy’s gait and how he was holding himself now. In the time before his leaving, that was often the best way to determine how he was feeling at that given moment. Omar had to become somewhat adept at reading physical language. It had always helped with his colleagues and scant random social interactions (which were slim to none all the way out here). At first it had been a welcome little edge when it came to delegating tasks and seeing how best to engage with strangers, but when he had first “observed” Nolen like that…it felt wrong. Like he was trying to pry through something that didn’t want to be lifted. But he couldn’t deny the results.
Mara, as usual, had put it a better way. Writing him an impromptu and gorgeously hand-written note after Omar had “confessed” to the practice after one of his last conversations with Nolen. “You just want to see,” she had written. Smiling her wry smile and seeing through HIM in turn with only a sentence.
N. Hobart: =/\= Yeah, good crew. I serve under a guy named Connor Dewitt. He’s smart. Made full Lieutenant in… ::mathing:: a year and a half? Could use some more confidence, but he’s… ::a pause:: a good friend. I guess my best, here. Not sure we’re quite like you and Hael, though. Neither one of us has been sent to the brig, yet. =/\=
Connor Dewitt hadn’t been there to greet Nolen, really, on his arrival, but despite this they’d gotten along swimmingly. Swimmingly enough that Lieutenant Dewitt had made him Chief Engineer for a day. And what a day that turned out to be.
Omar chuckled, trying to hide his slight embarrassment. Obviously, he treasured his memories and exploits with one of his truest friends. But at the same time…a lot of those stories and memories…they weren’t strictly all…legal, as it were. He didn’t much like the idea of Nolen following in those particular footsteps.
O. Hobart: =/\= I’m, uh, not sure you should be using Hael and I as a benchmark, my boy. Your Captain has enough to deal with, I am sure. Speaking of, how are you liking him? For better or worse, you never forget your first CO. Has he been worth remembering? =/\=
Once more, Omar slightly knew some of the answer, but wanted to hear it directly from his offspring. Randal Shayne was a name that he had known for a bit now, but had yet to directly meet the man. That happened being stationed at the very edge of reality. However, Omar’s opinion wasn’t the one that really mattered. Nolen’s was.
But he wasn’t lying when he said what he had before. One’s first crew, first Commanding Officers. They were benchmarks that couldn’t be avoided. The lottery of life, the universe, and everything in between handled everything else. Were they a taskmaster? Aloof? Hands-off? Reports didn’t tell you anything like this. Reports had told Omar, however, that this Randal Shayne was doing exactly what Nolen had just said. Making the best of complicated, politically fraught situations. And dealing appropriately with a number of hostile factions and alien governments.
All the way in the Isles, he wondered if there was much else he COULD do. But still, the only opinion Omar wanted was Nolen’s. And if he played this right? He might even get the unvarnished one as well.
N. Hobart: =/\= ::hesitantly:: Y-yeah. Captain Shayne. He’s a capable leader. Smart, cunning, but there’s this churn under the surface. Like he’s constantly worrying. It was intimidating when I checked in with him. =/\=
When Nolen had first sensed the torrent within Randal Shayne, he’d feared that it was doubt about the crew. Doubt about him, in the context of a fresh-faced Ensign showing up in the middle of an operation. But in his brief time on board, the engineer had come to suspect it was more self-doubt than anything else.
O. Hobart: =/\= He used to be a grease-monkey, you know…::he said with a knowing smile:: =/\=
Nolen shot his father a surprised look. His tone turned skeptical.
N. Hobart: =/\= I heard he was a pilot. ::catching up with himself:: You mean to tell me you knew the Arrow and the Captain? =/\=
O. Hobart: =/\= Oh, sure. When you caught the assignment, Hael and I talked about it. Said this Shayne used to be quite the presence in an Engine Room and behind the Helm. See? Even us old heads used to have a life…=/\=
N. Hobart: =/\= Yeah, just not one to use as a benchmark, right? =/\=
He pointed toward his son, knowingly. Trailing the finger from the lightyears between them and then tapping his temple twice, beaming the entire time he did so. When he wanted to be, his son was rather hilarious. And Omar always wanted to do what he could to show that he appreciated that, marking a distinct difference between himself and his own father.
Though never outwardly cruel or particularly cross with Omar (unless he had earned it), Jakob Hobart’s sense of humor left something to be desired. Which was a pity as Omar’s huffy impersonations, droll occasional wit, and youthfully rubber face had gotten him through Hebrew School and later even ingratiated him toward some superiors once his career in Starfleet had started in earnest. When he had tried to bring some of that home, however. It usually fell onto deaf ears and chastely stern, slightly confused looks from his father.
In turn, Omar had made it a point to never even skate toward that line with Nolen. Laughter was…love, was connection to Omar. And he would make it his objective to make sure Nolen knew that too.
O. Hobart: =/\= And the XO? Nyace? Niiak? =/\=
N. Hobart: =/\= Karrod Niac. You’ve gotta hide your homework better, dad. =/\=
O. Hobart: =/\= Niac! That’s it. I was close enough. =/\=
N. Hobart: =/\= ::smiling:: He’s funny. ::measured, thinking:: Ship’s XO is supposed to be stern, but something about a joined Trill pushes back against that, I think. He doesn’t always get along with his symbiont, to the point that I can kinda sense them separately, but still you can tell. He’s wise, and not too self-serious. =/\=
Nolen took a deep breath before continuing on his info-dump.
Omar was mightily intrigued by the prospects of a Trill who disagreed with the symbiont inside. His mind quietly boggled at the implications and how it had to have looked, data wise. Not even to mention how Nolen’s own abilities took in the phenomena. But as quickly as the thought came, as did the admonishment.
He was talking to his son, not preparing his next paper. He crossed his arms and resituated himself on the stool (after darting an eye toward the kitchen timer; still another hour forty-five. Plenty of time).
N. Hobart: =/\= Rest of the senior staff seems good enough. I haven’t really worked with Commanders Serinus, MacKenna, or Collins, yet, but Collins—our science chief—has this sort of exuberance that is infectious. ::skeptical wobble of his head:: Kinda distracted me early on, but I think I can roll with it. Pumps up whatever room he’s in. =/\=
The less said about Intelligence Officers the better, of course, and Nolen decided there was no need to delve into the reason why he was still avoiding Commander Serinus: the lingering aftermath of the events of the Starboard Bow opening, that even if he remembered he wouldn’t share. By all accounts, the Security Chief was a good officer and a serious man, but Nolen’s favorite kinds of confrontations were the kinds he could avoid.
Omar was happy to hear that his boy was branching out across the lives of his fellow officers. But also that similarly troublesome self-admonishment came bubbling up as well. With the joy of the connection, came the worry that some might be too overwhelming for Nolen’s abilities. This Collins in particular. Though Nolen had come a long way (at least from Omar’s respectfully limited perspective on the matter, amplified somewhat by the frankly warm private counsel of his beloved), there was always the risk of his talents “boiling over” through no fault of his own.
Life on a working starship was sure to be chaotic, even without the extra layer of perception that reverberated through Nolen’s mind. Part of him would often envy his son for the “shortcut” he was allowed into the emotional states of those around him. But an even larger part was kept up at night worried about all manners of hows and whys it could potentially cripple his son.
He decided on a slight gambit. Filling the time between the choice and the decision of what words to use to verbalize it by pretending to check the roast.
TBC
———
Ensign Nolen Hobart
Engineering Officer
USS Arrow (NCC-69829)
A240001NH3
and
Chief Petty Officer Omar Hobart
Maintenance
Relva VIII Mining Station
as simmed by
Lieutenant Commander
Quentin Collins III
Chief Science Officer
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U.S.S. ARROW NCC-69829
ID: E239512QC0
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F.N.S. CONTRIBUTOR
ARROW MISSION ARCHIVIST