Lt. JG Ollie Bergmen - A time just to... be
CPT Arianus
(( Elysium – Main Lounge, Deck 6 – USS Artemis-A ))
Bergmen: ::sigh:: If I understood correctly, and correct me if I'm wrong. ::pause:: You hinted that a handshake is not a common way for you to greet someone. Since I have not met a Bactrian before, consider me a blank canvas when it comes to your culture, and... May I ask how your people greet a friend?
The lieutenant attempted to buy himself a bit more time to gather his thoughts and determine how far he could delve into personal topics during the conversation, but a single glance at Imril's reaction revealed that with that innocent sidestep, he had accidentally brought up something sensitive as their smile left their eyes.
Ensign Imril raised his cup and took a sip before responding. Ollie felt the pyramid of cards he had painstakingly built collapse in that moment.
Imril: My childhood was rather sheltered. I don't really know what most Bactricans do.
The lieutenant nodded and took a breath to change the topic, hoping to salvage at least something of what he was trying to build here. But Imril looked at him again, and something in their gaze stopped Ollie, creating a brief moment of silence that allowed Imril to share their remaining thoughts.
Imril: But I’ll tell you a greeting that I wouldn't mind bringing back. From a long time ago, ‘round about the region where I grew up. And, I think, somewhat appropriate to two travellers in space like ourselves.
Ollie leaned his elbows on the table, supporting his chin, leaving the space for Imril to continue talking.
Imril: It’s from a millenium back or more. When nomadic caravans would wander the deserts, moving from oasis to oasis. Sheltering against the heat of summer in canyon walls lined with sun-shields made of richly-embroidered fabrics. Some of the caravans were made up entirely of thirds, like me, of all ages. Some of women and girls. Some boys and men. Half or more were mixed, groups that had formed families that they wanted to hold to throughout many years or even their whole lives.
Lieutenant's eyes reflected his keen interest…
Imril: Every few years, or half-a-generation depending on which account you find, all of the caravans would come together in a great Enclave. A chance for trade, for the sharing of stories and music, for old friends to reunite. And not a small amount of romance. New unions might be formed. Some that had had their time might be dissolved, so the former partners could find love elsewhere. Existing unions might be ritualistically reaffirmed.
…his smile lapped up the words that the ensign had to say.
Imril: Whether it was one caravan getting another or all of them at once, the first greeting would be the same. The first two scouts from different groups to find each other would start dancing like a pair of sand-whirls, getting closer and closer as if drawn together by the wind into a single collection of sands. They’d end with their left hands extended and moving towards the other. The backs of their hands would meet, and then they’d both slide their hands backwards along each other’s fingers and fingertips until parted. Overall, the motions represent the winds of fate bringing people together in peace and friendship, be it for the first time or too many times to count.
Bergmen was swept away by the moment; his lips formed a question he had not expected to speak aloud.
Bergmen: That sounds… so captivating. Can we give it a try? Will you show it to me?
Imril’s expression shifted to genuine surprise in an instant. Had Ollie inadvertently walked into a minefield? Was that question a breakthrough or a setback? The lieutenant couldn’t tell, but it seemed like the ensign was leaning toward a yes.
Imril: I’ll spare you, and everyone else here, the full dance. ::Laugh:: But here’s how it ends…
They pushed their cups aside and got up from their seats. Ollie watched as Imril performed a simple yet graceful counter-clockwise spin. Their left hand began close to their chest, then slowly extended outward in a fluid motion. By the end of the spin, their hand ended up set above the center of the table, perpendicular to it, ready to meet Ollie's hand for a brief tap before sliding apart. The lieutenant followed the movement and tapped their hand, sliding the hand backwards, his fingers against theirs, meeting their fingertips… parting his, in the manner Imril had previously described the ritual. A look of enchantment crossed his face as he experienced a sudden understanding.
Bergmen: That was soulbinding… and... so beautiful.
After finishing the gesture, Imril sat back behind the table.
Imril: Thanks. I think if I hadn’t gone into Engineering, I might have ended up an historian or archeologist or something like that. Still in Starfleet, though, for sure.
Ollie raised an eyebrow in curiosity. It was an intriguing idea: Imril, on a distant planet, buried in the dirt of excavation works, smiling as he discovered some artifact, whose meaning, much like the civilization that had created it, had been lost to time.
Bergmen: WoW… ::pause:: That sounds much more interesting than my alternate reality, I must say. I would… ::pause:: If I had not enlisted, I would have ended up being something boring—a doctor, a counselor, a lawyer, or something like that. My parents always wanted me to be something that mattered, at least in their eyes. ::pause:: As for my career in Starfleet? Let’s just say they are not fond of my life choices... ::pause, shrugging shoulders:: But give them twenty or thirty years, and they will at least recognize that what we do is important, I hope.
The lieutenant glanced at his PADD and the chronometer, which was relentlessly shortening the time they had left to just... be.
His eyes turned back to Imril.
Bergmen: We still have some time. ::smiles::
Imril: Response
Ollie leaned back in his chair and let out a chuckle. He lifted his index finger, but then almost immediately he lowered it again back down.
Bergmen: ::supressing chuckle:: Ok, ok… ::nods:: Fair. What would you want to know, Imril?
Imril: Response
TAG/TBC
–
Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen
Operations Officer
U.S.S. Artemis-A
A240009JC1