Ensign Doz Finch - The People we Leave Behind
Doz Finch
((Cyrithra Forest, Palanon))
The party continued to swell, filling the canopy with its bombinating sounds; glasses filled with neon-orange liquids clinked with other glasses, fires crackled pointedly towards the sky, and the almost static wings of insects flapped ambitiously in their bids to steal whatever sugary morsels they could. It was delightful—ushering in the new year and century on a planet that she hardly knew, and yet many of those around her knew it intimately, even viewing it as a second home. Not a bad second home either, with the strange plumes of the trees, the texture of the soil beneath her, the palatable taste of the atmosphere.
The Caitian woman, L’rann, told them a deep and personal story about what had happened to M’Rish, and why she had come to end up in L’rann’s care. Doz harkened the details of the story and noted the almost ambivalence in the younger felinoids' face; though emotion wasn’t always easy to read in a Caitian’s face—at least that was her own experience. Watch the tail, M’oa had told her in the past. The tail tells you everything you need to know. But who needed watch a persons tail when the story said all it needed to say. That little girl had been let down by the one person she should have been able to trust, and that was unforgivable. But thank god for L’rann.
For a moment her cottony caterpillar brows kissed each other as she dissolved into thought. Her career had spun over decades, and through it she had had many of her own second homes. But allowing herself the grace to think of them as homes at all, now that was another matter. Purposefully distracted by her work, she rarely allowed herself to think of the ships as that. Home, she supposed, once felt like something that resided in people, rather than places. She knew all too well how quickly a home could change based on who was in it. Her home in Birmingham all those years ago, when her hair was wild and curly and brown, lost its appeal the moment her brother Wallace left, and she had been left behind with her miserable mother Iris.
Doz didn’t like herself for thinking it, but that was just how she had felt. As if all of the home had drained from the house, and all that remained behind was a hopeless wilting bouquet, and a naive girl trying everything she could to water it back to life.
((FLASHBACK))
((In the dining room, the Finch’s, Birmingham, Earth — 43 years prior))
Doz: You’re not leaving me behind with her.
Wallace: ::he frowned:: That’s our mother, that, Doz.
Doz: Some mother. She hasn’t said a word to either of us in weeks. Hauled up in her bedroom, staring at the walls feeling sorry for herself. ::she crossed her arms and sulked:: No, I’m sorry Wally, but I’m not having it.
Wallace: It’s already done, Doz. Contract is signed. I go to Mars tomorrow for training—oh be positive, won’t you? This is supposed to be an exciting time for me!
Doz: Yeah. For you. Meanwhile, who's left behind to deal with everything? Who's cleaning the house when the service-bots break down, who’s the one cooking her dinners, replying to her mail, making sure she doesn’t just waste away to nothing. Because given half the chance, she would.
Wallace: You can fix the bots!
Doz: ::she pulled a face:: What?
Wallace: I gave you that manual a few weeks ago. It shows you how to repair the bot if it breaks down. You read it, didn’t you?
Doz: I read the bloody manual and nearly launched it at the wall—forget it, Wally, you swan off like the other two did. I’ll look after misery-guts on my own, since apparently that’s my lot in life.
Wallace: Oh don’t be like that, Doz—
Doz frustratedly headed for the door of the room, sighing hard as it whooshed itself open. She gasped; stood there, pallid and watery-eyed was their mother Iris who had been listening on the other side. They all stared in silence—the deafening sort that seemed to go on forever. It was a painstaking moment that Doz quickly shook off as if she herself were an insect shedding an exoskeleton, rapidly clapping her hands together and ushering her mother into the kitchen, replacing the quietness with a loud tangent about service-bot manuals and how little sense they made, eager to distract her mother and frankly—herself.
((END FLASHBACK))
Alieth: Have you had a chance to take some downtime since the start of the reconstructions?
L’rann: Not really, no. I’ve been keeping busy piloting shuttles on supply runs and things like that.
Finch: I said to Mister Gnaxac and Ensign Vylaa, they may well have taken the industrial replicators down there. It might have saved you some hassle.
T’Lar: Response
Alieth: I see, these celebrations are therefore a perfect period to relax, then. I suggest you visit Yarista if you get a chance; it is certainly a remarkable location.
L’rann: That’s why we’re here. Also, it’s not every day a new century begins.
Finch: No, you’re quite right. It isn’t.
T’Lar: Response
Cheesecake, Alieth’s excitable four-legged mastiff, hopped into the conversation as soon as the new century was mentioned, as if she herself was its mythical harbinger. Though apparently it was more than that, as their pointy-eared colleague excused herself a moment later, no doubt to top up her liquid-youth.
Alieth: Excuse me, I suspect I am required elsewhere. I trust that you will have an agreeable night.
L’rann: Pleasure to see you, sir. I’m sure M’Rish is thankful for the candy.
M’Rish: Thank you.
Finch: I enjoyed the catch up, Commander.
Alieth gave the familiar Vulcan gesture before dispersing into the crowd. That left M’Rish and L’rann with T’Lar and Finch.
L’rann: Were you two involved with the rogue planet teams in some fashion?
Finch: In every fashion, believe it or not. I piloted the Azetbur, didn’t I. Took them some medical supplies, and other things desperately needed. And then I helped evacuate the civilians and the officers—they were basically trapped inside an old non-functioning Cardassian ship. Something of that measure; it’s almost a blur, because that much happened in a short space of time. I don’t recall seeing you, though, T’Lar—
T’Lar: Response
L’rann: Thankfully, no. I was flying shuttles across the area trying to deliver supplies and medics to damaged ships. It was extremely difficult with all the gravity waves the planet gave off.
Finch: I can attest to that. ::she pointed a finger in agreement and side-eyed T’Lar, nodding:: the clouds at one point were kaleidoscopic. Very rarely have I had to pilot anything as big as the Azetbur, and through all those waves—you can only imagine. It was bedlam!
T’Lar: Response
L’rann: Fortunately, M’Rish knows to either lock herself in our quarters or go to a nearby shelter area. I admit it hasn’t been easy to care for a child on a ship that has so many dangerous encounters.
Finch: I’ve yet to work on a ship that doesn’t have a surplus of dangerous encounters, if I’m being honest.
She looked serenely up at the sky; its brilliance tickled by the slow undulation of overhead branches.
Finch: But if we didn’t love it, then we wouldn’t do it, would we? ::she smiled and pointed her words toward M’Rish:: there’s always things to be done on a ship as big as the Gorkon. Pipes that need resealing, coolants that need replacing. You could be an engineer, if you wanted to, one day.
T’Lar/L’rann: Response
Finch: Is that so, yeah? and how often?
T’Lar/L’rann: Response
Finch: Not me, Counsellor. I wouldn’t step foot in that suite of yours even if my life depended on it, and I say that only with respect and admiration for what you do, because god knows I couldn’t do it.
T’Lar/L’rann: Response