Even after more than a decade of living on the station, the ex-counselor had yet to visit every one of its 260 habitable decks.
And now it seemed like she might no longer get the chance. But there was one stop she felt compelled to make before the Reyga disembarked for its first assignment. It wasn’t as if she would never be back. But it would be different, it would feel different. Maybe not at first, maybe not even the first several times. But soon enough. Too soon enough.
In an effort to soften the blow, she’d made her way here to Deep Space 13’s “official” gift shop. Many times colleagues had mentioned it in passing, but Katriel had never deigned to visit. After all, she’d never known a need to before, as a resident who’d seen the station through eleven commanding admirals, seven base commanders, three changes in ownership of the promenade lounge, and one total personnel evacuation.
But now she did know. She had just never stopped to think about how there’d be a day where she would be … only a visitor.
There was no getting around it; the large shop was more than a little tacky. Still, it had the greatest (?) collection of random Deep Space 13 paraphernalia anywhere, so she stayed, prowling through the aisles and shelves, her idle gaze flowing over every item and detail. But more than once, her attention would catch on something and a memory or three would trigger.
A variety of gilded picture frames, with the station’s name and relief decorating the edges.
Could you... could you hold onto this for me?
I can't take it to... my appointment. I know, it's weird.
Rows of fountain pens, their barrels ranging in a multitude of colors, but all with the station’s name marked in cursive along their sides.
"Have, ah, you considered writing him- and I mean writing,
by hand- letters, about your daily goings on, for his return?
It will help, I think, to both, ah, pass the time,
and serve as a thorough recount of events."
"I'm rooting for you, counselor."
Transparent and spherical holiday tree ornaments, even though the current calendar date was nowhere near the holidays that would be typical for their display. Some contained the shape of the starbase, others the Starfleet delta insignia, and any number of other symbolic permutations.
"That your counseling technique is buttery smooth,
and if you'd ever care to be posted as Ship's Counselor to
2500 of Starfleet's best, you're welcome to join the Bold."
A set of souvenir drink glasses, visual matches for the ones used in the Event Horizon and some even bearing the name.
"Yeah.... you never answered my question earlier.
Dinner and Irish chocolate drinks for two."
Tall beer glasses bearing a much older logo that probably very few recognized at this point, for some venue called the Starlight Cantina.
"All I've wanted is some sort of equal companionship.
Along with some... purpose among things. I came... to you
in the first place in hopes I could... become a better person.
I wanted to try and become good or... at least something more."
Here was a tall stack of leatherbound journals, in assorted dark colors with stamped 38th Fleet or DS13 facility seals on the front. Notetaking this way was truly out of fashion, but Katriel thought she’d seen a few of these around in artists’ hands.
"Never said you weren't. Just always noted a tightly
reserved nature, was interesting to see it pushed aside."
On the books, Katriel was officially working in her new capacity as executive officer, her appointment with counseling formally ended and office depressingly vacant. But outside of the piles of personnel files, readiness and supply checklists, and other bureaucratic fixations, she remained in transition. She hadn’t quite finished moving out of her quarters yet, but she’d emptied out enough of her keepsakes and necessities that it barely resembled the space she had made her home, and she felt keenly untethered. Like she didn’t belong anywhere.
There was a row of small baskets on the table here, each filled with piles of knickknacks. In this one sat several dozen permanently corked glass vials. Each one was no larger than a thumb and contained a paltry amount of real dilithium crystal flakes. Too small a quantity to be of any use, but enough to be a tangible memento of the starbase’s beating matter/antimatter heart, where the tags claimed the contents were from.
"There are a lot of words other languages have
that ours don't. But yes, love is one of them, t'eh."
In the basket one over, a hodgepodge collection of souvenir coins: some with reliefs of the starbase, others with 38th Fleet seals.
"Force is necessary, whenever you want to....
Make something at rest move, or make
something moving change its movement.
We all apply force to almost anything we do."
A novelty gavel, crafted out of cheap plywood, paired with a matching sound block whose surface was embossed with the JAG Corps seal.
"I make it a point to pay attention to individuals who have
the authority to ground me from my ship should they so see it fit."
Inside a long glass display sat a large array of daggers, although on closer inspection, they appeared to just be letter openers, designed to look like Romulan dathe’anofv-sen.
"I can see what you're trying to do, Kat. It's admirable,
but I can't forgive that little troll what he's done."
And then there were some openers shaped like Klingon d’k tahgs, too.
"This has been… liberating. I was not sure that anyone
would understand… anyone who was not Klingon, I mean,
and I could not possibly speak so freely to another Klingon.
I should have come to you sooner, but I am glad that I came at all."
One table was just completely covered in fragrant candles, in a whole plethora of scents and even more shapes, including a cheeky wax imitation of the embassy level’s infamous real fireplace.
"But...but shadow bunnies would be great for counseling!"
"One day, we had a bit of a...disagreement. ...a certain Captain's desk
may or may not have been vaporized, and, well, I changed career paths."
"I appreciate hearing your opinion. And I'd continue to
in the future ... I really do value what you have to say."
She had agreed with Captain Kermit’s mad proposition, but she never realized it’d be so painful to actually go through with. Even though James had been right to suggest she wouldn’t have put her name down on a list for a change if she wasn’t ready for one, it didn’t lessen the feeling that it had all been a mistake now. What does one do when the right decision incurs so much suffering that it feels like the wrong one?
The truth was that she’d been suffering quietly for much longer, just in less noticeable degrees. She’d neglected her own personal growth and development in favor of what was comfortable and known. She had minded only her current responsibilities and obligations, rather than seek out new challenges. And she let herself be bound by nostalgia, with her surroundings saturated with so many pre-existing routines and memories that there was no room left to make new ones.
Several racks of plushies beamed cheerfully from the corner. Foxbirds, epohhs (dressed in uniforms, no less), caracals and dinosaurs.
"Rawr." "Rawr rawr?" "Raaaaaawr."
"Rawr rawr rawr rawr." "Raaaaawr rawrrawr."
An elegant tabletop mirror, whose silver and purple frame was molded and styled in the fashion of a ground version Iconian Gateway.
"For a civilization to achieve that level of power, they had to have learned
so much in the process. And when I learn about the universe, it fills me with
a deep respect for it. So, I think the only way a people could know so much
and still want to destroy those lesser than them, something like a
miscommunication must have occurred, yes."
This next aisle was exclusively wearable souvenirs. Katriel couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to actually purchase those oversized cowboy hats, DS13 seal or no.
"This isn't fair, it's like she can read my mind or something!"
"She is a betazoid, you lobeless lummox!"
Or any of these department logo novelty socks.
"I will see if I can attend this month's.
Even if it means I have to applaud a Vulcan.
But then, a bit of praise for one's potential nemesis
is important, no? ... Yes, that was a slight joke."
She really wasn’t sure who these black leather boxing gloves would appeal to, with the security department’s seal printed in red on the backhand surface.
"This has just been what's been dominating my thoughts for the
recent while. It's caused strife internally and externally with friends ...
I responded and she thinks I don't trust her. I firmly believe
I was just doing my duty. It's led to this whole thing. "
But Katriel grudgingly admitted the rack of solid-colored Odyssey uniform jackets, harkening back to an older Argo uniform design, were pretty neat. That had always been her favorite design. They even had a green one, even though that color had long been retired.
"As one of the first few whom I was lucky enough to converse with on joining
the Task Force, it's hard to find a negative thing in the Lieutenant's career."
"Everything okay, Katriel? I... I'm still a little unsure
why we're here, exactly. My office isn't all that special."
"Very few things would make me happier. It would be
beyond a pleasure to do so, especially for such a friend."
For her, there may be no way to know if taking this new position on the Reyga was the right choice, in the end. But at least it held the promise of something different. It was a blank slate to be drawn on. And maybe what she’d produce would be terrible, but at least there would be something new on the page.
When she turned the corner into the next aisle, she almost squeaked in surprise as she came face to face with a familiar likeness. Commander Caspius’s frowning visage printed on cardboard packaging, the contents of which appeared to be … a baton?
"During that time you have distinguished yourself in performing
your duty in a way which has attracted the favourable attention
of several commanders. If I may avoid being accused of doing
your job for you, a lack of confidence in yourself appears,
after such accomplishments, to be misdirected."
Below this display sat a large wicker basket appeared to contain nothing but toy versions of various Starfleet equipment: plastic phasers, chirping tricorders, stress ball-like squishy hyperspanners, et cetera.
"Unlikely. My discomfort does not arise from any judgment
your ethics as an individual. I analyze systems, and in the system
we have been exploring, I observe an incentive to behave unethically.
You yourself may resist it. Others might succumb to temptation.
So long as the incentive remains, I will be ill at ease."
Sticking out from the top of a large ground vase was a collection of mid-sized flags, stitched with a variety of brands, from squadron logos to the Argo seal to broader designations of Starfleet branches, like the UFP laurels and stars.
"I spoke with Commander Isohlah earlier today, but I understand that you're
quite a bit more involved with other aspects of the station and our Task Force."
"Resolutions in boring, willing powder.
Fifteen targs, transporting nervous drops."
"I didn't agree to wind up looking like a cotton-candy lollipop!"
Here was a large table with more expensive models, collector’s pieces that were each individually locked in a glass case. She’d never be interested in affording one of these, but they were beautiful to look at, like this replica of an old Grecian longship, along the side of which was etched ‘THE ARGO’ in gold calligraphy.
"I have to confess that I've never had much affection for counselors. It never
seemed to me any of them could tell me something I didn't know. It's different
with you. I can't tell *you* anything you don't know about what I'm thinking, can I?"
Or that elaborate desktop model of a DS13 peregrine fighter.
"..yeh, tha's what I figured. A'right, cuttin' t' th' chase,
then. I need jer 'elp forging up some medical records."
Prism paperweights made of glass, crafted and shaped in just such a way that the letters ‘DS13’ could be read in silhouette as pale rainbows reflected on the wall.
"Yeah, for sure. It's hard for me to describe though. I... see something like a
color, I guess? It doesn't last long either, but it's happening more and more
often. At first just my parents, but now it's quite a bit more people. Normally a
darker color means they are angry, or something like that. It's not exact."
It was near here that her eyes finally alighted on the prize she’d take with her. Ranged out on a shelf was a row of snow globes and one stood out beyond all the rest.
The base was obsidian and a detailed little model of Deep Space 13 sat suspended in the transparent liquid with no visible assistance. The tiny windows on the structure pulsed intermittently with warm light and two holographic starships orbited like electrons around and around the nucleic station. When the globe was shaken, specks of glittering silver fluttered and spun, enveloping the lonely starbase in an evershifting space-scape of stars.
The sight almost made her tear up and she shook her head rapidly with a sniff to clear the sentimental cobwebs out of her mind. How long had she been in this stars-forsaken store!? She didn’t quite feel ready to leave, but that would always be true, wouldn’t it?
As she waited in line at the register, one final display of items caught her attention and she had to do her best to stifle a chuckle at the bobbleheads on display.
"Stop when one of their flock expires...Brain 17% smaller percentage
than body mass compared to other birds on my planet. Still...
stop to mourn. Intriguing. Decided, must be important."
Katriel’s mirth faded a little as she considered the memory and the wisdom once dispensed by a little lieutenant administrative coordinator. Mourning is right. Though her story and her adventures might continue on elsewhere, her story aboard the station would be ending here.
She bought two.
