Ensign Sariel Rager (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
visible_sariel) wrote2007-06-17 07:18 pm
visible_sariel) wrote2007-06-17 07:18 pm
Father's Day 2369
Father's Day does exist in the twenty-fourth century, contrary to what some might believe. The tackiness of certain gifts has faded with time; there are fewer ties, fewer greeting cards. There are, however, quite a few transporter credits being used by Starfleet cadets back on Earth, and any number of communication channels being opened and closed throughout Federation space--visits home haven't gone out of fashion and, apparently, neither have calls.
the channel's only hers for a few minutes, what with all the other messages going out today. With a thousand people aboard ship there's a very obvious if not tangible queue for the use of subspace radio, and by the time she gets the opportunity it's sundown in Castries. She makes the call from her quarters, backlit by shipboard illumination and in view of the old-style photographs hanging on her near wall and she swears, almost before the relay connects, that the room she's living in has nothing on the half-hidden flash of through-the-window island familiarity she gets when the channel's received.
"Sariel! This is unexpected." Kellin Rager isn't a tall man, any more than his daughter is a tall woman; he's all wiry angles and thin features, lean, almost birdlike to his wife's rounder figure and with black curls springing in a state of controlled chaos from his head. Family resemblance? Of course. And he's all-out beaming as he realizes who's on the opposite end of the line.
"Hi, Papa! Surprise?" Sariel's giggling at him through her answer, and if that smile is more Amalie's than Kellin's, it's still plenty visible. "I know I'm lightyears away, but... I thought I should call. I *wanted* to call. How are you? How's Mama?"
There's a closet door just within view over her right shoulder, and an ancient grandfather clock just over his, slowly ticking round to nine--it's dusk in Saint Lucia, and even in the halflight Kellin's fond amusement is plain because that? is so very like Sariel it's funny. "I suspected as much. The queue terribly long to get a channel out? With a thousand people on your ship I'd imagine it's been just this side of madness, am I right? Your mum's fine, so am I; we're not drowning in tourists now, at least. What about you? Have things been better since that... Ferengi incident?"
Sariel's shudder is only half mock in answer. "No having to give random passersby directions every five minutes, then? That's something, at least. Oooof. Yes, the queue is as long as you'd expect, with half the ship vying for time and bandwidth. Selar's been giving us all strange looks all day--strange for a Vulcan, that is. And..." For a second she's serious, just this side of thoughtful, just shy of voluntarily thinking back--not now, not in the middle of this. It can wait. "Yes, things have gone better. Everyone is fine, including the captain and the others in case the news reports haven't said. Our latest mission has been quiet." She leaves out her own 'thankfully', though it's more than likely on her father's mind as well if not his lips, and the add-on that the news reports probably have said. Sometimes reassurance is reassurance, all attached details aside.
"That's good to hear. quiet missions can be a blessing, sometimes." Sariel's silent, but inwardly in agreement and outwardly nodding the same; she can appreciate a quiet shift, never mind a whole quiet mission, for a score of connected and unconnected reasons. "Have you found any--"
Kellin's cut off mid sentence, cut across as the computer chimes and a barely-familiar male voice breaks in, relayed from the bridge fifteen odd decks away. "Ensign Rager? Your time's almost up. Sorry."
It's a quiet "Acknowledged," that's sent back in reply but, yes indeed, Sariel's biting back the urge to mutter aloud and mouthing "Bugger," at the farther wall with her head turned. There'll be no audible cursing in front of her father. Then louder, "Sorry, Papa. A thousand people and one comm system--it's the queue, again. I have to go." And the last is quiet, genuine - "I love you."
"I understand. Queues are horrible things on a normal day--I love you too. I'll tell your mother hello." There's not even a half-second's silence, after that, before the channel cuts off with the customary bleep and the screen goes abruptly dark. Kellin Rager has it right in so many words: Queues are horrible things.
Sariel sits there in relative silence - ship's rhythm and mechanical hum aside - for a long minute, then two, before getting up.
the channel's only hers for a few minutes, what with all the other messages going out today. With a thousand people aboard ship there's a very obvious if not tangible queue for the use of subspace radio, and by the time she gets the opportunity it's sundown in Castries. She makes the call from her quarters, backlit by shipboard illumination and in view of the old-style photographs hanging on her near wall and she swears, almost before the relay connects, that the room she's living in has nothing on the half-hidden flash of through-the-window island familiarity she gets when the channel's received.
"Sariel! This is unexpected." Kellin Rager isn't a tall man, any more than his daughter is a tall woman; he's all wiry angles and thin features, lean, almost birdlike to his wife's rounder figure and with black curls springing in a state of controlled chaos from his head. Family resemblance? Of course. And he's all-out beaming as he realizes who's on the opposite end of the line.
"Hi, Papa! Surprise?" Sariel's giggling at him through her answer, and if that smile is more Amalie's than Kellin's, it's still plenty visible. "I know I'm lightyears away, but... I thought I should call. I *wanted* to call. How are you? How's Mama?"
There's a closet door just within view over her right shoulder, and an ancient grandfather clock just over his, slowly ticking round to nine--it's dusk in Saint Lucia, and even in the halflight Kellin's fond amusement is plain because that? is so very like Sariel it's funny. "I suspected as much. The queue terribly long to get a channel out? With a thousand people on your ship I'd imagine it's been just this side of madness, am I right? Your mum's fine, so am I; we're not drowning in tourists now, at least. What about you? Have things been better since that... Ferengi incident?"
Sariel's shudder is only half mock in answer. "No having to give random passersby directions every five minutes, then? That's something, at least. Oooof. Yes, the queue is as long as you'd expect, with half the ship vying for time and bandwidth. Selar's been giving us all strange looks all day--strange for a Vulcan, that is. And..." For a second she's serious, just this side of thoughtful, just shy of voluntarily thinking back--not now, not in the middle of this. It can wait. "Yes, things have gone better. Everyone is fine, including the captain and the others in case the news reports haven't said. Our latest mission has been quiet." She leaves out her own 'thankfully', though it's more than likely on her father's mind as well if not his lips, and the add-on that the news reports probably have said. Sometimes reassurance is reassurance, all attached details aside.
"That's good to hear. quiet missions can be a blessing, sometimes." Sariel's silent, but inwardly in agreement and outwardly nodding the same; she can appreciate a quiet shift, never mind a whole quiet mission, for a score of connected and unconnected reasons. "Have you found any--"
Kellin's cut off mid sentence, cut across as the computer chimes and a barely-familiar male voice breaks in, relayed from the bridge fifteen odd decks away. "Ensign Rager? Your time's almost up. Sorry."
It's a quiet "Acknowledged," that's sent back in reply but, yes indeed, Sariel's biting back the urge to mutter aloud and mouthing "Bugger," at the farther wall with her head turned. There'll be no audible cursing in front of her father. Then louder, "Sorry, Papa. A thousand people and one comm system--it's the queue, again. I have to go." And the last is quiet, genuine - "I love you."
"I understand. Queues are horrible things on a normal day--I love you too. I'll tell your mother hello." There's not even a half-second's silence, after that, before the channel cuts off with the customary bleep and the screen goes abruptly dark. Kellin Rager has it right in so many words: Queues are horrible things.
Sariel sits there in relative silence - ship's rhythm and mechanical hum aside - for a long minute, then two, before getting up.