When I Close My Eyes
Posted on Wed Mar 6th, 2024 @ 3:49pm by Lieutenant Andromeda Nash
Edited on on Thu Mar 7th, 2024 @ 2:13am
0 words; about a 1 minute read
Mission:
The Sins of History
Location: Starflight City, Freecloud
Timeline: MD003 1500 hrs
The streets and its ways were as familiar to her as her own hands. And even now, after thirteen years of moving from one place to another and all the things she'd seen, this was still home. The market where permanent stalls had been erected on both sides of a long narrow street; each one topped with tattered awnings from which hung signs, some in the patois of the streets, some in imperfectly translated Federation tongues. They were family-owned for the most part; most had additional goods that were never put on display. Two levels, same as most of Starlight City, the part you saw and the part you were better off not noticing. Strict, entirely unwritten rules, that involved keeping ones eyes on the goods, not on the shopkeepers, and minding your own business.
Flashy bars on the squares that no one in their right mind would go into and the smaller ones, barely noticeable, tucked into odd places on dark side streets that offered food, drinks, and sometimes, information. Two levels. Always two. Beggars, adept at enticing coins out of unwary pockets, with a well-developed system for passing along warnings. Pickpockets who slipped through the crowded streets with quotas to meet and an ever present hunger that never seemed to be satisfied.
Oh yes, she knew these dark streets. Tonight, she was dressed in much the same way as she had been back when she was a kid struggling to survive. A layered outfit, nondescript, muted, a bit larger than necessary to disguise her frame, worn with a few stains that would never come out. She kept a stocking cap on her head to hide her hair and walked with her hands jammed into her pockets and her shoulders hunched. Never paid to walk these streets advertising anything about yourself not if you wanted to end up the same way you started; hands in the pockets was a good way of protecting whatever you carried.
She moved quickly, heading with a purposeful stride toward the old hotel she had once called home. She carried no packages with her. Those were a dead giveaway. Instead, she had small gifts tucked into the pockets of her clothes. Something each for the three people who had turned her life around.
She turned into a side street that the unknowing would have considered little more than a dark and dismal alley. Dodging puddles and trash bins, head down against the light rain, she passed several doorways, three micro homes on the right, two on the left. At the end, on the right side, was a red door, its paint chipped and peeling, and in the center was a large brass knocker. Some sort of weird animal she didn't recognize but then, in those days, vermin and insects were all she knew. Tobryn, the owner, told her that it was a bull and that his name was Ferdinand. She stopped at the door and now, as she had back then, stroked his slightly dented head before lifting the ring to announce her presence.
She started counting in her head. Tobryn kept a heavy bar on the door at night which meant, someone had to answer the door personally. He usually found someone to volunteer for door duty, usually in return for a slight reduction in rent, and tonight was no different. She had reached twenty when a sleepy-eyed kid of fourteen opened the door and gave her a good onceover.
"What is," he said. As he waited for an answer, he yawned showing a mouth of teeth in bad need of dental work, "Akato?"
She narrowed her eyes, giving him a onceover in return, and shook her head. "Neh, troway. Never dat. Tobryn about, say true?"
The kid's eyes narrowed and she could see him drawing up, trying to dominant through height if nothing else, and bellowed, "Tobryn! My enemies will succeed if I stand in the dark much longer! Where you be?"
"Let her in, boy," an elderly man said as he shuffled down the hallway. He was wrapped in a threadbare plaid robe that came down to just past his knees, and wore a pair of battered slippers on his narrow feet. "Know that voice, I do. That's Sparrow."
"Say true," the boy said, his voice rising slightly at the end. "Heard about you I have." His grin was sly as he added. "Been doin' your job for some time now."
"So," Sparrow said as she slipped inside. "Guess I be checking up on you then. Eh, Troway?"
"Come on," Tobryn said. "Your old room is ready and I got some sleep I need to go find." As she fell into step beside him, he added, in a rough, grumbly whisper. "Welcome home, girl. Welcome home."
Behind them, she could hear the boy grumbling as he locked up. "Troway. Sparrow or no Sparrow, ain't gonna stand for that, no way."
True to his word, Tobryn handed over the key to her pod and promised tea and convo in the light of day then left her to settle in for the rest of the night.
She removed her shoes at the entrance to the pod and her overcoat, then slipped inside and started putting things away. There was a newish comforter, not nearly as used up as her old one had been, and it was more worn than she remembered but still, it was home. She locked the door and then settled in with a deep, contented sigh.
Most of her first year at the Academy, when she closed her eyes, she traveled here. To this place. The first real shelter and home she could remember. She closed her eyes now, smiling, and listened to the sounds that surrounded her. Drifting. Sliding into peaceful rest.
Only to be brought upright by the sudden sharp trill of her combadge. "My first leave in years … seriously," she whispered. "Seriously?" She took a deep steadying breath and said, "Nash here."
A Post By:
Lieutenant Andromeda Nash
Chief Engineering Officer, USS Artemis
Starfleet Criminal Investigation Service
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