USS Ibn Battuta
KyleB
Member
With some of its senior staff standing down in eighteen months, the tiny science vessel Ibn Battuta has spent the last year "filling in the gaps" of the vast array of star systems in the Federation's Alpha Quadrant territory. It's mission being one primarily of short- and medium-range planetary survey, the venerable Nova-class is due its major thirty-year refit shortly.
The lives of the crew of the Ibn Battuta are about to change unexpectedly as they are thrust into an epic journey spanning 1,468 light years beyond Federation space, deep within the Alpha Quadrant. Its begins innocuously- the crew have hosted several young STEM award winners from Earth, Bon Proxima and Bajor for the 42nd Annual Kressari Botantical Conference on Kressari Prime. On the final leg of the journey, the Ibn Battuta finds itself in orbit of the "Jade Jewel of the Alpha Centauri Colonies." With one remaining student and a command cadet set to return to Earth soon, the Ibn Battuta planned to take some time off on one of the Federation's most beautiful worlds. They are also picking up a new Executive Officer and new Helmsman.
But a call from Captain Magdalena Villa-Encarnación's old flame and subspace pen pal stokes interest in returning early to the Sol system. There has been a potentially exciting discovery by planetary survey probes in orbit of Venus. Recalling its crew from the beautifully rugged shores and cool forests native to Bon Proxima, the Ibn Battuta cruises home. It is the beginning of a story spanning light years, and a mystery that may be as old as twelve thousand years: did Humanity have ancient contact with sentient alien life, and if so, what was their agenda? The story of four species, one ancient survivor and the fate of a dozen worlds is about to be revealed for the first time.
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The Latina took in a breath, ignoring a twitch at her nose. The round white seal near her nostril irritated her, a two-day-old reminder of the basal carcinoma Doctor Kirjon had removed. Now in her early sixties, her devil-may-care days under the sun’s rays were turning against her.
She took in the heavy smell of Frankincense curling blue-purple smoke. She’d made every excuse to duck into the old Catholic Church in the plaza to smell it on her way to get irises or dahlias for her mother’s flower arrangements.
A new scent entered her sphere, and she smiled in recognition. Lips pushed into her cheek, and she gently husked an Mmm. “Morning mi Amor,” she murmured.
“Mi Bella,” a gravelly voice uttered. Magdalena opened her eyes, sensing he was pulling away while he reached to curl a stray gray clump of hair back behind her ear. Rafael was past his prime: gravity had sagged his once-good looks, and a hearty diet made him look a bit like a frog that was standing up on its two back legs. Magdalena saw the steely eyes and his intelligent gaze. For a retired terraformer, the man had a keen eye for fashion. Today she found him in a Cardassian-inspired tunic with a banded collar that opened into a terraced neckline.
Magdalena extricated from her yoga pose, flexing the stiff, arthritic fingers in her right hand. She rubbed its center with the thumb, trying to loosen old, scarred tendons and middle-aged tension. “Breakfast’s on the table.” She called after him- he half turned and nodded to her in profile before he took to one side of the brass and glass cafe-height table.
By the time Magdalena joined him, he was pouring thick and fragrant Raktajino from a carafe into her favorite Polish coffee cup. She sighed softly and surveyed the small bounty before them. With a fluid lay, she draped her napkin across her lap, her shoulders slumping toward the table. Rafael stayed straight-backed, using a silver spoon and fork to lay an omelet of eggs and chile on his plate. Magdalena used a miniature javelin to impale some canary yellow chunks of what looked like a melon.
With a tilt of a smile and a raised eyebrow, she dropped a couple of pieces onto Rafael’s plate as well. He followed her hands with his eyes and smirked at her, silently shaking his head.
Magdalena folded her hands and bowed her head. Rafael lowered his fork and at least respectfully dropped his gaze, though he didn’t fold his hands. His mouth flexed and tightened with tolerance.
“Bless this world below us and the hands that work it. Bless its people, that they may find salvation in their toils and grow a bountiful future. Forgive them of their sins and give them strength against the darkness. Bless us, too, for we are far from home. Give us the wisdom to make friends of strangers and see past our differences. Amen.”
Rafael grunted assent and resumed his fork. He deftly cut into the pale yellow of the omelet, bursting with olive green lengths of chile and sprinkles of chunky queso fresco. They passed minutes in comfortable silence: Rafael read the news from his PADD, his face reflecting the yellow of the holographics. Magdalena hummed a song to herself, the clacking of her turquoise bracelets touching the table while she indulged herself. Nearly forty years of marriage allowed for such serenity, of give and take and melding of their personalities.
“This isn’t from Hatch, is it?” Rafael said as he refilled his coffee cup, speaking from one side of his mouth as he ceased chewing with the other.
Magdalena shook her head, “The Hijo’s held up at Starbase One. It should be in the day after tomorrow. I had to use replicated chiles.” She speared a piece of the strange melon and eased it into her mouth. Rafael’s weathered, whitening eyebrows knitted in skepticism at the thing she’s eaten and had put on his plate.
“What exactly is this?” He put a thumb and pointer finger around the smaller of the chunks and placed it in his mouth. His brows popped, “Mmm. That’s really quite delicious. What is it?”
Magdalena was scrolling through a PADD in her lap now. It sculled as she advanced pages, “Bajoran Rutuat.” She murmured, “I picked it up in Rakantha Province before we left.”
“Mmm,” Rafael brushed off his fingers on his napkin, “Quite good. Almost like jicama and honeydew.”
Magdalena chuckled with wry warmth, “I’ll call to see if Hell’s frozen over later. After my morning briefing.”
Rafael chuckled himself- he was notorious for not eating his fruits and vegetables. She breathed in and straightened her spine. Her limbs rose over her head, her aged and crepy upper arm skin easing toward her core. She stretched and purred. “What’re you so dressed up for today, mi Amor?”
Rafael leaned his elbows just off the table, eager fingers twitching against one another as he considered what to nibble at next, “I,” he began, choosing a piece of fry bread, “Am headed toward the New Marseille Valley today.” He tore the unleavened disk in half, placed one half on his plate, and found first the butter, then the ground cinnamon.
Magdalena’s eyebrows raised, one higher than the other. “New Marseille?”
“Mmmhmm,” Rafael confirmed, “They’re growing Kanar vines down there. The soil is perfect. My contact on Cardassia Prime, uh, Legate Evek, is curious about the venture.”
The Captain’s skepticism shrewdly furrowed at his nose and eyebrows, “Be careful, Rafael. A leopard doesn’t change its spots for anyone.”
“The war is over,” Rafael pointed out.
Magdalena nodded, “Ehh… yes and no. The shooting is over. The politics continue.”
“We’re talking about trying to triage what’s left of the Cardassian ecosystem. Evek, some of the Detapa that will listen to an outsider’s proposal, and some of us in Terraform Command that is.”
Magdalena uneasily eased back into her chair, her flower-motif blue and white coffee cup in her hands. She sipped, her wordlessness her invitation for Rafael to keep talking. He smeared butter on his fry bread, wiping both sides of the butter knife into it. “It’d be a very long-term project, of course, but they’re talking about trying to terraform Cardassia back to some semblance of itself before climate change.”
“Ambitious,” Magdalena said behind the rim of her coffee cup, though she fought off the scoff. Rafael was about to delve into a dream with little political reality.
Rafael voiced an mmhmm, and bit into the flaky, crusty, savory bread. He pushed it into his cheek, his steely eyes rising to look at his wife. “But in the end, it’s the only way Cardassia can survive long term without dropping back into cycles of famine and oppressive regimes.” He popped another piece in his mouth, “Time to reclaim the desert.” He waggled a finger, scolding the air.
"Sounds like an uphill climb, Mi Amor." Magdalena angled her head and decided not to give more voice to her inner skepticism. Rafael was a beautiful dreamer who saw change as the thing that brought strangers together. "A new Mars, hmm?"
Rafael shrugged and finished off his piece of fry bread, then dusted off his fingers against one another. "Two hundred years from now, savannah and river valleys rich with Kanar vines the envy of anyone."
Magdalena chuckled even as her brows knit together, "Well. Then. I hope they listen to your proposals, mi Amor. You and Legate Evek..." she murmured, raising her cup. Rafael went for his, and in an abbreviated raise, she sipped it. He grunted, burning himself. She caught a sigh in her throat. “Well, we’re still on active duty for a while,” she maneuvered, “We’re due back to Minos Corva soon. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be there. We stand down in eighteen months, yes, but then what?”
Rafael was looking back at his PADDs, shuffling between them, "Mmmhmm. Retirement."
Magdalena scoffed in denial at that, "Agh... that still feels so far off."
It was Rafael’s turn to smirk. He looked up, "Not so far off as it used to be, mi Bella."
Magdalena sampled another piece of the melon, chewed it quietly, and then dropped her napkin on the table, "I'd better get dressed. My briefing's in fifteen minutes."
Rafael watched his wife rise, tugging on her yoga top, "Good luck," he said before he cut another piece of now-tepid omelet. He eyed the green within, hoping that the next time he forked into such a color, it was the buttery-piquant savory of a real Hatch chile.