Chapter Text
In the outer reaches of the Beta quadrant there was a planet called Batàvia, the biggest planet in the solar system of Arongàlia, home to the extremely xenophobic and secretive society of the Ravàlian. There was not much known of this people as they avoided any unnecessary contact with outside civilisations.
The planet was in orbit around a bright orange sun, still hot enough to scorch all celestial bodies that came in close vicinity. Though its strength was only a fraction of the bright newborn star it once had been many billions of years ago.
Batàvia was a gas giant. A planet of such unique splendour that the natives had been worshipping it as a deity for millions of years. Songs of praise and glory had been chanted throughout the centuries. And still, to this day, many came from far away to admire its beauty— albeit from a safe distance, since the defensive perimeter of the planet was nearly impenetrable.
Non-Ravàlians weren't welcome. They made that very clear.
Its colours, a palette of reds mixed with hues of subtle blues and purple were such a wonder to behold that tears of awe were frequently shed by those who stared at it too long. It was even rumoured that its mere sight once made a Vulcan cry. But that's a story for another day.
Batàvia was huge. So huge that its greatness dwarfed all other planets in the solar system. Every 66 hours it completed a full cycle around the sun, day to night and back again. A never-ending loop.
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In stark contrast to all that beauty there was Sitèria, a moon in orbit of the planet. One of hundreds. Nothing special about it. An inconspicuous -quite small- body of dull grey earth and rocks floating in space. Just far enough from the sun to harbour simple life, but too close to be thriving with more complex life. It had a landscape that was dry as bone and was of no importance to anyone, since it was completely devoid of any precious resources. A place utterly useless to miners or adventurers looking for fortune and fame.
Everywhere you looked there were vast desert planes, riddled with meandering rock formations, so ancient that the water that once flew there had long been evaporated, lost to the searing heat of the short but gruelling hot days. One of these deserts, a place called Zòla was located at the far south of the moon. It was a harsh environment made up of endless dunes of green sand, stretching out as far as the eye could see.
But somewhere, lost in the vastness there lied a dwelling. It couldn’t be seen with the naked eye since it was almost completely hidden under the surface— obscured by the sand that had long since covered all but the entrance. The sand on top kept the inhabitants somewhat safe from the heat during the short days, and the ice-cold howling winds during the -too long- nights.
In that shelter, sometimes hot and moist, other times cold and damp, lived a man and his son. Both of which had been on the moon for so long that the son, who had turned eight a while ago, had no recollection of ever living anywhere else. For him, Sitèria was home. For the father however, Sitèria was ongoing and unending misery.
For he did remember what was before.
The moon was a hell he had not been able to escape ever since their shuttlecraft crash-landed there, in an attempt to flee a fierce war cruiser that was intent on taking their lives. He cursed the day that he decided it was a good idea to fly through Ravàlian space because—
‘Oh come on Shannon. It will cut down our travel time by at least two months. Do you want to be the one to tell my abuela that she’ll have to wait another couple of months to meet her great-grandchild?’
He had followed that statement with a blinding smile and a searing kiss to his beautiful wife’s lips. The woman had rolled her eyes in fake annoyance, still safely secure in his embrace. She was quick to give in after that. She trusted him to make the right decision.
-- ultimately it was his idiocy that had lead them to their doom.
He should have known better. The Ravàlian’s reputation of hating foreigners preceded them. It was a well-known fact. So yes, his family had paid the price for his stupidity.
That was the burden he’d have to bear for the rest of his life.
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Their baby boy, while gravely injured, survived the impact but was never quite the same after. His spine had been injured and the vertebrae never healed as they were supposed to. As a result, the boy had to learn to get by on a pair of makeshift crutches. There is nothing else the father could have done for him. Medical possibilities were limited when you were stranded on a barren rock in the middle of nowhere.
The man’s wife was even less fortunate as she had been instantly killed in the crash. He buried her next to their shelter in a grave only marked by a simple headstone. Something he created from a dislodged piece of the shuttlecraft's hull. It was a constant reminder of his loss.
His loss—for the son didn’t remember ever having a mother at all and even though the man talked about his mother often, it wasn’t the same as actually feeling the loving embrace of one.
More crushing guilt to add to his -already heavy- burden.
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And so the man and his son survived, stranded on the dried up moon, no one knowing they were there, still alive, hoping to be rescued. Early on, the man had managed to manufacture a small communication device from spare parts salvaged from the ship. He had daily broadcast distress calls on all the Starfleet frequencies he knew of, in hopes that a Federation ship would pick up on it. But in all the years they had spent on the moon, none of their messages ever reached anyone. Federation ships tended to avoid Ravàlian space if they could.
So, as they had slowly lost hope on ever being rescued, and as they had learnt to adapt to their new environment, the communications device got used less and less until one day it had remained in the darkness of the storage room, abandoned to the dust.
Hope of any kind of rescue had been lost. They were truly on their own now.
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During the dark nights, when the boy was sound asleep, the man often got up and came out of hiding, hunting in silence, killing the creatures that dwelled on the surface. Small wriggling snakes and fast lizards were often the only prey he could find. If he was lucky he came across something bigger, like a rodent of some kind, and they could have a feast for dinner. He also brought a shovel so he could dig for water. It wasn’t easy to find, but he always managed to bring home a few meagre rations that would be just enough to get them through a day or three.
To protect himself from the harsh winds and freezing temperatures he wrapped himself up in rags before putting on a thick coat, which was an artifact left from the days when he had still been happy, living on a sun-kissed planet with actual seasons, surrounded by luscious green gardens as far as the horizon stretched. He didn't like to think back on those days. The longing within him too great to be comfortable with. It did no good to live in the past. This was his life now. A life he never wished for his son. A son who would have to adapt to living out the remainder of his life on a god-forsaken rock in the middle of nowhere
Even worse, one day the boy would have to go through his days all alone, for the man wouldn't live forever. A thought he didn’t like to dwell on, for the idea of leaving his boy all alone on the moon made his chest hurt with sorrow.
During the day they stayed safely inside, hidden from the unyielding heat of the sun. They spent time together. They got up, they ate, they talked, they played games, they napped, they fought, they made up— every day the same routine. They knew it well.
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But then—one day, the routine changed abruptly, for the father didn’t come back from one of his nightly hunting trips. The son patiently waited for him, not too concerned at first, since this had happened a couple of times before. Sometimes the father lost track of time during the hunt and was surprised by the first slivers of sun on the horizon.
As the day progressed and the shadows grew longer, concern grew within the boy. His father had never left him all by himself for such a long period of time. When the night finally fell the boy was still alone. He didn’t dare close his eyes for even a single second, his heart heavy with fear for his father’s life.
As the second day dawned and his father still hadn’t returned, the panic set in. The boy yelled, cried and hit everything he could with his crutches, when he suddenly remembered his father’s words—
‘Panic is never a good thing Christopher. When you panic, you stop thinking rationally and you lash out at things or people, without any results. Sometimes you have to take a couple of deep breaths to calm down and think logically about a situation in order to come to a good and smart solution. Panic doesn’t accomplish anything.’
He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths to push down the panic, his mind wandering in different directions and then his eyes popped open again.
“Of course,” he muttered, “dad’s old radio.”
He hobbled to the storage room as fast as he could. This was it, his last ditch effort. If this didn't work—
He took out the makeshift communication device that had been gathering nothing but dust for over two years now, put it on the table and sent out a message to anyone who could possibly be listening. The message was broadcast on all the frequencies his father had programmed into the device. He sent his last hope into the ether, speaking with stuttered words and hitching breaths while his cheeks got wet from the tears he could no longer contain.
He waited— and waited— and waited for a reply, hour upon hour until night time arrived again. But no answer ever came. Exhausted by grief, despair and lack of food or sleep the boy finally succumbed and passed out on the table, next to the radio.
For over three hours he rested. Then suddenly a green light illuminated the darkened room, the device came to life, made a crackling sound and—
“This is Captain Bobby Nash from the USS FS-118, we have picked up a distress call from your location. Are you in need? I repeat, this is Captain Bobby Nash, we are here to help you. What is your situation right now?
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_
Hello?
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Is anyone there?
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Christopher!”
And the boy startled awake from a dreamless sleep.
Hope had finally arrived.