Sem N'hak Kon

He was distracted, distracted by himself, when Elnor moved closer. His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked to the younger man. So this protectiveness went both ways, it seemed. But did Paul feel for him as a person, or an experiment? And did it matter, when Paul had always loved his experiments more than people? For a moment, he felt almost nervous. He was not interested in being imprinted upon. Even if he'd already done the same. He wished he'd adopted a cat instead.

Despite his hesitancy, Paul nodded. There was no danger here, and that was something he could promise. At least, not from other people. Not anymore.

He took a small step closer to the bed as Elnor sat on it, and he told himself it was only so he could get a better look at the screens. What it ended up doing, though, was giving him a better look at the man as he spoke. Anomalies? He didn't suppose that was all that strange, but the anomalies themselves seemed odd. He wasn't sure if he was a half-Vulcan, though his understanding was that the case of Burnham's brother was rare. Though that could have been his own ideas of the species, that they didn't seem terribly interested in anything outside of it. Maybe, though. Maybe. Or they could have been birth defects.

Or...

He was from another time, wasn't he? It was possible that he wasn't Vulcan, at least not in the way that they thought of them now. That theory was given significant support by his plea for secrecy. Paul wanted to know, but he understood. And it thrilled him.

That would be because the Rigellian Vulcanoids were an offshoot of the Romulan exodus. But he could not say that part of it. The scans, however, confirmed that: at least, neurologically. They could not yet account for the other physiological differences. Otherwise, however, he seemed to be in perfect health. Abnormally perfect health.

Still, his excitement about this, his joy at his own truth, overrode some of the fear that threatened to overwhelm his heart. In the moment, that meant that joy was all that he had there: joy, beauty, the delight of discovery, at the entire universe of things. It chased away the shadows as if they had never existed. The scans showed that too--a decrease in stress chemicals, neurons lighting up in different patterns.

"... What you said before, about mycelium? It makes sense." His smile faded. "I wish more of my species thought that way: to share the universe. I-- I shouldn't... say more, but... I want to?"

He looked at Paul searchingly. This was why he had joined Starfleet after all: to explore, to meet new species, to share his own culture with them, to find those similarities and differences, to help people. Paul seemed to share that, he thought, if only a little. He came alive when they spoke of time, or fungi, and now about his species.

"It's why I joined Starfleet. That, and to aid my friends. To learn and explore. You feel that way, I... think. Why aren't you happy here?"

It was probably too prying, to candid, but he decided he did not care. This officer was the opposite of what he had been warned about when he started at the Academy. He didn't treat him differently, didn't seem to be taken aback by earnest curiosity. That was comforting, as well.

Rex could see why Elnor thought of things that way. Having just described himself reaching a similar point of despair. Their comparable uncertainty as to whether victory was possible here over the Confederation or in Rex's burg against the elitists of costumed adventuring at least served to unite them a little more. Double that, once Elnor brought up the most central tenet of the Qalankhkai.

"Towards unreachable stars we both go, then. My own practice was once known for pursuing and doing the impossible too, once."

As the Nypardian lay down, he stood up, heading for the door back ground level. "I will keep an eye out for dangers. We can talk more when you're feeling better."

Rex laughed a bit too when Elnor did. It was still a feeling any adventurer, costumed or otherwise, could inspire. The sense that any undertaking was well within their means, that restrictions and stuffy reprimand wouldn't halt them for long. As they made their way through and towards the streets, the densely packed hustle and bustle of those living under the Confederation's heel only seemed to emphasize that need for quixotic sentiments to become true bouts of action.

Elnor's warning of potential espionage among the common folk and shopkeepers was apt: Rex stifled his wonder to pay attention as to who to avoid. Similarly perceptive figures, odd arrangements that might have concealed listening devices or cameras, perhaps even a concealed weapon if they were charged with putting down noteworthy dissidents.

But to the one Elnor knew, there was a nod and an attempt at flashing a small smile, some murmured thanks offered genuinely. Everyday folk who risked their lives to be generous to strangers and challenge tyranny were why he took up costumed adventuring back in his reality, by way of superheroing.

He considered saving his own story for later. But maybe he could offer a preamble of sorts?

"Not gonna lie to ya: I've been beaten within an inch of my life before, just from voicing dissent. Sometimes at my lowest I wished they'd finished the job properly. But then something just changed along the way."

He gestured to Elnor with his index finger, then backward with his thumb, in the direction of the shopkeeper and servant who shared this place as a hideout, despite the risk.

"Once others around me were safe, free to pursue their dreams, they fixed what was broken, hoarded less, crafted art to pique their imaginations, then shared it all. It was tangible, something functional, yet beautiful. Then suddenly, getting thrashed wasn't so bad. Knowing something was waiting for me-- for all of us, afterwards."

...

He thought about that or a moment, turning it over in his mind. Interacting with other species like this, talking to them, about them, was rare. The ones he helped here on Earth rarely trusted him, and the Empire had only had Remans, and they were afraid of him.

He sighed and sat down, curling his legs up into a comfortable sitting position. "... I am sorry for you, for what you have experienced. I am too quick! I am not usually caught. Humans are slow and often clumsy." He paused. "But... lethal, if they do catch you. They turn it into spectacle. There are public executions. But you have... probably seen those.""

On Eradication Day. His face grew green, flushing with anger. He scowled and shook his head.

"I hate them. But... sometimes... very rarely... you meet ones who want to help... like the person who owns this place."

But Rex's implied question made him pause. He thought about it for a long moment, then shook his head again.

"I do not know that there is something waiting for us beyond this. I believe it is a lost cause. That... we will likely die... or fail... or if we succeed, find that the galaxy has been too stripped of everything that made it worthwhile, that surviving as free exiles may be... as hard..."

Their wrap was bland, but palatable. They ate mostly mindlessly, instead focusing on the conversation (and trying to block out that damn itch in the back of their mind). "Your friend's name is seven? That's funny. Mine's eight. Well, it's German for eight, anyways. Acht." They paused. "Come to think of it, I never got your name."

He hesitated a moment, clearly thinking that over. "... You are correct, that would be a responsible choice." He grinned. "Seven-of-Nine. That's what it's short for. My name is Elnor. I did tell you. I think."

He folded his long legs up to his chest as he ate, glancing over at them occasionally. It was hard not to notice the shaking hands. He watched them for a moment before looking back at his food with a small frown.

"You are... still trembling," he observed. "I do not want to pry, but--" He peered at them cautiously, concernedly. "Raffi used to tremble. After we got rid of all her alcohol and snakeleaf. It went away, but... she had medical aid. Do you have medical aid?"

He spoke like this was normal, and to him, it was. Or, if not normal, it was exciting. He could say that he didn't have much more than anyone else on the ship, but the fact that he had more experience at all was probably saying something. His understanding that the majority of people's experience with temporal phenomena was usually zero.

"Like mycelium," he corrected, the sparkle in his eyes probably not one that many people get when speaking of fungus, but that had never bothered him before. "They're the roots of fungi, very thin, that they use so communicate. This specific species is very special, and, yes, it connects everywhere. This place is the common space for every universe." Which was to say dangerous. He shook his head. "Of course it does. This place uses fungus." He said it like it was obvious, which, to him, it was.

Not that he could explain why he was asking, anyway. From the era he guessed this ship was from, he had to keep knowledge of the Borg to a minimum. And, anyway, he was quickly distracted by the medbay.

Images and sensations flooded his mind as he stared at the biobed: burning in his chest, flashes of green--green light, green blood--darkening the brightness of this open, white-flooded room. Gold. Raffi's hair, glowing warmly against the green, her eyes lit up by it.

He backed up closer to Paul, the only friendly face here, then turned to look at him. Something about his expression, that strained smile, brought his courage back. He took a breath, nodded slowly, and walked over to the medical station. He took a seat, just a seat, on the edge of the bed, gripping the edge so hard his fingers turned pale.

... This wasn't like him. That was, for some reason, difficult to voice.

He looked at the doctor, then at Paul, grounding himself in the explanation that needed to happen. "There will be some anomalies on your scan from what you expect from a Vulcan." He touched the base of his palm on one hand with the other. "A much more pronounced wrist-spur and more robust skull features, although--" No, wait, too much information. Don't start talking about regional differences on Romulus-that-was. "--not... excessively. And... different... neurological structures. I ask forgiveness. I cannot explain completely why."

That would mean explaining what Romulans were. And it would mean getting into the history of Romulan genetic engineering, something he was unsure if the Federation even had detail about in his time. So, he kept silent, frowning in frustration at the lack of candor. He was annoyed. And annoyed was better than frightened or confused.

So, Seven and Raffi are a thing. They both have adopted Elnor. Raffi is well on her way to adopt Soji.

Raffi and Rios are buddies & so are Seven and Rios.

Agnes is there for the wild ride. She and Rios are also a thing.

And Picard? He looks

La Sirena Crew Family: Elnor

STAR TREK: PICARD

He started to lead him away, the security team clearly annoyed behind him, but he didn't care. He believed this boy, and he was going to help him. "Not that I know of. I would think that we're the only ones here." A beat. "But I also would have said that there's no reason for you to be here, either." Which was another question to answer.

He led him through the halls, ignoring the looks from others, the comments from the security team that very much did not like what he was doing. "This is the mycelial network. We're in subspace. It's..." his hands move, one beneath the other, "between the normal planes of space. It's the realm connecting the roots, the mycelium of a remarkable species of fungus." Of course he knew how it sounded, but it was the truth.

He listened carefully as they walked, only very occasionally eyeing the security team. He had decided they were no longer in danger of throwing him back out and could easily be ignored. He was much, much more interested in what this Science officer had to say.

"... Between normal planes of space... connected... like... wires? There was a species, one we, um, acquired the aid of to travel across time? They are connected to every version of themselves, across all times. They are very dangerous." His brow furrowed in thought. "But they do not use fungi to communicate. I... think. And it does not explain-- it does not explain why I am here when I remember dying."

It was not the only thing this reminded him of, but he filed the superstitions away for later. He did not want to begin speaking of something he was not sure was the truth. Instead, he stopped in the middle of medbay, watching the biobed with a sudden pit of unease, and took a single step back. He looked at him helplessly.