Part of Montana Station: Task Force 21 Shore Leave and Bravo Fleet: Shore Leave 2402

Checkout

Janor III - Hotel Lanea's Victory
August 10, 2402
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Captain Raku Mobra stepped forward as the officer ahead of him shouldered a carrying case and walked away from the gated path. The next available host greeted him. It felt like he had been waiting forever. Now at the head of the short queue, Mobra found himself held within the rich warmth of Hotel Lanea’s Victory’s reception hall. The walls and counter were sheathed in polished wooden panels. Their swirling grain caught the ambient light in a soft, honeyed glow. The woodwork was interrupted by occasional brushed bronze inlays. Slender, geometric lines drew the eye without being too ostentatious.

The captain could glimpse into the lobby outside of the line through a wide, open arch. Elegant furniture was upholstered in nearly black-blue and muted amber tones. Each set was arranged in conversational clusters around low tables of smoked glass and pale stone. The lighting was layered. Subtle illumination angled upwards from inlaid fixtures in the baseboards. Their glow met that of pendant fixtures high above. Each was concealed beneath sculpted glass shades shaped like inverted blossoms.

An understated floral note from a discreet arrangement on the counter caught the attention of Raku’s ridged nose. The arrangement featured three white orchids in a narrow ceramic vase. A piano’s gentle melody drifted from hidden speakers. It’s slow, jazzy rhythm could barely be heard over the chaos of the lobby.

A man behind the counter straightened and looked towards Raku, as a pair of newly married tactical officers left his stall. “Next.” His green eyes held a patient look of warmth. Wavy auburn hair was neatly cropped into a swish that crossed his brow. Formal clothing comprised of a gray suit with the hotel’s insignia pinned upon his left breast. He looked to be in his late thirties. Freckled hands rested on the counter’s edge.

His nametag read Ciarán Foley.

Raku withdrew a slim, matte-black key card from his black jacket’s inner pocket and placed it on the polished surface between them. “Checking out.” The bass in his voice reverberated off the wood in he room.

Ciarán’s fingers brushed the key card once, more from habit than necessity. He offered an easy smile. “Everything is already taken care of, Captain. You’re all set.”

A brow ridge arched slightly, as surprise flickered across Raku’s features. “Is that so? Well, thank you.” His tone carried genuine appreciation. The gesture was unexpected even for a man used to certain courtesies.

Ciarán inclined his head. “It is always a pleasure to host a Starfleet guest. If you don’t mind my question, please. Tell me. How was your stay?”

“My visit was excellent,” Raku replied without hesitation. “You have a fine establishment here. I especially enjoyed the food festival the concierge suggested. The food here was amazing as well. I’m surprised how much fresh, non-replicated food you served us. You’ve got an impressive variety of culinary talent gathered within this little township.”

Ciarán’s eyes brightened. “I’m glad you caught that. A lot of our guests say the festival is one of the reasons they book a room, especially during this time of year.”

Raku allowed himself the faintest smile. “The gathering here was a fine excuse to step away from the ship. I also managed to transport over to Morgan Township for the Verdant Thorn concert.”

The auburn-haired man chuckled. His posture relaxed along with the timber of his voice. “An Orion heavy metal band, if I’m remembering correctly? That must have been something to see!”

Raku gave a slow nod. The corners of his mouth quirked upwards. “The band put on quite the performance. I’ll admit, the music wasn’t exactly restful. Nor soothing. But their energy is unmatched. The crowd was almost as much a part of the show as the musicians themselves. The dancing. The shouting. I can’t describe it.”

“That’s the best kind of live act.” Ciarán’s professional tone now reflected a trace of genuine curiosity. “If you don’t mind another question.. Was there anything you’d change about your visit here?”

The Captain released a low, almost reluctant burst of guilty laughter at his thoughts. “The only change I’d make is to stay longer. But”, his eyes shifted briefly toward the doors. The bustle of departing officers was visible as they exited the lobby. “Duty calls.”

Ciarán nodded with sympathy in his expression. “Then at least let me invite you to enjoy the replicator in the side alcove before you leave. We’ve programmed it with a rotating menu of refreshing drinks. There are fruit infusions, herbal teas and even a few specialty snacks. A good way to send you back to duty is with something pleasant in hand.”

“That is thoughtful,” Raku said as he inclined his head slightly. “I appreciate that and will take you up on it.”

The Captain stepped toward the alcove just to the right of the counter. A small recess held a compact replicator unit framed in the same patterned wood paneling as the reception desk. The space was just large enough for one person at a time, lending it an air of privacy. Raku keyed in a selection from the day’s list. Iced zher-berry tea sounded refreshing. He waited as the cup materialized into a cup of pale lavender liquid.

The first sip was faintly sweet, with a cooling herbal undertone. Cradling the cup, Raku returned to the counter to offer Ciarán a final nod. “You have my thanks for the hospitality and the drink.”

“Safe travels, Captain,” Ciarán replied. His green eyes beamed. “May duty treat you kindly until you can get away again.”

Raku stepped away from the counter and into the main corridor leading toward the hotel’s front exit. The space stretched long and straight. Polished wooden walls were occasionally broken by alcoves where small benches and narrow tables stood ready for lingering guests. Light streamed down from a series of elongated skylights set into the ceiling. Theis shadows cast warm patterns across the corridor floor.

Officers from half a dozen different ships were in the process of checking out. Conversations overlapped in a muted hum. Raku could hear snatches of farewells, quick confirmations of transport schedules and the occasional good-natured joke.

Raku passed a Bolian lieutenant with an overstuffed duffel slung across one shoulder. A pair of Tellarite engineers were locked in an animated debate about which starport restaurant was most worth revisiting. A tall Vulcan science officer walked in quiet step with her human counterpart. All of them seemed to share the same faint reluctance to leave.

The corridor gradually widened toward its far end. A set of double doors waited beneath a window etched with the hotel’s insignia. Two massive potted plants flanked the doorway. Their broad green leaves rustled faintly in the recycled breeze.

As the captain reached the doors, the gentle buzz of those behind him grew more distant. The panel recognized his approach and slid the doors open. As he stepped into the wind, he opened his jacket and tapped the commbadged pinned within. “Raku to Cardinal, beam me to my room.” He took a sip while he waited.

He felt the soft hum of the transporter’s rays fade him away. Janoor III was replaced by the comfortable stillness of his private quarters aboard the Nebula-class vessel. In the lingering shimmer of the residual energy, a muted scent met his nose.

The source stood proudly just inside the threshold a he materialized. A large flowering fern featured colors of deep jade edged with faint copper-red. Each tip was beaded with minute droplets of moisture from the automatic watering system. Delicate star-shaped blooms in pale lavender burst from central stalks that rose upwards between foliage. Lieutenant T’Naagi had given this plant to him after the Blackout. It was a species from Vondem that thrived on low gravity and filtered sunlight.

He paused for a moment before allowing himself to smile at his home.

The captain’s quarters opened into a broad, suite-like living area with soft arcs and sweeping lines that mirrored the ship’s own saucer section. The walls here were a subtle cream with just a hint of gold undertone, warmed by accents of brushed metal along the bulkhead edges. Low, deep chairs upholstered in russet-hued fabric flanked a glass table etched with Bajoran knotwork patterns. To either side, wide archways led into his two bedrooms.

Three meter tall windows slightly bowed inwards. They framed the wide, gleaming sphere of Janoor III like a painted masterpiece. From this angle, the Cardinal’s saucer was angled downward. The planet’s sleek curve filled the viewport. Beyond, the planet’s blue seas and emerald landmasses swirled with slow, milky clouds. Every detail vivid against the vast, empty blackness of space. The view was so large and sharp that he almost forgot he was aboard a ship at all.

Yet the space felt hollow. Too quiet. His footsteps made no echo, but the emptiness pressed in like an overwhelming presence.

He moved toward the archway on the left, into his personal bedroom. The parchment-shaded walls reflected a subtle glow from inset panel lighting. Garnet accents rimmed the bed’s headboard and low dresser. Dark khaki bedding, with the faintest olive undertone, was offset by smaller pillows in rich burgundy. A sleek workstation sat in the corner. The opposite wall contained a built-in display that featured star charts and mission readouts.

He set his hands on his hips and let the quiet hang for a few moments longer before sighing. The fern was lovely. The room was exactly as he’d left it. None of it dulled the sense of absence that clung to him.

Crossing back to the main room, he tapped the small console near the window and opened a comm channel. A moment later, Greta’s face appeared. The luminous-eyed, dark-haired woman’s features warmed at the sight of the captain. Lighting in her quarters bounced off faint highlights in her hair.

“Captain.” Her voice carried a warmth that made his chest tighten a fraction. “How are you?”

“I should ask you that,” Raku said with a faint smile. “How are you holding up?”

“I miss you,” she said softly. “And I’m still… tired, if I’m honest. The past few nights were a bit much, in the best way.” Her eyes held his for a beat too long to be casual.

He chuckled and leaned one shoulder back against the wall. “I wish you could be here on the Cardinal. I think you’d love the view.”

“Are you leaving yet?” she asked as she tilted her head slightly.

“Not yet,” he replied. “There’s still business to handle nearby. Some of the crew who were on Eldor are getting a few extra days. It’s back to work for most of us, though.” His tone softened on the last words. He had been reluctant to admit this even to himself.

“Well,” she said with a gentle smile, “maybe I’ll see you again before you go.”

“I’ll try,” he promised. “At least one more time.”

“You’d better,” she teased. Her tone had become more quiet, but perked up with playfulness. “This won’t be the last of me, you know.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” Raku appeared relieved as his bushy brows relaxed on her words.

They stayed silent for a few seconds, just watching each other. They said their final parting words before she gave him a final smile and closed the channel.

Raku turned to look toward the fern in the corner. His bags shimmered into being a moment later in a cascade of blue light. He stepped forward to unfasten the first latch. His hands lingered for a beat as his mind focused on the mysterious woman. He realized he didn’t even know her last name.

He began to unpack as the quiet of the quarters settled around him once more.

Raku set a rectangular travel case on the low table by the viewport and unlatched the clasps with a barely audible click. The first layer of clothes was folded in neat, tight squares. Some fabric seemed to still carry faint traces of wood smoke from the past few days. He brushed his fingers over the top shirt before lifting it out. It was made of soft, black cotton. The shirt was emblazoned with the stylized, jagged green emblem of the Orion band Verdant Thorn. The concert’s name read below in Orion script formed into the shape of a scroll. It translated to ‘A New Day for Janoor III’. The faint scent of festival torches and burnt herbs still clung to it. He set it aside reverently. The triplet-laced pulse of the bass guitar beat through his memory. The echo of the crowd’s roar alongside the Jasnea River could almost be heard.

Beneath it lay a bundle of smaller items wrapped in cloth from the market stalls. He loosened one with care. The bundle revealed a narrow wooden figurine carved into the shape of a soaring avian. Its wings cut in deep, graceful arcs. Delicate grain formed a pattern that shifted as the figure moved under the light. Raku remembered the vendor’s stand set against a backdrop of vine-draped archways. The air was thick with the perfume of flowering herbs from a nearby florist. He remembered how the merchant’s calloused hands delicately wrapped the piece.

A flash of silk colors peeked from another corner of the case. Raku lifted it out, and let the soft garland unfurl. A necklace of yellow-gold silk petals layered with deeper crimson edging was dotted with seedlike beads. The piece had been draped over his shoulders at a sprawling beachside barbecue where laughter had mingled with the crackle of open flames. It was the first time he’d ever tried roasted fruit. He stroked his earing in reminiscence as he remembered leaning back in a wicker chair. The horizon was painted in an orange-pink haze on the last sunset before his final morning.

Tucked into the lining of the case was a folded map printed on sturdy paper. Its glossy surface was creased from use. Victory Park Food Festival was printed across the top in stylized lettering. The pamphlet was ringed with illustrations of laden plates. The captain could almost see steam rising from the holo-photos. He opened it across his lap and traced the loops of shaded paths that wound from the border’s groves into the large meadow central to the park. Tiny icons marked a variety of stalls. His favorite seafood spot stood at one bend. Spiced Bajoran breads that reminded him of home on Free Haven were located towards the east. A large icon marked the shaded pavilion where a music stage had stood under strings of paper lanterns. He could almost hear the hum of conversation again. He remembered how visually stunning and colorful it was to experience the variety of vendors on display.

A small rectangular container made of dark polished resin was buried in the padded corner of the case. He popped the clasp and eased it open. Two slender bottles of rare liquor sat nestled within thick black foam.. Glass containers were tinted amber-brown with etched stoppers shaped like frilled leaves. The labels were hand-lettered in an elegant script that the Bajoran couldn’t read without a translator. The vendor mentioned that the beverage was distilled from a fruit that only grew in the cliffside terraces of Janoor III’s southern hemisphere. He ran a thumb along the cool glass and imagined the warmth that would bloom in his chest after the first sip.

Piece by piece, the captain set each item carefully on the low table. He arranged them in a neat semicircle. The concert shirt lay folded beside the floral garland. The figurine stood upright at the center. The festival map was draped over the table’s edge next to the closed resin box. Each piece held the essence of a moment that was already beginning to slip deep into Raku’s memory. Thoughts of the planet outside felt like distant pinpricks of starlight that faded as a ship away at full impulse.

Raku leaned back in the chair and let his gaze drift past the souvenirs, outside through the viewport. Janoor III still hung there in serene blues and greens. Its clouds swirled like pale brushstrokes over the continent’s shape. The planet looked impossibly still from here. He thought of Greta’s voice from moments earlier. The thought they might stay in touch gave him a hopeful outlook.

His fingers absently found the edge of the floral necklace and twisted the silk between his thumb and forefinger. The next few days would be full of meetings and reports. The steady cadence of shipboard routine would soon replace the chaotic charm of festival crowds and resort life.

The once barren table in front of him now felt alive with the flavor of the trip. He could almost convince himself he’d only stopped at his room for a short rest before heading back out into the noise of the townships’ paths. Almost.

He rose and carried the shirt and map to a narrow storage shelf near the wall. He placed the shirt carefully on a hanger and smoothed the fabric. He slid the map into the clear sleeve of a personal archive binder, its folds flattened under the transparent sheet. The garland hung on a hook just inside the entry. The next time he stepped in from duty, its bright petals might startle him with a pleasant memory.

The figurine and liquor were set on a shelf beside the viewport. Light from the planet glowed through the amber bottles. The setup wasn’t quite a shrine. It did give Raku a calming space of reflection.

When the case was finally empty, he closed it and set it by the door for its return to storage. His quarters felt less like the impersonal space he’d left behind. Fragments of the last few days now anchored him to his getaway.

The echo of leaving something behind lingered.

He stood a moment longer by the viewport. His deep brown eyes rested on Janoor III until he finally turned towards the bedroom. Whatever tomorrow offered was rapidly approaching. At least tonight, he could sleep in the shadows of the blossoming colony below.