People in the Streets
Posted on Tue Aug 4th, 2026 @ 9:18pm by Zhara t'Reiza & Jarron von Münsterland
1,863 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission:
Intermission: Safe Haven
Location: New Haven
While his father and Savin has gone to the medical facility, and Jerant had run off to explore, Jarron was left all by himself in the middle of what appears to be a square. There were streets running to every direction with the odd placement of stacked buildings. Everywhere he looked there were people, but they didn't really seem to pay attention to an alien teenager left by himself.
He was fortunate to have a universal translator in his Starfleet badge, but otherwise he didn't really stand out in his civilian attire. The only thing that really set him apart was the forlorn expression on his face as he tried to decide where to go.
In between and around a couple of the buildings was a cacophony of noise and movement of young children, in what appeared to be the relative absence of adults. Some were sitting in the dirt in small groups playing, others running around with one another or tossing balls or such back and forth in a variety of games; and a few collections of toddlers and preschool age kids were corralled closer to the building walls. Presiding over the whole scene appeared to be several rather bored looking adolescents, one of whom, ringed by a few kids who might have been somewhere between 6 and 12, had just finished scratching a grid of sorts into the dirt that the children were now taking turns throwing rocks into, trying to land them in certain squares.
Given that there weren't that many of them in the grand scheme of things, Zhara, by now, knew - or at least knew of - all the other teenagers on the planet. The boy she noticed approaching was not one of them, and caution and curiosity warred with one another in her head before finally splitting the difference, stepping away from the kids slightly to meet him as he approached. One pert eyebrow climbed a bit noticing the boy's rounded ears, and one hand moved by reflex closer to where she could draw her blade from concealment if she had to. "Who're you?"
Startled, the boy whirled around to face her, dark eyes wide in surprise as she'd been able to get so close without him noticing. "Jarron," he stammered, unconsciously taking a step back. "We just arrived, my dad is on the medical team. I'm Jarron, Jarron Von Münsterland." He offered a sheepish smile as he realised his last name was a bit of a tongue twister. "Just Jarron is fine," he offered, "who're you?"
"Zhara." Few things spread faster in a small settlement than gossip; so given the arrival of a ship recently, she was starting to lean towards the boy not being an immediate threat. And anyone, at this point, closer to her own age was a lot more interesting than yet another mind-numbing hour of talking to little kids, and her eyes landed on the ears again. "How'd you end up coming here?"
"We got here on a transport. Me, dad, Lieutenant Commander Savin and Mister Van Rijn. I guess Starfleet sent them though dad's a civilian doctor. I guess they're sent to help and I went along. Didn't really want to be stuck on Betazed any longer with my aunt. I want to be out here, with dad, and learn stuff as I go rather than be struck in a room and having my mind picked apart by Betazoids. Full Betazoids anyway. How'd you get here? How old are you? I'm fourteen."
As the 'how'd you get here' inquiry; Zhara fixed Jarron with a look that one did not need to be a telepath to interpret; one which tended to be fairly similar across many humanoid species and translate roughly as 'how dense are you?!?'. "Also fourteen. And I got here the obvious way, for the obvious reason that my planet doesn't exist anymore."
"Oh..." Jarron looked away, properly contrite. "I'm sorry, but that's not what I mean... Did you come by transport, one of the evacuation vessels?" He looked up at her, still not quite sure how to hold himself now. "It was my dad's planet too," he finally confessed, "he doesn't talk about it though, and I don't ask."
"Yeah." The answer to the first question was quickly followed by a significantly elevated eyebrow at the second part of the statement. "...You just somehow not inherit the ears?" Pity, if so, she thought; round ears weren't nearly as attractive.
"Heh, I wish," the boy laughed, "but no. I was adopted when I was about five years old or so. It's a really long story...my birth father is Human, my mother Betazoid. My transport crashed on this frozen outpost, and my guardian was killed. My ah..now dad rescued me and nearly got killed himself." He purposefully left a lot out, also because plenty of it was beyond his recollection as he has been only five at the time. "Dad's Romulan, well half anyway."
"Oh." There was definitely more of a story there, Zhara thought; though she supposed it possibly explained how someone ended up thinking they'd be a good choice to send here. Even accounting for that, though; he definitely mostly moved and held himself weird. Like, well, an alien. Which led to her next guess. "....You weren't raised in our space, were you?"
"Your space?" Now it was Jarron's turn to arch an eyebrow at her. "What do you mean, your space? I was born on Vulcan, and partially raised there, then moved to a ship and I spent the last six years on Betazed. I don't really understand what you're trying to ask here ..."
"Are you trying to act stupid?" The eyebrow arched again, this time in a less inquisitive and more annoyed way. "I mean what it sounds like I mean. That you weren't raised in Romulan space. Your accent is the weird one that tends to pop up through the translator, for one."
"I just told you..." Typical teenage frustration emerged as he didn't appreciate being called stupid. "Vulcan, Federation Starships and Betazed. Dad never spoke Rihanssu to me, well not much anyway so my linguistics are limited to Standard and Betazoid." He did the opposite and frowned at her in equal annoyance. "I'm obviously not Romulan...not trying to be either so don't worry." Annoyance was followed by another emotion though: loneliness. He was alone...never really fitting in anywhere.
This answer, if anything, led to a rather confused expression crossing over Zhara's face; considering that Jarron's father didn't exactly sound like a great parent if he couldn't even bother to teach his own language to his kid, adopted or not, raised in exile or not; and she couldn't stop herself from asking the next obvious question in her head given that; the more she learned about this kid, the weirder he seemed. "So he didn't teach you the language. Did he teach you...anything? Or do you just know Federation stuff?"
"Sure he did," Jarron answered defensively, "I know sign and we often speak telepathically, and he had no use for Romulan language in the federation now did he? He's a surgeon and he worked in a sickbay." It was obvious the boy was proud of his father and wouldn't hear ill spoken of him. "He's taught me to read and write, and he's taught me to treat people right."
"That's...not exactly what I meant." Zhara sighed; but she didn't really even know how to go about explaining all the myriad things she had meant; and also was fairly certain if he didn't already know that her mother would not be happy with her if she did try to explain them, either. What he didn't know...well, could remain unknown. Most of it, anyway; she could still think of one glaring potential exception that probably shouldn't stay that way; unless the tech he had was fancier than she thought. "Can that translator do text, too? Like, can it tell you what all the signs say? Or not?"
"No UT doesn't do text but that's what a tricorder is for." He produced the small Federation standard scanner, it's grey case gleaming as though it was brand new. "Dad gave me this to help me out," he smiled, holding the tricorder as though it was something very precious. "I know how to use one of these, mostly anyway so I'm sure it'll help translate things." He grinned now. "Until I learn to read them for myself, which probably won't be long as I think we'll be here for a while so I have to learn. I don't suppose you're willing to help me with that?"
"Sure." Zhara shrugged both eyebrows up-and-down, then attempted the gesture, awkwardly, the way she'd seen some of the humans do it, with her shoulders. "We don't really have an actual school here so everyone helps teach the little kids how to read and write, anyways." Her next words could have been echoed by nearly any adolescent of most species, throughout both time and space. "And I am getting really sick of little kids. Will be a nice change of pace not to have to listen to the sort of insane stuff three year olds say when you try to teach them anything. Or just say, regardless of what you're doing."
"Well...since I don't understand your language and I can't read it, it's probably just as bad eventually," Jarron grinned. "Perhaps we can both entertain the little ones while you teach me? Gives you a purpose and then some educational fun? Heck, maybe you can tell them to help the ignorant one here...right?"
"Asking three-year-olds for help with anything - or asking them anything, period - tends to yield bad results, clarity and goal wise; their response makes zero sense at least half the time. Six-year-olds, maybe, though." It was a wearier tone discongruent from the youthful visage saying it; the sort of thing said by someone who has spent immense quantities of time in the vicinity of toddlers lately and discovered they are effectively random chaos generators. "I don't suppose you know Vulcan?" Zhara didn't; but she did know the two languages were closely related; which meant the boy's pickup might be quicker, if he did.
"Sadly no, not more than a handful. But we got time, I don't think we'll be leaving anytime soon. I don't think Starfleet sends people only to reassign them in a few days, do you?" Jarron shrugged. "So, where do we start?"
By way of an answer, Zhara took a few steps back towards the knot of kids and reached inside a large tote bag of toys, education, and childcare supplies lying in the dirt near the edge of one of the buildings, drawing out a battered set of flashcards of sorts and tossing them to Jarron with a grin. "With the alphabet."
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