Echoes Beyond the Veil

Posted on Tue Sep 2nd, 2025 @ 6:03am by Senior Chief Petty Officer Jadizon Enor

Mission: Lower Decks
Location: Chief of Boat's Office
Timeline: Before Tial arrival - During Ocean Post

Jadizon sat in his office, the last of the enlisted chiefs having just cleared out—the senior NCOs for Security & Tactical, Science, and Medical & Counseling. They’d spent the better part of an hour hashing out the usual: crew rotations that never quite lined up cleanly, shortages in supplies that were “critical” depending on who you asked, and the slow grind of keeping morale steady in deep space.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose before thumbing his PADD to life. The notes were as familiar as they were endless: Security wanted more phaser range time, Science needed extra hands for night-shift lab runs, and Medical was worried the corpsmen were pulling double loads after the last engagement. It was the same push and pull every COB before him had dealt with—making sure the enlisted got what they needed while keeping the whole machine moving forward.

The raktajino on his desk had gone cold, but he picked it up anyway, staring into the mug for a long moment. This was the job. He didn’t answer to the officers, not really. He answered to the crew—the ones standing the watches, pulling the rotations, keeping the Chimera alive day after day.

He set the mug down and let out a slow breath, already thinking about his next stop. There were deckplates to walk, sailors to check in on, and no shortage of gripes waiting to find his ear.

Because that’s what a Chief of the Boat did.

Jadizon winced as he refreshed his mug, the faint sting in his shoulder reminding him that Sickbay had signed off on his release, but his body wasn’t entirely convinced. The scent of freshly replicated coffee filled the small office, but he only cradled the mug in his hand, staring past it toward the viewport.

The stars slid by in their slow, steady crawl—constant, unbothered by battles, near-death, or the fragility of the people watching them. He hadn’t told them. Not Tal, not Xander, not Nadirah. For all they knew, their older brother was still raising hell on some distant deck, not flirting with the dark on a biobed while a doctor fought to keep him breathing.

His jaw tightened. Damn fools’ luck, he thought. And I haven’t even called home.

His mind drifted briefly—Tal, the by-the-book officer with a career aimed squarely at command. Xander, the academic who probably had a theory for why his heart stopped beating and a chart to go with it. And Nadirah, sharper than either of them, never shy about telling Jadizon he was too stubborn for his own good.

He turned back to his desk, set the mug down, and straightened his shoulders. “Computer,” he said, his voice firm despite the fatigue tugging at him, “open a subspace channel. Enor family order…” He paused, lips quirking at the absurdity of his own invention. “Delta-Four-One.”

The LCARS screen mounted on the bulkhead hummed to life, icons pulsing as the connection formed. Then three identifiers blinked in sequence—Commander Tal Enor, Doctor Xander Enor, Lieutenant Commander Nadirah Enor.

One by one, the displays resolved into waiting signals, ready to connect.

For the first time in days, Jadizon felt his pulse quicken—not from battle, not from pain, but from the realization that explaining his near-death to his siblings might be harder than surviving it.

The LCARS screen flickered, stabilizing into three windows side by side.

Commander Tal Enor appeared first, uniform crisp, posture as rigid as ever. His eyes narrowed the moment he saw Jadizon leaning back in his chair, mug in hand. “Senior Chief,” Tal said, the title sharp, almost pointed. “You look like hell. Report.”

Doctor Xander Enor followed, the chaos of his office obvious in the background—data PADDs, chalkboards, even a half-assembled isolinear array stacked behind him. He blinked once, then leaned forward, squinting at the image. “Jadizon, are you—” he started, then stopped, recalibrating. “You coded, didn’t you? Heart stopped. I can see it in your face. Dammit, you’re lucky to be alive.” He began muttering, already reaching for a stylus. “Neurological impact… cellular degradation… I could run a model—”

And then came Lieutenant Commander Nadirah Enor, her braid slightly undone as though she’d come from a long shift. She didn’t bother with protocol or science. She just leaned close to her console and hissed, “Jadizon Enor, what the hell did you do to yourself this time? Do you have any idea—” She broke off, shaking her head. Her eyes shimmered for half a second before hardening again. “You almost left us.”

Jadizon sat there, mug in hand, letting the storm hit him from three sides. He winced—not from his shoulder this time, but from the guilt pressing in.

He lifted the mug like it might shield him, forcing a smirk. “Miss me, did you?”

Tal didn’t smile. Xander scribbled something furiously on a PADD. Nadirah crossed her arms, waiting for him to drop the act.

For the first time in a long while, Jadizon realized he couldn’t bluff his way out of this one.

The three windows lit up like a fireworks show.

Tal’s voice snapped first. “This is exactly why I told Father you were wasting your potential in the enlisted corps—”

“Potential?” Xander interrupted, jabbing with his stylus like a weapon. “His heart stopped, Tal. Do you even understand the neurological implications of oxygen deprivation? He should be in a medbay, not drinking coffee!”

“Don’t lecture me on med protocols, Xander, you’ve never pulled a combat tour in your life,” Tal shot back.

“Oh, right, because strutting around in a pressed uniform makes you some authority on what our brother went through?” Nadirah cut in, her tone like a whip. “Maybe stop preening and actually listen for once. He nearly died.”

“All of you shut up.”

Jadizon’s voice cut across them, gravelly and louder than he intended, but it worked—the three froze mid-bicker, staring out of the screen at him.

He set his mug down, leaning forward so they could see the wear in his face. “You want the truth? Fine. I did die. Heart stopped. Lights out. And on the other side… someone was waiting.” His eyes darkened, voice dropping. “She wore a face I knew. Promised peace. Promised rest. Tried to pull me down and keep me there. And for a second…” He swallowed, jaw tightening. “For a second, I almost let her.”

The silence was thick—until Xander leaned forward. “Hallucinations. Classic neurological artifact. I’ve read papers on—”

“Hallucination, my ass,” Nadirah snapped. “He’s telling us what he felt. Stop trying to quantify it.”

“Quantify? If you don’t quantify, you can’t—”

“Gods above, do you ever shut up, Xander?”

“ENOUGH!”

Jadizon slammed his palm against the desk, the sharp crack silencing them again. His eyes swept across all three. “I didn’t call you to listen to you argue. I called because I wanted you to know. I came back. I fought it off. But I’m not the same man who went under that current. So either listen, or I’ll close this channel and you can bicker without me.”

The three siblings stared at him, chastened but simmering, their expressions still loaded with their own thoughts.

For a long moment, the three siblings were quiet. The tension bled out of the call, replaced by something heavier, steadier.

Tal sat back in his chair, shoulders easing, the sharpness gone from his tone. “All right,” he said quietly. “If you say it wasn’t just a hallucination, then it wasn’t. I’ll take you at your word, Jad.”

Xander put his stylus down, fingers drumming the edge of his desk instead of scribbling notes. “You’re alive, and that’s what matters,” he admitted, softer than before. “The rest can wait.”

Nadirah leaned closer to her console, her expression no longer scolding but concerned. “Are you okay, though? Really? And…” she hesitated, her voice gentler than any of theirs had been, “have you told Mom and the Commodore yet?”

Jadizon exhaled through his nose, leaning back in his chair with a dry chuckle that didn’t carry much humor. “No. Haven’t called Mom. And as for the Commodore? Haven’t exactly worked up the nerve. He’d just find some way to turn it into another lecture about how I should’ve gone officer.”

That earned a small, knowing smile from Nadirah. Before she could press further, Xander spoke up again, almost sheepishly. “You might want to call sooner rather than later. Word is, Dad’s name’s on the list. Rear Admiral, pending confirmation.”

Jadizon sat up a little straighter, eyebrows climbing. “Rear Admiral, huh? Guess that’ll make me the official family disappointment with a promotion gap big enough to fly a starship through.”

He reached for his coffee, muttering under his breath, “Perfect timing, as always.”

“Oldest brother, family disappointment,” Jadizon muttered into his mug. “Guess that’s carved on my headstone already.”

Tal rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You think rank is the only measure? You’re the one who taught me how to throw a punch without breaking my own hand. And last I checked, the Commodore didn’t pull you out of death’s grip—you did that yourself.”

“Exactly,” Xander added, smirking now. “You’re the walking case study I’ll never publish but will quote in every lecture. If you’re a disappointment, then I’ve got nothing to brag about at conferences.”

Nadirah leaned in closer, shaking her head. “And let’s not forget—while we’re chasing titles and careers, you’re the one out there keeping whole crews alive. You’re the anchor, Jad. You always have been.”

He looked up at the three of them, and for a moment, there wasn’t bickering—just the weight of their stares. Expectant, supportive.

“You’re the oldest,” Nadirah said softly. “And we don’t care if you’re Commodore Enor or Chief Petty Officer Enor. You’re our brother. We support your decision to stay where you belong.”

Jadizon let out a long breath, his smirk tugging into something warmer, more honest. “Damn,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You three almost sound like you mean it.”

Tal cracked the faintest grin. “For once, we do.”

Jadizon was about to thank them when Xander suddenly jolted forward, eyes wide. “Wait—wait, I have to tell you something!” His words tumbled out fast, panicked. “We’re not… we’re not exactly alone on this call.”

Nadirah narrowed her eyes, suspicion sharp as a phaser beam. “Xander. What did you do?”

He fidgeted with his stylus, cheeks flushing. “Okay, so—don’t be mad—Mom asked me to make a small… edit to the ‘Call Home’ protocol. You know, streamline things. Efficiency!” He laughed nervously. “But, uh, now whenever any of us trigger it, it also… rings her subspace line.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

“You what?” Nadirah’s voice shot up an octave, her glare drilling through the screen. “You’ve been spying for Mom?”

“I didn’t spy!” Xander squeaked, holding his hands up defensively. “She asked! And I couldn’t say no, she’s Mom!”

Tal groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. Jadizon muttered something unprintable under his breath. Nadirah was already half out of her seat, practically vibrating with fury.

All three siblings started shouting at once—accusations, insults, questions—while Xander closed his eyes and hunched like he was bracing for physical blows.

And then—beep.

A fourth window snapped open on the LCARS screen, and there she was: Katrina Enor, MD. Their mother. Poised, sharp-eyed, with that expression that froze all four of them back into children in an instant.

The chaos stopped dead.

Four grown adults sat up straighter, shoulders back, like cadets caught misbehaving on inspection day.

“...Mother,” they chorused, voices suddenly soft, respectful—Jadizon’s rough gravel, Tal’s crisp formality, Xander’s nervous squeak, and Nadirah’s sheepish tone all blending together.

The screen went silent except for Katrina’s steady breath, her gaze sweeping across her children like a tricorder cutting to the bone.

“Tal. Xander. Nadirah.” Her gaze lingered on each child in turn before finally fixing on Jadizon. “Jadizon.”

Each name was spoken with the same calm, even tone, but it carried the weight of gravity itself.

“My children.” She gave the faintest smile—soft, proud, and terrifying all at once. “It’s good to see you.”

The siblings shifted nervously. Xander fiddled with his stylus. Tal sat ramrod straight. Nadirah clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Even Jadizon, hardened and scarred, straightened in his chair as if he were back under her roof.

Her eyes finally locked on him. “Jadizon,” she said gently, her voice like silk over steel. “Are you… truly all right?”

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the smile vanished. Her tone sharpened into that unmistakable maternal scolding.

“Because I had to hear from your brother’s protocol hack that you nearly died and decided not to inform me. You—” she swept her gaze across all four of them now, the mother’s wrath equal-opportunity—“all of you. How dare you keep this from me? Do you think I am too fragile to know when one of my children is at death’s door? Or perhaps you thought I would be too busy to care?”

Her eyes narrowed, the calm edge of her voice somehow more cutting than shouting could ever be. “You are Enors. My Enors. And yet here you sit, bickering like cadets instead of standing together.”

The siblings glanced at each other, each of them looking suddenly smaller on the screen, caught between shame and guilt.

Jadizon closed his eyes for a moment, drawing a slow breath before forcing himself to meet her gaze. His voice, rough but steady, dropped the formality his siblings always seemed to cling to. “Mom.”

The word landed heavy in the silence, cutting through the tension. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “They didn’t keep it from you. None of them did. Truth is… they didn’t even know. Hell, I barely know. It just happened, and it was over before it could even hit the Chimera’s roster updates. My heart stopped, sure, but not long enough for Starfleet Command to notice a thing.”

He exhaled, a faint, humorless smile tugging at his mouth. “This call? That’s me telling you. Because I had a moment. And I needed you to hear it from me—not a damn report.”

For the first time since appearing on the screen, Katrina’s expression softened, some of the steel giving way to warmth. She tilted her head slightly, her voice still calm but carrying a thread of emotion. “Then there is only one question that matters,” she said. “Who was the wonderful Starfleet doctor who brought my son back? Because on Betazed, saving a life—especially one of mine—is worthy of a medal.”

Her gaze flicked briefly toward Tal, Xander, and Nadirah, then back to Jadizon. “And I intend to see she is properly thanked.”

Jadizon rubbed the back of his neck, eyes flicking down for a moment before finding his mother’s again. “That’s… another reason I called.” His voice softened, the usual gravel tempered with something rougher, more vulnerable. “Doctor Kellerman. Kally. She was the one who pulled me back. Stubborn as hell, wouldn’t let go, even when the odds were slipping.”

He huffed out a short breath, shaking his head. “I owe her more than words. More than a medal. And maybe… maybe I owe her more than I’ve admitted, even to myself.”

There was a beat of silence, and then—

“Oooh, oooh!” Xander piped up, grinning like a schoolboy and jabbing a finger toward the screen. “He’s in love!”

Tal groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stars above, Xander, you’re a physicist, not a child.”

Nadirah smirked, arms folding across her chest. “He’s not wrong, though. Look at Jadizon blushing.”

“I’m not blushing,” Jadizon shot back, though the flush creeping up his neck betrayed him. He scowled half-heartedly, muttering under his breath, “Knew I’d regret calling all three of you at once…”

Katrina only watched him, her smile quiet, knowing, and somehow more terrifying than any scolding she’d given before.

Katrina’s smile lingered, softer now but no less piercing. She tilted her head just so, eyes narrowing like she was peering straight past the screen and into her eldest son’s chest. “Jadizon,” she said, her voice velvet wrapped in iron, “you speak her name with weight. Gratitude, yes. But there is something more, isn’t there?”

Jadizon shifted in his chair, scowl tugging at his mouth as if it might shield him. “Mom…” he muttered, the warning clear in his tone.

But Nadirah pounced, smirk widening. “She’s right. You wouldn’t have called her out to us if it was just about thanks.” She leaned forward, eyes glittering with curiosity. “So tell me, brother—are you ready to perform the Zheraya’Tel? To open yourself fully, as only a Betazoid bond allows? Is she the one?”

Tal coughed into his fist, uncomfortable, while Xander grinned like a cadet catching gossip in the mess hall.

Jadizon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Stars damn it, Nadi… leave it to you to cut right to the bone.” His eyes flicked back to the screen, voice rough. “I don’t know if she’s ‘the one.’ I just know she kept me tethered when I wanted to let go. And if that doesn’t mean something… maybe it should.”

The screen fell quiet again, each sibling watching him, the weight of his words sinking in. Katrina’s gaze was steady, her smile still gentle but laced with something deeper—approval, perhaps, or hope.

Katrina’s smile softened, though her gaze stayed sharp. “The Zheraya’Tel is no small thing, Jadizon,” she said gently. “It is not flowers and whispered promises. It is sacred. It is binding. To lay your heart open to another is to risk them holding it forever—or shattering it.”

She leaned slightly forward, the weight of her presence pressing through the subspace channel. “Our people do not perform it lightly. Not for gratitude. Not for fleeting affection. Only when the soul knows.”

Nadirah gave a small nod, her smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “She’s right, Jad. It’s not a question of if she saved your life—it’s whether you want her bound to it.”

Tal looked down, silent, but there was the faintest hint of a nod. Even Xander, for once, wasn’t smiling.

Jadizon sat back in his chair, staring at his cold coffee, his jaw working as if chewing on words that didn’t want to come out. He finally looked back at the screen. “I hear you,” he said gruffly. “I know what it means. And I’m not rushing it. But I’m not dismissing it either. Not after… what happened.”

Katrina’s expression warmed, pride tempered with that quiet steel. “Good. Think on it. Let it sit. If she is the one, you will know. And when you do—you will not need to ask us.”

For the first time in the whole call, Jadizon managed a small, honest smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

Xander broke the silence first, leaning back with that grin creeping back onto his face. “Still sounds to me like he’s in loooove.”

Tal rolled his eyes. “For once in your life, could you not sound like you’re twelve?”

Nadirah smirked, elbowing the air as if she could jab them both. “Leave him alone. If he’s found someone willing to put up with him, that’s practically a Federation miracle.”

The siblings chuckled, and even Jadizon gave a small grunt of laughter. But the moment didn’t last.

Katrina’s head turned slightly, as though she were acknowledging someone just out of view. Then she looked back at the four of them, her calm tone dropping the weight of a photon torpedo. “And your father has been listening long enough to hear his eldest nearly died.”

The screen adjusted, and beside her, another window slid open: Commodore Nevin Enor, Starfleet Command. Immaculate uniform, piercing eyes, and a presence that filled the channel even before he spoke.

“Children,” he said, voice low but commanding.

“Father,” Tal greeted quickly, sitting straighter.

“Father,” Xander echoed, voice suddenly much smaller.

“Father,” Nadirah said smoothly, with only a hint of edge.

Jadizon leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly. “Commodore.”

There was a pause, thick as duranium.

Xander coughed into his hand. “Well, I… actually have to run simulations to review. Long night ahead.” He gave a too-quick smile. “Glad you’re alive, Jad. Don’t scare us like that again.” With that, his window blinked out.

Tal cleared his throat, eyes flicking to their father’s stern face. “I’m due back on duty. Jad… I’m proud you’re still with us. Stay steady.” His channel followed, cutting off before anyone could reply.

Nadirah lingered a second longer, her expression soft as she looked at Jadizon. “Don’t make me chase you into the afterlife again, brother. I’m glad you’re here.” Then she dipped her head toward their father. “Father.” Her screen went dark.

The room fell quieter, the subspace channel now showing only Katrina and Nevin.

Jadizon’s jaw tightened, his eyes never leaving the Commodore’s. “Well. Guess it’s just us now, Commodore.”

Nevin’s image sharpened as the Commodore leaned forward, his voice carrying that cool command tone that could cut through a storm. “You nearly died,” he said flatly. “And not in Sickbay or at your post—you were out front. Leading an away team. Giving orders like you were some junior officer running a bridge drill. Except you weren’t on a bridge, were you, Jadizon? You were in the line of fire, and you treated it like a command exercise.”

Jadizon’s jaw tightened, shoulders squaring as he leaned back in his chair. “Someone had to step up. Security was stretched thin. Valleroy was already on his team, and the crew needed another lead to keep the group together. I didn’t put myself there to play captain, Commodore—I did it to make sure my people came back alive.”

Nevin’s eyes narrowed, voice lowering. “You’ve always done this. Throw yourself into the breach, take the hits, carry the weight. But a Chief of the Boat isn’t supposed to act like the tip of the spear. You’re supposed to hold the ship together. And instead, you’re out there trying to play hero.”

Jadizon’s expression hardened, his voice gravel but steady. “With all due respect, Commodore, I didn’t have the luxury of sitting behind a desk and giving orders from orbit. I was there. I saw the crew in that fire, cut off and cornered. And if I hadn’t made the call to step in, we’d be counting body bags instead of survivors. That’s my job—keeping them alive, however it takes.”

Katrina shifted slightly beside Nevin, her presence a quiet balance, but her eyes stayed fixed on Jadizon—soft, proud, and worried all at once.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was the sound of father and son locking horns, the clash of two very different kinds of duty.

The silence stretched until Katrina’s hand, firm and deliberate, came down on Nevin’s arm with a sharp smack. He glanced at her, surprised, but she didn’t flinch—her dark eyes pinned him like he was just another stubborn patient in her clinic.

“Enough, Nevin,” she said, her voice cutting clean through the air. “You are not Commodore Enor right now. You are his father. And your son is sitting here, alive by a thread, while you lecture him like it’s a staff meeting. Stop it.”

For the first time, Nevin’s hard posture eased. His eyes softened as he turned back to Jadizon. The command mask slipped just slightly, and what remained was something rarely seen outside their home—a father’s worry.

“You scared us, son,” Nevin admitted, his tone quieter, warmer. “More than you know. And… I’m glad you’re still here.”

Jadizon sat back, surprised by the shift, then gave a small nod. His lips curved into the faintest grin. “Well, if that isn’t a miracle—the great Commodore finally sounding human.” He let out a low chuckle. “Congratulations, by the way. Heard you’re on the shortlist for Rear Admiral.”

Nevin exhaled, almost smiling himself. “It’s not official yet. And besides…” He paused, his eyes holding Jadizon’s. “Rank aside, I’m just grateful you’re alive. Grateful you’re still fighting. And if in the middle of all this you’ve found someone who makes you want to hold on a little tighter—well, I’d call that a victory greater than any promotion.”

Katrina’s hand slipped from Nevin’s arm, her expression softening as the room quieted. For once, there was no lecture, no clash—just a family moment hanging across the subspace channel.

Silence, then Katrina smiled knowingly, letting him keep his mystery. “Very well, my son. We’ll be ready to welcome whoever walks beside you.”

Nevin inclined his head, his tone steady but warmer now. “Just make sure you walk through that door alive, Jadizon. That’s all I ask.”

Jadizon raised his cold mug in a mock toast. “Alive and stubborn. That’s my specialty.” He let a faint grin tug at the corner of his mouth. “Tell the others I’ll be ready when the Gathering comes. And until then—stay out of trouble. I’d hate to miss my own family reunion because my parents got themselves written up.”

That earned the faintest laugh from Katrina, and even Nevin’s stern mask cracked into something like a smile.

“Be well, my son,” Katrina said softly.

“Chief,” Nevin added with a small nod.

“Mom. Commodore,” Jadizon replied, his tone rough but respectful. He gave the screen one last look before the subspace channel closed and the LCARS display dimmed, leaving him alone again in the quiet hum of his office.

For the first time since waking in Sickbay, he felt steady. Not whole, not healed—but steady.

When the screen finally dimmed and the LCARS hum faded back into the silence, Jadizon sat motionless, mug still in his hand. The reflection in the viewport caught him—a man who had brushed shoulders with death, stared into its hollow eyes, and nearly let himself be taken. The memory of that dark entity whispered still, curling at the edge of his thoughts, its promises heavy.

And then Kally. The steady hands. The voice that anchored him when the void nearly swallowed him whole. He owed her more than a life—he owed her honesty. The call home had only made that clearer. His siblings’ teasing, his mother’s piercing intuition, the Commodore’s sharp edge—it had all hammered the truth into him. If he had any bond to make, it wasn’t with the dead. It was with the living.

Jadizon exhaled, long and low, forcing the weight out of his chest. He set the cold coffee aside, dragged a hand down his face, and shook his head to clear it. Enough ghosts. Enough second-guessing.

He turned back to his desk, gathered the scattered PADDs, and sat down. Crew rotations, supply logs, duty rosters—the work waited, and so did his crew.

The Chief of the Boat was back on the clock.