Preface:
As a long-time Star Trek fan, one who spent much of my adolescence reading TOS, TNG and DS9 novels, and who currently enjoys a good fanfiction set in that fabulous future universe, I have searched for stories featuring those mysterious blue aliens, the Andorians. With some notable exceptions, such stories are few and far between, so I was inspired to write my own. This is a first attempt at fiction-writing on my part – my writing in the past has been solely of an analytical nature – so I ask the reader's indulgence if it takes me a while to find my feet, stylistically speaking. I welcome feedback, constructive criticism, and corrections regarding science (I am sure I will make some blunders!) and Star Trek canon.
Notes:
Although some in the Star Trek fandom have created a vision of Andorian biology involving four sexes and a very complicated procreation process – some of the DS9 novels feature this idea, and the trouble it brings to Andorian society – I've never found this interpretation of the idea of quad marriages quite convincing, and have opted for a less biological interpretation here. In my fiction, these marriages are a social response to the incredibly harsh climate of Andoria, in which parents were often killed before their offspring reached maturity. For social stability, as well as the survival of the species, two mated sexual pairs would form a larger social union, or marriage, in which all four parents would be care-givers and have responsibility for all of the offspring, whether their own biological children or not.
I have used a variety of sources as inspiration, and am still doing research, but I wanted to get going with my writing, so some things may change in the interim. Influences include: Andorians: Among the Clans, a guide published by Last Unicorn Games as part of their Star Trek roleplaying game; various online sources; and Indignant Lemur's excellent (but unfinished) Andorian fanfiction, Émigré.
Acknowledgements:
A debt of gratitude is owed to Indignant Lemur, for her writing about Andorians, which inspired me to attempt my own.
I wholeheartedly thank my proofreaders and editors: Casper, Chelsea, Kei and Lisa – you all are the best!
Tradition - Chapter One: Two Roads Lead to Coridan
It was a wet and miserable day in South Shengar, one of the most notorious of the impoverished shantytowns that encircled the capital city of Coridan, clinging to the outskirts of that prosperous metropolis as a thief would to his victim's coats. Like most of the outlying districts, Shengar was known for its thieves, but it was also home to the largest black market on the planet, as well as some of the more determined rebel factions - groups whose terror campaigns kept the city on constant alert. There was little activity today however, whether clandestine or otherwise, as the pouring rain and sodden ground kept most of the locals inside their metal-roofed shacks. The narrow alleyways were dark and deserted, save for a single solitary figure, clothed entirely in black, and standing motionless underneath an overhanging metal sheet. Leaning casually against the wall under whose roof he sheltered, the man, whose blue skin and slender antennae marked him as an alien, looked to be lost in thought. Appearances can be deceptive, however, and it would have been a very skilled operative indeed, who could have approached that particular man and taken him unawares.
Commander Tholos Dara of the Imperial Warship Ramat - for that was the name of the blue-skinned stranger - considered himself a traditional Andorian, whatever the demands his keth and calling made upon him. Although it was certainly true that membership in the Ahm Tal often necessitated a certain flexibility of thought, both as to the finer points of honor, and as it concerned interaction with off-worlders, it was equally true that no one willing to undergo the grueling physical and psychological training necessary to join Andoria's elite but secretive intelligence service was anything but totally dedicated to its people and their way of life. Although membership in the service was by its very nature clandestine, Tholos suspected that a number of his former commanders in the Imperial Guard were well aware of his double role as soldier and intelligence operative. Certainly Shran, under whom he had served on the Kumari, had to have had some inkling, after the many times his second had brought him useful information about the movements and intentions of their Vulcan enemies - information that had led to some notable triumphs, and not a little trouble for the commander and crew of that loyal ship.
Standing in the growing gloom of evening, with the rain beating a steady tattoo on the metal roof above him, Tholos' antennae fell as he thought of his former ship and her crew, so many of whom had been lost when the Kumari was destroyed by those Romulan cowards, striking from the comfort of their own home world while disguised as Tellarites. The service had a very good idea whom these mysterious, faceless foes were, whatever the state of intelligence in the rest of this 'federation' into which Andoria had been dragged. Were his people's leaders aware that the greatest threat their world currently faced was not unrelated to the one that this new alliance was meant (at least in part) to neutralize? It was ironic, Tholos reflected, that in drawing closer to their traditional Vulcan enemies, Andoria was also being drawn closer to this new foe. There were even those within the service who believed that the Vulcans, acknowledged by their harshest critics as masters of the long game, were secretly working in collaboration with their (supposedly) estranged cousins, as part of some intricate scheme to seize power in the sector.
Shifting slightly, and scanning the nearby alleyways for any sign of the contact he was here to meet, Tholos reflected that it wasn't the place of a guardsman to question his superiors or his orders, nor to doubt the wisdom of Andoria's leaders. That said, within the Ahm Tal - even within Tholos' own keth - there were factions who had greeted the Imperial Council's decision to enter this new interplanetary coalition with anger and a profound suspicion. Talat, his birth mother's mother and one of the hereditary chiefs of Keth Dara, who was widely supposed by Andorian society as a whole to be the head of the service itself, was rumored to be amongst them. For his part, Tholos wasn't entirely sure what to think. Certainly, it was useful, imperative even, that Andoria be involved in any power-sharing alliance that might affect the course of events in their sector of space. If nothing else, membership in the Federation would provide the service with just the kind of cover they needed to keep a better watch on their enemies, as well as on any potential rivals. That said, it was distasteful to be forced into an ever greater intimacy with alien species, particularly ones who had proved as untrustworthy as the Vulcans. As a member of the Ahm Tal it was often necessary to know a great deal about the ways of off-worlders, and to maintain relations with them. How else, after all, was one to gain the knowledge required to protect Andoria from an inevitably hostile universe? But that one should see the gathering of such information as anything other than a duty, a means to an end; that one should mingle willingly with aliens, even regard them as potential allies and friends, was an idea to make the antennae of even the most stoic quiver.
Spirits! Members of Keth Dara, known on his home world for their secretive nature and their talent for covert operations, were reluctant enough to trust other Andorians, let alone members of alien species whose customs, beliefs and very nature might render them unfit to be the companions of any honorable son or daughter of An'Dor. Tholos' antennae lashed, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of disgust, as he considered the people of Coridan, the gray and rainy world on which he currently found himself, once again pursuing the interests of his people amongst these outlandish aliens. The leaders of this world were greedy and corrupt, often enriching themselves at the expense of their own people. Not surprisingly, the planetary government here was hand in glove with the Vulcans, who were, whatever their fine-sounding public professions regarding reason and ethics, interested solely in maintaining the favorable mining concessions they had been granted. The Ahm Tal had been active on Coridan for many years, encouraging the impoverished and discontented populace in their rebellion, often arming factions and groups whose chances of seriously disrupting or even temporarily halting the flow of ore to the Vulcans seemed promising. Tholos couldn't imagine that anyone in the service really believed the rebels had much of a chance of overthrowing their government, nor was it likely that too many Andorians - outside of a few idealists such as Shran - had much sympathy for the Coridanites. That a species would permit outsiders to meddle in their affairs, that they would allow themselves to be manipulated into taking up arms against their own kind by off-worlders - this pointed to such a contemptible weakness that it deserved whatever misery it brought down upon the heads of those who were guilty of it.
No, Tholos didn't sympathize with the wretched denizens of this An'Dor-forsaken planet, even if they did have a common enemy in the Vulcans. Nor did he enjoy spending time amongst them. There were days when he longed for the comforting cold of his home world, when his desire to return to the ice - as all Andorians did, in the end - was so strong that it was almost an ache at the base of his antennae. The image of the great cavern of the Keth Dara, alight with thousands of torches and filled to capacity with his kin, would rise before him, and the faces of his mothers and fathers would float in his mind, a reminder of everything for which he fought, everything from which his duties so frequently took him. Longing for the home place was as Andorian as ice sailing, but then, so too was putting duty before desire.
Twitching his antennae to clear his mind, Tholos reminded himself that he was here on Coridan to locate a missing member of the service, not to philosophize uselessly about a political decision that had already been made, and that he would have had small chance of influencing, even if it had not. It was imperative that Kelev, dispatched a month before to wrap up a complicated clandestine operation before their new Vulcan "allies" got wind of it, be located quickly, and extracted. All other concerns must for the time being be subordinate to that goal, all distractions and wayward thoughts banished. An Andorian started from where he found himself, didn't devote precious time to agonizing over how things came to be or wishing reality were different than it was, and devoted himself completely to his duty. Tholos was nothing if not thoroughly Andorian...
0-0-0-0-0
The free medical clinic that stood on the border of North and South Shengar had been busier earlier in the day, before the rain - an inevitable daily event in the equatorial region of the planet Coridan - had driven people away. The clinic was an oddity in an area with plenty of drinking holes and brothels, but no schools and few shops. It was rumored that the entire venture, run jointly by an alien doctor from a far-off planet called Earth, and a Coridanite physician from the city itself, had both the approval of the central government and the tacit acceptance of Shengar's dissident factions. Whatever the case might be, the practical Shengari, who, when not engaged in criminal or paramilitary operations, were mostly miners, recognized good fortune when they saw it, and hastened to bring their many injuries and ailments to the attention of these odd do-gooders.
Standing in the vestibule of the clinic and gazing out at the downpour was the alien doctor herself, slim and pale. She might have been taken for a Coridanite, were it not for her unusually light hair, a shade rarely seen on that world. Reflecting on the unlikely path that had brought her, a reserved and somewhat awkward young medical graduate, to this alien world so far from her home planet, Doctor Elinor Cameron was smiling slightly to herself. What, she wondered, would her affluent and powerful family think, if they could see her now, working in a slum the likes of which Earth had not known for some time? Living on an alien planet so many light years from her own world, it might have been supposed that she would feel homesick from time to time. Certainly, there were days when life on Coridan was so strange and alien, so discomforting and difficult, that she found herself wishing for the familiarity of human society. At those moments, however, it was not the thought of her own family, who had made their disapproval of her current endeavor quite clear, nor even any sense of having a real home to return to, that made her long for Earth. Rather, it was the feeling that although she had never really belonged at home, at least with her own kind she understood the rules. It was exhausting, always wondering if you were going to inadvertently give offense, or accidentally transgress against some undreamed-of taboo.
Moving slowly toward the protective metal shutters that rolled down over the clinic's windows, themselves something of an oddity in that district of shacks and hastily constructed lean-tos, Elinor reflected that she had always been rather timid and shy, something her supremely self-confident family had found difficult to understand or accept. She had tried her best to become the sort of child her parents wanted, someone like her elder brother Alex. A brilliant student, star athlete, and all-around social success, whose charismatic personality, good looks, and diverse talents had made him the natural leader in practically everything he'd ever tried, even winning him the sobriquet of 'Alexander the Great' at school, he was the sort of person it would have been easy for a misfit ugly duckling such as herself to dislike, if he hadn't also been rather kind, in his carefree, happy way. He'd understood Elinor no better than their parents - what could a boy like him make of a girl who could barely speak in public, was perfectly hopeless at sports, mediocre as a student, and completely uninterested in the politics and public service for which the Cameron clan were celebrated? - but he had attempted to be supportive, in his way, as she had fumbled through one childhood disaster after another. When he had gone off to Starfleet Academy, life at home had become so unhappy that Elinor had welcomed the prospect of spending her final years of high school at Briarwood Academy.
Grimacing at these memories, Elinor acknowledged to herself that the modest success she had enjoyed in college - success that had in some ways been as much of a surprise to her as it had been to her family - could be laid chiefly at the door of a burning desire to prove herself worthy, once and for all, of the Cameron name. No one else had any notion that her improved scholastic standing had been the result of a single-minded, one might almost say fanatical devotion to her studies, and that it had been bought at the expense of any sort of social life or extracurricular activity. Relentlessly pursuing the dream of being a 'real' Cameron, Elinor had been shocked to discover, in an elective local history course she had taken almost on a whim, that her family's wealth and prominent position in the region were owing in no small part to their involvement in the paramilitary militia that had ruled the area during the chaotic post-atomic period just before First Contact had been made with the Vulcans. Suddenly that long and glorious tradition of public service, of leadership and sacrifice for the greater good, about which she had been hearing for as long as she could remember, had taken on a sinister cast.
It had been a different and darker time, Alex had told her, an unusually serious expression on his face, when she'd confronted him with what she's learnt. Of course he would say something of the sort, she thought, drawing down one of the clinic's metal shutters with far more force than was necessary, and jumping a bit at the loud clanging sound it made. He would say something of that sort, because he had already known, just as they'd all already known. All of them but her. It had seemed a cruel irony to Elinor that in learning more about her family she had only discovered anew how little she knew them, and how set apart from them she felt.
It had been around that time, at just that moment when she had yearned for some way of escaping her persistent feelings of disconnection, that a letter had come from a distant cousin, serving with the Starship Enterprise on her maiden voyage. Jason had written, almost in passing, of a planet called Coridan, a resource-rich world whose population languished in poverty, while its government was manipulated by its stellar neighbors. Reminded of similar episodes from Earth's history, in which powerful nations had fought proxy wars via involvement in the affairs of less fortunate countries, Elinor had felt an instant sympathy for those far-off aliens, of whose existence she had hitherto been completely unaware. How unfair, how dishonest even, it had always seemed to her, that the strong and the powerful, indifferent to the suffering they caused, used the weaknesses of others against them, not because they were the enemy themselves, but because it might indirectly affect their true foe. How much better it would be, and how much more to the credit of the powerful, if they used their strength to aid and protect the weak.
Evening was fast falling, and darkness was dropping down on the Shengars from the surrounding hills. Standing by the final shutter, Elinor realized she had been so lost in thought that she had let time escape her. She would need to hurry, if she was to close up and reach the entrance to the city before curfew. Still she hesitated, thinking of how often she had read and reread Jason's letter while completing her college studies, thinking of how the idea had slowly formed in her mind of doing something, however modest in scope, to help the Coridanites. Like those medical missionaries in centuries past, who had set out to help people in need, with no thought of any return on their 'investment,' with no regard for which side of any conflict they found themselves, perhaps she too could do some good, not just in the world, but in the galaxy. And so the thought of establishing a medical clinic in the impoverished shantytowns outside the Coridanite capital had grown, and had shaped many of her subsequent choices. It had been a surprise to everyone when quiet Elinor Cameron had chosen exobiology as her focus, in medical school, and it had been even more of a surprise when she had announced, shortly after finishing her residency, that she was using her considerable inheritance from her maternal grandmother to set up a medical clinic on a distant, and not entirely stable planet. There had been plenty of opposition, chiefly from her family, and innumerable bureaucratic challenges to overcome, but for once Elinor had carried her point, setting out almost a year before for a new life on Coridan. It was the human way to seek new worlds, and to attempt the impossible - and she was, after all, only human.