Title: A Nomenclature Issue of Some Importance
Fandom: Blake's 7
Summary: Vila is confused about the meaning of certain naming habits. S1, pre-Seek, Locate, Destroy.
*
"Why do you think that everyone calls me Vila?" Vila said, idly twirling a graphite stick.
Gan thought about this. He was attempting to pull apart a couple of the panels in the Liberator's engine room; after Avon's demonstration of the ship's automatic repair systems, it seemed sensible to him to work out the bits the ship might want to repair first. Thus far, with Vila's 'help' (he'd provided much-needed moral support, in the thief's own words), he'd managed to work his way through a significant portion of the crosscut cluster of panels on the right-hand aspect of the engine room. All that left was... well, the entirety of the rest of the engine room, as it turned out. Gan prodded the panel, a little doubtfully. He'd tried pulling them apart with sheer muscle, but that tended to snap them into several pieces. Evidently panel covers were not ship-critical functions, so the floor of the engine room was covered in panel-metal and (still slightly squeaking) hinges. "Because it's your name?" He guessed at last, mindful of Vila's expectant expression.
The thief rolled his eyes. "So is Restal, but no on calls me that, do they?"
This, Gan acknowledged, was true. And yet seemingly pointless. Still, he didn't say this, because he was reasonably certain that Vila did have a point (even if he wasn't sharing it) and, more importantly, because it would probably be insulting. Gan had never particularly thought of himself as a prime specimen of humanity - he wasn't very handsome, or very smart - but that was all right, because he wasn't expected to be. Gan's mother, however, had been a beta (marrying down for a never-divulged reason) who had insisted that if her children were not to be blessed with a pleasing face or a fair mind, they would make up for it with good manners. So, where one of Gan's former classmates would have thought nothing of insulting the thief's delicate sensibilities, Gan hesitated. Good manners were important, and not something even a high birth would naturally bestow (just look at Avon). "So?" He asked finally. "Why do they call you Vila, and not Restal?"
"I don't know," Vila snapped peevishly. "They call you Gan, and Avon Avon, and Blake Blake -"
"But Jenna is Jenna," Gan felt obliged to point out, sitting back and observing the panel critically. "And Cally is Cally."
Vila nodded vigorously. "That's what I'm saying," he said, although he had not, in fact, been saying that. "Why do the women get called by their first names, but the men by their last names - all except me, that is."
Gan couldn't think of a way to answer that politely.
"I'll tell you why," Vila continued, evidently not needing an answer. "It's because that's the way the Federation refers to its soldiers!"
This made no sense to Gan. He turned to face Vila, doubtful. "How?"
"By their last names! It's Blake this, and Avon that. It's how the military keep the soldiers and Elites in checks."
"So why do they call you Vila?" Gan asked, hopelessly confused by this logic.
The thief waved his arms in exasperation. "Because they think I'm not military!"
"But you're not military," Gan pointed out.
"Exactly!" Vila said, as if that settled things.
Gan tried to work this out. "You think they think of you as a civilian - and they don't think very highly of civilians?" He tried. That didn't sound quite right. "But Cally isn't a civilian. Or Jenna, really." He thought again. Vila watched him, the graphite stick flying over the tops of his fingers so fast it was only a blur. "Cally is Cally," Gan said slowly, starting with the newest arrival. "I don't remember any other name. Do you?"
Reluctantly, Vila shoook his head. "And Jenna?" He prompted.
"Jenna isn't military," Gan said, trying to work it out, "but she isn't a civilian, either. And she gave us her first name. Because she - wanted us to trust her," he added, suddenly remembering. His mother had told him to offer his first name to Alphas, always, and leave them to decide whether to use it. Generally, they didn't - it means they'd have to acknowledge knowing you, his mother had said. "And Zen calls her Jenna," yes, that too. "That matters." He wasn't too sure how, but was certain that if Zen had called Jenna Stannis, they would all have followed suit. What did that make Zen, then?
Vila was nodding and frowning at the same time. "So, you think I just use my first name to make people trust me - so I can rob them?"
Gan hadn't said it, but he had thought it, true enough. No: that wasn't right. "You gave me your full name, not just Vila," he said, thinking back. "I don't know about the others."
Vila waved a hand, indicating equivalence. So. The thief smiled. "So you call Cally Cally because that's her name, and Jenna Jenna because you think she wants you to. Why do you call me Vila, then?"
Well, that was simple enough! "Because it's friendlier," Gan said, truthfully. "Because it fits you." He waited to see what Vila would think of this assessment. Was it a slight? He didn't think so; but, then, he didn't see why Avon had so many reasons to be offended, and yet the Alpha managed it just the same.
Vila chewed on his lip a little, thinking this over. Abruptly, he grinned, his expression clearing. "It fits me. I like that." He grabbed the handrail and hoisted himself up by the panel that Gan had been working on. "There's a trick to it," he informed Gan solemnly, and set about wriggling the panel loose.
Gan smiled back, grateful for the help and for avoiding giving offence. "You're better at that than I am," he said, watching the thief work.
"Yes," Vila said, surprised that Gan was stating the obvious. "Of course." He paused a minute, fingers still coaxing the locking mechanism to cooperate. "Gan?"
"Hmm?"
"What if you're wrong? What if they do think of me as only a civilian?"
Gan thought on this. He thought on how his mother, who had never served a day in her life, had been so concerned with the emotions of others. He thought on the Federation officer he had killed without remorse, and how that man had strangled a defenceless woman, pulling her stockings so tightly around her neck that the marks were no wider than those of a shoelace. He thought of the officers on the London, too; of Avon, who'd burn them all for a profit, and of Blake, who'd do it for a cause.
Vila was still looking at him anxiously, as if his opinion mattered.
"There are worse things to be," he said.
*
fin