Present
Day 3
Noohra
Chris' voice echoed in Aalin's head, "I trust your instincts and you should as well."
She replied aloud in a huff, "Sure, when the stakes are learning a language. But Uri, Sera, and Omer are lost! This has serious consequences! More than a gut feeling is needed!"
"Sometimes that is all you have," head Chris replied in that unfailing honest yet steadying quiet tone of his. She imagined his sideways glance and the endearing crooked smile as he added, "Think of instinct as an answer formulated from your subconscious' analysis."
Aalin returned head Chris' comment with her most intense skeptical glare. She continued resisting, "You're a Starship Captain, a leader. I trust your gut feelings. I'm … so not … my job is repeating in different languages what others say. I'm supposed to melt into the background, be like a piece of furniture!" Still winded from the hour's searching, she leaned against the tree's trunk and calmed her breathing. Her panting gradually faded into a normal inhale exhale rhythm. With no other means of help she acceded to the single option. The children have no other protectors here, she reminded then asked aloud, "Keep backtracking or try a different direction?"
Her inner voice immediately responded, "Keep backtracking." Standing Aalin resumed retracing their earlier path, this time instructing herself to walk rather than run, to focus on clues rather than speed.
ooooo
Six Months Ago
Enterprise Orbiting Varia
The Captain will be waiting for an update, most likely impatiently, Aalin thought pushing back her craving for the quiet of her quarters. Day two's language classes were a mirror of the previous day with tightness around her forehead, a dull headache, and irritation bubbling just below the surface through the long hours. When she entered the mess hall, Enterprise's commander was pacing the room. He stopped and jabbed at the call button on the intercom.
"I'm back," she called from the doorway, intending to deliver her recap from there and make a quick exit.
Chris closed the channel and observed, "It's midnight."
"Yes, a normal Varian day," Aalin reminded. She squinted and rubbed her temple. "We continued reviewing basic sentence constructs and vocabulary. Nothing noteworthy to report. So I will call it a …"
"Sit." It came out as a command rather than a suggestion. He frowned and then added in a softer tone, "Not at all the way I intended that invitation to sound. Please stay for a few minutes."
She suppressed a tired sigh and took a seat at their usual table. "Alright."
"I'm sorry I couldn't see you off this morning," Chris said.
A faint smile broke. "You sound like a nervous dad sending his child off to kindergarten."
He replied in a low throaty voice, "Parental in no way describes my feelings for you." Deflecting a truth muttered aloud rather than to himself Chris rapidly added, "A private ship drifted into our defensive perimeter requiring my presence on the bridge. Wait, that sounds rather arrogant. Not that Number One couldn't take care of the situation … not that I don't trust any of my senior officers to handle …"
She leaned forward and patted his hand. "I get it. And for the record, I assumed calling the ship's commander to the bridge under those circumstances is protocol rather than hubris."
Since they were alone in the room, Chris placed his hand over hers and clasped it twining his long fingers around hers.
Aalin didn't pull away. His touch is soothing, communicating a vow of protection and the strength to back it up. This time she didn't try to suppress a very different type of sigh.
Chris appreciated how the dove grey finely woven mock turtleneck sweater complimented her eyes deepening their blue flecks and he resisted a longing to rest his hand on the side of her face, cupping her cheek in his palm. In the ship's soft lighting at night, her hair reminds me of the darker caramel honeys of late summer … the drape of the sweater is nice, not too clingy yet hinting at the curves it hides … hmmm … neutral color, monotoned outfit, grey instead of yesterday's cream, loosely tailored pants …
"You wear a uniform of sorts," he observed and then added to himself, though if it were up to me, your hair would be down rather than pinned in a chignon.
She creased her forehead as if considering. "Oh. I never really thought of it that way. I try to … I'm an outsider necessary for private conversations. I try to blend into the background rather than have the primaries constantly reminded there is an extra participant. Guess you can say I'm old school."
And yet you light up every room you walk into, Chris thought. He asked, "Your goal is to fade into the shadows?"
Aalin nodded. "Folks can … censure their words when being translated, as well as alter physical expression such as tone of voice or emphasis. This a technique for minimizing that. For example if a society has separate acceptable phrasing for different genders and I'm translating for a man, he needs to forget I'm not male …"
Not possible, Chris concluded.
"Diplomacy and managing tense situations are onerous enough without adding concern from one or more parties of the interpreter's reaction to their statements." She grimaced, "And there are those cultures where the opposite occurs, and the participants go out of their way to shock the interpreter."
"I'm embarrassed admitting I never considered the art of the profession," Chris responded, "but rather only thought of it as an input/output effort."
She tilted her head to one side and then the other considering his statement. "It is basically input/output with a few wild cards thrown in like body language and tone. As with most things when multiple cultures and/or species are involved the complexities increase exponentially. On Earth, despite differing languages, nonverbal communication and voice tenor tends to be similar across cultures allowing the participants to infer aspects, such as anger or respect, in addition to the words I translate. With other species my job is to interpret those cues as well. If a speaker is changing their behavior due to the translator, you're not getting true characteristics and meanings. It's not as grand as it sounds, and the universal translator handles most of the nuanced work now with its neural processors." With a smile Aalin added, "Many think non-machine interpretation will soon be a relic of the past." She stifled a yawn.
Which tugged at Chris' growing affection and without stopping to evaluate his action and its possible outcomes from every angle, he raised her hand to his lips. She cast her eyes downward but didn't pull away. Brushing her knuckles with his thumb, he lightly squeezed her hand and then reluctantly released it. "When do you leave in the morning?"
"Seven."
"I'll be there."
Lingering after Aalin left, Chris settled in with a mug of coffee and let his thoughts roam aimlessly. Two continued to bubble up. After indulging a moment's fantasy of her attention focused on him personally and exclusively, that one, which was more of a desire than a thought, he pointedly dismissed as improbable and likely impossible. The other he turned over and over trying to unravel the puzzle. Why did you choose a profession where you've done your job well if you go unnoticed? This goes beyond the shyness I see periodically.
An hour later Chris realized Aalin didn't protest his intention to see her off in the morning.
ooooo
Two Weeks Ago
Noohra
Orphanage near Starfleet Mobile Surgical Hospital in the Har Mountains
Commander Isak Bengsston, Enterprise's second officer and security chief, sat in the middle of the circle of children. Last week the local inhabitants started bringing the orphans to Aalin, and Captain Pike ordered a home established for them under Una's oversight. A task the ship's first officer embraced with single-minded dedication and the ferocity of a mother bear. Already they cared for twenty children of varying ages. Isak labeled his first trip to the orphanage a security inspection. On subsequent trips he stopped pretending.
"One more story, please?" the small boy sitting on his lap pleaded. Other children clustered around him and hung off his six-foot six-inch frame as if it were a jungle gym.
"It's past your bedtime," Isak countered in a mock stern tone, his accent pronounced. The universal translator repeated his statement in the dialect most prominent in the mountain villages.
"I love to hear you talk, even if I don't understand all the words," said a girl wedged between Isak's arm and side. She looked up at him with wide eyes, the sable-colored eyes of her people.
He brushed a hand over her hair. "Sera, are you trying to charm me?"
She nodded. "Is it working? Matt says you are a … push … under?"
"Push over?" Isak prompted. Sera didn't speak for four days after arriving at the orphanage with her brother and cousin. With time and care from Una, Sera now showed signs of healing from her shellshock.
"Yes. That's it."
Isak fondly thought, another of my husband's little jokes. He said, "Yes one more, and then the monks insist it's lights out." After coaxing reluctant yet agreeing nods from the children he said, "I will tell you of going on walkabout."
"What's that?" Sera's brother Uri asked.
His cousin Omer, who had been Isak's constant shadow whenever the officer visited the orphanage, answered, "It's journey in his language, in Australian."
"Close enough," Isak replied with a grin. Which faded quickly. I've been a soldier for over two decades and yet the violence of the fighting here and it's resulting destruction is … is … No adequate descriptor came to mind. Cease-fire talks had broken down yesterday. Pike and Georgiou, alarmed at the escalation in hostilities and out of patience, demanded negotiations restart within twenty-four hours. Will the Noohrans and Aschaski agree? Not that Chris is likely to give either side a choice even if he has to personally drag them back to the table.
Isak decided to visit the orphanage after last night's conversation with Una. Nursing a drink she confided, "Given the rapid advance of the Aschaski, no matter where we house the orphans, they are likely to be in harm's way at some point … the battle front could shift at any moment requiring a rapid evacuation. I can't beam them on board, which violates the terms of the Federation's engagement in this conflict and negates safe passage for our people on the surface. The orphanages in the cities are overcrowded and they've turned down my request to accept more children even with the commitment of additional supplies and manpower from Enterprise." She shook her head, her expression sad. "I think their refusal is as much prejudice against the mountain villages as lack of resources. But I can't fix that."
Una lapsed into silence, head down and eyes staring into her drink. A few moments later she looked at her friend. "Isak, I realize most aren't even twelve years old, but we must find a way to teach those children how to survive on their own. In case they are separated from their caretakers and lost."
Clearing his throat, Isak glanced around the group of children ensuring he had their attention. "Once upon a time three mates wanted to see what was over the next hill. Since their chores were done and the afternoon was clear and sunny, they decided to go on walkabout. Our trio packed water and food for their trek and set out. The eldest insisted they travel only far enough to see what was on the other side, making sure to always keep their home in sight."
Isak talked about the trees, flowers, and animals the children encountered during their adventure. The children laughed at his imitations of the various animals' moos, coos, barks, purrs, quacks, baas, oinks, roars, clicks, and bird calls, mimicking him as they clapped their hands together. He then described the emerald city at the end of a golden path seen from the top of the next hill.
"What's an Oz?" Uri asked.
"That part is for another day. It is a tale of love, courage, and logic. Now, our mates stuck to their rule, which was wise, and remained at the top of the hill, keeping their home in sight, rather than running down to explore the emerald city. But as often happens in the mountains, an unexpected storm blew in."
"Did they get wet?"
"Yes. And the bright flashes in the sky and the loud thunder scared them. They looked for a dry, safe place to wait out the storm, always careful to go left or right only once and counting their steps, backtracking if they didn't find shelter, and trying again from their original location. Then the fog rolled in, and they could no longer see the opposite hill. And they didn't know which direction to walk to find home."
"Now they are really scared!"
"Yes. But they also knew their new friends from the sky would look for them and that calmed their fears. They decided to help their friends find them. What do think they did?"
ooooo
Present
Day 3
Noohra
Aalin walked slowly and methodically, constantly scanning the surroundings for anything that looked out of place – a twig snapped in two, a leaf hanging at an odd angle on a tree, footsteps in the dirt, or a marked trail.
No, leaving a trail is too advanced for a trio of children where the eldest is eight. She stooped to examine a torn leaf fluttering in the wind. Did that happen when a child rushed past? But it points to the north which is not the direction we followed to the caves. Did they leave the path we took? Or was it sheared by an animal? How can I tell? There could be a hundred and one reasons for the tear.
She lost track of time. It will be dark soon, ending any chance of finding clues.
Doubts crept in. Perhaps trusting my instincts was a mistake.
A tiny inner voice pushed to be heard, "perhaps the mistake is relying on methods for which you are not trained."
How else can I do this? Continued shouting might draw unwanted attention.
"Shouting is not needed," the inner voice responded. "What have you learned from observing your new crewmates?"
They are much more qualified to do this than I am.
"Yes. What else?"
This conversation is pointless and a waste of time.
"What else," the inner voice demanded.
You are repeating yourself and it's not helpful … wait now I am admonishing myself … they … they …
And there it was. In retrospect the answer was simple and obvious.
Aalin closed her eyes and tuned into her most acute sense.