A/N: Anaya is pronounced: 'long a – neigh – short a.' It is the name given Aalin by the Noohrans.
Five Months Ago
Enterprise Orbiting Varia
Feeling a chill Aalin snuggled closer to the warmth and with a contented sigh wrapped her arms around it. Never fully consciousness she settled back into sleep. Though restful sleep didn't return. She tried relieving a stiff neck by shifting her head, but the pillow wasn't quite right. Her hand reached for the pillow's edge intending to reposition and fluff it.
There was no edge. She pushed against her pillow. It didn't give. She pushed harder. The rock-solid resistance persisted. Her eyes slit open.
"Oh my God," she exclaimed, eyes widening before jerking up and away. This unbalanced her perch on the sofa and Aalin tumbled onto the floor landing on her bum.
Chris' eyes opened. He calmly peered at her. "What are you doing down there?"
She thought, does anything fluster him?
"What are you doing up there?" Aalin retorted. "I mean … why are we … sleeping on the sofa …" she swallowed, "together?"
"You were coaching me through my greeting to General Ablick for tomorrow's … I mean today's first meeting." He flashed a grin, "I needed quite a bit of practice given the Varian's language's lyrical quality in its tone."
"I remember that part, skip ahead," she prompted.
"It was late. You are tired from weeks of very long workdays that last well into the night and fell asleep mid-sentence."
"I fell asleep on you?" her voice came out as a loud squeak.
"Not exactly … not at first."
"But then?" she demanded.
"As you relaxed your head inched down, my shoulder happened to intersect. You looked peaceful; I didn't have the heart to wake you." He held out two hands. "Let's get you off the floor."
Resettled on the sofa Aalin smoothed her hair stalling for time while thinking through this situation. "How long did I sleep?"
"Close to four hours."
"And did you sleep as well?"
His head bobbed from side to side. "On and off."
Her eyes grew soft. "You sat there without moving, without waking me and sending me to quarters … so I would sleep?"
Chris shrugged as if such a kindness wasn't an unusual generosity.
Aalin squashed an impetus to cup his cheek or rest a hand on his broad shoulder. "Thank you." She yawned, stretching arms forward and shoulders back. "Is it morning?"
"Nearly. Alpha shift will start soon … Why is my answer funny?"
"Everyone on this ship conveys time in relation to duty shifts."
"5:00 am," he translated.
She looked down at her shirt then pinched it between forefinger and thumb. "Oh no." A colorful string of curses followed.
"Is that Orion?" Chris asked with interest.
"Minotaur. A close cousin."
"Teach me some time, it will check the cadets and unnerve them a bit when they need it without raising my voice."
"Sure. OK," Aalin replied absentmindedly as she focused on a very different, much bigger problem. An idea formed. "Of course. You're a captain. You must have a replicator in here somewhere."
Chris shook his head. "I'm making you a real breakfast."
"Not hungry," she said.
"You're still eating it," he replied in a firm tone.
"Perhaps we can have this argument later?" She jumped to her feet and circled the room, searching. "Right now I need different clothes."
"What you have on is fine." Chris' eyes focused on Aalin, his gaze appreciating her while she continued exploring high and low. Better than fine, he thought before querying, "What are you looking for?"
"A replicator. Pay attention."
"I am. Closely," he insisted with a silent addendum, the view is lovely. "Why?"
"I can't be seen leaving the ready room at this hour in yesterday's outfit," Aalin explained. She then rambled, "I mean I doubt anyone remembers what I was wearing last night, but I can't take that chance can I? If someone did and that someone sees me again this morning, they'll assume we, you and I that is, that we …"
"Assume what?" Chris, who was now standing nearby leaning against the bulkhead with arms folded over his chest, asked with a dimpled grin.
"That we … well you know …" Aalin winced. "I've heard the shipboard gossip, once the rumor starts it will likely turn into a guessing game of 'did they do it on the desk or the table'?"
"Definitely the table. Or both." After a thoughtful look he added, "Or in the chair, or on the saddle." His voice was filled with pride when he finished, "My crew have vivid imaginations."
"That was not in the least bit helpful," she grumbled.
"Actually there is a bed in here," Chris casually remarked. His smile beamed again; his eyes twinkled with mischief. "In case of emergency."
Aalin snorted. "You're incorrigible."
He crossed the room and pulled a grey sweater out of a drawer. "This should work. I keep a few things here in case I need to stay close to the bridge overnight … why are you shaking your head no so forcefully?"
"Leave in your clothes? You might as well broadcast a ship-wide message we spent the night together," she retorted.
Chris rubbed his chin. "I see your point."
"There it is," she exclained triumphantly and began to issue a request. "Nope. You should do this so there's no record of my voice."
He approached. "What do you need?"
"Workout clothes, they won't seem out of place at this time of day, size …" Aalin said.
"You're good at this, almost too good," he mused.
"All boarding school students master the fine art of sneaking out. It's one of the most useful things we learn." She grabbed the clothes from the replicator and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
"What else do you need?" Chris asked politely.
"Turn around so I can change."
Realization dawned; his cheeks pinked. "Oh," was his articulate response.
Aalin decided Chris was cute when flustered.
"Sorry," he muttered before complying.
ooooo
Once back in her quarters Aalin leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly. Her thoughts were crowded and kept veering in a direction she didn't want to go. Waking in Chris' arms had been nice.
No. No. No. No. No.
You don't go out with members of Starfleet. Not even once. For good reasons. No exceptions.
A rule made after a casual involvement with a Starfleet lieutenant. She'd known there was no future in the relationship, yet he was funny, adventurous, interesting. An attentive friend and lover. Also immensely egotistical but in an endearing way. During those few weeks of dating she'd met significant others of his teammates and learned from them of the toll taken by long absences and communication silences. This particular team was a special unit, their missions often more dangerous, but Aalin had reasoned hazards lurked in all exploration of the unknown.
Added to this was the example of her parent's marriage. They were content, but often spent weeks apart.
Maybe it's naïve or impossible, but if I ever have a serious, long-term relationship, I want a life lived together not side by side.
Ordering tea from the replicator, she sat at the small dining table then rubbed her temples. After two days spent among crowds in the area outside of the Varian government complex her usual end of work headache had become never-ending, graduating from low-level nuisance to throbbing.
There's a twenty-four-hour break after today's beginning session. That will help.
Now running late she dressed for the upcoming day. Which was starting, after Aalin lost the subsequent verbal sparring match, with mandatory breakfast in Chris' quarters. She had no difficulties ignoring the stripes, but resisting his dimples were another matter.
ooooo
Present
Day 4
Noohra
The afternoon's search of the nearby area and villages had yielded little: four nearly empty bags of the staple local grain which looked and tasted like Earth's farro, three pairs of toddler shoes, five blankets, vegetables harvested from the remnants of a trampled garden, four water carriers made from animal skins. In a torched orchard among fruit fallen and crushed by civilians fleeing and soldiers' boots marching through, Aalin gathered a gallon of apples.
The next village she entered told the same story as the prior two. Dwellings and shops burned either by bombs or inhabitants denying supplies to their enemy, possessions haphazardly dropped or abandoned during a chaotic evacuation, the remains of those who didn't escape in time. In the first village tugged by her own culture and empathy, wishing to give those who perished care and a measure of dignity, she closed their eyes and covered their bodies. After half an hour Aalin reluctantly abandoned her efforts, lacking enough materials for coverings, and enough time for performing this last rite. The children in my care have to be my first priority. This truth didn't ease her conscience or lesson the aching sadness.
Scrounging yielded a child's small wagon which was a welcome find, seven sweaters, a sack of potatoes gaged to be around two pounds, three handfuls of carefully sieved farro mostly likely spilled from a hole in its bag and ground into the dirt by footfalls, and two not quite empty waterskins. One contained six small swallows, the first water she'd had since breakfast.
Shielding her eyes with a hand across her forehead, Aalin looked towards the sun and tried guessing the time. "Another skill I wish I'd mastered. Why didn't they teach us any useful survival skills in school?" she quietly grumbled.
Her heart skipped a beat after hearing a faint noise on her right. She quietly slipped against the wall of a nearby building and peeped around it's corner.
Nothing.
She walked behind and around the building to the next one. Peeped around the corner. Nothing.
At the next building Aalin heard the noise again, this time it was slightly louder. It sounded like … munching?
Munching? How is that possible?
Carefully she moved closer and closer. A last peek from behind the safety of a wall revealed a four-footed animal standing on hooves, tied to an abandoned horse cart, and eating dried grass from it. A para in the local language; like a cow only shorter and possessing the surefootedness of an Earth mountain goat.
Aalin crept closer; the para ignored her. She pushed more straw in the animal's direction then examined it at arms' length walking in a semi-circle.
A heifer. And a nursing mother; a priceless find.
In the chaotic aftermath of the Aschaski sniper plane near miss and fleeing back into the eastern mountains, supplies had been inadvertently lost including all the baby formula. They were now feeding the smallest and most vulnerable of the children broth, or more accurately mostly tepid water.
Aalin looked around. Waited a few minutes, hoping.
No angel of mercy appeared offering help.
She exhaled deeply and slowly. OK. Deal with the challenge in front of me. How does one milk a cow?
I suppose our intrepid Captain can milk a cow with one hand while fending off a Tholian with the other. And when at home he milks the cow and then makes breakfast with the bounty. The imagined pictures conjured from her thoughts triggered a fond smile.
There's no help for it. Aalin squared her shoulders and approached the para. 'Look the animal masterfully in the eye' floated into her mind, a line from an ancient movie her Grandmother favored. No that's a horse. Maybe it works for bovines too. Can't hurt.
The para watched her movements. The fodder in the cart was now out of its reach. Locating a fallen tree that would provide a seat about the height of a low stool, Aalin untied the para, gathered an armful of the dried grass, and laid a path to the tree. The para followed at a dawdling pace, eating the food as it went.
She placed a larger pile of the fodder at the tree and sat beside it. When the para moved in front of her, she patted its side and stroked its crest. "Sorry in advance if I hurt you," she murmured in a gentle tone.
All right, how hard can this be?
With the remaining liquid in the last waterskin Aalin cleaned her hands, a bucket found in the cart, and the para's udder. She wrapped fingers and thumb around a teat and squeezed.
Nothing happened. The para voiced displeasure.
Her hands examined the udder. It felt full. But what do I know.
Another tug. The bucket remained empty. The para's head turned in Aalin's direction, large brown eyes bored through her.
"Sorry," she muttered.
Another udder examination. Another tug. Another failure. Another stare from the para.
"Now you're just mocking me," Aalin accused.
Maybe it's blocked? Leaning down she curved the teat upward in order to examine its end. Inadvertently the motion first pulled down on the teat finally releasing milk. When Aalin tugged again that milk squirted into her face.
Not blocked then. She wiped her face with the back of a hand and sat upright. Realizing it was in the presence of an amateur the para leisurely resumed eating. Aalin repeated her actions, searching for the combination that worked. Trial and error isolated the required pull and tug movement; performing it with precise pressure and the correct wrist twist proved elusive.
Twenty minutes later after squirting milk on the ground, her clothes, the para, everywhere but the bucket her frustration peaked. Why didn't they teach us anything useful in school? Why didn't I pay attention when we visited our family farm?
She closed her eyes and willed calm. Think of an equivalent you do know how to do … the pressure of a bow on cello strings, moderating volume on a piano, comfortably hitting the highest of high notes. Okay, what is the secret to performing those well … moderated strength, not rigid or unchecked pressure. Breathe with the motion not against it. She then whispered a mantra, "The babies need this food. Others believe in me. I can do this."
A trickle of milk landed in the bucket; this left like a prize-worthy accomplishment, one of her life-time bests. Then another and another hit the target. The next few squirts missed but with time and practice the ratio flipped and more flowed into the bucket than outside of it.
The stack of dried grass dwindled; the para grew restless. Unwilling to risk the animal wandering off Aalin decided not to fetch more fodder from the cart. She talked to the para; it began shifting on its hooves and pawing at the ground. "I know this is uncomfortable, but your milk is needed." Speech, no matter how soothing its tone, didn't help.
She tried singing lullabies favored by her nieces and nephews. The para flicked its tail. "How about I sing you my favorite song," she proposed, "Flower Duet. It's about people, and exotic places, and love." Half-way through the para turned its head in Aalin's direction and snorted. To which she replied, "If that's a critique, I'm not sure if it's a thumbs up or thumbs down." But the animal had quieted. In the end their efforts yielded a bucket full of milk.
Sunlight's bright white had waned into late afternoon's yellow. Aalin poured the milk into waterskins and pottery crocks with lids found in nearby houses carefully arranging the filled containers in the small wagon to avoid spilling their precious contents. She piled all the dried fodder on the ground near the para assuming afterwards the animal would seek fresh grass from surrounding meadows. She patted the cow's head. "Thank you, friend. I can't stay. Be safe."
Ten minutes outside of the village Aalin heard a familiar snort; a look over her shoulder showed the para closing the distance between them. She turned and waved her arms. "No, shoo. Go back. You're safer in the village than with me. Shoo. Shoo." Like a determined child, the para ignored instruction and warning and kept to its objective. "OK, I can't leave you tied up. Your choice."
She and the para continued walking. Halfway to the rendezvous point with the orphans, Aalin caught sight of a group moving south. With a wagon of supplies and an adopted cow there was nowhere for her to hide, no way for her to run. The minutes waiting for their arrival felt like an eternity.
They moved closer and closer. Not soldiers but local villagers, Aalin judged. She relaxed and called out a greeting. A teenaged boy approached leading a dozen younger children, he carefully kept them out of her sight and reach. He carried a shovel hoisted up and over his shoulder like a weapon.
"Are you Anaya?" his voice was tentative, his body language wary.
Aalin hesitated. That name wasn't safe, it branded her as an off-worlder and therefore a member of Starfleet. She recalled Chris and Spock believed the Aschaski had so quickly and successfully swept through the mountain villages due to a small cadre of indigenous assistance.
Oh for heaven's sake, they are children! Shocked and frightened children. She smiled. "I am."
His shoulders sagged and two of the children ran over and hugged her legs. After placing the shovel on the ground the teenager approached and nudged them back to the waiting group. He spoke rapidly ignoring punctuation. "I'm Benjamin Our village was destroyed two days ago There are rumors you are leading a group of orphans to safety." He pointed to the children. "Please take them with you."
"Rumors? Others know?" Fear raced her heart. Think about that later, she firmly told herself. "Yes. Of course they can join us. You should come too."
Benjamin shook his head. "I'm old enough for the mines. I can't put you in danger."
She placed a hand on his shoulder hoping it might offer comfort. "We'll deal with that if and when it happens. You're safer with us."
Sad, tired eyes focused on the distance telling the story of his inner conflict – old enough to understand and to choose sacrifice despite fearing capture or worse, still too young to be on his own. Tears pooled which Benjamin briskly wiped away as if angered by their betrayal. Not trusting his voice he shook his head.
No! I can't take another loss to death or enslavement, Aalin thought. She said, "Please come. A wise man once told me we're stronger when we stick together." Find a practical reason, she thought and gestured at the cow. "Can you manage a para? I mean milk it?"
His expression morphed into amazement but not the good kind, his eyes widened in disbelief. His tone was astonished, "Everyone can do that. Even little ones."
"Not really, no. You'd be surprised." she muttered. "Then come. The babies need milk, and I can't keep track of the para and all the children. Help us reach safety. Deal?"
He hesitated before agreeing, "Deal."
Benjamin took charge of the cow and wagon of supplies. He also gathered edible greens as they walked. Aalin guided the younger children teaching them the counting song. An hour later, at twilight, they reached the camp.