What did your father do in the war?
"Breen go home!"
Gina Nolan found herself screaming that hateful phrase, along with perhaps two hundred of her fellow citizens, as a shuttle touched down at the port in Archer City, the capital on Proxima Centauri. It was 2396. The attack on Earth had occurred over two decades before, but it scarcely mattered.
The crowd moved back as one as the hatch opened and a Federation official stepped out. The man was Enolian and he called for quiet. "Every day," he said, "we strive for peace and understanding. A big part of that can be new neighbors. Once you get to know people, you can see them as individuals. They stop being faceless monsters."
He paused and a Gorn man near Gina yelled, "But you don't have to live with them!"
"Yeah!" Gina shouted, along with a lot of the crowd.
"Breen go home! Breen go home!" the crowd began to chant, more or less in unison.
The Enolian again got the crowd to quiet down so that he could be heard. But this time it took longer for the group to settle down. "As you are all undoubtedly aware, a half a dozen families are moving into Archer City. This is but one of them. They will shop at your stores, and visit your parks. Their children will attend your schools. And they will work side by side with you."
A helmeted head peered out for a second, perhaps to see if the coast was clear. It quickly ducked back into the shuttle.
"Not in my back yard!" yelled a Xindi Insectoid.
The crowd began to angrily yell again, but it wasn't chanting at all. It was incoherent as the crowd began to transform into an angry mob. A rock whizzed by Gina's head, and she saw the Enolian go down. The Breen family again sent a representative to nose out to take a look, and the rain of rocks turned from a trickle to a downpour, rocks clanging as they hit metal. It was impossible to tell if the rocks were just hitting the shuttle, or if some of them had made contact with a Breen refrigeration suit or two.
She ran out of there as quickly as she could. "Kit!" she yelled into a communicator. "The rally turned ugly! I'm coming home!"
"Don't take any chances!" he yelled back from his work, at a butcher shop on Ninth Street, as the line went eerily quiet. He looked around at his coworkers. "My wife needs me. I have to go."
"Go on, man," said one of them, a Nausicaan, and Kit – a Klingon – departed.
=/\=
At home, Gina was shaking. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" she seethed. "They were right there in that shuttle and, and, God! They think they can just waltz in, and live here among us, after what they, they did!"
Kit looked at her. "We could move, maybe."
"And let them win?" she was furious. "I won't let them think they've won. This is my home. Not theirs. The next thing they'll want will be to live on Earth! All but the parts they destroyed in '75. Everything but Beijing and, and places like that."
Gabrielle, Gina's daughter, looked up from the homework on her PADD. "Beijing's where Dad died."
"Right, baby," Gina said, "and I will not have his memory sullied with Breen coming in. They've got the entire goddamned galaxy! Why do they have to come here?" she was tearful.
"I, I don't know," Kit said, casting about for something to say that would be comforting. "There will be more rallies, I am sure. I can go to the next one, if you like."
"Oh, would you?" Gina asked.
"Yes," he said, "after all, they killed Lannis, too. Freela would still have a mother if it were not for them. I am no friend to the Breen."
=/\=
It wasn't a rally but, rather, a town meeting, a few days afterwards. Kit went with his daughter, Freela, and Gabby. Gina stayed at home, unable to face things. The Mayor of Archer City, a Tandaran, spoke. "Citizens," she said, "the news is, well, it is not good. There are to be six Breen families here in Archer City."
"Can't you stop it?" It was an El-Aurian voice in the back.
"I cannot," said the mayor. "You must understand. I am under a great deal of pressure here. The college – that is the reason for one of the families coming in. Then the Federation decided that that family would need support. So they handpicked five other families to join them. But the real linchpin is the student."
"A student?" asked a Romulan citizen. "Are there no other colleges?"
"Everyone here, I am certain, knows that the Proxima Centauri School for the Performing Arts is perhaps the best of its kind in the galaxy," the mayor stated the obvious.
"So it's a token admission!" yelled a Tellarite.
"God, I can't believe it's gonna go to my school," Gabby said to Freela quietly.
"Well, damn," said her Klingon stepsister sympathetically. "And really, how can anyone think of a Breen as being an actor or an actress? You can't see their faces. How could anyone possibly believe them in any sort of a speaking role?"
Kit shushed them.
"It is not," the mayor said, "a token admission. The Breen named, uh," she consulted a PADD with notes on it, "Desh; he went through the same or almost the same audition process as anyone else."
"Actor or no actor, school or no school," said the Romulan, "I don't want them here."
"Yeah!" there were shouts from the back. "No Breen! No Breen! No Breen!"
Kit got up. "We should depart," he said to the girls. "This is going to become another riot, I suspect." They followed him out as insults began to fly in various languages.
=/\=
A week later, Gabby was in her Improvisations class when the teacher, a Paradan, called for order. "Class! We have a new student!"
The door to the classroom opened and it was a slight individual, wearing the usual Breen refrigeration suit. The individual handed a PADD to the teacher, who looked it over. As she was signing the PADD, a shoe from the props box sailed over. It missed its target and hit the board behind the teacher. "Who threw that?" demanded the teacher. The class was silent. "I said, 'Who threw that?'" The teacher was livid.
The class remained quiet. "Listen," said the teacher, "we are going to do an exercise. Desh here," she indicated the Breen "is reportedly a fine actor. He has passed the same rigorous auditions process that you all had to. This will be a test of how well you can all act. Do I have any volunteers to pair with Desh?"
There was silence. "All right. Gabrielle, come up here."
"Why me?"
"You're the first person I saw," admitted the teacher. "Now I need for you to improvise a scene."
"About what?" asked Desh, speaking for the first time. His voice – he was a male – was a bit muffled. He adjusted something to correct that.
"About, uh, a blind date."
"But I am already affianced," Desh said.
"This is acting," said the teacher, getting a tad exasperated. "Just, convince me, all right?"
"All right," he said. He turned to Gabby. "Are you ready?"
"Uh, sure."
"Good evening," he said, getting into character. "I am here to meet my companion for the evening. Are you here to meet someone for dinner?"
"Yeah," she said, still not into it.
"Oh, uh, good. I was not told you would be so, so lovely."
"Oh," said Gabby. "Thank you. I didn't, uh, didn't think you'd be so tall." In truth, he was shorter than her.
"My mother fed me well when I was small. Please forgive my nerves. Shall we have dinner?"
"Yes," Gabby said, "do you like sushi?"
"I have never had it."
"Do you know how to eat with chopsticks?"
"I do not. Could you instruct me?"
"Here, you hold your hand like this," Gabby demonstrated, miming the activity.
"That's good for now," said their teacher. "You can both sit down. Desh, uh, why don't you sit over here, to my left?"
Desh nodded and found an empty chair. The rest of the class moved away from him as the teacher called for two more students to improvise a quick scene.
=/\=
A month later, Gabby was sitting at dinner with her family. A kinswoman, Azetbur, was a guest. "This is quite good," said Azetbur. "What do you call it again?"
"Targ Bolognese," Gina said. "It's a little bit me, and a little bit Kittriss." She smiled at him and he pretended to be stern for a second, but could not hold that poker face.
"How are your classes, girls?" Azetbur inquired.
"Engineering is going well," Freela said, "I have passed Drafting and my Mechanical electives. I'll be able to concentrate on Civil soon, like I want."
"And what will you be building, child?"
"Mostly public works structures, I think," Freela said, "You know, capital buildings and bridges, but also public monuments. There's, um, there's a monument to the honored dead from the Breen Attack on Earth. It's being built on Keto-Enol. We've been studying it; it's a steel and glass structure made to look like thousands of birds flying up into the sky. The bottom is tall and wide enough for a class to fit underneath. Under it, the names of the honored dead are to be etched, and they can be highlighted either randomly or as the observer wants to see. So, if you wanted to only read human names, you could, or the victims who were in Paris or the like. And the whole thing is to be made of debris from San Francisco and Beijing and even from ships that crashed that day, that sort of thing. Mother's name will be etched underneath, as will that of Michael Nolan, Gabby's Dad."
"Perhaps the names could be placed close to each other," Azetbur said, "so as to show how our families have come together, but we have never forgotten our honored dead in Stovokor and heaven."
"That would be nice," said Gina, "I sometimes think of them that way, that Lannis and Michael might have been friends in some, some other life."
"And you, child? Are you still pursuing acting?" Azetbur asked Gabby.
"Yes, I am," she said. "We, uh, we have a new student. He's very good but he, well, he makes me really uncomfortable."
"Is this a challenge you can rise above?"
"I'm still not sure," Gabrielle admitted. "He's a Breen."
"They allow them to come here, and to attend the schools?"
"I guess so," Gina said. "Nobody wants them here. It's just political hay, I think. It's not like anybody ever asked any of us. Then again, I guess that our answer would've been pretty obvious."
"Can you avoid this Breen?" asked Azetbur. "A Klingon would face things head on, but you are not a Klingon, child, and so you would be forgiven if you were less inclined to do that."
Gabby smiled wanly. "I wish I could. But we've got auditions for the big show at the end of the year. I'll be going for a part – we all will – and he will, too."
"Don't tell me it's Romeo and Juliet," Gina said.
"No. It's Jane Eyre," said her daughter.
"What is this tale? I do not know it," asked Azetbur.
"It's a love story," Freela explained. "A young woman – she is very poor – she is sent to a job out in the countryside. Her employer is reportedly a widower. He has a daughter for her to instruct."
"Actually," Gabby corrected, "I don't think Adèle is his daughter, or at least it's not that clear. But I don't think it matters that much. They fall in love."
"Who falls in love? Which girl? This is so confusing," Azetbur complained.
"It's the teacher and the widower, her boss. They plan to get married but she finds out his wife is really alive," Gabby explained.
"Yeah," Freela said, overly dramatically, "she's crazy and she's been locked in the attic."
"Did humans treat their sick this way?" asked Azetbur. "Why was this woman not properly treated?"
"I dunno," said Gina, "but it's a story, yanno? And it's old. I bet it's from before effective drugs were developed. I forget how it ends, baby."
"It ends with the crazy wife lighting the house on fire. She's killed and the guy is blinded. And it's this big deal for the teacher to come back and marry him, even though he's all messed up."
"So she married him even though he was scarred and ugly?" asked Kit.
"And he's lost all his money, I think," added Freela.
"It sounds preposterous," Azetbur concluded. "And it's very much a human story. A Klingon would have gotten the madwoman properly treated, as a matter of honor."
"Wouldn't an ancient Klingon have just put her to death or something?" asked Gina. "You know, for being weak, or something like that."
"Nah," said Kit, "dishonor and all that."
"But if they didn't have the means to properly treat her, or they didn't understand that she couldn't help it that she was sick, what would they have done?" asked Gabrielle.
"Oh, something operatically appropriate, I am sure," Azetbur said. "I suppose all of our ancestors can be forgiven their ignorance. I wonder why the drama teacher has selected that tale for you to stage."
"I think it's the costumes more than anything else," Gabby said, "and the scenery. It should be really moody and pretty."
"I hope they stage it in a manner that is not confusing," Azetbur said.
=/\=
At the Proxima Centauri School for the Performing Arts, the students in Gabby's class waited to learn who had been selected for which part.
The audition process had been grueling. Complicating matters was the fact that the auditions were all solo affairs. Unlike in previous productions, the aspirants did not read with anyone else, so they all felt rather exposed.
"First, the ladies," said a teacher who was going to be the director. She, an Andorian, stood at the front of the auditorium. "As is traditional, I will announce the bit parts first, eventually leading up to the supporting roles and, finally, the main characters and then the lead role. Once the ladies are finished, I will announce the men. Intergender students will be announced with the ladies. Oh, and one more thing – anyone, of any gender, who has a bit part will be expected to assist with lighting, stage construction and knock-down and the like. And now, the parts."
Gabrielle sat with friends of hers – a Xindi Reptilian, a Klingon-human hybrid, an Andorian, an Aenar and a human like herself. The first of them to be announced as having a part was the Klingon-human hybrid. She was to play one of Jane Eyre's classmates at the Lowood School.
More names were read, and more friends' names were announced. Finally, it seemed obvious that it was just Gabby and her Xindi Reptilian friend. There were only two female parts left – Bertha Mason, the madwoman in the attic and Jane Eyre herself. "Good luck," whispered the Xindi, touching Gabby's hand.
The Xindi's name was called. She was to play Mason. It was a surreal experience for Gabrielle to hear her name called to play Jane Eyre. The lead! The moment was intoxicating.
"And now I will announce the male roles," said the teacher-director. "First, for …."
The teacher droned on for a while and the girls chatted a little. "How are you gonna wear your hair?" someone asked Gabby.
"Oh God, I haven't thought about that yet. Eek, I'm so excited!" It was her first lead role at the school.
The teacher called out the names of guys who would be playing some of the larger male roles. She announced a Gorn to play Mister Brocklehurst. The Gorn yelled, "Yesssssss!" and his pronunciation of the s was pleasantly sibilant.
"Now, now," called out the teacher. "This is a drama, and not a melodrama!" The class laughed as the Gorn, who was a good-natured fellow, laughed along with everyone else.
The number of male parts was shrinking. It was down to St. John Rivers and Edward Rochester. The Rivers part went to a Romulan student. But who would get Rochester?
The students all looked around, whispering. Finally, the teacher announced, "And the part of Edward Rochester goes to Desh."
Gabby's friends all looked at her. She made a face. "I hope they don't expect me to, oh God, kiss that Breen."
=/\=
She had protested and argued and complained, but it had done her no good. Finally, the teacher-director told Gabrielle, "Get used to it. If you want to become a professional, you are going to have to do all sorts of unpleasant things. You might find yourself in advertisements for Tellarite foot creams, instead of playing Joan of Arc, you know."
"But we have no chemistry!" Gabby played what, she felt, was her trump card.
"You do and you will," said the teacher. "This is an opportunity to rise above this conflict and show how well you, a Federation citizen, can get along with an obvious outsider."
"But it's so hard."
"I do not dispute that. But we are being asked to take the extra steps. These are the steps you are being given, Miss Nolan. Now I don't want to hear another word about it. Unless, of course, you want to play in nonspeaking crowd scenes only and work on set designs. Do you?"
"No, ma'am," she said, turning on her heel and leaving.
In the hall of the school, Gabby was accosted by, it seemed, everyone. "Are you gonna do it?" "You want me to take him outta commission, Gabby?" "How dare they!" "What if we get our parents to get the teacher fired?" And on and on it went, all sorts of offers of all sorts of ways to, perhaps, get her out of it.
She finally addressed her unwanted entourage. "I'm gonna do it. I'll grin and bear it. I gotta get used to a lotta annoying and uncomfortable stuff for when I turn pro."
They finally left her alone.
She walked along. Classes were over for the day, and she just wanted to get out of there. She could hear a certain tread on the floor, almost metallic. She knew who that was. No one else wore what were essentially metal shoes, a part of a metallic suit. She turned. "Desh, leave me alone."
"We'll need to rehearse together," he said.
"Not now."
"I know not now," he said, "but we will need to do it at some point. We have to get our timing down so that we're not talking over each other."
"Yeah, I know. But sheesh. Just leave me alone."
"Gabby," he began, and then thought better of it. "Miss Nolan, let's at least make a schedule. You could come to my home, if you like."
She turned to face him. "And be surrounded by you? I don't think so."
"Then your home."
"You wouldn't like that. My stepfather will kill you on sight. He's Klingon." She lied. Kit was about the gentlest Klingon she had ever known.
"The library, then," Desh said. "Or we could go to a restaurant in town, or a public park or wherever you like. But we need to do this. You cannot deny that."
She sighed. "The pizzeria over on Lincoln Street. Tomorrow, right after school."
"All right."
=/\=
He was waiting for her, sitting in a booth by himself. All the other diners had either moved or had, perhaps, refused to sit down. Gabby came in and sat across from Desh. A waitress, sympathetic, came over. "If he bothers you, I can tell the manager," she said to Gabby.
"No, uh, that's all right. Can I have some water?"
"Of course."
The waitress was leaving. Gabby said, "Desh, do you, uh, do you want anything?"
"No. Thank you."
The waitress shook her head and departed, returning only to quickly set down the glass in front of Gabby.
"I think we should do one of the toughest scenes first," Desh said.
"What do you think is tough?"
"There's a scene where Rochester proposes to Jane," he said.
"All right." Gabby sipped the water and located the scene on her PADD.
Desh took a moment to get into character and then read his lines from his PADD. "Jane, do not struggle so."
"I am a free person. I will come and go as I please," Gabby replied, checking her PADD and trying to recite without having to fully rely on it.
"Maybe not with a British accent," Desh suggested, breaking character for a moment. "Yes, yes, you will decide your own destiny. Jane, I offer you my hand, my heart and all my possessions."
"You laugh at me!"
"No, I, no. Jane, I want you to live with me, to pass through life as my second self. My best earthly companion. Jane, have you no faith in me?"
"None whatsoever."
"You doubt me?" Desh asked, still in character.
"Absolutely."
"Jane, you know I don't love Blanche."
"Broaden the letter A in Blanche," Gabby said. "Don't make it like in at but more like in the word avocado."
"Oh, thanks," Desh said, then, back in character, he added, "I love you, like my own flesh. Say you will marry me. Say it quickly. Jane, you accept me?"
"Are you in earnest? I can hardly believe you."
"I swear."
"Yes, sir."
"Call me by my name. Call me Edward."
"Edward," Gabby paused for a more dramatic effect. "I will marry you."
"The stage direction says we're supposed to kiss," Gabby added, looking dubious.
"We can skip that," Desh said. "And I think it would be better, and more appropriate. And more in character, too."
"Character?"
"Yes," he said, "this may be a romance but these are times when there was a lot less premarital touching," he said. "I have been reading human history. I have also been reading background for this work. There is a more modernistic take on it called The Wide Sargasso Sea."
"I've read Jane Eyre, but not that other one."
"It's meant to give Bertha Mason – she's called Antoinette Cosway in that book – more of a backstory."
"Oh."
"Well, for Jane, I was thinking," he said, "She'd probably want to be more chaste. I can't see all of the kissing and whatnot in the stage directions. She's a woman who's had a hard life, but she also knows her own mind. And she'd probably withhold, at least for a while, until she was surer of Rochester's intentions. Even with loving him and believing him," Desh said, "I just get the feeling she'd be a bit more careful. Know what I mean?"
"I suppose that's in character," Gabby said. "Now, normally I wouldn't want you to tell me how to play my role." But in this case, the exception works, she thought to herself. The less she had to think of possibly kissing or even holding the hand of the Breen in front of her, the better.
"I also felt it would be more comfortable for both of us."
"That was kinda considerate of you," she admitted.
"I am also thinking of Trans."
"Trance?"
"No, Trans," he said, "she is my fiancée."
"Oh. Yeah, I remember now, when you came to the Improv class for the first time, you mentioned a fiancée."
"Yes. I do not wish to create problems in any way if I were to, well, to embrace you in any fashion. Trans knows, I am sure, that it is all acting, but I do not wish for there to be any doubt."
They seemed to be taking a break, so Gabby got the waitress's attention. She came over reluctantly. "Can I have two slices of mushroom? Do you, uh, want anything?"
"No. Thank you."
The waitress departed and returned quickly with the slices. Just as readily, she retreated.
"Have you ever even had pizza?" Gabby asked.
"I have not. We eat different things."
"Well, you might wanna try it, seeing as you're living here now."
"I, uh," he vaguely gestured in the direction of his mouth. "I cannot."
"Oh, the suit," Gabby said. "Can't you take it off, or at least a part of it?"
"It is not our way. Gab – uh, Miss Nolan – I cannot expose myself."
"Oh. But you eat at home, right?"
"Naturally."
"What do you eat, Desh?"
"Compounds."
"Compounds? Do, uh, any of them have cheese and tomato sauce?"
"No," he laughed a little bit at that.
"Do you, uh, mind me eating in front of you? I just realized it's probably pretty rude of me."
"It is all right."
"So you go home," she said between bites, "and you take off your suit, and you watch the viewer and all of that?"
"Not exactly. I do not take off the suit until later. And I do not watch the viewer very much."
"Are you calling, what's her name, Trance? Whispering sweet nothings over the communications lines?"
"I have never met Trans, and we have never spoken."
"Then why are you getting married?" asked Gabby.
"She was chosen for me."
"Oh. So it's all arranged. Is she pretty? To you, I mean?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "We do not, the, the suits, once you are of a certain age, you do not remove them in the presence of anyone but your mate."
"Oh. What's, um, what's under there? If you can tell me."
"Another suit," he said, "but it fits much closer."
"And under that second suit is you?"
"Yes."
"Here," she indicated the front of his face. "Is your nose thin and tapered, like a snout? At least, that's what it looks like from here."
"No. My face is much flatter than that. The front piece is a part of my breathing mechanism and my translator."
"Oh! See, I would never have guessed that," Gabby said.
"What does the pizza taste like?"
"Like pizza, I guess. Can you try it?"
"I cannot," he said.
"Aren't there, uh, openings in your suit?"
"There are, for me to breathe and speak, to see and hear and, well, for the obvious. But to eat, I must remove it. I can eat in the inner suit, though."
"What's under the inner suit?" she asked again.
He paused for a while. "My, my true self."
"And Trance – er, Trans – she'll get to see that?"
"Eventually."
"Do you think you'll ever love her, Desh?" Gabby was a bit nosy and a bit of a matchmaker among her friends. It just seemed like a natural inquiry to her.
"Why do you ask this? Romantic love is not a Breen construct. I can act that way. I like to think I can act in any manner. But I do not feel it. So I improvise, and I work from my observations."
"What about your parents? Do you think they love each other?" Gabby asked, not getting it.
"They are well-suited. As are Trans and I, evidently. For that is how a mate is chosen. For best suitability, and for optimal strength and genetic diversity. That is why both of my parents are veterans. They were strong for combat."
She got up suddenly. "So they were a part of the Dominion War." She started to leave, second piece of pizza forgotten.
"Where do you go, Miss Nolan?"
"Back to my home," she said, turning for a second. "Leave me alone."
"But –" He followed after her. "We will need to rehearse more than just one time."
"No," she said, "I'm done. I can't do this anymore. We have no chemistry, I don't like you and I'll knock down sets if I have to. Anything but this."
"I do not understand. Please explain."
"Your parents – they killed my father. Is that clear enough for you?"
"Oh." He said. He then ran after her some more, the suit clunky and making a little noise as he moved. "That attack was long ago."
"Not that long ago. My Dad was just working in a lab, okay? He was no soldier. But because of your folks, he's gone. Now do you see why everybody hates you?"
"Miss Nolan," he said, "I cannot undo what happened. But I will tell you, this has been the best day I have ever had since moving here."
"What?!"
"It is," he insisted. "For no one but you and our teachers has ever so much as referred to me by name. It's hey you if I'm lucky. But it's usually you bastard or Metalhead or I am referred to by the names of the dirtiest of body parts. I, who am of a race that shows our bodies to nearly no one! Being referred to as the same as a, an opening for waste, it is very hard. You have been kind to me. You may not believe it, but you have. I know this is why you were chosen to play opposite me. It is not just due to your obvious talent. It is because you are the only one who does not run away, at least not immediately."
"Then show your face," she demanded. "No one can know you or trust you or anything, or believe you or anything, if we can't see your eyes." She furiously dabbed at her own eyes, angry at their watering. "Understand it from our perspective, will ya? You come here, and you expect forgiveness. You barge into our lives, thinking we've forgotten. Or we'll go easy on you. But that's not so. I'm not the only person on Proxima Centauri who never knew their father because of the Breen attack. You can't expect us to just forget about that."
He thought for a moment. "You were born after his death. Is that correct?" she nodded vigorously. "I, my mother was expecting me when the attack occurred. I am almost fifteen. Because my mother was pregnant, she was exempted from combat. I know you cannot forgive my people for what we did, but I hope you will recognize that my own mother was on Breen at the time."
Something didn't register. "How can you only be fourteen? I'm twenty."
A small laugh escaped from inside the metal shell. "Gestation for us, it is about six of your years. It is a wonder any Breen are born. It must be very difficult. This is why I am trying to wait and finish my education and get work before Trans and I wed. For I feel it would be a lot for her to go through."
"And you'd take off your suits, both of you, and, uh, all that?"
"If you are asking how we produce babies, well, I will place my genitals inside hers. Is that not what you do?"
"Yeah, yeah," Gabby said. "I shouldn't have asked."
"You are curious, you are listening. You are not just throwing rocks and shoes." He took a breath and the wheeze could be heard inside the suit. "You are the only friend I have, Miss Nolan."
There were people nearby – adults, some of their fellow students and even younger kids from Decker Elementary School. "We need to rehearse more," Gabby said. "I am not gonna fail and mess up my final grade because we haven't practiced."
He followed her back to the pizzeria as others watched.
=/\=
"We heard about your lunch today." Gina broached the subject with her daughter at the dinner table.
"Yeah, I guess news travels fast," replied Gabby.
"We realize that you must rehearse," Kit said, "But, well, everything about that boy disturbs me."
"Me, too, baby. So we were thinking, uh, you tell her, Kit."
"Oh?" Gabby asked. Freela silently ate her chicken cacciatore, scowling.
"Yes," Kittriss said, "we would like for you to conduct the remainder of your rehearsals either on school property or," he glanced over at Gina, who looked a little ill, "or here, while either I am at home, or your mother is."
"What do you, uh, think will happen?" asked Gabby.
"I don't know," Kit admitted. "But I feel … funny about the whole thing. I feel like, like this is what Lannis and Michael would want for us to do."
"Baby, we just don't wanna see anything bad happen. Kit'll mostly be here. I, uh, I'm not so sure I can stand to be in the same room with, uh, with the people who killed your father."
"He's only fourteen," Gabby explained.
"He's still one of them, isn't he?" Freela stated. "They killed Mom and Michael, your Dad."
"You don't have to remind me. But I gotta work with him, even though somebody who looked like him dropped the bomb on Beijing that killed Dad. Even though someone else who looked like him pulled the trigger that blew up Lannis's ship."
"Can't they change the part, and just say they made a mistake, or something?" Gina asked. "It's like they're deliberately provoking us."
"They won't change it, Mom."
"What if this boy were to become ill?" Kit asked. "Does he not have a, oh, what is it called? An understudy?"
"He's got an understudy, yeah," said Gabrielle. "But he really wants to do this."
"Finish your dinner," Gina said abruptly.
"When we're here, you do realize that we need to work?" Gabby asked.
"We will leave you alone," Kit said, "but not completely alone."
"Best I'm gonna do for you, baby."
=/\=
After dinner, the girls were in their shared room. "Yanno, one of them is working in an engineering firm where I was hoping to get an internship. So," Freela sighed, "it's a pity, but that firm's off my list now."
"Whoever it is, it's just some engineer."
"Gabby," her stepsister said, "the guy is a veteran. Of the Dominion War! You know, attack on Earth and all that?"
"Why do you keep reminding me?"
"'Cause you seem like you keep forgetting," said the Klingon girl. "I heard, out on Lincoln Street, he said you were his best friend."
"No," Gabby said, "he said I was his only friend. That nobody calls him by his name. And I can barely tolerate him myself."
"You seem to be tolerating him just fine," Freela accused.
"What? Oh, c'mon! It's just, it's a human thing. You know, you try to be compassionate. And get a better grade, too."
"You saying that Klingons can't be compassionate?"
"No, I did not say that. Sheesh! Read my lips," Gabby said sharply, "I don't like him. I look at him and I see the pictures of my Dad, even the one I drew of him when I was, like four. I see the pictures of Lannis, too, and the one you painted of her, way back when. And I see all of the news reports of burning Beijing, and all the videos of all of those fire fights. He makes me sick. I hate all of them. So don't talk to me about liking him, or any crap like that." She sat there with her arms folded and began to realize that maybe; just maybe, she didn't truly mean all of the things that she had just said.
"I'm sorry. Friends again?"
"Sisters, always," Gabby said, hugging Freela.
=/\=
"So we need to rehearse either here or at my house," Gabby said to Desh.
They were in a school hallway and it was between classes. Students walked by, on their way to some room or building or another. An inordinate number of them jostled Desh as they went by, and one of them bristled with the contact. "Watch where you're goin', Metalhead!" seethed a brindle Daranaean boy.
"Apologies!" Desh answered, although he had done absolutely nothing. He turned to Gabby. "Would it be acceptable to rehearse at your house an hour after classes end today?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. I'll call Kit. Why not right after classes?"
"I need to go home and consume something first."
"More compounds?"
"Yes."
"Do they taste good?" she asked.
He laughed a little. "We don't really have senses of smell and taste such as you do."
"Oh. Huh, then why did you ask me what my pizza tasted like yesterday?"
"To be able to understand you a little better," he admitted. "We are here. We should endeavor to adopt what we can of your ways."
"When in Rome, eh?"
"I do not understand the idiom, Miss Nolan."
"Well, the whole thing is, when in Rome, do as the Romans do. It means that you should try to, well, fit in."
"You know I will never fit in."
A bell rang. "I've gotta run to my History of Klingon Opera class," she said. "712 Washington Street."
"I will see you there."
=/\=
There was a door chime. Gina answered it. Scowling, she said, "I guess you're here to work with Gabby."
"Yes, Mrs. Nolan. I thank you for allowing me into your home."
Gabby came over. "We can sit on the patio in the back." He followed her out there. Gina made sure the door to the back yard was kept open. She kept her eye on Desh the entire time.
"I reread Jane Eyre," Gabrielle said. "I think you may be right about the no touching part."
"We can paint the picture with our words, and with our inflections," Desh said.
"And not upset Trans."
"Correct," he said, "Although I think she will not learn of this production until long after it is concluded."
"That's too bad," Gabby said, "has she ever seen any of your work?"
"I imagine not."
"Don't you write to her? Or is that not allowed?"
"It is not expressly forbidden. But I do not write to her."
"Why not, Desh? You're gonna marry her, fer chrissakes!"
"I do not know her."
"Well, then this would be a good way to get acquainted, right? Show her our ways, which are probably weird to you, and to her."
"As odd as ours are to you, I expect," he said, "It is not that easy. First words and first impressions, they are so important."
"Desh, if you blow it, I mean, I don't think it's gonna matter all that much. Isn't she gonna marry you anyway?"
He thought for a moment. "I do not wish to, to possibly offend her, or to hurt her in any manner. It would be much easier if there were protocols to be followed."
"Everything would be easier with a map," Gabby said, "But I'm thinking there's no map for that."
"That is correct. Shall we start? There is a scene where Rochester asks Jane if she thinks he is handsome, and then does not like her answer, so he asks if his fortune makes him more attractive to her."
"Okay."
=/\=
They had worked together for hours. Freela had come home from her own school and watched Desh and Gabby while Gina made dinner. Kit came home. "Veal parmagiana," he said, "I know I have wed the best cook."
He looked outside. "Oh, you are still here."
"Yes, sir," Desh said, "we are making good progress, Mr. Nolan."
"I am not Nolan," Kittriss said. "He was killed in Beijing, during the attack perpetrated by your people. My first wife, she, too, was killed then."
"I am sorry," Desh said.
"Are you?" Freela asked angrily. She had been eavesdropping a bit.
"I am," Desh said carefully. "I am; I am not a soldier. I do not see the value in attacks and, and bombings. I wish to, I hope I can, I can convey that, with my performances."
"Performances," Freela seethed, "as if anything you say is true. It's all a front."
Kit gave his daughter a look and then asked, "Are you finished for the day, Gabrielle?"
"Well, I'd like to keep working, if we could," she said, "I still don't think I have Jane's intonations quite down."
"I can go," Desh said, "Perhaps we could continue tomorrow? You are correct about the intonations, but it could wait. I am certain your family wishes for you to partake of the evening meal."
"Maybe you could go and come back," she suggested.
"I would settle in for the night."
Gina came out of the kitchen. "I am; Gabby's gotta eat." She looked at her daughter. "Uh, I can't believe I'm saying this. But, uh, you might as well join us," her tone was one of resignation.
Freela snapped. "I'll eat in my room."
"No," Kit said, "you will eat with the family, just as you always do. I will not have you turned away from my own table!"
"I, I don't have to stay," Desh offered.
"No," Gina said, "everyone's pushing for us to be more tolerant, that we can rise above it all. Well I'm rising, dammit! But you tell your, your Breen friends – you tell them about how we opened up our home to you. How we were a lot nicer to you than you had any reasonable right to expect. And you better act your metal ass off when you're in that play! 'Cause Gabrielle's not gonna get a lousy grade because of you."
"I, I …."
"And another thing," she said, "you sit in the chair we give you. You do not touch my great-grandmother's china. You don't spill, you don't burp, and you keep your elbows off the goddamned table. You eat what I give you and you tell me how damned wonderful it all is."
"I, I, we cannot eat your foods."
"Not good enough for ya'?"
"N-no, Mrs. Nolan. It is that we cannot process them. I cannot eat or drink anything complex. And I cannot do so without re, removing the refrigeration suit. And I cannot do that outside of my, my home."
"Then you won't need to worry about the china," Kit offered.
"I, I guess not," Gina said, shaking her head as they headed to the table.
They sat down. Freela ate in silence, fuming. Kit finally said, "There are so very many differences."
"Yes," Desh agreed. "And they are difficult differences. Miss Nolan – I mean, to clarify, Miss Gabrielle Nolan – she has informed me that it is difficult to be trusted if one cannot be looked in the eye. I think I can appreciate that. I imagine it is also difficult as we cannot share foods. Which," he hastily added, "I am sure are wonderful."
Gabby smiled a little at that. "Most people don't bother cooking anymore. It's like a dying art. It's a pity."
"I know you can get a proper meal through a replicator, baby," Gina said, "but it doesn't taste the same." She looked at Desh. "What kinds of simple things do you eat, anyway?"
"One is C12H22O11. H2O as well."
"Water," Kit said, "and something else."
Wordlessly, Freela checked a PADD, and then showed it to Gabby, who read aloud. "Sucrose. So it's a kind of sugar."
"No PADDs at the table," Gina said. "Does your mother have these problems with you and your, uh, siblings?"
"It is just me. Most Breen are only children. We do not generally intake our nourishment at the same times. I did not know that a meal would be an occasion for socializing."
"That seems to be another dying institution," Kit said, "for us; it is a chance to, to reconnect as a family."
"I do not understand," Desh said. "Miss Nolan is the daughter of Mr. Nolan, yes?" He indicated Gabby and then indicated Freela. "And this Miss Nolan, she is your daughter together?"
The innocent inquiry hung in the air for a second. "No," Gina snapped. "Gabby is Michael Nolan's daughter. He died in the attack by, by you."
"And Freela's mother was Lannis, my first wife," Kit explained. "She had a small ship, loaned by the Daranaeans in the emergency. She was a bombardier. Their plane crashed after a fire fight over San Francisco."
Freela got up and walked out of the dining room.
"Sir," Desh said, "I did not ask in order to, to dredge up difficult memories and feelings. I asked for curiosity's sake. But I also ask because it was what? Was it a century ago, when humans and Klingons were mortal enemies?"
"That is about right," Kittriss said, "about eighty years ago is closer to correct. Our peoples were not friends then."
"But you became friends, yes?" Desh asked, "And it was, you and Mrs. Nolan, you, you had this, this horrible thing in common. But you also had a very good thing in common, your, your daughters. And you wed. You are not mortal enemies. Your peoples are allies."
"That's different," Kit said. "Time had to pass. It was a lot of time."
"It's like a generation had to pass," Gina said. She pushed her food around on her plate. She, too, was no longer hungry.
"I bet before that generation passed," Gabby said, "There was a lot of, you know, hating."
"We've never attacked Earth. And you never attacked Kronos," Kittriss said, looking at his wife.
"It was our error," Desh said.
They were all silent until Gina asked, "Do you know people who were in the war?"
"Yes," Desh said quietly.
"Who?" asked Kit.
"The, all of the adults here," Desh said, "They are, they are all veterans."
"Both of your parents?" Gina asked.
"My, my mother, she was expecting me then. She was exempted from combat."
"But that doesn't excuse your father," Kit said, "or any of the others."
"I know, sir."
"What did your father do in the war?" Gina demanded. "Did he bomb Beijing? Did he engage in fire fights and destroy little Daranaean ships?"
"He, he worked as a Navigator. So was one of the, the other fathers. That other father, he is the only one with employment here on Proxima Centauri. He is working in an engineering office performing drafting tasks. But the others, my parents, no one will allow them to work. It, it, this is all being done for my education. And, and for maybe a small measure of, of peace. But I fear it is a lot for them. They want to work, you see. But I suppose I am preventing that."
"Can't they work in your, uh, neighborhood?" Gina asked. "You've gotta need teachers or something."
"I don't know, Mrs. Nolan."
"Where do you live, Desh?" Gabby asked.
"We all live in a triangle area, where Hoover, Fillmore and Harding streets cross."
"So you all live together and just expect to somehow get to know us? It doesn't work that way," Gina said.
"They said we'd be put there for our own safety."
"Put there?" Kit asked. "So it is not your doing that you are separate?"
"It is not our, our choice, sir."
"Wait a second," Gina said. "You mean to tell me that our government is; it's just dictating to you where to live? Never mind the reason. They just told you where to live?"
"They did, Mrs. Nolan. My mother has told me that she would have preferred a home with a better cooling unit, for one thing, but they were just told that this was where we must live."
"So you're being warehoused." Gina thought for a moment, coming to a realization. "That's not for your protection," she said. "It's a ghetto."
=/\=
Two months later, the play was staged. It seemed as if everyone in Archer City was there. As they had decided, Gabby and Desh did not kiss or embrace or even touch. It was all communicated through words. The company was very mixed. It was a Gorn Mister Brocklehurst and a Xindi Reptilian Bertha Mason and St. John Rivers was played by a Romulan. Adèle was played by a Klingon and Grace Poole by a genderless Vilusun. The costumes were pretty and appropriate to the era, and the set design was dark and moody, just as Gabby had predicted.
"Reader, I married him," Gabrielle announced to the audience, thereby ending the play. The curtain went down to applause.
When it went back up, the company took a bow and a lone figure approached the apron of the stage. It was a Cardassian woman, carrying a bouquet. She handed it to Gabby, who accepted it happily. Straightening up, the entire company departed, leaving her alone on the stage. She bowed again and noticed the card. It just said, "Thank you, from Desh in Rome."
She turned to look behind her and caught his attention. She beckoned him over with a gesture as nothing could be heard above the din of the applause. Smiling, Gabrielle pointed to him and then bowed to him as the audience fell silent. "Jane Eyre is no good without her Mister Rochester!" she called out. "Please, please, let Desh know how wonderful he was." She gave the bouquet to the Klingon girl who had played Adèle and made sure to lead the applause, such as it was.