An Apology:
Hi everyone. I want to apologize to you all for the fact that it has been so many months since I last updated Tradition. It was certainly not my intention to begin a story, and then leave it hanging for so long. Unfortunately, after experiencing an initial bout of writer's block, I went through a series of real-world experiences - moving house, a serious illness or two, and some deaths in the family - that have made it difficult to write.
I'm happy to relate, however, that I'm back in the writing groove, and have (as you can see), finished the next chapter. I won't make any specific commitments, in terms of posting schedule, but I hope this heralds a new period of updating more frequently. Thank you all for reading my story, and offering your feedback - it is greatly appreciated!
Acknowledgments:
A huge thank you to Casper and Lauren, who were my proofreaders and advisors this time around. You guys are the best!
Also, many thanks to Indignant Lemur, for mentioning Tradition in the newest chapter of her own Andorian fiction, the amazing Émigré!
Tradition - Chapter Five: Moves and Counter-Moves
Dawn had come, and far out across the vast Eastern Sea, where the dark waters seemed to rise up and meet the sky, the first golden rays of light were stealing across the horizon. Elindal, the great star of the Coridanite system, was slowly rising. Silent and still, hidden in the shadows of the massive trees which guarded the narrow entrance to the Barad Peninsula, Tholos stood on shore, looking out at the restless waves, and at the rising sun. How different this ever-moving sea was, from the frozen oceans of Andoria! How different, he thought, was this rosy dawn, with its massive yellow sun, from the pale blue light cast by the star of his own world. Sunrises were few and far between on the icy moon he called home, often blotted out by fierce snowstorms. Alien as it was, he couldn't help but gaze in wonder at the calm beauty before him.
It had been a busy night, Tholos reflected, quietly waiting for the far-off light to reach the land. He had finished dumping the bodies of Kelev's assailants an hour before dawn, and had immediately set out to track down Roval, the current head of the Orugan. The Ahm Tal had once helped the man out of a tricky situation with the Orion Syndicate, and the commander had been determined to collect on his debt to the service. Coridan's infamous criminal cabal, responsible for most of the smuggling on the planet, was known to have its stronghold on the Barad Peninsula. Extending out into the sea at the far northern extreme of the Shengars, with the low marshes that separated the district from the sea spreading out to the south, and open water to the east and north, it was an isolated spot, one that afforded a clear view of anyone who might be approaching. After leaving the shelter of the trees, Tholos would be immediately visible to the guards in the stronghold ahead.
Determining that it had grown light enough to approach without giving cause for any alarm, the Andorian commander stepped out of the shadows, and began walking along the narrow strip of land leading out to the peninsula. Proceeding slowly, in order to give the sentinels ahead time to ascertain his identity, Tholos' eyes were fixed on the massive structure before him, reflexively running through its likely strengths and weaknesses, and analyzing the defensibility of its position. Its location on the Barad Peninsula seemed at first glance a significant advantage, the building's isolation providing a defense against attack by the Shengars' many rebel groups and small-time criminals. But from a military perspective it was far too open and exposed of a spot to afford much protection, especially against an aerial assault. The fact that it had never, to the best of his knowledge, come under attack by any government force, was therefore somewhat puzzling. There were rumors, of course, that the Orugan was secretly in the employ of the government, or was at the very least involved in passing information on to Coridan's State Intelligence Agency. Tholos would not be at all surprised to discover that this was the case. After all, if the authorities here were capable of working so closely with the Vulcans, they would hardly recoil from employing their own world's hardened criminals.
Drawing closer, the Andorian observed at least two rooftop sentinels watching him, phase rifles in hand. He knew from prior reconnaissance missions that there were at least five such guards at all times, walking the perimeter of the roof and keeping watch for any approach, whether by land or by sea. Ahead of him, the door to the building opened, and two stocky Coridanites, each with a drawn phase pistol, stepped out.
"Stop where you are!," the one in the front cried out, as the two men walked out to meet him. "What business have you with the Orugan?" the man demanded, as he and his companion drew near, before stopping just outside of striking distance.
"I am here to speak with Roval," Tholos replied.
"Name?"
"Commander Tholos, of the Andorian Imperial Guard."
"Are you armed?" the guard asked.
Were they serious?, he wondered incredulously, astonished that they would need to ask. "Yes," he replied tersely.
"You will need to surrender your weapons in the guardroom."
"Of course," Tholos replied, almost bored with the exchange. Did they really think they'd find all of his weapons?, he wondered scornfully as, at a gesture from the guard, he walked ahead toward the stronghold.
Twenty minutes later, sitting across the table from Roval, being offered a glass of Andorian ale, the commander once again found himself bored, restless almost. How pointless and unsatisfying all these moves and counter moves felt, when Kelev lay dying some few miles away. It was all very well to trust the human doctor to help, when there was so little she could do. Phase injuries were, after all, almost always a death sentence for his people.
Reminding himself sternly that duty was never pointless, and should certainly give satisfaction to any true Andorian, Tholos wrested his mind back to the matter at hand.
"Toran has grown reckless," the Coridanite was saying, "to order an attack on a member of the Imperial Guard."
The commander dipped his antennae in agreement. It had been a remarkably stupid move, he thought - almost incomprehensible.
As if reading his mind, Roval continued: "The dissidents here are well aware of the new interplanetary alliance that Andoria and Vulcan have entered, Commander. Perhaps Toran felt that he could no longer rely upon you for assistance, now that your people have made peace with their old enemies." Here the man stopped, darting a keen glance across the table at his visitor, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation or denial.
"Change is in the wind, but the ice remains unmoved," Tholos replied blandly, quoting an old Andorian adage. If the Coridanite imagined he could be baited into a discussion of interstellar politics and the Ahm Tal's intentions, he would soon discover his error. To begin with, the commander wasn't privy to the service's long-term strategy, and if he had been, he certainly wouldn't discuss it with an outsider, let alone a known criminal. He'd come with a very different purpose in mind.
Aware that he had been rebuffed, Roval straightened, finally getting down to business. "What can I do for you, Commander? I haven't forgotten the aid you provided, when I ran into those bastards in the Syndicate."
Tholos' antennae flattened back against his head, at the mention of the Orions. If there was any people more treacherous and loathsome than the Vulcans, it was those green-skinned devils. The first alien species his people had encountered, after achieving warp capability some three hundred years before, the Orions had launched a war of conquest shortly after their first contact, almost succeeding in destroying Andoria, before his people had managed to beat them back. It had been a costly war, whether measured in casualties or in terms of planetary damage, and the only thing that had saved his people had been the fact that most of them lived underground. Of course, that hadn't helped those living in Lor'Nol and the other cities on the An'Dor continent, who had perished en masse when the Orion bombardment had triggered long dormant seismic instabilities in the region, leading to massive earthquakes, and a disastrous series of cavern collapses. In less than a day, entire keths had been wiped out, and his people's ancient homeland - An'Dor was said to be the sacred wellspring of all life on his world, and had contained the cultural settlements of greatest antiquity - had been utterly destroyed. By the time they had driven the enemy from their space, more than half of Andoria's population had been lost. It was the duty of every Son and Daughter of An'Dor to carry with them the memory of the fallen, and to be ever mindful of the destruction and sorrow that came from too trusting an attitude toward off-worlders.
"We were happy to be of assistance," the commander replied, outwardly composed again after the initial, almost involuntary movement of his antennae. "But now I need the name of the faction to whom Toran sold our weapons, and an introduction to their leader, if you can provide it. I'm told it was a group here in North Shengar."
"It was Galor," the Orugan boss replied, his answer coming so promptly that his visitor suspected that the Coridanite had been expecting the question. "She's head of the Halan Dor faction, but you'll have trouble getting her to talk to you. The Halan Dor don't believe in having any contact with off-worlders, whether Vulcan, Andorian, or otherwise. Their name, roughly translated, means 'The Purity Party,' and their slogan is 'Coridan for the Coridanites'."
A sensible position, Tholos reflected to himself, thinking of the many Andorians of his acquaintance who had similar feelings about his own world. Be that as it may, it did make his task more difficult. "Will you be able to act as an intermediary? I need you to convince her to return the weapons Toran sold to her."
"Payment...?" Roval said leadingly, clearly having expected this request as well.
"We have weapons to trade. They are of a superior quality to the ones Toran sold her, with better sighting features, and a ten percent longer range. There are also more of them."
"How many more?" the Coridanite asked, all business now.
"Twice as many. Fifty extra units."
"Andorian manufacture?"
Tholos hesitated for a moment, before replying: "Orion." His companion looked up sharply at that, but the Andorian maintained a stoic stillness in his antennae, giving nothing away.
"I see," Roval replied. "Galor can be a bit... difficult, but for fifty extra units, I think she will agree to the exchange. The weapons are here in the Shengars?"
"Yes," Tholos replied briefly, offering no further details. It was quite possible that Roval already knew the location of the Ahm Tal's safe house in South Shengar, but he saw no reason to give it away, regardless. "If this Galor is cooperative, I will bring the weapons to any meeting point she requires."
The Coridanite smirked slightly. Tholos had no doubt that he was perfectly aware of his guest's reluctance to share any unnecessary information. One didn't, after all, become head of an organization like the Orugan by failing to understand the power of information, or the importance of secrecy. "Wait here, Commander," Roval said, rising from his seat. "I will contact Galor immediately and suggest a meet-up. She isn't entirely friendly toward us, but I think I can persuade her." The man grinned outright at that, clearly enjoying some private joke, before pushing the bottle of ale on the table closer to his guest, and turning toward the door.
It was midday by the time Roval had worked out a meeting with the head of the Halan Dor, and Tholos' antennae were practically twitching with impatience. It had been more than three cycles since he'd had any sleep, and the idea of completing the exchange and heading back to the safe house for a few hours of rest held great appeal. Of course, his training would allow him to go on for many more cycles without sleeping, but he wanted to be in optimum fighting shape, should it be necessary.
Walking south toward the safe house, the commander began calculating how long it would take to transfer the weapons to the meeting place that had been selected. It was near the border between North and South Shengar, quite close to the medical clinic, actually, and not too far from the safe house. At ten units per case, it would not be possible to carry more than one case at a time, so it would take ten trips to ferry everything over, something that could easily be accomplished before the agreed-upon meeting in three hours. It was raining again, of course, Tholos noted in disgust, his antennae flicking every once in a while in an attempt to shake off the moisture that clung to them, but at least the daily downpour would keep the Shengari inside, and out of his way. The fewer people who saw an Andorian walking around the district the better.
Reaching the safe house - a nondescript, windowless shack located at the end of a narrow cul-de-sac just off the main thoroughfare leading from North to South Shengar - the commander proceeded grimly with his task. It was hard, unpleasant work, shifting the cases while the rain poured down in sheets, obscuring his vision, turning the warren of narrow alleyways beneath his feet into a soggy quagmire, and sending continuous streams of water running underneath his stiff leather uniform and down his back. Continuing doggedly despite his discomfort, Tholos found his thoughts drawn inexorably back to Kelev, and to the humans in whose charge he had left him.
What hope was there? he wondered bleakly, recalling how still and pale his comrade had lain, his body covered in bruises and cuts that were already starting to decay. His friend would die, as all Andorians did who sustained such injuries, and it was foolish to think otherwise, foolish even to have worried about the intricacies of blood donation and kethni politics, when his new brother would never awaken to confront his changed status. It was the presence of the humans that had led him astray, Tholos realized. Commander Shran had always maintained that it was a mistake to underestimate the pink skins, and certainly, their first encounter with the species had proven that to be true. They had a way of doing things that seemed impossible, and of convincing others that they could too. They had a way of making you believe that things which had never been, which everything in your history and experience had taught you could never be - things such as entering into an interstellar alliance with one's long-time enemies, for instance - might somehow come to pass. Did their species even believe in the concept of the impossible? he wondered suddenly. Or did they wander around the universe as blithely unconcerned with the idea of limitations as they were with the potential threat posed by the many alien species they encountered?
Who would travel halfway across the sector in order to set up a poorly defended medical clinic in the den of utter iniquity that was the Shengars? Who would voluntarily spend time surrounded by murderers and thieves, with only a single assistant (and bodyguard, Tholos suspected) to protect them? Elinor Cameron, that was who, the commander told himself, his antennae flattening back against his head in anger. The human doctor was no warrior, and clearly had no military or intelligence training. It was infuriating to think of her blundering about, making herself a target for unscrupulous criminals and terrorists. Did such hopeful idiots not grasp that someone would eventually have to pay the price for their optimism? That for every reckless soul who rushed in, some other person, someone who had thought things through, and who usually had better things to do with their time, would have to rescue them?
Angry with himself for giving in to these thoughts - he had left Kelev in the doctor's care, and what was done could not be undone - Tholos shook his antennae, trying to clear his head. Setting down the last of the boxes, and then resting upon it, he realized with surprise that it had taken longer than expected to transfer everything from the safe house, and that the hour of the meet-up had arrived. He had not noticed the passage of time, so engrossed had he been by his thoughts of Kelev, and of the human doctor. The location chosen for the weapons exchange was yet another of the Shengars' seemingly endless array of metal shacks, windowless, like so many of the rest. This one, however, had a small second room in the rear, where Tholos had been instructed to hide himself, while Roval met with the head of the Halan Dor. Hearing the soft sound of footsteps approaching through the rain, the commander quickly stood, moving quietly into the tiny second room and pulling the door most of the way closed behind him, leaving just a narrow crack through which he could observe the proceedings.
Almost as soon as the he had hidden himself, three Coridanites entered the front room - a tall, strongly built woman followed by two men. None of them were known to Tholos, but he assumed it must be Galor and two of her followers, an impression confirmed a moment later when Roval also entered, flanked by two of his own guards.
"I see you wasted no time in getting here," the head of the Orugan said, smirking at the woman standing across from him in the small room.
The woman remained impassive for the most part, although her stern face tightened fractionally at her fellow Coridanite's mocking greeting. Looking at her through the crack in the door, Tholos was unexpectedly reminded of one of his instructors in hand-to-hand combat, many years before, when he had been a young Guardsman in training. Lt. Commander Danat Idrani had been remarkably stoic and inexpressive for an Andorian, her antennae unmoving and her face calm and still, save for the occasional tightening of her lips, when she was displeased.
"We're here for the weapons," Galor replied briefly, her level tone making it clear that she would not be drawn out by any provocation.
"Alien arms acceptable then, as long as no aliens come along with them?" Roval replied in an amused tone, evidently not at all cowed by the woman before him.
Observing Galor as she gazed stoically across at Roval, Tholos found himself wondering why the man was baiting her. Did he hope to gain some rhetorical or tactical advantage, or did he simply enjoy making others lose their self-control? If the latter, than he'd clearly chosen the wrong target, the commander thought, observing the woman's composure with admiration. Here, finally, was a Coridanite one could respect.
"Your message said that we could double our weapons?" the leader of the Halan Dor asked calmly, ignoring her counterpart's satirical remark.
"As you see," Roval replied, gesturing toward the ten cases stacked in the middle of the room, separating the two parties. At a nod from their leader, one of the Halan Dor men stepped forward, opening the top case and handing one of the weapons inside to Galor. She handled the phase rifle with practiced ease, holding it up, and testing the sighting mechanism.
"One hundred units?" she asked interrogatively.
"As you see," Roval replied again.
"Payment?" Galor asked, her phrasing and tone so similar to Roval's own, when speaking to Tholos hours before, that the commander started. Looking at the two more closely, he realized that there was a certain similarity in their facial structure, perhaps pointing to a familial relationship.
"You'll need to return the fifty units you purchased recently from the Rashan."
"So. The Andorians are cleaning house then," Galor observed.
"We aren't the only ones with internal conflicts," Roval replied, amused again.
The woman across from him straightened, setting down the rifle with a clatter. "Their conflicts are no concern of ours," she said sharply.
"I'm not sure that's entirely true," Roval said, his tone almost gentle.
"We will take one case with us now, test the weapons, and return for the rest later if they perform adequately," Galor stated, ignoring his reply.
"Lanaa..." Roval began, only to be cut off.
"We will leave first. If the new weapons are acceptable, we will return for the rest before the end of the day, bringing the fifty units we obtained from the Rashan with us." Nodding sharply at the man across from her, Galor stepped out of the shack, her two subordinates following closely behind her.
As Tholos moved out from the rear room, he heard the Coridanite give a soft sigh. Looking across at the man, the commander considered what he had heard. "Lanaa" was a familial term of some sort, he knew.
"Your sister?" he asked aloud.
"Yes," Roval answered shortly. "Family can be complicated," he elaborated with a faint smirk.
Couldn't it just? thought Tholos. "When do you think she will return?" he asked aloud.
"Within the hour, I would imagine," the Coridanite replied. "As soon as she realizes the bargain she's getting."
"I will wait here, then, for them to return with the older weapons," Tholos said. Roval nodded, heading for the door himself. Soon the commander was alone again, sitting on top of the cases stacked in the middle of the otherwise empty shack. He'd hide himself when Galor and her followers returned, and then transfer the cases of Andorian weapons back to the safe house. Then, maybe, he could rest.
0-0-0
It was just after noon, and the Shengars' daily deluge was once again turning the district into a sodden mess. The rain came down in sheets, like a silver curtain that was always in motion. It was a lovely, albeit highly inconvenient aspect of life on Coridan, Elinor thought, as she dashed across from the utility shed to the front entrance of the clinic, splashing through puddles while attempting to avoid the muddier spots. Arriving breathlessly in the front vestibule, she stopped short just before careening headlong into Dr. Togar. The tall, elderly Coridanite smiled down at her.
"Seeking respite from the Longars' daily blessing?" he asked, gentle amusement in his tone.
Elinor smiled in return, before glancing back out at the rain. "It's beautiful, but sometimes rather too plentiful," she exclaimed ruefully, wiping her feet on the traditional Coridanite welcome rug that filled the vestibule.
"We are at the foothills of the Longar Mountains," the doctor replied. "They trap the rain fronts moving in off the Eastern Sea, and keep them here on the coast. Where I grew up, in the farmland to the south of here, the mountains are far from the sea, and the rain is able to move inland."
"Did you grow up on a farm?" Elinor asked curiously, looking up at the man in front of her. His graying hair was neatly clipped, and his handsome face, with its distinctive Coridanite forehead, was clean-shaven. As always, he looked distinguished and well put-together, despite his surroundings. There were times when Elinor felt quite gauche beside him, a veritable child, with flyaway hair and clothing that, no matter how careful she was in looking after it, always managed to appear disheveled.
"Yes, after a fashion. My family have owned a large vineyard for many generations, and produce one of Coridan's most famous wines." Here Dr. Togar hesitated a moment, before continuing, a twinkle in his eye. "So you see, we do produce something of note, besides dilithium ore and space ships!"
Elinor smiled again. There was something about the older Coridanite doctor that always set her at her ease. He was dignified, but rarely formal, invariably helpful, and always seemed to welcome her many questions. His courteous manner sometimes struck her as old-fashioned, in the style of a fond grandfather, if she had ever known one, but then, perhaps she was misled by his age. What, after all, would she know of the fashions, old or new, on Coridan? Reminded by this train of thought of her exchange the previous night with the Shengari man who had helped deliver Commander Kelev to the clinic, she turned to her companion.
"Doctor, I wonder if you would clear something up for me. In the course I took on Coridanite society and customs when I first arrived, I was taught that in the absence of other titles, one addressed men as Garam and women as Ganar. I have noticed here in the Shengars however, that such terms are rarely used. Are they considered outdated? Perhaps specific to certain social classes, or limited to particular situations?"
Doctor Togar hesitated; an unusually somber expression on his face, and Elinor felt a moment of panic, wondering if somehow her question had given offense to the man she had come to regard as a mentor, over the course of the past year.
"Once," the doctor began, "it was common for all Coridanites to address each other in this fashion, regardless of their social standing or region of origin. We had our hierarchies, of course, like most societies, and resources were never distributed with complete equity, but there was a belief in a rough sort of social equality amongst all peoples. There's a word for it, in our language - Galanlot - that translates approximately as 'parity of honor.' But that was before the discovery of dilithium ore. Before our first contact with off-worlders." Here he hesitated, and looking up at him, it seemed to Elinor for the first time that he looked old and tired, almost as if he had shrunken in on himself, while speaking. Struck with a sudden sharp sense of remorse, that her question could have effected such a change in the man before her, she instinctively moved to interrupt, to assure him that he owed her no explanation, when he continued.
"We have lost many of the old ways - some would say we have lost our way altogether - in this new interstellar society in which we now find ourselves, one small part of an unimaginable whole. Gone are the days when the humblest thing you could be was a smallholder or a fisherman, and the grandest a gentleman farmer or city merchant. Once, to become a criminal - a person of violence - was considered the greatest debasement possible, and to be a scholar - a person of learning - the greatest of honors. Now our elites are people of immense wealth, their fortunes amassed through the sale of our natural resources to off-worlders, or through the construction of starships we Coridanites rarely use. The common people no longer work on the farms or fishing boats, producing food for all, but rather, toil for a pittance in the mines, or in the starship construction yards, earning barely enough to survive. The city elites view scholarly pursuits as the preserve of the eccentric few now, and regard traditional Coridanite cultural norms as outdated and embarrassing. They view their own workers as little better than dangerous animals, to be controlled and penned in in places such as these, and prefer the company of off-worlders, who provide them with the wealth and power they so cherish. The people, for their part, who were once so joyful, and who were known for their songs, have grown bitter and resentful. Criminal acts, once quite rare, have become common, and terrorism, unthinkable in times past, flourishes. Gone are the days of Galanlot, and of kinship between all Coridanites."
Here Dr. Togar paused, as if to gather himself. Seeing her stricken face, he reached out and gently patted Elinor's hand, as if to offer comfort in the face of the harsh truths he was sharing with her. "I apologize, my dear," he said, "for burdening you with the melancholy thoughts of an old man."
Elinor swallowed the painful lump in her throat, afraid that she might cry. "It is I who should apologize, Doctor, for raising such painful reflections. I am grateful that you always take the time to answer my questions, and that you have welcomed me here, even though I am an off-worlder."
Here the older doctor smiled again. "It is I who am grateful to you, for coming to Coridan, and bringing your passion to help with you. I had tried for years to convince the Medical Board to give me a license to open a clinic here in the capital's outlying districts, all to no avail. But you, an off-worlder, managed to convince them, the first time you asked. Your species is new to interstellar politics, I think, but the central government here is well aware that you have influence, both with the Vulcans and with the Andorians. Convincing those two species to enter into an alliance was no small achievement, and the powers that be here on Coridan are no doubt anxious to ingratiate themselves with your people."
Elinor paused, struck by this observation. She had never really considered the motivations of the planetary government, in approving her request to set up a clinic in the Shengars, having just been grateful that permission had been granted at all. She'd proceeded as she had always done, oblivious to the underlying political and social motives of those around her. "Perhaps," she said hesitantly, hoping to offer comfort to the man across from her, as he stood gazing out at the rain, a contemplative expression on his face, "perhaps Galanlot has not disappeared entirely. Why just yesterday, a man here in the district addressed me as Ganar!"
"Ah!" Dr. Togar said, his twinkle returning. "And what did he want, this old-fashioned Shengari? Did he come in for medical treatment?"
With a sick feeling of dismay, Elinor realized that with her thoughtless words she had walked herself right into a trap. Now, whatever answer she gave would require lying to the kindhearted old man across from her, lying to the man who had just honored her with his confidence. Why, oh why couldn't she learn discretion, or practice the diplomacy that seemed to come so naturally to all the other members of her family?! She simply wasn't any good at subterfuge, and hadn't even spared a thought for the fact that she was supposed to be keeping the events of the previous night a secret from her Coridanite colleague. "Oh..," she began, thinking frantically of something she could say that would be truthful but not incriminating, "he wasn't a patient himself, just someone who came in."
"Curious about us, was he?" asked the doctor.
"Yes, perhaps so," Elinor practically gasped, relieved at this interpretation of her vague comment.
"Well," he continued, "be careful. There are many good people in the Shengars, but many dangerous ones as well."
"Oh, yes," Elinor agreed readily, glad that the moment of danger had passed.
"Mr. Dowd seems quite busy today in the utility shed," Dr. Togar observed, and Elinor stiffened again, the sick feeling of dread returning.
"Oh, yes," she repeated herself, feeling like an utter fool. At that very moment, Connor himself emerged from the shed, crossing over to join the two doctors in the clinic vestibule.
"Well, Doc," he said, addressing himself to Elinor, "that reorganization project is well underway."
"Oh, yes. Good," she replied, feeling herself flush with embarrassment.
"It's a bit chaotic out there, Dr. Togar," the nurse continued, "so let me know if I can get anything for you."
"Of course, Mr. Dowd, of course," the Coridanite replied cordially, seemingly unaware of Elinor's flustered state. With a nod at the two humans, and a kindly pat on Elinor's shoulder, he turned and walked back into the clinic.
"Everything OK, Doc?" Connor asked, looking at her with concern.
"I almost let the cat out of the bag just now!" Elinor exclaimed, before continuing, "I'm just not cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff."
Connor's lips twitched, as if he were resisting the impulse to smile, no doubt in agreement with her assessment. Instead, he asked sympathetically: "How long has it been since you last slept, Doc?"
"It must be at least thirty hours," she replied, realizing as she massaged her sore neck that she was exhausted. She simply didn't handle sleep deprivation very well, and tended to get clumsy and forgetful if she didn't get enough rest. What she needed was a nap. But where could she go, that she wouldn't be disturbed?
As if reading her mind, Connor asked: "Why don't you run out to the utility shed and get some shut-eye? I've set up a temporary cot next to our patient, so you'll be there if he wakes up."
"But what about you?" Elinor asked, wanting nothing so much as to take her assistant up on his offer, but nevertheless hesitating. "And what of Dr. Togar? Won't he notice that I'm missing?"
"Oh, sure I'm grand!" the nurse replied. "I could go days without sleep - I've done it before. As for the doctor, leave him to me."
Elinor had wanted to keep arguing, feeling that as the doctor, it was she who should stay up the longest, but it had been a struggle even to keep her eyes open, and she had yielded to Connor's suggestion. Three hours after sneaking out to the utility shed, she awoke with a start, sure that there was something important to which she needed to attend. But what? The rain beat a steady tattoo on the shed's metal roof above her, the sound intermingling with the regular low beep of the monitoring device, but otherwise everything was still. Then a soft cough came from the sorting table beside her, and a raspy but amused voice observed: "I see that you're awake."
"Oh!" she gasped, startled to see her patient, awake and apparently quite lucid, lying on his side at the edge of the converted sorting table, and looking down at her. Fumbling with her blanket, she sat up, still somewhat groggy. "Commander Kelev..." she exclaimed, but cut off, her head suddenly swimming from the abrupt change of position.
The Andorian above regarded her steadily, his antennae cocked forward at her in a way that somehow struck her as inquisitive. "Are you feeling unwell, Doctor?" he asked so solicitously - for all the world as if he were the doctor and she the patient - that Elinor almost laughed aloud. For one wild moment she felt as if she had woken up in some parallel, upside down dimension. Telling herself sternly not to get hysterical, she stood, resolutely ignoring the dizzy sensation that accompanied the movement.
"I'm quite well, Commander," she replied, trying to make her voice sound both authoritative and soothing. "How are you feeling, today?"
Her patient smirked slightly, as if well aware that she wasn't being entirely frank. "I have yet to return to the ice," he replied somewhat cryptically, managing to sound amused and slightly surprised at the same time.
Observing him, Elinor realized that the commander looked a great deal better, his color a deeper blue than it had been even a few hours before, when she had checked up on him before settling down for her nap. Moving over to stand next to him, she picked up the handheld medical scanner. "Your fever appears to be greatly reduced," she said, reaching out and laying a hand on his bare shoulder, "and you are no longer clammy to the touch. May I examine your wounds?"
The Andorian's antennae dipped in assent, and he rolled over onto his stomach. As she peeled the bandage back from his phase injury, she saw with surprise that although it was still terribly inflamed, the flesh around the wound was no longer decaying or giving off a putrid odor. The same was true of his smaller cuts and lacerations. "Your wounds look much better!" she exclaimed, as pleased as she was surprised, given that he had lain practically at death's door less than twenty-four hours before. "Do Andorians normally recover so quickly?" she asked, carefully replacing the bandages.
"Usually, they don't recover at all," the commander replied calmly, his face cradled on one arm, his voice somewhat muffled. Turning over again, so that he was facing her, he continued, "Only one in a thousand Andorians survives a serious phase injury. You must be a healer of great skill, Ava - a miracle worker!"
Elinor flushed, unsure of the meaning of the title he had given her. "We did nothing out of the common way for you, Commander..."
"Call me Kelev," he interrupted. "After all, as the one who snatched me from the cavern of death, you hold my life in the warmth of your hands."
Elinor hesitated, not sure how to respond. Although she was certainly no expert on the niceties of Andorian social customs, she was very much aware of the attention given to issues of rank and hierarchy in their culture. Was this simply gratitude? Or was she once again missing the subtleties of alien communication and culture? Did it matter? "Very well, Kelev," she began again, "my name is Elinor."
"Elinor," he repeated, sounding out the word in a soft tone. "This name has a meaning?"
"It comes from the Greek originally, and means 'bright, shining one.'"
"The Greek?" her patient inquired.
"The language of Greece, an early, influential Earth civilization, and a nation-state during the modern period. Today it is one of the national ethnicities from the continent of Europe."
"An appropriate name," the Andorian murmured, looking up at her fair hair. "Kelev means 'outside fear,' although you might also say 'without fear.' It is a traditional name amongst the Adana."
"The Adana?" Elinor enquired in her turn.
"Adana is my keth name. The keth system provides the basic structure of Andorian society, and it has driven much of our history. I've heard the word translated as 'clan' by you humans, which makes sense, as a keth is held together by blood ties. You could also describe it as a tribe however, as the keths are quite large, and usually contain multiple, interrelated bloodlines. The Adana is a fairly small keth, by Andorian standards, and the only one to stand Kel'Dor."
"Keldor..?"
"It means 'outside the mother.' We are the only Andorians who live on the surface of our world. The others have always lived within the shelter of An'Dor - within the body of the First Mother."
Here Kelev paused, and Elinor noted with contrition that he looked exhausted. Of course he did - why he was still recovering from terrible wounds! What had she been thinking, allowing him to speak for so long? "That's enough talk for now," she said, reaching out and gently pushing him back down onto his makeshift bed. "You need to rest and recover." He lay back, apparently compliant, although his antennae were wiggling about in a way that Elinor found difficult to interpret. She had a sneaking suspicion however, that he was laughing at her. Pushing that thought, and her instinctive feeling of embarrassment aside - was she blushing again, she wondered? - she resolutely returned to her earlier train of thought.
"As I was saying before, we haven't really taken any extraordinary steps in your treatment. We gave you some painkillers and antifungal medications when you first arrived, trimmed your wounds to excise the necrotic flesh, and gave you a blood transfusion. I honestly have no idea why you are doing so well, although I'm pleased, of course."
"Of course..." he murmured in reply, his eyes suddenly bright, and his antennae angled forward, as if drawn in her direction like needles to a lodestone. Elinor found the effect of watching those slender appendages almost hypnotic, and had to give herself a shake, to clear her head. The Andorian on the table before her smirked slightly, as if perfectly aware of her response to him. "How," he asked, finally speaking again, "how in An'Dor's name did a timid little pink skin doctor manage to convince Tholos Dara to give his blood to an Outsider...?" His voice was soft and sibilant, his tone gentle and almost contemplative, as if he were thinking aloud, rather than speaking directly to her. "What could you have said to him, Ava, that would persuade him?"
Elinor hesitated, at a loss. Had she said anything to the commander? Had she made any arguments at all? Under her patient's steady gaze, she floundered, unable to recall the exact circumstances of her exchange with the intimidating Commander Tholos, but sure somehow, that she needed to answer the question. "I'm... I'm not sure, Comman-, that is, Kelev," she began. "I asked him to donate, of course, but I'm not sure I said anything to him at all, really, to convince him."
"Nothing at all?" the blue-skinned alien inquired, his tone somehow both gentle and commanding, his attention unnerving, with its unwavering focus.
"No, nothing. I... I just assumed he would do it."
"You assumed he would do it?" Kelev repeated, as if trying to parse her words for some hidden meaning.
"Well, why shouldn't he!?" she demanded, losing her composure in the face of that terrible feeling, as familiar to her as breathing, that once again she, Elinor Cameron, was the only one in the room who didn't know what was going on. "Why shouldn't he?" she repeated.
"Tholos is a son of the Dara, and not a minor branch either," Kelev replied. At her look of incomprehension, he sighed, elaborating: "Keth Dara isn't known to embrace outsiders, whether that be we Kel'Dor'An, or you off-worlders. They barely manage to tolerate Keth Idrani!" Here he snorted, evidently amused at this evidence of mistrust in his fellow Andorians.
"Keth Dara?" Elinor asked uncertainly. "But I thought you and the commander were brothers..." here she stopped. There was no mistaking the sardonic expression of Kelev's left antenna, as he cocked it in her direction.
"We are now," he replied laconically, his antennae wiggling about in that way that Elinor was beginning to realize indicated amusement. Looking up at the roof with that slight smirk of his, he continued: "It's a difficult thing to become, Tholos Dara's brother, but if you can manage it, the rewards are not to be scorned."
"And is it less worthwhile, to be Kelev Adana's brother?," she inquired curiously.
At this Kelev's amusement disappeared, and he looked up at her with a sudden fierce intensity. "Now that is truth," he said, "and a remark worthy of the Kel'Dor'An." Reaching up, he gently brushed her cheek with one finger. "Aren't you full of surprises, Ava?"
"What does that mean?" Elinor asked, blushing at this unexpected caress.
"Ava?"
"Yes."
He smiled roguishly up at her, his eyes seeming to twinkle, his antennae once again focused determinedly in her direction. "Treasure. Ava means treasure."