TWENTY-ONE: Protocol
Thelen had never been especially prone to worry or anxiety; a trait for which he had been commended throughout his career, in fact.
But he would, perhaps, grudgingly admit to feeling something not unlike concern as he watched the Human woman fall in line behind the Ambassador's aide. There was a moment where she had hesitated, just fractionally, before stepping out of the transport ship and into the full view of several government officials –a moment of visible uncertainty that could have ruined everything. The Ambassador was highly respected and equalled many of those officials, but a sign of weakness would have been taken very poorly.
But the Terran had recovered herself almost as quickly as she had fallen prey to whatever doubt had stilled her limbs, and the hesitation could easily be passed off as surprise at the sudden drop in temperature to anyone who asked. Humans were sensitive to such things, most Andorians knew, and the temperature on the planet was considerably colder than that of the transport.
The standard protocol was observed by the officials, the traditional asking after of the Ambassador's success, health, and family, as well as that of his subordinates –but anyone could see that more than a few of the officials in question were distracted. The appearance of a pink-skin in Thoris' entourage was a curiosity; many of the Ministers had never seen a Human before –not in person, at least.
Thoris answered the ritual questions with the appropriate responses –his task had been completed successfully, his health and family were beyond question, and his subordinates were well taken care of.
Dagmar appeared puzzled by the exchange, but wisely refrained from voicing whatever questions she had; she did not have permission to speak –and neither did anyone else.
Once the protocol had been observed to the officials and diplomats' satisfaction, one of the Ministers fixed Dagmar with an imperious stare. The Human fought not to fidget, but not very visibly –Thelen only noticed because she stood a pace in front of him and he was accustomed to her movements.
"I was under the impression that your species wastaller." The Minister commented archly.
The translator could easily have spoken out of turn –indeed, Thelen suspected that was the Minister's intent- but she was too clever and too suspicious. Her own species had tried similar tactics, she had told him once, and Thelen was pleased to see that she had learned from the experience. Instead of replying directly, the redheaded female turned to Ambassador Thoris and executed a small bow, wordlessly asking for permission from her superior to engage Thoris' equal.
Something vaguely resembling pride set his antennae wiggling, just slightly; she had learned quickly and had learned well, in those weeks on the transport.
"Proceed." Thoris gave his permission dismissively. Dagmar offered a smile of thanks –a gesture which visibly confused some of the diplomats present- and turned to face the Minister who had spoken to her.
"I am of average height for a female of my species and racial background," The Terran woman told the Minister, emulating the correct, submissive body language perfectly –her chin down, her arms loose by her sides and her stance open- save for her eyes, which maintained direct contact with the Minister's. Humans and their need for eye contact, the security officer snorted inwardly. "However, there are many varieties of Humans, and I am not a typical representative of them all."
Then, concluding her response, the Human bowed to the Minister, long enough to be respectful but not so long as to be facetious, and then straightened once again into a neutral stance.
The Minister, tall for an Andorian and as arrogant as he was old, turned on his heel and rejoined the other politicians, antennae flicking ever so slightly with annoyance; the Human had not played along.
Earth had Terra Prime.
Andoria merely had bigots.
"Quarters were commissioned to suit your physiology and cultural preferences." Thelen explained to the Human woman as he escorted her into the structure in question.
It was a relatively small building, situated low in the city's levels to take advantage of the geothermal heat and carved into the ice with function and efficiency in mind over aesthetics. No matter –additional carvings and decorations could be commissioned at a later date.
The overall floor plan included large communal rooms after the Andorian fashion and several smaller rooms to accommodate the Human sense of privacy. The main sleeping area was one such smaller room –and, after the more Human fashion, it was one of the few rooms with functional architects had been offended by the very idea of a sleeping area with doors. Worse - it was uncomfortably warm with the temperature regulators working hard to maintain a healthy heat level for the Terran. The builders had complained emphatically.
"Ooh, warm!" Dagmar cooed happily as they stepped into the largest communal area. The sudden temperature change made Thelen grimace; he had nearly forgotten the conditions Humans subjected themselves to, now that he was back on Andoria. How he had tolerated the heat in the first place was unfathomable.
"Too warm." Thelen complained as he stepped into the Andorian equivalent of a dining room. The xenolinguist made a show of making a childish face at him as she followed, which the Andorian ignored. Glancing around the largest room, he frowned, antennae flicking. "They must not expect you to expand your Clan soon; this is too small."
The redheaded female blinked –something she typically did when confused or surprised, the security officer noted. "Expand?"
She must not have noticed the males –and females- on their walk from the Federation Embassy to her new domicile, the lieutenant realized with chagrin. Many had been broadcasting their interest quite clearly.
...Though some had a less friendly sort of interest, as it were; there were as many antennae directed towards the female as there had been away from her.
"You didn't notice?"
Another slow blink. "Notice what?"
A thought occurred to the Andorian then, one which explained a great many things about the female and her behaviour. It was, quite possible that she had no idea what Shral had been indicating for the last Terran year. What he had taken for obliviousness was actually ignorance.
"...Perhaps that is a conversation for another time –for the time being, I would recommend looking into acquiring whatever supplies you need." Thelen diverted. "Food, clothing... The Weaver's Guild would be especially interested in doing business with you, I believe."
Blue eyes regarded him suspiciously for a long moment, but Thelen met her gaze evenly. If anyone should have that particular conversation with her, it was the Ambassador's aide.
