THIRTY-THREE: Appointment
"Look! A pink-skin!"
The voice was that of a young child, possibly female but Dagmar wasn't certain. Frowning, the translator turned around to locate the source of the exclamation in the sparse crowd of Andorians. Dagmar was on her way to consult a physician regarding Varek and T'Lar's problem, since it was her day off and she had nothing better to do.
Said source turned out to be, as Dagmar had assumed, a young female child – not even grown into her own antenna, as Thelen would probably say- in the company of an older sibling, from the looks of it. She had yellow-green eyes, clear and bright, and wild hair. Her brother, two heads taller and solemn-looking, was quick scold his sibling for being rude, antenna flicking. The pair was only a dozen feet away, and elder of the two made a gesture of apology.
Dagmar waved the apology aside, offering a smile and approaching.
"It's quite alright." Dagmar assured the elder, kneeling once she had gotten within a reasonable distance. She was always careful to give Andorian children a certain amount of space – children were precious to Andorians, and their parents quick to eliminate any perceived threats. To the little girl, Dagmar offered, "The correct term is Human, or sometimes Terran. Am I the first one you've seen?"
The girl flushed purple, and her antennae were upright with her alarm and embarrassment. The boy looked uncomfortable and a little embarrassed as well. Dagmar saw four adults in her peripheral vision, in flanking positions, and made a point of keeping both of her hands visible and harmlessly resting on her knees.
After a long moment, the little girl nodded.
"I don't bite or anything – you're allowed to talk to me." The translator offered after a moment. Children weren't her specialty, but after dealing with Tellerites for weeks on end, Dagmar figured they couldn't be that bad. "Let's try this again. Thiptho lapth. My name is Dagmar Gunnarssen; I work for Ambassador Thoris as a translator."
"Igrilan." The boy offered formally, seeing an opportunity to take control of the situation his sister had caused. "Of Clan Tha'an. I greet you, blood of Gunnarssen."
"I greet you, blood of Tha'an." Dagmar murmured in acknowledgement with a nod. Tha'an was a middling Clan, as she understood it – lots of connections, but neither powerful nor without influence. A Tha'an clansman was a good friend to have, in most circles.
"My sister is Liz'el. She is – we have not seen a Human before. "
Dagmar smiled and nodded to the girl as well. The figures in the translator's peripheral vision hadn't moved. That was a good sign, at least; the chances of impending broken bones or other grievous harm were going down with every passing minute!
A lot of Andorians hadn't encountered Humans face-to-face. Word of Humans – their descriptions, details on Andoria-Earth politics, and such- had reached the population, but seeing a Human on their home planet was still rather novel. The fact that the term 'pink-skin' was getting around so fast was irritating, but Dagmar found herself oddly unbothered by the phenomenon.
"It was a pleasure to meet you," Dagmar offered after a moment of allowing the two to observe her with open curiosity. "But I'm afraid that I will be late for an appointment if I linger much longer. Goodbye, Igrilan and Liz'el of Clan Tha'an."
Rising, Dagmar executed a polite bow – not as deep as she would have given the head of their Clan, but very polite nonetheless.
The two siblings returned the gesture, and as Dagmar turned away from them, she caught the gazes of their parents. All four of them. Dagmar executed another bow, directed at the adults – three of whom were members of the Imperial Guard, and one of whom was a civilian of high rank, from the ornamentation she wore on her antennae and clothing- and murmured the appropriate greetings.
Amazingly, the greetings were returned. Dagmar felt her eyebrows rise in surprise, unable to smother her expression for a moment in her shock.
She forgot, sometimes, that she was considered the leader of her own Clan by Andorians. By some Andorians, she amended… not every Andorian greeted her as such. Maybe they didn't know. Maybe they didn't care. Maybe it was deliberate.
There were too many maybes for her already, Dagmar sighed inwardly. She could only deal with so much uncertainty at a time; for now, she had an appointment to get to.
The appointment… well, Dagmar wouldn't say it had gone well, but it hadn't been a disaster either.
The Andorian physician had been suspicious and very reluctant to even discuss the possibility of extracting several ova from her. The battle, verbal though it was, had been uphill from the very beginning. The doctor had, understandably, had many questions – some of which were rather invasive and others which were merely dubious. Andorians had no such procedures in their history of medical innovations; not only was the concept new and a little alarming, but even discussing it came dangerously close to some very strong cultural taboos.
To be honest, Dagmar had half-expected to be thrown out of the clinic.
Instead, Dagmar found herself leaving Dr. Phlox's contact information as well as details on how the Andorian might acquire documents and further data on Human physiology… all the while, being frowned at by the doctor in question. He wasn't pleased, but her arguments had been both logical and very persuasive.
One of the odd quirks Dagmar had picked up in being a translator was that she could be very, very persuasive if she wanted to be. Something about having a strong grasp of multiple languages and cultural tendencies, she supposed.
"If this mad idea of yours is feasible," The doctor was saying, antenna flicking and voice curt. "You will be contacted for another appointment. If I can stomach the subject again."
Dagmar made a point of bowing with more respect and deference than was strictly necessary when she left, and as she tugged her mask and visor on before stepping out into the cold street, Dagmar wondered why her hands were shaking.
Nerves, the translator told herself firmly. Just nerves… but that didn't explain the odd sinking feeling she felt settling in her belly.
Dagmar prayed to whichever Spirits watched over Andoria that the foreboding in her gut wasn't a sign, and headed home.
