Ensign Imril - The Bactrica That They'd Prefer To Talk About
Chris Taylor
(( Elysium – Main Lounge, Deck 6 – USS Artemis-A ))
Imril: Of all the ways you’ve seen people from other cultures greet others, what’s your favorite?
Ollie’s fingers circled the rim of the glass, his eyes searching for the right answer in the coffee foam as if they were oracle tea leaves.
Bergmen: I… There are so many. ::pause:: But if I should pick one… ::pause, and glance at Imril:: I should, am I? ::chuckle:: Then, Orions. Their way, they greet each other, is so… ::gesture with hands:: informal, so personal, so… free-spirited? Is it even the word, let alone correct?
Imril was quite interested to know the particulars, but Ollie seemed hesitant to share them. He nervously bit his lip, clutched his glass of coffee and took a deep sip. Which only made Imril want to hear the particular more. A question to ask the compter, later, maybe.
Bergmen: ::sigh:: If I understood correctly, and correct me if I'm wrong. ::pause:: You hinted that the handshake is not a natural way for you to greet someone. And I actually did not meet a Bactrican before, so see me as a blank canvas regarding your culture, and...May I ask, what is the way your people greet a friend?
(Flashback)
((13-?F-10-10, Osdwa Depot, Jaanhra Zeng, Bactrica))
Imril stepped out of the hovertram and looked both ways to see if one of the sarkui-enga officials had caught up to them. No tail so far. More time for the twelve-year-old runaway to look around the hovertram depot! The many screens! The bust people! The promise of more places to see! They kept looking backwards as they walked, knowing that sooner or later, this excursion would end with the clutch of a cold, strict hand.
A rush of motion ahead of the next support pillar made them look the way they were going. Two teenage girls both at least a few years older than the third, were rushing towards each other. Both of them wearing big smiles and sleek one-piece jumpers that were a far cry from Imril’s figure-obscuring robes.
Bactrican Girl One:: Hoiya!
Bactrican Girl Two:: Hoiya!
The first girl crossed her hands over her collar in a way Imril had never seen before. The fronts of her thumbs lay against each other, her index and pointer fingers extended diagonally with pinky and ring fingers curled against her palm. The overall impression of the shape she’d made was that of a stick-figure bird.
The other girl readily and happily repeated the gesture. The pair weren't long in opening up their arms to hug each other.
Imril fumbled their way through copying the hand-signal and stepped out from the pillar, hands still in the bird-shape. Eager to make a friend or two in the 'real world.'
Imril: Hoiya!
The first girl took one look at Imril’s gray-painted face and ‘traditionalist’ clothing and her mouth gaped open in an expression of morbid curiosity. The other’s curled into a gnash-toothed sneer of disdain. An invisible wall of weapons-grade social pressure slammed down between the parties firm as a forcefield. Imril firmly on the other side, firmly alone, left stricken with shame and shock. Suddenly aware of how many people around them were looking at them the same way.
Bactrican Girl Two: ::Disgusted snort:: One of the throwbacks. ::Pulling at the other’s arm:: Let’s go.
It didn't take much for the first girl to smirk and nod and follow.
Imril:: ::flustered:: But-- But I-- I’m not like-- ::pulling at their robe sleeves:: I don't want--
Bactrican Girl Two: ::not looking back:: Don’t want to join the rest of us in the modern age!
Bactrican Girl One: ::Laughing:: You zealots give the rest of us a bad name!
Imril leaned heavily into the pillar, breathing hard. No one came to help.
(Flashback Ends)
(( Elysium – Main Lounge, Deck 6 – USS Artemis-A ))
Imril felt their smile leave their eyes. They should have expected their own question to circle back towards them. They looked to the window and the interwoven lines of traffic beyond. Pieces and personnel moving around each other, a symphony of cooperation and common cause. Imril took another drink before speaking. The answer very deliberately avoided the words ‘my people’.
Imril: My childhood was rather sheltered. I don't really know what most Bactricans do.
It was a lie, but a well-practiced one. One that Imril was telling more to themself than to their superior officer. They turned back to Ollie and the genuineness of their smile reappeared.
Imril: But I’ll tell you a greeting that I wouldn't mind bringing back. From a long time ago, ‘round about the region where I grew up. And, I think, somewhat appropriate to two travellers in space like ourselves.
Ollie listened to Imril with keen interest, evident on his face.
Imril: It’s from a millenium back or more. When nomadic caravans would wander the deserts, moving from oasis to oasis. Sheltering against the heat of summer in canyon walls lined with sun-shields made of richly-embroidered fabrics. Some of the caravans were made up entirely of thirds, like me, of all ages. Some of women and girls. Some boys and men. Half or more were mixed, groups that had formed families that they wanted to hold to throughout many years or even their whole lives.
Imril: Every few years, or half-a-generation depending on which account you find, all of the caravans would come together in a great Enclave. A chance for trade, for the sharing of stories and music, for old friends to reunite. And not a small amount of romance. New unions might be formed. Some that had had their time might be dissolved, so the former partners could find love elsewhere. Existing unions might be ritualistically reaffirmed.
Imril: Whether it was one caravan getting another or all of them at once, the first greeting would be the same. The first two scouts from different groups to find each other would start dancing like a pair of sand-whirls, getting closer and closer as if drawn together by the wind into a single collection of sands. They’d end with their left hands extended and moving towards the other. The backs of their hands would meet, and then they’d both slide their hands backwards along each other’s fingers and fingertips until parted. Overall, the motions represent the winds of fate bringing people together in peace and friendship, be it for the first time or too many times to count.
Imril spoke of this long-buried culture with a wistful sort of wonder plain in their voice. The past, as the Earth expression went, was a foreign country. Talking of Bactrica as it had once been didn’t bear the same sting as discussing anything involving its present.
Bergmen: That sounds… so captivating. Can we give it a try? Will you show it to me?
The question, the offer, genuinely surprised Imril. Even though they had only just performed a handshake. But they certainly weren’t averse to saying yes. This was a tale that needed repeating. A people who needed remembering.
Imril: I’ll spare you, and everyone else here, the full dance. ::Laugh:: But here’s how it ends…
Imril set their coffee down and rose from their seat. They performed a simple, yet graceful, counter-clockwise spin, their left hand first held close to their chest but slowly extending as though cast outward by the rotation. Their hand ended up set above the center of the table and perpendicular to it, ready to meet Ollie’s to tap together and slide apart.
Bergman: Response
The gesture completed, Imril sat back down. Feeling a good bit warmer inside for having shared the experience.
Imril: Thanks. I think if I hadn’t gone into Engineering, I might have ended up an historian or archeologist or something like that. Still in Starfleet, though, for sure.
Bergman: Response
TAG/TBC
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Ensign Imril
Engineering Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240110I12