The Direction of the Wind, Part III

Posted on Sun 29th Apr, 2018 @ 1:10am by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran & Elizabeth Anderson M.D.

1,302 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: Brushfires
Location: Orchids and Jazz
Timeline: Evening of the day that Hermes docks.

Damion sipped from his water glass after Serena left with their orders. "I've not eaten in too many Federation restaurants with human waitstaff," he said. "The places I've been to usually just have the menu screens at the table, and waitstaff only there to bring your food and refill your drink."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "And live music, as well. The common experience is loud and raucous, and mechanically produced. This is far nicer. Thank you for thinking of this place." She glanced around at other diners. "I'm imagining this is nothing like a restaurant on Turkana IV, either, then?"

Damion chuckled. "Not much like, in terms of quality. But we do have human waitstaff because our technic isn't as widely available there as it is here. Most of us can barely read, so we learn to fix things by trial and error. A lot of times, when things break we can't fix them. Much easier to have people doing things at home than to rely on machines or computers."

Elizabeth checked her database on Turkana IV, as she had at least once every time she was with Damion. "Every time I look up the small bit of information we have on your planet, it makes me sad to think of what has become of things there. I know it's a class M planet, so the surface can't be too terrible, but everyone lives underground, away from the sunlight, don't they? That's so unnatural to humans. I wonder there aren't more psychoses. Or I suppose the behavior of many inhabitants could be based in psychosis."

"Not so much psychosis as simply no one but the factions imposing any kind of law or order upon them," Damion said. "I honestly think they'd be better off in the long term if they did leave the tunnels. When people have to build their own homes, maintain their own land, and survive, they're a bit more likely to concentrate on those things rather than on killing others or stealing things."

Seemingly apropos of nothing, she asked, "Did you know the Yar family?"

"Yar?" Damion thought about it. "I think I knew a couple of them, growing up. How do you know the name? It's not common."

First taking a drink of water to stall while she checked to be sure she wasn't breaking protocol, Elizabeth said, "Starfleet database. One of them was actually a Starfleet officer under ... Pickard?" She purposely mispronounced it. "The records say she left Turkana IV at 15, but not how she managed that, as a friendless young girl. I found her interesting, though there isn't enough detail to make me happy. I thought there might be more of a record on her home planet."

"She left at fifteen? Bloody hell! Must've been desperate. Aside from me, I didn't think anyone else had left." Damion shook his head and grimaced. "We're not the best about keeping records," he said. "Maybe the faction leaders manage it, but few others do." He sipped at his own water. "She'd have to have shipped out with someone, but I've no idea who. Ferengi and unaligned smugglers are about all we ever deal with. The factions won't let Federation ships anywhere near."

"It isn't in her Starfleet jacket. Just idle curiosity, really. To go from what you've described of your home planet to being a Starfleet officer ... " she smiled at him, "as you say only one other has done it."

Their food arrived, derailing conversation for a while as they ate and chatted about inconsequential things. For her part, Elizabeth was blocking thoughts of Damion's leaving. When he'd told her, a reaction had sparked in her neurons that she could only call dismay. It would take time to track that down and fix it, and in the mean time, she didn't want to experience it.

Finally, she leaned back, having enjoyed the meal in her own way, and listening to the music. The singer had taken a break, and when she came back, a beautiful dark-haired woman had taken the stage with a saxophone. "Damion, do you know that woman? I haven't access to the database here yet, and I don't recognize her, but isn't she lovely, very exotic looking?"

Damion's eyes sparkled at Elizabeth with amusement. "You are the only woman I've ever met who wanted the man she's with to notice another woman's beauty," he teased. "She looks nice enough. She has that same look I see on a lot of musicians' faces when they play, as if she's completely immersed in the music. I like that about her."

"Yes, I think you've put your finger on it. I could imagine she isn't even aware of her audience, because she's somewhere else entirely. I know the music. It's from an early 20th century musical, something called Someone to Watch Over Me."

Looking around at the other diners, Elizabeth noticed most she could see had stopped eating or talking. They simply sat listening, enthralled in the notes. The piano in the background was nothing more than a support environment for the saxophone. The counselor suspected that the words of the singer were the same, and the audience's attention was galvanized only by the beautiful woman stage left and the sounds her instrument poured out.

She'd heard Damion's comment, but she didn't know what to do with it, so she'd ignored it. She thought there was a compliment hidden in his teasing, but she didn't know what to do with that, either. When the song ended, strong applause greeted the trio on stage. The singer bowed to the crowd, but the sax player merely smiled. She put her instrument back into its case, handling it as a lover might touch her beloved.

"I want to meet her," Elizabeth said.

Damion tracked the brass instrument player, who disappeared through a discreet door with her instrument case as he and Elizabeth applauded. It surprised him that she was only playing the one song, as she seemed quite good. He looked about, to motion over one of the waitstaff. The only one he saw close by was their waitress, Serena, who was occupied with taking someone's order. Damion waited. The guest seemed to have an inordinate number of specific requirements for her meal--no wheat products, no meat, no nuts, no peppers, substitute blueberries for strawberries, and so on, to the point where Damion began to wonder why she had come to the restaurant for a meal at all.

At last, Serena read back the order to the guest, touched her PADD to submit it to the kitchen, and made her way to their table when Damion gestured to her. "My friend has a question about the musician who just played," he said.

"You mean the saxophonist?" she clarified. At Elizabeth's nod, she smiled. "That's Jade Lantz. Ms. Lantz owns this restaurant. Would you like to meet her?"

"I would, if it isn't too much trouble," Anderson affirmed. "I was quite taken with her music, but that isn't the whole of it. She's quite a remarkable woman, isn't she?"

The assistant manager nodded, "That she is. For one thing, she's El-Aurian, and for another ... well, I'll let you decide for yourself. Jade makes a habit of talking to customers, but I'll make sure she knows you'd like to meet her." Serena walked away, soon exiting the room exactly the way Ms. Lantz had done.

"Now that's interesting," Elizabeth said thoughtfully. "El-Aurian, not a species you run into often. Do you know of them?"

"Oh, yes," Damion said with a nod. "There's an admiral who's one, and I once ran across an El-Aurian counselor. I would never have known that lady was an El-Aurian if I hadn't been told. She looks entirely human to me--but then so did the admiral and counselor."

 

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