I Wandered Lonely As An Elcor

Xuumo-Kalashasi brought shame to his ancestors and his traditions, and well he knew it. His mother, may she rest Within, would have given him a stern and long-winded lecture (and that which was long-winded for elcor would have driven hastier species to near-insanity; elcor had tough hides in more ways than one). He couldn't help himself, though; he was impatient. Or was that nervous? His stomachs were arguing in favour of the latter, certainly. Alonso sat on the bench besides the stolid elcor, kicking his feet back and forth in a manner that advertised his boredom.

"Why are they making such a fuss over this? I'm fine". He was pouting, but Xuumo had the distinct impression he was putting it on for show, that duct rat projected faux-toughness they cultivated as a survival trait. Nerves, most likely. That made the both of them. Sun and earth help me if he has some sort of...juvenile affection for that woman (he still didn't know for sure the typical development pattern for human sexuality, and wasn't particularly interested in finding out). Then again, it had been a joint effort that had brought him in from the streets. Humility was a component of gratitude; even Xuumo himself recognized that. And they both had a lot to be grateful for.

"Measured affection: I would have thought your peoples' willingness to finally close ranks around you would be pleasing. I cannot be the only one who is lonely for the affection of his own kind".

"Yeah? Like you said, 'finally'. They didn't care before".

"Casual speculation: Evidently someone on your ancestral world has a stake in this. Sternly: Be thankful, Alonso. Your friends will benefit from this, too".

With typical lack of long-term planning, the human government, or some branch of it that needed a PR boost - and let's face it, SATAE needs all of those it can get - had stumbled on the idea of a medical check-up for former duct rats on the Citadel, apparently having belatedly realized that having the greatest concentration of alien diversity in the galaxy resting in orbit of your devastated homeworld was a good way to introduce new diseases into the population, especially when you had gangs of travelling human children stowing away all over it. Several illnesses were on the rise, and providing vaccinations to those who hadn't seen regular check-ups was considered both necessary to curb the spread and a convenient means to demonstrate support for those in need.

"Can human diseases cross to elcor?" There was a impish quality in Alonso's eyes, the boy having decided to stave off boredom by baiting his guardian.

"Morosely: I imagine it will prove that they can, just to make my life harder".

Alonso grunted in agreement.

The last few days had been trying for both of them. The social support workers of the Citadel and of SATAE had booked them in for several legally-mandated follow-up interviews, the bureaucracy apparently having found its feet. Both Xuumo and Alonso had learned to be wary, and disliked such naked probing, no matter how well-meaning. The "authorities" as the two disdainfully thought of them, had busied themselves with inanities regarding Alonso's schooling, his adaption to living quarters not designed for humans (that he'd previously been living in duct networks and clawball courts was something Xuumo felt the need to patiently remind them of) and his eating habits. Xuumo and Alonso had each had their turn in the hot seat, asked and then asked again to describe the circumstances of their living arrangements, where and when everything had taken place, how their long-term plans tracked with the reality of their recent actions and how close they were to realizing their goals. This last topic amused Xuumo significantly, which helped make the process somewhat more bearable. All their questions, he suspected, were on matters to which they were already satisfied, but they needed to wade through procedures in order to satisfy the bureaucratic mindset. Bipeds were so thoroughly disorganized. They liked their precedents, but never seemed to apply their minds to adapting them to new situations. His own people, conservative and traditional, proceeded...well, slowly and steadily. Humans were somehow all over the place, even when clinging to the letter of the law. It was one reason why Dekuuna would be rebuilt before Earth.

The presiding officials, two elderly humans and a young asari about the same age, had sat at the head of a lengthy table like degenerate monarchs, all grey expressions and weary formality. Xuumo hadn't put a foot wrong, so far as he could tell, but then dealing with Alonso's needs was actually less of a hassle than he'd expected. It both gave him something to distract himself with, lest he get lost in his morose self-pitying, and let him show due respect to Pietro, who had of course truly wanted the best for his son.

He thought of Pietro now, and how sadly representative the man had been of the humans Xuumo had found himself in business with. He was quick-tempered, a point against him of course, but he compounded the error with a general death-may-care attitude that had made Xuumo wonder, with some exasperation, why he was still alive. Now, of course, he wasn't. He had been sharp, though. Too sharp to be lumped in with the other obtuse humans. He was also bitter, like most of those who had cause to turn from the Alliance, the quasi-governmental grouping which served as their diplomatic and colonization arm in the wider galaxy (a sort of united front representing Earth's clans to offworlders, now the actual government, and of course the humans were already rushing to overturn it). The exact reasons for Pietro's betrayal of his employers Xuumo didn't know, but had heard enough to guess. A heavy heart, "heavier than you would be back on that green rock of yours", as Pietro had once said - it could be a burden for anyone to bear, and it was an uncaring galaxy. Pietro had never truly been able to handle it as he wanted others to think he did. That at least was Xuumo's suspicion. The humans produced their renegades with surprising consistency, individuals unable or unwilling to tolerate regulation from the authorities, or even from a family unit, but apparently ill-equipped to cope with the harsh realities of independence. Certainly they never made much of themselves, except perhaps fools. Torn between individual pride and the need to belong.

On some level, he was dimly aware that he described himself. He glared the acknowledgement into submission.

This was going to be an important meeting. Not the medical matters, but the personal visit that would follow. He had some explaining to do, and some convincing. And then...then he'd see to finding a ship willing to take him to a place he'd not heard of until a few short weeks prior, the likely location of what remained of the Embalhoth Collection. Rightfully restored to its place, as he would be rightfully restored to his. And then, then he would be in a position to start repaying some debts that needed answering. There was business to be attended to.

Alonso's legs continued to swing.

I just have to be patient. And old "Tortoise" will continue where his long-eared friend left off.