Cardassia and Andor

by Una McCormack

  Now he and Prynn walked side by side through the lighted city. From her cautious expressions, he could see Prynn had ascertained that all was not well with him, but she refrained from asking probative questions and he had yet to offer her any answers. Too much had happened between them over the last few days for him to assume that all had returned to normal between them. Strains over the festival night’s intimacy, the Reserve mission—even her perceptions of what had happened between him and Thia—still required mending. And sh’Veileth’s revelation had stirred much turmoil in him.

  They crossed an avenue busy with foot traffic, past the news kiosks and restaurants—including one featuring Vulcan fusion cuisine—until they reached a residential district of stately private homes. Flower boxes mounted at nearly every window overflowed with sea ivy, black-throated conch flowers with furry yellow branches. Where the keep’s relief sculpture depicted violent monsters and dramatic geometric designs, Zhevran architecture focused on nothing more threatening than twining vines and pastoral forest scenes. Shar explained that these complexes primarily housed members of parliament and their immediate clans, how his zhavey had moved into her high-rise when she had ceased cohabitating with her bondgroup.

  Prynn listened, studying him intently out of the corner of her eye. She walked with her hands linked behind her back, maintaining an arm’s length between them, but Shar could sense her concern for him, even as she kept her distance. “So is that what happens to bondgroups? They raise a child and then it’s over?”

  “Some bonds invoke the Whole Vessel Law and break apart completely. Others simply dissipate as the individuals pursue their careers—such was the case with my zhavey. My thavan and shreya stay with her from time to time—she is closest to my thavan—but she primarily lives alone.”

  Her brow wrinkled and Shar couldn’t read her; he asked what she was thinking.

  Smiling wistfully, she said, “Honest? It sounds lonely. To grow up, knit with these individuals you love, only to drift apart. Where’s the longevity? The lifetime commitment?”

  “In the creation of children,” Shar said, his own answer surprising him. He was reluctant to admit that this trip had prompted him to reevaluate his recent decisions, specifically to invoke the Whole Vessel Law and officially separate from Anichent and Dizhei. Seeing them again, followed later by the intimate moment with Thia in the Reserve, had started him thinking, wondering about what it might be like to be part of a mated bondgroup, to create a child. But he had made his decision to start a new life, a decision that felt right.

  And then there was Prynn. She was hardly a consolation choice. He owed it to her—and to himself—to allow their relationship to evolve.

  As they passed through the archway into Therin Park’s east entrance, a hush descended over them; the noise and confusion of the city receded far away, replaced with the musical burbling of flowing water, the rich fragrances of herbal plants. The only noticeable noise was the quiet tap of their feet on stepping-stones. As though moving through a series of rooms, they strolled past terraced waterfalls and water gardens embellished with saucerlike leaves; among airy ferns, waist-high woody stems were sticky with nectar and dunes of bright blooms. They encountered few visitors as they walked; Shar enjoyed the solitude.

  Prynn appeared to be delighted with the Water Guardian’s sanctuary. She stopped to gaze at hundreds of clear baubles with enclosed flames bobbing in the water near their footpath; watched as melon-colored fish with winglike fins rose to the pond’s surface and jumped at swarming reed flies. She walked over to a vine-covered arbor, leaned over a railing, and watched scarlet and yellow slips of fish dart in and out of swaying water grasses, their scales flashing bronze when they caught the light of the rising moon.

  Shar followed, assuming a place beside her.

  “I could stay here all night,” Prynn said, resting her head in her hands. “Peaceful.”

  “Peace has been hard to come by.”

  “Shar—”

  “No.” He touched her arm. “I will say this. I would understand if you regret your choice to come to Andor. That I have disappointed you.”

  “No, no,” Prynn said with a soft chuckle. “How can I possibly hold you responsible for all the crazy things that have happened to us?”

  “Because many of those things have happened because of me.”

  “Yeah…But I wouldn’t have been able to see all this”—she gestured at the surrounding gardens—“without you either. Your homeworld is astounding and vibrant and who could help but be crazy about it? And spending time with you was the best part.”

  “All of it?”

  “Most of it.” She shrugged. “Except for the saf, obviously, the festival was amazing. I loved all of it—the smells, the lights, even the running-away part. Okay, especially the running-away part. And I loved it more because you shared it with me. I just—no.” She shook her head, turning away from Shar. “This isn’t the time for that conversation.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her back so she faced him. “What conversation?”

  “The conversation about us—you and me,” she said, studying the ground. “How this works—if it can work.”

  He reached for her hand. “Do you want that? You and me—together?”

  She lifted her gaze; her eyes shone. “We’ve just started, Shar. There’s so much we can share with one another….”

  Shar closed his eyes and allowed her words to settle. He hadn’t even dared to hope that she would want a relationship after all the mistakes he had made. That she, who was so beautiful and so real, wanted to share his life. He saw her laughing eyes, her expression open and forgiving, and he reached for her face, touching her cheek with a light caress.

  She sighed and leaned into his hand.

  “When this is done,” he said, tracing her ear, the cord of her neck.

  “When this is done…” Resting her hands on his shoulders, she closed her eyes and pressed her lips against his. He tensed briefly, uncertain of how to respond until the pleasurable sensations she coaxed out of him pushed aside his fear, replacing it with a dizzy tingling in his chest; he yielded.

  Shar liked the taste of her, how her teeth grazed his lips when she moved her mouth; he allowed her to guide him, matching pressure for pressure. When he bit down on her lower lip, he felt her startle and he quickly broke off, apologizing…

  “No,” she said huskily, pressing her fingers to his lips. “No. That was fine. That was really fine. You learn quickly and you surprised me, that’s all.” Her eyes became very bright. “We should go away after the Sending, for the rest of our leave. Phillipa still has friends here she wants to look up. It can be just the two of us.”

  “I like the sound of that. Suggestions from the native? I’ve investigated, and there’s a private, remote resort on one of the southern islands. I visited New Guinea once when I was on Earth—it is like that.”

  “Surfing?”

  “If you insist.”

  “Perfection, then.”

  “This is perfection too,” he said, leaning in and touching his forehead to hers.

  10

  “So how does this work again?” Prynn asked, sorting through an assemblage of white mourning robes. “An hour before Deepening, we meet in the plaza by the front gates, dressed in our funeral clothes. We join a procession up to Tower Hill, where a bier has been readied. There’s a ritual. Then we come back and eat?”

  “More or less,” Shar said. Nervous energy had kept him jittery since they landed at Cheen-Thitar Keep. The last time they’d presented themselves at these gates, he’d been received as a hostile intruder. Today had been a study in contrast. In the hour since their arrival, he’d paid his respects to Thriss’s shreya and her charan. Both of them had received him warmly, treating him as a long-lost chei of their own, embracing him, asking about Vretha and his Starfleet posting with genuine interest. More curious: As soon as he was finished helping Prynn, he was expected in Thantis’s study. She had request
ed the meeting. Her messenger had joined their greeting party. Shar was uncertain of his feeling toward the summons.

  Growing up, Shar had always had a cordial relationship with Zhadi even when her disagreements with Vretha were at their most contentious. Still, she’d left no doubt that she believed Shar was complicit in Thriss’s suicide. Her help in saving Thia from his rage, even in rescuing Charivretha, didn’t change that. Why would she want to see him now? Perhaps he had spent too much time around other less trusting sentients because he couldn’t shake his suspicions that somewhere behind the words and gestures truth lived. He could hardly be surprised. Didn’t his people spend a lifetime cultivating the ability to erect a nearly impenetrable façade as a means of self-protection?

  Prynn pulled a robe out of the pile, held it up to her shoulders, and checked out the length: midcalf. Too short. Tossing it aside, she resumed her search, settling on a hooded caftan paired with a braid rope belt. She pulled it over her head, discovered the long sleeves didn’t dangle past her wrists, that the caftan swept the floor, but didn’t drag. It would do.

  Shar thought she looked beautiful, her tan skin warm against the cool white, and young—far younger than her twenty-six years. He was possessed with a desire to remain close to her.

  She rolled up the robe, tucked it under her arm, and looked expectantly at Shar. She touched his sleeve. “It’ll be fine, you know.”

  He stirred. “I know.”

  “Have you heard from Dr. sh’Veileth?”

  “Thank you for reminding me. I noticed that I received several new messages in my database this morning, but I didn’t have time to go through them.”

  “I could check for you. Thia would appreciate knowing the results, no matter what the doctor says.”

  Shar raised his eyebrows. “You’ve changed your opinion about Thia?”

  “I dunno. She did risk her life for us, and she saved Phillipa,” Prynn said pragmatically. “And she’s not here. It’s much easier to like someone when they aren’t around. My people say, ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

  “Interesting. My people warn that absence makes the heart forget.”

  Prynn had no response for him.

  With Prynn now outfitted for the Sending, his last excuse to postpone visiting Thantis evaporated. He needed to face Zhadi and told Prynn so.

  “I can walk with you—I’ll even stay if you like,” Prynn said. “Thantis wouldn’t dare try anything with me there.” She forced a half-smile. The effect was more worrisome than reassuring.

  Her protests to the contrary, he could sense how nervous this situation made her. She was the only one in attendance with no direct ties to Thriss; she had come only for him.

  “No,” he told her. “This is something I must do alone.”

  * * *

  Many long hours remained before the Sending and Prynn had no idea how to fill them. Phillipa was finishing preparations on her mourner’s mask. Prynn’s belated invitation and distance from the deceased assured that she wasn’t required to make one, though she almost wished she were. At least it would keep her busy with a useful task. Besides checking Shar’s messages, she reminded herself.

  Spotting a public computer station in a corridor alcove, she keyed in the codes to access the Starfleet comnet, entered Shar’s ID, and waited for the message queue to appear. Scrolling through the list, she discovered that Captain Kira had sent station announcements to all personnel databases, Quark had transmitted his weekly specials, and the Promenade Merchant Association had sent out a notice welcoming a new Replimat manager. She found sh’Veileth’s message wedged between a note from DS9 facilities maintenance and a news summary from the Bajoran comnet. After scanning the contents, she couldn’t repress a smile. “I have to find Thia,” Prynn said aloud. And recalling that the keep where she resided was close by—probably local to the underground train network—Prynn decided she’d found a way to stay busy until the Sending.

  As she approached the foyer she’d mentally dubbed the “hub” room with its many spoking hallways, she thought she recognized a thaan crossing the marble floor from one passageway to another. She narrowed her eyes. Yes, it was him. Had he noticed her? She worried that he might not welcome an intrusion, but she and Shar owed him their lives. Swallowing hard, she walked up close behind him.

  “Anichent.”

  Startled, he stopped, turned around, obviously puzzled. His face softened upon seeing her. He bowed from his shoulders; Prynn reciprocated. He asked how he could help her.

  The words tumbled out in a rushed stream. “I don’t know if it’s appropriate for me to say this, but among my kind, acknowledging a debt of this magnitude is what we call good manners. The truth is, I—and Shar—we would have died from the overdose if you hadn’t—”

  “I did what was required. One alone cannot be Whole—nor two, nor three.”

  His words prompted a flash of memory: the classroom, the chan’s discipline. A sharp twinge twisted in her chest.

  Anichent continued. “Even under present circumstances, Shar remains a part of my Whole.” The emotional timbre shaping his words found a sympathetic vibration within Prynn. That Anichent still loved Shar didn’t surprise her; the quality of that love did. Perhaps she had expected bitterness or regret. She had no reply for him; instead she raised her face, willing him to sense what she could not say.

  Antennae curling, his eyes smiled. “My feelings for Shar remain constant. Shaded by tribulation, yes—but enduring.”

  A realization stabbed her: Anichent’s loss had opened Shar’s life to the possibility of Prynn. Compassion swelled within her. Unthinkingly, she touched his tunic sleeve. “I’m sorry about Thriss….” she whispered. “And Shar.”

  Anichent bowed again. “As am I, Prynn Tenmei. But I rejoice for my mate and any who bring him happines.”

  * * *

  “I am here, Zhadi,” Shar said, crossing the threshold into Sessethantis zh’Cheen’s study.

  Without looking at him, she motioned for him to sit down. She had already dressed in the mourning robes; her finished mask sat on her desk. Freshly scabbed-over scrapes on her forearms testified of her ongoing grief. And I have never hurt myself in the way Anichent and Zhadi have, he considered, not for the first time, and wondered what made him different from the others. He took a seat on an ottoman, a respectful distance from her. As a young chei, he had liked this room, with its cozy clutter and its earthy scents of soil and dried plants. On their rare visits during his youth, he and his bondmates would often sneak in here to hide from their elders. It seemed appropriate that he would begin his farewell to his old life in this place. He sat patiently, waiting to be addressed.

  Thantis said at last, “I have asked you here to take part in the Rite of Memory.”

  Shar swallowed hard, blinked. Had he heard her correctly? “What?” he managed to choke out.

  “Though I have allowed all to believe that I have excluded you from the ritual because I hold you, in part, responsible for Shathrissía’s suicide, permitting this lie to masquerade as truth does nothing but—” She stopped as if fighting back tears. “I am punishing my zhei for the sake of my own pride. To send her into her next life without you, you of all, Thirishar, is a most cruel, most selfish act. I plead for your forgiveness.”

  Openmouthed, Shar sat helplessly, confused as to what he should say or do. “Forgive you? It seems to me that your acceptance of responsibility for my mistakes is wrong, Zhadi. This all began when Thriss and I stepped out of the bond to consummate our desires. In so doing, we severed a connection to the Whole. I blame no one but myself.”

  “No,” Thantis said, still seething with emotions she could scarcely contain. “I have kept something from you—and from Anichent and Dizhei. And while I believe that your bondmates understood my zhei, no one—no one knew her as you did. If I allowed you to share the memories—my memory—you would see what the others would not: that I knew how to save Thriss and chose not to.”

  Before Sh
ar could speak, Thantis led him by the hand through a door in the back of her study. “Judge for yourself, Thirishar. Examine my offering to the Rite of Memory. You will then know who truly bears responsibility for Thriss’s death.”

  * * *

  “Thank you for letting me stop by without notice,” Prynn said, taking a seat at one of the unoccupied workstations adjoining Thia’s. She had resolved to be as polite as she could. What was the point of bearing a grudge? “I can see you’re already busy at work.”

  Acknowledging Prynn’s arrival with a brief, impersonal glance, Thia returned her attention to the padd in her hands. “I haven’t yet had the time to compile the notes from my trip to Dramia,” she said, without looking up from her viewscreen. “The botanical society wanted a paper proposal before they planned their next volume.” She slipped her padd into a slot in her desk and initiated the upload.

  Nice to see you too, Prynn thought, only somewhat surprised that Thia’s cold, almost haughty demeanor had returned. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but maybe a “Hey, how’s Phillipa doing” might have been a polite gesture. The zhen’s help in rescuing Vretha, however, at least earned her Prynn’s tolerance. Otherwise, Prynn would have had no patience for the prima donna act. Reminding herself that she was doing a favor for Shar kept her on task. She cleared her throat. “Shar received some interesting data from Dr. sh’Veileth this morning. And he wanted you to have it as soon as possible.”

  Thia arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”

  “See for yourself.” She slipped the data chip out of her jacket pocket and passed it over. “The way I understand it, the variety of plant you used to help Phillipa was a different strain from the one found in other places on Andor. There weren’t any matches to it in any standard databases.”