Prynn tensed, bracing herself for his words; she knew, though, without being told what his decision would be.
“Regardless of whether or not I participate in the Sending, my remaining on the station will lead to speculation among my people. Some may choose to believe that I am sulking. Or worse, that I am vindictive. Some will believe that I am ashamed of my choices and I am not. I will go back to Andor and help Charivretha because she is my zhavey—it is the right thing to do; then I will return to Deep Space 9.” Shar let a breath escape slowly through his nose before he looked at the commander. “I’ll discuss my leave with Captain Kira before my next shift.”
Matthias closed her hand around the shapla. “And I’ll send my travel plans to your personal database. We can coordinate later. Good night, Shar, Ensign Tenmei.” After a slight nod, she exited the shuttlebay.
When she had gone, Shar turned back to Prynn, his expression veiled. “I know you believe I am mistaken.”
Prynn shook her head no. Halfheartedly, she paced a few steps back and forth in front of the shuttlecraft Sagan. She struggled for the right words—how to tell him that she couldn’t bear the thought of him having to endure any more disappointment and sadness, how to say your happiness matters to me, to let him know that no matter what, she would be there for him—and then suddenly she knew what was required of her. “If you have to do this, you’re not doing it alone. I’m going.”
“Prynn—”
“No! Don’t even think about trying to talk me out of it. I’m owed some leave time, and I’m going with you to Andor.”
For once, his emotions were laid bare—surprise, relief, and something else, something she didn’t dare name; Prynn’s throat tightened.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “I cannot begin…Thank you.”
That face…She longed to touch his cheek and fold him in her arms. That beautiful, sad face. “Of course,” she said simply.
“That’s what friends do for each other.”
2
Still feeling odd in his civilian clothes, Shar crossed the rounded observation deck of the interstellar transport Viola, weaving in and out of socializing passengers who quaffed beverages and sampled cracker-and-fruit appetizers, and slowly made his way toward the viewport wall. Before he was thrown into a whirlwind of Zhavey’s public-relations events, he wanted a single private moment. The Viola was next in line for docking at Andor’s Orbital Control Station, so he couldn’t linger too long. Easing into the spot being vacated by a pair of Ktarians, Shar looked out on his homeworld for the first time in six years.
Through a break in the silver clouds, he saw patches of the Zhevra continental mass, dull in its variegated browns and blacks, spreading like the massive relief maps he’d crawled all over as a young chan. Squatting down over the Vezhdar Plain, he’d caressed the knobs and crests of the Great Rift Range, memorizing the geological markers with his fingers, impressing each corner of his planet upon his memory by touch. This is where I live, he’d said while pointing to the terraced benches of Hill Country. This is where I belong! And the teacher had nodded approvingly, as if to say, Good chan!
Now, studying Andor from far above, he traced the smooth railing, the memory of gritty slot canyon walls filling his fingertips, the warm wind caressing his face. How much the same it seems from up here, he thought. But I’m not the same, am I? As close as home appeared, he had never felt as disconnected from this place as he did now.
He had expected this moment to feel different. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d expected, but this wasn’t it. A gush of nostalgic affection, maybe. An appropriate sense of loyalty, of duty, to the people whose plight had defined his life—such an emotion would be understandable.
Instead he felt nothing. Numbness.
Wait. His thoughts paused. “Remoteness” was a better word; he felt far away and he took this understanding as affirmation of the choice he had made to sever his personal ties to Andor. Anichent and Dizhei would be better off without him. Whatever tether had once bound him to Andor’s destiny had been pulled so thin, he could scarcely sense its existence anymore. Perhaps it was not what had bound him, but who. She who had made this home to him was gone. Without her…
What is wrong with me?
The comm system clicked. “Viola on approach. Stand by for docking. Travelers to Cheshras Island and the eastern Archipelago, please check with central ticketing about potential storm interference. Travelers continuing on to Vulcan should remain aboard. Thank you.”
Storm? That wouldn’t be good news for Phillipa. He turned back to the viewport. Sure enough, vivid gray-green whorls churned sedately over the cobalt blue Khyzhon Sea, the delicate cloud cover effectively masking the violence of a spring typhoon. The population centers on Cheshras Island might already have storm shields up. Phillipa would have to reach Thelasa-vei province before Deepening or face further delays. If Shar’s schedule had allowed them to leave a day earlier, as Phillipa had originally planned, the commander would have arrived before the storm system. Now, she would most likely be late. Thantis would be disappointed, yet again, and of course it involved the chei of zh’Thane, who had been the source of her zhei’s suffering. All knew the old aphorism “As is the zhavey, so is the child.” There would be no question in Zhadi’s mind as to whose fault this was. Since Sessethantis and Charivretha had spent most of Shar and Thriss’s early years circling warily around each other, Shar was certain Thantis now took perverse pleasure from Zhavey’s latest career ordeal.
A slight tingle in his left antenna heralded the approach of Prynn behind him, mere seconds before she called his name from across the lounge. He turned to greet her. Her short green jacket and matching boots were easy to spot in the crowd, as were the vivid autumnal colors of Phillipa’s Bajoran-style tunic and trousers. Shar himself had chosen a baggy gray shirt and black leggings, then covered them with a floor-length black cassock. He hadn’t reckoned how strange it would feel to shed his uniform and travel with crewmates who had done the same.
From appearances, Prynn and Phillipa had retrieved their travel bags and appeared ready to start on the next leg of their journey. He left his place at the railing and met them halfway.
“You heard the announcement?” Shar asked Phillipa as he took his bag from her.
“I did,” Phillipa said. “I take it that there might be storm delays for me?”
Shar nodded. “I should have realized—it’s typhoon season in the region you’re traveling to. Ionization of the atmosphere rises dramatically, to a degree seldom seen on Class-M planets, making transport impossible. Public travel is delayed or suspended owing to dangerous meteorological conditions. It’s less of an issue in Zhevra Continent, where the climate is usually more accommodating.”
“So Phillipa is stranded in orbit?” Prynn asked. “For how long?”
“It depends on how well the climate controls can manage the more violent arms of the storm. However,” Shar said, turning again to Phillipa, “Prynn and I won’t transport down to Zhevra until we know that you’re on your way.”
They felt a slight shudder as the transport’s engines powered down. A low clang sounded beneath the passengers’ ambient chatter, the sound of docking clamps attaching to the ship’s hull.
“Prepare to disembark.”
The trio allowed themselves to be propelled along by a crowd that appeared to have origins in every corner of the Federation. For his part, Shar didn’t remember Andor being such a popular tourist destination. He didn’t make frequent trips offworld while growing up, but he didn’t recall any return trip that was as crowded as this one had been. The three of them had squeezed into a two-person sleeper compartment with Shar, who needed less sleep than his human companions, and napped on the floor as necessary. Under those circumstances, the superior/subordinate protocol quickly gave way to all of them being on a first-name basis.
They walked three abreast through the airlock and down a sloping gray corridor into the gate lounge of Orbital Control. Thou
gh he hadn’t been to the station in many years, his recollections of it as a straightforward, Federation-style public facility proved to be correct: utilitarian beige couches and chairs; high, drafty ceilings; replicator stations and information kiosks distributed evenly through the gate area. Helping Phillipa find her way around shouldn’t be difficult.
“Prynn, if you’ll check the departure monitors to find out which transporter station we’re queued to”—Shar waited until she’d nodded in acknowledgment before shifting his attention—“I’ll take Phillipa to the main desk to straighten out—what?”
Without warning, an intense, white-yellow light beamed into Shar’s face and blinded him. Raising an arm to shield his eyes, he squinted past the light, but saw only dark silhouettes.
The verbal barrage began, assaulting him on all sides.
“Sat 2 newsnet, we’re live from Oribital Control with Starfleet Ensign Thirishar ch’Thane. Ensign ch’Thane, how is it being home on Andor?”
“What? It’s fine. But I don’t—”
“What did Councillor zh’Thane have to do to get you to agree to leave Deep Space 9? Sat 6 had a report—”
“Is it true Councillor zh’Thane will be invoking the Whole Vessel Law on your behalf?”
“I’m not going to discuss—”
“Have you spoken recently with your mentors at the Andorian Science Institute and if you have, do you have any comment on the rumored research under way?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Do you have any greetings to send out to friends or family?”
The unexpected cacophony overwhelmed Shar as the reporters pressed in, the lights from their headsets hitting him from all sides. None of them were giving him a chance to speak.
Twisting to look behind him, Shar caught Prynn’s confused expression as she fought to get through the pack of reporters. He reached out, trying not to become separated from her, but she was already too far away. As his frustration grew, so too did the instinct to lash out. His body tensed—
“That’s enough!” a voice declared. A uniformed sentinel—a thaan—pushed his way through the crowd toward Shar, followed by several other security personnel, who were forcing the reporters back despite their hisses of indignation. “You people should know better—this area is off limits to nontravelers. If you want to speak to Ensign ch’Thane, you’ll need to make other arrangements. You have thirty seconds to comply or face charges.”
Without asking for Shar’s consent, the thaan grabbed him by the arm and steered him away from the crowd. Another guard had affixed himself on Shar’s other side, and together the pair guided him to a different part of the facility. Confusion and anxiety gave way to anger as questions raced through his mind. Foremost among them: How would a swarm of reporters have known his travel plans? Unless…
Zhavey.
Sighing with annoyance at the reporters’ herd mentality, Charivretha switched off her monitor. Hand them a story gift-wrapped and they ruin it, she thought. All they had to do was wait until he’d cleared the gate area! Her intention hadn’t been to have him attacked; she had hoped to show Andor a pleasant homecoming scene. Instead? Chaos. Thirishar would be justifiably furious. Charivretha touched her desk’s compad, signaling her aide. “Zhende, contact Satellite Station 3. Thank them for their restraint, and let them know they can have a sit down after my press conference.”
Hand to chin, she leaned back in her chair and contemplated the view over the octagonal Plaza of Freedom and its glorious fountains: Serpentine streams of water leapt over towering leaves of nearly transparent green mica, imported from the Archipelago region. In the distance, the cerulean obelisk of the Shran monument stood out against the crisscross skyline of slanted office towers and high-rise residences that so identified the Andorian capital. Years of work had earned her this view. The thought gave her pause. Thinking of passing time as “years” instead of “cycles” testified to how far she’d come from Hill Country.
Her first visit to this office had been in her fourteenth cycle, before her Time of Knowing, when her zhavey had brought a petition to Andor’s Federation representative, protesting the border conflict with Cardassia. She now sat behind Councillor th’Vrash’s very desk; she remembered how the morning light gleamed on the highly polished, petrified eketha wood, the glyphs and runes of Andor’s ancient iconography carved into the surface. When she’d taken up residence, she’d brought her personal belongings from her parliamentary office, assorted holos and awards, a sculpture given her by the children of Shayel Island, a room-sized rug woven by Sessenthantis zh’Cheen in one of her rare, generous moods….
Thantis. Why had she even allowed the zhen’s name into her thoughts? Doing so immediately assured she’d slip into a foul mood—especially since Thantis had deliberately neglected to invite her to Shathrissía’s Sending. Granted, Shar had been closer to poor Thriss—fragile child that she was—but his decision to place his duty to Starfleet above his duty to his people had directly contributed to her suicide. Thantis rightly excluded him, but Vretha had done nothing to earn such a snub. Whether or not they liked each other was beside the point! Protocol demanded that all family members attend a Sending—not only those who maintained amiable relations.
A perfunctory chime, then Zhende poked his head inside the door. “A gong has sounded, Councillor. The Presider has convened a party Enclave.”
Vretha’s hand fell from her chin. “He promised he wouldn’t!” Rising from her chair, she grabbed a crimson robe from a hook on the wall and hurriedly pulled it over her clothes. The Presider’s aide had assured her that she would have until Deepening to present her strategy to the party leadership. Why had the Presider gone back on his word? She was still waiting to hear from Progressive activists in a number of districts—
Racing past Zhende’s workstation, through her chair-lined waiting area—gratefully empty of constituents and press—she stepped out onto the open-air ramps that sloped down the sides of the Parliament Andoria building. Vretha moved quickly along the nearest route to the lower levels. As she walked, she scanned the plaza, noting a gathering crowd; she guessed someone on the opposition side of parliament had organized yet another rally. The Visionists were evidently stepping up their campaigns. Across the plaza, issuing from the other visible wings of the government complex, she spotted several officials in brightly colored robes headed to the subterranean Enclave chamber.
“Charivretha.”
Wincing inwardly at the familiar voice, Vretha stopped and turned, waiting patiently for Representative th’Tethis, who was robed in distinctive purple, to waddle up to her. The delay was unwelcome: Appearing before the Enclave at the last minute might send a signal of disrespect to the Presider; failing to honor the demands of an elder thaan would also be disrespectful, so she was caught between two duties. No positive outcome either way, Vretha thought. It briefly occurred that perhaps th’Tethis was slowing her down on purpose to make her look bad before their senior party officials. She’d heard rumors that he was mentoring a young shen out of Wethesa who he hoped would eventually take her seat. I’m not finished yet, Vretha thought.
Th’Tethis held out a quivering, flattened palm; Vretha touched her hand to his and bowed from her shoulders. “How can I serve you, Elder Tha?”
“Keep an old thaan company, Charivretha. We will go to Enclave together.”
“As you ask,” Vretha said, and took his proffered arm.
Together, they followed the down ramp to the next level. She was forced to stop again when th’Tethis paused to retie his ceremonial robe. Several more levels awaited them. All around, parliamentary representatives with their aides made their way to meetings. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw that most of the bright-colored Enclave robes had already vanished, presumably to the lower levels.
They walked in silence for several minutes before th’Tethis asked, “And how fares your clan, Charivretha?”
“It endures, Elder Tha,” she answered aut
omatically. “And yours?”
“Those of us who remain endure as well,” th’Tethis said with an odd expression, almost as if he’d made a joke. Before she could inquire further, he said, “I understand that your chei has come home.”
Ah, so he saw the newsnet report. “He comes to help his zhavey during a troubled time.”
“Indeed,” said th’Tethis. “Better troubled times with family than without, wouldn’t you agree?”
What is he playing at? “As you say, Elder Tha.” Vretha looked ahead. The final corridor was empty. As she had feared, she and th’Tethis would be the last to arrive.
“What awaits you is not what you expect,” he told her.
“Excuse me, Elder Tha?”
“Let me speak frankly, Charivretha. Do not rush to face your fate. Soon enough it will find you.”
Vretha’s eyes narrowed. “May I speak frankly as well, Elder Tha?”
The thaan smiled, revealing a mouth of copper teeth. “You know I do not judge my colleagues on their adherence to dusty traditions. Otherwise, I’d join the Visionists.”
“Then hear this.” Vretha dropped her hold on his arm and took a long step forward, placing herself squarely in his path. If he had no use for manners, she would behave accordingly. Brashly, she forced eye contact with him, violating the boundary of his inner world; his antennae tensed. “I will not be shuttled aside for some ambitious shen you are grooming to replace me.”
“My protégé has cycles before she will be qualified to assume the Federation Council seat,” th’Tethis said, the corners of his eyes crinkling kindly. “It is not I who wants you replaced.”
Vretha stood stock-still, stunned by the magnitude of her mistake: she had no response for th’Tethis. She had exhibited the naïveté that would be expected from a first-cycle provincial representative.
Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine Page 18