“Right,” Prynn said, recalling that Sessethantis zh’Cheen was a textile artist.
“Crafts aren’t merely for creativity’s sake or for personal pleasure. The process of doing the work is perceived as necessary to becoming a Whole individual.”
“The artistry part I understand. But I suppose I don’t get why, if you want or need something, you don’t just ask the replicator for it.”
“Sessethantis used to always complain about how we, meaning myself and my bondmates, didn’t have to work for anything that we have. She expected Thriss to learn how to sew her own clothing, prepare meals from raw ingredients—develop skills that replicators have made, among many people, all but obsolete.”
Prynn had a brief vision of herself, sleeves rolled up, hair tucked in a scarf, cranking the massive wood olive presses of old Toscana and collecting the precious droplets in green glass bottles to be sold at market. Could I…? Shaking her head, she erased the picturesque thought of peasant Prynn tilling the rich soil of the Italian countryside. She was definitely a confirmed child of the twenty-fourth century.
Shar touched her sleeve, directing Prynn’s attention to a stall some distance away where Phillipa was engaged in intense conversation with a vendor. Together they made their way around a peat grill sizzling and smoking with fatty fish steaks, then past a wide table where a cluster of Andorians were stitching together what appeared to be ornately woven sleeping mats.
When they caught up to Phillipa, she was finishing her transaction, sliding several credit chips across the table to the vendor. Regular visits to Quark’s bar (which these days was ostensibly doubling as the Ferengi embassy to Bajor) had accustomed her to the use of such currency. Starfleet made provisions for its personnel who lived or worked in non-Federation locales where currency-based economies were still the norm. Usually it was just a matter of thumbing a bill that a vendor later submitted to Starfleet for some previously negotiated form of compensation. Credit chips functioned the same way, only anonymously. But it surprised Prynn to see such an exchange on a Federation world between Federation citizens.
Phillipa pocketed a smallish green satin drawstring bag inside her jacket. “You find us a way to the keep, Shar?”
“There’s a vehicular leasing facility not far from here. I called ahead. They’ve reserved an aircar for us.”
“What did you buy?” Prynn asked Phillipa, wondering what unique trinket she might have discovered here. “Something fun, I hope. Maybe for the kids? A souvenir?”
Phillipa cleared her throat. “Not exactly.”
Prynn looked to Shar for an explanation, but his expression indicated that he wasn’t going to offer her any answer either.
Damn. I should have replicated gloves, Prynn thought as they emerged from the marketplace into the early evening chill. She wasn’t sure she had packed any either, having expected a trip to Andor’s middle latitudes where temperate, summery climes prevailed. Withdrawing her hands into her jacket sleeves failed to fend off the cold, biting wind.
Once they moved out onto the open avenue, finding relative privacy in the nearly abandoned streets, Phillipa explained in a quiet voice that she’d transacted for multiple smears of saf.
Initially, Prynn thought she’d misheard her—the counselor’s chattering teeth had broken her words into bits—and she asked Phillipa to repeat what she’d said.
With a brisk nod, Phillipa affirmed that Prynn had heard her correctly.
Prynn nearly swallowed her tongue. Saf smears were the stuff of Orion Syndicate black-market deals and other underworld crime. Not even Quark dealt in saf. She’d heard rumors of individuals who’d used the drug recreationally—but always on non-Federation worlds. Discovery of a saf smear in the possession of a Federation citizen…“Isn’t—um—that—uhh…”
“Illegal? Yes. Which is why trying to obtain a sample with which I can conduct research can be difficult,” Phillipa said. “Before I left the station, Dr. Bashir and I discussed collaborating on an analysis of the drug to see if there are any potential psychoactive benefits, so we obtained a special authorization from Starfleet Medical that allowed me to acquire it and transport it to DS9.”
With visions of penal colonies and rehabilitation regimens dancing in her thoughts, Prynn said, “But Andorian Security—”
“Saf originated on Andor, Prynn. It’s the only place in the Alpha Quadrant where you can legally procure it, because it’s been part of the culture here for so long. Andorians have used it as part of their worship and their—” Phillipa paused.
Prynn followed Phillipa’s glance over at Shar, who had flushed a deep blue.
“I’d be happy to discuss this later, Shar,” Phillipa said. “Or desist altogether.”
“Your sensitivity is appreciated,” he said, brushing aside the counselor’s concern, “but unnecessary. The role of saf on my world is a fact of our existence.” Still, he averted his eyes from both of the women.
In quieter tones, Phillipa continued, “Andorians use saf in the shelthreth—as part of their mating process. At the appropriate time, the sanctuary priests and priestesses dispense it to the sealed bondgroup. After the shelthreth, saf is dispensed only by medical prescription. The vendor I was dealing with was a pharmacist.”
“So why is it illegal…?”
“For non-Andorians, it can be highly addictive, not just physiologically, but psychologically. I’ve counseled saf users who become chronically despondent when it’s denied them, even though there is absolutely no physiological need for it.” A faraway look appeared on her face. “We saw an outbreak of saf use during the war.”
Shar looked up, puzzled. “I had not heard that.”
“Most haven’t. One of our dirty little secrets,” Phillipa said, then went on: “Saf can also be fatal to non-Andorians. The overdose threshold is alarmingly low. Fortunately, saf is also one of those odd little organic molecules that doesn’t replicate well, and the plant it’s derived from can’t be grown offplanet. The upshot is that saf has never been widely available, and may never be. It can be processed only on Andor, and the Andorian government has always been very sensitive to Federation concerns about the offworld smuggling of saf. There are a number of effective voluntary safeguards in place, and these are revised and upgraded regularly. Unfortunately, determined people sometimes find a way around them.”
“But what does it do that makes people willing to take the risks?”
Phillipa sighed. “Among other benefits, saf is a powerful aphrodisiac—”
Shar increased his pace, walking ahead of them.
“—that provides a myriad of benefits to all aspects of sexual function—”
“Oh. I see,” Prynn said. For all his protestations to the contrary, their discussion clearly made Shar uncomfortable, and she had no desire to satiate her own curiosity at his expense. Although talking about Andorian sexuality, however scientifically, with Phillipa had nudged several carefully tucked-away ideas to the fore of her thoughts.
So she had sexual thoughts about Shar—she’d admit that much, the kind of thoughts that made a conversation about saf more intriguing to her than, say, your average human. More than just a strong emotional and intellectual bond attracted her to him, and unless she was completely obtuse, she believed Shar reciprocated her interest. Her thoughts hadn’t yet wandered beyond the most innocent physical expressions like kissing—assuming Andorians even kissed. She really didn’t know what Andorians did. Life hadn’t required that her view of intimacy evolve too far beyond her own species’ paradigm. But she was willing to explore other possibilities. Still, the thought of Shar’s smooth lips on hers, however human that fantasy might be, nudged to life a latent instinct, an instinct she wanted to savor and explore. And as delicious as the longing felt, she consciously pushed it down, forced it away….
“Are you all right, Prynn?” Phillipa said, her voice kind.
Prynn wrinkled her brow, questioning the counselor.
Phillipa touched her own chee
ks, hinting for Prynn to check her own.
She clasped her face, feeling the burn beneath her chilled hands. “It’s nothing. Wind’s kind of chapped my skin. You wouldn’t have a moisture cream on you?”
Eyes twinkling, Phillipa shook her head no.
That Phillipa didn’t believe Prynn’s explanation was obvious from the knowing look in her eye, but the counselor didn’t probe any further.
Prynn felt increasingly unsure of the emotions coursing through her. Maybe this supposed relationship was only in her head and she was becoming one of those stupid, giddy people that lived to be in the throes of infatuation. Yes, the possibility of a relationship with Shar intrigued her; but she also despised how dependent she’d become on her hopes for that possibility. How her chest would clench with anxiety until she knew he was fine with something that had happened or had been said. Or how a compliment—or touch—made her ridiculously happy. She didn’t need bouquets or exotic wines or elaborate courtship rituals. But her attachment to Shar was leading her into making rash decisions: for a woman whose thrill-seeking tendencies sometimes made her reckless, adding another level of impulsiveness might land her in serious trouble. Not for the first time, she wondered what the hell she was doing chasing Shar halfway across the Federation.
You’re doing it because you care. He needs your support and friendship.
And you have absolutely no idea how else to help him right now.
They reached the aircar facility faster than Prynn expected. Orange-pink sky had been pushed below the horizon by a rapidly descending canopy of night; advancing pewter storm clouds created a queer murky light that settled over the land like a spreading bruise.
Shar had procured the only available vehicle—a smallish saucer car—for their trip. All of them together with their bags would be a tight fit. The prospect of being crammed into a small space at the end of a long, stressful day wasn’t pleasant; she felt frayed. Perhaps it was too much uncertainty or the nagging concerns she had about this last-minute decision to visit Thantis zh’Cheen. She wished she could figure out how to fix things with Vretha so that she and Shar could escape somewhere and relax.
While Phillipa joined Shar in the leasing office to negotiate the terms of returning the aircar, Prynn loaded their bags into the cargo hold, then hopped into the pilot’s seat of the circular vehicle and began familiarizing herself with the instrument panel. She was disappointed to see that the console was of the offworld-friendly “universal” design that could be found in most humanoid civilizations in the Federation; she had been looking forward to seeing one that was uniquely Andorian. Running a brief engine check revealed that the antiquated vehicle had more kick that she expected. The navigation headset sitting on the passenger seat utilized an optical interface she hadn’t seen since she’d hotwired her grandmother’s clunky old aircar when she was twelve. Placing the headset over her eyes, she entered the coordinates Shar had given her into the instrument panel and the face shield lit up with the pale red gridlines of a map. She studied the route to the keep—about an hour’s travel over rugged, uneven territory; narrow gaps between hills, rocky crests, and plunging gorges that would be especially treacherous due to night traveling conditions and wind velocity. Nothing a computer couldn’t handle, of course. But a nice challenge for a pilot unfamiliar with the lay of the land, she thought. Kinda makes up for the boring controls. Prynn hit the starter, and with a rising hum the quadruple engines came on line.
On cue, the passenger hatch opened and Phillipa climbed into the backseat, while Shar rode shotgun. “We’re cleared for departure,” he told Prynn as she entered several custom settings into the console. “I see that you’re familiarizing yourself with—”
“Buckle up!” Prynn said, and launched the saucer car away from the leasing facility at top speed, over the rooftops of Thelasa-vei and into the countryside.
Phillipa, who was trying to sit up after being slammed down and back into the cushions of her seat by the sudden acceleration, said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d warn me the next time you plan to do that.”
“Sorry,” Prynn offered, and shot a quick look at Shar, who was studying her with a peculiar expression, his antenna sticking almost straight up. Prynn flashed him a grin and a wink, then shifted her focus to the terrain.
The saucer car cleared civilization in less than a kilometer. A vast sloping wilderness spread before her. Without the nubs of brush and clusters of sedge to soften the landscape, the hillocks and hollows of the interior peninsula would have resembled a lifeless moon. Dark grasses bent and swayed, flattened by the intermittently violent gusts. Up a small rise, careering down a slope, swerving past marshy puddles and boulders the size of a shuttlecraft, Prynn raced along through puddles of shadow on the pale, moonlight-frosted ground, ignoring the path recommendations on her visor. Dark clouds veiled the starscape. Spying a hairpin turn where two hills joined up ahead, Prynn accelerated again.
Shar looked at her questioningly.
“I thought we should have some fun,” she said, mustering the most innocent look she could manage.
And for the first time Prynn could recall in all the months she’d known him, Shar laughed.
The better part of the journey inland went without incident. Mostly. The saucer car had buzzed a herd of shaggy marsh bison, and their subsequent stampede had forced Prynn to bank the car at straight vertical; Phillipa complained once that her stomach had nearly lurched out of her throat. Otherwise, all was good.
The saucer car found turbulence and bounced through the last few kilometers of stark plains spread before the keep, now a dark hulking citadel on the horizon. Crowning a low rise in the landscape, the ancient towers, silhouetted against flashing storm clouds, grew more forbidding with every meter. Prynn’s image of a pastoral agrarian manor proved false; rather, the keep was a fortress, built to withstand the assaults of time, weather, and enemy forces. She could make out the details of the brutish black bulwarks, rimmed with spikes and gargoyle-like statues.
Not exactly putting out the welcome mat, she thought, steering the saucer car down the long, flagstone road and over a bridge to a paved area abutting the front gates. “What’s next?” she said, looking at Shar.
“Prynn, if you and Phillipa can manage the luggage, I’ll secure the saucer car. Someone from the keep will come back for it later and make sure it’s stored in the keep’s vehicle hangar.”
Prynn checked a weather readout on the dashboard before shutting down the engines. “Wind chill is plummeting. I suggest we move fast.” She opened the pilot’s hatch and hopped out. What had been a lively, spirited wind in town had become vicious, howling like a wounded animal. All her exposed appendages instantly numbed, the joints in her hands locked up. Once again, she cursed her failure to remember gloves.
Shar scrambled out of the passenger seat into the open air and stiffened. Prynn saw him shuddering against the cold as he opened a side hatch and unwound the thick cables that he would use to tether the saucer car to metal rings mounted near the keep wall—a simple but effective means of securing vehicles temporarily against the seasonal gales.
Gathering up the bags, Phillipa passed them out to Prynn; flexing her fingers to take the luggage sent bursts of frozen, searing pain through her joints. She hunched, holding the travel bags close to her body, threading her arms through the straps for fear of losing them. The wind beat relentlessly against her, a tidal wave of swirling and crashing air.
Phillipa climbed out of the saucer car and relieved Prynn of one of the bags, and together they hurried toward a slight overhang beside the gate. Looking up, Prynn noticed ornate relief carvings on the stone wall: animals’ heads on humanoid bodies; snake forms sprouting multiple heads; monsters with moss-covered fangs; sword-wielding soldiers, their granite faces weather-stained and lichen-spotted. Deafening, ground-shaking thunder announced rain. Prynn shot a worried look over at Shar; he needed to hurry.
He seemed to be yelling instructions at her, but the wind roar in
her ears made it impossible to hear. An exaggerated jerk of his head toward the two-story stone gate sent Prynn’s attention to an elongated rectangular box jutting off one of the pillars: the call pad.
While Phillipa went to announce their arrival—she was, after all, the only member of their party who was actually expected—Prynn watched Shar until the last cable had been threaded and locked. Come on, come on, she thought, her teeth chattering.
Because she expected that he’d make his way over to them at once, concern flooded her when he stopped dead, staring for a moment, at a spot somewhere behind her. Prynn turned and followed his gaze to the wall beside the keep’s gate where the mark of the Water Guardian loomed. Twice the height of any of them, the mark stained the stone with drips and drabs of indigo. Shar pushed against the wind and crossed to the wall. Reaching up with his finger, he scratched at the mark, touched his finger to his tongue and spat.
His expression told Prynn all: blood.
A small door in the giant gate slid open, expelling a gust of steamy breath.
What are we getting into?
Shaking with cold, they clutched their arms tight against their bodies and raced inside, through the arched doorway, and into a warm, low-ceilinged chamber that smelled of dried leaves and wet wood. Savoring the welcome pain of blood gushing back into her iced fingers, Prynn balled her hands and loosened them. The dull lighting, emitted by room-height pillars of glowing, opalescent white quartz, stung Prynn’s dark-attuned eyes. She blinked, surveyed their surroundings, and gasped. Her hands tightened into fists and remained poised to swing.
Four armed Andorians, indistinguishable in their open-faced headgear with cheek guards, greeted them, drawn toothy daggers glinting. They were dressed identically: black chausses, black leather breastplates embossed with a silver-and-green crest that Prynn assumed represented the clan, worn over rough-woven red tunics that skimmed the tops of their knees. The tautness in their antennae betrayed their intentions.
Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine Page 22