Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  “Shall we review our strategy?” Shar asked, wanting to broach the discomfort he sensed between them.

  She sighed. “We follow the Temple Path to the base of the canyon. Lava tube entrance is approximately eight hundred meters due northwest from the ruins, behind a cluster of seep willows. Did I miss anything?”

  He paused, sensing her tension. She had dozens of reasons to be frustrated with him. He didn’t know where to start; considering what they had ahead of them, now wasn’t the best time. “No,” he said finally.

  “Good.” She sat down, peeled off her hood, took a swig off her water, and offered it to him. Not thirsty, he waved it away, but then he saw the look of hurt on her face and he realized that he needed to talk with her. Not transactional mission-related communications, but talking—the way they’d been talking for weeks. Time was short—this he understood. He also understood, especially after witnessing what happened to Phillipa, that unforeseen risks lay before them. He thought of Thia, of the kindness she had shown him, despite the rage he’d unleashed at the keep. She had given freely of herself, had admonished him to mend his life, to stop the endless cycle of self-punishment and regret. He had piled enough regrets on his conscience; he didn’t want Prynn to be one of them.

  As he tinkered with the sensors, he scooted closer to her. He didn’t need to see her to know that she consciously avoided having to look at him. “Prynn?”

  “Hmmm?”

  He started the tricorder’s reinitialization sequence: they had a few minutes before the instrument would be ready. “We have very little time and I’ve been wrong to avoid speaking with you before now. I’ve been unfair to you.”

  “What do you mean, exactly?” she said, her voice low and quiet.

  “I mean that I felt responsible”—he sighed—“for what happened at the festival. I was angry at my zhavey and those things I do in anger are rarely good. I ran away and took you with me and in the process I compromised your safety. You could have lost your life.”

  “Damn straight,” she said.

  He hadn’t expected that response. He searched himself, wondering what he had expected, but not that.

  “You’ve been pretty clueless, period,” she said, matter-offactly. “I get that this is a difficult time in your life. More than difficult—impossibly bad. But I’ve been plenty supportive, and as far as I can tell, that doesn’t seem to matter to you.”

  “What can I say? Without you…” His voice trailed off. “What can I say that will help you understand?”

  She looked at him. “Why were you massaging Thia? What passed between you two?”

  He blinked. She had seen him with Thia and had misunderstood. “Thia needed help. It’s what is done.”

  “You were touching her in a very personal, very intimate way.”

  Trying to read Prynn in the half-light was futile; Shar wondered what, if anything, he should or could say that would make a difference. He thought back to his brief time with Thia and had to admit that he felt confusion. Not because he had developed an emotional attachment to the zhen, but because he had so naturally adapted to the role. He couldn’t fathom how to explain this to her. Would she believe him if he tried? “Prynn, it was an obligation—what was needed.”

  “Needed?” She held up her hands. “What do these look like? Phasers? Why couldn’t I have helped?”

  “I’m chan. It’s the chan’s obligation to help—what is expected of a chan.”

  “Since when does Thirishar ch’Thane adhere to the expectations of his culture?”

  “I am part of the Whole whether I like it or not,” he said, more sharply than he intended to. How could he explain to her what he himself was just starting to understand? The intuitive connection he’d felt to something larger than he or Thia or even his own bondmates. Until tonight, he’d always thought of the “Whole” in the abstract. Now he wondered if indeed it was more than an idea. Shar continued, “When I helped Thia, I connected with a part of myself that I never believed I’d have a chance to. I could not abandon chan’s obligation to zhen. It wouldn’t be right.”

  Throwing her head back, she closed her eyes, exhaling raggedly. “So what does that mean, Shar? I would do anything for you—you mean that much to me. But is there a place for me—for us—in the ‘Whole’?”

  The tricorder beeped, signaling that the recalibration was complete.

  “There will always be a place for you in my life,” he promised.

  “I want to believe that,” she told him.

  He could hardly blame her for her doubts; were he in her place, in this circumstance, he would feel similarly. They would work through this, because as much as he couldn’t escape his Andorian identity, he refused to let go of his feelings for Prynn.

  “We need to go,” Prynn said, standing up and brushing the dirt, plant gum, and dried leaves from her expedition suit. “We’re only a few hours away from daylight.”

  He couldn’t argue with her logic. “Ready your caving gear. We’ll make less noise if we’re already outfitted before we reach the tube.”

  “Good thinking,” she said, and removed her night-vision lenses from her pack.

  Shar found their plateau position on the tricorder; they pressed on.

  9

  Deep in the mountain, night and day had blurred together for Vretha. She hadn’t been neglected, being given adequate food and water. Having company while she relieved herself had become progressively less humiliating as the hours passed. Whatever motivation her kidnappers might have, making her suffer wasn’t one of them. She had found them to be quite well mannered for criminals.

  But having her hands and feet perpetually bound was starting to wear on her. Her muscles had knotted in her shoulders; her joints protested from being locked in the same position for so long. She wanted to know when and if there would be an end, so she asked.

  The leader, the thaan, paused thoughtfully for a long moment before he spoke. “I believe that those of my political ilk have struggled, through peaceful means, to draw attention to the egregious mistakes being made by the Science—”

  “It’s already being dealt with,” Vretha said dismissively. “These kinds of accusations are cyclical. Over the course of my political career, I’ve seen—”

  “No. You don’t understand. I’ve seen the documentation. With my own eyes,” the thaan said, fervently. “I’m a security systems controller. I manage government accounts. I know that I speak the truth.” He held a padd before her eyes, the pages scrolling rapidly. “See?”

  Vretha squinted at the small readout, cursing her own limitations in science-speak. If Shar were here, all the diagrams and formulas would be explainable. Ordinarily, she counted on advisors to translate such documents into civilian. Vretha saw a model she could identify as a DNA strand, but she failed to see how the thaan’s accusations were linked to this diagram. “I’m sorry; I don’t have much understanding regarding the technical points of genetics. But if you can give me a copy of it, when I get back to Zhevra, I’ll see that it’s evaluated properly.”

  Her captor snorted, slipping the padd into his jacket pocket.

  He seems disappointed, she thought, but he’s maintaining a polite distance. I don’t sense aggression from him. She could see his frustration in how his hands clenched into fists, though his countenance radiated genuine concern. Part of being a politician required that Vretha learn how to read her opponents; as much as her logic told her that this thaan spoke foolishness, her instincts said he believed what he told her. He speaks of a thing that isn’t possible, she thought, wishing she had the means to help him understand. Even the Enclave discussion had been theoretical: What if the Science Institute had chosen to take such an approach? For her part, she realized that the bulk of her recent work involved Europa Nova and Bajor. At present, she had little knowledge of Andor’s inner workings.

  “I will look into the matter—I would be looking into it now if you hadn’t kidnapped me,” Vretha said. “I promise I will help you
find the truth.”

  “Promise? The way you promised that you would present our crisis to the greatest minds of the Federation in the hopes that a solution would be found? The way you assured us, repeatedly, that we would not be forgotten?”

  “Federation scientists are as baffled by our dilemma as ours. To say nothing of the fact that the war has stretched resources to the limit. We have many worlds in far worse—”

  “Politics!” The thaan hissed.

  “Isn’t kidnapping a high-ranking official a political point?” Vretha asked. “If you’re so convinced of the legitimacy of your accusations, why haven’t you gone to the press with your story? Why go to this extreme?”

  “I tried. But the media wouldn’t touch it. I could not verify the authenticity of my documentation, and of course the Science Institute denied everything.” He narrowed his eyes and said calmly, “What do you know about a thing called the Yrythny eggs?”

  Shar. Her stomach twisted, her antennae tensed.

  “I see you’ve heard of them. I believe your chei, Ensign ch’Thane, provided these eggs to the institute for research.”

  “What of it?”

  “The Yrythny eggs are the basis of this abomination.”

  She spat. “My chei has no part in any such research.”

  “Do I know that to be true? No. But let’s say you’re right. Your Thirishar is innocent. The truth remains: without his—gift—the evil wouldn’t be possible.”

  Whether or not the thaan spoke truly of a link between the Yrythny eggs and the gender modification project, Vretha sensed danger in continuing this discussion. She had no idea what kind of contacts her captors had in the outside world. If they had decided Shar was the source of the problem, her chei might be at risk continually, no matter what direction her career took. The near-bombing attempt at the transport station hadn’t ever been far from her mind. I have to move this away from Shar. She finally found a use for the contentious discussion in Enclave: the rhetoric. “You keep calling this alleged research heinous and abominable, but what about our plight? Our people are dying! If it is a choice between continued existence as two sexes and extinction, where is the choice?”

  “In remaining Andorians or becoming something else entirely” he said. “The perversion of our biology is not how we were created. When we join together in the bond, the Whole becomes greater than the individual. Altering our identities as chan, shen, zhen, and thaan destroys the very foundation of our existence, for it says, ‘I do not need the wisdom of chan or the blood of shen’ to be Whole. I, the one, can be great without the others.’ Such arrogance will destroy us.”

  Then they heard the explosion. Inky darkness extinguished the light.

  A hundred meters away, Shar crouched behind a meter-wide stalagmite, hands over his ears, as the decoy device mimicked an explosion and emitted a low-level electromagnetic pulse that would knock out the kidnappers’ tech—including lights. The decoy’s phase two would begin any second; then Shar and Prynn would charge into the area where Vretha was being held and free her. With rebreathers fastened over their faces and night-vision visors over their eyes, moving around would be easy; their equipment was shielded from the pulse. The kidnappers could do very little to change what would follow. He’d heard his zhavey’s voice. He knew she was alive. That was enough for Shar.

  A thick dust cloud rose up from the cavern floor, the decoy sucking flaking bits of obsidian and sand up into the air. Shar waved Prynn toward the chamber. Phasers drawn, they charged ahead, counting on the cloud for cover should the kidnappers fall back on torches. Their antennae would still give them a chance of triangulating on Charivretha and her rescuers, but it wouldn’t be easy, especially if they kept moving.

  As they came closer to the “room” where Vretha was being held, the outlines of three figures emitting variegated violet heat flashed up on his visor. He paused. Two figures ran from one side of the cave to the other; the third remained stationary. Assuming that his zhavey was bound, he moved swiftly toward the stationary figure, hunched over to avoid any dripping stalactites and unforeseen drop-offs: he couldn’t be too careful. On their journey down, they’d discovered that the lava tube’s geography varied; some sections, spacious in height and width, were easily traversed, other sections were narrow or featured irregular surface variations. The area he moved through to reach Vretha proved to be treacherous.

  Blade-sharp mounds of obsidian created deadly obstacles as he squeezed between glistening points. Prynn, a few steps ahead of him, carried a rebreather in her hands. She would make sure Vretha was awake, alert, and ready to travel. Shar would free her from her bonds. His expedition suit protected him, but Vretha would have no such protection. They would have to carry his zhavey between them.

  Through the misty dark of his lenses, he saw a glowing form—zhavey—shifting back and forth, presumably trying to figure out what was happening to her. He knelt at her side moments later, slicing through her ankle bonds with a knife. Before she could speak, Prynn had secured the rebreather over Vretha’s head. Wedging Vretha between them, Shar draped one of his zhavey’s arms across his shoulders, the other across Prynn’s. He felt Prynn stumble a few times—he stubbed his boot what felt like every other step—but they made rapid progress away from the kidnappers’ camp.

  “Shar?” Prynn whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “We need to see if we’re being followed. There’s only one way out of here and if they have the entrance covered…”

  “Do it.”

  Shar felt Prynn stop and break away. In the half-light of his visor, the usually faint glow of her tricorder readout flared. He felt part of Vretha’s weight shift back onto Prynn.

  “Two behind us. And at least one in front of us. How do you want to proceed?”

  Even aided by the night-vision visors, Shar had no idea precisely where they were in the sinuous lava tube’s interior. He could sense the low-lying ceilings giving way to bell-like chambers; feel the drafty air from the plunging drop-offs on his left; knew that the often sharp, rough refuse left behind by the lava flow could slice through skin as easily as a bat’leth. They couldn’t veer to either side without risking injury. Within twenty or thirty meters of the exit, they would gain enough light to better examine the terrain, find a hiding place and determine an escape plan. The EM pulse had given them a tactical advantage over those following behind them. But he had no idea what to expect from those up ahead.

  “As soon as we have enough light, we’ll see if we can get into a position where we can gain an advantage.”

  “I can draw them out. Claim that Vretha is injured. Say I want to negotiate. If you can double back and take out at least one of the guys coming up from the rear, I can manage the other. At that point, we can make a break for the canyon, then the Temple Path.”

  A few steps later and the dimmest hint of illumination spilled into the tunnel; Shar could make out the dark outlines of boulders, the jutting points of stalagmites. “We’ll separate here,” he said.

  “Good luck.”

  Shar flattened himself against the cave wall, edging along the scabrous surface, feeling his way with his feet. He could hear Prynn and Vretha shuffling along and see their glowing forms shrink as they moved; back the way they’d come, two pairs of footsteps sounded.

  Just before the mouth of the tube, the path that Prynn walked on narrowed. The trail rose at a steep pitch, twisting in and out of outcroppings that erupted like inky geysers out the swooping floor. Finding what he believed was adequate camouflage behind on the more towering pillars, Shar initiated a tricorder scan and confirmed that the kidnappers still trailed them. He also could now pick up at least one other Andorian positioned outside the cave mouth. Since the kidnappers could not be sure about the magnitude of the opposition they faced, their uncertainty would make them hesitate. Prynn could attempt her deception any time and he’d be prepared.

  As if she read his mind, Prynn pulled the rebreather off her mouth, ruffled her ha
ir, and took a deep breath. “Hey! I know you’re out there,” she called, her words echoing hollowly through the tube. Pausing briefly, she looked around, saw no sign of movement, so she resumed limping along, dragging Vretha alongside her. She stopped again. Cupping her hands around her mouth to magnify her voice, she shouted, “Councillor zh’Chane is wounded. I’ll pass over my weapon if you’ll help her.” She eased Vretha into a sitting position. Shar could see Prynn whispering in his zhavey’s ear.

  Returning to her feet, Prynn jammed her fists into her hips and turned from side to side. “I can’t travel any farther! Please help me! I’ll negotiate for our safety!” When the echo died away, silence, broken only by the faraway footsteps of their pursuers, resumed. She sat down beside Vretha, dove into her pack, presumably to further the illusion of Vretha’s injuries. When Prynn’s hands emerged, holding the smashed remains of their medical kit, he knew he’d guessed right.

  Mere meters from him, a chan emerged from the shadows. Have I been detected? Shar took shallow, short breaths and stilled his limbs so that he didn’t accidentally dislodge a stone. From his vantage, he had a clear view of Prynn; the chan’s attention was fixed on her, to the exclusion of all else. But where is his partner? “You’re a fool, human,” the chan’s voice boomed.

  “I don’t really give a damn what you think of me,” Prynn said, turning to directly face her opponents. Dignified, she stood straight, her shoulders squared. “Councillor zh’Chane is wounded. We don’t stand a chance of escaping. I’d like to avoid being a corpse.”