Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

  “What leads you to believe we’ll help you after the inconvenience you’ve caused us?”

  “Because you have to know that if we’re here, someone else knows you’re here. Assume that if we don’t reach our contact point at the designated time, Homeworld Security will come looking for us. And if they find us dead, you can pretty much kiss any chance you have of advancing your cause good-bye.”

  The chan whistled. Moments later, a long shadow cast by the diffused, coral backdrop of earliest dawn came from the mouth of the lava tube. Another chan, phaser in hand, blocked Prynn’s escape. There would be no shortcuts.

  “Drop your weapon!” the first chan ordered.

  Prynn complied, placing her phaser on the ground and kicking it away. She slowly raised her arms above her head. “Okay, I’ve done what you ask. Help me, please?”

  Descending from the mouth, the second chan retrieved her discarded weapon, shoved it into the pocket of his tunic, and kept his own weapon targeted on Prynn and Vretha while the other kidnapper took several long steps toward them and away from Shar. Just a little bit farther…a little farther…

  Shar fired. For an instant, the phaser blast lit up the lava tube in neon orange. But the beam found its mark, not on the chan nearest Shar, but the armed one at the mouth of the cave. He crumpled where he stood.

  Shar’s attack on the second chan had distracted the first sufficiently to give Prynn time to act. She charged toward the first chan, grabbed his head between her hands and forced his face down hard against her upraised knee. He fell forward onto his hands, indigo blood gushing from his nose. Then Prynn was behind the chan, her forearm linked tightly around his neck.

  “Bring him with us as a hostage. Let’s get out of here,” Shar said.

  “Where’s the other one?” Prynn asked.

  Shar checked his tricorder and saw that once again the radiological properties in the Reserve were inhibiting its scans. “Unknown,” he snarled.

  “Shar,” Prynn panted, giving the chan a hard yank when he appeared to be resisting her, “Help Vretha. She really has sprained her ankle. You’ll have to carry her.”

  Yanking the rebreather off Vretha’s mouth, he rapidly assessed her from head to toe. Other than her swollen right ankle—a natural symptom considering her injury—she appeared to be all right. “You’re fine—you’re fine,” he said repeatedly, still unbelieving that he was in here in this place, with her, and that they were both safe.

  Vretha nodded. A sob escaped her throat and she collapsed against Shar’s chest, weeping. He enfolded her in his arms, rubbing her back soothingly. As he offered her comfort, the tightly wound tension within him unclenched, releasing him from a long-carried burden. “We will be all right, zhavey. We will. I promise. But we need to move now.”

  “Shar.”

  Prynn. Her voice sounded high and shrill. Shar turned toward her.

  A thaan held a blade against her throat; the chan Prynn had been holding was crawling to the side, blood streaming from his face.

  Shar pulled his zhavey tight against him. He couldn’t reach his phaser. His eyes met Prynn’s, locked. He expected fear, but found instead resolve, colored with anger.

  “I’ll kill her,” the thaan said, pressing the blade just close enough to nick Prynn’s skin.

  Shar saw her flinch; a thin trickle of red on her throat. She blanched, closed her eyes. If he chose poorly now, it could cost Prynn her life. Or any one of them.

  “Let them go,” Prynn hissed. “You’ll make them martyrs if you kill them. Do you want that?”

  The thaan yanked her harder against him and Prynn cried out in pain. “You talk too much.”

  “She’s right,” Shar said. “Kill any one of us and you’ve handed victory to the Progressives. Isn’t that what you’re fighting against?”

  “You think in such small terms, chei of zh’Thane. Our cause is greater than politics. This is about morality, about the barbarity of science—toying with Andorian biology and claiming it is in our best interests. It is about what you have done to help them!”

  What do I have to do with this? “I saw the documents you left for me, but they seemed preposterous. I have nothing to do with them. Why would you think such a thing?”

  “The Yrythny eggs, Shar,” Vretha said. “He claims they’re what’s making it possible.”

  Shar froze, and all at once, he saw the documents his zhavey’s abductors had left for him, which he had dismissed so easily, in a new light. Was it possible? “Prove it,” he demanded.

  With one arm still tight around Prynn’s throat, the thaan used the other to reach into his jacket pocket and remove a padd, which he passed over to Shar.

  He quickly scrolled through the data, scanning it for the most relevant points, examining them in the new context he was being asked to accept. His breathing quickened, became more labored as he saw the truth, and his control faltered. They used what I gave them. They’ve twisted the hope I tried to give Andor….

  The padd slipped from his hands, clattered on the ground. As if he could force the revelation away, Shar shut his eyes, threw back his head, and screamed.

  The echoes of his roar reverberated through the lava tube long after.

  Prynn’s worried voice cut through his anguish. “Shar…?”

  Shar opened his eyes and, still breathing heavily, looked at the thaan. “I’ll help you,” he panted. “But not like this. We’ll go back now, together, and I’ll find out if this is what it seems to be.”

  “You expect me to trust you?” the thaan said.

  “The fact that you’re asking suggests to me that you want to,” Shar said. “I give you my word—and something else.” Reaching beneath his neckline, he lifted out Thia’s shapla and pulled it over his neck, offering it to the thaan. “I’m not sure who will recognize this token, but I offer it as proof that we can be trusted.” The diamond-shaped locket, dangling from Shar’s hand, glinted in the dawn light.

  The knife at Prynn’s throat fell to the ground; Prynn pulled away, pressing a hand to her bleeding throat. Shar sensed her anxiety—wished he could comfort her—but he remained focused on the thaan, whose expression of abject shock revealed him as Thia’s bondmate. Whether or not the thaan accepted the shapla would determine what followed.

  Teeth bared, the thaan lunged at Shar, wresting the shapla from his hand and breaking the chain. “You took this from her! You killed her to take this from her!”

  “No. She gave it to me several hours ago,” Shar said, silently blessing Thia’s wisdom. “She awaits our return out on the plateau, where she tends to our wounded commander. Send your companion while we wait here. They will affirm the truth of my claims.”

  The thaan dropped to his knees, groaning, burying his face in his hands; his antennae rippled with grief.

  Without interference, Shar and Prynn helped Charivretha to her feet and together they followed the twisting pathway among the lava pillars up to the mouth. They emerged from the lava tube, into a dazzling morning.

  Shar almost relaxed.

  The laboratory wing of the Science Institute felt more like home than anyplace else on Andor: he knew every stained lounge chair and smudged wall. Here, in the lab where he’d spent the last year before he left for Starfleet Academy, he would happily set up a cot and live without complaint. Shar would be perfectly relaxed if the interlude in the cave with Thia’s th’se, when he’d made a disturbing assertion about the use of the Yrythny eggs, hadn’t happened. He had told the others that he was visiting an old friend (which was true), but he also needed to find out whether the thaan spoke truly.

  “So what did you bring me?” Dr. sh’Veileth said, receiving the pocket-sized canister from Shar. Stepping on the outer edges of her feet, she hobbled over to a lab table and studied the canister curiously, holding it up to the natural light pouring through a greenhouse window.

  “When we were out in the Reserve, a botanist that we traveled with concocted this poultice using wild plants to treat one of
our wounded.” After the security medic had re-dressed Phillipa’s wounds, Shar had rescued one of her old bandages from the recycler, at Thia’s request. “According to the botanist, the plant is a different strain from the Shanchen’s mantle that grows elsewhere on Andor. I knew you would know someone here at the institute who could run an analysis.”

  Sh’Veileth slid off the lid, sniffed, and choked on her breath. “Pungent. In a word, pungent. You were out in the Reserve? How’d you manage that? I’ve been trying for cycles. The committee’s response is always the same: ‘We believe you cannot prove adequate benefit to your research to justify the issuing of a permit at this time.’ ” She tipped back against the counter, hands on hips.

  “I forget that the full story hasn’t yet been released to the newsnets,” Shar said, remembering that a sitdown interview with one of their chief correspondents was scheduled this evening. “My zhavey was being held hostage there. I was part of the rescue team.”

  “The mission was successful, I trust?”

  Shar nodded. “We had our share of challenges. One of my teammates has been hospitalized. The other is keeping her company.”

  “The botanist?”

  “No,” Shar said, feeling the sense of unease he’d felt since the debriefing. “I lost contact with the botanist.”

  Since the rescue transport had brought them to Zhevra, he hadn’t spoken with Thia; she’d been surrounded by a security detail as soon as the hatch lowered, and kept separate from the others. Her bondmates had been placed under arrest. Charivretha would be testifying against them, as would Thia.

  The young zhavey’s fate was opaque: for her assistance in finding Vretha and saving Phillipa’s life, Thia had been granted immunity from prosecution; she hadn’t conspired with her bondmates, but she hadn’t stopped them, either. Her sh’za had also cooperated fully while Homeworld Security conducted their on-site investigation at the Cheen-Thitar Keep. How Thia’s choices would impact her career, her children, and her bondgroup had yet to be seen.

  “My purpose in coming here was not to talk about my zhavey’s drama, Doctor. I was hoping you’d have news for me on the Yrythny ova,” Shar said, redirecting the conversation as politely as he could.

  “Oh yes! Absolutely,” sh’Veileth said, throwing up her hands. “So sorry I didn’t think to have it already waiting for you.” She ordered the computer to organize and display the files relevant to her research. Outlined in red, a three-dimensional model appeared on her desktop.

  Shar examined the model, saw that it was an Andorian chromosome—number seventeen. Most Andorian geneticists believed that the root causes of Andorian fertility issues resided in this particular chromosome’s vulnerability to mutations. He shrugged.

  “Now watch!” she said gleefully. A series of blinking yellow dots appeared, superimposed over the red DNA outlines.

  “I am still uncertain precisely—”

  “Inserting segments from the Yrythny DNA here”—she pointed to one of the blinking spots—“here, and here, changes the expression of the Andorian genes.” Sh’Veileth’s eyes widened, and she leaned forward as if she was sharing an irresistible secret. “For the better!”

  Shar felt a familiar tingle—the rush of pleasure associated with scientific breakthroughs; I knew it. I knew the Yrythny eggs might be able to help us. “And?”

  “While it doesn’t resolve all our problems, this is a promising concept. Gene therapy developed from the Yrythny DNA has the potential to increase the window of Andorian fertility. I can conservatively estimate by one cycle, maybe two or more.”

  “More cycles, more opportunities to conceive.”

  Sh’Veileth nodded. “And now for the best part.”

  Stunned, Shar couldn’t speak: More?

  “A slight modification to the gene therapy has the potential to increase the numbers of viable gametes released by the individual partners—doubling or tripling the numbers. Healthy gametes too.”

  His mind raced through the implications. “More than one infant at a time? We have not seen multiple births on Andor in—”

  “More than a hundred years. I know. This could dramatically shift the population dynamics in a relatively short time.”

  I want to be part of this research. “So how are the trials going?” Shar sat in front of the viewscreen, scrolling through the hundreds of files on the doctor’s system, looking for the data.

  She puckered her lips, twisted her mouth. “No trials. The Institute hasn’t approved them yet.”

  He stopped cold. “Why?”

  “Because the governing board doesn’t believe I’ve done enough modeling. Too new. Too soon,” sh’Veileth said with a deep sigh. “They want more tests, more models, more data before they offer the gene therapy to bondgroups.”

  “If Andorians knew the potential of this discovery, many would be petitioning to be used as test subjects,” Shar said. “Hundreds—thousands—of bonds that believe that they had passed the window of conception would attempt to create more children. Since the newsnets are filled with the Visionists’ accusations, you would think that the institute would be attempting to publicize a legitimate discovery.”

  “I know not how they work. Why they do as they do. I will be ready, though, as soon as the testing is authorized.”

  Shar gripped sh’Veileth’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’ve done it, my mentor, my example. You’ve opened a window of hope for our people.”

  Sh’Veileth blushed, embarrassed, and extended her hand to Shar’s shoulder. “I am honored to be the vessel of your faith and trust.”

  Not wanting to dim the glow of the moment, Shar spoke carefully. “I apologize for having to raise such an unpleasant subject, but I am curious. Are the eggs being used in research intended to reengineer our sexes?”

  “You ask a difficult question, Thirishar,” Sh’Veileth said. “Obviously you have heard the rumors, or you would not be asking. Other teams are using the ova—this is true. But I do not know the nature of their research.”

  Shar handed her the padd Thia’s th’se had given him.

  Sh’Veileth studied it for a few minutes, then looked back at Shar. “Let me see what I can learn.”

  Sitting at the desk in her office in the Parliament Andoria building, Charivretha stared at the padd in her hand, seeing but not seeing. She had no idea how long she had been sitting—it had been hours since Shar had paged her after his visit to the Institute. He had informed her that he would be by after he visited Commander Matthias at the hospital. Now he waited in the vestibule.

  I don’t know if I can do it. For the first time in a lifetime of never accepting no, of always believing that her strength and determination could overcome every challenge presented to her, Vretha realized that simply because she could do a thing didn’t mean she should. She touched her compad. “Send Shar in.”

  She swung her chair around so she could take in the view out her window, the ornate plaza with its elaborate fountains, its interlaid stone patterns. Tradition held that Thalisar had brokered peace among the clans there, and later died on that very same spot, leaving her people in the care of the representative democracy she’d created. Charivretha had believed in that system, believed that all others subscribed to its values as she did. I was wrong.

  Head held high, Shar strode through the door. She hadn’t seen him this confident in a long time. He exuded a strength that she recognized from his years at the Academy, from his first posting, but not since—

  How much damage have I done, pressuring him to join in the shelthreth with his bondmates? So many apologies, she thought, sighing. She gestured for him to take a seat. How do I say this, my chei?

  Shar didn’t wait for her to speak, his eyes alight with enthusiasm. “I have an incredible report from Dr. sh’Veileth at the institute, Zhavey. She’s made a breakthrough with the Yrythny ova…” His voice trailed off. “What is it? You have had news.”

  Her chest tightened. I wish I could protect you from this. “See for yours
elf,” she said gently, pushing the padd she’d been holding across her desk to him.

  “This too, is from Dr. sh’Veileth. Why…?”

  “She was able to track down both your answers and mine; she thought I should see it first. And she was correct.”

  Furrowing his brow, he studied the contents, his impatient scrolling gradually slowing until he sat, utterly still, his face just as she imagined it would be, a mirror of her own pained shock when she first read it. The padd dropped into his lap. He glanced at her wall with its plaques and awards commemorating many cycles of public service; dropped his gaze to the floor, her area rug—the one Thantis had woven it for her. It illustrated her favorite myth, the story of Thirishar, the great warrior for whom she had named her only chei.

  “So it’s true,” he said, part questioning, part statement of fact. He looked at her with deadened eyes.

  “Yes,” Vretha said, her own emotions spent since receiving sh’Veileth’s call. What had at first wounded so deeply had gradually numbed to a dull ache; Shar hadn’t had the luxury of time to process the shock, the pain. “The Visionist accusations of a conspiracy are true. The research, authorized in secret by the institute board, was rationalized as being ‘an attempt to pursue any and all options to prevent Andorian extinction.’ That’s how Dr. th’Saarash phrased it when I confronted him just moments ago. They believed if they could prove that their approach was valid that our people could be persuaded to embrace it.”

  Still dazed, Shar blinked, opened his mouth to speak, closed it, shook his head. At last he said, “And there is no question that—”

  “None,” she told him. “Our own scientists decided they should reengineer our species.” The depth of their arrogance still stunned her. “And I was so certain that I knew our people better than my captors. That our scientists weren’t capable of such a thing!”

  “This is my fault,” Shar said dully. “I provided the Yrythny sample.”

  “No, my chei. Do not claim this for your own. There have been many errors in judgment, mine not the least among them, but you are guilty only of seeking answers.”