Subsequent years brought Thriss official reprimands for misbehavior in class—mostly for inappropriate displays of temper—but she had remained well liked by her peers, gaining a folk-herolike reputation for speaking out against perceived injustice. All her peers valued her opinions and desired her approval as they copied her hairstyles and the clothes she wore. When she staged a sit-in protesting Andorian communities encroaching on animal habitats, half the students joined her.
Except Shar.
Shar’s seeming obliviousness to Shathrissía ought to have been Charivretha’s first clue that he felt differently about her than he did about his other bondmates. He never sought out her company, never invited her to study. For her purposes at the time, Charivretha found Shar’s disinterest a relief: it decreased the likelihood that her chei would find the trouble that followed Thriss wherever she went.
When, five years later, Shar received Thriss as his bondmate, Charivretha still refused to worry because the bondgroup was a strong one. Shar instantly adored Dizhei, as everyone who met her did; with Anichent, he found a kinship of minds unlike any he’d ever experienced. Anichent and Shar quickly became inseparable. Charivretha often saw Shar and Anichent shyly holding hands during study time; Shar’s tender displays of affection warmed Charivretha as few things did.
Though he treated Thriss honorably, Shar appeared indifferent to her company. Because Shar tended to run counter to whatever trends and fads existed among his peers, Charivretha assumed he ignored Thriss because of her popularity. Thriss tried, but failed, to provoke any substantive reaction from him. In retrospect, Charivretha could see that Shar had conscientiously avoided Thriss, taking deliberate steps to assure their school schedules, their extracurricular hours and mealtimes didn’t intersect. As his zhavey, I should have known intuitively why he behaved the way he did: Shar ignored Thriss to avoid confronting the powerful attraction he felt for her. Years, I wasted years that I might have used to derail what proved to be the inevitable explosion between my chei and his lover…if I could have stopped them, if I could have foreseen what they would do and how irrational they could be…
Knowing all of the situation’s complexities, Charivretha had played a dangerous card in bringing Thriss to Deep Space 9. Ideally, Thriss’ ability to insinuate herself into Shar’s emotions should have given him an incentive to bow out of the Gamma Quadrant mission. Instead, Thriss’s appearance had reinforced the very decision Charivretha hoped to reverse. Shar had accurately perceived that his best chance at pursuing his misguided quest to find an external solution to the Andorians’ spiral toward extinction—as if he, brilliant as he was, could solve a problem his people had struggled with for so long—was to go as far from Thriss as possible, as fast as he could travel. The Gamma Quadrant certainly meets those criteria, she thought bitterly. Now what to do with Dizhei? If Thriss’ outbursts threaten Dizhei’s equilibrium, we might face losing more than Shar.…
Thanis discreetly crouched down beside Charivretha, informing her that the trade agreement transitioning session would be resuming shortly. Did she need to ask for more time from Ambassador Gandres? Charivretha shook her head no. With all the tenderness she could muster, Charivretha gathered Dizhei in her arms, cradling her against her shoulder. Beneath her own trembling hands, Charivretha felt the labored breathing that marked Andorian keening. Resisting the impulse to give into her tumultuous feelings, she focused her energy on reassuring Dizhei, cursing her selfish offspring. Where had she failed in conveying to Shar the seriousness of his obligations? “I will do what I can,” she whispered into Dizhei’s hair. “I promise.”
As Ro prepared her end-of-shift report, she noted grimly that while the Cardassian presence on the station hadn’t produced a marked increase in security problems, the imposition of yellow alert protocols had. One of her corporals had just been admitted to Dr. Tarses’ care. The Klingon captain of a vessel loaded with Cardassian humanitarian aid had charged the security officer with a d’k tahg, when, under orders, the deputy prevented the J’chang from launching. Other than reissuing her earlier statements about changes in station security, adding random, full-body scans, and making certain that all pilots arriving at or departing from the station were aware of those changes, Ro felt there was little else to do until everyone adjusted to the new rules. People typically hated change.
A beep from her console alerted her to the approach of a visitor to the security office. Ro recognized her through the door windows immediately: Councillor Charivretha zh’Thane.
Ro rose from her chair as the councillor entered, but zh’Thane quickly indicated she expected Ro to sit down. The councillor took her place in the visitor’s chair, sitting regally straight, hands folded in her lap; she exemplified poise.
Before today, Ro had spoken to zh’Thane only a handful of times, and on all those occasions she found the diplomat to be pleasant enough, but imperious. She could only imagine what Shar must have felt growing up with such a formidable presence to contend with. Even now, in her office, Ro felt zh’Thane was holding court.
“I bring the accolades of Admiral Akaar, Lieutenant Ro. He’s pleased with Colonel Kira’s decision to increase security. He also admires how swiftly and capably it’s been handled,” she said, a slight tremor in her voice.
Knowing Akaar’s reservations about her competence, Ro foundzh’Thane’s words to have little more substance than polite pleasantries. What intrigued her was the crack in zh’Thane’s perfectly composed veneer when, for an instant, she showed vulnerability. In good time, Ro thought. Not wanting to offend her guest, she offered a half-smile.
Zh’Thane replied by deliberately closing her eyes, allowing her long gray lashes to flutter politely. “I’m sorry to hear of your corporal’s injuries. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Ro was impressed with how in-the-know zh’Thane appeared to be: the incident with the J’chang had occurred in the previous hour. “Dr. Tarses will release him to his quarters this evening. Just keeping him under precautionary observation for the time being. Thanks for asking.” Assuming zh’Thane had more pressing concerns than passing on Admiral Akaar’s compliments, she made the opening move. “Now, what can I do for you, Councillor?”
“The yellow-alert status. It’s my understanding that all starship departures and arrivals require a day, sometimes longer, for clearance,” she said, perusing a padd she’d apparently had tucked inside her sleeve.
“That’s correct. We felt that we needed to screen for potential security risks, biohazards or other illegal activities that might threaten the various diplomatic goings-on.” And her staff—already putting in extra shifts since Akaar’s arrival—felt burdened by the pressure of their added responsibilities. Councillor zh’Thane had better not add to their load, Ro thought defensively.
“A plan must exist to accommodate emergencies. Something involving Admiral Akaar or First Minister Shakaar, for instance.” Her antennae curled slightly forward.
“Not going to happen. The same rules that apply to the lowliest scrap scow apply to the admiral and the first minister. Barring full on military assault or medical emergency—”
Zh’Thane pounced. “I require a medical exception for my vessel, Lieutenant.”
“Why?”
“That’s a private matter.”
Ro refused to budge. “Without signed medical orders, your ship will have to queue up behind everyone else.”
“I’m a Federation councillor, Lieutenant,” zh’Thane said quietly, though the warning in her tone was implicit. “You can take me at my word.” The councillor leaned forward as she regarded Ro challengingly across the desk.
Placidly, Ro met zh’Thane’s stare. Tough talk and aggressive body language never phased her. “If I had a bar of latinum for every VIP who asked for special privileges, I’d be retired on Risa by now. We’re in a state of heightened alert.” Why was it that important people always assumed the rules didn’t apply to them?
“The war’s over. I think we’re reason
ably safe. Aren’t you being overly cautious?” zh’Thane snapped.
“If I hadn’t experienced an unprovoked Jem’Hadar attack fairly recently, I might agree with you. Our known enemies might be accounted for—it’s the unknown enemies we need to guard against.” The casualties, the damage to the station’s primary systems, and the ensuing panic all loomed large in her recent memory; none of it would Ro want to experience again. If safety required inconvenience, she would happily be the enforcer.
“Perhaps I should speak with Colonel Kira,” zh’Thane said.
“That’s certainly your privilege. But if you have a genuine medical concern that may require bypassing our security measures, the colonel will require the same answers I do.”
Zh’Thane appeared to waver indecisively. “This isn’t—” she began, then started again. “Lieutenant, believe me when I tell you I’m not insensitive to the station’s security concerns or your responsibilities. But the situation—” She cut herself off again and closed her eyes, then took a deep breath as if to calm herself. When her eyes opened again, they seemed pleading. “Please don’t require this of me.”
“With respect, Councillor,” Ro said gently, “I can help you only if you can help me to understand the situation.”
“I know,” zh’Thane said. Hands squeezing the armrests, the councillor’s upper body and antennae tensed, until she exhaled deeply. “It’s simply that I’ve been trying to convince myself that taking an outsider into our confidence wouldn’t be necessary. I realize now how foolish that was. But you must understand that that level of trust doesn’t come easily to many of my people, Lieutenant. If I am open with you, can you assure me that what I say will remain between us?”
Ro stared at zh’Thane, a little stunned to see how fragile and powerless she suddenly seemed. Whatever’s going on, it’s obviously mortifying her to do this.“I have no desire to violate your privacy, Councillor. Perhaps you should speak with the colonel directly—”
“No,” zh’Thane said firmly. “It’s my understanding that you’re Thirishar’s friend. He admires and respects you. That will make this easier for me, but I need to know that you’ll keep this in confidence.”
With a deliberate move of her hand, Ro tapped in the commands engaging her office’s privacy shields. She rarely used the shield, saving it for interrogations or clandestine informants reporting in. “I will, unless doing so somehow compromises the safety of this station.”
Zh’Thane nodded. “Acceptable…. You’re aware of Thirishar’s bondmates being aboard the station?”
“Yes,” Ro said. “I was the one who arranged for their stay in Shar’s quarters during his absence, per his request.”
“For which I know they’re most grateful. Having any small aspect of his life to cling to has been a great comfort to them these past weeks. You see…by accepting his current assignment, Shar has put his well-being, and that of his bondmates, at risk.”
Ro frowned. “In what way?”
“He was supposed to come home!” zh’Thane hissed. “I don’t speak of a cultural obligation that’s at odds with his Starfleet career, although that aspect of it certainly can’t be overlooked in all of this. I speak now of biological necessity.”
Ro tried to intuit from zh’Thane’s hints what she might be implying, and became alarmed. She knew that some life-forms had an imperative to return to their place of birth in order to continue the reproductive cycle of their species, only to die if they failed. “I’ve heard that Vulcans—”
“This isn’t like that,” zh’Thane said. “You’re perhaps imagining that Shar has put himself in danger by denying an inner drive to procreate, but that isn’t the case. In fact, the situation is, in many ways, far more grave than that, with potentially farther-reaching consequences.
“The Andorian species, you may know, has four sexes, none of which is truly male or female as you define them. Our interactions with the many two-sex species that comprise the majority of sentients with whom we traffic has led us to accept male and female pronouns for simplicity’s sake, and because it helps us avoid unwelcome questions about our biology.
“Because our procreative process requires chromosomes from four parents, it is, as I’m sure you gather, a very complicated matter for four individuals who are compatible—genetically and emotionally—to come together to produce a child.”
Complicated is an understatement, Ro thought. It sounds damn near impossible.“Councillor, forgive me, but…I don’t understand how such a biological system could sustain itself.”
“It doesn’t,” zh’Thane said quietly.
That was when Ro began to understand what the Andorians were facing, even as zh’Thane continued to spell it out.
“Our species is dying, Lieutenant. It wasn’t always this way, but certain…changes…have led to our present dilemma, which neither Andorian nor Federation science has been able to solve. The best we’ve been able to do is adjust ourselves to our circumstances. Our culture is now defined by the need to do whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of our species. Successful conception requires careful planning. As many variables as can be controlled, are. But matching together the most viable quads is difficult undertaking. This is so much more complicated than…Do you know that within minutes of Shar’s birth, his DNA map was entered into our master files with the express purpose of being matched to those he was most compatible with, genetically? He belonged to something bigger than he was before he even had a self-concept!
“Thirishar believes we are simply delaying the inevitable. And he’s right. We take our obligation to produce offspring more seriously than any other aspect of our lives because our species is headed toward extinction. We have to do all that we can to assure our kind’s survival until a solution can be found.”
Ro watched zh’Thane’s antennae twitch sharply with her every word, the councillor’s agitation palpable.
“That’s why you needed Shar to return home,” Ro realized. “To join his bondmates in producing a child.”
“Yes. In their late teens and early twenties, all fertile Andorians are obligated to return to Andor for the shelthreth—a period of time and a ritual akin to a wedding. If all goes well, the shelthreth results in conception and the bondgroup’s obligation to reproduce will be met. But time is an important factor as well. Individually, Andorians have only a five-year window of fertility. Thirishar and his bondmates are nearing the end of theirs. His stubborn refusal to come home and instead waste precious months in the Gamma Quadrant is putting them all dangerously close to missing their last opportunity to conceive.
“Perhaps you’re wondering how tragic it can possibly be if one less child is born to us. But to my kind, every birth is important. Every new life is hope. And yet Thirishar, my own chei, doesn’t see it this way.” Zh’Thane shook her head. “There has never been a time in his life that he didn’t have these obligations, and yet somehow, he thinks he’s the exception. That the needs of his people have no hold on him!”
“Councillor, please—”
The knuckles of zh’Thane’s hands turned white-blue. “He goes off on this quest of his, thinking he’s doing what’s best for all of us, without stopping to think that it might destroy everything his life is about! If the worst happens, all of it—Dizhei’s students, Anichent’s research, Thriss’s medical studies, my career will be worthless! Our work will have no meaning because we will have failed in our greatest purpose and obligation to our people.”
“Has something happened medically with one of Shar’s bondmates that compromises the shelthreth?” Ro prompted gently.
“My zhri’za. One of Shar’s bondmates, Shathrissía. The stress of Shar’s decision is having unforeseen—consequences. She has become emotionally unpredictable—possibly even unstable. I worry about what she might do if she loses control. If her equilibrium destabilizes any further, she will have to return to Andor.”
“Why not make the arrangements and depart now, if you’re so concerned?”
“Because it is still the best choice for the three of them to wait here until Thirishar returns,” zh’Thane explained patiently. “Should the situation change, however, we might have to move swiftly, without having time to make the proper applications.”
“Our medical staff has training in the physiologies of most Alpha Quadrant species,” Ro offered kindly. “They might be able to help.”
Zh’Thane’s voice cracked and a wail-like sigh escaped her throat. “If only it were as simple as asking Dr. Tarses for a hypospray. Or finding a project to keep Thriss busy—perhaps sending her on a cultural tour of Bajor or to Cardassia to offer medical service. She tends to be mercurial, to change her mind at a moment’s notice. If we can persuade her to listen to sense, she might agree to go home.”
Ro considered how best to handle the situation. She’d always sensed something conflicted in Shar, simmering below the surface of his steadiness. And it was uncharacteristic of someone as skilled in negotiation as Councillor zh’Thane to become so overwrought without good cause. She went with her gut. “Without betraying your trust, I’ll take this to Colonel Kira and let you know what she says. I’ll get back to you once she’s made her decision.”
Likely embarrassed by the intensity of her outburst, zh’Thane refused to look at Ro. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” She exited without a backward glance.
Ro spent the remaining few minutes of her shift considering how best to present zh’Thane’s petition to Kira when her relief reported in. Sergeant Etana Kol nodded to Ro but scarcely said a word as she took Ro’s place at the security desk. Etana hadn’t been her usual jovial self since the Defiant departed; like several others in the station crew, the deputy had someone aboard Defiant whom she missed terribly. And from what Ro knew of the relationship, three months would be the longest time Kol and Krissten had been apart since they’d gotten together. That must be hard. Still, Etana’s not stupid. She must have known getting involved with a Starfleet officer might mean prolonged time apart. “You okay, Kol?”
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