This Gray Spirit

by Heather Jarman

  The navigational sensors were recalibrated. Chieftain J’Maah barked an order to raise shields and increase stabilizers in response to the ebb and flow of gravitational winds originating from the fountain, but not soon enough. Forceful gusts slamming into the starboard side sent the massive Avaril lurching and swaying. Yrythny crew and guests alike grabbed onto the closest fixed rail, chair or terminal to avoid being thrown to the floor.

  “These straits before we reach the Consortium are the worst, storm-wise,” J’Maah explained to Vaughn. “We’ll be rocking for a few more minutes and then it’s steady traveling until we dock.”

  The Avaril heaved with drunken equilibrium until she passed into a dome-shaped debris field created when matter spewing from the fountain coalesced and cooled, leaving hard, pitted asteroids behind. Nearer the fountain, hot particulate globs glowed white, gradually darkening to invisibility as the vacuum of space cooled them. It was for these nondescript space rocks that they had traveled so far, motivated by the hope of obtaining material resilient enough to manufacture femtobots.

  Because the Avaril moved slowly, using her tractor beams to move the larger space rocks (some the size of starships) blown into the shipping lane, Vaughn had time to watch the small mining pods flitting around the debris field closest to the particle fountain. He admired the ingeniousness of the mining pods utilizing small ramscoops to gather in the cooling particle matter. As J’Maah had explained, the total matter collected by a pod on a single trip to the particle fountain was called a “load.” Each Consortium member was entitled to a fixed percentage of loads. Once the member quotas were satisfied, loads became available on the open market. Tomorrow, Vaughn anticipated that one of those mining pods, now flitting about like pollinating insects, would be bringing back a load with Defiant’ s name on it.

  Full pods flew back to their launch bays in the heart of one of the larger asteroids. Rimmed with flashing lights, silver doors rised open and the pods skimmed along narrow octagonal tunnels drilled inside. Hints of the asteroid’s internal structures emerged on the surface: glittering domes, needle towers, tunnelways, and massive, reinforced support struts linked to other inhabited asteroids.

  One asteroid linked to another and another, and still others beyond Vaughn’s sight creating a massive, asymmetrical structure resembling a complex molecular model or the frame of a geodesic dome. Here, a surface glowed with radiant lights where architects had burrowed deep into rock; there, derrick-style living space perched on the surface of an asteroid. J’Maah had shown him a Consortium map more akin to a molecular model than any city state Vaughn had familiarity with. He had counted more than eighty-five “suites” (as inhabited asteroids were called) before J’Maah clicked to the next screen.

  The Avaril, because of her size, would dock at a publicly held platform. Such a location facilitated better access to the Core, host to the Consortium’s primary business operations, the matter collecting operation, and public facilities.

  Vaughn’s task was straightforward. A small Starfleet contingent would go with Minister M’Yeoh to the Member Business Offices. The necessary permits would be acquired, a trade negotiated, and once the matter load was safely ensconced in the Defiant’ s storage bay, the Avaril would return to Vanìmel. Vaughn expected to see Dax’s away team six days from now, even anticipating a few bumps along the way. Rare was the plan that proceeded without some complication. Consequently, he decided to hold off contacting Dax until the deal had been settled. That way, she’d have a better idea of how much time she had to work with the Yrythny assemblies. Reassurance that a critical component of the Defiant’ s upgraded defense system had been acquired would put her mind at ease. If luck smiled on them, they might be able to establish a subspace link early enough in the evening that Julian and Ezri could exchange good nights before retiring for the day.

  All in all, a workable plan, he thought, and left his observation post to set the gears in motion.

  “File these,” Lieutenant Dax ordered, offloading a shoulder bag and passing it to Shar as they walked down a winding streetway in one of Luthia’s upscale residential districts.

  Taking the bag, Shar studied his commanding officer quizzically. What exactly was it he was filing, where was he supposed to file it, and how was it, after four years at Starfleet Academy where he’d won a shelf full of awards, published several well-received articles and graduated with honors, he was filing at all? Mostly he was unsure how moving padds, tomes and isolinear chips from conference room to conference room would help resolve Yrythny civil unrest. “Yes, sir,” he said neutrally. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Lieutenant Dax seemed not to notice his uncertainty. She’d hardly looked at him this morning. Earlier, she’d walked past him to her desktop terminal, pulled up her daily meeting schedule, and brewed a hot seaweed tea before saying “hello.” Not that her preoccupation wasn’t understandable: the Yrythny committees she worked with had a tendency to change their minds almost hourly.

  “Breaking down the historical precedents for establishing Wanderer rights—” she said, “—have you written the summaries yet?” Dax absently waved to an Assembly official Shar remembered meeting during yesterday’s padd and data shuffling. Attended by servants and clerks, the official cocked his head in their direction, looked down at his hand, clearly wondering what Ezri meant by wiggling her hand in the air.

  “They’re in your database, filed under ‘representation issues,’” Shar answered. “Delegate Keren signed off on them late last night. She will join us at the Aquaria.”

  “With Vice Chair Jeshoh following shortly after, I suppose?” Ezri said, rolling her eyes.

  “Yes, sir.” The morning argument between Jeshoh and Keren had become part of the daily routine. Keren would arrive with her agenda; Jeshoh would arrive with his and the two would quarrel until the next meeting. Whenever they entered the room, Shar’s antennae tingled with the kinetic energy they exuded. He found them more stimulating than most of their colleagues.

  Dax suddenly stopped. “Let’s eat. Once the Assembly members start arriving, they’ll keep us talking nonstop.”

  Chasing after her, Shar cut in front of a pushcart loaded with bushy, orange flora, past several apartment courtyards to a merchant window where a line of Yrythny waited for shmshu cheese and leaberry pastries. Ezri ordered one for each of them, using her Assembly meal card to pay the vendor. She took a few bites and crooked her finger at Shar, pointing them in the direction of a crescent-shaped bench. Between nibbles, Shar determined the time had arrived to present a suggestion to Dax.

  “Lieutenant,” Shar said, hoping he looked authoritative, but respectful; he strove to avoid the just-beneath-the-surface insolence that his zhavey accused him of when he was determined to make his point. Insincerity would not help his case with Dax. “I have a request.”

  Without interrupting her breakfast, she mumbled something about his continuing, put down her pastry, made a notation in her padd, and returned to her eating.

  Maybe while she’s distracted, she might agree without thinking too hard about it…“Sir, while I agree that an understanding of historical and social precedents provides context for your work with the committees, I think we’re neglecting a critical area of research.”

  “Go on.” She dabbed at the corners of her mouth.

  “The Yrythny conflict is based on the supposition that the Wanderers are biologically inferior to the Houseborn,” Shar struggled to keep the excitement out of his voice. “But what if the Houseborn supposition is wrong and we can prove it scientifically?”

  “That the inequities between Houseborn and Wanderer biological programming are perceived, rather than actual? My guess is that it’s mostly perception,” Ezri agreed, throwing her legs out in front of her. “At least I haven’t noticed much difference between the groups I’ve been working with. I think they’ve built a complex social culture of castes and customs based on suppositions and preconceptions, regardless of any basis in actual fact.�
� Dax wadded up her paper refuse and held it in her fist. Looking at Shar, she smiled indulgently. “Perception is nine-tenths of reality, and in the perceptions of the Houseborn, the Wanderers are inferior. I doubt scientific proof would change that perception. Besides, sometimes even the most absurd traditions and customs evolve as a way to preserve a species or protect a planet.”

  Shar agreed with Ezri in principle, though he didn’t say so. Over the years, he’d learned from Charivretha how the seemingly illogical customs of many worlds had legitimate roots. For example, many religious dietary codes emerged from pragmatic realities. How avoiding a forbidden food because it would make one “un-holy” before the divinity sounded more meaningful than saying it was forbidden because it would make the follower hallucinate, foam at the mouth and die. Still, not all customs and codes were so well intended. Prejudice and fear still allowed for cultures to rationalize bad policy. From his own studies, Shar had discovered that the Wanderers had emerged as the artisans, architects, and scientists among the Yrythny. The Houseborn’s insistence that the Wanderers “lacked proper instincts” wasn’t logical in the face of such clear, measurable evidence of superior intellectual abilities. He was surprised Dax didn’t raise the point herself. “In most circumstances, a species is better protected by developing a quantifiable strategy,” Shar reasoned. “Such as resource management or environmental restoration.”

  “Since the Yrythny didn’t evolve naturally, it’s possible that whoever augmented Vanìmel’s primordial soup intended these instincts to play out.” She shrugged. “Maybe there are chromosomal mutations or weaknesses in the helices.”

  “Maybe there aren’t,” Shar argued.

  “For example,” Ezri went on, “what would happen if every Yrythny were allowed to reproduce? Could the planet sustain that kind of population explosion?”

  “It may not,” Shar conceded. “On the other hand, perhaps it can. I’ve seen no evidence that anyone has yet attempted to answer the question. But even if it can’t, science might solve that problem, too.”

  Ezri sighed. “Maybe these social customs, as repulsive as they may seem to us, serve a purpose not immediately obvious to the outsider. That’s why examining their history is crucial. Tracing the origins of this social order might help them course-correct. If you pull out a weed without killing the root, the weed will grow back.”

  “Yes, sir,” Shar said. He set down his pastry, his appetite withering.

  “You should know something of restrictive social customs and how they relate to physiological and biological realities from your own experiences.”

  Shar looked away uncomfortably. He knew that over the course of Dax’s eight previous lives, knowledge about Andorians that was unknown to the majority of outsiders had entered into Dax’s purview. How much knowledge and how explicit that knowledge was, he couldn’t say. Shar hadn’t yet probed Ezri’s recollections or allowed her to probe his, but he did know Dax wasn’t speaking carelessly. He considered what she had said for a moment longer before responding. “But it’s my opinion, Lieutenant, after years of studying the interrelationship between sociology and physiology among my people, that it is the rigid structure of our customs that have, in part, landed my species in the predicament it now faces.”

  “You’re saying that the Yrythny adherence to a rigid caste system might be leading them to a similar fate as the Andorians?” Lieutenant Dax said, skeptically.

  “I am saying I believe we need to ask the scientific questions in addition to the historical and cultural questions.” Shar knew he could prove it to her, given the chance.

  Her face softened and she offered him a half-smile. “I don’t disagree with you, Shar. But let’s look at this realistically. To conduct a proper scientific inquiry, you’ll need enough time and cooperative research subjects to create a viable statistical sampling. Otherwise, your conclusions might be specious to the Yrythny.”

  “Their universities must have databases—”

  “We have finite time. Finagling access those databases could be difficult, especially since the decision to admit me as a mediator was hardly unanimous. Not everyone likes—or trusts—us.”

  “Respectfully, sir, I am not questioning your decision to pursue the angles we’ve worked through so far. What I am asking is whether I can tackle some of the scientific questions. I’ll complete everything you assign me and pursue those issues on my own time, if you’d rather.”

  She paused, resting her hand against her lips as she studied him. “All right then, Ensign. I can agree to that, but if I believe you’re neglecting my assignments, I’ll ask you to desist.”

  “Yes sir.” A fair enough compromise, he thought.

  “Any word from Commander Vaughn?”

  “Not since yesterday. I know he said that he expected they would reach the Consortium today, but circumstances—”

  “I know, Shar.” She gazed up at Luthia’s clear ceiling, starlight refracting through the panels, spraying faint rainbows on volcanic rock facades adorning the surrounding buildings.

  Shar knew she worried, though Vaughn hadn’t given her any specific reason to be concerned during his regular check-ins. Shar might not have a lover on Defiant as Ezri did, but after weeks of working closely with his shipmates, he’d grown accustomed to having them around. Not a day had passed without Shar turning to ask Nog for input on what tools might be more effective in his inquiry on Yrythny genetics. Each time he gazed out Luthia’s windows, he wondered how long it would be before Ensign Tenmei persuaded Commander Vaughn to let her try surfing on Vanìmel. He’d also come to know Dr. Bashir on the trip. It had become a private game for Shar to see if he could beat Bashir at anything, be it darts or data recall. So far, Shar had lost every time. The sooner Defiant resumed its journey, the better. On this, Shar and Ezri agreed.

  At last, Ezri said, “We should go. I’m sure they’ll be waiting.”

  She predicted rightly.

  The Aquaria’s excellent acoustics allowed the hollow dissonance arising from the Assembly officers milling about to be heard several streetways down from the entrance. Shar and Ezri descended a flight of coral stairs to discover that not a single empty seat remained in the amphitheater. She climbed back up the stairs where she could view the gathering.

  Shar waited for Dax to indicate where she wanted him to sit, but with a minimum of five officials dogging her, he assumed she’d appreciate his taking care of himself. On the landing across from her, he noticed an open spot beside a plant bed, swollen with speckle throat roses and vines twisting over and under small trees. There, he could listen and observe Dax and stay out of the way. Gazing through the Aquaria’s transparent floors at Vanìmel’s whorled cloud cover, he watched shuttlecraft streak back and forth between the planetside Houses and Luthia’s ports. He was intrigued by the illusion of being able to free-fall, through the floor, into the atmosphere. He enjoyed how the Yrythny incorporated awareness of their planet into their living spaces; Luthia felt like an extension of their world, not something separate.

  “On the morning agenda—” Ezri began loudly.

  Reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from Vanìmel and listened—or tried to listen—to Ezri. Officers continued their discussions, ignoring her.

  She cleared her throat, “We’re discussing civil rights issues.” A pause. The chatter continued. She linked her hands behind her back and rolled back and forth on her shoes a few times before asking loudly, “Can we please focus on the issue at hand?”

  Shar looked on helplessly, knowing nothing he could say or do would make them pay attention.

  Skin pockets quivering, Rashoh ringed the room, forcing his associates into chairs. Other senior officials, including Jeshoh and Keren, followed suit. Shar was reminded of his zhavey’ s favorite plant, a leafy tree that refused to accept pruning. Trim a branch, within hours a new shoot had sprouted.

  Ezri climbed atop a stool, put a finger in each side of her mouth and whistled.

  Pained by the shrill tone
, Shar winced, his antennae curling.

  But the chattering stopped.

  “You and you,” she pointed at Jeshoh and Keren. “Select small groups of trusted associates because from now on I’m dealing only with representatives of each Assembly. It’s the only way we’ll accomplish anything. And if you want to schedule a meeting, a discussion, or a visit, you will first clear it with my assistant, Ensign ch’Thane.”

  His initial gratitude at regaining control over their schedule dissipated slowly as the implications of his new assignment gradually dawned on him. The Yrythny officials stampeding toward him with their demands represented minutes, hours—possibly precious days—where research would be rendered impossible. Dax knows what she’s doing, focusing our time on her chosen issues, Shar reasoned. After all, hadn’t she been Curzon Dax, one of the most renowned diplomats in recent Federation history? Removing a padd from his pocket, he organized petitioners in a line and patiently took down their requests for appointments.

  Since his night with Keren’s underground, Shar had burned with a yearning to help these people. He simply had to believe, to trust, that Dax knew the best way.

  8

  “You might try shusha herb packs for the swollen ankles,” Kira said, tipping back in her chair and resting her feet on the console in front of her. “Apparently the leaves contain some chemical that helps the tissues shed any water they’re retaining. Julian doesn’t like them because he can’t prove in his lab that they work, but most Bajoran women swear by them.” She took a sip of her raktajino and waited for a response from the viewscreen.

  Kasidy Yates, sitting in a loose lotus position on a braided rug in front of her fireplace, wrinkled her nose. “You think those will work for a human woman?” She yanked strands of blue yarn out of a skein and was winding them into a ball in preparation for knitting…something. Baby footwear, Kira supposed.