This Gray Spirit

by Heather Jarman

  And finally, Shar thought he understood.

  10

  Lieutenant Commander Matthias rocked back and forth in her boots while she waited for the turbolift—in part, because her feet hurt. Never mind the progress of the last three hundred years, military bureaucracy was still incapable of designing comfortable footwear. Sore feet aside, falling asleep while standing was a real possibility considering how she’d worked through the night, managing only a few hours of sleep after she’d completed her chart notes around noon. Excited after a successful day at school, Arios had barged into her room and roused her from a satisfying dream of hiking across Vulcan’s Forge. She’d hoped to rest a bit before the reception, but Lieutenant Ro paged her, requesting an in-person consultation before Thriss could be released from custody. Work waited for no one and mental health rarely conformed to a convenient schedule. Shathrissía zh’Cheen wasn’t an easy case, though the patient wasn’t necessarily the problem.

  Ro’s immovability in the face of family pressure impressed her. Councillor zh’Thane, after being told that her political standing had no sway in station security policy, had gone to Admiral Akaar. He too, had contacted Ro and she repeated her assertion that Thriss would remain in custody until she was assured that there would be no further disruptive incidents. Nudging the process along, Akaar stopped by Phillipa’s office with a request that she deliver her evaluation promptly, thus “assuring that the time of all involved parties be spent on the Federation’s business and not on personal issues.” Apparently, years of pushing her agendas through committee had forced zh’Thane to develop not only the interpersonal finesse to grease the political process, but mastery in the art of being an exquisite pain in the ass when circumstances required it. I suppose becoming a Federation councillor involves learning how to get your own way, she thought, hoping that she was never required to do more than brief zh’Thane.

  To prep for the consult, she’d spent the last hour combing the Federation database for any information pertinent to Andorian psychology, going so far as to contact her mentor/professor back home on Centauri. The case wasn’t as simple as pronouncing a diagnosis and offering appropriate treatment. Thriss had been schooled by her culture to repress her personal concerns in favor of the collective needs of her betrothed partners. Trying to weed out what issues were endemic to Thriss versus what issues belonged to Thriss by way of her bondmates proved challenging. The longer she worked, however, the clearer it became that she didn’t have time to study for her meeting with Lieutenant Ro, feed the children, read them a chapter from The Adventures of Lin Marna and the Grint Hound Challenge and prepare to attend the evening’s diplomatic reception for the Cardassians.

  To placate her neglected spouse, she’d brought a formal dress, secure in the packet tucked beneath her arm (side-by-side with her dress whites), ostensibly to change into after her meeting. “Just ask them, Phil,” he’d wheedled. “I’m sure this one time they won’t object to you wearing a beautiful gown instead of that stodgy old dress uniform.” Phillipa imagined that line of reasoning wouldn’t work on Admiral Akaar. Nevertheless she carried both garments with her—the uniform for the reception; the dress for Sibias, after the reception.

  Where’s that damn turbolift? She continued to run through her mental checklist: the babysitter was supposedly on her way (once her botany final ended); Sibias, using a tricorder, had persuaded Mireh that nothing more serious than a hairbrush lurked beneath her bed; Arios had made a good start on his science project. On the frivolous front, she’d made an appointment with a stylist who had a booth on the Promenade, hoping he’d be inspired to do more with her hair than the ponytail she typically defaulted to. Tonight, she was slated to meet her new commanding officer and she wanted to make a good impression, though she doubted Colonel Kira was the type to care much about hairstyle.

  Phillipa had met her share of fascinating people while warping around the quadrant studying xenoanthropology, but no luminaries in the colonel’s league. News coming from DS9 usually had focused on Captain Sisko but it had been Kira’s exploits that intrigued her. In the weeks immediately following the end of the war, she recalled watching the colonel’s tribunal testimony over the newsfeeds, trying to fathom how one crossed the gulf between Bajoran resistance fighter and consultant to the Cardassian resistance. She studied Kira’s body language, her vocal modulations, and her facial expressions, concluding only that if there were a more focused, intently devout person in the quadrant, Phillipa hadn’t heard of them. Now I’m about to serve under her command, she remembered thinking. She’d wanted to get every detail right.

  I just hope my dress uniform still fits, she thought, trying to remember if she’d worn it since Mireh was born. Not much need for dress whites while doing posttraumatic stress counseling in a war zone. Maybe Ro will let me change in the security office… Focused on planning for the hours ahead, she missed hearing the approaching footsteps.

  “Lieutenant Commander Matthias?”

  Phillipa spun on her heel to see that Colonel Kira, striking in her dress uniform, had joined her. And me completely preoccupied and frazzled.“Yes, sir.” She snapped her ankles together and tried not to stare too obviously at the colonel. Even if she hadn’t already known what Kira looked like, she would have recognized her from the absence of her earring. To her knowledge, Kira was the only Bajoran officer on the station who didn’t wear one: even Ro wore hers, albeit on the “wrong” side.

  “At ease,” Kira said with a smile. “When I saw you waiting here, I thought I’d introduce myself more informally than tonight’s reception may allow. I’m just sorry we haven’t met sooner. As you probably know, circumstances have been a bit more chaotic than normal.”

  The turbolift finally arrived and both women stepped in, Phillipa requesting the Promenade; Kira said nothing, apparently headed for the same destination.

  “I don’t mind at all,” Phillipa said. “I appreciate being able to stay busy. My patients so far have proven to be—challenging.”

  “From what I understand, Shathrissía zh’Cheen comes with her own set of issues,” Kira said. “I’m sure you’ve had your hands full—though I was hoping for your sake that she’d sleep it off. Have we seen the end of her outbursts, or can we expect them for the duration of her stay?”

  Ro’s report must be pretty comprehensive, Phillipa thought, wondering when Kira would have had the time to concern herself with one visitor. Her confident tone in speaking of Thriss was also surprising considering she hadn’t shared her notes with anyone, including Lieutenant Ro. Maybe Councillor zh’Thane had been hounding Kira with her own version of Thriss’problems. Or the colonel might be drawing conclusions based on Phillipa’s appearance.

  Staying focused, all night, through Thriss’s flare-ups of temper and her long, stony silences required Phillipa to stay physically sharp for extended periods. She’d managed, but not without paying the price. Untreated bloodshot eyes hinted at sleeplessness and she’d acquired a stiff walk from six hours sitting in a standard issue, hard-bottomed chair. Since Kira had shown up, Phillipa had periodically rolled her shoulders to loosen them; her neck muscles remained sore, even after Sibias’ massage. Kira wasn’t stupid—she knew physical exhaustion when she saw it and could logically conclude it was the result of a night spent battling Thriss. Still, Phillipa, feeling protective of Thriss, wouldn’t share information with Kira without cause. It was an old trick: pretend you know something in the hopes that the person who really knows will talk.

  “While I respect your interest, I’m not at liberty to discuss specific patients, Colonel,” she said politely. “Patient confidentiality.”

  Kira threaded her arms across her chest and stepped closer to Phillipa. Her expression, were it not so serious, could be read as humoring. “Regulations permit me to supersede all confidentialities—clerical, medical and therapeutical. You know that I could request your chart notes and you’d be obligated to produce them. Instead, can we agree that you’ll share what’s releva
nt to station security?”

  Without ever raising her voice or moving into Phillipa’s personal space, Kira had deftly established her authority. Excellently done, Colonel. I can be reasonable—but on my terms.“Patient information relevant to station security will not be shared with family members, however well intentioned those relatives might be,” Phillipa said, quickly adding, “Just so we’re clear on that, sir.”

  Kira laughed. “I’m not spying for Thriss’ family, though based on the number of people hassling you about it, I could see why you’d think I might be. You think this emergency exit permit Councillor zh’Thane asked for is justified?”

  “Councillor zh’Thane has cause to be concerned. This is a trying time for Thriss. Going home to familiar surroundings could be critical to her well-being, especially if something unexpected happens to Ensign ch’Thane.” While Thriss hadn’t been willing to talk about why she launched herself at Ro, by dawn, Phillipa had learned Thirishar ch’Thane’s history by heart.

  “Does the station have a reason to be concerned?” Kira asked.

  “Thriss isn’t a threat to the station or anyone presently residing here.”

  “And to herself?”

  Phillipa contemplated how to answer, mulling through the long night’s events. At one point, she’d seriously considered calling in Dr. Tarses for a neuropsychiatric consult, wondering if psychoactive medication or neurological mapping techniques would benefit Thriss. For some, depression meant too much sleep or blue moods. For others, it took a more violent turn. For Thriss, it’s probably a bit of both.“Thriss is impulsive, volatile and passionate. Those traits, individually, are problematic. Combined with depression, they can be deadly. Her bondmates can offer her a measure of emotional stability that might mitigate any motive she might have to hurt herself. She wants desperately to please them. In fact, one of her biggest worries last night was how what she’d done at Quark’s would reflect on Anichent and Dizhei. With their support, I can help her.”

  Silently, Kira considered her. Meeting her gaze directly, Phillipa didn’t shy away from the colonel—whatever it was that she was measuring. She had nothing to hide.

  The turbolift stopped with a soft thud and the door admitting them to the Promenade opened. Not sure that she had been dismissed, Phillipa walked beside the colonel who moved at a brisk clip through change-of-shift crowds milling about.

  Finally, Kira stopped and smiled. “Ro was right about you. Keep me apprised of any developments with Thriss.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Phillipa waited for Kira to disappear beyond the curve of the Promenade before she heading for the security office. So that’s what a legend looks like, she thought admiringly. Your reputation hardly does you justice, Colonel.

  And that’s saying something, she amended mentally.

  “Have you ever been in love?”

  Positioned within a meter of the force field, Ro blinked her eyes a few times, and mentally replayed Thriss’s question. Thinking that perhaps she hadn’t heard Thriss correctly, Ro asked that she repeat it.

  “Have you been in love?” Thriss said, enunciating her words loudly, assuring that Ro couldn’t misunderstand her. As she strolled the length of the holding cell, she never broke eye contact with Ro.

  Though the question’s frankness startled Ro, she refused to be the one to lose the staring contest. “That’s not relevant to the issue at hand.”

  Thriss tossed her hair. “If you knew exactly how relevant that question was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’ve answered your questions. Humor the crazy Andorian. Answer mine.”

  Combing her romantic history for anecdotes that might satisfy Thriss appealed to Ro about as much as eating an oversized bowl of gree worm consommé. She wasn’t so obtuse that she didn’t get the gist of Thriss’ line of questioning. After all, the primary reason Ro was carrying on a pointless discussion with an uncooperative Andorian (instead of hiding out at a dark balcony table in Quark’s, pretending she didn’t have a party to go to) was that Shar had left his lovesick bondmate for a mission into the Gamma Quadrant. Ro Laren was many things, clueless not being one of them.

  “I’ve been involved in relationships. I understand how complex they can be.”

  She stopped pacing and studied Ro. “You never have been in love. I can see it in your face. No wonder….” Her voice trailed off. “I’m sad for you.”

  “Don’t be,” Ro snorted derisively.

  “You’ve never connected with another person out of more than primal urge, loneliness or social obligation. That’s sad.”

  Ro gritted her teeth. “My choices, my life—have no bearing on whether you get out of here.”

  Thriss turned toward Ro, the smooth folds of her pale green tunic rippling as she walked. The cool cell lighting illuminated her white blond hair; the long wisps wreathed her face like a halo. “What you’re missing is the interconnectedness between individuals that transcends biology or emotion. It’s about redefining your life because another exists. You breathe because they do.”

  Thriss’s voice, low and musical, had a mesmerizing quality that, when combined with her unabashedly romantic words, simultaneously enchanted and embarrassed Ro. All this ethereal sentimentality made her queasy. Commander Matthias better arrive pretty damn quick to rescue her or she would, she would—Ro didn’t know what she would do, but it wouldn’t make Councillor zh’Thane happy. Still, minus the dramatics, Ro understood Thriss’ passion when framed in the context of what she’d been willing to sacrifice for the Bajorans.

  Ro allowed an uncomfortably long silence to elapse before she addressed her prisoner; she wanted to control the tempo of their conversation and silence was an effective tool in accomplishing that. “I understand those emotions. I also know how incredibly dangerous they are.” Her chest tightened at a flash of memory— Picard, seated across a barroom table, his hand on her cheek, his voice in her ear telling her in no uncertain terms that she would not betray Starfleet for the Maquis.

  “I’m not a risk, Lieutenant.” Thriss balled her fists and planted them on her hips. “You got caught in something that started between me and my bondmates before we even came to the bar. What happened at Quark’s won’t happen again.”

  “Damn straight it won’t.” Promises rarely persuaded Ro. “Because if it does, even Councillor zh’Thane wouldn’t be able to prevent your deportation.”

  Thriss and Ro stood, face-to-face, separated by less than a meter. Ro searched for the rage she’d witnessed in the bar, but failed to find it. Yes, Thriss appeared to be penitent—for the moment—but what about later when zh’Thane said the wrong thing or loneliness got the better of her. What then?

  “Will anything satisfy you?” she pleaded. “Can’t you believe that the knowledge that I hurt Anichent has almost destroyed me? I won’t hurt anyone again. I promise to control my temper—to behave myself in public. And if I break my promises, I’ll surrender willingly to your custody and allow myself to be returned to Andor. Would that be enough?”

  “If I thought that you kept your promises.”

  “Might I state, for the record, that I believe you’re safe in releasing her, Lieutenant.”

  Two heads swiveled toward the new presence. How long Commander Matthias had been standing in the rear of the room listening to their conversation, neither could guess. I must have been pretty focused to miss the door opening. Ro, for her purposes, hoped the counselor had heard the unsettling conversation Thriss had initiated believing it was proof plenty that Thriss was a bit unbalanced. But Matthias’s perfectly neutral face failed to yield even the smallest clue of what she might or might not have learned. Matthias’s opacity contrasted sharply with Thriss’s transparency: when the counselor spoke, Thriss’s shoulders relaxed and she inhaled like a swimmer rising to the surface to take a swallow of air. For the first time during this latest conversation, her antennae stopped twitching nervously.

  “Go ahead. Disable the force field,” Matthias said.

&
nbsp; What? Ro failed to understand what it was Matthias was trying to accomplish by releasing Thriss. She looked questioningly at the counselor who nodded, as if to say all was well.

  When the barrier fizzled off, the counselor stepped into the cell. Thriss remained fixed in the spot she’d been in when Matthias appeared. So far, so good, thought Ro.

  Moving to Thriss’s side, Matthias talked in hushed tones; Ro couldn’t make out much that was said until the counselor informed Thriss that she could leave the holding cell. The Andorian left first, compliantly, following Ro to the main office with Matthias picking up the rear.

  Matthias waited for all to be seated and comfortable, before addressing Ro. “Thriss understands that if there is any hint of a problem, if her bondmates or Councillor zh’Thane have concerns about her behavior or if situations arise that require security’s attention, she will be returned to your custody. From tomorrow forward, she will have daily appointments with me until such time that I feel we’ve resolved the issues that prompted the outburst at Quark’s. Are these terms agreeable to both of you?”

  Thriss and Ro exchanged wary looks before Ro answered affirmatively; Thriss’eyes dropped to her lap and her antennae curled slightly down. But she, too, nodded in agreement.

  “I took the liberty of contacting Dizhei, Lieutenant Ro. She should be here soon.”

  “How, how—” Thriss began haltingly “—is Anichent?”

  Matthias touched Thriss’s knee, saying gently, “Dr. Tarses released him to his quarters early this morning. He’ll be fine. He’d be coming along with Dizhei, but he’s still physically drained.”