Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 68
In an impulsive moment, before she’d left the Cardassians to settle into their quarters, Ro had asked Lang to join her for drinks at Quark’s sometime after dinner. She conceded her own naughty curiosity about Quark’s reaction to seeing his old flame, elegant and beautiful as ever. But there was also her hope, however small, that she could, once and for all, eliminate the bitter taste of suspicion from her mouth, by proving Taran’atar, herself, and all those who lived in a place of mistrust and ignorance, wrong.
Councillor Charivretha zh’Thane sat taller in her chair, hoping to create the impression that she was listening attentively to the Bajoran trade minister. Her seasoned experience in surviving such meetings aided her attempts to focus, but enduring Minister Kren’s nasal monotone for extended periods of time required more than her usual self-discipline. Unwilling to risk appearing impatient, Charivretha deigned to check the time; she guessed Minister Kren’s accounting of Bajor’s trade relationships with non-Federation worlds had been going on for two hours. His proposed solutions to amending those trade relationships once Bajor entered the Federation would account for another two hours. A suggestion to Second Minister Asarem Wadeen, who peripherally supervised Bajor’s monetary and trade policies, that Minister Kren submit his remarks in text for subsequent sessions might be in order. Charivretha’s two dozen or so counterparts appeared to be focused on the speaker. Perhaps it was the dual impact of Kren’s nervous energy and vocal tones on her Andorian senses that made her restless. Or perhaps not: out of the corner of her eye, she noted the meeting’s chair, Trill ambassador Seljin Gandres, dozing off in spite of Gandres’s years dealing with the Pakleds on behalf of the Trill diplomatic corps.
Charivretha’s antennae alerted her to her aide’s presence; Thanis’s relaxed energy patterns were distinctive in this tightly wound room. He whispered something in her ear, stepped back and waited for her response. Damn. We’re already working on the station instead of Bajor to accommodate my personal circumstances, she thought. If I keep asking for favors, I’ll prompt more questions and curiosity—exactly what I’m trying to avoid. But this situation can’t be helped. She raised her placard, asking for recognition from the chair.
Gandres started, too relieved at Charivretha’s interruption to be properly discreet. “Excuse me, Minister Kren, Councillor zh’Thane has asked to be recognized.”
“A matter of personal concern has come to my attention. I’d like leave for the remainder of the hour, with the chair’s approval,” Charivretha asked.
Gandres picked up his wand and tapped the bell sitting on the table before him. “Chair calls a recess for all delegates. Session to be resumed at 1330.”
While her colleagues and their aides milled around her, some lining up at the replicators, others starting preparations for their own remarks, Charivretha gathered her things and followed Thanis to the wardroom’s antechamber where her visitor awaited.
Uncharacteristically, the usually composed Dizhei paced the length of the room. Her antennae tense, eyes bright with worry, Dizhei flew to Charivretha’s side as soon as her elder entered. Before Dizhei could speak, Charivretha raised a hand for calm. “I’m assuming we have a situation with Thriss.”
“It’s not a situation, Zhadi, it’s the ongoing situation. I’m so sorry to disturb you, but there was an incident with the cloth merchant an hour ago and I’m uncertain how to proceed,” Dizhei said through short bursts of breath.
Sighing, Charivretha took a seat on one of the benches lining the waiting room. She patted the spot beside her, indicating to Dizhei to join her. Charivretha rested a hand on Dizhei’s shoulder, making small, soft circles on her back. “Slow down, Dizhei. You’ll faint.”
Clenching and unclenching her hands, Dizhei leaned closer to Charivretha, allowing the young one to whisper her concerns. “I thought a distraction would help. She’s done little but taunt poor Anichent about the lack of progress in his research—if you were to ask me, I think she’s tampering with his data just to see if she can make him as irritable as she is, but I have no proof to support such allegations and even Thriss tends not to be cruel—”
“Dizhei, shri’za,” Charivretha implored, hoping her use of the endearment softened what she imagined was her own impatient tone. She also hoped it reminded her son’s bondmate that they were not alone in this place, that discretion was paramount. “When your students misbehave, are you always so flustered?”
“I’m sorry, Zhadi. I see more than mere misbehavior from Thriss, and I fear where I see these behaviors leading.”
“Explain,” she prompted.
“We went out shopping today. I had read in the station announcements that a group of craftsmen from the Musilla province would be displaying their wares. I thought it might take her mind off—” she paused “—everything. She likes mingling with those of other cultures. Her zhavey is a textile artist and I thought she’d find an outing pleasant.”
“And…?”
“She found a piece of cloth—handwoven, exquisitely rich in color and detail. Seeing that it pleased her, I asked the merchant discreetly for a price—I thought I would surprise her with it as a gift. When he tried to take it away from her, telling her at my request that it wasn’t for sale, she raged at him. ‘How could he deny a soul her burial shroud? Was cruelty to widows part of his way of doing business?’ I paid him the litas you left me and removed her from the shop as soon as I could.”
“You did well. What do you require of me?” Charivretha squeezed Dizhei’s leg affectionately.
“I believe we need to reconsider our plan to wait here until Shar returns,” Dizhei answered confidently. “Anichent agrees.”
Charivretha imagined how long Anichent and Dizhei had been planning on bringing this proposal to her before Thriss’s behavior forced the issue. The intimate associations of bondmates…I miss them, she thought, remembering her own experiences. But sometimes bondmates lacked the objectivity to perceive the wisest course of action. “Didn’t we all decide that being here when Shar comes back will improve the chances of his returning to Andor for the shelthreth?”
“Thriss is pained by the reminders of Thirishar that surround us, and yet she wallows in them. She, of all of us, insists on sleeping in his bed every night.” Dizhei shook her head. “I can’t help but think that perhaps, if we go home, Thriss can lose herself in her studies. Complete her medical training and start her residency sooner.”
Charivretha considered her child’s mate, imagining not for the first time how effective Dizhei must be in dealing with her pupils’ overly concerned families. Not one for impulsivity, Dizhei had the most responsible nature of the four of them. She could be counted on to be rational under the most trying circumstances. And yet, here she sat, her flushed forehead and bloodshot eyes tangible evidence of emotional distress. If gentle Dizhei felt this undone by her predicament, Charivretha could hardly fathom what the moody Thriss might be capable of. One misstep and Shar’s future could be jeopardized. The stakes could hardly be higher. I wonder if all zhaveys go through this…
As much as she appreciated the honor of Shar’s being matched with a bondgroup, Charivretha found herself wishing, not for the first time, that Shar’s DNA might have been compatible with one less volatile than Shathrissía zh’Cheen. Yes, Thriss’s willowy fragility, unusual by Andorian standards, suited Shar’s tendency for appreciating the unconventional. He enjoyed being unique, embracing the less obvious choices, and Thriss certainly embodied that. Together, Shar and Thriss brought out the best and worst in each other. At the time she met Thriss, a scrawny, wide-eyed thing of seven, Charivretha had no idea what a force to be reckoned with was sweeping into her life.
It was during Shar’s Heritage studies. The students were learning the first forms of an ancient festival dance, one they’d be called on to perform at the Time of Knowing. Sitting in on her chei’s class, Charivretha had remembered her own Knowing ceremony—the subsequent celebration after she’d learned the names of her bondmates; her life had been redefined during those hours. She had recalled her own youthful excitement while observing her chei and his classmates, including Thriss, standing off to the side in the shadows. Considering the group as a whole, Charivretha had noted how Thriss’s plainness, her homeliness, distinguished her from the rest. And then, on her cue, Thriss had assumed her place in the form, had risen up onto her toes and had curled her arm over her head with such delicacy and loveliness that Charivretha’s breath caught in her throat. Dozens of pairs of childish eyes had focused on the ethereal Thriss, each wondering if she would someday belong to them.
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-hero–like 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 their 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’s 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’s 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’s 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 found zh’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 fazed 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 reasonably 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.”
