Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 69
“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 a 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?”
Etana looked up with a smile. Ro was impressed by how easily it seemed to fall into place. The sergeant shrugged. “Hate sleeping alone.”
Ro smiled back. “Don’t worry; when she gets back, you’ll be annoyed you don’t have the bed to yourself anymore.”
Etana laughed. “You’re probably right. Night, Lieutenant.”
“G’night, Kol.”
As she left the security office, Ro saw to her surprise that zh’Thane was still just outside, chatting pleasantly with Hiziki Gard, the Federation’s security liaison and aide to the Trill ambassador. Ro nodded to Gard as she passed them, and gleaned from the few bits she overheard that zh’Thane’s earlier angst had passed.
Was that whole thing an act? Ro wondered, stopping in front of the turbolift. As she reconsidered what she would say to Kira, Ro found herself wondering how much of zh’Thane’s performance had been staged and how much had been genuine.
“Lieutenant.”
Ro looked over her shoulder and saw the councillor standing alone again near the security office, Gard having apparently moved on.
“Thank you,” zh’Thane mouthed soundlessly. Her eyes brimmed with pain for the briefest of moments before the composed politician’s facade descended like a mask. Then she turned away, disappearing into the humanoid tide of the Promenade.
5
“Commander, I can’t access the Defiant,” Nog hissed.
What the hell is Nog doing in my room? Vaughn thought, eyelids fluttering as he bounced back and forth between half-sleep and wakefulness. He couldn’t recall his dream save that his hair was the brown of his youth and there were swaying palm trees in the background. He thought Ruriko was there, but as always, he was unable to reach her.
“Commander, are you there?”
Blindly, Vaughn felt his way to the end table, groping for his combadge. When he clutched it in his hand, he pressed it and said, “The door won’t open, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, there’s a contingent of Yrythny soldiers here—with weapons. And they pointed them at me when I tried to board the ship.”
Fully awake, Vaughn swore and sat up, reaching for his uniform. “I’ll be right there, Nog. Vaughn out.”
What a difference a few hours make! After the night’s last debriefing, Vaughn had felt comfortable with how things stood—at least with Nog. The Defiant’s problems seemed cut and dried: if it’s broken, fix it. Repairs would be complex—taking far longer than any of them desired—but the Yrythny had pledged to be generous with cooperation and resources. Maybe that was his mistake: assuming that the worst was past them. He’d served in Starfleet long enough to know that whenever a situation looked bleak, it was bound to be a veritable black hole before it improved. Nog and his team had even addressed his most pressing concern, the development of a theoretical model for a defense system against the Cheka weapon. That alone should have tipped me off that this whole thing would be shot to hell before breakfast.
Vaughn recalled that, after midnight, Julian had wandered up to the repair bay. Bashir, he knew, didn’t need as much sleep as most humans, so Vaughn didn’t look askance at the doctor’s middle-of-the-night proposal to inventory sickbay. Anyone willing to work was welcome. In a flash of inspiration, Julian had suggested using the humanoid immune system as a model for a defensive weapon. The ideas tumbled out from there.
If the Cheka nanobots represented invading viruses and bacteria, then femtobots—even smaller and designed by the Defiant staff—could be used like the CD8+ T and B cells deployed by humanoid bone marrow to gnaw through the viruses. Nog’s plan called for maintaining a cloud of femtobots in stasis just beneath the ship’s shield envelope. If Defiant tripped another web weapon, the femtobots would activate and attack as soon as the nanobots pierced the shields. Brilliant.
In theory.
The trick, of course, was that although it was well known that molecular cybernetics didn’t stop at the nanite level, creating femtobots able to withstand the stress of the shield matrix and hard enough to pierce the nanobots was uncharted territory. The Defiant simply didn’t possess the structural materials Nog and his engineers would need to make the plan work. Their computer simulations, run using variations of readily available materials, had all failed. Either the femtobots disintegrated in proximity to the shields, or the ship sustained critical damage due to delayed or partial deployment. The femtobots required something more resilient than Defiant’s replicators or her engineers could fabricate.
Even though a significant challenge awaited Nog, Vaughn hadn’t been too worried. Nog’s resourcefulness and innovative abilities never ceased to amaze him. Vaughn had instead assumed his biggest problem would be his hosts’ hastily conceived notion that Dax should facilitate some mediation process between warring Yrythny factions.
Prime Directive and first contact issues aside—and his concerns regarding those protocols weren’t exactly minor—Vaughn had reservations about letting Dax get mixed up in the Yrythny’s internal politics. Despite her zeal and seriousness about her transfer to command—and the fact that her past-life experiences gave her unique advantages as his XO—nothing in the lieutenant’s Starfleet background or his own interactions with her shouted that she ought to have her responsibilities broadened to include diplomacy. Granted, her counselor training lent her legitimate, professional expertise in the area of xenopsychology, but Vaughn still remembered Curzon Dax’s questionable judgment during the Betreka affair, and the choices that had nearly gotten them both killed. Ezri wasn’t Curzon, of course—not exactly—and while she was a quick study, Vaughn wasn’t about to turn over the fate of a world poised on the brink of civil war to her, no matter what gods appeared to have ordained it.
Sprinting up the stairs that led to Defiant’s docking bay, Vaughn saw the problem immediately. Just as Nog had reported, a squadron of armed, uniformed Yrythny soldiers blocked the ship’s airlock. Nog was huddled with several engineers some distance away. The chief engineer’s face relaxed visibly when he saw his CO; Vaughn hoped the situation hadn’t worsened since he left his quarters.
“Report, Lieutenant.”
Nog launched into his story at once. “I arrived at 0600 to resume command of the repair team, accompanied, as you can see, by Ensign Senkowski, Ensign Leishman, and Ensign Gordimer.”
At mention of their names, auburn-haired Senkowski, smiley Leishman and stocky Gordimer in succession, straightened up and nodded a polite acknowledgment to their commander.
Nog continued, “We discovered the troops you see here blocking the airlock; they denied us access to the Defiant. Lieutenant McCallum, Ensign Merimark, Ensign Permenter, and Crewman M’Nok are still aboard. I’ve already contacted them and they haven’t been threatened, or had their work interfered with. They didn’t even know they were trapped inside until I told them.”
“What do these guards have to say?”
“Nothing, sir, except that they’re acting under orders to secure the ship.”
There must be a point to this. Even implied threats aren’t arbitrary. “Have you contacted the Yrythny authorities?” If Vaughn were to guess, he’d assume that one of their friendly dinner companions was responsible for their armed visitors.
“Sir, we’ve tried to raise our concerns with the Yrythny government, but our inquiries have been rerouted, ignored or gone unacknowledged,” Nog said.
I just bet they have, Vaughn thought. They want us to stew in our worry a little longer. Makes us more pliable, more readily agreeable to their demands when they finally get around to making them.
“And for that, I apologize, Lieutenant Nog,” Assembly Chair Rashoh’s rumbling voice came from behind them. “I had hoped to contact you myself, Commander, before your engineers arrived for duty this morning, but obviously my good intentions came to naught.”
So you’ve decided we’ve waited long enough, or you’ve grown impatient. Which one is it? “As you say, Assembly Chair,” Vaughn said placidly, turning to face Rashoh and his party. None of their identities surprised him, just the failure to bring their token Lower Assembly member, Keren, along as a spectator. Accompanying the Assembly Chair were Vice Chair Jeshoh and another Yrythny official Vaughn didn’t recall meeting. He considered them cautiously, wondering what ill tidings they brought. “Imagine my concern at discovering my crew had been denied access to our ship.” Let the games begin…
“Your ship, certainly,” the Assembly Chair said with a toothy smile, his never-blinking eyes glinting like obsidian. “As your lieutenant has no doubt reported to you, we haven’t violated your sovereignty and boarded your vessel. Rather, we have some concerns that we wanted to discuss.”
“Concerns?” Vaughn raised an eyebrow. What trumped-up excuses have you spent the night dreaming up? He offered Rashoh a warm smile of his own.
