Star Trek: Deep Space Nine®: These Haunted Seas, page 74
Taking her cue, Ro nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. I think Bajorans and Cardassians can find a lot of common ground.”
“Oh. I suppose that’s positive,” Quark said, glancing between the women. “So…”
“So…” Natima echoed.
He stood in front of the table, tapping his foot, waiting, and clearly hoping that one of his guests would say something. Ro felt no obligation to rescue Quark. His seeming inability to string together a snappy comeback was a rare enough occurrence to be novel to her. She contented herself with surveying the crowd; playing security chief for a minute or two couldn’t hurt anything. Besides, if anything was going to get out of hand tonight, she’d like advance notice. A large cluster of off-duty Starfleet personnel moved aside, giving her full view of Councillor zh’Thane accompanied by Shar’s bondmates. Now was as good a time as any to update zh’Thane’s party regarding her special request.
And let poor Quark off the hook.
“Quark, why don’t you have a seat? I have an early shift and some business to take care of,” Ro said, rising. “And put all this on my tab, would you? Ambassador, it’s been a delight.”
Lang raised her glass again as Ro stood up. “The pleasure was mine, Lieutenant.”
“We still have our evening together, Laren?” Quark said, a bit too loudly.
Lang covered her mouth with her hand, but not before a guffaw escaped.
Ro sighed. “Once everyone’s adjusted to the new security protocols and the reception is over, I’ll be able to make definite plans,” Ro explained. “But I think I’ll be ready to put in a holosuite reservation soon.” She gave Natima a little wink and headed off to meet with zh’Thane.
“Lieutenant Ro and I are exploring the possibility of a social relationship,” Quark said after she’d left.
“She mentioned that you two got along pretty well,” Natima said.
He watched Ro cross over to where the Andorian party—all four of them—waited for their holosuite. He’d heard rumors about some of the unique quirks of Andorian biology and was—intrigued?—by the commercial possibilities. “Hmmm. Now there’s a holoprogram I’m certain would be a big hit: ‘Andorian Ecstasy: Good Things Come In Fours.’ Never occurred to me before now, but it might have more wide-scale appeal than just for Andorians. Few people know about Andorians and how they, you know.” He grinned luridly. “Very hush-hush.”
Natima rolled her eyes. “And is it possible that they tend to be a private people precisely to avoid having their intimate relationships exploited by entrepreneurial Ferengi?”
“All sentients are motivated by the need to eat and the need to reproduce. It’s variety in both that keeps life interesting.”
“So you see yourself as the host at a buffet table of exotic delights of all shapes and sizes?”
“Precisely.”
“Quark, as much as the universe changes, you always somehow manage to stay the same.” Natima shook her head.
Quark stopped smiling and found himself staring deeply into her eyes. “Another thing that hasn’t changed is how much you mean to me, Natima.” Quark reached over, placing his hand over hers. “Every bit of news out of Cardassia, every report, I looked for your face—your name—hoping you were safe.”
“I have to confess even with everything that’s happened to my people in recent years, my thoughts have often traveled back here, because I was worried about you, too. I had a feeling you’d make it.”
“Takes more than a few wars to kill me off.”
“I believe that.”
Quark sighed. “I’m happy you’re here, Natima.”
She smiled, and placed her hand over his. “Me, too.”
Other than when she’d first admitted them to Shar’s quarters, Ro had never seen his bondmates all together. A pair might go shopping on the Promenade; from time to time she’d pass by one in the habitat ring, or while crossing over the various bridges to different levels of the station, but never in a group. She suspected they avoided it deliberately. Wherever they went people would talk simply because, to a person, they were striking.
The one sitting next to zh’Thane had an angular handsomeness he emphasized by wearing his hair pulled back tightly from his face. His choice of clothes—a shirt in a vivid hue of teal coupled with an ornately embroidered vest—reflected fashion sensibility Quark would appreciate. In the middle sat the bondmate Ro had met one day in the Replimat—a talkative, friendly individual, especially compared to Shar, who said little unless he was spoken to. Having explained that she was a teacher, she’d inquired about sitting in and observing the station’s classrooms and Ro had forgotten she’d promised to get back to her. Ro made a mental note to add that to her task list for the morning. If she had to guess, she’d pick the Andorian who sat, just a bit apart from the other two, as the “problem” zh’Thane had come to see her about.
Unlike the congenial stockiness of the chatty one who sat beside her, she had a lean, willowy look, emphasized by her choice to wear her long white hair straight and smooth. She must have sensed Ro’s scrutiny because suddenly Ro found herself facing a pair of piercing gray eyes.
“Lieutenant?” she said, her voice silvery toned.
“Umm. Yeah.” Ro grabbed an empty chair from a close-by table, placed it in front of the Andorians’ booth, threw a leg over and straddled it. “Yes. I apologize for interrupting your night out, but I’ve got good news regarding your trip.”
Her eyes narrowing on Ro, the willowy one said, “Trip? What trip?”
“Thriss,” zh’Thane warned.
Puzzled glances passed between the other two bondmates and Ro wondered if zh’Thane had told them about her request for an exemption. Maybe this was a mistake and I should have handled this one-on-one with the councillor.
Zh’Thane must have noticed their apprehension because she quickly said, “Remember we talked yesterday about the timetable for your return to Andor? I’m anxious to hear what you’ve learned, Lieutenant.”
Warily, Thriss watched Ro, her expression flinty.
Ignoring Thriss, Ro took her cue from the senior member of the group and proceeded. “Colonel Kira paged me a short time ago with her approval for your emergency departure exemption. Everything checks out—your ship, Councillor, will be free to leave the station on an ‘as needed’ basis.”
Confusion erupted.
“Dizhei, you discussed this with Zhadi?” one of the Andorians said, anxious. “I thought we’d decided to keep it to ourselves—”
“I thought after what happened this morning—”
“—believed you and Anichent were in agreement—”
Shathrissía kept silent, her eyes solemn. Ro saw her hands curl around the edge of the table, her breathing deepen.
“We can’t risk—”
“—room for last-minute—”
“Wait!” Ro said, bringing her palm down on the table, a little harder than she intended. At the sound, four pairs of eyes fixed on her.
“No one said you had specific plans. Your situation isn’t much different, except now you have the option of leaving on short notice without having to go through all the procedures required by a yellow-alert status.” She turned to zh’Thane. “I have the codes at my office. I’ll have them sent to your quarters, Councillor. Provide them to ops and you’ll be allowed to depart without question.”
“So you all conspired to return to Andor without talking to me about it,” Thriss said softly. “When was this decided? You and Anichent have a little pillow talk, Dizhei? Or was it your idea, Zhadi? Trying to control us, as usual.” Thriss jerked around to face zh’Thane, tipping over a mug filled with Orion ale; liquid drenched the table.
Flustered, Dizhei jumped up. Thriss sat fixed, unbending, ignoring the disturbance she’d caused.
“We hadn’t decided anything without discussing it with you, Shathrissía,” Anichent said. He draped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her reassuringly. “We had to make sure the proposal was feasible. All is well, zh’yi.”
“I am not some addle-minded child you can lie to,” she snarled. Prying his arm from around her shoulder, Thriss scooted away from her bondmate. He caressed her cheek; she slapped his hand away. “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
Uh-oh. Looks like we might have a situation here, Ro thought. She needed to turn down the heat before it became a meltdown. “How about we take this to the holosuite? You can talk privately, work through—”
“What’s this ‘we’? And why are you still here?” Thriss turned on Ro, eyes blazing. “Oh I see. You’re one of zhadi’s lackeys doing her dirty work.”
“Watch your impertinence in public,” zh’Thane warned.
Ro shot zh’Thane a look, discouraging her from speaking further, and addressed Thriss and her bondmates. “As station security chief, I answer to Colonel Kira, not Councillor zh’Thane and certainly not you. When I suggested you take this to the holosuite, that was a polite way of asking you to resolve your disagreement elsewhere,” Ro said evenly. “If you intend to use your holosuite time, I suggest you do it now. Otherwise, there’s the door.” Pushing her chair back from the group, Ro made it halfway to Quark and Natima’s table when the sound of shattering glass caught her attention. She spun around in time to see Thriss brandishing half a broken drinking glass, the razor-sharp edges within centimeters of Anichent’s face. Ro started back toward the Andorians at a brisk clip. Dammit!
“You push and you push, but I’m not giving in this time,” Thriss threatened, loud enough to be heard at the surrounding tables. “I’m not leaving the station without Shar!”
Ro watched, horrified, as Anichent grabbed at Thriss’s arm, trying to wrest the makeshift weapon away from her with his free hand. She threw an elbow into his stomach; he grunted, released his grip on her wrist and toppled into her. In lifting her weapon-arm out of Anichent’s way, Thriss caught her gown on a chair and her arm fell reflexively, thrusting the jagged glass edge into his shoulder. Shaking uncontrollably, Thriss gasped, stumbled backward.
Raising his hand to his wound, Anichent’s face blanched gray. He teetered, tipped, his eyes rolled back into his head and his hand, smeared in dark blue, hung limply.
Dizhei screamed, bracing her weight on the table. Startled, she threw up her hands, bits of glistening glass embedded in her palm.
Ro slapped her combadge. “Security, send a team to Quark’s! And alert the infirmary to expect company!” Shoving past zh’Thane and Dizhei, Ro hastily examined Anichent. He drifted in and out of consciousness, his clammy skin shone with sweat. Not being familiar with Andorian physiology, she could only guess he was in shock.
“Councillor!” Ro ordered. “Snap out of it, I need you to help him to the infirmary.” Zh’Thane regained her composure, slid her arm around Anichent, and with him propped against her, helped him away from the table. Dizhei followed after zh’Thane, quaking with each step. Within minutes, medical help would arrive to tend to Anichent, but her job wasn’t done yet. Ro turned to face Thriss.
Agitated, Thriss, in her blood-spattered dress, huddled against the wall, thrusting the broken glass out in front of her. Upper body hunched, she jerked toward each sudden movement in the crowd.
Her voice low and steady, Ro said, “Put down the weapon.” She walked slowly, focusing her energy on capturing Thriss’s attention. “Put it down and we’ll talk.”
“No,” she whispered. “I won’t.”
7
Vaughn plunged his sticky fingers into the washbasin, swishing them around until the remains of the nut-syrup pastries washed away. A servant standing at his shoulder snatched the basin and replaced it the instant he finished. And I thought Starfleet brass were pampered. The Yrythny military chieftains, if J’Maah was representative, had a lot in common with feudal lords with their rugs and embroidered couch cushions. Vaughn had vacationed at luxury resorts whose accommodations paled in comparison to these.
“Excellent dinner, Chieftain J’Maah. I enjoyed the roasted shellfish especially,” Vaughn said. The Defiant’s replicators were good, but having a fresh-cooked meal was definitely appreciated.
Chieftain J’Maah stretched out on the floor, rubbing his full stomach with satisfaction. “Myna is a good cook. She served my House when I was growing up. I took her off Vanìmel when the promotions began. My consort consented to letting Myna come on this journey because of you, Commander Vaughn.” He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and relaxed.
Vaughn wondered if this was some kind of mealtime ritual the Yrythny followed and waited to see if M’Yeoh, First Officer Meltoh and Navigator Ocah dropped to the floor. J’Maah’s officers remained seated, sipping at goblets of wood wine. Vaughn followed their lead. “My best wishes to your consort, then,” he said. “And my compliments to Myna.”
A servant had brought J’Maah pillows for his head and feet. Another combed and braided his hair, interweaving crystal beads and ribbons as she worked. She hummed softly.
“Not the rinberry oil, Retal.” J’Maah backslapped the servant’s cheek. “Takes the color out of the headdress.” He shook his braids, his face puckered in resentment. “Go on now, find the right one.”
Vaughn was finding it increasingly difficult to stomach the scene playing out before him.
Murmuring apologies, the servant’s yellow-green skin blanched; she crawled away on hands and knees. She huddled in the corner, rubbing ointment into the scrape she’d received from the chieftain’s chunky rings.
Vaughn wanted to ask if she required medical assistance, when J’Maah explained, “Very loyal, that Retal. But not smart. Can’t expect too much from a Wanderer.”
Without a word, Retal returned to her ministrations, dabbing J’Maah’s scalp with oil, her long graceful fingers deftly weaving the strands.
Vaughn watched, his chest tight. I think I’d like to be excused from the table.
Minister M’Yeoh materialized in the chair beside him. “Tell me, Commander, how are the repairs on your ship going?” he murmured. Seated at the foot of the table, he had said little during the meal.
Turning away from his view of J’Maah’s pedicure, Vaughn sipped from his wood wine. “The extra hands from the Avaril’s engineering staff have helped tremendously.” After his concerns about the Defiant’s security, he’d reviewed a list of all non-Starfleet personnel allowed to access the repair bay and requested that their bioscans be entered into the security identification system. If he had Yrythny coming and going with Nog’s crew, he wanted to keep track of them.
“We’ve received word from Luthia,” J’Maah said. “Your Lieutenant Dax did an excellent job at the Assembly Chamber today.”
Perhaps luck hasn’t completely eluded us, Vaughn thought, relieved. Or maybe this Other of the Yrythny is watching out for our mission.
J’Maah burbled contentedly. “I should have asked you, Vaughn, but Retal here has an excellent way with hair. You’re welcome to have her attend to that—that hair on your chin even.”
“Thank you for the offer,” Vaughn said politely. “Another time, perhaps.” Watching this slavish attention to J’Maah was setting Vaughn’s teeth on edge and he hoped he’d be given leave to return to his crew shortly. Too bad Quark wasn’t here—he would love all this decadence.
“As you wish,” J’Maah wheezed, his barrel stomach rising and falling in a relaxed rhythm. “We have the whole way to the Consortium and the whole way back to Vanìmel.”
Here comes the part where I might provoke animosity, Vaughn thought. “Chieftain, a point of clarification. The Defiant should be spaceworthy by the time we reach the Consortium. Once we obtain our matter load, we plan on flying back to pick up Lieutenant Dax and her team.”
“Of course, of course. The needs of your crew come first. I’m sure they’re anxious to get on their way,” J’Maah said.
“We still hope to explore a great deal of territory before we return home.”
“Whatever we can do, Commander. We’re here to help.” The chieftain’s breathing deepened, his body relaxed and finally his membranous lids dropped over his eyes.
The senior staff sat quietly, watching their captain’s still figure for a few minutes. Finally, First Officer Meltoh whispered, “This is when we go. You first, Commander.”
Hastily, Vaughn made for the exit, grateful for tinny replicated food and sleeping on the deck—without the services of a head masseuse.
“A pillow is a legitimate bet,” Tenmei protested.
Julian examined her more closely and determined she was being sincere. “Fine then, I’ll take a look at it, decide what it’s worth.”
Without sitting up, she reached back and grabbed the pillow from where it sat at the foot of her sleeping bag. “Can you put a price on a non–Starfleet-issue pillow at a time like this?” she asked, tossing the pillow at Bashir. “Besides, if Cassini can bet his slippers—”
“They’re self-heating!” came Cassini’s muffled protest. He’d tunneled into the sleeping bag two across and one down from Tenmei, having retreated there after being soundly thrashed one round back.
“—then I can bet my pillow,” Tenmei concluded.
Since Nog, the commerce expert, was otherwise occupied, assigning value to crew members’ bets had fallen, by default, to Julian. He preferred to play poker; running the statistical probabilities and plotting strategy was very entertaining. His crewmates, however, determined there wasn’t a way to handicap him in cards and none of them enjoyed losing every single round. Either Julian dealt the cards or he watched. “Take it or leave it,” Tenmei had told him.
It wasn’t fair, really—he didn’t consciously choose to win every contest he’d entered—he just did. During their first week into the mission, engineering sponsored a casino night in the mess. Any game that wasn’t random, Julian won. After that, it became an unwritten rule that the advantage bestowed on Julian by his genetic enhancements required handicapping or elimination. No one resented his abilities, but no one would play cards with him either. In this round of poker, Julian represented the house. He sat cross-legged on the floor between Chao and Lankford and knew, from his glimpses at their cards, that they’d be joining Gordimer in the “broke” department very soon. Chao might figure out that Tenmei was bluffing—there was no way she could have better than three of a kind—but he doubted it.
