Worlds of Star Trek Deep Space Nine

by Heather Jarman

“I’ll be blunt, Ensign ch’Thane. Andor isn’t safe for you at this time.”

  Shar was in a dark mood. Being accosted by the newsnet swarm had been bad enough. But the wait he had been forced to endure in the cramped security office—alone except for the un-communicative thaan who had saved him from the reporters—with no knowledge of Prynn’s or Phillipa’s wherabouts, had made him wonder if he was under some kind of secret arrest. The thaan had told him only that Shar was waiting for Sentinel zh’Nastha, Orbital Control’s chief of security, who had apparently been in no great hurry to arrive. Shar tried to keep himself occupied by discreetly studying the data being displayed on the surface of the security desk; reading upside-down was a skill he’d mastered in his youth, for amusement’s sake. As an adult, he found it had its uses. For a few minutes, he followed streaming lines of sensor data, discovering such scintillating facts as seventy-five percent of the station’s current population of eighty-five hundred staff and transients as of an hour ago were Andorian. But he was no closer to understanding why he was here, or why he’d been separated from his friends. Whatever security’s reasons, they were determined to keep him here.

  Zh’Nastha was all business when she finally arrived, took her place behind the desk, set down a padd, and made her pronouncement.

  “I don’t understand,” Shar told her.

  “You’re perhaps aware that Andor is politically volatile at present,” zh’Nastha said, in a manner that suggested she knew he was acutely aware of it. “What you may not know is that your arrival has coincided with a series of demonstrations all over the planet, and some of these have erupted in violence, including those at the capital in Zhevra. We believe your zhavey and other prominent Progressives are the targets of these protests. Within the last hour, Homeworld Security intercepted a group armed with a homemade explosive attempting to infiltrate our transport station in the capital. We also have intelligence of a possible terrorist threat to this facility.”

  Shar took a moment to absorb this new information. “You think my arrival catalyzed all this?”

  Zh’Nastha’s antennae turned toward each other: a shrug. “It may be part of something on a much bigger scale. On the other hand, their attack on our Zhevra station at the precise hour of your arrival might indicate that you were being targeted. Either way, we don’t believe the timing of these events is coincidental.”

  Shar’s eyes narrowed. “Are you telling me I cannot travel to the surface?”

  “No. You’re a private citizen, and are free to do as you like…up to a point.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning you won’t be transporting anywhere. Because of the threats issued against this facility and the incident on the ground, operation of the transporter systems has been suspended until further notice. Passenger shuttles are being made available for travel to the surface, but for your own safety, I must strongly recommend that you avoid the capital.”

  Shar paused to think. If he’d learned anything during his time in Starfleet, it was to take security concerns seriously. “Can you suggest an alternative?”

  Zh’Nastha consulted her padd. “One of your companions, Lieutenant Commander Matthias—she’s traveling to Thelasa-vei, correct?”

  “You can’t be serious,” Shar said before he could stop himself.

  Zh’Nastha’s antennae pulled back in surprise. She continued, “It’s a busy time of year for travelers to that province, but it’s also one of the places that was not chosen for a political demonstration. We’ve already arranged passage for Commander Matthias aboard the next shuttle. We could do the same for you and Ensign Tenmei, and you could obtain transportation to Zhevra from there.”

  Shar breathed out through his nose. Loath as he was to put himself any closer to Thantis, he was forced to admit that taking an indirect route to Zhevra made sense, as did seeing Phillipa safely to the surface. “Where are my friends now?”

  “Commander Matthias has safely boarded her shuttle. She protested, but Ensign Tenmei convinced her to continue on to her destination, while the ensign remained behind to wait for you. She’s just outside my office. You both still have time to catch the commander’s shuttle. What’s your decision?”

  Risk my life going to see Zhavey, or risk it going to see Zhadi. Interesting choice.

  “I’ll go to Thelasa-vei,” Shar said.

  “Follow me, then.” Zh’Nastha escorted Shar out into the gate area, followed closely by the thaan officer.

  As promised, Prynn was waiting for them. Shar recognized her “there better be a good explanation for this” expression. Zh’Nastha led them out of the gate lounge and into the main thoroughfare, crowded with passengers coming and going, that followed the circumference of the station. Shar saw a few curious looks—mostly from offworlders who wouldn’t know that staring was considered impolite by Andorians—but mostly, they passed without drawing too much attention. Prynn leaned closer to Shar so only he could hear her.

  “What’s going on?” she said under her breath.

  “Change of plan,” Shar said. “I’ll explain on the way.”

  They found Phillipa in the main passenger cabin of the shuttle, where pairs of seats were arranged facing each other Andorian style, making groups of four. Persuading the passengers seated across from Phillipa to trade their seats for the aft-section ones assigned to Prynn and Shar wasn’t difficult: a harried zhavey, next to the counselor—the creeping purplish pigmentation on her neck revealed she must be recently out of seclusion—had been struggling to comfort her unhappy infant. As Shar and Prynn arrived, the child appeared to be resting, but the former occupants of the facing seats—a pair of Vulcans—seemed grateful to leave.

  While Shar and Prynn tucked away their luggage into a storage bin, Phillipa fussed over the zhavey—folding a stained blanket, closing a container of mashed xixu fronds, and holding her travel bag while she made herself comfortable in her seat.

  Averting his eyes from the zhavey, Shar was grateful that a non-Andorian was available to help. On Andor, making uninvited overtures of any kind toward a zhen with child was unheard of. The unspoken rule emerged out of respect for zhavey and child’s privacy, one of the rare times in Andorian life when personal boundaries were fanatically protected.

  “Thirishar ch’Thane, Prynn Tenmei, this is Arenthialeh zh’Vazdi,” Phillipa said when everyone had sat down. “Her clan has a keep close to Cheen-Thitar. She’s a botanist returning from a month of field studies on Dramia.”

  The zhavey pushed aside a cluster of loose braids that had draped over the side of her face so she could better see Shar, offering him a flicker of eye contact before she politely looked away. Fingers spread apart, she extended her right hand, palm out. “I am honored, Cha Thirishar of the Clan of Thane.”

  Her Northern looks—the fine hair, delicately sculpted angular face—coupled with her youthful but serious expression triggered a white-hot piercing flash of Thriss as zhavey; the painful imagining stole Shar’s breath. He dug down and found the composure to respond to her introduction with a proper shoulder bow. “I share the honor, Zha Arenthialeh. My familiar name is Shar.” Mirroring her gesture, he raised his hand and pressed it to hers.

  “For a supposed renegade, you appear to have been taught properly,” she said dryly. “You may address me as Thia.”

  Renegade? Is that what I am now? Supposing that Charivretha wouldn’t appreciate him having such a reputation, he found the label amusing instead of insulting.

  The intercom loudly announced the shuttle’s departure from Orbital Control, stirring Thia’s infant into wakefulness.

  Through the gauzy modesty drape over the zhavey’s kheth, Shar saw the howling infant thrashing about in its nurture pouch, all knees and elbows, pushing the zhavey’s pouch skin taut. The child poked its head outside the fabric drape, its unhappy face glistening with perspiration and pouch gel. The zhavey smoothed wiry curls, whispered soothing chants—and the sobs quieted. Until a shipwide announcement—a warning about possible
turbulence—again startled him.

  The infant wailed loudly, pressing a foot against the pouch until the fabric drape came unfastened, baring the kheth. The outline of the infant’s toes could be seen through the zhavey’s nearly translucent white-blue skin. Blushing modestly, she quickly pulled the drape back over the infant, reattaching the fabric to her tunic. She scooped the infant out of the pouch, tucking his head in the crook between her head and her chest, and bounced, trying to soothe him.

  Prynn turned toward Thia, and said politely, “Is all well with your child?”

  “We have been traveling for several days and he has had to spend most of his time in my pouch. He’s ready to wean, but I haven’t let him because of our travels.”

  “A child that wants to wean?” Phillipa said. “How fortunate for you! My daughter—now two—still reaches beneath my clothes for my breasts in search of a quick snack.”

  Thia offered a smile of maternal understanding. She slid the child, still quivering with sobs, beneath the drape and back into her pouch. Reaching through the slits on each side of her blouse, she massaged her upper abdomen with downward strokes, stimulating the zhiassa let down. Slowly, the unhappy wails were replaced by choked gulps as nourishment drizzled into the child’s mouth.

  After Thia’s child was securely latched onto a teat, she requested Shar to make a formal introduction to Prynn. She hesitated only for a second when Prynn reached out to shake hands, human fashion.

  “So you’re a scientist?” Prynn said, initiating conversation.

  Shar watched Thia’s response carefully. Andorians tended not to make idle social conversation. Being in Starfleet had forced him to adjust, but most of his kind—particularly new zhavey s—didn’t have as much interaction with other species. Her antennae tensing briefly, Thia received Prynn’s inquiry coolly, but didn’t become hostile as he might have expected.

  “I am a botanist. Specializing in applications of synthesized plant chemicals.”

  “Zha Arenthialeh and I had a fascinating conversation about my own pharmacological project,” Phillipa said, exchanging looks with Shar.

  Noting Prynn’s confusion, Shar quickly shifted topics. He hadn’t explained all of Phillipa’s plans to Prynn, and this wasn’t the place to discuss it. “Have you always lived in the Archipelago region, Zha?”

  “My entire life,” Thia said. She paused and looked long at Shar, studying him as closely as politeness would permit. “While my people are not known for being plainspoken with outsiders, I wonder if Shathrissía’s Sending isn’t the reason for your visit.” Shar must have allowed his discomfort to project, because she added, “I apologize if I am causing you unease.”

  “How is it you know of Shathrissía’s Sending?”

  Thia tilted her head slightly to one side, her antennae angled back in surprise. Instead of answering his question, she offered an opinion. “You are very much Charivretha’s chei, Shar.”

  Shar felt his own antennae tensing. “Am I then to be judged based upon political gossip about my zhavey?” he asked. “Whatever conclusions you’ve drawn are likely based on innuendo, not fact—”

  Thia raised a hand, halting his diatribe midsentence. “I apologize. Clearly you don’t understand my intentions. My comment was not about you personally or your zhavey’s politics—which I don’t happen to agree with,” Thia said. “It was about upbringing. Growing up in the South, you would have little understanding of how tightly bound the clans of Cheshras Island are. I know this because two of my bondmates are from the Zhevra region, where Vretha demanded that your bond be raised.”

  “There is no shame in being reared in Zhevra.”

  “Except for a cosmopolitan culture that encourages nothing more than a mere surface commitment to raising children with the traditions that have sustained our people.”

  “You generalize unfairly.”

  “Do I? Look around you, Shar. Are you not even the slightest bit curious as to why so many people are traveling to Andor at this time in the calendar?”

  “I—” He had to admit that he had been surprised by the huge numbers of travelers he saw on the station; he also had to admit that he didn’t know why they were traveling.

  “Can it be that you have become so far removed from your people that you’ve forgotten the Spring Water Festival? Have you ever, in your lifetime, joined with the shen in your bond to plead for the Water Guardian’s protection?”

  Shar didn’t have an answer for her.

  “I thought as much.” Her antennae flicked in disappointment. “So you wanted to know how a stranger would know of Shathrissía’s death. If you had grown up in the Archipelago as Zha Sessethantis had wanted, you would know that there are few secrets between the Northern families. Since the days of the First Clans, our survival has depended on such closeness—my own house has farmed with the Thitars for twenty generations. There is little that happens in their keep that my clan is not aware of. In fact, I am on my way to reunite with my bondmates and our other two children so that we may together attend observances in Cheen-Thitar.”

  Shar’s eyes narrowed. “We are not so slavishly modern in the South that we’ve failed to respect the old traditions—”

  “That is hardly what I’m saying.”

  “—but perhaps if the ’Pelagos did not feel threatened by social evolution—”

  Thia’s abdomen shuddered. Her hands dropped down to cup her swelling kheth pouch, and she squeezed through the cloth of her tunic. A litany of soothing words interspersed with “shhh” and coos came too late; the infant shrieked into full wakefulness. “It is not reasonable to expect your journey to be disrupted by my thei. I will ask the steward if there is a quiet place to attend to my infant.” With Phillipa’s help, she gathered up her travel bags and climbed out of their row, into the aisle.

  Thia took several steps before she paused; she turned back and looked directly at Shar. “Live up to the honor of your name, Thirishar.” She then vanished with Phillipa into the compartment beyond.

  When Thia was out of hearing distance, Prynn asked, “Is that what passes for meaningless chitchat on Andor?”

  “ ‘Chitchat,’ as you call it, isn’t found on Andor.”

  “So what do you do at parties?”

  “Parties?”

  A long pause. “You do believe in parties.”

  “No.”

  Another long pause. “I get it. You’re doing the Nog thing again.”

  “Yes.”

  She shook her head and peered out their viewport, watching his world spin past.

  Knowing they would soon be planetside, Shar permitted the dammed-up emotions, stress, and frustrations of the day to wash over him. Later, he would have little to no time to collect his thoughts. Violent political demonstrations and a terrorist plot… he could not linger on such ideas. Leaning back into his chair, he alternately tightened and released his muscles, and closing his eyes, he cleared his mind, began a series of meditations….

  A warm hand touched his. Prynn.

  Over the last two months, he’d discovered her to be a tactile, demonstrative person—so different from his own carefully cultivated restraint; he enjoyed her spontaneity, how readily she followed her intuition instead of overanalyzing every minuscule decision as he was prone to do. For once, he followed an impulse, tangling his fingers with hers; by touch, he explored the knobby joints and the lines of her tendons; the process became a meditation of its own.

  Comfortable silence filled the space between them. He listened to the slow rise and fall of her breathing, subconsciously falling into the same rhythm. In the midst of the discord in his life of late, the time he spent with Prynn brought him a soothing peace that he’d come to depend on. And yet, if he was being honest with himself, there was more than comfort between them. Subtle undertones of emotions that he believed he wasn’t capable of feeling again had begun to color his thoughts about this lovely, vibrantly alive woman seated beside him. He believed he was ready for their relationship to
evolve, to become more than supportive, intimate friends; he mused on the thought, rolling it over in his mind and liking how it felt.

  “Nice planet,” Prynn said, finally. “What’s the land/water ratio?”

  Opening his eyes, he said, “Fifteen/eighty-five. Two major continents and a large number of islands.”

  “And how are the tides?”

  “The tides?”

  “For surfing,” Prynn said. “I thought I might catch a few waves, but the guidebook I’ve been reading is crap, and doesn’t say anything about aquatic sports.”

  “Ah. I believe there are some beachfront resorts, frequented mostly by offworld visitors. But my people generally use the oceans only as a source of food, industrial energy, and scientific inquiry. Not recreation.”

  Prynn tsked. Shar had learned to recognize the sound as an expression of disappointment. “I guess I’ll just have to test the waters myself,” she sighed.

  “They can be uncertain,” Shar cautioned.

  “I think I can handle whatever your world throws at me.” She looked at him and smiled. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask you—I grew up thinking the name of your planet is Andoria. But you always call it Andor. What’s up with that?”

  Shar shrugged. “I grew up thinking your planet’s name was Terra. Then I went to Starfleet Academy and everyone was calling it ‘Earth.’ What is up with that?”

  “Touché,” Prynn said, her gaze returning to the view. Her smiled slowly faded. “It’s a shame about the political demonstrations. Does that happen often? The violence, I mean?”

  “It depends on the circumstances, and it’s usually contained very quickly. Why do you ask?”

  “I was thinking about that old generalization, about Andorians being ‘a violent race.’ I never took it seriously…”

  “And you’re beginning to wonder if there’s some truth in it?”

  “Is there?”

  Shar didn’t respond right away. There are no easy answers to that, are there?

  “Shar?”

  “There are many kinds of violence, Prynn,” he said finally, hoping it would suffice.