With an effort, McCoy tore his eyes away from Dax. “Nothing. Nothing at all,” he managed.
Sinnit glowered at the Trill again. “Just my luck that she would be here—and as a judge, no less.”
“You have a problem with her?” McCoy asked. If there was something wrong with Dax, it sure wasn’t obvious at a glance.
“Yes, I have a problem,” his roommate snapped.
Sinnit was usually as even-tempered as they came. But clearly, Dax’s presence here had thrown him for a loop.
“Want to tell me about it?” McCoy asked.
But the Tessma didn’t seem inclined to say anything more. Instead, he moved off purposefully in the direction of the parallel bars.
McCoy gathered that Sinnit preferred to concentrate on his routine rather than whatever it was about the Trill that bothered him, which seemed like the sensible thing to the young human.
Left to his own devices, McCoy headed for the silvery metal bleachers that had been set up along one of the gym’s long walls. They were only about half full of spectators—mostly humans, but a few Arkarians and a Dopterian as well. Not by accident, McCoy selected a seat near the judges’ table.
He tried not to stare at Dax, but he couldn’t help it. The Trill was far and away the most attractive and beautifully sculpted woman the human had ever seen—a work of art so fully and perfectly rendered that, to his teenaged eyes, she hardly seemed real.
He had barely completed that uncharacteristically poetic thought when the Trill surprised him. Suddenly, as if she had been aware of his scrutiny all along, she turned and looked directly at him.
McCoy felt like the proverbial deer caught in the headlights. Dax’s eyes were frank and unswerving, transfixing him, paralyzing him.
Finally, he managed to look away—but the damage had been done. The human cursed himself. He had been inexcusably rude. As if to underline his guilt in the matter, he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment.
McCoy counted to twenty before he allowed himself to look the Trill’s way again. By then, he was sure, she would have turned away and—if there was any god at all in the universe—gone about her business.
But to his horror, he saw that she hadn’t turned away. She was still gazing at him, still dissecting him. McCoy swallowed, not knowing what to do ... but desperately eager to do something.
So he did the only thing he could do. He ventured a smile. With any luck at all, he told himself, Dax would recognize it as a heartfelt and embarrassed apology and see fit to end his torment.
But she didn’t do what he had hoped she would do. To his amazement, she did something infinitely better. She smiled back at him.
McCoy felt like a frog in a fairy tale, basking in the glow of something wildly undeserved. What’s more, he wished he could bask in the glow of that smile forever.
But after a moment or two, Dax noticed the approach of one of the gymnasts and turned away after all—and in the process, left McCoy feeling hugely deflated. He expelled a breath, trying hard to remember when he had ever felt so thoroughly and completely enchanted.
Lord, he thought. Sinnit’s right. I’ve got to attend a few more of these gymnastics competitions.
McCoy was about to look for his friend, to see how Sinnit was doing, when he noticed the spots on the neck of the gymnast approaching Dax. Another Trill, he realized. And judging by the young man’s expression, he wasn’t happy about something.
The human couldn’t hear the conversation very well, since it was carried on in harsh whispers, but he heard enough to get the gist of it. Apparently, the male Trill didn’t want to compete against “the Tessma”—an objection he seemed to have lodged at least once before.
“In that case, you’re free to withdraw,” Dax said in a husky soprano. “But in accordance with commission guidelines, you’ll be barred from future competitions for a standard year.”
Obviously, that wasn’t what the other Trill had hoped to hear. Frowning, he shot a glance at each of the other three judges, inclined his head out of respect, and rejoined the other gymnasts.
McCoy wondered what had gotten under the male Trill’s skin—and whether it had anything to do with Sinnit’s references to Dax. Was there a hostility between the Tessma’s people and Dax’s that he wasn’t aware of?
Before he could give the question much thought, the judges declared the competition officially open. The Vulcan judge reminded the gymnasts of some rules that seemed to vary from venue to venue. Then the human judge outlined the structure of the meet for the benefit of the crowd.
There would be three rounds, she said. The athletes with the four top point totals after the first two rounds would advance to the finals. The rest would be free to engage in a consolation round if they so chose.
When the judges were done speaking, the athletes retreated to chairs in a far corner of the gym, where they sat and waited their turns. A couple of them underwent last-minute medical scans at the hands of their personal physicians; the Trill was one of them.
Sinnit looked tense to McCoy, his brow furrowed as he watched a green-skinned Orion female lead off the rings event. But the human had seen that expression on his friend’s face before. It only meant that Sinnit was focused on the task at hand.
At least, that’s how it seemed to him.
Fifteen gymnasts had entered the competition. Sinnit was slated to go fifth, after a gray-maned Arkarian, a dark, leathery-skinned Mikulak, and a couple of humans.
Of the first four competitors, the Mikulak seemed the most skilled. But when the Tessma’s turn came, he blew them all away. Sinnit’s moves were powerful yet controlled, graceful yet economical. The only mistake he made was in the vaulting horse event, when he lost his balance a little in landing and had to hop half a step sideways.
The next two gymnasts, the Dedderac and a Rigelian, both scored high—but not as high as Sinnit. The Pandrilite displayed great strength, but he wasn’t as smooth as his predecessors, and the human that followed made a major slip on the parallel bars.
With more than half the field accounted for, McCoy expected his roommate to be reasonably pleased. But he wasn’t. Sinnit kept glaring at Dax, as if her very presence there offended him.
The next entry was a Dopterian, who turned in an error-free performance but didn’t take any real chances. After him came another human and the Vobilite, neither of whom were very inspiring.
The Trill gymnast went thirteenth. He started out conservatively on the rings, but stepped up the drama on the parallel bars and then stepped it up again on the vaulting horse, ending with a perfect landing.
Impressive, McCoy thought. But to his mind, not as impressive as what Sinnit had accomplished.
The next two competitors, a female Bolian and a broad-shouldered Arbazan, were competent but not much more. It seemed certain that the Tessma had won the first round.
But when the judges’ scores went up in green characters on the black screen behind them, Sinnit was in second place with a score of thirty-six—just ahead of the Rigelian, the Dedderac, and the Dopterian. The Trill gymnast, with a score of thirty-eight, had placed first.
It didn’t seem right to McCoy, though he conceded that his perceptions might have been colored by his loyalty to his friend. If Sinnit’s expression was any indication, it didn’t seem right to him either.
The Tessma went over and let the judges know it—for all the good it did. They recorded his protest, but refused to change his score.
McCoy had never seen his roommate so angry. As the second round began, Sinnit seemed unable to cool down. He stalked the sideline like a hungry predator, glowering at the judges—and Dax in particular.
The Arkarian went first again, but this time she was brilliant—as good as anyone else that day. If she had scored higher in the first round, she would have been certain to advance to the finals.
By contrast, the Mikulak and the two humans who followed him were lackluster, even more so than in their earlier performances. But McCoy didn’t imag
ine Sinnit would be thinking about them as he walked up to the rings in the center of the gym. If the Tessma was concerned with any of his rivals, it would be the male Trill who stood ahead of him in the standings.
Come on, McCoy thought, cheering his roommate on. You can do it. He was so intent on Sinnit, he almost forgot all about Dax.
The Tessma didn’t disappoint him, either. He pulled out all the stops on the rings, drawing gasps from the crowd. He was even better on the parallel bars. And on the vaulting horse, his flip was so high and so intricate that it seemed he might never come down.
But as before, there was a flaw in Sinnit’s routine—and this time, it was a bigger one. In his effort to dazzle the judges and the crowd, he over rotated and lurched forward as he came down from his vault.
Even that might not have been such a tragedy in itself. However, the stumble seemed to rattle the Tessma, to anger him—to the point where he snarled a curse and gave up on his landing altogether.
Stalking off, he cast a baleful look at the judges again. Then he found a chair, sat down and threw a towel over his head.
McCoy heaved a sigh. He didn’t know how Dax and the others would score Sinnit’s omission, but he had a feeling that the Tessma’s victory string wasn’t going to remain unbroken.
As it turned out, he was right. When the second round was over and the scores were announced, the Trill was still in first place. The Rigelian had come in second, the Dopterian third and the Dedderac fourth.
Sinnit, in fifth, had failed to qualify for the finals.
The Tessma was furious, his bronze visage two shades darker than usual, his gaze as sharp as the honor blade on his wall. But he didn’t go over to the judges’ table to contest his score this time. He just flung his towel away and left the gym.
McCoy started to go after him, intending to console his friend as best he could. But before he could make his way across the gym, he found Dax standing in his way.
Mesmerized by her deep blue eyes, he wondered what he should say, wondered if he had it in him to say anything. Then the Trill saved him the trouble.
“I was just wondering what you found so interesting,” she remarked—not in an accusatory way, but with a certain playfulness. “I think you spent more time looking at me than at the gymnasts.”
McCoy couldn’t deny it. But then, who wouldn’t have spent every available moment looking at her?
“I ... er ... didn’t mean to offend you,” he replied at last.
Dax studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “It’s all right. I’ve been offended by experts.” She held out her hand. “Emony Dax.”
McCoy smiled—a bit awkwardly, he feared. “Leonard McCoy.”
The Trill smiled back at him—and it wasn’t at all awkward. In fact, nothing about her was awkward. “Pleased to meet you, Leonard McCoy.”
For a moment, there was silence between them—a silence as big as the gym itself. Feeling he should do something about it, McCoy asked, “So ... have you had a chance to see much of Earth?”
Dax’s expression turned suspicious. “Are you asking me out?” she said with a hint of incredulity.
McCoy felt the heat of embarrassment crawl into his face again. He was about to assure the Trill that he wasn’t asking her out at all, that he wouldn’t have presumed to think someone like her would ever consider such a proposal ... when Dax spoke up first.
“Because if you are,” she continued, “you’d better get to the point.” And this time, when she smiled at him, it was clear that she wanted him to ask her out. In fact, it seemed to McCoy, she had had that in mind from the moment she came over to him.
He spoke with a mouth that had gone terribly dry. “Er ... dinner?”
“Dinner would be splendid,” Dax assured him. “Time?”
“I’ll be by to pick you up at seven,” McCoy told her, his mind racing to think of a place where he could take her—a place she might actually like. “I mean, if that’s all right.”
“Sounds fine,” the Trill replied.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”
“I don’t think so,” said Dax.
McCoy’s hopes fell “What ... ?”
“Unless you find out where I’m staying,” she added.
He was washed with a wave of relief. “Oh, right. So ... ?”
“The University Mews,” Dax told him. “Number sixteen.”
McCoy knew the place. “Great.”
Dax smiled again, melting him at the knees. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’ve got some results to report to the Gymnastics Commission.”
“Of course,” said McCoy.
And he watched her walk out of the gym.
When McCoy arrived in his dorm room, Sinnit was sitting on the edge of his bed, still wearing his blue gymnastics garb. The Tessma didn’t look up as the human came in.
Hoo, boy, McCoy thought. But what he said was, “Come on. Things can’t be all that bad.”
Sinnit shot him a look. “Could they be worse? I didn’t win the meet. I didn’t even qualify for the finals.” His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “That filthy Trill. How dare she sit in judgment of me?”
“Filthy?” McCoy echoed. “I guess that problem you have with her is a little bigger than I thought.”
The Tessma sneered. “The Trill are a loathsome species. Wikhov’na pan’tisha, just as I said.”
“What does that mean?” the human asked.
Sinnit’s mouth twisted. “It means they’re disgusting.”
“In what way?” McCoy prodded.
“In every way,” the Tessma snarled.
“You haven’t told me anything,” the human complained.
“I’ve told you enough,” Sinnit snapped. “And if you’re my friend, you’ll take my word for it.”
McCoy stared at him. “I may be your friend,” he replied evenly, “but I’m not a bigot. And until now, I didn’t know you were one either.”
Leaving that accusation hanging in the air, he made his way out of the room.
Emony Dax heard the sound of chimes.
Crossing the tastefully decorated ground-floor apartment where the university had put her up, she opened the door. The gymnast had expected to find Leonard McCoy waiting for her outside on the stone steps. Instead, she found Kejjis Nar, her fellow Trill.
“I need to talk with you,” he said, brushing aside an unruly lock of dark hair.
“This is a bad idea, Kejjis,” Dax told him. “You’re a gymnast, I’m a judge. It’s improper for us to meet outside the gym while the competition is still going on.”
Though Nar looked younger than she did, he had lived more lifetimes. He should have known better.
“I don’t care,” he insisted. “What I have to say is important.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “All right, then. Say it.”
“It’s useless to try to build relationships with Sinnit’s people. They’ll never change, no matter how many competitions we attend.”
“I disagree,” Dax said.
Nar was incredulous. “Didn’t you see the way Sinnit glared at you after the scores were announced? Didn’t you hear the words he used? To him, Trills will never be anything but wikhov’na pan’tisha.”
“I’m a bit more optimistic,” she maintained. “I think we can still make headway. It’ll just take a bit more work than we—”
Suddenly, the Trill heard someone clear his throat. Whirling, she saw McCoy standing there at the foot of the steps.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”
But clearly, that wasn’t true. The human had meant to interrupt. He had sensed that she was having a conversation she didn’t want to have and he had politely done what he could to end it.
It was a chivalrous notion—one that made Dax smile. She had been right about Leonard McCoy, it seemed.
“I ought to be going,” said Nar, looking a little self-conscious.
Dax nodded. “See you tomorrow.”
Nar jammed his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving McCoy standing there. The human turned to the Trill. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
Dax sighed, reluctant to get McCoy mixed up in Nar’s contentions. “I suppose that depends on whom you ask,” she replied cryptically.
He shrugged helplessly. “Am I supposed to understand what that means?”
Dax couldn’t help chuckling a bit. “No,” she assured him. “It means I can’t wait to have a nice, quiet evening with you.”
McCoy looked relieved. “Same here.”
Charmed by his innocent good looks, Dax let the door slide shut behind her and descended the stone steps. Then she took the young man’s arm and allowed him to see her to his vehicle.
McCoy had been nervous about choosing a restaurant, since he didn’t know what kind of food Trills liked or didn’t like. In the end, he had decided on a little French bistro—the only French restaurant in all of Oxford, Mississippi.
It turned out to be a terrific choice. Dax ordered the escargot appetizer and sautéed sweetbreads for a main course and loved them both. McCoy himself was a lit-de less adventurous, opting for vichyssoise and veal in a buttery herb sauce, but he was happy too.
The wine was a Chateau Picard ’28—a good year, according to their waiter. Dax had high praise for that as well. McCoy just knew that the stuff made him light-headed.
After dinner, he programmed his car to take them to a secluded spot in the hills that overlooked the town. The vehicle stopped in the lee of a two hundred-year-old magnolia tree and McCoy came around to open Dax’s door.
“You’re quite a gentleman,” she observed.
“I’m from the South,” he replied. “We’re all gentlemen.”
“All?” the Trill asked!
“Well,” he told her, “we were all taught to be gentlemen. I guess a few of us forget from time to time.”
“What else were you taught?” Dax wondered aloud.
McCoy felt a warm breeze caress him. It smelled of tupelo sap. “In my case, to value learning. My father’s a doctor, you know.”
His companion looked into his eyes. “And you?”
STAR TREK: DS9 - The Lives of Dax Page 12
