This Gray Spirit

by Heather Jarman

  Ezri pursed her lips, considering the best way to phrase her next question. “From what you’ve said, it sounds like the Wanderers have tremendous opportunities. What else do they want?”

  Jeshoh sat silent, submitting his limbs to the servant’s ministrations: the other arm, a lower leg, the other leg. Ezri hoped his silence meant he was considering her question, not that she had overstepped her bounds.

  Finally, he clicked his tongue, dismissing the servant. He said softly, leaning closer to Ezri, “They want arms—to serve in our military. They don’t trust the Houseborn to defend them,” he shook his head. “They want to join the Houseborn in the waters and have offspring. But they fail to see that passing on their flawed instincts will weaken our species.”

  “And in spite of progress toward more equal rights for the Wanderers, you still have a hard time living together, I take it?” If the groups in the front and back of this dining room not mingling are any indicator, I’d have to say the answer is “yes,” Ezri thought.

  “The Cheka barricades magnify the problems. Since we began associations with other species, our society has reconfigured itself around interstellar trade. Supply shortages and economic setbacks make people afraid and angry.” Jeshoh paused, looked around to make sure no one was listening before whispering, “Rumors of a Wanderer underground movement are being voiced in committee meetings, not just gossiped about in the marketplace.”

  And the real reason we were almost killed in cold blood starts to emerge.“That’s a very serious situation.”

  “And we’ve yet to find a practical way to resolve it. Neither side trusts the other,” he paused again, looking around to see who might be listening in on their conversation. “We haven’t had war on Vanìmel in 200 years, but…”

  Ezri grasped the Vice Chair’s meaning. Though the Yrythny had lived in relative peace for two centuries, Jeshoh feared conflict was imminent. What have we stumbled into? She wondered what Vaughn and the others had learned.

  Unbidden, she remembered how Curzon’s deft maneuvering had prevented one of the early Proxcinian crises from exploding into war. “You say you traffic with other species routinely. Have you thought about utilizing third party mediation to open up talks with the Wanderers?” she said finally.

  “Explain,” Jeshoh said, puzzled.

  “Bringing in a neutral party to facilitate talks between the warring sides. Oftentimes, someone from the outside—one who isn’t invested in one side or the other—is better at determining what points are negotiable and what points each side needs to be flexible on.” As she spoke, she drew an imaginary diagram on the tabletop with her fingers. “A third party functions as the apex of a triangle, balancing the single line binding the conflicted parties together by drawing lines among all three.”

  Jeshoh smiled indulgently. “Unfortunately, economic relationships being what they are, our neighbors may be counted upon only to act in their own best interests. Actively helping to stabilize the situation on Vanìmel would damage their standing with the Cheka, who are the dominant economic power in this region.”

  From the table behind Jeshoh, the Yrythny cleric turned around abruptly, throwing aside a bowl of fish noodles to gape at Ezri. “A third between the Wanderers and the Houseborn,” he said, eyes wide with excitement. He didn’t bother to plunge his dirty hands into the basin, instead electing to rub them on his robes.

  Sipping from a water glass, she reiterated, “Third party mediation is hardly a new idea.”

  “The third forges a whole peace?” the cleric persisted.

  Ezri looked at the cleric, then at Jeshoh for clarification—he had none—and then back at the cleric. “I suppose,” she said, wondering what he was getting at.

  The cleric grabbed Jeshoh by the shoulder and shook him. “It’s the Other. What she says follows the pattern of the Other.”

  Jeshoh’s confusion gradually dissipated. “Perhaps,” he said, prying the cleric’s fingers off his shoulder. “It may be worth considering, at least.”

  By now, loud Yrythny voices clamored on all sides of Ezri; benches were shoved back as individuals of all ranks squeezed into the spaces around her, and with shoulders and elbows bumping, gesticulated madly. Julian shot her worried looks; she ignored him. Contrary to what he might suppose, she did not start whatever this thing was and she wasn’t about to be blamed for it. He was a little too quick to fall in with Benjamin and his “She’s a Dax. Sometimes they don’t think, they just do” aphorism. Had Benjamin ever had the nerve to say that to my face? Hah! No matter what anyone might think, she didn’t go looking for trouble all the time. Especially not this time.

  Another Yrythny beside Jeshoh stood up, raising a hand, asking for acknowledgment from the Yrythny leader, Rashoh, who was seated beside Vaughn. “Assembly Chair, our good cleric has a rather startling idea that merits immediate consideration!”

  With one swift movement, the cleric hefted Ezri to her feet, threw a food-speckled arm around her shoulder and clutched her to him as he approached the head table. “Good Master, Lensoh speaks truly. This one—this visitor from far away—has been sent by the Other to finally bind together our fractured world.” He squeezed Ezri for emphasis, his fingers bruising her upper arm.

  “I never said that,” Ezri protested. “That’s not what I said. I said that the Wanderers and Houseborn should consider third-party mediation…”

  Vaughn looked at Ezri quizzically; she shrugged her shoulders as if to say, I swear to you I don’t know what he’s talking about. Still, with virtually every pair of Yrythny eyes fixed on her, she knew she’d be doing some accounting to Vaughn later but she hoped it would be for laughs. Vaughn had a decent sense of humor. Usually.

  To the cleric, Rashoh said, “Explain further.” But his frown remained focused on Ezri.

  “This one has suggested the introduction of a Third. To complete the triad of Wanderer and Houseborn. To balance our people and facilitate peace,” the cleric said. “And I believe this one, this Ezri Dax who stands beside me, has been sent from the Other to help us. She will be the Third!” In benediction, the cleric raised his arms to the ceiling. “Praise the Other!”

  The crowd murmured a disjointed chorus of honorifics to the Other before the drone of chatter consumed the room. Trays clattered to the floor and benches toppled as they eagerly discussed this latest development.

  “There must be a misunderstanding here,” Vaughn said, attempting to quell the excitement in the room before it spread any further. “Lieutenant Dax will share our knowledge and experiences with you, but any other role would be inappropriate.” He gave Ezri a meaningful look.

  “I have to agree,” Ezri chimed in at once. “It wasn’t my intention to involve myself in your internal affairs.”

  “You cannot deny the Other’s intervention,” the cleric insisted.

  Many Yrythny politicians, including Keren, had left their tables to assure themselves a position where they could better hear and be heard. A few tried to worm their way closer to Ezri, hurling questions at her faster than she could answer them. She rotated toward each voice in succession, trying to match what was being said with the speaker. What I wouldn’t do for Jadzia’s height about now, she lamented. Ezri saw Vaughn’s hand above the crowd, as he jerked his thumb back to indicate he wanted her at his side, posthaste. Squeezing her way past the servants and politicians and clerics, she walked up to her CO, carefully placing her back to the crowd.

  Vaughn said, over the cacophony of Yrythny voices, “If you’d excuse me, Assembly Chair, Vice Chair, Honorable Cleric, we must take leave of you and your good people at this time.” The murmuring quieted, the Yrythny waited respectfully for Vaughn to continue. “My officers and I need to check on the status of our ship and those we left behind. Please accept my thanks on behalf of all of my crew for your gracious hospitality.”

  Perhaps realizing the uncomfortable position their guests were in, Rashoh and Jeshoh interposed themselves between the away team and the crowd as Vaugh
n led his people toward the exit. The cleric, who originally fingered Ezri, included himself in the leadership, staring after her with reverential wonder. She groaned inwardly. At least the other Yrythny were clued in that they needed to allow their leaders—and their guests—to proceed without interference.

  In the spacious hall beyond the dining room, the Yrythny leaders offered the entire Defiant crew guest quarters, far removed from the civilian areas; reduced trade and tourism in the wake of the Cheka conflict had left their hosting facilities completely empty. The away team learned that one of Rashoh’s aides would escort them to the docking bay harboring Defiant, where further instructions would be provided.

  The discussion proceeded without Ezri commenting. She thought that was best.

  On their way back to the Defiant, Ezri related her conversation with Jeshoh and how her neutral comments had been seized on by the cleric and twisted into something unintended. “At least I haven’t been elevated to an Yrythny deity,” she quipped. Though godhood would have appealed to Curzon.

  “For all our sakes,” Vaughn replied, “you’d better hope it stays that way.”

  * * *

  In the complex of guest accomodations where the bulk of the Defiant crew had been housed following the away team’s return to the ship, Shar tried to concentrate on the database terminal his hosts had provided each member of the crew. Unfortunately, he was finding it hard to focus.

  Shar gave up counting the number of times he’d heard Vaughn, Dax, and Bashir’s doors open and close over the last hour. He didn’t need to eavesdrop on their conversations to miss the tension in the air; his antennae hadn’t stopped itching since Vaughn and Dax had met with Nog back at the ship.

  Working with Yrythny engineers and his own team, Nog had made supply lists for the Defiant’ s repairs. The Yrythny had—or could get their hands on—most of what Nog needed to fix the ship. How to defend the Defiant against the Cheka nanobots was proving to be the challenge, one that might take longer than the actual repairs. Even their hosts admitted they didn’t know how extensive the web network was in this sector; the Cheka apparently redeployed the webs frequently at random coordinates in order to make space travel as dangerous as possible for the Yrythny. The only reason Avaril had been able to come to Defiant’ s aid at all was that the particular web that had snared Defiant was one the Yrythny had recently discovered. With the web weapons invisible to sensors, the commander didn’t want to make a move until they developed a workable countermeasure.

  Not one engineer had yet shown up at the guest quarters. When it became clear Nog wasn’t planning a dinner break, Vaughn finally sent Lankford and T’rb up with food. Shar expected that Nog would catnap on a cot by the ship: the situation was that critical.

  Everyone without a specific assignment had been ordered to comb the Yrythny database for information on the Cheka and their web weapons. So once Shar had retired to his quarters for the evening, he settled in front of his terminal and tried to go to work—except that the continuing discord among his senior officers had proven very distracting.

  Of course, he knew that something else was causing his mind to wander this evening, something that had nothing to do with the stir Lieutenant Dax had inadvertently caused. Ever since he’d examined the tricorder readings Dr. Bashir had taken of the Yrythny back aboard Defiant, Shar had been preoccupied with their genetic “Turn Key.” The opportunity to research it in the Yrythny’s own database was proving too great a temptation. In delineating its nature to Commander Vaughn, Dr. Bashir had described it in human parlance as a “skeleton key,” designed to unlock any gene, even reconfigure it, to hasten the evolution of a species. The implications of the Turn Key had a particular allure for any scientist with an interest in cytogenetics. Especially one from Andor.

  The climate of Luthia suited Shar well. Healthy Yrythny skin required high levels of humidity, he’d learned, an environmental condition that also suited Andorian physiology. Though the Yrythny didn’t sleep in beds, but rather, cushioned depressions in the floor of their sleeprooms, Shar found the accommodations lavish, almost decadent for a species whose technology was still about two hundred years behind that of the Federation. Overstuffed couches and planter boxes flowing with flowering vines were mounted on every wall except the one that opened into a round courtyard. A burbling, multitiered fountain surrounded by gardens textured with ferns, trees and lacy crimson ground cover provided a pleasant view from every apartment.

  The three stories of the Defiant crew’s rooms extended off the courtyard like spokes of a wheel, providing them easy, private access to each other. Dax and Vaughn’s quarters were on the level above Shar. Several times already, the commander and the lieutenant had ascended and descended the stairs situated off to the right of Shar’s courtyard wall. Many of his crewmates had lounged by the fountain reading or chatting, enjoying the view of the stars through the clear dome overhead. General consensus seemed to be that the housing conditions were making this unplanned mission detour more palatable.

  As had tended to happen on this mission, Shar’s thoughts strayed home whenever he had empty time. Every day since last seeing his bondmates on Deep Space 9, he found himself yearning for them, and for the intimacy of the shelthreth that he’d denied the entire bondgroup by accepting this assignment to the Gamma Quadrant. And Thriss…if he allowed his thoughts to linger too long on her, he knew he’d lose his ability to think. Thriss would love it here on Luthia…He stopped that thought before it went any further: staying focused on his research into the Cheka and their weapon was his best recourse against loneliness.

  The courtyard doors parted, admitting the sounds of bleeting avians, trickling water and the brush of soft footfalls. Shar expected to see Nog and started when he recognized his rescuer from this afternoon, the Yrythny delegate. In the lavender light of Luthia’s dusk, Keren stood in shadow, the edges of her face eerily translucent, but her energy—unmistakable. What could she possibly want? Maybe she’s mistaken my quarters for Ezri’s, right above me, he thought.

  “I’ve come with answers, Ensign ch’Thane,” she said airily, her draping clothes rustling as she walked. She first opened the sleeproom door and then the closet.

  “My roommate isn’t here, Delegate,” Shar told her, wondering what she’d come to tell him that required privacy.

  “Excellent. Then you can come with me without being missed.”

  After the dinner-hour controversy, Vaughn had ordered all personnel to minimize unsupervised contact with the Yrythny until the “Lieutenant Dax situation,” as it had come to be referred to, was resolved. “I need to check with my commander, he’d—”

  “Don’t.” She held up a hand. “Please trust me. All I want is for you to see the other side.”

  “The other side of what?”

  “Of this. Of Luthia. Of my people.” Keren dropped down on the couch beside him. “Our city is abuzz with talk about the Other sending a Third. There are those who see it as a sign, others as a Houseborn trick. It’s not your commander’s fault that you’ve only dealt, thus far, with the Houseborn leadership. They know little of my people’s truth, our history, our concerns. And that’s why I’ve come.”

  Shar could see why she was a politician: she was a persuasive orator. Perhaps this was what his zhavey had been like when she was younger. She didn’t seem duplicitous, and she had saved his life. Commander Vaughn’s instructions notwithstanding, perhaps this was an opportunity to find other resources in Luthia, outside official channels, that might help his shipmates. Shar decided to trust her.

  “Very well,” he said.

  She tossed a thin, heather-brown cloak at him; like hers, it featured a large hood and fastened at the neck. She also provided him with Yrythny-style footwear in lieu of his boots. The thin slippers, comprised of fabric tops laced together with roughened, leathery skins for the sole, would be virtually soundless as they walked. The need for such attire was obvious: to avoid drawing attention to himself or to Keren. Once he’d fa
stened the cloak and pulled the hood up over his head, flattening his antennae among his locks as he did so, Keren brought a finger to her lips and gestured for Shar to follow her. Slipping through the courtyard, the leaf fringes of rangy trees provided additional cover. Vanìmel’s second moon had risen, casting cold pale light over their path.

  “You can’t seriously think this idea has merit, Dax,” Vaughn said, extending his legs onto the coffee table. He sipped his brandy and waited for her reply.

  Ezri, hands knotted behind her, walked the room.

  Was this the third or fourth time through this conversation? For his part, Julian seconded Vaughn’s opinion, but wasn’t about to do so in front of Ezri. She would see it as a personal betrayal, when in reality it was a question of propriety. Starfleet regulations, to say nothing of the Prime Directive, provided narrow criteria for any kind of intervention in a non-Federation world. Because he out ranked her, technically, Julian could voice his objections without subverting her position, but he knew Vaughn would do a far better job than he would at pointing this out.

  “Look, I know this is a little out of the ordinary,” Dax said, continuing to pace. “But I’ve been going over this in my head since dinner, and I’m just starting to wonder if maybe we’re being a little too quick to dismiss the idea. After all, they were the ones asking for my help. Given the aid that they’re providing us, is what they’re asking really so out of the question?”

  “You’re talking about helping to facilitate a fundamental change to their societal structure,” Vaughn said. “There are protocols in place for such an undertaking, and for good reasons.”

  “But according to Jeshoh, that change has already been taking place for centuries. Whatever the underlying reasons for this schism between the Houseborn and the Wanderers, these people know they have a problem. They want help solving it. All I’d be offering is the benefit of an outside perspective.”