This Gray Spirit

by Heather Jarman

  Thinking about how pleased Shar would be to see his bondmate immersed in the work he loved, Charivretha affectionately squeezed Anichent’s shoulders. “You amaze me, Thavanichent. You should apply for that fellowship at the Daystrom Institute.”

  “As you say.” He flushed, and looked away, focusing on gathering up the bioneural circuit sheets and isolinear chips scattered over his work surfaces. The Vulcan he’d been conversing with was engineering a device to be retrofitted on starship arrays; Anichent had decided to see if he could build a miniature model of the device in order to verify his own findings.

  Charivretha could imagine Anichent, one day, deciding to join Starfleet engineering as a way to facilitate spending more time with Shar. They could request joint assignments. Both of them would be less lonely. Charivretha believed having a bondmate by his side could only help Shar, stabilize him, reinforce his obligations to the Andorian Whole.

  Feeling conspicuous for not helping, Charivretha dropped to the floor, working to assist Anichent in gathering his things. “I’ve come with a plan for the evening. I think it would be good for all of you. Don’t give me that look, Anichent. Even you need to rest from your work—to recreate.”

  “Dizhei must have talked to you,” he said sagely. He leaned over the desk and chairs, searching for any components he might have missed.

  And that’s not the half of it… Unwilling to revisit the humiliating discussion she’d had with Lieutenant Ro, Charivretha avoided following up on Anichent’s words. He could draw his own conclusion. “How many days has it been since you three did something fun? Dizhei has been correcting her students’ projects, you’ve been tinkering with hyperspanners and laser drills and Thriss has been preparing her residency applications—”

  “Not many of them,” Anichent muttered.

  Those two, quarreling again? Do they ever stop? Poor Dizhei! Taking sides might disturb the precarious bondgroup dynamic, so she resolved to avoid any topic that might result in a conversation about Thriss. “You all deserve to be rewarded!” Charivretha said, reassembling a toolkit. “There was quite a bidding war over these holosuite hours. An attaché I work with was our most eager competitor, but in the end, I succeeded. I’m not about to let such a valuable opportunity go to waste.”

  Anichent placed the last of his items into a nearby case. “I suppose we should ask Dizhei and Thriss if they feel up to going out.”

  “Come with me, would you?” Charivretha asked. Anichent nodded stiffly and arm in arm they went to find the others.

  No one will notice, Thriss thought, her hand hovering over the control panel. The temptation to increase the volume overpowered her fear of being caught; she made the adjustment. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Dizhei. When her bondmate continued working without interruption, Thriss relaxed.

  From the time they were little, Shar’s voice had always hypnotized her. He wasn’t prone to long speeches or flowery language but the tone in his voice made her shiver deliciously. She recalled “borrowing” school supplies from his desk just so he would have to ask her where she’d put them. Once, during their exercise period, she’d casually thrown a foot out in front of him during a foot race, sending him sprawling to the floor. Of course she’d volunteered to escort him to the nurse. That was the first time she’d touched him: dabbing a lumpy bruise on his forehead with a cool cloth. Oh, how annoyed he’d been with her! She smiled a little sadly at the memory. Now he’s thousands of light years away without me to take care of him. She rubbed her eyes, hoping Dizhei didn’t see the beginnings of tears.

  Notwithstanding Dizhei’s unfailing kindness, Thriss knew she became impatient with the weepiness. The high rounded back of her chair shielded her somewhat from Dizhei, though, so she hugged her legs tight against her body, rested her chin on her knees and settled in to watch the recording.

  Several days ago, she’d been browsing through Shar’s database when she discovered his journal—what Starfleet people called their personal logs. At first, she watched them after Anichent and Dizhei were asleep, fearing their disapproval, selfishly wanting to hold something of Shar’s for herself. Both her bondmates fussed about propriety, about respecting personal boundaries. Thriss knew that delving, uninvited, into these recordings might be construed as a violation, but she couldn’t help herself. And it became harder and harder to wait until the middle of the night to spend time with Shar. So she decided to risk viewing them now, even though Dizhei, who listened with earpieces to her students’assignments, was in the room with her.

  From what she could see, he appeared happy. This latest assignment to DS9 agreed with him. Seeing his contentment, however, always led her back to questioning why he couldn’t be content with her. Why not come back to Andor for the shelthreth and then she’d go wherever he wanted her to. They simply had to put their obligations behind them.

  Voices in the background cued her that others had joined her and Dizhei. Why did Anichent have to come in now? I want to finish watching this day first, the day he received my gift. She saw Shar looking at the elaborate model of Andorian DNA, constructed with rounded, highly polished, multicolored crystals. It pleased her to see he kept it on the shelf closest to his bed.

  “Thriss!”

  Abruptly, she spun her chair around and before she could protest, found herself facing Charivretha.

  Dizhei, sprawled on the bed studying childishly drawn maps illustrating Andor’s geography, startled when Charivretha addressed Thriss, her earpiece dropping into her hand. Anichent plopped down by Dizhei, leaning over to whisper in his bondmate’s ear.

  “Computer, halt playback,” Charivretha snapped. “Do you have authorization to examine Shar’s logs?” she asked Thriss.

  “He gave us access to his quarters. Access is access,” Thriss explained. She respected Charivretha. Honored her. Feared her. But in this one place, where their personal interests intersected in Shar, Thriss and Charivretha were forever at odds. Charivretha accepted Thriss because she matched Shar’s genetics, but his zhavey made no secret of her preference for Anichent, or her admiration for Dizhei. Further, Charivretha resented Thriss’ unconditional support for Shar’s decisions, especially those decisions that conflicted with the priorities Charivretha believed Shar ought to embrace. And with Charivretha, duty defined life. Duty and obligation. When Thriss refused to use her influence to pressure Shar into accepting Charivretha’s edicts, the barriers between Thriss and her zhadi grew, but Thriss didn’t care. She loved Shar too much to see him unhappy, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. And there was that little tendency of hers—a tendency to resent being told what to do.

  Charivretha specialized in telling people what to do. She had made a career of it.

  “Personal logs require passwords.” Charivretha grabbed Thriss by the chin and, treating her like a child, tipped her face up.

  “I know his passwords,” Thriss said. She met Charivretha’s pointed stare, her stormy gray eyes revealing nothing.

  “You stole his passwords,” accused Anichent.

  Dizhei placed a steadying arm around Anichent’s waist, trying to soothe him.

  “I don’t steal, Anichent,” Thriss snapped, jerking her head out of Charivretha’s palm. “I know these things about Shar. He’s used the same password for his private files since he was fifteen. If he hadn’t wanted me to read them, he would have changed the password. He didn’t, so I can do as I please. With his blessing.” Because she understood Shar’s deep affection for Anichent, Thriss hated arguing with him; she tried avoiding it—another way she honored Shar. Too bad genetic matches didn’t mean good personality matches. If it were possible to be more opposite from Anichent than she was, Thriss didn’t know how. They were fire and ice.

  The antennae on Anichent’s head twitched and flexed, his eyes darkened. “You behave as if this blessing extends only to you, and not to Dizhei or myself. How do you know I don’t have knowledge of Shar’s passwords?”

  Why was he always seeking a figh
t?“View the logs. I don’t care.”

  “I respect my ch’te enough to allow him the privacy of his own thoughts,” Anichent snapped.

  She tossed her hair. “Or perhaps you’re afraid that those thoughts aren’t of you.”

  Charivretha shushed them both, sending Anichent into the other room to check on the featured menu at Quark’s. Thriss complied with Charivretha’s orders to keep peace. One more argument with Anichent would mean ending her day with another headache; Thriss wearied of fitful sleep. She moved away from the desk and dropped down onto the edge of the bed; Dizhei alternated between massaging her shoulders and stroking her hair.

  Taking Thriss’ place in front of the monitor, Charivretha exited Shar’s logs and then explained her intended evening plans.

  Thriss bit back a complaint. Well-intentioned as she was, Charivretha always wanted to fix things even when, given time, resolutions might occur naturally. The thought of spending a night pretending to have a good time so Dizhei and Anichent wouldn’t have one more reason to be irritated with her…. Anichent especially. “I have applications to finish,” she said, offering the first excuse she could come up with. “And you know me and holosuites.”

  Before Charivretha could retort, Dizhei tenderly placed her head in Thriss’ lap, linking her fingers through hers, stroking the back of her hand with her thumb.

  Oh, all right. Guilt works too, Thriss thought.

  “We could visit the Palace of Zhevazha or take roles in one of the Sagas,” Dizhei suggested. “You always enjoy swordplay. Or maybe we could visit a favorite spot. You love Casperia Prime. You told me yourself that the days you and Shar spent climbing there were the best vacation you’d had in years!”

  On rare occasions, segments of the bond would section off in a pair or trio. Thriss and Shar had gone away together once—after he graduated from the Academy and before he assumed his wartime assignment. She cherished those days as belonging to her and Shar alone, never sharing any details of their time together with either Anichent or Dizhei.

  Thriss leaned down to touch her cheek to Dizhei’s. “You go, sh’za. You and Anichent deserve to relax away from me. I’m not good company right now. Enjoy food that’s not replicated. You told me last week you wanted to learn to play tongo, this is your chance!”

  Almost imperceptibly, Dizhei shook her head. “I’ll stay with you. It’s not good to be alone. Anichent can go with Zhadi.”

  Thriss eased Dizhei up from her lap. Cupping Dizhei’s face in her hands, Thriss touched her forehead to hers. They entwined fingers through each other’s hair. Dizhei was like a zhavey to her. Thriss decided she could yield—make an honest effort to get along with the group. “I believe the last time we fenced, you beat me. Every game. Don’t assume you’ll have an advantage this time.” Thriss smiled and Dizhei reciprocated.

  In the doorway, Anichent appeared holding Quark’s evening menu; he sighed, visibly relieved.

  Thriss assumed that Anichent was happy he didn’t have to take her on; their “discussions” usually ended after heated words or thrown furniture—and it wasn’t always her doing the throwing. Neither of them enjoyed being pitted against the other in the battle for Shar’s affection; both resented, justifiably, having to defend their places in Shar’s life.

  She wasn’t entirely so self-absorbed that she didn’t know what Anichent really thought: he believed Shar’s unusually strong attachment to her would fade after the shelthreth because he saw her and Shar’s relationship as being comprised of physical urges, sexual chemistry. He clung to the hope that in the long run, Shar would choose a mindmate over a bed partner. What Anichent doesn’t see is that I am both, Thriss thought triumphantly.

  Neither she nor Anichent spoke of what would happen to Dizhei, who nurtured and loved them all, regardless of what her own future held. She cared more about their collective concerns than her own. Thriss’ own zhavey had chastised her once for their overlooking Dizhei’s needs, chalking it up to youthful myopia. As time passed, Thriss recognized her zhavey was right: Dizhei was the stabilizing influence that held their bond together.

  Thank the gods for Dizhei, Thriss thought. One of us needs to keep their wits about them.

  Quark leaned against the bar, both lobes focused on table 5 where Natima and Ro sat conversing. Normally, the layers of bar noise never interfered with his ability to follow whatever conversations were underway. He’d grown accustomed to filtering out the dings of the dabo wheel, the clatter of latinum at the tongo table, clinking glasses and the clicking heels of the servers as they raced across the floor to pick up their drink orders. But tonight, he swore Ro must have brought some privacy device to protect whatever female-talk she had planned with Natima. It was like that nightmare he had where he showed up at his vault to collect his latinum only to discover his vault was a front operation for a Bajoran Orphans Charity Fund. He’d given away everything he’d earned without realizing it. Talk about feeling naked before the universe! That same panicked sensation threatened to wash over him now as, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what those conniving females were up to. But oh, they’re lovely to look at, aren’t they?

  Natima, her thick hair sparkling with merlot-colored gems woven into the twist down her back and extending to her waist, wearing that crisp, shimmering red-black gown, the square neckline showing off enough of her fine, feminine assets to bring back pleasant memories of springwine and oomox. And Ro, zipped to the neck in some stretchy blue thing that looked far too Starfleetish for Quark’s preference, still had that dark, sexy tomboy aura going for her. Too bad Garak wasn’t around to offer Ro some off-duty wardrobe advice. He might have been able to persuade her to try something more flattering. Quark shuddered when he recognized the lunacy of that last thought. A female reduces me to missing Garak? Quark poured himself a shot of whiskey, threw it back in one swift motion and waited for the burning sensation in his eyes to recede. With all the chattering, he could only pick up the slightest hint of the timbre of Natima’s voice or the higher notes in Ro’s laugh.

  At least she’s laughing.

  But what if she was laughing at him?

  He’d thrown back a second shot before he’d even had a chance to consider how his staff might take advantage of his panic by pocketing their own tips. Quark made a mental note: Conduct locker and body searches before staff clocks out.

  Several stools away from where he stood, he noticed an unfamiliar Starfleet officer sitting quietly, sipping spoonfuls from a bowl of what looked like plomeek soup and reading the latest edition from the Federation News Service. He scoped her out. A thin, platinum band on her left hand, fine age lines around her eyes and a centered sensibility evidenced by how easily she focused on her reading in this noisy room. Discerning her descent (she was a bit too—pointy?—to be all human) proved challenging. Before he’d drawn any conclusions, he found a pair of steady green eyes fixed on him.

  “Hello,” she said. “You must be Quark.”

  “And you must be a new customer I need to impress. Can I get you something to drink?” He sauntered down the bar and cozied up to the new kid on the station. Pretty. Nice hands. Definitely on the curvy side of female. Add a plunging neckline and she’d be a dabo girl to be reckoned with.

  “Thanks. But the soup is fine until my husband gets here,” she said with a polite smile, and resumed reading.

  And what in that padd could possibly be more interesting than me? Maybe it was his approach. He tried again. “I’ve quite a selection of otherworldly delicacies. Can I get something going for you and your husband, Lieutenant Commander—”

  “Matthias. Actually, I believe he’s already eaten with our children. We’re meeting here before we attend Prylar Kanton’s B’hala lecture.”

  “A lecture?” Quark couldn’t hide how underwhelmed he was by her choice of entertainment. “A spin at the dabo wheel or a hand of tongo wouldn’t be more fun? Who knows—you might get lucky.”

  She tucked a loose amber-blond tendril behind her ea
r and took another spoonful of soup. “I’m certain the lecture will be very pleasant.”

  Pleasant. We wake up in the morning so our day can be pleasant? What a sad, sad life. He sighed. With Bajor about to join the Federation and the Militia poised to be assimilated into Starfleet, the fun quotient around here will plunge. One more reason to search for business options elsewhere…

  …A search that might be aided by one Ambassador Natima Lang, Quark suddenly realized, and reminded himself that he needed to keep her under his watchful eye.

  “My house specialty drinks are the perfect way to toast your pleasant evening,” he suggested to Matthias. “A Warp Core Breech? Black Hole? Triskelion Tidal Wave?”

  “I’ll pass. After all, once I’m done with the lecture—a pleasant part for him since he’s an archeologist—the excitement begins in the atrium with a candlelight dinner for two. The Chateau Mouton Rothschild we’re being served will be my drink quota for the night.”

  Quark grimaced. “Why settle for something as pedestrian as a Rothschild when I can offer you the seductive delights of a thousand worlds?”

  “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

  Quark tsked and left Matthias to her soup. Having Natima around must be throwing my game off, Quark thought. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone zero for five on a sale. He resumed his perch within eyesight of Natima and Laren.

  “You must be very fond of her,” Matthias observed, ostensibly attending to her padd.

  Quark twisted toward the officer, but realized she wasn’t looking at him. “Are you talking to me?”

  “You were involved with the Cardassian at that table, what, five or more years ago.” She paused, pondering her next words thoughtfully. “Things didn’t end well. You’re watching for an opening to go over there to find out what they’ve been talking about.”

  Oh please don’t let me be dealing with a telepath. I’ll never be able to fix the wheels again! Panic threatened to flood him.