Текст книги "This Gray Spirit "

Автор книги: Heathe Jarman

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

The first minister had taken the ambassador’s hand between his and had engaged her in an earnest conversation while Second Minister Asarem stood by. Kira recognized the fire in Shakaar’s face. He’s really excited about this.Standing less than a meter behind the admiral, Kira listened to the hopeful words being exchanged. When the conversation returned to Ziyal, she strained to hear Lang’s comments.

“Ziyal’s art, which embodies the traditions of both sides of her heritage,” she said, “is proof that we can be harmonious. We can find common ground. This dream she had—of belonging to both her people—can be realized by us.”

“Inspiring, Ambassador,” Admiral Akaar said, shaking her hand again. “I must confess to being quite moved by your presentation. I hope this does indeed set in motion a new era of understanding.”

Lang nodded graciously, thanking Akaar. Then she turned her gaze on Kira. “Ah, Colonel. I was hoping we would speak after the presentation.” she said. “Were you pleased?”

“‘Pleased’isn’t the first word that comes to mind, Ambassador, but I’ll echo the Admiral’s sentiments: I was very moved,” Kira replied. “May I say that you’re the perfect choice for this job. Good luck.”

“First Minister Shakaar and I were just discussing beginning formal negotiations as quickly as possible. He has designated Minister Asarem to be Bajor’s representative. But I was hoping you also would sit in on some of the talks, Colonel. That would be acceptable by you, First Minister, wouldn’t it? Assuming it doesn’t interfere with the colonel’s command duties?”

A look passed between Shakaar and Asarem, and for a fleeting moment, Kira sensed disapproval from the first minister. While she knew she wasn’t on the current list of Shakaar’s favorites, she couldn’t understand what would bother him about having her present during the talks. None of the others in the group appeared cognizant that anything passed between Asarem and Shakaar. Maybe I’m just imagining things…

Shakaar wrapped an arm around Kira’s shoulder. “First thing tomorrow, Colonel Kira will need to locate an appropriate spot to house the Ziyal exhibit. I’m anxious to make it available to the station population for viewing immediately.” He smiled down at Kira, who wondered what the hell he was doing with an arm around her in public. Leaving aside the fact that they were once romantically involved, it wasn’t professional—and showing public approval of Kira wouldn’t help push through his political agenda.

A waiter carrying a tray full of springwine passed behind her, giving her an inconspicuous way to maneuver away from Shakaar. “We’re going to display the artwork here?” Kira was a little surprised. It seemed more appropriate to exhibit it at the Chamber of Ministers or the Museum of Bajoran History and Art in Dakhor.

“For the time being, until we can package it in such a way that it can travel all over Bajor for all of our people to experience. I think there are enough individuals on the station who remember Ziyal that it’s particularly appropriate that it start out here. I’m certain you’ll do a wonderful job.” Shakaar carried on, seemingly oblivious that Kira had extricated herself from his embrace.

“However I can be of service,” Kira replied, taking a sip from her goblet. With Shakaar’s enthusiasm directed at preparing for the exhibit, she hoped the time had arrived when she could slip away before he demanded that she moonlight as the curator. Maybe one of these days he’d recognize that being a starbase commander was a full-time job! The reception had gone well, but she wanted to go back to worrying about malfunctioning docking clamps and temperamental Cardassian computers. “If you all don’t mind, I’d like to check in at ops. Duty calls and all that.” She stepped back, deposited her wine glass on a table and moved to leave when Lang stopped her.

“When you’re finished arranging for the exhibit, I look forward to your visiting the talks. I think you could offer them a unique perspective,” she said.

Before Kira could respond, Asarem, who had remained on the periphery of the conversation, stepped forward. “May I ask why you feel that way, Ambassador? Why you see Colonel Kira as being different from the rest of us? She’s Bajoran. A former resistance fighter even.” Asarem hadn’t exactly thrown down the gauntlet, but she had offered Lang her first direct challenge, the opening move in a game of strategy.

Kira had almost wormed her way out of the group when Shakaar grabbed her by the elbow and steered her back into the circle, presumably to hear Lang’s answer and provide any necessary clarification. Damn. So much for getting out of here in a timely fashion…

“Because Colonel Kira is a living witness to atrocities inflicted on my people, as well as her own,” Lang answered, countering Asarem’s pawn by moving out her own.

The conspicuous position Kira had been avoiding all evening finally found her; Admiral Akaar, Minister Asarem and Shakaar watched her, waiting for her response. Wait a minute, I’m not one of the players here—I’m not even the referee. What I think—what I feel—has absolutely no bearing on this situation.

And while Lang technically spoke the truth, Kira sensed that the ambassador’s perceptions of the facts contrasted strongly with the second minister’s perceptions of the same facts. She couldn’t read Asarem, however: the minister’s relaxed countenance betrayed nothing but impartiality. “I think you’re overstating my understanding of the circumstances, Ambassador Lang,” Kira said. “I’m only one person with one opinion.”

Admiral Akaar’s solemn face broke into a genial smile. “Among humans there is a saying that ‘No man is an island, entire of itself.’ Rather, every individual is a piece of the whole. I take that to mean that we do not have the luxury of thinking that our opinions—our actions—as individuals do not matter.”

“I understand what you’re saying, sir, but I hardly think that it’s fair to give my opinion that kind of weight, under the circumstances. I’m not—I can’t—speak for Bajor. That task has been assigned to Second Minister Asarem.” Kira deftly forfeited her turn in whatever game Asarem had instigated. She had no desire to launch a political career and she wasn’t about to be maneuvered into starting one. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Admiral, Minister Shakaar, Minister Asarem, Ambassador Lang, I have a station to run.”

Bowing out of the circle, she walked briskly away, her steps slowing when she discovered that Macet stood, like a sentinel, beside the exit. He smiled at her approach, which only got under her skin. Macet’s persistent, unwanted attention was like having an itchy rash you couldn’t scratch; except that, in this case, she wanted to scratch it with her fists.

“Gul Macet,” she said with a nod.

“Colonel. It appears another evening has passed without us finding a moment to talk.”

“That does, indeed, appear to be the case. We’ll have to address that situation very soon.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Colonel. I anticipate being on the station for some time.”

“I expect you will be. Now if you don’t mind—”

“Of course.” He unfolded his arm in a “after you” gesture, directing Kira toward the door.

Once she was safely beyond the reception room, beyond Macet’s eyeshot, she threw back her head and tensed her whole body. If it wasn’t Shakaar and his endless list of menial tasks or Lang wanting to use Kira as a buffer between her and Asarem, it was Macet, looking for a new friend. “Arrghh!” she growled, throwing a punch into the air.

Quark poked his head out of the doorway where he had been working. “You seem a little stressed there, Colonel.”

“What?” she snapped.

“You should let off some steam,” he said congenially. “Couple of hours in a holosuite. Buff Beach Boys of Risa.You might feel better. I’ll even give you a discount.”

“You’re being serious.”

“As a citizen of the community, I’m looking out for our best interests. A happy commander makes for a happy station.”

Kira narrowed her eyes. “And you signed up to be morale officer…when?”

“Well—”

“I should take advice from the used spaceship salesman who probably put personal profit before the well-being of his nephew’s best friend?” Kira wrapped her fists in his lapels. “I don’t think so.”

“What? Colonel, you can’t really think I’d ever do anything to hurt Jake,” he stammered. “You saw Nog’s report on the shuttle I sold him—”

“Yes, I saw it. And lucky you, everything he found cleared you of any culpability for Jake’s disappearance. But I’m more interested in what he may nothave found.”

“Really, Colonel, I was only trying to help your mood just now—”

“Twisting your ears off would help my mood. Are you volunteering? No? Then shut the hell up!” Shoving him out of her way, Kira stormed past him toward the turbolift, then stopped. “One more thing, Quark. If I ever find out that what happened to Jake was the result of your negligence, there won’t be a hole deep enough or dark enough for you to hide in. Are we clear?”

Quark frowned. “Crystal, Colonel,” he said quietly.

Following Thriss’s release from station security, Dizhei was relieved to see her rhythms return to normal. She seemed to enjoy the reception, though she was moved to tears by the message left by the late artist. The following day she ate meals with Dizhei and Anichent, something she’d stopped doing in recent weeks. She sent out several applications for available medical residencies and she was sleeping regular hours—not too much or too little.

Always an early riser, Dizhei awoke the morning of the second day after the reception to find that Thriss, too, was up, eating breakfast before an appointment with Counselor Matthias. Oh, please let us be through the worst of it,Dizhei thought. For the first time since they’d left Andor, she felt buoyed by hope.

Her cheery mood must have hastened their pace because they arrived in the station’s hub well before Thriss’s appointment. Since she hadn’t had a chance for quality time alone with Thriss since before the arrest, Dizhei guided her away from the flow of pedestrian traffic and into a mostly deserted corridor, used primarily for service access, with the hope that they could talk.

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Dizhei asked, squeezing Thriss’s hands tightly. “I can postpone my observations until later. The classrooms aren’t going anywhere.”

Thriss shook her head. “I’ll be fine. After my appointment with the counselor I’m going to do a little shopping. I saw a new variation of kal-tohon display that day we ate at the Replimat. I think Anichent would like it—he can play it solo since neither you nor I are very good at chess. And I want him to know how much I regret hurting him.”

After looking both ways in the hallway to assure that they were, indeed, alone, Dizhei sighed and leaned into her bondmate’s shoulder. “He knows, zh’yi.Despite the strife between us since we left Andor, he loves you deeply. And I think I’ve helped him see that you love him as well.”

“I do! I’m sorry you feel that you’re always caught between us. You manage your worries about Thirishar far better than we do—it becomes easy to take out our frustrations on each other, especially when Anichent’s always certain that he’s right,” Thriss said, with good humor. She leaned back against the wall. “Remember that day in sh’Dasath’s class when Anichent insisted that he knew better than sh’Dasath how to prove that theorem? Never mind that sh’Dasath had published papers on it. Anichent gets these ideas in his head…”

“I’d say between Shar, you and Anichent, it’s a miracle we find consensus on anything,” Dizhei said, taking Thriss by the hand. The feel of Thriss’s elegant fingers against her wrist soothed her worries more than words possibly could.

Suddenly Thriss turned to Dizhei, concern written on her face. “You do know that I don’t love Anichent any differently than I love you.”

“But you dolove Shar differently.”

Twisting a straying lock of hair between her fingers, Thriss blushed dark blue. “Sh’za—”

“It’s fine that you do, Shathrissía. I understand,” Dizhei reassured her. “Maybe it would be more truthful to say that I respect your feelings.” Or she hoped she did. She didn’t like what she perceived to be between Shar and Thriss because it existed outside the bond, but she tried to comprehend it because she couldn’t combat something she didn’t understand. Keeping the bond strong meant she had to work with what she’d been given, like it or not, because the bond was first. Always.

From the time she was little, Dizhei relished that she was the most rare of her species: all Andorian offspring originated from her gender. Her unique maternal role suited her own career inclinations toward taking care of and teaching children. The entire focus of who she was—of what she believed she should be—was this deeply felt longing she had to be a parent, to be a part of a bond and create a life. At an early age, she came to understand the significance of her gender identity; all her priorities, all her desires fell into line behind that role. If anything, she envied Thriss’s role as the zhavey.Their child would begin with Dizhei, but it was Thriss who would carry their offspring and give birth. Dizhei was continually astounded at how casually Thriss treated the privilege of carrying their child. What could possibly be a greater honor! Certainly not medical school or reputation. So many of their classmates had admired Thriss’ vibrant personality, her zeal for new experiences and how quick she was to question the dictates passed down by the Elders. Dizhei never found Thriss’s nonconformity as romantic as their peers did.

Since the day Thriss had been bonded to her, Dizhei had watched her zh’yi’s moods—her passions—dictate her life path. Not a commitment to principles. And for some years now, Thriss’s passions had centered on Shar; everything else was secondary. Even having a child seemed to be a means for Thriss to bind Shar closer to her instead of her life purpose.

The more she witnessed the consequences of Thriss and Shar’s decision to violate their bondgroup covenant, the more she recognized the Elders’ wisdom in establishing the boundaries of the shelthreth.Intimate acts belonged in a group context. Dizhei felt the longings, but as Thriss proved, the consequences for yielding could be dire; she refused to take the risk. Without proper guidance, Thriss might forfeit her responsibilities as zhaveyto follow Shar. Should that happen, Dizhei was prepared to do what she always had: fix whatever had broken.

Nuzzling Dizhei’s neck, Thriss sighed, bringing Dizhei back into the moment. She drew Thriss into her arms and held her close. I hope I’m wrong, zh’yi. I hope I’m wrong about many things.

“There’s nothing to understand, sh’za.I love you and Anichent the same as I love Shar,” Thriss said finally.

Dizhei pulled back, curled her hand around her bondmate’s cheek and considered the beloved and familiar face. Thriss’s words belied Dizhei’s own time-distant images of Shar, dappled in long shadows, pretending that everything was as it always was, though his darkened eyes said differently. She closed her eyes, relishing Thriss’ warmth and drawing comfort from her embrace. But as much as she might long to indulge Thriss’s romantic notions, Dizhei knew those notions threatened their greater purpose. She extracted herself from their embrace and took Thriss by both hands. “Don’t lie to me, zh’yi.”

“I don’t know what you’re—” Thriss protested, halfheartedly.

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Dizhei reiterated. “We’re betrothed. I sense these things. I’ve always known. Anichent knows, too, though he doesn’t want to admit it. We both know you and Shar shared tezha.”

Thriss flinched. “We didn’t do anything wrong. We belong to each other. You and I—we could share the same.” Thriss reached up to Dizhei’s face.

Dizhei pushed Thriss’s hand away. “It was a mistake. A serious one. But it’s done.” Even as Thriss confessed, envy twisted inside Dizhei, threatening to taint her with bitterness. She would not, she could not, allow herself to become the source of conflict. I will not condone—I will not give you permission to believe that what you’ve done is acceptable when it could still destroy everything we’ve worked for.Oh, how she wanted to shake the selfishness out of Thriss! To make her understand that she didn’t have the luxury of destroying herself without destroying Dizhei, too.

Even now, all these years later, Dizhei vividly felt each moment of the first day Shar and Thriss had violated the bondgroup covenant. The panic of the night before, when Thriss and Shar had been missing, hadn’t yet subsided. Shar claimed he’d been performing research for his environmental studies class; Thriss had gone off to find him and they had spent the night away from the compound after becoming lost. Both her bondmates claimed that nothing forbidden had passed between them and Dizhei believed them. Especially Shar, who had barely contained his frustration with Thriss.

For hours, Dizhei had waited for Shar to return from his disciplinary conference, but he never appeared. She had checked with Anichent, Zhadi,and the school before discovering Thriss was gone. How long had she stood in the corridor, waiting for Thriss to come with her to dinner—the wait felt endless. When Thriss finally showed up, she had been so overcome, both physically and emotionally, that she could hardly move. Collapsed on her bed, Thriss drifted between sleep and delirious consciousness while Dizhei, numbed with jealousy, worry and fear, sat beside her, uncertain what to do next. Tell Charivretha? Tell Thriss’s zhavey?The Elders? She worried that if she did tell, it would ruin everything. That the Elders would punish Thriss and Shar, and perhaps put in jeopardy everything Dizhei lived for.

She kept Thriss’s secret. But she had never fully trusted Thriss since.

“You must hate us for what we did…” Thriss’s voice trailed off.

“I could never hate you,” Dizhei said, she hoped convincingly. A maintenance worker emerged from a supply closet. He nodded a polite greeting. Dizhei waited until he’d passed before saying, “We can’t talk here.”

Guiding Thriss farther away from the corridor, Dizhei found a darkly lit nook offering them greater privacy. “You know I’m not my zhavey’s only shei,” Dizhei continued in a husky whisper. “Having had two siblings go before me, I saw some of what goes on after the shelthreth.I think I understand better than Anichent. He sees things narrowly. He sees our obligations as being precise, exact—not negotiable. Anything that he perceives as undercutting our greater purpose pains him.”

“Which is why he wasn’t happy when Shar took this assignment so quickly after the war. Instead of coming back to Andor,” Thriss observed.

Dizhei nodded. “And why he’s never been happy with the risk you and Shar took.”

“Has he always known? I mean, like you?”

“Anichent probably knew on some intuitive level, but he didn’t know, in fact, until Shar left for the Gamma Quadrant and I told him.”

“Is that why he’s been more angry with me than usual?”

Dizhei nodded.

“I’m so sorry, sh’za.”Thriss leaned forward and brushed her lips on Dizhei’s forehead. “Believe me when I tell you that I want what’s best, too. I can’t wait to become a zhavey,but I don’t think I’ll be very good unless I have lots of help from you.”

Dizhei knew that Thriss meant well; she didn’t want to hurt anyone. If Dizhei could believe Thriss, their lives would be considerably simpler. But Dizhei had spent too many years following behind her, mending whatever Thriss had carelessly broken, to accept her bondmate’s word. She thought about pursuing the conversation further but after taking note of the time decided they needed to move on. A quick hug would have to suffice.

With a gentle, but firm hand on the small of Thriss’ back, Dizhei steered her toward Matthias’s office. Keeping Thriss focused on most pressing concerns had always been her role and Dizhei anticipated it would take her soft-glove discipline to assure that they all ended up back on Andor as soon as possible.

Word of the proposed exhibit spread quickly through the station community. Daily, dozens of private petitions filled Kira’s message queue before lunch, variations on requests that the art be placed as far away from/as close to, their quarters/place of business/place of worship as possible. As she considered the list of spaces available for the Ziyal exhibit, Kira concluded that no option would please everyone. A curator from the Bajoran Museum in Ashalla would be arriving tomorrow, but Kira, who had the final decision, planned to consult with the expert before making a public announcement. At least that way, she would share the blame.

As much buzz as was floating around the station regarding the exhibit, the peace talks figured even more prominently in conversation. Kira’s curiosity was piqued—she hoped to find the time to drop by and see the delegations in action—but snarls in the implementation of yellow alert protocols often required her personal attention. On the surface, those who saw Deep Space 9 as a spaceport understood the importance of increased security, but the pragmatic reality of changing plans, rescheduling deliveries, changing course or having cargo inspected inconvenienced more than a few ship captains. People tended to be very accommodating—as long as they didn’t need to do the accommodating. Until her day-to-day duties became less laborious, Kira had to be satisfied with ops gossip if she wanted to stay updated on the battle of wills between Lang and Asarem.

Because the talks weren’t public, the only record of the goings on came from individuals who had been in attendance. Eavesdropping on two Militia corporals, Kira learned that the first few days of talks had accomplished little. She hadn’t expected that the gulf separating Cardassia and Bajor would be bridged overnight, but she thought that Asarem would at least take a step. Find consensus on something, like come to an agreement about when to come to an agreement! From what she could gather, Lang’s methodically planned agenda outlined discussions on issues ranging from sharing medical technology to assuring the rights of Bajoran nationals while on Cardassia. Asarem’s approach had been to nitpick every detail and definition Lang raised.

The days allegedly played out thus: Lang would explain Cardassia’s concerns, what their position was on the issue and where they wanted input from Bajor. She would then look to Minister Asarem to elucidate the Bajoran response. So far, the breadth of Asarem’s commentary consisted of variations on: “That sounds reasonable. I’ll take it under consideration. What else would you like to discuss?” That Asarem was listening was positive; that she wasn’t engaged in dialogue was puzzling. During her days in the Chamber of Ministers, she’d had a reputation as a tenacious debater and orator. To sit in a chair, hands folded in front of her, watching impassively—didn’t sound like Asarem. It was distinctly possible that the minister’s approach wasn’t being fairly represented.

This, Kira knew, having based her suppositions on snippets of second-hand accounts, was a situation she planned on remedying as soon as possible. Because she anticipated being busy with the curator in the morning, she planned on dropping in at the end of her shift. As seemed to be the case every day, a situation arose that prevented her doing as she’d planned. Irregular Core readings troubled the engineering staff and they requested she remain in ops, should an emergency decision be required. Since the Core transplant, the engineering crews had been especially vigiliant, always on the lookout for the one item they might have overlooked; Kira appreciated their thoroughness. When the diagnostics concluded, the acting chief engineer was satisfied, allowing Kira to escape. Though the hour was late, it wouldn’t be unprecedented for the delegations to still be working.

Rounding one of the last corners before the conference room, Kira encountered the retinal scanner and voice imprint unit Ro had felt so strongly about installing. Lang had repeatedly reassured them that such precautions weren’t necessary; she felt as safe as she could under the circumstances. Though safety was a concern, Kira knew Ro’s primary motive in installing a checkpoint wasn’t to protect the diplomats. She reasoned that if someone wanted to assassinate a member of either delegation, they’d have easier access from a location other than the conference rooms. No, Ro intended to monitor who went in and out of the conference rooms at all hours, should questions arise. Those authorized to pass had been approved by Lang, Shakaar and Kira. No one else needed access. Unauthorized personnel attempting to maneuver past the checkpoint would be stopped and interrogated.

On her way down the hall, she passed by a cleaning team—a couple of Bajorans she recognized as having worked in the Habitat Ring public areas—but otherwise, the sector was utterly silent, save the sound of her footfalls.

The talks must be over for the day,she thought, disappointed. Kira resolved to return first thing in the morning, when an odd scent attracted her attention. Ozone. Burnt synthetic materials—not organic. Maybe one of the nearby labs had a waste disposal problem, sending the aroma wafting through the air ducts. She resisted the impulse to call for an environmental systems diagnostic, choosing to investigate the situation herself. Scorch permeated the air the closer she came to the conference room. Wondering if a replicator was malfunctioning inside, she deactivated the door lock, grateful when a billow of smoke didn’t greet her.

Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimmed lighting. When they did, she scanned the room for evidence of anything amiss and saw that most everything seemed to be in place…

…Save the silver, green, and sand-colored Cardassian flag draped over one of the chairs, stripped from the pole behind it, scarred with angry, carbonized wounds. The gleaming edge of a knife blade glinted in the starlight, stabbed through the heart of the chair.

Cursing, she stepped back into the foyer, instinctively touching her combadge. “Kira to security. We have a situation on level 10, section 65, conference room 4. I want a team up here now.”