Текст книги "This Gray Spirit "

Автор книги: Heathe Jarman

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 30 страниц)

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 shelthrethand 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 zhaveymade 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 zhadigrew, 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 fight?“View the logs. I don’t care.”

“I respect my ch’teenough 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 zhaveyto 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 shelthrethbecause 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 zhaveyhad chastised her once for their overlooking Dizhei’s needs, chalking it up to youthful myopia. As time passed, Thriss recognized her zhaveywas 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 tongotable, 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 dabowheel or a hand of tongowouldn’t be more fun? Who knows—you might get lucky.”

She tucked a loose amber-blond tendril behind her ear 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 pleasantevening,” 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 pleasantpart for him since he’s an archeologist—the excitementbegins 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 tskedand 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.

Matthias must have noticed his discomfort because she quickly clarified her comments. “I spent five years doing field research in inter-species anthropology. Studying the body language patterns and brain stem physiological reactions of a number of Alpha Quadrant sentients. Most individuals fail to realize how much their unconscious reactions reveal about them.”

Being a man whose work it was to know what his customers wanted without asking, Quark appreciated her area of study. “Remarkable that you can know so much without reading my mind.”

“I didn’t say that,” she teased. “I have some Vulcan ancestry, but it’s a few generations back on my father’s side. Your secrets are safe, Quark.”

“Secrets? I have no secrets. My life is an open book.”

“True. Ferengi aren’t particularly complicated to decipher.”

“Not particularly complicated?” Quark felt like he’d just been insulted.

“No,” she said, unapologetically.

“So you can just look at whoever happens to walk into the room and after a relatively short observation figure who and what that person is about.”

“More or less. Some sentients are more obscure than others.”

“You don’t say?” Now that’s a talent a good businessman could learn to exploit.“What about him?” Quark asked, indicating Morn, who sat in his usual seat, nursing a tall mug of frothy ale. The Lurian turned toward Matthias and blinked blearily.

“He falls into the obscure category,” she said.

Impressed, Quark considered asking Commander Matthias if she could share a few tips that would enhance his already formidable skills in the fine art of behavioral profiling, but before he could open his mouth, in walked a Bajoran man with smooth pate and a thick, but neatly trimmed brown-black beard. Decently tailored clothes for an academic. Quark watched as the man cast a glance around the room, smiling when he spotted Matthias; he moved speedily to her side. The husband, I presume.

Their animated whispers held no interest for Quark. Before he could ask the husband if maybe he wanted a spin at the dabo wheel, Matthias pushed away her half-emptied soup bowl. Holding hands like newlyweds,Quark thought cynically, as they left the bar presumably to hear Prylar Kanton’s scintillating lecture on the wonders of B’hala.

Morn watched him, straight-faced.

“What are you looking at Mr. Obscure?” Quark snapped, sending his best customer scurrying off for cover behind the new dabo boy, guessing correctly that Quark’s glare wouldn’t find him there. Quark spent a good part of his day pretending he didn’t have a dabo boy.

“Table 6 wants the Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” Treir said, sidling up beside him.

Quark also spent a good part of his day pondering those staff members most likely to exploit any weakness on the part of management. “We don’t have a Dabo-Dom-Jot Special,” he answered, waiting to see what angle Treir was coming from. She had to have one: she wouldn’t be Treir if she didn’t.

“I invented it after I realized that the gentleman at table 6 will cough up one bar of gold-pressed latinum for the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.” She indicated an assorted group of humans, smuggler or mercenary types, huddling in a corner of the bar.

Quark grinned. Holosuites going for five times their usual rates. Latinum for bogus package deals, and two gorgeous females sitting right in his eye line. Maybe things weren’t going so bad, even if he couldn’t understand a single word those females were saying!He composed himself. This was business, after all. “By all means, offer them the Special.”

“See, the thing is, if I become the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special, I want fifteen percent instead of my usual five percent,” she said, dropping seasoning tablets into half a dozen Black Holes.

Treir, there isn’t a tar pit big enough or dark enough to hold your evil mind.“No deal.” He wasn’t in the mood to take more punishment at female hands than he had to. He’d figure out his own bogus package deal and charge more.

“Fine. I’ll tell them to check out the Fifth Moon Casino on their way home to New Sydney. Their Dabo-Dom-Jot special is only 45 strips, anyway.”

“Ten percent,” he countered.

“I would have settled for eight, but thanks for the bonus.”

An incongruity in Treir’s tale occurred to him. “How could the Fifth Moon Casino charge 45 strips for their Dabo-Dom-Jot special if you invented it?”

Her white teeth shone against her jade complexion.

Whatever temporary stupidity was afflicting him had better go away in a hurry. He’d be giving every dabo girl vacation days before the night was out. And there was the legitimate possibility he was worrying about nothing. He needed intelligence, but he wasn’t about to waltz over there and talk to Natima and Ro directly. “Excuse me, ladies, somebody here mention my name?” What an idiot!If they weren’t laughing about him already, they’d certainly be laughing about him after that.

Quark needed a spy.

“Treir, you haven’t had a chance to see if table 5 needs their drinks refreshed. I happen to know the Cardassian ambassador has a fondness for Samarian Sunsets.”

“Translated: Have I heard any good gossip eavesdropping on your girlfriends?”

“You got your extra five percent. I’d say that’s worth something.”

Treir sighed. “Natima said something about someone never guessing that she was faking it because if she let things go any further, he’d find out that—”

Quark held up a hand to silence her. “I’ve heard enough, thanks. Go be the Dabo part of the Dabo-Dom-Jot special.”

“I need to change first,” she said. “Oh. And Councillor zh’Thane’s party is up next for the holosuites. You might want to send a ten-minute warning to the group in there now. Never know if they’re in a compromising position.” She sauntered into the backroom.

He mulled over Treir’s tidbit. His stomach tightened. He imagined every possible permutation of conversation that might lead to those comments from his former lover and the object of his present pursuit and he liked none of them. From the rear, the sounds of the cellar hatch slamming closed and storage clattering to the floor gave him one more reason to worry. What was Treir doing back there?

Treir emerged, a florescent pink hairpiece mounted on her head, a short spangled dress dangling beads and pearlized bells. The outfit had much in common with an exploding wedding dais.

“Um, Treir. About what you’re wearing…” Quark began.

“They were talking about the oddest place they’d ever hid a weapon, by the way,” she whispered in his ear as she pranced by.

In that moment, Quark had enough. Either that, or the whiskey had finally unbound his courage.

A Ferengi’s gotta do what a Ferengi’s gotta do,Quark recited in his mind, steeling himself to face Natima. The 100th Rule of Acquisition. He slid a tray off the rack, ordered up a couple of drinks and started off on what he hoped would appear to be a leisurely stroll across the floor.

“He’s coming,” Ro said, quietly. Because Lang’s chair only half faced the bar, Ro had kept Quark under surveillance. Once they’d transcended the usual swapping of histories and small talk, the status of their dealings with Quark had come up. Ro explained her still ambiguous intentions toward him; Lang related the story of their affair. Resolving that neither woman had any reason to compete with the other, they closed the book on Quark in just under five minutes by placing a small wager on how long he would be able to endure watching them from a distance before his curiosity—or anxiety—drove him to check on them.

“He lasted longer than I thought he would,” Lang said.

“You think he’s built up a good head of paranoia?”

“Probably. I’ll pay you after we settle up our bill.”

“That’s all right. Winning’s enough for me.”

“Ah! You enjoy the game more than the prize. I respect that.” Lang grinned, raised her glass of kanarand clinked a toast with Ro.

“Ladies,” Quark said, sliding the drink tray onto their table. “Thought I’d bring over a little theme drink I’ve concocted for the reception. See if you think the diplomatic corps will approve. I call it a Peace Treaty. Starts off provocative, ends on a smooth note.”

“Thanks, Quark,” Ro said, taking a drink from the tray and passing it to Natima before taking one for herself. Ro choked, barely avoiding spitting up. “A bit heavy on the syrup.”

Thoughtfully, Natima palmed the glass, swirling the liquid around and delicately smacked her lips as if to contemplate the drink’s overtones. “The sweet juxtaposes the fire of the whiskey nicely.”

“Sounds like the dealings between your governments could take awhile, eh, ladies?” Quark said, bussing empty appetizer dishes onto the drink tray. “Consensus can be hard to come by.”

“No, I think we’ve found consensus on many things,” Natima said, her sparkling eyes searching out Ro’s.

Taking her cue, Ro nodded in agreement. “Absolutely. I think Bajorans and Cardassians can find a lot of common ground.”

“Oh. I suppose that’s positive,” Quark said, glancing between the women. “So…”

“So…” Natima echoed.

He stood in front of the table, tapping his foot, waiting, and clearly hoping that one of his guests would say something. Ro felt no obligation to rescue Quark. His seeming inability to string together a snappy comeback was a rare enough occurrence to be novel to her. She contented herself with surveying the crowd; playing security chief for a minute or two couldn’t hurt anything. Besides, if anything was going to get out of hand tonight, she’d like advance notice. A large cluster of off-duty Starfleet personnel moved aside, giving her full view of Councillor zh’Thane accompanied by Shar’s bondmates. Now was as good a time as any to update zh’Thane’s party regarding her special request.

And let poor Quark off the hook.

“Quark, why don’t you have a seat? I have an early shift and some business to take care of,” Ro said, rising. “And put all this on my tab, would you? Ambassador, it’s been a delight.”

Lang raised her glass again as Ro stood up. “The pleasure was mine, Lieutenant.”

“We still have our evening together, Laren?” Quark said, a bit too loudly.

Lang covered her mouth with her hand, but not before a guffaw escaped.

Ro sighed. “Once everyone’s adjusted to the new security protocols and the reception is over, I’ll be able to make definite plans,” Ro explained, “But I think I’ll be ready to put in a holosuite reservation soon.” She gave Natima a little wink and headed off to meet with zh’Thane.

“Lieutenant Ro and I are exploring the possibility of a social relationship,” Quark said after she’d left.

“She mentioned that you two got along pretty well,” Natima said.

He watched Ro cross over to where the Andorian party—all four of them—waited for their holosuite. He’d heard rumors about some of the unique quirks of Andorian biology and was—intrigued?—by the commercial possibilities. “Hmmm. Now there’s a holoprogram I’m certain would be a big hit: ‘Andorian Ecstasy: Good Things Come In Fours.’ Never occurred to me before now, but it might have more wide-scale appeal than just for Andorians. Few people know about Andorians and how they, you know.” He grinned luridly. “Very hush-hush.”

Natima rolled her eyes. “And is it possible that they tend to be a private people precisely to avoid having their intimate relationships exploited by entrepreneurial Ferengi?”

“All sentients are motivated by the need to eat and the need to reproduce. It’s variety in both that keeps life interesting.”

“So you see yourself as the host at a buffet table of exotic delights of all shapes and sizes?”

“Precisely.”

“Quark, as much as the universe changes, you always somehow manage to stay the same.” Natima shook her head.

Quark stopped smiling and found himself staring deeply into her eyes. “Another thing that hasn’t changed is how much you mean to me, Natima.” Quark reached over, placing his hand over hers. “Every bit of news out of Cardassia, every report, I looked for your face—your name—hoping you were safe.”

“I have to confess even with everything that’s happened to my people in recent years, my thoughts have often traveled back here, because I was worried about you, too. I had a feeling you’d make it.”

“Takes more than a few wars to kill me off.”

“I believe that.”

Quark sighed. “I’m happy you’re here, Natima.”

She smiled, and placed her hand over his. “Me, too.”

Other than when she’d first admitted them to Shar’s quarters, Ro had never seen his bondmates all together. A pair might go shopping on the Promenade; from time to time she’d pass by one in the Habitat Ring, or while crossing over the various bridges to different levels of the station, but never in a group. She suspected they avoided it deliberately. Wherever they went people would talk simply because, to a person, they were striking.

The one sitting next to zh’Thane had an angular handsomeness he emphasized by wearing his hair pulled back tightly from his face. His choice of clothes—a shirt in a vivid hue of teal coupled with an ornately embroidered vest—reflected fashion sensibility Quark would appreciate. In the middle sat the bondmate Ro had met one day in the Replimat—a talkative, friendly individual, especially compared to Shar, who said little unless he was spoken to. Having explained that she was a teacher, she’d inquired about sitting in and observing the station’s classrooms and Ro had forgotten she’d promised to get back to her. Ro made a mental note to add that to her task list for the morning. If she had to guess, she’d pick the Andorian who sat, just a bit a part from the other two, as the “problem” zh’Thane had come to see her about.

Unlike the congenial stockiness of the chatty one who sat beside her, she had a lean, willowy look, emphasized by her choice to wear her long white hair straight and smooth. She must have sensed Ro’s scrutiny because suddenly Ro found herself facing a pair of piercing gray eyes.

“Lieutenant?” she said, her voice silvery toned.

“Umm. Yeah.” Ro grabbed an empty chair from a close-by table, placed it in front of the Andorians’ booth, threw a leg over and straddled it. “Yes. I apologize for interrupting your night out, but I’ve got good news regarding your trip.”

Her eyes narrowing on Ro, the willowy one said, “Trip? What trip?”

“Thriss,” zh’Thane warned.

Puzzled glances passed between the other two bondmates and Ro wondered if zh’Thane had told them about her request for an exemption. Maybe this was a mistake and I should have handled this one-on-one with the councillor.

Zh’Thane must have noticed their apprehension because she quickly said, “Remember we talked yesterday about the timetable for your return to Andor? I’m anxious to hear what you’ve learned, Lieutenant.”

Warily, Thriss watched Ro, her expression flinty.

Ignoring Thriss, Ro took her cue from the senior member of the group and proceeded. “Colonel Kira paged me a short time ago with her approval for your emergency departure exemption. Everything checks out—your ship, Councillor, will be free to leave the station on an ‘as needed’ basis.”

Confusion erupted.

“Dizhei, you discussed this with Zhadi?”one of the Andorians said, anxious. “I thought we’d decided to keep it to ourselves—”

“I thought after what happened this morning—”

“—believed you and Anichent were in agreement—”

Shathrissía kept silent, her eyes solemn. Ro saw her hands curl around the edge of the table, her breathing deepen.

“We can’t risk—”

“—room for last-minute—”

“Wait!” Ro said, bringing her palm down on the table, a little harder than she intended. At the sound, four pairs of eyes fixed on her.

“No one said you had specific plans. Your situation isn’t much different, except now you have the option of leaving on short notice without having to go through all the procedures required by a yellow-alert status.” She turned to zh’Thane. “I have the codes at my office. I’ll have them sent to your quarters, Councillor. Provide them to ops and you’ll be allowed to depart without question.”

“So you all conspired to return to Andor without talking to me about it,” Thriss said softly. “When was this decided? You and Anichent have a little pillow talk, Dizhei? Or was it your idea, Zhadi?Trying to control us, as usual.” Thriss jerked around to face zh’Thane, tipping over a mug filled with Orion ale; liquid drenched the table.

Flustered, Dizhei jumped up. Thriss sat fixed, unbending, ignoring the disturbance she’d caused.

“We hadn’t decided anything without discussing it with you, Shathrissía,” Anichent said. He draped an arm around her shoulder and hugged her reassuringly. “We had to make sure the proposal was feasible. All is well, zh’yi.”