11

VAUGHN WOKE FROM A DREAM OF PRYNN, A VERY YOUNG PRYNN WHO shouted meaningless, angry sounds at him while he tried in vain to speak. For a second after he opened his eyes, he could still see her, just a child, could feel a wisp of hope that it wasn’t too late to mend things

and then someone was signaling at the door, the sound that had pulled him from his dream. He scrambled to remember where he was, and why.

Parasites. Bajor.

“Come,” he managed, sitting up on the cot, feeling achy and mildly feverish. He’d slept in his clothes. Again.

At Vaughn’s acknowledgment, Lenaris Holem stepped into the field shelter, a look of strain around the general’s eyes as he smiled. A wash of daylight came with him, brighter than it should have been.

“Commander,” Lenaris said, and though his tone was warm, the pinched look didn’t diminish.

Vaughn swung his legs to one side of the cot, blinking at the timepiece on the wall. Was that right? He’d slept well into morning, hours past when he normally rose. Why hadn’t anyone come for him?

“I thought you were at Rakantha,” Vaughn said, willing himself to stand up, finding that he couldn’t work up the enthusiasm. He stayed seated on the edge of his cot, feeling a first note of alarm at Lenaris’s presence as the irregularities piled up. Late morning, Lenaris back at Hedrikspool, the look on the younger man’s face

“New outbreak?”

Lenaris shook his head, his smile fading. “Nothing like that.”

Something in his tone

Vaughn instinctively thought of Prynn, but said nothing, drawing the straight face that he’d spent so many years perfecting

and was able to tell by the thread of concern in the general’s gaze that it wasn’t so perfect anymore.

“Have a seat, General,” Vaughn said, keeping his tone mild. “Mind telling me what’s going on?”

Lenaris moved to one of the wall benches across from him and sat down, leaning forward. “You need a break. I’m sending you to the monastery in Ashalla for a few days, to get some rest.”

Vaughn stared at him. “Are you kidding? We’re in the middle of a major operation. I don’t have the time or the inclination to ‘rest.’ In case you hadn’t noticed, things are getting worse around here.”

Lenaris nodded wearily. “I’ve noticed. But last night’s scans say you’re not up for it.”

Damn doctors. Vaughn remembered thinking that the routine visit had been longer than usual.

“Your serotonin levels have continued to drop, and now your blood pressure is up,” the general continued. “You’re overtired. I’ve already discussed the matter with Colonel Kira, and both she and Akaar agree.”

“This is ridiculous,” Vaughn said, feeling himself flush, disconcerted that conversations had been carried on about his medical status. “There have been seven new cases reported in the last two days—”

“Eleven,” Lenaris interrupted. “Remember? The four at Hill, yesterday morning.”

“Right,” Vaughn said, but felt his self-righteous windup winding back down. He’d forgotten. “I’m perfectly capable of doing my job, and

and I don’t need this right now, General. Please. I need to work. I can get one of the docs to prescribe something.”

Lenaris shook his head sympathetically. “Let’s not argue about this, Commander. It’s a medical leave, there’s no shame in it.”

Easy for you to say, you’re not the one being shipped off to take a nap. Vaughn wanted to say something more, to fight his case, but there was nothing to be said. If Akaar knew, it was over; when Starfleet pulled someone on a medical, they meant it.

And you can’t deny you need the rest. The thought was a flash of clarity. He needed something. He was spinning out of control, plagued with guilt and some as yet unnamed turmoil that was driving him crazy. If he didn’t get to the root of it, do something to heal himself, he was headed for vapor lock.

“Who’s going to step in?” he asked quietly.

“It’s only for a few days, a week, perhaps,” Lenaris said. “Bowers and I can handle it. If for some reason we can’t, both the colonel and the admiral have promised to send aid.”

With resources spread as thinly as they were, those promises hadn’t been made lightly. The feelings inspired weren’t good ones, and again, some of it must have showed. The general stepped forward and clasped Vaughn’s shoulder, a light squeeze.

“The choice wasn’t yours to make, and dwelling on it won’t change anything. You’re off duty, Commander. My own transport is standing by to take you to Ashalla.”

“Why a monastery?”

“Because it’s about as far from your responsibilities as I can send you out without shipping you off planet.” He stepped back and smiled slightly. “I’ll see you soon,” he said firmly, and with a final nod, turned and walked out.

Vaughn stared after him a moment, then stood, gazing around the shelter for his bag. The general was right; frustration and self pity would be a waste of effort. And the sooner he got on with it, the sooner he’d be fit to return to duty.

Lucky me, he thought tiredly, and started to pack.

Though he made the effort to be punctual in spite of his busy schedule, Prynn was already waiting for Shar when he arrived at Quark’s for their lunch. She’d chosen a small table near the base of the stairs that led to the holosuites, half hidden by shadow. She smiled brightly when he sat down.

“I’m sorry if I’m late,” Shar said, but Prynn shook her head, still smiling.

“You’re right on time. I was a little early.”

Shar nodded, returning her smile as best he could. He still wasn’t certain why she’d wanted to meet, but suspected she might be trying to learn more about the true nature of the station’s lockdown. It was the reason he’d agreed to the meeting in the first place, to divert her from her questions

though he’d been surprised to discover, on his way to the Promenade, that he felt some measure of gratitude for the invitation. As the shock of his personal situation wore off, the pain grew. Immersion in his work was proving to be a suitable distraction, but his few spare moments returned him to a deeply felt despondency, one he thought might linger for some time. Perhaps always. He hoped that the company of another might at least relieve the monotony of it.

Prynn seemed both distracted and overly intent, somehow, though it took Shar a while to notice the slight differences from her regular behavior. He, too, was distracted, thinking of the long day still ahead after the morning’s briefing. His time was much in demand.

The Federation defense against the parasites was not progressing as quickly as anyone had hoped. Three more cases of infection had been caught on board, two of them security guards. Early on, Colonel Kira had let it “get out” that the infected had been sent to Bajor on an important and secret project, but friends and loved ones of the missing people had started to ask questions, and others were taking notice. Kira had called for a tighter lock on information; they’d all been scanned at the door of the conference room, and had agreed to submit to random scans throughout the day, which intensified the need for better portable equipment.

Nog still needed him on the Defiant, especially since Lieutenant Dax had come aboard and ordered the ship’s status upgraded to departure-readiness until further notice. At the same time, they had to continue working on improving the accuracy of the handheld medical scanners while on board. On the medical front, the Cardassian enzyme had turned out to be valueless as a deterrent for non-Cardassians; initial tests had shown that it actually destroyed membranous tissue in other humanoids. Dr. Bashir wanted Shar’s input on a light-spectrum test, to determine whether or not the parasites could be driven out by certain bands. It seemed there was some precedent for it in other parasitic species, though Shar had yet to read the file. Another task on his list of many.

And yet I am here, Shar thought, watching Prynn Tenmei order their food, wondering if he should feel shame for it, deciding that he did not. He slept only a few hours each day, and thought that half an hour of time spent eating with a friend was acceptable behavior, in spite of the crisis. He hadn’t known Prynn long, but she was an unusually forthright person, a trait he admired.

She carried the conversation as they waited for their order, jumping casually but skillfully from topic to topic, following no particular theme. He found himself able to relax somewhat, to let her steer his thoughts away from his work, from his lost mates and his zhavey. He still hadn’t spoken with Charivretha, since before Dizhei and Anichent had gone, and wasn’t sure what to expect when he finally did. Would she take pity on his sorrow, be merciful? Resigned, as before? Angry? Perhaps she would choose not to speak with him at all; it was a thought that carried both horror and a strange kind of relief.

As their foods arrived—steamed vegetables over sticky spya—Prynn finished an anecdote about an instructor they’d both known at the Academy and fell silent, eating a few bites, watching him tuck his hair behind his ears to avoid trailing it in his plate. He noted again that she was distracted

but no, “distracted” wasn’t the term. She seemed introspective, perhaps, but was giving off a slight tension. He could sense it.

“How’s your food?” she asked.

Shar sampled a chunk of vegetable matter, some form of green squash. The sauce was well spiced. “Very good, thank you.”

Prynn nodded, then took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “May I ask you a personal question?”

“Yes,” Shar said, after a hesitation. It seemed likely that she’d want to know about his mates, and he didn’t wish to discuss them. But he didn’t want to be rude, either.

“Do Andorians have romantic or sexual liaisons outside their species?” she asked bluntly, and took another bite of her food.

Shar was surprised. It was an odd query, and he wasn’t used to discussing Andorian social patterns. It seemed a harmless enough question, though.

“They do,” he said, “but it isn’t encouraged. And it isn’t acceptable until after their children have grown to maturity. We must

there must be proper role modeling for the young.”

“Even off-planet?” Prynn asked. “I mean, if there are no children around

“

Shar nodded. “It’s more acceptable, but is still rarely done.”

“Why is that?”

He thought for a moment. “I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose because we’re all so thoroughly indoctrinated into the need for bonding. Mating is so very important, for the future of our world

.”

He trailed off, unhappy with himself and uneasy discussing it. Prynn seemed sympathetic, but she wasn’t finished, either.

“And if you have no mates?” she asked, her voice gentle.

She was asking what he meant to do, now that his mating seemed unlikely. A friend’s concern, he supposed

except there was a curiosity to her expression that suggested more than that, a carefully reigned eagerness, like a hunger

.

Shar blinked, suddenly understanding. He felt himself flush slightly and looked down at his plate, unsure of what he should say. He wasn’t entirely naive; he’d been propositioned a number of times, mostly while a student at the Academy, and had been told more than once that he was attractive by many humanoid standards

but that had been before, when his life had already been decided. He’d loved Thriss and Dizhei and Anichent, and would be bonded to them; there had been no question of romance, and nothing beyond a mild interest for him in physically coupling with any other. Thriss had been his only one

.

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Prynn said, frowning. “I didn’t mean to—”

Shar forced a smile. “That’s all right,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” she said. “I’ve been thoughtless. I’m sorry. I just

I like spending time with you, and I was wondering what your situation is, now.”

As uncomfortable as he was with the conversation, it was a fair question

but one he hadn’t even begun to answer for himself. He managed to meet her gaze again, saw sincerity and concern there, and told her the truth.

“I don’t know,” he said. “And I may not know for a while.”

Prynn nodded. “Then forget I asked, for a while,” she said, and smiled warmly at him. “Let me subtly change the subject. Have you ever had coconut? It’s a kind of fruit, I think, from Earth, and they make this pie out of it

.”

She managed to convince him to try a piece of coconut pie for dessert, and went back to carrying a light and interesting conversation as they finished their meals. He did what he could to enjoy the time, but found himself quite distracted by what they’d discussed. What was his situation? He was not at all ready to pursue an intimacy with another, not so soon after the dissolution of his betrothal and Thriss’s death

but his life seemed likely to continue for some time, and the thought of spending all of it alone was a bleak one.

After the pie—which was, to Shar’s taste, unique and mildly unpleasant—the lunch was concluded, and they walked out together. Shar had to get to the Defiant, and Prynn was on her way to a general security briefing, one that Lieutenant Ro had devised; it had been discussed at the morning’s meeting. The idea was to suggest that station residents travel in groups, to encourage vigilance and deter possible terrorist attack. It wasn’t the most logical reasoning, but as Ro had pointed out, they had to do something to keep the parasites from spreading. It was a strategic necessity, their continued silence on the subject, but in some ways, keeping the secret was doing more harm than good.

They walked past the Jem’Hadar and the small gray Trelian, both of whom had become something of a fixture in Quark’s—and according to Nog, a current source of Quark’s complaints. As they passed, Shar noted that the Trelian girl gave off an energy similar to the Jem’Hadar’s. Interesting. From Taran’atar, Shar believed it was violence held in check, a necessary suppression of his nature. The girl, he didn’t know well enough to say, though such extreme passion seemed unlikely. Both wore expressionless faces, seemingly calm as they surveyed the patrons passing in and out of the restaurant and on the Promenade, the two of them an unlikely pair; the girl barely reached Taran’atar’s chest, was small and gentle in appearance to the spined, angry features of the Jem’Hadar.

The Promenade was subdued, as it had been since the Defiant’s return, but for as quiet as things had seemed, Shar knew better. A kind of wary tension had settled across the station like a veil. He hadn’t noticed it at first, too preoccupied with personal matters, but the near constant tingle in his antennae meant it was always there.

“So,” Prynn said, smiling at him as they reached the lift. “I had a nice time. It was good to get my mind off my—my family, as it were. Want to do it again sometime?”

Shar wasn’t sure how to answer. She had made overtures about a possible romantic involvement, which he did not want to encourage

but she’d also agreed to put it aside, and he, too, had found some relief in the brief freedom from his own thoughts.

“If you’re worried about my interest, don’t,” Prynn added, as though she sensed his uncertainty. “Really. No pressure.”

Shar nodded, relieved, and pleased by her willingness to state her feelings so directly. “Then yes, I would,” he said. “I also enjoy your company.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle with her renewed grin. She reached out and placed her hand on his forearm, a soft touch, brief and presumably innocent—and Shar felt a knot of guilt in his chest, for the strange gratitude that swept through him. It had been only a few days, hours, really, since he’d seen his distraught mates away, since he’d felt the cold absence of Thriss’s tomb from his quarters. For all that, the simple pleasure of physical contact was impossible to deny. It was not the embrace of his beloveds, not even the loving if condescending hand of his zhavey

but it was warm, and that was somehow more than he had expected.

The grief, surely it’s the grief. It was, of course, and as Shar looked away from Prynn’s friendly face, looked for some distraction from his confused senses, he saw his zhavey’s gaze fixed on him from across the Promenade. Flanked by her aide and a Cardassian soldier, Charivretha stood, frozen, outside of the security office, her eyes seeing all, taking in Prynn’s closeness and smile, her hand on his arm.

Shar stepped back from Prynn, new knots forming inside even as he told himself that he had a right to have friends, to share food with a coworker, to survive, even after what he’d done. Would she have him suffer more than he already did?

Yes. Yes, she would.

The injustice of his situation tripped through his mind, pressing connections, working to inspire rage. It wasn’t fair, he hadn’t known that Thriss, magical, ethereal Thriss would break and turn away from them all. He hadn’t asked to be bonded in the first place, he couldn’t help that he’d come to see the futility in the regimentation of their culture to produce as many offspring as their failing reproductive biology would allow. He wanted a career, a life to himself—

Breathe. Breathe.

“Are you okay?”

With his zhavey’s gaze still upon them, Shar managed a neutral expression for Prynn, releasing the worst of it.

“I am,” he said, nodding to affirm it.

Prynn seemed skeptical, but smiled again. “All right. I’ll see you later.”

With that, she was gone, into the lift and down. Shar straightened his shoulders and turned to face the being who’d carried him to birth, who’d cared for him throughout his childhood, who seemed determined that he should feel no peace as he’d become an adult. He didn’t know what he meant to say or do, only knew that he couldn’t stand the way things were—and he saw her walking away, unhurried, her head high as she turned her back to her only child.

“Ah, Sulan? The ship has arrived, and the commander has asked to see you.”

Opaka looked up from her reading, smiling at the prylar who stood at the opening to the small courtyard garden. He seemed very young, his nervousness adding to the impression of youth, though he was probably well into his forties. The age her own son would have been, had he survived the occupation.

“Thank you, Yukei,” Opaka said. “Would you direct him here? It’s such a lovely day.”

As she put her book aside, Yukei bowed his way back into the hall, as deeply serious and devoted to the Prophets as he could be

and as nervous around the former kai as a tiku in a kava reap, as the saying went. It was unfortunate, though she supposed she should get used to it; from the moment she’d set foot on the space station, she’d been gazed upon with wide-eyed reverence by every Bajoran she’d met with. Returning from the dead tended to create a stir

though she also remembered she’d felt a similar wonder as a prylar, when in the presence of Kai Shesa, many, many years ago. Had it been so for those around her, when she’d served as kai? She hadn’t noticed, then, but had also been so caught in her own devotion to the Prophets, she suspected she’d missed much about the people around her. While she had never presumed to be all aware, she was humbled to have grown slightly less blind.

Yevir Linjaren certainly hadn’t helped make her return any less conspicuous. The vedek had made much ado of her restoration “from beyond the Temple,” organizing a welcoming assembly, publicly taking her to meet with the First Minister, flying her on a shuttle over the B’hala dig. She’d hoped to slip into the monastery quietly, as a guest, just another follower of the Prophets seeking respite—but even among the serenely peaceful society that lived within the cool stone walls, her presence had caused a fuss. Insisting that she be called by her second name had done nothing to curb the agitation of the monks and prylars. Perhaps Shakaar’s tragic assassination and the subsequent security measures had created an environment of spiritual need.

At least Yevir had gone, back to matters of the Assembly. She wished she felt kindlier toward him, he was a well-meaning man, but his need for validation in regard to the Ohalu matter had quickly grown tiresome. When he’d finally realized that she wasn’t planning an outright condemnation of the prophecies, he’d quietly disappeared. She only hoped their difference of opinion wouldn’t close his mind to the opportunities of the Eav’oq. She planned to meet with the Assembly to discuss her discovery of Bajor’s sister race, as soon as the current terrorist trouble abated, a move that was at least as unnerving as it was exciting. If we can’t abide a book from our own past, how will we accept that the Prophets have other worlds within Their sight? Especially a world where They are more like Ohalu’s version than our own?

“I hope I’m not interrupting your meditation.”

Commander Vaughn stepped into the courtyard, pulling her thoughts to the moment. He moved past the low pastel flower beds and reflecting pool to stand in front of her. Opaka rose, taking his hand warmly.

“Not at all, Commander,” she said, smiling up at him. “I was only reading. Please, sit with me.”

Vaughn joined her on the bench, leaning against the backrest with a faint sigh. Kira had said he was overworked, but she’d obviously understated the situation. The commander seemed very distraught, his pagh scattered and weak, much more so than when Opaka had met him on the Defiant. Whatever was troubling him, it had gotten worse.

He glanced at the book sitting between them. “Let me guess. The Ohalu text?”

“Actually, it’s a book of soup recipes.” She was reading the prophecies, of course, but had decided to take the afternoon off from her study.

His smile was faint, but real. “I thought you’d be up to your neck in the controversy by now,” he said, a hint of humor in his weariness, a blade of grass in a desert. “Railing against the heresy, perhaps.”

“I’ve opted to read it, first,” she said. “I’m about halfway through it. And so far, I see nothing heretical.”

Vaughn raised his brow. “Really?”

“I can see why it bothers the Assembly,” she said. “And I know I would have protested it, before my time in the Gamma Quadrant.”

“But now you don’t?”

“It’s another interpretation of the Prophets,” she said. “One that affirms Their integrity, and Their love for us. There are things in the text that I disagree with, or at least have a different opinion about, but I’m not sure that our traditional religious beliefs are entirely incompatible with what Ohalu says. In any regard, it isn’t for me to tell others what to believe.”

“You’ll leave that to Yevir,” Vaughn said, not a question.

Opaka shook her head. “Yevir Linjaren is a devoted follower, with the best of intentions

but he was also Touched by Them, and sometimes the fervor that comes with such a strong calling can be

rigid. But I’m certain that things will resolve, in the end.”

His face was openly curious. “Why is that?”

“Because one way or another, everything resolves, Commander,” she said.

He scrutinized her closely for a few beats, as though searching for something, then looked away. He gazed at the flowers without seeing them. “I suppose it does.”

They sat in silence, Opaka enjoying the sun on her face, feeling the unsteady pulse of tension from the man beside her. After only a moment, as though he sensed that she could feel his weakness, he stood up, forcing an air of joviality.

“Well, would you be so kind as to give me a tour? I’m quite interested in studying the architecture. For a building as old as this one, it’s remarkably well preserved.”

“Of course,” she replied, recognizing his need for control, or what he believed that to be. It was unfortunate that he struggled so. Over time, she’d come to believe that the only true emotional infirmity was denial; once a thing was accepted, it could be met without fear. She wished she could tell him that it was no weakness, whatever he was fighting against, though she suspected that he would perceive her comment as intrusive. She allowed herself to be helped to her feet.

“A few places are off limits, because of all the security procedures—the lower levels where the Orbs are being kept, I know—but I think we can find enough to keep you occupied while you’re here. Part of the secondary abbey is a ruin, you know, destroyed by a fire four centuries ago

.”

She led him out of the garden, relating the history she recalled from her days as an initiate as they moved inside, noting how hard he tried to feign a real interest in the faded wall hangings, the well-worn stones. Perhaps after a day or two of rest, he’d want to talk about what was happening in his life, to so disturb his pagh—if not to her, than to one of the brothers or sisters that lived at the monastery. Many had been trained as spiritual advisors. For she had no doubt that whatever was troubling the commander, it was his soul that suffered.