Of all of them, he thought Thriss would have most appreciated this voyage. She never shied away from new experiences, always living close to the edge, plunging into the unknown when the rest of them cowered beneath their covers. Since they were children, she had always been the first to take a dare. More than once, her risks had landed her in the infirmary or before a disciplinary council, but her passion never dimmed. She never ceased to surprise him.
He still remembered the look on his bondmates faces as they stood by while Charivretha demanded he return with them to Andor.
Ever the optimist, Dizhei had tried to look cheerful, but her cloudy eyes and too bright smile betrayed her true feelings. Anichent’s silence during the argument had disappointed Shar. After so many years of closeness, Shar assumed that he, even more than Thriss, would know why Shar needed to join this mission. Anichent had been Shar’s first love, the one who, early on, had encouraged his academic pursuits, fed his ambitions to attend the Academy. Hadn’t it been Anichent who, in his pragmatic, methodical way, outlined the sacrifices Shar would have to make in following the life path he had elected to take? But in their last encounter, he’d barely said a word.
And Thriss…
How many sleepless nights had they spent lying on their backs, mapping the constellations in Andor’s heavens, interspersing their stargazing with talk about their goals and dreams? His absurd aspirations didn’t sound quite so absurd when she brushed her lips against his ear, whispering words of encouragement. She, more the others, had always defended his choices, even when those choices were made at her expense. After everything they’d been through together, after he’d opened himself to her incandescent spirit and saw his own yearning for a better future reflected back at him…How was it that she, of all people, could come to him making that final desperate appeal as he was about to board Defiant? Oh, Thriss…
The shuddering transport groaned to a halt. Shar sprang through the barriers and ran up the steps to where the Avaril’s crew prepped for launch, Defiantonce again nestled inside its cavernous bay. Hoards of Yrythny shuttled storage lockers of supplies into exterior hatches; officers with electronic tablets ran through pre-launch checklists. Shar surveyed the crowded platform until he found his own crew. Dr. Bashir was giving last-minute instructions to Ensign Juarez, who would stay behind as medic for Lieutenant Dax’s team. Spotting his commanding officers engrossed in conversation, Shar worked his way over to them. He assumed a position at Vaughn’s elbow, waiting for his turn.
“Transmit on subspace channel delta—” Vaughn was saying. Ezri’s brow furrowed. “Delta? That requires security encryption.”
“Right. I want our communications kept private, just to be on the safe side.”
“All right,” Dax said, and then smiled. “Any last words of encouragement?”
“Yes. Try not to start a war this time.”
“Very funny. I’m not Curzon, you know.”
“Try to remember that and I’m sure you’ll do fine.” Vaughn surveyed the dwindling activity in the launch bay and said, “I expect we’ll be departing shortly. Has your team finished offloading your supplies?”
Lieutenant Dax threaded her hands behind her back and stood up a little straighter before turning to Shar. “Ensign?” she said in her firmest command tone.
“Yes, sir. An hour ago.”
“Excellent work, Ensign,” Vaughn smiled, placing a hand on Shar’s shoulder. “Since I won’t be here to consult with Lieutenant Dax, feel free to offer any insights you might have gleaned from having a professional politician for a mother.”
Never mind that I’ve spent most of my life trying to avoid being overtly associated withZhavey …“Yes, sir.” Shar took a deep breath. “Sir, if you don’t mind—”
“Yes, Ensign?”
Shar fingered the isolinear chip in his hand. “Commander, I realize this is unorthodox, but I have a personal request to make…” His antennae tightened and twitched.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Dax interrupted, “I need to say good-bye to Julian.”
Respectfully, Vaughn waited until Dax was out of earshot to speak. “You were saying, Ensign.”
“When you transmit your weekly report to Colonel Kira, would it be possible to attach a personal letter to my bondmates?”
Vaughn smiled. “Of course, Shar,” he said gently. holding out his hand to accept Shar’s chip. “Though I can’t guarantee that the report will go out on schedule, I’ll make a point of adding your message to the data stream. Rest easy, Ensign.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shar said, flushed with gratitude. “And good luck.”
As he walked away to look for Nog, Shar spotted exhausted Ensigns Senkowski and Permenter and knew his friend would be close at hand. Neither officer had been far from the Defiantsince the Avarildocked. Earlier this morning, Shar had observed Permenter curled up on a storage locker, snoring. He turned a corner around stacked cargo canisters and as he suspected, found the chief engineer speaking animatedly. Enthused about the task at hand, Nog didn’t notice that both ensigns stared at the padds they held, their bloodshot eyes looking like they were propped open with toothpicks.
“—and make sure that the cables we’re running down the new EPS conduits are free of irregularities. The shield augmentation might destabilize if—Shar!” Nog exclaimed. “Want to hitchhike to the Consortium with my engineering crew? Lieutenant Dax won’t care.”
“You know how clumsy I am with a hyperspanner. I’d probably couple a flat ring to a trisk wire.” Shar recalled more than a few near-misses during the Core repairs back at DS9.
“Hey! That was almost a joke. Not quite ready for stand-up at Vic’s, but you’re coming along nicely.”
“Stand-up?”
“Never mind.”
Shar had been gradually assimilating his shipmates’ sense of humor on this trip. They tended to sprinkle humor into almost every conversation. He supposed that with practice, it would eventually come naturally to him.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Nog said. “Hey, Tlaral! Come over here.” He waved her in their direction.
A Yrythny was bent over a communications unit, using a microlaser to fuse the last array component in place. She lifted her eye shield. “I’m busy!” Tlaral shouted.
“I want you to meet my friend and shipmate, Ensign ch’Thane,” Nog shouted.
Tlaral nodded politely, dropped the eye-shield and resumed her work.
Nog whispered, “She was one of the ones who beamed aboard to help us after we tripped the web weapon. If I could find a way to get Commander Vaughn to let me invite her to stay with the Defiantpermanently, I would. She’s a whiz with the cano pliers—and I’ve never seen an engineer who could diagnose a circuit board faster. Except maybe my father.”
“Is she going with you?” Shar asked, wondering if the glow in Nog’s face indicated that he might find true love, or at least serious infatuation, on this journey.
“Her husband—they call them consorts here—is a bigwig in the government. He’s going to be on board, too. He’s like the science minister or something? Mutters a lot.”
“M’Yeoh. Yes, I’ve met him. Why is he going with you?”
“We need a senior government official in order to be able to trade at the Consortium. He was the only one who didn’t need to be here for Ezri’s gig.”
Shar knit his brow quizzically. “Gig?”
“We need to go to Vic’s more when we get back, Shar. You’ll pick up the lingo in no time. You need to get into the groove.”
Shar felt confident he could live a fulfilling life without knowing what a “groove” was, let alone getting into one.
The Avarilhad been gone from Luthia for less than a day when the Yrythny General Assembly summoned Ezri to appear before them. She shouldn’t have been surprised—they’d been anxious from the beginning.
Vaughn had only just launched when a messenger appeared with her nonnegotiable schedule, loaded with committee meetings from breakfast to bedtime. Having only a cursory knowledge of the Yrythny, she hardly had enough information yet to make any substantive pronouncements as to the merits of each case. She had wasted no time in assigning the entire away team to research while she’d locked herself into the makeshift office space provided her by the government. After a few minutes standing on her head (which seemed to settle her nerves) she had begun mapping out strategy, searching Curzon’s memories for any relevant experiences he might have had. What she concluded was that whenever circumstances hurtled Curzon into the unknown, he was phenomenally gifted at faking it. Some help you are, Old Man.