Star Trek Deep Space Nine - 49 - Worlds of Deep Space Nine - Volume 1 by Star Trek

Author:Star Trek
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction
ISBN: 9780743483513
Publisher: Star Trek
Published: 2004-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

They found Phillipa in the main passenger cabin of the shuttle, where pairs of seats were arranged facing each other Andorian style, making groups of four. Persuading the passengers seated across from Phillipa to trade their seats for the aft-section ones assigned to Prynn and Shar wasn’t difficult: a harried zhavey, next to the counselor—the creeping purplish pigmentation on her neck revealed she must be recently out of seclusion—had been struggling to comfort her unhappy infant. As Shar and Prynn arrived, the child appeared to be resting, but the former occupants of the facing seats—a pair of Vulcans—seemed grateful to leave.

While Shar and Prynn tucked away their luggage into a storage bin, Phillipa fussed over the zhavey—folding a stained blanket, closing a container of mashed xixu fronds, and holding her travel bag while she made herself comfortable in her seat.

Averting his eyes from the zhavey, Shar was grateful that a non-Andorian was available to help. On Andor, making uninvited overtures of any kind toward a zhen with child was unheard of. The unspoken rule emerged out of respect for zhavey and child’s privacy, one of the rare times in Andorian life when personal boundaries were fanatically protected.

“Thirishar ch’Thane, Prynn Tenmei, this is Arenthialeh zh’Vazdi,” Phillipa said when everyone had sat down. “Her clan has a keep close to Cheen-Thitar. She’s a botanist returning from a month of field studies on Dramia.”

The zhavey pushed aside a cluster of loose braids that had draped over the side of her face so she could better see Shar, offering him a flicker of eye contact before she politely looked away. Fingers spread apart, she extended her right hand, palm out. “I am honored, Cha Thirishar of the Clan of Thane.”

Her Northern looks—the fine hair, delicately sculpted angular face—coupled with her youthful but serious expression triggered a white-hot piercing flash of Thriss as zhavey; the painful imagining stole Shar’s breath. He dug down and found the composure to respond to her introduction with a proper shoulder bow. “I share the honor, Zha Arenthialeh. My familiar name is Shar.” Mirroring her gesture, he raised his hand and pressed it to hers.

“For a supposed renegade, you appear to have been taught properly,” she said dryly. “You may address me as Thia.”

Renegade? Is that what I am now? Supposing that Charivretha wouldn’t appreciate him having such a reputation, he found the label amusing instead of insulting.

The intercom loudly announced the shuttle’s departure from Orbital Control, stirring Thia’s infant into wakefulness.

Through the gauzy modesty drape over the zhavey’s kheth, Shar saw the howling infant thrashing about in its nurture pouch, all knees and elbows, pushing the zhavey’s pouch skin taut. The child poked its head outside the fabric drape, its unhappy face glistening with perspiration and pouch gel. The zhavey smoothed wiry curls, whispered soothing chants—and the sobs quieted. Until a shipwide announcement—a warning about possible turbulence—again startled him.

The infant wailed loudly, pressing a foot against the pouch until the fabric drape came unfastened, baring the kheth. The outline of the infant’s toes could be seen through the zhavey’s nearly translucent white-blue skin.

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