1

At the crossroads of the universe, Prynn Tenmei looked up and suddenly felt insignificant.

From its broad sloping base on the docking ring to the tiny airlock port suspended nearly a half-kilometer above, the great arching tower of upper pylon one began as an enormous wall of metal, narrowing dramatically as it curved up and away from Prynn. Its gray plated surface stood out in stark relief against the angled light of Bajor’s distant sun.

Now, that would be a zero-g walk to remember, Prynn thought before she reluctantly tore her attention away from the station and back to the matter at hand.

Striding slowly across the hull of the Defiant, Prynn decided that she’d found the one place where no one would look for her. “No one” being Shar. If he couldn’t be bothered to show up for their date—their holosuite reservation, she was quick to amend—then she couldn’t be bothered to hang around Quark’s waiting for him. Having spook parents proved to be good for something, after all: over her lifetime, she’d developed a finely honed sense of how to disappear, and going EV was one sure way to do just that. The odds of her accidentally running into anyone (Shar!) in the vacuum of space—not exactly the station’s hot spot—were next to nil. Besides, the Defiant needed her. She’d noticed an anomalous reading the last time they’d taken the ship out. If she waited for the engineers (who’d said it was nothing) to see it her way, she’d be tapping her toes until B’hava’el went cold.

Prynn wasn’t one who liked waiting.

Halfway across the ship’s topside, she stopped and adjusted the settings on her gravity boots, allowing for enough pull that she wouldn’t drift off into nothingness but enough give that she could practice acrobatics. A little bounce in her step when she was in zero g made the occasional somersault and standing back tuck much easier. She had a hard time understanding some people’s phobias about extravehicular operations. Sure, there were minor worries about damaged air supplies and being set adrift, but such mishaps occurred maybe one walk in fifty. And last time there had been a problem, the transporter chief was able to beam her aboard before hypoxia set in. From her perspective, the pleasures of zero-g work outweighed the risks; she relished the feeling of near complete liberation from terrestrial constraints. Given the choice between going out in a work bee or a space suit, she’d take the latter every time. Besides, the Defiant was her baby. As senior flight controller, she knew the starship’s needs better than almost anyone—including the engineers, who liked to believe that they knew better. When she’d told them about the temperature fluctuation on hull grid Z-47 and how she thought an extravehicular diagnostic was in order, they’d waved her off. Actually, Senkowski had waved her off. She suspected that he was the kind of engineer who didn’t get the fun side of EV repairs.

The first time the fluctuations appeared, she’d explained to Senkowski how she believed she’d be able to identify the problem if she saw it up close. He’d blanched (and for a pale guy, that was saying something) and muttered about recalibrating the sensors. During their last patrol two days ago, the same readings in the same grid showed up on her board. When she confronted him, he had told her the fluctuations were statistically insignificant and to stop being so neurotic. Okay—he didn’t use the word “neurotic” but she could tell he was thinking it. Noting the look on his face, she figured the prospect of an EV repair shift scared him. Statistically insignificant fluctuations my ass. Coward.

Prynn bent down and caressed the starship’s skin. A visual scan of the ablative armor didn’t immediately yield any evidence of a problem. But she had a pretty good idea of what was ailing the old girl and where she should start, so she took a step, somersaulted, touched down on the starship’s surface on the toe of her boots, and somersaulted again. Much faster—and more fun—than walking the remaining distance. Still…this time it wasn’t as much fun as it normally was. Orbital skydiving in the holosuite would have been better.

More like, orbital skydiving with Shar, dammit.

Ditching their plans wasn’t his style. Nog had been known to occasionally shop around for a better offer, but not Shar. He usually arrived early whenever they had plans. Which was why Prynn had been so taken aback when he didn’t show up tonight—without so much as a page! She’d been sitting on the balcony level of Quark’s, nursing a Core Breach, then another, not really thinking about how much time had passed, when it occurred to her to check the time; Shar was forty-five minutes late. Trying to reach him over the com turned into a waste of time; he wasn’t accepting her calls. Then Treir had materialized, prepared to take a third order, and exuded something suspiciously like pity. Prynn had taken the cue, thumbed her bill, and hightailed it out of there. Her ship needed her, even if Shar didn’t. Prynn was once again reminded why she typically avoided relationships: stable, rational individuals resorted to mind-boggling, time-travel-paradox-level logic to justify their behavior. And she was done with it. Done.

Maybe it was males in general. Once, in outraged humiliation after a roguishly handsome cadet she thought was interested in a relationship with her—not just sex—made it clear she was just another conquest, she’d screwed up her courage to approach a fellow pilot: a female cadet. She’d reasoned that perhaps the romantic problems she’d had thus far might not be colossal bad luck but more like an irreparable defect in the entire male gender. Males tended to be emotionally stunted when it came to romance. Avoid the gender, avoid the defect. Reasonable thinking. When an opportunity had come up to ask the woman out, Prynn found herself saying, “Can you believe what a jackass that Jack DiAngelo is?” and they’d sat at the bar having an all-night bitch-’n’-bull session about their relationship horror stories. She’d concluded from that experience that the old adage—Men: can’t live with them, can’t kill them—would follow her to the grave.

She was loath to admit it, but she’d cherished an unexpressed hope that Shar, being a male (of a sort) member of a different species, wouldn’t exhibit the same obtuse stupidity she’d come to expect from males of every skin color, planetary affiliation, and physiological variation.

The odd part was that up until tonight, he’d been perfect. She’d never sensed that he was uncomfortable with their evolving relationship. Predictably, a brief awkwardness ensued when Prynn had first raised the idea of a romantic liaison a couple of months ago, but they’d quickly overcome it, moving into a rhythm of shared meals, gym and entertainment time, and holosuite visits.

After a few weeks of Prynn doing the asking, he’d started taking the initiative, tonight’s holosuite appointment being his idea. He seemed to enjoy her companionship, gradually opening up about himself. More recently, he’d shared his feelings about losing Thriss and why he’d let his bondmates return to Andor without him. Her heart had swollen painfully in her chest as she listened to him; she understood what a gift of trust he offered. Prynn couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt as close to someone as she’d felt to Shar in those moments. Their losses and their messed-up family lives gave them plenty to talk about, but it was a sense of being known as you could be known only by one who had passed through—and emerged—from suffering that bound them together. He mattered to her now. A lot, she admitted to herself. And it irritated her to realize it. I can’t believe I’ve let myself get in this deep, she thought, unclipping the tricorder from her hip and beginning to scan the Defiant’s hull. If I’ve let it progress to this point and am just figuring it out, what’s Shar feeling?

Pressured. Trapped maybe. And after she’d reassured him that all she expected from him was friendship? Don’t kid yourself, Tenmei: You saw this holosuite time as a date; he sensed it and he didn’t want to hurt your feelings so he conveniently “forgot.” She hissed a curse, clenched her teeth, and sighed in self-disgust. She deserved to be stood up. Self-imposed exile in space was suitable punishment. You’re stupid, stupid, stupid, Tenmei.

She found the section her tricorder identified as grid Z-47, squatted down, and initiated a scan. Submicroscopic pores had opened up in a two-centimeter-square section of the ablative armor, making the metal more susceptible to microfractures. Technically, Senkowski was right: such a small vulnerability wouldn’t impact the Defiant’s performance any time soon. Prynn knew, though, that this section would become more porous over time and would have to be replaced. She grinned. She loved being right.

She performed an in-depth scan of the damaged plating, mapping every micrometer so that Senkowski, Leishman, and the others could perform the repairs.

“Prynn.”

She flinched. That was Shar’s voice over the comm in her helmet. She was debating whether or not to ignore his call when a shadow moved over the hull in her field of vision. Startled, she spun around and saw another figure in an EVA suit standing behind her. The glint of blue behind the faceplate told her all she needed to know to identify her visitor. She stiffened. “What are you doing here?”

“It seemed like a nice time of day to go for a walk.”

“Very funny.”

“Nog’s teaching me sarcasm. Apparently utilizing such an inflection is a critical component of Ferengi interpersonal communications.”

“How clinical of you.”

They stood facing each other for a long, silent moment. Prynn refused to give in to her impulse to ask him what the hell he was up to.

“While the view of the Denorios Belt is lovely from here, could we move inside to continue our conversation?”

“Conversation. Hmmm. I was working. You intruded.”

“I apologize for my earlier lapse. It was unintentional….”

“No big deal. Like I said, I had work to do. Pores in the ablative armor.”

“That can be serious. Is it safe to take the Defiant out?”

“For now…and about”—she paused, gulping, feeling ridiculous—“another six months.”

“I’m glad you took care of it tonight. Since it was clearly so urgent.”

Prynn exhaled through gritted teeth. “Give the sarcasm a rest, please. I’ll tell Nog you’ve mastered it and can move onto something new—like pseudosincerity.”

He paused.

She knew he was studying her, trying to read her and not having any luck. Bless the EVA suit. Dropping her eyes to the tricorder, she studied the readings, and then uploaded them to the Defiant’s engine room. Too bad she couldn’t put flashing lights around Senkowski’s console and a big full-spectrum banner on his screen proclaiming, I told you so.

“Zhavey contacted me via subspace tonight. She asked me to come home to Andor.”

Her eyes flicked up. Shar had stepped closer to her. Their gazes met. She searched his face. “Really?” Since Charivretha zh’Thane had left the system following Bajor’s induction a month ago, no communication had passed between zhavey and child. Never mind that Shar had left no doubt that he had severed his ties with Andor. “You’re not going, right?”

“I would like to talk it over.” A long pause. “With someone I trust.”

She flushed, ashamed, relieved, and overjoyed all at once. “Oh. Okay.”

“The shuttlebay’s empty right now. Join me?”

She thought she heard a smile in his voice.

* * *

Prynn shrugged out of the EVA suit sleeves, dragging a tanktop strap off her now bare shoulder. Without seeing him, she knew Shar, who had only removed his helmet, watched her. She stood still for a moment, feeling the weight of his gaze, enjoying the attention. He’ll break your heart if you let him. Self-consciously, she pulled the strap back onto her shoulder, shimmied out of the rest of the suit, and replaced it in the supply locker built into one wall of the shuttlebay.

“So,” she said, turning to face him. “What’s up with your mom?”

He took a deep breath, his antennae curved and quivering with nearly invisible tension. Otherwise, his inscrutable composure revealed nothing. “The Andorian Visionist Party, the most vocal opposition to Zhavey’s Modern Progressives, is very close to procuring enough votes in the planetary districts to recall the ruling Progressive cabinet and with it Zhavey’s Federation Council seat.”

“That’s too bad—I know how much the councillor’s political career means to her.” About as much as Vaughn’s Starfleet career means to him, she added mentally. “But what does this have to do with you?”

As he continued shedding his EVA suit, Prynn noticed a square-linked, gunmetal chain around his neck, disappearing into his tank. Shar explained, “The opposition is claiming that my zhavey has lost touch with the Andorian people, that she’s become the Federation’s tool, not Andor’s representative looking out for our people’s interests. As part of their case, they’re using my refusal to return to Andor for the shelthreth as proof that she’s not only failed as a councillor, but also as parent.”

Prynn whistled. “That’s harsh.”

Shar nodded.

“So what business is it of theirs if you consummate your bond or not? Isn’t that your business? Your choice? I don’t see what that has to do with Vretha.”

“As some see it, failure to reproduce impacts the Whole, Prynn, not only the individual. Each lost opportunity adds to the burden faced by my people. Besides, whether I like it or not, I have a high profile on Andor.”

She looked at him, questioning.

“Yes, I’m Charivretha’s chei,” he said. “But I’ve gained some additional notoriety since Anichent delivered the Yrythny ova to my colleagues back home on my behalf. Then there’s Thriss’s zhavey. A thousand years ago, Sessethantis zh’Cheen would have been the First Princess in one of Andor’s ruling families. We haven’t had government by hereditary gentry for five centuries. But there are many—including the Visionists—who still acknowledge the position of those families and pay their descendants honor. Thriss’s suicide was a blow to more than her kindred.”

“Let me guess. Thriss’s zhavey is also a ranking Visionist.”

“The regional party chieftain of the Archipelago, one of our most populated regions.”

“So Vretha wants you to come to Andor to help her save face with Thriss’s influential family,” Prynn said. “And to prove to her constituents that the Visionists are misrepresenting her.”

Shar nodded, hanging up his suit and closing the locker.

“What do you get in return?”

The first hint of a smile touched his eyes. “On my behalf, she will publicly invoke the Whole Vessel Law, which legally allows bondmates to separate. She will then remove herself from any and all positions where she can influence my career. I agree to see her when she’s nearby on business. Otherwise, I am left alone.”

“No strings attached?”

“That’s what she promised.”

“Do you believe her?”

“I want to.”

“But…?”

Shar said nothing.

He didn’t need to. Of course he wanted to believe his zhavey, wanted to trust that she had his best interests at heart; experience had taught him to expect differently. Prynn intimately understood the internal war he fought. As far back as she could remember, she’d struggled to define life independent of Vaughn, but the relentless magnetic craving of wanting his approval, to please him, had never abated. That was the problem with parents. Of course they gave life and that earned them the right to expect a lot, but in Prynn’s experience, parents didn’t hesitate to run roughshod over their children when their own needs required attention.

The edge of her anger blunted, Prynn moved closer to where Shar stood and gestured for him to sit down. They both dropped to the deck, cross-legged, shoulder-to-shoulder. Turning her head, she sought his eyes. He sensed her and met her gaze. Prynn probed his expression for evidence of deceit or manipulation and found nothing. He’s exactly what I thought he was. She sighed deeply, leaned back against the wall, her arm inadvertently brushing his. She felt him stiffen at her touch, and her breath caught in her throat as she waited for him to react.

He didn’t pull away.

They sat in silence for a long moment, Prynn’s mind racing between choices, impulses, and memories. She could sense what a burden Vretha had placed on him by asking him to come home, and she wanted to relieve him of that weight. Tell him to claim his life without thought to what his zhavey wanted. Peeling away the surface layers of her protective instincts, however, Prynn realized she wanted him to defy Vretha because of her own fear: that if Shar left Deep Space 9, he might finally connect with Andor in a way that would keep him there. She wasn’t ready to lose him—to lose the potential of them. The pain of losing her mother again, of Vaughn’s choices, receded when she spent time with Shar. She believed she helped him in the same way. They couldn’t walk away yet. But he trusts me to advise him. Whatever I think, whatever I’m afraid of…he has to come first.

“Tell me the truth,” she said. “Will she keep her word?”

“Truth? I am not entirely certain that I need what she has promised. My life here is comfortable. I can meet my career goals. I know Captain Kira respects me for myself—not as an ancillary to my zhavey. I have”—he turned his gaze on Prynn—“friends. Friends that mean a great deal to me.”

The Defiant’s atmosphere suddenly felt dry and thick, leaving Prynn speechless. She swallowed hard. Maybe he’s closer to feeling what I’m feeling than I thought he was. She looked into his face and leaned closer to him. His eyes, gray and haunted, entranced her.

“Prynn?” he whispered.

She maintained eye contact, willing him to see what she felt.

A throat clearing. “Excuse me, Ensigns.”

Startled, Prynn and Shar flew apart and pushed off the floor, snapping to attention.

Lieutenant Commander Phillipa Matthias, Deep Space 9’s counselor, stood still just inside the exit on the opposite side of the flight deck. Prynn hadn’t even heard the doors open. And once again Prynn Tenmei makes a fool of herself in public….

The corner of Matthias’s mouth turned up—perhaps a touch of amusement at what Prynn imagined they must look like, sitting on the deck, still out of uniform. She wished her ability to bluff her way through a card game carried over to more personal situations.

Before either Prynn or Shar could speak, the commander said, “At ease. I know neither of you is officially on duty, and I’m sorry to intrude, but a situation’s come up. A personal matter concerning Ensign ch’Thane.”

Prynn nodded and said, “I’ll go—”

“No,” said Shar, grasping Prynn’s hand before she could turn away. “I’d like you to stay.”

“Are you sure about this, Ensign?” Matthias asked.

“Quite sure, Commander,” Shar answered. He gave Prynn’s hand a reassuring squeeze; she squeezed back.

Squaring her shoulders, Matthias linked her hands behind her back and narrowed her eyes, focusing intently on Shar. “I’ve just come from speaking with Captain Kira. You may not be aware of this yet, but an official request from the Federation Council has come in for you to take personal leave to travel to Andor, which the captain has granted.”

Shar’s antennae tensed. Prynn could feel the rising heat of his embarrassment traveling down to his hand. Vretha’s bullheaded way of pursuing her own agenda astonished her.

Matthias continued, “I’m also slated to travel to Andor.”

“Sir?” Shar whispered.

“Shar, I—” She broke off, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Her lips parted; no words emerged. A contemplative pause became a resigned expression. “I apologize. I’m finding that the right words escape me right now. I’ve been asked to run a rather unpleasant errand on behalf of someone I’ll be visiting on Andor. I’m hoping that if you’re traveling there yourself that I…well…won’t have to do it.”

“What is the errand, Commander?”

“Sessethantis zh’Cheen invited me to Thriss’s Sending.”

Color drained from Shar’s face. “I’d assumed the rituals would have been held before now.”

Matthias shook her head. “One of Zha Sessethantis’s bondmates has been on deep-space recon for six months. He returns to Andor next week.”

The merest mention of Thriss stirred up Prynn’s protectiveness toward Shar, but she wasn’t sure she understood what they were talking about. “Sending? Is that Thriss’s funeral? Wouldn’t her family have attended to that as soon as Anichent and Dizhei returned to Andor?”

Shar shook his head. “Not necessarily. For those who observe the old traditions, as long as the body’s integrity can be preserved, the Sending is postponed until all the pieces of the deceased life—family especially—can be reassembled.” He looked at Commander Matthias. “And as Thriss’s caregiver in the final month of her life—”

“Her zhavey felt I held a critical ‘piece’ of Thriss—that my participation in the Rite of Memory was needed or Thriss might not be complete in the next life,” Matthias finished for him. “Under the circumstances, I could hardly say no. Still, I know that this is a family time…and there are other…issues.”

“Like me?” Shar said quietly, his voice edged with bitterness.

Matthias smiled sadly and nodded.

“Will there be time for you to help your zhavey if you’re attending Thriss’s funeral?” Prynn stroked the back of his hand with her thumb; he remained unresponsive. “Shar? Is everything okay?”

Matthias frowned at him. “You didn’t know, did you?” Shar shook his head, and through gritted teeth, Matthias grunted, “Dammit.”

“I assume that your unpleasant errand involved obtaining this from me?” Shar reached behind his neck and unfastened the square-linked chain, pulling out a diamond-shaped pendant from beneath his shirt. He held it out, dropping it into Matthias’s hand.

“Zha Sessethantis asked me to—I mean I—I couldn’t think of a way to ask. I thought if you were going to Andor that you could—” A deep pink flush tinted Matthias’s porcelain complexion.

“No, I understand, Commander,” Shar said neutrally. He held out the chain for Matthias to take. “Thantis is nothing if not a keeper of tradition. Honor your commitment to the Zha of Cheen-Thitar clan.”

“Wait a sec—” Prynn looked from Matthias to Shar and back again, her eyes slowly widening. If what she thought was happening here was actually happening here, it was too outrageous to be believed. She looked at him again, hoping she’d misunderstood; his hollow expression left no question in her mind. “You’re not invited. Are you, Shar?”

He said nothing.

Shar wouldn’t be excluded from grieving with Thriss’s family—his family. He couldn’t be! To prevent him, the one closer to Thriss than any of the others—she’d been the love and light of his life…Dropping her eyes to her floor, Prynn thought she finally comprehended the crushing weight of Shar’s self-imposed exile. “There’s no way you should go. You don’t owe them anything. They can all go to hell.”

“Prynn—” Shar said.

“No.” She refused to look at him. “All of them—Vretha, Thriss’s mom, your bondmates—they’re punishing you for daring to defy them, to be who you are. They don’t deserve you. Stay here—with people who care about you.”

Gently taking both her hands so she would look at him, he whispered a thank-you before turning back to Matthias. “When do you leave, Commander?”

“In two days.”

“If I decided to travel with you, is there room on the transport?”

“You don’t have to do this, Shar,” Prynn insisted.

“At minimum, I have to consider it.”

“Why?”

“Because sometimes,” Shar said, “what is just and what is right aren’t the same.”

She bit her lip, sighed. Say it like you mean it. “All right. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you. That’s what friends do.”

His eyes smiled at her again.

“If you’re thinking about coming, why don’t you take this back—” Matthias held the necklace out to Shar. “We can work something out.”

“No. You take it. Thantis will never receive it from me.” Shar pushed Matthias’s hand away, sending the necklace clattering to the floor near Prynn’s feet.

Prynn bent over to retrieve it. Furrowing her brow, she studied the pendant, running her thumb over the surface. The silver-toned diamond shape was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand. A cross etched into the surface sectioned it into triangular quarters. Each quarter was engraved with an ornately embellished geometric symbol, paired with a string of runelike characters—words, she assumed—beneath each symbol. It was surprisingly lightweight and delicate. A clasp along one edge suggested that it wasn’t merely a pendant, but a locket. Prynn said, “I don’t understand why something of yours is so important to Thriss’s mother.”

“A token—a shapla. At the Time of Knowing each bondmate receives one. It bears the traditional icon for each gender”—Shar pointed out the geometric symbols—“and our names in old Andorii script.” Lifting it from her hand, he unfastened the clasp, revealing its contents—four locks of white hair woven together. “Mine, together with one from each of my bondmates. With Thriss’s death, she must be made Whole, so this weaving, along with hers and those of Dizhei and Anichent, will be sent with her on her journey to the next life.”

Still struggling to process the notion that Shar wasn’t invited to the funeral, Prynn felt this latest indignity reignite her simmering anger. “You’re returning your engagement gift to the person who won’t even let you come to the funeral?”

“It’s what’s done, Prynn. Spiting the rights of the dead because I have arguments with the living dishonors Thriss’s memory. It was naïve of me to think that I could keep this for myself, that Thantis would overlook it.” Shar passed the shapla back to Matthias. “I believe I have decided.”

Prynn tensed, bracing herself for his words; she knew, though, without being told what his decision would be.

“Regardless of whether or not I participate in the Sending, my remaining on the station will lead to speculation among my people. Some may choose to believe that I am sulking. Or worse, that I am vindictive. Some will believe that I am ashamed of my choices and I am not. I will go back to Andor and help Charivretha because she is my zhavey—it is the right thing to do; then I will return to Deep Space 9.” Shar let a breath escape slowly through his nose before he looked at the commander. “I’ll discuss my leave with Captain Kira before my next shift.”

Matthias closed her hand around the shapla. “And I’ll send my travel plans to your personal database. We can coordinate later. Good night, Shar, Ensign Tenmei.” After a slight nod, she exited the shuttlebay.

When she had gone, Shar turned back to Prynn, his expression veiled. “I know you believe I am mistaken.”

Prynn shook her head no. Halfheartedly, she paced a few steps back and forth in front of the shuttlecraft Sagan. She struggled for the right words—how to tell him that she couldn’t bear the thought of him having to endure any more disappointment and sadness, how to say your happiness matters to me, to let him know that no matter what, she would be there for him—and then suddenly she knew what was required of her. “If you have to do this, you’re not doing it alone. I’m going.”

“Prynn—”

“No! Don’t even think about trying to talk me out of it. I’m owed some leave time, and I’m going with you to Andor.”

For once, his emotions were laid bare—surprise, relief, and something else, something she didn’t dare name; Prynn’s throat tightened.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I cannot begin…Thank you.”

That face…She longed to touch his cheek and fold him in her arms. That beautiful, sad face. “Of course,” she said simply.

“That’s what friends do for each other.”