Success,Shar thought. He quickly downloaded the testing data to a padd, packed the engineering tools away into their compartment, and left the lab, headed for Defiant’s airlock. For whatever reasons, the installation of the new stellar cartography lab had given the refit crews more difficulties than any other system during the past few months. The primary systems had passed their final checks only a week ago, and the secondaries just within the last three days. Shar had not been satisfied with the data flow rate, though, and when all of the other refit and repair work had been finished, earlier today, he had decided to make one more attempt to improve performance. Now, at the end of his shift, he had finally achieved his goal.
As he walked through the main port corridor toward the airlocks at Defiant’s bow, he found the ship not only eerily quiet, but unusually still. In dock, neither the impulse engines nor the warp drive were engaged, of course, but gone too were the sounds and disturbances produced by a ship filled with engineering and maintenance staffs. Most of the crew had left Defiantabout midafternoon, he knew, encouraged by Commander Vaughn to spend their last night before the mission relaxing.
Nearly empty as the ship was, the lighting in the corridors had been dimmed, and although Shar knew it not to be true, the air felt colder and drier to him than it usually did. He experienced such reactions sometimes when he had been in the ship’s or the station’s environment for an extended period. It caused him no real trouble, but simply made him uncomfortable. The temperature and humidity maintained aboard the ship matched those on the station, which in turn matched those considered optimal on Bajor. He could always tolerate the conditions—he had certainly become more accustomed to them during his years at Starfleet Academy and on the U.S.S. Tamberlaine—but sometimes he looked forward anxiously to returning to his quarters, where he could regulate the environment according to his own preferences.
For more reasons than that, though, he wished he could go to his quarters right now. Tonight, he would be having dinner with Zhavey,at her request. He did not want to, really, because he knew what she hoped to accomplish by such a meeting: to convince him to return to Andor and take part in his shelthreth.Under other circumstances, he might have summoned the will to decline her invitation, but in just fifteen hours, he knew, he would be heading to the Gamma Quadrant for three months, where he would easily be able to avoid her attempts at coercion.
As he neared Defiant’s airlocks, he recalled the relief he had felt weeks ago when he had learned that Zhaveyhad left the station, bound for Bajor aboard Mjolnir.And when he had found out that Kree-thai,the Andorian vessel assigned to her for diplomatic missions, had departed the station a few days after that, he had assumed that she would not be coming back to DS9. But two days ago, she had returned here aboard Gryphon,and earlier today, Kree-thaihad returned as well. He assumed that meant that she would soon be leaving aboard her ship, either back to Andor or to the Federation Council chambers on Earth. He had not been surprised when she had asked him to dinner, realizing that, no matter her agenda, she would want to say goodbye to him. And as much as he disagreed with her on some issues, Shar loved Zhavey,and he hoped that they could part on pleasant terms.
As he started into the airlock, Lieutenant Candlewood strode in his direction from Defiant’s main starboard corridor. “Calling it a day, Ensign?” the computer specialist asked. He wore his dark brown hair in tight ringlets about his head, his aquiline nose his most distinguishing feature.
“Yes, sir,” Shar said, stopping and waiting for the lieutenant to reach him. When he did, they walked side by side through Defiant’s open airlock.
“Do you think she’s ready?” Candlewood asked, patting the ship’s bulkhead just before they stepped across the threshold separating the ship and the station. Even after all his years among humans, their proclivity for referring to space vessels with a feminine pronoun perplexed him.
“Yes, sir, I do,” Shar told him.
They reached the end of the station’s airlock, and Candlewood worked the control panel to open the hatch. They stepped down into the docking ring, the hatch rolling back into place behind them. A Starfleet security guard, whom Shar recognized but whose name he did not know, nodded as they passed. Shar and Candlewood entered the nearest turbolift together, and Shar waited until the lieutenant had specified his destination in the habitat ring before stating his own.
“So, are you going to relax tonight, Ensign,” Candlewood asked, smiling, “or have a last wild night before we ship out for a quarter of a year?” Shar understood that the question must have been intended as a joke, although the point of the humor eluded him. He answered in the only way he knew how to: seriously.
“I’ll be having a…busy…night, sir,” he said, thinking of the possibly difficult hours with Zhaveythat lay ahead. The turbolift stopped and the door opened. The lieutenant looked over and smiled, apparently believing that Shar had meant something other than he actually had.
“Well, just be ready tomorrow morning,” Candlewood said as he exited the lift. “It’s going to be a long mission.”
“Yes, sir,” Shar told him. “I’m looking forward to it.”
Shar stood at the door to Zhavey’s quarters and tried to think of a good reason not to enter. Several occurred to him, but none compelling enough to act upon. He knew what the next few hours would likely bring—if he could last that long—but considering that he would not be seeing Zhaveyfor a long time after tonight, he felt that he owed her the show of respect and love that he truly had for her. He promised himself to be attentive to her in their time together, to try not only to listen to her arguments but to avoid patronizing her with simple acknowledgments, as he had during their last couple of encounters. He had thought through the choices he had made in his life many times—and still continued to do so—but he would try tonight to listen to Zhaveywith a new ear. He had committed to the course of his life right now, and he did not see himself returning to Andor any time soon, but he wanted to demonstrate for her the regard she deserved not only as his zhaveybut as the wise, strong woman she was.
Shar took a deep breath, and then coughed, the cool, stale air catching in his throat. If nothing else, at least he would get to spend the evening in a physical atmosphere more to his liking. He lifted a hand to the signal panel beside the door and hesitated. He looked down and realized that he still carried the padd he had brought from Defiant.He thought briefly about taking it to his quarters, but recognized the thought as a poor excuse to delay the inevitable. One of his antennae tingled as he stood there, and he reached up and scratched at its base through his thick mop of hair. He suddenly thought of Thriss—her willowy form, her lovely face, her long, straight hair—and decided he had been thinking too much about this. He should go inside before he ended up doing Zhavey’s work for her.
Shar stabbed at the signal panel. Almost immediately, the door glided open. Charivretha stood at the far end of the room, between the window and the doorway to the bedroom.
“Come in, Thirishar,” she said, a smile decorating her features as he had not seen in a long time. He stepped inside, at once aware of the satisfying increase in the temperature and moisture content of the air.
“Good evening, Zhavey,”Shar said. He moved farther into the room, toward a nearby table, where he intended to put down his padd. “Thank you for inviting—”