Dizhei, sprawled on the bed studying childishly drawn maps illustrating Andor’s geography, startled when Charivretha addressed Thriss, her earpiece dropping into her hand. Anichent plopped down by Dizhei, leaning over to whisper in his bondmate’s ear.
“Computer, halt playback,” Charivretha snapped. “Do you have authorization to examine Shar’s logs?” she asked Thriss.
“He gave us access to his quarters. Access is access,” Thriss explained. She respected Charivretha. Honored her. Feared her. But in this one place, where their personal interests intersected in Shar, Thriss and Charivretha were forever at odds. Charivretha accepted Thriss because she matched Shar’s genetics, but his zhaveymade no secret of her preference for Anichent, or her admiration for Dizhei. Further, Charivretha resented Thriss’ unconditional support for Shar’s decisions, especially those decisions that conflicted with the priorities Charivretha believed Shar ought to embrace. And with Charivretha, duty defined life. Duty and obligation. When Thriss refused to use her influence to pressure Shar into accepting Charivretha’s edicts, the barriers between Thriss and her zhadigrew, but Thriss didn’t care. She loved Shar too much to see him unhappy, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. And there was that little tendency of hers—a tendency to resent being told what to do.
Charivretha specialized in telling people what to do. She had made a career of it.
“Personal logs require passwords.” Charivretha grabbed Thriss by the chin and, treating her like a child, tipped her face up.
“I know his passwords,” Thriss said. She met Charivretha’s pointed stare, her stormy gray eyes revealing nothing.
“You stole his passwords,” accused Anichent.
Dizhei placed a steadying arm around Anichent’s waist, trying to soothe him.
“I don’t steal, Anichent,” Thriss snapped, jerking her head out of Charivretha’s palm. “I know these things about Shar. He’s used the same password for his private files since he was fifteen. If he hadn’t wanted me to read them, he would have changed the password. He didn’t, so I can do as I please. With his blessing.” Because she understood Shar’s deep affection for Anichent, Thriss hated arguing with him; she tried avoiding it—another way she honored Shar. Too bad genetic matches didn’t mean good personality matches. If it were possible to be more opposite from Anichent than she was, Thriss didn’t know how. They were fire and ice.
The antennae on Anichent’s head twitched and flexed, his eyes darkened. “You behave as if this blessing extends only to you, and not to Dizhei or myself. How do you know I don’t have knowledge of Shar’s passwords?”
Why was he always seeking a fight?“View the logs. I don’t care.”
“I respect my ch’teenough to allow him the privacy of his own thoughts,” Anichent snapped.
She tossed her hair. “Or perhaps you’re afraid that those thoughts aren’t of you.”
Charivretha shushed them both, sending Anichent into the other room to check on the featured menu at Quark’s. Thriss complied with Charivretha’s orders to keep peace. One more argument with Anichent would mean ending her day with another headache; Thriss wearied of fitful sleep. She moved away from the desk and dropped down onto the edge of the bed; Dizhei alternated between massaging her shoulders and stroking her hair.
Taking Thriss’ place in front of the monitor, Charivretha exited Shar’s logs and then explained her intended evening plans.
Thriss bit back a complaint. Well-intentioned as she was, Charivretha always wanted to fix things even when, given time, resolutions might occur naturally. The thought of spending a night pretending to have a good time so Dizhei and Anichent wouldn’t have one more reason to be irritated with her…. Anichent especially. “I have applications to finish,” she said, offering the first excuse she could come up with. “And you know me and holosuites.”
Before Charivretha could retort, Dizhei tenderly placed her head in Thriss’ lap, linking her fingers through hers, stroking the back of her hand with her thumb.
Oh, all right. Guilt works too,Thriss thought.
“We could visit the Palace of Zhevazha or take roles in one of the Sagas,” Dizhei suggested. “You always enjoy swordplay. Or maybe we could visit a favorite spot. You love Casperia Prime. You told me yourself that the days you and Shar spent climbing there were the best vacation you’d had in years!”
On rare occasions, segments of the bond would section off in a pair or trio. Thriss and Shar had gone away together once—after he graduated from the Academy and before he assumed his wartime assignment. She cherished those days as belonging to her and Shar alone, never sharing any details of their time together with either Anichent or Dizhei.
Thriss leaned down to touch her cheek to Dizhei’s. “You go, sh’za.You and Anichent deserve to relax away from me. I’m not good company right now. Enjoy food that’s not replicated. You told me last week you wanted to learn to play tongo,this is your chance!”
Almost imperceptibly, Dizhei shook her head. “I’ll stay with you. It’s not good to be alone. Anichent can go with Zhadi.”
Thriss eased Dizhei up from her lap. Cupping Dizhei’s face in her hands, Thriss touched her forehead to hers. They entwined fingers through each other’s hair. Dizhei was like a zhaveyto her. Thriss decided she could yield—make an honest effort to get along with the group. “I believe the last time we fenced, you beat me. Every game. Don’t assume you’ll have an advantage this time.” Thriss smiled and Dizhei reciprocated.
In the doorway, Anichent appeared holding Quark’s evening menu; he sighed, visibly relieved.
Thriss assumed that Anichent was happy he didn’t have to take her on; their “discussions” usually ended after heated words or thrown furniture—and it wasn’t always her doing the throwing. Neither of them enjoyed being pitted against the other in the battle for Shar’s affection; both resented, justifiably, having to defend their places in Shar’s life.
She wasn’t entirely so self-absorbed that she didn’t know what Anichent really thought: he believed Shar’s unusually strong attachment to her would fade after the shelthrethbecause he saw her and Shar’s relationship as being comprised of physical urges, sexual chemistry. He clung to the hope that in the long run, Shar would choose a mindmate over a bed partner. What Anichent doesn’t see is that I am both,Thriss thought triumphantly.
Neither she nor Anichent spoke of what would happen to Dizhei, who nurtured and loved them all, regardless of what her own future held. She cared more about their collective concerns than her own. Thriss’ own zhaveyhad chastised her once for their overlooking Dizhei’s needs, chalking it up to youthful myopia. As time passed, Thriss recognized her zhaveywas right: Dizhei was the stabilizing influence that held their bond together.
Thank the gods for Dizhei,Thriss thought. One of us needs to keep their wits about them.
Quark leaned against the bar, both lobes focused on table 5 where Natima and Ro sat conversing. Normally, the layers of bar noise never interfered with his ability to follow whatever conversations were underway. He’d grown accustomed to filtering out the dings of the dabo wheel, the clatter of latinum at the tongotable, clinking glasses and the clicking heels of the servers as they raced across the floor to pick up their drink orders. But tonight, he swore Ro must have brought some privacy device to protect whatever female-talk she had planned with Natima. It was like that nightmare he had where he showed up at his vault to collect his latinum only to discover his vault was a front operation for a Bajoran Orphans Charity Fund. He’d given away everything he’d earned without realizing it. Talk about feeling naked before the universe! That same panicked sensation threatened to wash over him now as, try as he might, he couldn’t figure out what those conniving females were up to. But oh, they’re lovely to look at, aren’t they?