To placate her neglected spouse, she’d brought a formal dress, secure in the packet tucked beneath her arm (side-by-side with her dress whites), ostensibly to change into after her meeting. “Just ask them, Phil,” he’d wheedled. “I’m sure this one time they won’t object to you wearing a beautiful gown instead of that stodgy old dress uniform.” Phillipa imagined that line of reasoning wouldn’t work on Admiral Akaar. Nevertheless she carried both garments with her—the uniform for the reception; the dress for Sibias, afterthe reception.
Where’s that damn turbolift?She continued to run through her mental checklist: the babysitter was supposedly on her way (once her botany final ended); Sibias, using a tricorder, had persuaded Mireh that nothing more serious than a hairbrush lurked beneath her bed; Arios had made a good start on his science project. On the frivolous front, she’d made an appointment with a stylist who had a booth on the Promenade, hoping he’d be inspired to do more with her hair than the ponytail she typically defaulted to. Tonight, she was slated to meet her new commanding officer and she wanted to make a good impression, though she doubted Colonel Kira was the type to care much about hairstyle.
Phillipa had met her share of fascinating people while warping around the quadrant studying xenoanthropology, but no luminaries in the colonel’s league. News coming from DS9 usually had focused on Captain Sisko but it had been Kira’s exploits that intrigued her. In the weeks immediately following the end of the war, she recalled watching the colonel’s tribunal testimony over the newsfeeds, trying to fathom how one crossed the gulf between Bajoran resistance fighter and consultant to the Cardassian resistance. She studied Kira’s body language, her vocal modulations, and her facial expressions, concluding only that if there were a more focused, intently devout person in the quadrant, Phillipa hadn’t heard of them. Now I’m about to serve under her command,she remembered thinking. She’d wanted to get every detail right.
I just hope my dress uniform still fits,she thought, trying to remember if she’d worn it since Mireh was born. Not much need for dress whites while doing posttraumatic stress counseling in a war zone. Maybe Ro will let me change in the security office…Focused on planning for the hours ahead, she missed hearing the approaching footsteps.
“Lieutenant Commander Matthias?”
Phillipa spun on her heel to see that Colonel Kira, striking in her dress uniform, had joined her. And me completely preoccupied and frazzled.“Yes, sir.” She snapped her ankles together and tried not to stare too obviously at the colonel. Even if she hadn’t already known what Kira looked like, she would have recognized her from the absence of her earring. To her knowledge, Kira was the only Bajoran officer on the station who didn’t wear one: even Ro wore hers, albeit on the “wrong” side.
“At ease,” Kira said with a smile. “When I saw you waiting here, I thought I’d introduce myself more informally than tonight’s reception may allow. I’m just sorry we haven’t met sooner. As you probably know, circumstances have been a bit more chaotic than normal.”
The turbolift finally arrived and both women stepped in, Phillipa requesting the Promenade; Kira said nothing, apparently headed for the same destination.
“I don’t mind at all,” Phillipa said. “I appreciate being able to stay busy. My patients so far have proven to be—challenging.”
“From what I understand, Shathrissía zh’Cheen comes with her own set of issues,” Kira said. “I’m sure you’ve had your hands full—though I was hoping for your sake that she’d sleep it off. Have we seen the end of her outbursts, or can we expect them for the duration of her stay?”
Ro’s report must be pretty comprehensive,Phillipa thought, wondering when Kira would have had the time to concern herself with one visitor. Her confident tone in speaking of Thriss was also surprising considering she hadn’t shared her notes with anyone, including Lieutenant Ro. Maybe Councillor zh’Thane had been hounding Kira with her own version of Thriss’problems. Or the colonel might be drawing conclusions based on Phillipa’s appearance.
Staying focused, all night, through Thriss’s flare-ups of temper and her long, stony silences required Phillipa to stay physically sharp for extended periods. She’d managed, but not without paying the price. Untreated bloodshot eyes hinted at sleeplessness and she’d acquired a stiff walk from six hours sitting in a standard issue, hard-bottomed chair. Since Kira had shown up, Phillipa had periodically rolled her shoulders to loosen them; her neck muscles remained sore, even after Sibias’ massage. Kira wasn’t stupid—she knew physical exhaustion when she saw it and could logically conclude it was the result of a night spent battling Thriss. Still, Phillipa, feeling protective of Thriss, wouldn’t share information with Kira without cause. It was an old trick: pretend you know something in the hopes that the person who really knows will talk.
“While I respect your interest, I’m not at liberty to discuss specific patients, Colonel,” she said politely. “Patient confidentiality.”
Kira threaded her arms across her chest and stepped closer to Phillipa. Her expression, were it not so serious, could be read as humoring. “Regulations permit me to supersede all confidentialities—clerical, medical and therapeutical. You know that I could request your chart notes and you’d be obligated to produce them. Instead, can we agree that you’ll share what’s relevant to station security?”
Without ever raising her voice or moving into Phillipa’s personal space, Kira had deftly established her authority. Excellently done, Colonel. I can be reasonable—but on my terms.“Patient information relevant to station security will not be shared with family members, however well intentioned those relatives might be,” Phillipa said, quickly adding, “Just so we’re clear on that, sir.”
Kira laughed. “I’m not spying for Thriss’ family, though based on the number of people hassling you about it, I could see why you’d think I might be. You think this emergency exit permit Councillor zh’Thane asked for is justified?”
“Councillor zh’Thane has cause to be concerned. This is a trying time for Thriss. Going home to familiar surroundings could be critical to her well-being, especially if something unexpected happens to Ensign ch’Thane.” While Thriss hadn’t been willing to talk about why she launched herself at Ro, by dawn, Phillipa had learned Thirishar ch’Thane’s history by heart.
“Does the station have a reason to be concerned?” Kira asked.
“Thriss isn’t a threat to the station or anyone presently residing here.”
“And to herself?”
Phillipa contemplated how to answer, mulling through the long night’s events. At one point, she’d seriously considered calling in Dr. Tarses for a neuropsychiatric consult, wondering if psychoactive medication or neurological mapping techniques would benefit Thriss. For some, depression meant too much sleep or blue moods. For others, it took a more violent turn. For Thriss, it’s probably a bit of both.“Thriss is impulsive, volatile and passionate. Those traits, individually, are problematic. Combined with depression, they can be deadly. Her bondmates can offer her a measure of emotional stability that might mitigate any motive she might have to hurt herself. She wants desperately to please them. In fact, one of her biggest worries last night was how what she’d done at Quark’s would reflect on Anichent and Dizhei. With their support, I can help her.”
Silently, Kira considered her. Meeting her gaze directly, Phillipa didn’t shy away from the colonel—whatever it was that she was measuring. She had nothing to hide.
The turbolift stopped with a soft thud and the door admitting them to the Promenade opened. Not sure that she had been dismissed, Phillipa walked beside the colonel who moved at a brisk clip through change-of-shift crowds milling about.