Fur and Fathers

Chapter Thirteen

“I see why she made such an impression on you.”  Shran glanced up from the goblet of wine he’d been cautiously tasting.  “They’re … well, I haven’t seen anything like them before.”

“You don’t know the half of it.”  Trip was sitting by the window, staring moodily out across the darkening valley.

The two of them had been escorted to the infirmary, which was a long, low single-story building pierced with windows down its length.  The main part of it contained a double row of plain pallet beds, twelve in all, each large enough to accommodate a Skair in comfort.  None of them was currently occupied.  The floor was of plain slate, immaculately clean; the walls were whitewashed, with no decoration of any kind, though each of the window niches contained a small vase of flowers.  At one end there was a suite of rooms that was evidently prepared for visitors, and they’d been shown there and left temporarily to their own devices.  There was a kind of lounge, where they found comfortable chairs and several well padded sofas, plus a long table and benches that were pushed to one side.  Several unlit braziers stood ready in the event that the night should become cold, but the windows had crude glass in them that served to keep the temperature quite bearable.

Hoshi had been carried to the infirmary too, but she’d been taken into another suite of rooms at the far end, presumably the Healer’s quarters and surgery.  There was an interconnecting door but it was firmly closed.  So far they’d both resisted the urge to try and see if it was locked too, though if the wait went on too long the temptation might become irresistible.

They’d had made a brief tour of the visitors’ rooms, more out of inquisitiveness than anything else.  There were two bedrooms, both with very large circular and slightly hollowed-out beds filled with cushions and topped with layers of hand-woven blankets.  There wasn’t anything else much by way of furniture.

“So, enlighten me.”  The survey so far hadn’t revealed anything extraordinary.  Although many of the Skaira had been wearing jewelry, some of it considerably finer than the rather primitive architecture of this place had led him to expect, there was no evidence of fabulous wealth.  And though they were certainly remarkable enough to look at – he’d never seen any race before that had evolved in anything like that form – they hadn’t given any indication so far of qualities which might inspire such marked respect as the Starfleet crew evidently felt for them.  Shran felt free to indulge his curiosity with a little questioning.  “Exactly what’s so special about these people?  I’ve seen for myself they’re telepathic.”

“We told you most of what we know on the way here.”

“So tell me again.  We’ve got nothing else to do.”

The human sighed.  “Did we tell you they’re parthenogenetic?”

Shran frowned; he was fairly fluent in English, but his vocabulary didn’t run to such abstruse terms.  He reached for the UT that was necessary to communicate with the Skaira, who naturally spoke their own language, and switched it on again.  “Say again.”

“‘Parthenogenetic.’  They don’t have males.  They’re all female.  Born pregnant.”  The explanation made the UT redundant, which was irritating, to say the least.

“Why didn’t you say that the first time round?” he asked testily.

“I wasn’t thinkin’.  Sorry.”  The engineer was still looking out of the window, evidently not in the mood for a squabble.

Shran downed the rest of the wine, thinking that for females these Skaira certainly knew how to produce alcohol; even by Andorian standards, this was eye-watering stuff.  The taste wasn’t even close to ‘delicious’, but the kick of it almost knocked one backwards.  “Do they ferment this or pass it?” he asked somewhat ungratefully, grimacing at the aftertaste.

“Actually they don’t even make it.  I’m not even sure they drink it.  One of the other races makes it – little folks who live in the forest and think they’re related to trees.”

“‘People who think they’re related to trees.’”  The Andorian scowled.  He began to think that the people on this world didn’t have so much of an alcohol problem as a reality problem.  “Is this some kind of a joke?”

“Actually, no.  We saw them when we were here last.  Though they were asleep at the time.  Hibernatin’.  In a room underground.  And believe it or not, they were attached to a tree by their fingers.”

“Better and better.”  His antennae curved eloquently.  “This place gets crazier by the minute.”

“The further you get, the crazier it gets.  Their Emperor has to fight his chief warlord every seven years, and whoever wins gets the throne.  And nobody seems to mind.”  Tucker shook his head, remembering.  “It works, I suppose.  And one thing you’d better bear in mind – they take their gods real seriously.  Everybody here does.  It’s not just lip service, either.”

“Crazy from the inside out, then.”  His eyes narrowed when there was no response.  “You’re not telling me you believe it too!”

A shrug.  “I don’t know what I believe.  But Shiránnor believes it, and she’s no fool.”

“She doesn’t have to be a fool to believe in the supernatural.  Though it helps.”  Shran grinned.  “I suppose if you’re brought up with that sort of thing, you don’t question it.  And if they take it that seriously, you’re not allowed to question it.”

“I didn’t believe it before I came here.  Now – I suppose I have to call myself open-minded.  Things happened that I couldn’t find any rational explanation for.”

The Andorian grunted scornfully.  “People have always used gods to explain things that they haven’t been able to account for in a rational way.  That doesn’t mean they actually exist.  Better explanations come along, and the gods get smaller and disappear.”

“If you’d seen what I saw you might think differently.  But I’ll tell you this: Shiránnor has some kind of power that I’ve never seen before, wherever it comes from.  And though even without the ‘god’ thing she might come across as all cute and cuddly, don’t be fooled.  Those big padded paws have darn big claws in ‘em, and I’ve seen her use ‘em.”  His gaze sharpened.  “Speak of the devil, she’s bringin’ T’Pol back.”

*              *              *

“Hoshi is settled and quiet.  Grenyal is watching over her.  I think that there is no immediate danger, though that may change.”  Shiránnor subsided on to the floor with a sigh.  “If it does, she will inform you at once.”

“But what ‘danger’ are you talkin’ about?” asked Trip.  “Is there somethin’ wrong with the pregnancy?”

“Not in itself, as far as we can tell.  Your ‘data-base’ was very informative.  T'Pol here helped us with that, and we are confident that we can deal with any problems that might occur when labour begins.  The problem lies with the father’s continued presence.  He is close to the Ocean, and therefore they are perilously close to it too.”  Seeing puzzled expressions, she elucidated.  “I am sorry; it is the way we speak of such things.  He has begun his journey through death, but cannot complete it.  Hoshi will not release him, and I do not believe that he wants to release her.  That is what is wrong.  Eventually she may choose to join him rather than to release him, and the cub will almost certainly follow if that happens.”

The looks of puzzlement had now become frowns of incredulity.  Even T'Pol, who was used to diplomatically concealing her disbelief beneath at least a veneer of imperturbability, was evidently finding it difficult to do so in this case.

“No, I’m sorry.  I can’t go along with this.”  Shran stood up, shaking his head.  “With all due respect, you die and that’s an end of it.”

“It is usually an end, yes.”  Shiránnor nodded, evidently taking no offense.  “Unfortunately, I think that I may be partly responsible for this situation.”

“You?” said Trip blankly.

“Yes.  He and I were linked very closely.  I fear that it may have given him some – ability – that otherwise he would not have had.  He perceives where he is, he understands what is happening.  He has the strength to resist and the ability to reason.  And he will not give in.”

“He always was a stubborn son of a bitch,” muttered Trip. “But how the hell can he be stubborn when he’s dead?”

“Because he loves,” she said quietly.

“Love dies when you die.” The Andorian had his arms folded and was wearing his most pugnacious expression.  “There is nothing else.”

“You are entitled to your beliefs.”  The Skair looked across at him tranquilly.  “But your beliefs will not help the situation here.  Mine, perhaps, may.”

“How, exactly?”

She paused for a long moment.  “I know what is happening because I have spoken with him.”

Shran shook his head.  It was obviously a long way past his capacity to believe.  T'Pol looked a little less disbelieving; Vulcans, after all, believed in the continued existence of the katra after death.  Through the bond Trip felt her conflict.  Almost against her will she’d come to have considerable respect for the Skair, but this claim was pushing it to its limits.  Speaking with someone who was dead?  You could speak to them, okay, but as for them answering ….

“So if you ‘spoke with him’,” he said cautiously, in the voice of one who will allow a statement to stand for the sake of argument, “how come you didn’t tell him the trouble he’s causin’?”

“He is not precisely ‘causing’ it.  He is as much the victim of it as the cause of it.  He feels her grief so keenly that he will not hurt her further by leaving her; she cannot begin to heal until he is no longer with her.  And so there is no progress possible for either of them.  But this situation cannot continue indefinitely.  And time is running out.”  She paused again.  “If she has not begun labour by this time tomorrow, Grenyal will make her do so.”

“Won’t that hurt her?”

“She thinks it the lesser of two risks.  Marginally.”  Her flanks heaved in a sigh.  “We shall take her to the Shrine.  In such circumstances as these, it is the safest place I can think of.”

“‘Safe’?”  Shran frowned in puzzlement.  “Safe from what?”

Shiránnor looked across at him, and for once there was not a trace of a smile on her face.  “Safe to do what I may have to do, before this is over.”