Fur and Fathers

Chapter Eighteen

Full dark had fallen by the time they returned to the Temple Complex – as close to full darkness as a cloudless night ever came on Kerriel, lit as it was by so many stars of such extraordinary beauty and brilliance.

The visitors had been told that it was comparatively rare for the place to show many lights at night – Skaira being nocturnal by preference, their eyesight was perfectly well adapted to relative darkness and they would generally only light lamps for work that required fine detail of vision.  T’Pol was the first to notice that the Infirmary now stood out among the other buildings by being illuminated.  Light shone out of all of the windows.  She wondered why; oil lamps had been provided for their rooms the night before, but the main block had been deserted and dark.

A solitary figure detached itself from the squat shape of the shuttle and strolled across the lawn to meet them.  Starlight gleamed on the thatch of white hair.  “I felt more comfortable bedding down aboard.  We’ve had visitors arrive since you left.  I thought they found me a little off-putting, so it seemed easier for me to leave than them.”  His tone was deliberately casual, but his antennae seemed to suggest he wasn’t quite as unperturbed as he was trying to appear.  “Did the birth go okay?”

Shiránnor sighed a little.  “Yes.  It was not easy, but it is done.  The visitors you met have arrived for the Tenth Hour Ceremony.  They will be here for some days, and the only place we have that can accommodate that many people at once is the infirmary.  We will find you somewhere else to stay.”

“Actually, I was thinking I might do a little exploring.  There doesn’t seem to be much for me to do around here.  Would there be any problem with that?”

The Skair shook her head.  “If you encountered others they might well have something of a problem with it, though you should not, not up on the ice lands.  But the weather will be closing in fast up there, now winter is on the way.  I counsel you to have a care.”

He looked so taken aback by her having such detailed knowledge of his plans that Trip grinned too.  “Yeah, it’s a bit unnervin’.  We did warn ya.”

“I’ll take more notice next time.  And don’t worry, I’ll be careful.  Ice and I are old friends.”  He nodded to her, and then glanced back at the Starfleet officers.  “You have your communicators?  Just call me when you need me.”  He walked back to the shuttle, and they retreated to a respectful distance as he closed the door.  Moments later the engine fired, and after a small struggle to detach itself from whatever earth still adhered to it after its unceremonious arrival, the craft lifted free and rose into the air.  Tonight the treacherous winds had fallen quiet, and it veered up without effort into the night sky, heading north.

“We shall eat together in my house,” said Shiránnor.  “I shall give orders for your belongings to be brought over from the guest room; there is another room next to mine that you may use if it is comfortable enough for you.  It would not be suitable for you to stay in the infirmary now that there are others in the building.”

“We appear to be causing considerable disruption to your domestic arrangements,” remarked T’Pol, feeling that some apology was in order.  And it wasn’t just the guest accommodation that was being disrupted; it was all too easy to perceive that a titanic power struggle was in progress, a struggle which their problems had exacerbated.  Nevertheless, she had a strong suspicion that Shiránnor would not want to discuss that.  “We are sorry if we have arrived at an inopportune time.”

“You came when you needed to.  And the time may be more opportune than you realize.”

For some reason, Trip reacted to that statement.  She felt a small jolt through the bond, almost like panic.  What is wrong? she sent.

It’s – can we talk about it later?  He was confused and reluctant.  Hunger and tiredness were clouding his thought processes, but that wasn’t all that was wrong.  She could tell that he was upset, but he’d been on edge since the previous day. She’d assumed it was worry about Hoshi and the captain.  Please, don’t push this, he pathed.  I promise, we’ll talk about it.  But not now.

If it is something that causes you pain, I need to know.

An’ you will.  Tonight.  Shiránnor has somethin’ she wants to talk to us about.  Can we leave it at that for now?

She looked hard at him.  The face she found so handsome was blank with exhaustion, but the blue eyes looked back at her levelly.

As you wish, Adun.

As First Priestess, Shiránnor occupied a house that in size was second only to the Meeting Hall.  Most of the space inside it was taken up by a large room where her council usually assembled, a library and a chapel.  Her own quarters comprised a modest lounge, her own bedroom, a spare bedroom and an Audience Chamber.  None of these were luxuriously fitted out, except that the floors were covered with beautifully cured hides instead of carpets.  In view of the fact that the owner of the house was an accomplished predator like her juniors, it was not hard to imagine where these had come from.

Her steward Vetherahi had been waiting for her when they arrived, and had taken her low-voiced orders and slipped away to see them carried out.  Presumably the change of living quarters was not unexpected, for lights had been set here, too; small oil lamps perched wherever a convenient space offered.  But of course they weren’t the only guests.

While they were waiting for supper to arrive she took them to see Jon.  He was in the spare bedroom.  Skaira plainly didn’t go in for fancy beds; even hers was no more than a low, broad pallet covered with greenstuff under a single plain throw that had seen good service.  The one Jon was occupying was similarly made, but more effort had been put into covering the greenery, and a finely woven blanket had been placed carefully over him.  A Skair with chestnut-coloured fur and hair was couched beside it, gently plucking notes from some kind of harp she held between her forelegs. She looked up as they entered; she was about the same age as Shiránnor, and had a wise, gentle face despite the sharp canine teeth whose points showed as she spoke.

“I think the music has helped him.  He listened to it this afternoon.  He did not speak, but he listened.”

“I had hoped that the First Among Singers would help his cause.  Jathior, it is good to see you.  I cannot say how good it is.  And I thank you for coming here, and for your care of him.”  The two Skaira embraced, Shiránnor bending to save the other having to rise to do so.  They did not kiss, but rubbed their cheekbones together affectionately.

“You had other cares.  Are both mother and cub well?”

“Yes, thank the Goddess.  It was hard, but we succeeded.  Thanks in great part to this my friend here.”  She introduced Trip.  “And his wife T’Pol.”

The Singer stared at them both with interest.  “It is my honour to meet with you; Shirah’shih has spoken of you often.  My only sorrow is that you return to us in an evil case, but at least one outcome has been happy.  And for the other, we have every hope.”

The two officers stepped forward to the bed and hunkered down beside it.  The captain was lying still, but his color had improved.  Some of the ghastly hollow look had gone from around his eyes too.

If he’d been asleep, it must have been shallow at best.  The hazel eyes opened slowly, and a faint, hesitant smile appeared.  “Trip.  It’s ... it’s good to see you.”  Voice and smile were each a shadow of their old selves, but the latter at least was a thing that hadn’t made an appearance since Cheron, though it hardly softened the lines of bitterness and grief that the Expanse and the war had gouged into his face.  His eyes shifted.  “T’Pol. Thought you’d have ... had more sense.”

“I would have thought so myself, Captain.”  Best, on all counts, to preserve her usual dry front.  “But it would appear that even Vulcans can occasionally wander from the path of logic.”

“If there’s a side road going, Trip’ll drag you up it.”  The crinkles at the corners of his eyes appeared, but his brief flare of energy was ebbing.  “Hoshi ... has she had the baby yet?”

“Approximately two hours ago.  They are both well.”  She swallowed something in her throat.  “A beautiful baby girl.  They have called her Agnes Elizabeth Sato-Reed.”

Archer closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly.  “Agnes.  Oh, Malcolm.”

“Yeah.”  Trip was grinning too, albeit lopsidedly.  “Trust him.  Nothin’ ord’nary.”

“I guess ... he had his reasons.”  A brief flash of hazel, before the eyes closed again.  “Sure picked a pretty second name, though.”

“Sure did.”  Her husband patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.  “Go back to sleep, Jon.”

Jathior smiled at them.  “He already has,” she said softly.  “You are tired and hungry.  Go and eat and rest.  I will look after him.”

The gentle notes of the harp followed them out of the room.