From the time they were little, Shar’s voice had always hypnotized her. He wasn’t prone to long speeches or flowery language but the tone in his voice made her shiver deliciously. She recalled “borrowing” school supplies from his desk just so he would have to ask her where she’d put them. Once, during their exercise period, she’d casually thrown a foot out in front of him during a foot race, sending him sprawling to the floor. Of course she’d volunteered to escort him to the nurse. That was the first time she’d touched him: dabbing a lumpy bruise on his forehead with a cool cloth. Oh, how annoyed he’d been with her! She smiled a little sadly at the memory. Now he’s thousands of light years away without me to take care of him.She rubbed her eyes, hoping Dizhei didn’t see the beginnings of tears.

Notwithstanding Dizhei’s unfailing kindness, Thriss knew she became impatient with the weepiness. The high rounded back of her chair shielded her somewhat from Dizhei, though, so she hugged her legs tight against her body, rested her chin on her knees and settled in to watch the recording.

Several days ago, she’d been browsing through Shar’s database when she discovered his journal—what Starfleet people called their personal logs. At first, she watched them after Anichent and Dizhei were asleep, fearing their disapproval, selfishly wanting to hold something of Shar’s for herself. Both her bondmates fussed about propriety, about respecting personal boundaries. Thriss knew that delving, uninvited, into these recordings might be construed as a violation, but she couldn’t help herself. And it became harder and harder to wait until the middle of the night to spend time with Shar. So she decided to risk viewing them now, even though Dizhei, who listened with earpieces to her students’assignments, was in the room with her.

From what she could see, he appeared happy. This latest assignment to DS9 agreed with him. Seeing his contentment, however, always led her back to questioning why he couldn’t be content with her.Why not come back to Andor for the shelthrethand then she’d go wherever he wanted her to. They simply had to put their obligations behind them.

Voices in the background cued her that others had joined her and Dizhei. Why did Anichent have to come in now? I want to finish watching this day first, the day he received my gift.She saw Shar looking at the elaborate model of Andorian DNA, constructed with rounded, highly polished, multicolored crystals. It pleased her to see he kept it on the shelf closest to his bed.

“Thriss!”

Abruptly, she spun her chair around and before she could protest, found herself facing Charivretha.

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.”