CHAPTER EIGHT
“Every day it's as if I play a part… if I wear a mask
I can fool the world… but I cannot fool my heart.
“Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me?
When will my reflection show who I am inside?
“I am now in a world where I have to hide my heart
“But… I will show the world... and be loved for who I am.”
- David Zippel
“Is that you, Parihn?”
She nodded, and scrutinized Jerrell's
reaction; he cocked his head, as if the slight change in visual angle might
restore the flawless features he
remembered.
“What happened to your face?” The reaction was, at least,
sincere—if clearly dismayed.
Evidently the new model isn't as aesthetically appealing, eh,
Jerrell?
Coolly, she replied, “It grew a personality.”
He made a game effort to salvage the
moment.
“Oh. Well… I have to tell you, you're
still very pretty—quirkier, I'd say.”
How magnanimous of you, she thought. I was desperately worried about your opinion.
What she said, though, was an ironic, “Thank
you.
“Where's Xorc? I need to talk with him.
It's important.”
Jerrell recovered a measure of that
nigh-ubiquitous confident persona, and returned to polishing his pet mug. It
was an affectation most bartenders and counter-people acquired somewhere along
the line—akin to drumming your fingernails or some other repetitious activity
that enabled you to seem busy while you considered your subsequent statement.
Or plotted your next move, as the case may be.
While the gesture seemed almost
incongruous for a coffeehouse owner, it underscored her certainty that Jerrell
sold far more than just that—no doubt right under the collective noses of the
security people here at Way Station 242.
He had a flair for theatre, too… and no
doubt the pose pleased his humor.
Finally, he answered, “Away on
business… just left the day before yesterday… won't be back for some time…”
She'd been in his presence for all of a
minute, and already her patience was wearing thin.
“How long is 'some time'?”
Jerrell gave an eloquent, significant
shrug; it was accompanied by a satisfied grin.
“Two weeks… three? I'm not really certain.”
Parihn avoided an exasperated
exhalation that wouldn't have done her cause any good at all.
Carefully, she observed, “You're his partner, Jerrell. I find it highly
unlikely you don't know where he is, or can't get in touch, if necessary. I
can't stress how critical it is I speak with him.”
Though Parihn had thus far avoided
mentioning the purpose behind her errand, she wasn't at all surprised when he
set down the glass, leaned over the bar, and whispered conspiratorially,
“Critical to you…
“…or to Aedra?”
Instead of responding to that, she
inquired, pointedly, “Did you send
Xorc away, Jerrell?”
His expression at the accusation was
genuinely surprised. Either she'd missed her guess, or, more likely, he was a
consummate actor.
“Starfleet service has made you
paranoid, Parihn. I have a business to run; I'm an information broker: People
tell me things… and I occasionally say something in response. It has the
benefits of being interesting and
lucrative, as well as sharpening the mind—improving your ability to inductively
reason.
“Now when my favorite little animal woman comes calling only days after I hear
about another having disappeared while in the Rigel system, I simply, as the
humans say, 'connected the dots.'
“I mean, give me a little credit, would you?”
After a moment's thought, Parihn
allowed for the possibility—barely.
“All right, then; Xorc isn't here. I'll
deal with you. Considering what
you've already revealed, I assume you know where they have Aedra, or where
they're taking her.
“Tell me.”
Jerrell's response was that of the
quintessential Orion.
“In exchange for what, Parihn? I don't profit by giving information away and getting
nothing in return.”
She had not come unprepared, though.
“50,000 credits.”
He actually laughed aloud, and it
wasn't a pleasant sound—at least to her.
“Federation credits? And what would I do with those? Buy synthehol and
holosuite programs?
“Try again.”
She upped the stakes a notch.
“Five bars of gold-pressed latinum.”
He drew back in surprise.
“Really? And where would you
acquire that much capital—not that it's enough,
mind you.”
Undeterred, she offered, “Ten.”
“Well, your offer's progressed from
pathetic to amusing.”
He beckoned with his hands.
“Do go on.”
“Twenty.”
Now he looked a little impressed.
“The price begins to distantly approach
feasibility, Parihn. I’m still listening—for now.”
She did a hasty calculation, and
eventually arrived at, “Fifty.”
For a moment, she watched him weigh the
offer, and dared hoped it might be enough.
“Hmm… let me check the exchange rates…” He
pulled a PADD from beneath the bar, and punched in a few entries. “Fifty bars
of gold-pressed latinum would be approximately what a thrifty young officer
might save over eight years of Starfleet service if she'd never spent a credit,
invested with conservatism and cleverness… and then exchanged for latinum all
at once.
“Sound familiar?”
Though she kept her face
expressionless, Parihn felt her heart lurch.
So much for hoarding your wealth to be ready in a time of need.
It was hardly necessary for him to
confirm it, but he added, “No deal.”
Parihn folded her arms, and adopted
what she hoped might serve as a forbidding pose.
“Then what do you want, Jerrell?”
Obviously to him, though, nothing was forbidden.
“As if you haven't guessed.
“I want you.”
Once she'd realized Xorc wasn't
present, this possibility had been lurking in the back of Parihn's mind.
Now, it shambled into the light.
“I don't do those things anymore, Jerrell... and haven't for a long time.”
He smiled; it was more of smirk, but
sufficed to convey his amusement.
“I think you misunderstand, Parihn… I
want you permanently, as my
companion, my… second partner, as it were.”
At her incredulous expression, he
explained.
“Now, I'm not asking that you spontaneously choose me over the other elements
of your life… but I do want the opportunity to know you I never had. I'm certain you'd like that very much, too,
if you just gave it a chance.
“This is what I propose: I'll give you
the information you need. Then, you let Commander
Gallas go to her ex-cronies in Starfleet Intelligence with it. They'll
perform the extraction, and rescue the girl. Let's be honest… you don't need to be there. You're not a
spy; you're a pilot—one of the best, from what I've been told. You can stay
here, knowing that you've done the right thing…
“…you’ll take extended leave, and we
can spend a few months together. No commitment, no promises… no sex, until you
want it... and no declarations of love—until I've persuaded you to give me one,
that is.” His smile was equal shares assurance, invitation and hopefulness… and
no doubt, to him, his offer seemed eminently reasonable.
To her, though, it wasn't compelling in
the least.
Parihn understood that Jerrell's
self-image was very different than the one she had of him. He saw what was
happening as a latinum-gilt opportunity for the two of them to rectify a
mistake they'd made—that she'd
made—nine years ago in not remaining together and forming an… alliance.
But she also knew that he didn't see himself clearly… and never had. While he
did have a few admirable qualities, he was, at the last, a thief, and if he
could get something with a minimum of effort, he would—no matter how much it
hurt the people from whom he stole it.
Jerrell, in addition, was supremely
arrogant enough at his essential core to be genuinely surprised Parihn hadn't immediately accepted his renewed offer.
He believed himself practically irresistible… and that it was, at least on some
level, one of her reasons for coming.
Still, she answered him directly,
hoping that sincerity and resolve could see her through this.
“No.
“Why can't you acknowledge that I don't—and
will never—love you, Jerrell? My life
is with Starfleet, now… and I'm genuinely happy.
“You're not going to persuade me, no
matter what you do. Please… just accept that.”
But she saw his eyes and knew he
couldn't, or wouldn't—that her choice, forced though it was, had been a
misstep: On Jerrell's face, surprise turned to chagrin, then irritation, and
finally gave way to what Parihn had known was coming next.
Calculation.
Finally, he said, “All right...
“…then if I’m not to have a chance at
winning your heart, at least I want to enjoy your body and engage your
mind—something for us both to
remember. I'll accept, in lieu of what I know
would be best for us both, one week of your... companionship… with all that word entails. I know you still know how to do that.
“Afterwards, I'll give you the data.
“And since you just
intimated—interesting use of the word, in this context—that you've not been
with a man since you left Rigel, Parihn, I'll consider it an honor to be the
first.”
She frowned as deeply as he grinned at
this prospect.
Nice try… but I didn’t imply I’ve not slept with anyone, and am
not responsible for what you infer. You’re not privy to my private life, you pretentious snoop: Who
I’ve been with is none of your damned
business.
Parihn gave a derisive snort.
“There's nothing honorable about what you’re proposing, Jerrell.
“I said ‘No’… and I meant it.”
His expression grew a little colder…
and it reflected a determination she’d known was coming, and had dreaded, since
the conversation had taken this turn—a determination not to take “No”
for an answer.
“…but you have no additional options if
you want to help Aedra,” he told her, “because
I’m not going to allow you any. It's one arrangement, the other, or a
variant of either; that part is not
negotiable. If you even try, I throw
you out of here...
“…and you’ve left her to her fate.”
And there it was.
If she’d actually planned this as a disaster, it couldn’t have gone any worse.
Parihn was starting to get the distinct
impression her initial speculation about Xorc's absence wasn't simply unfounded suspicion. Jerrell had somehow known, or simply guessed, she was coming, and had laid
out a very determined if straightforward procedure for winning her love, like
he had purported nine years ago—one that involved having the Kaylar elsewhere.
She was determined to avoid experiencing the results of his scheming, even as
she had managed to do so then.
This time, though, the situation was
vastly different, because Parihn knew she couldn’t just walk away as she had
then…
…and worse, he knew it, too.
What he didn’t know—but what made her negotiating position untenable—was
the fact that she couldn’t just go to
Starfleet with the information. They’d made it clear that retrieving Aedra
simply wasn’t worth the resources or the risk.
Parihn had to have the data, and she had to have it soon—the longer the
delay, the colder the trail. In exchange, though, she had only two possessions he wanted, and both were things she desperately didn’t wish to surrender.
She understood the game, but it didn’t
matter: This man was easily as skilled a player as she…
…and he had all the good cards.
Almost ten years ago, Jerrell had told
her that, eventually, she’d end up on her back again. Then, he’d meant it as a warning.
Now, he himself looked to be the
instrument of his prophecy’s fulfillment.
Parihn weighed her self-respect—as well
as her personal feelings and desires—against both the possibility of swaying
the man before her, and the freedom
of Aedra Anari… and found that, despite what it would cost her, it was no real
contest.
You manipulative cad.
She offered, “I’ll be with you one
time, for one hour. I promise, you’ll never
forget it.”
Jerrell smiled, but rather
patronizingly shook his head.
“While I’m sure it would be wonderful… it’s not enough.
Six days… same arrangement.”
With her own Orion’s eye for
give-and-take, that nigh-instinctual ability to barter, Parihn guessed where
they would meet in the negotiation.
She found that, with tremendous difficulty, she could accept
it.
Visibly agitated, she countered, “Two
hours.”
“Five days.” He managed to make it
sound magnanimous—especially considering that he knew full well how disturbed
she was.
“Four hours.”
“Four days.”
With a vision of Aedra’s liberty
firmly, almost desperately, in mind, Parihn tried again.
“Six hours.”
“Three days.”
Parihn saw that he was actually enjoying this… and suppressed an urge to
strike him.
Instead, she countered, “A single
night.”
“Two days.”
At that, they stopped; the twain had
met, and both knew it.
She quickly leaped on his offer, and
defined its parameters.
“One day… dawn to dawn.”
He nodded a provisional acceptance—one
that invited her to continue.
“From dawn to dusk, you can plead the
case I know you’re going to whether or not I permit it. I promise to listen,
and give you a fair hearing.”
He folded his arms.
“Well, you seem to be cutting my quality time in half, but… continue.”
Part of her was screaming, Don’t do this!
Another, however, relentlessly argued, You have no choice.
“And from dusk to dawn…” she hesitated…
then exhaled, trembling, and pressed on.
“…you can have me.
“But keep this in mind: I shall not abase myself with the vulgarities I
had forced on me when I was a slave… so, as the humans say, ‘nothing kinky’—at all. Whether or not I possessed it
when I was a courtesan is immaterial; I do
have my pride now, and I’ll not relinquish it—at least, not entirely.” That
last was added with more than a hint of bitterness.
Jerrell, she noted, had the good sense
not to gloat. He even managed to sound as if he genuinely knew just how
fortunate he was.
“We have an agreement.” He held out his
hand, also in the human fashion, and she took it, briefly.
“And Parihn… I would never demean you.”
He truly couldn’t see that this was
precisely what he had done.
She then said, “For all your help in
freeing me nine years ago, Jerrell, you didn’t hesitate to make me into a whore
again when the opportunity arose.”
She’d stung him badly with that.
Jerrell drew back, wounded… then
parried, incisively, “And you didn’t hesitate in negotiating like one, did you? It takes two to make a contract,
Parihn. Don’t look to blame me if you can’t accept what you’ve done.
“If you need to berate someone, though,
I can leave you alone.
“There’s a mirror right over there.”
Vaerth Parihn found she couldn’t bear to look.