Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [46]
As if remembering, the girl started to tremble, and Uhura resisted the urge to put an arm around her and comfort her. She was Romulan, she reminded herself. How would someone from her culture handle it? In a gesture of complete trust, she held out the honor blade and, when the girl did not take it, pointedly placed it in her hand and turned her back to her, returning to the mirror.
“It’s my guess,” she said, addressing the mirror, watching the girl’s reflection, “that you’ve never seen anyone killed before. It’s horrifying. I know.”
“You are a Starfleet officer,” the girl said seriously, weighing the blade in the palm of her hand for a moment before concealing it within her quilted tunic. “You must be accustomed to it.”
Uhura put the finishing touches on her hair and dropped the comb in the disposal. She contemplated the choices of lip color in the dispenser as she continued to address the girl without looking directly at her. “Believe me, honey, even if you’re trained for it, you never get used to it. And you certainly weren’t expecting it. My guess is you came here with your family, expecting nothing more than an offworld adventure, a chance to mingle with other species, enjoy some exotic food in alien surroundings-“
She watched the girl’s spine stiffen.
“Do not mistake me for some sheltered child. I am an aide to Senator Pardek. I-” She as quickly snapped her jaw shut, angry. “You are a spy! You are trying to trick me!”
“Oh, for pity’s sake!” Uhura exploded, turning on her. “May I remind you that you’re the one who was hiding from me?”
That seemed to back her off. Uhura programmed in her makeup choices, powdered her nose, touched up her eyebrows, applied the lip color she’d chosen, all in silence, watching the Romulan the entire time. Finally the girl sidled up to the mirror beside her. She ran some water into the palms of her hands, splashed her face. Uhura handed her a towel, which she took after only a moment’s hesitation.
“Forgive me,” she said at last, watching Uhura’s reflection in the mirror as well even though they were all but standing shoulder to shoulder. “You are correct. This whole event has been… not what I expected. I rushed in here because I was feeling ill. I had hoped no one would find me until I had regained my composure.” She disdained the choice of combs in the dispenser, and began running her fingers through her helmet of dark hair. “That is the only reason I was hiding. And then for you to take me for a child…”
“That was presumptuous of me,” Uhura said. “Guess I owe you an apology as well. Here, you’ve got the part all crooked. Allow me…”
With that she selected a fresh comb from the dispenser and began to groom the Romulan’s short, dark hair; the girl permitted it, and seemed to relax with the added attention.
“There, now, that’s much better!” Uhura announced when she had done, leaving the young woman to wonder if she meant the apology, or the repair to her person. “You okay now?”
The girl listened to the translation, then nodded.
“If it’s any consolation,” Uhura said, disposing of comb and makeup, and wiping the water spots off the basin before disposing of the towel, “the first time I saw someone killed, I also lost my breakfast.”
She waited for the translator to render that into an analogous Romulan idiom before she offered her hand and said, “My name is Uhura. Nyota. May I ask yours?”
“Cretak.” The girl’s handshake was firm and decisive. “Kimora.”
“Kimora,” Uhura repeated, smiling. “That’s lovely. But I will of course call you Cretak until we know each other better.”
“Will we?” Cretak withdrew her hand, tucked both hands into her sleeves; it made her look very dignified. “I do not see how. After what happened in that conference chamber, no doubt our peoples will consider each other enemies for a very long time.”
“Why? Because some on both sides turned out to be traitors not only to the peace process but to their own people?