Cathedral Michael Mangels (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📖

door, so Ro touched the wall panel that activated the door chime. “Councillor, it’s Lieutenant Ro. I have Doctor Tarses with me.”

The door slid open, and it took Ro’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light within the room. Just inside the door was zh’Thane, her usually immaculate hair slightly disheveled. From her garments, Ro guessed that she had been asleep when she had gotten the call about the tragedy.

As Ro moved to enter the room, zh’Thane held up a pale blue hand as if to stop her. “Who is this other man?”

“This is Sergeant Shul Torem,” said Ro, gesturing toward her deputy. “He’s well versed in Starfleet protocol pertaining to forensic investigations. And he can be trusted to be discreet.”

Tarses spoke up. “Councillor, there may be a chance to save Thriss’s life if you’ll allow me to attend to her.”

Zh’Thane swept her arm toward the interior of the room, where two figures crouched in the darkness, their arms around their legs and their heads bowed. The body of Thriss lay on the bed, perfectly still. “She seems quite beyond help, Doctor. If you can do something, please do, but do not violate the integrity of the body. The skin must not be broken.”

Tarses nodded, then moved into the room with his tricorder in one hand and his medkit slung over a shoulder. As zh’Thane moved back a step, Ro and Shul stepped into the room, though they did not spread out.

“Can you tell me what happened, Councillor?” Ro asked.

“Dizhei came to Shar’s quarters, concerned that Thriss’s depression might be more consuming than she had revealed to us. She found her on the bed, already dead. She called Anichent and me to the room, and I, in turn, called you.”

Shul spoke up, his voice cool and low. “Was there any sign of struggle?”

“No, Deputy,” zh’Thane said. “Dizhei had tried to move her, to get her to respond. But there did not appear to be any struggle, and certainly nothing dangerous was found. Other than this.” She produced a small hypospray from the folds of her robe. “She was clutching this in her hand.”

His hands gloved, Shul gingerly took the device from zh’Thane and placed it into a small plastic bag he had pulled from a belt pouch. “Has anyone else touched this?” he asked as he handed the bag to Dr. Tarses, who had already opened his tricorder.

“Not to my knowledge. I pulled it from Thriss’s grasp myself.”

Ro looked the councillor directly in the eyes, steeling herself. Zh’Thane was already intimidating enough, and the situation was fraught with potential for giving offense. “Councillor, you have made it very clear to me that Andorian customs are not something to be shared with outside parties. However, I am unsure what the correct customs are in this situation. Because this happened aboard Deep Space 9, I am…obliged to investigate further. But I don’t wish to make the situation any more painful, either for you or for Thriss’s bondmates.”

“I appreciate your discretion, Lieutenant,” zh’Thane replied. “This is indeed a very private matter, and while I am cognizant of your need for answers, I must insist that this room—and the body of my son’s bondmate—be considered off-limits to any Starfleet or station staff for the foreseeable future.”

Shul began to object, but zh’Thane cut him off. “I will grant you a few minutes to gather whatever information you require, but I can assure you that this unfortunate situation is a—” Her voice caught in her throat for a moment, and she looked to the ceiling before continuing. “Faced with what she felt was an untenable situation, Thriss took her own life. There is no mystery to be solved. Nor has a crime been committed, other than the crime of selfishness on the part of my son, who tore apart his bond. And on the part of Thriss, who made certain that none of her bondmates could have a future together.”

Zh’Thane gestured for Ro and Shul to search the room, then told the computer to raise the light level. As Shul began inspecting the area, Ro looked at the kneeling forms of Dizhei and Anichent, both of whom appeared to be quietly meditating. Their antennae curled limply before them, like wilted flowers. Their faces downcast, they held themselves as still as statues. Indigo-tinged blood was still wet from gashes furrowed into their uncovered arms, and Ro could see the same blood crusted on their fingertips.

Ro moved to the bedside where Tarses was still scanning Thriss. In a low voice, he said, “I don’t think there’s any hope here, Ro. Whatever killed her stopped everything cold. There’s not even any residual neuro-electrical activity or muscular contractions.”

“We have the hypospray that zh’Thane found in her hand. Maybe that will tell us what killed her,” Ro said, sparing a glance in Tarses’ direction. The doctor was preoccupied with his tricorder’s display, apparently fine-tuning his scan for some particular substance.

Ro looked around the bed for any clues. There were not, as the councillor had said, any signs of struggle, other than those probably caused by the Andorians trying to rouse their partner. None of the vases and sculptures near the bed or on its headboard were broken or toppled. She lifted Thriss’s hands, checking under her nails. She didn’t see any dried blood; it hadn’t been Thriss who clawed at her bondmates. They must have injured themselves—or perhaps each other—in their grief.

A few moments later, Dr. Tarses cleared his throat, prompting both Ro and zh’Thane to look in his direction. “It certainly appears that the substance in the hypospray was the cause of death,” he said quietly. “Arithrazine.”

Ro frowned. “I thought arithrazine was for treating theta-radiation exposure. Like the Europani refugees.”

“It is,” the doctor nodded. “But it’s designed to work in concert with the radiation in the patient’s system. By itself—and in large enough doses—arithrazine can cause rapid neural depolarization. And it explains the arithrazine ampules I discovered missing from the infirmary about an hour ago.”

Ro was startled by