Comforting Walls
by Monica Tully
Her hands moved quickly -- short dark lines
feathering the paper. She used a dark, dull, drawing stick, one end sharpened to a fine
point, the other broad. With deft movement she flipped it, and drew a long, sleek shadowed
mark.
A quick puff of breath scattered bits of black dust and she eyed her piece critically. Not
that anyone but she would see this -- it was only a sketch of the side panel of the cargo
bay. Not something anyone would be interested in. But it demanded to be drawn ... the
curved lines, the shadings, the uneven plates, the smooth and coarse textures. It was
drawn from memory, and from sound. She couldn't see the plate, nestled as she was amid
crates and packing boxes. She enjoyed this seat -- it was her favorite drawing spot.
Like a fort, a wall of the Groumal's cargo rose around her. The hum of the engines and
vibrations of the side plates sang to her. And those sounds had to be drawn.
As she cast her eyes about the wall of cargo, she added the image to her page. Her eyes
moved up one side, seeing the odd shape of the container at the top ... and the smooth
cylinders at the bottom ... quickly those forms were merged with the wall plate.
Scratch, scratch, a breath of air, short and smooth strokes.
Finally she set the drawing stick down, and leaned her head back.
She knew her father hated this ship. She knew how hard his demotion had been on him. She
felt sympathy. But she loved this place. It was hers. And so was he.He had belonged to
Cardassia, or to Bajor. Never to her -- until now. Until this ship, this place, this
middle of nowhere left only him and her, together.
She stiffened as she heard the sound of footsteps. They weren't her father's -- he
wasn't wont to come down here. Years with the Breen had taught her how to quickly become
quiet and invisible. She didn't move. Two sets of footsteps -- the distinctive clump of
cardassian boots. Whoever entered was on the far side of the cargo bay. She recognized
Damar's voice, but could not make out his words. One set of footsteps left the bay, the
other ... it must be Damar, checking inventory. A few steps, stop. The sound of a
hand on boxes. The beep of a padd. She smiled.
In the mining camp, surprising a guard was not a good idea. She had to be where she was
assigned, and if they found her at any of her hiding spots, she was punished. She closed
her eyes and shook the memory from her mind.
It was different here. The freedom was exhilarating. Her father had no idea how happy
she was. He assumed since he was miserable, and since she was sympathetic, that she must
also be miserable. She loved him, but was not a fool. She saw how he assumed others would
-- must -- share his feelings, on just about anything. And how surprised he was when they
did not. She let him think what he would. She couldn't really share her experiences
in the camp with him. She'd done that a bit, when they first were reunited, and it
distressed him greatly. And it was all in the past. No point in going back.
She returned her attention to the drawing. A few more strokes ... she smudged a line
with her finger, casting a shadow.
No point in going back. Only forward. But forward to where? To what? She closed her
eyes, and reclined slightly, feeling the throb of the engines, the vibrations of the
plates. Anywhere -- anywhere was better than where she'd been.
Damar's startled face greeted her as she opened her eyes. She hadn't heard him move the
box before her.
"Damar," she said, surprised.
"Ziyal," he said after a moment. She had trouble concealing her smile. Damar was
cool and professional at the helm, but easily flustered when dealing with other people. He
seemed more than a bit flustered by her, something she found both amusing and charming.
"What are you doing here," he continued, with all the tact and smoothness of an
impacting asteroid.
He didn't quite know how to take her, she knew. She was uncertain if it was only because
she was Gul Dukat's daughter, or because she was Gul Dukat's half Bajoran daughter. Or was
it more than that?
"I'm drawing," she said. "I come here sometimes, to think, to draw, to be
alone."
He stood blinking a moment. "Oh."
She successfully stifled a giggle. Damar was also one of the most intelligent people
her father had working under him, and yet he also seemed one of the most stupid. At his
post, or with anything mechanical, he was very quick. With people ...
"See?" she said, on sudden impulse. She held her sketch pad out to him. He
craned his neck to look, the confused expression deepening. "Come in here, sit
down" she said, motioning to one of the crates in her "nest." Again she
kept a straight face despite the urge to burst out laughing at Damar's expression.
After a moment's silence, Damar removed another crate, and stepped into the hollow. He
looked stiff and awkward. "Um. What is it?" he said. His expression changed
suddenly. "That's a cargo bay wall plate," he exclaimed. Again his brow
furrowed. "Why did you draw that?"
She shrugged. "I don't know. It has interesting lines. And sounds. As I sit here, I
listen. It was humming ... it came to mind. So I drew it."
He looked at her curiously. "The proportions are wrong," he said returning his
eyes to the drawing. She laughed.
"It's not an engineer's drawing. It's how the plate *felt* to me. Oh, here.
I'll show you. Sit down."
"Sit down?"
"Yes, here. Sit down. Close your eyes."
Damar looked at her incredulously a moment. He glanced at the cargo hold's doors, and
licked his lips nervously. With a small cough, he sat. "Close my eyes," he said.
"Close your eyes."
He closed them.
"Now," she said. "Just relax. *Feel* the hum of the ship."
She was silent a moment. He had his eyes screwed shut, as if concentrating intensely.
"Now ... what do you see?"
"See?" he opened his eyes. "I couldn't see anything. My eyes were
closed"
She raised an eyebrow. This time she didn't hide her smile, seeing the
flicker of amusement in his eyes. Her eyes narrowed, "Very funny. Come on, you know
this ship better than anyone else. You could *fly* it with your eyes closed." He
amusement in his eyes took on a smug tone as she spoke. "Now close your eyes..."
He complied.
"... and *feel* the ship. What image comes to mind?"
He was silent a moment. "I see myself adjusting the plasma relays". He opened
his eyes again. "They sound out of balance." Once again his eyes looked up
at hers, with that flicker of amusement.
Ziyal's smile faded and she froze as she heard footsteps approaching. Damar opened his
mouth to ask her what was wrong, but stopped suddenly as he heard Glinn Callen's voice.
"Damar?"
Damar paled a moment, then stood and quickly stepped out of the ring of crates.
Fortunately, the opening was on the far side, and out of sight of the doors.
He grabbed the padd he'd been working on.
"Here," he called. Ziyal heard him walk quickly away from her protective ring.
"I was checking the inventory before we dock," he said.
"We have a change of course," said Callen. She heard their footsteps going back
to the door, fading. She waited a few moments after the sound faded before she moved.
Then reaching down, she pulled the two crates Damar had moved back into her circle.
Stacking them up again, she returned to her seat, and again crouched over her sketchpad.
She stared blankly a moment, then set it aside. Drawing her knees up to her chin,
she wrapped her arms around them, leaned her head forward, and closed her eyes, listening
to the hum of the ship.
~ The End ~
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