2292
“We have arrived at the rendezvous point,” Lieutenant Saavik announced from the helm of the Enterprise-A. “Obviously.”
As anticipated, two other vessels could be seen on the viewscreen, maintaining a judicious distance from the Enterprise and each other: a Klingon bird-of-prey and a Romulan warbird. Saavik, serving as helmsman now that Hikaru Sulu was captain of his own ship, easily suppressed any distaste or trepidation she might have regarding either vessel, despite her negative association with both empires. Duty and logic superseded any matters of personal history.
“Yellow alert,” Captain Kirk said from his chair. “Defensive systems only.”
“Aye, sir.” Commander Chekov was stationed to Saavik’s right at the nav station, where he also served as the ship’s tactical officer. “Shields raised, but weapons systems offline.”
A prudent response, Saavik judged. Although this was intended to be a peaceful encounter, it would be illogical not to factor in the frequently adversarial relationships involved and take all reasonable precautions. Shifting down from impulse to thrusters, she maintained a stationary position relative to the two other vessels, which were also staying in place in a seemingly empty portion of the Osor system, a remote location that was home to the Osori, a very old and reclusive alien species who had long resisted any overtures, peaceful or otherwise, from the Federation and its rivals. Recently, however, the Osori had declared themselves possibly open to establishing diplomatic relations with their galactic neighbors, under specific terms and conditions; chief among them, they wished to make contact with the Federation, the Klingons, and the Romulans simultaneously, to avoid showing favoritism toward any one faction over another. That the Osori were believed to possess technology far in advance of all three civilizations, as demonstrated by the fact that they had kept their world cloaked and shielded for centuries, was inducement enough to make all three parties agree to their terms. If nothing else, no government wanted to risk the others allying with the Osori before them.
“The Klingon and Romulan vessels have their shields in place as well.” Captain Spock occupied his customary place at the science station. “No indications of their weapon systems powering up.”
“Thank heaven for small favors?” Doctor McCoy loitered within the command well, leaning on a railing. “How dicey is this whole get-together if it’s notable that nobody is shooting each other yet? Talk about a low bar.”
Saavik had noted that the doctor seldom felt obliged to confine himself to his sickbay if more intriguing happenings were transpiring on the bridge.
Kirk took McCoy’s typically astringent remark in stride. “Let’s get this party started. Open hailing frequencies.”
“Aye, sir,” Commander Uhura responded; it was a measure of Kirk’s superior leadership abilities and the loyalty he inspired in others, Saavik deduced, that so many of his longtime crew members had chosen to serve under him, often in their original posts, for almost as long as Saavik had been alive. “Both vessels answering our hails.”
Kirk nodded. “On-screen.”
Two separate communications windows divided the screen in half. On the right, an older Romulan male of dignified mien and bearing faced the bridge; on the left, a Klingon woman who looked fierce even by the aggressive standards of her famously warlike species. Uncertainty over who was to speak first produced a momentary pause. Kirk characteristically took the initiative, rising to his feet to address the screen.
“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise, representing the United Federation of Planets on this historic occasion. We look forward to a fruitful joint operation benefiting all involved, including the Osori.”
“Captain B’Eleste of the Lukara,” the Klingon growled, speaking over the Romulan, who politely deferred to the warrior woman. She seemed younger than both Kirk and the Romulan and, clad in layered black body armor, presented a deliberately intimidating appearance. A voluminous mane of wild black hair haloed her striking features like the corona of an angry star, radiating several centimeters above and to the sides of her face. As was the fashion among modern Klingons, said hair was swept away from her brow to display prominent cranial ridges. Her teeth had been filed to points. The murky red glow of the bird-of-prey’s bridge framed her menacing visage. “Honor demands we adhere to the terms agreed upon. We demand nothing less from you and the Romulans.”
Her gravelly voice imbued the latter term with contempt. Saavik recalled that the uneasy alliance between the Klingon and Romulan Empires had recently collapsed into bitter acrimony.
“Commander Plavius of the Harrier,” the Romulan said. Graying hair conveyed age and experience, while a monocle over his left eye was either an affectation or evidence of a visual disability resistant to conventional treatment, not unlike, perhaps, Captain Kirk’s occasional need for reading glasses. An opaque screen behind his head and shoulders offered no glimpse of the warbird’s bridge, no doubt by design; Romulans guarded their secrets zealously. “I assure you, Captains, that the Romulan Star Empire also desires this conclave to proceed without any unnecessary strife. If hostilities do break out, we shall not have initiated them.”
With his tapered ears and sober expression, Plavius could easily be mistaken for a Vulcan, aside from his quilted metallic uniform. A carmine shoulder drape denoted his status. This resemblance was deceptive, Saavik knew. Although they shared a common ancestry, mingled in her own bloodstream, Vulcans and Romulans had very different values.
“Nor will we,” Kirk said.
“Nor we,” B’Eleste echoed, “without provocation.”
“Sounds as though we’re all on the same page,” Kirk said, evidently choosing to overlook the Klingon’s qualifier in the interests of diplomacy, “which bodes well for the journey ahead… and first contact with the Osori.”
“Let us hope they do not test our patience by keeping us waiting,” B’Eleste said. “We are here. Where are they?”
“We’re still within the designated time frame,” Kirk observed. “No reason yet to expect we’ve been stood up.”
“That would be most regrettable,” Plavius said. “We have all gone to considerable effort to accommodate the Osori by arriving at the appointed time and coordinates. It would be a pity if those efforts proved a waste.”
Negotiations for the meeting had been conducted by long-range subspace transmissions, initiated by the Osori after years of silence. The distances involved meant that weeks passed between queries and responses.
“Such fears appear premature,” Spock said, entering the discussion, “judging from certain energy fluctuations in our immediate vicinity.” He looked away from the swirling bandwidth monitor above his console. “With your permission, Captain, switching main screen to external view.”
Kirk nodded. “Maintain audio link to other vessels, Uhura.”
“Aye, sir.”
B’Eleste and Plavius vanished from the screen, replaced by a view of seemingly empty space just beyond the rendezvous point. At first glance, and to all but the most sophisticated sensors, the Osor system consisted of just a few uninhabitable gas giants, dwarf planets, comets, and asteroids. No Class-M planets seemed to occupy the “Goldilocks zone” conducive to carbon-based life-forms. Only the gleam of far-distant stars relieved the airless darkness before them.
Then the planet decloaked, more or less.
The vacuum shimmered, and the Osori homeworld came into view, approximately seventy thousand kilometers from the trio of spacecraft. Saavik checked her own readings to confirm that the Enterprise’s current location was safely outside the planet’s gravity well. She was grateful that the Osori’s navigational directions had been precise enough to eliminate any chance of the ship (or either of the other two vessels) colliding with the cloaked planet by mischance.
“Well, I’ll be a mugato’s uncle,” McCoy said. “That’s quite the magic trick.”
“Indeed,” Spock concurred. “To cloak an entire world—and on a permanent basis—is an astounding feat. The energy demands beggar the imagination, at least by any technology presently known to us.”
Not that the Osori homeworld was completely exposed. An opaque white energy field still surrounded the planet, making it impossible to visually discern any of its physical features, not even the color of its seas, landmasses, or atmosphere, let alone any cities or continents. Osor Prime presented as nothing but a smooth white globe. Even its rate of rotation was hidden.
“What are your sensors telling you, Spock?” Kirk squinted at the screen as though he could somehow penetrate the barrier if he stared hard enough. “You seeing anything we can’t?”
“Negative, Captain. The energy shell is impervious to our sensors, and based on my readings, any sort of conventional weapons fire. Osor Prime may have decloaked, but it remains very much masked… and invulnerable.”
Possibly just as well, Saavik thought, with both Klingons and Romulans at their doorstep.
Granted, the Osori currently had insufficient experience with the Federation to trust it as well, a situation this mission was intended to remedy, even if it meant Starfleet having to trust their own longtime adversaries for the duration.
And vice versa.
“We are being scanned by the planet,” Spock reported.
“Even though we can’t scan them?” Kirk asked.
“Affirmative. Apparently the energy shell only obstructs observation from without. Not unlike a one-way window.”
“That hardly seems fair,” Chekov grumbled.
“Their party, their rules,” Kirk said. “Let them take a good look. See we mean them no harm.”
“I doubt we could harm them if we wanted to,” Spock stated, “as long as they remain behind their protective shell.”
Saavik reviewed what little was known of the Osori, most of which consisted of myth and speculation. Cryptic references to them in the records of long-lost civilizations, such as the Kalandans and the Fabrini, suggested that they were regarded as ancient even by those bygone peoples, but their origins had been lost to history, and it was not until recent years that it was confirmed that they actually existed and were not merely an enduring legend like El Dorado, Atlantis, or the Lost Colony of Sh’Gol. Gravitational anomalies, detected by long-range sensors and probes, had hinted at a phantom planet hidden in what was eventually found to be the Osor system, although all attempts to communicate with its inhabitants had been rebuffed until their subspace summons was received months ago. Legend had it that the Osori were effectively immortal, but Saavik was reluctant to take that literally; that was likely just a myth.
Then again, the Osori were once believed to be imaginary.
“Captain!” Uhura’s voice rang with excitement. “We’re being hailed by the planet, as are the Klingons and Romulans.”
“Let’s see them,” Kirk said.
“No visual, sir. Audio only, but piping it through.”
Saavik listened with interest, her curiosity understandably aroused. A pleasant tenor voice, less stentorian than she had anticipated, issued from the speakers:
“Greetings, Young Ones. We thank you for answering our call and journeying to meet us. Long have we held ourselves apart from fledging civilizations such as yourselves, for our sake and yours, but the galaxy grows smaller every cycle, and your continuing expansion, along with your propensity for exploration and conquest, makes it evident that concealment alone is no longer a viable strategy for us; it was only a matter of time before you ventured into our space in greater frequency and numbers. For this reason, we have chosen to explore the possibility of future dealings between our respective peoples… even though our final decision is yet to be determined.”
“So we understand,” Kirk said, the plural pronoun no doubt meant to encompass the Klingons and Romulans, “but I’m curious. You refer to us as ‘young ones.’ May I ask how old your civilization is, compared to ours?”
“Not so ancient as, say, the Organians or the Metrons, who we understand you have encountered in the past. Unlike those ascended entities, we retain corporeal form and possess no semidivine powers over time and space. We deem ourselves a ‘middle’ species, not so transcendent as those who came before us, yet far older than the youthful races of your generation.”
Saavik would have preferred a more precise description than “far older,” specifying an exact quantity of time in numerical units, but allowed that there would be time enough for a more exhaustive recounting of the Osori’s history once diplomatic relations were well and truly established. This was an introduction, not an investigation.
“You call us children?” B’Eleste bristled. “I would caution you not to treat us as such. The old and complacent should often think twice before dismissing younger challengers.”
“We mean no disrespect,” the Osori replied. “The gap in ages between our species is simply a reality, not an occasion for judgment. Whether that gap poses an insurmountable barrier to understanding remains to be seen.”
Plavius entered the conversation. “Are the myths true? Are you actually immortal?”
“Not absolutely,” the Osori answered, “but, barring extreme accidents or violence, our life-spans are indeed measured in millennia, which we know to be exceptionally long compared to most other organic beings. Before you ask, there is no secret technique or substance involved; it is simply a happy accident of evolution, dating back to the dawn of our species. It has always been thus with us.”
“My God,” McCoy murmured in a hushed voice. “A whole race of Flints.”
Saavik, whose acute hearing easily registered the whispered remark, caught the reference. Although that particular incident had occurred well before she enrolled in Starfleet, she had familiarized herself with the Enterprise’s earlier missions, including the time, twenty-three years ago, when Captain Kirk and his original crew had encountered a seemingly immortal earthman who proved to be more than six thousand years old. Flint, as he was then known, believed himself to be unique: a mutant whose remarkable regenerative abilities were not passed on to his offspring, rendering him an evolutionary dead end, but Saavik imagined a scenario where natural selection played out differently, with immortals like Flint becoming the dominant species on Osor, outlasting and outbreeding their more short-lived cousins to the extent that any nonimmortal Osori succumbed to extinction eons ago. Had just such a scenario occurred in Osor’s prehistory?
“Fascinating,” Spock intoned, and she was inclined to agree.
“I’m sure you must have many questions about us,” Kirk said graciously. “Is there anything you would like to know?”
“All in good time. For now, we require only that you arrange yourselves as agreed. We will be monitoring the procedure. Once it is complete, you may expect our envoys to join you. We anticipate meeting you face-to-face at last.”
“Likewise,” Kirk said.
No reply was forthcoming.
“The Osori have ended the transmission on their end,” Uhura confirmed. “Shall I reestablish visual communication with the other ships, Captain?”
“By all means, Lieutenant.” Kirk reclaimed his chair as B’Eleste and Plavius returned to the screen. “That seemed to go well enough. I trust both of you were also satisfied with the Osori’s welcome.”
“It was suitable for the occasion,” Plavius agreed. “I cannot fault them for their caution and discretion at this early juncture.”
“Then let us waste no more time on pleasantries,” B’Eleste said, “and proceed with the exchange of hostages, the sooner to comply with the Osori’s requests.”
“Observers,” Plavius corrected her. “Not hostages.”
B’Eleste snorted. “Spare me your devious euphemisms, Romulan. We all know what is meant.”
Saavik saw her point. At the Osori’s insistence, the conclave was to be held on neutral territory, specifically Nimbus III, the so-called Planet of Galactic Peace, where top diplomats and intellectuals from all three superpowers awaited the arrival of the Osori’s representatives. In addition, each of the three Osori envoys was to be transported to the conference site on a different ship: one from the Federation, one from the Klingons, one from the Romulans. To further ensure amity and cooperation, each of the three ships would also host “observers” from the other two ships. In short, the Enterprise would take on an Osori envoy and high-ranking officers from the Klingon and Romulan vessels, with similar arrangements on the other two ships. Subtleties of universal translation notwithstanding, to describe the exchanged crew members as “hostages” to each side’s good behavior was blunt, but not inaccurate.
“Plavius,” the Romulan corrected B’Eleste again. “Commander Plavius, not ‘Romulan.’ Please extend me the courtesy of addressing me by my name and rank, Captain B’Eleste, and I will do the same.”
The Klingon rolled her eyes. “I hope your ‘observer’ is not so thin-skinned, Commander.”
“Regardless,” Kirk interjected, “it’s true that the Osori are expecting us to swap personnel before they proceed any further, so we should probably indeed get on with it.”
“Did I not already say that, Kirk?” B’Eleste huffed.
“So you did.” Kirk settled back into his chair. If he had any reservations about sending two of his crew into the hands of his longtime foes, his expression did not betray them. Saavik admired his “poker face,” as he called it. It was impressive… for a human.
She would do well to emulate it in the days to come.
“Spock, Saavik,” he ordered. “Report with me to the transporter room.”