2292
“Unlike my fellow envoys, I am old enough to remember when last we Osori met with sentients from other worlds. It seldom ended well.”
Gledii, the eldest of the three envoys, was being honored with a reception in the Enterprise’s forward observation lounge. Located at the leading edge of the saucer section, the spacious chamber boasted panoramic viewports, a polished hardwood floor, comfortably upholstered chairs, and generally sumptuous surroundings. A decorative ship’s wheel, from the golden age of sail, evoked a proud maritime tradition, as did the inlaid compass design in the center of the deck and the antique brass astrolabe facing the vast stellar distance before them. A buffet, featuring a selection of human, Klingon, and Romulan specialties, had been prepared by hand in the ship’s galley, as opposed to being synthesized by food processors. An amateur string quartet played softly in a corner. Whether the ship’s three new guests appreciated classical music from Earth, Andoria, and Alpha Centauri was anybody’s guess.
“How so?” Kirk asked. Like the rest of his command crew, he sported his dress uniform for the occasion. “We have only vague and contradictory records of your encounters with various extinct civilizations.”
Gledii held court from a plush easy chair, surrounded by milling crew members, as well as by the Klingon and Romulan observers who’d preceded him in boarding the Enterprise. The Osori elder’s scales were larger, thicker, and more weathered than those of his younger colleagues, judging from the images transmitted from the other two vessels: more like crocodilian plates than delicate, iridescent scales. He carried himself slowly but confidently; Kirk imagined that practical immortality lent itself to patience. Gledii’s strong tenor voice, similar to that heard on the bridge earlier, issued with careful deliberation.
“Understand that my people are not driven to expansion, as more fertile, shorter-lived species are. A few daring souls dabbled in space exploration long ago, but by and large we are bound to our native world by tradition, inclination, and biology. Indeed, we cannot long survive away from the environment that produced us. Only a few decades at most.”
Not unlike Flint, Kirk thought. Flint’s immortality had turned out to be inextricably tied to Earth’s ecosystem, so that it eventually expired when he ventured out into space. Seems the Osori share that limitation.
“Most of our encounters with alien races came from spacefaring cultures visiting us, too often in search of the ‘secret’ of our extreme longevity. They refused to believe that we were not hiding an answer from them, so they sought to wrest it from us by conquest, extortion, abduction, even vivisection.” Gledii shuddered at ancient memories. “In time, we elected to recuse ourselves, abstaining from contact with other species.”
“You chose to hide, rather than fight?”
The Klingon observer did not hide his disapproval. Motox, first officer of the Lukara, was a grizzled veteran who was built like a gym rat. Bare arms and a low neckline showed off a prodigiously muscled physique, possibly to overcompensate for the notably subdued ridges on his brow. Cropped gray hair and a drooping horseshoe mustache accompanied a prickly attitude.
“We chose to keep to ourselves,” Gledii clarified.
“So what, if I might ask, inspired you to change your mind?”
Varis, the Romulan observer, was a slight, almost petite woman who seemed as at home at a cocktail party as aboard the bridge of a warbird. Tapered ears and upswept eyebrows gave her a Vulcan profile, but there was nothing stoic about her. She laughed and smiled readily, her eyes sparkling with mischief even as they also seemed to carefully study everything and everyone, missing nothing. In lieu of a uniform, she wore an elegant and highly flattering evening gown, somewhat reminiscent of the one worn by a certain Romulan commander who had been briefly forced to enjoy the Enterprise’s hospitality many years ago. Lustrous auburn hair fell to her shoulders. Slender fingers held a champagne flute, but Kirk noted that she sipped rarely from it. Clearly, she intended to keep her wits about her.
“We have yet to reach a final decision on the matter,” Gledii reminded her. “In truth, I have profound reservations about the wisdom of ending the isolation that has protected us for so long. Still, with the passing of ages, and the gradual rise of younger generations of Osori, I have been persuaded that it may be worth revisiting that venerable policy after all this time, if only to confirm that we made the correct choice before.”
Kirk saw that he had his work cut out for him when it came to persuading Gledii to pursue further contact with the Federation and its allies.
“Never a bad idea to reexamine old assumptions from time to time,” he said congenially. “From what you tell us of your history, I can certainly appreciate why your people chose seclusion after such negative experiences with past alien visitors. On the other hand, the Federation believes that the potential rewards of reaching out to other civilizations and life-forms, in the spirit of peaceful coexistence and cooperation, ultimately outweigh the risks involved. Perhaps we can convince you and your fellow Osori to give the rest of the galaxy a second chance.”
“We shall see,” Gledii said skeptically, “but let me ask you, Captain, have your hopeful encounters with other peoples always ended peacefully?”
“No,” Kirk admitted. “I’m not going to lie to you. Peace can be challenging, and first contacts don’t always end well.” Too much bloodshed stained galactic history, and the Enterprise’s own logs, to maintain otherwise. “But the very existence of the Federation, which now comprises hundreds of diverse worlds and species, proves that mutual cooperation is possible… and worth striving for.”
Motox snorted. “Says James Tiberius Kirk, lifelong soldier and warrior, currently commanding a fully armed Federation starship.” He dipped his head in respect. “Do not mistake that for an insult, Kirk. For a human, you have an honorable number of battles and victories to your name, but let us not pretend that Starfleet does not carry a sword as well as an olive branch.”
“Only in self-defense,” Kirk said, “and as a last resort.”
Unlike some other empires he could name, but Kirk refrained from pointing that out. This was a diplomatic function; coming to blows, verbal or otherwise, would not make a good impression on the Osori, endangering the mission’s chances of success.
I’m not just a soldier, he thought. Not tonight.
“In any event,” Varis cooed to Gledii, “how brave of you to come among us, Envoy, considering your people’s history. And unarmed no less, with no thought for your own personal safety.” She poured on the charm, beaming at him. “I am most impressed by your courage.”
“Your flattery is duly noted,” the Osori said, “although not entirely warranted. I am unarmed, true, but not defenseless.”
That caught Motox’s interest. The Klingon scrutinized Gledii, who appeared to be distinctly lacking in weapons or armor; the Osori’s mesh poncho did not look substantial enough to deflect a serious attack. “Explain.”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” Gledii rose leisurely to his feet. His eyes briefly closed in concentration and his shimmering liquid-metal gloves produced a luminous rose-colored aura that flowed over the Osori’s entire form, clinging closely to his flesh and clothing.
A personal force field? Kirk wondered. Starfleet had experimented with such devices over the years, with mixed results. The energy demands, coupled with the long-term health effects on its users, had rendered the technology problematic at best. Had the Osori managed to overcome these obstacles?
“Commander Motox.” Gledii gestured at a Klingon d’k tahg sheathed at the warrior’s hip. “I assume that weapon is not simply decorative?”
The weapon in question had been a bone of contention when Motox had beamed aboard the Enterprise since the foreign observers were supposed to arrive unarmed. Motox had indeed left his disruptor pistol behind on the Lukara, but had insisted that keeping the d’k tahg was a matter of honor; for a Klingon to represent the Empire without so much as a blade on his person would be a disgrace, as well as an insult to the Osori, implying that they were not even worth defending against. After some tense, last-minute negotiations in the transporter room, Kirk had grudgingly agreed to let Motox retain the weapon for ceremonial purposes, reasoning that Chekov and his security officers were up to handling a knife-wielding Klingon if worse came to worst; the grisly Klingon proverb about a running man cutting four thousand throats in one night notwithstanding, a single d’k tahg was no match for multiple phasers wielded by well-trained Starfleet personnel. Even Varis had waived her objections eventually, after Kirk personally vouched for her safety.
“Of course!” Motox bristled at the suggestion that his dagger might be only for show. “No true warrior would carry a counterfeit weapon.”
“Excellent,” Gledii said. “In that case, Commander, will you do me the courtesy of attempting to strike me?”
Kirk instantly went into red-alert mode. “Now just one minute—!”
“Envoy!” Varis entreated. “You must not joke about such things! Not to a Klingon!”
Even Motox seemed taken aback by the Osori’s request. “What?”
“It’s quite all right, everyone.” Gledii raised his voice and held up a hand to quiet the spate of shocked gasps and protests. “ ‘Attempt’ is the operative word here, I assure you.” He stepped toward Motox, clasping his hands behind his back to fully bare his torso to the Klingon. “You may strike when ready, Commander.”
“Jim!” McCoy pressed forward to the front of the crowd. “You can’t allow this!”
“Captain?” Chekov looked to Kirk as he and his officers closed in to shut down any potential altercation, while unarmed partygoers backed away cautiously. The musicians stopped playing, picking up on the suddenly anxious atmosphere. Chekov’s hand went to the relatively inconspicuous type-1 phaser fastened to his belt. “Say the word, sir.”
Varis retreated, but looked on keenly. “It’s your party, Kirk. I leave this up to you.”
“You needn’t worry, Captain,” Gledii stated, no doubt appreciating Kirk’s predicament. “I am not at risk.”
Kirk appraised the Osori. The last thing Kirk wanted was for the senior envoy to be stabbed to death on his watch, but Gledii did not appear at all concerned about that prospect. The Osori’s confidence in his own safety was convincing.
“Stand down, Chekov, everyone. That’s an order.” He nodded at McCoy. “That means you too, Bones.”
Motox remained hesitant, his hand on the hilt of the sheathed d’k tahg. “I was not sent to kill you. I do not require your death.”
“Nor shall you cause it,” Gledii said. “As I said, I merely seek to demonstrate what measures we envoys have taken to ensure our own protection.” A roseate glow still wrapped around him like a second skin. “Surely you must be curious? Believe me, Commander, you cannot harm me with that blade, even if you wield it with all your might.”
The challenge, along with the opportunity to test the Osori’s defenses, proved too much for Motox to resist. Drawing his weapon, he lunged forward and thrust it at Gledii’s chest. Kirk held his breath, hoping and expecting the d’k tahg to be blocked by a force field. He anticipated sparks or a flash of energy when the knife collided with the barrier.
Instead it passed through Gledii as though he was immaterial.
Motox let out a growl. Frustrated, he slashed viciously at the Osori, but his second attack was no more efficacious than his first. The lack of resistance threw the Klingon off-balance so that he stumbled forward, passing through the intangible envoy altogether.
“Oh, this is priceless!”
Varis laughed in delight, earning her a volcanic glare from Motox. Concerned, Kirk hoped it wouldn’t be necessary to defend the amused Romulan from the embarrassed Klingon, which, it occurred to him, might well be playing into Varis’s slender hands. The Romulans were fond of playing their enemies against each other; pitting Starfleet against a Klingon right in front of the Osori’s senior envoy could only benefit the Romulans.
Clever, he thought, if deliberate.
Perhaps to Varis’s disappointment, however, Motox showed more restraint than might be expected. Jamming his unbloodied d’k tahg back into its sheath, he confronted Gledii instead.
“What trickery is this?”
“Each of our envoys,” the Osori explained, “is equipped with apparatus that can temporarily move us out of phase with our surroundings, effectively rendering us intangible and therefore impervious to harm or captivity. Not an offensive weapon, but sufficient to protect us from any immediate threat.”
Kirk flashed quickly on that time he had been briefly trapped between universes, existing only as an untouchable apparition slightly out of phase with conventional reality. He had found it a most unnerving experience.
“How long can one exist in such a state?” he asked.
“Not indefinitely,” Gledii said. “One can only stay out of phase for a limited interval before dissipating entirely, but at least long enough for us to remove ourselves from peril.”
“How remarkable,” Varis enthused. “You Osori never cease to amaze.”
Motox eyed the Osori with interest. “What about energy weapons?” he asked, sounding more intrigued than frustrated now. Keeping his eyes on the prize, as it were.
“Energy weapons too.” Gledii turned toward Chekov. “If you would oblige us with your phaser, Commander?”
Chekov swallowed hard, his uncertain expression reminding Kirk of the green young ensign the Russian had once been. “Captain?”
“On stun, Chekov, and be conscious of where you’re aiming.”
“Absolutely, sir!”
Chekov carefully positioned himself so that nothing and nobody was behind Gledii except a solid bulkhead. Sweating nervously, he fired at the Osori, but the crimson beam passed just as harmlessly through its target as the Klingon d’k tahg had. Lacking a nervous system, the bulkhead was unscathed by the beam.
“Satisfied?” Gledii lowered himself back into the easy chair. The aura flowed off him, retreating back into his gloves. “We Osori are not so foolhardy as to venture out into the wild without taking reasonable precautions.”
“Which is precisely why the Enterprise, although built for exploration, is prepared to defend itself if necessary,” Kirk said. “Although I admit our defenses now seem primitive compared to yours.”
“To put it mildly,” Varis said. “This is far beyond anything our sciences are capable of, at least for now.”
Her eyes gleamed avidly, while Motox stroked his chin, no doubt pondering the military applications of such technology. Kirk felt certain that the astounding level of technology displayed by Gledii’s demonstrations was not lost on anyone in the vicinity; getting to know the Osori better had just become even more enticing than ever.
“I don’t suppose,” Varis asked, smiling, “you would be willing to share your phasing technology with certain chosen allies?”
Motox sneered at her. “Not wasting any time, are you, Romulan?”
“Please,” she retorted, “we were all thinking it.”
She’s not wrong, Kirk thought.
“Such considerations are premature,” Gledii said. “We have not yet decided to pursue relations with outsiders, let alone share our technology with them.”
“Of course,” Varis replied. “We wouldn’t want to get ahead of ourselves… although it may be worth noting that you’re not obliged to embrace every outsider, all or nothing, as opposed to being more selective about who you choose to partner with. Indeed, you may well discover that some of us might make better allies than others.”
“Such as who? The Romulans?” Motox laughed harshly. “You green-blooded snakes would betray your own mothers if it served your own ends, as we Klingons know better than most. Allying ourselves with you was a costly mistake!”
Varis shrugged. “Or was it perhaps you Klingons who proved a disappointing and unreliable ally.” She blithely sipped her champagne. “Present company excluded, naturally.”
“Don’t hide behind your smug condescension, Romulan. I know your kind. You’re no soldier. You’re a politician at best, a spy at worst!”
“Or all of the above, depending,” Varis said. “I pride myself on my versatility on behalf of the praetor. But please don’t take any of my remarks about your own empire personally, Commander. That you’re still only a first officer, not a captain, after so many years means that you can’t be held responsible for the folly of your superiors, and that you are clearly no politician yourself. Indeed, I have to wonder who you offended to be shipped off to the Enterprise as a hostage and forced to rub shoulders with the likes of us? Is this a punishment or were you simply considered expendable?”
“Watch your tongue, Romulan!” Motox snarled, clenching his fists. Angry veins pulsed along his arms, neck, and barely ridged brow. “Before I feed it to a trash disintegrator!”
“Now, now!” Kirk attempted to dampen the fireworks. “Let’s not argue politics in front of our distinguished guest.”
“To the contrary,” Gledii said, “I am finding this… contretemps… most illuminating.”
“I’ll bet,” McCoy muttered.
“Look,” Kirk addressed the envoy, “it’s no secret that our civilizations haven’t always gotten along. As I said earlier, peace and understanding take time and effort, but the very fact that we’re all gathered here together, trading words instead of phaser blasts and photon torpedoes, speaks volumes about how far we’ve come in just my lifetime alone. If you had told me decades ago that one day I’d be entertaining a Klingon and a Romulan on the deck of a Starfleet vessel, and at the same time no less… well, let’s just say that the universe is still capable of surprising me.”
And testing me, he added silently. Making nice with Motox in particular was difficult after what had happened to David, who had been killed by a Klingon d’k tahg just like the one Motox flaunted so proudly. In the years since his son’s murder, duty and circumstances had sometimes forced Kirk to be civil with other Klingons, even join forces with them on rare occasions, but he’d be lying if he claimed that ever came easily. Part of him would never forgive the Klingons for killing his son.
But tonight is not about me.
“Eloquently said, Captain.” Varis raised her glass to him. “Your reputation for stirring oratory is well deserved. Small wonder Starfleet trusted you with this crucial mission, along with command of this magnificent vessel.” She paused to admire the lounge’s well-appointed interior before adding slyly, “But this is not the first Starship Enterprise you’ve captained, correct? Refresh my memory. What happened to your previous vessel?”
An indelible image erupted in Kirk’s memory: his first Enterprise going down in flames over the Genesis Planet, the same day David died. Both victims of the Klingons, one way or another.
Which Varis absolutely knew, of course.
There she goes again, Kirk thought, oh-so-politely pushing buttons and stirring up trouble, trying to play us and the Klingons against each other while she cozies up to the Osori. How very Romulan.
“Lost,” he said simply, declining to take the bait. “We all have losses and hardships in our pasts, but tonight is about the future and the promise it holds for all of us, if we’re brave enough to seize the opportunity.”
“Hear, hear,” McCoy said. A smattering of light applause from the crew also supported their captain. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Doctor,” Kirk quipped. “And speaking of promises and rewards, our own Commander Uhura has generously offered to treat us to a song or two, and I don’t wish to deprive you all of that enchantment for any longer.” He nodded at Uhura, who headed over toward the musicians. “Never mind politics and science for the moment. Consider this just a sample of the artistic and cultural gifts we can share with each other if we so choose.”
Gledii sat back in his chair, making himself comfortable. “By all means, Captain. I look forward to enjoying the performance.”
“You won’t be disappointed, Envoy. I say that with all confidence.”
But would even Uhura’s undisputed talents be enough to calm the stormy waters they were sailing through? Kirk contemplated the antique ship’s wheel facing a vast ocean of space. If tonight’s fractious reception was any indication, they had a turbulent voyage ahead of them. Would the cause of coaxing the Osori out of hiding be scuttled and lost at sea before the ship even reached the conclave on Nimbus III? Kirk knew he had a tricky course to chart.
Here’s hoping Spock and Saavik aren’t in similar straits.