by Dayton Ward
Looking over to where the young Vulcan woman was seated at the bridge station adjacent to Diamond’s, Okagawa said, “What about it, Lieutenant?” It was almost a rhetorical question, he knew, but one he still had to ask. As the resident computer expert on al-Khaled’s team, T’Laen was well versed not only in the hardware and software that comprised all of Starfleet’s systems, but also those of Federation allies and enemies alike.
Her long, slender fingers already moving over her console, she replied, “The system is not complex, but there is a great deal of inefficiency in its design. It will take time to negotiate some of the more cumbersome aspects of the software.”
“Captain,” Xav reported, “the Gorn ships will be within their weapons range in fifty seconds.”
Looking to the helm, Okagawa asked, “Where are we?”
“We’ll be in transporter range in less time than that, sir,” Rodriquez replied, her attention focused on her console.
“Time’s up, Mahmud,” the captain said to al-Khaled. “I’m pulling you out of there.”
On the screen, the engineer replied, “Captain, wait. If the Gorn get back here, they’ll just reactivate the minefield themselves. I don’t think Magen is strong enough to repeat what she did to get us this far, at least not without some rest.”
“Can she do anything about the ships heading this way?” Okagawa asked. “Disable their weapons? Anything?”
Al-Khaled shook his head. “Just getting here exhausted her, sir.”
The options available to them were dwindling with each passing second, the captain knew. For a moment, he considered simply transporting his people away from the minelayer and destroying it, but just as quickly discarded the notion. After all, he reasoned, such an act might trigger some sort of final defensive maneuver in any remaining mines.
“Captain,” zh’Rhun suddenly called out. “The Gorn are within weapons range.”
Anything else the Andorian might have said was drowned out as an alarm klaxon echoed across the bridge. An instant later something slammed into the Lovell.
“Return fire!” zh’Rhun shouted even as Okagawa cried, “Get me a visual!”
The image on the main viewer shifted to show one of the wedge-shaped Gorn vessels just as it moved beyond the edge of the screen. As it disappeared, another arrived to take its place, harsh green energy spitting forth from the foremost point of its hull and hurtling through space directly at the Lovell.
“Firing phasers,” Diamond said, and Okagawa watched as twin beams of blue energy lanced forward to strike the enemy vessel. The effects were immediate, with the Gorn ship veering up and away from its flight and maneuvering out of range of the viewer. Any sense of victory Okagawa might have felt, however, vanished as the Lovell once again came under fire.
“The Gorn vessels are faster and more maneuverable at sublight speeds than we are, Captain,” Xav said.
“Are they firing on the minelayer?” Okagawa asked.
“No, sir,” the Tellarite replied.
They don’t want to damage it, the captain mused, which means they can’t control the minefield without it. It also meant that the Gorn would almost certainly transport a boarding party to their wayward ship at the first opportunity.
“Give me a tactical view,” he said. Xav entered the necessary commands, and a computer-generated graphic appeared on the main screen, showing the Lovell at the center of the display and a trio of red wedges moving about the ship. Okagawa tensed as he saw green indicators leap from two of the ships. The Lovell’s shields absorbed the double strike.
“Captain,” Lieutenant T’Laen said, though she did not turn from her station, “one of the Gorn vessels is attempting to access the minelayer’s onboard computer system.”
“Can you keep them out?” Okagawa asked.
Her fingers still moving with incredible speed over the array of controls on her console, the Vulcan replied, “I am endeavoring to do just that, sir.”
Another energy blast struck the Lovell’s shields, and this time Okagawa was sure the effects of the attack were more pronounced. How much more punishment could they take?
“Mines!” Xav suddenly yelled. “Sensors are registering activations throughout the field!”
Okagawa looked over to T’Laen, who only shook her head. “It is not me, Captain.”
On the viewer, the tactical schematic was already updating its imagery to show dozens of the mines coming back online, represented by small crimson dots flaring into existence all across the screen.
“They are moving from their established configuration and heading in our direction,” Xav reported.
“How many?” Okagawa asked.
“All of them, sir,” the Tellarite replied. “Three hundred eighty-seven.”
Okagawa watched the scene unfold on the viewer, the computer-generated map now showing the hundreds of mines in a spherical formation that had begun to contract in on itself. It took him an extra moment to realize that the network of weapons was adjusting its position not to the movements of the Lovell, but instead to the trio of Gorn ships attacking it.
And he smiled.
“It seems that al-Khaled and Grace have been busy,” he said, making no effort to keep the rising excitement from his voice as, on the viewscreen, the bubble of red dots continued to tighten until the three Gorn ships were surrounded and they stopped moving altogether.
“Al-Khaled to Lovell,” the voice of the engineer called out over the intercom. “Captain, as you might be able to see, we’ve had some success with the computer systems over here.”
Nodding in satisfaction at the now stationary formation of Gorn vessels and mines depicted on the viewer, Okagawa said, “Nicely played, Mahmud. How long can you hold them there?”
“Now that we’ve figured out the system?” al-Khaled said. “How long did you have in mind?”
Al-Khaled forced himself to remain still as Ambassador Robert Fox made his fourth circuit of the Lovell’s briefing room. Tall and thin, the diplomat was dressed in a muted gray suit that only served to highlight his severe, hawklike features, which at this moment seemed to be set in a permanent scowl. In keeping with his notorious reputation, the man had said little that was not related to the matter at hand since arriving aboard, his mood undoubtedly hardened not only by the nearly three-week journey out from Earth but also by the political quagmire into which he had stepped.
“The Gorn have accepted the Elysian Council’s proposal,” he said, his voice thick with that variety of egotism that seemed to al-Khaled to be standard issue for most Federation diplomats. “They have already withdrawn the minefield, and have agreed to take no offensive action against Elysia in exchange for the assurances they’ve made.”
Seated at the far end of the conference table, Okagawa nodded. “They’ll continue to take responsibility for those Gorn who reside there. Their laws won’t permit punishment for any actions prior to their arrival in Elysia, but the council has agreed that the Gorn will never leave the Triangle.”
“You can be sure the Hegemony will establish some type of observation outpost to keep an eye on things here,” Commander zh’Rhun said, leaning forward in her chair, “but I don’t think they’ll ever venture into the rift itself.” Shrugging, she added, “Not that it would matter, as the Elysians who possess psionic powers would be able to neutralize any threat that arose. It seems it will be a case of everyone leaving everyone else alone.”
Sitting across from the first officer, al-Khaled said, “That’d seem to be the best we could hope for, all things considered. We can be thankful the Gorn are willing to give in to the peculiar dynamics of this situation in favor of the larger benefits it affords them with the Federation.” Shaking his head, he exhaled a tired breath. “It seems that like us, they’ve learned a few things since our first encounter. Still, I’ll be surprised if creating any kind of lasting understanding with them takes less than a century.”
“You’re not alone in that assessment, Commander,” Fox said as he
stopped his pacing and faced the table. “To say that the unorthodox tactics you used against Captain Lahr and his ships didn’t sit well would be a gross understatement. They’ll be smarting over that one for quite some time. While I wouldn’t normally condone what you did, I’ve come to learn that in some extreme situations, such aggressive actions are necessary. In this case, it did have the effect of causing everyone to step back and take a breath.” To Okagawa, he said, “Nicely done, Captain.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Okagawa replied, offering a polite nod.
Resuming his stroll around the table, Fox said, “What does raise concern is Elysia’s request to be declared off-limits. Naturally, the Federation will honor their wishes, but we’d be missing out on a huge opportunity to tap into the historical and scientific knowledge the Triangle represents.”
Al-Khaled had to force his expression to remain neutral. Was this the same Ambassador Robert Fox who despised such issues clouding the politics of any situation? Had he been replaced by some sort of alien with a better temperament?
We should be so lucky.
“I’m sure an agreement can be reached, Ambassador,” Okagawa said. “Their request is meant more as a means to further assure the security the Gorn have requested, as well as an attempt to keep their society as free from disruption as possible. As you’ve already pointed out, they present an unmatched allure to the curious, something they’d want to minimize as much as possible.”
“So far as most of the rest of the galaxy is concerned,” Fox replied, “the Delta Triangle is still a mystery of space, and we’ll do our best to keep it that way. Now that the subspace beacons are in place, they’ll call us if they want to talk to us.” Pausing for a moment, the diplomat offered an appreciative nod to Okagawa. “As for you and your people, Captain, it seems you’ve got one last affair to tend to before you can call this mission complete.”
Smiling in satisfaction, Okagawa said, “Indeed we do, Ambassador. We’ve got three very special passengers with us, and an entire world waiting to greet them.”
The Lovell had already been assigned the enviable task of ferrying three members of the Valzhan colony ship back to their planet, so that they might tell the incredible story of the wayward vessel and its fate to the descendants of its passengers and crew. It promised to be an unprecedented homecoming, an event al-Khaled was already looking forward to witnessing. As for the other Valzhan and the rest of the people who had chosen to remain in Elysia, it was difficult for him not to be drawn to the fascinating and even awe-inspiring aspects of their reality.
Beyond the limits of the Delta Triangle, suns would be born and die out, civilizations would rise and fall, territorial boundaries would be drawn and redrawn, enemies would become allies and perhaps even adversaries yet again as the ages passed.
But for the people of Elysia? Things would continue as they always had, tucked away as the Elysians were in their small pocket of the universe where time stood still.
Chapter
9
Stardate 54201.1, Earth Year 2377
Standing in the reception chamber with Guardian Royano, Carol Abramowitz marveled at the size of the room. It was larger than she had expected it to be, especially considering the limited nature of the artificial constructs the people of Elysia had developed in order to sustain their existence here in the Delta Triangle. What it lacked in size, however, it more than made up for with its ornate beauty.
“This hall is magnificent,” she finally said, no longer able to hold her admiration in check. “It’s truly a monument to the society you’ve created here.”
Had she not been told beforehand, Abramowitz would never have believed that this enclave had been forged from the hull sections of several vessels. Colocated with the meeting chamber used by the members of the Elysian Council, this hall was the single surrender to indulgence that she had yet seen. It was lavishly appointed with a vast collection of artwork, tapestry, and furnishings which had been donated by nearly every race represented by the ships trapped here in the Triangle and which were as varied as those who had created them.
One area of the chamber had caught her attention almost from the moment of their arrival: an anteroom of sorts that featured a gallery of portraits, rendered in a variety of styles and an equally wide variety of materials. Still, the paintings all followed a common theme, with each offering a representation of an individual being.
Devna, the Orion woman who had first contacted the da Vinci upon its arrival at the Delta Triangle and who was now acting as escort for Abramowitz and Guardian Royano, walked across the room to stand next to Abramowitz. “We have always felt it important to recognize each race of people who have joined us,” she said, her voice almost lyrical as she spoke. “Here we honor the leaders of the vessels who were drawn to Elysia over the centuries, and who by their example showed the way for all of our people to work through our differences for the greater good of our community.”
Watching and listening to Devna, Abramowitz could not help but be struck by the study in contrasts the woman represented. At first glance she appeared as feral and beguiling as Orion females were said to be, with her dark, voluminous hair and her scant dress that clung provocatively to her lithe, green-skinned body.
Abramowitz had never encountered an Orion woman in person before today, but she was more than familiar with the numerous stories and myths surrounding their sensuality and the hold they were known to have on other humanoids, particularly males. Yet everything about how Devna projected herself—her openness, her calm attitude to her surroundings, her almost passive behavior—flew in the face of what the cultural specialist had heard or read about the exotic women. She had to wonder whether Devna had always stood apart from others of her race, or whether she had merely learned over the centuries to suppress her baser instincts in this culture of strictly enforced peace in order to survive.
Either way, she mused, there’s still more to those old space tales than some people would like to believe. Fabian will be so very disappointed to hear that.
“We appreciate the opportunity to visit your society, Devna,” Abramowitz said as the Orion woman began to lead them down a short corridor toward a pair of polished silver doors. “After all, it’s such a rare occurrence for a Federation vessel to enter your space.”
Nodding, the Orion woman replied, “Lest you forget, a century means nothing to us. When the council notified the Valzhan delegation of your intent, they even remarked that it seemed as though your people had just left us.”
“Well, in that case,” Abramowitz said, smiling, “I hope we don’t wear out our welcome by dropping by too often. Of course, we can still return the favor by ferrying anyone who wants to leave Elysia out of the Triangle.”
Devna offered a knowing smile. “Yours is not the first such offer we have received, but my answer now is as it has always been. Though I have found myself longing to see my home planet, or even the stars of the galaxy it inhabits, this is my home now. I have made peace with that, and accepted life here along with all it offers.”
Her comments were the last for several moments as the group walked down the long corridor and finally arrived at the ornate doors, which parted at their approach. Beyond the entry was another room, this one featuring furnishings that lacked the extravagance of the reception chamber and an overall reserved décor that Abramowitz recognized as being intended to host more formal ceremonial activities, such as the one they were about to begin now.
Standing in the center of the room, dressed in a regal array of cobalt-blue robes that clothed him from neck to feet, was a distinguished-looking Valzhan male. Abramowitz recognized him instantly, having seen his image in the files she had studied while en route to the Delta Triangle: Saraven, the ship captain who had volunteered to command the first Valzhan deep-space colony vessel. She also knew that while he was well over five hundred years old by Earth standards, he appeared no less affected by the passage of time than he had obviously been the last time he had co
nfronted a Starfleet crew.
A wide smile spread across Saraven’s face as he beheld the group before him. “I see we have visitors. This is indeed a special occasion.” Looking to Devna, he asked, “Is this why I was summoned here today?”
Indicating the da Vinci away team with a wave of her hand, Devna replied, “Saraven, our guests have traveled a great distance to be with you this day.”
“With me?” Saraven replied. “I do not understand.”
Stepping forward, Royano held the protective case he had been carrying since departing the da Vinci in front of him with both hands before bowing formally. “Saraven, former patriarch of the Clan Briphachi, I come to you today as a duly appointed envoy of the Ancestral Commission in order to present you with this, the jelorakem of your family.”
The last vestiges of any smile disappeared from Saraven’s face even as Royano opened the case to reveal the cherished heirloom cradled within. At first he appeared awestruck at the sight of it, but that sense of wonder vanished almost as quickly, and Abramowitz saw the elder Valzhan’s features darken, his brow furrowing in apparent confusion. “Why have you brought this here?” he asked. “Guardian, what has happened? What has become of my clan?”
His voice measured and solemn as he carried out the duties of his office, Royano replied, “In keeping with our customs, when one family ceases to exist as an independent clan, its jelorakem must be properly retired. Clan Briphachi is no more, its eldest son having married a daughter of another family. The two families are now one, and identify themselves as Clan Iggrazo.” Bowing again, the Valzhan courier added, “I am told it was a joyous union.”
“Joyous?” Saraven repeated, making no effort to hide his surprise at the revelation. “For generations, our families often found ourselves cast on opposite sides of numerous ideological conflicts, and faced one another in battle more than once. There was much fighting and suffering, and whenever the hostilities ended and we thought there might be a chance at peace, another conflict would arise.”
