“The act of sharing food,” he was telling Uhura, “is a scared tenet of our culture. In the ancient past, when game was scarce and our people were made up of disparate tribes, the resource of food was the main reason for conflict between them. But it also became the bond by which tribes could unite. It became forbidden to seek conflict of any kind on a feast day, and an unbreakable rule that one should share their meal with others if so asked. Those simple ideals still have great resonance in our culture to this day, even after we developed the technology to synthesize foods from base chemical components.”
Xuur paused, examining a piece of doughy bread. “This is fabricated? The quality is very good!”
“When yours is a society where food has traditionally been in short supply, you focus your technology on such areas,” Kaleo offered. “We put our energies into feeding our hungry long before we turned our eyes to space.”
Spock paused, studying the items among the salad he was eating with a wary eye. “These vegetables are also replicated items?”
“Some of them,” said Gatag, and he was clearly pleased to have impressed his alien visitors.
“I know some technicians at Starfleet Materiel Command who will want to talk to you about your advances,” McCoy said, with a smile. “To paraphrase a famous leader from our planet, a crew marches on its stomach.”
At his side, Kirk punctuated his point with a bite from a piece of spiced meat that had been placed in front of him. “This is quite flavorful. Can I ask what it is?”
Gatag gestured at the captain. “Ah, as you are the leader of our honored guests, you are served a special dish that we call the ruokaan, given as a gesture of fealty.”
From the corner of his eye, McCoy saw Uhura freeze with an eating utensil halfway to her mouth. Delicately, she put it down and turned to Gatag. “Pardon me, sir, I’ve studied your language. That word, ruokaan . . . am I correct in thinking it translates as—”
“Visitor’s flesh,” Gatag said agreeably. “Yes. It is your flesh.” He pointed at Kirk.
“What?” All of a sudden, McCoy’s appetite died, and what he had already eaten lay like lead in his gut.
“I don’t understand,” said Kirk. “You said this meat was artificial, but then you’re saying it is . . . from a human?”
“No, Captain, it is from you.” Gatag gestured at the air. “In the deep past, when our warlords met, they would each cut a length of skin from their bodies and ritually cook it for their rivals to eat. It symbolized the sharing of food and of one’s self. We have evolved beyond these barbaric practices now, but with our synthesizer devices we can duplicate the meat of any creature. Even of each other.”
“The scan they took of us,” said Spock. “That would reveal enough genetic data for the basis of a biosynthetic model.”
“Then we’re also . . . eating some of you?” ch’Sellor asked. “In this food?”
“All of us,” replied Gatag. “It is the sharing.”
“Remarkable.” Spock glanced at McCoy, seemingly oblivious to the look of shock on the doctor’s face. “A wholly synthetic meat substitute, virtually identical to the real item down to a molecular level. But without any of the ethical quandaries raised by the farming of live creatures. Fascinating . . .” The Vulcan continued to eat his plate of leafy greens.
“It raises a hell of a lot of other things!” McCoy pushed his plate away and swallowed a deep draft of the tea to wash away the taste in his mouth. “Can I get one of those salads instead?”
* * *
For a long moment, Kirk paused; then he finished his slice of the cooked meat. It wouldn’t do to look squeamish, he reasoned. “Tangy,” Kirk remarked, washing it down with some water.
Rather than complicate the issue with a discussion of what might or might not be taboo when it came to eating habits, Envoy Xuur deftly changed tack. “Those starships we saw on the way here . . . it seems your people are equipping themselves for a dedicated progression into interstellar space.”
Kirk caught a warning look between Kaleo and Hoyga, as if the engineer was silently warning her commander not to rise to the bait. Kaleo deliberately looked away. Something going on there, he thought to himself, and made a mental note to talk to Spock about it when they were back on the Enterprise.
“We are in the process of an accelerated development program, yes,” Kaleo was saying. “We are training many new crews. But our intent is not to range too far from home, at least for the immediate future.”
He got the sense she was offering an opening, and so he took it. “Those patrol ships we saw as we passed through the Veil . . . forgive me, but they don’t seem designed for long-range exploration.”
It was telling that Kaleo didn’t correct his deliberate description of the vessels in a military context. “No,” she admitted. “Our newer craft are designed to fulfill a number of other functions with a lesser focus on exploration. Search and rescue. Planetary survey. And . . . defensive operations.”
Combat vessels? The unspoken emphasis was right there. Kirk couldn’t be a hundred percent certain, but what he had been able to intuit of Syhaari body language told him that Kaleo was uncomfortable with the idea of warships.
“The new direction for the fleet is the brainchild of one of our greatest commanders,” said Gatag, apparently missing the subtext. “Tormid. He is responsible for the revision in our starcraft deployment and many of the great leaps forward in our technology!” The old ambassador clasped his hands together, and showed a toothy grin to Kaleo. “Your former colleague is now our rising star!”
“Tormid and I were the first two captains chosen to take explorer ships out beyond the Veil,” Kaleo explained. “When we returned home . . .” She paused. “Well. I think Tormid is equally adept with the business of politics as he is with command of a ship. It’s a skill I lack.”
“My old friend is too modest!” said a voice, and all eyes turned to a new arrival, a Syhaari male dressed in a uniform similar to Kaleo’s, but with much bolder colors. He had dark orange fur and sharp, searching eyes that made him look like he was sizing up potential appetizers.
“Tormid,” said Kaleo tightly. “Of course you’re here.”
A number of the Syhaari elders left their seats to greet the other commander, with grunts of amusement and backslapping, but he quickly disengaged and made straight for the Enterprise party. Tormid moved from person to person, making gestures of greeting to everyone in turn. “My great apologies for my lateness, offworlders, but I was delayed by important matters in the shipyards. Welcome to you, welcome to our domain! Ever since Kaleo brought back news of the grand Federation and your mighty Enterprise, I have wanted to meet you—” He stopped suddenly as they came face-to-face. “You! You are Kirk from Earth, the Rescuer!” He put a heavy hand on the captain’s shoulder. “Thank you. On behalf of all Syhaari, and myself, you have our deepest gratitude for your act of selfless kindness.” He looked toward Kaleo, whose expression had become rigid and brittle. “She and her crew would have died out there in the void if not for you. You took pity on them.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that,” Kirk managed. “We did what anyone of good conscience would have. We helped our fellow sentients in a time of need.”
Without waiting for an invitation, Tormid interposed himself between Kirk and Spock and poured a cup of tea. “Yes. Of course.”
Kaleo stood up and gave a shallow bow. “If you’ll excuse me . . . I must check in with Zond . . .” She walked away without looking back, trailing frosty air in her wake as she spoke quietly into a wrist communicator.
Envoy Xuur introduced herself, earning a cursory nod from Tormid in return. “I wasn’t aware that the Syhaari Gathering sent out multiple exploration missions.”
“We did,” he said, barely giving the diplomat any of his attention. “The Explorer Beyond and The Searcher Unbound. Such bold endeavors, to be certain. But each
of us met with ill fate.” He hesitated, drumming his long fingers on the table and looking toward Hoyga. “Strange, is it not? That in a crucible of failure and disaster, amid the death of our crewmates, a greater cause was served. Despite our losses, we brought back prizes.”
Gatag mirrored Tormid’s gesture. “So true. Kaleo returned to us with news of your Federation and of potential friendships, while Tormid—”
“I came back with insight,” he broke in. “Hard-won, I hasten to add, is that not so?” Again, Tormid looked to Hoyga, who gave a sullen nod of agreement.
“Your vessel, the Searcher,” began Spock, “it also suffered a malfunction?”
“A design flaw,” Tormid said bitterly. “Almost killed us all. The one responsible for it has since been given other less-critical duties. Yes, offworlder, you are correct. Hoyga here was my engineer at the time, and only she and I lived to see Syhaar Prime again. Together, we managed to repair our craft and limp back to the Veil.”
“A heroic saga,” intoned Gatag. “Worthy of our ancestors.”
Tormid looked away. “We did what we had to do. And although I mourn my lost comrades each day, I comfort myself with the fact that their sacrifice has helped our people reach new heights.”
Kirk nodded. “My world’s early forays into space travel were often tempered by the loss of brave explorers.”
“You understand! Remarkable!” Tormid patted him on the shoulder. “Strange to hear that from an alien, that we have shared common experiences.” He went on, barely pausing. “Even though your comrades perished, you learned from them. So too did I. On our journey back, I was forced to improvise with what was to hand . . . and in that, I gained unique insights into space-warping. I took risks. They proved fruitful.”
“So you’re the one behind the leaps forward in Syhaari science?” asked McCoy.
“I am only a being with many ideas,” he deflected. “I consider it my duty to bring them to my people.”
“You have made rapid advancement in faster-than-light drive technology,” Spock noted, then gestured to his plate. “And it appears your people are skilled in the design of replication systems.”
“This is so,” Gatag agreed. “But we have yet to perfect the science of your impressive matter-transit machines or your speaking tools.” He tapped the universal translator unit on the table before them.
Kirk studied the alien commander and decided to see if he could press him to reveal more. If the Syhaari were culturally attuned to shows of prowess, he might be able to draw more out of Tormid than Xuur would get in days of polite discussion. “Your people built a warp-capable starship, then a few years later you’ve broken through the warp three speed barrier . . . was that just a matter of blind luck?”
A moment of annoyance flashed in Tormid’s dark eyes. “I do not believe in such things. Grave need led me to that knowledge. If I had done any different, Hoyga and I would have been dead and the fate of the Searcher never known.” He leaned in, and the anger faded, replaced by a steady certainty. “Warp factor three is only the beginning, Captain Kirk. I am already leading the design of a drive system capable of achieving factor five velocity, or even higher.”
“An impressive progression,” said Spock. “Perhaps the Assembly would consider an exchange of information at some juncture? Certainly, I believe our engineers would be interested to learn more about your design process.”
“The Federation Diplomatic Corps would have to oversee it, of course,” ch’Sellor was quick to add.
“And we might be able to offer some assistance,” Kirk added, even as Xuur shot him a warning look. “Caution you about potential hazards your scientists may not yet be aware of.”
Tormid reeled back, and his tone and manner shifted. “You believe so? Captain, I am afraid that you may think of us as primitives compared to your star-spanning empire!”
“We’re not an empire,” Uhura corrected gently. “The Federation is a democratic coalition of free states.”
The alien commander didn’t acknowledge her words, instead keeping his eyes on Kirk. “With all gratitude to the offer, we do not need your help. Not again. What happened to Kaleo was unfortunate, but it is not the nature of our kind to require rescue. We can look after ourselves. We have the means.”
“You are referring to your patrol ships?” Spock dropped the question into the conversation, and Kirk let it happen—he was willing to risk it if only to see how Tormid would react.
“Those are an expression of our new effectiveness in space,” said Gatag.
“A precaution,” Tormid added, his guard rising.
“Captain Tormid, I was talking about avenues of friendship.” Kirk took a breath, framing his next words carefully. “I spoke about my own people’s first ventures into space . . . those brought us to the attention of Mister Spock’s race, the Vulcans. They had more experience of warp travel than we did, and together we entered into an alliance. That relationship was the bedrock for the thriving Federation that exists today.”
“Generous,” Tormid said, after a moment. “But we have an axiom here, Kirk. Do not fill your plate at a stranger’s house. And as much as you have done, and even with your kind words, you are still aliens to us. And the alien can be a dangerous thing.”
“The United Federation of Planets respects the independence of every world we deal with,” Xuur said, a firmness beneath her ever-present smile. “If the Syhaari Gathering opens formal relationships with us, that will not change.”
“Let us say that is so,” Tormid allowed. “But there are others beyond the Veil who would not do the same, yes? Your Federation is not the only power in the universe. I would guess that not everyone out in the greater galaxy may be as welcoming to us as you seem to be. Is that not so?” He shot Spock a challenging look.
The Vulcan gave a reluctant nod. “Regrettably, I must concur. However—”
Whatever Spock was going to say next, it was cut short by the insistent alert tone of Kirk’s communicator. The captain removed the device from his belt and stepped away from the table, frowning. “Kirk here,” he began, “this better be important.”
“Captain, your exact words, were: ‘Don’t contact me unless it’s something big.’” Scotty’s tone told him immediately that this wasn’t a trivial matter. “So it is. An object approximately five thousand kilometers in diameter, moving through the outer edge of the dust cloud surrounding this system.”
That brought him up short. The engineer was describing something larger than the Earth’s moon. “Artificial or natural?”
“Unknown, sir. Mister Sulu’s got full sensors on it, but the readings are inconsistent. Whatever this anomaly is, we picked it up on long-range sensors a few moments ago, and you can bet the locals will be seeing it as well, any second now.”
As Scott spoke, Kirk glanced across the room and saw Kaleo talking into her wrist communicator, her expression agitated. “I think they already know, Scotty. Put the ship on yellow alert, stand by on the transporters to beam us back.” A long few seconds passed and there was only silence. “Mister Scott? Do you hear me?”
“Aye, sir,” came a hollow reply, a moment later. “Captain, some new information . . . Lieutenant M’Ress is intercepting the slow subspace transmissions from the Syhaari ships out on the perimeter. They’re under attack.”
An instant later, a lowing tone sounded through the hall, and Kirk knew that the same news had reached Kaleo’s people.
Four
A wall on the far side of the Assembly hall dropped away into the floor, revealing a large oval screen behind it. Spock saw the Syhaari elders leave the dining table in a rush, some knocking over glasses of steaming tea in their haste, other snarling into handheld communicators in their gruff native language.
“What is wrong?” said Xuur, rising to her feet after Gatag, Tormid, and Hoyga.
The older Syhaari ambassador gave a g
rave shake of his furred head. “I do not wish to alarm you unduly, but that sound you hear is a planetary alert. It sounds only in the most extreme of circumstances.”
“Are we in danger?” said ch’Sellor, looking up as Captain Kirk strode back to the table.
Kirk hesitated, and Spock knew immediately that the message from the Enterprise was part of whatever was happening.
Tormid glowered at streams of text that were filling the screen from bottom to top, then he growled at Gatag. “The offworlders should vacate the hall, Ambassador.” His earlier manner toward the landing party—by turns challenging and unctuous—was gone, replaced by a dismissive attitude. “They should return to their ship and leave this to us.”
“If there is a direct danger to the Enterprise,” Spock began, “we will be compelled to act on it.”
“You are visitors,” Tormid insisted, putting heavy emphasis on the word. “We insist.” Belatedly, Gatag gave a rough nod of agreement.
“I’m not sure that’s the best idea.” Kirk folded his arms over his chest. “One of my officers just informed me of the presence of an intruder object entering your star system. You need to tell us what, if anything, you know of it.”
The screen was now switching between various low-gain still images of the object Kirk referred to. Spock parsed each one for information as it flicked by: a large planetoid of indeterminate origin, much of its surface detail lost in the shadows of the gas cloud mantle. One image showed what appeared to be a Syhaari patrol ship in the foreground, and the science officer attempted a rudimentary estimate of the planetoid’s size. “Curious. Were your observers unaware of the proximity of this object?”
Tormid ignored him and spoke quietly into Hoyga’s ear. Nearby, the look of shock on the faces of the other Syhaari elders was mirrored in Gatag’s aspect. The ambassador’s lips trembled. “What . . . is it?”
The Latter Fire Page 6
