The Bloodwing Voyages

by Diane Duane

  McCoy shook his head. “No, or the Sunseed routines, either.”

  Jim nodded again. Fox was standing up to speak, now, and not bothering with a padd. “I thank the noble Praetor for her clarification of the Imperium’s intentions,” he said, “and intend to respond in kind. Certainly much time and energy has been spent pursuing courses of action which have caused difficulty to both the Star Empire and the Federation, and any reasonable being would consider it prudent to seek to resolve these outstanding issues between us and move on into positions of greater interstellar security, always remembering that we are not the only two major powers to be reckoned with in the present scheme of things.”

  Did Gurrhim and a few of the other Romulans blink at that bit of frankness? Jim looked closely at them and couldn’t be sure. “As regards the Star Empire’s four points,” Fox said, “first: any change in the status of the Neutral Zone would have to be taken after a period of extensive consultation with the various inhabited planets in the area and a thorough investigation into the various consequences of such a change in the status of the area. Needless to say, so major a change would require some while to implement properly, with an eye to guaranteeing the continued peace and security of the star systems in this area, and the logistics of the change would need careful coordination among the interested parties. Regardless, the Federation will give this proposal careful consideration and will reply in more detail in due course.”

  McCoy snorted softly. “As regards the second point,” Fox went on, “the Federation fully understands the concern that unauthorized intrusions into Rihannsu space cause the Star Empire. The Federation has suffered various similar intrusions into its own space of late, and is well acquainted with the annoyance secondary to the loss of valuable equipment and personnel, as well as the loss of face which is invariably associated with such tragedies.” That had an effect: Hloal t’Illialhlae turned a most astonishing jade color and stirred in her chair as if about to leap out of it. “However, the Federation has no desire to reopen old wounds at this time, or, for that matter, to inflame new ones, and is minded to let bygones be bygones in this regard. I am, however, empowered to say that the Federation will consider such gestures toward truth and reconciliation in tandem with the Rihannsu Star Empire’s own consideration of such gestures, and stands ready to make a simultaneous public announcement at such a time as the Empire is prepared to do so in regards to its own previous incursions. Third—”

  The hellish image of the chromosphere of 15 Trianguli rose up in front of Jim, and the memory of seven ships chasing Enterprise and Bloodwing around it and out into the cold again. His back itched as if the sweat were running down it all over again as they ran for their lives. “That’s it?” Jim said. “That’s all he’s got to say about—”

  “Shh,” McCoy said.

  “I can’t believe this!”

  “—as regards the former commander-general Ael i-Mhiessan t’Rllaillieu, the United Federation of Planets is presently engaged in discussions intended to clarify her legal position with regard to her presence and possible rights under law in Federation space. Until such clarification is available, I regret that no statement can be made regarding her disposition. Additionally, and in regard to your fourth point, since there is some uncertainty regarding her whereabouts, it is at this time difficult to say whether the artifact about which you are inquiring is actually in her possession or not. Needless to say, it is the Federation’s wish that any artifact of cultural value should be restored to its proper place as soon as the facts of the case have been understood and evaluated by those most closely involved, and we would hope that such an evaluation could occur at the earliest possible date.”

  And Fox sat down.

  Jim just sat there, speechless. The only satisfaction he got for the moment was that the Romulans were doing the same.

  After a moment, Hloal t’Illialhlae leaned across the table and looked hard at Fox. “When,” she said, “might we reasonably expect this ‘legal clarification’ to be forthcoming?”

  “I expect it within thirty-six of our hours,” Fox said promptly, “and I would hope your schedule allows you to remain here that long, so that whatever the nature of the clarification, we may then expedite further talks arising from it.”

  Jim wasn’t entirely sure he liked the sound of that.

  “We will return,” said t’Illialhlae, “in thirty-six hours, then.” She stood up, as did all her delegation. “But, Ambassador Fox, you must understand our position. If we do not achieve satisfaction on all four points by that time, the results will be unfortunate.”

  Fox and the people on the Federation side all stood up as well. “Intemperate action without the advice and consent of one’s superiors is always unfortunate,” Fox said. Jim raised his eyebrows at that, for it was astonishing how so cool and seemingly casual an utterance could seem suddenly edged with threat. “We look forward to meeting with you again, thirty-six hours from now.”

  The Romulans filed out, eldest first, as was their habit, though there was something of a clear space between Hloal t’Illialhlae and everyone else, as if not even her own people cared to get too close. Shortly the screen showed only an empty room, and Uhura killed that view, leaving Jim looking at the serenely rotating bulk of Mascrar again.

  Sulu blew out a long breath but said nothing. Jim swung around in the center seat to look over at Spock, who was turning back to look down his scanner as if he had been watching nothing of more moment than one of Mr. Freeman’s rechanneled ancient videos down in the rec room. Uhura just shook her head a little and then put her hand to her transdator, listening.

  “That was the ambassador’s aide,” she said. “There’ll be a briefing for the negotiating team and the ships’ captains in about eight hours. Apparently Fox expects the talks with the main body of Romulan negotiators and observers to resume again later this afternoon, regardless of what we just saw.”

  Jim nodded, trying to get a grip on himself and slowly finding it.

  McCoy let out a long breath, looking at the screen again. “At least he stood up to tell them that last part.”

  “It does mean something, then…”

  “You don’t fight your enemy sitting down,” McCoy said. “Challenges are always delivered standing, unless you so despise the enemy that you don’t feel you need to do them that honor, or you foresee an outcome where you needn’t have bothered to extend the courtesy, because they’re not going to be alive long enough for it to matter.” He shook his head. “At least Fox understands the nuances.”

  “I certainly hope he does,” Jim said. “The good ambassador isn’t without his occasional blind spot, as we’ve seen.” The memory of the near disaster that had been triggered by Fox’s actions when Enterprise had ferried him to Eminiar VII was all too vivid in Jim’s mind. He was willing to cut the man some slack; while his actions on behalf of the Federation there had been somewhat ham-handed, there had never been any doubt but that his intentions had been good. But good intentions were not always enough. Fox’s insistence on Enterprise remaining in the system even though the Eminians had warned her off resulted in the ship being declared “destroyed” in the virtual war between Eminiar and Vendikar. It was only smart action by Scotty, then in command while Jim, Spock, and the rest of the landing party were being held prisoner on the planet, that had kept the ship from really being destroyed, and had bought the landing party the time to escape, change the odds, and effectively end the war.

  That had been a while ago, though. People did change and learn. Jim had heard of no further disasters with Fox’s name attached to them. And Starfleet must think he’s the best we’ve got at the moment, Jim thought. He hoped with unusual fervor that they were right.

  He also wondered what one who understood the nuances better than anyone on the Federation side was making of it all…

  “Captain,” Ael said, allowing herself to start to sound irritated, “you must not so misconstrue me. This is not a matter of whim, but one of
personal honor, and as such cannot be deprioritized. Indeed, I had not thought your people went in much these days for instruments of torture, but I see I have yet much to learn.” She leaned forward in her command chair and gave Captain Gutierrez, on the viewscreen, a fierce look. Behind her was a soft rustling of uniforms and creaking of chairs as a shift change took place—Aidoann and the day crew coming on—but it was happening much more quietly than usual. Ael’s people were listening with an intensity that suggested they were very interested, or very amused, or both.

  “Commander,” said Captain Gutierrez, moving uncomfortably in his own center seat, “please, it’s just a figure of speech. I simply mean that we cannot turn up in the neighborhood of Mascrar without security precautions first being in place.”

  “There are six Federation starships there, two of them most outrageously overweaponed, if I understand even the public specs for Sempach and Speedwell,” Ael said, “not to mention Mascrar, which is closer in strength to a planetary-level defense installation. How much more security could you need?”

  She shook her head at him as he started to speak. “Captain, my people have been foully maligned!” Ael said. “It is an act of dishonor for me to sit here and keep mum, as if fear or shame motivated me! Mnhei’sahe requires that I return with all due speed to defend my people’s reputations as reasoning, thinking beings. Not to mention the reputation of Bloodwing, a vessel worthy of a better assessment than ‘antiquated’!” She let the scorn show a little.

  “Oh, come on, Commander. We have a saying: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’”

  She shook her head in mock wonder. “Such violence in idiom surprises me from the representative of a purportedly peaceful people.”

  “Commander, it’s a children’s saying. It means—”

  “Elements protect me from your children, then!”

  Aidoann, behind her, cleared her throat softly. Ael glanced at her and shook her head. It was a planned interruption, but it was not needed at the moment.

  Gutierrez looked put out. “It means that just because they call your ship names, that’s no reason to overreact—”

  “Indeed? I seem to remember that Captain Kiurrk’s crew once nearly precipitated a diplomatic incident because some Klingon called the Enterprise a ‘garbage scow.’”

  “That was different,” Gutierrez said. “If the captain—”

  “Sir,” Ael said. “The insult that has been leveled at my crew is not one I can let slide. I swore to be their good lady and to lead them faithfully and well. Their long loyalty to me requires I take action to defend them. Even your culture, surely, supports the right to directly confront one’s accusers when accusations so unbearable are made! Now, Captain, you must call the commodore, or whoever else you feel you must consult about this matter, and see to it that whatever ‘security measures’ are required are put swiftly in place—for I will not linger here another two days while that slander on my crew lies smarting in my mind, and those who committed it sit about congratulating themselves. One standard day I give you. Then I will make my way back to the location of the talks…with you or without you. And we shall see what happens then.”

  Gutierrez swallowed again. Ael thought with secret amusement that she could almost hear him swallow, the only sound on her bridge except for the soft purr of the life-support systems and the occasional beep or tck of a touched control or closing circuit.

  “Commander,” Gutierrez said, “you know I can’t permit that.”

  The temptation to say And how will you stop me? was strong, but would have been unwise. It would have made him start thinking too actively about ways to do so. “Perhaps you cannot,” Ael said, “but a good way to see that it does not become an issue is to speak to the commodore immediately. We will talk again when you have done so.”

  She glanced over at tr’Hrienteh and flicked the finger of one hand up the other wrist. Tr’Hrienteh killed the connection. “Answer no hails from Ortisei for the next four hours or so,” Ael said, “and raise the shields. I will speak no more to Captain Gutierrez until he has better news for me.”

  Aidoann swung down from the engineering station, where she had been running some engine checks. “Khre’Riov,” she said, “you can’t think that any of us take Hloal’s mouth-wind at all seriously.”

  “Au, not at all,” Ael said. “But Captain Gutierrez does not know that. Nor do I mean him to.” Nonetheless she sat back in her hard command seat and smiled. “All the same, I find our good fortune hard to believe. Their arrogance has made them foolish, Aidoann. We lie here sinking in deep water, and they throw us a line, giving us an excuse to be right where we want to be.”

  “Always assuming, khre’Riov, that it was not their intent to play us so.”

  Ael cocked an eye up at Aidoann. “This cautious tone becomes you, cousin; you are growing into the habits of command. But the thought occurred to me some while ago.” She leaned back, crossing her legs and making herself as comfortable as she could in that hard seat. “Yet I do not credit it. They are too far from remembering how true honor motivates action to use it effectively as a trap. When we do appear, and what must happen, happens, it will have been their own foolishness that brings it down on their heads. Meanwhile, we must prepare ourselves. We may have to move more quickly than in just one standard day. I must see tr’Keirianh immediately.” She got up. “Call the engine room and tell him I am on my way. I want to see those new propulsion models, for my heart tells me that in some hours, we will need them.”

  In the neighborhood of RV Trianguli, aboard Sempach, the scheduled briefing between the negotiating team and the top-level officers of the starships on site had been going on for half an hour or so. Ambassador Fox had finished delivering the précis of the negotiations that had led to the morning’s “public” session, and a shorter one of the afternoon’s work. Now he pushed the padd away and sat back in his chair at the briefing-room table, as the stars slid slowly past the window and the great bulk of Mascrar began to slip into view.

  “It’s actually going relatively well,” he said, “despite the apparent ultimatum we were offered. It’s standard enough tactics in talks like this to go ‘hard’ after the opposing party gives you a ‘soft’ response to the initial proposals—or what are supposed to be the initial ones. You’ll all have noticed that the initial Romulan official proposal was a lot milder than expected on the issues that really concern us, though more robust in other areas. The Neutral Zone, specifically.”

  From where he sat between Spock and McCoy, Jim looked up as sunlight reflected from Mascrar began to flood into the room. “It’s the ‘softness,’” Jim said to Fox, “that is concerning me at the moment. I would have liked to see the incident at 15 Trianguli discussed in rather greater detail.”

  Danilov looked over at Fox, then at Jim. “That,” he said, “is a matter which Starfleet Command has decided not to press any further, with a view to advancing other discussions considered more pertinent at the moment.”

  Spock glanced in Jim’s direction. Jim folded his arms so that he wouldn’t start drumming his fingers on the table. “Commodore,” Jim said, “with all due respect, this does not strike me as a way for Starfleet to improve or augment the respect with which its ships are treated when they travel into debatable space.”

  “Captain,” said Danilov, “I know what you’re thinking. You were the one stuck in a tough place and getting shot at. But you got out of it with your skin intact, as you usually do—and now we have other fish to fry.”

  Oh no, Jim thought. He had always been warned of what happened when a ship started to become legendary for something. Soon it started to be taken for granted that the ship would always do what it had managed, sometimes by the skin of its teeth, to do until then.

  “Commodore, I’m sorry, but I have to emphasize this,” Jim said. “What if some other ship, not Enterprise with her admittedly laudable record for getting out of trouble, had happened into the situation we fo
und waiting for us at 15 Tri? And had not come out of it? It would unquestionably have been a casus belli. But because we escaped, through good luck and bloody-mindedness, the subject is just going to be allowed to fall by the wayside?”

  Danilov looked at Jim and said nothing. “They are going to draw certain inevitable conclusions from this,” Jim said. “And the wrong ones. That we are so afraid of going to war that we will make considerable concessions to avoid it. Giving Romulans this idea is a major error. The location of the encounter is no accident, but the encounter itself is a message written in letters half a light-year high. They were not merely testing our preparedness in that part of space, but seeing whether we would call them on it. We didn’t. We’ve apparently bent over backwards to let them weasel out of it! And now they have the answer they want. They’ve seen that they can commit a major breach of the treaty, an attack on a ship nominally under Federation protection, fairly deep in our space, and get away with it.”

  “Permission to speak freely,” Danilov said softly, “granted.”

  Jim fell silent.

  “Captain,” Danilov said, “you’re overstating the case. Fifty planets are not the same as one ship. Those worlds are populated by Federation citizens—”

  “Was Bloodwing granted free passage through Federation space, or not?” Jim said. “Were her people given asylum here, or not?”

  Around the table, some of the most senior officers looked at one another uncomfortably. Jim knew why, for the legal position was still being “clarified” at the Federation High Council level, and no one wanted to commit themselves without having at least a clue of which way the Council would jump. Politics! Jim thought, and looked at Danilov. Danilov returned his gaze, his face not changing.

  “The camel’s nose is in the tent, gentlemen,” Jim said. “And the rest of it is going to follow. I must protest the way the negotiations are going in the strongest possible terms.”