Star Trek: The Original Series: Rihannsu: The Bloodwing Voyages by Diane Duane & Peter Morwood Page B
Authors: Diane Duane & Peter Morwood
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a distance of one light-second from us.”
“Neighborly,” Jim said. “Hold the screens as they are. We’ll wait and see what they do.”
And they waited, the bridge becoming very still indeed. Closer and closer Bloodwing glided to them. After about a minute she had no motion relative to Enterprise , but was soaring along beside her in neat formation, a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles away.
Ten seconds passed, and three hundred sixty million kilometers of empty space, and several breaths’ worth of silence.
Uhura’s board beeped.
She listened to her transdator, then said, “They’re hailing us, Captain.”
“Answer the hail. Offer them an open channel if they want it.”
Uhura spoke softly to her board. The screen shimmered.
They found themselves looking, as they had looked once before, at the cramped bridge of a warbird-class Romulan vessel. A man in the usual Romulan uniform—dark-glittering tunic and breeches, with a scarflike scarlet half-cloak fastened front and back over one shoulder—stood facing the bridge pickup. He was of medium height, dark skinned for a Romulan, with even features and a slightly hooked nose; young and well built, with auburn hair cropped short in a style reminiscent of the Vulcan fashion, and light, narrow, noticing eyes. He spoke in Romulan, which the translator in Uhura’s board handled with the usual disconcerting nonsynchronization of mouth movements. “Enterprise,” the Romulan said, “I am Subcommander Tafv tr’Rllaillieu, second in command of the Romulan warship Bloodwing. Do I address Captain James Kirk?”
Jim stood up, feeling an odd urge to match the young man’s courteous tone, even if there might be a trick behind it. “You do,” he said. Then he paused a moment. “Sir—may I ask if by chance you are related to a commander by the name of Ael t’Rllaillieu?” He said it the best he could, hoping the translator would straighten out his mangled pronunciation.
The subcommander smiled very slightly. “You may, Captain. I am the commander’s son.”
“Thank you. May I also ask what brings you into our space under such—unusual—circumstances?”
“Again, you may. The commander’s business brings us here. I am directed to express to you Commander t’Rllaillieu’s desire to meet with you and any members of your staff you find appropriate, to discuss with you a matter which will be as much to your advantage as to ours.”
“What matter, Subcommander?”
“I regret that I may not say, Captain. This is an unshielded channel, and the business is urgent and confidential in the extreme.”
“What conditions for the meeting?”
“The commander is willing to beam over to your vessel, unescorted. As I have said, the matter is urgent, and the commander has no desire to stand on ceremony at the moment.”
“May I consider briefly?”
“Certainly.” The young man bowed slightly, and the screen went dark, showing stars again, and Bloodwing hanging there, silent.
Jim sat down in the helm for a moment, swung it around to face Spock. “Well, well. What now? Recommendations, ladies and gentlemen?”
Spock stood up from a last look down his viewer and folded his arms, looking very thoughtful indeed. “This is a vessel we know, Captain.”
“No kidding,” Jim said. “She’s singed our tail a few times. Of course we’ve singed hers too….”
“However,” Spock said, “while we have often been at enmity with Bloodwing, the ship has never acted in a treacherous fashion toward us. In fact, often very much the contrary. Ael t’Rllaillieu, whoever she may be, has dealt honorably enough with us, though we have never seen her.”
“True enough,” Jim said. He remembered the shock after their first engagement, over by 415 Arietis it had been—on fighting a whole week’s fight-and-run battle with Bloodwing and finding out afterward that the “t’” prefix on the house-name denoted a woman. Oh God, not another one, he had thought at the
“Neighborly,” Jim said. “Hold the screens as they are. We’ll wait and see what they do.”
And they waited, the bridge becoming very still indeed. Closer and closer Bloodwing glided to them. After about a minute she had no motion relative to Enterprise , but was soaring along beside her in neat formation, a hundred and eighty-six thousand miles away.
Ten seconds passed, and three hundred sixty million kilometers of empty space, and several breaths’ worth of silence.
Uhura’s board beeped.
She listened to her transdator, then said, “They’re hailing us, Captain.”
“Answer the hail. Offer them an open channel if they want it.”
Uhura spoke softly to her board. The screen shimmered.
They found themselves looking, as they had looked once before, at the cramped bridge of a warbird-class Romulan vessel. A man in the usual Romulan uniform—dark-glittering tunic and breeches, with a scarflike scarlet half-cloak fastened front and back over one shoulder—stood facing the bridge pickup. He was of medium height, dark skinned for a Romulan, with even features and a slightly hooked nose; young and well built, with auburn hair cropped short in a style reminiscent of the Vulcan fashion, and light, narrow, noticing eyes. He spoke in Romulan, which the translator in Uhura’s board handled with the usual disconcerting nonsynchronization of mouth movements. “Enterprise,” the Romulan said, “I am Subcommander Tafv tr’Rllaillieu, second in command of the Romulan warship Bloodwing. Do I address Captain James Kirk?”
Jim stood up, feeling an odd urge to match the young man’s courteous tone, even if there might be a trick behind it. “You do,” he said. Then he paused a moment. “Sir—may I ask if by chance you are related to a commander by the name of Ael t’Rllaillieu?” He said it the best he could, hoping the translator would straighten out his mangled pronunciation.
The subcommander smiled very slightly. “You may, Captain. I am the commander’s son.”
“Thank you. May I also ask what brings you into our space under such—unusual—circumstances?”
“Again, you may. The commander’s business brings us here. I am directed to express to you Commander t’Rllaillieu’s desire to meet with you and any members of your staff you find appropriate, to discuss with you a matter which will be as much to your advantage as to ours.”
“What matter, Subcommander?”
“I regret that I may not say, Captain. This is an unshielded channel, and the business is urgent and confidential in the extreme.”
“What conditions for the meeting?”
“The commander is willing to beam over to your vessel, unescorted. As I have said, the matter is urgent, and the commander has no desire to stand on ceremony at the moment.”
“May I consider briefly?”
“Certainly.” The young man bowed slightly, and the screen went dark, showing stars again, and Bloodwing hanging there, silent.
Jim sat down in the helm for a moment, swung it around to face Spock. “Well, well. What now? Recommendations, ladies and gentlemen?”
Spock stood up from a last look down his viewer and folded his arms, looking very thoughtful indeed. “This is a vessel we know, Captain.”
“No kidding,” Jim said. “She’s singed our tail a few times. Of course we’ve singed hers too….”
“However,” Spock said, “while we have often been at enmity with Bloodwing, the ship has never acted in a treacherous fashion toward us. In fact, often very much the contrary. Ael t’Rllaillieu, whoever she may be, has dealt honorably enough with us, though we have never seen her.”
“True enough,” Jim said. He remembered the shock after their first engagement, over by 415 Arietis it had been—on fighting a whole week’s fight-and-run battle with Bloodwing and finding out afterward that the “t’” prefix on the house-name denoted a woman. Oh God, not another one, he had thought at the