by Dayton Ward
Boma smiled at that. “I know I’m biased, but I think you’re in for a treat.” He saw the look of confusion on Nole’s face, and realized he once more had fallen into the trap of using idioms, something with which universal translation software often had trouble. “What I meant was that I think you’ll find a great deal to like about us. At least, I hope you do.”
“I have no doubts that I will,” Nole said. Then, she looked past him and up into the sky before pointing in that direction. Turning, he peered upward and noted the two small objects descending through the clouds toward them. Their slate-gray hulls appeared violet in the light of the Gralafi day, the sun’s rays playing off the crafts’ smooth lines as one followed the other toward the surface.
“A very simple, yet elegant design,” Shin observed, watching with rapt fascination as the shuttlecraft slowed their rate of descent, banking as their pilots directed the vessels toward their assigned landing coordinates. “And such maneuverability.”
Boma sighed. “They have their good and bad points,” he said, his thoughts turning to another Starfleet shuttlecraft—one in which he had almost died. It was easy to recall the unpleasant memories of that day, particularly when considering the ship that had been dispatched to assist the Huang Zhong.
This should be fun.
The thought, tainted with no small amount of bitterness, occupied him as he watched the two shuttlecraft settle to the landing field, both ships having pivoted so that their main access hatches faced their audience. Boma read the familiar markings that indicated the craft belonged to the Enterprise, along with its own designation: Columbus. Its companion shuttle was emblazoned with the name Einstein II, and Boma could not help but wonder what fate might have befallen the previous shuttlecraft bearing the moniker, and whether this indicated a tradition aboard the Enterprise.
They must go through a lot of shuttles. There’s probably a Galileo II up there, too. I guess I should be glad they didn’t send that one to fetch us.
As the shuttles’ engines powered down, he heard the familiar whine of escaping air heralding the release of pressurized seals as the access hatches opened on both craft. A Triexian officer stepped down from the Einstein’s hatch, dressed in a gold uniform shirt and what looked to be black shorts, tailored to fit his physique and accommodate his three arms and legs. However, it was the occupants of the Columbus that caught Boma’s attention. Despite his best efforts and his own promise to himself not to overreact in this situation, he could not help the feeling of apprehension that came over him as he caught sight of the first figure emerging from the shuttlecraft: Spock.
“Here we go,” he said, not realizing until he heard the words that he had spoken them aloud. Boma had not seen the Vulcan since before his own ignominious departure from the Enterprise more than two years earlier, and seeing him now only served to bring forth all of the feelings he had strived so hard to suppress. He drew a deep breath, commanding himself to be at ease. Whatever past history existed between him and Spock, Boma knew he had a duty to carry out, here and now. The crew of the Huang Zhong deserved nothing less.
As Spock stepped down to the tarmac, he was followed by a man wearing a red uniform tunic, whom Boma quickly recognized as Ross Johnson, a friendly and very capable officer. The third person to disembark from the shuttle made Boma smile. He had always welcomed and enjoyed the company of Leonard McCoy, something that did not change in the aftermath of their ill-fated mission together to Taurus II, and he was pleased to see that McCoy remained in place as the Enterprise’s chief medical officer.
I wonder if he’s still giving Spock grief at every turn.
Deciding that playing it by the book was the best option at the present time, Boma stepped forward until he stood before Spock, assuming a military stance as he offered a formal nod. “Commander Spock: Lieutenant Boma, acting commanding officer of the Huang Zhong. Welcome to Gralafi. I only wish it were under different circumstances.”
To his surprise, Spock replied, “Greetings, Lieutenant. While I appreciate the observance of protocol, it is not necessary, given the circumstances.” He paused as though considering his next words, before adding, “I offer my condolences on the loss of your captain and crewmates.”
Unsure as to how to proceed, Boma nodded. “Thank you, sir.” Turning, he indicated Shin with the hand of his uninjured arm. “I’d like to introduce you to Drinja Shin te Elsqa, administrator of the Havreltipa colony as well as the mining corporation’s operations here on Gralafi, and Tranketh Nole su Dronnu, the colony’s head physician.” To the Dolysians, he said, “May I present Commander Spock, first officer and science officer of the U.S.S. Enterprise.”
“It is an honor to meet you, Commander,” Shin said, reaching as though to touch Spock before halting her motion, her expression turning to one of uncertainty. “Forgive me. Samuel briefed us on Vulcan greeting customs; I simply forgot in the excitement of the moment.”
Spock shook his head. “You need not apologize, madam. No offense was intended, or taken. It is our privilege to meet you, as well. Captain James Kirk asked me to convey his own greetings, and that he anticipates meeting you himself at the earliest opportunity.”
“We look forward to that, as well,” Nole replied.
As though deciding to dispense with the formalities, and much to Boma’s amusement, McCoy stepped forward, extending his left hand to Boma in deference to the lieutenant’s injured right arm. “It’s good to see you, Sam. How are you feeling?”
Boma took the doctor’s proffered hand before reaching across to tap the sling supporting his right arm. “This busted wing is my biggest complaint. Nole here was able to set it, but it hasn’t yet been determined what effects Dolysian pain medications might have on humans, and we haven’t been able to salvage any medical equipment or drugs from the Huang Zhong. So, we opted not to chance it.” He grimaced as he recalled the discomfort he had lived with these past two days.
McCoy wasted no time reaching for the medical kit on his hip. He extracted a hypospray and selected a small vial, which he attached to the injector mechanism. Moving to Boma, he placed the hypospray against his patient’s left arm and activated it. The hiss of the device and the tingle of the application was a welcome feeling, but it was nothing compared to the immediate fading of the pain in his right arm. For the first time in more than fifty hours, Boma did not feel like hacking off his own limb.
“Thanks, Doctor. You have no idea how good that feels.”
“I can guess,” McCoy said as he returned the hypospray to his kit. “I can take care of the arm itself, too. I’ve got a bone-knitter aboard the shuttle. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard in two days,” Boma said. “Chief Rideout has some torn ligaments and a couple of really bad cuts. Nole was able to treat those, too, but she’ll probably be happy to see you.”
“Doctor,” McCoy said, looking to Nole, “I can’t thank you enough for looking after our people. If you can show me to somewhere I can work, I’d appreciate it.”
The Dolysian physician nodded. “Of course. If you will follow me, I will direct you to our infirmary. Perhaps I can observe as you treat your patients. I have heard that Federation medical knowledge and technology is far more advanced than ours.”
After glancing to Spock, who nodded for him to proceed, McCoy looked to Johnson. “Lieutenant, would you mind helping me grab the bone-knitter and some other equipment from the shuttle?”
“Not a problem, sir,” the security officer said, after which McCoy invited Nole to join them as they began walking toward the Columbus. Boma watched the two physicians engage in conversation as they departed. Just having McCoy here seemed to make him feel better, he decided. The doctor’s bedside manner and overall approach when it came to the patients in his care was but one of the many qualities Boma had always admired, and he was one of several people Boma had missed since leaving the Enterprise. In truth, he even missed Spock, he realized, as he turned back to face
the Vulcan and the Triexian lieutenant, who introduced himself as Arex.
“Do you have a report of what happened, Mister Boma?” Spock asked, his voice as flat and devoid of emotion as his expression. Unable to read whatever thoughts might be lurking behind the impenetrable Vulcan façade, Boma felt the initial pangs of familiar resentment. It had been two years since the mission to explore the Murasaki 312 quasar, in which Spock had commanded a team of specialists from the Enterprise—including Boma—aboard the shuttlecraft Galileo. As he met Spock’s steady, unwavering gaze, the memories of that mission came flooding back to the forefront of his consciousness.
Latimer and Gaetano, murdered by those creatures. The rest of us scared for our lives, and with every setback and every death, he just kept looking at me—at all of us—the exact same way. All we wanted was some reassurance, some compassion or understanding from our commanding officer, anything that might have told us we were going to be all right and make it out of that hell. But no, that wouldn’t have been logical. Instead, all we got was that same damned blank stare, you bastard.
The thoughts came unbidden, and he pushed them back. Now was not the time for rehashing the past. Cradling his sling and his wounded arm a bit closer to his chest, Boma cleared his throat, struggling to keep an edge from his voice. “I don’t have a formal report, sir. Between caring for Kari and Rideout and being the Federation liaison for the colony, I haven’t had the time to prepare one, let alone the equipment. I’m happy to tell you what I know for now.”
“That will have to suffice,” Spock said. “What can you report about the circumstances which led to the Huang Zhong’s crash?”
Frowning, Boma replied, “We were pretty beat up after passing through the rift. After we assumed orbit above Gralafi, we started a sensor scan of the planetoid, looking for something to support our theory that the energy field was artificially generated. I think we made somebody or something mad, because we were hit by some kind of tractor beam.” He paused, recalling the Huang Zhong’s final moments. “It dragged us down from orbit. We managed to disable it with photon torpedoes, but by then it was too late.”
Spock nodded at the report as Arex asked, “Do you have the coordinates for the source of the tractor beam, Lieutenant?”
“I don’t,” Boma answered, “but you can probably still scan for residual energy from the torpedoes. That should lead us right to it.”
“Then that is where we shall begin,” Spock said.
Still standing next to him, Shin asked, “Is there something we can do to be of assistance, Commander?”
“I do not believe that will be necessary,” the Vulcan replied. “We will be able to use the sensors aboard the Columbus. However, your continued help at the Huang Zhong crash site would be appreciated.”
The Dolysian leader nodded. “We are at your service.”
Boma said, “Be careful when you fire up your sensors, Mister Spock. There’s no telling what kind of response you might get.”
“A practical observation, Mister Boma.” To Arex, he said, “Lieutenant, it seems we will have no further need for your shuttlecraft. Once Doctor McCoy has determined the extent of Master Chief Petty Officer Rideout’s continued medical treatment, you will return with the Einstein to the Enterprise and notify Mister Scott that salvage operations for the Huang Zhong can commence immediately.” Then, he turned back to Boma. “Lieutenant, are you available to accompany us?”
Caught off guard by the request, Boma almost tripped over his own mouth in his attempt to answer. He had assumed Spock would prefer to leave him behind for eventual transfer back to the Enterprise. Sensing an opportunity, he replied, “Absolutely, sir.” He then held up his injured arm. “That is, if you think a one-armed science officer is any good to you.”
His expression never once wavering, Spock said, “In the event Doctor McCoy is unable to treat your injury, I am certain that Mister Arex is prepared to compensate, at least until he departs for his return to the Enterprise.” Saying nothing else, he nodded to Shin. “If you will excuse me, madam, there are some necessary preparations to accomplish prior to our departure.”
Boma remained silent as the Vulcan and Arex left, still processing what he had just heard. “Was that supposed to be a joke? From Spock?”
“The nuances of your language continue to elude me, Samuel,” Shin said. “Is the commander a frequent employer of humor?”
“Not usually, no,” Boma said, sighing as he watched Spock’s retreating figure. “Something tells me this is going to be one very odd couple of days.”
SEVEN
“I’ll say this for the Dolysians,” remarked Ambassador Dana Sortino, her voice echoing across the vast chamber despite its lowered volume. “They’ve got style.”
Kirk could only nod in agreement as he beheld the spacious, circular room that served as the rotunda for the headquarters of the Unified Leadership Council. The gallery, though simple in construction, harbored what to Kirk’s eyes appeared to be a loving balance between form and function. The walls were constructed of stones cut in rectangular shapes of approximately two meters in length and height, their surfaces encrusted with all manner of minerals and other artifacts that played off the natural illumination provided by the chamber’s transparent, domed ceiling. As for the stones themselves, they were fitted together in a staggered pattern, and so closely that the seams offered no apparent gaps of even the smallest width. The patterns and reflections from their individual faces resulted in a wondrous display of color in response to the cascade of late morning sunlight. The effect was broken only by the eight entryways spaced at regular intervals around the room, some leading to passageways while others accessed stairwells constructed from the same stones. To Kirk, the chamber resembled a cathedral, though there were no outward displays of anything that might denote a deity or other religious beliefs. Tapestries and other artwork adorned the walls, while sculptures of varying size and shape occupied niches carved into the walls or stood on pedestals around the room. As for the floor, it was created from a network of stones cut and fitted together in what looked to Kirk like a random placement, with each piece fitted into a light gray mortar that resembled an intricate spider’s web stretching across the expansive floor.
“When I was a boy,” Kirk said, regarding the floor’s stonework with an appreciative eye, “my uncle and my brother and I built a walking path that looked something like this. It took us most of the summer to lay it out so that it connected his house to the barn. I can’t imagine how long it took to put this together.”
Sortino replied, “About the same amount of time, though they had more people pitching in than you and your uncle probably did.”
Chuckling, Kirk nodded. “Definitely.” He smiled as he recalled the effort they had expended on the project during one summer vacation he had spent at his aunt and uncle’s farm in Idaho. Then there were the countless times he and his brother, Sam, had sprinted the length of that path, pretending it was the corridor of a mighty starship as they raced to head off the latest in an unending series of crises to spring from their fertile imaginations. Though Kirk could appreciate the craftsmanship required to create something so beautiful and durable, he lacked the necessary skill and passion to do something like it on his own. In contrast, his late brother had acquired their father’s natural gift for working and building with his own hands, as evidenced by the homes he had built for his family, from the ground up, on two different worlds, Earth and Deneva.
You would’ve loved this, Sam. I miss you, big brother.
Someone walking toward him from his left made Kirk turn in that direction to see Lieutenant Uhura approaching, her expression one of frank admiration. “If you think the art they have in here is nice, you should see what’s in the anteroom leading to their council chamber,” she said as she drew closer, holding up her tricorder for emphasis. “It’s some of the most beautiful work I’ve ever seen.”
“The Dolysians have always held the arts in high esteem,” Sortino sa
id, “but even more so in the past few generations. According to the first-contact reports I read, they’re enjoying something of a cultural renaissance that was already going strong, but seems to have gotten a boost in just the last year or so.”
Kirk said, “I suppose they have us to thank for that.”
“Yes, of course you’re right, Captain,” Sortino replied. “First contact with us definitely seems to have spurred on the Dolysians, and by all accounts that looks to be a positive development, despite the unusual nature by which the contact came about.” She paused, releasing a small sigh. “I just hope we’re not doing these people a disservice in the long run. Other cultures we’ve encountered that are on par with the Dolysians haven’t always reacted well to being ‘befriended’ by an advanced civilization.”
Kirk nodded, having seen in his extensive travels the sometimes disastrous results of good intentions when it came to contact with lesser-developed societies. “That’s why the Federation sends people like you, Ambassador,” he said, offering an encouraging smile. “To make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Anything Sortino might have said in reply was interrupted by the sound of footsteps echoing from one of the passageways leading into the chamber, and Kirk looked over to see a Dolysian male entering the rotunda. Like other males he had seen since their arrival, this one had no hair atop his smooth, pale-yellow skull, and his fair skin contrasted with the dark robes that concealed his body from neck to feet. The garment lacked ornamentation, with the single exception of a silver sash worn over his left shoulder, crossing his chest and falling to a point below his right hip. With his hands held together before him, he walked with a purposeful stride, covering the expanse of the chamber and reaching Kirk and his party in a handful of seconds.