Chapter 5

North did not know what had possessed him.

Obviously, the Orion pheromones were involved, and he had felt a noticeable reaction to them in Visitor Processing, but his behaviour couldn't solely be blamed on physical arousal. Promise or no, it was highly irregular for him to invite guests to dine with him in his private mess, especially the outgoing Ambassador Mamao'lani.

He told himself that the sudden and powerful biochemical reaction had likely thrown him off, momentarily turning him into a single-minded teenager eager to please. Not that he would give Dr. T'Ling the satisfaction of admitting such a Human weakness. He would simply have to display some stronger willpower, which he had always been good at.

Presently, he sat at the table with Vyla and Mamao'lani, enjoying their main course of kālua pork. The choice of dish was the ambassador's suggestion, a delicacy of his homeland, as he had jumped at the chance to entertain the leader of their new guests, insisting that she receive only the best cuisine. He continuously reminded them, however, that the meal had not been prepared in the traditional manner, as the starbase currently lacked an underground oven, but it was "close enough." North, picturing Mamao'lani digging up the duracrete with a shovel, had not enquired further. It had a deliciously smoky, salty taste, so he had no complaints about the cooking process.

Despite how hungry she surely must have been from her life on the run, Vyla had made her way through the meal with patient dignity. She had taken great delight in learning about Hawaii from the talkative ambassador, particularly its beaches (a feature missing from all Orion colonies, apparently), before regaling them with the tale of her own origins.

Her parents had sold her into slavery at a young age in order to pay off their debts to the Syndicate, and Vyla indicated that they had been drug addicts with no concern for their daughter's welfare. When older, she had been trained as an exotic dancer, for the amusement of Syndicate members and their clients. She had not gone into detail regarding the extent of this "amusement," but North, with grim revulsion, could speculate.

Passed from owner to owner, she was eventually taken aboard the Emerald Eye. Inspired to seek freedom by glimpses of other worlds, she conspired with her fellow slaves and led a takeover of the ship, dumping the crew and their Syndicate masters on a remote but habitable planet. She, and her band of rebels, had then begun striking at Orion outposts and vessels, liberating more slaves until their ship sustained too much damage to continue for long. Having heard of Humans and their reputation, the slaves were relieved to discover Starbase 1 so close by.

"Well, you're safe now," Mamao'lani said. "I'm sure the Earth authorities will find a place for all of you." He wore a bright, tropical-patterned short-sleeved shirt with khaki pants, while North had ditched his uniform but still opted for something more formal in a blue suit and white shirt. Vyla was in her form-fitting outfit from earlier.

"I hope so," said Vyla, wistfully. "We need to get as far from the Syndicate as possible."

North raised an eyebrow. "You think there's a chance they could find you here?"

Vyla shook her head. "We took care to disable the ship's tracking system and mask our warp signature. They haven't caught up to us yet, but they'll probably be on our trail." She gazed out of the window at the dull orange sky. "They won't stop looking. Especially since we… we had to take lives occasionally." She looked back at the two men with earnest. "Which I deeply regret, you must understand."

North found himself leaping to her defence. "Sometimes violence is required for liberty. It's unfortunate, but true."

Vyla gave a sad smile and nod.

"It may complicate the asylum request though," Mamao'lani said, with an almost physical reluctance. "If the Syndicate moves for extraditions…"

"They won't," said Vyla. "Technically, we've broken no Orion laws. We're property, not people, to them. They pursue us as they would escaped livestock. We'd receive no trial; our punishment would be at the discretion of whoever recaptured us." She looked down at the table in quiet lament.

North was sickened by this information, and recalled Patel's words earlier on the lawlessness of Orion society. "Forgive my ignorance, Vyla, but do your people have laws to break? I thought you were ruled by a criminal organisation?"

Vyla looked back up at him. "The Syndicate is the most powerful Orion authority, but they do not rule all of us. There are numerous factions, each with their own laws and customs, although a traditional culture tends to dominate them all."

Mamao'lani delicately interjected. "You said slaves were regarded as property, but that you would be punished by whoever recaptured you… Would you not be returned to your 'owners'?"

"That is where our culture dictates our law, Ambassador," said Vyla. "Orions believe that, if you are skilled enough to take something, it is yours, whether by combat or by guile. If you lose it, it is no longer yours."

"Finders keepers, losers weepers" Mamao'lani said with a humourless smile.

"Pretty much," said Vyla.

"Then why pursue you at all?" said North. "If they believe that something 'lost' is no longer theirs?"

Vyla gave a small smirk. "Because they consider us people in one way: We're worthy of revenge. They wish to make an example of us to other slaves, Orion or otherwise, and would not show cluros."

"Cluros?" Mamao'lani repeated.

"An Orion concept," she explained. "It means… to show an enemy courtesy while you slowly, carefully plot his downfall. Although my people can be brutal, we usually favour a more personal approach to conflict; secretively befriending an adversary, sometimes over years, before you strike in the most intimate way possible, often without them even knowing you are to blame."

"Gosh," said Mamao'lani, leaning back in his chair. "It sounds very grisly."

"And that's how we treat people we respect," said Vyla. "You can see why we're eager to get away from such a life."

North was, again, reminded of Patel's attitude towards Orions. Her summation of their culture seemed accurate, based on what he'd heard this evening, but if Vyla and her crew wanted to escape such practices then it was obviously not as ingrained as Patel had thought.

"I hope our government will let us help," said Mamao'lani, leaning over to lightly tap Vyla's hand.

Vyla smiled at this. "There was an Orion writer, about a hundred years ago, called Bonner the Stochastic… He once said that the words 'let me help' comprised the most beautiful, most important phrase in the universe, even moreso than 'I love you.'"

Mamao'lani grinned. "I quite agree with that."

The stewards came in to clear the table, all smiling at Vyla, then took the tea and coffee orders.

North studied Vyla. He was captivated, but still wary of her, although the wariness was fading. "Slavery, revenge, literature… Orion culture seems like quite a mix."

"Like I said, there are some overarching elements among the various factions," said Vyla, "but they're also quite diverse. Each with their own customs, history, homeworlds…"

"I have heard that Orions are one of the oldest races still around today," said Mamao'lani. "Your shared history predates even Vulcan records."

Vyla nodded. "Again, there are some… variances in different accounts, but with common elements."

A thought occurred to North. "Your records don't mention visiting this planet in the distant past, by any chance, do they?"

He shared a look with Mamao'lani - they were both thinking of the ancient visitors to Berengaria spoken of in Draco legends.

Vyla shrugged. "I don't think so. But my exposure to our history is limited. Slaves need no education."

"That's alright," said North. "Just curious."

The stewards returned with their refreshments, and Vyla lightly stroked her warm teacup with delicate fingers.

When the three of them were alone again, Mamao'lani spoke up. "Human history is also rich with diversity, but similarly darkened by periods of war and slavery. I'm sure that will be foremost in the minds of our leaders regarding your fate."

Vyla nodded in thanks, smiling. "Our peoples aren't so different. In fact, it was Humans who named us 'Orions.'"

"Really?" said North, stopping his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. He had, of course, always noticed the fact that Orions shared their name with a mythic figure from ancient Greece, but he had put that down to coincidence.

"Yes," said Vyla, and she started to explain. "From what I've heard, some Human traders were invited to an audience with the Supremo of the Syndicate about fifty, sixty years ago. The story goes that they told him how the Syndicate's base of operation was in a system that was part of a constellation you call Orion, after a legendary hunter. The Supremo loved this, especially when he learned of Orion's skills as a huntsman. He thought it reflected our people's predatory nature perfectly.

"At that time, we had no overall name for our species - just whatever faction you belonged to - and the Supremo decided to call us Orions. It has stuck ever since, even for non-Syndicate members."

North was intrigued by this merging of cultures. He wonder what the Vulcans, with their non-interference policy, would make of it.

"Amazing!" said Mamao'lani, with enthusiasm. "So Humans and Orions are already linked! That bodes well for future relations." He chuckled and raised his cup as if in a toast.

"Speaking of future relations…" Vyla grinned and leaned closer to the ambassador, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Do you think I and the other refugees could be let out of the guest quarters? They're lovely, don't get me wrong, but we've been trapped in our horrible ship for so long, we'd be very appreciative if we could see the rest of the base."

Mamao'lani smiled at her. "I'm sure that could be arranged." He turned to North, still smiling eagerly. "What say you, Commodore?"

North cringed. To his surprise, he felt himself compelled to agree with Mamao'lani more than with Vyla. In fact, he was somewhat irked by how she had cosied up to him. He blinked to clear his mind.

"Obviously there, uh, would need to be some restrictions," he said, slightly flustered. "Certain areas would still be off-limits, and everyone would have to comply with base regulations."

Vyla beamed. "Of course, Commodore! Thank you! Just let me know where not to go and what not to do, and I'll make sure it's passed on to the others."

"You may also want to advise them…" North awkwardly searched for the words "...to dress more… appropriately. Less revealing."

Mamao'lani smirked wickedly. "That's a pretty old-fashioned attitude, Commodore."

Vyla joined in with the teasing. "Indeed. I had expected a more enlightened outlook. Are you saying that your crew are not disciplined enough to resist… temptation?"

North sighed and sat back in his chair. He wasn't about to be baited into such a debate. "Setting aside the fact that there are numerous civilian visitors to the base for whom I cannot vouch, not to mention impressionable children, you must concede that your pheromones make it difficult for anyone to be disciplined. A lack of… distractions may help compensate."

"We don't-" Vyla started.

North held up a hand and interrupted. "I know you don't all emit such pheromones, and those of you who do emit a negligible level, but in large groups it seems to have… an effect. I'm just advising caution."

"And will you be advising caution to your own people?" Vyla said, giving him an intense but playful stare. "It takes two to make a distraction work, after all."

North contemplated this, then nodded. It was the fair decision: The idea that any lustful attention received could be blamed solely on attire was an archaic one, and he would remind his staff of such.

"Excellent!" said Mamao'lani, clapping his hands together. "Good to get all that out of the way. We're all adults here, I think we can agree to dress within reason, but also not to let temptation get the better of us. That way, things will go smoothly."

North took a sip of coffee and hoped that fate could also resist temptation.