Chapter 17
Content with leaving Mamao'lani and Vyla to smooth over the last disaster, North now found himself in Ops preparing for the next.
"Report," he commanded in a loud but deceptively calm voice. The Tactical Alert had been sounded when he arrived back in the tower, a good sign.
McQueen stood bolt upright at the command console, a stern expression on her usually smiling face. "Interceptors are on a course for Berengaria Seven. Nearest allied vessel is the Tar'Hana, but it's still hours away, so we're on our own. Magnetic shield is up, tower plating is polarised, phase cannons are charged and locked-on," she said.
"Good work, Commander," North said as he stepped alongside her. "You might be due a career change," he added in grim humour.
"Not bloody likely, sir," she replied. "Uh, respectfully." She was saved from further embarrassment by a beeping on the console. "The Orions have entered orbit."
"On screen," said North.
On the large main screen, three dagger-like ships appeared, hanging over the base like multiple swords of Damocles.
"They're hailing us, sir," said the comm officer.
North straightened his uniform jacket and nodded. The image on the main screen was replaced with that of a pale green Orion man clad in some sort of uniform only a few shades darker than his skin, with a yellow W-shaped logo on the chest. A helmet and goggles covered his head, but left his sneering mouth visible.
"I am Shipmaster Makar-Hol of the Orion Syndicate," the figure on screen announced. "You have some of our property."
North maintained a neutral posture. "Welcome to Starbase One, Shipmaster. I am Commodore Zachary North. You are no doubt to referring to the barge in orbit of our planet. I believe my staff have cleared out - we were checking if any repairs were required, of course - so you are now free to reclaim your vessel."
Makar-Hol folded his arms. "That is not the only thing of ours you possess."
North bristled at this, but stayed passive. "If you are referring to the former occupants of the aforementioned vessel, they have recently been granted refugee status by the United Earth government. This affords them protection within UE territory, and-"
"They are slaves!" Makar-Hol shouted. "They have no such rights!"
North now leaned forward, placing his hands onto the console before him. "Earth vehemently disagrees, Shipmaster," he said quietly. "But, if you have no respect for our ways, we'll try things the Orion way… We found the slaves and their ship, we took charge of them. According to Orion custom, that means they 'belong' to us, doesn't it? Returning your ship to you is a mere courtesy on our part; one I suggest you graciously avail yourself of and depart this system."
Makar-Hol's sneer had dropped, obviously in surprise at North's invocation of the Orion "finders keepers" rule (as Mamao'lani had called it), but it quickly returned with double the attitude.
"You seem very familiar with our customs, Commodore. So then, you must know that if we were to overpower you and retake our property, it would be ours by right once again."
The two men stared intensely at each other for several long seconds, as if each dared the other to look away, eyes burning through the viewscreen despite being kilometres apart. Then, North spoke with his usual tempered authority.
"You're right, Shipmaster, I do know about your culture. I also know that you are not the only ones capable of cluros." Again, Makar-Hol's expression wavered slightly. "If you took any hostile action against this base - against any United Earth property or citizenry - the reprisal may not be swift but, I assure you, it would be devastating for the Syndicate.
"I don't know if you heard, but we took on the Romulan Star Empire and won. Even if that doesn't impress you, it's earned us a lot of clout with other races, such as our allies in the Coalition of Planets. If Earth tells them to cease all dealings with the Orion Syndicate, they'll heed that advice. As will each of their allies. You may find your rivals, the Rigellian Trade Commission, suddenly getting a lot more powerful. Whereas your own strongest allies, the Klingons, have been in self-imposed isolation for six years, so I wouldn't count too strongly on their help."
North stood upright again, maintaining his stare and his tone. "Why don't you think long and hard, Shipmaster, before you take any action your bosses may regret."
Makar-Hol, his mouth drooped downward, replied softly. "One moment." He pressed a control and vanished from screen.
North let out a long breath and stroked his chin. "Probably talking to the person who's really in charge."
"Behind every great man…" said McQueen. "Or, not-so-great, in this case."
Makar-Hol returned to the screen. "We will take our ship and go. You may keep the slaves. But know this, Commodore: The Orion Syndicate has a long memory."
"I hope so," North retorted. "Because I don't want any Orion to forget this day. Safe journey, Shipmaster." He gestured to the comm officer to close the channel, hanging up on Makar-Hol this time.
"Maybe you're the one who needs a career change, sir," said McQueen. "Ambassador Mamao'lani could learn something from that gunboat diplomacy."
"I think we've all learned something about politics these past few days," said North. "Mainly to keep out of it wherever possible."