Recovering quickly, Sulu renewed his attack, stepping forward, then back, then forward again, all the while probing his opponent for weakness or hesitation. He thrust, cobralike. Hopman countered him once again with a quarte parry, melding fluidly into a forward-lunging riposte that Sulu easily sidestepped.
“You’re not going easy on me just because I’m the captain, are you, Lieutenant?” Sulu said, wishing he could see his opponent’s expression through the white duranium-mesh facemasks.
[4] Hopman drew a languid circle in the air with the tip of her foil. “The captain is being entirely too modest about his skills,” she said, the smile behind her mask clearly audible.
Sulu recalled how Hopman—a variable-gendered Thelusian who still carried the surname of a human ex-spouse—had recently stared at the platinum belt he kept on the wall of the situation room. The trophy had hung there for so long that Sulu rarely thought about it anymore. It had been years since he’d bragged to anyone about having swept the Inner Planets championship tournament as a Starfleet Academy cadet.
On the other hand, he was far from ashamed of his prowess with the blade. After all, those talents had saved his life years earlier, when he’d been forced into bat’lethcombat during Curzon Dax’s impulsive hajjinto the Klingon Empire. But it’s nice not to have the burden of defending a current championship title,Sulu thought. Command of Excelsiorwas responsibility enough.
“I know that flattery doesn’t work on you, sir,” Hopman said, now standing motionless except for the slow twirl of her blade tip.
Sulu grinned. “Really?”
“Yes, sir. At least that’s how Lieutenant Tuvok tells it.”
Sulu’s throaty chuckle resonated through the otherwise empty gymnasium. If any member of his senior staff was above the giving or receiving of flattery, it was Lieutenant Tuvok, his Vulcan senior science officer. Five years ago, shortly after coming aboard Excelsioras part of a contingent of junior science specialists, Tuvok had brought a cup of Vulcan tea to the bridge and presented it to Sulu. The subtle blend of flavors had been delightful, and Sulu had wondered for more than a year afterward why Tuvok had never repeated the gesture—until Janice Rand finally revealed that she had ribbed Tuvok that very day by suggesting that his gift of tea might have been taken as a career-advancement tactic. Sulu, too, had made a similar mock-serious observation [5] in Tuvok’s presence even as he’d taken his first sip of the proffered beverage.
Ever since that day, Tuvok never again made another unsolicited gift of any sort to a superior officer, no doubt intent on making it crystal clear that he wished to receive no unearned favors.
“And I wasn’t going easy on you, sir,” Hopman said earnestly, her wide shoulders slumping. Sulu thought the mannerism might have been unconscious. “I just feel more comfortable when I’m ... smaller.”
Sulu raised his foil again. “That additional mass you’re carrying at the moment gives you a strength advantage, Pam. Why not use it?”
With that, Sulu renewed his assault on Hopman. She parried, prompting Sulu to attempt a counterparry. The bulky lieutenant spun into a counter-disengage before Sulu could find an opening. The deck seemed to shudder slightly beneath Sulu’s feet. The effect was nearly imperceptible, but it distracted him momentarily nonetheless. We’ve changed speed.
Suddenly, Hopman’s blade scored a solid touch against Sulu’s padded fencing jacket.
Hopman lowered her foil and doffed her facemask, releasing her long, sandy hair. A grin spread across her wide, masculine features. “Now who’s holding back?”
Sulu lowered his blade. “You wound me, Lieutenant. Almost literally. Be careful, or you might turn this into an affair of honor.”
“Best two out of three?”
Sulu shook his head. There was the little matter of Excelsior’sapparent change in velocity—and the disconcerting fact that no one from the bridge had called him yet with an explanation.
“Another time, Lieutenant,” he said as he removed his mask and mopped the sweat from his brow with a long, white sleeve. “Duty calls.”
[6] Just as Sulu reached the bulkhead companel, the gymnasium doors immediately beside it whisked open. Sulu turned and saw Commander Pavel Chekov, Excelsior’sexecutive officer, standing in the threshold.
The slight frown that creased Chekov’s forehead plainly told Sulu that his old friend hadn’t come down for a workout.
“The Tholians have changed the time and place of the meeting,” Chekov said.
Sulu handed his foil to Hopman, but kept his eyes fixed on his old friend. “Don’t tell me they want to postpone.”
“No, sir,” Chekov said. “In fact, they’ve moved the rendezvous up, to tomorrow morning at 0930 hours. They want us to meet them near the 15 Lyncis system.”
Ah,Sulu thought. That explained the velocity change that he’d felt thrumming through the deckplates. Despite the good-natured puzzlement of Chief Engineer Azleya, Sulu had never allowed her to refine the inertial dampers to the point where they rendered such adjustments completely unnoticeable. After all, Excelsiorwas a ship of the line, not a luxury liner.
“I trust Commander Lojur and Lieutenant Docksey already have us under way,” Sulu said, though he already knew the answer.
“Aye, sir. We certainly don’t want to keep our clock-watching friends waiting.” The Tholians were notorious for the meticulous attention they paid to their itineraries. Perhaps especially so when they were altering them.
Sulu nodded. He recalled the position of the 15 Lyncis system from his decades of helm duty. It lay a good ten light-years outside of the vast, meandering volume of space claimed and defended by the extremely xenophobic Tholians.
Starfleet Command’s original orders had called for Excelsior torendezvous with the Jeb’v Tholis—Tholian Admiral Yilskene’s flagship—late the following week in the Qilydra system, nearly two full parsecs inside what was generally [7] agreed to be Tholian space. Excelsiorwould have to accelerate to warp nine to make the rescheduled appointment on time.
“Apparently something’s persuaded the Tholians that it’s no longer a good idea to invite us across their border,” Sulu said.
“They haven’t canceled the meeting, though,” Chekov pointed out. “They’ve only changed the time and place.”
“But why?” Sulu wanted to know.
Chekov shrugged. “We’ve watched the Tholians for a long time, Hikaru. They’re usually as territorial as Klingon targs.It’s not surprising that they don’t want us coming too close to their homeworld. I don’t think the crew will be too disappointed about meeting with them elsewhere. From everything I’ve read, Tholia and the rest of the N-class planets the Tholian Assembly controls aren’t exactly competitors of Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet.”
Sulu nodded. “When the Tholians asked for a diplomatic meeting insidethe boundaries of their own space, it looked like a pretty hopeful sign. Maybe an indication that they were finally beginning to look beyond their ingrained xenophobia.”
“Looks like that hope might have been premature,” Chekov said. “After all, it’s not easy to overcome almost one hundred and fifty years of mutual suspicion.”
Sulu grinned. “That’s uncharacteristically diplomatic of you, Pavel.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Chekov said, scowling as though he’d been insulted. “Their waffling as to where and when to meet us doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. Something very strange may be going on inside the Tholian power structure. Until we know what it is, I suggest we be very, very careful around them.”
Over the years, Chekov had regaled Sulu with countless tales of the many wars and invasions his Russian homeland had endured through the centuries. Sulu knew that suspicion came quite naturally to Chekov. In fact, it was an asset [8] that he frequently relied upon in making critical command decisions.