Ring Around the Sky - Allyn Gibson [27]
Gomez shook her head. “We wanted to remove the parts of the Ring that were most affected by the stresses the SIF on the elevator caused. Only a few hundred kilometers.”
“We evacuated the elevator base of the repair and construction teams this morning,” said Eevraith.
Gomez nodded. It was a wise precaution if the elevator shaft fell onto the base as the da Vinci attempted to pull the shaft away from the planet.
Grevesh patted Gomez’s hand as the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge. Grevesh’s chair floated forward onto the bridge, and Eevraith and Gomez followed closely behind.
Grevesh’s eyes were transfixed by the image on the viewscreen. From the da Vinci’s vantage point high above the elevator terminus the Jem’Hadar-inflicted damage to the Ring was clearly visible—the shattered Ring dominated the viewscreen, with Kharzh’ulla IV as a backdrop.
Grevesh’s eyes watered and grew heavy.
Eevraith knelt beside him. “First Minister…?”
Grevesh waved him away. “Every morning I go out onto the balcony and look up into the dawn sky. Every morning I see the break in the beauty and order of the Ring.” His voice grew quiet. “I saw it happen. I watched the battle. I saw the lights dancing in the night sky.” Then his voice hardened in anger. “I saw the explosion as the grelvan Jem’Hadar destroyed the Ring.” Looking to Gomez, he bowed his head slightly. “I apologize. My feelings are strong. I meant no disrespect.”
Gomez smiled, uncomprehending. “Grelvan” must have been a strong Tellarite curse. She would have to ask Faulwell about that. “No apologies necessary, First Minister. May I present Captain Gold?” She gestured to Gold, standing at his command seat just beyond the bridge railing.
Grevesh nodded, and his chair came around the railing and into the center of the bridge. “Captain,” said Grevesh, “I had not seen the damage from space before. Thank you for the opportunity.” He smiled, and his hairless face seemed to brighten. “Now we can save our future.”
“How did you even find this place?” asked Carol Abramowitz.
Fabian Stevens leaned back in the chair at the open-air café and shrugged. “Just playing tourist.” The café sat along Prelv’s waterfront, and from their table Stevens and Abramowitz had an excellent view of the ocean and of the elevator that rose to the southeast.
“I’d have thought they’d be busier,” she said. She took a sip from her glass of obrie, a local fruit wine, and scrunched her eyebrows. It had a stronger bite than she expected; she wondered idly what the trema fruit tasted like, if the fermented juice was so strong.
Stevens turned and looked into the restaurant behind them. A dozen patrons milled about inside. “Seems busy enough to me.”
Abramowitz shook her head. “No, I would have expected to see more Kharzh’ullans getting a good view of the elevator’s collapse.”
Stevens glanced at his wrist chrono. “That’s not for several hours yet.”
“Then why…?”
“Why are we here?” finished Stevens. He shrugged. “Why not? Get good seats? Get lunch?” He smiled. “Maybe even both.”
Abramowitz looked up into the sky. Stevens was right—they had a fantastic view. The sky was relatively cloudless, save for a bank of cumulus clouds off to the far south. The sky had a deep blue color, almost cobalt. Kharzh’ulla’s sun, while not directly overhead, had fallen slightly to the southwest, and sunlight glinted off the Ring. The damaged elevator rose in the south, a straight line rising from beyond the horizon to the Ring high above, looking perfectly serene. Even the smell of the ocean salt put Abramowitz into a quiet, reflective mood. Sometimes, she realized, there was a value to playing tourist.
The waiter came by with their lunch order. Abramowitz had ordered a vegetable platter, but to her eyes the Kharzh’ullan vegetables had the wrong color. What might have been green on Earth was nearly black in hue, and things that might have been tomatoes were blue instead of red. She looked at Stevens’ order, a native meat of some kind.
“Are you sure that’s wise?” she asked.
“Hmm?” said Stevens as he took a bite off his fork.
“Eating