Broken Bow - Diane Carey [37]
“We’re here to learn about the Klingon,” Reed reiterated, though he found himself watching the women and the ... “Are those real butterflies or some kind of hologram?”
Mayweather took his arm. “We should get going, sir.”
“Yes ... absolutely. You’re right.”
They moved down the tubelike arcade of erotic dalliances from topless fire-eaters to costumed performers of every stripe. Reed slipped in front of the alien man who was supposed to be guiding them and began to ignore the fellow’s gestures of this way or that. Obviously he was more of a tour guide than an informant.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen!” the alien called, suddenly desperate. “Perhaps you’d prefer to watch the inter-species performance?”
“You don’t know anything about Klaang, do you?” Mayweather bluntly accused.
“Of course I do, but there’s no reason to hurry, is there?”
“Interspecies performance?” Reed asked.
“Lieutenant,” Mayweather called wearily, “this man has no intention of helping us.”
Reed nodded. “Perhaps another time.”
Disappointed, their guide sagged in several places and disappeared into the crowd. Reed and Mayweather moved in a completely different direction, just in case the fellow held a grudge.
“I can’t believe we fell for that.”
Reed stifled a groan and avoided mentioning that he couldn’t believe it either, and he didn’t want to tell this story. Perhaps he could make something up that would be more interesting to hear about and less trite in the telling.
He shrugged. “We are explorers.”
Trip Tucker had gotten himself paired off with T’Pol. Not the most natural of buddy systems, but he wanted to keep an eye on her. If she had a chance at subterfuge, this would be the place.
She was over there, speaking to a uniformed alien—maybe a security hireling or this place’s version of a constable. He looked just as seedy as everybody else here. Tucker felt like maybe he should’ve let himself get five o’clock shadow before he came.
He didn’t like it here. It was dirty and unfriendly. Nobody trusted anybody. Nobody deserved trust. Too many people, too little square dealing.
All he could do was wait. They had agreed on a game plan. She would do the talking and he would do the watching.
He was sitting among a weird assortment of beings, waiting, and hating every minute of it. The place was smoky, smelly, and dim. He’d never see a knife coming at him.
And over there was this alien infant, screaming its tentacles off. He couldn’t help but keep looking at it. Most of the “people” here ignored what was going on, but the loud squawling drove Tucker to wincing.
The alien mother kept tweaking a complicated breathing apparatus on her child’s nose. Ear. Whatever it was. Tucker thought at first the mother was trying to get the kid to stop crying, but every time she twisted the device, the child went into greater and greater distress.
Why was she taunting him? It? Was this some kind of bizarre alien mothering ritual? Drive your child crazy with suffocation and it’ll behave?
He shifted in his seat and glanced at T’Pol and the constable. How much longer was she going to take? She seemed to be doing all the talking. What good was that?
The mother twisted her child’s breathing device again. The poor thing howled in agony.
A few people around him shifted just from the noise, but no one interfered. What kind of people were these? To stand by and witness child abuse without a flicker? This was what awaited humanity in the open galaxy?
Here came T’Pol. She motioned to Tucker, who quickly got up and hurried across the field of feet and tails to her side. By the time he reached her, she was already speaking into her communicator.
“T’Pol to Archer.”
On the com unit, the captain responded almost immediately. “Go ahead.”
The wail of the distressed child cut off any chance at conversation. Tucker turned to the mother, unable to control himself any longer. “Hey—”
T’Pol ignored his concern and continued speaking to the captain. “Central Security claims to have no record of Klaang. But they told me about an enclave on level nineteen where Klingons have