Fortune's Light - Michael Jan Friedman [27]
Data looked at him as if he was expecting more.
“Unfortunately,” said Wesley, “I don’t have all the facts. I’m not exactly an expert on twenty-first-century social history.” An idea came to him. “But wouldn’t that sort of information be stored in the ship’s computer archives?”
The android’s eyes seemed to brighten a little. “I believe you are correct,” he said. He rose. “Thank you, Wes. You have been most helpful.”
“Don’t mention it,” said the boy. “It was my pleasure.”
Data started for the exit, then stopped, as if he’d forgotten something. He wheeled around to face Wesley. “Incidentally,” he said, “I really am interested in your research on Imprima. Please let me know how it goes.”
Wesley grinned. “You’ve got a deal,” he told him.
And with that, the android departed.
As the doors to his quarters came together again, the boy sat there for a second or two in appreciation of the marvel that was Data. He wants so badly to be more like us, Wesley mused. But it wouldn’t hurt us to be more like him.
Then he remembered Imprima and turned back to the array of information on his desktop monitor, downloaded from the library computer. “Let’s see,” he said out loud. “What’s so important about these trade meetings that Commander Riker had to be called back for them?”
The first official of Madraga Terrin stood before the picture window in his library. The grounds outside were a snow-covered expanse broken only by a few stately trees.
“I have given your proposal much thought,” said Larrak, his hands locked behind his back, his narrow features unreadable. “But it bears more thought still.”
“Then you’ve yet to make your decision,” said Riker.
“That is correct.”
“Is there some additional information we could provide?” asked Teller.
The isak sitting by the door growled softly. Riker tried his best to ignore it.
Larrak eyed Teller, giving away nothing. ‘“I do not believe so. But if anything occurs to you, you may send it on.”
“I appreciate that,” Teller said, without the slightest hint of irony in his voice. “And if anything occurs to you, First Official, please let us know.”
“I will. I assure you.”
It was the shortest interview they’d had yet. Riker felt Larrak’s vote slipping away. And Terrin was one of the most powerful madraggi on the planet—it was a vote they needed. He started to drag out his speech again—the by-now standard oration about the virtues of trading with the Federation—figuring that it couldn’t hurt.
But Teller had subtly placed his hand on Riker’s. He was standing up.
“Thank you,” he told Larrak, “for your time and your attention.”
The first official inclined his head ever so slightly. The movement emphasized the waspishness of his appearance.
Following Teller’s lead, Riker stood too. His friend knew these people better than he did; he’d figured that out days ago. With a smile, Riker turned and fell into line behind Teller.
The isak looked up at them hungrily. Saliva dripped from its massive jaws, leaving little pools on the floor.
To Riker’s surprise, Teller didn’t go through the open doorway. Instead, he knelt beside the isak.
The thing’s eyes went wild. It made an ugly sound deep in its throat, but it held its ground.
“Beautiful animal,” observed Teller, showing no sign of fear. “Did you train him yourself?”
“I did.” Larrak eyed Teller curiously. “I have seldom seen anyone get so close to him. Even trained isakki are unpredictable sometimes—or didn’t you know that?”
Teller rose. “I knew,” he said. “Good day, First Official.”
“Good day, Lieutenant Conlon.”
As they made their way down the hall to the front door, Teller elbowed Riker in the ribs. “Impressive, huh?”
“Crazy, if you ask me. You