Intellivore - Diane Duane [17]
“Yes,” Picard said, wondering what he was getting himself into. “And since I have to make answer to the Federation authorities—”
“We do not,” said the team leader. “We had a run-in with some of your agents, or should I say spies, a few days ago, and we told them—”
“Yes, I’ve heard about what you told them,” Picard said, just a little wearily, “and I must tell you for your own good that taking the same line with a starship might be a mistake. Now. The purpose of my call was to warn you of the presence of unfriendly forces in this area. The Lalairu craft that you attacked—”
“Those no-good transients! I might have known.”
“The Lalairu are not the raiders,” Picard said, much more wearily. “They attacked and wiped out a raider group not far from what we now judge to be your present position. Our concern right now is that the same raider group will come across you and—”
“If they try it, we’ll take care of them,” said the team leader. “We can take care of ourselves. You just ask your Lalairu.”
“Actually, we did,” Picard said, with a level of enjoyment that was probably inappropriate, “and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about the raiders, if they did catch up with you. The Lalairu scanned your weaponry most conclusively, and you have something of a shortfall, considering what would be needed. This is therefore to inform you that we will be joining you within the next eight standard hours, just to satisfy ourselves of your continued safety. We will be glad to escort you to the planet to which you’re heading—”
“No,” said the team leader. “We don’t need or want you anywhere near our new world. I suppose we can’t stop you from rendezvousing with us … but we don’t want you anywhere near our destination. Not that I expect you to understand why.”
Picard was glad of that, because he didn’t, and didn’t think he was likely to. “Nevertheless,” he said, more sharply, “we and our sister ships will be with you within eight standard hours. And I strongly suggest that you do not fire on us. Picard out.”
Picard killed the link, took a moment to breathe in and out—surprised by the level of his own annoyance—then touched his communicator. “Mr. Data?”
“Sir—”
“Lock onto the source of that last communication. Lay in a course for them, and advise Oraidhe and Marignano. Tell them to keep scanning for the pirates—but we need to make this one stop first.”
“I will do so, Captain.”
Picard sighed and went back to looking at the list of planets and resources, of the strange, the unknown, the inexplicable, that Captain Maisel had put together. There’s enough here, he thought, to keep a man, a ship, any hundred people or twenty ships, busy for a hundred years. Maybe Ileen has the right of it. Maybe this is really the place to be—
Chirp. “Jean-Luc!” It was the yoo-hoo voice that Maisel tended to use when she was excited. “We’ve got something hot on longrange scan. About lightcruiser size? Running at low warp? Engine signature doesn’t look too good—”
“Mr. Data—course to the pirate vessel, as opposed to that for Boreal?”
There was a pause. “The raider is to the galactic northward as well, one eighty-five plus seven. Divergence is fifteen light-years in x axis, six in y.”
“Lucky for Boreal they’ve got some distance between them,” Picard said grimly.
“Course laid in, sir.”
“Engage.”
Picard went back to looking at his screen again. A few moments later, his door chimed.
“Come.”
Mr. Worf came in, handed him a padd to examine: it had the shift’s comm logs on it, along with various other routine information. Picard looked. Worf thanked him in his gruff baritone, and then asked if the captain would be needing anything else.
Picard thought briefly. “You might assist me by seeing what information you can find regarding this Third Submission colony: their philosophical background and so forth.”
“And why their representative has the manners of a Romulan slorg,” Mr. Worf said, frowning.
Picard leaned back in his seat. “I hesitate to prejudge him,