Lost Era 06_ Catalyst of Sorrows - Margaret Wander Bonanno [84]
There were orchids on Romulus, Tuvok knew. Perhaps it was because it was familiar that she was attracted to it. Or perhaps it was that she had never had the luxury of caring for one herself. An illogical impulse to make her a gift of the orchid at the end of their mission teased at a corner of his mind.
In any event, the sight of the young face, bereft for once of its ever-watchful sideways glance or almost as familiar scowl, complemented by the exotic shape and bright splash of color provided by the orchid, was pleasing to behold. Near space was quiet for the moment. Tuvok sat back from his console and gave Zetha his complete attention.
“A herring is a fish, often used for food on human worlds,” he began. He saw her frown, wondering what fish had to do with the disease they tracked, but to her credit she waited for his explanation. “When it is smoked or cured prior to consumption, its ordinarily gray flesh turns red. It has a distinct odor. When training hunting dogs, humans traditionally set red herring in their paths in order to condition them to ignore false data and continue to pursue their prey.”
He watched her process it, the fine-boned face and mobile mouth contorted with concentration. As he had learned to do with his children, Tuvok waited for the next question, suspecting it would not be about fish or hunting dogs.
“They’re violent, aren’t they? Humans, I mean,” she said. “As violent sometimes as Romulans. Not like Vulcans.”
“Some are,” Tuvok acknowledged. “Just as I am certain there are some Romulans who are not. It is wiser not to judge an entire species by a few examples.”
Zetha’s shoulders hunched slightly, as if she wondered if she was being reprimanded.
“As for Dr. Crusher’s use of the term ‘red herring,’ ” Tuvok completed his thought in order to let her know he was not reprimanding her. “It has come to mean any false evidence set in one’s path to distract one from the object one is searching for.”
“I see,” Zetha said and then, as this extra datum was added to her education, she smiled.
The smile was a gift, and Tuvok recognized it as such. Acknowledging it, he returned to his scanning.
“If it were up to us, we’d become part of the Empire, but we’re stuck here in the middle of some arbitrarily drawn-up ‘neutral zone,’ and so it’s not allowed!”
The speaker was an angry bureaucrat named Jarquin whose office the landing party had been referred to in order to obtain the proper travel permits. Selar and Zetha had taken the two chairs in front of his desk. Tuvok, snow dripping from his boots, stood behind them.
The office was oppressively warm, as might be expected in a region inhabited by vulcanoids where it snowed eight months out of ten. Jarquin’s taste in decorating was decidedly Romulan. Despite the climate, he had somehow managed to acquire fresh hothouse flowers, arranging them in the minimalist Romulan style. The geometric light sculptures had no doubt been imported from the homeworld. A human would have called the look Art Deco. Narrow buttress windows framed by dark blue patterned drapes set high up in the thick walls looked out over a public square that might have been anywhere on Romulus, except for the ever-swirling snow.
“Our young people grow up and emigrate,” Jarquin grumbled. “There’s nothing to keep them here. The Empire allows a certain quota every year to complete their educations or find work on the homeworld. My own sons were among them. Most decide to settle and never return. They do it to get away from the damned snow.”
“Of course,” Tuvok remarked.
The three outworlders were dressed in “fur”-lined parkas, replicated to look as close to what the natives wore as possible without actually being made of fur. Their boots were also authentic, right down to the retractable