Planet X - Michael Jan Friedman [36]
Tons of questions, Geordi mused. And as usual, not nearly enough answers to suit him.
That meant more digging. And the place to do it was on Starbase 88—either personally, or with the help of someone on the station.
Of course, he already had information on the manner of the mutants’ appearance there. What he lacked was data on the station itself, background on its day-to-day operations.
If he sifted through enough of it, he might turn up a clue—and sometimes a clue was all the engineer needed.
Chapter Twelve
WHEN ERID AWOKE, he found that he wasn’t alone in his bed. Corba was there as well, snuggled comfortably alongside him under the blanket he had found lying around.
He smiled and tried to go back to sleep. After all, it wasn’t quite light yet. However, there was a voice in his head.
Paldul’s, of course.
“Rahatan’s seen to it that we’ve got some food,” the telepath thought to him. “You can pick it up at the third building. From now on, though, you’ll have to help with night foraging if you want to eat.”
“I will,” Erid thought back.
“Be careful about going outside, especially during the day,” Paldul went on. “I picked up some thoughts from the normals in the vicinity. They’ve been warned about our escape from the fortress and the city guards are watching for us—although they have no idea how many of us are in Verdeen.”
“I’ll be careful,” Erid promised.
Then he put his head down and enjoyed Corba’s nearness again. But he didn’t have a chance to enjoy it for long. A few minutes later, she too woke up with Paldul in her head.
When the telepath was finished with her, the two of them lay there in the darkness for a while. After all, the morning light was coming in on the opposite side of the building.
“Ilikedstayinghere,” Corba told him. “Doyouthinkwe mightmakeitapermanentarrangement?”
Erid smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.
But deep inside, he couldn’t forget that they were transformed. For them, permanence was relative.
As Data entered the Enterprise’s lounge, he heard singing. The place being only sparsely populated, it took him only a moment to trace the sound to its source—and to realize it was the mutant known as Banshee.
The X-Man wasn’t alone, either. He was surrounded by four crewmen, two men and two women, who appeared to be admiring his voice.
“I wish I were a butterfly,” he sang, “I’d fly to my love’s nest. I wish I were a linnet, I’d sing my love to rest. I wish I were a nightingale, I’d sing to the morning clear. I’d hold you in my arms, my love, the girl I hold so dear.”
As the last of his lyrics faded, Banshee shrugged. “An’ that’s it,” he told his companions, almost meekly.
“Bravo,” said Lt. Robinson, clapping with delight.
“That was excellent,” Lt. Sovar agreed enthusiastically. “I have never heard anything like it.”
“Ah,” said Banshee, “ye’re much too kind. Back home, they tell me t’ have mercy and keep me mouth shut.”
“Not here,” Ensign Saffron assured him.
“That’s for sure,” Guinan added from behind her bar. “At least, not while I’m in charge.”
“Sing another one,” Lt. Rager requested.
“Yes, please do,” called Troi. The counselor had been listening from her table in a distant corner of the room.
The mutant looked at her wistfully. “Unfortunately, Lass, I’ve exhausted me repertoire. If there’s another song of old Eire in me head, I’m afraid it’s decided t’ stay there.”
As Data came closer, Banshee caught sight of him and acknowledged him with a grin. The others turned to look at him as well.
“Welcome, Mr. Data,” said the mutant. “I do nae suppose ye’ve got a ballad or two in that computerized brain o’ yers.”
“Actually,” the android replied, “I have several.”
And he began to sing one, in a voice quite different from his own. It was higher-pitched, better suited to the music in question.
“I dreamt,” he sang, “that I dwelt in marble halls, with vassals and serfs by my side. And of all who assembled within those walls, that I was the hope and