Survivors - Jean Lorrah [25]
“Starfleet trains its officers, male or female, never to think with their hormones. But have you ever before known Wesley Crusher to become that flustered in a non-crisis situation? Poor kid-he hasn’t had that training, and he’s in the middle of puberty. He didn’t stand a chance.”
“Ah,” said Data, intrigued. “Now I understand. I have never known Wesley to make as unlikely an assumption as that the Captain would send him on an away team to an unfamiliar planet.”
“Oh, Wesley wanted to go!” said Tasha. “He just didn’t know why-but all the other men on the bridge did, and Captain Picard really shouldn’t have been so hard on him. Wesley will be a fine man one day-if he just manages to live to grow up.”
Data caught himself before protesting that Captain Picard would never send their Acting Ensign into danger, recognizing that Tasha spoke jokingly. He took time to analyze it, relishing this opportunity to discuss human feelings with a female friend. “You mean that his combination of youth and intellect is resented, and that therefore some person or persons aboard might consider disposing of him out of annoyance. However, you make the suggestion facetiously.”
“Exactly right, Data,” she said, “but analyzing it spoils the joke, which wasn’t very funny to begin with.”
He nodded. “Humor is difficult enough, without trying to distinguish degrees of funniness.”
Tasha smiled. “You’ll learn, Data,” she said. “Through experience, like anyone else. Now, how long before we can begin to monitor transmissions from Treva?”
“Not for more than sixteen hours, unless they send us a subspace message.” He frowned. “What do you suspect, Tasha?”
“Nothing specific. Call it intuition. I don’t think Nalavia told us the whole truth.”
“Obviously she could not in such a brief message.”
“No-that’s not what I mean. I’d call it female intuition, except that Captain Picard noticed as well. There is something about Nalavia which inspires distrust.”
“Can you delineate what it is?” Data asked.
“Expecting Starfleet to do her bidding without a full investigation, for one thing.”
“Trevan culture is fairly primitive,” said Data. “Warlords protesting the advance to a representative form of government. Even a seasoned politician on such a planet may be unsophisticated by our standards. Or we may be missing a piece of information-there are cultures in which a cry for help from the weak impels the strong to protect them.”
“Camelot,” said Tasha with a nod, referring to a planet founded upon the ideals of a chivalry which, to the best of historical knowledge, had never before been widely practiced outside of legend. “Yes, it could be that we are unaware of some basic Trevan assumption, but if you did not find it in the reports of the Federation Survey Team, Data, I cannot imagine what it would be.”
Unable to learn anything more for sixteen hours, Tasha exercised, slept, and ate another meal. Data had no need for further organic nutrients yet. Sometimes they talked, and sometimes there were companionable silences. The shuttlecraft proceeded on course. Every twelve hours, Data sent the routine “proceeding as scheduled” message to the Enterprise.
Finally, they came into the extreme range at which Data could monitor Treva’s radio transmissions. Such sound transmissions over the entire main continent were a well-established technology here. What was new was the transmission of pictures along with sound, and when Data tested frequencies and configurations he quickly discovered, “They are using the Ferengi broadcast technique!”
“The Ferengi trade everywhere,” Tasha reminded him. “Until they join the Federation, there is no reason for the Trevans not to do business with them.”
“But if they trade with both the Federation and the Ferengi, what if they have asked both for help?”
Data saw Tasha set her jaw. “We’ll deal with whatever situation we discover, once we get there. The Ferengi probably see no profit in helping the Trevans with their internal