The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [32]
“What course?” asked Geordi. His visored eyes were fixed on the computer signal that traced a path on his navigation board. “These guys travel in loops, not straight lines. Their ship could end up anywhere.”
Picard rapidly weighed the statements of his officers. The review was a rational process, but his final decision was based more on instinct than on logic. Unlike Yar, he had conquered his fear of playing hunches. “Mr. La Forge, set a direct course for the sensor disturbance.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said the pilot. The tumbling stars on the main viewer gave one final lazy swirl, then steadied into place.
“Computer navigation does have certain advantages,” remarked Picard to Lieutenant Worf.
Worf nodded solemnly. An odd gurgling noise reminded Picard that the Klingon had scorned Dr. Crusher’s offer of a horizone injection though everyone else had taken it willingly. Judging from the sounds emanating from the lieutenant’s body, Klingons were just as prone to nausea as humans, if far less willing to admit their discomfort.
Satisfied that the varied problems of the aft deck were now over, Picard returned to his command position. With a rapid series of taps to his chest insignia, he summoned Riker and Troi to the bridge; he would contact Ambassador Deelor after addressing the bridge crew. The captain had promised full cooperation on this venture, and Deelor would get it, but he would not get blind obedience. Picard wanted a close accounting of the ambassador’s actions from this point on.
Andrew Deelor was a light sleeper. The call from the bridge brought him to an alert state immediately and there was no trace of drowsiness in his voice when he spoke with Picard.
The exchange was brief and Deelor slipped out of bed as soon as the contact was severed. Ever since the Enterprise had picked up the trail of the Choraii, he had gone to bed fully dressed, ready at any time for a summons to the bridge.
“Ruthe?” He switched on the cabin lights, blinking just once at the sudden glare, and searched for the translator’s gray cloak. She would be huddled beneath it. The night before Ruthe had pulled all the pillows off his bed and slept on the deck, but tonight he found her curled up on a chair in a far corner of the suite.
Deelor shook her awake and whispered the news into her ear. Ruthe hated loud noises. She uncurled her body with a lazy stretch and was ready to leave the cabin. They had that much in common: they both traveled light.
The ship’s corridors were quiet-the few people they encountered walked alone-but the bridge was a startling contrast, alive with voices and movement, and he felt Ruthe flinch as they stepped off the turbolift.
“The ship is skimming in and out of scanner range,” explained Picard to Deelor and Ruthe as they joined him at the command center. “We can’t get close enough for a solid reading.”
“Don’t even try,” said Deelor. He waved First Officer Riker aside and took the seat at the captain’s right. “The Choraii do not respond to direct pursuit.”
“What do they respond to?” asked Picard with a touch of bad humor.
“This.” Ruthe pulled her hands out from the folds of her cloak. She held three sections of an intricately carved wooden shaft. With practiced ease, the separate pieces were assembled into a single unit.
Dropping down next to Deelor’s feet, Ruthe sat crosslegged on the deck. She lifted the musical instrument to her mouth, adopting the position of a flute player, but the sound that emerged was deeper in timbre, closer to that of an oboe or bassoon though without the reedy quality.
“Start transmission now,” ordered Deelor. He noted Yar’s resistance to his assumption of command. She waited until the captain nodded a confirmation before opening a broadcast channel. The time was fast approaching when Picard must cede his authority outright. Soon, but not quite yet.
The rise and fall of notes from the flute pulled Deelor’s mind back to Ruthe. Her melody was simple, little more than a scale played