The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [34]
Picard turned to his first officer. “You’re a musician, Number One. I’ve heard you play.”
“I’m an amateur,” protested Riker. “And I really know only jazz.”
“Amateur or not, you’re the only person with security clearance who has any affinity for the musical nature of the Choraii language.” The captain considered the first officer’s other off-duty interest and nodded at the appropriateness of his choice. “Yes, I’m sure you can persuade Translator Ruthe into discussing her work.”
“But Captain … . “
“She’s not unlike Mistress Beata on Angel One. Your oratory moved her to grant clemency to the crew of the Odin.” According to certain informal sources, Riker’s persuasion had been based on more than just his debating skills. Picard gave greater credence to those reports when he noticed the tips of Riker’s ears had turned pink.
“I’ll give it a try, sir.”
Despite the first officer’s discomfort, Picard detected a certain amount of anticipation in his acceptance of the task. “Just make sure Deelor isn’t around when you do. He strikes me as the jealous type.”
A diversion was easily arranged. Dr. Crusher was none too pleased to have Deelor’s medical exam used as a screen for Riker’s activities, but when pressed she agreed to schedule an appointment with the ambassador. Drawing Ruthe out of her cabin was more difficult. Several minutes passed before she answered Riker’s persistent touch to the door chime. His offer of a tour of the ship was met with a blank stare, but since she did not tell him to go away, he tried again with a more direct approach.
“I was fascinated by your flute-playing on the bridge. Would you play for me?”
“Here?” she asked, somewhat bewildered.
Riker insisted on treating her answer as an agreement to his request, but suggested a nearby recreation lounge as a more congenial location. With more prompting, Ruthe followed him to an open area filled with cushioned seats and brushy plants. The place was empty, which evidently pleased her because her resistance disappeared. She moved ahead of Riker and sat on a plush chair facing a large port window. The view must have pleased her as well. She smiled at the sight of deep space.
The informal surroundings were deceptive. Lieutenant Yar’s security guards were posted at all the corridor crossways leading to the section. They had strict instructions to keep off-duty crew members away from the lounge. The effort to separate Ruthe from Andrew Deelor had been carefully worked out to take full advantage of the short time available.
Riker had framed his opening gambit after a quick review of the music files in the ship’s library. “What little I heard of the Choraii message reminded me of Terran music during the Middle Ages. Western song forms displayed several voices, but they weren’t tied together by either melody or rhythm-each part moved separately.”
Ruthe was surprised by the comment. She pulled her gaze away from the stars to look at him. “Yes, the polyphonic development is similar, though the Choraii harmonic modes are closer to the scales developed in the twentieth century by Schönberg.”
“So you’re a professional musician?” he asked. The statement was the longest she had uttered in public, and he was eager for her to continue talking. The question had the opposite effect.
Ruthe looked back to the window. “I’ve studied music history,” she said tersely, then lapsed into silence.
“The greeting you played”-Riker hummed a few bars of the melody he had heard on the bridge-“was it your own composition? Or do the Choraii have a standard form when they call another ship?”
“The notes are always the same,” she answered, “but the rhythm is free.” She drew out the pieces of her flute. “The song changes every time I sing it.”
As Riker watched Ruthe assemble the instrument, he was struck again by her beauty. One part of his mind concentrated on the music she played, while another delighted in the clean line of her profile as she blew