The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [42]
Still absorbing the implications of the new information, Crusher departed for the bridge. She had felt the shudder in the ship’s deck as the Enterprise dropped out of warp speed. Negotiations for the B Flat’s captive should already be in progress.
She had expected music on the bridge, not a brittle silence. Her entrance drew the entire crew’s attention. With unaccustomed selfconsciousness, she walked the short distance from the front turbo to the command center. All the seats were taken, so she had to stand next to Ruthe, making Crusher feel even more conspicuous.
“Finished your homework, Doctor?” Deelor asked.
“Yes.” She jammed her hands into the pockets of her med jacket and fought against the urge to whisper. “Very interesting reading.” The captain’s attention was fixed on the viewscreen; he was too distracted to pursue the meaning of her comment, and Crusher was not eager to elaborate in front of an audience. She joined the crew in their silent vigil.
“Incoming transmission from the Choraii,” announced Yar at last, and put it on speakers. The dissonance in their music was muted, but so was the melody.
Ruthe listened intently to the Choraii singers, then spoke. “They agree, but the decision was not unanimous. I suggest we proceed quickly, before the discord can deepen.” Another voice interrupted her with a jangling solo passage. “One of them warns that if the Enterprise tries to escape, there will be immediate reprisals.”
“But of course,” said Deelor. He gestured at her flute. “Tell them we would be dishonored if they failed to retaliate.”
She translated his sentiment into a sprightly, almost impudent tune. All four Choraii echoed the comic lightness in their response. “You have amused and pleased them. Careful, or they will want to trade for you.”
“They couldn’t meet my price.” Deelor jumped to his feet. “Mr. Riker, you can prepare the lead shipment while Ruthe beams over to the Choraii ship.”
“Is direct contact really necessary?” asked Picard with alarm.
Data saved the ambassador the trouble of an explanation. “The dense organic nature of the B Flat’s structure makes exact life readings difficult to obtain. My sensors are unable to determine the transporter coordinates for the captive human.”
“My away team is at your disposal, Ambassador,” said Riker, rising to his feet. “We can beam over with-“
“Stay out of this,” said Ruthe. “I don’t want your help.”
“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Riker,” said Deelor quickly. “But I’m afraid that your landing party isn’t trained to function on a Choraii ship.” He addressed the rest of his explanation to the captain. “The interior is not dangerous, but you must breathe in the liquid matter of the ship’s atmosphere; to wear environmental suits which hide your physical essence would be a gross insult to the hosts and a sign of deceit.”
Picard still looked dubious, so Dr. Crusher joined in the discussion. “According to my medical records, the oxygen-rich fluid is quite breathable-you can’t drown even when your lungs are filled-but the experience would be very unsettling to an air-breathing species.”
“However,” interjected Deelor. “I do want a backup team available in case of trouble. Will you allow Mr. Riker and Lieutenant Yar to accompany Ruthe to the transporter chamber?”
“Certainly,” said Picard with an ironic smile. Only Crusher caught his softly uttered aside. “You don’t usually bother to ask.”
Then Deelor aimed a slight bow in her direction. “And, of course, Dr. Crusher. To provide the best of medical care.”
“Come on,” said Ruthe, and moved impatiently toward the turboelevator. “The Choraii are waiting.”
Beverly Crusher reluctantly followed the translator. The doctor hadn’t been given the opportunity