The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [46]
“I’m sorry, but I received the pertinent files only a few hours ago … “
Picard waved aside her apology; he knew who was to blame. Divide and conquer seemed to be one Deelor’s favorite maxims. “Continue, Doctor.”
“The exact cause of death was different in each case, but emotional stress was recognized as a prominent contributing factor to their physical deterioration. One suffered a fatal heart attack; the second died of pneumonia.” Crusher took a breath, then continued. “The third committed suicide.”
“So, what is your medical recommendation?” asked Picard, wondering if the decision for future action would be his. Deelor had dropped all presumption to authority since Data’s announcement on the bridge. “Will this man live if we bring him back?”
“I can’t predict the outcome based on three people,” protested Crusher. “It’s too small a sample from which to draw any valid conclusions. In addition, there’s no way to judge what effect the intervening stay with the Ferengi had on their final condition.”
“Ferengi or human,” said Ruthe. “Don’t you see it’s all the same? This place is too different from the Choraii ship. Leave him alone.”
“We can’t,” said Deelor quietly. “The decision has already been made at higher levels. We have no choice but to bargain for the last captive.”
“I won’t translate,” said Ruthe stubbornly.
“But the Choraii can speak Federation Standard.” Picard’s statement startled both Ruthe and Deelor. “Ruthe told my first officer they learned our language from the children.”
“Yes, that is true,” said Deelor with a reluctant nod. “However, our language form doesn’t tend to facilitate communications. The harshness of the sound puts the Choraii on the defensive.”
“We have no choice but to try,” said Picard, and Deelor did not contradict him. The captain appealed to Ruthe next. “Surely you can see that?”
“No. And I won’t help.” With this last protest, Ruthe ran from the room.
Sound does not travel through the vacuum of space, but instincts forged by planet-bound evolution are not easily extinguished. So while the Enterprise shadowed the B Flat, the members of the bridge crew assumed the demeanor of a predator stalking its prey. They talked only when necessary and moved with soft, silent steps over the carpeted deck. Even the engines were subdued, reduced to impulse speed. The ship’s pace was set by the leisurely progress of the Choraii vessel as it sang its private song of alien dreams. Data had established a correlation between the ship’s spiraling path and the notes of its language, but the significance of the pattern was still beyond his comprehension. Perhaps Ruthe could have deciphered its meaning, but the translator had not returned to the bridge.
“Status report, Number One,” demanded the captain as he crossed to the command center. His voice was automatically pitched low in deference to the hushed ambiance.
Riker answered with equal restraint. “The B Flat is moving slowly. We’ve been careful to keep it just within sensor range so our continued presence isn’t detected.”
“Ruthe refuses to help us lure them back,” said Picard. He did not elaborate on her unwillingness. “We shall have to signal them ourselves.”
“That calls for a bit of trickery-and I think Data may have just what we need.” Riker looked to the android, who nodded in reply. “Ruthe played a version of the greeting for me in the crew lounge and Data managed to record it on the ambassador’s vocoder. Since the Choraii have never heard this particular song before, they may think she’s singing to them in person.”
“Excellent,” said Picard.
Data stepped away from the ops station to pass the vocoder on the Lieutenant Yar and instruct her in its operation. “The greeting is cued. Begin broadcasting as soon as we’re in radio-contact range.”
“You’re a very persuasive man, Mr. Riker,” observed Deelor as he took a seat next to the commander. “Do all young women fall for your oily charm? Or just the trusting ones, like Ruthe?”
Riker’s jaw tightened, but he did not respond.