The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [83]
“Ambassador … “
Deelor hushed the captain with a wave of his hand.
“Listen.” The journey song had ended, but Ruthe continued playing with the Choraii, modulating without a break into a new melody. “They’re singing the greeting.”
Shifting his weight in the captain’s chair, Picard leaned closer to Deelor and spoke more softly. “The exchange sounds friendly.”
“Yes, it is.” So even the captain could detect the joy of the meeting. “Once Ruthe establishes our good intentions, we can-” Deelor broke off.
“What’s happened?”
“Ruthe has begun a third melody,” explained Deelor. She hadn’t looked to him once for a sign of what to do, yet apparently she was moving beyond the ritual preliminaries. In what direction? Deelor tried to make sense of her exchange with the Choraii, to untangle the mix of high flute and booming organ voices, but the scales they used were unfamiliar and his understanding of the exchange faltered.
Dr. Crusher edged up behind him. “Do they have the child?”
“Yes, I think so,” answered Deelor, less certain than he sounded. He had lost track of the melodic line and could grasp only scattered phrases of meaning.
“So how do we get her back?” Picard’s voice rang out over the bridge. All singing had stopped abruptly, replaced by an unvarying bass hum emanating from the D Major.
Snapping off a section of her flute, Ruthe answered the captain. “Arrangements have already been made for the girl’s return.” The translator rapidly disassembled the remainder of her instrument and tucked the pieces inside her cloak. “Emily was found when they plundered New Oregon for silver. She isn’t a bonding gift, so they are willing to let her go for the proper price.”
The palms of Deelor’s hands grew moist. He rubbed them dry against his uniform. “What price is that?”
“Three pounds of gold, some few ounces of zinc and platinum.” Ruthe stepped down from the aft deck. “I’ll beam over while the metal is gathered.”
Deelor was too shaken to reply. He had trusted Ruthe with his life over and over again; he would do so now. Yet he knew her well enough to sense a lie in what she told him. A lie to what purpose?
Picard stepped down from his chair to confront Ruthe. “I don’t like the appearance of this transaction. They’ve agreed too easily.”
“Would you rather fight the Choraii?” asked Ruthe, arching one brow. “I’m not so certain you would win.”
A full beat passed before the captain spoke again. “Lieutenant Yar, Dr. Crusher, please accompany Ruthe to the transporter chamber.” Picard fell back and the translator swept past him.
Deelor stared after her until the doors of the turbo cut her off from his sight. “I trust Ruthe’s judgment.” Then he wondered if he had jumped too quickly to her defense and betrayed his growing unease to the captain. “She knows what she’s doing.”
Picard settled back into place, his feet braced firmly on the dais, his hands gripping the armrests. He focused his attention on the viewer. “You may trust Ruthe, but I don’t trust the Choraii.”
Tasha Yar felt uneasy about opening a window in the ship’s shield for the critical seconds when Ruthe would transport over to the Choraii ship. Her tension eased very little even after the deflectors snapped back into place; she couldn’t relax while the massive vessel loomed so near to the Enterprise.
“I hate this part,” admitted Yar leaning against the console. “Last time we waited for nearly three hours before Ruthe’s contact signal.”
Crusher sighed heavily. “If the ritual swim through the B Flat took hours, how long will she take to go through the D Major?”
“Days, weeks … ” A high-pitched tone jerked the security chief back to the controls. “The beam signal,” Yar announced, swiftly reversing the procedure that had sent Ruthe out of the ship only minutes before.
“It’s too early! Something must have gone wrong.” Crusher rushed to the dais as white light flooded the chamber once again. When the blinding beam died away, the doctor found a young girl standing on the platform. And only the girl. Around her