The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [85]
“No, Wild One. This is her home. She agreed to stay if we gave you the young one in her place.”
Rising from the captain’s chair, Picard brought his deeper voice to the ambassador’s service. “We will not accept her sacrifice.”
“But it’s not a sacrifice, Captain.” Ruthe’s words quavered and echoed, distorted by the liquid that filled her lungs. “I’m here of my own free will.”
“No, I don’t believe you!” cried out Deelor. “You’ve struck a bargain for the girl and this is the price.”
“A small price.” Her laugh rippled through the waters.
“An unacceptable price,” countered Picard angrily. “The Choraii have brought death to so many people without thought, without remorse. How can we abandon you to live with them?”
“But I can stop the killings. I will sing them your songs! Songs of Mozart, and Beethoven, and all the others! I will show the Choraii that even beasts can make music. Once they recognize your worth, they will learn to ask for what they need.”
“This action is too drastic, too final. There are other ways to-“
“You still don’t understand. I have always wanted to return here, to my real home. I’ve betrayed many of my kind in the search for this ship, but only the children, because they are young, and can forget. I was too old to forget and too young to die for the memories.”
“Is she telling the truth?” demanded Picard of the man standing frozen beside him. “Can this be what she really wants?”
“Yes,” whispered Deelor hoarsely. “Damn her, yes.”
Ruthe’s voice sang out again, more insistent than before. “Let us go, Wild Ones. We have many songs to sing.”
“Lieutenant Worf,” said Picard in a low voice. “Let them go.”
The Klingon quickly obeyed, releasing the D Major from the tractor beam hold. The bright lights and chattering sounds of the battle bridge, muted by a lack of power, sprang back to full intensity.
“They’re not leaving,” observed La Forge of the alien craft. He lowered his hands closer to the helm controls.
A deep humming sound reverberated from the communications link with the D Major. Resonant Choraii voices swelled into a dirgelike song, flooding the bridge with their music. One high soprano echoed the somber melody.
The oppressive sound raised a prickle of apprehension in the captain. “What’s happening?”
Deelor didn’t answer. Instead, Data turned from the helm. “I believe that is their way of saying good-bye.”
Chapter Eighteen
NEW OREGON’s SOIL was still sodden from the long rains, but the standing water had finally drained away from higher ground. The smell of rotting vegetation remained, masking the sweeter scent of new growth. Scattered patches of bright green promised a return of grasses and shrubs; they would grow faster than before, feeding on the decay of the first generation. The violent winds that had racked the surface were now reduced to gentle breezes, and overhead a midsummer sun shone through clear skies of azure blue.
While starship technicians had labored to restore the planet’s weather controls, the Farmers had put their steel shovels to work, but not for planting seeds of grain. A dozen graves scarred their new land.
On the morning of her seventh day on this world, Patrisha carried a sprig of greenery to Krn’s gravesite; when the flowers bloomed, she would bring a bouquet. The ritual was an old one, stretching back to the beginnings of their community, and a familiar one to the woman who had spent her own childhood visiting her mother’s grave. Perhaps, as grass spread over this pile of fresh brown dirt, her sharp pain would fade and she would come here out of habit rather than aching need.
Patrisha looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps. Her cousin’s boots were caked with mud, his hands red and swollen from unaccustomed labor, yet Tomas had recovered a measure of his dignity in the last week. Although he was still an aggravating man, he was also a Farmer. He belonged here.
“I was looking for Dnnys, but I hear he’s gone up there.” Tomas pointed an