The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [12]
He sighed, then heard the door chime. Picard looked up. “Come!” he called. When he saw the identity of his visitor, he smiled. “I’ve been expecting you.”
Ship’s Counselor Deanna Troi smiled gently at the captain, her exotically black Betazed eyes sympathetic. “You know, when you are this troubled, that I cannot help but be aware of your feelings,” she reminded him in her gentle, musically accented voice. She was a stunning woman with a perfect figure and masses of black hair held back from her face by a jeweled band.
“I know,” he agreed. “Counselor, another ship has gone missing. A freighter this time. Federation registry. The Marco Polo.”
“Disturbing news,” she said, regarding him intently with her ebony eyes. “But your unease does not stem solely from that. You are puzzled by something …”
Picard nodded. “The Marco Polo was carrying a shipment of seed grain on its way to Thonolan Four. Feleen seed that had been especially modified to grow in Thonolan’s soil, which is higher in potassium than other Andorian worlds.”
“And?” she prompted when the captain hesitated and then lapsed into silence, scowling at his steepled fingers, deep in thought.
He started, as though only now remembering that she was there. “What—oh, yes, sorry, Counselor. I’m puzzled by what anyone would want with that particular ship. They couldn’t sell its stolen cargo anywhere else—that feleen seed would be worthless on another world. It wouldn’t grow. And if the thief attempted to sell it to the Thonolans, they would know then who had made off with the Marco Polo.”
“You are operating under the assumption that these disappearances are caused by pirates or similar foul play?”
“I was operating under that theory, yes. But now all that’s changed,” Picard said heavily. “I’ve been forced to scrap the most plausible theory, because it has now become not only implausible but impractical. And thieves, whatever their moral failings, are usually practical to a fault.”
“So that leaves you with what?”
“I don’t know. I cannot imagine Romulans straying that far out of their space and preying openly on Federation vessels. That would be an act of war, and they have given no indication that they are ready for open conflict at this time.”
“Ferengi?” Troi guessed doubtfully.
Picard shook his head. “They would never capture a vessel whose cargo was worthless to them. It would go against their deepest convictions and desire for profit.”
“So what does that leave us with?” asked the counselor, as if she already knew the answer.
The captain nodded confirmation. “If it’s not someone or something we know, then it must, by definition, be alien. Quite possibly something never encountered before. Something possibly hostile … and, it seems, deadly.”
“A force of nature?”
“Some kind of previously unknown space phenomenon, you mean?” Picard drummed his fingertips on the polished surface before him. “Perhaps …”
“But you think not,” Troi said, reading his hesitation with the experience of a trained observer.
“I don’t know!” Picard betrayed his frustration momentarily, then his customary calm descended again. “But I think not, Deanna. Instead my … instincts, I suppose you would call them, tell me we should prepare to fulfill this ship’s primary purpose.”
“Alien contact.”
“Yes. Except that in this case this particular alien has eight strikes—or lost ships—against it. I don’t intend to allow the Enterprise to become the ninth.”
The counselor nodded sympathetically. “It is a mystery, Captain. One worthy of your Dixon Hill, it seems to me.”
One corner of the captain’s mouth went up in a reminiscent half-smile. “Ah, yes. Perhaps I would do better investigating the problem if I