Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [1]
to introduce these negotiations; she’s done well to have held their attention for this long. When they learned that the Federation flagship was in the area… Well. They are a people who are impressed with titles. They have not been willing to discuss seriously the use of the graviton-free corridor with Nadann, but they’ve indicated an interest in a dialogue with the flagship’s captain.”
“They are,” Picard said, tugging absently at his uniform jacket, “significantly invested in matters of prestige. They have a term for it—daleura. And, as you would expect from a society that places so much pride on their hunting and achievements of aggression, they are also a bit prickly.”
Worf shifted in his chair. After his alert stillness, the movement might as well have been a shout. Picard took quick note. “No offense meant, Mr. Worf.”
“None taken. Unless the captain implies that Klingons are merely … prickly.”
“In point of fact, I find most Klingons to be downright contentious.”
“Thank you.” Worf settled into satisfied silence.
“That explains why we changed course,” Geordi said. They’d been headed for doomed Ntignano until only the previous watch; now they orbited Tsora, a planet with sporadic forestation showing like green jewels against the brown continents, surrounded by a system full of invisible graviton eddies that kept a pattern all their own. “But not—”
“The hunting,” Riker said. He’d been the one to present the information on Fandre’s main preserve, the one who seemed to know the details.
“The hunting,” Geordi agreed, hiding his impatience —and more concerned with recent reports that the
results of the bprobe-induced singularity at the core of the Ntignano sun were far less predictable than expected.
Fandre and its preserve seemed more than irrelevant.
He’d rather be introducing his plan to use a probe web to make their own charts. Such webs were complex and needed constant monitoring and adjustment, but with a dozen probes relaying high-speed data to the coordinating probe, a preliminary star chart could be available in a fraction of the time required for standard charting procedures. True, the most complex probe-web used successfully to date employed only eight probes, but Geordi felt he’d solved the logistics issues involved in adding another tier. All he needed was a chance to try.
None of which Picard was aware of, nor likely to become aware of just yet, since he now looked at the image of the arborata and said, “Fill us in, Number One.”
Riker leaned back in his chair, swiveling it slightly. “Fandre is a big-game hunter’s delight, with several species of massive carnivores, all cohabiting a relatively small and tightly managed preserve called the Legacy. Since the Tsorans reestablished diplomatic and trade relations with Fandre fifty years ago, they’ve been traveling to the preserve for their ceremonial rite of passage, in which the participant tranquilizes his prey and harvests a token from it. The prime kaphoora, they call it”
“No doubt a ceremony of much … prestige,” Worf said.
“Exactly,” Riker said. “And when they heard we were in the area, they decided that the ReynTa—what we might call a prince—would benefit from a Federation escort to his kaphoora. Everything else aside, we’re certainly faster, even in these rough waters.”
“His name is ReynTa Akarr,” Troi said. “But here’s
the crucial part—while he’s hunting, his father, the ReynTa Atann, will discuss terms on delivery of the corridor map, and permission to use the corridor itself.”
So that was it. “What if they don’t have any intention of coming to terms?” Geordi frowned. “It sounds to me like they’re using us, Captain. The prince—the ReynTa—might come back from his kaphoora and that’ll be the end of it. They’ll have their prestige and we—and the Ntignanos—will have nothing.”
“There is that possibility,” Picard agreed. He glanced at Troi. “The counselor and I will do our best to see that it doesn’t happen. And meanwhile, Commander Riker