Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [16]
Yenan made a face with his lower lip, similar to the one La Forge had seen on Akarr, but less extreme. “You are right,” he said. “Come, let us go inside.” And he suited action to words, nudging past La Forge to leave the booth.
La Forge hesitated, looking at the spot in the gray, coruscating shield through which the Rahjoh had vanished, shaking his head. “Good luck, Commander.”
Chapter Four
The tsorans certainly did like their receptions. And Atann, who couldn’t pass up either the opportunity to attend a reception on the Enterprise or the daleura of playing host, was no exception. Once Nadann lesson explained the situation, Picard offered the only possible solution: a request that Atann share with the Enterprise a sampling of Tsoran delicacies. Under Alarm’s guidance the occasion quickly turned into a full-fledged social affair, for which Picard provided only a token supply of Federation favorites on a small, plain table set to the side. The two spoke briefly with one another—in person for the first time—as Atann commenced preparations in one of the larger function rooms; Picard could get no feel for the ReynKa’s character whatsoever.
Shortly before the late-afternoon reception—and from all reports, Chief Brossmer had performed heroically at the transporter console during the preparation,
both in dealing with the Tsorans and in the number of direct precision transports performed in the course of a single shift—Picard beckoned Troi into his ready room.
“Any words of advice?” he asked, seating himself behind his gleaming black desk and gesturing for her to sit.
She tucked herself into the couch and crossed her legs beneath the flowing skirt she’d adopted for the reception, looking comfortable—and, as was usual in the aftermath of such a question, as though she were searching inside herself for the answer, her black eyes distant. “I’ve read Nadann’s report, of course,” she said. “I have great respect for her work, but she’s barely had time to skim the surface. The Tsorans are a complex people. On the one hand, they appear very much prone to surface emotions—they don’t seem to hide either their feelings or their opinions about us. We certainly saw some of that between Akarr and Will in the conference room.”
“But on the other hand?”
She came out from inside herself to look at him again, and to give him a rueful little shrug. “On the other hand, Nadann has plenty of evidence that despite these apparent behavior patterns, the Tsorans have plenty that they do hide. For instance, a male Tsoran will do anything to avoid scratching in public, and if caught doing so—especially by a female—both Tsorans instantly turn their backs on one another. In the next moment, it’s as though they’ve forgotten it ever happened; neither will ever acknowledge the moment. If one Tsoran offends another socially—in manners of etiquette, one might say—they both similarly ignore the situation. For instance, Nadann has worn sleeveless or short-sleeved tops for most of her stay in the capital, in Aksanna—showing the flesh of her arms in a way that the Tsoran society sees only in
females who sell their bodies. No one’s ever said anything to her.”
Picard steepled his hands before his chin. “So if they are communicating with you, it’s likely to be … blunt.”
“Or too subtle for a human to perceive,” Troi agreed. “It adds up to this, Captain—if you annoy or offend Atann, or do something that he interprets as daleura one-upmanship, you’ll hear about it in no uncertain terms. If you embarrass him … you’re not likely ever to know.”
“Until the negotiation for the use of their charted space fails,” Picard said dryly. He glanced at the replicator but decided against the tea that would go down nicely with this conversation. He was already late for the reception. “Counselor, I would appreciate it if you stayed close while I’m talking to Atann or his ReynSa, Tehra. I don’t expect