Tooth and Claw - Doranna Durgin [48]
La Forge, sitting cross-legged on the floor—and why were these boards always so close to the ground—felt his mind go numb and foggy.
“For instance, when Captain Picard was leaving for the Tsoran reception, I advised him to paint the town red. He did not seem to have a full understanding of the phrase, but I fear the results of that particular experiment were skewed when it turned out that Atann actually had painted the reception room red.”
La Forge leaned back on his arms, smiling. “I heard it was curtains and rugs.”
“To be precise, although my point stands.”
To which La Forge didn’t respond, other than to give in to the impulse to remove the VISOR and sit in his pleasant haze, listening to Data’s voice—which eventually said, “—my understanding of human physiology leads me to suggest that you will achieve no practical purpose in driving yourself this way.”
“Was that your way of telling me to get some sleep?”
“I believe it was.”
“Yeah,” La Forge said, and sighed. “You’re right. I just hate to think of them in there, with no way to communicate to us … who knows what kind of trouble they’re in. But… I can’t think straight anymore.”
“Then you are hardly doing your best for them,” Data said, as blunt as usual. Not to mention correct.
“Thanks, Data. That’s just the kind of pep talk I need.”
“It was not meant to be a pep talk.”
No, never mind. He was too tired to straighten that one out. But before he went to bed … “Data, how’s it going with the Ntignano evacuation? And with the Tsorans?”
“I would say …” Data started, and hesitated, hunting for the best response, his very hesitation a blinking red alert in La Forge’s mind.
“Just tell me, Data.”
“I am sorry to report that neither situation is progressing in a positive manner. The Ntignanos have much less time than expected, and the extended evacuation journey is creating problems. Dr. Crusher has the details; I can have her—”
“No, no, this is fine,” La Forge muttered. Well, he had asked. “And the Tsorans?”
“It is hard to ascertain how they feel about the situation since they have broken off contact. I believe that Captain Picard has something in mind; he has not given up his attempts to acquire the charts.”
“Has he—” La Forge stopped, trying to think if Data would know about his request to send out a modified charting probe. He’d made it of Picard, who would work with engineering if he decided to move ahead … but would he have brought Data in on the decision making process? “I’d been hoping we could start in on our own charts, Data. Do you know if Captain Picard is considering it?”
“Officially, no,” Data said. “However, I assisted Lieutenant Duffy with the necessary changes to the probes, so I am ‘in the know.” “
“He’s gone ahead with it then.” Relief. It wouldn’t give them results as soon as they needed them—but in the end, more lives would be saved than if they waited for the Tsorans and never got the charts they’d been promised.
“The probe was launched several hours ago. They are performing up to expectations. But, Geordi, it will not give us results in time to save—”
“I know, I know,” La Forge said through a tired groan. “It won’t save them all. We can’t build even a rudimentary chart of those eddies in time to do that. Our current charts of this system are so old, and so seldom used … the areas with the eddies might as well be labeled like the ancient maps of Earth’s oceanic trouble spots. Here be monsters.”
A phrase that was pretty darn appropriate for the situation right here on Fandre.
Here be monsters.
Chapter Nine
night in the fandrean jungle.
Deep in the tangle of night-blacked foliage, slick fur slid between thickly leafed branches, making no more than a whisper of sound beneath the clamor of myriad insects crying out for the company of their own kind.
A shriek ripped through the chorus, startling it to silence.
Bones crunched.
Tsoran bones.
Here be monsters.
Riker quickly lost track of time; he lost track of the fact that time had any meaning at all.