Unification - Jeri Taylor [23]
“The Zakdorn are one of the more recent species to be admitted to the Federation. They are a peaceful race with no real enemies. They achieved warp-drive capacity relatively early in their development because all their resources could be channeled toward scientific development.” Unlike Earth, Riker thought. He nodded for her to continue.
“Their strengths seem to lie in their penchant for organization and efficiency. They lack a creative imagination and have almost no native art forms. They are superior accountants, bookkeepers, and mapmakers.”
Riker grinned. “They sound like a dull lot. A planet of bureaucrats.” She smiled back, nodding. “My thoughts exactly. But perfect for receiving and storing out-of-use space ships.”
“I guess that’s why they have the largest of the surplus shipyards.” There were three other depots that the Federation maintained in various sectors, but the one at Qualor Two had swollen mightily in the last twenty years. :Several thousand ships, in varying states of repair, had found a resting place there, ranging from proud vessels rendered inoperable in battle to ships that had simply become outmoded as new designs took their place. Riker had never visited one of these graveyards, and he was curious to see it.
But most of all, he was curious to see the T’?au, to find if the Vulcan ship offered any clues as to how its deflector array could have wound up in the hands of the Ferengi.
He pushed back his chair. “Good work, Ensign. We should be in orbit of Qualor Two by tomorrow at eleven hundred hours. This information will be put to good use.”
Naylor nodded and pushed her chair back, collected her padd, and stood.
“Fll be happy to escort you to your quarters,” offered Riker.
“Thank you, sir, it’s not necessary,” she said, to his disappointment. Then she paused and gazed at him with those strange pale eyes. They seemed to spark and flash as they reflected light from the room. “I’m happy you’re pleased with my work, Commander. Please don’t hesitate to ask for anything more you might need.”
Suddenly Riker felt himself as insecure as a schoolboy with a crush. Was there a double emendre in her statement? Or was he projecting his own feelings, reading something he wanted to be there? That there was something needy emanating from Gretchen Naylor he didn’t doubt. Just what it was, he couldn’t define. “Thank you, Ensign,” he said formally, and she turned and walked toward the door. Riker watched, trying not to be affected by the sight of her willowy form swaying in front of him.
“Most Romulans live in multi-unit structures known as ‘takas.’ There are few single-unit dwellings, and they are reserved for those in power. Population density in the capital city is forty thousand per square kilometer.” Picard stretched his neck as he read from the information on the padd; they’d been at it for hours and he felt the stiffness throughout his body from having sat so long in the Klingon chair, which he had by now decided was a cleverly planned torture device.
“Pardek’s neighborhood, Krocton segment,” added Data, “is in one of the older parts of the city.” He didn’t read from a padd; he had undoubtedly absorbed every particle of intelligence contained in it some time ago and was now reciting from memory. “It is a lower-class area of no architectural distinction. He has maintained a taka there for many years.”
“Krocton segment,” murmured Picard. “That’s where we’ll plan to transport.” He looked up at Data and realized he was very glad indeed that he had brought this valued officer with him. The journey might have been even more of an ordeal if he had chosen to undertake it alone. Data’s calm and steady presence was reassuring; and certainly this cram-session study of the Romulans was more pleasurable with the two of them.
Picard rolled his neck again, working out the kinks. He felt genuinely weary, and realized it must be well past the time he usually retired.
“That’s enough for me, Data,” he said. “I think I’ll turn in.”
Data cast his eyes about the