SPARTACUS
Page 3
“Maran keeps our records, gathers information, and maintains a storehouse of data on any conceivable subject,” Jared explained. “She is also my adviser on alien relations, which is why she is present. No offense, meant, of course.”
“None taken,” Riker responded. “We’re all aliens to someone.” He turned to his right. “This is my away team. Lieutenant Commander La Forge is our own chief engineer. He will be directly assisting you in repairs, and I think you’ll find his knowledge useful. To my left is Commander Data, our operations officer and—”
“An android?” finished Maran, an indefinable edge in her voice. “How intriguing. You permit androids to serve in a command capacity in your military?”
Riker shook his head. “Starfleet is the exploratory and service arm of the Federation, Maran,” he explained. “We are not a military force. Mr. Data holds a full commission in Starfleet, and is an invaluable officer on our ship. Is there a problem with his presence? A religious objection, perhaps?” He tried to keep any hint of conflict out of his voice. He did not want to proceed without Data.
“Not at all, Commander,” assured Jared, smoothly. “If Mr. Data is considered an officer by your crew, than he will receive no less treatment by mine.”
“It is just . . . intriguing, that is all,” finished Maran, quietly. Her eyes seemed to caress Data as they might a precious work of art. “I’m very interested in cybernetics. I always tried to keep up with the latest research on Vemla.”
“Did you have androids?” Riker asked.
“Our scientists had created a few crude prototypes, which were used in laboratories on remote research stations, but then the wars intervened and most of their work was lost.”
“Enough, Maren,” interrupted Jared abruptly. “We must not waste these people’s time with idle chatter, as pleasant as it may be. Dren, if you will escort Mr. La Forge to the engines so that you might begin repairs, I will ask Kurta to show these gentlemen around our ship. Unfortunately, Maran and I have much work to do. We are still in the process of finding a safe haven, and a planet to colonize. We have a veritable mountain of research yet to do.”
“As you command, Captain,” said Dren. He went to Geordi’s side and picked up the diagnostic kit the engineer had brought from the Enterprise. Riker exchanged a smile with La Forge. That kit was heavy. If Dren wanted to carry it, then he knew Geordi wouldn’t object. In fact, Geordi would probably have to give him a hand.
Dren bent and lifted the diagnostic kit as if it were made of paper.
“If you’ll follow me, Engineer, I’ll introduce you to the engine crew,” the Vemlan said.
Riker tried to hide his surprise as the two engineers left the room. Dren must have the muscles of a gorilla under that tan coverall, Will thought. A wiry gorilla.
“Dren will soon be spouting some completely unintelligible technical jargon,” Kurta remarked. “I hope your Mr. La Forge will be able to keep up.”
“No need to worry,” said Riker. “I haven’t met the man that can outtalk Geordi when he gets going about warp mechanics.”
“Dren is considered mad by many of the crew,” commented Maran, solemnly. “They say he spends so much time with the drives that the condorite reactors have addled his wits.”
Data cocked his head in a way that meant that he did not understand. “Really? I have never heard that condorite could interfere with biological processes, though the unshielded waves can gradually erode electronic pathways.”
“She just meant he spends too much time alone, on an obsessive subject, Data,” Riker explained with a smile. “It’s a joke.”
“Yes, Dren spends most of his time with the drives,” Kurta said, flashing Riker a nervous smile.
Strange. “Now about that tour, Jared; I’m anxious to see your ship,” Riker continued, sensing an awkward moment. He didn’t understand the confusion, but he noted it.
“Certainly, Commander. Kurta, if you will do the honors? Gentlemen, I have a ship to attend to.” With a slight, stately bow, the captain left the room, Maran faithfully on his heels. As he left, Kurta turned to her guests. “If you will follow me, please . . .”
The doors on the Freedom were not the automatic sliding type, as they were on the Enterprise. The entire ship, in fact, was more primitive in design than the Federation starship. Yet Kurta was as proud of the vessel as if she had built it herself. She talked of nothing else as she led Riker and Data through the narrow corridors of the ship toward its center.
“It’s amazing that the Freedom was built at all,” she explained. “Our governing council had decided that military needs were more important than scientific ones. The basic plans and technology were purchased from the Sarens long ago. Yet it took a major appeal by the scientific community for the ship to even be started. The project ran out of resources many times, but the designers and builders were stubborn and never gave up. She was finished three years ago. She’s bigger than any military vessel in the Vemlan system, which was a major coup in itself.”
“From our ship, it looks like the Freedom was based on a modular design, rather than a single hull,” Riker said.
Kurta nodded. “The design allowed many sections of the ship to be worked on at once. The Freedom was actually the prototype of an entire class of exploration and colonization vessels. We were going to build an entire fleet along her lines. Unfortunately, the wars ended any further development. A real pity. We learned enough during her construction to be able to streamline the process, though. Once we establish a colony and can get it on its feet, we’ll build a hundred like her—or better.”
“Your experience is similar to the earliest attempts at interstellar exploration in the first half of the twenty-first century in Earth history. The military forces of several nations preempted scientific advances as a threat to national security or turned their discoveries into military technology. It wasn’t until after the Eugenics Wars that any major attempt was made at constructing interstellar vessels. As a matter of fact, the Freedom is similar in many ways to those early vessels,” commented Data.
“Are most of the crew scientists, then?” asked Riker.
Kurta frowned and shook her head. “No. There is quite a mix. We’re really a cross section of Vemlan society. When things looked their worst during the wars, we grabbed as many as we could and left the system.”
“A Noah’s ark, of sorts,” said Riker. Though come to think of it, Noah’s ark had animals and children, and he had yet to see either on the Freedom.
“I don’t understand the literary reference, but I think I grasp your meaning. Yes, we are a preservation of . . . what was.”
She paused at a door and took a small card from her belt, which she inserted in a slot next to the entrance. The door clicked and she opened it. Interesting, noted Riker. A need for personally secure areas. Perhaps a carryover from the Vemlans’ military past.
“My people brought three treasures from Vemla, Commander. This is the first.” The room was huge and circular in shape. There were several cubicles along the walls in which tan-clad crew members, displaying various colors of sashes or none at all, were seated, reading from scrolls in machines or looking at pictures on terminal screens. In the center was a large holographic display module, ringed with seats for viewers, where two women were examining and discussing a piece of sculpture.
“This is our cultural heritage,” Kurta explained as they surveyed the vast room, “as much as we were able to salvage. There are seven thousand years of history, philosophy, literature, poetry, mechanics, engineering, and science here. We also retrieved countless works of art. Most of the actual pieces were lost in the war, but we salvaged replicas of almost everything. With this library, we can remember where we are from and who we are, no matter where we settle.”
Data and Riker followed Kurta around the huge room, observing the people and the material they were studying. Riker glanced over one woman’s shoulder, and stopped dead in his tracks. The text on the screen was moving so fast th
at he could not make out the individual characters.
“The speed at which they absorb information is most impressive,” Data offered.
“Impressive?” Riker raised an eyebrow. “That’s an understatement.”
Kurta seemed startled at their interest. “The machines can be adjusted to display information at varied rates. The people that use them most often, the technicians and scientists, can read very quickly, while the rest of us tend to muddle along at slower speeds. Since this is her department, Maran uses the facilities the most. She can absorb data faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.”
“You don’t know Commander Data, then,” Riker said, smiling at his android comrade. “I’d be willing to put him up against anyone when it comes to absorbing information. He doesn’t have the name he does for nothing.”
Kurta considered, and shrugged. “It would be an interesting challenge. Maran is demonically fast.”
The tour of the library was short, and ended with Data requesting a copy of a summary of Vemlan history to update the library of the Enterprise. Kurta agreed and left word with Maran’s assistant to provide an adequate source. The tour continued on to the crew’s lounge.
As they entered the lounge Riker could see that the area was quite crowded with young, good-looking Vemlans enjoying themselves in various ways. Come to think of it, Riker noticed, all of the Vemlans they had met so far had been young and good-looking. He still found the lack of children on a colony ship odd, and had yet to find a good way to bring it up. Perhaps the Vemlans had cultural taboos against introducing their children to strangers.
In one half of the largish room, people relaxed with game boards and card games, and there were several ports being used for interactive electronic games. On the other side there were crewmen involved with more physical games, from something resembling darts to a ball-toss game that looked very boisterous. The participants seemed to play with few mistakes and moved with a startling precision and efficiency, Riker noticed. Certainly the healthiest refugees he had ever seen in his life. This was nothing compared to the holodeck when it came to amusements, of course, but it had a certain rustic charm.
But Riker’s nose was drawing him to one corner of the room.
A small kitchen with a bar separating it from the rest of the room was sending a wonderful, exotic, aroma into the air, making his stomach growl. Will suddenly remembered he’d been living on tasteless emergency rations for the last three days.
“Smells delicious doesn’t it?” Kurta asked.
He nodded.
“You must try some, then,” she urged. “It will take but a moment.”
“Thank you,” said Riker. He was somewhat of a gourmand and was always interested in trying other cultures’ specialties. Besides, the food slots back on the Enterprise were nearly at the bottom of the list of equipment to be checked out and reactivated.
Kurta inclined her head questioningly toward Data.
“No thank you. My system does not require organic sustenance in this form.”
“You don’t eat?”
“Not as a rule. I absorb an organic compound on a monthly basis, and use a direct power tap to charge my systems when necessary. I do not, however, need to eat, though I can utilize the sensors in my oral cavity to simulate human responses to culinary matter.”
“You can taste, then.”
“Yes. I have even found several foods to be of an interesting composition, though I do not possess the ability to truly distinguish between aesthetically pleasing foods and those considered—less desirable.”
“Data is many things, but he’s no gourmand,” Riker explained.
“It was not included in my programming,” the android said, simply.
“Well, nonetheless,” Kurta continued, “I would highly recommend that you try Porupt’s creations, anyway. If nothing else, you can store the sensations for reference at a future time.”
“Very well,” Data said. Kurta led them over to the kitchen area, and introduced them to the chef, Porupt, who was chopping and slicing the alien-looking ingredients on the board in front of him with the dexterity of a juggler. He smiled a hello and, without taking his eyes off Kurta and her guests, deftly lifted the cutting board and scraped the contents swiftly into a pan where they sizzled delightfully. Damn good, Riker thought. This guy knows how to swing a knife. It reminded him of his own cooking attempts, and he noted that he needed to have another of his infrequent dinner parties soon. The cook gave the pan a quick stir, and began cutting up more ingredients.
“Kurta. I heard we have visitors,” Porupt said. “I see you brought them to the most important part of the ship first. Would you care for a bite?”
“It certainly smells good,” Riker said, his mouth watering. “What is it, exactly?”
The chef’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “Old family recipe. A secret.”
He plucked a container from a rack below the bar and added a small amount to the pan. As he stirred the flavors together, a fine shower of hot oil rained upon his arms, though he didn’t seem to notice it. Riker found that strange, but supposed that the man might be used to it.
Kurta slipped behind the kitchen and poured three glasses of a bright green beverage. “This is, I believe, the proper vintage for the dish?”
Porupt scowled. “Yes, it will do; but it’s supposed to be aged seven years. They won’t get all the proper nuances of flavor if it isn’t. I hate to serve a dish halfway, but I guess necessity wins out over pure art once again.”
He pulled three plates from behind the counter and served an equal portion on each. Riker politely waited for his hostess to sit down before he began. She inhaled deeply, then scooped up a pile of food from her plate and pushed it into her mouth. Apparently the local custom made fingers the eating utensil of choice. This didn’t bother Riker; he had once attended a banquet where the first and only dish was live mealworms. He picked up a goodly amount of the warm, exotic-looking food with his thumb and forefingers and, pausing only to savor the aroma, stuffed it in his mouth and began chewing.
Data passively followed suit. Kurta made an appreciative grunting noise as she chewed and swallowed. Riker fell off his chair.
It was sheer agony. The food was like raw, red-hot antimatter in his mouth. It seemed to burn away the skin cells, the nerves, and eat away at the very fabric of his tongue and mouth in a barrage of alien fire that made him want to tear at his tongue. He grabbed the green wine at his elbow and began gulping it to relieve the onslaught of combustible-seeming spices. He didn’t see the look on Kurta’s face until it was too late.
“The wine is a little spicy, Commander,” she said.
Liquid fire. That was the only way he could describe it. His eyes began to water. Riker desperately gasped for cool air and swallowed madly to get the offending beverage past his taste buds as quickly as possible.
“Water,” he whispered hoarsely.
“Interesting, Commander,” supplied Data, as Porupt quickly poured a tumbler full of clear water for him. “I had no inclination to copy your motions. The food is an interesting combination of molecular patterns and chemical reactions. I was particularly interested in the combination of reactions with the addition of heated organic oils. But I have no desire to gasp, choke, or wildly gesticulate, nor do my optics wish to tear as yours seem to. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, “I am appreciating this food incorrectly.”
Riker was too busy gulping water to answer.
Jared paced intently back and forth in his office. He was suspicious, and it showed. Maran sat in a low couch in front of him, unmoving except for her eyes, which kept track of her commander as he paced. Jared couldn’t understand why she wasn’t as anxious as he was. The data on the Federation craft, their erstwhile rescuers, had arrived.
“Their vessel is that large? And that well armed?”
“So Dren’s crew has relayed. Our scanners are not fully operative yet, however, and so a detailed analysis of the ship and crew is unavailable.”
“What do we know of this ‘Federation’? Are they friend or foe?”
“Insufficient data, Commander. The Sarens made some note of the Federation in their exchanges with Vemla, but the information is over two hundred years old.”
He nodded impatiently. “Well, what data do we have?”
“The United Federation of Planets was formed as a cooperative organization, designed to share information and present a united, ethical front in the colonization of uninhabited planets. The Sarens viewed them slightly unfavorably, because they attempted to prevent trade of advanced technology to more primitive cultures on the basis that it was detrimental for a culture’s development.”
Jared halted in his tracks and smiled a harsh, wolfish grin. “Lucky for us that the Sarens ignored them, isn’t it? Where would we be now had the startraders not broken the will of the Federation? Certainly, without this wonderful vessel!”
“Jared,” said Maran, slowly, “if it wasn’t for the Sarens, we wouldn’t have been—”
“Yes, yes, I am quite aware of that. Ancient history, now. Sometimes I wish that those merchants had never strayed to Vemla, but then I realize the consequences. In any case,” he said, as he resumed his pacing, “we have a problem. How much do the . . . Earthmen know about us? Have they seen through the charade? Can we trust them to aid us? Protect us? Or must we attack them to insure our own safety?” These and countless other questions were on his mind. He could do no less as a ship’s captain—and a leader of his people—to find out if the Earthmen posed any danger.