The first few minutes of the meeting were spent reviewing the observations of the landing teams. Data summarized the common pattern of structural damage at both sites with his characteristic precision. Picard wondered what feelings, if any, lay hidden behind the objective account. He did not doubt that the android was capable of emotion, but the captain also considered that Data, like a young child, might be unable to connect the planet-side disaster with his own life. Perhaps that association process could not begin until Data had lived through a personal tragedy. Dr. Crusher was equally professional in her presentation of the autopsy results, but with one free hand she gripped her son’s arm.
At the conclusion of Crusher’s evidence on acid burns, Deelor further clarified the Choraii attack based on his knowledge of the Hamlin Massacre. “It had to have been a large ship, much bigger than the B Flat. Only the oldest of the Choraii ships can survive entry into a planetary atmosphere. We’re not sure of the exact dynamics involved, but evidently the spheres compress under atmospheric pressure until the non-organic components of the hull become concentrated, forming a rigid metal exterior.”
“Whereas a young ship, with smaller bubbles, would compress to the point of crushing its crew,” deduced Data. “Or lack sufficient metallic components to complete the hull.”
“But why the attack?” demanded Riker bitterly. “Hamlin was a mining colony, but New Oregon is . . . was strictly agricultural. What metals could the Choraii have expected to find?”
“We may never know.” Deelor’s dark brows pulled together. “If they were running low on supplies, they could have acted out of sheer desperation. Or maybe just curiosity. Their last pass through this solar system would have occurred before the terraforming process. The changes on the planet’s surface may have attracted their attention.”
“And the wanton killing?” asked Picard. “What excuse for that?”
Deelor stiffened. “I’m not defending them, Captain.”
“But will the Federation continue to develop diplomatic relations with the Choraii?”
A chorus of protests broke out from the crew as they assimilated the far-reaching implications of the raid on New Oregon.
“Impossible,” declared Lieutenant Yar, overriding the others. “First Hamlin, now New Oregon. I saw what they did to the Farmers’ settlement. The Choraii are butchers!”
Picard continued, his voice still deceptively soft. “What price for diplomacy, Ambassador Deelor?” And for the secret of the aliens’ stardrive.
“That’s not up to us to decide,” said Deelor steadily. “It’s the job of Starfleet admirals to weigh ethical considerations against the demands of defense. Until they change existing policy, I will follow standing orders. Which means that for now, the New Oregon incident is to be treated like any other Choraii encounter. All information is under strict security restrictions.”
“You can’t keep this a secret!” cried Riker. “Terraform Control will need to know their team was killed. And there were Farmers down there as well. We can’t hide those deaths from our passengers any longer.”
Deelor frowned. “Yes, entirely too many people on board the starship are aware of the results of the landing parties’ probe. We have no choice but to tell the Farmers of the attack, but for now the identity of the attackers is unknown.”
Picard resented Deelor’s easy dismissal of that most difficult of duties to be discharged: announcing death. As captain, this responsibility was traditionally Picard’s, and he loathed it above all others associated with his rank.
He stared across the table at Beverly Crusher, focusing on her profile, thinking of her face as it had appeared years before when she first learned of her husband’s death. Picard had delivered the news in person. His unannounced arrival, without Jack by his side, had been enough to warn Beverly of what was coming. Shock had clouded her eyes even before Picard began to speak. She probably never even registered the actual words, but he remembered them all too well . . .
The captain pulled away from that morbid train of thought, but his concentration had been shattered. Deelor’s closing comments were only so much noise to be endured.
Troi was the first to approach the captain at the conclusion of the briefing. “Captain, I would like to accompany you on your visit to the Farmers.”
Picard nodded curtly. So the counselor had sensed his turmoil. Troi was an invaluable resource in judging the emotional health of his crew, but he was uncomfortable when that same empathic talent was used on him. She probably sensed that reaction as well.
“Captain Picard?”
“Yes, Mr. Crusher?” said Picard, turning to the young ensign. Another reminder of Jack’s death. “What is it?”
“I thought you should know that one of the settlers on New Oregon was Farmer Patrisha’s daughter.”
“Thank you, Ensign,” said the captain. The boy was right; the information was important. It also made Picard’s duty that much harder.
At least he always knew where to find Ruthe, thought Deelor as he crossed the threshold of their cabin. She hadn’t left the room once since Jason’s death.
Looking up from the floor where she had curled for a nap, Ruthe said, “You’ve been gone a long time.”
“I’m sorry,” Deelor replied, not sure whether she had uttered the words as an accusation or merely as an observation. Usually she viewed his movements with indifference. “I beamed down to New Oregon.” Then he told her why.
“When did it happen?” she asked after he had finished a brief description of the raid.
“Nearly a week ago. At least, that’s Dr. Crusher’s best guess from her study of the condition of the bodies. Data’s estimate is a little more conservative. He claims the attack occurred at least four days ago, but won’t commit himself to any greater length of time.”
Ruthe stretched lazily; bare feet peeked out from under the folds of her robe. “Then they could still be in the area. Will we try to contact them?”
“Not with the Enterprise. Captain Picard wouldn’t welcome the suggestion. Perhaps we can get another starship when we reach Starbase Ten.”
“The Choraii will be gone by then,” said Ruthe scornfully. “They may follow a circuitous path, but they follow it with great speed.”
She didn’t ask any more questions, but then, Deelor’s talks with Ruthe never lasted long. She lost interest so quickly. Nearly an hour of silence passed between them before Ruthe uttered her final comment on New Oregon.
“The ship must have been very large.”
When he heard her say that, Deelor feared Ruthe shared his own suspicion.
“She’s alone,” Troi told the captain as they stood in the corridor in front of Farmer Patrisha’s cabin.
Picard hesitated, one hand raised halfway to the door chime. “Perhaps some of the other colonists should be with her when I break the news.”
The counselor considered what she knew of the woman inside. Their few encounters had been brief, nevertheless Troi felt secure in her understanding of that strong personality. “No. Actually, I think she would prefer to be alone at this time. She is not always comfortable with the members of her community. In fact, Patrisha’s sense of isolation from the other Farmers has been growing stronger over the journey.”
“Very well, Counselor. I’m sure you know what’s best.” Picard was out of his depth in this situation, and depended heavily on Troi’s judgment. For his own sake, Picard was just as glad there would be no further delay. If he waited any longer, he would start to worry whether he lacked the proper somber mien or whether he had overcompensated and looked too severe. Taking a deep breath, he activated the door chime.
When they had leave to enter, Picard and Troi walked into a cabin that had been stripped of personal belongings. Luggage containers were stacked neatly in the center of the cabin day area.
“Why haven’t we been allowed to land?” asked Patrisha. “What’s gone wrong?”
“The colony on New Oregon has been destroyed.” The blow c
ould not be softened with any preamble, but Picard spared Patrisha the harsh details of the Choraii attack. He told her that her daughter was dead, but not that her last seconds of life had been filled with searing pain. Not that there was nothing recognizable left of the body.
“Our landing party has confirmed there are no survivors,” Troi explained gently.
“We’re very sorry,” added Picard when there was nothing else left to say. From that point on, matters went much as they always did on these occasions. His words were met with initial disbelief, then accepted with growing anguish. Some people immediately dissolved into tears, but Patrisha was one of the quiet ones. The wrenching grief would come later, after the starship officers had left. Troi was right; this woman would not have welcomed any additional company.
After an awkward silence, Patrisha finally spoke. “Captain, what would have happened without the schedule delays?”
Over the years, Picard had trained himself to avoid such profitless speculation, but he understood the concern that prompted her question and he answered the query with respect. “Your entire community would have been wiped out. One hundred unarmed colonists, even twice that number, could not have changed the outcome in any way.” Small comfort perhaps, but all that he could offer.
“I haven’t seen Krn in nearly two years,” said Patrisha. Her face was blank and expressionless. “Two years since she and her lover volunteered for the scouting trip. Krn and I were fighting so often that I was actually relieved to see them go.”
Picard exchanged glances with Troi. There seemed no graceful way to leave, and the counselor silently indicated they should simply listen for the moment. Picard did not want to hear any more, but he would endure it. His discomfort was nothing compared to Patrisha’s pain.
“Yet Dvd always tried to patch things up between us. He wasn’t a typical Farmer. He was a silversmith, an artist . . . ”
Silver. That one word jumped out at Picard, overshadowing all that followed. He could trace the chain of Troi’s startled reactions as the counselor sensed the surge of alarm in his mind and then made the connection herself. Refined metal, in small quantities, but sufficiently pure to serve the needs of the Choraii. The captain was so distracted by the discovery of the motive for the alien attack that he almost missed the significance of what came next.
“He was a gentle man and so devoted to their daughter that she called him uncle.”
“There was a child?” asked Picard sharply.
“Yes, my granddaughter, Emily. She would have turned four soon after our arrival.” The intensity of the captain’s question penetrated Patrisha’s shock. “Why is that so important?”
Picard couldn’t answer her. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.
Ruthe paced back and forth in front of the windows of the observation deck while the assembled group settled into place. Out of habit, Ambassador Deelor and Captain Picard both walked toward the seat at the head of the conference table, but the diplomat gave ground with an ironic smile and moved to another chair next to Dr. Crusher. Riker and Data, just returned from a second trip to the storm-tossed surface of New Oregon, were the last to sit down. Ruthe stopped pacing but remained standing.
“We have no proof the girl is still alive,” said Picard, opening the discussion with his greatest concern.
Riker was more optimistic than his captain. “We haven’t found her body.”
“Which doesn’t mean she wasn’t killed,” warned Beverly Crusher with a frown. “She was only four years old. Her body could have been completely destroyed by acid, or so badly damaged that we simply couldn’t identify the organic remains as human.”
“They wouldn’t kill a child.” Ruthe uttered this belief with conviction.
“I wish I could believe you,” said Picard. “But the Choraii slaughtered the entire community on New Oregon just as they slaughtered the miners of Hamlin. They’re proven killers; why should they scruple over one child?”
“You don’t understand,” said the translator. “The Choraii consider human adults to be untractable and dangerous. Like wild animals. And if animals are in possession of something of value, well, then it is necessary to remove them. Killing is easiest. But human children are worth saving because they can be gentled.”
Picard grimaced at the explanation. “A reprehensible attitude, but one that will work to our advantage this time. We must assume the Farmer girl has been taken aboard the Choraii ship.” He locked eyes with Andrew Deelor. “What does existing policy dictate in this situation?”
“We’ve moved beyond the realm of policy,” admitted Deelor with a shrug. “The imagination of Starfleet admirals had not extended to the possibility of another abduction, so the decision for action is ours.”
“I say we go after them,” said Riker at once. “Now, while Data can still detect the organic particles of their trail.”
Data was more cautious. “But once found, what course of action do we take? The ship that attacked New Oregon is even larger than the B Flat. How do we force them to give up the child?”
“Not force,” said Ruthe, stepping up to the table. “Persuasion.” She turned to Picard. Her voice was tight with urgency, and her hands dug deeply into the upholstered chair between them. “When we find the Choraii, I can convince them to give up the girl.”
Data continued the role of devil’s advocate. “If you do not succeed, the Enterprise could end up in a battle it cannot win. All for the sake of a child who may be lying dead in the ruins of New Oregon.”
“But what if she’s alive, Data?” asked Crusher. “I’d be haunted by the uncertainty of Emily’s fate until the issue is settled one way or the other. We have to make certain.”
“The Choraii have her!” cried Ruthe vehemently. “And she’s been with them for nearly a week now, carried off to an alien world that isn’t her home. We must go after their ship and get her back.”
“Agreed,” said Riker, hitting the tabletop with a clenched fist. “Besides, we stand a good chance of winning any fight they start. Data and Worf are still refining their countermeasures against Choraii technology.”
Picard suspected first-hand exposure to the destruction on New Oregon colored Riker’s desire for a pursuit of the attackers. That and the natural exuberance of a young officer. Both motivations had merit if they were kept in perspective. “What are your views, Ambassador?” asked Picard, curious as to why the man had not expressed an opinion yet.
Deelor had stared at Ruthe, absorbed by the intensity of her pleading, but at the captain’s prodding he shook himself out of his reverie. “I have complete confidence in Ruthe’s ability to negotiate with the Choraii. The encounter can be peaceful.”
Picard held up a hand to forestall Data’s rebuttal. “Nevertheless, the potential for violence still remains.” He lowered the hand with a gesture of finality. He had followed the debate intently, listening for any comments that would influence the decision he had reached hours before in Farmer Patrisha’s cabin. His mind remained unchanged. “Number One, instruct the bridge crew to prepare for battle configuration. The stardrive section will pursue the Choraii ship.”
“Yes, sir,” responded Riker with enthusiasm, ready to spring into action as soon as the captain declared the meeting over.
Picard observed Ruthe’s exultation at the resolution. Her smile was stiff and unpracticed, lasting only a few seconds, but her eyes shone bright and impassioned.
Chapter Seventeen
“PREPARE TO INITIATE separation sequence.”
Picard’s warning echoed through every corner of the Enterprise.
“Begin.”
With that simple word, the massive latches joining the disk-shaped command module to the engineering hull were uncoupled, sundering the structural unity of the starship. The two sections slowly eased apart while metal links retracted into their housing. Then, powered by its twin engine nacelles, the stardrive section sheared away from the saucer in a wide swinging arc and broke free from the orbit around New Oregon.
Riker followed the accelerating flight of the departing engineering section on the viewer of the main bridge. With a sigh he settled back into the captain’s chair.
“I wish I could have gone with them, too,” said Troi softly from her position next to him.
The first officer shrugged away his disappointment. “Someone had to stay with the ship . . . and the Farmers. The Choraii could always double back and endanger the saucer section.”
“But you’re more worried about the captain and the others. You want to share their danger.”
“Yes,” admitted Riker. “But if Ruthe does her job properly, they won’t be in any danger.”
Captain Picard surveyed the battle bridge from the command dais. This captain’s chair was a broad, solid throne, and he sat with back erect; a thin furrow on his brow marked his unconscious effort to adjust to altered surroundings.
The stardrive bridge echoed the layout but not the graceful design of the saucer’s command center. Utility demanded a room of reduced dimensions, with less distance between the compact duty stations. The main viewer was smaller, the ramp to the aft deck was replaced by a high step. Instrument readings were displayed across the back wall, but all other walls were smooth and featureless.
The bridge officers had moved to their accustomed positions, but few provisions had been made for passengers. Andrew Deelor no longer had a chair next to the captain; he stepped to one side and leaned against a span of bridge railing instead. Ruthe chose to sit cross-legged on the deck by his feet. Beverly Crusher had claimed a vacant seat at an auxiliary station.
“Sensors detect definite indications of the Choraii’s passage,” announced Data from the helm. “Navigation coordinates established.”
“Proceed at best warp speed, Mr. La Forge,” ordered the captain.
“Aye, sir,” answered the pilot, and set the Enterprise on a matching path to the alien ship. However, in less than an hour he was forced to slow the starship to impulse speed.
“Sensors are losing the trail,” reported Yar from the tactical console.
THE CHILDREN OF HAMLIN Page 19
