THE CHILDREN OF HAMLIN

by Carmen Carter

  Silence blanketed the bridge. “Ambassador, what do they mean by ‘the lost one’?”

  “I suspected this earlier. There are only a few ships in the local cluster that are large enough to land on a planet, but I thought sure Ruthe would tell me . . . ” He trailed off distractedly.

  “Tell you what?” demanded Picard.

  “The D Major is Ruthe’s homeship. She was born and raised there.” Deelor raked his fingers through his hair, leaving a wake of angry spikes on the top of his head. “She must have known as soon as she heard their song, but she didn’t tell me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I would never have let her beam over.” Deelor waved urgently to Worf and raised his voice to resume his exchange with the Choraii. “We’ll give you any metal you want. Just let Ruthe return here.”

  “No, Wild One. This is her home. She agreed to stay if we gave you the young one in her place.”

  Rising from the captain’s chair, Picard brought his deeper voice to the ambassador’s service. “We will not accept her sacrifice.”

  “But it’s not a sacrifice, Captain.” Ruthe’s words quavered and echoed, distorted by the liquid that filled her lungs. “I’m here of my own free will.”

  “No, I don’t believe you!” cried out Deelor. “You’ve struck a bargain for the girl and this is the price.”

  “A small price.” Her laugh rippled through the waters.

  “An unacceptable price,” countered Picard angrily. “The Choraii have brought death to so many people without thought, without remorse. How can we abandon you to live with them?”

  “But I can stop the killings. I will sing them your songs! Songs of Mozart, and Beethoven, and all the others! I will show the Choraii that even beasts can make music. Once they recognize your worth, they will learn to ask for what they need.”

  “This action is too drastic, too final. There are other ways to—”

  “You still don’t understand. I have always wanted to return here, to my real home. I’ve betrayed many of my kind in the search for this ship, but only the children, because they are young, and can forget. I was too old to forget and too young to die for the memories.”

  “Is she telling the truth?” demanded Picard of the man standing frozen beside him. “Can this be what she really wants?”

  “Yes,” whispered Deelor hoarsely. “Damn her, yes.”

  Ruthe’s voice sang out again, more insistent than before. “Let us go, Wild Ones. We have many songs to sing.”

  “Lieutenant Worf,” said Picard in a low voice. “Let them go.”

  The Klingon quickly obeyed, releasing the D Major from the tractor beam hold. The bright lights and chattering sounds of the battle bridge, muted by a lack of power, sprang back to full intensity.

  “They’re not leaving,” observed La Forge of the alien craft. He lowered his hands closer to the helm controls.

  A deep humming sound reverberated from the communications link with the D Major. Resonant Choraii voices swelled into a dirgelike song, flooding the bridge with their music. One high soprano echoed the somber melody.

  The oppressive sound raised a prickle of apprehension in the captain. “What’s happening?”

  Deelor didn’t answer. Instead, Data turned from the helm. “I believe that is their way of saying good-bye.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  NEW OREGON’s SOIL was still sodden from the long rains, but the standing water had finally drained away from higher ground. The smell of rotting vegetation remained, masking the sweeter scent of new growth. Scattered patches of bright green promised a return of grasses and shrubs; they would grow faster than before, feeding on the decay of the first generation. The violent winds that had racked the surface were now reduced to gentle breezes, and overhead a midsummer sun shone through clear skies of azure blue.

  While starship technicians had labored to restore the planet’s weather controls, the Farmers had put their steel shovels to work, but not for planting seeds of grain. A dozen graves scarred their new land.

  On the morning of her seventh day on this world, Patrisha carried a sprig of greenery to Krn’s gravesite; when the flowers bloomed, she would bring a bouquet. The ritual was an old one, stretching back to the beginnings of their community, and a familiar one to the woman who had spent her own childhood visiting her mother’s grave. Perhaps, as grass spread over this pile of fresh brown dirt, her sharp pain would fade and she would come here out of habit rather than aching need.

  Patrisha looked up at the sound of heavy footsteps. Her cousin’s boots were caked with mud, his hands red and swollen from unaccustomed labor, yet Tomas had recovered a measure of his dignity in the last week. Although he was still an aggravating man, he was also a Farmer. He belonged here.

  “I was looking for Dnnys, but I hear he’s gone up there.” Tomas pointed an accusing finger straight up into the sky. “By transporter!”

  “Blame me if you must blame someone. I gave him permission to go.” The leaves of the twig on Krn’s grave were already wilting in the heat. “He’s saying good-bye to his friend.”

  “The boy was too long aboard that ship,” pronounced Tomas, although with more resignation than spleen. “Take my word for it, he won’t abide by our creed anymore. Soon he’ll dream of leaving the community.”

  “I won’t ask him to stay,” Patrisha replied quietly.

  She had lost her own faith many years ago, but not soon enough to forge a life elsewhere. Her place was here on New Oregon, with Krn’s daughter, because there was nowhere else to go.

  The last meeting between Wesley and Dnnys was uncomfortable for many reasons.

  Dnnys had never experienced a molecular transport before, and though he had always scoffed at Farmer stories of bodies mangled by equipment malfunctions, he was overcome by a last-minute terror when the beaming lock took hold of him. The boy materialized on the transporter platform with a pale face and trembling legs, certain that both Wesley and the console operator could see his cowardice.

  For his own part, Wesley felt an unreasoning guilt for the good fortune of living aboard a starship. He had tried to share this advantage, but when he observed the sour expression on his friend’s face, the ensign wondered if the Farmer wouldn’t have been happier knowing less about the life he was missing.

  After an awkward silence, Dnnys stepped down from the dais. He carried several books in his arms. “I won’t be needing these anymore,” he said gruffly, and thrust the engineering texts into Wesley’s hands. He scowled to cover the welling of tears in his eyes, then made an effort to explain his actions. “All my life, I’ve been without an uncle. I can’t leave Emily without one, too.”

  “I figured you’d decide to stay,” said Wesley, untroubled by the return of his gift. He stepped over to a table by the operating console and exchanged the Farmer’s books for another set which he had prepared. “So I brought along these.”

  Dnnys accepted the new books. “What are they?” he asked, though without real interest. There seemed little point in reading anything Wesley could provide; a Farmer’s life would leave him little time for dreaming.

  “The technical specs on the terraforming station.” Wesley was pleased to see his friend look down with sudden astonishment at the books he held. “A replacement crew is already on the way to rebuild the control center, but terraform engineers are in short supply, so the station will probably be understaffed.”

  “And anyone who can help . . . ” started Dnnys with the beginnings of a smile.

  “ . . . will be very welcome,” finished Wesley with an answering grin.

  No more time remained for them to talk. “We’re about to break orbit,” announced the transporter operator. “You’ll have to go now.”

  Dnnys stepped back onto the dais, books clutched tightly to his chest. As the whine of the transporter rose in pitch, he thought of one last pressing question. “How long does the finishing stage of terraforming last?”

  “A lifetime,” called
out Wesley. And his friend was gone.

  Ships of the sea sailed out of harbor with the tides, but the Enterprise was free to leave New Oregon at a time of the captain’s choosing. Picard chose to leave when the lights of the ship’s interior were dimmed to the level of a setting sun.

  “Engage,” he ordered, leaning back against the cushioned contours of his command chair. Given the lateness of the hour, some captains might have delegated this duty to their first officer, but no departure was routine for Picard, and he was always present when his starship left planetary orbit. He would remain on the bridge for a few more minutes, savoring the promise of adventure which lay hidden in each new beginning.

  The captain listened without comment as Counselor Troi engaged in mild banter with Will Riker. The barbs flew back and forth from either side of the command center.

  “A conference is not a recreational event,” said Troi. “The gathering serves an important professional purpose.”

  “Right, like finding out how many psychologists can fit in a transporter booth?” shot back Riker.

  His derisive comment raised a muffled laugh from Tasha, listening from her perch on the aft deck. “Deanna, I watched you pack for the trip and some of the clothes you chose . . . ”

  “Tasha, hush,” said Troi sharply.

  Picard exchanged smiles with his first officer, but was careful to keep his back to the counselor. Unfortunately, she could probably sense his amusement.

  “If you will excuse me, Captain,” Troi said with studied politeness. “I have some more preparations to make for my journey.”

  Riker’s grin faded slightly when the counselor rose to leave. “Deanna, I was only joking.”

  She turned back, and Picard wondered what impending mischief was hidden in her innocent smile.

  “If I remember correctly, you have first-hand experience in determining how many first officers can fit in a shuttlecraft.” Troi sailed off the bridge now that the crew’s attention was riveted on Riker.

  Picard could not resist an attack of his own. He raised an inquiring eyebrow and watched his first officer squirm.

  “It was an experiment in emergency evacuation procedures,” said Riker. He managed to keep a straight face during this explanation, but his ears were turning bright red. “And the answer is twelve.”

  Data swiveled his ops console to face the commander. “If the object of the exercise was to determine maximum passenger density, then even the smallest shuttlecraft model can accommodate more than twelve people.”

  “Yes, but at the time we could find only twelve first officers who had shoreleave on Mardi Gras. So we had to make up the difference with some of the locals.”

  “You were on Mardi Gras?” Picard reflected on his own shore-leave experiences on that particular planet. “Are you sure Data is old enough to hear the rest of this tale?”

  “Sir?” The android looked somewhat confused by the captain’s comment. Geordi’s laughter only added to his puzzlement.

  Riker grinned broadly. “Well, he has expressed curiosity about human interpersonal relationships, Captain. How else is he going to learn?”

  “Then by all means continue, Number One,” said Picard. “And that’s an order.”

  As chief medical officer, Crusher was responsible for the staffing of her sickbay. She prided herself on having assembled an ensemble of first-rate medical personnel for the Enterprise. Assignment to the new starship was already considered a prize, one much sought after by Starfleet doctors and nurses, so turnover in her department was exceptionally low. Nevertheless, the nervous intern who stood before Dr. Crusher’s desk was requesting a transfer.

  “How did you learn about the other children?” demanded Crusher. Her voice was sharp with disappointment; Lisa Iovino’s departure would be a genuine loss to sickbay. “Never mind, it doesn’t really matter.”

  “Can I join them?” persisted Iovino, not at all sure where she was asking to be sent. All that mattered was that the children were there.

  “Yes,” sighed Crusher, She admitted to herself that the Hamlin children had a greater need of the intern’s talents than did the starship crew. “I’m sure I can arrange your transfer to the proper facility.” Ambassador Deelor owed her that much. “And the authorities at Starbase Ten will fill you in on your eventual destination.”

  “Thank you, Dr. Crusher,” said Iovino, looking a little dazed at the speed with which her life was changing from its prescribed course. “I never planned on working with children professionally, but these kids—”

  “Lisa!” The howl from the medical ward was quickly followed by an ominous crash. “Lisa?”

  “He’s supposed to be asleep,” said the intern, racing for the door. “I bribed him into walking, but now he’s starting to climb.”

  Still smiling over the destructive antics of the rambunctious Moses, Dr. Crusher left sickbay for a long-overdue field trip. Her own child, no longer a boy so much as a young man, met her at the entrance to the holodeck. Beyond the gates, she glimpsed a sunset sky streaked with magenta and blue. Enough light remained for a stroll over the rolling hills.

  “It was even better when the animals were here,” said Wesley as he and his mother approached the first run of fences. The farm seemed eerily quiet, as if a sorcerer had cast a sleep spell over the land.

  Beverly drew in a deep breath of the honeyed air. Old memories, overlaid by her life with Jack and a career in Starfleet, stirred to life. “Oh, I can imagine what it was like. After all, I was born on an agricultural colony.”

  Her son unlatched a wooden gate and they passed through. He took the time to close it, even though no lambs would get loose now. Standing in the empty main yard, Wesley pointed out the pens for pigs and the hutches that had held the rabbits. The dripping of a leaky water pump echoed loudly when he stopped talking. Absently rubbing a callus on his hand grown from drawing water for the horses, Wesley tried to make sense of his labors. “I still don’t see why they’ve chosen to live this way. The whole point of technology is to save people from so much hard work, to give them time to do other things.”

  “Yes, I suppose,” said Crusher. “But I can understand the Farmers’ reluctance to use complicated machinery. The people of my homeworld would have suffered far less if they hadn’t been so dependent on technology.” The devastation on Arvedda III had occurred before her own birth, but Crusher’s grandmother had passed on the memory of those harsh years. “When essential equipment broke down, they were helpless. The survivors were forced to relearn the old ways on their own, without teachers.”

  “I hadn’t thought about that,” said Wesley.

  They rambled on in companionable silence until their circuit of the room brought them back to the gates. With one last look at the darkened fields, Wesley shut off the program.

  Picard crossed the threshold of the observation lounge, then stopped short when he saw a shadowed figure standing by the windows. He traced the outlines of the silhouette. “You’re up late, Dr. Crusher. Another call from Tsala’s firstborn?”

  “No, I’m just brooding,” the woman replied, but she smiled at Picard when he walked up beside her. “Careful, my mood may be contagious.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “I was thinking about Ruthe,” said Crusher. “She’s lived with humans for the last fifteen years. Jean-Luc, what if she’s changed too much for a return to life with the Choraii?”

  Picard felt the muscles of his neck and shoulders The Children of Hamlin tighten under the heavy weight of her question. “Then she will have no place left to go.” The sadness of that knowledge overwhelmed him for a moment before he shook his head. “No, that’s not true. She will have to learn to live in both worlds.”

  The doctor carried the thought even further than he had intended. “That’s what we’ve done here aboard the Enterprise. We’ve left our homes and chosen to become wanderers, just like the Choraii.”

  “We’re a trifle less bloodthirsty,” said Picard dryly.
<
br />   “But I grant the similarity.” And the comparison helped to still the last of his doubts at having left Ruthe behind. “Have you finished brooding, Beverly?”

  “Yes, I have.”

  “Good,” Picard said. “Then you’ll appreciate hearing about one of our first officer’s adventures.” The story would make its way through the entire population of the starship by the end of the next day, and the captain wanted the chance to tell it at least once.

  Andrew Deelor hadn’t slept, but he waited until the arrival of morning before throwing off the cover from his body and rising from the bed. He wasn’t hungry but he would go in search of food rather than remain here any longer. Gathering up the crumpled cloak that had served as his blanket, he headed toward the cabin door.

  As he walked the length of the passenger suite, Deelor realized Ruthe had made no imprint on the interior. Her only possessions had been the cloak and her flute, and she had dropped both to the floor of the transporter chamber. He had given the flute to the young Farmer girl. Children taken from Choraii ships developed into exceptional musicians; perhaps her brief time with them would have an effect. Now all that was left of Ruthe was the worn garment he held in his hands. A faint trace of cinnamon still clung to the fibers.

  Deelor stuffed the gray cloth into a disposal chute and left the cabin empty-handed. He traveled light and the weight of her cloak was more than he could bear.

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