La Forge hesitated, then shook his head. "There's no room. Commander Riker was flying a full shuttle on the way out; we need to make sure there's room for everyone on the way back, if we're right about the Rahjah going down."
"Mr. La Forge," Picard said, and then he, too, hesitated. He knew the answer to his question .. . but he had to ask anyway. "Those fields... is there anything the Enterprise can penetrate with her scans? Any way in which we can help?"
"Captain, those fields are meant to keep orbiting ships from doing just that," La Forge said ruefully. He shifted; his next words were chosen with obvious care. "There is something the Enterprise can do, though. Captain, before I left, I spoke to Commander Riker about a project I'd requested. He said he'd discuss it with you. I was wondering if you'd made a decision about implementing it."
The charting project. "I had not," Picard said. The project would offend the Tsorans beyond measure, and probably destroy any chance of pleasant discourse between the Tsorans and the Federation for years to come.
If they found out about it.
"I'm still considering it," he said, after a moment. "The factors are complicated."
"I understand." La Forge stepped back from the viewscreen, distracted by something out of sight. "They've got a scooter pod ready for me to tear down, Captain. Unless you have any other questions, I'd like to get right to work on this."
Picard glanced at Atann and Tehra. "Have you any final questions?"
"No," Atann said. "But we know no more than we knew before."
That was something to get into later--not with which to delay La Forge. "Let me know when you have the Collins ready to go," he said by way of dismissal, and cut the connection at La Forge's already distracted nod. Troi, although she remained standing, moved back from the desk slightly so as not to unduly intrude on the conversation. "ReynKa, ReynSa," he said. "I realize that you must be preoccupied by the events on Fandre, but I would like to at least open discussions about the charted territory."
"Yes," said Atann, but both Tsorans were out of their chairs. "We will be in touch, Captain."
And they left. With no more fuss or explanation than that, they left.
Picard glanced at Troi, who lifted both shoulders in a mild and eloquent shrug. "They weren't easy to read," she said. "Distressed by the potential situation on Fandre, but not entirely convinced there is a situation on Fandre. My guess is that they simply couldn't switch gears quickly enough to discuss the charts. They'd already gone from hosting an historical reception to hearing that their son may have crashed in an isolated area filled with that world's fiercest predators." Another shrug. "Give them some time, Captain. It seems to be important to them."
Time. Time was one thing of which he had too little. The desperate Ntignanos, trying to flee their planet, could not afford to wait on intransigent Tsorans, or even to afford the distraction of the Enterprise captain. The Ntignanos needed help now.
Maybe it was time to think about La Forge's request for probe-assisted, high-speed charting.
Chapter Six
Riker peered out the front viewport, glad to see that the Legacy inhabitants didn't seem to have recovered from the crash; there was no sign of movement in the dark green foliage surrounding the shuttle.
Which didn't mean there wasn't danger. As far as Riker could tell, the place was learning with carnivorous life just waiting for juicy, defenseless humanoid morsels to expose themselves. He could well understand how a hunter could take six men to watch his back and still gain prestige from the kaphoora. From what he'd seen at the museum, even the Fandrean rangers avoided exposure --for as much time as they spent within the preserve, most of it was in the air. or behind the scooter pod shields ... making observations, charting changes, and collecting data for Legacy management. Only occasionally did they venture into the jungle on foot, and any adjustments to the preserve--culling a species that was
beginning to unbalance the managed ecosystem, seeding more prey species, thinning the forest to allow for the growth of certain plants to feed the prey species-were carefully planned, always involving just as many rangers on watch as those who did the actual work.
And now Akarr wanted to go out there with only two guards. Well, plus two wounded guards, one addled guard... and Riker. Three days of walking, by Riker's calculation, to get them back to the force field portal. Four, perhaps, if Akarr insisted on hunting along the way.
On second thought, that probably wouldn't slow them down. No doubt the hunted would assume the role of the hunter, closing in on them often enough for Akarr to gather all the trophies he wanted.
Think of the Ntignanos, Riker told himself. He was doing this for the Ntignanos, in the hope that Akarr's father would then negotiate use of the charted space. A bribe, they might have called it, in another day. Maybe that was still the best term for it in this one. Just trying to get your attention, Atann, so we can save an entire sentient species. Staring out into the dimly lit forest-no light to speak of came down through these thick trees, although the shields were calibrated to let sunlight through despite their opacity from the other side--Riker grinned wryly to himself and shook his head. It would get Atann's attention, all right, when he learned his son had gone down in the Legacy.
If any part of that transmission had made it out past the force field ... If Geordi had then noticed the nonsensical burst of noise... if Atann learned his son had gone down in the Legacy.
"Riker!"
Somewhere along the way, Akarr had ceased to use
Riker's rank. Riker had no qualms about returning the favor. He straightened, stretched a bruised kink in his back, and responded to the overloud hail in a more moderate voice that knew it only had to go from one end of the shuttle to the other. "Akarr."
"We are done here." Patching, bandaging, wrapping licking their wounds. "It is time to go outside and honor Pavar."
Riker moved to the center of the twisted shuttle to take in the triage area in the back. Rakal and Takan had done most of the initial sorting, tossing aside those goods damaged beyond reason and keeping close tally of those things that could yet serve them well. Riker had been right in there with them to start, working with the wounded. Suture glue and a protective patch took care of Gavare's head wound, but the blow he'd taken had left him dazed, wandering in thought and likely to wander in body. After Regen's broken arm had been set, Akarr assigned him to stay by Gavare's side, for Gavare had taken to heading for the shuttle door at every befuddled opportunity.
Not that he was likely to get it open, not when it required a manual release and manipulation, and not in his condition. But no point in taking chances; there was plenty of reason for Gavare to want out, what with the blood of his fellow guard drying to deepest violet along the shuttlecraft walls.
Ketan remained the most miserable of them. Whatever injury he had taken to his shoulder and upper arm, it was not obvious. In a human, Riker would have called the joint dislocated, but none of the Tsorans seemed to recognize what he was talking about; either the Universal Translator was glitching again or their anatomy differed too significantly for the analogy. The best they could do was bind the arm tightly to Ketan's body. They
dared not use the painkillers--who knew how the human medicines would affect the Tsoran's system-and the minimal Tsoran med kit did not include them. Whatever the kaphoora generally presented in terms of challenge, the Tsorans clearly had not expected significant injuries.
Or else they knew better--one either avoided close encounters, or one died ... that, too, would alleviate the need for medical care.
Akarr had not gone unscathed in the crash--his nose was swollen and still leaking blood. But he made no complaint--only stood impatiently by the door, waiting for Riker to tackle the manual release.
With no little effort, Riker did just that. The door did not open easily--definitely stressed by the landing--but eventually it cranked open far enough that Rakal and Takan could carry Pavar's body, sheeted by the rich maroon fabric from several denud
ed seats, out in search of a place to bury it.
Fresh air flooded the shuttle--or what passed for fresh air on Legacy. Hot and humid--thickly humid--it was ripe with humus, the odors of rich foliage and exotic flowers, even a strange musk. A large, bold insect flew in, bounced stupidly off the back wall, and came to rest, unfazed, on the dead navigation console. The first of many, no doubt. Riker left it there and stepped out of the shuttle onto a ground spongy with thick mosses and fallen leaves. Big ones--for the brush here at ground level consisted of huge leaves to catch the heavily filtered light, some of them rubbery, all of them gleaming with dampness that spoke of recent rain. Daily thunderstorms, Riker recalled suddenly, and unimpeded by the forcefields in any way.
In the humid air, he smelled again the blood on his lip, and that which had trickled into his beard; he swiped
a hand across the damp foliage and scrubbed it across his face several times. "You might want to do the same," he told Akarr, who was gazing about himself as if he'd just entered the largest of cathedrals.
"Blood is honorably worn," Akarr told him, barely taking his attention from the preserve. He crouched and ran his claws through the ground matter down to the dirt, and stood even as he contemplated the substance on his fingertips, rolling it between fingers and thumbs. "Ah," he said. "Deep-jungle scent--the promise of rich hunting. There is no other smell like this."
"There's blood," Riker suggested. "Which, if you don't wash it off, will make you all the more tempting to any number of the creatures who live here."
"I'm not concerned about that. I want them to come to me."
"Then think about Gavare--right now, he probably doesn't even know where he is, or the danger he's in. Even if we wash him off"--no small effort, the way that head wound had bled----"he'll still be with you, and you "II still be drawing them in."
"ReynTa," Rakal said, steadfastly looking away from Akarr and tilting his head to expose the side of his throat, "maybe you should pick and choose your own time for the hunt, and maintain control over it--not bring it here where our honorably wounded have no ability to protect themselves," Maintain control over it. There was no controlling this place, or anything in it. But Riker stayed silent, suspecting that any single thing he could say at this point would cause trouble--especially given the glare that Akarr had tossed his way as Rakal spoke.
"It is true that a leader must protect his men," Takan said, in the most offhand of manners, also looking away
from Akarr. He, like Rakal, looked some years older than Akarr, and seemed to have a relationship of long standing with the ReynTa.
Akarr stared hard at them both, examining their postures, mulling their words. Finally he said, "Then you two may see to cleaning up Gavare. When you're done, scout for a place for Pavar."
The two guards briefly tilted their heads aside, and then set about then- task with alacrity that poor addled Gavare couldn't understand or appreciate.
Rather than take any part of a chance that Akarr would interpret his watching as gloating, Riker set off to walk around the shuttle, wincing at the damage-who would have thought that duranium would twist and bend like that--and more grateful than ever that his aches and pains were only that. They were lucky to have lost only one.
But that didn't mean the others were capable of walking out through this. The ground foliage grabbed at his ankles, and hidden roots snagged his toes. Within a short distance, the damp leaves had soaked his pants from the knees down; he squinted up at the all-enveloping treetop canopy and considered the strength of the rain that could get past it. An image of the steaming, heavily puddled landing pad outside the museum hangar came to mind. At this rate of going, even if they traveled right through whatever rain fell, it would take days longer than his original estimate to walk out of here. Even as he thought it, Riker stumbled, grabbing a vine to keep himself from going down--and then jerked to a stop when he couldn't unwrap his hand. With a concerted effort and the ticky-tacky noises of something coming unglued, he pulled his fingers away from the vine. A
closer look showed it coated with sap--already fresh liquid oozed to fill the gap he'd created--and covered thickly with insects.
Not your basic Alaskan taiga. Remember that.
The shuttle's flight path left a scar of loamy brown against the green undergrowth--a darker green than seemed natural to Riker's eyes. He followed it a short distance. Easy going, this, and directional as well. If he couldn't talk Akarr out of walking out, this was the place to start. And ahh ... he remembered this bounce, the biggest during their final plunging descent. He stood at the edge of a particularly deep gouge, well through the thin soil and into light, chunky clay-and rock layers, and contemplated their almost-fate... how if he'd come in at a slightly steeper angle ... None of them would have survived that one.
Something flittered above him; of the creatures they'd scared off, apparently some were bolder in returning than others. The silent jungle had begun to rustle and chirp again. Riker felt the weight of the knife at his calf, and wished for the weight of a phaser in his hand. Time to return for the bat'leth.
He met Takan and Rakal at the back of the shuttle; already they panted slightly in the heat, their short, cupped ears blushing a bruised color and fanning thin to distribute heat. "Be careful," he said. "Whatever we scared off is coming back."
"It was expected," Rakal said. In Akarr's presence he had taken no special note of Riker; now he raked him up and down with a dark and scornful gaze. Riker had not paid much attention before, but he suddenly recognized the cinnamon cast to Rakal's coat, the pattern of his vest... this was the Tsoran who'd scuffled with Dougherty on the shuttle. Wonderful. Of the two uninjured guards, one of them bore Riker a grudge simply for being embarrassed in his presence.
"We've gone beyond expected." Riker looked into the trees as something let loose a raucous cry. "We're running headlong into now."
Takan lifted his weapon--a short-barreled, extremely short range dart-propulsion gun. "We are prepared to deal with them. If you are not, then you should return to the shuttle."
I'm about to get prepared to deal with them. But of course he didn't say it. He returned the Tsoran's stare and said, "No, Guinan, you win. It doesn't get any easier." That baffled them completely, which was almost as good as shedding his good-guy Federation Officer face and taking these Tsorans down a peg or two. Never mind that those teeth jutted out for slashing in a fight, just like a boar's. And never mind that they had stout, sharp claws on all four fingers and both thumbs of each hand.
Stop it. Survival, that was the goal here. And to do it in such a manner that the Tsorans weren't alienated beyond allowing the Ntignano evacuation to traverse the edges of their space. So, trying to take the belligerence out of his posture, he added, "Looks like a good spot to bury Pavar back there, if that's what you want to do with him. We dug it out on the way in."
They didn't reply. But they did start down the crash path. Riker returned to the shuttle door the way he'd left, and tried not to smile at the sight of Tsoran fur running the length of the sticky vine.
Akarr sat at the shuttle entrance, sitting on the ground and shoving darts into the chamber of his own tranquilizer gun. Gavare, damply clean, seemed to have ceased wandering, but Regen kept a close eye on him anyway. Ketan simply sat at the side of the shuttle looking miser
able. Akarr looked up at Riker, closing the chamber on his little weapon by feel. Like the other Tsorans, he also had a knife at his side, and unlike the other two, he wore a highly decorated, ceremonial trophy knife jammed slantwise in the front of his vest. "No other Tsoran has hunted so deeply in the preserve."
"You're not hunting yet," Riker said.
"Soon." Akarr seated the gun into the holster in front of his knife. Far overhead, something screeched; Riker couldn't tell if it was in warning or dismay. "Takan, Rakal, and I have assessed our status. We have food enough. We have tranquilizer guns for all who are uninjured plus one; the others were damaged. You, of course, were planning to stay i
n the shuttle, so I doubt you have any weapons of note--"
"Don't worry about me," Riker said. "I've got what I need."
"As soon as Pavar is honored, we will begin our journey to the portal."
Riker shook his head. "We're better off staying here. We don't have to worry about how much food we can carry, and we'll have shelter at night." Behind him, Rakal and Takan quietly returned; Riker glanced back to see that they'd hunkered down in the flattened foliage, and were listening with great interest. "I got a signal off; Geordi will make sure we get help."
Akarr made a face. "Your Lieutenant Commander La Forge wouldn't even be on Fandre if it were possible to communicate through the force field
"I didn't say I'd communicated. I said I got a signal off." He hoped. "Geordi will know it's from me. They'll send someone in after us."
Akarr stared at him a moment, in astonishment rather than his usual challenge. "What makes you think we
want to be rescued at all, never mind by your Federation? We will rescue ourselves."
Star Trek - TNG - 60 - Tooth and Claw Page 8
