by Various
The rotund Klingon nodded and finally moved, turning to head back to the lift. "I will hold you to it, Commander."
"As will I," Desan added, cutting the signal.
Once the Klingon left the bridge, Riker settled down once more and felt a fresh ache in his shoulders.
***
The good news was there was no dampening field on the verdant planet. The bad news was nothing technological was showing up on the screen. Picard completed several full-circle turns before shutting down the tricorder and pocketing it.
There were plenty of life signs. The planet was teeming with humanoid life, birds, animals, and insects. No electronic signals were detected, no radio communications, nothing to imply anything more than primitive development. As a result, Picard was faced with the full impact of noninterference directives. He had to some-bow find the device, which failed to register in the vicinity of the gateway, and do so in a manner that prevented the culture he was to find from being altered.
He believed in the Prime Directive, absolutely. It was just coming into play at a damned inconvenient time.
Picard exhaled for a moment, clearing his mind and preparing to plot a course of action. As he inhaled, and concentrated, he detected the faint aroma of cooking meat. First, it told him there were intelligent people nearby, which was a start. Second, it provided a direction. Finally, it triggered a rumble in his stomach, reminding him that he needed to find food for himself or he would jeopardize the mission by starving to death. He set out from the cluster of trees he had been standing in, which provided comfortable shade. Like the new Iconian homeworld, this planet promised plenty of sunshine and warmth, perhaps too warm for his full uniform. He unzipped the jacket to let the cooler air caress his body.
A well-worn path from the trees indicated that people used this area. It made sense that there would be an encampment of some sort nearby. He noted that the planet must have had lighter gravity than Earth, as each step seemed to carry him farther than expected. Noting the size and shape of the trees and plants, he was proven correct, mentally filing the information away.
His trail led him to the forest's edge, which opened up to a small village. There were thatched homes, made from sturdy thin wood. Each structure seemed tall and wide, probably two stories, and they were clustered in a traditional block pattern, with all paths leading to a central square. He concluded that there was no chance of finding the Resonator without dealing with some of the planet's inhabitants, so he had to start somewhere.
And the cooking food smelled so good.
Before entering the village, Picard stopped to study the people, withdrawing the tricorder once more to take comparative readings. Like the Iconians, they were tall, thin folk. Their skin was copper-colored, darkened by the sun. Each wore what appeared to be cured animal skins for clothing and all carried walking sticks topped with ornate carvings. Around their waists were thick, wide belts that seemed to have pockets bulging with ... well, he could not tell from the distance. The men seemed to all sport shaggy beards while every woman he spotted had hair pulled back in a ponytail. The sheer uniformity of their appearance was remarkable to the captain.
The tricorder also told him one important detail: the food being cooked was safe for a human to eat.
One of the men caught a glimpse of Picard and shouted out a cry of some sort. Seven other men rushed to his side and they looked at Picard, alone and feeling naked on the path. He hoped the Universal Translator would unlock their language quickly, but of course it needed a sample to work with. Wisely, he chose to stand his ground rather than appear threatening to the men. The last thing he wanted was to be clubbed to death by a mob.
With long strides, the men hurried toward the captain, who remained in place, knowing full well that he was likely to be poked and prodded, tested before anyone let down their guard. He could smell the men before they arrived, dirty and smoky, but that made sense given their apparent lifestyle. None made threatening moves, which pleased him. As they got closer, they began spreading out, and within moments the eight men who stared with wide-eyed wonder circled Picard.
The one who'd spotted him nodded to the others and they all reached to a pocket in the rear of their belts. All removed what was remarkably a weapon of sophisticated design. Picard could see the refined metal in their hands, recognizing the pistol design despite the men holding the weapons at right angles to the proper manner. It seemed more ceremonial than anything else, but not taking chances, Picard raised his hands to shoulder height. To his surprise, the men imitated the move.
Picard next lowered his arms and once again, men imitated the move. Before he could try something else, the men once more held out the weapons at the silly angle. Picard slowly reached for his phaser and, adjusting it to imitate then- handling of the pistols, held out the phaser, turning in a slow circle so all the men could see the action. They made comprehending noises but it didn't sound like language. He thought back on his training and spoke out. His first word was "hello." They all stared at him.
After a moment, the men tried to repeat the word and failed miserably. Once again, Picard said "hello" and they tried to repeat the sound, improving on the second chance. They began to look expectantly at the captain, who was hoping they would say something to him next. Instead, the silence grew, so he tried again. Holstering the phaser, Picard pointed to himself and said his last name.
The men pointed to themselves and repeated the word. They seemed remarkably pleased with their progress.
One man, though, turned to another and said something that was clearly in a language. Picard made minute steps toward them, hoping it didn't appear as a threat. Instead, he was trying to make certain the translator picked up the words to begin processing. Another two began to whisper and before long, everyone was whispering, so all the captain heard was gibberish.
Finally, one of the men said loudly, "Hello!" The captain looked directly at him and smiled. The others took turns calling out the name and he responded to each in kind. It might not have been translating according to the manual, but they were making progress.
The circle broke and the leader gestured toward the village, shouting his name while one of the others bellowed back, "Hello!" The nine moved toward the buildings as more curious men and women filled the center, where the meat had continued to cook. Along the way, Picard tried to catch snippets of conversation back and forth and hoped the translations would start soon. Very soon.
On his way toward the center, he took time to notice the decorations on the buildings and he came to realize each home had some piece of sophisticated technology as a door hanging, more decorative than anything else. Clearly, there had been a superior civilization on this planet, but something had happened, and, darkly, he fretted over the Iconians' role in the planet's past.
Children stood before their parents and looked in amazement at Picard, who was shorter and stockier than these people. Some gestured to one another and patted their heads, clearly remarking on his bald scalp compared with their thick manes. The men and women commingled, sharing comments and unashamedly staring at the newcomer.
"... smarhsgehb . .. funny-looking ..."
Finally, the translator began working and he smirked at the timing involved. People looked up in amazement as they heard the electronic device at work.
"Greetings," the captain said, a smile on his face. He tried to look as friendly as possible. "I am Picard and I have come from a long way away."
The man he presumed to be the village leader came toward him, a huge grin on his face. "Picard! We welcome you!"
"It has taken me a little time to learn your language, but I am now able to speak with you all," the captain explained.
"Excellent. I am Hamish, elder of the village."
"I have come from far away seeking a special item. A very old item."
Hamish, definitely among the older ones in the village as witnessed by the almost white hair, looked thoughtful. He reached once more behind his back and withdrew
the weapon. "Something like this perhaps?"
Picard shook his head. "No, Hamish. I cannot tell you what it is, but I do know it is a singular item while it seems all your men have that."
He shook his head and laughed, a deep-throated laugh, which was pleasing to the ear. "No worry, Picard. We all have these because they were given to us by our fathers. It is our symbol of welcome and while yours is different, it clearly is similar. I see yours looks newer and cleaner. We have lost count of the generations these have remained in the village."
"Why do you seek this object?" asked a woman from his right side.
"I have many people in trouble at home, and ones wiser than I tell me it will help." Not at all a lie and boiled down enough to be clear to these pleasant folk.
"Wiser than you?" This from a young girl, behind Hamish.
"My daughter Hemma," he said by way of introduction.
"Yes, Hemma," Picard replied. "I knew no other way to help my people than to ask for the help of those who built the item I seek. It is the way of my people, to ask for help when we must. We in turn offer help to those who ask."
"Picard, are you from the west?"
The captain stared at the old man. Truthfully, his path led west, but he was not of the west and he couldn't begin to imagine what the question implied. His answer could turn them against him if his words were chosen poorly.
"My travels have taken me in all directions," he answered a moment later.
Hamish laughed once more and stepped closer to Picard, who noticed the stench of dried sweat. "As I expected. Young Gods on their ordeal must have traveled the world to gain their granita." Picard couldn't even begin to imagine what a granita implied but being called a young god set off internal warning bells. He'd been mistaken for a god once before by a low-tech culture, and it was not an experience he was eager to relive - for his sake, or for the sake of these good people.
Several other old men approached Hamish and they clustered, whispering back and forth. Picard took the opportunity to study more of the village and its inhabitants. Everyone seemed healthy, well fed, and protected. However they developed, he knew his presence must not change that status quo. He seemed not to frighten the children, which pleased him. While he might be uncomfortable around them, he never wanted to chase them away. Many stayed close to adults, family members most likely, and just studied him, as he studied them. A few smiled, while most kept their opinions to themselves.
"Picard," Hamish called, regaining the captain's attention. "If you seek things closer to our ceremonial welcome tools, then we think you must travel to the City. It is but three days' walk from here, and must be part of your path. It is filled with many unknown things and it may hold your heart's desire."
Poetic, he mused, but accurate. There was nothing he wanted more than to find the Resonator and return to the Enterprise. He sniffed and then realized there was one more thing he desired: dinner.
"Very well," he said. "I shall start at sunrise if you would be so kind as to provide me with directions."
Hamish smiled and began walking toward the fire. The other men followed and slowly the other members of the village began to head for the center. Most talked and laughed among themselves, and Picard seemed uncertain of what he might have missed.
"Come, Picard," he called as he stopped before the huge pit, where some animal roasted on a spit. "Even gods must eat, eh? You'll eat and sleep and eat once more, then begin the final part of your journey."
With that, the elder turned to the fire, grabbed a long metallic item, and poked roughly at the meat. It hissed as juices dribbled from the scored carcass into the flames. Children had gathered up plates that seemed formed from day. along with short, wide cups. They walked past the fire and to long tables, setting places as they passed. A few sang a song he was too far away to translate but he found the melody pleasing.
Three men hefted the meat off the fire and carried it to a small hut, where the meat was swiftly carved and placed on a large earthen slab, the color of rust. They, too, joked among themselves, ignoring Picard, who just watched.
Finally, a girl left her mother's side and walked over to the captain and looked up at him. He estimated her age to be five or six, but she was already tall compared with human children. Her hair was past her shoulders but nowhere near as long as the mature women in the group. Unlike the women, her belt was not stuffed with tools but with a round plastic item and some bright stones. With a hand gesture, she indicated he was to follow her and happily he did. There was no awe in her, as if young gods visited the villages regularly. He wouldn't ask her, not before they ate, and he wasn't sure if he should. This might be one of those times ignorance was bliss and there was less likelihood of crossing the Prime Directive.
She led him to the smallest of the tables, where the older women already sat. He was placed between two whose hair had long since stopped shining in the sun but showed age. They seemed pleased to have him with them, so he smiled and nodded to them all.
"Picard is it?" the woman to his right asked.
"Yes," he answered.
"From the west are you?"
"And other places."
"Been to the depths? To the stars?" She laughed at her joke, seemingly not to believe he was anything more than a funny-looking native. The other women laughed at the jest and he took it in stride.
Finally, adolescents brought platters of meat and broth to each table. They remained to serve those seated and then took their own places. Picard noticed that none began eating. All looking toward Hamish to speak.
"Our food gives us life, your sun gives us warmth. For this we are thankful. And we thank you, too, for sending one of your children among us. We will be a better people for his presence."
Everyone bowed low, their heads carefully touching the rims of their plates, so Picard imitated the gesture. Within seconds, the sounds of eating, drinking, and laughter filled the air. They seemed a happy, stable people, one the captain would have found fascinating to study, but while they laughed, more people, closer to home, suffered.
The meat was soft and tender, and was well marinated in some sweet native spices. Picard ate his fill and drank the local wine, which struck him as flat and without much bouquet. He was impressed by their overall politeness as no one, not even the children, pestered him with questions. Instead, he heard hunting stories, local gossip, and gained an impression that between here and the City there were farms and smaller enclaves of people. He was pleased that the path sounded clear so he could try and cut the march from three days to two. At least, he mused as he finished his drink, the Iconians sent him to the right continent.
After the meal, those who served went from table to table and collected the remains. Picard nodded in approval to see how neat and orderly they were, not letting much go to waste. Women and men gathered their children and started herding them back to the huts for bedtime. The older ones went toward the fire and sat there in companionable silence, enjoying the warmth. One took out an item from her belt and began fiddling with it while another reworked a piece of wood with a stone carving knife. Hamish waved Picard over and he was more than happy to join the group.
"What have you seen, on your travels?" an old man asked. He barely had any hair left and his scalp was sunburnt a deep red.
"Much the same as you, I would imagine," Picard said in a friendly tone. "I have traveled on the seas and watched great storms. I have walked in the woods and across a desert, seeing the remains. I have slept at night under the same stars as you, and have dreamed what might be out there." All true, he reminded himself.
"Are there many like you?" the woman who fiddled with a metal item asked.
"Here? No, I don't think so."
He stared at the item in her vein-popped hands, as she turned it over and over again. Something about it seemed familiar and, instinctively, he knew it was out of context. Letting his mind drift a bit, he pictured it in his head.
"That is a tool, is it not?"
"I don't know," she said seriously. "I've had it four or five seasons now - found it while doing the summer planting."
"May I?" The woman handed over the item without hesitation, clearly curious to see what the newcomer might do with it.
It was denser and heavier metal than Picard imagined. The item was smooth to the touch, oblong with an indented opening at one end. He saw a small seam and recognized it could be twisted and he gave it a tug. At first, it resisted his touch and then it began to move. He unscrewed the item into two distinct pieces and saw that within one end was an apparatus that could fold out. Slowly, he brought it into the light and studied its composition.
"I believe this is a garden tool," Picard proclaimed. "Once opened, you pull out this part and it helps dig deep holes for the seeds. Capped together, it can be a digging implement as well." It was not too dissimilar from tools he knew were of Iconian-derived manufacture on Iccobar, and, of everyone involved in this mission, he might have been the only one to recognize it.
