Tooth and Claw

by Doranna Durgin

  Well, Worf ignored him.

  “It sounds like you all plan to do nothing!” Harder than ever to understand with his lips rigidly withdrawn, Kugen worked up a good bit of foamed spittle to go along with his exposed teeth. “You’ve talked yourselves into impotency! Do you really value his life so little? Do you value your own associations with my people so little? If you think we’re interested in trading with a society of such pitiful regard, prepare yourselves to learn otherwise!”

  “Hey, now, hold on there,” La Forge said, impressed if not immediately alarmed. “We’re not out of options yet. And we don’t abandon our people when they’re in trouble. Just because it’s not easy doesn’t mean we can’t do it.”

  “You see, this is why we wanted a Federation engineer here for our forcefield problem,” Yenan said. “We’ve heard that you’re like sculper on the trail of problems such as these.”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” La Forge said, while Kugen, his display ignored, slowly subsided—into, as far as La Forge could tell, intense embarrassment. No one had run screaming, after all.

  “What did you have in mind?” Worf asked.

  “We’ve got what we need—the shuttle. As long as we make sure we protect it from any field surges.”

  “And do you know how to do that?” Zefan asked.

  “Not yet,” La Forge said. “But I’ve got some ideas. . . .”

  * * *

  Picard appended his initials to yet another report and called up the next, a second mug of tea by his hand; the other hand came to rest at the back of his neck, rubbing gently and ruefully.

  Deanna Troi had not “been right back.” She had, in fact, contacted him shortly after her departure to inform him that she didn’t know how long it would take to get the Tsorans to his ready room, and that it would not help matters any for him to reappear at the reception—that it would, in fact, only cast a spotlight on the current situation.

  Which was that Atann, embarrassed by Picard’s sudden departure, was taking him at his very word. “I’ll look forward to resuming our conversation at your earliest possible convenience,” Picard had said, and Atann had not yet found it convenient.

  “Perhaps if we explained the situation,” Picard suggested over the comm link, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.

  “I don’t advise it,” she said, regret clear in hers. “I think it best to let him maintain control, Captain—at least for a while. All we can do is wait. I don’t honestly think it will take long. He just needs to make the point.”

  “Very well, then,” Picard had said, waiting for Troi to sign off before releasing the waiting sigh. After a moment of staring at the padd an ensign had left on his desk, he decided perhaps Atann had done him a favor. The reports did have to be read, after all . . . and until Geordi got back to him, there was very little to be done.

  Except drop everything and take the Enterprise to Fandre.

  With an entire race of people waiting for him to talk Atann into a humanitarian gesture? Not likely, no matter how it called to him. Will can take care of himself. And Geordi is the one who can deal with the complications caused by the preserve shields. Worf is there. All Picard himself could do was sit and watch, whichever planet he orbited.

  The thought drew him to the viewport. They held a synchronous orbit above Atann’s palace in the city Aksanna, but it wasn’t the planet that called to him. It was those stars, the ones that held among them the Ntignano sun—and the slow waves of distortion that blurred them. Slow and subtle; if you didn’t know, you might just think you had something in your eye.

  Without those graviton eddies, the evacuation efforts would already skirt the edge of the Tsoran system, instead of following the edge of the wide eddy field at reduced speed. Without the eddies, Nadann Jesson would have been left alone to learn the Tsoran culture—and accustom them to Federation cultures and ways—at an appropriate rate. The Enterprise, with Will Riker aboard, would be far from here, participating in the evacuation.

  He’d seen images from Ntignano IV, the only inhabited planet in the system. Before and after images of a moderately stable population with no out-system travel capability and a technology level equaling twenty-second-century Earth. Until now, they had been left to develop further on their own, not quite ready for Federation contact—and they’d done well. Until this, they’d been nurturing a thoughtful, environmentally friendly plan for their own growth. The planet itself had remained remarkably integrated in terms of its civilization and its natural ecosystems and fauna.

  How ironic, then, that disaster came in a form that first destroyed that delicate balance for which they’d fought so hard, before killing the civilization itself.

  Before: Entire cities almost invisibly situated within natural forestation and geological formations. Abundant birds and wildlife in each community. Remarkably unpolluted air considering the technology level.

  After: Withered vegetation, buildings suddenly stark against the landscape, small corpses littering the ground—the smaller species, the delicate ones. The first to go in the increased solar activity and quickly skewing ecosystems.

  Not everyone in this galaxy favored the Prime Directive.

  In this case, no one knew just who had provided the doomsday group with the apparatus they’d altered to become a sun killer. Heavy odds lay on the Ferengi.

  But at this point, it didn’t really matter. What mattered was the slow ripple of the stars before him, and how they interfered with everything. The journey to Fandre, twelve hours instead of several. Even briefly diverting to check the situation there, to try to help, meant an entire day’s absence from Tsora . . . and Atann had already been deeply embarrassed at the interruption of a single conversation.

  The door chimed for attention; Picard twisted to look at it in surprise. Troi would have informed him, had the Tsorans been on their way up—and everyone else on the bridge knew better than to bother him just now. Even Data. “Come,” he said, maintaining his position.

  “Captain!” Atann boomed, as if they were long-lost friends and there had been no embarrassment, no waiting. The spicy scent of the heessla floated into the room with him, and Tehra followed, looking as pleased as her mate. Behind them both, Troi entered, flashing Picard a quick apology from her expressive eyes. He gathered, then, that the lack of warning had not been her idea.

  “ReynKa,” Picard said, trying to match the Tsoran’s enthusiasm. “I’m so pleased that your obligations allowed you some time here.”

  “Of course, of course. I came as soon as I could. But only to find you looking at the stars again. Do they draw you so?”

  “Often,” Picard said, seating himself behind the desk and gesturing for Atann and Tehra to sit before it, if they chose. Troi waited until they were settled, and quietly took the corner of the couch. “As it happens, I was watching the graviton eddies between here and Ntignano. But that is not why I needed to speak to you.”

  “Isn’t it?” The ReynSa said, startling him; she had not made any effort to speak to him at the reception, but now she acted as though she’d been part of each of his discussions with Atann. She was, he thought, certainly privy to them. “It’s what you spoke of at the time your other conversation took you away.”

  “Yes,” he said, with no idea where to go with this line of thought, other than that he wanted badly to avoid it— and from Troi’s face, she thought he should do just that. “In a way, that interruption is why I’ve asked to speak to you now.”

  “How is that?”

  “I received some disturbing news in that conversation . . . about your men, and your son. And my first officer.”

  “What has happened?” Tehra sat very straight in the human-sized chair, filling it with her dignity if not her body.

  “It seems possible that the kaphoora party has had some trouble.”

  “What manner of trouble?” Atann asked. “And how has it been discovered? If they’ve started the kaphoora, they’re behind the forcefield. No one
communicates through that field.”

  “Not directly, no, but Commander Riker seems to have gotten some sort of signal through.” At Atann’s skepticism, Picard added, “His resourcefulness in difficult situations is one of the reasons I was confident to send him in my stead. He’s also a better pilot than I.”

  “But you don’t really know what happened,” Tehra said, in more of a challenge than a question.

  “Not yet,” Picard said carefully, having been prepared to handle her concern, and not quite sure what he’d gotten instead. “I’m waiting for a report on the situation.”

  Not that any report was likely to shed light on whatever might have happened beyond those shields.

  Tehra didn’t seem to be affected by his words. “Akarr is on his prime kaphoora. He is a nobly raised Tsoran son. Whatever has happened, whatever he must do, he will acquit himself well.”

  Picard said nothing. It seemed safest.

  Atann didn’t reflect his ReynTa’s certainty. “If there has been trouble, what will you do about it?”

  Another question with no answer. “Our options will come clear when we have a better understanding of what happened.”

  “You don’t really know anything, then, do you? Except that you want us to give up our charts to this important area, when in return you’ve lost our son!”

  An unavoidable development in the conversation. Picard didn’t flinch from it. “These are really two different issues, ReynTa.”

  “How can you say so?” The hair on Atann’s arms rose slightly. “We can only judge you by what we know of you. And all we know of you is that you have lost our son!”

  Picard hesitated. Whatever had happened within the preserve, he could confidently state it had nothing to do with Riker’s actions or the normal operating status of the shuttle—that some outside force had intervened to create the problem. Atann, at this point, did not seem likely to make that distinction. With another human, his instinct would have been to back off, to offer emotional space for the other in which to react. But a glance at Troi—at her intent expression, her rigid, almost edge-of-the-seat posture—confirmed his inclination to hold his ground with Atann. “We don’t know that,” he said firmly. “We take the safety of our passengers and associates very seriously, and do not allow anyone to impugn us in this regard.”

  Atann hesitated, and behind him, Troi relaxed slightly. Good. Picard held his gaze evenly on Atann’s, not upping the stakes, just holding his own. No doubt the Tsoran had never run into that particular combination of diplomatic verbiage and aggression before.

  Fortunately, before maintaining the locked gaze became too onerous, Data’s disembodied voice startled Atann into looking around the room. “Captain, there is an incoming transmission from Lieutenant Commander La Forge.”

  “Just a moment,” Picard said, even as the ReynSa rose from her seat, her face pinched. “Please stay,” he said. “This is my chief engineer contacting us from Fandre, and it is he who will have our options for proceeding.” He leaned back in his seat. “Of course, if you don’t care to stay, I would be glad to inform you of our decisions.”

  Direct hit. The ReynSa sat. The ReynTa leaned forward, attentively. Picard swiveled his desktop viewer so the Tsorans could also see it; Troi came around to stand at the side of his desk. “Put him through, Mr. Data.” As soon as La Forge’s image appeared on the screen—a different room, this time, a colorful place littered with freestanding holos and unidentifiable tools—Picard said, “Mr. La Forge. We’ve been waiting to hear from you. The ReynKa and ReynSa are eager to hear what news you might have.” There, if Geordi didn’t know he was onstage after that . . .

  La Forge took it in stride. “I wish I had more definitive news for you,” he said. “We did confirm that no similar signal has ever been received at the museum.”

  “And you still believe it was from Commander Riker.”

  “More strongly than ever.”

  “But you have no direct evidence,” Atann said, prodding.

  “No.”

  “There, you see?” Tehra said, gesturing dismissively. “Akarr is probably starting his kaphoora this very moment.”

  “He may be at that, ma’am,” La Forge said. “But we think it’s too important to leave to chance.”

  No, we’re not going to leave it to chance. Picard glanced at Troi. “Counselor, it’s my understanding that you often have an impression of Commander Riker’s feelings.”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at the instantly curious Tsorans, hesitating, and responding candidly anyway. “There’s a small number of people I can receive a sense of at any given time. Will is certainly one of them.”

  An understatement if he’d ever heard one, Picard thought. He didn’t know exactly what had happened between those two, and he suspected he’d never know . . . but he did know the strength of the connection it had left behind. “I know we’re some distance, but—”

  “All I can tell you is that he’s not experiencing any extreme crisis emotion at this time. Earlier, when we first heard from Geordi, we were at the reception. I was too . . . distracted to feel anything from outside the room. Now, I . . .” She hesitated, briefly dipping all her concentration within herself, and then shook her head. “I sense some annoyance, some anger; definite worry. But that could also be echoes of what I felt from him in the hours before he left the ship.”

  “Is your commander of a foul temper, then?” Tehra asked.

  Picard decided to concur with Nadann Jesson’s observations that the female Tsorans played the daleura games just as avidly as the males. “He is a man of strong passions, whatever might suit the moment. Do you think, then, Counselor, that you would have detected it had Commander Riker experienced any . . . say, life-threatening moments?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, and hesitated, then shook her head as if she’d rethought the question and come to the same conclusion. “I really don’t know. The distance is a factor, and I have no idea what effect those shields might have. I believe what I feel is an accurate reflection of his current state. But I can’t be certain.”

  It would have been too easy, anyway. Picard turned back to La Forge. “We’ll proceed on the assumption that your concerns are correct. What are our options?”

  “Pretty limited, I’m afraid. The Legacy’s scooterpods are built to work within the shields. They’re small, and eighty percent of their function is geared toward their own shields—light ones, for the pilot, and heavy shielding around the engines. “

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  La Forge made a wry face. “Not enough of them. And they’re too slow to use in shifts. No, the scooterpods are tempting, but . . . what I’d like to do is spend some time modifying the Collins’s shields. I think the reason the Rahjah had trouble is related to the strange field interplay surges. But it hasn’t bothered the scooterpods, so I want to see if I can modify our shields to more closely resemble theirs. Then Worf will take the Collins out and follow the Rahjah’s course. If they went down, there’ll be a pretty clear indication of it in the trees. If they didn’t, they’ll be at the planned landing site.”

  “Just Worf?”

  “And a couple of the Legacy rangers.”

  “We have people on the planet,” Akarr broke in. “We would like to include some of them.”

  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 scooterpod 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.”