IMBALANCE

by V. E. Mitchell

  Two reddish-brown guards stepped out of the shadows. They moved to the center of the door, pressed embossed knobs hidden in the intricate carvings, and stepped forward, pushing the doors open. As Zelfreetrollan passed, the guards crouched deeply. The odor of cinnamon and cloves swirled around the away team as they passed the two guards.

  In contrast to the rooms they had seen so far, this one was almost cozy, its walls hung with abstract tapestries worked in a variety of blues and bluish-greens. The floor was tiled with brightiy glazed ceramics that reflected the patterns in the wall hangings. A large oval table of gleaming black wood occupied the center of the room. The guards pulled the doors closed behind them, the wooden panels hitting their frame with a solid thunk that reverberated like a stroke on a large drum.

  Picard inhaled deeply, trying to identify the smell in the room. For a moment he was puzzled, until he realized it was the near absence of odors that had caught his attention. Here the overpowering conglomeration of scents that had surrounded them since they arrived on Bel-Minor was muted to a bearable level.

  At the sound of the closing door, five Jarada entered the room through openings hidden behind the wall hangings. Picard was reminded of medieval Europe, where friend and foe alike had hidden behind the tapestries in the throne room to eavesdrop on important meetings. The comparison made the Jarada seem less alien, more human, but Picard had to shake a moment’s uneasiness. Suspicion and distrust were not the human traits he wanted to discover in the Jarada, and he wished the medieval analogy had not occurred to him.

  Zelfreetrollan nodded his head to each of the new arrivals, the flat facets of his eyes shifting colors as his head moved. Turning, he gave Picard a formal nod as well. “Honored Picard-Captain, may I present the Council of Elders for the Hive Zel?” At his words, the five Jarada lined up behind him and each made a deep, formal crouch to the Enterprise team.

  Zelfreetrollan raised his left true-arm. A large chestnut-colored Jarada wearing a gold and silver sash that was almost hidden beneath badges and medallions stepped forward. The Jarada crouched again, bending its neck to touch its forehead with its true-hands. “This is Zelk’helvtrobreen, head of our hive guardians.” Zelk’helvtrobreen rose and stepped back into the line with the other councillors.

  Zelfreetrollan introduced the other four. Zelmirtrozarn, the spiritual leader of Jaradan society, was deep brown and of medium height. His sash contained more colors than anyone’s except Zelfreetrollan’s. Zelbrektrovish, the head of scientific research, was the smallest Jarada in the room, but its strong yellow ochre color and bright purple sash were as distinctive as the commanding presence it projected. Zelnyartroma’ar, the director of medical services, was a pale honey-gold and wore a dark, unadorned sash. She was the youngest member of the council. Zelnyentrozhahk, whose title translated roughly as “minister of education,” moved with the stiffness of extreme age. Her exoskeleton was pale orange mottled with darker splotches that looked strangely like age spots to Picard.

  With the introductions completed, Zelfreetrollan gestured toward the conference table. “Now we have disposed of the major formalities and can begin working,” he said. “We hope you will not mind that we want to discuss matters with you on terms of equality. However, the arrival ceremonies are needful, so that word will spread among the hive that you are indeed intelligent creatures.”

  “We understand,” Picard replied, feeling more confused by the moment. That the Jarada would dispense with their elaborate protocol should be a singularly hopeful sign for the negotiations. However, the idea made Picard extremely uncomfortable, especially when he remembered the history of Federation-Jarada relations. He glanced at Troi, one eyebrow raised. She gave her head a small shake, a movement so tiny he would have missed it if he hadn’t been waiting for it. So—whatever the Jarada were up to, Troi still could not read enough of their emotions to interpret their behavior. Zelfreetrollan could be luring them into a trap, or he might be a reformer pushing through something the majority of the Jarada did not want, or this might be normal Jaradan diplomacy. Picard had no way to tell, given the information he had available.

  Everyone took their seats, with Picard and Zelfreetrollan facing each other along the long axis of the table. The rest of the group sat in alternating human then Jarada order, with the chairs positioned so that each individual was also facing someone from the other group. As best Picard could tell, the pairings had been done with an eye on function, with Worf opposite Zelk’helvtrobreen, the head of the Jaradan guardians, and Crusher opposite Zelnyartroma’ar, the director of medical services.

  Despite his disavowal of protocol, Zelfreetrollan launched into a welcoming speech praising his visitors and hoping for a new era of harmonious relations between the Jarada and the Federation. Unobtrusively, Picard timed the speech, wondering if his opening remarks should be longer or shorter. Longer might be seen as an insult, as though he were trying to upstage his host, while shorter could also be an affront, offering less to the Jarada than they were giving to the Federation. It was a delicate point, and he decided his best course was to come as close to Zelfreetrollan’s time as he could manage.

  Watching the Jarada’s reactions as he finished speaking fifteen minutes later, Picard decided he had chosen correctly. The six Jarada had listened intently, wagging their heads to the side when he touched on the diversity of the Federation and the opportunities for trade and cultural exchange. Picard concluded with an offer to answer any questions the Jarada might have. To his surprise, Zelfreetrollan asked him to explain how the Federation was governed. This led to a lively discussion of the variety of worlds that belonged to the Federation. Then Worf, Keiko, and Troi gave long explanations of how their homeworlds differed from each other and from other Federation worlds. The Jarada seemed fascinated and, before anyone realized it, the afternoon was over.

  Zelfreetrollan ordered refreshments to finish the session—sweet nutcakes and fruit nectar served with a pitcher of water so that the Enterprise’s away team could dilute the syrup to a bearable sweetness. Worf eyed the water suspiciously, since its presence confirmed his deduction that their conversation in the Meditation Chamber had been monitored. However, no one else seemed to notice, so the Klingon filed his doubts to examine later.

  “Picard-Captain.” Zelfreetrollan dipped his head in an informal bow. “Your happiness to communicate and your generosity in describing the wonders of your Federation honor my people greatly. We regret that we have delayed so long in experiencing this excellent exchange and wish to find ways to make amends for our hesitance. It is our desire to return the honor you have shown us by sharing the spirit of our hive with your council, if you would consent to allow this. Our people would be greatly honored to meet with your most respected advisors and to show them what our world and our people have to offer your great Federation”

  “It would be a privilege to meet your people,” Picard answered. “It is our greatest wish to learn more about your world and your society so we may understand each other better.”

  “Then my Councillors will be delighted if your advisors will grant them the pleasure of showing them our city tomorrow while you and I complete arrangements for the exchange of ambassadors. Our medical researchers invite the most excellent Crusher-Doctor to inspect their facilities and the val’khorret would be pleased to meet a musician of Riker-Commander’s talent.” Behind the First Among Council, Zelk’helvtrobreen bobbed its head to the side in time with Zelfreetrollan’s words. “Keiko-Botanist is invited to join a learning-outing from the City Academy, so that she may see the plants and trees of our world. And, of course, Worf-Guardian will want to attend an exhibition of our most excellent val’ghreshneth.”

  As Zelfreetrollan began listing the activities planned for each crew member, Picard felt a moment’s dismay at being maneuvered into accepting the plan before he saw its full outline. Also, if the Jarada knew of Riker’s musical talents, their information about the Enterprise and its crew was far better than the Enterpris
e’s information about the Jarada. A frown flickered across Riker’s face, his thoughts traveling a course parallel to the captain’s. Worf gave a low growl in the back of his throat, like the moan of a rusty hinge. The Jarada would not understand the Klingon’s message, but Picard heard it loud and clear—don’t split up the away team.

  Unfortunately, the offer was so well timed, so carefully placed, that to refuse might undo all the diplomatic progress they had made. After talking about trust and cultural exchange all afternoon, they could not decline the invitations without risking a serious diplomatic incident. “First Among Council, your generosity overwhelms us. If you are certain your Councillors can spare the time, my officers will be delighted to accept your offer.”

  Zelfreetrollan gave his head two sharp nods, his eyes flickering from greenish to yellowish with the movement. “Then it is settled. We will show you to a chamber where you can spend the night. When you return here in the morning, we will be honored to show you our world. We ask only one thing of you, that you do not display your communications devices where they might disturb our more traditional citizens. We will, instead, give you translation units of our own manufacture, so that all will know how you are able to understand our people.”

  After a long formal dinner accompanied by interminable speeches and entertainments, the Enterprise team was finally escorted to the quarters assigned to them for the duration of their mission. The room was little different from the Meditation Chamber where they had been taken when they first arrived, and the furniture was identical. Three sleeping chambers opened off the room, all with hard, narrow bunks designed to accommodate Jaradan anatomy, and the washroom contained a communal shower.

  It was late, but they had one matter to settle before they could sleep. While most of the group found places to sit, Worf prowled the common area of their guest suite, searching for hidden recorders or listening devices.

  Picard worked himself into a comfortable position on the low sofa and gestured for the others to join him. The three women found seats, but Worf continued to examine the room and Riker paced the floor to work off his tension. The captain had to struggle to keep from joining them.

  Riker spun around at the end of a lap and stopped opposite Picard. “Why? We know almost nothing about these people and yet you’ve agreed to split up the away team.”

  “Fair enough.” Picard leaned back, tilting his head upward to meet Riker’s gaze. After a moment, when Picard gave him nothing to argue against, some of the tension left Riker’s posture. The captain nodded. “I agree with you, Will. It’s a risk to separate the away team, and you are quite correct to point that out. However, the purpose of any diplomatic mission is to establish trust and understanding between two races that know nothing of each other.”

  “Put up or shut up?” Riker frowned, trying the idea on for size. “I still think you were maneuvered into accepting the offer, and I want to know why.”

  “Counselor?”

  Troi’s face went blank with concentration as she reviewed her impressions of the day’s events. Finally, she shrugged. “I sense no hostility, not even as much as might be expected from a reclusive race such as the Jarada. There is something, some disturbance that I cannot identify, but nothing that seems to relate directly to the invitations that First Among Council Zelfreetrollan issued to us.”

  Crusher ran a hand through her coppery hair. “I for one am very interested to see their medical facilities. The equipment and the sophistication of their research will tell us a great deal about the Jarada and their society.” She paused for a deep breath, shrugging apologetically. “Besides, I feel so useless in the negotiations. I’d prefer doing something where I could make a contribution to the mission.”

  “Ms. Ishikawa?” Picard glanced toward Keiko. “I assume you share Dr. Crusher’s sentiments.”

  Keiko answered with a brief, controlled nod. “I feel I can best contribute to the success of our mission by doing the job I was trained for. And I feel that the Federation will lose face with the Jarada if we do not accept their invitations.”

  Riker spun away, crossed the room in four quick strides, and returned, again stopping in front of the captain. “That still leaves my original question—why?”

  Picard nodded. “If we could answer that question, we wouldn’t need to be here. I’m open to suggestions, but at the moment I see no way to gain the information we need without separating the away team. We asked the Jarada to trust us and the Federation, and they responded with an invitation that forces us to do just that. As Ms. Ishikawa said, if we don’t accept, the Federation loses ‘face.’ That is the basic issue we must consider.”

  After a moment Riker nodded. “However you look at it, it’s another test, and we don’t even know what they’re testing this time. Or what the rules are. I don’t see a way to avoid going along with it, but I don’t have to like it.”

  One by one the members of the away team nodded. Worf was last, and his deep scowl betrayed how much he disliked the captain’s decision. “That’s it, then,”Picard said as his security chief stalked away to resume searching for listening devices. “We’ll use standard precautionary measures, with Mr. Data monitoring our communicators at all times.”

  Finally Riker sat, trying to retain his dignity while searching for a comfortable spot on the sofa. “Captain, since Ms. Ishikawa will be outside the settlement areas, I recommend that an additional crewman accompany her.”

  “I can take care of myself. I don’t need extra protection.”

  Riker flicked his gaze toward Keiko, then returned his attention to the captain. “As I was about to say, Ms. Ishikawa will have a greater opportunity to acquire information than anyone else, except perhaps Dr. Crusher. Another person would be able to record more data for later analysis.”

  “Make it so, Number One.” Picard looked at his officers, pausing long enough to be sure no one had any more questions. “In that case, this meeting’s adjourned. I recommend that we all turn in, because tomorrow will be a long day.” Although he had deliberately framed the words as a suggestion, the captain knew what would happen. Within minutes everyone had retired to their bunks, leaving Picard to mull over the day’s events. Despite his confident words about trusting the Jarada, he could not shake his uneasiness about the mission.

  Something about the Jarada disturbed him deeply, but he could not bring the discordant ideas into focus. Picard knew the insectlike alienness of the Jarada would trouble some people, but he didn’t think that was what bothered him. As a boy he was fascinated by the mantises and ladybugs he found while playing in the family’s vineyard, and as an adult he had learned to value intelligent life in whatever form it appeared. Still, a subliminal warning tickled at his brain and demanded acknowledgment. What had he missed? What was his subconscious mind trying to tell him? He played with the idea, turning it over and over in hope of finding his answers, until sleep at last claimed him.

  Chapter Four

  THE AUDIENCE CHAMBER was deserted, lit only by narrow shafts of light from the clerestory windows high overhead. Riker, following their guide through the cavernous room, tried to remember if he had seen those windows yesterday. They must have been screened off, he decided finally. The Beltaxiyan star was slightly bluer than Sol and, even though the planets orbited at a greater distance from their sun than Earth did, the light level was not appreciably less. Today the rays of white light robbed the Chamber of its aura of ancient and barbaric splendor.

  Riker shifted his trombone case to his other hand, reassured by the familiar weight but wondering if he should have brought it. Zelfreetrollan’s comments about his musical abilities had been flattering, but Riker knew they were unjustified. He loved music and played well—for an amateur—but he simply did not practice enough. Certain notes, certain passages, required more repetition than he had time to give them, and Riker knew they would always remain beyond his skill.

  They reached the Prime Council Chamber, already occupied by Zelfreetrollan and his chie
f Councillors, and Riker’s thoughts were interrupted by the flurry of greetings and the brief confusion of handing out the Jaradan translators. It took Riker a moment to figure out the unfamiliar catch on the strap. Zelmirtrozarn stepped to Riker’s side, clicking his claws together in approval when he saw the trombone case. “It is good that you brought your instrument, Riker-Commander. The leaders of the val’khorret are most desirous to learn what manner of music so alien a creature can create.”

  “The leaders?” Riker asked as he fell into step with the Jarada, shortening his stride to accommodate the insectoid’s pace. Zelmirtrozarn was of medium size for a Jarada, which meant his head was level with Riker’s chest. In spite of the difference in height, he covered ground quickly and Riker got the feeling that the Jarada had reduced his speed to accommodate the human’s two-legged locomotion. “I thought you were in charge of this val’khorret, Councillor Zelmirtrozarn.”

  The Jarada clacked his claws in a boisterous rhythm which, after a moment, Riker realized indicated amusement. “In service to my hive, I am ‘in charge’ of many aspects of our society, Riker-Commander, but only a fool would claim more than titular control of the val’khorret unless his spirit ran solely within the rhythms of their days.”

  They turned a corner and started down a long ramp that led underground, if Riker had guessed their position correctly. The air was cool and damp, with an earthy scent that reminded him of helping his grandfather work in the garden when he was very young. Gramps had been a wizard at growing things, winning first place at the Alaska state fair for the best and the largest vegetables two out of every three years he had competed. It had taken the young Riker a long time to realize that the ability to grow eighty-pound cabbages was a gift, and not one he had inherited from his grandfather along with the genes for his height and his changeable gray-blue eyes.