Tooth And Claw Part 9

Gavare. Clearly still dizzy and finding it hard to navigate, never mind to attack an animal as big as he was. Befuddled enough to answer Riker's questions without posturing, without measuring daleura at every word. Riker eyed the quill, found the dark trickle of blood on Ketan's leg where it had gone in. "Is it lethal?"

"It's not supposed to be," Gavare said, which told Riker more yet. The Tsorans didn't have any close experience with the sculpers. They should never have been this deep in the Legacy, no matter what they said about being prepared.

Riker nodded at his backpack. "The med kit is on the top. See what you can do to make him comfortable, and to clean that arm up."

Befuddled, all right. Gavare didn't protest taking orders from the human, but did as he was bid. Riker climbed to his feet and moved up behind Akarr. "This didn't have to happen," he said. "We could be in the shuttle. We could pull your men in and cover the mouth of this cave, dammit!"

"It's not necessary for you to understand the reasons behind my decisions," Akarr said, coldly. Remaining remote, as if Riker weren't even worth challenging. Not turning around.

"Oh, I understand the reasons behind your decisions, all right," Riker said. "I just don't agree with them. No leader-no good leader would."

"And what do you know of leading?" Akarr said, with the short gurgling sound that pa.s.sed for Tsoran laughter, although even Riker could tell there was no humor in it.

"JeanLuc Picard is my captain. He's the best, Akarr. I know it when I see it."

Akarr still did not turn to look at him, although the hair on his neck and shoulders looked distinctly p.r.i.c.kled. "You know nothing. You are not a captain; you lead no one."

"That's where you're wrong." Riker put a hand up to lean against the entrance of the cave, his arm just clearing Akarr's head. "I command the Enterprise away missions. All of them. This is what I do, Akarr. I know how to do it right-and I know when I'm seeing it done wrong." He leaned closer, speaking into Akarr's cupped, snug-to-his-head ear. "Your men are counting on you-h.e.l.l, they're so loyal to you that they'll follow you right into the jaws of a sholjagg-and you're killing them."

Akarr snorted loudly and left the cave, making a gesture that Riker didn't recognize but that had a distinctly rude air about it.

So much for the diplomatic relations between the Federation and the Tsorans.

"Rakal!" Akarr shouted, as if the entire conversation had never happened. "Keep an eye out for more of them-they'll probably be back."

"Yes, ReynTa," Rakal responded, hidden in the darkness on the other side of the first fire.

This one time, Akarr was right. After the sounds of struggle in the darkness-the wounded sculper, torn to pieces and consumed-the sculpers came back.

Picard tugged at his uniform, waiting while the transporter technician confirmed the beam-down coordinates. He'd barely been through an earlier-than-usual morning tea with Beverly Crusher when Nadann lesson contacted him, pleased to extend Atann's invitation to visit the kaphoora training facility. It was, she let him know, quite an honor.

Picard thought of Will Riker, stuck on Fandre for the real thing, and once more squelched the impulse to take the Enterprise right out of orbit and across the graviton eddy-laden system to Tsora's sister planet. The probe charting was under way, after all, and Atann and Tehra certainly didn't seem interested in any discussion about the charts.

"Make them interested," Crusher had said implacably, and in this case she'd been right. Besides, with any luck, Will and the others were sleeping through an uneventful night in the Legacy preserve, and within a few hours, when daylight arrived, Worf would find them and transport them out.

"They're ready, sir," Lieutenant B. G. Robinson told him from behind the transporter console; Picard had the sudden impression that she'd been shifting uneasily for some moments, trying to find some way to interrupt his thoughts.

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, and positioned himself on the transporter pad, preparing himself to step forward and greet AtannExcept, when the moment of slight disorientation pa.s.sed, he found himself facing Nadann Jesson. Nadann Jesson against a backdrop of burnt orange and deep pea green draperies, in a small receiving room that held nothing but a low couch facing a thick wall monitor. He winced at the cacophony of colors. "They must really find our own decor inexplicable."

Nadann-a st.u.r.dy woman with short chestnut hair and richly brown eyes as framework for her pleasant expression -smiled. "I've almost gotten used to it." And indeed, her own clothes had a bold red orange theme. "Welcome to Tsora, Captain Heard. It's nice to meet you in person."

"Likewise, Amba.s.sador. I'm intrigued by anyone who's spent so much time with these people. I understand you were in place here before the current crisis arose?" He took a short turn around the room, discovered the monitor blank and not likely to be anything other, and ended up where he'd started, none the wiser.

"Shortly before. We'd had our eye on this system for some time, wondering if they might be ready to join the Federation. I volunteered to do a preliminary study here. And please, you should feel free to call me Nadann. Most of the Tsorans consider it throwing about unnecessary daleura to use t.i.tles constantly. They prefer to save that daleura up for a time when they can really nail you with it."

"Sounds like a society in which no small grudge is ever forgotten."

She shrugged. "Perhaps not, but they use hard feelings in a constructive way, rather than brawling them off in the streets." She frowned, then, looking at the door as though by all rights it should be opening to admit someone. "I don't know where Atann is. I'd understood that he'd be here. Though he won't be, not at this point-arriving late under these circ.u.mstances would be an embarra.s.sment. It's just as well. I heard something this morning I gather the Tsorans have been very careful to keep from me; I was hoping for a chance to discuss it." Picard forgot all about the clashing decor. "Please do."

"You can imagine that a ruler ship based on daleura-even one as entrenched as the ReynKa's-does not tolerate dissent well. Even the apparent lack of support of key staff members has a far-reaching impact." Nadann watched him closely, and when he nodded his understanding, a.s.sessed it as if to be sure she'd truly made her point. Then she said, "I don't know who... but apparently there are some staff members who resent Alarm's interaction with the Federation."

Picard waited a moment. "That's it?"

"Put it within the context of what I just said, Captain. For there to be enough contention that any word of it reached me is of great significance."

He tried, but ended up shaking his head. "I think I would have to spend much more time here to truly understand," he said. "But I'll certainly take it under advis.e.m.e.nt."

For an instant, he had the feeling he'd disappointed her. But then she smiled, and reached for the door. "We might as well meet Atann at the training center." The heavily carved wooden door slid lightly into the wall at her guidance; an air current from the hallway rippled her garments.

"Sleeves," Picard said.

"Excuse me?"

"You're wearing sleeves. Counselor Troi told me about your experiment."

"Ah, that. It got me nowhere-after a while it became obvious that no one had any intentions of saying anything, no matter how I 'flaunted' myself. I'm trying something new, now ... it is utterly amazing the lengths to which these people will go to avoid exposing themselves to embarra.s.sment."

"Is that your job here? To embarra.s.s them?"

She gave him a moment's a.s.sessment, and might well have responded to his challenging question with irritation. Instead she met him with confidence-backed humor. "My job is to make an unfathomable people fathomable. In order to do that, I need to learn their boundaries, to explore the scope of their reactions. How will we know how hard to push them on an issue unless we know the results? How will we know how to push them at all? Finding ways to embarra.s.s them, to provoke them, to engender reaction other than the arrogant public face of the high daleura and the fawning responsiveness of the low daleura ... yes, that's all part of my job here." She led him down the hallway-apparently deserted-and through a large events room, also deserted, aside from the few servants scuttling to collect gla.s.sware and linens. "It's also the reason I was not suitable to enter into this charting matter as a negotiator."

Ah. That did indeed make sense. She'd never been positioned as a negotiating diplomat; she was more of an explorer. Pity she was still in the beginning stages, and couldn't offer him more guidance. "What is this place?" he asked, as they finished traversing the huge, high-ceilinged room. Stately draperies swooped from column to column-intense purples interwoven with screaming reds-and the columns themselves were as heavily carved as the receiving-room door. Picard caught glimpses of stylized animals that might correspond to those he'd seen in the Fandrean report... or to Tsora's extinct indigenous predators.

"The main bestowing hall," she said promptly. "Where training partic.i.p.ants are awarded honors. Historically the kaphooras began and ended here, but no longer."

"No," Picard said. "Considering they've wiped out any animal large enough and dangerous enough to provide daleura on a hunt, I can see why they would end that particular tradition. Has it not occurred to them to seed some of Fandre's creatures here?"

She laughed, a pleasant sound. "What makes you think the Fandreans would allow that? They know well enough that no matter what the Tsorans say, sooner or later the animals would be offered up as sacrifice to special kaphoora, and not remain protected under the current -and stringently enforced-Fandrean rules."

Yes. Of course.

Nadann pushed aside another door, a huge and hugely ornate thing, and sunlight flooded in. "The actual training takes place outdoors, in the central area. The young Tsorans learn to use the trank guns and their knives, and build their strength and endurance. There are cla.s.srooms for studying the flora and fauna, and mock battles in which crude holograms represent the creatures." They headed across hot, bright sand toward another structure, one whose walls scooped outward in the clamsh.e.l.l shape of an outdoor viewing venue. "It might be worthwhile to add that none of these kaphoora candidates is given much information on the deep Legacy, the area in which your Commander Riker was directed to land. That landing was the ReynSa's idea, a way for her son to earn more daleura than anyone before him. Her second son, Takarr, is already incorporating deep Legacy information into his studies, in case he should acquire the same opportunity."

"Well," Picard said, preparing himself to deal with Tsoran social patterns again, "let us hope that while Atann explains and displays these aspects of the training, he'll also find himself amenable to discussions of a more serious nature."

"It was a good move, I think, to express such interest in the daleura-laden kaphoora training," Nadann said, optimism on her clear, open features. "He really couldn't pa.s.s that up. Now ... I'm afraid it's up to you to turn the encounter into something more."

"It is, isn't it," Picard muttered to himself, giving Nadann a small, wry smile as they entered the shadow of the training facility and hesitated before another pair of intensely carved doors. Even as they halted, a Tsoran youth walked briskly around the curving exterior, his eyes on the ground and his chin pouch tense with thought.

"Pardon us," Nadann said instantly, stepping out of his path; her hand on Picard's arm indicated that he should do the same.

The youth looked up. By Tsoran standards he was slender, even for an immature male, but his vest was as ornate as any Picard had seen, and he quickly drew himself up into a stiffer, more arrogant posture. With that movement he suddenly looked familiar, although it wasn't until Nadann gave a respectful acknowledgment that he knew why. "Takarr," she said, turning her head ever so slightly to reveal throat.

"Amba.s.sador Nadann," the youth said, his tone still reserved-but already he was relaxing his aggressive stance. More easygoing than Atann or Akarr, on the whole.

"Let me introduce Captain Picard," Nadann said. "I'm delighted to have the opportunity."

Takarr showed his teeth slightly, a startling reversal of his pleasant response to Nadann-albeit quickly squelched. "I'm surprised they allowed it to happen."

From Nadann's sudden poker face, Picard surmised that she was just as surprised-by the fact that Takarr had said as much. Definitely undercurrents here, and ones about which he knew nothing.

He would.

Meanwhile, the less friction, the better. "I'm honored to meet you, Takarr."

"Not," Takarr said, "honored enough to ask for my presence aboard the Enterprise."

Picard didn't bother to hide his puzzlement. "You have a standing welcome aboard the Enterprise, I a.s.sure you."

Takarr studied him a moment-most likely not familiar enough with humans to measure the sincerity of the offer. Then he said, "I have business elsewhere," and left as abruptly as he'd arrived.

Picard looked at his slender back as Takarr entered the building he and Nadann had just left. "I think I've just been snubbed."

"Don't take it to heart, Captain," Nadann said. "Recent weeks have been a trial for him. Over his mother's protests, the ReynKa chose to leave Takarr out of the shipboard activities. These are Akarr's days of glory."

"Surely having the boy present wouldn't-" Picard started, but stopped himself. "Foolish question. It obviously would make a difference."

"Not much of one," Nadann said. "Frankly, I think it's Atann's way of making a point with his ReynSa. But that's speculation on my part."

Speculation. Of course. As Troi had told Picard ... a complex people. "I only hope I can gain a better understanding of this culture befo-"

The doors before them slid aside, and a young Tsoran barely checked his momentum before crashing into Picard.

"Apologies, apologies," he said, barely glancing at Pi card as he quickly flashed his throat to them both. He'd clearly been about to speed onward, but came to a second abrupt halt as he saw Nadann. "Mighty sybyls! Amba.s.sador, I'm supposed to meet an important hu-" and he cut himself off, finally truly seeing Picard for the first time.

Picard was not without sympathy ... but that sympathy was limited. He wasn't at all slow to add up the pieces. Nor was Nadann; her optimism faded, her expression turned inscrutable. "That is most likely to be me," he said to the youth. "I am Captain JeanLuc Pi card."

"Captain," said the young Tsoran, his lower lip drawn tight in what struck Picard as an appalled expression; the boy's under-purr was tight and high. "I'm sorry I'm late, esteemed sir. I wasn't told-that is, my a.s.signment came la-that is, there is no excuse, Captain. Please accept my apologies for not meeting you at the in room This time, he held position with his head twisted to expose his throat... waiting.

"Apology accepted," Picard said, although there was a tight edge to his own voice; he understood just what had happened here; the boy had fallen into trouble, but the insult was meant to Picard. "What is your name?"

The boy relaxed a little, if cautiously. "Ekenn." "And you are to be my guide, am I right?"

"You and the amba.s.sador, I was told. It will be my honor."

Indeed. Nadann had intended to excuse herself, to leave Picard in a better position to discuss the charts with Atann. If Atann had been here, as expected. Picard cast through the discourse since the previous night, messages pa.s.sed and taken, with no direct communication between himself and Atann. "Atann," he said to the boy, "is not coming. Is that right?"

Ekenn shifted uneasily, recognizing the loaded nature of Picard's question, but not the reasons behind it. "No, he isn't," he said. "I will show you the kaphoora training. It was said that such a tour would mean more, coming from a student in training."

"And indeed it will," Picard said, though he exchanged a glance with Nadann and said, quietly wry, "We've been set up."

"That we have," Nadann said. "But there's only one thing for it, and that's to sally forth with delight, as though we could not have arranged things better ourselves. Are you up for that?"

Picard gave her a gentle snort. "Amba.s.sador-Nadann-it is the least of my worries."

"I expect it is," she murmured, and then turned to the boy. "Ekenn, we entrust our experience here to you. Please show us those things you deem most important."

As Ekenn ducked his head in a quick bow and preceded them into the cool interior of the training rim, Pi card forced his frustration aside and turned his attention toward learning as much as possible from what Atann had meant only as a daleura ploy. The one interesting thing he'd discovered about children, as ill at ease as he generally found himself when around them-when you put a question to them, they generally answered it.

Chapter Ten.

As dawn finally trickled down to the bottom layers of the canopied forest, Riker dropped the tip of his club to the ground and leaned the handle against his leg while he wiped the sweat and grime from his face-careful not to use the sleeve stiff with dried sculper blood.

They'd survived the night. The sculpers were gone, slunk away after a series of attacks that never reached the intensity of the one during which Ketan was wounded. No big surprise. Their bellies were full of their buddy. And Ketan had survived, although his leg looked terrible. He said nothing, but Riker had no doubt he was in agony. If only the med kits had Tsoran drugs.

Gavare came up to him, silently offering one of the rations from Riker's pack along with the water bottle; together they stood and regarded their surroundings as the details emerged with daylight. Ragged-looking Tsorans-and human, Riker thought, knowing he looked no better-moving around a battered little area of trampled foliage, dying fires, depleted firewood... They'd given their all to survive, each of them. But Gavare-Riker gave him a second look. Gavare actually looked better than he had. More alert, more deliberate in his movements. "Your head feeling better?"

Gavare gave a short gesture, one Riker took as affirmative. He didn't look at Riker as he spoke, but he did take a quick glance over his shoulder to see if the others were paying any attention. "I heard what you said last night. To Akarr."

"I was out of line," Riker said. Out of line, but not sorry; it came through in his voice.

"Akarr," Gavare started, and hesitated, chewing on his own sticky ration bar-a smelly concoction Riker was glad not to share-and taking his time to swallow. "Akarr is young. He does not understand. He has been pushed to this before his time. He will be a great leader, if we can keep him alive through this. A great leader."

Pushed? But Riker didn't ask, and he wouldn't have had the chance, for Gavare turned away, leaving him the outcast that he was.

He finished up his own ration bar and could have done with five more, but knew better than that. They'd heard the Collins arrive ... and if he knew Worf, the tactical officer would strike out on their trail as soon as it was light enough to do so. The smart thing to do would be to turn around and head back, but he had the feeling he wouldn't get that concession from Akarr.

The second best thing ... stall. Keep them here long enough to allow Worf to find them. Once they had a working shuttle on their hands, Akarr might well insist on trying to complete his kaphoora, but that was something they could settle later. Later, when that shuttle sat snugly around them, sheltering the wounded from the Legacy's creatures and putting some of the decisions back into Starfleet hands.

Not, however, a moment he would take for granted until it actually occurred. So for now, a single ration bar would do it. He tossed the biodegradable wrapper into the glowing ashes of the fire pit and began the job of searching out recoverable trank darts.

Riker wasn't sure how many tranks the Tsorans had used; he was sure that he'd never stake his own life on the effectiveness of the things. Of course, they were short-range-very short-range-and it had been dark and confusing during the night's attacks... but he didn't know of a single animal that had gone down from a trank, or even been deterred by it. He was beginning to wonder if the little guns might not make better hand clubs than anything else.

A glint of bright metal-the short body of one of the tranks-caught his eye, and he winnowed it out from the torn and crushed leaves that half covered it. Almost, he didn't take a second look. But something compelled him, and he held it up before his eyes, examining the shiny barrel, the short, primitive needle delivery system.

The blood-tipped needle delivery system.

This dart hadn't missed; it hadn't hit thick fur and failed to penetrate. This dart had found its mark and been dislodged ... but none of the sculpers had fallen here last night. None of them had fallen anywhere within the bounds of the firelight, and as far as Riker knew, the sculper he'd injured had been the only one to go down at all.

Dart in hand, he returned to the cave, and found the Tsorans in the middle of an intense conversation, with which the Universal Translator struggled.

"Morning ... part of the day to travel," Rakal said, looking at Gavare for confirmation, which he received in the form of a short gesture. "We can't afford to waste it."

"Travel in which direction?" Riker said from the cave entrance, not bothering to ease into the issue. "Worf will be looking for us."

Akarr snuffled rudely at him. "So you say. What if the shuttle we heard last night also crashed? What if your Worf is dead? We could be killing ourselves, too, if we backtrack now."

"There was nothing wrong with that shuttle's engines." Riker jammed his water bottle back into his pack, made sure the rain jacket was on top, where he'd need it this afternoon-and stuck the dart into a side pocket as an afterthought. "If we move on, we'll be moving away from safety."

"If we go back, we'll be moving away from safety," Akarr countered, with just as much certainty.

"What is it?" Riker asked. "Do you get more points if you get out of this in the hardest possible manner?"