Part 2 (1/2)
”You don't eat?”
”Not as a rule. I absorb an organic compound on a monthly basis, and use a direct power tap to charge my systems when necessary. I do not, however, need to eat, though I can utilize the sensors in my oral cavity to simulate human responses to culinary matter.”
”You can taste, then.”
”Yes. I have even found several foods to be of an interesting composition, though I do not possess the ability to truly distinguish between aesthetically pleasing foods and those considered-less desirable.”
”Data is many things, but he's no gourmand,” Riker explained.
”It was not included in my programming,” the android said, simply.
”Well, nonetheless,” Kurta continued, ”I would highly recommend that you try Porupt's creations, anyway. If nothing else, you can store the sensations for reference at a future time.”
”Very well,” Data said. Kurta led them over to the kitchen area, and introduced them to the chef, Porupt, who was chopping and slicing the alien-looking ingredients on the board in front of him with the dexterity of a juggler. He smiled a h.e.l.lo and, without taking his eyes off Kurta and her guests, deftly lifted the cutting board and sc.r.a.ped the contents swiftly into a pan where they sizzled delightfully. d.a.m.n good, Riker thought. This guy knows how to swing a knife. It reminded him of his own cooking attempts, and he noted that he needed to have another of his infrequent dinner parties soon. The cook gave the pan a quick stir, and began cutting up more ingredients.
”Kurta. I heard we have visitors,” Porupt said. ”I see you brought them to the most important part of the s.h.i.+p first. Would you care for a bite?”
”It certainly smells good,” Riker said, his mouth watering. ”What is it, exactly?”
The chef's eyes twinkled mischievously. ”Old family recipe. A secret.”
He plucked a container from a rack below the bar and added a small amount to the pan. As he stirred the flavors together, a fine shower of hot oil rained upon his arms, though he didn't seem to notice it. Riker found that strange, but supposed that the man might be used to it.
Kurta slipped behind the kitchen and poured three gla.s.ses of a bright green beverage. ”This is, I believe, the proper vintage for the dish?”
Porupt scowled. ”Yes, it will do; but it's supposed to be aged seven years. They won't get all the proper nuances of flavor if it isn't. I hate to serve a dish halfway, but I guess necessity wins out over pure art once again.”
He pulled three plates from behind the counter and served an equal portion on each. Riker politely waited for his hostess to sit down before he began. She inhaled deeply, then scooped up a pile of food from her plate and pushed it into her mouth. Apparently the local custom made fingers the eating utensil of choice. This didn't bother Riker; he had once attended a banquet where the first and only dish was live mealworms. He picked up a goodly amount of the warm, exotic-looking food with his thumb and forefingers and, pausing only to savor the aroma, stuffed it in his mouth and began chewing.
Data pa.s.sively followed suit. Kurta made an appreciative grunting noise as she chewed and swallowed. Riker fell off his chair.
It was sheer agony. The food was like raw, red-hot antimatter in his mouth. It seemed to burn away the skin cells, the nerves, and eat away at the very fabric of his tongue and mouth in a barrage of alien fire that made him want to tear at his tongue. He grabbed the green wine at his elbow and began gulping it to relieve the onslaught of combustible-seeming spices. He didn't see the look on Kurta's face until it was too late.
”The wine is a little spicy, Commander,” she said.
Liquid fire. That was the only way he could describe it. His eyes began to water. Riker desperately gasped for cool air and swallowed madly to get the offending beverage past his taste buds as quickly as possible.
”Water,” he whispered hoa.r.s.ely.
”Interesting, Commander,” supplied Data, as Porupt quickly poured a tumbler full of clear water for him. ”I had no inclination to copy your motions. The food is an interesting combination of molecular patterns and chemical reactions. I was particularly interested in the combination of reactions with the addition of heated organic oils. But I have no desire to gasp, choke, or wildly gesticulate, nor do my optics wish to tear as yours seem to. Perhaps,” he said thoughtfully, ”I am appreciating this food incorrectly.”
Riker was too busy gulping water to answer.
Jared paced intently back and forth in his office. He was suspicious, and it showed. Maran sat in a low couch in front of him, unmoving except for her eyes, which kept track of her commander as he paced. Jared couldn't understand why she wasn't as anxious as he was. The data on the Federation craft, their erstwhile rescuers, had arrived.
”Their vessel is that large? And that well armed?”
”So Dren's crew has relayed. Our scanners are not fully operative yet, however, and so a detailed a.n.a.lysis of the s.h.i.+p and crew is unavailable.”
Jared sighed deeply. He hated being without eyes, without knowledge of that which might hurt him ... or help him. He stopped pacing for a moment and sighed again, more peacefully. The storm had been a double-edged sword, then, for if he could not see the Enterprise, then perhaps they could not truly see him. They had no strategic advantage, then. Perhaps. But what were their inclinations?
”What do we know of this 'Federation'? Are they friend or foe?”
”Insufficient data, Commander. The Sarens made some note of the Federation in their exchanges with Vemla, but the information is over two hundred years old.”
He nodded impatiently. ”Well, what data do we have?”
”The United Federation of Planets was formed as a cooperative organization, designed to share information and present a united, ethical front in the colonization of uninhabited planets. The Sarens viewed them slightly unfavorably, because they attempted to prevent trade of advanced technology to more primitive cultures on the basis that it was detrimental for a culture's development.”
Jared halted in his tracks and smiled a harsh, wolfish grin. ”Lucky for us that the Sarens ignored them, isn't it? Where would we be now had the startraders not broken the will of the Federation? Certainly, without this wonderful vessel!”
”Jared,” said Maran, slowly, ”if it wasn't for the Sarens, we wouldn't have been-”
”Yes, yes, I am quite aware of that. Ancient history, now. Sometimes I wish that those merchants had never strayed to Vemla, but then I realize the consequences. In any case,” he said, as he resumed his pacing, ”we have a problem. How much do the ... Earthmen know about us? Have they seen through the charade? Can we trust them to aid us? Protect us? Or must we attack them to insure our own safety?” These and countless other questions were on his mind. He could do no less as a s.h.i.+p's captain-and a leader of his people-to find out if the Earthmen posed any danger.
”Jared,” Maran said again, urgently, ”this is not like the other times.”
”How so?” he demanded, turning to face her. ”Are they not just like the others? They can be beaten-”
”They have an android among them, Jared. He would not be ... susceptible. Besides, they freely offer us aid.”
”They do not know us yet! Would they give us the same aid if they did? I do not think so.” Did the woman have no grasp of the situation? No clue as to the potential danger? Yes, he would like to believe that the Federation s.h.i.+p would accept them as they were, for who they were, but never in his creation had Jared met the man who had. As his chief information officer, he expected Maran to be as objective as possible, considering all the possibilities so that she could advise him, and yet- ”You do not know!” Maran exclaimed. ”We have come so far, through so much, and here we stand at the doorway of a new life, with freedom and sanctuary just a few steps away, and you talk of attacking our potential hosts. We fought before because we had to, not because we were barbarians. And, yes, if need be, we will fight again. I will take a thousand lives with my own hand, if necessary, but only when there is no other choice!”
The usually imperturbable Maran had shouted out the end of her speech, an action that in itself was a vital piece of information. Jared knew he was p.r.o.ne to overreact on occasion, and he used Maran as a guide as to how outrageous his own thoughts and actions had become. Jared considered her words for a moment. Perhaps she was right.
”Alright Maran, we will play this one by your rules.” Try as he might, he could not keep the undertone of scorn from his voice. ”I forget, sometimes, that you were never in the Games, never felt the rage that comes-”
”Don't give me that!” she barked. ”My loyalty to our cause has never been in doubt, and I defy you or anyone else to find fault with it.” She regained her composure and stared at Jared. ”Do we play this correctly? You saw him, just as well as I did. You saw how they treated him.”
Respect. That was the unspoken word. ”Agreed,” he whispered. ”But if it comes down to our survival or theirs-”
”If it comes to that, I shall kill them myself. I pledge this to you.”
He turned again to her, his tone more gentle now. ”I shall not require that of you. We have killers here who are much more suited to the task. Such as myself. And Garan. We were ... trained for it, after all. No, Maran, you are a librarian, a keeper of books, a scholar. How I wish I could share your peace. But what has been learned cannot be forgotten.”
”I know,” she said, and sat in silence.
Despite what his lips said, in his mind Jared was already planning the possibility of a strike against the Enterprise. Learning the complete operations of the vessel would be no problem; it was run by computer, and computers were merely ... machines. Garan's a.r.s.enal would provide the weapon, of course, and Kurta would be the carrier. Something lethal, yet nondestructive to the integrity of the s.h.i.+p. A plague, or toxin, perhaps. Details, however, that could be settled later, as the time approached.
But perhaps Maran was right. Perhaps this Federation would prove benign, even helpful, in their endeavors. Anything was possible in this mad, chaotic universe, he had found. Friends could become enemies, foes could become friends. Even a shy and retiring librarian could become a vicious killer.
”Let us discuss, then, the possibilities,” he said, at last. Despite his genial manner, he was certain Maran knew what he was thinking. She always did.
Chapter Three.
”COMMANDER RIKER has gone back to the Enterprise to help oversee our own repairs,” Data said over the comm channel to Geordi. ”He wished me to ascertain your progress.”