CERTAINLY, AT OTHER TIMES and in other places, Jean-Luc Picard had dined more elegantly. But he could not recall the last time he"d had a meal as satisfying as this one.
Between catching the d.a.m.ned fish, cleaning and preparing them with utensils improvised from rock and wood, then starting a fire with the most primitive techniques, dinner on Domarus wound up taking considerably more effort than sliding a tray out of a starship food synthesizer.
But I did it. He smiled to himself as he watched one of the day"s catch sizzling on a stick propped above the campfire on a cross-brace made of tree branches. Then he leaned closer and squeezed a plum-sized piece of yellow fruit over the fish, letting the pulpy juice dribble down onto it.
Picard knew his own ancestry well, and he was aware that the French love affair with fine cuisine went back through recorded history, and probably predated that. As he savored the last bites of the fish he"d already cooked, Picard wondered about the origins of such regional characteristics. Was it all based on cultural indoctrination, or was it-as generations of Frenchmen had insisted-simply in the blood?
No matter. Nothing could prevent him from taking great pleasure in his ability to rise above the rudimentary needs of survival and turn this meal into something tasty. I just hope there"s nothing latently poisonous about all this ...
"Smells good."
The voice startled Picard and he nearly fumbled the fish in his hands. Then he spotted Captain Arit, out in the darkness across the campfire, hanging back on the fringe of the woods. d.a.m.n-she"s sneaky. "Are you hungry?"
She circled part of the way around, but kept the fire between them. "No."
"Have you eaten?" He made an extra effort to sound friendly, even though he didn"t really trust her, or her motivations.
"Some fruit," she said.
"There"s plenty here for both of us."
"I"m a light eater."
Arit"s arrival distracted him from his cooking long enough for the pleasing aroma of roasting fish to turn acrid as it began to burn. Just in time, Picard s.n.a.t.c.hed it away from the flame. Though a bit more charred than he liked, it still looked edible. The d.a.m.ned fish had taken too much effort to catch-he was most certainly not going to discard any that were remotely edible. He sat back on the ground-and realized the Teniran woman had moved silently closer, now crouching not more than three meters away.
"I didn"t help you catch them," she said. "In fact, I laughed at you."
"So?"
"So why are you so willing to share?" The reflection of the fire glinted in her pale green eyes.
"I caught more than I can eat. No point in wasting any of it." He held out the freshly cooked fish. She reached forward and took the stick from him, then immediately retreated again to her three-meter perimeter.
Her fangs flashed in the firelight as she tore into the crispy fish. Picard guessed she was a lot more hungry than she would admit.
"You surprise me, Picard," Arit said between bites.
"Oh? In what way?"
"Your survival skills didn"t look especially sharp earlier today."
His mouth curled into a subtle smile. "Ah. Well ... let"s just call it trial and error."
"How did you get this to taste so good?"
"Nothing magical. Where I come from, on Earth, a place called France, cooking is almost a religion. Great chefs are like high priests protecting sacred mysteries," he said as he skewered another fish. As he continued, he seasoned it with fruit juice and pulp. "But satisfactory cooking isn"t really mysterious at all. Care to try it for yourself?"
She frowned in abrupt annoyance. "Cooking isn"t one of my skills. I was bred to be a ship captain."
"One doesn"t necessarily preclude the other, Arit."
"It does where I come from. We Tenirans don"t have the luxury of dabbling in hobbies as you humans do."
"We really don"t know much about each other"s societies," Picard said, hoping he could gingerly steer the conversation toward the point where they could actually exchange something more meaningful than small talk about fish.
It didn"t work. Arit tensed and stood up, as if ready to fight-or flee. "If you think that a little food means I"ll reveal all our secrets-"
"On the contrary," Picard said, "accepting food implies no obligation."
"That"s what the powerful always tell the weak."
"Powerful? What makes you think we"re powerful?"
"We know all about your Federation and your starships, Picard," Arit sneered.
Picard turned the fish over the fire, checking to a.s.sure it was cooking evenly. "You seemed to have no fear of my ship when you were threatening our shuttlecraft."
"Your presence here threatens us," said Arit sharply.
"You have no need to consider us a threat, Arit-though you may not believe me."
"I don"t."
Deciding to try a more direct approach, Picard straightened up. "Allow me to remind you that we did not respond with force even though our shuttle was in mortal danger. Why do you want this planet so badly?" But she reacted by tossing the skewer to the ground and backing away, and he immediately regretted his direct inquiry. "Whatever your problem is, perhaps we can help-"
"Help? Help leads to betrayal," she said with a certainty Picard found both tragic and chilling. "We don"t want your help."
"Captain Arit," he called. But she ignored him and slipped back into the dark woods beyond the campsite.
Neither captain noticed the single twinkling mote of crimson light quivering high over the campsite.
After hours of repair work that had proven mostly futile, dinnertime aboard the shuttlecraft Onizuka was understandably subdued. Wesley and Gina ate together at the front of the aft cabin, but seemed lost in private thoughts as they nibbled unenthusiastically on packaged rations. Data and Troi sat in the rearmost seats, though the android of course had no need for food. He occupied himself with a thorough a.n.a.lysis of the sensor information gathered earlier.
Only Ken chose to be physically by himself, slouched in the c.o.c.kpit pilot"s seat, absorbed in sporadic scribbling in a notepad. He didn"t notice when Gina poked her head in from behind.
"What"re you doing?"
Ken straightened abruptly, then realized she was peering at what he"d written on the pad. He flipped it face down, tried to look nonchalant, but succeeded only in looking uncomfortable. "Nothing."
"Come on, that wasn"t some techie list." Gina squinted in disbelief. "What was it?"
"Just some notes."
"Looked like a poem to me."
He glared at her. "It was not a poem," he said, s.p.a.cing his words deliberately.
"Suit yourself. I was just curious," Gina said with a shrug. She looked out the broad front windows at the cavern bathed in eerie illumination from the shuttle"s running lights. "It sure does look pretty out there."
"Pretty?" His tone made it clear he regarded her description to be dubious at best.
"Yeah. But then I guess you"d rather be anywhere else but in a cave, right?" she teased.
"You really think you know me, don"t you?" he said, annoyed at her insinuation. "Well, you don"t."
With another shrug, she left him alone.
Dammit! Why do I always do that? he thought as he watched her go. I could"ve shown her what I was writing ... why didn"t I? What the h.e.l.l am I so afraid of? If she doesn"t know what I"m really like, who"s fault is that? It"s mine! He slouched down in the pilot"s seat, wishing he could replay those last couple of minutes with Gina. She wasn"t the first girl he"d liked this much, though there hadn"t been many before. But they"d all turned out the same way ... nothing ... just a big nothing. Worse than that, most of the girls he"d liked had never even known it.
He just couldn"t seem to figure out how to tell them. With some girls, he"d just freeze up and act like some kind of robot around them. Those were the ones who not only didn"t know how he felt about them-they probably never even knew he existed.
A few times, though, it had been different. There"d at least been some conversation, something in common. Maybe she"d be nice to me ... And Ken knew with a shudder what always seemed to happen next. He"d go overboard trying to be attentive and kind and thoughtful, the perfect formula for smothering any relationship before it could ever get off the launch pad. He couldn"t help it, and he couldn"t seem to do anything right. And he was afraid to even try.
Especially with someone like Gina. Not that there hadn"t been a few nice moments here and there. Just enough to give me some hope, he thought bitterly. He glanced out the pilot"s window, trying to see the beauty Gina saw out there in this confining cavern. Could there be beauty in a prison? In a tomb?
He knew that was the wrong att.i.tude, but he couldn"t help the way he saw the universe. Could he?
And besides, why do I always have to be the one to make the first move? It was the same dance every time, always doomed to failure. Why couldn"t a girl like him first, just for a change? That would be so much easier, letting her lead the way. Then he would only have to respond ... and maybe they"d just live happily ever after.
No, Gina didn"t know him at all.
Of course, he knew why no girl ever seemed to like him first. What is there to like? What could I possibly offer someone like Gina? He wondered if Wesley ever had these same dark thoughts. Not likely.
He opened his notepad again and read the few lines he"d managed to scrawl in handwriting that was shockingly sloppy for a compulsively neat person. He didn"t like what he"d done. And who ever said you could write poetry anyway?
In the aft compartment, Data turned away from the computer screen. "Counselor," he said softly, "I have been attempting to solve a puzzle and I wondered if I might have your input."
"If it"s about those sensor readings you"ve been studying, I doubt I can provide much help."
"Actually, it is about a facet of human behavior."
"Oh?" Her eyebrows rose with interest. "What facet?"
Data c.o.c.ked his head. "Fear ... specifically, fear of death. Intellectually and quant.i.tatively, I can understand it. But I cannot fathom the qualitative emotional aspects."
"Is this sudden interest related to our current situation?"
"Oh, it is not a sudden interest. It is a topic I have been curious about ever since I began serving with humans, especially humans facing potentially lethal dangers. I have done considerable reading on the subjects of fear and death."
"And that didn"t help?"
"Yes and no. Biological death is the cessation of existence, and I can grasp why rational beings would fear that. It is not surprising that virtually all humanoid cultures have, to some degree, believed in various forms of altered or continued existence after death-"
"You mean, as in reincarnation or an afterlife of the soul-"
"Exactly," Data said, then paused as a pensive expression shadowed his face. "But for all the effort to duplicate the human life form in an artificially constructed mechanism such as myself, I am not human. There are distinctions that the most advanced programming and technology apparently cannot yet erase."
"Like the idea of having an indefinable soul?"
Data nodded sadly. "I am unable to accommodate that concept. And although I can cease to exist, much as a biological life-form can, I was not born with the knowledge that I had a finite life-span."
"Well, compared to us, you don"t. Depending on what damage you sustain, and the level of repair technology, your life-span could very well be indefinite. But you"re still programmed for self-preservation. How does that differ from the same biological instinct?"
"My imperative for self-preservation is consistent. I do not pa.s.s through the life phases which seem to alter human perceptions of themselves. For instance, I have observed that young humans are much more likely than adults to recklessly risk life and limb."
Deanna chuckled. "An observation probably made on a daily basis by every human parent in history."
"Yet, at a certain age, humans reject behaviors and activities they once undertook with little or no concern."
"I stopped climbing onto the roof of our shed," Deanna offered with a faraway look.
"Pardon?"
"We had a storage shed in our yard, and when I was six, I had this uncontrollable urge to see what the world looked like from a greater height. So I dragged a ladder out and climbed onto the roof of the shed."
"Did your parents object?"
"My father wanted to climb right up, haul me down and punish me."
"And your mother?"
"Mother had quite another reaction," Troi recalled with a knowing smile. "She knew the shed looked a lot higher to a six-year-old than it really was. Even if I fell off, I probably wouldn"t do any great harm to myself. So she told me I could climb anywhere I wanted, if I could figure out how to get up there. She said it was good practice for life."
"Was it?"
"Yes. Though I"ve often wished I could be as bold now as I was then. Unless they"re forced to do it, the young by nature do not worry about their own mortality."
"Nor do I, Counselor. And I am concerned that this deficiency prevents me from truly understanding what it is to be human-and detracts from my ability to be an effective leader in circ.u.mstances such as ours."
"Hmm." Troi frowned as she wrestled with Data"s dilemma, seeking a response that would make sense within an android"s frame of reference. "Data, even with emphatic abilities like mine, it simply isn"t possible to always know how someone else feels."
"Yet Captain Picard seems to know."
"Any good leader tries to be aware of the feelings of those around him, and the most effective way to do that is by keen observation. I"ve never met a better observer than you, Data. And as long as you"ve got that skill, you"ll always be sensitive to others" fears and emotions, even those you don"t quite understand. Trust me."
"Thank you, Counselor." Data stood. "Wesley, are you ready to begin our search for an exit from this cavern?"
"More than ready, Data."
The sensor scans they"d run earlier had shown the cave to be free of obvious dangers, with a breathable atmospheric mixture. Gina"s structural a.n.a.lysis indicated the rock itself to be stable, with no detectable risk of collapse or cave-in. Now, equipped with phasers, tricorders and lanterns, Wes and Data opened the hatch and climbed out. In preparation for their exploration, they"d fashioned improvised safety tethers out of cord coiled inside dispensers mounted on their hips, and now they clipped the "home" end to utility nodes on the shuttle"s side.
"Be careful," Troi said, standing in the open hatch. "If you feel disoriented in the tunnels, come back."
"We shall, Counselor. In any event, we will return in one hour," Data said. "Keep trying to contact the Enterprise."
Troi nodded and shut the hatch behind them.