Imbalance.

by V.E. Mitch.e.l.l.

Chapter One.

Captain's Log, Stardate 44839.2: The Enterprise is en route to Beltaxiyan Minor, a Jaradan outpost in the Archimedes Sector. The Jarada, an exacting and reclusive race, have contacted the Federation with a request to negotiate an exchange of amba.s.sadors. In addition, they specifically requested the services of the captain of the Enterprise as chief negotiator.

Personal Log, Continuing: While I am only too happy to further peaceful relations between the Federation and its neighbors, the nature of this a.s.signment is enough to give anyone pause. The Jaradan att.i.tude toward protocol is as demanding as their isolationism is strict. One can't help but wonder if there is more to their request than a simple exchange of amba.s.sadors.

"COMMENTS, ANYONE?" Captain Jean-Luc Picard glanced around the table in his ready room to see which of his officers wanted to add something to the briefing. Riker, Geordi, Troi, Crusher, and Worf all wore frowns of varying degrees, telegraphing their opinions as clearly as if they had spoken. Only Lieutenant Commander Data, his golden eyes alight with antic.i.p.ation at the discoveries he had made about their a.s.signment, seemed oblivious to the tension in the room. So be it, Picard thought, recognizing the signs of an imminent lecture. "Mr. Data, would you give us your report, please?"

"Certainly, Captain." The android c.o.c.ked his head to one side, as if to better a.n.a.lyze his information as he reported it. "I have run searches on all available databases, including every cla.s.sified system to which I could gain access in the time available. I have located fifteen references to the Jarada that have been recorded in the last five years. Unfortunately, the only report that is not based on second-hand or hearsay information is our own contact with the Jarada at Torona IV on Stardate 41997.7."

Commander William Riker leaned forward, his elbows on the table and the forefingers of his clasped hands pointed toward Data. The frown on his handsome face had deepened while Data had been speaking. "In other words, we know as much about this situation as anyone."

"I believe that would be a correct a.n.a.lysis, Commander. There is very little information to support any conclusions about the Jarada or their motives."

Dr. Beverly Crusher looked up from the dark polished surface of the table, brushing her red hair away from her face with an impatient flip of her hand. "The same goes for their biology and social structure. I've gone over everything I could find and I still don't know enough to draw any conclusions. We know they are insectlike, but I can't even tell you what the appropriate model is. Is their society a.n.a.logous to that of Earth's ants? Or bees? Or termites?" She shrugged, lifting her empty palms to emphasize the gesture. "Perhaps a model from a different planet would be more appropriate. I just don't know."

"Understood, Doctor." Picard's fingers tightened around his stylus, a concession to his frustration even though he had expected the negative reports. If the a.s.signment had been easy, Starfleet would not have given it to the Enterprise. "Mr. La Forge, do you have anything to say?"

"About the orbit?" Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge looked up, breaking the intense concentration he had been giving his computer padd. As he moved his head, the room's lights danced off the gold and silver band of his VISOR. "It will be tricky, but nothing the ship can't handle. The orbital dynamics are fairly complicated because of the large number of objects in the Beltaxiyan system. Our biggest problems will come in the first few hours, while we collect enough information on the system to define our orbit and the orbits of everything in the area."

"Mr. La Forge is correct." Data glanced at the chief engineer before returning his attention to the captain. "The Beltaxiyan system has not been thoroughly explored by Federation researchers. Our information indicates that there are two planets within the star's habitable zone. Beltaxiyan Major is a gas giant with a ma.s.s approximately twice that of Jupiter. Beltaxiyan Minor follows a highly inclined orbit around the gas giant, with an orbital period of five Earth days. Beltaxiyan Minor's rotational period is locked into a three to two resonance with its...o...b..tal period. The system also contains a large number of smaller satellites and moonlets as well as several other planets in distant orbits, but we have insufficient information-"

"Thank you, Mr. Data. That will be all for now." In spite of his best intentions, Picard could not completely conceal his impatience with the android's lecture on orbital mechanics. The complexity of the Beltaxiyan system and the inadequacy of their knowledge added to the difficulty of their mission, but only Data could find material for an hour's lecture on the subject. A flicker of amused affection pa.s.sed through the captain's mind and his mood softened. The prospect of dealing with the Jarada had them all a little on edge.

Picard closed his eyes briefly, remembering their last encounter with the Jarada. He had spent days practicing the required fifteen-second greeting until his p.r.o.nunciation and intonation had been perfect. Even now, the memory of that tense moment when they all waited to hear if he had pa.s.sed the Jaradan test left his palms slick with nervous perspiration. No, this a.s.signment would not be an easy one. That the Jarada had contacted the Federation suggested that they wanted something-and wanted it badly. It was his job-and the Enterprise's-to discover what the Jarada wanted as quickly as possible, before prolonged contact gave them too many opportunities to unwittingly make a serious diplomatic faux pas. "Does anyone have something to add to the discussion?"

"Only that the away team cannot be too careful while they're on the planet." Riker rubbed his hand along his jaw, sc.r.a.ping it against his short, dark beard. "The mission profile contains very little information. Nothing there convinces me that the Jarada aren't playing a double game. We can't relax even the slightest bit until we know what they want."

"Agreed." Picard glanced at each of his senior officers, making sure that they understood the difficulties facing them. "If there are no further questions, meeting dismissed."

"Keiko sweetheart, I don't see why the captain insisted that you go on this mission." Transporter Chief Miles...o...b..ien's face was creased with a worried frown as he watched his wife flip through the list of reference texts on her computer. She seemed so tiny, so fragile, and he didn't like to think of her facing the unknown risks of Beltaxiyan Minor.

For her part, Keiko was hunched over the screen as if to block out his concern with the intensity of her concentration. Frustrated by her lack of response, O'Brien looked for another way to get her attention. "This could be a dangerous mission, sweetheart. Don't you think someone else should be the one to go down to the planet? Someone better equipped to handle a bunch of overgrown locusts?"

"Dangerous?" Keiko finally looked up, grimacing at the taste of the word that had caught her attention. "Dangerous? A diplomatic mission?"

Taken aback by her tone, O'Brien could only stare at her for a moment. "Well, yes. We know so little about these people, and they're very touchy." He paused to regroup his thoughts. "Shouldn't the captain have a.s.signed, maybe, Deyllar to go instead?"

"Deyllar? That big ox?" Keiko's tone shifted from anger to open contempt. "All he knows is how to catalog plants after someone tells him what they are." She drew in a deep breath, trying to curb her annoyance. "I volunteered for this a.s.signment. I signed aboard the Enterprise to do field work, not sit in some office going over somebody else's specimens."

"But don't you think it would be better if you left this particular planet for someone else? Such as one of the officers who normally handles these a.s.signments?"

Turning her chair to face him, Keiko planted her fists on her hips. Anger made her lovely face as dark as a thundercloud. "Miles, just because I married you doesn't mean I need you to tell me how to do my job. Do I tell you how to fix the transporters? I am the person best able to handle this a.s.signment. I'm going and that's final." She spun her chair away from him, focusing her attention on the computer with intense concentration.

"But, sweetheart, what about our six-month anniversary? Don't you remember?" Frustration sharpened O'Brien's tone, which he fought to keep even. He had put a lot of care into planning the special private evening that would celebrate the anniversary of their first meeting.

"Our what?" Scowling, Keiko pulled herself away from her work again. Her forgetfulness sent a flare of anger through O'Brien, but before he could say anything, Keiko's expression shifted to exasperation. "Miles, that's three days from now. If you don't stop interrupting me, it will take me that long to get ready for this a.s.signment!"

Before O'Brien could muster a new set of arguments, his communicator chirped. With a sigh he acknowledged the signal. Commander La Forge needed him in the transporter room to check the equipment calibrations against the incoming data for the Beltaxiyan system. The radiation readings, even this far from Bel-Major's magnetic field, exceeded the Enterprise's normal operating range.

"You're concerned about the mission, Will." Deanna Troi's lilting voice was soft, pitched for Riker's ears only even though Ten-Forward was almost deserted. Later, there would be an influx of friends meeting for lunch, but for now, only one other table on the far side of the room was occupied. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Riker sighed and took a bite of his sandwich to delay his answer. Through the viewport beside their table, he could see the growing points of light that marked the Beltaxiyan system-the hot yellow-white disk of the sun, the bright spot that marked the gas giant Bel-Major, the dimmer pinp.r.i.c.ks of BelMinor and the system's lesser satellites. This complex system would make a fascinating study if it weren't for the puzzle of the Jarada. "It's just that, the last time we had dealings with these people, they didn't want to speak with me. I was just a-I believe 'mere subordinate' was the term they used. Now they've invited me to their world as an honored guest. Do you wonder that I'm a bit jumpy about the situation?"

"Not at all." Troi smiled at the relief she sensed her words had given him. "In fact, I would be concerned if you weren't a little nervous. Facing the unknown with too much complacency has gotten more than a few men killed."

"You sure know how to rea.s.sure a person." He said the words deadpan, but after a moment his face cracked into a grin.

Troi chuckled with him. "It is my job, you know. Someone has to keep you command types grounded in reality."

"Touche." Riker turned his attention to his lunch, polishing it off quickly so he could get back to duty. He hadn't really been hungry, but he knew they would be too busy later for him to take a break. As it was, he finished ahead of Troi. While he waited for her, he allowed himself the luxury of admiring how the glow from the table painted golden highlights on her cheekbones and disappeared into the midnight cascade of her hair. Friends and once more than friends, the understanding between them was part of the teamwork that made the Enterprise such a special place for him. "Don't you have any doubts about this mission?" he asked as Troi finished her sandwich.

Briefly, she considered the question and her answer. "Of course I have doubts. We don't have enough information about the Jarada or their situation." She stood and started away from the table, flashing him a grin over her shoulder. "However, if we had more information, we would have to wonder how much of it was wrong. If you're after certainties in this universe, Will, you'll have to deal with something other than living beings."

Nodding to himself, Riker followed her from the room. As many times as he had seen her do it, as often as he reminded himself that it was her job, it still amazed him when she gave him the perfect response for a given mood and situation.

Lieutenant Commander Data watched the Beltaxiyan system approach on the viewscreen, marveling at the variety of objects that orbited the Beltaxiyan star and the intricacy of their orbits. One part of his brain piloted the ship, monitoring their approach through the asteroid belts and outer planets, while other parts studied the orbits of Bel-Major's companions, logged four irregularly shaped moonlets circling BelMinor, correlated the wind-speed variations across Bel-Major's lat.i.tudinal belts, and cross-checked the radiation levels reported by their sensors with the most recent models for stellar processes in the yellow-white stars.

The readings for Beltaxiya were higher than expected, about two standard deviations above average, and finding an explanation for the discrepancy promised to be an intriguing problem for him to solve while the away team was on the planet's surface. He checked the radiation levels again to a.s.sure himself that they presented no danger to the Enterprise or its crew, but found no cause for alarm. The humans would have to remain on one of the smaller worldlets for several weeks before the radiation dosage would give them problems. On BelMinor, even though the background radiation was higher than recommended for permanent human settlement, the planet's magnetic field would provide sufficient protection for several months. The only problem the radiation might cause would be distortions of the sensor readings proportional to the radiation flux, but since they weren't planning to do any detailed planetary scans on this mission, he didn't need to worry about compensating for the variations.

Turning his attention to more immediate concerns, Data began refining his...o...b..tal calculations for the ship's approach to BelMinor. Unlike a normal planetary system, holding a "standard orbit" around BelMinor put the Enterprise into an extremely complicated cloverleaf orbit around Bel-Major. In addition, they had to avoid BelMinor's small moons, Bel-Major's mostly uncharted satellites, and the a.s.sorted asteroids that cluttered the resonance points of the various...o...b..ts. Someday, Data supposed, a mathematician would discover a general solution to describe the paths of multiple bodies...o...b..ting the same primary, but until then the only way to solve the problem was by successive approximations. He excelled at such work, where his unique abilities could be used to their fullest. Clearly, he had gotten the best job out of this a.s.signment, being left in command of the Enterprise, where he could study this complex and intriguing planetary system while the others beamed over to BelMinor. He supposed he should add diplomacy to his list of studies, but today it seemed far less interesting than the scientific puzzles that were spreading themselves across the viewscreen.

Worf watched Beltaxiyan Minor grow from a point to a disk on the main viewscreen, each minute bringing closer the moment when they would leave the ship to carry out their mission. He was not pleased with their orders, did not agree with Starfleet's decision which placed both the captain and the first officer at risk on the planet below. Commander Riker was correct-they could not afford to relax their vigilance for even a second.

Starfleet should not have required both senior officers as well as most of the command crew to be present for the negotiations. Worf did not like those orders. He did not like them at all. Diplomacy should be handled by diplomats, and the Federation should not have accepted the Jaradan terms which required the captain of the Enterprise to be the chief negotiator.

Calling up what little information the ship's computer had on the Jarada, Worf reviewed it for the fifth time since the briefing. He did not trust these beings, these insectlike creatures who provided so little information about themselves and yet expected everyone to meet them on the precise terms they dictated. Trust was a thing that must be earned, and the Jarada seemed to be going out of their way to irritate him. Everything Worf knew about them so far reminded him of Federation bureaucrats-their love of protocol and precedence, of precise timetables and schedules set without consulting the other party. He found it difficult to believe that such persnickety creatures had anything to offer the Federation.

At least the captain was taking a reasonable approach to security on this a.s.signment. Worf had no real interest in meeting the Jarada and having them confirm his worst expectations about them, but he had even less desire to allow the captain out of his sight. As long as Worf was included on the away team, he knew that nothing would happen to Captain Picard. The reason for that was very simple-he would not allow anything to happen.

A light started blinking on the console in front of him. He acknowledged the incoming message from the Jaradan Council of Elders and then summoned Picard from his ready room. Whether Worf liked it or not, the negotiations were about to begin.

"On screen," Picard ordered as he strode down the sloping ramp. He crossed the s.p.a.ce in front of the command area and stopped between the forward stations, tugging the waist of his dress uniform jacket into place. The screen switched from a view of the approaching planets to a flickering gold and green pattern. After a moment this faded to show the torso of a being seated in a dimly lit room.

Picard gestured for Worf to adjust the controls, and the picture brightened. The triangular face was all planes and angles, making Picard think of an ebony mantis enlarged to human size. The Jarada had a narrow pointed snout and a hooked jaw with sharp, shearing teeth in the front. Interference patterns sent every color of the rainbow flickering across the flat central facet of the large compound eyes, and the Jarada's long, feathery antennae vibrated at the smallest sound. When the alien realized that Picard was watching, he began speaking.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise. We of the Jarada greet you." The voice was reedy and sounded as if several people were speaking at once.

"Kk-hegg-ra'lesh bre-feg'ra leth c'fre!let ji!" Picard answered, hoping he had gotten the proper inflections into the nearly unp.r.o.nounceable sentence. The p.r.o.nunciation key that had come with this greeting- "We of the Federation are honored to serve"-had not been as detailed as the previous message he had been required to deliver to the Jarada. For a moment after he finished speaking, Picard held his breath, waiting.

The Jarada lowered his head in acknowledgment, the light gleaming off the smooth black planes of his cranium. Chitin or chitin-a.n.a.log, Picard thought, wondering if Beverly Crusher would get a chance to examine these creatures in detail. The Federation needed to learn so much about these people.

As if reading Picard's eagerness to begin their talks, the Jarada raised his head and responded to the greeting. "Your Federation honors us with your presence. We will be ready to begin our discussions in ten of your minutes, if you and your workmates can arrive at our Council Chambers then. We will consent to conduct the negotiations in your language if you prefer, because we have learned that the tonal values of our language are difficult for your race to reproduce."

"You honor us with your gesture." Picard was surprised, and more than a little puzzled, by the offer. After almost a century of making other beings dance to their tune, the concession was incredible. Either he had misunderstood the Jarada completely or the alien wanted something so desperately that he was willing to do anything to get it. Neither possibility boded well for the mission, but Picard had no way to choose the correct explanation as long as he remained on the Enterprise. The only way to find out was to beam over to the planet. "We shall arrive in ten minutes."

The Jarada bowed his head again, this time bending so far over that his face and antennae nearly touched the console in front of him. "The honor is ours entirely. We shall await your arrival."

The screen faded back to the green and gold pattern, and Picard turned to his command crew. "You all know your a.s.signments. Mr. Data, you have the conn. Away team, with me." He started for the turbolift without checking to see that Worf, Riker, and Troi fell in behind him. The doors closed on the sound of Data ordering Crusher and Keiko to report to the transporter room.

Chapter Two.

PICARD AND THE REST of the away team-Riker, Troi, Crusher, Worf, and Keiko-materialized in a courtyard near the center of the Governance Complex. They were walled in by a dense grove of trees, the thick trunks and twisting branches making it impossible for them to see more than a few meters in any direction. The temperature was warmer than Picard had expected, with the building around the courtyard blocking off any breeze and the walls and brick walkways holding in the sun's heat. A heavy resiny scent, like a mixture of cedar and olive oil, wrapped itself around them.

Through gaps in the dense blue-green foliage, Picard caught glimpses of earth-toned walls, muted browns and reds and ochres that refused to coalesce into an organized pattern. Behind him something skittered against the rough bricks of the walkway. Worf whirled to face the sounds, reaching for his phaser before he remembered this was a diplomatic mission.

Riker was only a moment slower than the Klingon, but relaxed almost immediately when he saw that the four Jarada approaching them were unarmed and wore ceremonial sashes of brightly colored, knotted cords across their thoraxes. By the time the rest of the away team had finished turning, the Jarada were crouched in a ritual greeting posture.

The insectoids had four pairs of limbs, with the lowermost set, the thick and st.u.r.dy strong-legs, used to support most of the body's weight and to provide the power they needed when they moved. Immediately above the strong-legs were the longer and more slender balance-legs, which served to steady their bodies after a long leap or to hold their torsos in a prescribed orientation, as now, when they were tucked close together beneath their abdomens in the formal crouch.

The Jarada had barrellike segmented torsos that gleamed with an almost metallic l.u.s.ter, as though each Jarada had polished its carapace until it glistened. Two sets of arms were attached to the upper end of their torsos, the lower pair larger and the top pair almost vestigial. The Jarada extended their larger true-arms toward their guests, holding their three-clawed hands facing upward, while crossing their tiny feeding-arms over their upper thoraxes.

Their heads, Picard noted again, were all planes and angles with narrow snouts and broad foreheads. Large compound eyes with broad central facets surrounded by smaller side facets were set on the sides of their heads, and their faces were framed by long, feathery antennae that quivered at every sound.

The largest Jarada, a s.p.a.ce-black individual who wore a heavily ornamented sash and was about as tall as Keiko, took one step forward and repeated the formal crouch. Behind him, the other three Jarada bent their legs to bring their bodies still closer to the ground. "Greetings, Picard-Captain and esteemed guests. I am Zelfreetrollan, First Among Council for those of the People who dwell on this planet. Your presence honors our lowly Hive."

Picard bowed and extended his palms outward in the closest approximation he could make to the Jarada's gesture. From the corner of his eye he could see the rest of the away team copying his movements. "First Among Council, your invitation honors my people, both those that accompany me on my vessel and those on the hundreds of worlds that belong to our Federation. It is our fondest hope that we can reach an agreement that will enable you to join us in a full partnership which will enrich all our people."

Zelfreetrollan flexed his legs, briefly dipping into a deeper crouch. "Our people, too, share that wish. We will conduct you now to a Meditation Chamber, where you can prepare yourselves for the beginning of our discussions. When you have recovered sufficiently from your journey, we will require that our Protocol Officer attend upon you and instruct you on the Way of our Hive." After another deep crouch he turned and started down the walk in the direction from which he had come. The other three Jarada, all smaller than Zelfreetrollan and with russet-or chestnut-colored exoskeletons, stepped aside until the away team had pa.s.sed them.

A spicy odor, like cinnamon or nutmeg, hit Picard as the three Jarada fell in behind the away team as an honor guard. Suddenly he was seven years old again, watching his mother grate nutmeg for gnocchis, the sh.e.l.l-like dumplings she had made for family dinner every Sunday of his childhood.

Shaking off the memory, Picard focused his attention on the Jarada. Zelfreetrollan moved quickly in spite of his height, with his strong-legs reaching out in wide arcs that covered the ground more easily than a human's and his balance-legs catching his weight to extend his stride. His chitin-covered feet clicked against the bricks like the mechanical tapping of an intake controller putting its valves through a diagnostics sequence.

The thick trees opened out before broad, shallow stairs that led to the entrance of a building that seemed thrown together from a random collection of bulbous shapes, each a different color of earth-hued plaster. The upper stories sprouted from the lower at odd intervals, as if the structure were a vital ent.i.ty with a will of its own, and the top level sprouted a central tower that could have been transplanted from Angkor Wat. The building's windows were round and had been placed without reference to any architectural theory that Picard had ever encountered. In fact, the captain thought as they approached the steps, the structure seemed more organic than constructed, almost as if it had grown from the seed of a building plant.

They entered the building and Zelfreetrollan turned left, leading them down a low, wide corridor that smelled strongly of spices-a mixture of cinnamon, cloves, and other things less identifiable. After the brightness of the courtyard, the dim lighting inside made the ceiling seem even lower than it was. Picard noticed that Riker, after bending to get through the doorway, kept ducking his head as though he were fighting against the feeling that he was about to strike his head against the rough plaster above him. In contrast to the uneven finish on the walls and ceiling, the floor was an exquisite mosaic of brightly colored tiles deeply set into mortar to give the floor an uneven surface.

Some of the designs were geometric, sharp outlines and precise shapes of saturated color so brilliant that even in the subdued light they seemed to glow with an inner radiance that made Picard's eyes water. Other segments of the floor seemed to depict realistic scenes, possibly events in the history of the Jarada, but without more time he could not interpret what he was seeing.

When they pa.s.sed one of the windows, Worf paused for a moment. The gla.s.s was set back on the interior edge of the wall, which was nearly half a meter thick. Decorative leading divided the window into small panes, each one a structurally isolated unit. Worf grunted and leaned forward to study the construction more closely. Behind him the skitter of the Jarada's claws against the tile floor reminded him of their mission. The Klingon straightened abruptly, almost banging his head against the ceiling. Half a dozen quick strides brought him even with the rest of the away team.

Picard lifted an eyebrow when Worf caught up with them, but the Klingon's only answer was a deepening of his normal scowl. The captain shrugged and turned his attention back to their course, trying to memorize the various branchings and turnings. Worf would tell them what he had seen when he was ready, and in the meantime, the random appearance of the building's exterior was carried through to the layout of its interior.

Although they were on a diplomatic mission where they should not need to worry about making rapid escapes from enemy territory, long-standing habits were hard to ignore. Away team leaders who became lost could get both themselves and their teams killed, and Picard had no intention of letting himself be caught in such a situation. He had chosen good people, and he was sure the rest of the team were also taking notes on where they were going, but Picard did not want to have to depend on someone else to guide him out of the maze of the Governance Complex. This mission contained enough unknown dangers without inviting trouble by so obvious a mistake.

After several minutes of climbing and turning, Zelfreetrollan stopped before an ornately carved door. Two of the Jarada following the away team hurried forward, their claws clicking against the tiles. The odor of cinnamon grew stronger as they approached. Both Jarada crouched before Picard, then the smaller one opened the door for the away team.

"Refreshments await you inside, Picard-Captain, and a place to rest from your journey." Zelfreetrollan dipped his head in an abbreviated bow. "The honor guard will remain outside, if there is anything more that you require. Unless you request otherwise, our Protocol Officer will arrive in one-half of one of your hours, and our discussions will begin shortly thereafter."

Picard bowed in acknowledgment. "Your arrangements are most satisfactory, First Among Council."

"Then I will send an escort for you at the proper time." Zelfreetrollan crouched in response to Picard's bow. He held the position until the away team had filed through the door, each one bowing to him as he or she pa.s.sed. Finally, the door swung shut, leaving the away team by themselves.

Worf pulled out his tricorder and began scanning the room, pausing every few steps to sweep the walls from floor to ceiling. Like the corridors, the walls were rough-finished plaster, a soft beige near the door that darkened to ochre on the outer wall near the windows. The color scheme made the room seem light and airy, even though the low ceiling had been designed to accommodate the shorter Jarada. Unlike the corridor, the air contained only a hint of spiciness, a memory of the much stronger smells outside.

The room was furnished with a long, narrow table, two low couches, and several short, four-legged stools with padded, oddly shaped seats. Riker examined one of the stools, prodding the ribbed fabric to feel how the scat was built. From the shape and from the location of the padding, the stools appeared to have been designed to support a Jarada's abdomen while the insectoid rested one or both sets of feet.

"Not built with humans in mind, Number One?" Picard's voice held a trace of amus.e.m.e.nt. Given the Jarada's body form, the design was elegant and eminently practical.

"I'm afraid not." Riker continued his examination, as if the stool might tell him more about its creators. The legs were of a smooth dark wood, strongly braced and fastened with wooden pegs. In contrast to the room's door, the stool's legs were undecorated.

Picard lowered himself into the nearest couch, thinking how strange it was to seat himself on furniture that was barely off the floor. The honey-colored upholstery was smooth and cool to the touch, but the cushions were indented, the padding shaped to accommodate a Jarada's body form. Picard shifted position, feeling a bit like a schoolboy squirming at his desk, but after a moment he found a comfortable spot.

Crusher walked over to the table, which held a fluted pitcher and several flared gla.s.ses. She pa.s.sed her tricorder over the pitcher and waited for the results. The device whirred and clicked to itself, taking so long to answer that a frown appeared on the doctor's face. She was reaching for Riker's tricorder to repeat the a.n.a.lysis when the readout appeared. The drink was a concentrated fruit nectar, almost as sweet as pure honey. "I wouldn't recommend drinking this stuff straight," Crusher told them. "But if anyone is thirsty, we can cut it with water to make a reasonable punch."

Picard glanced around, spotting a door on the far wall which led to a small washroom. "Perhaps we should, Doctor. We would not want to offend our hosts by refusing their hospitality."

With Troi's help, Crusher diluted the fruit syrup and handed the gla.s.ses around. One by one the away team took seats on the couches. Worf was last to join them, coming to stand opposite the captain when he finished scanning the room.

"Comments, anyone?" Picard asked.

"There are no obvious listening devices." Worf's voice, like the grumble of distant thunder, was a warning of possible trouble ahead. "However, the acoustics of this room are such that the ventilation ducts could reflect our words to a detector that does not register on my tricorder."

Riker's eyebrow rose in surprise. He looked around the room again, his face showing new respect for the building's designers. "I a.s.sume you're suggesting that we act as though we are being monitored, then?"

"I a.s.sume that we are being monitored." Worf straightened to attention, his head brushing the ceiling. "An enemy commander will use all means at his disposal to learn our plans."

"This is a diplomatic mission, Mr. Worf." Despite the words, there was a twinkle in Picard's eye. The Klingon's adversarial approach to life underscored the potential for conflict that underlay any diplomatic mission, especially one where they had so little information about the beings with which they were dealing. While the Enterprise team would do everything possible to promote good relations with the Jarada, they could not ignore the possibility that the Jarada might have other ideas.

"Yes, Captain." Worf's tone conceded nothing.

"Counselor?"

Deanna Troi shifted position, a thoughtful look on her face. "I am having difficulties interpreting what I sense about the Jarada. Everything is very confused and-distorted. Almost as though something were blocking me."

"Do you mean-deliberately?" Crusher asked, looking up from her medical tricorder. Absently, she brushed a lock of her coppery hair away from her face and reached for her gla.s.s. Diluted, the fruit nectar was not bad, its flavor similar to a mixed fruit beverage available from the ship's food service.

Frowning in response to the doctor's question, Troi c.o.c.ked her head to one side and tried to sort through her impressions. Finally, she shook her head. "I don't think so. But there is a lot of background noise, almost like static. Perhaps because the Jarada are so different from us, I am having difficulty sensing the patterns to their emotions."

"Doctor?"

"I got low-quality scans of all the Jarada who met us. It was the best I could do with the tricorder on automatic." Crusher flicked her gaze back at the tricorder's screen for a moment. "I will, of course, need a larger sample before I can make any definitive statements about Jaradan biology. However, they have at least three s.e.xes and display a certain amount of s.e.xual polymorphism."