Star Trek: The Next Generation - Silence - part 1

                  Kellie Matthews-Simmons

     This novel was uploaded to the Internet for free
     distribution.  I've printed the first 10 pages here and the
     full novel will be in two parts, this issue and next, on the
     disk for those who want to read the whole thing.

PROLOGUE

The ship was badly damaged, once-powerful engines nearly
powerless, almost all systems but life-support down.  Its pilot
was immune to damage, but, unfortunately, its cargo was not.
Already many of them had been irreversibly damaged by
cell-mutating radiation left by its encounter with a cosmic
string.  With regret, the pilot shut down the outer banks of
stasis units, allowing the ruined cargo to expire peacefully,
without ever gaining consciousness, their bodies lending some
small defense against the lethal rays let in through the massive
hull-breach the string had left.  The pilot sang sadly, both in
farewell to those who had Gone, and because it would not be able
to complete its mission.  There would be one less group of unique
beings.

On the outer periphery of its senses, a disturbance caught its
attention, the cluttered racket of living minds.  Its dull glow
brightened. Life meant a world was near, and where there was one
world, there were usually several. Excitedly it began to search,
and finding, grew dim once more.  None of them were suitable,
being gaseous giants, or rocky, airless husks.  Only one world in
the system was able to support life, and it was only marginally
suitable, being too hot, and thinly-atmosphered for what remained
of its cargo. It would not have been right even were it not
already inhabited.

It continued to search, to the limits of its range, and found
nothing. Its glow faded still further, almost gone. It did not
want to give up, but what choice had it?  It sent a pulsing song
into the vast emptiness, a cry to its siblings for help.  No
answering echo reached it, but then, often replies did not come
for a few moments, as its siblings were far-scattered and intent
on their own missions.  Ordinarily it found time irrelevant, but
what was a moment to it was a lifetime to its cargo.  It could not
wait for an answer.

In desperation it turned its attention again to the inhabited
planet.  The world was not without beauty, with its fierce bronze
sky, and sere, brilliant landscapes.  The singer sensed that once
the world had been different, had hosted seas, and been a green
world, like that which its cargo had called home.  Otherwise it
could not have evolved the water-based lifeforms so similar to the
singer's cargo.  And similar they were, bipedal, beings with a
single brain, varied sense organs, sexually reproductive.  The
now-absent seas must have been rich in copper salts, for the
life-sustaining fluid of these beings was based on copper, instead
of iron.

Socially, their organization was not dissimilar, they lived in
tribal and family groups, though here the female sex was dominant,
rather than the male.  Their mental faculties were more highly
developed than were those of the singer's shipment, and their
civilization far more advanced.  They had not yet developed
spaceflight, but it was not far away.  Most importantly, as far as
the singer was concerned, they had accepted the notion that life
probably existed elsewhere, in different and varied forms.

Though such was forbidden, it moved toward the inhabited world.
It could not allow its cargo to perish, it could not give up hope.
The world would be a temporary refuge for it and the beings in its
care, until one of its siblings could come to help. It steered the
disabled vessel as well as it could, but the heat of entry damaged
it still further, more of the lives it contained ceased, but not
all.  When it finally rested on the planet's surface less than
half of its cargo remained alive.  It no longer had enough
individuals to make its mission viable.  It dulled to near
invisibility, brooding on the inequitable nature of the universe.
It had broken many laws to save its cargo, yet had failed to
preserve enough of them for the species to continue.

After some time, it ceased brooding.  The inhabitants of the
planet, curious, had come near.  They used primitive tools and
instruments to measure, to inspect; they used their formidable
minds to evaluate.  It became interested.  There was a possibility
there, of viability.  Eagerly, it began to work out the necessary
details, what amino acids would need to be restructured, what
chromosomal tinkering would be necessary.  Requiring examples of
the new species for study, it opened the ship, allowing access to
its interior, then closed it again, trapping the explorers inside.
Commanding the small worker-machines to life, it gave the visitors
sleep, then went to work, gathering samples, changing, tampering
with the codes of life deep within each cell.  Within a short
time, it had implanted the first generation of adapted beings
within females of both species.  It was pleased.  They were
perfect.  Then it woke the sleepers of both worlds, and released
them from the ship.

The original inhabitants, though shocked at first, extended
cautious friendship to the newcomers.  When the adapted ones were
born, it caused much consternation.  It was obvious the new lives
were a blending of both species, yet none of the sleepers could
account for how they had been conceived.  The singer found their
dismay somewhat amusing, not being sexually reproductive itself.

As the adapted ones matured, they began to manifest extraordinary
abilities, abilities neither group of progenitors had shown
particular aptitude for.  The singer wondered briefly which of the
thousand changes it had made had produced those abilities, but
then the adapted ones began to take mates of their own, both among
themselves, and from the unchanged later children of their
parents, and it became too caught up in the wonder of watching the
changes it had made take firm hold and replicate in a new
generation to bother.  It was pleased.  Its experiment had been
successful.

A third generation had already been conceived when one of the
singer's siblings replied to its distress call.  It listened to
the singer's explanations with dismay, and called other siblings
to debate.  Laws had been broken, a thing to be punished, yet
because of that a new life-form had been created.  Like the other
life-forms they sought to preserve and protect, it was unique.  It
was sentient.  It was self-reproducing. It was innocent.  They
could not punish the life-form for existing where it should not,
but its presence was disruptive to the life already naturally
evolved and established on that world.

By the time a decision was made, the fourth generation were nearly
adults.  The new species, though longer-lived than the original
cargo, were still short-spanned in comparison to the singers.
Since they tended to mate with their own kind rather than with
either parent stock, they were fixing certain alleles in their
genes which might eventually prove destructive.  Work would have
to be done to prevent this, and also they had to be removed from
the planet on which they did not belong.  The singer was given a
new ship, and the responsibility of collecting all the descendants
of the non-natives.  It placed them in stasis and made the first
of the necessary genetic modifications while an appropriate and
uninhabited world was found for them.


The only appropriate world found was one subject to periodic
fluctuations in its protective upper-atmosphere.  To compensate
for that, the singer situated their primary dwelling deep
underground, where the earth itself lent protection during the
dangerous time.  It also left one of its nodes in place to
continue making genetic corrections as the species matured.  For a
little while it watched its 'children' to be sure they were well
established and safe, then it gave itself back to the interstellar
winds.


INTRODUCTION

High above the planet, a massive white-silver ship glided smoothly
into orbit, easily avoiding other, smaller vessels, and various
pieces of orbital junk.  Though she had never been intended to
enter a planetary atmosphere, her lines were sleek, aerodynamic,
as if her designers had indulged an eye for aesthetic, as well as
function.

A few of the smaller ships darted close, their pilots jockeying to
find a spot from which to get a good look.  In an earlier time,
those ships would have been a crowd on a wharf, waiting for the
ship to dock.  Here, she merely floated, silently, seemingly
oblivious to their presence. After a little while her admirers
slowly dispersed, taking their memories, leaving her alone.

###

Below, farther below even than the planet's surface, a woman woke,
startled, staring wide-eyed into the once comfortable darkness,
heart pounding, breath coming shallow and fast.  Something had
changed.  She felt as if she had been suddenly picked up, and then
set down a few inches from her original position, everything had
shifted slightly. Between one moment and the next, something
important had changed.  But what?

She sat up, wrapping her arms around drawn-up knees, rocking
slightly as she opened out, attempting to identify what it was
that had awakened her.  For many long, frustrating minutes she
left herself exposed, but nothing came to her.  Finally, with a
sigh, she stopped trying.  Whatever it was, she was not destined
to know... yet.  She would have to wait.  A strange sense of
anticipation constricted her throat, kept her pulse elevated.
Knowing she would not be able to sleep now, she dressed, and left
her dwelling in search of food.

###

CHAPTER ONE

Jean-Luc sat down on a rock and dangled his bare feet in the cool
water of the stream. It was his favorite spot to hide, on those
rare summer afternoons when he could manage to slip away from the
vineyard.  Best of all, Robert was no longer small enough to
easily slip through the underbrush to follow him.  He leaned back
again against the rough bark of the oak and just listened to the
quiet sounds of the water, the light breeze, and discordant but
somehow comforting sound of his father's cultivator in the

distance.  He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing, for a moment,
that he could stay there forever.

As he sat, peacefully soaking up the stillness, he began to notice
that the cultivator had developed a peculiarly rhythymic boom.  He
sighed again.  Time to go back.  He knew his father would be upset
enough with the cultivator acting up again-- if he found out that
his younger son had left the vineyard without finishing his work
he would be doubly upset.  He opened his eyes and reached up to
grab a branch to pull himself up.  It was hard, smooth, and coldly
metallic under his hand.  He knew what was happening, tried to
stop it, but couldn't.

<NO!> he screamed, <OH GOD, NOOO!!!  NOT AGAIN!!  NO!>

His scream ended in a silent sob.  He could feel himself
screaming, but there was no sound beyond the rhythmic booming of
the cultivator.  He looked with horror at the stream, now encased
in a transparent black tube.  His body continued to stand, and

began to walk along the catwalk that had replaced the stony
stream-bank.  Heart pounding, he tried to grab the tree only to
discover it had become a dead-black pylon supporting another
catwalk above him.  He jerked his hands away in revulsion.

Jean-Luc looked wildly around, and found that all the trees had
become lifeless black columns.

<Let-this-be-a-dream-please-let-me-wake-up-let-me-be- home>.

His breath came in short, painful gasps.  His body, which no
longer obeyed his commands, was sheathed in a cold sweat.  Before
him he saw a gray door with the word SICKBAY printed on it.  He
sighed in relief as his body moved him toward the door and it slid
open

<beverly-will-help-me-it'll-be-alright-it'll-be-over-beverly-
will-help-NOOOOO!!!!>.


Picard lurched upright in bed, panting, his ears ringing with the
scream that had finally ripped itself free of his raw and burning
throat.

"Lights up, full," he ordered, his voice a raspy travesty.

An involuntary shudder shook him.  He cautiously explored the left
side of his face, swallowing hard, unable to shake that last
dream-image from his mind.  The image of Beverly Crusher, face
dead-white, flaming hair hidden behind a black cowl, reaching
forward to place the half-mask on his face, its attached
laser-sight piercing the darkness in a sanguine beam.  He clenched
his fists and drew a deep, painful breath.  That made three nights
in a row.  It was starting again.  He knew he wasn't going to get
any more sleep, so he got up and started to check over the next
day's schedule, using the familiar routine like a mantra.

###


Picard looked around the conference table at his officers' faces.
Worf was stoic, as usual; Data mildly curious, Will Riker and
Geordi LaForge were doing their best to appear attentive, Beverly
Crusher looked downright rebellious. He wasn't exactly thrilled
himself.  Five days of diplomatic 'presence'... god help him, he
wasn't sure he could be pleasant for that many days in a row,
especially not planetbound, and without his ship's counselor.
Missions like this were on the dull side at best.  He knew none of
them would be happy about his next words, either.

"Since our presence has been requested at both the opening and
closing ceremonies of Guide Kelssohn's Reaffirmation, we will
remain here in orbit around Halvam for a week.  For those of you
on the away-team, dress uniforms will be required."  He sat back,
and waited for the reaction.  It wasn't long in coming.  Riker
groaned.

"Not that, anything but that!"


Picard suppressed a grin, though his amusement was apparent in his
eyes.  He disliked Starfleet's formal dress uniforms as much as
the next man, but under the circumstances it was unavoidable:
Diplomatic functions required dress uniforms.  Thus, they were
stuck with the current model--a bizarre fusion of archaic Earth
formalwear and Starfleet's current uniforms--until someone at
Fleet Headquarters got tired of the complaints and came up with
something new.

He waited just long enough for them to become really uncomfortable
with the idea, then dropped the other shoe.

"Dress uniform will be required at the ceremonies only.  In the
interim, duty uniforms are acceptable."

An audible sigh of relief went up.  Riker eyed him askance, no
doubt suspecting he had intentionally drawn out the suffering.  He
had, of course.  His sense of humor did get the best of him at
times.  He leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"While I realize that the next few days will be
uncharacteristically routine, I hope that you can all remember
that we are invited guests of the Halvami government, and behave
accordingly."

Beverly Crusher lifted an eyebrow.  "As I recall, they requested
the Yggdrasil, not the Enterprise.  That hardly makes us invited."

"They requested a Starfleet presence."  He corrected her, slightly
annoyed.  "As Captain Ng of the Yggdrasil is Halvami, their
original preference is understandable.  However, since the
Yggdrasil was damaged in an ion-storm and is out for repairs, we
were awarded the... honor instead."

"Mmm."  She said, noncomittally. "Still, it does make one feel a
little like chopped liver."

Data turned his head toward the doctor, head slightly tilted.

"Chopped liver, doctor?"

"A figure of speech, Data." Picard sighed. "Reference it later."

"Yes, sir."

"What sort of place is Halvam?"  Riker asked.

"Mr. Data, if you please?"

Data nodded cordially.  "Halvam is a class M planet, extremely
temperate due to its optimal axial tilt.  The solar day is twenty
five-point-four hours, and the year is three-hundred-fifty-eight
solar days.  Landmass to watermass ratio approximately
sixty-eight-point-eight-five, and the..."

Riker held up a hand, stopping Data's recitation.  "I meant the
culture, Data, not the planet itself."

Data stared at him for a moment before speaking.  "Commander, it
would be helpful if you were to express your requests more
precisely.  Halvam is a class-A human colony, non-ethnocentric.
Its population is relatively stable at three billion individuals.
It was established during Earth's early colonization phase one
hundred and twenty-six years ago.  Halvam's chief exports are rare
metals, gems, medical stasis field systems, and works of art.  The
state of the economy is very good, recreational time is high, and
the cultural atmosphere is highly cosmopolitan. Halvam is known
throughout the Federation for the lavishness of its hospitality.
Is there anything else you wish to know?"

Riker shook his head, smiling.  "No, I think that about covers it.

"Anyone else have questions?"  Picard asked, looking around.

Geordi straightened a little in his chair. "What exactly is Guide
Kelssohn's position, and what's a Reaffirmation?"

Data turned toward Geordi.  "On most human-colony worlds the
Halvami 'Guide' would be termed a 'president'. It is an elected
position, those elected serve twenty-year terms, and their duties
encompass all aspects of governance.  A Reaffirmation is the
ceremony given when an incumbent Guide is reelected.  This is
Guide Kelssohn's second Reaffirmation."

Geordi whistled.  "So, this Kelssohn's been Guide for forty years,
and he's starting his third term in office?"

Data nodded.  "Correct.  Election of an individual to a third term
has never before occurred, which is why they requested a
Federation presence at the ceremonies.  The organizers apparently
wished to make them more elaborate than usual."

Picard waited a moment to see if anyone else would speak.  When no
one did, he stood.  "I believe that is all; you are dismissed.
Assemble in transporter room three in one hour."

His officers began to file out, all but the doctor who remained in
her chair, sitting stiffly, with her arms crossed on her chest.
Picard recognized the stubborn set of her chin and mentally

prepared himself for a fight.  When the room was empty save for
the two of them, he resumed his seat.

"Yes, Doctor Crusher?"  He kept his tone even and formal.

"I still don't see why I have to go down," she said, jumping in
with both feet.  He gave her his patented 'long-suffering'
expression.  "Doctor, you know very well that second to myself,
you are the most senior officer aboard.  The Halvami could take it
as an insult if you were to absent yourself from the ceremonies."

"It's not as if they'd declare war on us over it, Jean-Luc," she
retorted drily.  "I know that as well as you do, but sometimes
duty comes before personal considerations.  I realize you are in
the midst of a research project, but this does take precedence."
He paused a moment, then offered his compromise.

"It would be acceptable for you to attend the opening and closing
ceremonies only, and return to the ship between events to continue
your work."


The tightness disappeared from her jaw and her smile lit the room.
He was startled for a moment by how beautiful she really was.
Generally he managed to overlook it, a virtual necessity for their
working relationship.

"Jean-Luc, you are a sweetheart," she declared vehemently.

He lifted an eyebrow.  "Kindly refrain from mentioning that within
earshot of the crew, Doctor."

"Certainly," she winked, and gracefully unwound herself from her
chair.  "Thank you, captain, I owe you one."

"I'll remember that," he replied smoothly.  There were times that
having her owe him a favor could come in handy.  She shot him a
narrow-eyed look, then smiled wryly.


"I'll bet you will."

###

The away-team materialized into a huge, lavishly decorated room,
obviously meant for formal receptions.  At the moment it was
empty, save for a distinguished-looking man in flowing cobalt-blue
robes.  He was an inch or so taller than Riker, with thick black
hair liberally salted with white, and a closely trimmed beard.
His pale blue eyes flickered quickly over the away team.  He
looked puzzled for a moment as he studied Data, and his nostrils
flared slightly as his eyes passed Worf, but when he saw Beverly
Crusher he reacted very strangely.  Most men looked at her with
admiration.  This man looked both surprised and appalled.  After a
moment he recovered and smiled, a thin, chill smile devoid of
meaning.

"Welcome to Halvam, gentlemen, lady.  I am Ser Coran Delvekia,
Minister of Internal Affairs.  I have been assigned to see to your

needs during your stay.  Follow me, I will show you to your
quarters."

Picard disliked him on sight.  But then, the feeling appeared to
be mutual, if Delvekia's outward demeanor was any indication.  He
mustered a civil smile he hoped was more convincing than his
host's.

"Thank you, Ser Delvekia.  I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the
Federation Starship Enterprise.  This is my first officer,
Commander William Riker; my Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Beverly
Crusher; Lieutenant Commander Data; Lieutenant Geordi Laforge,
Chief of Engineering; and Lieutenant Worf, Chief of Security."

Delvekia acknowledged the introductions with a slight inclination
of his head, then he frowned.  "I was not expecting a woman.  I
shall have to change the room assignments.  All the serving staff
is male."


Beverly tried to smooth over the situation.  With a smile which
could normally charm even a Klingon, she spoke.  "I'm sure I can
manage by myself, Ser Delvekia. You needn't go to any trouble."

Delvekia looked at her coldly.  "You do not understand our ways.
The servants attend the rooms... always.  It would not be seemly
for you to have a male servant.  I will change the assignment."

"I..."  Beverly started to speak, then caught the almost
imperceptible shake of Picard's head and paused, revised, then
continued.  "...thank you.  That would be very nice."

"Wait here.  I will return shortly."  Delvekia turned and strode
away, his long robes rippling in the slight breeze he created as
he walked.  The away-team was left standing alone in the center of
the hall.

Riker looked at Picard, eyebrows lifted in exaggerated curiosity.
Picard shook his head and shrugged.

"Friendly sort, isn't he?"  Geordi commented softly, his sarcasm
not totally disguised by the natural warmth of his voice.  "Seems
to have something against doctors."

"Or women," Beverly Crusher said, frowning.  "He seemed almost
offended by me.  Data, is this a strongly male-dominated culture?"

Data shook his head.  "Not according to the records, Doctor.  In
fact, its first, third and fourth Guides were women, which would
seem to indicate a fairly egalitarian society."

"Mmm. Odd.  Well, maybe I remind him of his ex-wife," she said,
shrugging.  "I wonder what he meant by that 'The servants attend
the rooms... always' business?"

"I would venture to guess it means the rooms are never unattended,
even when its occupants are sleeping."  Data said.



"That could explain the 'it isn't seemly' comment," Picard said,
nodding.  "Data, do you have anything applicable on Halvami mores
and customs?"

Data paused for a moment, looking at nothing, then shook his head
again.  "No sir, nothing applicable.  Previous sociological
studies indicate little difference between Halvami and current
pan-European Earth customs; however the last study was done nearly
twenty-five years ago, and that is more than enough time for a
dynamic culture to evolve a new set of customs."

Picard frowned.  "Twenty-five years ago?  Why so long?  Is no one
from Colonial Affairs keeping up with them?"

"Apparently it was not felt necessary, since the world is a
class-A colony."

"And just how do they expect us to be certain we are not offending
colonial cultures when they give us no current information to work
from?"  Picard demanded irritably.  He turned to Riker.  "Arrange
to have someone from Sociology report down as an observer.
Without Counselor Troi, it may be the only way to stay out of
trouble."

Riker nodded.  "I'll get someone down right away, but don't you
think it might upset Ser Delvekia if we add someone at this hour?"

Picard sighed.  "Good point.  Doctor Crusher will be returning to
the ship after the opening ceremonies to continue working on her
research project.  If we bring down our additional person then, it
should cause no upset.  In the meantime, we'll have to manage.
Oh, and make sure whoever you bring down is female... we wouldn't
want Ser Delvekia to have to rearrange the rooms again."

"No, we certainly wouldn't, would we?"  Riker said, grinning, then
quickly adopted a more serious expression as Coran Delvekia
returned, his equanimity apparently restored.  His smile was
slightly more convincing this time.


"If you will follow me, I will show you the state apartments and
halls while the room arrangements are being completed.  The
opening ceremony will begin three hours from now, so you will have
time to rest after you acquaint yourselves with the building."

Manifesting polite interest, the group trailed after him as he
began to describe the meanings of the various symbols displayed on
tapestries around the great hall.  At the rear of the party,
Geordi mimed a yawn at Worf.  Worf scowled at him, and Geordi
grinned and shrugged. Through his VISOR, Geordi saw a slight
change in skin temperature around the Klingon's mouth and knew
from long experience that Worf was suppressing a smile.  Riker
caught the exchange and shook his head.  Geordi sighed resignedly
and looked with intense interest at the walls.

###

Their tour finally over, Delvekia had escorted them to their
rooms.  As Picard had suspected, each room had its own attendant,
whose only apparent function was to attend the occupant of the
room they cared for.  All the attendants were young men... boys
really, younger than Wesley, save for Beverly's whose was a girl
of about twelve.  As his room was the last they had come to,
Picard had the opportunity to notice a disquieting fact.  And now
as he sat in the ornate chamber the Halvami had supplied him, he
could not shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He looked around the room, at the woven hangings of bright silks
and metallics, the soft couches and ostentatious decoration so
unlike his spare, functional quarters aboard the Enterprise.  The
rest of his away-team had been assigned equally elaborate rooms.
That in itself was not so odd, considering the planet's
reputation.  His gaze traveled to where his attendant sat, quietly
attentive.  That was the source of his unease.  It troubled him
that not only were the room attendants mere children, they were
all disturbingly alike...  small, almost delicate, olive skinned
and red haired.  Without regard for gender, they were dressed
alike, wore their hair alike, they even moved alike.  The sameness
was somehow unnerving. Though each was demonstrably individual,
there was that disconcerting similarity about them.

He sat back in his chair, scowling absently.  During the course of
their tour, he had seen two dozen or more of the 'servants.' Never
engaged in any recreational task, only working. In point of fact,
all the laborers he had seen during the tour had been of the same
type.  The very uniformity of the phenotype in the servant caste,
and its absence elsewhere, suggested deliberate discrimination. He
strongly suspected that it also explained Ser Delvekia's peculiar
reaction to Beverly Crusher, whose auburn hair, slight build and
deceptively fragile features put her squarely within their
category.  He wondered if any of his crewmates had noticed what he
had.

The other thing which troubled him was that none of the servants
appeared to be past their mid-teens, though most were much
younger.  Even if one 'served' only as a young adult, they had to
have elders somewhere... but he had not seen a single mature
individual who belonged to the phenotype.  Granted, their tour had
been confined to the complex of buildings which made up the
administrative center, but one would think, given the number of
servants he had seen, that he would have encountered at least one
individual older than twenty.

As a Federation 'A-status' human colony Halvam had to have, over
the hundred or so years of its existence, met at least minimum
Federation guidelines in order to retain its status. It was widely
held to be a model of colonial success, noted for its organization
and prosperity.  Yet he was suspicious, in fact virtually certain,
that they were in violation of one of the Federation's most
fundamental tenets; that which held that no sentient being could
be enslaved.

He found himself wishing yet again that Deanna Troi was not off at
her damned symposium.  Her empathic insight would be invaluable in
determining whether or not his suspicions were valid. With a sigh,
he admitted to himself that he was more dependent on her than he
liked... in fact, he had become more dependent on all his top
officers than he was strictly comfortable with.  He had never had
a crew with whom he meshed so well, whose abilities were so
uniquely complimentary.

It was a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon.  Most captains never
acquired a crew like his.  Over the past three years there had
been intense efforts on the part of some other captains to lure
away some of his best officers.  It was a point of pride that none
of those efforts had succeeded.  Even Beverly Crusher had opted to
return, giving up the directorship of Starfleet Medical to retake
her place as Enterprise's C.M.O.  Because he knew he wasn't the
easiest Captain in the fleet to work with, their loyalty was
doubly appreciated.  On that thought, he turned to the youngster
who waited silently.

"Excuse me...," he said.

The boy jumped to his feet, brows raised in question.

"What is your name?"

His query garnered a puzzled frown, then the boy touched his lips
and shook his head.

Picard frowned back at him, not understanding.  "What?"

Again, the boy touched his lips, then shook his head, then he
pointed at Picard and touched his ear, smiling.

Picard thought for a moment, then his eyes narrowed.  "You are not
allowed to speak to me?"

The boy smiled and nodded.

"But I may speak to you?"

Again, a nod.  Picard thought it very odd.  Why were they not
allowed to speak?  Perhaps it was simply for the convenience of
the guests in the room, knowing the propensity of children to
chatter.

"If I give you permission to speak, may you?"

His question was answered by a vehemently shake of head.

"I see.  Well then, I suppose I must be content with 'hey you', an
inelegant solution, but the only one available.  I am going to ask
my first officer to join me here shortly.  When he comes, I would
appreciate privacy."

The boy frowned, shaking his head.

Picard's brows lifted, a look his crewmembers knew and dreaded.
"No?"  he asked softly.

The boy shook his head again, touching his chest, then gesturing
around the room before going to the door and placing both hands
flat against its surface.  Once more he shook his head.

"You are not allowed to leave the room?"  Picard queried
incredulously.  At the other's nod, he wondered briefly how he had
understood the boy's signs, as they were in neither of the
nonverbal languages Picard had studied.  Perhaps it was their
simplicity which rendered them decipherable.  His scowl returned,
darker than before.

"How do I contact Ser Delvekia?"

The boy stiffened, his eyes going wide. Fear, unmistakably.  What
was he afraid of? After a moment, he seemed to regain his control
and he gestured at a small metal box on the desk. Picard realized
it was an old mechanical- button comunit.  He reached toward it,
and the boy was there suddenly, as light and quiet as a moth,
touching his hand briefly, shaking his head.

"You don't want me to contact him?"  Picard asked softly.

The boy shook his head vehemently.

"Are you afraid?"

A nod.

"You need not be.  I mean only to release you from those
ridiculous rules.  I suppose if it is customary, I must have a
servant while I stay, but fail to see why you should remain bound
to the room or to silence."

Miserably the child shook his head again.  Picard sighed, rubbed
the bridge of his nose and looked around the room.  He hated
dealing with children, though of necessity he had gotten better at
it of late. An idea occurred to him.  "Are you allowed to go out
on the terrace?"

The boy nodded.

"Good.  I will require you to go out there, with the doors closed,
while Commander Riker and I speak.  Is that acceptable?"

Looking pleased, the boy nodded and went to stand by the high
glass doors which opened onto a small walled terrace.  Picard
tapped his combadge.

"Commander Riker, report."

"Here, sir."

"Join me in my quarters. I have something I would like to discuss
with you."

"Certainly, sir... where are you?"

"Four doors past you, on the left."

"Riker out."

Moments later a tap at the door signaled Riker's arrival.  Before
Picard could rise, the boy had crossed to the door and opened it.
It was uncanny how quietly and quickly he moved, like a ghost.
Riker looked down and seemed a little startled, then looked at
Picard.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Number One, a moment."  He looked at his attendant, then
nodded toward the door.  The boy quietly removed himself from the
room, closing the outer doors behind him.  Picard waited for Riker
to take a seat in one of the excessively cushioned chairs before
speaking.  Riker looked out at the attendant who stood looking out
at the teal of the sky, his back to the room, then his gaze came
back to Picard, questioningly.

"As I wished to speak about the attendants, I thought it prudent
to ask mine to leave.  Tell me, have you attempted to speak with
yours?"

Riker made a face.  "I have, and he won't"

Picard nodded.  "The one here is the same, and I have also
ascertained that he is forbidden to leave the room."

He was silent a moment, phrasing his next question.  Riker must
have sensed he was not through, for he waited patiently.


"Have you noticed anything unusual about the division of labor on
Halvam?  Physical labor especially?"

Riker nodded, frowning.  "I have.  All the laborers I've seen seem
to have the same general physical characteristics.  Considering
the substantial ethnic diversity on Halvam, it seemed a little
odd."

"Precisely my thoughts, Number One.  Tell me, does it also strike
you as peculiar that they aren't allowed to speak with us?"

"Yes, it does.  What exactly is it you suspect?"

"Discrimination at the least, possibly worse.  I would like you to
ask the others if any of their attendants will speak.  We must try
to ascertain whether or not their service is voluntary."


Riker nodded.  "I'll get right on it."  He stepped toward the
door, then turned back, frowning.  "How could they have managed to
slip something this blatant past the CA review personnel?"

Picard lifted one eyebrow ironically.  "Really, Number One, are
you really so idealistic.  There must be a thousand ways to slide
such things past during a review, not the least of which is
bribery.  There is also the small matter of the time lapse since
their last review.  I begin to suspect why they specifically
requested the Yggdrasil.  As Halvam is Captain Ng's homeworld, he
might be more likely to overlook directive violations than an
unfamiliar ship and crew would."

"If your theory is correct, then they why haven't they hidden it?
It doesn't make sense for them to leave things status quo, knowing
we would be here."

"That is the weakest point of my conjecture."  Picard admitted,
leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers.  "Perhaps
they felt it would be less noticeable to leave things as they are
than to try and hide them.  In a situation involving a large
number of people, deception might prove impossible to manage.
Then again, perhaps they simply thought we would not notice," he
said with a slight grimace.  "Judging from Ser Delvekia's
attitude, they could well think us lacking in the necessary
intelligence."

Riker chuckled.  "He doesn't seem to hold Starfleet in
particularly high regard, does he?"

"Apparently not.  Let me know what you come up with."

Riker nodded and let the room.  Picard looked out the doors, a
slight frown creasing his forehead.  He had just decided to call
the boy back inside, when someone tapped at the door.  Wondering
what Riker had forgotten, he turned.

"Come."


The door opened, and an elderly woman of Asian descent stepped
somewhat tentatively into the room.  She looked around, almost as
if expecting to find someone else in the room.  Picard quickly
rose to greet her.

"Please, forgive my rudeness.  I thought you were my first
officer."

"An understandable mistake, as I saw him leave a moment ago.  I am
not offended."

"Thank you.  What can I do for you?"  he asked, studying her.  Her
lined, pinched face spoke of years of unhappiness. Though she was
dressed in airy layered robes in shades of gold and peach, for all
their lightness they sat on her like inch-thick armor.

She looked around again, in the same, strangely furtive manner,
then shook her head.


"You cannot do anything for me...," she sighed, her voice a
whisper. "...but possibly for the little ones.  I am Seret Ng."

"You are Captain Andre Ng's mother?"  he guessed.

"I am.  But that has nothing to do with why I am here."  She
sighed and turned away, then saw the slight figure on the terrace
and stiffened visibly, a shudder sending the elaborate beadwork on
her robes into shimmering display.

"Are you ill?"  Picard asked, concerned.  "Please, sit down."

She straightened, and turned back to him, her face mask-like.
"Yes.  I am ill, but only with myself.  I have done an evil thing,
and I mean to undo as much of it as I can.  That is why I have
come.  I have not the time to tell you now, but please, after the
ceremony this evening, will you meet me out on the public square,
where I may speak freely?"


Picard's steady gaze narrowed.  She met it for a moment, then
looked away, her expression one of... guilt?  He pressed a little.
"Forgive me, but I do not understand.  What is it you wish to
discuss?"

"An old wrong, Captain Picard.  One I helped create, and one I
must help end.  But I must go, others are waiting for me.  Meet me
there..."  she pointed to the wide, white-paved plaza a short walk
from his rooms.  "...near the fountain at the east corner.  We
will speak more then."

"Very well, madam, I will do as you ask."

She smiled, her smile transforming her pinched, closed-off face
into something he suspected approximated her former beauty.

"Thank you, Captain.  You are not a priest of old to give me
absolution, but perhaps my penitence will count for something in
the next life.  Goodbye,"

On that odd note, she turned and left the room in a swirl of
silks.  He stared after her, frowning, then shook his head.

"Curiouser and curiouser," he mused to himself.  "I wonder when
the white rabbit appears?"

###

>From a doorway down the hall, a man in a Halvami security forces
uniform watched Seret Ng leave the Captain's room.  After she
passed out of sight, he stepped out and hurried away, scowling.

###

See the Programs folder on this disk for the next section, then
next issue for the conclusion.



                              - o -