Star Trek - Imbalance Part 5

His agreement was none too willing, Troi sensed, but it was a start. Until O'Brien quit expecting Keiko to act like the tradition-bound Irish girls he had grown up with, and until Keiko quit a.s.suming O'Brien lived in a world governed by the same rules as the latter-day samurai she was used to, their marriage was in trouble. "I will have the material ready for you when you come off duty this evening, Miles. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?" She knew there was from his agitation and the tension that remained in his posture. The question was-did he really want to talk about it?

O'Brien stared at his hands, again refusing to meet Troi's eyes. It was a familiar pose, one she had seen more times than she could remember. Stronger even than the conflicting emotions he was broadcasting, the taut lines of his body screamed denial to her-denial both that he had a problem and that anything she said could help him. Troi gave him enough time to answer, but he said nothing.

Today, at least, Troi knew his pride was winning and he could not bring himself to admit to her that he was jealous of Reggie Tanaka or even that he had heard the rumors of the crush Tanaka had had on Keiko when he had first come aboard the Enterprise. Somehow, Troi thought that Tanaka's inability to follow through on his infatuation would not carry much weight with O'Brien just now.

"Everything will be all right, Miles. You'll see." She gave him a rea.s.suring smile when he finally looked up at her. "And if you need to talk some more later, I'm always available."

Seeing her words as permission to escape, O'Brien scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Counselor," he mumbled, and then bolted from the room.

Troi heaved a deep sigh and reached for her computer to flag the references on j.a.panese traditions. It was at times like this, when people tried so hard to justify their difficulties instead of overcoming them, that she wondered why she hadn't gone into a simpler field-like theoretical n-s.p.a.ce warp dynamics. At least those problems didn't change at the precise moment you thought you'd gotten a grasp on them.

She logged off the computer and decided to visit Ten-Forward. After talking to O'Brien, she owed herself a break before the captain needed her to help unravel the Jaradan agreement.

Geordi discovered O'Brien in the far corner of Ten-Forward, shoving his sandwich around the plate. Through his VISOR, O'Brien's hands showed cooler and darker against the warm colors of his body, a sure sign of stress. He got his lunch and crossed over to O'Brien's table. "Mind if I join you?"

"Sure." O'Brien's tone said differently. Ignoring Geordi, he continued to toy with his food.

"That bad, huh?" Geordi slid into his chair and bit into his own sandwich while he studied O'Brien's face. The wash of light from the table, coming from below and from such a short distance, distorted Geordi's perceptions and made it difficult to read the nuances of O'Brien's expression. Equally, O'Brien was not showing any great eagerness to help him out. "Want to talk about it?" he asked finally.

"What's to talk about?" O'Brien muttered in a resentful tone. "My wife is down on that planet and everyone seems to think talking will help."

"Oh." Geordi took another bite of his sandwich. If he waited, he was sure O'Brien would spell out his problem in excruciating detail.

"Is that all you've got to say?" O'Brien's face flamed brighter as Geordi's VISOR sensed the angry heat in his cheeks.

"What do you want me to say?" Geordi kept his tone deliberately casual. In O'Brien's present mood he was having trouble telling whether the transporter chief wanted rea.s.surance or if he was trying to pick a fight. "That I don't understand why you're angry?"

"I told her not to go! She should be here helping me plan our six-month anniversary! How would you feel if your anniversary was coming up and it was your wife down there?"

How, indeed? Geordi thought, resisting the impulse to let his exasperation show. As much as he liked O'Brien and respected his abilities, there were times when his att.i.tudes were too much. If he had wanted a full-time wife, why had he married a working scientist? And why did he keep expecting her marriage vows would convert Keiko into a traditional Irish woman raised in the Old Country? Geordi let the silence stretch while he considered his reply. "How I would feel is-my wife has a job and the captain expects her to do it. Sometimes personal holidays have to take second place to that."

"But why is she teamed up with Reggie Tanaka? Why couldn't she work with Leila Koryev?"

Geordi suppressed a shudder at the thought of working with Koryev on an away team. It wasn't that she was incompetent, exactly, but disaster had a nearly miraculous way of finding her, the way iron filings materialized around a powerful electromagnet. "If it's all the same to you, Miles, Keiko's much safer with Reggie. Leila'd manage to pull down a lightning strike from a clear sky, or run them off a cliff, or something. Besides, I think the captain chose her partner, not Keiko."

O'Brien scowled, not at all mollified by Geordi's logic. "I still don't trust him alone with her. I've seen the way he looks when someone mentions her name."

Geordi decided to try another tack. "You work with Jennie Li all the time. How's this any different?" As soon as he said the words, Geordi realized he should have picked another example. Keiko had made more than a few unfavorable comments about the easy partners.h.i.+p between O'Brien and Li.

"Jennie and I are just friends, that's how." Abruptly, O'Brien shoved his plate away and stood. "And just because you're my superior officer doesn't give you the right to pry into my personal affairs!"

"Cool off, mister!" Although Geordi kept his voice low, the order stopped O'Brien where he stood. "Being your commanding officer does give me the authority to order you to correct any problems that affect your job performance. And this definitely falls into that category. You've been impossible to get along with and your work has been substandard for the last day and a half. So I'm ordering you to talk to Counselor Troi or to your wife-or both-before you return to duty. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir." O'Brien's glared at Geordi, his grudging tone saying how much he resented the order.

Geordi stared back, wis.h.i.+ng his VISOR were better for such confrontations. O'Brien needed to acknowledge his jealousy, needed to come to grips with his doubts about himself that provoked his unreasonable reactions-and needed to understand his wife better to prevent such problems from continuing.

For a brief moment Geordi wished he could knock O'Brien's head against the bulkhead until some sense penetrated it. Of course, someone would have to do the same to Keiko, who was showing no better judgment than her husband. Both were projecting all their personal insecurities onto their partner. If this is what love is about, I don't want anything to do with it! It was a depressing thought that two people so strongly attracted to each other should have so much trouble seeing the other's viewpoint.

"Dismissed." He watched O'Brien leave, shaking his head. He had hoped that talking to someone would help O'Brien, but Geordi didn't think he had done much good. The transporter chief seemed unwilling to listen to anyone.

Most of the lunch crowd had left Ten-Forward by the time Troi got there-after concluding an impromptu session with Ensign Handler in the corridor. Troi ordered a triple chocolate sundae and took it to the far comer of the room. The first half disappeared quickly, but then she started playing with it, morosely dabbling her spoon in the melting ice cream. Usually, chocolate helped pull her out of the doldrums, but today it didn't seem to be helping much. Dealing with Chief O'Brien's jealousy and his yo-yo moods was taking more out of her than she liked to admit, even to herself. When she finished the sundae, she stared at the empty dish, wondering if she should get it refilled. Maybe more chocolate would improve her mood.

"I recognize that look." Guinan plopped another dish-chocolate-chocolate chip ice cream on a fudge-frosted brownie, topped with fudge sauce and more chocolate chips-in front of Troi before she took the chair opposite the counselor. She had a small dish of peach ice cream for herself. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Troi shrugged and took a mouthful of the ice cream. Her eyes widened in surprise at the rich, sweet-bitter contrast of the flavors.

Guinan gave a knowing smile. "Selvairian swirl. It's four different flavors of chocolate ice cream mixed together like rainbow ripple. The food synthesizers hate that particular program."

"I'll bet." Troi took a smaller bite so she could appreciate the individual flavors.

"That's better." Guinan's white teeth flashed against her dark skin. "Now, do you want to tell me why you're in here in a chocolate funk?"

"It's Chief O'Brien. I just had another long talk with him. Nothing I say seems to do any good." She scooped up some of the fudge sauce, wondering what Guinan had programmed for it. Nothing exotic, she realized as her taste buds reveled in the flavor, just a piece of chocolate lover's heaven. Guinan had ordered up the best, richest, plain fudge sauce made from the galaxy's premium chocolate.

"Have you considered that he may not want your help? Some people want to be right more than they want to solve their problems." Guinan tasted her own ice cream while she studied Troi's troubled face. Who counsels the counselor? was not a subject that the Starfleet medical division considered often, and sometimes Guinan wondered if the top bra.s.s didn't believe their recruiting literature a little too much. Sure, Starfleet officers were the finest individuals in the Federation, but that didn't mean they were perfeet. All living beings had a certain amount of innate recalcitrance, which tended to surface at the most inopportune times. Chief O'Brien was certainly trying to prove the adage in a spectacular way.

Troi sighed, frustration written large in the frown that crossed her face. "I have considered it. I have also considered that it is my job to see that everyone else's problems are solved. And I have considered the problems his att.i.tude causes for everyone around him." She stabbed at her sundae, taking out her anger on the brownie. On the third try she got an oversize bite to her mouth.

"And you concluded that the only cure for it was a chocolate binge." Guinan grinned, a twinkle in her eye. "Such a waste of good chocolate, to spoil it with so dreadful a mood."

"You're right." Troi's voice was flat, lacking enthusiasm. "But I didn't have any better ideas."

The twinkle in Guinan's eye grew brighter, more mischievous. "You could go program yourself a nice holodeck simulation, I suppose. One where you crack everyone's head against the wall and they instantly see the light."

In spite of herself, Troi began giggling. Once started, she couldn't stop until tears ran down her cheeks. Guinan watched her with one eyebrow raised, a quizzical smile on her face. "Personally, I didn't think it was that funny," she said when Troi had quieted.

Troi rubbed her knuckles across her cheeks. "I was imagining myself doing that to Chief O'Brien and wondering if it would have any effect on that thick Irish head of his. You know, I'm not sure it would make any greater impression than talking, but the idea made me feel better." She tackled the ice cream with greater cheer and decided that Guinan was right. The chocolate did taste better now that her mood had improved.

Guinan gave her a knowing grin. "I thought that might be the case. And maybe he'll start listening, if enough people quit telling him he's right."

Troi smiled at Guinan over another large bite of her brownie. "You know, this sundae is one of your better prescriptions, 'Doctor' Guinan."

"Yes, I have been told that recipe was rather good." Guinan's expression was smug, like a cat licking out the cream pitcher. "That's why I keep it in reserve for emergencies."

By the time she finished the sundae, Troi was almost purring with contentment. She was still enjoying the feeling when her communicator beeped and the captain summoned her to the bridge. Glancing at her chronometer, she realized it was almost time to transmit the Jaradan agreement to the Federation. She wondered what Data had discovered from a.n.a.lyzing the doc.u.ments.

By the time Troi reached the captain's ready room, Picard and Data were seated at the table. The android was fidgeting through the draft agreements the Jarada had given them, looking impatient to give his report. The humanness of the action amused Troi, and she wondered where he had found his model for that particular habit. If she asked, he would no doubt tell her-in detail. Troi promised herself she would not ask.

"Counselor, have a seat." Picard's tone carried more than a little relief. Clearly, he was fighting his own battle to ignore Data's latest experiment. "Mr. Data, would you tell us what you found?"

"Certainly, sir." The android aligned both stacks of paper, as if to refer to them, even though they were recorded in his memory down to the stroke weights of the pen used to make the Jaradan characters and the crossouts in the English translation. Another mannerism he was testing, Troi was sure.

Data straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. "My first observation is that the Jaradan written language is ideographic, like the ancient High Vulcan texts or the traditional j.a.panese forms of Earth. However, many of the symbols seem to be contextually determined, so that in one place an ideograph will mean one thing, while in another place the meaning is completely unrelated."

Troi slid her elbows forward, cupping her chin in her hands. "Are you sure, Data? In most languages where the symbols change meaning, there are modifiers to indicate the differences. Particularly in legal doc.u.ments, where neither side wishes to have any ambiguity in the wording of their agreement."

"I have checked the Jaradan ideographs against all forty-seven known styles of modulating the significance of a written communication. I found no correspondence between those methods and the Jaradan version of the doc.u.ment. Given the wide tonal values of each word in their language, I had expected some such system for indicating those values in the written language."

"Yet you did not?" A slight frown creased Picard's forehead as he tried to remember the more esoteric studies of linguistics he had read over the years. Verbal systems as complex as the Jaradan often had a simpler written language and, in the most extreme instances, the written symbols were little more than mnemonics for the spoken word. In that case, however, he would have expected the Jaradan version of the agreement to be significantly shorter than the English translation, which it was not. Something was not right. Before Data could answer, the message light in front of him lit. Picard touched his communicator to acknowledge the signal.

"Captain, we just received a message from Commissioner T'Zen requesting to know if you have relayed the agreement with the Jarada yet," Lieutenant Chang's voice said.

Picard suppressed a groan. With a twenty-seven-hour transmission lag between here and Earth, T'Zen had sent that message while the Enterprise was still approaching the Beltaxiyan system. "Relay my compliments to the commissioner," he told Chang, fighting to keep his annoyance out of his voice. "And tell her the draft agreement will follow shortly. Picard, out."

"Why is Commissioner T'Zen so anxious to receive this agreement?" Data tilted his head to the side and twisted his face into a caricature of a puzzled frown. "She could not have known how our negotiations would proceed when she sent that message. Therefore her request for transmission of the draft agreement is illogical."

Troi ducked her head, her mouth twitching in amus.e.m.e.nt. That left Picard to field the android's question. "The logic of avoiding a war, Mr. Data, outweighs such minor inconsistencies. Commissioner T'Zen wished to hurry us in the negotiations if we were not getting results as fast as she would like."

"That, too, is illogical, if I understand what I have been told about diplomatic proceedings. Am I not correct in saying that negotiations 'take as much time as they take'?"

Picard hid a momentary grin, wondering where Data had found that particular quote. "Yes, Mr. Data. You are correct, but the commissioner has concluded that we must negotiate this treaty quickly or our irrational natures will lead us into fighting with the Jarada. However, back to the agreement. Can you tell us if the English version is an accurate translation of the Jaradan doc.u.ment?"

Data squirmed in his chair, reminding Picard of a schoolboy who had just been caught pa.s.sing messages to a friend. As a visual demonstration of the concept of "guilt," Data's act was effective, but-guilt about what? As usual, the android had chosen an inappropriate model.

Fortunately for the captain's patience, Data dropped his affectation as he began speaking. "No, Captain, I cannot draw any definite conclusion about the accuracy of the translation. In spite of the progress we have made on the Jaradan language, thanks to the recordings transmitted by the away team, our knowledge is too fragmentary for me to determine what the doc.u.ment actually says. I had hoped that it would provide a Rosetta stone and that I would see correlations between both versions which would add considerably to our Jaradan vocabulary. This has not been the case."

"Data, what can you tell us about the doc.u.ments?" Troi's voice held a note of urgency, as if she were on the verge of solving the mystery. "How many explanations have you considered for the problems you're having?"

"I have examined three major hypotheses. If we a.s.sume that the doc.u.ments are an exact translation, then the Jaradan language is written using a completely unknown system of grammar and syntax. A system, I should add, which is in no way a reflection of their spoken language. A second possibility is to a.s.sume that the translation is imprecise, with the words chosen to convey similar meanings without necessarily using identical ideographs each time a specific concept-cl.u.s.ter is discussed. This would be closer to what the doc.u.ment appears to be, but there are still difficulties with this interpretation. Working from the second hypothesis, I am still unable to determine a consistent grammar for the written Jaradan language."

"And all languages must have structure," Troi murmured, thinking aloud. "How a society perceives its surroundings is reflected in their language, and the grammar and vocabulary of the language in turn influence what an individual will notice in his environment."

Picard looked from Troi to Data, not liking the direction his own thoughts were taking. The problem was that none of their explanations made any sense. "Mr. Data, you said you had a third hypothesis."

"Yes, Captain." The android refused to look directly at Picard, again inviting comparison to a guilty schoolboy. If that were the case, the captain decided, he would have to speak to Data about this particular experiment in human behavior. But he would do it later, when they had less pressing matters on the agenda.

"My other hypothesis is that the Jaradan doc.u.ment is a random collection of words with no apparent meaning. This would explain why I have been unable to discover a reasonable correspondence between the two doc.u.ments, since there is none. However, this would raise fundamental questions about the underlying reasons for this mission."

"Indeed." Picard drew a deep breath to give himself time to think. If the Jaradan doc.u.ment was meaningless, why was the Enterprise here at all? "Counselor?"

"There are several explanations, of course." She ran her hand through her hair, fanning the dark curls across her shoulder. "The first is that we do not have sufficient information to a.n.a.lyze the written Jaradan language and that the fault is in our translation. It's also possible that for similar reasons they were unable to translate the agreement into their language. However, this seems highly unlikely, since they are able to communicate verbally with us and they have provided our away team with translators that seem to function adequately."

"And your perceptions of them, Counselor? Are they dealing honestly with us?"

Troi twisted her fingers through a lock of her hair. The reflection of Data's pale face, his brow wrinkled in another exaggerated frown, stared at her from the polished surface of the table. "I have sensed no deception from them, certainly nothing deep enough to cover a spurious agreement. However, I must admit that I have not sensed any clear feelings or reactions from them. It's almost as if something is blurring their emotions, spreading them out so far that I am unable to read them."

"In that case, could they be hiding something from you, Counselor? Putting up some kind of screen to keep you from sensing their emotions?"

After a moment Troi nodded. "It's possible. At the moment I cannot tell you how likely it is, but we should give the idea further consideration."

"And, Mr. Data, how long would you estimate that it would take you to establish an accurate translation of the Jaradan version of our agreement?"

"I am unable to determine that, Captain. With the information I currently have available, I consider it unlikely that I can improve upon the work I have already done. However, we should antic.i.p.ate that the crew members on the planet's surface will provide additional information when they return."

"While Commissioner T'Zen sends us hourly requests to transmit the draft agreement." There was no one Picard found more difficult to reason with than a Vulcan who "knew" she was about to prevent a war, however shaky the logic she had used to reach that conclusion. Reluctantly, he concluded there was only one thing he could do. "Computer, summarize the preceding discussion and append it to both versions of the Jaradan agreement. Transmit the doc.u.ments to the Federation Council along with my recommendation to study everything carefully before agreeing to the terms."

"Working," the computer answered, then paused briefly before concluding, "Transmission sent to Federation Council, Stardate 44840.8."

"Anything to add?" Picard asked, looking at Data and Troi. Both shook their heads. "Then the meeting's adjourned." He stood, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders as he realized the next step in the diplomatic process was not his responsibility.

He had just settled into his command chair, looking forward to a few hours of uneventful duty, when O'Brien called the bridge. The transporter chief sounded upset. "Captain, I was trying to talk to Keiko and she won't answer her communicator. The computer keeps telling me she's not on the planet's surface. I can't seem to reach anyone else either."

Deciding to ignore the fact that O'Brien's personal call would have interrupted the botanists' work, Picard glanced upward to tell the computer to relay his answer. "We'll look into it. Picard, out.

"Computer, contact Ensign Tanaka and Keiko Is.h.i.+kawa immediately."

"Unable to comply. Neither Ensign Tanaka's nor Keiko Is.h.i.+kawa's communicator registers on the s.h.i.+p's sensors."

A surge of anger, quickly replaced by apprehension, swept through Picard. "Then get me Commander Riker."

"Commander Riker's communicator does not register on s.h.i.+p's sensors."

"What about Dr. Crusher and Lieutenant Worf?"

"Their communicators also do not register on the s.h.i.+p's sensors."

Picard shot the computer an angry glare, realizing that O'Brien must have also been through this sequence and had obtained the same results. He turned to the crewman at Ops. "Mr. Chang, why weren't those communicators being monitored constantly as I ordered?"

Chang touched a control to replay the communications log. "s.h.i.+p's log reports locations were recorded for all away-team members until Chief O'Brien attempted to initiate contact with Ms. Is.h.i.+kawa. I would surmise the signals we received were spurious."

Picard scowled at the report. If the signals had been falsified, then the Jarada were definitely up to something. "Open a channel to the Jaradan Council of Elders. I want to speak to Zelfreetrollan at once."

After a few moments Mendosa reported, "The Jarada are not acknowledging our transmissions. I can't get a positive fix on their receiver, but I think their equipment's been taken off line."

Picard glanced at Troi, who rose and headed for the turbolift to tell O'Brien what had happened. Five malfunctioning communicators and the jamming, plus the Jaradan refusal to answer their message, were not a coincidence, and O'Brien would not take the news calmly. For a moment the captain wished he could throw a temper tantrum because their worst suspicions had just been confirmed, but he knew it wouldn't get his away team back. "Data," he ordered, "begin a full-scale sensor sweep of the Jaradan city and the surrounding countryside. I want our people located and beamed up immediately."

"Yes, sir."

Picard settled himself into his chair, trying to look calm and in control. He felt neither, but the illusion would increase morale considerably. For him, it was going to be a very long search, while his mind replayed the events that led up to it and he tried to see what he could have done differently.

"d.a.m.ned bugs!" Chang muttered, his tone just loud enough to be overheard. "Can't trust an insect as far as you can throw its chitin-armored hide!"

He should lecture Chang on tolerance, Picard thought, but the volume of the remark had been carefully gauged to let him pretend he hadn't heard it. Chang wanted his opinion known, but had chosen a method that avoided confrontation. Besides, Picard was feeling less charitable toward their hosts than he should. The Jarada had maneuvered him into separating the away team, a danger he had discussed with the others after Zelfreetrollan had proposed the guided tours. Still, given their orders to learn more about the Jarada, accepting the invitation had been a calculated risk that should have paid off handsomely.

The malfunctioning-no, sabotaged, he corrected himself-communicators were the factor that changed the equation. Why? That was the key question. If they knew why the Jarada had set this up, they would understand everything that had puzzled them about the situation from the beginning. Unfortunately, Picard realized, the answers to his questions lay with his missing crew members.

Chapter Nine.

RIKER FOLLOWED the Jarada musicians through the narrow door and onto another of the spiraling ramps. This one led only downward, in tight curves that disappeared into darkness below them. The walls were damp and the floor slippery with what Riker guessed was the local equivalent of slime mold or perhaps a form of algae capable of growing in dim light. The enclosed shaft smelled damp and musty, as if it were rarely used.

Despite the poor illumination from the irregularly s.p.a.ced glowstrips, Riker saw narrow ridges running across the ramp, wide enough to act as steps for Jaradan claws but too small to do him much good. Grimacing in distaste, Riker started after his hosts. Most of the Jarada were scrambling downward at top speed and were drawing ahead of him despite the obvious stiffness of their movements. Zarn lagged back, slowing his pace to match Riker's.