Encounter at Farpoint (13 page)

In many ways, the Ferengi were akin to Earth’s robber barons of the Nineteenth Century. They probably would have felt flattered if accused of greed. They embraced the making of a
profit
like a lover. All their dealings involved a contract and, inevitably, a profit for them. They were known to be hard and dangerous negotiators, but were also known to carry out a contract to the finest detail. In turn, they expected the opposite party to live up to the letter of a bargain in exactly the same manner. There were some harrowing stories about the fates of those who tried to renege or cheat on a Ferengi agreement.

As a race, the Ferengi men encountered were described as small and slim humanoids with brown skin, enormously strong despite their size. They were totally bald, and their cup-like ears were set forward instead of lying close to the head. No one had ever seen a Ferengi woman, which perhaps was a comment on how little—or how much—they were regarded.

“The Ferengi
could
have contacted the Bandi without Starfleet knowing about it and made it a provision of the contract that their presence was to be kept secret,” Riker agreed.

“Or,” Picard said, smiling, “perhaps it’s like those incidents you describe in your report as ‘almost magical’ attempts to please us.”

“Those events
did
happen, sir. If I wasn’t the observer, there was at least one other person to corroborate what the witness testified. I won’t say the Bandi are adept at what could be called practical magic. I would say they
appear
to be.”

Picard briskly pushed to his feet as he said, “And in time we’ll discover the explanation. Meanwhile, none of it suggests anything threatening. If only
every
life form had as much desire to please. Ready to beam down? I’m looking forward to meeting this
Groppler
Zorn.” He keyed the door open and waited for Riker.

“I still feel there’s more to it than just pleasing us, sir.” Riker stood and gestured for the captain to precede him onto the bridge.

“Like something
Q
is doing to trick us?”

As they emerged on the bridge, Riker was concentrating on Picard, and the sound of the turbolift doors didn’t impress itself on him immediately. “You met
Q
face to face, sir. Could he arrange something like that?”

“Farpoint Station is a very material construction, Riker. I’m inclined to believe what we saw from
Q
was an extremely powerful illusion.” Picard stopped and beckoned to someone. “I’ve asked our ship’s counselor to join us in this meeting.”

The captain stepped aside, and Riker’s heart dropped.

She was as beautiful in person as he recalled her in his dreams—her cascading dark hair, her deep, black eyes, her gentle smile. Her small, perfect figure still made him feel gawky and overlarge next to her.

Picard was saying something. Riker forced his face into what he thought passed for a neutral expression.

“May I introduce our new first officer, Commander William Riker. Commander Riker, Ship’s Counselor Deanna Troi.”

She extended her hand to him formally. She was not at all surprised to see him. Of course, Riker realized, she would have known of his appointment in the counselor’s routine review of service files on new personnel. Was that why his dreams of the night before had been so vivid? Her nearness would have enhanced his unconscious perception of her.

Betazoids had a strong telepathic ability, but Troi’s was diluted by her human blood. Often she could perceive the feelings and moods of other people, even aliens. However, someone with whom she was emotionally close could receive her projected thoughts clearly.

They shook hands, and her voice whispered gently in his mind. “Do you remember what I taught you,
imzadi?
Can you still sense my thoughts?” What she said aloud was, “A pleasure, Commander.”

“I, ah . . . likewise, Counselor,” he stammered.

Picard eyed the two of them, intuitively aware there was something between them. “Have the two of you met before?”

“We . . . we have, sir,” Riker managed nervously.

So
, Picard thought. He could guess something of the answer. No ship’s captain objected to relationships between officers. Riker, however, seemed somewhat uneasy. He wanted to reassure his new first officer. “Excellent,” Picard said neutrally. “I consider it important that my key officers know each other’s abilities.”

“We do, sir,” Troi said quietly. Riker shuffled his feet.

“Shall we?” Picard gestured at the turbolift and led the way toward it.

Troi smiled serenely at Riker, and her voice touched his mind again. “I could never say goodbye,
imzadi.”

D
UST WAS BEING
driven around the exposed areas of the old city by a lashing wind when Zorn’s assistant bowed Picard, Riker and Troi into Zorn’s office. The gusts rattled the windows and forced the yellow-brown powder through even the finest openings.

Although the wind-driven dust had always been a part of his life, it still made Zorn irritable and edgy. The yellow pall it cast over the city depressed him. He had been prepared to be most gracious to his visitors until he saw the Betazoid woman with the captain and First Officer Riker. The information on Federation planets and races he had been given by Starfleet had detailed the telepathic talents of Betazoids. Was she a trap set to catch him?

His greeting to them was formal, but somewhat abrupt. Riker noticed both that and the fact that Zorn made no attempt to shake hands. He flicked a look at Picard, who did not realize it was out of the ordinary. Zorn covered it with an offer of coffee, of juices, of pastries, anything they would like—all of which were politely refused.

Zorn settled behind his desk opposite his guests and folded his long gray fingers. His back was stiff and upright, and his eyes kept straying to Troi. “Yes. How may I serve you, Captain?”

“Now that the station is completed, and you have officially offered to open it to Starfleet, I have been ordered to give it a close formal inspection before making final recommendations on acceptance.”

“There would be no objections to that,” Zorn said, with another nervous glance at Troi. “But I am puzzled by your bringing a Betazoid to this meeting. If her purpose here is to probe my thoughts, sir. . . .”

Troi leaned forward, smiling reassurance. “I can sense only strong emotions,
Groppler
. I am only half Betazoid. My father was a Starfleet officer.”

“I have nothing to hide, of course. The entire station will be open to your inspection, Captain.”

“Mine, and that of my officers,” Picard said pointedly. Zorn nodded, accompanying the gesture with a nervous smile.

“Yes. Of course. And your officers.”

“Good,” Picard said briskly, “since we admire what we’ve already seen of your construction techniques. To have built this entire station in the short time you did requires tremendous engineering skill. Starfleet may be interested in your constructing starbases elsewhere.”

“Captain, we are not interested in building other facilities. Especially not on other planets.”

Troi listened to the conversation carefully, studying Zorn’s face and body language for clues which she as a trained counselor could interpret. Her senses strained toward him and easily felt his nervousness. Then, at the edge of her mind, she became aware of something else . . . something distressing and painful.

“Perhaps Starfleet could use the materials you would sell them,” Picard suggested.

“But they are quite ordinary, Captain. Available on many planets.”

The feeling crept deeper into Troi’s mind. Dull pain. Endless. Loneliness. Hopelessness. Dimly, she could hear Riker politely interrupt Picard. She forced her attention back to the men before her.

“If I may, Captain . . .?” On the Captain’s nod, Riker turned to Zorn. “Perhaps a trade,
Groppler?
Some things you need in return for lending us architects and engineers who can demonstrate your techniques? Or Starfleet would be prepared to accommodate them, pay for their services. . . .”

“Payment is not an issue, Commander. Bandi do not wish to leave their home world. If Starfleet cannot accept that small weakness, then we will be forced, unhappily, to seek an alliance with someone like the Ferengi, or—”

Troi groaned softly, unable to contain the waves of pain and distress she felt. Picard snapped around toward her instantly. “Counselor, what is it?”

Troi gathered herself, struggling for composure, steadying her voice. “Do you want it described here, sir?”

“Yes!” Picard snapped with a look at Zorn. “No secrets here if we’re all to be
friends
. Agreed,
Groppler?”

Zorn had become increasingly tense, his laced fingers almost white under the gray skin. “We ourselves have nothing to hide.”

Troi moaned again, hit by another wave of emotion.
“Pain
. . . pain, loneliness . . . terrible loneliness, despair. . . .” She shook her head. “I’m not sensing the
groppler
, sir. Or any of his people. I’m sure of it . . . but it’s something very close to us here.”

“Zorn, the source of this. Do you have any idea?” Picard demanded.

The
groppler
shot to his feet. “No! No, absolutely not. And I find nothing helpful or productive in any of this!”

Picard rose to face him. “That’s it? No other comment?”

“What do you expect of us? We built Farpoint Station exactly as you would wish to have it. A base designed to your needs, luxurious even by human standards—everything you could dream of—we did all this to please you! What more can you want from us?”

“Answers,” Picard said coldly. “You’ve evaded even our simplest questions about it. We’ll adjourn for now while we all consider our positions.” He gestured Troi and Riker to their feet, and they followed him toward the door.

“Captain. The Ferengi would be
very
interested in a base like this.”

Picard glanced back and seared the administrator with a scathing look. “Fine. I hope they find you as tasty as they did their past associates.”

Picard didn’t slam the door, but he didn’t need to. He had made his point. The Ferengi were not to be trusted—even if they did not literally consume their associates. (And perhaps they
did
.) The alternatives were a mutual cooperation pact with Starfleet—or maintaining the station alone, hoping trade and passenger vessels would venture out to this as yet little-mapped sector of the galaxy.

Zorn slumped against his desk, anguished. So much of the Bandi hope was in this station. They were a diminishing race, able to exist in any comfortable surroundings they desired, but bereft of hope of survival as a race until the Starfleet contact team had beamed down. They had been astonished at the insatiable Bandi curiosity about Starfleet and human spacefaring. The Prime Directive had been carefully explained to them, and they understood it; but Zorn had been adamant in his insistence that interference in the Bandi civilization would
save
it. Starfleet had to agree that Farpoint would be one of their staging stations. They
had
to.

Picard angrily strode away from Zorn’s office with Riker and Troi hurrying after him. The Captain abruptly stopped after the first heat of the exchange had worn off him, and he turned to Troi. “Zorn’s evading too many questions. Did you feel anything specific from him?”

“Nervous tension . . . frustration. Not anger. I think he was feigning that, trying to force your hand. And something else.”

“Yes?”

“He was very agitated when I felt that deep loneliness and pain from somewhere nearby.” Troi looked directly at the captain, troubled. “I believe he was lying about knowing its source.”

Picard looked up as the chime at his ready room door rang. “Come,” he called, turning off the viewscreen that had once again displayed a review of everything known about the Bandi and Deneb IV. Riker stepped in, and Picard gestured to a chair. “Riker. Sit down.”

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

“Yes. As I indicated to Zorn in our meeting, I want a full inspection of Farpoint Station. A
full
inspection. You’ll lead the away team.”

“Full inspection. Top to bottom, sir? Examine the rivets, seams and girders?”

“You understand me completely. I want the cobwebs counted—if you find any.”

“Yes, sir.” Riker flashed his quick, charming grin. “We’ll even keep a count on any flies in the webs.”

“Who knows? It might very well be significant.”

Riker hitched his chair closer to the desk and leaned toward Picard thoughtfully. “Do you think Zorn was serious about offering the station to the Ferengi? Economically, it might make sense. Maybe the Ferengi made a better offer than Starfleet for the station after it was built. It would be advantageous for them to have a base in this quadrant.”

Picard shook his head. “Starfleet didn’t offer the Bandi anything in the first place. They built Farpoint because
they
wanted to. On the other hand, they may be hoping to
get
an elevated monetary offer from Starfleet by throwing out the threat.”

“If they really mean to turn the station over to the Ferengi Alliance, it could create a problem for Starfleet in this sector. As you said, this quadrant is far out of their territory. That’s not reassuring if Zorn wasn’t bluffing.”

There was silence between them as they considered the implications of a genuine Ferengi involvement in the area. There were already spearheads of their trade contracts lancing into territory the Federation considered a part of its own. Diplomatic treaties usually followed close behind, and the Federation had found it would look up and discover an entire star system edged into the Ferengi Alliance. Any planets so lost had not been able to return to the Federation.