Debtors' Planet Part 7

"You?" Chudak scoffed. "You couldn't sell money to a debtor, you badly written penalty clause!"

"No? Then why are you so nervous?" Offenhouse let out a lewd chuckle. "Having a bad-hair day, are we?"

Chudak glowered on the screen, and Picard felt a twinge of empathy with the smooth-scalped Ferengi.

"Land," Chudak grated. "Land and be d.a.m.ned, you furry ceiling-sc.r.a.per!" The channel broke.

"That was fun," Offenhouse said idly, his rage vanis.h.i.+ng. "I doubt I lit a fire under the Ferengi temper, but with any luck he thinks I'm a hot-tempered jerk."

"Which may lead him to underestimate you," Picard said. The captain rubbed his chin in thought. "Mr. Amba.s.sador, your insults show an impressive understanding of Ferengi idioms."

"It's nothing," Offenhouse said. "When you figure how important profit is to the Ferengi, it's obvious that calling someone a bad businessman or a debtor is a low blow."

Worf growled. "Monitoring a subs.p.a.ce transmission from the Ferengi s.h.i.+p," he said. "It is a bank draft for ten million credits, payable to the Vulcan Academy of Science."

Offenhouse chuckled. "There's nothing more fun than being generous with other people's money. Picard, call this 'Vo of Megara' and tell him we're paying a visit. Then arrange sh.o.r.e leave-officers only, though, and just a token number."

"Is there anything else?" Riker asked, in a polite tone that verged on sarcasm.

"Yeah, sonny, you can get me a survey of the industrial infrastructure down there," Offenhouse said. "Factories, mines, transport-all that jazz. I need something more detailed than the probe data. Picard, I'm going to borrow your ready room for a few minutes."

"By all means," Picard said quietly. He glanced at Wesley, who was almost visibly straining to hear everything that went on.

The engine room throbbed as it fed power to the s.h.i.+elds and weapons. Like many a Starfleet engineer, La Forge wished that the bridge crew would reset themselves, calm down and end the alert. The alert placed no real strain on the s.h.i.+p's systems, but Geordi had better things to do than play nursemaid to some overcharged phasers.

"There, Geordi." Alexander had perched himself on a seat at a computer terminal. He pointed at a readout near the top of the master display. "You got a power drop in the secondary starboard intercooler."

"Thanks, Al." Geordi made an adjustment. Civilians weren't supposed to be in engineering during an alert, but Geordi was willing to bend that regulation. Alexander stayed out of the way-and if things went to h.e.l.l in engineering, no place would be safe. Besides, Geordi liked having the kid around. When it came to having unique perspectives on the universe, kids were as good as aliens-witness Alexander's idea for detecting cloaked s.h.i.+ps. Geordi wasn't sure why Worf's son wanted to hang around him-the kid didn't want to be an engineer-but he wasn't going to ask any questions.

Geordi scanned the master display again, then sat in the operator's chair and adjusted its back to a comfortable tilt. "Hurry up and wait," he said idly.

"Can you run the simulations now, Geordi?" Alexander asked.

"Wish I could, Al," Geordi said, "but we can't tie up the main computer during an alert. Don't worry. I have a hunch your idea is going to work just fine. In fact, it should be able to detect more than just cloaked s.h.i.+ps-we should be able to find s.h.i.+ps that're hiding inside nebulae and other natural phenomena, which is a pretty common tactic. The galaxy is full of blivets where you can't ordinarily detect a s.h.i.+p."

"Oh." The boy kicked his feet idly against the deck, then looked up. "Hey, Geordi, how many Romulans does it take to change a light bulb?"

"Search me," Geordi said. "How many?"

"Two. One to do it, another to kill him and take the credit."

Geordi laughed with Alexander. When I was a boy, he recalled, we told that one about the Klingons. Aw, what the h.e.l.l. "How many Ferengi does it take to change a light bulb?" Geordi asked him.

"Ferengi never give change!" He giggled. "How many humans does it take to change a light bulb-uh-"

Geordi's VISOR picked up a sharp change in Alexander's facial skin; he was blus.h.i.+ng in embarra.s.sment. Still, it was a fair joke. "A light bulb?" Geordi asked, sounding ignorant. "What's a light bulb?" Alexander laughed, and Geordi heard a couple of his engineers chuckle as well.

The intercom piped for attention. "All hands, secure from red alert. Mr. La Forge, report to the conference room."

"Time to go," Geordi told Alexander. The boy hopped off his chair and followed Geordi to the turbolift. "Bridge," Geordi told the lift.

"Deck twelve," Alexander said, and looked up at the human engineer. "Geordi? Father liked that joke about not annihilating humans. You got any more like that?"

"Not offhand-wait, try this on him. Humans are okay, even if they like tribbles."

"Dumb," Alexander said with a smile. "Father will like it. So will Commander Riker. Thanks, Geordi." The lift stopped and Alexander got off.

Maybe he and Will Riker were swapped at birth, Geordi thought as the turbolift started again. Worf, to judge from the bytes of gossip that floated around the s.h.i.+p, didn't think his son acted Klingonese enough, and that was a source of tension between father and son. The boy could be rambunctious as all h.e.l.l by human standards, but evidently Klingons had higher standards.

The turbolift stopped, and Geordi crossed the bridge to the conference room. The usual group was present: Picard, Riker, Troi, Worf, Data and Dr. Crusher. Amba.s.sador Offenhouse was there as well. Geordi sat down between Crusher and Troi.

Geordi looked at his s.h.i.+pmates. His VISOR could detect the subtle changes that emotions generated in body-electric fields and skin temperatures, and while he couldn't read their meaning with anything like Deanna Troi's precision, he could often make a good guess as to what people felt. Everyone in the conference room seemed alert, but in a good mood; emotions were not running high. That was a pleasant surprise, because scuttleb.u.t.t had it that the amba.s.sador was a real pain in the- Offenhouse rapped his knuckles on the table, opening the meeting. "I've just gone over my file on Daimon Chudak-the commander of that Ferengi s.h.i.+p," he added, with a glance at Geordi and Dr. Crusher. "What I've got adds to the mystery. Computer, show Chudak's file."

An image and a text file appeared on the room's viewscreen. Geordi narrowed his VISOR's bandwidth to accept only the "visible" spectrum, that of light with a wavelength between four thousand and seven thousand angstroms. The constant headache his VISOR gave him faded as the data flow decreased. The image showed a typical Ferengi male: scooplike ears, bald and bulging head, wrinkled nose and forehead and a seemingly endless supply of fanglike teeth.

"Daimon Chudak," Offenhouse said. "Age, thirtyseven standard years. Personal fortune, two billion credits-good, but not outstandingly wealthy."

Geordi broadened his VISOR's bandwidth again, and his vision returned to normal. Pain returned with it; the circuits were now feeding in all the data his nervous system could handle, and the overload created a tension headache. Almost automatically, he slipped into the pain-suppressing discipline that a Vulcan healer had taught him when he was a boy. The pain meant nothing in comparison to seeing the electric fields and thermal patterns and magnetic fluxes that permeated the universe.

"Two billion credits," Riker said. "Does that include the value of his s.h.i.+p?"

"Yeah," the amba.s.sador said. "Chudak made all his money himself; his family is poor-you'll notice that he doesn't have a Ferengi caste-tattoo on his forehead."

"That sounds like quite a handicap in Ferengi society," Deanna Troi said.

"Not really," Offenhouse said. "The Ferengi are more impressed by business ac.u.men than ancestry. This just shows that he's sharp and aggressive, in addition to being handsome"-Geordi heard no irony in Offenhouse's voice-"and courageous. There's also evidence that he's skirted Ferengi law on a few occasions."

"You describe a pirate," Worf rumbled. Geordi thought he heard admiration in the Klingon's voice.

"Chudak's behavior on Megara is not piratical," Data said, looking to the amba.s.sador. "Our sensor scans have confirmed the probe data. Within the past ten years the Ferengi have created an extensive industrial infrastructure on Megara, one which employs essentially all of the native population. A pirate would have neither the time nor the inclination to create such a technological society."

"Weird," Geordi said. "But maybe Chudak is using Megara as a slave world. They build things dirt-cheap, and he sells them at a profit."

"That's plausible," Picard mused. "Can we tell what the local industries are manufacturing?"

"No, sir," Data said. "Electronic interference in the factories makes a detailed scan of the surface impossible. However, there is no evidence that anything is being exported from Megara."

"Everything is staying here?" Geordi asked in disbelief. "I thought the point of business was to sell what you make."

"It is, and that brings me to another problem," Offenhouse said. "I can't explain where Chudak got the fifty billion credits he'd need to finance this operation. It didn't come from Ferengal; Federation Intelligence has a window into their financial system, and we know Chudak hasn't collected any money from his homeworld."

"He could still be holding Megara as a slave world," Riker said. "A Ferengi battle cruiser could force an entire world to work for free."

"But that wouldn't pay for everything Chudak would have to import," Geordi argued. "Construction equipment, replicators to build factory tools, blueprints-the Megarans could do a lot of work themselves, but not without a certain amount of 'seed' equipment."

"Exactly," Offenhouse said in an approving tone. "I don't have enough information to solve that mystery yet, so let's get on to the next bit. Picard, did you w.a.n.gle some invitations?"

The captain smiled. "The Vo Gatyn will see the two of us tonight. We're invited to a dinner on her private estate."

"Good, I always did like to eat out," Offenhouse said. "What about sending down some tourists?"

"We have permission to land twenty people in Gatyn's capital city," Picard said. "Kes Pa'kess, as it's called, is large and heavily industrialized. The arrangements should suit your purposes, Mr. Amba.s.sador."

"They do," Offenhouse said. "I'll want to talk with our people before they go down. One last thing." He looked at Geordi. "Mr. La Forge, isn't it?"

Geordi nodded. "Yes, Mr. Amba.s.sador?"

"We'll need some coins," he said. "Something made out of pure gold. Also belt pouches to carry them. Can you program the replicators for that?"

"No problem," Geordi said, "but are you sure you want pure gold? It's one of the softest metals around. Your coins will get scratched up in no time."

"Especially when somebody bites 'em," Offenhouse said as he stood up. "Picard, let's choose our tourists, then get ready for dinner."

The captain and the amba.s.sador left the conference room. "I never thought I'd hear anyone call a Ferengi 'handsome,' " Riker said to Worf.

"Perhaps he's been studying them too long," Beverly Crusher suggested. "Some humans get that way, you know."

Geordi managed not to laugh at Riker's sudden, multispectral flush. Worf took umbrage at the joke, however; the Klingon's bioelectric field rippled in the angry display that always reminded Geordi of s.h.i.+elds going up. "Say, Worf," Geordi said quickly, "I should be ready to test the new anticloaking sensor in a few hours."

Worf growled as though draining the charge from his temper. "The theory is sound?" he asked.

"I've still got a few simulations to run," Geordi said. Troi smiled as she sensed his exaggeration, but she kept quiet. "But, yeah, the theory looks good. And it should work on more things than cloaked s.h.i.+ps. If everything works out, we'll be able to detect any operating reactor. It could give us quite an advantage."

"Until somebody figures out a way to counteract it," Riker said.

"Somebody always does, sooner or later," Geordi said, unperturbed. "That's what makes this game so much fun. Anyway, Worf, if it works I'll mention Alexander's contribution in my report."

"That is considerate," Worf growled, with all the politeness he could muster.

"Hey, he earned it," Geordi said as he stood up. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to test it."

Geordi left the conference room. Coins, he thought as he went to the turbolift. Except for a few special purposes, the Federation hadn't used physical currency in decades; replicator technology made counterfeiting too easy. Geordi decided he could fake it easily enough. After all, the Megarans had no idea of what might pa.s.s for money in the Federation. That was probably why Offenhouse had insisted on pure gold-on many planets it was the metal itself, and not the symbols stamped on a coin, that gave money its value.

"Geordi, wait up," Beverly Crusher called as he stepped into the turbolift. He held the lift door for her. "I want to ask you something."

"Sure, Beverly. Engineering," he told the lift.

The doctor smoothed her hair, and he saw static charges dance its length, playing hide-and-seek with her fingers. "Geordi, have you noticed anything odd about Will Riker lately?"

He chuckled. "Is this the same man who eats live gagh?"

"Several Earth cultures eat live insects," Beverly reminded him. "But I'm afraid Will may be going a little-over the top, if you know what I mean, with his admiration for the Klingons."

"Everybody needs a hobby," Geordi said. "But Will knows when to stop. Remember when Worf broke his back?"

"Yes. Will kept him from committing suicide, even though that's the Klingon way." The doctor shook her head. "I just have doubts about a man who courts food poisoning." The elevator stopped and opened into the main engineering compartment. "By the way, Geordi, I have a new report on optic-nerve implants. The Vulcans have made some remarkable advances. Stop by sickbay and we'll discuss it."

"I will, when I get the time." He hastened out of the lift and the door shut behind him.

As he always did when he entered engineering, Geordi looked around the high bay. Everything was as it should have been. Tight, intense glows wrapped themselves around power conduits. Structural-support fields limned the s.h.i.+p's framework. Computer chips winked and s.h.i.+mmered in cybernetic thought.

Normal eyesight would be nice, Geordi thought. He'd always wondered what a rainbow looked like; he could settle for himself the friendly debate over whether Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher or Guinan was the most beautiful woman aboard the Enterprise. And yet- Geordi stepped up to the main warp drive. Dormant now, the mechanism throbbed with the thoroughbred dreams of a racing horse. To every other human on the s.h.i.+p, Geordi knew, the unit was an opaque slab of metal s.h.i.+elding, its life visible only through the cloudy window of sensor readings.

Give this up? Geordi sighed, and wondered what excuse he would give the doctor this time.

Chapter Seven.

"HOLD THE KNIFE higher, if you please," Shrev whispered, and feinted at Wesley with her holoblade. Wesley slipped back quickly-I'm getting awfully good at retreating! he thought sardonically-and parried her snakelike thrust at him. Then- Skreee! Shrev's blade squealed in triumph, signaling a fatal strike. Wesley looked down at himself and saw the holographic projection that simulated a fatal wound; Shrev had caught him in the heart.

"Excellent," Shrev said, while the spectators in the gymnasium chuckled. She thumbed the hilt of her practice knife, and the holographic blade vanished. "I took a full minute to kill you this time."

"A minute?" Wesley picked up a towel from a wall rack and wiped sweat from his face. He was short of breath. "It seemed longer."

"A minute is very long in a fight," she agreed. "It is enough time for a friend to see your plight and aid you. Against an experienced fighter, as I claim to be, such survival shows amazing talent."

"Thanks, Shrev." The praise took some of the sting out of the crowd's chuckles, and from his own record. Shrev had killed him a dozen times in the past hour, and he had barely managed to deliver a hypothetical scratch to her left arm. "I have an excellent teacher."

"We both do well here," she said. She returned the practice knives to their locker.

The intercom called for attention. "Cadet Crusher, report to the captain's ready room," the s.h.i.+p's computer said.

Shrev looked at him. "This is an interesting request," she said. "Could he be considering you for a landing party?"

"It could be," Wesley said. He had told her what he had heard on the bridge. "In that case, would you be interested in going if the opportunity arises?"

"Absolutely," Shrev said. "And now it would be polite for you to hurry, true?"

Wesley took the turbolift to the ready room. He was not eager to see Picard. The captain had been not unsympathetic about his disgrace, but the man was also a reminder of what had happened. Breaking a safety regulation, seeing a friend die because of that, then lying to cover it up- Well, he told himself, I can't pretend it didn't happen.

Picard was alone in his ready room when Wesley entered it. He sat down at a gesture from the captain. "Cadet Crusher," Picard said, "how would you like to play tourist on Megara?"

"I'd like that, sir," Wesley said.

"I had hoped so," Picard said. "Tell me, how much do you know about Megara?"

The captain's neutral words seemed to hang in the air, while Wesley wondered how much the man knew. This is no time to play games, he realized. "I've seen the Vulcan probe data and other files, sir, but I can't figure out what's going on down there."

"That's a feeling with which I'm familiar," Picard said. "Very well. I'm going to a.s.sign you to the away team. I can't tell you what to look for, but any observations you make may be of value. Now, I do not antic.i.p.ate any risk, but I expect you to exercise discretion. The Ferengi could see too much curiosity as an unwarranted intrusion."

"Understood, sir," Wesley said. "I won't stick my nose where it doesn't belong." Wesley paused. "Uh, Captain? Would it be all right if Ensign Shrev went with me?"

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Do you think she could contribute to your mission, Cadet?"