Fortune's Light Part 7

The Pandrilite's eyes narrowed. "You don't work for Drohner?" he asked.

"Ah," said Lyneea. "Drohner. Sure, I've heard of him." She turned to Riker. "Big labor broker. Corrupt as they come." Then she turned back to the Pandrilite. "What's he got to do with you?"

The Pandrilite shrugged. "I ... crossed him. Organized a little labor crew of my own-an independent called Raat. It's a Pandril word. Means 'freedom.' " He spat. "Drohner didn't like it. I heard he was trying to find out more about me, maybe teach me a lesson." He stared at the Impriman. "You sure you don't work for Drohner?"

"Positive," she said. "If I did, would I have come after you with a projectile gun?"

Realization dawned. "You're a retainer," he said.

Lyneea nodded. "And I couldn't care less about Drohner's difficulties in maintaining his monopoly. But I do need information, and I think you can give it to me."

The Pandrilite straightened. "What kind of information?"

"We're looking for someone named Teller Conlon," Riker cut in. "Heard of him?"

The Pandrilite was expressionless. "Maybe. What do you want with him?"

Riker shook his head. "I asked you first."

"The way I see it," Lyneea told her captive, "you have a choice. You can be incarcerated for a little while, for possession of a high-tech weapon during carnival time. Or we can contact Drohner and see if we can do some business with him."

The Pandrilite measured her. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," she said.

A pause. "All right. But I don't know very much about Conlon. Only that he did a little smuggling on the side."

Riker felt the heat as it flooded his face. "You know that for a fact?" he asked.

The Pandrilite shrugged a second time. "That's what I heard. Nothing big-just a few artifacts here and there. Things the madraggi would have preferred to keep on Imprima."

"Have you seen him lately?" asked Lyneea.

The Pandrilite shook his head. "No, I haven't. The last time was probably a couple of weeks ago, now that I think about it. And that's a little strange, because he's around here all the time."

"Around where?" Lyneea pressed.

"You know," said the Pandrilite. "The tavern."

Riker didn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. "

You're lying," he told the Pandrilite. "You're in league with whoever's framing him."

"No. I'm telling the truth-I swear it." He paused. "What do you mean, framing him? Is he wanted for something?"

Riker frowned. He'd already gone too far. "Never mind."

"Conlon must have had agents," said Lyneea, dragging the conversation back on course. "People he met at the tavern. Who were they?"

The Pandrilite didn't seem eager to provide the answer. But he must have been less eager to face Drohner. "As far as I can tell, he worked with only one outside player. An Impriman by the name of Bosch. Reggidor Bosch."

"You know," said Lyneea, "if my companion is right and you're lying to us-"

"I know, I know." The Pandrilite held up his hands. "I heard you the first time. But I'm giving it to you straight. Bosch. You can find him in the Gelden Muzza. That's where he stays."

Lyneea nodded. "Thanks."

It took a little while to find the projectile gun; it was mixed in with some of the garbage that had fallen out of the container. Riker had to clean it with a rag before he could shove it into his tunic for safekeeping.

When he was done, Lyneea gestured with the blaster. "Let's get a move on," she told the Pandrilite. "I think my companion is getting cold."

It was untrue. Riker was all but oblivious to the weather. If anything, he was hot-seething, in fact-as he tried to reconcile the Pandrilite's information with his faith in his friend.

d.a.m.n it, Teller. What the h.e.l.l have you gotten yourself into?

Chapter Five.

THE FIRST TIME Wesley's door beeped, he thought he'd imagined it. That's how deep he was in his research.

The second time, however, he was listening for it, and therefore it was unmistakable. The boy sighed, the slightest bit annoyed at the interruption.

"Come in," he said.

The doors parted to reveal Data. Suddenly Wesley forgot that he was annoyed.

Data was probably the only one on the s.h.i.+p-his mother included-who would listen to him expound indefinitely on whatever subject had most recently caught his fancy and never, but never, invent an excuse to leave before Wesley was finished. The boy still hadn't figured out if the android was really interested or just too polite to leave him hanging, but it almost didn't matter, as long as he listened.

Data greeted him. "I hope I am not disturbing you," he said.

"Heck no." Wesley motioned the android to a seat. "In fact, I'm glad to see you."

"It is nice of you to say so," said Data, folding himself into the chair. "Actually, I-"

"You see," the boy plunged on, caught up in his excitement, "I've been curious about Commander Riker's mission. But I haven't been able to get the captain to drop a hint about it-Priority One and all that." He frowned. "I think Mr. Worf knows something about it, too, but he's just as closemouthed as the captain. So I decided to check out Impriman culture on the library computer and see what I could dig up."

Data's features seemed to recast themselves as Wesley spoke-a subtle change, but one the boy couldn't help noticing. Was he boring Data now, too?

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Certainly," said the android. "Please proceed." "

You're not just saying that so you won't hurt my feelings? I mean, you really want to hear this?"

"Yes, Wesley. I really do."

Thank G.o.d. "Okay-so where was I? Oh, yeah. Impriman culture. It's pretty interesting-for instance, the inst.i.tution of the madraga. In one respect, it's like some sort of monarchy, with control pa.s.sing from parent to child. But in all other respects, it's more like one of Earth's old business ent.i.ties-the corporation. The madraga isn't limited by geographical boundaries, as a nation-state would be. Instead, it's defined by the extent of its involvements in various Impriman industries."

"Interesting," said the android.

"Anyway, these madraggi all get together once a year, during the time of the winter solstice, in the ancient mountain city of Besidia. They hold trade meetings during which the course of Impriman economics is charted for the foreseeable future." He couldn't suppress a smile. "And when do you suppose the winter solstice is?"

Data's eyes moved abruptly, as they sometimes did when he was computing something. "Now," he answered.

"Absolutely right."

"So," said the android, "you believe that Commander Riker is involved somehow with the trade meetings?"

"Right again. And-ready for this?-Commander Riker has been to Imprima before. As a trade liaison." Wesley outlined the details of that mission, including its successful conclusion.

"I see. And have you a theory as to Commander Riker's role in the current meetings?"

The boy leaned back and shook his head. "No. Unfortunately, that's as far as I've gotten."

"Still, you seem to know a good deal more about Commander Riker's mission than I do, and I am third in command of this vessel."

Wesley looked at him in a new light. "Say, Data ... if you asked the captain-"

The android thrust his chin out, as he always did when remonstrating with someone. "I am sorry, Wes. If the captain had wanted Commander Riker's mission known, I am sure he would have made it so by now. Since he has not ..."

The boy held his hands up and smiled. "Okay, okay. No harm in asking, is there?"

"No," agreed Data. "There is never any harm in that. And speaking of questions, would you answer some for me?"

That was when Wesley realized the significance of Data's change in expression a few minutes earlier. "Oh," he said, pounding his fist on his desk. "That's why you came here in the first place, isn't it? To ask me some questions. And here I go spouting off like the egghead everybody thinks I am." He shook his head as he regarded the android. What was' I thinking? That Data came to visit just so I could have a sounding board? "I'm sorry, Data. I really am." He leaned forward. "Now, what do you want to know? I'm all ears."

Data c.o.c.ked his head slightly. He had that quizzical look in his eyes.

"It's an expression," explained Wesley. "It means I'm listening."

"Ah," said the android. "In that case, have you ever played baseball?"

"Baseball?" echoed Wesley. He'd expected Data's inquiry to be something in the area of human nature-the type of thing he usually discussed with Geordi. "Sure. I've played it, mostly when I was smaller. Why?"

The android told him about the goings-on in the holodeck. About the dilemma he'd faced between first base and second, how it had been resolved, and the manager's reaction to the resolution.

Wesley found it pretty funny, but he didn't let Data know that. "The problem," he said, "is that you took the players' encouragement too literally."

"I see." Data looked a little disappointed-in himself, no doubt. "And I thought I was making strides in that regard."

"You are," the boy a.s.sured him. "At least from what I can see. But in this case you should have taken as many bases as possible. In fact, you should have hit a home run in the first place. That would have taken the guesswork out of baserunning."

The android nodded. "Actually I was thinking of hitting a home run. But when my teammates recommended I hit a single-"

Wesley shook his head.

"Too literal again?" Data asked.

"That's right. A single would have brought the runner home from third base, and that would have been good. But it would have been better to bring two runs home."

The android seemed to absorb the information. But he still looked puzzled. Wesley said so.

"What I do not understand," said Data, "is Terwilliger's reaction. Even if I did make a mistake, why should he have become so incensed over it? Is baseball not a game? Or am I missing something else?"

"To tell you the truth," remarked the boy, "I'm a little puzzled myself. I guess everybody takes something a little too seriously. Lord knows, I fall into that category from time to time." He shrugged. "It would probably help if we knew more about the environment Terwilliger was operating in-or the pressures he may have been under. I mean, this was his job, wasn't it? From what I understand, baseball was an industry as well as a sport."

Data looked at him as if he was expecting more.

"Unfortunately," said Wesley, "I don't have all the facts. I'm not exactly an expert on twenty-first-century social history." An idea came to him. "But wouldn't that sort of information be stored in the s.h.i.+p's computer archives?"

The android's eyes seemed to brighten a little. "I believe you are correct," he said. He rose. "Thank you, Wes. You have been most helpful."

"Don't mention it," said the boy. "It was my pleasure."

Data started for the exit, then stopped, as if he'd forgotten something. He wheeled around to face Wesley. "Incidentally," he said, "I really am interested in your research on Imprima. Please let me know how it goes."

Wesley grinned. "You've got a deal," he told him.

And with that, the android departed.

As the doors to his quarters came together again, the boy sat there for a second or two in appreciation of the marvel that was Data. He wants so badly to be more like us, Wesley mused. But it wouldn't hurt us to be more like him.

Then he remembered Imprima and turned back to the array of information on his desktop monitor, downloaded from the library computer. "Let's see," he said out loud. "What's so important about these trade meetings that Commander Riker had to be called back for them?"

The first official of Madraga Terrin stood before the picture window in his library. The grounds outside were a snow-covered expanse broken only by a few stately trees.

"I have given your proposal much thought," said Larrak, his hands locked behind his back, his narrow features unreadable. "But it bears more thought still."

"Then you've yet to make your decision," said Riker.

"That is correct."

"Is there some additional information we could provide?" asked Teller.

The isak sitting by the door growled softly. Riker tried his best to ignore it.

Larrak eyed Teller, giving away nothing. '"I do not believe so. But if anything occurs to you, you may send it on."

"I appreciate that," Teller said, without the slightest hint of irony in his voice. "And if anything occurs to you, First Official, please let us know."

"I will. I a.s.sure you."

It was the shortest interview they'd had yet. Riker felt Larrak's vote slipping away. And Terrin was one of the most powerful madraggi on the planet-it was a vote they needed. He started to drag out his speech again-the by-now standard oration about the virtues of trading with the Federation-figuring that it couldn't hurt.