STAR TREK - TNG - 60 - Tooth and Claw

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Star Trek

The Next Generation

Tooth and Claw

By Doranna Durgin

For Strider, who would have loved the hunt

With thanks for help with the details (and any errors, of course, are entirely mine)

Lorraine Bartlett, Dana Paxson, and Nancy Durgi and to Lucienne, who helps me to go boldly!

Chapter One

DEEP IN the tangle of night-blocked foliage, slick fur slid between thickly leafed branches, making no

more than a whisper of sound beneath the clamor of myriad insects crying out for the company of their

own kind.

A shriek ripped through the chorus, startling it to silence.

Bones crunched.

Night in the Fandrean jungle.

"Lions and tigers and bears," said Geordi La Forge, more or less under his breath.

Entirely without inflection and without missing a beat, Lieutenant Commander Data said, "Oh, my."

Silence fell over the conference room. Geordi, who had not intended that his comment garner quite so

much attention, winced.

Data faced that attention without any apparent concern. "The Wizard of Oz, MGM 1939 I believe

Geordi was making an analogy between the imagined threat of the beasts in the movie, and the very real

beasts on the planet..." And finally he trailed off, taking in Captain Picard's thinly veiled impatience,

Deanna Troi's quiet amusement, the spark of humor in Will Riker's eye. "But you knew that," he

concluded.

"They knew that," Geordi confirmed. The movie was, after all, still popular enough to list in the holodeck

programs.

"We did," Troi confirmed, as solemnly as possible.

"Ah," Data said. "My apologies for the unnecessary digression." But he hesitated, as though he might say

something else. In the end he decided against it, but Geordi knew that expression. Data's insatiable

curiosity --about something--had been triggered.

Worf stared intently at the creature on the view-screen--an indistinct image, captured from beneath the

creature as it swooped from one tree to another in the dense growth of the Fandrean jungle. Even

blurred, the two barbed and prehensile tails were evident, along with the teeth gleaming in that

long-snouted face, and the impression of size and strength. An arbo rata. Typical Fandrean jungle fare,

according to the notations, right along with half a dozen other oversize flesh-eaters. "What does this have

to do with the Ntig nano evacuation?" he asked, with much interest.

"The Tsorans control this part of space," Troi said, "and we want to talk to them about the evacuation.

They want to go hunting. Attending to their wants in this matter may well grease the wheels when it

comes to our wants."

"Grease the wheels," Data repeated, as if he'd made some discovery.

Geordi glanced at him and decided now was not the time. He returned Ms attention to his padd, which

held the details of the Ntignano evacuation--not that he didn't know them by heart. One prematurely

doomed star system--thanks to a doomsday cult with inappropriate out-system technology on its

hands--and not quite enough time to evacuate the moderately populated planet within it. He'd known that

the Federation had an ambassador on Tsora, trying to obtain the charts for the hard-to-navigate

area--but why the Enterprise had ended up here, he had yet to figure out. "We've got to concentrate on

getting those people out of there, Captain, not on hunting with the Tsorans. And that means getting--or

making--maps of that graviton-free corridor they've surveyed. It'll cut evacuation time in half."

"Some of the more sensitive Ntignano people are already showing signs of damage from exposure to the

star's fluctuations." Beverly Crusher, her long-fingered hands loosely entwined and resting neatly on the

table, reflected none of the challenge in her eyes as she looked directly at Picard. That do something

about it challenge she always seemed to have the leeway to make.

This time, Picard just gave her a short shake of his head, nothing more. He paced to the end of the

conference table and rested a hand on his empty seat. Not a good sign, Geordi decided. He'd be sitting if

he were pleased with the course of things. "Counselor, perhaps you can summarize the situation for us."

"Ambassador Nadann Jesson has done an impressive job with the Tsorans," Troi said. "Theirs is a

society based on physical prowess ... survival of the fittest, one might say. They are not impressed with

the Ntignano plight, and the Federation has little influence on them as nonmembers. Ambassador Jesson

has been on the planet for a month now, learning their ways and trying to introduce these negotiations;

she's done well to have held their attention for this long. When they learned that the Federation flagship

was in the area... Well. They are a people who are impressed with titles. They have not been willing to

discuss seriously the use of the graviton-free corridor with Nadann, but they've indicated an interest in a

dialogue with the flagship's captain."

"They are," Picard said, tugging absently at his uniform jacket, "significantly invested in matters of

prestige. They have a term for it--daleura. And, as you would expect from a society that places so much

pride on their hunting and achievements of aggression, they are also a bit prickly."

Worf shifted in his chair. After his alert stillness, the movement might as well have been a shout. Picard

took quick note. "No offense meant, Mr. Worf."

"None taken. Unless the captain implies that Klingons are merely ... prickly."

"In point of fact, I find most Klingons to be downright contentious."

"Thank you." Worf settled into satisfied silence.

"That explains why we changed course," Geordi said. They'd been headed for doomed Ntignano until

only the previous watch; now they orbited Tsora, a planet with sporadic forestation showing like green

jewels against the brown continents, surrounded by a system full of invisible graviton eddies that kept a

pattern all their own. "But not--"

"The hunting," Riker said. He'd been the one to present the information on Fandre's main preserve, the

one who seemed to know the details.

"The hunting," Geordi agreed, hiding his impatience --and more concerned with recent reports that the

results of the bprobe-induced singularity at the core of the Ntignano sun were far less predictable than

expected.

Fandre and its preserve seemed more than irrelevant.

He'd rather be introducing his plan to use a probe web to make their own charts. Such webs were

complex and needed constant monitoring and adjustment, but with a dozen probes relaying high-speed

data to the coordinating probe, a preliminary star chart could be available in a fraction of the time

required for standard charting procedures. True, the most complex probe-web used successfully to date

employed only eight probes, but Geordi felt he'd solved the logistics issues involved in adding another

tier. All he needed was a chance to try.

None of which Picard was aware of, nor likely to become aware of just yet, since he now looked at the

image of the arborata and said, "Fill us in, Number One."

Riker leaned back in his chair, swiveling it slightly. "Fandre is a big-game hunter's delight, with several

species of massive carnivores, all cohabiting a relatively small and tightly managed preserve called the

Legacy. Since the Tsorans reestablished diplomatic and trade relations with Fandre fifty years ago,

they've been traveling to the preserve for their ceremonial rite of passage, in which the participant

tranquilizes his prey and harvests a token from it. The prime kaphoora, they call it"

"No doubt a ceremony of much ... prestige," Worf said.

"Exactly," Riker said. "And when they heard we were in the area, they decided that the ReynTa--what

we might call a prince--would benefit from a Federation escort to his kaphoora. Everything else aside,

we're certainly faster, even in these rough waters."

"His name is ReynTa Akarr," Troi said. "But here's the crucial part--while he's hunting, his father, the

ReynTa Atann, will discuss terms on delivery of the corridor map, and permission to use the corridor

itself."

So that was it. "What if they don't have any intention of coming to terms?" Geordi frowned. "It sounds to

me like they're using us, Captain. The prince--the ReynTa--might come back from his kaphoora and

that'll be the end of it. They'll have their prestige and we--and the Ntignanos--will have nothing."

"There is that possibility," Picard agreed. He glanced at Troi. "The counselor and I will do our best to see

that it doesn't happen. And meanwhile, Commander Riker will pilot ReynTa Akarr to Fandre, along with

an escort of senior security personnel and--"

Ensign Gage burst into the room, her expression warring between annoyance and chagrin. "Captain, I'm

sorry, I--" Alarm won; she threw herself to one side of the door, clear of the impending and intractable

presence of ReynTa Akarr," Picard said, unruffled. "We weren't expecting you just yet."

The ReynTa barreled through the door and drew himself up to examine them all critically, with no

pretense of doing anything else. Though he was short, his stout and muscular nature left no doubt about

his strength, and his bearing reflected a confidence in that strength. He's only a kid, Geordi reminded

himself, feeling himself bristle under the scrutiny of the Tsoran. Then he took a look at the Tsoran's hands,

where four fingers and two opposable thumbs came equipped with thick, clawlike nails. Yeah, a kid who

could rip my face off, VISOR and all... He suddenly had no envy for Commander Riker, who would be

stuck in a shuttlecraft with the ReynTa all the way across the graviton-eddy-sprinkled system to Fan dre.

A look at the commander revealed that, aside from one distinctly raised eyebrow, Riker wore his poker

face.

"I chose not to wait," the ReynTa said, his translated words partially lost in the throaty under-purr that

accompanied them. With his severe over bite and a diminutive chin covered by a pouch of flesh, he

probably couldn't articulate English if he tried. His lower lip looked flexible enough to cover his over bite

but at the moment he displayed his wickedly sharp incisors in all their glory. "I chose to see that

arrangements have been made to my satisfaction."

Geordi exchanged a quick glance with Data--it wasn't easy for other people to tell when Geordi glanced

at them through the VISOR but Data could do it--and he noted Data's keen interest in the nuances of the

personal exchanges taking place. Earlier in his career on the Enterprise, Data would have interrupted to

query the participants on the fine points, but he'd learned better.

Geordi hoped.

Riker stood, a respectful gesture, and nodded at ReynTa Akarr. "We were just finalizing those

arrangements," he said. "If you'd like to wait outside, we'll be ready to discuss them with you

momentar--"

"I spoke to Captain Picard," Akarr said, making no attempt to soften the interruption. "I wait for his

words."

In the utter silence of response, Riker drew himself up--lifting his shoulder, adding the tilt of his head that

sent wise ensigns scurrying for cover. Trouble brewing.

"Commander Riker's words are to be considered as my words," Captain Picard said, staring directly at

Akarr, his gaze implacable and unrelenting--but his austere and astonishingly hairless features without

aggression. Not that he had the means by which to back it up. Too lean to carry Tsoran strength, no

claws, no fangs, only one thumb ... Akarr considered the rest of the humans. They, unlike him, had no

decency of fur to cover their naked skin; they might as well be the youngest younglings. At least they all

wore clothing over their arms, unlike the Federation ambassador Nadann lesson, who often went about

with her arms bared as if she were the coarsest flesh peddler--oblivious of the way Akarr's honored

mother, ReynTa Tehra, averted her eyes. As if any Tsoran would avert her eyes for less!

Otherwise, the humans were not remarkable. He'd never get used to their faces, and the short distance

between their eyes and mouth. Or the way their jaws met neatly instead of allowing their upper teeth to

thrust forward for proper food handling--and fighting, if it came to that, although in modern Tsoran

society, it seldom did.

Soft. It described Ambassador Jesson, and it described all the rest of them, too. Even now, they just sat

around the table, looking to their captain for guidance. Except for Commander Riker--an imposing

human, Akarr would give him that, and with eyes of startling, unnatural blue--who maintained a subtly

different posture than the rest of them, but not one that meant anything to Akarr.

All that mattered to Akarr was taking proper advantage of this opportunity he'd been given--to build

more prestige with his prime kaphoora than any ReynTa before him... than his brother Takarr, after him.

He smoothed the fur on his arms--an absent, anxiety-betraying gesture that his father Atann would have

corrected, had he seen it--and said, "But it is you, Captain, that I will be dealing with on the kaphoora. I

see no reason to involve these others."

"These others are valued members of my crew." Pi card stood by the flat, amazingly detailed wall image

of the arborata, and spoke with quiet assurance, unmoved and unaffected by Akarr's formal dominance

posture. His father would be pleased; this human would be worth dealing with.

"Commander," said the big one, the near-human with the interesting face and the low, growly voice not

so unlike a Tsoran male's, "permission to--"

"That won't be necessary," Commander Riker said, calm despite his interruption.

"Very well," the big one said, but he gave Akarr a meaningful look. Akarr blinked without thinking about

it, a subtle offer of subservience. No matter. The big one would not know; none of them would know.

Akarr advanced to the table, disdaining their chairs. "The ReynTa has advised you of our requirements. I

only wish to confirm them."

"On this ship," Captain Picard said, "we follow certain procedures. In this case, we are discussing your

requirements among the officers who will be most affected by them. You're welcome to stay while we

complete our discussion, at which time we'd be grateful for your comments."

The golden-skinned being gestured at an empty chair and said, "Would you like to be seated?"

Akarr hesitated. He wasn't sure how these humans would view a choice to sit, especially not since the

captain and his favored officer were both standing. As if reading his mind, Picard sat, crossing his legs in

a move that Akarr could not hope to duplicate, but which looked casual enough. Riker, after a brief

hesitation, also sat.

Akarr discreetly rearranged his stiff formal vest and followed suit, displeased to discover that his feet

barely touched the floor.

"Since the ReynTa is here, we'll forgo discussion about the Ntignano situation and concentrate on the

kaphoora arrangements," Picard said. "ReynTa Atann has requested that we transport the ReynTa and

his private security to the planet Fandre, along with an accompanying honor guard from the Enterprise.

Mr. Worf, that will include you and six of your most appropriate personnel. The ReynTa has also

requested that we provide assistance in solving a problem with the Fandrean force field that encloses the

preserve, and which keeps the civilian population safe." He glanced at Akarr. "We, of course, are glad to

do so. Mr. La Forge, acquaint yourself with the force field specifications and prepare to join the away

team."

The smaller, darker human with the strange facial assembly stiffened--in chagrined surprise, Akarr would

have said, had he known the species better.

"I was thinking I'd deal with graviton mapping issues," the human said. Mr. La Forge. "Barclay's got a

good feel for field diagnostics--"

"You think this is not worth your time?" Akarr said, staring hard at La Forge despite the disconcerting

realization that he couldn't tell when he was looking the human in the eye.

"No, that's not what I meant at all," La Forge said, somewhat hastily, and looked to Picard.

Pathetic.

Picard gave a simple shake of his head. "Ambassador Jesson, who has made the arrangements and

forwarded the force field details, informs me that the fields, while in some ways technologically more

basic than our own, are formed from complex interlocking frequencies; they're also combined with a

technology damper of some sort. With the safety of the Fandreans at stake, I think it's best that you

handle this situation."

"Yes, sir," La Forge said, and Akarr had to give him that much; he was as obedient as his lower rank

dictated he should be. He liked Picard's confidence in the man, as well.

If the force field on Fandre failed, the beasts--freed from their huge preserve--would have the chance to

kill only an insignificant number of Fandreans before they were slain. But without the force field without

the preserve, the Tsorans would lose the opportunity to experience kaphoora under such challenging

conditions-conditions that Tsora itself could no longer replicate. The older, more established civilization

of the two, with untold generations of kaphoora and daleura-building behind them, the Tsorans had

managed to eradicate the dangerous species on their own planet. Until they'd developed renewed trade

relations with Fandre and agreed to Fandrean restrictions regarding the hunt--that the animals were not to

be killed, that the Tsorans could gather only a token trophy of hair or claw and spine tip, that they could

use none of their technological hunting tools to do so--the Tsorans had faced a rising daleura based

dueling rate despite strictures against the same.

On Fandre, behind those technology-damping fields, the daleura waited for Tsora's bravest. And now

Akarr, alone of all on Tsora, had acquired as escort and pilot the captain of the Enterprise, flagship of the

Federation.

Not that the Fandreans truly understood. But that was irrelevant.

In fact, it was hard for Akarr to believe that their two species were related, despite the obvious

similarities in appearance. The soft Fandreans had initially created the force field and the carefully

balanced ecological environment within simply so the beasts that called Fandre home would have a place

to live, and so that the Fan dreans would not be forced to eliminate them to insure their own survival.

Absurd. Only the Tsorans saw the true worth of the place. The challenge of tooth and claw.

"Due to the number of people involved--the ReynTa's own Tsoran escort, and our security personnel,

along with Mr. La Forge--we'll be using two modified cargo shuttles. Geordi, will you see to it that both

are specially appointed for this purpose?"

"Consider it done," La Forge said, with no hesitation that Akarr could see, and even a certain amount of

cheerful willingness. Interesting. He would have to take careful note of this human. How, while clearly

remaining under the command of the ship's captain, did he maintain that air of independence? A useful

tool to cultivate ... at least, until Akarr was assured of his appointment as ReynKa, and no longer bowed

to anyone. This trip would help insure that the ReynKa did not adopt the obscure decision to pass his

reign on to his second-born.

The engineer, however, did not appear to be finished. "Captain," he said, "given what I'm hearing about

the forcefields and tech dampers, I have to express some concern about shuttle integrity. Do we even

know if our shuttles will function in that environment?"

"Starfleet has worked with the Tsorans and Fandreans to be sure that they will, and Admiral Gromek has

forwarded the details regarding shuttle operating parameters while under the forcefields."

"I don't suppose we can delay long enough for me to examine these calculations myself?" La Forge

asked.

Akarr didn't give Picard a chance to respond. "Absolutely not," he said. "There can be no delay." Not

with the kaphoora fete behind him. Any delay at this point would look like hesitation on Akarr's part, and

would forever cast doubt on his prime kaphoora.

Picard did not acknowledge Akarr's statement. "I'm afraid not, Geordi. Nadann lesson suggested that the

kaphoora might come into play some weeks ago, before we knew the Enterprise would be involved;

there's been time to check it out. I'm sure Admiral Gromek had her best people investigate the matter."

"I'm sure she did," La Forge said, sounding unconvinced. "I just think it's wise--"

"And I do not disagree. But we don't have the luxury of following through. We'll use the figures that the

Tsorans have provided."

La Forge gave a short nod and leaned back in his seat--almost a defiant slouch, Akarr would have said,

except that the human was too relaxed. Still disagreeing, perhaps, but accepting.

As long as he did as was required, Akarr didn't care how much he disagreed.

"Geordi will pilot one of the shuttles," Commander Riker said, speaking up after enough personal silence

that Akarr had assumed he wouldn't. "I'll take the other. With Fandre in its op positional orbit and the

system's graviton eddies to avoid, we can expect a trip of seven to twelve hours--"

"You are in error," Akarr said, trying to hide his sudden panic as he realized just what Riker had said.

"My pilot will be Captain Picard. It is arranged."

Riker glanced at the captain, but it didn't seem to be in supplication, or to garner permission for any

words or behavior. "There must be a misunderstanding," he said. "I'll have the honor of piloting your

shuttle. The captain has obligations to the ReynKa and the Federation."

Speechless, Akarr looked at Picard, his fur ruffling up and his nostrils flaring in distress he knew these

humans --hoped these humans--would not recognize. The flagship captain, not his pilot? Unacceptable!

But... should he negotiate, play their game until he could gain enough sense of the human daleura to turn it

to his advantage? Or startle them with a full daleura display here and now, demanding that which had

been promised him?

But Riker watched him with wise eyes--blue human eyes--and no alarm. As though he knew the decision

that Akarr weighed, and had no concern about dealing with it either way. And ... very few Tsorans ever

fully recovered from a failed preemptive daleura display.

So even though there were no other Tsorans in the room--his escort waited outside the conference-room

door, blocking, as he'd been given to understand, the bridge privacy facilities--Akarr chose the safer

way.

No matter. He'd make up for it on Fandre.

Chapter Two

"HERE'S THE thing," Geordi said, avoiding the temptation to raise his voice against the backdrop of the

thrumming warp core, though it was the reason he'd chosen this spot to chat with Reg Barclay and

Lieutenant Duffy. "This isn't exactly official. Not yet."

"You don't mean ... that is, the captain doesn't--" Barclay stopped, took a breath, and said, "We're

not-launching the probes behind the captain's back?"

Startled, Geordi said, "Of course not!" and glanced around the engine room to see just who might have

overheard Barclay's unfortunate phrase as Duffy gave Barclay a pointed jab with his elbow. "What I

mean is that this is an option I'd like to have ready in case we need it. But until we get the go-ahead, no

one else needs to know about it. Is that clearer?"

To judge from Barclay's expression, not terribly.

"You want to prepare to launch the probes behind the captain's back," he said, his voice much lowered.

"I--" Geordi started, and then raised his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Yes, Reg, something like that. And

I won't be here to handle it. Which is why I want you and Duffy to go ahead and modify and program the

probes. Basic class-five medium-range reconnaissance probes."

Duffy gave him a doubtful look. "That's a pretty complicated program, sir. I mean, we can do it, but I'm

not sure if we can pull it together before you get back--"

"I've taken care of that." Geordi handed Barclay a padd. "I've been thinking about this possibility ever

since I heard the Federation was having trouble getting the charts. All you need to do is prepare the

probes themselves, and then--if the orders come down--send them out and run the program. Do it from

cartography-their input feeds are designed to work with this probe. But find a quiet corner for it, okay?"

Duffy brightened considerably, some of his normal cockiness returning. A good balance, these

two--Barclay's innate caution versus Duffy's occasional attack of youthful enthusiasm. "That, we can do.

Prepare the probes, keep it quiet. No problem."

"It shouldn't be," La Forge said. "Just keep in mind-it's not the captain you have to worry about if this

becomes general knowledge, it'll be Admiral Gromek. This evac is her baby, and if the Tsorans

somehow get wind of this, you can bet they won't be understanding about it. Our goal here is to avoid

using these probes, and to hope that no one other than the three of us ever knows we were ready to do

so. Got it?"

"G-got it," Barclay mumbled.

Duffy bounced on his heels once, and under Geordi's stern look, settled. "Understood." And then the

blood flow to his cheeks increased considerably, a fact La Forge was easily able to discern with the

VISOR; he turned around to see the cause. Data.

"What is happening in this neck of the woods?" Data asked.

"I, uh, I've got a holodeck glitch to check out," Barclay said, and ducked away around the warp core

before Geordi could so much as lift a hand to slow him; his gesture hung, incomplete, in midair, until he let

his hand fall back to his side and shrugged at Duffy.

"You, too," he said. "Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Duffy said, with perhaps a tad more volume than he might have used.

Geordi waved him off with a sigh, watching as he bolted after Barclay. "What's up, Data?"

"Skulduggery, from the looks of it," Data responded in his most conversational tone.

"How's that?" Geordi asked, surprised ... and thinking he wasn't much cut out for skulduggery. Not if

even Data could discern the human signs of it.

"Do not be alarmed, Geordi. Whatever it is, I am sure your intentions are honorable. I have no plans to

stick my nose into it."

"Well... thank you," Geordi said, full of caution. "Is there ... anything else going on?"

"Such as what?"

"You just don't... seem yourself."

"If I wished, I could quite accurately reproduce the voice and speech patterns of anyone on the ship,"

Data said. "But since I am not doing that, I am not sure who you might think I seem like."

Geordi looked at him a moment, then nodded slowly. "That's more like it," he said. "Can I help you with

anything?"

"Ah. You are wondering why I am here."

No beating around the bush with Data. "You could say that."

"The science officer on the Curie is providing me with constantly updated data about the state of Ntig

nano's star. I plan to tie the input into the bridge science station, and need to make sure you had no plans

to use that station during our time here."

"Well, since I'm not going to be here..." Geordi said, and let the words speak for themselves. He didn't

mention the probe work; those could be run straight from engineering, or patched through one of the

auxiliary bridge stations.

"Excellent," Data said. "See you later, alligator."

Geordi looked at Data's briskly retreating back with a frown that hovered between puzzled and

concerned. "In a while, crocodile," he heard himself mutter.

Great. Whatever was going on with Data, it seemed to be infectious.

Riker strode into Ten- Forward with more than the usual amount of purpose in his gait. He'd read

Nadann lesson's lengthy report on Tsoran customs twice, and the extra file on the Fandrean

preserve--the Legacy, they called it-one more time. The Legacy didn't concern him, despite its arborata,

cartigas, ski ks and giant ictaya; he hadn't been invited on the kaphoora, only to play chauffeur. And

while the notion of a token hunt didn't faze him, the company of this particular hunt put him off entirely.

Meanwhile, Akarr was tucked away in a guest suite somewhere, the shuttles wouldn't be ready until late

enough to delay departure for the next duty cycle, and Riker... Riker was off-duty with a vengeance.

He eyed both the bar and the empty table in the back, and opted for the bar. Back tables were for

brooding, and he wasn't interested in brooding. He wanted to contemplate precision phaser practice.

Perhaps drilling a new belly button for Akarr.

Or maybe an initial belly button, if the Tsoran didn't yet have one.

"I think I have just the thing for you," Guinan said, appearing at the bar in that way she had of just

suddenly being there. She held a tall, violent-looking drink, a murky concoction of barely compatible

liquids swirling around to produce a sticky foam. "To judge by your expression, it suits your mood, don't

you think?"

Riker gave it a dubious look. "I, ahh, think I'll stick to something more basic. Whiskey, double, neat."

"Whiskey it is." The tall glass disappeared, and in moments a stout tumbler with the air bubbles of hand

blown glass sat before him, cradling a dark amber liquid. "Our best single-malt." She eyed him from

beneath a hat of imposing stature; on anyone else it would have looked ridicu lous. On Guinan, it looked

right at home, the color bright against her dark skin. "Think it'll help?"

Riker lifted the glass to the light for a moment of appreciation. "No," he said, and took a sip, closing his

eyes to follow the burn all the way down. When he looked at Guinan again it was with a glint of humor.

"But I'm sure going to enjoy it."

"There's always that." She produced a bowl of bar peanuts to match the whiskey, filled two more

requests, and cleaned up after a spill without ever apparently taking her attention from him. "Not easy, is

it?"

"What's that?" he said, thoughtfully sucking the salt from a peanut.

"Working with someone so important to your goals who's also so rude."

He raised an eyebrow. "All over the ship already?"

"No," she said, and smiled a most serene smile.

Riker sighed, giving up. This was Guinan. She'd get it from him sooner or later. "It's nothing I haven't

dealt with before." He sipped the whiskey, let it settle. Could hardly tell it was synthehol, at that. Bless

those Ferengi. "Nothing I can't handle, now."

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