Dark Mirror Read Free Page B

satisfaction, “I am going to be as happy as a clam in mud.”
    “How does one go about quantifying the emotional state of mollusks, Commander?” Data asked innocently as Picard headed back for the turbolift. He almost wished he could stay to see how Hwiii
did
quantify it… but he had other fish to fry.
    “Ahem,” Picard said, amused, as the turbolift doors shut. “Bridge.”
    * * *
    As Picard entered, Commander Riker got up from the center seat. “Captain, if I’m any judge of such things, she sounded downright impatient.”
    “Not very usual,” Picard said. “If anything, the Laihe usually errs in the other direction. How long did it take for her to say ‘hello’ to you the other day?”
    “About ten minutes,” Riker said, and grinned slightly, “and nearly that long again for me to understand that that was what she meant.”
    Picard glanced over at Troi, who was sitting in her seat, arms folded, looking mildly interested. “Counselor?”
    Troi shrugged. “A general sense of urgency, but nothing more.”
    “Very well,” Picard said, turning toward the viewer. “Hail the Laihe if you would, Mr. Worf.”
    “Hailing, Captain.” The viewscreen had been looking toward the distant Lalairu fleet, hardly to be seen in this dimness. Now that view changed to an interior, a small private chamber hung about with asymmetric drapes of some kind of dark, rich-looking fabric that held a subdued glitter in its folds.
    In front of the subtly glittering curtains or tapestries sat—if that was the word for it—the Laihe. She was a Huraen, one of a species whose homeworld had been destroyed by some natural calamity some centuries before, but since all the Huraen had been traveling as one of the Lalairu peoples since well before that time, none of them particularly cared. By virtue of that ancient association, and because of some unspecified sacrifice that the Huraen had made for the other Lalairu peoples, the Laihe, head of the whole race, was always a Huraen. Huraenti were tall, slender, insectile people, compound-eyed, many-limbed, mostly blue or green in color, their chitin-covered bodies inlaid or figured with complicated patterns in malleable metals or textured plastics: as if someone had taken a praying mantis, given it a slightly mournful, understandinglook, and more legs than even a mantis would need. Huraenti were skilled artisans and craftsmen, engineers of extraordinary talent, and had a reputation for being able to understand anything mechanical within seconds. In terms of personality, they tended to be affable, subtle, and fond of the interpersonal arts: chief among them, language. They were loquacious and liked it that way. That was all right in the Huraenti language, which was structured and straightforward. But the Laihe was much more Lalairu than Huraenti, and her language showed it.
    “Graciously greeted is the noblissimus entr’acte Picard chief in command subjective warning,” said the Laihe, ratcheting her top set of forelegs together.
    That sounds like hello
, Picard thought,
and Will was right, she
is
in a hurry
. “I greet you graciously as well, Laihe.”
    “Urgently spatial coordinate-status misfound illfound illfounded distortion in
nithwaeld
on merest dysfunction hereditary disastrous propulsion!” said the Laihe, or at least, that was all the universal translator could make of it.
    Picard nodded and tried to look gravely concerned, which wasn’t difficult under the circumstances. “Laihe, forgive us, but our translator lost several words in that last passage. What is
nithwaeld
, please?”
    “
Ingwe
. Or
filamentary.”
    “Hyperstrings?”
    “Affirmative response.”
    Picard let out a breath of relief at having gotten that far. “Laihe, you must forgive me when I say that I am as yet only slightly educated in hyperstring studies. Am I to understand that something unexpected, or distressing, is going on in space hereabouts?”
    “Affirmative, qualifier variancy-area