The Scientist

"It is a tongue barb, then?" Riker stared at the small ornament in Data's hand. He had seen some fascinating cultural adornments over the years, but the concept of poking a hole into one's tongue still made the bile in his stomach rise. The practice had developed independently on a few Federation planets, including Earth, although it was rare there now.

"It is much more than that, Commander." The android positioned the object under a microscope and pointed to the magnified image on the screen in front of them. "Notice the minuscule perforations on the larger barb end."

It hadn't taken Data long to uncover the barb's secret after Riker had the item sent to the android for examination. He had contacted Riker immediately with his news.

Riker had taken the evenly spaced pits on top of the rounded head to be part of the object's design. Apparently not. "What am I looking at, Data?"

"Aside from its aesthetic purpose"-Riker cringed-"the barb appears to be able to translate sound into a digital signal and to transmit that signal."

Riker blinked. "It's a comm device?"

Incredulity displaced distaste as he stared at the enlarged image.

"Like none I have ever seen, sir, but yes, like a comm device – although limited in function; it can only transmit. It is not enabled to receive a signal. However, when used with the ear piece Doctor Crusher took from the corpse, a complete primitive short range unit is formed."

Riker picked up an earring stud Data had laid next to the tongue barb. It was identical down to the pattern of dots on its rounded tip, clearly part of a set but constructed on a smaller scale. It was no wonder Doctor Crusher had been quick to see a connection between to the objects.

The first officer frowned. "Why wasn't this identified when Sem beamed across?"

Small finds like this concerned Will Riker. They made him wonder what else was being slipped on board. He had joked about lax standards on Volln'm. Was the joke on him, he wondered.

"The device had been disabled – almost certainly before the man joined the Enterprise. Just reactivating it aboard the ship would have been picked up by our sensors."

Riker started pacing. The seemingly covert devices cast a new, sinister shade over the dead man. "Does this tell us anything definite about Sem?"

"The barb has no manufacturing history. It is not listed on any Federation company production list, nor any of the non-Federation worlds that we have records for. It's design is simplistic, sir. It could have been privately made and some time ago at a guess."

The first officer struggled to control a sudden desire to hurl the earring across the room. He desisted. It was too small to derive any satisfaction from the act. "So it's another dead end in this investigation?"

His frustrations were steadily mounting.

There was no shortage of leads – but nothing had turned into anything more concrete. The Volln'm ambassador had not recognized the dead man and Beverly was yet to turn up anything solid on the origins of the venom. Computer security logs failed to identify anything out of the ordinary about Sem's movements. They showed the man had been wandering the ship's corridors (but not attempting to access any thing he shouldn't have been). His wanderings had been random, which fitted in with Troi's reading of the man before he struck her. There were no records of anyone else being in the vicinity of the counselor or the man when he attacked her. And, after interviewing everyone who had joined the ship at Starbase 313 Troi had only been able to come up with a funny feeling about one or two of the travelers – hardly solid, damning evidence.

Riker may have been losing it, but Data remained calm. "A dead end, sir? Perhaps not. The covert nature of the items suggests the transmitter and receiver were deliberately designed to look harmless. The wearing of tongue and ear stud pairs is habitual for certain Volln'm cultures."

"What cultures?"

Data's face indicated he was reconsidering his explanation.

"Perhaps culture was the wrong word, Commander. Generation is a more accurate term. Tongue and ear stud sets were or are predominantly worn by people from the Volln'm southern hemisphere continent Astrin who fall approximately between the ages of 68 and 42 – this coincides with the rise of a particular musical style, which has been identified as a significant cultural revolu-"

"Thank you, Data," Riker said. "That puts Sem in the right age bracket."

He stared at the screen, deep in thought.

"So, on the balance of known probabilities it's at least fair to start with the assumption Sem was from - or had ties to - Volln'm," he said. "Can we make any links between Volln'm and the delegation head from the Dunedin Institute?"

Data's facial features assumed a practiced quizzical look. "None, sir. Commander, you are thinking of Counselor Troi's report yesterday?"

"Without her empathic abilities, Troi can only go on her intuition." He didn't want to downplay her suggestion, but they needed to be careful how they chose to follow up on it.

"But you are giving her assessment some thought," Data said.

Riker took a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Sudamen told me his group nearly got on the Bounty. I didn't think anything of it at the time. After Vale briefed us yesterday, I felt it expedient to check on him. Troi may not have her usual skills to work with, but intuition can be a strange and uncanny thing, Data."

"I believe you, Commander Riker," Data replied.

Thinking of Troi reminded Riker he owed the counselor a visit to check on her.

He was hurt she hadn't told him she had lost her sensing ability again. She must have known when he woke in her quarters two days ago. She had given no sign. Not until the doctor checked her did she share the news with her senior staff colleagues.

It had upset him.

The day he found out, he had planned to visit her in the evening, but stopped himself. It had been a trying day, and she probably needed as much sleep as she could get. Vivid memories of the brittle way she had rejected his concern last time had made him wary of approaching her.

Yet, at their meeting the day before, she had seemed unruffled.

Vale still had extra security monitoring the crew and guest quarters. Satisfied Troi was safe, Riker had put off the visit. He'd check on her this evening. He was confident she had been feeling in a more sociable mood today – he could just tell.

He was feeling better too. For a second night his own sleep had been deep and restful.

The dreams were gone. He put them down to anxiety.

The ship's problems were much more important than his own personal issues. It was foolish to worry about an invisible bond and bad dreams when lives were threatened.

Thinking about it triggered a surge of anger through him. How dare someone attack Deanna and cause her so much anguish. Riker's fist clenched around the earring.

"Sudamen appears to check out," he said. "He's been at the institute for more than ten years.

"However, I also checked the Bounty's flight schedule. She left Volln'm and, after a brief stop at Miros V to collect additional cargo, she was supposedly on route to Ark11. Her previous five flight plans went nowhere near Caldos. If Sudamen is telling the truth, the Caldosan group was on Volln'm. What were they doing there?

"And why were they booked to travel on the Bounty originally? The Bounty is a freight ship, not a passenger ship."

Data nodded. "You are trying to connect the Dunedin Institute with the Bounty and the death of the man in the Jefferies tube?"

"The coincidences are starting to stack up, don't you think?"

Riker knew he was missing a piece of the puzzle, the key that would unlock the whole situation.

He squinted at the tiny piece of metal in his palm. What else can you tell me?

"Data, this comm unit ... you said it could've been privately made. What kind of technology did you say was used in it?"

"Actually, sir, I did not. Its technology is at least one hundred and fifty years old – certainly out-of-date by the standards of today but effective none-the-less. The barb itself is likely to be just as old."

Riker pinched the stud between his thumb and forefinger, marveling that such an innocuous thing could unsettle him.

It should have been someone's tacky family heirloom, not a cunning espionage device.

What place did it have in this investigation? It hadn't been used on board. Maybe it was just an heirloom - or a museum piece? Yet that didn't seem to fit with anything else the dead man left behind.

The earring wasn't giving up its secrets this day. Riker reluctantly set it back in a receptacle.

"Bring me up to speed on the Bounty situation, Data."

Data tapped keys on a padd and pulled up a list.

"The Bounty was transporting historical farming artifacts to Ark11. It had a crew of fifteen humanoids, working for a goodwill export business which leases the ship from its owner, a Terran."

"Where was the crew from?"

"Earth, Tcholm, Volln'm, Miros V and Andor."

Little could be gleaned from the personnel files. None of the crew were flagged for any kind of Federation misdemeanors. All were properly accredited for their respective trade positions. Several even had civilian Star Fleet commendations for activities during the Dominion War.

Reading the accompanying citations grounded Riker – reminding him fifteen more lives could have been mysteriously wiped out for no discernible reason.

Subdued, he asked Data to bring up the cargo list.

The information displayed itself before him. He scanned what seemed to be a list of pre-first contact farming equipment:

tractor, steam engine x2;
tractor, diesel engine x1;
tractor, solar/electric engine x1;
tractor, wind/electric engine x1;
eradicator, insect x2;
eradicator, insect (Bfrt 20) x1;
eradicator, parasite x2;
harvester, combine x3;
harvester, scythe x4;
husbandry, kennel x4;
chainsaw, diesel x2.

"The manifest includes provenance," Data said. "However, regulations on some planets are not as stringent as Terran standards."

He scrolled through the information, which included diagrams, pictures and charts.

Riker and Data studied the pictures, checking each item's components for possible tritium sources. It was another dead end.

"Who was set to receive these things?" Riker asked.

"The items were being transported on behalf of Solomon Kempt, a Terran representative. Actually, Commander, Mr Kempt is a member of Ark11's executive council. He has also been in charge of accessioning items for a rural technology museum on the planet."

"Fun," said Riker. "Are all these items from Earth, then?"

"I believe all the items can be traced back to various points of time in earth's history."

"You believe?"

"Some worlds don't require that information to be included in the provenance."

Riker sighed. "Let me guess ... one of those inconveniently sloppy planets is Volln'm?"

"Yes, sir."

The first officer glanced back at the screen which displayed a graphic of the last object on the list – a bulky, inelegant object called a chainsaw.

Out of curiosity he asked, "Do we have cargo information from the Fleur-de-lys?"

"The captain only sent ..." the android paused, his features adopting a perplexed expression.

"What is it, Data?"

"Commander, Captain Kogaru transmitted the passenger list as per my request, but it appears datawaste was also attached to the message."

"Datawaste?"

"I believe the captain has somehow accidentally included diagnostic data from the Fleur-de-lys in the transmission."

"You've only just noticed?"

"It appeared to be junk data. My subroutines are programmed to search for patterns in datawaste.

Riker felt a rush of excitement. "This could be a lucky break."

"Please do not raise your hopes too high, sir. The information includes the cargo list, which appears very similar to the Bounty. There is also information about environmental controls and recycling systems on the Fleur-de-lys."

"Recycling, huh? I keep hearing that word lately."

It could be nothing. Then again, maybe there was more to it.

"I'll take it as a sign, Data," Riker said. "Just continue to let those subroutines process away. Let me know if you can pull anything else out of the junk."

Riker headed to the door. "Now might be a good time to have another casual word with Sudaman of Caldos."

"I do not understand the link."

"Intuition, Mr Data. Intuition. Now, where do you think I can find him at this time of day?"

"At the end of Alpha shift, in less than fifteen minutes, I am attending a workshop the anthropologist is conducting. Sudamen is never far from her, I have observed."

"Right you are then. I was going to sit this session out, but it looks like I'll have to make an exception."


The workshop was being held on deck 14.

As they moved through the ship, crew members flowed to and fro. People were smiling. Their conversations sounded cheerful. Riker could only marvel at the difference a day could make.

They trailed a lieutenant (off-duty) from stellar cartography doing a kind of head-nodding, finger-clicking shuffle, all the while crooning under his breath. He can't have been aware how his voice carried.

"You are the last drink I never should have drunk,
you are the body hidden in the trunk,
you are the habit I can't seem to kick,
you are my secrets on the front page every week,
you are the car I never should have bought,
you are the train I never should have caught ..."

When they passed him, Riker got a close look at the black muffs covering the man's ears. He thought they were a new fashion trend or some sort of hearing device, until he noticed a tiny metal object in the man's hands. He couldn't keep himself from turning back to look.

The officer caught Riker's eye. "Genuine twenty-second century Yong bix. Family heirloom."

"Bix?"

The lieutenant grinned. "Band-in-box."

After weeks of sullen looks and quiet seething, Riker found the mood shift unnerving. He and Data shared a turbolift with three ensigns lugging large upright cases. The ensigns backed into corners, hugging their cases tight to make room for the pair.

"Another chamber music concert coming up, Zarn?" Riker asked the ensign standing next to him.

"No, sir – the quintet's been asked to help out one of the Ark11 guests. We're getting along early to go over the music."

"This could be interesting," Riker said to Data once the musicians had eased themselves out onto deck 14. "She's resurrected the ship's usually defunct brass band, as well."

"You have also attended one of her workshops?"

"Sure, a few of us got together for an impromptu session yesterday. How did you get recruited?"

"Lieutenant Quiong in Science introduced me to Lark yesterday. She encouraged me to come. That I am an android seemed to fascinate her inordinately. She affixed one condition only to my attendance."

Riker snorted. "Oh yes ... the homework component. Were you able to complete the task?"

The anthropologist had explained her reasoning yesterday. Where possible she liked people to research what she called the wealth of Terran millennial music. Her task for beginners, as she called them, was to find and be prepared to present a song which illustrated some aspect of themselves.

She was generous in her timeframe – any old song would do. Her motivation on the ship was more about fostering enjoyment in any old period music, not strictly adhering to academic definitions.

Data paused. "I have not yet made up my mind. I have narrowed my options to two songs. Now I must decide which I prefer. It is not easy. There are aspects of both songs that I enjoy."

"How do you decide what you prefer?"

"Before the emotion chip was inserted I understood and appreciated music as mathematical formulae. However, I had no capacity for preference. I still understand music in its mathematical form, chordal progressions, tempo, melody are all factored into the equations, but now I find myself favoring some equations over others – with no clear reason for doing so."

"Watch out, Data. That sounds almost human to me."

"But now I am in a quandary ... I like two songs equally and have no way to discern between either."

"Data, it's not an exam. You can't get the answer wrong. I'd tell you to flip a coin if I had one. Tell you what, assign your first choice as song A and your second as song Z. Okay?" Riker looked to Data for confirmation.

"If the doors of the turbolift on the right open next choose song A. If the left ones open first then it's song Z."

"You mean leave my decision to chance?" Data made a serious face. "Okay, I will try it your way."

After a full thirty seconds Riker wished he had come up with a quicker method of solving the dilemma. The android, however, had committed to the task. Eventually the doors of the turbolift on the right opened.

"Song A it is," Data said, satisfied.

Several more crew members carting guitar-shaped cases exited. Riker stepped in after them, but held the door open to ask Data one more question.

"Out of curiosity's sake, what songs did you get down to?" He wondered what Data would choose for self-representation. "Don't keep me in suspense."

"Lark was insistent we not reveal our songs to anyone."

"I don't remember her saying-"

"Have you decided not to come, Commander?" Data asked innocently.

Riker had something he knew he needed to do.

"I'll be there," he said. "Just a bit late – I can't come without my own instrument, now can I? Otherwise I might be expected to sing ..."


Riker detoured on his way to his quarters to Ten Forward. He knew Troi would be there. He'd given her space; now he had to give her support.

And perhaps he could persuade her to join him. He had an ulterior motive. Sudamen would be at the workshop - he was never far from Lark. Perhaps Troi might get more from the man if she saw him again.

The ship would arrive at Ark11 in less than twenty-four hours. It was imperative they get as much information out of him before he disembarked.

When Riker arrived at the ship's most popular off-duty destination, he was surprised to discover the doctor, but no Troi.

Crusher waved him over cheerfully. When he neared her she got a glimpse of his chagrin.

"You just missed her." She pointed to a half-melted ice cream concoction in a bowl.

Riker scratched his head. "I could have sworn ..."

"Your instincts are fine. It's your timing that's off. She got called away about a minute ago. A crew member in engineering just received some bad news from home, I think."

Riker digested what Crusher said. Ensign Blake's news concerned him and he made a mental note to personally approach her tomorrow after the counselor had briefed him on the situation, but he couldn't disguise a far more pressing concern.

"How's Troi doing?"

Beverly fixed an unblinking gaze on him, letting her eyebrows emphasize her clinical amusement.

"As her doctor I'm not telling you and you should know better. As her friend, I'd say nowhere near as badly as she could have been."

"Any sign of the empathy, you know, returning?"

"Still nothing. She's striving too hard to remember why she was on that deck the other night. I think she's taking the memory loss quite hard. I've noticed Betazoids tend to take head injuries as the ultimate form of cosmic insult. At least it's giving her something to brood on other than the other thing ..."

"Did she give any indication how long she was likely to be with Ensign Blake tonight?"

"No, but she pretty much resigned herself to the loss of the dessert. D'you want it?" Crusher pushed the bowl Riker's way.

He took in the slushy remains.

"Look, Beverly, I was hoping to talk to her tonight, but if she's gonna be a while – well, I might as well go back to the workshop. Why don't you come along? See what all the fuss is about?"

The doctor needed little persuading. Gossip traveled quickly on board. She was keen to meet the woman who had apparently managed to turn the first officer's head.


The Scientist, by Coldplay
Like a Friend, by Pulp