,ebook - Star Trek - TNG - 1 - Ghost Ship.txt????????5ÕKùÕKÊmBINªª½This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authorâs imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS ? POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas New York, NY 10020 Visit us on the World Wide Web http://www.SimonSays.com/st http://www.startrek.com Copyright © 1988 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved. ? STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures. ? This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020 ISBN: 0-7434-1213-3 POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc. To Captain Frank R. Carey, U.S.M.C., I.R., for providing all the right details. Thanks, Dad. To Jack Lifton, my own private physical chemist and international intelligence source. (By the way÷Clive? Eat your heart out.) To David Forsmark, for helping hammer out the tough ethical questions÷the ones with no easy answers÷without which our books would be just more noise. Great minds and all that. To Nicole Harsch, expert in space psychology÷you found all the right articles and led us through them unerringly. Ever tried swordfighting? And to Star Trek editor Dave Stern÷saving the best for last. You make all the editorial arm-wrestling easier to tolerate, and I appreciate you. GregoryÊ.Ê.Ê.Êyou did it again. These are the kind of people Iâm talking about when readers ask me how I manage to write scientific, military and philosophical passages with accuracy. They are the people I mean when I cagily answer, ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê.ÊI have my sources.ä Life is an offensive, directed against the repetitious mechanism of the universe. ÷Alfred North Whitehead Chapter One The SERGEI G. GORSHKOV moved through the water as though the sea had been made solely to carry such ships. As every sailor knew in his deepest soul, there had been no ocean before there were ships, and the ocean had only gotten so large because ships of such bulk came to chase its farthest shorelines, to push its hem forever back, to conquer its lengths and breadths with their intrepid spirit. The ships, ever bigger, ever more powerful, ever more majestic, were the badge of spirit for mankind. At leastÊ.Ê.Ê. sailors think so. For bakers, itâs the bread that rises in their ovens that mankind should pay attention to. Point of view. Arkady Reykov unbuttoned the dark blue overcoat of the Soviet navy and shook the heavy outerwear from his shoulders. His petty officer was there to catch the coat and store it away. Reykov did not acknowledge the service, but simply strode onto the bridge, coatless, authority intact. Today the eyes of the Politburo were on him and this vessel. His executive officer met him immediately, with a dogged reliability that Reykov found slightly annoying but somehow always welcome. The two men nodded at each other, then turned at the same moment and the same angle to look out over the stunning landing deck of the Soviet Unionâs second full-deck carrier. The shipbuilding facility at Nikolayev was far behind them. Before them lay the open expanse of the Black Sea. Around them in a several-mile radius, the carrier support group plunged through the sea, barely out of sight. There were four heavy cruisers and six destroyers in the carrier group. The tanker force would catch up tomorrow. Reykov was a large man, straight-shouldered and inclined to staidness, the type of Soviet man that appears in comedy-dramas when typecasting is necessary to the story, except that he didnât have the obligatory mustache. Executive Officer Timofei Vasska was thinner, fairer, and younger, but both were handsome men÷which, truth be told, didnât come in very handy in their particular vocation. But at least it was easier to get up in the morning. One wanted to look good when one piloted a ship like this, this nuclear mountain upon the sea. It had taken a long time to store up the expertise to build a carrier. No one could become a naval architect just like that, and even if he could, where would he get the economic structure to support his knowledge? It takes a vast technology, ideas, factories, machining, measuring, weighing, thinking, knowing, production, and counterproduction even to make a ballpoint pen. And a carrier is a little more expensive. Reykov was proud of this Lenin-class Gorshkov. She was big, and the Soviets liked big. And she carried a weapon that was the first and only of its kind. Their pride and joy. Something even the Amerikanskis didnât have. Reykov inflated his chest with a deep breath. His ship. Well, he could pretend it was his. He felt the pulses of the five thousand men in his crew, throbbing with metronome steadiness beneath him as he stood on the bridge in the carrierâs tower. ãApproaching maneuver area, Comrade Captain,ä Vasska said, his voice carrying more lilt than those words required. Reykov acknowledged him with a quick look. ãSignal the flight officer to begin launching the MiGs for tracking practice.ä He felt a little shiver of thrill as he gave that order, for it was the first time the new MiGs would be launched from an aircraft carrier during an actual demonstration for dignitaries. Until now, only military eyes had seen this. The Soviet Union had finally learned how to work titanium instead of steel, and now there was a new class of MiGs light enough to be used on carriers. For years the motherland had sold its titanium to the U.S. while Soviet planes were still made of steel. Too heavy, too much fuel. It was with great pleasure that Arkady Reykov watched as the MiGs sheared off the end of the flight deck and took to the sky, one after another÷seven of them. ãHave the fighters go out fifty miles and come in on various unannounced attack runs at the ship. Prepare for demonstration of laser tracking and radar to show we could knock out each of the fighters as it appears. And advise the political commissar to get the dignitaries out of their beds. Theyâll want to be red instead of green today for a change.ä Vasska put up a valiant fight as he dictated these orders to the appropriate stations, but despite himself his cheeks turned rosy and his shoulders shook. ãThey have been green, havenât they, Comrade Captain?ä he muttered toward Reykov, keeping his voice low and his eye on the other bridge officers. The captain smiled. ãAnd tell them to be sure to get dressed before they come out on deck. Those American satellites can count your leg hairs.ä ãHavenât you heard the latest intelligence?ä Vasska tossed back. ãBureaucrats have no leg hair.ä Reykov leaned toward him in a manner so natural it had almost become unnoticeable after their years together. ãThey should put the bureaucrats in a gulag. Then things might get done.ä Vasska smirked at him and gave him a delicate glance. ãYou used to be one of those.ä ãYes,ä the captain said, ãand they shouldâve gagged me. Perhaps by now youâd be captain and Iâd be on the Politburo.ä ãI donât want to be captain. When all the shooting starts, I like somebody to hide behind.ä Reykov turned up one corner of his mouth. ãThatâs all right. Itâs my secret desire never to sit on the Politburo. Are the drone targets operational for the tests? Have they been checked?ä ãSeveral of them. We sent out two this morning, and one malfunctioned. Letâs hope we have better odds for the demonstrations.ä ãIn the old days,ä Reykov commented with his usual dryness, ãthere wouldâve been self-destructs on the targets. Just in case we missed.ä The two men shared a chuckle. ãThe Teardrop missiles have been checked and rechecked. This batch is probably going to fire as itâs supposed to, I hope. All this target practice and nothing to shoot at,ä Vasska said as he watched the sea crash past Gorshkovâs vast prow. ãMmmm,ä Reykov agreed, his lips pressed flat. ãYou know, Timofei, Iâve served almost thirty years and Iâve never been fired at even once.ä Vasska straightened, his boyish face tight with a restrained grin. ãThen how do you know you wonât break under attack?ä ãYouâve met my wife.ä Vasska clasped his hands behind his back and lowered his voice again. ãWhatâs the situation with Borka?ä ãI talked to himÊ.Ê.Ê. I got him alone.ä ãDid you make progress?ä Reykov bobbed his brows and shrugged. ãHe canât be watched every minute. Itâs those times heâs out of sight that make me worry.ä ãWhat have you tried?ä ãReasoningÊ.Ê.Ê. threatsÊ.Ê.Ê. rewardsÊ.Ê.Ê. nothing works. Iâm afraid the time is coming for severe action.ä Vasska nodded sympathetically. ãBe firm, Kady. I wish I could be there. This is what comes from too much permissiveness. Rebellion. Time will take care of it, though. Borka will eventually make his own decision, and then you can proudly say your grandson isnât wearing diapers anymore.ä Even as he said it, Vasska fixed his eyes on his captainâs thick dark hair with its tinge of silver just over his left brow, and had difficulty imagining Arkady Reykov as a grandfather. The captainâs face was almost unlined, his eyes every bit as clear and vital as the day Vasska first saw him eight÷or was it nine?÷years ago, while Vasska was still a pilot and Reykov was flight officer on the small carrier Moscow. It hadnât been a bad eight years, at least not after the first two, when they finally believed they could speak candidly to each other. That is a day which in many relationships never comes at all. ãBe sure there are no other aircraft in the area, Comrade Vasska. Launch the target aircraft and letâs proceed with this performance before we all get hungry and canât do our jobs.ä ãShall we wait until the political commissar notifies us that the dignitaries are watching?ä A reed-thin smile stretched across Reykovâs face as he measured and tasted each alternative several times before finally narrowing his eyes on his privilege as captain. He leaned toward Vasska for another of those private exchanges. ãLetâs not.ä Vasskaâs cheeks tightened as he imagined the dignitaries hitting the ceilings of their staterooms when the gunnery practice began. He made his back straight and firmly announced to the duty officer, ãSignal tracking maneuvers, Comrade Myakishev.ä The performance with live fighters went shiningly well, primarily because it was all ãon paper.ä There was no firing of weapons until the unmanned drones were launched to circle out wide across the expanse of the Black Sea and come back to harass the Gorshkov as had been carefully arranged and rearranged. The dummy missiles were bombarded with a hail of depleted-uranium slugs whose weight alone would be enough to press off an attacking missile if it hit at sufficient distance. There were dignitaries on board, and nothing was being left to chance. There were a few misfires, a few misses, and a few false starts, but while not a perfect performance, it was a performance that could be interpreted as perfect, if the right language were used. Reykov was certain the language would be selected as carefully as a mother clips her infantâs fingernails. That immutable fact about Soviet coverage was little comfort, however, as Reykov turned to Timofei Vasska and quietly spoke words that chained them to their seats. ãPrepare demonstration of the E.M.P.ä With the last hourâs weaponsâ displays still booming in his ears, Vasskaâs skin shrank from the order, though he let none of his apprehension show. Such a device. The first of its kind to be mounted on a moving unit. Even the stationary ones prior to this one had been nothing more than a few isolated test guns. This one was real, mounted permanently at the center of Gorshkovâs gunnery shroud. E.M.P.Ê.Ê.Ê. controlled electromagnetic pulse. ãSignal the Vladivostok to begin firing dummy Teardrops. And Vasska,ä Reykov added quickly, raising a finger, ãbe sure they only fire one at a time and give us forty seconds to reenergize the pulse.ä Vasska shook his head and said, ãWonât it be wonderful if our enemies are so cooperative as to never fire more than one missile at a time?ä Reykov shrugged his big shoulders and said, ãWeâre working on it. Itâll be good enough if we can scramble the guidance systems one by one. Letâs not ask for trouble. Just donât make fools of the designers.ä Vasska nodded to Myakishev, who relayed the order out into the distance. ãInbound,ä came the dry announcement a few moments later. ãOne Teardrop missile, heading four-zero true.ä ãVisual range?ä ãIn six seconds, sir.ä ãWhen it becomes visible, weâll fire the E.M.P. on my order.ä ãYes, Comrade Captain. Visibility in threeÊ.Ê.Ê. twoÊ.Ê.Ê. oneÊ.Ê.Ê. mark.ä They squinted into the crisp blue atmosphere and saw the incoming dummy missile. Hardly more than a silver glint against the sky, even the dud caused a hard ball in the pit of every stomach. Reykov imagined the dignitariesâ skin crawling right about now. ãFire the E.M.P.ä Myakishev touched his control panel, and below them on the tower a twelve-foot-wide antenna swiveled toward the inbound. They all flinched when the pulse fired÷ There was a near-simultaneous snap and a white flash. At first it seemed the snap came first, but now that it was over they werenât sure. In the distant sky, the Teardrop skittered on its trajectory, corkscrewed corkscrewed to one side, and plunged into the sea far off its mark, victim of a fizzled guidance system. The bridge broke into cheers. Reykov pumped a sigh of relief from his lungs. ãReenergize the pulse, Comrade Vasska.ä ãRecharging now, Comrade Captain.ä ãGood boy, good boyÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Reykov inhaled deeply and tried to make the sensation of trouble go away. He wasnât really nervous, but for some reason his hands were cold. ãComrade CaptainÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Myakishev bent over the officerâs shoulders at the radar screen. ãComrade?ä Reykov prodded, his hands dropping to his sides. Vasska, having heard something in Myakishevâs tone, was also bending over the radar station. ãWe have an inboundÊ.Ê.Ê. and itâs not one of ours.ä Vasska dove for the TBS phone and had it to his ear as Reykov barked, ãContact the Vladivostok.ä ãSir, Captain Feklenko reports they did not fire. They did not fire on us.ä ãThen what is it?ä ãI donât know.ä ãWhat is it? Is it American?ä ãDoesnât appear to be.ä ãThen what? Is it French? Is it British? Albanian? Do the Africans have missiles? Whose is it?ä ãSir, thereâs no log of thisÊ.Ê.Ê. Iâm not even certain itâs a missile,ä Vasska said, snapping his fingers to other manned positions in silent orders. Reykov pressed up against Myakishevâs shoulder. ãBillions of rubles for you geniuses and you canât tell me what it is. I want to know whose it is. What is coming in?ä ãItâs headed directly toward us!ä Reykov straightened, his eyes narrowing on the distant sky. For the first time in his life, he made the kind of decision he hoped never to have to make. ãTurn the E.M.P. on it. Fire when ready.ä The wide rectangular antenna swiveled like the head of some unlikely insect, and once again the terrible snap-flash came as the electromagnetic pulse pumped through the atmosphere with scientific coldness. It should have worked. It should have scrambled the guidance controls on any kind of missile or aircraft, any kind at all. Any kind at all. ãItâs homing in on the beam÷accelerating now!ä Myakishevâs voice clattered against his throat. Vasska whispered, ãEven the Americans donât have anything like thatÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Reykov twisted around and plowed through the bridge crew to the chilly windowsill. He stared out over the Black Sea. There was something there. It wasnât a missile. On the horizon, making childâs play of the distance between itself and Gorshkov, was a wall. An electrical wall. It sizzled and crackled, made colors against the sky, shapeless and ugly÷the phenomenon looked, more than anything, like an infrared false-color image. Colors inside colors. But there was no basic shape. It was crawling across the water, the size of a skyscraper. Behind him, Myakishev choked, ãRadar is out. Communications out now÷weâre getting feedback÷ä Reykov gasped twice before he could speak. ãFull about! General quarters! General÷ä His voice went away. Around him, every piece of instrumentation went dead. As though molasses had been poured over the bridge, all mechanisms failed. There wasnât even the reassuring sound of malfunction. In fact, there was no sound at all. Then a sound did come÷an electrical scream cutting across the water and swallowing the whole ship as the false-color bogey roared up to the carrierâs starboard bow and sucked the ship into itself. It was three times the size of the ship itself. Three times. Reykovâs last move as a human being was to turn toward the radar station. He looked at Timofei Vasska, who straightened up to stare at his captain, both hands clasped over his ears, and the two men were locked in a gaze, frozen, held. It felt as though all their blood were clotting at once. Reykovâs last perception was of Vasskaâs eyebrows drawing slightly together as the two men shared the wholeness of that final moment before obliteration. Then Vasskaâs face was covered with the false-color image, and Reykovâs mind, mercifully, stopped operating. The false-color phenomenon drenched the aircraft carrier in its electrical wash. Within moments, there were no more life-forms on board. The immense vessel had been wiped clean of organisms, from the horde of humans to the smallest cockroach hiding in the cookâs shoe. Even the leather on the seats in the captainâs stateroom was gone. There was only steel and wire and aluminum and titanium and the various fabrics÷tarps and uniforms÷that were recognizable as inert. The Gorshkov sat on the open water, empty. The hull and the airfield it supported began to rumble, to vibrate. Ripples shot out from the hull at the waterline, creating patterns on the sea, and with every passing second the intensity of these vibrations mounted until Gorshkov was actually creating waves on the Black Sea. The ship shook like a toy, shuddered, and was ripped in half as though made of chocolate cake. The shriek of tearing metal blared across the entire sea. Each piece of the ship became an individual explosion, a splotch of color inside the electrical vortex, and blew up like so many fragmentation grenades. Ninety thousand gross tons of scrap metal rained across the waters of the Black Sea. *ÊÊ*ÊÊ* ãCaptainâs on the bridge.ä The U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt (CVN-71) churned through the sea at the center of the six cruisers and seventeen destroyers that made up its carrier group. From where he came to a stop beside the navigation station on the bridge, Captain Leon Ruszkowski could easily see two of the Aegis cruisers plowing along at a distance of four miles off their forward and port beams. ãNice,ä he murmured. ãBlue sky, warm day, waters of the exotic Mediterranean beneath, and a song in our hearts. Ah, to be in Paris. Or AthensÊ.Ê.Ê. hell, pick a city.ä ãWill coffee do?ä Executive Officer David Galanter appeared, and sure enough the mocha scent of coffee, sugar/no cream, came with him. The captain took the china mug and said, ãDave, youâll make a hell of a headwaiter someday. Weâll all retire and open up a Greek restaurant in east L.A. Admiral Harper could be ma”tre dâÊ.Ê.Ê. Annalise can cook.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä Air Wing Commander Annalise Drumm broke off her enchantment with the flattop and looked his way. ãDo I get free breakfast?ä ãPoached octopus on whole-wheat toast, our specialty.ä She smiled and rolled her eyes. ãAfter a while we could replace the octopus with those little pink erasers that come on the tops of navy pencils. Nobodyâd know the difference.ä ãWeâd probably get a write-up in Connoisseur. Dave, whatâs that blip?ä ãSorry, sirÊ.Ê.Ê. one minute. Compton, check that.ä The captain moved closer, squinting. ãGone now. What was it?ä Galanter shook his dark head and frowned. ãNot sure, sir. All stations, verify integrity of the area.ä A very subtle change came over the bridge. Highly trained crewmen moved into action so smoothly that the series of exercises was barely distinguishable from what went on when they were doing nothing. Then the radar officer calmly said, ãPicking up six blips, skipperÊ.Ê.Ê. correction÷seven blips. Seem to be fighters.ä ãFighters from where? Annalise, you got hardware in the air I donât know about?ä Annalise crowded him at the monitor, suddenly possessive of their airspace. ãNo, sir, all fixed-wings are in.ä The captainâs brows drew closer. ãAnd the Dwight Eisenhowerâs three thousand miles away. Get an ID, Compton.ä ãThey seem to be seven MiGs, sir. Signature radar says configuration is MiG-33B, Naval Version.ä ãAre we under attack?ä ãNo, sir. Their missile radar is not on.ä ãWhat are MiG-33s doing here? What happened? Who speaks Russian?ä ãI do, sir,ä Compton said without taking his eyes from his screen. The captain didnât hesitate. ãGet on there and find out whatâs up.ä ãUh, yessir.ä He bantered into his comm set in Russian, and within seconds came back with, ãSkipper, Soviet CAP is requesting permission to land on our flattop. Says theyâre out of fuel. Coming in at high warble. Very agitated.ä Commander Drumm and the exec crowded the captain as he frowned and muttered, ãSeven MiG-33s want to land on a U.S. CVN? Must be some bitchinâ reason. I donât suppose we better wait for a note from Mother on this one.ä Galanter agreed with a cautious nod. ãOut of fuelâs out of fuel.ä The captain watched the status boards and said, ãTell the Soviet squadron leader to dump all their missiles and bombs and empty their guns completely. Annalise, scramble four Tomcats to escort them in.ä ãAye, skipper.ä She dashed for the exit so fast that they almost didnât notice her leave until she was gone. But the captain knew÷he didnât even bother to look. ãSound general quarters.ä Galanterâs voice got stiff. ãAye, sir. Bosân, sound general quarters.ä ãGeneral quarters, aye.ä The bosun immediately went to his broadcast intercom, pierced the ship with an alert whistle, and sent the deceptively calm order booming through the two thousand airtight chambers on the carrier. ãGeneral quarters. General quarters. Man your battle stations. This is not a drill. Man your battle stations. This is no drill.ä Captain Ruszkowski didnât wait for the stirring announcement to stop, because that would take several minutes. Throughout the ship, thousands of trained men and women were streaking toward their posts, all blood running hot with a thrill that inevitably comes from hearing those words over the intercom. No matter how awful or how dangerous, there was always the thrill. It was part and parcel of the voodoo that made things work on a military vessel. Ruszkowski kept quiet just a few more seconds until he heard the distinct kksshhhhhhhoooooo of F-14s peeling off the flight deck in succession so quick it was scary. That was a good sound, and he started breathing again. ãScan for any vessels in a thousand-mile radius. I want to know if this is a fake.ä Compton turned in his chair. ãSir?ä ãGo, Compton.ä ãRussian wing commander says three bags full, sir. Theyâll comply with dumping their arms and anything else you want.ä ãAsk the squadron leader what kind of arresting gear he has, then tell him what weâve got and see if theyâre compatible. Weâll have to know if their tailhookers are up to speed or if we have to rig a barricade.ä Galanter straightened. ãShould we tell them that? I mean, isnât that classified?ä ãYeah, but I donât really care. And signal our picket destroyer that they might have to go in after the MiGs if we canât hook them and they have to ditch.ä ãSoviet CAP leader says heâs willing to comply unconditionally on all counts, sir. He sounds pretty shook up.ä ãSignal they have permission to land, Mr. Compton. Dave, letâs bring those pilots in.ä It had never in all the history of the universe been so hot. An eerie yellow light flashed on and off, picking up the roundness of tiny beads of perspiration on the womanâs ivory skin. Some of the beads caught on the ends of her long black eyelashes as she lay there with her eyes tightly shut. The glow was spasmodic, on, off, on, off. Her eyes shot open. Her hands gnawed the edges of the mattress. Her back was suddenly stiff from sitting up so quickly, yet she had absolutely no memory of having sat up. Beneath her uniform, perspiration rolled down between her breasts, as though someone had dumped a beaker of glycerin over her shoulders. ãDonât fireÊ.Ê.Ê. shut down all systemsÊ.Ê.Ê. VasskaÊ.Ê.Ê. Vasska!ä She was gasping. Several seconds thundered by under the terrible flash of the yellow light before her eyes focused on the delicate floral arrangement on her dresser. ãYellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê. yellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä She turned her head, blinking tears from her eyes, and undone black hair moved on her shoulders, reminding her of who she was. She tried to catch at her identity as it slipped in and out of her mind, to draw it in, cling to it÷ ãYellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê. yellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê. Counselor Troi, please report to the bridge immediately. Counselor Deanna Troi, report to the bridge please. Yellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê. yellow alertÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Chapter Two ãFIRE PHASERS.ä Captain Picardâs precise enunciation gave the order a theatrical tenor. It was followed almost immediately by the thunder of weapons powering through the big ship. A slim, magisterial man of thrifty movement, Picard stood the deck without pacing as most would, watching the latest of a series of rather tedious scientific exercises. In the corner of his eye he saw the yellow alert light flashing, and it reminded him that stations had been manned and any quick shifts in orbital integrity could be handled without surprise now. ãOrbital status, Mr. LaForge?ä As he spoke, Picard crossed the topaz carpet to bridge center and glanced over the shoulder of Geordi LaForge, ignoring÷through practice÷the fact that the dark young man had a metal band over his eyes that made him appear blindfolded. There was something ironic and disconcerting÷to humans÷about trusting the steering of a gigantic ship to a blind man. LaForgeâs head moved, downward slightly and left÷it was their only signal that visual tie-in to his brain was working at all. ãAn orbit this tight is tricky since gas giants have no true surface, sir, but weâre stable and holding. I guess the Federationâs going to get all the information it wants whether we like it or not.ä Picard moved quietly to the other side of LaForge and placed his hand on the young officerâs lounge. ãWhen I want an editorial, Iâll ask for it, Lieutenant.ä LaForge stiffened. ãYes, sir. Sorry, sir.ä The captain imperiously guarded his own opinion. Though the huge new starship was supposedly on an exploratory mission, the Federation was dragging its feet in letting the Enterprise get on with it. The ship had yet to push into truly unexplored space, and Picard was annoyed by the giant gas planet turning on the room-sized viewscreen before him. All right, it was an anomaly. Yes, it was unique. Yes, it was large. But if the Federation Science Bureau wanted to study it, surely the planet wasnât going anywhere. They neednât take up an entire Galaxy-class ship to have a look at it. ãMr. Riker, secure from yellow alert. Go to condition three.ä William Riker came to life up on the quarterdeck. ãCondition three, aye, sir.ä He started to look toward the tactical station, where the order would be funneled through, but at the last instant left it to the officer in charge, for his own gaze was fixed on Jean-Luc Picard. The captain regarded his bridge and its people and their task with the stateliness of a bird on a bough. Not a bird of prey, though, this captain. This one could soar in any direction, whichever way duty demanded. Not a large man or even an imposing one÷a task he left to his first officer÷the captain was at times unobtrusive, the bird hiding in the foliage, watching, never seen until those great wings suddenly spread. Those around him knew this could happen at any moment, this sudden peeling off across the bridge panorama like a lean sky thing. Even in repose, his presence kept them alert. I wish I could do that, Riker thought, a little wince crossing his broad features. He tried not to watch the captain while the captain was watching the bridge, but it was hypnotic. As usual, Rikerâs back was hurting as he stood to starboard, too rigidly. He wished he could shake the habit of prancing, born of deep-seated little insecurities that nagged at him constantly as though to keep him in line. Later he always wished he hadnât moved so punctiliously as he got from here to there. Horrible to risk the captainâs thinking he was being deliberately upstaged. Next selection: ãFirst Officer on Parade.ä But worseÊ.Ê.Ê. if the first officer appeared diffident. Wasnât that worse? There was no middle ground, or at least Riker hadnât found it. He wanted to be a bulwark, but not one the captain had to climb over. It was tiring, pretending to be completely one with a commanding officer whom he simply didnât know very well on a personal basis. Yet they faced the prospect of sharing the next few years at each otherâs side. Could that be done on the plane of formality that had set itself up between them? Riker tried to pace the bridge casually yet without appearing aimless. That was the tricky part. It actually hurt sometimes÷his back, his legs, aching. Like now. If not done right, the movements became pompous and ambiguous. He would become victim to the plain fact that the first officer actually had conspicuously little to do on the bridge. He worried about that all the time. Good thing he generally had command of away teams; at least he had that to make him worthwhile. Picard had it down. Quiet authority. Dependable not-quite presence. They could easily forget he was on the bridge at all. He would simply watch from his bough. Riker forced himself to look away from the captainâs coin-relief profile before he was entirely mesmerized. ãSomething wrong, Mr. Riker?ä Caught. Riker turned and drew his mouth into a grin that must have looked forced÷another mistake÷and said, ãNot at all, sir. Everythingâs fine.ä He felt his eyes squinting and didnât want the grin to get out of hand, so he pursed his lips and pretended to be very interested in the tactical display. Good÷the captain was looking away. Relax, Riker. Down with one shoulder. Now the other. Good soldier. A casual turn told him no one was looking at him. Everyone was busy with the giant. A moment later he was hypnotized again, but this time it was not by the subdued presence of Captain Picard. Now the gas giant caught him, held him, cradled in its unparalleled blueness as it roiled before them on the wide ceiling-to-floor viewscreen. Ah, that viewscreen. It was the only thing on this ship that truly conveyed the size of the vessel and its technological grandeur. Dominating the bridge, the screen was half a universe all by itself. The other half was over Rikerâs shoulder: the new Enterprise. Barely broken in, swan-elegant, she spread out behind him like the wings of the bird. Birds. Everythingâs birds all of a sudden, Riker thought, and he glanced at Jean-Luc Picard. ãCondition report, Mr. Data,ä the captain requested then, directing his gaze to the primary science station aft of tactical. Riker turned aft in time to see a slender humanoid straighten at the science post. The face was still startling, its doll-like pyrite sheen softened only by its sculpted expression. Dataâs expression, when there was one, always carried a childlike na•vetŽ that eased the severeness of his slicked-back hair and the cartoon colors of his skin. For the hundredth time, Riker involuntarily wondered why anybody smart enough to create an android so intricate was too stupid to paint its face the right color or put some tone on its lips. If his builders filled it with human data÷pardon the pun÷somewhere in the download must have been information that the palette of human skin types didnât include chrome. It was as though they went out of the way to shape him like a human, then went even further out of the way to paste him with signs that said, ãHey, Iâm an android!ä Dataâs brushstroke brows lifted. ãReadings coming in from phaser blast echoes now, sir. Absolutely lifeless÷high concentrations of uncataloged chemical compounds, very compressedÊ.Ê.Ê. extremely rare reactology, Captain. This information will prove valuable.ä ãIs there a margin of safety to attempt probing through to the gas giantâs core?ä Picard asked. Dataâs face was framed by the black mantle of the slenderizing one-piece flightsuit, its color picked up again by the breast panelâs mustard gold, a standard Starfleet color since the Big Bang. ãA wide margin, sir. I recommend it.ä Riker pressed his arms to his sides. There was something unreal about Dataâs voice. More human than human, the words were rounded and spoken with an open throat, as though it was always working a little harder than necessary. ãHe.ä Not ãit.ä For the sake of the rest of the crew, think ãhe.ä No sense rupturing the trust others might have by accidentally pointing out the fact that heâs an instrument, even if he is. Riker shook himself from his thoughts as he sensed Picardâs glance, and in that moment he collected the authority he needed to carry out the captainâs unspoken order. He cleared his throat. ãIncrease phasers to full power. Letâs see whatâs at the heart of this beauty.ä ãIt is beautiful, isnât it? You donât stumble on one of these every day,ä Beverly Crusher commented. Folding her long arms, she sat on the bench just port of the counselorâs seat, exercising a shipâs surgeonâs traditional right to be on the bridge when she didnât feel like being anywhere else. Dr. Crusher was yet another stroke of color against the bisque walls and carpet. Over her cobalt-and-black uniform her hair was a Cleopatra crown of pure terra cotta÷and there was just something about a redhead. She was reedy and quick, smart and graceful, and inclined toward sensible shoes in spite of her narrow-boned loveliness. Riker liked her. So did the captain. Especially the captain. ãYes,ä Captain Picard murmured, using the conversation as an excuse to move a few steps closer to her, ãand itâs twice the size of common gas giants. Fire phasers.ä The muted phhhiiiuuuuuu hummed through the ship again, and on the screen an energy bolt cut downward into the surfaceless swirl. ãReading various concentrations of gas,ä Data reported, ãmerging to liquidÊ.Ê.Ê. compressing into solid masses in some areasÊ.Ê.Ê. logging the compounds now, sir.ä ãExcellent,ä Picard responded. ãIâm sure÷ä The forward turbolift beside the captainâs ready-room door opened, and Deanna Troi flew out onto the bridge, so unlike herself that she drew all eyes. She was a wreck÷about as opposite her usual demeanor as she could get without mud-wrestling first. Her hair, usually knotted up in a style so tight it made other peopleâs muscles ache, was a black mass, spilling over her shoulders and around her pearly cheeks. Her eyes, extra large with their touch of alienness, obsidian as eyes that looked out from a Greco-Roman fresco, were skewed by some terrible calamity. She was breathing hard. Had she run down every corridor? Riker plowed through the bridge contingent to the space just below her platform. ãDeannaÊ.Ê.Ê. whatâs wrong?ä She panted out a few breaths, her pencil-perfect brows drawn inward to make two creases over her nose. ãWhyÊ.Ê.Ê. why is there a yellow alert?ä Even now she spoke softly, her words touched with that faintly alien Betazoid accent. She was working hard to compose herself, but something was obviously pressuring her. Riker moved a step closer, hoping to reassure her. ãWeâre attempting close orbit around that.ä He made a gesture toward the viewscreen, but his mind wasnât on it any more than hers was. He parted his lips to say something else, but Data was interrupting him. ãWeâre firing into its atmosphere to get feedback readings. Even though its core is unignited, the planet is putting out three times the energy it should, mostly in long-wave radiation. We have to be on alert in case of shock waves or gravitational recoil÷ä ãData,ä Riker snapped, wishing there was an off switch. He silenced the android with a sandpaper look, then turned back to Troi. ãI shouldâve told the computer to bypass standard procedure and not call you up here. Itâs my fault.ä She put out her hand in what began as an appeasing gesture, but as she spoke it turned into the kind of move a woman makes when she wants to steady herself. ãNoÊ.Ê.Ê. it isnât your fault.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä The captain floated in at Rikerâs left. ãWhatâs bothering you, Counselor?ä he asked, gently but with an edge of impatience. Her kohled eyes narrowed beneath those drawn brows. ãI heard somethingÊ.Ê.Ê. in my mindÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãCan you describe it?ä Riker asked. A twinge ran up his spine. Her muted telepathic talents always made him nervous. It wasnât exactly disbelief, because no one could dispute the existence of Betazoid mental traits, but it was a kind of distrust. She backed up a step. ãIâm sorryÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä She blinked, took a deep breath, and pretended to recover. ãCaptain, Iâm sorry for the interruption. I didnât mean to disturb your tests. Please excuse me.ä Before either of the men could speak, she made a quick and nervous exit. Riker stared at the lift doors. ãIâve never seen her act that way,ä he murmured. Data rose and came a few steps toward the ramp. ãIs Counselor Troi ill?ä ãItâs something else,ä Riker decided quietly, more to himself than to Data. ãShe behaved abnormally.ä Now he drew his eyes from the lift and struck Data with a look that would have bruised had it been a Ghost Ship blow. ãI donât think youâre anyone to judge,ä he barked. Picard tilted his shoulders as he turned, saying, ãPermission to leave the bridge, Number One. Temporarily.ä ãThank you, sir,ä Riker said. ãI wonât be long.ä He had to restrain himself or he would actually have bounded for the lift. He cast one more acid glare at Data before leaving the bridge. Picard smoothed the moment with a calm extension of the science tests. ãContinue phaser bursts at regular intervals.ä Data drew himself away from the stinging, confusing reaction Riker had given him and settled into his usual station at OPS on the forward deck. ãScience stations are receiving continual information from the planetary core now, Captain.ä He lowered his voice as he had often heard humans do, and to LaForge said, ãCommander Riker is annoyed with me.ä LaForge shrugged. He glanced at the android, but saw not what human eyes would see. The androidâs bodily heat was unevenly distributed throughout the high-tech body, a body far denser than that of a human body of equal volume. The sections of infrared were localized into hot spots, more defined than the infrared blobs in a human body, and LaForge could easily discern the places where organic material was fitted in to intricate mechanics. Data gave off an electromagnetic aura, but he wasnât exactly a toaster oven. ãYou could try being a little less stiff,ä LaForge suggested. ãLearn some slang or something.ä Dataâs lips flattened. ãSlang. Colloquial jargon, nonstandard idioms, street talkÊ.Ê.Ê. itâs often inaccurate. I have tried to incorporate that speech into my language use, but it does not seem to flow.ä ãThatâs because you use it as though it still has quotation marks around it. You use individual words instead of the whole meaning of the phrase. Youâve got to try to use slang more casually.ä ãWhat purpose does it actually serve?ä LaForge leaned toward him and delicately said, ãIt makes you approachable. Give it a swing.ä As his lips silently traced that last word, a perplexed expression overtook Dataâs features. Unlike the times when he worked too hard at his expressions and ended up looking like a vaudeville clown, these moments made him look much more human than any he could force, these moments when unexpected emotion simply popped up on his face. ãSwingÊ.Ê.Ê. a childâs toy, a sweeping maneuver÷oh! An effort. A try. Yes, swing. Iâll swing. Computer, show me all available dictionary and dialect banks on Earth slang, rapid feed.ä The computer came to life on the panel before him and its soft feminine voice, in a delivery much more at ease than Dataâs own, asked, ãWhat eraâs slang would you like, and what language?ä Geordi LaForge settled back into his lounge and mumbled, ãI always thought you needed a hobby.ä Abruptly there was a sound on the quarterdeck, something akin to a growl, but as quickly it was gone and replaced by the resonant bass of Lieutenant Worf as he stared at his monitor. ãNot possible!ä Captain Picard drew his attention away from the blue giant and approached his own command chair, behind which the horseshoe rail arched upward and across the tactical console. Past that, Worf stood with his back to the bridge, staring at his status monitor as though his dissatisfaction could bore right through it. Of course, with a Klingon, that might very well be the case. Pulling up the automatic extra measure of calmness he found himself using with Worf, Picard urged, ãLieutenant? Something?ä ãIâm not sure I saw it,ä the Klingon spat. But Security Chief Tasha Yar twisted her toned body without taking her hands off her tactical console and told him, ãI saw it too.ä ãSaw what?ä Picard demanded. ãAn energy pulse, Captain.ä The girl pushed back a lock of her boy-cropped blond hair. ãA huge one. Across the entire solar system.ä Only one step carried Worf all the way forward to Tashaâs side. ãVery sharp and powerful, sir, a refractive scan. Like an instant sensor sweep.ä ãIt was too quick-fire for sensors,ä Tasha shot back. ãThen what?ä Worf boomed. ãThereâs no trace of it now.ä Picard used their argument to cloak his movement up the ramp to tactical, where he peered over the controls. There was nothing showing. ãCould it have been an aberration? Feedback from our experiments?ä ãSir, it came from outside the solar system,ä Tasha said, her throat tightening around her voice as it always did when she let herself get excited. ãTrack it.ä ãNothing left to track,ä Worf said coarsely. Picard raised his head. ãDonât use that tone with me, Lieutenant. There is no crisis yet.ä Worfâs big brown face didnât look in the least apologetic, given a particularly animalistic texture by the riblike cranium of his Klinzhai racial background, the strain which had emerged dominant during the last Klingon purge. He was imposing; in fact, he was downright terrifying, because the other crew members could always see that controlling himself was plain work for him and someday he just might lose the fight. ãSorry, sir,ä he rumbled. ãIt was there during our last phaser burst, then it was gone.ä He placed his big hands on the tactical board and burned a glare through the forward screen. ãI donât like it. Itâs like being watched.ä Picard stood back on his heels for a contemplative moment, his handsome eyes wedging. ãCould be another vessel. Letâs make sure they donât miss us. Saying hello is part of our job. Put sensors on wide scan. Lieutenant Data, you handle broadcast of standard hailing frequency with greetings in all interstellar languages and codes as well as automatic universal translation.ä ãIâm hopping to it.ä ãLieutenant LaForge, take us out of orbit. Disband further testing of the gas giant until we ascertain the trim of the solar system.ä ãAye, sir. Disengaging orbital condition.ä LaForge pressed his fingers fingers to the signal controls on the beautiful board at wrist level and just that easily drew the massive starship out of the gas giantâs gravitational envelope. During that maneuver, while the ship was safely under control of the navigational computer, he took a moment to glance left to Data. When he looked at the other crew members, he saw the layerings of infrared that he could intensify as needed, he saw blood running through arteries, arterioles, capillaries, and so on, but he saw them better than a computer would because his brain acted as interpreter and he was more intuitive than any computer. Over that infrared image, like a nylon stocking drawn over a mannequin, he saw skin and a hazy shine of fine skin hairs. The mannequin appeared to be lighted from within, and had a slight glow. But Data÷Data was a work of art. Geordi alone could see the exotic materials, brilliantly blended, the different levels of heat and coolness, the different densities where metal met synthetic, where synthetic met organism, and where all meshed. He saw the density of Dataâs body, and all the million tiny electrical impulses that kept him working and ran like swarms of insects through his body when he worked a little harder or concentrated a little more or called up more strength. But it wasnât like looking at the computer stations before them or the mechanism behind the wall at the coffee/food dispenser. Not at all. Those were machines. LaForge sometimes got the feeling that people forgot he could hear too. He had listened to Rikerâs tone just before the first officer left the bridge. He had heard the flutter in Dataâs voice when he mentioned that Riker wasnât too pleased with him. Data was mechanical, but to Geordi LaForge he was no machine. Geordi allowed himself an indulgent gaze at Dataâs face as the android glowed with concentration. He saw the structure of synthetic synthetic facial bone, tiny blood-fed fibrous ligaments attached to impulse interpreters, stockinged by the cool involucrum that was his skin. Geordi saw a handsome face, unafraid of its own features, a face that could show many feelings, from courage to calculation, confusion to compassion, to those sensitive enough to see its minute changes. And Dataâs eyes, no matter their brimstone cast, were unfailingly gentle. Geordi shook his head and uttered, ãMachine, my ass.ä Picard looked up. ãLieutenant?ä ãSecure distance, sir.ä ãSpeak up, then.ä ãYes, sir.ä The doorâs buzzer sounded clearly, but Troi didnât respond to it. Once again lights played across her face, but not the lights of yellow alert. She sat at her private desk, watching a holograph simulate the motion of a patch of blue ocean water. At the ends of the foot-wide holograph, the ocean faded and became table. Dead center on the patch of churning water was a three-dimensional image of an old military vessel. It was wedge-shaped, piled high with steel-gray metal mountings that made no sense to her. On the screen at her wrist came the simple description: First iron screw steamship, S.S. Great Britain. She frowned and tapped the continue button. The 3-D image sucked in on itself as though imploded, twisted around a little, and reanimated into something utterly different, something bigger, flatter, clunkier, chugging across her table. The dark band of screen beneath it said: Tanker, Edmund Fitzgerald, lost with all hands, Lake Superior, Michigan, United States, Earth 1975. Troi hit the button almost angrily. Those werenât right. They werenât right. A new image came almost instantly, a big black, white, and red ship, very elegant and slim this time, obviously meant to carry people. People÷that was right. She looked at the display band. Luxury liner Queen Elizabeth II, Cunard Line, Earth. NoÊ.Ê.Ê. noÊ.Ê.Ê. Troiâs mulberry-tinted lips lost their perfect shape. No. Her finger moved again. H.M.S. Dreadnought, battleship, Great Britain, Earth, 1906. She leaned forward now as she recognized some element÷the color, the demeanor of this shipÊ.Ê.Ê. closer. She tapped the button again, this time saying, ãThis type of vessel.ä ãThis is a naval defense/offense vessel which would be used during and after World War One,ä the computer courteously told her. ãContinue.ä The holograph winked, and she was gazing at another ship of the same kind, but from a different angle as it crashed through the little round patch of sea. Its slate-gray bow rose and fell in the sea. The computer image turned as though Troi were circling it in an aircraft, to give her a complete look at it from all angles. It had a crude kind of grace about it, certainly a strength, but it had no lights at all, no colors like the starshipâs sparkling yellow and white lights, its glowing reds, its vibrant electrical blues. Aegis cruiser, built by SYSCON for the U.S. Navy, Earth, 1988. The door buzzed again. ãOh÷yes; come in.ä She let the old-style ship pierce its way through the tiny sea in front of her as she looked up to see Will Riker stride in. As soon as the door opened, his eyes were already locked with hers. How long had he been waiting out there? She faintly remembered now that the buzzer had sounded once before. ãI was worried about you,ä he said. He settled into the other chair and leaned one elbow on the desk just short of the holograph. The bulky cruiser splashed toward him, and yet stayed right where it was. ãI didnât know you were a history buff.ä He nodded at the Aegis. ãThatâs nice.ä Troi tilted her dark head. ãIâve never seen anything like this before.ä So that was the end of the easy transition, Riker realized. Something in her tone told him her statement was more significant than it pretended to be. ãWhat happened?ä he asked, no longer protecting her from her own behavior on the bridge. She gave him an uncharacteristic shrug with one shoulder and shook her head, a self-conscious smile tugging at her lips. ãDid you see what I did? Iâm so embarrassed. Iâve never mistaken a dream for reality before. I must really have looked funny. Did anyone laugh?ä ãLaugh?ä Riker said saucily. ãYou shouldâve seen them. Captain Picard had to be wheeled off the bridge, Worf was÷ä ãOh, you!ä She swatted his nearest knee and chuckled at herself again. ãI wouldnât worry about it,ä Riker told her, lounging his big frame back in the chair. ãEverybody does something like that sooner or later. The more stoic you are, the worse the goof-up seems.ä ãAm I stoic?ä she asked, the smile broadening again. ãI donât know, Counselor,ä he said. ãI donât remember the last time I looked at you and only saw the professional. Iâve got more flowery things to remember about you.ä Troi pursed her lips, leaned forward, ignoring the holograph of the ship as it continued its nonvoyage, and propped her chin on one hand. ãTell me, Bill. Make me feel better.ä ãNo fair. Figure it out for yourself. You of all people could do it.ä Settling back, she said, ãThatâs not very comforting for a person who just dashed onto the bridge in a frenzy.ä Will Rikerâs bright eyes flashed before her impishly. ãYou want comfort? Howâs this? I was assigned as second officer on a destroyer right after my promotion to lieutenant commander÷about a thousand years ago, if memory serves. I got my assignment at Starbase Eighteen, and keyed the coordinates to the new ship into the transporter, stepped on the pad, and boom, there I was. I strutted around being the almighty second officer, puffed up just like a souffle, and we were ten hours out of spacedock before I figured out I had beamed myself onto the wrong departing ship.ä ãOh, Bill! Oh, noÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãAnd the ship Iâd landed on wasnât a destroyer, either. It was the U.S.S. Yorktown÷an Excelsior-class starship, heading out on a two-year mission. Her captain made Picard seem like Francis of Assisi. Theyâd already been delayed four days by diplomatic entanglements, and hereâs Second Officer Riker having to report to the real second officer.ä Her hand was clapped over her mouth by now, and she parted her fingers enough to burble, ãWhat did they do?ä He spread his hands. ãWhat could they do? They turned the whole ship around, this huge ship, and they came all the way back through space to rendezvous with the destroyer I was supposed to be on. So there was the destroyer, having to meet a starship just to pick up its second officer, who was supposed to have reported in ten hours before.ä ãOh, dearÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãSo quit complaining.ä ãIs that a true story? Youâre not making it up to make me feel better?ä ãMake it up? Deanna, nobody sane could make up anything that punishing. Itâs like a practical joke somebody plays on a bridegroom on his wedding night, except I did it to myself.ä Shaking his head musingly, he added, ãI could never quite look at a transporter platform the same way again. I always wonder if Iâm going to end up beaming into somebodyâs shower by mistake. And the worst was yet to come. Two years later, I really was assigned as Yorktownâs second officer and I had to report to that captain again!ä She giggled, bringing an unlikely girlishness to her demeanor. ãDid he remember?ä ãRemember? First thing he asked was if Iâd been hiding in the hold all this time.ä Their laughter entwined and filled the dim room, chasing away the discomfort. As Riker watched her custodially, he noticed she had picked up on his feelings and was actually doing the blushing for him. At first he was tempted to draw back within himself, but he knew it didnât matter. With Deanna, holding back showed up like a beacon. There was no point. He wished he could be this relaxed with the other members of the crew. They sat together, grinning at each other, warm in their mutual memories and the privacy of a relationship and a past they had allowed no one else on board to see. It was like starting fresh, with a whole new life, with their attraction to each other getting a second chance, because no one else knew. No one else on the entire ship knew. Breaking his gaze at her gentle face, Riker looked at the unlikely holograph beside him and asked, ãYou had a nightmare?ä Her expression made his smile fall away. He forced himself not to say more, to give her a chance to answer in her own time, while he indulged in the presence of her troubled onyx eyes. ãA nightmare,ä she murmured. ãBut in this nightmare I could feel the emotions of the strangers in it. It was nothing I recognizeÊ.Ê.Ê. sharp images of things I know nothing about. Names Iâve never heard.ä Riker perked up. ãWhat names?ä She drew the memory up and forced herself to speak. ãThere was Vasska, Arkady, GorkÊ.Ê.Ê. GorshaÊ.Ê.Ê. I donât know those sounds. And I donât understand why I would hear names. I canât do that. I can only read some emotions. Iâve never been able to draw complete communication.ä He inched a little closer. ãBut youâre Betazoid. Whatâs so surprising if you can÷ä ãI canât. I never could,ä she insisted, wondering if she could make him comprehend. ãYou donât understand what it means to communicate with a silent mind. You donât know the trouble, the discomfort of dealing with races that canât shield their thoughts. Itâs as if a sighted person suddenly enters a world of chaotic lights and colors, or a hearing person suddenly comes into a place that was nothing but uncontrolled noises. The light would be blinding, the din maddeningÊ.Ê.Ê. Iâve worked hard to separate my own thoughts from those of others, Bill, and Iâve done well at it. You can see why it disturbs me that Iâm experiencing something so unfamiliar.ä ãDeanna, it was a dream,ä he told her soothingly, cupping her hand under his. Her voice dropped to a whisper. ãBut it wasnât,ä she insisted. ãAt leastÊ.Ê.Ê. not entirely.ä He believed her. Deanna Troi was the quintessence of professionalism and not given to the flights of personality often displayed by her Betazoid race. Without a pause he asked, ãHave you asked the computer to trace the names?ä Troi lounged back in her chair, finally relaxing. ãComputer off.ä The holograph gave an electrical snap, sucked down into a tiny core of light like a balloon suddenly losing all its air, and winked out. ãHave you?ä he prodded. ãI suppose Iâll have to.ä ãWhy do you say it that way?ä ãI donât like to give in to dreams.ä Riker gazed at her, dubious. Without giving him time to formulate a response to that, she asked, ãBill, what do you think? Do you think I might utilize my talents better in some other way?ä ãYou donât mean leave the ship, do you? You arenât thinking about that.ä ãPerhaps,ä she said, ãif thatâs how I can best serve the Federation.ä Desperation struck him. As much as he had÷yes÷avoided her, as afraid as he was that their past liaison would cloud his effectiveness as first officer, the prospect of her vanishing from his life suddenly cut him like a blade. ãDonât you like it here?ä he asked, careful of his tone. ãDonât you like starship duty?ä ãOh, I like it very much,ä she said. ãOh, yes, very much. But there are timesÊ.Ê.Ê. can you imagine what itâs like to stand on the bridge and realize I have nothing to do?ä With another shake of his head, Riker tapped a finger on the table and blurted, ãCan I imagine it? I donât have to. Itâs the legacy of first officers the universe across. If you look up first officer in the marine dictionary, it says Îdo not open till crisis.â Listen, it takes time for a new position to evolve. When we actually turn to exploratory missions, I think youâll find yourself up to your chin in work. Keeping us sane in deep space÷thatâs hardly nothing. A shipâs psychologist is second only to the chief surgeon on deep-space missions.ä She smiled softly at his sincere effort, and murmured, ãWhere does that put the shipâs telepath?ä To this, Riker had no ready answer. Troi sensed his concern and forced up a partial smile to ease his worry. She fell into his wide blue eyes as she had so long ago, and crashed through them just as the holographic cruiser crashed through its patch of blue sea. How could she make him understand? Could any human understand how uneasy she was, all the time? She knew people were uncomfortable around her because they thought of her as a kind of voyeur, always peeking through the keyholes of their thoughts. Mind slut, some called her. Many avoided her, so she had always tried to be more businesslike and stoic about her extremely businesslike talent÷and even that practice had backfired. Cold, they called her. An unfeeling mind slut. How could she tell him that a crowded corridor was an empty place for Deanna Troi? Barren and lonely. She made such an effort to hide inside herself that she had become insulated from everything but their eyes, accused of a crime she refused to commit. Among her own people she could no longer go unrestrained; having built her discipline almost obsessively, she could no longer drop it for the short times she spent among Betazoids. Thus lost in both communities, misinterpreted by each as too aloof, she had become a woman of feelings who walked forever alone. Even now she hid those truths from William Riker and his gentle waves of concern. She swallowed imperceptibly and parted her lips. ãNow I ask you÷whatâs the matter? What disturbs you?ä She could both sense and see him weighing whether or not to tell her what he was thinking, then almost immediately he changed his mind. ãI donât like to see you experiencing hurts that arenât your own,ä he admitted. ãIt doesnât seem fair.ä ãItâs my nature,ä Troi told him. ãMy heritage from my motherâs people. Itâs the nature of telepathy. Oh, I could shut my mind, become more alone, as you are, but Iâve found my way to be useful. Iâm lucky, you see,ä she said, forcing a smile. ãI can experience the emotions yet remain objective about them.ä He thought of the strange ship that had just clicked out of being on the table beside them and shrugged. ãI guess I never thought about it that way.ä She pulled her hand from under his, then put it on top of his and pressed down gently. ãThere is more than hurt to be felt, you know. I can also feel love.ä Riker allowed himself a sentimental smile. For an isolated moment they shared something that neither was completely sure still existed between them anymore. The magnetism was undeniable, but at the same instant it pierced him with its own dangers. ãI canât stay,ä he said. ãI have to go back up there and act indispensable.ä ãI know.ä He crooked his forefinger under her chin. ãTry to relax. We all have that kind of dream sometimes. I just wanted to be sure you were all right.ä Troi smiled warmly. ãIâm all right.ä He squeezed her hand, somehow feeling he hadnât quite accomplished what he came in here for. Well, no point dragging it out to the maudlin. Stepping toward the door, he made what he thought was a clumsy exit. The door brushed open, then closed automatically behind him, leaving him alone in the corridor as he took a stride or two toward the bridge turbolift÷ And braked hard. There was someone in front of him. Heâd sworn the corridor was empty an instant ago. The air was chilled, heavy. The man was big, almost as big as Riker. And maybe fifteen years older. His eyes were ready for Rikerâs, and didnât flicker away, but remained steadily focused. A wave of silver was the only inconsistency in his thick dark hair, and there was a uniform cap tucked under his arm. Yes÷he was wearing a uniform, a dark blue uniform of some kind. Riker vaguely recognized the style, but it was almost a ãracialä kind of memory rather than something from his own experience. The manâs pale lips separated without moisture. His face worked as though to speak, but there was an invisible wall between them. There was no sound, no sensation of warmth÷in fact there was now a distinct chill in the corridor. The large man, standing straight and proper, lifted a hand toward Riker, beckoning. Or perhaps asking÷a gesture of entreaty÷but then his handsome face crumpled, his brow knitting tightly, brackets of frustration forming on either side of his mouth. Riker was as a man chained during those moments. He might have believed anything when the other manâs form slowly turned gauzy, thinned, and disappeared. Chapter Three ãCAPTAIN, IâM PICKING UP an energy blip.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä Tasha Yar caught back her voice and grimaced at her readout board, confused. A flop of bangs had come back over her eyes as though to insist some part of her would always rebel against the discipline. Her delicate Lithuanian complexion blotched slightly around her cheekbones as she willed the instruments to start giving her sensible information, especially when Captain Picard appeared at her side and looked down at those same instruments. ãItâs gone now,ä she told him bitterly. ãHow can that be? Worf, do you have anything?ä ãNothing,ä the Klingon thundered, redoubling her impatience. ãI donât like it.ä ãSteady, both of you,ä Picard said. The readings looked absolutely normal. These two hotheads were dependable, but the doubting Thomas side of him wished he himself or Data or LaForge had also happened to see this flicker of energy Worf and Yar claimed had been there. Suddenly Yar struck her board with the heels of her hands and shouted, ãThere it is again! But itâs inside the ship!ä She slammed the intercom without consulting Picard. ãSecurity to Deck Twelve, Section A-three!ä ãInside?ä Picard stepped closer. ãAre you sure?ä ãItâs gone again!ä ãCheck your instruments for malfunction. Worf, do the same with long-range sensors.ä Yar took a deep breath. ãAye, sir.ä ãChecking,ä Worf said, much less embarrassed than Yar was. Picard straightened. ãAnd call Mr. Riker to the bridge.ä Troi continued to gaze thoughtfully at the empty space where the holograph ships had been chugging across her table. Her gaze was unfocused, contemplative, and though she had tried to raise her hand several times to press the Revive and Continue point on her computer board, something stopped her every time. Nor could she make herself ask the computer to continue. Continue giving in. A dream. But not one formed within her own mind, of that much she was becoming certain. The door opened again, this time without the polite buzzer, and Riker strode back in. Troi gained almost instant control over her troubled expression. Teasing him with her eyes, she asked, ãHave you been hiding in the hold all this time?ä ãHow much power are you feeding into that unit?ä Riker asked her. She blinked. ãPardon me?ä He stopped, his thigh just brushing the edge of the table. ãYour holographs. Theyâre bleeding out.ä She started to respond, but was cut off by the intercom. ãCommander Riker, your presence is requested on the bridge. Report to the bridge, please.ä Riker touched his insignia com. ãRiker. Iâll be right there.ä He brought his attention back to Troi. ãYour history lesson. Itâs bleeding out into the corridor.ä Her lips touched and parted as she tried to understand what he was saying and to find the right answer. His expression, his tone somehow made her think there should be an answer and she hated to make him feel as silly as his statement sounded÷but what was he talking about? Finally she steadied herself and coolly said, ãBut thatâs not possible.ä Riker shifted to his other foot. ãOf course it is. You should have maintenance check the energy intake on this thing.ä Working to avoid the inevitable, Troi tried not to feel responsible. ãNo,ä she said, ãit canât be. Donât you remember? I turned it off before you left. I havenât turned it back on.ä Without really changing very much, Rikerâs federal-blue eyes took on a perplexed hardness that wasnât directed toward her at all, but toward a sudden mystery. His mouth tightened over the cleft chin so slightly that she might have missed it had she not been watching for changes. Troi knotted her hands on her lap and resisted the urge to touch him. Caught by the ominous perception in his eyes, she added, ãCompletely coldÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãThis is crazy,ä Yar complained. She flattened her tiny mouth into a hard ribbon and forced herself to report in a more correct manner to her waiting captain. ãSecurity reports no unusual activity on Deck Twelve at all, Captain. My instruments are in perfect working order. I donât understand this.ä On the forward bridge, Captain Picard had his back to Conn and Ops and didnât see Data start to open his mouth to add his two bits, or see LaForge gesture at the android to keep quiet. Everyone else saw the motion and understood its prudence, especially when Picard raised his voice and roared, ãThatâs quite enough of this waffling about. Next time the glitch appears, I want the computers on this vessel ready to record it. Weâve got the most advanced technology available to the Federation incorporated into the memory core and active matrices of this vessel, and you people are still relying on intuition and your own eyes. Now, snap to and let the ship do its job.ä His tone indisputably said that he didnât mean they should let the ship do their jobs for them, but that they should be doing their jobs better, more completely meshing with the systems beneath their hands. Picard was simply the kind of commanding officer who didnât like to have anything out of line. He swung around, glaring at the main viewer as though he were looking for something and couldnât find it, as though he could coerce an answer out of the darkness of space, and mused, ãToo damned young.ä The port turbolift came open and Riker stepped out, escorting Troi by the elbow. OddÊ.Ê.Ê. she still looked unprepared to come to the bridge, her hair still down, her casual short uniform on instead of the usual one-piece she had taken to wearing most often and the two of them stood together before Picard, their faces troubled. ãCaptain,ä Riker asked, ãmay we have a word with you, sir?ä *ÊÊ*ÊÊ* Troiâs distress was no longer obvious. It had been carefully cloaked by her professionalism once again, and only those who knew her very well could tell that her hands were held a little too tightly against her lap as she sat in her lounge in the command area and told them her story of dreams. And there was only one person here who knew her that well. Will Riker watched her, forcing himself not to interrupt, not to say anything after he too had finished describing the incident in the corridor, no matter how silly it sounded. He simply stood by, as the others focused on Troi. It hadnât been easy for her, telling the captain that she had a dream that wouldnât go away, and for Riker describing that person÷or whatever he was÷in the corridor had been just as strenuous. Only Captain Picardâs studious attention to their silly stories told them that heâd seen enough in the galaxy not to dismiss such things as silly. The captain stood over Troi now, absorbing the whole idea of her dream with what Riker had told him about. Earth ships, humans in uniform÷somewhere there was a common denominator. He meant to find it. ãCan you describe your perceptions more specifically, Counselor?ä Troi tipped her pretty head. ãIâll try to verbalize them, Captain, but I must advise you these are imprecise explanations. Telepathic impressions are sometimes too vague for interpretation.ä ãDo your best.ä She nodded once. ãMy mind describes to me several different historical periods, not necessarily all of Earth, though the clearest ones seem to be human or humanoid. Perhaps thatâs simply because of my partly human heritage÷I canât say. Some, thoughÊ.Ê.Ê. some are so alien that I donât know any words to describe what Iâve seen.ä ãAlien, you say?ä ãYes, very obviously so. But the ship I envisioned was definitely of Earth.ä ãBelieve me, weâll get to that in a moment. Go on.ä She paused, but not for long. Picard wasnât a man she cared to keep waiting. ãThereâs a haze of apprehensionÊ.Ê.Ê. urgencyÊ.Ê.Ê. resistance. But no violent intent.ä ãYou canât be sure of that!ä Tasha interrupted from the afterdeck with her usual serenity. She caught Rikerâs eyes, and his disapproval, but she plugged on. ãI meanÊ.Ê.Ê. if theyâre alien sensations, then Deanna could be misinterpreting them completely. To their home beings, those impressions might be hostile, aggressive, and dangerous.ä ãYouâre too suspicious, Tasha,ä Riker said defensively. ãIâm doing my job,ä she retaliated. Not so much as a glimmer of regret marred her conviction. She knew perfectly well she was volatile÷it was an advantage. Unlike Worf, who constantly worked to control his Klingon explosiveness, Tasha would stand up for the worth of her own. Riker saw that in her eyes as he looked back at her now, in the underlying ferocity beneath her face, and indeed it caused him to back down. Not until heâd been silent for several seconds did he realize how completely she had gotten her point across. Troi picked up on the tension immediately, though she neednât have been telepathic for that. It chewed at her; her job was to keep watch over the emotions and mental states of the starship complement, to guide them through tensions and head off the truly harmful contretemps that came and went in this kind of extended separation. How awful to be the cause of thisÊ.Ê.Ê. how terrible. She tipped one hand up as it leaned against her thigh and said, ãNoÊ.Ê.Ê. Tashaâs right. Because though thereâs no perception of aggressive intent,ä she said, pausing then to say the one thing that truly frightened her, ãdoesnât change the fact that Iâm receiving glimpses of violent destruction.ä Not giving those ominous statements any chance to take hold on the imaginations of the bridge crew, Picard lowered into his command chair beside her, hoping to put her and everyone at ease. He was aware of the effect these little disturbances were having on the crew, especially when they saw Deanna Troiâs usual poise inexplicably shattered. ãCan you focus on that? Are we in danger?ä ãThatâs what confuses me, sir,ä she said steadily. ãWhile I see images of destruction, there seems to be no intent behind it, even though itâs definitely the product of a mind and not natural phenomena. As I said, no violent intent.ä ãThatâs reassuring, at least.ä ãBut, sir, you donât understand.ä She stopped him from rising with a light touch on his forearm. ãI shouldnât be getting concrete images at all. Itâs simply not among my abilities to receive visions and forms. As such,ä she added reluctantly, ãIâm not certain you should trust my judgment.ä A soothing smile appeared on Picardâs princely features. ãI trust your interpretation, Deanna.ä ãBut sheâs a telepath,ä Dr. Crusher pointed out. Until now the doctor had been a silent observer, fascinated both personally and professionally by Deanna Troiâs story of unwelcome impressions and unfocused dreams, and as her voice cut through the distinct tension, it added a touch of common sense they needed right now. ãSheâs not a psychic. Thereâs an important distinction, you realize.ä ãYes, thatâs true,ä Troi said, looking at her gratefully. ãThatâs what I mean. The difference between what I can do and what Iâm somehow being forced to do.ä Piecing it all together and still getting a choppy mosaic at best, Picard nodded. ãTell me what youâre feeling,ä he said, ãin one word.ä She didnât answer immediately. Several long and anxious minutes went by as she selected and discarded a number of possibilities. Those around her watched as each crossed her face, each perplexing her with its inadequacy. Then she found it. Or the one that came closest. For the first time in all those minutes of searching, Troi fixed her gaze on Jean-Luc Picard and worked her lips around a word. ãMisery.ä When she spoke, the misery shone in her eyes. She was caught in empathy for that instant, empathy for the beings whose impressions she was being given, or being forced to receive. It was as though she were asking, imploring, for help. After a pause she drew a breath and sighed, her lovely brows drawn tight as she realized the full impact of that word was somewhat lost on them. After all, they werenât feeling it. Picard saw the change in her face. ãMisery can be many things, Counselor,ä he said to her. She nodded. ãYes,ä she agreed. ãClinically I would call it a kind of dysphoria. But Iâd be inaccurate to say there was no physical suffering. Yet I donât perceive a sense of body. Itâs quite confusing, sir. Iâm sorry.ä ãPermission to stop saying that, Counselor,ä Picard offered. He placed his hands on his knees and stood up. ãNow, letâs see about these ships.ä He led the whole crowd up to the extra-large monitors at the aft science station, where Worf was moving aside to let everyone curve around his post. The captain spoke up immediately. ãComputer, show me various military vessels from÷when did you say?ä Troi stepped forward, somehow managing to stay close to Riker, to gather strength from his presence. ãThe most familiar one was late nineteen-eighties, Captain. An Aegis cruiser, according to records.ä ãComputer, engage as specified.ä On the screen, almost instantly, a 2-D image of the Aegis appeared. Picard asked, ãIs this the right ship?ä ãOh, no, sir. Simply the rightÊ.Ê.Ê. idea. The right age.ä ãComputer, expound upon this index.ä The Aegis was replaced by a different vessel, then another, and another, while the balmy female voice ticked off descriptions. ãDestroyer, United States NavyÊ.Ê.Ê. PT boat, United States NavyÊ.Ê.Ê. computer support vessel, Royal Canadian Maritime CommandÊ.Ê.Ê. light amphibious transport, United States NavyÊ.Ê.Ê. nuclear submarine, Navy of the Union of Soviet Socialist RepublicsÊ.Ê.Ê. Invincible-class V/STOL carrier, Royal Navy of Great BritainÊ.Ê.Ê. CV-type conventional-power aircraft carrier, United States÷ä ãStop!ä Troi drew back from her own outburst, but continued to point at the screen. ãThis is very close.ä ãClose, butÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Picard prodded. ãButÊ.Ê.Ê. I donât know. I know very little about surface vessels.ä ãComputer, specify this vessel.ä ãU.S.S. Forrestal, CV-59, commissioned October 1955, United States Navy.ä ãVery well, continue.ä Another ship popped on the screen, looking much the same to the untrained eyes watching it now. ãCVN-type nuclear-powered full-deck aircraft carrier÷ä ãYes!ä Troi jolted. ãYes, this!ä She pressed a hand tightly over her mouth, profoundly moved by what she saw. Picard remained subdued, capping her reaction with his own implacability. ãComputer, specify.ä ãU.S.S. George Washington, CVN-73, Enterprise-class aircraft carrier; commissioned January 1992, United States Navy.ä Troi pulled her hand from her mouth. ãThis is extremely familiar to me.ä A tangible discomfort blanketed the bridge. All eyes flickered, then settled on her. Of course, she felt it without looking. Self-consciously she corrected, ãRather, to the impressions Iâve been channeling.ä ãYes,ä Picard murmured, glancing at Riker over Troiâs dark head, ãof course. You said something about names.ä Troi stared at the aircraft carrier as if she feared it might disappear like all the other images. ãVasska was one. ArkadyÊ.Ê.Ê. and GorÊ.Ê.Ê. Gorsha÷no, itâs not right, not complete.ä ãData, you up here, please.ä Caught by surprise, Data all but hurtled to them from the lower deck, taking the seat at the science station as though heâd been deeply stung by their not asking for his help earlier. Riker moved aside a bit farther than necessary, giving in to a twinge of prejudice, but he forced himself to let it pass. Data was the qualified one. An instrument running an instrument. Evidently Data was ready to guide the search through Enterpriseâs vast memory core, focusing on the specific type of aircraft carrier and the names Troi had spoken; he didnât request that she repeat them. His fingers nearly tangled in his haste to participate and be useful amid all this talk of feelings and senses and memories. If there was disappointment, he didnât allow it to show on his face. ãSir,ä he began, ãI regret this may take some time. Iâll have to operate by a process of elimination. May I suggest you allow me to notify you once I pull it off.ä If that was his polite way of asking them not to hang over his shoulder the whole time, it worked. ãVery well.ä Picard motioned the little crowd away and leaned toward Riker. ãWhat was it he said?ä ãSir÷ä Tasha raised her hand in a brief gesture, and quickly drew it down when Picard turned. ãIâm Lithuanian.ä Picard swallowed an impulse to congratulate her and merely asked, ãAnd?ä ãAnd I recognize those names. Theyâre Russian.ä ãAh! Very good, Lieutenant. Mr. Data, make use of that.ä ãYou bet,ä Data clipped, and didnât see Picardâs double-take as he turned to his station. ãCaptainÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Troi turned abruptly. ãIf I may, Iâd like to return to my quarters. Perhaps I can clear my mind. Focus in on these impressions, or let them focus in on me.ä Picard noticed that Data was still watching him, as though the decisions hinged upon one another÷computer search and mind hunt. ãThatâs sound strategy,ä he told her, ãsince we donât seem to be able to zero in on it any quicker with our hardware. I want you to be careful, however. And nothing is too small to report.ä ãYes, sir,ä she murmured, and as she pivoted toward the turbolift she caught Rikerâs concerned gaze. ãI promise.ä The bridge was wide, the walk to the turbolift uncomfortably long as Troi deliberately kept herself from showing anxiety. Rikerâs own legs tensed; he empathized with her every stride, wished he were going with her, that he could somehow help. Seemed like lately all he and Deanna could be to each other was a mutual distractionÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê ãSheâs a very competent broad,ä Data offered. So innocuous. So deadpanÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê Riker stopped breathing. Picard glowered. LaForge and Worf both stiffened in place, Tasha flushed, Bev Crusher looked away. Troi was barely reaching the turbolift. Had she heard? Data sat in a pool of perpetual good intentions, his chair swiveled ever so slightly toward the rest of them, and as all eyes crawled to him with that collective reprimand his expression became confused. He glanced from each to the others. ãChick? Dish?ä The turbolift doors brushed open. A preoccupied shipâs counselor stepped in. ãBird? Bun? Babe? Skirt? Fox?ä ãData!ä chorused Picard, Riker, and Yar, just as the lift doors closed. The android flinched, and closed his mouth in an almost pouting manner. His gold-leaf face took on a sudden innocence; he looked vulnerable. Under their scolding eyes, he retreated once again to his memory search through the starshipâs deep mainframe, and Picard noticed a definite shift of Dataâs shoulders when attention fell away from him. ãStations, everyone,ä Picard said casually, setting the mood for the bridge to relax until there was a reason not to. The tension didnât entirely dissolve, but each officer made a laudable effort not to contribute to its increase. From one side Picard accepted a graceful nod from his shipâs chief surgeon. He recognized the decidedly medical gesture÷Crusher wasnât going to offer an opinion÷not yet. Not until all the cards were on the table. Not about Troiâs agitated condition, not about these unclinical occurrences, not about anything. ãIâll be in sickbay, Captain,ä she said roundly, ãwhenever you need me.ä Picard nodded an acknowledgment, warmed beyond logic by her words, and the past once again moved between them, the mutuality of sadness and vision that had made them acquaintances long ago yet had also stood in the way of their ever becoming close. He watched with a twinge of regret as Crusher pivoted and left the bridge. Burying his feelings, Picard approached Riker from so practiced an angle that Riker didnât notice him until he spoke. ãMr. Riker.ä ãOh÷CaptainÊ.Ê.Ê. aye, sir? What can I do for you?ä ãBetter ask what you can do for yourself. Tell me again what you saw in the corridor.ä Riker shifted uneasily, unhappy with the idea that heâd been ãseeing things.ä He still held a heavy rock in his stomach, his brows still tightened over his eyes no matter how he tried to relax his face. ãI wish I knew. It looked as solid to me as you do now÷he did, rather. When it faded, I assumed it was overbleed from Troiâs holographs. But it wasnât. And I wasnât imagining it.ä ãHow can you be sure of that?ä ãBecause it didnât do what I wouldâve expected it to do. I think my imagination would make something act as I might expect it to, but thisÊ.Ê.Ê. manÊ.Ê.Ê. reached out to me with the strangest expression. Itâs difficult, sir. Iâd like to be more concrete÷ä ãCaptain,ä Data abruptly called from above, whirling in his chair. ãI have it, sir.ä ãHi, Mom.ä Wesley Crusher raised his head as his mother strode into their quarters off the main sickbay. His face had the typical porcelain smoothness of sixteen-year-old skin, his hair combed a little too neatly, his clothing pin-straight on his skinny frame. Heâd taken to looking more like that since the captain made him acting ensign. It seemed to Beverly Crusher that Wesley was keeping himself perfectly groomed just so he wouldnât look out of place among the uniformed personnel on the bridge, and like any sixteen-year-old he carried it to extremes. ãWes,ä she began, not in greeting. ãI need you to do something for me.ä He gladly turned away from his study tapes. ãSure, Mom. What?ä ãAre you scheduled to go onto the bridge today?ä ãMe? Well, not exactly. Mr. Data asked me to help him catalog some physics theories sometime this week, and I was going to use that as an excuse to go up there later÷ä ãCan you do that now?ä Wesley got to his feet, which made him suddenly as tall as his tall mother. ãReally? I mean, how come?ä ãBaby-sit the bridge for me.ä Wesleyâs smooth face fractured. ãHuh?ä ãI want you to keep an eye on things for me. Thereâs something going on, and nobodyâs sure what. Itâs affecting Deanna Troi, and if I canât have her expertise to call upon, then I want to at least keep a jump on conditions.ä Wesley grimaced. ãMom,ä he began, ãI donât have a clue what youâre talking about.ä Dr. Crusher grinned sadly at him. ãCall it medical intuition. Call it anything you want, but just be my spy on the bridge. I canât go up there myself because Iâve got a lineup of pediatric checkups this afternoon, and besides, Iâd be too obvious. Will you do it?ä He shrugged, sure there was a catch somewhere. ãOf course Iâll do it.ä She patted the side of his face as she was given to do once in a while just to remind herself that this bright, lively, tall fellow was still the seven-and-a-half-pound infant who hardly ever slept a night through until he was twelve years old. ãThanks, buster. Iâll never forget this.ä She started toward the lab entrance, but turned when Wesley asked, ãMom, just what is it Iâm supposed to be watching for?ä Beverly Crusher didnât slacken her pace as she turned once again in midstride. ãUse your imagination.ä Riker entered Troiâs quarters hesitantly. He knew he was interrupting much sooner than she expected. And there she was÷so much like before, so much. ãBack again, Bill,ä she murmured, and she smiled at him. The dim quarters lit up just a little. It took him by surprise, as it always did, that ãBill.ä Very few people called him that, and on this ship, only Troi. Only Deanna. ãIâm sorry about this,ä he said, approaching her, but this time not sitting down. ãBelieve it or not, Dataâs already found the file. I didnât want to bug you so soon, but÷ä ãDonât apologize,ä she said. ãIt doesnât really suit you.ä His brows went up. ãDoesnât it? Thatâs bad.ä Troi shrugged. ãDepends on the source.ä ãThe source doesnât have the luxury of not knowing how to apologize,ä he said. ãMaybe someday.ä ãMaybe someday Captain Riker. Donât you think?ä ãYouâre digging, Deanna,ä he accused with a grin. ãIâm just so many loose-leaf pages to you, and donât think I donât know it. Iâm not ready for captaincy, but I admit÷ä ãThat first officer is an awkward position,ä she completed fluidly. Riker laughed and dropped into the nearest chair. ãQuit doing that, will you?ä At first he lounged back in the chair and casually waved his hand, but time was pressing, and he leaned forward again almost immediately. ãI hate to rush you.ä ãItâs all right. Iâm anxious for the answer as much as for the peace. Solitude is not that welcome a companion.ä Riker paused then, wondering if she could sense his empathy for her, and the inadequacy of his understanding. Ultimately, as he found himself unable to draw away from her steady unshielded gaze, he simply asked, ãWhy do you stay? What can it do for you to stay among humans? We must drive you crazy.ä Troi laughed. ãOh, BillÊ.Ê.Ê. youâre such a decisive fellow. Donât you know why I stay?ä ãIâm on audio, Counselor. Tell me.ä Her smile changed, became more wistful, and she looked down. When she looked up again, her coal eyes sparkled. ãI like humans.ä Riker grinned. ãDo you really?ä ãYes, quite a lot. Better than I like Betazoids. But donât tell anyone.ä She pursed her lips conspiratorially. ãYes, I like them. Even though I make them uncomfortable, I like them very much. Theyâre so honest, so well-meaning, they have such deep integrity as a speciesÊ.Ê.Ê. and my human half has given me something few Betazoids possess.ä ãWhatâs that?ä She squared her shoulders against the back of the chair and said, ãDiscipline. Self-discipline, I mean. AndÊ.Ê.Ê. I believe I possess an intuition Betazoids never had to develop. My mother and her people take everything at face value, and they often think itâs a joke to invade the minds of others. Iâve learned that in the universe nothing can be taken at face value, and I learned that from humans. Do you know that as an alien hybrid, I can actually read a wider range of emotions than full Betazoids? Even though the impressions arenât clear, I can do that. I have many advantages thanks to my human side, and Iâm proud of it.ä Riker was appreciably silent, surprised by her generosity. He knew how often she must feel alone. He saw the glances that were cast at her as she came into a room or left one. For a long time heâd wondered if his affection for her was indeed affection or just a manâs protectiveness toward what he perceives as a womanâs weakness. Troi bore an excess of handicaps in her position as shipâs counselor, a position that was new to Starfleet, new to the Federation, and still undefined. No one really knew, or at least understood, what her purpose was on the ship. But they all knew she was here to watch them, to evaluate the overall psychological condition of the shipâs complement and report to the captain as necessary. A mental guardian÷or watchdog, depending on perception. Someday the Federation would be able to define the post of shipâs counselor, or people would just get used to the idea, but for now Deanna Troi and the few like her would have to brook the vagueness. ãYou impress me,ä he said spontaneously. She laughed again. ãDonât be too impressed. I cry myself to sleep more often than Iâd like to admit.ä Her faint Greek accent tapped the words out with the clip of a sparrowâs talons hopping across marble. Riker bit his tongue and kept his inadequate reassurances to himself. She didnât need them÷at least none he could voice. ãThank you,ä she whispered, and he knew heâd failed to keep his feelings to himself. ãIâm needed, Bill. I can make a contribution that even full Betazoids could never make. For that privilege, Iâll happily pay the price. Iâm not sure, though, that this is the place to make that contribution.ä Riker clasped his hands and leaned his elbows on his knees, gazed down for a moment, then looked up. ãDo you know how guilty youâre making me feel?ä Troi flickered her eyes at him, paused, then tossed her head. ãAs a matter of fact, I do.ä Caught off guard, Riker blushed and couldnât keep control of his smile, but she was still smiling too. Damn, she was good at that. ãTo the bridge, Number One?ä she suggested gently. He stood up and reached for her hand. ãTo the bridge, Counselor.ä ãGo ahead, Mr. Data.ä Picard spoke evenly as he stood on Troiâs right, Riker on her left, as though their presence at her sides would help protect her from what was to come. She still looked controlled enough, considering sheâd gotten no chance whatsoever even to put her head back for a moment and absorb these events. Data punched up the records heâd discovered. ãSir, I must apologize,ä Data said. ãThe search was not as exhaustive as I first estimated. Counselor Troiâs perceptions were accurate and all the information came together÷ä ãLetâs hear it, then, Data. Donât dawdle.ä ãYes, sir. As you can see on the monitor, this is a full-deck nuclear aircraft carrier from the nineteen-nineties. It was a Soviet Union vessel out on a demonstration run in the Black Sea when it mysteriously disappeared on April twenty-fourth, 1995.ä ãDisappeared?ä Picard rumbled. ãDo you have any idea the size of a nuclear-powered aircraft carrier, Commander?ä Though Picard meant the question to be rhetorical, Data had an immediate answer. ãOh, yes, sir. Up to ninety thousand tons with a personnel complement five times that of our starship.ä The captain suddenly felt silly for having asked. ãAll right, go on. What was this ship called?ä Even Data was aware of Deanna Troi as he quietly responded, ãThe Gorshkov.ä Troiâs eyes drifted closed. She steadied herself within the sounds of that word, then opened her eyes again and kept tight rein on the battery of emotions÷even the grief. ãGo on, Data,ä Picard urged. ãHer captain was Arkady Reykov. He had a long, rocky political history before leaving that arena for the naval command. His disapproval of the Soviet system had caused him some discomfort, but his skill as a naval officer evidently overshadowed that. Such experience was at a premium in the U.S.S.R. in those days, so he was allowed to continue.ä Riker listened to the simplified description of a twisted international skein, all the tugs and pulls of that volatile period, and couldnât help wondering what Reykov would have felt if heâd known the future. If heâd known he was a cog in the mechanism that led to Earthâs 21st-century cataclysms. ãAnd this Vasska?ä Picard prodded. The response, spoken as tenuously as spiderâs threads snapping between two leaves, came not from Data, but from Troi. ãTimofeiÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä They turned to her. Troi poised herself and completed, ãTimofei Vasska. I believe he was first officer.ä Uneasily Picard turned to Data for confirmation. ãYes, that is correct,ä Data said, just as uneasily. ãDo we have photographs of them?ä Riker asked. Data glanced at him. ãPossiblyÊ.Ê.Ê. let me run a search. Computer, show any available visuals of Reykov or Vasska.ä The computer settled into a long hum, but they didnât have to wait long until its soft feminine voice said, ãOnly available visual on specified subjects is a news photograph shortly before launch of the Gorshkov. On screen.ä The screen did its best to focus a grainy photograph of some hundred or more uniformed men, apparently officers of the carrier, all standing together on the big flat deck. The figures were small and crowded together, but on the left two officers stood slightly apart and in front of the others, their faces blurred by the poor quality of the photo. ãThere,ä Riker said, pointing. ãComputer, augment the two men in the foreground.ä Abruptly two faces appeared, somewhat blurred, yet their strong features and proud expressions quite clear on the screen. ãThatâs him,ä Riker murmured, pointing again, this time at the big man on the right. ãThatâs the man I saw in the corridor.ä Picard looked deeply into the Soviet officerâs strong eyes and murmured, ãReykovÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä As he said the name, he realized his reaction was instinct. No one had told him that this was the captain of the Gorshkov, yet somehow he knew. Somehow there was a symbiosis, something in the face that he, as a captain, understood. He turned to Deanna Troi. ãCounselor?ä She steadied herself, gazing into the faces on the screen. ãYes,ä she said quietly. ãReykov and Vasska.ä ãData,ä the captain said, ãdo you have anything more on these two?ä The android nodded and said, ãA little, sir. Timofei Vasska was thirty-five, a longtime exec of Reykovâs. Records are incomplete, but a few articles on the incident speculated that the two men were friends and may have plotted together to defect with some new technology.ä ãWhat technology?ä Riker blurted, not caring if he was out of order. He felt the tightness of Troiâs exquisite body beside him and might have done anything at that moment to ease her fear. He felt it so strongly that he might as well have been the telepath. Data was about to answer when the lift door parted and Wesley Crusher strode onto the bridge, his long legs going like wheel spokes, and he grated to a stop as all eyes struck him. The placid expression dropped away under a slap of surprise÷why were they all bundled together around the science station? He hovered in place for a moment, then waved clumsily and smiled. ãHi, everybodyÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä The captain straightened. ãWhat are you doing up here at this hour, Mr. Crusher?ä Wesleyâs mouth dried up. Funny, but it all sounded so easy when his mother talked about this. ãIÊ.Ê.Ê. I, uhÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãWell, never mind just now. Get to it and donât interrupt us again.ä Self-consciousness roaring through him, Wesley went to the other science monitor and tried to fake work, though he couldnât keep from glancing at what the others were doing. ãOn with you, Commander,ä Picard said sharply. Data glanced at him and picked up where heâd left off. ãGorshkov was carrying a special device, an electromagnetic pulsor which could deflect incoming rocketry and aircraft. The science was new at the time, but the Soviets had pushed through the preliminary testing and gone straight to a fully mounted pulsor on a vessel.ä ãFine,ä Picard barked, ãbut what happened to them?ä ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê. yes. Apparently the ship wasÊ.Ê.Ê. pulverized. Unexplainably and utterly.ä ãMy God,ä the captain breathed. ãThere was very little left of the ship,ä Data said, pausing then, ãand absolutely nothing of the crew.ä Riker nudged forward. ãNothing? Not a single body anywhere?ä ãThatâs correct. Relations between major powers had been steadily improving since the early nineteen-eighties, but when analysis of the flotsam indicated a cataclysm from outside the ship rather than some problem with the shipâs reactors, for instance, the world nearly buckled with mutual accusations.ä ãI shouldnât wonder,ä Picard murmured. ãBut there was no proof that any nation had blitzed the ship. Add to that the appearance of seven Soviet naval aircraft from the Gorshkov which requested landing clearance on a United States carrier a short time later÷pardon me, sir, I did not mean to be unspecific. The U.S. ship was the Roosevelt, and was hanging out in a nearby sea when the Soviet planes arrived in their airspace some sixty-nine minutes after witnessing the demolition of their own ship. Those pilots swore no missile had come in to cream the Gorshkov. Historians had theorized that if it hadnât been for those pilotsâ testimony so soon after the incident, international relations might have dissolved and World War Three started on the spot. Adding, of course, the blessing that the pilots were Russians themselves and could appeal to the outraged Soviet government without the baggage of racial distrust. Had the witnesses been American or British, we might not be here today. As it was, the issue was a canker between major powers for decades and a real pain for diplomacy.ä Picard frowned and murmured, ãMmmÊ.Ê.Ê. thank you, Data.ä He took Riker by the arm and pulled him to one side, then leaned toward him. ãWhyâs he talking like that?ä Riker blinked, but that blink cleared his eyes not on Picard, not on Data, but on Deanna Troi, who was in turn holding her breath and staring at the helm÷at Lieutenant LaForge. Her face was frozen in astonishment as sensation flowed from LaForge to her. Instinct rippling, Riker shot his glare to the helm. LaForge was rising from his chair, slowly, like a sleepwalker, his hands pressed flat on his control board. He rose so slowly, in fact, that he was drawing attention to himself. By the time Riker stepped away from the captain and came to the ramp, everyone else had noticed and was tensely watching, unable to look away. LaForgeâs mouth hung open and he bent like a man punched in the ribs. His hands remained flat on his console, his legs stiff and slightly bent. Of course the visor hid his eyes, but from the set of his body, his face and lips, Riker could imagine what a seeing manâs eyes would show. Shock. Wesley stepped toward the ramp, his reedy young body all knots. ãGeordi?ä Riker snapped his fingers and pointed. ãWesley, stay where you are.ä But Wesleyâs movement had nudged Riker into taking over that movement toward the helm. LaForge breathed in short gasps. He didnât respond, but stared÷or seemed to stare÷forward and slightly starboard of his position. He turned his head further in that direction, then twisted partially around to look across the entire starboard side of the bridge. Riker came around in front of the helm. ãGeordi?ä ãSirÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä LaForge continued turning, resembling more than anything a music-box doll on a spindle. Before him, all around the starboard curve of the bridge, human forms were milling. Far different from the warm mannequins of the regular crew, these forms were flat, glowing, staticky yellow, striated with jagged impulse lines÷but unmistakably human. Not humanoid÷human. There was something in the way they moved, the way they turned and walked and gestured, that made him certain of it. ãSirÊ.Ê.Ê. somebodyâs hereÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Riker moved a step closer, his shoulders drawing slightly inward as a shiver assaulted his spine. ãBut thereâs no one there.ä ãThey are here, sir!ä Riker held out one hand in a calming gesture that didnât work. ãAll rightÊ.Ê.Ê. tell me what wavelengths youâre tuned in to right now. Help me, Geordi. I want to see them too.ä Geordi moved choppily backward, bumping Riker, bumping his own chair, trying to avoid the unseen entities as he moved toward the science station on the upper bridge, but he never even got close. He bumped the bridge rail with one shoulder and couldnât move anymore, but stayed there trying to convince himself he wasnât going out of his mind. ãGeordi, just describe it,ä Riker said, glancing at Picard for reassurance. ãWhat are you seeing?ä LaForge trembled. ãI donât knowÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãLieutenant,ä Picard snapped from above him, ãgive me a report. Analyze what youâre seeing and report on it.ä ãUhÊ.Ê.Ê. theyâreÊ.Ê.Ê. narrow-bandÊ.Ê.Ê. low-resolution pixels at several wavelengthsÊ.Ê.Ê. toward the blue in the invisible spectrumÊ.Ê.Ê. but some acoustical waves are giving me a visual of animated pulses÷ä Picardâs voice was laced with impatience, but also with awe. ãAre you telling me you can see what they sound like?ä ãYes, sir÷more or less. God, theyâre everywhere!ä ãData,ä Picard urged. ãI have it, sir. One moment,ä Data said as he worked furiously on the computer sensory adjustment, then struck a final pressure point and looked up at the viewscreen. The visual of the bridge was chilling. Each saw himself, in place, as each was now. All appeared normal, all things right. Their bridge monitors were flicking the usual status displays, the beige carpeting, the bands of color on Wesleyâs gray shirt, and the officersâ red and black, gold and black, or azure and black uniforms showing that the colors were right and the picture crisp÷not very reassuring at the moment. On the starboard bridge, specters walked. Over a dozen humanoid shapes glowed yellowish white, flat as X-ray diffraction images. Form, movement, shape, without definition, without depth, glassy human shapes moving behind a curtain of spectral impulses, outlined by a sizzling blue thread. Some were moving catatonically, milling back and forth on the ramp and in front of the big viewscreen and in the command arena. Some stood still, as though looking back at Riker as he dared approach the monitor, absorbing what he saw. He was looking into a mirror and there were images staring back at him that were beside him in the room. He spun, scanning a starboard bridge that looked empty. His throat tightened and held back his one effort to speak. All he could do was watch as Captain Picard turned away from the monitor and also scanned what could not be seen by the naked human eye. Unlike everyone else, who had sidled away from that side of the bridge, Picard now moved toward it, his face a granite challenge. ãOpen all frequencies. Tie in translator.ä He waited only an instant for the click-beep that told him Tasha had shaken from her chill and complied. He raised his voice. ãThis is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the United Federation of Planets. You are invading my ship without invitation. What is your purpose here?ä There was nothing. Riker kept his eyes on the shapes in the monitor, no matter that the hairs rose on the back of his neck because he knew they were right behind him. ãWe request that you communicate with us,ä Picard said forcefully. ãState your intentions immediately.ä Riker watched the monitor, unable to look at the vacant deck, and his skin crawled. Two of the X-ray images began to move toward Picard, one from the side, one from behind. Riker bolted. ãCaptain!ä He got the captainâs arm between both hands and pulled him aside, the urgent dance putting Riker between the captain and the approaching specters. Within a second, Worf dropped onto the command deck beside him, and above them Yar had drawn her phaser. In a purely human manner, Riker swiveled his head around, looking for what couldnât be seen, and his stomach contracted as he waited for blows from invisible hands. Then÷ ãTheyâre goneÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä LaForge spoke up clearly enough to make everyone really nervous. Riker didnât believe it. Gut feeling told him otherwise. But the captain trusted the wavelength-sensitive monitor that now showed only himself and his own crew occupying the bridge. Yet even he couldnât avoid a surreptitious glance about the deck. ãAll right, Mr. Riker,ä he murmured then, ãat ease.ä But no one was at ease. No one at all. Wesley Crusher tightened his young eyes and whispered, ãThe ship is hauntedÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Chapter Four ãHAUNTED,ä CAPTAIN PICARD snorted. ãSuperstitious claptrap. Belay that attitude, ensign.ä He moved to the command center, not quite ready to sit down, plagued by the sensation that those entities were still walking around him. He cast an intolerant glance at Wesley Crusher, communicating that all they needed now was the wisdom of a teenager to gum up the works. As he caught Wesleyâs whipped-puppy expression, Picard felt once again the sting of his decision to make Wesley an ensign, a decision no good parent would make, yet one that he, as a man who had never had children, had made without realizing the consequences. He should have known better, for as commanding officer he was indeed the father of all his crew and complement. Wesleyâs face was the face of a child; no seasoned officer would take the reprimand so personally. And having given it, Picard could not take it back. There were many things which could not be taken back. Such an error and a disservice, promoting the boy to the bridge so early, without the earning. Not so much a disservice to the bridge, but to the boy. Picard watched the viewscreen, turning away from the young face that occupied his mind now. Yes, promoting Wesley to the bridge had aroused the resentment of Starfleet officers who might not be as brilliant but might be more deserving. Wesley Crusher had become the supreme knick-knack÷a pretty display of talent, but not really functional. Anything he did on the bridge had to be monitored, no matter that he could calculate things inside his head sometimes before the computer made its reports. That was just how it was. And why did I do that to him? Picard wondered, letting the familiar thought roll through his mind all in that one glance. Do I feel so responsible for his fatherâs death? Do I owe Jack Crusher so much for the mistake that killed himÊ.Ê.Ê. that I would make another mistake with his son? Am I so anxious to gain the gratitude of this boyâs mother that I would use his brilliance to showcase my good will? And now I risk destroying his distorted image of himself if I withdraw his status as acting ensign and put him back where he belongsÊ.Ê.Ê. Ah, Picard, tu tâes fait avoir. He sighed, and turned to his command crew. ãAll right. Ensign Crusher says ghosts. Itâs as good a starting point as any.ä Worfâs Klingon brow puckered. ãBut, sir, ghosts are fables!ä ãPerhaps so, from a metaphysical perspective,ä Picard said evenly and without a pause. ãBut weâre not going to address that. Weâre going to approach them from a wholly scientific vantage. Disband all thoughts of wraiths and think in terms of alternate life-forms and mind forms. Mr. Data, what can you give me on that?ä Caught off guard by having so folklorish a subject cast at him, Data blinked and appeared suddenly helpless. Riker stepped in, knowing better, but still not fast enough to stop himself. ãAn android wouldnât know anything about life, sir, much less the occult.ä The captainâs eyes struck him like blades. ãIâm talking about spectral spectral apparitions, Riker, and you are out of line with that remark. Arenât you?ä Bruised, Riker nodded smartly. ãYes, sir, I guess I am.ä ãI asked Data a question.ä Data may or may not have appreciated the dressing-down on his behalf, but the fact was he found himself floundering on such a subject. To a being for whom knowledge had always meant plain facts, this mystical concept was quicksand. Very conscious of the attention he was getting, Data glanced at Riker, straightened a little, and spoke. ãSir,ä he began, ãI would postulate that, since the life-forms were picked up by Geordiâs visor and then by the recalibrated bridge sensors, they are not foibles of Earth thaumaturgy, but indeed of a substantive hylozoic constituence.ä Picardâs mouth crumpled. ãWhat?ä ãTheyâre real.ä ãOh. You mightâve said so.ä ãSorry, sir.ä ãWhat you mean,ä Picard continued, ãis that something incorporeal need not be unalive. Traditionally, ghosts are unalive. These beings arenât.ä Data cocked his head. ãDifficult to say, sir. That transgresses into the realm of semantics. We would have to isolate what it meansÊ.Ê.Ê. to be alive.ä The androidâs sudden discomfort with those words drew Picardâs attention once again to his eyes, to the boyish innocence of a being who had gone all the way through Starfleet Academy, spent a dozen years on Starfleet vessels, yet somehow remained the quintessence of ignorance. Data would have to have that word applied to himÊ.Ê.Ê. but no book learning, regardless of its extent, could replace the priceless pleasures and brutalities of living interaction. ãDo we have an analysis from the science labs yet?ä the captain asked. Data played with the computer board nearest him and accessed the information as it was fed back to him through the computerâs sophisticated comparative-analysis system, then said, ãThey seem to be some sort of phased energy, sir.ä ãWhat does that mean?ä ãApparently they exist here in pulses. Here and not here. They donât always exist in one place. Itâs not energy as we commonly define it. It is more like a proto-energy. It has some of the properties of energy and matter, yet sometimes none of those. It seems unfamiliar to our science.ä Data looked up. ãApparently stability is not their forte.ä ãThatâs an interesting nonanalysis, Mr. Data. Seems to me the computer is turning backflips to avoid admitting that it doesnât know.ä ãAt the moment, I cannot blame it, sir.ä Picard gave him an acid glare, but was pleasantly distracted when Troi came to him, deliberately holding her hands clasped before her, evidence of her effort to keep control. ãSirÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãGo on, Counselor, nothingâs too outlandish at this point.ä ãIf they areÊ.Ê.Ê. ghosts÷that is, the remaining mental matter of deceased physical forms,ä she said, ãcan they be destroyed?ä ãDestroyed.ä Picard tasted the word. ãYou mean killed, donât you? To be able to be killed is one of the signs of life.ä Moved by his blunt response to the problem, Troi forced herself to push the point. ãAnd if they can be killed, does that mean theyâre alive?ä ãNo one has talked about punitive action yet, Counselor,ä the captain said. ãBut these images of destruction youâre receiving,ä he added. ãI canât dismiss those.ä From her expression they could see she wasnât trying to split hairs; the question was very urgent to her, a true matter of life and death. ãYes, sir, I know. But Iâm desperate that my perceptions not be misread. I donât trust myself to analyze them yet. I wouldnât want you to take punitive action before itâs warranted, just because of me.ä ãAre you saying you do sense a danger to us?ä Frustrated, she tilted her head and sighed. ãIâm trying not to say it, but Iâm also afraid not to. If you understand meÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãOh, I think I understand. These entities exist on a plane so different from our own that their very existence may endanger us. Weâve run into that sort of thing before in Federation expansion.ä ãYes, sir, thatâs what I mean,ä Troi said anxiously. ãEven if they pose a danger to us, do they deserve to be killed when all theyâve done is trespass onto the ship?ä ãMmmm,ä Picard murmured. ãAnd will they be as generous when discussing us, I wonder.ä He paced around her, contemplating the carpet. ãIâll keep all that in mind. Whatever the case, I will not allow my crew to succumb to superstition. We will find the answers, and they will be scientifically based.ä Troi straightened her spine. ãYes, sir.ä ãYes, sir,ä Data said, turning to his console. ãI agree, sir,ä Riker said. ãWhoever these beings are, we have to assume theyâre sentient, and that they have intentions that weâll have to figure out before we can act.ä ãYes,ä Picard murmured. ãAnd the question remains,ä he added softly, scanning the bridge, now as eerie and silent as a graveyard at dawn, ãwhat are they doing here?ä The words put a pool of ice water around all their feet. The captain didnât wait for it to warm. ãMr. Riker, my ready room. Iâll have a word with you.ä Riker forced himself to follow the captainâs retreating form into the private room off the bridge. No sooner had the door brushed shut behind him than the captain froze him in place with a lofty glare. ãYou undermined my authority, Mr. Riker.ä Trying to replay the past moments in his mind without the jitters that still ran the deck on the other side of that door, Riker asked, ãDid I, sir?ä The captain stood with his compact frame backdropped by the viewportâs starscape, appearing quite the nobleman among the peerage. ãYou did.ä Inclining his head, Riker offered, ãBut I saw those forms closing in on you. I didnât know what they intended.ä ãYou neednât have done your Olympic pole vault on my account,ä the captain said. ãA simple word of warning would have been sufficient.ä Squaring his shoulders÷but not too much÷Riker proclaimed, ãItâs my job to protect you, sir.ä ãYes, I know thatâs the official story,ä Picard said. ãWhen youâve come back alive as many times as I have, youâll earn the right to have someone look after you as well. Iâll thank you to allow me the dignity of taking my own punches from now on. Dismissed.ä ãGeordi, look at this. Geordi, look at that. Geordi, tell us what this is made of. Geordi, look through walls like Superman. Sure, no problem, Iâll look. All I am is what I look through.ä ãTake it easy,ä Beverly Crusher murmured as she adjusted the tiny filter on the miniaturized low-power sensory compensator in LaForgeâs visor. ãYou know, you should have a medical engineer doing this.ä ãNo thanks,ä the young man grumbled, blinking his flat gray unseeing eyes at her, trying to imagine what she really looked like÷really. ãAnd you should have rested after what happened on the bridge,ä she told him evenly. ãYou canât ask your body to power this sensor system to that level without letting yourself rest. Thatâs why it hurts you so much, Geordi. Youâre unremitting.ä He nodded his cocoa-dark head in her general direction and said, ãI donât mind the hurt. I canât just leave my post. But somehow I expected a little more appreciation from people who were stationed on Enterprise. I just assumed anybody who could get assigned to this ship would be a little more up to date than the run-of-the-mill shipâs crew.ä He closed his eyes tight against the pounding headache and rubbed his hand across them, waiting for the medication to work. ãRiker just expected me to tell him. Itâs not that easy. I canât just glance at things like you can. I canât just pop out with words for the sensory impulses that make my brain act like a computer interpreter. Do you know that at close range a computer with a sensory readout canât match me? Itâll miss or misinterpret things, because a machine doesnât understand things like I do.ä ãThatâs because it doesnât have the intuitive sense for interpreting what it sees,ä Crusher told him placidly. ãYou should be proud of that.ä ãI am,ä he insisted. ãBut I didnât know what those forms on the bridge were any more than anybody else did, including Mr. Riker. When people look at me, they donât see me. They just see that thing.ä He cast his hand in her direction, encompassing all of her and the item she held. ãThey donât understand,ä the doctor said, ãand you canât expect them to. They arenât going to understand how much it takes out of you to make this visor work.ä ãI know!ä he shot back with a frustrated slap of his hand on his knee. ãI knowÊ.Ê.Ê. but itâs hard to be reasonable sometimes, specially when everybodyâs kicking off a Geordi-what-do-you-see. They donât know what it took to learn to interpret all the information I get out of every square inch I see. Iâm not a machine, doc, you know? My brain wasnât made to do this. Itâs not like I look at a thing and a dozen little labels appear to tell me what itâs made of. I had to learn what every impulse meant, every vibration, every flicker, every filter, every layer of spectral matterÊ.Ê.Ê. people donât know what it takes out of me to say, ÎI donât know what it is.âÊä Crusher stopped her adjusting and paused to gaze at him, suddenly moved by her ability to simply do that. Because he was blind now, without his prosthetic, he didnât see her pause. He didnât÷couldnât÷see anything. And she was glad of it. ãItâs not easy, you know,ä he went on. ãIt took years of retraining÷painful retraining÷to make my brain do this. A human brain is never meant by nature to do what mineâs doing. And every time I have to say, ÎI donât knowâ or ÎIâve never seen anything like this before,â it goes through me like a steel bolt. It means Iâm truly blind.ä ãOh, GeordiÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Crusher murmured. ãSometimes,ä he said, ãI go through twenty or thirty levels of analysis and every one takes a piece out of me. When I canât tell what it is Iâm seeing, itâs not like a sighted person looking at a box and not being able to see whatâs inside. Itâs like holding your breath and diving deeper and deeper, no matter how much it hurtsÊ.Ê.Ê. and when you canât touch bottom, you still have to plow back to the surface before your lungs explodeÊ.Ê.Ê. oh, I canât explain it; I canât make you see.ä He reached out in his blindness and by instinct alone he found the visor she held as she stood nearby÷a blind manâs instinct that told him where her hands were÷and with his artificial eyes back in his own hand he slid from the table and somehow found the door. As it opened for him he went flawlessly through it, homing in on the sound and the faint gush of air from the corridor, as though to show her he could be a whole person without the burden of his high-tech crutch. ãGeordi,ä Crusher called after him, but she did so only halfheartedly, for she had no words to help him. She winced as Riker appeared out of nowhere and Geordi bumped into him. It wouldâve been such a smooth exit otherwiseÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê ãLieutenant÷ä Riker started to greet, then simply gaped as LaForge plowed past him without even a ãsorry, sir.ä After Geordi rounded the arch of the corridor and disappeared, Riker crooked a thumb in that direction as he came into the sickbay. ãWhatâs eating him?ä ãYou are.ä Crusher folded her arms and sighed. ãI am? Howâd I get into this?ä ãFunny you should ask.ä She grasped his arm and drew him into the sickbay, then planted him in the nearest chair and assumed her lecture position÷any parent knows it. Sliding her narrow thigh up onto an exam table, she broached the subject with a practiced look of sternness. ãHeâs a little bothered by that episode on the bridge.ä ãHe told you about thatÊ.Ê.Ê. okay, Iâll bite,ä Riker said. ãWhyâs it bothering him?ä Beverly Crusherâs lovely art deco features were marred by the situation. ãYou sure you want to know?ä Frustrated, Riker held his hands out. ãWhen did I start looking so aloof to everybody? I want to know.ä ãThatâs not what you came down here for.ä ãNo,ä he admitted. ãI came down because I knew LaForge was here and I wanted an analysis of physical composition of those life images. I figure heâs the best man to do it.ä ãI think youâd better get Data to do it.ä ãWhy? All of a sudden, everybodyâs functioning at half power. Isnât Geordi LaForge the expert on spectroscopy?ä ãOnly by necessity,ä she said, ãnot by choice.ä Riker looked at her; just looked at her. Then he shook his head. ãYouâre mad at me. Been conniving with the captain?ä Suddenly a common thread looped around them and Crusherâs lips curved into an understanding grin. ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê. I see. No, Iâm not mad at you. But let me give you a bit of advice.ä ãPlease!ä ãListen to Lieutenant LaForge. Just listen.ä ãI do listen.ä ãYou donât. You hear what he has to say, but you donât appreciate it. You think all he does is Îsee.âÊä Riker tried to interpret what she was saying by looking into her deep-set eyes and reading them, but after a few seconds of that he floundered and admitted, ãI donât know what you mean.ä She settled her long hands in her lap. ãMy God, Will. Do you think he just puts that thing on and sees? Okay, not fairÊ.Ê.Ê. Iâll explain. Of course thatâs what it looks like to everybody. I tried to tell him that just now, but from his perspective÷well, Geordi LaForge is one of only four blind people successfully fitted with the optic prosthetic. I mean, four whoâve successfully learned to operate it. Four. Thatâs all in the whole Federation.ä ãReallyÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Riker muttered, rapt. ãKeep talking.ä Crusher drew in a long breath, trying to find the words to explain something she herself had never experienced. ãWhen he looks at an apple, he has to interpret between twenty and two hundred separate sensory impulses just to get shape, color, and temperature. After that, he has to recalibrate to get molecular composition, density, and everything else he gets. Trust me÷itâs mind-boggling. Which is what it does to Geordi. Youâre talking some thousand and a half impulses just to look at an apple. Do you know that he gets exhausted if he doesnât take the device off several times a day?ä ãNoÊ.Ê.Ê. I didnât. But he doesnât take it off.ä ãHe refuses to give in to his handicap. And because of his dedication, he gets depleted and has to deal with some considerable pain.ä Riker grasped the edge of the chair and crushed the cushion tight. ãPain? Are you telling me that thing hurts him?ä ãHe never shows it.ä ãI had no idea.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä Dr. Crusher slid off the table and said, ãThatâs the kind of crewman youâve got, Mr. Riker. Now you know.ä The first officer slumped back in the chair, his blue eyes slightly creased as he tried to imagine something his own brain simply wasnât made to visualize. But he understood pain, and he understood the resistance of it. And the dogged recurrence of it. Suddenly he was aware of how little time he and these special people had spent together. Special talents, yes, but also special handicaps. Data and his mechanical self; Yar and her explosive temper and overprotectiveness; the constant tug and pull between himself and the captain with the undefined split of authority on a starship with civilians on board as regular complement; Troi and what she was going through on all fronts; and now this with Geordi LaForge÷blind, but not÷a man who could see phenomenally or not at all, no easy middle ground. This was hard. It was a strain. Since day one there had been troubles, troubles that made them put aside those all-important moments when people got to know each other. They had been through much together, yet they were still strangers. What did he really know about Geordi? How did Geordi feel about other things than sight and that helm he worked? What was Yarâs favorite pastime other than polishing her martial prowess? Certainly such a woman, so young and so vital, would think about something more fun. What music did she like? Did her shoes hurt sometimes? And surely there must be something more to Wesley than just a typical sixteen-year-old invulnerability. And Worf÷was he lonely? As lonely as Troi seemed to be sometimes? What kept him in Starfleet when he could easily go back to his Klinzhai tribes and be completely accepted? It wasnât a Klingon trait to reject one of their own blood, no matter the circumstances of his separation. Why didnât he go? Somehow each had become nothing to the others but a name and one particular eccentricity. Data was the Android, Geordi was his visor, Worf was the Klingon, Crusher was the Doctor, Wesley was the Kid, Troi was the Empath, Picard was the Marquis÷ I guess that makes me the gentry. Or the rabble, Riker thought, not caring what all this did to his expression as Crusher watched silently. I donât know them. I donât know any of them yet, and all this time weâve been depending on each other for life and limb. And Captain PicardÊ.Ê.Ê. I know him least of all. But then, I havenât shown him much of Will Riker, either÷have I? ãDamn it,ä he whispered. Crusher pressed her lips inward and tried to avoid a softhearted nod, for she saw the changes in his face and especially noticed when he started absently picking at a nail and looking guilty. ãWhat?ä she prodded, very careful of her tone. ãNothing.ä He stood up abruptly, committing the very crime he was hanging himself for. Even as he began to turn toward the door he realized what he was doing, and he paused, balanced on one foot. He tipped his shoulder back toward her and thought about turning. ãWe arenâtÊ.Ê.Ê. we arenât showing÷ä ãCommander Riker, to the bridge immediately. Yellow alert, all hands, yellow alert. Commander Riker, report to the bridge÷ä ãSomething on the edge of sensor range, sir.ä Tasha Yarâs voice gained a sudden rock-steadiness as she raised her volume over the yellow alert noise. Picard stood resolute at bridge center, glaring at the viewscreen, very aware of Counselor Troi beside him. ãScan it.ä ãScanning.ä ãOn your toes, everyone. And where the devil is÷ä ãRiker reporting, sir. Sorry for the delay.ä Picard turned toward the turbolift and said, ãI want you one hundred percent available the next twenty-four hours, Number One. We donât know what weâve stumbled upon and I donât like riddles. Until we discover whatâs going on÷ä ãAt your service, sir, no problem.ä Riker landed in his place between the captain and Troi with a faint thud on the carpeted deck. Troi caught his eyes for just an instant, and each had to work hard to keep from speaking out-of-place reassurances to each other. Forcing himself to look away from her, he noticed Yar working more furiously than usual at her tactical station and demanded, ãFill me in, Lieutenant.ä Her pale brow furrowed. ãScanning something on the periphery of sensor range, Mr. Riker, but I canât get a fix÷wait a minute÷thatÊ.Ê.Ê. that canât be right. Iâm not getting anything back. No, that canât be right.ä Picard spun. ãNothing at all? No reaction to the scan at all?ä ãNo, sir,ä Yar complained, ãnot even readings of surrounding space debris or bodies÷ä She broke off and slapped her control board like an errant child. She straightened decisively, absolutely sure of what she was seeing on her instruments. ãSir, farâs I can tell, itâs absorbing the sensor scan.ä Picardâs face took on an arrogant disbelief. ãThatâs the most curious damned thing Iâve ever heard of. Corroborate it with the space sciences lab immediately.ä ãTheyâre already tied in, sir,ä she said, her eyes sparkling. ãSame report.ä He swung about and bumped his fist against his thigh. ãWell, damn that.ä With an imperious stride, he approached the starfield before them, his eyes going to slits. ãBoost the sensors.ä Yar looked up again. ãSorry?ä ãYes. Put out a high-energy sensor burst over the nominal sensors.ä Yarâs hand leaned ineffectually on her board, and she looked with helplessness to Riker. Her mouth formed her silent question: Boost them? Riker felt the weight slam onto his shoulders. At least a foot shorter now, he approached Picard. ãSir, could you refresh us on that procedure?ä To everyoneâs surprise÷relief÷Picard merely glanced at him and said, ãOf course.ä He stepped to the Ops station, where Data had been sitting in silent vigilance all this time, and put one hand to the small tactical access panel on the Ops console, pecking the controls carefully. ãItâs more or less an unofficial skill, not something Starfleet engineers approve ofÊ.Ê.Ê. somewhat radical. If itâs done too often it can cause quite a burnout. Weâll have to key in the computer sensors, readjust the energy output for tight-gain/ high-energy bolt, ask for a momentary scan so all the energy is contained, and tell the computer to fire when itâs ready. There you are.ä His hand fell gracefully away from the instruments, leaving them with a surprising clue to his rogue side. Within seconds, sure enough, there was a flush of energy from the bridge sensory systems, and the scanning burst was off, crossing the distances of space with the unfettered speed of pure energy. ãSir!ä Yar jolted at her station. ãDefinitely reading something now! God! Itâs heading directly at us out of interstellar space÷it homed in on us! Itâll be here in seventy-eight seconds!ä The captain snapped, ãVisual!ä LaForge kept his voice laudibly calm as he reported, ãSir, for visual of these readings, the sensorsâll have to be adjusted twelve points into the gamma-ray spectrum÷ä ãJust do it, Lieutenant!ä Picard roared. The young blind man grimaced behind his visor, punched in the code, and nailed the engage button, then held his breath as the shipâs systems whined their strain back at him. But the readings began coming in. ãSensors at maximum output÷draining their sources, sir,ä LaForge reported over the energy shriek. ãAlmost got visual÷there!ä The starfield blurred before them, sizzled, and reformed into a new pattern÷and suddenly the bridge was walled with a gigantic glassy false-color image, undulating and fluxing as it raced at them through open space. Its aurora borealis colors were chaotic, its luster blinding, its electrical nature obvious as it crackled across the huge screen. Geordi instantly brought a hand up to shield his visor. ãChrrrrist÷ä The fireworks blazed across their faces and ran amuck on their fears. It was a thing utterly alien, and struck panic in all their hearts÷it looked like fire, like electricity. Like the face of hell itself. Suddenly Troi came to life behind Riker and the captain, her horrified expression even more horrifying as the fulmination from the screen glared on her skin and in her eyes. ãStay away from it! Donât let it get near us!ä Picard was beside her as though appearing out of nothing. ãCounselor?ä Her slim hands clamped on his arm like talons. ãCaptain! Do not let that thing come near us!ä ãI canât just÷ä ãDo not let it!ä she repeated. ãCaptain, what am I doing on this ship if you do not take my counsel? If Iâm wrong, Iâll resign my position! If I never do anything worthwhile in my life again, Iâll have done this! Captain, please!ä The purplish veins of light played ugly patterns between them, glowing as though to hammer out Troiâs words and the conviction in her eyes. The captain held her by the arms and bored through her with eyes that were doing something other than questioning her veracity. At once he sucked in a breath and his voice gripped the bridge. ãRaise shields! Go to red alert status.ä ãRed alert!ä Riker echoed instantly, flashing the words toward Tasha. ãSpeed and ETA?ä ãWarp six now! Sixty-one seconds ETA!ä She flinched under the prismatic light from the screen. Her blond hair sparkled orange, then amethyst, then blue, then a cruel white. Her arms moved among the fireworks, and the ship whooped into alert. Lights of their own flashed now throughout the starship, and all around the vessel, high-energy defensive shielding buzzed to life around the great hulls and nacelles. Picard pressed Deanna Troi behind him, back toward the three lounges that were their command places in better moments, and shouldered his way into the glaze of lights. ãLieutenant Yar, fire phasers across its bow. Make our intentions absolutely clear. Warn that thing offä Behind him he heard Troi whisper, ãWeaponsÊ.Ê.Ê. no!ä But it was too late. Without acknowledgment, Yar played her controls and before them long-range phasers lanced space, thin as needles, their power twisted into threads so slim that they could strike even at this distance and be felt like solid blades. ãCaptain, itâs accelerating!ä she shrieked then. ãItâs put on a burst of speed÷warp ten nowÊ.Ê.Ê. warp twelve! Warp fourteen-point-nine!ä ãLaForge!ä The captainâs roar bombarded the bridge. LaForge smeared his palms over the controls, jamming the starship into emergency warp. The change of speed was so abrupt that even sophisticated Starfleet equipment couldnât compensate for the stomach-sucking effect. The starship wheeled in space and bolted into a sudden warp five, but there was no warp fifteen in its vocabulary. Before the ship could maneuver more than one light-yearâs distance, the thing was upon them. St. Elmoâs fire blanketed the bridge as the new Enterprise was given the shakedown of the millennium. A billion tiny firecrackers erupted across the heavy-duty shielding. Electrokinetic jolts fanned through the ship, through every personâs body, through every bone and nerve, every circuit, every conduit, every skin hair, and crackled through every inch of stuff, living or mechanical. Troi felt a short scream squeeze out of her as she crumpled against an enemy she somehow recognized. All around her, jagged voltage profaned the bridge with ugly blue fingers and left sparks wherever it touched. She saw her crewmates falling, writhing, fighting. She heard the whine of the shipâs gallant battle against this electrical storm, and knew the Enterprise, like her crew, was defying the attack. The weight of a thousand minds crushed into her head and she forgot the ship, forgot everything but the pain of it. They were screaming at her, shrieking the reedy noises of zombies and wraiths, the graveyard shrill of things Picard had ordered she not consider. She struggled against the sharp piercing clarions and tried to cling to that order. Her fingers were electric blue as they clawed at the air before her, her eyes frozen open no matter how she tried to close them. The effect squealed around her, and as it sought her brain and all the parts of her that reacted to her telepathic self, it released her muscles one by one and she sank to the deck, still staring, still wrapped in the blue lightning. Riker saw her fall, and tried to reach for her. But he too was being beaten by the attack. The ship might as well have been impaled on a lightning rod. Fiery blue veins accosted every panel, and beneath them the deck itself tossed and bucked as energy crashed through it. As the seconds dragged past, the effect sank away from Troi and left her lying on the deck as it scouted the bridge for whatever it wanted and couldnât find. Riker was trying to reach Troi when the chair beside him moved abruptly and Data was dragged out of it and thrown across the Ops console on his back, and mauled by the electrical pistolwhipping. The ship shuddered one more time before the silvery blitz dropped away from its attack on the whole bridge, converged to a single point from all over the bridge and settled on Data, wrapping around him and his Ops console and effervescing there. ãData!ä LaForge plunged toward the android, only to be knocked to one side by Rikerâs shoulder. ãDonât touch him!ä Chapter Five RIKER SHOUTED OVER the crackle. ãNobody touch him!ä LaForge shoved against the first officer. ãItâs killing him!ä Riker had to twist around and grab him in order to hold him off. The navigator continued to push his way toward Data, his hands biting into Rikerâs arm, but Riker simply refused to let him through. Quivering, Data lay across the Ops panel in a skein of light threads, and his mouth began to work as though by an invisible hand. ãShipÊ.Ê.Ê. conÊ.Ê.Ê. tactÊ.Ê.Ê. conÊ.Ê.Ê. killÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãIs he in communication with it?ä Picard shouted over the awful electrical din. ãData! Are you in contact? Are you in contact! Data!ä The ship began to settle as the effect fell away, leaving only the snaps and fizzes of frenzied equipment. Data was the last to be released. The iridescence had its fill of him and dropped off, seeping down into the Ops panel and leaving only a confused flicker behind on the board. Data slipped down the console and flopped to the floor, catching hold of the consoleâs edge and managing to land on his knees. His face had a very human glaze of panic, and he was trembling. Geordi shoved his way past Riker and skidded to one knee, giving Data his arm to lean on. Riker let him go, and they crossed by each other as Riker dropped to Troiâs limp form on the deck, lifting her with one arm and using the other hand to tap his comlink. ãSickbay, emergency!ä ãShut down all systems!ä the captain said at the same moment. ãPassive sensors only. Do not hit it with active sensors!ä ãAye, sir, passive sensors,ä Yar confirmed, her voice cracking. Her features, spare as a porcelain dollâs, worked as she fought for control. ãWhere is it?ä Picard demanded. ãMoved off, sir,ä Worf boomed. ãNow hovering approximately two light-years distant. Itâs not doing anything but just roaming there snapping at us, working some kind of a pattern.ä ãItâs moving?ä ãYes, sir. Random turns and coasts along a cube pattern. I think itâs looking for us, Captain.ä ãShipâs status?ä Picard scanned the bridge all the way around once, noticing the shimmying electrical quirks and vibrations that still flashed here and there. ãShields drained seventy-nine percent, sir,ä Worf reported angrily. ãSystems blown out all over the ship. Stardrive is down. Communications are out. Sensors are unstable. Most disabled are the shields, and theyâll take the longest to recharge.ä ãCondition of the saucer section?ä ãIntact, sir. They were shook up, but not as badly as the bridge and as the stardrive areas were. Looks to me like it focused on high-energy areas of the ship.ä ãWhat was that thing?ä Worf puckered his lips in a Klingon kind of shrug and glared at Tasha. She fidgeted. ãEvidently a bombardment of pure antimatter,ä she said, casting a nervous glance at Geordi and Data, still huddled on the floor. ãEngineering reports the thing absorbed the energy from our shields and about half the systems on board, mostly the ones on the outer parts of the ship. The computer core itself is still intact, sir, but I doubt we could stand off another attack of that level.ä ãSeventy-nine percent drain? I should think not.ä Now Riker looked up from where he knelt holding Troi and said, ãI never saw such a burst of speed before. What happened? Why did it move off?ä ãFor the moment,ä Picard said steadily, ãonly it knows.ä He stooped down and helped Riker lift Troi into her chair. Her eyes were crescents, and she was shaking even harder than Data. When two orderlies charged out of the turbolift, Picard directed them to her and stood to one side as they gave her a quick check. ãIâm sorryÊ.Ê.Ê. Iâm so sorryÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä she quavered. ãCanât imagine why,ä Picard said gently. ãIf not for your warning, we wouldnât have had our shields up. I shudder to think what mightâve happened in that case. I want you checked out in sickbay. No, no arguments, Counselor.ä Riker stood straight and said, ãThe antimatter wouldâve ripped the ship apart.ä ãBut the weapons,ä Troi choked, ãI shouldâve warned youÊ.Ê.Ê. I didnât rememberÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãRemember what?ä Picard prodded. ãWhat are you talking about?ä ãI knewÊ.Ê.Ê. I knew the weapons would÷Captain, Iâm so sorry÷ä ãYou knew the weapons would draw that thingâs attention? Is that what youâre saying?ä She fought to stay upright in the chair as her arms and legs shook, but she managed a very distinct nod. ãGet her to sickbay,ä Picard said, impatient to have her back to normal. ãThis subject is not closed.ä ãYes, sir,ä she murmured, and let herself be led from the bridge by the two orderlies. She knew Riker was watching, knew he wanted to come with her, but there was so much cluttering her mind÷so much.Ê.Ê.Ê. ãCaptain,ä Geordi interjected, and waited for this attention. ãAccording to my spectrographic analysis, it was basically the same visual structure as those beings we saw walking around on the bridge.ä Picard glowered at him. ãAre you telling me itâs a big ghost?ä ãSir?ä Yar looked up from her readout screen. ãGo ahead,ä the captain said. ãIâm getting analysis from engineering now. The thingâs peppered with antimatter, but it isnât made of antimatter alone. When it enveloped the ship, we became a million tiny explosions all over, wherever the bits of antimatter hit the shields. If it had broken through them, weâd÷ä ãKeep all systems shut down until further notice. Stabilize within that context.ä Picard tightened his fists and strode toward the Ops position. He tipped downward to get the attention of the floor brigade. ãData? You functional?ä Looking more like a threatened child than an android as he knelt shivering and holding on to Geordi, Data dragged back what little was left of his energy and looked up at Picard. ãF-functionalÊ.Ê.Ê. sirÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãWere you in contact with that thing out there?ä ãWith somethingÊ.Ê.Ê. sirÊ.Ê.Ê. conclude that must have been the caseÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãAnything to report?ä ãNothing clear, sir; there was noÊ.Ê.Ê. no sense to the contact.ä ãOn your feet, then. Can you?ä ãCaptain?ä Lieutenant Yar seemed to really hate interrupting him again, and with more bad news, but she stiffened and pressed against the tactical station as Picard turned. ãThe thingâs energy output is up thirty-one percent from before it hit us.ä Riker shook his head. ãGreat. Thatâs our energy itâs got.ä From below, Geordi was driven to comment, ãAnd we sit here like a log on a pond while Irving the Entity out there digests three-quarters of our power.ä Suddenly aware of Geordi again and feeling a renewed obligation, Riker said, ãIâll bet a starship qualifies as extra spicy. I wonder how long till itâs hungry again.ä ãColorfully put, Number One, but not much help,ä Picard wryly said as he hauled Data to his feet. He held Dataâs twitching arm, and Geordi the other arm, while the android regained his equilibrium. ãNo, sir,ä Riker admitted, ãbut if it zeroes in on energy outlay, we might be able to hide from it.ä Picard looked impressed. ãMy thoughts exactly.ä ãSir?ä The captain craned his neck around. ãNow what, Yar?ä She braced herself, but plunged on with her report, because it was too bizarre to keep to herself. She bent over her readout screen and tried to disbelieve what she saw. ãSir, I think our passive sensors might not be working properly. Or Iâm not very good at reading themÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãReport. Now.ä She tilted her head and frowned. ãThe thingâs energy level appears to be slowly dropping. Definitely going down.ä ãIn the thing itself?ä ãYes, in the thing.ä ãWhatâs the matter with that?ä ãWell, its mass isnât÷Worf, can you corroborate this?ä ãChecking,ä Worf rumbled. ãLieutenant!ä ãYes, sir. The mass isnât changing. And thereâs no change in the antimatter, and itâs not emanating enough energy to account for the drop.ä ãThatâs not possible,ä Picard said. ãThe energy canât go nowhere. Thatâs a fundamental law of the universe. It has to go somewhere.ä ãI wish it would,ä she muttered. ãAye, sir, thatâs the strange part. It tends to phase as weâre reading it. Its mass, its total energy÷thereâs almost nothing about it thatâs constant.ä ãThatâs the clue, then. Whatâs the conclusion? Hypotheses, anyone,ä he called sharply, doubling the pressure of the moment by putting the whole bridge on the hot seat for answers. ãInterÊ.Ê.Ê. interÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãYes, Data? You have an idea? Data, you all there?ä ãInterÊ.Ê.Ê. dimenÊ.Ê.Ê. sionalityÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä The android leaned against Geordi unashamedly, but his expression was one of fierce concentration rather than the alarm of a moment ago. ãKeep trying, Data,ä Picard prodded, stepping closer to him but resisting the urge to help him straighten up. ãThe only possibility,ä Data said, ãis that it must existÊ.Ê.Ê. between dimensions if the energyÊ.Ê.Ê. is dissipating withoutÊ.Ê.Ê. emanationÊ.Ê.Ê. sir.ä He steadied himself with a distinct effort, glanced in gratitude toward Geordi, and stood on his own. ãThat must be where the energy is going. It is the only way to account for the enormous energy drawn from our shields without our being able to detect it now.ä Picard scowled, but the idea did make sense. It had better, since Data said it twice without realizing he was repeating himself. On the upper deck, Yar shook her head. ãToo weird for me,ä she grumbled. ãIt is outlandish,ä Picard mused. ãBut itâs the only conclusion that makes sense,ä Riker said. ãHell, it makes our idea of ghosts seem sane.ä ãIt does that,ä the captain agreed ruefully, ãand it also means that anything we do from this moment on is pure guesswork. For all we know that thing could extend through a hundred solar systems on a hundred levels of existence.ä Riker looked at the screen, at the image of the entity sizzling in the upper left of the starscape, two light-years off their port bow. ãAnd any energy we use to defend ourselves is just its next meal. Maybe we should put some distance between us.ä Picard bobbed his brows as though heâd very much like that idea. ãWe canât,ä he said. ãAt least not yet. That entity put on a burst of warp nearly warp fifteen. Itâd be all over us in an instant. Weâve blinded it by shutting down our power. As we hang here, weâre hidden. For the moment.ä ãHow are you doing?ä Riker asked privately, trying to make his approach to Wesleyâs side an inobvious one. Wesley flinched. He hadnât thought anyone was paying attention to him, considering events. ãOkay, sir. Itâs really a bother to just hang here in space, though.ä Riker eyed the screen, and the distant false-color pattern that sought them. ãItâs all we can do until we get systems back on line and figure out a way to leave the area without attracting attention.ä ãMaybe a solar sail, sir? We could coast on the waves from the sun in that little solar system÷ä ãToo slow. Itâll find us long before then. Look at it. Itâs working a search pattern that we canât escape on impulse power. A box pattern a couple of light-years across, and itâs going at lightspeed. If we try to sneak through and it happens to pass that area while our shields are still downÊ.Ê.Ê. well, you know.ä Wesleyâs narrow shoulders tensed. ãGuess I do. Sometimes I wish I didnât see things so clearly in my head. Then I wouldnât have to look at them. Mr. Riker, I never heard of passive sensors.ä ãOh,ä Riker murmured. ãPassive sensors can only analyze data that other entities and objects put out. Active sensors actually send out a beam, then wait for the information recoil to return. If that thingâs looking for us, itâll be looking for an energy source. If we use active sensors, weâll be sending up a flare for it to home in on.ä ãSame with shields,ä LaForge added. ãAnd weapons.ä This cryptic bit from Yar, who stood on the starboard ramp, keeping one eye on her tactical monitors and one on the false-color shape on the monitor as it roamed the area, hunting. Riker waited until the impact of their words faded. He hadnât meant to be overheard. Leaning closer to Wesley, he lowered his voice even more, but it might as well have been going through a bullhorn on the eerily quiet bridge. With half the systems blown out and the other half shut down, the bridge noises were disturbingly low. ãWithout active sensors, weâll have to be very careful about plotting any course. Weâll be as good as under sail again. Minor navigation will be very tricky.ä Wesley nodded, and resigned himself to the undiluted truth; there would be no beautiful miracle of warp speed to carry them from the danger. Standing at the foot of the port ramp, near the entrance to his ready room, Captain Picard clasped his hands behind his back and watched his crew work against their helplessness. He watched Riker and Wesley whispering to each other and felt a sudden jab of inadequacy. If only he could find it within himself to comfort them. Suddenly he wished he was in the middle of a Romulan attack, outnumbered six to one. His only concern would be himself, his ship, and a band of fellow soldiers who knew what they were getting into when they signed on. He would have a free hand, then, free to be radical, without the anchor of concern for innocent spouses and children. Without having to worry about them if the ship took a hard lunge, much less charged into a hull-rattling battle. Every time the ship lurched, those innocent faces popped into his thoughts and ran under the flimsy umbrella of his protection, fully expecting to be safe there. As he gazed at Riker, Picard indulged in a small feeling of envy. Each time he looked at his first officer, he saw Riker standing on the transporter platform with an away team, about to beam down, about to leave the captain behind to tend the ship. At those times, those interesting times, Riker was responsible only for himself and the away teams, while Picard must remain responsible for a shipful of families. Where was the old adventure of a ship with a lean, raw, trained crew? How had he suddenly become governor of a tiny overpopulated island? At once he missed his days as first officer, and of captaincy in a vessel without children aboard. To be captain of a vessel whose calling is danger÷it was the best of both. And now he was caught in the middle, governor of a group of spacegoing families. Neither captain nor first officer, answerable to the decisions of Riker, whose job it was÷admittedly÷to stand between Picard and that exhilarating peril that was any captainâs right. Trial by fire. Earn the right to be forever cushioned. And his first officer, who should be the trusted extension of himself, by circumstance became a resented obstacle. In their few adventures together so far, Picard had told himself he could find a compromise. But there was no compromise in some situations, and that was the painful reality. Some situations required either forward movement or utter retreat, and this was one. Riker would always be a barrier. And that would always be the image in Picardâs mind as he watched away team after away team beam off the ship without him. The feeling of being left behind would never subside. Captain. Was that his true title? Or was he governor of Enterprise? Here they were, these thousand-and-some, colonizing a ship instead of a planet. Colonizing space itself, citizens of the Federation at large. In generations to come, these childrenâs children would come to see these kinds of ships as their country, their planet, their nationality. The answer to ãWhere are you from?ä would be ãIâm from Enterprise.ä Habitat. Environment. A place, not a thing, not a ship. A moving place. Instead of ãIâm a citizen of this sector or that system, this planet, that outpost,ä the answer would be ãIâm a citizen of the Federation.ä Finally there would be total unity within the Federation, the first step toward peopleâs being at home on any planet instead of only one. The principle from the old United States, basically; it didnât matter if you were raised in Vermont and lived in California. You were still home, still American. If your name was Baird or Yamamura Yamamura or Kwame, you werenât necessarily loyal to Scotland, Japan, or Ghana, but to America. A few decades of space travel, and the statement became ãIâm a citizen of Earth,ä and no matter the country. This ship was that kind of first step. Whether born on Earth or Epsillon Indii VI, you were a citizen of the Federation. The children on this colony Enterprise would visit the planets of the Federation and feel part of each, welcome upon all. This starship was the greatest, most visionary melting pot of all, this spacegoing colony. Unique. Hopeful. Risky. And it befell Jean-Luc Picard to make it work. Why me? Has the prestige blinded me to my losses of freedom and adventure? Children. Imagine it. ãMr. Riker,ä he spoke up then, breaking into his own thoughts. ãI want you, Data, and LaForge to go down to engineering and get me a thorough spectrometric and electronic analysis of the phenomenonâs composition while we still have time. I want to know whatâll happen if we fire our weapons directly into it, and whatâll happen if we donât.ä He suddenly jabbed a finger at his first officer and firmly said, ãRiker, youâre in charge of figuring out how to deal with that thing.ä It took every bit of Rikerâs control to keep from fidgeting. He felt his body stiffen. ãAye, sir.ä He nodded and wheeled toward the turbolift. ãData, LaForge÷with me.ä They filed off the bridge, and in a fluid bouquet of movement were replaced at the Conn and Ops positions by Worf and Tasha. Picard watched them leave and felt less alone against the coming hoursâ dark tunnel walls. He glanced around; the ship was still here, systems clicking and rerouting power in a million tiny alternative tracks, anything to get working again, stealing energy from each other, certain systems taking precedence over others as the giant computer core made the kinds of tiny decisions only machines could make. He felt the presence of the myriad engineers belowdecks, all scrambling to guide that delicate energy theft, felt them just as surely as Counselor Troi felt the presence of the beings who posed so plain a threat. ãIâll be in sickbay,ä he said, and started toward the turbolift. ãConfusion, sir.ä Troi lay on the diagnostic bed in the artificial quiet of sickbay, trying to put words to that which had no letters, no punctuation. To her right, Captain Picard took charge, kept things in line, gave her fortitude. To her left, Beverly Crusher provided another kind of anchor, watching her in a different way altogether. But now the captain wanted answers, suggestions, and none were presenting themselves without a fight. ãThere seem to be thousands of separate emotional bands, if you will,ä Troi said. ãPerhaps there are millions. I feel helpless to explain this to you clearly÷doctor, may I get up, please?ä Crusher scolded her with a look, then said, ãI suppose so. But only because I canât find anything wrong with you. That doesnât mean youâre not injured in some way.ä She swung the diagnostic shell away from Troi and stood back while the captain helped the counselor down from the table. Without a pause he led her to a nearby desk; evidently the conversation was far from over as far as he was concerned. He put Troi into a chair, motioned Crusher into another, and settled himself into a third, then clasped his hands and rested his arms on the cool black desk before him. ãCould it be that this thing is a vessel and youâve been reading its crew?ä ãThat possibility has occurred to me,ä Troi said, determined not to say she didnât know, even if she didnât. ãI havenât dismissed it. But if we can label those humanoid images as ghosts, I suppose thereâs no more harm in labeling these impressions as theirÊ.Ê.Ê. souls. No, please÷let me continue. I realize thatâs imprecise, sir. I regret having to speak so. ÎSoulâ is a subjective term, but I believe thatâs the image these entities have of themselves.ä ãYouâre receiving a perception of self?ä Crusher asked. The long copper fan of her hair moved against her shoulders as she leaned forward. Troiâs nymphic eyes widened. ãOh, yes! Thatâs why Iâve been doubtful of my perceptions. Some of the visions are startlingly clear. The image of Vasska, for instance, and the memory of giving him orders as that entity struck the Gorshkov.ä ãYou didnât say that before,ä the captain pointed out. His tone rang with annoyance, as though he did indeed expect her to give a clearer report on these unclear things. ãNo, sir. I wasnât very sure of it before. I only remembered it when I was attacked on the bridge. I wish I could explain.ä ãYouâre empathizing with Captain Reykov, then?ä Picard surmised. ãAt times,ä she answered. ãHis is the strongest personality. But, sirÊ.Ê.Ê. there are many others. Many others. Those sharp visions are clouded over by uncountable life forces around the phenomenon. Not in it, but existing in a halo all around it, as though drawn through space wherever it goes.ä ãAre they prisoners?ä As Picard shot those blunt words at her, Troi flinched. She settled back in her chair, almost as though to remove herself, and dropped all emotion from her Mediterranean features and those inkdrop Betazoid eyes. ãAre you asking me to theorize, sir?ä ãIâm asking you to help me formulate a plan of action,ä he said, ãor at least a plan of approach.ä ãYes,ä she murmured. ãRather than helping, Iâve put you in a difficult position this time.ä ãItâs not your fault, Deanna,ä Crusher said. ãNot at all,ä Picard echoed. Troi searched her telepathic self for more from him, but the captain was not a man whose feelings gave up their shields easily. She sensed his resistance of her probe, a resistance as refined as he himself was, and respectfully drew back within herself. ãIf these life essences are prisoners, as you suggest, and we destroy the prison,ä she continued, ãwill we be committing murder?ä With that question, she cut to the core of Picardâs problem. He studied her. She was graceful, thoughtful, exotic÷yes, that was the word for her÷and so concerned, yet as helpless as the rest of them. ãYou do have an artistic curve to your clinical self, donât you, Counselor?ä he observed softly. ãI realize your task is a strain. But mine is too. If our only chance of survival is to destroy those thousands or millions of minds you sense, what do I do? Save or sacrifice? Whose lives are forfeit?ä ãThatâs the one flaw in the Prime Directive, Jean-Luc,ä Crusher said. ãWhen interfering with another culture is the only way to save the lives youâve been entrusted with÷I donât know what Iâd do either. Count heads and see who has more lives to save?ä The captain leaned back and ran his knuckle along his lower lip. ãFrom what the counselor says, that puts us in a rather noticeable minority.ä He tapped the nearest intercom on the desktop and said, ãPicard to bridge. Whatâs the status up there?ä ãUnchanged on the thing, sir,ä Yar reported. ãShipâs condition is improving, but weâre having to task many systems to reestablish power to the shields. Everythingâs strained, including warp power.ä ãCharming,ä Picard responded. ãTheyâre going to have to work faster.ä ãYes, sir, Iâd like to see that myself.ä ãPicard out. Counselor, do you have anything, anything more concrete to say?ä Troi sighed. ãIâve been trying to isolate the impressions, to see if theyâre only memories of life-forms or actual life essences, but so far I have no specifics to offer.ä ãItâs you Iâm worried about,ä Crusher told her. Troiâs mouth bowed. ãYouâre kind. But if I canât use my abilities to the good of the ship÷ä ãYou know what Iâm talking about,ä the doctor interrupted. ãThe inherent danger of telepathy. If other telepaths are more overbearing than you are, the force of their minds could damage you, Deanna. And I canât put a bandage on your mind.ä ãIâve tried to close my mind, but they batter through my barriers÷ä ãAre you telling me these things could present an actual danger to you?ä Picard suddenly roared. Startled, Troi clamped her mouth shut and stared at the whole prospect. She hadnât yet heard it put into words, and it didnât sound very good. ãThis whole business worries me,ä Crusher said. ãAfter what Wesley described to me, Iâd have suggested a mass delusion if it hadnât come over the computer screen. That element adds a frightening scientific reality to all this. OhÊ.Ê.Ê. Captain, Wesley asked that I apologize to you on his behalf.ä Picard puzzled this for a moment, then asked, ãWhatever for?ä Crusher blinked. ãI donât know. I thought you did.ä After a moment he shook his head. ãDonât recall anything particular, doctor.ä She shrugged, embarrassed. ãI see. Then the apology is mine. Wesleyâs at that age where he thinks all adults are prejudiced against children.ä Picard cocked his hand toward her and mused, ãOf course we are. Theyâre children. They have to grow out of it. No one expects any more, or any less. When theyâre adults, they wonât be children anymore. And thereâll be new prejudices for them to ford.ä ãYou mean like those against superior officers?ä ãYes.ä He chuckled, his mouth lengthening into a melancholy grin. The change in mood cleared his head, and he found the difficult situation a little easier to accept. Troi turned to gaze out the viewport, waiting for the moment to end. And those against telepaths. To offer unclarity in place of another unclarity÷to replace ignorance with ambiguity÷is this my only service? ãIf these beings are prisoners,ä Picard mused, ãthen they become my responsibility as well. I wonder if I have the right to decide on their behalf. Weâre going to have to increase our efforts to communicate with them somehow.ä Troi looked at him, her fears returning. ãBut that requires power, sir. The entity could focus on it and destroy us.ä Crusher spoke up. ãAnd thereâs something else.ä The captain tried not to sound weary. ãYes, doctor?ä She dropped her gaze to the desktop for a moment. When she looked up again, she met Jean-Luc Picardâs eyes squarely. ãWhat do we do if they simply will not negotiate with us?ä she asked. ãYou know what they say about the road to hell.ä ãCurious that Counselor Troi would have been focused upon by an electromagnetic disturbance.ä ãKeep your mind on your work,ä Riker grumbled at the androidâs comment. Irritation skittered through him as his hand hovered an inch from the intercom, an inch from calling sickbay. There was Data, a few steps away. Still walking around after that attack. Just shook it off. And Deanna was in sickbay, fighting for control of her mind. Data looked up from the readout screen. ãMy mind is always on my work, Commander. You see, I have a multiphase memory core which allows me to÷ä ãI donât care,ä Riker heard himself bite back. ãIâm really not interested.ä Dataâs brows poked up over his nose. ãPerhaps if I explained on a simpler level÷ä His back cramping, Riker straightened and glared into Dataâs yellow eyes. ãWould you mind?ä ãNot at all, sir,ä the android responded amicably. ãThe concept behind my special multiphase brain capacity is÷ä ãThatâs not what I meant!ä ãIsnât it, sir? It is what you said.ä Geordi reached over and tugged on the androidâs sleeve. ãDonât push the issue, Data. Mr. Riker wants reports exclusively on the disturbance and its source.ä With a childish blink, Data said, ãOh. No sweat.ä He pivoted and bent once again over the screen. ãThe phenomenonâs physical makeup is confusing to the passive sensors. There is little for the sensors to focus upon because the entity is out of phase as often as in. Entity or mechanism, I cannot define it.ä Standing between Riker and Geordi as they each bent over different computer access panels, Data indulged in an all-too-human frown at the graphics that danced at him there. To his right, Riker furiously went on hammering the pressure points of the molecular microelectronics board. ãLetâs start by using the most obvious criterion of life,ä he suggested. ãAre there any signs of organism? Skin? Bones? Cells? Anything?ä ãOrganism neither suggests nor precludes life, sir. I am partly organic, but also mechanical÷ä ãDonât take everything so literally, Data,ä Riker snapped. ãI want a starting point. Iâm not saying all life-forms are organic. This is just a process of elimination. I know perfectly well that life isnât physical components alone. We can keep a body alive indefinitely, but thatâs not life. Not human life, anyway. Get back on those instruments and interpret what you read.ä He tightened his left hand into a ball and felt the sweat squish in his palm. A tangible enemy was one thing; he could deal with that. But all this business of life and nonlife, this wrestling to grab a definition so they could know whether or not they were killing something when they fought to save their own skinsÊ.Ê.Ê. I hate this. And I hate the position Iâm in. Advise the captain? How? Help him fight this thing? How? His hands might as well be strapped to his sides. As first officer, he might as well be nothing. First officer was the supreme go-fer of all time. Not a scientist, not a tactical expert, not a psychologist÷nothing specific, and yet a little of everything, anything the captain needed him to be at the moment. What would it be the next time? Would he be ready? Frustration gnawed at him. PicardÊ.Ê.Ê. damn him. Figure out a way to fight the phenomenon. Thatâs all. Easy. Yes, sir, right away, sir. ãThese readings defy interpretation.ä Dataâs voice grated across Rikerâs nerves. That tone of his, that take-it-or-leave-it toneÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê ãBut if I must verbalize, I would say the phenomenon is behaving in a pseudo-mechanical manner.ä ãTry to be specific, will you?ä Riker barked, his tolerance straining. ãAlways. Itâs made up of individual energy components, but it acts like neither a machine nor a being. It seems to be a living tool÷something fabricated at so high a level of engineering that itâs virtually a life-form.ä ãSounds familiar,ä Geordi grumbled. Data glanced at him, his mouth open, but he still stung from Rikerâs demand and continued on that tack. ãIâm reading high-potency disruptive energies. As soon as it finds us, it could rub us out.ä Riker straightened sharply. ãStop doing that.ä Dataâs eyes flickered as he raised his head. ãSir?ä ãYouâre annoying the hell out of me. Youâre distracting everyone with that kind of speech. Cut it out.ä ãSlang, sir. Colloquial terminol÷ä ãItâs insulting.ä ãIÊ.Ê.Ê. beg your pardon? I am trying to be more human.ä Data backed up against the panel as Riker closed in on him, and he could see that somehow he had infuriated the first officer. ãYouâre never going to be human,ä Riker ground out. ãYouâre not human. You donât seem to get the difference between being human and mimicking humans. You canât be creative because you only see the affectation and none of the substance. Youâre missing life. Until you learn the difference, youâll always be a puppet.ä ãSir÷ä Geordi appeared beside them. ãHeâs only trying to÷ä ãI know what heâs trying to do,ä Riker snapped. They were all silent for a moment. A look of deep injury crossed Dataâs face and he glanced at Geordi, then back to Riker. ãIÊ.Ê.Ê. I am only attempting to improve myself Ê.Ê.Ê. to serve in the best÷ä ãThen serve,ä Riker blurted. ãPut yourself to use in your true capacity. Youâre an android. Use that to its best advantage and quit trying to be something youâre not. Give us something to work with if you can. Provide something for me to take back to the captain thatâll help us out of this.ä He took a step even closer, an intimidating step that backed Data tighter against the panel. ãIf that entity attacks again, I want you to give in to it. See if you can interface with it.ä Dataâs pale brows drew tight over his nose, raised slightly in a delicate expression, proof÷at least to Geordi÷that somewhere under the voltage were feelings that could be hurt. In a near whisper, he responded, ãI promise to try, sir.ä Unable to meet Rikerâs eyes, anymore, he slipped past Geordi and strode quickly toward the spectrometry lab. A breath of the door, and he was gone. Riker watched him go, saw the tension in synthetic shoulders and the kind of stride a human walks when heâs trying to keep from running. Burned into his memory were Dataâs android eyes tightened in that expression of humility and distress, an expression that said he hadnât meant to offend anyone. Riker leaned after the android as if drawn by sudden obligation. He might have taken a step. Had Geordi not drawn his attention. ãIf he gives into that kind of attack,ä the navigator said, ãheâll be risking his life, Mr. Riker.ä Gaining control over his voice, Riker quietly said, ãIâm afraid that may be our best chance to save ourselves.ä He turned toward the monitors again, only to find himself blocked off as Geordi shouldered in front of him. ãSo thatâs okay, then? Sacrifice Data because heâs not alive?ä ãLook, Geordi, I donât÷ä ãAre you telling me it isnât true that you always choose him for away missions because heâs more expendable?ä Riker glared into the thin metallic visor and imagined the tension around LaForgeâs blind eyes. ãAs you were, Lieutenant.ä ãWould you try as hard to save his life as you tried to save mine on the bridge?ä ãMan your post, mister!ä LaForge hesitated a telling moment, then stepped back, the muscles in his neck twitching, his arms like tree limbs at his sides. ãAye, sir. Anything you say.ä Chapter Six THE GREAT WARRIOR prowled his technologyâs ramparts, slowly gaining a foothold. He smelled battle. He tasted the raw meat of challenge upon his tongue like blood and ripped flesh. He heard the howl in his mind, the song of warriors shrieking through his instincts, and he couldnât abide the price of peace. He knew, deep in his soul, that there would be trouble long before there was peace, and every fiber of his being prepared for it now, lest he be surprised later. ãWorf.ä Only great effort blocked the growl of response and replaced it with a civilized word. ãYes?ä ãThe captainâll want a report when he gets back up here.ä Worf turned to the supple feminine body and the storybook face over it. She looked like a girl who was dressed as a boy. A girl from the stories his adoptive human parents once told him, stories that never satisfied his hunger for adventure. Very young was he when his Starfleet parents gave up telling him stories of girls who dressed as boys to fool the churchgoers and replaced them with meatier tales by Bram Stoker, Melville, Dumas, Stervasney, and Kryo to satisfy their rare son. Those he could chew. Those made him howl. ãHe will not be happy with what we have to say, Tasha,ä he told her, quieting his thunderous voice as they stood together on the upper deck, buffered from the bridge by the tactical station a few steps forward. ãI know,ä she agreed. Beneath the lemon cuff of her hair, clear gray eyes kinked at the prospect of facing Picard. ãIâve been doing a study and youâre right. That thingâs working a pattern all right, but the pattern does have some random movements in it. It must be designed to be unpredictable.ä ãYes, Iâve seen it,ä was his husky bass agreement. ãItâs working out a search thatâs deliberately hard to evade. It gives us less than a fifty percent chance of escape.ä ãThatâs a more-than-fifty percent chance of getting caught.ä Tasha bit her lip and took the whole problem personally. ãAnd thatâs only our certainty level. The actual odds could be a lot drearier. Have you been getting the same results? Is it doing what I think itâs doing?ä ãIf you mean do I see the pattern closing in,ä Worf said with ominous certainty, ãyes. Our odds are dropping with every minute we wait to take action. They wonât get better. Theyâll just get worse. The cage is tightening.ä Tasha struck off a few steps of useless pacing, a pitiful echo of the huge cage that was closing around the ship. ãWhat if that thing gets an adrenaline surge or something and bites down harder than it did before? Even if we get shields up to power, we might not be able to take it. At least, not like we are now. Not with shields taxed to protect the whole ship, I mean.ä Worfâs large brown face pivoted up from the small monitor heâd been glaring at. From beneath his Klinzhai skull and the two downturned lances of his eyebrows, his eyes bored through her. ãYouâre not going to suggest÷ä She chewed her lip for a few beats, but her eyes showed none of the vacillation she felt. She shifted from one foot to the other, then, as if braced, to both feet. At her sides, small fists knotted. ãYes, I am,ä she said. ãOh, yes I am.ä ãDo you have the slightest perception of the danger of your proposal, Lieutenant Yar?ä Tasha took refuge in standing at attention as Picard paced around her. Around them the glockenspiel of bridge noise provided little respite. She drew in a long breath and tried not to feel too small as she stood beside Worf. It took all her restraint to keep from snatching a fortifying glance at the Klingon before she could begin. ãYes, sir. I do. But I feel itâs÷ä She stopped, gulping back her voice, as Picard suddenly turned and coiled his lariat of dare around her. She couldnât talk while he was glowering at her like that. ãLetâs hear it,ä he snapped, as though he didnât know what her problem was at all. She refused to flinch, but her stomach shrank anyway. ãYes, sir. Weâve÷that is, Iâve been calculating÷ä ãNever mind the blasted calculations and give me the bottom line.ä ãAs the ship is, I put our odds for escape at less than fifty percent and shrinking. Iâve made an analysis of the last attack and it looks like the thing attacked only the high-energy portions of the ship. The warp engine chambers, the high-gain condensers on the weaponry, the sensors, and the shields.ä ãYour point, please?ä ãUmÊ.Ê.Ê. is that the saucer section by itself may not attract the thingâs attention.ä Picardâs glare was molasses, but somewhere in it Tasha was sure she saw a tiny flicker of hope that she could walk away with her head and at least one arm. ãSeparate the shipâs hulls?ä he murmured. ãThatâsÊ.Ê.Ê. my suggestion, Captain.ä ãRealizing, of course, that would leave the saucer section with only rudimentary shielding and no appreciable weaponry if the stardrive section were to be destroyed. You do add that into your equation, do you not, Lieutenant?ä Tasha actually broke attention and turned toward him. ãThe saucer sectionâs chances of sneaking away on very low impulse power go up to almost ninety percent, sir, especially if we run some power through the stardrive section and distract the thing.ä ãNot counting any unknown variables.ä She backed into attention again and focused her eyes on the bulkhead over the main viewer. ãCorrect, sir. But also, if stardrive doesnât have to put out a shield envelope around the entire saucer section too, weâll be able to pump more power into our shields and maybe withstand another attack. Long enough to fight it, I mean, sir.ä Picard also turned, but to eye the glowing, pulsing, fuming, flat wall of electrokinetic power that searched for them in the upper range of the screen. ãAnd stardriveâs chances of escape in your scenario?ä Tasha now took that glance from Worf, and held it like a lifeline. ãLessÊ.Ê.Ê. than eighteen percent, sir.ä Jean-Luc Picard circled his two personal hotheads, came around behind them, saw their shoulders twitch, one set narrow and braced by the gold tabard, the other set broad and tall, making a field of black-over-red. He came around starboard of them again and stopped in front of Worf, with Tasha blocked from his view. Before them the great wide viewscreen spread, holding in its starfield the glaring enemy. The silence mutilated their nerves, the ticking clock of the entityâs encroachment, and yet there was strength in the captainâs voice when at last he spoke. ãIâll take those odds. Get Riker up here.ä ãReport, Mr. Data.ä Picard hadnât told them his plans yet. Riker now stood near him as Data and Geordi LaForge squared off before them on the bridge. Riker hovered nearby, acutely aware of Deanna Troiâs absence. Was he just being too sensitive or was Data making a point of not looking at him? Am I imagining it? ãFrom its actions and its capabilities÷lightspeed, for instance,ä Data began, ãI shall risk concluding that it was indeed constructed and couldnât possibly have evolved naturally. It possesses a rudimentary intelligence, reacting to everything on a basic, simple set of instructions, rather like an insect. When a praying mantis eats its own mate, for example, sir, it is simply doing what instinct tells it to do, without any concept of rightness or wrongness.ä Picard rubbed his palms against his thighs and resisted the urge to pace. ãYouâre telling me itâs the galaxyâs biggest bug.ä Data cocked his head in a semblance of nodding, but he wasnât ready to commit to that. ãEssentially.ä ãWhich leaves out reasoning with it,ä Riker offered. ãCorrect, sir,ä Data said, ãbut if we can interface with it somehow on its own level, I may be able to effect changes in that simple programming enough to fake it out÷ä He caught it fast, and glanced at Riker. ãEnough to alter its actions.ä Dataâs self-consciousness disappeared as the turbolift opened and emitted Troi, with Dr. Crusher hovering after her, obviously unwilling to let the counselor out of her sight. ãCaptain!ä Troi blurted. Immediately she drew back, collected herself, and plainly announced, ãSir, they want something from us.ä Picard looked at her dubiously. ãI beg your pardon? Have you been in contact with it again?ä ãYou could say that,ä Crusher said, eyeing Troi. ãFor a minute there, thought we were going to lose her.ä ãIndeed. Are you all right, Counselor?ä ãCaptain, they want something,ä Troi pushed on, ãsomething we can provide for them, or at least something they think we can provide.ä At the center of a brewing storm, Picard turned to accuse Data. ãWell, Data? Thatâs certainly not the wrinkle we expected to develop, given your assessment.ä Dataâs finely wrought lips slid open on nothing for a moment. ãSir, that cannot be accurate. All evidence suggests that the hostile is not capable of consciously wanting something from us. It has the intelligence of an insect on all response levels. It responds automatically to stimuli. Its reactions do not involve thought as we know it, but only stimulus and response.ä Picard wagged a finger toward Troi and said, ãBut the counselor tells us otherwise, while youä÷the finger swung full about÷ãtell us itâs not attacking out of malice. Something in its very simple programming triggers its actions.ä ãYes, sir,ä Data was glad to agree. ãOur weapons attracted and agitated it.ä ãWe do have to realize that there may be a difference between the hostile and the minds I am sensing, sir,ä Troi pointed out. ãBut in any case,ä Riker pointed out, ãwe have to deal with it. We canât reason with it or frighten it, and thereâs only a low chance of deceiving it. But the advantage is that we may be able to figure out its programming, as Data suggested.ä ãBut not,ä Picard pressed, ãif itâs rational.ä He placed his hands upon the bridge horseshoe rail and gazed up meaningfully at Deanna Troi. ãIf itâs rational, we may find ourselves impaled on the horns of Mr. Dataâs logic.ä Data stepped down to the main deck and stood beside his chair at the Ops station as though to draw strength from a companion. ãI cannot decipher its program by its actions alone, sir. There would have to be some form of communication or interface. In deference to Counselor Troi, I suggest that though it is programmed, it is also fundamentally alive. It does sustain itself with a basic survival drive.ä ãIf we can figure out that programming,ä Picard followed, ãwe can thwart it much as we would draw a moth into a trap with a bright light.ä Geordi chose this moment to step past him and take his post at Conn, muttering, ãWeâre gonna need one sucker of a butterfly net.ä ãThere is a danger, sir,ä Data went on, ãin attracting its attention. We might inadvertently get its Irish up and lay an egg.ä Picard had already started to comment, but instead he glowered at the android for a moment. ãYes, Iâd already surmised that. Thank you. Mr. Riker÷ä ãSir?ä ãPrepare to separate the modules.ä Riker jolted around. ãSir?ä ãYou heard me, didnât you?ä ãYes, sir, butÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãDo you have a question?ä Riker straightened and changed his tone. ãYes, I do, sir. Saucer separation is ideally only for situations when weâll be going into battle battle and can leave the saucer far behind, well out of the danger zone. If we separate in this situation, theyâll be completely helpless!ä ãInteresting way to put a question.ä Picard eyed him foxily. ãThis isnât the time to get cold feet about this shipâs capabilities. Lieutenant Yar, recount your statistics for the first officer.ä Yar stood straight behind tactical, her cheeks flushed. ãAye, sir. We calculate only a fifty-fifty chance for the whole ship to escape, but if we separate and the battle hull distracts the thing, the saucer section may have as high as ninety percent chance of escape.ä ãAnd the battle hull?ä She fidgeted. ãAbout seventeen percent.ä A vertical crease appeared over the bridge of Rikerâs nose; he felt the tightness of his expression as he glared at her, saw a film of sweat break out on her face, though she withstood the force of his glare. He felt the tickle of a single lock of his dark brown hair, like an irritating thread over his left eye. His mind echoed Yarâs words, the spectacle they would bring. With them, he felt again all the implications, all the reasoning, all the trouble of having a ship that could do what this ship could do. All the problems of a battle-ready vessel that was also supposed to serve as home and hearth for families, and how awkwardly the two really went together. A battleship is supposed to plunge forward into adversity, a colony vessel to run from it. Both were honorable answers, but what happens when both are the same ship? And when one of them isnât fast enough to run away? This Enterprise had only been separated once before, and that wasnât even a shakedown test. And he himself hadnât even been on board when it happened. Heâd heard about it. An insane move, at full warp speed, only the captainâs prerogative. Not one Riker felt he would have chosen, but he wasnât Jean-Luc Picard, either. In his mind he suddenly envisioned the starship breaking into two parts at lightspeed, imagined the stardrive section shooting on by as the saucer section abruptly fell out of the warp envelope and crammed down to sublight, an effect that must have thrown every one of its passengers to the deck. PassengersÊ.Ê.Ê. damn this straddling. The captainâs words rang out. ãAll hands, prepare to transfer command to the battle bridge.ä Picard evidently wasnât interested in opinions on the subject. There would be no group decision this time, Riker saw. If he were captain, there never would be. Not even about whether or not the captain should participate in dangerous away missions. Not even that. But, as he told himself again, again, again÷he wasnât Jean-Luc Picard, wasnât the man who now scanned the bridge crew and diplomatically said, ãIâll need a volunteer to command the saucer section in this crisis.ä Riker wasnât about to speak up. He clamped his lips and waited for someone else to volunteer. Tasha opened her mouth, then closed it, and seemed to hope the captain didnât see. Worf never so much as considered the offer, that much was clear on his swarthy face. Data started to turn from his position at Ops, but thought again and swallowed his unspoken response. Geordi slunk down in his chair to the point of invisibility. On the upper deck, Beverly Crusher and Deanna Troi stood like mannequins, not daring to rupture the captainâs carefully phrased offer or the reactions it would bring. Troi stood especially still. She felt the quandary of each person here as the captainâs request flowed into each mind, stirred their consciences, and flowed out again. Picard turned in place, touching each of them with his gaze. He took this unlikely moment to shake his head almost sentimentally. ãIâm very proud of every one of you,ä he said. At bridge center, William Riker beamed at them, proud of the stock he had behind him. Picard touched the intercom on his command chair. ãEngineering, this is Picard. Chief Engineer Argyle, report to the bridge to take command of the saucer module.ä ãArgyle here. Did I hear you right, Captain?ä ãYou did. Get up here, and bring an adjunct bridge crew with you. Weâre going to take some action.ä ãYes, sir. Iâll be right there, sir.ä The captain turned forward now without the slightest pause. ãMr. Riker, you may begin.ä His stomach churning so hard that he actually bent forward÷he knew that Deanna saw the change if no one else did Riker faced the helm and forced out words that bothered him. A lot. ãMr. Data, activate the battle bridge power junctions so itâs ready when we get there. All hands, prepare to adjourn to the battle bridge. Go to yellow alert. Secure for saucer separation.ä The mandolin jangles of starship noise jumped to life on the compact and utilitarian battle bridge. This was a darker place, in some ways a more private place, a place with its mind on its work. The viewscreen here was markedly smaller, as though to demand more focused attention. Enterpriseâs command crew bolted from the turbolift and settled into their respective places. Tasha and Worf to the tactical and science stations, LaForge to the helm, Data to Ops, the captain to the command center, Riker to the place of all first officers÷to the right and slightly behind the captainâs shoulder. There was something about that place. Even when a first officer was somewhere else, he was still always right here. And above them, far above, the vast saucer section would soon break away from its sustaining power source, leaving the stardrive section to its little seventeen percent chance of survival and the gratification of knowing what only self-sacrifice can provide to the human soul. Everyone was aware of LaForgeâs fingers moving across his panel. Beside him, Data slid into his seat and fed in the corresponding internal adjustments÷thrust to get the two modules away from each other as they hung here at full stop, careful limitation of energy surge, just in case the entity could pick up on their move, and myriad other tiny calculations required in what the naked eye saw as a simple maneuver. But this wasnât like pulling apart a childâs toy. A million circuitry signals would have to be rerouted, and the energy to feed them would have to be ready. All the while, the creature outside moved along their starfield, glowing and snapping, hot on the trail of what it had so recently tasted. ãOn my mark,ä Riker said, knowing perfectly well they could do it without him. In the corner of his eye he saw the cool back of Dataâs neck, the muscles working there as Data pegged down to calculating this tricky maneuver, saw the efficiency of android fingers, and felt suddenly crude. ãAll systems at nominal. Energy feed at fifteen percent, allowing for a twenty percent surge on separation. Flight shields only, stardrive aft thrust at point-zero five sublight. All sections comply clearance of turbo-lifts and maintenance shafts.ä The bridge lift opened. Rikerâs concentration shattered. ãDeanna, what are you doing here?ä He actually stepped away from the captain toward the lift, so driven was he to ask this, to ask why she would expose herself to so puny a chance of living beyond today. But he saw it in her almond eyes as she met his scolding tone unyieldingly, and he felt it in the emotions she flung at him in the next few seconds. He drew up short, canceling what he was about to say÷whatever it was. Even if he had spoken, the words would have been battered aside as Picard jammed his way in front of Riker. ãCounselor Troi, damn it, you were ordered to remain with the saucer section. Explain yourself.ä She had been completely ready for this, it seemed, for she remained the quintessence of poise. ãSir, Iâm needed here. If thereâs any chance of communication with those beings, I am the only person who can provide it. Iâd like to volunteer to remain here.ä ãYes,ä Picard rasped. ãAnd I notice you waited until the lifts were shut down rather than volunteering while we were still topside.ä He pointed at her and ferociously said, ãIâll discuss this with you later. Providing there is a later for us.ä Troi let her shoulders settle, and breathed, ãYes, sir.ä Her legs ached with the tension and now the relief of knowing she would stay and bear this out. Perhaps she could evade the captain, but not Riker. Her gaze caught his, and he had that look on his face, that look with all the levels going back through it, back and back to the core of his being, and she could see all the levels as though looking into an infinity mirror. ãMr. Riker, we donât have all day.ä ãNo, sir, I know that. Mr. LaForge, Mr. Data. Effect saucer separation÷now.ä Every breath held. Every spine stiffened. A subtle hum of power came up from beneath them, up from the caverns of Enterpriseâs gigantic power factory to the interlocking mechanisms in her neck. With a dissonant grind, the ship pulled herself apart. No level of mechanical perfection would ever diminish the power of that dividing dividing moment, no matter how faint, no matter how insulated. They either heard it or thought they heard it÷a husky clunk-chunk as couplings released, grippers let go like great claws, their pads sucking back from the shipâs yoke with a rubbery reluctance, pins and bolts, lashes and hasps came loose from their harnesses, and all the little pins, which had moments ago held the intricate circuitry that ran the ship, retracted. As though severed by the ax of a great woodsman, the ship became two. The saucer section, with all its families, was suddenly cut adrift. On the battle bridge, Picard and his command crew watched the stardrive section back slowly away. They seldom got this view of their starship÷or even part of her. The saucer section was a wide plate with tapered edges, her frosty whiteness everywhere reflecting the rings of light from rectangular windows and energy-release points. Lights everywhere, like a glittering foil Christmas tree. A kind of pain cut through Captain Picard. He watched as the saucerâs impulse engines suddenly came to life and glowed a bright silvery blue. Starship captains were supposed to be decisive. Yet their decisions were like raw surgery to him. Why must there be such things in the universe? Why must there be snakes in the water? Riker watched the saucer section drift away, mesmerized. Hmm. Wasnât so bad. Letâs hope everything else goes that well. When he could pull his attention away from the sheer beauty of the saucer, he looked at the captain. If heâd ever seen Jean-Luc Picard vacillate, now was that time. The captain looked as though he might suddenly call that disk back into place, gather all his charges beneath his robe. For several seconds Riker expected to have to give that order, even figured out what words he would use to keep the captain from looking too foolish. But Picard said nothing. In silence he bore out the courage of his conviction. ãAll secure,ä LaForge reported. ãFree to maneuver, sir.ä ãAcknowledged,ä Picard murmured. The taste of commitment. ãMaintain status. Send a low-band communique to Mr. Argyle. Tell him to maneuver behind that small asteroid belt on the other side of the gas giant. It may mask their escape.ä ãAye, sir,ä Worf said. ãDispatching.ä They watched in silence as the saucer sectionâs impulse drive flared for those few moments, then faded back, providing the huge disk with just enough thrust to coast toward the dangerous parameters of the entityâs shrinking cage. For Riker especially, this terrible moment had its profundities. There were many kinds of civilizations that would never have provided him the chance to die here today, at least in a place of his own choice. The beauty of technology awed him. It was the freedom to build what floated outward before them, the freedom to strike toward greater goals and more profitable accomplishments, to have the resources to use the wealth of their healthy society to create marvels like the one heâd just seen, and it was the freedom to die in space if that was the turn of the day. He glanced once again at Captain Picard, and yes, it was there too. Awe. The captain didnât seem afraid. More than anything, he looked a bit miffed at the entity for making him break his ship in two. Or is it something else? Riker wondered. I know him so little. Their trance was broken as Picard turned to Troi and bluntly asked, ãGetting anything at all?ä The black curls of her hair made her face seem pale, the dark eyes set there like onyx chunks. ãNothing yet, sir.ä ãWorf, any changes in its energy pattern?ä Worfâs guttural response carried a distinct impatience. ãOnly the same flux and shift itâs been doing all this time, sir.ä ãLieutenant Yar, you keep an eye on the locations of the saucer and that thing. I want to know if theyâre about to run afoul of each other, and I want to know ahead of time.ä ãYes, sir,ä she said, and instantly bent over her glossy board. ãOn second thought, best we not wait. Mr. Riker, letâs make a noise in the darkness.ä Riker nodded, never mind that it was a silly gesture. His throat was dry and he didnât want to speak up until heâd swallowed a few times. Then he tapped the command intercom and said, ãRiker to engineering. Do we have warp power?ä Engineer MacDougal spoke up so quickly she might as well have been on the battle bridge with him. ãStardrive is still down, sir, but we should have it back on line soon. It was an electrical burnout and not a matter of power generation.ä ãIâm not asking for warp drive yet,ä Riker said, watching Picard to see if this was what the captain had in mind. ãI just need a flush of power through the tubes. Say, ten percent. Enough to keep its attention off the saucer until theyâre out of the area. Be ready to shut down immediately so we can hide again too.ä ãI understand what you need, Mr. Riker, but warp power isnât that easy to control. There has to be a grace period on either side of the flush.ä Riker glanced self-consciously at Picard, who was watching him, and acknowledged, ãWhatever works. And whenever youâre ready. Riker out.ä Now they would make a noise. They would flip a coin in the dark warehouse and hope its tiny ring could be heard but not found. Up from the bowels of the engineering section, deep within the core matter/antimatter reactors that made a starship what it was, came a surge of raw power. Even that tiny surge, that ten percent, could be felt. Then there was a change on the screen. The crackling infrared diffraction image of their pursuer suddenly paused in its search across the bottom of the viewscreen, and made a deliberate turn in their direction. ãItâs coming after us,ä Yar reported. She gripped the edge of her panel, refusing to look up at the screen. Instead she watched the two target points, starship and hostile, close toward one another. Her voice quavered. ãDirect line.ä ãPoint-three-zero sublight, helm,ä Riker said, gripping the headrest of LaForgeâs chair, ãheading, two-two-four mark one-five.ä ãAye, sir.ä ãFaster, LaForge.ä ãAye, sir, executing.ä ãLieutenant, is it following?ä the captain asked, not turning. Yar nodded, even though he wasnât watching her. ãAye, sir. It is.ä ãSpeed?ä ãPoint-four sublight.ä ãAll rightÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Picard didnât sit down in the command chair despite his movement toward it. ãLetâs cast the pearls and see if the swine follows. Lieutenant LaForge, increase to fifty percent sublight.ä ãPoint-five, aye.ä The beheaded stardrive section, its energy-rimmed nacelles now its most prominent feature, slid around on an imaginary rail and cut diametrically across the entityâs search pattern, exactly opposite to the heading of the saucer section, away from the swirling gas giant, away from the tiny belt of asteroids that would someday pull together into a new planet and circle the proud little sun of this system. ãCaptain,ä Worf said, breaking the concentration, ãMacDougal reports we now have sufficient power for shields, but not stardrive and not much for weapons. She estimates just a few minutes for those.ä Picard nodded without looking. ãI think itâs working, sir,ä Riker told him, his voice so low that it hurt his throat. He mentally ticked off the distance between stardrive and the saucer, and the time needed until the saucer section could be considered safe. ãGood thinking, Captain.ä ãSir!ä Tasha rasped, sudden horror in her voice. ãItâs÷ä ãI see it. Full about. Power up the shields! Get that damned thingâs attention!ä ãPowering up,ä Tasha said instantly. ãBattle shields at full.ä No matter how careful the plan, no matter the amount of hardware, the high-tech physics, the level of mathematics and detailed analysis÷no matter any of that, mankind had never been able to second-guess, sideswipe, or overcome plain old bad luck. Who could know how long the thing had been roaming the galaxy, doing what it was doing today? There was no way to know what habits it had developed, what preferences, what impulses it had learned to follow. And who could know what it spotted? A glint of light off the saucerâs hullÊ.Ê.Ê. a tiny leak of subatomic particles from the impulse fusion reactorÊ.Ê.Ê. a high-frequency output from maintenance? These were things that would be completely ignored in the daily running of a starship. But somehow, something told the menace that this was the likeliest source of dinner. Its bug brain got stuck on the idea of that target instead of this one, and so it turned on the saucer. Picard spun to Worf. ãAnything?ä ãNo change, sir,ä the Klingon said clearly and fiercely. ãWeâre putting out twenty times the energy being emitted from the saucer section right now, but it doesnât seem impressed.ä ãMake a tight pass. Weâve got to draw it off.ä Geordi LaForge fought to keep his hands from shaking on the controls at the idea of sweeping by that mass of ugly. What he saw with his enhanced vision was so vicious a knot of power that he avoided looking at the screen. He would fly on instruments; he would do as ordered. He would push the ship past that nightmare and swing around it on the end of an invisible rope. Too bad this ship didnât have a chicken switch. The ship swung through space, doubling back toward the crackling energy field of its enemy. Now the saucer section was dominant in the viewscreen, and between them and it. A wall of blinding, snapping electrical tongues, a terrible prism to look through. LaForge increased speed without being told. He knew what he had to do. Give that firecracker a taste of raw antimatter. For one self-indulgent moment, he looked toward Data. The android was deceptively impassive, a human form wrapped in infrared, a man-figure of hot and cool places, all moving inside a glow. As nothing mechanical could, Data felt the gaze and returned it. He responded only with a significant lifting of his straight brows. Together, at least. Like soldiers should die if they must die at all. Behind them, Riker held the helm chair more tightly than he meant to. Now the screen before them was ablaze with the closeness. If luck went with them, theyâd be in big trouble damned soon. A spear of anger pierced him when he saw the saucer sectionâs impulse drive come back on. Argyle knew it was following them now, and that they were too hopelessly slow to get away. Even so, like a turtle trying to get off a road in the middle of traffic, the big disk kept surging forward on full sublight. Frustration bent its ugly face over him. He wished Picard had insisted one of them stay. All at once the saucer section needed a real command and not just engineers. The entity stepped up speed to follow, and stardrive did the same, even faster. The ship tipped as LaForge swung it around in front of the enemyâs electrical body. As they passed it they saw that it was indeed more flat than round, a gigantic field of computer fakery, yet somehow completely animated, somehow walking around in space without the screen it was supposed to be displayed on. Its electrokinetic bands sparked and erupted as the stardrive section plowed past it and swished off in the other direction. Picard came up between Data and LaForge. ãWhat the devil! Nothing?ä ãNo response,ä LaForge said, and somehow he was disappointed. ãWorf!ä ãNo explanation, sir,ä Worf boomed. ãItâs unrelenting on the saucer.ä Data looked up and said, ãPerhaps it is something more than an insect, Captain.ä And as he said it, he looked across the small bridge at Deanna Troi, who stood now beside Tasha, ominously silent, leaving herself open to assault by mind weapon. ãShark,ä Riker muttered. ãNumber One?ä Riker turned to the captain. ãItâs a shark focusing on one fish in a school. It ignores tastier morsels for the one it focuses on.ä ãSir.ä Troi spoke up suddenly. Her voice was a shock on the compact compact bridge. ãWe must draw it off. The saucer÷ä ãWonât stand the attack, I know, Counselor, I know. Shields to full power. Engineering, this is the captain. Have we got warp speed?ä ãMacDougal, sir, and barely. I can give you up to warp three.ä ãDo so! And I want an emergency antimatter dump on my mark÷ä Riker spun around. ãSir?ä ãWeâre going to make damned sure it canât ignore us again. Weâre going to crash the gate, and right now. That thing is not going to÷ä ãSir!ä Yar choked. ãItâs closing on the saucer! Burst of speed at point-seven-five÷ä ãSet course dead center on it, warp three and engage!ä Both LaForge and Data actually cocked their heads toward each other as though to see if theyâd both heard the same thing, and that the captain saw it. ãI said engage!ä he thundered. Then his voice lowered to a whisper, like a gathering volcano. ãWeâre going right through that pretty bastard.ä Chapter Seven PICARD STOOD HIS battle bridge as though it were a chariot. In his hands he held the reins of chargers, in his eyes the image of the enemy. Even to Riker, who himself was a tree trunk of a man, Picard suddenly seemed larger than life. Every ship had its no-win scenario; this was theirs. Despite the primitive programming of that thing out there, it was very efficient and it had them cold. They were going to have to deal with it; there was no getting away. It filled the screen now, leaving no black edges, a wall of fulmination and color, just the kind of thing a mother tells her children never to touch, never even to think of touching. The stardrive section aimed its great cobraâs head for that wall and jammed forward at all the speed she could muster. And even warp three÷warp anything÷was impressive and terrifying enough for anyone in his right mind. In the last few seconds, Riker closed his eyes. He had to, to accept the fact that he was about to die to save the others. That was his unspoken duty, he knew; it was why the ship separated at all÷when push came to shove, the stardrive section was expendable. They were supposed to sacrifice themselves, to step in front of the bullet. This was the whole idea. His thick body tightened. Heâd tasted the metallic flavor of the thingâs attack before and now÷ Enterprise crashed into the electrical wall at dead center, and erupted into pyrotechnics with a deafening crack. Voltage snapped throughout the ship, accosting every panel, every living body, a terrible concussion after concussion. Spasms racked through, each one accompanied by a blitz of senseless lights. Riker heard Deanna shriek as it focused on her, but he couldnât even turn around, couldnât even look. CrackÊ.Ê.Ê. CRAAAAAACKÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê And the ship burst out the other side÷a shaken vessel, filled with shaken people, sucking a tail of spectral fire after it. ãLaForge, veer into the asteroids! Engineering, this is Picard÷ä How could he talk? How could he still be getting sound up out of his throat? Riker tried to turn again, this time toward the captain, and this time he managed it. Picard was crouching against his command chair, one elbow locked over the chairâs arm, shouting into the intercom. ãEngineering! Emergency antimatter dump on my mark÷do you copy!ä ãEngineeringÊ.Ê.Ê. uh, we copyÊ.Ê.Ê. ready when÷ä ãLaForge, are we in those asteroids yet?ä Trying to push his hands through a snapping electrical field that still swirled around his panel, LaForge pecked the course into the helm. Each time he pecked, his fingers were assaulted by the churning voltage, but he kept on until the ship was driving itself into the dirty trail of preplanetary garbage between the gas giant and the star. Through a glittering cloud that filled the bridge from bulkhead to bulkhead and ceiling to floor, Riker strained to see Picard and beyond him, Deanna. She was crouching too, both hands holding on to the bridge rail, her face turned toward one arm as though to shield her eyes and perhaps much more of herself. But an instant later it was the viewscreen that snatched his attention, in time for him to see the thing drop the bone it was carrying and try to get the one it saw reflected in the stream. Its colors flared and it shot toward them, now huge on the screen, filling it, racing toward them at unimaginable speed. Theyâd done it÷theyâd attracted its attention. Too well. ãCaptain, itâs after us!ä he shouted over the electrical lightning all around them. ãFull speed!ä Picard thundered. He too turned, looked, saw. ãEntering asteroids now, sir,ä LaForge called, his special sight barely able to stand the dance of lights around him. Picardâs voice rang through the ship. ãMacDougal, dump the antimatter tank÷now!ä When the exhaust was triggered, it sounded for all the world like a giant toilet flushing. There was a swirl of sound, then a shudder crashed through the lower sections, and in a radical maneuver that was reserved for unexpected containment leaks, the ship regurgitated and dumped all the contents of her antimatter tank. Antimatter washed out from the nacelles and spewed into the asteroid belt. Wherever it struck matter in the vacuum of space, there was an explosion÷a huge one. An explosion that whipped its tendrils of fire this way and that for thousands of miles, some hundreds of thousands. Each blow and its corresponding halo of smaller blows sent matter/ antimatter shock waves plunging across space, rocking the starship forward each time as she raced to get away. The ship coursed through the asteroids and out the other side, but as soon as the antimatter was flushed the warp speed fell away and they dropped to an impulse crawl. Everyone on the bridge was thrown forward as the ship whined to compensate for the shocking drop in speed. Riker raised an arm to shield his eyes from the pyrotechnics still running amuck on the bridge, and found the viewscreen in time to see a string of bright yellow explosions, large, small, blinding. ãKeep the shields a priority,ä Picard gasped. ãTheyâll be weak on impulse power alone, and you may need to tap phaser energy to maintain them. Engineering, do you copy?ä He was still hanging on to his chair somehow and funneling orders this way and that while he watched the thing settle into the asteroid belt and sit there eating explosions. Then one last splatter of color and voltage ignited on the bridge and shocked each of them like a jolt from an exposed circuit. But it wasted no more time. Now it whistled around the bridge with a kind of finality, drew its vortex into a knot, and latched onto Data as though sucked there. It hit him with a stiff hand, knocking him right out of his chair. For every volt of electricity the others were now suddenly spared, Data had to take up the slack. He was dragged sideways and driven backward against the bridge rail until the force could push him no farther. A red-orange envelope formed around him, sparks flashing inside it, and shook him. Within it he shuddered and gasped, the bellows that served as lungs being squeezed along with the rest of him. ãNo!ä Geordi shouted. This time the menace was familiar, and neither it nor Geordiâs reaction was unexpected÷by Riker or by Data. As Geordi bolted from his own chair, Riker caught him at the end of a good old boardinghouse reach, his hand clamping around Geordiâs arm like a vise. In the same instant Data used one of those awful squeezes to gasp out, ãStay away! Geordi÷ä The static sizzled across Geordiâs hand as he reached out, but Dataâs command made him draw back again. Through his visor he stared at the devilish infrared sheath, and it spat back at him with a strangely comprehensible warning. ãLaForge, as you were!ä Picard maneuvered between them. He examined the white field of static as it snapped around Data. If Data could feel pain, he was feeling it now. If they had any doubt that he could, for this moment they had none. Riker came around forward of Data, keeping just clear of the static envelope. Only once did he look away from it, only long enough to check on Troi. She was on the upper deck, gripping the rail, staring over it at them, her face lined with concern and anticipation. But she looked okay for now, considering. ãCaptain,ä Riker began, holding out a hand as though to steady the situation, ãif we can talk to it now÷ä LaForge pushed forward, stopped only by the presence of Picard. ãNo! Weâve got to get him out of it!ä ãThis might be our only chance,ä Riker insisted. ãHe doesnât deserve to be on your sucker list, Mr. Riker,ä LaForge said bitterly, just short of snarling. ãI know,ä Riker told him. ãI know. Move back. Thatâs an order. CaptainÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Picard made a half-circle around the android and the force that held him. ãYesÊ.Ê.Ê. yesÊ.Ê.Ê. steady, everyone.ä He moved in so closely that the static field ran down his arms and legs and caused ripples on his skin. ãData, can you hear me?ä The crackling settled down suddenly. It was as though a balloon popped and shrank to its natural shape, ugly transparent colors wrapping Data and schooling around him. His breathing lost some of its gaspiness, though he still panted and strained against what was obviously still an attack. His eyes were fixed on the dimly lit battle bridge ceiling, but working as though there were words up there to read. He blinked and squinted, fighting for meaning in what he saw. His arms were flared at his sides, his hands spread, long fingers twitching. Riker moved to the captainâs side very slowly, and spoke in low tones barely above whispers. ãThereâs some kind of harmonic sympathy going on. Like radio waves causing a crystal to vibrate. Somehow, heâs compatible with it.ä Picard nodded, once. ãData?ä he began again. ãCan you hear me? Do you understand me?ä For a time there was nothing. Then, the tiniest ãYesÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä The response went through them all like a knife. ãData, speak to me,ä the captain prodded, using his resonant voice for the effective tool it was. ãIÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãGo on. Try harder. Iâm listening. Go on.ä ãSubÊ.Ê.Ê. circuitÊ.Ê.Ê. comÊ.Ê.Ê. comÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãCommunication?ä ãYesÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãThatâs what I was hoping to hear. Can you talk to it?ä Dataâs brushstroke features contorted with frustration. ãI canâtÊ.Ê.Ê. canât transmitÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãKeep trying. Stay calm, everyone. No one move. Worf, report.ä Even the Klingon was driven to lower his voice in the presence of the vortexâs assault on Data. ãStill chewing the antimatter reactions in the asteroid belt, sir. No sign of changing course.ä ãSpeaking to youÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Her voice was soft, but this time it had an inflection they didnât recognize, one that made them turn to her now in spite of Dataâs entrapment as Deanna Troi stepped stiffly down to the main deck. Riker reached out for her and she took the hand he offered, but her expression was that of one who was looking into a blinding light. The same as Dataâs now÷seeing something that wasnât there. ãYour language,ä she murmured. ãI speak in.ä Riker was holding her hand, and now he began a hesitant step that would draw him right up close. ãNo,ä Picard said sharply then, gesturing him back. With an extra push he nudged Riker away and came between them, quite aware of Troiâs hand, suddenly empty, reaching for Rikerâs as it fell away. So part of her was here, at least. ãWho are you?ä Picard began carefully. Troiâs eyes began to tear with the strain. ãAllÊ.Ê.Ê. you endÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãWe donât understand. We donât know what you are,ä the captain clearly said. Troi began to tremble, a bone-deep trembling that came as much from her own effort as from the effect of whatever was happening to her. Despite Picardâs renouncement of folklore and ghost stories, the battle bridge took on the hazy elemental aura of a seance. Troi herself was like a specter now, a thing of dark times, of times when ignorance made indelible marks upon the imaginations of all men for all time. She was a whisper of legend somehow transferred into the present. Her hair glowed, ebony beneath the flashings, and in spite of all the lights from Dataâs assailant, her eyes were their usual pumice black. Yet in the midst of enchantment there was also the conscious work of a scientist. And never once were they allowed to forget that Data was also involved; the snapping brightness from the vortex around him slithered across Troiâs face in a constant and patternless reminder. Riker stepped tentatively toward her, and was grateful that Picard didnât try to stop him. ãDeannaÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä he began. Then he had nothing to say afterward. Troi forced herself to speak. Somehow they could see and understand that the insistence was hers and no one elseâs. ãYouÊ.Ê.Ê. can endÊ.Ê.Ê. it.ä The captain squinted as though he could see the words. Something about the way she said it made him motion the bridge to silence. Her voice÷still soft. A raspy whisper only. But it held a power, a decisiveness Picard hadnât expected to hear at such a moment. And when the statement was over, it was completely over. Her effort slid off, she was allowed a deep breath, and the light patterns reflecting on her face began to fade. Riker and Picard spun about, and sure enough Data was looking more like Data and less like a Fourth of July sparkler. ãNo one move!ä Picard warned. ãWait till itâs completely gone.ä In spite of the order, Riker sidled toward Troi, keeping his eye on her while Data glittered in his periphery, and when she suddenly collapsed, he was almost beside her. The color fled from her face, and Troi dropped so sharply that Riker almost missed her completely. He was able to catch her upper arm and keep her head from striking the bridge rail, but she turned in his grip like a dangling fish until he could rearrange himself and lay her down on the deck. He knelt beside her, brushed the trailing black curls from her forehead, and looked up in time to see the same thing happen to Data. The androidâs denser body struck the deck with a loud thud, and both Geordi and Worf were there to turn him over. In the dimness that suddenly reestablished itself on the bridge, he looked baffled and confused, but unlike Troi he was conscious. Picard glanced once around the bridge to be sure the electrical effect had truly gone away. Then: ãYar, condition of that creature?ä ãStill involved with the asteroids, sir,ä she reported, ãthough going after the antimatter explosions very deliberately. It doesnât seem to understand what the disturbances are. Seems unclear about what it should do.ä Picard huffed. ãArenât we all. LaForge? Leave Data to Worf and get us away from here quickly.ä ãYes, sir÷heading?ä ãBack toward the saucer. While we still have the chance.ä With that he knelt beside Riker, who was hovering rather helplessly over Troi. ãShe alive?ä ãHer pulse is like a bass drum,ä Riker told him. ãUnder these circumstances, who knows what that means?ä ãIâll take it for the good,ä Picard said ruefully, ãsince itâs all weâve got.ä ãAre we going to reestablish contact with the saucer, Captain?ä Riker asked, though he knew the answer. This time reestablishment wouldnât mean the trouble was over. Quite the opposite. It would mean theyâd utterly failed. Picard eyed the screen. ãLooks like we crowed before we were out of the woods. Tasha, contact Engineer Argyle and inform him weâre picking them up.ä ãAye, sir; right away.ä ãMake that low band, as frugal a message as possible.ä ãAye, sir.ä Now the captain lowered his voice as he turned back to Riker, and clasped Troiâs wrist to find her pulse for himself. ãWhat do you make of all this? Those words she spokeÊ.Ê.Ê. and is she in contact with the same thing thatâs contacting Data?ä Riker shook his head. ãItâs pretty boggy right now. Whatever it is, it doesnât seem to be affecting them both in the same way. She keeps talking about these÷well, these people as though she knows them, and it doesnât glitter around her like it does on Data. And it didnât grab her. Did you notice she could still move around? Itâs like the electrical field of the entity is focusing on him, but speaking through her.ä ãYes, but these messages sheâs perceiving. How accurate is her telepathy? Iâve never seen anything like this from Troi before. You know as well as I do that Betazoid telepathy is subfrequency and seems supernatural, but that itâs perfectly explainable scientifically. This business of behaving like a spiritual medium, thoughÊ.Ê.Ê. I donât buy into that.ä ãIf itâs any help,ä Riker told him, ãI donât think she does either, sir.ä ãWhat was it she said? We can end it? End what?ä He tilted a little closer and lowered his voice. ãHave you any idea at all?ä Riker licked his lips. So this was what a first officer was for. To come up with hypotheses about things he knew nothing about. To fudge answers out of nothing. Then again, sometimes that was the best way to get the answers: plow on through until you hit wall or water. ãEnd it. We can. I wonder if that even means us specifically. Could it have been talking to the life essences Troi was sensing?ä ãOr rather, were they talking to it? Tell you what,ä Picard said with sudden conviction, ãsoon as these two can sit straight again, weâre going to put them down side by side and get some answers. Weâve got the messages right in our hands, and we simply arenât interpreting them correctly. Itâs time we did.ä ãHow is she, Mr. Riker?ä Tasha Yar kept her voice low. Afraid to attract attention to herself, possibly because she had stepped away from her post at this critical, touchy moment, she knelt beside Troi and leaned over her, nearly whispering. ãIâm no doctor,ä Riker said simply, venting his frustration. If he had time to step away from his own post, Troi would be on the way to auxiliary sickbay, but there simply werenât those extra seconds to spare. So she would remain here, beneath his hands, within his sight, under what little care he could offer. ãSir, are we going to reconnect with the saucer section?ä Yar asked. She looked at him with eyes that wanted everything to be all right, and she seemed as innocent and hopeful as a Disney drawing. ãI donât think we have much choice,ä he told her. ãIt just didnât work. We get used to situations that work out, and itâs hard to get hit with one that doesnât. Fortunes of risk, thatâs all, Lieutenant.ä He gave her a dismissing toss of his head, silently ordering her back to tactical, but she didnât go. ãMr. Riker?ä ãYes, what is it?ä ãSirÊ.Ê.Ê. it was my idea to separate the sections.ä Tasha paused, waiting to catch his attention again. When she did, she tightened her thin narrow lips and asked, ãShould I apologize to the captain?ä Riker dropped himself into the wishing well of those eyes, just for a moment. Her eyes were enhanced with a simple stroke of eyeliner and a touch of mascara; not very much, as though she were unsure and self-conscious about her femininity. Riker found himself fascinated by those thin brown lines, now slightly smudged and a tad uneven. Tasha Yar was all good intentions in one package. Had Riker not reviewed the personnel files of the bridge officers when he got this assignment, heâd have taken one look into those eyes and at the supple, slim body under them and reassigned her to teaching kindergarten to all the children on Enterprise who would brighten to see her face each day. He felt that way right now÷like she was the child and he was the teacher. There was nothing in her face, in her eyes, to remind him of her upbringing on a pathetic excuse for a colony, yet he thought of it. A colony that had actually seceded from the Federation. Its economy crashed within three decades of that secession. That distant colony where gangs became the ruling bodies, a place that resembled nothing and nowhere as much as it resembled the aftermath of the French Revolution, a place where a bad system was torn down in the name of the people and replaced by something entirely worse. A place whose day-to-day life made the Reign of Terror look organized. Mobs, gangs, indulgence of some, starvation of others, parents teaching their children to be alone because self-sufficiency meant survival. Children functioning like rats in the rubbish. And among them, Tasha. Surviving. Running. Fighting when she had to, eating when she could. Developing the single-mindedness that would allow her to move in record time to chief of security on a mainline starship. Didnât happen every day. A wicked way to grow up. Too quick, too hard, and too unforgiving. Sheâd missed all those girl things, all the giggling and the ducking behind each other and the moon-eyed crushes and the wondrous ignorance that lets a girl believe what she sees on first glance. For Tasha there had been no mirrors or fussing, and if there had been mirrors, wouldnât she have shrunk away from the gaunt teenager whose hair was cropped to make her look like a boy÷less likely to attract the attention of those who took their low-class habits out in casual rape? From the day her mother first took out a knife and sawed off her four-year-old daughterâs knee-length braid, Tasha had learned to deal. Yet she could still look at him now with this absolute cleanness, this complete faith in him and in everything she saw when she looked at a senior officer, everything Starfleet meant for someone who had grown up under mob rule. As he looked at her now, a half ton of responsibility fell on him. What could he say to her that wouldnât wrinkle that antiseptic faith? She was stronger with it than without it, a better officer in her purity than the woman she might have become if she gave in to the callousness to which she had every right. Reaching over the stirring form of Troi, Riker cupped Tashaâs elbow. ãWhatever you do,ä he said, ãdonât apologize.ä Chapter Eight BEHIND THEM, ANTIMATTER explosions were still lighting up the solar system in all directions. Amazing that so little antimatter connecting with so little matter could result in such conflagration. Getting away from the immediate vicinity was easy enough÷the creature wasnât watching for the moment, busy devouring the pure energy of matter/antimatter reactions among the asteroids, and therefore stardrive had a few extra seconds to ride the detonation shock waves and get back toward the saucer section. Easy, considering what had gone on so far today. Reuniting the ships was something else. Riker stood beside the science station where Deanna Troi was now sitting. She appeared disturbed, fatigued, aching, somber, like someone who had just heard bad news, but she seemed aware of the circumstances, perhaps too acutely aware. Watching the disconnected saucer section loom toward them in the viewscreen, Riker felt a shiver of anticipation. This was the tricky part, the difference between pulling an ocean liner out of a dock and pulling back into one. Or maybe like docking one of those aircraft carriers the screen had shown them. Angle had to be right. Every linkage, hasp, and junctor had to line up exactly to its sleeve. Luckily Enterprise had computers made to do that. There was really no such thing as doing it manually, although that was the term they used for less-than-fully automated hookup. Really doing it manually would take all day and half the night. But for the moment Riker was glad Picard watched so carefully as the big ships approached each other, saucer at full stop, stardrive moving forward on inertia so as not to attract the entityâs attention. At no other time would they be more helpless than during those last five feet before hookup. At the last moment a shock wave from the antimatter explosions in the asteroid belt washed across the two ships and pushed between them like a wedge. ãReverse!ä Picard sharply ordered, and beneath him the ship moved to comply. ãStabilize. Smartly now. We may not get another chance. Approach on tight-frequency tractor beams. Get us in there.ä ãAye, sir,ä LaForge mumbled, sweating. ãWorf, assist.ä ãYes, sir,ä the Klingon acknowledged. He left Data sitting on the deck steps and slid in behind Ops. Data blinked and watched, but made no attempt to regain his position; in fact, Riker noticed a thick preoccupation on the androidâs part. Now what? he thought. Look at him. He looks as though a straight answer would do him as much good as itâd do me. Maybe he tried too hard. Maybe he took me too seriously and let that thing get inside and poach him. Next time Iâll keep my mouth shut. Maybe. The deck rocked beneath him. He grabbed for the bridge rail and looked at the viewscreen barely in time to see an artificially lighted view of the saucer sectionâs docking sleeve. Then the viewer went black and disengaged automatically. ãDocking complete, Captain,ä LaForge reported. ãAll sections, all junctions show green. Docking chief reports all secure.ä ãSignal acknowledgment. All stop. Well,ä Picard said with a sigh, ãthat was a blasted fiasco if ever I saw one. Evidently thereâs not going to be an easy way out of this one.ä ãOrders, sir?ä Riker asked. ãCaptain!ä Yar blurted. ãItâs gone!ä The bridge might as well have whirled under them like a giant lazy Susan, they all turned so fast. ãGone?ä Picard repeated. ãJust like that?ä ãEven faster.ä Yar glowered over her equipment as though angrier at the phenomenonâs disappearance than she had been about its attacks. It was allowed to go away, but not without checking with the security chief first. ãNo trail, no residual energy, nothing. Popped out of existence.ä ãCharming. Itâs playing some bloody game with us. Well, Iâd say this confirms Dataâs hypothesis about interdimensionality with rather alarming panache.ä ãMaybe we should get out of the area while we can, sir,ä Riker suggested. ãOh, no, not on your life, Number One,ä the captain responded, ãand I mean that quite literally.ä ãBut if÷ä ãCanât you see? Itâs demonstrated quite clearly that itâs no insect and itâs no shark. Itâs a trapdoor spider. We move÷it springs. All it has to do is wait. Wait until we make a move. And weâre not going to.ä He turned to the waiting faces of the tactical bridge crew and authoritatively said, ãAll stop. Shut down all systems including internal with the exception of basic life support. Turn off everything that can conceivably be turned off. Suspend experimentation and testing of any kind unless I specifically order it, all food processors, all extraneous utensils, terminals, holographs, intraship communication, generators, plumbing, everything. Reduce shipâs heating and lighting to bare minimum. Keep sound levels down. Tell people to get where theyâre going, then stay there. Weâre going to shut down the turbolifts within ten minutes and use only maintenance ladders. Have you got that?ä Riker tilted his head dubiously. ãI donât know how long we can hold out like that.ä Picardâs dark eyes thinned. ãCities have endured blackouts before, Mr. Riker,ä he said, ãand so shall we. Ever since submarine warfare and the blitz, groups of people have had to endure periods of excruciating silence.ä ãThose were trained military personnel, sir. Itâs going to be harder on÷ä The captain silenced him with a toss of his head and unexpectedly lowered his voice. ãDonât be insulting.ä ãRight. Sorry, sir.ä Riker cast an appropriate gesture at Worf and said, ãShipwide systems comply. Iâll check everything personally.ä The captain nodded. ãAs soon as we get back to the main bridge, I want a complete systems check in preparation to feed antimatter from the reserves into the main tank to make up for our loss just now. I want it to go smoothly, Riker. Thatâs a lot of energy changing places, and we donât want it detected. Notify engineering. Theyâll have their hands full with the exchange and the charge up to warp power.ä ãAye, sir, Iâll see to it.ä ãAll hands, prepare to transfer command÷ä ãCaptain÷ä Troi came to life abruptly and pushed herself unsteadily from the seat. Had she not caught herself on the command command chair, she might have fallen, but there was something more than physical stamina keeping her on her feet. The captain caught her arm. ãCounselor, you stay where you are. I want to have Dr. Crusher look at you again.ä ãLater, sir, please. Captain, may I speak with you privately?ä she asked, with a small glance at Riker. ãThis isÊ.Ê.Ê. feels very personal to me, sir.ä The captain indulged in a long study of her eyes, her expression, the degree of strength with which she clamped her hand on his arm÷something she didnât seem to realize she was doing÷and he measured her veracity like a lie detector. His gauges were his experience, hard-earned abilities to judge what he heard by the expression of those who were saying it, the tone of voice and the slight quavers in it, the flickering of eyes, and the slight tightness of lashes. He believed her, believed this wasnât just a whim, that she had something critical to say and was still rational enough to know the difference. He sensed Riker approaching, knew the first officer was looking over his shoulder, taking advantage of his height to look at Deanna Troi and silently ask if perhaps he could also be involved in her secrets. Only that made the captainâs decision tricky. ãVery well,ä Picard said. He took Troiâs arm and steered her toward the turbolift. ãAll hands, transfer command back to the main bridge immediately. Riker, you square off with Data. Get some answers. Weâre going to hit this problem from both fronts. Counselor, my ready room. The rest of youÊ.Ê.Ê. stations.ä Riker watched perhaps too longingly as the captain escorted Troi from the dim battle bridge. He could live without her; perhaps he would have to. Heâd called a halt to all relationships when he accepted this post, staring at twenty years of single-mindedness, and heâd kept that promise to himself well enough. Until he stepped onto the ship itself. Until she floated out of nowhere toward him. Suddenly the years ahead appeared more a test than an assignment. Was it unwise for long-term commanders to commit themselves to relationships? This whole business about having families aboard shipÊ.Ê.Ê. it was so new. Did anyone know if shipâs commanders reacted differently when their loved ones were on board than they did if they could divorce themselves from everything but the dangers at hand? Deanna would know. And sheâs the only person I canât ask. He was jolted from his thoughts as two forms stepped by him toward the turbolift, and he shook himself. Before him, Yar and Worf were on the lift with the captain and Troi. Brushing his left arm, Geordi had just stepped by with Data in tow. Catching Dataâs arm, Riker stopped him. ãData, you stay here.ä LaForge started to turn, protectiveness roaring up in the set of his jaw and shoulders, and only a bark from the captain caused him to leave Data behind in the hands of a less-than-compassionate superior. ãComing, sir,ä he said, his tone low, as though to warn Riker. Perhaps it wasnât insolence, and perhaps it wasnât a warning. But Riker couldnât blame him if it were. The turbolift doors shut with a vacuumlike cussshhh. Data remained facing the lift for a wishful few seconds. Actually it was longer than a few. Enough longer that the pause was obvious. When finally he began to turn, he was at full attention÷a stance recognized by both of himself and Riker as painfully unnecessary. ãHow do you feel?ä the first officer asked. ãFunctional,ä Data said, ãthough weak.ä ãWant to sit down?ä ãNo, thank you, sir. I shall stand.ä The better to walk away from you, my dear. Come on, Will, make your case and be done with it. ãDo you have a report on what happened to you?ä That wasnât exactly what he hoped would come out when he opened his mouth, but Riker faced Data squarely with the question and told himself heâd find a way to bring up the other subject sooner or later. ãI have some new information, sir,ä Data said, ãthough not all clear.ä ãIâm listening. Make it concise.ä Data nodded once, then thought about the right words. ãThe phenomenon,ä he began slowly, ãis like me.ä ãLike you? Some form of÷ä Riker stopped himself and was embarrassed when Data filled in the blank. ãA mechanism,ä the android said. ãCrafted by someone else. A living tool, fabricated at so high a level of engineering that it may or may not be a life-form.ä ãWere you speaking to it, then?ä ãI was in contact. I dare not say there was a conversation, however. It took from me what it pleased and gave me only what it chose. I was receiving, but I was unable to transmit. Perhaps I was too far away from the source. Or perhaps I was simply not built to be a transmitterÊ.Ê.Ê. as I hoped I would be.ä ãData, we donât expect you÷ä ãPerhaps if I go out alone in a shuttlecraft, I could gain more intimate contact.ä ãDonât be crazy,ä Riker blurted. ãNobodyâs going out in anything, not even you.ä Until it came out, Riker didnât think about the callous implication implication of that sentence, but now he held his breath and hoped Data bleeped over it. ãThis mechanism is dangerous to us, sir. I am no longer in doubt of that,ä the android went on. The dim lighting of the battle bridge caught the starkness of his coloring as he stood there on the upper deck. ãIt must only be a matter of limited time before it learns to differentiate between general matter in this area of space or that nearby solar system and the construction of the Enterprise. It will demolish the ship, just as it demolished the Gorshkov three centuries ago.ä ãNow wait a minute,ä Riker said, holding up his hand. ãWe arenât sure thatâs what happened to the Gorshkov.ä ãI am sure. It will destroy us in a singularly violent manner as soon as it can. It intends to destroy us as soon as it can find us again.ä And he was absolutely sure, if that could be gleaned from his expression. He was even more impassive than usual, and Riker had to look hard to see any flickers of emotion. Data might be an android, but his face was usually pleasantly animated, and the blankness bothered Riker. Dataâs habitual demeanor would have reassured him a little. Slowly he asked, ãDid you get any clues as to its nature?ä ãIt was built eons ago, and it contains the destructive power of several starships,ä Data said flatly. ãMost disturbingly, though, sir, it is encoded with what it believes is permission to use that power at its own discretion.ä ãOh, great,ä Riker moaned. ãIâve seen bulldozers with more discretion than that thing.ä Data paused, and if he could be in a mood, he wasnât in one for chitchat. The pause was long enough to make Riker uncomfortable, enough to make him look up. ãGo on,ä Riker said with a touch of weariness. ãAs I said, it may be a level of machine evolution so high that it is virtually alive.ä An ugly prospect, Riker thought, but luckily he didnât say that. ãAnd?ä ãAndÊ.Ê.Ê. it destroys mechanical vessels which contain energies it recognizes, while preserving the life forces of the living beings involved.ä ãBut why? Why would it roam the galaxy sucking up life essences? Who would build a machine to destroy ships but preserve the stuff of living consciousness? That doesnât make sense.ä ãUnknown, sir. But it does make sense from a defensive point of view. We do not as yet know if it has the same reaction to whole planets as it does to vessels. If so, it may be a weapon of defense that turned on its own creators.ä ãIs that a real possibility?ä ãNo, sir, it is only a guess.ä ãBut it unconditionally preserves the life÷what?÷life forces? Of the beings it absorbs?ä ãNot only that, sir, but the entire consciousness. Memories, desires, everything. They are, in effect, still alive in there.ä Folding his arms, Riker leaned forward on the bridge rail and pondered the idea. ãImagine not being enslaved by time. Mankindâs been looking for that kind of Utopia for eons. Absence of want, hunger, fear, pain, deathÊ.Ê.Ê. I wonder what it looks like from inside.ä For several seconds he simply gazed at the idea. It sounded idyllic, even Biblical. How many people looked up toward space when they thought of heaven? He pushed himself off the rail and held up a finger. ãThere are two things going on here,ä he postulated. ãCorrect me if Iâm wrong÷ä ãI will, sir.ä ãUhÊ.Ê.Ê. yes. Are we witnessing two kinds of contact here? You with the mechanism or whatever it is, and Troi with the life essences trapped by it?ä Dataâs birdlike eyes darted sideways for a moment in a disturbingly computerish look of calculation. He stood completely still for a few seconds, then canted his brows and said, ãThat does seem to describe the evidence, sir. Counselor Troi seems to be the path of least resistance for the life essences in their attempt to contact us. They do seem to be separate from the entity which buoys them. I should have thought of it myself.ä ãYouâre doing enough,ä Riker said, trying to ease the stiffness he sensed under Dataâs tone even now. Then the android said, ãNo, sirÊ.Ê.Ê. not enough. I may have technologies within myself that even I do not know about and do not know how to use yet. Somehow, the mechanism and I have congruous responses to each other. I believe÷ä And he paused again, this time even more movingly. He didnât look at Riker, but rather fixed his eyes on the forward screen, now a grainy gray wall. ãOn impulse-idle with only flight shields up, the mechanism did not home in on us. I believe it fixed on me and was then able to focus on the ship÷ä ãDonât flatter yourself,ä Riker interrupted. ãIt found Troi first and me next. Youâre third on its taste test, so donât start blaming yourself. Itâs tooÊ.Ê.Ê. human.ä The proffered lightness didnât come off. Rather the contrary. Dataâs sudden silence was ponderous. Riker rubbed his hands together and made a second attempt. ãLook, Data, about beforeÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãIf I may say, sir,ä Data said quickly, ãyour sense regarding my nature is correct. It seems IÊ.Ê.Ê. have been deluding myself. I amÊ.Ê.Ê. apparently more mechanical than living.ä Riker moved across the small space between them and tried not to look like a superior officer circling an underling. When it did start to look like that, he stopped and simply faced Data. ãNow, listen. I want us to understand each other.ä ãYes, sir,ä the android said clearly. ãIt is not your fault thatÊ.Ê.Ê. while I cannot be alive, I am apparently programmed to be self-deluding about it.ä The statement rang in the empty battle bridge. Several seconds ticked by, accentuating the fact that there was no real answer. Data straightened then, as though to slough off the discomfort of those seconds. ãWhoever built the entity out there knew what it is to be alive. It knew life and knew how to preserve life even when the body is gone. And it clearly recognizes machines for what they are.ä Shaking his head, Riker sighed. ãYouâre not making this easy on either of us.ä All at once Data fidgeted, actually changed the position of his feet. Riker held out a palm and said, ãAt ease, will you?ä Data glanced at him. After a beat he crossed his wrists behind his back and looked at the floor. ãIt seems that I too am a mechanism,ä he said introspectively. ãA utensil. Not a creature. Not only may I not be human, but I may not even qualify as a life-form. I may be less alive than the first protozoan that murmured through Earthâs primordial muck.ä With a sympathetic frown, Riker fought to digest the concept as Data perceived it. He felt suddenly crushed by his own mistake, and by his own inadequacy to ford this crossing. ãI am a versatile device,ä Data went on, still gazing at the floor. His voice was completely without the emotional rasp that would have entered a human voice by now, and yet there was a heaviness in his tone that lent meaning to his confession. The harsh but meager lighting on the battle bridge played poorly upon the soft and pale contours of his brows and jawline. ãI am an instrument. No real human can do the things I can do. That alone should have been proof to me long before this.ä ãPart of being human,ä Riker attempted, latching on to a tiny hope, ãis accepting your talents as well as your faults. Thatâs one equation no machine can compute.ä ãPlease, sir,ä the android said, looking up now, a move that went through Riker like a wooden stake. ãIf indeed I am nothing but a machine, then I cannot have a sense of self and consciousness, but only programming that includes an illusion of self. Those are facts I may have to accept. I have been soundly reminded by my contact with the alien mechanism that I amÊ.Ê.Ê. a fake.ä Riker winced. This was a sample of what Captain Picard must already know. Riker had noticed the captain holding back from comments that might have been bold, rude, or comforting on several occasions, and heâd often wondered about the captainâs choice of silence in those moments. But perhaps Picard had learned the hard way: keep your outbursts in check. A senior officer gets listened to, and everything he says gets remembered. Nothing can be casual, nothing can be emotional without the risk of hurt. It was the price of high rank. And it wasnât going to go away. When it came right down to it, he didnât know if Data was alive or not and he shouldnât have opened his big mouth. He never really thought Data would take his comments so much to heart÷but perhaps that was the android in him too. He saw in Dataâs eyes, in his expression, an intense need to define himself and discover his true nature. And here I am, at the heart of his struggle. Part of that struggle may be to admit a truth that isnât very pleasant. ãI donât know what you are, I admit that,ä he told Data with a vocal shrug. ãIâm not qualified to say. But Starfleet checked you out and you tested out alive. Thatâs good enough for÷ä ãBy machines, sir,ä Data reminded painfully. ãMachines will report whatever they are told to report. No human looks at me and thinks I am human too. And you, more than anyone, still treat me like a machine.ä Until his chest started hurting, Riker didnât even inhale. What had he been thinking about, admitting the truth? What happens when it slams you across the face and insists you look? ãSir,ä Data began, solemn again, ãif I may go nowÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Sadly Riker leaned on the command chair and nodded. ãDismissed.ä From behind him÷he didnât watch÷he heard the hiss of the turbolift door and the soft sucking noise behind the wall as the lift shot away through the ship. Riker found himself staring at the spot where Dataâs boots had left a faint impression on the carpet. Now he breathed deeply, though it gave him no comfort, and listened to the thickness of his own voice. ãThe tin man wants a heart.ä ãYou wanted privacy. You have it. All I ask is that you make good use of it, Counselor.ä Her delicate white hands were trembling, and nothing, nothing would make them stop. She didnât blame herself for the lack of control÷in fact she didnât even do much to stop it. Burying what she was feeling and experiencing would only do her damage. But the captain was here and he was ready to listen to a confession, a confession that would take a single trouble and multiply it. She had thought having the answers would help her, ease her burden, but no. She knew many more things than she had an hour ago, and nothing was easier. Clarity in this case was more painful than obscurity. Her head and neck ached as though someone had been sitting on her shoulders and twisting her skull. ãIâve never experienced anything like this before, Captain,ä she said, easing into it. ãIâve had to block thoughts before, but these simply crash through my barriers. These people are so desperate that theyâre forcing their way into my mind, no matter how I try to close them off. I donât understand the science, but there are definitely living, conscious life essences inside the phenomenon. Not memories, not residues, but the actual living essences of individuals. Somehow this thing preserves the consciousness and discards the physical body. And they do have a clear sense of self, Captain.ä ãAll humans?ä ãIâm not sure, sir. I receive impressions of others, but it may be that only the humans can empathize closely enough with me to communicate. ButÊ.Ê.Ê. I know who they are now.ä Picard sat behind his glossy black desk and nodded. He tried, tried hard, not to appear impatient, and though there was no fooling her, at least she might appreciate the effort. But there was a definite ãIâm waitingä in his posture. ãArkady Reykov and the members of his crew,ä he said, quite flatly and with a touch of anticlimax. Troi blinked. ãHow did you know?ä Picard flopped his hand on the desktop and casually said, ãOne neednât be telepathic.ä She faltered, frowning into the black shine of his desk, and said, ãYes, I suppose it is obvious. But thereâs more, sir. Or shall I say, there are more. Many more. Millions more, in fact. Their level of communication is much higher than anything verbal, as though theyâve forgotten over the years how to use simple words and pictures. We may be the first outside contact theyâve had÷ä ãSince 1995,ä she supplied steadily. ãYes,ä she murmured. ãFor a while, what they wanted was very confusing. There were so many minds shouting at me, some rational, some notÊ.Ê.Ê. only the strongest of those can still maintain a single self-image, but only for limited amounts of time.ä ãLike the appearance Riker witnessed in the corridor.ä ãI believe so,ä she told him, not ready to commit herself to that with a blind yes. ãAnd now itâs clearer?ä Picard prompted. ãWhat they want? You have some idea?ä Troi bent her elegant head, lashes like black whisk brooms dropping to shade her eyes. Then she looked up. ãCaptain, I havenât told you everything.ä Jean-Luc Picard leaned forward, his elbows rubbing across the deskâs smooth surface and reflected that she of all people was not one whom he counted on for courteous lies. Courteous silence, perhaps. But deception, no. The first reaction was anger, but that flared and died more quickly than a match in wind. Yet such confessions on a starship could cost lives, and always provoked him. But something had driven her to this, and Picardâs curiosity was plenty bigger than his ego at this point. ãThen tell me everything now,ä he said. Troi raised her chin as though to walk into the word. ãAbout the confusion. Itâs true that there are millions of minds pressing upon me, but there isÊ.Ê.Ê. an absolute unanimity in what they want÷ä The door buzzed. ãYes, who is it?ä Picard barked impatiently. ãRiker reporting, Captain.ä Picard started to admit him, but Troi grasped the rim of his desk and pulled forward in her chair. ãNo, sir, please donât. Donât let him in.ä The curiosity burned. ãNot even Riker?ä Picard said. ãPlease, sirÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä He gazed at her for a moment, then spoke aloud to the intercom. ãJust a few more minutes, Mr. Riker.ä There was a thunderous pause. Picard could imagine the glances running the main bridge. ãYes, sirÊ.Ê.Ê. Iâll be out here.ä Picard indulged in a little grunt and muttered, ãSounds a bit wounded, doesnât he? Now, whatâs this all about, Counselor? These people want us to do something for them?ä ãYou have a decision to make that no single person should have to make. I thought you shouldnât also have to live with the opinions of the entire crew. Thatâs why Iâm speaking to you privately.ä ãI appreciate that, but please÷ä ãMost religions describe a kind of hell, Captain,ä she said carefully. Her shoulders shuddered with the effort. ãNowÊ.Ê.Ê. I know what that is.ä ãNo doubt, but whatâs that got to do with these beings?ä Troiâs lovely eyes took on a bitter anger. ãI canât make it clear enough, sir, that these people are still alive. Theyâre not supernatural. Theyâre living creatures, many of whom are÷or were÷human as much as you are human. They have truly achieved immortality. They are still conscious and self-aware.ä ãAll right,ä Picard told her, ãI understand that. What do they want?ä She clamped her hands into two tight balls, the skin thinning over her knuckles and turning icy white. ãThey want you to help them die.ä *ÊÊ*ÊÊ* ãQuit saying that. Youâre not a machine. I can tell that by just looking at you.ä Geordi LaForge gave Data a playful push as they entered the dark corridor that led to the warp reserve. It took clearance through three doors, each marked AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY before they were admitted to the especially heavy door marked RESTRICTED AREA ANTIMATTER RESERVE CONTAINMENT CENTER NO ENTRY WITHOUT LEVEL 5 CLEARANCE The room was very dark, lit only by two tiny pink utility lights on either side. Dataâs flashlight cut a clean white path before them. Though the darkness still pressed around them, Geordi could see quite well by that small brightness, and he led the way through stacked storage crates and high-clearance mechanical and computer panels. ãI expected a lot of problems to come my way on space duty,ä Geordi said, ãbut I didnât expect one of them to be trying to find a definition for life itself.ä ãThat is indeed the captainâs dilemma now,ä Data said, ãbecause of me.ä ãItâs not because of you. Cut it out. Boy, after all this trying to act human, you sure found an annoying way to actually do it.ä Data looked up into the darkness, quickly, hopefully. ãWhat am I doing?ä ãPitying yourself, thatâs what. Knock it off.ä Since he hadnât been aware of doing it, Data wasnât quite sure what to knock off. By the time he found knock it off in his memory banks, the subject had passed and Geordi was leading the way into an anteroom that held most of the computer monitors for the actual antimatter containment. On the dim panels, a few lights and patterns were flicking and flashing away happily in their mechanical ignorance, as if trying to say that all was well, all was as it should be. ãItâs got to be here somewhere,ä Geordi muttered. ãYou try the antimatter injector and Iâll÷ä As the doors came together behind them, there was a corresponding clatter on the starboard side of the room that made them both look, just in time to see a dark form duck behind a panel. ãWhoâs there?ä Geordi demanded. Data stepped in front of him and sharply ordered, ãThis is Commander Data. You are in a restricted area. Identify yourself.ä An innocent face peeked up in the corner, suddenly looking very guilty. ãWesley!ä Geordi exclaimed. ãWhat are you doing in here? Come out of there.ä Wesleyâs lanky form, still trying to grow into its own long bones, slowly sprouted from behind the panel. His hands gripped the hem of his sweater, a dark and thickly knit sweater that under these circumstances looked like reconnaissance gear. Heâd known he was going to be in a cool area of the ship, evidently. ãWhatâre you two doing here?ä he echoed. ãI mean, itâs sort of the middle of a crisis, isnât it?ä ãRight in the middle,ä Geordi said. ãThe captainâs ordered an energy blackout÷ä ãI know.ä ãAnd we picked up a power drain in the reserve tank. Weâve got to find it before the creature picks it up.ä Through his visor Geordi saw Wesleyâs face suddenly erupt with infrared. ãIt canât be much of a drain, can it?ä the boy asked. ãIf you havenât picked it up beforeÊ.Ê.Ê. right?ä ãThatâs right, but it doesnât make a bit÷Wesley, what do you know about this?ä Data approached them and said, ãWesley, if you know about the power drain, you had better tell us. The antimatter from the tank has been emergency-dumped, and we cannot restock from the reserves until we discover the nature of the leak and lock it down.ä Wesleyâs young eyes flashed in the dimness. ãWellÊ.Ê.Ê. I onlyÊ.Ê.Ê. I wasÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Geordi fanned his flashlightâs beam angrily. ãThis areaâs off limits, for Christâs sake, Wes!ä ãI know, but thatâs just a technicality and it wouldâve taken weeks, maybe months, to get the power authorization if Iâd gone through channels÷ä ãChannels exist for a reason. So do rules like off limits. You know what off limits means? Whatâre you up to?ä ãNothing, really.ä ãReport, Ensign,ä Data said, cutting through the familiarity and putting juniors where juniors belong. ãItâs really nothing. Someday it might be, though,ä Wesley said, intimidation forgotten in enthusiasm. ãJust wait. Iâm doing an experiment on an idea I had to increase phaser power without pulling any more energy. Iâve got a little mock-up over here÷ä He led them to a table that held a shapeless contraption. It looked like so much scrap, except that a light beam was glowing straight through the middle of it. ãWhat the hell÷ä Geordi stepped up to the model and pointed at it. ãWhatâs this hooked up to?ä Wesleyâs sheepishness returned. ãI wasÊ.Ê.Ê. tapping the antimatter reserve.ä ãGoddamn, Wes! You have an acting rank. Donât you know that means you could be court-martialed?ä ãBut itâs never used! They donât use it once in twenty years! How was I supposed to know theyâd need it?ä ãYou do know this areaâs off limits to anyone but authorized personnel,ä Data said. Geordi barely let him finish the sentence. ãYou start screwing around with the antimatter reserve and get a short or something, and suddenly thereâs another sun around! Itâs dangerous to tap the reserve directly. Donât you know that?ä ãOh, come on, Geordi, itâs not that bad,ä Wesley complained. ãUnder normal operation, nobodyâd notice. Itâd be like plugging in one extra lamp in a hotel. But with all the power shut down÷ä ãYou know better than this.ä Geordi shook his head, then said, ãThen again, maybe you donât. How long have you had this thing hooked up to the AR?ä ãWell, only about fourÊ.Ê.Ê. or fiveÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãDays?ä ãWeeks.ä ãOh, my God. You gotta be kidding me. What were you trying to do?ä ãI didnât mean any trouble.ä ãWell, youâve got trouble, mister.ä Wesley pulled out a professional whipped-puppy look. ãYouâd turn me in?ä Geordi looked at the little contraption again and scanned it for invisible leakage. ãThis is a starship, not a playground, Wes.ä The device was working, somehow, doing something, though Geordi couldnât tell what. Now what? Report the boy? Wesley was genius material, sure, but not experienced. Had he not been living on a major starship, with all its labs and state-of-the-art technology, where experts in actual applied science, applied engineering, applied mechanics were readily available, some even teaching classes to the kids, heâd be just another smart sixteen-year-old. Living on Earth or such, heâd be bright and showered with opportunities, but not like this. Not to the point of getting his hands on a starship any old day. Geordi knew Wes Crusher had a natural ability to conceptualize the way the universe works, but the only way he could learn to apply it was through all the redundant practice a sixteen-year-old hated even to think about. On the bridge a week ago, Geordi had let Wesley try the helm controls because the boy had so quickly picked up the theories and principles of navigation, only to find that he had plenty of difficulty actually working the controls. Only time, only experience could teach that. But this÷this kind of game-playing was dangerous, and Wesley couldnât see the danger. Hadnât had his hands burned yet. ãShut it down,ä Geordi ordered. ãOkay,ä Wes mumbled. ãThatâs what I was doing anyway.ä ãAh÷so you knew weâd pick it up. This is wrong and you knew it. Whatâs the matter?ä ãWellÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Wesley hesitated, then said, ãIâm not sure how to break the flow without rupturing the magnatomics. Besides, this could never pull enough power to cause a problem. Thatâs why I went ahead and did it.ä ãWes, even senior engineers donât tamper with antimatter. Data, look this over. Weâve got to disconnect it.ä The android moved in, and Wesley stepped aside. ãWhat is the principle behind this device?ä Using his hands to illustrate every little twist and turn of his idea, Wesley explained. ãBasically, it breaks down the phaser in its initial cycle, into its increment frequencies and energies until the final cycle, when you recombine the phases all at once.ä ãWhat is the problem with it?ä ãItÊ.Ê.Ê. doesnât work.ä ãI see.ä ãBut if it did, this model would have almost four times the power of a hand phaser, and draw from a reaction chamber only half the size of standard.ä ãThis little toy?ä Geordi blurted. Data looked at Wesley briefly. ãDid you remember that with the splitting, youâd have to increase the power by the same magnitude as the split?ä Wesley looked from him to Geordi and back again. ãUhÊ.Ê.Ê. no.ä ãOtherwise it would not be strong enough to cycle,ä Data postulated. ãIâm concerned that the splitting would cause a loss of harmonics in the crystal focusing system. The crystal might break down and result in÷ä ãHeat. I already know that.ä ãListen, you two,ä Geordi said, nudging Wesley even farther back, ãRikerâs gonna split our harmonics if we donât lock down this leak and get back topside. The creature could pop out of innerspace at us any second and I donât want to be down here when it happens. Wesley, you get out of here, pronto. If the senior engineers find you, youâre going to know the meaning of reprimand.ä ãBut what about÷ä ãData and I can shut it down. Iâm going to have it disposed of. Youâre on probation. If I hear about any more of these unauthorized experiments of yours, Iâm reporting you to the chief engineer.ä Wesley dropped his eyes and grumbled. ãYes, sir.ä ãOut. And I mean a straight line out of this area and back to the saucer where you belong.ä The infrared glow increased on Wesleyâs cheeks, and without a word he pivoted and strode out. ãKids,ä Geordi said, looking back at the glowing bundle of parts. ãCan you unhook it without a backflush?ä ãI believe so,ä Data told him, carefully picking at the octopus of wires attached to one end of a long rod. ãIt actually is a remarkable idea. It may not have been tried before.ä ãYeah, Wesley thinks ideas are cheap. He doesnât understand that implementation isnât. Everythingâs shortcuts when youâre a kid.ä ãIs it?ä Geordi paused. ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê. sorry.ä ãNo cause to apologize, my friend. I may be forced to accept what I am.ä ãNow, what is that supposed to mean?ä The androidâs slim form glowed within its filmy sheath, and perhaps the glow increased very, very slightly. ãI am on aÊ.Ê.Ê. quest.ä ãOh, no÷what quest?ä ãI must discover my true nature.ä ãThatâs what I was afraid of. Why do you worry about it so much? Maybe youâre just special. Maybe you donât have a true nature that you can compare to anything else because thereâs never been anything like you. Ever think of that?ä ãNo, I hadnât,ä Data admitted. He paused, then plucked an inset from part of Wesleyâs monster, and the whole thing suddenly shut down with a clean buzz-sigh. The beam of light snapped out an instant later. Geordi repressed a shiver. ãThatâs a relief. I get the willies thinking heâs had this hooked up to the reserves all this time.ä ãThere wouldnât necessarily have been a rupture,ä Data said, ãbut thatâs problematical now.ä ãI wouldnât want to test it, thanks. Let me check the stabilizationÊ.Ê.Ê. looks clear now. Concur?ä ãI do.ä Geordi tapped his insignia and said, ãLaForge to Riker.ä ãRiker. What was it?ä ãJust a malfunction in the seals.ä ãI donât like the sound of that. Are we clear to restock the main tank?ä ãI think so, sir. You might want to have it checked by a containment engineer.ä ãWe donât have the time. Counselor Troi insists that entityâs still in the vicinity and even though it doesnât show up on any of our monitors, Iâve got to assume sheâs right. Howâs Data?ä Geordi glanced at the android as Data looked up. ãHeâsÊ.Ê.Ê. fine, sir.ä ãAll rightÊ.Ê.Ê. weâre going to flush the antimatter reserves into the mains right away so we can power up for warp speed if we have to. You stay there and monitor it. Yell if thereâs so much as a ripple.ä ãYes, sir. LaForge out.ä He shrugged. ãI donât think he hates you as much as you think.ä Data gathered the remains of Wesleyâs experiment and stuffed it into a reconditioning chute, piece by piece. ãMr. Riker may be right about me. I have had to accept it.ä ãYouâre starting again.ä ãPerhaps so,ä the android said, straightening and facing him. ãBut it is important for me to discover where I fit into the range of humanness. The question of whether or not the entity is a life-form or what it is to be human÷body, spirit, pulse, compassion÷all these are things which will show where there is a place for me.ä He paced toward Geordi, and finally past him to the big main schematics that showed a faintly lit diagram of the shipâs entire warp engine system, and in a gesture almost gentle, he placed his hand on the lines and lights. ãI may be part of the scheme of evolution for the future. Man livesÊ.Ê.Ê. man develops machines, learns to use them, to improve them, to create machines that are smarter and faster than himself, more efficientÊ.Ê.Ê. and he uses those to better himself, even to make them part of himself.ä He paused, turned, looked at Geordiâs visor, and knew that even in the faintly lit darkness Geordi could see him with astonishing clarity. ãLike you, my friend. You are part of the scheme too. Eventually, perhaps man achieves symbiosis with machines, perhaps even creates life?ä He gazed at the board again. ãIs that my place? Machines that live? ãAnd now Captain Picard must decide what to do. Because I knowÊ.Ê.Ê. I know that thing means to destroy this ship when it finds us again. It believes that is its purpose. Yet I have received impressions inconsistent with that goal.ä ãLike what?ä ãLike fear. Am I right? That isnât consistent.ä Geordi shrugged lamely. ãI dunno. It could be. You mean itâs afraid of us?ä ãNo. It is afraid for us.ä ãSorry, but youâll have to explain that one. I just see well, remember? Iâm no psychologist.ä ãThe aliens who created it actually knew what life is made of. They knew the moment when consciousness and sense of self begin in a mass of cells. Somehow they encoded the entity with the belief that it must absorb us in order to protect us from this very ship.ä ãThatâs great,ä Geordi grumbled, ãjust great. Doesnât it have the brains to know the ship is whatâs protecting us from the environment of space?ä ãIt is a tool, Geordi. A mechanism that decides for itself according to its best judgment.ä Data spoke softly, as though entreating him to understand what it could be like to rely only on memory and not on intuition, on programming rather than insight. He paused, and flattened his hand even more intimately on the display board. ãIt is my greatest fear,ä he said, ãthat I may find I am nothing more than a tool.ä Aching with empathy, Geordi felt the sting of his own helplessness. He could mutter some useless reassurances, but he had no answers. None that would satisfy or comfort Data as there might be comfort for a human being. Dataâs relentlessly analytical mind wouldnât allow him to accept simple answers, and he had stumbled onto a question that defied answers, and would defy them until time ground to a tired halt. Then everything would start up again and the question would resurface, slippery as ever. ãDataÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä he said finally, ãif itâs any consolation, I donât think I could be friends with a machine.ä The androidâs eyes lost their focus for a moment. The kind words ran through his body, and actually warmed him. Geordi could see the change. Then Data looked at him askance, and his mouth lengthened into that crooked little grin. ãThank you, Geordi. I will never forget that. No matter what happens.ä Still soft, still sentimental. No slang, no trappings. That was the real Data. Except for the hint of foreknowledge in his tone, which Geordi didnât digest for several seconds. Perhaps it was that Data didnât look away, but that he kept gazing with that curious look, a look that said he had something else cooking in his idea kitchen, and after a moment Geordi took a suspicious step toward him. ãWhat do you mean, no matter what happens? Hey!ä The deck dropped out from under him. His arms and legs flared out with the initial shock of being lifted, and he realized that he too had committed the crime of forgetting where human ability stopped and android ability took over. ãData, put me down! What are you÷ä The room spun, and he was deposited neatly on his feet at the top of a stack of heavy-stress storage units. As he got his balance he noticed the flash of metallic skin as Data plucked the insignia-com from Geordiâs own chest and stepped down from the crates. Geordi waved his arms and complained, ãWhatâre you doing?ä It took him several seconds to climb down, but that was enough for Data to step back and press the closure circuit for the transparent contamination wall. Two clear wall panels slid out from sockets in the opposite walls and closed in the middle just as Geordi reached them. He was forced to watch helplessly as Data shorted out the lock and fused it. A flare of sparks, and Geordi was trapped. ãData! Whatâs this for? Why are you doing this?ä ãIâm sorry, Geordi,ä the android said, and truly he sounded sorry. ãThis may be the only time when I am not expected to be on the bridge.ä Geordiâs voice was muffled now behind the clear wall. ãI donât get it. Let me out.ä ãI will be taking a shuttlecraft. Please inform the captain and Mr. Riker that I will attempt to get closer to the creature in hopes of communicating more clearly with it.ä Geordi pressed his hands on the transparency. ãData, come on, donât. Donât! Thatâs insane. Come on, open up. Donât do this. Donât risk your life.ä ãSome would say I have no life to risk.ä ãOh, donât be a wart! Open the door. Howâm I supposed to inform the captain of anything if Iâm stuck in here.ä ãThat is an excellent point. But I must take advantage of the opportunity.ä He started to turn away, only to stop, pause, turn back. He gazed at the floor for a moment, then looked up once again at the only person whoâd ever treated him completely like a human being. ãThank you for the past, my friend,ä he said, his face astonishingly animate. Now he grinned sentimentally and added, ãYouâve been a pal.ä Chapter Nine THE CAPTAIN STRODE back into his ready room after being gone for nearly forty-five minutes. Deanna Troi still sat where heâd last seen her, her hands still folded in her lap, and she blinked as though coming out of a trance. Picard came around his desk into her line of sight, though she already knew he was here, and waited until she looked at him. ãTheyâre waiting outside. Theyâve been fully briefed. Are you sure youâre up to this?ä Troi sighed and nodded. ãBelieve me, sir,ä she said, ãIâm just as worried about my own sanity as I am about those beings out there. Iâd like an end to this. And I need help finding it.ä ãDr. Crusher has been reviewing up-to-date medical policy and debate on the rights of the terminally ill and all current hospice psychology and the thoughts of terminal patients in every sentient species÷ä ãThatâs my profession, Captain,ä Troi said, a twinge of defensiveness creeping into her voice. ãI didnât think it wise for you to be doing research right now. However, Iâll need your expertise to collate the information the doctor is bringing in with her. Fair enough?ä She managed a thin smile, but one that conveyed genuine gratitude, and she said, ãYouâre very gracious, sir. I didnât think of that myself. I might indeed be inaccurate at the moment.ä Picard slid into his chair and said, ãIâm not worried that you will be. You seem perfectly in charge of yourself, at least for the moment. I havenât noticed any aberrations in your personality, Counselor.ä ãBut it may come, sir,ä she admitted softly. ãIâm fighting even now to maintain my individuality. I donât know how long I can deal with the pressure from them. Itâs beginning to affect me physically. I feel weak and nervous, as you might feel after exerting too much energy.ä At her solemn tone, even Picard had to stifle a wave of concern. His doubt began to stir. This made him uncomfortable, this inconcrete business, and he steeled himself to accept what she had said and what she would be saying over the next few minutes. Heâd had to do that before÷depend on those whose talents were other than his own. He would tug the cord of instinct and insight if he had to, but as he looked at her and saw her effort to remain in control, he knew guesswork would be only a last resort. Starfleet had surrounded him with people of various abilities, and it was his duty to make use of them. ãYes,ä he murmured. ãIâm depending upon you to hold your ground against them. Itâll be up to you to tell me, as nearly as you can estimate, what those entities want.ä ãI have told you.ä ãAnd weâre going to examine that.ä He pressed the intercom and said, ãCome in, plea÷ä The door opened. Picard leaned back in his chair. ãWell, that was subtle, you two,ä he said as Beverly Crusher and Will Riker strode in. ãSit down. Iâve explained the situation to both of you. According to Counselor Troi, the life essences inside that phenomenon have asked unconditionally that we destroy them. They want their existence to end. Death is their choice rather than formless life, apparently. When I leave this room, I want as clear a picture as the four of us can provide of what exact action this ship is going to take. I tell you now that I would much rather face an enemy with eyes I can look into and whose intents I can read. If Iâd wanted to be faced with these pale ethical problems, Iâd have become a priest. I donât like this. You know what these entities have asked of us, according to Counselor Troiâs translation of their wishes. Itâs up to you to help me decide if this is euthanasia,ä he said, ãor butchery.ä An unwanted silence blanketed the ready room, broken only by Will Riker, who had finally had enough of it. He slid one thigh up onto the captainâs desk and settled there, the toe of the other boot still planted on the floor, and folded his arms. ãWeâll do our best, sir.ä ãI know. Dr. Crusher, youâve reviewed all the material on current medical ethics.ä ãWell, all is an inappropriate term for a half hourâs study, sir,ä the doctor said, ãbut Iâve done my best. As a matter of fact, I had to refamiliarize myself with the subject upon accepting the post as chief surgeon.ä ãLuckily,ä the captain commented. ãOn with it.ä ãJust remember you asked for this,ä she warned, and adjusted her narrow hips against the back of her chair. She looked like she was settling in for a long time, which made both Riker and Picard wonder what they were getting into. ãThe word euthanasia doesnât mean what most people think it means. Itâs an intransitive concept, for one thing. Itâs something you get, not something someone does to you. Its true meaning is simply a gentle, quiet, good death, usually just a matter of luck. Society has come to take it as ending life painlessly so as to end suffering. What weâre really dealing with, however, is the point at which the only chance left for a person to have euthanasia is for someone else to kill him. Thatâs the closest to what weâre facing.ä Troi gripped her hands tightly together and said, ãThis is not a case of our deciding to terminate their lives. Theyâve decided it for themselves. I donât think that can be minimized.ä ãIâm getting to that,ä Crusher patiently said, and she started ticking things off on her long fingers. ãThere are complications, believe me. We get into the questions of suffering or not suffering, rationality or not, direct or indirect killing, killing by providing pain relief, the difference between personhood and potential personhood, capability of expressing a rational desire to die, death of biological organisms as opposed to persons, the distinction between ordinary versus extraordinary means of keeping a person alive, that ever-elusive phrase quality of life, failure to supply help versus active harm with kind intent, sanctity of life, obligation to live, freedom of choice versus deific property, being and not being the cause of a death other than oneâs own, avoidance of giving euthanasia for selfish reasons÷keeping oneâs conscience clear, for instance÷ä Picard rubbed a hand over his eyes and wearily groaned, ãCut my losses, will you, doctor? If youâve already run the process of elimination, might you just give me the upshot of it?ä She dropped her busy hands and said, ãItâs not a simple subject, Jean-Luc.ä He leaned forward. ãNo oneâs asking for simplicity, doctor. Just brevity.ä ãWell, thereâs the medical definition of death. Will that help?ä Before the captain could say anything, though he started to, Riker said, quietly, ãItâd help me.ä ãOkay,ä Crusher said with a toss of her hair. ãUnless youâre into horror stories, we all basically know what death is. We start with dying÷as a recognizable physiological process, one that medical science can pretty easily recognize. We know the difference between a living body and one thatâs being kept alive. Any intern worth his salt can spend ten minutes with the readouts and tell which is which. But the clincher has always been brain activity÷the flat electroencephalogram. As far as current medical consensus goes, the only absolute criterion for death is its irreversibility. Thatâs not the only criterion, mind you, I didnât say that. Death is a cluster concept and requires several criteria in a lump, but irreversibility is the only absolute one.ä ãDying is irreversible in my estimation,ä Picard said. ãAt least I thought so until now.ä ãTheyâre not dead,ä Troi said. Her steadiness was wearing thin. She felt it pull and strain against the crushing pressure of a million identities. She heard it in the sudden flatness in her voice, and knew it showed in the immobility of her body. She tried to force her legs into a more social position, but they remained tightly knee to knee, and soon she gave up trying. This discussion was time wasted, chewing at her, frustrating her. She knew what the decision had to be. Over and over in her mind echoed her own words: Theyâre not dead. Theyâre not dead. ãI accept that,ä the captain said. ãThey have yet to experience their deaths. I may be old-fashioned, but to me death is final. Death doesnât have degrees. Suffering does, but not death. This isnât a matter of betting one way or the other. Itâs a matter of deciding to intervene.ä ãOr deciding not to,ä Riker plowed in. They all looked at him, and discomfort entered the room. ãYesÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Dr. Crusher murmured, eyeing him. It took her a moment to return her full attention to the captain. ãWell, thereâs also an additional problem; over about the past century and a half, medical doctrine has had to include some very strange lifeforms and all their habits, customs, physiologies, and abilities.ä ãI canât decide for the whole galaxy, doctor,ä the captain said. ãLetâs stay with humans, shall we?ä ãI thought youâd say that, so I did. And I agree with you on that point.ä ãThatâs heartening, but could you give me a bit more?ä ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê. a bit.ä ãOh, GodÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãYou did ask, sir.ä ãYes, I did. Go on.ä ãWhere was I? Oh, yes. There are the mythological and religious concepts of death, which involve the soul leaving the body÷ä Picardâs finger shot forward. ãNow, weâre not going to get into defining the soul, are we? I unconditionally refuse.ä Crusher looked surprised. ãWell, Iâm certainly not. What youâll have to do before this is over, I canât predict. Anyway, thereâs that concept, and thereâs the medical concept, which is a process. Itâs the difference between a door being closed and the whole building disintegrating. Medical science believes thereâs nothing to come back to. And thereâs also a veritable blur of platitudes from the religious sector, which Iâll bet you donât even want to hear.ä ãIâd be so grateful,ä Picard said with a fatigued nod. ãIâve been trying to demythologize this from the start. I intend to stay with policy regarding the terminally ill and use that for a fulcrum.ä ãBut these people arenât terminally ill,ä Riker interrupted, somehow feeling heâd have to be holding the rudder on this conversation. ãFor all we know, they could go on like this indefinitely.ä Silently Troi nodded, not looking up. When she spoke it was with absolute conviction in those voices she heard in her mind. ãThat,ä she said, ãis their biggest fear.ä ãCounselor,ä the captain addressed her, since she had drawn attention back to herself, ãyou say you feel a unanimous opinion. Can you guarantee youâre picking up on all the feelings, all the life essences?ä Cool sweat broke out on her palms. She felt her control begin to slip. ãNo, I canât. The opinion is unanimous among all those who still retain a solid consciousness.ä ãHold it right there,ä Riker said. ãThat qualification bothers me.ä Troi shot him a glare. ãYes, itâs true that Iâm perceiving massive insanity among the minds whoâve lost control of their personhood. That is also what the others are afraid of. Do you blame them? Theyâve made a decision for themselves and the others who arenât able.ä ãWhat do you mean by Îarenât ableâ?ä Troi took a deep, cold breath between clenched teeth and forced herself to be clinical, no matter her tattered emotions. ãI would classify it as dementia praecox.ä ãWhatâs that?ä She gave him an intolerant look and said, ãDementia is irreversible deterioration of mental faculties with correspondent degenerative emotional instability. Praecox is simply prematurity.ä ãWhich brings up the question of next of kin.ä Troi gripped the arm of her chair and continued glaring at Riker. ãDonât you think theyâre better able to judge their companionsâ wishes than we are?ä Riker had to nod a reluctant agreement. ãI suppose if you and I had been sharing eternity, we would qualify as each othersâ next of kin.ä He suddenly found himself held tight in Picardâs gaze. He hadnât meant to say anything profound, yet they were sharing eternity. The two of them, perhaps more than any other pair on this ship, were most likely to make that decision for each other, that life or death choice. As first officer, Rikerâs first responsibility was Jean-Luc Picardâs well-being. As captain, Picardâs most valuable and needed commodity was his right-hand man. Together they had to be guardian angel for each other and the whole ship. They were÷or should ideally be÷each otherâs familyÊ.Ê.Ê. next of kin. Ironic that on a ship full of families, the bridge had somehow gotten itself stocked with people who had nothing, no one, but each other. ãAnd the others are like accident victims,ä Picard said to him as they shared the moment. ãCompletely dependent upon a machine for sustenance.ä ãYes,ä Dr. Crusher agreed. ãTheyâre mentally competent and nonterminal, but they want to die. Modern medical history since the twentieth century has had to deal with that, and it hasnât gotten any easier. Medicine took a tremendous leap forward during that period and has improved exponentially since then. The only constant is the idea that each euthanasia case has its own variables and should be considered individually. Then thereâs the problem of active versus passive euthanasia. Do you cut off intravenous feeding, or do you just let it run out, and whatâs the difference, and what are the moral implications of each÷ä ãYouâre piling up questions,ä the captain observed. ãI asked you for answers.ä ãThere arenât any,ä she said broadly. ãThatâs the problem. We regard it as inhumane to let animals suffer, but weâve always had difficulty applying that to our own species.ä ãBut historically,ä Riker said, ãisnât it true that this whole problem has been one of deciding whether an organic body without a mind is still alive? What we have here is the other way around. MindsÊ.Ê.Ê. no bodies.ä Crusher cast him a glance. ãNo, youâre wrong. Thereâs nothing new about minds without bodies.ä When Deanna Troi spoke up, though her voice was weak, all turned to listen to her. But this time she didnât speak of the entities who pressed upon her, but of the question they were actually wrestling with. ãThatâs how physically crippled people see themselves. Minds without bodies. At least for a while. Itâs often not true at all and they often change their opinions about themselves with time and therapy.ä For a few seconds, nobody said anything because they expected her to keep going. When she didnât, Dr. Crusher shifted uneasily, turned back to Riker, and added, ãBut thereâve also been plenty of cases of conscious, rational people wanting to decide for themselves, and not changing their minds, Mr. Riker. Some people donât want to live if they canât function independently. Some can commit suicide, which is its own problem, but for those who canât, the problem takes on the special complication of bringing in another person.ä ãWho also have rights,ä Riker argued. ãThe right not to commit murder, for one.ä With an impatient huff, Picard gripped the edge of his desk. ãYes. We do have the right to consider our own consciences. Is there a definitive answer, doctor? Even one of general policy from the Federation Medical Standards Council? Or do you have a ruling that we could consider shipâs policy?ä ãMe?ä She shook her head and blinked. ãThis is one subject I nearly failed at medical school. I never found a single case that fit into the grooves of any other case. Thereâs just no grounds for comparison.ä ãAnd Federation policy? Doctor, I need a precedent and I need it now.ä She paused, thought about it, her mouth twisting with contemplation, then shrugged. ãA line was finally drawn, clinically speaking, between animals with memories and animals with memories who were also able to imagine a personal future and have desires for that future. Even that had its faults. Babies, for instance. They simply donât care about the future.ä Now it was Picardâs turn to sigh. He pressed his mouth into a line and groaned, ãBeverly, youâre making me tired.ä She appeared sympathetic, but admitted, ãThereâs just no streamlining this issue. Which is why there hasnât been any law passed regarding it. Some things should simply never be legislated.ä Riker straightened his back and folded his arms tighter. ãLeaving us on our own.ä ãConsider it a privilege,ä she shot back at him. ãBut these people, these Îsouls,â if we have to use that term,ä Riker continued, ãare not dying. They could go on forever like this!ä ãYesä÷the doctor nodded, not very patiently÷äthe real question is not one of someone who is dying choosing when the end should be and we as society forcing him to live until the last moment, but ratherÊ.Ê.Ê. what is it that makes life worth living?ä For this, a thick and weighted question, she turned directly to Picard, and held out an empty hand to him as though expecting him to fill it. The captain stared back at her, entranced neither by this womanâs beauty nor by his own feelings toward her, but by this question she asked of him, this question that was poised on the threshold between life and death. What makes life worth living? Beside Crusher, Troi stirred. ãA person who is dying does ask if his disease has taken away everything that makes life worth living, as you say. There will be no more moments that resemble life as he has known it. When pain takes away any enjoyment of sight, scent, sounds, touch÷ä ãBut weâre not discussing pain, Counselor,ä the captain snapped, his voice growing rough. ãThese entities have communicated no pain whatsoever of a physical nature, is that not correct? If not, youâd better tell me now, because this is a damned precipice weâre walking over here.ä ãI wish they had,ä Crusher said dryly. ãThe question wouldâve been simpler. My realm of the physical is much simpler to manage than Deannaâs realm of mental anguish and confusion.ä She turned to the counselor and said, ãI donât envy you.ä The captain got up and paced around the desk. ãDoctor, I had hoped youâd be more help than this.ä Beverly Crusher shifted her gaze for a moment, settled back, crossed her long straight legs, and looked up at him again. ãI can be more help,ä she told him. ãBut you have to ask for my personal opinion.ä ãOh, damn it. Of course. Iâm sorry.ä He reached a requesting palm toward her. ãPlease.ä She sighed and thought about it. ãTheyâve expressed a well thought-out, reasonable desire to die.ä ãAnd?ä ãAnd I think that should be respected.ä ãDoes that mean acted upon? Come on, doctor, donât make me grill you.ä ãYou mean, would I do it? Captain, let me put it this way. Iâve found that suffering can be mental and that it does no one any good.ä ãWould you,ä he repeated, ãdo it?ä She straightened her shoulders. ãYes.ä Data found his way through the barely lit starship with an androidâs faultless sense of direction. Ordinarily heâd have thought nothing of that ability, but today it had a stubborn presence in his mind. He was aware of himself today, where usually he was not, at least not when he was alone. But today each pink wedge of utility light along the floor as he passed it was a tiny reminder of his doubts. Each doubt needled his thoughts and made the process inaccurate, irritating. He wondered what thinking was like for humans. To think one thought at a time, some without figures, without contextÊ.Ê.Ê. it seemed almost dysfunctional. But humans often perceived things that he missed entirely until they were pointed out to him. I seem to be on a cross pattern away from humanity rather than toward it. What they see as simple seems difficult and incongruous to me. What I can compute and perceive without effort, they consider arduous. As time goes by I catalog more and more information, yet I move further and further from humanness because of it. The more time I spend among them, the more complicated they appear to me. Perhaps now these conditions will change. Perhaps this is what they mean by destiny. He felt his body come to a halt and readjusted his pilot mode, letting himself slide instantly out of autolocate, and indeed found himself right where he wanted to be. The hangar deck. He stood before the door, staring through the dimness at the lettering. SHUTTLECRAFT HANGAR DECK AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY A.C.E. CLEARANCE REQUIRED INQUIRE DECK 14 OR CONTACT SECOND OFFICER He lost track of those few seconds during which he studied those letters and their significance. All his internal alarms were ringing, telling him to track down the assistant chief engineer, but there was no time. And that would give him away. Of course, being the second officer got him off the hook fairly well too, even if his internal alarms couldnât be programmed to know that. Information like that was rational, a matter of thought. The formalized ranking of human beings, of life-forms of any kind, was difficult for machine thinking to absorb, and had to be handled by what Geordi liked to call Dataâs subdominant hemisphere÷the part of his brain that was organic, the part of his personality that let him be subjective. The part of him that Geordi insisted was no machine. Data looked down at his left hand. He opened the fist and saw the glint of gold and brush-buffed platinum in the stylized A-shape that he himself had earned the privilege of wearing. Yet this was not his. His own was still riding safely on his chest, proclaiming the honor of his past and the degree to which humanity had opened its arms to him. He could never look at his Starfleet insignia and think of humanity as inferior to any other species; few species would accept such as him. He had known the shunning glances of prejudice before. Geordi would chide him for not realizing that significance until now, that prejudice was in itself a kind of privilege life-forms kept among themselves. The gold turned rosy-pink under the utility lights above the door. He felt a strange, unexpected pang in his chest as his synthetic heart pounded in reaction to the high-gear racing of his nervous system. This insignia, this one in his palm÷this was Geordiâs. Forgive me. I know I have never done anything resembling this to you before. I would have warned you, had I expected to behave this way.Ê.Ê.Ê. Illogical. Geordi wasnât here. Geordi was locked in the antimatter reserve center. Data clutched his left hand tightly around the insignia. Also illogical. He should put it down, leave it behind. There was no purpose to carrying it. But rather than leaving the insignia behind, he dismissed the thought and kept his fist tight. With the other hand he quickly tapped in his authorized-entry code and the thick tunnel-shaped doors parted for him. The hangar deck stored a few regulation shuttlecraft and several smaller, faster ships of various styles, all hidden neatly away in their stalls, ready to be elevated to the hangar bay, one deck up, when they were called for. Very human impatience gnawed at him. He knew very well what impatience was. But there was no alternative to the time he must spend here before he could embark on his mission. His hand twitched. Fail-safe programming sent quavers through his biomechanical nervous system, telling him that what he was doing he must not do. As easily as ignoring a nagging ache, he rerouted his awareness away from the internal warnings and looked around for the mechanical stock he would need÷yes, there it was. He had been concerned that in the midst of a crisis, supply engineering hadnât managed to deliver these small stock crates in time, but here they sat, stacked neatly before him. He gazed at them in the same manner as he had gazed at the letters on the door. On top of the stack was an authorization chip that simply said: Request of Lt. Commander Data. Esn. F. Palmer÷okay. Time was limited. Yet he was hesitating. Never before had he found himself literally at odds with himself, literally battling his own body to make it do what his programming÷hisÊ.Ê.Ê. conscience÷had always considered wrong. Deception. Disobedience. It was not in his progr÷in his nature. His left hand twitched and opened. Geordiâs insignia clattered to the deck with a metallic ting. Data looked down at it. Impassively he stooped and picked it up. If he took it with him, the starshipâs mainframe would pick up on it and use it as a locator beacon, and would tell the bridge that Geordi was with him. Such a consequence Ê.Ê.Ê. he would leave the insignia behind. He would leave it. He paced toward the exit and went to the nearest computer panel, still looking at the insignia in his hand. ãI will leave it,ä he insisted. His voice in the empty hangar deck was a loud sound. Why did this insignia whisper to him? He put it down quickly. So quickly that it spun on its pin and ended up sideways. He paused. Almost as quickly, he pulled off his own insignia. It too was gold, platinum÷identical to the other. Except that this was his, what he had earned, and that was Geordiâs. Each was encoded with the biopulse of the owner, including identity, and microsensors, and miniature miniature communicator÷Starfleet jargon called these insignia the ãminimiraclesä of recent science. But today it was the shape and not the science that intrigued Data. Today his attention was held by the modern-day heraldry of the Starfleet emblem and what it meant to such as him. His powerful heart pumped harder, a heavy muscular action, like the great machine that it was. He heard it thud clearly through his body, and felt the strain upon his systems as each struggled to push its own interests through his biomechanical nervous system, unsure which of the impulses to follow. With a gesture of finality, he placed his own insignia on the panel beside Geordiâs and turned away, leaving them there together. When he knelt beside the crates the engineers had left here on his order, his body began to settle down as it recognized a task at hand. As the pumping of his heart subsided to its usual cadence, Data began opening the crates of specialized parts and mnemonic encoders and set about constructing a makeshift cloaking device small enough for a shuttlecraft. ãNow wait a minute!ä Riker slid off the desk and fanned his hands before Troi. ãWe canât just interfere!ä ãWe must,ä Troi said, loudly this time. She felt the color rise in her cheeks and anger take over her heart. How dare he stand in her way! ãNow look,ä Picard angrily reminded, ãI called this meeting for a clear reason and itâs getting muddled. If Iâm going to be forced into making a decision, I intend to have all the precedents behind me. Letâs streamline this, and thatâs an order.ä Before Riker had the chance to respond, Troi leaned toward Picard, the first time she had changed position since all this started. ãCaptain, humans are interventionists by nature. Since ancient times, and even before that, weâve intervened in the course of evolution by selective marriage, all the way back to tribal beginnings when the chief got his choice of the fairest, youngest, strongest maidens, and they had children who grew up to be the decision makers for the whole tribe. It is our heritage!ä ãThatâs nonsense,ä Riker accused. ãNot necessarily.ä Crusher pressed on. Her tone had a defensive sting and she turned a cold shoulder to him and spoke to the captain instead. ãWhen we cured pneumonia and TB, we altered evolution forever. Countless millions who were weak and meant to die simply didnât anymore. When glasses were invented, all the millions of nearsighted people who wouldâve been functionally blind in an earlier century suddenly were completely normal. They not only lived, but prospered, mated, had more nearsighted children. Mankindâs been circumventing natural selection for so long that itâs become immoral not to. Thereâs your precedent, Captain. I donât believe the question is whether or not to interfere.ä ãWhat about science?ä Riker interrupted, circling the desk to the captainâs side. ãCould technology eventually put these captive entities into bodies? Like Dataâs?ä Picard glared at him for a moment, then pivoted to Crusher. ãDoctor, what about that?ä She shifted from one elbow to the other and dubiously said, ãIâll just wave my magic wand.Ê.Ê.Ê. In my opinion, it might be too late for them. If theyâve been in a virtual fugue state since 1995 and most even before that, they may have lost their ability to be embodied in humanoid form.ä ãYou mean like a blind man suddenly getting complete sight?ä Picard suggested. ãSomething like that?ä ãI mean exactly that. There are plenty of circumstances that allow current medicine to replace or restore sight, but unless the patient is very young, there are usually grave complications. If I suddenly restored Geordiâs sight with some kind of transplant or something, heâd have to completely retrain his senses. His whole body, his whole brain. His sense of visual depth would be all askew, for one. Heâd be grabbing for things that were ten feet away, because he wouldnât be able to tell the difference. He probably couldnât walk with his eyes open either. Not without extensive therapy. His equilibrium would be completely thrown off. His balance would suddenly be affected by something that had never affected it before. Thereâve been too many disastrous cases of restored sight. Some patients ultimately opted to have blindness reinflicted rather than continue with sight.ä ãMy GodÊ.Ê.Ê. seriously?ä ãFar too many for me to recommend trying to hook up these whatever-they-ares to android bodies.ä She lowered her voice and let empathy slip into her professional assessment. ãItâd be a worse hell than theyâre already going through. And, Captain, I think the only rational, moral decision,ä she added, ãis the one theyâve selected for themselves.ä ãWeâre not that sure of what they want,ä Riker insisted. Troi twisted in her chair, her face a sculpture of pure melancholy and disappointment. Her face ached with the misery she felt inside and the insult she heard from without. ãWell, youâre not,ä Riker said to her. ãYouâre not, are you?ä ãBillÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä she choked. He circled the desk and confronted her. ãYou yourself have admitted that these people could be insane and incapable÷ä ãSome of them, but÷ä Dr. Crusher put her slim hand on his arm and actually pushed him back from where she and Troi were sitting side by side. ãThis life-sucking machine is violating the rights and needs of its captives.ä Riker whirled and glared down at her. ãWhich rights?ä ãThe right to normal life as they see it and the dignity of self-decision. Itâs robbing them of a quality of life to such a degree that all they see left for themselves is death.ä ãSo we provide it, all on Deannaâs say-so?ä Troi lowered her eyelids now, and tears broke from them. ãOh, Bill,ä she whispered. But he pressed on. ãHow do we know their decision is rational? It may be one of plain despair or temporary depression.ä Crusher didnât back away from his challenge, but was ready with her own. ãYou call three hundred years temporary?ä ãOn that thingâs time scale? It might be. And you donât know and I donât know otherwise. That thing could be a galactic utopia, for all we know. It could provide endless time to think about things and intermingle and share memories÷who knows what else? Maybe Deannaâs only picking up the wishes of a handful of new arrivals who donât know what theyâve got.ä ãI donât believe that,ä Troi said, her lips tight. ãAll right÷all right, say I donât either. Say youâve convinced me. What happens once we do this? Once weâve tasted this? If we open this door a crack, it may not close. Candles can start holocausts, Captain.ä Crusher suddenly got to her feet and stepped toward him, using her height and her own grace to prove that he wasnât the only imposing one in the room. ãWe can keep control of ourselves, Mr. Riker. Medical science has had to live with self-control on a personal basis for centuries. Captain, I know you donât like to use the weapons, but that thing is a tyrant!ä Riker bent over the desk, his palms flat on its black top. ãIf we bend our rules,ä he insisted, ãor even amend them, even at the request of the terminally ill, then we risk all of us. When we turn down the death requests of individuals, we protect us all.ä He looked at the captain and said, ãWeâre playing ethical roulette, sir, and Iâm not comfortable with it.ä Troi didnât look at him, but there was a poignant lack of charity in her tone. ãItâs not your comfort weâre talking about.ä His eyes flashed. ãNo,ä he stabbed back, ãbut weâre risking the ethical security of every sentient life we contact from now on. How long before this gets out of hand? Weâre at risk as a society if it does.ä The captain frowned at him. ãIâm not willing to take on the moral burden of all humanity, Number One,ä he said, ãbut I intend to take a stand here and now. I appreciate your playing devilâs advocate, but÷ä ãIâm not,ä Riker told him. ãI donât think itâs our place to do this. And I donât think itâs fair of those beings to ask this of us. We have the right not to become murderers.ä ãCaptain,ä Crusher interjected, ãweâre past the point of no return. Our killing them may be hard on us, but their living is harder on them.ä ãThatâs your opinion, doctor,ä Riker clarified. ãYes,ä she said. ãThe captain asked for my opinion. If youâre captain someday, you donât have to ask me.ä Bitterness swirled between them, and for several seconds, she let it have its way. Once the silence became oppressive, she inhaled deeply and addressed the captain with her final word. ãSir, in my judgment as chief surgeon of the Enterprise,ä she said, ãwe have what will go down in my report as acceptable prior consent.ä The captain heard the ball drop cleanly into his court. Was his responsibility to the beings inside the entity, or to the entity, or to the ship, or to those life-forms whose essences would be absorbed by that thing in the future if he failed to act now? ãItâs Federation mandate to avoid policing the galaxy, Captain.ä Rikerâs face reflected clearly in the viewport. Picard nodded tightly. ãYes, we canât forget that. Federation policy will have to be my guide on this. The dirty reality is that we may not even be able to save ourselves. The better part of valor may be to get away and let the Federation decide how to deal with this thing.ä Troi rocketed from her chair. ãYou donât understand! These people canât even communicate with each other! There are millions of them, all alone. Alone! Itâs not like a crippled body. Even then there can be sight, sound, interaction÷these people have nothing!ä The captain started toward her. ãCounselor÷ä She backed away. ãYou donât know what itâs like! You canât know. You can talk and discuss and argue, but you donât know. Captain, if that entity comes after us and there is no way to stop it from absorbing us, I promise you I will not go on like that! I will not! Iâll kill myself first.ä ãDeanna,ä Crusher began, reaching for her. But every one of them was affected by the utter conviction in her voice, her face, by the irrational promise from a person they knew to be supremely rational. Riker felt especially responsible, and he stood a few paces away, unable to make himself go to her. Dr. Crusher put an arm around Troi and steered her toward the door. ãCome with me. Iâll give you something to calm you down.ä Troi started to go, but now she pushed away violently. ãNo! I donât dare let you sedate me! I can barely keep control now. Doesnât anyone understand?ä ãYes, yes,ä Crusher told her. ãYou know I do. Letâs just go out to the bridge.ä She steered the other woman toward the door, and cast a scolding look back at Riker and Picard. ãWeâll just be a few minutes.ä Her words said one thing; her look said another. Picard watched them leave without uttering a sound. When he and Riker were finally alone, he turned to the viewport and stared out into open space. Before him was the panorama of distant stars and solar systems, the gas giant that had recently been their biggest problem and suddenly looked puny and insignificant as it whirled in bright green innocence at the very edge of his view. Two deep lines bracketed his mouth. He was a man with too many choices. ãThat infernal thing is hiding out there, waiting for us to make a mistake,ä he said. His voice dropped to a near whisper. ãHow many more of this kind of thing are out there, Riker? How many more decisions like this? What do we do when we have no doubt about a personâs÷a communityâs÷rational, reasonable desire to die?ä Standing beside him, Riker could offer no real solution÷but he had his own personal answer. One as first officer÷not captain÷he could afford. Without moving, he quietly asked, ãDo we have that, sir?ä Picard continued to stare out the viewport, but a furrow appeared in his brow and his eyes drew tight. ãI have to know, as closely as I can know, if this thing is a floating utopia,ä he mused, ãor an interstellar hell.ä Chapter Ten ãI DONâT LIKE THIS at all, Jean-Luc. Iâm putting it on record that this is happening under my protest.ä ãThat should make a lively record, doctor, if it ever reaches Starfleet.ä Sickbayâs isolation unit was buzzing, preparing itself for total zero-grav and the captainâs exact body temperature. Picard watched with a guarded expression as Dr. Crusher prepared a hypo that would do for him what no sane person should allow. Perhaps it took a touch of insanity to drive a man to such measures, or perhaps it only took desperation. All dangers, all risks, all rationality must yield to the single-minded quest of him upon whom the decision fell. And that was Picard. Beside him, Troi was showing signs of wear. The fine dark hairs around her forehead were moist and curling, her eyes were tense, and her posture slack. Everything that had always seemed so easy for her suddenly appeared an effort. In spite of her desire for him to know what her empathic contacts were experiencing, she found the presence of mind to say, ãI must agree with the doctor, sir. Iâve never considered sensory deprivation a valid technique.ä ãItâs out of a horror chamber, if you ask me,ä Crusher said, bobbing her head once with finality. ãAll right,ä the captain told them, ãthen you two can conjure up a better way for me to know what itâs like for those people and do so now, because Iâm out to eliminate as many doubts as possible while we have the time.ä The two women shared a long look, each hoping the other would conjure up an alternative. Picard gave them the courtesy of waiting, which of course was its own form of pressure. ãWhat can I expect?ä Crusher held up her hypo. ãWell, the first effect will be÷ä ãSir,ä Troi interrupted, ãthey didnât know what to expect when this happened to them.ä Picard stared at her for a blank moment. For the first time, the prospect of what he was about to do frightened him. His gratitude that she would look after the accuracy of his experiment was tangled with annoyance that she had to do it quite so well. ãMmmm,ä he uttered, frowning. ãI suppose. All right, letâs get it going.ä He stood stiffly as the doctor pressed the hypo to his carotid artery and it hissed against his skin. ãIâm limiting the time,ä Crusher called as the captain stepped into the isolation cubicle. ãDonât tell me how long,ä he said. ãWould I do that? You understand itâs not like sleeping, donât you?ä ãActually, I know very little about this,ä the captain admitted, and he sounded proud of himself. ãReady when you are, Captain.ä ãGo ahead.ä The isolation unit closed itself off with a thick and solid wall of layered soundproofing, the kind of stuff that would muffle almost anything short of a major earthquake. Troi watched it close with growing apprehension, and moved to the doctorâs side as Crusher completed instructions for the isolation program. ãWhat will it do to him?ä The doctor shrugged. ãPhysically, the narcotic will paralyze his body and deaden all external sensory impulses to his brain. Itâll do nothing to his consciousness at all. Once I get this punched in, the chamber will provide zero-G with light tethering to keep him from floating into a wall, and itâll go completely dark in there.ä Troi shivered. ãHeâll be just like them.ä With a cryptic nod, the doctor said, ãAnd just as helpless.ä Captain Picard stood at the center of the small gray chamber, waiting for full isolation to kick in. His fingers had been tingling since the hypo came away from his neck, and he couldnât feel his toes anymore, but otherwise there was no effect yet. He glanced around the room, an exercise in flat paint. Thirty seconds and already this seemed interminable. Troiâs descriptions sent a chill through him as he recalled the past few hours and how deeply she had been affected by what she was feeling. What she was being forced to feel. ãWell, get on with it,ä he muttered. How long did it take to program so simple a pattern? This wasnât the holodeck, after all. He tried to tap his fingers against his thighs to vent his impatience, and in his mind he indeed did that, but his hands wouldnât form into the shapes his mind thought of. He started to look down at them÷but couldnât make his neck bend. His head swirled as he tried to move, but only his eyes could still shift in their sockets. His legs were putty, his back arched and began to ache as sensation quickly seeped away. After a few seconds the ache started to go away too, and suddenly he missed its reassuring throb. A little trickle of panic erupted and he had to fight it off as he stared at the blank gray wall. Maybe we should cancel this. He couldnât hear his voice. Heâd heard it before; where was it now? His tongue moved slightly in the back of his throat, but that was all there was left to him. When the zero-G kicked in and he saw the wall move very slightly before him, his involuntary systems yanked a breath into his lungs and he heard the gasp. At least something was still attached to his brain. Strange sensation, though÷ The flat gray wall wavered. Or did it? Now the paint looked glossier÷almost reflective. YesÊ.Ê.Ê. there was a face. A faceÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê A man. Picard instantly dismissed the idea of reflection. It wasnât his face at all. The eyes came into focus first, and very clearly. Without blinking they stared directly at Picard as a squared jawline and wide shoulders formed beneath. There was dark hair with a streak of white over one temple, and an expression of pure decisiveness. Even anger. Picard heard his heart pound in his ears, a long distorted sound, and not for an instant did he have any doubt about who shared his cubicle or the realness of what he saw. Riker had described exactly this and Picard entertained neither question nor guess. Paralyzed, he stared back. Captain to captain, across the ages, the silent meeting became interminable. Picardâs mind raged to be able to open his mouth and speak to Arkady Reykov, to ask him the question that would make everything much simpler, but his body was numb, gone. And the cubicle was getting dark. Damn it! Why now? Give me ten more seconds! Reykov lifted his hand, and the hand became a fist. He showed it to Picard÷not a threat, but some kind of example. Picard tried to shake his head, to communicate that he didnât understand. That too failed him. Reykov opened his fist and spread his fingers in a European exaggeration that Picardâs French background allowed him to understand perfectly: Well? Darkness closed around them. And darker stillÊ.Ê.Ê. and darker. Not yet, damn it! Blackness. Blacker than a dead computer screen, blacker than space. Was Reykov still here? Full panic struck. It was as though his heart snapped. Picardâs mind suddenly flashed back to childhood, to those awful horror stories children canât get enough of, to what wasnât there and what pretended to be there÷and what was there. He waited to be grabbed. But he wouldnât even feel it if it happened. He mightâve been grabbed already. Was Beverly monitoring his heartbeat? His brainwaves? He hadnât discussed that with her. She would think of it, wouldnât she? All right, get a grip on yourself. Youâve just seen a ghost, and thereâs nothing to be done about it. Be practical. Get concentrating on the task at hand. Youâre fine. Youâre in the isolation chamber, itâs dark, and you canât move. Itâs exactly the correct conditions and you asked for it. Youâve needed a rest anyway. How bad can it be for a few hours? Geordi paced the small area Data had trapped him in for about as long as he could stand it before he started tearing the facing off the wall to look for a circuit he could splice into to get that contamination shield to open up. Or maybe he could cut into the communication network and buzz for help. Just about anything would be better better than stalking around here like a big chicken waiting for its feed while Data flew off into nowhere to get deep-fried. What a pair. Data. He took everything so personally. If that didnât qualify him as a person, what did? Only persons can take things personally. Machines donât. How come Data listened to everyone else lately? ãWhy donât you pay attention to me for a change?ä Geordi howled. He glanced up from the close work of digging through all the exposed circuitry in the wall. ãWhatâm I? Iâm part machine too, yâknow! DamnÊ.Ê.Ê. whereâs the main link?ä Shuttlecraft. Great, just great. Data was probably gone by now and there was no way to change what was going on out there. His hands started to sweat. The going got slower as his fingers began to tremble and slip. Only the microfilters in his visor kept him from making twice as many errors as he was already making. And only his dogged reliance on the occasional snide remark kept him from admitting that he was plain scared. That thing, that light show out thereÊ.Ê.Ê. horrible. Geordi shuddered as he carefully weeded out the circuit chips heâd need to bypass the shorted-out lock. Heâd had nightmares that looked like that thing. The times when his visor was malfunctioning, heâd see things wrong. Light would be distorted, heat would stretch things÷like having a fever and no way to cool off. The others didnât know what Data had been put through when it attacked him; they didnât see like Geordi did. Theyâd never understand, and theyâd never quite believe him if they couldnât see it for themselves. I donât blame themÊ.Ê.Ê. exactly. Itâs not the kind of thing you believe until you see it for yourself. If I have to plug myself right into the computer core by the eyeballs, Iâll make them see it. Iâll make them get him back. That means you, Mr. Riker. Yes, sir. You. This is certainly strange. Enjoyable. I havenât thought of Laura for years. How many? An entire age, perhaps. And such beautiful memories to have set aside. There was a poem she liked. Which was it? She liked long poems and epics. She had such patienceÊ.Ê.Ê. who reads epics? She read them aloud sometimes, all in one sitting. And so well for an untrained voice. Or have the years made it sound better? Absence, like dainty Clouds, On glorious-bright, Natureâs weake senses shrowds, From harming light. Absence maintained the treasure Of pleasure unto pleasure, Sparing with praise; Absence doth nurse the fire, Which starves and feeds desire With sweet delays. Heâd heard it read once before. Once. And hadnât thought of it since. Listened to and forgotten; his brain caught up with the girl and her voice and not the poem, yet now he remembered and reexperienced every word, every syllable, every nuance. The meanings of the words together, their meanings separately, even the music of the letters. The whole poem. Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke÷Caelica, wasnât it? When had he picked up so much literary awareness? Certainly he had paid little attention in that class he signed up for, especially since he only signed up for it so he could walk Laura there every other day. Ah, young men. Young women. This experience was enthralling too, this complete freedom of his mind to explore and remember and examine the things heâd seen in his life. Old experiences that he thought had faded came charging back in full light. Once again, and one at a time, he became intimate with his own memories, all the pasts a man his age could accrue. It wasnât a bad-looking past at all, really, dismissing a few knocks, stumbles, and burned fingers along the way. After the past was enjoyed, something in it reminded him of quantum physics and away he went on that fast ship through all the science and math heâd ever been taught or figured out or even watched being figured by someone else. It all seemed so simple now! Equation after theory after hypothesis after experiment÷stunning and dazzling, all the compartments his mind had closed and kept treasured all these years. Dead relatives, missing comrades, absent friends, friends who also died, one after another they came to visit him in his silent place here and he reexperienced them, from pleasure to pain, and he felt himself cry. Or thought he didÊ.Ê.Ê. Where were his eyes? Where were his tears? Why couldnât he feel the tears on his cheeks? How long have I been here? In fact, where am I? Oh, yes. The ship. I should have Riker try this. Itâs exhilarating, seductiveÊ.Ê.Ê. having no distractions, no clock to answer to, nothing to concern my mind other than its own thoughts, not even an itch to rupture my attention. Though it would be reassuring if I could just wiggle my toesÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê How will I know if the ship needs me? We could be blasted out of space and Iâd never know. NoÊ.Ê.Ê. Riker would have me brought out if I was needed. What is this strange irrationality? Were those birds? Heâd heard that kind of birdsong once beforeÊ.Ê.Ê. Canis IV? Yes, of course. The fluffy birds with the silly faces. They made a pretty song. Perhaps heâd just hang here and listen for a while. Something about Canis IV÷a long time ago. No. No, I donât want to remember that. NoÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê Riker paced the bridge, eyeing the deceptive emptiness of space on the huge viewscreen. The bridge was reduced to nightclub dimness. The walls and carpet, usually the color of sand and camels, were dark now and Riker felt like he was walking around inside a cup of espresso. The shiny black computer panels and liquid crystal schematics of the shipâs operating systems were reduced from their usual foam greens and blues to muddy and muted patterns. With the lights down and the displays subdued, the broad viewscreen jumped to shocking prominence. Suddenly they were players on a proscenium and everything they did was crucial. The level of their voices, the sheen of sweat on their skin, the sequence of their movements. Everything was magnified. And before them, space was their audience. As empty as space was, and as cold as it was, it never quite looked that way. There were always stars to twinkle their pastel lights and broad nebulas to shimmer in the distance, but it was hard for the human mind to accept the wholeness of that distance, so everything looked much fuller than it was. He often liked to watch space go by, but today it gave him no comfort. Today there was a rat behind the woodwork. Still out there. Hiding behind all that nothing. Riker knotted his fists and dared it to come out. ãLieutenant Worf, anything further from life sciences or engineering on that thing?ä Worfâs huge frame straightened from Science Station 2. ãWeâre trying to lock down the individual components of its exostructure now, sir, using the postulation of interdimensionality as a guide. Donât worry, sir. Weâll figure it out if I have to slice off a piece of it and beat it to death for an autopsy.ä Riker nodded, but he couldnât manage the smile that wouldâve shown his real gratitude. Nearly fourteen hours now, hanging here in silence and dimness. Heâd never been much of a wait-around type, and this kind of tension was mutilating. How often had they told him at the Academy that battle was nine-tenths waiting? Waiting, planning, analyzing, waiting. Deadly. Sometimes deadlier than the battle itself. It made for recklessness. He wished the captain was here. This business of isolation, sensory deprivation, sounded risky. Never mind time-consuming when time was one thing they might not have. Then again, Iâm the one pacing around with nothing to do. The captainâs probably getting something accomplished while I wear a rut in the rug. He found heâd worked his way up to Worfâs station. Riker leaned over the muted display, keeping his voice low. ãNo clues about some way to fight that thing off, Worf?ä ãAs a matter of fact, sir,ä Worfâs deep voice returned clearly, ãweâve brought it down to a question of its tolerance level.ä ãTolerance?ä ãYes, sir. How much energy it can take in at a given time. We think thatâs why it backed off us before.ä Worfâs big brown fingers poked in a few commands, and the faint jade image of the Enterprise was enhanced. Specific areas on the display then quietly flashed. ãThese were the areas most affected by the drain. Weâre trying to narrow down its power consumption at the moment it backed off. If we can calculate the amount of energy drained from the ship up to the point when the entity backed off, we may be able to calculate its breaking point.ä Riker straightened. ãBoy, that sounds shaky. Youâre proposing we overfeed it to overload itä ãThatâs the conclusion so far, sir. Weâre keeping our minds open for alternatives, but it likes the taste of energy and the phasers÷ä ãI know. All right, keep going. Iâd like a couple of choices to present to the captain when he comes out of his experiment, and exhausting all the shipâs power trying to stuff that thing till it pops isnât my favorite. That leaves us with no second chance.ä ãUnderstood, sir.ä Worf made no ceremony about turning his fierce countenance back to his console once again, his dogged perseverance taking over completely. Riker watched him for a moment, taking refuge in the fact that Worf was ignoring him. He wished all his crew could be so unaffected by the presence of an officer at his shoulder. Even Data wasnât this imperturbable. Not with me, anyway. But I guess I make him nervous. All at once he turned. ãWhere is Data? Still down in AR?ä Worf looked puzzled as he said, ãNow that you mention it, sir, we havenât heard from either him or LaForge since they cleared us to refill the mains. They were monitoring from the source.ä ãDoesnât take this long. Get them back up here.ä ãRight away, sir.ä ãWorf, how do you feel about all this? What are your instincts telling you?ä ãMy instincts, sir?ä The big man came to his full height and frowned in thought. ãThe captain never asks me about tactics, sir.ä ãWell, Iâm asking.ä ãKlingons are warriors, sir. Our goal is to die in battle. Some Klingons have even made wars and feuds begin so they and their clans could go out and die right. But this thing,ä he said contemptuously, casting a glare at the wide viewscreen and its glitter, ãthis thing is a coward and a bully. There is no honor in fighting it.ä ãYou wouldnât feel obliged to fight it if you could find a way to escape it?ä ãNo more than I would feel obliged to fight a thunderstorm, sir.ä ãI see,ä Riker murmured. ãThank you.ä ãMy pleasure, sir.ä His pleasure sounded like a threat. What a voice. Glad itâs on our side, Riker thought as he strode away, trying to think like a Klingon. Coward and a bully. Yes, that was true. A big stupid phenomenon with more power than it knew how to handle and a propensity for stealing more. It probably thought preserving the life essences of its victims was the decent thing to do. If it thought at all, which it probably didnât. Or did it? Data had been in contact with something, and evidently not the same something Deanna was sensing. Maybe there was more intelligence at work than was apparent÷ It didnât matter. Getting away mattered. Not falling into the trap mattered. Riker remembered too clearly the anguish in Arkady Reykovâs eyes when the two had ãmetä in the corridor. Met÷if only they could. Envy pierced him suddenly and he wished he could crawl into Deannaâs mind and have a conversation with Reykov and Vasska. What would it be like? To contact men of that age? Such a fascinating part of history, that brink of the great plunge into the space age÷what a time it must have been. They could build ships like that and float them on top of the water and put five thousand people inside. Wouldnât it be interesting to speak to Timofei Vasska and compare first-officer notes? What did Vasska have to know? Things about the sea and atmosphere that probably seldom occurred to captains and officers these days. And all the political tumults of a civilization like Earthâs÷what an experience it would be to understand the thoughts of such people as they must have been. Theyâd have to be decisive and quick. Their opinions were probably right up front all the time, no disguises, no shady diplomacy. And here they were, within reach. Asking for help, in fact, according to Deanna. Part of the brotherhood of big ships. All at once, guilt entered his thoughts. How sure could he be of his own convictions? What had Reykov tried to convey to him when they met in the corridor? What had that extended hand meant? Riker knew heâd hurt Deanna with his arguments. He remembered how her face had grown pale, her eyes sad as she looked at him during those moments. Arguing with Crusher was easy enough. Doctors were used to that, and Beverly was so low-key her heart only beat once a day. But Deanna had never really known what to do with confrontation. It wasnât part of her nature. Heâd hit her when she was down. He approached the command chair and touched the intercom. Quietly he asked, ãTell me where Counselor Troi is now.ä The computerâs response was immediate and conspicuous on the quiet bridge. ãCounselor Troi is in sickbay lab isolation area, unit four.ä ãStill? How long are they going to let this go on?ä he muttered, clasping his hands behind his back. ãMore information is required to answer your inquiry, please.ä ãI didnât mean you. Cancel.ä ãThank you.ä ãPain in the ass,ä he grumbled back at its sugary female voice, and strode forward away from it. Something had to work. So far, nothing had, but something would have to. Separating the ship had only gotten them into bigger trouble. Increasing power to the shields had only attracted and fed the creature. Phaser power would probably do the same, albeit with a different kind of energy. There had to be some weapon to devise, something, some idea in Starfleetâs new technology that could get them out of this. It was here, that idea, Riker made himself believe. All they had to do was find it. ExceptÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê all the cards were in the deck. They didnât have enough information about the enemy. He turned expectantly and looked at Worfâs hunched shoulders as the Klingon bent resolutely over the science station. Riker sighed, and paced. Going to space on a ship like thisÊ.Ê.Ê. it was easy to get smug, to figure the deck was solid and the ship was impregnable. Easy to become imperious about mortality. And when the wisdom of the age put children on board÷wellÊ.Ê.Ê. safe, right? ãSir!ä He spun, dragged around both by the alarm and the accusation in the voice that stormed the bridge. On the upper deck, LaForge was charging out of the turbolift. ãWhereâve you been?ä Riker demanded. Then LaForgeâs appearance registered÷little electrical burns on his sleeves, his dark features glossy with sweat, and even behind the visor anger showing clearly in his face. Riker paused and redesigned his question. ãWhat happened to you?ä ãData locked me in the AR decontamination stall and shorted out the safety shield. It took me this long to tear the wall apart and get out,ä LaForge panted. ãMr. Riker, heâs gone.ä ãGone?ä Riker blurted. ãWhere?ä ãHe took a shuttlecraft and headed out to find the creature. And itâs your fault, sir.ä ãHe took÷are you sure?ä ãI was just down at the flight deck. The autolog in the deck control control loft says he left over half an hour ago.ä ãWorf! Check that!ä ãWonât do any good,ä LaForge said. ãHe bypassed all the relays that wouldâve notified the bridge. He knows all the tricks, sir. You know he does.ä ãWorf, try to track him,ä Riker amended as he climbed the ramp in three long steps and confronted LaForge. ãYou got any idea what his thinking is on this?ä LaForge said, ãHeâs hoping to be able to communicate with that thing if he can get closer to it.ä ãAnd?ä ãWhy would there be anything else, Mr. Riker?ä ãCome on, LaForge, I see it in your face. What else?ä ãJust a little thing, sir. Because youâve been so nice to him, heâs gone to find out if heâs alive enough for the creature to suck the life out of him.ä The bridge shrank away. Rikerâs eyes tightened until they were aching. He brought a hand to them and leaned the other palm on the bridge rail. ãOh, no,ä he groaned. ãOh, damnÊ.Ê.Ê. who knew heâd be that sensitive?ä ãDid he have to be?ä LaForge shot back. ãDamn,ä he murmured again, this time a whisper. ãWorf, anything on that shuttlecraft?ä ãSensors on passive arenât picking up anything at all, sir. I donât understand. Even passive read should pick up something the size of a shuttlecraft.ä Riker gestured toward Worf, but looked at LaForge and asked, ãGot an explanation for that?ä LaForge shrugged. ãDataâs not stupid, sir. He probably rigged a sensor shield of some kind to give him time to get away before we could beam him back or hit him with a tractor beam. We could pick him up right away on active sensors, but passives arenât powerful enough and Data knows we donât dare use them.ä ãDoes he have a plan?ä ãNot that he told me. He intends to attract its attention, thatâs all I know.ä ãWorf, can he do it in a shuttlecraft?ä The Klingon paused, then said, ãNo problem, sir. All heâd have to do is use the weapons on board.ä Pacing away from them, Riker folded his arms tightly, gathering to deal with a problem he himself had caused. ãHe didnât have to do this.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä ãThanks to you, he thought he did,ä LaForge said. Riker struck him with a glare and snapped, ãThatâs enough from you. I know what I did. Have you got something constructive to say?ä LaForge straightened÷almost to attention, but not quite÷and got suddenly formal. ãYes, sir. Request permission to take another shuttlecraft and go after him. I believe that would put only the two of us at risk and not attract attention to the Enterprise.ä ãAnd do what when you find him? Dock up and slap his wrist?ä ãI could relay coordinates, and you could beam us both back simultaneously.ä Riker paused, and the sarcasm protecting him from his own mistake suddenly flooded away. ãThatâs a good idea,ä he heard himself say, even though he hadnât meant to say it aloud. He strode back to LaForge and said, ãBut you shouldnât be the one to go. Iâm the cause of this. Iâm the reason heâs risking his life, and Iâm going after him.ä ãYou, sir? You said he was just a machine. That he doesnât have a life to risk.ä Stifling the desire to reach out and crush those words out of the air, Riker gazed at LaForge so intently he could almost see through the ribbed silver visor and through the dead eyes to the very core of LaForgeâs concern for Data. He took a step closer to the navigator and said, ãGeordi, nobody needs to be that wrong more than once.ä Stiffly LaForge insisted, ãHow do you know you were wrong?ä But the answer to the challenge was already there on Rikerâs face, and he even had the words for it. ãMachines donât go beyond their programming. No machine has ever sacrificed itself to save others,ä he said. ãData just did both.ä LaForgeâs stiff posture slackened as he heard Rikerâs whole-hearted belief and saw the subtle physiological changes that showed him the first officer was sincere. Even through his anger, he couldnât doubt his own vision. ãSir, I donât know if heâll listen to you. You know what I mean.ä Softly Riker responded, ãIâll make him listen.ä He started toward the turbolift, then whirled and snapped his fingers. ãNotify Dr. Crusher to get the captain out of isolation, stabilize him, and fill him in on this. But give me time to get clear of the ship first.ä LaForge took a tentative step toward him. ãSir, could I÷ä ãNo,ä Riker said. ãYou stay here. In fact,ä he added with a gesture that took in the bridge, ãtake over.ä *ÊÊ*ÊÊ* The bad memories were piling one on top of the other like an avalanche and there was nothing to stop them. Nothing to distract his mind from them or give him something, anything to cling to. Not an itch, not a blink, nothing. He could no longer focus his thoughts voluntarily. His mind moved of its own accord. The more he tried not to think of certain things, the quicker his mind shot to them and lingered there. There was no longer any way to avoid thoughts or deflect the process. After the good memories had been relived, his mind went deeper and deeper into the past he had long ago learned to control; all the terrible things from childhood and even from his adult past came plunging back at him and there was no stopping it. His mind was a wide field on which all these things were wild birds pecking. Why was he being left in here so long? Why had he been forgotten here? If only he could wiggle his toes. His fingers. Anything. To feel his own presence would be something, at least÷at the very least. To hear himself breatheÊ.Ê.Ê. it was all gone. His sense of time was utterly gone, no matter how he tried to keep control, to keep track. The mind worked at something like twenty-four thousand words per minute, so it probably seemed longer than it had been÷but how long? If he could blink, he could begin to judge time again. If he could draw a breath or move a finger, he would have some point of reference. If there was only something, some sense of time or lifeÊ.Ê.Ê. breathing, heartbeat, anything. It was difficult now to tell if he was awake or asleep, or even to know the difference. No matter how he kept reminding himself of where he was and why he was here, any sense of purpose slid away almost instantly now. Thoughts could no longer take hold in his mind. Then the distortion set in. Doomed to the redundancy of his own thoughts, he felt the horror of the future. Even pain would be welcome. Theyâve forgotten me. Theyâve forgotten Iâm here. But where is here? Iâm not sure anymore. Do they know theyâve left me behind? Have they stopped monitoring? Did they forget having a captain named Picard? Wasnât there an entity? Riker wanted to leave the area, not attack the creatureÊ.Ê.Ê. Has he used this opportunity to do that? Ridiculous. But what other explanation? That thingâs out there. It must have attacked again. Itâs taken all of us and this is eternity for me now. My God, we must all be inside that thing! Thereâs no other explanation. Why else would I be in here for so many days? How can there be such solitude? Man wasnât meant for this. I wasnât meant for this. I donât want it. My arms. Theyâre falling off. I have no shoulders to hold them on. My elbows are growingÊ.Ê.Ê. my kneesÊ.Ê.Ê. how can I still be alive this way? I canât hear myself breathe. I canât swallow. ListenÊ.Ê.Ê. nothing. Nothing. Where is everything? Everyone? Death isnât supposed to feel unnatural like this. But Iâm not dead. Iâm not dead. But life isnât like this, and how can there be anything other than death and life? Beverly? Are you checking? Theyâve left me behind. They thought I died and they left my body in space and somehow my mind is awake. This is monstrousÊ.Ê.Ê. unforgivable. I canât touch myself. A human being should at least have himself for company. Where am I? Let me out! Donât leave me in space! Itâs so cold here.Ê.Ê.Ê. Chapter Eleven TROI PACED OUTSIDE the isolation chamber, her arms tightly folded. She couldnât get warm. Frustration picked at her as she tried to find the words to explain her perceptions to the captain, words good enough to make her walk over there and put an end to this chamber experiment. The mind was her professional realm, and this kind of mental distortion had always irritated her. The mind need not be stretched out of shape to be understood, or to be made to understand. Such a man, Picard was÷subjecting himself to this on the slim chance that it would help make his decision a bit surer than it otherwise might have been. ãHave some coffee, Deanna,ä Dr. Crusher said, having lost count of the passes Troi had made between the chamber and the monitor. Troi cut her pacing short. ãHow is he? Do you know?ä ãStable, physically. The encephalogramâs a little erratic, but nothing Iâd call unexpected.ä Shaking her head, Troi said, ãI must be more affected than I realize, to let him do this to himself. Iâve never approved of these procedures.ä ãIf the captain comes out of there even a little more sure, itâll all be worthwhile.ä ãIâm not convinced,ä Troi said. ãSit down, will you?ä Crusher ordered up a steaming cup of coffee coffee and handed it to Troi, actually having to fold the counselorâs hand around the cup. ãDrink. And forget about the captain for a few minutes. I guarantee heâs forgotten all about you.ä ãThatâs what worries me.ä Crusher sat back and nodded, checked the monitors again, found them unchanged, then crossed her legs and tried to take her own advice. ãWhat about you? Whatâs it doing to you?ä Troiâs black eyes lay unfocused on the pool of coffee. ãTheyâre on me every second. They give me no restÊ.Ê.Ê. these strangers. Theyâre so desperate, Beverly, and itâs an intimacy beyond description. I donât think even a full Betazoid could understand it. I tried so hard to make the captain understandÊ.Ê.Ê. and BillÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Crusher leaned forward and squeezed Deannaâs wrist reassuringly. ãDonât take it too hard. He was doing what he thought was best.ä ãWas he?ä ãOh, I think so.ä Troi felt her lips tighten as she fought back the rush of emotion. ãI wish one or the other of us could beÊ.Ê.Ê. somewhere else.ä ãI know,ä the doctor said sympathetically. ãItâs difficult to deal with someone who reappears out of your past. Especially when you disagree.ä ãI expected his support,ä Troi said, her voice cracking. ãWe know each other better than either of us knows anyone else on this ship. I thought he of all people would accept my judgment.ä ãItâs not his job to accept your judgment, Deanna, you know that. If anything, his duty is to make sure the captain is clear on all angles of a crisis.ä ãOh, Beverly, thatâs not what he was doing. I could feel it. He really believed the things he said.ä ãHeâs entitled to,ä Crusher said soothingly. ãHaving an affection for each other doesnât mean you have to be joined at the brain. Youâre allowed to disagree.ä ãI know that, butÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãHow long have you known each other?ä ãOh, nearly five years.ä A warm tinge of nostalgia mellowed her distraught expression. ãWe had a lively time together before he decided to devote his life to a long-term mission. There was a time when we planned a future togetherÊ.Ê.Ê. before we realized we wanted different things from life. He was gallant and gentlemanly, as he is now, perhaps a bit brusque and arrogant÷ä ãAs he is now,ä Crusher appended with a playful smile. Troi nodded. ãThis,ä she said, glancing around at the wholeness of Enterprise, ãwas a coincidence neither of us foresaw.ä ãWhy do you call him Bill when everyone else calls him Will?ä Troiâs cheeks flushed, and she managed a smile. ãI didnât know it was so obvious.ä ãItâs not. Iâm just astonishingly observant, you know.ä Troiâs delicate smile widened. ãÊÎBillâ sounds like a word in the language of Betazed. A word I likeÊ.Ê.Ê. reminds me of my childhood there. Thereâs no translation, but it had to do with÷oh, I shouldnât tell you. I wouldnât want to compromise him.ä ãGo ahead,ä the doctor said, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, ãcompromise him.ä ãWell, it meansÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãYes?ä ãShaving cream.ä ãÊÎBillâ means Îshaving creamâ in Betazoid?ä Troi felt a touch of laughter bubble out of her. ãThat word always reminds me of this particular brand of Macedonian shaving cream my father used to use. It was scented evergreen and÷ä ãOh, that explains it!ä Crusher said. ãLatent childhood impressions of parental evergreenery. There you are! Itâs not Riker who attracts you÷itâs pine trees! And I think Iâm only a fair psychologist. Move over, Deanna, I think I like this. Wait till Wesley hears about it. Shaving Cream Riker.ä ãBeverly, you wouldnât!ä ãOh, wouldnât I? Itâll spread like wildfire among everybody under twenty years old÷ä Her face was alight with conspiracy when the sickbay door shot open. Geordi streaked in and without the slightest hesitation stabbed a finger at the isolation chamber and said, ãGet him out of there. Weâve got trouble.ä ãCaptain? Captain? Jean-Luc, can you hear me? Jean-Luc?ä He heard her voice. Had been hearing it, in fact, for what seemed like years. He moved toward it through a terrible darkness, a spiraling tunnel with glazed walls, and after half an eternity he opened his eyes. ãJean-Luc?ä Beverly Crusher bent over him, concern etched into her features. He felt the anger working on his face, the effort of trying to speak when his body had almost forgotten how. He felt betrayed and enraged, wanting to demand why they had left him in there so long÷why they had put him through that, why they had let the phenomenon devour him and everything he held precious. ãNeurological functions approaching normal, Bev,ä someone said from behind her. Another doctor. What was his name? Mitchell? Yes, the neurologist. ãFinally.ä She sighed. ãJean-Luc, do you understand what Iâm saying?ä He managed a nod, and his head pounded its protest. He forced it to move, discovered his neck was in no better condition, but he was now able to see Counselor Troi standing beside his bed with another expression like Beverlyâs. His anger began slowly to dissipate as he began to differentiate reality from dream. As if he was emerging from a vivid nightmare, he had to pick his way through the mist, deciding point for point what was real and what was not ãMy GodÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä he rasped. His voice sounded like gravel. ãHowÊ.Ê.Ê. how longÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãMore than fourteen hours in isolation,ä Crusher said, ãand itâs taken us over two more to rouse you. I told you I didnât want to do this.ä ãFourteen,ä he uttered. ãIt felt more likeÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä ãHush while we stabilize you. You just relax.ä He let his head fall back on the pillow, stared at the ceiling, and whispered, ãMy GodÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä He lay still, aware of Troiâs unflagging gaze but unable to meet it yet, his mind clogged with confusion. This was like awakening from a long, distorted, unrelenting nightmare and not knowing for sure which parts were only dream. This remained with him in the pools of sweat between his fingers÷his precious fingers that heâd thought were gone÷and in the coldness of his feet that wouldnât warm up. Finally he heard his own breathing. Ragged, but a joy to hear again. He concentrated so singularly upon it that when the sickbay door hissed open, he wondered why his breathing sounded that way. Only when Lieutenant Worfâs massive frame loomed over the counselorâs did Picard begin to separate truth from illusion. ãYou said you would contact us when he was awake,ä the Klingon boomed to Crusher. ãI said Iâd call you when he was stable,ä Crusher told him sternly. ãHe isnât. But I will when he is, donât worry, Lieutenant.ä But Worf didnât leave. ãShipâs business, doctor.ä ãI think itâll have to wait.ä Picard raised a numb hand. ãLieutenant,ä he struggled to say, ãreport.ä ãAye, sir. We had to pull you out of isolation early because we have a new emergency. Commander Data has taken a shuttlecraft and gone out into the sector to attempt contact with the entity, and Commander Riker has gone after him in a research dinghy.ä ãWha÷ä Picard came halfway off the bed and was bodily attacked by the doctor, the neurologist, and two interns who actually managed to knock Worf out of the way. ãWhat? When?ä ãTwo hours ago for Mr. Riker, sir. Weâre in contact with him, but he hasnât found Data. Weâre keeping communication to a minimum, of course.ä ãWhat kind of absurd÷get me up.ä Crusher tossed her head and called, ãStimulant.ä Picard watched incredulously as she pressed the hypo against his arm. The situation must be even trickier than his foggy mind was putting together. ãJust donât make any fast moves for an hour or so,ä she told him as the two interns helped him find his balance. ãIâm afraid all we may have left,ä he said, ãare fast moves.ä As he experimented with his newfound legs, his gaze fell on Troi as she watched expectantly a few paces away, her expression taut and hopeful now, wanting to know what he had experienced, what he had decided, yet frightened of asking. Or perhaps she was sensitive enough to know she didnât have to ask; he would tell her when he was ready. Yes, that was it. He saw that now as he looked at her large exotic eyes. He reached for her hand and firmly said, ãCounselor, would you like to escort me to the bridge? This situation has gone far enough.ä ãRiker to Data. Riker to Data. I know youâre out there. Talk to me. Donât make me boost my gain. Iâm picking you up faintly on tight sensors, but if you make me expand the sensor cone, that thingâll home in on it and weâll both be finished. Do you copy?ä It was the fourth time heâd made that threat, and the fourth time heâd failed. He was bluffing; he didnât have Dataâs shuttlecraft on his readouts at all. But if Data thought he didÊ.Ê.Ê. well, that was the game. He was halfway to the solar system, traveling at half sublight. On his aft monitor, Enterprise hung against black space, regally composed amid these devilish odds, her opalescent hulls and nacelles seeming quite open to attack right now. Even from here he saw how low her energies were running. Her impulse and warp sections normally glowed brightly and were now simply brushed with pale color. The string of lights that shone from her rectangular windows were dim slits now, and there were fewer of them than he cared to see. This was a disturbing picture of the starship for Riker, this muted version of a ship otherwise unafraid to show her power. Today she dared not, at least not yet. Not until they could fight what they were up against. ãCome on, Data, come on, put me out of my misery,ä he grumbled, adjusting the array of sensory equipment on his helm board, This research dinghy was sensor-heavy, virtually all sensors from bow to stern, including most of its outer skin. It was shaped like a boat, its underbelly designed to skim atmospheres, its two lateral sensory pods designed to pick up readings of astonishing detail, right down to wind shifts, storm patterns, and even microorganisms. Ordinarily it would never be used for anything other than research, but today it was the best bet for finding Data. It was smaller and slightly faster than a shuttlecraft, and its pincer-fine sensors could put out a finer beam and draw in cleaner information on less power than any other vessel at his disposal, including cutting through Dataâs makeshift cloaking device. First rule of tactics: get a better horse. Of course, he was ignoring the obvious÷that he could be heading in completely the wrong direction and Data could be a million miles the other way. But if any part of Data was human enough to run on instinct alone, that instinct said to head toward a star system, where life originated, where it belonged. Where the thing might be. And so the swirling gas giant was once again Rikerâs companion in space, the gas giant, the asteroid belt with its obliterated portion, now just so much chips and dust after the starshipâs antimatter dump. Funny÷in the Enterprise this distance didnât seem so big. Without the mass of the starship around him, Riker felt the whole perspective acutely, and even if it took the same amount of time, his search exaggerated the distance he was covering. His dinghy seemed small against the black panorama÷seemed, hell, it was small. ãData, come in, please,ä he attempted again, tightening his communications beam and managing to lengthen it a few more miles. That would take a wider sweep÷everything was compromise. Working the controls so delicately he could barely perceive the change on the displays, he licked his lips and murmured, ãCome on, Data, donât make me live with this.ä ãThis is Commander Data. Mr. Riker, please turn back, sir.ä Riker flinched and gawked at the console for a moment, then pounced on it. ãData? Do you copy me?ä ãI copy, sir. Your pursuit is ill-advised.ä Riker opened his mouth to, snap an insult or an order, but caught his breath and changed gears on the spot. Working as fast as his fingers would go, he tried to force the minimal sensors to draw in on Dataâs location without putting out enough energy to attract the entity. He paused, took a breath, counted to one, and slowly said, ãData, I know what youâre trying to do. Geordi told me. I know this is because of those things I said, and I want to tell youÊ.Ê.Ê. I was wrong. I had no right to say those things.ä ãAppreciated, sir. That does not change the accuracy of your statements. You did help me to perceive myself, and for that I am grateful. Iâm receiving erratic readings on the phenomenon, sir. It seems to be fading in and out of contact. If it probes me again, I may be near enough to it to transmit as well as receive.ä ãThat may kill you. Donât try it. Weâve got other ways to fight this thing.ä ãFighting it is impractical at this time, Mr. Riker. It uses our own energy against us.ä ãWorf may have found a way around that,ä Riker told him, hedging his bets, ãbut we need you to help us lock down the theory. Turn around and letâs go back while we can.ä There was a pause, long enough to make Riker nervous. Finally he tampered with his equipment and said, ãData? Iâm switching to visual.ä As he said it, the screen to his right flickered and focused, supplying him with a reassuring picture of Dataâs face, a little staticky because of the reduced power output. ãData, listen to me. I want you to come back with me. Youâre too valuable a crewman to lose on this wild scheme to communicate with that thing. Be reasonable.ä Dataâs expression was one of regret but resolution as he thoughtfully thoughtfully said, ãEven if I could not find a way to communicate with it, sir, I must continue my search.ä Even though he knew what was coming and hated himself for sparking it, Riker asked the question he had been steered into. ãWhy?ä ãI must find out if there is anything in me that the phenomenon recognizes as a life essence. I must know if there is enough humanity in me,ä Data said slowly, ãto be destroyed.ä Riker squinted into the brightness of the screen. ãData, think about that. Itâs not very logical, is it?ä ãNo, sir. But this may be my only chance to discover whether I am even alive, much less human. And if the entity fails to absorb me,ä he said, his impassivity more than disturbing, ãI shall have my answer. I will know my place.ä ãYour place is with us,ä Riker told him. ãI know that now. Youâre doing something no machine would do. Thatâs enough for me.ä Then the remarkable happened. Data smiled at him. It was a simple, spontaneous smile, childlike and heartwarming, and it didnât seem he was even aware of it. The androidâs sulfurous eyes sparkled with a lively quality that Riker had never noticed when he was standing in the room with him, but it was also the kind of smile that was laced with regret. Riker could tell÷heâd seen enough smiles÷what it meant. ãPicard to Riker. Do you read?ä He flinched again, startled by the completely different voice that suddenly pelted through his com system, and tapped the right pressure points. ãData, stand by.ä The screen winked off, and he hit another link. ãEnterprise, this is Riker.ä ãWhat the hell do you think youâre doing out there, Number One?ä ãIâm zeroing in on Data, Captain. Iâve almost got a transporter triangulation on him.ä ãHave you got a lock on him? Heâs out of low-power communication range with us.ä ãYes, sir Iâm talking to him right now. At least Iâm trying to.ä ãIs he having any success with his hypothesis? Heâs very likely the only being the entityâs happened upon whoâs walking the line between living being and machine. He may be our only chance to communicate.ä ãThatâs true, sir, but I really think thereâs more risk in that than profit, especially for Data.ä ãThen donât dally out there. Get a triangulation on him and weâll beam you both in. I canât afford to lose both of you. Weâll have a talk later about those two vessels you appropriated. You can wager on that.ä ãYes, sir, I underst÷Data! Stop it!ä ãRiker, what is it! Report!ä ãHeâs arming the shuttlecraftâs weapons, Captain, heâs going to fire blind to attract that thing. Data, kill those weapons. Thatâs an order.ä ãSorry, Mr. Riker,ä Data said calmly, ãbut I must draw its attack before you come near enough to be caught also. I do not believe the dinghy puts out sufficient energy to draw its attention while youâre still at this÷ä ãRiker!ä Picardâs voice shot through the system. ãWeâre picking up massive energy readings. Itâs got to be right on top of him out there! Do you see it?ä ãSwitching,ä Riker snapped. Perspiration rolled down his forehead, and became a sheet of moisture when the viewscreen cleared. In space in front of him, the shuttlecraftâs blocky form was dwarfed by the all-too-familiar and too hideous spectral image that had become his nightmare. It closed on Dataâs shuttlecraft with lightning speed and swallowed it whole while Riker watched helplessly, and it took up half his visible space in the process. As it devoured Dataâs ship, it reached a long electrical arm through space toward Riker. A chill streaking down his arms, he smashed his fist on the comlink. ãEnterprise! Beam us up now! Now!ä The nauseating sensation of beaming began almost instantly. The captain must have been ready for this, must have anticipated it. Riker gave himself to it, as though that would help, and stared into the viewscreen as he felt himself dematerializing. But he was still able to see the viewer clearly enough when the shuttlecraft was torn to bits, its tiny impulse engine blasting outward in a dynamic explosion. Agonizing seconds later the interior of the research dinghy was gone and the transporter roomâs dark gray textured walls were forming around him. Above him the soft lighting, below him the glowing platform÷beside himÊ.Ê.Ê. another form materializing. He reached out as soon as he could, but instinctively recoiled from the crackling electrical sheath that enveloped Data once again. This time it seemed to have a sense of purpose÷or was he imagining it? ãData!ä he shouted without thinking. The electricity snapped a few more times, then faded. Riker stepped toward Data instantly. Just in time to catch him. The platform thumped as Captain Picard and Geordi LaForge appeared out of nowhere and knelt beside Riker and the collapsed form of Data. His android eyes stared up at nothing. His heart still beat dutifully. His pulse still made a steady drum in his wrists. Biomechanics still worked the shell he had called his body. But the essence of life that had possessed a courage no machine could duplicate÷ Was gone. Chapter Twelve DATA LAY IN a wedge of bright, tight surgical beams in the dimmed main sickbay lab. Physicians, neurologists, microengineering specialists, robotics experts hovered over him, but no one could shake the poisoned apple from his throat. He lay there on the table, his face less placid than a corpseâs might have been, his expression caught in a moment of surprise, perhaps even revelation. To Picard, the elemental darkness rested in the room was like a Poe stanza. He paced around the small group and looked again into Dataâs opalescent eyes, and longed again to understand what the android had seen at that last moment. The chamber experience was still with him, making him feel somehow separate from these people who hadnât been through it. He thought he knew now what resurrection could be like, what it would be like to be caught by that thing÷only to reawaken with new knowledge and be able to use that knowledge. He had reawakened to a monumental difference in his own perceptions. Colors seemed brighter, smells nicer, shapes crisper. There was a sudden wonder to being so consummately alive. Over on that table, Dataâs face had that kind of wonder on it, but he hadnât come back. When Beverly Crusher finally backed away from the table, her face limned with frustration, even anguish, and her willowy body had lost some of its grace. She moved slowly toward the corner where Riker and Geordi were impatiently standing, not too near each other, and Picard turned to meet her there. He lowered his voice. ãNo hope?ä The doctor sighed. ãNot from us. As far as we can deduce, Dataâs android brain is still operating all the complexities of his body. But thereâs no consciousness anymore. We just donât know what else to do.ä Geordi turned toward them from where he had been facing the wall. ãHowâd it get him?ä he demanded, his throat tight. For the first time he allowed himself the realization that Data might truly be lost to them, even if his heart still beat. ãHow could it take part of him and leaveÊ.Ê.Ê. that?ä Riker folded his arms and pressed one shoulder into the bulkhead. As he gazed at the floor with a pall of regret over him, new lines cut themselves into his face. ãProbably the thing didnât distinguish between Dataâs body and the shuttlecraft. If heâd been fully organic, his body mightâve gone up in smoke or whatever that thing does to organic. I guess it recognized something in him,ä he added, rather mournfully, ãthat itÊ.Ê.Ê. wanted.ä Picard looked at his first officer. Heâd never seen Riker so depressed, never heard this stony tone. Vexed that he didnât completely know what was going on between his command officers, he peered now at the engineers and doctors who became more helpless by the moment, who were now beginning to stand back one by one and shake their heads over Dataâs quiet form. ãFor better or worse,ä the captain said thoughtfully, ãData may have found his answer.ä Anger began to burn low in his mind, a layer of heat beneath all other thoughts, making them sizzle and jump. There would be no diminishment of the self on this ship. Rage built within him as he imagined Data forever trapped inside that phenomenon, forever to endure what Picard himself had barely touched in fourteen hours of hell. His shoulders stiff with his anger growing, he turned toward the exit and flatly said, ãIâll be in engineering.ä He went, but he went alone. When he was down in engineering, he swept aside each engineerâs offer to assist him or escort him, shrugged off their curious looks when he went into special-access chambers and came out again with computer input chips that no one had given him or pulled up for him. Word spread quickly that the captain was here, doing something for himself and not asking anyone to do it for him, and before long curious eyes peeked at him from a dozen hiding places in the engineering complex. Even in the dimness, he stood out simply because he wasnât usually here. Eventually the curious junior engineers who saw him lurking about started trying to track his doings secretly on their access panels. They discovered that Captain Picard knew both what he was doing and perfectly well how to keep them from finding out. They discovered they could trace his activities about halfway at each turn before they lost the pattern of his computer use. So they watched, unable to say anything about it because he was the captain, and if this was anybodyâs equipment, it was his. They knew there was something going on topside; why wasnât he up there? They muttered among themselves about reporting to the first officer, but nobody volunteered to do the talking. So the engimatic captain of the Enterprise floated around engineering for over an hour, not speaking to anyone, offering only the most ghostly of smiles to those who came too close, lighting here and there like a moth to tamper with the equipment and be suddenly on the move again, and not a living soul dared approach him with a direct question. He was too purposeful in each movement, each pause, each touch. Then he was gone. Without a word, without an order. He cradled a few computer tie-in remotes in his elbow, and walked out. Once clear of engineering and on his way through the darkened ship by way of ladders and walkways, Picard paused on one of the upper decks and touched the nearest intercom. ãPicard to sickbay. Mr. Riker, you still there?ä Almost immediately Rikerâs strong voice answered, ãYes, Captain, still here. No change.ä Picard looked down at the small bundle of remotes he carried. They seemed innocent as they lay in the crook of his arm, small bundles of circuitry inside casings. But they were deadly. ãIn ten minutes, I want you and LaForge to be on the bridge. This has gone far enough.ä The words chimed through the ship, right through the cloth of silence and darkness theyâd swathed around themselves, saying quite plainly that the phenomenon was going to have to deal with the captain now. Before entering the bridge, Picard quietly and privately plugged his remotes into their proper places in the control layout deep within the bridge maintenance loop, a thin corridor of computer access boards behind the actual walls of the bridge itself. Here, new systems were built into the bridge systems, the great hands of the starship, working all the instructions put to it from the gigantic computer core running through the primary hull. Picard made use of those access boards now, tying them all in to one single button on the arm of his command chair. He had thought about using a code that he could key in from anywhere on the ship, but at last dismissed the idea and created an actual button to be pushed. And in that one place÷the command chair. If he was going to put his finger down on destiny, he would be in his rightful place, at the head of this majestic ship, when he did it. He stalked back onto the bridge, noticeably somber, and into the audience of expectant faces. Riker. LaForge. Troi. Wesley Crusher. Worf. And others, especially those manning the positions he might have expected to see Data manning. The Ops controls or Science 2. He missed the gold-leaf face and the gently innocuous expression. He missed it a great deal. His deep rage grew. ãIâm glad youâre all here,ä he said ceremoniously, approaching his command chair. This time, however, he didnât reach out and casually touch it as he might have otherwise. This time the chair itself was a source of raw power, and he didnât want to give anything away. ãI want to know what youâve concluded, what our options are, how we can best deal with this invasion. If we have to drain this starship of every last volt and every last moving molecule, weâll do it. That thing out there has already cost the life of one of us; it will take no more of us. It isnât going any farther into the galaxy. Weâre stopping it here and now.ä Deanna Troi let her eyes drift shut, so deep was her relief and gratitude. Picard saw her reaction and understood it so clearly that he might as well have been the Betazoid. When she raised her head and opened her eyes, they were glazed with tears and she was almost smiling÷but then the smile dropped away and her eyes filled with perplexity. She saw into his heart now, he could tell, saw the knowledge and the determination that were foremost in his mind, unhidden from her probing thoughts, saw the remotes now engaged into certain circuits that would carry a certain message to a dozen locations locations in the lower structures of the ship and do the kind of thing captains thought of only in moments of supreme desperation. She stared at him, then looked down, at the arm of the command chair, at the small patch of controls that tied the captainâs own touch into his ship. And that single blue pressure point, like a poker chip. She knew. Picard watched her, without offering either reassurance or a request for her silence. She would be silent, he knew. They understood one another now. Riker stepped forward÷not exactly a surprise. ãWeâre going to chase it down?ä he asked. ãWeâre going to kill it, Mr. Riker.ä The first officer paused, his lips compressing, then said, ãThatâs not like you, sir.ä Picard knew what was behind Rikerâs eyes and that dubious tilt to his head, and he looked right at him now. ãIsnât it? Is it more like me to allow that marauder to wander the galaxy freely, sucking up more lives?ä That moment saw a charge of excitement. Even Riker realized suddenly how long heâd been waiting for something to bring that level of indignation to Picardâs face. The captainâs brown eyes were narrowed, his Roman-relief profile aimed squarely at the viewscreen, his jaw like a rock set upon another rock. And even so, straight through the ring of Picardâs words, Riker forced himself to do what was his duty. ãWhat about the Prime Directive? We canât guard the whole galaxy.ä ãEven the Prime Directive must have its elasticity,ä Picard said firmly, and there was no doubt that he had thought about this, had already endured and forded the difficulty of this very question. He paused, and moved forward on his bridge, all eyes on him. ãFrom a distance, this may look like Utopia, Will,ä he said, broadly enough for all to hear, ãbut when youâre staring right at it, itâs something else. Itâs a tyrant and demands our grappling with it. There will be no tyranny here,ä he said. ãRefusing to make a decision is its own kind of cowardice.ä Riker moved to the captainâs side, and the two men stood before the vast viewscreen and all it held. ãYouâre that certain?ä he asked. He wondered why the rock of resistance still sat in his stomach. He knew perfectly well that Captain Picard was no grandstander, that such a man would turn the ship and run in the other direction if there were a way to avoid using the weapons, yet he still had to make this one last request, that Picard simply say yes, he was certain. But the captain said nothing. He merely gazed sidelong at Riker, exercising his command right in that simple silence. Riker nodded and backed off a few steps, making his own message clear. The captain turned, and standing on the dais with the whole blackness of space as his backdrop, he addressed the faintly lit bridge. ãAll right, what do you have?ä ãSir,ä Worf began immediately from the opposite stage, ãweâve concluded that it backed away from its first attack on us because it reached its absorption capacity. Weâve calculated its drain on us at the point it moved off, and think itâs possible to overload it.ä ãRisks?ä ãWe would have risk if we had possibility. Our phasers simply canât put out enough power to do what must be done. It dissipates its energy faster than we could pump it full.ä Picard pressed his lips tight and tried to envision such a creature, but all he could do was glare at the undeniable readouts and see that it was true. Behind him, voices buzzed, annoying him as flies annoy a horse. Geordi. Wesley. Geordi. Wesley again, arguing. An exchange of whispers, grating on Picard as he tried to dig out a miracle solution, and finally he spun around, demanding, ãHave you two got something to add or not?ä Both Geordi and Wesley flinched, and Wesleyâs cheeks flared red. ãOhÊ.Ê.Ê. no, sir.ä ãYes, sir,ä Geordi contradicted. ãBut it doesnât work,ä Wesley hissed, tugging at Geordiâs sleeve. ãData told you how to make it work.ä ãBut what if it doesnât?ä ãWhen youâre going to die, a one-in-a-million chance is better than nothing, Wes!ä ãBy the devil!ä Picard roared. ãWhat are you talking about?ä Wesley dropped into self-conscious silence while Geordi fought with himself and won. He approached the captain and said, ãWes has an idea how to increase the shipâs energy output through the phaser systems, sir.ä ãAll right,ä Picard said then, ãIâm listening. Keep it short.ä ãWesley, tell him.ä Wesley licked his lips and brought his narrow form up beside Geordi. ãWell, sir, itâs a phaser intensification system that pulls more firepower with less base energy by breaking down the first phasing cycle into increment frequencies, then reintegrating the phasing all at once in the final cycle. Mr. Data gave me some clues that should make it work, and Geordi thinks we can÷ä ãThe point is, sir,ä Geordi interrupted, speaking just as fast as Picard had asked for, ãif we could modify the shipâs phasers to this theory, we could fill that thing up with about five times the energy it got when it÷ä ãYes, I understand the science, Lieutenant. Thatâs very radical, what youâre describing.ä Picard stepped down from the viewscreen bank and strode between them. ãBut these are radical moments.ä With that he touched the intercom, while all breaths held. ãPicard to engineering. Argyle and MacDougal, gather your primary staff and meet me in the engineering briefing room in three minutes. Ensign Crusher, I want you to describe your theory to the engineers and let them decide if it can be implemented.ä ãSir,ä the teenager blurted, ãI can build the crystal focusing system myself just as well as any of them.ä The captain glared at him. ãWeâre going to let the professionals handle it, Mr. Crusher. What youâre describing will take pure antimatter feed, and thatâs nothing to play with.ä He stepped away, but Wesley followed, slipping out of Geordiâs grasp at the last second. He snapped the words out like spitballs. ãYou always treat me like a kid, even though Iâm on the bridge.ä The captain turned. His voice took on an iron resonance. ãYouâre on the bridge,ä he said, ãbecause I chose to put you here, not because you earned it. Your ability exceeds your wisdom, young man. Youâll eventually learn the unforgiving lesson that the people around you are worth more in their experience than you are in your gifts, and you shall, like everyone else, have to wait your turn. Now mind your place, close your mouth, and follow me to engineering, where you will put your gift to use and let others do the same.ä Wesley was understandably subdued thereafter, give or take the minutes it took him to spell out the phasing idea. The engineers gawked at him, frowned, rolled their eyes, squinted÷it looked like a cornea convention. By the time they filed down to the main phaser reactor room, they already had half the mechanics and most of the formulae worked out in their heads, and Picard stood back to watch the machine of intelligence at work. He watched too as Wesley caught a first glimpse through his own brilliance and youthful smugness of the resourcefulness and conceptual ability of experienced engineers. The boyâs face lit up with both amazement and humility each time the engineers shot him a question as part of a discussion that had simply left him behind. Picard could tell from Wesleyâs expression that the young man didnât even know why the engineers had to know some of the things they were asking. And for every question asked, there were two more problems to be solved that he hadnât thought of. After a time he began to catch a glimpse of why his own idea seemed so foreign. The engineers werenât looking at the phasing unit as a unit. They saw it as part of the whole ship, all the intricate systems, lines, circuits, energies, fluxes, coils, and capacitors, each affecting all the others. It wasnât enough for the phasing unit to work; it had to work in concert with a thousand other units. As soon as the engineers understood his idea, they were at work troubleshooting it. After several false starts, and even a complete rebuilding of the strange new system, all the theoreticals became applicables. Problems Wesley had never foreseen were discovered, then sidestepped or solved on the spot. The harmonics hummed, the antimatter feed had its safeties hooked up, and all in less time than it had taken Wesley to build his original mock-up. He circled the new contraption, a hulking unit attached directly to the main phaser couplings, and shook his head. It looked like nothing heâd imagined. He could see what parts did which duty, but it simply didnât look the way he thought it would look. Picard liked that look on a young face. He liked the look of growth. Finally the chief of phaser engineering came toward the captain and Wesley, wiping his hands on his worksuit, and shrugged. ãGood as itâs gonna get, Captain.ä ãWill it work?ä ãCanât tell you that, sir. Half of itâs theory and the other halfâs guesswork. All the systems hook up cleanly, itâs got power, itâs got antimatter flow, and itâs got safeties. As for working, only testing can tell.ä ãWeâll test it in combat,ä Picard said ruefully. ãWe seem to have little choice. We canât÷ä ãRiker to captain! Emergency!ä Picard snapped at the nearest intercom. ãPicard. What?ä ãItâs here, sir! Our grace period just ran out.ä It had, in spades. When Picard and Wesley spun from the lift and charged onto the bridge, it was no longer dark. Red alert lights bled from every wall, but the main lights hadnât come up. The forward viewer wavered and crackled with the enhanced blue-red false-color image of the entity at its most awful. The port monitors, starboard, aft÷every monitor showed this pulsing threat in a great broken circle of electrical light around the bridge. The bridge crew stared at the monitors, swiveling from one to the other as though looking for a doorway that hadnât been guarded, a single route that would provide escape from the prison, but they knew they were looking at the thingâs backup tactic, the one to be used when all else failed. Picard paused in the upper ramp. ãIs it in the machinery?ä Riker whirled past Troi on the lower deck and stepped toward him. ãNo, sir, itâs surrounding us. Contracting approximately twelve thousand miles per minute.ä ãIt hasnât found us, then?ä ãItâs using this new pattern to find us. It knows weâre here somewhere within a specific radius, and itâs surrounded the whole area, gas giant, asteroids, and all. Itâs closing in on us. Obviously, itâs a lot bigger than we first perceived.ä ãSize now?ä Worf straightened up at Picardâs right. ãRoughly three-point-one AUs in diameter, sir, and contracting.ä ãMy God,ä Picard snarled. He understood the picture now; they were inside a gigantic fist÷and it was closing on them. ãWorf, estimation. Can we fire on it?ä A terrible scowl came over Worfâs already fierce features. He hated his own answer as he said, ãNot while itâs in this form, sir. It dissipates energy in direct proportion to its surface area. We couldnât pump enough energy into it fast enough to overload it.ä Picard rounded on the tactical station and stood beside Tasha Yar. ãThen weâre going to have to force it to compact again. Whereâs that gas giant?ä Yar shook herself and bent over her console. ãBearing point-seven-nine mark three-four, sir.ä ãHead toward it.ä Riker came aft on the lower deck and asked, ãYour plan, sir?ä ãWeâre going to hide behind a tree, Mr. Riker,ä the captain said, moving down the ramp with his hand tracing the shape of the bridge horseshoe. The strange light across the monitors cast a bloody purple glow on his face. ãIt wonât be able to absorb all the energy inside a level-ten gas giant a half million miles across. Itâs going to have to decide to come around one way or the other. When it does, thereâll be a standoff.ä Riker turned immediately and said, ãGeordi, point-five-zero sublight to the gas giant, tight orbit.ä ãPoint-five-zero, aye,ä Geordi repeated, avoiding a glance at the Ops position, where Wesley had slipped into Dataâs seat. Picard kept his voice steady. ãPrepare an emergency warning dispatch to Starfleet, single-pulse and high-warp. If we donât make it, I want to be sure the Federationâs ready for this. Shields at maximum,ä he added, holding a hand up to shade his eyes from the sizzling screens. ãShields up,ä Yar said shakily. ãMaximum energy available for defensive÷ä She stopped, glaring at her readouts, and almost instantly had to gasp, ãSir, itâs moving in!ä ãKeep tight to the gas giant. Tighter, LaForge!ä ãTrying, sirÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Across the Enterpriseâs shields crashed the punishing force of the phenomenon. It knew where the starship was, but discovered it had found two things÷a starship, and a massive planet that was virtually a ball of twisting energy. No matter how it contracted, no matter how it closed its fist, the planet confounded every effort to devour the starship. Every time the thing tried to contract upon its quarry, it was driven back by the energy put out by the gas giant. Spasms of electrical energy pounded the ship and flooded through the gas giantâs churning atmosphere. The ship defied the attack, shimmying with every pulse of energy that flogged the shields, draining them moment by moment. ãOuter skin heating up, Captain,ä Yar reported. ãWeâre entering the atmosphere.ä Picard ignored her. ãMove in closer, LaForge. If it wants us, itâs going to have to face us.ä ãCaptain!ä Troi shouted. When he neither fired the weapons nor hit that blue button, frustration crumpled her features and she blinked into the bright screen. Threads of smoke and fans of sparks shot from half the bridge consoles as the ship fought the mauling once again, but Picard made no further orders. He would stand his ground and so would this ship÷though he stood now beside his command chair and gripped the arm with the blue button. ãCaptain!ä Yar shrieked then, and raised her eyes to the main screen. Even as she spoke, every screen dropped its color in a great wash forward, as though all the images had been sucked out of the back to the main viewer. The main screen now glowed with a compact view of the creature, back in its original form. ãGet ready!ä Picard shouted, but it was already upon them, dashing around the protective tree and pouncing on the ship alone, while beside them the gas giant spun ignorantly. The Enterprise was taken by a great fist of lightning many times more powerful than that of moments before, and electrical bombardment once again blitzed the bridge. ãFire phasers point-blank!ä Picard ordered over the shrieking noise. The ship spewed energy. Rocked by each shot, the Enterprise endured the punishment as the radical new phasing system dragged energies apart that wanted to be together, then shoved them into each other at the last instant. The entity bucked in the assault, shaking the ship. Around him Picard saw his crew attacked by the silvery lights and blue undercurrents. ãShields drainingÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Yar shouted from her post above them. ãKeep firing!ä Picard responded, hanging on to the command chair as bolt after bolt of intensified phaser energy thundered through the ship and into the phenomenonâs heart. ãThe thingâs output is becoming unsteady, sir!ä Worf shouted over the electrical shriek. ãItâs working!ä Suddenly the ship trembled so deep in her core that everyone felt it through his feet, and the phasers stopped. ãWhat÷ä Picard tried to turn, but managed only to twist the upper half of his body around to see Yar. ãComplete phaser meltdown, Captain! The coreâs blown!ä Picardâs heart sank to his knees and rattled inside the electrical sheath that now strengthened on the bridge. ãCaptain!ä Troiâs face appeared beside his shoulder. She was hanging on to his arm with both hands, her eyes tormented. ãDo it! Do it, sir! Please!ä He looked at the blue button. He pushed his hand toward it. Even as he moved, forcing his quaking muscles to fight against the electrical attack, he felt himself slipping away. The beginnings of the chamber experienceÊ.Ê.Ê. consciousness beginning to float, to let goÊ.Ê.Ê.Ê Troiâs voice pierced his pain and struggle. ãCaptain!ä The blue button was an inch away from his thumb. He concentrated on it, clinging to his identity and his memories as if they were ropes dangling in an abyss. If only he could find the energy÷ ãEnergy,ä he ground through his gritted teeth. ãThe gas giant! Yar!ä But she was helpless, plastered back against Worf by the lightning, which grew stronger with every pulse now that the shipâs shielding was strained to its fullest. ãRiker!ä Picard roared. He could vaguely see Riker dragging himself step by agonizing step up the horseshoe rail toward tactical. A form pressed against Picardâs shoulder and a narrow shape came by his elbowÊ.Ê.Ê. a hand. Troiâs hand. Reaching for the blue button. He heard her struggling to move past him, to fight off the terrible assault as she promised she would. He struck out with his left arm and held her back, but her determination made her strength superhuman and she was pressing harder against his shoulder, her hand clawing toward that button. ãLet me!ä she bellowed through the electrical blasts. Picard wrenched her away from the command chair with the last of his energy, and the two of them collapsed across the command arena. ãRiker,ä Picard rasped with a final breath, ãhurry! Full power!ä Even as he spoke, glowing photon torpedoes broke from the shipâs primary hull and crashed down through the gas giantâs atmosphere into its active heart, forcing it to release its energy. Bolt after bolt careened downward, drilling into the compacted energy, which spewed back out in great volcanic blasts. And still the ship didnât relent. It continued sending fully charged photon torps deep into the planetary reactor and forcing explosion after explosion, until finally the greatest of all disruptions came. Half the planetâs violent core erupted and shot out into space. The concussion sent the ship catapulting through open space, blown out of orbit by megatons of exploding matter. The ship turned in space, gravity gone to hell, tossing its people about like dolls, and finally settled a quarter million miles from the gas giant. Picard dragged himself to his feet and stumbled forward. An instant later, Riker was beside him. Around them, the crew grabbed for their control boards and tried to accept the fact that they were still alive÷really alive. Before them on the screen, the creature fluxed and twisted against the glowing rubble of the gas giantâs remains. A million explosions raged around them where it was forced to digest the gas giantâs released energy and, finally, in one singular blast, was ripped apart. Nodules of false-color energy splayed outward across the system, and all the glitter was suddenly gone. Only blobs of dissipating energy remained, cascading by the millions around the ship and outward into open space. ãIt couldnât take it.Ê.Ê.Ê.ä Riker murmured hoarsely. Picard rasped, ãStatus!ä Yarâs voice trembled. ãShields downÊ.Ê.Ê. main reactors unstable. The phaser core is a complete burnout. Totally fused. Nothing but molten metal in there, sir.ä ãBet it smells,ä Geordi grumbled as he pulled himself back into his helm seat and gingerly touched his own equipment. Beside him, Wesley simply held on to the Ops console with both hands, and shook. They both knew. Fused. The whole core. All the safety systems had somehow saved the ship from being part of that meltdown. Wesleyâs model had had no safeties. If heâd turned it on, it wouldâve created a dead short, the reserve antimatter containment wouldâve collapsed, and a thousand people wouldâve disappeared and Starfleet would never have known why. There was a sudden ringing clarity about why a starship had rules. Wesley continued to stare, to blink, and the color stayed out from his face for a long, long while. ãReport on that thing?ä Picard barked as he got to his feet. It was Worf who finally came forward on the upper bridge and made the stark announcement. ãDissipated, sir. No central mass any longer.ä He looked at Picard directly now and said, ãYou did it, sir.ä Picard sighed, his shoulders aching. ãCollaborative effort, Mr. Worf.ä He stepped to one side now and reached downward for Counselor Troiâs hand. She sat on the floor, stunned, her face a thousand emotions slowly wringing out of her as she regained control. As her hand closed on his it was weak and shaking. He lifted her to her feet and privately said, ãWell done, Counselor. Your prognosis?ä She swallowed hard, then looked up at him and forced herself to speak. ãI canât feel them, sirÊ.Ê.Ê. anymore.ä He smiled. ãCongratulations.ä Troi nodded, trembling, still working at once again being in total possession of herself. For a fleeting moment, loneliness filled her eyes. Chapter Thirteen GEORDI LAFORGE SAT at his helm with depressingly little to do. The ship couldnât move until the warp engine core was stabilized, and couldnât leave the vicinity anyway, at least not yet. As soon as the immediate danger had blown itself to bits, their duty as a main Federation extension kicked in and they were obliged to make sure the area was secure before they even thought of moving on. He was one of only five people on the bridge now. Worf and Tasha occupied the upper deck, feeding through the intricate readings that correlated the first repairs on the phaser lockup. The meltdown would take weeks to clean up and mend. Mr. Riker was on the upper deck, speaking quietly to Deanna Troi. The two of them had been talking for a long time. Under different circumstances, Geordi might have been more curious to know what they were talking about. The bridge was ominously quiet now. The pit at the center of his soul wouldnât fill. No matter how many of the helmâs light displays flashed and hummed to tell him things were being rapidly put together belowdecks, Geordi merely watched dispassionately. Theyâd been attacked once before, and engineers were quick learners. This repair would go two times faster than the previous ones. The ship and her complement would proceed to her mission, only slightly bruised from this incident, perhaps even stronger for it, but they would in the end simply move on. Such was sometimes the cost of winning. No real changes. Except for the empty place beside him, which someone would fill, someone else. Bitterness filled his mind. What tribute would be made for an androidâs sacrifice? What memorial would there be for Data? A burial in space, befitting a Starfleet hero, for the body lying empty and pulsing in sickbay, a body not yet dead, never to be reclaimed? Geordi wondered as he sat if he would be left to mourn alone. If Picard and Riker would clamor to define death as fervently as they had to define life. Or if it really mattered at all. Ultimately they had already failed Data, and nothing would make up for that. He gazed now, through his visor, at the open space on the viewscreen. The remains of the gas giant still boiled in space like the remnants of some primordial explosion, ignorant of their own beauty or their own meaning. Much like Data, who hadnât perceived his own charm or worth. Geordi slouched in the chair, one elbow braced on the helm, and felt emptier still. He hadnât realized how lost heâd become in his own thoughts until a hand dropped onto his shoulder. Someone wanted his attention, and only the discipline of Starfleet training brought him up through the murk and made him straighten and look. But it was neither the lordly face of Picard nor Rikerâs big-brother expression that looked down on him. What he saw was a warm infrared glow, a gentle face and a welcoming smile. He spun out of his chair and knocked the helm console aside. ãDataÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Data caught his arm and kept him from tripping over the Ops lounge, and kept grinning that warm little grin. Behind him, Captain Picard, Dr. Crusher, and Wesley were watching the unexpected reunion as they too came away from the turbolift toward Geordi. On the ramp, Commander Riker was speechless as he broke away from Troi and came toward them. ãData!ä Geordi gasped again, clasping Dataâs cool hand and looking deeply into the androidâs eyes to see if it was indeed Data÷and not just some weird new science nobody had told him about that could make the body walk around. ãHello, my friend,ä Data said, humility touching his tone. ãIâm sorry to have put you through this.ä Geordi squeezed Dataâs hand with both of his, desperate to feel the essence of life that simply refused to showcase itself, but he couldnât think of anything to say. ãCaptain,ä Riker blurted finally, ãDoctor÷what happened?ä ãWeâre not sure,ä Beverly Crusher said with a one-shouldered shrug. ãHe just slowly came back and started looking around. He was disoriented for a while, but as you can seeÊ.Ê.Ê.Êä Riker grasped Dataâs arm and pulled him around÷not too roughly, but not too gently either. ãData? You all right?ä The android nodded generously. ãI feel a bit woofled, sir.ä ãDo you know what happened to you?ä ãYes, sir. I think I croaked.ä Riker stared at him, suddenly breathless, and tried to absorb his presence. It simply wasnât normal for the dead to get up again. Data seemed sympathetic, or at least touched by Geordi and Rikerâs reactions. ãTruly,ä he said, ãI do not know what happened to me or why I returned. I can only surmise that when the creature got in trouble, it had to release those it was carrying and try to fight for its own existence. Of all the millions of life essences, I alone had a place to come back to. Of course,ä he added, ãI am only guessing.ä Breathing quickly, Geordi glanced at the others then back to Data, and laughed his relief away. ãAll right, all right,ä Picard said tolerantly. ãRiker, Data, and Mr. Crusher, I want you all waiting for me in my ready room in five minutes, clear?ä ãVery clear, sir,ä Riker murmured, but he was still looking at Data. Looking very protectively this time. Data looked back, and gave him a grateful nod. The three of them stood in the captainâs ready room, admittedly nervous. For a few minutes they were companionably silent. Riker ultimately approached Data and held out his hand. ãCongratulations. Youâve got the answer you wanted.ä Data took the hand, though he seemed self-conscious now. ãNot really, sir. The phenomenonâs criteria for life was never clear to us.ä ãLook,ä Riker said, cutting him off, ãas far as Iâm concerned, that was the closest weâve come to an authority on what life is. You may not be human, exactly, but it recognized something in you as alive. AndÊ.Ê.Ê. thatâs good enough for me. Iâm glad youâre back.ä The android tipped his head and responded, ãThank you for coming after me. That is, as you say, good enough for me.ä Wesley folded his lanky arms and commented, ãDonât get mushy, guys.ä Riker cuffed him. ãWhen youâve been dead and come back to life, you can talk about mushy, mister.ä ãHow much trouble do you think weâre in?ä With a small shrug, Riker said, ãI donât know about you, but I doubt the captainâll be congratulating either Data or me on our ingenuity. Two utility ships lost, disobedience of standing orders÷not very pretty.ä ãAt least neither of you melted down the whole phaser core,ä Wesley commented sullenly. ãTrue, but we÷ä The captain entered, and they all came to attention in front of his desk, simply because none of them wanted to look him in the eye. The captain came around his desk, but didnât sit down. ãCongratulations, Mr. Crusher,ä he said immediately. ãYou have the unique privilege of assisting in the three-week rebuild of the entire phaser core. A rare opportunity for one so young.ä Wesley perked up and said, ãThanks, sir!ä Picard scowled at him, annoyed that his sarcasm was lost on Wesley, and added, ãWeâll see if you can still smile in three weeks.ä The smile fell off appropriately. Picard ignored him, glowering at Riker and Data. ãAnd you two, about this propensity for stealing starship property and striking off on your own,ä he said, his voice growing in intensity and ferocity, ãjust donât make a habit of it. Dismissed.ä Startled, neither Riker nor Data had the sense to get away while they could, at least not for the first few seconds. Finally Riker gestured Data and Wesley out, stepping after them onto the bridge. A sense of relief washed over him as the office door slid shut behind the three of them. Together, they turned toward the bridge itself, and stopped short. Only Riker was able to make a coherent movement÷he touched the ready room door and it slid open again. As he stared out onto the bridge, he called back, ãCaptainÊ.Ê.Ê. youâd better come out here.ä A moment later, Picard was at his side. They and the command crew looked out over the large expanse of the bridge÷a bridge crowded with human forms. A hundred human forms, all in uniform. Sailors. Command officers from a time past. Some uniforms were blue, some green. At the center of the rows of naval officers from an age gone by, Arkady Reykov and Timofei Vasska stood together in ghostly silence and gazed at Captain Picard. On the lower bridge, Deanna Troi gazed at them, tears breaking from her lovely eyes. Finally, she found her comfort. Captain Reykov raised his hand to his forehead in salute. A moment later, every one of the hundred Earth sailors also raised their hands. Picard cleared his throat. ãAttention,ä he called. His command crew snapped straight. He brought his own hand up and saluted those for whom he and his ship had nearly destroyed themselves. Captain Reykovâs eyes twinkled like those of a living man, and he nodded in gratitude. His hand snapped down. His men did the same. Slowly then, from each end, the crescent of sailors began to disappear, one by one. The Enterprise was once again a ship for the living. Look for STAR TREK fiction from Pocket Books Star Trek¨: The Original Series Enterprise: The First Adventure á Vonda N. McIntyre Final Frontier á Diane Carey Strangers From the Sky á Margaret Wander Bonanno Spock's World á Diane Duane The Lost Years á J.M. Dillard Probe á Margaret Wander Bonanno Prime Directive á Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens Best Destiny á Diane Carey Shadows on the Sun á Michael Jan Friedman Sarek á A.C. Crispin Federation á Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens Vulcan's Forge á Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz Mission to Horatius á Mack Reynolds Vulcan's Heart á Josepha Sherman & Susan Shwartz Novelizations Star Trek: The Motion Picture á Gene Roddenberry Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan á Vonda N. 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Graf #4 á The Final Fury á Dafydd ab Hugh Invasion! Omnibus á various Star Trek¨: Day of Honor #1 á Ancient Blood á Diane Carey #2 á Armageddon Sky á L.A. Graf #3 á Her Klingon Soul á Michael Jan Friedman #4 á Treaty's Law á Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch The Television Episode á Michael Jan Friedman Day of Honor Omnibus á various Star Trek¨: The Captain's Table #1 á War Dragons á L.A. Graf #2 á Dujonian's Hoard á Michael Jan Friedman #3 á The Mist á Dean Wesley Smith & Kristine Kathryn Rusch #4 á Fire Ship á Diane Carey #5 á Once Burned á Peter David #6 á Where Sea Meets Sky á Jerry Oltion The Captain's Table Omnibus á various Star Trek¨: The Dominion War #1 á Behind Enemy Lines á John Vornholt #2 á Call to Arms... á Diane Carey #3 á Tunnel Through the Stars á John Vornholt #4 á ...Sacrifice of Angels á Diane Carey Star Trek¨: The Badlands #1 á Susan Wright #2 á Susan Wright Star Trek¨ Books available in Trade Paperback Omnibus Editions Invasion! Omnibus á various Day of Honor Omnibus á various The Captain's Table Omnibus á various Star Trek: Odyssey á William Shatner with Judith and Garfield Reeves-Stevens Other Books Legends of the Ferengi á Ira Steven Behr & Robert Hewitt Wolfe Strange New Worlds, vol. I, II, and III á Dean Wesley Smith, ed. Adventures in Time and Space á Mary P. Taylor Captain Proton: Defender of the Earth á D.W. "Prof" Smith The Lives of Dax á Marco Palmieri, ed. The Klingon Hamlet á Wil'yam Shex'pir New Worlds, New Civilizations á Michael Jan Friedman Enterprise Logs á Carol Greenburg, ed.