Star Trek: Pantheon (10 page)

Guinan resumed her swabbing of the bar. “Just this—that if I had a problem, I wouldn’t keep it to myself. Especially when there’s someone willing to hear about it. Maybe even help me with it.”

“Are you saying that I’m an alcoholic?” His eyes blazed. “There are no such people anymore—haven’t been for some time, in case you hadn’t heard.”

“They’re rare, all right,” she agreed. “But they do pop up occasionally. Even aboard starships.”

Joseph’s features went taut—so taut they looked painful. For a moment, Guinan had the uncomfortable feeling he was going to reach across the bar and grab her by the front of her garment.

But it never happened. Gradually, the fury in his eyes cooled.

“Thank you anyway,” he told her, putting his glass down on the bar. “I guess I’ll just have to seek my comfort somewhere else.”

She watched thoughtfully as he left Ten-Forward.

Riker, like everyone else at the table, was listening to Ben Zoma’s yarn.

“And then,” said Ben Zoma, turning to Troi, “your captain here had the gall to ask the Clobatians if he could
drop them off
somewhere.”

Troi smiled. “Did he really?”

Picard shrugged. “It seemed like the only humane thing to do. Without our help, they would have frozen to death.”

Simenon snorted. “Naturally. You blew up their shuttlecraft.”

“A last resort,” countered Morgen. “As you well know, Phigus. If the Clobatians had returned to their mother ship before
we
returned to the
Stargazer…”

“We never would have caught up with them,” finished Cadwallader.

“Exactly right,” said Greyhorse.

“And with the phasers they’d stolen,” Riker added, “they would have held the key to our weapons technology.”

Morgen nodded approvingly. “You have a better appreciation of the situation,” he told the first officer, “than
some
of us who were
there.”

Picard grunted. “At least
someone
understands the subtleties of command.”

Riker chuckled. “Thank you—both of you. But I’m afraid I’m going to have to take my appreciation and understanding and pack them off to the bridge right now. I believe Mr. Data’s shift ends in a few minutes.”

As he stood, Cadwallader got up as well. “That reminds me,” she said. “I’m supposed to meet Lieutenant Worf—for a tour of the communications system.”

“Communications?” echoed Greyhorse. “You’re a second officer now. A generalist.”

Cadwallader winked at him. “You know what they say, Doctor. Once a communications officer, always a communications officer.” She looked at Riker. “You
did
say you were headed for the bridge? That’s where my tour is supposed to begin.”

“Then,” said the first officer, “it would be my pleasure to show you the way.”

Cadwallader inclined her head. “How gallant of you.”

“Nice ship you’ve got here,” Cadwallader remarked as she and Riker stepped out into the corridor.

He nodded. “Thank you.” He paused, trying to be diplomatic. “Although to be honest, our communications system isn’t a great deal more advanced than the
Lexington’
s.”

She smiled. “I know. I get a kick out of
any
system. I wasn’t entirely kidding when I said I was still a communications officer at heart.”

A couple of security officers passed by, going the other way. Riker acknowledged them with a nod.

“You know,” he said, “for a moment there, I thought you were going to say ‘kid.’As in ‘a kid at heart.’”

Cadwallader laughed. “That too. In fact, I’m sure most of them think of me that way—as ‘the kid.’ I was pretty young when I beamed aboard the
Stargazer.”

He glanced at her. “I know. Nineteen, wasn’t it?”

She grinned. “How did—oh. I guess you’ve been doing your homework.”

Riker smiled back. “I guess I have. Let’s see. Hometown: Sydney, Australia. Graduated from Starfleet Academy with honors. First assignment as ensign on the
Goddard.
After a year, you came to the
Stargazer,
where you served until the Maxia Zeta incident. Three years as lieutenant jay-gee on the
Victory,
and another three on the
Thomas Paine
—where you distinguished yourself by saving your captain’s life on not one, but two occasions. When Captain Ben Zoma was given command of the
Lexington,
he offered you a promotion if you’d come aboard as his second officer.”

She looked at him suspiciously. “You’ve got quite a memory, Commander.”

“Will,” he told her.

Cadwallader laughed. “All right. Will it is. But tell me—do you memorize all your visitors’ bios the way you memorized mine?”

The turbolift was just ahead. As they approached, the doors opened to accommodate them. They stepped inside and the doors closed again.

“Main bridge,” said Riker.

“You haven’t answered my question,” she told him.

He returned her gaze. “The truth?”

She thought about it for a moment. “No.”

“In that case,” he said, “yes, I
do
memorize them all that way.”

She laughed. He found it infectious; a moment later he was laughing too.

“You’re a very charming man,” said Cadwallader.

“Some times more than others.”

She eyed him. “Nonsense. I bet you were charming the day you were born.” She looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see…in Valdez, Alaska, wasn’t it? Graduated from the Academy with
high
honors. Served as ensign on the
Zhukov,
lieutenant jay-gee, and later full lieutenant on the
Potemkin.
Three years as second officer on the
Yorktown
and two more as first officer on the
Hood.
Most recent assignment, of course, the
Enterprise
—where you’ve become known as one of the top officers in the fleet. Credited with almost single-handedly stopping the Borg invasion.”

Riker’s smile broadened moment by moment. “I guess,” he said when she was finished, “I’m not the only one around here with a good memo—”

Before he could complete his sentence, the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge. Worf, Data, and half a dozen other officers were looking in their direction.

Riker cleared his throat. He considered Cadwallader, who obviously enjoyed having taken him by surprise.

“Carry on, Commander,” he told her.

She nodded. “Aye, sir.”

And as he made his way to the captain’s chair, she headed for tactical—where Worf’s replacement had already arrived.

Geordi knew he was a little early for his engineers’ meeting, but that was all right. It would give him a chance to get his thoughts in order.

The meetings were informal, and purposely held as far away from engineering as possible. Their original inspiration had been the incident with Broc—with Barclay. (Even now he had to be careful not to refer to the man by that silly nickname.) Geordi had realized that he didn’t know some of his people as well as he should—hence, a weekly off-duty coffee get-together, which would give everybody the chance to let off steam without worrying about offending a superior officer. At the engineers’ meetings, there was no such thing as rank—everybody was on an equal footing.

As the lounge doors opened, Geordi noticed that there was someone already inside—a tall, rather alluring-looking woman he was sure he’d never seen before, wearing a cranberry-red command tunic. She stood with her back to him, gazing out the observation port at the streaking stars.

One of the captain’s friends, Geordi concluded. Entering the lounge quietly so as not to disturb her, he couldn’t help but stare a little—and not just because she was one of the
Stargazer
people. He’d seldom seen a woman so well put together.

What’s more, she was all by herself. Seems sort of lonely, he thought.

Or maybe not. Maybe she
wanted
a little solitude.

If he’d known in advance that she was here, he would have changed the location of the meeting. Lord knows, he told himself, there are plenty of other lounges on the
Enterprise.

Geordi frowned. The least he could do was warn her that the lounge was about to be invaded. Coming a little closer, he cleared his throat. No reaction. Maybe she hadn’t heard.

Walking the rest of the way across the room, he tapped her gently on the shoulder.

Before he knew what was happening, he found himself draped backward over her knee—looking up at her savagely clawed fingers as they hovered mere inches from his face. As he found her eyes, he saw a deadly hostility in them—a gleam that under other circumstances he might have called
murderous.

Quickly, the hostility died.
“Qos,”
the woman breathed, mortified. Her cheeks burned a bright red.

Qos?

Lowering her hand, she helped Geordi get back on his feet. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in. And—” She shook her head. “Please forgive me.”

“Sure,” he told her, grinning—trying to salvage what was left of his machismo. “No problem. I shouldn’t have surprised you like that.” Smoothing out his tunic, he held his arms out. “See? Good as new.”

She didn’t grin back. “There’s no excuse for this. It’s just that I was trained, early on, to—”

“It’s all right,” he assured her. “Really.” He held out his hand. “Geordi La Forge, chief engineer.”

She grasped it—more firmly than he expected. Though after what had just happened, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised.

“Idun Asmund,” she responded. “First officer of the
Charleston.
One of your captain’s guests.”

“I gathered as much,” he told her. “You don’t normally see too many command uniforms around here.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.”

Just then, Duffy and DiBiasi walked in. When they saw Geordi’s companion, they stopped dead in their tracks. Apparently, she was every bit as striking as his VISOR had led him to believe.

“That’s what I wanted to tell you,” Geordi explained. “This place is about to become lousy with engineers. We’re having a meeting, sort of—though you’re invited to sit in if you’d like.” He glanced at Duffy and DiBiasi. “I’m sure no one would mind.”

“Thank you,” said Asmund, “but no. I was just about to be going anyway,” she lied.

Geordi shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you around, then.”

She nodded. “Yes. See you around.”

As she crossed the room, neither of the newcomers could take their eyes off her. “My God,” said DiBiasi once she was gone. “Who
was
that, Commander?”

“No ranks here,” said the engineering chief, “remember? And as for who she is…she’s one of the
Stargazer
officers. You know, the bunch serving as Captain Morgen’s honor guard.”

Duffy grunted. “Some guys have all the luck.”

“Hey,” DiBiasi chimed in, “I thought all the captain’s friends were in Ten-Forward. What’s she doing
here?”

Geordi shook his head. “I guess that’s
her
business,” he said. Suddenly, he saw those clawed fingers again—hovering like a hunting bird, ready to tear him apart. Shuddering, he put the image from his mind. “Come on. Let’s get some coffee.”

Beverly tucked one leg underneath her and sat down on her bed. Opening the box of audio modules, she picked one out at random.

How long had it been since she’d listened to Jack’s old tapes? A year? Two? Had she played them at all since she’d come aboard the
Enterprise?

She looked at the module in her hand. Reading the stardate, she decided that the message was about sixteen years old—which meant she would have received it on…where? Delos Four? Yes—Delos Four. Unbidden, memories flooded her mind like gentle rains.

Rain.
She chuckled. It hadn’t rained more than a dozen times during her entire internship in the Mariadth Valley, though the Delosians said that it rained there all the time. Of course, when one was as long-lived as the Delosians were, and used to places where it didn’t rain at all, a dozen times in four years may have seemed like “all the time.”

Her mentor, Dalen Quaice, had called Delos Four “the hottest, driest place in the galaxy.” She could see him bent over a zaphlid-calf, inoculating it for scale-fever and complaining about the heat. “It’s unbearable, Beverly. Have you ever been to Vulcan? No? Well, it’s pretty dry there too. But this place makes a Vulcan desert look like a rain forest.”

And without Jack it had seemed even drier, even more barren.

Taking a deep breath, Beverly slipped the tape into the mechanism next to her bed and waited for Jack’s voice to emerge from the speakers. When it did, she was surprised at how young he sounded.

“Hi, honey. Greetings from the
Stargazer,
where we’re wrapping up with the Mandrossa—
still.
It turns out that their negotiation protocols are a lot more complicated than those of other races we’ve encountered; even establishing an agenda for further contact has kept us here for weeks. In the end, though, I think it’ll be worth it. The Mandrossa are way ahead of us in genetics, and we can teach them a few things about immunology. The way it looks, both parties will benefit from the relationship.

“Unfortunately, speaking of relationships, this puts off my shore leave awhile longer. But be patient. I can’t wait to see you and little Wes. By my calculations, he ought to be about up to my waist now. Just big enough to swing my old baseball bat—you know, the one I got when I was a kid. Do you think I can teach him to hit in five days? I’m certainly going to try.

“As for you, my love…I have a little excursion in mind. You see, Pug Joseph was on Delos Four a while back, and he’s been regaling me lately with stories about this place he rented in the mountains. Not necessarily the kind of stories you’d tell your grandmother, but then, that’s Pug. Anyway, I did some research, and it appears his love nest is still around. What’s more, it’s supposed to be beautiful there. Seems like as good a way to get reacquainted as any—and Wes won’t miss us overnight. Especially if he ends up getting a baby brother—or sister—out of the deal.

“Not too much else to tell you. Cad had a birthday, Morgen was promoted to lieutenant jay-gee and—oh, Greyhorse says he’ll be glad to answer any questions you have about being a doctor aboard a starship. His main advice is to avoid any vessel that has a Gnalish aboard—his words, not mine.

“I guess that’s it. Give my love to Wes and I’ll see you soon, I hope. I mean, how much longer can these negotiations go on? We already hold the Federation record. Miss you.”

Crusher took a deep breath, let it out. Stopping the tape, she had the mechanism eject it and replaced it in the box.

Then she began putting herself in a more professional frame of mind. She was due in sickbay in a few minutes.

Stopping at the entrance to the holodeck, Worf turned to the group that was trailing behind him.

“This,” he said, “is a holographic environment simulator. Known in the vernacular as a holodeck.”

The Klingon scowled.
Why,
he wondered,
has this task fallen to
me?

He had asked the captain the same question a couple of hours earlier.

Because, Mr. Worf, you have proven to be an expert guide. Commander Cadwallader said your tour of the communications system was nothing short of breathtaking.

Breathtaking
indeed.

Worf considered his audience. Dr. Greyhorse and Morgen seemed interested. However, Ben Zoma was more intrigued by the shapely technician checking the disposal unit down the corridor.

The Klingon cleared his throat. It immediately had the desired effect, as Ben Zoma’s attention was returned to him.

“Sorry,” said the captain of the
Lexington.
“By all means, carry on, Lieutenant.”

“We have four such facilities on the
Enterprise,”
continued Worf, as if he’d never stopped. “All four are on deck eleven. In addition, there are smaller versions—
personal
holodecks—scattered throughout the ship.”

He tried to avoid the Daa’Vit’s gaze—but it was not entirely possible. After all, he
was
standing square in the center of the group.

“I have a question,” said Greyhorse.

Worf turned to him, relieved—even though he had to look up at the man, and he wasn’t used to looking
up
at people. “Yes, Doctor.”

“Is it true that the holodecks are used for exercise regimens? Jogging and so forth?”

The Klingon nodded. “They can be. Of course, the areas in the holodecks are finite. One cannot jog very far without reaching the wall. However—”

“However,” Greyhorse interrupted, “the electromagnetic fields that make up the ground underfoot flow in a direction opposite that of the runner’s progress—acting as a sort of treadmill, and giving the runner the illusion that he or she is moving forward.”

The Klingon frowned. “More or less, yes.” Obviously, the man was familiar with special field theory. But then, that was not surprising. He was a doctor, and doctors used force fields in any number of procedures.

“But,” Greyhorse went on, “what happens if a second participant is placed in the holodeck—one who is stationary? Does the holodeck maintain the illusion of increasing distance between the stationary observer and the jogger? And if so, how is that accomplished?”

Worf grunted. “A good question,” he conceded, despite the brusque manner in which it was posed. He approached the computer terminal built into the bulkhead. “And one that is best answered by a demonstration.”

Seeking a relatively simple environment for purposes of demonstration, he called up the Ander’s Planet program. Instantly, the doors opened on a barren but level stretch of terrain, ruddy with the orange light of twin suns.

“Follow me,” he instructed, and entered. The others trailed along behind him, looking around and murmuring appreciatively.

“Ander’s Planet,” concluded Morgen, “in the Beta Sardonicus system. Correct?”

“Correct,” said Worf without actually looking at the Daa’Vit. “I will need a volunteer—to serve as Dr. Greyhorse’s jogger.”

Ben Zoma raised his hand. “I’m your man. Neither my Daa’Vit friend nor the doctor have stayed in very good shape, I’m afraid. Old age robs some people of their motivation.”

“And others of their sense,” retorted Greyhorse.

Morgen laughed.

“Where do I begin?” asked Ben Zoma.

“Right where you are standing,” said Worf. “But first, let me make an adjustment—so we can all be heard, no matter how far you go.”

He looked up at the sky.

“Computer—amplify our voices so that we can be heard throughout the program.”

“Done,” said a pleasant female voice.

Worf turned to Ben Zoma. “All right,” he said. “You may begin jogging. In any direction.”

With a last look at Morgen and Greyhorse, Ben Zoma started off. Slowly, at little more than a brisk walk. And as if they were truly on Ander’s Planet, he seemed to be getting a little farther away with each step.

Morgen said as much.

“Look back at us,” Worf instructed Ben Zoma. “What do you see?”

His voice was like thunder. It seemed to reverberate to the heavens and back, godlike.

The captain of the
Lexington
looked back over his shoulder. “The distance between us is increasing.”

“Fascinating,” said Greyhorse.

“Actually,” Worf told him, “it is quite simple. You see, the illusion created by the holodeck is made up of three components. One is the manipulation of electromagnetic fields you referred to a moment ago. Another is the creation of actual objects, using transporter-analog matter-conversion technology—though these objects must be simple and inanimate. Also, there are devices to simulate sound, smell, and taste, or alternately to dampen those senses. For example, when the illusory source of the stimulus is appearing to recede, like Captain Ben Zoma.

“But the fourth and most important component is visual—a stereoscopic image comprised of polarized interference patterns—”

“Emitted by omnidirectional holo diodes,” contributed Greyhorse. “Millions of them, set into the walls.”

“Yes,” said the Klingon, again doing his best to ignore the interruption. Apparently, the doctor’s expertise was not limited to field theory. “The patterns are programmed to intersect at the lens of the participant’s eye. So whatever he or she sees appears to be three-dimensional. And as one moves around, the information emitted by the diodes changes, altering the view.”

“All well and good, Mr. Worf,” said the doctor. “But that doesn’t explain how—”