It was a start. She dragged the driftwood through the sand, re-creating the spidery patterns she could picture so easily in her head. Would this work? She had no idea. It was the only thing she could think to try. Communication.
No life signs. She scraped lines and circles all the way down the beach. How was it missed?
What if the sensors didn’t recognize the life-form as one?
Crusher dropped the stick and raced back down the beach, flitting her gaze across the sand, looking for her tricorder. When she’d been under, or dreaming, the number had leaped up to nearly a hundred thousand.
Or was someone trying to speak to her?
She slowed to a stop beside Will, who was still stretched out on the sand, fingers twitching, feet scraping furrows in the sand. Alive. There was no sign of her medical tricorder. The number of fossils had been low when the science team discovered them, before the Enterprise away team arrived.
It had always been there.
Not fossils.
Something their equipment didn’t know. Something—
Again, a flash of movement to the side of Crusher’s vision. She whipped her head around, but of course there was nothing there. Crusher could see her handiwork stretching down the beach, the lines wriggling and creating new paths around the circles. She watched as the sand moved on its own. She knelt down on the edge and watched as it moved, working with all the frantic energy of ants.
Distantly, she was aware of her own voice: You never woke up.
They are still speaking to you.
“Hello?” Crusher called out, her voice uncertain.
The sand didn’t stop its motion, rippling and cascading. She thought that it was going to erase her lines, but it was actually adding to it, generating new lines that winged between the circles with an ever-increasing rapidity.
And then one of the lines barreled toward her.
The doctor forced herself to not move. The line stopped so abruptly beside her that it threw up a cloud of sand; then it shot off behind her, heading toward Riker.
“Hello!” she called out. “My name is Beverly Crusher. What’s yours?”
Nothing. Likely it didn’t understand her. She watched as the line in the sand coiled around Will, forming wide circles connected by lines. Then it took off again, this time running toward the sand dunes. Up the sand dunes. Into the grass.
Scrambling up the dune, Crusher chased after it. The line was cutting through the prairie, the grass rippling upward to mark its path.
She watched the line vanish into the horizon. The doctor felt a strange, hollow emptiness, as if she were watching someone she knew walk away.
The wind blew off the shore, tossing her hair into her face. She stared at the dark imprint left behind in the grass. Was it going toward the station?
Suddenly the dune collapsed. Crusher dropped down into the cool, dry sand, and then she was falling through open air, the wind howling in her ears. After a few moments her fear turned to resignation. This again. She was vaguely aware that she was still on top of the dune, lying on her side, the sun beating down on her. But she was also falling fast, sand glittering around her—
Now she splashed in the ocean, the shore a distant pale streak. Crusher treaded water, kicking her legs above a vast, unimaginable emptiness. Like space, like the vast emptiness she served in.
More howling. The same as before. Lightning flashed behind her. Thunderstorms gathered.
It was repeating. The dream. The message.
Crusher swam toward the shore. “I don’t understand you!” she screamed. “I don’t know what you want!”
Thunder roared through the sky and the lightning flashed so brightly that for a moment Crusher was blinded. As color came back into the world, she saw that she was closer to the shore, riding on the tops of the waves. The beach was once again empty.
Crusher let the waves pull her to the shore. She sighed, staring out at the black storm clouds, watching the lightning.
Again, she thought. A storm breaking on the ocean. Lightning striking the beach after the thunderclaps. The pattern of interconnected circles—
The sand roiling like ants. A million grains moving as one.
The first drops of rain fell across her face.
Howling winds. Lightning burning patterns in the sand. Patterns—
The patterns were here. She could see them. She just didn’t know what any of them meant.
“I don’t understand,” she shouted at the air.
The rain fell harder. Crusher stood and ran to the dunes, then up into the grass, toward the station. It was the only thing she could think to do; she had exhausted her options on the beach. She had to let the others know Will was there. Was she still there? Unconscious?
Everything blinked out.
Crusher stumbled to a stop, whirling around. Nothing was here. She was in a dense, shrouded darkness, without any sign of the surrounding fields.
“Hello?” she murmured. Then louder, “Hello?”
She moved in the direction she thought was forward. The darkness made her feel—empty. Abandoned. Like she was the only person on this world.
Something fell.
Crusher thought it looked like a meteor, dropping out of the sky. She moved closer to it through the murk.
Another one fell, leaving a small trail of light.
Another.
Another.
Numbers. She was watching numbers, ones and zeros. Binary code. Cascading down like rain.
Something’s reprogramming our machines. Something’s trying to program us.
“A code,” Crusher whispered. The code filled the space around her. She couldn’t decipher the code, but she had a strange, certain feeling that she was sharing this dream. That she’d been unconscious.
“We don’t know what you’re trying to tell us!” she shouted at the storm and the lightning on the beach. “We don’t—”
And then she was falling backward into darkness.
* * *
Beverly Crusher sat up with a gasp.
“You’re awake! That happened faster than I expected.” Rikkilä knelt down beside her, running her tricorder over her. “Signs are normal.”
Crusher blinked rapidly. She was sitting in the field, surrounded by the tall grasses—although she couldn’t see the lumpen shape of the dunes, she could hear the ocean in the distance. She hadn’t gone far from the beach.
“How did I get here?” she mumbled. The sunlight felt too bright, blazing into Crusher’s eyes. Her throat was dry and scratchy—it didn’t look like Rikkilä had any water. She and Riker had brought some. She would need to find it on the beach.
“No idea,” Rikkilä said. “But we estimated two hours went by, so I came out here to check up on you, like Commander Riker asked us to.” She frowned. “I really wasn’t expecting to see you in the grass. I haven’t looked for Commander Riker yet—”
“He’s probably on the beach.” Crusher pushed herself up to standing, wary about her surroundings. The last time she thought she had woken from the trance, she’d actually still been embroiled in it. But she had to admit the air around her did feel—more real, somehow. She didn’t have the sense that she was viewing the world through someone else’s eyes.
“Bad news, Doctor,” Rikkilä said. “No transporter. The station’s self-destruct triggered early.”
“What?” Crusher said. “I thought we had more time.”
Rikkilä shook her head. “So did we. We got as much of our equipment out as we could. One good thing is that Commander Data woke up when we brought him to the camp.”
At the mention of Data, Crusher had a flash of memory: the slow-falling code. She looked down at the grass and saw the indentation where she’d been lying. Somehow she had walked over here and then collapsed.
Just like the crew had collapsed on the beach after they were affected.
“Finally,” Crusher said. “Some good news. But we need to check on Commander Riker.”
Rikkil
ä nodded and followed Crusher across the grass, toward the dunes.
“If he’s passed out, we’ll just have to pull him off the beach, won’t we?” Rikkilä said. “I can call Data and Malisson to help. Solanko and Muñoz are still out foraging.”
“It’s not just a beach.” Crusher’s chest felt tight. The beach was part of the equation. It wasn’t the whole thing.
This had never happened until the Enterprise away team arrived. Until they had extra hands.
“Doctor? What are you thinking?”
“The equipment isn’t dead,” Crusher said softly, her walk speeding up into a jog. “It’s just passed out.”
“What do you mean?”
Crusher took off running, slapping the grass away with her palms.
“Doctor Crusher!” Rikkilä’s voice wavered out behind her, caught on the howling wind. “You know you shouldn’t be running like that—”
Crusher skittered to a stop on the top of the dune. And let out a long sigh.
Riker was still spread out on the sand, baking in the sun.
“Commander!” Rikkilä cried, and surged forward. Crusher grabbed her by the arm and pulled her back.
“He’s safe,” Crusher said. “At least until the tide comes back in.” She squinted down at the waterline. It was definitely closer to the shore than she remembered. “Do you have your combadge?”
“Of course. They seem to be working fine—”
“Call Data and Malisson,” Crusher said. “I’m going to check on Commander Riker.”
Rikkilä nodded and handed over her tricorder. Crusher skittered down the dune, half holding her breath. The last thing she wanted was another communication attempt, but she was still inside her own head.
Riker’s signs were all normal, his breath steady. She retreated back to the dunes, away from the beach.
“They’re on their way,” Rikkilä said. She frowned. “Doctor, are you okay? You look pale—”
“I’m fine. I think I know what’s going on.” Crusher shook her head. “At least some of it.”
Rikkilä looked up at her questioningly.
“They’re trying to tell us something,” Crusher said.
“What?”
“There’s a life-form on the beach,” Crusher said. “I think it’s tied to those fossils you found our first day here.” That first day felt like a lifetime ago.
“What?” Rikkilä shook her head. “But the scans—”
“Showed nothing, I know.” Crusher stared off at the purple line of the horizon. “It doesn’t register as a life-form on our scanners, I think. But it’s talking to us.”
Rikkilä didn’t say anything, just listened.
“I thought of it as reprogramming, because the technology was affected, but I think—” Crusher stopped, looked at Rikkilä. “When you passed out on the beach,” she said, “do you remember what you saw?”
Rikkilä frowned. “I didn’t see anything. I just— Everything went dark. I was overwhelmed.” She frowned. “It was later. That night. We all had the same dream. Drowning—”
“Yes,” Crusher said, her pulse quickening. “You all said that. A shared dream.”
Rikkilä tilted her head.
“When I left the beach,” Crusher said, “I moved closer to the station—I saw code.”
“It’s trying to tell us something,” Rikkilä whispered.
“They’re trying to tell us something,” Crusher corrected. “I think—I think they didn’t see us as intelligent until there were more of us. And with the computer—” She shook her head. “They thought our technology was sentient too.”
Why did it talk to her on the beach? It had never communicated with just two people before.
It learned about us, Crusher realized.
“Wait here for the others,” Crusher told Rikkilä. “I have to go down to the beach—I have to test something.”
“What?” Rikkilä cried. “Doctor, are you sure—”
But Crusher had already skittered up to the dunes. It had spoken to her. And she was going to find a way to speak back.
33
They were getting nowhere.
Derak had returned with news from Bryt. “He’s terribly sorry,” Derak said, bowing a little, “but even with the cloak, Bryt feels ten thousand is simply too low.” Derak’s eyes glittered. “But he is very interested in that mek’leth.”
“You have been told no,” Worf growled.
Derak held up his hands apologetically. “Of course, I understand. But unless you have something else to offer…”
“This cloak is a masterpiece!” Virox cried, gliding over to Worf. The Romulan was still lounging in the corner, tapping listlessly on a padd. “You won’t find anything else like it in the galaxy. Why, there were only three Klingons who could have produced this kind of stitching.”
Worf stiffened as Virox pulled on the cloak, running her fingers over the rough fabric, forcing Derak to look. Troi could see Worf was close to losing his temper.
Eventually, Derak relented. “Madam, I will take this information back to Bryt. But I can’t make any promises.”
Derak backed away, vanishing into the depths of the building. Virox unleashed her frustration. We’re losing.
“Your plan isn’t going to work.”
Thuvetha dropped her padd into a pocket and kicked her legs back up on the table.
“You could have surrendered the treasures,” Worf said. “And saved us the trouble.”
“If you’d offered me the latinum, I would have taken it.” Thuvetha raised an eyebrow. “And I wouldn’t have even asked you to throw in that replicated Klingon cloak.”
“We don’t negotiate with thieves,” Worf said.
Thuvetha burst into laughter. “That’s what you’re doing here.”
Worf glowered at her.
“You know how culturally important the items are,” Troi said.
The Romulan sprung up and prowled around the edge of the room, kicking at the door sharply when she passed it. “I need to stop working for Ferengi,” she muttered. “They have no honor.”
“What would a Romulan know about honor?” Worf snapped.
“Enough to know you should honor your contracts. Bryt and I had one,” Thuvetha said. “Now he’s refusing to abide by it. And I will be sitting here until he does.” She circled back around and kicked the door again.
Troi felt a sudden, unexpected burst of hopefulness from Worf.
The Betazoids studied their “bodyguard.” Worf looked thoughtful, his brow deeply furrowed.
Thuvetha stared at them from across the room, suspicion rising off of her. “What?”
“Worf,” Troi whispered, “I can sense that you’ve thought of something.”
“Ferengi are without honor,” he said.
“Glad you agree with me,” Thuvetha called out.
Virox glared at her. “This conversation does not involve you.”
“Then stop having it in front of me.”
Worf moved to the far side of the lounge, gesturing for Virox and Troi to follow. “We can use that against them,” he said. “Their lack of honor. Commander, can you sense the emotions of Ferengi?”
“Occasionally, if they’re especially heightened. But I’ve got nothing from Derak.”
“But I’m sure he would not know that,” Worf said. “As some Betazoids are more adept at it.”
“That’s one skill I’m afraid I don’t have,” Virox confessed.
They were interrupted by the door sliding open. Derak stepped back into the lounge.
“I’m dreadfully sorry,” he said, ignoring the Romulan’s dagger-sharp glares. “But Bryt is simply not interested in the cloak. I’ll be happy to sell you some Romulan ale, at cost, for your troubles. It appears—”
“No.” Worf strode up to him, and Derak shrank back a little, his eyes wide.
“We learned from the Romulan,” he barked, “that Bryt has a secret. Something no one else should know.”
Derak’s ey
es darted over to Thuvetha. She shrugged at him.
“I don’t see why that’s relevant—” Derak started.
“Do you know that secret?”
Derak’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t—don’t see why that’s relevant.”
Thuvetha barked out a laugh. “He doesn’t know.”
“Do you want to?” Worf’s grin widened.
Is he doing what I think he’s doing? Virox thought.
I believe so.
A sense of mirth roiled through Troi’s mind. Good for him.
“I don’t see what any of this—” Derak glanced over at Troi and Virox. “Betazoids can’t read Ferengi minds.”
“Dorota can,” Worf said.
Troi stepped up beside Worf, saying, “I can tell that you’re very interested in finding out.”
Derak laughed nervously. “No.” Although he sounded unsure.
Troi focused on him; years of playing poker had taught her to read tells. “You’ve been wanting to know a long time.”
“No,” Derak said too quickly.
“We both know that’s a lie,” Troi said.
“Fine!” Derak snapped. “I’m still not going to betray—”
“Get her close enough, and it will only cost you five strips of latinum,” Worf said.
Troi felt a flash from Thuvetha. She was impressed.
“Wh-what? One slip,” Derak said.
“Two,” Worf countered.
Derak pulled out two slips and held them up. “Fine,” he said. “What is it? The secret?”
“I need to be in much closer proximity,” Troi said. “As close as you can get us.”
“Just you.” He looked at Worf and dropped the slips back into his jacket. “You’ll get paid when I know.”
Derak gestured wildly at Troi. “Come along then. I’ll bring you into the antechamber. Bryt will just be one room over. Will that be close enough?”
“Yes,” Troi said, even though she didn’t like the idea of going back there alone.
“No funny business.”
Troi looked at him, her eyes wide with innocence. “Of course not.”
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