by Mel Gilden
“You don’t seem concerned,” Picard said.
Mr. Howe made a noise of dismissal and said, “Like her father, she has an active imagination. Sometimes it’s overactive. That’s all.”
“What do you expect me to do, then? Slug her upside the head and tiptoe out while she’s unconscious?”
“I don’t think the slugging will be necessary. Just tell her that we spoke and that you’re leaving. You may keep any money she paid you.” He shook his head. “It’s not your fault she’s a twit.”
Picard remembered something Dixon Hill had said in a book called Sweet Oblivion. He quoted it to Mr. Howe: “‘All I have is my good name. Imagine what my reputation would be like if I let people who weren’t my clients run me off cases.’ ”
“I’m her father.”
“She doesn’t look like a child.” Picard stood up and said, “If nothing else, she needs to be comforted. Even if that’s all she buys, she’s doing all right.”
Mr. Howe studied his lap. Far away Picard heard the airlock door open, then the sound of people beating their way through the undergrowth. In a moment the butler came into the clearing followed by Rhonda Howe, Data, and Wesley.
Mr. Howe snickered and said, “Find anything?”
“How are you feeling, Dad?”
“Fine, fine. Did you find anything?”
Looking a little confused, Miss Howe said, “Nothing at all. Mr. Hill’s operative, Mr. Data, thinks that’s important.”
Picard nodded at Data, who said, “Wesley and I searched Miss Howe’s room and found no clues whatsoever. We also found nothing beneath Miss Howe’s second-story window. No footprints, no torn shrubs, nothing dropped from a pocket.”
“You see?” Mr. Howe said.
Data said, “The fact we found nothing is in itself conclusive. In this scenario, only Boogeymen would have the capability to hang outside Miss Howe’s window and, as she describes it, moan at her, without leaving any clues behind.”
“I don’t get you,” Mr. Howe said.
Data was about to explain when three Boogeymen leapt in through the wall of the greenhouse; the effect was like an explosion, pelting them with shards of glass. The two end ones were dressed in brown pin-striped suits and were waving twentieth-century projectile-spitting pistols. The one in the middle wore a gray suit and a fedora. In his whispering nightmare voice the Boogeyman in the middle said, “Captain Crusher. Captain Crusher.”
Wesley backed toward the jungle, horror on his face. Picard and Data closed in front of him, their hands up, ready to do battle.
One of the hench-Boogeymen fired twice into the air, bringing a shower of broken glass down onto himself. At the same time, the chief mobster-Boogeyman burst between Picard and Data, grabbed Wesley, and threw him over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Seconds later, all three Boogeymen had ducked out through the jagged hole they’d made in the wall.
Data was already after Wesley and the three Boogeymen, and Picard was right behind him. He had only enough time to hear Mr. Howe comment calmly, “It’s all her imagination.”
The outside air seemed cold after the close heat of the greenhouse, and it refreshed Picard immediately. He threw off his trench coat and fedora as he followed Data to the first gentle rise and, not far away, saw the three Boogeymen moving along in a gorillalike crouch. One of the Boogeymen still carried Wesley over his shoulder.
“We can surely catch them,” the captain said as they started down the hill.
Suddenly Picard was blinded by a flash of light.
Chapter Six
RIKER SAT in the captain’s chair and did not look happy to be there. He glared at the main viewscreen, just to have something to glare at besides the shine on the toe of his left boot. On the screen stars sprinkled toward him as the Enterprise poked toward Memory Alpha at warp five. He turned and glared at Counselor Troi, who sat with her eyes closed. Dr. Crusher sat in the chair that Riker normally occupied. She did not glare at Troi, but waited with a look of expectation on her face. She was just as tense as Riker.
“They are confused,” said Troi without opening her eyes, “and a little upset.” She smiled. “No reading off Data, of course. The captain is trying hard not to be angry.”
“What about?” Riker said.
“Impossible to say.”
“What about Wesley?” Dr. Crusher said.
“He is bearing up well.”
“That’s something, I guess,” Dr. Crusher said and leaned back in Riker’s chair. She drummed her fingers on her thigh.
Riker called into the air, “La Forge?”
“Here, Commander,” came La Forge’s voice.
“Any luck getting onto the holodeck?”
“Not so far, sir. Every time we set up a bypass, the computer takes control by another route.”
“Can’t you override?”
“Override is inoperative.”
“How about cutting through the doors?”
“Working on it now, sir. It’ll take a few hours. We have to be careful where we cut. And tritanium alloy is not exactly tissue paper.”
“Keep me posted.”
“Aye, sir.”
Riker stood up and began to pace. Dr. Crusher took another look at Troi, who shrugged apologetically. Dr. Crusher left the bridge.
The Boogeyman who’d been carrying Wesley threw him onto his bed and stood at its foot, grinning at him unpleasantly. A second sat in the chair behind his desk, and the third paced in front of the door.
This was weird, Wesley thought. Here he was in his bed seeing Boogeymen, just as if he were a kid again and in the middle of a nightmare. The difference this time was that he was awake and the Boogeymen were real now, or as real as the computer could make them. He was still afraid of them, but not the way he’d been terrorized by them in his nightmares. As far as he was concerned, these Boogeymen were just wild and unpredictable enemies. Being afraid of them seemed pretty rational.
The Boogeyman at the foot of the bed clasped his hands over his head and cried, “We win, Captain Crusher!” Something gooey and greenish yellow dripped from his teeth and into his beard.
“Right,” Wesley said. “Congratulations. So the game is over. Return control of the holodeck to the computer.”
“Return control?” the Boogeyman said. “We win!” He raised his hands in victory again.
The Boogeymen sounded confused, and suddenly Wesley realized why. No matter how evil they acted, the Boogeymen were still only manifestations of a computer program, and they couldn’t do anything they hadn’t been programmed to do. They had been designed to win and that was all. Wesley had frankly never thought the game would develop into a kidnapping. As far as he’d been concerned either he or the Boogeymen would blow the other out of the sky and then the game would be over. He’d given no thought to what might come after that, and so the Boogeymen had no idea either. They just grinned at him, dripping awful stuff.
The Boogeymen took no notice when Wesley rolled to his feet. But when he started for the door they ganged up in front of him. “We win,” the one in the fedora said. Wesley had fought his share of Boogeymen by now, but he’d fought them only one at a time. He was not confident he could take on three at once. He’d probably give it a try after a while. He sat down on his bed and hoped that Picard and Data arrived before he was bored out of his mind.
Instinctively, Picard threw his hands over his eyes. When the glare was gone he blinked back tears and tried to look around through the gradually fading afterimage of sheet lightning.
“Captain,” Data said, “are you all right?”
“Fine, Mr. Data.” Except for the tearing and the blinking, it was true. “And you?”
“Undamaged, sir.”
“Wesley?” Picard said hopefully.
No answer.
By this time Picard could see pretty well. He and Data were standing on a blank holodeck. Wesley was not there.
“Have we somehow escaped back to the ship?” Picard said.
&
nbsp; Data said, “You assume that we are standing on the holodeck of our real Enterprise. I suggest that this may be a simulation of a holodeck.”
Picard considered that. A holodeck simulation of a blank holodeck had its hilarious aspects, and Picard was certain that some other time he would be able to appreciate them. It was a nice complement to the wheels-within-wheels conundrum in which they found themselves—a fascinating philosophical problem, but practically, thinking about it would lead only to frustration. He shook his head. “If this is a blank holodeck, if it is the holodeek on which we played out the Dixon Hill scenario, then Wesley ought to be here.”
“Correct, Captain,” said Data, “which leads me to believe that we are not yet on a real holodeck. Wesley has merely been taken to another area of the simulation.”
Picard looked around at the grid lines on the walls of the holodeck, broken only by a single exit. The place looked so damned real. He said, “Might walking through another holodeck exit take us to a place where we would never be able to find Wesley? Or would it lead us back out into the real ship?”
“Possibly, sir. It is more likely that a holo exit from a simulated blank holodeck would leave us in the same simulation of Enterprise that we are in now.”
“Very well,” the captain said. “In any case, it is pointless to stay here. Exit holodeck.”
The doors slid open, showing an empty Enterprise corridor beyond. Picard and Data walked out, and the doors slid closed behind them. Picard said, “Exit holodeck,” and another door appeared not six feet away. “That answers that question. Cancel exit.” The door went away.
As they approached the cross corridor, three Boogeymen swarmed toward them. Bored, frustrated, very unhappy, Picard grabbed the nearest Boogeyman by the neck and slammed his head against the wall. Evidently Data was also tired of this particular method of attack because he took care of the other two Boogeymen. The three lay on the floor in an unclean heap.
“That’s done with, anyway,” said Picard.
“Yes, sir. Where to now?”
Indeed, that was the question. He considered all they knew about the situation. “Let’s use Occam’s razor,” Picard said.
“Ah,” said Data. “The theory that the simplest explanation covering all the facts is the correct one.” He shrugged. “It is not very scientific, but it is a place to begin.”
Picard touched his insignia and got the audio twinkle. He said, “Ensign Crusher.”
No answer.
“Try Captain Crusher.”
Picard tried it, to the same effect.
“Still some kind of interference,” Data said.
“Very well.” Picard touched a companel and said, “Computer.”
“Working.”
“Tell me the location of Captain Wesley Crusher.”
“Captain Wesley Crusher is on the main bridge.”
“Why is he not answering his communicator?”
“No one has called him.”
“His presence on the bridge follows the pattern,” Data said. “The computer seems determined to give each of us our fondest fantasy and then pervert it. Lieutenant Yar was a traitor, and Wesley was abducted right under the nose of master sleuth Dixon Hill.”
“Then Wesley could be in serious trouble.”
Picard and Data hurried into a turbolift and went to the bridge. Neither of them spoke as they rode. When the turbolift slowed, they sank into martial arts crouches. The doors shushed open. Before they stepped onto the bridge, Picard peered out at it. A star field was on screen. A Boogeyman sat at the conn and another at Ops. A third sat in the center seat. They did not look up at the sound of the arriving lift.
“It all seems very placid,” Picard said quietly.
“Yes, sir. Unnervingly so.”
“Are you unnerved, Mr. Data?”
“Merely a metaphor. It is very strange.”
“Take up a position at the foot of the tactical rail.”
“Aye, sir.”
They walked onto the bridge. Picard expected the Boogeymen to leap at them at any moment. Tension wound tighter and tighter inside him as nothing continued to happen. To be constantly vigilant could be more wearing than to be constantly in action.
He stood in front of the captain Boogeyman, blocking his view of the main screen. Still nothing happened. The Boogeyman just sat with his hands knitted across his large belly. To be ignored was maddening.
Picard said, “Where is Captain Crusher?”
The Boogeyman clasped his hands in the air and cried, “We win!”
“You win what?” Picard asked angrily.
“We win!” the Boogeyman said again with his arms raised.
Picard sighed, looked at Data, and said, “You win. End program. Abandon and exit.”
Nothing happened.
Picard shook his head. “I’m out of ideas, Mr. Data.”
“I have one, sir.”
Picard sank into the chair normally occupied by Counselor Troi and rubbed his face with one hand. “We might as well discuss it here as anywhere. The computer can hear us wherever we go.”
“Yes, sir. I have noticed something interesting in the actions of the people we’ve met.”
“Go on.”
“The reaction time of the ninjas accompanying Lieutenant Yar was microseconds slower than I would have expected.”
“Is that important?”
“I believe it is, sir. In the world of computer simulations, a microsecond is a significant period of time. The Boogeymen who abducted Wesley from the Howe greenhouse also moved slowly. As do these Boogeymen here. I might also point out that when you called for an exit while holo-people were present, the exit was noticeably late.”
“All of which means what?”
“In each case, I believe the slowdown occurred because more people were generated by the holodeck computer than it could easily handle in its present weakened and polluted condition.”
Picard sat up a little straighter. Perhaps there was hope yet for Wesley, for all of them. “We have never seen more than three Boogeymen at a time. And when they were with other holo-people—”
“Such as ninjas or the Howes—”
“They moved more slowly than expected. Just as the exits appeared more slowly than expected when other simulated people were present. What about them?” Picard indicated the three Boogeymen on the bridge.
Data said, “I hypothesize that they are moving slowly because the computer has fabricated other Boogeymen who are presently with Wesley.”
“Of course. Delightful. Delightful. Well done, Mr. Data. I believe you have found their Achilles’ heel.” Picard rubbed his chin for a moment and said, “And I believe I have thought of a way to prick it.”
Chapter Seven
DR. CRUSHER SAT at her desk in sickbay turning her medical tricorder on and off. When she turned it on, the tricorder made an audible twinkle and the red power light glowed. When she turned it off, the power light went out. She watched it as if it were blinking a coded message. On. Off. On. Off.
Counselor Troi came into sickbay and sat down across from her without being asked. Troi allowed Crusher to ignore her for a while and then said, “I could feel your concern two decks from here.”
“Sorry,” said Dr. Crusher. She made a self-deprecating smile and turned off the tricorder again. She laid it aside with a certain finality and pressed her hands down flat on the desk. “I’m really fine,” Dr. Crusher said.
“You’re not fine and that’s all right. Your son is missing in the depths of the holodeck and you’re worried. Nothing could be more natural.”
“He’s with Data and the captain. He’ll be fine. I’m fine.”
Troi smiled and said, “An Earth sage once said that a doctor who treats herself has a fool for a patient.”
“Booga-booga,” said Crusher without humor. “How long before Geordi cuts through the door?”
“Maybe another hour. As he continues to remind us, ‘tritanium alloy is not exactly tissue p
aper.’ ”
“A tissue-paper starship wouldn’t be of much use to anybody.”
Troi looked at the ceiling as if a tissue-paper starship were hanging there. “No, it wouldn’t,” she said. “Not much use. It would just be pretty.”
They sat in silence for a while. Dr. Crusher’s hands strayed toward the medical tricorder but didn’t touch it. Troi stood up and said, “Care to join me in Ten Forward?”
Dr. Crusher frowned.
Troi smiled and said, “The ship is full of companels. And besides, Commander Riker can reach you by way of your insignia. Or my insignia. The ship is full of insignia too.”
“It’s office hours.”
“Give yourself the same break you would prescribe to anyone else. Anybody who needs you will be able to find you.”
Dr. Crusher drummed her fingers for a moment. Troi watched her, an inquisitive half smile on her face. “Right,” Dr, Crusher said. She put the tricorder away and squeezed Troi’s hand as they went out.
Evidently the computer had not been able to guess what Picard and Data had in mind because they arrived safely at the recreation deck. As they strode onto the large open floor, Picard said, “You might have told me before about this slowdown.”
“It’s only a theory, sir. Attempting to contact Wesley by companel or insignia seemed to offer more hope of success.”
“Taking advantage of that slowdown is our only hope now,” Picard said as he glanced around. He imagined that the large open space was filled with ghosts, all watching him, waiting for him and Data to try one more solution and fail.
The rec deck was the largest open area on the ship. With the help of the main computer, sections of the floor could be laid out for basketball, horseshoes, shuffleboard, one-thumb, almost any sport enjoyed by any species in the Federation. Even on a ship where a holodeck was available, it was sometimes important for beings to know they were playing against other beings and not against a computer simulation. Sometimes make-believe was not good enough.
At the moment, the important thing about the rec deck was that a large proportion of the Enterprise’s crew could meet there at one time. Such a space was necessary not only for sports but because live performances of music and drama had never quite gone out of style, despite dire warnings to the contrary ever since the invention of the moving picture in the late nineteenth century, old calendar.