BOOGEYMEN

by Mel Gilden

  And whispered from behind,

  ‘Vanity, my little man,

  You’re nothing of the kind.’

  “Do you understand, Wesley? It is sometimes arrogant to claim all the guilt.”

  Picard caught Wesley trying not to smile and said, “Go. Try to stay out of trouble.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wesley went out, leaving Picard to ponder his own arrogance. He sighed again and left the conference lounge.

  In Engineering, La Forge discovered that Data had gone to his cabin. La Forge took the turbolift back up and pushed the announce button outside Data’s door.

  Data said, “Cub in.”

  “Cub in?” La Forge said as he entered. He found Data sitting at his desk surrounded by an incredible array of stuff: stacks of bound books, a game generator with a number of game chips, a box of tissues. Nearby was a cup of room-temperature brown liquid with a foamy white island floating on the surface—hot chocolate with a marshmallow. In Data’s mouth was a glass tube no larger than a pencil, and on top of his head was a sack that sat there like a small lumpy mountain. He was dressed in a blue robe held closed by a golden cord.

  “Data, what is all this?”

  Data was about to answer when he inhaled convulsively. With one hand he pulled the glass tube from his mouth and with the other he grabbed a tissue. “Ah-ah-ah-choo!” He sneezed into the tissue, and the bag slid off his head and onto the floor, where it disgorged ice cubes and cold water.

  “Dis is a terbobedder,” Data said, holding up the glass tube. “And dis is tissue for wed I sneeze.”

  “You sound all stuffy.”

  “Ob course. I hab a code in by dose.”

  La Forge shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t have a cold, Data. You’re an android.”

  “I ab exploring de human condition ‘do be sick.’ ”

  “You can explore that later. The captain wants us to get busy on that computer virus.”

  Data stood and dramatically threw off the robe. Underneath was his uniform. He said, “I believe I have contrived some theories on how we might proceed.” Magically, his nose was no longer stuffy.

  “You must be feeling better.”

  “I must,” said Data agreeably.

  He and La Forge walked out into the corridor, spouting computer science at each other enthusiastically.

  Picard sat behind the desk in his ready room glaring at his memo terminal, wondering if asking it a question was worth the frustration of not getting an answer. He’d already called Professor Baldwin in the exobiology lab and requested his presence. He could have sent Worf or some other member of the security team to escort him, but Picard preferred not to do that. Even if Baldwin had in fact loaded the virus into the Enterprise’s computer, he was not likely to be violent. It was just as well that sending somebody to get Baldwin had turned out not to be necessary.

  “Somebody’s at the door,” a Boogeyman voice called. The voice startled Picard. Only moments before, when Riker had looked in on him with a routine matter, the door had made its usual audio twinkle. Wesley’s Boogeymen were taking over the ship. Something had to be done, and soon.

  “Come,” Picard called.

  The door slid open and Baldwin walked in, looking a little sheepish. He said, “That sounds like your official captain-type voice.”

  “I’m afraid it is, Eric. Please sit down.”

  Baldwin sat in the chair across from Picard, lifted an ankle across a knee, and rested his hands in his lap. Picard contemplated him, trying to decide where to begin. He noticed Baldwin contemplating him and couldn’t help smiling. He said, “You’ve heard that the ship is running at less than its usual efficiency.”

  “Shubunkin and I heard the announcement about not using the computer.” Baldwin shook his head. “Unfortunately this was immediately after I’d asked a food slot for a cup of coffee.”

  “What happened?”

  “I got something brown and hot in a cup. It had no smell. I tried a little. It was like swallowing my own spit.”

  “Must you be so graphic?”

  “Trained observer. Sorry. What about the computer?”

  Picard straightened his tunic and said, “The mainframe of the Enterprise computer has been attacked by a virus. It seems that one of the things this virus is designed to do is eradicate any mention of your existence.”

  Baldwin shook his head and said, “I have a lot of enemies, Jean-Luc. Some of them are pretty damned clever. One of them wants to make trouble for me. I’m sorry.”

  “You expect me to believe that after all you told me about wanting to disappear? You know you’re pretty damned clever yourself.”

  Baldwin continued to look at him as if he hadn’t heard a word Picard said.

  “Eric?” Picard said.

  Baldwin slumped over in his chair.

  Picard was just rising to see if Professor Baldwin was all right when Riker’s voice came over the comlink. “Captain Picard to the bridge, please.”

  Picard touched a companel and said, “Dr. Crusher to the captain’s ready room.”

  “We’re a little busy right now, Captain.”

  The door to the ready room opened and Riker came in, looking very worried indeed. “Captain?”

  “I’ll be right there, Number One. Dr. Crusher, send someone as quickly as you can. Professor Baldwin has apparently fainted.”

  As Picard walked out onto the bridge, he said, “What is it, Number One?” Then he saw Dr. Crusher bending over Counselor Troi. Worf stood nearby, alert, ready for anything, one hand on his ceremonial dagger.

  “She fainted,” Riker said.

  “She’s all right for the moment,” Dr. Crusher said, “but I should get her to sickbay.” An orderly gently maneuvered Troi onto a null-grav stretcher and carried her away.

  “What about Baldwin?” Picard said.

  Dr. Crusher nodded and hurried across the bridge to the ready room.

  “That’s not all, Captain,” Riker said. “We’re cruising at warp eight.”

  “Who gave the order?” Picard said as he sat down in his command chair.

  “No one, sir. And we can’t stop.”

  Picard looked at his first officer inquisitively. Worf growled. Whatever the answer was, Picard knew he wouldn’t like it.

  Riker said, “We can’t stop because we’re cruising at warp eight without using the warp engines.”

  Chapter Ten

  AS A STARFLEET CAPTAIN, Picard had experienced many strange things, things that other people might have considered bizarre or even frightening. He was trained to react in a reasoned and appropriate manner to any situation, expected or not. Yet here was a situation that seemed so impossible on the face of it, Picard’s first reaction was to be surprised, and then to be disbelieving. While he considered an appropriate response that would be more useful, he marked time by asking a simple question he hoped had a rational answer. “What is our heading, Mr. Crusher?”

  “Two two seven mark four, sir.”

  Riker said, “Back to Tantamon Four.”

  “Mr. La Forge,” Picard called.

  “Here, sir.”

  “What is the condition of our warp engines?”

  “Checking, sir.” After a moment of silence, La Forge said, “This is impossible, sir.”

  Picard and Riker shared a glance. Picard said, “What is, Mr. La Forge?”

  “We’re traveling at warp eight, but the warp engines haven’t been engaged.”

  “Do you have any instant theories, Mr. La Forge?”

  “No, sir. But I think this is a little out of the Boogeymen’s league.”

  “Agreed. So far our velocity is not life threatening. Continue to work on the virus.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Riker said, “The teardrop ship we encountered in the Omega Triangulae region traveled at warp speed without a warp drive. According to Data, that ship wasn’t even equipped with one.”

  “Indeed,” said Picard. “There is an obvious connec
tion. Moreover, you may recall that the humanoids aboard the teardrop ship were sleeping. Our people began to faint at approximately the same moment the Enterprise slipped into warp drive—perhaps at exactly the same moment.”

  “Another apparent connection.”

  Picard nodded. “Yet the Enterprise is not an alien ship. It has not the means to move at warp speed without using the warp engines.”

  “Evidently it does,” Riker said. He didn’t look happy about it. Picard knew that he took every technical puzzle as a personal challenge, sometimes as a personal affront.

  Worf said, “The only teardrop ship in this area that we are aware of is the one on Tantamon Four.”

  “Which is where the Enterprise is taking us,” Riker said.

  Picard shook his head. “But why now?” he said.

  The bridge was silent for a moment. The stars on the main viewer poured toward them.

  “What about the virus?” Riker said.

  “Yes, what about the virus?” Picard said. He had guesses, theories, many questions, but no answers. Nothing he could act on. A frustrating, frustrating business. He stood up, pulled his tunic straight, and walked toward the turbolift. He said, “The crew members who seem to be in the most immediate danger are the ones who fainted. I’m going to sickbay. Call me immediately if our situation changes.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  Picard got on the turbolift and said, “Sickbay.” The doors closed, opened, closed again, and then a Boogeyman laughed menacingly. It said “sickbay” over and over in a range of voices from a rumble to a squeak. While Picard wondered if he should have taken the emergency gangway, the turbolift jerked along. A few times Picard’s weight seemed to change, and for a few seconds he floated near the ceiling. At last the turbolift doors opened and he stepped out, noting that the lift had stopped a few centimeters above the floor of the corridor.

  Picard walked along the corridor. Some of the illumination bars were brighter than usual. Others were dimmer. Some could not seem to make up their mind what to do. Picard was about to enter sickbay when the lights went out entirely, leaving him in a darkness more total than any he had ever seen. Picard imagined the blackness pressing against his eyes.

  While afterimages popped like fireworks, he heard somebody shout, “Emergency on deck twelve.” Blue emergency lights came on, making the corridor look diseased and unreal, and then the normal lighting blinked on.

  A yeoman whose name he didn’t know said, “What’s going on, sir?”

  “The Boogeymen are flexing their muscles,” Picard muttered and ducked into sickbay before he would feel obligated to explain.

  Sickbay was crowded. Every diagnostic bed was taken, and many crew members and passengers were lying on the floor. They all seemed to be peacefully sleeping. Solemn doctors and orderlies rushed around with medical tricorders and sensing devices. Some were ministering to the sleeping with arcane medical instruments Picard only vaguely recognized. There was a lot of noise, but the patients didn’t seem to be in any danger of awakening.

  Ravel’s Bolero began to play. It came in with a crash and then faded to almost nothing. It played too fast and then too slow. Lights flashed in time with the beat. Evidently the Boogeymen were not great respecters of music.

  Picard had come down to see if Troi and Baldwin were all right, or at least stable, but it was obvious he could not allow himself the luxury of having personal concerns at this time. Troi and Baldwin were just two among many. He found Dr. Crusher waving a medical sensor over a crewman first class who normally worked in Ten Forward.

  When she saw Picard, Dr. Crusher lowered her sensor, though she still looked worriedly at the crewman first class. She took a deep breath and said, “Before you ask, it’s happening to people all over the ship. They’re falling into a trance, and I don’t know why.”

  “Any common factor?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Dr. Crusher sounded frustrated, more with herself than with Picard. “So far I’m just trying to make sure no one is dying.”

  “What is their condition?”

  “As far as I can tell, they’re just sleeping. But it’s a heavy sleep. They can’t be awakened, not even by that terrible music, evidently. Can’t you control your ship?”

  “I’ll make it my highest priority,” Picard said and gave her a bemused smile.

  “Sorry, Captain.” Dr. Crusher shook her head with despair. “I’ll have some answers for you soon.” She began to make passes with her sensor over the crewman again.

  Picard wanted to ask her if there was a connection between the trance state and the warp speed, but she obviously had enough on her hands at the moment. Instead, he said, “How are Professor Baldwin and Counselor Troi?”

  “Sleeping like the rest of them.”

  Picard nodded, though it was little more than an automatic social gesture. “Soon,” he ordered.

  Dr. Crusher nodded absentmindedly. By this time she was diagnosing someone else.

  Knowing he was gambling, Picard took the turbolift back to deck one. He won his bet. The ride was astonishingly uneventful.

  All seemed quiet on the bridge when he got there, though Riker was pacing and casting angry glances at the main viewscreen, as if it were the source of their trouble. Worf was glaring at the telltales on the tactical rail, probably keeping track of his security systems. He was not a happy Klingon, having been confronted with enemies he felt powerless against. His big dark hands gripped the rail hard.

  Bridge functions were the most heavily shielded on the ship. Apparently the Boogeymen were having trouble getting control of them. But if they were in the main core, they could eventually gain control of everything.

  Picard sat down in his command chair and rubbed his chin while he watched the screen. None of this made sense. It seemed to him that no program, no matter how renegade, could push a starship at warp speed without using the warp drive. Therefore the Boogeymen could not be responsible. What about the virus? Picard shook his head. Then what was the cause? The trance state of his people? Even if that was the case, he was still left with a very large question. Perhaps Dr. Crusher would discover something.

  If Baldwin had been there he could probably have cleared up some of this, but he wasn’t, and wishing would not make it so. It was easy to think of him as a casualty of his own deeds, but Picard saw no way that the virus could have anything to do with either the capricious speed of the ship or the spell of sleep that had fallen over selected passengers and crew. Then Picard realized he was not using all his resources.

  He raised his voice and said, “Lieutenant Shubunkin.”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Please come to the bridge immediately.”

  “Now, Captain? Without Baldwin to help me analyze this data, my time is extremely valuable.”

  “Now, Shubunkin,” Riker said.

  Sounding slightly miffed, Shubunkin said, “Aye, Commander. Now.”

  Riker sat down and pulled his tunic straight. He and Picard said nothing. Wesley turned around and said, “Sir, do you think the natives of Tantamon Four have something to do with the warp speed?”

  Picard said, “That’s what we’re hoping Lieutenant Shubunkin will tell us.”

  Shubunkin arrived on the bridge, huffing and puffing with his own importance. When he saw the stony looks on the faces of Picard and Riker, he calmed down and said, “How can I help you, Captain?”

  “Sit down, Lieutenant,” Picard said, and indicated the seat normally filled by Counselor Troi.

  Shubunkin sat.

  Riker said, “Lieutenant, the Enterprise is no longer on course for Memory Alpha.”

  “But—” Shubunkin began. He stopped when Riker held up one hand.

  Riker said, “We are cruising back to Tantamon Four at warp eight. The thing that makes this odd is that our warp engines are no longer engaged.”

  “Isn’t that impossible?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Picard saw that Riker was enjoying baiting Shub
unkin, just as he’d enjoyed arguing with him at that first dinner. Riker did not suffer pomposity gladly. However, in this instance, perhaps more could be accomplished by being direct. Picard said, “We don’t know how it’s being done. Is it possible the natives on Tantamon Four are responsible?”

  “Why them?”

  “We’re going to Tantamon Four,” Picard said. “Maybe they want something on the Enterprise. Perhaps they want the ship itself.”

  The idea obviously came as a shock to Shubunkin. He frowned. He looked at the viewscreen. Anything not to be looking at Picard and Riker. Then he met their eyes and said, “I’d just be guessing. Why not ask Baldwin?”

  “We’re asking you,” Riker said.

  Shubunkin drew himself up and became very professional. He said, “I’d have to say no. Despite the argument that you saw, Captain Picard, Baldwin and I agree on many things. One of them is the primitive nature of the Tantamon Four natives.”

  Picard said, “The Orma seem to be primitive, but they have enormous telekinetic powers. They carry their technology in their brains.”

  Shubunkin shook his head and said, “I don’t think that’s the case on Tantamon Four. I don’t think Baldwin thinks so. By the way, where is Baldwin?”

  “Sleeping,” said Picard. He explained what had happened as far as he understood it.

  “No,” said Shubunkin. “That is not the doing of the Tantamon Four natives.”

  Picard had expected that, and Shubunkin’s comment gave him a certain satisfaction. Nothing else seemed to make sense. He said, “What about the teardrop ship?”

  “What about it?”

  “Could something on that ship be controlling the Enterprise or the people aboard?”

  “In what way?”

  “We were hoping you could tell us,” Riker said.

  Shubunkin stood up and said, “Despite what you may think of me, sir, I’m good at my job. But I am not a magician. I’ve had access to Baldwin’s infowafer for less than a week. There are many things about the teardrop ship I have not yet discovered.”

  “Please, Lieutenant,” Picard said, “I assure you we all have the highest regard for your abilities.”