by Gene DeWeese
Methodically, as he walked down the tunnel after Worf, Data described the scene to Riker and the others waiting above.
He caught up to Worf at a branch in the tunnel two hundred meters in. The rails curved into the left branch, which at that point began to slope downward more steeply. The right branch ended after a dozen meters, opening into the top level of a huge, irregular excavation, a jagged, underground amphitheater dozens of meters across. Its walls, like those of the tunnels, were shored up here and there with timbers that looked no sturdier than the rusting ladders in the shaft. Leaning out into the cavern, Data could see, a dozen meters down, an opening similar to the one he was in. Below that was yet another and another, the last nearly fifty meters down. The bottom of the massive excavation was beyond the range of his light.
Data stepped back, continuing to describe the scene while keeping one eye always on the tricorder. Back at the branch, he started down the left tunnel, following the rails and Worf. He paused after a few meters as certain of the tricorder readings slowly grew clear. He called to Worf, a dozen meters ahead of him, to wait.
“Commander,” he said, speaking both to Riker and to Worf, “my tricorder now indicates that this level of tunnels definitely connects to the next level down, although it apparently did not originally, except through the excavation I described and others like it. It also appears now that there may be a further connection from the second level to the third.”
“Not originally connected, Data? Explain.”
“All the tunnels within tricorder range are essentially horizontal or, at most, sloping a few degrees. All were excavated well over a hundred years ago. At the lowest point of this top level, there is a steep, narrow opening to the next level. I cannot yet be certain, but preliminary indications are that this opening was made long after the tunnels themselves were dug.”
Riker was silent a moment. “As recently as ten years ago, Data?” he asked finally.
“It is entirely possible, Commander.”
Three hours later, Data was seven levels down. In all but two instances, each level had been connected to the next lower level by a short, steep passageway, some only a few degrees from vertical. Levels three and four were actually a single, complex level with two separate openings to the central shaft, and levels five and six were connected only through the central shaft, probably because, Data speculated, the two levels did not at any point come within fifty meters of each other, and whoever had created the connecting passageways hadn’t been prepared to bore through quite that much solid rock. Instead, between five and six, the ladder in the central shaft had been reinforced the same as the ladder leading down to the first level. Data’s tricorder indicated that all work—connecting passageways and reinforced ladders—had been done not more than ten years ago. Worf had reluctantly stopped at the sixth level when the opening to the seventh had proven barely large enough for Data.
“Time to start back, Data.” Riker’s voice came over Data’s comm unit as he took another turn in the maze that was the seventh level. “Geordi just reported that they’ll be finished at the power station in another half hour and they’ll need a ride.”
“Very well, Commander,” Data said, continuing down the narrow side passage he found himself in. “However, I believe the connection to the next level is less than a hundred meters from my present location.”
“So check it out,” Riker said with a grin in his voice, “as long as you’re that close.”
“Thank you, Commander. I will hurry.”
The tunnel he was in had obviously never been worked: no rails for ore cars, few timbers to brace the low-hanging, jagged rock ceiling. It had probably been an exploratory tunnel that had come up empty, but it was also the lowest in the seventh level. Stooping more and more, even crouching at times, Data hurried down the sloping tunnel, keeping one eye on the map displayed on the tricorder screen. In the center, around the dot that represented his own location, the nearest passageways were sharply defined, becoming blurred and uncertain only as they approached the edges of the screen. One level up and hundreds of meters in toward the central shaft, a single sharply defined symbol lay among the blurs—Worf and his comm unit.
Data rounded a final twist in the tunnel and descended a fifty-meter slope, and the opening to the next level was before him. It was, as he had already discerned from the tricorder images, almost vertical and longer than any of the previous connecting passages. He would be able to navigate it with only minor difficulty, but others would, at the least, require a safety line.
Dropping on his stomach with his face over the opening, he held the light down and peered past it. Perhaps ten meters below, he could see the shadows of the next level.
Setting the light to one side, he lowered the tricorder into the opening. He switched from the glowing map display and began cycling through the analysis modes. As expected, the passageway was recent compared to the tunnels, roughly the same age as the previous ones, possibly slightly more recent. Like them, it held traces of the explosives that had almost certainly been used in their construction. Like them, it was at almost precisely the point at which the two levels of tunnels were at their closest. Which meant, though he had yet to discuss it with Commander Riker, that whoever had made these openings had had to have either a device like the tricorder or access to detailed maps of the entire system of tunnels—the same maps that had, according to Khozak, been deleted from the city’s records computer. Otherwise, how could they have known what point in each level was closest to the next lower level? Just finding the lowest point wouldn’t have been enough. Here in level seven, for instance, the lowest point was three hundred meters back, but there had been no corresponding eighth-level tunnel underneath that point, only a hundred meters of solid rock all the way down to the ninth level.
For a moment he returned to the map display. The levels below him, he saw, were defined more sharply than those above. Zalkan’s belief that the Plague energies had less effect the deeper you went underground appeared to be true, at least for the first kilometer below the surface.
For several seconds, he worked with the controls, juggling them for the highest sensitivity he could achieve without losing all stability. Under normal circumstances it was not difficult, but here in semi-darkness, with the varying background of the Plague energy constantly upsetting the readings, it was a tricky balancing act, even for Data. Next he narrowed the focus, which would also extend the range at the expense of a wider field. The focus, at least, did not seem to be affected by the Plague.
Finally, satisfied, he began slowly sweeping the tricorder in an expanding spiral, watching the display.
After nearly a minute, he stopped abruptly, brought the tricorder back a fraction of a degree.
And stopped again.
For several seconds more, he studied the display, alternating between analysis modes and the mapping function.
Eventually, satisfied that the readings were not an artifact of the background energy and that he had gained all the information he could, he continued the outward spiral.
And stopped again. As if unable to believe this new reading, he made several minuscule adjustments to the tricorder controls. No, he decided after nearly a minute, this too was real, no matter how unlikely it might seem.
Finally, he raised himself from the opening and stowed the tricorder. Crouching beneath the low, rocky ceiling, he brought his hand up to his comm unit but hesitated a fraction of a second as he considered the effect this double discovery would have on President Khozak.
And on their own mission here.
“I am returning now, Commander,” he said, and nothing more.
Chapter Eleven
AS UNLIKELY AS THE IDEA WAS, Riker couldn’t shake the feeling that Data was hiding something. During his entire trek up from the bottom of the mines, Data had remained silent except to report his and Worf’s arrival at each level. Back on the shuttlecraft, the android had delivered his report with uncharacteristic brevity. Levels
eight and nine, he said, were within tricorder range from his seventh-level vantage point and were connected by the same kind of recently opened passageway that connected most of the higher levels. They were also equally devoid of life-forms and machinery. When Khozak expressed angry disappointment over this negative report, the android said not a word, which raised Riker’s suspicions even more. If there was one thing Data seemed to like to do, it was explain things, and Riker would have expected him to, at the very least, volunteer to clarify the limitations of his tricorder under Plague conditions.
But Data said nothing, and he seemed to avoid even looking at Khozak during the flight to the power plant. Instead, he kept his eyes glued to one of the viewscreens. Riker suppressed an urge to ask him what was going on, knowing that Data would have no choice but to answer. If Data was hiding something, it meant he hadn’t thought it through yet. He would speak up when he was ready.
Besides, when Geordi and the others came aboard at the power plant, Data’s uncommunicative behavior was largely forgotten in the infectiously celebratory mood that Zalkan and Denbahr brought with them. According to all tests they had been able to devise, the new laser unit worked flawlessly. Geordi had already spoken with Engineering on the Enterprise and asked them to start work on another dozen of the units. Those twelve would, Denbahr assured him, take care of all units in danger of imminent failure.
Further distraction came when Khozak, in a superior I-told-you-so manner, insisted on telling Zalkan about the recently formed passageways connecting the different levels. The scientist’s near-euphoria turned instantly to a stiff uneasiness.
A moment later, Troi leaned close to Riker. Despite Zalkan’s brittle shell of calm, she whispered into his ear, Khozak’s words had pushed him to the verge of panic.
And that was the way Zalkan remained until he and Denbahr and Khozak were left at the city’s airlock. Questions to him were either evaded or ignored, and an offer to take him to the Enterprise so that he could be “more closely involved” in the production of the laser units was flatly refused.
As the shuttlecraft lifted off and swooped up through the haze toward space, Riker turned to Data, only to find the android about to speak to him.
“You have something to tell us, Data?”
“I do, Commander. I did not wish to speak of it in front of President Khozak and the others until I informed you and the captain.”
“Go ahead, Data,” he said.
“You will remember, Commander, that President Khozak indicated the mine extended down just over one kilometer, which would have been approximately two hundred meters below the lowest point I reached. While I inspected the passageway between the seventh and eighth levels, I was able to adjust my tricorder to penetrate not just the two hundred meters to the eighth and ninth levels, as I perhaps implied before, but more than a hundred meters beyond the ninth level.”
Riker smiled and Geordi chuckled. “Lying by omission, Data,” Geordi said. “Very good. You’re becoming more human all the time.”
“And you found something you didn’t want Khozak or the others to hear,” Riker prompted.
“A number of things, Commander. First, the fact that the tricorder was able to penetrate to that depth indicates that Zalkan was correct in his theory that the background energy grows weaker as one descends below the surface.”
“I suspected as much,” Troi put in. “When he spoke of that belief, he seemed to be telling the truth, even though it made him uneasy to do so.”
“Interesting,” Riker mused, “but hardly something you would want to hide from our guests. Go on.”
“You are correct, Commander. The tricorder indicated three things. First, a single, recently formed tunnel extends at least two hundred meters below the thousand meters Khozak indicated was the bottom of the mines. Second, there are humanoid life-form readings, faint but detectable, in that recent tunnel and in the lowest levels of the original tunnels, three levels below the lowest level I reached. And finally, several meters beyond the end of the extended tunnel, there are indications of a massive deposit of dilithium.”
Even Worf turned from the shuttlecraft controls to stare at Data.
Picard listened intently as Troi, Data, and Riker gave their reports. Zalkan’s behavior and wildly varying emotional state only confirmed what they had already known: He knew a lot more than he was telling. Data’s discoveries in the mines, however, seemed to Picard to provide at least the beginnings of an explanation, if not for Zalkan’s actions and fears specifically, at least for the overall picture of what was going on in the Krantin system. Whoever these interlopers were, wherever they were from, they must be after the dilithium. And, even though Krantin apparently knew of neither the existence nor the value of the dilithium, those searching for it very much wanted to keep their search a secret.
It raised more questions than it answered, of course, but it was at least a start.
But first, despite his misgivings, he would have to inform Khozak and the Council—if the Council did indeed exist—of their findings, particularly the dilithium. He looked at Data, seated across the conference table from Riker.
“How large a deposit, Mr. Data?”
“Unknown, Captain, but it would have to be sub stantial to register on the tricorder under those conditions. Certainly there is enough to make Krantin a wealthy world.”
Picard nodded. He had assumed as much. “But unless they—or we—find a solution to the Plague, all the wealth in the sector won’t help them. Mr. Data, you said these life-forms in the mines are humanoid, but are they Krantinese?”
“Also unknown, Captain, but there was nothing to indicate that they were not.”
“Just as there was nothing to indicate that the pilots of the disappearing ships were or were not Krantinese,” Riker said. “You may recall we’ve already considered the possibility that they are from this same world in an alternate reality, in which case they could be biologically indistinguishable.”
Picard nodded grimly. “I’m not about to forget, Number One. The question is, how do we keep one of them here long enough to ask? Phasers and tractor beams obviously aren’t sufficient.”
“Engineering is working on it, Captain,” Geordi said. “Logically, we should be able to generate a field that interferes with the operation of their equipment just as theirs interferes with ours. Unfortunately, computer analysis suggests that any such field would be difficult to project accurately, for reasons similar to the reasons that our own sensors and transporters are unreliable beyond relatively short distances here. We would probably have to get very close and simply blanket the entire area, ourselves included.”
Picard eyed Geordi questioningly when the chief engineer fell silent. “Why do I get the impression, Mr. La Forge, that that is not as simple as you make it sound?”
“Because it’s not,” Geordi admitted. “There’s a good chance that any field we generate would have side effects that are just as damaging to life-forms as the field it’s designed to counter.”
Picard suppressed a grimace. “How soon can you be positive, one way or the other?”
“Short of trying it out on living tissue, Captain, I can’t.”
Picard was silent a moment. “Very well. Keep me informed of your progress.”
He turned to Dr. Crusher. “Is there anything new in your search for a cure for these side effects, if that’s what they are?”
“Something better than CZ-fourteen, Captain, but not a cure. Or so the computer model indicates. At best, it would slowly halt the deterioration over a period of weeks or months. It might even reverse the process to some small degree. However, it would require inducing what virtually amounts to a coma for all that time.”
“And the subject would be only slightly improved when it was all over, Doctor? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Essentially, yes. The chances are good that he would be stabilized at some level slightly better than the one at which treatment started. Without the treatment, he would
continue to deteriorate, even without more exposure to the energy field.”
Picard nodded. Beverly was right. It did not sound hopeful, at least not for Zalkan. He turned to Troi. “It would help if we knew if Zalkan’s illness was indeed the result of such exposure, Counselor, and if so, how often and how long he had been exposed. Do you still feel that Zalkan knows the cause of his illness?”
“I am almost certain of it, Captain. And I am just as certain that he knows a great deal more, not only about the disappearing ships but about what is going on in the mines. As I said, the idea of our exploring those mines frightened him more than anything else we have said or done before. But once again, it was not a fear for himself.”
“For the ones at the bottom of the mine, then? The ones piloting the ships? He’s afraid we’ll get our hands on them?”
Troi shrugged. “I don’t know, Captain. Perhaps it is for those in the mine, but I doubt that it is for those on the ships. There was an anger, perhaps a bitterness, associated with the ships that was not present when he was forced to think about the mines. And there is still his odd reaction to Koralus. When we arrived with the laser unit, Zalkan asked about him, wondering why he hadn’t come along this time.”
“Did he explain his interest?”
“He said it was merely his interest in the Desertion, purely historical, but he was not being truthful. It was something more personal, but I have no way of knowing precisely what it might be.”
“What of Koralus’s reaction to Zalkan when they were both on the Enterprise? Was there any hint of recognition?”
Troi shook her head. “Not the slightest.”
“Which is not surprising,” Riker put in, smiling, “considering that Koralus left Krantin fifty years before Zalkan was born.”