“Please, I don’t need a lecture,” said Pazlar. “I’ve served Starfleet to the best of my ability, but now it’s time to serve my homeworld. This is a bona fide emergency. Tell her, Lieutenant Barclay, how we couldn’t raise Gemworld on subspace.”
Reg sat up at attention. “That’s true.”
Deanna held up her hand. “When I’m in this office, it’s not my job to determine what’s an emergency. That’s for the bridge crew. My only concern is your well-being. I’ve never met anyone from your race before, but I’m a quick learner. Captain Picard said this all started with a dream?”
Reg could see the color drain from Melora’s face as she considered the impossible task of explaining her dream all over again. Nevertheless, she dove right in, describing Gemworld, the giant crystals, and the strange creatures which lived within them. Troi was very interested in her description of the Lipuls and their dreamships, and she made notes on her padd. She didn’t interrupt or say anything until she was certain that Melora was finished with her tale.
“I can tell that you fully believe this,” said Troi simply.
Pazlar blinked at her. “That’s right . . . Betazoids are telepathic, aren’t they?”
“To a limited degree. I’m only half-Betazoid, and the only person I’m fully telepathic with is my mother. But I can usually sense emotions and intentions, and I can tell that your feelings are genuine.”
“Then you’ll tell the captain to help me?”
Deanna frowned and looked away from the Elaysian’s intent gaze. “You know Starfleet—I think you understand the captain’s dilemma. He would have to suspend several ongoing missions and take the Enterprise a considerable distance off course. He needs some sort of independent verification about this problem, whatever it is.”
“More than a dream,” muttered Melora, sounding defeated. “I’ve never had a dream like this before. It was real, Counselor, you’ve got to believe me.”
“I can put you in for a medical leave,” said Troi, “effective immediately. That will get you off active duty.”
“But it won’t take me home,” said Pazlar bitterly.“Maybe in a week or a month we’ll find a transport headed in that direction, and I’ll get an indefinite leave. That will be fine, if I’m wrong. But if I’m right, I’ll be too late.” She rose slowly to her feet.
“You don’t have to go yet,” said Troi. “I’d like the chance just to chat . . . to get to know you better.”
“I’m sorry,” said Melora, “but I don’t feel like chatting. And I won’t be on this ship long enough for anyone to get to know me.”
When she started for the door, Barclay bolted to his feet. “Where are you going?”
“Back to the lab to prepare for the mission on Primus IV. It’s obvious that I’ve failed. The Lipuls have failed. Whatever message they wanted to impart, no one will get it.”
Pazlar looked intently at Counselor Troi. “Someone the captain believes . . . someone like you. That would have been better.” She turned and limped out the door.
“Should I go with you?” asked Barclay helpfully.
The Elaysian shook her mane of silky blond hair. “You’ve wasted enough time on me. Go back to your duties. But thank you, anyway.” She exited, and the door slid shut behind her.
Reg sighed and flapped his arms helplessly. “I wish . . . I wish I could do something for her.”
“So do I, but this is Starfleet. There are procedures. How far would you get if you had a bad dream about Earth, then wanted Captain Picard to turn the ship around and take you there?”
The engineer smiled, despite his forlorn mood. “Not far.”
“Then we’ll have to find some other way to help her.” The counselor strode to her desk and punched up her screen. “I’m going to read up on everything we have in the computer about Elaysians. There may be a clue in there about what’s really bothering her. This could be a recognized neurosis among Elaysians, for all I know. Was it really impossible to contact her planet?”
“Yes, but they’re not in regular contact with Starfleet. There’s a single relay and special protocols.” Barclay glanced wistfully at the door. “She’s very unusual . . . Lieutenant Pazlar.”
Deanna smiled. “Keep in contact with her, Reg. She looks like she could use a friend.”
He nodded, realizing that it had been unrealistic for Melora to think that an entire starship would stop what it was doing in order to investigate a dream. Even so, he had a feeling that she wasn’t finished making her case.
Melora Pazlar went straight back to her utilitarian quarters, but she didn’t open the files on the Primus IV experiment. Instead she lay down in her bunk still wearing her anti-grav suit, thinking it might help attune her mind and body to Gemworld. Since she hadn’t slept more than a couple of hours in the last forty, she didn’t think she would have any trouble falling asleep.
And she was going to dream. Not of Gemworld but of the woman she had just met . . . Deanna Troi.
Chapter Four
DEANNA TROI LEANED BACK in her chair and yawned. She blinked wearily at her computer screen and finally flicked it off. Even after reading a dozen essays, reports, and abstracts on Elaysians and Gemworld, complete with improbable pictures, she still couldn’t imagine what it was like. A weightless planet with breathable atmosphere, giant crystals instead of soil, half a dozen sentient races, most of them not remotely humanoid. One essay had suggested that Gemworld was one of the oldest continuously inhabited planets in the Alpha Quadrant. Another had said it wasn’t a planet at all, just an artificial construct; a third called it the curious remains of a planet. Even people who had been there couldn’t agree on what it was.
One thing was certain, Melora Pazlar came from there at considerable hardship. Compared to the other races on Gemworld, the Elaysians were extroverts, but by Federation standards they were still secretive and reserved. They were technologically capable of space travel, but apparently uninterested. Except for the redoubtable Lieutenant Pazlar. Maybe if you lived on such a remarkable planet—and could fly unaided like a bird—you were content to stay at home.
No doubt about it, Melora Pazlar was a true pioneer—the kind of woman who would be written about in history books, if she were human. Troi had known other pioneers in Starfleet—Worf was a good example. But Worf came from a spacefaring race—two of them, counting his human upbringing. Data was also unique in Starfleet, but Data had been designed to live among the stars. Both Data and Worf had struggled to fit in without losing their unique identities, and they had finally succeeded. Without knowing her better, it was hard to tell if Melora Pazlar had succeeded or not.
Some serious problem was bothering the Elaysian, that much was certain, and it had taken the form of a dream. But what did the dream represent?
With another yawn, Troi realized that she was not going to solve this riddle immediately, and the answer was not going to be found in a dry computer text. She rose to her feet and checked the time. Darn it! She had missed dinner with Riker. Of course, he knew she was working on the Melora Pazlar problem, per the captain’s request, so he wouldn’t have reminded her about it. Men either reached you when you wanted to be left alone, or they left you alone when you wanted to be reached.
She was really more tired than hungry, and she surveyed the empty couches in her office with more interest than usual. Maybe she could steal a moment’s rest to recharge her brain cells, then she might try to contact other counselors who had served with Melora Pazlar. Maybe one of them could shed some light on her situation.
Before she could even debate the proposition, Troi’s body had sunk onto the full-size sofa. Her legs stretched out all by themselves, and her head alighted on a throw pillow. It felt as if she were floating. “Computer,” she said softly, “dim lights to one third and suppress door chime.”
“Acknowledged,” said a disembodied voice. The lights dimmed to a soothing, tasteful level, and Deanna had a sudden image of a broad purple ocean, with the sun hiding behind salmo
n-colored clouds. “Computer,” she said, “may I have a background sound—ocean waves on the beach.”
The office filled with the slow, cleansing sound of waves breaking on a distant shore, far from the cares of Starfleet, Melora Pazlar, or anyone else. Golden pink clouds billowed over the dark ocean, and Troi could see the waves rushing up the shore and fleeing again, wiping the sand clean. The effect was so serene and joyful that tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and her body floated on the gentle surf.
Without realizing she was asleep and dreaming, Deanna let the warm, dark water wash over her. She felt herself sinking, but this was no cause for panic, because her body was filmy and amorphous, accustomed to this world. Although the water seemed thicker than she expected, she found she could move up and down by opening and closing her limbs. When she wanted to move sideways, she merely floated on the favorable currents, which changed with every passing wave.
Under the water were murky pillars and encrusted monoliths, which she could dart under and use for cover. There were predators in these waters, and she realized it was a primordial time, when life was short and exciting. This was a memory, she realized, in which her dream logic was perfectly acceptable. Dreams often replayed true memories.
Without warning, her vision blurred, and she suddenly began to see through entirely different eyes. These weren’t even eyes, but more like an inner vision of the mind, which Troi accepted as another memory. The dark ocean seemed to evaporate, leaving the monoliths and pillars behind like the bones of a departed animal. As the blazing sun and acidic rain bleached these stark monuments, dehydrating them, a remarkable transformation occurred: they turned into sparkling jewels! Giant prisms, clusters of gems, magical spires, and sweeping archways reached for the sky.
She saw this in a watery vision, and she knew that she was inside one of the great crystals. Eons of playing among them had led to playing inside them. A lucky few adapted and learned to synthesize sunlight and consume microscopic animals, and they survived inside the crystals when the oceans receded. That was a tragic time, Deanna knew, but it was a necessary step in their evolution to a higher level of intelligence. Trapped inside scattered crystals, they learned to communicate telepathically, or die of loneliness.
Epochs seemed to wash through her dream like the waves breaking on the shore. They still lived in the thick liquid, among the dancing lights and shifting rainbows, but they were no longer alone. There was a large community of beings drawn together by the unique qualities of this world. Some were as simple as children, but others were aged and possessed great wisdom. Before Troi could sort this out, she felt herself moving among the stars. She was racing at the speed of thought—looking for a receptive mind.
She was not alone in this massive exploration. There was a great armada surrounding her. Their silky bodies blossomed outward, and they filled the vast starscape like a million sailing ships catching the wind at once. She could see them coming . . . filling the sky! The sight was so magnificent that it again brought tears to her eyes.
As so often happens in dreams, there came a moment when she realized that she was dreaming. This epic drama wasn’t happening to her—she was a privileged observer, not the star. But she was a part of it, Troi was certain. She had been brought in for a reason: to play a crucial rule in a saga that had been unfolding since the universe was new. These events had not happened to her, but they had happened. She felt them as keenly as she felt her love for Will, her pride in her work, her loyalty to Captain Picard and her mother, and all the other absolutes in her life.
In a vivid farewell, the armada of dreamships turned gracefully in unison, caught the stardust in their sails, and melted into the night sky.
Deanna opened her eyes and sat up. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. Did I really see what I thought I saw? Maybe she had read too much about Gemworld, and her imagination had taken over. It was just a dream, after all.
She jumped off the couch and busied herself doing several small chores around her office. She knew that if this were a typical dream, she would forget the details quickly in the mundane pursuits of writing logs, filing reports, and working on her schedule.
After an hour, the images would not go away. They seemed as fresh as if they had happened to her personally just a few minutes ago. Athough not a word had been spoken, her interpretations were as clear now as during the dream—she knew exactly what she had seen. The fear, loneliness, struggles, and triumphs were just as vivid as any emotions in her own life. Like it or not, the Lipuls’ collective memories had become her own.
And like it or not, she was about to become Melora Pazlar’s staunchest defender. With a sense of duty but also a sense of awe, Deanna Troi straightened her uniform and set off for the bridge.
In the captain’s ready room, Data cocked his head. “You would be the first member of the Federation in two hundred and four years to be contacted in this manner.”
Troi nodded vigorously and looked from Will Riker to Captain Picard. She could sense their irritation, their reluctance to interrupt the current mission. “I know,” she muttered. “And there’s no video log I can show you, and no communications record, but the original first contact was well documented. In fact, the Lipuls led a Starfleet ship on a twenty-year mission to reach them. Believe me, it wasn’t a regular dream—I can remember every detail vividly. Our two dreams have to be related.”
“I see.” Captain Picard scowled and turned to Riker. “What have we gotten off our long-range scans?”
“Nothing conclusive. There is a surprising amount of subspace interference in the region, but nothing our sensors can identify as the cause. We haven’t been able to get through on subspace either.”
“Let’s find out if there are any ships in the area who can investigate.”
Riker nodded and started for the door. He paused long enough to smile at Deanna. “You wouldn’t be trying to get us shoreleave, would you?”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing Gemworld,” she admitted. That was just like Will, thought Deanna, trying to cover his discomfort with a joke.
After he left, she turned to face Captain Picard and Data. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
“When I talked to you after you met Lieutenant Pazlar,” said the captain, “you didn’t seem to believe her story.”
“I believed that she was truthful in her concern,” answered Troi. “Did I believe it was something we should all be concerned about? I didn’t then, but I do now.”
The captain stepped behind his desk and took a seat. “This is a long shot, but is there anybody still alive who was contacted by them during that earlier time?”
“Two hundred years ago?” Troi asked doubtfully.
“Two hundred and four years ago,” corrected Data.
“Actually there is. There were six Vulcans on the mission, and I believe one of them is still alive.”
“Do you know his name off the top of your head?” asked Deanna. She was only half kidding.
“No, I do not.” Data frowned as if this were a serious failing. “But I will find out.”
“Make it so,” ordered Picard.
The android hurried out of the ready room, and the counselor crossed her arms and looked at the captain. Despite his polite reserve, she could still feel Picard’s irritation. “I was only vaguely aware of Gemworld until a few hours ago,” she explained. “Now I feel as if I grew up there! I didn’t plan on making you take a detour.”
“Maybe we won’t have to,” said the captain resolutely. “I’m still prepared for this to be a false alarm.”
His combadge beeped. “Bridge to Picard,” said Riker’s voice.
“Yes.”
Riker continued, “Starfleet says there are no ships in the vicinity of Gemworld. It’s off all the main routes. As for investigating, since we’re on a non-critical mission, they say we should use our discretion.”
Troi grinned, despite trying to keep a professional demeanor. “It’s nice that they trust
us.”
“Maintain course,” ordered Picard, not yet convinced.
“Yes, sir. Riker out.”
As soon as he had signed off, another voice interrupted. “Data to Picard.”
“Go ahead.”
“I have located the Vulcan crewmember,” reported the android. “Unfortunately, Captain T’Mila died seventy-nine minutes ago in a Vulcan hospice. She was suffering from Bendii Syndrome. It seems that she awoke from a nap in great agitation, insisting that she had to report to an unknown ship. She collapsed and died shortly afterwards. Her caregivers attributed her agitation to the delusional effects of Bendii Syndrome. However, it would seem to me—”
“I can draw the conclusion,” answered Picard. “Set a course for Gemworld, maximum warp.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And notify the staff there will be a meeting in the conference room at twenty-two hundred. Picard out.” The captain looked at Troi and scowled. “There will be a lot of crewmembers upset about this. Although Melora Pazlar won’t be one of them, I’m sure.”
“We’re doing the right thing,” Deanna assured him. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had no idea what they would find there. Melora had talked about destruction and dire threats in her dream, but there had been nothing like that in Deanna’s dream, except in the ancient past.
She suddenly had an uneasy feeling that her vision of Gemworld had been sugarcoated, like the rock candy it resembled.
A display case full of elegant models of starships and sailing vessels, all bearing the name Enterprise, stood watch over an animated gathering in the conference room. It was animated because several of the participants had no idea why they were there, or why the ship had abruptly changed course. For once, there wasn’t a war to explain it. Troi felt sorriest for Beverly Crusher and Geordi La Forge, who had been taken completely by surprise.
She gazed out the panoramic window. The stars blurred past at warp speed, attesting to the fact that they were headed somewhere in a great hurry.
GEMWORLD: BOOK ONE OF TWO Page 4