“It’s beautiful,” Riker whispered.
“Beautiful and deadly,” Picard observed. His first officer nodded accordingly.
Data turned around in his chair, his yellow eyes shining dispassionately. “Captain, we have located the Chamberlain. She is four hundred eighty-six point three kilometers inside the temporal hole.”
“Can you lock a transporter beam?” Picard asked.
“Aye, sir.”
Picard rose to his feet, straightening his uniform top. Tapping his communicator, Picard said, “Captain Picard to Doctor Crusher.”
“Doctor Crusher here.”
“Do you have the chroniton injections?”
“I do.”
“Meet me in transporter room two in five minutes,” ordered the captain. He turned to Commander Riker. “Number One, you have the bridge. Data, Geordi, you’re with me.”
“Captain, I must protest . . . ”
Picard stopped his first officer with an outstretched hand. “I know what you’re going to say; you may as well stop.”
“Captain,” Riker persisted. “This mission is far too dangerous. You need to stay on board the Enterprise.”
Picard’s eyes met the eyes of Commander Riker. For a moment they locked, and in that moment, something like understanding passed between the two officers. “Number One,” Picard finally said, “do you recall the time the Enterprise passed through a quantum filament?”
“I do.”
“My ankle was broken, if you recall, and I was trapped in a turbolift with the little girl who wrote those letters.” Riker nodded; Picard continued. “I ordered Marissa to get herself and the other children out of there, but she refused to leave without me.”
Riker said nothing, but Picard could see the argument diminishing in the commander’s eyes.
“She saved my life,” Picard said. “And now she needs me to return the favor. I’m sure you can understand why I intend to go on this mission.”
Riker sank silently into the captain’s chair; Picard said nothing more as he stalked across the bridge toward the turbolift.
* * *
To: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-D
From: Marissa Flores, U.S.S. Chamberlain, NCC-56810
Subject: Dizzy
Dear Captain,
I think this is probably my last letter. Headache much worse and feeling pretty dizzy.
I’ve been staring at the computer screen for I don’t know how longnowandI
* * *
Marissa slumped over her computer console, her head throbbing. The past couple of hours were so terrible that she could barely keep her eyes open. The end was coming. She sensed it, but she wasn’t ready to admit defeat. Marissa knew that if she closed her eyes, she would most likely never open them again.
Voices in the corridor.
Marissa sat up, listening intently. Silence. She laid her head back on the desk, embracing the darkness.
“According to the ship’s manifest, her quarters should be right over here.” The voice was vaguely familiar, but Marissa was unable to place it.
“Get down to engineering, Geordi. Data and I will take care of Marissa.” Could it be? That sounded just like Captain Picard.
“Impossible,” Marissa whispered. “I’m probably hallucinating.” The thought was confirmed when the doors to her quarters slid open and two figures in Starfleet uniforms stepped inside.
“Marissa, are you . . . ”
Before the apparition could finish, Marissa toppled out of her chair. She tried to lift her head, but she was just too exhausted. The last thing she saw before she slipped into unconsciousness was Captain Picard’s concerned face staring down at her.
* * *
Marissa awoke to a stinging pressure on the side of her neck. She turned to the android administering the hypo.
“Chroniton particles,” Data explained. “Your exposure was deteriorating. That is why you were experiencing discomfort.”
“Chroniton particles?” Marissa asked. Her head ached, but the pain was nothing compared with what she had been experiencing before. “Like in my theory?”
“Your theory was only partially accurate,” said the android. “The Chamberlain is not trapped within a wormhole. In actuality, the ship has entered a temporal hole.”
“A what?”
As Data explained the situation to Marissa, Captain Picard led them into the corridor. He navigated their way toward the bridge, and as Data’s story drew to a close, the party reached one of the ship’s turbolifts.
“Well,” Captain Picard said, turning toward Marissa. “Here we are again.” Marissa smiled, her blue eyes shining bright. They stepped into the turbolift. “Bridge,” Picard stated. It came out like an order.
“I suppose you got my letters,” Marissa said. “About my science fair project . . . ” As the turbolift began to rise, Marissa dared to speak. She was thankful to see her former shipmates, but terrified just the same. If Captain Picard was here, it was because he had received her letters. That meant he knew the truth about her: She was just a no-good cheat.
She was about to continue when Picard stopped her with a stern look. “This is not the time,” he snapped. “The ship is in serious danger, and it is our duty to try to save her.”
Marissa silenced herself. Captain Picard was right, of course. It seemed like he was probably always right.
As the turbolift doors opened onto the bridge, Picard, Data, and Marissa spilled out into the spacious blue-carpeted room. Annie Brown, captain of the Chamberlain, sat poised on the edge of her chair, one hand clenched on the armrest, her eyes fixed on the viewscreen. The bridge crew stood at their posts, frozen like a holosuite program on pause. Her father was poised over the science station, his gaze locked on a display that had not changed in days.
Data approached the captain, placed the hypospray against her fleshy neck, and injected her with chroniton particles. Captain Brown blinked three or four times, and then looked around.
“What’s happened?” she demanded. “What are you doing on my bridge?”
Picard and Data exchanged glances. “Captain Brown,” said the android, “the Chamberlain has become trapped in a temporal hole.”
As Data went through the explanation one more time, Marissa stared fixedly at the man who had come to rescue her from fate. Picard had placed his faith in her the day the Enterprise was nearly lost, and she had betrayed that faith. Can he ever forgive me?
Once the situation was clarified, Captain Brown was prepared to enact Data’s plan of escape. Picard himself took the armory console, squeezing his way in front of Lieutenant Walden Taylor, the Chamberlain’s security officer, who stood like a statue.
“Lock torpedo on the apex of the temporal hole,” Annie Brown ordered.
“Torpedo is locked,” Picard said. “Geordi, are the engines ready?”
“Ready, sir.” La Forge’s disembodied voice spoke through the ship’s communications system.
“Mister Data,” said Captain Brown, “are you ready?”
“Yes, Captain.” The android stood over the conn officer, reaching around the frozen pilot to reach the console.
Marissa was seated next to Captain Brown, in a chair normally reserved for the first officer. She was just trying to keep out of the way, and so she was pleasantly surprised when Brown turned to her with a warm smile on her face. “Marissa,” she said, “give the order to fire.”
Marissa looked from her current captain to her former. Picard gave her an emotionless nod. In a small, quiet voice, Marissa gave the order.
“Fire.”
A photon torpedo tore across the sunflower landscape of the temporal hole, growing smaller and smaller as it approached the apex. For a long moment, it seemed as if nothing would happen. Then the torpedo detonated, and the phenomenon began to collapse. The Chamberlain started to move, slowly at first, but with greater velocity as the temporal hole’s gravity weakened. A moment later, the ship was vomited back into normal s
pace, coming to a stop alongside the Enterprise.
* * *
Marissa burst into tears as soon as the doors to her quarters slid closed behind her. She threw herself onto her bed, sobbing uncontrollably. The engines were humming belowdecks, and Marissa knew the Chamberlain was moving away from the Enterprise.
He hates me. He doesn’t forgive me and now he hates me. Marissa’s shoulders rose and fell as another round of weeping took her.
Almost as soon as the Chamberlain reappeared into normal space, her crew resumed the activities that they were doing just before the ship entered the temporal hole. There was a great deal of excitement as the Enterprise crew filled in their Chamberlain counterparts about what had happened. Marissa had rushed to her father, throwing herself into his arms before he even had a chance to understand what was happening.
“Marissa,” he said. “What are you doing here?”
It was Captain Brown who answered. “Lieutenant Flores, your daughter’s bravery saved the ship.”
Peter Flores looked from Captain Brown to Marissa, a mixture of pride and confusion in his eyes. Their reunion was short-lived, however. The ship’s security had to be addressed, and, savior of the Chamberlain or not, a teenager had no place on the bridge.
Before she returned to her quarters, Marissa attempted to speak with Captain Picard about her letters, but she couldn’t even get close to him. With her emotions swinging wildly between joy and regret, Marissa slipped away from the bridge.
The tears dried up eventually, leaving Marissa with a headache almost as bad as the one she had had in the temporal hole. She drifted toward sleep. As the blessed darkness threatened to engulf her, she heard her computer chirp.
Marissa dragged herself out of bed. She moved to her desk, slipped into the chair, and tapped the computer controls. There was an incoming message for her; she opened the file.
* * *
To: Marissa Flores, U.S.S. Chamberlain, NCC-56810
From: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, U.S.S. Enterprise, NCC-1701-D
RE: Guilty Conscience
Number One,
You disappeared before we had a moment to talk, so I’m writing you this letter. First, I would be remiss if I did not mention my disappointment to learn that you cheated on your science fair project. That said, I believe you’ve learned your lesson.
Second, I want to commend you. Without you, the Chamberlain would have been lost. You kept your head when others would have been wild with panic. I’m proud of you for that, and you should be proud of yourself.
You’re going to make an excellent Starfleet officer someday, Marissa. You have more than earned my forgiveness; you’ve earned my admiration.
Take care of yourself, Number One.
Sincerely,
Jean-Luc
P.S. Whenever I hear someone singing “Frère Jacques,” I can’t help but think of you.
Passages of Deceit
Sarah A. Seaborne
The electrical shock was slight, like hitting a nerve, but the sudden realization of what was about to happen dropped him to his knees. His portable light source shattered against a rock, and two miles below the planet’s surface, Jean-Luc Picard collapsed in complete darkness.
“Enterpri . . . ” he whispered as a great pain stabbed through his brain. A second pain, exponentially more painful than the first, sent him into a fetal position on the newly carved floor of the mine shaft. A split second before his mind exploded into broken images, one word echoed through the crumbling pathways—No!
* * *
“Mister Data, are you almost finished with the scans?” Commander Riker asked, leaning back in the captain’s chair and frowning at the forward screen. He tried to look attentive, but in fact he was bored. The Enterprise had been in orbit over a small moon since shortly after dropping off her captain for an archaeological survey of mines that were being opened for the first time in eight hundred years. He could well imagine Captain Picard having the time of his life crawling over ancient mining equipment and through small crevices while Riker stared blindly at a floating rock for five hours.
“Scans will be finished in twenty-eight minutes, thirty-six seconds.”
Riker looked at the white and gray sphere displayed on the forward viewscreen. Visually, it looked like a thousand other moons they had studied over the years. The reports he had glanced at four hours ago indicated that it was composed of the same elements and minerals as most of the other moons in this sector. Why Starfleet wanted so much time put into this particular moon was beyond him. He shifted in the chair and stretched. In twenty-eight minutes, thirty-six seconds, he thought, I’ll be snoring.
“Commander,” Data said, turning and looking at Riker. “There is a subspace message from Ka’Tral.”
“The captain can’t be ready to come home this soon.” Riker smiled, sitting up straight and nodding to Data. “Put it through.”
The image of a gray-green face filled the viewscreen. Riker knew little about the inhabitants of Ka’Tral, but he guessed it was the face of a young man. Briefly, he wondered if the long, brown line down the right side of his face and neck was a normal physical characteristic. There was a long pause, then the young man began speaking in a flat, monotone voice.
“I am Glorell. Interpreter for the Ka’Tral. There was an accident in the mines. Captain Picard requires medical attention.”
Riker jumped up and approached the viewscreen, pausing beside the communications console. “How long before we can get back to Ka’Tral, Data?”
“At current speed, about, three hours, forty-eight minutes.”
“Do we have that kind of time?” Riker asked the viewscreen, feeling adrenaline surge through him as the young man looked away.
Glorell looked back at Riker. “We do not know. We have not been able to ascertain what happened to him.”
“We’re on our way. My chief medical officer will need to speak to you as soon as possible to assess the captain’s condition.”
“I understand. I will leave this frequency open.” A starfield view replaced the green face on the screen.
“Data, contact Starfleet. We need to go faster than warp five. Tell them it’s an emergency. Send all the information you have on Ka’Tral to the captain’s ready room. I don’t like the sound of this.” Riker hit his combadge. “Doctor Crusher, meet me in the captain’s ready room. Now.”
* * *
Captain Picard twisted against his restraints. Glorell closed his eyes and relaxed, trying to mold his thoughts around the captain’s broken pathways. The doctors had already given up. The breaks were too severe. But Prime Minister Sebridge told him to try again. And again if necessary. They had to know what the captain knew before they could release him back to his people. Pain. Glorell clenched his fists. The human’s images were almost too intense for him to grasp. Burning. Glorell’s arms were on fire. Screams. Long, agonizing screams that evoked images in his own mind of being tortured beyond what he could endure. Trying to hold on to the captain’s broken mind, Glorell wondered how long any man could endure this deluge of painful images.
* * *
Beverly Crusher paced back and forth in the transporter room. “Come on, Data,” she said, tugging on her lab coat.
The interpreter had told her so little. They knew as little about human physiology as the Starfleet database knew about theirs. The Ka’Tral was an isolationist species who had begun to interact with other planets only thirty years before. Deanna said they communicated telepathically. The interpreter, Glorell, had been specially bred to communicate with nontelepathic species. The long scar down his face and neck was evidence that, even with a Betazoid mother, surgery had been required to create functional vocal cords.
She called the bridge. “What’s taking so long? We’ve been in orbit for almost ten minutes.”
Riker’s voice filled the transporter room. “The Ka’Tral don’t want Data to beam down with you. They don’t allow anyone access to their planet whose mind they can’t read, a
nd they’re not willing to make an exception.”
Doctor Crusher stepped onto the transporter pad. “I know Data insists on examining the mines where they found him, but the captain can’t wait. Send me now and work it out.”
Minutes later, she found herself in what reminded her of a twentieth-century Earth hospital waiting room. All it needs is a few slick magazines, she thought, looking at the cushioned benches and square tables.
“It’s funny what you think of at a time like this,” Glorell said quietly. He was standing in the corner of the room where he knew she wouldn’t see him when she first arrived. He needed to assess her unguarded thoughts. He smiled as he approached her, vaguely remembering that the curving of the lips was a calming signal for humanoids. “Instead of jumping directly to the point, we notice small, inconsequential things.”
“You read my mind,” Beverly said.
“In my culture, it is simply part of life,” he replied, motioning her to follow him.
“It is on other telepathic planets we visit too,” she retorted, surprised at how angry she felt. “But they have rules of etiquette so they don’t offend other species.”
Glorell stopped and turned to her. “I apologize, Doctor Crusher. The Ka’Tral are only beginning to have contact with outside species. On our world, almost everything is common knowledge. If we have something we want kept secret, we have the ability to shield our thoughts. I take it this is not something humans can do.”
“Not being telepathic, we don’t have the need,” Doctor Crusher said. “Now, where is the captain?”
Glorell began walking again. “He’s in a room at the end of the hall. As you know, our doctors have attempted to treat your captain telepathically. So far, they have been unable to produce a single clear, complete thought. It’s as if your captain is drowning in a sea of disconnected images. Here we are.”
Glorell stepped aside as they entered the room, and Beverly Crusher gasped.
“What have you done to him?” she demanded, staring at the thin, almost naked figure writhing on a narrow bed. His shirt was gone, and deep scratches crisscrossed his chest and moved down his arms. His arms and legs were bound to the edges of the bed with thick straps, and the skin around the straps was raw and bleeding. She rushed toward the bed, almost gagging on the overwhelming smell of feces, blood, and urine that filled the small room.
Strange New Worlds VIII Page 10