POWER HUNGRY

by Howard Weinstein

  “You mean ‘think on your feet,’ Commander,” Wesley offered.

  Data smiled. “Of course. For instance, Gina, you wasted valuable time asking an ineligible participant to share his classified knowledge with you.”

  “You mean Wesley,” Gina said.

  “Correct. And you forgot that Science Officer Kolker had visited this planet before and knew about the behavior patterns of the canines.”

  “Darn it,” Gina moaned, then glared accusingly at her science officer, a burly thirteen-year-old. “Why didn’t you tell me what you knew? I’m not supposed to have to ask all the time.”

  “I forgot I knew,” the boy said sheepishly.

  Lieutenant Berga clapped his hands. “That is all for today. When we meet tomorrow, be ready to analyze today’s exercise. Off you go.” The children hurried out of the holodeck.

  “Lieutenant Berga,” Wesley said, “what were those things, anyway? Were they real?”

  Berga chuckled. “No, no—I made them up.” Obviously pleased with the results, he couldn’t help laughing a bit more. “By the way, Wesley, you did quite well as my assistant.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But tomorrow, it is back to being a student, my friend.”

  Wes grinned. “I figured this was too good to last. I didn’t even escape a day’s homework.”

  “Ensign.” Ambassador Undrun, who had observed the exercise with Berga, stepped forward. “Didn’t I see you assigned to the bridge, too?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Officer, student, teacher-in-training, all wrapped into one?”

  “Why not? A lot of the older kids on the ship—if they’re interested in being starship crew members later on—get to combine practical experience with classroom learning.”

  Undrun shook his head in genuine wonder. “So much freedom and flexibility. Not at all like our education system on Noxor when I was a boy. Consider yourself lucky.”

  “What’s Noxoran school like?” Wesley asked.

  “We had masters who guided us very strictly—lots of learning by rote, spitting back facts, replicating results produced by generations of students before us on the same tests and exercises.” He exhaled a sad sigh. “We learned quickly that the best way to advance and win the favor of the masters was to do exactly what was expected.”

  Wesley regarded the ambassador with sympathy. “What if you didn’t?”

  “We would be punished,” Undrun said, mouth pursed with unpleasant memories.

  Berga shivered at the thought of running Enterprise classes along Noxoran lines. “Discipline is needed, yes, but so is creative challenge.”

  “The only time we were permitted to exercise individuality was in self-defense contests.” Undrun glanced up at the faces around him, taking note of eyebrows raised at the concept of bantam beings like Noxorans, known more for intellect than brawn, engaging in formal martial arts competition. He took their nonverbal response in stride. “Don’t let our stature deceive you, gentlemen. Noxoran defense techniques can be quite effective even against opponents of considerably greater size and strength.”

  “Well, Mr. Ambassador,” Berga said, “feel free to visit any of our classes while you’re aboard.”

  “Thank you, Lieutenant. If time permits. At any rate, thank you, and you”—he nodded toward Data —“for showing me this holodeck simulation. Most interesting.”

  The soft beep of the intercom interrupted the conversation. “Picard here. Lieutenant Commander Data, to the bridge conference lounge.”

  Data tapped his communicator badge. “Data here, sir.”

  “I have some free time now, and I would like to hear about your second meeting with Dr. Keat—as well as that theory of yours, if it is ready for presentation.”

  “It is, sir. I am on my way.”

  “Captain Picard, this is Ambassador Undrun. If this is about Thiopa, I’m entitled to hear it, too.” Then the confidence drained from his voice. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

  There was a moment of hesitation from Picard’s end. Undrun’s unaccustomed meekness had caught him by surprise. “Of course. Mr. Data, bring Ambassador Undrun with you. I’ll be waiting. Picard out.”

  Fingers interlaced, Picard rested his hands patiently on the long table. “So she didn’t hesitate at all in giving you access to their weather records?”

  “No, sir.”

  “What exactly were you looking for?”

  “Patterns.”

  “What kind of patterns, Commander?” Undrun asked.

  “Anything that would indicate the true state of Thiopa’s overall ecology. How much of their current crisis is natural and how much is the result of their abuse of resources and natural corrective capacities.”

  Picard looked at his android officer. “Presumably you found such a pattern?”

  “I did, Captain. And the news is not good. Thiopa appears to be reaching the most critical stage of a cyclical drought phase. Most planets go through such cycles. On some planets they cause considerable dislocation of plant and animal life, but other planets have sufficient reserve capacities of vital resources—water, for instance—to withstand the drought cycle with little permanent effect on existing life forms and topography.”

  “Topography—meaning the shrinking of forests, deserts, the expansion of that sort of thing?” Picard asked.

  Data nodded. “Exactly. On Thiopa, the past forty years of rapid development proceeded with a total disregard for conservation.”

  Picard’s mouth quirked uneasily. “Meaning . . .?”

  “For example, sir, a change in rainfall patterns or an overall reduction in precipitation need not be critical if reservoirs and subsurface aquifers have been maintained at high capacity. But the Thiopans used up much of their freshwater reserve, and they have allowed toxic substances to leach into and poison the underground water supplies.”

  Undrun waved a dissenting hand. “They’ve got seawater. Desalination should solve whatever—”

  “There is much more, Ambassador,” Data said gravely. “I combined all available information on Thiopa’s weather and the rate of environmental degradation caused by pollution, resource exploitation, and other negative inputs to create a model depicting Thiopa’s condition fifty years from now.”

  Picard exhaled slowly. “Let’s have it, Data.”

  “Computer,” said Data, “please display appropriate charts.”

  The graphics appeared, suspended above the table, as Data continued. “The current trend in weather patterns shows a further dehydration of northern fertile zones, with additional rainfall in deserts.”

  “Won’t that convert the deserts into arable land?” asked Picard.

  “No, sir. In most places it will simply cause flooding and accelerate erosion. The soil is not of sufficient quality to permit large-scale agriculture. In addition, all rainfall on Thiopa now is highly acidic, due to industrial pollutants. Acidic precipitation kills plant life, and when it collects in smaller bodies of water, such as lakes and rivers, it kills aquatic flora and fauna. That same industrial pollution, coupled with combustion of fossil fuels in energy production and transport vehicles, will result in a fifty percent increase in carbon dioxide levels. This will, in sequence, lead to a greenhouse effect, which will force the planet’s mean temperature to rise by four degrees centigrade—a greater increase in only half a century than in all the twenty-two thousand years since Thiopa’s last ice age ended. Polar ice caps will melt, resulting in an eight-foot rise in sea level and inundating coastal zones and islands. Since storm intensity is linked directly to oceanic surface temperatures, there will be a fifty percent increase in severity of storms.”

  “Translating,” Picard said, “that means it won’t be uncommon for tidal waves to wash over coastal communities not already flooded by higher sea level?”

  “Correct, sir. And there are interesting paradoxes. Higher air temperatures will cause more evaporation of seawater, which must then condense into precipitation.
But none of Thiopa’s major land masses are situated so as to benefit from the extra rain. As a result, areas that are now populated will become increasingly more arid, and rivers, lakes, and aquifers will dry up. There will be a total disruption of life cycles and fragile ecosystem balances.”

  Picard’s forehead creased anxiously. “That’s quite a catalog of environmental horrors.”

  “Oh, there’s more, sir.”

  “I’ve heard enough. What will all of it mean to intelligent life on Thiopa fifty years from now?”

  “If these trends are not arrested by massive corrective action now, almost all Thiopan land masses will be uninhabitable by anything more than a small population. Millions of Thiopans will starve to death, and their civilization will crumble.”

  “Do the Thiopans have the technology to reverse all this?” asked Picard, his tone grim.

  “No, sir—but we do. I have created a comprehensive analysis, with long-term corrective measures, including the desalination of seawater as Ambassador Undrun suggested, pollution controls, alternatives to fossil-fuel usage, changing land-mass structure to rear- range rainfall patterns and rebuild water reserves, revival of degraded farmland . . . Shall I continue, sir?”

  “No, I think we’ve got the picture, Data,” Picard said, reflecting on the enormity of Thiopa’s dilemma. “Do you think Dr. Keat is aware of this looming disaster?”

  “No, sir. She is an influential member of Thiopa’s government hierarchy. If she were aware of the situation I have described, it is likely she would have been able to convince Protector Stross to initiate emergency corrective measures.”

  “Yes, one would think so. A potential disaster of this magnitude should certainly transcend political bickering.”

  Undrun fidgeted in his seat, as if capping an incipient eruption. “This is it,” he blurted, “the confluence of circumstances we need!”

  “For what?” Picard said.

  “Once the Thiopans know about all this, they’ll have to let us help them!”

  “They don’t have to let us do anything, Mr. Undrun.”

  “What choice do they have, Captain? If they don’t listen to reason, they’re condemning their whole world to another dark age. We can put them back on the road to self-sufficiency.”

  Picard sighed, speaking softly to counterbalance Undrun’s excitement. “Conclusions that seem apparent to us may not match Thiopan conclusions based on the same set of facts. I don’t think their situation could have reached this crisis point without a highly developed ability for self-delusion.”

  “Then we’ll just have to make them see these facts the same way we do.”

  Data slipped back into the conversation. “Captain, I was also able to pinpoint the area most affected by the drought. I memorized Dr. Keat’s charts and maps and have already entered them into our computer.”

  Picard stood. “Then let’s put them on the main viewer. I want Mr. Worf and Counselor Troi to see this, too.” Undrun and Data followed him through the lounge door and out to the bridge. Worf, as usual, was at his aft security console, and Deanna Troi sat with Dr. Pulaski in the lower command center. Picard acknowledged Pulaski’s presence with a perfunctory nod. “Doctor, you might as well see this, too. Your medical services may be needed. Mr. Data, proceed.”

  “Computer,” Data ordered, “display Thiopan surface map on main screen.”

  The computer replaced the orbital view of Thiopa with a sectional map of the entire planet.

  “The Endrayan Realm is the area suffering most seriously from the drought. It had the lowest annual precipitation level of any of Thiopa’s densely populated realms even under normal weather conditions. So its agricultural output was at best precariously balanced.”

  “And most easily upset,” Picard said.

  Wesley swiveled away from his console. “Captain?”

  “Something to add, Mr. Crusher?”

  “The Endrayan Realm—that’s where the Sojourners’ Sanctuary Canyon is located.”

  “And where they are probably holding Commander Riker,” Picard said, completing Ensign Crusher’s thought.

  “We could mount a rescue party,” Worf suggested.

  “We could also beam into a totally unknown situation and lose Commander Riker as well as the away team,” Picard said evenly.

  But Worf’s bullheaded determination had already kicked in. “Then what about sending a recon team down first to survey the area and evaluate the chances for a successful rescue.”

  “A better idea, Lieutenant. Mr. Data, prepare a detailed chart of the Sanctuary Canyon area for Mr. Worf.”

  “Already done, sir,” Data said, handing a computer disk to Worf. “It includes orbital views from the Enterprise, scaled to show objects as small as six inches across.”

  “Mr. Worf,” said Picard, “study the terrain and come up with a suitable recon plan for my approval. Be prepared to lead a scout team down at planet dawn.”

  Frid Undrun had circled the back of the bridge and taken up an unobtrusive position near the alcove housing the door to Picard’s ready room and the forward turbolift. Unnoticed, he was studying the maps of Thiopa as they flashed on the viewscreen and, using his schoolday skills, committing coordinates to memory. Moments later, still unnoticed, he sidled into the turbolift and left the busy bridge. After the doors slid shut, he stood without saying a word.

  “Destination, please,” the computer voice prompted.

  “Umm—destination? Uh, the Ten-Forward lounge, please.”

  When he arrived, the lounge was nearly empty. He moved first toward the interior corner where he’d sat on his previous visit. Then be stopped and looked toward the expansive observation windows, slanting out and offering a wide vista of space. The mist-edged face of the planet below, the stark, star-dusted infinity of blackness beyond—this time they drew him close, and he eased into a booth within arm’s reach of a window, facing out.

  “Glad to see you’ve reconsidered.” Guinan’s tranquil voice came from behind him. “It has a certain magnetism.”

  He answered without turning away from the panorama. “Yes, it does. Mesmerizing . . . as if you could see tomorrow if you looked hard enough.”

  “I don’t know about tomorrow, but you can see yesterday.”

  “Hmmm?” He still couldn’t, or wouldn’t, look away from the view.

  “Starlight. We’re seeing stars that are hundreds and thousands of light-years away, so we’re seeing light that’s hundreds and thousands of years old.”

  “That’s easy to see, Guinan. Seeing tomorrow takes a bit more effort.”

  “Can I get you something, Mr. Ambassador?”

  “A glass of that Kinjinn wine, if you don’t mind.”

  Guinan brought him his glass and he thanked her. Then she turned away. “I think you and the stars need to be alone together,” she said.

  She was right, Undrun thought. How did she know? He wondered what else she knew about him. Could these starship people just look at him and know how much he envied young Wesley Crusher for the kaleidoscope of opportunities that were his to choose from, and for the encouragement given by his teachers who invited him to explore whatever struck his fancy? They gave Wesley and the other children on the Enterprise the most precious gift of all: the chance to fail, and to learn from failure without fear of reprisal.

  Could they know how much he admired Captain Picard and William Riker for their unerring sense of when to adhere strictly to the rules and when to bend them? Or how sorry he was, and how responsible he felt, for Riker’s capture?

  Did they have the slightest inkling of how much Frid Undrun, Federation Aid and Assistance envoy, youngest person to achieve this rank in the A and A Ministry, felt like a disaster waiting to happen? And the Thiopan mission, he feared, would reveal his true nature—an ineffectual, utter humbug. Did anyone know that he dreamed of being a maverick swashbuckler winning the day with wayward brilliance? Ha! Not a likely transformation . . .

  Why not? he argued with hi
mself. I’ll tell you why not—you let them beat every shred of original thinking out of you when you were a boy . . . let them lock your feet to a track that had to lead to success of a sort—just not the right sort. “By the book,” Data had said. A machine has more self-awareness than I do! If the Thiopans were going by the book, they’d have accepted this damned aid and you’d be done with it—and you’d be able to keep going through life under the delusion that that was enough. This is the first time you’ve ever had to consider that it’s not enough. Talk about rude awakenings!

  Did any of the officers here understand how desperately he wanted to help the people of Thiopa solve their problems and feed their hungry and repair all the heedless damage they’d done to their world? Beneath his shell of mediocre, self-important conformity, Undrun knew he had one noble impulse—he really and truly wanted to help where help was needed and he could provide it. Which left just one monumental question: Do I have the nerve to do what I should do instead of what’s expected of me?

  “Did you and the stars find the answers you needed?” Guinan was behind him again, and yet he knew she hadn’t been there a moment ago. Again she had somehow sensed when he was ready to talk.

  He slid out of the booth. “Yes . . . yes, we did.” He paused for a flicker of doubt. “I think so. Thank you again, Guinan.”

  She tilted her head in a farewell nod and he hurried from Ten-Forward with a purposeful spring to his step.

  The initial twinkling of a transporter beam took shape in Kael Keat’s lab office. In a few seconds the shimmering shaft of energy became Lieutenant Commander Data. She sat perched on the edge of her desk, wearing a beige lab coat over shorts and a loose-knit blouse. Her eyes glittered with guarded curiosity.

  “I didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon, Data.”

  “I did not expect to be back so soon.”

  “What’s so urgent? Is it about that theory you were working on?”