PRECHANCE TO DREAM

by Howard Weinstein

  “What is?” Picard called as he trotted up on his white Arabian. Picard’s horse stopped alongside hers to sample the grass.

  “Fate, Jean-Luc.”

  He contemplated the analogy for a moment. “I see what you mean. It can meander calmly, or break into a gallop without warning—”

  “Leaving you to hang on for dear life.” She was rather pleased with the analogy.

  “There’s a difference, though,” Picard said, affectionately patting his horse’s neck. “A competent rider has the means to control his mount, where Fate simply refuses to be broken to the saddle . . . if you believe in Fate at all.”

  Beverly shrugged. “I’m still open on that question.” With a sure but gentle touch, she reined her horse back to the trail, damp with morning dew. Picard fell into step beside her and she closed her eyes, letting the sunbeams streaming through the trees warm her face. “This ride was a wonderful idea, Jean-Luc. Just what I needed to relax before we pick up those injured workers at Chezrani. Thanks for suggesting it.”

  “Not at all,” Picard said as the path led them up a gentle hillside. “There are times I prefer riding alone. It’s a superb way to either concentrate on problems—or to forget them for a while, if that’s the goal. But there are other times that call for companionship. Care to pick up the pace and trot a bit?”

  Crusher gave him a dubious glance. “Uhh, I think I’ve had enough trotting and posting for one day. My thigh muscles are telling me it’s been a long time since my college riding days.”

  “You’re just out of practice. We should ride together more often.”

  “We should—but who has the time?”

  The horses reached the top of the hill, where the wooded trail opened onto a broad green meadow splashed with colorful wildflowers. As the riders started across, Picard spotted a sturdy stone wall as high as his horse’s head.

  Beverly noticed the gleam in her captain’s eye. “Jean-Luc, tell me you’re not thinking of jumping that . . .”

  “Why not?”

  “My medical advice is, let’s go around it.”

  “Nonsense. Are we the sort of people who skirt challenges?”

  “Are we the sort of people who like broken bones?”

  “Beverly, we can clear that wall.”

  “Unless you’re giving us a direct order, Captain, my horse and I respectfully decline.”

  “Suit yourself.” Picard turned his Arabian and, with an almost imperceptible signal from his boot heels, an indication of the rapport between man and beast, the horse dashed for the country wall.

  “Jean-Luc—wait!”

  “See you on the other side,” Picard shouted back over his shoulder.

  With a series of kicks not at all gentle, Beverly jolted her mare to a full gallop, trying to catch up. If she couldn’t stop him, she at least wanted to be close at hand just in case . . . oh, don’t even think it . . .

  Picard and his horse were like one melded life-form, moving in perfect, powerful rhythm, racing toward the wall.

  Ohmygosh, Beverly thought, that wall’s twelve feet if it’s an inch . . . he’ll never make it. Shrinking distance and top speed meant Picard had only a matter of moments to change course, or stop.

  And then those moments were gone. Had she had the presence of mind to think about it, Beverly would have remembered that the holodeck’s primary programming included an array of safety factors that all but precluded serious injuries. If a lunatic chose to run headfirst into a stone wall, the wall would change at the last possible instant into an impact-absorbing cushion.

  But here and now, the thundering of hooves overwhelmed such rationality. And she wanted only to close her eyes so she wouldn’t see Picard and the Arabian crash against the unyielding obstacle. But she had to watch. If he made it, she had to see it. And if he didn’t, she had to be ready.

  The Arabian jumped, hooves slicing through the air, reaching for blue sky. Picard hunched forward, precisely balanced.

  Beverly pulled back on her own reins and her horse skidded to a stop. Fly, Jean-Luc, fly!

  They cleared the top stones, and they were over and out of sight.

  But the sounds that immediately followed were wrong. Instead of triumphant hoofbeats continuing on the other side, Beverly heard a splashing skid, the alarmed whinny of a horse suddenly losing control of his own feet, and the terrible thud of a half-ton of horseflesh taking a tumble.

  “Jean-Luc!”

  Frantically, Beverly searched for the fastest way to get to Picard. Twenty meters down from where Picard had jumped, the stone wall blended into a much lower hedge. She could see grass on the other side, with plenty of room for a safe landing. She hunkered down in her saddle, wheeled the chestnut mare and charged the hedge, taking it in an easy leap.

  Then she turned, stopped and gaped. In the shadow of the wall, the Arabian stood sheepishly, no longer white but spattered with viscous brown glop. And Jean-Luc Picard sat, legs splayed unceremoniously, in a pool of fresh, wet mud.

  “Merde,” he said.

  Trying not to laugh, the doctor approached. “No—mud.”

  Picard’s brow twitched. “Very funny.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Only my dignity. By the way, excellent form on your jump.”

  “Yours, too—even though you’d lose a lot of points for your landing, Jean-Luc.”

  The chirp of the intercom interrupted their equestrian analysis and they heard First Officer Riker’s voice. “Captain, we’ve got a problem.”

  Picard got to his feet. “What is it, Number One?”

  “We’re approaching the rendezvous point—but there’s no sign of the shuttlecraft.”

  Picard glanced at Beverly, whose face went ashen. “Nothing on long-range scans?”

  “No, sir. No communications contract, no message pods, no shuttle, no debris. Nothing at all.”

  “Are we within communications range of Domarus Four?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Riker. “We tried. No response. Of course, it could be nothing more than a malfunction in the shuttle’s comm system. They might have stayed on Domarus Four to make repairs.”

  “Let’s find out,” Picard said as he snared his horse’s loose rein and headed for the holodeck exit. “Set course for the Domaran system, warp six. And maintain attempts to locate the shuttle. I’ll be on the bridge in five minutes. Picard out.”

  Like a beetle caught in a spider’s web, the shuttle hung helplessly in the glow of the Teniran tractor beam. Inside, Troi, Data and the three teens waited. They could do little else.

  “It’s been twenty minutes,” Wesley said, still seated next to Kenny in the cockpit command seats. “I wish they’d do something already.”

  “Like what?” Ken asked.

  “I don’t know . . . anything. I just hate waiting for the other shoe.”

  Data cocked his head. “What other shoe?”

  “For the other shoe to drop.”

  “That would imply an initial shoe has dropped. Am I missing something?”

  “It’s an old Earth expression, Data,” Wesley said.

  With a batting of his eyelids, Data accessed the reference in his linguistics bank. “Ahh, yes. Connoting impatience, dread of impending events, foreshadowings of doom—” The android stopped when he noticed Ken and Wesley exchanging wan glances. “Shall I continue?”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” Wes replied politely. He took a breath and exhaled slowly. “The Enterprise should come looking for us anytime now once they don’t find us at the rendezvous point. Then the Tenirans’ll have to make some kind of move.”

  “They’ll have to let us go,” Ken murmured.

  “Not necessarily,” Data said. As if on cue, both Wes and Kenny turned with pained looks on their faces, but Data continued. “They may retain us as a bargaining chip. They may even destroy us. Since we do not know their true motivations for capturing us, we cannot predict how they will react when confronted by a starship. Such a threat to—”


  An alert chime interrupted him and Wes spun back to his console. “They’re probing us—some kind of—”

  Before Wesley could finish his sentence, the shuttle’s instrument panels erupted in a hissing shower of sparks and smoke. Cabin lights dimmed and display screens blanked. Data reacted almost instantly, already reaching for circuit cut-offs as he spoke: “Their scanners are overloading our systems. Implement emergency shutdown procedures, now.”

  As quickly as they could, Wesley and Ken scrambled to save whatever systems they could from irreparable damage. With six hands tackling the task, they were done in a few seconds; then they sat bathed in the dim red glow of emergency lighting, the cabin eerily silent except for the quick, shallow breathing of two frazzled teenagers.

  “The scanning beam is gone,” Wes finally said.

  “Status report, Ensign,” Data said.

  Wes powered up a small auxiliary computer screen and called up a systems check. “Primary computer down . . . main engines, navigation, communications and life support all out.”

  Data stepped over to a keypad set into the cockpit’s aft bulkhead and entered a rapid series of reset commands. In response, a few instruments on the main consoles flickered back to life, and the distant hum of vent blowers provided some welcome background noise as they began clearing the acrid smoke of scorched electronics from the cabin.

  “There,” said Data. “Back-up life-support and computer systems are rerouted and functional. Let us see what other systems might be repaired.”

  Wesley swiveled out of his seat and squatted down to remove console access panels, but Ken remained motionless in his seat, frozen by fear. “Come on, Ken,” Wes said gently as he crouched next to him. “You aced our last systems analysis lab. We can’t untangle this mess without you.”

  After a long moment and several deep breaths, Kenny nodded and joined in the work.

  * * *

  As the starship Enterprise slowed and dropped out of warp speed, Picard sat back in his command seat and considered the image of Domarus Four growing on the bridge viewscreen. It looked very much like Earth in the proportions of its surface divided between scattered continents and blue oceans, with delicate ribbons of white clouds wrapped around it. In fact, it appeared quite benign, though Picard knew as well as anyone that planetary looks could certainly deceive.

  But nothing in the original survey of Domarus—nor in the sensor sweep done by the Enterprise before dispatching the trainee away team—contradicted that evaluation. The field excursion led by Commander Data was designed to be as risk-free as possible. So what could have happened to prevent the shuttle’s arrival at the planned rendezvous?

  “Captain,” Lieutenant Worf said from the Tactical console, “sensors have detected the shuttle in Domaran orbit . . .”

  “Ahh, good.”

  “. . . and a second vessel almost the size of this ship. It has the Onizuka trapped in a tractor beam.”

  First Officer Riker rose from his seat next to the captain. “Worf, scan the shuttle for life signs.”

  “Already scanned, sir. I read four humanoids and Data. But their comm system appears to be nonfunctional.” The Klingon security chief scowled. “That tractor beam is interfering with our scanners—I cannot get a clear reading on the shuttle’s overall condition.”

  “A closer look, Captain?” said Riker.

  “Approach with caution, Number One. We don’t want to startle whoever is holding the shuttle.”

  Riker nodded. “Lieutenant Worf, yellow alert,” he said as he stepped up behind the young blond woman seated at the conn station usually occupied by Wesley. “Ensign Burnside-Clapp, take us into orbit, slow and easy—fifty-thousand kilometer perigee.”

  The Enterprise slipped into high orbit on a trajectory calculated to keep it hidden behind Domarus, then made a stately approach toward the alien vessel and the tiny shuttle in its grip. Picard wanted to let the alien commander know the Enterprise was here without causing undue alarm.

  As the other two ships came into view, the captain straightened in his seat. “Hold relative position. Any identification, Mr. Worf?.”

  “Negative, sir.”

  “Well, they know we’re here,” Riker said, “and they’ve made no attempt to contact us?”

  “None,” said Worf.

  “Hmm.” Captain Picard stood and joined his first officer under the bridge’s central dome. “Your assessment, Number One?”

  “Whoever they are, they must’ve been pretty nervous about something to feel so threatened by an unarmed shuttlecraft that they had to put a stranglehold on it.”

  “Then imagine the potential effect of our arrival.”

  Riker nodded. “Kid-glove treatment would seem to be in order.”

  “Agreed. Mr. Worf, open hailing frequency.”

  “Open, sir.”

  Picard and Riker both returned to their seats. “This is the U.S.S. Enterprise, Captain Picard commanding. We ask that you identify yourself and your mission.” He waited a few moments for a reply. When none came, he repeated his greeting. “Please explain your presence in—”

  A harsh female voice cut him off. “This is Captain Arit, commanding the Glin-Kale, flagship of the Teniran Echelon. Keep your distance, Enterprise—or we will destroy your shuttle.”

  “Captain Picard,” Worf said in a low rumble, “additional sensor data—”

  “Mute signal. What is it, Worf?”

  “The shuttle has been damaged by the Teniran energy beam. All main systems out—back-ups may be failing as well.”

  Picard got to his feet, determined to settle this confrontation quickly. “Open channel. Captain Arit, your actions are endangering the crew of our shuttlecraft. Please release it.”

  “We claim this world for the Teniran Echelon, Picard. You and your shuttle are violating Teniran space.”

  “The Federation has no claims on Domarus Four,” Picard said, his voice carefully balanced between calm and firm. “If it is indeed uninhabited, then we have no quarrel with your claim.”

  “This world is already ours.”

  “That subject can be debated after you release our shuttle.”

  “There is no debate, Picard.”

  Captain Picard did not like the brittle tone of his counterpart’s announcement. “Mute signal.”

  “I suggest beaming our people out of there,” said Riker.

  Worf consulted his display screen, then shook his head. “Impossible, Commander. The tractor beam will interfere with our transporter signal.”

  Geordi La Forge turned from his engineering nook. “We could try to recalibrate for a one-shot beam-out, but it’ll take time.”

  “We do not have time,” Worf suddenly said, glaring down at his console. “The Tenirans just increased tractor intensity by eighty percent. The shuttle cannot withstand the stress for longer than ninety seconds.”

  “Damn,” Picard muttered, still facing Worf and Geordi, his back to the main viewscreen. “Channel open. Captain Arit, your aggressive action is unacceptable. Release the shuttle immediately or we will be forced to—”

  “What the hell is that?” Geordi muttered, taking a stride forward, staring across the bridge at the viewscreen.

  Picard and Riker whirled just in time to see a splash of skittering colors surrounding the little shuttlecraft. The gaseous tendrils sliced right through the Teniran energy beam and seemed to tenderly caress the endangered Onizuka like sinuous fingers. Their colors blended and bled with such rapid fluidity that human eyes could not be sure what colors they’d seen.

  Then the shuttle began to sparkle and fade, turning translucent.

  “What’s happening?” Picard demanded.

  Before anyone on the Enterprise bridge could answer, the shuttle dissolved in a rainbow blaze of sparkling hues—and vanished without a trace.

  Chapter Three

  AS PICARD GAPED at the viewer, be felt a queasy shudder in the pit of his stomach, as if he’d just been shoved off a precipice into free-fall.
What the hell happened to the shuttlecraft?

  But reflexes honed by long years of command took hold and he forced the stunned expression off his face. “Mr. Worf, report.”

  Worf seemed to be groping for a reply. “It is . . . simply gone, Captain. There is no correlation to this phenomenon in our data banks.”

  Picard responded with a nod. “Add visual to our signal. If the Tenirans respond in kind, put it on screen.”

  “Aye, sir,” Worf said.

  “Captain Arit,” Picard boomed, “the unwarranted destruction of our shuttlecraft is an act of war.”

  The bland blue globe of Domarus Four left the main viewscreen, and Picard got his first look at the face of his adversary.

  “We did nothing to your shuttle,” Captain Arit said flatly, flashing small but noticeable fangs not quite hidden under full golden lips. Her large eyes, tinted a faint green, betrayed no fear—no emotion at all.

  Picard had never seen a Teniran before, neither in the flesh nor in pictures, not even in passing. He would have remembered beings embodying such savage beauty. Momentarily mesmerized by Arit’s tawny complexion and the rich black mane circling the delicate contours of her face, he wondered whether her appearance was typical of her species. Then he noticed the ragged quilting of her uniform, with fraying around the collar and an unmended rip at the shoulder seam. A flagship commander wearing tattered hand-me-downs . . . ?

  “Then what happened to it?”

  “That is your problem, Picard. Be out of Teniran space within one of your hours. Arit out.” Her face disappeared from the viewscreen.

  “That was a grave mistake, Captain Arit.”

  Arit winced at the sharp words from the pinched voice behind her. She didn’t want to deal with this, not now. If she ignored him, didn’t turn at all, maybe he’d just disappear from her bridge. Maybe—

  “Why wasn’t I consulted?”

  He wouldn’t disappear and she knew it. He never did, so why should this situation be any different. She would have to deal with him.