Encounter at Farpoint (16 page)

“My question exactly,” Tasha said.

Geordi scanned the surfaces closely. “These walls are something I’ve never seen before.”

“Report to the commander,” Troi said. “He will want to know this.”

Tasha tabbed her communicator again. “Team Leader, we’ve found something interesting.”

“Location?” Riker’s voice inquired.

“We’re in a passageway directly under the central mall area, sir. Lieutenant LaForge is studying the structural material here, but he says he’s never seen anything like it.”

“How are you examining it, LaForge?”

“Microscopically, thermally, how it reflects the electromagnetic spectrum. None of it is familiar. Very puzzling, sir.”

Riker’s voice was thoughtful. “Puzzling. A good word for it, Lieutenant. How about you, Troi? Are you sensing anything unusual?”

Troi frowned as she activated her communicator. She was reluctant to answer because she knew what he would ask of her, and she did not look forward to complying. “Sir, I’ve avoided opening my mind. Whatever I sensed in the
groppler
’s office became very uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, Counselor.” Riker’s voice was soft but insistent. He understood the courage it took for her to do this. “We need more information.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” Troi glanced at Tasha and Geordi. Tasha was sympathetic, but she could never really grasp what occurred when Troi lowered the barriers she carefully kept in place. Young LaForge might comprehend it a little better. His eyesight was enhanced mechanically as her sensitivities and mental perceptions were enhanced telepathically. Perhaps he could understand how she sometimes resented the “gift” of that enhancement.

Slowly, Troi thinned the mental shielding she maintained. There were many minds around her, each with its own busy thoughts. She could not “read” the content of those thoughts, merely the feelings that accompanied them. The wash of emotions she sensed now was normal, with a few strong peaks of feeling pushing up here and there: LaForge’s curiosity and farther away, on the very specific emotional band that was Riker, his concern. A smile twitched her mouth. She would have recognized his mental emanation anywhere, so closely attuned had they been.

Tasha was watching her closely, impatient for action. Suddenly, Troi emitted a short, sharp scream and sank to her knees. “Such pain,” she gasped. Tasha leapt in beside her, a supporting arm around her shoulders. Troi swayed under the feelings of agony that buffeted her mind. “Pain . . . pain. . . .”

Vaguely she could hear Riker’s voice over her communicator. “Hang on, I’m coming.
Enterprise
, lock us onto her signal!”

Geordi had joined Tasha, trying to comfort Troi. She could hear the murmur of their voices, but the pain gripped her mind so deeply, she was forced to shut them out while she tried to close her sensitivities off again. She had managed to pull the barriers almost all the way back when the transporter beam began to sparkle in the air near them, and Data and Riker slid into solid form.

Riker strode quickly to Troi, taking her hands gently and helping her to her feet. “I’m sorry. Can you close out the pain?”

Troi nodded, leaning against him for a moment. The woman in her drew strength from his loving concern. She pushed that revelation aside for the moment, and the professional in her took over. “Report, sir,” she began. “I—”

“What was it?” Riker coaxed. “Was it just pain or—?”

“No—more than that. Unhappiness . . . terrible despair.”

“Who?”
he asked.

“I don’t know! No life form anything like us. Not the Bandi either. Their mind patterns are completely different from what I felt.”

“Then who is in pain?” Data asked thoughtfully.

Riker shook his head and looked around at the glowing walls. “What in hell kind of place is this?”

The
Enterprise
bridge was only nominally manned. Picard almost felt as if he had it to himself. Worf was hunched at the Ops panel at the front of the bridge, but the few other station keeping crew personnel worked quietly at the aft stations, routinely monitoring ship’s systems. Picard had felt too edgy to stay cooped up in his ready room waiting for the away team’s report. The spacious bridge at least gave him room to pace if he felt like it. The sound of the aft turbolift doors opening automatically brought his head around to see who it was. Picard stiffened in his chair as he realized what he was looking at.

Beverly Crusher stood just inside the turbolift door. She was caught squarely by Picard’s dark look as he frowned at her and at Wes, who stood beside her in the lift. She shot a swift glance at her son. He was staring out in wonder and awe at his dream place, taking in as much as he could possibly see in this one brief and limited view. Beverly started to step forward onto the bridge, gesturing to Wes to stay in the turbolift.
Better get this over with,
she thought.

She had a nice little speech she had thought up and a decent reason for her to personally come to the bridge to speak to Picard rather than to merely report to him over the intership. She had discovered a serious shortage in one of their essential medical supplies. Her inventory check had uncovered the fact the
Enterprise
was carrying an overabundant supply of vitamins and food supplements and was dangerously low on the elements to create artificial whole blood which might be required in an emergency. The error had apparently occurred due to the mislabeling of medical containers at their original supply point. This was a mistake that had to be rectified as soon as possible, and she was justified in bringing it to Picard’s attention.

“Permission to report to the captain. . . .” Beverly began.

Picard’s cool voice dropped the bridge temperature at least ten degrees. “Children are
not
allowed on the bridge, Doctor.”

Beverly stopped in her tracks. She admitted to herself she knew this could be trouble when she decided to do it, but still he
was
being just a little too hardnosed. “I respectfully point out, sir, that my son is not
on
the bridge. He merely accompanied me to it.”

Picard hesitated.
“Your
son?” This was the boy he had seen with Riker and Data—dripping an unholy mess of mud and water on the holodeck.

“His name’s Wesley. You saw him years ago when . . .”

“Oh,” Picard said abruptly. “Yes.” He remembered seeing the child when he brought her husband’s body back.

The boy who stood in the turbolift, his eyes wide as an owl’s, seemed small for his age—he’d be about fifteen—but he sported a hint of the auburn hair that crowned his mother’s head. He had her fine features, too—not much of Jack in him except the vividly intelligent hazel eyes. And if Jack were still alive, would Picard have allowed his son on the bridge, as a courtesy to a man he had respected and cherished as a friend?

Picard cleared his throat. “Well—as long as he’s here. . . .” Wesley’s hopeful eyes nailed his, the plea standing in them loud and clear. Beverly waited.

Picard shrugged and tried to make his voice warmer, friendlier. “I knew your father, Wesley. Would you like to take a look around?” The boy was out of the turbolift in one swift step. “But don’t touch anything,” Picard added quickly.

The bridge was far bigger than Wes thought it would be. Even the viewscreen was larger than any he had ever seen before. The serenely operating stations on this level above the command well almost drew him, but his mother moved down the ramp toward Picard, and he obediently went with her. He was careful to set his feet down just
so
with every step so he didn’t ruffle the carpet—or the captain.

Picard stood up and moved a little away from the command chair as Beverly and Wesley reached him. What would the boy want? Well, what would
he
have wanted at that age and in such a situation? He gestured slightly toward the command chair. “Try it out. For a minute.”

Wesley’s face lit and glowed like a million candle-power searchlight. He edged himself into the seat and ran his eyes over the chair arm panels.

Picard leaned forward and pointed proprietarily as he detailed each item. “The panel on your left is for log entries, library-computer access and retrieval, viewscreen control, intercoms, and so on. Don’t touch anything.”

“No, sir.” Wesley gestured to the right chair arm panel. “On here, backup conn and Ops panels, plus armament and shield controls.”

“Careful of those.”

“Yes, sir.” Wes stared around admiringly. “This ship is really carrying
weight.”

Picard glanced at Beverly, then back to Wes, perplexed. “I take it that’s a compliment?”

Beverly nodded, smiling slightly. “In the current vernacular, it’s—”

“The
best,”
Wes interjected. “She’s beautiful, sir.”

“I see. Thank you,” Picard said dryly. “You might be interested in the forward viewscreen. It’s controlled from the Ops position—”

Wesley picked it up eagerly. “—using the outboard, ultra-high resolution, multi-spectral imaging sensor systems, selecting any desired magnification.”

“How do you know that, boy?” Picard snapped. This child was altogether too clever.

Before Beverly or Wes could respond, a distinctive signal sounded on the command chair’s left-hand panel. The boy instinctively, almost casually, reached out and tabbed one of the controls on the arm panel. “Perimeter alert, Captain!” And as he realized what he had done, he was instantly mortified.

Beverly’s face flamed in embarrassment, and Picard was furious. Three voices began indignantly at the same time.

“Wes, you shouldn’t have touched that.”

“I’m sorry!” Wesley said, jumping up out of the chair. “I didn’t mean to. I just
knew how.”

“Off the bridge, both of you.” Picard growled.

At the Ops console, Worf was staring around at them, not sure what to do. The signal had to be answered, but the captain seemed to be . . . involved.

Beverly pushed Wes toward the turbolift, looking back at Picard. “I’m so sorry. . . .”

“He was told not to touch anything.”

The signal came again, and Worf decided he should say something. “Perimeter alert, sir.”

Beverly stopped and swung around to face Picard. Wesley might have offended the captain, but she was damned if she’d let him take any blame when he had been right. “As my son tried to tell you!” she said sharply. Then, head high, she marched into the forward turbolift with Wesley and snapped, “Quarters Deck 3.”

As the doors closed behind them, Picard slammed his right fist into his open palm, frustrated. Then he jumped for his chair to key open his comm line as the signal came again. “This is Picard.”

The assistant security chief’s voice boomed over the intership. “Ship’s sensors have detected the presence of a vessel approaching Deneb IV. No other ship is scheduled to arrive at this time, sir.”

“Could it be the
Hood
returning?”

“The vessel does not match the
Hood
’s configuration or tonnage, sir.”

“Worf, put it on the main screen.”

Worf quickly tabbed his Ops panel. The huge screen in front of Picard instantly flashed on the image of a ship. It was at far range; but even on the standard scale, it was big, dark, and ominous. It had only a few running lights, and its somber hull reflected very little starshine. In fact, it seemed to absorb light. Even the gleam of Deneb IV’s sun only showed it as a shadow swiftly moving against the galactic panorama behind it. It was approaching very quickly.

“Identification?” Picard snapped.

Worf was ready, but the answers weren’t good. “Vessel unknown. Configuration unknown. Origin unknown, sir.”

“Hail it!”

“I’ve been trying, sir. Automatic ID sent with request for same. No response.”

“Raise all shields, Lieutenant.”

Worf’s hands moved on the panel. “Shields up, sir. Full power.”

“Phasers ready.”

“Phasers charged and ready, sir.” This from the security officer at the Weapons and Tactics station behind him.

“Sound yellow alert.”

The alert signal pounded through the ship, and duty personnel efficiently began to arrive on the turbolifts and take their stations. Picard studied the still advancing vessel. He had never seen anything like this either, but that didn’t mean it could not belong to a race they
did
know. “Get me
Groppler
Zorn, Lieutenant. Continue universal greetings on all frequencies.”

Worf tabbed his panel. There was a sharp
beep
, and then Zorn’s voice echoed on the bridge.

“Yes. This is
Groppler
Zorn, Captain.”

Picard didn’t waste time on the niceties. Whatever this ship was, he had a gut-deep feeling it was not here on a peaceful mission. Was this
Q
at work—or was it someone else? “There is an unidentified vessel rapidly approaching this planet. It refuses to respond to hails. Do you know who it is?”

“There are no ships scheduled to arrive until—”

“I asked you if you knew who it is,
Groppler
. You mentioned the Ferengi Alliance to me.”

Zorn’s voice trembled nervously. “Ah. Yes. But we have had no dealings with them, Captain. It was only a—a thought.”

“Are you sure that’s all? Or did you send out a message for a rendezvous with one of the Ferengi vessels? Perhaps one you now regret sending?”

“No.”
Zorn sounded desperate. “Captain, I promise you it was an empty threat. I wanted your cooperation, your endorsement to Starfleet. Forgive me—”

“The vessel has reached orbital insert trajectory, sir,” Worf reported. “Sensors say it measures twelve times our volume.”

“What could they want?” Zorn wailed. He knew the size and tonnage of the
Enterprise
. Anything so much larger than that was a horrendous threat to the station and the Bandi.