Boogeymen Part 3

Data was his friend. He could trust Data with his innermost hopes and fears. Wesley said, "I'm testing my ability to command by using Starfleet training programs."

"Ah. And how will the Borders scale help?"

"I want to design an alien that will challenge me, that will help me find out if I'll ever be good enough to be captain of a stars.h.i.+p."

"No such alien exists."

"Right."

"Ah. Then you wish to create such an alien and interact with it."

"Right."

Data leaned back in his chair and picked up a calabash pipe that lay in a nearby ashtray. Affecting the mannerisms of Sherlock Holmes, he tapped the stem of the pipe against his teeth, something he did occasionally when considering a problem. Wesley had never seen him actually light the pipe, but just holding it made Data seem more thoughtful.

Data sprang to his feet and began to pace the cabin. He had plenty of room. Data had fewer personal possessions than anyone else Wesley knew. In a clipped Holmesian accent, he said, "You wish to design an alien of superior cunning and intelligence, yet entirely without compa.s.sion."

"Right," Wesley said again. "Just for the holodeck."

"Of course." Data sat down, laid the pipe carefully in the ashtray, and began typing into the computer terminal. His hands moved very fast, were almost a blur. Wesley stood behind him, watching. In a few seconds, Data reviewed what had taken Wesley hours to read. Then Data leapt into unfamiliar territory.

Scarcely ten minutes later Data stopped. He popped a clear cylindrical chip into the slot on the terminal, touched a few keys, and seconds later handed the chip to Wesley. It was now a pale blue. "This chip contains the parameters of the aliens you desire along with the Borders scale equations. I suggest you ask Lieutenant Commander La Forge to help you install them in the holodeck computer. No one knows more about the Enterprise systems than he does."

"Thanks, Data." Wesley bounced the chip in one hand while he looked over Data's shoulder at the schematic of the Enterprise on the wall.

"Was there something else, Wesley?"

Wesley smiled at his own presumption. He never thought of himself as a fan type. He said, "Tell me. What is Professor Baldwin really like?"

"Like? He is a white human male, almost two meters tall and weighing slightly more than one hundred kilograms."

Wesley smiled as he shook his head. Evidently Data had even less inclination to be a fan than he did.

"Is that funny?" Data said.

"Usually when people ask what someone is like, they want to know about the individual's personality and whether they have pleasing features."

A little confused, Data said, "He seemed pleasant enough."

"Okay, Data. Thanks."

Wesley left the cabin as quickly as seemed polite. He didn't want to spend the rest of the day discussing human attractiveness with an android.

Captain Picard sat at one end of the big obsidian slab that served as a table in the conference lounge just off the bridge. He tried not to stare while he wondered again what it was in Commander Mont that Starfleet found valuable. Mont had a certain bl.u.s.tery charm, but he seemed to know no more about aliens than Lieutenant Shubunkin did. There were times when Picard was convinced that Mont knew considerably less.

For instance, when Mont and Shubunkin had first come on board at Starbase 123, Picard had thrown a small formal dinner to welcome them. During the dinner, talk had turned to the hot exobiology topic of the moment-a newly discovered race, the Trilg. They were unusual in that while they had grasping organs very much like human hands, they had no technology whatsoever. Not so much as a rock with which to kill one of the local herbivores for food. Not so much as a cave in which to live. Starfleet specialists with high extrasensory ratings could detect no evidence of unusual mental activity. Were the Trilg intelligent or were they not? And if they were not, why not?

Lieutenant Shubunkin had gone on at length, spinning a gossamer theory supported by obscure ideas about racial talent, harmful solar rays, and synchronistic curves. The ideas were no more than theories themselves. Picard had thought all his arguments pretty unlikely, and Riker had politely argued with Shubunkin; but beyond making a few off-color comments, Commander Mont had said nothing. Picard was certain that before Shubunkin began to speak, Mont had not even heard of the Trilg.

This was an expert on first contact?

The next morning Picard had asked Troi what her impression of Mont was.

"He seems to be very satisfied with himself."

"Not shy?" Picard asked.

"I detected no unease last night. However ..." She looked to one side, pursed her lips, and shook her head. When she looked at the captain again, it was with the direct, guileless stare Picard had come to trust. Troi said, "He is definitely hiding something. There is a tension in him, a waiting."

"For what?"

"I have no idea."

Picard had asked her to tell him more if anything occurred to her, but so far, except for making a similar observation on the bridge a few hours earlier, Troi had said nothing about Commander Mont.

Troi was next to the captain now, staring out the port at the rainbow smudges that the warp field made of the stars. At the other end of the table, Mont and Shubunkin were having a quiet conversation.

Despite the evidence of his own observations and instincts, despite the corroborative feelings of Counselor Troi, Data's research into Commander Mont's background had turned up nothing unusual. He'd gone to school, he'd come up through the ranks in a very normal way, he'd published the following papers. The man was a puzzle, and Picard did not like it.

The door sighed open, and Mr. Data entered with Professor Baldwin. Baldwin had showered and changed into a clean bush outfit. It was khaki, neatly pressed, and sporting many pockets, just the way it had come from the clothing fabricator. He had trimmed his beard, but it was still there, giving his face a faintly demonic look that, Picard understood, women found attractive.

Picard and Baldwin shook hands and clasped each other's shoulders, made social noises about how long it had been, and indeed, they had not seen each other for at least fifteen years. While Data sat down on the captain's other side, Baldwin shook hands all around, lingering a little over Troi's. Troi did not seem to mind.

"Welcome aboard the Enterprise," Picard said.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Settling in all right?"

Baldwin sat down and said, "Yes, fine. I understand it's two weeks to Memory Alpha."

"At warp five, yes," Picard said.

Baldwin frowned, but Mont said, "Barely enough time to begin."

Shubunkin said, "We can begin now. I understand there is an infowafer ..." He held out his hand.

From one of his s.h.i.+rt pockets Baldwin took a green plastic square no bigger than the square of insulating tile that had come from the twentieth-century s.p.a.ce shuttle Enterprise and was now in stasis in one of the rec rooms.

As Baldwin handed the infowafer to Shubunkin, Data said, "It is only a copy. The original is in the safe in Lieutenant Worf's office."

"Just as well," Shubunkin said. "Six months' worth of data."

"Including," Baldwin said as he raised one finger, "the entire contents of the alien s.h.i.+p's computer memory."

"You were able to download it?" Shubunkin said, obviously surprised.

"All part of the job."

Troi's shy, self-deprecating smile matched Baldwin's.

"Gentlemen," said Picard, "you have your work cut out for you, and a limited time in which to do it. Please proceed."

Mont and Shubunkin stood up and, as one, made a short bow toward Picard's end of the table. The door sighed open, and they stood there looking back at Baldwin. "Coming, Professor?" Shubunkin said.

"In a minute. I want to talk to Jean-Luc, er, the captain."

"We will be in the exobiology lab on deck five."

"I'll be there," Baldwin said, a little too brightly.

When the door closed behind Mont and Shubunkin, Baldwin opened his arms and smiled apologetically. Counselor Troi stood up and held out her hand for Baldwin to shake again. She said, "Come on, Data."

"Captain?" Data said.

"I believe Professor Baldwin wishes a private conference."

Looking a little confused, Data said, "Aye, Captain," and left with Counselor Troi.

When they were gone, Baldwin walked to the food dispenser and said, "A Randy Yeoman." He looked at Picard, who nodded. "Make that two," Baldwin said. A moment later two tall, sweating gla.s.ses with red smoke in them appeared on the stage of the dispenser. Baldwin picked up both of them, gave one to Picard, then sat down in the seat Data had just vacated.

They toasted old times, and then Baldwin said, "Command agrees with you, Jean-Luc."

"As it never did with you. But you landed on your feet as you always have. Fame. Fortune. Adventure. You have the life you always said you wanted."

"Yes. And the enemies to go with it."

Baldwin took a long drink while Picard said, "Oh?"

"This is good," Baldwin said as he peered into his drink. "I tried to make an alcoholic beverage from some of the plants on Tantamon Four. Couldn't do it. Something wrong with their sugars or something. I never figured it out."

"You were busy with the alien s.h.i.+p. What about those enemies?"

"I've been an exologist for a long time. I've rubbed a lot of faces in the dirt, even without trying."

Picard waited.

"Do you know how many people hate me for getting someplace first, for finding something first, for drawing correct conclusions first, for sending artifacts and information to Starfleet and Federation museums rather than selling them to the highest bidder?"

"How many?"

"A lot," said Baldwin and set his drink loudly onto the table.

When he did not speak for a few moments, Picard said, "So you want out."

"You bet I do. I want to die in bed, not in some forsaken backwater where I was sent by a museum." He took another drink and said, "Two weeks is a long time."

Picard smiled. "Surely you can't feel yourself in danger aboard the Enterprise."

"Silly, huh? Paranoia will get me if nothing else does. Pretty soon I'll be balling up antique newspapers and scattering them around my bed so that n.o.body can sneak up on me while I'm sleeping." He shook his head.

"You must have a plan."

"Yes. There is always a plan. I'm going to disappear."

"That will be difficult on Memory Alpha."

"s.h.i.+ps stop at Memory Alpha. And they leave again."

They studied each other for a while. Picard could sympathize with Baldwin. There had been moments -when life-and-death decisions had to be made, when confronting situations from which there seemed to be no escape-when he had considered disappearing himself. He understood from Troi that people in responsible positions frequently had such fantasies. But fantasies were all they were, and Picard knew it. He could captain a freighter or a cruise s.h.i.+p. He could become a farmer on some frontier world. He could even teach at the Academy. Certainly, and be bored in a week.

Quietly Picard said, "Risk is in your blood as it is in mine. The risk takes different forms, but it is there just as certainly."

"Not anymore, Jean-Luc."

Picard finished his drink and said, "If all you want is an ear, I'm certain Counselor Troi would be glad to oblige."

"An ear is only the beginning. I want your help."

"If I don't deposit you at Memory Alpha, people are sure to notice."

"You'll think of something." Baldwin stood up and went on, "You're the captain." He left the conference lounge.

Picard watched the rainbow smudges go by, while wondering if he really would think of something. And if he did, would he tell Baldwin?

Wesley found Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge in Engineering sitting at a table almost as large as the one in the conference lounge. Set into the top was a variety of gauges, readouts, telltales, and controls. This was the master situation monitor, and from here, anyone who knew how could follow the flow and flux of energy and information throughout the entire s.h.i.+p.

La Forge looked up at Wesley. At least he turned his head in Wesley's direction. He pointed to a screen on which a sine curve was having fits. "Warp efficiency is down three percent, and I don't know why."

Wesley had been astonished by La Forge when they first met. La Forge had been born blind, and in order to see wore a piece of hardware called a VISOR, a mobile sensing rig that covered his eyes and hooked directly into his nervous system at cyborg ports just in front of his ears. Wesley had needed some time to get used to the VISOR, and La Forge had joked that, like the floating wooden eyeball Mark Twain had spoken of, "it made the children cry." To Wesley's knowledge, the VISOR had never made anyone cry, though whether La Forge actually could see was still a matter of debate among medical experts.

"I get around without b.u.mping into stuff," La Forge had said, "and that's enough for me."

Wesley looked over La Forge's shoulder at the screen and said, "Three percent is within specs, isn't it?"

"Sure it is. Better than specs. But that doesn't mean I don't want to know why." He touched a lighted square on the table, and the sine wave smoothed out. "What can I do for you, Wesley?"

"I'm having sort of a problem with the holodeck."

"Nothing maintenance can take care of, I trust?"

"Uh, no." Wesley showed him the pale blue cylinder and said, "Data gave me this. It's a program that uses the Borders scale to define an artificial alien. Can you help me install it in the holodeck computer?"

La Forge took the chip and stood it up on the table. He leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers over his flat belly, and said, "What's all this about, Wes?"

Wesley looked around. The engineering staff was busy taking readings and doing general maintenance. They weren't close enough to hear even if they were listening. Wesley took a deep breath and told La Forge about his problem.

When Wesley was done, La Forge shook his head and said, "Wes, you remind me of a kid I know back home. Ryan is four years old and scared to death of Starfleet Academy."