Boogeymen Part 2

"Ready."

"Run read-only program 'Baldwin.' "

Immediately the three of them were standing in the middle of an alien jungle. Chattering, squealing, and feral noises with no earthly name came from all around. Lumps of polished wood as big as houses were caught in nets of vines that hummed as the light, spicy wind blew through them. Twirling things sailed among tangles of trees with thin trunks that rose to incredible heights. Wesley could not see the sky because of the patchwork of leaves overhead.

"Hot, isn't it?" he said as he pulled his collar away from his neck with a finger. He, Dr. Crusher, and Lieutenant Shubunkin sat down on crystalline rocks that thrust from among the dead brown leaves like giants' teeth.

The only things that spoiled the perfect illusion were the standard English words floating in midair and the dramatic music. The words said, "Omniology presents 'The Alien Universe of Eric Baldwin.' "

Baldwin was an exologist, an expert on alien cultures and their artifacts. He was a tall wiry man with the face of a benign demon. According to the doc.u.mentary, he had escaped death many times, usually either just before or just after making an important discovery. An entire wing of the North American Museum of Extraterrestrial Biology was named after him.

As the program continued, the crystal rocks they were sitting on became toadstools, rock outcroppings, coral reefs, and finally, merely chairs. Along the way Baldwin was threatened by angry natives, kidnapped by pirates and smugglers of both the water and s.p.a.ce variety, twisted through weird dimensions by alien artifacts, and pursued by rival exologists. Each time he was threatened with death or worse, he managed to narrowly escape, using an impressive combination of creativity and physical strength. The doc.u.mentary ended, leaving Dr. Crusher, Wesley, and Shubunkin standing on the blank holodeck. Dr. Crusher said, "A very impressive career."

"Captain Picard says he's the single most important exologist in the Federation."

"The captain should know," Dr. Crusher said. "They went to school together."

Shubunkin said, "Perhaps. But there are other exologists ..."

He allowed the observation to dangle, but neither Wesley nor Dr. Crusher took hold of it. Personally, Wesley suspected that Lieutenant Shubunkin was just jealous. Dr. Crusher only said, "You may be right," thanked him for running the doc.u.mentary, and went back to sickbay, still visibly pining for Eric Baldwin.

After the door had knitted itself shut with a pneumatic sigh, Lieutenant Shubunkin and Ensign Crusher watched it as if they thought it might open again. Shubunkin said, "On my planet, if someone says 'You may be right,' that is what they mean. I think your mother means something else."

"You may be right," Wesley said, and immediately wished he hadn't. He went on quickly, "I'd like to ask you a question."

"Proceed."

Wesley took a deep breath and said, "I want to design some aliens I can practice my diplomatic skills on." Wesley didn't want to admit his self-doubts about his command abilities. Not to Shubunkin, anyway.

Shubunkin said, "By aliens, I a.s.sume you mean nonhumans."

"Of course."

Wesley could see why most of the bridge crew had difficulty getting along with Shubunkin. Even Counselor Troi, who could get along with anybody, found him a little abrasive. The guy knew his stuff, but he was too ready to show it off. Wesley took a deep breath and said, "Yes, sir. I mean nonhumans."

"The Enterprise computers hold a detailed description of every encounter between races since the founding of the Federation. Surely by using those descriptions, the computer can design something that will satisfy you."

"Actually, sir, I was looking for something a little more unusual."

Shubunkin nodded and said, "You want more interesting aliens. Faster, less predictable aliens."

"Right. Absolutely."

Shubunkin stroked his chin. He said, "The Borders scale might be of use."

"Borders scale?"

"It's a complex scale of social, intellectual, and emotional values. Among other things, six different kinds of creativity are listed, as well as honor, courage, mercy, fierceness, ruthlessness, arrogance, and mental and physical speed. Hundreds of categories. I believe Borders even created a subsection concerning sense of humor. Her scale is a useful tool when trying to quantify similarities and differences between races."

Wesley squinted as he considered the possibilities. He said, "There must be more to it than just plugging in random numbers."

"Certainly. The first value to some extent defines what the second must be. The first and second together help define the third. All creatures are consistent within their own system. The thing that makes one race seem alien to another is the difference between their systems."

Wesley saw that creating a new alien, even using the Borders scale, would be quite a challenge. After learning all he could about the scale from the library computer, he could probably get Geordi La Forge to help with the programming.

The computer said, "Personal memo for Wesley Crusher: Your bridge watch begins in ten minutes."

"Acknowledged. Thanks, Lieutenant. You've been a big help."

"I'm sure."

As Wesley walked quickly from the room, he wondered if Shubunkin was being arrogant again or if this was another case of his saying what he meant. Wesley could not help feeling that Shubunkin was strange, even for a first-contact specialist.

As the Enterprise dropped out of warp, Picard glanced at the man in the seat on his right. He was large and round with side-whiskers rather longer than regulations allowed. His thick face shone as if he were sweating despite the controlled climate of the Enterprise. His chubby fingers never stopped moving on the arms of the chair. The form-fitting design of the Starfleet uniform did not make him look thinner, though the short cape he affected helped. Commander Riker stood behind and above him, next to Worf at the tactical rail.

Ensign Crusher came onto the bridge with a minute to spare before his watch began. Winston-Smyth gave up her chair at the conn, and Wesley sat down, immediately logging in his arrival with a few deft touches on the control panel.

Feeling much too much like a tour guide, Picard said, "We've just dropped out of warp, Commander Mont. Mr. Data, how long till we reach Tantamon Four?"

"Fourteen minutes and twenty-two seconds, sir."

"Let's have it on screen."

On the main viewscreen, the forward star field wavered and an Earth-type planet appeared. From this distance, Tantamon IV seemed to be covered with gray-green moss on which some cotton wool had snagged. Picard was always amazed how many planets looked like that from s.p.a.ce, like the human home world. The Enterprise was his home, but like many humans, Picard felt a spiritual connection to the green hills of Terra that never quite went away.

"Standard orbit, Mr. Crusher."

"Aye, sir."

Commander Mont smiled, and his hands were still. He looked like a hungry man mesmerized by a table laden with food, Picard thought.

In his gruff voice, Mont said, "It's a likely-looking place."

Likely for what? Picard wondered. Mont seemed to enjoy saying things that barely made sense. Still, he was the one Starfleet had sent to debrief Baldwin after his six months on the planet below. Mont must be good at his job.

The aft turbolift doors opened, and Lieutenant Shubunkin entered the bridge. With his eyes on the screen, he stepped forward.

Picard said, "Mr. Worf, please inform Professor Baldwin of our imminent arrival."

"Aye, sir."

Tantamon IV turned placidly below them for a few seconds. Worf said, "I have Professor Baldwin."

"On screen," said Riker.

The picture on the viewscreen was replaced by a steamy planetary scene. Baldwin, ever the showman as well as the scientist, stood in such a way that Picard and the others on the bridge could see a silver teardrop shape lying in the humid alien jungle behind him. Next to him stood an alien. Based on what Picard had seen in preliminary reports, he a.s.sumed it was one of the Tantamon natives.

The jungle was recognizable as such, steamy and dense, but unlike the wild earthly jungle growth that was mostly vertical, the Tantamon jungle seemed to be mostly horizontal, made entirely of bowls of various sizes, shapes, and colors. Buggy eyes looked over the rims from inside some of the larger ones. Above each buggy eye was a bright blue cranium.

The alien standing next to Baldwin was probably typical of his race. He-if human s.e.xes meant anything-was on the edge of being human. He had tiny bowls for ears and a shiny blue exoskeleton, which gave him a faintly insectoid appearance. Adding to this were the things at the ends of his arms, not hands but delicate pincers with gripping grooves in them. He might have been wearing clothing. Picard could not tell.

Baldwin had grown a beard since Picard had seen him last. Sweat darkened his shirt under his arms and on his chest. His hair was a little wild, and more sweat dripped from strings of it that drooped across his forehead. He looked dashing and wonderful, as he did on the Omniology holochips in Enterprise's library. Picard, not going in much for vanity, had no idea how dashing and wonderful he himself looked to many people and so felt a small pang of jealousy, which he quickly suppressed.

"It's beautiful," Mont said.

Picard knew that Mont wasn't talking about Baldwin or the alien or even the jungle, though the jungle was certainly beautiful, once one dumped one's earthly prejudices about what a jungle should look like. Mont was talking about the silver teardrop. All sensor readings that Baldwin had taken matched up nicely with the sensor readings the Enterprise had taken months before in the Omega Triangulae region. The teardrop was beautiful scientifically as well as aesthetically.

"Good to see you, Jean-Luc," said Baldwin.

"And you, old friend. Do you need help packing?"

"No, thanks. I travel pretty light." He smiled.

Picard said, "So I remember. Prepare to beam up."

"Right, Jean-Luc. See you soon."

As he turned away, the screen once more showed the mossy ball of Tantamon IV.

"What do you think of that, then, eh, Shubunkin?" Mont said.

"I think that I do not yet have enough to think about."

"Right you are." Mont rose to his feet with surprising grace and moved like a thundercloud to the aft turbolift. "Come along, Shubunkin. We will meet and greet Professor Baldwin."

The two of them got into the turbolift, and the doors closed. Counselor Troi began to speak, but Picard put up a hand to silence her. He knew the turbolift doors would open again in a moment, and they did. Lieutenant Shubunkin stepped out and said, "Which transporter room?"

"Number three," said Picard, trying not to smile. "Deck six."

Shubunkin nodded and ducked back into the turbolift.

"Now, Counselor, what is it?"

"There is something odd about Commander Mont."

"And his playmate, Shubunkin, too," Riker said.

"That is not what I mean," Troi went on. "Lieutenant Shubunkin is merely a little formal and much too impressed with himself. But I've thought all along that Commander Mont is hiding something. I would not trust him."

"He's a Starfleet officer," Riker said.

"Even Starfleet officers have secrets."

"Logged and noted, Counselor. Mr. Data, make our guest comfortable." As Data stood up and walked toward the turbolift doors, Picard looked at them as if seeing through them and said, "And see if you can be of any use to Commander Mont."

"Understood, Captain," Data said as the doors closed.

Chapter Two.

BEFORE DISAPPEARING into his ready room, the captain ordered Wesley to head for Memory Alpha at warp five. At that velocity they would be traveling for two weeks. They could have safely traveled much faster, but Commander Mont and Lieutenant Shubunkin needed time to debrief Baldwin and get a first approximation of his findings on Tantamon IV. Later Baldwin would spend months, maybe years, at Memory Alpha, studying and organizing his data until he'd drawn from it all the conclusions he could. Other scholars would come later, building their work on his.

For the moment, however, Starfleet was very eager to learn anything they could about the aliens in the silver teardrop. Were they friend or foe? What could the Federation and these new aliens learn from each other?

The hours of Wesley's watch dragged by. Memory Alpha, the central information depository of the Federation, was a well-known destination. There was nothing between them and it but empty s.p.a.ce. No Romulans, no Ferengi, no Borg. Nothing but the unexpected, and one, Wesley thought, could get a little too clever about always expecting it. If necessary, the Enterprise could fly itself to Memory Alpha. Wesley's presence at the conn was almost a formality.

Captain Picard was in his ready room, and Counselor Troi was off on some errand of mercy. Commander Riker was on the bridge and would be available in an emergency if one should arise, but at the moment he was grunting over the composition of one of the many reports Starfleet inevitably required.

Data was where Wesley wanted to be, with Professor Eric Baldwin. Wesley shook his head in wonderment. What a guy that Baldwin was. Wesley wondered what kind of a smart, arrogant, warlike imaginary alien Baldwin could come up with, Borders scale or no.

Wesley knew many of the women on the ship were having l.u.s.ty fantasies about Baldwin. Never before had Wesley thought of sweat as s.e.xy, but there it was. He wondered if he would ever understand women. The fact that even Riker was occasionally mystified by them did not give him hope.

When his watch was over Wesley went to his cabin, keyed into the ship's library computer, and looked up the Borders scale. To his chagrin, he discovered that it was less a shopping list than an encyclopedia of characteristics. The instructions alone-page after page of cultural jargon and mathematical formulas-took up three volumes.

Wesley sighed and dived in. He became fascinated. But when he came up for air some hours later, be found that he had barely begun. He didn't mind working hard for what he learned-finding a subject that could make him sweat was a pleasant change-but he was in a hurry. He wanted to invent those challenging aliens right now. He thought about giving one of the characteristics a number at random, just to get the ball rolling. But that was too much like cheating, and cheating, even if it seemed necessary, never appealed to him.

He drummed his fingers on the table while he considered what to do next. The answer was obvious. When he had a computer problem, there was only one person for him to go to.

Wesley found Data in his cabin hara.s.sing his own computer terminal. When Wesley entered, Data looked up, his fingers poised over the keyboard, his face holding its usual expression of mild surprise.

"What are you working on?" Wesley said.

"Some research for the captain," Data said and blanked the screen.

"Does it have to do with Commander Mont?"

"That would be a logical a.s.sumption," Data said, admitting nothing. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

"Yeah. Do you know anything about the Borders scale?"

"It is a quant.i.tative scale of the physical, emotional, and rational characteristics of various races. It is used-theoretically-to compare them in an unbiased and logical way."

"Theoretically?"

"Of course. As you must know, any such scale reflects the biases of its creator, in this case of Dr. Sandra Borders, senior exobiology librarian at Memory Alpha."

"So it's no good at all, then," Wesley said glumly. He'd have to look elsewhere for a solution to his alien problem.

"Some researchers take the scale very seriously. But Vulcans, despite their penchant for logic, dislike the system because of its built-in prejudices. Others take the romantic, and perhaps more correct, view that any such catalog is bound to be incomplete and therefore is no better than a distant approximation."

"What do you think of it?"

Data c.o.c.ked his head. From long experience, Wesley knew this meant he was about to fling a zinger of a question. Data said, "I think it can be useful if used with the proper care. Why do you ask?"