Star Trek - Relics. Part 14

Sousa walked away. Not immediately, of course. He was too angry for that. But before he knew it, he was being ushered to the table where he'd seen Tranh and the others. Someone brought him something to drink.

And by the time he thought to look for Kane again, the man was gone.

Geordi was impressed. He'd only completed that spectrographic a.n.a.lysis the night before. The captain could hardly have had time to study it in depth, much less call his chief engineer to his ready room for a discussion of it.

But call he had. And when Captain Picard called, you didn't ask questions. You just did what you were told.

Before Geordi knew it, the turbolift doors were parting in front of him, revealing the ordered symmetry of the Enterprise's main bridge. Riker and Troi were in their customary places on either side of the command center, but the center seat was empty. Worf, who was manning the Tactical station as usual, gave him a quick glance as he emerged from the lift.

The Klingon's dark eyes inquired as to the reason for his presence here. At a loss, Geordi shrugged. No doubt, he would know more by the time he pa.s.sed Worf on his way out.

Crossing to the ready room door, the engineer stood in front of it. He thought he heard the chimes that told the captain someone was waiting to see him, though it was probably his imagination. After all, the room was designed for privacy.

A moment later, the door panel slid aside and Geordi found himself peering across the intervening s.p.a.ce at Captain Picard. The captain turned away from his monitor and indicated the chair on the other side of his desk.

"Please," he said. "Have a seat, Mr. La Forge."

Geordi went inside, hearing the door shoosh closed behind him. Taking the proferred chair, he said "Sir?"

Picard leaned back in his own ch air, planted his elbows on his armrests and made a steeple of his fingers. Right away, Geordi knew this wasn't about any a.n.a.lysis, spectrographic or otherwise. This was about one of those touchy subjects the captain preferred to discuss face to face.

"I have been thinking about our approach to investigating the Jenolen," Picard said at last. "I understand that her crew conducted an extensive survey of the Dyson Sphere before it crashed."

Geordi nodded. "That's true, sir."

"Have we been able to access those records?"

The engineer shrugged his shoulders. "We tried to download the memory core, but it was pretty heavily damaged in the crash. We haven't been able to get much out of it, so far."

"I see," said Picard. And then "Perhaps Captain Scott could be of use in accessing that material."

Captain ... Scott? Why hadn't he thought of that before? It would have given the man something better to do than clog up the works in engineering.

"It's possible," said Geordi. "He would know those systems better than any of us." He reviewed a mental list of everyone in his section that was on duty. "I'll have Lieutenant Bartel beam down with him," he decided. "They can get to work on the memory core together."

Was that it? Had Geordi misread the captain's intention to discuss something sensitive? Or was there still something that hadn't come out yet?

"Will that be all, sir?" he prodded.

Picard fixed him with his gaze. "No, Mr. La Forge." A pause. "To be blunt, I would like you to accompany Mister Scott."

Geordi's first reaction was one of surprise. "Me, sir?"

And then he realized what this was about. The captain must have gotten wind of their little tete-a-tete in engineering, and wanted to give Geordi a chance to patch things up.

Picard leaned forward. "This is not an order, Geordi. It is a request-one which you are free to decline."

La Forge smiled. "I wouldn't do that, sir. But just why is it so important to you that I accompany Captain Scott? If you'd like me to apologize for blowing up before, I'd be more than glad to do that-up here. I've still got quite a few a.n.a.lyses to run, and Bartel is more than qualified to..."

Picard held up his hand for silence ... and the engineer complied. For a second, he seemed to gather his thoughts ... to find a more promising tack.

"Geordi," he began, "one of the most important things in a man's life is the need to feel useful. Captain Scott is a Starfleet officer, even after all these years. I would like him to feel useful once again, if that is at all possible."

Ah. Finally, Geordi understood what the captain was saying. It was evident in the set of his jaw ... in the cast of his eyes.

He was speaking not only for Scott, but for himself. For Geordi. For everyone who served on starships. One day, he was saying, the time would come when they too would be considered yesterday's news. And if they were to be treated with dignity then, they would have to set the best example they could in the here and now.

Geordi smiled rea.s.suringly. "I'll go with him, Captain."

Picard nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Mr. La Forge. Unless there is anything else, you are dismissed."

"Thank you, sir," said Geordi. As he left the room, he was already figuring out the best way to tender his apology to Captain Scott.

Will Riker happened to be standing beside Worf at Tactical when Geordi emerged from the captain's ready room. The chief engineer looked as if he'd been kept after school, and for good reason.

Riker knew better than to ask what their conference had been about. If it was important for him to be told, Picard would have done so. And since he hadn't...

With a nod, Geordi crossed to the turbolift and entered it. The doors closed.

Worf's only response was something between a grunt and a snarl. But then, as the first officer was well aware, that sound covered a broad range of commentary.

"My thoughts exactly," Riker told him. And then, having satisfied himself that the Klingon's a.n.a.lyses were proceeding as they should be, he descended to the command center and deposited himself in his customary place.

"Commander Riker?" Mr. Data, who was stationed at Ops this shift, had turned in his seat to address him.

"Yes, Data?" The first officer leaned forward. "Something interesting?"

"I can only speak for myself," the android told him, "but I find it very interesting. I believe I have found something on the surface of the sphere that could be a communications device."

That got Riker out of his seat again. As he moved to Data's side, he began to scan the Ops console.

"There is a small antenna approximately five hundred thousand kilometers south of our present position," the android explained. "It is emitting low-intensity subs.p.a.ce signals that suggest it may be active."

"Can we open a channel?" asked the first officer.

Data shook his head. "Not from our present orbit, Commander. The array is currently pointed away from us."

Riker turned to Rager, who was manning the conn. "Have you got the coordinates of the array in question, Ensign?"

Rager worked at her control board for a second or two. "Aye, sir," she reported at last. "I've got them."

"Good," said the first officer. "Prepare to take us to a position above these coordinates."

As the ensign got to work again, Riker asked himself if this wouldn't be a good time to let the captain know what they were doing. He answered himself in the affirmative.

"Riker to Captain Picard," he intoned.

The reply was almost instantaneous. "Yes, Number One?"

"Sir, we've found what looks to be a communications array on the outside of the sphere. I thought you'd want to know."

A pause. "I'll be right out," the captain told him.

When Geordi got to the transporter room, there was n.o.body there but O'Brien. Crossing to the platform, the engineer plunked down the equipment case he'd been carrying and shrugged.

"Guess I'm early," he said.

O'Brien consulted his control board. "Only by thirty seconds or so," he judged. "That would make the rest of the away team-"

"Right on time," said Scott, as he walked in through the transporter room doors. His skin had a pale, almost greenish tinge to it, which made the bags under his eyes look even darker by contrast.

"Are you feeling all right?" Geordi asked him.

A little irritably, Scott responded "Never get drunk unless ye're willing to pay for it the next day. I'll manage, thanks."

"Okay," said Geordi. Under the circ.u.mstances, he wasn't going to pry.

With only a small effort, the older man negotiated the ascent to the platform. Turning to O'Brien, he nodded to signify his readiness.

Geordi picked up his equipment case and moved to stand beside Scott. "All right," he said. "Energize."

Picard regarded the main viewscreen, which showed a close shot of the surface of the sphere. There was a large, round outline on the metallic exterior with several small dish antennae around the perimeter of it.

"What is that circular shape?" he asked.

Data, who was seated in front of him at his Ops controls, turned to look up at him. "Sensor readings indicate that it is a hatch or airlock, sir-possibly one that leads into the interior of the sphere."

"I see," said the captain. He exchanged glances with Riker, who was standing next to him. "And you said you found a communications antenna?"

"Aye, sir," the android replied. "It is located on the periphery of the hatch at approximately seventeen degrees relative."

Picard took a breath and slowly let it out. "Fascinating," he remarked. "Absolutely fascinating."

"This looks like the front door," Riker noted. "Should we ring the bell?"

The captain thought about it for a moment-and came to a decision. "Let's do just that, Number One. Mister Worf, try to open a channel to that comm antenna."

"Aye, sir," said the Klingon, setting to work at his Tactical console. After a few seconds, he reported "Nothing yet."

"Keep at it," said Riker. "It may take a-"

"Captain!" cried Rager. She looked up from her conn board, her face a mask of alarm. "Intense graviton emissions on the surface of the sphere! And they're heading this-!"

Before the ensign could finish her warning, the ship was rocked-and rocked hard. Picard was flung across the deck like a rag doll, finally coming up against the base of a bulkhead with spine-jarring impact. For a moment, he flirted with unconsciousness. Then, with an almost physical effort, he pulled himself up out of it.

What he saw was a twilight version of his bridge. Illumination was down. Several consoles had gone out. And his officers, with the exception of Data, had been strewn from one end of the place to the other. Like him, they were dazed ... just starting to pick themselves up.

"Red alert," he called out, managing to be heard over the increasing murmurs of pain and surprise. Then he staggered over to Moreno, who had fallen facedown near one of the aft stations and still wasn't moving.

Feeling her neck for her pulse, he found it-but it was slower than it should have been. And there was a deep, b.l.o.o.d.y gash in her forehead near the hairline-one that needed tending, and quickly.

"Dr. Crusher," he barked, hoping that the intercom system hadn't been damaged.

The doctor's response was nearly immediate. "I know," she said. "You've got casualties on the bridge. We've got them all over the ship." A pause. "I'm sending up a trauma team. Crusher out."

"Captain Picard?" It was Data, still sitting at his station as if he'd been nailed down. "We have been caught in some type of tractor beam, sir. It is drawing us down to the sphere's outer surface."

The android said it so matter-of-factly, his voice so devoid of emotion, that the danger almost didn't seem real. But it was real, all right. As real as the blood running down the side of Moreno's face.

By then, Riker had pulled himself back into his seat in the command center. "Helm!" he cried. "Get us out of here! Impulse engines, back full!"

"We've lost main power," reported Rager. Sh e too had been injured; her cheek was badly lacerated. "Auxiliary power down to twenty percent!"

Picard felt his teeth grinding together as he considered the irony They'd come to rescue the Jenolen, but now they themselves needed rescue.

Would they survive the crash, as Scott had survived? Or would the Enterprise's greater ma.s.s seal their collective doom?

"Run the impulse engines off auxiliary," Riker commanded. "If we can't back off, let's at least try to slow down!"

But it was too late for that; the captain could feel it in his bones. As they approached the surface of the Dyson Sphere, their rate of descent was actually increasing. Even at full power, they'd have their hands full avoiding disaster. The sphere was looming closer and closer, larger and larger ...

And then, as if by divine decree, the skin of the sphere started to part... started to crack open just a hair. The hairline crack became a fissure. The fissure became a chasm, the chasm a veritable canyon.

"It's a hatch," muttered Riker.

"Indeed," Picard confirmed.

Suddenly, a blaze of light shot out at them, blinding them with its yellow-white brilliance-a brilliance that could not have contrasted more vividly with the sphere's dark surface. Shielding his eyes, the captain thought he knew what it was.

A moment later, the viewscreen's light filter automatically clamped down a notch, and they could see where the explosion of light had originated. Picard had been right.

It was the star at the center of the construct. The star that the makers of the sphere had captured and shut off from the rest of the universe-like some colossal slave, like a leviathan of burden. Like Prometheus, the fire-bringer of the myths ... bound for all eternity.

Worf glared at the screen, his eyes wild with apprehension and fury. "The beam is too strong. We can't resist it!"

"It is not just one tractor beam," observed Data, the perfect counterpoint to the Klingon's intensity. "There are six of them, sir."

The captain could see them now a half-dozen faint tentacles of light, emanating at intervals from the somber and featureless lip of the hatch, inexorably drawing the Enterprise to its fate.

"We're being pulled inside!" Worf roared.

And so they were. They were hurtling toward the mighty hatch, falling into a hole that was gaping wider and wider to consume them-drawn inexorably to their fate.

And there was nothing they could do about it. Nothing.