Strike Zone Part 9

The second time he used her first name, she chose not to ignore the opening. "Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"Please extend to the lad my ... sincerest condolences. If there is anything we can do to make his remaining time with us more comfortable, he need merely inform us."

And at that, she smiled. "I'll make it so," she said, and walked out of the ready room.

Chapter Six.

RIKER SLOWED HIS brisk step down the corridor as young Bobbi Chase approached him.

"Commander Riker," she said.

He nodded slightly in acknowledgment. "Bobbi."

And to his mild surprise, she kept right on walking past him. He smiled in amus.e.m.e.nt at the mercurial nature of teenage crushes.

Then the voice came from behind him, and she said, "Oh, Commander."

Set phasers on gush, he thought as he turned. "Yes?"

Bobbi took a step forward, hands fidgeting nervously. And she said, "Have you seen Wesley around lately?"

He blinked in surprise. "Wesley? As a matter of fact, I was just going to his quarters to check on him."

"He's not there. I've knocked and knocked on his door and there's no answer."

Riker frowned. "Really? You won't be insulted if I confirm that myself, will you?"

"Not if you won't be insulted if I ask to come along."

He considered that a moment. Wesley was going to have a lot on his mind. Did Riker really want to have a young girl along as a distraction to the boy?

What was he thinking? Of course he did. "As you wish," he said. Bobbi smiled and fell into step behind him.

When they got to Wesley's quarters, Riker touched the caller signal and, for good measure, said, "Wesley? Are you there?"

No answer was forthcoming. "Told you," she said.

But Riker wasn't satisfied. He rapped more solidly on the door and said sternly, "Wesley, if you're in there, I order you to open this door. And since you're an acting ensign, if you disobey a direct order, I may be forced to hold an acting court-martial."

To Bobbi's surprise, but not Riker's, there was the sound of shuffling about for a moment, and then the door opened.

Wesley stood in the doorway. He was so preoccupied he didn't even notice Bobbi standing there. "Yes, sir?"

"Wesley, would you mind telling me what the devil is going on?"

"On, sir?"

"Yes, going on. Would you like me to summon Data so he could offer a few dozen synonyms?"

Then he glanced over Wesley's shoulder to the interior of the room and his eyes widened in surprise. "What have you done to this place, Wesley?"

He took a step forward, and at first Wesley didn't move from his spot. But Riker stared down at him and Wesley stepped back, allowing Riker to enter. Bobbi came in close on his heels, and Wesley looked at her with a sort of vague interest. He said nothing.

Riker stood in the middle of the room and turned, because that was the only place where there was any s.p.a.ce in the room at all. The left side was now completely filled with computer terminals, all of which had different subjects on their screens. The right side was taken up by lab and medical equipment, some of which Riker recognized as coming from sickbay.

"Wesley, what-" He gestured helplessly. "What are you doing in here?"

"Doing, sir?"

"Don't start that with me, again, Mr. Crusher. Now what are you up to?"

Wesley leaned against one of the tables. "I'm going to find a cure for the Rot. For the disease that's killing Jaan."

Bobbi gasped. "Jaan? The elf? He's dying?"

"That's n.o.body's business outside of this room, understood, young woman?" said Riker quickly. Even as he spoke he knew it was a lost cause. Within an hour the entire ship would know. Keeping a secret in an enclosed society like a starship was tougher than limiting Data to one-word answers.

She was nodding but, by that point, Riker had already turned away from her. "Wesley," he said, trying to find some way to reach him, "you're no medical expert. Researchers have been trying for years to find a cure for that disease."

"No they haven't," said Wesley in a tone that indicated he'd already antic.i.p.ated everything Riker might say and developed a counter for it. "I've been checking. In the Federation medical annals, the Rot is receiving only a fraction of the attention that other afflictions have gotten. They're far more interested in devoting time and attention to plagues than to the Rot."

"But Wesley, I'm certain that they've given it as much time as they can."

"As much time as they have available, maybe, but that's not the same thing."

And now Bobbi, who was looking uncomprehendingly at one essay on the effects of the Rot, said, "Well, I can understand it, I guess. I mean, plagues and things, they're certainly more important than-"

"Than what?" Wesley said heatedly. "Than in a disease which only afflicts a very small percentage of only one race? Only Selelvians can come down with the Rot, no one else. Maybe if you or I or Commander Riker or Captain Picard or the head of Starfleet could catch it, then it might get a lot of attention. But who cares about something that only an elf can catch, right? We're all safe, and he's dying, and I've got to do something about it!"

Bobbi looked helplessly from one to the other, and Riker said quietly, "I think you'd better leave now, Bobbi." Grateful for the opportunity, she did.

Wesley stood there, defiantly, and Riker said, "You and Jaan have grown quite close since your mother left, haven't you?"

It was not the question Wesley had expected. He c.o.c.ked his head in curiosity and said slowly, "Yes. I mean, we saw each other around, we talked and things, before that. But right after Mom left, we really started to get friendly. We had a lot in common."

"Did you?"

Wesley frowned. "Well ... not a lot of things. But Jaan had lost both of his parents, and Mom may not be dead, but I can't exactly go and talk with her about whatever's bothering me."

Riker drummed his fingers on the dresser that was currently holding several pounds of medical equipment. "Funny. I thought most sixteen-year-olds didn't like to go talk over problems with their moms."

"Well ... it's like the Enterprise being able to separate the saucer section. You hope you won't have to use that ability, but it's nice to know it's there, just in case."

"I see." Privately, Riker thought that was an interesting a.n.a.logy to make, and remarks about "separation anxiety" came to mind. But that was more Deanna's department, anyway. "Look, Wes ... "

"Don't try to talk me out of it, sir, because I've already got my mind made up."

Riker stared blankly at Wesley. Talk him out of it? He could order him if he wanted to. Just because Wesley wasn't an actual, bona fide member of the crew didn't mean that he was not bound by the orders of the command personnel, particularly the second-in-command. And if Wesley gave him trouble, he could have him confined to quarters. Except that was what young Mr. Crusher wanted. He could remove all the computers and equipment from Wesley's room. He could even toss him in the brig. But none of that would solve the problem.

And the boy was hurting. His mother had just left, and although Wes remained in good hands, it had to have some impact. And now a close friend was dying.

Still ...

"Wes," he said carefully, "as I said before ... your specialty isn't medicine. It's in engineering."

"You don't grow up the son of a doctor without picking up a lot," said Wes. "And what I don't know, I'll learn."

"You can't duplicate the years of education of the scientists who are already researching this disease."

"I," said Wes tautly, "think I can. I've saved this ship. Saved it a couple of times. That didn't come from luck. That wasn't happenstance. What I don't know, I can learn."

"About engineering, maybe. But not-"

"About anything." He tapped his forehead. "Photographic memory."

"What?"

"Photographic memory. I see it, I remember it."

"Wes," Riker was starting to become exasperated. "A photographic memory won't do you a d.a.m.n bit of good if you don't fully understand and comprehend everything you see. And you just don't have the background to do that."

"I can do it. And if you try to stop me, you'll be condemning Jaan to death, plus who knows how many other people. All because you didn't believe me."

Riker sighed. "All right, Wesley. You're not going to believe me on this until you learn it yourself. You win."

And with that he left Wesley alone in his room.

"Of course I win," murmured Wesley. "I always win. I'm the Brain Trust."

Riker stopped in briefly with Dr. Katherine Pulaski to confirm that the medical materials and text references had all come from her.

"I saw no harm in it," she said.

"The boy thinks he can cure the Rot."

"The young man thinks he can cure the Rot," corrected Pulaski. "Who knows, Will? He may be right. If five-year-old Mozart had come to you and asked you to buy him a piano because he felt like composing a symphony, what would you have said?"

"I would have said 'Ask your father.' "

"Spoken like a true second-in-command."

Her remark was made without heat, but nevertheless his lips thinned in mild annoyance. He liked Katherine, always had, always would. But one of his great secret desires was to once, just once, win an argument with her. Somehow that goal still seemed far off.

She patted him on his bearded cheek. "Don't be so glum, Will. If he succeeds, you look like the brilliant, foresighted commander who supported him. If he fails, you get to say 'I told you so.' "

"I don't want to say 'I told you so.' I just want him to be happy."

"Fine." She paused. "Then pray that he helps his friend."

"Speaking of his friend"- and Riker glanced around the sickbay-"I don't see him here."

"Jaan? I discharged him. Oh, I'm keeping regular tabs on him. But why should I keep him cooped up in here?" She shrugged. "He's not contagious. And it would certainly defeat the purpose of keeping him on board if he were a prisoner in sickbay. With regular medication, rest, and periodic monitoring, he should be fine."

"As fine as someone can be who's dying."

"There is that."

Having finished his impromptu meeting with Katherine, Riker now went to engineering. It did not take him long to locate Geordi. He was in the section that was crammed with techies, crawling all over the device they'd (stolen was such an ugly word) appropriated from the Kreel. Riker stood in the doorway a moment and watched them work.

They looked like ants swarming over a particularly enticing bit of leftover food.

Geordi was standing there, in the midst of all the activity, running a scanner over it and shaking his head slowly. Riker called to him. At first, Geordi didn't even respond. Then one of the tech crew nudged him, and Geordi trotted over to where Riker stood, waiting patiently.

He liked Geordi. He really did, and even now he had to fight off the occasional temptation to feel sorry for the chief engineer's sightlessness, particularly since Geordi would have been the first to scoff at any such feelings. Riker had discovered not long ago that the VISOR Geordi wore actually was a somewhat-painful prosthetic, because of the constant strain of his mind to cope with the visual input that most humans never even begin to imagine. The ability to carry on stoically, uncomplaining ... he admired that in Geordi. In anyone.

"What's the story here, Mr. La Forge?" he asked with the formalness he always used upon requiring a report.

And Geordi, who was never impressed by formality, said, "You're not going to like it."

"I'll have to try. What have you found out about this weapon?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Riker was incredulous. "Geordi, your people have been crawling over this thing for ages. Do you need help? Don't tell me," he said with mock horror, "that you can't do it without Wesley?"

Geordi smiled raggedly. "No, not even"- and then he imitated the distinctive tone of Captain Picard-"the formidable Mr. Crusher ... "

"Who is otherwise occupied," said Riker.

" ... would be of much help," finished Geordi. "It's defying all our spectral a.n.a.lyses. We've tried scanning it with everything we can think of to get a reading on what const.i.tutes this baby's circuitry. We've tried tricorders, optiscan, we've brought it down to sickbay-"

"Up to sickbay."

"Up to sickbay," Geordi amended, "and tossed it on the diagnostic table. We even, as G.o.d is my witness, tried X-rays. How's that for outmoded? And even that didn't work. Any sort of beam or ray or light that is projected toward it, that endeavors to penetrate its guts, the thing just bounces back."

"Can you see it?"

Geordi paused. "That's a good question, isn't it? I mean, it sounded weird at first, but that's reasonable. I just took it for granted, my being able to see it. Yeah, I can see it. But all I'm picking up is the exterior. Now it's obviously not repelling all light. If it were ... "

"It'd be invisible," said Riker.

"Right. Like a cloaking device. So it's one of two things. Either the outside is made of some metal that we've never heard of before ... and this thing has alien properties, I'll tell you that right now. It's an alloy with trace substances I can't even begin to get a handle on."