Part 3 (1/2)
”That seems somewhat sad to me, Data.” She stepped closer and placed her hand on his shoulder. She seemed about to say something, and then stopped. After a few moments in silence, she began again. ”Data, why do you try? Do they own you?”
Data turned toward her. He found the question somewhat puzzling. ”No, I am considered an independent, self-owned ent.i.ty by the Federation, though the decision to grant me that status has sparked considerable controversy in some parts of the Federation. I may legally do what I wish. I pursue this intangible quality because I interact with humans, and it is prudent to be able to understand them as completely as possible.”
”Interesting,” Kurta conceded. ”You seem so knowledgeable about your world, Data. Is there any way that you could get us a good history of the Federation? We like to keep complete records, and who knows? You might be our neighbors, someday,” she added.
”Certainly, Kurta,” said Data. The difficult questions of his existence that had disturbed his thoughts and seemed to lead to no tenable conclusion were put aside for a moment; it was nice to be able to deal with something as easily quantifiable as a comprehensive study on the many-peopled worlds of the United Federation of Planets instead. He tagged the gold-and-platinum insignia on his breast and spoke. ”Data to Enterprise computer.”
”Computer here.”
”Prepare core copy dump of Hermanan's An Unabridged Socio-Political Study of the Formation of the Federation and an Examination of the Root Cultures of the Federated Races, with attached appendices.”
”Working ... Ready.”
”Proceed with transmission of dump to alien s.h.i.+p designated Freedom.”
”Working ... transmission completed.”
”Thank you very much, Data,” Kurta said, a wide smile on her face. ”I'm sure many of us who are interested in your culture will be reading it-very soon.”
Will Riker strode determinedly into sickbay, wearing a serious expression on his face. He nodded to Beverly, who was examining a medical log on the computer terminal, and went straight to a nearby treatment couch.
Deanna Troi lay motionless, with a machine of some sort placed around her head. A quick glance at the diagnostic indicators revealed that she was physically healthy, but he could tell by looking at her face that there was something wrong with her. She had been sick before, he knew-he had once even played nurse to her when she had suffered the Betazed equivalent of a spring cold-but never had he seen her look this-weary.
Dr. Crusher crept up next to him and pa.s.sed a scanner over her.
”How is she?” he asked as he pulled a stray lock of hair from Deanna's face.
”She's fine,” Crusher said in quiet tones. ”The captain just recommended that she spend a few hours under a hypnotic field. I took her down into Alpha about fifteen minutes ago. That will not only block out stray emotions from her mind, but allow her to recuperate faster than normal sleep. Physically, she's fine, though a check through the nutritional computer revealed an uneven diet for the last few days. Considering the agitated state of the crew during the storm, and the unpalatable nature of Federation emergency rations, I'm certain that's true for nearly everyone on board, however.”
”There are worse things than emergency rations,” Riker replied, thinking of Porupt's ”creation.” It didn't take much effort to recall the dish that had practically set his mouth on fire-h.e.l.l, he could still taste it.
”I checked with Wesley, and the Gabriel Effect has been known to produce erratic waves-static-on nearly all e-m bands. It's very possible that the storm did something on whichever band Deanna's empathy works on.”
”Yes, that would make sense,” Riker said, absently.
”From what she's told me about the way her empathy works, sometimes it takes ma.s.sive concentration to maintain control. Without that control, the emotions of the entire crew were invading her mind, awake and asleep.” She glanced at Deanna again, and then back at Will. ”How was the meeting with the ...”
”Vemlans?” he supplied, and frowned. ”It went well, I suppose. I just briefed the captain on it. We ran a check on what solid information we have on them, and it's not much. Mostly second-and third-hand accounts from pa.s.sing traders. Lots of rumor and hearsay, but few hard facts. Almost nothing on their culture or government.
”At last report, they had developed simple s.p.a.ceflight, primitive but effective nuclear weapons, and better than average computer systems on their own. They'd still be using chemical rocket or nuclear powered drives if the Sarens hadn't come along and sold a lot of advanced technology to them.”
Crusher nodded. ”I bet it was the influx of advanced technology that caused the eventual breakup and destruction of Vemla. Sad. Score one for the Prime Directive.”
”We'll know soon.” Riker wouldn't be at all surprised if Dr. Crusher's hypothesis was correct. Yet another vindication for Starfleet's number one rule. Perhaps the introduction of higher technology had nothing to do with the destruction of Vemla-but he was certain it hadn't helped. ”Data requested a complete history of the planet for our records. If nothing else, it will be useful as a study of what happens when your planet gets technology beyond its means.”
”How long will we be in contact?”
”Not long. Repairs are coming along quickly for both s.h.i.+ps. I just approved an order from Geordi for supplies and personnel to help them get their s.h.i.+p fixed. He specially requested Wesley's help.” He smiled at the thought; Geordi had been very emphatic on the subject. Yet the matter of the alien s.h.i.+p still disturbed him.
”I don't know. Their crew seemed cordial enough, but ...” he shrugged. ”There was something that made me uneasy about the whole place. Like they were hiding something.”
”You told the captain this?”
”Yes. As a matter of fact, he told me that Deanna couldn't 'read' them, either-which could have been due to her condition, I suppose. But she did say there was something curious about their body language. That's one of the reasons I came down here, to discuss what she thought about them. Next time I meet Captain Jared, I want her at my side. Honestly, I felt a little strange. I mean, I expect aliens to be alien, but there was something inconsistent with the whole thing. Little things. Like I didn't see any children or old people on board,” He shook his head, frowning. ”But that's not it. There's something else, here, I know it. Unfortunately, I don't have anything to base it on. Just a hunch.”
”Trust your hunches, Will,” Crusher said, turning to face him. ”A good captain has to be able to.”
”I'm not a captain yet.”
”You've had the chance. You will be, someday. If you want it.”
”Perhaps. I like being first officer, though; I'm not sure if I'm ready to give it up. But speaking of what I want-do you have anything for an upset stomach?” he asked. ”I mean, a really upset stomach?”
”Why?”
He patted his stomach, which was growling again, but for an entirely different reason than before.
”Because I think the Vemlans use condorite as a spice, as well as a reactor fuel.”
The work with engine casing number three was progressing nicely. A powerful crane had been a.s.sembled above the reactor while Geordi's repair team, the ones he knew could be spared from the repairs on the Enterprise, beamed over. It took quite a bit of muscle to remove three solid inches of casing from the reactor core. Though Geordi would have preferred to use an antigravity lifting device, the field of such a device could cause a nasty and potentially hazardous reaction within the interior of the core. Brute force was necessary for this job; pure finesse wouldn't cut it.
Wesley Crusher had jumped at the chance to help, obviously not knowing what he was getting himself into. It took a little persuading on Geordi's part, but once he explained the situation, Will thought that a stint as a grease monkey might be helpful in rounding out the young ensign's education. Wesley had beamed over with a kit full of tools and a head full of enthusiasm, and obligingly began working under the watchful eye of the two chief engineers.
”Well, your number four engine isn't as bad as I expected,” Geordi said. ”I didn't see any cracks. Perhaps you should just flush out the system and restart the reaction from scratch. That may take care of a lot of the problems you have.”
”Perhaps,” said Dren, sounding a little uncertain. ”But we've tried that before. The problem is that the reactors are all hooked into the weapons systems as well, so the connections get complicated.”
”That's unusual, isn't it?”
”Like I said before, we've had to jury-rig a number of things on the Freedom,” Dren replied. ”If necessary, this set-up lets us divert full power from the drive and use it for defense.”
Geordi whistled. ”Pretty big guns.”
”I designed the system myself,” Dren said. ”What we need is a way to stabilize the neutron flow. The way the charged particles come shooting out of the pipe, there's almost no way we can control the reaction without losing power.”
Geordi thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. ”You know, Dren, we might have the answer back on our s.h.i.+p. When I was back in the Academy I remember studying the first Vulcan s.h.i.+ps, which had a similar power system. I think they used a special damper. If we have the design in the computer, and if Captain Picard approves, we can give it to you.”
”Excuse me, sirs, I got the bolt off. What do I do now?” came a m.u.f.fled voice from under the casing. Wesley had been removing the retaining bolts on the floor strut underneath the support housing. It was a difficult job, but Wesley had tackled it with enthusiasm and had the loose bolt to show for his troubles. From his voice it was clear that he was going to be glad to be finished, however.
”If you look about twenty-one centimeters to your right,” said Dren, helpfully, ”you'll see the top of another bolt. Remove that one as well.”
”Uh, Geordi, how many of these bolts are there?” Wes asked hesitantly.
”I think I saw about twenty of them, Wes.”
”Twenty-four,” supplied Dren, helpfully. Wesley couldn't help but groan.