Baffled Betazoid voices rose up in Troi’s head, followed a heartbeat later by physical voices, shrieks and wails of despair. People surged toward the stage and the actress raced off into the wings, leaving the High Guests still standing in their formations, confused.
“Please remain calm.” A different voice boomed out through the temple. “Stay in your seats. We are locking down Isszon Temple. Repeat, we are locking down Isszon Temple.”
A Betazoid woman in traditional dress barreled onstage, flinging herself toward the display case. “Where is it!” she shrieked. “You promised it would be secure!”
Worf was up on his feet, his hand at his hip—but of course he didn’t have his phaser. Only Betazed Security were allowed to have weapons in the temple. “I have to get to the captain.”
“Wait!” Troi cried as he pushed his way toward the aisle. She tried to follow him but was blocked in by the crowd.
“Remain in your seats,” the voice boomed out again. “Isszon Temple is now locked down. No one is allowed in or out.”
Betazed Security officers came spilling into the temple, corralling the audience back to their seats. Troi looked onstage, where the guests were being cleared off and the display case was now ringed with high-ranking security officers in white-and-gray uniforms.
She took a deep, shuddery breath and braced herself against her chair. The voices swirling around inside her head were almost too much, but she squeezed her eyes shut and reached out with every ounce of strength she could muster.
Mother? she called out. Mother, what the hell is going on?!
9
Jean-Luc Picard was swept up in a tidal wave of confusion. He and the rest of the guests were being corralled offstage by a trio of Betazoids wearing stiff-necked white-and-gray uniforms and carrying phasers, their faces hidden behind dark masks that projected down from their helmets. “Stay together,” one of them ordered.
“What’s going on?” whispered Sh’yan, her voice tight with fear. She had scurried up beside Picard, blinking at him with large, damp eyes. Sh’yan was another Dreams Guest, a diminutive Hekaran ship designer who had, much to Picard’s surprise, studied his command of the Stargazer during her time at university. She’d proven a comforting ally as they’d made their way through the exhausting litany of ceremonies, ritual dances, and other assorted nonsense.
“I don’t know.” Picard twisted around and caught a final glimpse of the empty display case. Empty. How was that possible? Every second of these ceremonies had clearly been planned, rehearsed, and backed up by every conceivable contingency.
“Dreams Guests!” Eliana, the Dreams coordinator, sent up a shimmery blue energy flare, which had been her primary mode of communication all day. “This way, please!”
She kept up a facade of brightness, but Picard heard the tremor in her voice.
“This way,” she repeated as the Dreams Guests flowed around her, peppering her with questions. Her smile was desperate as she offered clipped answers. “I don’t know, they haven’t— Mr. Sasek, please don’t wander off, it’s imperative we stay in a group— No, the temple is on lockdown—”
Sh’yan looked over at Picard. “Lockdown!” she said. “Were the artifacts stolen?”
“I don’t think anyone knows what’s happened,” Picard said. “But that would be my guess.”
“But how?” Sh’yan shook her head in disbelief. “We saw the Keepers bring them in. And backstage was swarming with security, someone would have seen—”
They stepped through a curtain and out into the temple proper, which was currently storming with the onslaught of hundreds of angry, confused Betazoids. Picard swept his gaze around, immediately taking stock of the situation. Betazed Security forces were spaced out at equal intervals; all the entrances and exits were blocked with force fields. The crowd was still in their areas; the din of questions was ringing out through the temple.
The stage had also been blocked with a force field, the display case reflecting the soft glow of the field’s energy.
“Attention! Dreams Guests! Attention!”
Eliana flapped her hand, trying to catch everyone’s eye. She had to shout to be heard over the noise. When she seemed satisfied that the guests were paying attention to her, and not the pandemonium around them, she threw out another one of those frantic smiles.
“I have been informed that security would like to speak to each of you individually. As witnesses.” She added that last part quickly. “Because we were all backstage prior to the unveiling—”
“Captain!”
A very familiar voice cut through the cacophony. Picard whirled around to find Worf making his way through the crowd, a look of fierce Klingon determination on his face.
“Mister Worf,” Picard said, surprised.
“Sir, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Picard offered a wry grin. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
“Yes, sir. De— Counselor Troi asked me to join her for the unveiling while I was off duty. Commander La Forge has command of the Enterprise.” Worf leaned in close. “Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think it’s safe for you to be—”
“Captain Picard?” Eliana materialized beside Picard and Worf, her smile fighting its inevitable progression into a scowl. “Would you care to introduce me to your”—she took in Worf—“officer?”
“I am head of security for the Starship Enterprise. I’m here to ensure my captain’s safety.”
Eliana’s pleasant expression wavered. “Oh, of course. I—” She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed—”
“Eliana,” Picard said, “please, tend to the others. I will speak to Betazed Security before the night is out. They will have my full cooperation.” He tried to offer a reassuring countenance. “All of us want to see the artifacts returned as quickly as possible.”
Eliana’s eyelashes fluttered. “Of course,” she said, pressing her hand to her forehead. “It’s just so—oh, there are so many voices telling me what to do, and—”
“Sh’yan, see if you can get Eliana a glass of water.”
“We have to stay in a group!” Eliana said.
“I’ll be right back,” Sh’yan said quickly. “You don’t have to worry about me.” And then she disappeared into the crowd. Marta, the astrobotanist, guided Eliana over to a nearby seat. “Here, you just need to rest,” she said. “You don’t need to worry about any of us.”
Picard turned back to Worf. “Do you have any insight into what’s happening?”
“No, sir. The counselor and I were watching the”—Picard noticed the slight hesitation in his voice—“performance. I saw nothing unusual.”
“Neither did I,” Picard replied. “We were backstage when the three Keepers brought the treasures and placed them in the case—but they were all covered with black cloths. I didn’t see them.”
A flash of sequined glitter caught Picard’s eye. “Oh no,” he breathed. “Not now.”
“Captain?” Worf frowned and turned around. “Oh.”
It was Ambassador Lwaxana Troi, in a frothy dress draped in crystals. She was weaving her way through the crowd with her own Klingon-like determination, and when she saw that Picard had spotted her, she hiked her skirts up higher and plunged forward.
“Mister Woof!” she cried.
Worf closed his eyes and sighed.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” She bustled up to them, a little breathless. Curls of hair had loosed themselves from her elaborate up-do. “Deanna said you had wanted to find Jean-Luc.” She flashed Picard a quick smile.
Several paces away, Troi was sidling through the crowd, trying not to get caught in some wayward eddy that would send her off to the other side of the temple.
“Ambassador Troi.” Worf frowned. “May I ask—”
“Come, come.” Lwaxana scooped her arms in Worf’s and dragged him forward. Worf shot a confused look back at his captain. “We don’t have much time.”
“Mother,” Troi asked, “did you even explain?”
“There’s no time!” Lwaxana tugged on Worf’s arm. “Commander Rusina needs all the help he can get if we’re to stop the thief!”
Picard glanced back at Eliana, who was still draped across a chair, surrounded by a trio of Dreams Guests. He turned his attention to his officers to find Worf glowering at the two Troi women. Picard wondered if he could escape from his guest duties.
Finally, Troi said, “Voices, Mother.”
“… help with the investigation.”
This caught Picard’s interest. “What?”
Troi took a deep breath. “Betazed Security forces are slightly overwhelmed. And Mother—”
Lwaxana pulled once more on Worf’s arm. “Come now,” she insisted.
“Mother has convinced the commander that Worf would be able to discover what happened.” She sighed, looking unhappy. “Something about Klingon intimidation measures.”
“That is absolutely not what I said!” Lwaxana dropped Worf’s arm and peered up at him. “I told Commander Rusina that we had the very best Starfleet security officer in attendance. He could be instrumental in—”
Picard held up one hand. “I understand,” he said. “Mister Worf, go with Ambassador Troi. Offer any aid they might need.”
“Oh, thank you, Jean-Luc!” Lwaxana cried, and Picard took a reflexive step backward. To her credit, she made no move to embrace him, but went into the crowd. Worf glanced back at Picard and gave him a quick nod, then followed Lwaxana into the fray.
“Sir,” Troi said, “Worf was scheduled to go back on duty at zero three hundred.”
“None of us will be beaming back until this matter is solved.” Picard tugged at his tunic, wishing he could pull it off, along with the ridiculous pantaloons. “Believe me, the sooner we can find this thief, the better it will be for all of us.”
10
Data deposited the last slide of plant fibers into the storage chamber with one hand and input his observational data into the station computer with the other. At the same time, he was aware of the actions of the two others in the lab: Ensign Muñoz was running soil samples through the scanner, the click-whir of the scanner’s processor a quiet, soothing white noise. Lieutenant Malisson was examining the comparisons on a selection of readings of Kota’s atmosphere, and every now and then she let out a soft hmm underneath her breath, punctuating the rhythm of the scanner.
“I have cleared out your backlog,” Data announced, turning away from the storage chamber.
“Already?” Malisson jerked her gaze up from her padd. “Thank you, Commander. Ensign Muñoz, any progress?”
“I’m coming along.” Muñoz didn’t lift his gaze from the scanner. The refracted light of the main apparatus slid across his features, momentarily staining his face red. “Rock samples?”
Malisson snapped her fingers. “Of course! From the cave system. Stack C, row 390.”
“I will get them.” Data turned toward the cabinets that filled an entire wall of laboratory A, the larger of the two labs. Laboratory A was where the samples from Bluster Beach were being kept. They were still in the decontamination chamber, running through every cycle that was programmed into the machine.
Data slid out of his chair and walked over to the cabinet. When he tilted his head to read the labels, they seemed to zoom all the way up through the ceiling. He lowered his gaze. Curious. He normally did not experience visual impairments.
He straightened his head and everything looked normal.
Data pulled open the C cabinet. He was hyperaware of the grinding of the hinges in the cabinet’s doors, which scraped unnaturally loudly.
The scanner hummed.
Data keyed in the code and watched as the shelves revolved and settled to a stop. He reached out to the spot, but instead of finding a box of stone samples, there was a case of microscope slides.
He checked the number plate above the keypad. Correct sequence.
Data dropped his hand. “Lieutenant Malisson?” he said, and his voice came out distorted, as if it were being fed through a broken comm system.
“Whoa,” Malisson said. “What happened to your voice?”
“I do not—” Data’s internal thermometer alerted him to the fact that the temperature in the room had dropped to 2.3 degrees Celsius. Nearly freezing.
“The scanner’s jammed,” Muñoz said. “I’ve got a sample stuck half in.”
Data turned around. Neither Muñoz nor Malisson appeared to be suffering from the cold. Malisson was frowning at her padd, and Muñoz thumped the side of the scanner.
“It was just working!” he said, frustrated. “I’m so close to being done and it just—stopped.”
“Something’s wrong.” Malisson pulled out her tricorder. “Commander Data? Are you all right?”
“I do not know,” Data said, his voice grinding with a painful, mechanical timbre. Malisson and Muñoz both grimaced.
“Commander!” Muñoz scrambled to his feet, pointing a tricorder at him.
Data tried to push forward, but his body wouldn’t move. The lieutenant, with a deepening frown, was still scanning him. “I wish I could make sense of these readings.”
“My positronic brain,” Data started, but the words came out garbled and indistinct. He was aware of Muñoz disappearing out of the laboratory, speaking into his combadge; he could hear Muñoz’s voice even after he left the room, although his words made no sense. You found the way home. Do you know how to speak? Do you know how to listen?
“Do you hear that?” Data asked Malisson.
She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand you.”
“But it sounds fine to me,” Data said. What had changed? Why couldn’t he hear the distortion anymore?
Suddenly, a jangle rose up in the room: it was the scanner and the decontamination chamber, both activating at once. The security lights blinked on and off, casting the room in flickering red light.
Malisson backed away, gazing up at the ceiling.
Data had one final moment of clarity before he opened his mouth and began to wail.
* * *
Beverly Crusher careened into the laboratory, Will Riker right behind her. The pair immediately clapped their hands over their ears. It did not drown out the racket filling the room.
“Data!” Riker could barely make himself heard over the cacophony. He rushed past the doctor and said something to Data that she couldn’t hear.
Data didn’t respond. He just sat with his mouth hanging open, screaming what Crusher could only describe as an alert siren.
“Something’s affecting him!” Malisson yelled into Crusher’s ear. “And every machine has gone haywire!”
A mysterious disease was bad enough, but Crusher knew how to approach that. Data, though?
She wasn’t an engineer. When she examined him aboard the Enterprise, it was always with Commander La Forge at her side. They worked together, interpreting the readings. But La Forge was back on the Enterprise, and the Starfleet team on Kota was made up of botanists and biologists. Malisson was a scanner engineer, not a cyberneticist.
Riker looked over at Crusher, his face stricken with confusion. “What do we do?” he shouted.
Data kept screaming, his expression blank, his hands stiff by his sides. The mechanical systems in the room had descended into chaos, their lights flickering and their engines humming and emitting their own painful, high-pitched screeching. Every system alert signal was shrieking in an arrhythmic syncopation, and the scanner was letting out a loud, grinding noise that made Crusher’s teeth ache.
“Can you help him walk? Let’s get him to the sleeping quarters!” Crusher shouted back at Riker, wondering if she should ask Riker to deactivate Data. She didn’t want to unless it was absolutely necessary.
Riker picked up Data’s arm and draped it over his shoulder. Data, still open-mouthed and screeching, went along stiffly, but he did move. The doctor put her shoulder under Data’s othe
r arm and led him out into the hallway. His screams hurt her eardrums.
As they passed the threshold into the common room, the screaming suddenly stopped.
The rest of the Kota team were in the room; Crusher had been with them when the noise started. She’d thought it was an alarm at first, but then Muñoz had hailed her.
The Enterprise officers helped ease Data down onto the sofa tucked into the corner. “Data, can you hear me?”
Data turned toward her. His face was blank, expressionless. Truly expressionless. An emptiness to him that made Crusher feel uneasy. “Data?” she whispered.
He spoke, the words garbled.
“He was doing that before,” Malisson said. “Before he started—screaming.”
Data spoke again, and this time Crusher was able to make out some of the words: “Confusion. Safe.”
“Data, we still can’t quite understand you.” Crusher could feel the weight of the others’ gazes, their frightened curiosity. She twisted around. “Please,” she said. “Give us privacy. Muñoz, please give me your tricorder.”
He handed it over, and Crusher slaved it to her medical tricorder. “Thank you.” Crusher turned back to Data as the others left, their voices a low murmur. “Will, if you could stay.”
“Of course,” Riker said. Data looked at Riker, his gaze unfocused. He said something, the words again slow and garbled. Crusher could make out that he was asking about his cat, Spot.
“Your speech is becoming a little clearer,” Crusher said to him. Riker nodded in agreement.
“I am better.” The last syllable sharpened and Data shook his head, the life burning in his face again. “Better,” he said, with no distortion. “I am much better.”
Crusher let out a long breath.
“What happened?” Riker said.
“I am running a diagnostic now.” Data’s eyes flickered slightly. “But I am not detecting anything out of the ordinary. This episode was…” Data stopped. “I do not have the words to properly describe it. I have experienced nothing like it before.”
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