Star Trek: Seven Deadly Sins

by Margaret Clark (Editor)

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Wruum said. “I wish there was some way I could avoid them.”

  “It’s not your fault, Ensign,” he assured the avian helmsman, who looked like she was on the verge of molting. “We just need a means to chart a safe course through this minefield.”

  Geordi lifted his gaze from his controls and gauges. He turned his VISOR toward the viewer. His brow furrowed. Was it just his imagination, or could he almost see something out there . . . at the outer ranges of the electromagnetic spectrum? A faint, almost infinitesimal shimmer?

  “Captain, call me crazy, but I think my VISOR might be picking up something the sensors are missing.” The sophisticated optical prosthesis, which operated on a subspace field pulse, allowed him a much wider visual range than most humanoids. In the past, he had even managed to detect neutrino emissions invisible to ordinary sensors. Geordi squinted into the blackness of space. “Maybe some indication of the filaments?”

  Picard gave Geordi his full attention. “Enough to navigate by?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “It’s awfully faint. More like a ripple than anything else.” The mysterious shimmer seemed to waver in and out of view. “Or a mirage.”

  “Is there any way to enhance your vision?” Worf asked. “Perhaps by linking your VISOR to a tricorder, as you did on Galorndorn Core?”

  La Forge had a better idea. “The interface unit, the one I used to control that probe.” Just a few weeks earlier, he had tested an experimental new telepresence process that had linked his VISOR inputs to a remote probe, allowing its sensory data to be transmitted directly to his cerebral cortex. The interface connection had been instrumental in the rescue of a Federation starship trapped in the crushing depths of a gas giant. “Suppose we use that technology to hook my VISOR directly to the primary sensor array? That might amplify what I’m seeing. Or what I think I’m seeing.”

  “I don’t know, Geordi,” the doctor objected. “That interface provoked an unhealthy degree of neural stimulation. And remember the feedback problems?”

  La Forge hadn’t forgotten. The interface had let him experience everything the probe had encountered in a very tactile way, to the extent that he had been physically burned when the probe had passed through a fire. He glanced down at his palms. Thanks to Doctor Crusher’s expert ministrations, they were no longer scarred, but the searing pain was still fresh in his memory. Did he really want to risk getting hurt like that again? Or worse?

  What other choice is there?

  “Please, Captain. Let me do this.” Geordi called up the specs for the interface unit. “Like you said before, lives are at stake.”

  Picard nodded. “Make it so.” He looked over at Beverly. “Doctor Crusher, I want you to monitor Mister La Forge very carefully.”

  “Count on it,” she promised.

  Thankfully, the interface apparatus was stored in engineering and not in the saucer. Data and Ensign Wruum worked quickly to assemble the equipment, which resembled a portable metal cage, around the conn station, while Geordi changed into a full-body, matte-black VR suit, composed of overlapping sensor pads, that covered him from the neck down. Multicolored cables were strung along the outside of the suit like exposed veins and arteries. Wireless antennae connected his VISOR to the conn terminal. He sat down at the helm.

  Just like old times, he thought once more. It had been a long time since he had served as pilot, but regular practice simulations in the holodeck had kept him fully certified. Ordinarily the Enterprise’s flight controls were heavily automated, so that the conn officer was mostly overseeing the computer’s piloting, but he switched to full manual control. He eased the ship forward cautiously, just to refamiliarize himself with the controls. The starboard nacelle felt a little sluggish, probably from grazing that filament earlier. He’d have to compensate for that.

  “All right,” he said. “Patch me into the sensors.”

  Beverly hovered nearby, brandishing a medical tricorder. “You let me know the minute it gets to be too much for you,” she instructed. “This technology is by no means bug-free.”

  “Understood, Doctor,” Picard said. “Proceed with implementation, Mister Data.”

  “Yes, sir.” The android had resumed his seat at ops. La Forge found his lack of trepidation encouraging, even though he knew intellectually that Data was incapable of fear or anxiety. “Linking interface to primary sensor array.”

  La Forge braced himself for the transition, but it still blew him away. There was no way to prepare for the astonishing new vistas that opened up before him. As the sensors merged with the unique neural properties of his VISOR, Geordi literally became the eyes and ears of the Starship Enterprise. Subspace fluctuations and gravitational tides coursed before his eyes in all the colors of the rainbow . . . and beyond. Solar winds, wafting across the cosmos from distant stars, brushed against his skin. He could see for light-years in every direction. He heard the music of the spheres. Goosebumps sprouted beneath the suit. His pulse raced at the wondrous sights and sounds and sensations.

  “I don’t like this,” Crusher declared. Her tricorder beeped in his ear. “His neural activity is already climbing.”

  “I can handle it,” he insisted. Any ordinary human would have been overwhelmed by the awesome sensory overload, but he was used to coping with more visual input than other people. He declined to mention that his eyes were already throbbing. “Just give me a moment to adjust.”

  “What about the filaments?” Picard asked urgently. “Can you see them?”

  La Forge tried to make sense of the myriad shapes and colors. Coruscating silver strands emerged from the background like a thicket of hanging vines. As thin as cobwebs, they were deceptively delicate in appearance . . . and worryingly plentiful. They pulsed with quantum energy, throwing off subatomic particles like sparks.

  “Yes!” he reported. “They’re all around us.”

  Picard stared at the viewer, unable to see for himself. “Can you make your way through them?”

  “Just watch me,” Geordi said.

  Despite his bravado, navigating the threads was a nerve-racking challenge. The densely packed threads offered little margin for error. As he wove through the tangles, cruising at warp five, he was grateful that they had left the colossal saucer behind; this was tricky enough as it was. Perspiration beaded on his forehead and glued the inner layer of the interface suit to his back. His mouth went dry. Sweat seeped beneath his VISOR where he couldn’t wipe it away. The cumbersome metal prosthesis could be a real pain sometimes. Maybe, when this was over, he needed to look into getting some of those new optical implants. . . .

  Still, at least they weren’t flying blind anymore.

  “Neutrotransmitter levels elevated,” Beverly reported ominously. La Forge recognized her worried tone; he had sounded just like her while monitoring Rorpot’s unstable warp engine. “Heart rate and respiration beyond recommended parameters.”

  His eyes were burning, too, but he wasn’t going to admit it. A pounding headache squeezed his temples, right where his VISOR inputs were surgically implanted. It felt like stem bolts were being driven into his skull.

  Work through it, he thought. The VISOR had always hurt a little; he was accustomed to pain. Snollicoob is depending on us.

  A thick clump of filaments forced him to take a frustrating detour. Even now that he could see them, the lethal strands were still slowing them down. Trying to make up a little lost time, he cut a corner too close. The stern of the drive section brushed against a vibrating strand, causing the ship’s shields to flare up at the point of contact. The Enterprise was tossed about like on old-fashioned sailing ship atop a stormy sea.

  A feedback loop seared La Forge’s nervous system. Crying out in agony, he toppled from his seat onto the floor. Spasms shook his body. Blisters formed on his face and hands.

  “That’s it!” Beverly announced. “I’m pulling the plug.”

  “No!” La Forge blurted. The convulsions abated, and he
scrambled back into his seat before the anxious doctor could intervene. “I can do this. Just a little longer!”

  Beverly disagreed. “Captain Picard, as chief medical officer, I must protest. You saw what just happened. Mister La Forge suffered a severe neurological shock. His vital signs are spiking. We have to call off this dangerous experiment.”

  “It’s too late now,” Geordi pointed out. “We’ll never find our way out of this maze unless I stay hooked up to the interface. It’s the only way.”

  Picard turned to Deanna. “Counselor?”

  “Geordi believes he can do it,” she informed him. La Forge appreciated her vote of confidence.

  “Very well then.” The captain focused on the way ahead. “I appreciate your concerns, Doctor, but Mister La Forge is correct. We cannot turn back now.”

  The doctor bowed to the inevitable. She extracted a hypospray from the pocket of her long blue lab coat and applied it to La Forge’s carotid artery. “This will help with the pain.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured. The open blisters stung like blazes; his hands felt like he had been petting a Horta. He winced every time he touched the control panel. Straightening out the stern, he pushed forward through the daunting obstacle course ahead. “Only a little farther.”

  Without warning, a glowing filament drifted directly into the Enterprise’s path, forcing Geordi to veer hard to port. Picard and the others were thrown to the side, almost tumbling from their posts. A loose padd crashed to the floor. Deanna gasped. Worf snarled in annoyance. The ship glided past the filament, missing it by less than fifty meters. Geordi shook his head at their narrow escape. That had been a close one.

  “A little more warning next time, Mister La Forge.” Picard tugged his rumpled uniform back into place. “If you please.”

  “Yes, sir,” LaForge said. “Sorry, sir.”

  This had better not be another trap, he thought irritably. But, no, he didn’t really think that anymore. He trusted Snollicoob. Like I told him, we engineers have to stick by each other.

  “We are within visual range of Rorpot,” Data announced.

  About time, Geordi thought. It felt like we were never going to get here.

  “On-screen,” Picard ordered. “Full magnification.”

  The ill-fated freighter appeared on the viewer, drifting rudderless in space just as the Pakleds had claimed. Rorpot bore a definite resemblance to the vessel Geordi had visited years ago. Its triangular contours lacked the graceful lines of the Enterprise, looking crude and clunky by comparison. Its dull orange hull was scored and charred. Unpatched hull breaches appalled the engineer in Geordi. A torn metal canister was clamped to one side. An open chute beneath the freighter revealed where the warp core had been ejected; there was no trace of the core itself, which had presumably been atomized by the violent matter/antimatter explosion. The entire ship, which was dwarfed by the Enterprise, was rotating slowly on its axis. No running lights were evident along the freighter’s exterior. Its transparent portholes and windows were dark. Rorpot looked like a ghost ship.

  “It would appear,” Picard observed, “the Pakleds were not malingering.”

  Data scanned Rorpot to be sure. “Shields are down. Impulse power inoperative. Life-support functioning only at a minimal level.”

  “Weapons?” Worf asked suspiciously.

  “Rudimentary and disabled,” Data reported. “As expected.”

  “Or so they would have us believe,” Worf growled. “What of the masking field they employed before?”

  During their previous encounter, the Pakleds had employed a sophisticated masking field that made them appear much more damaged than they actually were. It had concealed their offensive capabilities in a way that Worf had clearly not forgotten.

  “Sensors do not indicate the presence of such a field,” Data stated, “although, of course, masking fields are elusive by design.”

  “Indeed,” Picard said. “Maintain shields, Mister Worf.”

  “What about life signs?” Beverly asked.

  “I am detecting many faint life signs aboard the freighter,” Data said, much to Geordi’s relief. “Subspace interference makes attaining an exact count problematic.”

  Deanna closed her eyes in concentration. “I am sensing muted fears and apprehension. The impressions are foggy and incoherent, like bad dreams.” She opened her eyes. “The Pakled crew are sleeping uneasily.”

  “I don’t blame them,” La Forge said. “I’d be nervous, too, in their shoes.”

  At least they’re still alive. Barely.

  He slowed to impulse. The Enterprise came to a stop within transporter range of the smaller vessel. He was tempted to turn off the interface and switch back to normal vision, but decided against it. He needed to stay alert for any drifting filaments.

  “Well done, Mister La Forge,” Picard said. “Let us hope we have arrived in time to revive Captain Aadnalurg and his crew.” He contemplated the seemingly lifeless ship on the viewer. “Can we beam them directly to sickbay?”

  “I would not advise it, sir,” Data replied. “The extreme subspace fluctuations preclude locking onto multiple individuals with any degree of accuracy. I would recommend attaching combadges to each subject before attempting to transport them aboard.”

  “Let me do it, Captain.” La Forge rose from the conn. He was anxious to check on Snollicoob. “Beam me over there.”

  “With all due respect, Geordi,” Data said, “I believe I am better suited to endure the inhospitable conditions aboard Rorpot at the moment. The extreme cold and thin atmosphere will not impair my performance as they would an organic life-form.”

  Picard agreed. “Data will beam over first. Once he’s gotten the lay of the land, and perhaps brought the life-support systems back up to speed, we can send over reinforcements to assist him.”

  La Forge had to admit that Data’s plan made more sense. He nodded at his friend. “Take care of yourself over there.”

  “I will endeavor to do so.” Data turned ops over to Ensign Wruum. He marched briskly toward the turbolift. “I will procure a quantity of surplus combadges en route to the transporter room.”

  Worf scowled. “I remind you, Captain, that it will be necessary to lower our shields to transport Commander Data over to the Pakled vessel.”

  “A necessary risk, Mister Worf,” Picard said gravely. “We have not come this far only to hesitate upon the brink.”

  The Klingon conceded the point. “In that case, Captain, might I suggest a reasonable precaution . . .”

  “I’m listening, Mister Worf.”

  The dazzle of the transporter beam briefly illuminated the darkened bridge. Data materialized upon Rorpot with his phaser raised and ready, in the unlikely event that an ambush was in store. The probability of a hostile reception was extremely low, given the lack of life support, yet Data did not intend to be taken unawares. He swept the bridge with the beam from a handheld light. A pouch of combadges was slung over his shoulder.

  He found the bridge both silent and deserted. Frost coated the abandoned pedestals and consoles. Frozen blood spackled the floor and walls. Extensive damage confirmed the Pakleds’ account of their difficulties. The wreckage was real and tangible, not an illusion generated by a masking field or holoprojector. The main viewscreen had gone black. His footsteps echoed in the sepulchral gloom. A deep breath confirmed that oxygen levels were far below that needed to sustain most humanoid beings.

  Sometimes there were advantages to being an android.

  Data lowered his phaser. He tapped his combadge. “Data to Enter-prise.” He reported his findings to Captain Picard. “The bridge is unoccupied. Life support is barely functioning. I will now commence a search for the captain and crew.”

  “Very good, Mister Data.” Picard’s voice emanated from Data’s badge. “Stay on your guard. We don’t want another hostage situation.”

  “That would not be advantageous to our mission,” the android agreed. “Data out.”

  He attac
hed his phaser to his side. A tricorder picked up faint life signs coming from deeper inside the freighter. He followed the readings until he came to what appeared to be the crew’s barracks. Rows of sturdy metal bunks, stacked two high, ran along both sides of a wide corridor in a cramped tunnel aft of the bridge. The spartan quarters lacked the amenities available aboard the Enterprise. A metal grille clattered beneath his boots as he walked the length of the barracks. He observed the occupants of the bunks with interest.

  The Pakleds appeared to have retired to their bunks to await the Enterprise’s arrival. They lay flat upon their backs, their arms at their sides. Frost glazed their bodies, which were cold and rigid to the touch. According to the tricorder, their respective metabolisms had indeed been slowed to a remarkable degree. If not for the readings before him, confirming almost negligible evidence of life, the motionless bodies could have been easily mistaken for corpses. The barracks were as cold and inhospitable as a morgue. Data suspected that a human would have found the atmosphere distinctly eerie. He understood the concept, if not the emotion.