BOOGEYMEN

by Mel Gilden

  Picard and Baldwin shook hands and clasped each other’s shoulders, made social noises about how long it had been, and indeed, they had not seen each other for at least fifteen years. While Data sat down on the captain’s other side, Baldwin shook hands all around, lingering a little over Troi’s. Troi did not seem to mind.

  “Welcome aboard the Enterprise,” Picard said.

  “Thank you, Captain.”

  “Settling in all right?”

  Baldwin sat down and said, “Yes, fine. I understand it’s two weeks to Memory Alpha.”

  “At warp five, yes,” Picard said.

  Baldwin frowned, but Mont said, “Barely enough time to begin.”

  Shubunkin said, “We can begin now. I understand there is an infowafer . . .” He held out his hand.

  From one of his shirt pockets Baldwin took a green plastic square no bigger than the square of insulating tile that had come from the twentieth-century space shuttle Enterprise and was now in stasis in one of the rec rooms.

  As Baldwin handed the infowafer to Shubunkin, Data said, “It is only a copy. The original is in the safe in Lieutenant Worf’s office.”

  “Just as well,” Shubunkin said. “Six months’ worth of data.”

  “Including,” Baldwin said as he raised one finger, “the entire contents of the alien ship’s computer memory.”

  “You were able to download it?” Shubunkin said, obviously surprised.

  “All part of the job.”

  Troi’s shy, self-deprecating smile matched Baldwin’s.

  “Gentlemen,” said Picard, “you have your work cut out for you, and a limited time in which to do it. Please proceed.”

  Mont and Shubunkin stood up and, as one, made a short bow toward Picard’s end of the table. The door sighed open, and they stood there looking back at Baldwin. “Coming, Professor?” Shubunkin said.

  “In a minute. I want to talk to Jean-Luc, er, the captain.”

  “We will be in the exobiology lab on deck five.”

  “I’ll be there,” Baldwin said, a little too brightly.

  When the door closed behind Mont and Shubunkin, Baldwin opened his arms and smiled apologetically. Counselor Troi stood up and held out her hand for Baldwin to shake again. She said, “Come on, Data.”

  “Captain?” Data said.

  “I believe Professor Baldwin wishes a private conference.”

  Looking a little confused, Data said, “Aye, Captain,” and left with Counselor Troi.

  When they were gone, Baldwin walked to the food dispenser and said, “A Randy Yeoman.” He looked at Picard, who nodded. “Make that two,” Baldwin said. A moment later two tall, sweating glasses with red smoke in them appeared on the stage of the dispenser. Baldwin picked up both of them, gave one to Picard, then sat down in the seat Data had just vacated.

  They toasted old times, and then Baldwin said, “Command agrees with you, Jean-Luc.”

  “As it never did with you. But you landed on your feet as you always have. Fame. Fortune. Adventure. You have the life you always said you wanted.”

  “Yes. And the enemies to go with it.”

  Baldwin took a long drink while Picard said, “Oh?”

  “This is good,” Baldwin said as he peered into his drink. “I tried to make an alcoholic beverage from some of the plants on Tantamon Four. Couldn’t do it. Something wrong with their sugars or something. I never figured it out.”

  “You were busy with the alien ship. What about those enemies?”

  “I’ve been an exologist for a long time. I’ve rubbed a lot of faces in the dirt, even without trying.”

  Picard waited.

  “Do you know how many people hate me for getting someplace first, for finding something first, for drawing correct conclusions first, for sending artifacts and information to Starfleet and Federation museums rather than selling them to the highest bidder?”

  “How many?”

  “A lot,” said Baldwin and set his drink loudly onto the table.

  When he did not speak for a few moments, Picard said, “So you want out.”

  “You bet I do. I want to die in bed, not in some forsaken backwater where I was sent by a museum.” He took another drink and said, “Two weeks is a long time.”

  Picard smiled. “Surely you can’t feel yourself in danger aboard the Enterprise.”

  “Silly, huh? Paranoia will get me if nothing else does. Pretty soon I’ll be balling up antique newspapers and scattering them around my bed so that nobody can sneak up on me while I’m sleeping.” He shook his head.

  “You must have a plan.”

  “Yes. There is always a plan. I’m going to disappear.”

  “That will be difficult on Memory Alpha.”

  “Ships stop at Memory Alpha. And they leave again.”

  They studied each other for a while. Picard could sympathize with Baldwin. There had been moments —when life-and-death decisions had to be made, when confronting situations from which there seemed to be no escape—when he had considered disappearing himself. He understood from Troi that people in responsible positions frequently had such fantasies. But fantasies were all they were, and Picard knew it. He could captain a freighter or a cruise ship. He could become a farmer on some frontier world. He could even teach at the Academy. Certainly, and be bored in a week.

  Quietly Picard said, “Risk is in your blood as it is in mine. The risk takes different forms, but it is there just as certainly.”

  “Not anymore, Jean-Luc.”

  Picard finished his drink and said, “If all you want is an ear, I’m certain Counselor Troi would be glad to oblige.”

  “An ear is only the beginning. I want your help.”

  “If I don’t deposit you at Memory Alpha, people are sure to notice.”

  “You’ll think of something.” Baldwin stood up and went on, “You’re the captain.” He left the conference lounge.

  Picard watched the rainbow smudges go by, while wondering if he really would think of something. And if he did, would he tell Baldwin?

  Wesley found Lieutenant Commander Geordi La Forge in Engineering sitting at a table almost as large as the one in the conference lounge. Set into the top was a variety of gauges, readouts, telltales, and controls. This was the master situation monitor, and from here, anyone who knew how could follow the flow and flux of energy and information throughout the entire ship.

  La Forge looked up at Wesley. At least he turned his head in Wesley’s direction. He pointed to a screen on which a sine curve was having fits. “Warp efficiency is down three percent, and I don’t know why.”

  Wesley had been astonished by La Forge when they first met. La Forge had been born blind, and in order to see wore a piece of hardware called a VISOR, a mobile sensing rig that covered his eyes and hooked directly into his nervous system at cyborg ports just in front of his ears. Wesley had needed some time to get used to the VISOR, and La Forge had joked that, like the floating wooden eyeball Mark Twain had spoken of, “it made the children cry.” To Wesley’s knowledge, the VISOR had never made anyone cry, though whether La Forge actually could see was still a matter of debate among medical experts.

  “I get around without bumping into stuff,” La Forge had said, “and that’s enough for me.”

  Wesley looked over La Forge’s shoulder at the screen and said, “Three percent is within specs, isn’t it?”

  “Sure it is. Better than specs. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know why.” He touched a lighted square on the table, and the sine wave smoothed out. “What can I do for you, Wesley?”

  “I’m having sort of a problem with the holodeck.”

  “Nothing maintenance can take care of, I trust?”

  “Uh, no.” Wesley showed him the pale blue cylinder and said, “Data gave me this. It’s a program that uses the Borders scale to define an artificial alien. Can you help me install it in the holodeck computer?”

  La Forge took the chip and stood it up on the table. He leaned back in his ch
air, laced his fingers over his flat belly, and said, “What’s all this about, Wes?”

  Wesley looked around. The engineering staff was busy taking readings and doing general maintenance. They weren’t close enough to hear even if they were listening. Wesley took a deep breath and told La Forge about his problem.

  When Wesley was done, La Forge shook his head and said, “Wes, you remind me of a kid I know back home. Ryan is four years old and scared to death of Starfleet Academy.”

  Wesley could see a parable coming, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Why?”

  “He’s desperate to go into space, see. But he’s afraid that when it’s time for him to enter Starfleet Academy he’ll still be four years old. He won’t understand anything, and he’ll only come up to the other cadets’ knees.”

  “Too soon to worry, huh?” Wesley said. He sat down across the table from La Forge and rested a cheek on his fist.

  “That’s what I think. By the time they give you a starship to command, you’ll be ready. Starfleet doesn’t give out Galaxy-class starships like lollipops, you know.”

  Wesley watched the gently bobbing life-support indicators. La Forge was wrong. Wesley didn’t know how to explain how important it was to know right now if he had any aptitude for command. Important decisions had to be made about his life. Who wanted to wait till they were old before they found out if they were any good at a job they’d wanted all their life?

  La Forge said, “What do you call this program of yours, Wes?”

  Wesley shrugged and said, “Boogeymen.”

  La Forge smiled, and Wesley could not help smiling back.

  The alarm Klaxon went off, and the calm computer voice said, “Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Please secure your area. Please secure your area. This is not a drill. Intru—” The computer voice was cut off.

  “What the hell?” said La Forge.

  “What the hell?” said Captain Picard when he saw Professor Baldwin’s cabin. In front of him Lieutenant Worf only growled.

  Chapter Three

  COMMANDER MONT lay on the deck with blood several shades lighter than human blood leaking out of him. There was quite a puddle already. Standing over him, still breathing hard, was Professor Baldwin. His new bush shirt was torn and his hair was mussed. He tossed the dagger he was holding to Picard. Picard caught it—by the hilt, thank goodness—and inspected it. The dagger was oddly shaped, covered with gems, and very sharp. He handed it to Worf, who said, “Axerii.”

  “Mont doesn’t look Axerii,” Picard said.

  Dr. Crusher pushed past Picard and Worf and knelt next to Mont. She touched him here and there and aimed a medical tricorder at him, but even from where he was standing, Picard could tell he was dead.

  “He’s dead, Captain.”

  “Yes, yes. Would you care to explain what happened here, Professor?”

  Professor Baldwin collapsed into a chair and let his hands dangle between his knees. While looking at the floor he said, “Shubunkin and Mont and I finished our first session a while ago. I was a little surprised when Mont came to my door, but he said he needed something cleared up right away. I let him in.”

  “Imprudent,” said Worf.

  “Yeah. As it turned out.” He looked up. “The guy pulled a dagger on me. That Axerii dagger. Mont was in better shape than he looked, but while he was chasing me around the cabin I managed to sound the intruder alert. After he was dead it didn’t seem relevant anymore, so I canceled it.”

  Troi had been correct. Mont had been hiding something, and apparently that thing was his ambition to murder Professor Baldwin.

  Still kneeling, Dr. Crusher said, “Mont isn’t human, Captain. His readings are Axerii.”

  “Just like the dagger,” Worf said.

  Crusher gently pulled away the bloody Starfleet uniform. Underneath, wherever they wouldn’t show, were fine yellow feathers, now a sloppy mess. She said, “We’ll probably find that his ears are artificial. Axerii don’t have any, just ear holes.”

  Picard said, “Can you explain Mont’s actions, Professor?”

  Baldwin narrowed his eyes and glared at Picard. Picard stood up to the gaze, but remembered that only a few hours earlier Baldwin had told him he wanted to disappear because he had a lot of enemies. Picard had thought Baldwin was exaggerating. Perhaps Picard had been wrong. Baldwin’s look softened, and he grinned as he shook his head.

  Picard touched his insignia and said, “Number One?”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Commander Mont was apparently an Axerii assassin sent to murder Professor Baldwin. Inform Starfleet. If one mole has burrowed into the organization, there are sure to be others. And please extend my compliments to Counselor Troi. She was right about Mont.”

  There was a moment of silence. Picard imagined his first officer glancing around, taking in the new data, and nodding. “Aye, Captain.”

  “Mr. Worf, please inform Lieutenant Shubunkin that I would like to see him in my ready room.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “Come along, Professor.”

  Professor Baldwin followed Picard along the corridors of the Enterprise to the turbolift. The doors closed, Picard said, “Bridge,” and the turbolift began to move. After listening to the whine of the machinery for a moment, he glanced at Baldwin and saw a little boy trying his best to appear contrite for having been caught with a handful of cookies. The performance was charming, but Picard was unwilling to be convinced. He felt his jaw tighten, and he took a deep breath to loosen it. He said, “You will have to make a full report eventually, Eric, but I confess that I am curious right now. What did you do to make the Axerii so angry?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Don’t play that game with me, Eric,” Picard commanded. “I know it too well.”

  “Yeah.” Baldwin frowned and said, “The Axerii and I were after the same thing: the mating ritual of the Yahk Shimash.”

  “I thought the Yahk Shimash were extinct.”

  The turbolift doors opened onto the main bridge. Picard stepped out and motioned Baldwin to follow. As he walked down the ramp to his ready room, Picard said, “Everything under control, Number One?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll be expecting some visitors. Please hurry them along.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In the ready room Picard requested two cups of hot Earl Grey tea from the food slot, gave one to Baldwin, and sat down behind his desk with the other. “You were saying?” said Picard.

  Baldwin sipped his tea and said, “We thought the Yahk Shimash were extinct, too. But after I’d been on Shim for almost an entire local year, I found what must have been the last existing tribe. I spent a lot of time with them and found out what I wanted to know.”

  “Then the Axerii arrived.”

  “Bingo. They arrived and began spoiling everything by making enemies where I had made friends.”

  “That sounds like the Axerii.”

  “Yeah. So I talked them up until the Yahk Shimash were eager to give the Axerii a demonstration of the mating ritual, the least disgusting part of which is being buried up to the chin in a specially prepared dunghill.”

  Picard tried hard not to smile and failed.

  Baldwin said, “The Axerii were not as amused as you are. But by the time they were married to one of the Yahk Shimash male-oids, I was gone.” He scratched behind his ear and said, “I’d heard they were after me. You have any sugar for this tea?”

  “Try the food dispenser.” As Baldwin got up and asked the dispenser to produce some sugar, Picard said, “You don’t seem nearly as worried about your real enemies as you did about the potential enemies you spoke of this afternoon.”

  Baldwin took a pinch of sugar from the bowl that appeared and said, “Those were just make-believe enemies. Being afraid of them is like being afraid of the bad guys in a holo. Almost entertainment, like. But”—he sat in his chair, sipped his tea, and smiled—“the Axerii are real. If I worried about them a
nd others like them I’d be worrying all the time and going crazy because I haven’t disappeared yet.”

  Picard was about to ask him if he still thought it necessary to disappear when the door chime twittered and instead Picard said, “Come.”

  Worf entered with Lieutenant Shubunkin, who stepped forward and said, “Am I under arrest, Captain?”

  Picard glanced at Worf, who stiffened. People who didn’t know him sometimes mistook Worf’s forceful personality for belligerence. While he was not the pussycat Tasha Yar had sometimes made him out to be, he was also not the undisciplined beast that others feared.

  Trying to keep a straight face for Worf’ sake, Picard said, “I’m sorry if Lieutenant Worf gave you that impression. I assure you he was escorting you for your own protection.”

  “Why would I need protection?”

  Baldwin said, “Commander Mont is dead.”

  For the first time Picard saw Shubunkin’s face go white. He asked what happened, and Picard explained, with the inevitable footnotes from Baldwin.

  Shubunkin said, “It seems that Professor Baldwin is the one who needs the protection.”

  “Don’t you have any enemies, Shubunkin?” Baldwin said.

  “Of course. But they are academic enemies. Their weapon of choice is the scholarly paper, not the dagger.”

  “Let us hope you are correct,” Picard said. “Working alone, Lieutenant, will you still be able to give Starfleet a preliminary report in two weeks?”

  “Of course. Professor Baldwin’s report on the d’Ort’d is quite complete and well organized.”

  “D’Ort’d?” Picard asked.

  Baldwin set down his teacup and said, “That’s as close as I can get to what the silver teardrop people call themselves. It probably means ‘the people’ or something like that. Most racial names mean that.” As Baldwin got more excited, he began to outline big mountains with his hands. “As far as I can tell, the d’Ort’d take an entirely different approach to technology from the one taken by any members of the Federation. They speak of their machines the same way they speak of their bodies. I don’t get it yet, but I will.”