by Mel Gilden
“I see,” Baldwin said. He began to nod and did not stop. His face took on the pained expression of a man who’d been made to confront an unpleasant reality. His breath came hard and fast, and his hands were all a jumble in his lap. He stood up and began to pace. “So I’m responsible for all your troubles.”
“Eric, please—”
“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to endanger anyone.” The calm, heroic Baldwin was entirely gone. Every part of him shuddered. He was agitated, nearly frenzied.
Trying not to feel guilty about prodding Baldwin into this fit, Picard watched him closely. Baldwin’s excitement was building to hysteria. Hoping for the best, Picard touched his insignia and said, “Counselor Troi to the captain’s ready room.”
“We have your ship now, Captain Crusher,” a Boogeyman voice said.
“I just wanted to disappear.” Baldwin clutched his face and cried.
“Eric, I . . .” Picard began, wondering what Troi would do if she were there.
Baldwin bolted from the room through the open door. Picard ran after him and almost caught him as he stepped into the forward turbolift. The door closed, nearly chopping Picard’s hands off at the wrists. He called, “Mr. Worf, security alert. Professor Baldwin is to be considered dangerous, most of all to himself.”
“Aye, Captain.” A few seconds later he said, “No response on any comlink channels.”
“We’ll have to catch him ourselves. Worf, Number One, Ensign Perry, come with me. Ensign Winston-Smyth, you have the bridge.”
Winston-Smyth looked horrified, but said, “Aye, sir,” and hurriedly turned to her Ops board.
The doors of the forward turbolift would not open and neither would the aft. Worf offered to pry the doors apart with his bare hands, but Picard was not sure even Worf would be able to perform such a feat. All Picard said was, “What is the good if no turbolift car is there?”
Worf growled but saw the logic of Picard’s question.
“The emergency gangway,” Riker said and headed for an emergency door between the battle bridge turbolift and the main viewscreen.
Picard said, “Number One.”
Riker, obviously in a big hurry, turned to look at Picard.
Gently, Picard said, “Number One, where are you going?”
“To find Baldwin.” Riker frowned, then smiled ruefully. He said, “He could be anywhere.” He tapped his insignia and said, “Computer, where is Professor Baldwin?”
Nothing came from the comlink. Not even Boogeyman laughter.
Worf ran back to his post at the tactical rail and began to punch buttons. He growled and then said, “This is hopeless.” He gripped the rail.
“The computer is down?” Perry said.
“Not down,” said Riker, “but definitely falling.”
“What about using a tricorder?”
Picard considered that idea along with everyone else. He said, “A tricorder’s range is limited, and Baldwin could be anywhere on the ship. We could be hunting for a long, long time.”
“Perhaps there is a way,” Worf said. “With the tricorder on external setting, we might be able to use it and Enterprise’s sensor net together.”
“Without our tricorder becoming contaminated?” Riker said.
“I believe so. We would not link the tricorder with the ship’s computer system. The sensor net would merely be a kind of antenna for the tricorder. The tricorder would do all the actual data processing.”
“Very good, Mr. Worf,” Picard said.
Perry still looked doubtful. “Where is the nearest tricorder?” she asked.
“Sickbay,” said Riker.
“Right you are, Number One. Lead the way.”
With a grim, wolfish smile, Riker worked the mechanical lock and pushed open the door to the gangway. Emergency light bars were like blue threads that followed.the stairs down. Picard suggested they take flashlights anyway, against the good possibility that the Boogeymen would sense their presence in the stairwell and deprive them of light.
The gangway was an eerie place. The air was cool and dead. No attempt had been made to beautify the place. Cables and conduits lined the walls. The occasional sensing mechanism beeped and flashed. In all his years as captain of the Enterprise, this was only the second time Picard had been on the gangway. The first time, it had been part of his welcoming tour.
The metal stairs rang like gongs with each step they took; their shadows jumped and danced, grew and diminished. It was not difficult for Picard to imagine armies of Boogeymen following them or rising from below to meet them.
When they reached deck twelve, Riker manipulated another lock. As he pushed open the door to the corridor, a portable memo screen floated past. A lieutenant swam after it, looking a little green. Starfleet still demanded that all personnel have a zero-g rating, but the skills required to get the rating were not often needed aboard a starship. And with the skills went the discipline of the stomach. When the lieutenant saw Picard, he grabbed one of the ornamental pillars that lined the corridor and said, “We seem to have a gravity leak, sir.”
“Gravity leak?” Riker asked.
“Yes, sir. The gravity gradient is gradually decreasing, as if the gravity were running out.”
Picard said, “So I see. Very picturesque. Carry on, Lieutenant . . .”
“Hiller, sir.”
“Of course. Carry on, Lieutenant Hiller.”
The lieutenant nodded, grimaced, and swam toward sickbay.
Picard stepped out of the stairwell and immediately lost all his weight. His mass remained the same, of course, but that was of less concern to him than the discomfort rising from his stomach and twirling in his brain. For the moment he was not sorry that the food slots were not functioning properly. “Come on,” he said, hoping he sounded more encouraging than he felt.
He followed Lieutenant Hiller into sickbay and slowly sank till his feet touched the floor. It was obvious that there was a gravity leak in sickbay, too, but the gravity coils still worked a little, for which he was grateful. Behind him, Riker, Worf, and Perry landed. Worf said, “A warrior was not meant to be a bird.”
A few children still lolled around sickbay, but they looked considerably more chipper than Picard felt. Dr. Crusher was using a hypospray on Lieutenant Hiller. When she saw Picard and the others, she said, “Antinausea medicine. Wait right there. The four of you are next.”
Troi approached Picard and said, “What is going on, sir?”
Worf growled and said, “Boogeymen.”
“They have the ship?”
“Not yet,” said Riker.
Dr. Crusher hit Picard in the arm with the hypo, and he heard it hiss. Seconds later his stomach settled and his brain stopped chasing itself. The others looked relieved, too. Picard told Dr. Crusher why they had come to sickbay, and she gave them a tricorder. “With or without the medical attachment?” she asked.
“What is your opinion?” said Picard.
Dr. Crusher shook her head and said, “The tricorder has no information on ship’s crew and passengers. You’ll have to give it something to look for.”
“There are a lot of human males aboard Enterprise,” Riker said.
“Yes,” said Picard, “but I’ll wager that none of them are as agitated as Baldwin was when he left my ready room.”
“All right. With the medical attachment, then,” said Dr. Crusher as she took back the tricorder and adjusted a few settings. She handed the instrument back to Picard. “You’ll be fine as long as he’s upset. After he calms down, Baldwin will be just one more human male.”
Picard handed the tricorder to Worf, who made adjustments of his own. He cast around the room and at last aimed the tricorder at the ceiling. “He is above us,” Worf said.
“Transporters?” Riker said.
Picard nodded and said, “They are well guarded.”
“He is moving,” Worf said as he followed Baldwin with the tricorder. “Coming this way. From his speed, I would guess he is aboard a t
urbolift.”
“How did he do that?” Perry said.
“Friends,” said Worf. “The turbolift has stopped. He is just above us.”
“Deck eleven,” said Riker. “Holodecks.”
Picard said, “Thank you, Doctor. You stay here, Counselor. The doctor’s patients have need of you. Number One, Perry. After you, Mr. Worf.”
Worf swam ahead of Picard, Riker, and Perry down the corridor to the gangway, and they climbed one flight of stairs. Deck eleven was dim and the air was hot and dry, desertlike. But the gravity was within a few points of normal, and they were all glad of that.
According to the tricorder, Baldwin was in holodeck three and just as upset as ever. They continued to get a strong reading. As they approached the entrance, it opened to show them a jungle much like the one on Tantamon IV.
“It appears,” said Picard, “that we are being invited inside.”
Worf’s jaw worked. Perry looked to Picard for guidance. Riker said, “Worf and I will go.”
“You’re half right, Number One. You and I will go.”
“I must insist, sir—”
“Number One, this is not an away mission. For better or worse, holodeck three is part of the ship, my ship.”
Looking unhappy, Riker said, “Aye, sir.”
Picard said, “Worf, you and Perry wait out here. And stay sharp. Things that can enter a holodeck can also exit.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf and Perry said together.
Picard took a deep breath and swallowed. He did not consider himself a brave man, but he generally did what needed to be done. Still, if the thought of once more entering a holodeck under control of Boogeymen did not frighten him, at the very least it made him cautious. He studied the jungle warily.
“Sir?” said Riker.
Picard realized he had been studying the jungle for a long time. He said, “Quite right, Number One,” and stepped onto the holodeck. Riker was right behind him. The doors closed behind them and disappeared.
Chapter Thirteen
“THIS ISN’T SO BAD,” Picard said as they tramped through the steamy undergrowth and among the fuzzy alien bowls. “At least it doesn’t look like the Enterprise.” He saw Baldwin a little way ahead of them, making good time. Picard pointed, Riker nodded, and they followed him through the rising mist.
Though Baldwin started with a lot of energy, he slowed as time went on and Picard could not figure out why. It was true that because of the temperature, the uneven ground, and the vines and bowls, walking was difficult for a man who was used to civilization. But Picard was not yet fatigued, and Baldwin had more experience with this kind of terrain than he did.
His impatience, and perhaps his feeling of responsibility for Picard’s well-being, made Rikerwalk a few steps ahead. He caught up with Baldwin and spun him around by a shoulder. Riker fell back a step, and Picard stopped. The man they’d been following wasn’t Baldwin but a Boogeyman. He laughed maniacally, pushed Riker in the chest, and ran. He had no trouble skimming through the jungle now. Riker watched him go. Picard came up next to Riker and said, “The holodeck is protecting Baldwin.”
“But why?” Riker said. He sounded more angry than frustrated.
Before Picard had a chance to respond, a Boogeyman voice behind them cried, “What ho, varlets!” They turned and found themselves under attack by an armored knight wielding a broadsword.
Both Picard and Riker were astonished, but as Picard picked up a stout limb, he saw that Riker was at a total loss. “I keep telling you, Number One,” Picard said as they backed away from the knight. “History is important. That includes historical weapons.”
The captain stood his ground. The knight rushed at him and swung his sword. Picard parried, and the sword hacked through the tree limb, spitting wood chips.
“You’ve done this before, sir,” Riker said as Picard watched the knight warily.
“Many times. Perhaps that’s why the Boogeymen chose this particular scenario.”
The knight came at Picard again. The captain could see that this was not a time for chivalry or even for following the formal rules of battle. He ducked inside the arc of the knight’s sword and bashed him across the ribs with the stump of his limb.
The knight grunted and tottered backward, unable to regain his balance. He crashed into a small lime green bowl and lay there, arms and legs waving in the air like an overturned Jode’s dust weevil.
Riker leapt forward and pulled open the knight’s visor. He pulled his hand away as the thing inside snapped at him. “Another Boogeyman, sir.”
“What a surprise. Leave him, Number One. Let’s keep moving.”
Riker stood up, and the knight disappeared. “What’s the point, sir? The holodeck can divert us like this for as long as it likes.”
“Perhaps. But it cannot divert Mr. Worf and Ensign Perry. If we are busy, they can catch Baldwin when he tries to leave the holodeck.”
Riker nodded, but still looked unhappy. He did not enjoy a waiting game, not even when it was fairly active, like the one presented by the holodeck. He could be subtle if the situation called for it, but waiting was not his style.
They walked on and did not see another soul for a long time. Strange perfumes came and went on the heavy air. Occasionally Picard and Riker heard the shouts of wild animals or saw birdlike creatures rising against the hot silver sky. They were resting against a boulder at one side of a clearing when a Boogeyman stepped out of the jungle. He wore the classic nineteenth-century North American cowboy outfit, including a pistol at either hip. He stepped forward, spurs jingling, hands poised for a quick draw.
“A holodeck favorite?” Picard asked.
“Yes, sir. You see I have an interest in history after all—the North American Wild West.” Riker smiled when he said it.
The gun-toting Boogeyman stopped and said, “I’m calling you out, Riker.”
“No, thank you,” Riker said to the gunman. He turned as if to leave, and the Boogeyman shot at his feet, causing Riker to flinch. The explosion of the old-fashioned percussion weapon made a covey of birdlike creatures flap into the air.
The Boogeyman said, “You’ll draw or you’ll dance.”
“Enjoy it, Number One,” Picard said.
“I don’t have—” He looked down and saw that a pair of six-shooters was holstered at his waist. “Historical weapons,” he said. He nodded and smiled grimly as he stepped forward.
The Boogeyman came forward to meet him. They faced each other with half the clearing between them.
The Boogeyman said, “You still got a chance, Riker. Leave Baldwin be.”
While watching the Boogeyman, Riker whispered over his shoulder at Picard, “We must still have a good chance to find Baldwin if the Boogeymen are trying this hard to dissuade us from searching.” Riker turned to the Boogeyman, and called, “Did you come to draw or to talk?”
The Boogeyman smiled, showing one gold tooth in his rotten mouth. Picard did not see him draw, but suddenly a pistol was in his hand, smoking from a single shot. Riker cried out and fell, gripping his leg. Blood flowed between his fingers.
Picard pulled Riker behind the boulder, hoping that the Boogeyman would not follow. He knelt beside Riker, feeling helpless. He touched his insignia and said, “Dr. Crusher to holodeck three. Emergency.”
Nothing came over the comlink but the hiss of rushing air.
Riker’s face, which had been screwed up in pain, suddenly smoothed. Astonished, Riker smiled with relief. He took his hands away from his leg, and no wound was there. No blood, no ragged hole. He said, “I wonder if they can’t hurt us because they don’t want to or because they can’t entirely surmount the holodeck safeguards.”
“Distraction is the name of the game, Number One. I am confident that they will hurt us badly if they feel the need.”
While Picard knelt there thinking about the Boogeymen’s talent for creating chaos and destruction, another Boogeyman swung through on a vine and dropped in front of them. He wore bell-bo
ttomed leather breeches over thick buckled boots, and a leather vest. A saber hung at his side and a knife was clutched between his rotten teeth. His hair was long, curly, and black, and he wore a gold ring through one of his horns.
They stood up. Riker stepped a little in front of Picard.
The Boogeyman took the knife from his teeth and flipped it as he talked, always catching it by the bone handle. In his harsh voice he said, “Avast there, mates.”
“I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation starship Enterprise.”
“Aye,” said the pirate. “I know who you be.”
“Space pirates?” Riker said wonderingly.
“Aye,” said the Boogeyman. Suddenly he menaced them with the knife. “I be Captain Pilgrim from the Orion Nebula. And you be my prisoners.”
Picard remembered such romantic creatures from when he was much younger and had an interest in popular culture. His favorite holoshow had been called “Rim Runners.” This Boogeyman would have fit right in.
“A scenario based on a preoccupation of my childhood, Number One. I haven’t run it in years.”
“A holodeck never forgets,” Riker said grimly. He grabbed the wrist of the hand that wielded the knife and tried a little karate, but Captain Pilgrim didn’t even waver. He stood there, steady as a statue, and smiled a terrible smile. He said, “Things be different here on the holodeck.”
“Perhaps we’d better go with him,” Picard said.
“Baldwin is getting away.”
“Not very far, I think,” said Picard.
“Arrhh,” said Captain Pilgrim. “We win. We always win.”
He prodded them through the jungle until they came to a spaceship. Though not exactly like the ones on “Rim Runners,” this ship had much the same flamboyance and unlikely style. It was as big as a small house and splashed with bright primary colors. The warp engines were festooned with useless but jaunty filigree. Painted on the fin that rose off the back of the elliptical ship was a skull and crossbones.
A door dropped outward on a hinge, and Captain Pilgrim encouraged Picard and Riker up the stairway made by the inside of the door. Inside, the ship was a mad mixture of styles. Brass eighteenth-century orreries, extants, and telescopes abutted twentieth-century binnacles and Starfleet-issue tricorders. The walls were paneled with wood, and the furniture consisted of couches and overstuffed easy chairs; the couches before the control board might have come off the Enterprise herself. Strung from wall to wall were sails and colored flags.
