by Mel Gilden
La Forge opened the manual lock, and they looked into the dim stairwell.
“Which way?” said Wesley, though he already knew the answer.
“Up,” said Data as he studied the tricorder.
The three of them started climbing.
The holodeck became warmer from the heat rolling in through the open doorway. Nothing could be done about it short of closing the doors, and Picard had decided against attempting that. He had no guarantee the doors would open again. All he could do was request that Pilgrim discontinue the campfire, and he did.
Baldwin had finally stopped laughing maniacally, but he still looked like a bundle of rags and he still chuckled to himself occasionally, then fell into despondency again.
Worf and Ensign Perry returned with Dr. Crusher and Counselor Troi. All of them were dripping wet, and before Picard could ask Worf to report, Dr. Crusher said, “It’s raining down there, Captain.”
“Where? On deck twelve?” Picard said with surprise.
“Cats and dogs, sir,” Ensign Perry said.
“None of us will dissolve,” Worf said, but he did not sound happy.
“Where’s my patient?” Dr. Crusher said.
They showed her Professor Baldwin, and after a brief stare at Pilgrim, Dr. Crusher set to work with her medical tricorder. She said, “He’s under a great deal of stress, but nothing systemic is wrong with him. A shot of lidox will relax him, but in his condition it will probably also put him to sleep.”
Picard said, “We need to talk with him now, Doctor. Counselor?”
Troi looked at Baldwin warily and said, “I can no more force him to relax than you can, Captain.”
“Do what you can, Counselor. A miracle would be convenient, but I don’t expect one. I want to have a rational conversation with Professor Baldwin.”
Troi stood where the campfire had been and talked to Baldwin. It was soothing talk, but talk was all she did. Picard thought she was wasting her time, but Baldwin stopped chuckling, and his empty expression was replaced by a small smile. Then Troi knelt before him and held him the way Picard had seen her hold the little blond girl in sickbay. She hugged him and rocked him, all the time cooing into his ear. This was obviously a private moment, and watching it made Picard uncomfortable. Still, he watched. He had to speak with Baldwin as soon as he was able. The Boogeymen took over more of the ship all the time.
After a few moments, Baldwin began to cry. Heavy sobs came and then steady crying and then sniffles. Troi patted him on the back, and he gently pushed her away. She sat back on her heels and watched him.
“Eric,” Picard said.
Baldwin looked up at him. He seemed tired, but the madness that had forced everything else from his face was gone. He said, “Yes, Jean-Luc?”
Picard said, “Thank you, Counselor. You gave me a miracle after all.” She stood and went to watch from behind Riker. Picard sat in his overstuffed chair and said, “Eric, the combination of the Boogeyman program and the d’Ort’d virus has very nearly taken over the Enterprise.”
“Ah,” Baldwin said without surprise.
“How did you modify the d’Ort’d program? They don’t seem to know.”
“You’ve spoken with the d’Ort’d?”
“Yes. Pilgrim here is their representative.”
While Baldwin looked at him, Pilgrim said, “The d’Ort’d greet you, Baldwin. You must give what help “Yes. Of course.” He looked at Picard and said, “The d’Ort’d speak through this?”
“For lack of a better phrase, the d’Ort’d are a computer program,” Riker said. “They’ve created this persona for our convenience.”
“Amazing” Baldwin said quietly. “And Shubunkin thought we would understand them in two weeks.” He shook his head.
“Eric,” Picard said, “we must know.”
“Right.” He seemed to gather his thoughts and then said, “I’m not a computer specialist, but being alone on most of my expeditions I learned a few things for my own amusement.” He smiled. It was the old winning smile. Picard could not help smiling back.
“I did not know that the d’Ort’d were the program I found on the teardrop ship. I thought the program was just an artifact.”
Pilgrim did not react to this. He answered questions, but Picard never saw him express an emotion.
Baldwin said, “Anyway, I saw that I could use the program. All I had to do was insert my name into the matrix. I worked for three weeks figuring out how.”
“Not bad for a man who isn’t a specialist,” Riker said.
“I do okay. The modified d’Ort’d program was on a secured sector of the infowafer. No one could access it except me.”
“Then you did install it in our computer banks on purpose,” Picard said.
“Yes. When I first came on board I intended to wait till we got to Memory Alpha to install it. Commander Mont’s attack changed my mind. I saw that I could no longer wait. Have you transmitted any messages to Starfleet lately?”
“No,” said Riker. “Go on.”
Baldwin pleaded with Picard. “You must send a message. Any message. It will contain the virus. I can start to disappear.”
“Not while the Boogeymen are still active.”
Baldwin tried to speak, but Picard continued. “And even if the Boogeymen were not a problem, I would not allow your name to be deleted from Federation records. You are a part of Federation history, and neither of us has the authority to change that.” He shook his head. “I’m not certain that anybody does.”
“Fame is a poor substitute for a good night’s sleep.”
The room was silent but damned hot. Only Worf seemed to be entirely at ease. Worf and Pilgrim. If it got much hotter, some of the more delicate machinery would begin to break down. If it got much hotter, they would parboil in their uniforms.
“Eric,” Picard said finally. “You must tell us how you modified the d’Ort’d code. It’s the only way we’ll be able to untangle them from the Boogeymen.”
Baldwin threw his hands up in despair. “Jean-Luc, it took me three weeks to figure out what to change and how to do it. I think it would take me at least that long to delete what I did.” His gaze met Picard’s. “I’m sorry.”
Picard sighed heavily.
“Right back where we started,” said Riker.
Picard laid a hand on Baldwin’s shoulder, then turned to Worf, and said, “Can you set that tricorder to look for Data? Perhaps he and Mr. La Forge will have some ideas.”
“Yes, sir.” Worf took the tricorder back from Riker and glared at it as he pushed buttons.
Picard stood up. “Well, then, gentlemen, I suggest—”
“Captain,” Worf interrupted. “Data is moving toward us along the gangway in the secondary hull.”
Riker said, “If they’d found a solution they wouldn’t be coming just to tell us about it. They’d have implemented it by now.”
“Indeed. They must have something else in mind. Mr. Perry, as ranking command officer, it is your responsibility to look out for Professor Baldwin’s safety.”
Perry nodded. “Yes, sir. I assume that Dr. Crusher and Counselor Troi will be staying here with us?”
“Unless they have business elsewhere,” Picard said.
Dr. Crusher said, “With the comlink down, house calls seem unlikely.”
“I suspect,” Troi said carefully, “that the need is greatest here.”
“Very well. Number One? Mr. Worf?”
They marched to the corridor, where the air seemed hotter than it had been—more like soup than stuff to breathe. Picard crossed the corridor and went into the stairwell, where the air was considerably cooler. But he suddenly felt heavier.
“Gravity is up,” Worf said.
“Warrior’s gravity,” Riker said. To which Worf only growled.
“Lead on, Mr. Worf.”
Worf nodded and descended, sweeping his tricorder before him.
“There’s the hatch to deck seventeen,” La Forge said and sat down
heavily at the top of the flight of stairs.
Wesley sank next to him, and said, “I feel like I’ve put on a lot of weight since we started.” At first the exercise had been invigorating, but after the first few flights, Wesley got bored. He did cube roots in his head to keep awake.
“Gravity is our friend, Wes. We’re just tired.”
“You may be tired, Geordi, but Wesley’s feelings are correct. The gravity gradient is up seven point three percent. Of course, our mass is still the same.”
La Forge struggled to his feet and opened an access panel on the wall. He touched a control surface and shook his head. “The Boogeymen have everything all bollixed up.” He slammed the access panel closed and sat down next to Wesley.
Data swept the tricorder around and said, “The captain is on his way here.”
“Here?” Wesley said.
“In our direction.”
Did the captain know something he wanted to tell them, or did he hope they had something to tell him?
“Where is he?” La Forge said.
“Deck thirteen and traveling.”
La Forge stood up, blinked, and shook his head. “It’s not fair to feel this heavy without having eaten something wonderful first.”
Wesley stood up more carefully than La Forge had and said, “Gravity is our friend, Geordi.”
La Forge gave Wesley a dirty look and began climbing. He said, “If we keep moving we ought to meet him around deck fifteen.” He took a step, and his foot was still in the air when the stairwell tilted, throwing all of them into the hatch to deck seventeen. They lay in a heap in a trough made by the hatch and the landing before it; the staircase they’d just ascended now looked like a corrugated floor.
As they sought to untangle themselves, Wesley heard a roar. “What’s that?” He had to shout to be heard.
“Air recyclers,” said Data.
Wesley and La Forge began to gasp.
“Can’t . . .” La Forge said and then collapsed.
Red blotches appeared before Wesley’s eyes, and a pounding in his ears blotted out the hurricane whoosh of the air recyclers. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was Data shaking him by the shoulders and asking him if he was all right.
Chapter Fifteen
PICARD AWOKE with an environmental mask over his face. The stuff he was breathing had an odd smell, but Starfleet put the smell into emergency air canisters on purpose, and he knew it would not hurt him.
The last thing he remembered was gasping for breath on the gangway between decks thirteen and fourteen. He had a vague impression that Mr. Worf had carried him to where he now lay. If that was true, he had probably also put the environmental mask on him.
The Boogeymen were becoming stronger. Picard was certain they had it within their power to destroy the Enterprise at this moment, if only they knew how. Wesley had designed them to be crafty and merciless, but evidently they needed time to absorb information from the main computer. Of course, an invulnerable and omnipotent enemy would be no more interesting to fight than one you could defeat without trying. Lucky for them all that the Boogeymen were not perfect.
Deck fourteen was a residential section, and crew members were sprawled all around Picard. Others moved among them, making them more comfortable. They all wore environmental masks, which made them look a little sinister, like Borg insects, perhaps.
Enterprise’s designers had been wise to make the availability of emergency masks a function of pressure rather than of the computer. A loss of pressure caused the ceiling canisters to open and let the masks drop. It was an entirely mechanical process and therefore not under the control of the Boogeymen.
Picard stood up, a little shakily at first, and asked an ensign where Mr. Worf and Commander Riker were. The ensign had no idea. Neither did the lieutenant Picard asked next. In the confusion caused by the catastrophic pressure drop it would be easy to lose a person or two. Picard decided to wait where he was. Riker and Worf were sure to return. He walked up and down the corridor, peeked into rooms to make sure the occupants were all right, offered words of comfort where he could.
There was much curiosity, but no hysteria, no panic. Picard was proud of his people.
He was explaining about the Boogeymen and the d’Ort’d to a small crowd of crew members when Riker and Worf returned. With them were La Forge, Data, and Wesley.
“We found them on deck seventeen,” Worf said as if he’d found his missing socks at last.
La Forge said, “We were coming to meet you, sir. Then everything went black.”
“We experienced a sudden and dangerous pressure drop,” Data said. “It was fortunate that the pressure drop was the same both on deck seventeen and on the gangway. Otherwise I never would have gotten the hatch open and gained access to the environmental masks.”
“Data saved our lives,” Wesley said, obviously pleased.
“That is quite probably true,” Data said.
“When we have time to give commendations, Mr. Data shall receive one. So shall you all. But right now I hope you have good news for me.”
“Maybe, Captain,” La Forge said.
The deck began to roll like the deck of an ocean-going vessel. “More gravity fluctuations,” Data said.
“And,” said Worf, “the temperature is dropping.”
“Report, Mr. La Forge,” Riker said.
“Yes, sir. Data suggested that if we simplify the interface codes between input and the mainframe’s first lobe, a machete program would be able to delete the Boogeyman-d’Ort’d virus.”
“You mean the entire program, not just the Boogeyman part of it.”
“Yes, sir.”
Riker and Picard frowned. Worf’s expression was unreadable. Riker said, “We could still send the original d’Ort’d program back to the teardrop on Tantamon Four.”
“Absolutely,” said La Forge.
“I’m afraid you don’t understand,” Picard said. “The d’Ort’d program in our computer is not just an artifact of an alien culture. It embodies the aliens themselves.” It was definitely getting colder. Picard wondered how long that would matter.
“You mean,” said Wesley, “the d’Ort’d race is a computer program?” La Forge and Data shared his amazement.
La Forge said, “When we have a little free time, I’d like somebody to explain that.”
Wesley shook his head. “For the purposes of the machete program it doesn’t matter if the d’Ort’d are a race or a computer program or what. We can erase the Boogeymen-d’Ort’d combination and then send the original infowafer d’Ort’d back to Tantamon Four.”
Data said, “The problem is not that simple, Wesley. The original in Worf’s safe would have no knowledge of anything the d’Ort’d program experienced aboard Enterprise.”
“Yes,” said Picard, “and such knowledge would certainly be useful if the Federation and the d’Ort’d are ever to understand each other.” In his own mind Picard was weighing the importance of good Federation-d’Ort’d relations against the safety of his ship. Ultimately, if the Enterprise was destroyed, both updated and original d’Ort’d programs would be destroyed with it, benefiting nobody. Only the copy in the teardrop on Tantamon IV would still exist, and it would have no knowledge of Enterprise or of the Federation. Picard could choose to save the Enterprise or to save nothing at all.
Still, to destroy an entire race, or even a copy of an entire race, was horrible. All his Starfleet training, including the Kobayashi Maru scenario, had not prepared him to make such a monumental decision.
Picard said, “How long would it take you to implement your plan?”
La Forge said, “If Data’s calculations are correct—and they always are—about fifteen minutes.”
Picard glanced at Riker, who was watching him, waiting for the word, probably not envying him this decision. The captain said, “Very well. Mr. Data, do everything you must, right up to the point where you activate the machete program. You will do that only on my command.”
>
“Aye, sir. Given the current state of the Enterprise, I believe that I will have greater success if I input the new interface codes directly instead of through a terminal.”
“Right you are, Mr. Data. Be careful.” Picard smiled. “An d please send everyone on holodeck three my regards.”
Riker said, “I think, given the condition of our comlink, we should all stay together so we can coordinate our efforts.”
“Very good, Number One. Mr. La Forge, Mr. Crusher, you have the more difficult but, in the end, more satisfying task.”
“I know, sir,” said La Forge. “You want us to look for a way to untangle the Boogeymen from the d’Ort’d.”
“You must keep trying till the last possible moment.”
“Aye, sir. What is it, Wes?”
Wesley seemed reluctant to speak, so Picard said, “What is it, Mr. Crusher? We have no time for delicacy.”
“We can’t just untangle the Boogeymen from the d’Ort’d. Without the d’Ort’d influence holding them back, the Boogeymen will carry out their prime function, which is to destroy the Enterprise.”
Picard looked inquisitively at La Forge.
La Forge said, “Then we’ll just have to find a way to erase the Boogeymen before we free the d’Ort’d. A snap for a couple of geniuses like us.”
Worf taking point, they left for the stairwell, rolling with the deck like sailors on a water ship.
Holodeck three was hot, as was all of deck eleven. Professor Baldwin, Ensign Perry, Dr. Crusher, and Counselor Troi sat in the overstuffed chairs facing each other and sweating large dark spots into their clothes. They spoke in low, confidential tones, conserving energy, not wanting to exert themselves till exertion became necessary. Nearby stood Pilgrim, the holodeck persona of the d’Ort’d. He did not sweat, did not blink, did not move, did not show any interest in the discussion.
“It must be cooler somewhere else,” Dr. Crusher said.
“I’d hate to think this was the coolest place on the ship,” Ensign Perry said.
