Picard nodded thoughtfully. “Then the Intrepid may have been engaging in maneuvers at what for that era was high warp.”
“Could be,” Geordi agreed. “Then they tried a maneuver that was too violent for their tolerances, and something gave out.”
“They must have considered their situation to be rather desperate, if they were willing to make such a risky maneuver.”
“It was the era of the Earth-Romulan war,” Worf reminded them. “Perhaps they were engaged in a dogfight, or at least under attack and pursuit.”
La Forge shrugged. “The fact is, we just don’t know. All we know is that the inertial dampeners failed totally, and the ship was being led by its starboard side at the time. Again, we need to access the on board logs to be sure, and that means restoring power over there.”
Picard steepled his fingers “What are the chances of bringing the Intrepid’s systems back online?”
“Less than zero, Captain. Our systems just aren’t compatible. It would be like trying to start a steam engine with impulse power.”
“Columbia’s systems were brought online during her recovery.”
“After several years,” Geordi said pointedly, “and with specialist equipment. There wasn’t as much radiation damage and she was planet-bound. The Enterprise just isn’t equipped for that kind of operation. Maybe if Starfleet can send a salvage vessel with equipment calibrated from Columbia . . .”
“I’ll notify Starfleet of our discovery, and see if they concur.”
“I hope they do. It would be a shame—actually maybe even a crime—to leave the Intrepid out here.”
“I definitely concur with that, Geordi,” Picard said with a nod. He rose. “Now we just have to wait for Starfleet’s response.” That, Geordi knew, would be the hard part. Waiting instead of doing was never easy, and he could hear in the captain’s tone that he felt the same way.
As they all filed out of the briefing room, La Forge decided that it was time to check in on engineering. If nothing else, at least the heartbeat of the Enterprise would make him feel better.
Off-duty, while the Enterprise stood watch over Intrepid, La Forge didn’t feel in the mood to socialize. The age of Intrepid and her crew nagged at him, competing with the melancholy that came with realizing one was walking among the dead.
He had also been working for something like twelve hours straight, and could use sleep more than anything else, so he returned to his quarters, showered, and went to bed.
Geordi had almost fallen asleep when he remembered that he still had that damn message to compose to Tamala on the Lexington. He had never been much good at putting his emotions into words, at least not where romantic relationships were concerned, and had the sneaking suspicion that anything he said in his attempt to reassure her that she was foremost in his thoughts would have exactly the opposite effect. It always seemed to be the way, that anything he said or did to make things better between himself and a partner just made things worse instead.
Maybe, he thought, I should try making things worse and see if that actually makes things better.
He wondered what Tamala would have made of the Intrepid and her crew. She was in the medical division, so the remains would have been of more interest to her, he supposed. Maybe he should tell her about them in his message? Tell her about the inertial dampeners, and the age of the structure of the ship, and how amazing it was to walk in the starship architecture of a bygone age, and feel the switches between thumb and forefinger.
He was out of bed before he even realized that he intended to get up, and in a few minutes he was in an EV suit and beaming across to Intrepid.
He materialized on the bridge, which was exactly as he had left it earlier. It felt like standing in a tomb, not as a grave robber, but as the explorer. This must have been how Howard Carter felt when he discovered the tomb of Tutankhamen.
Carter had said he could see “wonderful things” when the tomb was first opened, and Geordi, casting his light around the Intrepid’s bridge, thought that the buttons, switches, and handholds were, in their own way, wonderful things. They were wonderful because they had survived.
There was a discolored patch on the wall directly below the main viewer. It was a dull bronze rectangle, and Geordi realized after a moment that it was the ship’s dedication plaque. Another wonderful thing. He knelt down by it, and rubbed the petrified remains aside with as much care and respect as he could.
The plaque read Intrepid. NX-07. San Francisco, Earth. Per Ardua Ad Astra. Through hardship, to the stars. It suited the ship, as she had certainly undergone untold hardships, and yet remained among the stars, with her crew.
The gray matter stuck to the fingertips of his EV suit’s glove, and he was glad he was wearing it; the thought of having the remains of the crew rubbing on his skin was repulsive. In a weird way, the fact that the organic matter had faded and gone gray somehow felt worse. It was as if it had been some alien spore growing over anything, rather than the remains of the crew, which at least would be something he could make a connection with.
The longer he looked at the grayness on his gloves, the more creeped-out he felt. Was all the organic material on his gloves from one person, or was it a composite of particles from everyone on the bridge that had drifted since the ship’s gravity failed, and eventually settled in a homogenous layer? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
“Worf was right about one thing,” Picard’s voice said, startlingly loud in his helmet speakers. Geordi jumped, and saw that the captain was standing next to the helm console, in his own EV suit. Geordi hadn’t even noticed him beam in. “It’s an irresistible lure. One I freely admit I couldn’t pass up.”
“I was just thinking about Howard Carter, and Tutankhamen’s tomb.”
“Ah, ‘wonderful things.’”
“Exactly,” Geordi chuckled.
“So . . . what brings you back across here while you’re off duty?”
“I couldn’t sleep, and, to be honest, something about this ship . . . I dunno, it’s like it’s under my skin. The wonderful things, I mean, not the crew’s remains.”
“Sometimes,” Picard said, “it’s not just the treasures that draw us to the past, but a human connection. When we view the artifacts of Tutankhamen we don’t just admire the artistry and ingenuity of the people who created them, but we also pay our respects to who they were. We remember them.”
La Forge looked at the remains on the walls. Some of it had been removed for analysis and identification, but that just meant that more fragments of uniform were exposed to his light. Blue cloth with occasional red or yellow piping. “I think a lot more people will be remembering the crew of Intrepid.”
“Indeed they will.” Picard stepped closer, looking at the dedication plaque. “Being able to step into that which we ordinarily just read in history texts is marvelous enough, but to be able to add a new page . . . That’s a special thing, Geordi.”
“I guess it is.”
“We’re standing in our own pasts, so to speak, only that past isn’t the past we thought it was.”
“Now we just have to work out what past it actually is.”
Picard gave a little chuckle. “That, I’m content to let Starfleet work out.”
3
La Forge awoke to the insistent chime of his alarm call from the ship’s computer, and felt surprisingly refreshed considering how late he had eventually gone to sleep after returning from his visit to Intrepid.
He decided to take breakfast in the Enterprise’s mess, rather than have a replicated dish in his quarters. Ordinarily the mess was used for diplomatic functions, but there were always a few people who preferred to have their food prepared by a chef. He was finishing off his coffee when he heard, “Commander La Forge, please report to my ready room.”
He hurried up to the bridge immediately, and over to the ready room. Picard was behind his desk, but looked up as soon as La Forge entered. “Geordi,” Picard began, “we’ve had a response from Starfl
eet about the matter of the Intrepid.” La Forge noticed that Picard was keeping a stern expression on his face more so than usual, and wondered whether this was a good or bad sign. There was certainly a tension in the air, and a slight hesitancy. “Starfleet is sending a specialist ship, the Challenger, to take over investigation of the derelict. They feel that it warrants a long-term study.”
“Sounds like the right approach.”
“A medical forensics team on board will remove the biological remains of the crew for repatriation back to Earth, while the engineering specialists attempt to reactivate Intrepid’s systems and determine what happened to her.”
Geordi nodded enthusiastically. “Exactly what I’d recommended, Captain.”
Picard hesitated. “They have also . . . requested”—there was that tension again, giving lie to the “request” part—“that you be transferred to the Challenger on an extended attachment to the team being assembled to investigate Intrepid.”
La Forge felt a sudden chill. “Transferred? Off the Enterprise?”
“Temporarily attached to the Challenger,” Picard emphasized. “I’m sorry, perhaps that was a poor choice of words on my part. Starfleet believes that you have valuable skills and experience that will make you uniquely qualified for this mission. Aside from being the Enterprise’s chief engineer of many years’ standing, you have experience with the technology of other eras. You even had a hand in Earth’s very first warp vessel, the Phoenix.”
Geordi spread his hands in an appeal. “I know I’ve seen and done some things, but being chief engineer on the Enterprise is where I always wanted to be. It’s taken me years—”
“And Starfleet appreciates that, but Command also wants the best person for the job on Intrepid.” Picard’s expression lightened, a twinkle appearing in his eye. “And, to be fair, I read in your report that it was you yourself who insisted that such a mission be formed.”
“That’s true enough, but—”
“Geordi,” Picard said, dropping the mask entirely, “let me ask you one question. Would you be happy never setting foot on Intrepid again?”
Geordi took a deep breath, remembering the conversation he and Picard had had aboard Intrepid. He knew Picard remembered it too. “No. No, I’d love to be able to take her apart and put her back together again. Feel the decking vibrate when her warp core comes on line . . .”
“So would I,” Picard said softly, “but I’m not being offered the opportunity.” His tone and expression lightened. “There’s one other point I ought to mention. The request for you to join the team was made by an old friend of yours, Montgomery Scott.”
“Scotty?!” That was better news. It had been a while since Geordi had seen the legendary miracle worker.
“Challenger is Mister Scott’s pet project, a starship retrofitted as an engineering test-bed. It seems that he’s been following your career and he’d like to involve you in the Challenger’s mission.” Geordi didn’t reply, because he didn’t need to. He knew the captain could read his conflict. He wanted to breathe Intrepid’s air, but didn’t want to leave Enterprise to her own devices. She was, after all, the one lady he could rely on to always be there for him. “Geordi, I won’t order you to go, but I would say, as your friend, that if you don’t, you will probably beat yourself over the head with it for the rest of your life.”
“‘Beat yourself over the head’? The captain actually said that?” Worf sounded as much surprised as amused. He was sitting next to Geordi at the bartop to one side of the Riding Club, with a range of drinks and snacks in front of them.
“Yes,” Geordi confirmed.
“Impressive. I do not believe the captain has ever used such terminology with me.” Worf moved some of his snack onto a smaller saucer. Some of it tried to squirm back off.
“What are you doing?”
“A warrior shares his rations.” Geordi was momentarily baffled, then the realization made him grin. “You mean Spot.”
“The sharing of a kill is an important ritual,” Worf said solemnly. “But you did not sit here to discuss Spot. I can see the indecision in your face, and hear it in your voice.”
“I dunno, Worf. It’s . . . I mean, it’ll be great to see Scotty again, and the Challenger is doing some great work, but the Enterprise is home.”
“Home is merely where you live.”
“Well, that’s true, but—”
“Geordi,” Worf said, with surprising gentleness, “I understand how it can be difficult to leave a posting, even for a period of detached duty. But, in my experience, it simply means that the return to duty on the Enterprise is so much—”
“Sweeter? You mean a change is as good as a rest?”
Worf nodded. “Exactly. If you want to look at it from the view of duty, it is your duty to do what is best for Starfleet. And Starfleet thinks you are best used elsewhere. They are honoring you and your skills.”
“I can’t say I feel particularly honored.”
Worf dipped his head slightly. “If Deanna were here, I believe she would ask, ‘What you do feel?’ ”
“What do I feel? I’m not sure, actually. It’s not as if the Enterprise’s current mission is either exciting or taxing. And I would like to, frankly, take Intrepid apart and put her back together in working order.”
“Even though she is not a new creation?”
“That’s kind of the point. I grew up making models of the old NX- and Constitution-class ships, and studying the progress of how warp drives have been developed from those old designs to the drives of today . . .”
“It sounds to me as if you are looking for a reason not to appear to have the desire to investigate the Intrepid.”
“Really, Counselor Worf? And why might that be?”
Worf grunted, and poured some more prune juice. “Because you do not want people to think that you are bored with our mission, or with your position on the Enterprise.”
“I’m not bored—”
“I know. So what is stopping you?”
“You think I should go.”
“Captain Picard is an excellent judge of character. You would have regrets if you did not take the opportunity to study the Intrepid. Even if you do not have a . . . companion, with whom to share your discoveries.”
“I guess I have been kind of moping a little about Tamala . . .”
“Yes. Most unbecoming.”
“Intrepid has been taking my mind off that.”
“Good.”
“And Taurik can keep the engines ticking while I’m away . . .”
“He’d better, or he will answer to me.”
“I’d better let Captain Picard know that I’ll be going, and get the transfer arrangements made.”
Worf looked along the length of the Riding Club and nodded in the direction of the doors. “You can tell him now.” La Forge turned, to see Picard looking in their direction. As soon as he saw them, the captain strode over.
“Captain,” La Forge began, “if you’ve been looking for me—”
“Actually, I was looking for Beverly. We’d agreed to share lunch, but I seem to be a few minutes early.”
“Well, it’s handy that we bumped into each other. I’ve been thinking about the Challenger’s mission, and I’ve decided to agree to Starfleet’s—and Scotty’s—request.”
Picard’s face lit up. “Excellent.”
“The Challenger will be stopping at Starbase 410 en route to our position,” Worf said, suddenly all business again. “We will be passing there on our way to the next survey site.”
“Good thinking, Worf,” Picard said with a nod. “I’ll notify Starfleet that we’ll drop you off there to rendezvous with the Challenger.”
“That sounds like the best way of doing things,” La Forge agreed. “I’ll brief Taurik for what needs to be done while I’m away.”
La Forge sat at a sidewalk café looking up at the vast expanse of the planet Wexx. A storm was heading toward one of the southern islands, and it looked so much l
ike one of the whorls on the surface of his raktajino that he almost had to pinch himself. Challenger had been delayed, and so he had found himself with forty-eight hours to kill on Starbase 410.
Every starbase was different, and Geordi had seen plenty of them during his years in Starfleet. Some were purpose-built space stations, often modeled on Earth’s old Spacedock. Others were hollowed-out asteroids, stations leased from local governments, or even ground-based complexes on planets.
Starbase 410 was a small moon of Wexx, connected to the planet by an orbital tether and elevator. Unlike most starbases, the facility was actually leased from the Klingons, as up until a few decades ago the planet had been within the Klingon Empire’s border. To honor its heritage, the place was administrated by a Klingon matriarch, QiQ’as, who took a daily tour of the facilities, to make sure that things were running as efficiently as befitted a Klingon facility.
The café was near the tether terminal down to the planet, but from a point of view on the moon’s surface, the planet was above. Geordi had found, almost as soon as he arrived, that this position gave a good view of ships passing between the starbase and the planet.
As he watched now, a Vesta-class ship, all stretched lines and an eyeful of speed, swooped around the planet. He knew that it wasn’t the Aventine, but at this distance he couldn’t see the name on her hull. She wasn’t the double E, but she was a beauty nonetheless.
“That she is, Geordi.” The voice was warm and soft; it sounded the way caramel would if it was sound instead of a texture and flavor. It was immediately familiar.
“Guinan?” He leapt to his feet, spinning around. The woman behind him had a wide-cheeked Cheshire cat smile, and eyes so filled with a passion for life that they almost knocked him back down into his chair. Her hair was hidden by a hat that was rather more saucer-shaped than the primary hull of that Vesta-class.
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