The Amazing Stories

by M. Shayne Bell

  Picard nodded. “Do so. Take your time. I can handle the Pelavians myself.” That would be best. He could keep them for himself and not have to worry about the others stabbing him in the back.

  “Very well, sir.”

  “Shall I continue to accompany you?” Data asked. “My duty shift is up now, but I would appreciate the opportunity to study them.”

  Picard narrowed his eyes. Data was another one he had to watch, he thought. All that android precision . . . it would be easy for Data to steal his command.

  “No,” he said. “Why don't you begin an analysis of the Pelavians' scent-communication? Perhaps you can adapt the universal translator to use it.”

  “An intriguing idea, sir. If I could enlist Geordi's assistance?” “By all means,” Picard said. That would keep them both busy. Too busy to interfere with him.

  He rejoined the Pelavians. “Shall we continue our tour?” he asked.

  On the way to the turbolift, Commander Riker sagged against the wall. His eyes ached. His head ached. He felt sick and nervous and jittery all at once.

  Then the walls began to melt around him, flowing like molten plastic, down, down, down. He gaped. He blinked.

  And just as suddenly it was gone. Two ensigns had paused to stare at him.

  “Are you all right, sir?” one asked.

  “Yes,” he snapped back. “You're not getting my job that way, Ensign Parker!”

  Straightening, he ran down the hall for the turbolift. They won't stop me, he thought. Nobody can stop me.

  “Sickbay,” Deanna Troi told the turbolift.

  It whisked her toward the proper deck. But when the doors opened, she stepped out into a garden. Flowers grew everywhere. She stared, as they began to move, vines writhing and tangling, stalks twisting, flowers opening like mouths and snapping at her—

  And just as suddenly they were gone. She leaned against the wall for a second, pressing her eyes closed. I really have been working too hard, she thought. Stress and the Pelavians—that had to be the answer. Just to make sure, she'd tell Beverly about it. She didn't think there would be a medical cause, but it wouldn't hurt to find out.

  Shaking her head, she hurried toward sickbay.

  * * *

  “These are the plasma ducts,” Captain Picard said. “They channel raw plasma to the reactor core.”

  He sensed slight puzzlement from his guests, but did not elaborate on the matter/antimatter fusion process. Some things had to be kept secret, after all.

  All around him, La Forge's engineers were staring. They looked back at their work as soon as he turned his head, but he could feel them staring. Data and La Forge busied themselves at one of the workstations, and they seemed intent on equipping a portable universal translator with some kind of sensor panel.

  The walls wavered.

  I'm hallucinating, he thought. But now the Pelavians were looking at him again, and he knew he would have to keep them moving, keep them distracted, or they might begin to suspect. After all, who could he trust to take over the tour? Not Riker—not Data or Worf or Deanna Troi. Nobody. He was alone in his command. Riker was after the Enterprise. Picard narrowed his eyes. He had never trusted Riker. In fact, his whole senior staff was out to get him. He'd have to carry on by himself. He was the only one he could trust.

  :We are done here, Prime?:

  “Yes . . . yes,” he said. The scent of charcoal and apple cider surrounded him. “We will see the ship's astrogation labs next.”

  He hesitated, glancing sidelong at Data and La Forge, who were still pretending to ignore him. He knew they were eavesdropping on every word he said, though. They want me dead. I need protection.

  Protection—why hadn't he thought of it before? He smiled grimly to himself, then tapped his combadge.

  “Picard to Worf. Have a security team meet me in engineering on the double.”

  “Aye, sir,” Worf said. “Is something wrong?”

  “No!”

  Worf—he was another one. Always scowling, angry, afraid. I'll have to watch him, too.

  “Picard out!” he said.

  :Are you well?: the Pelavians asked in his mind.

  “Yes!” he snapped, mentally and verbally. He glanced around. Everyone was staring at him now, and they made no pretense of hiding it.

  “Sir!” said a man's voice from behind him. “Ensigns Ordover and DeCandido reporting for duty!”

  Picard jumped a bit, then whirled. Two men stood there stiffly, awaiting his orders.

  “Fall in behind our guests,” he said. “Watch for assassins.”

  “Assassins?” Ordover said. “Sir—do you think—”

  “Just follow orders, Ensign.”

  Turning, he stalked toward the door. The Pelavians followed, bringing the scent of cedar chips and cinnamon.

  Dr. Beverly Crusher brushed back her hair with one hand as she raised the medical scanner over Deanna Troi's forehead. It whirred faintly.

  “I don't see anything that could cause hallucinations,” she said, frowning a bit. “I'm showing slightly elevated adrenaline levels, but that's not very unusual.”

  Deanna sat up, smoothing her dress. “So what caused the hallucination?”

  Dr. Crusher sighed. “You fainted on the bridge. Perhaps telepathic contact with the Pelavians had something to do with it. I don't know what else it could be at this point. Let me know if it happens again.”

  The walls tilted. Captain Picard felt as though he were walking up the side of a mountain, into a stiff wind, surrounded by the scents of pine and boiling cabbage. Not much farther, he told himself, touching the wall to keep his balance. Only a few steps more.

  A door slid open and Deanna Troi lunged out at him. Picard drew up short, staring. She's up to something.

  “Captain,” she said, “are you all right? You don't look well. You're sweating—”

  “I—am—fine!” He straightened and tried to ignore the way the deck moved underfoot.

  “I sense some emotional turbulence,” Deanna said. “I think you should see Doctor Crusher for a checkup. You're at the sickbay, after all—”

  “Sickbay!” He took a step back. What am I doing here? I was heading for astrogation!

  “Sir—”

  “I don't need your interference, Counselor! I am perfectly capable of running this ship without your meddling!”

  “Sir—I would never interfere in the way you run this ship.”

  “I know what you're up to! You're trying to subvert my authority so Riker can take over! I know how you feel about him—don't deny it!”

  She sighed. “Sir, I once had intimate feelings for Will, but that was a long time ago.”

  Yes, he saw the whole plot now. “You're relieved of duty. Consider yourself confined to quarters.”

  “Captain—”

  He didn't hear her next words. To his horror, her face began to twitch. Her cheeks bulged, and suddenly black metal sprouted . . . Borg implants. Her skin sealed over. Her eyes went dead and black. A device on her right arm whirred.

  “We are the Borg,” she told him in a cold voice. “Resistance is futile. Put down your weapons and prepare to be assimilated.”

  “Shoot her!” Picard cried, backpedaling furiously. The Pelavians caught him, squeaking like bats, wrapping him in smells of panic-filled burnt rubber. “Shoot her! She's a Borg!”

  The two ensigns leaped forward, phasers drawn, but they did not fire. The room tilted. They stared past the Borg as if they couldn't see it.

  “Shoot!” he screamed. “That's an order!”

  The Borg that had been Deanna Troi took a step forward. It raised its hand. Picard saw the targeting device attached to it and knew she meant to take him down.

  “Fall back!” he shouted. He seized the Pelavians by their arms and hustled them away, up the bucking corridor floor, up a sudden and endless hill. They could take cover in hydroponics, he thought. He could organize the resistance from cover.

  As Deanna Troi rode the turbolift to th
e bridge, she found herself trembling. She had never seen the captain act so . . . crazed.

  A red alert began to sound. Overhead, the red warning light flashed and the klaxon began to blare its familiar whoop-whoop-whoop. Then the turbolift's doors whisked open and she stepped out into a scene of panic and chaos.

  Worf, at his security station, barked commands to security teams. Data stood at the internal sensors, his hands moving so quickly that they blurred. Only Riker sat perfectly still in the captain's seat, the eye of the storm, watching everyone grimly and listening to their reports.

  “Security teams report Decks Eight through Twelve free of Borg infiltration!” Worf called.

  “What's going on?” Deanna demanded, joining Riker. “What Borg? The captain started screaming about them outside of sickbay, pointing at me and telling his security escort to shoot. For an instant, I thought they were going to do it, too!”

  “The captain did what?” He stared at her incredulously.

  She nodded. “He seemed to think I was Borg. I sensed a great disturbance in him, but he refused to go to sickbay.”

  Riker frowned, stroking his beard. “That may help explain what's going on—the captain has been reporting Borg presence on four different decks, but internal sensors and security sweeps haven't found any sign of them. Normally I'd think this was some kind of security test, but with the Pelavian ambassadors aboard . . .”

  She nodded. “It doesn't make sense.”

  The intercom suddenly crackled and the captain's voice boomed: “Get to work changing the phaser modulation! The Borg are on Deck Six! I need more men now!”

  “On their way, sir!” Worf said. He quickly dispatched six more men to Deck Six.

  Riker sat back. “Clearly it's not a real Borg invasion,” he said. “Could it be a telepathic attack? Do you think the Pelavians are testing us, somehow?”

  “I don't think so,” Deanna said. “The Pelavians are entirely peaceful. They have never contacted any other race . . . let alone the Borg.”

  “Nevertheless, I think we would be best served if we got them off the ship. For their own safety, if nothing else.”

  She nodded. “I think you're right.”

  “I will take care of it, sir,” Data said. He changed to the transporter station, adjusted the controls, and announced, “I have locked onto them. I am beaming them directly to their own ship.”

  “The Borg have captured the Pelavians!” Picard shouted. “What's going on up there? Report!”

  Riker tapped his combadge. “Riker to Captain Picard. We have beamed the Pelavians back to their ship for their own safety. Please stand by. We are continuing sensor sweeps to locate the Borg.”

  The captain did not reply.

  Riker looked at Troi. “So what's wrong with him, Deanna? I need answers!”

  “Perhaps the captain is hallucinating.” Deanna hesitated, remembering the way he had looked at her outside the turbolift. He didn't see me. He looked right through me. “Earlier today, after I left the captain in engineering, I suffered a mild hallucination myself. I headed for sickbay, but I found myself in a corridor filled with flowers. It seemed completely real for a second . . . but then it was gone. Doctor Crusher seemed to think it was due to stress. But now I wonder . . .”

  Riker blanched. “I had a similar episode when I left engineering,” he said.

  “What happened? More flowers?”

  “The walls started to melt. But it only lasted a second. I put it down to stress—”

  She nodded. “Perhaps it's related to the overthinking. The Pelavians were in mental contact with Captain Picard and me.”

  “But not me,” Riker said pointedly.

  “It might have spilled over to you.”

  He hesitated. “But it only lasted a second. The captain—”

  “Has been around them constantly. And it seems his hallucinations have not only continued, but grown worse.”

  Riker turned to Data. “Where is the captain now?”

  “In hydroponics, sir.”

  Worf said, “Phasers are being fired there!”

  “Is the captain alone?”

  “He is accompanied by eighteen security guards.”

  Riker bit his lip. “Flood the room with anesthezine gas,” he said.

  “Sir?” Data said.

  “You heard me. Do it!”

  Data shrugged a little, but did as instructed. Deanna knew what would be happening: the colorless, odorless gas would be flooding into the room, rendering everyone unconscious within a few seconds.

  Riker rose. “You have the bridge, Mr. Data,” he said. He tapped his combadge. “Riker to Doctor Crusher. Please meet me in hydroponics. Bring your medical teams.”

  Hydroponics was a disaster. As Riker stepped through the doorway, he found himself splashing through pools of spilled nutrients. Tables had been overturned, and phaser burns scarred the walls.

  Security officers sprawled everywhere. After a second, he spotted Captain Picard in the corner, behind an overturned planter of Vulcan creepers.

  “Captain,” he said, bending. A second later, Dr. Crusher joined him. She administered a shot to the captain's neck, and a second later his eyes fluttered open.

  “Number One . . .” he said groggily. “Where am I?”

  “In hydroponics, sir.” He swallowed. “There was a firefight, so I flooded the room with anesthezine gas.”

  Slowly Picard levered himself up to a sitting position. Riker took one arm and Dr. Crusher the other, and together they got him to his feet. He winced and touched his head.

  “I feel terrible.” Then he seemed to remember. “The Borg—” “Never here.” Riker shook his head. “You appeared to be hallucinating. Deanna and I had episodes, too, but ours were brief. We can only guess the Pelavians had something to do with it.”

  “You beamed them back to their ship?”

  “That's right.”

  Deanna Troi joined them. “I just spoke with them again,” she said. “They are quite confused. I assured them that what happened was unusual—to say the least!—and I think they understood.”

  “Good work, all of you,” Picard said. He swayed a little, and Riker steadied his arm. “Now, let's see if we can get to the bottom of this!”

  Captain's Log, supplemental

  Dr. Crusher's tests proved conclusively that the chemicals that the Pelavians exhale cause hallucinations in humans. They break down fairly quickly in open air, but when they are inhaled, they enter the bloodstream. Prolonged exposure leads to hallucinations and paranoid delusions. Fortunately, Dr. Crusher has already begun work on a solution. . . .

  As the shimmering beams of light dissipated, Captain Picard stepped forward to greet the two Pelavian ambassadors standing on the transporter cells. He smiled and extended his arms in greeting. After a second's hesitation, they did the same.

  :We greet you, Prime.: they thought to him.

  “I welcome you once more to the Enterprise,” he said. His voice sounded a little stuffy, he thought, due to the special nose filters Dr. Crusher had designed to remove the airborne chemicals. “I assure you, this time our meeting will not be interrupted.”

  :You are well now?:

  “Yes, thank you. Shall we continue our tour?”

  Turning, he started for sickbay. “Our chief medical officer was able to discover the cause of our problems through computer simulations . . .” he began. As the Pelavians read his thoughts, he thought he sensed a deep fascination in them.

  Yes, this seemed like a good start to the relationship between their peoples. A successful first contact. I like the smell of this, he thought with a smile.

  Life Itself Is Reason Enough

  By M. Shayne Bell

  CAPTAIN'S LOG: STARDATE 47736.1.

  We are continuing to assist in the evacuation of several colony worlds in Sector 225 that have entered deadly ionized dust clouds. This strange phenomenon is so thick that it blocks all planets from necessary light and heat. At the current rate, t
he atmospheric gases will soon freeze, cascade down to the planets, and extinguish all life.

  We are leading one hundred eighty-three merchant ships, scientific vessels, even the odd sailing yacht to Nunanavik, an arctic world settled by Inuit from Earth. The dust makes transporter use impossible, so we are forced to rely on shuttles—but the Enterprise and the ships with us do not have enough vehicles to carry away all of Nunanavik's people. Other ships are rushing to help, but it appears they will not arrive in time.

  The nearest starship is the Carpathia. At this rate, it will reach Nunanavik two hours after atmosphere collapse. Unlike its namesake, which at least managed to pick up survivors from the old aquatic vessel Titanic, this Carpathia will find no one left to save.

  Lieutenant Worf unbolted the last of the shelves in the personnel shuttle Hawking and passed it out the door. Removing the shelving made room for at least four more people. The Klingon officer wiped the sweat off his forehead and began gathering his tools.

  “Worf?”

  It was Deanna Troi. Worf turned and smiled despite himself. Ever since he and Deanna had shared dinner and champagne on his birthday, it had been harder not to smile when she was near.

  “I found these straps in storage,” she said. “I was thinking that we could bolt them to the walls and give people something to hang onto during flight.”

  “An excellent idea,” Worf said. He took one of the straps from her hands and looked at it. “We can screw them into the holes where the shelving was bolted to the walls.”

  “I'll hunt up some screws and washers,” Deanna said.

  Worf nodded. “We'll need to punch holes in the tops of these straps. I'll get a tool to do that.”

  They both started down the ramp.

  “Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?” Worf asked.

  “Yes, and you are, too.”

  They set off in opposite directions. Worf looked back at Deanna more than once.

  Eventually, Deanna did try to get some rest. She was exhausted—the whole crew was exhausted—but she could not fall asleep. She sat on the edge of her bed, then stood to pace the darkened room. As an empath, she had been trained from adolescence to put aside the troubles of others, but sometimes the troubles were so great that no one, however well trained, could sleep. She had felt a similar wakefulness many times, but this was odd. The Enterprise had not yet entered the system where Nunanavik awaited. She should not have been feeling anything but her own weariness and the regular troubles of the crew.