GEMWORLD: BOOK ONE OF TWO

by John Vornholt

  The door slid open, and Commander William Riker stepped into the room. With his broad shoulders and commanding presence, Will Riker seemed to fill up the small office. He approached the captain and held out a padd. “Here’s the new personnel. We’ve picked up twenty new crewmembers in the last forty-eight hours.”

  “Good,” said Picard, taking the proffered device. It was a relief to be at peace after the Dominion War, when the harried crew of the Enterprise had been shorthanded and burned-out . . . on a good day. Now they were gaining crew, and even the most routine science mission seemed like a vacation.

  The captain took a moment to politely glance at the data on the padd. They were nearly up to a full complement again, although they still hadn’t assembled a community of families and civilians as they’d had aboard the Enterprise-D. Starfleet was depleted and in a state of shock after almost six years of war, starting with the Maquis and going through the Borg, Cardassians, and the Dominion. The altruism and idealism were still there, but tempered by hard-earned cynicism. These days, fewer families volunteered for active duty.

  “Is there something wrong, Captain?” asked Riker, attuned as usual to his commander’s moods.

  Picard mustered a smile. “No, Number One. It’s just that . . . I never thought I’d say this, but I miss them sometimes.”

  “Who?”

  “The children. The families we used to have in the old days.” He pointed to the padd. “This seems to be the usual mixture of career officers and new graduates.”

  Riker shrugged good-naturedly. “We’re lucky to get them.”

  “I know,” answered the captain. His voice took on a businesslike tone. “Any potential problems in this group?”

  “Most of the ensigns are inexperienced, but I’ll whip them into shape,” bragged Riker with his usual bravado. Then the first officer frowned and pointed at the padd. “There is one officer with special needs: Lieutenant Melora Pazlar. She’s Elaysian.”

  “Elaysian?” asked the captain in surprise. “That’s rather unusual, isn’t it?”

  “Well, she’s the only Elaysian in Starfleet,” answered Riker, “but she comes highly recommended. She’s on temporary assignment, for the low-gravity study on Primus IV.”

  “Mission specialist, shuttlecraft pilot, and stellar cartographer,” said Picard, reading her dossier. “Decorated for valor after saving her ship and a hundred and ninety-two lives during the Dominion War.”

  Riker smiled. “She’s a handy one to have around when the artificial gravity goes out. Then she’s in her element.”

  “But in normal gravity?”

  “Normal gravity is another story,” said the first officer. “Her body just isn’t geared for it. She has a special anti-gravity suit which works fairly well with the Enterprise’s gravity systems. At least she can get around. When she was on Deep Space Nine, she was confined to a wheelchair and special harnesses because they couldn’t adapt the Cardassian design of the station to her needs. Even here, she’ll need a cane and her suit to walk.”

  “Surprising that she’s put up with this for so many years,” said Picard, scanning through Melora Pazlar’s illustrious record. “Couldn’t Starfleet do anything to make her life easier?”

  “Well, she was a candidate for an experimental treatment called neuromuscular adaptation. Dr. Bashir on Deep Space Nine was all set to do the procedure, but she backed out at the last minute. I guess it was irreversible, and she didn’t want to take such a big step.”

  “But she’s remained in Starfleet for almost a decade,” said Picard with admiration, “despite being at an extreme disadvantage. Do what you can to make her feel at home, Number One.”

  “I will, sir. If she were here for an extended period, we could reconfigure our systems to turn off the gravity in her quarters. But she’s going to be on Primus IV in a few days. For her, that will probably be like a vacation.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” said the captain with a smile. The two old comrades knew instinctively when their business was over, and Will Riker started for the door. He paused to look back.

  “Next time, Captain, I’ll see if I can requisition some children for you.”

  Picard smiled. “Not too young. Toddlers are untidy, and I like my ship neat.”

  Riker chuckled and strode out of the ready room. After the door slid shut behind him, Captain Picard tapped his chin thoughtfully. Melora Pazlar was one crewmember he really wanted to meet, and he knew she wasn’t going to be under his command for very long. The Enterprise was doing little on the Primus mission except to offer transportation and logistical support.

  “Computer,” he said, “give me the location and status of Lieutenant Melora Pazlar.”

  After taking a moment to consider the question, an efficient female voice answered, “Lieutenant Melora Pazlar is in her quarters, cabin one-four-dash-six-three-one. Ambient readings would indicate that she is asleep.”

  “Asleep” echoed Picard. “I’ll contact her later. No message.”

  “Acknowledged,” said the computer.

  The captain stood up, straightened his uniform top, and walked to the food replicator. “Tea, Earl Grey, hot.”

  He took his cup and saucer from the slot and returned to his desk. After taking a few thoughtful sips, Picard swiveled his computer screen and punched up progress reports for all of their current missions, plus recent Starfleet dispatches. After reading and sipping for a while, he decided that things were going smoothly. Very smoothly indeed. There was not a single crisis or emergency either on the ship or anywhere in the Federation.

  It always made him nervous when that happened.

  Melora Pazlar writhed uncomfortably in her bunk, her straight blond hair sticking to the V-shaped ridges on her forehead. Her face and body felt clammy from contact with the pillow and mattress, and her joints ached. Despite years of sleeping in gravity, she could never get used to it. How can people sleep when they aren’t floating? It’s cooler, more comfortable, and more natural to float.

  At one time, she would have demanded that her quarters be in a natural state, gravity-free. But she had stopped doing that because it often created problems and resentment. Many ships and bases couldn’t accommodate her, even if they wanted to. Of course, the Enterprise was a mighty starship—they could probably turn off the artificial gravity in a single room—but she wouldn’t push for it. Go along to get along was her motto.

  Over the years, Melora had found plenty of ways to get away from gravity, such as piloting long-haul shuttlecraft and volunteering for low-gravity assignments. She couldn’t wait to get to Primus IV, which probably accounted for her restlessness. Melora had found that escaping into space was a lot easier than fighting the system everywhere she went; mapping, exploration, and science experiments fed her hunger for adventure. As long as the Elaysian was surrounded by the blackness of space—with its miniscule gravity—she felt at home.

  When she felt sorry for herself, she recalled how dependent most species were on gravity. She had seen tadpoles from Earth that had been raised in weightless environments, with legs sprouting from their heads and tails growing from their stomachs. Without gravity, their genetic code simply didn’t know where to put things; it couldn’t get oriented. Other species needed gravity much more than she needed to be without it.

  After she realized that she had been awake for forty hours straight, exhaustion finally conquered discomfort. Melora drifted into an uneasy sleep. As happened so often lately, she dreamt of home . . . and flying. She could see herself soaring through the intricate archways and monoliths of Gemworld. The shifting light was filtered through a million glistening prisms, and the wind caressed her body and whipped her hair. She was home, and nothing was ever going to take her away again.

  In her dream, she landed on an icy blue spire, one of the old-growth crystals in the former ocean. She remembered this crystal from years ago, when her family had picnicked on this very spot. Melora marveled that she had been able to find it again, bu
t how could she forget it? Hovering over this spire, she had seen a Lipul for the first time in her life.

  Just as she had done thirty years ago, Melora pressed her face against the weathered blue facet. It felt cool, solid, and aged. Light refracted through the crystal in a hundred different directions, giving the inner gel an ethereal glow. In the marrow of the crystal, bubbles and glints of light danced to unheard music—a miniature version of the sunlight dancing among the spires and monoliths above her.

  Then it came into view, just as it had all those years ago . . . an amorphous creature moving with pulsing motions through the dense liquid. At an aquarium in San Francisco, Melora had seen a terran creature which looked something like a Lipul. It had been called a jellyfish, and the name fit both of them. Shy and retiring, Lipuls seldom revealed themselves to Elaysians, even though they were the two oldest sentient species on Gemworld.

  In her childhood encounter, the Lipul had kept moving in its jerky fashion, taking little notice of the child floating above it. In this new encounter, the Lipul actually stopped and confronted her from the other side of the crystal barrier. Although it had no eyes, the creature seemed to be gazing at her as intently as she stared at it.

  This was unheard of. Melora tried to calm her thumping heart. She was certain that the Lipul knew of her presence—they were telepathic, after all—but what did it want? Was she supposed to do something, other than gape like a child?

  Gradually the Lipul began to darken in color. It changed from a rough imitation of the color of the crystal into a much darker purple shade. Fascinated, the Elaysian pressed closer to see more. Before her horrified eyes, the filmy creature turned a ghastly shade of brown, flecked with black and yellow spots. A few seconds later, the Lipul was even more discolored, and the gel around it turned black, as if shot through with ink. Trapped within the murky depths, the poor creature began to writhe in its death throes.

  Melora had no idea how she knew it was dying, but she knew! She screamed and beat her fists on the icy blue facet. It crumbled and began to turn black and brittle, and Pazlar froze in shock. Inside the diseased marrow, the Lipul continued to thrash about in its death. Melora sobbed pitifully, because it seemed as if the entire planet was dying. The elegant spire, which had shimmered like a rainbow only a few seconds ago, was now disintegrating into shards and soot. The dead Lipul floated in the debris, all dark and shriveled.

  Melora recoiled from the grisly sight, an action which had the strange effect of causing her to sit up. The sensation of gravity was her first inkling that she had been dreaming and was now awake. She certainly wasn’t on Gemworld, not the way she was pinned to this bed. The Elaysian looked around at the dim, unfamiliar surroundings and wondered where she was. Then she remembered that she had shipped out on the Enterprise only that day. These were her new quarters.

  Oddly, this knowledge was not reassuring. It was terrifying! Her dream had been so vivid and full of disturbing images that she was certain it wasn’t a dream, even if it was. Melora rubbed her eyes, trying to make sense of it all. Her dream had replayed an old memory, but she knew instinctively that it was more than the mental gymnastics of her subconscious mind. The dream had been a cry for help from her home-world, she was sure of it.

  What made it so troubling was that Melora considered herself the most unlikely person to be called for help. She was physically removed from Gemworld, light-years away in the service of the Federation. Her desire to travel and see other worlds was a rare trait among her reticent people.

  Perhaps, thought Melora, that’s the reason they contacted me. She was one of the few natives of Gemworld who lived elsewhere, who was in daily contact with the Federation. When they contacted her aboard the Enterprise, they were contacting the Federation itself.

  With a start, Melora realized who they were. The Lipuls had traveled the vast distances of space in order to deliver a desperate message to her. She knew about the Lipuls’ dreamships, and the telepathic explorations that had brought them into contact with the Federation and numerous other races; but she had never experienced such contact firsthand. She was honored, humbled, and frightened by the encounter.

  If only I knew what it meant! thought Pazlar with frustration. There was little she could do but get back to Gemworld as quickly as possible and hope she was in time.

  The Elaysian rolled painfully out of bed and grabbed her gnarled wooden cane, which had been resting against the nightstand. The rustic cane helped her feel rooted to the ground—or the deck—and steadied her if her leg muscles weakened. In this world, she reminded herself, I’ m a tree, not a breeze.

  Already weary from these minor exertions, Melora took a few deep breaths and prepared to don her anti-grav suit. It didn’t make her movements that much easier, but the suit fooled her body into thinking that she was in her native low gravity. The pains and aches were relieved, side effects eliminated, and she had better muscle control.

  Still she felt like one of those tadpoles with a leg growing out of her head.

  Lieutenant Reginald Barclay strode briskly down the corridor on his way to the turbolift. The tall, sandy-haired man wasn’t exactly late to his shift in engineering, but he would only be five minutes early if he kept up his current pace. He straightened his cuffs and made sure his tunic was hanging properly on his gangly frame. Then he brushed his hair back with his hand, wishing it wasn’t thinning quite so quickly. Should he go with the captain’s look and cut it short? Or would that make him look too aggressive?

  Reg was checking the shine on his shoes as he rounded a corner and plowed into a blond-haired woman. He instinctively threw out his hands to catch her, and he was quite surprised when his hands closed around a black environmental suit. A moment later, he was shocked when the woman’s cane clattered to the deck.

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” he stammered. “Are you all right?”

  “Why don’t you look where you’re going?” grumbled the woman, shaking off his hands. He realized with a start that she was rather attractive, and not human, although he couldn’t place her species.

  She looked around for her cane, and he immediately bent down to retrieve it. This gave Barclay an opportunity to study her suit in detail, from toe to top. It wasn’t an environmental suit, as he first thought, because it was open at the neck and head. It looked more like an emergency, full-body medical cast. He had seen some in sickbay. The only thing wrong with that theory was that the person within was vibrantly alive and apparently healthy.

  “Are you looking for something?” she asked as his face neared her chest.

  “Uh, no! Not at all,” said Reg, straightening to his full height.

  “Then may I have my cane?”

  He remembered the wooden staff in his hand and gave it to her with a sheepish smile. “I’m . . . I’m really sorry I bumped into you. I shouldn’t be in such a hurry. I’m Reginald Barclay.”

  “Melora Pazlar,” she said curtly. She didn’t offer him a hand in return because she was too busy clutching her cane with both hands. He noticed that the cane wasn’t just an affectation—the way she leaned on it, she really needed it to stand up.

  “Are you . . . injured?” he asked hesitantly.

  “No, I’m not,” she answered. “No thanks to you.” She shuffled past him in the corridor, and he had no difficulty keeping up. He noticed the lieutenant’s pips on the outside of her customized suit, and he realized that it was also her uniform.

  “You’re going to stare at me until I tell you about this suit, aren’t you?” she asked irritably.

  “Uh, well . . . yes. You see, I’m an engineer, and I’m always fascinated by gadgets. This suit isn’t standard issue.”

  “No, it’s an anti-gravity suit. Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean that I can fly around. It just means that my body thinks I’m in low gravity.”

  “Elaysian!” blurted Barclay, snapping his fingers with delight. “Melora Pazlar, you are an Elaysian!”

  “Thanks, but I figured that out some ti
me ago.” She stopped to take several deep breaths. “What I can’t figure out sometimes is what I’m doing here.”

  “Well, I can’t figure that out sometimes either,” said Reg with a shy smile.

  For the first time, the attractive Elaysian really looked at him. “Do you feel . . . out of your element sometimes, too?”

  Barclay stuck his chin out, wondering how to answer that. “Let’s just say, I’m willing to admit that I’m not perfect. For example, I don’t find it easy to talk to people.”

  “But you’re talking to me.”

  “Yes,” he answered brightly. “You must be the exception that proves the rule.”

  For the first time, a slight smile crossed the Elaysian’s face. “Lieutenant—?”

  “Barclay. Reginald Barclay. But when we’re offduty, you could call me Reg . . . if you wanted to.”

  “Lieutenant Barclay, I’ve just arrived on the Enterprise, but I desperately need a special favor. I was going to talk to the captain, although I know that might be difficult—”

  “Oh no, Captain Picard is very approachable,” said Barclay, rising to his skipper’s defense.

  “Then we need to approach him, right now.”

  Barclay gulped, realizing that he had just gotten involved in some kind of strange personal crisis. But he had offered to help, hadn’t he?

  “W-Why do you have to see the captain?” The Elaysian fixed him with icy but gorgeous blue eyes. “I’m only going to explain it once, and that will be to the captain.”

  Reg licked his lips and came to a decision. He tapped his combadge. “Barclay to engineering.”

  “What is it, Reg?” came the friendly but hurried voice of Geordi La Forge.

  “I’ll be a little late reporting for duty,” he said. “I have to assist a new crewmember.”

  “I guess we can run the ship without you for a while,” answered the chief engineer. “Report back if you’re going to be longer than an hour.”