GEMWORLD: BOOK ONE OF TWO

by John Vornholt

  Now there was grumbling, and several Elaysians flew forward, vying for Bertoran’s ear. He waved them back and proclaimed, “They won’t leave until after we’ve been aboard.”

  “Sorry, no deal then,” said Picard flatly. “We have to put up shields as soon as possible. We’re not going to fire weapons or do anything else until our shields are up. You get what you want; we get what we want. That’s only fair.”

  Bertoran conferred with a few of his advisors, and Picard remained pleasant but stone faced. Finally the Jeptah turned to him and nodded, and his lieutenants spread the word. “Disperse! Disperse!”

  There was grumbling, but gradually the Elaysians began to take their ropes and fly away. While that was going on, Picard withdrew inside the shuttlecraft and tapped his combadge. “Picard to La Forge,” he said softly.

  “La Forge here,” came the answer.

  “I want you to prepare Holodeck One to entertain some visiting Elaysians. We’ll need a bridge simulation, engine room simulation, and the torpedo room.”

  “They’re all in memory from the recent training exercises,” said La Forge. “Anything in particular?”

  “This is just to buy us some time and keep them occupied,” answered the captain. He glanced outside to make sure no Elaysians were within earshot. “We need to launch an unsuccessful attack against the rift—they’re not to know it’s a simulation. We’ll direct-beam them from spot to spot, to alleviate the problem they’ll have with the gravity. Assemble a good crew, and tell them what’s going on.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered La Forge. “Too bad Reg is away—he’d be perfect for this.”

  “We’ll come in after the Elaysians leave. They’re moving quickly, so you don’t have much time. If need be, we’ll go to the real torpedo room first—it’s cramped and claustrophobic.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Captain, we’ll be ready. I’m on my way to the holodeck.”

  “Thanks, Geordi. Picard out.”

  Pazlar stared in awe at the captain, and he gave her an innocent smile. “They’re not the only ones with advanced technology.”

  Geordi La Forge stood on what looked like the bridge of the Enterprise, watching his handpicked crew go through the motions of flying the ship. On the viewscreen was the same scene of improbable blue skies that was on the real viewscreen on the real bridge. The last of the Elaysian protestors were soaring into the distance, mere specks in the clear, azure sky. All of the stations mirrored their duplicates on the genuine bridge, and La Forge checked the readings on an auxiliary engineering console. It all looked perfect, but the chief engineer still felt uneasy and distracted. His mind was still on several problems in engineering.

  “They’ve put up shields,” reported Ensign Ganadee, the bald-headed Deltan on ops.

  “That means our guests are on the ship.” La Forge strode to the command chair and sat down, tugging nervously at his tunic. “They’re going to direct-beam from the shuttlebay. So look lively—they could be here any minute.”

  “Yes, sir,” came several responses.

  A few moments later, half a dozen figures materialized in sparkling columns in front of the turbolift. Four of them were Elaysians wearing billowy clothes, and the other two were Captain Picard and Counselor Troi.

  “Captain on the bridge,” said the tactical officer.

  La Forge recognized the woman in the white robe as Lieutenant Pazlar. She coped with the gravity much better than her fellow Elaysians. Within seconds, all three of them slumped to the deck, and the captain rushed to assist a white-haired individual.

  “Ensign Ganadee, help our visitors,” ordered La Forge.

  “No, no . . . remain at your stations,” said the white-haired Elaysian, breathing heavily. His companions just sat on the deck, looking as though they had been stunned. “The gravity . . . is much worse than I expected.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t adjust it,” said Captain Picard. “We need to be operating at peak efficiency.”

  “Understood,” grumbled the white-haired man.

  With considerable effort, Picard, Troi, and Pazlar got the visitors situated in empty seats at auxiliary consoles. The captain finally turned toward Geordi and gave him a surreptitious wink. “Report, Mr. La Forge.”

  “We’ve just put up shields,” said La Forge, “and repairs are continuing on schedule. Hull repairs are finished, and we expect to have warp drive on-line in about eight hours.”

  “You won’t leave then, will you?” asked an Elaysian worriedly.

  “No,” answered Picard, “we couldn’t if we wanted to, as long as that rift is out there. Allow me to make introductions: Commander La Forge, this is Tangre Bertoran, a Peer of the Jeptah and an Exalted One. The members of his party are Ebrek Optullo and Tereya Nolora. Commander La Forge is one of my most trusted bridge officers.”

  “Thank you, sir,” answered La Forge, trying not to crack a smile.

  “You have a very impressive bridge,” said Tangre Bertoran, gazing around at the detailed holodeck simulation. “I wish I could get up and explore.” He turned to Melora Pazlar and shook his head in amazement. “How do you ever get used to this horrible gravity?”

  “I never get used to it,” she replied, “but I learn to cope.”

  Captain Picard rubbed his palms together. “Before we get down to business, I believe you wanted to see engineering and the torpedo room.”

  “Yes,” answered Bertoran. He tried to stand up, but the struggle against gravity was overwhelming. “I would like to, but movement is so difficult. I assume your weapon systems and engineering are in good working order?”

  “Every station on the ship suffered during our encounter with the rift,” answered Picard. “But we have the resources to launch one quantum torpedo. Don’t we, Commander La Forge?”

  “Yes, sir. Everything is in readiness.”

  Captain Picard looked gravely at the Elaysians. “We’re in no condition to go anywhere, and flying into the rift would be suicide. So we’ll have to fire the torpedo from here. How will your forcefields react to it?”

  Bertoran sat forward and groaned at the effort. “It isn’t normally a defensive forcefield, although it can be set for that. It’s designed to let large, solid objects pass through while restricting the flow of gases and liquids. I assume your quantum charge can inflict zero-point disruption?”

  “On a starship, yes,” answered Picard. “But our torpedoes are designed to pierce deflector shields and ships’ hulls—they’ve never been tested on a dimensional rift before.”

  “Of course not,” said Bertoran, sounding less confident than he had earlier. “But it’s worth a try.”

  The captain stepped closer to the Elaysian and fixed him with his sternest gaze. “I want it understood that if we try this, and it’s unsuccessful, you’ll stop telling me how to do my job. And you also won’t surround the ship with Jeptah and stage more protests. We’re all on the same team, and we’re trying to solve problems, not create them.”

  Bertoran scoffed. “I hate to make promises I can’t keep. I don’t control all the Jeptah.”

  “All right,” said Picard, “just give me your personal assurance that you won’t lead any more protests against us.”

  “All right,” muttered Bertoran. “You have been more cooperative than I thought you would be.”

  “I want to end this as much as you do.” The captain strode to the tactical station and looked at the young officer’s readouts for a moment. “Target the rift, using our original coordinates where we came out of warp. You’ll have to extrapolate the position of the rift. Just make sure you don’t hit the shell.”

  “Yes, sir,” she answered, plying her console. Ensign Belkin played her part well, thought Geordi, as she initiated the torpedo training program, with a few modifications. After a few moments, she reported, “Torpedo targeted.”

  “On screen.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered the ops officer.

  Suddenly the scene on the viewscreen shifted to a
tight view of the bow and the forward torpedo bays.

  “Prepare to fire . . . on my mark.” Picard held up his finger and paused dramatically. “Fire!”

  On the viewscreen, a cylinder of light shot from the forward bays and streaked into the blue sky. Another angle showed the blazing torpedo shooting through a kidney-shaped opening in the shell and zooming into space. The Elaysians sat forward, staring hopefully at the viewscreen, and La Forge felt momentarily guilty about the deception. But he knew the captain well enough to realize that he wouldn’t be doing this unless it was necessary.

  The impressive flight of the torpedo continued into space for a second before it was swallowed up by a gaping maw in the firmament. There was no explosion—nothing happened. The light of the torpedo blinked out.

  “Any change in sensor readings?” asked Picard.

  “No, sir,” answered Ensign Ganadee on ops. “There appears to be no effect.”

  Bertoran let out a deflated breath of air and sunk back in his seat. “It didn’t have any effect at all?”

  “None that we can determine,” answered Picard. “I’m sorry, but I always thought it was a long shot.”

  “What about phasers?” asked another Elaysian.

  “They’re a broad-spectrum, short-range weapon,” answered La Forge. “They probably won’t even make it through your forcefield.”

  “All right,” said Picard with finality, “we’ve tried to destroy the rift, and that didn’t work. Now let’s try to learn what caused it. I’ve got two people still on the shell looking for answers, and it would help greatly if you could assist them.”

  Bertoran shook his head in frustration. “We’ve done everything within reason to fight this thing, but how can you fight something you can’t see . . . something that’s from another dimension?” He shrugged his bony shoulders. “Perhaps this is something we can learn to live with, as we’ve learned to live with so many disasters in our history.”

  “Unless you enjoy this gravity,” said Melora Pazlar, “you’re not going to learn to live with it.”

  With a scowl, Tangre Bertoran rose uncertainly to his feet. He had the musculature to stand, thought La Forge, he just didn’t have the practice.

  “We are ready to go,” said the Elaysian. “Don’t worry, I will keep an eye on your two crewmembers.”

  The captain nodded congenially, but La Forge could tell from increases in electromagnetic pulses around his skin that he was worried. He also seemed relieved, because this visit was probably going to be short and uneventful, except for their deception.

  “We’re not beaming anyone off the ship,” he said, “but Lieutenant Pazlar can take you home in the shuttlecraft. We’ll beam you directly to the shuttlebay, if you’re ready.”

  “I’ll turn off the gravity in the shuttle,” Pazlar assured them with a smile.

  Bertoran and his cohorts conferred for a moment, but it was clear they wanted to get off the ship and out of its oppressive atmosphere. Since Geordi had occassionally felt disadvantaged in his life over his blindness, he could relate to them.

  “We’re ready,” said Bertoran importantly. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “My pleasure.” The captain tapped his combadge. “Picard to transporter room two. Have you still got a lock on our visitors?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Take Lieutenant Pazlar first, and direct-transport them to the shuttlecraft. One-by-one sequence.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The fake bridge crew stood at attention or dutifully worked at their stations as the Elaysians disappeared one by one into a sparkling flame of light. When they were all gone, Picard’s congenial smile vanished, and his shoulders slumped. He looked at La Forge and shook his head. “I despised having to do that.”

  “I felt a little funny about it, too, sir, but I don’t think you had any better options,” offered the engineer helpfully. “We couldn’t just shoot a quantum torpedo into that thing without knowing more.”

  “Of course not, and we couldn’t let them set up camp, draped all over the hull. We had to put up shields.” The captain paced the simulated bridge. There were other courses that could have been taken but none more expedient than this. He’d like to think there wouldn’t be any more trouble with the Jeptah, but that seemed too much to hope.

  The captain shook off his momentary gloom and nodded proudly at the young crew. “At any rate, well done, all of you. Sorry to have taken you away from your posts, but this was necessary. Mr. La Forge, there will be a briefing when Data and Barclay get back from the shell.”

  “I’ll be ready. I’ve got a lot of questions.”

  “Don’t we all.” The captain started toward the turbolift door and said, “Computer, end program.”

  The turbolift door changed into a pair of gleaming metallic doors, and the walls turned into a black-and- green grid. The doors parted, and Captain Picard stepped from the empty room into a busy corridor.

  Five hours later, Captain Picard strode into the briefing room, where he was met by Beverly Crasher, Deanna Troi, Melora Pazlar, and Geordi La Forge. They rose from their seats, and he waved them back down. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. The shuttlecraft has just returned again from the shell, and Data and Barclay will be here in a moment. I wanted you to hear their report, in case you have any ideas on how to proceed.”

  Melora let out a sigh of relief. “I didn’t think they would have any problems, but I’m glad they’re back.”

  “Let’s hope they have some answers.” The captain turned to Dr. Crusher. “How are things in sickbay?”

  “It’s calmed down,” she answered, “but we still have too many full beds. We finally transferred the last of the Elaysians out, and that’s helped. And we need to schedule a service for the seven crewmembers who died. I sent you the list.”

  “I saw it,” said Picard, shaking his head at the inexcusable loss. “I can’t say I knew many of them well, except for Yontel. I’ll talk to Riker and decide on a good time to do this.” As if there was ever a good time for a funeral, he thought.

  The door to the conference room opened, and Data strode in, followed by Barclay, whose eyes immediately fixed on Pazlar.

  “Away team reporting back,” said Data. “We were able to confirm my theory that their dark-matter collection has increased dramatically, sixteen-fold, which is commensurate with the increase in crystal growth. Gravity is increasing at a lesser, variable amount, but it is enough to cause havoc with the unstable crystal.”

  “Then they’ll have to cut back,” said Picard. “Or better yet, stop collecting dark matter altogether.”

  “The fault does not lie in the dark-matter collection alone,” answered Data. “Production of all their energy resources has increased sixteen-fold, although many of the resources have been limited by availability. With the rift, there has been plenty of dark matter available.”

  The captain frowned, perturbed that Gemworld’s inhabitants hadn’t tried the simplest solution. “Then they should cut back on all their energy collection.”

  “I am afraid it is not that simple,” answered Data. “Energy collection is not a separate system but is governed by other systems. My new theory is that the fractal multiplying program, which controls crystal growth, has been tampered with. It seems to be in an endless loop of increasing production. But we cannot be sure until we obtain access to that code, and that is one of the second-level protocols, which require a senior engineer.”

  “And let me guess,” said Troi, “there aren’t any of them around.”

  “That is true.” Data frowned slightly as he chose his next words. “The shell is designed to keep working at all costs, which is logical given the disastrous results if it ever failed. Despite its size and complexity, every subsystem is integrated to a remarkable degree. You cannot shut down one subsystem without shutting down many other subsystems, and that is simply not allowed. The shell is not like me or the Enterprise, designed to be shut down and repaired. It is m
ore like a human being, designed to grow and compensate for system failures, but never shut down. Shutting down would result in disaster.”

  “So there’s tremendous resistance to change,” concluded Picard. “That’s one reason why high-level access is limited to only six senior engineers, who are never around.”

  “Correct,” answered Data. “Almost all the current workers are maintenance workers, because the programming for the system was optimized millennia ago. No one on the shell can access either the core fractal program or the dark-matter collection routines. We require one of the senior engineers.”

  Geordi La Forge scowled with incomprehension. “What do we have to do to convince these people this is serious?”

  “You don’t understand,” said Melora Pazlar glumly.

  “We know it’s serious, but we can’t believe that our Sacred Protector could be at fault. We have depended upon the shell, and all the traditions that have surrounded it since the days of the Ancients. You saw the reaction you got when you said it was only a machine. We’ve always regarded the shell as infallible.”

  Reg Barclay cleared his throat. “Excuse me, but the shell’s crystal computer isn’t at fault. Programmers have a saying: ‘Garbage in, garbage out.’ Somebody messed up the programming, and only six senior engineers have access to the programming. Ergo, one of them must have started this whole mess.”

  Pazlar scoffed. “That’s preposterous.”

  “It would seem a far-fetched conclusion,” agreed Picard, “but you can’t overlook its underlying logic. One thing is certain: we’ve got to get at least one of those engineers back to work so we can examine the programs.”

  Pazlar hobbled toward the door. “I’ll get right on that, sir. I’m going to prove you wrong, Lieutenant Barclay. We will find a logical explanation for this. Or we may find that the rift did appear spontaneously and is causing all of the problems.”