Star Trek: The Next Generation - 115 - The Stuff of Dreams

by James Swallow

  Picard nodded slowly. “You may have a point.” He paused, considering. “Perhaps we could look on this as an opportunity instead of a problem. If we made overtures to the Kinshaya, made them aware of the potential danger the nexus represents—”

  “The diplomatic approach has already been discussed and discarded. We can’t take the risk.” Bryant walked closer to the windows, watching the ribbon as it shifted and moved.

  “All right,” said Picard. “Another option, then. My crew have a wide range of experience of unusual and anomalous events. I’ll put the full weight of their expertise on this. We’ll find a different solution to the dilemma.”

  Bryant shook his head. “No. That’s not why you’re here. I’ve already made my recommendation to Starfleet Command and they have approved it. Your chief engineer, La Forge—by now he will have been given a secure data packet containing everything he needs to know to begin an immediate modification to the Enterprise’s main deflector dish.”

  “To what end?” Picard bristled at the other captain’s matter-of-fact tone.

  “When the adjustments are complete, Newton and Enterprise will take up stations at optimal distance from the ribbon. We’ll synchronize our deflectors to send out a modulated subspace pulse, directly into the core of the nexus. The phase effect of the ribbon should destabilize and trigger a collapse into n-dimensional space.”

  “You want to destroy it?” He was aghast at the suggestion. “It’s a unique object, unlike anything else we’ve encountered!”

  “It’s a threat,” Bryant replied flatly. “I’m not ignorant of the ramifications of this, Picard, be certain of that. But I am pragmatic. And if the choice is between nullifying the nexus or handing a group of religious fundamentalists the keys to a time machine . . .” He paused. “It’s really not a choice at all, is it?”

  “There has to be a better answer,” Picard retorted. “You have no idea what kind of side effects a subspace pulse would have on the ribbon! It could be catastrophic.”

  Bryant’s expression did not change. He had clearly anticipated this conversation, and already decided he would not be swayed. “Frankly, I didn’t want Enterprise to be a part of this. I told Starfleet that your personal experiences with the nexus might cloud your judgment. But Command felt your insight would be valuable. I have operational authority here, Picard. I’ve made my decision and Starfleet has authorized it. Is that clear?”

  “It is.” He bit out the words. “But you should know I will formally protest these orders.”

  “I expected no less,” Bryant told him. “But I also expect you to comply.” He paused for a moment, and briefly his expression lost its hard edge. “You know where we are. You know better than I what the Federation has been through over the past few years. The threat of the Machine, the Borg invasion, and the rise of the Typhon Pact . . . Starfleet is still on the back foot, still trying to recover. We’ve lost a lot of good people. We cannot afford to supply the ships and the manpower to deal with the nexus and the ongoing threat it represents. The simplest solution is to take it out of the equation. Once the nexus is gone, so is the danger.”

  Picard’s thoughts raced in the silence that followed. Suddenly everything about the assignment that had rung a wrong note, every small inkling of misgiving he had sensed, all of it snapped into sharp, hard focus. We have been called here to demolish something beautiful, he told himself. I cannot let that go unchallenged.

  “Captain Bryant,” he began, “I have my oath to the service and I’ll follow it, and you, if that is what Command wants. But I also swore an oath to explore and to preserve all that I found along the way. The nexus represents one of the most extraordinary objects ever encountered by the Federation. We must make every possible attempt to preserve its uniqueness.” He advanced on the other officer. “I want a chance to offer an alternative.”

  “Some of the best theorists in the Federation have already tried and failed. What makes you think the Enterprise’s crew can do better?”

  Picard straightened. “I think our reputation speaks for itself.” He met the other man’s gaze. “At least let my people try, Bryant. We have the time.”

  “No,” he replied, “we really don’t. The clock is running. Our sensors have picked up remote probes of Kinshaya design observing the Newton and the nexus for several days now. They’ll have ships here soon. They’re going to want to take a closer look, and this is unclaimed space, so we can’t stop them.” He frowned again. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours. After that we’re committed.”

  * * *

  Bryant made his excuses, and Picard found himself in the company of a solemn Caldonian ensign summoned to escort the captain back to the Newton’s transporter room; but when the turbolift doors opened, a more familiar face was waiting for him out in the corridor.

  “Jean-Luc!” The Styrisian was typical of his species, an angular humanoid dressed in short, layered robes, with a bicolor flesh tone in lines of russet shades arranged like the stripes of a Terran tiger. The scientist was the very opposite of such a creature, however: a mild-mannered soul but an intense thinker with it. He and Picard had known each other since the earliest days of the latter’s captaincy of the Enterprise-D, although in recent years their occasional communications had tapered off to almost nothing.

  Nevertheless, Picard was pleased to see his old friend. “Kolb.” He patted his palm to his chest twice in the traditional Styrisian manner of greeting and the scientist reciprocated. Despite the circumstances, he felt a surge of warmth at seeing the man again. “This is a surprise. . . . It’s been too long! I wasn’t aware you were on board. I thought you were still with the Daystrom Institute.”

  “I am. I’ve been seconded here to Starfleet. Astrophysics takes you to many places.” Kolb shot the ensign a wary look and then fell in step with them as they walked down the corridor. “Fourteen months on the Project Nexus team,” he admitted. “I have to say that this has been one of the most incredible research projects I’ve ever taken part in.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “I’m sorry I’ve been so remiss about contacting you. But there’s been so much work, and then all the other . . . issues. . . .” He trailed off.

  “We’ve all had more than our fair share to deal with,” Picard replied, and left it at that. Hard times make our priorities change, he reflected.

  “I was elated when I heard that the Enterprise was coming,” Kolb went on. “Jean-Luc, we must speak.” He eyed Picard’s escort again. “Privately.”

  Something in Kolb’s tone made it clear he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “Ensign?” The captain tilted his head to look up at the tall, thin-framed Caldonian. “You’re dismissed. I can find my way to Transporter Room Two on my own.”

  The junior officer hesitated for a long second, then bowed her head and walked away. The moment she was out of earshot, Kolb leaned close, speaking quickly and intently.

  “Don’t think poorly of me, but I don’t want to talk for old times’ sake. This isn’t about catching up.”

  “I suspected so,” Picard said dryly. “Let me hazard a guess and say you’re unhappy with Captain Bryant’s plans for the nexus?”

  “Unhappy?” The word burst from his lips. “My friend, there’s practically a rebellion brewing among the civilian science contingent. Angry exchanges, letters of complaint, a stack of formal protests to Starfleet Command!”

  “Do tell.” Picard mused on the addition to those protests he would be sending on his own, not that it would make any difference at this point.

  Kolb’s face soured. “Bryant is a fine officer, that’s not in question. But he’s an engineer, not a scientist. He takes a mechanical view of everything. What is that human phrase you use? He sees everything in white and black.”

  Picard nodded his agreement with the astrophysicist’s evaluation. “Perhaps so. But Starfleet gave him operational command of this mission, and the Federation Science Council approved that choice. If you’re asking me to overrule him, Kolb,
I can’t, as much as it concerns me.”

  “I know you, Jean-Luc. I know you have history with the nexus. And I also know you abhor the thought of obliterating something amazing and unique.”

  The captain sighed. “All true. But short of following in Tolian Soran’s footsteps and blowing up stars to shift the nexus ribbon’s path, there’s little we can do to preserve it.”

  “Not so,” said Kolb, seizing on his words. From the folds of his robes he drew a complex tricorder, a heavily modified custom model tailored for high-level scientific operations. He thumbed open a panel on the device to reveal a small holo-emitter, and with a couple of deft taps, the tricorder projected a series of data panels, floating in the air like a fan of cards. Kolb manipulated them with his long fingers. “I’ve been working on something that could solve the problem for some time. A resonant verteron membrane, self-regenerating, capable of encompassing the entire span of the nexus effect!”

  The calculations were extremely complex, even for a man of Picard’s expertise, but he caught the thrust of the idea. “An energy sheath, impenetrable from the outside.”

  “Yes!” Kolb nodded sharply. “We could, in effect, lock the nexus shut. The verteron membrane would draw energy from the radiation output of the phenomenon itself and make it impossible for anyone to access its atemporal matrix! The nexus would drift through Kinshaya space and out the other side, untouched.”

  “And afterwards you could open this . . . lock?”

  “Theoretically, yes. If we program a specific quantum frequency, the membrane could be made to dissipate after the fact. Anyone who didn’t know the correct frequency pattern—the key, if you will—would not be able to gain entry to the nexus.”

  Picard folded his arms. “If you can do this, then why haven’t you?”

  Kolb’s face fell, and an almost childlike look of despair came over him. “I have failed in every attempt I have made to initiate the verteron membrane.” He held up the tricorder. “The plain truth of it is, I am missing vital data elements. Without them, I’m guessing.”

  “Data from where?”

  “Past the outer edge of the nexus. From within it.” He sighed. “Our probes never return. And Starfleet has forbidden us to send a manned expedition into the effect.”

  “On my recommendation, Kolb,” Picard insisted. “With good cause, believe me.”

  The Styrisian’s head bobbed and his gaze went distant. “I know, I know. I don’t aim to change that. But I want you to take this.” He plucked an isolinear optical chip from the tricorder’s casing and pressed it into Picard’s hand. “Your engineer, La Forge, your crew . . . they’re held in great regard by everyone at the Institute. All I ask is that you have your people look this over, try and fill the voids in my figures.”

  Picard looked down at the rod, turning it over in his fingers. He knew that La Forge and his engineering staff would be working multiple shifts to prepare the Enterprise’s deflector for the subspace pulse, and by rights he shouldn’t trouble them with this distraction. When Bryant had told Picard he had a day to come up with another solution, he had known the Enterprise crew would not have a moment to spare.

  It’s moments like this, thought the captain, that I wish Data hadn’t decided to leave us. “Very well. But I can’t promise you anything, Kolb.”

  “It can work,” insisted the scientist, “I know it.”

  * * *

  “It’ll never work,” said Commander Geordi La Forge, pushing the padd across the table with one hand and pinching the bridge of his nose with the fingers of the other. “The theory is solid, but the equations are full of holes.” Picard’s second officer spoke quietly so as not to disturb the captain’s wife in the other room. Beverly was singing softly to their son as she put him down for bed; little René’s sleep had been troubled in recent days.

  Picard sipped at the tea in front of him and frowned. “I was afraid of that.” He shook his head. “I think I knew the moment Kolb handed me the data. He was desperate—I saw it in his eyes. The same look he had on the day we first met.”

  “The Anchilles fever outbreak on Styris IV.” La Forge nodded. “I remember.”

  He tapped the padd with his finger. “Do you think you could patch the gaps?”

  “Give me a month or three, maybe. By tomorrow? Not a chance, not even with Lieutenant Elfiki’s help. It’s as much guesswork as it is solid science. About the only useful material in there is the shield harmonics data.”

  “How so?”

  “Kolb figured out a way to modulate force shields to protect an artificial object crossing over the nexus event horizon. But it’s a moot point, because all the remote probes sent in never return.”

  “No living minds to guide them back out,” Picard mused. He set down the tea. “All right, Geordi. Thank you for trying. What about the subspace pulse?”

  “I’ve got Taurik running test models right now. We’ll be ready to go when Bryant gives the word.”

  “You think that will work?”

  The engineer nodded ruefully. “Oh, the pulse will work all right, Captain. With a big enough hammer, you can break anything.” He paused. “I should tell you, I made my own pass over the nexus data, sir.”

  “And?”

  “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer as an alternative. I looked into the creation of a gravimetric shear as a way of changing the course of the object, but we’d need the output of a G-type star to power it. We could try seeding the path of the nexus with microsingularities to pull it into a different trajectory—”

  “Starfleet is not going to let us scatter black holes across the sector, Commander, no matter how small they are.”

  “No.” The engineer blinked with fatigue and looked away.

  “Geordi, how long has it been since you slept?”

  Picard looked up to see Beverly standing in the doorway.

  “A while.”

  She showed him the same face she gave René when he was less than truthful about something. “As of now, you’re off duty, doctor’s orders. Stay in bed until alpha shift.”

  “Captain?” La Forge looked to Picard for support, but he shrugged.

  “My wife has already sent one young man to his repose, Mister La Forge. I’ve learned it’s best not to argue with her.”

  “Aye, sir.” La Forge stood up and made for the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  As the door slid shut again, Picard let out a breath. “You heard what he said?”

  “I did,” said his wife, padding over to the replicator for a glass of water. “What are you going to do?”

  “What can I do?” he retorted, with frustration. “It’s a fait accompli. I can’t countermand Thom Bryant just because he’s being cold-blooded about this. Everything he said about the risks posed by the nexus is true.”

  “That’s not what’s eating at you,” she said, and not for the first time, he marveled at Beverly’s unerring ability to see right to the core of him. “This is about what happened to you on Veridian III. It’s about Soran and Kirk.”

  “Yes, more than I’d like to admit.” He paused, staring into the middle distance, recalling the living dream of a perfect Christmas Day. “I have to wonder, am I so opposed to this because of my experiences within the nexus? Did Soran feel something like this, but more acutely?” He got up, suddenly compelled to go to her, to make certain she was real. They touched hands for a moment, and she gave him a worried look. His smile made it fade, and Picard pulled away, walking to the entrance to his son’s room.

  René was in there, already sprawled across his bed and fast asleep, the soft gasp of his breathing rising and falling. A grim thought, all hard edges, pushed its way to the front of Picard’s mind. If the nexus was abused by an enemy of the Federation, all history could be undone. Everything changed, taken away.

  Everything we’ve made here could be lost.

  He frowned. “We will do what we must.”

  2

  Enterprise drifted sl
owly to its assigned station, the massive bulk of the sleek starship nudged gently into position by the push of ion thrusters arranged along the flanks of its hull. If it were out of position by so much as half a nacelle’s length, the precious synchrony required for the operation would be lost. The vessel’s oval saucer section rose gently until the glowing disk of the main deflector dish was aimed directly at the writhing snake of energy that was the nexus.

  Directly opposite the Enterprise, the Newton was already in its active position, the glow of the science vessel’s deflector growing stronger as the subspace pulse program went through pre-discharge preparations. Without ceremony or pause, the two Starfleet ships prepared to end the existence of the alien phenomenon.

  * * *

  “All systems are green,” said La Forge from the bridge’s engineering console. He shot a look at Lieutenant Elfiki and she nodded her assent to him. “We’re ready to commit, Captain.”

  Picard gave a solemn nod and leaned forward in his chair, his hands coming together, his fingers forming a steeple that he pressed to his lips. “Status of the Newton, Number One?”

  “On station,” rumbled Worf. “Commander Rhonu reports they are waiting on our word.”

  The captain felt a sudden impetus to say something, but for a moment he wasn’t sure what it should be. A eulogy for this unique object? There should be more memorial to the nexus than just a cloud of dissipating particles.

  He wondered where Kolb was at this precise moment. The Styrisian scientist had not reacted well when Picard told him that his data was too patchy to use. There had been cross words, something that had never passed between them in all their two decades of friendship.

  He sighed. “Moment of truth, then. Lieutenant Chen, if you would? Signal the Newton. Tell them we are ready to begin.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the woman. “Starting the clock . . . now.”

  Picard eyed the small monitor at his side. A countdown was falling quickly toward zero, perfectly in step with a similar display on the bridge of the other vessel. He wondered if Bryant was sharing the same misgivings as he was. Unlikely, he thought. The Newton’s commander wasn’t even on the bridge of his ship; instead, Bryant was below on the engineering decks, personally overseeing the deployment of the pulse effect.