Geordi looked away absently. “I think part of the issue I’m having is that I already wonder that myself.”
“Really?”
“What would my mother do? I guess whatever happened to her has been preying on me a little recently. It’s like the Hera is . . . haunting me.”
“It’s only natural that you’d think about her when signs of her ship showed up, after all these years.”
“There was a time when I thought maybe she . . . maybe the Hera was out there somewhere, and that if I kept looking, I’d find it. In the end it was just a dream. I was obsessed beyond the ability to think rationally. Worse,” he admitted, as much to himself as to Scotty, “I was beyond the ability to accept what had happened and move on.”
“Grief messes with everyone’s senses.”
“I know, and after a while, with the help of Counselor Troi, I got past that. I accepted that the Hera was gone, and my mother was dead. It wasn’t easy.”
“It never is.”
“And, now, all of a sudden . . .” LaForge shook his head. “Now it looks like maybe I was right the first time. Maybe I should have kept looking, back then.”
Scotty sighed. “It’s a bloody awful thing to happen to you, Geordi, and I wish I knew the right things to say.”
“I still don’t know yet whether it’s really an awful thing or a good thing. Or both.”
“Both, without a doubt.” Scotty leaned forward, and his face took on a serious demeanor. “Let me tell you something from my experience. When someone you care about dies, you wish you could just have them back, because you think that will be easier, and things will be better again. And, sometimes, you get that wish. Sometimes the person is only missing, or for whatever reason they’re restored to you.”
“And it turns out not to be easier or nicer?”
Scotty’s eyebrows shot up at the suggestion. “Oh, no, not at all. It feels great. You’re together again, and what could be wrong with that? What could be unpleasant?”
“But there must be a downside. I can see that much in your face.”
“Well, most beings of most species have a finite lifespan. They’re not immortal, and sooner or later, they die.”
“Again . . .”
“That’s right. From your point of view, they die again. You lose them again. And you think it’d be easier, because this time you’ve had time to prepare, or you think you did your grieving the first time round.” He shook his head. “And I’d love to be able to say that was true and that that’s how it works, but it isn’t.”
It was obvious to La Forge what was coming next, and he didn’t really want to hear it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to stop it.
“It’s worse.”
“How can it be worse?” La Forge could hardly hear himself.
“Because this time you know, with double the certainty, that’s it’s over, it’s final . . . And you’ve had that much more time and love to power the grief.”
Breakfast for La Forge, the next morning, was coffee and waffles with Leah in his cabin. “You convinced Starfleet about the need to track down the source of the trans-slipstream wakes,” she was saying.
“I think finding the Intrepid has offered us a chance to learn about the next stage of slipstream technology.”
“And the Hera.”
“Maybe. It’s always possible that the hints we got are all that there is, but . . . I think maybe it’s a meaningful coincidence. Serendipity.”
“You know, this focus on the Hera could be seen as . . .”
“Obsessive?” He had been there before. It was like a drug, both destructive but irresistibly comforting.
“Just a little. I mean, I don’t think it’s something that needs medical attention. In fact it might be something good.”
“I’ve never heard of obsession being a good thing.”
“You can’t be passionate about something without being a little obsessed with it, and I’m sure you’ll agree that passion is a good thing.”
“When it’s something like love, yes, but . . . Look at Daimon Bok, and there’s an example of passionate hatred.”
“I understand it quite well, Geordi. Look at me. I have a passion for engines. I have a passion for technology. And I don’t think it’s done me any harm. Sometimes obsession is a sign of illness, but I think there’s also a type of obsession that’s a driving force, like the mental equivalent of slipstream.”
“You say the nicest things . . . but I wonder what sort of wakes mental slipstream leaves, and what damage it does?”
“Let’s try not to find out.”
26
Guinan was waiting for La Forge in his ready room when he came on duty, which surprised him. He could only remember her coming up to the bridge once or twice during all the years she had spent on the Enterprise.
“Guinan . . . Is there some problem?”
“Actually, I came up here to ask you that.”
La Forge allowed himself an understanding smile. “Ah, you’ve heard about our assignment.”
“Looking for the trans-slipstream wakes. I won’t presume to ask if you’re sure it’s something that the Challenger should be doing. You’re the captain.”
“I can hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“But . . . just let me ask you one thing, Geordi.”
“Anything, go ahead.”
“Are you looking for the source of these wakes, or are you looking for the Hera?”
“You think I’m using the wakes as an excuse to . . . what? Indulge in wishful thinking?”
“I just remember a time when you were a little . . . eager to find the Hera, for very understandable reasons.”
“Truth to tell, Guinan, I’m not entirely sure. I think . . . I tell myself that there are a lot of good reasons to find out what’s causing these wakes, and what we can make of it, and I think I make a pretty good case to myself. But at the same time, I remember how I felt when the Hera first disappeared, and I wonder if maybe there isn’t some subconscious urge at work.”
She smiled warmly. “It sounds to me like you have a good balance of motives.”
“And it’s not just us. Not just Challenger. Starfleet has distributed a general call for reports of sightings of these kinds of events. It’s become a pretty important issue.”
“Then I’m glad I’m getting the chance to see how things turn out.”
“For me, or for Starfleet?”
“Both. Starfleet’s in the history-making business, but it’s always good to see friends get the good stuff too.”
“The good stuff! Well, that’s one way of putting it. Reg will probably see it that way . . .” He rose. “Which reminds me, I have to go talk to him.”
“Then I’ll see you later, Geordi.”
“Nelson’s does have something of a monopoly on board.”
She leaned in conspiratorially, as if to impart a great secret. “That’s the way I like it.”
Barclay was seated at the ops console, so Geordi didn’t have to go far to make his appointment. “Reg, how’s the search for the wakes looking?”
Barclay brought up a sensor calibration display on his console. “I’ve reprogrammed these sensor nodes to register the waveform of the wakes, and trigger an alert if any are detected.”
“Distance?”
“They’re scanning subspace up to three light-years. I figured it was best to use the long-range sensors, since these wakes are dangerous to be around.”
“Good thinking.”
“Captain La Forge,” Nog said from the back of the bridge. “We’re being hailed by the U.S.S. da Vinci. They’re asking . . . This is weird . . .”
“Out with it, Nog.”
“They’re asking if you want hot chocolate.”
Geordi laughed. “Tell them yes, and arrange a time.” He doubted that anyone else aboard the Challenger, with the possible exception of Guinan, would have understood the reference.
A few minutes later, the da Vinci dropped out
of warp beside the Challenger, and both ships cruised side by side. “You have the conn, Carolan,” Geordi said, and went down to transporter room two to greet the visitor from the da Vinci.
Still curvaceous and vivacious, Sonya Gomez had matured from a slightly clumsy engineering officer to the captain of the da Vinci, and one of the mainstays of Starfleet’s Corps of Engineers. “Sonya! Long time no see!”
“Geordi! So you finally made Captain.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’ll try not to spill hot chocolate on you.”
“Very wise. You know Captain Picard’s been plotting the same fate for you since you took command of the da Vinci.”
“I still have nightmares about that day, you know.”
“So does he.” He didn’t add that it probably had more to do with Q introducing him to the Borg than with an embarrassing spill. “Why don’t you come on down to engineering and tell us what’s brought you to our door.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Engineering wasn’t busy, and both Scotty and Vol looked delighted to see Gomez. La Forge knew that Scotty had a hand in making her captain of the da Vinci, but had no idea that she knew Vol as well.
“Scotty originally asked you to look for anything weird in G-231 . . .”
“I don’t know if I’d call what we found weird, but definitely unusual.” She gave Vol an isoliner chip, and he brought the data on it up in the holographic display that filled the center of main engineering. It showed a subspace map of a star system, with a strange gritty pattern to it that La Forge had never seen before. “There’s an elevated background level of subspace distortion there. It’s a sort of subspace granulation on a quantum level.”
“Have you seen anything like this before, Scotty?” Geordi asked.
“Never.”
“Me neither. Is there any specific pattern or location to it, within the system, I mean?” Vol asked.
“Not that we can determine,” Gomez said. “It looks like it’s some kind of long-term effect that’s built up over centuries. We were wondering if there might be any correlation between your waveform and this general subspace granulation?”
“It doesn’t look like it to me, but anything’s possible,” La Forge said.
“Our thoughts exactly, so we ran some comparisons. We compared the subspace granulation and your trans-slipstream waveform, and there is a connection.”
“Excellent! What’s the link?” Scotty asked.
Gomez pointed to the way the grit elements of the pattern lined up. “Our granulation is a diffraction pattern. When we overlaid the waveform on the granulation we could see points lining up. The granulation is the hangover from lots and lots of wakes crossing each other over a long period of time.”
“Just like wakes from boats crossing and making peaks in the water?” Scotty suggested.
“Exactly. Whatever’s causing these wakes, either there are a lot of them, or it’s been through G-231 a lot of times. Gradually the repeated crossings of these wakes have caused a quantum granulation in subspace across the whole system.”
“Why there?” La Forge wondered. “Is there any strategic element to it?”
“If I had to guess, I’d say it looks as if the black hole in the Bolus Reach is being used as a navigational buoy,” Vol said.
“That’s a hell of a buoy,” Scotty added.
“That’s our opinion too.” Gomez yawned. “Anyway, it’s been a long day, and we’re on our way to build a planetary deflector shield against a gamma ray burst, so I’ll have to dump data and leave.”
“Thanks, Sonya,” Scotty said, with feeling.
“Don’t be a stranger,” La Forge added.
“Make good use of the data,” Gomez called back, as she headed in the direction of the transporter room.
Scotty, Vol, and La Forge looked at each other, and at the holographic display. “What do you think?” La Forge asked Scotty after a few long moments.
“I think I’d like to hear Leah’s opinion on this.” That was a request with which La Forge heartily agreed.
La Forge looked out through the window in his ready room just in time to see the da Vinci bank away and leap to warp. Across his desk, Leah leaned forward, going through the data.
“This subspace granulation doesn’t quite say slipstream to me, but there is an element . . .”
“You’re the expert on quantum slipstream. If you don’t think it’s that, then I guess we have to look at other explanations.”
Leah held up one hand in a “halt” gesture. “Like I said, there’s an element of the slipstream matrix that’s . . . hinted at by this granulation. But a slipstream drive as we understand it couldn’t have caused this. Certainly not on its own, and certainly not over time.”
“That’s something I’ve been thinking about.”
“The time scale?”
“Yeah.” La Forge sat down behind his desk. “If it’s damage that’s built up gradually over two hundred years, I’m wondering if it could actually be a buildup of damage from warp engines of a couple of generations back.”
“Definitely not. As you can imagine, the symptoms of that kind of subspace damage are something that’s deeply ingrained in those of us who design and develop starship engines.”
“What about some kind of natural phenomenon?” Geordi asked.
“I don’t know. There’s a lot about subspace that we still don’t know. Anything’s possible.”
“What would you think best fits the facts?”
Leah was silent for a long time, and La Forge knew that, given the choice, she’d prefer not to jump to any conclusions, but to arrive at them logically and correctly. “Traffic of an unknown type, with an unknown engine profile.”
“Unknown?”
“And totally new.” She pushed the screen away, and met his eyes. “You were right. This looks like a totally new form of propulsion, and the traffic powered by it uses the Bolus Reach for navigation.”
La Forge had already come to the same conclusion, and it seemed obvious what his next move should be, if he wanted to learn more about the wakes and what caused them. He moved to the communicator switch on the table. “Bridge, this is the captain.” Damn but it still felt unreal and disturbing saying that. “Set course for the star system G-231. Warp six.”
27
Captain K’Vadra stomped onto the bridge of the I.K.S. Iw’Bat, a B’rel-class Bird-of-Prey, and received the salutes of his tactical officer and helmsman. “Report!”
“Sir,” the tactical officer growled, “a subspace distortion has been reported near a pulsar in the Garath system. It seems someone is probing our borders.”
K’Vadra licked his lips hungrily. “Intercept course!”
The Iw’Bat banked, her wings dropping into a combat configuration, as her crew probed the source of the mysterious energy ripple in subspace. As they drew closer, the ripple faded, rather than growing stronger, which puzzled K’Vadra.
“Whatever it was has gone,” the tactical officer confirmed.
“Or has cloaked?” Cloaking probably meant Romulans, and K’Vadra hadn’t fought a Romulan for years. It was a pleasure he missed.
“Possibly.”
K’Vadra paced the bridge, too excited to sit in the command chair. It wasn’t long before they reached the coordinates where the distortion had originated. There was nothing in sight, except for a strange reading at the very edge of sensor range. It was almost as if the sensors were passing through something; as if whatever it was wasn’t just hidden by a cloak, but wasn’t really there. Whatever it was was also huge, but K’Vadra didn’t mind that, as he knew the Romulans had some very large ships.
“What is that?” He hoped for the name of a Romulan ship class.
The tactical officer wasn’t giving the results he hoped for. “Unknown, sir.”
K’Vadra scowled, more disappointed than anything else. “Check the tactical database.”
“Checking . . .” She straightened, s
pitting a curse. “Impossible!”
“What is impossible?” He wanted facts, not opinions. Whoever was out there was in Klingon space without permission, and would learn the error of their ways at the earliest opportunity. He didn’t want to hear how unlikely the situation was.
“The computer says it is a Chariot of the Fek’lehr.”
K’Vadra spat. “I said check the tactical database, not the literature—”
“This is the tactical database.”
K’Vadra leapt over to the tactical console and pulled her aside so that he could enter the query himself. “Idiot! I shall—” He broke off, as the computer responded to his own question with the same result. “Qu’vatlh!”
He let go and stepped down to his command chair, overlooking the helm and ops pit. “Well, if it’s the Chariot of the Fek’lehr, he’s in the world of the living without my permission, or that of the High Council, so let’s send the bastard back to Gre’thor where he belongs.” He pointed a finger at the screen. “Helm, intercept course.”
The Iw’Bat swooped down upon the distant vessel. K’Vadra took the tactical console himself. “Give me a mark when we’re in firing range.”
“Firing range in nine thousand,” the helm reported. “Closing.”
On the angular main screen something suddenly appeared, but the stars were still shining through it. “Firing range!” K’Vadra loosed a single torpedo and a short burst from the wingtip disruptors, neither willing to waste energy at this range, nor to wait until he was closer. The torpedo ran true, and went clean into the heart of the shark-like form ahead.
To K’Vadra’s amazement and delight, the leviathan disappeared in a flash. His pleasure lasted only a moment, however, as he realized that the torpedo had gone straight through it without detonating, and would soon self-detonate.
He thumped the console with both fists. “Where did it go?”
“Unknown, but that subspace distortion is back, and off the scale. It’s as if there was a waveform or . . .”
“A slipstream ship? Federation?”
Star Trek: TNG Indstinguishable From Magic Page 28
