Redbay nodded. “I was back reliving the horror of the day my parents died.”
And Riker, who had never allowed himself real terror, hadn’t had anything to pin his fear on. Somehow that bothered him even more. “What’s your point, Geordi?” he asked, wanting to move his own thinking away from the terror and his ability or lack of ability to control it.
“This fear hit us, and instead of finding an external cause, our minds searched for the last time we had felt this kind of terror and made up the rest. This wasn’t cultural. This is sophisticated.”
“A weapon,” Redbay agreed. “We’re back to that again. But a weapon that somehow triggers fear reactions normally caused by sights, smells, and sounds.”
Geordi grinned. “If it’s a weapon, we can find it. And we can block it.”
Riker grinned too. Even though the fear was still present, like the hum of a machine in the background, it suddenly became tolerable. “Then we need to find a systematic way of searching for it.”
“Yes,” Redbay started.
Then Picard’s voice cut over the comm system. “Senior staff to the conference room.”
The order made Riker shudder. He didn’t want to know what emergency had broken now.
But that was his fear talking.
He took a deep breath. Geordi clapped him on the shoulder and turned to Redbay. “Lieutenant,” Geordi said, “go ahead and begin a search. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Redbay nodded and bent over the consoles. Riker and Geordi left engineering at full run.
“Sam’s creative,” Riker said as they got on the turbolift. “If anyone can find out what’s going on, Sam can.”
“I hope so,” Geordi said. “Because I have the feeling we don’t have a lot of time.”
Chapter Eleven
BEVERLY CRUSHER STOPPED outside the door to Deanna Troi’s quarters. Fear made her heart race, and because she wasn’t sure if the fear was entirely real or a product of her fevered imagination, she actually knocked.
And received no response.
“What am I doing?” she whispered. Around her the corridor was filled with dazed crew members. At an intersection a short distance away a crew member lay unconscious, her arms covering her face as if something had been hitting her when she passed out.
Beverly hesitated, wanting to go to the woman, then forced her mind back on her goal. She took a deep breath, brushed aside a strand of loose red hair, and then said, “Computer, emergency medical override.”
The door hissed open, and there was Deanna on the floor, her face pressed against the carpet, one hand raised and the other bent awkwardly beneath her.
It looked as if she’d been trying to crawl to the door to escape something terrible behind her.
Beverly’s fears had been real.
She knelt beside Deanna, and as she pulled out her medical tricorder, she smoothed Deanna’s hair away from her face. Deanna’s eyes were rolled back in their sockets, lashes fluttered. Her mouth was partially open, and her skin was clammy.
Beverly flipped open the tricorder and ran it over Deanna. Her pulse was too rapid, her blood pressure was high, and the levels of adrenaline in her system were off the charts. Yet she wasn’t moving. These readings matched the readings from Lieutenant Young, and the result appeared to be the same:
Deanna was dying.
Beverly grabbed a needle from her kit, and then paused. To wake Deanna would be to put her through hell. According to the tricorder readings, Deanna was still conscious, but her system was overloaded. To stimulate her, to make her mind deal with all of the input it was getting, would probably push her over the edge into total insanity.
No. A sedative would be better, and something to block the psychic transfers. There were a number of drugs that would do the trick. The problem was that they were all in sickbay.
“Computer,” Beverly said, “download all information on Betazoid empathic powers and blocks into my sickbay computers.”
“Download complete.”
“Step one,” Beverly said to herself. She found the sedative she was looking for in her bag, and gave it to Deanna. Deanna’s eyes slowly closed and she seemed to breathe a little smoother.
“Computer, is anyone in the transporter rooms?”
“The transporter rooms are empty.”
Just what she needed. Beverly bit back a retort.
“Find Transporter Chief Anderson.”
“Transporter Chief Anderson is in engineering.”
Beverly hit her comm badge. “Anderson,” she said. “This is Dr. Crusher. I need an emergency beamacross to sickbay.”
“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Anderson said. “Someone accidentally blasted the transporter controls here. Have you checked with the transporter rooms?”
“Yes, I have, Chief, and no one is in any of them.”
“I could go—”
“Do so, and if I’m not in sickbay when you get to the transporter room, beam me directly there.”
“Aye, sir.”
Beverly slung her kit over her left shoulder, then picked up Deanna, one arm under her back and the other under her knees. Beverly staggered forward for a moment, then straightened her back, letting Deanna’s weight settle more firmly in her arms.
“I can do this,” she said to herself. “Just one step at a time and I’ll make it.”
Slowly, she headed for the door, and by the time she was outside Deanna’s quarters she was gaining confidence. And speed. It had been a long time since she had carried dead weight for some distance. Certainly not since she had been on the Enterprise.
But she could do it. The key was to breathe deeply and move at a constant pace.
Then Captain Picard’s voice echoed through the small corridor. “Senior officers to the conference room.”
“Excellent timing, Jean-Luc,” Beverly muttered.
Lieutenant Worf was the last to arrive in the conference room. He had stopped by his quarters to touch the bat’leth that Kahless had given him, a sign to Worf of his own courage.
He was appalled at his initial reaction to the Furies. He had studied the Klingon response to the original Fury attack all those years ago, and had thought it impossible for a modern Klingon to act in a panicked way.
Then he had argued with the captain about the value of fear.
Argued.
As if he needed to justify his own fears.
Cowards justified their fears.
And Worf was no coward.
He strode into the conference room as if nothing were wrong. Riker and La Forge had entered just before him. As Worf suspected, he had lost no time in stopping at his quarters.
In fact, he had probably gained them all time. He had to remind himself of Klingon honor, not Klingon shame.
Captain Picard was standing beside his chair. The others were sitting. But two chairs were empty.
Dr. Crusher’s chair, and Counselor Troi’s.
Deanna’s empty chair seemed to scream at him, call him a fool and a coward all at once.
Worf glanced at the door. He should have thought of the effect this overwhelming emotion would have had on Deanna. The fear had caught them all off guard. Deanna would have handled things well if she had been prepared, but she hadn’t. None of them had.
Riker was also staring at the empty chair. He must have forgotten, also. That thought gave Worf no comfort.
As a unit, both men started for the door.
“I called a meeting, gentlemen,” Picard said softly.
“But Deanna—” Worf said.
Picard nodded once. He understood too. “She will be here if she can.”
“But shouldn’t someone check on her?” Riker asked.
“Sickbay informs me that Dr. Crusher has already done so.” The captain clasped his hands behind his back. Worf recognized the gesture. The captain would say no more. But he just couldn’t let it go at that.
“Begging the captain’s pardon,” Worf said, “but I believe we should check on he
r condition.”
“I understand your concern, Lieutenant, but Dr. Crusher will see to Deanna’s needs. Right now, I require your presence here.”
Worf took a deep breath. He knew his duty. But he also knew how valuable Deanna was to the ship.
And to him.
He turned and came back to his chair, sitting heavily. Commander Riker was still by the door, looking indecisive. He never looked that indecisive.
“You too, Will,” Picard said softly. “We’re all concerned for Deanna, but I’m afraid that right now we have other matters to attend to. I just received a scrambled communication from Admiral Kirschbaum. The Starships Madison and Idaho—”
The door hissed open and Beverly Crusher hurried in. Her long red hair was plastered to her face, and a line of sweat ran down the side of her uniform.
“Forgive me for being late, Captain,” she said, and slumped into the nearest chair.
The terror Worf had been feeling all day rose. He had to clench his massive fists to contain it. “The counselor?” he asked.
Dr. Crusher glanced at him, her mouth a thin line. “I don’t know, Worf. I got her to sickbay, and put her under sedation. I also used some blockers, hoping to stop the empathic response. But when I found her, her system was overloading.”
“Like Lieutenant Young’s?” Riker asked.
“It’s similar,” Dr. Crusher said, “but not the same. The terror we’ve all been feeling has amplified in Deanna. I don’t believe she saw anything or did anything to trigger this. She calmed noticeably once we administered the block.”
“Do you believe that she’ll be conscious any time soon?” the captain asked.
“I don’t know if it’s a good idea for us to let her to be conscious until we settle this,” Dr. Crusher said. “I’m not sure how much she can take.”
“It is only going to get worse,” Worf said. “We have not yet faced the Furies directly. We have only contacted them from a distance.”
“Do you expect us to face them directly, Mr. Worf?” the captain asked.
“I believe, Captain, given what we found on Brundage Station, and given the past history of the Furies, that we will face them directly in a fight.”
“If they board the ship or come into contact directly with Deanna,” Dr. Crusher said, “I cannot vouch for her sanity. In fact, I can’t vouch for any of our sanity. I had hoped to get her help with Lieutenant Young, since he was the first. I believe all of his trouble is psychological, not physical.”
“Hmm,” the captain said, obviously seeing the implications in what Dr. Crusher was saying.
Worf agreed with the doctor. He had thought he might be immune, yet he had felt the terror of the Furies. He had thought he would react differently from his ancestors. But he hadn’t. He had been just as terrified from the contact.
The key, though, as the captain had pointed out, was to overcome that fear.
And he would, for his own sake as well as Deanna’s.
“Well,” the captain said, “we must leave Deanna and Lieutenant Young in your capable care, Beverly.”
He unclasped his hands, then clasped them as if he didn’t know what to do with them. “Admiral Kirschbaum contacted me again. The Starships Madison and Idaho will arrive in three hours. The Klingons and Vulcans will assist us as well. Two of the Klingons’ closest Birds-of-Prey will be here at the same time as the starships. The Vulcan ship T’Pau will arrive within four hours.”
“Only two ships?” Worf asked. The fear he had been trying to suppress rose again. The Klingons would not shame themselves. Not again.
“I am told, Mr. Worf, that the Klingon Homeworld is massing two lines of defense. One is here, and the other, the main one, is farther inside the border to Klingon space. The Federation is doing the same. We are simply the front line, the first battle of what may turn out to be a very long and costly war.”
It was uncharacteristic of Klingons to have a backup line of defense. Worf crossed his arms and leaned back, forcing himself into silence. His people had acted so impulsively during the first encounter with the Furies, it made sense for them to act more conservatively this time.
“So no one believes we’ll survive this,” Commander Riker said without a trace of bitterness.
“Starfleet is operating under the assumptions posited by Captain Kirk, Number One. The first Enterprise barely managed to beat one Fury ship. Granted, it was a very different ship from the five we are facing out there, but the thought is that the Furies will arrive stronger this time. Five ships would tend to back up that line of thinking.”
“We’re stronger now, too,” Geordi said.
“We are, Mr. La Forge, and we have to hope that the Furies do not know that. But we cannot rely on their ignorance as a source of defense. Starfleet has had a Furies scenario for eighty years. The first ship on the scene is to negotiate with the Furies, and should that fail, the ship is to consider a breach of the Furies Point an act of war.”
“But they attacked the Brundage Station,” Worf said.
Picard nodded. “With the Furies’ attack on the station, the wartime analysis is assured. We are to do our best to defeat them here, but Starfleet believes that the Furies will sweep through our defenses and move into the quadrant. Hence the backup forces, both on our side and on the Klingon side.”
“They could give us a chance before they give up on us,” Geordi mumbled.
Worf agreed, but said nothing. Sometimes it was the place of a warrior to die, and to do so on the front lines of battle would be a great honor.
“They have not given up on us, Mr. La Forge,” the captain said. “If they had, they would not be sending so many ships here. But we learned in our first encounter with the Furies to be careful. We are not facing another space-traveling race with equal or lesser powers. Instead we are facing a race that ruled this entire quadrant for possibly over two millennia and want to do so again. We must respond accordingly.”
Worf moved forward slightly. “What other forces will join in the larger battle?”
“We don’t know.” The captain took a deep breath, as if he had been hesitating about sharing this next information. “The Romulans have refused to come to our aid. The Cardassians have decided to wait until they know the outcome of this first battle. They claim their concerns are not simply for this sector of space, but for the quadrant itself.”
Riker snorted, but said nothing.
“And the wormhole near Deep Space Nine. Have the people there been warned?” La Forge asked.
“The entire quadrant now knows and is preparing at this point. Admiral Kirschbaum hopes to have more support as time goes on. Some planets simply do not have strong defensive capabilities. It is up to us to make certain, if possible, that the Furies do not go beyond this area.”
Worf found himself nodding in agreement. The most important fight was here. The Federation and the Empire would lose the advantage if the fight spread out over the neighboring star systems and into the quadrant.
“That presents a problem, Captain,” Dr. Crusher said. “Even with this limited contact, the crew is not responding well. I have twenty-seven people in sickbay under heavy sedation. Those who can function are picking up the slack and encouraging those who are marginal. But our biggest problem is with the families. We are managing, but certainly we aren’t performing anywhere near capacity. I don’t know how many personnel would be able to hold their posts during an attack.”
The captain smiled tightly. “I am aware of that, Doctor. It is ourselves and our reactions that we must conquer first before moving on to the Furies. To that end, Mr. La Forge, what have you discovered in engineering?”
“Nothing yet, sir,” Geordi said, “but we are working on several theories. Lieutenant Redbay believes that this fear response is artificially created and carried on a beam of some sort. In theory I agree with him. He’s working right now to discover the source of the reaction and to see if he can block it.”
“How long do you estimate this
will take?” the captain asked.
Geordi shook his head. “I wish I could tell you, Captain. But right now, we’re working on supposition and logic. No definitive proof at all. And since we don’t know what we’re looking for, we don’t know how to block it or what it will take to do so.”
“Lieutenant Redbay’s supposition would seem to be a correct one,” Data said. “The fear response in this ship is, according to my analysis of the old records, far stronger than the reaction the original Enterprise crew had. It also does not follow the same pattern that theirs did.”
Picard nodded. “Well, if we cannot block the attack from without, we must stop it from within.”
Worf knew of the battle within. Klingons fought it most of their lives. “Klingons have a technique called KloqPoq that might serve us well.”
“I’m not sure this is the time, Mr. Worf,” Riker said.
“KloqPoq does not always entail a ritual,” Worf said. “The shortened version requires only the touch of oil upon the forehead combined with words of strength.” There had been many times over the years that he had used the ritual, and it had worked every time to calm him.
“Right now,” the captain said, “I am willing to try anything that will help the crew. Number One, I want you to issue a statement to the crew about cultural rituals such as the one Mr. Worf described. Some of these might have been invented in response to prehistoric contact with the Furies. We cannot rule any of these rituals out. But do stress, Number One, that these rituals cannot take time away from duty. The shorter the better.”
Picard turned and looked at him. “Mr. Worf, you may perform the short version on any crew member who desires it.”
Worf nodded. “Thank you, sir.” He was pleased that the captain allowed him to help.
“In the meantime, Dr. Crusher, is there any physical way to block the fear response?”
She frowned and pushed a strand of red hair aside, smearing the dirt and sweat coating her forehead. “There are several in humans, Captain, but I wouldn’t want to use any of these before a battle. They also inhibit other responses as well.”
Invasion!, Book Two: The Soldiersof Fear Page 8
