Career Decisions
by Ron Richard
(Part 3 of 3.)
*********
�A J9 multi-phasic electron resonance scanner.� Geordi�s artificial pupils contracted in answer to Doctor Crusher�s question.
�That�s what I thought, but I need something with a greater magnification.�
Geordi�s eyebrows went up, �Greater? But with a J9, you can see the individual atomic structure.�
�I need more. I need to scan beyond the subatomic movement.�
Geordi began to employ the same, soft persuasive tone that he had learned to use with starship captains who wanted the impossible. �Even with Heisenberg compensation, anything beyond the subatomic is indefinable. It�s thought that there is some kind of sub-dimension of reality, but it can�t be accessed or even scientifically proven from this universe.�
The doctor persisted, �There are some species that claim to be able to perceive and actually manipulate the lower universe; Okampans, Metrons and a few others. If that�s true, then there is a way to access it. Let me know when it�s done.� Beverly turned and threw a, �Thanks, Geordi,� over her shoulder and left Engineering.
�But . . .�
*********
It was raining in Paris. Water was drumming on the windows of the Federation Diplomatic Corps Headquarters. The ambassador placed his palm on a security pad, �Picard, access.� The door recognized him and opened.
The vessel sat in a launch bay. Beverly�s recently acquired eye for ship design ran over her appreciatively; more than twice the size of a runabout; wide bodied, but sleek; flush mounted warp nacelles and atmospheric capable.
�This is my Federation-issued transportation. She�s the Mistral. They call it an executive sloop. It�s actually a modified Independence-class ship with a few luxury amenities added. These sloops are designed for comfort and . . . entertainment value. They were specially ordered from Utopia Planitia by the Diplomatic Corps. They�re meant not only for ambassadors� personal use, but also as a potential negotiations platform in the event a neutral site is needed. They�re roomy, comfortable and capable of extended use.�
Jean-Luc circled the ship, pointing out various features. Beverly listened with interest. �She�s not as fast or as large as Mercy, but she can sustain a warp 9.2 cruising speed. There are replicators, antimatter and deuterium reserves, armor skin technology, even a small holosuite. I look forward to piloting her. Actually I don�t expect to get much use out of it aside from the trip there. I�ll spend most of my time in the embassy on Tamaran.�
�You�ll be piloting it? And how did it happen that an ambassador of your stature doesn�t have private pilots?�
He smiled, �Actually, I ordered them to stay behind. I am a perfectly capable pilot, after all.�
�That sounds rather demanding, Ambassador.�
�I�ve dealt with my share of temperamental ambassadors over the years. Now it�s my turn to be demanding. Rank has to have some privilege, after all.�
�Beverly looked back at the sloop, �Very nice. I could see taking a ship like this on a luxury cruise; like say, the Risa to Casperia to Argelius loop.�
Jean-Luc looked into her eyes. There was a lot to think about in that statement. �I don�t think that�s what she was designed for, but you�re right.� There was a pause as he thought, �I don�t suppose you would consider accompanying me to DS9 to see me off.�
The two gazed at each other until reality took over. Captain Crusher broke the spell, �That has got to be the most tempting offer anyone could ever get, but . . . I think you know that isn�t possible.� There was longing in both of their eyes, but understanding as well, �Well this was fun, but I�m afraid I really need to get going. This day won�t wait.�
�I understand. I hope everything goes well with you, Beverly.�
�Thank you, Jean-Luc. I know that . . .�
�Utopia Planitia Operations to Captain Crusher.�
Beverly slapped her combadge, �Crusher here, go ahead.�
The com-distorted voice on the other end replied, �Commander Cheng, Refit Section here, Captain. I�m afraid I have to report a problem with Mercy�s shield generators.�
Her brow furrowed, �What kind of problem, Commander?�
�There were microfractures found in the mercassium housing. I�m afraid a whole new assembly will have to be fabricated.�
�And how long will that take?�
There was a touch of fear in the disembodied voice, �A minimum of two weeks.�
*********
�Contact with a vessel, bearing one-two-one, mark four seven, distance two point zero two light years. It�s on an intercept course.�
�Can you identify?�
�Transponder confirmed. It�s the S.S. Thresher, Federation registry.�
�Time to intercept?�
�Three hours, seventeen minutes.�
�Right on schedule. Bridge to Captain Picard . . .�
*********
The rays of the Caribbean sun felt wonderful on Beverly�s back. Her skin was at the same time cooled by the fresh ocean breeze blowing up from the surf. She lay in the hot sand with her cheek resting on her crossed arms. Far down the beach, a steel drum band played a cheerful tune. Jean-Luc lay next to her on his elbow, intent on an old hardbound biography of Captain Cook. A voice spoke from the sky.
�Attention: warp drive disengaged, approaching destination.�
Jean-Luc read one more paragraph, and then snapped his book shut, �I believe it�s time to go.�
�I suppose you�re right.� Beverly stretched languorously and rose, brushing loose sand off of her naked breasts as she did. This had the effect of jiggling them in the most delightful way.
Jean-Luc took one more look around at the tiny island of Mayreau and sighed, �Computer end program and exit.�
Paradise morphed into a small chamber crisscrossed with grid lines. The door in one wall slid open. Jean-Luc exited and headed forward. Beverly scooped up her swimsuit top that lay on the deck and followed.
Through the command cockpit windows of the sloop, the still distant form of Deep Space Nine grew larger. Jean-Luc slid into the left hand seat and started approach procedures. Beverly stood before the windows with one hand on the back of his pilot seat, the other with her bra slung over one shoulder.
Little did Beverly know that among the civilian population on board DS9, there was a small group whose hobby was monitoring and recording ship traffic coming and going from the station. It was a kind of scavenger hunt that they played with similar groups at other Federation spaceports. At least a dozen optical scanners and telescopes routinely perused all incoming ships. More than one photographic image was snapped of the incoming luxury sloop with the nearly naked redheaded figurehead at the prow.
�I suppose I should get into uniform before we dock.�
�I�ll buy you dinner on the Promenade tonight. I�ve been looking forward to some real Bajoran food.�
Beverly retreated to the sleeping compartment and called over her shoulder, �When do we enter the wormhole?�
�Tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred. Then we travel to New Bajor where the Dominion delegation will arrive with my aides. That�s when I begin the final trip to Tamaran.�
Beverly called out from the bedroom, �And that�s when I have to say good-bye to you, get onto the return transport and make that long trip right back to Earth again.� She returned to the command cabin, pulling on the rest of her Starfleet uniform. She walked over to Jean-Luc in the pilot�s seat and kissed the top of his head, �But it sure was worth it.�
*********
The resolution was astounding. Doctor Crusher had never seen a strand of DNA in this detail before. Geordi had outdone himself. This kind of observational power could prove to be a breakthrough with any number of diagnostic uses. But for the moment, she was concentrating on the tissue sample that the archaeologists had retrieved from R144, one of the planets with a dead civilization. Since this was alien DNA, the computer was not completely familiar with it, but the basic structure seemed sound. The nucleotide bonds were strong. She did note that this species had seemed to be at an evolutionary dead end at the time of its death. None of the base pair sequences had any kind of potential for change. There was literally nowhere for this species to go. Something about the exactitude bothered her. An examination of the other samples showed this same mathematical precision in the placement of the subatomic particles making up the atoms in the DNA molecule. It was after she had the computer do a computational analysis that the truth dawned on her. As she contemplated the fragility of life, a sudden horrible though struck her. She immediately called up recent mission logs, concentrating on personnel.
After an hour of checking blood and skin samples of several crewmembers, the doctor factored the results into her analysis. Upon receiving the results, she immediately hit a security companel, �Computer, initiate a shipwide Code 13; authorization Crusher, Sigma seven. Shut down all transporters, lock down all shuttlecraft and seal off all docking ports.�
*********
�DS9 Ops, this is the Federation ship Mistral, requesting clearance for the wormhole.�
�Mistral this is Ops. You are cleared to depart Upper Pylon Three. Good luck in the Gamma Quadrant, Ambassador.� And in a softer tone, one probably not meant to be heard, the Bajoran accented voice added a quiet, �May the Prophets guide you.�
*********
The going away party for Geordi lasted well past the night and into the next morning. Nearly every member of the crew and their family members stopped by to wish him well; with one notable absence.
�Where�s Doctor Crusher?� Geordi asked a group of medics.
Crewman Sanchez responded, �Locked in the science lab for the last several hours. I think she has a new toy of some kind.�
Geordi grinned to himself. He had completed her new �toy� yesterday afternoon. The subatomic scanner may not be quite as powerful as she had hoped, but he was still proud of his gadget. Geordi checked the clock for the third time in the last five minutes. He was quickly running out of time. Thresher was due to rendezvous any minute and he had to be ready to transfer. Fortunately, he was already packed. It finally came to the point where he literally went from hugging and handshaking to running for the transporter room. He said his final goodbyes to Chief Murphy then gave the command to energize. Murphy�s hands began to play over the console. The familiar sound of energy building in the phase coils suddenly aborted and all status lights in the console went out, indicating total transporter power failure . . .
*********
Gerhardt Fettmeister, helmsman on the Thresher, whistled through his teeth, �Damn. Quite a ship, isn�t she Skipper?�
Captain Threlka aimed his blue antennae at the main viewscreen that was showing the approaching Enterprise. �Pride of the fleet. Try not to run into her, Gerhardt. Do we have their transporter signal?�
Another merchant spacer on the bridge replied, �Signal interlocked. Standing by to energize.�
Threlka started to say, �Whenever you�re ready,� but was interrupted by an incessant and urgent signal that suddenly emanated from the approaching starship and issued from every speaker on Thresher.
�Extreme caution: The U.S.S. Enterprise is a quarantined vessel by order of Starfleet Command. Do not board . . . Extreme caution: The U.S.S. Enterprise is a quarantined vessel by order of Starfleet Command. Do not board . . .
*********
The wormhole event horizon exploded in a swirl of spectacular energy. Mistral was smoothly pulled into the psychedelic maw. Strange, amorphous shapes of color and light surrounded the graceful little sloop as she traveled through the artificially constructed violation of space/time.
Beverly was enthralled, �Beautiful . . . beautiful.�
Jean-Luc was equally humbled, �Spectacular. It certainly is different from the other wormhole phenomena we�ve experienced.� He added lightly, �Perhaps we have the Prophets to thank.�
Before he finished his sentence, Jean-Luc realized that his seat was beginning to vibrate. The computer spoke, �Warning, attitude instability.�
�Cause?�
�A destabilization of verteron field density, bearing zero zero one, mark zero one.� The vibration at this point had turned to sharp, violent jolts. The computer spoke again, �Warning, stresses exceeding inertial dampener tolerance levels.�
Beverly was working at the other console. �I�m reading something strange ahead. Two verteron nodes have intersected at a right angle, creating an area of instability. It reads as a rift in the lateral structure of the wormhole . . . and it�s expanding.�
Jean-Luc calmly stated, �I�ve lost helm control; impulse engines have stalled. I can�t stop our forward momentum. We�re heading right for that anomaly. Transfer emergency power to the lateral thrusters.�
�Transferring.�
�It�s not enough. We don�t have room to maneuver anyway. Structural integrity is failing.�
�The anomaly is filling the entire interior of the wormhole.� Beverly�s voice had a touch of awe, �We�re not going to be able to avoid it. Impact in fifteen seconds.�
Jean-Luc agreed, �All right . . . transfer all power to the defense systems.�
�I don�t understand . . . oh, now I do. Transferring emergency power to the shield generators.� Beverly�s hands made a few high speed moves across the console. �Ready.�
�Deploy armor.� With a final exertion, Mistral forced every last gigawatt of power into the sophisticated armor technology. The sloop enveloped itself in a dense coating of steel grey energy. An impossibly bright light and impossibly loud noise filled both the cabin and their heads . . . and all was silent.
*********
Captain�s log, Stardate 61641.2: Enterprise remains under quarantine while Doctor Crusher works to eliminate the subatomic algorithms apparently written into the very fabric of our DNA. I am told that when affected personnel come into contact with others of the same species, the encoding is transferred from person to person in the form of a subatomic dust. The program was coded to lie dormant for six to eight generations until activating and dooming our species to extinction by rewriting our DNA. Why any intelligence would do this is a mystery.
As several members of the Lynaran away teams were of non-Human races, Doctor Crusher is to be credited with the potential saving not only of Humanity, but also the Vulcan, Bajoran, Bolian, and Deltan races. Her actions in this matter have been reported to Starfleet Command with the recommendation for the highest honors.
*********
�Computer. Croissant with plum jam, coffee black . . . Beverly?�
�I�m fine, thanks.�
The replicator did its job and Jean-Luc carried his breakfast over to where Beverly was sitting and perusing a Padd.
�What�s so fascinating this morning?�
Doctor Crusher replied, �I�m just reviewing the transporter schedule. We�re falling slightly behind, but nothing to worry about. Everyone should decontaminated by fourteen-thirty today.�
�Astonishing. The subatomic algorithms you showed me were incredibly sophisticated, well beyond anything Federation science could come up with. And yet, they can be disrupted by a simple trip through the transporter.�
Beverly replied, �That was its weakness. While it was nearly undetectable, its subtlety and its complexity are what made it vulnerable. The transporter reassembles matter down to the last atom, but the subatomic mathematical potential couldn�t survive the reintegration. It was like erasing data on a chip.�
Jean-Luc said, �We�re still faced with a mystery. Who or what did this . . . and why?�
�We may never know. As far as we can tell, those planets have been held in environmental stasis for millions of years, using subatomic manipulation of the atmosphere, the life forms, the very space itself. Perhaps the intelligence responsible doesn�t even exist anymore and the whole process is automatic.�
�If that is the case, then the extinction causing program is a . . . defense mechanism, perhaps. Maybe intruders are simply recognized as anomalies or foreign bodies.�
�Maybe . . . maybe.� Beverly considered that. �Maybe whatever protects the ecosystems on these planets recognized our presence as a threat to be dealt with . . . like an antibody response to disease.�
Jean-Luc was somber, �The people on the solar systems in close proximity to Lynara must have thought they had found Paradise on their first ventures to other worlds. Little did they know they were bringing back their own doom.� A voice from the ceiling interrupted him.
�Bridge to Captain Picard.�
�Picard here.�
�We are receiving an incoming subspace communications packet, Captain. There is a message included for you from the Federation Diplomatic Corps that�s coded personal.�
�Thank you, route it to my Ready Room. I�ll be there presently.� The Captain rose and was about to thank the doctor for a lovely breakfast when the same voice interrupted him again.
�Bridge to Doctor Crusher.�
�Crusher here.�
�An incoming message from Starfleet Command for you, Doctor; �Office of Vice-Admiral Janeway.� It�s coded personal.�
�Thank you. Could you route it to my office in Sickbay, please?�
Captain Picard and Doctor Crusher glanced at each other, smiled and together said, �I wonder what they want.�
*********
�Jean-Luc, are you in there? Can you hear me?�
The voice was coming from somewhere in the darkness. It was a familiar voice. Jean-Luc thought it best to respond to it. �Beverly. . . what happened?�
When he remembered he had eyelids, he opened them. He was still in the pilot�s seat. Beverly was kneeling next to him with a medical tricorder.
�You . . . we . . . were exposed to a system shock of some kind. We�re both OK and the ship seems to be in one piece.�
Jean-Luc�s senses were returning quickly, �Computer, status.� There was no answer. He tried again, �Computer, respond.�
There was a short pause. One by one, consoles and indicators in the cockpit started activating. The voice spoke, �Main Computer, standing by.�
�Computer, execute a full diagnostic of all key systems.�
�Diagnostics underway. Stand by . . .�
Beverly was consulting her tricorder, again. Jean-Luc took this moment to glance around. There was nothing to be seen outside the windows, but stationary, distant stars.
�We�ve exited the wormhole. Have you found out anything?�
Beverly said, �Apparently all systems on the ship, including our brains, were momentarily overloaded by a tri-phasic EM pulse.�
The computer spoke again, �Diagnostics complete.�
�Report.�
�Life support online; communications online; warp drive online; navigation and helm control online; all systems nominal.�
�Computer analyze; what caused the EM pulse?�
The expressionless voice replied, �Sensor logs indicate EM pulse was produced by feedback caused by an uncontrolled transition to normal space.�
Jean-Luc said, �We�ve been thrown out of the wormhole by the anomaly. Computer, are we in the Gamma Quadrant?�
�Negative.�
�Position report.�
�One, one, seven, six by seven, nine, four, nine by six, one, four, four; sector nine seven two zero five.�
Jean-Luc went white, �Computer, distance to nearest Starbase or Federation outpost?�
The computer responded as calmly as if it were giving a weather report, �Twelve thousand, three hundred, forty-seven point eight light years to Federation colony Cyrus Seven.�
�Minimum travel time?�
�At maximum warp, eight years, two hundred, twenty-six days.�
Beverly and Jean-Luc faced each other and joined hands. She spoke first, �Am I right in that there�s no way to re-enter the wormhole?�
He nodded, �We are thousands of light years from either terminus. The only way home is under our own power.�
�Well . . . shall we?�
Jean-Luc agreed, �Computer, lay in a course for Cyrus Seven, warp nine . . .�
Jean-Luc and Beverly gazed into each other�s eyes, contemplating the next eight years. In perfect harmony, together they said,
�Engage.�