Chapter Four

DEANNA TROI LEANED BACK in her chair and yawned. She blinked wearily at her computer screen and finally flicked it off. Even after reading a dozen essays, reports, and abstracts on Elaysians and Gemworld, complete with improbable pictures, she still couldn’t imagine what it was like. A weightless planet with breathable atmosphere, giant crystals instead of soil, half a dozen sentient races, most of them not remotely humanoid. One essay had suggested that Gemworld was one of the oldest continuously inhabited planets in the Alpha Quadrant. Another had said it wasn’t a planet at all, just an artificial construct; a third called it the curious remains of a planet. Even people who had been there couldn’t agree on what it was.

One thing was certain, Melora Pazlar came from there at considerable hardship. Compared to the other races on Gemworld, the Elaysians were extroverts, but by Federation standards they were still secretive and reserved. They were technologically capable of space travel, but apparently uninterested. Except for the redoubtable Lieutenant Pazlar. Maybe if you lived on such a remarkable planet—and could fly unaided like a bird—you were content to stay at home.

No doubt about it, Melora Pazlar was a true pioneer—the kind of woman who would be written about in history books, if she were human. Troi had known other pioneers in Starfleet—Worf was a good example. But Worf came from a spacefaring race—two of them, counting his human upbringing. Data was also unique in Starfleet, but Data had been designed to live among the stars. Both Data and Worf had struggled to fit in without losing their unique identities, and they had finally succeeded. Without knowing her better, it was hard to tell if Melora Pazlar had succeeded or not.

Some serious problem was bothering the Elaysian, that much was certain, and it had taken the form of a dream. But what did the dream represent?

With another yawn, Troi realized that she was not going to solve this riddle immediately, and the answer was not going to be found in a dry computer text. She rose to her feet and checked the time. Darn it! She had missed dinner with Riker. Of course, he knew she was working on the Melora Pazlar problem, per the captain’s request, so he wouldn’t have reminded her about it. Men either reached you when you wanted to be left alone, or they left you alone when you wanted to be reached.

She was really more tired than hungry, and she surveyed the empty couches in her office with more interest than usual. Maybe she could steal a moment’s rest to recharge her brain cells, then she might try to contact other counselors who had served with Melora Pazlar. Maybe one of them could shed some light on her situation.

Before she could even debate the proposition, Troi’s body had sunk onto the full-size sofa. Her legs stretched out all by themselves, and her head alighted on a throw pillow. It felt as if she were floating. “Computer,” she said softly, “dim lights to one third and suppress door chime.”

“Acknowledged,” said a disembodied voice. The lights dimmed to a soothing, tasteful level, and Deanna had a sudden image of a broad purple ocean, with the sun hiding behind salmon-colored clouds. “Computer,” she said, “may I have a background sound—ocean waves on the beach.”

The office filled with the slow, cleansing sound of waves breaking on a distant shore, far from the cares of Starfleet, Melora Pazlar, or anyone else. Golden pink clouds billowed over the dark ocean, and Troi could see the waves rushing up the shore and fleeing again, wiping the sand clean. The effect was so serene and joyful that tears welled in the corners of her eyes, and her body floated on the gentle surf.

Without realizing she was asleep and dreaming, Deanna let the warm, dark water wash over her. She felt herself sinking, but this was no cause for panic, because her body was filmy and amorphous, accustomed to this world. Although the water seemed thicker than she expected, she found she could move up and down by opening and closing her limbs. When she wanted to move sideways, she merely floated on the favorable currents, which changed with every passing wave.

Under the water were murky pillars and encrusted monoliths, which she could dart under and use for cover. There were predators in these waters, and she realized it was a primordial time, when life was short and exciting. This was a memory, she realized, in which her dream logic was perfectly acceptable. Dreams often replayed true memories.

Without warning, her vision blurred, and she suddenly began to see through entirely different eyes. These weren’t even eyes, but more like an inner vision of the mind, which Troi accepted as another memory. The dark ocean seemed to evaporate, leaving the monoliths and pillars behind like the bones of a departed animal. As the blazing sun and acidic rain bleached these stark monuments, dehydrating them, a remarkable transformation occurred: they turned into sparkling jewels! Giant prisms, clusters of gems, magical spires, and sweeping archways reached for the sky.

She saw this in a watery vision, and she knew that she was inside one of the great crystals. Eons of playing among them had led to playing inside them. A lucky few adapted and learned to synthesize sunlight and consume microscopic animals, and they survived inside the crystals when the oceans receded. That was a tragic time, Deanna knew, but it was a necessary step in their evolution to a higher level of intelligence. Trapped inside scattered crystals, they learned to communicate telepathically, or die of loneliness.

Epochs seemed to wash through her dream like the waves breaking on the shore. They still lived in the thick liquid, among the dancing lights and shifting rainbows, but they were no longer alone. There was a large community of beings drawn together by the unique qualities of this world. Some were as simple as children, but others were aged and possessed great wisdom. Before Troi could sort this out, she felt herself moving among the stars. She was racing at the speed of thought—looking for a receptive mind.

She was not alone in this massive exploration. There was a great armada surrounding her. Their silky bodies blossomed outward, and they filled the vast starscape like a million sailing ships catching the wind at once. She could see them coming . . . filling the sky! The sight was so magnificent that it again brought tears to her eyes.

As so often happens in dreams, there came a moment when she realized that she was dreaming. This epic drama wasn’t happening to her—she was a privileged observer, not the star. But she was a part of it, Troi was certain. She had been brought in for a reason: to play a crucial rule in a saga that had been unfolding since the universe was new. These events had not happened to her, but they had happened. She felt them as keenly as she felt her love for Will, her pride in her work, her loyalty to Captain Picard and her mother, and all the other absolutes in her life.

In a vivid farewell, the armada of dreamships turned gracefully in unison, caught the stardust in their sails, and melted into the night sky.

Deanna opened her eyes and sat up. Her heart was racing and her mouth was dry. Did I really see what I thought I saw? Maybe she had read too much about Gemworld, and her imagination had taken over. It was just a dream, after all.

She jumped off the couch and busied herself doing several small chores around her office. She knew that if this were a typical dream, she would forget the details quickly in the mundane pursuits of writing logs, filing reports, and working on her schedule.

After an hour, the images would not go away. They seemed as fresh as if they had happened to her personally just a few minutes ago. Athough not a word had been spoken, her interpretations were as clear now as during the dream—she knew exactly what she had seen. The fear, loneliness, struggles, and triumphs were just as vivid as any emotions in her own life. Like it or not, the Lipuls’ collective memories had become her own.

And like it or not, she was about to become Melora Pazlar’s staunchest defender. With a sense of duty but also a sense of awe, Deanna Troi straightened her uniform and set off for the bridge.

 

In the captain’s ready room, Data cocked his head. “You would be the first member of the Federation in two hundred and four years to be contacted in this manner.”

Troi nodded vigorously and looked from Will Riker to Captain Picard. She could sense their irritation, their reluctance to interrupt the current mission. “I know,” she muttered. “And there’s no video log I can show you, and no communications record, but the original first contact was well documented. In fact, the Lipuls led a Starfleet ship on a twenty-year mission to reach them. Believe me, it wasn’t a regular dream—I can remember every detail vividly. Our two dreams have to be related.”

“I see.” Captain Picard scowled and turned to Riker. “What have we gotten off our long-range scans?”

“Nothing conclusive. There is a surprising amount of subspace interference in the region, but nothing our sensors can identify as the cause. We haven’t been able to get through on subspace either.”

“Let’s find out if there are any ships in the area who can investigate.”

Riker nodded and started for the door. He paused long enough to smile at Deanna. “You wouldn’t be trying to get us shoreleave, would you?”

“I wouldn’t mind seeing Gemworld,” she admitted. That was just like Will, thought Deanna, trying to cover his discomfort with a joke.

After he left, she turned to face Captain Picard and Data. “Is there anything else you’d like to know?”

“When I talked to you after you met Lieutenant Pazlar,” said the captain, “you didn’t seem to believe her story.”

“I believed that she was truthful in her concern,” answered Troi. “Did I believe it was something we should all be concerned about? I didn’t then, but I do now.”

The captain stepped behind his desk and took a seat. “This is a long shot, but is there anybody still alive who was contacted by them during that earlier time?”

“Two hundred years ago?” Troi asked doubtfully.

“Two hundred and four years ago,” corrected Data.

“Actually there is. There were six Vulcans on the mission, and I believe one of them is still alive.”

“Do you know his name off the top of your head?” asked Deanna. She was only half kidding.

“No, I do not.” Data frowned as if this were a serious failing. “But I will find out.”

“Make it so,” ordered Picard.

The android hurried out of the ready room, and the counselor crossed her arms and looked at the captain. Despite his polite reserve, she could still feel Picard’s irritation. “I was only vaguely aware of Gemworld until a few hours ago,” she explained. “Now I feel as if I grew up there! I didn’t plan on making you take a detour.”

“Maybe we won’t have to,” said the captain resolutely. “I’m still prepared for this to be a false alarm.”

His combadge beeped. “Bridge to Picard,” said Riker’s voice.

“Yes.”

Riker continued, “Starfleet says there are no ships in the vicinity of Gemworld. It’s off all the main routes. As for investigating, since we’re on a non-critical mission, they say we should use our discretion.”

Troi grinned, despite trying to keep a professional demeanor. “It’s nice that they trust us.”

“Maintain course,” ordered Picard, not yet convinced.

“Yes, sir. Riker out.”

As soon as he had signed off, another voice interrupted. “Data to Picard.”

“Go ahead.”

“I have located the Vulcan crewmember,” reported the android. “Unfortunately, Captain T’Mila died seventy-nine minutes ago in a Vulcan hospice. She was suffering from Bendii Syndrome. It seems that she awoke from a nap in great agitation, insisting that she had to report to an unknown ship. She collapsed and died shortly afterwards. Her caregivers attributed her agitation to the delusional effects of Bendii Syndrome. However, it would seem to me—”

“I can draw the conclusion,” answered Picard. “Set a course for Gemworld, maximum warp.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And notify the staff there will be a meeting in the conference room at twenty-two hundred. Picard out.” The captain looked at Troi and scowled. “There will be a lot of crewmembers upset about this. Although Melora Pazlar won’t be one of them, I’m sure.”

“We’re doing the right thing,” Deanna assured him. Now that she thought about it, she realized she had no idea what they would find there. Melora had talked about destruction and dire threats in her dream, but there had been nothing like that in Deanna’s dream, except in the ancient past.

She suddenly had an uneasy feeling that her vision of Gemworld had been sugarcoated, like the rock candy it resembled.

 

A display case full of elegant models of starships and sailing vessels, all bearing the name Enterprise, stood watch over an animated gathering in the conference room. It was animated because several of the participants had no idea why they were there, or why the ship had abruptly changed course. For once, there wasn’t a war to explain it. Troi felt sorriest for Beverly Crusher and Geordi La Forge, who had been taken completely by surprise.

She gazed out the panoramic window. The stars blurred past at warp speed, attesting to the fact that they were headed somewhere in a great hurry.

“This all started because of a dream?” asked Crusher in disbelief. “Who had this dream?”

“I had one of them,” answered Troi. “A new crewmember, Melora Pazlar, had the other.”

The doctor blinked her green eyes thoughtfully. “Yes . . . I just scheduled her for physical therapy. She should be at her appointment now. Maybe I should give her a complete physical before we put too much faith in anyone’s dreams. No offense, Counselor.” Troi nodded in acknowledgement.

“The captain and Data are on their way,” answered Riker. “Let’s hold off discussions and suggestions until they get here.”

La Forge leaned forward, looking mildly irritated. “But, sir, we’ve assembled two special teams for the graviton polarimeter test and the pulse-compression wavelength measurements. We’ve been preparing for weeks—are we just going to scrap the tests?”

“They’ll be delayed,” answered an authoritative voice. Everyone turned to see Captain Picard enter the conference room, followed closely by Data.

Picard took his place at the head of the table. “I’d like to thank everyone for their patience and understanding. Our change in plans is as much a surprise to me as to everyone else, but we’ve lost contact with a Federation planet. We know this because we have on board the only representative of that planet in Starfleet. She’s Lieutenant Melora Pazlar, and she’ll be here as soon as she finishes her therapy. She’s Elaysian, from the planet Gemworld.”

La Forge gazed at the captain with his white ocular implants. “Isn’t that an artificial planet?”

“Data,” said the captain, “will you please brief us on Gemworld.”

Before the android could begin, Troi found herself speaking up. “Excuse me, sir. May I brief everyone? I know that’s usually Data’s job, but I’ve been studying this planet, both while I’ve been awake and asleep.”

Nonplussed, Data turned to Picard to see if he was amenable. The captain nodded. “Go ahead, Counselor.”

After everyone had settled into their seats, Deanna began. “It’s true, some scientists in the Federation consider Gemworld to be an artificial planet because it requires a network of forcefields to hold its class-M atmosphere. There’s hardly any gravity. A spherical, metallic cage encompasses the planet, and this shell contains the forcefields, hydrogen scoops, solar collectors, dark-matter collectors, oxygen generators, and other equipment essential to maintain the planet.”

Now La Forge sat forward with interest, and she could tell he was beginning to come around. She went on, barely having to think about what she was saying. “The Elaysians are only one of six sentient species who live on the planet. Their name for it translates roughly as ‘Gemworld,’ and it’s easy to see why. Nothing is left of the original planet except for mammoth crystals in an array of colors. Can you imagine great gemstone arcs, monoliths hundreds of meters high, and gigantic clusters of crystals?”

Troi’s hands swept the air as she described these wonders, and everyone was gazing at her, apparently transfixed. Somewhat embarrassed, she lowered her hands.

“Gemworld is not artificial,” she concluded. “It had conventional origins, with a class-G yellow sun. In fact, it may be one of the oldest inhabited planets in the quadrant. Gemworld flourished for eons and should be long dead by now, but the inhabitants have worked hard to give it a second life.

“Two billion years ago, it was an ocean world, rich in minerals and lifeforms. In this supersaturated solution, the mammoth crystals began to grow, and they gradually took over. As the crystals became like land masses, the water evaporated, and a myriad of unique species began to take hold. After more years, the inhabitants learned how to stimulate and control the growth of the crystals.”

These events were vivid to Deanna because of the dream images in her mind. She wanted to describe all the tumult and triumph of that era, but she kept her tone factual and to the point.

“In time,” she went on, “the water receded, and they learned how to use other matter to feed the growth of the crystals, replacing the need for a solution. They used fractal models to stimulate the crystals because fractal geometry kept the structure sound while providing infinite variety and expansion. Natural evaporation and dehydration caused the crystals to weigh less than the oceans and converted matter, so the planet began to lose mass.

“When the seas were gone, the inhabitants used the core of the planet to feed the crystals, reducing the planet’s mass even further. They had to build the shell and its forcefields to hold in the atmosphere. Millennia later, most of the gravity has disappeared, but the shell is still working. Over the years, it’s been upgraded to collect fuel for the crystal and protect the atmosphere. In return, the crystal affords multi-plane housing and sustenance for billions of beings.”

“That really sounds like something!” said La Forge, impressed by her descriptions. “Have you been there?”

“Only in a dream. One of the species, the Lipuls, achieved first contact with the Federation through dream telepathy.” For several minutes, Troi went on in greater detail about the Lipuls’ dreamships, her dream, and Melora Pazlar’s dream. She also mentioned the aged Vulcan, T’Mila, who had died mysteriously about the same time she had woken up from her own dream.

When she was done, Beverly Crusher shook her head in awe. “Well, that’s that, isn’t it? All I can say is . . . when do we get there?”

“Thirty-one hours and sixteen minutes,” answered Data. The android swiveled his head to look at Troi. “That was an excellent briefing. I enjoyed it.”

“Thank you.”

“What exactly do we think has happened to this planet?” asked La Forge.

“We don’t know,” admitted Picard. “When you only have dreams to work with, the information is a little vague. A subspace relay near the planet is definitely nonfunctional.”

The captain looked apologetically at Troi. “Counselor, I’m sorry I doubted you. It’s plain to see that you’ve been there, in spirit if not in body.”

“I feel that way. But we should really hear from Lieutenant Pazlar. She knows a lot more than I do.”

The captain nodded and tapped his combadge. “Picard to Barclay. Is Lieutenant Pazlar finished?”

“Yes, sir! We’re on our way.”

La Forge slashed a finger through the air. “Why can’t we do the graviton experiments on Gemworld instead of Primus IV? It should be easier there, if they have breathable atmosphere.”

“If we can get their permission, I don’t see why not,” answered Picard.

“That should mollify the troops,” added La Forge with a smile.

A moment later, Pazlar limped into the room with Reg Barclay right behind her. She looked around at the expectant faces, turned to Deanna, and grinned broadly. “It worked, didn’t it? They contacted you.”

“Yes, we’re on our way to Gemworld,” answered Troi. “But I still don’t know what’s wrong there.”

“Neither do I,” said the Elaysian, her smile fading. “Maybe they don’t even know.”

 

Reg Barclay hadn’t spent so much time on the bridge since his training days at the Academy. Due to his budding friendship with Melora—and her trust in him—he had been assigned to assist her. He was included in every meeting and planning session—although there wasn’t much they could plan since they didn’t know what to expect. He certainly learned more about Gemworld than he ever expected to know. It sounded like an amazing place—it had to be to produce someone like Melora Pazlar.

Now that she wasn’t struggling to make them believe her dream and take her home, the Elaysian turned into a dynamo. She put in long hours on the bridge, manning sensors, tracking ships in the region, monitoring subspace traffic, and trying to contact her planet. Barclay worked right beside her, and he never saw her grow discouraged when the long hours failed to produce any further information. To everyone’s disappointment, there were no further dreams.

He came to realize that Gemworld was in one of the most sparsely inhabited sectors of the quadrant, where only one of a thousand solar systems was inhabited. There were no space lanes near Gemworld either; it was far off the beaten track. Even the Dominion had ignored it during the recent war, deciding there was nothing to plunder in the entire sector. No wonder the Lipuls had needed to go to such great lengths to make contact with others.

Reg made sure he was on the bridge as they approached their destination at maximum warp. The bridge was a bit more crowded than usual, with himself, Pazlar, and Deanna Troi at auxiliary consoles. Captain Picard sat in the command chair with Commander Riker beside him; Data was on ops, and Ensign Yontel, a blue-skinned Bolian, staffed the conn.

“Anything on the scans?” asked Riker.

Melora shook her head. “There are still unusual levels of thoron radiation, but the sensors don’t pick up anything else.”

“Commander,” said Data, “we are now close enough to get Gemworld on visual.”

“On screen,” said the first officer.

A spherical object appeared on the viewscreen, floating in the depths of space. It hardly appeared to be a planet, at least at a distance. After studying it, Barclay decided that Gemworld looked like a snowflake made of colored jewels, encased in a delicate, silver filigree ball. He was also reminded of a clump of potpourri he had seen at his grandmother’s house, encased in a perforated metal ball to allow the floral scents to escape.

“Remarkable,” said Captain Picard, sitting forward in his chair. “Quite unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“When you’re on the planet,” said Melora, “you don’t really have a sense of the shell. It’s just a distant part of the sky.”

“ETA is in five minutes,” reported Data.

The bridge crew watched in awe as they drew closer to the remarkable planet. Reg could understand how an observer could claim that Gemworld was artificial, yet it was too beautiful and improbable to be artificial. Nobody would have ever designed such a conglomeration; it had to evolve over time, as Troi had told them. To Reg’s mind, it was more like a bionic planet. Too fragile to exist on its own, it had to be protected and supplemented with technology.

Data frowned slighly at his instruments. “Lieutenant Pazlar, you said that the shell collects dark matter.”

“Yes,” she answered, not looking up from her console. “Among other fuels.”

Data continued, “I am picking up unusual gravitational readings that may indicate a higher-than-usual concentration of dark matter.”

“Can you be more specific?” asked Picard.

The android shook his head. “No, sir. The Federation has never pursued dark matter as a viable energy source, and our understanding of that material is limited. Our sensors cannot even detect it, although they can detect the side effects of its presence.”

Melora smiled. “We can’t detect it either, but we know it’s out there. We’ve collected dark matter for centuries, although always in small amounts and combined with other fuels. When you’ve run out of almost every natural resource on your planet, you become very creative.”

“Then it isn’t a concern?” asked Picard.

She shrugged. “To be truthful, I don’t know what’s a concern at the moment.”

“Coming out of warp in one minute,” said Data.

The captain glanced at Commander Riker, who instantly ordered, “Shields up. Bring us out of warp five thousand kilometers from the shell.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the Bolian on the conn.

Barclay tensed, and everyone looked up from their boards. Even at close range, Gemworld appeared unreal and inconsequential, despite its huge size. If it weren’t inhabited, thought Reg, it could pass as the largest Christmas tree ornament in Federation space.

“Mr. Yontel,” said Riker, “this won’t be a standard orbit.”

“Adjustments are programmed in,” answered the conn. “We’re coming out of warp in ten seconds.”

As soon as the Enterprise dropped out of warp, the ship was jolted by an invisible force. Like a paper plate caught in the wind, it flew backward toward a gaping rift in space. The anomaly was black and opaque, outlined against the stars like a gash in the firmament.

On the bridge, the viewscreen went blank. A massive electromagnetic pulse surged through the ship, and the conn and ops stations exploded in a hale of sparks. Everyone was thrown out of their seats as acrid smoke billowed through the bridge. Data, his uniform blackened and smoldering, stood calmly, looked around, and strode to an undamaged auxiliary console.

“Taking over conn,” he reported, but no one responded. The command chair was empty, and Captain Picard lay sprawled on the deck. Riker was there, too, both of them unconscious. “I believe Ensign Yontel is dead,” added Data.

Barclay blinked away the stinging blood in his eyes and struggled to sit up. He realized that everyone in the circle of stations around the command chair was either dead or unconscious. Those in the outer circle of auxiliary stations had fared better. In a panic, he crawled across the deck, under the smoke, looking for Melora.

“Data! What happened?” shouted Deanna Troi, staggering to her feet.

The android’s fingers were a blur as he worked his console. “An unknown singularity has disrupted all of our systems and is pulling us into a rift. I am attempting to compensate. Would you mind taking command?”

“Computer, Troi assuming command!” she announced.

They were jolted again, and Barclay was pitched forward onto his face. With relief, he found himself staring eye to eye with Melora. She appeared to be pinned to the deck. “I don’t know what’s happening!” she said with a groan. “My anti-grav suit isn’t working.”

“Not much else is working either,” said Reg.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, reaching with difficulty for his face.

“Barclay, take a count of casualties and alert sickbay!” ordered Troi. She gave the fallen Riker, Picard, and Yontel a worried glance as she staggered to Data’s side. “Can we get away from that thing?”

“We are at full impulse and unable to escape its pull.”

Reg rolled onto his back, did a quick count, and tapped his combadge. “Bridge to sickbay! Medical emergency! Three crewmen unconscious . . . others with minor wounds.”

There was no response, and they were rocked again. The whole ship shuddered an instant before it was plunged into darkness, followed by emergency red lighting. As smoke and sparks billowed across the charred stations and fallen bodies, a Klaxon blared in alarm, and Reg held his mouth to keep from screaming.