Chapter Nine

REG BARCLAY FLOATED in an uncomfortable silence a few centimeters above his seat on the shuttlecraft. He was uncomfortable not because of the weightlessness but because of the icy curtain of silence Melora Pazlar had strung between them. She hadn’t spoken to him since they left the briefing aboard the Enterprise. True, she had to pilot the shuttlecraft, and there were plenty of obstacles among the glittering crystals, but she could acknowledge his existence, couldn’t she?

He thought about tightening his lap belt some more, but he didn’t want to appear to be frightened of the low gravity. More than anything, he wanted Melora to feel that he was sympathetic to her, but how could he be sympathetic if he was scared of low gravity? So the lanky lieutenant floated nervously above his seat, trying to cross his legs and appear nonchalant.

Under the best of circumstances, Reg wasn’t comfortable making small talk, and this was even more torturous. He didn’t even know where they were going; but it couldn’t be the shell because they were headed the wrong direction. He had to trust that she was on-mission, which was to get one of the six senior engineers back to the shell. There was no other way to gain access to the high-level subroutines.

Reg decided that he was within his rights to ask where they were going. After all, it wasn’t top secret, and he was an integral part of the away team. Nevertheless, he had to screw up his courage to even clear his throat, which he did. That guttural sound didn’t get a reaction from Melora as he had hoped, so Reg grew bolder. “Uh, I was just wondering . . . w-where are we going?”

She ignored him, and Reg felt a flash of anger, which spurred him to try again. “Come on, Melora! You can’t ignore me the whole trip—you’ve got to talk to me sometime.”

“But not until I have to,” she snapped back.

“Well . . . you can at least tell me where we’re going.”

She sighed impatiently. “The Hold of the Regal Oneness.”

“Oh, that clears it up,” muttered Barclay. “I was worried we were going to the hold of the Twoness or Threeness.”

She seethed angrily at him. “I can’t believe you suggested that one of our senior engineers sabotaged the shell. What could possibly be the motive for that?”

Barclay gulped. “I was just drawing a logical conclusion. If you hang around Data enough, you end up doing that. Please forgive me—it’s nothing personal.”

“I know.” Melora slowed the craft down, as much to give herself a moment to think as to avoid a large cloud of dark, shattered crystals floating in the air. A few of the shards sizzled on the shuttlecraft’s forcefield. “It’s just that I haven’t been back here in so long, and I feel like I don’t belong. My loyalties are divided. I never questioned any of our traditions before, but now I do. Gemworld is the same place I left . . . but it’s not.”

She shook her head in amazement. “When I was growing up here, I thought it was a paradise, a place where there was never any strife or ill feelings. Now for the first time I see that some of us are petty and small-minded. Also, the Lipuls summoned us, but my own people don’t seem to want us. I’ve never noticed the philosophical difference between our species before. I thought we were always in agreement.”

“Well,” said Reg, “you left here a child and you came back an adult. You lost your innocence along the way. Fighting in a war will do that to you.”

Despite her silky blond hair, Melora’s face looked as dark as the cloud of broken crystals. “And I’ve heard all of you talk about Gemworld: ‘It’s artificial, it’s a skeleton, it should have died a million years ago.’ And, you know, I look around here, and I can’t help but to agree with you. Now I’ve seen young planets in their prime, and I know this planet is more preserved than alive. Who have we been fooling all these years?”

“Melora, you’re . . . you’re dead wrong,” insisted Reg. “Gemworld is a beautiful place, a triumph of the will to survive. You’ve built, you’ve adapted, and you’ve lived in peace forever. Your people don’t have to apologize for anything you’ve had to do to survive. So what if Gemworld doesn’t look like a thousand other planets? We’re all impressed with it, even if we can’t figure it out exactly.”

Melora gave him an appreciative smile, then turned back to her instruments. “Thank you, Reg. I’m sure glad I ran into you in the corridor and not somebody else.”

He looked down sheepishly. “Uh, no, I think I ran into you.”

“No, I wasn’t looking where I was going. That’s me, full speed ahead! Good thing my full speed on a ship isn’t too fast.”

“Then I can stop feeling guilty?”

“Yes.” Pazlar laughed. “You feel guilty too often, Reg. You act like you’re always being punished for something.”

“Well, I was kind of a mischievous child,” admitted Barclay. “And even now, I still seem to mess up a lot and irritate my crewmates. I guess I’m never quite sure if people like me, or if they’re just putting up with me.”

“Your shipmates seem to like you just fine,” answered Pazlar. “And whatever mistakes you’ve made, you still have a really good record—lengthy service on the Enterprise and every vessel you’ve been aboard.”

“You checked my record?” asked Reg, not sure if he should be pleased or annoyed.

“Only because I didn’t want to bring somebody aggressive down here to Gemworld. I wanted to bring somebody like you . . . nice.”

“Why, thank you,” said Reg, now certain he should be pleased. “I did some checking on you, too.”

“You did?” Melora smiled, actually sounding pleased.

“But not your record,” admitted Barclay. “It was more like scuttlebutt.”

“Oh,” she said knowingly, “one of my favorite parts of Starfleet—scuttlebutt. You found out that I like human men.”

“Uh, yes,” said Reg, certain he was blushing. “I mean, I found out you were involved with a couple of human men.”

She shrugged. “Yup, humans are my weakness. But I move around far too much to have any kind of real involvement. It’s odd, but I seem to be attracted to men who are rather shy and insecure—maybe they remind me more of home. Tangre Bertoran not withstanding, most Elaysians are mild mannered.”

But Barclay was barely listening; he was still rerunning in his mind the part where she said she was attracted to men who were “shy and insecure.” Could that mean him?

“Yes,” he said, trying to agree with her. “Tangre Bertoran—a great man!”

She frowned puzzledly at him. “That’s debatable. So, why aren’t you attached? You’ve been on the same ship with the same crew for as long as I’ve been in Starfleet.”

“I haven’t met the right woman,” he said, shrugging his lanky shoulders. “Remember, I’m shy and insecure.”

Melora smiled. “That’s what they all say.”

Now that the conversation had turned to his love life, or lack thereof, Reg felt a desire to change the subject. “We are chasing down a senior engineer, right?”

“Yes. On the shell, they told me that the engineer who represents the Elaysians is at the Hold of the Regal Oneness. Despite the title, it’s nothing but a communal storage area, but an important one. It serves a wide area, and if something were to happen to those stores, the whole region would be in turmoil.”

“How much farther?”

“We’re almost there,” she answered. “See how many people live around here?”

Barclay peered out the window, and he finally noticed a few small details which revealed that these rainbow-hued crystals were indeed inhabited. Filmy nets were strung in the crux of one massive cluster, and hover-platforms were tethered nearby. Some greenery grew in clumps from a large prism, and thick nourishment strands snaked through the crystalline structures.

Looking as hard as he could, Reg couldn’t see any actual Elaysians flying around or watching from their homes, as they usually did. Melora mentioned it first. “I don’t know where everybody is. Maybe we’ll find out.”

Without warning, a shaft of dark shards rose from deep in the planet and plowed into the tiny shuttlecraft. It was buffeted by the impact, but the shields held as a shimmer rippled across the bow. Reg flinched while Melora calmly piloted them away from the deadly debris. When he opened his eyes, he saw the deadly cloud whoosh past them, put into motion by an unexpected gravity spike.

Melora looked intent as she piloted the shuttlecraft back onto course, and they picked up speed. Reg was going to inquire about the wisdom of that, given what had just happened, but he remembered that Melora was the kind who plowed full speed ahead. She was worried about her people and their food storage, and she wanted to reach them as soon as possible.

In short order, they saw Elaysians hovering in the distance, and Melora slowed down the shuttlecraft, to Reg’s relief. They cautiously approached a large cluster of yellow crystals that seemed to be completely enshrouded in green nets, with a swarm of Elaysians frantically adding more nets. As they drew closer, Barclay could see why—there were huge rips in the net where discolored black crystals had poked through. In fact, the mutated crystal seemed to be growing from every nook and cranny of the storage area. Some of the dark growth had crossed paths with the healthy growth, and several of the yellow prisms were broken and cracked.

Melora gently applied thrusters to bring the shuttlecraft to a stop, and they both braced themselves to stop their own momentum. This time helpful Elaysians didn’t crowd around to tether them—they kept working. Their frantic efforts reminded Reg of people stacking sandbags to hold a swollen river in its banks, with just as much chance of success. No one paid attention to the visitors as Melora popped the hatch and leaped from her seat, sailing into the dim blue sky. With a gulp, Reg floated uneasily from his seat, and Melora had to reach back in and help him through the hatch.

Gripping his hand, she pushed off from the shuttlecraft, and they sailed toward the nearest expanse of netting, which clung like moss to a large yellow prism. As they drew closer, Reg could see a huge clearing beyond the netting, but it wasn’t clear—it was filled with smaller nets and bundles of supplies, many of them impaled on gray, misshapen crystals that grew everywhere like weeds.

She allowed them to drift into the net, which caught them gently and held them in place. Reg and Melora hung there for several minutes, staring at the frenzied activity and the awful destruction. Elaysians wearing environmental suits were working on the mutant spires, trying to cut them with whirring hand saws. Black clouds of dust floated over the work crews, attesting to their efforts. To Barclay, it was disconcerting to see these alien technologies in this unlikely place, and he couldn’t imagine how Melora felt.

“The thoron radiation,” she said worriedly. “That’s why they need the suits. It’s not dangerous in small quantities, but concentrated it can cause radiation sickness.”

“I know,” answered Reg, “but they can’t saw down all the new growth—it’s sprouting too fast. They’ll have to abandon this site.”

“They can’t,” she said worriedly. “There’s nowhere else to take the stores. All of the large spaces are being eaten up by the dark crystal.”

A worker in regular garb floated past them, studying a tricorder, and Pazlar yelled at him. “Excuse me! Where is the senior engineer, Zuka Juno?”

He was about to ignore her until he noticed Barclay’s Starfleet uniform. Then his expression grew disdainful. “He’s very busy right now. I suggest you go back to your ship, where it’s safe.”

Melora pointed behind them. “Do you see our shuttlecraft?”

“Yes.”

“Zuka Juno will join us there in five minutes, or we’ll open fire on the nets with our phasers.”

“You wouldn’t do that!” shouted the Elaysian, aghast.

“I would. Once I destroy the nets, Zuka Juno won’t be busy anymore. Come on, Lieutenant.” She grabbed Reg’s hand and deftly pushed off a nearby facet. They drifted lazily back toward the shuttlecraft.

“This shuttlecraft doesn’t have any weapons,” whispered Barclay.

“You know that, and I know that. But they don’t.”

In short order, all of the Elaysians took notice of them, and much of the work stopped as the workers considered this new threat. Although it was as weightless in the shuttlecraft as out of it, Reg felt safer inside. He monitored thoron readings, while Melora hovered impatiently just outside the hatch.

“How much time has elapsed?” she asked Barclay.

“Almost five minutes,” he answered. “I can cycle through the landing lights, which might frighten them a bit.”

“Go ahead.”

Reg put the tiny craft through the most impressive light show he could muster, and the Elaysians began to scatter. After a few moments, a section of netting parted, and a thin, older Elaysian emerged, gripping a hover-platform. He was followed by an entourage of two or three more Elaysians, all of whom looked angry enough to bite through the crystal. This disgruntled party cautiously approached the shuttlecraft, and Reg powered off the lights.

A violet light glowed on the chest of the older Elaysian. As he came closer, Reg could see it was a crystal shard on a metal chain. Melora crossed her arms and floated in the hatchway, waiting for him.

The older man’s voice shook with rage. “Whose side are you on, my daughter? I can’t believe you would threaten to destroy this precious hold!”

“I don’t have to destroy it,” she answered. “The crystal is doing that.”

He bowed his head, conceding the fact. “What do you want?”

“I want you to come with us to the shell. Our Starfleet engineers want to know why dark- matter collection has increased sixteen-fold. They want to know why this is happening.”

Zuka Juno snorted derisively. “They want to inspect our programming.”

“Well it’s high time somebody did, isn’t it?” snapped Pazlar.

The two Elaysians—one young, one old; one wearing a Starfleet combadge and the other a violet crystal—stared stubbornly at each other. Finally Zuka Juno lifted his hands in resignation. “Do we have to go in that vehicle?”

“I’ve turned off the artificial gravity, and it will be fast.” She moved back to allow the engineer to enter before her. Barclay floated toward the rear of the craft, almost banging his head on a fire extinguisher in the process. Melora situated the distinguished Elaysian near the front of the craft, then she hovered over the pilot’s seat, checking the readouts.

“Hi!” said Reg with false cheer. “I’m Lieutenant Reginald Barclay.”

The Elaysian regarded him with pale eyes. “Still planning on shooting us?”

“No,” he answered sheepishly. “We don’t have any weapons.”

Pazlar quickly shut the hatch. “I’m sorry I had to lie back there, but this is important.”

Zuka Juno sighed heavily. “Everything is important these days. There are crises everywhere, and nobody knows what to do. We are losing our homeworld to this foul growth! I don’t really think inspecting a few lines of code will do much good.”

“We’re just looking for some answers,” replied Melora. “We’re not alone in this—the Enterprise crew can help us, if we only let them.” She fired thrusters and slowly pulled away from the yellow cluster.

Barclay tried to sound nonchalant as he asked, “Um, when was the last time you were on the shell?”

“We were all there, the senior engineers, for a personnel review,” answered the Elaysian. “Halfway through, the deformed crystal was reported for the first time. There were suddenly problems everywhere, and we postponed our meeting to calm the populace. Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” answered Reg quickly. “I was just curious about when the programming of the shell was last changed.”

The old Elaysian shook his head. “The programming has not been changed substantially since before I was born. We don’t have any reason to change it.”

“What about now?”

“I’m going with you, aren’t I?” muttered Zuka Juno, grasping the violet crystal which hung from his neck. “I’d be very surprised if centuries-old programming caused all of this. It’s the rift.”

Melora shot Reg a glance, which seemed to signal that he shouldn’t press for more answers now. They had done their job. Now they had to be patient and follow protocols. Barclay found a seat and tightened his lap belt until his skinny frame fit as snugly as possible. With a sigh, he leaned back in his chair, hoping he could sleep but not expecting more than a fitful doze.

Deanna Troi reclined gratefully in her bed, glad to get a moment’s rest after the heady events of the day. It wasn’t often she got to take over the bridge in the middle of a crisis, then spend hours flying in a wonderland. But even the incredible sights of Gemworld were almost anticlimactic after their dealings with the Exalted Ones and the Jeptah. It all added up to sensory overload. This was one night when she wouldn’t have to dream, thought Troi. Her imagination couldn’t possibly match the reality all around them.

Tomorrow she would have to deal with the emotional overload of losing seven crewmembers. She could comfort grieving friends and spouses, but the ongoing tension on the ship was proving to be more difficult to deal with. Although they seemed safe inside this metal cocoon surrounded by jewels, everyone knew it could crumble apart in an instant. The rift was too unpredictable and Gemworld too fragile—the shell didn’t seem to be enough, with its arrogant programmers and arcane protocols. Every member of the crew knew that the Enterprise couldn’t escape, and nobody could rescue them.

Deanna shook off her troubled thoughts and picked up a padd to do a little reading. But she found that she barely had the energy to focus her eyes, and she let the padd drop to her bed. Music, she thought, would be more soothing.

To her surprise, it wasn’t a nice concerto she or dered up, but a sound effect. “Computer, put on a sound . . . the ocean at the beach.”

The cry of a seagull greeted her ear, and waves lapped gently at an unseen shore. With a rhythmic lull, the waves washed up and down the sand, and Troi could feel herself floating in a cradle on the tide. Since she had actually been floating that day, her body aided the illusion, and her muscles went as limp as a Lipul floating in its crystal. Real perception and dream perception intermingled, and she felt herself floating away though a dozen different substances—water, gelatinous mass, the crystal, the air, the shell, and even space.

She thought it was the Lipuls’ dreamships calling her, and she turned to look for them in the luminous starscape. But their ghostly, billowing sails were nowhere to be seen. Instead she felt the draw of a presence just outside the protective shell, something that was close but oddly far away. It terrified Deanna to think that she was alone—a fleet of one—but there was the attraction of the deep unknown, lying so close at hand.

If only I could see it as well as I can feel it. With her mind, she probed the emptiness of space and found it wasn’t empty. Inside the darkness was an even greater darkness, alive and roiling with attraction and energy. It didn’t reveal itself, but it knew she was there, like a suitor waiting in the shadows for his beloved to sneak out of her house.

Suddenly her mind was flooded with incredible images of worlds and wonders that dwarfed the amazing things she had already seen. Fantastic creatures, planets, vistas, and anomalies danced and faded before her, and Troi felt as if she were plunging through the history of a thousand worlds. It was too much. She almost fled in terror to the realm of consciousness.

Before she could escape, the blackness enveloped her in soothing comfort, and the images stopped. She could feel the knowledge and wisdom of the entity that enticed her. It seemed to say that she could cross the greatest barrier, and all the knowledge it possessed would be hers. She would be no mere humanoid anymore.

Troi had seen lights beckon to her before—on a runway or a starship—but she had never seen a beacon of darkness before. But there it loomed—a black gash where stars had never existed, where nothing existed except for this mysterious welcome. Transfixed, she drifted toward the gaping maw, hoping she could cross and see the identity of her suitor. It wanted her so badly, and it was willing to give so much to get her.

On the way to the ultimate barrier, some inner voice told her that she had to look. She had to really look. Deanna had been fooled before, and she knew too much about the nature of attraction to believe her feelings alone. When she peered into the blackness, she fully expected to see a kindly face full of wisdom. Her mind opened, and she used whatever nascent abilities she had to see beyond the veil.

The images came again—only now they were beastly and horrible. Elaysians screamed as skin peeled off their faces; writhing Lipuls were skewered on dark spires; whole planets crumbled into black dust; and stars were obliterated from the night sky. Land and water burned, and knowledge was eclipsed by cruelty and degradation. The friendly face she expected to see was nothing but a monstrous, gaping mouth—anxious to swallow everything!

An unrelenting feeling of fear washed over Deanna, like the waves washing onto the shore. Her mind filled with the deaths, disease, and destruction she had witnessed in her eventful life. It was as if an unseen power were dredging up these memories, feeding on them, forcing her to look at the horrors already in her mind. This is you, was the message. We’re alike!

“No!” shouted Troi, bolting upright in her bed. The darkness of her quarters seemed to engulf her, as if she couldn’t escape from the black presence. A gash began to grow on the metallic bulkhead in front her; it lengthened and widened, and she saw swirls of blackness within. The swirls pulled her in like a whirlpool, drawing her out of her bed.

It’s never going to leave my mind now that I’ve let it in! Troi turned to run, but the darkness and fear overwhelmed her, squeezing her mind and roaring in her ears until her senses shut down. Deanna Troi screamed back, and she just kept screaming as she smashed a row of picture frames with her clenched fists. She attacked the shelves and wall hangings, ripping and slashing her dearest belongings.

It’s all closing in. . . . Coming to get me!