Star Trek: Pantheon (49 page)

Of course, back at the Academy, Greyhorse had never met a real mindreader. Now he could actually say he had treated one in his sickbay. What would Slattery have to say about…

He stopped himself, his brain suddenly ranging ahead of his recollection. He was making connections that he hadn’t made before, connections that seemed so obvious now that he felt mortified.

A real mindreader,
he repeated inwardly.

The medical officer studied the screen again, staring at the complex chains of molecules that had figured in his re-creation of psilosynine.
If he had been born with such a neurotransmitter…

Greyhorse’s heart was pounding. He had to speak with Commander Picard, he told himself, and he had to do it quickly.

Picard gazed across the captain’s desk at the hulking, stony-featured form of Carter Greyhorse. “You made it sound as if this were a matter of some urgency,” he told the doctor.

Greyhorse leaned forward in his chair. “It is. Or rather, it might be. All I need is a chance to find out.”

The second officer wasn’t in the mood for riddles. “Perhaps we should start at the beginning,” he suggested.

“Of course,” said the doctor. He drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Ever since we left Earth, I’ve been attempting to duplicate the work of a Betazoid scientist named Relanios.”

Picard nodded. “I’ve heard of him.”

Greyhorse looked at him, surprised. “You have?”

The commander smiled. “I have other interests beside beating the tar out of hostile aliens, Doctor. As I recall, Turan Relanios was synthesizing the neurotransmitter that gives Betazoids their—”

He stopped himself in midsentence, grasping the import of what Greyhorse must have done. “You’ve synthesized psilosynine?”

“Yes,” said the doctor, his dark eyes bright beneath his jutting brow. “Then you see the possibilities? You see how important this substance might be to us?”

Picard nodded. “Indeed.”

In a human being, the neurotransmitter might create a fleeting capacity for telepathic communication. But in a mind already developed along such lines…a mind like a Magnian’s…

Then something occurred to him.

“There’s a danger here,” said the second officer.

“That the psilosynine might trigger a reaction in the colonists’ brains,” Greyhorse acknowledged, dismissing the idea in the same breath. “That they might develop even greater powers…along with the personality aberrations experienced by Gary Mitchell.”

Picard regarded him. “You don’t seem especially concerned.”

“I
am
concerned,” said the doctor.
“Deeply
concerned. However, I made a study of Serenity Santana’s neurological profile before I came to see you. And on a preliminary basis, at least, I would have to say there isn’t anything to worry about.”

“But you cannot be certain?”

Greyhorse shook his massive head. “Not until I have had a chance to conduct clinical tests.”

“Which would have to be conducted under the most closely monitored conditions,” Picard maintained.

After all, he already had a faceless saboteur to contend with. He didn’t need a burgeoning superman prowling his ship in the bargain.

“You mean guards,” said the doctor. “In my sickbay.”

“Yes,” the second officer insisted, refusing to yield on this point. “Several of them. And all armed.”

Greyhorse obviously didn’t like the idea. But given what was at stake, he seemed willing to acquiesce. “All right,” he told the second officer. “But we need to begin as quickly as possible.”

“As quickly as we can find a Magnian who will agree to be your guinea pig,” said Picard.

The doctor looked unperturbed. “Leave that to me.”

The second officer knew that they were about to tread new ground in the field of biomedical research. They were about to go where no human scientist had gone before.

He just hoped they wouldn’t end up regretting it.

As Picard walked down the corridor, he reflected on the charge Simenon had leveled against him:
Captain Ruhalter was the same way.

As the second officer noted at the meeting, he had respected and admired Ruhalter. However, he realized now that he wasn’t completely comfortable with the man’s approach to command.

Ruhalter had indeed relied on his instincts, often to the exclusion of other potentially valuable information and opinions. For a long time, of course, that method had worked for him—but in the end it had produced a bloody disaster.

Picard wasn’t spurning the value of instinct—quite the contrary. He had gone with his gut more than once since his captain’s demise. But he preferred to poll his officers, to obtain their feedback and draw on their expertise before he made a decision on a major point of strategy.

And not
just
his officers. He was willing to solicit advice even from the most unlikely sources.

Like the one he was about to visit at that very moment.

Up ahead, the second officer saw the open entrance to the brig and caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Pierzynski, who was leaning against a bulkhead inside. The rangy, fair-haired Pierzynski was the security officer who had taken Pug Joseph’s place on guard duty.

As Picard got closer, Pierzynski must have caught sight of him, because he straightened up suddenly. If his behavior wasn’t enough of a clue, the ruddy color in his face gave away his embarrassment.

“Anything I can do for you, sir?” asked Pierzynski.

“There is indeed,” said the second officer. As he entered the brig area, he spotted Werber sitting on his cot behind the electromagnetic barrier. “You can repair to the hallway for a moment, Lieutenant. I would like to speak with the chief in private.”

The security officer hesitated, no doubt weighing the wisdom of leaving Picard alone with seven mutineers. In the end, however, Pierzynski must have thought it was all right, because he said, “Aye, sir. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”

“Thank you,” the second officer replied.

As Pierzynski left the room, Picard pressed some studs on a nearby bulkhead panel and altered the polarity of six of the seven barriers—Werber’s being the exception. The effect was to make those barriers impervious to sound as well as light. Then he pressed another stud and saw the doors to the corridor slide shut.

Finally, he turned to Werber and nodded. “Chief.”

The weapons officer shot him a dirty look. “Nice of you to visit,” he declared, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’d offer you a chair, but I don’t seem to have any lying around.”

The second officer didn’t take the bait. “This isn’t a social call,” he replied. “I’ve come on ship’s business.”

The prisoner laughed bitterly. “What do I care about your ship, Picard? If you’re in the center seat, she’ll be debris soon anyway.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” the commander said.

Clearly, it wasn’t the comeback Werber had expected. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Since I thwarted your mutiny attempt, the
Stargazer
has been the victim of sabotage,” Picard explained. “Not once, but twice now. The third time, it might prove our undoing.”

That seemed to get the prisoner’s attention. However, he resisted the temptation to inquire about it.

“I thought a veteran weapons officer might have some interest in identifying the saboteur,” Picard went on. “Especially when he’s someone who took his oath as seriously as you did.”

Werber scowled. “To hell with my oath. Look where it got me.”

Ah, the commander mused. Progress.

“I’ll be honest with you,” he told the prisoner. “I need your help. I need to pick your brain the way Captain Ruhalter did.”

Werber looked at him askance. “Is it my imagination, or are you telling me you want to cut a deal?”

Picard shook his head. “No deals.”

The weapons chief lifted his chin, which had grown a golden brown stubble during the time of his incarceration. “Then why should I even think about helping you?”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” the commander answered. “Think about helping
me,
that is. But you might want to help this ship, or the crewmen who served so ably under you. Or you might want to get involved purely for the sake of your own preservation.”

Werber stared at him for what seemed like a very long time. Then he said, “All right. Tell me what you’ve got.”

Picard told him, holding nothing back.

He informed the prisoner of Vigo’s findings concerning the shuttle explosion. He described the way the ship’s shields had dropped without notice during the second battle for Magnia. And he spoke of Vigo’s second discovery, which only served to corroborate the first.

The prisoner considered the information, his eyes narrowing as he turned it over and over in his mind, inspecting it from different angles. But after a while, he shook his hairless head.

“I need more to go on,” he said.

The commander was disappointed, but he didn’t show it. “Right now, I’m afraid I haven’t got anything more. But if additional information turns up, you will have it as soon as I do.”

Werber grunted. “I can’t wait.”

“I will speak with you soon, I hope,” said Picard. “Until then, I hope you will keep what I’ve told you confidential—so as not to diminish our chances of catching the saboteur.” And he reached for the control panel that would open the doors to the corridor again.

But before he could press the padd, he heard the mutineer call his name. Turning again, he said, “Yes?”

Werber was on his feet, approaching the barrier. “I’m not surprised that the ship was sabotaged,” he remarked, “considering how trusting you are of people like Santana.”

The second officer allowed himself an ironic smile. “Interesting that you should say that, Chief. Mr. Ben Zoma is of the opinion that I’m placing too much trust in
you.”

And with that, Picard opened the doors and emerged from the brig, allowing Pierzynski to resume his lonely vigil.

Gerda Asmund entered the turbolift ahead of her sister and punched in her destination on the control panel. Then, as Idun joined her in the compartment, Gerda watched the doors begin to slide closed.

“The end of another shift,” her sister commented.

“And an uneventful one,” said Gerda, as the turbolift began to move.

Idun glanced at her, her lip curled in amusement. “Another three such shifts and we’ll have reached the Nuyyad supply depot. That promises to be
far
from uneventful.”

Gerda nodded. “True.”

“And,” her sister added, “we haven’t exactly been idle for the last week and a half. We were hoping for just
one
battle, remember? And so far, we’ve gotten three of them.”

“I know,” said Gerda. “Still…”

“What?” asked Idun.

“I don’t know,” the navigator told her. “It still feels to me as if something is missing.”

“Something?” her sister echoed.

Gerda shrugged. “I can’t put my finger on it. It’s just not as satisfying as I thought it would be…as I
wanted
it to be.”

Idun rolled her eyes. “Some saber bears aren’t happy until they’ve eaten the entire
targ.”

Gerda looked at her. “You think I’m a glutton?”

“Honestly?” her sister asked. “Yes.”

Gerda knew Idun was seldom wrong about her. “Maybe you’re right,” she said. “Maybe I ought to be grateful for what I’ve got.”

And yet, she couldn’t help feeling there should be
more.

Pug Joseph stood at the entrance to sickbay’s triage area and watched Greyhorse press a hypospray containing psilosynine against Serenity Santana’s naked arm.

As far as the security officer was concerned, it was insanity. If Santana was the saboteur and wanted to see the
Stargazer
destroyed, why give her yet another tool to accomplish that?

But then, he told himself, if they didn’t subject Santana to the same tests as the other Magnians on board, she might catch on to their suspicions about her. And Commander Picard didn’t want that.

Besides, there were precautions in place. For one thing, Greyhorse was introducing his synthetic neurotransmitter gradually, bit by tiny bit. For another, Joseph and a half dozen of his fellow security officers were on hand in case anything went awry.

Santana stole a glance at him. She knew he was here, of course. And she knew also that he still didn’t trust her, no matter what she had done in the most recent battle.

It made him the perfect choice to keep an eye on her. After all, Joseph’s feelings of mistrust had begun with the ambush the woman had led them to, not the discoveries of sabotage. So even if she got close enough to reach into his mind, he wouldn’t be giving anything away.

Eventually, he reflected, she would slip up. She would try to rig another command junction when she thought no one was looking. And when she did, he would be there to catch her.

That is, if anyone still could.

As Gilaad Ben Zoma entered the
Stargazer’
s spare and economical engineering section, he saw the unmistakable figure of Jomar standing in front of a sleek, black diagnostic console.

The Kelvan had spent much of the last two days at the console, checking and rechecking for flaws in his vidrion injectors. Ben Zoma knew that because he had monitored Jomar’s computer activities from security.

The Kelvan hadn’t given even a hint that he meant to damage anything or obstruct any aspect of the ship’s operations. He had simply run the same program, over and over, as if he were searching for something.

Ben Zoma wanted to know what it was. And since he couldn’t ask that question of his computer screen, he had come down to engineering to get an answer from the horse’s mouth.

Taking up a position at the console to Jomar’s right, the human went through the motions of initiating a diagnostic of his own. Then he turned to the Kelvan, as if he were just trying to be friendly.

“It must be hard,” he said.

Jomar glanced back at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Ben Zoma smiled. “You know…having made your contribution already. All you can do is mark time until we reach the depot.”

The Kelvan returned his attention to his screen. “Inactivity is not as distasteful to my species as it is to yours—so even if I
were
marking time, it would not be a problem. However, I am not merely keeping myself busy. I am seeking the source of the shield lapse we suffered during our most recent encounter with the Nuyyad.”

“That’s right,” said Ben Zoma. “There
was
a lapse, wasn’t there?”

Jomar turned to him again and scrutinized him with his unblinking, pale-blue eyes. “Let us be honest with each other, shall we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Despite your casual reference to the recent shield failure,” the Kelvan continued, “I believe it was of grave concern to you and Commander Picard. The fact that you have not asked my advice in the matter, nor made any public efforts to keep it from happening again, tells me that you may suspect me of having caused it.”

Ben Zoma laughed. “You’ve got quite an imagination.”

“Do I?” asked Jomar. “Because I also imagine that the only reason you came to engineering is to see if I will say something incriminating. If that is the case, let me put your mind to rest—I did not tamper with your shields. Your time would be better spent spying on Serenity Santana and her fellow colonists. If there was indeed an incident of tampering, it is they you should hold accountable.”

“Do you have any proof that they did anything?” asked Ben Zoma.

“Gathering proof is not my job,” said Jomar. “It is yours.” Then he went back to his diagnostic program.

The officer looked at the Kelvan a moment longer. Then he turned back to his own console, where he continued to run a diagnostic of his own.

Well, he thought, that could have gone better.

Carter Greyhorse sat back in his chair and tapped his combadge. “Commander Picard,” he said, “this is Dr. Greyhorse.”

“I’ve been meaning to speak with you,” said Picard, his voice filling the physician’s office. “Have you got something to report?”

“I do,” Greyhorse told him. “I’ve completed my clinical work and I’ve come to a conclusion.”

“Which is?” asked the second officer.

“That, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason not to give the Magnians full doses of the synthetic psilosynine.”

“They’ve shown no personality aberrations?”

“None that I have noticed. No erratic increases or reductions in their telekinetic or telepathic abilities either. In fact, nothing at all that we need to be concerned about.”

“But their abilities can be amplified?” asked Picard.

“Significantly,” said the doctor. “By fifty to seventy percent, depending on the individual. Enough, I imagine, to make a difference in the effectiveness of our enhanced tractor beam.”

“To say the least,” the second officer agreed. “Tell me…if you began administering full doses to the Magnians now, how long would it be before they took effect?”

“Two to three hours—again, depending on the individual.”

“We will arrive at our target in approximately thirty-six hours,” said Picard. “Plan accordingly.”

“I will,” Greyhorse assured him.

“Picard out.”

His conversation with the second officer completed, the doctor got up from his desk to check on his last remaining patient. Bypassing the triage area, which was occupied wall to wall by Magnians, he proceeded to his sickbay’s small critical care facility.

There, he saw Commander Leach.

The first officer was laid out on a biobed, a metallic blanket covering him from the neck down, a stasis field preventing his condition from deteriorating. But even with all that, Leach looked deathly pale, an unavoidable consequence of his coma.

Greyhorse used the control padd on the side of the first officer’s bed to check his vital signs. They were stable, which was about all the doctor could hope for at the moment.

If and when they reached a Federation starbase, there were things that could be done for Leach—procedures that would give the man an opportunity for a full recovery. But on the
Stargazer,
with its limited equipment, Greyhorse had done all he possibly could.