Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [14]
La Forge looked up at Wesley. At least he turned his head in Wesley’s direction. He pointed to a screen on which a sine curve was having fits. “Warp efficiency is down three percent, and I don’t know why.”
Wesley had been astonished by La Forge when they first met. La Forge had been born blind, and in order to see wore a piece of hardware called a VISOR, a mobile sensing rig that covered his eyes and hooked directly into his nervous system at cyborg ports just in front of his ears. Wesley had needed some time to get used to the VISOR, and La Forge had joked that, like the floating wooden eyeball Mark Twain had spoken of, “it made the children cry.” To Wesley’s knowledge, the VISOR had never made anyone cry, though whether La Forge actually could see was still a matter of debate among medical experts.
“I get around without bumping into stuff,” La Forge had said, “and that’s enough for me.”
Wesley looked over La Forge’s shoulder at the screen and said, “Three percent is within specs, isn’t it?”
“Sure it is. Better than specs. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know why.” He touched a lighted square on the table, and the sine wave smoothed out. “What can I do for you, Wesley?”
“I’m having sort of a problem with the holodeck.”
“Nothing maintenance can take care of, I trust?”
“Uh, no.” Wesley showed him the pale blue cylinder and said, “Data gave me this. It’s a program that uses the Borders scale to define an artificial alien. Can you help me install it in the holodeck computer?”
La Forge took the chip and stood it up on the table. He leaned back in his chair, laced his fingers over his flat belly, and said, “What’s all this about, Wes?”
Wesley looked around. The engineering staff was busy taking readings and doing general maintenance. They weren’t close enough to hear even if they were listening. Wesley took a deep breath and told La Forge about his problem.
When Wesley was done, La Forge shook his head and said, “Wes, you remind me of a kid I know back home. Ryan is four years old and scared to death of Starfleet Academy.”
Wesley could see a parable coming, but he couldn’t resist asking, “Why?”
“He’s desperate to go into space, see. But he’s afraid that when it’s time for him to enter Starfleet Academy he’ll still be four years old. He won’t understand anything, and he’ll only come up to the other cadets’ knees.”
“Too soon to worry, huh?” Wesley said. He sat down across the table from La Forge and rested a cheek on his fist.
“That’s what I think. By the time they give you a starship to command, you’ll be ready. Starfleet doesn’t give out Galaxy-class starships like lollipops, you know.”
Wesley watched the gently bobbing life-support indicators. La Forge was wrong. Wesley didn’t know how to explain how important it was to know right now if he had any aptitude for command. Important decisions had to be made about his life. Who wanted to wait till they were old before they found out if they were any good at a job they’d wanted all their life?
La Forge said, “What do you call this program of yours, Wes?”
Wesley shrugged and said, “Boogeymen.”
La Forge smiled, and Wesley could not help smiling back.
The alarm Klaxon went off, and the calm computer voice said, “Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Please secure your area. Please secure your area. This is not a drill. Intru—” The computer voice was cut off.
“What the hell?” said La Forge.
“What the hell?” said Captain Picard when he saw Professor Baldwin’s cabin. In front of him Lieutenant Worf only growled.
Chapter Three
COMMANDER MONT lay on the deck with blood several shades lighter than human blood leaking out of him. There was quite a puddle already. Standing over him, still breathing hard, was Professor Baldwin. His new bush shirt was torn and his hair was mussed. He tossed the dagger he was holding to Picard. Picard caught it—by the hilt, thank