Boogeymen - Mel Gilden [7]
“What difficulty is that?”
Dr. Crusher stepped into the room. She planted her fists deep in the pockets of her smock and looked at Shubunkin with her eyebrows up, daring him to accuse her of anything at all. Wesley generally wilted when his mom looked at him that way, and evidently Dr. Crusher’s hard, clear gaze had the same effect on Lieutenant Shubunkin. He said, “I am merely eager to begin.”
“So begin,” Dr. Crusher said and shrugged in Wesley’s direction, making Wesley smile.
“Computer,” Shubunkin said.
“Ready.”
“Run read-only program ‘Baldwin.’ “
Immediately the three of them were standing in the middle of an alien jungle. Chattering, squealing, and feral noises with no earthly name came from all around. Lumps of polished wood as big as houses were caught in nets of vines that hummed as the light, spicy wind blew through them. Twirling things sailed among tangles of trees with thin trunks that rose to incredible heights. Wesley could not see the sky because of the patchwork of leaves overhead.
“Hot, isn’t it?” he said as he pulled his collar away from his neck with a finger. He, Dr. Crusher, and Lieutenant Shubunkin sat down on crystalline rocks that thrust from among the dead brown leaves like giants’ teeth.
The only things that spoiled the perfect illusion were the standard English words floating in midair and the dramatic music. The words said, “Omniology presents ‘The Alien Universe of Eric Baldwin.’ “
Baldwin was an exologist, an expert on alien cultures and their artifacts. He was a tall wiry man with the face of a benign demon. According to the documentary, he had escaped death many times, usually either just before or just after making an important discovery. An entire wing of the North American Museum of Extraterrestrial Biology was named after him.
As the program continued, the crystal rocks they were sitting on became toadstools, rock outcroppings, coral reefs, and finally, merely chairs. Along the way Baldwin was threatened by angry natives, kidnapped by pirates and smugglers of both the water and space variety, twisted through weird dimensions by alien artifacts, and pursued by rival exologists. Each time he was threatened with death or worse, he managed to narrowly escape, using an impressive combination of creativity and physical strength. The documentary ended, leaving Dr. Crusher, Wesley, and Shubunkin standing on the blank holodeck. Dr. Crusher said, “A very impressive career.”
“Captain Picard says he’s the single most important exologist in the Federation.”
“The captain should know,” Dr. Crusher said. “They went to school together.”
Shubunkin said, “Perhaps. But there are other exologists …”
He allowed the observation to dangle, but neither Wesley nor Dr. Crusher took hold of it. Personally, Wesley suspected that Lieutenant Shubunkin was just jealous. Dr. Crusher only said, “You may be right,” thanked him for running the documentary, and went back to sickbay, still visibly pining for Eric Baldwin.
After the door had knitted itself shut with a pneumatic sigh, Lieutenant Shubunkin and Ensign Crusher watched it as if they thought it might open again. Shubunkin said, “On my planet, if someone says ‘You may be right,’ that is what they mean. I think your mother means something else.”
“You may be right,” Wesley said, and immediately wished he hadn’t. He went on quickly, “I’d like to ask you a question.”
“Proceed.”
Wesley took a deep breath and said, “I want to design some aliens I can practice my diplomatic skills on.” Wesley didn’t want to admit his self-doubts about his command abilities. Not to Shubunkin, anyway.
Shubunkin said, “By aliens, I assume you mean nonhumans.”
“Of course.”
Wesley could see why most of the bridge crew had difficulty getting along with Shubunkin. Even Counselor Troi, who could get along with anybody, found him a little abrasive. The guy knew his stuff, but he was too ready to show it off. Wesley took a deep breath and said, “Yes, sir. I mean nonhumans.”
“The Enterprise