Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [103]
Riker considered that. “Such as might be caused by a fault in the computer systems?”
Data considered, too. “That is an excellent probability. Though one must not automatically assume it to be the case. One could conjecture, though, that the captain and Mr. La Forge have created an extremely effective distraction.”
Riker nodded and started to turn toward Troi’s chair and started to ask her whether she felt anything at all from the other ship—then caught himself and sighed. It was about the twentieth time that he had done that, and every time he did it, the pain of his concern for her stabbed him hard.
He turned his attention to something closer to hand, on the viewscreen. Just outside the Enterprise, tethered to one of the exterior access ports, a tiny elongated shape floated in the darkness, seeming, as it had for the past hour, to be doing nothing. They had not communicated with Hwiii since he went out: he had asked to be left in silence so that he could concentrate. “Any idea what he’s doing?” Riker said.
Data shook his head. “He was not able to describe it to me in much more detail than to say that he had to “go out and listen.” I think the problem is possibly linguistic: even Delphine is somewhat symbolic about the way it handles the subjects of sensory input. At times there seem to be almost mystical contexts to what we would normally consider simple seeing or hearing. But when you have a species which is almost a living sensor array—to so much greater an extent than other species are, at least—there is bound to be some difference in perception—”
Data was interrupted by a sudden upscaling squeal. He looked at his instruments with concern.
“Enterprise!” said Hwiii’s voice.
“Go ahead, Commander,” Riker said, glancing at Data.
“Commander Riker, beam me aboard, quickly!”
The tone was more jubilant than afraid.
“Is there a problem?”
Delphine laughter chattered in their ears.
“Problem? Problem, no, just beam me inboard, hurry!”
“Transporter room!” Riker said. “Beam Commander Hwiii in on the double!”
“Aye, sir,” O’Brien’s voice said. “Transporting now.”
“Now what’s .his problem?” Riker said.
“I do not know, Commander,” Data said. “I was monitoring his life-signs as you requested, and nothing was amiss.”
“Come on,” Riker said, “let’s see what the fuss is. Mr. Worf, with me.”
In the transporter room they found Hwiii resting on the platform, with his helmet off— O’Brien had just pulled it off him—though he was still in his space suit. Riker looked at it and was tempted to laugh: it was well emblazoned with commemorative patches, from the Utopia Planitia Yards patch on down through reproductions of such antiques as the NASA and ESA patches, so that the suit looked more like a spacegoing billboard than anything else.
Hwiii was wriggling and talking to O’Brien a mile a minute, half in speech, half in song. Now, as Riker and Worf came in, Hwiii looked at them with delight.
“I heard it!” he sang, deafening and triumphant, like a trumpet pitched five octaves too high, sounding the charge. “I heard it, I heard it, the one pure note! It oscillates! It does oscillate! It moves, it moves, eppur s! muove!!”
“I thought you said he had not heard about opera,” Worf said to Riker, puzzled.
“I didn’t think he had,” Riker said, though the dolphin’s song reminded him suddenly of the innocent Marguerite’s victorious cry to heaven at the end of Faust. “But never mind. Hwiii! What is it? If you’ve got good news, believe me, I wouldn’t mind hearing some.”
“I heard it,” Hwiii said, almost gasping with the excitement as he struggled out of his suit. “Oh, for Sea’s sake, are your arms broken, give me a hand with this thing, I’m in a hurry!”
Bemused, they leaned forward and helped O’Brien wrestle Hwiii out of his space suit.
“It was the other Enterprise,” he said, wriggling out and onto his waiting floater pad. “I heard her. Something happened aboard that ship: there was a big energy discharge, the shields went up and down.”
Riker looked at him in surprise. “They did? How could you