Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [113]
Data blinked. “An accurate estimate would require at least moderately reliable projections of the number of universal or semi-universal faces on the surface of the hypothetical solid, the rotation of which through hyperspace creates or can have been said to “create” the alternative universes, but—”
“You don’t know,” Riker said gently.
Data opened his mouth, then shut it again. “No,” he said a bit mournfully.
“Then let’s not even bother with it just now. How’s Commander Hwiii doing?”
“He has already started building the basics of the inclusionstexclusion device from some of the matrix information in the last upload.”
“How far along is he?”
“I would estimate he and the engineering team working with him have already completed about fifteen percent of the construction work that will be required.”
“You did tell him to take as much crew as he needed …”
“Certainly, Commander. But at this stage of the construction, sheer numbers will not be of much help. Among other things, not all the theoretical or construction data on the inclusion device is yet in place here. Mr. La Forge’s upload is still incomplete: he has advised us that another hundred and forty terabytes of material are still to come.”
Riker whistled.
“Until the information is complete and we have the necessary data on the fine detail of the device, we will not be able to progress too much further.” Data thought for a moment. “It is as if the commander were building a subspace radio set. He has the information needed to build the chassis, as it were —the matrix into which the specialty frequency and modulations boards would be plugged—but as to the boards themselves, he has as yet neither an idea of what they are or where they should be placed and how they should be powered.”
“He’s done the groundwork.”
“That is correct. And until the download is complete, there is little more that can be done.”
“If there was only some way to find out what’s keeping that upload,” Riker said softly.
“Scrambled communications with the away team are possible at this point.”
Riker thought about that. He thought about it for a long moment and opened his mouth to say, “Riker to La Forge”—then changed his mind. “No, no reason to stand over his shoulder and hurry him. No one works best in a situation like that.”
Riker made for the turbolift doors. “I’ll go down to engineering and see how Hwiii is doing, see if he needs any help.”
The doors shut. Worf watched Riker go with some amusement, then said to Data, “Apparently, since he cannot stand over Mr. La Forge’s shoulder, he will now go and stand over Commander Hwiii’s.”
“An example of irony,” Data said after a moment.
Worf grinned. “It is an example of Commander Riker,” he said, and went back to monitoring the other ship.
He screamed again. Screaming was becoming like breathing now. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t done it. His throat was so raw with the pain that the sound of the torment in the Agony Booth was a new torment in itself, every time he did it—and he couldn’t stop.
The pain came in waves, like the ocean, and felt as relentless. There was no way to stop it or block it. It rolled through his body, trailing an anguish after it that was like a prolonged version of the time the coolant gas got loose in engineering: a cold that burned like fire, all over him. But this was not cold. He might as well have been half-immersed in lava, or live steam, for the way his body felt. Then the pain would reduce, just slightly, he suspected; but to his agonized nerves, the change seemed so great that the difference was more like that between a mild headache and a migraine. He found himself absurdly, pitifully grateful when it decreased even so slightly. He felt as if he would do anything to keep it from increasing again. And that fear was much with him in those moments of decreased pain: that after a little while, he would do anything, say anything.
“Who came with you?” the soft voice inquired. His vision had long since stopped working correctly.