Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [25]
He lost himself for a while in the terrible winter walk, the men marching with rag-wrapped feet through the ice and snow of the mountains, through dreadful hunger, not knowing the way, attacked by savage tribes as they went, until finally, cresting the last mountain, they saw the sea. Thalassa, thalassa! they cried, weeping for joy as they shouted, racing down to the beaches, and the breath caught in Picard’s throat—
—and the red-alert sirens went, and he was up out of his chair before his communicator even had time to speak.
He hurried out of the ready room into the bridge. Everyone looked startled, and Troi, in her seat, looked actively upset. “What is it?” he said to Data. The main screen was showing empty space.
“Nothing now,” Data said. “But we have just had a contact—fleeting. The helm took us immediately back out of range, as programmed.”
“What was it?”
“Here, Captain.” The view on the screen flicked. Same starfield—but there was something in the center of it, very distant, that hadn’t been there before: a small steel-gray speck.
“Enlarge ten times,” Picard said. The speck seemed to leap forward.
It was Enterprise. But not .his Enterprise. It was a dark gray, even enlarged, a gunmetal color, cool and unfrly. The design was overtly the same—the great sloped disk of the primary hull, the nacelles, the secondary hull, all where they should be. But the secondary hull seemed larger; the nacelles were raked farther forward, and lower. The primary hull’s curve was deeper and now had a frowning look about it. If ships had expressions, this one had its eyes narrowed. It was a cruel look, and intimidating. Just visible, because of the rake of the primary hull, were the characters ICC 1701-D ISS ENT— The rest was curved away out of sight.
Picard’s heart seized at the sight of it. In a way, he had been hoping that everything that had happened so far might have some other answer. But the hope, he now saw, was in vain. The proof of the problem had come hunting them. He looked around, seeing the same unhappy look on everyone’s face—and Troi still looked ashen.
“Keep us away from it, Mr. Redpath,” Picard said. “No heroic measures without my orders: maintain your “bumpercar” program for the time being. But I want any radical course changes reported to me immediately. It’s time to make some choices. Mr. Data”—Picard turned to him—”I want you to go through all available Federation records for anything that might be even slightly pertinent to our problem. Contacts with parallel universes, real or purported, duplicate ships or personnel— anything, no matter how farfetched. I need a choice of action, and to do that we must have all the pertinent information we can lay our hands on. Then the department heads’ meeting, as scheduled.”
“Aye, sir,” Data said, and went up to one of the science consoles to see about it.
“Counselor?” Picard said. She looked at him with the expression of someone who would like to be sick, but has too much to do.
“That ship,” she said, “emotionally speaking, is a sinkhole. So much rage and fury and hatred, lust and envy and—” Troi shook her head, plainly finding it hard to find words. “I would say that our extra Mr. Stewart is extremely typical of the people you will find there.”
Picard nodded. “Department heads’ meeting as scheduled,” he said, and left the bridge— possibly, he had to admit to himself, in search of his own composure.
An hour later, in the conference room, it was mostly back in place.
“Reports,” Picard said. “But first of all, how is our “guest