Dark Mirror - Diane Duane [73]
Hwiii was quiet for a long time.
“So what happened?” Riker said finally, intrigued.
“Oh, she lived,” Hwiii said, looking thoughtfully into some distance, probably one filled with water rather than air. “In fact, she got podded because of it, she and a couple of the other singers. They’ve settled up off the Carolinas somewhere.” His eyes came back to the here and now. “The point is, I know how you feel. Necessity is hard on love. But love is tough. It survives it … if you don’t assume it’s going to die.”
Riker looked at the smiling face and detected the somberness behind it. “Hwiii, I much appreciate it.”
The dolphin swung his tail sideways and headed for the door. “Keep your tail up,” he said.
Riker breathed out, smiled a small smile, and went back to his reading.
In that other ship, Picard strolled into engineering, with Barclay, who had come running after Ryder reported the incident with Wesley, right behind him. All around him, crewmen saluted. He returned the salute and sauntered on in, carefully keeping his astonishment out of view. He found he had erred in thinking of engineering as merely “as big as a barn”: it was more like a cathedral.
The main axis of it appeared to run at least halfway down the primary hull, lined on both sides, on several levels, by rows and rows of paneling, instrumentation, engine-status and shield-status readouts, all the paraphernalia of an engine room. In the middle of it, the “nave” as it were, where the power conduits would branch off to either side and service the warp nacelles, stood the huge tower of the main matterstantimatter exchanger, four times the height of the one on his own ship, piercing upward through several decks and downward through several more. With the ship running on impulse, the throb of the engines was much muted: only the occasional soft, shuddering boom ran through the great space. Everything was dimly lit except for various pools of light at workstations, and the light byproduct of the matterstantimatter exchanger. It was a cathedral indeed, a cathedral to Force, on a sheer brutal level that Picard had not thought possible.
“Now where do you think Mr. La Forge will be in all this?” he said to Barclay casually as they walked along.
“Probably down at the main status readouts, Captain,” Barclay said, “or in his office. We’ll look down there first.”
Picard nodded and walked along with him, looking around casually. It was still very odd to be in a version of his ship where you couldn’t tell immediately where someone was—but these people apparently felt that communication was a lesser priority, not a necessity. That by itself was so diagnostic of them. … Talking was not in their style. Bullying, yes; commanding, and then destroying if the orders weren’t obeyed. No discussion, no give-and-take: just take. Though it’s true, too, Picard thought ruefully, that among these people, communications like ours would be dreadfully abused. You could immediately find out where that person was that you wanted to assassinate, track his movements.
Barclay gestured with his chin toward the matterstantimatter exchanger. “There he is, sir.”
They walked down the great open space through the soft murmur of machinery and crewmen attending their stations. The main status readout board was an overblown version of Geordi’s main board in engineering, this one positioned just in front of the matterstantimatter exchanger column, and looking uncomfortably like an altar to the great god Power. La Forge was leaning over the board, studying readings. He