Ghost Ship - Diane Carey [18]
“Very well, continue.”
Another ship popped on the screen, looking much the same to the untrained eyes watching it now. “CVN-type nuclear-powered full-deck aircraft carrier-“
“Yes!” Troi jolted. “Yes, this!” She pressed a hand tightly over her mouth, profoundly moved by what she saw.
Picard remained subdued, capping her reaction with his own implacability. “Computer, specify.”
“U.S.S. George Washington, CVN-73, Enterprise-class aircraft carrier; commissioned January 1992, United States Navy.”
Troi pulled her hand from her mouth. “This is extremely familiar to me.”
A tangible discomfort blanketed the bridge. All eyes flickered, then settled on her. Of course, she felt it without looking. Self-consciously she corrected, “Rather, to the impressions I’ve been channeling.”
“Yes,” Picard murmured, glancing at Riker over Troi’s dark head, “of course. You said something about names.”
Troi stared at the aircraft carrier as if she feared it might disappear like all the other images. “Vasska was one. Arkady … and Gor … Gorsha-no, it’s not right, not complete.”
“Data, you up here, please.”
Caught by surprise, Data all but hurtled to them from the lower deck, taking the seat at the science station as though he’d been deeply stung by their not asking for his help earlier. Riker moved aside a bit farther than necessary, giving in to a twinge of prejudice, but he forced himself to let it pass. Data was the qualified one. An instrument running an instrument.
Evidently Data was ready to guide the search through Enterprise’s vast memory core, focusing on the specific type of aircraft carrier and the names Troi had spoken; he didn’t request that she repeat them. His fingers nearly tangled in his haste to participate and be useful amid all this talk of feelings and senses and memories.
If there was disappointment, he didn’t allow it to show on his face.
“Sir,” he began, “I regret this may take some time. I’ll have to operate by a process of elimination. May I suggest you allow me to notify you once I pull it off.”
If that was his polite way of asking them not to hang over his shoulder the whole time, it worked.
“Very well.” Picard motioned the little crowd away and leaned toward Riker. “What was it he said?”
“Sir-” Tasha raised her hand in a brief gesture, and quickly drew it down when Picard turned. “I’m Lithuanian.”
Picard swallowed an impulse to congratulate her and merely asked, “And?”
“And I recognize those names. They’re Russian.”
“Ah! Very good, Lieutenant. Mr. Data, make use of that.”
“You bet,” Data clipped, and didn’t see Picard’s double-take as he turned to his station.
“Captain … ” Troi turned abruptly. “If I may, I’d like to return to my quarters. Perhaps I can clear my mind. Focus in on these impressions, or let them focus in on me.”
Picard noticed that Data was still watching him, as though the decisions hinged upon one another-computer search and mind hunt. “That’s sound strategy,” he told her, “since we don’t seem to be able to zero in on it any quicker with our hardware. I want you to be careful, however. And nothing is too small to report.”
“Yes, sir,” she murmured, and as she pivoted toward the turbolift she caught Riker’s concerned gaze. “I promise.”
The bridge was wide, the walk to the turbolift uncomfortably long as Troi deliberately kept herself from showing anxiety. Riker’s own legs tensed; he empathized with her every stride, wished he were going with her, that he could somehow help. Seemed like lately all he and Deanna could be to each other was a mutual distraction …
“She’s a very competent broad,” Data offered.
So innocuous. So deadpan …
Riker stopped breathing. Picard glowered. LaForge and Worf both stiffened in place, Tasha flushed, Bev Crusher looked away.
Troi was barely reaching the turbolift. Had she heard?
Data sat in a pool of perpetual good intentions, his chair swiveled ever so slightly toward the rest of them, and as all eyes crawled to him with that collective reprimand his expression became confused. He glanced from each to