Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [38]
“As for you, my love…I have a little excursion in mind. You see, Pug Joseph was on Delos Four a while back, and he’s been regaling me lately with stories about this place he rented in the mountains. Not necessarily the kind of stories you’d tell your grandmother, but then, that’s Pug. Anyway, I did some research, and it appears his love nest is still around. What’s more, it’s supposed to be beautiful there. Seems like as good a way to get reacquainted as any—and Wes won’t miss us overnight. Especially if he ends up getting a baby brother—or sister—out of the deal.
“Not too much else to tell you. Cad had a birthday, Morgen was promoted to lieutenant jay-gee and—oh, Greyhorse says he’ll be glad to answer any questions you have about being a doctor aboard a starship. His main advice is to avoid any vessel that has a Gnalish aboard—his words, not mine.
“I guess that’s it. Give my love to Wes and I’ll see you soon, I hope. I mean, how much longer can these negotiations go on? We already hold the Federation record. Miss you.”
Crusher took a deep breath, let it out. Stopping the tape, she had the mechanism eject it and replaced it in the box.
Then she began putting herself in a more professional frame of mind. She was due in sickbay in a few minutes.
Stopping at the entrance to the holodeck, Worf turned to the group that was trailing behind him.
“This,” he said, “is a holographic environment simulator. Known in the vernacular as a holodeck.”
The Klingon scowled. Why, he wondered, has this task fallen to me?
He had asked the captain the same question a couple of hours earlier.
Because, Mr. Worf, you have proven to be an expert guide. Commander Cadwallader said your tour of the communications system was nothing short of breathtaking.
Breathtaking indeed.
Worf considered his audience. Dr. Greyhorse and Morgen seemed interested. However, Ben Zoma was more intrigued by the shapely technician checking the disposal unit down the corridor.
The Klingon cleared his throat. It immediately had the desired effect, as Ben Zoma’s attention was returned to him.
“Sorry,” said the captain of the Lexington. “By all means, carry on, Lieutenant.”
“We have four such facilities on the Enterprise,” continued Worf, as if he’d never stopped. “All four are on deck eleven. In addition, there are smaller versions—personal holodecks—scattered throughout the ship.”
He tried to avoid the Daa’Vit’s gaze—but it was not entirely possible. After all, he was standing square in the center of the group.
“I have a question,” said Greyhorse.
Worf turned to him, relieved—even though he had to look up at the man, and he wasn’t used to looking up at people. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Is it true that the holodecks are used for exercise regimens? Jogging and so forth?”
The Klingon nodded. “They can be. Of course, the areas in the holodecks are finite. One cannot jog very far without reaching the wall. However—”
“However,” Greyhorse interrupted, “the electromagnetic fields that make up the ground underfoot flow in a direction opposite that of the runner’s progress—acting as a sort of treadmill, and giving the runner the illusion that he or she is moving forward.”
The Klingon frowned. “More or less, yes.” Obviously, the man was familiar with special field theory. But then, that was not surprising. He was a doctor, and doctors used force fields in any number of procedures.
“But,” Greyhorse went on, “what happens if a second participant is placed in the holodeck—one who is stationary? Does the holodeck maintain the illusion of increasing distance between the stationary observer and the jogger? And if so, how is that accomplished?”
Worf grunted. “A good question,” he conceded, despite the brusque manner in which it was