Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [40]
Worf confirmed it: “That is the general idea, yes.”
By then, Ben Zoma must have tired of testing the holodeck’s capacity for illusion, because he had turned around and was running back. To his credit, he had yet to break a sweat. His breathing had barely even accelerated.
“I understand,” said Morgen, “that holodeck programs may be customized. Even created from scratch.”
This time, he was addressing Worf directly. There was no way the Klingon could help but meet his eyes.
Worf could feel the instinctive reaction rising within him. It took an effort to stifle it—to keep it from being obvious.
“That is true,” said the Klingon.
Morgen’s eyes, bright yellow, narrowed the slightest bit. “Have you created programs, Mr. Worf?”
Inwardly writhing under the Daa’Vit’s scrutiny, Worf nodded. “I have,” he confirmed.
Morgen seemed about to ask something else. But it never came out. For a fraction of a second longer, he regarded the Klingon. Then Ben Zoma had returned from his run.
“Whew,” he said, wiping his brow where a faint sheen of sweat had finally emerged. “Not a bad workout.” He turned to Greyhorse. “So? Satisfied?”
The doctor looked around, nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Quite satisfied.” He turned to Worf. “Thank you for your patience, Lieutenant.”
“It was my pleasure,” said the Klingon. He looked up at the sky again. “Save program.”
Abruptly, Ander’s Planet vanished, leaving in its place the stark yellow-on-black grid of the unadorned holodeck. The visitors took it in, seemingly as intrigued by the naked space as by the illusion. Worf allowed them some time to look around.
Then he indicated the door with a gesture. “This way, gentlemen.”
As he exited, he thought he could feel Morgen’s eyes boring into his back.
What was the question the Daa’Vit had been about to pose?
In the cavernous engine room of the Enterprise, Geordi and Simenon stood side by side, gazing up at the mighty matter-antimatter core. On the catwalk above them, engineering personnel went through their daily diagnostic routine.
The Gnalish grunted. “You know,” he said, “I’ve pictured this a thousand times in my head. Had to, in order to teach advanced propulsion at the Academy.” He grunted again. “But seeing it up close…for real—it’s so…”
“Impressive?” suggested Geordi.
“Disappointing,” finished Simenon. He regarded the Enterprise’s chief engineer. “It doesn’t look a whole lot different from the engine core on the Stargazer. Bigger, sure. But when you come down to it, a warp drive is still a warp drive.”
Geordi took a second look at his engine room—the heart and soul of the ship, as far as he was concerned. “I guess,” he said, “that depends on your point of view.”
Just then, the turbolift doors slid apart and spewed out a familiar figure. Wesley crossed the deck as quickly as he could without actually running and came to a halt in front of the two engineers.
“You’re out of breath, Ensign,” observed Simenon.
“I’m…late…sir,” explained Wesley. He turned to Geordi. “Sorry. Commander Data…asked me to make a course change…at the last minute and—”
The engineering chief put a reassuring hand on Wesley’s shoulder. “That’s all right,” he said. “I’m notified about such things, remember? Besides, Professor Simenon just arrived himself.”
The Gnalish looked at Wesley askance. “You’re not in a hurry to meet me, are you?” He leered at Geordi. “Now, that would be a refreshing change—a young person actually hurrying to bask in my presence.”
“Actually,” said the chief engineer, “Ensign Crusher here was excited about meeting you. Weren’t you, Wes?”
Wesley nodded. “I have an interest in warp engineering,” he said, having finally caught his breath. “And with all the work you’ve done in that field…”
Simenon dismissed the idea with a wave of his scaly hand. “Nothing at all, compared to those who went before me. My real talent was hands-on engineering.” He indicated Geordi with a tilt of his head. “What this young man does. What I used to do,” he sighed.
The ensign smiled tentatively. He looked at the Gnalish. “You’re kidding,