Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [46]
“That’s right,” said Geordi. “And we’ve already scotched that idea because of the safety factor.” Data’s brow creased. “It may be that we are approach-+ the problem the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?” asked Wes.
The android looked at him. “We seem to be focusing
on finding a way to slow down. Perhaps it would help us more to speed up. his
That was a fresh slant. “Go on,” said Geordi. “The slipstream is carrying us forward at warp nine point nine five. If we can exceed that speed, we might be able to outrun the phenomenon’s frontal horizon—assuming it has one-and thereby free ourselves.”
It was almost childlike in its conception. And yet, in a common-sense kind of way, it seemed as if it could work. Of course, there was a rather large practical problem. “You’re talking about the ship traveling in excess of warp nine point nine five,” Geordi pointed out. “We’ve never done that before.” “We’ve never tried was said Wes.
“And if Mr. Data is right about there being a frontal horizon,” added Simenon, “it might take only a fraction of a second to pierce it.”
“Or it could take millennia,” the chief engineer reminded him. “Yes,” the Gnalish conceded. “Or that. It depends on the magnitude of the phenomenon. And where we are in relation to its boundaries.” Geordi mulled it over. “I usually like to give the captain more than one option.”
Silence from Data and Wesley. Simenon rolled his fiery red eyeballs at the notion. After all, it had taken so long to come up with this plan …
“But in this case,” said La Forge, “I think I’ll make an exception. Standing in the corridor outside Morgen’s door, Crusher was starting to become a little concerned. After
all, she’d been there for more than a minute, waiting to give the Daa’Vit his routine follow-up exam, and there had been no response to her presence. Of course, Mor-gen could have been taking a nap-but it seemed unlikely with all that was going on. Finally, she tapped her communicator. “Computer-where is Captain Morgen?”
The reply was nearly instantaneous. “Captain Morgen is in the forward lounge on deck seventeen.”
“Thank you,” the doctor said out loud. As she headed for the turbolift, she thumped herself on the head. Dumb, Beverly. You should have checked out Morgen’s whereabouts before you came all this way.
Nor could she just call him via the intercom system. If someone were with the Daa’Vit, they’d wonder why the ship’s doctor wanted to see him. No, she would have to seek him out in person-and drag him back to his apartment only if he were alone. The turbolift doors opened at Crusher’s approach. She stepped inside.
“Deck seventeen,” she instructed. “Forward lounge.” The lift’s movement was imperceptible except for a subtle hum. And since she hadn’t been more than a couple of decks away, she arrived in a matter of seconds. As she exited, she made a left and followed the curve of the corridor. The lounge appeared on her right, its doors open-not uncommon, if there was nothing going on inside that would disturb others on the ship.
Voices. One was Morgen’s-subdued yet resonant. The other was female, human. Not Troi’s, or she would have recognized it. Nor Asmund’s, unless things had changed drastically since dinner the other night.
Cadwallader’s, she decided. And as she entered the lounge, she saw that she’d guessed correctly. Ben Zoma’s
Number Tiwo was sitting across a small table from the Daa’Vit, engaging him in a game of sharash’di.
At Crusher’s arrival, they both looked up. Cadwallader smiled. “Greetings, Doctor. Fancy meeting you here.”
Beverly smiled back. “I saw the doors open and I couldn’t resist peeking inside.” She indicated the game board. “Sharash’di, eh?” Morgen nodded. “Commander Cadwallader thought it was high time I left that stuffy apartment you’ve given me—and spent some time in this stuffy lounge.”
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