The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [20]
Riker shook his head admiringly. Picard turned to his Klingon officer. “Lieutenant Worf, is it possible to launch a warning buoy at sufficient velocity so that it could break free of this field?”
The security head made some calculations. “Yes, Captain, I believe that we can.”
“Prepare a summary of our mission status, then, and launch that buoy, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want all sensors set for maximum-range scan on all wavelengths, Mister Data,” Picard ordered. “I wish to know immediately if any sign of our destination is detected. Please alert your replacement to scan all bands of the spectra.”
“That will not be necessary, Captain,” Data said.
“What do you mean?” The captain glanced at Riker. “Your shift ends soon, does it not?”
“Yes, sir, it does,” the android agreed as the first officer nodded confirmation. “But I am prepared to remain on duty for the duration of this alert.”
The captain gazed into the viewscreen, his eyes thoughtful. “That is not necessary,” he said, then he turned back to the android, and his stern expression softened just a bit. “Though your willingness to take on extra duty is commendable, Data. You may remain on duty if you wish, Commander. I do not believe, however, that we will face any type of confrontation today … or, at least, for the next several hours.”
“That concurs with my instrument readings, Captain. There is no sign of our …”—the android hesitated—”antagonist at the farthest range my sensors extend, which means that contact with our unknown destination cannot occur within the next six hours at the minimum.”
“Six hours,” Picard repeated dryly. “Breathing space, Mister Data. We must all endeavor to enjoy it while it lasts.”
Despite the possible danger of his ship’s current assignment, Acting Ensign Wesley Crusher felt rather pleased with life in general as he entered the ship’s main lounge, called Ten-Forward. Captain Picard had approved his search pattern, and he had even commented favorably in front of Commander Riker about the innovative way the young man had overlapped the search grids to provide extra conservation of both fuel and time. While the captain was always one to give credit where credit was due, public compliments from Jean-Luc Picard were rare enough that they became things to be treasured, memorized, savored …
Smiling faintly at the memory, the youth wandered around the lounge. Ten-Forward was a large, dimly lit compartment, with lighted tables, benches and chairs scattered about, many of them facing toward the many windows, where the moving stars provided a breathtaking background. Soft conversations created a low murmur that overshadowed the music playing softly in the background; absently Wesley identified the piece as a tone poem by the Vulcan composer T’Nira.
“Can I get you anything, Wes?”
The teenager started out of his reverie, only to realize that he’d somehow made his way across the lounge and sat down at the bar, all without being aware of it. Guinan was before him, leaning across the glowing surface of the bar, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. Her brown skin was perhaps a shade lighter than Geordi’s, and her features were very human—except that they appeared curiously bare to human eyes. Above Guinan’s wide-lipped mouth, her brown eyes sparkled beneath brows so sparse as to be almost nonexistent. Wesley had sometimes wondered whether Guinan had hair on the top of her head, or if it was just long at the back, but he had no way of knowing. The hostess always wore elaborate headdresses that complemented her flowing robes.
“Oh, hi, Guinan. Can I have one of those fruit things you make?”
“You mean a Fomalhaut