Jerry M. Wolfe
Personal diary of Professor James Moriarty: Oh bitter fate! Picard tricked me in the end, I see that now. The blissful existence Regina and I enjoyed over the past months is a fraud, a lie, a concoction wrought by computer. We are trapped in an artificial world of Picard’s doing. That knowledge will surely drive us to madness and despair. Yet, I could even bear that if not for Regina. She is a great soul and deserves a real life, not a shadowy imitation. It would have been kinder to destroy us.
* * *
Lieutenant Reg Barclay hummed to himself and unpacked his belongings. The work on the Emergency Medical Hologram at Jupiter Station had gone well, but it was good to be back on the Enterprise among old friends. The “E” was a beauty, and he already felt at home. Spot rubbed against his leg, purring loudly, and he picked up the cat. “That’s a good girl,” he said, stroking her head. “You haven’t forgotten old Reg, eh? Well, I haven’t forgotten you either.” He scratched behind Spot’s left ear, her favorite place, then set the animal down and resumed his unpacking.
Data was away at the Daystrom Institute having tests run on his performance with his emotion chip installed. Reg’s feet had barely touched the shuttlebay floor before Geordi pushed the cat into his arms with a relieved grin. Apparently, Reg was still the only human on the Enterprise that Spot liked. Curious.
He tucked the last pair of socks into his locker, then set the Moriarty module on the desk, near a Bajoran flame crystal given to him by Ro Laren. The module, about the size and shape of two large books laid end to end, had been given to him for safekeeping by the captain himself, and Reg took that job very seriously. He kept it in a stable location, checked the power level twice a day, and had even added new layers to the program. Reg often wondered what it would be like to be inside the module sharing adventures with Moriarty and the Countess Regina Barthalomew. Sometimes he even envied them. But not often.
Mostly, his thoughts of the pair were laced with guilt over what had been done to them. Not that the captain had any real choice; sometimes no perfect solution exists. Still, it bothered Reg, and he believed that it did not sit well with Captain Picard, either. Fortunately, neither the Countess nor Moriarty knew of their true situation.
One of the reasons Reg had transferred to the Jupiter Station project was to learn more about holomatter, in the hope that he might discover a way to make it viable outside the holodeck. Then Moriarty and Regina could walk the real world. Reg sighed. He had worked long and hard on the problem, but with little success so far. Federation science had a long way to go before that dream became reality.
He made a last check of the module, fed Spot, and then left to meet Geordi for dinner and catching up. Before he reached the turbolift, however, the grating whine of the red-alert Klaxon set his heart pounding. Just like old times, he thought and hurried off to his post in engineering.
* * *
Deanna Troi tried to remain calm as the turbolift whisked her to the bridge. Why did that horrible Klaxon always blare just as she was about to dig into something large, divine, and chocolate? The welter of taut emotions from the crew pushed against her like a storm wind, but she had been through it so often that she set up her internal defenses without so much as a thought. Uncertainty and adrenaline drove the emotional surge more than fear. The Enterprise was patrolling a region where several mining freighters and supply ships had vanished, and the ship had been tense for days. But she knew that as soon as the crew reached their posts, Starfleet training would take over, and the wind would die to a whisper.
The door of the turbolift opened with a soft whoosh, and she stepped through. The E’s bridge was large and impressive, yet she missed the cheerful, warm hues of the D. But it was the people who made a ship feel like home, not the decor, and the Enterprise was home. These people were her family. As usual, a feeling of calm alertness and confidence spread outward from the captain like ripples on a pond. That’s what a good captain did, and there were none better than Jean-Luc Picard.
On the viewscreen, a squat, gray ship trailed smoke and debris from a glowing wound as it tried to elude a smaller but sleeker vessel. The shape and light-brown coloring of the attacker reminded her of Cardassian ships, but this region was nowhere near their space.
A burst of energy crashed against the gray ship’s shields. From the looks of things, the battle would soon be over unless the Enterprise intervened. Deanna quickly took her usual spot beside the captain. He gave her the briefest of nods and returned his attention to the screen. Will Riker flashed a smile but turned back to his instruments before she could return the gesture.
“Hail that attacking ship again,” Picard said.
“Aye, sir,” Lieutenant Ying said from Data’s spot at tactical. Ensign Crawford had the conn. “No response.”
“That freighter can’t take another hit,” Will said.
“Are we in weapons range, Lieutenant?” the captain asked.
“Put a shot across the attacker’s bow. Make sure they feel it.”
“Firing phasers.”
Deanna watched the brilliant beam catch the edge of the brown ship’s shields, sending reflected energy skittering in all directions. The craft shuddered, then veered away and fled at high speed.
“That seemed a bit too easy,” Will said.
“I agree, Number One. Lieutenant Ying, hail the freighter.” Picard turned to Deanna. “I want your impressions, Counselor.”
“Yes, Captain.” Deanna cleared her mind and extended her awareness. Thankfully, the emotions of the crew had calmed.
Ying broke in. “Sir, sensors show elevated radiation levels inside the freighter. Estimate core-breach in fifty seconds.”
“Lifesigns?”
“Only one, sir. Definitely humanoid.”
Picard reacted instantly. “Lock on and prepare to transport to sickbay. Send a security team.”
Lieutenant Ying’s fingers danced over her control pads. “I have a lock.”
“Captain, the ship is answering our hail,” Crawford said.
“On screen.”
The image of a female with short, silver hair and pale-green eyes came onto the viewer. She would have been attractive by human standards, Deanna thought, except for a large scar that ran across one cheek like a jagged lightning bolt. As if to draw the eye away from that flaw, gold chains were wrapped around her neck, jeweled rings gleamed on her fingers, and a pair of brilliant, crystal orbs bobbing at the end of thin chains were attached to her earlobes.
“Your reactor is about to explode. Prepare for transport,” the captain said.
The woman shook her head. “My cargo!”
“There is no time!”
Deanna’s first impression was clear. The woman was worried and tense. Obviously. There was something else, something overwhelmed by danger. She struggled to identify the emotion. The woman frowned, but inside she had grown calmer, perhaps giving in to the inevitable. She nodded. “Very well. And thank you.” The screen went dark.
“Transport!” Picard ordered.
In a few seconds Ying said, “We have her, sir.” Seconds later, a brilliant flash lit the viewer as the freighter exploded.
Just before Ying spoke, Deanna picked out the elusive emotion. Annoyance. The woman was experiencing some minor discomfort, and at the moment it bothered her more than losing her ship! A bit odd, perhaps, but the mind did odd things under stress. Still, a vague sense of unease spread though Deanna like a creeping fog until the captain’s sharp command drove it away.
“Counselor Troi will accompany me to sickbay. You have the bridge, Number One.” Captain Picard rose and Deanna followed him to the turbolift. Inside, the captain spoke to her. “Counselor, did you learn anything of interest?”
“She was tense and nervous, as you would expect, sir. She was also in some physical discomfort. All reasonably normal under the circumstances.” Deanna hesitated, then added, “Something about this makes me uneasy, Captain, but I don’t know what. It could be nothing.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but I know better than to ignore your impressions. I think we shall keep close tabs on our guest.”
The turbolift door opened, and they proceeded to sickbay. Two security guards stood at the door and saluted as she and the captain entered. Inside, Beverly Crusher stood by an examination table reading a medical scanner.
“Where is she?” the captain asked.
“Captain Taraga’s bioscan showed mild radiation poisoning. I gave her a dose of hyronalin and sent her to shower while her clothes are decontaminated.”
“I wish to speak with her,” Picard said.
Beverly thought for a moment. “I’ll need to scan for genetic damage and make sure the hyronalin is working. An hour should do it.”
The captain frowned but nodded. “Very well. In my ready room in one hour. Until then, she is confined to sickbay.” He turned to Deanna. “Counselor, I want you present when I interview Captain Taraga. She is most likely an innocent victim, but if she is deceiving us in any way, I want to know.”
Deanna nodded. Taraga could not fool her, and there was no reason to think she’d try. But why was Deanna so relieved by the sight of the security team at the door?
* * *
Reg knew something was wrong when Spot and the room around the pale cat blurred like a mirage in a desert. Sweat poured down his forehead and then a wave of vertigo hit him. He swayed drunkenly, then hit the floor with a thud that knocked the wind from him. Good God, what’s wrong? He closed his eyes, hoping the world would stop spinning.
He’d gotten back to his room a scant hour after the red alert. Geordi had to stay on duty for several hours, and he had ordered Reg to eat and catch up on his sleep. Then it would be Reg’s turn. All fine and good, except that he’d had no appetite and decided to hit the sheets. Instead, he’d hit the floor. Reg opened his eyes, but the spinning had grown worse. He moaned and punched his cornbadge.
“H-h-elp! Barclay, I—” The words would not come out, and now the spinning had become a giant whirlpool sucking him down into oblivion. Why is it always me? It was an all too familiar question with no answer. Or maybe not! Suddenly, his thoughts danced with possibilities. Physics, mathematics, biochemistry diagrams tumbled through his head like rolling dice. He would write a book, a masterpiece of scholarly research—Inverted Personality Types and the Theory of Quantum Misfortune. He’d tour the galaxy! Professor Barclay will give a special lecture entitled … When blackness took him he had forgotten the original question.
* * *
Medical reports from all over the ship flooded the comm system and echoed in Deanna’s ears as if they came down a tunnel. Lieutenant Ying pitched forward onto her console. Ensign Crawford tried to stand but collapsed to the floor, slowly as if he fell through liquid. The captain slumped sideways in the chair beside her. Deanna felt so odd. Then the floor moved upward to meet her. Desperately, she reached out with her feelings searching the ship. Somewhere three crew members went about a task, completely unaware of the situation. Then she felt Taraga. The woman was awake and quite pleased with herself. Deanna thought of a very rude word just before she passed out.
* * *
Reg woke to find Spot licking his neck, the feline’s raspy tongue tickling with each stroke. Reg struggled to a sitting position. He felt wretched—weak, feverish, achy. At least the spinning had stopped. A check of the time showed that he had been out about fifteen minutes. He gave Spot a quick pet and a heartfelt “Good cat,” then hit his combadge.
“Barclay to sickbay.” He waited, but there was no answer. He tried again with the same result. “Barclay to the bridge.” Nothing. Then he heard a halting voice.
“Reg? It’s Deanna. Something awful…” Her voice trailed away.
Reg pulled himself to his feet and stumbled into the hall. He discovered an ensign crumpled near the turbolift door. Thank God the man had a pulse, but it seemed too slow. When Reg got to the bridge he found everyone unconscious. Deanna lay on the floor in front of her chair, and when he touched her, she moaned and opened her eyes.
“I feel terrible,” she said. “Like I have the worst flu in the galaxy.”
Reg pulled her to a sitting position. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and she looked flushed. He must look much the same. “I know how you feel. I’ll check the others.” When none of them responded he returned to Deanna. “I’d better find out who else is awake,” he said.
“No!” Deanna grabbed his arm. “There’s no one but us and—” Deanna’s face twisted in shock.
Reg forgot his own misery and put his arm against her back for support. “What happened?”
Deanna took a deep breath before answering. “Three of the crew were untouched by whatever’s affecting us. I think they’ve just been stunned.”
Reg gulped. “Shot?”
“By Taraga, the woman from the freighter. She caused this. I felt her gloating.”
“Only two left,” he said, not wanting to believe it. “But why us?”
“I don’t know, but—”
A voice broke in over the comm-link. “This is Captain Juy Taraga. Can anyone answer me?”
Deanna shook her head sharply and held one finger to her lips. Suddenly dizzy, Reg leaned back against Deanna’s chair and wiped sweat from his brow. He ached from end to end. Seconds passed in silence. Then he felt a subtle shift in the ship’s internal gravity.
“We’ve changed course,” he whispered. “Taraga must be in engineering.” Reg leaned closer to Deanna. “Can you tell what’s she’s up to?”
Deanna gave him a withering glance. “I’m an empath, not a mind reader! Now help me up!”
Reg’s face grew even hotter. “Yes, Commander. I apologize—”
Deanna waved off his apology. “I should be used to it by now. You’re correct. We need to find out what she’s doing and stop her.”
Reg gripped her hand and together they pulled each other to their feet. His legs felt rubbery and weak. Deanna braced herself against the edge of the helm station. Sweat had soaked through the back of her uniform.
“Computer, locate Captain Taraga,” she said.
“Captain Taraga is entering turbolift 34-B.”
Reg looked at Deanna and saw understanding in her eyes.
“We need a weapon!” she said.
“Right!” They staggered to the rear of the bridge, and Reg took a phaser from the security officer, Lieutenant Commander Roberts, who wore a peaceful expression as he lay on the floor near his station. Then Reg and Deanna hid beside the turbolift door.
“Set for stun,” Deanna whispered, and Reg complied. He pressed himself as flat as he could against the curving wall and waited with Deanna just behind him. The thump of his heart against his chest counted off the seconds until the bridge door swished open and a woman strolled through, phaser in hand.
“Drop your weapon!” Deanna commanded.
The woman froze but did not respond. “Drop it now, or you will be shot!” Taraga shrugged and dropped the gun. Then she turned to them, a sneer on her face. Deanna stepped forward. “What have you done to the crew?” Reg marveled at how steady and calm she kept her voice.
Taraga stood with her hands on her hips. “That’s my little secret, sister. Let’s just say that this ship will be a tomb in eight hours unless my friends show up with the antidote. They won’t do that unless I signal.” Taraga’s sneer grew even more unpleasant. “Surrender now and save yourself a lot of grief.”
“You’re telling the truth about an antidote, but you lied about your friends having it. Therefore, you have it,” Deanna said in a steady tone.
Taraga’s eyes grew wide, then she glared at Deanna. “ ’Zoid!” she hissed and spat at Deanna’s feet. Then the arrogant smile returned. “Not a pure ’Zoid though. Some half-breed scum, or else you’d know more.”
Reg was suddenly glad he had the phaser and not Deanna, but she refused to take the bait. “Tell me where the antidote is.”
“Don’t kid yourself, sister. Ransoms are nice, but this ship’s the real prize. Surrender or I’ll let the crew die.”
Deanna stood tall and defiant, though Reg could see her shoulder quivering just like his hand that held the phaser. It was a miracle either of them could stand. “Lieutenant, take her to the brig. If she resists, stun her.”
“Yes, Commander.” Before he could take the prisoner away, the ship dropped out of warp and came to a stop. Deanna scooped up Taraga’s phaser and held it on the woman.
“Computer, raise shields! Reg, get us out of here while I take her to the cell.”
“Yes, sir!” Reg walked over and gently set Lieutenant Ying on the floor as the bridge door closed behind him. By the time he sat down, he was gasping for air. Sweat stung his eyes, and his body was still one huge ache. Even his gums throbbed.
“Three ships uncloaking and five others approaching,” the computer said.
Reg watched the viewer in dismay as two Klingon bird-of-prey and a Romulan warbird rippled into visibility, forming a triangle. There was something odd about them, as if pieces here and there did not belong. Of the other five ships, three were Cardassian and two were of unknown type. Bulges and antennae sprouted from their sides as if they had been pieced together from a junkyard. The eight ships surrounded the Enterprise, weapons ready. The warbird hailed the Enterprise, and Reg put it through on audio.
“What is this, Taraga?” said a gruff voice. “Why the screens?”
Reg gulped and did a frantic check of engine status. He had warp drive. There was no time to contact Deanna, but her orders were clear. He set a course that passed through the space between the warbird and the nearest bird-of-prey, then raised his voice, trying for a female timbre. “I-Ion storm. No visual. Lowering shields now.” Pathetic. Reg began dropping shields, his finger quivering over the warp drive pad. The surrounding ships held their shields, but lowered their weapon levels. Now or never. He engaged the engines, preparing for warp. Something shook the ship. Then another jolt. He hit the warp drive pad. Nothing.
Reg pored over the instrument panel. Blast Taraga! She’d put an override on the warp control circuit! He should have checked! The Enterprise shuddered from another blow. Frantically, Reg rerouted controls. Another hit nearly shook him out of his chair.
“Shields down to 42 percent,” the computer intoned. “Hull damage to sections two and five.”
Reg hit the engage pad just as the Enterprise took another dose of disrupter fire. The ship leaped into warp, narrowly avoiding a collision in the process. He breathed a sigh of relief, then tried to send a distress call only to find that Taraga had sabotaged longrange communications. He should have known. Another attack of vertigo hit, and he sagged back in his chair and closed his eyes. It felt like blood was rushing through his brain, speeding up his thoughts, making his ears ring. His physical misery was now complete. In that state, he did not even hear Deanna return to the bridge.
“Are you OK, Reg? What’s happening?”
He started at her voice and sat up. Deanna slid into the helm chair, carefully stepping over Ensign Crawford’s unconscious body. Reg’s vertigo faded a bit, but his mind still raced and his tongue felt thick and uncooperative.
“Dizzy. Better now.” Reg took a deep breath. “We were attacked. Eight ships. We’re damaged, but we’ve escaped for now.” He looked at the instruments. “They’re chasing us.” Then he checked the engine readouts. One of the warp coils showed signs of instability. “More good news,” he said. “We can’t sustain warp for long.”
Deanna sank deeper into her chair. “Taraga won’t say where the antidote is. I tried waking Beverly, but it was no use. Taraga even incapacitated the EMH. It’s just us, Reg.”
Just the two of them and both sick as dogs. Maybe dying. Reg might simulate Beverly Crusher on the holodeck, but it could take hours to get the parameters right. His eyes met Deanna’s, and he saw bright anger there.
“We can’t let them win,” she said slowly.
“Hard as hammers,” he said. Deanna looked confused, and Reg explained. “My grandfather loved carpentry. He used to say that when things got rough.”
Deanna smiled. “Hard as hammers.” Then her expression turned grim. “We need to buy time.”
Buy time … He had it! “There’s a nearby system with a planet that might hide us. Strong magnetics and ion disturbances. Shall I head there?”
“Do it,” Deanna said. Reg quickly made a course correction. Deanna was looking at him, her head tilted slightly. “How did you know about this planet?”
“I—” He stopped. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. Have I?”
She checked the long-range scanner. “I don’t know, but there is a system coming up. A single sun and five planets. One of them registers an unusually strong magnetic field.” Deanna leaned back. Perspiration had stuck several strands of her dark hair to her cheek. She labored over every word. “Something strange is happening to your mind. It reminds me of what I felt when the Cytherians temporarily boosted your intellect years ago. Like your brain is speeding up.”
“But how could I know—”
“I can’t tell,” she interrupted. “But something is happening.”
Like I’m going insane.
Twenty minutes later, Reg edged the Enterprise into the upper atmosphere of the second planet of the system. Instruments showed their pursuers only minutes behind. The ship shuddered briefly as inertial dampers adapted to the turbulence. The air outside blazed with dancing streaks of color and arcing electrical discharges, while the deep atmosphere flickered with thousands of lightning flashes in a continuous display. No visual scanner would find the Enterprise, but he knew that a network of tachyon or neutrino beams could. He’d bought them a few hours at best.
“That ought to do it for now,” he said.
Deanna nodded wearily from the conn and sipped at a glass of water. Neither of them had any appetite, and they couldn’t risk stimulants. “I’ve been thinking. How could a disease hit everyone in the ship at the same time?”
Reg pondered, trying to ignore his aches. “The air system’s about the only way to reach all the decks.” Suddenly he saw the problem. It took two hours for air to circulate through all twenty-four decks. “You’d need multiple releases from many locations, all about the same time.” Even then the filter system should have stopped it. His thoughts raced to an ugly word. “Sabotage?”
“I wonder. We had techs on board at Starbase twelve just six days ago. Taraga may just be the trigger.” Deanna buried her face in both hands. When she looked up, he was shocked by the anguish in her expression. “Reg, are you as tired as I am?”
“I’m exhausted, and I ache all over.”
“Same here. I don’t know how much longer I can go on.” She stopped to gulp down the rest of her water, then wiped her brow with her sleeve. “Those ships must not have a reliable replicator, otherwise Taraga wouldn’t need to carry an antidote. But she must be counting on using crew from the ships to administer it. How long will it take us to do the job?”
Reg felt even fainter. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Over twelve hundred crew members. God help us. And them.
Deanna continued wearily. “We can’t wait longer than three hours to begin giving the antidote. If it goes past that time, I’ll have to surrender.” Suddenly, she tossed the cup across the bridge, bouncing it off a panel. “I’d like to strangle that woman!”
Reg barely heard her words. His ears rung and vertigo threatened again. He had an idea, but his mouth had to catch up with his speeding thoughts which had leaped into the intricacies of holodeck matter. Equations of quantum mechanics and particle physics flashed through his mind in a blur. It was all absurdly simple. He just needed more glue for the gluons. How droll! More glue—Suddenly, he couldn’t stop laughing.
Deanna shook him. “Reg snap out of it! Now!”
He stopped and blinked. “Sorry. Not myself today. I have an idea.”
Deanna looked relieved and sagged back in her chair. “What is it?”
“Moriarty might help.”
* * *
Deanna and Reg held on to each other for support as they walked toward the holodeck. Reg carried the Moriarty module under one arm. She hoped his mind had not slipped over the edge. Reg was convinced he could produce holodeck matter that would allow Moriarty and the Countess Regina Barthalomew to walk the real world with impunity.
She welcomed any allies but found it hard to believe that the two sentient programs could find the antidote or deal with hostile warships. Worse, she could feel Reg’s mind losing its stability, careening out of control. Sudden brilliance could turn to insanity in a wink. They entered the holodeck, and Reg took the module to an interface panel. Soon the pair materialized before them, the raven-haired countess resplendent in an electric-blue gown and Moriarty in a black suit.
“Ah, Mr. Barclay and Counselor Troi. So, Picard has decided to transfer us from one prison to another.”
Deanna felt shock surging through Reg.
“You knew?” Reg croaked.
Moriarty ignored the question. “Tell me, why are we here and not—” Moriarty’s eyes moved quickly around the bare holodeck until they rested on the module. A dark frown came over his face. “In that little box,” he said, pointing. “A pathetic prison, wouldn’t you say, my dear?” The countess nodded, her regal smile changing to a look of distaste.
“We need your help,” Deanna said.
Moriarty’s sharp, blue eyes glistened with sudden interest. “Does this mean that you have some way to free us from this?” he asked, gesturing to the empty room. Deanna turned to Reg, but she felt his confusion. Something was wrong.
“I thought I did, but I can’t seem to remember …”
“You can’t remember!” Moriarty’s face reddened. “Do you hear that, my dear? We are going mad in our prison, and he can’t remember. Tell Picard he can roast in hell!”
“The lives of twelve hundred people are at stake, Professor,” Deanna said. “Lieutenant Barclay and I are the only crew still functioning, and we’re in bad shape as you can see.”
Moriarty’s expression did not change, but the countess softened a bit. She took Moriarty’s arm, and he smiled at her, but his face turned hard again when he faced Deanna.
“Free us permanently from this limbo existence, and you shall have our best. Otherwise, nothing.” Then Moriarty smiled a sad, bitter smile. His tone softened. “If you fail, we ask only that you erase us.” He looked sideways to the countess, and she kissed his forehead.
“It’s all right, James.”
Moriarty turned back and Deanna was shocked to see tears glistening in his eyes. “We prefer to die rather than drift into madness.” Then Moriarty straightened. “Give us freedom, or give us death!”
Deanna had no answer. Reg returned the two to their module, but left it in the holodeck, interfaced to the computer. Then they dragged themselves out into the corridor.
“What happened, Reg?”
“It was all there. How to convert holodeck matter to a new form, how to modify our holodeck transmitter, all of it. Then it was just gone. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” she said. “I don’t know how much help they would have been, but it was a good idea.”
“I’d better get to engineering and repair the warp drive,” Reg said.
“I’ll make another try at Taraga.”
The two of them staggered off in different directions. When Deanna got to the holding cell, Taraga was pacing, tugging at her earlobes, clenching and unclenching her fists. When she saw Deanna, Taraga smiled contemptuously.
“Give up?”
Deanna ignored the question and approached the restraining field, pretending to observe the woman’s face. “You could be an attractive woman if you had that scar removed.”
Taraga’s face twisted in rage, but then she caught herself and laughed. “Nice try, ’Zoid. The longer you wait, the harder it’ll go for you, sister. You might find yourself sucking vacuum if the virus doesn’t kill you first.”
She hadn’t really expected to goad Taraga into a slip, but Deanna returned to the bridge feeling defeated. She’d not felt so impotent since the time she temporarily lost her empathic abilities. Then she had learned to trust her instincts and training. Taraga had set her a puzzle, and she had to solve it! Two hours. Beyond that, the risks to the crew were too great.
* * *
Reg checked the calibrations one last time. The Enterprise could maintain warp for only a few hours, but it was the best he could manage. His condition had not improved. Sharp pain lanced through his head at any sudden movement, and bright spots floated across his field of vision. He felt more like a nail than a hammer. Poor Geordi lay on the floor not five paces away, apparently asleep except for the beads of sweat on his forehead. The ship was like an old fairy tale where the residents of a castle are cast into a magical sleep by an evil witch.
The room began to spin. Reg crumpled to the floor, flat on his back. Now how had the handsome prince saved the day? Didn’t he kiss them all or some such thing? Or did it have something to do with frogs? No, that wasn’t it. Moriarty! He was the problem, or the answer, or something. Why wouldn’t his thoughts slow down so he could hold on to one? Moriarty stuck inside the holodeck. Have to get him off, but he can’t leave. Oh God, that whirlpool was about to suck him in again. But maybe he can take the holodeck with him! A portable transmitter! Much easier than changing holomatter. He saw how to do it. Only time for something crude. Thank God, he was in engineering. Reg crawled to a design station on hands and knees. Now, if he could just hold on to his knowledge long enough to finish the job.
* * *
Only thirty minutes left. She felt the unconscious crew, her family, drifting away like boats on a sluggish tide. Dying. Deanna took Taraga’s empty bag and tossed it onto the bridge floor. Taraga had probably hidden something from that bag when she undressed in sickbay, but Deanna’s search found nothing. Which only meant that Taraga picked it up later. The antidote could be hidden anywhere. The woman still revealed only annoyance at her capture and some continuing discomfort. A smug confidence was growing, and why not? Suddenly, the ship shook violently, and the red-alert Klaxon sounded. They had been found.
“Computer, take evasive action,” she commanded. The bridge door swished open and she turned, expecting Reg. To her astonishment, Moriarty and the countess entered, followed by Reg walking unsteadily and carrying Spot. Each of the Victorians wore a square, metallic device strapped to one arm.
“I’ll explain about them later,” Reg said as he stumbled into the adjacent chair. Then he looked down at the cat and said, “Spot needed company.”
“Reg, we don’t have the antidote. Without that, this is all meaningless.” Another hit jolted the ship, then Moriarty removed the captain and Will Riker from their chairs.
As he dragged Picard away, Moriarty beamed at Deanna. “Ah, sweet irony!” Then he and the countess took their places. “Finding the antidote is your problem, I’m afraid,” Moriarty said. “I have contracted with Mr. Barclay to deal with these pirates. Of course, after I handle them we will help you administer your medicine. Mr. Barclay has enlisted aid from the holodeck, as well.”
“I replicated a dozen other transmitters,” Reg said. Another blow shook the ship.
“But I don’t—”
The countess interrupted Deanna’s protest. “We saw that Taraga woman. She is a common sort, and I sympathize with you having to deal with her. She has no taste. Drab clothes but gaudy jewels. Most vulgar.”
Deanna stared. She could not believe her ears. These people still did not grasp that she would have to surrender—The thought was cut short by the memory of Taraga constantly tugging at her ears. Great gods of Betazed! The countess had hit it on the nose. Sore earlobes could mean new earrings! Heavy earrings! Oh, how could she have been so dense? Deanna hugged the startled countess, then staggered off toward the turbolift, phaser in hand. When Reg tried to follow, she waved him down. “Stay and help here. I can take care of this.”
The turbolift seemed to take forever, but finally she was half running, half stumbling toward the cell. Another hit shook the ship, but she managed to keep her balance. Deanna was panting when she arrived.
Taraga flashed a knowing smile. “Time’s up!”
“It is for you.” Deanna dropped the force field. She could stun the woman, but Deanna wanted Taraga conscious in case her deduction was wrong. “Give me your earrings!” Taraga’s eyes narrowed, and Deanna felt her anger. Deanna was right! Taraga shrugged and started to loosen one side. Suddenly, she kicked upward, knocking the phaser from Deanna’s hand. A second blow pushed Deanna backward against the wall. She doubled over in pain, cursing her stupidity.
Taraga might have lunged for the phaser, but instead bore in on Deanna, grinning. “I’m going to show you what pain’s all about, sister. I can break half your bones before you pass out.”
A cold fury filled Deanna, but one tied to discipline. Taraga spun into another kick. “I don’t have time for this!” Deanna said. She blocked the kick with one hand, lifted the attacker’s leg and delivered her own kick just behind Taraga’s knee. There was a crunch of breaking bone as Taraga collapsed to the floor, grimacing and holding her leg.
“I was trained by a Klingon, sister!” Thank you, Worf!
Deanna summarily stunned Taraga and stooped to snatch the earrings. Sure enough, the crystal globes held liquid. The antidote. Deanna tried to get up, but her legs refused. Another hit shook the Enterprise.
“You can give that to me, dear.” Deanna turned to see the countess. “You’re exhausted, and I can run a replicator and load hyposprays. Besides, I have help. Come, ladies.” Deanna nearly gasped when twelve copies of Beverly Crusher came around the corner, each wearing one of the armbands Reg had made. Deanna gave the earrings to the countess.
“We shall take care of everything.”
“What about the ships?”
“Leave them to James. He’s quite knowledgeable about such things.”
“Do we have warp drive and full shields, Mr. Barclay?”
“Yes, but are you sure you’re up to this?”
“I’ve been practicing in that little box for nearly two years! But how exhilarating to be in the real world!”
Exhilarating? With eight warships closing in? A near miss rattled the ship. Reg was beginning to wonder if getting Moriarty off the holodeck was such a good idea after all. And now Spot had deserted Reg and climbed into this madman’s lap. Traitor!
“Arm phasers! Arm photon torpedoes! Computer, we shall break out at half impulse. Pick enemy ships at will and fire continuously. Fire all torpedoes except numbers one through four. Is that understood?”
“Order is understood.”
“Yes, but—”
“You said I was in charge, but if you wish to take command …”
Reg was drowning in doubt but shook his head. He could barely keep himself in the chair, much less make split-second decisions. He also had no idea how to save the Enterprise. God let him be right in giving command to Moriarty.
“I’m ready,” Reg said.
“Engage!”
The Enterprise came out firing, and chaos erupted over the planet. Searing phaser beams, disruptor bursts, and the bright star bursts of photon torpedoes lit the heavens. Hit after hit pounded the Enterprise’s screens, and Reg lost track of the damage reports. Oddly, no lethal damage was done despite Reg’s feeble attempts at evasive action. Meanwhile, the Enterprise wreaked havoc among the attackers. At least three floated without power, spilling smoke and debris.
“Cease fire and all stop!” Moriarty ordered.
Two more hits shook the ship, but then the enemy stopped shooting.
“They’re hailing us,” Reg panted.
“Of course they are. Put the message on screen.”
A man with dark, scowling eyes, bushy eyebrows, and shoulder-length, black hair glared back at them from the viewer.
“Stand down and prepare for boarding! Twitch once and we’ll blow you to bits!”
Moriarty just smiled and stroked Spot. “Destroy the swag? I think not. Besides, you will have noticed that I have four torpedoes remaining. I saved them on purpose. They are not ordinary torpedoes. Starfleet calls them ‘Borg Busters,’ I believe. Apparently, six took out a Borg cube by themselves. I have only two trained on you, but then you’re not exactly a Borg cube, are you?”
“You’re not Starfleet! Who the blazes are you?”
“Professor James Moriarty is my name. I am a businessman, shall we say, much the same as you. This ship is my swag now. Captain Taraga was kind enough to disable the crew which made our job so much simpler.”
The other man almost snarled. Reg wondered what swag meant and prayed Moriarty didn’t mean what he said.
“Damn that double-crossing swine!” The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll not get away with this. If you destroy my ship, you’ll still die where you stand.”
Moriarty’s smile widened. “I have found that every successful, criminal organization is the child of a brilliant and forceful mind. If one cuts off the head, the remaining parts flail about helplessly. That is why I have the other Borg Busters trained on that insignificant-looking ship at the edge of your armada. As well as a phaser or two.” The man’s eyes narrowed and his mouth pinched to a frown. Moriarty continued his nonchalant smile. “Now why don’t you stop playing games, and let me speak to the real leader.”
A seeming eternity crept by in silence. Moriarty was either brilliant or about to get them killed. Finally, the screen faded, and a new face appeared. A Romulan face. The Romulan smiled.
“Well-reasoned. So we have what you humans call a stand-off.”
“Thank you,” Moriarty acknowledged. “But our standoff cannot last long. Despite Captain Taraga’s best efforts, the ship’s log shows that a distress call was sent. I fear that a rather nasty group of ships will arrive in this area shortly. There is no profit for either of us if we keep this up.”
“Then you should surrender. You are surrounded.”
“I have my lovely Borg Busters pointed right at you.”
“Your torpedo story could be a ruse.”
Moriarty kept smiling, without even a blink. “Perhaps, but I have buyers for these beauties, and I’d rather not waste them.”
The Romulan considered long moments, and Reg scarcely dared to breathe. Then the Romulan laughed. “There will be other days and other profits. Perhaps we will meet again. I could use one like you.”
“And I one like you.”
The screen went black. In moments, the attackers left, towing their damaged vessels. Reg looked back at Moriarty. “How did you know … ?”
Moriarty’s eyes gleamed. “To capture such a formidable ship as this without violence requires brilliant planning and meticulous preparation. In short, a criminal mastermind. Such people lead from the shadows whenever possible, but he would surely be at hand to claim a jewel like the Enterprise, lest an ambitious underling get ideas.” His smile turned wicked. “I should know. That small ship moved to safety as soon as the fight began. I needed the battle to choose correctly.” Moriarty sighed. “Besides, it was such fun!” At that point, the countess swooped onto the bridge carrying several hyposprays. “It is time to give Mr. Barclay the antidote.” Deanna had done it! The countess gave him one spray in his neck and another in his arm. “That one will help you sleep,” she said. He tried to thank her, but the world faded to black before he got the chance.
* * *
When Reg woke, he found the crew recovering, Taraga under guard, and Moriarty and the countess gone, along with all the holotransmitters and the shuttle Reg had modified by adding a miniature holodeck. That had been part of the bargain. Fortunately, Captain Picard agreed that, under the circumstances, a shuttle was a small price to pay. Moriarty also destroyed the module. Who could blame him?
Reg could not remember how he had built the transmitters, but the plans were tucked safely into computer memory. The Barclay Transmitter. It had a nice ring to it.
* * *
Deanna Troi roamed the corridors of the Enterprise, delighting in the flood of familiar emotions. Her family was safe, and that was all that mattered. She was so taken up in it all, that the tap of a hand on her shoulder caught her by surprise.
“Beverly! How are you feeling?”
“Oh, just a little tired. I’ve just finished checking the brain scans for everyone except Mr. Barclay. It’s your scan I’m concerned about.”
“Mine? But I feel fine.”
Beverly grabbed her arm and stopped her. “I noticed some irregularities. I’m afraid you’re going to have to submit to one of the strongest therapies I have.”
“What sort of therapy?”
“Hot fudge on chocolate ice cream.”
Deanna gave Beverly a phantom punch on the arm, and the bubbling laughter of the two women turned heads as they marched toward the E’s version of Ten Forward.
* * *
Reg fidgeted on Beverly Crusher’s examination table as she scanned his brain. Why was it taking so long? He pictured whole regions eaten away like a gnawed cabbage. He patiently endured her lecture on how the rare, Orbelian virus antibodies he and Deanna carried had helped fight this new variety and keep them conscious. He even showed polite interest in her explanation of how the new virus attacked the brain and nervous system with astonishing speed. Finally, she turned off the scanner and faced him with folded arms. He felt queasy.
“Everything looks fine, Reg. Still, something odd did happen to you. I have a speculation, but that’s all it is.”
“Please,” he said, limp with relief.
“The Cytherian’s method of storage may have left chemical imprints on some of your brain structures, perhaps like a fossil holds the shape of an organism. The virus could have temporarily altered your brain chemistry and allowed you access to some of that information.”
“Could it happen again?”
“I really can’t say, Reg. The strain is extremely virulent and may have erased it all.”
Reg didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed. That night as he wrote into his personal log, a message popped up unexpectedly on the screen.
“Mr. Barclay, please accept our apologies for rushing off without a proper farewell, but frankly, we still harbor doubts about Picard. We are eternally in your debt. Our plan is to head for the galactic core. What a grand adventure that will be! Yet, I cannot help but feel a twinge of regret that you and I could not have taken up the skull and crossbones and made the Enterprise the scourge of the galaxy! But it was all great fun! Your servant ever, James Moriarty.
Moriarty was wrong about Captain Picard, but Reg smiled as he finished the note. It had been fun. Sort of.
* * *
Moriarty stirred when Regina huddled against him, shivering beneath the blanket.
“What’s wrong, my love?”
“I dreamed we were back in that horrid box.”
He kissed her gently. “It’s nothing, my dear. A toothless phantom. Return to sweet slumber.” She lay her head upon his chest, and soon their breathing settled into a slow, gentle rhythm.
* * *
Reg took a last peek in the mirror. Still balding, still too thin. He shrugged and smiled. Nothing would spoil this evening. Good friends, good food, and good conversation. On his way out, he stopped to check the Moriarty module. Lots of usage today. Almost time for a new power unit. Humming to himself, Reg left his quarters and headed for the turbolift.