Time's Exile
"Captain's Log, Stardate 46189.7. Having just completed a routine mapping expedition of sector Omicron Theta, we have been sent by Starfleet to the Grendel system to begin a most ambitious assignment. We stopped at Starbase Nine to bring aboard an exobiologist named Dr. Jonathan Richards, who will assist us in the undertaking."
So began the latest log entry by Captain Jean-Luc Picard. He was now in the observation lounge of the Starship Enterprise, with Commander William Riker and Lieutenant Commander Geordi LaForge. They were being debriefed by a wiry man in his late twenties, with shoulder-length black hair. This was Jonathan Richards.
"Grendians have extremely long lifespans," Dr. Richards was saying, "and their reproductive cycle is similar to ours. What that means is that they are now facing a planetary crisis. Their population is rapidly growing past their planet's ability to sustain them. But they haven't developed space travel, so they can't do anything about their predicament.
"That's where we come in. There's only one other planet in their system, but it's uninhabited, and it can be terraformed—or rather, Grendiformed—to accommodate the Grendians. Once that's done, we'll have to transport one-third of the population to the other planet. They've been notified and are expecting our arrival."
"One-third of the population?" Riker asked, astounded.
"The rest didn't want to go," Richards deadpanned. "But a great deal of work must be done to prepare the planet for the influx. That's why we're heading there now. As it is, it will support human life—barely—but it's inimical to Grendians. Unfortunately, it's the only planet within thirty parsecs that can be adapted to accommodate them. Several fleets of cargo ships are en route. They won't be here for another year yet, but the planet must be ready for habitation when they arrive."
"All the resources of the Enterprise will be placed at your disposal," Picard said quickly, and with the barest hint of excitement. The more difficult the task was, the better he liked it. "How long do you think the transformation will take?"
"That's hard to say. Grendians can live only in an atmosphere whose chief constituent is nitrogen, and the planetary mean temperature must be no warmer than minus seventy degrees Celsius."
"I hope they won't be offended if we don't go and welcome them," LaForge said.
Richards ignored the remark, although he could not blame LaForge for making it, and went on. "Grendel-Two is far enough from the sun that the temperature won't be a problem. Its atmosphere does have some nitrogen, but not enough for them to breathe. However, we've detected an ocean of liquid nitrogen about two hundred kilometers below the surface. We can use your phasers to drill holes through the ground at certain points, and the nitrogen will vaporize and mingle with the atmosphere."
"Bridge to Captain Picard," Data broke in on Picard's comlink.
"Go ahead, Data."
"We are now orbiting Grendel-Two."
"On my way. Meeting adjourned."
Picard walked briskly out of the room. Riker and Richards followed close behind. LaForge returned to Engineering.
The image on the bridge screen was a yellowish-orange orb that looked a bit like Saturn, except a great deal smaller and minus the rings.
"Is that it?" Picard asked. He wasn't sure why, but he had expected something more...well, exciting. This world, after all, was about to become the home of a civilization (part of one, at least), with their help.
"Yes, sir," Data replied. "However, sensors are picking up a ship of unknown origin orbiting the planet."
Unknown.Picard's favorite word of them all. In the English lexicon, anyway. Part of him would always regret that the native languages of his crew did not include French.
"Magnify," he said. "Let's see it."
Data obliged. A small part of the screen leaped toward them. There, in synchronous orbit above the equator, was a gun-metal gray ship, bristling with ports and protrusions. Its orbit was leisurely, but it was big and looked mean.
Riker studied the image. "That doesn't look like any ship I've ever seen."
"Hail them, Mr. Worf," ordered Picard.
"Hailing frequencies open," Worf said.
Picard took two steps forward, which he often did when addressing an unknown species, or a known enemy, and announced, "This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation Starship Enterprise. We are here on a peaceful mission. We have come—"
"Why you are here is of no importance."
The voice was brusque and gravelly, and, although they could not see who was speaking, it seemed fair to say that this species did not believe in pleasantries.
"This planet has been annexed by the Castelliot," the voice went on. "You will leave at once or you will be terminated."
"The Castelliot?" Riker said to Picard. "I've never heard of them."
As if in response, the Castelliot crewbeing said, "We are the Castelliot. That is all you need to know. Since you are evidently new to this region, we will overlook your insolence this time. You may leave now."
Picard was never willing to fight if it could be avoided, even over something as critical as this. So, he thought, now was the time for explanations.
"This planet is to be the site of a mission of crucial importance. Another world in this system is seriously overpopulated, and we must move some of their population here."
"Impossible. We, too, have a mission to fulfill here."
Well, Picard thought, where explanations fail, diplomacy might succeed. He decided to use the most effective form. "We are willing to offer you something for your cooperation."
There was a pause. He had their attention.
"The only thing you could offer us," the Castelliot said, "is a guaranteed supply of corinthelium."
"Corin-what?" Riker asked. That was a new one on him.
Data, encyclopedic android that he was, had the answer: "Corinthelium is an extremely potent energy source used in certain types of molecular fusion reactors. Its rarity in this region of space makes it quite valuable."
"Indeed." If the Castelliot was impressed with Data's knowledge, he didn't show it, but decided there was no harm in telling these gatecrashers a bit more. "And this planet has a great deal of corinthelium ore. We are establishing a colony here to mine the ore. There can be no interference. If you do not leave our space at once, we will defend our planet from what must be interpreted as a hostile act."
"May I make a proposal, Captain?" Data asked.
"By all means." Picard was visibly relieved that someone had a proposal to make.
To the Castelliot, Data said, "Corinthelium's chemical volatility and low specific gravity make it extremely dangerous to transport. However, we are capable of synthesizing a more stable isotope for you. If you will allow us to colonize this planet, we would be glad to do so."
The Castelliot was losing what little patience it had. "Synthetic corinthelium is useless to us," it barked. "We are prepared for the risks of transport. Your ploy was unsuccessful. Leave this system. This is your final warning."
Worf's console lit up.
"Sir," he said quickly, "they're locking photon torpedoes."
"Wait!" Picard exclaimed. He had to tell them something, anything. "We must have some time to contact Starfleet and make other arrangements for the Grendians."
"You have two hours."
"They have closed the channel," said Worf.
Richards observed this exchange with no small amount of anxiety. "What are we going to do, Captain?" he asked. "This is the only planet the Grendians can use."
Picard knew there was only one rule that applied to uninhabited planets in Federation space, and that was, first come, first serve. "If they have annexed this planet, then they are within their rights. So we must explore other options."
"But if Dr. Richards is correct, sir," said Data, "there are no other options."
But Picard had already thought of one. "We'll see about that, Mr. Data. I want to send Dr. Richards down to take some surface readings. If we can mine enough corinthelium for their needs, perhaps we can work out a deal with them."
"I knew I'd end up doing the dirty work," Richards complained, but he was joking. One of the many unwritten rules of Starfleet protocol was that you couldn't sound too excited about a mission. It made you sound like you hadn't done this type of work before, which implied you weren't competent. You didn't get many missions that way. Therefore, he added, "When do I have to leave?"
"As soon as we get a thermal suit ready for you," Picard replied. "That will only take a few minutes."
"Tell them not to hurry on my account. I'll be in Sickbay."
As soon as Richards left, Picard turned to Worf. "Hail the Castelliot, Mr. Worf."
Worf activated his console. "Hailing frequencies open, sir."
Picard turned to face the viewer. "This is Captain Picard. We are prepared to make you another proposal." He summarized the parameters of their mission, then said, "We would like to send one of our science officers down to the planet to take readings of the composition of the surface, and determine exactly where the corinthelium is. Do you have any other interest in this planet?"
"We do not."
Picard hadn't quite worked out what he would have said in response to any other answer, but best not to let them know that. "In that case," he went on, without missing a beat, "if we can mine the corinthelium that you need for you, would you be willing to let us use the planet?"
After about three seconds' pause, they got their answer. "Your terms are satisfactory. Proceed."
"The frequency has been closed," Worf said.
"Friendly bunch, aren't they?" quipped Riker.
"Something's wrong, Captain," said Counselor Troi.
Picard turned to face her. "What is it?"
"I sensed an undercurrent in the Castelliot's thoughts when he agreed to your terms. They might be up to something."
Picard's lips narrowed to a taut line. Why couldn't this part ever be easy?
"Could they be setting a trap?" Riker wondered.
"It would be best to proceed accordingly," Picard said. "Mr. Data, keep a close watch on the planet and the Castelliot vessel. Monitor them for any kind of unusual activity."
"Acknowledged," Data said.
"Picard to Transporter Room Three."
Chief Miles O'Brien responded at once. "Go ahead, Captain."
"Keep a lock on Dr. Richards once he beams down to the surface. Data will apprise you of any potentially threatening developments. At the first sign of trouble, beam him up immediately."
"Yes, sir." O'Brien knew better than to ask why he had to do that. Such a precaution shouldn't have been necessary for a routine mission...but how many of their most dangerous assignments started out as routine? That, however, was what he—what they all—loved about being in Starfleet.
"Picard to Dr. Richards."
Richards was just finishing the systems check on his thermal suit. Dr. Beverly Crusher, the Enterprise's chief medical officer, stood nearby, monitoring his vital signs.
"Is it showtime?" Richards asked.
"It would seem so. Whenever you're ready, report to Transporter Room Three."
"Acknowledged."
When they were finished, Crusher stepped back and looked him up and down.
He knew what she was going to say, that he looked as ridiculous as he felt. So he made a verbal preemptive strike. "One word out of you and I'll have your medical license revoked."
"Oh, I was just going to ask"—as if he hadn't been right—"what made you decide to become an exobiologist?"
Verygood,he thought. He liked telling this story, and he did so as they walked to the transporter room.
"I've always wanted to know what makes other living things tick, because I was born and raised on a Starbase and all I ever saw were other humans, a cat and a dog. I decided that what kept the humans going was caffeine, I got too emotionally attached to the cat to make any objective observations, and I almost got court-martialed when I tried to dissect the dog. 'Attempted Destruction of Federation Property' was the charge, but I got off with an official reprimand and a lot of jokes at my expense. Then I enrolled in the Academy to study biology, and while I was there, I found out they were looking for people to go on geological/zoological expeditions to planets whose environments were known to be hostile to humans. It sounded perfect, so I volunteered. I liked it so much that I stayed with it after graduation, and here I am. And I bet you're sorry you asked now, aren't you?"
"No! I like to listen to you talk."
"Really? Then maybe you should've been one of my instructors at the Academy."
They arrived at the transporter room, where O'Brien waited for them. The transporter chief had no medical license to revoke, so he said, "You look like a scuba diver."
"When I want a fashion critique, I'll ask for one. Is everything ready?"
O'Brien made a perfunctory examination of the control panel. "Uh...I think so, yes."
"You think so? Then you go down and do this!"
"I'm just kidding, sir. Everything's in perfect order."
"Everything except your jokes." Richards stepped onto the transporter pad. "Energize."
As soon as he materialized on the surface, he activated his tricorder, began his scans, and contacted the ship. "Richards to Captain Picard."
On the bridge, Richards' voice was clear as a bell. At least something was going right.
"We read you, Doctor. How does it look?"
"Well, the Grendians will need to bring a few thousand interior decorators, but I think we can make a go of it. The corinthelium isn't far beneath the surface, so it should be easy to..."
As he talked, Troi's face darkened with worry, but no one had noticed. Then she bolted out of her chair. "Captain, beam him up! Now!"
A split-second later, Richards screamed in agony.
"Transporter Room!" barked Picard.
"I've got him, Captain."
"Dr. Crusher?"
"I'm getting him to Sickbay now."
"Mr. Data, you have the bridge," Picard said, as he and Riker headed for the turbolift.
They arrived in Sickbay to find Richards lying unconscious, and Crusher hovering over him. His suit was torn to ribbons. He very nearly was, too.
Picard walked up slowly beside Crusher. "How is he?"
She shook her head with worry. "He's got multiple contusions, four shattered ribs, a broken wrist, femur, and fibula, a collapsed lung, and internal bleeding. I can fix all that, but his vital signs don't make any sense."
As she said this, LaForge walked through the doors. He had been monitoring Richards from Engineering, and had come running.
"What do you mean?" Picard asked her.
"They're all over the place. One second it looks like he's in a coma, and the next it looks like he's just been in a wrestling match with a Nosican. Until I find some way of stabilizing his readings, I won't have any way to tell what his true condition is."
"What did this to him?" Riker demanded. "That planet was supposed to be uninhabited!"
"It is!" LaForge insisted. "We've been going over it with a microscope since we got here, and doubly so to make sure the Castelliot wouldn't try to spring any nasty surprises on us. I'm telling you, Commander, there's nothing down there."
"What you're telling us, Geordi," Crusher said, "is that Jonathan was almost torn apart by nothing. And he might have been, if the Castelliot hadn't put us on alert. As it is, we barely got him out in time. So, in a bizarre sort of way, he owes them his life."
"Does he?" Riker asked the obvious question. "How do we know he didn't run into some sort of Castelliot booby trap?"
"That is a possibility," LaForge admitted. "The Romulans can mask their ships from our sensors; what if they can do the same thing?"
"We would still have detected the transporter activity," Crusher pointed out.
"Unless," said Riker, "there was a cloaked object down there before we arrived, to ward off any uninvited guests. The Romulans have done that before."
"And for that matter," Picard asked, "what if the Castelliot and the Romulans are working together for some reason?"
"That wouldn't make any sense," said Crusher. "The Romulans have no use for corinthelium, and there's no other reason we know of for them to have any interest in this planet or in helping the Castelliot settle it. Besides, they wouldn't risk being discovered this far into Federation space."
"And," LaForge added, "we would've picked up the distortion of the space behind a cloaked object, which would be magnified by the planet's atmosphere."
Riker raised the remaining possibility. "Could he have run into some sort of life form?"
"It's obvious that we have a lot of questions," said Picard. "Let's see if we can get some answers. Doctor, keep me informed of his condition. Number One, assemble the rest of the senior staff in the observation lounge."
Once they were all there, Picard began.
"All right, this is what we're looking at. We have a planet which we first thought wasn't much more than a chunk of rock, but which turns out to contain vast quantities of a powerful energy source."
"We have a welcoming committee that's itching to get their hands on that energy source, and won't hesitate to vaporize us to do it," said LaForge.
"And we have an extremely hostile life form which doesn't show up on our sensors," said Riker.
"But we have no proof that it is a life form," LaForge insisted.
"Yes, we do," Troi said quietly.
Picard looked at her. "When you shouted for him to be beamed up—"
"Right after he beamed down, I began sensing...impressions. I couldn't tell anything about them at first. But the longer he was down there, the stronger they became, until I felt someone...something...else down there with him."
"Were you able to pick up anything concrete?" Riker asked.
"I felt secondary sensations of extreme loneliness and emotional anguish, and other things too faint for me to identify. But they were buried under an immense, all-consuming rage."
"That sounds like Armus. The creature that killed Lieutenant Yar." Picard said it, but everyone was thinking it. Everyone except Troi.
"It wasn't Armus," Troi said. "It was a fundamentally different life form."
"It is obvious that we will not be able to begin work on the planet while it is down there," said Worf. "And the Grendians need this planet. I recommend we destroy the creature."
"How can we destroy something we can't see?" Riker asked.
LaForge had an idea. "We can calibrate the sensors to run through the electromagnetic spectrum, from microwave to gamma range. Once we find something that registers its presence, we'll be able to track it."
"Make it so," Picard said. "But we'll take no action against it."
"We must, sir," Worf insisted. "It is a proven killer."
"We don't know that. It might have just been protecting its home from an unknown and potentially threatening intruder. Perhaps we could...contain it, somehow, or relocate it, or even reason with it."
"Reasoning with it will not be possible, Captain," Troi said. "I sensed enough about the creature to know that its thought processes are in a constant state of extreme flux, to such a degree that if it were human, it would be psychotic. That precludes any possibility of communicating with it."
"Mr. Data, do you have any ideas?" asked Picard.
Not surprisingly, he did. "Yes, sir. It has been suggested that this life form may be in some way connected with the Castelliot. If that is true, then they would know how to control it."
"They've agreed to let us mine the corinthelium in exchange for our use of the planet, to save them the trouble of extracting the ore themselves," Picard pointed out. "It wouldn't make any sense for them to prevent us from doing that."
"Unless they think it'll make us give up and go somewhere else," said Riker.
But Picard was not as suspicious as his first officer. "We can't accuse them without proof. Mr. LaForge, can you get us that proof?"
"Once we find a way of tracking the creature's movements," the engineer said, "we'll know if it's acting on its own or if it's responding to commands from the Castelliot ship."
"But how can we test that hypothesis?" Troi asked. "Once we beamed up Dr. Richards, the creature's essence dispersed again. Now all I can sense are separate, distended pockets of consciousness."
"So you're saying that, even if we could've tracked it before, we wouldn't have any way of doing so while it was in its...dormant state," Riker said.
"That is the logical conclusion," Troi agreed.
Riker didn't like what that meant. "So we'll have to draw it out of hiding."
"Judging by what we know of its behavior," Data said, "we must conclude that it will not emerge from its dormancy unless someone else beams down to the surface."
"But anyone who went down there would be committing suicide," Picard said.
"There may be another possibility," Troi offered.
Picard was ready for one. "Explain."
"I've been monitoring Dr. Richards' emotional state since he was brought back aboard. It's somehow been adapting itself to the emotional state of the creature. It's becoming increasingly difficult to tell them apart."
"What does that mean?"
"I don't know yet. But he may be able to help us when he regains consciousness."
That was Picard's cue for a medical update. He activated his comlink and said, "Picard to Dr. Crusher."
"Go ahead, Captain."
"Has there been any change?"
"Yes, but not the kind I want. All his readings are going crazy! His EKG's make no sense, he's running a temperature of 45 degrees Celsius, and his heart rate is up to 140 beats per minute. I've had to put him in a restraining field to keep him from convulsing, and I've lowered the ambient temperature around his bed to five degrees to try to make him more comfortable."
"Can you give him something to depress his systems?"
"Not until I know what I'm dealing with here. For some reason, his body is acting as if this new condition is normal, and it's attained some bizarre kind of equilibrium. Anything I do could cause irreparable damage. And now there's something else happening: he's starting to lose his hair all over his body. Don't ask me why, because I haven't the faintest idea."
"Can you tell us when he'll regain consciousness?"
"I don't even know what's keeping him alive."
That was not what he wanted to hear. "Thank you, Doctor. Picard out. Your suggestion was a good one, Counselor, but clearly we'll have to think of something else. Do we have other options?"
Once again, Data was ready. "We can construct a humanoid simulacrum and transport it to the surface. When the creature attacks it, we may be able to test our theory."
Picard liked this idea. "Mr. Data, you fashion the decoy."
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. LaForge, head down to Engineering and get to work on those sensors."
"On it, sir."
"Dismissed."
"Wait," Troi said. "Something's very wrong."
Before anyone could ask what it was, a voice broke through on the comlink. "Bridge to Captain Picard."
"Picard here."
"It's the Castelliot, sir. They're demanding to talk to you."
Nowwhat?"Data, how much of our two-hour limit do we have left?"
"Forty-seven minutes, sir."
"Well, that can't be they're calling about. Put it through, Ensign."
"Aye, sir." The ensign did so.
"Explain yourself, Picard!" roared the Castelliot.
"What is there to explain?"
"After you have effected the wanton slaughter of three members of my crew, do you now feign ignorance?"
The question, and the anger behind it, threw him completely off balance. "Slaughter? What—"
"We sent three of our crew down to the surface of the planet to facilitate preparations for the mining of the corinthelium. We were prepared to accommodate you and the Grendians. But my science officer was making a report when they were attacked. By the time we could retrieve them, two had nearly been disemboweled and the third mortally wounded. We do not know how you did it, Picard, but this is tantamount to a declaration of war!"
"Sir, you must believe me when I tell you that we are in no way responsible for what happened to—"
"Spare me your puling excuses, Picard! We had promised you two hours to make your 'arrangements,' and forty-five minutes remain to you. Dispose of your creation by then, or face the wrath of the Castelliot!"
The connection was broken.
No one could speak for a moment. Finally, LaForge broke the stunned silence. "I don't suppose this could be some sort of ruse to throw us off the trail."
"No," said Troi. I could feel the agonies of the Castelliot crew members. And the emotional mutations of the one who survived are virtually identical to those of Dr. Richards. He was telling the truth."
"So whatever's down there," Riker said, "they have nothing to do with it. And now they think we do."
"An interesting challenge," Picard said, with a grim smile. "We've got forty-five minutes to figure out how to deal with a hostile and powerful creature that isn't there...or at least, isn't there anymore." He looked at Troi, who shook her head.
Riker looked at her, then at Picard. "Are we saying four people were attacked by a ghost?"
"Something like that, it would seem. We've established that it isn't a corporeal being, so it must be an energy creature of some kind."
"But we would've detected the coalescing and dispersing of an energy field," said LaForge.
That comment gave Riker an idea. "That's it!" he exclaimed. "What if is a field of some kind, but one we weren't including in our scans because it's all over the planet?"
Picard said, "I don't understand."
"Suppose that whatever we're dealing with has something to do with the magnetic field?"
Picard didn't know what to make of that, so he asked, "Mr. Data?"
"An intriguing possibility. The heart and brain generate very weak magnetic fields. If those fields were somehow disrupted, it could theoretically account for Dr. Richards' peculiar vital signs."
Any theory was better than none. "Picard to Dr. Crusher."
"Crusher here."
"Doctor, run a scan on Dr. Richards' internal magnetic field."
"What?"
"I'll explain later. Just do it."
"All right." She fiddled with her instruments, then exclaimed, "This is impossible!"
"What is it?"
"Somehow the magnetic fields generated by his heart and brain have been boosted to almost a hundred times their normal strength!"
There it was."Could that be why his body is treating its new condition as normal?"
"I'm almost certain of it. The biomagnetic field helps the cells of specialized organs to stay aligned in the right way. If that field were altered, then all the body's systems would have to adjust themselves accordingly. Does this mean you've found the answer to our problem?"
"It might mean we're getting close. I'll keep you posted. Picard out. Mr. Data, when the simulacrum is ready, transport it to the planet's surface."
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. LaForge, recalibrate the sensors for magnetic field scan. We must be able to detect the slightest deviation from the normal activity of the planet's magnetosphere."
"Yes, sir."
Picard had not formally dismissed the meeting, but everyone knew it was time to get moving. LaForge and Data got up and left for their respective duty stations.
Later, Picard made his next log entry.
"Captain's Log, supplemental. Commander Data has prepared the bait for our trap, a humanoid simulacrum that we hope the magnetic-force entity will attack, and in so doing, reveal itself to Commander LaForge's recalibrated sensors."
Data carefully placed the decoy on the transporter pad.
"Energize," he said, and O'Brien did.
"Data to Bridge."
Picard responded. "Go ahead, Data."
"The simulacrum is now on the planet's surface."
Picard looked over his shoulder. "Mr. Worf?"
"I have it on sensors, Captain," Worf said.
"Mr. LaForge?"
LaForge was in Engineering, carefully watching his console. "Sensors are primed, Captain, but nothing's happened yet."
"Counselor, do you sense anything?"
She shook her head. "Tell Data to bring it up. It won't work."
"Why not?"
"My impression is that it knows the simulacrum is just an object. It won't attack."
"Is she right, Mr. LaForge?"
"Apparently so, Captain. We're getting no sign of magnetic cohesion or anything else."
Picard sighed. "Retrieve the decoy, Data."
"Yes, sir. Energize."
Once it was back aboard, he asked Picard, "What shall I do with it, sir?"
"Take it back to your quarters. Perhaps you can practice your poetry on it."
"Sir?" Data wasn't certain he had understood the order correctly.
"Never mind. Here's what I want you to do. Access the Federation archives for any and all information about life forms that use magnetic fields, in any capacity. I don't care where you have to look or how far you have to go back, but I want a report on anything that could possibly be of any use to us."
"I understand, sir." To O'Brien, he said, "Would it serve any purpose to practice poetry for the benefit of a simulacrum?"
O'Brien shrugged. "Couldn't hurt."
Picard got up from his chair. "Number One, you have the bridge."
"Where are you going?"
"To Sickbay. I'm getting a headache. Counselor?"
This meant he wanted her to go with him, so she got up too.
He walked into Sickbay and said, "I hate to keep harassing you, Doctor, but—"
"It's all right," she said. "I know about our timetable. Unfortunately, I don't have any more news for you. I know why his body is acting the way it is, but I don't have a clue what to do about it. And the loss of his hair is a complete mystery. And it's not the only mystery."
"I can't handle any more mysteries today, Doctor."
"Neither can I, but these have been forced on us. Look at this. The little fingers on both his hands are shrinking, almost as if they're being absorbed into his hands. The thumbs are elongating, as are the other three fingers. And he's getting thinner."
"How much weight can he afford to lose?"
"Not much, but he's not losing any. The thinner he gets, the denser his musculature gets, so his weight stays constant. And then there are his eyes."
"His eyes?"
"The optic nerves and the retinas are being transformed. The nerves are shrinking in size, more nerves are growing in, and the retinas are enlarging. It's as if they're adapting themselves to respond to radiation outside the visible spectrum.
"And his mental patterns are still mutating," Troi said. "They're now almost identical to those of the creature."
"Doctor," said Picard, "is it possible—"
His comlink cut him off. "Data to Picard."
"Picard here."
"Captain, please assemble the senior staff in the observation lounge."
"You've found something?"
"I have, sir."
"Understood." To Crusher, he said, "Thank you, Doctor. Keep your channel open. Data may be able to help you with him."
"Let's hope so," she said.
LaForge was the last to arrive. As soon as he was seated, Picard asked, "What have you got, Data?"
"What we are dealing with is not something that is indigenous to this planet, but a result of a civil war on a planet in a neighboring star system."
"A weapon of some sort?" Riker asked.
"I do not think so, sir. What happened is this: there was a war between the two dominant life forms on the planet. One of the species was greatly feared by the other because of their warlike propensities, and because their exoskeletons were composed of a substance that could not be detected by early warning devices. Over time, one being of this race unified them into a fighting force, which then launched attacks on the major population centers of the other race. This race was far more numerous, but was loosely knit. Therefore, communication between them was slow, and they could not warn each other of impending attacks. The aggressors nearly claimed complete victory, but eventually the leader was captured and his army was dispersed. Rather than killing him, the victors brought him to the nearest uninhabited planet—this one—and marooned him here."
"Then that's it," LaForge declared. "It's him who's been attacking whoever goes down there."
"I would agree with that conclusion, Commander," Data said, "except for one factor."
"Which is?" Picard asked.
"Time, sir. The events I have just recounted occurred a very long time ago."
"There are many species with extremely long lifespans. Some live for millenia."
"That is true, sir. But if we will accept Commander LaForge's hypothesis, then we must conclude that this warlord has been in exile for the last fourteen million years."
Everyone slumped a bit in their chairs. They were so sure they finally had a suspect, but there was no species they had ever encountered or heard of that lived nearly that long.
"Then he clearly cannot be the one responsible for these attacks," Worf said. "Does this mean we're back where we started?"
"Maybe not," said Riker. "Data, what were these exoskeletons made of? Why couldn't they be detected?"
"These beings had made astounding breakthroughs in magnetophysics. They had discovered how to use lines of magnetic force as a means of propulsion by designing synthetic exoskeletons with certain properties which—"
"What were they made of?" Riker was in no mood for one of Data's circuitous explanations. Data understood this from the tone of the question, and answered it more directly.
"In the strict physical sense, they were not made of anything. The beings had perfected a technique whereby they could encase themselves in a sort of magnetic bottle that absorbed the radiation used by echolocation devices, rendering them useless. And when they wanted to travel a great distance, they 'injected' the bottle into a magnetic field line, and traveled with it."
"Clever," LaForge said, impressed by such engineering wizardry.
"Indeed. But an interesting paradox arose as an indirect result. The warlord's conquerors had to bring him here because his own race never developed spaceflight."
"A species that could travel on magnetic lines of force never developed spaceflight?" Picard asked, incredulous.
"Correct, sir. And in a sense, that is the reason. In the early stages of their magnetophysics research, one of their more adventurous, and foolhardy, citizens tried to use magnetic propulsion to go into space. But this attempt caused a localized rupture in the field. This rupture, in turn, caused a backlash that he absorbed into his system and that permanently altered his physiological configuration, making it impossible for him to return to his natural state."
"Meaning he was absorbed into the magnetic field," Riker said.
"Yes, sir. Eventually, their scientists were able to bring him back, but he died within a few hours. The ruling council was so distressed by these events that they forbade any further research into space travel. However, it may be deduced that the warlord's captives believed he would try the experiment himself, believing he would be able to escape."
"Counselor," said Picard, "you said earlier that it didn't attack the decoy because it knew the decoy wasn't alive."
"Yes, sir," she said. "Everything makes sense now. The creature's behavior, its self-induced immortality, Dr. Richards' transformation. It was trying to do something with Dr. Richards and with the Castelliot crew members, but its power was too much for them. That's why the attempts were lethal."
"Attempts at what?" Riker asked.
"At injecting itself into their bodies."
"Injecting...you mean it was trying to take them over?" asked LaForge.
"Not in the sense that you mean. Since we're corporeal, it knows we're mortal. And it's reasoned that if it inhabited a corporeal being, then it would take on that being's mortality. That's the cause of its rage. It wants to die. But it cannot."
"Data," said Picard, "is there a picture of one of these beings in the database?"
"Yes, sir. Computer, project image Data-One on the observation lounge viewscreen."
The ship's computer did so. The image that appeared was vaguely humanoid in appearance, except that it had small, multifaceted eyes and four long, thin fingers. It was so thin it looked emaciated, but its musculature was starkly defined. And it was bald.
"That's what Richards is turning into," Riker observed.
"It must have been in contact with him long enough to start resequencing his DNA," Picard guessed. "Doctor, have you been getting all this?"
"Loud and clear," came the reply. "But now that we know what it was trying to do to Jonathan, and what it did do in the process, the question is, how do we get him back to normal?"
"Conventional magnets weaken when heated to high temperatures," said LaForge. "If we put him in a specialized pressure chamber—"
Crusher cut him off. "Too many flaws in your reasoning, Geordi. First, this is hardly conventional. Second, the heat required might kill him. Third, even if he survived, the trauma might leave him permanently damaged."
"I understand how you feel, Doc, but what choice do we have? If we don't do anything, then he'll remain scrambled, and we won't have anything to use on Mr. Magnetic Personality down there."
"Our only other alternative would be to quarantine the planet," Riker put in. "And that wouldn't go over too well with the Castelliot."
"In any case," Picard interrupted, acutely aware that time was running out, "we can't just sit here tossing around theories; we've got to do something."
Crusher knew he was right, but she didn't like it. "All right, all right. I'll get the chamber ready. Geordi, I'll need your help."
"On my way."
"Everyone else, dismissed," said Picard. Everyone left except Riker, who had something else on his mind.
"There's still one thing, Captain. Even if we can turn Geordi's idea into a plan to stop this thing, how are we going to stall the Castelliot? They're not just going to twiddle their thumbs while we tinker something together."
"We're not going to do anything."
"What?"
"The only way to gain the time we need is to deal from strength. They believe that we're responsible for the entity being there, and they're not willing to be persuaded otherwise. But they won't be able to fulfill their mission while it's down there, and if they think we engineered it, then they don't dare destroy us, because then they'd be stuck with it. But they know we'll have to do something with it before we can fulfill our mission, so they'll wait for us to do so. You see? All nice and neat."
Riker was hardly convinced, but he wouldn't debate the issue. "If you say so, sir."
The deadline came and went, and there was not a word from the Castelliot. Apparently Picard had been right, but his next log entry mentioned only the current task.
"Captain's Log, Stardate 46221.3. The pressure chamber is almost ready for Dr. Richards. If it is successful at returning his biomagnetic field to normal, then we can increase its capacity to handle the entity."
Crusher and LaForge were in Sickbay, making some final modifications to the chamber. She finished her work, looked up, and asked him a question that had been asked a great many times throughout the ship.
"Are you sure this is going to work?"
"Positive. The environment inside the chamber has been calibrated for what the doctor's vital signs were before he was attacked. It will demagnetize him slowly, and shut off when his biomagnetic field is back to normal. Nothing can go wrong."
"Famous last words, Geordi."
"I know, I know. But everything's been worked out to the smallest detail. We only need to be assured of a smooth ride, which we'll have as long as the Castelliot don't decide to take any pot shots at us."
"We'll let the Captain worry about that. All right, let's put him in."
They slid him into the mouth of the chamber, closed the door, and began the cycle. Crusher watched the temperature gauge, and reported, "Chamber temperature fifty degrees Celsius. Sixty. Seventy. Eighty."
LaForge, meanwhile, monitored his biometric readings. "Magnetic field, point zero-zero-seven microgauss. Point zero-zero-six. Point zero-zero-three. Point zero-zero-zero-eight."
"Pulse rate dropping," she observed with cautious optimism. "One hundred twenty beats per minute. One hundred. Ninety."
"It's looking good," he said.
That seemed to be the jinx. Her console started beeping. "Uh-oh."
"What is it?"
"Pulse rate's dropping too fast. Seventy. Sixty. Fifty."
His own console had more bad news. "His body temperature's down to thirty-four degrees."
"Shut it off," she ordered.
"Give me one more minute. His magnetic field's almost—"
"His pulse rate's down to forty. He'll die in seconds. Shut it off!"
He knew there was no time to argue. "Powering down."
When the chamber was deactivated, he looked at his console again. "Temperature and pressure down to normal. And so is his magnetic field."
"His pulse rate's climbing," she said, smiling. "Forty-five. Fifty-two. Sixty."
LaForge exhaled in relief. "His body temperature's back to normal."
"Look!" she said, pointing inside the chamber. "His fingers are starting to return to normal. So are his eyes."
"I think we did it, Doc."
"As soon as I'm convinced he's out of danger, take the chamber down to Engineering and start modifying it for the entity."
He nodded. "You got it."
Almost an hour later, Crusher activated her comlink. "Crusher to Picard."
"How is he, Doctor?"
"Almost back to normal. Geordi's adapting the chamber to deal with our friend."
"Picard to LaForge."
"LaForge here, Captain."
"How's the chamber coming?"
"It's almost ready. I've boosted its capacity to handle the creature's stronger magnetic field, and we're fitting a force-field generator around the mouth so it won't be able to escape."
"Escape? You mean you have to get it in the chamber?"
"Yes, sir. That's the only way this is going to work."
"How do you propose to do that? It can only be lured by a living thing."
"That problem has been solved, Captain." That was Richards, from Sickbay. He was almost fully recovered, but he wore specially modified lenses to protect his eyes, which were still extremely sensitive. "I will take the chamber to the surface."
Crusher looked at him, dumbfounded.
Picard, not believing it himself, said, "I can't possibly allow you—"
"It's the only way, Captain. When it...invaded me, our minds were partially melded. I can sense it down there. I'll be able to tell when it's coming, and from where."
"It's much too risky," Crusher insisted. "It's out of the question."
"Do you have a better idea, Doctor?" Richards asked, knowing she did not.
Picard was resigned as well. "I'm afraid he's right, Doctor. We'll keep him under constant surveillance, as before. And we'll reconfigure the main viewer to translate magnetic field energy into visible patterns, and monitor the configuration for the slightest anomalies. Dr. Richards, you may transport down when you're ready."
"Thank you, Captain," he said simply. His lighthearted manner had not returned yet.
"But how are you going to get it in there?" Riker wanted to know. "It'll go for you, not for the chamber."
"Once it's close enough, I'll activate a paramagnetic field that will draw it inside the chamber. The instant it's inside, I'll activate the force field and we'll have it."
"But what will you do with it once you've captured it?" Picard asked.
"I'm not going to capture it, Captain. I'm going to destroy it."
"Destroy it? No. I won't permit that."
"Captain—" Worf started to say.
"That creature has as much right to exist as any of us," Picard asserted.
"Captain," said Richards, "that thing has been down there for fourteen million years. I'd say it's lived a full life. As far as its right to go on living, I would respectfully remind you that it did what it did to me, and to the Castelliot away team, because it wants to die. Besides, our alternatives are limited. We would either have to leave it here or take it somewhere else. Nothing we could devise would contain it for long. And when it got out—either on the planet with the Grendians, or on the ship with us—it would kill again. And go on killing. Do we want those deaths on our conscience?"
After a pause, Riker said, "I have to agree with him, Captain. It can't be reasoned with. And it's too dangerous to let live."
"And we do have billions of people depending on us," added Crusher.
Picard was silent for a moment, but he knew they were right. Finally, he said, "Very well. Make it so."
"Yes, Captain," said Richards.
"You did the right thing, Captain," Riker said quietly.
Picard shook his head. "What I did was to choose the lesser of two evils. That can never be called right, Number One. Never."
Richards took the chamber to the transporter pad, with the generous help of some antigrav units. When he got there, he activated his comlink.
"Richards to LaForge. I'm in the transporter."
"Are you ready?"
"No. But if I don't do this now, I never will."
"It has to be within a hundred meters of the chamber for the paramagnetic field to capture it. So when I yell, you hit it."
Richards would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. Instead he said, "Don't worry about that." To O'Brien, he said, "Energize."
Richards and the chamber materialized on the surface. He looked up at the sky and said, in a soft but defiant voice, "Here I am. Come and get me."
"It's coalescing, Captain," Troi said quickly.
Almost simultaneously, Data pointed at the screen. "There, sir."
"I see it. Dr. Richards?"
"Yes, Captain. I feel it coming."
"NOW!" hollered LaForge.
At that instant, Richards stabbed a button on the chamber. The air around him rippled, and he felt more than heard the howl of indignation as the creature was drawn into the chamber, cheated of its prize. Once it was inside, he raised the force field.
Then, before it could marshal its energy and escape, he activated the temperature and pressure controls, which were both set on maximum. He watched the chamber, and could feel the creature dying. So could Troi.
"It's working," she said.
When it was done, Richards powered down the chamber, but stood ready in case the creature was still alive. It was not.
"Richards to Counselor Troi."
There was only momentary surprise on the bridge that he addressed her instead of Picard. She responded immediately. "Yes, Jonathan."
"You felt it too?"
"Yes. I did."
"Felt what?" Picard asked.
"The creature is dead. In its last moments, I felt something else from it. Gratitude."
"Gratitude?"
"Yes, Captain," replied Richards. "We gave it the gift of death."
Picard nodded. "I understand. Well done, Dr. Richards."
"Thank you, sir. If you will, Mr. O'Brien?"
Richards returned to Sickbay, as Crusher had ordered him to do as soon as he was back aboard. While he was there, Picard sent instructions to O'Brien, who carried them out with all deliberate speed.
Crusher ran a battery of tests on Richards, decided he was out of danger, and cleared him to go to the bridge. When he got there, Picard once again asked Worf to hail the Castelliot, and Worf obliged.
"The creature has been dealt with," Picard told them.
"And why should we believe that?" demanded the Castelliot.
In reply, Picard said, "Mr. O'Brien?"
"Done, Captain," he said.
Picard spoke again to the Castelliot. "We have extracted a small amount of corinthelium from beneath the planet's surface. With your permission, we will transport it onto your vessel. You may have one of your officers verify that it is genuine."
"Proceed." They did.
A moment later, the Castelliot said, "It has been verified."
"Then may I suggest we work together?" Richards replied, with all his former glibness. "We can sweat in the salt mines, prime the pumps, work the railroads, all of that."
"Your speech is incomprehensible."
Richards grinned. "Human colloquialisms. A gesture of our wish to form an alliance with you. And from our partnership, we'll have the planet ready for habitation weeks ahead of schedule, and you'll have all the corinthelium you'll ever need."
The Castelliot seemed to find this acceptable. "Very well, strange one. Begin your preparations."
When the channel was closed, Richards said to Troi, "I'll bet he says that to all the humans."
Troi smiled at him, as did Riker and Picard.
27