SHIP OF FOOLS

Chapter 02

Something was wrong.

Jean-Luc Picard was sitting in his command chair, his eyes on the starfield closing in endlessly on the main viewscreen, and trying to figure out what it was that had been bothering him ever since he got up in the morning. It should have been calming, almost restful to be back in that chair, cruising towards the Hellicon Cluster at warp six. He should be feeling at home. The bridge was quiet, the steady hum of the engines barely audible. Riker had gone off to the stellar cartography department to evaluate some personnel transfer request; Troi was sitting in her chair, one leg crossed over the other and both hands cupped round her knee, looking serene. No bickering, no posing, no lengthy, pompous and deadly serious balancing of some point of prestige against another. Nothing required him to rack his weary brain for a solution to some tangled conflict of interests he privately thought too trivial for words. After two weeks of it, he should have been at peace.

But that morning he had woken with a trace of a headache and a slightly foggy feeling that told him he hadn't been sleeping particularly well. Then the various unresolved issues of the previous day had come back to him, and ever since then he had been aware of a nagging restlessness at the back of his mind, a faint persistent worry that retreated further every time he tried to analyze it but would not go away.

At first, of course, he had assumed that it was Data's continuing absence and the ridiculous fact that they seemed to be unable to find either Data himself or some explanation for his disappearance. At some stage he had realized with a slight start that his missing second officer was not at the core of it at all. Rather, his mind would continue to treat this as an additional worry on the edges of his thought, returning to it every once in a while and veering off again in frustration, in search of he didn't know what. There was something waiting to be hit upon, something always just beyond his grasp. He was overlooking something. It might well continue to elude him as long as he kept searching for it, to emerge the moment he turned his thoughts elsewhere, and at the same time that sense of urgency drove him on. For some reason time was a factor here. He knew that something was wrong.

He had looked through the reports his officers had prepared for him, and they had shown nothing out of the ordinary except for some very minor malfunction in the internal sensor system. Neither had they (there it was again) come up with anything that might have explained Data's absence.

He was tempted to call for a detailed diagnostic of all systems, and at the same time he felt certain that nothing helpful would be forthcoming if he did. Every sense including that elusive thing called captain's hunch told him that there was nothing the matter with his ship, and he could trust those senses he knew. And yet.

Picard could feel Counselor Troi's thoughtful look on his face. Whatever it was she had been thinking about earlier, he now had her full attention – and now he came to consider it he felt certain that she had been watching him for the last five minutes at least. He had been so absorbed in thought, he must have been an open book to her.

Quite suddenly he had enough. This was getting ridiculous. He could find some work to do in the ready room instead of letting his counselor watch him slowly drive himself to distraction.

He was about to get up when there was an interruption.

"Captain", Worf's distinctive deep voice said from behind and above him. "Subspace message coming in for you from Starbase 109. It is classified."

Picard rose, mechanically tugging down his uniform tunic. "In my ready room."

He could feel at least two pairs of eyes in his back as he retreated towards his sanctum. His preoccupation must have been very obvious indeed, he noted with slightly exasperated amusement.

The Starfleet emblem on the small viewscreen on Picard's desk gave way to the massive gray head and impressive moustache of Admiral Arcadio Juarez.

"Well, Jean-Luc. You're not looking too bad for someone who's just survived two weeks on Mavvion food and conversation. Are they still serving that vinegary pink vegetable they used to make such a cult of in my day?"

"I may have come across it", replied the captain with a slightly perfunctory smile, instinctively bracing himself. He had known Juarez for years, and when the admiral opened a conversation in this way he was trying to take the edge off whatever was to follow. "I didn't know you have been there."

"Twenty years ago – when they first requested information on Federation membership." Juarez grimaced. "I was the one who supplied it. I'll bet they've spent the time since then quarrelling about whether or not to apply. Some addition to our ranks, don't you think? Anyway," said the admiral, abruptly coming to the point, "I have some news for you. A new assignment, in fact."

"Again? Admiral, we've been taken off our present assignment once before. The Hellicon Cluster..."

"Will have to remain uncharted for a little while longer, I'm afraid." Juarez smiled. "You'll just have to curb your insatiable thirst for entertainment, Jean-Luc." The smile disappeared. "In fact I don't expect you to enjoy this, but we have a reason for picking you. I want you to go to the Mount Nebula and wait for a Cardassian negotiator who will join you there in approximately four to five days. He'll have something to offer us no doubt, and he'll want something in return. Unfortunately there is very little we can tell you in advance. We want you to steer us through this."

"Oh, is that all", said Picard.

"Almost. His name is Gul Dravek. Starfleet Intelligence has verified there is such a person, for what it's worth. Member of the Obsidian Order, resident on Cardassia Prime, distinguished record and so on. We're transmitting the particulars right now. I'd better tell you straight away that there have been problems already. The man who was to arrange it in the first place is dead, and we haven't been able to contact Dravek since. Obviously, we don't trust him, and he doesn't trust us either – though he did ask for someone trustworthy to meet him. Which probably means not somebody from Starfleet Intelligence. On the other hand we have reason to believe that this could turn out to be fairly important."

"Important enough to put the Enterprise on the line."

"In fact, yes. It's a gesture of goodwill."

"I see", said the captain, very dryly.

"Quite." The admiral sighed. "I said you're not going to enjoy this. But if it is for real you're not going to mess it up either, which is more than we could say about... well. There are quite a few unweighables in this, and relations with the Cardassians being what they are right now... the long and the short of it is, you're the best person for the job. You've done this sort of thing before, you'll know how to go about it. We're giving you a wide latitude. Oh, and there's another thing. Officially, of course, you are in the Hellicon Cluster."

"Indeed."

"We hope we can pull this off without attracting any more undue attention. So, no subspace communication. Keep sensor activity to a minimum. The Mount Nebula will play havoc with your sensors anyway, but at least while you're there you'll be as well hidden as anybody else."

"Let me make sure I understand you correctly, Admiral", said the captain, almost interrupting. "I am to take the Enterprise to a place that will virtually eliminate our sensors, there to meet with a Cardassian ship and a man who may or may not be Gul Dravek, and who will or will not aid the Federation in some unspecified way in return for something he hasn't named so far. We will not be able to verify anything whatsoever once we are there, and if anything goes wrong we'll be on our own as Starfleet officially doesn't even know about this."

All of a sudden Admiral Juarez looked as if he had swallowed something very rancid indeed. "You have an inimitable way of putting things, Jean-Luc. You're making me feel like some bully of a desk jockey. But yes, those are your orders. Believe me, I'm not very happy about them."

"Well, neither am I", Picard shot back. "Is there nothing more you can tell me about this mission?"

"We're transmitting what information we have this moment. It's not much. Sorry for that." With a little effort, Admiral Juarez grew jovial once again. "Look at it this way – if this was less of a mess we wouldn't need to take you off your charting assignment, would we?"

The captain didn't even try to smile this time. "Understood", he said stiffly.

"I'm sure it is. Good luck, Jean-Luc. Juarez out." And the Starfleet emblem reappeared on a bright blue screen.

Picard sat there with his chin on his fist, frowning. Here goes the Hellicon cluster. Again. He found that he had actually been looking forward to getting back there. The cluster featured several rather spectacular gas giants, and... oh, well. He was aware of a sinking feeling in his stomach as he summoned his senior officers to the observation lounge.

- - - - - - -

"Great", said Riker. "Just what we needed."

"Cardassians!" snarled Worf, just loud enough for everybody to hear, and soft enough for the captain to pretend he didn't.

"Why am I not surprised?" asked Doctor Beverly Crusher with an air of resignation.

Geordi La Forge said nothing. There were the beginnings of a frown gathering above his visor.

Deanna Troi said nothing either, merely looking from one face to the next with a faint rueful smile. There was no doubt about the emotional state of the minds all around; it would have been obvious even to a non-Betazoid.

"How long are we expected to wait for this Gul Dravek?" asked Riker.

"He should be arriving in about four to five days, more or less. We could be there earlier than that, but I suggest we take our time – I would prefer not to be sitting in that nebula any longer than we have to."

"I don't understand it, sir. It sounds like the sort of thing you'd want to give a wide berth. No reliable information. They don't even know for sure there's anything to be gained. They must be hoping for an awful lot. Unless, of course, there's something they prefer to keep to themselves."

"It may be just what the admiral says – a diplomatic gesture", Dr. Crusher said thoughtfully. "Relations with the Cardassians are about as bad as they could be, short of actual war. Sending the Enterprise before we know anything definite is a gesture of trust."

Riker frowned. "Quite an elaborate one, Doctor. From what we've heard this is supposed to be secret – officially, anyway. Wouldn't something less conspicuous than the Enterprise do the job perfectly well?"

"Inofficially, they'll know soon enough who is meeting Dravek", countered Crusher. "And if he really asked for somebody trustworthy, well, if you consider the Maxwell affair the captain is the obvious candidate. Let's face it, Will, the Federation hasn't been a model of good manners either lately."

"No reason to fall for every bait some Cardassian dangles before our noses. Hell, I doubt anybody even remembers the Maxwell affair after Minos Korva. After the mess we made of that one you'd think Starfleet would be a bit more cautious."

"They are", said Picard mildly. "From what I have just been told, that's precisely why they are sending us, and in this manner."

"Oh, well. As long as I'm not forced to work with a diplomatic genius like the last one we've been inflicted with – begging your pardon, Captain", said Riker rather viciously. "Feed him the cues for his damn blustering act and feel like an absolute bastard all the..."

"Will", interrupted Picard, a little startled. He hadn't quite realized how deep the resentment was running in his first officer.

"I think we're all agreed on that point, Will", Troi put in.

"Hardly", muttered Worf.

"Well, what if this is simply a trap?" Riker said bluntly.

Picard winced a little. He had had the same thought, of course, and had called himself to order with a fierce reminder not to get paranoid just because Starfleet had sent him into a Cardassian trap once.

"It would be rather too obvious, wouldn't it?"

Riker shrugged. "Whatever works. This one might work because it's so obvious. I wouldn't put it past them – and we're already obliging them, aren't we. If that nebula is as bad as Juarez says we won't notice an approaching ship until we can practically see it from the windows. What's to stop them from sending not one but two or three?"

"Nothing", said Worf, managing to convey his opinion of the whole undertaking in the one word.

"Agreed. But there is nothing we can do about it. I want a full diagnostic of all systems before we get there, and regular checks after that. And could you –" Picard swiveled his chair to the right and stopped abruptly when he realized he had been about to address Data. "This is intolerable. Mr. La Forge, have you still found nothing?"

Geordi raised both hands in a gesture of utter perplexity. "I don't know what to say, Captain. The answer's no, obviously, but I feel such an idiot about it."

"Mr. Worf, then – please find out what there is to be known about the Mount Nebula, and if possible if there are any reasons why this Cardassian would want to meet us there of all places. If I remember correctly the alloys they use in their hulls are quite different from ours, perhaps that nebula will do something to this ship that it won't do to theirs. I'd also like to know what kind of sensor interference we can expect. And then you could join Mr. La Forge in his search for Data; together you may come up with something."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, we can try", said Geordi without much conviction.

"Captain, I would suggest maintaining a standing yellow alert from the moment we reach our destination. We should be on our guard."

"We will be, Mr. Worf. It's all we can do, under the circumstances."

"I don't like this one bit", said Riker.

"I'm well aware of that, Number One, and I suspect you're not alone. Unfortunately, those are Starfleet's orders. That will be all for now, gentlemen. Dismissed."

He watched them rise and file past his chair, sitting there with his chin on his hand and waiting for the moment he would have the lounge to himself.

Picard tended to regard anything that looked like premonition with scepticism. But there was no mistaking the feeling he had about this assignment. Or rather, it might be a feeling not about the assignment itself, but... there was that worry again as if it had never been forgotten, stronger than before if anything. Something wrong. Something very wrong. Data? No, not Data. At least not just Data. And the same thought again circling back on itself. Damn, he thought despairingly.

A moment later he realized that it must have come out as a sigh, or something like one, for there was the sound of a slight but demonstrative movement behind his back. He looked round, and there was Riker still hovering near the door, apparently uncertain whether to leave the captain to his thoughts or address whatever it was that was on his mind.

"Yes, Will."

"I've been looking into this holodeck accident. You won't like it."

"I don't like anything about it." The captain straightened in his chair, and Riker slid back into his usual seat on Picard's left.

"I have Benedetto's report here. The whole thing is perfectly straightforward. Myers was into big game hunting, with a preference for the Acorican fauna. You know – those scaly six-legged affairs, and the ones that look like a Styllian garubb with poisonous spikes all over them. He slipped, came down flat on his back, and broke his neck. The program played itself out. Nurse Andrews found him when she wanted to start her own program and got him to sickbay, but by that time there was nothing they could do for him. Just a totally pointless accident, but there is nothing suspicious about it."

"Still – there must be some explanation. It just doesn't happen this way. There must be something unusual about it all."

"Well, there is", Riker said thoughtfully. "But frankly I don't seem to be able to make a connection. Benedetto's been disparaging, but then that's his way. He says Myers has been acting a little strange these days – weird is the word he used. I've verified that, for what it's worth. Apparently Myers walked around silently grinning to himself and not paying attention, and he did push up the program's difficulty level – right up to maximum. Nothing to do with his death, though. The safeguards were working all right." Riker took one look at the captain's face and added: "I'm sorry."

"So am I." A pause. "Why would Myers behave like that? Was anything wrong?"

Riker shrugged. "That's all I got out of Benedetto – but then he hasn't been aboard very long, and he's not exactly the perceptive sort anyway. And Myers was a technician, not a scientist – he just happened to be working on Astrophysics equipment. Deanna says he was quite stable and cheerful normally. Quite extrovert, a little showy. And Dr. Crusher has confirmed the cause of death. We've been looking up his personal log, but he had made no entries recently, and he didn't use it much anyway. There is nothing to work on."

"Now where have I heard that before", said Picard.

Riker heaved himself out of his chair. "I'll ask Deanna to talk to some of his friends, and I'll try to get a little more information from Benedetto. And then we'd better get those diagnostics going. I'm really looking forward to doing them without Data. If I find anything else that can go wrong I'll inform you straight away."

In fact he himself had already been talking to Nurse Andrews and anybody else he could think of. The result reminded him uncannily of his efforts to find out about Data's whereabouts – there was no apparent handle to the problem. While he was at it he would also have a word with Benedetto about occasions that justified appearing on the bridge in person, and appropriate behavior on those occasions that did, but he wasn't going to bother the captain with that. Benedetto's habit of pushing his way onto the bridge on the slightest excuse had irritated him for the best part of the past two weeks. The man was a nuisance. Unfortunately, Myers' death had been a good reason to report in person, the first good reason Benedetto had ever found, and Riker felt that although the rebuke was overdue, and amply deserved, the timing would be less than perfect. It was one more detail that was annoying him. Somehow, at the moment, things weren't working out the way they were supposed to.

The bridge was quiet as before. He discovered Worf bending over one of the science stations, his expression more forbidding than usual. Well, he hadn't expected him to be happy about the task assigned to him. Data did that sort of thing faster and better, and Worf was probably longing to get down to work on the phaser arrays, putting them through their paces – besides, Riker was well aware of the Klingon's feelings regarding their latest mission. Anyway, he should be resting. He's had a trying time.

He walked over, glancing over Worf's shoulder at a screen displaying some molecular structure. Worf moved slightly to one side and continued working.

"I want you in Ten Forward tonight", the first officer said casually. "I want a full report of the Mavvion mission, and not in writing. And quite by the way, I could do with a bat'telh refresher course."

Worf gave a noncommittal grunt without looking up from his console, and Riker, taking this for an expression of consent, nodded and moved off. Worf grunted again, to himself this time. Riker was trying to distract him – to lighten his mood. He appreciated the effort but had no intention of allowing himself to be distracted. There was trouble ahead. He would meet that trouble head-on.

In fact he had been looking forward to the charting assignment. It would have given him time for a closer look at an idea that had occurred to him these days, quite possibly an offshoot of the annoyance and boredom of the Mavvion mission. There might be a way to improve the ship's torpedo guidance system. It was an ingenious and unorthodox idea that would need careful checking and turning over before he could even start working on the practicalities, certainly not something he could pursue if he had to concentrate on security issues. And anything remotely to do with Cardassians meant that security would be very much a priority. He, Lieutenant Worf, had a feud with the entire nation.

The battle section's aft phaser arrays could do with an extra check, he decided. He would see to that in person. A full diagnostic of the weapons systems was one thing – he was positive they were working smoothly. But if you took a close and undisturbed look at any one system you could sometimes find room for improvement. And the shields – generations of Starfleet weapons specialists had tried to make shields more lasting under attack, but perhaps there was something that could be done to them with regard to the special conditions of the Mount Nebula.

He copied the data on the chemical components of the nebula onto a padd and moved on to materials known to be used in Cardassian hull construction.

- - - - - - -

"This is getting on my nerves", muttered Geordi.

Peering over his shoulder at an uncommunicative screen, Lieutenant Worf said: "I will ask security to conduct a shipwide search. I should have done this earlier."

"You don't understand. We've done it, Worf. I've tried to explain it to the captain – we've been through this ship with a very fine comb, believe me. Data just isn't here."

"That", said Worf, "does not make sense."

"Oh, I agree. It doesn't. Still –" Geordi indicated the screen with a frustrated shrug. "If you can think of anything we haven't tried yet..."

"I will give it some thought", said Worf.

Geordi sighed. "Must you be so literal, Worf?"

"There must be some explanation. Have you found out what caused the sensor malfunctions?"

"What?" said Geordi, momentarily taken aback by the seeming non sequitur. "Oh, I see – you think there's some connection."

"There may be", Worf said with a touch of impatience. "Besides, we have been informed that the Mount Nebula will interfere with our external sensors. We have a malfunction of the internal sensor system now. It must be seen to before we arrive. We are dealing with Cardassians", he finished, pointedly.

"Okay, I get you. I just haven't found the time to look into it properly so far. I've run a few tests, and they seemed to work fine. And now the captain wants those diagnostics, and I'll have my hands full. You're quite sure about that delay you noticed?"

"Yes. And you can see the power surge for yourself."

"Looks like a frayed conduit to me, to be honest. We'll sort it out in the course of the diagnostic. If that was our only problem, I'd throw a party." He straightened, adjusting his visor that had slipped a little when he bent over, and Worf said: "Does that device interfere with your visor?"

Geordi grinned. "No, it doesn't. And to anticipate your next question, Worf, no, it doesn't interfere with my performing my duties either. Quite the opposite, actually. Counselor Troi says I should wear it whenever I can. She'll make it all right with the captain, so you needn't worry."

"What is it for?" inquired Worf, curious in spite of himself.

"Inner balance. Peace of mind. It helps you find some kind of equilibrium – understand yourself, in a way. It takes time, but it feels great right away. After the first ten seconds, that is – those are nasty. You want to try it out, you tell me."

"No. This is foolishness. Klingons do not indulge in this kind of" – Worf's lips curled in distaste – "fun."

"Well, I know that!" Geordi laughed outright now. "But it's not really fun – I wouldn't recommend it to you if it was, now would I. In fact it's much better than that. More like a meditation aid or something. It may sound silly to you, but you really should try it. In a way, it helps you concentrate on essentials. Find out what you really want. God, I'm feeling good about it."

"I see", said Worf, whose attention had wandered back to the screen.

"No, you don't, because you're not listening. Look, it's fabulous. It doesn't do anything to you, I've checked with Counselor Troi. It just... well, helps you focus. Brings out what's already there – what you could be. Yes, that's it. It helps you find out what you're about. I feel I'm just starting over."

"This is not how I spend my time."

"Yes, I know. I mean, that sort of thing isn't exactly your problem anyway, is it? At least I can't see you brooding about where you belong in life and all that. It's just – well, I'm not much of a fellow for soul-searching myself as a rule, but sometimes you do end up wondering if you're in the right place and if you're really doing the job you can do best as best you can and so on. You know the feeling?" He turned his head sideways to get an impression of Worf's reaction and tried valiantly to suppress another grin. "Sorry, Worf. Forget it. You don't want to be asked that. Anyway, you feel you'll find an answer if you keep at it. Like the thread in a maze. I suppose the idea is that at some stage you'll be at peace with yourself. Hey, Worf, whatever's the matter now?"

"I would appreciate it if we concentrated on the issue at hand", Worf said, very succinctly.

There was a moment's tense silence. Then Geordi replied: "Sure. Whatever you like. Sorry." He sounded hurt, and Worf had a feeling that he might be expected to apologize. Geordi had only been trying to communicate his enthusiasm – had he not? He didn't deserve that brusque rebuff, although humans sometimes seemed morbidly fascinated by the sublimities of their own inner life – and much too ready to share them with others.

He, Worf, was hardly the proper audience for that sort of thing. Cardassians would be coming aboard, the internal sensors did not work properly, the external ones would not be working, and Data was still missing. He would be damned before he apologized to Geordi for stopping this ill-timed babble about finding your place. Their place right now was in front of a computer terminal, trying to locate the Enterprise's second officer.

The remainder of their shift, however, passed in a silence only broken by the most unavoidable of comments.

- - - - - - -