10. Sundive
"Right, the simulation checks out. Finally," La Forge said, wiping his forehead. "I gotta hand it to you: you, Doctor Brahms, are a genius."
"Yes, I know," Brahms said, completely seriously, but then she gave a quick smile. "But let's be honest Geordi – you don't get to be Chief Engineer of the Federation flagship by being a moron either."
"Well, at least not all the time," La Forge allowed. "Shall we tell Commander Riker the good news?"
"By all means," Brahms said. "And then, Geordi, you can cook me that dinner you promised."
La Forge grinned, and pressed his communicator.
"Commander Riker, we've completed the simulations. We should be able to begin the slingshot procedure when we reach Sirius."
"Excellent work Geordi. Report to the bridge in two hours time then. Riker out."
"See you then, Commander. La Forge out."
"Well, Geordi – what about that meal you promised me?" Brahms said, giving him a coquettish smile.
He turned to the young woman on the other side of the console, and grinned.
"I have an idea. Why eat in my quarters, when…. Computer! End program La Forge Beta Six and run program, uh, program La Forge Three-One."
The mockup of the engineering bridge vanished, to be replaced by a tropical beach scene. La Forge and Brahms found themselves on the terrace of an elegant resort, filled with people of all species. Beside them was a table set for two, with a small brazier in the centre.
"Oh Geordi – the Astra Resort on Risa! How did you know that was where the Daystrom Conference is going to be held?"
"Pure guesswork," La Forge grinned. "Well, that, and I asked the Daystrom Institute. Hold it one moment. Be right back! Computer, exit!"
Brahms looked after La Forge as he hurried out of the Holodeck, unable to keep a smile off her face. He was back in a few moments, carrying a large box.
"Voila! Two fresh-caught Alaskan crayfish!"
"Are – are they real?" Brahms said, looking inside the box very briefly.
"Absolutely!" Geordi said with relish. "Commander Riker's grandfather sent over enough for the entire senior staff the moment he heard the Enterprise was in the system. Take a look at these babies…" he trailed off, taking a look at the feebly-moving creatures inside the chilled box.
"Yes, they do seem…rather fresh," Brahms admitted, turning a little pale. "Uh…how are we going to eat them?"
"Fried with butter and garlic – simple, but good. Don't want to overdo the sauces. Let the full flavour come through," Geordi said cheerfully.
"Are – they still alive?" Brahms asked, a slight catch in her voice.
"Um, I think so," Geordi said. He looked in the box again, seeing the feelers moving sluggishly. He looked back at Brahms, then at the crayfish. "I must admit, I wasn't quite expecting them to be this fresh…."
"No, nor was I," Brahms said. "How are you going to…you know, kill them…?"
Geordi looked at her, then back at the two crayfish. There was a long silence. He looked at Brahms again, who was still somewhat greenish, then back in the box.
"Uh, Leah," he began nervously, "how about pasta with garlic-butter sauce instead?"
"Much better," Brahms said firmly, and La Forge put the lid back on the box with an audible sigh of relief.
"I think these two should go back to Alaska," he said quietly. "Computer! Two plates of Funghini alla Griglia, please!"
"Ayla," Picard said seriously, "I do not know what to think of your dreams. Or your visions. You have told me some remarkable things, and I am having difficulty assimilating them. They sound…beyond anything I would have expected. I need to discuss this with Data first."
"Will you also want to talk with Zelandoni?" Ayla asked, somewhat nervously. She didn't know if she wanted the spiritual leader of the Ninth Cave to know everything she had just told Picard. But to her relief, Picard shook his head.
"No, I don't think so. While I am sure she is a wise and insightful person, she simply doesn't possess the specialised knowledge that my friend Data does," he said.
Ayla looked at Picard carefully, wondering what the real reason for his reticence was. He avoided her gaze, and instead carefully examined the flute.
"These people you lived with," Ayla began slowly, "they were real to you, weren't they?"
"As real as anyone I see around me today," Picard said. "But I know it was all an illusion, yet not. It was real, but not for me."
"And they have all gone, haven't they?" Ayla asked. "The people in your vision, they have gone. Just like the people in my visions. Creb, and Iza – their memories live in me, my memories of the Clan, but they knew – Creb knew – that they were dying. And you say that where you live, there are none?"
"None at all," Picard said. "I have never even seen one. Why they vanished is one of our great mysteries."
Ayla looked at his profile as he started down at the bone instrument. Any doubts she had had about telling him of her visions were erased when she had seen his reaction to her childhood. She had told him all about Creb of course, and Iza and Brun, but instead of being repulsed that she was raised by the Clan, he was fascinated. He had shown more interest in them and their ways than even Jondalar, who had slowly grown to respect them, but still, Ayla knew, was not fully accepting. But there was not a trace of disgust on Picard's face when she told him how Iza had taken her in, how she had been taught by the crippled and half-blind Mog-Ur. Instead there was wondering, and again the feeling of deep sadness and unpassable gulfs.
"Why have you come here, Jean-Luc," she asked eventually. "Have you been sent to test me, to help me overcome my visions?"
The older man looked at her for a time, and shook his head. "As much as we might like to think the universe is arranged for our benefit, Ayla, it is not. We are less to it than the fleas on a dog – a wolf."
Picard looked at the young woman beside him, still thinking. Her visions had sounded fantastical, almost beyond belief, but he had seen far stranger things before, and was hesitant to dismiss them outright. The concern over her people – the Neanderthals, and Picard marvelled at how they had brought her up as one of them, and at the revelations concerning their memories and brains she had offered – was obvious: such a people would realise how they were gradually losing ground to the newcomers, and even if their concept of the future was not as developed as the Cro-Magnons, and their ability to adapt much less, the wisest of them would have some understanding. No, it was the story of her experimentation with the root-based drug in the cave ceremony that disturbed Picard: such far-reaching ancestral memory went against everything the Federation knew about the brain and memory. And worse yet was the part where Ayla had left Creb behind and seen the future: landscapes, laid out not with the randomness of nature, but in regular patterns. Boxlike structures that reared up from the earth, and long ribbons of stone, along which strange animals crawled at great speeds; huge birds that flew without flapping their wings. Then more scenes, so strange she couldn't comprehend them. She had described them as best she could, but her vocabulary was too limited, her experience too confined. But Picard recognised her descriptions, knew what those scenes were, and it disturbed him greatly. How was it possible for her to see such scenes? There was only one explanation he could think of, and he found it profoundly unsettling.
"Commander, we're ready for the sun-dive," La Forge said. On the viewscreen, the white dwarf star of Sirius B was glowing brightly.
"Is Dr Brahms ready in Engineering?" Riker asked.
"Brahms here, Commander. Ready for your order," came her voice from the speakers.
Riker looked at the screen, at the blinding white furnace that awaited them. He had been taken over the simulations a dozen times the previous evening, but there was still a deep pit of fear in his stomach. His only consolation was that if anything went wrong, they'd be dead quite literally before they even knew it. Was he dooming the entire crew by being pig-headed and stubborn? Couldn't Starfleet and the Temporal Investigations Unit from the 29th Century get them out?
"Will, this is why you're not in the captain's chair," he told himself. "Too afraid to risk the lives of the crew, too afraid to make decisions. I can do this. I must do this. It will work. I have the finest minds in Starfleet working it out; I have the finest crew in the galaxy ready to carry it out. All they need is a leader. Come on Will – you can do this. You can do it. Make it so…."
He sat down in the captain's chair, and said just one word: "Engage."
Instantly the massively powerful warp engines of the huge starship surged into life, sending their mysterious energies into the warp nacelles, forming the nested warp shells that powered all Federation faster-than-light craft. The Enterprise gathered speed exponentially, hurling itself towards the star ahead.
"Warp nine-point-nine," La Forge read out. "Now entering red zone. Engine overload in five minutes."
"Come on," Riker muttered to himself as Sirius B loomed ever-larger on the screen. "How long?" he called out.
"Forty seconds until breakaway," La Forge said. "Thirty…Twenty…Ten…."
"Red alert! All hands brace for impact!" Riker shouted. The bridge lights dimmed and the warning light strips began pulsating. Riker looked at the readouts in front of him.
"Three…two…one," La Forge called out.
"Now!" Riker shouted as the ship lurched sideways. He could hear muffled shrieks and groans from the hull as it was subjected to unimaginable pressures, trying to go in four directions at once. He gritted his teeth as the vibrations increased, and the view out of the screen blurred and narrowed, forming a tunnel where they could see both ahead of them and behind them at the same time. Space was warping, twisting, pulled like so much taffy at a county fair as the ship's engines dug a hole through the very fabric of existence.
"Time!" Riker yelled.
"Two minutes until engine shutdown!"
Riker could hear La Forge's voice as if from the bottom of a well. He glanced over at his Chief Engineer, whose image was blurry, distorted by the minute leakage into the ship of the tremendous energies outside.
"Commander, we're ten millennia into the past!"
"How's our status?" Riker had to shout to be heard above the din of the engines on maximum overload and the ship at its design limits.
"Green across the board! Structural integrity field loss on desks twelve to fourteen – within tolerances."
Riker gritted his teeth as the shaking intensified.
"Twenty thousand! Commander, the engines are overheating!"
"How much longer?"
"I'll have to shut down in thirty seconds or we'll lose the warp core!"
"Keep it together, Geordi! Come on, old girl, fly!"
The tunnel ahead of them narrowed even further, and suddenly a console erupted in sparks.
"We've lost the rear lateral phaser array!" Worf called out.
"How much longer?"
"Five thousand years…. Three thousand years…"
"Stand by for full shutdown!"
"Two…one…five centuries…one… Commander, now!"
"Brace for impact! Full reverse engines!" Riker shouted.
"Engines on full reverse sir!"
The tunnel ahead suddenly collapsed in a blinding blaze of white light as the Enterprise's warp engines were suddenly slammed into reverse. The entire ship shook violently, and La Forge and Worf, standing at the rear of the bridge, were thrown to the ground. Several other consoles exploded, and the air was filled with the acrid smell of ozone and burning plasteel. Gradually the shaking stopped, and Riker's head began to clear. He looked around, and took a deep breath.
"Casualty report!"
"Three broken bones, several reports of minor injuries," came Crusher's voice. "Try not to do this too often, Commander."
With his primary responsibility taken care of, Riker turned to his Chief Engineer.
"Well, La Forge. Where—I mean when are we?"
"Just a moment, commander. We need to check the starfields. Here we go…." His face split into a huge grin. "We made it Commander! Welcome to stardate negative 32,012,920!"
"Incredible! The day after the Captain and Commander Data arrived! Well done Geordi. Very impressive indeed."
"Don't thank me, Commander. It was Dr Brahms who did the fine-tuning. If it was up to me, we'd probably have arrived in the Renaissance."
"Far too modest, Geordi," came Brahms' voice through the intercom. "Commander Riker, we need to power down the entire warp core and replace one of the dilithium crystals before we can head to Earth. I also want to run some tests to make sure the engines survived. We have to repair the rest of the damage too, but that's minor."
"How long will that all take?"
"A few hours," she said. "Then we can head for Earth."
"That will take a couple of days," La Forge added. "And then we have to find them."
"How?" Troi asked. "It's a big planet."
"We would be able to find their shuttle very easily," Worf said confidently. "This is not a problem."
"Exactly," Riker added. "Geordi, take the Enterprise out to one AU from Sirius. Then you have permission to take the engines offline for six hours. After that I want to head to Earth. I don't want to leave the captain and Commander Data in the Ice Age a moment longer than I have to."
"Captain." Data came up the bank to them at an unhurried pace. "Might I have a word with you in private?"
"Of course, Commander," Picard replied. "Ayla, I need to discuss a few things with my companion."
"Could I discuss my visions more with you later?" Ayla asked, sensing that somehow, on some level, he could understand them. "Perhaps you and Data could share the last meal of the day with us, and then we can talk."
"Thank you for the offer. We would be glad to," Picard said, standing up. He wasn't sure what he could tell her, as he himself was far from understanding what she was seeing, and why. And he knew he must not place ideas in her head that were not there to begin with. It was a fine line he was walking, needing to extract as much about the visions as she knew, but without asking any potentially leading questions that would destroy the validity of her evidence.
Picard sighed, and followed Data out of the abri. The two Starfleet officers went down the riverbank a little way, past the small groups of people working.
"I gather you had to eject the warp core, Mr Data," he said when they were out of earshot.
"That is correct, captain. It was leaking chronometric radiation, and the anti-matter seals were badly damaged. I hope I did the correct thing, sir."
"You did, Mr Data. You merely caused a slight bit of confusion when a second sun briefly shone over Ice Age France."
"I should have transported the warp core farther," Data said, his face modulating into a carefully-calculated crestfallen expression that he knew would be appropriate.
"No harm done," Picard said. "After all, comets and meteors produce similar effects, and these people have lived with that. What did you manage to salvage from the shuttle?"
Data took out the bag and opened it. Picard rummaged through it quickly, then passed it back to Data.
"That should help. The sub-space radio in particular should come in useful if the Enterprise manages to get here."
"You think there will be a problem, sir?"
"It's a huge jump," Picard said seriously. "Far bigger than anything ever done before. But even if the Enterprise can't make it, Starfleet has a temporal displacement drive on loan from the Department of Temporal Investigations in the 29th century that should be able to reach us. Although I have no idea when: if they haven't rescued us by now then either they're having problems, or…"
"Or else what, sir?"
"Or else Admiral Necheyav is going to make good on her threat to assign me long-term shore leave, Mr Data," Picard finished. He looked around, and gave a gallic shrug. "There are worse places to spend a holiday, however."
"Indeed sir," Data said. "At least here you will not be roped into a dangerous mission by Vash to find some long-lost artefact."
"No indeed," Picard agreed. "That was probably not the best captain's holiday ever, at least from Dr Crusher's point of view. It wasn't exactly restful, after all."
"Jean-Luc!"
Picard turned, seeing the tall figure of Jondalar striding towards them.
"Greetings, Jondalar," Picard said politely. "Data, close the bag and keep it out of sight," he added quietly.
"I thought you might like this," Jondalar said, coming up to them and holding out a leather-wrapped bundle. Picard took it with a slight bow. He carefully unwrapped it, then drew his breath in. Among the folds of the soft leather was nestled a small slim blade of flint so dark it was almost pure black. He picked it up, the sun scintillating off the ridges and making the translucent edges glow.
"It's incredible," Picard breathed. "But I have nothing to give you in return."
"Just tell your people about us," Jondalar grinned. "We're always interested in finding new groups to trade with, meeting new peoples."
"As are we," Picard said. "You could say that is our mission."
"I thought you were here to see the caves of Doni's Deep?" Jondalar asked, confused.
"We are," Picard said. "But that is a personal interest for me, alone. However as a representative of my people, we are always looking for new encounters, new friends, as we have found in you and the people of the Ninth Cave."
"Journeys and encounters with other peoples can bring great joy, and great sadness," Jondalar said. "On my own I gained a mate but lost a brother."
"I share your pain," Picard agreed sadly. It was only recently he had made peace with his own brother, and the thought of losing him was not something he wanted to dwell on. And he was still not sure how Ayla had managed to call off a full-grown cave lion, even if it was one she had raised from a cub. Perhaps, he thought, they were like cheetahs, the only big cat that could be tamed easily. "However, you gained more than you realise. You gained knowledge of other lands, other peoples. That knowledge is something we ourselves seek. Knowledge brings understanding of the mysteries of life," he finished, looking at the way the sunlight sparkled off his blade. "This will allow me to always remember you and your people. But for how long will you remember me and mine?"
Jondalar looked at the short man with a puzzled air. Why such introspection? He didn't really expect such a reaction. It was a fine blade, to be sure, but nothing that special. Wymez or Dalanar could make something much more impressive. He shrugged, and put the matter out of his mind. He knew that the ways of Those Who Served were often beyond his understanding. Wandering off, he soon put the questions about the visitors out of his mind.
"Captain," Data said when Jondalar had gone. "I would like your permission to set up the sub-space radio. It may help any rescue mission locate us."
"I'm not sure, Data," Picard mused. He looked at the flashing lights on the device, and ran a hand over his scalp. "Not in the cave – it would be too easily found. How are radiation levels around the shuttle?"
"With the warp core ejected, they are within normal parameters," Data said.
"Perhaps you had better leave the sub-space radio in the shuttle," Picard said slowly. "In fact," he added, "it might be better to leave our comm badges there as well. It would not do to have a disembodied voice suddenly speaking from our chests."
"I have brought these along," Data said, taking out a couple of small devices.
"Ah, subcutaneous implants," Picard said. "We used them when we had to associate with the bronze-age Mintakans. Good idea, Mr Data. With these any transmissions we intercept will not be heard outside our skulls."
"I will be able to tune my internal circuitry to act in the same way," Data stated. "I should also advise keeping our comm badges but setting them to mute," he added. "I can easily set up a relay from the sub-space radio in the shuttle to your implant."
"Make it so," Picard said, taking one of the implants as Data headed back to the shuttle. The vast bulk of the small device he held was the delivery mechanism – the implant itself was barely the size of a grain of rice. Holding it to just behind his ear, he pressed the button and felt a short sharp sting as, with a brief hiss, the implant was smoothly injected just underneath his skin.
"Jean-Luc." Ayla's voice interrupted him just as he was putting the delivery device in a fold of his garments. She was carrying a large bundle, out of which Picard could see some plants sticking out. "I was just going to see the horses. Would you be interested?"
"Horses? Of course," Picard said. His memories of their first encounter were somewhat hazy due to the painkillers, but he definitely remembered seeing her approach them on a horse. He had thought it perfectly natural at the time, but now he began to wonder. Horses, in the Palaeolithic? Weren't they not supposed to have been domesticated far later? Ten thousand years ago was what he had been taught, not thirty. Suddenly intensely curious, he eagerly followed the tall blonde woman as they made their way up the river and headed along a side stream until they came to a flat grassy area.
Ayla whistled, and soon Picard heard the sounds of two sets of galloping hooves. A pair of small stocky horses raced into view, and made a beeline for Ayla. She laughed and hugged them, particularly the lighter-shaded one. Opening her bundle, she took out some plants and grains, and began feeding the horses.
"This is Whinney," she explained, indicating the dun-yellow one and handing Picard a long leafy vegetable. "She loves this. Let her feed from your hand. She also loves the grain."
"Hello, Whinney," Picard said, gently rubbing the horse's neck. It was rather smaller than the thoroughbred Arabians he was used to; built for the cold steppes, it was barrel-chested and sturdy, and was already growing a shaggy winter coat.
"And this is Racer," Ayla added, indicating Jondalar's dark-brown stallion. She fed him too, the younger horse guzzling his treat down almost before she had it out of the bag. She was hiding it, but in truth she was amazed at Picard's reaction to the animals. She could tell by how he acted around them, how he scratched their necks and ears, how he talked gently to them, that not only was he not surprised by her having horses, but he obviously had his own.
"Would you like a ride?" she asked Picard after the plants and grain were all eaten, eyeing him carefully. She was not at all surprised to see excitement, not shock, on his face.
"Do you have saddles?" he asked. The word was unfamiliar to her, but she knew what he meant.
"I do not use one, though Jondalar does." She dug into the bundle she was carrying, and pulled out Racer's riding blanket. The brown stallion trotted up to her, recognising the smell, and eager for a run. He was anxious about the stranger, who did not smell familiar, but Ayla's relaxed attitude, and the stranger's expert and very generous scratching, reassured him that he was in no danger.
Ayla fixed Racer's leather blanket over him, and then leapt lightly onto the mare's back. Picard awkwardly mounted the stallion, and sat astride him. There was a crude rope halter and rein arrangement, and he took that in his hands. Ayla looked at him, wondering why he seemed so unfamiliar with the reins. Perhaps he too does not use a riding blanket, she wondered. But then why ask for one? Or was this "saddle" he mentioned something different? She knew it meant "seat on a horse," but perhaps it was not quite the same. But the look of exhilaration on Picard's face as he sat astride Racer drove all speculation out of her mind. Sometimes it was good to just run free, uncaring, with the wind in your hair. Urging Whinney forward, she headed up the river valley, Racer's hooves sounding just behind her as he followed his dam.
"Commander, we have restored warp drive," La Forge said, pushing the final locking pin into place in the dilithium chamber. "She's ready whenever you are."
"Excellent work, Geordi," Riker said up on the bridge. He turned to the conn. "Maximum warp."
"Heading, sir?"
"Earth." Riker settled himself down in the captain's chair as the starfield blurred and streaked.
"Commander, even at maximum warp it will still take two days to reach where Earth is now," Worf said. "That will mean we arrive three days after they did, at the earliest."
"I am well aware of that, Lieutenant," Riker said. "There is nothing we can do about that, however."
"We could attempt a slingshot around the sun to send us back a week," Worf suggested.
"I don't want to risk any more time jumps than I have to," Riker said.
"Besides," Geordi interjected from Main Engineering, "the minimum we could jump is about fifty years anyway. Perhaps we could jump back just over fifty and then jump forward the same amount minus two or three days, but it would be tricky."
"I only want to risk that if we find that something has happened to the captain or Commander Data," Riker said. "All they have to do is camp out in the shuttle for a few days – they should be fine."
"If you say so, Commander," Worf said, grunting the words. He looked out at the viewscreen, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the edge of his console. Two days. Space was big, even the relatively small area near Earth. Worf found himself wondering what the primitive Earth would be like. All he had known was the tamed and thoroughly domesticated Earth of the 24th century. While he had complete respect for the achievements of humans, his Klingon nature sometimes rebelled at their pacifist ways. But he knew that Earth before the Federation was anything but pacifist – in some ways it was almost as warlike as his own people. He decided it would be interesting to meet some of these early humans, and perhaps they could share stories of great battles they had been in. He stood proudly and watched the ever-changing patterns of light as the great ship flew on through the inky blackness of space, towards a tiny distant blue marble that one day would be known as Earth.
.
NOTES
I probably got some details about the horses wrong, especially as regards to Racer's setup. I couldn't find anything about reins, just references to guide ropes and halters. I think JMA should add comprehensive indexes to her next books...