SHIP OF FOOLS

Chapter 21

Picard started up groggily to find both Worf and Data standing by his sofa. He sat up, pushing the blanket aside and trying to get his bearings. At least he was feeling less dazed. "Yes, gentlemen? What is it?"

"Sir," said Data, holding out a padd to him, "I cannot guarantee that this will neutralize the device completely and universally. However, I believe our best chance is to make the attempt now as something appears to be heading for our coordinates."

The captain's eyes widened. "The Cardassian ship?"

"So it would seem. The probes' sensors are degenerating, and the damage to the main computer must be taken into account as well. Someone is definitely approaching, however, and they will be arriving in rather less than seven hours."

"I see. What have you come up with?"

"A formula," replied Data. "Counselor Troi was quite correct when she told you that the device provides its user with an interface, so to speak, between the conscious and the subconscious. Once the first analysis is complete the device starts emitting electromagnetic impulses. They act on the brain's synaptic functions and the production of neurotransmitters. These in turn activate the production of stimulants and naturally occurring drugs, such as adrenaline and endorphines, among them – "

"Data, please," Picard interrupted. "I'm sure it's fascinating, but I'm not a neurospecialist. How do you fight it?"

"The substance described here should stimulate the production of certain inhibitors, thus blocking the neurotransmitters and reducing the synaptic functions. It is a crude but hopefully effective way of achieving a reversal of the device's effect on the brain. However, the substance will have to be very carefully manufactured, and for this purpose we will need sickbay after all, sir. It should then be released into the ventilation system. I have stabilized life support – it will be impossible to stop the effect once the vapor is spreading through the ship."

"I'm looking forward to reading your report on all of this. Data, is there any danger to my crew in what you are proposing?"

"There will be side-effects, Captain. The reduction of the synaptic functions will result in a general slowing down of reflexes. Convulsions and respiratory paralysis cannot be ruled out entirely, although the danger is inconsiderable from a statistical point of view. It is, however, very likely that most individuals will experience intense headaches, feelings of nausea and similar symptoms. I should also like to point out that the wearer's system will have grown used to the effects, and on experiencing a decline in the concentration of stimulants the user may well experience severe depression. The device is a highly sophisticated piece of equipment that adapts to the individual wearing it. I would have liked to match its degree of specialization, but in order to schieve this I would have needed both more time and the sickbay computer. Our response will have to be crude by necessity."

"I see," said Picard. "Data, did I get that right – we can neutralize the effects of the device that way, but we can't get rid of its potential to cause trouble?"

"That is correct, sir. After the initial reactions most of your crew will be restored to what might be called their normal state of mind, if considerably the worse for wear, to use the vernacular. It is possible that the devices once used will be incapable of adapting once again. But the decision of whether or not to try it will be up to the individual. I believe that the number of people attempting this straight away will be negligible – I gather the immediate effect of putting it on is quite unpleasant. Few people are likely to risk it when already experiencing a severe headache. In the long term, however, I cannot predict what will happen."

"I see," Picard said again. A tiny pause. "Now, as to the question of who goes down there."

"I volunteer, Captain," Worf said immediately. "Data will have to remain here to handle the ship in case I fail. He has instructed me what to do. I am not familiar with the handling of drugs." He had the grace to avoid the captain's eyes when he said it. Picard never missed a beat.

"Very well. I don't see much of an alternative," he said, getting to his feet and briefly glancing down the list of elements on the padd's screen. "Try to avoid relying on the main computer. There's a small measuring unit in the laboratory that is not connected to the main system. We'll hold the fort till then." Worf watched with narrowed eyes as the captain reached for his own phaser, ready to hand on his desk, and checked the setting. There was no sign of weariness now that a possible course of action had opened up. Picard looked up to address the intercom. "Computer, extend all command functions to Lieutenant Worf."

It chittered. "Transfer complete."

"Good luck, Lieutenant," said Picard, seemingly without noticing the near-incredulous look his Chief of Security was giving him.

Worf nodded curtly, took the small padd Picard held out to him, and in his turn checked the phaser he was wearing rather conspicuously on his hip. "Do not worry about me, Captain. They will not be prepared for this. I will shut off sickbay with forcefields, and I will not allow anybody to detain me."

"I know you won't." Once more upon the breach, my friend, once more. "Make it so," the captain said quietly.

The turbolift hesitated alarmingly as Worf stepped in and told it to take him to the Enterprise's main sickbay, but finally it started to move. He felt for his phaser again, running through the options in his mind. There were precious few of them. No matter. Extend all command functions to Lieutenant Worf, he thought, stunned and elated in equal measure. His captain had put everything – everything – into his hands without a second's hesitation. I will not fail, he thought just as the turbolift stopped.

There were people about on Deck twelve, some of whom gasped and froze on recognizing him, all of whom got out of his way. Worf ignored them. He strode into sickbay, prepared for more agitation, but the place was quieter than he had expected it to be. Quite a number of the beds in the primary ward seemed to be occupied, but there were few medical staff about, and from what he could tell they appeared busy enough. Some looked up, giving him brief and slightly nervous looks. Most barely took notice of him. These, he concluded, must be the sickbay personnel who hadn't abandoned their post. He was still looking round, trying to establish a strategy of some sort, when he heard a sound behind his back. Turning quickly, he found himself face to face with Beverly Crusher who had just emerged from the door of her office. She was looking tired he noted, tired and pinched and a little harassed, and her hair was tousled as if she had raked it back too often, with one red strand entangled in the device she still wore. She took one look at him and said: "Dear God."

"Doctor?" said Worf, momentarily taken aback.

"Come with me. Don't tell me – I don't want to know the details. It seems I have my work cut out for me."

"I do not require help. I require the sickbay computer," replied Worf, incurably honest.

"What?" said Beverly, sharply.

I will explain later, Worf thought as he drew his phaser and fired. It was set to medium stun. Beverly Crusher staggered back against the transparent wall of her office and collapsed. Worf retreated quickly into the ward and found two of the medics looking at him with tired, blankly bewildered expressions from the other end of the room. Crushing a surge of anger at an invention that reduced a Starfleet sickbay to this he walked across the room and out the back door which closed obligingly behind him.

Once past he drew a breath of relief. So far things had worked out. He could hear voices coming from the entrance to the main patient ward, and a moment later a nurse emerged. The man stopped in his tracks on noticing him, and the phaser in his hand, opened his mouth, hesitated, and then turned and vanished back to where he had come from without a word. Keeping a wary eye on the entrance, Worf said quickly: "Computer, establish forcefields to seal off this section from all corridors and all patient wards."

The ensuing delay sent a brief stab of apprehension through him, but a moment later he caught the brief glitter of the forcefields settling into place. Noting with a certain appreciation that the android had evidently stabilized computer functions, he looked round. The laboratory must be somewhere to his right. He was about to examine the nearest door when a movement caught from the corner of his eye made him whip round. From the doorway behind his back Commander Riker came striding towards him, looking both dishevelled and determined. Instinctively, Worf raised his phaser, then changed his mind, falling into a battle crouch instead.

"Worf! Wait!"

But Lieutenant Worf, the fate of his ship in his hands, didn't take any chances. He lashed out with his free hand, and the fist crashed into Riker's chin, sending him hurtling backwards a few steps before he came down, hard, on his back and lay still.

Worf stared down on Riker's unmoving form, and something in the back of his mind said succinctly: I am getting tired of this. But there was something calling for his attention now. He frowned, trying to concentrate, realizing for the first time just how tired he was. Something was not as expected. Something like...

The device.

Riker was not wearing the device.

It needn't mean anything. But then –

What had he said on turning up? Wait?

Worf threw a hasty glance back over his shoulder before he knelt by Riker's side. "Commander," he said, gripping his shoulder and shaking him slightly. "Commander!"

Riker groaned. Worf was considering getting a hypospray when the first officer opened his eyes, looking up at him blearily. "What the hell – " he croaked. There was a trickle of blood in the corner of his mouth.

"I have no time to explain. Get up." He gripped Riker's arm as he spoke, hoisting him up. Riker groaned again as he staggered to his feet, groping for support. "What the hell d'you mean by it, Worf? What are you doing down here? Christ, you're looking a mess."

Worf frowned, momentarily distracted. "I am not – " he began, indignantly, and then he happened to look down, noticing the copious amounts of dried blood on his tunic and sash and the tangled strands of hair hanging about his shoulders. The reactions of his fellow crew members were beginning to make some sense. He straightened, more indignant than before. "What are you doing here, Commander?"

"Getting a minute's rest, for what it's worth. I've a headache that's – "

"What happened to your device?" Worf demanded.

"Left it in my quarters, and good riddance. Look, I must see the captain – now."

Worf's eyes narrowed. "You left it in your quarters?"

"Yes, Worf, I did," said Riker sharply. "I'm sick of the damn thing. You were right about it, and the captain was right about it, and if it's all right with you, I'd like to speak with him."

"Later." Worf looked round for the laboratory door, spotted it, and strode purposefully through. There was a small console in one corner, with mountings for a number of containers. He crossed the distance in three or four strides, looked it over and gave the activate button a jab. The thing sprang to life, flashing empty panels underneath each mounting. Worf gave an involuntary sigh of relief. From behind his shoulder Riker snapped: "What's that supposed to mean? Look, this ship's in a – "

"Commander." Worf pivoted. "We must produce the substance decribed here and distribute it over the ventilation system. It will counteract the device. I do not have the time to answer questions. I need your help now."

"Hasn't taken you long to get used to acting first officer, has it?" Riker shot back.

There was a moment's silence. Then Worf straightened. "My apologies, Commander. I was out of line."

"Oh, Christ," said Riker, massaging his chin. "Forget it. I asked for it. But as of right now you'll count me in, got it? I take it Data's come up with this. What's the situation?"

"I do not know," Worf replied tensely. "The captain is not well, and – "

"Why?" Riker asked sharply.

"Phaser wounds." There really was no time to go into lengthy explanations now. Worf could feel Riker's shocked glance, and then a mounting rage. "Who did that?"

"I will tell you later. There is a ship approaching."

"Damn. Let's have a look at this. Right, Worf, you go and get all this stuff – it should be over there somewhere. Meanwhile I'll try and sort out this unit. Unless, of course, you've a better idea."

Worf gave him one eloquent look before turning on his heel and heading for the storeroom Riker had indicated. The first officer rubbed his temples, grimaced, and bent over the unit. Now let's just hope this thing works the way I think it works. Looks like this is where you enter your quantities and that's where you tell it –

From the adjoining room he heard the crash of canisters and a snarl of frustration. "Worf!" he called out. "Don't ruin the place, man!" With a sigh of relief he saw the specifics coming up on the little console. Vapor. Application: Shipwide. Excepting the bridge. Riker pressed more buttons. Wasn't this how Doctor Crusher had occasionally effected a hyronalin treatment? What was Worf doing in there, anyway?

Worf appeared about two minutes later, carrying a number of small containers on a tray. "Some of these required a senior officer's authorization," he explained, putting the tray down. Riker extended his hand for the first container.

"You locked that cabinet again, I suppose?"

"I... secured it," said Worf, and Riker correctly concluded that there hadn't been much of a lock left on it.

"I just hope this'll work. There, you can pass me the next one."

"I hope so too," Worf replied pointedly. "This is a curare derivative."

Riker stared. "How do you know?"

"It is my duty to be informed about substances as dangerous as this."

"Great," muttered Riker, gingerly fitting the container in place. "Isn't there some function built into this thing that'll tell you when a procedure is not recommended? Next one."

Sweat was beading the first officer's forehead when he slammed the last container into its mountings, and transferred the quantities from the padd to the console. "There. Activate. That's it. Now let's just get out of here – if this doesn't work I'd like to be on the bridge when we find out."

"I will secure this room first."

Riker nodded briefly. "Right, just in case."

The turbolift caused no difficulties once Worf had instructed it curtly to grant the first officer access to the bridge. Riker didn't offer a comment on the Klingon's use of the command functions, or at least none beyond one long look. "Data may have found the malfunction," Worf said matter-of-factly when the car began to move without delay. Then the door swished open. Riker took one step through it and froze.

"Don't move, Will," said a familiar and very calm voice, and the first officer found himself looking, incredulously, into his captain's steady eyes over the emitter of a phaser aimed straight at his chest.

He just stood there for a couple of seconds, looking blank. Then the rest of the captain's appearance struck home. Picard was white as chalk, with deep shadows under his eyes and a shadow of stubble covering his chin and cheeks, and the lines in his face looked harsher than usual. As he took him in Riker noticed the cut on his temple, and the scarred patch on the chest of his uniform tunic, and a moment later the discolored stains and streaks on the side. Dried blood, he thought, disbelievingly. "Captain – "

"It's nothing, Will." Picard had evidently noticed what he was staring at. "It's – " He hesitated, by all appearances slightly embarrassed. "Actually, it's not my blood."

Riker swallowed. "Sir, are you sure you – "

A moment later he jumped as Data's voice said, almost at his elbow: "He is not carrying a weapon, sir," and after another second's scrutiny Picard lowered the phaser. Riker drew a deep breath and started again. "Sir, for Heaven's – "

"The commander joined me in sickbay, Captain," said Worf, appearing behind Riker and gently shoving him out of the way in order to leave the turbolift himself. As the Klingon walked past him, Riker caught a very softly muttered "I am getting tired of this."

"You are getting tired of this?" blurted Riker. "When you were the one who socked – " Then, all of a sudden, his eyes narrowed, intrigued. "Hey," he demanded abruptly, "who broke your nose?"

Worf froze in his tracks. Riker had an impression that he was rapidly running through the possible answers, but before he could press the issue the captain interposed: "I'm sorry for the... added precautions, Will. We had some problems up here – somebody tried to get in from the deck below a few minutes ago, and we didn't quite know what to expect. – So you finished your job, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, Captain. The substance should be spreading over the ventilation system now."

Picard gave him a tiny nod, and Worf stalked back to his station, head held higher than usual if possible.

"In that case," Data chimed in, "we can expect to be contacted by some department or other in approximately fifteen minutes."

"Just how bad will it be, Data?" asked Picard.

"Most will be functional, Captain," replied Data, matter-of-factly. Picard sighed.

"That's really all I'm hoping for at the moment... What about the probes?"

"Readings are steadying. Unless there is some malfunction I have not yet discovered the approaching vessel should enter the nebula in about four hours."

"Any details yet?"

"No, sir. The readings from the probes are not sufficiently specific, the probes themselves being impaired by the chemical composition of the nebula."

Picard nodded quietly, and sat down in the center seat. Riker stood there for a moment, hesitating; then he dropped into the chair to the captain's right, wincing as the sudden jolt set off a stab of pain behind his temples. "Captain," he began rather formally.

"Yes, Number One?"

"I'd like to apologize for my behavior. Out of line doesn't exactly cover it. I've been acting in a way I can barely believe now – with regard to my duties, but also towards you, sir. Of course I'm aware there'll be consequences of some sort, and there should be, but before we even get into that I'd like you to know – "

"Will, please," interrupted Picard, wincing a little in his turn. "Yes, there'll be questions. But for one, those questions will have to be put to quite a number of people, not just to you. For another, while I tend to agree with you on the out of line aspect I am quite aware that you did what you believed to be best for the ship, and I'm not going to lose sight of that. And finally," he finished, "before we start on the soul-searching, let's just get this mission over with, shall we?"

"Of course." Riker hesitated, a little shamed by this absolution. "Thank you, sir."

"What made you change your opinion about that thing, anyway?" Picard asked before he could pursue the subject any further. Riker grimaced.

"It... Tell you the truth, sir, it's... well, it's damn embarrassing. And as you just said, I'll have to answer a lot of questions at some stage anyway, including this one I suppose, so perhaps, if you don't mind, sir..."

"But I do mind," the captain said quietly.

Riker turned his head to look at him, and gave a brief nod. "Yes, sir. Fair enough. Well... let's just say that sometimes you don't see things because they're just too obvious. Or at least don't appreciate them – until it's rather late in the day."

Picard nodded, for all the world as if that rather cryptic explanation had made sense to him, thought Riker. The first officer grinned suddenly. "Also, some means can't be justified by any end whatsoever. Now there's one for you, sir."

"I did ask," muttered the captain.

"So you did." There was a brief pause. Riker frowned; then he said a little abruptly: "With all due respect, sir, you're looking absolutely fagged. Won't you get some rest? I can handle things here."

"Don't you start, Will," sighed Picard. "Obviously I can't – "

"Shields are up, Captain!" Worf's voice cut in from above, sounding as close to triumph as either man had ever heard him. "Seventy-six percent... eighty-one. Saucer dorsal phaser array on-line again. Aft photon torpedo launcher operative. Shields at eighty-four percent now."

"Worf," said Picard, turning to look up at his Tactical officer, "is that what you've been doing for the last ten minutes?"

"Yes, sir," Worf replied modestly. "Data being intent on monitoring intraship – "

"For Heaven's sake," began Picard, but the chitter of the intercom interrupted him. "Sickbay to bridge."

Mechanically the captain hit his communicator. "Bridge. Picard here."

"This is Lieutenant Selar. My apologies, Captain, but may I ask... may I ask whether the situation is normal up there? We are having some... difficulties... to cope with here, and I am not entirely sure whether the same applies to the bridge."

"I can well imagine that, Lieutenant, but yes, things are normal here."

The voice sounded a little hesitant. "Captain, might I ask you to specify?"

"Normal as in pre-device," the captain replied crisply.

"I understand. Thank you, sir, I am quite relieved. Sickbay out."

"Vulcans!" snorted Riker. "I bet she's feeling it less than anybody else. That Doctor Maruk was Vulcan, wasn't he? I'd like to have a word with him. My head still feels like some sort of sponge for all Dr. Crusher's medical aid."

"I'll have a word with him first, if you don't mind, Number One. Data, can we restore Yellow Alert conditions now? And what would we have to expect if anybody was to go down to Engineering or sickbay now?"

"I would recommend waiting another ten minutes before attempting either, Captain," Data replied from behind. "As Commander Riker has indicated, the Vulcans among the crew are probably among the first to recover. We should give others time to get their bearings. There is ample time, sir."

"If you say so," said Picard, settling back in his chair again.

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