Chapter Five.

RIKER WAS HAVING a drink with Baldwin in Ten Forward when the call came through from La Forge. They sat on the highest level, the one farthest from the bar, and Baldwin was staring out the window at the rainbow streaks of stars falling toward them.

Riker sipped his transporter, a silver drink whose shimmering bubbles gave it its name. He said, "You must have formed some conclusions about the Tantamon Four natives, having been there for six months."

"Am I still on company time?" Baldwin said without turning his head.

"Sorry," said Riker, obviously a little miffed. "I was just making conversation."

Baldwin looked at him and smiled. "That's okay. I don't really mind. Exology is my life."

"You don't sound serious."

They both watched a pretty yeoman cross the room and sit down at a table with a friend.

"I almost never do. A playful att.i.tude protects me from the stuff that really bothers me."

The pretty yeoman laughed. Light caught in her blond hair glowed.

When Riker looked back at him, Baldwin was frowning. "Thinking about Mont?" Riker said.

"I guess I was, at that. I was thinking that it's funny how you can make enemies without even half trying."

Riker nodded and looked out the window.

"Commander Riker?"

Riker touched his insignia and said, "Riker here. What is it, La Forge?"

"I have a strange power fluctuation on holodeck three. Nothing to worry about, but I thought you should know."

"Strange how?"

"It looks like signal interference, but that's not possible. Nothing on board broadcasts a signal of that type."

"The captain's using holodeck three with Data and Wesley. Is there any danger?"

"Not at the moment. But if it gets much worse, the simulation they're using will start to break up. They may suffer some disorientation."

"Let me know if the situation changes."

"Aye, sir. La Forge out."

Baldwin said, "One d.a.m.n thing after another, eh, Commander?"

"Sometimes I think certain people attract trouble."

Baldwin raised his gla.s.s and said, "Here's to the heroes."

Riker smiled and joined him in the toast.

Picard led Data and Wesley through the holodeck exit into a corridor of what looked like the Enterprise. Once again they were ambushed by Boogeymen. Picard was not gentle fighting them off. Even if they had been real and not just holodeck fever dreams, he would not have been gentle. They had adequately demonstrated their hostility. And Picard, though a man of peace, was also n.o.body's fool.

Data was handling his Boogeyman with his usual elan, and even Wesley, who was understandably disturbed and intimidated by his creations, seemed to be holding his own. While gripping his Boogeyman in a headlock, Picard shouted, "Exit holodeck."

A holodeck exit opened before him. He, Data, and Wesley pushed the Boogeymen aside and leapt through. The doors slammed behind them with a satisfying bang, locking in-out?-the Boogeymen.

They stood just outside the holodeck. A few feet away was the cross corridor from which the Boogeymen usually attacked. Picard said, "Exit holodeck," and another doorway opened before them. They stepped through and found themselves in a place very much like the one they'd left. Picard said, "Exit holodeck," and they stepped through again. Hoping that the computer would just give up and allow them to exit for good and all, Picard called for the exit again. And again. He lost count of the number of times he and his companions walked through an exit to find themselves where they'd started. They developed a rhythm. Walking the same six feet over and over again was, in its bizarre way, intoxicating. But eventually it just seemed pointless.

As they stood resting in front of a holodeck door, Data said, "I fear your actions will be fruitless, Captain."

Picard smiled grimly and said, "Are you about to remind me that computers never tire or get bored?"

Data looked a little surprised. "Yes, Captain. I was."

"At least we're getting our exercise," Wesley said.

Picard knew that Wesley was responsible for their predicament, but he did not hold that against him. Not every experiment could be a success. Picard was certain that having to confront one's childhood fears over and over again could not be easy, but Wesley seemed to be making the best of it. He would log the exemplary performance of both Ensign Crusher and Commander Data. He contemplated the s.p.a.ce around them, so familiar, and yet as alien as the backside of Borgus.

"You're right, of course, Mr. Data. And yet, waiting here seems no more constructive than walking through the same door over and over again. We are, as Mr. Crusher points out, at least getting our exercise."

Data was about to reply when his eyebrows went up. Picard had never seen him so surprised, and in fact hadn't known that he was capable of showing such a strong reaction. Picard followed his gaze and the gaze of Wesley Crusher and suddenly was at least as surprised as either of them.

Standing at the intersection of the corridors was a tall, slim woman with short blond hair. She wore a Starfleet uniform. It was Tasha Yar, chief of security aboard Enterprise before her death at the metaphorical hands-the thing had no actual hands-of an amorphous tarry monster that called itself Armus.

"Tasha," Data said quietly. It was an open secret that Yar and Data had been very close under peculiar circ.u.mstances, causing much speculation-some of it less scientific than vulgar. Data claimed that, being a machine, he had no emotions. Evidently his circuits were working overtime simulating them. He looked bewildered, but pleasantly so, like a man surprised by a birthday party thrown in his honor.

Lieutenant Yar was-had been-a serious woman, but at the moment, the small nervous movements of her lips meant that she was trying not to smile.

Picard was aware-as Data and Mr. Crusher certainly must have been-that the Yar before them was a hologram, no more real than the Boogeymen. Still, the effect was startling, and wishful thinking made it necessary for Picard to continually remind himself that she wasn't real. Crusher looked at Picard for a clue as to how to act.

From the side of his mouth, Picard said, "The Boogeymen may have made their first mistake. If this Lieutenant Yar is as sympathetic as the real one would have been under these circ.u.mstances, we may have found our way into the main computer and from there a way out."

"I believe you are correct, Captain," Data said. "I will attempt to speak with her. It. Her." He walked forward and stood within easy reach of her. "It is good to see you again, Lieutenant."

Yar said, "Good to see you, too. Still fully functional?"

"Of course."

This time Yar allowed herself a smile. It was as radiant as the smile of the original. Wesley whispered, "Hard to believe she's not real."

Picard nodded and raised a hand for silence.

Data said, "If you are a fabrication of the holodeck computer, you certainly know our problem."

"Of course."

"And perhaps a solution?"

"Of course. If you, Captain Crusher, and Mr. Picard will follow me, I'll show it to you."

Data glanced back and Picard nodded. Softly, he said, "Look sharp, everyone. This may be a trap." Yar and Data set off down the hall together with Picard and Wesley following.

As they walked, Wesley said, "Sorry about that 'captain' stuff, sir."

Picard said, "If everything and everybody on the holodeck thinks this is the real Enterprise and that you are the captain, perhaps the misdirection will work in our favor."

Something fell onto Picard like a bag full of rocks. It knocked him off his feet, and in a moment a man was bending over him with his hands around Picard's throat.

Ninja, Picard thought with the calm part of his mind. Must have been hanging from the ceiling like a spider. The attacker's ill-fitting outfit, including a hood and a swatch across his mouth, was the same neutral brown in which much of the ship was decorated. While he thought this, Picard grabbed the cloth covering the ninja's stomach with both hands and rolled backward, slamming the ninja's head into the deck, knocking him out. While watching the ninja for signs of returning consciousness, Picard leapt to his feet and cried, "Exit holodeck!"

With clever use of his fists and legs, Data had knocked his own ninja to the deck, and Wesley was poking his ninja in the face with the outstretched fingers of one hand while he punched with the other.

Picard hustled them through the exit and looked back briefly. Yar stood among the three unconscious ninjas and gave him a mock salute. The holodeck door hissed closed. "Nightmares about ninjas, Mr. Crusher?" Picard asked.

"No, sir. Maybe the Boogeymen just pulled them out of the memory bank because ninjas are good fighters."

Picard nodded. Wesley's explanation might even be correct. When the captain turned, he saw that Data was still looking at the holodeck door.

Picard said, "That wasn't really Lieutenant Yar."

"I know," said Data. "Still, it does seem a shame that an image that looks so much like her would be so deceitful."

"Captain," said Wesley, "where are we?"

Picard and Data stopped staring glumly at the door and took note of their surroundings. They were certainly no longer aboard the Enterprise, not even a holodeck version. They were in a small office whose walls were covered with faded flowered paper. Over a battered green filing cabinet hung a calendar featuring a flat photograph of a running horse. A very old wooden desk stood in front of an even older swivel chair. From the window near the desk they could look down onto a noisy street crowded with vehicles powered by internal combustion engines. Across from the desk, on a threadbare rug, stood a wooden armchair that had been loved too little, and beyond that was a door inset with a big pebbled-gla.s.s window. From behind the door came the sound of uncertain typing. The warm air smelled of cooking grease and incompletely burned fossil fuel.

Picard knew exactly where they were. They were in the office of a private investigator, a shamus, a gum-shoe, a hard-boiled detective. They were also in a bad situation, so Picard tried not to enjoy being where he was. He tried and failed dismally. The Boogeymen and the holodeck computer, for reasons of their own, had put him and Data and Wesley right in the middle of one of his favorite fantasies.

Picard said, "We're in the office of Dixon Hill."

"Who?" Wesley said.

"A mid-twentieth century detective," Picard said. "In business for himself. A white knight who walks the mean streets to protect the innocent and ferret out the guilty."

While he explained, Picard strolled to the filing cabinet and took a brown fedora from the top drawer. He put it on and adjusted it in a mirror over a tiny washstand. He put on the trench coat that hung from the hat rack.

"And," said Data, "a character who is entirely fictional."

"No more or less fictional than Sherlock Holmes."

"Point well taken, sir," said Data as he nodded.

Someone knocked on the door. Picard glanced at the other two. The swivel chair complained bitterly as he sat down behind his desk; Data and Wesley took up positions on either side of him. "Come in," Picard said.

A tall, slim woman came in and leaned against the door she'd just closed. Her dress was made of a loud floral print and was tight as the skin of a peach. Her hairstyle was a frothy thing Picard did not recognize but was probably right for Dixon Hill's era. She said, "A woman is here to see you."

"A customer?" Picard said.

"Probably. She's a looker. You'll want to see her alone." The woman glanced meaningfully at Data and Wesley.

"Don't worry about that," said Picard. "Shoo her in, Effie. Shoo her in."

The moment they were alone, Data said, "Is it wise to get involved in a holodeck scenario at this time, sir?"

Earnestly, Picard said, "The Boogeymen are presenting this to us for a reason. Finding out what it is will certainly tell us something."

"It might be another trap," Wesley said.

Picard heard Wesley's intake of breath, and when he looked toward the door, Picard could not help making the same noise.

Posed in the frame of the doorway was one of the most striking women Picard had ever seen. She rivaled even the women of his student days in Paris. The fact that she made Effie look like a boy was no insult to either of them.

She was a redhead to make a priest think twice. Her high-heeled green shoes matched her tailored suit and brought out the color of her eyes. Her mouth was red and inviting. After long study, Picard noted that her stockings were very sheer indeed. Under her arm was a chocolate brown purse large enough to hold the evening papers, and on her head was a green hat that looked as if it had been folded from a desk blotter. Her teardrop earrings might have been dipped from the ocean on a clear day.

The woman said, "Mr. Hill?"

Picard's impulse was to leap up and help the woman into the customer's chair, but that wouldn't have been the detective way. He said, "Who's asking?"

The woman managed to get into the customer's chair all by herself. She crossed her astonishing legs, leaned toward him, and said, "My name is Rhonda Howe, and I am in very big trouble."

"It's a good day for it, Miss Howe," Picard said.

Rhonda Howe glanced at Data and Wesley and said, "I thought you worked alone."

"This is as alone as it gets. Tell me about your problem."

"Very well." Picard enjoyed watching her get comfortable in the chair. She said, "I'm being hara.s.sed by some rather unpleasant men. They are all short and wear dark clothing. They have lots of s.h.a.ggy hair, and I think they have horns."

"Horns?"

"It's hard to tell with all that hair."

"Of course," Picard said. "Why not call the police?"

"The Howe family insists on privacy and gets it."

"Have you offered money to these unpleasant men?" Picard said.

He didn't think it was possible to make Rhonda Howe blush, but she blushed then like a sunrise in the Adirondacks. "I don't think it's money they're interested in."

Picard thought of a few clever rejoinders for that, but under the trench coat and fedora he was still a starship captain, and starship captains did not make certain kinds of jokes under any circ.u.mstances.

Picard stood up and ushered Rhonda Howe to the door. "It'll be just a few minutes while I discuss this with my operatives." He closed the door and, with his hand still on the k.n.o.b, let out a sigh.

"Wow," said Wesley softly.