Absence maintained the treasure Of pleasure unto pleasure, Sparing with praise; Absence doth nurse the fire, Which starves and feeds desire With sweet delays.

He'd heard it read once before. Once. And hadn't thought of it since. Listened to and forgotten; his brain caught up with the girl and her voice and not the poem, yet now he remembered and reexperienced every word, every syllable, every nuance. The meanings of the words together, their meanings separately, even the music of the letters. The whole poem. Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke-Caelica, wasn't it? When had he picked up so much literary awareness? Certainly he had paid little attention in that cla.s.s he signed up for, especially since he only signed up for it so he could walk Laura there every other day. Ah, young men. Young women.

This experience was enthralling too, this complete freedom of his mind to explore and remember and examine the things he'd seen in his life. Old experiences that he thought had faded came charging back in full light. Once again, and one at a time, he became intimate with his own memories, all the pasts a man his age could accrue. It wasn't a bad-looking past at all, really, dismissing a few knocks, stumbles, and burned fingers along the way.

After the past was enjoyed, something in it reminded him of quantum physics and away he went on that fast ship through all the science and math he'd ever been taught or figured out or even watched being figured by someone else. It all seemed so simple now! Equation after theory after hypothesis after experiment-stunning and dazzling, all the compartments his mind had closed and kept treasured all these years. Dead relatives, missing comrades, absent friends, friends who also died, one after another they came to visit him in his silent place here and he reexperienced them, from pleasure to pain, and he felt himself cry. Or thought he did ... Where were his eyes? Where were his tears? Why couldn't he feel the tears on his cheeks?

How long have I been here? In fact, where am I?

Oh, yes. The ship. I should have Riker try this. It's exhilarating, seductive ... having no distractions, no clock to answer to, nothing to concern my mind other than its own thoughts, not even an itch to rupture my attention. Though it would be rea.s.suring if I could just wiggle my toes ...

How will I know if the ship needs me? We could be blasted out of s.p.a.ce and I'd never know. No ... Riker would have me brought out if I was needed. What is this strange irrationality?

Were those birds? He'd heard that kind of birdsong once before ... Canis IV? Yes, of course. The fluffy birds with the silly faces. They made a pretty song. Perhaps he'd just hang here and listen for a while.

Something about Canis IV-a long time ago.

No. No, I don't want to remember that. No ...

Riker paced the bridge, eyeing the deceptive emptiness of s.p.a.ce on the huge viewscreen. The bridge was reduced to nightclub dimness. The walls and carpet, usually the color of sand and camels, were dark now and Riker felt like he was walking around inside a cup of espresso. The shiny black computer panels and liquid crystal schematics of the ship's operating systems were reduced from their usual foam greens and blues to muddy and muted patterns. With the lights down and the displays subdued, the broad viewscreen jumped to shocking prominence. Suddenly they were players on a proscenium and everything they did was crucial. The level of their voices, the sheen of sweat on their skin, the sequence of their movements. Everything was magnified. And before them, s.p.a.ce was their audience.

As empty as s.p.a.ce was, and as cold as it was, it never quite looked that way. There were always stars to twinkle their pastel lights and broad nebulas to shimmer in the distance, but it was hard for the human mind to accept the wholeness of that distance, so everything looked much fuller than it was. He often liked to watch s.p.a.ce go by, but today it gave him no comfort. Today there was a rat behind the woodwork. Still out there. Hiding behind all that nothing. Riker knotted his fists and dared it to come out.

"Lieutenant Worf, anything further from life sciences or engineering on that thing?"

Worf's huge frame straightened from Science Station 2. "We're trying to lock down the individual components of its exostructure now, sir, using the postulation of interdimensionality as a guide. Don't worry, sir. We'll figure it out if I have to slice off a piece of it and beat it to death for an autopsy."

Riker nodded, but he couldn't manage the smile that would've shown his real grat.i.tude. Nearly fourteen hours now, hanging here in silence and dimness. He'd never been much of a wait-around type, and this kind of tension was mutilating. How often had they told him at the Academy that battle was nine-tenths waiting? Waiting, planning, a.n.a.lyzing, waiting. Deadly. Sometimes deadlier than the battle itself. It made for recklessness.

He wished the captain was here. This business of isolation, sensory deprivation, sounded risky. Never mind time-consuming when time was one thing they might not have. Then again, I'm the one pacing around with nothing to do. The captain's probably getting something accomplished while I wear a rut in the rug.

He found he'd worked his way up to Worf's station. Riker leaned over the muted display, keeping his voice low. "No clues about some way to fight that thing off, Worf?"

"As a matter of fact, sir," Worf's deep voice returned clearly, "we've brought it down to a question of its tolerance level."

"Tolerance?"

"Yes, sir. How much energy it can take in at a given time. We think that's why it backed off us before." Worf's big brown fingers poked in a few commands, and the faint jade image of the Enterprise was enhanced. Specific areas on the display then quietly flashed. "These were the areas most affected by the drain. We're trying to narrow down its power consumption at the moment it backed off. If we can calculate the amount of energy drained from the ship up to the point when the ent.i.ty backed off, we may be able to calculate its breaking point."

Riker straightened. "Boy, that sounds shaky. You're proposing we overfeed it to overload it"

"That's the conclusion so far, sir. We're keeping our minds open for alternatives, but it likes the taste of energy and the phasers-"

"I know. All right, keep going. I'd like a couple of choices to present to the captain when he comes out of his experiment, and exhausting all the ship's power trying to stuff that thing till it pops isn't my favorite. That leaves us with no second chance."

"Understood, sir." Worf made no ceremony about turning his fierce countenance back to his console once again, his dogged perseverance taking over completely. Riker watched him for a moment, taking refuge in the fact that Worf was ignoring him. He wished all his crew could be so unaffected by the presence of an officer at his shoulder. Even Data wasn't this imperturbable. Not with me, anyway. But I guess I make him nervous.

All at once he turned. "Where is Data? Still down in AR?"

Worf looked puzzled as he said, "Now that you mention it, sir, we haven't heard from either him or LaForge since they cleared us to refill the mains. They were monitoring from the source."

"Doesn't take this long. Get them back up here."

"Right away, sir."

"Worf, how do you feel about all this? What are your instincts telling you?"

"My instincts, sir?" The big man came to his full height and frowned in thought. "The captain never asks me about tactics, sir."

"Well, I'm asking."

"Klingons are warriors, sir. Our goal is to die in battle. Some Klingons have even made wars and feuds begin so they and their clans could go out and die right. But this thing," he said contemptuously, casting a glare at the wide viewscreen and its glitter, "this thing is a coward and a bully. There is no honor in fighting it."

"You wouldn't feel obliged to fight it if you could find a way to escape it?"

"No more than I would feel obliged to fight a thunderstorm, sir."

"I see," Riker murmured. "Thank you."

"My pleasure, sir."

His pleasure sounded like a threat. What a voice. Glad it's on our side, Riker thought as he strode away, trying to think like a Klingon. Coward and a bully. Yes, that was true. A big stupid phenomenon with more power than it knew how to handle and a propensity for stealing more. It probably thought preserving the life essences of its victims was the decent thing to do. If it thought at all, which it probably didn't. Or did it? Data had been in contact with something, and evidently not the same something Deanna was sensing. Maybe there was more intelligence at work than was apparent-It didn't matter. Getting away mattered. Not falling into the trap mattered. Riker remembered too clearly the anguish in Arkady Reykov's eyes when the two had "met" in the corridor. Met-if only they could. Envy pierced him suddenly and he wished he could crawl into Deanna's mind and have a conversation with Reykov and Va.s.ska. What would it be like? To contact men of that age? Such a fascinating part of history, that brink of the great plunge into the s.p.a.ce age-what a time it must have been. They could build ships like that and float them on top of the water and put five thousand people inside. Wouldn't it be interesting to speak to Timofei Va.s.ska and compare first-officer notes? What did Va.s.ska have to know? Things about the sea and atmosphere that probably seldom occurred to captains and officers these days. And all the political tumults of a civilization like Earth's-what an experience it would be to understand the thoughts of such people as they must have been. They'd have to be decisive and quick. Their opinions were probably right up front all the time, no disguises, no shady diplomacy. And here they were, within reach. Asking for help, in fact, according to Deanna. Part of the brotherhood of big ships.

All at once, guilt entered his thoughts. How sure could he be of his own convictions? What had Reykov tried to convey to him when they met in the corridor? What had that extended hand meant? Riker knew he'd hurt Deanna with his arguments. He remembered how her face had grown pale, her eyes sad as she looked at him during those moments. Arguing with Crusher was easy enough. Doctors were used to that, and Beverly was so low-key her heart only beat once a day. But Deanna had never really known what to do with confrontation. It wasn't part of her nature. He'd hit her when she was down.

He approached the command chair and touched the intercom. Quietly he asked, "Tell me where Counselor Troi is now."

The computer's response was immediate and conspicuous on the quiet bridge. "Counselor Troi is in sickbay lab isolation area, unit four."

"Still? How long are they going to let this go on?" he muttered, clasping his hands behind his back.

"More information is required to answer your inquiry, please."

"I didn't mean you. Cancel."

"Thank you."

"Pain in the a.s.s," he grumbled back at its sugary female voice, and strode forward away from it.

Something had to work. So far, nothing had, but something would have to. Separating the ship had only gotten them into bigger trouble. Increasing power to the shields had only attracted and fed the creature. Phaser power would probably do the same, albeit with a different kind of energy. There had to be some weapon to devise, something, some idea in Starfleet's new technology that could get them out of this. It was here, that idea, Riker made himself believe. All they had to do was find it. Except ... all the cards were in the deck. They didn't have enough information about the enemy.

He turned expectantly and looked at Worf's hunched shoulders as the Klingon bent resolutely over the science station.

Riker sighed, and paced.

Going to s.p.a.ce on a ship like this ... it was easy to get smug, to figure the deck was solid and the ship was impregnable. Easy to become imperious about mortality. And when the wisdom of the age put children on board-well ... safe, right?

"Sir!"

He spun, dragged around both by the alarm and the accusation in the voice that stormed the bridge. On the upper deck, LaForge was charging out of the turbolift.

"Where've you been?" Riker demanded. Then LaForge's appearance registered-little electrical burns on his sleeves, his dark features glossy with sweat, and even behind the visor anger showing clearly in his face. Riker paused and redesigned his question. "What happened to you?"

"Data locked me in the AR decontamination stall and shorted out the safety shield. It took me this long to tear the wall apart and get out," LaForge panted. "Mr. Riker, he's gone."

"Gone?" Riker blurted. "Where?"

"He took a shuttlecraft and headed out to find the creature. And it's your fault, sir."

"He took-are you sure?"

"I was just down at the flight deck. The autolog in the deck control loft says he left over half an hour ago."

"Worf! Check that!"

"Won't do any good," LaForge said. "He bypa.s.sed all the relays that would've notified the bridge. He knows all the tricks, sir. You know he does."

"Worf, try to track him," Riker amended as he climbed the ramp in three long steps and confronted LaForge. "You got any idea what his thinking is on this?"

LaForge said, "He's hoping to be able to communicate with that thing if he can get closer to it."

"And?"

"Why would there be anything else, Mr. Riker?"

"Come on, LaForge, I see it in your face. What else?"

"Just a little thing, sir. Because you've been so nice to him, he's gone to find out if he's alive enough for the creature to suck the life out of him."

The bridge shrank away. Riker's eyes tightened until they were aching. He brought a hand to them and leaned the other palm on the bridge rail. "Oh, no," he groaned. "Oh, d.a.m.n ... who knew he'd be that sensitive?"

"Did he have to be?" LaForge shot back.

"d.a.m.n," he murmured again, this time a whisper. "Worf, anything on that shuttlecraft?"

"Sensors on pa.s.sive aren't picking up anything at all, sir. I don't understand. Even pa.s.sive read should pick up something the size of a shuttlecraft."

Riker gestured toward Worf, but looked at LaForge and asked, "Got an explanation for that?"

LaForge shrugged. "Data's not stupid, sir. He probably rigged a sensor shield of some kind to give him time to get away before we could beam him back or hit him with a tractor beam. We could pick him up right away on active sensors, but pa.s.sives aren't powerful enough and Data knows we don't dare use them."

"Does he have a plan?"

"Not that he told me. He intends to attract its attention, that's all I know."

"Worf, can he do it in a shuttlecraft?"

The Klingon paused, then said, "No problem, sir. All he'd have to do is use the weapons on board."

Pacing away from them, Riker folded his arms tightly, gathering to deal with a problem he himself had caused. "He didn't have to do this...."

"Thanks to you, he thought he did," LaForge said.

Riker struck him with a glare and snapped, "That's enough from you. I know what I did. Have you got something constructive to say?"

LaForge straightened-almost to attention, but not quite-and got suddenly formal. "Yes, sir. Request permission to take another shuttlecraft and go after him. I believe that would put only the two of us at risk and not attract attention to the Enterprise."

"And do what when you find him? Dock up and slap his wrist?"

"I could relay coordinates, and you could beam us both back simultaneously."

Riker paused, and the sarcasm protecting him from his own mistake suddenly flooded away. "That's a good idea," he heard himself say, even though he hadn't meant to say it aloud. He strode back to LaForge and said, "But you shouldn't be the one to go. I'm the cause of this. I'm the reason he's risking his life, and I'm going after him."

"You, sir? You said he was just a machine. That he doesn't have a life to risk."

Stifling the desire to reach out and crush those words out of the air, Riker gazed at LaForge so intently he could almost see through the ribbed silver visor and through the dead eyes to the very core of LaForge's concern for Data. He took a step closer to the navigator and said, "Geordi, n.o.body needs to be that wrong more than once."

Stiffly LaForge insisted, "How do you know you were wrong?"

But the answer to the challenge was already there on Riker's face, and he even had the words for it. "Machines don't go beyond their programming. No machine has ever sacrificed itself to save others," he said. "Data just did both."

LaForge's stiff posture slackened as he heard Riker's whole-hearted belief and saw the subtle physiological changes that showed him the first officer was sincere. Even through his anger, he couldn't doubt his own vision. "Sir, I don't know if he'll listen to you. You know what I mean."

Softly Riker responded, "I'll make him listen." He started toward the turbolift, then whirled and snapped his fingers. "Notify Dr. Crusher to get the captain out of isolation, stabilize him, and fill him in on this. But give me time to get clear of the ship first."

LaForge took a tentative step toward him. "Sir, could I-"

"No," Riker said. "You stay here. In fact," he added with a gesture that took in the bridge, "take over."

The bad memories were piling one on top of the other like an avalanche and there was nothing to stop them. Nothing to distract his mind from them or give him something, anything to cling to. Not an itch, not a blink, nothing. He could no longer focus his thoughts voluntarily. His mind moved of its own accord. The more he tried not to think of certain things, the quicker his mind shot to them and lingered there. There was no longer any way to avoid thoughts or deflect the process. After the good memories had been relived, his mind went deeper and deeper into the past he had long ago learned to control; all the terrible things from childhood and even from his adult past came plunging back at him and there was no stopping it. His mind was a wide field on which all these things were wild birds pecking.

Why was he being left in here so long? Why had he been forgotten here?

If only he could wiggle his toes. His fingers. Anything. To feel his own presence would be something, at least-at the very least. To hear himself breathe ... it was all gone. His sense of time was utterly gone, no matter how he tried to keep control, to keep track. The mind worked at something like twenty-four thousand words per minute, so it probably seemed longer than it had been-but how long? If he could blink, he could begin to judge time again. If he could draw a breath or move a finger, he would have some point of reference. If there was only something, some sense of time or life ... breathing, heartbeat, anything. It was difficult now to tell if he was awake or asleep, or even to know the difference. No matter how he kept reminding himself of where he was and why he was here, any sense of purpose slid away almost instantly now. Thoughts could no longer take hold in his mind. Then the distortion set in. Doomed to the redundancy of his own thoughts, he felt the horror of the future. Even pain would be welcome.

They've forgotten me. They've forgotten I'm here. But where is here? I'm not sure anymore. Do they know they've left me behind? Have they stopped monitoring? Did they forget having a captain named Picard? Wasn't there an ent.i.ty?

Riker wanted to leave the area, not attack the creature ... Has he used this opportunity to do that?

Ridiculous.

But what other explanation?

That thing's out there. It must have attacked again. It's taken all of us and this is eternity for me now. My G.o.d, we must all be inside that thing! There's no other explanation. Why else would I be in here for so many days? How can there be such solitude? Man wasn't meant for this. I wasn't meant for this. I don't want it.

My arms. They're falling off. I have no shoulders to hold them on. My elbows are growing ... my knees ... how can I still be alive this way? I can't hear myself breathe. I can't swallow. Listen ... nothing. Nothing. Where is everything? Everyone?

Death isn't supposed to feel unnatural like this. But I'm not dead. I'm not dead. But life isn't like this, and how can there be anything other than death and life? Beverly? Are you checking? They've left me behind. They thought I died and they left my body in s.p.a.ce and somehow my mind is awake. This is monstrous ... unforgivable. I can't touch myself. A human being should at least have himself for company. Where am I? Let me out! Don't leave me in s.p.a.ce! It's so cold here....