Chapter 5

“You know, Will, something like this was bound to happen.”

“What, lose a ship to sabotage?” Riker stared at the image of Deanna Troi while seated at the ready room desk, an unfinished plate of pasta to the side, the stack of padds just a little larger. It had been an hour since the explosion and he was no closer to understanding who caused the destruction of a starship. He had security check on Doral, the Petraw leader, but he remained in his quarters, on board, silent.

“There are dozens of ships, with many layers of enmity between some of these races. With the Gorn gone, it didn’t lessen the danger any.”

“Thanks a lot. What am I supposed to tell Captain Oliv? What if one of Desan’s people did it?”

“Don’t make rash accusations. With all the sensors working in this area, someone else may have picked up something.”

Riker’s eyes snapped wide. “I’m too tired to do this job,” he muttered.

“What have you thought of, imzadi ?”

“Hold on, I’ll patch you in,” Riker said, tapping a control on the desktop. “Riker to Taleen.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“Can you check your translocator logs, going back an hour or so?” the commander asked.

“For the entire region?” Taleen’s brown eyes narrowed and she frowned. “You suspect the Deltan ship was sabotaged, don’t you?” “I’m afraid I do.”

“I’ll check and be back to you in a few minutes.”

Picard and Chanik walked carefully, stepping around vines, roots that broke through streets, and the remains of a civilization that once ruled the world. They had poked their way into various buildings, walked up staircases, crossed bridges that linked buildings, and were generally frustrated by their slow pace.

Now they were well into the City, so the buildings were taller, obliterating the sunlight. Night was falling even more quickly here. With what light remained, Picard recognized he would have to stop the hunt and prepare a campground for them. He sent Chanik to find enough wood for a fire while he prepared some lean-tos for shelter. Their dinner would be some of the cured meat from the farmer and Picard would indulge in some of the wine but would sip carefully. Even though there was no hint of animal life, that didn’t mean predators did not exist in the ruins.

“How do we know where to look?”

“That, Chanik, is an excellent question,” Picard replied, as he watched the boy build an expert campfire. It seemed the youth possessed some skill at survival and was more than happy to contribute to the expedition. The question was on his mind long before the boy asked. Aimless wandering would mean the Resonator might be days away from discovery. He doubted the Alpha Quadrant would wait for days. As it was, he feared the days here already meant suns had gone nova. The worst part was, he had no way of knowing.

The pair ate in silence as Picard let his mind sort through possible ways to find the Resonator. It couldn’t be too large but had to fit the equipment, he suspected. But that could mean something as small as a data chip or as large as his fist. And where would a tool like that be maintained? With no power emanations, he couldn’t begin to suspect which building might have housed the gateway….or were there multiple gateways in something this large?

Chanik kept silent, working on the tough strips of meat. His only comment had been about it being so bland compared with what he was used to.

Picard withdrew the tricorder from his pocket and studied reports from previous gateway encounters. He was looking for some kind of clue. Maybe something in the placement of the device, or the architecture or ornamentation…. He struggled with the small screen, enhancing every image until his eyes hurt with the strain. Giving up for the night, he pocketed the device and finished a piece of fruit.

“I like the stars,” Chanik said idly.

“Me too,” Picard agreed.

“I like that they’re there when I go to sleep. I think about what they are, what’s between them, and if anyone lives up there.”

“People have wondered that since the beginning of time, I think,” Picard said warmly.

They sat in companionable silence for a little while and Chanik scanned the skies with concentration. “Picard, look to the left. See those four stars going up and down in a straight line? It’s like a staff.”

“Yes, it might be. We call clusters of stars that make a picture constellations.”

Chanik tried out the word and smiled. “Who’s holding the staff?”

Picard scanned the night sky and tried to connect random stars to complete the picture but finally shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“So it’s not your home? I thought Young Gods came from the sky.”

“Just a story,” Picard said, wary of any answer. “People make up stories when they’re not sure of the truth. Sometimes it gives them comfort.”

“Like my sky pictures?”

“Exactly. You should try to sleep now. I need to push on early tomorrow.”

Once again, he had an uneasy night’s sleep, worried about time lost, worried about natural predators, worried about the world Chanik would grow up in.

Dawn’s light woke Picard and he marveled at the beauty of unfettered nature replacing what had been a superior technology. He felt rested although his mind immediately turned to the problem at hand. He had to find the Master Resonator today and return home.

Chanik was still asleep and their fire had died out, but there was little chill in the air.

Picard took a sip from a water skin and noted the intricate swirling pattern that had been etched onto one side. Staring at it, he let his mind wander for a moment, and he thought about the odd-pointed end of the device nearly used on the accused woman the day before. Its oval nature was similar to the pattern on the skin and it occurred to Picard that the domed structure on the new Iconian world was more oval than circular. Could the oval shape be significant?

If so, then what?

Picard concentrated on the shape of architecture on Iccobar and Dewan, two of the other worlds that traced their lineage to the Iconians. Sure enough, ovals played a part of the overall design, but how could he use the knowledge to find the device?

He once more turned on the tricorder and studied the interior design of the Iconian building where he first encountered a gateway. The room was more rectangular than oval so that did not help, but he read over the description of the control pattern of the machinery itself that Data had provided. He wished he had an actual image of the room, but Picard himself had ordered the tricorder that had recorded the room destroyed both to avoid the sabotage of the Iconians’ invasive computer probe and to keep the information out of Romulan hands.

The layout of the controls offered no clue but he read over the description again. There was something he was missing and it nagged at him.

He switched the controls to the exterior of the domed home to the Iconians. There, the captain studied the colors and shapes, but merely glanced at the filigree work. That is, until his mind wandered for a second and his eyes lost their sharp focus and suddenly, all he saw were the spikes at different points to the design. Picard hastily reran the analysis and quickly grabbed a stick and sketched on the ground. He copied the points only of the oval sphere’s profile. With a smile, he noted that it was an exact match on the reverse profile.

He drew grid lines in the dirt, seeing how the points matched and there was the missing pattern. Quickly, Picard sketched further, completing the oval from a bird’s-eye view, repeating the grid lines and spikes. A picture emerged, the points leading the eye to a specific section of the grid, which could be the location of the City’s gateway. From memory, Picard estimated where he and Chanik entered the City and their approximate location. With a silent curse, he realized they were far from the building but at least had an idea of direction. Using the tricorder, he scanned the image and would use it as a crude map.

While he wanted to let the boy sleep more, he felt an urgent need to get moving. Gently, he woke Chanik and gave him fruit for breakfast. Within twenty minutes, they were moving again, this time in a direction that Picard hoped would bring a resolution to the problem.

“There were multiple moves between Petraw ships,” Taleen reported to Riker. “Just as Doral moved among many ships to elude you, a single transport crossed a dozen ships before stopping at the Deltan vessel. And from there, crossed seven more ships to return.”

“Which one?” Riker demanded, angry at being duped.

“It’s one of the older vessels,” she said, tapping at an image screen behind her, identifying a single vessel in the bottom right portion of the screen.

“Data, who do we have watching that ship?”

The android turned and replied, “Subcommander Rivel of the Glory.”

“Riker to Chargh.”

“Grekor here.”

“Captain, can you maneuver toward the vessel identified on our screens?”

“Can’t I just blow them up and solve the problem?”

Riker shook his head in frustration, because he felt the temptation as well.

“Sorry, I don’t think that’s wise at this time. I do intend to do something about this. After all, I promised Captain Oliv.”

“Very well. Chargh out.”

“Thank you, Taleen. I owe you one. Riker out.”

Riker stood and walked over to Data’s station, standing to the android’s side. He was tired and annoyed and worried. If one saboteur could get out and cause such damage, could more? How was he to protect the entire fleet? He doubted the ships could generate enough of a dampening field to stop the entire Petraw fleet. As it was, he had people stationed on every ship, so bringing them back to their home ships would be problematic. And how much longer should he wait for Picard to return before acting on his own? “You are preoccupied.”

“Very much so, Data,” Riker admitted. “The captain was not specific about his return and how long I need to wait. I can’t endanger all the ships. I want you and Geordi to theorize a way to stop these transports from happening again.”

“Understood, sir. I will be in engineering if you need me.”

“Good. Lieutenant Vale, take a detachment to the saboteur’s current ship and let’s get ahold of him….or them. Meantime, I need to have a word with Commander Desan about her staff’s efficiency.”

“How did you figure out a direction?”

Chanik had asked variations of this question since they headed out and each time, Picard tried to explain without giving away too much information. The boy was inquisitive and bright, so he couldn’t say too much.

“It’s like the stars we saw last night. If you let your mind wander, you find patterns in the shapes. I did that with things I have seen in my journeys and suddenly I saw a pattern that I took to form a map. I could be right or I could be wasting precious time.”

Chanik grinned at the captain as he struggled to keep up with the older man’s long strides. “You’ll be right. You were right every time we had to choose yesterday. You taught the farmer, stopped the highwaymen, saved the baby. Young Gods know how to do things better than people.”

“I am people, Chanik. Call me Picard or Young God, I still breathe and eat and walk like you do,” Picard said. He knew he was skirting theological issues and wanted to keep the boy focused on the walk. He quickened his pace and forced the boy to trot to catch up, stopping the questioning for now.

They had been moving from street to street for three hours now with just one break. The boy was resilient and his endurance was a marvel. Together, they cut through overgrown passageways and hefted fallen branches from trees that had taken up residence in plazas. Using the sun as a guide, Picard continued to refine his estimates of where they were headed, correcting their path time and again.

With luck, they would reach the building in question just after lunch. That would provide him with plenty of daylight to thoroughly search the area to find if his guess was correct. If it wasn’t, then he could easily have passed it earlier and would never know.

“We must hurry,” Picard said over his shoulder. “I think we’re on the right path and I’m eager to see if I’m right.”

“I’m right behind you,” he said, puffing just a little.

He was wrong. They arrived at the targeted building much after lunch and he saw the sun was already starting toward the horizon. With the taller buildings surrounding them, it would be dark within a few hours.

Compared with the rest of the City, the building was nondescript. If it truly housed a gateway, one could not tell by design or ornamentation. The outside was reds and oranges with two windows missing. It stretched maybe ten stories tall, dwarfed by some of the surrounding structures. If there was anything to differentiate it from the other structures, it was the how wide the street grew around it. Picard speculated that might have to do with the volume of people arriving to access the gateway. He admitted that might be stretching the facts to make his point, but it was all he had to go on.

“Should we go in?” Chanik asked.

“Oh, of course,” Picard said, realizing just then how he had stared at the building for a while. He certainly didn’t feel nervous about it, but he had proceeded cautiously around it. Perhaps he was trying to avoid disappointment or apprehension about what he might find within.

The entranceway was rusted in spots and Picard had to grip the door with both hands, gaining a hold between door and frame. He gave it a test pull and felt how tight it was. Planting his feet firmly on the ground, he tensed his muscles and pulled against the door. He maintained the pressure for longer than he was used to, letting the lighter gravity once more help him.

Finally, after a minute of exertion, the door began to give. Picard stopped, catching his breath and looking at his sore fingers. Once more, he gripped the door and gave it one hard pull, feeling the muscular strain down his legs. And once more, the door gave in to his exertions and swung open. The captain nearly lost his footing as the door was freed but Chanik steadied him. He grinned at the boy and stepped inside the building.

The first floor was filled with pillars supporting the entire building, but also had a series of rooms that seemed uniform in size and shape. Some had desks, others tall cabinets made from something akin to marble. Whatever papers might have been were long gone, and weeds crept through the open windows and spilled out across the floors. Mold and mildew were also in evidence, producing an unpleasant, but by now familiar odor. Chanik wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Unlike most buildings, though, this had a very wide staircase, spiraling down below ground level. It had polished wooden railings that time had done little to. The stair coverings were eaten through and some weeds had snaked down ahead of them. It was also dark since the natural light could not penetrate far. Picard would need something and returned to the main level and looked about.

“Chanik, we need to build torches so we can explore below. Most other buildings do not seem to have basements, but this one does. I believe our goal is down there. Can you find two very sturdy, heavy wood poles, branches, or sticks?”

“Sure can,” the boy said. Despite being tired from all the walking, he fairly sprinted from the building out to the streets in search of supplies. Picard had already decided he was correct and was willing to use his phaser to ignite the torches rather than the more laborious natural method of starting a fire.

It took him a few minutes, but Chanik came back, dragging two branches. One was longer than he was tall, and Picard sighed since he would have to reduce it in size. The other was more manageable but the captain was convinced he would be better with two light sources— just in case.

Within five minutes, the torches were cut to size and ignited. The boy marveled at the phaser’s effective use, which sadly served to reinforce the notion of Picard being a god. To the captain, it was mild contamination since Chanik could tell what he saw and not be believed. And when he grew up and tried to replicate the tools he had witnessed, he would discover no way to refine the metal or create the duotronic circuits required. Not ideal, but it would pass Starfleet scrutiny. It certainly was better than the legendary story of an officer who left a communicator behind on a world and helped change an entire society.

Once more they descended the stairs, and with the improved light, Picard saw that the basement extended some thirty meters down. A gateway would be very well protected so deep, he mused.

As they reached bottom, he saw illustrations of landscapes that were unfamiliar. They certainly did not match anything he had seen on this world. The artwork had been inlaid along the walls, part of the construction. There were snowscapes, oceans, mountain views, and cities. None looked familiar and the city’s buildings were a far cry from the architecture above. Colored circles in the walls seemed to form directional patterns, most leading to his left.

They moved slowly, listening and hearing nothing. The pictures stopped after a bit and instead, tablets with alien script appeared. Picard took out the tricorder and recorded them for later analysis although he suspected there would be matches for other cultures. Turquoise, violet, olive, and cinnamon-colored circles all converged down one hallway so Picard chose to follow them. He was rewarded with the hall opening up to a large chamber.

In the center was a familiar control panel, one he first saw on a world countless light-years away.

This was the gateway control room.

It seemed large enough to open quite a number of gateways and it suddenly occurred to Picard that the pictures outside were recommended locales. The Iconians had stayed here long enough to send their people on vacations, forcing him to revise his notion that they were chased here by whatever race firebombed their homeworld. Still, everything was open to interpretation and he realized now was not the time for it.

“What does that do, Picard?”

“When it worked, Chanik, it could help people find their way to other locations. It’s very old equipment and I doubt it functions anymore.” In reality, he knew it would have to work to send him home and there was little doubt that the equipment still functioned. Compared with the gateway on Iconia, this was a much newer model, so if the original worked, so too would this one.

Picard studied the chamber carefully, looking for some place the Master Resonator might be housed. The walls seemed smooth and there were no other halls leading to the space. With the torch held high, Picard checked every inch of the walls, taking his time to watch shadows play against joints where floor and ceiling met wall.

He then meticulously studied the console itself, but found no hidden panels or hatches. It grew frustrating, as Picard knew he had found his goal but the ultimate object eluded his grasp.

Chanik, growing bored standing in the same space, had been wandering in and out of the chamber, using the hallway as a place to run. At one point, Picard watched him with a sad smile. So full of energy and eager to help, but everything was beyond his grasp. However, Picard watched a little more and saw something catch the youth’s eye. Chanik walked along the hallway with his torch and looked closely at a section, just before the hall opened into the chamber. He placed his tiny hand on a section of wall and pushed, revealing a doorway mostly hidden in the shadows.

Picard quickly stepped over to him, and together, their torches dancing together above them, they peered into the newly discovered room. The air was stale and musty to Picard but that wasn’t important. What was vital, though, was the rack set against the far wall. On it was the Master Resonator—he was sure of it.

What confused him at first, though, was that there were fourteen of them, identical to one another in size and shape. The Resonator was larger than Picard’s fists together, but flat and copper-colored. On top were four keys: two amber, one brown, and one a deeper shade of brown. He stepped toward them and touched one, feeling the cool metal. Picking it up, he found that it felt light, and as he turned it over, saw indentations that at first puzzled him.

“Is this it?”

“I think so, Chanik. I just didn’t expect to find so many.”

“Maybe they were being careful in case one broke.”

“Maybe,” Picard agreed halfheartedly, but he doubted it. To date, he had never encountered spare parts of any sort. The Iconians, it seemed, built things to last. Which meant all fourteen Resonators were meant to be used.

“Merde,” he muttered to himself.

Christine Vale had seen plenty of action since joining the Enterprise nearly a year earlier. There had been other planets, other ships to help, and plenty of time to train her team to perform at peak efficiency. Being anything but the image of the typical security chief, she felt driven to make certain she earned the respect of those around her.

And she loved her work.

As she materialized aboard the Petraw ship, she used two quick hand signals that sent her three other crewmen into quick defensive positions. All had phasers in hand; one also had a phaser rifle strapped to his broad back. The corridor was close enough to the weapons room that it took little time to fan out and cover the door and entry points along the corridor. While its being empty helped, they still moved quietly and quickly, because she knew that fortunes could change with a single heartbeat.

To her right, Choloh, a hulking Tellarite, checked his tricorder and nodded. The armory was indeed occupied and the single digit held in the air told her it was just the one.

Well, she considered, checking the phaser setting, if you had to hide anywhere, an armory made an awful lot of sense.

Choloh adjusted his settings and pocketed the device, flexing his thick fingers around the phaser, nodding. The others also trained their attention on the single door that separated them from their target.

Vale stepped forward and rapped her knuckles on the door.

“Go away! I’m armed.” The voice was expectedly agitated and she was prepared for him to act irrationally given the desperate situation he was in.

“No kidding,” she replied. “Be awfully silly of you to sit in an armory and not test the merchandise. We can go about this a few ways, but me, I always go for the nice and easy ones. How about you?”

“What are you talking about?” The voice fairly screamed at her through the metallic door.

Vale stepped to her right, projecting her voice straight at the door. “We could storm the room, have lots of weapons discharge at once, and potentially blow a hole through the hull. You could come out firing and we, clearly outnumbering you, shoot you down. You could toss out the weapon and make a run for it, but that just means we get to pick for who chases and tackles you. Or….” “Or, you could talk me to death!”

Vale frowned at that. “Hadn’t thought about that one. Maybe next time. Right now, we need to bring you to Commander Riker and I’m running out of patience. Decide.”

The silence lasted only four seconds, but seemed far longer to Vale, who licked her lips once, tightening her grip on the phaser. She strained her ears to hear what he might be doing but the door muffled it.

“I’ll come out,” the voice said, so softly that Vale wasn’t sure of the words at first.

“Unlock the door, open it with your weapon on the ground, hands up on your head.” With hand signals, she had her people move into position, flanking the door. Crouching, she was poised to roll out of the way of weapons fire or scurry into the armory. By staying low, she hoped to be clear of whatever he might desperately try to use against her.

As the door slid open, however, there was little to fear. The Petraw that came out was young and in his natural appearance. There was a scared look to the eyes and the security chief noted the trembling hands against the scalp. With her right hand, she gestured for him to step forward out of the lethal room and he did, with hesitating steps. He was scared and she would have to act accordingly, since that meant he might panic or do something irrational. Vale nodded and Choloh stepped forward with restraints, which firmly affixed the Petraw’s hands behind his back, and to a belt. There was no resistance, and finally Vale let out a breath and lowered the weapon.

“I will be damn well heard, Riker,” bellowed Brisbayne.

“Captain, this is not open to discussion,” Riker said, trying to contain himself. The argument stopped being interesting when the Mercury ’s captain began repeating himself, as if that would change the nature of the problem.

“Picard has been gone days, you’ve let the Petraw blow one of us up, I must insist on taking command of the mission.”

Riker shook his head sadly, recognizing the mixture of bluster and frustration. Brisbayne was no doubt a fine officer, but his record did not indicate that he was at all equipped for commanding something of this nature.

“Sir, with all due respect,” Riker continued, “were I willing to turn command over to someone, I would sooner give it to Desan or Grekor. You have shown a disrespect for the chain of command, while they both have the kind of strategic thinking this requires.” He leaned into the camera, his face set in a stern expression. “But I have no intention of stepping down. Captain Picard will be given a little more time and then I will make a decision. I think we’re done now.” With a finger gesture learned from Picard, he signaled to Data to cut the communication.

“Commander, how much longer will you give Captain Picard?” Data inquired.

Riker settled back in the command chair, not at all comfortable. “Just a little bit more. Without him and the solution, we might have to destroy all the gateways.”

“That would be a loss to the quadrant,” Data said.

“I see you have not lost your sense of understatement.”

Riker considered the chronometer and mentally decided on six more hours. Long enough to show Brisbayne who was in command, but short enough so he could act before too many more lives might be lost. From reports he read a little while earlier, two planets were already critically crippled by the Iconian technology adapting native energy to keep the gateways powered. A small war had broken out in an unaligned star system and raids by Cardassian pirates were reported along the Klingon border. It was painful to read, but Starfleet Command remained convinced that this delegation could solve the problem and he did not want to disappoint.

“Riker to La Forge.”

“Go ahead, Commander.”

“Just in case I need a Plan B, please begin estimating the minimal amount of explosive power required to take out each gateway.” He could hear the whistle as La Forge processed the command.

“We’ve seen different sizes, so it’ll take me a little time.”

“You have four hours. Out.”

As he had spoken with Geordi, Vale appeared on the bridge, bringing with her the Petraw saboteur. She smiled in triumph but had a fellow officer take charge of the prisoner, and she returned to her post, a finger trailing along the top displaying pride in ownership.

“Trouble?”

“Not at all, sir,” she said.

Riker stood and moved closer to the prisoner, noting the panicked look in his eyes.

“We’ve ceased the hostilities with your people and are working to bring about an end to this madness. What makes you think you can ruin that with blowing up a ship?”

“To be free of you, to get back to our journey,” the Petraw said.

“Do you have any idea the number of lives you’ve taken?” Riker was trying to modulate his voice, contain his anger, but it was a struggle.

“We do what we must to fulfill our goal,” came the reply, and it sounded rote, as if it was something the Petraw were taught in school or church.

“And now you must pay. I’ll wait for the captain to return to determine what that is. Have him taken to the brig and keep him away from Doral.” Riker turned his back to the alien and resumed his place in the center seat. As he adjusted his position, he eyed his usual spot and wondered when things would return to normal.

“What do they do?”

Picard walked back to the console, hefting one of the Resonators, holding it above the control panels. He realized this would be tricky, explaining things to Chanik, but the boy deserved an answer.

“I believe this will give me control over the mechanism, something I lacked back home.”

“Does this mean your quest for granita is over? You can return home now?”

“I hope so, Chanik,” the captain said.

Gently, Picard lowered the device, trying to fit it over several of the control keys. After two failed attempts, the device fit snugly atop a cluster of amber and blue keys to the console’s right. Moments after he placed it, the entire Resonator began to glow, adding significant light to the space. Other keys lit up and a thrum of power started up which startled the boy, who backed away several feet. The power sounded constant to Picard, impressed once more with how well the Iconians built things to last. He idly thought of how they compared with the poor Petraw, who had patchwork ships to show for their legacy.

After half a minute or so, a small ball of light began to form above the Resonator and one of the amber keys began to blink. The light grew in size and began to alter shape, forming a sphere that swelled to engulf the top of the control panel. Within the sphere, smaller swirls began forming, and Picard realized that it resembled nothing more than a model of the Big Bang theory. As the seconds passed, the stars began twinkling and the image altered slowly as galaxies formed and moved off camera, as it were. Picard felt Chanik at his side, the image too fascinating to ignore.

“Those are the stars, aren’t they?”

“I believe so,” Picard said softly.

“Why are we seeing so many?”

“I don’t know. It may be trying to show us where the people who built this might have gone.”

“Gone?”

“Hush,” Picard said as the image changed and the Milky Way was clearly in his sight. The familiar spiral shape filled the light bubble and then, one at a time, purple lights began to show themselves in a concentration that Picard recognized as the Alpha Quadrant.

In all, there were thirteen purple lights.

Picard stared at the representation and concentrated. The amber light continued to blink, so Picard tentatively reached out, thinking he needed to activate the switch. His fingers brushed the blinking light but a sharp sound was his only reward.

“It didn’t like you touching it,” Chanik said, clearly stating the obvious.

Picard frowned and considered the likely options. After a minute or more, he realized he had no choice. He needed to return with the thirteen keys, then get them to the highlighted gateways. He suspected all thirteen consoles would have blinking lights and that none would do anything useful unless they were all touched at once. Fourteen pieces to a single key and somehow the Iconians didn’t know that.

Somehow, this lack of precision comforted Picard. Even they were not perfect.

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the tricorder and recorded the light patterns and the purple markers. The Enterprise computers would be able to match this map against their own star charts and, adjusting for the time difference since these maps were first recorded, figure out where the keys needed to go.

Spinning on his heel, Picard strode to the antechamber, Chanik on his heels. “What’s going on?” he kept asking. The captain ignored him at first, emptying his small bag of dried meat and other odds and ends. He then began filling it with the thirteen Resonators. There was little question in his mind that somehow all fourteen signals would synchronize and somehow they would gain control of the devices once that occurred. What troubled him, though, was the fourteenth key. Someone would need to activate it from this planet.

His first thought was sending the keys through a gateway and including an instruction to Riker and the others. It felt wrong—he needed to be there, be home when this happened. If the Resonators simply shut off the gateway, he would be trapped on this world. While it was a pretty place, he had no interest in remaining a Young God for the remainder of his life.

The next idea also had its concerns. Chanik would have to get involved but that raised concerns over tampering with a culture. On the one hand, the Iconians left these people to fend with their remains, and on the other, what harm could there be in asking a boy to press a button?

“Chanik, I must ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Picard,” the boy said, eyes bright with excitement.

“I need to return to my people with these,” he said, shaking the bulging bag slightly. “All of them must be fit onto similar machines and then all of us must press the blinking button. I think we need to do it at once.”

“How will I know?”

Picard frowned at the basic question. He didn’t have a definite answer and suspected he would not be able to speak with the boy.

“I’m not sure, to be honest. I think the machine will do something to indicate it is ready for you to do your part.”

Chanik smiled and nodded a few times. “It will be safe, right? Then I will have helped a Young God!”

The captain broke into a happy grin. “Yes, it will be quite a story for your friends. But once this is done, I suspect the machine will go dark and you should keep its existence to yourself. It will be our secret.” He returned to the console and studied it. His right hand began flipping switches, as he recalled doing on Doral’s battered ship. There was a subtle shift in power and then a gateway sprang to life near the far wall. Chanik began to walk toward it but Picard called him back.

“But what is it?”

“It’s called a gateway,” Picard said as he concentrated on trying to recall the coordinate controls. He tapped a few, corrected a mistake, and continued. As happened on the ship, the gateway began spinning, showing different locales.

Each adjustment refined at least one of the destinations. Quickly, Picard spied a familiar waterfall on Risa, then a sand-swept city that he suspected was Nimbus III. He continued to fiddle with the controls, hoping he could at least find a starship’s bridge. A part of his mind suspected that thoughts did have some influence over the location definition. What was it he was telling Riker the other day? About a book where the lost man only wanted to go home. Picard thought about the Enterprise -E bridge as he continued to work on the controls.

The next image was not one for young eyes and Picard was pleased to see it replaced by a huge vessel, the likes of which he had never imagined. It was gone in a flash, the gateway next showing a satellite hurtling through space, a message of welcome from one race to its galactic neighbors.

There! He spotted La Forge walking across the rear of the bridge. The next two images were of planets he vaguely recognized but he paid them scant attention as he adjusted the controls. The Enterprise finally remained constant and Picard counted off time between rotations so he could step through correctly.

It was time.

Turning, he saw Chanik watch the gateway intently, occasionally looking at the galactic image still floating quietly over the console. He liked the boy and appreciated his company and his savvy under less than ideal situations.

“They dress like you; is that where the Young Gods live?”

“They are my companions and we try and do the right thing, much like you,” Picard said. Then he crouched lower to bring his face close to the now-sad boy.

“I have no doubt that you will grow into a fine young man,” the captain told him. “This world has much to offer someone like you. However, it is time I go home myself. I need to step through the gateway and leave you to wait for the right moment to act. I can’t tell you how long it will be. Definitely more than a day.”

“That’s okay, Picard. I’ll be fine. You’ve shown me so much and I can think about it. I’ll be ready. You can count on me.”

Picard reached out and gently stroked his cheek. “Thank you.”

With that, he straightened his uniform and strode toward the gateway, counting off as it rotated. As the time approached, he bent his knees slightly and at the right moment, leapt into the gateway.