Encounter at Farpoint

by David Gerrold

  Beverly stopped in her tracks. She admitted to herself she knew this could be trouble when she decided to do it, but still he was being just a little too hardnosed. “I respectfully point out, sir, that my son is not on the bridge. He merely accompanied me to it.”

  Picard hesitated. “Your son?” This was the boy he had seen with Riker and Data—dripping an unholy mess of mud and water on the holodeck.

  “His name’s Wesley. You saw him years ago when . . .”

  “Oh,” Picard said abruptly. “Yes.” He remembered seeing the child when he brought her husband’s body back.

  The boy who stood in the turbolift, his eyes wide as an owl’s, seemed small for his age—he’d be about fifteen—but he sported a hint of the auburn hair that crowned his mother’s head. He had her fine features, too—not much of Jack in him except the vividly intelligent hazel eyes. And if Jack were still alive, would Picard have allowed his son on the bridge, as a courtesy to a man he had respected and cherished as a friend?

  Picard cleared his throat. “Well—as long as he’s here. . . .” Wesley’s hopeful eyes nailed his, the plea standing in them loud and clear. Beverly waited.

  Picard shrugged and tried to make his voice warmer, friendlier. “I knew your father, Wesley. Would you like to take a look around?” The boy was out of the turbolift in one swift step. “But don’t touch anything,” Picard added quickly.

  The bridge was far bigger than Wes thought it would be. Even the viewscreen was larger than any he had ever seen before. The serenely operating stations on this level above the command well almost drew him, but his mother moved down the ramp toward Picard, and he obediently went with her. He was careful to set his feet down just so with every step so he didn’t ruffle the carpet—or the captain.

  Picard stood up and moved a little away from the command chair as Beverly and Wesley reached him. What would the boy want? Well, what would he have wanted at that age and in such a situation? He gestured slightly toward the command chair. “Try it out. For a minute.”

  Wesley’s face lit and glowed like a million candle-power searchlight. He edged himself into the seat and ran his eyes over the chair arm panels.

  Picard leaned forward and pointed proprietarily as he detailed each item. “The panel on your left is for log entries, library-computer access and retrieval, viewscreen control, intercoms, and so on. Don’t touch anything.”

  “No, sir.” Wesley gestured to the right chair arm panel. “On here, backup conn and Ops panels, plus armament and shield controls.”

  “Careful of those.”

  “Yes, sir.” Wes stared around admiringly. “This ship is really carrying weight.”

  Picard glanced at Beverly, then back to Wes, perplexed. “I take it that’s a compliment?”

  Beverly nodded, smiling slightly. “In the current vernacular, it’s—”

  “The best,” Wes interjected. “She’s beautiful, sir.”

  “I see. Thank you,” Picard said dryly. “You might be interested in the forward viewscreen. It’s controlled from the Ops position—”

  Wesley picked it up eagerly. “—using the outboard, ultra-high resolution, multi-spectral imaging sensor systems, selecting any desired magnification.”

  “How do you know that, boy?” Picard snapped. This child was altogether too clever.

  Before Beverly or Wes could respond, a distinctive signal sounded on the command chair’s left-hand panel. The boy instinctively, almost casually, reached out and tabbed one of the controls on the arm panel. “Perimeter alert, Captain!” And as he realized what he had done, he was instantly mortified.

  Beverly’s face flamed in embarrassment, and Picard was furious. Three voices began indignantly at the same time.

  “Wes, you shouldn’t have touched that.”

  “I’m sorry!” Wesley said, jumping up out of the chair. “I didn’t mean to. I just knew how.”

  “Off the bridge, both of you.” Picard growled.

  At the Ops console, Worf was staring around at them, not sure what to do. The signal had to be answered, but the captain seemed to be . . . involved.

  Beverly pushed Wes toward the turbolift, looking back at Picard. “I’m so sorry. . . .”

  “He was told not to touch anything.”

  The signal came again, and Worf decided he should say something. “Perimeter alert, sir.”

  Beverly stopped and swung around to face Picard. Wesley might have offended the captain, but she was damned if she’d let him take any blame when he had been right. “As my son tried to tell you!” she said sharply. Then, head high, she marched into the forward turbolift with Wesley and snapped, “Quarters Deck 3.”

  As the doors closed behind them, Picard slammed his right fist into his open palm, frustrated. Then he jumped for his chair to key open his comm line as the signal came again. “This is Picard.”

  The assistant security chief’s voice boomed over the intership. “Ship’s sensors have detected the presence of a vessel approaching Deneb IV. No other ship is scheduled to arrive at this time, sir.”

  “Could it be the Hood returning?”

  “The vessel does not match the Hood’s configuration or tonnage, sir.”

  “Worf, put it on the main screen.”

  Worf quickly tabbed his Ops panel. The huge screen in front of Picard instantly flashed on the image of a ship. It was at far range; but even on the standard scale, it was big, dark, and ominous. It had only a few running lights, and its somber hull reflected very little starshine. In fact, it seemed to absorb light. Even the gleam of Deneb IV’s sun only showed it as a shadow swiftly moving against the galactic panorama behind it. It was approaching very quickly.

  “Identification?” Picard snapped.

  Worf was ready, but the answers weren’t good. “Vessel unknown. Configuration unknown. Origin unknown, sir.”

  “Hail it!”

  “I’ve been trying, sir. Automatic ID sent with request for same. No response.”

  “Raise all shields, Lieutenant.”

  Worf’s hands moved on the panel. “Shields up, sir. Full power.”

  “Phasers ready.”

  “Phasers charged and ready, sir.” This from the security officer at the Weapons and Tactics station behind him.

  “Sound yellow alert.”

  The alert signal pounded through the ship, and duty personnel efficiently began to arrive on the turbolifts and take their stations. Picard studied the still advancing vessel. He had never seen anything like this either, but that didn’t mean it could not belong to a race they did know. “Get me Groppler Zorn, Lieutenant. Continue universal greetings on all frequencies.”

  Worf tabbed his panel. There was a sharp beep, and then Zorn’s voice echoed on the bridge.

  “Yes. This is Groppler Zorn, Captain.”

  Picard didn’t waste time on the niceties. Whatever this ship was, he had a gut-deep feeling it was not here on a peaceful mission. Was this Q at work—or was it someone else? “There is an unidentified vessel rapidly approaching this planet. It refuses to respond to hails. Do you know who it is?”

  “There are no ships scheduled to arrive until—”

  “I asked you if you knew who it is, Groppler. You mentioned the Ferengi Alliance to me.”

  Zorn’s voice trembled nervously. “Ah. Yes. But we have had no dealings with them, Captain. It was only a—a thought.”

  “Are you sure that’s all? Or did you send out a message for a rendezvous with one of the Ferengi vessels? Perhaps one you now regret sending?”

  “No.” Zorn sounded desperate. “Captain, I promise you it was an empty threat. I wanted your cooperation, your endorsement to Starfleet. Forgive me—”

  “The vessel has reached orbital insert trajectory, sir,” Worf reported. “Sensors say it measures twelve times our volume.”

  “What could they want?” Zorn wailed. He knew the size and tonnage of the Enterprise. Anything so much larger than that was a horrendous threat to the station and the Bandi.
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  “They won’t talk to us to let us know,” Picard replied coolly.

  “Captain, can’t you force them to identify themselves? If they are hostile—”

  “We’ll defend you as best we can, Groppler. Picard out.”

  “What if it’s Q, sir?”

  That thought still rode Picard’s mind. He shook his head. “I expect he’ll make himself known as he did earlier. But that’s not the vessel we encountered before.”

  As they tensely watched the viewscreen, the huge ship approached and settled into geosynchronous orbit somewhat above and to starboard of the Enterprise. Picard could almost feel the oppressive weight of the massive vessel pressing down on them. Suddenly a glowing pulse of light throbbed from the underside of the mystery ship toward the Enterprise.

  The light flared over everything and everyone on the bridge. Picard twisted his head and saw the details of both objects and people outlined in a spectacular glow. Crew personnel were startled, but no one seemed to be in pain or discomfort.

  The light faded slowly away, and Picard tabbed on his intership line. “All stations—damage reports.” He glanced around the bridge swiftly. “Status report.”

  “No apparent damage, sir,” Worf said.

  The others confirmed quickly. Every station reported the glow, but no damage. No casualties. All ship’s functions were unimpaired and operating normally.

  “Science—analysis of what hit us.”

  The science officer checked his console readings. “Nonmechanical probe, sir. Possibly sensory or telepathic in nature.”

  Worf looked up from his Ops panel again. “Sensors confirm we were just scanned, sir.”

  Chapter Nine

  THE UNDERGROUND SERVICE tunnel felt oppressive despite its size. The strange, smooth, shining walls with their curious markings gleamed in the soft light from an undetectable source. Troi was not aware of the sensation or of her companions as she leaned against the wall, still concentrating on the empathic waves impinging on her mind. Riker watched her, knowing she had shut them out and was allowing someone else to “walk” within the lanes of her mind. Geordi was closely examining the wall surfaces and Data was trying to raise the Enterprise.

  Tasha moved in beside Troi and touched her shoulder. “Pain again?” Straightforward and honest, Tasha understood intellectually that Troi was a kind of receiver for the emotional emanations of others; but because she could never receive them herself, she did not know what it was Troi felt or perceived.

  “Troi, you’ve been at it enough!” Riker snapped.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I feel close to an answer of some kind. There is . . . deep need . . . hunger.” Tears sprang to her dark eyes, and she impatiently brushed them away.

  Data had been steadily calling the Enterprise on every frequency the communicator offered. He turned to Riker, somewhat perplexed. “Commander, something is shielding our communicators.”

  “Are we too far underground?”

  “No, sir. The effective range of the new communicator devices is well beyond this, and ordinary tunnel construction materials should not interfere.”

  “This isn’t ordinary construction material,” Geordi interjected.

  Troi looked around at them, pulling her concentration back. One part of her mind had been listening to them, and she responded to both impressions, pulling it together. “That’s exactly the feeling I’ve been reading,” she said, nodding toward Data. “As if someone doesn’t want us to be in touch with our ship.”

  “Come on,” Riker said. “Let’s get to the surface.”

  The viewscreen pictured the intruder vessel as it hovered in near orbit with the Enterprise. It worried Picard—too big, too dark, too silent. “Worf—anything?”

  The big Klingon shook his head. “We have scanned all known records, sir. We have nothing on any such vessel. Nothing even close.”

  Ops looked around quickly and informed Picard, “Still no response to our signals, sir. We’ve done everything but threaten them.”

  “Sensor scans, Mr. Worf.”

  “Our sensors seem to just bounce off, sir.”

  “Can you get any readings at all?”

  “No readings, sir.” Worf looked up at the dark and oddly shaped ship on the viewscreen. “Who are they?”

  Suddenly, a strange, blue-white beam snapped from the alien vessel down toward the surface. Another immediately followed. Worf reared around toward Picard, alarm etched on his broad, dark features.

  “They’re firing at Farpoint, sir!”

  “Bring photon torpedoes to ready,” Picard barked at the assistant security chief. “Damage report, Lieutenant Worf. That was directed at the station.”

  Worf tabbed controls on his console and reported over his shoulder. “No damage evident, sir. They’ve hit the old Bandi city—not the station.”

  In the service tunnel, Riker and his team had been hurrying along the passageway with Troi and Tasha in the lead. Riker noticed the smooth, rounded wall structure of the tunnel giving way to an ordinary rectangular corridor with a stone and tile cladding. He paused briefly to look closer at the area where the two blended imperceptibly. Glancing around to Geordi, Riker waved the young lieutenant closer; and LaForge moved in to examine the wall material.

  “LaForge?”

  “At this point, it becomes ordinary stone, sir. Matching what’s above.” His brows knit together in a puzzled frown. “Amazing seaming here. The two appear to just melt together.”

  “Those stairs ahead are where Tasha and I entered, sir,” Troi interjected.

  Riker could see the stone block steps about twenty meters ahead where the tunnel opened up. Suddenly there was a long rumbling explosion that sent them reeling as the ground bucked and shuddered around them. Tasha pulled herself together first. “Explosion. Phaser blast.”

  “Negative,” Data said calmly. “But something similar.”

  “Location,” Riker snapped.

  Data scanned with his tricorder quickly and looked up. “One kilometer, two hectometers away. The old city.” Another explosion rocked the area, the tremors shivering the ground under their feet.

  Riker quickly glanced around to Troi. “Try to get through to the ship again. You, Yar and LaForge will beam up from here. Now!” Turning to Data, he nodded toward the stairway. “Data, with me. I want to see exactly what’s happening.” He started toward the steps, Data immediately following on his heels.

  “Don’t,” Troi said involuntarily. Riker turned back. She knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t stop herself. Her mind flashed at his. Don’t. If you should be hurt—

  Riker’s face turned to stone. “You have your orders, Commander! Carry them out!”

  Chastened, Troi looked away, her face flaming. She read his anger, his own embarrassment at her flash of familiarity. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” Riker and Data were already climbing the stairs toward the upper level as Troi reached up to tab her communicator. “Enterprise, three to beam up.”

  Riker and Data emerged in the shopping mall, which was in chaos. Although there was no damage here, the Bandi were fleeing it in panic. Another explosion ripped the air, and a cloud of dust from crumbling masonry puffed out the back of the mall where it connected to the old city. Riker nodded to Data, and they started for the damaged section on the run.