by Mel Gilden
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
For Marc and Elaine Zicree:
Just a couple of space cadets
The poem that Captain Picard recites to Wesley is by Victorian poet James Thomson (1834-1882).
Prologue
Wesley Crusher’s Personal Log, Stardate 43747.3: I don’t seem to be making any progress in my pre-commission course. I’m proficient in science or math, anything for which logical thinking is all that’s needed. But when it comes to command, I don’t know if I have what in the twentieth century they called “the right stuff.”
Commander Riker tells me that being a good commander is at least half intuition. Generally, the more important a question is, the less data you have available to answer it. He says that the skills one uses to decide correctly are more likely to be learned playing poker than chess. Maybe it’s too bad I’m such a good chess player.
Commander Riker assures me that even Captain Picard, who likes to do things by the Starfleet book, is as successful as he is only because he knows when to ignore the book and go with his gut feelings. He expects the unexpected. When I told Data about this, he said that expecting the unexpected was, by definition, impossible. Sometimes Data is too literal to get the point.
What about Data? Being a machine, he has no intuition. At least, that’s what he tells me. But he is a very complex machine, and the vast number of circuits in his positronic brain—a number that appreaches the number of synapses in a human brain—allows him to manifest behavior that sometimes looks like intuitive thinking. Are appearance and reality ever the same thing? How do you know? Not Mom or Riker or Geordi or even Data can give me a satisfactory answer.
Therefore I have to believe it’s possible to learn to be intuitive. Or, if I can’t do that, maybe I can gain so much experience that it will look like intuition. But how can I get experience running a starship? I had a hard time convincing Captain Picard that I belong on the bridge. What are my chances of convincing him that I should sit in the center seat? I have two chances—slim and none. (That’s kind of a joke. I’ll have to see if Data understands it. He always appreciates an opportunity to understand humor, even when he fails.)
Leaving the Enterprise and going to Starfleet Academy is out of the question. I’ll have to go eventually, but right now—
“MR. CRUSHER to the bridge.” It was Commander Riker’s voice, and Wesley smiled.
Enterprise had entered the Omega Triangulae region three days before, searching for the source of a signal that possibly was being broadcast by an unknown intelligent race. The signal was too ordered and repetitive to be natural. Its origin was more a cloud than a point source, and it seemed to move. At the moment, specialists were taking sensor scans, doing the dull grunt work of which most exploration consisted. Commander Riker had promised to call Wesley if they found anything interesting.
Excitedly, Wesley touched his insignia and said, “I’m on my way.” He touched a pad on the recorder, ejecting the isolinear chip on which he was recording his personal log, and ran from his room.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched the main screen intently, though at the moment nothing was on it but deep space. His mind drifted from the object of their search and Mr. Data’s constant updates to the hard, cold beauty of space itself. He always found deep space to be hypnotic, which was one of the reasons he’d joined Starfleet, perhaps the main one.
Earth psychologists had defined a mental state they called rapture of the deeps. Originally it described the euphoria one felt when looking into a very large, deep hole such as North America’s Grand Canyon. The euphoria was even stronger in space; recruits needed to constantly fight the urge to leap through the main viewscreen and into the vastness beyond. In a limited number of cases smashed noses had been the result of someone losing control.
To Picard’s right sat Commander William Riker, his number one. Riker narrowed his eyes and nodded in answer to some private question. He had a temper and could be too quick to judge, but he also had an analytical mind second to that of few humans, so his judgments were generally correct. As for his temper, well, lesser men had mastered worse things.
On his left was Counselor Deanna Troi, wearing one of the blue, barely regulation gowns she preferred. She seemed to be the most relaxed person on the bridge, though her wide questioning eyes showed a profound interest in what was going on. Her job was to report her empathic feelings in situations in which little hard data was available. Her empathy occasionally crossed the line into sympathy, but that was not necessarily a defect. In some instances, it could even be a boon. She was a resource that Picard appreciated.
Data called out, “Object closing at warp six. Estimated time to contact, seven point four three minutes.”
“Prepare to intercept, Mr. Winston-Smyth,” Riker said.
“Aye, sir.” The blond woman touched a pad on the conn panel.
Picard looked in the direction of the aft turbolift as its doors hissed open. “Take the conn, please, Mr. Crusher.”
“Aye, sir.” Wesley walked quickly to his station while Ensign Winston-Smyth slid out of the way and took up a position at mission ops, directly behind Lieutenant Worf.
Data cocked his head and said, “This is very odd, sir.” He changed a setting on his board. “The object is moving at warp six, but there is no evidence that a warp drive is being employed.”
A voice behind Picard said, “We are dealing with aliens, Commander. Anything is possible. Anything not forbidden by the rules of the universe is eventually required.” It was a deep voice, almost lugubrious in tone.
Picard did not turn around. He knew that standing next to Worf was a Starfleet lieutenant named Shubunkin. Shubunkin was a first contact specialist. Early in the history of the Federation, races had just blundered into each other. Inevitably, mistakes in protocol, etiquette, and courtesy were made. The result was frequently bad feeling or even war—breaches that could take years to repair. Specialists were needed to soften the shock of meeting.
“It seems to me,” said Riker as he looked over his shoulder at Lieutenant Shubunkin, “that there’s no need to be unnecessarily mysterious or metaphysical
about this. Aliens do things differently from us. That’s what makes them alien.”
Picard did not dare smile. His first officer was as open-minded as any officer in Starfleet, but that did not prevent him from needling Shubunkin for his pretension.
“I can pick up the object on visual now,” Data said.
“Do so,” said Picard.
The image wavered and then, in the center of the screen, Picard saw a sliver of brightness that was not a star. It was too big and the wrong shape.
“Magnification five,” said Riker.
When the image re-formed, the screen showed a kind of ship Picard had never before seen. It seemed to have no engines, no sensors, no windows, nothing to break its smooth silvery surface.
“It looks like a teardrop,” Riker said.
“An apt description, sir,” Data said. “It is likely that the streamlined shape means the ship was designed for use in atmosphere as well as in space. It is also the source of the broadcasts we have come to investigate.”
Data touched his control pad, and the signal came up on audio: it sounded like insects playing insect musical instruments. The signal had no melody that Picard could discern; computer analysis confirmed his conclusion. Yet the sounds were pleasant, even relaxing. Who was making them and what did they mean?
“That will be enough, Mr. Data.”
“Aye, sir.” The audio repeat of the signal stopped, though Picard knew it was being recorded and analyzed deep in the bowels of the main computer.
Wesley licked his lips. He never took his eyes off the viewscreen. He had listened hard to the transmission, as if he could wring some meaning from it that the computer could not. And perhaps Wesley could. Picard liked the boy as well as he liked anyone he considered a child. Wesley was intelligent and creative—if a little overeager and entirely lacking in experience. Someday he might even become a good Starfleet officer.
Riker said, “Can you tell us what’s aboard, Data?”
Sitting behind Data, Picard could see by the way his head jerked and his spine straightened that something had astonished him. Data was an android, but he had been around humans for so long he could not help acquiring their habits. As a matter of fact, he worked hard at learning them. Like Pinocchio, Data wanted to be a real boy. He said, “Sensors indicate two discrete groups of beings. The members of one group are within two percentage points of being human. Members of the other”—his hands played across his ops board—“are so alien that the Federation has no category for them.” He touched a pad and then went on. “Temperature, pressure, and composition of the atmosphere are well within Earth norms. Brain wave patterns and activity levels indicate that the humanoids are asleep.”
“ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ ” Picard said. “Any evidence of warp engines?”
“Sensors show a large output of energy from a structure that fills the tail of the ship, but how the energy is being generated and what is being done with it is unknown. However . . .”
“Yes, Mr. Data?” Riker said.
“Small fluctuations in the energy output match within two percentage points similar fluctuations in the brain activity of the humanoids.”
Lieutenant Shubunkin said, “Very interesting.”
They had picked up Shubunkin at Starbase 123 a month before. Since that time, Picard had come to sympathize with Riker’s dislike for the man’s attitude of smug superiority. There was no question he knew his subject, but Shubunkin got on Picard’s nerves. The crew of a starship was a family. Each had to act for the benefit of all the others. There was no room for purposely ostentatious displays of any kind. Politely, Picard said, “You’ve seen this sort of thing before?”
“No, never. It is interesting nonetheless.”
“Quite true,” Picard said. He allowed himself to be pleased that there was a limit to Shubunkin’s knowledge.
“Telepathic control is a possibility,” Shubunkin said without certainty.
Troi said, “I am receiving no impressions of rational thought.” She put a hand to her forehead. “The feelings are confused, but I am certain the beings aboard the ship mean us no harm. I feel curiosity, perhaps, and some fear—probably of us.”
“How can they fear us?” Worf said. “If they have no sensors, they can’t even know we exist.”
“I remind you they are going at warp speed without warp engines,” Data said.
Riker nodded and said, “Where are the other aliens?”
“Sensors cannot pinpoint them exactly,” Data said. He sounded confused and a little dismayed.
Picard said, “Opinions, Lieutenant Shubunkin?”
“I don’t have enough data at the moment to make an informed guess. I suggest we wait and see what is done by the ship or its crew. Doing nothing is frequently our wisest action.”
Riker looked at Picard, eyebrows up. Picard said, “All stop, Mr. Crusher.” To Riker he said, “Let them come to us. If we must do nothing, let it work in our favor.”
“Shall I ready phasers, Captain?” Worf said.
Shubunkin said, “If they have sensors after all, that would not be considered a friendly act.”
“Stay alert, Mr. Worf,” Picard said.
Worf growled and said, “Aye, sir.”
As the alien ship approached the Enterprise, it slowed to sublight speed and soon was creeping along at a few thousand meters per second.
“I guess this is about as unexpected as it gets,” Wesley said.
“At any rate,” Data said, “I was not expecting a ship such as this. Of course, the nature of reality is such that expectations are frequently dashed. For instance, I did not expect to meet Lieutenant La Forge in the corridor this morning. I did not expect Commander Riker to win at poker last night. I did not expect him to—”
“That will be all, Mr. Data,” Riker said.
“Aye, sir,” said Data, looking as if he had not expected that interruption.
The alien ship slowed even more and stopped little more than a kilometer away. It did all this without Data being able to detect a propulsion system of any kind or a way to navigate. Time went by. Picard realized that he was leaning forward in his chair. He relaxed against the backrest and settled his hands in his lap. Air circulated in a whisper. Machines made their small birdlike noises as they worked. His command crew fidgeted, all but Mr. Data. He could sit without moving for hours if necessary, though Picard always found the sight unnerving.
“How long do you suggest we do nothing, Lieutenant Shubunkin?” Riker asked in a tone that was not quite sarcastic.
Before Shubunkin or anybody else had a chance to speak, a teeth-jarring whine began. It seemed to come from all around them. Like the others, Picard covered his ears, but the sound went right through his hands. Data and Worf checked readings on their boards.
Worf called out, “An energy beam has penetrated our navigational shields.”
“Analyze and identify,” Riker said.
A moment later Data said, “I believe we are being subjected to a very powerful but primitive sensor scan. As it passes through the walls of the ship, unfocused fringe energy stimulates their molecules to vibrate at a high frequency.”
“Shields, Mr. Worf,” Picard said.
The whine did not change.
“Ineffective, Captain,” Data said. “However, changing the frequency of our shield generators may . . .” His hands played across the ops board. The whine stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard said.
“Thanks are inappropriate, sir. We are no longer being scanned.”
“Open hailing frequencies. Broadcast universal greetings and peace messages.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf said as he complied.
“Waiting—” Shubunkin began.
A little angrily, Picard said, “Perhaps they are waiting for us.”
A long moment later Worf said, “No response of any kind, sir.”
“Continue broadcasting peace messages. Number One, ready an away team.�
��
Commander Riker barely had time to acknowledge Picard’s order before the alien ship moved to the other edge of the viewscreen without passing through the space in between. It was just suddenly there.
“Belay that order, Number One.”
Shubunkin walked forward and stood at the end of the tactical rail.
“Incredible,” Wesley cried out.
Picard said, “Incredible indeed, Mr. Crusher. Would anyone care to comment further?”
Lieutenant Shubunkin said, “As I suspected, they’ve seen our peace messages as a hostile intrusion.”
The alien ship jumped again. It hopped toward the Enterprise and then away. “That is not the action of a being who is ready either to fight or to retreat,” Picard said. “It is acting more like a playful kitten.”
“The reason we cannot see them move,” Data said, “is that they are hopping from place to place at warp speed.”
Wesley said, “Using the warp drive to move such short distances is a tremendous waste of energy.”
“It would certainly be a tremendous waste of energy to use our warp engines that way,” Data said. “Moving with that precision would also require a control system many generations beyond the one aboard the Enterprise.”
“I believe the greetings and peace messages were understood to be an attempt at communication,” Troi said. “Captain Picard’s comparison of the ship’s movements to those of a kitten are quite apt.”
Picard said, “Then I suggest we dangle a bit of string in front of it. Lieutenant?” Picard glanced in Shubunkin’s direction.
“Perhaps,” Shubunkin said, and stroked his chin.
“Mr. Crusher, ahead dead slow.”
“Aye, sir.”
Picard watched the alien ship closely as it grew larger in the viewscreen. Somehow he had to prod the crew or the ship’s automatic systems to respond in some way to the presence of the Enterprise. He was certain that not even an expert like Shubunkin could communicate with a being who would not communicate back.
