Praise for
STAR TREK; Strange New Worlds
“The stories are fresh, interesting and creative. We learn what happened to Cyrano Jones after the tribble incident; amusing accounts of the more mundane, everyday life on the Enterprise; the total shutdown of [Voyager], along with the fears, duty and sacrifice that come with such a crisis. These fan writers match many of the Star Trek professional writers in creative situation and interesting plot development ... terrific.”
—Linda Teener, E-scape magazine
“I urge everyone with any affection for Trek to read it. ... This is the best of Trek, stories written by people with a real affection, often for minor characters, and some pretty clever ideas ... enjoyable.”
—Ernest Lilley, SF REVU
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The sale of this book without its cover is unauthorized. If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the publisher as “unsold and destroyed.” Neither the author nor the publisher has received payment for the sale of this “stripped book.”
This book consists of works of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Originally published in trade paperback in 1998 by Pocket Books
POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020
Copyright © 1998 by Paramount Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures
This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures
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ISBN: 0-671-01447-1
First Pocket Books mass-market paperback printing January 2000
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CONTENTS
Introduction
Dean Wesley Smith
A Private Anecdote
Landon Gary Dalton
The Last Tribble
Keith L. Davis
The Lights in the Sky
Phaedra M. Weldon
Reflections
Dayton Ward
What Went Through Data’s Mind 0.68 Seconds Before the Satellite Hit
Dylan Otto Krider
The Naked Truth
Jerry M. Wolfe
The First
Peg Robinson
See Spot Run
Kathy Oltion
Together Again, for the First Time
Bobbie Benton Hull
Civil Disobedience
Alara Rogers
Of Cabbages and Kings
Franklin Thatcher
Life’s Lessons
Christina F. York
Where I Fell Before My Enemy
Vince Bonasso
Good Night, Voyager
Patrick Gumby
Ambassador at Large
J. A. Resales
Fiction
jaQ Andrews
I, Voyager
Jackee C
Monthuglu
Craig D. B. Patton
Because We Can
The Man Who Sold the Sky
John J. Ordover
The Girl Who Controlled Gene Kelly’s Feet
Paula M. Block
Afterwords
My First Story
John J. Ordover
A Few Words
Paula M. Block
Contest Rules
Strange New Worlds IV
About the Contributors
About the e-Book
Introduction
Dean Wesley Smith
The book you hold in your hands was created out of love. It is full of wonderful Star Trek short stories, picked from thousands of stories sent in during the months of the contest. This book exists because, as with the third season of the original Star Trek series, the fans wrote. Only this time they weren’t writing letters, but stories.
The path to getting this book into print wasn’t a smooth one by any means. It started with John Ordover, the tall, smiling Star Trek editor at Pocket Books. As a fan himself, John understood the desire of the fans to write Star Trek stories, and that the very foundation of Star Trek was, and has always been, the fans. Yet the constraints of the modern publishing industry only allowed fans who had become professional writers to do the books. John figured that a contest and anthology might be a way of opening the door for the nonprofessional fan writers to be published right along with the professional writers in bookstores.
Thus, the idea of this anthology was born. But a professional Star Trek fan anthology hadn’t been done for a long, long time. The very business of publishing had changed. Star Trek had changed. To get things rolling, John enlisted the support of Paula Block, another longtime fan who worked at Viacom. Somehow, after a massive amount of [x] moving heavens and earth, they worked this project through the roadblocks of the publishing world until it became a reality.
With the news of the contest spreading over the nets and through the conventions, the fans responded. Thousands of stories flooded in during the months before the October 1st deadline.
John had hoped this might happen, so that’s where I came in. With his duties as senior editor, John just didn’t have the time to read thousands of stories. With my wife, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, I’ve written several Star Trek books, as well as edited non-Trek short-story anthologies and magazines. On top of that, I’m a Star Trek fan, just like John and Paula. John hired me to edit the book.
So as all the stories poured in, they were sent to me. I’m the only one who read all those stories. John and Paula only saw the ones you’re seeing now. I sort of feel guilty about that. They did all the hard work of pushing this book into existence, and I got to have all the fun of reading the stories. And fun it was, too.
For months I had the wonderful job of doing nothing but reading Star Trek short stories. Tough life, huh? One day I walked into my local bookstore and the clerk asked me what project I was working on. I said I was reading Star Trek stories. If looks could kill, I would have been dead right at that moment. It turned out she was an avid fan. And as she pointed out, I truly had the best job in the world.
Over the months of the contest I also got to meet hundreds of great Star Trek fans, both in person and on-line, reinforcing my belief that the people who read Star Trek clearly are the good people of this world.
[xi] But even with meeting the great people, the most fun was reading the stories. Thousands of them, with wonderful ideas and interesting plots. But then, after all the reading was done, came the hard part of reducing thousands of stories down to just the ones you see in this book. That wasn’t so much fun. In fact, that was pure agony.
I began by dividing the stories into two piles. One pile I called my “second read” pile. The other pile held the stories that just wouldn’t fit, for numbers of reasons. Maybe the writing wasn’t up to the level it needed to be, even if the idea was really great. Or maybe the idea had been done before, or I already had a better story with the same basic idea. That happened often, and there were numbers of reasons why a story ended up in that pile.
After that cut, I still had hundreds and hundreds of stories left for the anthology. So with the next read I got
tougher. The writing had to be even better, the opening had to catch readers, the idea had to really fit a short-story form, and it had to be different. I cut the pile down to about fifty.
Then with another read the pile was forty. Then thirty. Then twenty-five. And then finally, after much loss of sleep, it came down to the stories you hold in your hand.
Then John and Paula got back into the action. They read and approved the stories, just as all novels are approved. Then among the three of us, we managed to decide on the contest winners. I’m so glad John and Paula didn’t just leave that up to me. I doubt if I could have managed to cut these stories down to just three. But somehow, the three of us managed it.
The stories in this book represent thousands of fan stories, written because of the love of Star Trek. In my opinion, [xii] everyone who finished and mailed in a story is a winner.
I hope you will enjoy the stories in this book. As the editor, I know that I’ll be the only person in the entire universe who will like every story. But I think I managed to find stories that most will like.
Thanks, John, from all of us fans, for making this book a reality. And thanks for giving me the best, and toughest, job in the world. For me, this was truly a work of love.
A Private Anecdote
Landon Gary Dalton
[GRAND PRIZE]
STARDATE 2822.5
I sit in my chair, staring at the view from the window of my hospital room. It is a nice view, but I have already grown tired of it. I have memorized every detail of every building on Starbase 11, or at least the portions within my limited sight. In some of the nearer buildings I am able to see the faces of some of the occupants. My favorite is a lovely young redhead who lives in the nearest building. Sometimes she stands on her balcony to enjoy her view. She has a look of innocent sweetness on her young face, as if she has never encountered any of the hardships and difficulties of life. I envy her.
The moon has risen. This moon appears to be much larger than the Earth’s moon. It is encircled by a bright ring, not as impressive as the rings of Saturn, but still a lovely sight. I do not know the name of this moon or of any of its features, but I have their images memorized as well. I have named the various features after people and things that I have known. [4] That range of sharply pointed mountains I named for Spock, a dear friend of mine. The horse-shaped sea I call Tango after a horse I once owned on Earth. The prominent crater in the Northern Hemisphere I call Boyce.
The lovely ring I have named Vina, for someone I think about often.
Commodore Mendez is very good to me. He has visited me at least once a week since my arrival here. He must have a very busy schedule commanding the starbase, but still he finds time for me. I wish I had some way to express my appreciation, but my injuries prevent me from expressing anything more complex than “yes” or “no.”
Last week Mendez “accidentally” allowed me to see the active duty roster. It was displayed on the viewer long enough for me to see my own name still listed on active duty.
“Fleet Captain Christopher Pike.”
It was a noble effort on the part of the commodore to maintain my morale. This is, of course, an impossible task. My life has come to an end. The delta radiation has left my body a wasted husk, unable to move. The chair keeps my blood pumping in a vague imitation of life, but my heart knows the hopelessness of it all. My life has become nothing but an agonizing wait for death.
I watch as a shuttlecraft lifts off and flies in my direction. I entertain a shameful fantasy that it will malfunction and crash through this window to end my suffering. I am angry at myself for such thoughts. I ought to be able to find some way of dealing with this.
Then it comes to me again. I remember that same silly little thought that has occurred to me many times in the past thirteen years. It is a foolish, pointless thought, but it amuses [5] me. I am physically unable to laugh, but inwardly my gloom lifts for a moment and my spirit rises with the thought.
“What if all of this isn’t real?”
I dearly wish I could share this thought with José Mendez. He is a very sober man when on duty, but I recall him having a wicked sense of humor in private. He would appreciate the thought.
It is not that the thought reveals any great wisdom or that it possesses any deep meaning, but it is a thought that deserves to be shared. It has come to me at several crucial moments.
Yes, I’d love to tell this to Commodore Mendez, but I suppose it will have to remain a private anecdote. Even if I could express it to him, portions of it pertain to matters Starfleet has declared “Top Secret.”
“What if all of this isn’t real?”
If anyone has a cause to doubt the reality of his life, it is me. I was the one who visited the now-forbidden planet called Talos IV. It was there that I encountered the Talosians, a race of beings with incredibly developed mental powers. The Talosians were masters of illusion. I was shown a series of alternate versions of what my life could be. I experienced life on Earth, Rigel VII, Orion, all the while never leaving the cage in which I had been placed.
Since that day I have carried the thought with me. How do I know that I’m not still in the cage? How do I know that I’m not still on Talos IV, and that all my life since then hasn’t been an illusion?
I guess I can never know with absolute certainty. Not that I’ve ever seriously doubted the reality of my surroundings. Still, the thought comes to me time and again. Strangely [6] enough, the silly little thought has sometimes been of service to me.
The thought came to me that day on Corinthia VII. The Enterprise had been dispatched to survey this Class-M planet for possible future colonization. Information on the planet was sketchy, but there was no evidence of any sophisticated life-forms.
I led a landing party of six, including Spock, Dr. Boyce, Lt. Tyler, and two ensigns, Williams and Trawley. We beamed down to a dry riverbed near the planet’s equator. Every planet I have visited has possessed its own unique beauty. This was a planet of purples and grays under a turquoise sky. A few scruffy red bushes dotted the landscape. Steep bluffs bordered the riverbed. Each of us drew out his tricorder and began our initial survey.
“Remarkably little microbial life,” I commented.
Dr. Boyce kneeled down and scooped up a handful of soil. He let it cascade through his fingers in front of his tricorder.
“In the air, very little life,” he said. “But the soil is teeming with it.”
“Unusual,” I said.
“Not really,” said Boyce. “The same is true of Earth, though not to the same extent. There is life in the soil.”
“Very well,” I said. “You and Mr. Spock begin your survey. Mr. Tyler, take Ensign Trawley and establish our base camp. Ensign Williams and I will scout the perimeter.”
I saw the look in Williams’s eyes. It was his first time on a landing party. He was thrilled to be chosen to join the captain on a hike. I wanted his first away mission to be a memorable one. You only get one first time.
[7] “Any suggestions, Ensign?”
He stuttered a bit at first. He was eager to impress me.
“I suggest we look for a way to get to the high ground overlooking the riverbed. That would give us the best vantage point to scan the surrounding area. We can probably find an easier place to climb if we go up the riverbed.”
“Sound reasoning,” I said. “Lead the way.”
Williams began to march upriver. He tried to conceal the grin on his face, but I saw it just the same. I had grown more tolerant of eager young ensigns in recent years. I also enjoyed living vicariously through them as they experienced the thrills of space exploration for the first time.
Williams was about ten yards ahead of me when he stopped suddenly. He turned and looked at me.
“What do you see?” I asked.
“I’m not sure,” he replied. “It looks like a sinkhole, or maybe the mouth of a cave.”
Williams turned back to face the hole. I had only closed about half the distance to
him when I saw him suddenly grab for the laser at his belt. I felt an immediate sinking feeling and grabbed for my own laser.
“Williams, get back!” I shouted. I was too late.
The creature was enormous. It rose quickly from the hole and reared up, its head towering a good twenty feet above Ensign Williams. Twin mandibles, ten feet long, hung from the enormous head. The mandibles snapped closed with a sound like thunder. The beast was covered with a thick carapace that looked as if it were made of the same stone as the surrounding cliffs. It was supported by dozens of clattering legs.
Williams hesitated only for a second before he began [8] firing at the blocky head of the monstrosity. I could see that the carapace was being burned by the laser, but as the beast jostled about, Williams was unable to keep the beam focused on any spot long enough to burn through. I doubt if the creature could even feel the beam.
I added my laser to the battle, but I faced the same problem as Williams. Pieces of the creature’s shell were burning and flaking off, but the damage wasn’t deep enough.
“Williams! Retreat!” I shouted at the top of my lungs. He couldn’t hear me over the creature’s bellowing. He started to back up, but the creature was far too fast. It dove at the ensign and the massive mandibles snapped shut.
Williams was cut in two at the waist.
The beast dropped back into the pit. I raced to the edge, but the creature had vanished into the depths of the ground. Williams’s legs lay nearby in a twisted heap. His torso had apparently been dragged into the pit by the murderous thing.
I settled to my knees in horror. Once again I had seen an innocent crew member lose his life for no good reason. Once again I experienced the hopelessness, the nagging feeling that I should have been able to do something to prevent this.
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