“They Took That Tractor Beam
Off Us, Didn’t They?”
“Yes, sir.” Vale dropped into a seat at the other working console. “But we’ve still got the guard and the forcefield to deal with.”
“I hope we can take care of both of them with one torpedo.” Picard continued his board, going through the prelaunch checklist, arming and aiming weapons, and finally raising shields. He gazed out the viewport, but the guard in the hollowed-out gunnery position under the nacelle didn’t seem to notice their activity.
“We still have full power in the engines, such as it is,” reported Vale.
“Don’t turn anything on until we fire.”
She pointed to the crumpled Jem’Hadar battle cruiser. “Our friend…is he going to get the counselor?”
“I certainly hope so,” said Picard grimly. “I’m ready. This should be interesting.”
The lieutenant braced herself in her seat. His jaw clenched, the captain fired a photon torpedo at a dead ship full of merrymakers less than sixty meters away….
Current books in this series:
A Time to Be Born by John Vornholt
A Time to Die by John Vornholt
Forthcoming books in this series:
A Time to Sow by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
A Time to Harvest by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore
A Time to Love by Robert Greenberger
A Time to Hate by Robert Greenberger
A Time to Kill by David Mack
A Time to Heal by David Mack
A Time for War, a Time for Peace by
Keith R.A. DeCandido
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products 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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Chapter One
THE PLEASANT TWITTERING of the birds, the gentle rustling of the breeze through the maple trees, and the rich smell of flowers and freshly turned earth lulled Beverly Crusher into a relaxed state. As the doctor sat in the manicured gardens of Starfleet Academy, she could never remember being happier in her life. It wasn’t the lovely surroundings that delighted her; it was the company. Seated on the bench beside her, holding her hand, was a tall, handsome young man who looked a great deal like his father, especially in his piercing brown eyes. After an absence of eight years, her only child had returned to her. With Wesley so close, she couldn’t imagine how she had survived his absence and the uncertainty of not knowing his fate…or even if he was alive.
The mind is an amazing thing, decided the doctor, especially the way it can shut out grief, learn to cope, and go on with the obligations of life. Now it seemed so unfair to have suffered all these years without Wes at her side, when his mere presence brought such bliss. She could almost forget the dark cloud that hung over the Enterprise and her shipmates. She recalled her son’s words:
“To save the Enterprise,” he had declared with determination. But this time they weren’t being menaced by a failing warp engine or enemy attackers—problems they knew how to handle. They were threatened by the bureaucracy and politics of the Federation.
“Captain Picard is being held at Medical Mental Health,” she said in a whisper.
“I know,” answered Wes grimly. “I’ve been here throughout the tribunal and the verdict. You may have seen me assisting Admiral Nechayev…I called myself Ensign Brewster.”
“Brewster!” she said with surprise. “But how?”
He held up his hand and smiled gently. “Do you remember what Ensign Brewster looks like?”
Beverly frowned in thought, but her stupefied mind felt like mush. “No, I don’t remember…and I saw him every day at the inquiry.”
“It’s part of what I can do as a Traveler,” explained Wes. “I can be anywhere I want—observing, inter-acting—but I blend into the background. Five minutes after you’ve spoken to me, you won’t remember me…unless I choose to reveal my true self.”
The doctor shook her head in amazement and gripped her son’s hand, just grateful he was with her in any shape and form. “Then you know about the destruction of the Juno and the Ontailian ship, the Vuxhal. It wasn’t our fault! They’re blaming Jean-Luc, but there wasn’t anything else he could do!”
“Calm down, Mom.” The young man gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I didn’t see everything that happened at the Rashanar Battle Site, because I hesitated…and arrived too late to help. I won’t make that mistake again.”
“I was there,” said Beverly with a heavy sigh, “and I don’t know exactly what happened either. According to Data and Geordi, there’s a shapeshifting spacecraft in the graveyard, lurking among all those wrecks. It paralyzes a ship with a directed-energy weapon; then it assumes the ship’s appearance. Data was insistent that the Enterprise was in immediate danger. That’s why Jean-Luc fired on the Ontailian craft…or what looked like it. He was certain it was a mimic.”
“But the tribunal didn’t see it that way,” muttered Wesley.
Beverly scowled and said, “No, they had to appease the Ontailians, who threatened to pull out of the Federation. They say we can’t lose any more members…or lose our access to the Rashanar Battle Site. I can’t get over the feeling that Admiral Nechayev sold Jean-Luc up the river.”
“I disagree,” said Wes, letting go of her hand and rising to his feet. He paced thoughtfully along a flower-lined sidewalk. “I’ve been with Nechayev through this whole thing, and she took what she was given. Nobody really thinks Captain Picard is unfit for duty. The admiral couldn’t let him go to a full court-martial. She didn’t have any other choice.”
He frowned, looking away from his mother. “But I did. I should have come forward sooner and done more to help. As usual, I just observed…I didn’t want to give up being a Traveler.”
“Oh, Wes!” With a look of motherly concern etched on her face, Beverly jumped to her feet and grabbed her son’s arm. “Are you sure you have to give it up? Can’t you…can’t you exist in both worlds?”
He suddenly looked much older than she remembered. “I don’t think so, Mom. I’m on a kind of probation. When you’re a Traveler, you don’t exist in one world—you exist in every world. The abilities I have are for a purpose. I’ve seen enough suffering and joy to last a thousand lifetimes, but to fulfill my mission, I must be like a shadow—never intervening, only watching.”
“But you helped Admiral Nechayev,” countered Beverly, “so haven’t you already broken that barrier?”
“Not really. As long as I don’t change the outcome.” Wes balled his hands into fists and stopped pacing. “However, I’m about to break that rule. Please tell no one that you’ve seen me.”
Beverly reached for him in desperation as she felt her baby leaving her again. “Wes! How can I keep it a secret? Don’t go away
again…please!”
“Mom,” he said with a quiet smile, “I’m not going to leave you again, not like that. But I can do more and gather information better if I can hang on to my secret a while longer. There is one other I have to tell. I don’t know how long I can stay a Traveler, because all of us are sharing this experience even as we speak, but I’m not going to see the Enterprise die.”
“How long will you have your abilities?” she asked.
He shook his head, collecting his scattered thoughts. “I don’t know. All of our minds must be focused—as if through a lens—to allow each individual Traveler to move through space and dimensions. It’s like multiprocessing. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure anymore if I’m a Traveler or a human…or both.”
Unable to speak, she hugged him fiercely. Her boy was clearly an adult who had to decide for himself how to now use this extraordinary gift…and when to give it up.
Of course, Wesley was always gifted—a prodigy—and we both know the highs and the lows of that status. Was Wes ever really accepted just for himself? Probably not, she decided.
More than anything, her son must have longed to be a real Ensign Brewster. Another face in the crowd, instead of the focus of envy and expectations.
He finally ended the embrace and moved her gently away, but his hands lingered on her trembling fingers. “Mom, you’ll be seeing me…more likely as this.”
Before her loving eyes and bedazzled senses, Wesley turned into the nondescript Ensign Brewster. As the doctor tried to focus on this new face, it disappeared, and she was left standing alone in the tranquil gardens of Starfleet Academy.
Was it just a dream? she wondered. A hallucination? Beverly prayed not, because she’d had those delusions before. She felt something in her hand, and opened her palm to reveal Wesley’s flight-suit patch from Nova Squadron, the one that had nearly sunk his career in Starfleet.
He really was here, she thought, clutching the tattered strip of cloth to her heart.
The Traveler, in the guise of Ensign Brewster, stood on the porch of an elegant Victorian town house in the Russian Hill district. He rang the chime and waited patiently until it opened. Commander Emery appeared—the telepathic aide to the Medusan Commodore Korgan, who had led the prosecution of Captain Picard.
Wesley squared his shoulders and stood at attention while the tall, gaunt human regarded his visitor. “Yes?” asked Emery. “What do you want, Ensign?”
“Don’t you remember me, sir? I’m Ensign Brewster.”
A small spark of recognition flashed behind the hooded eyes. “Ah, yes. I thought our business with you and Admiral Nechayev was concluded.”
“It is,” answered the Traveler. “Don’t you recall— Commodore Korgan invited me to tea? I had to decline until the inquiry was over. Now I’m ready to take the commodore up on his invitation.”
Emery narrowed his eyes at the low-ranking officer. “I hardly believe this is the time. The commodore is preparing for a new case that starts tomorrow. What’s your unit? I’ll send a messenger by when the commodore has more time.”
“Please ask him,” requested the ensign firmly. “I think he’ll want to see me as soon as possible.”
“One moment,” grumbled Emery. He shut the door. The Traveler could see him move a few steps inside the foyer, where he stood perfectly still, communing telepathically with his Medusan superior. After several moments, he opened the door and looked at the visitor with increased respect.
“You were right,” said Emery. “Commodore Korgan wants to see you right away. He suggests that I take a stroll while you have tea.” He stepped back and motioned the ensign inside.
Trying to look humble, “Brewster” stepped into the foyer. “Thank you for all your help, Commander.”
“Will you be able to communicate with him?” Emery asked.
“I think so. It’s a nice afternoon for a walk.”
Emery sniffed. “I suppose so. The commodore is in the last room down the hall on the left. There’s a food slot in the room…have whatever you want. Of course, don’t open Commodore Korgan’s enclosure and look directly at him, or you’ll be joining Captain Picard in the mental-health facility.”
The ensign bit his tongue at that gibe; however, he knew the warning was well-intentioned and necessary, even for a Traveler. “Thank you, Commander.”
“Try not to tire him,” said Emery softly on his way out the door.
The Traveler took a deep breath and walked down the hallway. As he neared the last door on the left, he could feel a powerful force probing his mind, but it didn’t feel invasive. It felt more like a frank stare from someone who didn’t understand what you had just said.
He opened the door and stepped into a brightly lit room with sparse furnishings—a small dining table and two chairs. Built into the wall was a food replicator. The Medusan’s protective container rested on the table, along with a few padds and documents. The noncorporeal being occupied an oblong electromagnetic box with four tentacle-like manipulator arms, although the appendages were motionless for the moment.
Welcome, Ensign Brewster. Please take refreshment with me.
“Thank you,” he replied, although speaking aloud wasn’t really necessary. The Medusan’s thought waves were as clear as those of any fellow Traveler.
“I am sorry to keep you waiting.”
What kind of creature are you? came the impatient query. You are not human…or not entirely human.
“Not only human. I am a Traveler. Have you heard of us?”
Lights on the container blinked excitedly. Oh, yes, came the reply. You have learned to manipulate space, time, thought, and dimension. Most humanoids cannot detect your true nature.
“We are observers,” answered the visitor as he crossed to the food replicator. “Computer, a cola carbonated beverage, chilled.”
“Cola, chilled,” replied the efficient computer voice as a frosty mug of bubbling soda appeared in the food slot.
The young man grabbed the glass and took a sip, relishing the tingle of the bubbly liquid on his throat. “That tastes good,” he remarked. “I’ve spent too long on dying worlds without any food or drink.”
I can sense much sadness in you, replied the Medusan. You have seen the universe the way it really is. Why did you choose to observe the inquiry into the Rashanar incident?
“Because I used to serve with Captain Picard on the Enterprise, when my name was Wesley Crusher. Dr. Beverly Crusher is my mother.” He walked back to the table and sat down across from his host.
You are human, but a Traveler, observed the Medusan. You are a truly unique individual, yet you wish to remain anonymous.
“For now,” agreed Wesley. “Since you saw through my disguise in the courtroom, I’ve come to tell you that Captain Picard is innocent. What Data said was true—some terrible entity does haunt the Rashanar Battle Site and was responsible for the destruction of the Juno, the Vuxhal, and the Calypso. It might be responsible for the carnage that originally occurred during the Dominion War.”
Am I supposed to say I’m sorry for prosecuting an innocent man? The law is not about absolute innocence or guilt, but what can be proven in court.
“I know that,” replied Wesley. He took another sip of his soft drink. “That’s why I said nothing until the inquiry ran its course. I could have done much more to change the outcome, but I didn’t. The letter of the law has been met, and the Ontailians and Starfleet are both satisfied. Now it’s time to satisfy the spirit of the law…to discover the truth.”
How do you propose we do that, Traveler?
“You and I have perceptions that others don’t have,” Wesley answered. “They just see, but we observe. We won’t be confused by the chaotic nature of Rashanar. We both have the ability to always know where we are in space. Someone must go back there and confront this threat…either to destroy it or to bring back proof of its existence.”
I believe you seek revenge, not truth, came the reply.
Wesley si
ghed. He couldn’t entirely deny that. “The damage has been done to the Enterprise and her crew,” he answered, “not to mention the Juno. I only want to prevent it from happening again. Will you go to Rashanar with me, Commodore? Your testimony could make the difference.”
After a short painful silence, the Medusan replied, Do you know, only twelve of my species serve in Starfleet? All but myself are navigators on long-range ships. You once wondered why this was so.
“That’s true,” admitted the Traveler with a smile. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”
The enclosure hummed softly. Its lights twinkled before Korgan gave his answer: Traveling at warp speeds makes me ill. I nearly died on my first Starfleet training mission. Since then, I looked for and eventually found a more sedentary profession. I travel vicariously through others. So you see, we Medusans are not all alike, just as you are not a typical Traveler or a typical human.
Feeling defeated, Wesley slapped his palms on his knees and rose to his feet. “I’m sorry to have troubled you, Commodore. Thank you for your hospitality.”
But I will do one favor for you, said the voice in Wesley’s head. The young man stopped in the doorway to look back at the mysterious container, which blinked cheerfully. I will file an affidavit saying that the Ontailians were lying. This may be enough to quietly throw out the findings of the inquiry and have Captain Picard released.
“You knew they were lying?”
So did you, Traveler, yet you said nothing.
Wesley lowered his head and listened. I found out later that they did recover wreckage from the Vuxhal, which they chose not to present at the inquiry. I understand that trace elements of neptunium were embedded in the molecular coating, indicating possible proximity to the anomalies found in the center of the site. At any rate, this lack of evidence made them amenable to the resolution offered by Admiral Nechayev. I’m afraid that’s the nature of a settlement—someone must shoulder the blame, even if it is lessened.
A Time to Die Page 1
