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
Author’s Notes
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
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Epilogue
To the DSPSG’s of Section 2.
—Carmen
To all the usual suspects.
—Peter
For Joan—more than ever my heart’s friend.
—Michael
To Deb for being behind me all the way. And to Katie and Robbie for the sheer joy of it all!
—Bob
And to the cooks and delivery people at Mariella Pizza, midtown New York City, our eternal thanks. Without you this book would not have been possible.
—The Authors
Author’s Notes
This book began as a result of a party on February 18, 1988, one of Pocket Books’s all-too-rare social hours for the Star Trek authors. The Pocket Books Star Trek publishing program has been in existence for over ten years now and regular readers will no doubt recognize a recurring list of authors. It made great sense to Pocket’s editor, David Stern, that the authors in the New York area get together to swap stories, lives and other esoterica on a regular basis.
This particular party, if memory serves, had in attendance Michael Jan Friedman, Allan Asherman and his soon-to-be wife Arlene Lo, Carmen Carter, Margaret Wander Bonnano, and David Stern. During the course of conversation, which centered a lot on the first season of Star Trek: The Next Generation, David let it be known that he was then seeking help on getting the ST:TNG publishing program rolling a bit faster. Anything that could be done would be appreciated, he assured us in that laid-back, it’s-going-to-be-okay style that has lulled many an unsuspecting author into a sense (false or otherwise) of security.
As ideas flew out, someone suggested picking up from the burgeoning sub-genre of the shared universe. These are worlds created by one or more authors and then opened up to many authors writing in the same universe, sharing characters and the like. Perhaps the best-known world is Thieves’ World, but there are others such as Heroes from Hell, Liavek, The Blood of Ten Chiefs and Wild Cards. Many of us shared admiration for how George R.R. Martin seamlessly weaved multiple authors’ works into one mosaic novel, especially in volume three of Wild Cards. It became obvious that the most successful shared universe of all has been, and probably always will be, Star Trek.
Ever since Gene Roddenberry created the series in 1964, people have been working with his dream, optimism and characters. First there were the writers for the seventy-nine television episodes, and then he let James Blish handle the first ever Star Trek novel. Since then, there have been scores of novels, short stories and comic books all sharing in the same world. There have been some bumps and bruises along the way, but these days most everyone likes to share the universe and keep it as tightly knit as possible. Perhaps now, we thought, was the time to come up with a novel idea that could involve a group of writers.
Though everyone nodded and walked away feeling really good about the idea, no one wrote an outline. This became increasingly obvious as winter turned to spring and spring rapidly gave way to summer. With the Mets rallying for a repeat of 1986, I decided that if no one else was going to try to write the outline, I would.
I prepared an outline and David liked it. He sent copies out to a number of the people who’d expressed interest in the shared novel and said we’d all discuss it at the first annual Star Trek authors’ picnic. That August saw everyone gather at a park in Manhasset, New York, and this time we lost Margaret, Allan and Arlene, but gained Brad Ferguson and Howard Weinstein. David never showed up. He claimed he was sick. We think he can’t be seen in sunlight.
The authors discussed the outline in depth and agreed that something usable was here and that we should all get to work on it. Michael and Bob were set on participating, but Carmen was waffling. She wasn’t sure if this was something that could play to her strengths as a writer. Carmen wanted to see more.
Thus were born the semi-frequent writers’ meetings. By late 1988, David had hired Kevin Ryan as an assistant editor and they hosted meetings to discuss the book outline. Based on feedback from others, I had revised the story repeatedly. Peter David had already sold Pocket one novel and had established his credentials on the Star Trek comic for DC Comics. He readily agreed to be the third member of the writing team (after all, at Peter’s speed this would be easily a two-, maybe three-hour job).
Somewhere during all this, DC Comics reacquired the rights to Star Trek comics, and it was no surprise that Peter went right back to work on the Star Trek title while Michael accepted the challenge of producing a monthly Next Generation comic, concurrent with the TV series. This, of course, meant more expensive lunches and dinners to talk about Star Trek, which is as fine a pastime as any.
The novel, finally dubbed Doomsday World, continued to evolve, and Carmen found herself enjoying the give and take that happened during these meetings and agreed to be our fourth author. I also think she liked the rotating appetizer idea, which featured everything from small breads to cookies to rugelah, followed by pizzas galore.
We finally had an outline we liked and that Paramount Pictures then approved. From there, I broke the story down into thirty-eight elements and we assigned character points of view. We divided the thirty-eight sections among ourselves, swapping a few here and there for balance, and then we worked on a character bible. We also agreed that since I wrote the basic outline, Michael would get the dubious honor of melding four distinctive styles into a final polish. So, finally, by July 1989 we were ready to begin simultaneous writing.
Everyone wrote diligently (although Peter managed to squeeze in A Rock and a Hard Place prior to starting his section) and Mike, Carmen and I met at the 1989 World Con in Boston to compare notes. In September we had a meeting to make sure we all felt comfortable, and it was surprising how comfortable we felt about the work done to date. Most everyone was nearing the ho
mestretch, and we liked what was happening as characters and incidents blended together with little trouble.
By mid-October all the work had been done. Nearly three hundred manuscript pages had been produced, and Kevin (for whom the K’Vin are duly named in this story) read through it and pronounced it good. He sent copies to everyone involved and we held the final pizza meeting. It was a grand affair as both Mike and Bob brought munchies, Peter brought some video entertainment and Kevin sprang for the pizzas, while Carmen brought her new kitten.
The five of us went through the book section by section, making notes and discussing complicated details like exactly which way Stephaleh’s name was to be spelled. Hours later we were tired, bloated and satisfied. The book was indeed good and we were all very, very surprised that it had worked so well and so smoothly. After going through it, Michael had his notes and went home and in about two more weeks had a polish that Kevin also deemed wonderful (a.k.a. “thank God, it’s here!”). Once Kevin finished editing it, the manuscript went to the copy editor and then back to us for one more go-round. And then it went off to Paramount for their blessing and then to type and galley and bound book, which should be flying off shelves even as you read this long, tedious section.
At that meeting we all declared that it was Carmen’s turn to do the next story for the four of us. She hemmed and hawed a bit and said that if she did choose to write a framework story, she would also reserve the right to final polish. We all nodded yes. Carmen, to this day, swears that the second shared book will have to wait until you, the reader, have judged this effort.
Which leads us to the next step. Feedback. We love commentary, and over at DC Comics I have been spoiled by the monthly feedback from the general readership. We are all available in care of Pocket Books and look forward to hearing from you.
This has been a labor of love and, in my case, since conceiving this story some two years ago, it was more than that. We like what we’ve done and we hope you do, too. If not, blame Kevin—he’s the editor.
Robert Greenberger
Long Island, NY
December 1989
Chapter One
FIRST OFFICER WILLIAM RIKER sat in the command chair of the Enterprise and longed to be the captain of a Galaxy-class starship.
He had spent his childhood reading the history of space exploration and marveling at the exploits of the men and women who had saved their ships from danger or sacrificed their own lives in the attempt. Admirals might plan expeditions into uncharted space, but captains actually made the first contact with alien races and forged new alliances for a growing Federation. Captains were surrounded by an aura of adventure and Riker had never abandoned his dream of someday commanding a starship that would travel to the far-distant reaches of the galaxy.
He had never dreamed of becoming a first officer and dealing with petty-minded bureaucrats.
That was the problem with daydreams: they left out the details. Captains gained all that glory because they assigned boring, mundane duties to someone else. And just now that someone else was him.
“Commander, we are being hailed by the K’Vin embassy.”
Riker jerked himself up from a slumped position. Several hours of waiting had gradually eroded his posture, but Lieutenant Worf’s announcement recalled the first officer to a sense of official dignity.
“Well, it’s about time. Put them through on my signal.”
He drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for certain members of the bridge crew to reassume their positions. Wesley Crusher came down a side ramp from the aft station and scrambled back into the empty Conn station. Lieutenant Solis had remained at Ops, but he arched his back in a bone-cracking stretch. Deanna Troi, who had drifted over to a refreshment dispenser, was slightly less energetic than the ensign in reclaiming her seat in the command area, but she abandoned her unfinished drink without complaint.
After a final visual sweep of the oval bridge to check that everyone was alert and professional in appearance, Riker turned his attention to the viewscreen that covered the curving forward bulkhead.
“Ready, Lieutenant Worf.”
A static planetscape gave way to a live transmission from the embassy’s administrative assistant. Gezor was of another race entirely from the thickset K’Vin who employed him; he was small-boned and pink-skinned with a mane of curling black hair that crowned his head and ran down his spine.
“Cool days to you and yours, Commander Riker.” Despite a rasping accent, Gezor’s use of the Federation language was impeccable. “Having completed the examination of your Petition for Territorial Trespass, the K’Vin embassy of Kirlos grants provisional clearances to Lieutenant Worf and to Lieutenant Geordi La Forge.”
“Provisional?” A prickle of apprehension made the first officer voice this question rather more sharply than he had intended.
“Yes,” said Gezor with a lazy blink of his heavy eyelids. “It appears that the clearance form for Lieutenant Commander Data has not been completed satisfactorily. Without a full disclosure of the requested information, he cannot be permitted to enter K’Vin territory.”
Assuming a genial expression that was far from sincere, Riker launched into an explanation. “As I indicated on the form, several of the line items are not applicable to Mr. Data. As an android, he does not have a biological mother or father. Nor does he—”
“And I am still waiting for transmission of his medical history,” interrupted Gezor. Although delivered in an unruffled monotone, his gruff announcement effectively drowned out the rest of the first officer’s words.
“As I said before,” Riker’s voice increased in volume, “he is an android. He does not have a medical file.”
“Then Lieutenant Commander Data cannot be granted right of trespass by the K’Vin embassy. And his removal from the landing party will, of course, invalidate all related petitions. Provisional clearance for Lieutenant Worf and Lieutenant Commander La Forge is hereby denied.”
Riker clenched his jaw until he could trust himself to speak. “But, Gezor, the Federation embassy on Kirlos has already approved—”
“The K’Vin are not responsible for the inadequacies of the resident Federation embassy. Therefore, if at any point the Enterprise landing party attempts to cross through K’Vin territory—”
Riker lunged out of the captain’s chair to stand, feet astride, in the center of the command deck. He was a big man, and it was difficult for him to resist using his looming height to intimidate others. Perhaps someday he would learn how Captain Picard managed to compel respect without that physical advantage; until then, however, Riker intended to make use of any asset available to him.
“You know very well that they have to cross through K’Vin territory to reach the archaeological site! That’s the whole point of their mission!”
Gezor met this statement with a reproving frown. “In that case, Commander Riker, you must fill out the appropriate forms in their entirety for proper clearance of personnel.”
Riker moved a finger across his throat.
Lieutenant Worf snapped off the communications link with the embassy. Gezor’s face winked away; once again the viewscreen presented an image of the day side of Kirlos, the same view that had been displayed since the ship’s arrival in the solar system two days earlier. The planet’s surface, unbroken by seas or oceans, was a monotone patchwork of beige and tan.
“Contact is suspended,” confirmed Worf.
Taking a deep breath, Riker consciously eased the stiff cast of his shoulders.
“The K’Vin have resisted us at every step of the way in our attempt to put a landing party on Kirlos.” He turned to Troi, still seated next to the empty captain’s chair. “Why?”
“I’m not familiar with the Sullurh as a race,” she said, puzzling over the nuances of the exchange she had just witnessed. “Yet I don’t detect any real hostility from Gezor. Rather, he appears to be a loyal employee of the K’Vin and one who interprets their regulations very literally.” To Ri
ker’s surprise, the counselor then smiled. “If anything, I would say that he is simply bored.”
“And I’m providing today’s entertainment,” he said tightly. “Well, enough of that.”
Crossing his arms over his chest, the first officer glared belligerently at the planet Kirlos as he contemplated his next move. The portion of the planet facing them included a round, flat area that researchers had nicknamed the Valley—interesting, but not interesting enough to divert him from his pique. Then a sudden inspiration eased the tight line of his frown into a broad grin. His arms loosened and fell back down to his sides.
“Mr. Worf,” Riker called out with obvious relish, “reestablish contact with the K’Vin embassy.”
When Gezor reappeared on the viewscreen, his expression was bland and betrayed no reaction to the prolonged break in communications. Nevertheless, Riker prefaced his speech with a conciliatory bow.
“Gezor, there has been a regrettable confusion in the filing of the landing party’s Petition for Territorial Trespass. Lieutenant Commander Data should have been included in the accessory requisition section of the petition, since he is part of the research equipment allotment. As a highly advanced technological device, he is essential to the landing party’s investigation.”
The administrator took his time considering this proposal, time enough for him to blink three times, then finally replied. “Yes, in that case, the appropriate information requirements would be satisfied. Under the circumstances, I will allow a second petition for personnel clearance of Lieutenant Worf and Lieutenant La Forge to be filed along with the amended equipment manifest. Stand by for transmission of the instructions for that procedure.”
The planet Kirlos wiped across the viewscreen, signaling an end to the connection with the K’Vin embassy.
“More forms,” groaned Riker.
Wesley Crusher swiveled his Conn chair to face the first officer. “I guess this is all part of the burden of command, right, Mr. Riker?” he asked with a grin.
DOOMSDAY WORLD Page 1
