STAR TREK - TOS - Signature Edition - Worlds in Collision

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Contents

Introduction

Book One

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Book Two

Prologue

Part One

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Part Two

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Part Three

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Part Four

One

Two

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

A Look Inside

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon &

Schuster, Inc.

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,

NY 10020

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.

Reserved.

These titles were previously published individually by Pocket Books.

STAR TREKis 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.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

ISBN: 0-7434-8814-8

First Pocket Books trade paperback edition November 2003

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com/st

http://www.startrek.com

For Robin Kingsburgh,

who has chosen the final frontier.

Per ardua adEdinburgh, ae?

For Peggy

For our second home in New York City

and for being there when inspiration struck.

L.L. & P.

Introduction

If there’s one question people shouldn’t ask anymore, it’s this: Why isStar Trek so popular? We think

that’s a bit like asking why some of us like chocolate (JRS), or roller coasters (GRS).

To us, the answer to all three questions seems simple, obvious, and the same. Chocolate, roller coasters,

andStar Trek are popular because all three of them aregreat: great taste, great fun, and great storytelling.

Star Trekstorytelling is why we turn on the television to watch an episode. It’s why we sit in a theater to

see the newest movie. It’s why you opened this book. What has come to be called theStar Trek

Universe has a never-ending supply of stories, in all forms and styles.

If you want humor, there’s McCoy baiting Spock, or Data in Ten-Forward having the human condition

explained to him by a Klingon. Not to mention tribbles.

If you want action, there’s theEnterprise plowing into theScimitar, or Archer racing across a snowy roof

with twin phase pistols blazing. And Khaaaan.

Romance? Riker and Troi. Hopeless romance? Julian and Jadzia. Nonstop romance? Kirk and just

about any female, species not important.

From the very beginning,Star Trek stories have expanded out to wars among galaxies and focused in on

families and friends reaching out to one another. There are stories as vast as the fate of parallel universes,

and as personal as the fate of a single constable accused of a crime he did not commit.

Some of these stories, told for more than three decades on television and in feature films, have become

known as “canon”—the core, or “real,” account of our heroes and events as captured on film.

While film (and coming soon, high-definition video) is a wonderful way to tell a story—showing us things

we’ve never seen before, taking us places we’ve never imagined, letting us sense Picard’s mood from the

set of his eyes, the steel in his voice—it still has specific limitations of time, depth, and budget.

A televised episode ofStar Trek must begin and end within an hour, or sometimes within two one-hour

modules. AStar Trek movie can also stretch to about the same length as a two-part episode. But both

the episode and the movie can only tell us stories that can be understood through what we can see and

hear for ourselves in a brief window of time. The depth of detail for the story’s events and characters is

only what can be developed in that same constricted time.

And, of course, movie and television budgets are finite.

That brings us to books, where a story can expand to include all those additional details that make

writingStar Trek novels so much fun. Plus, theStar Trek novelist’s budget is infinite.

Andthat brings us to two of ourStar Trek novels that are presented in this volume:Memory Prime and

Prime Directive. They’re both “classic”Star Trek stories; that is, they’re both set during Captain Kirk’s

original five-year mission. Best of all, neither one of these stories could have been an episode or a movie,

because they deliberately go beyond our visual and aural senses.

We believe that the heart ofStar Trek’ s storytelling strength has always been its capacity to take us to

strange new worlds. Granted, over more than three decades ofStar Trek, all of us have seen many such

worlds on film, but in these two books we wanted to explore a different order of strangeness, one which

could not be experienced by human senses.

Hence, the world inMemory Prime that we called Transition. It’s a nonphysical realm, completely

subjective, and thus unfilmable. However, thesensation of being in Transitioncan be described, and so it is

in these pages. Then, inPrime Directive, we simply blew the budget. There are more worlds in that one

story than any studio could ever afford to depict on film—from a hollowed-out asteroid under

construction and the tourist attractions of our own moon’s Tranquillity Base, to a devastated alien planet

and its moon, and even something that mightresemble a world but…well, you’ll have tovisualize it for

yourself. Because it, too, we think, is something that you might neversee.

Which brings us back to that 700-plus hours ofStar Trek canon and the collision part of this

introduction.

Several key elements in these two books of ours are just plain wrong.

They weren’t at the time we wrote them.Memory Prime was published just asStar Trek: The Next

Generation began its second season. Zefrem Cochrane—of Alpha Centauri, no less—had appeared in

one and only one episode of the originalStar Trek series. So we felt safe delving deeper into his story,

identifying him as a native Centauran, whose Centauran name—Zeyafram Co’akran—had been

“humanized.” Oops. Who knew thatStar Trek: First Contact waited in the future to establish a different

story for Cochrane, as a native of Montana? Same for our complex descriptions of dilithium, warp drive,

and Klingon history, inspired in equal parts by the original television series and the 1980Star Trek

reference book,Star Trek Spaceflight Chronology. Fun, yes. But no longer compatible with furtherStar

Trek revelations on film.

Prime Directivecollides with canon, too. We correctly guessed, as it turns out, that Starfleet would have

a special department concerned with making first contact with new species based on a species’ reaching

a particular technological threshold. Our guess was that that threshold would be subspace radio. Wrong

again. As later established inThe Next Generation episode “First Contact” and used to full dramatic effect

in the movieStar Trek: First Contact, the real threshold is warp drive.

As someone once said, the devil is in the details (which is a different thing from “The Devil in the Dark”),

and that will always be the case forStar Trek fact—stories on film—versusStar Trek fiction, which

includes everything else. The very quality that makesStar Trek novels so appealing—that chance to go

around corners and reveal what the camera never sees—is the very quality that will lead, sooner or later,

to many novels slipping out of established continuity.

Memory PrimeandPrime Directive are both in that category. Like “Yesterday’sEnterprise,” they explore

alternate paths through time and space that at the least show us where theStar Trek universe once was,

and at most demonstrate how rich the universe of stories to come still is.

But rest assured that aside from some side trips into details that no longer fit canon, both novels in this

book still have what counts in classicStar Trek storytelling: Kirk and Spock and McCoy and company,

theStarship Enterprise, logical Vulcans, scheming Andorians, and a snarling Klingon or two. At heart,

they remainStar Trek storytelling.

For we believe theStar Trek universe is a lot like the real one. It’s so big that given enough time, a few

worlds are bound to collide, without really causing damage, only fireworks.

And when they’re handled with respect, fireworks can be great, too.

Like chocolate and roller coasters.

AndStar Trek.

—J&G

Los Angeles, 2003

Book One

Memory Prime

U.S.S.EnterpriseNCC-1701

2270

In the last year of herfirstfive-year mission

One

They were all aliens on that planet. From the worlds of the Federation, the empires, and the nonaligned

systems, each was a visitor on a planet where indigenous life had vanished in the slow expansion of its

sun more than five hundred centuries before.

The scientists from a dozen races had come and gone since then. Andorians had sifted through the

heat-stressed sands in search of clues to understanding and controlling their own prenova sun. Vulcans

had beamed down a network of automated planetary sensors and warped out of system in less than one

standard day. Terrans had conducted a six-month colony assessment study, with negative results. Even a

Klingon heavy-assault scientific survey vessel had passed by, scanned for dilithium, and departed.

Through all these incursions, the planet spun on, unclaimed, unwanted, littered with the debris of

sprawling survey camps and unbridled exploration. In the end, it was not even given a name and became

little more than a footnote on navigation charts, identified only as TNC F3459-9-SF-50, its T’Lin’s New

Catalog number. It was an abandoned world, a dead world, and for some beings in that part of the

galaxy, that meant it was perfect.

This time, his name would be Starn, and he would wear the blue tunic and burgundy guild cloak of a

dealer in kevas and trillium. Legitimate traders were not unknown on TNC 50. The disguise would serve

him well.

As he walked through the narrow streets of Town, Starn cataloged everything he saw, comparing it to

the scanmap his ship had produced while in orbit, already planning his escape routes. The slender needles

of Andorian prayer towers stretched up past the squat bubbles of Tellarite communal baths, casting dark

shadows through billows of fine sand that swirled like vermilion fog. A group of Orion pirates appeared,

wearing filters against the sand. There were no authorities on TNC 50 for pirates, or terrorists, or any

type of criminal to fear. There was only one law here. Fortunately, Starn knew it.

The Orions slowed their pace, coolly assessing the resistance that a lone trader such as Starn might

provide. Starn pulled on his cloak, stirring it as if the wind had caught it for an instant. The Orions picked

up their pace, each touching a green finger to his temple in respect as they passed by. The sudden

glimpse of the black-ribbed handle of Starn’s lopene Cutter had shown them that, like most beings on

TNC 50, Starn was not what he seemed.

Starn continued unmolested. Most of the other oxygen breathers he passed also wore filters. A few, like

Starn, did not. For those whose lungs had evolved in an atmosphere scorched by the relentless heat of

40 Eridani, this barren world was almost like coming home.

As Starn approached the center of Town, he felt a tingle and slight resistance as if he had stepped

through a wall of unmoving wind. It was the transporter shield, projected and maintained by the

merchants of Town. A strong enough transporter beam could force its way through, Starn knew, but the

transmission time would be on the order of minutes, long enough to make an easy target of anyone trying

a quick escape after an act of vengeance. Everyone who came to TNC 50 had enemies and Town could

only continue to exist as long as it offered safe haven.

As the swollen red primary set, Starn approached his rendezvous site: a tavern pieced together from

scavenged survey structures. A sign swung above its entrance, clattering in the rising wind. It told Starn

who the proprietors of the tavern were. Other races might secretly whisper the name of the tavern, but

only a Klingon would be insulting enough to display it in public.

The sign carried a two-dimensional image of a monstrously fat Vulcan clutching two Orion slave women

to his folds of flesh. The Vulcan’s face was distorted in a terrible grimace. Beneath the image, set in the

angularpIqaD of Klinzhai, glowed the tavern’s name:vulqangan Hagh. Starn pulled his cloak around him,

an innocuous gesture that served to position the handle of his weapon for instant access, then stepped

into the tavern to keep his appointment.

The central serving area was smoke-filled and dimly lit. For a moment, Starn was surprised to see a fire

pit set in a far wall, blazing away. An open fire on a desert planet without plant life could only mean that

that part of the tavern had come from either a Terran or a Tellarite structure. Starn studied the fire for a

moment and failed to detect an appropriate amount of heat radiating from it. It was a holoprojection.

Terran, he decided. Tellarites would have shipped in plant material especially for burning. Starn knew

the fire was there for a purpose, most probably to hide sensors. His host must already know that Starn

had arrived.

Starn stepped up to an empty space at the serving counter. A multilegged creature made an elaborate

show of sniffing the air, then moved several stools away. Starn ignored it.

The server behind the counter was, as Starn had deduced, a Klingon, and an old one at that. He limped

on an improperly matched leg graft and wore a veteran’s ruby honorstone in the empty socket of his left

eye. Starn was troubled. A Klingon with an honorstone would be revered on Klinzhai, given line and

land. A veteran with such a medal would never submit to being a menial tavern server, which meant the

tavern server hadstolen the honorstone. The concept of a Klingon without honor was as unsettling as the

laughing Vulcan depicted on the tavern’s sign. Starn decided that the stories of Town’s depravity did not

do it justice.

After ignoring him for several trips back and forth, the server finally stopped in front of Starn.“NuqneH,

vulqangan?” the Klingon growled.

Starn considered for a moment that in this setting the standard Klingon greeting actually made sense.

“bIQ,” he snarled in reply.

The Klingon paused as if puzzled by Starn’s perfect accent, then filled the trader’s order for water by

spitting on the counter in front of him.

Other beings nearby, who had listened to the exchange, froze. Had Starn also been Klingon, a glorious

blood feud would have started that might have lasted generations. But Starn was not Klingon, though his

knowledge of the empire’s customs was comprehensive.

The server waited tensely for Starn to respond to the insult, his single eye burning with expectation. Starn

slowly slid his hand beneath his cloak, and just as slowly withdrew a carefully folded white cloth.

Keeping his eyes locked on the Klingon, Starn delicately dabbed the cloth into the spittle on the counter

and began to raise the cloth to his forehead.

The server began to tremble. Starn moved the cloth closer to his forehead. Two Klingon mercenaries

standing farther down the counter began to snicker. The cloth was centimeters from Starn’s forehead

when the server finally realized that the mad creature was not going to stop.

“Ghobe!”the server spat, and snatched the cloth from Starn’s fingers. Starn sat motionless as the server

used the cloth to wipe up the counter and then stormed away, his rage almost comical in its intensity. The

mercenaries broke out in gales of harsh laughter. One of them motioned to a server, who guided an

antigrav tray of food and drink through the tables. A few moments later, the server stopped the tray by

Starn and passed him a sealed bubble of stasis water.

“With the compliments of the officers, trader,” the server said.

Starn looked down the bar at the Klingon mercenaries. They smiled at him and made clumsy attempts at

saluting him with third and fourth fingers splayed. Starn nodded in acknowledgment, to more laughter,

then broke the seal on the bubble and waited for its field to collapse. Around him, the business of the

tavern returned to normal.

Whatever else Starn was, he was a connoisseur. From its bouquet, he identified the water as coming

from a desert world, high in complex oxides. With his first sip, he ruled out TNC 50 as its origin. The

water had once been part of a photosynthesis-based ecosystem and this planet was lifeless. A second sip

was all he needed. The water was from Vulcan. The mercenaries had sought to honor him. Starn placed

the bubble on the counter and would not touch it again.

A pale blue hand reached out to the counter beside Starn. The movement was cautious and he turned

slowly. An Andorian girl looked at him nervously. She was young, clothed in a tattered and obviously

contraband Starfleet jumpsuit that matched her skin color, and she suffered from an atrophied antenna.

Even the smallest and poorest of her people’s families would have sacrificed everything to treat that

twisted hearing stalk. The girl was something no Andorian should ever have been forced to be: alone.

Starn greeted her in flawless Federation Standard, again no accent to suggest it was not his first tongue.

The girl looked nervously from side to side. “Wass it a present brought you here, trader?” she asked in a

sibilant whisper.

Starn nodded yes. He couldn’t detect anyone nearby trying to eavesdrop, but noticed that the girl stood

so that as he turned to speak with her, he looked straight across the serving area into the sensors hidden

behind the fire. He didn’t try to block them.

“And where was that present from?” the Andorian asked, shuffling and looking over her shoulder. Her

withered antenna twitched and she winced in pain.

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摘要：

ContentsIntroductionBookOneOneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTenElevenTwelveThirteenFourteenFifteenSixteenSeventeenEighteenNineteenTwentyTwenty-oneTwenty-twoTwenty-threeTwenty-fourTwenty-fiveTwenty-sixTwenty-sevenTwenty-eightTwenty-nineThirtyBookTwoProloguePartOneOneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenPartTwo...

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