STAR TREK - TNG - Signature Edition - Imzadi Forever

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Contents

Introduction

The End

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

The End of the Beginning

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Epilogue

The Beginning

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

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

The Middle

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

Thirty-nine

Forty

Forty-one

Forty-two

Forty-three

The Beginning of the End

Forty-four

Now

Then

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

Now

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.

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.

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

ISBN: 0-7434-9264-1

First Pocket Books trade paperback edition December 2003

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

These titles were previously published individually by Pocket Books.

Visit us on the World Wide Web:

http://www.SimonSays.com/st

http://www.startrek.com

Introduction

I had no idea when I was writing it thatImzadi was going to be the most popular book I ever produced.

All I knew was that I’d been given the mandate by then-editor Kevin Ryan to write the story of how

William Riker and Deanna Troi first hooked up.

Frankly, I was just excited about the prospect of writing it.Star Trek has a great mythic, epic feel to it,

and being allowed to explore such defining territory was a terrific opportunity. However, I didn’t just

want to write a flashback story. I wanted to do something vast, sprawling. SoImzadi covers Riker and

Troi’s past, “present,” and possible future—with a tip of the hat to Harlan Ellison, whose original concept

for “City on the Edge of Forever” was that Kirk was willing to let the universe unravel in order to save

Edith Keeler, and it was the emotionless Spock who made sure she died. I dropped an elderly,

embittered Riker into Kirk’s position, Data into Spock’s, and the story practically wrote itself.

The impact it had and continues to have to this day amazes me. One couple told me that they used

Riker’s poem for their wedding vows. A couple of squealing teenaged femaleImzadi fans, upon realizing

who I was, actually jumped me in a parking lot as if I were a rock star while my horrified eldest daughter

looked on.

Imzadi IIwas a bit more problematic. IfImzadi was a snapshot of the happily married writer I was at the

time I wrote it—producing a novel of depthless romance—Imzadi IIcame after my marriage went south.

It presented the more dour message that things don’t always work out the way you plan. That what gives

a story a happy ending is that you choose to conclude it where you do…because any story continued

long enough always ends sadly, in tears and loss. On the upside, it also presented the idea that when

things don’t work out, it doesn’t necessarily mean the end of one’s ability to love, even though sometimes

it may feel like it. The human (or, for that matter, Klingon) capacity for resilience and seeking out new

companionship is nigh infinite. It’s reflected both in the lives of theEnterprise crew and in my own moving

on to a second—and quite happy, thank you—marriage. If Riker, Worf, and Troi could rebound from

romantic setbacks, so could I. And so can you, if you’re reading this and are in the throes of a busted

relationship.

I am pleased and proud that Pocket is putting out this fancy-shmancy edition of these two novels. I

doubt there’ll be a third, since the rest of Riker and Troi’s relationship is being chronicled elsewhere.

I further wish to acknowledge: John Ordover, who oversawImzadi II, and Margaret Clark, who is

seeing this edition through to fruition; the ever-cooperative Paula Bloch at Paramount; Ron[ald D.]

Moore, who took it upon himself to assure me that the similarities betweenThe Next Generation ’s

then-forthcoming final episode and elements ofImzadi were purely coincidence; and Jonathan Frakes,

who did a sensational job reading the audio version of my adaptation ofImzadi.

And since the first book was dedicated to my first wife, and the second book to my second wife,

Kathleen, so let this edition be dedicated to the thousands of fans who have supported the two books

and have taken the time to let me know how much the novels meant to them. I write all my books from

the heart, but I suppose that when it’s a bookabout the heart, it’s more obvious. So a shout-out to

romantics everywhere or, as Anna sang inThe King and I, “Be brave, young lovers, and follow your

star.”

Peter David

Long Island, New York

September 2003

Imzadi

The events take place during 2366,

just prior to Commander Riker assuming

command of theEnterprise during the Borg

invasion of Sector 001.

The End

One

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

A gentle, eerie howling was in the air, which seemed to be permeated with the haunting and lonely cries

of souls that had existed or might never exist or might be in some state of limbo in between.

In the distance was the city. Its name was unknown and would forever remain so. The air was dark and

filled with a sense that a storm might break at any moment. It was that way all the time. The storm never

did break. It just threatened to do so. The very withholding of the actual event implied that, should that

storm ever arrive, it might very well bring with it enough power to wash away all vestiges of that

remarkable intangible called reality.

None of that mattered to the man who was the leader. The man in the greenish yellow shirt, whose mind

was elsewhere and elsewhen. Behind him stood his friends, his crew. They waited patiently. For a

moment it appeared that he was wondering just how long they would be capable of waiting. What were

the limits of their patience? The limits of their confidence in the man who was their captain?

But it was clear that he was not going to test those limits. A man who had been driven to go out and

explore new places, discover new frontiers…this man had finally found a place filled with potentially

endless vistas of exploration. Anywhere, anywhen. And his response was not to embrace it. No, all he

wanted to do was leave it behind, to get as far away from it as possible.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” The words hung there a moment, startling in their vehemence, in the

longing and resignation and overall sense ofOh, God, I can’t stand it anymore, get me away from here,

away to a place where I don’t have to think or feel, to a place where I can just be numb.

The crew took several small steps closer to each other. To a degree it was out of reflex, to make sure

that they would be well within range of the transporter effect. But there was something else as well this

time. It was an unspoken desire to try to lend support by dint of the fact that they werethere for him.

There was nothing they could say or do. Indeed, they didn’t even fully understand what was going

through the captain’s mind.

They did not yet know the sacrifices their commanding officer had made. Did not know that, in the best

tradition of romance, he had found a part of his soul existing in a woman and had been drawn to her. And

then had lost that part of his soul, which he hadn’t fully realized he was missing in the first place. Lost it

beneath the screeching of tires, under a truck’s wheels…

Not just the wheel of a truck. A wheel of history, an unrelenting, unyielding cog that had ground up his

love and his soul and spit them both out, bloodied and battered…and broken.

Yes, that was the difference that the crew sensed this time in their captain. Many a time had he been

battered…but as the old saying went, “Battered but un-bowed.” This time, though…he was bowed.

They got the hell out of there.

And Commodore Data watched them go.

She was simply called Mary Mac. Her last name actually began with a sound approximating “Mac,” but

the rest was a major tongue twister. As a result, the other scientists addressed her as “Mary Mac.”

Mary Mac was extremely peculiar. For one thing, she was an Orion. This in itself was not particularly

unusual. She was, however, fully clothed. Thiswas unusual, as the vast majority of Orion women existed

purely to be the sex toys of men in general and Orion men in particular. They were known as vicious and

deadly fighters and radiated sex the way suns radiated heat…and indeed, some thought, a bit more

intensely.

Mary Mac’s skin was green, as was standard for an Orion woman. In every other aspect, however, she

was markedly different from the rest of her kind. She wore loose-fitting clothes…deliberately loose so as

to do nothing that could potentially emphasize the formidable curves of her body. Because she liked her

arms unencumbered, her tunic was short sleeved, although an off-the-shoulder cape was draped stylishly

around her. She had long, jet-black hair, but rather than hanging saucily around her shoulders, it was

delicately and elaborately braided…certainly not an ugly hairstyle, but hardly one that would inflame the

senses.

Most incredibly…she wore glasses. They had a slight tint and huge frames.

Nobody wore glasses. They were considered to be phenomenally out-of-date as well as unattractive.

Which is why she wore them.

Mary Mac regretted, every so often, that she felt a need to “dress down,” as it were, so that she could

operate within society. She was, however, used to it. There were precious few prejudices that one had to

deal with in the day-to-day operations of the United Federation of Planets, but one of the few remaining

was that all Orion women were nothing but animalistic sex kittens. It was an understandable notion

because that description did indeed fit virtually all Orion women, including most of the ones whom Mary

Mac had ever met.

It did not, however, fit her, and if she had to go to extremes to get her point across, well…then so be it.

Her “look” had gotten her quite far. It had, in fact, been something of a plus. People would be interested

and amused by her as she would discuss some involved or arcane bit of scientific lore…interested

because usually they’d never heard an Orion woman put together a sentence of more than five or so

words, and amused because they’d smugly be waiting for her to revert to type any moment. She never

did, of course. She’d trained too long and too hard to allow that to happen. As a result she was always a

bit of a surprise, and throughout the galaxy, people loved to be surprised.

Which is why Mary Mac had worked her way up through the ranks and eventually landed the

assignment of project administrator on Forever World.

The planet did not have an official name. Somehow it had seemed presumptuous for any mere mortal to

give it one…somewhat like painting a mustache on the face of God. It had simply been nicknamed

Forever World, and that was what had stuck.

She passed her associate coordinator, Harry, who didn’t seem to notice her. A muscular and dark-hued

terran, Harry’s attention was fully on a set of equations or some other bit of scientific data on a

palm-sized computer padd. “Hi, Harry,” she said to him as he walked past. He waved distractedly and

continued on his way. He had probably already forgotten that he’d been addressed at all, much less by

Mary Mac.

Mary Mac made her way across the compound, nodding or conversing briefly with other scientists on

the project. One of the odder aspects of conversation on the Forever World was that one tended to

speak in a hushed voice. There was no particular reason for it. It certainly wasn’t mandated by law or

tradition. But somehow, particularly when one was standing outside and the eerie howling filled one’s

ears and one’s soul, the speaking voice tended to drop to a soft tone that could best be described as

“subdued”…and perhaps even a bit fearful. Mary had once commented that it always seemed as if the

cosmos was hanging on your every word here. It was an assessment that had been generally agreed with.

The gravel crunched under Mary Mac’s boots as she got to the other side of the compound and headed

toward the reason for the perpetual presence of a half dozen or so scientists on the Forever World.

Just ahead of her was the only other constant noise that existed aside from the mournful sigh of the wind,

and that was a steady, constant hum of a force field. She stepped over a rise, and as always, there it was.

As alwayswas not a term used lightly, or incorrectly. As near as anyone could tell, the Guardian of

Forever had always been there, and would most likely always be there.

The force field that had been erected around it was ostensibly to protect the unique archaeological

discovery from any potential ravagers. But in point of fact, it was there for a subtly different reason.

Namely, to protect life (as it was known) from itself.

Erected just outside the force field was a free-standing platform about two meters tall. An array of

readouts charted the energy fluxes that surged around the Guardian of Forever within the force field.

There were, in addition, two small lights, one brightly glowing red, the other pulsing a very soft green.

To the right of the platform was a large screen. It offered, in essence, a taped delay. When a request for

a period was made on the Guardian, it ran so quickly that the best anyone could hope to perceive was

fleeting images. But the screen would then capture those images and play specifically requested moments

in a more accessible fashion.

At this particular moment, the Guardian had finished yet another run-through of a particular era. It was

now silent, displaying nothing, waiting with its infinite patience for the next request from an audience.

Standing outside the field, staring at the Guardian, was an android. Playing out on the screen, having

been recorded moments before for replay, was a scene very familiar to Mary Mac.

She stopped and simply took in for a moment the irony of the situation. On one level, what she was

seeing was one machine watching another. But neither of them were simple machines. Both of them had

sentience, which raised them from the level of machine to the status of…something else. Something

unclassifiable.

The very thought of something that could not easily be labeled or pigeonholed was anathema to Mary

Mac, and yet at the same time the existence of such things was a pleasant reminder that no one could

ever fully know every wrinkle that the universe had to offer…and that, therefore, a scientist’s work

would never, ever, be finished.

Her first inclination had been to think of the android, despite the rank of commodore, as an “it.” Just as

she had thought of the Guardian as an “it” before coming to the Forever World. However, shortly after

she’d met Commodore Data, she’d found herself forced to revise her opinion and mentally elevate the

commodore to a “he.” As for the Guardian, she was still trying to get that sorted out. The best she could

come up with at the moment was a “whatever.” Or perhaps, more accurately, a “whenever.”

Data stood there, his back to Mary Mac, hands draped just below the base of his spine. The stark black

and green lines of his uniform, with the silver trim on the arms and trouser cuffs, seemed to shimmer in the

perpetual twilight of the horizon. His attention shifted momentarily from the Guardian to the scene being

replayed on the screen.

Mary Mac heard a familiar voice, a voice filled with resolve and yet hidden trauma. And the voice said,

“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She smiled and called out, “That figures.”

Data turned and looked at her, his face calm and composed as always. His gold skin glittered in the half

light. “Pardon?”

She pointed at the Guardian. “That moment. It’s one of the most popular.”

Data nodded slowly and looked back. On the screen, the crew of explorers was drawing closer to its

leader and then, moments later, shimmered out of existence. “That’s not surprising, I suppose,” said

Data. “Although there are many moments from history that would be far more impressive in their scope,

the history of James Kirk and the crew ofEnterprise would certainly hold some degree of fascination.

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摘要：

ContentsIntroductionTheEndOneTwoThreeFourFiveSixTheEndoftheBeginningSevenEightNineTenEpilogueTheBeginningElevenTwelveThirteenFourteenFifteenSixteenSeventeenEighteenNineteenTwentyTwenty-oneTwenty-twoTwenty-threeTwenty-fourTwenty-fiveTwenty-sixTwenty-sevenTwenty-eightTwenty-nineThirtyThirty-oneThirty-...

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