STAR TREK - TNG - 57 - The Forgotten War

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2024-12-20 1 0 458.82KB 163 页 5.9玖币
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Chapter One
CAPTAINJEAN-LUCPICARDentered the transporter room, tossing a brief backward glance toward
his first officer, who had paused a moment in the corridor with a look of curious confusion. “Number
One? Have you forgotten the way?”
“Of course not, sir.” Riker grinned slightly, an ineffectual attempt to hide from the astute captain the
touch of nervousness that now clouded his brow. Picard had been in a strange, almost mischievous,
mood earlier that morning. He had asked Riker to accompany him to the transporter room to greet their
guests. “I believe you know one member of the team,” he had said, smiling enigmatically. And that was
the only information the captain would provide about Riker’s alleged acquaintance. The conversation
took a more serious turn as the two men left the bridge and made their way to the transporter room.
Picard’s tension was obvious as he checked, for the third time that day, that all was prepared for the
Tarn delegate about to beam onto theEnterprise . And for the third time that day, Riker reassured his
captain. Now if only he could calm himself down.
“Good morning, Counselor,” Picard said in his smooth rich voice. Riker almost did a double take. He
was so distracted he hadn’t even registered Deanna’s presence.
“Captain.” She nodded in the direction of Picard. “Good morning, Will. . . . Is everything all right?”
“Of course,” Riker responded absently, without listening.
“Will?” Deanna questioned with a note of slight concern edging her voice. “Something troubling you?”
He tried to turn on his most charming smile. “No, nothing.”
Lying to Deanna was definitely a no-win situation; he could see that she had already figured something
out.
“Excuse me, Captain,” the engineering ensign interrupted apologetically. Riker looked over at him with
almost a feeling of gratitude. “The team is ready upon your orders.”
“Very well, Mr. Eddies. Beam them aboard.”
A few moments elapsed, yielding no sign of the boarding party.
“Mr. Eddies? At your convenience, please?”
“I’m sorry, Captain. There seems to be some kind of disturbance. Sensors read that the team did not
transport across.”
“That is apparent, Ensign. The question is, where are they?”
“Well, sir, they’re still on theTsushima . It’s that problem we’ve been having with one of the targeting
scanners.”
“Mr. Eddies, you reported that as repaired earlier today,” Picard replied with the slightest tone of
admonishment in his voice.
“I’m sorry, sir. We ran the tests, recalibrated the unit, and it looked like it was fine.” As the nervous
ensign spoke he quickly scanned the system board, waiting for the diagnostic software to evaluate the
situation.
“Same unit failed again,” he finally replied. “It’ll only take a minute, sir.”
The ensign made the necessary adjustments.
“She’s on-line now, sir. It’s safe to transport.”
“How many more replacement units do we have for that system?” Will asked while the ensign ran a final
safety check.
“Just one, sir.”
Riker looked over at Picard.
“Just one? We’ll have to keep our fingers crossed,” Picard announced. “And Mr. Eddies . . .” he
continued.
“Yes, sir?” Riker noticed that the poor kid had turned beet red.
“I’m making it your personal responsibility to ensure that we don’t run short again.”
“Yes, sir,” whispered the ensign.
A wave of sympathy washed over Riker. However remiss Eddies might have been in his duties, it was
plain bad luck to mess up in front of the captain on the day they were receiving a Tarn delegate.
The ensign attempted the transport a second time. A moment passed before the vague forms of three
individuals appeared on the platform and then materialized.
“Very good, Mr. Eddies. Run a full check on why those systems were giving us trouble earlier.”
Then, turning to the party, Picard smiled. “Welcome to theEnterprise . I apologize for the
inconvenience. Lieutenant Garrett, we’re certainly glad to see you, and Dr. Eardman, it is a pleasure to
have you on board. I’ve read some of your works.”
Picard stepped to one side, making it a point not to speak to the third individual; this was now a question
of military protocol. Riker stepped up to his captain’s side, faced the Tarn, and came to attention,
ignoring the doctor though all his personal desires screamed at him to look over at her.
The Tarn stood several inches taller than Will’s six-foot-two frame, his reptilian gaze absolutely devoid
of any show of warmth or emotion. The lizardlike Tarn triggered in Riker the instinctive fear of a creature
that looked like a cold-blooded hunter from a primordial age. He forced his fear aside, letting his training
take over. Stepping up close to the Tarn, he exhaled noisily. The Tarn, surprised by the gesture, exhaled
back at Riker. For the Tarn, the gesture was the human equivalent of shaking hands, a greeting gesture
that was used at one time to reveal that the one who stood before you had the same scent as others of
your hunting circle.
“Commander Harna Karish, I greet you into our circle as if you are of our blood,” Will said, struggling
with the guttural pronunciation of the Tarn words.
“I accept the greeting as if I am returning to those of my blood,” Karish replied.
Picard, who had been silently observing the scene, was surprised that Karish had spoken in Federation
Standard. It was, for a Tarn, a major concession to diplomatic protocol.
The Tarn stood before the group, his cold eyes shifting back and forth. His bearing was stiff,
accentuating his height. Clothed in the dress uniform of a Tarn warrior, a scarlet coat ribbed with silver
and a navy blue sash extending from one shoulder down the length of his back and attached to the
opposite hip, he made an impressive and rather intimidating show of restrained strength. Etched into his
reptilian forehead was a pewter-colored tattoo of five small stars in a circle.
Riker made a gesture to Harna’s forehead, and to the tattoo, which revealed his clan.
“Of the Kala circle, the royal line. We are honored. I am of the circle Riker, of old America, of Earth,
and my circle is unblemished.”
Riker now turned and introduced Captain Picard. The diplomatic protocol of it was all rather interesting.
If Karish had arrived as an actual representative of the Tarn government, it would have been Picard who
greeted him first. Though Karish was of a noble circle on his homeworld, his actual role aboard the
Enterprise was merely as an exchange officer, “for the purpose of observation,” as the memo from
Starfleet had explained. Karish held a rank that could be considered equal to Riker’s in his own fleet;
therefore, it was appropriate that Riker make the first greeting. For Picard to do so would have resulted
in a loss of face.
A flicker of a gaze from Picard showed that the captain was impressed by Riker’s skillful handling.
Picard, following Riker’s lead, went through the breathing ritual, this time with Harna breathing first, but
with head lowered, a subtle but significant signal that he acknowledged Picard’s superior position aboard
ship.
“Welcome aboard,” Picard announced, but refraining from the ritual of shaking hands, since such an act
was seen as an aggressive move by a Tarn too close to a foe.
“Thank you, Captain. As a representative of the Tarn, I wish to express my thanks for your invitation.
Admiral Jord sends his regards. He is more gracious in his praise of the Federation than most. We shall
see if his opinion deserves the merit it receives in our First Circle.”
“As we will endeavor to validate the praises that accompany you, Mr. Karish. I think you will find your
time aboard theEnterprise to be a profitable experience,” Picard said, motioning for the Tarn to follow
him out of the transporter room.
He turned and looked back at Will and Dr. Janice Eardman, the ship’s new historian.
“Dr. Eardman, I’m glad you’ve joined us. I hope you can accompany me for dinner tonight.”
Eardman smiled.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I take it you know our first officer?”
The woman Picard addressed looked straight at Riker. She nodded an acknowledgment in his direction,
yet said nothing.
“Fine. Commander, would you mind escorting Dr. Eardman to her quarters and providing a tour of the
ship while I offer Commander Karish escort to his quarters?”
Riker could not help but let a flash of discomfort show. Picard had guessed correctly; this was certainly
a familiar face. Deanna, meanwhile, was looking straight at Riker, as if sensing something as well.
“Certainly, Captain.” The door slid shut as Deanna, accompanied by Lieutenant Garrett, as well as the
captain and the Tarn, stepped out into the main corridor.
Riker’s gaze followed them from the room before finally turning to look at Eardman.
“Hello, Janice. It’s been some time since the Academy. It’s nice to see you again.”
He addressed a woman in her early thirties, slender and rather tall. She wore a regulation, one-piece
uniform fitted with a low-cut neckline and flattering lines. Her hair, a mass of tawny curls, was pulled
neatly away from her face and caught in a silver pin at the base of her neck. Her honey-colored eyes
flashed as she smiled slightly, an awkward blend of embarrassment and excitement.
“It’s good to see you as well, Will.”
“Your goal has been accomplished, I assume?” Even as he said the words Will inwardly kicked himself
for being so blunt.
“Depending on the goals, yes, they’ve been accomplished, the same as yours. I assume you’ve
accomplished yours also, haven’t you, Will?”
The two stared at each other, memories creeping up on the conversation like an afternoon shadow.
There had once been a moment between them, a wonderful summer assignment together in their third
year at the Academy. It could have been far more, but that possibility had disappeared as it became clear
that each assumed that the other would willingly follow wherever the other’s career path led. Both of
them had been drawn, and both of them had almost succumbed. Both of them had left angry, though who
had left whom was still, after all these years, an inner topic of debate for the two.
She was given the chance to spend a three-year assignment on Tarett IV, a distant colony that offered
intensive archeological excavation and historical archives as yet undocumented. Will remembered the
excitement in her face when she had told him of her opportunity. She had then casually mentioned that
there was an open slot for an ensign aboard the orbital base above Tarett IV. Orbital base indeed, he
thought bitterly, just one step above a shoreside assignment. It was starships that called to him. He didn’t
want to get stuck pushing padds in some backwater and he had told her bluntly of his views regarding
that idea. And that had ended it.
Nine years had given Will plenty of time to reflect on the incident. He had felt bitterness toward her for a
little while. Yet he no longer nursed a grudge. His initial sight of Janice had momentarily brought a bit of
the anger near the surface, triggering his pointed comment a moment before; however, he had realized
long before that it wasn’t really anger that he felt toward this woman, simply the sadness of being left.
There was an awkward moment, and then she smiled, the smile that could so easily melt him, a smile he
had wished he had seen one more time before she had walked out the door.
“I like your ship, Will,” she said softly.
“Your ship too now, Doctor.”
“Lieutenant,” she reminded him. “On ship professorial titles don’t apply.”
He knew that; still, it was a way of paying a compliment. To rank as a professor of history at the
Academy before she was thirty had indeed been a major accomplishment.
“Yes, my ship for the moment,” she replied. “Starfleet likes their instructors to have a stint of shipboard
duty every once in a while, sort of a sabbatical.”
He wanted to ask if she had deliberately selected theEnterprise knowing he was on board, but knew
better than to try and fish for praise.
“Come on, Janice, let me show you around.”
Calling her by her first name, especially delivered with his most winning smile, finally broke the ice a bit
more and she smiled in return.
Janice handed him a bag and followed him out of the transporter room. The two chatted along the way
of superficial nonessentials: the location of the holodeck, the ship’s historical records, an overview of the
Enterprise’s last mission. Each spoke casually to camouflage the unanswered questions, the potential
clashing of wills, the long-forgotten hurt.
Riker, nearing the entrance to Janice’s assigned quarters, suddenly grinned. “Are you still as crazy about
strawberries and chocolate mixed with Venduvian sauce?”
Janice couldn’t help a smirk, a lovely blend of embarrassed delight. “I’m afraid so.”
“Well, I’ll have to fix you some. Maybe tomorrow?”
“You’re going to fix me some?”
“Sure.”
“And will this be fit for consumption?”
“Of course. I’ve had plenty of time since . . . well, I’ve perfected my culinary arts, let us say. We even
have a few real strawberries stashed away in the galley, nothing synthetic.”
Turning a corner he slowed, nodded toward a door. “Ah, here are your quarters. Spartan but efficient.”
He struggled not to say more, depositing her bag by the door, not opening it or helping her in. The
situation was awkward enough as it was. She touched the side panel and the door slid open. Hoisting her
bag, she stood silent for a moment, obviously nervous, a reaction he could detect by the way she brushed
back an errant lock of hair from her brow.
He stared into the face of Janice, finding it nearly unchanged after nine years. The same wayward curls,
the same fiercely independent chin, the same eyes, though slightly more resilient now than they had been.
He hesitated on a thought, unsure of the timing.Just leave it be, Riker, he told himself, and yet
questioned anyway.
“After all these years, Janice, I still wonder at times.”
She blinked, eyes dropping for a moment, cheeks flushing. Yes, he could see it: the thought had haunted
her as well. It had not just been a summer romance; it might have been far more, and it still troubled her.
“Wondering doesn’t change the past, Will,” she said softly. “We both have to live with the consequences
of our choices.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied stiffly, vowing now not to let his feelings show. “After all, you are a
historian, you know those things.”
She looked up at him, features set. Riker cursed himself.It was going so well, he thought.Why did I
have to open my big mouth and take a dig at her? “Janice, I’m sorry I said that, can’t we just . . .”
With a calmness that appeared strangely out of place amid the tension of the earlier conversation, she
interrupted him. “Just remember, Will, you never asked me to stay.”
With that, she disappeared into her room.
Harna Karish settled down in the chair, noting that it had been designed with room for his prehensile tail.
Yet another sign of the lengths those of the Federation would go to in order to make him comfortable.
Again, a sign of their willingness to accommodate, and a sign of their weakness.
The one who was the second, Riker, his pronunciation was atrocious, the attempt of a fumbling underling
to appease one of greater stature. Yet he was considered almost as powerful as the commander of this
ship. One could see the interplay between the two; there was no abject lowering of Riker’s head to
acknowledge Picard’s superior position. Odd . . .
He stood up and went to the computer-input board for the ship. His inquiry in Tarn gave no response,
so he was forced to access through Federation Standard, a loathsome tongue that he had studied for
years in preparation for this assignment. He began to scan through the logs, the information about the
ship, randomly searching back and forth.
Surprisingly, the information was open: design systems, maps, histories. Eventually, it could be subtly
altered, filtered to appear real but actually laden with misinformation. But first he would have to
download the data; it might prove useful.
Out of curiosity he accessed the computer’s information on the Tarn. Their version, at least, was
extensive: first contact, the undeclared war, the settlement and establishment of a neutral zone for both . .
. interesting that they left such information available. It was one-sided to be certain, yet readily accessible
if he so desired. Why was that? Was this all a façade, the computer controlled and programmed so that
he alone would think they were being open, and thus he would report favorably? Or perhaps it was a
part of their elaborate preparation to convince the Karuuki, the First Circle, that the intentions of the
Federation in seeking a permanent treaty were honest.
Harna smirked without pleasure. The Karuuki circle would soon fall from power, and when his own
circle, also of the royal line, the Kala, took control, then the Federation would see once again the power
that the Tarn could extend, for was it not their destiny to rule? There were other races who bore no love
for the Federation yet still sought alliances. The Kala would be more than happy to make similar
alliances, playing one against the other, weakening each so that their own rightful destiny to expand could
be fulfilled. The question was, how did he expand his own position in the meantime?
“Captain to the bridge.”
Picard stirred, drawn from a peaceful dream. Quickly focusing his attention, he stood up, trying to stifle a
yawn.
“On my way.”
He pulled on his uniform and shoes.
Stepping out of his quarters, he advanced into the upper area of the bridge. Data, in command of the
watch, approached the captain as he entered.
“Sir, sorry to disturb you, but I think you had better look at this.”
“What is it, Data?”
“We were passing within point zero three parsecs of the Torgu-Va system and did a standard sweep of
the area.”
It took Picard a moment to orient himself. They were into their second day of passage through the Tarn
Neutral Zone, the first Federation ship in this position in over two hundred years. With the initial protocol
reached between the Federation and the Tarn, the No-Entry Zone was now open to both sides, and
Starfleet wanted one of their best ships in there as a show of force. Standard scans of any nearby
systems were part of normal procedure, but in this case the scans were essential. After all, this was all
unexplored territory.
He looked at the plot board. Only a single planet showed on the screen, the data scrolling by indicating
that it was nothing more than a scorched rock. No sentient life-forms.
Data pointed to a small blip orbiting Torgu-Va’s sun, almost directly opposite the position of the planet.
“What is that?”
“It appears to be wreckage, sir, a derelict ship.”
Picard looked crossly at Data. There were thousands of wrecks in space, the flotsam and jetsam of
hundreds of years of exploration, colonization, and wars. Why had he been awakened for this trivia?
“I believe there is something significant about this wreck,” Data said as he pointed at a high-gain
magnification of the scan.
Picard leaned over to look at the screen, his curiosity suddenly aroused.
“Order helm to bring us about. I want a closer look at this.”
Picard stepped back from the screen and watched as the starfield display on the forward scan shifted.
The pinpoint of light that was the harsh blue-white sun of Torgu-Va appeared in the lower corner. It’d
take them an hour off course, but still . . .
The minutes passed slowly, the way they always seemed to idle by monotonously when one was
standing watch at three in the morning. This was probably just a phantom, a bit of minor wreckage. Still,
there was something about the configuration. He was tempted to call for their new historian, but decided
against it. Let the woman sleep. She had been aboard now for four days and he wondered about the
wisdom of the transfer, the personal tension that was so evident between her and Riker. An assignment
that Picard first thought would please his Number One was in fact distracting and troubling him, and the
captain wasn’t pleased with that effect.
Funny that he even remembered Will mentioning her. It must have been more than a year or so back,
when he had called his first officer’s attention to one of Eardman’s articles in the journalStarfleet
Historical Review . Riker had looked uncomfortable at the mention of her name, and said little more
than that they knew each other at the Academy. When her name had come up for field assignment,
Picard had been delighted on a personal level; history had always been one of his passions. He had
expected a similar reaction from Riker, judging from how well Riker got along with Counselor Troi. He
wondered now if he should have steered Dr. Eardman to another ship.
An updated scan appeared on part of the screen and Picard looked over at Data. This was starting to
get interesting. At the very least, it was a break from their usual routine.
Here could be found dragons and unknown lands, Picard thought with a smile. It was good to have an
anomaly presented, even if it was 3:25 in the morning.
The wreckage was dead ahead, the range closing down to the tens of millions of kilometers, the sun of
Torgu-Va off their port side, the undistinguished planet, typical of the vast majority of uninhabitable
worlds, nearly eclipsed on the far side several hundred million kilometers away.
“Bring us to impulse power, Mr. Data.”
“Shifting to impulse, sir. . . . Captain, we are closing in on the core of the wreckage. I think you had
better look at this.”
Picard left his chair and walked over to Data’s display panel at the back of the bridge.
“We have two distinct wrecks here, three point nine thousand kilometers apart. We have scattered
wreckage spread across several tens of millions of kilometers.”
“Focus in on that central mass,” Picard said quietly.
Data pushed the magnification up to maximum. Computer analysis took over, a flood of information
coming back, and then there was a flash on the screen as a computerized outline was superimposed over
the wreck.
Startled, Picard looked over at Data.
“It can’t be,” Picard whispered.
“Sir. I think it is. The hull configuration matches with the computer outline.”
“The other wreck?”
Data manipulated the computer screen’s information again.
“Far less distinct, sir, heavily damaged. Our information on Tarn ships is sketchy, but it looks like the
Tarn shipRashasa, reported lost two hundred and four years ago.”
“Shift us back to the other one.”
Picard stared intently at the image, which was now coming into sharp detail as they closed to less than a
hundred kilometers and slowed to a stop. The entire aft section was blown off, the warp nacelles were
gone, the main deck area was flame-scorched, and the ship was hulled in several places . . . it was the
ghost of a distant past.
“Data, have Commander Karish report here to the bridge. Then wake Riker and Eardman to serve on
the away team. Brief them and go along. I think they’re going to find this interesting.”
“Transporter room.” Janice gave the command within the turbolift and waited impatiently as the machine
slipped into action. She caught a wayward curl that inevitably strayed from its pin and shoved it absently
behind her right ear. The wake-up call had pulled her from a deep sleep with an order to report to the
transporter room within thirty minutes with her historical recording gear. There had only been time for a
quick sonic shower, leaving her feeling rushed and slightly disheveled. The rush of shipboard life was
unsettling, but then again, the order for her to report had stated that it was a high-priority mission and that
she was to don an environmental suit, which would be found in her closet. When she had inquired about
details, Captain Picard had merely replied that she would be briefed before transport. She had sensed a
note of excitement in his voice, as if there was a pleasant surprise in store.
The turbolift came to a smooth stop at the transporter-room deck. Janice took a long draught of air in an
attempt to settle her stomach before entering the room. She slowed at the sight of Will, who was deep in
conversation with Data. He had canceled their date for strawberries, claiming ship’s duties came first,
and had pointedly avoided contact with her since. She caught his gaze following her as she came in, and
she made a point of greeting him with a polite nod and then immediately breaking eye contact.
He looked up at her and nodded. “We’re in luck. The scan indicates that there’s airtight integrity on the
main bridge of the wreck. We won’t need suits but we’ll keep them on just in case. You can keep your
helmet visor up, but if there is a decompression you’ll need to lock it in place.”
“Yes, Commander.”
He approached her, casually checking the helmet clips and air supply.
“Fine.” He stepped away, turning his back to her.
“Data, are you prepared?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now, with the doctor here, we will be ready to leave soon. Doctor?”
“Yes, sir.” Janice assumed that, amid company, it would be wise to address Will as the superior officer
that he was.
“Data is already informed of our mission so I will fill you in briefly. It seems we have come upon the
wreckage of theU.S.S. Verdun and a Tarn ship which apparently fought them, theRashasa.”
“Captain Murat’sVerdun?” Janet asked incredulously.
“His is the only one I know of.”
“But theVerdun was reported missing and as sumed lost with all hands. . . .” Her words trailed off into
stunned silence.
“Janice? Are you all right?”
“TheVerdun?”
“That’s what we’ve found. Why?”
“My God, Will. It was reported lost two hundred years ago.”
“Actually, it was two hundred and four years ago, according to our historical records,” Data supplied
generously.
Her heart was pounding as she struggled to maintain an outward display of professionalism. TheVerdun!
Not a single ship of that design had survived. All were either destroyed, reported lost, or scrapped.
“But it was reported lost . . . destroyed,” she finally whispered, realizing that everyone in the transporter
room was looking at her after her exclamation of disbelief.
“It was not destroyed, entirely,” Data replied. “Many of the lower decks remain . . . as well as the main
bridge.”
Janice’s eyes widened. The main bridge. That would mean records, data storehouses, access to
personal logs. The historical significance of such a find would be phenomenal.
For a second her eyes met Will’s and she could see that he was genuinely pleased for her sake, that he
understood just how excited she would be and was happy about her pleasure.
“It’s ours, or should I say yours for the exploring,” he said with a smile. “You’re the historian. We’ll take
our cues from you once aboard.”
“Ready for transporting, sir,” the ensign at the console offered.
“Are we ready?”
Data replied in the affirmative; Janice could muster only a nod.
摘要：

ChapterOneCAPTAINJEAN-LUCPICARDenteredthetransporterroom,tossingabriefbackwardglancetowardhisfirstofficer,whohadpausedamomentinthecorridorwithalookofcuriousconfusion.“NumberOne?Haveyouforgottentheway?”“Ofcoursenot,sir.”Rikergrinnedslightly,anineffectualattempttohidefromtheastutecaptainthetouchofnerv...

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