STAR TREK - TNG - 26 - The Romulan Prize

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For Bruce and Peggy Wiley,
with grateful acknowledgment to
Pat Connors, Scott Glener, Seth Morris,
Henry Tyler and Rikki Winters
Prologue
DEANNATROIwrenched herself free from the nightmare with an unaccustomed force of will, gasping
for breath. She sat bolt upright in bed, disoriented and confused. She could feel the dampness on her skin
and on the twisted sheets, but it wasn’t her sweat, and the accelerated pulse rate she seemed to feel was
not that of her heart. In fact, it hadn’t even been her dream, and the force of will that had exerted its iron
control to wrench her out of it was not her will.
Had she been fully human, Deanna Troi might have felt frightened and confused by such a strange and
powerful experience, but she was half Betazoid, and Betazoids had a more profound understanding of
the phenomenon of empathy than humans did. Humans were certainly capable of empathy, but not to the
same extent as Betazoids, whose senses and levels of psychic awareness were much more developed
and fine-tuned than those of humans. Being half human, however, Deanna experienced a brief moment of
fear and disorientation. Then she realized what had happened and was up and running toward the door,
pausing only long enough to pull on her robe.
As she ran barefoot down the deck’s long, curving corridor, she quickly noted that it was still night
watch, for the corridor was illuminated in a soft red glow. Beyond the night-watch lighting, Deanna had
no clear idea of the time. She hadn’t paused to check; she had simply reacted instantly to the profound
empathic link she’d just experienced. She knew whose dream she had shared.
She was capable of forging an empathic link with any member of theEnterprise crew, but only one man
had a force of will so strong that a link could be formed spontaneously, unconsciously, and with such
force and intensity. She stopped at the door to the captain’s quarters and pressed the small panel that
activated the chime inside.
The door slid open, and from within she heard a weary yet strong and resonant voice say, “Come.” She
entered, and the door automatically slid shut behind her. It was dark in the captain’s quarters, but there
was light coming from the bedroom. Deanna hesitated. “Captain?” she said uncertainly. “Captain, are you
all right?”
“A moment, Counselor, and I shall be right with you,” he replied, from the bedroom.
She stood and waited, moistening her lips nervously. The effects of the empathic link were now
diminished, and her heart was no longer racing. She gathered her energies and centered her
concentration, allowing a calm to descend upon her. She brushed her dark hair back away from her face
and checked to see that her robe was properly belted. Then the light came on, and Captain Jean-Luc
Picard entered the room.
He had put on a short robe, but his feet were bare. Otherwise, except for his somewhat haggard
expression, he appeared every bit the commanding presence he always was on the bridge of the starship
Enterprise.
“May I offer you something to drink, Counselor?” he said. “My throat feels a bit dry.”
“Perhaps some water.” Deanna sensed that the captain still felt some distress, but was trying to conceal
it.
He got each of them a glass of water.
“You know why I am here, of course,” she said.
He nodded. “Please, sit down, Deanna.”
His unaccustomed use of her first name gave her some comfort. While not a stickler for military
protocol, Picard usually addressed his crew members formally. His use of her first name indicated that he
wished this to be an informal discussion. And a private one.
“It seems I have unwittingly alarmed you,” he said. “Please accept my sincere apologies. It was merely a
nightmare, nothing more.”
“With all due respect, Captain,” she replied, “it was much more thanmerely a nightmare. What I felt was
far more profound.”
He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then nodded. “Very well. How much did you feel, and exactly what did
you sense?”
She paused a moment to consider her reply. “I sensed . . . fear. Profound anxiety. A sense of
helplessness and loss of control. Almost . . . panic. All emotions I generally do not associate with you.”
He nodded and took a sip of water. “A forced empathic link,” he said. “Unconscious on my part, of
course. I would never do that consciously; I hope you realize that.”
“I do,” replied Deanna. She hesitated. “I also realize that what happened was very unusual and, in a
way, constituted a subconscious call for help.”
“Was it only my feelings that you shared, or did you experience the dream, itself?” Picard asked.
Deanna had to stop and think about that. It had all happened so quickly and she had reacted so
instantaneously that there hadn’t been time to analyze exactly what she had picked up. “Only the
feelings,” she said after a moment. “If I experienced any part of your dream, I cannot recall it now.”
He nodded once again. “Just as well,” he said.
“However, everything is fine now. I appreciate your concern and your timely response, and I apologize
once again for having unconsciously impinged upon your rest.”
“Perhaps it would help if we discussed the dream.” Deanna didn’t like to push, and though she knew the
captain valued her counsel, he was and always had been a very private person. She had never
experienced a forced empathic link with him before, and the fact that it had happened argued strongly in
favor of discussing what had prompted it, even if he was reluctant to do so.
“I really don’t think that will be necessary,” he replied with a smile that seemed to her forced. “I have
disturbed you enough for one night. I am perfectly fine, I assure you.”
He was not entirely convincing, however, and Deanna sensed that the dream was still bothering him.
“Sir,” she said uneasily, “I sense that your dream disturbed you greatly, and you are not generally
disturbed by nightmares. I strongly suggest that we discuss it.”
He seemed about to protest, then reconsidered. “Very well, Counselor,” he said, reverting to formal
address, a direct reaction to her reminding him of her role aboard the ship. He drank the remainder of his
water and set the glass down. “I dreamed that I had lost control of this ship,” he said. “The dream itself
was somewhat disjointed, as dreams often are, so I cannot describe the exact circumstances. However,
through some error or malfeasance on my part, I exposed the crew to grave danger, and I was utterly
helpless to do anything about it.”
“What sort of danger?” asked Deanna.
Picard compressed his lips into a tight grimace. “I cannot say,” he replied. “I only know that through
some action, or perhaps inaction, I lost control of the ship, and my crew. . . .” He frowned and shook his
head. “Something terrible was happening to the crew, and there was absolutely nothing I could do to
stop it. I felt a strong sense of impending disaster, and there seemed to be a heavy weight on my
shoulders.” He smiled suddenly. “Doubtless the symbolic burden of my responsibilities.” He shrugged,
attempting to minimize the importance of the dream. “It was merely a stress reaction, nothing more. I
imagine this sort of dream comes frequently to those in command.”
“Perhaps, sir,” she replied, “but it does not come frequently to you. I have seen how you react under
stress. We have both been in situations where the stress was considerable, and you have never reacted
with fear or panic.”
“Well, Counselor, I am only human, after all,” Picard said, with a self-deprecating smile.
“You are a human who has never been known to panic in any situation,” she replied. “Panic is simply not
in your nature. Such a response is an anomaly. And you have never before had any dreams or feelings,
either conscious or subconscious, strong enough to trigger a forced empathic link. It is a highly profound
and unusual occurrence, even among Betazoids. With all due respect, Captain, this dream cannot be
dismissed casually.” She seemed to sense something, a brief impression, a guarded one, then just as
suddenly it was gone. She decided to pursue it. “Tell me, sir, have you ever had a precognitive dream?”
Picard grimaced. “There is not much point in trying to keep anything from you, is there?” he replied.
“Sir, it is not my intention to be intrusive, but my role aboard this ship is—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Picard replied impatiently. “Forgive me, Counselor, I am annoyed with myself, not
with you. There are some thingsss I am hesitant oo discuss with anyone, things of a private nature.
However, where they may concern the safety of the ship and its crew, I should not shy away from them.”
“So the answer is yes,” she said.
Picard nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I have had precognitive dreams, but only twice before.”
“And in those rare occurrences, did the dreams come true?” she asked, pressing him in spite of her
natural reluctance.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes, they did. One involved the death of my mother. I dreamed that she
came to me to say good-bye. The next day I found out she had died during the night. She had been ill for
quite some time. The other one . . . well, I would really rather not discuss that.”
Deanna nodded. “The important thing is that you have had precognitive dreams.”
“A coincidence,” Picard said.
“The first dream concerned your mother, with whom you naturally had a strong empathic link. I am not
so much concerned with the details of the second dream, but would I be correct in assuming that it also
involved someone with whom you had a strong empathic link?”
“Yes,” Picard said. “You would be correct in assuming that.”
“You have a strong empathic link with the members of your crew,” she continued. “Some more than
others, but the welfare of everyone on board is of paramount concern to you.”
“What are you suggesting, Counselor?”
“That it may be important for you to try to recall the details of tonight’s dream,” she said.
Picard took a deep breath and blew it out slowly, then shook his head. “I cannot. For a moment after I
awoke, there was something . . .”
“What was it?” she asked. “Try to remember.”
“Lightning,” Picard said suddenly, a strange expression on his face.
Deanna frowned. “Lightning?”
Picard shook his head. “It was a fleeting image. . . . I’m afraid I have no idea what it means.”
“This disturbs you,” she said.
“Yes, it does,” he admitted. “We have made a great many strides in science and technology, but we are
only beginning to understand the human mind. I am tempted to dismiss this as merely a nightmare,
something of no consequence, but the fact that it has happened before . . .”
“Perhaps if you try to remember . . . ?” she said.
“It’s no use,” Picard said. “Whatever it was, I can recall only what I told you.”
“If it should happen again—”
“I will call you,” said Picard. “And now you really should go back to bed and get some rest. We are
both due to go on duty in another few hours, and I have disturbed you enough for one night.”
She nodded and got to her feet. “With your permission, then, I will say good night.”
“Good night, Deanna,” he said. “Sleep well.”
She looked at him curiously. “And you,” she said.
Deanna Troi went back to her room and got back into bed, but sleep eluded her.
Chapter One
THE CENTURIONS AT THE DOORdid not move so much as a muscle as Valak approached, nor
did they acknowledge his presence in any way. He did not speak to them or even look at them. They
might as well have been statues. If Valak had no business being there, of course he would have had no
hope of trying to get past them. Romulan security was strict, and protocol was complicated and explicit.
He outranked them both, but they would have challenged him if they had not been instructed to expect
him. And Valak would have known better than to try to see the Praetor of the Romulan Empire without a
formal summons.
He did not bother to knock on the door but simply went inside. He had been commanded to appear
before the Praetor at precisely this time, and he arrived not one moment early and not one second late.
And that was as it should have been. In human society it was considered polite to knock before entering.
Humans had such curious social customs, Valak often thought. It amused him to study them, but at the
same time he took his research very seriously. He had made an exhaustive study of human cultures,
especially of Starfleet personnel, protocol, strategy, and regulations. He was a warrior, and he believed it
was part of a warrior’s duty to know his enemy.
Many Romulans assumed their superiority to humans as a matter of course and dismissed humans as
insignificant, but Valak believed it was important to know how the humans lived and how they thought.
He often told his crew that no warrior, racial superiority notwithstanding, should ever take anything for
granted. Even a superior intellect could make mistakes, and an inferior one could get lucky. Valak
brought a hunter’s sensibility to his military duties. He had grown up in the outer provinces of the
Romulan Empire on one of the recently colonized worlds, a primitive planet that was still in the beginning
stages of development. There had been no civilized indigenous culture to defeat and subjugate, but there
were plenty of large, wild, and highly dangerous life-forms that were not at all impressed with the inherent
superiority of Romulans.
Valak had learned to hunt almost as soon as he had learned to walk, and his father had instilled in him a
hunter’s respect for his prey. Valak’s father still held to many of the old values and the old ways of
Romulan culture, which were now considered outmoded on the civilized worlds of the empire. The old
ways were mystical and profoundly philosophical. In some ways the old Romulan traditions were similar
to the Vulcan belief systems, which was not surprising, for they sprang from common racial and cultural
roots.
In an almost literal sense, Valak regarded humans as prey. In that, he was completely in line with
Romulan thinking. He departed from it, however, in his respect for humans, and that made him something
of an anomaly in Romulan culture. Most Romulans considered humans weak and decadent, an inferior
species that would inevitably be subject to Romulan authority. Valak was not so sure.
He had studied humans, and concluded that they were simply different. They subscribed to a system of
morality and social structure that was beyond the understanding of most Romulans because most
Romulans did not make an effort to understand them. Valak had made that effort and through long and
exhaustive studies of their history, their writings, and their social customs, had come to respect their
culture and their way of thinking in the same way a hunter might respect the natural behavior of his prey.
He had even written several papers on the subject, which had won the approval of Romulan scholars,
but his fellow officers considered his interest in humans a puzzling eccentricity. Early in his career, he was
not taken seriously. However, though he was still young, and had only recently been promoted to
command rank, his record spoke for itself. His summons to the presence of the Praetor was dramatic
evidence of that.
He could think of only two reasons why the Praetor would wish to see him personally: either he had
made some grave error that was cause for serious disciplinary measures—and he knew that was not the
case—or his service record and qualifications had brought him to the notice of the Praetor. He was
anxious to discover just what that reason was.
He stopped the required distance from the Praetor’s command throne and waited, his posture erect yet
relaxed, taking the formal stance of the Romulan warrior—legs slightly spread apart, back straight,
shoulders squared, looking straight ahead, arms crossed in front of him at about belt level, right hand
gripping left wrist.
The command throne was turned away from him, its high back obscuring the Praetor from Valak’s sight.
The throne faced a giant screen on which the face of a senior member of the Romulan High Council was
visible. A conference was in progress, but Valak could not hear what was being said, which meant the
Praetor was communicating over his remote security channel on a scrambled frequency. A moment later
the face on the screen disappeared, and then the screen itself disappeared, quickly fading from black to
opaque to transparent and becoming a floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the sprawling capital.
Without a sound the throne slowly swiveled around to face Valak, revealing the Praetor, his forearms
resting lightly on the arms of his command throne, which had small consoles built into them. The secure
channel comm set partly obscured the Praetor’s face. The set consisted of a small metal arm containing
the shielded mouthpiece and transmitter, which were attached to a headset receiver. As the throne came
around to face Valak, the entire comm set assembly swung away from the Praetor’s face, swiveling
around its pivot and retracting into a panel in the back of the command throne.
“Commander Valak,” the Praetor said. He made no mention of Valak’s promptness—that was to be
expected. Valak uncrossed his arms, allowing the left one to hang straight at his side while with the right
he gave the Romulan salute, fist thumping the left side of the chest. The Praetor did not return the salute,
which was simply his due and required no acknowledgment on his part. However, he did incline his head
slightly, which surprised Valak and pleased him enormously. It was a small thing, perhaps, but it
constituted a gesture of respect.
“I am deeply honored, my lord,” said Valak. The Praetor was addressed not by his title, but by the
honorific befitting his caste and rank.
As a young warrior, Lord Darok had achieved a record of military victories that remained unsurpassed.
He had not traded on his high-caste birth to gain rank, but had chosen the warrior’s way and achieved
his current position purely on merit. He was no longer young and had not held a field command in years,
but age had not diminished his powers to any visible extent. His face was lined, and his hair white, but the
features were still strong and full of character, his eyes still clear, their gaze forceful. There was no trace
of hesitation in his speech, and his posture was still that of the warrior he had been. Everything about
Darok bespoke a shrewd alertness and, standing in his presence, Valak could feel his power. It was the
first time they had ever met face to face, and Valak was impressed. This was a Romulan indeed!
There was no chair for Valak to sit on, and this, too, was to be expected. One did not sit in the presence
of the Praetor. Valak simply stood and waited while Lord Darok gave him a long, appraising look. For
what seemed like a long time, Darok did not speak, but merely gazed at Valak, as if measuring his worth.
Valak calmly returned his gaze. Finally Lord Darok nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
“You are no doubt curious as to why I sent for you, Commander,” Darok said.
Valak made no reply. It was a statement rather than a question, and no reply was called for.
“You have been selected for a special mission,” Darok continued. “A mission for which you are uniquely
qualified. Your record of command, though relatively brief, speaks for itself, but that alone does not
qualify you for the mission the council has in mind.”
Valak’s pulse quickened. A mission ordered by the high council itself had to be of great importance.
Being chosen for such a mission was not only an honor but a tremendous opportunity as well.
“You are something of a scholar, I understand,” said Darok, “with an expertise in human culture. In
particular, you have made a study of Starfleet Command, its history, regulations, procedures, ordnance,
and personnel. I am told the papers you presented on the subject before the Romulan Academy were
very favorably received and regarded as models of scholarly research. I realize there are those who
regard such academic pursuits as irrelevent preoccupations in a warrior of the empire. I, however, am not
one of them. A warrior who has many interests is a warrior whose mind will always stay alert and sharp.”
He paused briefly. “You were born and raised on Abraxas Nine, were you not?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Have you ever hunted the syrinx?”
“Yes, my lord. I have taken three.”
Darok raised his eyebrows. “Three?That is, indeed, an achievement. I have succeeded in taking only
one myself, and that nearly at the cost of my own life. The syrinx is a most elusive and dangerous prey.
To what do you attribute your success?”
“In part, my lord, to the training I was given by my father, who taught me the way of the hunter,” Valak
said. “Also, to having been born and raised on Abraxas Nine. As a native, I had the advantage of
knowing more about the habitat and behavior of the syrinx than those who came from off-world to hunt
the creature for sport.”
Darok smiled faintly. “A most diplomatic answer,” he said. “However, it would be closer to the truth to
say that you had made a thorough study of the behavior of the syrinx in preparation for your hunt, is that
not so?”
“That is true, my lord. I was taught that proper preparation is a vital part of a successful hunt. My father
believed a hunter must respect his prey, and that to respect it, he must know and understand it.”
Darok nodded. “My father, too, believed in the old ways. Sadly, we have strayed from many of them in
our march to progress and conquest. I was still young when I visited Abraxas Nine, and I sought merely
a trophy and the excitement of the hunt. In my eagerness, and in the arrogant self-confidence of youth, I
had failed to properly prepare myself. It was a mistake I was never to repeat. Early training as a hunter
can be of great benefit to a warrior. Hunting teaches care, patience, and respect for one’s quarry. I have
read the papers you presented before the Romulan Academy. You seek to understand the humans, and
you obviously respect them. Do you not consider them an inferior race?”
“With all due respect, my lord, I did not consider the question of inferiority relevant to my studies,”
Valak replied. “A scholar must strive for objectivity in order to gain true understanding of his subject.”
“Once again you play the diplomat,” said Darok. “You reply without answering the question.”
“It is a question that defies a simple answer, my lord,” Valak replied.
“I do not insist upon a simple answer,” Darok said, sounding slightly annoyed, “merely an enlightening
one.”
“Then I shall do my best, my lord,” said Valak. “Physically humans are inferior to us. We Romulans are
stronger, our reflexes are quicker, our senses sharper, and our constitutions more resistant to disease.
However, humans are clever, and they have found ways to overcome their shortcomings through training
and technology. For example, I have studied their fighting arts, which are varied and many, and have
found that, once mastered, they are at the very least equal to and in some cases even superior to the best
training that we give our own warriors.”
Darok raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”
“My lord, you asked for my opinion, and I give it honestly.”
Darok nodded. “Very well. Continue.”
“Then there is the question of their morality and their philosophy,” said Valak. “Most Romulans believe
that human morality makes a virtue out of weakness, and that human philosophical beliefs are decadent
and pointless. However, the fact is that their morality is often complex. It varies with their different
cultures, as does their philosophy. We Romulans possess a greater unity of culture and cohesiveness of
beliefs, but that does not make humans inferior to us. It merely makes them different from us, and there
are some humans who would find our ways quite appealing and agreeable.”
“Humans who think like Romulans?” Darok frowned. “I did not think such a thing was possible.”
“Nevertheless, my lord, it is so,” Valak said. “Not surprisingly, perhaps, such humans often find
themselves at odds with their fellow men. Shall I continue?”
“By all means. This is most interesting.”
“Their scientific knowledge is in some ways inferior to ours. They do not, for example, possess the
technology to produce a cloaking device. However, their ships and weapons are equal to ours in most
other respects, and in some ways they are unquestionably superior. Their computers, for example, are
marvels of sophisticated engineering and possess many advantages over ours. I could go on, but I do not
wish to bore you with a tedious recitation. The point is that whether or not the humans are an inferior race
depends upon how one defines ‘inferiority.’ The syrinx makes for an excellent analogy. I am smarter than
the syrinx, and I can arm myself with weapons, while the syrinx cannot. Yet if I were to assume that these
advantages would give me easy victory over the syrinx, then at best, I would have a disappointing hunt.
And at worst, I would not survive it.”
Darok nodded. “I am satisfied that I have chosen well in selecting you for this mission, Commander
Valak. I believe that it will present a great opportunity, both for you and for the Romulan Empire.
However, due to the mission’s confidential nature, you will receive your orders and be fully briefed only
after you are aboard your ship and under way. You will depart immediately. An escort has already been
summoned.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Valak said anxiously, “but I fear I must point out that my ship is not yet ready for
active service. It is still being refitted, and the work will take at the very least four or five days, even if the
engineers work without rest.”
“You are being given a new ship,” said Lord Darok. “You will assume command of the warbirdSyrinx.”
He smiled at Valak’s reaction. “I thought you would find the name appropriate. I chose it myself, just
now. TheSyrinx is the first of the new D’Kazanak class. Your crew is being transferred even as we
speak.”
A D’Kazanak-class warbird! Valak could scarcely conceal his excitement. His back stiffened with
pride. This was a tremendous honor, especially for so young a commander. He had heard rumors about
the new warbirds, but virtually nothing had been confirmed about the D’Kazanak class save for its
existence. No one he knew had ever even seen one. The security measures surrounding the new design
were so rigid that no one who had worked on it dared breathe a word about it, under penalty of death.
No one even knew where the ships were being constructed.
Like all Romulan warbirds, and most Federation-class designs, the ship would have had to have been
built in orbit. Rumor had it that the prototype of the new design had been constructed in secret in orbit
above one of the remote colony worlds and that it represented a new age in Romulan warbird design. It
was said to be larger, faster, and more heavily armed than the current D’Deridex-class warbirds. The
D’Kazanaks were being specifically designed to compete with the new Federation Galaxy-class
starships. However, in the absence of specific information, wild speculation about the nature of its
superiority was rampant.
The Galaxy-class Federation starships had an advantage in speed over the D’Deridex-class warbirds:
they were capable of sustained cruising at warp 9.6, which was 1,909 times the speed of light. Under
extreme emergency conditions, their warp engines could be overstressed to achieve warp 9.9, though
they could do so for only a few minutes before the dilithium crystals used to tune the harmonics of the
anti-matter reaction shattered. No matter-antimatter reactor, no matter how efficient, could drive engines
to attain or exceed warp 10, which was the absolute speed limit of the universe. According to the relativy
equations of the great Earth scientist, Einstein, a ship traveling at that speed would have to possess infinite
mass, which was clearly impossible. However, within the physical limitations of the universe, the
Federation Galaxy-class vessels were as efficient and powerful as a starship could be. The Romulan
warbirds were almost as powerful and efficient, but the Federation starships always had an edge . . . until
now.
The D’Kazanak-class design, it was said, could match the efficiency of the Federation warp drives.
There were also rumors about a new generation cloaking device that could eliminate the “ghosting effect”
which sometimes rendered a cloaked ship visible to Federation scanners. There was also talk about more
powerful photon disruptors. Some rumors even hinted at the possibility that these weapons could be
employed while the cloaking device was engaged, something the D’Deridex-class warbirds had been
unable to do. This had always been the single greatest limitation of the cloaking device, and Romulan
engineers had labored for decades to find a way to overcome it. Had they succeeded at last? Valak
would soon know.
As he left the Praetor’s chambers and marched down the wide and crowded corridor with an escort
before and behind him, his heart raced with excitement. They moved quickly, at a martial step, and
everyone hastened to get out of their way. Lord Darok had done more than merely provide an escort.
He had summoned an honor guard of Praetorians, the elite of the Romulan warrior class. In their crested
helmets and black anodized battle armor, they made an impressive sight as they marched in perfect
synchrony down the corridor, their bootheels echoing as one. Everyone they passed turned to stare at
them as they went by. The more observant noted the new, neverbefore-seen insignia Valak wore over his
breast—a badge in the shape of a shield, bearing the image of twin black lightning bolts against a white
background and the stylized red letters spelling out “D’Kazanak.” Lord Darok himself had pinned the
insignia on, and Valak wore it proudly.
The guards conducted him to a transport and boarded it with him. They skimmed out to the shuttle
launch pad, where the guard formed up by the hatch and saluted smartly as Valak boarded the shuttle.
Moments later the craft was airborne, gathering speed until it reached escape velocity.
Valak sat in the copilot’s chair, staring out the viewport as the pilot flew the shuttle toward the point
where Valak’s next command awaited him. They passed the space station orbital control base above the
capital and flew on, escaping orbit after being cleared and heading out into the blackness of space.
Nothing was visible ahead of them. Valak glanced at the pilot briefly, and saw that he was intent on his
instruments. How far out was theSyrinx? They would soon reach the point beyond which the shuttle
could not safely turn back; there would not be enough fuel.
The pilot saw Valak’s questioning stare and said, “The shuttle will not be returning, Commander. It has
been my honor and privilege to be assigned permanently to your crew. Forgive my failure to formally
present myself for orders, but there was no opportunity to follow proper protocol.”
Valak nodded. “What is your name, Centurion?”
“Atalan, Commander.”
“And what was your previous station?”
“I had the honor to serve as pilot and navigator aboard the warbirdKazar .”
Valak nodded once more. “Commander Gorak’s ship. I know it well. However, I already have a pilot
and navigator, and cannot offer you the same post.”
“I am aware of that, Commander,” Atalan replied. “I had requested the honor of being assigned to your
crew in whatever capacity I could serve in. I have been assigned to your engineering section, as second
engineering officer.”
Valak raised his eyebrows. “That constitutes a demotion from your previous station,” he said, with some
surprise.
“Yes, Commander. However, the privilege of serving under your command aboard the first
D’Kazanak-class warbird will more than compensate for that.”
Valak nodded with approval. He glanced at the instruments. “We are reaching the limit of our fuel
supply. Are you certain you have computed the correct course?”
“Quite certain, Commander,” Atalan replied. “With your permission I shall hail theSyrinx now.”
摘要：

ForBruceandPeggyWiley,withgratefulacknowledgmenttoPatConnors,ScottGlener,SethMorris,HenryTylerandRikkiWintersPrologueDEANNATROIwrenchedherselffreefromthenightmarewithanunaccustomedforceofwill,gaspingforbreath.Shesatboltuprightinbed,disorientedandconfused.Shecouldfeelthedampnessonherskinandonthetwist...

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STAR TREK - TNG - 26 - The Romulan Prize.pdf

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