STAR TREK - TNG - 21 - Chains of Command

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Chapter One
AS THE AWAY TEAMwinked into existence on the planet’s surface, the luxuriant undergrowth stirred,
riffled by a gentle breeze. Commander William Riker saw the leaves shiver in the gust, but he couldn’t
feel it through his atmosphere suit.
He glanced around. There was no sign of animal life in the pristine landscape. “No bugs,” he muttered.
“Paradise for picnickers.”
A laugh crackled in his ear. Riker turned and gestured impatiently at the other members of the team.
“Let’s get on with the readings and samples.” He shifted uncomfortably in the suit. “Move, people, unless
you want to spend your entire time planetside in these blasted things.”
The young crew members burst into a flurry of activity, none of them eager to appear slow in front of
their commander.
“Tricorders show sixty-five percent nitrogen, thirty percent oxygen, trace amounts of other gases—not
too different from the air aboard theEnterprise .” Yeoman Janet Kinsolving, a trainee biologist,
continued her enthusiastic observations, which she must have known had already been determined by the
ship’s scanners.
“The air seems breathable,” she said eagerly. “I think it would be all right to try it, sir.”
“Not Starfleet procedure, Yeoman,” Riker reminded her. “Let’s do it by the book.” He cut his helmet
communicator and sighed: A milk run, he thought. Just what I need. I already broke one date to run a
training session with this team. This makes two—and Marla isn’t the kind of woman to wait around for a
third chance. His expression was half-sour, half-amused. Don’t these kids know what they’re doing to
my love life?
Irritation with himself mingled with his annoyance at the unexpected and inconvenient mission. He knew
his presence on Amon-4, as they’d dubbed this planet, was important. Though Riker’s style of command
was perhaps a bit more free-wheeling than Captain Picard’s, he was a staunch proponent of the
captain’s rule that no away mission should ever be conducted in the absence of an experienced senior
officer.
No matter how many holodeck simulations of planetary exploration the crew members had been
through, when they were doing the real thing there was always the possibility of some dangerous variable,
a wild card even theEnterprise computer’s vast processor hadn’t anticipated.
If only this mission hadn’t come uptoday , he thought.
He felt a tickling on his upper lip and reached up automatically to scratch it, arresting the motion only at
the last moment, when he remembered his helmet. Amon was a G-type star, and its planet had a
terrestrial atmosphere. The atmosphere suits were merely an extra precaution—an aggravating one, in
Riker’s opinion. Somehow whenever he closed the faceplate on an atmosphere suit an inexplicable but
fierce itch began under his beard.
It was intensifying now, but there was no hope of relief. As commander of the expedition, he couldn’t
disobey his own order and open the helmet, even though he knew there was breathable air on the other
side of the clear plastic.
“Commander? Kinsolving here,” came that high, breathy voice again. Riker thought he detected a
hesitant note in it. “I’ve found something you might want to look at. A single-cell creature. It’s the first
animal life we’ve found.”
Amon-4 had no dangerous fauna. In fact, it had seemed to have no fauna at all—at least nothing large
enough to register on shipboard scanners. The yeoman’s find was unlikely to be very dramatic. Still . . .
“Good work, Yeoman.” Riker made an effort to sound encouraging. “On my way.”
He started toward Kinsolving. The rich native flora—a little too purple to pass as terrestrial
vegetation—stirred again. Leaves parted to reveal a fiercely orange blossom, petals spiking outward in
riotous splendor. Riker paused to eye it. Hmm. Maybe an exotic bloom or two would take the edge off
the delectable Marla’s pique. . . .
It was then that he heard the screams. They weren’t coming through his communicator, and for a second
he couldn’t figure out where they had originated. Then he realized that the horrible bubbling cries were
reaching him through the atmosphere itself. The sound was muffled by his helmet. Even so, Riker
recognized Yeoman Kinsolving’s voice.
He ran over the small rise she’d disappeared behind. The yeoman stood with her back to him, clutching
her helmet with both hands. As he watched, she fell to her knees. Riker ran forward, bent down, and
grasped her heaving shoulders. Her head fell back so that she was facing him.
“Good God!” Riker exclaimed. With an effort he stopped himself from thrusting her away from him.
Apparently, having tested the air, Kinsolving had cracked her helmet open to take a sniff. And she was
paying for it.
The first time he met her, Riker had classified the young woman as a bland blonde: wide forehead, snub
nose, frankly plain features. Now he gazed helplessly down at her as the skin literally boiled off her face.
The screaming stopped as a bloody froth poured from her mouth. The bones of her skull were already
showing through.
Gingerly Riker lowered Kinsolving to the ground. He could see at a glance that there was nothing to be
done. She was already dead—lucky, in a way, to have died so quickly.
But whatever was devouring her wasn’t finished. Kinsolving’s suit twitched on the ground in a grotesque
parody of life as muscles, ligaments, even bone, bubbled away.
Riker looked up and saw that he’d been joined by the other members of the team, their questions cut off
by shock as they took in Kinsolving’s rapidly dissipating form. He rounded on them fiercely. Slapping his
communicator into life, he ordered, “Back over the hill—now!”
He contacted theEnterprise . “We’ve run into trouble. Beam us back to a quarantine section for
decontamination. Inform sickbay as well.”
“Five to return?” Engineering asked.
Riker stared down at the now still form at his feet. The suit was ominously flat—empty.
“Four still alive. Lock on to Kinsolving’s suit.”
We can’t even bring her body back for a funeral, he thought bleakly. There’s nothing left.
It took the science and medical techs three days to discover what had killed Yeoman Kinsolving. At last
the report came in: the air she had taken in was fatally different from theEnterprise ’s atmosphere in that
it harbored something that hadn’t shown up on the tricorder. That something had seized on the luckless
Kinsolving in seconds.
In a ghastly way the yeoman’s death explained the lack of fauna on Amon-4. When Dr. Beverly Crusher
finally isolated the killer, it turned out to be a subviral body that the tricorders hadn’t even identified as a
life-form. It attacked animal protein, explosively reducing it to nutrients and carbon dioxide. The only
animals on Amon-4 were single-cell creatures, too small to arouse the subvirus, which had simply
remained dormant—until Kinsolving opened her helmet.
The away team members had to stay in quarantine during the investigation, trapped in their suits unless
they wanted to court the same fate that had taken Kinsolving so horribly. Three days in an atmosphere
suit, with its limited water supply and sanitation, unable to wash, unable to eat. . . .
Riker watched the bright faces of his team grow pale and gaunt and berated himself for the tragedy of
Amon-4. If only he had stated the rules more clearly. If only he hadn’t delayed responding to
Kinsolving’s call. If only . . .
But all the reproaches in the world wouldn’t change what had happened. Sighing, Riker leaned back
against the wall and shut his eyes, trying to ignore the sour smell of his unwashed body and the fierce
itching beneath his beard.
The void stretched beyond the hull of the USSEnterprise , punctuated with a few flyspeck stars and
planets. Though huge to a man’s eyes, its engines pulsing with power, in truth the starship was merely an
infinitesimal bubble of life plunging silently through stark vacuum.
TheEnterprise ’s first officer rarely dealt in such musings. But at the moment, his cheeks still sunken
from his ordeal in the decontamination unit, Riker was feeling less than usually optimistic. And the
universe kept offering little reminders of its emptiness, reminders like the world on the viewscreen in front
of him.
The planet’s sere brown surface was marred by a stretched-out collection of craters describing an arc
on one side of the globe. But what force had created that scarred visage?
“Report, Mr. Data,” Riker ordered, leaning forward in the command chair.
“A terrestrial planet, sir, similar in mass and density to other terrestrial planets we have encountered in
this sector,” announced Data. The android’s tenor voice was perfectly modulated, revealing nothing but
polite interest. He bent his sleek head over the readout on the Ops panel, then straightened again before
going on. “No life readings. However, soil analysis indicates the planet had a nitrogen-oxygen
atmosphere in the past.”
“What happened to it?” Riker demanded.
Data blinked, his golden eyes as guileless as a child’s. “It dissipated, sir.”
Riker sighed at Data’s literal answer. “I meant, Data, what do you thinkcaused the atmosphere to
dissipate?”
“Unknown, sir.”
“Speculations, anyone?”
The bridge crew’s only answer was silence, stretching until frustration tightened the corners of Riker’s
bright blue eyes. They’d encountered six earthlike planets in as many star systems while charting this
seemingly empty sector. And all were dead, though the signs suggested they hadn’t always been that
way. What had happened to them?
Four of the planets were scarred wastelands like the one that filled the viewscreen now. The fifth one . . .
Riker tried to repress the memory of Kinsolving’s face.
The turbolift doors swished open, and Counselor Deanna Troi glided in to take her seat next to Riker.
She neither spoke nor looked at him, yet Riker was intensely aware of her presence. Is she keeping an
eye on me? he wondered.
The night before, when he’d gone to Ten-Forward to celebrate his release from quarantine, he’d seen
Deanna and Beverly Crusher with their heads together at a corner table. When he approached them,
they’d immediately stopped talking. Riker had made a joke about doctor-counselor confidentiality, but
he couldn’t help thinking he’d barged in on something he wasn’t meant to hear. And a tiny corner of his
psyche had wondered if they were talking about him.
He knew he was being paranoid. A doctor and a psychologist were likely have any number of
confidential conversations about any number of topics. But ever since his return from the Amon-4
catastrophe, Riker had had the feeling that Crusher was paying special attention to him. Now he
wondered if she had recruited Deanna to do the same.
Troi gave him a single startled gaze from those inky Betazoid eyes of hers, reminding him that his feelings
were as clear to her as if he had spoken them aloud. Riker sighed and pushed the useless thoughts away.
“Take a look at that.” He nodded toward the viewscreen. “What do you think happened down there?”
Troi’s delicate brows drew together in a frown. “Impact with an asteroid, perhaps,” she suggested.
“Doubtful,” Data commented. He swiveled in his chair so that he faced Riker and Troi. “An asteroid
would essentially fall into the planet, not having the velocity to escape its gravitational pull. Its impact
would have made a single large crater, not a long trail of them such as we see here. And besides, this
area is remarkably free of space debris.”
Riker nodded. Data was voicing thoughts he’d had himself.
The android cocked his head to one side. “It is theoretically possible that something of substantial mass,
traveling at extremely high velocity, approached the planet at a tangential angle, breaking up in the
atmosphere and thus producing a pattern of craters.”
“Moving tangentially,” Riker said thoughtfully, “the body might have executed an orbit through the
planet’s atmosphere. What effects would that have?”
Data considered. “Friction with the atmosphere would have heated the outside of the object to
temperatures in excess of eighteen thousand degrees centigrade.”
“Whoa.” From the engineering console, Geordi La Forge added, “That’s more than three times the
surface temperature of your average G-type star. That planet was pan-fried.”
“Geordi is correct, sir,” Data concurred. “The effect on any life-forms on the planet would have been
catastrophic.”
Riker frowned, staring at the continent-long swath of craters. One of them had to be a good hundred
kilometers wide. “What size body are we talking about here? And what sort of velocity would it require,
Mr. Data?”
“Without knowing the mass involved, I can only conjecture,” the android said slowly. “From the amount
of devastation, I would postulate a body with a diameter of approximately ten-point-seven
kilometers—roughly the size of the Martian satellite Phobos. As for velocity, it would require a significant
percentage of light-speed.”
“Going like a runaway freight train, it blew away the planet’s atmosphere and pulverized the entire
surface. I sure wouldn’t want to run into a thing like that in a dark alley,” Geordi muttered.
“Unlikely,” Data advised him. “Our readings indicate the impacts occurred at least ten thousand years
ago.”
“War.” Lieutenant Worf’s voice was a rumbling growl.
Riker and Troi both turned from the viewscreen to stare at the towering figure of the Klingon security
chief. Worf’s massive ridged features were contracted in a scowl. He stood ramrod straight, his gaze
directed firmly at an imaginary point about a meter in front of his nose. “Sir, this was war. No natural
force made those craters. The odds of an ordinary asteroid striking the planet at so great a speed and at
that angle are almost infinitesimal. Obviously it was done by intelligent beings using unknown advanced
technology. But an event of such destructiveness could only be an act of war.”
Troi shook her head. “I don’t agree. Look at the readings. There is nothing on that planet—nothing.
There aren’t even any ruins! That means this war destroyed not only all life but also all structures.”
“An impact like that would have mangled the planet’s crust,” La Forge said. “Earthquakes, tidal waves .
. . “
“And the debris trail takes in the main landmass, right in the temperate zone.” Riker frowned at the
planet’s scarred face. “That was probably the area of greatest population density.”
Pushing himself up out of the captain’s chair, Riker strode closer to the viewscreen and studied the
image for a long moment. “What about Amon-Four?” He whirled to face the bridge crew. “Could we
explain the situation there as the aftermath of war? A biological weapon tailored to eat up the population?
Suppose it was a one-two punch: a virus to kill anything that contained animal proteins and an engineered
life-form like the Nanites to eliminate the technological infrastructure.”
“It is difficult to say,” Data replied equably. “On the evidence we have, it seems as probable as any
other theory.”
“But there were no signs that any civilization ever flourished on Amon-Four,” Troi objected.
“Nor does nature create situations like the one on Amon-Four,” Riker responded. “Nothing we’ve ever
seen, nothing in any of the science or history banks, can explain an M-class planet of that age with lush
vegetation and a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere but no significant animal life.”
“I know little of biological warfare,” Worf growled. “Klingons fight withreal weapons. Nonetheless,
Commander Riker, I say someone fought a great war in this quadrant.”
“But surely there is also the possibility that some sort of massive natural disaster occurred,” Troi
countered.
Worf’s broad nostrils flared. “Such as . . . ?” he asked skeptically.
“I don’t know. Perhaps a supernova in a nearby system.” Troi twined her fingers together. “It would
have released intense radiation and caused great devastation for light-years around. That could explain
the dead planets.”
“If there had been a supernova as recently as ten thousand years ago, our sensors would have detected
signs of it,” Worf said. “No, Counselor, that”—he aimed a finger at the viewscreen—”is a battle scar.”
Sighing, Troi raked a hand through the heavy black mass of her hair. “I hope you’re wrong, Lieutenant,”
she said softly. “Because the existence of a race that could inflict destruction on that scale is a terrible
thought.”
In his quarters Jean-Luc Picard started from a fitful sleep as theEnterprise ’s engines powered down.
Through the hull the sound was no more than a tiny decrease in the intensity of the pervasive hushed hum
of the ship’s systems. To Picard, though, it was a ringing trumpet.
He sat up in bed, his lean features alert. We’re in orbit, he thought, and his hand went to the small gold
chevron on the breast of his uniform, which hung over the back of a chair near the bed. Then he stopped
himself. No need to call the bridge. Riker knew what he was doing. And Picard was under doctor’s
orders to get some rest.
Easing back down, Picard shut his eyes and attempted to sleep once more. What had Dr. Crusher
suggested? Counting sheep? What kind of damn-fool remedy is that? he wondered, annoyed.
After ten minutes he gave up. “I’m not even tired,” he muttered, pulling on his uniform and boots.
Straightening up, he surveyed himself in the recessed mirror over the old-fashioned oak chest of drawers
where he kept his clothes.
The face that gazed dispassionately back at him was a study in lines and angles. Two deep creases made
parallel tracks across the high, ascetic forehead. Two more, vertical, trisected the space between the
eyebrows. The mouth formed the base of a triangle whose sides were etched lines that met somewhere
above the nostrils. Keen slanting eyes made obsidian slashes on either side of a hawk nose.
He strode over to the viewscreen and pressed a button to draw back the shutter. The planet that met his
gaze was yet another lifeless ball of rock. Picard contemplated it, absentmindedly smoothing the silver
fringe of his hair.
Starfleet would recall theEnterprise from this charting run if the crew didn’t find something soon, he
realized, and was surprised to find the idea vaguely appealing. With the growing number of member races
in the Federation, the time Starfleet was able to allot for simple exploration kept shrinking. Picard
accepted the need for all the diplomatic and courier missions theEnterprise was increasingly sent on, but
his first love had always been investigating the unknown reaches of space. To push outward the limits of
knowledge, to witness the unimaginable vastness of the universe—these were the enticements that had
drawn Jean-Luc Picard to the stars.
But this sad, desolate field of ravaged systems depressed even him. It had an air of abandonment that
was almost tangible. “ ‘ “My name is Ozymandias, king of kings,” ’ ” he quoted softly. “ ‘ “Look on my
works, ye Mighty, and despair!” Nothing beside remains. Round the Decay of that colossal wreck,
boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.’ ”
A pang of melancholy made him turn away from the dark window. He shook his head as if to clear it,
then tapped his communicator. “Picard to bridge. I’m on my way.”
When he strode onto the bridge moments later, Riker stood up, vacating the command chair. The first
officer gestured at the forward viewscreen. “Have you seen this?” he asked.
The captain nodded. “I see no reason to send an away team down, Number One, do you?”
“No, sir,” Riker said. “I doubt there’s anything there.”
“Ensign, lay in a new course: bearing three-point-seven, mark four.” Picard sank into his chair.
“Course laid in.” The ensign at the conn looked up at him for the command.
For a moment the captain’s eyes remained on the dead planet wheeling in its endless dance. “Take us
out of orbit,” he said at last. “Warp six.”
The next G-type star was only six light-years away—a neighbor on the same astronomical block. The
Enterprise reached it later that day and cruised toward its one M-class planet at a sedate 25 percent of
impulse.
“Long-range scans, Lieutenant Worf,” Picard ordered.
“An arctic world, sir,” Worf said, examining the sensor array. “No sign of habitation. There is also
evidence of a major impact such as we discovered on the last planet.”
The planet appeared on the viewscreen, a glittering ball with enormous white ice caps covering much of
what would normally have been temperate zones. An enormous scar angled across one continent, then
disappeared into the ice mass.
“It appears that this planet is undergoing a period of major glaciation,” Data spoke up. “An ice age.”
“One large scar, as opposed to many smaller ones. . . . It looks as if this world suffered a more direct
impact than the last one,” Riker said. “There would have been tremendous volcanic activity and enough
dust and debris clouding the atmosphere to lower the planet’s mean temperature and trigger glacial
growth. It’s just gone on for millennia.”
“Sir!” Surprise made Worf’s voice even more resonant than usual. It boomed through the bridge like a
drum. “We’re being hailed from the planet!”
“On screen,” Picard commanded instantly.
The voice, obsequious yet insistent, came through before the picture. “What ship is that, please? We
have sent for the regent Drraagh. No ship is expected for another three years. Please, what ship is that?”
The words were heavily accented, yet recognizably English.
“What ship is that?” the voice repeated. It faded for a moment, and then the picture suddenly came
through to show a plump, sallow-skinned face.
“Human!” Troi exclaimed.
“A lost colony, maybe?” Riker wondered aloud. “But how’d they get here? This area is parsecs beyond
the range of old Earth technology.”
For about a second the plump man’s face maintained its anxious, servile expression. Then his cold little
eyes seemed to focus on Picard in the command chair. They popped wide open.
“What—” He fumbled for words, finally blurting out “A human crew! What gang are you? Where are
your masters?”
“What do you mean? This is the USSEnterprise , representing the United Federation of Planets,”
Picard responded. “Who are you people? And who are these masters you refer to?”
Pandemonium suddenly raged behind the plump face on the screen. “No masters? They’re free humans?
Help us!” a voice yelled. “Help us, brothers!”
“Quiet, slag!” Fat-face hurled the order over his shoulder. He never saw the bulky, deadly-looking
instrument aimed at his back. But the bridge crew did.
For an instant Riker considered warning him. But the instant was gone and the weapon flashed. The last
thing they saw was the plump man’s death. A blinding beam tore right through him and into the
communications gear he was using. Everyone on the bridge flinched back from an intolerable blast of
light.
Then the screen went blank.
Chapter Two
“MR. WORF, can you reestablish contact?” Captain Picard snapped out the question.
“Negative, sir,” the Klingon replied after a moment. “I am attempting to hail the planet on a broad range
of frequencies, but so far there is no response.”
Picard’s nostrils flared in irritation. “Damn! What was that all about? Counselor”—he turned to
Troi—”what impressions did you get from that scene we just witnessed?”
“Nothing very clearly defined.” Troi’s face was a little paler than usual, but her manner was composed.
“I sensed fear, anger, hatred, but there was such a jumble of personalities that I can’t be more specific.”
“Mmm,” Picard said, nodding. “Gangs . . . masters.” He looked up at Riker, who was standing by Data
at the Ops panel. “Number One? Speculation?”
Riker spread his hands. “Not without more information,” he said. “The contact was too brief.”
“Agreed.” Picard leaned forward and addressed the officer at the conn. “Ensign, get us into orbit.
Lieutenant, can you establish the location of that broadcast?”
“Yes, sir,” Worf rumbled. “Sensors have traced an energy discharge that matches the output from the
beam we just saw. It seems to have come from an underground complex located near the north end of
the impact scar.”
“We’ve been handed a mystery—and a cry for help,” Picard said. “At the very least we have to
investigate the situation in that complex.”
“I recommend placing an away team near the energy discharge site but away from other life-form
readings,” Worf said.
“Make it so. Assemble an away team, Number One,” Picard said crisply to Riker. “I want to know
what the devil’s going on down there.”
Riker suppressed the flutter of anxiety he felt at the thought of leading another away team. He’d known
the order was coming, and he knew it was the logical course of action to take. There was no point in
worrying. The surest way to invite another tragedy like the one on Amon-4 was to let worry paralyze
him.
“Aye, sir,” he replied. After thinking for a moment, he added, “Riker to Engineering. Mr. La Forge, I
need you in Transporter Room Two as soon as you can get there. I’m taking a team down to that ice
planet.”
“Anything you say, chief,” came the voice of the irrepressible chief engineer. “See you there.”
Riker allowed himself a small grin. He was always glad to include Geordi La Forge on an away team.
Geordi’s enhanced vision and thorough knowledge of engineering and physics were valuable assets in a
strange environment. And besides that, his perpetual high spirits were infectious.
The first officer beckoned to Worf. “Lieutenant, come with me.”
Worf followed Riker into the turbolift. Riker was a big man, but the security chief still topped him by
inches, and his large chest seemed to strain the fabric of his fitted red and black uniform. Looking at him,
Riker felt dwarfed.
“Deck eight,” he ordered, and the turbolift began its smooth descent. Riker eyed Worf again. The
Klingon stood—hands behind his back, legs slightly apart—as relaxed as a Klingon would ever be, Riker
guessed.
“Shall I issue hand phasers, sir?” he enquired.
“Yes, do that,” Riker said. “And add a security detail as well. I have a feeling we might find a hot
situation down there in spite of the cold climate.”
“Agreed.” There was a note of anticipation in Worf’s voice.
The doors slid open at deck eight, and the two strode down the corridor toward the transporter room.
Pausing at a comm panel, Riker touched it lightly. “Riker to Dr. Crusher.”
“Akihiko here,” came a male voice. “Doctors Crusher and Selar are involved in an emergency
procedure at the moment. Can I help you, Commander?”
Riker frowned. “I just wanted to alert sickbay that an away team is heading into a possible combat
zone.”
“We’ll be standing by, sir,” the doctor said.
“Good. Riker out.” He turned away from the comm panel, feeling again a little tug of foreboding. He
shook it away. “Lieutenant, let’s get this show on the road.”
As the familiar tingling of the transporter beam swept over him, Riker strained his eyes. It was useless,
he knew. The process was instantaneous. But through all the years he’d been beaming from place to
place, he’d never given up trying tosee what it was like in between.
He had no more success this time. One moment he was standing on the transporter platform looking at
Chief O’Brien. The next instant, with no discernible shift, he was staring into frigid twilit darkness.
The place was silent and still. At Worf’s nod the two security officers spread out to defensive positions.
Riker stepped forward. Worf was beside him in an instant, one huge hand resting lightly on the phaser at
his belt. In the other hand he held a tricorder, with which he swept the room slowly. “No life forms other
than our own in the immediate vicinity,” he reported.
Riker’s eyes were adjusting to the feeble light. He glanced around with interest. They’d beamed into a
large, shabby room that seemed hewn out of the frozen soil and bedrock of the planet itself. On closer
inspection Riker saw that the rock walls had been sealed with a clear plasticlike substance, though not
very well. Streaks and viscous globs testified to a job clumsily done. The floor was coated with the same
stuff. Insulation, he guessed.
Tall stacks of crates and boxes marched in rows into the deep gloom. The only illumination came from a
single glowing metal strip set into a track running across the ceiling. Two doorways led to unlit,
unwelcoming tunnels. The air held a stale, musky tang of dust and unwashed flesh, as if the place hadn’t
been ventilated for years.
“Brrr. Chilly in here,” Geordi La Forge remarked.
It was an understatement. Riker pulled his parka more closely around him and watched his breath puff
out in a cloud of vapor. Good thing the away team had donned cold-weather gear before beaming down.
摘要：

ChapterOneASTHEAWAYTEAMwinkedintoexistenceontheplanet’ssurface,theluxuriantundergrowthstirred,riffledbyagentlebreeze.CommanderWilliamRikersawtheleavesshiverinthegust,buthecouldn’tfeelitthroughhisatmospheresuit.Heglancedaround.Therewasnosignofanimallifeinthepristinelandscape.“Nobugs,”hemuttered.“Para...

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