STAR TREK - TNG - 19 - Perchance to Dream

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2024-12-20 0 0 476.95KB 152 页 5.9玖币
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For
Tom Roberts—
friend
and
teacher
Author’s Notes
Twenty-five years!?
Wait a minute. How did twenty-five years go by so quickly? I was just this twelve-year-old kid watching
“The City on the Edge of Forever” and “The Trouble with Tribbles” and “Journey to Babel”—
And suddenly, I’m . . . well, we don’t really need to go into how old I am now, do we?
As I write this, we’re celebrating the silver anniversary of a unique show biz/pop culture
phenomenon—“Star Trek.” The original cast appears inStar Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country in
theaters, and the amazingly successful “Next Generation” is into its fifth season.
Like many of you, I’ve been a “Star Trek” fan pretty much since the beginning. By now, of course, the
story of “Star Trek’s” struggles to survive its early days has become legend—how NBC threatened to
cancel the show after each of its first two seasons before finally pulling the plug after a disappointing third
year . . . and how Star Trek snuck from its assigned grave under cover of rerun darkness, and rose on
syndicated wings to a rebirth in movies and “Next Generation” reincarnation on television.
Whew . . . sounds kind of religious, huh?
Well, in considering “Star Trek’s” amazing journey, I dug up an interesting artifact from my files (yeah,
I’m a pack rat): a twenty-two-year-old note from NBC responding to my letter protesting “Star Trek’s”
final cancellation. I’ll be kind and omit the name of the guy who signed it, but I wanted to share with you
a paragraph from this historical footnote, dated June 5, 1969:
“We too believe that ‘Star Trek’ is an attractive show with a fine cast. It was for these reasons
that it found a spot in our schedule in the first placebut, unfortunately, the program failed to
develop the broad appeal necessary for keeping it in our schedule next season.” [My italics]
Uh-huh. I hereby nominate the above statement for the “Famous-Last-Words Hall of Fame,” where it
should take its place of honor alongside such utterances as “Are you kidding? They’lllove the Edsel!”
and “MTV? Who’s gonna watchmusic ontelevison? ” and “Don’t worry about the tapes, Mr.
Nixon—nobody’llever find out about ’em.”
In fairness, of course, nobody had any idea “Star Trek” would prove to be so durable. But it has,
enriching countless lives in countless ways. For me, “Star Trek” is part of what made me want to become
a writer; and many of my best friendships have grown out of my encounters with “Star Trek” and its fans.
So, a special silver-anniversary tip of the hat to some golden “Trek” friends and colleagues, without
whom, as the saying goes, none of this would have been possible: Bob and Debbie Greenberger, Dave
McDonnell and Starlog, Lynne Stephens, Joel and Nancy Davis, Cindi Casby, the Burnside clan, Rich
Kolker, Peter David, Sharon Jarvis and Joan Winston, Steve and Renee Wilson, Lance and Kathy
Woods, the generous and dedicated committees of the Shore Leave, Clippercon, OktoberTrek and
Fan-Out conventions, David Gerrold, Harlan Ellison, Ann Crispin, Dave and Kevin at Pocket Books . . .
andyou, the folks who’ve supported Star Trek and read these novels for all these years.
Here’s to the next twenty-five—
Howard Weinstein
Autumn 1991
Chapter One
“JEAN-LUC, IDOnot like being handcuffed.”
Captain Picard sighed. “In what context, Dr. Crusher?” From the pugnacious thrust of her chin, it was
quite clear that his chief medical officer had been mightily offended by someone or something. It was
equally certain that Beverly Crusher had no intention of leaving Picard’s ready room until she’d extracted
a satisfactory response to her displeasure.
He folded his hands in priestly patience, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait long for her to get to the
specifics. Like gathering stormclouds, her eyebrows lowered into a frown.Here it comes —
“I don’t like twiddling my thumbs while patients suffer—and I will not simply wait for someone else to
cure them.”
Picard motioned her to the couch across from his desk as he tried to deduce the source of her wrath.
It was only as she sat that the doctor noticed the tiny holographic solar system hovering over the
captain’s shoulder. At least three dozen objects darted, spun and whirled—planets, moons, random
rocks and a squadron of tiny spacecraft. “What in heaven’s name is that?”
“Hmm?” With a flicker of frustration in his eyes, he glanced at the cosmological chaos floating in the air.
“Oh, just some blasted navigational puzzle that’s been driving me to distraction for the past week. But I
refuse to surrender. Computer, store puzzle for later reference.” The hologram winked out of sight and
Picard faced Crusher. “Would I be correct in guessing the cause of your indignation to be our orders to
pick up those ten injured workers at the Chezrani outpost?”
“You would. By telling theEnterprise to get them and then rush them to a starbase hospital, Starfleet is
as good as implying that theEnterprise is just some ambulance and the ship’s medical staff are
ambulance attendants.”
“Doctor, I hardly think—”
“No one has ever been poisoned by processed ridmium particles before,” she said, cutting him off.
“There’s nothing in the medical literature about effective treatment regimens.”
“So you’re saying these patients will not necessarily get better care at Starbase 96 than they might in
your sickbay—?”
Crusher’s fists clenched. “No. I’m saying I can domore for them on theEnterprise . The only thing we
really know about ridmium is that it attacks the immune system.”
“Ahh. And if I recall, research in immunology is one of your specialties.”
“You recall correctly, Jean-Luc. And my medical staff is just as capable as any—”
“You are preaching to the choir,” said Picard calmly, hoping to deflect her anger. “It’s going to take us
approximately thirty-six hours to get from the Chezrani system to Starbase 96. I see no reason you
shouldn’t devote that time to developing an effective treatment.”
Beverly did seem placated, a bit of the starch washed from her posture. “That’s what I planned to do all
along. I just wanted to make sure I had your support.”
“You always have that. You know the high regard I have for your professional skills.”
“I wish Starfleet shared that opinion,” she pouted.
“I seriously doubt they view you as a glorified ambulance attendant.”
“Who said anything about ‘glorified,’ ” Crusher said, a flash of resentment in her eyes.
Picard rose and circled the desk, standing over her. “Beverly, they made you Chief of Starfleet
Medicine. What greater compliment could they pay you?”
With a sigh, she slumped back against the couch cushion. “I guess you’re right, Jean-Luc. Maybe I’m
overreacting.”
“I don’t think this is the only thing on your mind.”
The doctor managed a sliver of a smile. “Trespassing on Counselor Troi’s turf?”
Picard smiled back. “Without Betazoid empathic powers, I would not even make the attempt. But we
simple starship captains can also benefit from developing a certain sensitivity to the moods and concerns
of crew members.”
His oblique invitation to dump her troubles right there on his ready room desk was definitely tempting,
but she waved it off with a shake of her head. “Oh, hell . . . you wouldn’t understand, Jean Luc.”
“Try me.”
Beverly considered the offer, but remained mute. During the silence, Picard pondered the merits of
continued persistence. He truly liked and respected Beverly Crusher, but he’d be the last to claim any
clear comprehension of her inner workings. She could be mercurial, stiff-necked, skeptical—all matching
the personality profile usually associated with redheads. But she was also much more than that simple
profile. And exceedingly complex. Gaining firsthand knowledge of her personal demons might not be his
wisest course.
Still, she was not only a trusted officer. She was also his friend. So much for wisdom, he concluded with
a mental shrug. He was not going to let her leave without giving her every chance to unburden herself.
“I know you usually confide in Counselor Troi,” he said. “Under the circumstances, I thought I might
suffice for the moment. If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say you’re worried about Wesley.”
“Good lord—am I that transparent?” Crusher’s expression softened into a wondering, gentle laugh. “It’s
so strange, Jean-Luc. When I took that Starfleet Medical assignment back on Earth, I worried about my
son because Ididn’t know what he was doing or where he was. Then I came back to theEnterprise ,
and I started worrying about him because Idid know what he was doing and where he was. When
you’re a mother, you just can’t win.”
“I understand better than you might think,” Picard said with a twinkle as he perched on the edge of his
desk.
“Hmm. I guess there is a maternal, nurturing component to being a starship captain.” With a shake of her
head, she got up and paced the small ready room. “I know Wesley’s been on away teams before. I keep
telling myself that. But somehow it was different when theEnterprise was right there in planet orbit. This
is the first time he’s gone down to a planet and we’ve gone off to do something else.”
“So you feel like you’ve abandoned him on Domarus Four?”
“I guess I do.”
“Beverly, it’s not like we dropped him naked and helpless,” Picard scolded gently. “He’s with two other
capable Academy candidates, not to mention Data and Troi. And they do have a shuttlecraft.”
Despite her best efforts to sidestep her gathering gloom, Beverly’s expression darkened and her voice
took on a momentary quaver. “I know that. I know that we’re going to be rendezvousing with them in an
hour or so. I also know that someday, he’s going to be off on a ship of his own and I won’t be able to
keep an eye on him. And Ido know that Wesley isn’t Jack—” As soon as she’d said it, she was sorry.
The captain felt himself tense at the mention of Beverly’s late husband, who’d died years ago under
Picard’s command. He hoped she wouldn’t notice his reaction, but by the way her eyes looked away
from his, he sensed her regret at having mentioned Jack’s name. Was the source of that regret her natural
reluctance to equate the father’s fate with the son’s future? Or was she sorry because she knew she’d
inadvertently reminded Picard of his own feelings of responsibility and regret over Jack’s death?
He couldn’t be sure. But he was certain of this: no captain ever forgets the death of a comrade. Nobody
knew that better than Beverly Crusher. Through her own grief, she’d seen the sorrow in Picard’s eyes
the day he brought Jack’s body home. And asEnterprise chief medical officer, she’d seen the echoes of
that same sorrow every time she’d had to tell him a crew member had died.
When it came to Jack, though, they’d never completely sorted out their tangled feelings. It wasn’t any
great surprise, then, that throughout Beverly’s years serving aboard Picard’s starship, the ghost of Jack
Crusher had been along for the voyage. For both of them.
She made a halfhearted attempt to erase the moment of revelation. “I didn’t mean . . . oh, dammit, yes I
did . I tell myself over and over that just because Jack died on a space mission doesn’t mean my son will.
But in here . . .” She brushed her hand across her heart. “. . . I can’t convince myself of that.”
“Beverly, sooner or later you’ll have to let Wesley lead his own life.”
“I know. And the closer that time comes, the more I want to push it back.” She took a breath, not at all
certain she wanted to pursue the matter. “Jean-Luc, can I ask you something personal?”
“Yes.”
“When did you feel like your mother let you go?”
Picard suppressed a smile, but it lit his eyes. “Never.”
Beverly Crusher winced. “Oh, wonderful . . .”
Shading his eyes with one hand, Wesley Crusher fended off the setting sun of Domarus Four as he
peered toward the flattened crest of the mountain looming over him. She was up there somewhere, but
he couldn’t spot her. He wondered if she’d ducked back into one of those little caves pocking the flanks
of the rugged mesa.
Gina Pace was forever charging headlong over, through and under things and places that most people
would approach with caution. Wes couldn’t call her reckless. Not exactly, anyway. She just treated risk
as something to be prepared for and dealt with, rather than a cause for alarm. As both Gina’s friend and
fellow Starfleet Academy candidate, Wes found her enthusiasm alternately amusing and exasperating.
Right at this moment, however, he was not amused. The gathering dusk had already tinged the sky with
darkening splashes of purple and red, and this field trip was drawing to a close. They still had equipment
and samples to stow on the shuttlecraft before they could head for orbit and rendezvous with the
Enterprise on the Starship’s return from a supply drop at the Nivlakan colonies two days distant.
The Starfleet chest insignia pinned to his uniform let out an electronic chirp, followed by a voice.
“Commander Data to Ensign Crusher.”
Wes tapped the communicator to reply. “Crusher here, sir.”
“Are you returning to base camp?”
“Uhh—we’re on our way, Commander. Crusher out.”
Wes cupped his hands and bellowed up to where he’d last seen Gina. “Hey, Pace! Come downnow!”
He could have called her via communicator, but—what the hell—echoes were fun. Even at eighteen, and
knowing the physics and acoustics involved, he still found a moment of childlike joy in hearing his own
voice rebounding off cooperative rocks.
He squinted skyward again, just as Gina popped out of a cave entrance and clambered like a mountain
goat down the steep slope. Loose pebbles skittered down ahead of her, but she never missed a step.
She hopped off a ledge and landed in front of Wesley. “I’m not late, am I? I just wanted to get a few
more rock samples.Amazing formations up there! I couldn’t leave without getting the best possible
selection. If you were the captain and I was your science officer, wouldn’t you want toknow you could
rely on me to do the best, most thorough job possible?”
She finally stopped for a breath, and he looked down at her, trying to maintain a gaze of Picard-like
sternness—no easy task, since Gina was small and exceedingly cute, with large dark eyes, and he really
wanted to run his fingers through her thick shaggy hair. He and Gina hadn’t always gotten along. A few
years ago, at fourteen, he’d been shy as a fieldmouse, and he thought she was loud and obnoxious. Then,
at sixteen, when he felt ready for some tentative flirting, he thought she’d become a lot less childish. Now,
at eighteen . . .
But this wasn’t the time or place. He was her commanding officer on an important field excursion detail
and he felt duty-bound to set an example. It took him a second to refocus his attention.What did she just
ask me? Oh, yeah . . .
“Yes,” he managed to say, finding his way back to the loose end of their conversation, “I’d want my
science officer to be thorough. But I’d also like to know that I wouldn’t have to worry about her getting
lost or left behind because she went off on her own. Understood?”
“Understood.” She narrowed her eyes, weighing the gravity of the moment. “I don’t have to call you
‘sir,’ do I?”
“Nobody’s keeping score. Let’s get back to camp.”
They began walking, quickly. Gina barely came up to Wesley’s shoulder, and the height disadvantage
forced her to jog just to keep up with his long-legged strides. “Where’s Kenny?”
“I sent him back while I was looking for you,” he said with a reproachful look.
“Oh. Y’know, I can’t believe he wouldn’t go into those caves with us.”
“Some people prefer wide-open spaces.”
“But Kennydoesn’t,” she said with a derisive laugh. “He’d rather be on a space ship than a planet.
Sometimes I just don’t believe him. He can be so strange.”
“He hates when you call him Kenny.”
“And why would that be?” asked Gina with a defiant look that revealed her complete lack of patience
for what she viewed as Kenny’s eccentricities.
“He thinks it makes him sound like a little kid.”
She shrugged. “Well, he acts like one sometimes.”
“We all do sometimes,” he said pointedly.
“So what does he want to be called,Captain Kenny?”
Wes grinned in spite of himself. “Just Ken, I think.”
“I’ll try to remember that.”
The glint in her eyes made Wesley doubt her sincerity. As they approached the woods fringing the
grassy plain which had been the object of most of their geology survey, Wes decided Domarus had been
an interesting place for this field work. His satisfied judgment rested partly on the fact that it hadn’t been
just an academic exercise. Their performances would of course be evaluated by Data and Troi, and
added to their Academy entrance application files. But the information they’d gathered would also
enlarge the scanty file on a world which had been visited just once before, eighty years earlier.
The science vessel U.S.S.Jonathan Levy , one of the most active exploration ships of its time, had done
that original survey, but hadn’t had the time to log more than a cursory orbital scan, including the
geological and biological basics and the conclusion that Domarus Four hosted no sentient life forms, just
lots of plants and smaller animals. Wes and his team hadn’t found anything to contradict those reports,
but it was fun just the same to do some adult work with minimal supervision.
Though he couldn’t be certain, Wes had a feeling more and more these days that his time aboard the
Enterprise was drawing to a close. Was it only three years ago that he’d failed the Starfleet Academy
entrance exam? It seemed like a lot longer. As a scared fifteen-year-old, he’d been devastated by a
failure. He believed he’d let down his mother, the captain, his friends, the entire ship—until Captain
Picard had found him moping in the observation lounge and stunned him with a startling confession: “If it
helps you to know this,” Picard had said to him, “I failed my first time . . . and you may not tell anyone!”
Picard had also told him that a person’s successes and failures could only be measured from within, not
by anyone else but himself. Not an easy lesson to learn, but Wesley Crusher thought lately that he was
finally beginning to understand it.
For reasons Wesley never quite understood, Picard had designated him an acting ensign, giving him
access to experiences no Starfleet cadet could possibly have sitting in an earthbound classroom. Then,
through a combination of natural talents and several tons of hard work, he’d achieved a field commission,
earning his red ensign’s uniform. He was a real starship officer.
After all that, he found it hard to imagine not being a member of theEnterprise crew. Would entering
Starfleet Academy feel like a step backward? Maybe. But if he ever wanted to be even half the captain
that Picard was, he knew he needed what the Academy had to offer, the theoretical foundation that
would give perspective to practical experiences like this away-team mission.
Hiking over a grassy knoll, Wes and Gina entered a forest of towering, slender trees with golden leaves.
En route, they found Ken Kolker hunched over like a stocky forest gnome, clipping and collecting some
last-minute flora samples. All his classmates knew Ken as the most perpetually serious
seventeen-year-old aboard theEnterprise , his moods often as dark as his close-cropped hair. As Wes
gestured toward the clearing where the shuttle and their supervising officers waited, Ken fell into step.
But Gina stopped short.“Dammit.”
Wes stopped, too, his hands on his hips and his mouth pinched into an expression of long-suffering
impatience. “What did you forget to do now?”
“That stupid seismic testing rig—I forgot to shut it down,” she said, already backing away. “I’ll go back
for it—I’ll run—I’ll—”
“I did it,” said Ken, halting her in mid-stride.
Gina blinked at him. “You didwhat—?”
“On my way back here, I ran down the mission checklist on my tricorder and I noticed the rig wasn’t
checked off. So I figured I might as well—”
“Oh, you and your stupid checklists,” Gina said with a roll of her eyes.
“Checklists are important,” Ken huffed.
“There’s more to life than checklists,Kenny,” she said, emphasizing the dimunitive she now knew he
disliked. “Do you ever do anything without consulting one of your stupid checklists first?”
“Gina,” Wesley said sharply, “his checklist kept you from getting into trouble.”
“Oh, Wes—that’s not why he retrieved the seismic rig. He probably did it just to make me look bad.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Wes saw how the accusation stung the shorter teen. No one who knew
Ken would characterize him as the life of any party, and there was a germ of truth in Gina’s opinion of his
lack of spontaneity. But this jab was more than unfair. It was mean. “Gina, that’s not—”
“Forget it, Wesley,” Kenny said, gathering the remnants of his tattered dignity. With no intention of
defending himself further, he turned and trudged toward the base camp.
Wes watched him go, then turned to glare down at Gina. “That was totally uncalled for. How do you
think it would’ve looked if you suddenly remembered about that test rig after we’d closed the hatch and
headed for orbit? You made a mistake—and then you made it worse. We’re a team and team members
are supposed to back each other up. That’s all Ken was doing.”
Gina looked away and scuffed the dirt with her toe. “You’re mad at me.”
“Yes, I am—but that’s not the point.”
“What is?”
“What do you think the point is?”
“Teamwork.” She looked up at him. “Are you going to report me?”
He frowned, stretching the moment.She really is cute . . . “Nobody’s perfect,” he finally said, his tone
softer.
“Not even you, Wes?” she teased.
“Especially not me.”
“I guess I should apologize to Kenny.”
“That’s up to you.”
Back at the away team’s base camp, they found Ken kneeling in the shadow of the shuttleOnizuka ,
sorting his last batch of soil and plant samples into appropriate slots in a carrying case. As Gina
approached him, Wesley busied himself just out of sight (but within earshot) on the shuttle’s opposite
side.
“If you came to make some comment on how compulsive I am,” Ken said without looking up, “save it.”
“Geez, you don’t have to be so touchy. I just came over to apologize.”
Ken’s eyes flicked up in genuine surprise. “You did?”
Gina nodded. “I forgot we’re a team.” She peered over his shoulder, into a sample case awesome in its
attention to total order and detail. “But youare the little compulsive, aren’t you?” Delivered with a sly
grin, her question was not meant as an insult—and Ken didn’t take it that way.
“It’s one of the few things I’m really good at,” he answered with a slight smile.
She crouched for a closer look. “God, I wish I could be that neat. Then maybe I wouldn’t always be
losing or forgetting things.”
“Creative people are allowed to be a little absent-minded.”
Her brows hitched, detecting a compliment. “You think I’m creative?”
“Gina, everybody loves your artwork.”
“What do you think of it?”
Ken shut the sample case and they both straightened up. “I—uh—I’m the wrong person to ask. Some
people are tonedeaf—”
“Oh, yeah, and you’re art-impaired?” she scoffed. “Kenny, if you’d just have come into those caves
with us—the way those minerals looked under our searchlamps—”
“Me? In a cave? No way—not where ceilings collapse and bury people!” he said with a shudder. Then
he nodded skyward. “I’d much rather be up there in a ship, any ship.”
“People die in space, too, y’know.”
“Statistically, it’s much safer to—”
“Oh, nooo—not statistics again,” Gina moaned, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head.
“What’ve you got against being on a planet?”
“I was born in space.”
“On a ship?”
Now it was Kenny’s turn to roll his eyes. “Of course on a ship. I was five before I even set foot on a
planet.”
“God . . . that’s weird.”
“Not as weird as you think. It just gives you a different perspective on things, that’s all. To me, it’s
perfectly normal to be inside a contained, controlled, predictable environment.”
Eavesdropping from the other side of the shuttlecraft, Wesley thought this sounded like a good time to
take advantage of the truce between his friends, and he rejoined them. Under his supervision, they set
about packing and stowing the last of the base-camp gear.
“This part is not fun,” Gina grunted as she maneuvered a bulky equipment crate toward the squat craft.
“We’re not here to have fun,” Ken said. “We’re gaining experience that’ll up our chances of getting into
the Academy.”
“There’s no regulation that says we can’t have fun, too. Hey, Wesley, help me explain—”
“No way. I’m not getting in the middle of another one of your debates,” Wes said with a grin as he
scanned the area. “That’s it. We’re done.”
As the three teens climbed through the shuttle’s side hatch, none of them noticed the glittering scintilla
flitting in the air above and behind them, at the edge of the clearing.
Commander Data and Counselor Deanna Troi greeted the young away team in the main cabin.
“Ready for departure, sir,” Wesley said.
“Very good, Ensign,” Data said pleasantly. “Mr. Kolker.”
Ken had already moved to a seat in the back when the android’s voice made him turn. “Yes, sir?”
“In view of your expressed interest in helm and navigation studies, I thought you might like to pilot the
shuttle into orbit.”
Kenny’s round, somber face lit with excitement and his answer started to tumble out. “Pilot—?
Yessir—” He caught himself in mid-sentence and wrestled his excess enthusiasm back under control, an
embarrassed flush tinting his cheeks. “I mean, thank you, Commander. I would.”
As he passed Gina on his way to the cockpit, she stifled a giggle. “Wouldn’t want to have fun . . . nuh-uh
. . . not cool Kolker.”
Wes and Data followed Kenny into the front compartment, leaving Troi and Gina behind. The counselor
looked at her young companion with knowing eyes. “I see you’re still giving Ken a hard time.”
“Ooo—he asks for it.” Then Gina composed her gamine face into an expression of exaggerated dignity.
“I know, I know—it’s not mature.”
“But sometimes you can’t help it.”
With a confessional shrug, Gina slid into the form-fit seat. “I bet you were perfect when you were my
age.”
摘要：

ForTomRoberts—friendandteacherAuthor’sNotesTwenty-fiveyears!?Waitaminute.Howdidtwenty-fiveyearsgobysoquickly?Iwasjustthistwelve-year-oldkidwatching“TheCityontheEdgeofForever”and“TheTroublewithTribbles”and“JourneytoBabel”—Andsuddenly,I’m...well,wedon’treallyneedtogointohowoldIamnow,dowe?AsIwritethis,...

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