STAR TREK - TNG - 17 - Boogeymen

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2024-12-20 0 0 420.53KB 151 页 5.9玖币
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For Marc and Elaine Zicree:
Just a couple of space cadets
The poem that Captain Picard recites to Wesley is by Victorian poet James Thomson (1834-1882).
Prologue
WesleyCrusher’s PersonalLog, Stardate43747.3: I don’t seem to be making any progress in my
pre-commission course. I’m proficient in science or math, anything for which logical thinking is all that’s
needed. But when it comes to command, I don’t know if I have what in the twentieth century they called
“the right stuff.”
Commander Riker tells me that being a good commander is at least half intuition. Generally, the more
important a question is, the less data you have available to answer it. He says that the skills one uses to
decide correctly are more likely to be learned playing poker than chess. Maybe it’s too bad I’m such a
good chess player.
Commander Riker assures me that even Captain Picard, who likes to do things by the Starfleet book, is
as successful as he is only because he knows when to ignore the book and go with his gut feelings. He
expects the unexpected. When I told Data about this, he said that expecting the unexpected was, by
definition, impossible. Sometimes Data is too literal to get the point.
What about Data? Being a machine, he has no intuition. At least, that’s what he tells me. But he is avery
complex machine, and the vast number of circuits in his positronic brain—a number that appreaches the
number of synapses in a human brain—allows him to manifest behavior that sometimes looks like intuitive
thinking. Are appearance and reality ever the same thing? How do you know? Not Mom or Riker or
Geordi or even Data can give me a satisfactory answer.
Therefore I have to believe it’s possible tolearn to be intuitive. Or, if I can’t do that, maybe I can gain so
much experience that it willlook like intuition. But how can I get experience running a starship? I had a
hard time convincing Captain Picard that I belong on the bridge. What are my chances of convincing him
that I should sit in the center seat? I have two chances—slim and none. (That’s kind of a joke. I’ll have
to see if Data understands it. He always appreciates an opportunity to understand humor, even when he
fails.)
Leaving theEnterprise and going to Starfleet Academy is out of the question. I’ll have to go eventually,
but right now—
“MR. CRUSHERto the bridge.” It was Commander Riker’s voice, and Wesley smiled.
Enterprisehad entered the Omega Triangulae region three days before, searching for the source of a
signal that possibly was being broadcast by an unknown intelligent race. The signal was too ordered and
repetitive to be natural. Its origin was more a cloud than a point source, and it seemed to move. At the
moment, specialists were taking sensor scans, doing the dull grunt work of which most exploration
consisted. Commander Riker had promised to call Wesley if they found anything interesting.
Excitedly, Wesley touched his insignia and said, “I’m on my way.” He touched a pad on the recorder,
ejecting the isolinear chip on which he was recording his personal log, and ran from his room.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard watched the main screen intently, though at the moment nothing was on it but
deep space. His mind drifted from the object of their search and Mr. Data’s constant updates to the
hard, cold beauty of space itself. He always found deep space to be hypnotic, which was one of the
reasons he’d joined Starfleet, perhaps the main one.
Earth psychologists had defined a mental state they called rapture of the deeps. Originally it described
the euphoria one felt when looking into a very large, deep hole such as North America’s Grand Canyon.
The euphoria was even stronger in space; recruits needed to constantly fight the urge to leap through the
main viewscreen and into the vastness beyond. In a limited number of cases smashed noses had been the
result of someone losing control.
To Picard’s right sat Commander William Riker, his number one. Riker narrowed his eyes and nodded
in answer to some private question. He had a temper and could be too quick to judge, but he also had an
analytical mind second to that of few humans, so his judgments were generally correct. As for his temper,
well, lesser men had mastered worse things.
On his left was Counselor Deanna Troi, wearing one of the blue, barely regulation gowns she preferred.
She seemed to be the most relaxed person on the bridge, though her wide questioning eyes showed a
profound interest in what was going on. Her job was to report her empathic feelings in situations in which
little hard data was available. Her empathy occasionally crossed the line into sympathy, but that was not
necessarily a defect. In some instances, it could even be a boon. She was a resource that Picard
appreciated.
Data called out, “Object closing at warp six. Estimated time to contact, seven point four three minutes.”
“Prepare to intercept, Mr. Winston-Smyth,” Riker said.
“Aye, sir.” The blond woman touched a pad on the conn panel.
Picard looked in the direction of the aft turbolift as its doors hissed open. “Take the conn, please, Mr.
Crusher.”
“Aye, sir.” Wesley walked quickly to his station while Ensign Winston-Smyth slid out of the way and
took up a position at mission ops, directly behind Lieutenant Worf.
Data cocked his head and said, “This is very odd, sir.” He changed a setting on his board. “The object is
moving at warp six, but there is no evidence that a warp drive is being employed.”
A voice behind Picard said, “We are dealing with aliens, Commander. Anything is possible. Anything not
forbidden by the rules of the universe is eventually required.” It was a deep voice, almost lugubrious in
tone.
Picard did not turn around. He knew that standing next to Worf was a Starfleet lieutenant named
Shubunkin. Shubunkin was a first contact specialist. Early in the history of the Federation, races had just
blundered into each other. Inevitably, mistakes in protocol, etiquette, and courtesy were made. The result
was frequently bad feeling or even war—breaches that could take years to repair. Specialists were
needed to soften the shock of meeting.
“It seems to me,” said Riker as he looked over his shoulder at Lieutenant Shubunkin, “that there’s no
need to be unnecessarily mysterious or metaphysical about this. Aliens do things differently from us.
That’s what makes them alien.”
Picard did not dare smile. His first officer was as open-minded as any officer in Starfleet, but that did not
prevent him from needling Shubunkin for his pretension.
“I can pick up the object on visual now,” Data said.
“Do so,” said Picard.
The image wavered and then, in the center of the screen, Picard saw a sliver of brightness that was not a
star. It was too big and the wrong shape.
“Magnification five,” said Riker.
When the image re-formed, the screen showed a kind of ship Picard had never before seen. It seemed
to have no engines, no sensors, no windows, nothing to break its smooth silvery surface.
“It looks like a teardrop,” Riker said.
“An apt description, sir,” Data said. “It is likely that the streamlined shape means the ship was designed
for use in atmosphere as well as in space. It is also the source of the broadcasts we have come to
investigate.”
Data touched his control pad, and the signal came up on audio: it sounded like insects playing insect
musical instruments. The signal had no melody that Picard could discern; computer analysis confirmed his
conclusion. Yet the sounds were pleasant, even relaxing. Who was making them and what did they
mean?
“That will be enough, Mr. Data.”
“Aye, sir.” The audio repeat of the signal stopped, though Picard knew it was being recorded and
analyzed deep in the bowels of the main computer.
Wesley licked his lips. He never took his eyes off the viewscreen. He had listened hard to the
transmission, as if he could wring some meaning from it that the computer could not. And perhaps
Wesley could. Picard liked the boy as well as he liked anyone he considered a child. Wesley was
intelligent and creative—if a little overeager and entirely lacking in experience. Someday he might even
become a good Starfleet officer.
Riker said, “Can you tell us what’s aboard, Data?”
Sitting behind Data, Picard could see by the way his head jerked and his spine straightened that
something had astonished him. Data was an android, but he had been around humans for so long he
could not help acquiring their habits. As a matter of fact, he worked hard at learning them. Like
Pinocchio, Data wanted to be a real boy. He said, “Sensors indicate two discrete groups of beings. The
members of one group are within two percentage points of being human. Members of the other”—his
hands played across his ops board—“are so alien that the Federation has no category for them.” He
touched a pad and then went on. “Temperature, pressure, and composition of the atmosphere are well
within Earth norms. Brain wave patterns and activity levels indicate that the humanoids are asleep.”
“ ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ ” Picard said. “Any evidence of warp engines?”
“Sensors show a large output of energy from a structure that fills the tail of the ship, but how the energy
is being generated and what is being done with it is unknown. However . . .”
“Yes, Mr. Data?” Riker said.
“Small fluctuations in the energy output match within two percentage points similar fluctuations in the
brain activity of the humanoids.”
Lieutenant Shubunkin said, “Very interesting.”
They had picked up Shubunkin at Starbase 123 a month before. Since that time, Picard had come to
sympathize with Riker’s dislike for the man’s attitude of smug superiority. There was no question he
knew his subject, but Shubunkin got on Picard’s nerves. The crew of a starship was a family. Each had
to act for the benefit of all the others. There was no room for purposely ostentatious displays of any kind.
Politely, Picard said, “You’ve seen this sort of thing before?”
“No, never. It is interesting nonetheless.”
“Quite true,” Picard said. He allowed himself to be pleased that there was a limit to Shubunkin’s
knowledge.
“Telepathic control is a possibility,” Shubunkin said without certainty.
Troi said, “I am receiving no impressions of rational thought.” She put a hand to her forehead. “The
feelings are confused, but I am certain the beings aboard the ship mean us no harm. I feel curiosity,
perhaps, and some fear—probably of us.”
“How can they fear us?” Worf said. “If they have no sensors, they can’t even know we exist.”
“I remind you they are going at warp speed without warp engines,” Data said.
Riker nodded and said, “Where are the other aliens?”
“Sensors cannot pinpoint them exactly,” Data said. He sounded confused and a little dismayed.
Picard said, “Opinions, Lieutenant Shubunkin?”
“I don’t have enough data at the moment to make an informed guess. I suggest we wait and see what is
done by the ship or its crew. Doing nothing is frequently our wisest action.”
Riker looked at Picard, eyebrows up. Picard said, “All stop, Mr. Crusher.” To Riker he said, “Let them
come to us. If we must do nothing, let it work in our favor.”
“Shall I ready phasers, Captain?” Worf said.
Shubunkin said, “If they have sensors after all, that would not be considered a friendly act.”
“Stay alert, Mr. Worf,” Picard said.
Worf growled and said, “Aye, sir.”
As the alien ship approached theEnterprise , it slowed to sublight speed and soon was creeping along at
a few thousand meters per second.
“I guess this is about as unexpected as it gets,” Wesley said.
“At any rate,” Data said, “Iwas not expecting a ship such as this. Of course, the nature of reality is such
that expectations are frequently dashed. For instance, I did not expect to meet Lieutenant La Forge in the
corridor this morning. I did not expect Commander Riker to win at poker last night. I did not expect him
to—”
“That will be all, Mr. Data,” Riker said.
“Aye, sir,” said Data, looking as if he had not expected that interruption.
The alien ship slowed even more and stopped little more than a kilometer away. It did all this without
Data being able to detect a propulsion system of any kind or a way to navigate. Time went by. Picard
realized that he was leaning forward in his chair. He relaxed against the backrest and settled his hands in
his lap. Air circulated in a whisper. Machines made their small birdlike noises as they worked. His
command crew fidgeted, all but Mr. Data. He could sit without moving for hours if necessary, though
Picard always found the sight unnerving.
“How long do you suggest we do nothing, Lieutenant Shubunkin?” Riker asked in a tone that was not
quite sarcastic.
Before Shubunkin or anybody else had a chance to speak, a teeth-jarring whine began. It seemed to
come from all around them. Like the others, Picard covered his ears, but the sound went right through his
hands. Data and Worf checked readings on their boards.
Worf called out, “An energy beam has penetrated our navigational shields.”
“Analyze and identify,” Riker said.
A moment later Data said, “I believe we are being subjected to a very powerful but primitive sensor
scan. As it passes through the walls of the ship, unfocused fringe energy stimulates their molecules to
vibrate at a high frequency.”
“Shields, Mr. Worf,” Picard said.
The whine did not change.
“Ineffective, Captain,” Data said. “However, changing the frequency of our shield generators may . . .”
His hands played across the ops board. The whine stopped as suddenly as it had begun.
“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard said.
“Thanks are inappropriate, sir. We are no longer being scanned.”
“Open hailing frequencies. Broadcast universal greetings and peace messages.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf said as he complied.
“Waiting—” Shubunkin began.
A little angrily, Picard said, “Perhaps they are waiting forus .”
A long moment later Worf said, “No response of any kind, sir.”
“Continue broadcasting peace messages. Number One, ready an away team.”
Commander Riker barely had time to acknowledge Picard’s order before the alien ship moved to the
other edge of the viewscreen without passing through the space in between. It was just suddenlythere .
“Belay that order, Number One.”
Shubunkin walked forward and stood at the end of the tactical rail.
“Incredible,” Wesley cried out.
Picard said, “Incredible indeed, Mr. Crusher. Would anyone care to comment further?”
Lieutenant Shubunkin said, “As I suspected, they’ve seen our peace messages as a hostile intrusion.”
The alien ship jumped again. It hopped toward theEnterprise and then away. “That is not the action of a
being who is ready either to fight or to retreat,” Picard said. “It is acting more like a playful kitten.”
“The reason we cannot see them move,” Data said, “is that they are hopping from place to place at warp
speed.”
Wesley said, “Using the warp drive to move such short distances is a tremendous waste of energy.”
“It would certainly be a tremendous waste of energy to useour warp engines that way,” Data said.
“Moving with that precision would also require a control system many generations beyond the one
aboard theEnterprise .”
“I believe the greetings and peace messages were understood to be an attempt at communication,” Troi
said. “Captain Picard’s comparison of the ship’s movements to those of a kitten are quite apt.”
Picard said, “Then I suggest we dangle a bit of string in front of it. Lieutenant?” Picard glanced in
Shubunkin’s direction.
“Perhaps,” Shubunkin said, and stroked his chin.
“Mr. Crusher, ahead dead slow.”
“Aye, sir.”
Picard watched the alien ship closely as it grew larger in the viewscreen. Somehow he had to prod the
crew or the ship’s automatic systems to respond in some way to the presence of theEnterprise . He was
certain that not even an expert like Shubunkin could communicate with a being who would not
communicate back.
Eventually Picard would attempt to take the ship onto a shuttle deck and allow Lieutenant Shubunkin to
study it at close range. But that would be a last resort. For now the ship had a right to act in a way that
made no sense to him. It was the nature of aliens to act in an alien manner. To see such things was
another reason Picard had gone into space.
The alien ship stopped hopping. Picard got the impression it was watching their approach, but that was
only fancy. Even if those aboard really were watching the approach of theEnterprise , Picard had no
way of knowing it. Then, so fast that it left a momentary smudge on the viewscreen, the ship was gone.
Picard blinked at the empty field of stars.
“Warp six,” Data said. “Heading one four seven mark four. Still no evidence of a warp engine. But the
ship continues to broadcast its signal.”
“Warp six, Mr. Crusher,” Riker said. “Take your heading from Mr. Data.”
“Aye, sir.”
The stars flew to the edges of the viewscreen, always fed by more at the center. TheEnterprise seemed
to be flinging itself down an infinitely long tunnel that had sparks embedded in its obsidian walls.
“Heading two seven six mark eight.”
Wesley made the proper adjustment.
The alien ship went to warp eight, dropped back to warp five, and changed its direction three more
times.
Counselor Troi yelped. A second later Data said, “The ship is gone.”
“Explain,” said Picard.
“Just gone, sir. It was there and then it was not.” Troi composed herself and smiled shyly. “I felt it
leaving, sir.”
“Felt it?” Riker said.
Troi nodded. “A pressure I didn’t even know was there was suddenly gone.” She thought for a moment.
“It tickled when it slipped away.”
Picard frowned and glanced at Riker, who gave a tiny shrug.
Data said, “The feelings that Counselor Troi describes closely approximate the event as seen by the
sensors. The ship slipped away. But in a direction the sensors are not equipped to recognize and with
which I am not familiar.”
“Subspace?” Picard said. “Hyperspace?”
“Unknown at this time, Captain.”
“Can you make sense of this, Lieutenant Shubunkin?” Picard said.
Shubunkin said, “No, sir. But I’m sure a few hours with the sensor log will—”
Picard said, “All the facilities of the ship are open to you.”
“Perhaps you would like Mr. Data to assist?” Riker said.
“No, no. I just need a few hours alone with the raw data.” He smiled. “Smalld .”
Shubunkin left the bridge, and Captain Picard invited Data and Troi to join him in his ready room. They
could tell him no more than what was already obvious: the signal was sent by aliens who could travel at
warp speed without a warp drive; the aliens were human or they were not.
“It is all very odd,” Picard said.
Data and Troi could only agree.
Shubunkin did not emerge from his stateroom for the rest of the day. And when he did appear at last, he
still had no answers for Picard.
TheEnterprise patrolled the Omega Triangulae region for another week. Everyone was disappointed
that no more inexplicable events occurred, though as Wesley commented, “The mystery we already have
is a doozy.”
Chapter One
CAPTAINWESLEYCRUSHERof the starshipEnterprise brooded as he watched the Romulan captain
on the main screen. Negotiations had not been going well and the diplomatic language had worn a little
thin. Next to Crusher, Commander Riker was sweating heavily.
Captain Arvak shook his head and said, “I am not convinced, Crusher, that the Federation is negotiating
in good faith.”
Crusher opened his hands in the universal gesture of friendship, and smiled. He said, “I assure you,
Captain Arvak, that given a chance the Federation would be pleased toshare the riches of Regan Three.”
“Your assurances mean nothing,” Arvak said. “We have nothing more to discuss.” The screen went
blank, and a moment later Mr. Worf sang out, “Three Romulan ships closing fast.”
“Tactical, Mr. Worf,” Captain Crusher said calmly.
On the main screen,Enterprise was a blue dot at the center of a three-dimensional grid. The Romulan
vessels were red sparks closing fast.
“Mr. Worf, sound red alert. Mr. Winston-Smyth, ahead full impulse.”
The Klaxon sounded. Lights flashed. All decks reported in. Captain Crusher felt a hot adrenaline rush as
he gripped the arms of his command chair. The Romulans were making it difficult for theEnterprise to
escape without killing or being killed, but Crusher would do his best. He did not want three weeks of
careful negotiations to go to waste.
“We’re dead men,” Riker grumbled.
Data called, “Five hundred thousand klicks and closing.”
“Visual,” Captain Crusher said.
The tactical display on the main screen dissolved into the view forward. The Romulan ships seemed to
be right offEnterprise ’s bow. Crusher knew the proximity of the Romulan ships was only an illusion, but
he also knew they were too close for comfort.
A spot on the center Romulan ship flashed and a photon torpedo whirled toward them.
“Shields,” Crusher said.
Enterpriserocked with the impact of the torpedo. The bridge lights dimmed momentarily.
“Minor damage on deck six,” Worf said. “Shields still intact.”
Data said, “Romulans now at sublight. Speed falling. Stabilizing at one-half impulse. Ten thousand klicks
and closing.”
“Tactical,” Crusher demanded. The blips representing the two flank vessels peeled off to either side
while the center one came ahead under a barrage of phaser fire. Crusher knew what the Romulans had in
mind. It was an old trick. While one ship kept him busy at his bow, the other two would close in on both
sides, concentrating their fire on his warp nacelles, hoping to destroy the propulsion coils.
“We must do something, Captain,” Riker said. He sounded desperate.
“Wait, wait,” Crusher said. He never took his eyes off the tactical display. He said, “Mr.
Winston-Smyth, on my command, full impulse power heading zero one five mark four.”
Winston-Smyth glanced worriedly at Crusher but said, “Aye, sir,” and laid in the velocity.
“Wait. Wait. Wait.” He cried, “Now, Mr. Winston-Smyth.”
The tactical display showedEnterprise rising straight up. The Romulan ships were left scrambling among
themselves. “Warp eight back to Federation space,” Crusher said steadily.
Riker shook his head and said, “You’re a man of iron nerves, sir.”
Crusher nodded and smiled sardonically. Though he had failed as a diplomat, he’d managed to escape
from the Romulans without inflicting or sustaining damage. Considering the Romulans, that was a victory
of sorts. Yet something was missing. The element of surprise, perhaps. It was always so predictable. Not
like in the real universe. He shook his head and said, “Number One, you have the bridge.” He strode to
the door and into his ready room, where he sat down at his desk and rested his chin on his fists.
It wasn’t Guinan’s fault he wasn’t satisfied, or his mom’s either. Mom was swell, and Wesley liked her a
lot. Still, she was a Starfleet officer mostly because she was a doctor, when it came to actually being a
command officer—well, she’d never been to command school, and she did not have the experience
Wesley felt he needed to call upon. He’d been a little nervous about going to Will Riker or anybody else
on the bridge. They’d help him, of course, but he asked them enough questions. And they might think his
request was out of line or, worse yet, silly.
So he’d gone to Guinan.
It was ship’s day, so Ten Forward was nearly empty. An off-duty couple spoke low in a corner. Guinan
was behind the bar wiping it down with a purple rag the same color as her dress and hat. She smiled
warmly when she saw him—she did everything warmly—and said, “Taking a study break?”
“Sort of,” Wesley said. He sat down and did not meet her eyes.
“What’ll you have?” Guinan said.
“A clear ether, please.”
While Guinan spritzed soda into a tall glass, she said, “What’s wrong?”
“What makes you think something is wrong?” Sometimes Guinan was so intuitive it was almost scary.
He watched her build the drink. The food slot could have delivered it ready-made, but there was a need
in the human soul to watch a recreational drink being prepared. Besides, the preparation gave both
bartender and customer more time to talk, a friendly tradition that had survived for centuries on many
planets.
She set the tall glass before him. Red tendrils leaked into the clear liquid from a cherry speared with a
green plastic spaceship in the shape of a dart. While Wesley chewed on the cherry, Guinan said, “You
never take study breaks, Wesley. You’re more likely to study all night.”
“Yeah, well,” he said and played with the little plastic spaceship.
She continued wiping the bar.
Wesley took a deep breath and said, “I don’t know if I’ll make a good officer.”
“Is it important that you know right now? Seems to me you have your hands full going to school and
serving on the bridge.”
Wesley shrugged. It was important. If he wouldn’t make a good officer, a good commander, he might as
well leave theEnterprise and Starfleet altogether. He sipped his clear ether. It was cold and sweet.
“So it’s important,” Guinan said. “Captain Picard has already given you more responsibility than he
摘要：

ForMarcandElaineZicree:JustacoupleofspacecadetsThepoemthatCaptainPicardrecitestoWesleyisbyVictorianpoetJamesThomson(1834-1882).PrologueWesleyCrusher’sPersonalLog,Stardate43747.3:Idon’tseemtobemakinganyprogressinmypre-commissioncourse.I’mproficientinscienceormath,anythingforwhichlogicalthinkingisallt...

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