STAR TREK - TNG - 16 - Contamination

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For Nancy,
the captain of my heart
Foreword
More than a few folks wrote me bemoaning the fact that I didn’t include a foreword in my first STAR
TREK The Next Generation novel,Masks . That was my first published novel, and it never occurred to
me that people would be interested in me. Plus,Masks was written under a much tighter deadline than this
work. So, with all this leisure at my disposal, let me unwind and thank a few people.
Contaminationcould not have been written without the help of two people: Tom Cheyney and Cary
Reich. Tom is the managing editor of a very fine trade journal calledMicrocontamination . In fact, it was
while perusing an issue ofMicrocontamination that the idea for this novel was born. Cary, besides being
an excellent brother-in-law, is an expert in the field of ophthalmic engineering: cornea transplants,
semi-permanent contact lenses, and the like. Thanks to them, the mysteries of the cleanroom and
ultraclean manufacturing techniques were revealed to me and, I hope, to you.
Speaking of mysteries, let me thank those mystery aficionados who added so much to that element of
the book: Steve Robertson, Marilyn Dennis, Susan Williams, Janie Emaus, and Linda Johnstone. Their
suggestions and tips were absolutely invaluable, and I have renewed respect for my friends who write
mystery novels. Thanks to Peter David, and thanks to Andrea and Kevin Quitt, who must’ve read every
STAR TREK book ever written. Jim Shaun Lyon and Stephen C. Smith are due a debt of gratitude from
all of us for the way they promote STAR TREK novels.
I am forever grateful to Dave Stern and Kevin Ryan of Pocket Books for allowing me to start my
novel-writing career at the top. Gene Roddenberry has been thanked so profoundly and so often that he
probably won’t hear my little voice—but thanks anyway, Gene. I would even like to acknowledge an
entity that gets more brickbats than thank-yous—Paramount. For a quarter of a century, they have risked
their money to support STAR TREK. In the beginning and in resurrecting STAR TREK for the movies, it
was hardly a sure thing.
I would love to supply a real address, but I may be moving soon. So please continue to send letters to
Pocket Books and please be patient and understanding of the circuitous routing required.
Since this book is about contamination in scientific circles, I want to deliver a stun blast to those “doctors
and scientists” who promote pesticide use. Come on, you guys, the writing is on the wall. Cancer
pockets in farming communities, DDT-laden fish in Santa Monica and Hudson bays, nerve problems, eye
problems—those poisons are killing us! Turn in those comfy salaries and get busy trying to find
alternatives. Maybe I’m so irate because I live in California, where the pesticide pimps have repeatedly
sprayed my house with Malathion (fighting the medfly, don’t you know). Coating schools, houses, and
playgrounds in pesticide doesn’t do anything but increase the poison levels in our bodies and the food we
eat. If we are ever to realize an optimistic future like STAR TREK, we have to get rid of the
kill-’em-at-any-cost syndrome. I pray we see a day when all pesticides will be banned and we stop
poisoning our planet and ourselves.
John Vornholt
Los Angeles
Chapter One
FEAR. UNCERTAINTY. ANGER. Confusion. Pain. The salvo of emotions struck Deanna Troi with
such force that she nearly recoiled from the disheveled woman pacing in front of her. Lynn Costa clawed
both hands through brambles of red and silver streaked hair, then tugged violently at the hem of her royal
blue tunic. Her thin shoulders—hunched from too many hours bent over a lab bench—shook with rage.
“How dare he put me here!” she shrieked.“How dare he!”
“Dr. Milu simply followed procedure,” Deanna said calmly, “after you admitted to destroying records.
Wouldn’t you like to take a moment to explain why you did that?”
“They weremy records,” the woman hissed, “frommy project! How long do I have to stay here?”
The ship’s counselor manufactured a smile. “This isn’t a cell—it’s only a consultation room.”
The woman stopped pacing, and hope glistened in her tired aquamarine eyes. “Then I’m free to leave?”
“Of course,” Deanna replied evenly, “but I thought you might want to discuss what’s troubling you.”
“Don’t you know? You’re a damn Betazoid!” cursed the scientist. “I thought you could read minds, like
Dr. Milu.”
“I can sense emotions,” Deanna admitted, with a trace of self-consciousness. “I’m not a full-blooded
Betazoid like Dr. Milu. And evenhe can’t read minds, only communicate telepathically.”
“Who cares?” shouted the woman, leaning across Deanna’s desk and glaring at her. “A two-year-old
could read my mind!I want off this ship! I can’t stand it here any longer!”
Deanna sighed, wondering how much more of this she could stand before she called Dr. Beverly
Crusher and had Lynn Costa sedated. She didn’t care if the woman was a giant in her field, one of the
most revered scientists in the Federation. Dr. Costa needed help, but for the moment she needed to sit
down, be quiet, and listen to reason.
And those were the very words she heard herself saying: “Sit down, Dr. Costa, and be quiet.”
Miraculously, the scientist sunk down into the chair opposite Deanna Troi and stared at the younger
woman. Her disjointed stare lasted only seconds before she buried her face within trembling hands and
sobbed. With each wracking sob, the unruly mop of hair obscured more of her delicate features. “He’s
leaving me!” she sputtered.
Deanna rose from her seat and put a soothing hand on the woman’s frail shoulder. “Who’s leaving you?”
“Emil.”
Lynn Costa looked more like a child than a woman nearing eighty years of age. Deanna could hardly
imagine that this was the person—along with her husband, Emil—who had spearheaded the
Microcontamination Project to unheralded heights of achievement. Their marriage was more than a
domestic arrangement—it was science’s most famous ongoing collaboration.
“How long have you been married?” the counselor asked quietly. She knew she could simply glance at
her screen and have the answer, but she wanted to sample Lynn Costa’s emotions as she answered
aloud.
The woman leaned back, taming a hank of unruly hair with one hand and wiping away tears with the
other. “Forty-eight years,” she muttered. “Too long to care what happens to him, but I do.”
Love, thought Deanna, that most unpredictable of emotions. “Why is he leaving you?”
“He says he wants to retire. To Switzerland,” she scoffed. “In the beginning, we worked so hard to get
away from Earth and into space, and now he wants to go back.”
“I’ve heard Switzerland is quite beautiful,” replied the Betazoid. “Why not retire? You and your husband
have earned a rest after all you’ve accomplished. Just to have perfected the biofilter—”
“Not the damn biofilter!” shrieked Dr. Costa, leaping to her feet and shaking her fists at invisible
tormentors. “Why does everyone want to talk about the biofilter? That was a generation ago, and you’d
think we hadn’t done anything since!”
Instinctively, Deanna reached out for the distraught scientist as she collapsed. The counselor was not a
large person, but Lynn Costa felt as small and helpless as a wounded sparrow in her embrace.
“There, there,” she whispered, as the frail woman again dissolved into sobs. “You are among friends.”
The woman sniffed. “I’ve never really felt that. It’s always been work, work, work. A galaxy full of
microcontaminants to categorize, isolate, and learn to avoid. I thought coming to theEnterprise would be
the crowning achievement of our careers. But instead . . . it’s been our downfall.”
So seldom had Deanna ever heard anyone speak ill of theEnterprise that she was taken aback. But
there was nothing in Dr. Costa’s wrenching emotions that indicated any real resentment against the ship
or its crew. TheEnterprise was simply the setting for the final act of a distinguished career, and perhaps a
marriage.
The counselor didn’t think she could prolong Lynn Costa’s career, nor was she sure it was a good idea
to do so. But she would do everything within her power to salvage a marriage that had endured
forty-eight years.
Firmly, Deanna proclaimed, “You and Emil should take a sabbatical together, just the two of you. While
you’re away from the ship, in a relaxed frame of mind, you can decide what to do with the rest of your
lives.”
“Yes!” rasped the scientist, suddenly bright-eyed. “We must get off the ship . . . as soon as possible. But
where?”
“You’re in luck,” the Betazoid responded cheerfully. “In a few days, we’re due to rendezvous with a
new starbase on a giant asteroid called Kayran Rock. I believe theEnterprise will only stay for the
opening ceremonies, but I’m sure you and Emil could remain longer. This is the first starbase built upon
an asteroid, and it must be quite a unique place to visit.”
With wraithlike hands, Dr. Costa gripped Deanna’s tunic and held on desperately. “Whatever it takes,
Counselor, you must get us off this ship. Before . . .”
“Before what?” asked the Betazoid, alarmed by the scientist’s overwhelming surge of fear. “What are
you afraid of?”
But that emotion was suddenly overshadowed by suspicion. As if she had said too much, Lynn Costa
pulled away from the counselor and averted her weary eyes. “I must get back to the lab.”
“Please,” Deanna pleaded, “don’t go yet.”
“I must.” She darted frightenedly toward the door, which whooshed open at her approach.
Deanna Troi called after her, “Dr. Costa! Let me set up an appointment for both you and your
husband!”
The woman stopped briefly in the corridor and turned to Deanna with sad, haunted eyes. “Just get us off
this ship.”
Counselor Troi rushed after her, but the scientist had already caught a turbolift.
A pair of turbolift doors opened in the underbelly of the ship and Lieutenant Worf rushed out, followed
by four security officers. Above their heads, a red light strobed ominously as a siren squawked a deadly
warning. The five officers ran stone-faced toward the doors to Engineering, which did not open as
expected at their approach.
Worf growled, “Override!”
One woman, a stocky blonde named Kraner, ripped the panel cover off the controls, exposing a mass
of circuitry. Her fingers were a blur as she rewired the relays and switches. Worf furrowed his dark
Klingon brow and growled under his breath. Actually, he knew he couldn’t do any better than Ensign
Kraner, but that didn’t assuage his impatience one bit.
Finally, after tense seconds that seemed much longer, the door slid open, and the security team barged
in. Phasers drawn, they confronted a scattered collection of engineering personnel . . .
Who ignored them.
“Time!” snapped Geordi La Forge from the catwalk overlooking the antimatter reactor. The chief
engineer was beaming a smile almost as wide as the apparatus that served as his eyes.
“Two minutes and sixteen-point-two seconds,” said the computer noncommittally as the sirens and
flashing lights abruptly stopped.
“Excellent!” remarked Geordi, scampering down a circular staircase to Worf’s level.
“Terrible!” growled the Klingon, fixing each member of his security team with a baleful glare. “Of course,
we would have been under two minutes if the doors had been functioning.”
“Did you like that touch?” smiled Geordi. “I thought it added a measure of realism. We’ve had a number
of distinguished and accomplished intruders down here, for example, your Klingon buddies.”
Only Geordi could get away with a remark like that, thought Worf. “The conditions of the drill were not
the problem,” he grumbled. Worf glanced at his party, still tensely clutching their disarmed phasers. “At
ease.”
“Worf, that was as good as could be expected,” insisted the engineer. “How could you improve it,
especially coming all the way from the bridge? That’s thirty-five decks!”
“Computer?” snarled the security chief. “In the drill just completed, how long were we on the turbolift?”
“One minute and forty-eight-point-three seconds.”
“That’s inexcusable!” snapped Worf. “Turbolifts should be faster than that.”
“The lifts can be programmed to go much faster,” admitted Lieutenant Commander La Forge. “But
people would be unconscious or pinned to the ceiling after ten or twenty decks. There’s the artificial
gravity and inertia to worry about. And you forget, Worf, not everyone has the constitution of a Klingon.”
The security chief’s lip curled disgustedly, even as the bumps on his brow crinkled in thought. “I don’t
want people to black out going to the Ten-Forward Room, but we need to speed up the turbolifts ten or
twenty percent in an emergency. You can do that, can’t you?”
Geordi rolled his eyes, secure in the knowledge that no one could see the gesture through his VISOR.
“Yes, I can,” he conceded, “but we’ll need authorization from the captain or Commander Riker. Also,
you’d better get a security team with strong stomachs.”
Worf nodded with satisfaction. “Let me know how soon we can test it.” He nodded to Ensign Kraner
and the others. “Dismissed.”
The big humanoid followed his personnel out, and Geordi shook his head in amazement. To no one in
particular, he remarked, “There’s a Klingon who needs a hobby.”
“Counselor’s log, stardate 44261.3,” Deanna Troi said slowly, settling back in her seat and corralling
her troubled thoughts. The sparse consultation room was almost eerily quiet now, in comparison to the
interview of a few moments ago. In the fifteen minutes since Dr. Lynn Costa had abruptly left, Deanna
had finished reading the researcher’s file. She found nothing of any help.
“I met with Dr. Lynn Costa for a brief period,” she told the invisible recorder, “at the request of her
superior, Dr. Karn Milu. According to Dr. Milu, Lynn Costa’s work and attitude have been erratic for
some weeks, culminating in the willful destruction of computer records and laboratory notes. Luckily,
most of the data was recovered from backup systems. Dr. Costa has refused to offer any explanation for
her actions, but I can certainly verify that she is troubled and terribly afraid. Our conversation was too
short to be conclusive, but her intense level of fear and anger would indicate a paranoiac condition.
“Most likely, this paranoia has been brought on by the possibility of retirement, at the insistence of her
husband, Emil. She resents the pressure he is putting on her, and she fears for the future of the
Microcontamination Project if she leaves. According to Dr. Milu, the project is well staffed and well
equipped and has benefitted greatly from the resources aboard theEnterprise . Lynn and Emil Costa
may have started the project, but all indications are that it will continue successfully without them.”
Deanna sighed and took a sip of the herbal tea she had all but forgotten. It was lukewarm. “That said,”
she continued, “I must make the observation that Dr. Costa hardly seems like the same person I have
met on several other occasions. Today, she seemed fearful, dejected, and disoriented, and there is
nothing in her file to suggest a predisposition to that sort of behavior. She has always been an immensely
confident and capable woman. I can only hope that this behavior is temporary and does not indicate a
more serious condition.”
The counselor frowned, and her lush red lips tightened. “I don’t wish to further erode Dr. Costa’s spirits
by having her relieved from her duties,” she insisted, “but it’s obvious that she can’t continue her work in
this frame of mind. The best course of action would be to arrange an immediate sabbatical for her and
her husband on Kayran Rock. From there, they can secure passage to anywhere in the Federation.
Perhaps they’ll return to work here or elsewhere, or perhaps they’ll do as Emil prefers and retire to
Earth.
“If a change of scenery doesn’t work, or for some reason Dr. Costa refuses the sabbatical, she will have
to be relieved from duty to undergo a complete psychological and medical evaluation. That is all. Please
send a copy of this entry to Dr. Crusher and Commander Riker.”
“Acknowledged,” answered the computer dutifully. Deanna Troi picked up her tea, stood and paced for
a few moments. Quite by accident, she found herself staring at the comm panel near the door, and she
was reminded that Lynn Costa was probably incapable of making any arrangements for herself at the
moment. She needed all the help she could get. “Computer?” asked the counselor. “Is Commander Riker
on the bridge?”
“Negative,” answered the mother hen of theEnterprise . “Commander Riker left the bridge
fifteen-point-five minutes ago and is now in the Ten-Forward Room.”
The Betazoid nodded, though no one was there to see the silent acknowledgment. She reached up to the
comm panel and lightly touched the membrane keypad. “Counselor Troi to Commander Riker?”
“Riker here,” replied the cheerful baritone. “Hello, Deanna.” His voice still held the sparkle of recent
laughter. Or did Will’s voice always sound that way?
“You sound like you’re having a good time,” she observed, annoyed that he didn’t know enough to be
worried about Lynn Costa. She would change that blissful ignorance soon enough.
“I am. Geordi is here and Guinan is on duty—why don’t you come down to Ten-Fore and join us?”
“I appreciate the invitation,” replied the Betazoid, forcing a much happier lilt to her voice than she felt. “I
will be there shortly.”
But Deanna Troi stopped off at her cabin first. It was on her way, she told herself, but she also wanted
to catch a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Not that she ever saw much different there: the red-and-black
uniform that flowed over most of her body and hugged some parts a little closer than she might like, the
silky brunette tresses which tumbled like an ebony waterfall from the crown of her head onto her slim but
sturdy shoulders, and the calm olive face they framed.
She wiped a moist cloth across her brow and the crook of her neck, then added a pin to her hair. That
was all the preparation she could afford Will Riker on this particular day. Why should she be so nervous?
she wondered. All she was going to do was ask him to clear the way for Lynn and Emil Costa to
disembark at Kayran Rock. Why should even the most dedicated first officer object to two
people—especially two lovers—getting away alone together? Even if he himself never seemed to need
that release.
The Betazoid furrowed her lush eyebrows in anger at herself. This wasn’t the time or place to interject
personal feelings. Propriety was one of the disciplines she had accepted as a condition of serving aboard
theEnterprise , and that meant considering Will Riker as merely another member of the crew. Still, if the
two of them were ever able to escape to a place like Kayran Rock and spend some time alone together .
. .
Deanna permitted herself a sigh, placed her cup back into the food slot, and dimmed the lights before
she marched out.
Guinan smiled her most enigmatic smile at the distinguished couple seated before her. One was a
frequent visitor to the Ten-Forward Room and one was not. She set the large orange juice—freshly
squeezed Valencia—in front of Dr. Emil Costa and delivered the large fruit cocktail to the lady. The lady
glanced away demurely.
The wizened scientist grumped at Guinan, as was his custom, and scratched his white close-cropped
beard as he checked the pulp content of the juice with his spoon. His hair was scarcely longer than his
stubbly beard, and his color was pale but not unhealthy looking. Guinan found him interesting, especially
when he added his own ingredients to the drinks she served him.
Adding ingredients was strictly against regulations, but Guinan wasn’t particularly strict, and she knew
grain alcohol when she smelled it. He would have plenty of alcohol around his laboratory, and he didn’t
need to come to the Ten-Forward Room to drink. The proprietress knew that the lounge was Emil
Costa’s only recreation, and she didn’t want to deprive him of his comforts. He and his wife deserved a
little special treatment.
However, the lady with him wasn’t his wife. Guinan couldn’t immediately place her, so her smile
remained enigmatic as her gaze drifted from the self-absorbed scientist to the young blond woman beside
him. “I’m Guinan,” she said directly, holding out her hand in the best Earth fashion, “I don’t believe we’ve
met.”
The woman smiled shyly and shook the Listener’s hand, her pale skin contrasting with Guinan’s much
darker pigmentation. “I’m Shana Russel. I always wanted to come here, but . . .”
“She’s only been on the ship for six months,” grumped Emil Costa, with a trace of a Germanic accent.
“And fresh out of school at that. Until she completed her preliminary work-ups, she didn’t have time for
such as this.” His off-handed gesture took in a tastefully lit lounge area that had been furnished both
elegantly and simply. All around them, through gigantic windows, glistened the wonders of the
firmament—stars without end.
Shana smiled proudly, changing from plain to pretty before Guinan’s eyes. “But I’m done with my
preliminaries, and here we are!”
“This is a celebration drink,” muttered Emil Costa. He was already reaching into the inside pocket of his
gown for the tiny blue vial Guinan had glimpsed once or twice before. Apparently, he didn’t care to
conceal it from her any longer.
“May you have more celebrations and more reasons to come here,” she saluted them with a slight bow.
“I’ll be around if you need anything.” Guinan moved on with a wave and a touch of reluctance, having
wished to chat further with Shana Russel. A new soul met aboard theEnterprise was always an
occasion.
But new customers beckoned. Among them was Deanna Troi, who had joined Will Riker and Geordi
La Forge at their table. The three familiar faces were a study in contrasts, thought the humanoid.
Will—affable, gentlemanly, and one of Guinan’s favorites—was patiently explaining something to the
recently arrived counselor. Geordi was furiously keying in data on a tricorder, stopping every once in a
while to check the readout. Deanna—normally the portrait of calm and reason—was shifting
uncomfortably in her chair and bristling several shades of Betazoid bronze at every word Will Riker said.
As she drew closer, Guinan heard the commander’s voice go up a notch in volume. “Deanna, I can’t do
anything about the landing restrictions.”
The Betazoid countered. “I can’t see how beaming Lynn and Emil Costa to a starbase will endanger our
relations with the Kreel.”
“The Kreel are a very proud race,” the first officer explained. “They’ve been at war their entire
existence, much of it with the Klingons, and that will give anyone a bad disposition. This is a big step for
them, allowing the Federation to build a starbase in their home solar system. We’ve longed to get a look
at that big asteroid, and now we have a foothold there.
“But,” he continued, “the Kreel don’t have transporter technology, and we refuse to give them any until
they can develop the rudiments for themselves. That’s why we have these restrictions. The Kreel will
have a lot of dignitaries at the opening ceremonies, and to avoid embarrassing them, we’ve all agreed to
arrive by shuttlecraft. For at least twelve hours, landing will be restricted to invited guests.”
“Then get them invited,” Deanna suggested, nonplussed.
“Forget it, Deanna,” said Geordi, showing interest in the topic for the first time. “Only three people have
been invited from theEnterprise , Captain Picard, Commander Riker, and Data. Even I couldn’t get an
invitation.”
“You know how the captain howled,” Riker insisted. “He did everything he could to get more invitations.
The captain and I are expected to go as standard protocol, and, well . . . you know how everybody
always wants to meet Data.”
“I know,” admitted the chief engineer. “I also know that Kayran Rock isn’t a huge planet where a
hundred ships can orbit at the same time. There are limits on how long and how many ships can keep
station with the asteroid. Sorry, Counselor, but we’ll have to forget any R&R on Kayran Rock until the
next time we’re in the neighborhood.”
“It’s not forme ,” protested Deanna. “It’s for Lynn and Emil Costa. They desperately need it.”
Guinan stepped from the tastefully appointed shadows. “Hello, Counselor.”
“Hello, Guinan,” answered the Betazoid distractedly.
“Did I hear you mention Emil Costa?”
Now Deanna gazed up at the Listener. “Yes, do you know him?”
“He’s a regular,” the server remarked, collecting some empty glasses. “He’s sitting about ten meters
behind me.”
At once, the three crew members craned their necks to see around Guinan, and she busied herself at the
table to conceal their curiosity. Will smiled appreciatively and stroked his beard. “Who is that he’s with?”
Deanna shot the handsome first officer a phaser blast of a look, then turned her attention to the young
blond woman.
“One of his assistants, I gather,” answered Guinan. “Her name is Shana Russel, and she’s only been on
the ship for six months.”
Geordi focused his long-range sensors, his mind translating thermal patterns, X-rays, brain wave activity
and other graphical representations of Shana Russel. “Would you say she’s pretty, Guinan?” he asked.
“She has potential,” the Listener replied. “Some men like that sort of wholesome sweetness.”
“Yes, they do,” Riker wholeheartedly agreed. “What exactly is the problem with Dr. Costa? He doesn’t
look desperate to me.”
“Not so much him, as his wife,” Deanna admitted. She took another, harder look at the young woman
sitting beside Emil Costa. Shana Russel was gazing into the older man’s eyes and doting on his every
word, between large bites of fruit cocktail. Every so often, she would glance excitedly out the window or
around the room. She looked like a teenager on her first date, and she even smiled at Deanna’s frank
stare, embarrassing the counselor for her suspicions.
“Some men are quite stoic,” Deanna observed, “and never show when they need something.”
Will gave her a peculiar sidelong glance, and the Betazoid returned his gaze. “Couldn’t they beam over
after the ceremonies? Or before?” she. suggested. “They just need to spend some time alone together.
Will, you of all people should be able to empathize with that.”
Geordi cleared his throat and stood up. “I’ve got to go, Commander. I think we can speed up selected
turbolifts fifteen-point-two percent during red and yellow alerts without ill effects.”
“Try it,” answered Will, relieved to have another topic for discussion, no matter how briefly. “And when
you hold the tests, I’d like to be there. Who’s going to ride these souped-up turbolifts?”
“I’m saving a spot for Worf,” Geordi grinned. He waved a farewell and strode off.
Guinan was slipping away too. “I’ll be back,” she assured them.
The commander’s smile faded, and he shook his head bemusedly at Deanna. “You’re not being very
subtle about your feelings today.”
“I’m sorry,” sighed the Betazoid, lowering her face. Then she looked at him with her wide, dark eyes. “I
feel that, after everything the Costas have done for us, we owe them an opportunity to find happiness.
The new starbase makes an ideal excuse for them to get away by themselves, and they have much to
discuss.”
Will Riker averted his eyes, remembering that Deanna could probe his emotions without half trying. Not
that she would find many surprises, but it was best to keep the conversation on neutral ground. “The
Enterprise is not going to maintain course with Kayran Rock for very long,” he said stiffly. “Certainly not
the whole twelve hours. If we arrive early, I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything.”
“Would it help if we talked to Emil Costa?”
“No,” snapped Will, glancing in the direction of the famous microbiologist. “I don’t want to promise him
something I may not be able to deliver.”
Deanna’s exotic features brightened considerably. “Then again, there are only three of you,” she
suggested, “and a personnel shuttle seats ten. You have plenty of room.”
Riker scowled, “Didn’t you listen to Geordi? We’re not going to have a hundred ships following one
asteroid. We may have to do a certain amount of shuttle-pooling with other ships in the area to get
everyone to the ceremony on time.” He rose to his feet, shook his head, and finally smiled despite
himself. “You’re quite a romantic, you know that?”
“I’m counting on you to be.”
He squeezed her slim shoulder and let his hand linger there for a moment. “I’ll do what I can. Have the
Costas officially request shore leave, specifying the next available port. At least the paperwork will be in
order.”
“Thank you,” she smiled, touching his hand. Their eyes met for an instant, and she read all the emotions
so familiar within the tall bearded first officer: caring, warmth, and a commitment to his career that
precluded any long-term romances. He wanted to be the captain of a starship—preferablythis starship,
theEnterprise . Not that there weren’t captains who were married and had families, but no starship
bearing the nameEnterprise had ever had one.
Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away. “I’ve got to get some sleep,” he said, “and now’s a good time,
with nothing going on for the next three days while we’re en route. I’ll see you on the bridge.”
“Good-bye, Will.”
He strode off, nodding to various acquaintances as he made his way through the half-filled lounge.
Deanna averted her eyes from that pleasant sight to the puzzling one of the two scientists seated nearby.
The young blond woman, Shana Russel, was cheerfully babbling away, while Emil Costa was looking
forlornly at the dregs of his orange juice. He may not have exhibited any of the disturbed behavior that his
wife had, but he didn’t appear particularly happy. Deanna rose from her chair and walked over to the
table.
“Hello,” she greeted them, nodding first to the eminent scientist. “Dr. Costa.”
“Hello, Counselor Troi,” he muttered, barely looking up. “This is one of our assistants, Dr. Shana
Russel.”
“Pleased to meet you, Counselor Troi!” she enthused, holding out an eager hand. “This is fun coming
here—you meet so many interesting people. Won’t you please sit down?” Then she glanced nervously at
her superior. “If that’s all right, Doctor?”
摘要：

ForNancy,thecaptainofmyheartForewordMorethanafewfolkswrotemebemoaningthefactthatIdidn’tincludeaforewordinmyfirstSTARTREKTheNextGenerationnovel,Masks.Thatwasmyfirstpublishednovel,anditneveroccurredtomethatpeoplewouldbeinterestedinme.Plus,Maskswaswrittenunderamuchtighterdeadlinethanthiswork.So,withall...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：166 页 大小：500.11KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

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