STAR TREK - TNG - 13 - Eyes of the Beholders
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This book is dedicated to my friend Irene Kress with love and thanks for all her understanding
and help.
Acknowledgments
I would like to thank all the other writers whose inspiration, encouragement and friendship proved so
helpful to me while I wrote this novel, as well as during the writing of my two other Star Trek books,
Yesterday’s Son and its sequel,Time for Yesterday .
Special thanks go to:
Carmen Carter, who read and critiqued the first draft, and provided many invaluable insights and
suggestions . . .
Howard Weinstein, who suggested that Data use the transporter to emulate Ernest Hemingway . . .
Vonda N. McIntyre, because she’s always an inspiration, as well as a friend . . . and who shares with
me fond memories of marmots and the RoVaCon ‘89 banquet . . .
Margaret Bonanno, for her insights into Vulcan maternal instincts . . .
Diane Carey, who provided me with a good laugh when I desperately needed one . . .
Peter David, for his vivid portrayal of Worf inStrike Zone . . .
Diane Duane(accept no substitutes!),for her Next Generation episode featuring the Traveller, which
I referenced in these pages . . .
Melinda Snodgrass, for her excellentNext Generation episode “Measure of Man,” which gave me a
tremendous insight into Data’s character . . .
AND, last, but assuredly not least, my editor, Kevin Ryan, for advice and encouragement.
Chapter One
LIEUTENANTCOMMANDERGeordi La Forge, chief engineer of the starshipEnterprise, awoke in
his shipboard cabin from a sweating, heart-pounding dream of absolute blackness to the real darkness of
his unassisted vision. For long moments he lay blinking and gasping, wondering whether he was, indeed,
awake. As full awareness returned, he sat up in his bunk, right hand reaching unerringly for his nightstand,
where his VISOR lay.
Slipping it over his eyes, he centered its sides over the bioelectronic sensing leads implanted in each
temple, then pressed them quickly into place, automatically suppressing a wince of pain. It hurt to activate
his vision.
Geordi was accustomed to the constant discomfort that “seeing” caused him; most of the time he was
barely aware of it. He’d trained for years in biofeedback techniques that allowed him to live with the
pain, master it. It was the price he paid for having a normal existence, and he paid it gladly.
But acceptance of the pain did not eliminate it, though it was the first step in living with it. La Forge
sighed as the ache took up its usual place in his temples. His darkened cabin sprang into view as the
VISOR illuminated the infrared portion of the spectrum. Objects showed as wavering, varicolored
shapes, depending on how they retained or reflected heat.
The engineer swung his legs out of the bunk and sat up. Then he asked the room, in a voice roughened
from sleep, what time it was.
Obediently, it replied. It was still the middle of the “night” according to La Forge’s duty roster.
“What day of what month?” he asked, seized by a sudden intuition about what had sparked his
fear-filled dream. “Earth calendar, not stardate.”
“It is September sixteenth.”
On some level I must’ve been aware of that, La Forge thought. Even if it wasn’t consciously.
Twenty-seven years ago on this date, at this time, I was experiencing my last hour of true
blindness.
Geordi vividly remembered the smells and noises of the hospital where he had awakened the morning of
his surgery, a small, frightened child—frightened but nevertheless determined to undergo this new
treatment the doctors said would enable him to “see.”
“See?” he remembered himself asking when his parents and the doctor had first told him about the new
techniques medicine had developed. He’d been holding his favorite toy, he recalled, a model of a
starship. As he’d listened, his sensitive fingers had caressed its familiar sleekness, tracing every millimeter,
every faint irregularity and crevice on its graceful shape. “Will I be able to see as well as everyone else?”
“In many ways,” Doctor Lenske had told him solemnly, “you will be able to seebetter than everyone
else.”
“Well enough to go to Starfleet Academy?” Geordi had asked, his small, sturdy body tense with sudden,
unexpected hope.
“I believe so,” the doctor had replied. “But . . . Geordi, I must be honest with you. There will be a price
attached to your new vision. The VISOR is new, and using it will be painful for you.”
The little boy’s jaw had tightened. He knew what pain was—pain was when you stubbed your toe, or
tripped and fell if you weren’t wearing your sensory-net clothing. His fingers had tightened on his sleek
little replica. “I don’t care,” he said quietly. “I want to go to the Academy more than anything. I want to
be a Starfleet officer. I want to see.”
Caught up in memory, La Forge recalled how it had felt to lie on the antigrav gurney and take that long
journey down echoing halls to the operating theater. The scent of Mama’s perfume had warred with the
muted but still nasty smells of the hospital. Her hand, and Daddy’s hand, had been clasped warm and
tight around his fingers. Their touch was the last thing he recalled—that and the warmth against his eyelids
that told him there was a bright light overhead.
When he’d awakened, and they’d first slipped on the VISOR, he’d screamed—partly from the pain but
mostly from the disorienting shock of images that had flooded his mind, coiling and wavering and shifting.
Color—to seecolor!
I wonder,Geordi thought as he stood up and padded over to his closet to pull on an off-duty pair of
pants and a short-sleeved shirt,whether what I call ‘red’ looks anything like what people with
normal sight call ‘red.’
La Forge suspected his disturbing dream of blindness had been triggered not only by the anniversary of
receiving his VISOR but also by his visit to sickbay the previous morning. Doctor Crusher had examined
him, assured him that he was in the best of health, then gently asked if Geordi had made a decision about
whether to keep his VISOR or to allow her and Doctor Selar to attempt to regenerate his optic nerve.
If I had normal vision,La Forge thought as he washed his face and ran a pick through his short hair,I
wouldn’t feel self-conscious about the way my eyes must appear to others—especially
women—when I remove my VISOR . He felt his face grow hot when he remembered the way
ill-mannered strangers had reacted to him when he was small. “Oh, the poor little thing!” one woman had
gasped. And, “He can’t see out of those eyes, can he?” a man had boomed, as though Geordi couldn’t
hear, either.
On the other hand, if he gave up his VISOR to gain normal vision, he’d lose his unique ability to “see”
what “normal” people could not. Also, being blind and wearing the prosthetic device was part of who he,
Geordi La Forge,was —as much a part of how he defined himself as his Starfleet career. Did he want to
become somebody different?
La Forge knew that it would take him at least a year to have the regeneration treatments and learn to see
as normal people did. He’d recently been promoted to chief engineer, and Captain Picard had
commended him on his performance. Did he want anything to jeopardize that?
Geordi sighed aloud, tired of wrestling with questions that seemed to have no satisfactory answers. For a
moment he considered going down to engineering, but the almost imperceptible vibration of the
Enterprise’ s impulse engines assured him that they were functioning perfectly. Impulse power was all
that was needed on their current assignment, while the big ship mapped and explored this relatively
unknown sector.
Yeah, and don’t forget that Sonya Gomez is on duty,Geordi reminded himself.The poor kid’s
nervousenough already. You don’t want her to think you don’t trust her to stand her watch
competently—that you feel the need to check up on her.
Besides . . . he wasn’t in the mood for work. He wanted to talk to someone. Not officially, it wasn’t
serious enough to seek out the ship’s counselor, but . . . talking would help him exorcise the terror of the
dream where he’d been trulyblind again.
Pulling on a pair of soft shoes, La Forge left his cabin and turned left down the corridor. He had a hazy
idea of going down to Ten-Forward and talking to Guinan. The enigmatic hostess was a good listener,
and a drink would relax him.
Guinan intrigued Geordi. He’d been told that her skin color was almost the same as his, and he knew
that outwardly she appeared equally human, but La Forge’s unique vision let him see more than most
people. He knew that Guinan was an alien—humanoid but not human. Her basal temperature and
metabolic rates gave her away, along with certain other differences he could detect.
Halfway to the turbolift, though, the chief engineer halted, frowning. There were bound to be friends of
his in Ten-Forward, and Geordi really wasn’t in the mood for socializing with a crowd. Most of his
closest friends were assigned to the same duty shift as he was, so they were undoubtedly sound asleep . .
.
. . . with one exception, of course.
Smiling, La Forge turned around and walked back up the corridor to the door of a cabin and signaled it.
“Come,” a voice said. The door opened and Geordi entered.
“Data, it’s me,” La Forge called as he walked through the bedroom to the small living area. It contained
the usual furniture, with the addition of an easel. A bank of computer displays winked on the walls. On
the desk there was a violin case, now pushed to one side.
Lieutenant Commander Data sat at his desk, holding some kind of short, slender instrument La Forge
didn’t recognize in his hand. The android was surrounded by a white-gold halo of energy, and his body
shimmered orange, yellow, lime green. The colors spread out evenly over his form, instead of brightest in
the trunk area, as humans appeared when he used the infrared portion of his vision. Geordi knew that the
artificially created officer appeared quite human to his normally sighted crewmates, except for his pale
gold complexion and glittery golden eyes, but the VISOR recorded his image quite differently.
Data glanced up as his friend entered, and he placed some sort of cap over the thing he held. “Hello,
Geordi,” he said in his precise, unaccented tones.
“Hi, Data. What have you got there?”
“An exact replica of an old-fashioned fountain pen,” the android officer replied, holding it up.
“Awhat?”
“A fountain pen.” Evidently recognizing La Forge’s continued bewilderment, he added helpfully, “An
instrument for writing by hand.”
“You mean producing hard copy bywriting on paper? Why would you want to do that?” La Forge
asked. Inwardly, he sighed. He’d already had considerable experience with Data’s sudden enthusiasms,
and something told him he was about to gain more.
“To awaken my muse,” Data said. “A famous twentieth-century author whose works I have been
reading has stated categorically that it is impossible to produce true literature by electronic means.”
This time La Forge sighed aloud. It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that not only did Data
function by electronic means, but so, in the final analysis, did human beings. But he restrained himself.
“Uh, you mean that you’re producing literature by writing it out manually?”
“I believe I said that,” Data replied.
“What kind of literature?”
Something akin to pride tinged the android’s voice. “I am writing a novel.”
“Oh,” La Forge managed, after a surprised pause. “Uh . . . that’s . . . great, Data. What is it about?”
“It is a fictionalized retelling of the first days of interstellar travel. A work of epic scope, full of passion
and nobility, but stylistically rendered to be accessible to a popular audience,” Data explained.
“What’s it called?”
“The work is as yet untitled. I am confident that inspiration regarding an appropriate title will strike
before it is published.”
“Published?” Geordi was nonplussed. “You’vesold this book?”
“No, it is not complete, so I have not yet submitted it. However, when the time comes, I am certain that
it will be deemed worthy of publication,” Data said evenly. “After all, I have analyzed more than five
hundred years of human literature down to its most basic themes and components. I am confident that I
can match—if not exceed—the quality of the fiction appearing currently.”
“Uh . . . yeah,” La Forge said without much conviction. He’d had a friend in the Academy once, Laura
Wu, who’d tried to publish several of her short stories, only to meet with rejection. Crushed, she’d
abandoned her aspirations.
“Would you like me to read you the scene I am currently polishing?” Data asked.
Geordi groaned silently at the idea, remembering as he did the times that he’d tried to read and comment
on Laura’s efforts. Hurt feelings and mutual resentment had been the only result. “Sure,” he said aloud,
managing a credible amount of enthusiasm.
“Very well.” Data picked up a piece of paper with a proud flourish. “Ahem,” he said, attempting to
theatrically clear his throat but managing only a sort of artificial gargle. “This scene takes place between
Fritz and Penelope, my two protagonists. They are at Luna Starbase, beneath one of the observation
domes—a most romantic setting for a love scene, do you not agree? Penelope is upset because Fritz is
departing the next day aboard his ship, and she is afraid that she will never see him again.” He began to
read:
“The jagged lunar mountains stabbed the blackness of the star-studded sky like tuning forks
vibrating to the music of the celestial spheres. Penelope turned to Fritz with tears streaking her
makeup and reddening her otherwise exquisite sapphire eyes.
“ ‘We only have tonight,’ she whispered. ‘Tomorrow you will be gone, and we will never see
each other again.’
“He took her into his arms with a strength that made her breath rush from her lungs as her
diaphragm was forcibly compressed.
“ ‘I will come back,’ he promised. ‘Our journey may take years, but I swear that I will return
to you. Will you wait, my darling?’
“ ‘I have no choice,’ she said. ‘When I am with you I feel transformed. My legs grow weak, my
blood rushes madly through my veins, my entire body tingles from your nearness. Why is it that
only you can make me feel this way?’
“ ‘Those reactions are not unique, Penelope. They are simply physiological indications of
sexual arousal in the human female,’ Fritz murmured as he bentto possess—to plunder—her
waiting lips with his own.
“She moaned as he—”
“Uh, Data,” Geordi broke in, waving a hand to gain his friend’s attention. “Hold on a second. I’m no
writer, but something about Fritz’s speech to . . . uh, Penelope, did you say her name was? Well, a
human male wouldn’t catalogue all those physical symptoms of . . . passion. Instead he’d just kiss her.”
“But she asked him a question,” Data pointed out. “When a question is posed, a reply is expected.”
“Well, that’s usually true, but in a case like this, old Fritz—or any man—wouldn’t take the time to make
a speech correcting the lady. He’d kiss her and go on from there.”
Data regarded his critic with growing dismay. “He would? Are you certain?”
“Well, I don’t claim to be the universe’s greatest authority on lunar love scenes, but yeah, I’m sure.” La
Forge grinned wryly. “If you want somebody who no doubt is an expert, you ought to ask Commander
Riker.”
“I will correct that portion,” Data promised solemnly. “But otherwise, what did you think of it?”
Geordi hesitated. Frankly, he’d thought it was pretty terrible. But he couldn’t be truthful; he didn’t want
to hurt Data’s feelings—assuming the android had feelings that could be injured. He certainly seemed to
be almost humanly proud of his literary effort.
“Well . . .” he began, “I would definitely say it was . . . interesting. Definitely very interesting.”
“Can you be more specific regarding what you liked or disliked? What emotions did it arouse in you?”
The chief engineer groaned inwardly. “Well, I—”
La Forge was rescued by a beep from the intercom in Data’s cabin. “Lieutenant Commander Data?” the
voice of bridge officer, Ensign Whitedeer, followed.
“Data here,” the android said.
“We are receiving a message from Starfleet Command, sir.”
“Where is the captain?”
“In his quarters, sir.”
“And Commander Riker?”
“On Holodeck Three, sir.”
The android stood, tugging his uniform into place, and quickly capped his pen. “I am on my way to the
bridge now, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir.”
Geordi was already halfway to the door, profoundly grateful to be relieved of the role of literary critic.
“I’ll go get into uniform and mosey on up to see what’s cooking.”
“Cooking?” Data echoed, then he nodded. “Ah, yes. You mean ‘what is cooking’ as in what is up, what
is going down, what is shaking, what is the story, what is happening, man, what is—”
“You’ve got the idea, Data,” La Forge called back as the door to the android officer’s cabin slid open.
“See you on the bridge.”
When La Forge, once more clad in his dark gold and black uniform, reached the bridge, he found
Commander William Riker there ahead of him. If Data had summoned Riker, it meant that the message
was more than a routine communication. Geordi went over to check the displays on the engineering
station on the bridge, keeping one ear cocked for any hint of what was going on.
Moments later, Captain Jean-Luc Picard himself appeared, impeccably dressed and groomed as
always, but Geordi had the impression that theEnterprise’ s commander had been sound asleep. The
engineer only hoped that this mysterious message would be worth the disruption in everyone’s duty
schedule. Starfleet Command sometimes generated mountains from molehills.
Picard silently scanned the message, then straightened up. “Commander Riker, Mr. La Forge, Mr. Data
please join me in the conference lounge room,” he said, his diction impeccable as always, his tones
dispassionate. “Mr. Crusher, you have the conn.”
Geordi relaxed slightly as he walked toward the conference lounge. The captain seldom showed any
trace of his native Gallic accent—usually only when he was deeply worried or upset. Which plainly
wasn’t the case now.Obviously not a full-scale Romulan invasion, the chief engineer concluded.New
orders, maybe. But we haven’t yet finished our mapping assignment in this sector . . . which
means that, whatever it is, it’s pretty important to pull us away with our mission half done.
Once seated around the table in the conference lounge located behind the main bridge, a comfortable
room whose neutral furnishings were eclipsed by its stunning view of the stars, the senior bridge crew
expectantly regarded their commanding officer.
“We have been ordered to investigate trouble along a newly established trade route that passes through
Sector 3SR-5-42, linking Federation territory and the Klingon Empire,” Picard began. “The only
inhabited nearby planet is Thonolan Four, a recently settled Andorian colony. Starfleet Command has
advised me that several Federation freighters have disappeared as they traversed this sector—vanished
without a trace, apparently. There have been three vessels missing in the past six months.”
Uh-oh,La Forge thought.I smell trouble. This sounds like one of those “Go stick your head in the
noose, guys, and find out what happens” missions.
“Yesterday, the Klingon High Command lost contact with one of their ships, the Klingon cruiser
PaKathen . We have been ordered to investigate its disappearance and, if possible, rescue the
PaKathen.”
Picard turned to Data. “Mister Data, from our present position, how long to reach Sector 3SR-5-42 at
maximum cruising speed?”
“Four days and seven hours, Captain,” the android replied almost instantaneously.
“We will leave by thirteen hundred hours, as soon as we have terminated operations here.” Picard
glanced around the room, his expression somber. “Questions or comments, anyone?”
Commander Riker nodded. “I gather that some ships have made it through this area without incident?”
“Correct, Number One.”
“Then I suggest that we access the public record logs of any of those ships. Perhaps one of them noticed
something that would give us a clue about what has happened to the missing ships.”
“I concur, Number One. Have Commander Data implement such a search once we are under way.”
Picard regarded his second-in-command thoughtfully. “Commander Riker, what is the current status of
our mapping mission?”
“We are”—Riker smiled ruefully—“wereabout halfway through, sir.”
“Instruct your scientific teams to halt their efforts and transmit all currently completed data to Starfleet
Command. Remember, we depart within the hour.” Picard inclined his head at his senior staff.
“Dismissed.”
Lieutenant Selar watched the small, blue-skinned child wearing the shimmering black mesh over her
short tabard walk hesitantly toward a bulkhead, then suddenly halt. “Distance from the wall?” Selar
demanded.
“One point three meters, just as you said,” the little girl reported.
“Excellent,” Selar said. “You are gaining confidence.”
“It’s getting easier each time to combine what my sensor net reports with what I sense with my antennae.
This sensory net is much better than my old One.” The child turned to face the Vulcan doctor, her pale
eyes staring fixedly over Selar’s head. “Thank you for teaching me to use it, Doctor Selar.”
The Vulcan shook her head, momentarily forgetting that the Andorian child couldn’t see her gesture. “It
is my job, Thala. One does not thank another for the simple performance of one’s duty.”
The child grinned suddenly, impishly. “You’ve spent extra time with me, and I know it. I heard Doctor
Crusher say so during my last examination. She thought I wasn’t listening, but I was.”
Selar raised an eyebrow in surprise. “I shall have to caution Doctor Crusher about the acuity of your
hearing.”
The little girl’s blue-skinned features crumpled suddenly beneath her cottony white hair and antennae.
“Oh, no, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? What Wesley calls letting my mouth move in warp drive while my
mind is still in impulse.”
The Vulcan woman thought privately that the image was particularly apt, but her amusement did not
show on her well-schooled countenance. “The more you are able to practice using the sensory net before
we dock at the nearest Starbase and you take transport for your home world, the better you will be able
to manage.”
Thala nodded silently, tight-lipped as any Vulcan. Momentarily, Selar regretted mentioning the child’s
approaching departure, but she steeled herself. Thala had to become accustomed to the idea that she
would be leaving soon, to grow up on a planet she had never seen.
The Andorian child had been born in space. Her father, Thev, had been an Andorian diplomat on an
extended goodwill voyage. Thala’s mother, a linguistics expert, had died six years ago when her baby
was only a year old, of a virus the linguist had contracted. The child’s father had died five weeks ago,
one of eighteen people to perish during the Borg attack.
Now Thala was alone, and regulations decreed that she must be sent back to her family at the earliest
opportunity.
Ever since Thev’s death, Lieutenant Selar had tried to tell herself that Thala would be better off with her
relatives, but she was concerned about the child’s future. Life aboard a starship was far different from life
on a planet—especially a place like the Andorian homeworld.
Andorians were a passionate race, not as technologically or as socially advanced as Vulcans or even
Terrans. They clung to ancient traditions that were steeped in their barbaric, bloody past. Weaknesses or
disabilities were regarded not with toleration but as personal and familial shame. Some Andorian clans, it
was whispered, still exposed children who were born less than perfect. It was certainly true that Selar, in
her fifteen years of medical practice with Starfleet, had never seen an Andorian who was in any way
handicapped.
How would Thala be regarded by her people? Within the past year, Selar, working first with Doctor
Pulaski and then with the returned Doctor Crusher, had been testing and evaluating Thala to receive a
VISOR much like the one Lieutenant Commander La Forge wore. The implantation of the sensors and
calibrations of a VISOR had never been done for an Andorian. Selar had been doing much of the work
herself, with assistance and advice from La Forge.
If Thala left, Selar wondered, would her clan make sure the child was given the best of medical care so
she would one day “see” as the chief engineer could? Privately, the Vulcan doubted it.
And there was something else . . . something Selar had worked closely with Doctor Pulaski on
developing: bioelectronic replacements for body parts. They had already come up with a way to give
Lieutenant Commander La Forge bioelectronic eyes that would give him a normal
appearance—assuming he did not wish to have the optic nerve regeneration. But so far the chief engineer
had declined, because giving up his VISOR would mean losing a significant percentage of the range of his
unique vision.
But for Thala, who had never grown up with the expanded vision provided by a VISOR, might not the
bioelectronic eyes be ideal? They would look and function more like normal vision, although allowing her
to “see” more spectra. And with them the little Andorian girl would not have to live with the constant pain
that La Forge experienced.
Selar sighed aloud, and Thala’s head turned toward her in surprise. “Are you tired, Doctor? We can end
the lesson if you wish.”
“No, not at all,” the Vulcan said. “But at the moment it is time for lunch.” She stood up gracefully, a tall,
slender woman who wore her dark hair cropped short, bangs nearly touching her slanting eyebrows,
revealing her elegantly pointed ears. The doctor was forty, still young as her people reckoned age, and
her clean-cut features were attractive despite their lack of mobility.
“Yes, I’m hungry,” Thala said. She hesitated, then asked quietly, “Will I see you for another lesson
tomorrow, Doctor?”
Selar hesitated, noting the admirably restrained eagerness in the child’s expression. “I believe so,” she
said. “Unless we experience some kind of unexpected emergency in sickbay.” Something in the child’s
wistful expression made her ask, “Would you like to accompany me to Ten-Forward for lunch? I have
no other plans.”
“Could I?” Thala breathed, then she smiled broadly, her antennae twitching with excitement. “That
would be wonderful! Thank you so much, Doctor!”
“There is no need to thank me,” Selar said. “We both must eat, and pleasant companionship at meals
promotes good digestion.” The child started toward her, her steps still rather uncertain.She has not yet
become comfortable in the use of her new net, the Vulcan thought.It would not do to have her
progress set back by a stumble or fall at this stage.
So when Thala reached her, the doctor held out her hand. “Come, we’ll go up together, then.”
Small blue fingers closed around sallow green-tinged ones, and they left the child’s cabin together and
started down the wide corridor, with Selar unobtrusively steering her small charge. Through the physical
contact, the doctor could telepathically sense her companion’s pleasure and excitement at the prospect of
spending more time together.
“After lunch, you can bring me up to date on how your studies have been progressing,” the Vulcan said
as they walked.
Thala nodded. “I’ve been studying hard, and this new net is going to make it even easier to work with
the computer, Doctor.”
“We have known each other for one point four years now,” Selar observed, looking down at the little
girl’s earnest features. “Haven’t we?”
“That’s true,” Thala agreed gravely. “Ever since you began working with Doctor Pulaski to help me see
better. I was just a little kid then,” she said, drawing herself up to her full height.
Selar’s mouth twitched slightly. “And now you are of a vast age, correct?” Thala nodded. “In that case,
since we are now nearly contemporaries, perhaps it is time for you to begin calling me by my name.
Could you call me Selar, do you think?”
The child inclined her head formally, and her grasp on her teacher’s hand tightened. “I would be
摘要：
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ThisbookisdedicatedtomyfriendIreneKresswithloveandthanksforallherunderstandingandhelp.AcknowledgmentsIwouldliketothankalltheotherwriterswhoseinspiration,encouragementandfriendshipprovedsohelpfultomewhileIwrotethisnovel,aswellasduringthewritingofmytwootherStarTrekbooks,Yesterday’sSonanditssequel,Time...
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