Star Trek - [Gateways 3] - [TNG] - Doors Into Chaos

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Star Trek TNG – Gateways
Book Three Of Seven - Doors Into Chaos
Chapter One
the first thingthey noticed was the stench. A rotting-food kind of smell drifted from the open window at
the rear of the museum. Its visitors were long gone, its doors locked. The building itself wasn't terribly
large, just two stories tall but a block wide. In fact, it was a rather ordinary building, without much in
decoration, which made Jhen sneer. They showed more respect for their past back home, he decided.
Four figures moved quietly toward the window, ig-noring the odor. Street lighting was minimal toward
the rear and this helped hide their tall and thin silhouettes. After all, few Andorians were seen on Tellar,
each race preferring to keep to themselves.
It occurred to Jhen that he never quite knew what the original problem was between these two people.
He
knew they had found one another long before there was a United Federation of Planets, but why two
aggressive races did not form an alliance and conquer nearby worlds such as Alpha Centauri and Vulcan
made no sense to him. It didn't matter, because the Andorians had their pride and if the Tellarites
wouldn't he their al-lies they were to be considered potential adversaries.
When the dormant doorway lit up and Tolin saw it led to Tellar, it was she who suggested they step
through and retrieve the revered artifact, the colAndor Scrolls. Jhen knew the history: how the Scrolls
were brought to Tellar as part of a cultural exhibition. How they were used to show Tellar another way to
organize their government. And how Ger, High Councillor to the First Seat of Tellar, spirited them away
and threw the Andorian delegation off the planet. The Scrolls had been lost to the Andorians and
skirmishes almost led to a war. Changes in both governments led to a truce some years later, but the
Scrolls remained on Tellar.
Tolin tugged at Jhen's loose sleeve. He turned and saw her gesture toward the window. Below it was a
stack of containers, sturdy enough to support them. How very careless of these arrogant creatures, Jhen
thought. With a wave of his hand, Jhen directed his small party forward, inching toward their goal. No
sound came from the building, so if it was guarded, it was from an artificial, not living, source. This made
it simpler, as Tolin thumbed a palm-sized cylinder. Its purple light flared and she nodded in satisfaction.
Now the automated surveillance would be fooled and they could move freely. She placed the cylinder
just inside the window, fastening it to the interior wall.
Okud was the first one through the window, open
more than enough to allow their slender forms through. The drop to the polished marble floor was less
than a meter and was done with only the slightest of noises. Tolin followed, then Mako, and finally Jhen.
All four stood within the room, breathing through their mouths to ignore as much of the stench as
possible, which was stronger inside the building. Lighting was dim and Jhen could spot the various
sensors, none of which changed from their amber status. The room they had entered was cluttered with
stone carvings and paintings on metal. He knew even less of Tellarite culture than his companions, so he
couldn't begin to guess what he was looking at. What he did know was that the workman-ship was
crude, like the Tellarites themselves.
Mako looked closely at one statue, that of a boy at play. He smiled at it, earning him a disapproving
glance from Tolin. As far as Jhen was concerned, there was nothing to like about the heathen race, and
Tolin seemed to agree. Reaching into a hidden pocket within her leather tunic, she extracted a folded
piece of paper, opened it, and studied the map. Satisfied, she replaced it and pointed one
light-blue-skinned finger to her right.
The quartet ignored the rest of the items surrounding them, heading straight for their objective. Passing
through two more rooms, they finally saw a large chamber with a glass-covered pedestal. Within it was
their objective: the Scrolls. Jhen silently counted to five, smiling that they were all together. Tolin grinned
at him. Mako walked ahead of her to peer at the placard underneath the glass, trying to read the
description. He growled in frustration; his knowledge of the Tellarite language was almost nonexistent, so
he couldn't under-stand the words.
Remaining silent, Jhen pointed at Okud, who opened up a brown satchel that had been strapped to his
back. The first object was palm-sized, oblong and dark. He removed it, thumbing a control set deep
within the item. Its low hum indicated the localized disruptor was scrambling a spectrum of frequencies
normally associ-ated with security shielding. Withdrawing thin, elegant tools next, he made quick work of
the sealant around the glass's base. A glance at the disruptor showed no warning lights, so Tolin and Jhen
gently lifted the glass upward. Mako reverently touched the Scrolls, then placed each of them in the
satchel. He nodded toward Jhen, signaling he was done. Okud absently disengaged the disruptor while
Tolin reached once more into her bag when they were interrupted.
As expected from the outset, an undetected sensor was triggered and a keening sound came from the
pedestal. The Tellarites weren't entirely stupid, they knew, but they figured they would get this far before
being detected. They had speed working in their favor.
None of them hurried, but walked with long strides toward their window exit. Jhen saw that a metal
plate was sliding down to cover it—a standard security tac-tic. Tolin unholstered a hand-sized phaser,
and fired. The amber beam turned the metal plate into molten slag, halting its movement. With a little
more speed, they exited and began strolling away. Jhen had success-fully found the back-alley route that
would return them to the door, and home.
When a security detail arrived five minutes later, they went from room to room checking for damage. As
they approached the chamber that once contained the
Andorian Scrolls, they saw in its place a small figurine. It was of an Andorian female, in cleric's robes,
praying.
"Grand Nagus!"The voice was urgent, if high-pitched. It sounded like that of a child entering
adoles-cence, cracking and nervous.
"Yes," said Grand Nagus Rom of the Ferengi Alliance. There were still mornings he woke up convinced
this was the longest dream he had ever had. But no, he was really the Grand Nagus. He still remembered
the day it happened, with vivid clarity: Zek, gnarled and cackling as usual, telling him it was time he and
Ishka—Rom's mother—settled down into retirement. Since Rom shared Zek's vision for long-term
changes in Ferengi society to insure its viability in an ever-shifting universe, the outgo-ing Grand Nagus
asked Rom to succeed him. With his Bajoran wife Leeta by his side, Rom considered himself the luckiest
man on the face of the planet.
Of course, not everyone agreed with Zek's logic, most notably Rom's older brother Quark.
"Three Orion ships approaching orbit. They've al-ready disabled forty-three percent of our satellite
de-fenses!"His voice grew even more excited, if that was possible.
Rom raised a hand to his left ear, making sure it was not blocked and that he heard the warning
properly. Orions! They had no respect for the Rules of Acquisi-tion, just plunder. They had proven
incredibly unreli-able business partners and even his older brother avoided working with them. But they
had never ven-tured anywhere near Ferenginar before, so what did they want—and how did they get so
close without trig-gering the deep space sensor net?
Jumping to his feet, Rom left his soft, warm bed, let-ting the tall and sultry Leeta remain slumbering. If
she was anything, he mused, slipping into a shiny robe, Leeta was a good sleeper. He began flipping
switches on the desk he used for late-night accounting reviews. While he might have been poor with
business, Rom was good with matters technical, and this got bis cu-riosity aroused.
"Errr, just stay clam," he muttered into the communi-cations system. "Have we mobilized the Treasury
Guard?"
"Yes, Your Grandness."
"Oh, okay," he replied. "Make sure we have forces surrounding our key trading facilities and, um, let's
mount an aerial force to keep them from landing."
"Yes, Your Grandness!"Rom wasn't sure who this shrill man was, but he assumed he was from the
mom-ing watch, and had never experienced the unexpected before. The current Nagus had certainly
seen plenty of that during his time on Deep Space 9, both as the "as-sistant manager of policy and
clientele" for his brother's bar, and later as an engineer during the Do-minion War—awar in which Rom
had fully expected to become a casualty. In the months since he had re-turned home to rule, Rom had
fallen into a new routine and it gave him comfort. While letting business con-tinue as usual, he began
exploring the various ways off-world trading was conducted, drafting reforms mat he would phase in. It
was like solving any engineering problem, as Chief O'Brien used to tell him: don't try and fix anything until
you're sure you know the full ex-tent of the damage. "Shortcuts can lead to short cir-cuits," he used to
mutter in his Irish brogue. Rom
missed that voice and idly wondered how the chief was faring back on Earth.
With a shake of his head, he turned his attention to the feeds from the remaining orbital satellites.
Teleme-try was coming in and he began to notice odd energy readings just a few tens of thousands of
kilometers from Ferenginar. The readings were massive, emitting an energy signature he didn't recognize,
but clearly a portal of some sort, large enough to allow Orion star-ships to traverse through it. This was
disturbing, if the Orions found some way to alter the scale of trade. Should they manage to just show up
and attack worlds or shipping lanes, no one would be safe.
Again, he wondered why would they come to Fer-enginar. Zek was no fool, and had made certain their
wealth was spread out far and wide, controlled through some of the most sophisticated software
imaginable. Rom saw no reason to change what worked.
"Grand Nagus!"shrieked the voice once more.
"Yes?"
"They've established orbit and are engaging the aer-ial police. But we've detected transporter activity."
This wasn't good. Orions would not beam down just to trade or make a deal. They came to steal and his
peo-ple would not know what to do. This would be worse than the Great Monetary Collapse. "Where?"
"Your home."
Rom bit his lip in surprise and he yelped. His home! Not that he had a lot of gold-pressed latinum on
hand, but he had mementos brought from both Deep Space 9 and the house where Ishka raised him and
Quark. "But I don't hear ..."
His words were cut off by a loud crash, as the front
door was kicked in. Orions, Rom knew, were physi-cally imposing and preferred brute strength to
weapons, and if they needed weapons, loud and destructive ones over anything subtle. Hands flew over
his ears as the thumping continued, growing closer.
Rom hurried over to his bed and spent a few pre-cious seconds gazing at his wife. How he loved Leeta,
he thought. Then, with rising panic, he shook her awake with almost violent force.
"What's the matter, sweetie?" Her voice was still sleep-thick.
"We're being invaded! Quick, to the closet!" Rom tugged at her and Leeta rose from the bed, eyes wide
in shock. Her next few words were garbled since she couldn't quite form a coherent sentence, which
suited Rom just fine, since he didn't think he could give her a proper response. Tapping two studs in the
wall, a hidden panel opened up and Rom practically shoved his wife, still hi her diaphanous gown,
through the doorway. "You stay there," he advised her. "I'll see what they want."
"Want? They want everything!" she exclaimed as the hatch sealed itself, once more looking like an
ordinary closet.
Rom turned and headed back to his desk. He studied the data from space, marveling over the size of the
aperture that allowed the invading force. Was it stable like the wormhole he lived near for so long? Could
the Prophets of Bajor come for his meager profits? His thoughts were stopped when his bedchamber
door was obliterated by a booted foot. Six Orions, each in his own version of fighting gear, walked in,
weapons wav-ing in every direction. The leather they wore was dark, well oiled, and reflected the hall
lights. The weapons
seemed almost as big as the average Ferengi and they hummed with power.
"You!" the first one shouted. He had scars along the right side of his face and, Rom noted, had rather
dainty ears. He suppressed a giggle.
The next few minutes had the Orions rampage through the room and the rest of the house, taking what
looked valuable, breaking a few things when they were frustrated, and demanding Rom quote
open-market prices on just about everything. He had a hard time keeping up with six determined
shoppers but through whimpers, he managed. Rom could hear fight-ing going on, in the rainy streets.
Thank the Great Ex-chequer, he thought, his people were defending their Nagus.
Finally, satisfied they each had enough, they tapped identical blue buttons on their forearms and were
trans-ported back to their ship. Rom stood, shaking, amid the litter. Some of his favorite items were
gone, others cracked or broken. Still, he was alive and they never found Leeta. As he returned to the
bedroom to retrieve his wife, Rom remained fascinated by the engineering that was used to create the
passageway.
"Macan deserves its unity! Macan's people deserve peace and prosperity! Macan does not, however,
de-serve its corrupt government!"
The small throng of people listened intently as the portly figure spoke. He was tall, broad, and had
per-fectly coiffed hah". His clothes were neatly pressed, the sixteen buttons on the jacket gleaming in the
afternoon sun. For the last month, he had met with small groups such as this one, speaking with a lilt in his
slightly ac-
cented voice, which the people of Sherman's Planet found appealing.
Jiggs Cardd had escaped his homeworld of Macan, fearing for his life. Now, several systems away, he
once more was an outspoken critic of his government. Since unification came to his world, it had
struggled to band nine continents and three dozen smaller governments into a cohesive whole. To
accomplish this meant a merging of ideologies, finances, and a plethora of other details. What Cardd had
learned was that along the way, those left to organize this glorious new beginning for the people of Macan
were accepting bribes and fa-vors to help shape a government that would favor some countries' peoples
over others. There was even word that deals with off-planet interests would weaken their ability to
conduct trade or apply for admission to the United Federation of Planets.
The people leaned in, engaged by the tenor of his voice but also by his spirit. Cardd was not the only
one to speak out, but by being first, he was seen as the leader of a rebellious faction. On more than one
occasion he avoided being arrested by the hastily formed Planetary Defense Initiative—Macan's secret
police. His home had been burned to the ground, he had lost his job, and he had been roundly criticized
on the information networks.
And still he spoke, making sure his people knew they were being sold out.
When things got so difficult he could no longer speak out in public, he found sympathetic friends who
took him away from Macan. Now, speaking out in exile, Cardd tried to keep people focused on the
prob-lems before they were too entrenched to be fixed.
"We have over two hundred cultures and languages
on my world, two hundred different ways for describ-ing a sunny day. Should fifteen of those ways be
given preference over the rest? I think not. Nor should those unfortunate enough to live in poverty be
subjected to testing to qualify for relief. Pooling together these countries means redistributing all the
resources to help everyone. These are the overriding principals that al-lowed Vulcan to become one of
the leading races in the galaxy. These are the same reasons that allowed Earth to put countless world
wars behind them and seek a better way of life. And that's all I ask for Macan."
As Cardd spoke, no one noticed the three men that en-tered the town square. They wore dark brown
uniforms and visors that covered their eyes, and had energy weapons clipped to their sleeves. With
determined steps, the men neared Cardd. Once they spotted him, they fanned out in a well-practiced
formation, undipped the weapons, and took aim. Without a word, they fired in uni-son and all three
bright violet beams struck the speaker. Cardd slumped forward, people screaming in shock.
The men merely turned away and walked back through the town, to the doorway that remained
pa-tiently open, waiting for their return.
Delta IV and Carreon were separated by four solar systems, each populated with up to eleven planets.
And yet, they each laid claim to one planet in a nearby sys-tem. Admittedly, the planet was mineral rich
unlike any of the others. In fact, the solar system was devoid of life, so the planets were ripe for the
exploitation.
In the past, to avoid a war that would devastate both cultures, they signed treaties to leave the planet
alone. But now, a small number of Carreon ships emerged
through a gateway, figuring the instant transport to the planet would go undetected by the generally
peaceful Deltans.
The Deltans clearly had the same thought.
Now, a total of seven ships hung in space, none close enough to orbit the planet—which had curiously
gone unnamed all these years—and unwilling to give an inch.
Aboard the Carreon lead ship, Landik Mel Rosa looked through his viewscreen and tried to guess what
his counterparts would do next. His red-gloved hand stroked his stubbly chin as he fine-tuned a sensor
read-ing. Their bridge, located deep within the center of the vessel, was bright and well staffed by
veterans. Mel Rosa liked that about bis crew; they had all tested their mettle together and formed a
battalion that was undefeated.
While he had protected his world from threats such as Orion pirates and exploratory Klingon ships, Mel
Rosa had never led his crew into battle against the Deltans. Those days were lost to him, he assumed—
that is, until recently.
Just days before, a gateway opened near their twin moons. No one knew it was there, hidden as it was
among asteroids that floated in a loose ring around Carreon and its moons. One brave pilot led a scout
craft through the gateway to see what lay beyond and within an hour returned with word: it was a direct
pathway to the coveted planet. The transition was instantaneous and did no damage to life or equipment.
Quickly, Mel Rosa was asked to lead a small fleet through the gateway, finally laying claim to the planet
and establishing a presence before the Deltans had a clue that anything had changed. He remembered
laugh-ing with his subordinates as they took the fastest jour-
ney of their careers yet went farther from home than ever before.
The laughter quickly turned into something less mirthful when Mel Rosa spotted flashing pinpricks of light
near the world. Sensors confirmed four other ships, Deltan in design. He snapped an order to his
weapons officer and sure enough, another gateway sig-nature was spotted, a little farther out in the
system. It appeared the Deltans had the same sneaky idea.
Now they faced off, neither one answering the other's hails. Mel Rosa could not go back for
reinforcements; they were already outgunned by one ship. He couldn't reduce the odds without letting the
Deltans think they had won. The world was needed to help a shaky econ-omy and the timing was
opportune. Once more he rubbed his chin and looked at the readouts. The gate-ways had identical
signatures, so he knew it was not of Deltan origin. They also had hot moved into a fighting configuration,
and their weapons remained offline.
Mel Rosa turned to his second and asked, "What do you think?"
"I think they're ripe for the picking. Deltans go for all things sensual; they're not fighters. Four against
three, I still like our chances."
The captain looked around his bridge, the deter-mined looks on the crew's faces. All of them knew the
stakes, knew the need for the world just within their grasp. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and
began giving orders.
The first volley rattled the Deltan craft. Inside the flagship, Oliv, leader of the expedition, nearly fell from
his chair. "Shields, return fire!"
Confirming calls went out from the crew and he watched as crimson streaks crossed his forward
viewscreen. As expected, the Carreon were prepared and began moving away, letting the shots graze
then-shields.
Oliv knew the Carreon were practitioners of battle. Their vessels were better armed and protected. The
Deltans had the advantage of numbers, but not the ex-perience of bloodlust he knew was required.
Which was why the moment the Carreon starships floated through the surprising second gateway, Oliv
sent out a hail to Starfleet for help.
"We should have expected this," Hath said. "After all, why should we be the only ones so blessed with
this miraculous transportation device?"
The captain looked at his companion, noting the sweat adding a shine to his bald head. This was a vessel
full of miners and explorers, with just a handful of se-curity. Still, Oliv was one of the few to have actually
participated in battle. He had recently returned to Delta IV after volunteering with a mercenary band that
fought in the Dominion War. It was that experience that led his government to ask him to undertake the
current mission.
"Oliv," the communications officer called. She was incredibly attractive, with thick eyebrows and high
cheekbones. "We've received word from Starfleet that help is on the way. They say it's theEnterprise."
Oliv's own eyebrows rose in surprise. "Now we just have to survive until they arrive."
Chapter Two
captain jean-luc picardstood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, looking at the sunny day.
As was typical of San Francisco most of the year, there was a breeze, keeping the environs cool, and the
wind brushed the lush trees dotting the campus that was Starfleet Command. He gazed at the buildings
that were just about completely reconstructed after the Breen at-tack on Earth a year earlier. There were
some stylistic differences from what originally stood there and he nodded in satisfaction that the
Federation had prevailed. Starfleet and the United Federation of Planets had expended much in the way
of manpower and mat6riel during that war. The costs were quite high, probably the highest since the first
Romulan War nearly two cen-turies earlier. Picard and the crew of theU.S.S. Enter-
prisefought in the battles, doing their duty, but did not play as decisive a role as one would have thought
of the Fleet's flagship. Still, he was proud of how his people had conducted themselves, and appreciated
the last few months when the majority of missions were satisfying, short, and didn't require the phasers.
But now he found himself back at Command headquarters. The commu-niqu6 from Admiral Ross was
precise: return with all haste.
No sooner did his ship achieve orbit than a series of or-ders were issued. Picard and Counselor Deanna
Troi were to beam to headquarters while Will Riker was to take temporary command and assist a border
dispute between the Carreon, an independent world, and the Deltans, one of the older members of the
Federation. While he trusted Riker with his ship, Picard was curious as to what was important enough to
keep him and his counselor behind.
A day before, Picard mused, he had noticed a higher than normal incidence of daily briefings dealing
with problems throughout the Alpha Quadrant. People going missing, races tangling over problems when
peace ex-isted merely a week earlier. It got him curious, but be-fore he could begin investigating, he
received his orders back to Earth. He was equally curious and more than a little anxious to tackle a big
problem.
The sun was warm against his skin and Picard en-joyed a relaxed moment, although he was also
growing tenser as he awaited the admiral and the briefing to fol-low. Troi was elsewhere, receiving a
briefing of her own. He imagined they were connected but one could never tell with Starfleet Command.
"Calm before the storm, eh, Captain?"
Picard turned and saw Admiral Ross rounding a cor-
ner, his hand already out to greet the captain. Ross was slightly younger than Picard, but commanding
the Fleet during the Dominion War took a lot out of him. Even as he tried to smile, Ross couldn't shake
the hangdog look on his face. His dark hair was flecked with gray and his eyes seemed tired. He looked
fit, however, filling out his uniform nicely if a few kilos over the norm. Picard grasped the beefy hand and
was approving of the firm-ness in the grip.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Admiral," Picard replied.
"You tended to avoid our conferences fairly regularly," Ross chided him. "Now I'm blessed with your
presence twice in as many months. The pleasure is truly mine, even if we do only tend to see each other
during crises."
They stared out the window in companionable si-lence for a few brief moments and Picard suspected
times like this came all too rarely for the admiral. Cadets and officers strolled leisurely by, ignoring the
construction going on around them. Picard could see a substantial space for a new garden, a memorial,
he was informed, for those who gave their lives during the war.
"All those lives given for our ideals," Picard said.
Ross just nodded in agreement. "Not just ideals, but for the freedom to enjoy our choice of destiny.
Worth fighting for again and again.
"Captain, we're due to begin the conference in a minute, we should go in and get ready. Once it's over,
we'll speak privately."
"Yes, sir." Picard was curious. How many others were summoned to Earth? There didn't seem to be a
preponderance of activity at Spacedock or in orbit. He hadn't a chance to visit the Quantum Lounge so
he
couldn't even pick up any gossip. Just as he could sense when his ship was the merest bit out of trim, he
usually could tell when something was afoot at Com-mand, but not this time.
"Our final speaker will be with us shortly, but we should go in to begin."
Ross led the way to a set of double doors and walked through. The captain recalled this area as a
simulator room, a chance for Command to run contingency plans before implementation. Certainly an
odd choice for a meeting but once again, the mysteries of command pre-ceded him.
The space was lined with holo-emitters in the usual crisscross pattern, all deactivated. A small console
was on the far side of the room with a lieutenant, small in form, dark-skinned and utterly silent, standing
by. And it was empty. Picard frowned in mild confusion.
"Singh, is the captain in the building yet?"
"Yes, sir, he's just beamed down and should be here in three minutes."
Ross walked toward the center of the room and ges-tured for Picard to stand by his side, about two feet
away. The admiral nodded at the other man and small lights winked on in the space above and around
them. In a matter of seconds, several dozen humanoid forms began taking shape and the captain began
recognizing fellow officers. Quickly, he scanned the faces, looking for patterns, and it became apparent
that these were captains of patrol and fighting vessels from all points across Federation space, as well as
Starbase command-ers from strategic regions. The new holotechnology had clearly been improved,
hence the lack of starships in orbit—they weren't needed.
Picard noted, with some satisfaction, Mackenzie Cal-houn among those gathered. The Xenexian officer
had been thought recently dead, but managed to turn up quite alive just as Picard was dedicating the new
U.S.S. Excalibur,after the original was destroyed, presumably with Calhoun still aboard. Calhoun spotted
Picard be-side Ross and gave him a relaxed smile. Also among the officers was Calhoun's new wife,
Elizabeth Shelby, now captain of theTridentafter briefly commanding theExeter.In fact, Picard had the
pleasure of conduct-ing the marriage ceremony right after dedicating the new starship. While he had his
problems with Shelby's style, Picard kept the opinion to himself since Calhoun obviously saw something
about her to love.
Off to his right, a little farther behind the newly com-missioned commander of theExeter,whom he did
not know, was Colonel Kira Nerys, from Deep Space 9. He had worked with Kira recently and found
her to be hard-edged, nothing at all like the previous commander Ben Sisko, but definitely a worthy
successor. She was also the only non-Starfleet person participating, but given DS9's importance, her
presence made a certain sense. Standing beside her, looking intently curious, was Com-mander Elias
Vaughn. The assignment of the enigmatic older officer to DS9 as Kira's first officer seemed to agree with
him—he looked more relaxed than he had when he'd been temporarily assigned to theEnterpriseon their
mission to the Badlands weeks earlier.
"Good afternoon," Ross began in a deep voice. Many returned the greeting, some nodded; Solok of the
T'Kumbraoffered the Vulcan salute. "It's nice to know our relay systems are fine-tuned enough to allow
holo-conferences like this to occur. It certainly beats trying
to find parking orbits for all of you." He smiled but he instantly knew the joke fell flat.
"I'm placing you all on yellow alert until further no-tice." He paused a moment to let that sink in before
continuing. "As for why we're doing this, we have a new problem. A few days ago, the Federation
Council was approached by a group of beings who identified themselves as the Iconians." He paused
again, letting the name seep into the minds of those assembled and waiting for the general reaction.
Sure enough, many widened their eyes, some nod-ded, others quickly asked "off-camera" officers to
check the name.
"Captain Picard, would you please detail what we know of the Iconians?"
"Of course, Admiral." He straightened his uniform and looked out among the sea of holo-images.
Moving slowly in circle, he began. "The Iconians were known to exist in this quadrant of space some two
hundred mil-lennia ago. Their culture and technology were unparal-leled in that time period but records
about them are scant. About a decade ago, Captain Donald Varley of theU.S.S. Yamatodetermined the
location of their home-world in the Romulan Neutral Zone, but was lost along with his ship when a
destructive Iconian computer pro-gram inserted itself into theYamato'smainframe. Even after all this time,
the technology on the Iconian home-world remained functional—including the gateways.
"These gateways provide instantaneous transport be-tween two points that could be meters or
light-years apart. Two functional gateways have been found over the last few years: one on the
homeworld, which I my-self destroyed rather than allow gateway technology to
fall into Romulan hands; and one, discovered by the Dominion, in the Gamma Quadrant, which was
de-stroyed by a joint Starfleet/Jem'Hadar team from theU.S.S. Defiant."
"Thank you, Captain," Ross said with a nod. "The Iconians who have come forward now have offered
us the gateway technology for a price. The Council is con-sidering the offer, but it's a bit more
complicated than that. First, they are offering the technology to the high-est bidder. Similar offers have
been made to govern-ments throughout the quadrant. Clearly, this could have a devastating impact
should any antagonistic or ambi-tious government obtain the technology exclusively.
"Second, and most immediate: the Iconians have chosen to demonstrate how useful the gateways can be
by activating the entire network. Gateways have opened up all over the quadrant, and beyond. The
Iconians have seen fit to withhold how to control them and they have chosen not to provide us with any
form of useful map."
As Ross paused, several captains passed on com-ments as the missing puzzle piece was provided to
them. Picard was pleased that so many of his peers also noticed the higher number of incidents and now
they knew why. However, Picard frowned, recognizing just how dangerous such a move was and how it
struck him as wrong for a race as revered as the Iconians were.
Now he knew why Ross looked stressed and tired.
"As the gateways came online," Ross continued, si-lencing the group, "we immediately began studying
their output, trying to get a handle on how they work. We became rattier alarmed at some of the
readings, and so turned the study over to the Starfleet Corps of Engi-neers. We now have a preliminary
report."
摘要：

StarTrekTNG–GatewaysBookThreeOfSeven-DoorsIntoChaos    ChapterOnethefirstthingtheynoticedwasthestench.Arotting-foodkindofsmelldriftedfromtheopenwindowattherearofthemuseum.Itsvisitorswerelonggone,itsdoorslocked.Thebuildingitselfwasn'tterriblylarge,justtwostoriestallbutablockwide.Infact,itwasaratheror...

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