STAR TREK - TNG - 30 - Debtor's Planet

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This is for my niece, Khela,
and my nephew, Matt
Chapter One
THE PROBE WENTsublight and scanned the space around it. The first readings matched the data in its
memory banks: one yellow dwarf star, attended by a family of planets; nearest celestial landmark: Weber
512. The first planet was class J, dead and airless, unchanged since the last probe’s visit. The second
planet was class M, Earthlike, inhabited by primitives—
Data mismatch. High-intensity energy readings teased the drone’s sensor array. Drawn by a curiosity as
intense as that of its makers, the probe moved into the system. The mystery deepened as the distance
lessened. The robot noted intense electromagnetic radiations, modulated into signals; neutrino sources
pinpointed fission reactors; low-frequency radiations resolved into an electric power grid. Objects in low
planetary orbits radiated more signals. The probe initiated a subspace transmission to its makers.
A spacewarp suddenly twisted in high orbit around the second planet. The drone located the starship
and identified it as a Ferengi vessel. Logic dictated contact; the probe signaled the ship.Greetings from
the Vulcan Academy of Science. This craft is a robot probe on a routine survey. To access a full
data readout, respond on subspace frequency J. A mutual exchange of data will prove beneficial.
Secrecy was illogical; cooperation was reasonable.
Ferengi are not Vulcans. The probe was about to repeat its greeting when the Ferengi ship fired its
phasers and blasted the probe into atoms.
A container of livegagh in one hand, a bottle of prune juice in the other, Worf was on his way to Will
Riker’s quarters when Data stopped him in the corridor. “Lieutenant,” the gold-skinned android said, “I
understand that Commander Riker has invited you to observe a humorous cinema recording with him.”
“That is correct,” Worf said.
“Might I join you?” Data asked. “I would appreciate the opportunity to observe Commander Riker’s
reactions to comedy.”
The Klingon security officer grimaced despite himself, a gesture that further wrinkled the ridges on his
bare scalp. While he respected Data, the android’s desire to become human annoyed him. It seemed to
slight all the other races in the galaxy, including his own. “Commander Riker claims that the recording
would appeal to theKlingonese sense of humor,” he said, in what he hoped was a discouraging tone.
Discouragement was a mystery to Data. “I would still find his reactions informative.”
Worf fought back a sigh. “You would have to ask Commander Riker.”
“Certainly.” The android followed Worf as he resumed walking down the corridor. “May I ask why you
are bringing food to Commander Riker’s quarters?’’
“The commander suggested it,” Worf said. “It involves an ancient Earth tradition.”
Worf came to Riker’s door and signaled. “Come,” Riker’s voice said, and the door slid away. Worf and
Data entered the cabin, where theEnterprise ’s executive officer sprawled on a low, padded chair. A
bowl of popcorn sat on the floor in easy reach. “Have a seat, Worf,” he said.
“Thank you.” Worf placed thegagh and juice on the floor next to an empty chair. “Commander Data
has a request.”
Data nodded as Riker looked up at him. “If you find it convenient, I would like to view this comedy.”
“Well . . .” Riker fingered his neatly trimmed beard. “You might find the humor a bit—esoteric.”
“Lieutenant Worf has cautioned me that the humor is directed at a Klingonese audience,” Data said.
“However, am I correct in assuming that you also find it humorous?”
“That’s right,” Riker said. His beard couldn’t hide his smile. “But I’m looking at it from the Klingon
viewpoint, too.”
Data nodded. “Nevertheless, I believe I have enough understanding of humor to predict when and why
you will laugh. I would like to test my understanding.”
Riker shrugged. “Pull up a chair.”
Worf had already taken his seat. Unlike Riker, he sat with an erect posture, which maintained his innate
dignity; the chair seemed inadequate to support his muscular frame. “Sir,” he said to Riker, “might I ask
where you found a Klingonese comedy?” He knew of no such recordings. As did most Klingons, Worf
considered humor an annoying alien custom.
“It’s not Klingonese,” Riker told him. “It’s an action-adventure movie from Earth’s late twentieth
century. I’d thought it might supply some raw material for a holodeck adventure, but after I watched
it—never mind. Computer, start projection.”
The cabin lights dimmed. The chairs faced a blank wall, and an image appeared on it. A man in a blue
uniform walked down the center of a dark, rain-slick urban street. As words appeared on the screen—
Missing Link 3: Vacation in Armageddon—a second uniformed man joined him. They had just greeted
one another when gunfire erupted from one of the buildings. The two men jumped behind a wheeled
vehicle and shouted at one another. “They’re trying to kill us, Link!”—“Yeah? They gotta try harder!”
Their archaic accents made their words hard to understand.
Metal slugs pierced the vehicle, and the two men dashed away from it as its hydrocarbon fuel detonated.
They continued shouting at one another as they ran. “They’re going to kill us!”—“So let’s kill them
first!”—“Dammit, Link, you act like you’re rabid!”—“Rabid? I wasborn rabid!”
The two men ran into a building, where men with massive rifles fired streams of bullets at them. The man
called Link shot several of his enemies with his pistol. When he ran out of ammunition, he picked up a
thick metal pipe. He waved it in front of himself, deflecting the bullets his last assailant fired at him. When
that man used up his ammunition, Link struck him over the head with the pipe. Despite Link’s massive
musculature, it took him several blows to incapacitate the man.
Riker laughed at the scene, then glanced at Worf. “Admit it, Worf,” he said. “Thatalmost made you
laugh.”
Worf gave a noncommittal grunt. Riker had taken up the challenge of making the Klingon laugh, although
so far he had not succeeded.I wish him success, Worf thought.Humor is undignified, but
understanding it might help me to deal with Alexander . His son was part human, and the boy’s
emotions and behavior often baffled his father. The sense of humor that Alexander had inherited from his
half-human mother formed the greatest obstacle between father and son.
On the screen, the character Link put a bullet in his hand, pointed his fist at an enemy and squeezed until
the bullet fired. Riker laughed, but Worf felt as mystified as Data.
“Offenhouse,” Jean-Luc Picard mused. He leaned back in his ready-room chair and gazed at the
message on the screen. TheEnterprise was ordered to proceed to Starbase 144, where she would pick
up Ambassador Offenhouse. The ambassador would supply further orders; theEnterprise would be at
his disposal. By order of Admiral Singh, Starfleet Command, et cetera, et cetera.
“Offenhouse,” Captain Picard repeated. Why did that name sound so familiar? “Computer, display the
file on Ambassador Offenhouse.”
The brisk contralto voice barely hesitated. “No such file is available.”
“How very odd,” Picard said, as much to himself as to the machine. “Computer, has there ever been a
human named ‘Offenhouse’ aboard theEnterprise?”
“Affirmative,” the computer answered. “Identity: Ralph Offenhouse, located stardate 41986.0 in cryonic
suspension—”
“Enough.” The memories came back now. TheEnterprise had stumbled across a derelict Earth satellite
that contained a number of humans in cryonic suspension. All of them had died in the late twentieth
century, and they had been frozen in the hope that they could someday be revived and cured.
That day had come in the middle of the twentyfourth century. Due to equipment malfunctions aboard the
antique spacecraft, only three of the passengers remained viable. They had been taken aboard the
Enterprise, thawed out and restored to good health. Picard had not been present while this happened;
he had been called away to an emergency conference at Starbase 718. Several starbases and outposts
near the Romulan Neutral Zone had been destroyed, and suspicion had naturally fallen upon the
Romulans. Picard had returned to his ship to investigate the situation . . . and to meet Ralph Offenhouse.
All in all, I prefer the Romulans,the captain thought as he gazed idly at the ready-room ceiling.
Offenhouse had been by turns obnoxious, aggressive and self-centered, and Picard could readily imagine
somebody back in the twentieth century freezing the man merely to be rid of him. After close to four
centuries in suspension, his only concern had been with his financial situation. He had made long and loud
demands to be put in contact with his bankers and breakers—no, brokers, that was the correct
archaism. Offenhouse had been a financier, and he was blithely unaware of the changes the past centuries
had seen.
To be fair, the man had proven useful during theEnterprise ’s confrontation with a Romulan warbird.
The Romulan commander, Tebok, had blamed the Federation for the destruction of Romulan bases on
the other side of the Neutral Zone. Offenhouse had listened to Tebok’s threats and bluster—and
somehow deduced that the Romulans were also mystified by the destruction.
That simple observation had allowed Picard to defuse a potential Federation-Romulan war. It had
become clear that both sides were the victims of a third party, one with weapons of almost incredible
power. The Romulans had seen that as well, and for all their belligerence they had proved too canny to
fight the Federation when faced with a sudden unknown. It had turned out that the Borg were responsible
for the destruction. . . .
Picard shook himself out of his reverie. He left the ready room and stepped onto the bridge. The primary
team was off-duty at this time of the ship’s “day”; the conn was crewed by Cadet Wesley Crusher and
Ensign Shrev. A technician in antigrav boots stood on the ceiling, working at an open panel.
At his station, Wesley—currently on home leave from Starfleet Academy, and quite dapper in his cadet
uniform—did his best to look alert for the captain.Making amends, Picard thought. Wesley had been
involved in an incident at the Academy, in which one cadet was killed in a flying accident. The accident
had come about owing to a gross violation of safety regulations, and Wesley had become enmeshed in a
cover-up. He had made a mistake and he had been punished for it, but it was obvious that Wesley had
not come to terms with his error, which had included lying to Picard.
The young Zhuik appeared to be dozing; her head was bent over her console—no, she had a look of
concentration on her pinched green face. The wiry antennae that curved from her forehead waved back
and forth as though reaching for the weak electromagnetic fields to which they were sensitive. “Try it
again,” the technician called to her.
Shrev’s slender antennae quivered as she touched her controls. “Everything is perfect now, thank you.”
Her voice was polite and quiet, almost a whisper. Although humanoid, the Zhuik had evolved from
arthropods—a more diplomatic word than “insects,”Picard thought—and much of their social
behavior mimicked that of their hive-dwelling ancestors. Zhuik could be hot-tempered at times, but
Picard had never heard of a rude Zhuik.
“Okay,” the technician told Shrev. He closed the panel and walked across the ceiling toward the
turbolift.
“Was there a problem, Ensign?” Picard asked.
“Only a minor power surge in the displays, sir,” Shrev said. “Ensign Dayan has corrected it.”
“Excellent,” Picard said. “Cadet Crusher, how long will it take to reach Starbase 144 at warp six?”
Wesley keyed something into his panel. “Ten-point-four hours, sir.”
Picard nodded. “Make it so.” He turned toward the turbolift as Shrev laid in the new course.
Picard went to his quarters and lay down. He wondered if the ambassador had something to do with the
Cardassian situation. The Federation had fought and won a limited war against the Cardassian Empire a
dozen years ago, but the humanoid Cardassians had never fully accepted their defeat. They constantly
maneuvered to gain a strategic advantage over the Federation, and several intelligence reports said that
they were reinforcing their border with the Federation. The Cardassian War had been vicious enough,
Picard reflected. With their pride stung by defeat, a second Cardassian war could be even more
destructive.
You’re tired, Jean-Luc,Picard told himself. Weariness always made him pessimistic. It was far more
likely that the ambassador was on a routine assignment, something that could use the prestigious presence
of Starfleet’s flagship. A treaty negotiation, an inauguration, a new world entering the Federation—
The captain turned the lights off.Offenhouse, he thought as he drifted toward sleep. The name had to be
a coincidence.
“Okay, Link, whadda we do now?”
“You die!” Riker suggested. He hurled popcorn at the screen—a strange use for food, Data reflected,
although Riker had described this behavior as a form of applause. Worf grunted in agreement as he ate
moregagh . One of the wormlikegagh wriggled out of the jar and fell to the floor. Its eyespot sensed a
light, and the creature squirmed toward it. Riker reached for it, but Worf caught it first and ate it.
“Sir—” Data reviewed the situation. The movie’s central characters were in an awkward position.
Trapped in a deep, narrow valley, they stood between a horde of drug-smuggling terrorists and a unit of
killer cyborgs. Rabid vampire bats wheeled in the air above their heads. Giant rats—the product of a
demented villain’s genetic-engineering research—slithered out of meter-wide tunnels in the valley walls. A
sign cautioned that the two humans stood in the center of a minefield. The foliage resembled poison ivy. It
was about to rain. “Their optimum survival course is to destroy one of the rats, then—”
“No,” Riker said. “You should never fight anything smarter than yourself.” Data saw Worf smile at that,
but he did not laugh.
“Hurry, Link!” the actor insisted. “We’re inbiiiig trouble!”
“What trouble?” Link roared. “Things have never been better!” He leveled his weapon—a massive
rotary cannon that fired one hundred explosive shells per second—and blazed away at the stony ground.
The shells touched off the mines, which threw clouds of rubble and shrapnel into the air. The shrapnel
obliterated the bats. The multiple blasts stunned the rats, and while they staggered about in a daze the
two actors surged up the valley slope. Riker threw more popcorn at the screen.
“This is all impossible,” Data said. “The explosions would incapacitate the humans as well as the animals.
In addition, the cannon would exhaust its ammunition after three seconds of firing. Furthermore, the recoil
from such a weapon would propel its user through the air with an average acceleration of—”
“Data, Data!” Riker chuckled. “That’s what makes it so funny! It’s absurd.”
The android looked to the Klingon. “Do you agree with this assessment, Lieutenant?”
“It is absurd,” Worf rumbled. He took a handful ofgagh, ate it, then passed the jar to Riker.
Data cocked his head inquisitively. “Perhaps I would understand if you defined the nature of the
absurdity.”
Riker took a handful ofgagh . “It’s funny because we know what real combat is like,” he said, and
popped thegagh into his mouth. “And this isn’t it,” he mumbled.
“Ah,” Data said. One thing became clear. “Then you are laughingat the movie, notwith it?”
Riker nodded at the distinction. “This movie wasn’t meant as comedy,” he said. On the screen, a
massive explosion tore through the valley. The blast lifted Link and his sidekick into the air—to deposit
them, unscratched, on the ground at the top of the valley. “But the people who created it knew nothing
about war. Combat was never like this, even back in the twentieth century.”
“But if it were,” Worf said wistfully, “the twentieth century would have been a marvelous time.”
Chapter Two
OFF-DUTY, lounging in his cabin with a Dixon Hill mystery novel, Picard seemed a man at peace with
the universe. The universe, however, was not at peace with him. The intercom beeped just as Dixon Hill
was about to apprehend Jack Larsen’s killer. “Picard here.”
“De Shay, sir, in transporter room three. The ambassador is ready to come aboard.”
Picard glanced at his book. Dixon Hill had waited almost four centuries to catch Lefty Lefkowitz; he
could wait a while longer. “I’m on my way,” Picard said, putting the book aside.
A minute later Picard was in the transporter room, where Chief De Shay made a final adjustment to his
controls. “Energize,” Picard said. The transporter came to life, and Picard squelched a groan. If the man
who had just materialized on the pad was not Ralph Offenhouse, then he was his twin brother.And may
a just and merciful God preserve the galaxy from two such men, Picard thought. “Mister . . .
Ambassador?” Picard asked, unable to control his disbelief.
“Yeah, that’s me.” Offenhouse stepped off the pad and shook Picard’s hand. He was of average height
and weight, middle-aged and pink-skinned, possessed of thick dark hair, and neither handsome nor
unattractive. “Good to see you again, Picard. How’s business?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Picard said, and sighed.What next? he wondered.Romulans? Cardassians?
Tribbles? “Admiral Singh informed me that you would deliver our orders. After you’ve settled in, I’ll call
a staff meeting.”
“Good idea.” A pair of suitcases materialized on a pad, and Offenhouse picked them up. “Are you going
to let me have my old quarters?”
“If you like—”
“They’ll do,” Offenhouse said. “I’ll see your staff in ten minutes.” He left the transporter room.
Picard turned to the transporter chief. “Mr. De Shay,” he asked, “did you have any difficulties when you
beamed the ambassador aboard? Any power surges, or interdimensional shifts, or other anomalies?’’
“No, sir,” De Shay said. He scanned his instrument panel. “Everything went perfectly.” He gave a
helpless shrug which said that he remembered Offenhouse’s last visit to theEnterprise. “Sorry, sir.”
“I suppose it can’t be helped,” Picard said. “Carry on.”
Picard went to the nearest turbolift and returned to the bridge. He recalled studying an incident aboard
an earlierEnterprise . A transporter malfunction had swept the captain—either Pike or Kirk, Picard
thought without much certainty—and several other crew members into a parallel universe, one in which
the Federation was an insanely violent empire. Perhaps a similar accident had connected this universe
with one in which the Federation was violently insane.
It was an appealing theory. It might even have been true.
True or not, Offenhouse appeared on schedule in the conference room. As he took his seat, Picard
noted the reactions of his bridge crew. Worf and Riker looked at the man with distaste, while Deanna
Troi’s wide, dark eyes showed a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. Data’s gaze, as always, was
unreadable.
Offenhouse opened the meeting. “TheEnterprise has been assigned to escort me to Megara, which is
somewhere in the Perseus sector—what is it, uh, Info?”
“Data, sir,” the android corrected. “Specifically, sir, Megara is the second planet of 329 Aurigae. It is a
class-M planet, rated one on the industrial scale, with a population of four hundred million humanoids. It
has no interstellar relations and is fully covered by the Prime Directive.”
Offenhouse smiled at the android. “C-minus, Digit.”
“Data, sir. I do not understand this term—ceeminus?”
“It’s your grade,” Offenhouse explained. “Your data is out of date, Data, by a decade or so. Right now
Megara rates nine on the industrial scale.”
“That’s impossible,” Riker said crossly.
“Glad to have your word for it, sonny,” Offenhouse said. “A Vulcan robot probe scanned Megara last
month. It may have been pre-industrial ten years ago, but now it’s at the same technological level as
Earth was a century ago. The probe picked up signs of high-intensity power sources, high-rate data
transmissions, even something that may have been a warp drive.”
“And this growth disturbs you,” Troi said.
Offenhouse shrugged. “Me? Naw. But the Federation Council is having a fit. Especially because the
probe detected a Ferengi ship in the area—and the Ferengi shot the probe down. My orders are to find
out what the little twerps are doing on Megara.’
“Why you?” Riker asked bluntly. “You’re no diplomat.’’
Offenhouse nodded. “Who better to deal with the Ferengi?”
“You’re an anachronism,” Riker said. “Whatever knowledge and talents you may have”—if any,his tone
implied—“are so outdated—”
“—that the Ferengi will skin me alive.” Offenhouse looked at Riker in disdain. “You think I conned my
way into this job, don’t you?”
“Essentially, yes. You can’t possibly know—”
Picard felt pained. “That will be enough, Number One. Mr. Ambassador, I was told that you would
supply our orders.”
“Yeah, I almost forgot.” Offenhouse reached into a pocket—Picard felt a stab of envy; Starfleet safety
regulations banned pockets from uniforms—and pulled out a computer card. He tossed it across the
conference table to the captain. “Your orders are to do whatever I say will aid my mission.”
Picard fingered the computer card. “I see. At warp seven, we can reach Megara in five days.”
“Fine,” Offenhouse said, and stood up. “I’m sure you can get me there without too much trouble. Well,
I’ve spread enough cheer for one day, Picard. See you around the campus.” He went to the door, then
paused. “By the way—”
“I know,” Picard said in a sour voice. “Everything discussed in this room is secret.”
“Topsecret,” Offenhouse said smugly, and left.
Picard waited until the conference-room door had slid shut behind Offenhouse before he spoke.
“Comments?’’
“This is a ruse,” Riker said. “Nobody could seriously appointhim as an ambassador, not even to the
Ferengi.”
“I agree,” Worf rumbled. “His presence conceals some other action.”
“Yet the Federation does not play games with its diplomats,” Picard said.
“That is correct,” Data said. “Historically, efforts which use diplomatic personnel for clandestine
purposes have often ended in disaster. The Federation is cognizant of this fact.”
“So we must take the ambassador at face value,” Picard said. He looked to Deanna Troi. “Counselor,
you’ve been rather quiet.”
“Ambassador Offenhouse is a complicated man,” she said. “I don’t believe he’s fully adjusted to his
presence in what is—to him—the distant future. Everyone he knew is long dead, but he’s still alive, and
very much alone. In a way, he’s the sole survivor of an overwhelming disaster.”
“And the only disaster is the simple passage of time,” Picard said.
The Betazoid empath nodded. “There’s more, Captain. He’s distressed over his presence on board the
Enterprise . I’ll need to talk with him to pin this down, but he seems to think that we jeopardize his
mission.”
“Perhaps it is because Ambassador Offenhouse associates us with his revival,” Data said. The android
sounded hesitant; lacking emotions of his own, he was always unsure of himself when discussing their
import. “However illogically, he may see us as the cause of his separation from the past.”
Troi looked surprised. “That’s exactly what I was thinking, Data. And his belief is dangerous. A man
whoexpects to fail,will fail.”
Riker snorted. “The ambassador himself is reason enough for his mission to fail.”
“Captain,” Data said, “I suggest we examine our orders.”
Picard nodded. “Quite right, Mr. Data.” He slid the data card into a reader slot. A holographic display
appeared above the conference table. Much of it showed a planetary system, which expanded rapidly as
the Vulcan probe made its approach. Letters and numerals streamed across the lower part of the display.
Picard noted that Data kept his gaze locked on to the readouts, while everyone else watched the images
of the Megara system. That dichotomy between man and machine—well, biological and cybernetic life,
Picard corrected himself, with a glance at Troi and Worf—always intrigued the captain. To humans,
images were more easily understood than rows of numbers, while Data found it easier to detect patterns
in endless ranks of numbers and letters.
It’s not as though you could readthat,Jean-Luc, Picard thought in self-amusement. The display data
flickered by too quickly for the human eye to read; the captain settled back to watch the image. Megara
expanded from a silvery star to a fat crescent. The illuminated part of the globe showed white clouds,
blue oceans and a green swath of land. The nightside glittered with the lights of a half-dozen large cities.
A point of light gleamed near the planet. It expanded into a shape that reminded Picard of a horseshoe
crab. “Ferengi battle cruiser,” Worf muttered, as a phaser beam slashed out to envelope the probe. The
holograph vanished.
A new image appeared: Admiral Singh. The dark man’s turban and swirling mustachios gave him a fierce
visage, and he seemed to glare at the camera. “Captain Picard,” he said. “You are hereby informed that
the Federation Council has placedEnterprise at the disposal of Ambassador Ralph Offenhouse. The
council orders you to give him your full and unqualified cooperation.”
Singh paused and softened. “Jean-Luc, I’ve met the ambassador, so I know how hard this will be. I’m
told he’s an expert on the Ferengi; he’s studied everything we know about them, and Councillor Diem
claims he’s explained many of their incomprehensible actions. It would be tactless of me to describe this
as an idiot-savant talent. Good luck; Singh out.” The holograph flicked out.
Picard looked to Data. “Analysis?”
“The Megaran situation is precisely as the ambassador described it, sir,” Data said. “It is clear that the
Ferengi are helping the Megarans to advance their technology.”
“But why?” Troi asked.
“That,” Picard said, “is the question we must answer.”
When the conference ended, Worf was the first to leave the room. He went straight to his post on the
bridge and checked the weaponry. He did not fear a Ferengi battle cruiser, but he did respect its powers.
In terms of hardware and energy, such a ship was an even match for theEnterprise. Fortunately,
Federation crews had the edge in discipline and combat training.
Worf looked around the bridge. Data had gone to the science officer’s post. The android was not an
imaginative soldier, but he had cybernetic reflexes and a vast memory for tactical maneuvers. Wesley
Crusher, on vacation from the Academy, and Shrev, the Zhuik, sat at the helm. Both were young, but
both had seen combat—as bystanders, granted, but neither had lost their nerve under fire. Crusher was
eager to prove himself, and it was said that Zhuik loved to fight.
Picard, Riker and Troi remained in the conference room. Troi hated battle, but her insights into enemy
minds were always helpful. Picard was at heart a diplomat, but he did not dishonor himself when combat
was the only choice. Riker—
Riker emerged from the conference room and stepped up behind Worf. “A Ferengi battle cruiser could
supply us with a diverting afternoon,” the human said.
Worf grunted in approval of Riker’s spirit. Of all the ship’s crew, Riker was the one most like him in
temperament and inclinations. A year ago he had served as an exchange officer aboard the Imperial
Battle CruiserPagh, and he had returned from that assignment with a deepened respect for Klingon
ways. “I am more concerned with thisambassador,” Worf said quietly.
“Same here,” Riker said. “He may be genuine, but something doesn’t feel right. We’d better live
back-to-back.”
“Indeed.” Among Klingons,back-to-back was the watchword of friends going into combat: stay alert
and protect one another. Despite the unknowns in this situation, Worf felt reassured by those words. He
could rely on Riker.
Picard and Troi returned to the bridge. “Helm,” Picard told Shrev, “set a course for Megara, warp
factor seven.”
“Course plotted and laid in,” Shrev said in her silken whisper.Enterprise ’s warp drive came to life.
Five days to Megara, Worf thought. That would give him ample time to drill for action against the
Ferengi.
Wesley went back to his stateroom as soon as he got off duty.Something’s going to happen, he
thought as he sat down at the computer. The new passenger and Worf’s repeated combat drills said as
much, but nobody would say exactly what was going on. That was too much for his curiosity.
It didn’t take him long to dig information out of the computer. There was a transmission from Starfleet
Command, and although it was security-coded, Wesley had little trouble in breaking its protection. The
transmission was a grab bag of information: a personnel file on Ambassador Offenhouse, data from a
Vulcan probe, and the usual bureaucratic messages that authorized theEnterprise to carry out its mission.
It looked like parts of the message had been deleted. Wesley didn’t doubt that the erased parts would
have told him exactly what was happening. Well, he mused, you couldn’t haveeverything .
Wesley started reading. The probe data took his attention first. The most interesting thing here was the
information on Weber 512, a gravitational anomaly about one light-year from the Megaran system.
Weber 512 was a binary system, a pair of neutron stars that orbited one another at an average
separation of about two hundred kilometers. Each member of the pair was as massive as Earth’s sun,
and their whirligig orbit caused them to generate some intense gravitational waves. The pair also had a
powerful, complicated magnetic field, one which stirred up the interstellar hydrogen into a maelstrom of
radiation as the pair spun through its orbit dozens of times every second. The system was more
interesting than a simple pulsar, and Wesley hoped he would get the chance to study it when the
Enterprise reached Megara—
“Caught you,” he muttered to himself. Weber 512 wouldn’t have anything to do with Megara. He was
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Thisisformyniece,Khela,andmynephew,MattChapterOneTHEPROBEWENTsublightandscannedthespacearoundit.Thefirstreadingsmatchedthedatainitsmemorybanks:oneyellowdwarfstar,attendedbyafamilyofplanets;nearestcelestiallandmark:Weber512.ThefirstplanetwasclassJ,deadandairless,unchangedsincethelastprobe’svisit.Thes...

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：164 页 大小：502.32KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

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