STAR TREK - TNG - 62 - Maximum Warp - 1 - Dead Zone

VIP免费

2024-12-20 0 0 363.27KB 122 页 5.9玖币

侵权投诉

MAXIMUM WARP BOOK

ONE

byDave Galanter and Greg

Brodeur

Chapter One

U.S.S. Enterprise, MCC-17O1E Romulan Neutral Zone Section 19

Three weeks ago

'transferauxiliary power to shields. I want those sensors on-line. What's happened to main power?"

"I don't know, sir. Warp and impulse are offline. Helm is not responding."

"Thrusters to station-keeping." Captain Jean-Luc Pi card jabbed at the panel on the arm of his command

chair. "Picard to Engineering. What's happening down there?"

Silence.

"Comm systems are down, Captain." Lieutenant Chamberlain's voice from tactical was tense but con

trolled. "Aux power is not responding, sir. Life support is on battery backup and holding."

Picard spun toward the ensign at the engineering station. "Get down there, Bradley. Have Mr. Riker

return with a report on all systems, and have Engineering put priority on sensors and shields."

Bounding from his chair and into the turbolift, Bradley only had time for a half-nod and a chopped, "Aye,

sir."

The captain hoped he had put priority on the right systems. Eyes and claws--it seemed logical. But

without knowing the status ofEngineering ... He half wanted to race down there himself. "Helm?" He

edged toward the conn.

Ensign Barbara Rossi shook her head. "Still negative helm control, sir, but thrusters are maintaining

station keepingOnly her second month on bridge duty, Pi card thought, and she was suddenly steering an

anchor, not a starship.

The captain leaned over the helm and ran his own hands over the near-dead controls. No helm, no

sensors, and the last reading they did get was of a Romulan warbird de cloaking between them and the

Federation cargo hauler chat had found itself stuck in the Neutral Zone.

It wasn't long before the starboard lift door opened, and Picard pivoted toward it as Commander

William Riker shot onto the bridge.

"Status?" Picard demanded.

Riker dropped down to the lower deck. "Verified we've lost all main power. Sickbay is on internal

batteries. So are the lifts. Every nonessential system is down." He lowered himself into the console seat at

Picard's right. "Inertial dampers and SIF generators are using the artificial gravity power grid. La Forge

did that first."

"Repair estimate?" "None, yet. We don't even know why it's happened."

"Not good enough," Picard said. "We need the cause. Romulan defensive weapon? Sabotage?"

"I thought we were supposed to be allies now."

The captain grunted. "Supposed to be" was the key phrase. The Dominion War was over finally, at great

cost. Now some allies, in their weakness, could turn paranoid toward their war-weary partners.

Riker shook his head, and a single strand of dark hair bounced once before becoming matted to his

damp forehead. "Well, whatever it is, it's the damnedest thing I've ever seen, sir. Everything but electrical

power seems dead. Even Data is having problems. He's had to switch around all his internal power

settings."

Picard looked up, then rose, taking a step toward... he wasn't sure where. "Data? How bad?"

"Not sure. He said he'll 'function adequately' for now. I'm guessing that's the android equivalent of a stiff

upper lip. But if whatever's keeping us from using most of our power systems is hampering him, too, that

tells me it's not internal to our systems." Riker's tone was suddenly softer, more concerned. "He's

working through it. He wants to deploy an optic buoy so we can see what's going on outside." He shook

his head. "Blasted bay doors won't override manually. I'm not even sure they've found the old buoy.

Pretty old technology."

Timing toward the blank forward viewscreen, Heard glared, wishing he could see right through the

bulkhead. "Let's assume this is some dampening field the Romulans have developed as a defensive tool."

That would have been a better assumption before the Dominion War. Now... would the peace fall apart

so quickly? There was no way to know. A Romulan ship with a renegade commander could be

mistrustful of the Enterprise appearing in the Neutral Zone. Heard might have been, if thesituation were

reversed, and he was no renegade. Usually.

The captain turned back to Riker. "Signal General Quarters, deck by deck. Until the internal com ms are

working, we fall back on relays. Then see if hand phasers are working. Priorities: arming the crew,

sensors, shields,communications . Go."

"On screen." Heard usually didn't have to wait so long for such a simple order to be followed, but in the

moments that dragged on into minutes, he did just that He paced a bit, not wanting to sit down. Any

moment he thought he'd hear the hum and feel the static of a Romulan transporter beam. An enemy guard

could be deposited next to him, behind him... throughout his ship. He held a phaser in his hand, ready. It

was useless, he'd learned just moments earlier. Fully charged phasers, not working.

The trigger was warm to the touch. Hand phasers worked on battery packs, so why didn't they work

when they should have? And why did he still keep it in his hand, now that he knew it was a dunsel What

would he do? Throw it at a Romulan invader? The idea that the Romulans would offer resistance rather

than

helpwas probably wrong, in any case. There had been good relations with the Romulans since the end of

the war. But he couldn't get the feeling out of the back of his mind that something was just... entirely

wrong here.

Again, a bit too harshly, he ordered, "Visual tie in, Ensign Rossi."

"Trying, sir."

Of course--it wasn't his crew's fault. Optical buoys were low-tech and hard to calibrate. But they ran on

battery power, and they didn't broadcast in subspace. With one deployed, Enterprise would at least have

eyes outside the ship. And ears--they might be able to set up local-space communications as well. He'd

have preferred that shields and sensorscame on-line first... but he'd take what he could get. "Ensign

Shapiro?"

"Still nothing, sir." The ops officer shook his head. He struggled with the old-fashioned, seldom-used

comm protocols, not something heavily taught at the Academy. "Coming through now, Captain."

Static-scratched and jumpy, a picture formed on the main viewscreen. Space looked odd, black. A

digital picture, not one created by sensors.Digital. Video. Antique.

But even with the electronic equivalent of naked eyes, a Romulan warbird's stalking presence was

unmistakable in the distance. Picard moved toward the viewer, standing between Rossi at the conn and

Shapiro at ops. "Try to raisethem, and the cargo ship as well."

"Aye, sir."

Shapiro toiled again with his mostly lifeless console.

"Cargo ship doesn't respond, Captain. They may not be able to read a frequency this low. Visual data

only ... they appear to be drifting. No external lights or beacons." Anod, and Picard paced a step away.

He thumbed his chin thoughtfully. "And the Romulans?"

"No response yet. But they should be able to hear us if they're monitoring these bandwidths."

"If they're smart, they're monitoring all bandwidths," Picard murmured.

Suddenly, Shapiro looked up, slightly surprised. "Captain, they're returning the hail."

"Hold a moment." He turned toward the rear of the bridge and holstered his phaser. "Voices low. Let's

not show all our cards. As far as this ship is concerned, we're doing as well as we can sell them." He

turned back to Shapiro. "Now, patch them through."

"Patch" was right. Picard had time to pace between the helm and the command chair three times before

he settled into his seat. Finally, the warbird commander appeared on the viewer.

No need for introductions. They knew who commanded the Enterprise. And Picard knew the Romulan

by appearance as well.

"Commander... J'emery, is it?"

The Romulan's features were marked with distaste, dark angles cutting in on themselves. His up swept

brows were creased with tension. "Testing some new weapon, Picard? I'd accuse you of treachery, but

perhaps foolhardiness is the word, treaty violations were the only matter at hand. But acts of war..."

Ofttimes Picard had found the will to play this game, but not today. Not sitting in the middle of the

Neutral Zone, dead in space. It was interesting that J'emery hadn't mentioned why it had taken them a bit

to hail the Romulans. Interesting indeed. Picard looked intently at J'emery, and wished he could glance

around the Romulanbridge as well. "You know, Commander, I think we'll just bypass the chess match

this time. You know why we're here, and you know that the treaty allows us a certain leeway for rescue

missions. You're supposed to offer assistance."

Seeming to gather more of his composure, perhaps strengthened by the game Picard didn't wish to play,

J'emery straightened, grew cocky. "I don't like this new treaty, Picard. I suppose you'd allow me to

rescue a stray battle group that wandered off course and found itself in Earth's orbit?"

Picard pressed his lips into a thin line. "We can work with each other, or against each other,

Commander. Which do you think will end this situation satisfactorily for us both?"

J'emery faltered a moment, looking at someone offscreen. "I'll--" For a moment, the Romulan seemed to

rise from his chair oddly, almost as if levitating. "We'll consider that," the Romulan said hastily, and the

screen went blank.

Twisting her head toward her captain, Rossi's brows knitted in a quizzical look. "They cut the feed."

"Was he..." Picard hesitated. "Did they just lose gravity?"

"What in the Praetor's name is going on?" Commander J'emery meant to be as severe as possible,

SubCommander Folan was sure of it. Tyranny was just a difficult personality trait to convey while floating

in midair.

Folan anchored herself to her science station by curling her fingers under the lip of one scanner console.

"Gravity systems have lost battery power, sir. Engineering is trying to route power from secondary

batteries, but the relays are offline."

"If this is Picard's weapon, why is he not gloating?" J'emery spat the question, rather literally, and a small

bubble of saliva became a globe of liquid that floated before his nose until he angrily batted it out of his

line of sight. "This is maddening!"

"Yes, sir," Folan said. "It is possible the Enterprise is going through similar malfunctions. Their

communications signal was not on a subspace frequency. Perhaps because they knew our subspace

communications weredown, or perhaps because they've lost that capability as well." Her hair had come

undone from its arrangement and was floating wildly above and in front of her. Suddenly she wished

she'd chosen a shorter style last time she was cutting her hair. "I don't believe the Federation would break

the peace. It is not their--"

"Spare me your theories, Folan! If gravity control cannot be restored in a timely fashion, men issue the

bridge magnetic boots. One or the other, now!"

"Yes, sir." Folan issued a command into a small communicator she wore on her uniform tunic. When she

turned back, her commander had righted himself

andwas using his tight fists to moor himself to the command chair.

He didn't like her, and she knew it. To a degree, she even understood it. The mission onwhich his ship

was about to embark was for her experiments and tests. She had supplanted his usual science officer,

and his orders were to help her study. He would have rather been on patrol.

"How much life support have we left?" hebarked.

Folan checked a flickering screen on her console. "Forty-three minutes, seventeen seconds."

His face flushed green with anger, probably at Pi card, but also at Folan--not to mention the universe at

large. J'emery seemed to be keeping himself from ranting. Instead he merely growled his next order. "Get

a weapon on-line. Any weapon at all."

Chapter Two

Scientific Center Prime Caltiska IV

Caltiskan Star System--bordering Romulan Empire-claimed space

"whatwas that? Did you feel that?" Varnell was a centurion, and though he only looked young, he often

seemed unsophisticated. He asked too many questions, and while his skills and qualifications had

checked out, T'sart hadn't liked him from the moment they'd met.

"Yes, I felt that," Commander T'sart said calmly as he viewed one screen, then another, finding the alien

console far less complex than his first glimpse two weeks ago. "There has been a change in subspace

resonance frequencies. Such interesting

technology. We don't even have sensors that scan at this level."

His up swept brows knitted in angst, Varnell had a film of perspiration above his lip. "These frequencies

are far-reaching. We could be affecting subspace as far away as the homeworld. And we're not in

space--we should not even be able to feel such a vibration on a planet."

They were indeed on a planet, if it could be called that. A ball of rock that shouldn't even exist by every

law of physics T'sart knew, a few of which he'd writtenhimself . They'd put him in this system thinking the

planet uninhabited and worthless. It was neither.

He keyed another command into the console, and they both felt that vibration again, only stronger. He

needed to pay more attention to what he was doing. It wouldn't be good to destroy this dry, foul little

planet, at least not until he was no longer standing on it.

"Sir," Varnell said, "asI said, it is likely these vibrations are traveling outside this system and are not local.

We are increasing the spatial distortions rather than decreasing them. We should not have pulled the

sphere."

"I'm well aware of the situation, Varnell," T'sart sighed. "The disruptions may be far-reaching, but any

disruption now will soon be controlled. If we finish these tests."

Had it not been for the centurion's credentials in so many areas of subspace mechanics, T'sart would not

have tolerated the spineless man on his staff at all.

The sub-commander in charge of securing the city walked in, and T'sart automatically encrypted his

console'scontrols before he turned away. It was a habit he'd learned early in his career, and never

forgot.

"Report," he ordered, and hoped the news was good. Since they'd arrived more than two months ago,

the native population had fought to the death to protect their science facility. Two weeks ago, when they

lost it to T'sart and his forces, they'd fought even harder. It was as if they knew what they had, but their

own technology was such that they surely could notPerhaps in myth and legend they knew what it did for

them, but probably nothing more.

"Commander, the perimeter is secure." The man still wore his battle helm. Here was someone T'sart

could give some small measure of respect: strong, somewhat intelligent, and while no doubt still a fool in

many ways, he at least had the courage to join his men in battle.

"Excellent."

"The alien death toll is estimated at forty-four thousand."

"Indeed?" T'sart asked, entering calculations into a tricorder. "We're the aliens here. This is their planet."

"Sir?" thesub-commander asked.

"The term you're looking for is 'native," not alien."

Nodding slowly, the man didn't seem to truly absorb the lesson. "Yes, Commander."

"I don't want estimates. I want actual numbers." T'sart handed him the tricorder. "Use this. It will scan

for a common strand of then- DNA, and then verify if the owner of that strand is alive or dead."

The man took the instrument and reviewed the settings. "This ... this is ingenious."

"Of course. Dismissed."

They exchanged nods, and the sub-commander exited the control room.

"A bit bloodthirsty, aren't you?" Varnell asked.

A mysterious moment for him to grow a backbone. "No one complained when it was my job to rid the

empire of the four-hundred-and-four thousand, three-hundredandninety-two inhabitants of Qu'takt I'll,"

T'sart said, sure to keep his tone even, though inside he seethed. "I heard no insults of bloodlust when it

fell to me to design a genetic disease that could kill three different races in a matter of weeks, and thenbio

degrade into a minor illness for any Romulan who stumbled upon it. All I heard then were accolades and

tributes."

"I meant no offense, Commander," Varnell murmured.

T'sart smiled warmly. "Of course not." He was bitter, yes ... but acrimony was no tool of persuasion. If

anything, his new situation demanded he be more persuasive than ever. "And I took no offense." But he

did. He took offense at Varnell, and at all those in the Senate who'd been so close to giving him up. And

who had eventually put him in this hind end of space, thinking T'sart would be forgotten. He refused.

Varnell nodded slowly in acceptance, but looked somewhat uncomfortable.

T'sart pondered attempting to soothe Varnell's ruffled feathers, but the door to the control room slid

open and one of the Caltiskan survivors skittered in. He collapsed a meter from T'sart's feet.

"Does this belong to you?" In walked a tall, thin Romulan, his dark cloak impeccably crisp and clean.

Obviously he'd been the one to throw the Caltiskan onto the floor.

With a flutter of his fingers, T'sart finished his encryption code and turned toward the man. "And you

are..."

The intruder ignored T'sart's question and looked at Varnell. "Leave," he ordered.

Varnell nodded to the man and promptly left without giving T'sart, his commander, a second look. That

bothered T'sart a bit. He found it rude and disloyal. But perhaps the centurion was frightened. The tall

man was, after all, Tal Shiar.

"Your name was ..." T'sartprodded again.

The Tal Shiar agent stared at him for a moment,then began to walk the room, looking intently at every

item of equipment and every computer console. "Why did you leave this one alive?" heasked, motioning

toward the Caltiskan.

T'sart said nothing for a moment,then finally spoke. "Even for Tal Shiar, you're rather humorless."

In a deep baritone, a product of his height, the man simply said, "Answer my question."

There was a time when T'sart had been asked to join the Tal Shiar. He'd refused. That was not

completely unheard of in the Empire, but... almost. It had shocked the agent who'd approached him, and

the Tal Shiar didn't like to be shocked. Later, he'd heard that the agent in question had been executed for

not turning T'sart, but no one had ever approached him again. Had he joined them all those years ago, he

would probably have outranked the agent before him now. Well, T'sart thought, smiling, there are other

ways to be someone's superior.

"What is your authorization to ask questions of me?" T'sart asked. Too important to just kill, he knew

the agent would have to at least listen to the questions, if not answer them.

Before the Tal Shiar agent had a chance to reply--as if he actually would have--the sub-commander

entered again.

He was looking down at his tricorder. "Commander, I have the final death toll. Total native casualties:

forty three thousand, seven-hundred-thirty-two." The "two" trailed off as he looked up and saw only

T'sart and the member of the Tal Shiar.

The agent looked at the sub-commander intently. The sub-commander nodded quickly, pivoted on a

heel, and left.

The automatic door closed swiftly behind him.

The Tal Shiar agent curled around back to T'sart. "Why has this one been left alive?"

"He failed to tell me what I wanted to know," T'sart said finally, hating to be without acceptable choices.

"But I thought he might yet be of use."

In a motion that could best be described as a glide, the agent moved toward the whimpering man, who

was still cowering on the floor. "Tell him what he wants to know."

T'sart shook his head. "He will not talk for you. He doesn't know your reputation, and I've already made

him aware of mine."

"I cannot help you," the Caltiskan said, muffling his sobs. "You will destroy our world."

"Your world should have been destroyed a billion

yearsago," Tsart told him. "I'm beginning to think even you don't know why it wasn't."

"I implore you," the Caltiskan pleaded. "I beg of you."

The agent frowned and shook his head. "You'll not get him to talk," he decided.

"Perhaps not," T'sart admitted. "But I'm having several small children who survived the bio weapon

gathered--"

In a swift arc of his right arm, the Tal Shiar agent pulled out his disrupter, fired, and returned the weapon

to his cloak.

"A waste of time," he said as the Caltiskan shrieked into nothingness, his body vaporizing, his voice

lingering as echo. "Your count is now forty-three thousand, seven-hundred thirty-three."

"Yes." T'sart glowered. "And now I suppose it would be a waste of time." He sighed. "That man was the

director of this facility. Sooner or later, he would have cracked, and been of use."

The Tal Shiar agent walked past him and began investigating the main computer and sensor consoles. "It

is no longer your concern. You are relieved here."

Deep within himself, T'sart exploded. But he contained it, turned it in on itself, and though inwardly he

churned, on the surface he was calm and seemingly imperturbable. "I'd ask by whose authority, but I'll

assume that's a classified Tal Shiar secret."

Without nodding, the agent somehow managed to convey a nonverbal affirmation. He then added, "As

of now, everything about this project is a state secret."

In a brief, weak moment, T'sart actually attempted debate. "This is my discovery. I am familiar--"

The Tal Shiar silenced him with a glare. "The last person I met who was familiar with this facility is now

vapor and ozone. Leave the troops, take your assistants, and return to the homeworld. Your work here

is ended."

Eyes narrowed, T'sart burned silently, but again refused any display of anger.

He marched to the main console, flipped a few switches, pulled a data crystal from his pocket and

replaced it into the data bank.

"I expect you will not relay my official protest to your superior," he said as he turned toward the exit.

"Never speak of this place again," the agent called after him.

"Of course," T'sart replied. "Never."

"And, T'sart?"

He turned back toward the agent, a bit surprised at the use of his name without rank or title.

The Tal Shiar smirked. "Be grateful it is not forty four thousand seven-hundred thirty-four."

Personal Spacecraft R'laga Uncharted space near the Caltiskan system Bordering Romulan

Empire-claimed space

"Lotre," T'sart called from the aft scanner console. "Transfer power from shields to sensors. We must

break through this interference."

T'sart saw his other assistant stiffen at the suggestion. "Something on your mind, Varnell?" heasked.

Hesitating a moment, Varnell only spoke once Lotre was looking away. "We have been ordered out of

the area by the Tal Shiar. To stay--"

"Think, Centurion. The local subspace interference will mask us from their detection." T'sart kept himself

from snapping at Varnell, but only barely. The rage was difficult to contain, given the circumstances, even

for someone with his mental discipline.

The Empire had betrayed him, disloyally sticking him in a thankless and uninteresting job where he

suffered the buffoons in the defense ministry. He had led offensive weapons research for thirty-five years,

and now ... now he'd been cast away again. Just as he had discovered what could be the power to rule

the galaxy.

And that was the scope of it; he'd confirmed it. That the Tal Shiar had suddenly involvedthemselves only

demonstrated how right he was. They knew it would make them gods. But they were ill-suited to such a

role. T'sart was not.

"The Tal Shiar will not bother us, I assure you."

Varnell nodded, seemingly unconvinced. "Yes, sir," he replied nonetheless.

"I cannot pierce the special disruptions around the sphere," Lotre said, turning from his sensor console.

"I'm having trouble enough with the local disruptions. Feedback has burned out the main sensor relays.

Again. And we've depleted our reserve stores."

"So we've burned them out." T'sart pivoted toward him. "Do you understand the power here? Do you

understand the level of technological sophistication?"

"I do," Varnell said.

Ever unimpressed with ill-timed sycophantic blatherings, T'sart challenged him. "Really, Varnell? Tell us

why you think so."

"I... I knew it when we saw their entire military was protecting the one science complex."

T'sart wagged a lecturing finger. "You knew then it was important to them. But not that it would be

important to us."

Respectful, but with a guarded tone, Varnell proceeded on an unexpected tack. " "Us' meaning the

Empire, or meaning those of us on this vessel?"

"Are you challenging my loyalty, Centurion?" T'sart looked at him quizzically, as if the young centurion

had grown a second head. "Just what are you asking? I've assessed my duty to the Praetor. Have you?

We've lost much in helping the Federation with their war against the Dominion. We are weak. Do you

think I would seek to bolster myself and not my comrades?"

For a very long moment Varnell was silent. Whether it was from internal debate on the issue, or simply

whether to speak at all, T'sart was unsure. "That is," he finally said, slowly, "with all due respect, sir, not

what I meant." And then he lowered his head and his voice. "You are as loyal to the Empire as I, I'm sure

of it."

"You're uncomfortable, Varnell. Why?" T'sart stepped closer to him.

The centurion glanced at Lotre. "Why do we discuss such matters in his presence?"

Why, indeed, T'sart thought, are we discussing this at all? "Lotre is a Romulan. As loyal as I am."

"He is a Klingon," Varnell said emphatically.

"Genetically, yes. But that is all."

"That is all they are," the young Romulan spat. "Genetic dispositions to rage and murder."

T'sart was droll. "How scientific of you."

As if suddenly remembering something, Varnell's attitude shifted into reverse. "I am sorry for speaking

out of turn."

文档加载中……请稍候！
如果长时间未打开，您也可以点击刷新试试。

下载文档到电脑，查找使用更方便

5.9 玖币 0人已下载

立即下载 VIP免费下载

摘要：

MAXIMUMWARPBOOKONEbyDaveGalanterandGregBrodeur ChapterOneU.S.S.Enterprise,MCC-17O1ERomulanNeutralZoneSection19Threeweeksago'transferauxiliarypowertoshields. Iwantthosesensorson-line.What'shappenedtomainpower?""Idon'tknow,sir. Warpandimpulseareoffline. Helmisnotresponding.""Thrusterstostation-keep...

展开>> 收起<<

STAR TREK - TNG - 62 - Maximum Warp - 1 - Dead Zone.pdf

共122页,预览25页

还剩页未读，继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

STAR TREK - TNG - 62 - Maximum Warp - 1 - Dead Zone

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: