Star Trek TNG - The Peacekeepers

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are

either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is

entirely coincidental.

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For Becky Bontreger.

You were there when I couldn’t be, and you did more for her than I could ever

have done . . .

Thanks.

Chapter One

“IT WAS A wild-goose chase, Number One, but I have to admit I am not at all

displeased at that.”

In fact Captain Jean-Luc Picard looked more than just “not at all displeased.”

A slight smile gave his normally stern features a decidedly relaxed look as he

settled his wiry frame into the comfort of the captain’s chair. In the main

viewer, the sparse stars of this remote section of the Orion Arm slid smoothly

past as the Enterprise warped toward the nearest Starbase, hundreds of parsecs

distant.

Seated at Picard’s right, Commander William Riker smiled. “The Ferengi are not

the most pleasant people to deal with, even under the best of circumstances.”

Picard nodded, the shadow of a memory hardening his features briefly. “You’re

developing a gift for understatement, Number One. Personally, I would have no

objections whatsoever to serving out the rest of my career without ever having

to hear the name again.”

“Look at it this way, sir,” Riker said. “We didn’t find any evidence that the

Ferengi had been active in this sector, but we did discover two previously

unknown class-M planets, both of which may be ready for Federation contact in

a few generations.”

“Yes, Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Data volunteered helpfully from the

forward station, “any mission that results in the discovery

discovery of more than three billion sentient beings could not be considered a

‘wild-goose chase.’ ”

Riker smiled as he looked at the android. “I’m surprised you’re familiar with

that phrase, Mr. Data.”

“On the contrary, Commander, I’m not. I was quite puzzled when the captain

first made use of it. My information indicated that the Ferengi, though their

values do not coincide with those of the Federation, could not be considered

‘wild’ in the sense of their being uncivilized, barbarous, or primitive. Nor

are they of avian ancestry. I therefore concluded that the phrase must be a

figure of human speech not included in my programming. However, the subsequent

exchange between yourself and the captain has, I believe, enabled me to deduce

the approximate meaning.”

Riker laughed. “And that meaning is?”

Data pulled in his breath and straightened in his chair, as if he were a

student who had been called upon to recite. “A project that fails because the

information that caused the project to be initiated was false or misleading in

some way,” he said, finishing with a questioning glance at Picard.

“Very good, Mr. Data,” the captain said with the ghost of a chuckle. “I’ve

never heard it defined more precisely—particularly by someone who first heard

the expression only minutes before.”

“Thank you, sir, but I was designed to—”

Abruptly, Data fell silent, his luminous golden eyes widening imperceptibly as

the displays on the panel before him flashed a tentative message. His fingers

danced briefly across the panel, confirming and enhancing the information.

“Captain,” he said, “scanners indicate the presence of an artifact of

considerable mass, bearing zero-one-two, mark zero-zero-five.”

“Another starship?” Picard responded. “Don’t tell me it’s Ferengi.”

“The mass is consistent with that of a small starship, sir, but it is not

under power.”

“A derelict?” Picard sat up straighter and leaned forward slightly.

“Possible, sir, but at this distance—”

“Then we had better get closer. Mr. La Forge, alter course accordingly.”

“Aye-aye, sir.” Lieutenant Geordi La Forge, the slim, silvery Visor covering

the blank whiteness of his sightless eyes, tapped in the changes unerringly.

“Mr. Data, put the object on the viewer, maximum magnification.”

“Already done, sir, but at this distance it is impossible to discern any

details.”

Picard squinted at the viewer and the indistinct, featureless dot at its

center. A flicker of impatience darted across his aquiline features, as it

sometimes did on those rare occasions when he was forced to realize that,

superb though the technology was that drove the Enterprise, it was still not

quite magic. It had its limits, and the fact that he could issue an order did

not mean that, when it was carried out, the results would be as perfect as he

had hoped.

“Lieutenant Worf,” Picard said, standing and turning toward the aft section of

the bridge where the Klingon monitored the science stations, “any indications

of life forms?”

“Nothing yet, sir. But—”

“I know, Lieutenant, ‘but at this distance’ there’s no way of being positive.”

“Yes, sir,” Worf rumbled in agreement, “but what I was going to say was that,

although the sensors can’t yet detect any life forms, there are indications of

a functioning power source aboard the vessel.”

“Now we’re getting somewhere,” Picard said. “Lieutenant Yar, open hailing

frequencies.”

“Hailing frequencies open, sir,” the blond security chief responded from the

tactical station immediately above and behind the command area.

“Mr. La Forge, proceed on impulse power the last million kilometers. Do not

approach closer than ten thousand kilometers without further orders.”

“Aye-aye, sir, ten thousand kilometers.”

“No response, sir,” Yar announced as she leaned forward over the tactical

console.

“Continue monitoring, Lieutenant, and transmit our own peaceful intentions,

all languages, all frequencies.”

“All languages, all frequencies, sir.”

In the viewer, the central dot was beginning to grow. Picard and Commander

Riker stepped forward, flanking Data and La Forge at the forward station, as

if by moving closer, they could speed its growth.

The forward turbolift slid open and Counselor Deanna Troi emerged, her dark

hair a mass of curls today instead of in the severe, pulled-back style she had

been affecting recently. Joining them, she stood next to Picard.

“I sense anticipation in your thoughts, Jean-Luc,” she said softly.

Picard indicated the viewer. “There’s something out there,” he said. “We’ll

see what in a few minutes.”

She nodded, her eyes taking in the scene, then sliding subconsciously from the

viewer to Riker—and quickly returning.

The dot continued to grow. Data was the first to speak, his precise voice

reflecting the restrained blend of curiosity and puzzlement that gripped him

whenever he encountered something new,

something not included or explained in his phenomenally massive memory. “I can

observe no obvious means of propulsion, Captain. Does it not seem peculiar

that a vessel without a propulsion system should be found nearly a parsec from

the nearest stellar system?”

Picard nodded, stepping closer to the holographic image.

“Propulsion systems are not necessarily always as obvious as a warp drive

nacelle,” Riker commented. “Our own impulse engines, for instance.”

“Coming out of warp drive, sir,” La Forge announced, and a moment later the

image in the viewer shimmered and resolidified. The dot, now expanding

rapidly, was beginning to show shape and detail even to eyes less sharp than

Data’s.

And there were indeed no propulsion units. When the image had first begun

expanding, it had reminded Riker of a crude, blocky version of the saucer

section of the Enterprise, detached and floating free, but now he could see it

was actually rectangular, little more than a spacegoing box. Not only were

there no propulsion units, there were no ports or openings of any kind, nor

even a single marking that he could see.

“Sensors indicate total absence of life, Captain,” Worf reported from the aft

station, “and extreme age.”

“How extreme, Lieutenant?” Picard asked, not turning from the viewer.

“At least ten thousand years, sir.”

A faint shiver ran down Picard’s spine. Despite his decades in space, he had

yet to reach the point at which new discoveries, new indications of the true

immensity and diversity of the universe could ever be considered routine.

There were some starship captains, he knew, who claimed that after a hundred

new star systems or a hundred new life forms there was nothing out there

anymore that

could give them the same high, the same tingling sense of wonder that their

first voyage between the stars had given them. He was not one of them. He

hoped he never would be. If that happened, it would be time to retire to a

desk terminal somewhere, to turn his command over to someone who still felt a

tingle of awe whenever he or she looked out at the billions of stars, the

trillions of cubic parsecs still to be explored.

“And the functioning power source, Lieutenant Worf?”

“Standard antimatter, sir, and it appears to be supplying power to a number of

individual devices.”

“And the nature of those devices?”

“Unknown, sir. They are operating at an extremely low level, consuming very

little power, as if they are not fully operational.”

Picard frowned thoughtfully. “Possibly some form of hibernation device for

passengers or crew? To travel between the stars in a sublight ship, the crew

and passengers would almost certainly be kept in suspended animation.”

Worf maintained his silence, but his sideways glance at Picard hinted that

only humans, not Klingons, would require that kind of pampering.

For another minute, the image continued to grow, until it almost filled the

screen.

“No sign of any drive, sir, even impulse,” Data reported, “nor is there

apparently any functioning attitude control. The vessel is drifting at a rate

of approximately one arc second per minute. If not checked, it will make a

complete rotation in three years, seventy-seven days, nine—”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard interrupted, studying the image in the viewer.

Even at this distance he could see no evidence of sensors, no external

projections of any kind, nor any obvious openings.

“Ten thousand kilometers and holding, sir,” La Forge announced.

“Still no life-form readings, Lieutenant Worf?”

“None, sir, of any level. If any beings were in hibernation, they’re dead

now.”

“The vessel’s proper motion with respect to the nearest stars, Mr. La Forge?

Does its trajectory give any indication of its system of origin?”

“None, sir. Its linear motion is essentially zero with respect to the local

stars.”

Picard frowned.

“Internal structure and atmosphere, Mr. Data?”

“It is laid out essentially like a chessboard, sir, with extremely narrow

corridors crisscrossing throughout the vessel. The antimatter power source is

at the center, moderately shielded, surrounded by—”

“Moderately shielded, Mr. Data?”

“The shielding is a degree of magnitude less efficient than that of the

Enterprise. The resultant radiation could, over the long term, prove

detrimental to the health of any who occupy the vessel.”

“It could have killed them? In their hibernation chambers?”

“In ten thousand years, it would be possible, sir.”

“But it presents no danger to short-term occupants?”

“Such as ourselves, if we beam over to observe the vessel’s interior

firsthand? I believe not, sir.”

“Very well, Mr. Data,” Picard said, nodding minutely. “Continue. Are there any

indications of living quarters?”

“No, sir. There is no area with an atmosphere anywhere within the vessel.”

“This lack of atmosphere—by design or by mishap?”

“It is impossible to say, Captain, without inspecting the scene firsthand.”

“Anything else?”

“Near the center, there is a second, lesser quantity of antimatter. Its

shielding is even more inefficient than the other, but, because of its lesser

mass, it presents no more of a radiation hazard than the larger mass.”

Picard frowned. “A weapon, perhaps?”

“Possibly, Captain. It does bear a functional resemblance to our own photon

torpedoes, but judging from its position near the center of this vessel, there

would be no way of launching it.”

“From what I’ve been told so far,” Picard said, “there would be no way of

launching anything from anywhere in this vessel except by transporter. You

haven’t found any openings yet, have you?”

“None, sir, but that doesn’t mean—”

“I know. Tightly sealed doors or weapons tubes aren’t detectable at this

range. But even if there were launch tubes, a single weapon on an otherwise

defenseless vessel doesn’t make sense. Nor does the lack of propulsion. It

couldn’t run even if attacked.”

“It might not have needed to, sir,” Worf said. “I have been studying certain

readings more closely, and I now feel they indicate the nonfunctional remnants

of a primitive cloaking system.”

Picard turned abruptly toward the science stations. “Nonfunctional? You’re

positive?”

“Positive, sir. The readings indicate that the entire final stage of the

system—the stage that actually produces the cloaking effect—has either failed

entirely or is missing altogether.”

Picard turned to again scowl at the image—the puzzle—in the viewer. For

several seconds, he was silent, a spark of hunger in his eyes. Finally,

sighing mentally, he stepped back.

“Number One,” he said abruptly, “assemble an away team to beam over.”

Riker smiled. Picard knew he had seen the spark in his captain’s eyes, the

spark that said, if it weren’t for the rules, Picard would lead that team

himself.

“Right away, sir,” Riker said, gesturing at La Forge and Yar as he moved

briskly toward the forward turbolift.

Field-effect suits activated, Riker, La Forge, and Yar stood on the

transporter circles. Riker signaled to Ensign Carpelli at the controls.

On the bridge, Picard stood just behind Lieutenant Commander Data, still at

the forward station.

“Beaming over now, sir,” Riker’s voice informed him.

“Good luck, Number One,” Picard said with a faint smile. “Keep in touch.”

“We will, sir,” Riker said. His voice faded on the last word as the

transporters took hold.

For a moment there was only silence, and then Worf said: “Sensors indicate

away team has arrived on alien vessel, Captain, in the targeted corridor.”

A moment later, Riker’s voice returned, only slightly fainter than when he had

spoken from the transporter room, even though he was now ten thousand

kilometers distant. “Deserted, as advertised, Captain,” he said, and, a second

later: “Tricorders confirm, no life forms on board, no atmosphere and no

gravity. And no light except what we brought with us.”

There was a brief silence, and then: “We’re in a long corridor less than a

meter wide. It’s perfectly straight as far as I can see in either direction,

but it looks more like an equipment access passageway,

almost a crawl space, than a hallway. There are panels on the walls that look

like—”

He broke off. “Lieutenant La Forge, why don’t you take over the descriptive

duties? I assume you’re seeing a lot more than either Yar or myself.”

“Probably, sir,” La Forge admitted with a slight smile.

He was silent a moment then as he looked up and down the corridor, absorbing

the jumble of wavelengths his Visor fed directly to the visual centers of his

brain. To anyone accustomed to normal sight, it would have been sheer chaos,

but years, of experience had enabled him to effortlessly select the images he

wanted, to ignore the clutter of irrelevant wavelengths and their unwanted—for

now—information. The selection process had become virtually automatic over the

years, requiring no more concentration than would be required of a normally

sighted person who wanted to locate a red flag among a hundred green, and

then, a moment later, to pick out the only one that was circular, not square.

“The corridor goes approximately fifty meters in either direction,” Geordi

said. “There are a half dozen intersecting corridors at regular intervals, and

at least a dozen doors—panels, really—on each side. But there are no markings

of any kind, either on the panels or on the corridor walls. The doors are big

enough for beings approximately our size or possibly slightly larger to pass

through. The nearest panel—”

“Captain!” Worf broke in, his rumbling voice filled with urgency. “Bring them

back, now!”

“What—”

“The device containing the secondary mass of antimatter has become activated!

At the present rate, it will reach a critical stage in

less than a minute. The explosion will surely destroy the entire vessel!”

Chapter Two

PICARD TAPPED THE insignia on his uniform, activating the communicator.

“Transporter room,” he snapped. “Bring the away team back, now!”

Another tap. “Will, we’re bringing you back! Something is happening over

there!”

Turning abruptly, he strode up the ramp to Worf and the science stations. “The

secondary mass of antimatter, Lieutenant—do you have its precise coordinates?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The instant the away team is safely back, transmit those coordinates to the

transporter room.”

Tensely, he waited for confirmation of Riker’s return. The moment it came, he

spoke rapidly. “Transporter room! Lock onto the object at the coordinates

Lieutenant Worf is giving you. Transport it as far from the alien vessel as

possible, immediately! You have less than twenty seconds!”

“Aye-aye, sir,” Ensign Carpelli’s voice came back an instant alter. “Locking

on now, sir.”

“Fifteen seconds to detonation, Captain,” Worf rumbled. “The readings make the

object appear very much like a photon torpedo without a drive attached.”

“Energizing transporter,” Carpelli announced. “Object being transported—now.”

“Five seconds,” Worf said. “Object gone from derelict but not yet—” A pause as

new readings appeared. “Distance of object now five thousand kilometers beyond

derelict. Detonation process continuing.”

Abruptly, the viewer was filled with the harsh glare of the distant

annihilation, blotting out the image of the derelict.

“Detonation process complete,” Worf concluded, his back still toward the

flaring viewer. “Derelict appears to be intact.”

In the viewer, the glare faded and the derelict reappeared.

A moment later, the forward turbolift hissed open and the away team strode in,

led by a frowning Riker.

“What happened, Captain? Why were we brought back?”

“Something—your presence, I suspect—triggered an antimatter device,” Picard

said, gesturing at the screen, where the filmy aftermath of the distant

explosion still obscured most of the stellar background.

“A booby trap?” Riker wondered, eyebrows rising.

Data looked up curiously at Riker’s words but said nothing.

“Perhaps,” Picard said, “but if so, it was a rather drastic case of overkill.

If we hadn’t transported it out, the explosion would have vaporized the entire

vessel.”

Riker grimaced. “Thank you for the timely action, Captain.”

“Don’t mention it, Number One.”

“Are we going back?”

Picard turned back toward the aft stations. “Lieutenant Worf? Can you detect

any further such devices?”

“Aside from the central power source, sir, there are no indications of further

quantities of antimatter anywhere on the vessel. Nonnuclear

Nonnuclear explosives, however, remain a possibility.”

“Not likely,” Yar put in. “If such devices exist, they would surely have been

designed for use before the antimatter device. In fact, they could hardly have

been designed for use after.”

Picard nodded. “Agreed, Lieutenant. They wouldn’t even exist after an

explosion of that magnitude. But in a construct as old as this one, the

possibility of malfunction cannot be overlooked. The explosion itself may well

have been one.”

“I do not think so, Captain,” Worf said from the science stations. “The

readings indicated a deliberate sequence of events designed to end in the

antimatter explosion that we witnessed.”

“Then what was its purpose?”

“Obviously, sir,” Worf rumbled, “to destroy the vessel and any beings that had

boarded or approached it.”

“It makes sense, sir,” Yar agreed, “if we assume that this was a military

outpost of some sort. Self-destruct devices are quite common in the histories

of many worlds.”

Picard frowned. “A military outpost? With no means of propulsion, only a

cloaking system? And no weapons but a single suicide device?” He looked around

the bridge. “Data? Lieutenant Worf?”

“There are no readings to indicate the presence of weapons, sir,” Worf said,

and then added, “no weapons with which we are familiar, at least.”

“There are a number of unknown devices still operating, however, sir,” Data

volunteered. “They could conceivably be weapons. Though they are not fully

activated, readings indicate that they contain some form of subspace

circuitry.”

“What kind?”

“Unknown, sir. Without a closer examination, it is impossible to tell.”

“Are they still operating at the same level as before?”

“They are, sir,” Data said, quickly scanning his panel. “There has been no

change.”

Riker turned to face Picard. “We need a longer look, sir.”

Picard was silent a moment, his eyes on the image in the viewer. Then he

nodded. “Very well,” he said, “but be prepared to have your visit cut short at

any moment.”

The barren passageway of the alien vessel took shape around the four members

of the new away team—Riker, Data, Yar, and La Forge. As the transporter field

released them, Geordi felt a moment of disorientation, even dizziness, as the

lack of gravity made itself felt. An easy adjustment to his field-effect suit

generated a mild magnetic charge, just enough to give him the traction

necessary to “walk” rather than swim. The lack of an atmosphere had no

physical effect, but the silence that closed in so abruptly on them was

unsettling.

“Let’s not waste any time,” Riker said, his voice sounding oddly thin through

the communicators, “and keep your field-effect suits on full. For the time

being, we’ll stay together. First—”

“Number One,” Picard’s voice interrupted, “the self-destruct circuitry appears

to have been reactivated by your return. Even without the antimatter device,

it could conceivably still be dangerous.”

“Understood, sir. The energy it’s using registers on our tricorders. We’ll

check it out immediately. Lieutenant La Forge, lead the way.”

Studying the tricorder screen, Geordi turned slowly. “This way,” he said,

looking up after a moment, “but I doubt that I’ll need this,” he added,

indicating the tricorder. “The radiation leakage from the antimatter core will

probably be enough of a guide.”

He shivered slightly as he moved off down the narrow passageway

passageway and the others followed, single file. The radiation, hard and sharp

to his Visored senses, was much like the split-second burst that had pulsed

through the Enterprise when the distant self-destruct device had detonated, a

burst that no one but he—and the Enterprise sensors—had seen. It was at times

like this, he thought as he walked, that the Visor was both the most

helpful—and the most disquieting. He knew that the radiation from the

antimatter core was, for no longer than any of them would be exposed to it,

essentially harmless, but still its harsh, brittle light had an effect on him

that no other type of radiation did. Somewhere deep in his mind, it triggered

a visceral response, a fear that he had difficulty controlling. A natural

reaction to the inherent deadliness of the radiation? he wondered.

He shivered again, pushing the thought away. Turning a final corner, he found

himself facing, not a panel, but a solid bulkhead. To his Visored senses, it

glowed harshly, almost blindingly with radiation leakage. Transferring his

attention to the tricorder he still held, he saw that it pinpointed the energy

sources. One, the main core of antimatter, was a dozen meters beyond and below

the bulkhead, beneath the deck and two more layers of shielding. The other,

almost obscured by antimatter radiation, was immediately beyond the bulkhead.

There did not appear to be access of any kind, almost as if the entire central

section were a self-contained unit, meant to be replaced if anything

malfunctioned.

“Our sensors show you virtually on top of the device, Number One,” Picard’s

voice came over their communicators. “They also show the radiation level

increasing. Are you all right?”

“So far, sir,” Riker said, studying his own tricorder. “But I don’t think

we’re going to be able to check the device out, at least not directly. We’d

have to use our phasers to cut through a bulkhead,

and that doesn’t appear wise at the present. As you said, the radiation level

is increasing, and the level beyond the bulkhead is reaching the danger

point.”

Riker paused and manipulated his tricorder.

“But the core activity has increased only slightly. Why is the radiation—”

“I believe I understand, sir,” Data broke in as he looked up from his own

tricorder. “When the device that was about to detonate was transported out,

some surrounding material was transported as well, including part of the

thickness of the deck on which it stood. Because that deck was itself part of

the core shielding, the leakage has increased. It is also possible that what

remains of that layer of shielding, because of the molecular stress associated

with having a portion of itself sheered away by the transporter field, is

deteriorating.”

“I suggest you remove yourself from the area, Number One,” Picard said in a

tone indicating more than a simple suggestion, “now!”

“Yes, sir,” Riker responded hurriedly, “but there’s no cause yet to beam us

back to the Enterprise.”

“Perhaps not—if you move quickly enough on your own.”

“On our way, sir,” Riker acknowledged, gesturing at the others.

With a sense of relief, Geordi turned his back on the glinting radiation. He

knew it was not deadly, not yet, but its harshness grated on his nerves

nonetheless.

“If our time aboard is to be limited, Commander,” Data volunteered before they

had covered more than a half dozen meters, “perhaps it would be more efficient

to split up.”

“My thought as well, Mr. Data,” Riker responded after a split second’s

hesitation. “From what we’ve seen so far, we have roughly a

kilometer of passageways here. You and Lieutenant LaForge take everything to

the right of the passageway we’re in. Lieutenant Yar and I will take the

left.”

After five minutes, however, it began to look as if every part of every

passageway was as featureless as those they had seen during their first minute

after beaming over. Even Geordi’s Visor couldn’t distinguish one panel from

another, one wall from another, and the tricorders revealed identical but

indeterminate activity behind each door. Something—dozens of somethings,

perhaps hundreds—were operating at extremely low power levels, power levels so

low that, even at this distance, the tricorders could not provide a reliable

circuit analysis. There were intimations that subspace circuits were involved,

hinting that the machines were simply large subspace radios, but there were

other indications of transporter circuits, so closely intertwined with the

subspace circuits that they seemed to be a single machine rather than, as they

must be, two separate ones.

The only circuits the tricorders were able to analyze fully were those in the

panels themselves—circuits that would respond to any attempt to breach a panel

by sending a massive surge of power through the machinery behind it, probably

turning it into little more than a pile of slag.

Geordi was turning dispiritedly from the third seemingly identical panel when

the deck beneath their feet shivered slightly. An instant later, a faint

vibration could be felt. Abruptly, he turned toward the core. Despite the half

dozen or more solid walls that lay between him and the core, he saw the

antimatter radiation pulse higher, flowing through the walls as if they didn’t

exist.

“We’re bringing you back!” Picard’s stern voice erupted from the

communicators. “Stand by!”

Then there was Carpelli’s voice from transporter room. “Locking onto Yar and

Riker, now.”

Then silence, followed by Riker’s voice as he and Yar stepped off the

transporter platform in the Enterprise: “Where are La Forge and—”

“Getting them now, sir,” Carpelli’s voice said, and Geordi felt the tingle of

the transporter beam as it locked onto him.

But suddenly, the tingle was gone.

There was only Carpelli’s voice: “Sir, I’ve lost them! Something—”

And from the bridge, Worf’s bass rumble: “Deflector shields around the

derelict, sir, blocking the transporters!”

Chapter Three

“DEFLECTORS?” PICARD’S VOICE was a mixture of incredulity and anger.

“Gawelski!” he snapped at the lantern-jawed young ensign who had taken La

Forge’s place at the conn. “Take us in to direct visual range, now!”

Gawelski’s fingers responded almost as quickly as Geordi’s would have, and the

Enterprise leaped forward, covering the ten thousand kilometers under impulse

power in seconds.

“Data! La Forge!” Picard said sharply. “Can you hear me?”

“Quite well, sir,” Data’s imperturbable tones came back. “We do not appear to

be in any difficulty as yet. Something is causing the vessel to vibrate,

however, at a frequency of twelve-point-four-eight cycles per second. Our

tricorders also indicate that the antimatter core has increased its energy

output dramatically.”

“And its leakage,” Geordi added. “It’s not dangerous at this distance from the

center—yet—but I would appreciate anything you can do to get us out of here,

sir.”

“We’re doing all we can, Lieutenant,” Picard assured him.

“Analyzing the deflector field, sir,” Worf reported. “It appears to be

designed primarily to block transporter operation. Its resistance to phaser

fire would be minimal. I suggest a pinpoint phaser burst directed at the

generators.”

“Can you locate the generators, Lieutenant,” Picard asked.

“Now that they’ve been activated, yes, sir.” Worf tapped a control. “Feeding

coordinates to tactical station now, sir.”

Lieutenant Brindle, occupying the tactical station, looked questioningly at

Picard.

“Don’t fire quite yet, gentlemen,” he said. “Mr. Data? Lieutenant La Forge?

Our sensors indicate you are in no immediate danger from the radiation. Do you

concur?”

“At the current level,” Data responded, “I am in no danger at all. It will

begin to have adverse effects on Geordi, however, in approximately twenty-

seven hours.”

“Very well,” Picard said. “Lieutenant Brindle, lock phasers onto the

coordinates Lieutenant Worf supplied. Hold fire, but be ready.”

“Phasers locked on, sir, ready to fire.”

A moment later, Riker and Yar emerged onto the bridge. Brindle stepped aside

as Yar hurried to the tactical station and made a quick survey of the

controls.

“What I want, gentlemen,” Picard said, “is as much information as I can get.

Specifically, I want some kind of assurance that if we do fire at the vessel’s

shield generators, we will not be treated to another surprise, something even

nastier than those we have already been subjected to. And this includes you,

Mr. Data, Lieutenant La Forge. Take advantage of your situation to learn what

you can—but cautiously.”

“Of course, sir,” Data acknowledged. “We will endeavor to locate a control

center. Our tricorders, I believe—”

“Radiation level increasing again!” Geordi broke in. “I can see it.”

“Stand by to fire on shield generators, Lieutenant Yar,” Picard snapped.

“Standing by, sir.”

“How much of an increase in radiation level, Lieutenant Worf?”

“Approximately ten percent, sir,” Worf responded. “It appears to be a result

of increased energy output, not further deterioration in the radiation

shielding.”

“And where is this new energy going, Lieutenant? Do any weapons register yet?”

“No weapons, sir, but a new area has begun to function.” Worf paused, studying

the science station readouts. “It appears to be a hibernation unit, although

that particular area is so heavily shielded against sensor probes, the

readings cannot be considered reliable.”

On the apparently awakening derelict, Data’s luminous golden eyes widened as

he looked up from his tricorder screen. “Captain,” he said, “if I am not

mistaken, we are less than thirty meters from the newly functioning area

Lieutenant Worf has described. With your permission, we will investigate.”

“Granted, Mr. Data. I don’t need to tell you to be careful.”

“No, sir. Thank you. Geordi—” Data broke off, looking again at his tricorder

screen. “I believe an atmosphere is returning, sir.”

“He’s right, sir,” Worf put in instantly. “Thirty percent oxygen, the rest

inert gases. At the present rate, it could reach Earth normal in less than

five minutes.”

“Four-point-six-eight minutes,” Data, still monitoring his tricorder, supplied

helpfully.

“I’ll bet it’s all tied in with whatever’s in the hibernation unit,” Geordi

said suddenly. “The ship’s waking it up and getting the place ready for it. If

we get a move on, we can get there before it’s fully awake, which might be the

safest time.”

“Mr. Data, be—” Picard’s voice began, but abruptly was cut off.

“Captain?” Data glanced at Geordi, then tapped his communicator insignia.

“Captain?” he repeated, but there was still no response.

Geordi grabbed his elbow.

“Come on, Data,” he said, “let’s go. It looks like our communicators are being

blocked now, too, and that’s all the more reason to get there before that

thing, whatever it is, wakes up.”

Resisting the impulse to dive headlong down the gravityless corridor—what

would happen if gravity suddenly returned, as the atmosphere was doing?—Geordi

shuffled awkwardly in Data’s wake. The android, following the readings on his

tricorder, managed to look, if not graceful, at least efficient. Monitoring

his own tricorder, Geordi saw that the air pressure continued to increase. The

percentage of oxygen, however, began to drop, finally leveling off at twenty-

four percent.

“The radiation level’s still increasing,” Geordi said as they rounded another

corner in the passageway. “What’s my time limit now, Data?”

“Approximately twelve hours at this level until adverse reactions begin,

Geordi. But I’m sure the captain will have extracted us long before then.”

“I hope so, but the way things have been going lately—”

He broke off as they came to a stop before a massive door. It was twice the

width of the other panels, the first thing they had seen that would justify

the term “door,” but it was just as featureless as all the others. Geordi

shook his head. “Whoever these people are, they sure don’t believe in room

numbers.”

“Would the assignment of numbers be beneficial?” asked Data, already running

his tricorder scanner smoothly up and down the door.

Geordi laughed as he checked his own tricorder. “No, Data, I doubt that it

would. But in case you hadn’t noticed, the air pressure has leveled off,

approximately seventy percent of Earth normal.”

Without warning, the ceiling panels of the passageway pulsed

into life, taking on a pale, yellowish glow, dim to human eyes but not to

those of the android. A moment later, the door shuddered and slid sideways,

vanishing into the featureless metal wall. Beyond the opening were a dozen

waist-high platforms, topped with rectangular, vaguely coffinlike shapes.

“Looks like they were just waiting for us to knock, Data,” Geordi said

uneasily.

“Or for the air pressure to reach the necessary level,” Data said, alternating

his attention between the room itself and the readings from the tricorder.

“Doubtless those are the hibernation devices Lieutenant Worf’s instruments

detected. However, there are still no life-form readings.”

“Whatever’s in them died?”

“Perhaps, but even then, at this range there should be enough residual organic

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Thisbookisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor’simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.AnOriginalPublicationofPOCKETBOOKS?POCKETBOOKS,adivisionofSimon&SchusterInc.1230AvenueoftheA...

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