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From: "Colin J. Wynne" <
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Subject: GhostsFromThePast.1
Date: Tue, 12 Jan 1993 16:50:35 +0500 (EST)
This story is property of:
Colin J. Wynne
P.O. Box 4661
Lexington, VA 24450
(703) 464-4030
[email protected]
Permission is given to distribute this story freely as long as this header
is included with all files/hardcopies/electronic postings.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
This story was begun the summer after second season, before much technical
material for TNG was available, so most of the tech herein comes from
semi- or less-official quarters, along with the Paramount Second Season
Writers'/Directors' Guide, which seems to since have been forgotten.
Also, the third season episode, "Yesterday's Enterprise" kind of does
nasty things to the continuity that I've presented, but what the hey!
It's not like this is canon or anything! Enjoy, and feel free to email me
with any comments you have.
--CJW
================================================================================
"Ghosts from the Past," Prologue through Ch. 2:
-----------------------------------------------
PROLOGUE
"Starbase 67 to U.S.S. Enterprise."
Captain Valeriy Alexandrovich Romanov turned to his
Communications Officer. "On speakers, Lieutenant."
"Aye, sir."
"This is Captain Romanov; we are receiving."
"Captain, this is Admiral Grissom. I'm afraid I just
returned to the base and discovered that I had missed your
layover."
"I fear that fate has conspired against us once again,
Admiral."
"Either that, Valeriy, or you've been avoiding me since that
last furlough on Shore Leave Planet."
Romanov allowed a brief laugh at that. "Well, Admiral, I
believe it was your idea to conjure a-"
"Yes, well, that's all in the past now," the flag officer
said hurriedly, with a glance around the Enterprise's bridge.
Duty officers began to concentrate very hard on not eavesdropping
- which, of course, meant they were. "It seems, Valeriy, that we
shall have to wait until you return again after this mission
before I shall see you. Good Luck."
"Thank you, Admiral. Enterprise out."
Romanov flicked his hand in a gesture that the Communications
Officer interpreted, correctly, to mean 'close channels'. Grissom
was Valeriy's superior in rank, if not age. Grissom had been a
successful captain, but had completely lost the desire for front
line command. Three years before, his ship had come very near to
destruction while on a routine patrol, and only his skill had
saved most of the crew.
That act earned him a commendation, and, very soon
afterwards, chance for promotion. Karl Grissom had eagerly taken
that opportunity, deciding that a desk assignment was a much
better alternative for nerves that had been made unbelievably
tense after eight years of starship duty.
Valeriy had turned down the same promotion not three months
after. He liked command, and didn't want to give it up. That
left him as one of the most senior active captains in Starfleet.
That, in turn, led to the fact that Romanov pulled some very
choice assignments. For the past two-and-a-half years, as a
result, he had been commanding the Alaska class battlecruiser for
the first part of its ten-year Survey Mission.
Transwarp technology was coming to the fleet slowly, mostly
due to the initial bad reputation received after a certain Fleet
Engineer's tampering with the prototype model. So now, with the
galaxy mostly at peace and the Federation-Klingon war over, the
Exploration Fleet's Constitution II Class (or, more commonly,
Enterprise Class, after Romanov's ship's namesake and once
Starfleet flagship) heavy cruisers were being refitted for the new
technology, and E-Fleet had borrowed ships from the Planetary
Defense Fleet for its missions.
Romanov was an exploration captain in the truest sense, but
he had also been a captain during the War (and God let it be the
last, he added to himself) and liked the extra protection afforded
by a battlecruiser, the very same class of ships that had pulled
many a destroyer captain's fat out of the fire - out of Klingon
disruptor fire. He shuddered minutely as a few very personal
examples of such things raced through his mind. Valeriy reached
his arms out and gripped the arms of his command chair, not sure
whether he was paying his ship a compliment, or seeking
reassurance from - from what?
The captain was brought away from his thoughts and the
captivating starscape on the main viewer. He was surprised at how
fresh and invigorating he could still find that view, after
eighteen years in space.
"Captain," repeated the Science Officer, her voice not quite
belying an uneasiness that she felt.
"What is it?"
"Sensors indicate some sort of a disturbance ahead. It's an
area effect. Contact in thirty-eight seconds."
"Elaborate."
"Unable to, as of yet, sir. Thirty-two seconds."
"Helm, full stop."
"Aye, aye, sir. Full stop."
He turned his chair again towards the Science Officer. "Now
you have time. Details, mister."
"Yes, sir. Long range sensors show an unknown energy
reading, several million kilometres distant. It is apparently
some form of hyperspace energy, sir."
"Meaning?"
"It registers, for lack of a better description, as a
distortion in space-time, sir. Meaning, that I cannot determine
precisely what is happening inside the zone."
"Hmmm. How large is it, Lieutenant?"
She peered intently at one of the readouts. "Approximately
fifty billion cubic kilometres in volume, sir."
"Helm bring us to within one hundred thousand klicks. Warp
3."
"Aye, aye, sir. Warp 3."
For the next two minutes, Enterprise dashed through space,
ending up within detailed scanning range of the affected zone.
Valeriy focused his attention entirely on the main viewer, and he
saw what he thought was an unrealistic sheen to a small area ahead
of them. "Almost looks like a cloaking device effect."
"That big?" asked the navigator.
"I said 'looked like'. Now pipe down, and put it at maximum
magnification."
The globular shape suddenly filled half of the viewer.
Against the blackness of space, Romanov could see only a faint
rippling motion passing through the stars, like looking close to a
tarmac on a hot day.
"Sensors?"
"Inconclusive, sir. Same energy pattern, but attempts at
detailed scanning are reflected off of the zone, as though the
disturbance creates some form of barrier."
"Prepare a probe."
"Aye, sir." Pause. "Ready for launch, sir."
"Fire."
The main viewer switched, now. It became a noseview from the
probe. While his Science Officer made sense of the heiroglyphic
telemetry readings coming at her station, Valeriy took in the
visual. The shimmer soon eclipsed the entire view, and someone
announced penetration. The probe bucked slightly, but held its
course, moving for the center of the disturbance.
The captain thought he saw something briefly at the view's
periphery, as though the star pattern changed abruptly, but it was
too fleeting a look to be sure. Then the screen became static.
"Contact lost, sir."
"Reason?"
"The strange energy reading jumped off the scale, and then
contact was just completely severed."
"Replay the visual, slowly."
The replay picked up moments before the probe's demise.
There was nothing out of the ordinary, until suddenly the screen
went completely blank, and the stars jumped. A blinding white
flash immediately preceded the end.
"Sir, look!"
He did. Valeriy snapped his head up and saw it. All
throughout the zone, the stars were making instantaneous
kaleidoscopic changes. The entire disturbance collapsed back in
on itself, but before the captain could give the next order, the
Science Officer announced, "New disturbance forming, Captain, dead
aft and expanding." She looked up. It will overtake us!"
Valeriy addressed the Helm. "Emerge-" Romanov didn't finish
the sentence. The ship bucked hard, and Valeriy's teeth cleaved
into his tongue as his body bounced off the chairback. The ship
had automatically gone to Red Alert.
"Shields activated, weapons coming to power. Torpedoes
ready."
"Damage reports coming in. Casualties on decks twelve
through sixteen."
"How bad?"
"Four dead, a dozen wounded. Damage minimal."
"Stand down weapons; save the power for manoeuvring."
"Captain, sensor report."
"Yes, Lieutenant?"
"Strong energy disturbances in the local continuum are
causing distortions of space. This area is highly unstable."
The ship lurched again. "Sir!" shouted the navigator, almost
hysterically.
"Calm down, everybody," said Valeriy, his tone between
lulling and ordering. Then he saw what had so disturbed the
navigator.
Directly in front of the ship, there was a growing patch of
black. It spread, and as its size increased, so did its pull on
the ship. Then, through the blackness, he could see stars. Not
the same stars that the malign growth was blocking, though. They
were different stars.
"Full reverse! Get us out of here."
Enterprise slowed, then stopped, relative to the maw that was
trying to swallow her. Finally, she began to move backward,
gaining speed. But the opening was still getting bigger, and more
powerful. Enterprise was slowing again, and now it was all the
Helmsman could do to maintain her position.
"Full power, now, sir. Escape appears to be impossible." He
was visibly and audibly more calm than the officer to his right
who had been near a breakdown moments before.
"What is it?" he asked the Science Officer.
"The extreme effect of the energy, sir. A total breakdown of
the local continuum, a sort of 'rip' into...somewhere else."
"Where?"
"No recognisable place, sir. The star patterns are not on
record.
"Wait! The rip is shrinking again, sir!"
"Thank God," Valeriy breathed, for the ship was starting to
be dragged forward again.
An intercom tone beeped at Romanov's arm. He punched the
button. "Captain here."
"Engineering. Sir, engines are under terrible strain. The
ship's structure can't physically take much more of this."
"It's almost over, Chief. Out."
But even as the first rip was sealing itself off from what
Romanov knew as his reality, another opened close abeam. Valeriy
knew they were in trouble.
"Communications, send a distress signal to Starbase 67. Let
me hail."
"Channel open, sir."
"Starbase 67, this is U.S.S. Enterprise, Romanov commanding.
We are being buffetted by strange energies that-"
The Communications board exploded in a shower of sparks, and
the operator barely had time to roll free as the console drove
into the headrest of his seat. Simultaneously, the bridge blacked
out, and red emergency lighting came on. Fans whirred to clear
the acrid smoke.
The Chief Engineer called again. "Severe system overloads,
sir. Structural stress too. The drives are going to give out as
well."
"Can't help it, Chief. We're in trouble.
"Helm, situation.?"
"Just barely holding, sir. Oh, no! All power gone!"
Even as he finished the sentence, U.S.S. Enterprise shot
forward into the rip. There was a tremendous white flash, and,
although the ship wasn't slowed at all, every crewmember felt as
though they had run straight into a bulkhead. Dazed, Romanov
looked up through red-tinted eyes.
He realised he was starting to get tunnel vision, but was
helpless. Valeriy's chest was feeling tight, and, just before he
fell unconscious, he realised that all his senses had failed him.
He was in a complete void.
CHAPTER I
"Starbase 42 to U.S.S. Enterprise."
"On screen," ordered Captain Picard.
The majestic stellar flow on the main view screen was
suddenly replaced by the features of the commanding officer of the
Enterprise's destination starbase. He was a jovial looking man,
well along in years, but the wrinkles of age were clearly
distinguished from the deep laugh lines around his mouth and eyes.
"Starbase, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the U.S.S.
Enterprise. It is an honor to meet you, Commodore Blackwell. How
can I help you?"
"Ah, Captain Picard. My staff is in final preparations to
receive your passenger. They are hounding me as to the exact time
of your arrival, and it would seem that the burden for answering
that must fall to you."
Picard joined him in a laugh. "I understand perfectly,
Commodore. Our current ETA is four hours, twenty-three minutes.
Perhaps now they will stop nipping at your heels."
"Indeed, Captain. Thank you, and I look forward to your
arrival. Starbase 42 out."
The screen returned to its usual pattern. First Officer
William Riker inclined his head slightly towards Picard. "I have
no difficulty empathising with their anxiousness for the arrival
of 'our passenger'."
"Nor do I, Number One."
Just then, the main turbolift door slid open. The passenger
was standing in the doorway. "Permission to enter the bridge,
Captain?"
Picard rose to walk over to his guest. "Of course, Dr.
Crusher. You need hardly ask!"
The Enterprise's former Chief Medical Officer beamed a wide
smile. "Dr. Pulaski just chased me out of sickbay. I suppose that
after all the time I've been spending down there preparing my
presentations, I can't blame her."
"Nonsense. I can't think of a reason to shun your company
after you have been so long absent from us, Doctor."
"Well, if you feel that way, Captain, then why don't you join
me for a while in Ten-Forward?"
Taciturn Captain Picard opened his mouth to decline. "There
is just too much that-"
"Mr. Data," said Riker from his bridge chair. "Anything on
long range sensors?"
"No, sir."
"Any sign of trouble with the ship?"
"No, sir."
"Are we still on course?"
"Hint taken, Number One. You have the conn."
Riker smiled up at his Captain. "Thank you, sir."
Picard and Dr. Crusher had found a seat near one of the
lounge's huge viewing ports, a clearsteel section of wall
extending from floor to ceiling.
The stars rushed at them, appearing to pass only narrowly
away from them down the side of the ship.
"You know, Captain, that despite my years of duty, I still
have hardly had time to appreciate the beauty of this."
"Yes. Having myself been practically weaned in the
atmosphere of a starship's bridge, I have always been in a
position to take in the view."
The Doctor nodded agreement. "The sickbay does not afford
the best view aboard ship."
The two of them sat in relative silence for a few moments,
until the Doctor spoke again. Despite the fact that, as Chief of
Starfleet Medicine, she outranked him in both appointment and
grade, neither had ever thought of referring to the other as
other than 'Captain' or 'Doctor'. It just didn't seem quite
right.
"Captain, I confess that I had ulterior motives in asking you
here. I have a favor to ask."
Picard found himself slightly disappointed by this
revelation, but he wasn't sure why. "What may I do for you,
Doctor?"
She chose now to address him by his first name. "I haven't
seen any of the crew since I took my promotion. More
importantly, I've not seen my son since then, either.
"Jean-Luc, he won't ask you this, because he thinks that it's
contrary to his responsibilities as an officer, but could you
grant him a temporary reassignment as my aide for the duration of
my stay at the Starbase?"
Picard looked at her, stared intently at her soft blue eyes.
It was obvious that this was important to her. Of course,
Starfleet couldn't dismiss every officer from his duties whenever
his family was in the same sector, but there were several reasons
why he was not planning on refusing this request:
1) This was the Chief Of Starfleet Medical making the
request. 2) Acting-Ensign Crusher had not taken any leave since
his appointment, and was not going to be unduly necessary during
the ship's next assignment, and 3) How could he disappoint her
when she was looking at him that way?
"Doctor, I would be more than happy to offer Ensign Crusher a
choice of temporary reassignment."
"Thank you, Captain!" Her face practically glowed, and
Picard, too, smiled at her joy.
"Acting-Ensign Crusher, please report to the Captain's ready
room."
Wes looked up from the tech-manual he was studying for his
Advanced Warp Engineering Theory class, thankful for the reprieve.
He was at the turbolift almost before the display had faded from
the viewer.
Thirty seconds later, he was at the ready room door.
"Come."
"Acting-Ensign Crusher reporting as ordered, Captain."
"Mr. Crusher, I have here the latest report on your studies.
You are doing very well in classes, I must say."
"Thank you, sir."
"Well enough, in fact, that you may have earned yourself a
bit of a break.
"I am offering you a temporary posting to Starbase 42 as
personal aide to the Chief of Starfleet Medicine who, as you know,
will be lecturing and making several presentations there."
This took Wes slightly by surprise. He was, at the same
time, both happy for this chance, and angry that his mother had so
obviously interfered in this. It was the latter that prompted his
reply.
"Sir, I think it would be selfish of me to accept such a task
in light of my duties to this ship and to you."
Picard had expected as much. He didn't know whether to
commend the youth for his tenacity, or shoot him with a phaser on
stun for being so stubborn. "Your loyalty is appreciated and
noted. Yes, you are duty-bound to the Enterprise, but, as an
officer in training are you not, in a larger sense, responsible to
Starfleet?"
Wes could see that the Captain was trying to cajole him, and,
even worse, manipulate him through his own sense of duty, but he
wasn't sure where the Captain's line of argument was headed.
"Yes, sir..." he said, hesitantly.
"Then, as an officer of Starfleet, is not your responsibility
to familiarise yourself with as much of its workings as possible?
"I am not simply offering you a vacation, Mr. Crusher. There
would be no sense in that. However, to offer you the
responsibility of both being aide to a ranking Starfleet officer
and familiarising yourself with normal Starbase procedures, that
is worth your while."
Wes found himself unable to argue. "Sir, under those
conditions, I accept assignment to Starbase 42."
"Excellent. I expect you to report to either myself or Cmdr.
Riker before your departure. Dismissed."
Dr. Crusher had not unpacked a great deal of her belongings
for the five day journey from her last stopover. For several
months, she, with a small entourage of medical specialists, had
been lecturing at various bases and outposts concerning the latest
in Federation medical advances. She had taken on a great deal of
this work herself, because, as a corollary, the recent events of
alien parasites taking over human hosts was being handled top
secretly.
So there was very little for her to be doing in these last
few hours before her departure. She suspected that Jean-Luc had
somehow arranged for the Enterprise to be the most available ship
to transport her on this latest leg of her journey, an found that
she didn't mind that at all. If only the Captain - she still
thought of him as such, despite her promotion - weren't so damned
stoic! The exchange shortly before in Ten-Forward was about the
most loquacious she had gotten him since she had been aboard.
But, she could tell, in his own way, he was trying to be as
accomodating and, well, friendly, as possible. She was certainly
sorry to be leaving the Enterprise again, but perhaps she would be
able to visit again, someday soon.
The doorchime sounded. "Come in," she said pleasantly. The
door slid open to reveal Wesley standing in the corridor. "Hi,
Wes. Come on in!"
Wesley walked forward with an offhand, "Hi, Mom." He was
waiting to see if she would bring up the reassignment.
"Want to help me with my packing, Wes?"
"Looks like there's not much left to do," he replied, after a
cursory glance around the room.
"Well, there's some last minute things that need doing," she
said, securing a spare uniform in her carrying case as an example.
Isn't he going to say anything? I heard the Captain page him.
Several more minutes of smalltalk passed between them, before
the doctor queried, "Didn't I hear the Captain calling you
before?"
As if she didn't know! "Yes, Mom."
"What was it about?" she asked, innocently.
Wes had had enough. He had decided to go, but it still
bothered him about his mother's blatant interference. "I think
you know," he snapped.
Uh-oh. "Wes, I only made a suggestion to him. I knew you
weren't going to-"
"Why can't you let me handle my own life, my own career? I
do have my own responsibilities, as much as you have yours!"
Wesley realised that he was yelling and changed his tone
suddenly. "I'm sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to- It's just that,"
and as he finished, he looked up at his mother with much the same
look she had given Picard but an hour earlier, "as much as I've
missed you, I don't want you to try and..." He didn't have the
words to finish.
Now the doctor could finally get a word in edgewise. Her
tone was somewhat forceful. "Look, Wes. As much as we both have
our separate duties, I still have trouble with us being apart,
with my son living a life without me. And I don't see anything
wrong with trying to get you into my life when I can, for whatever
time I can.
"And besides, this isn't neglecting your duties! It's just
another facet of them. Oh God, sometimes your just as stubborn
as-"
"As Dad?" offered Wes, thoroughly cowed.
She took her son into her arms. "Yes, as your dad."
"I'm sorry."
"I suppose I am, too. Now do you want to help me pack?"
Wes smiled. "You bet!"
Enterprise's viewscreen was now filled with the looming shape
of the Starbase, a tremendous disc thousands of metres wide with
spherical hangars placed in a regular hexagon around it. Starbase
42 was an early model Starbase, placed when the Federation-Klingon
border was relatively unknown and definitely hostile. Its massive
shape was layered with defence grids and practically bristling
with phasers and photon torpedo batteries. Picard knew that at
least one of the modules was probably filled with fighter-
shuttles.
The functional grey thermal-coat exterior hearkened back to
days a century before, in the age of the original Enterprise. It
was such a far cry from the graceful elongated top shape in pearl
and soft blues that characterised more modern fixtures, such as
Terra's very own orbiting Spacedock.
Mr. Crusher was preparing for his departure, so it was
another helmsman that Picard now addressed. "Hold position for
final docking instructions. Mr. Worf, hail the Starbase."
"Starbase 42 welcomes Enterprise. We now have control of
your ship for docking. Enjoy the ride."
It was the standard phrase, showing both courtesy and the
fact that Starbase was now fully responsible for the ship, like
handing someone an axe and having them say 'thank you'. The ship
hovered in space for half of a rotation, then, from the third
module, a tractor beam grabbed the Galaxy class starship, and
gracefully tugged it along.
Orbits matched, the leading edge of the dock swung open. The
tractor beam increased its pull on the ship, easing it in front of
the doors, and, a minute later, the hatch was sealing and an
umbilical was connecting with Enterprise's main dorsal.
"Docking complete."
"Not a bad docking for an old station," mused Riker.
"Indeed, Number One. Take the conn. I'm going to escort our
passengers aboard the station."
"Of course, Captain."
Picard detected a hint of something in Riker's voice. It
came up whenever the captain had dealings with the medical
delegation and...Dr. Crusher. As the turbolift doors closed,
Picard pondered its meaning.
Wesley was in the middle of telling his mother all that had
happened since she had left the ship, when the Captain announced
himself at the door.
"Enter," said Dr. Crusher.
"Hello, Doctor. Mr. Crusher, all prepared for your new
assignment?"
"Yes, sir."
"Very good. Well, Doctor, we've arrived and it appears that
the base medical staff is eagerly awaiting your arrival."
"We'd best not keep them waiting then. I'm going over first
to break the diplomatic ice, and, after I've found out where we
can store our equipment, I'll call for the rest of my team. Is
that all right, Captain?"
"Yes, Doctor. May I offer to join you?"
"I'd be delighted, Captain. Come on, Wes."
"Okay, Mom," he said, jumping to his feet. All the thrills
of potential new experiences were running through his mind now.
The trio walked the corridors of the Enterprise, headed for
the main gangway, Picard with a Crusher on either side.
"So, Doctor, are you looking forward to your visit on the
Klingon border?"
"Yes. This stop should prove most interesting. My research
staff has made some wonderful advances in treating Klingons, and
I'm very happy to introduce them someplace where they may well be
used."
"That's outstanding news for both the Federation and the
Klingons, isn't it?"
"Yes," she agreed. She had thought they would have more
interesting things to talk about before she left, but all too
soon, they were at the ship's outer hull, ready to leave.
The gangway slowly receded into the ship's hull, revealing a
long telescoping corridor to the inside of the station proper.
Using an old and well-practiced trick, the end of the corridor
nearer the base had a lower pressure, so that the three
practically floated across the distance.
At the other end, they were met by Commodore Blackwell and
several of his officers, dressed in medical blue.
"Commodore Blackwell." Picard extended his hand.
"Ah, Captain Picard I presume?"
"Yes, sir. A pleasure. May I present to you Dr. Beverly
Crusher, and her personal assistant, Ensign Wesley Crusher."
"Indeed? Is there-"
"Yes, sir, he's my son." She too extended her hand, as did
Wesley.
Greetings thoroughly exchanged, the Commodore offered, "We
had best show you your accommodations, Doctor. Then we can go
about getting the rest of your staff aboard.
"Of course, sir." She turned her attention to the Captain.
"Well, Jean-Luc, I guess this is good-bye for now. I'll see you
in a week when Enterprise comes to pick me up."
"Yes, Doctor. I'll look forward to it."
The Crushers' departed down the corridor with the Commodore's
officers. "Oh, Captain."
"Yes, sir?"
He handed Picard a sealed envelope that one of the departing
officers had handed him.
"I have your new orders for you, courtesy of Starfleet."
Picard was curious about the actual orders packet. Normally,
mission orders were sent by subspace directly to the ship's
computer.
"Thank you, sir."
"Well, good luck Captain Picard. I must be seeing to my
guests."
"Of, course, sir. Good-bye."
Picard pivoted and returned to his ship.
CHAPTER II
"Captain's Log, Stardate 42914.3: The Enterprise has
received rather an interesting assignment, and it is now apparent
why we were asked to bring Dr. Crusher to Starbase 42 near the
Klingon border.
"In an effort to integrate the operation of Starfleet and
Klingon ships, the Enterprise is to be the referee in a series of
joint training exercises over the course of the next week.
"The first test simulates a standard exploratory patrol in
which the two patrols, one commanded by a Klingon, the other by a
Starfleet officer, each commanding a mixed group of starships,
must analyse a new star system. All results will be coordinated
and simulated by the Enterprise."
"Mr. Worf, have the two groups reported in yet?"
"Aye, sir. They are both prepared to begin the exercise."
"Very good. Patch me through to the Federation commander."
"Channel open, sir."
"This is Starfleet Command to U.S.S. Anubis. You are to
divert from your assigned patrol immediately to explore a recently
charted star system. Coordinates to follow.
"Mr. Worf, transmit coordinates and close channels. You know
your part."
"Aye, sir."
Behind the captain and his first officer, Lt. Worf was
repeating the exact same speech in Klingonese to the Klingon
expedition commander, pretending to be Admiralty, Klingon Grand
Fleet.
Riker leaned to his captain. "I do believe our Mr. Worf has
a flair for the dramatic."
Picard smiled. "It would appear so, Commander."
Mr. Worf announced, "Both forces approaching this system,
Captain. The Klingon force is proceeding slightly faster."
"Being a little hasty, wouldn't you think, Captain?"
Before Picard's open mouth could speak his response, Worf
countered, "Or, perhaps a Klingon takes a specific mission order
from his superiors more seriously, sir."
The Captain heaved an exaggerated sigh. "Mr. Worf, are you
allowing prejudices to creep into your duty or just simply rooting
for one of the teams in a highly undisciplined style?"
The Klingon security officer brought himself to his full,
imposing height. "Neither, sir. Simply offering rationale from a
Klingon perspective."
Riker grinned. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be most
helpful in this operation."
Captain Picard spoke for the benefit of the crew. "Each
group should scan the system and find that the second planet shows
traces of technological developments, but no life."
"Both squadrons have now arrived. They are conducting
preliminary scans."
Riker contemplated his knowledge of Klingons, having served
under one as part of an exchange programme, versus what he himself
would do. "Captain, I bet that the Klingon group will go straight
for the planet while the Federation commander orders a more
detailed scan of the system."
"Incorrect, sir," said Worf from almost directly overhead.
"Federation commander is proceeding, Klingon commander using
tactical scanners."
Riker was taken aback.
"Lieutenant," asked Picard, "has either group reported yet?"
"The Human commander announced the find and his intention to
explore it more closely. The Klingon is looking for potential
tactical dangers."
Riker still didn't like his completely incorrect appraisal of
the situation. "What next, Captain?" he asked by way of changing
the subject.
"There are automated defenses in orbit, on the ground, and on
the moon. They are quite powerful, but can be overcome."
The Enterprise was below the plane of the star system,
looking up at planet two and the approaching ships. Although the
Federation commanded group arrived first, they held back at quite
a distance. They were launching a probe.
The Klingon's group, however, put a scout ship in the point
and decelerated directly into a standard orbit. That was a
mistake.
"Sir, Klingon Commander's lead ship has been struck by a
volley of fire from the moon. And again."
Riker walked to the upper level of the bridge and to the
Sciences Console recessed into the aft wall. "They're not
retreating. Ah! He's ordered a globe formation, with the
flagship in the middle. Performing a life scan on the moon.
Results negative. They're firing. Moon base destroyed."
Now Worf was reporting on the other group. "Moon defences
have destroyed the probe. The remaining ships are analysing the
defences."
"The satellites have fired on the same ship. Simulated heavy
damage. They are responding. Other ships are conducting a
surface scan."
"It would seem that Commander Krond has gotten into a bit
of trouble," observed the Captain.
"Not entirely, Captain," said Worf.
Riker looked up. "Krond's force has downed the last
satellite and is working on the ground forces right now. But his
scout appears to be crippled."
Worf spoke. "Captain D'Arby's ships have sent a computer
override signal. The defences have been deactivated."
"Hardly an even exchange," commented the Captain. "A probe
for a scout ship."
Presently, both forces were moving into orbit for a planetary
survey.
The Klingon scout ship Sentinel lay in simulated chaos. Most
of the bridge stations had been shut down by the computer to
simulate damage. Although the secondary Tactical Sciences Monitor
was still nominally functional, its operator, Technician First
Class Kevar wore a bright red battle casualty symbol on his
breastplate.
Through the computer induced snow and static on his screen,
there was visible a small target on the long range set, somewhere
in the next solar system. He was sure it hadn't been there
previously. It puzzled him.
Momentarily forgetting himself, he turned to his commanding
officer. "Sir, contact bearing three-"
"Kevar, have you forgotten that you are dead, or do you
simply not know how to behave properly in such a situation?" His
tone was not forgiving.
"Sir, I-"
"Shut up, Kevar! Guard, remove the Science Officer to the
brig until the end of this simulation, so that his resurrection
will not interfere in this training.
"And, Lieutenant, do you not even know how to tell an anomaly
on a damaged unit from an actual sighting?"
The Commander suddenly longed for the days when all Klingons
carried agonisers to facilitate immediate discipline.
"Ensign!" The Second Class Tech jumped. "Man tactical.
Now!"
The landing parties quickly located the place of interest on
the planet: an ancient, temple-like building containing a
computer system that held vast amounts of knowledge. The
remainder of the task for the two commanders was to somehow secure
the knowledge therein for return to their respective home
territories.
"Easier said than done, Commander Riker. The scenario for
this training mission states that any attempt to retrieve all of
the data at once could be...disastrous."
"How so, Captain."
"I think, Number One, that we will probably see for
ourselves."
"Reports coming in now, sir," announced Lt. Worf.
"Starfleet Command, this is Captain D'Arby of the Anubis."
Picard assumed his role again. "We are receiving, Captain.
Report."
"We have discovered an extensive data bank on the second
planet of the system. We are about to beam the information aboard
my flagship's computers. Oh my God! <static>"
"I see what you mean, Captain."
Worf spoke again. "Report from Krond, sir." For several
minutes, Worf and Krond's voice exchanged guttural syllables of
Klingonese.
"Captain, Commander Krond reports information stored in the
several Federation ships under his command. They are ready for
departure."
"Tell him the simulation is over and standby for analysis.
"How is Captain D'Arby faring?"
"Signal from U.S.S. Mitchell, under D'Arby's command."
"Starfleet, Anubis has been crippled. Total computer systems
failure occurred when the data was transmitted. We have broken
the information down and recorded separately among the remaining
ships. Standing by to evacuate the flagship. Request a fleet tug
to return Anubis to nearest Starbase."
"Mr. Worf, respond and inform them that the simulation is
over. Have the two commanders come aboard for analysis."
"Aye, sir."
Several hours later, Picard was able to at last retreat to
his quarters. He had spent the last two hundred and forty minutes
going over, in minute detail, the entire simulation with Captain
D'Arby and Commander Krond.
The amusing part was that the end result was virtually a tie.
Only on Starfleet's numerical grading system did any actual
difference show up. Both groups had lost a ship, and both had
retrieved the data as necessary. Only because the Anubis was a
flag ship and a cruiser, as opposed to the small scout ship
Sentinel, was Krond declared the 'winner'.
What Picard found most interesting was his First Officer's
complete misreading of the two groups' tactics. It was
simultaneously humourous and disconcerting.
As Picard laid himself down for a night's sleep, he decided
that it didn't matter, and looked forward to administering the
next exam to the two commanders.
The collection of ships had moved to a nearby star system for
the second simulation. It was an odd system, possessed of only
one blue giant sun - no planets, asteroids, or anything. It was
an unnaturally sterile place.
This day's game would be a true test to the two officers,
thought Picard. They were to play a game of hide and seek, each
group with its own mission kept secret from the other group.
Whoever made contact and achieved their goal first was the winner.
Krond's group was supposed to gather scientific information on the
system and the other ships, while D'Arby was told that he was to
establish diplomatic contact with a hostile force.
To begin the game, Krond's group broke for the other side of
the system's star.
Lieutenant Technician Kevar was on duty again, having been
released from death at the end of the previous day and the brig at
the beginning of the present one. The computer was allowing his
equipment to function perfectly. Perfect, by Klingon standards,
meant that everything that hadn't yet fallen into disrepair
appeared to be working.
The Sentinel was once again taking the point for Krond's
squadron, the proverbial bloodhound leading the pack. There were
other ships out here, and it was Kevar's job to find them, so that
his commander might revel in glorious victory over the Federation
Captain.
As the scout cleared the blinding effects of the primary's
corona, a shape materialised on his viewer. His knobby fingers
focused the delicate equipment, and he made very sure before
reporting his find.
"Commander."
"Yes, Lt. Corpse?" The rest of the bridge crew thought this
uproariously funny, and barks of laughter reverberated off the
steel decks.
"Contact, bearing one-three-nine Mark two-two."
"What do you make of it?"
"I'm not sure, sir. It appears to be the same as..." The
commander was about to question his hesitation when Kevar
finished. "As the contact I reported yesterday before being
detained."
"Is that so?"
"Comm, inform Commander Krond."
Worf looked up from his console. "Message from Commander
Krond, sir. He reports a possible ship contact, at one-three-nine
Mark two-two. Directly away from Captain D'Arby's ships, sir."
Picard raised an eyebrow. "Really? Mr. Worf, focus our
sensors on the contact."
"Scanning. Metal, manmade materials, minimal energy
readings. Appears to be a derelict of some sort, sir."
"Tell Commander Krond to halt his forces. Send out a message
to delay the tests."
Riker turned to his Captain. "Not part of the simulation,
sir?"
"Definitely not. Mr. Byng." He addressed the oriental
manning the Helm in Wesley's absence. "Close in on the contact,
Warp 2."
"Aye, sir. Warp 2."
The Enterprise shot forward and across the solar system,
arcing around the sun in a parabolic turn. As she closed in on
the contact, the ship slowed, allowing the Enterprise's scanners
to assimilate more detail.
The main viewer on the bridge was centred on the derelict and
Picard ordered it to maximum magnification. The bridge crew
watched, startled, as the picture began to clarify.
They saw soon enough that it was a ship, some distinctly
manmade object, about five-hundred metres long. This was only
slightly less than Enterprise's own six-hundred and ten. In fact,
it took on a shape very much like Picard's own vessel.
"It's Federation!" exclaimed Riker, seeing the distinct
combination of saucer and twin nacelles.
"Lt. Worf, identify that vessel."
"Starfleet vessel, Alaska class battlecruiser, circa the era
of the Federation-Klingon War." Picard took note of the
objectivity with which the Lieutenant spoke of that event. "Hull
registry reads-"
"Well, what is it, Lieutenant?"
"Sir. Registry is NCC 1701-C, U.S.S. Enterprise."
