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Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

Page 31

by Peter David


  have lived their lives as the fates have determined.

  People have been born and died for forty years since the

  death of Deanna. Things have happened as they were

  meant to happen. You cannot now suddenly flip open

  the books of history, erase what's been

  written, and reinscribe it with a story more to your

  liking."

  "I could go before Starfleet--"

  "That's certainly your prerogative," agreed

  Data. "But I do not foresee any instance where

  Starfleet will be willing to risk sacrificing all

  reality for the sake of one woman."

  Riker was hushed. Sensing that perhaps he was getting

  through to him, Data pressed on. "Have you considered

  something, Admiral? You say that all you wish to do

  is save Deanna. But have you considered the

  possibility that--even if you accomplish your

  task--y might, in the midst of doing it, make

  matters worse? With knowledge of forty years' worth of

  events, you could easily say something, do something, that

  has either an immediate impact or an influence

  further down the time stream. If knowledge is power, then

  knowledge of the future is the ultimate power. No one,

  Admiral ... not you, nor I ... no one has

  the wisdom to wield that power. The nontampering

  rule of time travel is in place for just as

  solid a reason as the Prime Directive.

  And as in the case of the Prime Directive, it

  may be something that's difficult for us to live with

  ... but it is, nonetheless, necessary."

  Riker stood with his back to Data. And Data

  could see, slowly but surely, a lot of the fire

  and spark slowly draining from him. His shoulders

  slumped, his posture drooped. His hands, which had

  been tightly curled around the edges of the table,

  slackened.

  When he spoke, it was with the air of defeat that

  he had carried with him all these years. "She is

  just one woman, isn't she."

  "Yes, sir. And you, sir ... are a

  conscientious and ethical man. You would not put at

  risk an entire reality ... for the sake of one

  woman."

  "All right, Data," Riker said tiredly.

  "You've convinced me. Maybe it's ... maybe

  it's time I just realized that I have to let go."

  "I think, sir, it would be for the best."

  Riker turned to face him, and there was the same

  despondency that Data had seen when he picked

  up Riker on Betazed.

  "Take me home, Data," he said

  quietly. "And we'll let Deanna rest in

  peace."

  The second return trip to Starbase 86 was

  uneventful. There were no more sudden outbursts from

  Admiral Riker, no more abrupt flurries of

  activity. He stayed in his cabin the entire time.

  Several times Data went to him, tried to engage

  him in casual conversation about routine matters of

  policy, or sought his advice on various

  topics that had come up in the normal course of

  activity.

  In each instance, Riker's replies were terse

  and to the point. He did not try to drive away

  companionship, but he did not welcome it. He

  simply ... existed. Data noted that Riker

  didn't seem interested in meeting the world on any

  sort of terms.

  For a time, Data was concerned that Riker was making

  some sort of plan to head for the Guardian of Forever

  the moment he was dropped off at 86. Although

  Data hated resorting to subterfuge, he

  nevertheless sent his ship's counselor to try to draw

  out Riker on what was bothering him. The admiral

  was not particularly responsive, but that didn't

  matter. He didn't know that the counselor was a

  full Betazoid who, upon being told that urgent

  matters were at stake, forced himself to probe more

  deeply--albeit very gently--than he would

  normally have.

  He reported back to Data and the account was

  precisely what Data had hoped to hear. "He

  is rather despondent, Commodore," said the

  counselor. "But if I had to select any

  single ^w that would most describe him at this

  moment, I would have to say ... resigned."

  "Resigned to what?"

  "Resigned to whatever years he has

  left. Resigned to his life. For all intents

  and purposes ... he's given up."

  To a large measure, this was good news. And

  yet, Data could not help but feel a great sense

  of loss upon hearing this. As if he had somehow

  passed a sentence of living death upon his friend.

  When he informed Riker that they had arrived at

  Starbase 86, the information received the merest nod of

  acknowledgment from him. He packed his bags

  quietly, and Data accompanied him to the

  transporter room.

  "If it's all the same to you, Admiral,"

  Data said, "I'd like to beam down with you."

  Riker shrugged. "The space station is open

  to everyone. Why should the commander of the Enterprise be

  excluded?" It was the longest single sentence he

  had uttered in twenty-four hours.

  Lieutenant Dexter was waiting for them at the

  transporter platform of the starbase and gave that

  customary, slightly puckered smile that he

  specialized in. "It's good to have you back,

  Admiral. I trust everything went smoothly on

  Betazed?"

  "Fine." Riker nodded his head in Data's

  direction. "You know Commodore Data?"

  "Actually I don't believe we've had the

  pleasure," said Dexter, shaking Data's hand.

  Riker stepped around them and headed for his office.

  Dexter started to follow at his heels, but Data

  held him slightly back and spoke in a low

  undertone. "The admiral went through something of an

  ordeal on Betazed. I would be most

  appreciative if you could keep a close eye

  on him for the next few days."

  "What?" said Dexter nervously, casting a

  surreptitious glance at Riker. "He's not

  sick or anything, is he?"

  "I don't believe so. But he is quite

  dispirited. I would strongly suggest that you make every

  endeavor to proceed with business as usual. And if

  he should do anything out of the ordinary ... please

  contact me via subspace radio."

  "All right. Consider it done, Commodore."

  "Thank you." In a slightly raised voice,

  Data now called out, "Admiral--I must

  return to the Enterprise. If I can be of

  further use ..."

  Riker stopped and turned, looking at Data

  sadly. "No, Commodore. I believe you've

  done more than enough." And he entered his

  office, the doors hissing shut behind him.

  Dexter shivered slightly. "Now that is someone

  who is in a very bad mood."

  "Yes," confirmed Data. "Unfortunately,

  the mood has persisted for forty years."

  "And the Chance will be arriving by this time tomorrow," said

  Dexter. "We're prepared for restocking. Oh

  ... and Starfleet sent another remind
er about

  processing paperwork on time."

  Riker regarded Dexter with a steady gaze.

  "Tell Starfleet," he said thoughtfully, "that

  we'll speed up the paperwork as soon as they send

  us paper."

  Dexter blinked owlishly. "Sir ... no one

  really uses paper anymore, to any great

  degree. It's ... it's just a phrase, sir.

  Relatively speaking."

  "Fine. Then tell Starfleet that we'll be

  processing our figurative paperwork on time

  ... relatively speaking. Time, after all, is

  relative."

  "Yes, sir," said Dexter tiredly.

  "Is there anything else?"

  "No, sir," said Dexter, tapping his computer

  padd.

  "I didn't think so," said Riker slowly.

  "There wouldn't be, would there. Same old thing.

  Day in, day out. And time passes."

  "Yes, sir." Now Dexter was starting to sound

  nervous. "Admiral, are you all right?"

  "I'm fine." Riker sighed loudly. "Just

  fine."

  Dexter nodded and then backed out of the office,

  taking as much time as he could to watch Riker.

  Riker, for his part, had his chin propped up on his

  hand, but spared a moment to toss off a cheery wave

  at Dexter before the door closed.

  And then he was alone.

  He swiveled in his chair and looked out at the

  stars. The Enterprise had departed orbit around

  the space station, off to whatever their new great

  adventure was. For there was still adventure out there,

  that much was certain. Still a big galaxy with a lot

  going on. Just not a lot that interested him.

  He heard it behind him.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The grandfather clock. His pride and joy.

  His symbol of the passing hours.

  He watched the pendulum slowly,

  ponderously, swing back and forth. Back and forth.

  Like a large, heavy scythe. Slicing through the

  air, cutting through time, minute by minute, cleaving

  it neatly. Each second unaffected by the

  previous second, and uncaring of the next. Every

  second was the same to the pendulum.

  Nothing mattered.

  It just marked time.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  The sound grew louder in his head, louder throughout

  his entire being. The sound that reminded him that this was

  it, that time was unyielding and pointless and there was

  nothing to be done about it, it was just there, that's all.

  The cogs of the clock irrevocably moved

  against each other, each tooth engaging smoothly and

  flawlessly, unheeding of anything except its

  relentless clockworks.

  And he saw her.

  In his mind's eye, he saw Deanna, lying

  there on one of the cogs. The teeth of the cogs

  calmly integrated, and without uttering a whimper

  she was mashed in between. The cogs moved on and spit

  her out, her remains littering the clockworks, and

  nothing mattered because she was just another piece of

  garbage to be crunched and tossed aside.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  Tick.

  With a barely controlled scream of rage,

  Riker grabbed the grandfather clock from behind and, with

  all his strength, shoved. The heavy clock

  toppled forward and crashed to the ground like a giant

  redwood, the crash virtually exploding throughout the

  space station. Glass shattered, wood cracked

  and splintered, and there was the eminently satisfying

  sound of clockworks screeching to a halt, cogs and

  wheels skittering out and across the floor and rolling

  in small circles before clattering to a halt.

  Dexter ran in, alarmed at the racket, and

  saw Riker standing over the mess, his

  fists clenched and a crooked smile on his face.

  Riker looked up at him and all he said was,

  "Whoops."

  When the surveying ship Chance arrived barely

  twelve hours later, Riker was ready.

  CHAPTER 36

  The Enterprise 1701-F was halfway

  to its next port of call when a subspace

  communication came in that immediately got Commodore

  Data's full attention.

  "This is Enterprise," he said when the

  computer's automatic hailing program informed

  him of the incoming message and the point of origin.

  "Go ahead."

  "Commodore Data?"

  It was precisely the voice Data would have

  preferred not to have heard. "Yes, Lieutenant

  Dexter. Computer, on vid."

  A three-dimensional image appeared

  directly in front of Data, projected there

  by a free-floating chip. It was Dexter, and he

  wiped his brow with considerable discomfort.

  "Commodore, we have a problem."

  "Specify."

  "It's the admiral."

  Blair and Data exchanged glances. "Is

  he ill?" asked Data.

  "No. He's gone."

  "Do you have any idea as to where?"

  "Not in the slightest," said Dexter, sounding

  uncharacteristically put out. "He beamed up to the

  Chance, supposedly for some sort of routine

  business. The next thing I knew, the Chance had

  blown out of here at warp three ... with the

  admiral."

  "Have you endeavored to contact them via

  subspace?"

  "Oh, I've endeavored, all right. They

  don't answer. They're maintaining total

  radio silence."

  "Yes," said Data, sounding extremely

  practical. "They would. The admiral would make

  certain of that."

  "But why?" demanded Dexter. "Why? What in

  hell is he doing? Commodore, do you have any

  idea?"

  "I have an excellent idea, Lieutenant.

  However, it is only an idea ... one

  that I would prefer not to bandy about unless I have

  confirmation. Thank you for alerting me to the situation.

  I will attend to it. Enterprise out."

  Dexter's image blinked out of existence before

  he could get out another ^w.

  Data swiveled in his chair to face Blair,

  who said worriedly, "You know where he's going,

  don't you, Commodore. It's connected with what

  happened on Betazed, isn't it?"

  Data felt the worried eyes of all his

  bridge crew upon him. He wished that somehow he

  had been able to impress on the admiral that all

  these people, these people right here, had something at stake in the

  way that things were. But Data had not been able to do

  so, and now the best he could do was to perform damage

  control.

  And he would have to perform it no matter what the

  cost.

  "The top speed of the Chance is warp six,"

  Data said, accessing his thorough memory of all

  ships in the registry. "There is little doubt that they

  are heading for the Forever World. Helm, set course

  for the Forever World, warp eight."

  "Course plotted and laid in, sir."

  "Engage," said Data calmly.

  The Enterprise leaped into warp space, a
nd

  Data rose from the command chair. "Mr. Blair,

  come with me to the briefing room, please. We need

  to discuss worst-case strategy."

  Blair followed his commanding officer into the ready

  room, and Lamont at conn looked over

  to Tucker at Ops. "You know," she said, "I

  don't know which is preferable. Not knowing what's

  going on ... or finding out."

  "Approaching the Forever World, Commodore."

  Data had sat rigid and unmoving, staring

  intently at the screen, all of his considerable

  brainpower focused on the problem that awaited them.

  In an even more sedate tone than he usually

  used, he said, "Sensors. Is there another ship

  in orbit around the planet?"

  "Negative," said Margolin at tactical,

  but then he paused and said, "No ... wait.

  There's--"

  The Enterprise was jolted slightly as they

  came within range of the time distortion ripples that were

  standard for the vicinity of the Forever World.

  his--a ship in standard orbit," continued

  Margolin. "Markings and registry

  indicate that it's the Chance. Sorry about the

  confusion, sir. The time distortion ripples are

  especially--"

  Once again the ship was knocked around, this time to a

  sufficient degree that automatic restraints

  snapped into place on the chairs of the bridge,

  holding the personnel firmly in their seats.

  his--fierce," Margolin persevered, as if the

  severe buffeting were only a minor inconvenience

  designed to slow down the dissemination of information.

  "It's interfering with our sensors."

  "Compensate, Mr. Margolin. Give me a

  hailing frequency to the Chance."

  "You're on, Commodore."

  "Chance, this is the USS Enterprise,

  please acknowledge."

  There was no response from the smaller ship.

  There was, however, continued pounding from the waves of

  time distortion, and Data could practically sense

  time slipping away from him--in more than one sense

  of the ^w.

  A second hail brought continued radio

  silence, and now Data gave an order that even

  he didn't quite believe. "Mr. Margolin," he

  said quietly, "arm phasers."

  "Sir?" Margolin was thunderstruck.

  They were all looking at Data with shock on

  their faces. Nevertheless, the commodore knew he

  had no choice. "Carry out my order, Mr.

  Margolin," he said quietly.

  "Yes, sir," said Margolin hollowly.

 

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