by Peter David p.733-734 "Mind your manners," said Zolon Darg. "This will take as long as it has to take." "What is 'this'?" she asked. "Why, to make you mine, my dear," Darg told her. "I saw you dance. I was one of your many customers, your many admirers. But unlike others, I chose not to admire from afar. I wish to draw close, to be...personal." "Go to hell," Vandelia said. "Yes, yes...I'm sure you would like that," he said in a condescending tone that made it sound as if he were addressing a child. "That will not be happening anytime soon, I'm sorry to say... for your sake." "So that is all this is about?" Vandelia demanded to know. "You kidnapped me because you find me attractive? How pitiful. How mundane." "You misunderstand me." He smiled, and although he did not have sharpened teeth as Vandelia did, his smile looked no less threatening than hers. He looked perfectly capable of biting a piece out of her if it suited his purposes. "It is not simple attraction. You are a challenge. There are few enough true challenges in this galaxy, and I take mine where I can find them. When I saw you dance, I knew instinctively that you'd be impossible to tame. But I thrive on impossibilities." "Then think about some impossible things you can do with your own anatomy." Then she spat at him." p.735 "I will have you know that I am one of the premier weapons suppliers in the territory." "Are you now." She didn't sound impressed. "So what. You help people kill each other. As if that makes you someone of consequence." "You do me a disservice, woman. You oversimplify. I have supplied freedom fighters who battle for their crippled rights. I have supplied governments who fight to protect themselves from evil and unappreciative mobs of rebellious ingrates. I am always, always on the side of those who are in the right." "And what makes one right and wrong?" "Money, my dear girl," he smiled. She spat in defiance once more. But this wad didn't even manage to cover the difference before it splattered impotently to the floor. Darg didn't give it a glance. "You amoral pig," she growled. "The moral high ground, my dear Vandelia, belongs to whomever can afford to pay the toll." p.735-736 "Let me tell you what's going to happen. We're going to start putting you on a somewhat erratic eating schedule, for starters. Sometimes you will find yourself starving, your belly aching so pitifully that you'll fel as if it would gladly rip through your own body and go off in search of food on its own. Other times we will suddenly feed you in such copious amounts that we will literally be shoving it down your throat. The five or so gentlemen who have been overseeing your trips to relieve yourself in lady-like fashion will be assigned other duties. We will simply leave you tied up at all times, so that you can wallow in your own waste products. When you begin to fall asleep, loud noises will be blared at you, blinding lights shined directly into your face. We also have one or two fairly belligerent empaths at our disposal... individuals who will be able to project into your mind whatever emotions it amuses me to have you feel. You have a very strong mind, Vandelia. At the outset, you'd likely be able to resist them. But that will only be at the outset, and we have a very long time available to us. We will, in short, do all that we can to disrupt you, discommode you, and utterly break you." "And once that's done?" she asked levelly. "Why then, at that point... you will be reeducated. Reprogrammed. The personality, the attitude you have now... that will be like a bad dream. It will go far, far away where it can never be of any harm to you gain." As he spoke, his voice almost seemed soothing in its confidence. "Instead, it will be replaced by a calmer, more loving personality. Oh, but don't worry. You will continue to dance. But you will perform your seductive dances... only for me." She looked at him with utter contempt. "You have no idea, do you?" "What do you mean?" His head was tilted in a curious manner. "My dancing. You think somehow that's separate from who I am. That is, after all, what attracted you to me. You poor, pathetic fool, Darg. When I dance... that is an expression of my personality. And that personality holds you, and all y our kind, in the utmost contempt. When I dance," and she lowered her voice to an almost sultry tone, "I know that you all caress me with your eyes. I know that you think of what you would like to do to me. How each o you envisions possessing me. But you're all too stupid to realize that in my gyrations, I'm letting you know just how little I think of your desires. I don't dance to seduce. I dance to let you know what you can never, ever have. Let us say," she continued as if warming to the topic, "that you somehow manage to break my personality. Make me less than I am. Do you seriously think that if I'm even capable of dancing again, it will bear the slightest resemblance to anything you saw before? You will sit there and shake your head in frustration, wondering what happened to the passion, the fire, the sheer raw sexuality that drew you to me in the first place. And when you sit there in discouragement, when you mourn the loss of something that you truly adored... why then, my friend, you will have only yourself to blame. Only yourself. And even if you manage to have your way with the body you see before you now..." She grinned ferally. "Even if you manage that... you will never have me. I will be long gone, beyond your ability to touch or harm or seduce or even interest. Do we understand each other now, Zolon Darg? Have I made things sufficiently clear for even a brainless pig such as yourself?" p.740-741 "What was that device you were using to disguise yourself?" she asked. "A Zynterian Camouflage Field," he replied as he went to the wall and ran his fingers along it. He seemed to be probing for something. He had been wearing gloves, which one would have thought was simply for ornamentation, but now she realized it had been to hide the true color of his hands. "Zynterians? They're a passive race. They have no espionage interests that I've ever heard of," said Vandelia. She was busy rubbing her wrists, trying to restore circulation to them. She was a bit unsteady on her legs as well, but was determined not to let the weakness show. "True enough. But they don't use it for espionage. It's a sex aid." "A what?" She didn't quite think she'd heard him properly. He cast an impatient look at her, as if he couldn't believe that he was wasting time explaining it to her. "They believe sex in any form is inherently evil, and so they use the camouflage fields to disguise themselves as members of other races when they're... involved. That way they can pretend that they themselves are remaining pure. It's a sort of ritual." "I see." She didn't actually, but it seemed the thing to say. "Generally Zynterians are the only ones who can use them. Other races who have tried to enjoy the device for other pursuits--such as espionage, as you mentioned--find that the device tends to sear the flesh from their bones. However, we Xenexians are close enough biologically to Zynterians that we can get away with using them. It causes considerable pain, but otherwise no lasting damage." p.751 "Rear deflector at eighty percent and dropping," the computer informed him. "Concentrate all deflector power to rear shields. Shore it up," he ordered. "We're not going to make it," Vandelia said. The vote of no-confidence didn't seem to perturb him. "Then we don't make it." "You seem rather sanguine about the prospect." "Would you rather I started to panic?" "No." "Then shut up." p.763 "Tell you what: Let's track down that glitch you were talking about, and then we can actually take the rest of the day off from work. Have you put Omega 9 on the trail of this glitch?" "Oh, sir, that's kind of like using photon torpedoes to kill an insect. It's just some kind of elusive little bug. Why waste the O-9's time on it?" "Kendrow, for all its advancement, for all the potential it displays... it's still just a machine. It's not as if we're going to hurt its feelings or insult it by asking." p.770 "So, to summarize," and he placed a hand on Kendrow's shoulder, "you will help us... and we will allow you to live. And if you cease to help us, either due to lack of cooperation or lack of knowledge, why... you shall meet the same fate as Doctor Frobisher. except you demise will be far slower, much more protracted, and will involve an impressive array of sharp objects. Do we understand each other?" Kendrow gulped deeply. p.773-774 "Now me," and Mankowski tapped his chest, "I'm not that kind of person. The hero-worshipping sort, I mean. I think people have a right to be proud of their accomplishments, but that's no reason to elevate them to some sort of bigger-than-life status. In fact, I was just saying the other day to--" From the lounge, a crewman called, "Hey, Joe! Got a second?" "Hey!" Mankowski shot back, clearly annoyed. "Can't you see I'm talking to Commander William T. Riker here? The William Riker?" The crewman held up his hands, palms out, in mute apology for butting in. Riker put a hand in front of his mouth and laughed into it. "It's just that," Palumbo jumped in during the momentary lull, "it's just that, well... the truth is, I've been a fan of yours ever since I was a kid." "A kid?" Riker couldn't quite believe his ears as he stared at the young officer. "Lieutenant, for God's sake, I'm not that old." "Well... not a little kid," Palumbo amended hastily. "Just since, well..." He considered a moment. "Since I was a teenager." That still seemed a hideous age discrepancy to Riker, and he said, "That can't be right. I haven't been at it that long... have I?" His voice trailed off on the last two words. "Oh, sure," Palumbo said with a cheerfulness that Riker couldn't help but find disturbing. "My dad was--is--in Starfleet, and he talked about officers who were on the fast track. He especially thought the crew of the Enterprise was top-notch." Riker quickly did the math in his head and realized that Palumbo was exactly right. "Those were the good old days, huh, Commander?" Palumbo asked. "Ohhhhh yes. The good old days." Riker was suddenly starting to feel as ancient as Thaddeus Riker. p.782 "Well, well. It's been ages, Will Riker." "Sela," Riker said tersely. Garfield didn't even pretend to understand what was goin on. "Commander, do you know this... individual?" "Her name is Sela. She's the half-Romulan daughter of a deceased woman from an alterante time line." Oh, well, that clears things up," Palumbo could be heard to mutter. "If you know this individual, then I suggest you advise her against any rash actions." "You heard the man, Sela. Don't look for a fight where there need not be one. It's not as if you're in the best of relations with the Romulan government at the moment. You can't afford any mor military disasters." "How kind of you to care about my well-being, Riker," Sela replied, "considering that all of my past 'disasters' can be placed squarely at your door. But," she added thoughtfully, "you're right. I don't need more blemishes on my record." "As I said..." "Instead, I need to blow you all to hell. All vessels," she called out, "you're tapping into this communication. Directly in the middle of us is one Will Riker. Let me tell you, I've been wanting to say this for ages." Her lips drew back in a feral smile of triumph. "Fire at Will." p.783 IT WAS THE WEEKLY poker game, and all the usual suspects were grouped around. Deanna, Data, Worf, and Geordi. As Riker studied his hand, Geordi leaned forward and said without preamble, "So there's this mighty sailing ship, a British frigate, cruising the Seven seas, and one day the lookout shouts down from the crow's nest, 'Captain! Captain! There's two pirate ships heading our way! They mean to attack! What should we do?' And the captain, he says, 'Bring me my red shirt.' So they bring him bring him his red shirt, he puts it on, and he leads his men into battle. It's difficult, and there are a number of casualties, but they manage to beat back the pirates. That evening, after the survivors have gotten themselves bandaged up, they ask the captain why he called for his red shirt. And he says, 'Because if I'm wounded and bleeding, I wouldn't want the sight of my blood to destroy the morale of my men. But if I'm wearing my red shirt, no one will see it.' Well, the crew thought, 'What a captain.'" By this point, every eye at the card table was on Geordi. He continued. "So the next day, another shout, even more worried, comes down from the crow's nest. And the lookout says, 'Captain, my captain! There's ten pirate ships heading our way, and they mean to board us! What should we do?' The frightened crew turns to their captain, but he doesn't flinch. He doesn't hesitate. And he calls out, 'Bring me...my brown pants!'" p.785 It was not a situation that gave Riker a warm, squooshy feeling. Outside the ship was an array of Romulan vessels, and he was quite certain that they weren't about to be sporting about the emergency situation. The only hope they had was that the Romulans h ad moved of upon detecting the rupture of hte warp core. The explosion was going to be rather intense, and nobody wanted to be in the vicinity when that happened. Of course, that included the crew of the Independence. p.787 Through the small viewing porthole of the pod, he couldn't believe the damage he was seeing once he was outside. There was scarcely a section of the ship that hadn't been scored or ruptured. Warp core breech? The amazing thing was that the starship had held together for as long as it had. One warp nacelle had been blown away completely, and was hanging like a severed limb nearby the ship's hull. Air was venting into space, the seals having failed. Even the ship's name, etched proudly on the saucer, was covered with carbon scoring and was barely visible. "Bastards," breathed Riker. Then he saw the ship begin to tremble violently, and he realized that the moment of total destruction was very close. Unfortunately, so was he. The escape pod was moving quickly, all right, but he wasn't confident that it was quick enough to put enough distance between himself and the ship. And then, with a final shudder, much like a death throe, the engineering section of the Independence erupted. Riker looked way, partly from the emotion involved in seeing such a magnificent vessel destroyed, and also simply because such a detonation was blinding. p.794-795 "Don't kid me, Eppy," using the nickname--a collapsing of Elizabeth and Paula--that h knew so irritated her. "If we find ourselves in a battle situation with the warbird that got away, or that ship they were chasing, you'll be hoping I blow them out of space. You know it. I know it." "That's the difference between us, Mac," she said softly, even a little sadly. "I wouldn't revel in it. Two wrongs don't make a right." "Yes. They do." "But--" "They do," he told her firmly. "Someone commits a wrong, a wrong is committed against them in turn... that comes out right." "I'm speaking from a moral point of view, Mac." "So am I," he said mildly. "That's the joy of morals. They're not absolute." "There are absolute standards of right and wrong, Mac." "You should know that, Eppy. Physics are absolute, But anything that man can conceive from his own skull is up for debate." p.796-797 He walked up behind her and said, by way of greeting, "Doctor Selar..." "What do you want?!" He had never, in his life, heard a Vulcan speak above normal conversational tone, much less have one bellow at him. And it had been, to put it delicately, completely unprovoked. And the oddest thing was probably the fact that no one in sickbay seemed to feel that this was behavior that was remotely unusual for a CMO, let alone a Vulcan. Remembering the accelerate strength that Vulcans possessed, to say nothing of such techniques as the Vulcan nerve pinch, Riker suddenly felt that it would probably be wiser for him to take a few steps back. He promptly did so. Selar had now turned to face him and was staring at him with no hint of recognition. "Doctor... Selar? Commander Riker. Will Riker. We... worked together." "I am aware of who you are, Commander," she said. "I am also aware that we served together aboard the Enterprise. I am further aware that I have been working steadily since the arrival of survivors from the Independence. Fortunately I do not require rest and relaxation as humans do. Lack of sleep has absolutely no effect on me whatsoever. What does have an impact on me is people engaging me in pointless discussion, social niceties, and significant wastes of my time. If you consider it a possibility that you all into any of those categories, you might wantto reconsider your apparent interest in engaging me in extended social intercourse." "Doctor," Riker said slowly, "I know this isn't my ship. I know I'm a visitor here. But nonetheless... I still outrank you... and that rank, to say nothing of simple courtesy, should afford me a certian degree of respect. Respect that I don't see happening here. Now I'm not entirely sure what you think I've done to deserve this sort of brusque and, frankly rude treatment. But I suggest you either tell me what's going on, or--" "I am not interested in your ultimatums, Commaner. Nor do I wish to discuss my personal affairs. Kindly tell me what you desire by coming here, or please leave." "I'm looking for Captain Garfield." "There." She pointed [...] p.808 In either hand, he was holding a disruptor. In a rathe flamboyant gesture, he crisscrossed his arms in front of himself, putting hte disruptors at odd angels to one another, and then he started shooting. He did so with such precision that Darg couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The instinct when a mob is bearing down upon one from all sides is to fire blindly into the midst of the crowd and try to take out as many as possible. But that wasn't the case with the newcomer. Instead he was targeting one person after another, blasting out percision strikes that were taking opponents in the shoulder or upper arm or thigh. They weren't ven being knocked unconsious. They were simply being incapacitated. "Not the most elegant of weapons," said the new comer in what seemed an almost conversational tone. "Very restricted settings. There's 'kill' and 'kill some more.' One has to be precise if one doesn't feel like killing. Hold on, please." He fired again and another attacker went down. p.813 "The Omega 9 bypasses conventional speech. Instead the user simply puts his or her palm against an interface padd. Sensors, combined iwth Nannite technology, form a temporary bond between user and database so that the user is able to extract information literally with the speed of thought, and can also supply instructions to the computer in the same way. It's taken a long time to perfect the technology. In the initial stages, there was a tendency for the computer to flood its user with so much inormation that the human brain would simply collapse. Poor devils, those test subjects. They could barely think coherently after their exposure to the Omega 9. Eventually, we--" "Made them into admirals?" suggested Calhoun. Her eyes narrowed in her best "we are not amused" expression. p.833 "What Ambassador Stonn is saying," said Admiral O'Shea, "is that if the non-interference directive is, as you postulate, an error... isn't it beter ot err on the side of caution?" "Two hundred years ago, perhaps. I will certainly grant you that. But of what use is experience if one does not learn from it," replied Thul. "there are people who need help and don't evn know that they do. Besides, is not human history rife with such 'interference'? Were there not more advanced members of the human race wh o went to less-developed, undernourished or undereducated areas and brought them to technology... advancement... even entire belief systems?" "And in many instances did as much harm as good," Jellico said. "There was also conquest, to say nothing of entire races of people who were annhilated by germs and strains of diseases that their own immune systems wree completely unequipped to handle." "Ultimately, however," and Thul smiled, "things seem to have worked out for you." "Yes, because we found our own way." "Or perhaps in spite of finding your own way. Think, though. I older, wiser, more advanced races such as yours, and all those represented in this room were to use their expertise, their knowledge of the mistakes that they themselves made to avoid mistakes in the future..." He shook his head. "Don't you see. But when thereis want and need by other races who have never even heard of the Federation, and hwo could benefit so tremedously by the help..." "You're saying that perhaps it's time to abolish or reframe the prime directive?" said Jellico. "At this time? On the anniversary of the signingo f the document that was its genesis? Yes, that is exactly what I am saying." p.837 She was, quite simply, the most beautiful Thallonian woman he had ever seen. She had absolutely no hair, except for wo delicate eyebrows that were carefully sculpted. Her neck was long and elgant, her bosom in perfect proportion to her hips. Her legs seemed to go to somewhere up around her shoulders, and when she smiled it was incandescent. Calhoun automatically rose to his feet. "Hello," she said. "Hi. I'm..." He thought for a moment, then recalled the information. "Mackenzie Calhoun." "I'm Vara Syndra," she purred, displaying a remarkable facility for recalling her own name. p.843 They were filing in, one at a time, regarding each other with obvious distrust. Then again, that wasn't at asll surprising. The doze or so beings who had shown up at Kara's were not accustomed to trusting anyone or working together, for they were all from races who were outside the Federation. Races who, for whatever reason, considered the alliance of the UFT to be suffocating to their own interests. There was an Orion... a Kreel... a Tan'gredi, all ooze and nictating membranes... a Capitano, growling deep in its chest, its eyeless face gazing around with its internal radar taking in the parameters of the room... an assortment of others. p.856 "I don't know if you've noticed, but there's a tendency among the crew to speak directly to you on all matters." "No, I hadn't noticed," said Shelby. "I doubt that, Commander, although perhaps you're just being too tactful to say so." "I try not to let tact stand in the way of doing my job, sir." "In that, you succeed admirably," Riker said dryly. p.856 "Permission to speak freely, sir," Shelby said stiffly. "If I said 'no,' would that stop you?" "Probably not." "Permission granted, then." p.858 "Turbolift, all stop." The turbolift that had been carrying McHenry and Burgoyne came to a halt in immediate compliance with Burgoyne's directive. McHenry look around, mildly puzzled. "This is going to make it take much longer to get to engineering." "Okay, Mark, what's going on?" Burgoyne faced him, arms folded across hir breast. "You've been avoiding me." "No, I haven't." "Yes, you have." "No, I haven't." "Yes, you..." S/he shook hir head. "This isn't getting us anywhere." "Yes, it is." "No, it isn't." "Yes, it is." "No, it... nyarrrh!" snarled Burgoyne. "Stop it! Just... stop it! You're trying to make me crazy!" "How am I doing?" p.885-886 The next thing Calhoun knew, Vara Syndra was hanging on his arm. "Come along, Mackenzie," she whispered in his ear. "Let me take you to your... room..." At which point every hormone in his body completely stopped paying any attention whatsoever to whatever it was that Thul wanted to do or had in mind. Without hesitation he folled Vara out hte door. The moment they were in the hallway, out of sight of Thul, she began to kiss Calhoun. He did nothing to stop her. It was doubtful he could have done anything to stop her. He returned the kisses with equal passion, and hungrily locking lips with one another, they sidled down the hallway to the room that had been reserved for Calhoun. They eased in through the door, which obediently slid shut behind him. It was a perfectly serviceable room, although nowhere near as opulent as Thul's. Somehow, though, opulence was not at the top of Calhoun's concerns at that particular moment. All he was concerned about was whether or not the place had a bed. Actually, it didn't matter that much. The odds were sensational that the room had, at least, a floor, and theway he was feeling, that was all he was going to need. But as luck would have it, there was indeed a bed there, large enough for an entire security teem to wrestle with Vara, were such needed. p.909-910 "So what have we got?" asked Riker. "In terms of capabilities, I mean." "Minimal, being routed through manual control. We've got life support systems on line. Warp drive is up, as you know, which is how we managed to throw ourselves into... wherever the hell it is we are now?" "Have we got coordinatees as to our presentlocation?" asked Riker. Shelby nodded. "McHenry says he knows where we are. I have no reason to doubt him." "We jumped blind through warp sace and he knows where we came out?" "He's rather talented that way." "All right: life support, warp drive... what about communications?" "Not yet," said Burgoyne. "Besides, even if we did have communications up and running and could get through to the Federation... what would we say? 'Excalibur ot UFP: Shut down everything throughout the Federation. W're celebrating the bicentennial by reverting to the Stone Age. Cease and desist in your entire way of life until you hear from us again. And by the way, we hav proof.' Oh, that's going to go over very well, I can assure you. They'd probably shunt the message over into a committed which would debate abou it for three weeks to tell us that we're idiots." p.926-927 "So," and he folded his arms, "your boy Calhoun staged quite an exit, didn't he, Alynna?" "You cooperated admirably, Eddie." "Cooperated? He hit me! In the head!" "He was simply improvising." "In the head," repeated Jellico. "You're a riot, Alynna." p.941 "You know... when I considered the possibility of the Federation sending someone... when I contemplated, imagined that I might find myself facing someone... when I contemplated, imagined that I might find myself facing a desperate emissary trying to stop me... I always fantasized it would be you. Isn't that interesting? No one else. Always. In my mind's eye, I saw it just this way, with the two of us face-to-face, and you standing there feeling the same sort of helplessness as Double Helix was unleashed that I felt when I lost my son. Lost him because of you. Because of your damnable Federation." "And everyone, every man, woman and child is to suffer because of your loss?" "That's right. That is exactly right." "You won't live to see your triumph." "Don't you understand? I don't care! Do your worst, Picard! I assure you it will pale next to what I have already done to myself! But in the mantime, nothing ou do will matter one iota, because in the final analysis, I still win! And there's absolutely nothing you can do to--" That was when the lights went out and the sphere was rocked by a mssive explosion.
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