Star Trek: The Next Generation: Gemworld: Book 2 by John Vornholt

Author:John Vornholt
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Science Fiction, Star Trek, Fiction
ISBN: 9780671042714
Publisher: Pocket Books
Published: 2000-01-02T08:00:00+00:00

With a scowl, Commander Will Riker surveyed the circular bridge of the Enterprise, muttering under his breath about the weird dreams and strange circumstances that had brought them to Gemworld. He particularly disliked having to maneuver so close to a huge object like the shell when he didn’t have Data to help him navigate. It wasn’t that he lacked faith in his young bridge crew, many of whom had been tested during the Dominion War, but he missed having the first team, which included Data, Deanna, and Captain Picard.

Now the captain had sent word that he didn’t need the second shuttlecraft he had requested. Unless his situation had changed, that meant that he, Data, and the civilian were zooming around Gemworld on jetpacks with no protection and no security. Riker had lost countless battles to keep the captain away from perilous situations, but this had seemed more like a diplomatic mission. . . . He hadn’t even fought it. Now he was wondering if he shouldn’t have insisted on more personnel, more shuttlecraft . . . more something.

In his pacing, Riker passed a screen showing a view of the brightly colored world beneath them. To him, Gemworld looked like the colored rock candy they used to sell at an antique shop near his home in Valdez, Alaska. That candy had been pretty to look at, but when you tried to eat it, it was stale and brittle. He felt that way about Gemworld—pretty to the eye, but insipid to the taste.

“Commander,” called the tactical officer. “We’re being hailed by Tangre Bertoran. They’re ready for us to take our position.”

With a sigh, Riker took his seat in the command chair. “Course laid in?”

“Yes, sir, course laid in,” answered the conn.

“Proceed at one-fourth impulse.” He settled back in his seat and watched the screen, trying not to think how unsettling it was to be poking along in the atmosphere of a planet. This big bird needed to be in black space, not blue sky. But there it was—blue sky as far as he could see, except for the distant bands of the shell.

“Seven hundred kilometers and closing,” reported the ops station.

“Be prepared to drop shields at one hundred.”

“Yes, sir.”

He hated having to drop shields, but that was the whole point of this exercise. They had to get close enough to the shell to be protected by its forcefields, if they hoped to keep those same forcefields working when the shell was turned off.

Riker sat forward nervously. “Any gravity spikes or floating debris?”

“No, sir, the route appears to be clear,” answered ops. “Five hundred kilometers and closing.”

Riker still refused to relax. “No life-forms in the area?”

“There are some Alpusta off to port, leaving the shell, but we won’t intercept them.”

“Hold steady.”

“Three hundred kilometers.” The seconds ticked away in Riker’s mind, while the metallic bands on the viewscreen began to solidify behind the clouds, making the sky look fake, like part of a holodeck scene. Unnatural place, he thought.

“One hundred kilometers, dropping shields,” reported ops.

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