Star Trek®: Strange New Worlds 10 Read online

  STAR TREK®

  STRANGE NEW WORLDS 10

  Pocket Books

  A Division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2007 by CBS Studios Inc. All Rights Reserved.

  STAR TREK and related marks are trademarks of CBS Studios Inc.

  CBS and the CBS EYE logo are trademarks of CBS Broadcasting Inc.

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc., under exclusive license from CBS Studios Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For information address Pocket Books Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-4505-7

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-4505-0

  Visit us on the World Wide Web:

  http://www.SimonSays.com

  http://www.StarTrek.com

  Contents

  Introduction

  Dean Wesley Smith

  STAR TREK

  The Smell of Dead Roses—Grand Prize

  Gerri Leen

  The Doomsday Gambit

  Rick Dickson

  Empty

  David DeLee

  STAR TREK: THE NEXT GENERATION

  Wired

  Aimee Ford Foster

  A Dish Served Cold

  Paul C. Tseng

  The Very Model

  Muri McCage

  STAR TREK: DEEP SPACE NINE

  So a Horse Walks into a Bar

  Brian Seidman

  Signal to Noise

  Jim Johnson

  STAR TREK: VOYAGER

  The Fate of Captain Ransom

  Rob Vagle

  A Taste of Spam

  L. E. Doggett

  Adjustments

  Laura Ware

  The Day the Borg Came

  M. C. DeMarco

  STAR TREK: ENTERPRISE

  The Dream

  Robyn Sullivent Gries

  Universal Chord—Third Prize

  Carolyn Winifred

  You Are Not in Space

  Edgar Governo

  SPECULATIONS

  Time Line

  Jerry M. Wolfe

  Echoes—Second Prize

  Randy Tatano

  Brigadoon

  Rigel Ailur

  Reborn

  Jeremy Yoder

  Introduction

  Ten Years of Great Adventure

  Ten years! Wow, that is nothing short of fantastic. This anthology series has lasted three years longer than any of the shows did. Ten years of the fans taking Star Trek in hundreds of new directions, from the ancestors of the characters to a million years into Star Trek’s future. And everything in between. The existence of this book shows the power of Star Trek fans.

  For the tenth year in a row, I get to welcome you to a book filled with wonderful, original Star Trek fiction. It has been a pleasure, year after year, to read the stories, help pick the winners, and see fans contribute to the Star Trek universe.

  When you start reading this book, or any of the Strange New Worlds anthologies, think of each story as a weekly episode of your favorite show. That’s what they are—if you were to turn a Star Trek show into print, it would only be the length of a short story.

  In your hands are nineteen new episodes, nineteen new Star Trek adventures. When you put all ten volumes of Strange New Worlds together, you have over two hundred episodes. If you miss your weekly new Star Trek show, you are holding the cure.

  However, before you turn to the first great story, let me take this moment to gaze backward and give you a little history of this project.

  Strange New Worlds was the brainchild of then Pocket Books editor John Ordover. John had the help of Paula Block, who is one of the people responsible for the approval of anything Star Trek that sees print. The two of them pushed the lawyers, cajoled the corporate mavens, and somehow—against all odds—managed to get this contest—and therefore this book—approved. One year before the contest was approved, I joined the project.

  As a former magazine editor, I knew how to pick the great stories out of thousands that came through the door. I had written novels in every Star Trek series at that time, and knew and liked them all. I had no favorite Star Trek, unlike most fans.

  I figured the contest would last one year, two tops, and that would be it. I’m just about as good at predicting which stock will go up or down. Somehow the contest went on, and year after year after year, new writers, great stories, original Star Trek ideas graced the pages of Strange New Worlds. Paula Block and I are still here, working on the contest each year. John moved on, and the editorial work at Pocket Books was taken over by first Elisa Kassin and then shifted to Margaret Clark.

  One of the great strengths in the Star Trek universe that has helped it survive for over forty years is its ability to go forward. From Star Trek to Star Trek: Enterprise, the Star Trek universe is always expanding, never staying in one place for very long. With Star Trek, one crew is never enough, and every idea can be explored.

  After ten years, Star Trek: Strange New Worlds now comes to an end with this volume. The future will hold something new for the fans, I am sure about that. Because that’s what Star Trek does.

  It moves forward.

  I’m going to miss the fall ritual of reading thousands of Star Trek stories. But just as Star Trek does, I’m moving forward with my writing into original books that are pushing me into my own strange new worlds of fiction.

  For those of you picking up Strange New Worlds for the first time, you have a wonderful treat waiting for you. I would suggest you find all ten of the books, line them up on a shelf, and sit back for hundreds of fantastic trips into the Star Trek universe.

  Ten seasons of new voyages, new adventures, all in book form.

  All written by fans just like you.

  It’s been a great ten years. Thanks for the ride.

  Now, enjoy the adventures, and don’t miss a story.

  —Dean Wesley Smith

  Editor

  Strange New Worlds I–Strange New Worlds 10

  STAR TREK®

  STRANGE NEW WORLDS 10

  STAR TREK

  The Smell of Dead Roses

  Gerri Leen

  GRAND PRIZE

  Gerri Leen lives in Northern Virginia; she originally hails from Seattle, and spends far too much mental time in the worlds of Star Trek. This story is for absent friends and family—some long gone, some lost just recently. Leen humbly thanks: friends Kath, Lisa, and Paula for useful crit and encouragement beyond the call of duty; the Paneranormal Society writers for reviews and kicking ideas around; and editors Dean, Margaret, and Paula for making this all happen. She wishes Dean all the best as he rides off into the non–Strange New Worlds sunset and thanks him for the wisdom he’s shared with new and not-so-new writers over the years. Her story “Obligations Discharged” was in Strange New Worlds VII and “Living on the Edge of Existence” appeared in Strange New Worlds 9.

  Perrin huddled on the balcony, trying to will herself into invisibility as the fight between her parents raged on. She stared out at the other building, hating that the people across from her might be staring b
ack, might be feeling pity.

  “Perrin?” Her sister snuck out through the open door and crawled into her lap.

  “It’ll be all right.”

  Nanda was too little to understand what had happened. She’d been bouncing around Perrin all day. Excited to eat Perrin’s birthday cake—cake that was now all over the floor.

  It had made a strange sound as it hit, knocked off the table by her father. Not a crash—it was too soft for that. But not a gentle sound, either. There had been a sucking noise, as frosting met wood, as cake smashed down, causing the frosting to spread out even more. Nine candles had hit first. Nine candles that were broken now and would never be lit.

  “Why do they yell at each other?” Nanda asked, scrunching her eyes closed as if that could make the voices stop.

  “Because they can.”

  “But it’s your birthday.”

  Perrin looked back at what had been her pretty cake. It had come out of the replicator already decorated with roses in pink and yellow, just the way she’d wanted it. There’d been little forget-me-nots in light blue, and a long, trailing vine of dark green ivy rambling over the whole cake.

  It had been the most beautiful cake Perrin had ever seen. She’d just known it would taste better than any of her other birthday cakes.

  “Is it because I cheated?” Nanda whispered.

  “What?”

  “When you weren’t looking, I took some frosting. From the back, where you wouldn’t see. Is that why they’re mad?”

  Perrin hugged her close. “No, that’s not why.”

  But Nanda was sniffling in the way that meant she might break into tears at any minute.

  “What color was the frosting you tasted?”

  “Yellow.”

  The border had been yellow, all scrolled and thick. “Was it good?”

  Nanda nodded. She seemed to relax, crying jag averted.

  “I thought it would be.” Perrin sighed, and went back to studying the other apartments as the yelling inside her family’s went on.

  The park smelled like summer, even though it was barely spring. London had warmed early, but the bright sun did nothing to warm Perrin as she walked slowly with her mother. She willed her fourteen-year-old heart to slow down—or just to stop.

  How could anything hurt this bad?

  Her mother touched her arm. “Say something.”

  “Such as?” Perrin knew her mother hated her taking that tone. She’d slapped her for it at other times, had told her to stop pretending she was something other than what she was. To stop acting as if she was better than the rest of them.

  Perrin thought she was better than the rest of them, if only because she didn’t scream first and ask questions later.

  “Don’t you care that I’m leaving?” her mother asked, her voice edging toward the dramatic end of the scale. Before too long, she’d be crying.

  Perrin hated tears almost as much as shouting—both were weapons. “Would caring stop you from doing it?”

  Her mother swallowed hard.

  “You’re leaving me with him.”

  “Things will be better if I’m not there. He won’t have anyone to fight with.”

  She stroked Perrin’s hair, and it felt comforting, until Perrin thought about how she wouldn’t feel it anymore after today.

  “You’re so calm, Perrin. You never get mad. You soothe him, the way we don’t.”

  We: her mother and Nanda. Nanda wasn’t calm. Nanda was quick to anger, quick to yell, quick to rile their father up. It was why Nanda was going away with their mother. She’d earned herself a ticket out of Hell by being a spoiled brat.

  Perrin wished she could yell and scream, but it wasn’t her way. She was the good girl. The one who stayed calm.

  “I love you, Perrin.”

  Her mother started to cry, and that was the last straw. Perrin ran from those tears, ran hard and fast, knowing her mother would never be able to keep up. She pelted down the path, heading for the rose garden.

  It was already in bloom, and there was a large cluster of people to her right, seemingly on a tour of some kind. Perrin turned the other way to avoid them and ran hard into a robed figure. Stepping back, he caught himself, but she fell to the ground and stayed there, more in defeat than actual pain.

  “Are you hurt?” His voice was the calmest thing Perrin had ever heard.

  She looked up at him, realized he was Vulcan. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely able to get the words out.

  “You should be more careful.” Those words coming from her father would have been followed by a hard slap. Her mother would have turned them into a wounded monologue, the precursor to more accusing words and finally tears. This man just said them. They were just words.

  She took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “I hope not.”

  She realized there was some warmth in his eyes, and a soothing humor that hurt no one as it lay cradled in his air of dignity.

  “Sarek, what have you got there?” The voice was melodious, full of good will. A human woman—petite and smiling—stepped around the Vulcan. She pulled Perrin to her feet, checking her knees and elbows. “Nothing damaged.”

  “I ran into him, ma’am.” Perrin tried to sound older than she was, wanting this woman to think well of her.

  “Did you?”

  “I didn’t mean to, though.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, dear.” The woman studied her. “What’s your name?”

  “Perrin Landover.”

  “Well, Perrin Landover, you just ran into Ambassador Sarek from Vulcan. I’m afraid this may have the making of a diplomatic incident.”

  Panic rose inside Perrin. To her surprise, the man put his hand on her shoulder—the briefest of touches.

  “I believe I will recover, my wife. I feel only minimal damage from the collision.”

  It took Perrin a moment to realize they were teasing her and each other.

  The woman laughed softly. “I’m Amanda, my dear. Why were you running so desperately?”

  Perrin was about to tell her—even though she never shared her troubles with anyone—when she heard her mother calling her.

  “Your mom?” Amanda asked with a knowing smile.

  Perrin nodded.

  “She appears to be worried,” Sarek said.

  “Maybe for her pretty new future.” Perrin mumbled it so they couldn’t hear.

  And Amanda didn’t seem to, but Sarek cocked his head to one side, an eyebrow rising slowly as he studied her. Perrin suspected those pointy ears made him hear better.

  “I think she is worried, dear,” Amanda said, turning Perrin to face her mother. “I know that tone. Now, go on.”

  Perrin’s mother came into sight, waving furiously at the sight of her.

  “Go,” Sarek said. He and Amanda moved off, and for Perrin, the moment was frozen in a sense of calm and the smell of just-opened roses.

  “Wait.” She did not know why she called out, and when Sarek and Amanda turned to look at her, she wasn’t sure what it was she wanted to say.

  “Goodbye, my dear.” Amanda smiled at her gently.

  They walked away.

  “Goodbye,” Perrin said, trying to hold onto the serenity she felt from them, but failing as her mother came up, her voice harsh and accusing.

  Perrin imagined herself as Sarek, tried wrapping herself in dignity the way he did. She looked up at her mother, letting one eyebrow rise the way his had.

  Her mother stopped talking, her angry lecture finding no purchase in a face of stone.

  The funeral was crowded, not just humans and Vulcans standing around the gravesite, but beings from all sorts of species. Perrin stood off, near a large mausoleum, and watched the service—and Sarek. She’d followed his career, and sometimes, once she’d come to San Francisco for school, she’d even followed him and Amanda around town. She’d noticed over the years, since she’d first run into them at the park, that Amanda had seemed to be getting weaker. And one d
ay, Perrin had only seen Sarek walking, his face unreadable, but sorrow evident in the way he took his steps, in the set of his shoulders. Amanda had never come out with him again.

  A few days ago, the newsvids had announced that Amanda had died. That kind, gentle woman was gone, and Perrin felt more grief than she had when her own father died, beaten to death in a barroom brawl on the darker side of London’s East End.

  Perrin’s mother had been wrong. Perrin’s ability to soothe her father had been short lived—or perhaps he’d just lost the urge to even try to be decent about things. He’d yelled and slammed things around. And once or twice, in a fit of drunken rage, he’d hit her.

  Each time he’d done that, she’d run to the park, trying to call up the calm she’d felt that day with these two strangers. Each time, it had almost worked.

  Now Amanda was gone, and it was easy to see that Sarek was in pain, even if he hid it. Grief didn’t spill out of him the way her mother’s had been wept out at her father’s funeral. And for no reason other than her mother’s love of drama.

  Sarek stood straight, his son on one side, a woman that had to be Saavik on his other, as his wife was laid to rest. Perrin slid farther back behind the building, leaning against marble kept cool by the temperate San Francisco weather. Since she’d met Amanda and Sarek, Perrin had made it her business to discover as much as she could about them. And Spock was famous. She’d known about him earlier, of course, but had never connected him to the man she’d nearly mown down in the park.

  People started to wander off in groups of two or three, and Perrin realized the funeral must be over. She clutched the rose she’d brought with her, a rose she’d grown on her little balcony. She’d learned to find solace in flowers long ago, when her mother and sister had left her to face her father’s anger alone.