Star Trek-TNG-Novel-Imzadi 1

  Riker was hardly considered to be a malevolent

  presence. It had been the scientists' error

  to take Riker's ^w that there was urgent Starfleet

  business to discuss.

  By the time they had realized their mistake, it had

  been too late.

  Data was trying to make up for that mistake

  now. He watched, stone faced, as the

  Enterprise pitted her phasers against the force

  field. That they would eventually penetrate, he

  had no doubt whatsoever. The question was whether they would

  break through in time.

  Riker took a step back, watching the

  phasers with a sense of grim desperation.

  There was nothing he could do. He was trapped

  inside, and besides, getting out would simply put him

  farther from the Guardian. He heard a low moan

  behind him--Mary Mac was coming around. Perfect--t

  was all he needed.

  The field began to buckle. He could see the

  power reserves straining, the field integrity

  collapsing. How incredibly ironic that here he

  was at the gateway to all time, and time was the one thing

  he did not have.

  He glanced down at the tricorder.

  The green light was glowing.

  He emitted a horrified yell. He should have

  been standing in front of the Guardian the whole time,

  watching, monitoring, waiting for the signal to flash

  to life. Had it just come on? Had it been on for a

  few seconds?

  Too far! his mind screamed. Too far from

  the Guardian!

  He spun and charged at the gateway. The sand

  crunched beneath his boots. On the display face of the

  Guardian, he saw a brief image of Q

  dancing with Lwaxana Troi, and then Locutus

  threatening the ship, and it was all merging and blending

  together ...

  "Admiral, we will stop you!" came

  Data's voice, rising above the wind and the

  screaming of the Enterprise phasers, and he heard

  Blair's voice shouting something as well.

  No time! No time!

  Help me, Imzadi ... the voice

  seemed to reach back through the years.

  Riker leaped.

  And then he was out of time.

  Literally.

  CHAPTER 37

  Lieutenant Barclay stood in the holodeck

  of the USS Enterprise 1701-D and cracked

  his knuckles.

  He knew that he shouldn't. He knew he

  might get caught. But the odds were slim.

  Captain Picard, Commander Riker, all the

  senior officers had been involved with a major

  diplomatic bash that evening. So the chances were that

  they wouldn't be anywhere near the holodeck that

  night.

  Besides, he was off duty now. And he had pared

  down his holodeck activity to once a

  week. It wasn't interfering with anything

  important. And if he had his own ways of

  entertaining himself, well--z long as he didn't

  hurt anyone, and as long as he wasn't

  overdependent on it ... well, where was the harm in

  that?

  He had already informed the computer precisely

  what he wanted. Now he said simply, "Run

  program."

  A moment later he was standing on a vast,

  grassy plain. Far in the distance, ancient

  Rome stood in all its glory. But right in

  front of him was a small temple, circular with

  tall pillars.

  Standing in the middle of the temple was Deanna

  Troi. She was scantily clad in gauze,

  flowing robes. She extended her arms to him and in

  a musical lilt said, "I am the goddess of the

  mind."

  Barclay started toward her, his voice robust

  and deep. "And I am the one who worships you

  ... and whom you will worship in return."

  And at that precise moment, something else

  appeared on the holodeck--seemed to just step right

  out of nowhere.

  Barclay stopped, utterly confused. It was a

  man in what appeared to be some sort of uniform.

  It even looked vaguely like a Starfleet

  uniform, but the coloring was different and--

  Then Barclay took a close look at the

  face.

  "What the hell ...?" he breathed.

  The new holodeck image, which appeared for

  all the world to be an older version of Riker,

  looked around in what seemed to be momentary

  disorientation. Then "Riker" turned, looked at

  Barclay, then to the image of Deanna, and back

  to Barclay. Riker put his hands on his hips and

  addressed Barclay with a voice of utter

  authority. "So ... I should have known. Still at it,

  Lieutenant?"

  In total confusion, Barclay called out,

  "Computer. Remove image of ..." He

  wasn't sure what to call it. "Remove new

  image and run a systems check."

  Riker merely stood there, showing no signs of

  disappearing. "I," he said, "am a holodeck

  failsafe, built in to monitor the types of

  programs you're engaging in, Mr. Barclay.

  I am very disappointed to see you still

  perpetrating such ... bizarre ... scenarios.

  I want it halted immediately." He pointed at

  Barclay sternly. "Is that clear?"

  "Y-yes sir!" stammered Barclay

  uncomprehendingly. "Computer! Cancel this

  program! In fact ... in fact, cancel all

  programs that I've created. As a matter of

  fact--cancel all my future participation in

  holodeck activities!"

  Rome, its environs, and the image of

  Deanna Troi, all vanished back into the

  nothingness they had come from. The only things remaining

  in the room were the glowing yellow grids,

  Barclay, and Riker.

  "Very good, Lieutenant," said Riker

  approvingly.

  "Are ... are you going to go now, too?" asked

  Barclay hopefully. He had no idea why, of

  all images, an older Riker had been chosen.

  But whatever the reason, it was a damned effective

  selection. He was totally unnerved by it.

  "Yes, I'm going to go, too," said Riker.

  "And I'll tell you what. If you don't mention

  this incident to anyone, then I won't, either.

  We'll keep it just between us."

  "Th-thank you, sir," Barclay said.

  The image of Riker headed for the door.

  Barclay waited for it to vanish, as all

  holodeck creations did if they tried to leave the

  holodeck. Instead the doors hissed open

  obediently, and the elder Riker walked out, turned

  left, and headed down a corridor. The doors

  hissed shut behind him.

  Barclay stood there for a long time. And then he

  went out, turned right, and returned to his cabin.

  He didn't go near the holodeck for the rest of

  his stay on the Enterprise.

  Admiral Riker walked quickly down the

  corridor, looking neither right nor left. He

  passed a couple of crewmen, some of whom did

  double takes upon spotting him. Perhaps they would

  assume that some uncle of Riker's had come

  to visit the ship, or maybe the
commander was coming from

  some sort of costume function. He didn't

  slow down enough for anyone to get a really clear

  look at him, and he certainly didn't stop

  to answer any questions.

  He had to get his bearings. Figure out

  precisely when he was. He could have

  asked Barclay, but he hadn't wanted the

  lieutenant to question his existence as anything other than

  some sort of confusing holodeck manifestation. It

  had saved him time--and he didn't know how much time

  he had.

  He ducked into a room to his left that he

  knew was going to be vacant because it was one of the

  guest quarters. Once inside, he called out,

  "Computer! Tell me the stardate and time."

  There were few moments in Riker's life that he

  could precisely remember down to the second of

  their occurrence. But the day and time of Deanna

  Troi's death was certainly one of those. He was

  able to recall the exact sound of Beverly

  Crusher's voice as she had labored to bring

  Deanna back to life. And when she had failed

  ... when she had finally realized that nothing was going

  to help, and her best friend on the ship was forever gone

  ... she had said, in a voice that sounded choked with

  dirt from a grave, "Record the time and date of

  death." The computer had obediently, and uncaringly,

  said it out loud for the record.

  Riker had been standing there and had heard

  it--heard it punctuated by a choked sob from

  Beverly Crusher. There had been no noise from

  Riker himself--aletter the cloud was settling over him.

  The cloud that would cloak him for forty years.

  Now, in the vacant guest quarters, the computer

  informed him of the day and time.

  He felt his breath catch in his throat, the

  blood pounding in his temple.

  He had hoped to arrive a day or two beforehand.

  Somehow, cautiously, make contact with

  Deanna. Inform her of what was to happen.

  Convince her, put her on guard. And even more

  importantly--give her the antidote for the

  poison that he had brought back with him,

  securely stored in his jacket.

  He had known that it would be dangerous. Somewhere,

  somehow, Data might have sent people back,

  anticipating his moves. Trying to block his

  plans. But Data would have to be judicious--he

  didn't want to upset the applecart of time, and

  he would be very, very careful as to what he did and how

  he did it. Riker had anticipated that there would

  be something of a chess match of strategy, played out

  through the corridors of the Enterprise

  1701-D.

  But he had been wrong.

  He didn't have time for subtlety.

  He didn't have time for finesse.

  What he had was twenty-three minutes.

  Twenty-three minutes from right now, until the

  point where Deanna Troi would be lying on

  Beverly Crusher's medtable, a lifeless bundle

  of flesh.

  "Damn!" he snarled.

  He charged out into the hallway, resetting his

  chronometer, and bolted down the corridor,

  running full-tilt toward Deanna's quarters.

  His arms pumped furiously, and as he turned

  a corner, his pounding footsteps alerted a

  security guard. The guard turned, and Riker

  didn't recognize him. That, in andof itself,

  didn't mean anything. Even when he was the

  second-in-command, he didn't necessarily

  know every single crewman on sight--particularly

  if it was a relatively new arrival. And he

  wasn't even the contemporary Riker--forty years

  had passed, and faces blurred with the years.

  Then again--it might be someone sent back

  by Data.

  The security guard frowned and started to reach for

  his phaser. "Hold it!" he called out.

  Again, Riker had no way of knowing for sure.

  Certainly, with so many dignitaries presently

  on board the Enterprise, it would be standard

  operating procedure for guards to be on alert

  to anyone who didn't seem to belong there. And

  Riker certainly seemed out of place.

  Then again--the "guard" might know precisely

  who the gray-haired man was, and what his mission

  was.

  Riker raised an arm in front of his face

  to block the guard's view and slammed into him,

  knocking the younger man back before he could bring his

  phaser up. "Security alert, deck

  fourteen!" shouted the guard, and then Riker grabbed

  him up, pivoted, and slammed him headfst into the

  wall. The guard went down, unconscious, and

  Riker scooped up his phaser.

  Riker knew security would be all over the

  place within a minute. If Riker were to be

  captured, dragged down to the brig, interrogated

  ... by the time he got everything straightened out, it

  would be too late.

  There was only one person he could think to trust.

  More to the point--there was only one person he could

  trust whose cabin was close enough.

  The thoughts had gone through his mind so

  quickly that he was already dashing down a side

  corridor before the guard had even completely

  slumped to the ground.

  A right, then another left, and he was standing in

  front of the cabin. He took a deep breath.

  The door was locked, which was not unusual when someone

  had retired for the evening. But his voice was still his

  voice, and he said briskly, "Computer,

  override lock and open for William Riker."

  The computer checked that this was indeed the voice of

  William t. Riker, authorized occupant

  of the cabin, and consequently, the doors hissed

  open. The admiral stepped inside.

  He heard soft breathing in the bed. He

  squinted, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness as

  the doors slid shut behind him.

  He hadn't been quite sure how he would react

  upon seeing his younger self. He was pleased to discover

  that, for the most part, he didn't really care. His

  younger version was simply a means to an end.

  Perhaps, when all this was over, he would get a

  massive case of the shakes. Just as Deanna had

  those many, many years ago.

  For the briefest of moments he was distracted by the

  mental image of Deanna from their steamy encounter

  in the jungle, and then he was immediately snapped

  back to business when his younger self suddenly sat

  up in bed.

  Commander Riker squinted into the darkness, looking

  straight at his older self, but wasn't able

  to make out anything clearly. He started to say,

  "Lights."

  But the admiral moved quickly, moving with

  assurance in the darkness since, after all, it was his

  old quarters and he remembered where everything was.

  He dropped onto the bed next to his younger

  self and clamped his hand over Will Riker's mouth.

  The commander struggled fiercely, shoving at the arm

  that he
ld him down, grabbing upward at his face.

  The elder Riker, for his part, felt nothing but

  impatience and quickly called out, "Lights!"

  He felt the younger man freeze in momentary

  confusion at the no-doubt familiarity of the voice.

  The lights came up, too bright for Will, and the

  admiral snapped, "Half lights," bringing the

  illumination to a more bearable level.

  Commander Riker stared up in shock at his

  future self. The latter hissed, "Shut up!

  We haven't much time!"

  Momentarily startled, Will began

  to struggle again, trying to make some sort of

  noise. The admiral, losing what little patience

  he had, and aware of the rapidly passing time,

  snapped, "Didn't you hear what I said? Shut

  up, you idiot! They may be here to try and stop

  me at any moment! So lie still! Listen to me, and

  be prepared to do exactly what I tell you.

  Deanna's life hangs on what you do next."

  That was more than enough to get W's attention. He

  stopped struggling, slowly realizing that he was not under

  direct attack; that he was not dreaming; and that there

  was more to this than he was going to be able to discern upon first

  exposure.

  "I'm going to let go of your mouth now," said the

  admiral. "So help me, if you shout or try

  to get attention, I'll knock you cold and take

  care of this myself. And if I have to do that and get

  nailed because I'm easily spotted, then you will quite

  literally have no one but yourself to blame for the rest of

  your life."

  Will nodded, indicating he understood, and the

  admiral slowly released his hand. He stepped

  back off the bed as Will sat up. There was still

  confusion in his eyes, but also amazement. "Who ...

  are you?"

  "The Easter bunny," snapped the admiral.

  "Who in hell do you think I am. We're

  wasting time ... time we haven't got. Get

  dressed. Move. Move!"

  Will rolled off the bed, never taking his eyes off

  the senior Riker, even as he started to pull on

  his uniform. "You're from the future, aren't you?"

  "That's right. You don't sound surprised."

  "After the time that Captain Picard ran

  into himself, I swore that nothing would surprise

  me."

  "Oh, yes," said the admiral. "I did

  swear that, didn't I." Then he turned deadly

  serious. "Listen to me and don't interrupt.

  Deanna's life is in mortal danger."

  "Then why in hell am I taking the time to get

  dressed?"

  "Because they may be watching for anything unusual