Star Trek Insurrection (Star Trek The Next Generation) - Hardcover

J. M. Dillard; Rick Berman; Michael Piller

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 0671024477 ISBN 13: 9780671024475

Publisher: Pocket Books, 1998

Synopsis

The actions of a mysterious new alien species with whom Starfleet has made an alliance, force Captain Picard to choose between his conscience and direct Starfleet orders

About this title

About the Author

J. M. Dillard is the author of the bestselling Star Trek: First Contact©. She lives in California.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

CHAPTER ONE

The morning of what would become the Day of Lightning began like all other spring days: cool first, then warmed by the rising sun. Anij paused in her walking to gaze up at the mountains, stark and serene against a cloudless sky. Timeless they were, as timeless as the sunlight, warm upon her homespun-clad shoulders; as timeless as the morning, or the cool air moving through her lungs, or her consciousness itself. She had walked this particular path into town every day for the past -- how many mornings? Always, she told herself, forever; for she did not care to remember the Time before this one. Forever the Ba'ku had lived here, or so it seemed; forever they had enjoyed the wealth of the fertile valley. And every day, regardless of season, it was the same: she set upon her way and saw the same sights -- the valley lush and verdant, fragrant with wildflowers and herbs, the tilled crops healthy in the dark, eternally fruitful soil; the imposing backdrop of mountains sometimes taupe, sometimes rose, sometimes blue or mauve, everchanging with the play of the light. Even when the rains came, they were gentle: perfect, simply perfect, never enough to keep her inside.

And every morning, the intense beauty of her world startled her afresh and filled her with joy.

Anij glanced up at the sound of a bleat: upon the lower, greener hillsides, shaggy pack animals grazed, a few of them glancing up at the shouts of children playing on a nearby farm. She followed the animals' curious gazes to a group of children clearly on the prowl for something hidden. Two of the boys were scanning the hay-strewn troughs between mounds of tender young plants -- careful, of course, not to trample the all-important crops. Meantime, a mixed trio ran giggling through the nearby orchard.

Anij smiled absently at them -- she knew them by name, of course, and their parents -- and resumed her customary stroll as she watched them. Suddenly, a golden head popped out from a haystack, and glanced about, searching for pursuers.

"There he is!" one of the girls bellowed, and Anij's faint smile turned to a wide grin as small shoulders, elbows, knees, and finally, an entire body, erupted from the haystack in a flurry of airborne straw. This was her youngest friend, the twelve-year-old Artim. His mother Barel had been a dear friend, too, and upon her tragic early passing immediately after the boy's birth, Anij came to serve as a foster aunt. Artim had proven such a delight -- wise beyond his years, with his mother's sweet disposition -- that Anij judged the child to be the true benefactor in the relationship.

Laughing to the point of breathlessness, Artim scrambled past the reach of his pursuers and up the trail that led into the rocky foothills, leaving a shower of pebbles in his wake. Anij watched as the others followed him, crying out in happy indignation at his escape, while she continued her journey. It would lead her on a slowly upward-winding trail into the village, where her path would intersect that of the children as they emerged from their steeper, more challenging route.

Sojef, Artim's father, would be waiting there; Sojef, straight and solemn, always and forever with a question in his eyes.

And Anij, with the same answer in hers: Not yet, not yet...

She had always thought her answer was based on purely solid reasoning: that she was still young, and Sojef, too; that there was still time for such commitments, for children. True, he was a good man -- leader of the entire Ba'ku community, six hundred now, and growing slowly again after so many were lost during the Time of Sorrows. She knew, also, from the now-departed Barel, that Sojef had been the most devoted of husbands, the gentlest of lovers.

A year after Barel's death, on his son's first birthday, Sojef had professed his love to Anij. Had asked her to commit to a permanent partnership. Forever, he had said.

Forever, Anij knew, was a very, very long time. Even so, she did not say no; at the same time, she did not say yes. I don't know. Give me time, Sojef. Give me time...

Time to accept that she would wed not out of passion, but friendship.

Sojef had given her time, of course; he was Ba'ku, too mature and intelligent to let something as foolish as his emotions cloud his judgment. And so, he and Artim remained her friends, visiting daily; it was understood in the village that perhaps someday, they would announce a formal commitment.

Anij drank in a long breath of cool morning air as she rounded a sharp curve in the path; the mountain that had blocked her view gave way suddenly to reveal the village square, encircled by the blooms of spring in dazzling shades of yellow, fuchsia, blue-violet. No matter how many times she saw that particular view, she always experienced pleasure.

How many springs had she experienced? Many, so many, and while she had always been aesthetically moved by the season's heady beauty, she had always reacted with wisdom and restraint. Only the youngest, most spoiled children indulged their emotions freely.

This spring was different; or perhaps it was she, Anij, who had somehow changed, grown tired of denying her feelings in favor of responsibility. The night before, she had dreamed a foolish dream: that she was free of all commitments, that she flew like a bird from the village and found her heart's desire in an offlander, a stranger whose face she could not clearly see, but whose strong arms held her firmly, whose whisper evoked in her an intensity of physical craving and emotion she had never before experienced.

She had wakened with a cry of disappointment at finding herself in her own bed, alone; even now, gazing upon the village nestled against mountains, sky, and quicksilver river, she felt a pang of yearning.

It followed her across the wildflower-filled meadow, past the pond into the village square, as she reasoned with it silently:

You are a fool, Anij, to think such thoughts. You know how craven, how amoral offlanders are; how could you even dream of loving one? Even dream of giving up this...?

And the beauty and serenity of the valley soothed her, as it always did; by the time she greeted her first fellow villager, her smile was once again genuine. This was the place she belonged -- had always belonged -- and the joy of being here far outweighed any childish cravings for true passion.

People began milling into the square. Some of the first merchants to arrive had already set up their stalls in the shade of a large rockface, where the mountain met the village, and were displaying wares: homespun clothing, honey, medicinal herbs.

"Gen'a, good morning," she called, to a woman carrying pails of fresh milk for sale, and to her dark-haired husband, eldest of the Original Group: "Jat'ko, how are you?"

And there beside the market stall stood Sojef, dressed in plain homespun. Anij banished all thoughts of the hot-blooded offlander and looked upon Sojef with admiration: he was clothed like everyone else, yet a stranger could easily have identified him as a leader. Not because of any affectation or condescension in his manner or speech; Sojef's attitude was one of gentleness. But there was a strength behind it -- a strength Anij had seen many times before, especially during the Time of Sorrows, when Sojef had taken responsibility for making the hardest decision of all.

She greeted him as she had every day for the past eleven years since his proposal: with a slight, complicitous smile, as if their agreement to become engaged someday were a secret unshared by the entire community. And he responded as he always did, with the same coconspirator's smile, the faint uncertainty in his eyes: Do you love me yet, as I do you?

And her unspoken answer: Give me time...

He nodded, ending the exchange, and turned his

Edition details

• Publisher: Pocket Books
• Publication date: 1998
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 0671024477
• ISBN 13: 9780671024475
• Binding: Hardcover
• Edition number: 1
• Number of pages: 295