Dyson Sphere - Charles R. Pellegrino [9]
Picard rested his hands on the tabletop. “I understand your feelings, Mr. Worf,” the captain said, “but this does bear the mark of an intended act. We cannot conclude, and behave, as if this were a natural occurrence in the absence of further evidence. While it may be difficult, at this point, to tell an intended attack from an accident of nature, we lessen our risk if we are prepared for the former and the latter turns out to be true.”
“It is safer than the other way around,” Data said, nodding his agreement.
The captain nodded back and said, “Now, Data, how many solar systems do you suppose existed here before the Sphere was built?”
“I estimate between one hundred and forty-six thousand and one hundred and fifty-two thousand, Captain.”
“As I see it, that makes about one hundred and fifty thousand possible reasons why someone might have a grudge against the Dysons. Maybe one of the old evictees, or survivors, has come back. For all we know, what we’re witnessing is one small battle in a galactic war. I’d hate to learn that the front line is coming our way.”
Riker’s eyes went wide with disbelief. He shook his head in denial. Worf was already wondering what kind of battle they might face.
“Be prepared for surprises, Number One,” Picard said. “They’re the only certainty here. In less than two weeks, all hell is going to break loose. And when it does, hell itself will look like shore leave by comparison.”
Troi’s fingers tightened around her cup of tea. “Or like Dyson but a little colder,” she added.
“The front line?” Worf said, wishing that a Klingon vessel were nearby, if only to gather what information it could about any advanced weaponry.
Picard looked grim. “That’s one of the things we must determine, if we can, and if there’s time-which brings up the question of who will make up the away team that is to go in with the Darwin.”
Crusher and Troi looked at the captain expectantly. La Forge and Data were still, while Will Riker, with his familiar look of anticipation and restlessness on his bearded face, was clearly hoping to command the away team. They all wanted to go; they would all be thinking of what they might discover inside the Sphere. Worf was still contemplating the neutron star that might destroy it.
Picard turned his head toward Riker. “Number massively destructive a weapon, even after a declaration of war. There is little glory in such conquests, and no chance for a warrior to display his bravery.” He preferred to believe that what they were facing was a natural event, not out of any cowardice-he could hardly imagine such a contemptible feeling-but because standing against an enemy with such overwhelming technical superiority would require no ingenuity, no brilliant use of strategy and tactics, only the willingness to die for no end.
Picard rested his hands on the tabletop. “I understand your feelings, Mr. Worf,” the captain said, “but this does bear the mark of an intended act. We cannot conclude, and behave, as if this were a natural occurrence in the absence of further evidence. While it may be difficult, at this point, to tell an intended attack from an accident of nature, we lessen our risk if we are prepared for the former and the latter turns out to be true.”
“It is safer than the other way around,” Data said, nodding his agreement.
The captain nodded back and said, “Now, Data, how many solar systems do you suppose existed here before the Sphere was built?”
“I estimate between one hundred and forty-six thousand and one hundred and fifty-two thousand, Captain.”
“As I see it, that makes about one hundred and fifty thousand possible reasons why someone might have a grudge against the Dysons. Maybe one of the
old evictees, or survivors, has come back. For all we know, what we’re witnessing is one small battle in a galactic war. I’d hate to learn that the front line is coming our way.”
Riker’s eyes went wide with disbelief. He shook his head in denial. Worf was already wondering what kind of battle they might