Three - Michael Jan Friedman [1]
Some years ago, we were about to start a paintball game in the wilds of Pennsylvania when he saw that a [vi] player on the opposing side was wearing a Nazi armband for a lark. Adam, being a Jew, demanded that the player take the armband off. In fact, he was willing to take on not only the player but the player’s half-dozen friends in order to make his point.
He made it. The guy took the armband off.
Adam was also a Star Trek fan, and a big one. We would often stand in the parking lot after a racquetball game and talk about the latest TV episode or Pocket novel. And the remarkable thing was how reverent he sounded in those discussions, how admiring of the people who came up with the stories he enjoyed. He was like a little kid, dreaming little-kid dreams.
So when I got the chance to dramatize Jean-Luc Picard’s battlefield commission in The Valiant, I gave Picard’s predecessor Adam’s last name and I made his first name an amalgam of Adam’s kids’ names. If I told you he got a kick out of it, it would be an understatement. He held The Valiant in his hands as if it were the holiest relic he could imagine, the highest honor. And though I knew he would be happy about what I’d done, I underestimated his gratitude.
After all, he had become a part of the Star Trek mythos.
In retrospect, I’m unutterably glad that I was able to do that for him. Had I waited even a year, he would never have known about it.
I don’t know exactly how Adam perished. More than likely, because of where he was in the building, he never [vii] knew what hit him. But I like to think he died trying to help others to escape, because that’s unquestionably what he would have done if he had survived long enough. He would have picked up one of the injured in those big arms of his and ignored his own safety to get that person out.
And I can tell you it wouldn’t have been just a “good effort.” It would have been a great one.
Acknowledgments
This time around, the author would like to thank Margaret Clark, editor extraordinaire, for her loyalty, dedication, and meticulous attention to detail; Scott Shannon, the best darn publisher a guy could have; and Paula Block of Viacom, whose insight and understanding have been invaluable in this and so many other projects.
Also deserving of praise are science guru Dave Domelen, the always-witty Bob Manojlovich, Jim McCain (whose crab boil may actually get used some day), Mel Orr, Ryan McReynolds and his brother Scott, Simon Cooper, Geoff Trowbridge, the mysterious Derek, Todd Kogutt, and Michael Schuster, for reasons many and varied.
Finally, the author would like to acknowledge his lovely wife and two remarkable sons, whose forbearance allowed him to complete this tome more or less on time.
Chapter One
GERDA ASMUND had developed a certain level of awareness as a child, a sensitivity that came close to the level of pure, untutored instinct.
At the moment, as she studied the updated data on her navigation monitor to see what kind of hazards awaited the Stargazer in the solar system they were approaching, that awareness told her she was being watched. But it was experience that told her by whom.
Turning to her twin sister, Idun, who was sitting at the helm panel beside her, she said in a soft voice, “Just behind you and to the right. At the engineering console.”
Idun’s brow creased ever so slightly. Then she cast a glance over her shoulder in the indicated direction. When she returned her attention to her helm controls, it was with an air of puzzlement so subtle and unobtrusive that only her sister was likely to recognize it.
[2] “Refsland?” said Idun.
William Refsland was the ship’s senior transporter operator—an efficient and responsible member of the crew, by all accounts. But he displayed what was, in Gerda’s estimate, a single very annoying habit.
“He keeps staring at us,” she told her sister.
Idun smiled.
“What’s so funny?” Gerda asked.
“I’ll bet he’s fantasizing,” her sister said.
Gerda looked at her. “Fantasizing?”
“We’re twins,” Idun said, as if that