Part 1 (2/2)

Forget these images! Concentrate on what you are now! What are you? Say it! the voice intoned.

I am vengeance, he answered, I am death.

Death, said the stern cold voice. And what do you bring?

I am the bringer of darkness. For five thousand years that conversation had played itself over and over in the sterile wasteland that was now his mind.

And what else do you bring?

Destruction.

And what else?

Death.

But what was death? Was this not death already, this endless journey through eternal cold, this sterile emptiness?

And how shall death come?

By fire.

But oh, he thought, how long until that fire? How long until that cataclysm shatters the frozen night? He longed for fire. Even though it might last only a minute before the end came, at least that fire would not be cold.

The fire will come soon enough, said the voice, at the end of the endless journey.

Once, he thought, I ran in the hills. The light of two suns-a river of quicksilver-the dark eyes of a soft-spoken woman, and- I had a name once!

No more.

I think I can remember it-I think I can- Forget! Forget!

No! If I could only find the name-if only I could find the key to who I am again-and who these voices are-and- Why? It will only give you pain.

But even pain would be better than-nothing!

Forget, child. Forget.

He traveled on, dreaming of warmth. The warmth had a name, if only he could remember it-he him self had a name, if only he could dredge it out of the darkness within.

Forget, said the voice.

I'm trying, he answered, believe me. Trying to forget.

Chapter Two.

Engvig ACTING ENSIGN TORMOD ENGVIG could barely contain himself. To be on the U.S.S. Enterprise-to walk the corridors of the most celebrated stars.h.i.+p in history-it was almost beyond belief for a young man who had spent his entire formative years in a small town in Norway most well known for its Viking Village Theme Park.

Until his prizewinning essay, and the tantalizing possibility of a coveted scholars.h.i.+p to the Academy, the only s.h.i.+ps he'd ever been on were the longs.h.i.+ps they used in the Viking raid reenactment, attended by tourists from all over the Federation. This was hardly the same thing at all. Everywhere he went, there were these living legends just standing around; that very morning, no less a figure than Commander Data had told him to straighten his uniform! He didn't really know his way around that well yet, but that afternoon he managed to find himself in a bar.

It was jammed with people. There was so much to stare at; Tormod wanted to disappear into a corner and just observe. The heart-stopping panorama of deep s.p.a.ce, the stars far thicker and more brilliant than the clearest night sky over the fjord-the unfamiliar accents of Ferengi and Klingon-the heady scents of alien concoctions hanging in the air-plenty of sensory overload for a country boy who once thought he'd have to live and die in Rissa.

This had to be the Ten-Forward lounge, celebrated in song and story-it had even made its way into The Second Volsunga Saga, a controversial epic poem in Old Norse that continued the adventures of ancient heroes into modern times. I'll just stay nice and invisible, Tormod thought, and try to do the osmosis thing.

There was a slight feeling of disorientation; he blinked; the panoramic vista was suddenly quite different now; where there had been stars there were delicate skeins of streaking light. But no one seemed to notice-they all just went on drinking and chatting. The miracle of warp drive, and to these people it was as humdrum as a change in the wind at sea.

”Well!” It was a woman's voice, rich and comforting. ”I'm glad someone hasn't lost his sense of wonder.”

”You read my mind!” he blurted out. Then he turned to see yet another Starfleet celebrity, Deanna Troi, leaning against the wall and smiling at him. ”Oh ... excuse me. Of course you read my mind. You're-ah-I used to read about you.”

He searched for words, was once again-as often in the past two days-at a loss. How could he tell her how he pored over every encyclopedia, every simulation, even old-fas.h.i.+oned printed books, for every detail he could glean about this s.h.i.+p, its crew, its fabled missions?

”I don't read minds per se,” said the counselor. ”But I do sense-your wonder. It's a beautiful thing. Why, you're blus.h.i.+ng, Ensign. Have you met the captain?”

Only then did Tormod notice that she was standing next to his childhood idol, the man whose exploits he had followed in the news and in all those romantic s.p.a.ce travel memoirs and adventure simulations as a boy. ”Oh, my G.o.d,” he managed to stammer, ”I used to have a holographic collector card of you.”

”Ah yes.” Captain Picard winced slightly. ”The Heroes of the Federation series. I don't know why they let them talk me into being on one of those.”

Mortified, Tormod realized he had forgotten to call the captain ”sir.”

”It's all right,” said the counselor, once again uncannily plucking the very thoughts from his mind, ”I'm sure the captain will overlook it, just this once.” And she winked at him. Winked at him! Almost as if he were one of them!

”Engvig, isn't it?” said Captain Picard. ”They're sending them to me rather young, aren't they?”

”Well, sir, I-well, I wrote this essay, you see, and I won a prize that includes becoming an acting ensign and writing up a-”

”Yes, I know, I read your essay. Congratulations on your temporary commission, young man; I a.s.sume this a.s.signment will give you the self-confidence you will need when you begin your studies at the Academy in earnest.”

Once more, Tormod was taken aback. He could only stammer out, ”Sir.”

”Shall we give the young man a bit of a thrill?” the captain went on. ”I know you probably believe we're going to be running around saving the universe every five minutes, but our presence in the Klastravo system is going to be merely ceremonial, I'm afraid. Still, why don't you wait on the Thanetian amba.s.sador at the dinner in his honor this evening? He's got a child your age; perhaps you could practice diplomacy of a more informal sort. Help conduct a short tour, that sort of thing.”

Tormod could hardly believe his ears. ”But sir, I barely know the Enterprise myself yet.”

”Then it will be a great journey of discovery for the two of you. You'll report to Mr. Ta.r.s.es at nineteen hundred hours; he'll brief you.”

”But sir-”

”Filing a protest, Ensign?”

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