textfiles/sf/STARTREK/bestsell

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Path: moe.ksu.ksu.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!meaddata!gordon
From: gordon@meaddata.com (Gordon Edwards)
Subject: Repost: Bestseller
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Organization: Mead Data Central, Dayton OH
Date: Mon, 11 May 1992 11:33:06 GMT
Message-ID: <1992May11.113306.22948@meaddata.com>
Lines: 883


Story:	"Bestseller"
Author:	stdnt163@whscdp.whs.edu


		S T A R   T R E K   V O Y A G E S

			Created by James Queen
				and
			    Marc TaiLore


		Captain's Log, Stardate 5006.8
     The Valiant is prepared to leave Starbase 23, after receiving
a few crew replacements.  I must note, with pride, that Commander
Mark Krawczyk, whose efficiency report is in my hand, is among the
new officers.
     Our next exploration assignment will be on the edge of "The
Zone", the uncharted area of Federation treaty space.

     Federation Starship USS Valiant, NCC-1724, cleared its
moorings and thrusted away from Starbase 23.  The ship turned
toward its destination, "The Zone."
     In his quarters, Captain Benjamin Hackley switched off the
computer log and laid down on his bed.  He usually relaxed in his
cabin, just to be sure he was calm and collected, before returning
to the stressful situations a Captain's rank brought on.  He knew
that, eventually, relaxing wouldn't help.  For after 23 years,
space exploration was beginning to damage his nerves.  He had had
enough of it, and now he was simply waiting for the last two years
of this mission to end, so he could accept his promotion to Admiral
and rest behind a desk.  He could just transfer now, but that
wasn't like Ben Hackley.  He would finish the job he had started.
     He had been offered four desk jobs already, along with
promotions, but had turned them all down.  He wanted to be the
Captain who had run more exploration missions than people believed
were endurable.  So here he was, on his fifth 5-year mission.
     More than he could endure.
     He had read the records of James T. Kirk's historical 5-year
missions, over and over again.  He envied Kirk's youth.  He wished
he could react and fight and decide and plan as fast as Kirk could. 
He used to be able to, but that was back when he was working on his
second mission.  When the 5 years were over, Hackley returned to
Earth, but his ship didn't.  It was left as a derelict, and a
transport had brought the crew home.
     Of course, that didn't happen to Kirk's crew. The Enterprise
had returned, in one piece.  The mission had hurt the ship, though. 
It returned charred, scored, scraped, and holed.  More so than
after its first 5-year mission.  More dangers had arisen this time,
and, therefore, more rewards were given to the crew who had
returned.  They were heralded again, with more celebrations for
performing a "miraculous" feat twice.  There were enough cheers
when it returned from the first 5-year mission, the only ship of
its class remaining.
     It had done it again, but this time, other Constitution-class
vessels remained.  Newer ones, like this second USS Valiant, built
to replace the one lost in the Eminiar system sixty-five years ago,
shot down by a computerized war between two of its planets, its
crew forced into disintegration chambers when they were hit and
considered "dead."  Kirk had solved that problem, too, and brought
peace to the worlds.
     New as it was, the Valiant still hadn't seen a complete
overhaul in two years, and it showed.  Hackley had pleaded for one
at Starbase 23, but Commodore Holsten had wanted the ship into "The
Zone" as soon as possible.  Hackley had left Holsten's office in
disgust, and fear.  The Valiant had seen a lot of action.  It had
been jury-rigged enough, and got weaker by the month.
     Hackley didn't want his ship falling apart around him.
     He had relaxed too long.  He shook himself back to the present
and sat up.  His eyes moved to the personnel record lying on his
shelf.  The bold print at the top read: Krawczyk, Mark Taylor.
     The service record was astounding.  Mark's cadet cruise had
been aboard a ship-of-the-line.  His first and second tours placed
him in the merchant marines.  His third assigned him to Starbase
duty.  His fourth tour took him to a smaller exploration vessel,
where he earned the much-talked-about perfect report.  The record
indicated a 120% efficiency, something that had only occurred three
other times in Starfleet's history, and done by Vulcans.  From
Constitution-class ships, down to merchant marine tours with bad
efficiency ratings, and up again to exploration and a perfect
rating, Mark had seen the highest and lowest groups in Starfleet.
     Hackley wondered how Mark had pulled it off.  He stood and
donned his uniform.  He walked out of his cabin, looking forward to
his first meeting with Commander Krawczyk.

"Best-seller"
Written by James Queen.

     "Mark!"
     James Queen was standing on the Valiant's hangar deck,
greeting the last group of new officers, when he saw Mark Krawczyk. 
Jim wore a standard, light blue Starfleet uniform that nearly
matched his eyes.  His brown hair was smoothly styled.  On his
sleeve were the gold stripes identifying him as a Commander.  On
his face he wore a shocked expression.
     Mark was dressed the same way, but his expression was content
and just a little impatient.  His eyes were better matched to his
light brown hair.
     It was the impatience Mark showed that made Jim realize he
still had a job to do.  He immediately snapped to attention.
     Mark stepped forward.  "Permission to come aboard, sir?"
     Jim stared straight ahead and saluted.  "Permission granted,
sir.  Welcome aboard, Commander."
     Mark stepped off the shuttlecraft and headed toward the
forward turbolift.  Jim watched him leave.
     Neither of them expected to be on the same ship at the same
time.  Their next meeting was planned to be three months later,
during shore leave.  Jim was tempted to laugh as hard as he could,
but he kept his composure.  After all, he was a senior officer,
setting a good example for the new crewmembers.
     New crewmembers?
     He'd forgotten again.  He turned back to the puzzled face of
a new recruit, waiting for permission.
     "Oh, uh, yes, welcome aboard."
     The recruit stepped down, relieved.  When the shuttle was
clear and the hangar bay was to be emptied, Jim went to the
turbolift.  When all personnel had left, the hangar doors opened,
and the shuttle drifted out.
     Jim ordered the turbolift to go to the bridge.  He felt the
elevator slide towards the top of the ship.  The noise from the
engines increased as he entered the saucer section, telling him
that the Valiant had just activated the warp engines.  Usually, the
sound was low enough not to be noticed, but when the ship went to
warp speed, it was heard everywhere.
     When the turbo's doors finally opened, Jim was not surprised
to find that the Captain was not on the bridge, nor was Mark.  He
walked over to the engineering panel and checked the outer hull
stress display.  Sure that the ship was handling perfectly, Jim
walked back to the turbolift.  His first thought was to report to
the Captain, who should be talking to Mark now.  He decided instead
to go to Mark's quarters and wait for him.
     
     Leaning against the wall, Jim jumped when the doors to Mark's
cabin opened.  Mark walked out, and nearly ran Jim over.  He looked
at Jim brightly.
     "Hello, there!"
     Jim just stared. "Why aren't you reporting in to the Captain?"
     Mark grinned. "Well, he won't mind a few hours, will he? 
We're still  three days from The Zone.  I've got plenty of time! 
Besides, I've got better things to do."
     Suddenly, Jim understood.  "Mark, just because you've got a
one-twenty rating doesn't mean Starfleet will bow down and kiss
your feet."  He'd read about the Vulcans who'd earned one-twentys. 
One had had this same problem, believing he had extra privileges. 
One wasn't affected, and the third had nearly gone insane trying to
do it again.
     Now Mark was shocked.  "Who said anything about bowing?  I'm
just asking for a few hours."  He turned toward the footsteps he
heard.
     Captain Hackley was walking toward them, probably wanting to
meet Mark in Mark's own quarters.  That meant the Captain had liked
what he'd heard about Mark.  Jim was sorry it wouldn't last.  He
gave Mark a sneer.
     "Explain it to him."

     "Oh, really?"
     The Captain paced Mark's quarters.  Mark stood patiently at
attention.  He'd certainly been through this before.  He waited for
the lesson the Captain prepared to teach.  Hackley looked at Mark
again, and the lesson began.
     "Commander, that one-twenty rating of yours means that you are
more than qualified to be my chief science officer and that I can
expect you to do a good job.  It does not mean that you can bend
regulations and rest as you please.  Understood?"
     Calmly, Mark gave the routine reply. "Yes, sir."
     Hackley was sorely disappointed.  He had expected a nicely
done report from a fine officer.  He didn't want a stuck up hotshot
instead.  It was a bad first impression, but then, Krawczyk had
only been aboard for a few minutes, and had plenty of time to shape
up.
     Considering this, Hackley's expression brightened.  He smiled. 
"Good, now," he walked up to Mark and offered his hand, "It's a
pleasure to meet you, Commander."

     On the recreation deck, Mark, Jim, and two other officers sat
at a reserved table.
     "Mark," Jim began as he pulled out a chair, "I'd like you to
meet Lieutenant Peter Ledolison, Chief of Communications, and
Lieutenant Commander John K. Millis, Chief Helmsman.  Gentlemen,
this is Commander Mark Krawczyk, our new Science Officer."
     Everyone shook hands and exchanged greetings, then took their
seats.
     Jim started, "Mark is the one with the -"
     "One-twenty," the two officers said in harmony.  Peter
continued, displaying a very slight British accent, "It's not easy
to miss hearing about a perfect efficiency report."
     "It's not easy getting a perfect report, either," Mark added,
then began eating the meal he had just ordered.
     "Are you worried that people will demand too much of you now?"
Peter asked.
     Mark looked up, seeing Peter's brown hair and blue eyes, and
noticing the similarity between Lieutenant Ledolison and Jim.  "If
they do, so what.  I can handle anything they dish out." 
     Jim groaned.  Peter and John looked at each other nervously. 
Jim wondered how they were taking this.  Peter might respect Mark
for wanting to follow orders, but scorn on his unorthodox methods
of doing so.
     John, an African-American native of California, believed
Starfleet should be fighting Klingons and not itself, so he may
also see following orders as good, but wonder about Mark's
attitude.
     Jim, well, he just couldn't make up his mind yet.
     "In fact," Mark continued, chomping on part of his salad,
"I'll probably get another perfect rating.  It'll be easier the
second time around."
     They were all silent.  Mark kept eating.
     "Well," John finally began, "we should be approaching The Zone
any minute, now.  I suppose we should be on the bridge."
     Jim watched them leave, hoping they didn't look too eager to
get away and discuss things about Mark.  If they did look eager,
Mark didn't notice.
     Jim realized he should be at his station, too.  He stood and
pushed the chair in, then looked at Mark.  "I'll be in
Engineering."
     Mark nodded and waved him off, finishing his drink.  When Jim
was gone, Mark set his tray near the food slot and strolled towards
the turbolift.

     The Valiant approached the invisible border of The Zone.  The
hull was covered with replacement plates and makeshift repairs. 
The lack of an overhaul made the vessel seem like a building no one
had lived in for years.  The ship looked old and worn out.
     The empty space in front of it, however, was just the
opposite.  It was home to the people in it.  To the Federation, it
was just unclaimed territory.  There was no radiation save what
emanated from the stars.  No debris floated about.  No man-made
constructs marred the view.
     It was this view that Captain Hackley had been watching for
several minutes.  He buried it in his memory and savored it.  Once
he was behind an Admiral's desk, he wouldn't see anything like it
again.
     He took his eyes off of the viewscreen and looked around the
bridge.  All of the officers were at their stations, including
Mark, he noticed.  Good.  He felt better.  Now he had to see how
Krawczyk performed his science duties.
     "Unidentified vessel at three-one-six mark eight-two," Mark
reported.
     Hackley walked up to the Science station.  There's a good
start, he thought.  "Life forms?" he asked.
     Mark stared into his scanner.  "Computer reads one-hundred
sixteen, sir."
     Hackley looked back at the viewer.  "On screen."
     The vessel appeared on the screen, and caught Hackley
completely by surprise.
     He was looking at an old Earth, sixteenth century wooden
sailing vessel, in space.
     "That's impossible."  This came from Ron Pelten, the navigator
sitting in front of the Captain.  Hackley looked at him, then
looked back up.  He could hardly disagree.  Space was much too cold
for humanoid life to survive in a wooden vessel.  Oxygen leaks and
depressurization were also highly probable.  From the looks of it,
the ship carrying over one-hundred life forms looked like it could
sustain nothing but space itself.
     "No it isn't," Mark said from his scanner.   "It's not wood,
but a common tritanium hull painted to look like wood."
     "Interesting," remarked Lieutenant Ledolison.
     "Yellow alert, sir?" offered John Millis, his hands on the
weapons standby controls.  Unidentified or not,  John was not going
to let some crazy aliens in a disguised ship get the jump on him. 
The Federation was strong enough to hold down any invaders, and he
would prove it.
     But, looking at Captain Hackley's glare on him, he decided he
wouldn't prove it right now.
     "That's not necessary, Helmsman," Hackley warned.  "Mr.
Ledolison, open a hailing frequency, send all standard hello
messages."
     "Aye, sir."  Peter turned to his control panel.
     Mark spoke up, "Captain, I read no coolant pipes, engines,
weapons, or electronics, other than their artificial gravity plates
and life support."  Mark sounded puzzled.  He continued to observe
the vessel while calling up memory files from the ship's computer
on old Earth naval vessels.
     Hackley looked back at the ship, if he could truly call it
that.  It had no propulsion or controls.  It was essentially a
metal hulk, carrying life forms, shaped like a sailing vessel. 
"Then it can't receive our hails," he decided, "Cut off messages."
     Peter cut the signals, then studied the vessel again,
infinitely fascinated.
     "Mr. Pelten," Hackley called to his first officer, "would you
like to try an exploration team?"
     Pelten got out of the navigation seat.  "Yes, sir.  Mr.
Krawczyk, Mr. Ledolison."  He called to Engineering as they headed
toward the turbolift.  "Mr. Queen, we have a technological puzzle
I'm sure you'd be interested in."
     Jim's voice came over the bridge speakers.  "I've been
listening.  I'll meet you in Transporter room Three."

     The gold, shimmering transporter beam deposited the four
crewmen on a wooden floor.  They immediately expected cold air to
engulf them, but life support kept them rather warm.  The hundred
and sixteen people that were supposed to be living here were
nowhere to be seen.
     "Stay together.  Phasers on stun," Ron ordered.
     They all turned the knob on their weapons, then moved down the
corridor.  A quiet whining came from Mark's tricorder.
     "Most of the life forms are gathered in a hall one deck down,
to the aft, " he reported.  The other party members didn't need to
be told.  There was a considerable amount of noise coming from that
general direction.
     They entered what appeared to be a storage room.  Their eyes
widened as they noticed swords and knives hanging around the room,
and a pile of what appeared to be... cannonballs?... in one corner.
     "How are we supposed to get down?" Jim asked, "I don't imagine
they have turbolifts."
     "How's this?" Ledolison called.  He referred to a staircase he
had found behind a hinged door.
     The four looked down into the darkness.  They were getting
light in here from torches mounted on the walls.  The stairs looked
rickety and the officers didn't quite trust them as they stepped
down.  Their skepticism was misplaced; the stairs were the same
solid alloy that had covered the room they were now leaving.
     According to the tricorder, the group was now amidships, on
the third level.  The noise was much louder now, coming from a
corridor running aft to their right.  They were nearly halfway to
the aft section when the hall came to an end.  Lanterns lined the
corridor on both walls.  A large red carpet on the floor made the
hallway seem to greet someone of royalty.
     The hinged door in front of them was lined in gold.  The party
found no other doors on the walls.  After searching, they were left
speculating about the first door.
     "You think all this noise is coming from behind here?" Ron
asked.
     "Can't be," Mark replied, "It's coming from a hall all the way
to the rear of the ship."
     "Maybe it's a very big hall," Jim suggested.
     "Maybe it's the Captain's quarters," Peter offered.
     The other three looked at him, then looked back at the door. 
That made sense.  A grand hallway leading to a gold-lined door. 
They all mentally slapped themselves for not figuring it out first,
but wouldn't tell the others that they did.
     "Okay," Ron finally said, "Either side, Phasers ready."  He
pointed to either wall.  Mark and Jim got against the walls, Peter
stood ready behind Ron.
     Ron jerked the door open, and waited.
     Nothing happened.
     Everyone let out a breath of relief, then looked embarrassed
that they had been holding one in the first place.
     They crept into the room, made sure no one was around, put
their Phasers away and started examining the room.  No one was a
bit surprised by what they saw.  They had all read Moby Dick and
Treasure Island.  This was common for a captain's room.  Trinkets,
medals, and displays were scattered on various shelves.  No doors
other than the one they came in were visible.  They noticed this
and realized this was not the way to the life forms.
     A desk in the center of the room, with a rather uncomfortable
looking chair behind it, held inkwells, various papers, a few more
trinkets, feather pens, a timepiece, and a book.
     A rather large book, opened nearly to the end.  While the
others studied the treasures and artifacts, Peter stood over the
desk and read a few passages from the book:

     The Captain stood over his men and raised his chalice in a
toast.
     "Ahoy maties!  Today we be celebrating the final vanquishin'
of our enemies, da Horidins!"
     Cheers erupted all over the great hall.  The men sang songs,
and feasted on the plunder of their last raid.  They were doing
this forty minutes later, when a buzzing noise disrupted them. 
They ignored it, and continued eating.  Ten minutes later, the
Captain screamed.
     The pirates dropped their food, and stared at the Captain.
     "The King has called to me again!" the Captain called out, "We
have been invaded!"
     All of the men dropped their food, grabbed their swords, and
stormed out of the room.

     Peter was becoming very interested.  He turned the page.  He
turned another.  He turned more.
     They were blank.
     Peter looked around.  The rest of the team was still studying
the objects on the shelves.  While concentrating on them, and Peter
on the book, they had failed to notice that the noise had ceased,
and a rustling was now heard to the starboard.
     "Guys, listen!" he yelled.
     They all looked at each other, then listened.  The noise was
now coming from the hallway.  They drew their Phasers and ran to
the door.  Ron looked into the hallway...
     and ducked.
     A sword flew through the air where his neck would've been. 
Another blade flew through the air and missed Ron.
     It hit Peter in the side.
     Peter gasped and fell to the floor.  Mark had aimed his Phaser
and pushed Ron out of the way. while Jim activated his
wrist-communicator.
     "Valiant, emergency beam-out! Now!"
     Mark fired.  As the closest four people fell, stunned, the
golden wave of the transporter pulled the team away from the
attackers.

     "He'll be fine," Brian Halmen assured.
     Captain Hackley stood over Ledolison as the diagnostic bed
completed it's scan.  He looked at Doctor Halmen, who finished
applying some synthetic skin to the wound.  Halmen turned to
Hackley, and spoke with a mild Italian accent.
     "Don't give him any exercise for awhile, Ben."
     Hackley nodded, and his Italian friend walked away, toward his
office.  After a minute, Peter opened his eyes.
     "Where am I?"
     "You're in sickbay, on the Valiant."  Hackley raised his hand
to Peter's arm and comforted him.  Hackley was only sub-consciously
looking at Peter.  He was remembering standing over three other
young officers, at three different times, on three different
starships.  They were all Lieutenants, new to exploration.  All
three had the same look in their eyes when they'd come aboard, the
excitement and want for adventure, the eagerness to see the
unknown.
     All three had been wounded one or two years later, and all
three had been laying on beds like Peter.  The look was gone from
their eyes, replaced by an expression of shock and terror.  The
realization of the dangers the unknown offered and how their lives
could be taken at any given time, had wrecked havoc with their
minds.  Two of the officers had transferred planetside when they
had recovered enough.  The third died.
     Hackley looked into Peter's eyes and searched for the
realization.
     Peter's eyes looked back at him.  They showed no fear.  They
showed a new understanding, but they had not lost the look for
adventure in the unknown.
     Hackley was surprised, and relieved.
     Peter spoke up.  "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
     "Granted."
     "Damn, that was interesting!
     "Good enough, mister."  Hackley couldn't bring himself to
discipline him for his language.  He simply smiled.  "Briefing in
five minutes," he ordered.
     "Yes, sir," Peter replied, now attentive and controlled.

     "It's a pirate ship," Hackley echoed.
     The three other officers at the table nodded.
     "That's what we decided," Ron said.
     Hackley nodded.  "Jim, you're analysis?"
     Jim looked at his data pad.  "Tritanium hull, adequate life
support, but you knew that.  All I can add is that it has the same
thing on the inside."
     Hackley frowned.  "Mr. Krawczyk?"
     "I don't quite know what to call it.  It can't be called a
ship, despite its shape and purpose.  I'd call it a space station,
except that it doesn't have sufficient equipment.  There's no name
for it, sir, but a sailing ship modified to float in space.
     Ron jumped in.  "There were no navigation charts inside,
either, sir.  Except for a form of...treasure map.  They certainly
weren't going anywhere.  Perhaps they were meant to float."
     Hackley considered this.  The briefing room was quiet when
Ledolison walked in, a cast bound around his waist.
     "Your analysis of the vessel, Mr. Ledolison?" Hackley asked.
     "It's a pirate ship."  Peter replied as he sat down.
     The other officers grinned.  Hackley still looked concerned. 
"What did you all find inside?"
     "Trinkets," Ron began.
     "Cute gold medals, " Jim offered.
     "Pirates," Mark said.
     "A very interesting book," Peter said, catching everyone's
attention  "A book that told what was happening on the ship."

     In the Transporter room, the officers crossed their fingers as
something shimmered into existence on the Transporter pad.
     The book had been beamed over.  The officers didn't celebrate,
they just ran to the book and opened it.
     "It ended here," Peter pointed.  The area that was blank
before had been filled in.  Confused, the officers read:

     "The King has agreed to let us invade," the Captain cheered.
     The pirates growled and raised their swords.
     Then, with the King's power around them, the pirates vanished.
The King's whirlwind would transport them to the invaders' ship.
     Then the spacemen would bow to them!

     The officers looked at each other, then looked around the room
for the attack that the book warned would happen.

     Captain's log, Stardate 5015.3.
     After being attacked by a group of pirates, our landing team
has escaped a wooden sailing vessel, drifting in front of us.  We
have beamed over a strange book from the ship, which tells us that
the pirates are planning to attack at any time.

     "We have unwillingly become a part of someone else's little
fantasy, Admiral," Captain Hackley reported to the person on the
viewscreen.  Admiral Jerry Regiffe wasn't surprised by what the
Valiant had run across.  In fact, Hackley thought he saw a bored
and impatient look on Regiffe's face when it first appeared on the
screen.  He thought he heard the Admiral thinking, what has that
ship gotten into now?
     "I have no suggestions, Captain," Regiffe replied.  "This
can't be called interference, since you didn't do anything, and
since these 'pirates' can't be considered a race."
     "If you're referring to the pirates being part of the strange
book, sir," Hackley said, "we still haven't proven that the book
has anything to do with them.  It's a pirate ship, the captain may
be writing a book about pirates."
     "Then you'll have to get more information," Regiffe ordered,
"Until then, you're going to have to wait it out.  Regiffe out." 
The viewscreen showed space again.
     Hackley frowned for a moment, then turned to Mark, up at the
science station.
     "Mark, where are the pirates now?"
     The sensor screen threw a blue glow on Mark's face.  Then it
disappeared and Mark hit a few toggles.  "They're crowded back in
the main hall again, sir."
     Hackley frowned again.  Damn, he wanted them to attack.  If
something was going to happen, it should happen now, while the crew
was fairly expectant.  If the pirates waited too long, the crew
would relax, and be caught off guard when the attack began.
     He walked down to his command chair and pushed an intercom
button.  "Transporter room, Jim, Peter, how you doin'?"
     Peter's voice came back over the speaker.  "Nothing yet, sir. 
It still says 'the space men would bow to them.'"
     "Thank you, Lieutenant.  Keep us informed."  Hackley hit the
intercom again.  "Commander Millis, report to the bridge."
     "Captain!" Mark yelled.
     Hackley spun, "What?"
     The scanner was beeping again.  "They're gone.  There are no
pirates left on the ship."
     "Captain!" Jim's own voice buzzed, "This is the transporter
room.  The book is changing."
     "Sir," it was the communications officer replacing Peter this
time, "Security reports men in old Earth attire have materialized
in some corridors on Deck 5.  Deck 6 reports pirates, and Deck 19
says intruders have appeared in the hanger bay."
     Hackley was moving towards the science station.  "Send full
security forces to all three decks, have phasers set for stun."
     Mark displayed the areas occupied by the pirates on his
science monitor.  Hackley hit the intercom again.  "Security,
report to decks 4 and 7 to keep the intruders isolated."
     Security began warning all personnel away from the occupied
areas, while Engineering sealed off certain occupied corridors.
     Hackley studied the schematic and called to Pelten.
     "Commander, sound Red Alert."

     While staring in wonder at the metal doors that slid open to
get out of their way, the pirates moved toward a stairwell on Deck
5.  Security arrived, and six men fell, stunned.  The remaining
pirate slashed one guard, and charged down the stairwell, scared
beyond reasoning.
     As a guard approached, the pirate noticed the shiny metal
thing that used bright light to knock out his comrades.  He had to
stop the spaceman from using it on him.
     The pirate charged and lunged his sword.  Knowing that most
people in space were afraid of phasers, this guard didn't prepare
for a man to charge him.
     The pirate swung and missed, knocking a chunk out of the
bulkhead.  As the guard turned, the pirate swung again, and the
guard collapsed.
     The pirate ran through the strange sliding metal doors and
nearly ran into four more men in red uniforms, holding those evil
metal light weapons.
     He watched as a dozen of his colleagues collapsed under the
spacemen's treachery.
     He was angered.  He lashed out at the spacemen.
     The guards were unaware of the blade cutting the air behind
them, and so were quite surprised, when the sword cut into them. 
The pirate dispatched four of them before the fifth turned and had
a chance to fire.  The pirate fell among the guards on the floor.
     By the time the standing guard had turned back to his original
targets, they were upon him.
     The man was hacked up, and unrecognizable when the pirates
fled from incoming reinforcements.

     In the hangar bay, pirates lay unconscious everywhere.  The
open area had allowed the security guards to stun everyone safely
and for a long time.
     The turbolift doors opened, and Ron Pelten approached the
guards.
     "Did any of them talk to you?" he asked.
     "No, not one," the guard frowned, "The loonies just kept
yelling 'for the King, retrieve his artifact.'"
     Ron's eyes squinted, then widened.
     "Keep them knocked out," he said, as he started back for the
elevator, this time at a run.

     The door to Engineering slid open, and the engineers pulled
out phasers.  Two guards arrived from the upper deck and ran down
the gangway.
     Pirates collapsed again, leaving only a handful, who were now
crouch behind walls.
     The guard closest to the gangway aimed, and screamed.  A sword
was buried in his back, and as the other guards turned to look, the
hidden pirates pulled out daggers and threw them.
     All the daggers missed and hit the rear wall.
     The guards looked at their sources, and the second volley
arrived.  One guard fell, a dagger embedded in his shoulder.  The
others fired, and four men fell behind the walls.  One was hidden
completely and wasn't hit.  The surprise attacker was also put to
sleep by the guard closest to him.
     Four more pirates came through the doors, and one fell behind
the wall and pulled out his sword as his three friends were
stunned.
     At that moment, Jim walked in.  The pirates turned toward him,
and he swung.  The fist cracked against the jaw, and the pirate
dropped his sword.  Jim snatched it as the other stood.
     The pirate swung, and Jim took a gash in the side.  Biting his
lip, he swung, and the pirate deflected the blade.  As the pirate
swung and missed, his comrade was getting up and pulling a dagger
out.  A security guard noticed this and set his weapon for narrow
beam.  Jim swung and was blocked, and he heard a phaser beam behind
him as the dagger fell out of the stunned pirate's hand.  The
pirate with the sword swung, and a slice opened in Jim's uniform. 
As he fell unconscious, another phaser beam threw the pirate
against the wall and let him drop in a heap.
     Commander Pelten entered from the workshop.  He saw Jim on the
floor and looked at the guards.
     "Who's in the transporter room?" he demanded.
     Just the chief and Mr. Ledolison, I imagine," replied the
guard.
     At a run, Pelten entered the turbolift.  "That book must be
protected!" he called.
     Another door slid shut as a pirate on the upper deck crawled
out of his hiding place and rejoined his fellows.
     "The King's tome is in their transportation place," the man
reported.
     The pirates marched down the corridor, opening every door,
searching every room.

     In the transporter room, Peter Ledolison was aiming his
phaser.  The pirate hiding behind the wall in the corridor raised
his dagger.  He turned and threw, and Peter fired.  His shot
bounced harmlessly off of the wall plating, but the dagger buried
itself in his thigh.  He screamed and fell, but was still alert
enough to hear more phasers, and people hitting the floor nearby.
     Dr. Halmen came in with a stretcher, and ran a scanner over
Peter's body as his aides lifted him up and over.
     Halmen frowned at his readings, then looked at his aides. 
"C'mon, OR's just down the hall, let's go."
     The medics left, and the phaser fire continued in the opposite
direction.  Ron Pelten ran into the room and found the book,
unprotected, then ran to the computer console.
     "Captain, this is Pelten, you'd better send help to
Transporter room One.  The pirates are after the book."
     "Understood," Hackley's voice said, "We're on our way."
     The door opened behind him, and Ron turned and fired.  The
phaser blast missed, and Ron had to move out of the way.  The main
horde had arrived, and Pelten had only half of his phaser power
left.  The rest had been used on the way to the transporter.  The
pirate lunged, and the blade caught Ron's thigh.  He screamed and
collapsed.  Phaser fire was again heard down the corridor.  The
pirate turned and ran out the door where his shipmates were
preparing daggers and watching their fellows fall in threes.  In
front of him, the pirate Captain began summoning the king's powers,
and ordering his men to grab the book.  The pirate reentered the
room, but his mates collapsed.  As the Captain screamed the final
words and the weapons turned on him, the pirate knew he wouldn't
reach the book.  He had one second to get his vengeance on the
spacemen, because the Captain had to save his worthless neck. 
Well, he would get the most vengeance he could.
     The Captain fell unconscious, the guards reached the door.  As
the King's power tickled his mind in preparation for transport, the
pirate raised his sword. The guards took aim, and the pirate buried
the sword in Pelten's back.  Then, the whirlwind took him, and the
king returned him to his vessel.
     The guards piled into Transporter room One and searched
everywhere.  Dr. Halmen entered and looked around.  He pulled out
a medical sensor and stopped when he realized who it was with a
sword standing out of his back.  He immediately crouched down and
ordered an emergency first aid kit.
     The door opened again, and Hackley's mouth dropped open. 
Halmen began to apply first aid while Pelten was placed on the
stretcher.  His eyes widened at the wound gaping in Ron's back. 
Sickbay doors opened, and Pelten was placed on the bed.  First aid
continued, and Hackley perceived the sword to be dancing on Ron's
back.  And it was laughing.
     Hackley blinked several times and resisted the urge to yank
the weapon out of his first officer's body.
     The first aid failed again.  A cardiostimulator was latched to
the bed, but would not be used.  The protoplaser was activated, but
wasn't helping.
     "With all your technology, you can't even beat people seven
hundred years behind you!" the sword cried, "and it's simply
because you're just as mortal as they are!"
     In Hackley's mind, the sword laughed hysterically, holding its
gut.
     Hackley watched the sword, representative of the pirates who
killed an innocent man for no apparent reason, study the diagnostic
screen.  Finally, the meters fell, and the sword laughed again.
     Hackley closed his eyes and left.
     Dr. Halmen pulled the sword out of the body.
     Ron Pelten was dead.

     Captain's Log, Stardate 5016.2
     My First Officer, Ron Pelten, is dead.  The pirate attack has
come and gone, and we've discovered that the mysterious book is
something of great importance.  Commendations go to Ensign
Carlstel, Ensign Mortesh, Ensign Dallen, Ensign Kentresky,
Lieutenant Reft, and Lieutenant Mannewicks, who were all injured in
the attack.  Posthumous commendations are recommended for Ensign
John S. Yerich, and Commander Ronald L. Pelten, who both died in
the performance of their duty.

     "Then the whirlwind took him, and Ekarik was returned to his
ship.  The mission had failed.  Captain Garr cursed mightily and
walked to the altar.  He would have to apologize to the King.  The
spacemen were too powerful."
     Mark closed the book.  Captain Hackley put his head in his
hands, then folded them.  He looked at doctor Halmen.
     "Doctor, how are your patients?"
     Halmen looked at his data pad.  "Ensigns Dallen and Kentresky
are up and walking.  It will be a few days for Lieutenant
Mannewicks, but Lieutenants Reft and Ledolison are out for the rest
of the week.  Ensigns Mortesh and Carlstel have handed me their
resignations, which i'll get to you this afternoon.  Commander
Queen should be around in three days."
     Hackley frowned and thought for a moment.
     "Captain," John Millis spoke up, "I suggest we destroy the
ship.  These pirates are just figures out of a story.  They have
started a war against us.  We have given them the advantage by
allowing them this attack!"
     "Sit down, Mr. Millis," Hackley said, "These pirates are
entities created by an intelligent type of....storyteller....whose
playing field we've stumbled on to.  The attack was not the fault
of the pirates, but the work of the writer's imagination."
     Millis sighed and looked away.
     Hackley continued.  "Now, personally, I don't feel like
learning any more about them, as Admiral Regiffe suggests.  It has
cost us too much already.  I'm going to leave the play area
immediately."  He pushed the intercom button, "Bridge, this is the
Captain.  Contact Starfleet.  Inform Admiral Regiffe that we will
be leaving this sector."
     The bridge replied, "Aye, sir."
     Hackley looked up.  "Mr. Krawczyk, you will join me in a
landing team to return the book to the pirate ship."
     Millis stood.  "Captain!  You can't go over there!"
     Hackley was moving toward the door.  He turned to face Millis. 
"Mr. Millis, that book is the reason my First Officer is dead.  It
is an intriguing piece of alien work, but it is something we have
wrongfully taken.  I intend to return it myself and, if possible,
apologize."
     Millis gaped and stared in shock.
     Hackley left the briefing room, with Mark close behind.

     The golden silhouettes of Captain Hackley and Commander
Krawczyk became people, standing on the deck of the pirate ship, as
the transporter effect wore off.
     The tricorder whistled and Krawczyk pointed.  "The Captain's
Quarters is this way sir."
     The two officers walked down the staircase.  The carpet was
still there, and the sound of activity from the aft section
designated the location of the pirates.
     Mark pulled out his phaser and opened the door.  Hackley stood
forward, with the book in his hand.  They both opened their mouths
and eyes wide.
     Seated behind the desk, gloating, was a greenish-red humanoid,
with sickle shaped appendages, running behind him, coming from the
jaw.  It was dressed in blue-green robes, lined in silver. 
Perfectly round eyes were situated above a form of nose running
down to the upper lip, and flaps of skin ran from either side down
to the sickle-shaped appendages.
     On the floor lay the pirate Captain Garr, killed by the King's
wrath.    
     Hearing footsteps, the alien looked up and, noticing the book,
smiled.
     "Grfundelishikolistefel!" it exclaimed as it stood.
     Mark activated the tricorder's universal translator.
     "My book," it cooed, "You've decided to return it!  How
absolutely marvelous."
     Hackley stepped forward.  "My name is Captain Benjamin Hackley
of the Starship Valiant.  I am a representative of the United
Federation of Planets."
     "Oh, details!" the creature yelled, "I've needed details, I
get sick of calling you spacemen all the time.  It just gets so
boring."
     Hackley looked at Mark, who looked back.
     "Oh, please, come in.  Make yourself at home.  It's not every
day I get to speak to my characters in person."  The storyteller
sat back in his chair.
     "We are not characters in some fantasy," Hackley uttered, "We
are living sentient beings, who have no desire to be used as toys."
     The creature looking offended.  "Oh, oh my, I'm terribly
sorry.  I thought you would enjoy beating mt pirates.  It makes a
great story."
     Hackley sighed.  Mark recorded the trinkets all around the
room on the tricorder.
     "You see," the alien continued, "originally, the pirates were
to have been defeated by my heroes, on the good ship Shordestak. 
But before I introduced them, you appeared.  The pirates you saw
were simply figures I use to help visualize my story.  It makes it
much easier to detect errors."
     "Anyway, you seemed like good opponents, and I thought you
might have been one of my friend's creations, so I wrote you in. 
When your people boarded the ship, it allowed me to start the
conflict between the two parties."
     "However, I wasn't expecting you to enter this room.  It's my
private study, and you just happened to find the book here during
my lunch break."
     Mark stifled a laugh, and Hackley placed the book on the desk.
     "Without the book, I could only use my powers to write in it
for a short time.  To further the plot conflict, I sent the pirates
after it.
     "You're the King," Hackley concluded.
     "Yes.  I'd hoped hordes of pirates would be able to get the
book back.  But, they were scared off by your technology.  The
pirate captain had to retreat.  It was the only thing that would
make sense in the story.  Surely, they would not fight what they
considered such 'powerful magic.'  It's funny, sending my own
character to retrieve the book he was written in.  I was just going
to try and use the so-called 'King's powers' to make you give it
back when you arrived."
     "We are not figments of your imagination!" Hackley yelled,
"You've killed my First Officer and a Security Guard, and wounded
six others."
     "I had no idea you would react this way!" the storyteller
complained, "I thought you were someone else's creations."  It
sighed, "It's too bad.  I was getting close to the end.  I was so
sure it would be another best-seller."
     Hackley wasn't impressed.
     The writer looked at his book and opened it to the last
written page. "I suppose I'll have to think of a way to eliminate
you.  I still don't know how to finish it."
     Mark had finished his recording and returned to the captain's
side.
     "We shall leave you to your thinking," Hackley said, and
pushed his communicator-watch.  He studied the alien storyteller
for a moment.  "Transporter room, stand by."  He leaned on the desk
and smiled.
     The alien looked up.
     "We have interfered with your story enough," Hackley said,
"but, since your characters are already involved in their writing,"
he waved a hand at the pirate on the floor, "why don't they help
finish it?"
     The storyteller blinked.  "You mean, you'll stay and fight?"
     "I mean I'll stay and return your book," Hackley said, "as an
offering of peace.  How about: the pirates agree, and both ships
leave the area to return to their respective kingdoms with
treaties."
     The writer nodded, then smiled.  "That's good.  Yes, there can
be peace instead of fighting, so I can make you allies. Maybe I'll
give you a return story."
     Hackley closed his eyes.  Mark looked worried.
     The storyteller was scribbling in the book now.  "Yes, this
can work.  It will be a great ending.  Everyone leaves peacefully."
     The officers showed relief.
     "There," the alien said, and smiled at Hackley, "You see?  It
will be a best-seller."
     Hackley smiled.  Mark nodded.

     Captain's Log, Supplemental.
     Starfleet is aware of the situation, and a trade agreement is
in the works.  The storyteller has agreed to give Starfleet a
recurring role a mysterious, powerful race of merchants.  The
Valiant is returning to Starbase 23, where I will receive a new
First Officer.

     In his quarters, Captain Hackley filed away the letter that
would inform the Peltens of their son's death.  In doing so, he
filed away the presence of the exceptional first officer he had
known for six years.
     Suddenly, Hackley turned and clenched his fists.  He pushed
away a strange sense of relief and freedom he had felt during the
past half hour.
     He imagined the sword sticking out of Ron's back, and he
considered his own mortality.  He thought of the dangers he had
faced during his past.  For 25 years he had commanded a starship
and escaped destruction at the hands of the unknown.  He looked at
his future.  He saw himself getting old, and counting his final
years of command.  He saw his First Officer, running his ship,
making sure it was as efficient as possible...running it...for him.
     He was afraid.
     He was relieved.  He was angry.  He had complete control of
his ship, now.  There was no help, no First Officer.  He wanted
one, last year of command.  He wanted to command the starship, all
by himself, before he became senile.
     Had he wanted Ron Pelten out of the way?
     Hackley cringed.
     He walked to the other side of the room.
     He thought of Jim Queen, Peter Ledolison, and four others
laying in sickbay.  They had been wounded because....because Millis
had been right.  Hackley had waited for the attack.  He should've
taken action to prevent the pirates from boarding.
     Should I have killed the pirates? he wondered.
     He thought of the storyteller, happily writing his
best-seller. If he had destroyed the ship, he would've killed the
writer.  He would be at war with a race of storytellers.  His
officers would not be dead.  He wouldn't have made the wrong
decision.  His officers would die anyway, as casualties of war.
He had defeated his own argument, and was now thinking in circles.
     Could I already be senile? he considered.
     "No," he answered.  He had made the right decision.  There was
peace with the storytellers, his officers would live.
     One of them didn't.
     He would have to get another First Officer.
     The relief and freedom left him.  He didn't know what to feel.
What to think.
     He needed to be calm and collected.
     He laid down on his bed and relaxed.
     The Valiant sailed on.