that Picard and the others had reappeared at their stations.
Data turned to the Ops officer beside him at the forward console and ventured a question. “What is the present course, Conn?”
The other officer stared at him in surprise. “Exactly what the captain ordered, sir. Direct heading to Farpoint Station.” The man was distinctly puzzled by the question, and even more puzzled when Data ran a quick review of his own console and turned to Picard.
“Confirm we
are
on that heading, sir.”
“Of course we are,” Conn said. “I told you.”
Picard cleared his throat. “Any sign of the hostile?”
Conn shot him another puzzled look, clearly wondering what was going on. “Not since they cleared off at top speed ten minutes ago. No explanation, no offensive action after that chase they put us through. I don’t understand what it was all about, do you, sir?”
“Never mind, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “I’m sure it’ll straighten itself out at Farpoint Station.” He speculated that the “time” they had spent in
Q
’s court had been subjective, and perhaps had never occurred anywhere but in their own minds. He, Tasha, Troi and Data had all been under the same influence—something so strong even Troi had felt it was real. But no one on the bridge had missed them, implying they had never been gone. The only other alternative explanation was that while they were physically removed from the bridge for some time, the crew had been under an illusion they were still there and functioning normally. Whatever the answer, it was obvious that
Q
had even more powerful abilities than previously suspected. The alien had implied the “test” waiting for them at Farpoint might be controlled by him. But was it—or was that, too, another carefully calculated trick?
Conn idly turned to Data and asked, “Know anything about Farpoint Station? It sounds like a pretty dull place . . . hasn’t even been broken in by Starfleet yet.”
Picard leaned forward in his chair before Data could reply. “Actually, Conn,” he said quietly, “We’ve heard we may find it rather exciting.”
Chapter Four
T HE FIRST TIME Commander William T. Riker saw Deneb IV was on the U.S.S.
Hood
’s viewscreens. It was a yellowish ball of a planet with shreds of cloud layer flat against it like tatters of pressed lace. Up close, its surface was harsh and forbidding, covered with mountains and huge patches of desert and subject to fierce storms that swept its surface like a scouring pad.
The single inhabited city lay attached to the gleaming sprawl of the modern spaceport which had been dubbed Farpoint Station. Riker had seen holograms of some of the other cities the Bandi had built and subsequently abandoned. The older cities seemed to have been worn down by the elements, some to mere ridges in the land; but the one attached to Farpoint was far more interesting, far more advanced in its technology. Riker had not been able to determine whether the Bandi had outgrown the cities they built and moved on to construct newer, better ones or whether there had been a consolidation of the Bandi population from the older cities into the newest and best one.
When Riker had beamed down from the
Hood
, he had noticed immediately the superiority of Farpoint Station’s equipment, its appointments, and its eager personnel. It was the largest, most ambitious, and most elaborate station he had ever been on.
He was mulling these facts over while he shaved, squinting at his reflection in the mirror that dominated a wall of one of the gleaming bathrooms in his suite of rooms on the station. The man looking back at him was tall, lanky but well muscled, and in good physical shape from frequent workouts in the ship’s gymnasium. Shrewd intelligence and humor shone out from behind his lively blue eyes. Riker personally felt his appearance was acceptable in polite company and left it at that.
Of course, if a number of very attractive women in several
Data turned to the Ops officer beside him at the forward console and ventured a question. “What is the present course, Conn?”
The other officer stared at him in surprise. “Exactly what the captain ordered, sir. Direct heading to Farpoint Station.” The man was distinctly puzzled by the question, and even more puzzled when Data ran a quick review of his own console and turned to Picard.
“Confirm we
are
on that heading, sir.”
“Of course we are,” Conn said. “I told you.”
Picard cleared his throat. “Any sign of the hostile?”
Conn shot him another puzzled look, clearly wondering what was going on. “Not since they cleared off at top speed ten minutes ago. No explanation, no offensive action after that chase they put us through. I don’t understand what it was all about, do you, sir?”
“Never mind, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “I’m sure it’ll straighten itself out at Farpoint Station.” He speculated that the “time” they had spent in
Q
’s court had been subjective, and perhaps had never occurred anywhere but in their own minds. He, Tasha, Troi and Data had all been under the same influence—something so strong even Troi had felt it was real. But no one on the bridge had missed them, implying they had never been gone. The only other alternative explanation was that while they were physically removed from the bridge for some time, the crew had been under an illusion they were still there and functioning normally. Whatever the answer, it was obvious that
Q
had even more powerful abilities than previously suspected. The alien had implied the “test” waiting for them at Farpoint might be controlled by him. But was it—or was that, too, another carefully calculated trick?
Conn idly turned to Data and asked, “Know anything about Farpoint Station? It sounds like a pretty dull place . . . hasn’t even been broken in by Starfleet yet.”
Picard leaned forward in his chair before Data could reply. “Actually, Conn,” he said quietly, “We’ve heard we may find it rather exciting.”
Chapter Four
T HE FIRST TIME Commander William T. Riker saw Deneb IV was on the U.S.S.
Hood
’s viewscreens. It was a yellowish ball of a planet with shreds of cloud layer flat against it like tatters of pressed lace. Up close, its surface was harsh and forbidding, covered with mountains and huge patches of desert and subject to fierce storms that swept its surface like a scouring pad.
The single inhabited city lay attached to the gleaming sprawl of the modern spaceport which had been dubbed Farpoint Station. Riker had seen holograms of some of the other cities the Bandi had built and subsequently abandoned. The older cities seemed to have been worn down by the elements, some to mere ridges in the land; but the one attached to Farpoint was far more interesting, far more advanced in its technology. Riker had not been able to determine whether the Bandi had outgrown the cities they built and moved on to construct newer, better ones or whether there had been a consolidation of the Bandi population from the older cities into the newest and best one.
When Riker had beamed down from the
Hood
, he had noticed immediately the superiority of Farpoint Station’s equipment, its appointments, and its eager personnel. It was the largest, most ambitious, and most elaborate station he had ever been on.
He was mulling these facts over while he shaved, squinting at his reflection in the mirror that dominated a wall of one of the gleaming bathrooms in his suite of rooms on the station. The man looking back at him was tall, lanky but well muscled, and in good physical shape from frequent workouts in the ship’s gymnasium. Shrewd intelligence and humor shone out from behind his lively blue eyes. Riker personally felt his appearance was acceptable in polite company and left it at that.
Of course, if a number of very attractive women in several
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