Double Helix #5 - Double or Nothing

by Peter David

  The first warbird tried to move upon the starship, operating in tandem with its mate, but the starship would have none of it. In what had to be the most insane maneuver that Riker had ever witnessed, the starship actually barrel-rolled via thrusters. As it did so, it unleashed phaser fire that pinwheeled around it, tracing such a bizarre arc that the warbirds didn’t know where to maneuver in order to avoid them.

  “Who the hell is flying that thing?!” Riker said in shock.

  The first warbird moved in the wrong direction and paid dearly for it as the phasers sliced straight across her underbelly, slashing through what remained of the warbird’s shields. A plume of flame blossomed from the ship’s lower decks. Naturally the vacuum of space quickly snuffed it out, but it didn’t matter as the interior of the ship blew apart. Pieces of warbird scattered everywhere, all in eerie silence.

  The second warbird, seeing the fate that had over­taken the first one, apparently didn’t need to see anymore. It whipped around and, seconds later, had leaped into warp space and was gone. If it had so chosen, the starship could have gone after it, but much to Riker’s relief, it chose to stay and attend to the floating life pods.

  The ship slowly cruised over him, and he was fi­nally able to make out the name of the vessel as it drew near enough: U.S.S. Excalibur.

  “I should have known.” Riker said. Indeed, he should have. The Excalibur was the primary starship that had been assigned to Thallonian space. Still, considering they weren’t that far into Thallonian territory—indeed, that they were relatively close to the borders of Federation space—the rescuer could have been anyone. However, it was cosmically ironic that it was the Excalibur because it meant that, any mo­ment, he’d likely be hearing the voice of—

  “All lifepods, this is Excalibur, Commander Shelby speaking,” a familiar voice came over the pod’s speaker system. “We’ll he beaming you all aboard momentarily. Please be patient.”

  “Shelby. Naturally it would be Shelby,” Riker said.

  To his surprise, her voice came right back at him over the comm. “Commander Riker…is that you?”

  He blinked. He’d been unaware that the two-way was on, but he realized somewhat belatedly that it was. Still, considering that Shelby had likely gotten numerous responses to her opening hail from other escape pods, it was nothing short of amazing that she’d been able to single out his voice.

  “It’s me, Commander.”

  “Hold on.” Clearly she was busy getting a track as to which pod his transmission was coming from. “My God,” she said after a moment, “you’re in the one that we intercepted the torpedo for.”

  “That would be me, yes. Kudos to the timing of you and your CO.”

  “I just wish we could have gotten here sooner.”

  “So do I,” he said regretfully, thinking about the crewmen who had been lost.

  Suddenly the pod seemed to dematerialize around him, and then he found himself standing on a trans­porter pad with a number of other shaken-looking former crewmembers of the Independence. Elizabeth Paula Shelby, who had served under Riker as his second-in-command when he’d captained the Enter­prise against a Borg invasion, was standing in the transporter room with her hands draped behind her back. “Welcome, all of you,” she said briskly. “Please report to sickbay immediately. We have a medteam just outside who will escort you down.”

  There were murmurs of “Thank you” as the crew­men filed out. The last one out was Riker, who stopped within a foot or two of Shelby. “Be certain to tell me as soon as you have Captain Garfield’s status confirmed…whatever that might be.”

  “I certainly will. It shouldn’t take too long to find out. We’re utilizing all the transporter rooms to bring

  the rest of them aboard even as we speak,” she said.

  He nodded.

  She actually smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Commander,’’ and she sounded like she meant it. Considering that she and Riker had spent most of their time at each other’s throats the last time they’d served together, he considered that a genuine compli­ment.

  “Good to see you too, Commander” he replied. “For a little while there, I thought I wasn’t going to be seeing anyone again.”

  “It must have been terrifying when that thing had you targeted.”

  He gave it a moment’s thought and then said, “Well…at least I didn’t need my brown pants.”

  She stared at him. “Oh. Well…good. That would…clash with your uniform top.”

  He nodded and walked out, as Shelby stared after him and scratched her head in obvious confusion.

  IV.

  CAPTAIN MACKENZIE CALHOUN was sitting be­hind his desk squeezing two small, green rubber balls together when Commander Shelby entered. She stared at him for a short time and then asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Relieving tension,” he said. She watched him for a moment longer. “Squeezing those relieves tension?”

  “Absolutely. A friend got them for me, many years ago. Would you care to try?” He held up his hands, and there was a green ball in either one. They were fairly small, but the rubber was sturdy and was able to withstand pressure with relative ease.

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Because you look tense.”

  “I’m not tense.”

  “You look it.”

  “Mac…I’m not tense.”

  “All right.” He leaned back in his chair. “So…bring me up to date.”

  “We managed to rescue 374 crewmen. The rest either died during the initial Romulan attack, or else when the two ships returned and starting picking people off. Starfleet has been informed and has told me that they’ll be sending a transport. We’re sup­posed to be hearing back from them once they’ve firmed up the rendezvous point.”

  Calhoun shook his head. His face was fairly impass­ive, which was not unusual for him; he didn’t tend to keep his emotions up near the surface for casual display. But the disgust was evident nonetheless. “Not honorable. Picking off helpless people. Not honorable at all.”

  “The Romulans don’t particularly care about such things as honor.”

  “They used to.” He put the balls down on the desk and tapped his computer console. “I’ve been doing some research. They’ve always been in opposition to the Federation…but they used to be far more honor­able than they are now. It’s very odd. The Romulans used to focus on honor, while the Klingons were the dastardly race you wouldn’t dare turn your back on. But they’ve switched places in their racial conduct. Curious.”

  “You can find it curious if you want. What I want to know,” and she sat down opposite him, “is what they were doing out here in Thallonian space.”

  “So would I.” He considered the question. “The Independence was lured here by that unknown ship they were chasing. The Romulans were waiting for them. Which suggests one of two things: Either the vessel they were chasing signalled ahead, picked this area at random, and instructed the Romulans to ren­dezvous here. Or else…”

  “Or else the Romulans have a base somewhere hereabouts, and this was a pre-arranged rendezvous point,” finished Shelby. “If that’s the case…we should find it.”

  “Excellent idea. Considering that space is infinite in all directions, which way do you suggest we look first?”

  “I never pretend to have all the answers, Mac. I leave that to captains.”

  He smiled thinly and then shifted gears. “Speaking of that…how is the captain of the Independence? Or at least what was the Independence”

  “He’ll live. He was one of the lucky ones, actually, to have survived that shooting gallery from the Romu­lans.”

  “They’ll pay for that,” Calhoun said with quiet conviction.

  “It’s not the job of the Excalibur to carry out acts of revenge.”

  When he’d spoken earlier, he had been staring off into space, but now Calhoun swivelled his head so that the gaze from his purple eyes was squarely lev­elled upon Shelby. “Don’t kid me, Eppy” u
sing the nickname—a collapsing of Elizabeth and Paula—that he knew so irritated her. “If we find ourselves in a battle situation with the warbird that got away, or that ship they were chasing, you’ll be hoping I blow them out of space. You know it. I know it.”

  “That’s the difference between us, Mac,” she said softly, even a little sadly. “I wouldn’t revel in it. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “Yes. They do.”

  “But—”

  “They do,” he told her firmly. “Someone commits a wrong, a wrong is committed against them in turn…that comes out right.”

  “I’m speaking from a moral point of view, Mac.”

  “So am I,” he said mildly. “That’s the joy of morals. They’re not absolute.”

  “There are absolute standards of right and wrong, Mac.”

  “You should know better than that, Eppy. Physics are absolute. But anything that man can conceive from his own skull is up for debate.”

  “You see, Mac…you would think that. Because you’re someone who thinks that rules apply to you when you feel like it, but can be discarded when you consider them an inconvenience.”

  “Not always.”

  “No. Not always. Sometimes you have your mo­ments. Sometimes you realize the importance of regs. I like to think that I’ve contributed to that somewhat. But most of the time…” She shook her head and let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Sometimes, Mac, I just don’t know.”

  “Fortunately enough, I do. But then again, I am a captain. As you said, either I know, or pretend that I do.” He paused and eyed her in a slightly amused manner. “So…getting reacquainted?”

  “What?”

  “With Commander Riker.”

  “Oh. Him.” Shelby absentmindedly picked up one of the green balls and started squeezing it. “There’s not that much to get reacquainted about.”

  “Really.” He drummed his fingers on his desk. “From what I’ve heard, the two of you had some in­teresting chemistry together.’’

  “Chemistry? We didn’t have chemistry, Mac. We had fights. Riker is…” She shook her head and squeezed the ball tighter.

  “Riker is what?”

  “Oh, he’s an arrogant ass. So self-satisfied, so smug. Spends his entire career hanging onto Jean-Luc Pi­card’s coattails. Now Picard, there’s a quality of-ficer…as you well know. And Riker, he thinks he’s the moon to Picard’s sun, basking in the reflected glory.”

  “Very harsh, Commander. From what I’ve read, he handled himself in exemplary fashion during the Borg encounter when Picard was assimulated.”

  “He had his moments, I suppose. But it’s…”

  “It’s what?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Eppy?”

  “He’s got potential, all right? Potential. There’s something there. Possible greatness.” She was speak­ing all in a rush, the words tumbling one over the other. It was hard to tell whether she was angry or frustrated or sad or some combination of all those. “I can tell. I can tell these things because I’ve just got a knack for it. He could be one of the great ones, one of the truly legendary captains…”

  “But I thought you said—”

  “He’s got to come out from Picard’s shadow, though!” she said in frustration, as if Mac hadn’t spoken. “I don’t know why he’s so satisfied to hide there! And when you talk to him about it, he gets all defensive and his jaw gets so tight and his eyes get all hard while the edges crinkle up…”

  “Oh, do they?”

  “But he’s just so…so…so…” Her voice became louder and a bit more shrill with every word. “…so…so…”

  The ball popped.

  Shelby jumped back in her chair, startled by the sound and reflexively her hand flipped the broken rubber shell away from her. It “thwapped” onto Cal-houn’s desk rather pathetically. Calhoun stared at it and then, as if handling a rotting carcass, he picked it up delicately between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ve had the set for nine years. I didn’t think it was possible to do this.”

  When Riker entered sickbay to check on Captain Garfield, he was momentarily surprised to see Doctor Selar checking over one of the Independence crewmem­bers. He remembered her from her time on the Enter­prise, and hadn’t been aware that her new assignment was the Excalibur. He remembered that he’d always been quite impressed with her. She didn’t have the most delicate bedside manner, but she was a superb diagnostician and extremely efficient. Plus, because she was a Vulcan, she had the customary Vulcan re­serve.

  He walked up behind her and said, by way of greeting, “Doctor Selar…”

  “What do you want?!”

  He had never, in his life, heard a Vulcan speak above normal conversational tone, much less have one bellow at him. And it had been, to put it delic­ately, completely unprovoked. And the oddest thing was probably the fact that no one in sickbay seemed to feel that this was behavior that was remotely unusu­al for a CMO, let alone a Vulcan.

  Remembering the accelerated strength that Vulcans possessed, to say nothing of such techniques as the Vulcan nerve pinch, Riker suddenly felt that it would probably be wiser for him to take a few steps back. He promptly did so. Selar had now turned to face him and was staring at him with no hint of recogni­tion.

  “Doctor…Selar? Commander Riker. Will Riker. We…worked together.”

  “I am aware of who you are, Commander,” she said. “I am also aware that we served together aboard the Enterprise. I am further aware that I have been working steadily since the arrival of the survivors from the Independence. Fortunately I do not require rest and relaxation as humans do. Lack of sleep has abso­lutely no effect on me whatsoever. What does have an impact upon me is people engaging me in pointless discussion, social niceties, and significant wastes of my time. If you consider it a possibility that you fall into any of those categories, you might want to recon­sider your apparent interest in engaging me in exten­ded social intercourse.”

  “Doctor,” Riker said slowly, “I know this isn’t my ship. I know I’m a visitor here. But nonetheless…I still outrank you…and that rank, to say nothing of simple common courtesy, should afford me a degree of respect. Respect that I don’t see happening here. Now I’m not entirely sure what you think I’ve done to deserve this sort of brusque and, frankly, rude treatment. But I suggest you either tell me what’s go­ing on, or—”

  “I am not interested in your ultimatums, Command­er. Nor do I wish to discuss my personal affairs. Kindly tell me what you desire by coming here, or please leave.”

  “I’m looking for Captain Garfield.”

  “There.” She pointed to a bed in the far corner and, sure enough, there was Garfield lying there, looking somewhat battered and bruised but most definitely alive. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and falling regularly.

  Riker was about to say a curt “thank you” but Selar had already moved off. Shaking his head, Riker walked over to Garfield and stood over him.

  “That you, Commander?” Garfield’s eyes opened to narrow slits. His voice sounded raspy.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Sorry…we weren’t able to give you that smooth ride I promised you.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain. I won’t hold it against you.”

  Garfield stared off into space.

  “Captain…?”

  “I once met a captain…in a place…a special place,” and he didn’t quite smile, but it seemed to bring back pleasant memories. “A place for captains. Perhaps you’ll go there sometime. We would sit around…tell stories…and one evening…the subject became losing a command. Different captains talked about it…but it wasn’t addressed with the usual enthusiasm that usually involved discussions at this…particular place. And eventually…it got rather quiet. Quiet throughout the entire place, as it never had been before. And someone turned to me…and asked me if I’d ever ex-perienced…such a loss. And I said I hadn’t. That I was totally ignorant of what it was like. They looked at one another, the other captains did, and then they rais
ed their glasses and, almost as one, they chorused, ‘To ignorance.’ They hoped that I would never have to go through it. But I’m afraid that I’ve had to disap­point them.”

  “Sir, it wasn’t—”

  He held up a cautionary finger to silence him. “If the next two words out of your mouth are going to be ‘your fault,’ I would suggest you keep them to yourself. It’s always the captain’s fault, commander. Always. No matter what boards of inquiry may de­cide. No matter what others may say. Do you know why captains are supposed to go down with their ship? It’s so we don’t have to listen to well-meaning individuals telling us it’s not our fault. Because it is always…the captain’s…fault.”

  It was as if he’d expended all his remaining energy just to get those words out. Then his head slumped back and he closed his eyes. For just a moment, Riker was about to shout an alarm, but then he glanced up at the scanner mounted on the wall and he saw that the readings were steady. He had simply fallen back to sleep.

  “He appears to be resting comfortably.”

  Riker literally didn’t recognize the voice at first as he turned to see Dr. Selar standing at his arm. “Yesss…” he said cautiously.

  “It was very traumatic for him. We have him slightly medicated to ease him through…but not excessively.”

  He tilted his head slightly as if needing to make sure that he was talking to the same person he’d been addressing before. “Doctor Selar…?”

  “Yes? Is there a problem, Commander?”

  Her attitude and disposition had completely changed. Gone was the edge of anger, the snappish­ness, the impatience. Now she was a standard-issue, matter-of-fact Vulcan.

  “I…don’t know. Is there a problem?”

  For answer, she looked not at Riker, but at the bio-readouts over Garfield’s bed. “No,” she said after studying it a moment. “There does not appear to be. However,” and she looked back to Riker, “if you be­lieve there is one, please do not hesitate to inform me. Good day.” All-business, she moved on to the next diagnostic table, leaving an utterly perplexed Riker literally shaking his head.