FOREIGN FOES
Page 24
He should have fallen . . . but didn’t.
Riker fired again—
Data stumbled forward.
And again—
Energy cloaked Data as he tried to raise his weapon. He gurgled out a sound and turned his head. Riker tensed, ready to set the phaser higher.
The android turned against the beam, trembling with determination.
Another jolt, then another.
Data lifted his phaser arm, then collapsed to the deck. The weapon tumbled from his grip.
Riker sucked in a breath. What if Data couldn’t be repaired this time?
He turned away, scowling at his phaser. What if he’d just killed his friend of so many—
A scraping sound.
Riker spun.
Data inched forward, toward his weapon.
One more blast—Riker fired.
Electrical filaments gripped Data’s form for a moment . . . then he stiffened and finally lay peaceful.
Riker let out the breath he’d held, allowed his weapon to drop to his side.
He sighed again and looked from the captain, still crumpled into a heap up the corridor, back to Data, board straight at his feet.
Epilogue
“MY PEOPLE ARE STILL RETICENT, Captain, but I assure you the agreement will be signed. I’ll see to it myself.”
A line of static flickered across the screen, bisecting Urosk’s face.
Kadar had expressed the same sentiment when he’d left orbit—as furiously as they had both been against the accord, they now were vigorously for it.
Testing the strength of his stiff right arm, Picard leaned back into his desk chair.
“You’re an individual of strong will, Captain. I have no doubt you’ll be listened to.”
Urosk nodded his appreciation, and the screen when black.
Picard tapped the desk console. “I’m waiting for that report, Mr. Riker.”
Riker rose from his bed and tapped his comm badge. “On my way.” He jabbed it off again, then grabbed Barbara’s shoulders softly and pulled her closer. “I have to go.”
She looked up at him, those green-hazel eyes still seeming to flash, even now. “I should be getting back too,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly, wishing he could make it sound like he actually felt, and not like something he always said. Which he did.
Barbara smiled. “For what? I only told you how I felt while you were missing because I wanted to be honest with you.”
Riker frowned. “But, I’ll be gone in a few hours and the honest chances of my return are—”
“Not important,” she said, shaking her head. “I started this, Will. Not you. And I knew and expected it would only last a few days.” She caressed his face. “I didn’t tell you I was worried about you to make you feel guilty. I told you so that you’d know you had an effect on me, and that you’re a special person.” She stood on her toes and kissed him on the cheek, then pulled toward the cabin’s door. “You’re a great guy, Will, and I’m glad you’re safe. That’s all.”
The corners of his mouth turned up and Riker returned her smile. Somehow he’d heard this before. Usually from his own lips. He and Barbara did have a lot in common. “Well, maybe I will get out this way again. Maybe we can . . .”
“Maybe,” she said, winking. She stepped through the door. “But call first, okay?”
“Data?” Geordi stepped into Data’s cabin.
“I’m here, Geordi.”
He turned toward the android’s desk, Data’s voice being the only clue as to his location. He was probably sitting. “How are you,” Geordi asked.
“I am . . . very sorry, my friend. Not only did I injure you, but I nearly began a war.”
Geordi shook his head and tried to smile. “Dr. Crusher explained about the grain. Chances are you would have never gotten into Klingon space. The grain is only effective for a few days, and it takes longer than that to reach Qo’noS. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He heard Data rise and the proximity vest told him the android was stepping closer.
“That is not entirely correct,” Data said. “The grain could not metabolize from my system. Its effects would not have worn off as they did with you. Had I not been stopped and treated—”
“The point is, you weren’t in control, Data. You were under the same influence I was. You weren’t responsible for your actions.”
“Are we not always responsible for our actions?”
Data’s question, in that almost childlike tone, seemed self-chiding.
Geordi sighed. “It’s not that easy, Data. Not when there are outside influences forcing us to act against who we are. You were, as far as we can tell, caught in a logic loop caused by what is essentially a drug. You didn’t know that would happen, and you couldn’t think clearly when it did.”
There was a pause, then Geordi felt Data’s hand on his shoulder. “I am still sorry.”
Geordi smiled. “I know. But look at it this way. Of all those beings who aren’t rational, you had the best excuse of all—you were only sick, and you recovered.”
“That is small consolation, considering that it cannot change what I have done.”
“Data,” Geordi said, reaching out and patting his friend’s shoulder, “that is consolation—because it means you’ll be more careful next time, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” Data said. “I will. By the way . . .”
“What?”
“I just nodded. I thought you should know.”
“Data,” Geordi laughed, “it’s good to have you back.”
Picard’s office door swished open.
Sporting a fresh uniform, Riker looked one hundred percent better. He stopped before the captain’s desk and handed him a computer padd.
“Most of the crew is duty ready, sir. A few have reacted badly to the anesthetic and are being treated. Repairs will take another day, and Mr. La Forge assures me he will remember the longer password.”
Nodding, Picard glanced over the padd. “How is Mr. La Forge doing?”
“Dr. Crusher said he’ll be fine. She’s already contacted the hospital that can re-implant the VISOR interface. We can drop him at Starbase Eighty-seven for transport, and he’ll be back on duty within the month.”
“Excellent.” The captain looked up. “And Data?”
Riker hesitated. “Better. He won’t stop apologizing. To me, to Geordi . . .”
Picard almost smiled.
“Bioengineering is clearing his system,” Riker continued. “We think his system was trying to fight the grain as well. Dr. Hollitt has had access to the computers below the surface and informs me that the grain breaks down after a few days.”
“No miracle cure,” Picard said as he set the padd down on his desk.
“No. Dr. Crusher is in no danger of being replaced.” Riker smiled and loosened his stance. “Barbara is a little disappointed—seems the grain can’t be taken for any great length of time without taxing the body’s normal immune system. She’s think ing of suggesting it to her company as an occasional diet supplement or medicinal herb. She said you were very lucky you didn’t eat any at the dinner.”
Picard knitted his brows.
“Your artificial heart, sir.”
The captain huffed. “Why? I can see why the grain wouldn’t restore Geordi’s eyes or allow Zhad to breath since those weren’t natural conditions for them—but I did once have a heart.”
Riker chuckled. “I believe you, sir. But even if the grain were that sophisticated, and there’s no evidence it is, it would reject your artifical heart first and you’d die.”
“Ah, I see. Most fortunate then. What about the planet’s history?” Picard asked, gesturing Riker toward a seat.
The first officer only stepped toward the chair and leaned his arm against it.
“Nothing specific about the ancient civilization that she could find,” he answered. “The grain is well described—powered by passive energy, usually the sun, but from our wh
ite-noise transmission for a while. In fact, that planet-wide tremor was the reaction of hundreds of thousands of machines suddenly having to shut down production once the white-noise jammer was gone. These machines learn well, though—there was no quake the second time we disengaged.”
“Any specifics as to the grain’s main function?”
“Seems to be toxin removal and minor cellular repair. Barbara won’t be worrying too much—one way or another her company cleans up. Either they’ll develop the grain as a cost effective medical tool, or they’ll rent out plots to archeologists interested in the ancient Velexians.”
Picard nodded. He wouldn’t mind a look himself.
“How soon can Commander Data report for duty?”
Riker swiveled the chair under his palm. “Dr. Crusher says a few days, Bioengineering wants to wait a few extra until the grain-machines are definitely deactivated. As well, the nanites they’re using to do that will have to be purged.”
With a glance down at the padd and its casualty report, Picard sighed. “If only I’d noticed his condition sooner.” The captain looked up, saw Riker was going to respond, and waved any comment off. “Have you shown this to him?”
Riker shook his head. “I haven’t told him about any deaths. The Klingons aren’t making an issue of it, and I thought it best to wait until he had his full . . . sense of reason.”
How would Data react when he did find out? None of his shipmates perished, but that wouldn’t matter to Data. Others died, and Data would have to deal with it. How? Logically, no doubt. The entire incident was an accident. But he still isn’t quite back to his logical self.
“Agreed. If we haven’t more pressing business planetside, let’s get under way.” The captain flashed his eyes. “Have we more business, Mr. Riker?”
The first officer shook his head. “No, sir. Dr. Hollitt has beamed down.”
Picard allowed the slightest smile to pull at his lips. “Set course for Starbase Eighty-seven. Warp two as soon as she’s ready.”
“Aye, sir,” he said, hesitating.
“Something, Number One?”
“Lieutenant Worf would like to see you, sir.”
Picard shrugged. “Send him in.”
The door opened and Worf entered after Riker walked past.
“Lieutenant,” Picard greeted.
Worf was stoic. “Sir.”
The captain stared and waited a moment for the Klingon to make some statement or ask a question.
“Can I help you, Lieutenant?” Picard said finally.
“I am ready to return to duty, sir,” Worf answered as he looked straight over Picard’s head.
“Splendid,” Picard said.
Worf glared down.
“Oh, of course.” Picard smiled. “My apologies, Mr. Worf. You are returned to duty. The Hidran have dropped all charges, and I regret the misunderstanding.”
“Do not,” Worf said, still laser-straight. “Even I thought it possible at one point that I had caused the ambassador’s death.”
The captain nodded. “At ease, Mr. Worf.”
Relaxing slightly, Worf came to parade rest.
“I’m recommending you for a commendation regarding your brave, albeit unorthodox action on Velex.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Picard almost dismissed him, but decided to press one question before the Klingon returned to the bridge.
“Mr. Worf, did you hear what I said to Urosk and Kadar once you’d stabbed yourself?”
The Klingon’s thick brow did not flinch, his eyes did not flicker. “I did, sir.”
Picard rose, and tugged his uniform tunic into place as he walked around the desk, closing the distance between the two of them.
“I said there were no Klingons.”
“Yes, sir.”
No anger in that tone. In fact, nothing was in Worf’s voice just now.
Picard glanced down at his boots a moment, then back up at that stern, ridged expression. “As a Klingon . . . did that offend you?”
The security chief—the Starfleet officer—tilted his head and met Picard’s eyes.
“As Worf, sir, it could not.”
Author’s Note
There are a few people I have to mention for their help and support on this book. I know this stuff is boring if you’re not listed, but I may just pick names at random at some point, so you might want to read anyway, just in case.
First and foremost I have to thank Gregory Brodeur. It would be too simple to say that I write the words and Greg plots the plot—the line is fuzzier than that. Let’s just say that together, we are a writer.
I also owe my thanks to Greg’s wife and regular collaborator, Diane Carey. She’s a mentor, a big sister, and she does what no one else can do—kick me in the butt when I need it most. Thanks for letting me on your ship, Di. I’ll always owe ya.
No softer shout of thanks goes to my parents. They’ve supported me (in more ways than one) through the tough times, and I’ll always hold them dear. They’re better than parents—they’re friends.
A round of applause for Trek associate editor
John Ordover, please. He makes tough jobs easier (sometimes) and good books better (always).
Thanks also to Chuck Leibrand, who was stupid enough to listen to my early work, brave enough to tell me what he really thought, and smart enough to do it over the phone—out of throwing distance.
The same goes for Deborah Halford. Deb, I haven’t known you long, but in ten years I trust I won’t be saying that. Thanks for your kind words, and thanks for your not-so-kind ones as well.
Thank you also to Pat Julius and Peggy Eaton for their friendship and support.
These are the folks who, in their separate ways, have added to this book, my life, or both. I am forever in their debt, or at least until I become rich and famous and can drop them for people who have power and influence, whichever comes first.
(Wonder if I’ll get any Christmas cards now.) To end on a more serious note, I began work on this novel the same week a friend lost his battle with cancer. Thoughts of him and his fiancée will always be with me as I reflect that I embarked on a new and enjoyable struggle, as he and his family lost to an older and uglier one.
This book is written in memory of Vincent Lloyd Whitenight, and in honor of his fiancée, Stacie Eaton, who will forever remind me that humanity’s strength is in its courage, in the profundity of its spirit, and in the resilience of its will.
Dave Galanter
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