Strange New Worlds IX

by Dean Wesley Smith

  Ogger turned an angry glare on Quark. He accused Quark of setting the whole thing up. Quark admitted it wholeheartedly, and displayed the recording device he had concealed in his vest pocket. It implicated both the Ear and Ogger in an assassination plot.

  Quark had double-crossed both the Ear and Ogger! Wasn’t that clever of him, children?

  Ogger didn’t think it was so clever, and in response he lunged toward Rom and fired all three arrows from his crossbow.

  Ro blasted one of them out of the air with her phaser. Right out of the air, kiddies!

  Quark tried to jump out of the way and tripped over his hip waders for his trouble. One of the arrows meant for his brother hit him in the arm.

  Rom fell over backwards into the swamp, with the third arrow sticking straight up from the center of his chest.

  As Ro and Quark rushed to Rom’s side, Ogger laughed loudly and triumphantly. He laughed so loudly, in fact, that he disturbed the mother swamp slug, who extended a three-meter-wide pseudopod and knocked Ogger off his feet and pinned him in the muck.

  Ogger realized his predicament would very soon lead to his death. He would very soon be drowning or consumed by the slug, and his thoughts raced with desperation. As one normally does when faced with death, he wondered briefly if he’d wasted his life.

  Suddenly, the mother slug sensed something in the air and extruded a smaller pseudopod in the direction of the last tree. She changed direction then, moving her weight off of Ogger and toward the sweet, succulent moss on the trunk of the tree. As she grazed, the logger realized the irony that his life had been saved by the tree he wanted to destroy. He raised himself out of the sludge and started to say that he would turn over a new leaf that very day.

  He had a tenth of a second to open his mouth before Ro sent him unconscious with a judo chop.

  Rom, of course, was completely all right. His moogie had knitted his sweater of duranium mesh, stronger than any steel arrowhead. Quark complained loudly that he, Quark, was bleeding to death, but in reality, his sweater was duranium mesh, too. When palace security arrived, they found the culprits tied to the last tree and Quark carving his name into the trunk just above Ro’s.

  After his arrest, Ogger probably went to prison. Maybe at Tara-hong Detention, maybe at Flunkatraz. Or maybe he bought off the judge. But supposing he went to jail, he was probably there long enough to learn his lesson. Unless he bought the warden. Or paid his debt to society in some other very literal and lucrative way. But one thing is certain: he never bothered Rom again. Unless he did somehow.

  Rom thanked his brother Quark with a nice, big hug and a nice, small bribe.

  Ro Laren kissed Quark and remarked on how uncharacteristically brave and generous he’d been in helping his brother save his government and life without being paid in advance.

  Quark suggested she might find a way to repay him once they returned home to his bed. He also assured everyone quite shrilly that he had never had a desire to be nagus and that he preferred to stay far away from the limelight, the adulation, and the constant assassination attempts.

  Leeta finally managed to save the environment. How? She baked old Zek a pie that was so delicious that he agreed to personally finance the mass cloning of the tree.

  And Ishka made Zek stick to his agreement once he was sober again.

  So, Rom and his family lived happily and more importantly, profitably ever after.

  Did Rom save the tree? Yes, you mewling tykes. Yes, he did. Ferengi children enjoyed the use of the tree and its clones for quite a long time, sitting contentedly in its shade, putting its leaves in their ears, climbing it with demented childlike glee, and what-have-you.

  Did Rom’s forty-third great-grandchild (also named Rom) save the tree, when the exact same situation came up again quite a long time later?

  What do you think?

  Ever seen any trees yourself?

  The moral of this story, children, is that nothing lasts forever; that’s why you have to grab as much as you can for yourself while the grabbing is good.

  (Proceeds from the sale of this story, minus a small commission, go to Prix Oxygen Imports, Ltd. “Making ‘Life’ Possible since 10,432.”)

  The Tribbles’ Pagh

  Ryan M. Williams

  Kira Nerys felt that tightening, sinking feeling in her gut that told her she was in deep trouble. She’d felt it in the resistance when raids on the Cardassians had gone wrong. But this had to be the worst. Kira folded her arms awkwardly over her swollen belly, and refused to take the fleshy ball of fur that First Minister Shakaar was holding.

  “How bad is it?”

  Shakaar’s face was grave. “They’ve already spread throughout the Tozhat Province. And I’m not sure we’ve contained them. If they get to Dahkur or Rakantha, well, the Cardassian Occupation was bad, but these…”

  “Tribbles.”

  “These tribbles could be worse.”

  Kira swore softly under her breath and turned around. Something squeaked and she jumped back from the tribble she had just stepped on. She looked up at what had been a rich field of salom grass. It was now a lumpy field of tribbles and dirt. Fires around the houses sent black smoke into the sky as the farmers attempted to keep the tribbles back from their gardens. Kira tapped her combadge.

  “Kira to DS9.”

  Captain Benjamin Sisko recognized the look on his first officer’s face when she reached his office. “How bad is it?”

  Kira took a deep breath. “Bad. Dax says that there are at least a hundred thousand tribbles in the Tozhat Province. If they reproduce unchecked we’re looking at over a million within twenty-four hours. Trillions within a week.”

  “I remember,” Sisko said gravely. “I thought the station quarantine was effective.”

  Kira gave a short barking laugh. “It wasn’t. Shakaar has instituted a quarantine of Tozhat. We’re trying to track down anyone who entered the province in the last two days. All shipments of salom grass are being screened for tribbles. Elimination is a problem. We could use some industrial disposal units.”

  Sisko straightened. “You’re planning to disintegrate living tribbles?”

  “They’re a disease. It’s either us or them. If we don’t get a handle on this, people will be starving before winter! The entire planetary biosphere could collapse!”

  Sisko held up a hand. “It hasn’t gotten that bad yet.”

  “Not yet, but we have to act. Now.”

  “We will. I’ll see what I can do about getting some Federation disposal units but it won’t be easy. I think you should talk to Doctor Bashir. Maybe he can help develop something to inhibit the tribbles’ reproduction.”

  Kira nodded. “I’ll get on it.”

  As Kira descended from Sisko’s office, Worf and Dax approached her.

  “Well?” Dax raised an eyebrow.

  “He’s going to do what he can to get us disposal units.”

  “Wide-beam phaser sweeps should be used to clean areas infected with these vermin,” Worf said.

  Kira smiled. “You won’t get any argument from me. For now we’re supposed to focus on containment.”

  Doctor Julian Bashir was in the infirmary when Kira arrived. He was holding a brown-and-white tribble and was absently stroking it while he looked at a console screen. He smiled as she approached.

  “Major. Glad to see you.”

  “What are you doing with that?”

  Julian looked at the tribble. “Oh? Gladys?”

  “Gladys? You named it?”

  Julian blushed slightly. “Well, yes.”

  Kira shook her head. “Do you have any ideas that can help us?”

  Julian brightened. “As a matter of fact I do. The Federation has done studies on tribble reproduction. A trader created a variety that didn’t reproduce as rapidly but unfortunately they grew in size.”

  “I want something to stop them from breeding, Doctor.”

  Julian laughed nervously. “Well, that is the challenge. Tribbles are
asexual. They form internal buds which develop into baby tribbles. And those buds start budding on their own before they are even born. Essentially, they’re born pregnant.”

  “I don’t care. We have to find something to stop them.”

  “The Klingons are reported to have developed a tribble predator, a glommer—”

  Kira shook her head. “Predators aren’t the answer. We need to eliminate them!”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Julian gently placed Gladys into a container and activated his scanners.

  Kira watched him for a second and then left. She stalked through the promenade without paying much attention to anyone around her. By the Prophets, hadn’t Bajor suffered enough already? The Occupation. Civil unrest. The Dominion breathing down their necks. The Klingons! They didn’t deserve this. Kira took a deep breath. It wasn’t the fault of the Prophets that someone had ignored the prohibition to take tribbles to Bajor. After the Defiant’s trip to the past the tribbles had been all over the station. O’Brien claimed he had had less trouble from Cardassian voles.

  “Major?”

  Kira refocused her attention on her surroundings. A vedek she couldn’t place stood in front of her. Even with the vedek robes he looked no more than a child. She couldn’t help but smile at his fresh-faced sincerity.

  “Yes. You are?”

  “Vedek Tola.”

  “Tola. I know that name from somewhere.”

  Vedek Tola inclined his head slightly. “My father was killed at Gallitep.”

  The name snapped into place. The memories of what had happened at Gallitep came back. “That’s right. He saved a dozen or more Bajorans that day. He was a brave man.”

  “Yes,” Vedek Tola said. “And now I’m here to ask you to be brave.”

  Kira blinked. “You want me to be brave?”

  Vedek Tola nodded. “The Prophets have shown me. The tribbles must be preserved. Their pagh is part of Bajor.”

  “The tribbles’ pagh?”

  “Yes.”

  “They are simple, mindless, eating machines! They’re a plague! Do you realize that the damage they cause takes food away from our people?”

  “I realize this,” Vedek Tola said. “But you must find a way to preserve them.”

  She’d heard enough. She stabbed a finger in his direction. “I don’t know why you think the Prophets want the tribbles on Bajor. And I don’t care! When the Federation waste processors arrive I’ll be right there shoveling the tribbles in myself!”

  Kira turned around and left Vedek Tola standing there. She ignored the stares and whispers. Sisko had better have an update on the waste processors.

  “What do you mean we don’t get the units?” Kira didn’t care if her voice carried down into ops.

  Sisko gestured with the hand currently holding his absurd baseball. “I’m sorry, Major. The Federation is sending experts to help with the situation but they can not condone pitching thousands of helpless creatures into a matter-energy disposal unit. Particularly since the tribbles were driven to extinction by the Klingons.”

  “That’s absurd! You sound like Vedek Tola. If Bajorans were sick they wouldn’t refuse medical treatments in order to protect the helpless bacteria!”

  “Vedek Tola?”

  Kira shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

  Sisko straightened in his chair and grinned. “Now I’m curious.”

  “He’s young, inexperienced.”

  “And?”

  Kira made a noise and paced in front of the desk. She forced a laugh. “He actually said that he believes the Prophets want the tribbles on Bajor. That their pagh is tied to ours somehow.”

  “The tribbles’ pagh?” A smile twitched at the corners of Sisko’s mouth.

  “Captain! We need to find a way to deal with these things.”

  “I agree. I’ve ordered Dax and Worf to take the Shenandoah and the Rio Grande to Bajor. They’ll do transporter sweeps of the Tozhat Province. The tribbles will be transferred to a cargo ship in orbit.”

  Kira nodded. “It won’t be enough. They can’t transport many on their own. If they can even lock onto their life signs—”

  “Why don’t you give them a hand? Maybe you can free up some Bajoran shuttles. You’ll need to coordinate with any available cargo ships.”

  Kira nodded. “Yes, sir.”

  Six hours later she felt like her eyes were full of sand. Her latest raktajino was nearly empty. They had a half-dozen shuttles, the two Starfleet runabouts, and four cargo carriers working together but had only managed to clear a quarter of the Tozhat Province of tribbles. The only thing that kept the cleared areas from being re-infected was the fact that the tribbles hadn’t left anything behind to eat. Nearly a third of the tribbles beamed off the surface had already died of starvation. If they continued to breed unchecked they’d strip the planet bare and leave Bajor buried in dead tribbles. She thought of Vedek Tola and shook her head. How he could think—

  The comm system chimed.

  “Kira here.”

  “Doctor Bashir. I think I may have a way to help with our tribble trouble.”

  Kira’s heart nearly stopped. “That’s great news, Doctor! You can control their reproduction?”

  “Ah, not exactly, Major. Perhaps you’d better come see for yourself.”

  “Fine. I’ll be right there.” Kira drained the last of her raktajino and left ops.

  “Major! Major!”

  Kira stopped walking and pressed a hand to her forehead. She turned around, lowering her hand as Odo ran up.

  “Yes, Constable?”

  Odo looked smug. “I’ve been investigating just how the tribbles managed to get out of the station quarantine and down to Bajor.”

  “I thought we decided that one must have gotten past the cargo inspections.”

  “Ah.” Odo raised a finger. “But if that was the case why wasn’t the outbreak in the grain-processing center at Lasumo rather than the Tozhat Province?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that someone smuggled tribbles off the station. And who do we know that would look to profit off the tribbles?”

  “Quark.” Kira’s lips tightened. “If you can get me proof I’ll see that he’s hung by his lobes!”

  Odo crossed his arms. “Leave it to me, Major.”

  Kira seethed the rest of the way to the infirmary. If Quark was behind breaking the quarantine he’d find himself spending a long time in a nice Bajoran prison cell. When she reached the infirmary her mood hadn’t improved. Julian looked up as she stormed in. He was cradling a tribble in the crook of his arm. Worf stood on the other side of the room glaring at the furry ball.

  “Ah, Major. There you are.”

  Kira leaned on the nearby biobed. She rubbed at the ache in her back. “What have you got for me?”

  Julian bounced up onto his feet and walked over to the counter. Kira saw a pile of grain on the counter. “You’re not going to feed that thing, are you?”

  “No. Gladys has already eaten.” Julian put the tribble down on the counter. “Not that that would stop her. Tribbles always have an appetite for more food. Watch now.”

  As Kira watched, the fuzzy brown-and-white ball contracted and began moving toward the pile of grain. The movement was very smooth. She knew that the tribble was extending fleshy nubs through its fur, which used suction to grip surfaces. It accounted for their amazing ability to climb walls and get into anything. When a tribble was picked up, the nubs retracted back beneath the protective fur.

  Gladys had nearly reached the grain when it stopped. Kira looked at Julian, then over at Worf. The tall Klingon looked disgusted by the proceedings.

  “Well, Doctor?”

  “Just a moment.”

  Gladys moved forward a couple inches then lurched violently away from the grain and started to make a shrill trilling noise. It sounded like it was in distress. Julian wasted no time in picking Gladys up. He carried the tribble away from the counter, strokin
g it gently. The tribble settled down to its usual purr.

  Kira looked over at the grain. “Okay, I give. What stopped the tribble?”

  “Pheromones,” Julian announced proudly. He gestured at Worf. “Klingon pheromones, specifically Worf’s.”

  Worf growled. “With your permission, I will return to ops.”

  “Oh, yes, of course,” Julian said. “Thank you so much.”

  “Explain, Doctor.”

  “Well, I got to thinking. Back on K-7, Kirk used the tribble to identify the Klingon agent. How does a tribble know a Klingon from a human? Or a shapeshifter? How does a tribble know where food is located? I started to do a study to see just how—”

  Kira shook her head and held up a hand. “Spare me the details. There are over a million tribbles on Bajor despite our efforts to contain them. We’ve already contained three blooms outside the Tozhat Province. How is all of this going to help us?”

  “Oh, right. Well, I thought we could spray the fields.”

  “Spray the fields with Klingon pheromones?”

  “Not the whole fields. Just a barrier around the fields. Or around the tribbles, for that matter. The tribbles won’t cross the line. Just think of it as an invisible fence.”

  “How long will it last?”

  “Weeks I would imagine. Klingon pheromones are fairly potent.”

  Kira sat down on the biobed. “That could be helpful in containing the spread.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just tired,” Kira said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “Here.” Julian handed her Gladys. “I’ll just do a quick check to make sure everything is fine with both you and the baby.”

  “That’s not necessary—”

  “Lie down,” Julian said. “Resting for a few minutes won’t change things.”

  Kira placed Gladys on top of her swollen abdomen. The purring was actually soothing. She stroked the soft fur. If these things weren’t such an ecological menace, they wouldn’t be so bad, she thought.

  Julian ran the tricorder over her. “Everything looks good. Elevated levels of lactic acid. That’s to be expected. Let me just give you a hypospray and you’ll feel a bit better.”