Suddenly, people were being dragged off the captain and he was able to see the sky. He watched Christine Vale hauling a woman off his leg and toss her aside as though she were made of paper.
Picard scrambled to his feet, adjusting his duty jacket along the way. He pocketed his phaser and looked gratefully at his security chief. She nodded in his direction and then signaled for an emergency medical transport of Morrow directly to sickbay.
“Better late than never,” Vale quipped.
“Bring down a fresh team to protect the Council and get your people some rest. They’ve more than earned it,” Picard replied.
“Aye, sir,” she replied. “Captain, we’ve begun to record…casualties.”
Picard’s gaze narrowed, then deepened into a frown as she relayed her recent experience and the loss of Aiken. He saw the pain in her eyes, but only for a moment. She was putting it aside for now, but he knew she would grieve.
As he felt the transporter take hold of him, Picard recognized how close to a true disaster he had come. The Council was once more on the run, a Federation ambassador had been hurt, and he seemed powerless to stem the tide.
Was Delta Sigma IV a lost cause?
Chapter Eleven
CRUSHER’S HEAD HURT. The headache arrived shortly after lunch and refused to surrender despite every fancy treatment she threw at it. Some doctor I am, she thought with disgust. How was she supposed to stop a plague when she couldn’t even stop her own head from hurting? Better not tell Yerbi I was defeated by a stupid headache if I’m even considering his offer. She smiled at the thought of what he’d say: “Simple old-fashioned ailments respond best to simple old-fashioned medications.” Maybe that was so, but at the moment she couldn’t afford to succumb to the side effects of some primitive analgesic.
Sure, common, garden variety drugs tamed the pain, but they dulled the senses as well. And she couldn’t get anything accomplished that way; sauntering around her lab relaxed, but muddle headed. No one is very effective…she thought. Suddenly Crusher raised her aching head from her desk.
…under the influence of common, garden variety drugs.
She had to talk to Jean-Luc. Now.
Crusher thought about it a moment and then gestured for Weinstein to sit at the guest chair in her office. Susan complied, a quizzical expression on her pretty face. “My head’s swimming from the information, so much of it duplicative, from the Bader, Dorset, and Starfleet. It’s given me a nova headache. Let me summarize for you out loud and tell me if I’m babbling.”
“Shoot.”
The doctor leaned back in chair and closed her eyes, forgetting about the padds and screens in her office. All she pictured was Delta Sigma IV and the damned liscom plant.
“The Bader and Dorset don’t like each other. Don’t even get along despite being neighbors, or maybe because of it. Within a short time, both find this gem of a planet and begin to study it for colonization. Miracle of miracles, they decide they’d rather build the planet together than fight over it.”
“When was this?”
“Nearly one hundred and fifty years ago.”
“Got it. Go ahead.”
“Okay. It turns out this nice little plant emits a natural gas into the atmosphere which seems not to have any adverse affects on the people. Two generations later it turns out they were wrong. The gas had built up in the bloodstream, altering both races’ genetic makeup and suddenly they’re starting to age prematurely. Unchecked, the planet is uninhabitable in five more generations. You with me?”
“I’m fine, go ahead.”
“Good. Okay, between colonization and this discovery, they petition for Federation membership and get it. So, they call us for help. Starfleet sends medical researchers, headed by Kyle Riker. They confirm the people’s worst fears and return to Starfleet Medical to figure out a solution.”
Weinstein nodded once more to indicate she was following the story. Crusher was ready to begin again when she snapped her fingers and announced, “Actually, the first series of studies were done by the Dorset and Bader and presented to the Riker team.”
“Is that significant?”
“I have no clue,” Crusher admitted.
“Time goes by and voilà, we find a counteragent to the problem. Five guinea pigs are tested for a year, and the buildup in the blood has dissipated. The genetic makeup seems back to normal. No one dies or grows a third arm, so, in time for the centennial celebration, they are returned home. Killing two birds with one stone, Riker is sent along with them, to help represent the Federation.
“Shortly after the celebrations begin, one test subject kills another. This triggers a few things. Riker running away is one, but that’s thankfully not my problem. There are growing protests around the planet, protests that turn violent pretty quickly, and that’s my problem. Something is causing it and the Federation is getting the blame and I don’t even know the cause. These outbreaks of violence have now spread to nearly forty percent of the population.”
“What’s the nature of the violence?”
“Belligerence that can rapidly turn to fists or weapons,” Crusher said wearily. “I’ve seen it happen and it’s not pretty. There was one death, then another, and now carnage is planetwide.” A thought snapped into focus in her head and she remained absolutely still. She turned over the information in her head, letting her brain process the notion before turning to the reports.
“Doctor? Did you fall asleep?”
Crusher’s eyes snapped open and she grabbed a padd, discarded it, and grabbed another. “Help me find the report from the initial surveys.”
“The Federation’s surveys?”
“No, the original Bader and Dorset reports.”
Weinstein flipped over two more padds before finding the one the Doctor wanted. Crusher nodded her thanks and called up a specific portion of the report. Her eyes rapidly scanned the information and then she turned her attention to the desktop display. Weinstein was wise enough to remain quiet, but also to stay put in case she was needed.
“Aha! There you are…” she muttered to herself. “Crusher to Picard.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Can we meet in private? I have something.”
“Come to my quarters.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes. Crusher out.” Turning to the nurse, she smiled widely and said, “Thanks for being here.”
“Sure,” Weinstein acknowledged. “Not that I did much. Want to clue me in?”
Crusher told her and was impressed when the nurse’s head bobbed in agreement. Her suspicions more or less confirmed, she headed toward the door and stopped. She turned to find a mirror and took a self-conscious look. You look like hell, she thought. Tough.
Donning the thick cold-weather garments took Riker back to a time and place he didn’t really want to go. Tough on me, he thought as he straightened a bulky sleeve. That was the mission, to go back to Alaska, or its equivalent on this planet. To go back and find his dad.
As he and Seer walked shoulder to shoulder down the street, he heard sound followed by screams. The sound was muffled, almost like an explosion but not quite. It was coming from the general direction of a protest, so they broke into a run. Riker already had his phaser out, getting his gloved hand used to the feel.
The protest was in the center of town, in a wide rectangular park with benches and old-growth trees that provided shade. Sure enough, there were some fifty people now running away from the makeshift speaker’s stand, which was engulfed in flames. Whoever had been standing on it was now rolling on the ground, trying to smother flames. One of the assigned peace officers was working with him, patting the man’s burning clothing with gloved hands.
Emerging from the opposite angle came a group perhaps double the size of the protesters. Many carried signs that were not in support of the Federation but in opposition to the Dorset. That was always a bad sign, Riker reflected, when protests shifted from political to racial. He heard shouted epithets directed at th
e Bader. Some of the original Dorset protesters were drawn to the new mob, others continued to flee.
The remaining Dorset stopped running and took a stand, hurling back slurs of their own. Seer tugged Riker’s arm to point out another section of the street. More people were showing up, some out of curiosity, others willing to join one of the sides. And these were not carrying signs but instread had lengths of chain, tree branches, or metal tools. There were enough crude weapons in both Bader and Dorset hands to insure that blood would flow.
Riker raised his phaser and took aim.
At the chime, Picard invited Beverly into his cabin. He was tired, frustrated, and concerned about the situation below. Vale and her team were pushed to their limit and she was down there now, caught up in another fire-fight. A part of him wanted to be there beside her, another part wanted to use the ship’s phaser banks and stun the rabble causing the trouble on Huni.
As Beverly walked in, he noticed she looked tired, her hair unkempt, black smudges under her eyes. He’d like to suggest she sleep, but knew better. The captain knew everyone on his crew was working overtime to keep the planet stable until a solution was found. He was proud of them and made a mental note to commend them all when time permitted. But now Crusher was here with a report and hopefully a key to the solution.
“I’m sorry about Aiken,” she began.
Picard nodded solemnly, showing a brief moment of respect. He knew there would be more such moments in the days ahead. Then, he looked directly into her eyes, his own expression silently begging for some news.
“We’ve been entirely focused on the liscom gas’s effects on the chromosomes and life expectancy,” Crusher began. “What we’ve missed is how else the gas has been affecting the people.”
Picard blinked. “I’m sorry, Beverly, but could you repeat that please?” he asked.
“Essentially the entire planet is drugged.”
“The liscom gas…” he began.
“…acts as a sedative. It turns out that the natural flora on the planet helped alter the biochemistries of both races, which had a catalytic affect. The effect was unique to the planet’s ecosystem, so it couldn’t be successfully replicated on either planet, according to Kyle Riker’s report to the Federation.”
“Why just them and not other races?”
“Given their location in the quadrant, I would say they ultimately came from the same root and don’t get along because they’re like and like, not opposites, but I’ll worry about that later.” There was a pause while Picard absorbed the information.
“Of course. I’m still not sure why the Federation tasked a senior man like Riker with solving a medical problem,” he said.
“I have no idea. All I know is that the liscom gas was the source of their peaceful coexistence. It seems to have not only altered their chromosomes, but affected their brain chemistry as well. It wasn’t a fresh start in a neutral place; it was the atmosphere that lulled them into loving one another.” Picard nodded to himself and then nodded to Beverly to continue.
“The counteragent developed on Earth neutralized the liscom gas in the blood, which in turn should also readjust the chromosomes in a generation or two. But, it also neutralizes the peaceful effects, so both races’ natural aggression is returning.”
“But how is the counteragent spreading if it hasn’t been mass produced?”
“Like the gas itself, it’s in the atmosphere through close contact. It’s acting like a virus and it’s being passed on very quickly through a kiss, sweat, a cough, whatever.”
“So, the people of this planet are suffering an epidemic of violence at the same time the races’ lives are being saved.” Picard seemed stunned and saddened by the news and fell silent, contemplating how this information would affect the mission.
“Vale hit it on the head when she observed that they’ve never done this before. They have never experienced their natural aggressive tendencies and don’t know how to govern themselves.”
Picard nodded again and seemed frustrated. When Beverly asked him why, he said, “Because all the time we’ve spent talking, all the peace I’ve tried to maintain has been useless. It goes against their true natures. And Morrow had no idea he was wasting his time. We all were.” Picard rose and began pacing the room. “Beverly, I can help stem the violence, but you need to find a way to fix the counteragent.”
“Captain, it took them two years to come up with the counteragent and a year to test it. At the rate the counteragent is spreading, the entire planet will be at war before I can fix it. If I even can.”
He reached out, holding onto her arms with his hands. Sympathy filled his eyes, the look of one old friend to another. “You’re my chief medical officer and one of the brightest diagnosticians in all Starfleet. There’s no one better suited to step in and solve this.”
“I’ll do what I can, but medical miracles are hard to come by.”
“I understand. Get back to work, and whatever you need, you will have. I’m going back down to help Vale.”
Crusher frowned. What was left unsaid was that if things did spread planetwide, the Enterprise alone would not be powerful enough to maintain order.
She nodded and turned to go back to the lab. It looked like Yerbi would have to wait a while longer for an answer to his offer. Crusher had work to do right here.
Riker knew the standoff wasn’t going to last long. Someone would grow anxious and throw the first punch or swing a club. Warily, he scanned the crowd, trying to pick which person would be the first.
The yelling seemed to intensify, and then there was a different sound. A rushing sound, not of wind but of water. Thick streams of water suddenly emerged from different portions of the town square’s perimeter. Riker took a second to look to his right and saw that it all came from fire suppression equipment. The hoses were like cannon, striking one and all, quickly turning the field into a muddy mess. People dropped protest signs, others lost their grip on metal tools. The shouting was also drowned out by the gushing water, so the would-be conflict soon got rained out.
In a flash, Riker realized what had happened and let out a laugh.
Seer looked at him, unsure. “What is it, Will?”
“My father’s here.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because he used the same water maneuver to defuse a civil war on Epsilon Canaris III.”
Riker stopped laughing and scanned the perimeter near the fire hoses, hoping to spot his prey. There was no sign of him, but every fiber of the son’s being knew the father was nearby.
“Seer, stay here and make sure things settle down. I’ve got to find him before he leaves town.”
“Of course, but shouldn’t I join you?”
“I’m better off doing this myself.”
Without another word, Riker broke off into a jog and headed in the direction of the nearest field, which was where his father must have landed. His outerwear was necessary, given the temperature, but it encumbered him and made him sluggish. Couldn’t be helped. He tried to control his breathing so the frigid air didn’t hurt his lungs. If the cold could do this to him, then it would certainly also slow his father down. He had to count on that.
Will cleared the two blocks in less time than he estimated, his eyes always moving, seeking a human silhouette.
He didn’t dare slow down to consult his tricorder. It was time to do this on his own, without help. Man against man, something he learned from his father in the anbo-jytsu ring all those years ago.
Turning the corner and starting east, Will could see several flyers on a field maybe seventy-five meters ahead.
There!
A figure was darting between two flyers and ducking under a third. It had to be Kyle looking for another aircraft to steal. But Will was on to him.
He scrambled around several flyers, nearing his father, who was still on the move. The gap was closing, but Will knew he had to be careful in case his father was armed or had already found time to lay a trap.
>
“Dad! Stop running! I’ve found you.”
The figure was crouched beneath a ship, in front of an open panel with exposed circuitry. With his back to Will, the man raised both hands. He was breathing hard from the run. Frozen exhalation drifted about his head.
Will carefully kept the phaser before him, wary of a trap. He moved closer in a semi-circular pattern. Finally he was only a meter away.
His father seemed grayer than in the video image, his face more careworn. His kneeling posture made him appear foolish, but Will knew the old man was anything but that. Their eyes met, and there Will saw the steel he knew would always be a part of his father.
“You can get up,” Will said harshly.
“Good. Cold ground’s hurting my knees.”
“I have to take you into custody, you know.”
“I do. But first, you have to help me.”
Will was surprised by that, and his expression must have said so. His father looked at him appraisingly and then nodded in confirmation.
“My work here isn’t finished. With your help, it can be.”
“My help?”
“Yes.”
“Are you behind what has happened to these people? Or the Federation?”
“Yes, but there’s an explanation.”
“I’m listening.”
About the Author
Robert Greenberger wishes he were the last son of the doomed planet Krypton or was bequeathed an emerald power ring. Instead, he was born in a more mundane manner, surrounded by a loving family on Long Island. His parents encouraged him to pursue his dreams, which first led him to SUNY-Binghamton for his bachelor’s in English and History and then into the world of publishing.
He has spent the majority of his adult life at DC Comics, joining them after a three-year stint at Starlog Press. At DC, he began as an Assistant Editor, rising to Manager–Editorial Operations prior to taking what amounted to a two-year sabbatical in the grownup world.
After ten months as a Producer at Gist Communications, he was lured back to comics, spending a tempestuous year as Director–Publishing Operations at Marvel Comics. He returned to DC as a Senior Editor in their collected editions department in 2002, where he continues today.
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