He stepped clear of the overhanging bushes. Above him, Bel-Major hung like a huge rust-striped balloon. Riker stopped, caught by the wonder of the sight. Bands and whirlpools and festoons of white and orange and ochre swirled across the surface of the planet, a glorious reminder of how varied and marvelous the universe was. Riker had flown past Jupiter many times, but he could not remember being on a habitable planet this close to a gas giant.
A distant rhythmic clatter broke into his awareness. Before Riker could identify the sound, Zarn shouted, “Hurry! The guardians are coming!”
At the thought of facing an entire phalanx of large, aggressive Jarada, Riker made up his mind. Now was not the time to separate from Zarn. He dove into the car and the door swished shut behind him. Pulling himself around on the rear bench, he found some loose blankets to stuff into the Jarada-shaped indentation on the seat. While he wrestled with the padding and the safety harness, Zarn programmed their destination into the control panel. Riker had just tightened the last strap, when the car shot into the street, accelerating heavily. At the same time, armor plates slammed down over the windows, completely blocking his view of everything. Blind and helpless, Riker could do nothing as the car raced into the night.
Chapter Fifteen
“LET ME GET THIS STRAIGHT.” Crusher glared at the five Jarada facing her around the polished black table. They were, as best she could remember, the four senior researchers at the Complex and Vish, acting in the dual role of researcher and chief administrator. Right now, however, her annoyance at their tactics was making it difficult for her to care which small tan insectoid was which. “You want me to stay in this complex without contacting my ship to let them know where I am or what has happened to me, and while I am here you want me to solve a problem that has defeated your best minds. And you want me to do this without any of the equipment, or databases, or assistants that I normally have at my disposal to do such work. Am I leaving anything out?”
Vish had the grace to shift uncomfortably in its seat. The rough plaster wall behind the Jarada was a brown ochre, several shades darker than the insectoids facing Crusher. “You must understand, Honored Bev-er-ly, that this problem is so uncomfort able to us that we do not even like to admit to it among ourselves. It would be exceedingly disturbing to us if others of your hive were to know of our problem. Since it is known that your race is not composed of hive creatures, you have no need of the support of your hive-mind to accomplish your work.”
Crusher groaned, wondering where the Jarada had conjured that conclusion. And how, she wondered, did their hive-mind function that was so different from the give-and-take of a well-balanced team of human researchers? She shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a position where the Jaradan contours of the chair did not gouge her all-too-human anatomy. The throbbing cuts on her arm added to her discomfort, jabbing her with sharp pains every time she moved. With the exception of her tricorder, every piece of equipment in her medical kit was as nonfunctional as her communicator, although Vish claimed ignorance of the malfunctions. Crusher had been forced to treat her injuries by primitive methods, daubing the cuts with an odd-smelling herbal ointment and covering them with gauze. The jury was still out on the effectiveness of the treatment, particularly since the medicine was intended for Jaradan physiology.
Glaring at the Jarada, she heaved an exasperated sigh. “Let’s get a couple of things straight. I don’t know how your group mind works, but my people are not isolated units with each person capable of doing everything entirely by himself or herself. We’re specialists, with each member of the team contributing their unique skills and knowledge to the group effort.”
“That is not relevant.” Vish planted its claws against the surface of the table in a gesture of finality. Around the table, the other Jarada bobbed their heads in agreement. “You do not sense the other workers in your group. Your mind does not lose its rationality when it touches the madness of one of your fellows. You will solve our problem for us.”
“Let’s get that straight, as well.” Crusher took a deep breath to rein in her anger. She needed to keep her thoughts clear to argue with the Jarada, although she would gladly have let loose with a full-scale tantrum, if she thought it would accomplish anything. Among humans, who expected her temper to match her fiery hair, it was a weapon she kept in reserve for use when logic failed.
The Jarada, however, seemed blind to her annoyance. “You still haven’t given me a single reason why I should work on your problem. You kidnapped me, you’re holding me prisoner and won’t let me talk to my ship—and you think I should be willing to help you. Why should I want to do anything at all for you?”
Vish straightened to its full height. “Because you do not know how to get back to your hive-mates without our help. Because, if the madness takes us, you will be trapped here with no escape. Because we five in this room are the oldest and the most stable workers in this complex, and I swear to you we will do nothing to return you to your hive until you have solved our problem.”
Crusher started to protest, searched the group around the table for the most susceptible individual at which to aim her arguments, and snapped her mouth shut. She had never seen five beings who looked so uniformly adamant about anything. Their triangular heads with the hooked jaws and the faceted, shimmering eyes which reflected her face over and over could have been stamped out of the same mold, for all the differences she could identify.
If she tried to argue them into releasing her, she would be here until sometime in the next decade, with the Jarada ignoring her reasoning until insanity claimed everyone in the room. A random thought wandered through her head: some races conducted their intraspeeies business by exchanging hostages for information or favorable treaties, similar to the system used by the ancient Romans. Were the Jarada planning to trade the Federation her research for her freedom? she wondered. From the information she had, she could not determine the rules they were using. With a sigh of frustration, Crusher yielded. “I will need all your records, both from before and after you arrived here on Bel-Minor. I need access to your computer and all your databases. I need the best analytical equipment you have in the complex.”
To Crusher’s dismay, Vish promptly agreed, as if all her requests had been anticipated. “Our main laboratory has been prepared for your use. You will find everything there that you desire.”
“Not so fast.” She waved her hand to forestall the Jarada’s next words, which she knew would be a politely phrased order for her to begin work at once. “I also need assistants to operate the computers and the equipment.”
The large facets in Vish’s eyes flickered from green to reddish to amber. “I do not believe that would be advisable.”
With a start Crusher recognized the uncertainty in the Jarada’s manner. The situation must be far more serious than she had been told, if the thought of lending her a couple of technicians to operate their equipment caused so much concern. But how, without their help, was she to manage? She couldn’t speak the Jaradan language, much less read it, so the instruction manuals and the analytical reports would be useless without an interpreter.
“I will require assistance,” she said in a tone that brooked no argument. “In the first place, the more help I have, the faster I can solve your problem. And in the second place, I cannot speak or read your language. Since you refuse to allow me any contact with the Enterprise, I will have to use the equipment and databases you provide. However, without someone to translate, everything will be useless. It’s your choice—I can work on your problem or I can spend the next six months learning your language well enough to conduct scientific research.” Crusher allowed herself a moment’s regret that her Jaradan translating device worked only on spoken sounds.
Vish’s antennae vibrated uneasily. “We do not have six months to wait, Honored Crusher-Doctor. However, we also do not have workers we can trust to assist you. What happened with Mren is but a foretaste of the unpleasantness that will occur if you do not find the soluti
on quickly.”
Crusher folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. The glare she turned on Vish was very familiar to her son, but the Jarada was unaffected. “It seems to me, given the urgency of your situation, that you would want me to use the best tools available. However, since you refuse to allow me access to my laboratory aboard the Enterprise, you must provide me with a minimum of help if you want results.”
The five Jarada exchanged glances, their eyes flickering through the spectrum as they refocused on different members of the group. Finally, Vish curled its true-arms to its shoulders. “We will comply with your request, although it is against our better judgment. You must understand that we cannot be responsible if the madness should strike all of your assistants at the same time.”
“How likely is that?” Crusher suppressed a shiver, not liking the ominous sound of Vish’s words. How long did she have before every Jarada in the complex succumbed to the insanity that was preying upon them? Would she be able to survive until the Enterprise located her and beamed her back to the ship?
Vish bobbed its head, its antennae drooping mournfully. “The more people who are affected, the more likely it is that the rest of us will also go mad. Each new victim rips a wider hole in our group mind, making it harder for the rest of us to resist. You are our last hope.”
How do you say “Gee, thanks,” in Jarada? she wondered. Even though she recognized how Vish was manipulating her, it was difficult to refuse. Somewhere on the planet was an outstanding reference on human psychology and Vish had studied it thoroughly. “If I am your last hope,” Crusher answered with a trace of acid in her tone, “then the very least you can do is provide me with the necessary tools. And that includes people who can operate the equipment and translate the results into a language I can understand.”
Vish pushed itself away from the table and started for the door, dragging its claws against the tiled floor. “It shall be as you wish.”
The laboratory was spacious and well-equipped, with everything she could have wanted and several things she hadn’t thought to ask for. Lab benches filled the center of the room, providing working space for a dozen researchers. The protein analyzer, the gene sequencer, and the medical examination scanner all shone with the unmistakable gloss of new equipment, their fresh-from-the-factory patina unmarred by time and the brush of countless claw-hands. One entire wall was covered with computer screens and control panels, each component looking slightly misshapen or oddly sized to Crusher. Everything was ready for her, was waiting for her to set in motion the research that would justify this laboratory.
Crusher shivered, wondering what would have happened if she had refused to help. I’d probably be here anyway, she grumbled to herself. The Jarada had been entirely too confident about her acceptance and entirely too casual about obtaining what they wanted by any means. For now she didn’t see any options beyond cooperating, but she decided to make the process as unpleasant for them as it was for her. “I want complete bioscans of everyone in this complex,” she ordered. “And I want those scans compared with every previous bioscan made of that individual.”
“That will take an enormous amount of time, Honored Bev-er-ly.” Vish’s antennae wiggled in distress. “I do not see why you need new bioscans, when all of us had complete scans taken just before we were assigned here. Unlike your people, our bioscans do not change unless an individual is about to molt.”
“Permit me to doubt.” Crusher sat on one of the lab benches, letting her legs swing free. She stared at Vish, her arms folded across her chest. “You ordered me to do this job and I—reluctantly—agreed. However, I insist on doing it my way, without any kibitzing from you. If you want my expertise, you will allow me to conduct the research in any way my human intuition suggests to me.”
“But I assure you, our bioscans do not change.” Deeply distressed, Vish shifted its weight from one strong-leg to the other. “This has been proven over thousands of generations. The only time a Jarada’s bioscan changes is when it is preparing to molt. None of the individuals who have become unbalanced have been approaching their molting time.”
Crusher drummed her boot heel against the bench’s leg. “In other words, you haven’t checked anyone’s bioscans to see if the insanity produces any measurable changes in the body chemistry?”
“Of course not.” Vish curled its strong-arms to its shoulders. “Why should we waste our time on a useless experiment we all conducted in our first biology class?”
Crusher glared at Vish. “In that case, I particularly want to see the current scans for the individual who attacked me. If you don’t like the direction my research is going, then send me back to the Enterprise and do the work yourself!”
“Very well.” Vish’s tone was so reluctant that Crusher almost broke into laughter. Whether she was on the right track or not, her first hunch was leading her down a path the Jarada had not considered. “If you will watch, we will show you how the bioscanners work so that you can operate them on your own.”
Vish beckoned to another researcher and that Jarada stepped into the orange-gold cone of the scanner field. In response to Vish’s commands, the lights on the control console flashed and winked in time to the scanning procedures, and columns of the oddly shaped Jaradan characters rolled across the screen. Crusher activated her tricorder, using it to record both the operating procedure and her own readings of the Jarada’s biochemistry. The tricorder’s capabilities as an analytical instrument were severely limited without access to the Enterprise’s main computer, but if she lost her Jaradan assistants, she would need every tool at her disposal.
A soft chime marked the end of the scan. The Jarada stepped out of the field, chittering softly in its own language. One at a time, the other Jarada submitted to the procedure while the first Jarada left to relay Crusher’s request to the other workers in the complex. By twos and threes the workers filed in and waited their turn. Crusher thought they seemed oddly sub dued, as if the threat of madness rested on each of them as heavily as the mass of the building that surrounded them.
After half an hour Crusher was beginning to wonder if her hunch had been wrong. So far, the scans had seemed amazingly uniform, reflecting both the physiological conformity of the Jarada and the genetic uniformity of the individuals within a given caste. Before her doubts could solidify, a small tan-colored insectoid near the head of the line began twitching its head. The smell of sage, overpowering in its intensity, swept over Crusher.
“Quick! Get that one in the scanner!” she ordered.
After a moment’s hesitation, the four nearest Jarada converged on their afflicted associate. The small Jarada fought with surprising ferocity but no finesse. Eventually it was forced into the bioscan field, biting and clawing the entire time. Vish slapped a hot pink button, and blue lines of force surrounded the tan Jarada, immobilizing it while the bioscanner did its work.
Crusher watched the readings scroll across her tricorder with mounting excitement. Even without running a comparison, she could see the differences. The activity levels of several key enzymes were skewed far beyond every other reading she had obtained so far. Three of the readings were below five percent of the values for the other Jarada, while one enzyme registered almost eight times the next highest concentration she had found. Although Crusher did not yet understand the function of those enzymes, she knew the insanity was somehow linked to the readings. The question was—which enzyme was responsible? Or were all four linked to the problem?
“This is not possible.” Vish’s tone was subdued, “All the best medical researchers for millennia have proven that our physiology is stable.”
Resisting the urge to say “I told you so,” Crusher scrolled through the data on her tricorder before she answered. “There are many races in the galaxy that show a strong correlation between insanity and biochemistry. In most cases, a disruption in an individual’s biochemistry causes the abnormal behavior, but in a few races, insanity disrupts the physiology. Once we
have determined cause and effect here, we can begin to solve your problem.”
“We are the Jarada.” There was a tone of finality in Vish’s voice. “We are not like other beings.”
Closing her eyes, Crusher counted to ten before she answered the insectoid. “There are certain universal rules that govern ninety-nine percent of all life-forms in the galaxy. It would be exceedingly unusual if your physiology were not governed by the same general principles as every other intelligent race. I grant that there are differences in function, that in detail Jarada physiology is uniquely different from every other race. However, unless the same underlying rules apply, unless your bodies are composed of amino acids and proteins and water and minerals and organic molecules which obey the laws I learned in my biochemistry classes, there’s no point in my being here.”
She drew a deep breath to emphasize her final salvo, even though she already knew what Vish would say. “If your physiology is really so unique that my knowledge doesn’t apply to you, then let me return to the Enterprise, because there’s nothing at all I can do for you.”
“You will stay.” Vish drew itself up to its full height, but for once, its air of command faltered. “What do you need from us to accomplish your task?”
“First, I will need scans of everyone affected by this madness. And I still need baseline data to compare the new scans with. After that, I require co-operation and assistance.” Crusher ran a hand through her red hair, stalling for time. There had to be a way to handle the stubborn Jarada, but what it was remained a mystery. Their racial intolerance made reasoning with them almost impossible. She was beginning to think an insane Jarada was only marginally less rational than a supposedly sane one. “I can do nothing for you if I am constantly fighting with you about the appropriate direction for my research. If you want my help, you must let me do this in what I judge to be the best possible way. Is that clear?”
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