“Preliminary results are that both Jarada pilots are suffering a form of insanity due to biochemical imbalance.” Selar’s voice was calm and level, as though she were reporting the status of inventories in the medical storage locker. “They appear to be suffering from intense paranoid delusions, particularly the delusion that everyone they meet is attempting to destroy their world. Unless they are kept drugged and under restraints, they press home ferocious attacks against any individual who comes within reach. Unfortunately, the levels of sedation that we have been forced to use distort their biochemistry further and interfere with some of our tests.”
“Doctor, do you have any explanation for the cause of this biochemical imbalance?” Even as he asked the question, Picard had a sinking feeling that he already knew the answer. The Federation had so little information about normal Jarada that it would be virtually impossible for Selar to explain abnormal Jarada.
“We have taken scans of all their biological functions. Unfortunately, I was unable to locate any records of normal Jaradan physiology to use for comparison purposes. All the readings transmitted by the away team from the planet must be considered suspect, until we understand the underlying cause of this aberration.” A hint of frustration flickered across Selar’s face before she resumed her impassive Vulcan mask. “Without baseline information I will be forced to conduct a random search until I can determine what the problem is.”
Data stepped closer, examining the readings before turning to face Picard. “Captain, may I make a suggestion? My positronic brain contains the biochemical specifications for one thousand seven hundred and twenty intelligent and semi-intelligent species. With Dr. Selar’s help I could compare the structure of the various Jaradan enzymes with those for other races. If I can spot any comparable structures, we should be able to shorten the search process considerably.”
Picard glanced at Selar for her reaction. She lifted both her eyebrows to indicate she had no objections. “If Commander Data is willing to help me locate the necessary information, I shall be grateful for the assistance.”
“In that case, make it so. Contact me as soon as you have something to report.”
“Yes, Captain.”
The Vulcan doctor and the android turned to their task, with Selar calling up the descriptions of each enzyme while Data searched his memory for analogs. Picard watched for long enough to realize just how tedious the process would be and then left, unheeded. Their discussion followed him until the door closed.
With all thought of sleep driven from his head, Picard headed for the bridge. He could have called in his request for a progress report on the search just as easily, but he suddenly felt an urge to check things in person. It was the type of hunch a commander ignored at his own peril.
When Picard stepped out of the turbolift, Geordi looked up from the engineering console, his face registering surprise. “Captain!”
Picard crossed to Geordi’s side to see what he was doing. “Mr. La Forge, I didn’t think this was your shift.”
Geordi gave an apologetic shrug. “Data showed me his latest simulations on how the Jarada might be disrupting our sensors and the patterns kept running through my head. I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to try adjusting the sensors to compensate for the hypothetical interference. It beats worrying about it half the night.”
The captain leaned over to study the display more carefully. Geordi was working with a theoretical model for the jamming signal, trying to guess the wave frequency and interference characteristics of the radiation the Jarada might be using to distort the Enterprise’s sensor readings. Half a dozen waveforms of varying frequencies twisted across on the screen, adding and subtracting from each other to create a tangled composite. “Hypothetical interference? Can’t our sensors at least tell us if someone is disrupting our scan?”
The chief engineer shook his head. “No, Captain. That’s one of our main problems. The background radiation in this system has been giving us problems from the word go. As we orbit around Bel-Major, we pass in and out of its radiation tail, which further complicates the readings. Also, Data has virtually proven that the Jarada stole most of the specs for our system when they scanned us at Torona IV. So—if these Jarada have that information, and if they really are scrambling our scans, they’re keying their interference off all the natural problems we’d be having anyway. In fact, we were getting similar results earlier when we ran simulations on how to maintain the transporter lock, and I think we’re supposed to believe that it’s natural. Of course, the only way we’ll know for sure that they’re jamming our equipment is when we succeed in breaking through.”
“Are you having any luck with it?”
“Not yet.” Geordi adjusted a control and entered some numbers in the console. After a moment the pattern on the screen developed two sharp spikes where there had been a broader curve before. “But I’ve tried only about a dozen combinations so far.”
“Carry on, Mr. La Forge.” Picard turned away, measuring off the descent to his command chair with even strides. If he was going to spend the next couple of hours trying to figure out his next move, he might as well do it here on the bridge. That way, if anything happened, he would know immediately.
Two hours later the monotony of the planet rotating beneath the Enterprise finally began to lull Picard from the hyperalertness that had followed Selar’s page. He was even starting to think he had misinterpreted the warning prickle that had sent him to the bridge when he heard Geordi give a short grunt. The captain rose to his feet and circled back to the engineering console. “Find anything, Commander?”
“I think so. Just a minute.” Geordi entered a correction into the console, checked the display for the results, and modified his settings yet again. The readout began flashing the words DATA MATCH and a set of coordinates. “We’ve got someone!” Geordi’s voice was exultant.
“Beam the person up immediately,” Picard ordered even as Geordi was relaying the coordinates and the jamming pattern to the transporter room. The environmental status report, the chirps of the various monitors, and the muted buzz of the lights filled the tense silence. The murmur of the air circulation system crescendoed until its oppressive hum echoed from every corner of the bridge. You never realize how many background sounds there are on this ship, Picard thought, until all the foreground noises disappear.
“Captain, we’ve beamed Lieutenant Worf aboard and he’s fighting mad. Do you want his report now, or should he change into a dry uniform first?” came O’Brien’s voice over the intercom. Picard raised an eyebrow, wondering if everyone on the ship was standing extra watches because they couldn’t sleep.
Before Picard could answer, Worf’s familiar growl ended the discussion. “I will tell the captain now of how disgracefully those creatures treated me. They have no honor whatsoever!”
“Send Mr. Worf to my ready room as soon as he’s had a chance to see to his immediate needs.” Picard started in that direction himself. He had just reached the door when the turbolift opened.
Worf was soaked to the skin, his uniform plastered to his body. Water dripped from his hair and from the points of his dark beard. Despite looking as though he had gone swimming in his clothes, the ends of his fingers were caked with mud, and patches of wet clay were plastered to his uniform. A murmur went around the bridge as everyone caught sight of him. The Klingon strode down the ramp to the ready room, apparently oblivious to the stir his appearance was causing.
Picard led Worf inside. “I could have waited for you to change,” he said when the door closed behind them. “You will do me little good if you let yourself die of pneumonia.”
“Begging the captain’s pardon, but my first duty is to report the treachery of our hosts. You must recall anyone left on the planet before it is too late.” Worf grasped the back of the chair Picard indicated but remained standing, dripping water on the floor. After a moment the captain sat anyway.
“We’re aware of the problem.” Picard studied Worf. Although the K
lingon needed dry clothes soon, the captain guessed that he would get little cooperation from him until Worf had told his story. As a stopgap, he ordered hot tea for both of them so that the security chief could have something to counteract the chill of his unplanned swim. “Give me your report, Mr. Worf. Then I expect you to get some dry clothes and some hot food before doing anything else.”
“Yes, Captain.” Worf described his adventures in the succinct, pithy way that only a Klingon could master. His sparse account of the attacks and his escapes left much to the imagination, but Picard had no trouble visualizing an entire society suddenly gone as crazy as the pilots that had attacked the Enterprise earlier. They had to find the rest of the away team and beam them up immediately.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Picard noticed that Worf’s tea was untouched. “Go change into a dry uniform while I see if Commander La Forge can use any of this information to aid in his search. And have someone take a look at your communicator. It isn’t registering on the ship’s sensors.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Picard was still mulling over Worf’s report, trying to decide what it meant and how to confront Zelfreetrollan with the information, when the door buzzer interrupted his thoughts. “Come.”
Data entered, pausing beside the table but not sitting. “Captain, Dr. Selar and I have determined several possible abnormalities in the Jaradan biochemistry. All are related to trace element deficiencies within the enzymatic structures. She is attempting to determine the precise biochemical function of these compounds in the Jaradan body while I run additional sensor scans of this solar system to ascertain if any of the suspected elements occur in amounts considerably below the expected norms.”
“May I inquire which elements you will be looking for?”
“Certainly, Captain.” Data clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, reminding Picard of a lecturer he had had at the Academy. He wondered if Data had also sat through Rohnert’s deplorable lectures on military tactics in the prespace flight era.
“Our best extrapolations suggest iodine, barium, or one of the lanthanide series of rare-earth elements. It may not be easy to determine which element is actually causing the problem, since we expect these elements to occur only in extremely small amounts in any system. However, I have a few ideas that may help narrow the possibilities, once I get the appropriate geochemical information for this solar system.”
“Make it so, Commander.” Picard pushed himself to his feet and left the room with Data, wanting to observe the results of the scan for himself.
Worf, in a dry uniform, had joined Geordi at the engineering station and they were both hunched over the screen, debating the best way to speed up the search. “I still say we have a better chance if we start from the Governance Complex and then move outward to every major building in the area,” Geordi said. “They were invited to attend functions with important dignitaries. We are most likely to find them if we concentrate our search around the primary structures.”
“I disagree. The Jarada have connected their city with a network of tunnels leading in every direction.” Worf straightened when he noticed Picard’s approach. “If Dr. Crusher or Commander Riker encountered difficulties with their hosts, they are likely to have escaped into the tunnels, just as I did. They could be anywhere and moving in any direction, depending on the nature of the obstacles they encounter.”
“What about Ms. Ishikawa and Ensign Tanaka?” Picard directed the question to Worf, even though he had stopped beside Geordi to study the display.
“Since we believe Ms. Ishikawa and Ensign Tanaka are some distance beyond the city limits, we will have to institute a standard spiral search pattern centered on the city in order to locate them.” Worf zoomed his display to show the area he was talking about. The amount of the territory to be searched was daunting when one considered the difficulty of locating two humans stranded without communicators. “At this time it would seem a better use of our resources to attempt to locate Dr. Crusher and Commander Riker.”
“Make it so, Lieutenant.” Picard left them to work out their search pattern and settled himself into his command chair. He had just found the correct position for maintaining alertness despite the late hour, when Data’s voice broke the silence.
“Captain, I am picking up some unusual thermal readings about three hundred kilometers northwest of the city in an unpopulated sector.”
Picard straightened in his seat, wondering what the android had found. “On screen, Mr. Data.”
The reference image of deciduous woodlands mixed with scattered lakes and meadows, marked with various identification codes, appeared on the screen. Data adjusted the controls, overlaying the reference scan with his current readings. A gasp of dismay rippled through the bridge like the first breath of a storm. The forest was ablaze, with greedy scarlet and yellow tongues of flame devouring everything within reach. “Wildfire,” someone murmured, his tone a mixture of awe and horror.
After a moment Picard regained control of his voice. “Is there anyone in the area, Mr. Data?”
The silence stretched while the android attempted to get the answer from the sensors. “It’s difficult to say, Captain. Unraveling the thermal signature of the fire from all other readings is a challenging problem in combinatorial mathematics. I am detecting sporadic readings of several large life-forms, but I am unable to determine whether they are Jarada or if they are indigenous animal life.”
Picard drew in a deep breath, debating the decision. “Can you scan them well enough to get a transporter lock, Mr. Data?”
“I believe so, Captain.” Data replied.
Picard turned toward Worf. “Take a group of your men and meet our ‘guests’ in the transporter room. Set your phasers to heavy stun.”
“Aye, Captain.” The Klingon relayed the order and then marched into the turbolift. His face wore a fierce grin, as if the thought of turning the tables on a few Jarada pleased him.
“Why security?” Data asked, puzzled. He realized he was the only person on the bridge who had not followed the logic of Picard’s order.
“Because, Mr. Data,” Picard answered in a grim voice, “anyone who sets a forest fire is probably as crazy as those pilots down in sickbay. Relay the coordinates to the transporter room and tell them to begin transport at their convenience.”
“Aye, sir. Relaying first set of coordinates now.”
Picard leaned back in his chair, watching on the viewscreen as the fire devoured its surroundings. He hoped he was doing the right thing, rescuing any Jarada trapped down there. At the moment he needed answers and he needed bargaining chips to get his ship and his crew out of this confusing and potentially lethal situation.
Chapter Nineteen
“WILL!” CRUSHER GASPED, her blue eyes widening in surprise. “How did you get here?”
“That’s a good question. I wish I could answer it.” Riker limped over to a bench and painfully levered himself up to sit sidesaddle on its top, his swollen knee swung around to rest on the counter. “Right now, though, I’d settle for knowing why.”
Crusher slid to her feet and adjusted the tricorder for human physiology. “I can guess part of the reason anyway. I’ve been demanding an assistant ever since I got here. It looks like you’re it.” She ran the tricorder over his body, frowning at the readings.
For a moment Riker tried to see himself through her eyes and realized how awful he must look. His uniform was caked with mud and slime and, despite the toughness of the fabric, ripped in a dozen places besides. He’d lost track of the number of scrapes and bruises he’d collected and the nicks from Zarn’s claws were starting to feel distinctly painful. A grin twisted the corners of his mouth as he pictured anyone in his present condition, even Wesley, being allowed near Crusher’s neat, tidy lab on the Enterprise.
“What are you laughing at?” Worry sharpened her tone more than she had intended. “In your condition you ought to be in bed, at least until the swell
ing in that knee goes down.” She turned toward Vish, who was trying to herd the other Jarada from the room. “Is there somewhere Commander Riker can wash off and get something clean to wear?”
Vish jumped, its claws skittering nervously on the tile floor. “Of course, Honored Bev-er-ly. There is a washing trough in the room where you treated your arm. Do you not remember how the way there was marked?”
Crusher sighed. “I’m afraid I don’t. Would you please show us there again?”
“If that is your wish.” The insectoid skittered between them and the door while Riker eased himself off the bench and back onto his feet. “Your time would be better spent in conducting the research you were brought here to do, rather than worrying about inconsequentials. There isn’t much time left.”
They left the laboratory and started down a corridor, with Vish dancing ahead impatiently and then backtracking to converse with Crusher. Riker’s body had stiffened painfully during the ride to the complex, and he was barely able to match the slow pace Crusher was setting. “Truly, you should not spend this time polishing your assistant’s carapace,” Vish repeated as they turned into a side corridor. “You can worry about its esthetics after you have solved our problem.”
“I’m not worried about esthetics,” Crusher snapped, her temper starting to fray under the Jarada’s chatter. “I’m worried about his ability to function at all in the condition he’s in.”
“In that case, we can throw this one out and get you one that works properly.”
“No!” Riker and Crusher said in unison, their voices mixing like a Jarada’s. After a moment Crusher continued without Riker, “I will take any others that you can locate, in addition to this one, but he will stay.”
“Very well.” In a human, Vish’s tone would have been decidedly sulky. Riker wasn’t sure how much of a human response he was projecting onto the Jarada, but he suspected that Vish’s actions boded nothing good for them. He found himself wishing for Zarn, who had disappeared after they entered the complex. Vish’s behavior was too irrational to reassure him about the Jarada’s motives.
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