[Star Trek TNG] - Double Helix Omnibus

by Peter David

  Something creaked alarmingly under the console, like bones about to break. It sounded worse than anything else O’Brien had yet done.

  “Unh…almost…there!”

  The lights on the control panel flickered, then went out.

  “Bloody hell!”

  “Maybe I should call someone from engineering to assist you—” she began.

  He stuck his head out and positively glared at her. “Don’t. Ma’am. Beggin’ your pardon, but I’d never hear the end of it! I’ve got my pride, you know.”

  “Lives are at stake here—”

  “I know, and the sooner I shut up and get back to work, the sooner you’ll get ’em saved.” He disappeared into the console again.

  Territorial, these engineering types. She sighed. At this point, it was probably best to let him do his work.

  “Why don’t they build these things to standard specs?” she heard O’Brien mutter to himself. “You’d think a Galaxy-class starship would use the same C-22a transporter-buffer configuration as the rest of the fleet, wouldn’t you? But no, that’s not good enough. Some bright kid decides it’s better to start over from scratch and reinvent the wheel, and we’re the ones who suffer for it….”

  Something creaked again. The lights flickered, came on, died, flickered, and died again. And then they didn’t come on at all.

  Dr. Crusher sighed. Twelve minutes. Three more, then I call Engineering.

  “How’s that?” he asked from inside. “Everything look okay?”

  “It’s completely dead.”

  “Eh? Still?” he called. Something made a banging sound, like steel on steel. Dr. Crusher winced. He’s insane. I’m trusting my patient—and the safety of the crew—to a madman.

  “Just a minute more!” he called.

  “Are you sure this is going to work?”

  “Of course.” He grunted again. He pounded on something. He cursed. But finally the console lights came back on and a familiar hum of power filled the room.

  “That does it.” The transporter chief pulled his red-haired head out and gave her a winning smile. “Knew I’d get it in the end. I’ve manually cross-chained two transporter buffers, so you’ll get a double-strength biofilter. No virus is going to make it through there unless we want it to. Just give the word, Doc, and I’ll start the transport.”

  “Okay.” Something made her hesitate, though. She still had her doubts about jerry-rigged transporters. It might do in a true emergency, but when the safety of the crew lay at stake, when a potentially lethal virus might make it on board, she wanted something extra. Strange creaking noises and flickering power supplies did not engender confidence, she thought.

  That’s why we’re beaming into a level-1 containment field, she thought. Even if he screwed up the biofilters, nothing would get loose on the ship.

  “Let’s give it a try.”

  She tapped her badge. “Crusher to Dr. Tang.”

  “Tang here,” he replied almost instantly. He must have been waiting for my call.

  “Do you have that patient ready?”

  “Yes. Lock onto the other person at these coordinates—”

  Crusher glanced at O’Brien, who nodded.

  “Bring him aboard,” she said.

  “He’s in the pattern buffer,” Transporter Chief O’Brien said. “Now…applying the first set of biofilter algorithms…now the second set…done!”

  It’s too easy, she thought. If this worked, Dr. Tang would have cured all his patients by now. Unless he only managed to reinfect them. Unless he sabotaged his own work to help the Purity League. No virus can make it through the biofilters, she thought. It has to work. It’s medically impossible for it not to work.

  “Leave him in the pattern buffer until I have the containment field set up,” she said, starting for sickbay. “I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

  “Got it, ma’am!”

  Five minutes later, the hum of a transporter beam filled the sickbay. Dr. Crusher and her staff gathered around biobed 1 and the forcefield now shimmering there.

  A woman materialized on the bed. She had long, flowing black hair, an elongated Peladian skull, and white blisters covering her face, neck, and hands.

  Dr. Crusher raised her tricorder and began a quick scan. The virus was gone. So much for Dr. Tang, she thought. As far as she was concerned, this proved he had been lying all along. Now, all we have to do is find an antiviral agent that works, she thought, and begin mass-producing it.

  “We have a winner,” she announced. “The virus is gone.”

  Her staff let loose a cheer.

  Smiling, she lowered her tricorder. “All we need is a vaccine and we’ll be set. How is it coming?”

  “I think we’ll have something in a few hours. We’re running cultures now. All indications are positive—we’ll have that cure by the end of the day. It’s only Rhulian flu, after all.”

  Dr. Crusher nodded. “Prepare two more biobeds,” she said to her nurses. “We have patients on the moon to bring across.”

  It looked like the start of a very busy afternoon.

  She continued to monitor her plague patient, listening to the steady beat of her heart on the biobed’s monitor. Within twenty minutes, the woman’s fever was gone. Within an hour, the fever blisters on her face had begun to shrink noticeably. Blood tests, sensor scans, and every medical instrument in sickbay revealed her to be a healthy young adult female in every way.

  Too bad we can’t beam every patient on the planet through our biofilters, she thought. But even with all our transporters working around the clock—even if you count the Constitution —we would barely get one or two percent of the victims processed. And we would have to start beaming them back down to the planet because we’d run out of room here…and they would be reinfected immediately.

  No, they needed a real cure. That was the only solution.

  Even so, Dr. Crusher found it hard to restrain her jubilation. It wasn’t every day she had such immediate and gratifying results from a treatment. So much for Dr. Tang and all his dire warnings.

  “Get back to work on the vaccine,” she said.

  Deanna Troi strolled in shortly thereafter. “I heard you have a new patient, Beverly,” she said. “I can tell by the glow on your face that the news is good. Is she awake yet?”

  “Not yet…but soon.” Smiling, Dr. Crusher led the way to biobed 1. The white fever blisters had almost all vanished on the woman’s face. “As you can see, she’s still unconscious. I didn’t want to administer a stimulant yet…rest is the best thing for her right now.”

  Deanna leaned close to the forcefield. “She’s dreaming. I sense some very turbulent emotions…do you have a case history on her? I’d like to read it before we talk.”

  “No—and I’m sure the Archo City Hospital doesn’t have one, either. They’ve been overwhelmed by the thousands of plague victims. They didn’t even bother sending paperwork up with her—we don’t even know her name.”

  Deanna sighed, but nodded. “All right. I want to be here when she wakes up, though. She’s going to need counseling to deal with her trauma. Promise you’ll call me?”

  “Of course.” That was the least they could do for their patient. Mental as well as physical health—a doctor had to worry about both.

  Deanna gazed silently at the woman. “Is that forcefield still necessary?” she asked.

  “For now. It’s a standard safety procedure.”And I promised Dr. Tang—he insisted the virus leaped through biofilters. But when there isn’t a virus present, it can’t leap through anything, can it? She gave a mental snort. All those lies…I wonder how he sleeps at night. First things first. Once the plague is under control, I’ll make sure charges are pressed against him…if not on Archaria III, then on a Federation world in a Federation court.

  The Federation took charges of genocide very seriously.

  Part 2:

  The Plague Escapes

  Interlude

  SUNSET OVER ARCHO CITY da
zzled the eyes with brilliant fingers of red and pink and gold. Solomon studied the spectacular colors as he waited impatiently for his ground transportation to arrive. No pollution. No air traffic. Not a person in sight…I might be the last person in this whole world, he thought.

  Faint in the distance, a truck rumbled somewhere behind him, breaking the spell. He sighed and glanced around impatiently. Where was his car? It should have been here by now.

  I’m a grain buyer. Even in the midst of panic and chaos, they bend over backwards to serve me. He found a certain irony in the fact that he had pretty much destroyed the social fabric of their world. Not that it was particularly worth saving.

  “Aren’t you afraid of the plague?” the elderly desk clerk had asked him that afternoon when he came down for an early supper. He saw not another soul in the lobby, nor were any patrons eating in the hotel restaurant. Rats leaving a sinking ship, he thought with an inward chuckle. Only with the planet quarantined, they have no place to go.

  “The plague? Not really,” Solomon told him matter-of-factly. “I haven’t had a sick day in my life, and I’m not going to start now.”

  “We have begun relocating most of our off-world guests to rural inns. We think they will be safer there, between the plague and the Purity League unrest. If you’d like, we can have your baggage packed while you’re out—”

  “No, thank you. I prefer to stay here.”

  “But the plague—”

  “A minor inconvenience, that’s all.” He gave a dismissive gesture. “I’m sure either the Federation or your own excellent hospital system will soon have it sorted out. Besides, I thought only mixers were affected by it. I’m certainly not half Peladian!”

  “Obviously, sir. So far, only those damn mixers have caught it, lucky for us humans.”

  “Oh?”I know where your sympathies lie, poor old fool. Feigning interest, Solomon asked, “Have you heard anything else about the plague? Like who’s really responsible?”

  “Not really…just a few rumors.” The clerk licked his lips and leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “They say the Federation is terrified that the disease is going to mutate and take us humans next. The Peladians made it, you know, in their secret laboratories.”

  Solomon stared at him incredulously. “No!” It was all he could do to keep from bursting out laughing. The Peladians! Oh, it was too funny. The Purity League certainly moved swiftly to put its own spin on the plague virus. Everyone wants to take credit for it but me.

  “Yes, sir. It’s true. That’s exactly what I heard.”

  “Well, until I catch it myself, I’m not going to believe it. Now, can you check on my transport? It was supposed to be here by now.”

  And you really don’t want to see me when I’m annoyed, he added mentally.

  “At once, sir.” Turning, the clerk hurried to a comm terminal in the back office.

  Solomon leaned on the counter, listening with half an ear as the clerk yelled at some poor dispatcher. He hadn’t realized how quickly a planet’s infrastructure could collapse. Less than 5 percent of the planet is susceptible to the virus, and everyone’s acting like it’s the end of the universe.

  A moment later, the clerk returned. “All the drivers called in sick today,” he reported. “When I explained how important you were, Joshua Teague himself—Teague’s the owner—promised to send his son with a vehicle for you. Best they have, he said. His son, Berke, is a good boy. I’ve known him for years. He won’t let you down.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Best of all,” the clerk went on, “they’re only going to charge you the economy rental rates—to make up for your inconvenience, sir.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m on an expense account.”The General is paying for it, after all, Solomon thought. “I appreciate the trouble Mr. Teague is going to on my behalf. Please make sure he bills the full amount to my room here.”

  “Of course, sir!” The clerk looked overjoyed. He’ll probably take half of it for his own services, Solomon thought with amusement. He had never been one to begrudge lowly employees their share of graft. After all, that’s what keeps the universe afloat.

  “How long will it take?” he asked. “It’s getting dark, and I am in something of a hurry.”

  “It will be here momentarily, sir. Would you care for a complimentary drink while you wait? If you like, I can have it brought out to the lobby for you—”

  “No, thank you. I think I’ll wait outside.”

  “If you must, sir.” The clerk didn’t seem to like that idea, but Solomon didn’t particularly care. After all, what could possibly happen?

  He strolled through the deserted lobby and out to the deserted sidewalk and looked around the deserted square. None of the shops had opened today. But the black marble fountains burbled happily, and small grayish birds—real Earth pigeons, by their look—strutted happily this way and that. He watched, and studied the magnificent sunset as it colored the west with a brilliant palette.

  At last a small luxury aircar settled to the ground in front of the hotel. It was a Praxx Cruiser, a couple of years old but once the very top of their line. Ten meters long and three meters high, its body had been elegantly sculpted along aerodynamic lines. Its shiny black paint job gleamed with fresh polish.

  Not bad, Solomon decided, ambling over to inspect it. The last aircar they’d sent him had been a twenty-year-old Junco Jett. Certainly much better than I expected. If the Cruiser handled half as well as it looked, he would be one happy customer.

  A bearded young man opened the side doors and climbed out. He did not look happy, though. He kept glancing around the square as though half expecting mobs of screaming Peladians to attack at any moment.

  “You must be Buck Teague.” Solomon smiled cheerfully and offered his hand. “Thanks for coming.”

  “It’s Berke, sir.” Berke shook hands, looking even unhappier. Probably terrified he’s going to catch something from me, Solomon thought with growing amusement. Everyone deals with a plague differently.

  Berke turned and pointed into the driver’s compartment. “Autopilot, navigator console, manual controls, computer controls. Everything checked out this morning. Are you familiar with Praxx aircars?”

  “Of course. I own several.”

  Berke nodded. “Just park it in the hotel lot when you’re done. We’ll have someone pick it up tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem, sir. Thank you for using Teague Luxury Aircars, the best on Archaria III. Enjoy your trip.” It sounded like a well-rehearsed script.

  Solomon didn’t waste any time. He climbed in, took the controls manually, and lifted off. The engine purred. The computer came on-line automatically as soon as he cleared the hotel’s roof.

  “Destination, sir?” it asked in its richly timbered Praxx voice.

  Solomon released the controls. “Archo City Library, 5562 Vista Place.” He had stationed the first of his fifty atmospheric monitoring stations there, on the rooftop.

  “Very good, sir.” The aircar banked to the left and began to accelerate. “We will arrive in approximately five minutes.”

  Solomon leaned back in his soft padded chair, which began to vibrate faintly, massaging his muscles. Ah. Nothing like a Praxx vehicle, he thought.

  “Watch for aircars following us. If anyone takes a parallel course, inform me immediately.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Solomon turned his head to gaze out the window. Nobody had reason to suspect him of any unlawful activities, of course, but with so few aircars out and about tonight, he knew he might catch some unwanted attention.

  To the far north, he spotted a couple of official-looking troop transports flying quickly toward the spaceport. People could be so foolish, he thought, shaking his head. In a real plague situation, the last place you’d find him would be in a crowded public place. And yet half the planet seemed to be at the Archo City spaceport, trying desperately to get passage off Archaria III.


  That very morning, he had watched a live broadcast from the spaceport terminal—the vid showed scenes of utter chaos, with flight counters closed, screaming masses of humans and Peladians fighting for space in nonexistent lines, children shrieking, mothers crying, fathers and brothers and cousins all on the verge of murder. And all just to escape a plague which couldn’t possibly infect them.

  Humans are crazy, he decided, and not for the first time in his life. The Peladians didn’t seem much better.

  “Hundreds of mixers trying to flee the planet have been collapsing in the spaceport terminal,” the vid reporter said. “Peace officers cart them off to a makeshift hospital as fast as they fall. Too bad they can’t die at home.”

  The makeshift hospital turned out to be a requisitioned circus tent erected on the landing pads between two parked starships. The vid showed a bright red-and-yellow striped tent as tall as the largest freighter, with dragon-shaped pennants fluttering from every peak and pinnacle. It looked ridiculous.

  “That’s right, Bob. With so many full-blooded humans here, the peace officers have enough problems keeping order without having to bother with mixer trash—”

  Solomon shook his head. Utter stupidity! He thought. They all, human and Peladians alike, needed to go home and wait it out. With all off-world traffic halted by the Federation, nobody would be leaving Archaria III anytime soon…not until the plague ran its course and burned itself out, or somebody found a cure, whichever came first.

  He knew a cure wouldn’t be long in coming. The General had a whole timetable set up around the plague. If events unfolded according to schedule, the Federation would find a cure for the plague virus within three weeks of their arrival here…but only after 98 percent of the planet’s half-breed population were dead.

  Solomon still had no idea why the General wanted to kill off so many innocent people. Not that it was his problem. But secretly, he half-wished the Federation would find the cure a little faster. He might be a member of the largest criminal organization in human space, but he didn’t consider himself a murderer. And that’s what this is, he thought. Cold, calculated murder.