by Peter David
Dr. Spencer touched her arm. “Our captains—and Mr. Solack!” he said with a groan.
She winced. They were loose on the ship—and Solack had beamed back to the Constitution. A disaster on all fronts.
“Call Solack,” she told him. “Maybe it can still be contained on your ship. I’ll take care of our captains.”
“A toast—” Captain Picard said, raising his goblet. He heard a strange hum and paused. Transporter beam— he realized as he saw his hand dissolve in a shimmer of colored light.
And the next thing he knew, he stood in sickbay facing Dr. Crusher. She had her hands on her hips. Around her, the medical staff scrambled with panicked expressions.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
“Sorry, Captain,” she said. “Time was pressing. Deanna has come down with the plague virus.” She pointed to biobed 2.
Picard stared. Her face— it had broken out in what looked like small white pustules.
“That’s impossible!” Captain van Osterlich said.
“But it happened. Did you come into contact with anyone on the way back to your cabin?”
“An ensign—Ensign Clarke, who wanted to see me about a complaint, and I put him off until tomorrow morning. And I introduced Lieutenant La Forge to Captain van Osterlich.”
“And there was the Vulcan—”
“Yes, Ensign T’Pona. And we shared a turbolift with several people—the Praxx whose name I can’t pronounce and Ensign Crane.”
“Tr’grxl-gn’ta,” Crusher said, naming the Praxx. “He’s letting people call him Tray now.”
“That’s the one.” He frowned. “I believe that’s all.”
Dr. Crusher shook her head. “Too many. Too damn many. We’ll never get this genie stuffed back in the bottle.” She glanced at Dr. Spencer, who was talking urgently to someone over the comm link in the corner. “Let’s hope Spencer has better luck.”
Van Osterlich paled. “Solack—”
“Beamed back to the Constitution as soon as you left,” Dr. Crusher finished.
He sprinted to join Dr. Spencer, and the two of them held an animated conversation.
Picard began to pace. How many crewmen are going to prove susceptible? How many people of mixed genetic heritage are actually serving onboard the Enterprise ?
Deanna stirred and moaned a bit. Picard trailed Dr. Crusher to her side and watched as she administered a sedative hypospray. No need for containment fields now, he thought. Small comfort.
“I’ve already given her a shot of Tricillin PDF,” she said. “That will help.”
Deanna settled down and lay quietly. Rest. That’s the best thing for her right now, he thought. Let the doctors do their work. They’ll find a cure.
Picard chewed his lip, thinking through the possibilities. He glanced at his friend.
“Jules?” he called.
Shaking his head, van Osterlich rejoined him. “They had a staff meeting in my absence,” he said. “It seems they were going to hold a surprise party for one of my lieutenants. It’s too late. Half the crew must have been exposed at this point.”
Picard heard sobbing. He turned and found Dr. Crusher’s original patient—the beautiful woman who had been asleep—now sitting up on her bed.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her.
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I brought the plague here!”
“Nonsense,” he said. “That wasn’t your fault. We’ll lick this thing yet.”
“Hang on,” Dr. Crusher said. She brought her medical tricorder over and began to run scans on her first patient. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I just had my stomach kicked.” Her lower lip trembled.
“This is very interesting.” Dr. Crusher raised her tricorder and began a second scan. “Very interesting indeed.”
“What?” Picard asked.
“I’m picking up the virus in Jenni’s blood…it’s the very first stage of infection.” She shut off the tricorder with a snap. “I don’t think you’ve been infected longer than an hour. Which means you didn’t infect Deanna—she infected you. Her case is at least eight hours old.”
“How is that possible?” Picard demanded. “You were supposed to have a level-one containment field up around her at all times—”
“Yes, Captain, we did. We still do—nobody bothered to take it down.”
Picard turned to look at Jenni. “It’s still up…run a full diagnostic. It must be malfunctioning!”
“It’s not. These events match what Dr. Tang told us. Somehow, somewhere, our quarantine procedure failed.”
Think! Picard told himself. That’s the problem here—we’re being outwitted. Whoever designed that virus is laughing at us. What have we missed?
This wasn’t like any other virus humanity had ever encountered, despite its resemblance to Rhulian flu.
Nurse Anders ran up. “Doctor,” she said urgently. “We have two more suspected cases of the plague. They’re on their way to sickbay now. Shall we lift the quarantine on sickbay?”
Two more cases…that confirmed it, Picard thought. Deanna Troi had been spreading the virus through the ship all day.
“Yes,” he said. “Speed is of necessity here. Have a site-to-site transport beam them directly here.”
“Get them started on Tricillin PDF,” Dr. Crusher said. “That’s about all we can do right now.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
Turning, Picard studied Deanna’s readouts. Her vital signs appeared to have stabilized, at least for the moment.
“We can’t look at this as a tragedy,” Dr. Crusher said. “Three more plague victims means three more test subjects…and a better chance of finding a cure.”
“That’s the attitude,” Picard said. Never mind that the plague was loose on the Enterprise.
Chapter Fifteen
PEACE OFFICER JORDAN’S DIRECTIONS proved unnecessary—you would have had to be blind and deaf to miss the demonstration going on, Riker thought.
The noise reached deafening levels from three blocks away. As they followed the chanting, shouting, screaming, and out-and-out war-whoops to their source, they came to a broad parklike square where five streets came together. In the center of the square, atop a small grassy knoll, blazed a huge bonfire. Hundreds had gathered around it chanting “Veritas!…Veritas!…Veritas!” Others screamed antimixer slogans, waved angry fists at the hospital complex on the far side of the bonfire, or just talked, shouted, or jeered, all at the top of their lungs. The noise reached deafening levels. Riker began to worry about damage to their eardrums.
Tasha touched his arm and pointed, mouthing, “The hospital!”
He nodded and began to follow her as she picked her way through the crowds of revelers. They passed more uniformed peace officers, none of whom looked happy. They’re missing the party, Riker realized. They’re all members of the Purity League, or Purity League sympathizers…wolves watching the sheep. Hopefully whatever oaths they had sworn to do their duty will keep them in line…They would rather join in than keep the peace. Not that there was much peace to keep in this bedlam.
Men and women gave him friendly nods and waves and pats on the back, and he reciprocated. Look like you’re having fun, he thought. Blend in. We’re all one big family here, united in our fear and paranoia.
Reaching the fringes of the crowd, Lieutenant Yar circled slowly to the left. A couple of people gave her too-friendly slaps on the back and shoulder and rump, and he could tell it took all her restraint to keep from breaking their arms. Here he could see open kegs of liquor—people were passing cups of it everywhere.
Yar turned and shouted something he couldn’t quite make out over the thunderous tumult around them. He shrugged helplessly and pointed to his ears. She nodded, accepted a couple of cups of liquor from one of the Purity Leaguers, and handed him one. Data, too, took one—That’s right, Riker thought, he’s capable of eating and drinking. Practically human in every way physically. Though of course Data couldn’t
metabolize food—he would eject it later.
Following the lead of the men around him, Riker raised one fist in the air and began to shout. Of course, nobody could hear him. Data and Yar began to shout, too—and to Riker’s eye they all looked like dutiful members of the League.
Slowly they began to work their way around toward the far side of the bonfire, closer to Archo Hospital. Riker had a feeling, somehow, that when violence erupted, it would be in that direction. He wanted them…if not in the middle of it, at least close enough for firsthand observation.
At one point Riker turned to Data and mouthed: “How many people are here?”
Data used his fingers to flash a quick number: 5-5-0-0. Fifty-five hundred. Riker had estimated three or four thousand, but Data’s number had to be closer to the truth. The android could count samples and extrapolate far better than he could.
On the far side of the bonfire they found a crude wooden platform already set up before the entrance of the Archo Hospital complex. A few men stood on the platform, shouting slogans he couldn’t hear and periodically pointing at the line of six bored-looking peace officers who stood on the hospital’s steps. The peace officers all wore riot gear, complete with shields, masks, and billy clubs.
“I thought you said this was going to be a riot!” he said slowly to Tasha, mouthing the words carefully so she could read his lips. It wasn’t so much a riot as a boisterous demonstration, he decided. The six peace officers could be overwhelmed in seconds if a crowd this size turned violent.
“Wait!” she answered. “It will get worse!”
Riker turned his attention back to the platform. It seemed to be the center of protest activity. In front of it, several dozen men and women passed out pamphlets, flyers, and even banner signs with antimixer slogans printed on them:
ARCHARIA IS FOR HUMANS
WE WELCOME THE PLAGUE!
DEATH TO MIXERS
These had to be the demonstration’s organizers…or at least a step closer to them. Riker approached, and a girl of perhaps sixteen pressed a flyer into his hands, smiling broadly at him. A redheaded young man with a full red beard pressed a banner on him—“Better Dead Than Impure!” He motioned for Riker to wave it.
Riker handed the sign to Data and turned back, but the girl and the redheaded man had moved on. He started for the platform, hoping to find someone in charge…when suddenly a bell began to toll.
The clear ringing tone cut through the noise of the demonstration. Everyone froze for a second, and between peals Riker could hear the crackle and hiss of the giant bonfire. The whole crowd seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation. Everyone began to turn toward the platform.
Spotlights went on, illuminating the stage in a soft, warm glow. Slowly, carefully, an old man in white robes climbed the steps to stand before them. He had to be seventy or eighty years old, Riker thought, and his steel-gray beard stretched nearly to his waist. Could this be the mysterious Father Veritas? Could this really be the secretive leader of the Purity League? Riker felt his pulse quicken.
A whispering sound came from the multitude: “Father Veritas!” most of them seemed to be saying.
“Friends.” The old man’s voice held a slight quaver, but it still boomed across the square—amplified by some hidden speaker system, Riker assumed. “Friends, I am Brother Paul, a close friend of Father Veritas. Tonight I bring you a message from the Father himself. He bids me to thank you all for your support. The day of human freedom is at hand. Death to mixers!”
“Freedom is ours!” the crowd shouted back.
So this wasn’t Father Veritas, Riker thought, but one of his inner circle, sent out to speak the gospel to the multitudes.
“Are you with the League?” Brother Paul demanded.
“Freedom is ours!” the crowd roared.
“Do you love your freedom?”
“Freedom is ours!” the crowd roared again.
“Will you follow the Father to pure human salvation?”
“Freedom is ours!” the crowd screamed. “Death to mixers! Death to mixers! Death to mixers!”
Riker thought it sounded like a litany—everyone around them seemed to expect the questions and know the proper response. The Purity League certainly had draped itself in the trappings of a religion, he decided…complete with Fathers and Brothers.
“You know what must be done!” Brother Paul shouted. “Now is the time for human freedom! Now! Now! Now!”
Cheering, the crowd rushed the hospital’s front steps. The peace officers holding the riot gear—all smirking with ill-concealed glee—simply stepped aside for them.
Riker gaped in shock. The mob raced past the peace officers, up the broad marble steps, between the tall black marble columns, and straight to the hospital’s front door. They began to pound on the glass doors with their fists.
“Death to mixers!” they continued to shout. “Death to mixers! Death to mixers!”
Riker let one hand fall to his concealed phaser. If the crowd burst into the hospital and went on a killing spree, the three of them would have no choice but to reveal themselves and try to stop the rioters—without the help of the peace officers, if necessary. If only we had real phasers, he thought with frustration. A single hit on light stun might render a lightly built man unconscious for a few minutes, but burly men like so many of these—men with their adrenaline already pumped up—would hardly notice it.
Suddenly a forcefield crackled to life. It stretched across the whole front façade of the hospital…and slowly it began to extend outward, pushing all the attacking men and women away from the doors and windows, then down the steps toward the street. Riker let himself relax. It seemed the hospital had prepared for Father Veritas and his followers after all—and had a safe, nonviolent solution to the problem. He couldn’t have come up with a better answer himself.
Relieved, he turned his attention back to the platform. Several people with old-fashioned megaphones had taken Brother Paul’s place—and Brother Paul was nowhere to be seen now. Spirited off to Purity League Headquarters, no doubt, Riker thought with dismay. If only I had a minute to talk to him.
He squinted, but the floodlit glow that had surrounded Brother Paul was gone, making it difficult to see. Since the men now on the platform all wore shorter beards and plain clothes, in the semidarkness he didn’t think he was seeing them well enough to be able to identify them again.
Shouting “A pure race is a good race!” and “Mixers must never be tolerated,” they exhorted the audience to rise up and take back their planet. But the moment had passed; Brother Paul’s magic no longer worked, at least not for these pedestrian rabble-rousers. The crowds began to disperse, streaming off down the five convergent streets in knots of ten or twenty at a time.
“Sir,” Data said, “perhaps we should try to follow one of the groups.”
Riker nodded. He had just been thinking the same thing. He turned slowly, looking at the crowd still around the podium.
The assembled people liked what they were hearing. Some cheered, while others continued to chant “Veritas!” over and over.
And just as suddenly as the riot had begun, the whole demonstration seemed to end. Men and women streamed away from the square, heading up the five streets that led away. The people with the megaphones hopped down and fled.
“Which way, Will?” Data asked.
Riker hesitated, turning slowly. Some of the rioters had begun to smash windows, throw stones, and try to overturn ground cars along the various streets. The peace officers had given up their posts and joined in.
But he had a feeling these people were, if not innocent, at least not clued in to the ringleaders. Cattle, easily manipulated, sent to do the Purity League’s dirty work.
He made his decision: “This way.” And he started up the street after the men with the megaphones.
Chapter Sixteen
AFTER HIS THIRD TANKARD of blood wine, Worf felt himself getting as plastered as the rest of his newfound Klingon friends.
His tongue kept tripping over itself, but between bouts of song, fistfights, and bragging matches, he managed to piece together most of the details of what had brought Captain Krot and his men to this place.
Captain Krot had realized his ship would be caught on Archaria III as soon as the plague broke loose if he did not move quickly. Their cargo—fifty thousand tons of grain, destined for the qagh farms on Kra’togh IV—had already been delivered. They just had a few repairs to make to their warp drive.
“If we had left one day sooner,” Krot said, “we never would have known about the plague. Bah! Bad luck follows me.”
After cunningly bribing the docking clerk in charge of their vessel, they’d lifted off. “Your life will be spared if you delete our departure record!” Krot had said. He burst out laughing when he tried to describe the clerk’s horrified expression when faced with a mek’leth at his throat!
Unfortunately, their emergency warp-drive repairs had not held up. Due to primary warp-core failure, they had only gotten as far as orbit.
It was then that they picked up a transmission to the Enterprise. Immediately Krot ordered a landing on one of the moons…and they were fortunate enough to spot this old base. It already had two ships parked here—they figured they would wait out the plague while they made repairs.
“We did not know that Klingons ran the Enterprise!” Krot proclaimed. Worf silently congratulated himself on discreetly returning his human away team to the Enterprise shortly after his first cup of blood wine. The captain raised his tankard. “To Klingons everywhere!”
“To Klingons!” Worf echoed.
The rest of Krot’s crew began to chant, again, and Worf drained his blood wine in two long gulps.
The world swam fuzzily before dropping back into focus.
“What will you do now?” Worf asked. “The system is under quarantine. You may not leave.”
“Why should I care about a human quarantine? This plague does not affect Klingons!”
“It is better to cooperate,” Worf said sagely.