by Peter David
“Starfleet issue. A current model. It should not be in civilian hands.”
“Then what was he doing with it?”
Data turned slowly. “There—that is the atmospheric monitoring station he must have been checking.” He crossed to the small silver box and pulled it off the wall. When he flipped open the top, he read something inside. “As I expected, it is set to monitor particle content in the air.”
“Do you mean dust?”
“Any particulate matter—dust, pollution, and pollen are three examples.”
“How about…an airborne virus?”
“Like the plague virus?”
“Exactly.”
“It would count that, too.”
The man began to stir and moan. Tasha regarded him suspiciously. “I think we’ve just found the key to the puzzle,” she said. “Keep him covered.”
Crossing to where he lay, she began searching through his pockets. Not one but two phasers, a knife, and three sets of identification cards…all very interesting. One ID claimed he was a grain buyer, another an engineering-supply salesman, and the third a missionary priest. A priest? She knew they were fake; a grain-buying engineering-sales missionary-priest might conceivably exist, but each of the three IDs gave different names and home planets.
He stirred and moaned. He’ll be awake soon. Might as well get it over with.
“Wake up!” she said, giving his shoulder a shake.
He opened his eyes suddenly and gasped. “What—where—”
“That’s what I want to know,” she said with an unkind smile. Phaser stuns left people disoriented; she meant to take advantage of it. “Who are you—really—and what can you tell me about this plague?”
“Let go of me!”
She released him. With Data standing there, he wouldn’t get away.
“I work for the Archo City Hospital,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his head. “What happened?”
“Uh-uh. Not with these ID cards, you don’t. And you don’t have a beard; you’re no Archarian.” She fanned the identification cards out in front of his face. “And I’ll stake my job none of these is you. Care to try again?”
He climbed to his feet, brushed himself off, and adjusted his collar. An almost mocking smile came over his face. “Not this time.”
Lights shimmered, and he began to disappear as a transporter beam energized around him.
“No you don’t!” Yar cried.
She leaped into the beam with him—and the next thing she knew, they were standing on a single transporter pad in a small, nearly dark room—a spaceship?
She grabbed his shirt and flung him into the bulkhead. He hit with a bone-jarring crunch and an “oof” of pain.
“Give up,” she said.
“You’ll die!” he snarled and grabbed for something on the wall. A phaser?
She leaped forward and kicked him in the stomach, then gave him a chop to the back to the neck when he doubled over in pain. He collapsed, shuddered once, and didn’t move.
“Computer—more light!” she called.
The room brightened. She turned slowly, taking stock of the situation…she was in a cramped little cabin stuffed to overflowing with equipment. And a lot of it looked like Starfleet property.
I’ve hit the jackpot, she thought. If he isn’t involved with the plague, I’m a Vulcan princess.
Three huge metal cylinders, stamped with tiny print, stood along the back wall. She crossed to examine one. The pressure gauge read 0.004. Whatever had been inside wasn’t there now.
Turning, she looked at the racks of assault rifles, phasers, and other weapons covering the second wall, the one to which she had him pinned. Shivering, she realized how lucky she had been. If he’d gotten one of those, I would be toast now.
She folded back the collar of her shirt, revealing her combadge, and tapped it once. “Yar to Enterprise,” she said.
“Enterprise. Habbib here,” came an ensign’s voice.
“Locate Commander Riker and Lieutenant Commander Data and beam them to these coordinates.”
“Lieutenant Commander Data has been located…Commander Riker is not wearing his combadge, however.”
That didn’t sound like Riker. He’ll be all right, she told herself. He’s a survivor. Like me.
“Thanks,” she said. “If you locate Commander Riker, let me know.”
“Yes, Lieutenant. Enterprise out.”
The shimmer of a transporter beam appeared next to her, and Data materialized an instant later. He turned slowly, looking around the cabin, then bent to examine the unconscious man.
“He is dead,” Data announced.
“What! That’s impossible!” She stared incredulously at his body. “I didn’t hit him that hard!”
“Nevertheless, he is dead.”
Quickly she bent and rolled him over. She got a whiff of something acrid—pentium xolinate. It was a Cardassian drug, invariably fast and fatal.
“Suicide,” she said, frowning. “He took poison. He must have had it hidden in a tooth.”
Data moved to the cylinders. “We need to analyze these,” he said suddenly.
“Could they hold something biological?” she asked.
“Like a virus?” Data asked. “It is a possibility. Biological agents are usually seeded into the atmosphere of a planet at least half a kilometer above the surface, however, to allow a wide dispersal through wind currents.”
“He had a transporter.”
Data paused. “It is theoretically possible to beam compressed gasses; they would expand immediately upon transport. That might be a highly effective method of seeding an atmosphere.”
That’s how he did it, Yar thought. I know that’s how he did it!
Data continued to examine the cylinders. “They are marked ‘Agricultural Prions.’ However, a label does not always adequately represent a container’s true contents.”
“The expression is ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover.’”
“I believe that is what I said.”
“We have to get them up to the Enterprise.” Frowning, she moved to the front of the ship and gazed out the viewport at a vast duracrete landing field. The morning twilight had just begun. In the thin gray predawn light, she saw dozens of larger starships surrounding their little ship. We’re in the Archo City Spaceport, she thought.
“Let’s fly her up to one of the shuttle bays,” she said suddenly, sliding into the pilot’s seat. “We can get a security team aboard and strip her down to her bulkheads, if necessary. Our friend there must be involved in the plague, somehow.”
“That would seem a logical conclusion,” Data said.
The ship’s controls hadn’t been locked or encrypted, Yar saw. With the hatches dogged, he must have considered his ship secure. He hadn’t counted on her beaming aboard with him.
Powering up the impulse engines, she studied the layout of the controls. Basic operations appeared straightforward. She knew she wouldn’t have any trouble flying this ship.
An intercom crackled: “This is Archo Spaceport Control. Power down your engines, Paladium. This planet is quarantined—you may not lift off.”
“Negative, Control,” Yar said. “This is Lieutenant Yar. I am bringing this vessel up for a rendezvous with the Enterprise.”
“Permission to lift off is expressly denied,” the voice insisted. “Power down, Paladium, or we will be forced to take drastic action!”
She glanced at Data. “Drastic action? What are they capable of, putting us on report? They don’t have any pursuit ships or missile batteries. This is an agricultural planet.”
“I believe they are bluffing,” Data said.
“That’s all I need to know.” Tasha Yar brought the engines to full life. A low but powerful vibration spread through the hull. She initiated the liftoff sequence.
“Paladium!” Control said. “Power down! Now!”
“Negative,” she replied. “You have our flight plan. We’ll see you in orbit.”
> She lifted off smoothly, and the landing field began to dwindle away below.
Next she tapped her combadge. “Yar to Enterprise,” she said.
“Enterprise. Habbib here.”
“We are aboard a small starship called the Paladium,” she said. “We are bringing it up now. Slap a level-one forcefield around this ship as soon as we land in the shuttle bay.”
“No containment field is necessary,” Habbib said. “Restrictions on travel to and from the planet to the Enterprise have been lifted.”
“Then we have a cure for the plague?” She felt a brief surge of elation.
“Negative, Paladium. The virus is on the Enterprise as well. We are now under the same quarantine restrictions as Archaria III.”
Yar exchanged a look with Data. How— She shook her head. Someone was sloppy, she thought.
She said to Habbib, “I want a security detail standing by when we land. And alert sickbay. We may have the cause of the plague on board.”
“Understood, Paladium,” Habbib said. “Security will be standing by. Enterprise out.”
“That’s it!” Control snarled over the intercom. “We are fining your account one hundred thousand credits, Paladium !”
“Go ahead,” Yar replied. She severed the connection and accelerated toward the Enterprise.
Chapter Nineteen
THE ANNOYING BUZZ in the back of Will Riker’s head slowly materialized into the murmur of voices. He opened one eye to the smallest of slits. Big mistake. Fireworks seemed to go off inside his skull, flares and star-bursts and supernovas all mixed up together. He groaned despite himself and pressed his eye shut again. Everything hurts. Even breathing was a chore. He couldn’t remember feeling this bad since his big second-year survival drop at the Academy. A week alone on a jungle planet with only a knife, a compass, and my wits. Why did I ever elect to take Advanced Survival before I was really ready for it? The raw elements—including a six-day hurricane to beat anything ever seen on Earth—had defeated him utterly when a tree blew over and pinned him down. He had lain there in the muck and mud, feeding the alien equivalent of giant leeches, for three days until rescuers arrived. He had counted himself lucky to survive.
This time, it had been a building.
At least I am waking up, he thought, trying to feel optimistic. There was a faint ringing sound in his ears just a few octaves below the chatter of voices. An outside noise? An inside noise? Hallucination? Better hurt than dead. That’s what his instructor, Dr. Neelam, had told him when he limped in to give his oral report on his failure. Kindly Dr. Neelam. The image of his instructor’s beaming face appeared in his mind, Dr. Neelam saying: “The sloppiest job I’ve ever seen, but you lived through it, Bill.”
“I’m called Will now,” he told Dr. Neelam.
“Hey, pal,” a rough voice beside him said. “Ready to try sitting up?”
“Huh?” Riker opened both eyes, and after the world stopped moving, he managed to focus on the speaker—a man about his own age, tall and broad-shouldered, dressed all in shades of brown right down to a long dark shag of brown beard. He was grinning—a friendly grin, Riker decided after a minute’s hesitation.
Archaria III. Away team. Right.
“The sleeper wakes!” the man went on. Offering his hand, he said, “Want me to help you sit up, pal? I hear your name is Will.”
“Was I talking out loud?”
“Yep. Need a hand?”
“Uh…give me a minute. Where am I?”
“Some detention center. I’m not quite sure which one yet. Probably East Quadrant. That’s where they nabbed us.”
“Oh.” Gingerly he felt his scalp. Assorted lumps, bumps, cuts, and abrasions—perhaps even a mild concussion, from the ringing in his ears. I’ll ask Dr. Neelam to look me over first thing. No, I mean Dr. Crusher.
Wait. That was back on the ship. He paused, frowning. The Enterprise. Where was he? Under a building. No. In a detention center. He tried to focus on his newfound friend, the beaming man with the beard. What was the fellow’s name? Had he said?
“Where—” he said again. No, I already asked that.
“Say, you are fuzzed out, aren’t you? Dee-ten-shun Cen-ter. East Quadrant. They got a hundred and twelve of us in the roundup.” The man gave a low chuckle and offered his hand. Riker took it, and the man pulled him to a sitting position.
That was a mistake. The world swirled like a whirlpool around him.
“You have a family name, Will?”
“Riker.”
“Don’t know ’em, sorry.” He stuck out his hand again. “Mine is Clarence Darling.”
“Clarence Darling?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” Clarence rolled his eyes. “Old name. First settlers, so we’re supposed to be proud. Nothing to do about it now.”
At least Clarence had a sense of humor. Riker gave a low chuckle as he turned his head—not too quick!—to look around. Despite his caution, the room rolled like a ship on high seas, the floor rising up, the walls moving in. He tasted bile and gulped hastily. The ringing in his ears grew worse, louder and more shrill, a perfect bell tone had it come from a bell.
He pressed his eyes shut again. I should have been a doctor. I could have healed myself.
“Hope you don’t mind,” Darling said, “but I kind of appointed myself your watchdog. While you were unconscious, I mean. The pos picked you clean, but at least our side left you alone.”
Pos? Oh…PO’s—peace officers. He hadn’t heard that slang term in years; it figured that it would still be circulating on a backwater planet like Archaria III. Picked me clean…? Riker pulled himself up on his elbows—Slowly! Don’t rush it!—and noticed his boots were missing. He still had his slightly fuzzy brown socks, though. They looked a little silly, and he wiggled his toes and took a perverse delight in noting they didn’t hurt. They were the only thing in his whole body without their own private aches and pains.
Then more urgently he felt his pockets. All gone. Phaser, combadge, everything. He really had been cleaned out. Everything of any potential value had been removed. Great. Humanity is supposed to be beyond racial prejudice, let alone petty thievery.
“The pos roll everyone who comes in unconscious. Must be the Ferengi in them.” Darling frowned suddenly. “You don’t look so good all of a sudden. I think you need a doctor, Will. Better lie down till we can get out of here.” He put one hand on Riker’s chest and pushed him gently back onto the bench where he had been lying. “That’s an order, soldier!”
Riker stiffened. Soldier. Does he know I’m from the Federation? No, can’t be, I’m not a soldier, anyway. Never mind that Bili used to call me that. It had to be just a slang term of affection for a newfound friend, like “pal.”And I need a friend here. No combadge, no rescue. Dr. Neelam would approve. It’s my survival test all over again.
He focused his eyes on a water stain on the ceiling tiles directly overhead. The ringing in his head let up a little. The burble of voices rose around him. What I wouldn’t give for a minute of perfect silence. Or a doctor. Or a combadge—
“I don’t think we’ll be here much longer,” Darling said suddenly. “It’s nearly dawn.”
Riker felt something run down his cheek and gave a little shudder. Bugs. He hated bugs. But when he touched the spot, his fingers came away wet. Not bugs. Blood. He stared at the crimson smear. A doctor. I’d better call Dr. Crusher. Time for the cavalry to rescue me. So much for Billy-the-Kid Riker, boy hero.
What would Captain Picard do? The captain wouldn’t split up or lose his combadge or let a building fall on his head. This was going to make one hell of a bad report. One hell of a bad report. At least Data and Yar got away. Rescue? He could have laughed—they wouldn’t even know where to look. He’d have to find them…if they hadn’t already reported him missing to the Enterprise.
The alley…perhaps they would be waiting for him there.
He levered himself up on his elbows again. And just like before, the universe began to tilt
alarmingly. He felt himself starting to slide off the world, almost as though gravity weren’t working quite right here. But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
With a “Mph!” he lay back down. “Do I get to make a call, or am I stuck here?” he asked Darling. He forced the words out slowly. “What’s the, ah, protocol for being arrested these days?”
“You are new to this rabble-rousing stuff, aren’t you?” Darling chuckled. “There are too many of us. The most they’re going to do is charge us with misdemeanors, issue citations, and chuck us out on our ears. And they probably won’t even bother with the citations because nobody’s going to pay them. Most of the pos are members of the League anyway. If they weren’t on duty, they’d all be with us in the streets. After all, we all want the same thing, right?”
“Yeah.” He had definitely gotten the impression that the peace officers supported the League. Had it only been last night? It seemed an eternity away.
Riker took a deep breath, shuddering a bit at a new stabbing pain in his left shoulder. What’s the first thing you do after a disaster? Take inventory. No boots, no possessions. Easy enough. He slowly flexed his muscles. Focus, he told himself. Fingers, hands, arms; feet, legs, neck, and spine. All extremities in place. Lots of small pains, a couple of larger cuts and abrasions on his hands where he had fallen. Plus the assorted injuries to his head and that stabbing pain in his shoulder. Bruised but not broken, by and large, he decided. I’d give anything for those bells to stop ringing. If only he could think clearly. A plan. I need a plan. What would Dr. Neelam do? “Survival first,” he always said in class. “Worry about the civilized niceties later.”
Darling said, “So, spill the details. What happened to you, Will?”
“I got in a firefight with the pos and a building fell on me.” He turned his head to look around the room more carefully. This time at least it stayed on an even keel. “Rather, the pos blasted it down on top of me.”
“They used phasers set on high?” Darling gave a low whistle. “First I’ve heard of them using deadly force against us! Well, almost deadly force. You must have really gotten them angry.”