by Peter David
“You must be Ensign Shelzane,” he said with a charming smile. “Pleased to meet you.”
She nodded formally. “Thank you, sir. I’ve been on the Gandhi for a month—it’s odd that we haven’t met before.”
“Well, I’ve been incognito for a couple of weeks,” explained Riker. “You’re a shuttlecraft pilot, I presume.”
“Class two rating,” she answered proudly, “although I haven’t logged that many hours of solo flight.”
“You will on this assignment, because I intend to get my beauty sleep.”
Shelzane forced a polite laugh. “Yes, sir. Are you also a doctor?”
Riker smiled and plucked at his blue tunic. “No, I’m just a…a medical courier. Here come the doctors.”
He pointed to six more people in blue uniforms who had just entered the vast shuttlebay. They strode briskly between the parked shuttles, and Riker was struck by their youth. Like the young Benzite in front of him, they were just starting their Starfleet careers, and they did everything with self-important urgency. He wanted to tell them to slow down, to live more in the moment. But youth must be served.
Maybe he was a fool to think he could start over at this late stage of his career, but what did he have to lose? Maybe he was nothing but a glorified shuttle pilot, but it felt bigger than that. This mission felt like a step toward destiny, at least personal destiny.
After the introductions were made, Riker and Shelzane shoehorned their passengers into the cramped compartment, then they took their seats in the cockpit. A row of seats had been pulled to make room for the supplies, and the passengers were practically sitting in each others’ laps. Every spare centimeter was taken up by crates and boxes. Riker was glad it was only a twenty-hour trip to Sierra III, because they would be at each others’ throats if they had to spend any more time in these tight quarters.
During his preignition checklist, Riker tried to think like his father and not miss anything. They weren’t over the allowed weight for the craft, but they were darn close. He whispered to Shelzane, “I think we need to compensate for all the weight we’re carrying. What if we open the plasma injectors in the main cryo tank to give the impulse engines a little boost.”
The Benzite looked at him with alarm. “Sir, that is somewhat unorthodox. It would also cut down our fuel efficiency by twenty or thirty percent.”
“As soon as we’re away from the Gandhi’s gravity, we’ll go back to normal,” he assured the worried ensign. “Don’t worry, I’m used to doing things on the fly.”
The Benzite gulped. “I hope you’re the one taking us out of dock.”
“Yes, and you’ll be glad I boosted the engines when I do.”
A few minutes later, the preparations were complete, and Riker tapped his comm panel. “Shuttle 3 to bridge, requesting permission to launch.”
“Crandall here,” came the businesslike response. “You are cleared for launch, Shuttle 3. Lieutenant, I’d appreciate it if you returned in one piece. We’ve got lots of supplies that need to be delivered. Good fortune to you.”
“Thank you, sir,” answered Riker cheerfully. His fortune hadn’t been all that good, and he was ready for a change in that department. For Commander Crandall, these few words were as close as she had ever come to bubbly enthusiasm. He punched up a wide view of the area on his viewscreen and kept it on during the launch.
The Galaxy-class starship hung suspended in space among the dazzling stars, appearing much like her better-known sister ship, the Enterprise. Double doors slid open atop the immense saucer section, and a tiny shuttlecraft darted out, looking like an insect escaping from an open window. The Type-8 shuttlecraft cruised to a distance of several thousand kilometers from the Gandhi, then with a flash of light, she disappeared into warp.
Chapter Three
LIEUTENANT RIKER CUT impulse engines and slowed the shuttlecraft to a stately drift through a sea of widely scattered asteroids. Some were only a few meters wide, while others were several kilometers wide. Slowly they approached a monstrous rock that was over eight kilometers in diameter. It was as dark as obsidian, yet its center appeared even darker. Riker needed a few seconds to realize that the asteroid had a mammoth hole in its middle, at least one kilometer across. In comparison with the black asteroid and the blackness of space, the chasm looked even darker—like a black hole.
Despite the deserted appearance of this region, these were the correct coordinates. “Open up a secure channel,” he told Shelzane.
“Yes, sir,” replied the fish-faced, blue-skinned Benzite, working her board with webbed fingers. “Channel open.”
He tapped his panel and said, “Shuttle 3 to outpost, this is Lieutenant Riker from the Gandhi, requesting permission to dock.”
“Permission granted,” answered a pleasant female voice. “Shuttle 3, are we glad to see you. Take dock one, the first open dock to starboard.”
“Thank you.”
“We’re lowering shields and force field. Proceed when ready.”
With a flash of light, the dark cavity in the asteroid turned into a blazing neon pit. Pulsing beacons guided the way to a mammoth spacedock within, and the walls of the chasm glittered with sensors, dish arrays, and weapons. Trying not to be distracted by the remarkable sight, Riker spread his fingers over the conn and piloted the tiny shuttlecraft into the glowing heart of the asteroid.
“Well, it’s about time,” muttered one of the doctors behind him.
Riker ignored the crack, as he had ignored so many others during the past twenty hours. Although the ship’s sensors claimed that life support was working flawlessly, he could swear that he was beginning to smell his passengers.
At least Ensign Shelzane had proven to be skilled, even-tempered, and unflappable. He had to give Commander Crandall credit—she was a good judge of personnel.
As they cruised toward the landing dock, Riker glanced around the cavernous installation. He was somewhat surprised to see several unfamiliar and battered ships docked at the rear bays; they didn’t look like Starfleet vessels. This was supposed to be a secret outpost, but it looked more like a junkyard at the moment.
Shelzane noticed it, too, and her pale eyes darted to Riker before going back to her instruments. The lieutenant concentrated on the docking, although a first-year cadet could have hit that huge target. They sat down with a gentle thud, and the umbilicals began to whir.
When Riker heard the clamps latch on to the shuttle’s hatch, he sat back in his chair and smiled at Shelzane. “We made it in one piece…without killing any of the passengers,” he whispered.
The ensign nodded. She couldn’t really smile, but her heavily lidded eyes twinkled with amusement. “This job will test my social skills more than my flying.”
When the hatch opened, the medical team gathered around the exit, anxious to get off. Nothing like twenty hours in a shuttlecraft with eight strangers to give one claustrophobia, thought Riker. Welcome to Starfleet.
Without warning, the lights in the great cavern went out, eliciting gasps from the passengers. Once again, the void in the asteroid was as black as space, only without the glistening stars to give it some cheer. Seen from afar, the shuttlecraft glowed like a feeble lantern in a great hall.
A few of the passengers thanked him as they filed out, and Riker nodded pleasantly. He held nothing against them—in many respects, it was easier being a crew member than a passenger on a trip like this. At least he had been occupied. From eight years’ experience, he knew how hard it was to pass the time when nothing needed doing and physical activity was difficult.
He and Shelzane shut down all but essential life support on the small craft, then they followed the medical team into the corridor. The last member of the team was just passing through a force-field security gate that demanded positive identification. Riker stepped back to let Shelzane go first, but she stepped back and deferred to him.
Oh, well, there’s nothing else I can do, thought Riker. He placed his hand on the security scanner, an
d the computer’s feminine voice declared, “Commander William Riker, access granted.”
Shelzane looked quizzically at him. “Commander Riker? Did you receive a promotion during the trip?”
“Hardly,” muttered the bearded man, making sure the med team was some distance down the next corridor. “It’s a long story. On the return trip, I’ll tell you about it. Let’s just say that Starfleet security systems have a bug in them where I’m concerned.”
He walked through the gate and waited for Ensign Shelzane to gain admittance to the outpost. “How long do you think we’ll be here?” asked the Benzite.
“Maybe long enough to get a meal,” answered Riker. “They’re expecting us back as soon as possible for more of these runs. I’m afraid this assignment is going to be hectic but not all that exciting.”
“We’ll see,” answered the Benzite cheerfully.
As the party stepped off the dock, they were met by two officers, both wearing the red uniforms of command. One was a bald-headed Deltan and the other was a tall, antennaed Andorian. Since both were male, neither one could be the friendly female with whom Riker had spoken earlier, he noted with disappointment.
The Andorian conducted the medical team down one corridor, while the Deltan nodded politely to the new arrivals. Two gold-shirted technicians strode into the landing dock behind them, and Riker assumed they would take charge of the cargo.
“Hello, Lieutenant Riker. Welcome to Outpost Sierra III,” said the Deltan, with a slight smile. “I’m Ensign Parluna. I believe we met once aboard the Enterprise.”
Riker scowled. “That wasn’t me.”
“But weren’t you first officer—”
“You’re mistaken,” said Riker brusquely. “Now if we could get a bite to eat, and maybe a walk to stretch our legs, we’ll be on our way.”
The Deltan nodded, but his hairless brow was still knit in puzzlement. “As you wish, sir. However, our commanding officer, Captain Tegmeier, was hoping to meet with you and ask a favor.”
“A favor? We’re just medical couriers—what could we do for your CO?”
“I’ll let her ask,” said Ensign Parluna. “But I will show you something on our way. Will you please follow me.”
As they walked down a long doorless and windowless corridor, Riker could feel both of the ensigns looking curiously at him, wondering how Ensign Parluna could be mistaken about meeting him. For a while after being rescued from Nervala IV, he had taken the time to explain to people why they didn’t know him, even though they had met someone who looked exactly like him. Now he didn’t waste words. Let them investigate his record and figure it out. He hated being so brusque, but it did no good reliving his misfortune over and over again.
The Deltan took a left turn at a junction in the corridor, and they finally came to a row of doors. He opened one marked “Recreation,” and Riker wondered if they would interrupt the CO during her exercise period. As soon as he got a glimpse inside the room, he knew he was wrong.
The room was full of bedraggled, sorry-looking people—men, women, and children—several of them dressed in rags. A few of them glanced at the visitors, but most stared straight ahead with vacant eyes. A handful of children were playing board games and watching video logs, but most of the people looked bored and disillusioned. Riker glanced at Shelzane, and he could see the young officer was deeply affected by the sight. Without saying a word, the Deltan ushered them out and closed the door.
“Refugees,” he explained. “And these aren’t even the wounded, sick ones—the ones who survived Cardassian torture and starvation. They’re in sickbay, which we’ve had to enlarge twice. That’s why we need the supplies and med team.”
“I thought this was supposed to be a secret outpost,” said Riker.
The Deltan sighed. “So did we. As you can see, the secret is out. They’ve been flooding in here ever since the treaty drove them from their homes in the DMZ.”
“That’s terrible!” blurted Shelzane.
“The price of peace,” muttered the Deltan. “The awkward thing is that we can’t let them leave here, because it’s a secret base, even though everybody apparently knows about it. I mean, we can’t let them leave in their own ships, most of which wouldn’t get very far, anyway. So we have to impound their ships and hold them, until we can find official transportation to get them back to Earth…or wherever.”
Riker crossed his arms. “I bet I could guess what this favor is.”
“Let’s go to the commissary,” said the Deltan with forced cheer, “and you can have that meal you so richly deserve. The captain will join you there.”
The lieutenant nodded, knowing he didn’t have much choice. If these pathetic refugees were the price of peace, he wondered if it was worth it.
As he gobbled down the finest steak he had ever gotten from a food replicator, Riker watched Shelzane pick at the purple leaves on her plate. He felt sorry for the young Benzite, who evidently hadn’t seen much of the cruelty and capriciousness of life. One moment, a person is on top of the world, living high in a Federation colony or on a sleek Starfleet vessel, and the next moment, he’s wearing rags, staring at the ceiling, abandoned. Thomas Riker felt sorry for the refugees, but he had seen too much in his own eventful life to be shocked by their plight.
Shelzane glanced up, catching him looking at her. “What’s going to happen to them?”
“They’re going to start over,” answered Riker. “They’ve lost everything, but they’re still alive. A lot of people in the DMZ weren’t so lucky. When it comes down to it, all we’ve got is our wits and tenacity.”
“But Starfleet should try to help them,” insisted Shelzane.
Riker shrugged. “On most issues, Starfleet employs Vulcan logic: the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. You’d better learn that, Ensign.”
She peered intently at him. “You’re very cynical, Lieutenant.”
“Just realistic. I was once idealistic like you. It’s good to be like that for as long as you can, but I have a feeling that this assignment is going to break you of that.”
Shelzane looked down at her plate and whispered, “They say that some Starfleet officers are going over to the Maquis—to fight against the Cardassians in a hopeless cause. I feel sorry for the refugees, but I can’t imagine ever doing something like that.”
“Me neither,” agreed Riker. “I don’t think I could ever feel that strongly about something. As you say, I’m too cynical.” He took another bite of steak.
“Around here, cynicism is good,” interjected another feminine voice.
Riker looked up to see an attractive blond woman approaching their table. Since she was wearing captain’s pips, he jumped to his feet, certain he was about to meet the commanding officer of the outpost. Shelzane did the same.
“Relax,” said the captain wearily. “We don’t stand on ceremony around here. What good would it do us? I’m Captain Alicia Tegmeier.”
“It’s a pleasure,” said Riker, recognizing her friendly voice from his initial contact with the outpost. “I’m Lieutenant Riker, and this is Ensign Shelzane. Won’t you have a seat?”
“Thank you.”
“We were a bit surprised to see the scope of your refugee problem,” Shelzane explained.
“So were we,” answered the captain. “We were hoping the Gandhi herself would come, and we could off-load the refugees, but it didn’t happen that way. So now I’ve got to beg—can you take a few of them back to the Gandhi with you?”
“Certainly,” Shelzane answered quickly.
Riker shot her a glance, and the Benzite lowered her eyes, knowing she had answered out of turn. Riker sounded very cautious as he remarked, “It’s not really in the purview of our mission to transport refugees. However, if you ordered us to do so, we’d have no choice.”
Captain Tegmeier slumped back in her chair and waved her hand. “Then I order you to take as many as you can. I’m sure I’ll get chewed out for that by the admiralty, but I welcome an
opportunity to explain the situation to them. Having a secret outpost overrun with refugees is a bit of a security risk.”
“We only have seating for six,” said Riker. “How will you choose who goes?”
“We have two pregnant women in the group,” said the captain. “I’d like to send them first. We’re not exactly equipped for dealing with newborn babies here. A young couple showed up yesterday, and they claim they have intelligence to report, but they will only tell an admiral. There are several orphaned children—I’d like to give two of them a break.”
Riker shook his head in amazement. “How long can you cope with this?”
“Not much longer, but we’ve been assured that Starfleet will eventually pick them all up. Then we’ll relocate this asteroid. At least now we can cope with the medical problems, thanks to you.” Captain Tegmeier gave him a warm smile.
“I wish we could stay longer,” answered Riker with sincerity.
“We could use you,” replied Tegmeier. “We have to stay on constant vigil—not only are there the refugees, but the Cardassians are experts at sneaking in and out of the DMZ. By the time we’ve discovered them, they’re usually gone.”
“We’ll report back on the conditions here,” said Riker.
“I wish you would.”
With her napkin, Ensign Shelzane daintily wiped the tendrils around her mouth. “I’m ready to go when you are, sir.”
“Right.” The handsome lieutenant managed a smile and pushed himself away from the table. “Is the cargo off the shuttle?”
“Yes, it is,” answered Captain Tegmeier. “Do you want to interview any of the passengers you’ll be taking?”
“No, I trust your judgment. It’s been a short but pleasant visit, Captain.”
“I’d like to encourage you to come often. Have a safe journey back, Lieutenant…Ensign.” She turned and strode through the commissary, nodding encouragment to the officers she passed.
Riker began to think that his new assignment would be a good change of pace. Out here on the edge of the DMZ, he had no bizarre history or hierarchy of command to deal with—he was just a medical courier bringing much-needed supplies. He would make his deliveries and go on to the next post, like the pony express. There would always be new people to meet.