by Peter David
“Why don’t you put out a distress signal?” asked Harper.
His mother nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. We are in distress, and I’m not going down quietly.”
She flipped on the distress signal, on all channels. The gliders pursuing her were probably the Coastal Watchers, the ones charged with answering distress calls at sea. That’s some irony, thought Echo, when the rescuers become the attackers.
Leaning on the airbrakes, Echo pulled the craft out of its dive, and it skimmed the gentle waves of the turquoise sea. She smiled with satisfaction upon seeing the pipeline just under the surface of the shallow water; it looked like a flaw in the great jeweled facet, yet it carried much-needed fresh water. She swooped so close to the pipeline that she felt as if she could lean out the window and spit on it.
As she expected, that dissuaded her pursuers from shooting wildly at her, but her evasions had given them time to close the distance. Two of them were diving toward her position from high altitude. Maybe they really are going to drive us into the sea!
Harper looked out the window with awe, having never seen his mom fly this close to the water, except when landing. And then she would be going at a much reduced speed. There was just one problem—the air currents were slower at low altitude, and her pursuers could close the distance by staying in the upper currents. Echo still maintained the innocent hope that just by reaching land she could escape. Once she and Harper were on Dalgren, she rationalized, no one could keep them off.
Flying only meters above the water forced her to concentrate intently, and Echo didn’t see them coming until Harper shouted, “Mom! On the right!”
She glanced over to see a large sea-glider swerve into view. Its wing nearly clipped hers, and she had to tap her joystick to edge away from the sky hog. Then she saw the other one crowding her on her left—he shook his fist at her. Are they so insane that they would wreck themselves to stop us?
No matter how close those idiots came, Echo couldn’t worry about them—the water was still her prime concern. At this speed, she’d be dashed into splinters if she hit it. The three gliders swooped over the smooth jade water, looking like three albatrosses fighting for the same school of fish.
Finally the plane on her right disappeared from view, and she didn’t have time to follow it with her sensors. With a thundrous jolt, something hit the roof of her glider. Echo wrestled her controls to maintain altitude and not plunge into the sea; after a struggle, she managed to level her wings.
Seething with anger, she decided, Two can play at that game! And my hull is stronger than your pontoons. Tapping the antigrav lever, she rose rapidly and crunched into the struts, floats, and underbelly of the craft riding her. Hanging on to the joystick with both hands, she bucked like a bronco, dumping the unwanted rider.
“Mom!” shouted Harper.
Echo glanced out the window in time to see the attacking glider spin off, its undercarriage badly damaged. Fluttering like a wounded pelican, the glider hit the calm water and sent up a tremendous plume. The plane wasn’t completely destroyed, but it looked fairly well shattered. Echo felt a pang of grief, because she had never been the cause of an accident in her thirty years of flying.
“Now we’re in trouble,” said Harper. It was an accurate assessment.
Echo scowled. “Maybe they’ll realize that if we can fly this well, we’re not sick.”
The other glider on her left now moved away to a respectful distance, and Echo relaxed a bit at the controls. She continued to follow the pipeline toward the shimmering silhouette of land in the distance. At this point, she would normally feel relieved and happy to be so close to home, but today the sight of Dalgren only brought her dread. What’s going to happen to me and Harper? To all of Helena?
Without warning, a missile slammed into her right wing, shearing it off. Only her quick reactions on the antigrav lever kept them from plowing immediately into the ocean. Instead the glider shot upward like a leaf caught on the breeze, then it lost its momentum and slowly spiraled downward, a wounded bird.
The glider creaked, trying to hold together, and the air howled ominously in the struts and ailerons. Harper screamed, but the torrent of rushing air drowned him out. Echo tried all of her controls, but none were responsive—the seaplane was in its death dive.
Looking out the window only made her head whirl as fast as the scenery, and Echo shrieked. She tried to reach back for her child, but he was scrunched down in his seat. “Oh, my Lumpkin…I’m so sorry!”
Chapter Six
AS HER SEA-GLIDER SPIRALED toward the pristine ocean, a tingling came over Echo’s body. She wondered whether this was the Mizarian Calm of Death she had heard so much about. The woman reached back to grab her son’s hand one last time, but his slight body shimmered like a mirage, breaking apart before her eyes. She gasped at the unexpected sight.
The glider plunged erratically into the jade water, striking like a lopsided bullet and spewing a lopsided splash. Splinters from the sleek craft rained down upon the choppy waves, but Echo and Harper weren’t aboard.
Mother and son stood huddled together on the transporter platform in what looked like a cargo hold full of medical equipment. The entire room looked like a laboratory, with modular clean rooms and research facilities crammed into its tight confines. They were confronted by four strange creatures dressed in elaborate environmental suits.
Harper shivered and gripped his mother’s chest. “Are they…are they Cardassians?”
“I don’t think so,” she answered, unsure about that. Echo tried to stand upright and show some dignity, but she couldn’t let go of her son. She remained hunched over his frail form.
“We answered your distress call,” said a businesslike male, as he stepped forward and aimed a tricorder at them. He studied the device intently, not about to make any quick pronouncements.
“Federation?” asked Echo hopefully.
“Hardly,” snorted a strong feminine voice. “We’re Maquis.”
Harper brightened instantly. “All right! Can I join you?”
“Harper!” snapped his mother, cuffing him on the antenna.
Another man chuckled. “I hope, by the time you’re old enough, the Maquis won’t be needed.”
“They show no symptoms of the disease,” said the man with the tricorder. “They check negative for the multiprions. Either they were uninfected, or the biofilter removed them. They may still be carrying individual prions.”
“We haven’t been sick!” declared Echo. She hugged Harper defensively. “Look, just beam us down somewhere on Dalgren, and we’ll be going. And…thanks for saving our lives.”
“Please dispose of your clothing,” said the officious man. “After your fumigation, we will furnish you with new garments.”
“Just a minute!” barked Echo, stepping in front of her son to protect him from these disguised pirates. “What if I don’t want to strip naked?”
“You don’t have to.” The other man stepped forward and removed his hood, showing himself to be a human with odd markings on his forehead. “In our haste, we’ve gotten off to a bad start. I’m Captain Chakotay, and this is a Maquis ship. But we’re not here to fight anyone—we’re only here to deal with this disease. If you help us with some information, we’ll inoculate you and your son…and help you get home.”
“We don’t need—”
“Weren’t the other aircraft trying to kill you?”
“Uh, yeah,” admitted Echo, scratching her wrinkled gray skull. “I’d heard they weren’t permitting people to travel from Padulla to Dalgren, but I didn’t really believe it. Now they’ve destroyed my sea-glider…my transportation, my livelihood.”
“We’ve got transportation.” Chakotay motioned to the figure with the tricorder. “Tuvok, you had better get to the bridge and check on Riker.”
“Yes, sir.” The officious man peeled off his environmental suit, revealing himself to be a Vulcan. With several long strides, he dumped the suit in a b
in and exited from the cargo hold.
“B’Elanna, you and Dr. Kincaid can help our guests get cleaned up.” The captain turned to her, as if expecting her to furnish a name.
“Echo Imjim,” she said apologetically. “And my son, Harper.”
The boy clicked his heels and saluted sharply. “Permission to come aboard, Captain.”
Chakotay smiled and returned the salute. “Permission granted. I’ll brief the two of you after you’ve changed clothes.”
The woman named B’Elanna removed her hood, and Echo gasped aloud. Harper only stared. “Oh, by Mizrah!” said the glider pilot. “Are you what you appear to be?”
B’Elanna frowned and put her hands on her hips. “And what do I appear to be?”
“Half-human and half-Klingon.”
“Good guess,” muttered the magnificent female Maquis. “And why is that so special?”
With a start, Echo realized that the other Maquis had no idea what they had in this B’Elanna woman. “It’s a rare combination,” she explained. “You are very unique. We haven’t had any success convincing Klingons to breed with us.”
B’Elanna scowled. “My father had no such problems.”
Suppressing a smile, Captain Chakotay broke in. “Can we use this to our benefit?”
“Yes! Make sure that she leads any delegation to Dalgren, or anywhere on Helena.” Turning her gaze to the unique woman, Echo almost felt like bowing.
“That’s exactly the sort of information we need,” said the captain, heading toward the door. “We’ll have a briefing session after you’ve changed.”
Handsome man—for a human, thought Echo. She had never wanted another child, loving Harper so much and knowing her profession didn’t lend itself to family life—but a purebred human mixed with her lineage would produce an admirable child.
Right, she thought miserably. In another fortnight, we’ll probably all be dead.
When Chakotay reached the bridge, Tuvok glanced at him, and Seska gave him a quick smile. On the screen was a view of the graceful blue curve of Helena’s horizon, as seen from orbit. The planet looked serene yet vibrantly alive, kept that way by an enlightened populace. Yet hidden within those wispy clouds, balmy seas, and dimpled land masses was a deadly enemy committed to wiping out all humanoid life.
“Lieutenant Riker has set up Clinic One on Padulla,” reported Tuvok. “Visual contact will be possible in seventy-five seconds.”
“Bring it up when you can,” ordered Chakotay. Like everyone else, he wanted to see some concrete results for all their foolhardy effort. Being in the Maquis often felt like being Sancho Panza in the service of Don Quixote. Would they do some good today? Or were they risking their lives in order to swat at flies on a corpse?
While they waited, Seska leaned back in her seat and looked at him. “You know what I said about wanting to go on shore leave? Never mind. I know where my duty is—right here.”
“That’s big of you,” said the captain with a grim smile. When times got tense, he welcomed the Bajoran’s dark sense of humor. In truth, he would need Seska on the bridge, with B’Elanna down on the planet’s surface.
“In range,” reported the Vulcan. With a flash, the viewscreen revealed a static-filled image with several blurry figures moving about. In a few seconds, the image cleared to make it plain that they were inside a portable geodesic dome. People stood patiently, waiting for inoculations from the efficient medical team. A couple of the medical workers were Maquis, but the majority were Starfleet.
The equipment and facilities were first-rate, thanks to Riker. The lieutenant had gotten everything they needed, but in small quantities, due to the confines of the shuttlecraft. Chakotay still found it hard to believe that Riker had stolen all this stuff, but he wasn’t going to question a gift. The man had accomplished his mission, and that commanded Chakotay’s respect. The captain couldn’t really be sure of the loyalty of those around him, so he had to trust in their character.
Riker sat down in front of the viewer, a satisfied grin on his bearded face. “As you can see, Captain, we’re open for business, and it’s booming! The word has gotten out in only a few hours. We’re offering inoculations of Tricillin PDF and a wide-spectrum antiviral compound—the same thing all of us got. It should prolong onset—and relieve symptoms—until we can do more research.
“If we catch anyone within forty-eight hours of contracting the disease, we’re using the transporter biofilter in the shuttlecraft to remove the multiprions.”
He was jostled slightly by two confused patients, and Riker lowered his voice to add, “Being on the outskirts of the city was a good idea. We’re only getting those people who are still relatively healthy. As soon as I can get away, I want to take the shuttle and find any local doctors who can tell us how this developed.”
“Be careful,” warned Chakotay. “Wear the suits in the city—it was hit hard.”
“We will. What about Clinic Two?”
“We’re getting ready to beam down to Dalgren,” said the captain, “but it doesn’t sound like the plague has hit there very hard. They’re more interested in keeping people out.”
“Are you sure that’s where you want to set up?”
“Yes, because we need a control site with relatively few cases—that’s the best way to isolate and track them. At least that’s what Dr. Kincaid says, and Tuvok agrees.”
“Well, we’re swamped here,” said Riker, being jostled again. “I’ll report in later. Away team, out.”
• • •
Tom Riker rose to his feet, feeling very claustrophobic in the crowded dome. Although few of the patients appeared outwardly sick, he was cognizant that they could be. Plus the Helenites were alien in appearance and dress—each one an amalgam of various species, each person dressed in a colorful, billowing costume with ribbons and braids. It was as if they were headed for a masquerade party. Although Riker had served with numerous humanoid species, he found it disconcerting when he couldn’t identify people by species. Perhaps that was the point, he thought ruefully.
When he looked more closely, he could see that many of the Helenites’ ornate garments were soiled and tattered. In their haunted eyes, he saw that their comfortable lives had been blasted apart. They were either ill, grieving, or in shock; they hadn’t yet reached panic, but their dignity was starting to slip. He smiled at them as he passed, but the Helenites were lost in their contemplations of death.
Riker strode out of the portable dome into the golden sunshine and flower-scented breeze of late afternoon on Helena. He took a deep breath of the sun-drenched air, then held his breath when he realized that it probably contained the deadly prions. He reminded himself that he was now in the medical division—his main concern was other people’s health, not his own. If he were serving on the bridge in a battle, he wouldn’t be worried about his life, only doing his duty. It had to the same here, on this strange front.
Fighting this enemy was harder, he decided, than fighting a well-armed, advanced starship. At some point, a starship would reveal itself and stand to fight—but their tiny enemy would always stay cloaked, if they let it. Now that the clinic was set up and people were being helped, Riker knew he had to find a way to go on the offensive.
He strode toward the unmarked shuttlecraft, formerly called Shuttle 3, where people were also gathered. Only they were waiting for friends and relatives to exit the small craft, not enter. He saw Shelzane escort a very weak patient to the hatch and hand her over to her waiting friends. There was much bowing of heads and many expressions of gratitude, and the thin Benzite looked gratified herself.
“Bed rest,” she cautioned the patient. “Check back with the doctors in forty-eight hours.”
Riker hated to interrupt this heartwarming scene, but he felt the need to keep moving. “Ensign,” he whispered to her, “wrap this up, because we have to leave.”
“Leave?” she asked in horror. “But I have more people to bring through the biofilter.”
“The
y’ll have to wait.”
“Some of them can’t wait,” she insisted. “Tomorrow will be too late.”
Riker guided Shelzane back into the shuttlecraft, away from the curious eyes and ears of the patients. “We’re logistical support,” he reminded her, “not doctors. Don’t make me order you.”
“Technically, you can’t order me,” replied the Benzite. “Since we’re here on an unofficial, private mission, Starfleet chain of command doesn’t apply.”
Riker sighed. “Okay, bring through one more. Then we’ve got to gather information.”
“How about two more?” she begged.
He nodded with resignation and sunk into his seat in the cockpit. With joy on her rumpled blue face, Shelzane returned to the transporter console at the rear of the craft. Riker could see her quandary—helping individuals gave one the feeling of immediate accomplishment, while research and long-term planning might not help at all. But if they hoped to save Helena, they had to rid the entire planet of the bug, not just a few individuals.
A muscular Helenite with black hair and sharp tusks materialized on the transporter pad. He staggered off, and Shelzane rushed to help him into a seat. For the first time, Riker felt as if he recognized a patient’s species, or at least part of it. The man had the bulk and unpleasant visage of a Nausicaan.
“Can you help us?” asked Riker. “Where in the city are the doctors? I mean, where are people going for medical care?”
The part-Nausicaan looked up at him, and the brute actually seemed to smile. “Glad to help. The spaceport and the arena are supposed to be emergency hospitals. But I wouldn’t go there—no one ever leaves.”
“Where are they doing research?” asked Riker.
The patient shrugged his broad, furry shoulders. “I suppose, IGI.”
“IGI?”
“The Institute for Genetic Improvement.” He shook his woolly head. “I forget, you’re strangers here. Some species do not breed naturally with others, and medical intervention is needed to produce a child. In vitro fertilization, cloning, genetic transplants—whatever is needed—they’ve done it. There are IGI clinics all over the planet.”