by Peter David
Mercifully, Klain put an arm around her shoulders and shepherded her through the crowd into a plush dining room. Waiters in white uniforms formed a line that led to the best table in the house, one which overlooked a beautiful tile fountain. Torres couldn’t get over the feeling that she had stepped into a dream—one that wasn’t even hers.
A waiter held her chair for her, and she sat down quickly. At last, the other diners returned to their tables, as if it were proper to resume their merrymaking now that the royalty had been seated.
Klain looked at her, amusement and pride on his handsome face. “You really didn’t expect this, did you?”
“Are you kidding?” she whispered. “Most places I go, I get shot at.”
Klain looked shocked. “Well, never here. Never on Dalgren or anywhere on Helena. Here, you will always be special—the ideal of uniqueness.” He glanced at a server, who was instantly at his side.
“Blood wine?” asked the waiter.
Torres scowled, thinking that the worst thing about being half-Klingon was that she was expected to like Klingon cuisine. “Just water.”
“Two waters!” ordered Klain imperiously. “And bring us the fresh fish appetizers.”
“As you wish, Prefect,” said the waiter, stealing a glance at B’Elanna before he hurried away.
Klain gazed at her and smiled with undisguised pleasure. “I’m certainly glad you came to Dalgren first, and not some other continent. Or else we might have lost you.”
Torres scowled. “I’m not something to be won or lost.”
“Of course not! I didn’t mean that. I only meant that some other continent could have gotten the chance to woo you, and we might have been deprived of your presence.”
She shook her head with disbelief. “Don’t you even realize that there’s a plague devastating half this planet? And you’re worried about whether I like it better here or somewhere else!”
“Death and sickness come and go,” said Klain, “but a uniqueness like yours has not been seen in centuries. Since your arrival, our morale couldn’t be higher—it’s as if we have seen perfection.”
“Believe me, I am far from perfect.”
“Not in our minds,” said Klain, reaching across the table and taking her hand. She didn’t pull away, only because it seemed cruel to be mean to someone who worshipped her. “We trust in your people and the IGI to neutralize the disease, which means that this day will mainly be remembered for your arrival.”
The waiter arrived with two glasses of ice water and a steaming dish full of fresh seafood morsels. Torres had to admit that the smell of real food caused her taste buds to water, and her resistance began to break down a little. Following Klain’s example, she speared a morsel with a silver needle and popped it into her mouth. As soon as she tasted the delicacy, expertly cooked in a rich cream sauce, she knew that she wasn’t going anywhere for a while—not until her stomach was good and full.
“This could be your life,” said Klain, “every single day. You would certainly be elected to the Grand Cluster, but your duties could be light. Or full, as you wish.”
Despite her good intentions, B’Elanna laughed out loud. “Are you telling me that, even though I just got here, you would make me a leader?”
“You already are my leader,” answered Klain, his black eyes sparkling with sincerity. “I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life at your feet, and I won’t rest until I convince you to stay.”
“Wait a minute. You just met me, and you’re asking me to marry you?”
“Not exactly,” answered the prefect. “I’m asking you to have a child with me and join the Dawn Cluster, yes. If you wished to stay with me in a conjugal arrangement, I wouldn’t resist, but I don’t believe in monogamy.”
B’Elanna chuckled as she speared another delicious tidbit. “What if I don’t want to have children right now?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t actually carry and bear children—that would be beneath you. For that, we would use a vase.”
“A vase?”
Klain nodded and looked around the elegant dining room. About a third of the tables were occupied, and all of the diners were surreptitiously watching them. He only had to point to a tall, green-skinned woman with a plume of purple hair for her to stand up and sashay over to their table. Torres didn’t know exactly why, but this woman reminded her of the women of easy virtue who followed the Klingon fleets.
“B’Elanna, this is Mila, who works as a vase. The three of us could bond tonight, if you wish. My quarters are large enough.”
“I would like that,” Mila assured her in a husky voice.
Torres blinked at both of them, realizing that she had just been propositioned for a threesome. Or had she? “Wait a minute. Your idea of a first date is for all three of us to sleep together?”
“The sex isn’t really necessary, of course,” answered Klain, “but I enjoy interspecies sex. I think I would especially enjoy it with you. Mila, or a vase of your choosing, would carry our baby to fruition. We could raise the child together, or you could be the donor, or I the donor. It wouldn’t matter to me, as long as we created a healthy offspring.”
He smiled warmly at her. “The physical bonding is just an extra expression of our commitment.”
Only hunger and curiosity kept B’Elanna from dashing out the door. “I think I need more food. I’m flattered, but I’ve got to tell you…you move a little fast for me.”
“As you point out, we may not have that much time.” Klain shrugged and picked up his glass of water. “I could recommend the ratachouille, which I understand is a Terran dish.”
“I recommend that, too,” said Mila, staring vacantly into the crowd of people.
“So you have babies for a living?” asked Torres conversationally.
“Yes, and you fight everybody.”
B’Elanna picked up her glass of water. “Well, they’re both dirty jobs, but somebody has to do them.”
“Excuse me,” said Mila, bowing her head. “I’m not myself tonight. Yes, I’m a vase. I’ve been taking a year off, but I might cut that short for Klain and yourself. Excuse me, I…have to be somewhere.” The statuesque Helenite dashed from the table and out of the room, into an adjoining café.
Klain looked embarrassed, then regretful. “It hasn’t been easy to maintain a standard of courtesy under these circumstances. I suppose you could say we’re not coping all that well.”
Torres looked around at the gracious dining hall, with its holograms, potted plants, antique lamps, handwoven tablecloths, velvet booths, and plush chairs. Several happy diners smiled back at her, and she had to remind herself that it was the equivalent of two o’clock in the morning. “I think you’re coping quite well.”
“Do you feel at home?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” said B’Elanna with a smile. “But I’m a drifter—I don’t feel at home anywhere. One of the ways to my heart is through my stomach, though. So impress me.”
In the beach house, Riker stepped back and surveyed the large mirror on the wall of the second bedroom. He had given Shelzane the master bedroom, because it was cheerier, with its big windows and deck. She was sleeping, because they both wanted her to conserve her strength for their escape attempt, whenever it came. Riker tried to tell himself that the inoculations were supposed to delay the worst symptoms, too, but he had seen too much suffering on Padulla. Once the disease took hold, the onslaught was swift and sure.
At least Shelzane was resting and eating. She seemed to enjoy the fish broth, and they had plenty of that in their reserves.
He sighed and looked back at the mirror, which he planned to demolish in order to reach the circuits contained inside. If it was transmitting out, maybe there was a way to use the transmitter to signal Chakotay. Riker knew enough not to touch the mirror again, and he didn’t want to attack it at close range. That last jolt had almost killed him—but not quite. There was a chance that its defenses were programmed to become even more lethal with repeat attacks.
So Rik
er stood in a corner of the room with a pile of rocks of various sizes, gathered from the beach and tide pools. Near him was an open window, which was his quickest escape route. It was essential to find out what the mirror was hiding, especially if it was a panel of holodeck controls. Riker picked up a melon-sized rock and hefted it, deciding he had better aim for a corner.
He reared back and threw the rock into the full-length mirror, only his aim was a bit off. It struck more toward the upper center, and the mirror shattered a microsecond before it erupted in a gaseous explosion. Riker dove out the window into a thicket of sand and scraggly bushes just as a wave of heat blistered the windowpanes.
When he lifted his head from the sand, he saw acrid, black smoke billowing from the window, and he heard a shout. “Lieutenant! What happened?”
Riker ran around to the back of the house, where Shelzane was standing on the deck, looking frail and worried. She clutched a blanket around her trembling shoulders, as black smoke wafted over the house, contrasting sharply with the seamless blue sky.
“I was, er…inspecting the mirror again,” explained Riker.
“By setting the house on fire?”
“Let’s see what I did.” Riker climbed the stairs to the deck and entered the master bedroom. He stalked across the tile to the bedroom door and felt it with his hand before opening it; there was a bit of heat but not much.
When he opened the door, smoke billowed in, and Riker spent several seconds coughing and rubbing his burning eyes. But a draft blew most of the smoke out the French doors into the crystal sky, and he was able to enter the hallway. Reaching the second bedroom, he glanced cautiously around the edge of the door.
The room lay in ruins—blackened with chunks of glass and some kind of grimy brown residue that covered everything. Nothing was burning. Where the mirror had been fixed on the wall, there was only a rectangular hole, filled with melted residue, shattered glass, and chunks of scorched building material.
“You’re not going to be able to tell much from that,” said a voice behind him. He turned to see Shelzane, keeping her distance.
“No,” said Riker glumly. He stepped into the room and kicked at a pile of debris on the floor. “I’ve never seen a mirror self-destruct.”
Shelzane coughed and leaned against the wall. “Do you have a Plan B?”
“Yes,” he answered with determination. “We’re going to build a raft with a sail.”
“From what?”
“Actually, the raft is already built—it’s that small pier out front. If we need more stability, we could lash together some of these doors. I’ll look for a pole to use as a mast, and you can gather sheets, blankets, curtains—anything we can use for sails.”
Shelzane grimaced and shook her head. “You’ll be stuck with me…in the middle of an ocean. It might take days or weeks to reach a port. I can’t go with you, Lieutenant. You have to try to save yourself—while you’re still healthy.”
“Nonsense,” Riker answered with an encouraging smile. “We got into this mess together, and we’re going to get out together. If you feel weak, I’ll do the work. We also have to pack food and water. I’d better get started.”
As he strode down the hall, Shelzane called after him, “Lieutenant Riker!”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” The Benzite couldn’t smile, but her green eyes glittered warmly.
“Thank me when I get you back to the ship.” Riker kept a smile on his face until he had stepped outside into the warm sunshine, then he frowned grimly. Shelzane’s blue skin looked as pale as the sky, and it had begun to peel on her face and arms. He had no idea what that meant, but it couldn’t be good.
Riker’s frown deepened as he strode toward the small pier. Shelzane was a young ensign, just starting her career, and he’d had no business involving her in this madness. True, she had volunteered—but without his personal problems, maybe he wouldn’t have agreed to this foolhardy mission. If he hadn’t said yes to the Maquis, Shelzane wouldn’t be here—it was as simple as that. All those grandiose ideas about helping people and saving lives, and now he couldn’t even save himself and his co-pilot.
He would have liked to blame Chakotay and the Maquis, but what were they but a reflection of himself? Were any of them really out to save the DMZ—or just give some meaning to their misguided lives? Thomas Riker gave a derisive laugh as he stood watching the rickety pier float on the creamy water. Once again, he was stranded—soon to be alone. Somehow he always knew he would die alone, at the end of a pier to nowhere.
You didn’t give up before, when you were stranded, came a voice he hardly recognized.
He started to look around for the hopeful voice, when he realized it was inside of him.
Chapter Eleven
B’ELANNA TORRES GASPED when she sat up in bed and saw the size and opulent luxury of her guest room inside the Dawn Cluster. She had seen it the night before in dim light as she staggered into bed in a food-induced coma. Good food was not on the list of perks for a guerrilla freedom fighter, and she had taken advantage of Klain and the Dawn Cluster. If the prefect had thought he was going to take advantage of her, however, he soon realized it wasn’t going to happen.
Seen by the golden light of dawn, the pearl-lustre furnishings and pastel drapes and cushions were tasteful and refined. Intricate montages decorated the walls, made from plants, shells, and found objects that must have been gathered locally. Shiny-red flowers blossomed from two vases, giving the soft colors of the room a vivid contrast. It was certainly the nicest room Torres had ever slept in, which wasn’t saying that much, she decided.
She staggered out of bed, still wearing the magnificent coat Klain had given her. Several suits of Helenite clothing lay spread on the vanity table, as if awaiting her approval. A silver tray of fruit, toast, and tea graced a flowing desk. B’Elanna had to ignore these offerings for the moment, as she fumbled under her coat for her combadge.
She finally found it. “Torres to Spartacus.”
“This is Seska on the bridge,” came a friendly voice. “We wondered what had happened to you, but Klain assured us you were okay.”
“I was definitely okay,” muttered Torres, suppressing a burp that would do any Klingon proud. “I got wined and dined last night, and you ought to see this room they put me in.”
“I haven’t seen Prefect Klain,” added Seska with merriment in her voice, “but I hear he’s really something.”
“Yeah, yeah, very handsome, and he treats me like a queen. Where’s the captain?”
“He’s due to wake up in a few minutes. Is it an emergency?”
“No,” said Torres, glancing around at her sumptuous surroundings and the pot of steaming tea. “I’m just checking in.”
“Chakotay said you should stay on duty there, and help the prefect as best you can. Tuvok is going down to IGI in a few minutes, and Kincaid is on the continent of Santos, tracking down that lead. The clinic in Padulla is busy, but it’s tapering off.”
“What about Riker and Shelzane?”
“No sign of them,” replied Seska. “We’re still looking, but there’s a growing fear that maybe a Cardassian patrol got them.”
Torres scowled. “We know they were going to the IGI on Padulla, right?”
“But it was deserted. Even Dr. Gammet says the workers there were probably sent home. Riker reported Cardassians on foot around IGI in Padulla, but since they’ve basically left us alone, we don’t want to start something on a hunch.”
“Those two picked a bad place to disappear,” grumbled Torres. “I’ll check in later. Out.”
As she rifled through the pile of clothing, looking for something at least slightly subdued, Torres heard strains of music come wafting through the open window. At first she thought it was instrumental music from some electronic device, but then she realized it was singing—a choir. A smattering of applause and laughter told her it wasn’t a recording but live music.
Torres crossed to the window and peered int
o the courtyard of the Dawn Cluster. Befitting the name of their lodge, thirty or forty people were gathered around the fountain in the courtyard to greet the dawn. When Torres opened the window to get a better look, several of them caught sight of her. At once, there was a flurry of activity as the chorus formed ranks and came to attention, all staring at her.
Uncomfortable with all the attention, B’Elanna almost ducked out of sight. Then they began singing. Their voices floated upward like an orchestra of horns and strings, an intricate arrangement of soaring harmonies covering half-a-dozen octaves. Passersby gathered in the courtyard to listen, but the concert was directed solely toward B’Elanna in a display of admiration and affection. These people were complete strangers to her, but they seemed to adore her.
So I’m going to wake up and be serenaded, she thought. My duties can’t get any more surreal than this. Despite the beauty of the music and the velvety voices, Torres wanted to blend into the crowd—she didn’t want to be the object of a command performance.
She looked for Klain in the crowd and found him lurking off to the side, under a tree. He was dressed in his finest stripes and ruffles. Upon seeing her looking at him, he bowed rather clownishly and motioned toward the choir. Yes, they are magnificent, agreed B’Elanna, and she couldn’t help but to flash him a smile. At this, the chorus seemed to sing all the louder and lustier.
These aren’t people about to die! she thought with a pang of fear. They can’t be, not people as vibrant and joyful as these. Surely they are right—the plague must be happening someplace else, to someone else.
Clutching a computer padd in one hand and a case of isolinear chips in the other, Tuvok materialized on the street outside the IGI building in Astar. The Vulcan looked up at the green pyramid, uncertain as to why such an imposing structure was actually needed. His brief forays into the complex had led him to believe that most of the IGI facility was housed underground, not in the ostentatious pyramid.
In most of their buildings and dwellings, the Helenites showed acceptable restraint and taste, but this complex was grandiose for no apparent reason. Its only functions seemed to be to impress the locals and serve as a landmark, and Tuvok preferred architecture that was more practical. According to Lieutenant Riker’s report on Padulla, the pyramid probably contained a defense system with a beamed weapon, but even that seemed unworthy of the massive structure and its impressive shielding.