by Peter David
The loss of Riker and Shelzane was troubling, not only because every person was needed, but because they weren’t actually Maquis. The moment he saw them, Tuvok knew it was unwise for regular Starfleet officers to be involved in this mission, but he could think of no other way to get the necessary personnel and supplies. He wished he had been able to protect them better, but he couldn’t without risking his cover. More than once, the Vulcan had considered telling Riker that he was an operative for the Federation, and warning him to leave. The opportunity had never come, and now it was too late.
In reality, Tuvok decided, having only two people missing in this entire operation was an accomplishment. Still, that didn’t prevent him from regretting the loss of two young officers who didn’t deserve this fate.
“Sir! Mr. Vulcan!” called a voice.
Tuvok whirled around to see a Ferengi rushing toward him from a store-front across the street. There could be no mistaking those mammoth ears, uneven teeth, and bald pate—he was a full-blooded Ferengi. As he crossed the street, he looked in every direction, as if worried about being followed. But there were few Helenites on the street at this early hour of the morning, and no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. Instead of approaching Tuvok, he jumped behind a tree trunk and motioned him over. The Vulcan complied.
With his gold-brocaded vest, sashes, jewelry, and bright pantaloons, the Ferengi’s apparel rivaled a Helenite’s in garishness.
“Thank you…thank you for seeing me,” he wheezed, out of breath. “I knew you would come back here eventually. My name is Shep. This isn’t a very good place to talk—why don’t you come with me to the Velvet Cluster? It’s not far.”
“I have business inside,” answered Tuvok, pointing to the pyramid.
“Anything you do in there would be a waste of time. Come with me instead. You’ll learn more.”
When Tuvok considered this request, he remembered that he had been scheduled to dine at the Velvet Cluster the night before, but hadn’t kept his appointment. Information gathering was part of both of his missions—the overt one and the covert one—and their efforts to stem the disease were proceeding as planned. He could spare a few minutes for this Ferengi.
“Very well,” answered Tuvok. “I will accompany you.”
The nervous Ferengi grabbed his arm and spirited him down a side street. “My name is Shep…oh, I already said that. What’s yours?”
“Tuvok. Why are you so anxious?”
Shep gave a sour laugh. “Why am I so anxious? Oh, nothing to be anxious about—ship destroyed, profits gone, stuck on a plague-ridden pesthole, surrounded by Cardassians! On top of that, I’m forced to deal with the Maquis, of all people. What’s to be anxious about?”
“Your situation is not unusual. Be thankful that you are not on Padulla.” The Vulcan continued walking down the narrow street, and the Ferengi had to hurry to keep up with his long strides.
“I’m grateful, I really am! Hey, I’m risking my life to see you, and I didn’t do it just to complain.” Shep looked around the deserted street; the heavy dew of the sea still clung to the lampposts and wrought-iron railings. Choral singing lilted over the rooftops from somewhere in the quiet city, as dawn nudged over the buildings and stole down the streets.
“About a month ago, I brought some laboratory supplies here,” whispered the Ferengi. “I didn’t know I was going to get stuck here because of it.”
Tuvok tilted his head and replied softly, “Are you saying that you know who infected this planet?”
The Ferengi smiled, showing a row of crooked teeth; he grabbed Tuvok’s arm and steered him toward a row of hedges that ran along the sidewalk. “We Ferengi are businessmen—it would insult our heritage if I were to give you valuable information without getting something in return.”
“What do you wish?”
“I wish to get off this blasted planet!” he nearly shouted. “You’ve got a ship—you could take me!”
“None of us are leaving until this plague is under control.”
“Yes, but it’s safer up there, isn’t it?” The Ferengi pointed into the gray sky. “The transporters cure you, or so I’ve heard.”
“The best I could offer is to take you aboard our ship and let you speak with our captain. It is not a cure, but a trip through our transporter is effective during a certain stage of the disease. You could always be reinfected.”
Shep’s scrawny shoulders slumped. “So it’s hopeless. We’re all stuck here…for the duration.”
Tuvok stopped abruptly and drilled the Ferengi with ebony eyes. “If you know who started this deadly disease, it is your duty to tell us. It could help save the population and the planet, and bring the perpetrators to justice.”
“I only dealt with a syndicate,” muttered the Ferengi. “Knowing them, I doubt if they even knew who the customer was. The people who removed the cargo were wearing environmental suits—I didn’t get a good look at them.”
“Then you have no information,” said Tuvok curtly.
“I do so,” sniffed the Ferengi. “I’ll tell you something that none of the Helenites will ever tell you. They’re so image-conscious—they always keep up appearances no matter what horrible things are happening under the surface.”
Shep took the tall Vulcan’s elbow and steered him down the street, their shoes scuffing the quaint cobblestones. “There’s a war being waged on this planet, and I don’t mean between the Federation and Cardassia, or between the doctors and the plague.”
He looked around and stopped, waiting until a small bird fluttered from under a bush and flew away. He breathed heavily and continued, “For centuries, the Institute of Genetic Improvement has controlled the Helenites’ reproductive functions, but IGI has gotten too big and greedy. In some places, they put in holographic doctors instead of real ones—things like that. So a few years ago, some wealthy Helenites formed competing companies to do the same work—making hybrids.”
Walking once again, the Ferengi continued to glance over his shoulder and around corners. But they seemed to be alone. The air was empty of sounds except for the occasional creak on a balcony. “The competition has been brutal,” he whispered, “sometimes resulting in industrial sabotage—if you get my drift.”
Tuvok raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying this plague may be the result of industrial sabotage?”
“Well, it has effectively crippled IGI—they’re not the monolith they used to be. I’d heard that a few of the smaller companies had gotten together to pull a dirty trick on them. When somebody has a monopoly on reproduction, sometimes competitors will do almost anything to get rid of them.
“If you think about it, the local companies will probably survive this outbreak, but IGI has gotten swamped by plague victims. Most of their facilities are closed, and their operations are shut down. Worse yet, they’ve had to open their doors to the Maquis and people from outside. Believe me, IGI is the picture of arrogance, and they wouldn’t be talking to you unless they were desperate.”
Tuvok nodded, recognizing an accurate observation. He quickened his pace, a feeling of urgency taking charge of him. “We believe the disease is genetically engineered.”
“And who better to do that than genetic engineers?” Shep scowled and kicked a stone in the street. It skittered into the gutter. “I should’ve gotten off Helena when I had the chance, but they’ve got the only good restaurants in the DMZ! Even though I’d heard there was a disease on Padulla, I didn’t think anything of it. Then boom! Without warning, that big Cardassian freighter blasted my ship out of orbit, killing my whole crew. We were told the freighter was a hospital ship, for Zek’s sake! I’m so glad you shot them down. Luckily for me, I was down here, negotiating a return cargo.”
“I am sorry,” said Tuvok, abruptly stopping. “I could not enjoy a relaxed meal with this knowledge. I have to act on it.”
“But you’ve got to be my guest at the Velvet Cluster!” insisted Shep. “Later tonight. Please! It would get me more credit.
The lodge is right around the corner on Velvet Lane. Just come in and ask for me—Shep.”
“I will try to make it,” pledged Tuvok with a bow. “You have been most helpful. If the captain wishes to speak with you, I presume you are staying at the Velvet Cluster.”
“As long as I can afford to,” muttered the Ferengi. “Of course, in these times, who worries about piling up credit?”
“Indeed.” Tuvok turned in the other direction.
“And please, bring your captain, too. He’s uniblood human, right? And remember, I gave you something for free. You owe me.”
As Tuvok strode briskly down the sidewalk toward IGI, it all began to appear very logical. The outbreak could have been a dirty trick gone awry, or even an accident. He had to verify Shep’s information and find out who controlled these smaller genetic companies.
He tapped his combadge. “Tuvok to Spartacus.”
“Bridge here,” came the reply. “This is Seska.”
“Is the captain on the bridge?”
He could hear the bristle in Seska’s voice as she responded, “No, he’s not. Can I help you?”
Tuvok ignored her annoyance and pressed on. “When precisely will he return?”
“Precisely after his flying lesson with Echo Imjim. We think that gliders may be the best way to look for Riker, because the Cardassians don’t usually fire on them.”
“You’re alone on the bridge?”
“Yes, and I kinda like it that way. Want to leave a message?”
“Please hail me when he returns. Tuvok out.” He continued walking along the street, but he was suddenly conscious of movement on a roof three stories above him. He whirled around to see something duck into the shadow of a large vent. Tuvok couldn’t be sure what he had seen, or if he had seen anything at all. A curtain in a balcony window moved—perhaps that was what had distracted him.
Except for a few lemurlike primates in the rural areas, Tuvok hadn’t seen any animals running loose on Helena. He wondered whether a few of those primates sneaked into the city at night, to go through garbage and whatnot. On the other hand, there could be people observing him. The perpetrators of this catastrophe were still at large, according to Shep. Tuvok walked more briskly, keeping an eye on roofs, balconies, and windows, and his hand didn’t stray far from the butt of his phaser pistol.
He tapped his combadge. “Tuvok to Torres.”
“Hello, Tuvok,” she said, her voice lilting, as if coming off a laugh.
“I am sorry to bother you, but I have some important information to verify, and the captain is unavailable. I would prefer not to investigate alone.”
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll be there. Where?”
“The IGI building in Astar.”
Chakotay beamed with delight as the sea-glider under his command soared over the endless ocean, which looked like blue enamel rimmed in gold from the morning sun. The sun was so bright that it stung his eyes, and the sky looked as endless as space. Chakotay had flown many crafts in his varied career, but never one so responsive and natural. Gliding with the wind made him feel at one with the elements, and the brush of the wind against the fragile hull was like a gentle drumbeat.
“You’re doing very well!” called Echo from the co-pilot seat behind him. “But did you notice that you’re off course?”
He glanced at the compass and shook his head. “Sorry. It’s hard not to get distracted by the beauty.”
“Winds shift,” said Echo disapprovingly. “You have to watch them. Don’t let the wind ride you—you ride the wind.”
“Checking sensors,” said Chakotay, doing just that. “I’ve got a northerly wind pattern at three thousand. Should I take it?”
“Go ahead.”
Lining up his wings with the horizon to keep level, Chakotay edged the antigrav lever upward. He knew that powerful and sophisticated gravity suppressors were working in the underbelly of the glider, but to him it felt as though a sudden draft had caught their wings and lifted them upward. Since he usually worked in artificial gravity, trying to avoid the problems of weightlessness, it seemed strange to seek safety in weightlessness. The farther he rose above the ocean, the more his sense of wonderment increased.
He glanced back at his Helenite instructor. “How am I doing now?”
“You’re a natural!” shouted Echo. “You’ve got all the basics down. Of course, the hardest part is landing.”
“I’ve had some experience at that. I could fly around like this all day, but I think we should do something useful while we’re up here. Do you feel like taking a short flight over Padulla?”
She laughed at him. “Sure, but it would take us days to get there.”
“Not when you have friends.” He tapped his combadge. “Chakotay to Spartacus.”
“Bridge here. Seska on duty.”
“Everything under control?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“Seska, I want you to lock onto our glider with a tractor beam and carry us over to Padulla. We need to come in near the capital. Let me know when you’re ready, because I want to turn off the antigravity and put us at normal weight.”
“All right, sir. Give me a moment.”
Echo cleared her throat nervously. “Er, Captain…remember, the Coastal Watchers are going to want their glider back in one piece!”
“That’s my intention,” vowed Chakotay. “For my own peace of mind, I’ve got to look for the missing team. If we see Cardassians encamped around the area where they disappeared…we’ll assume the worst. We won’t take chances. Are you sure they’re not going to shoot at us, too?”
“I’m not sure about anything anymore,” admitted Echo. “Before, they were only shooting down ships that could leave orbit, not surface craft.”
“Spartacus to Chakotay,” a voice cut in. “We’re in range and able to lock onto you with a tractor beam.”
He put the lever down to zero, going into free flight at their real weight, which wasn’t much. Still, the silver nose cone of the graceful plane started to edge downward.
“Proceed, Spartacus,” ordered the captain.
A sudden jolt let them know that the wind no longer controlled their tiny craft. Now it buffeted against them. He tapped his combadge.
“Chakotay to Seska! Increase the field to encompass the whole glider.”
“Yes, sir. Good thing I started slowly. Compensating—”
When the sea below them began to ripple past like a cascading waterfall, Chakotay sat back and relaxed. It felt as if they were standing still, not moving at all, but he had to look at the sky to keep from becoming disoriented. Like the passengers, the sky appeared to be standing still.
“Ah, this is the way to travel,” said Echo, putting her feet up. “Why did I ever bother to go the long way?”
Chakotay looked at the unique Helenite with admiration. “This must be a hard way to make a living, piloting one of these planes across a great ocean.”
“I don’t hop continents very often,” said Echo with a shrug. “Well, maybe more than I want to. If you have a good co-pilot, it’s not so bad. That last trip with my son was the hardest of all.”
“You risked a lot, including the lives of the people on Dalgren.”
Echo frowned, and the furrows in her gray skin deepened. “I know…I’m not proud of it. But I wanted to save my son, and I wanted to go home. Those are the things you think about when death is staring you in the face.” Chakotay was silent for a moment. He couldn’t argue with that.
“Too bad we can’t just stay up here,” he finally said wistfully. “It’s all sunshine and blue sky.”
“I always thought I would die on a day like this, plunging into the West Ribbon Ocean,” said Echo. “You barely kept me from doing it already. If the plague is about to get me, I think I’ll drag myself into a glider and come up here to die.”
A voice broke in, “Spartacus to Chakotay. We’re getting close to Padulla.”
Both he and Echo stared into the glittering ho
rizon. “I see it,” said his co-pilot, although Chakotay didn’t see anything but a blurred ocean.
“Are we close enough?”
“Yes,” said Echo. “Why don’t I take over?”
He nodded. “Chakotay to Spartacus, cut us loose.”
“Yes, sir. Happy hunting.” With another jolt, they were flying free again, and Chakotay reluctantly took his hands off the controls. Echo knew her way around much better than he did, but it was hard to give up the thrill of flying the sea-glider. He could understand why they were so popular. Not only were they practical transportation, but they kept adventurous, young Helenites at home rather than exploring outer space.
Chakotay checked the sensors, but they were designed to search vertically for wind currents, not horizontally for lifesigns. He had navigation and weathercasting tools, but he already knew the weather was delightful, as Echo Imjim flew by dead reckoning. So Chakotay used his eyes to survey the coastline, picking out the carved bays, green bluffs, white cities, and copper beaches from a distance.
Harnessing the wind, Echo masterfully guided the glider into a low approach that took them directly over the nearest cityscape. “We usually get navigation beacons and landing instructions about this time, but no more.”
As they swooped over a sparkling bay, which sheltered a few sea-gliders and sailboats, Chakotay felt like a seagull coming home after a long flight. Only this was a home that was too quiet, too idyllic—the noisy flock had moved on. As they flew deeper into the city, the sight of the empty streets, silent buildings, and deserted courtyards gave him a chill. He didn’t know this place or its people, but he could feel their restless ghosts walking beneath him.
Chakotay recalled pictures he had seen of the great pueblos of his ancestors on Earth, deserted even when the white man first saw them. In a thousand years, this place would be like one of those old pueblos—no one would know what had happened to its people, only that they were gone forever.