While Daniels began powering up the transporter, Riker stood in front of the console and mused over everything they had experienced the last few hours. As a result, he was unprepared when Tregaar sucker punched him. The Tellarite’s massive fist carried a great deal of power and knocked the first officer off his feet.
At that instant, several things happened at once. As Riker recovered his footing, Tregaar lashed out with a boot as Kalita leaped at a startled Daniels, his hands rising off the controls in a defensive posture. The two fights could not have been any more different, as the larger figures brawled inelegantly, banging into one another and bouncing off the walls.
Kalita and Daniels, though, were more balletic, despite the EVA suits. There were arms jabbing out, bodies twisting to avoid contact, and a variety of martial arts forms coming into play. Riker barely had time to notice that his security chief was holding Kalita off but didn’t seem able to subdue her. Her attacks were no doubt fueled by rage and frustration. It was a fight they couldn’t possibly win.
Daniels kept looking at Riker, as if he was seeking direction as to how far or how brutal the fight should be. Hold them off? Hurt them? Worse?
With no time for an actual conversation, Riker returned his attention to Tregaar, who clasped his hands and pounded Riker’s right shoulder. That blow staggered him, and he tried to absorb it and return the favor, going for a flip, made difficult by his opponent’s bulk and the awkwardness of the suits. Failing that, he stepped back and breathed deeply, realizing he wasn’t angry at the attack, understood it more than he first imagined. When Tregaar charged him, Riker let him; the lack of resistance sent them both to collide heavily with the sculpted image of a sunset on some unrecognized world. The art crackled in three places and crumbled to the deck.
Riker slumped from the impact, which allowed Tregaar to grab his phaser from the suit clip.
Tregaar cried, “Kalita! I have him!”
Kalita jabbed one final elbow into Daniels before stepping back, letting the change in status quo sink in. For his part, Daniels caught Riker’s eye and seemed to read something in it and stopped struggling. Instead, he stood up and dropped his arms to his sides.
The phaser waved them both onto the transporter platform. Without a word, Kalita worked the controls at a furious pace while Riker and Daniels stood, awaiting their inevitable return to the shuttle. It did seem to be taking some time, though, and Riker was ready to ask what might be wrong, stalling so La Forge could find them.
“That does it, Tregaar,” she announced before he could open his mouth. “I’ve beamed the others to the Liberté. I’ve also beamed their engineer to the shuttle.”
She then addressed Riker. “Commander, you’re clearly a man of your word, and I appreciate that. It’s why I’m sending you back to your shuttle rather than taking it instead of this. This we can fix and will, resuming the fight. Win or lose, this is a fight I must finish. I think you understand.”
Riker merely nodded, not at all happy with the turn of events. In fact, the conflicting emotions made him suddenly think of Deanna. He wondered if even she could help him sort through the issues.
Those thoughts occupied his mind as he felt the transporter begin its work and Kalita faded from sight.
“Maybe the Federation could have handled things better,” Riker admitted. He shucked off his helmet and let it fall to the shuttlecraft deck. The other three Maquis had been beamed over to the Liberté.
La Forge was already out of his suit and was packing it into the locker. The engineer seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.
“Well, the Maquis made that point pretty clear at the outset,” Daniels agreed. “Then it metastasized. The Maquis grew to attract the disenfranchised. They suddenly became a physical representation of the Federation. Talk about the body politic.”
“What do you mean?” Riker was done with his outfit and hastily stowed it in the locker, then headed to the shuttle’s controls. Daniels and La Forge followed, each taking his place and beginning the preflight routine.
“Are we pursuing them?” La Forge asked.
“No. We’re heading back,” Riker answered.
“Long-range sensors indicate no Cardassian signatures in the vicinity,” Daniels announced.
“Why not?”
“Because we’re done here,” Riker flatly told La Forge. “They’ve lost what, nearly two dozen people? We took out one Cardassian fighter. Not an even score, but it’s the best we can do.”
“What about the Klingon sensor shield?” Daniels asked. “We were assigned to collect it.”
“True, Lieutenant, but Starfleet had no idea what we were after. Now we know and also know it’s relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things.”
“Will they see it that way?”
“I don’t really care right now. I’m tired.” He plotted a course, activated the thrusters, and maneuvered the ship away, noting that the Liberté was coming closer to the damaged cruiser below them. As they accelerated, he was relieved to put the Maquis issue behind him for a few days. That certainly gave him plenty of time to compose a report for Starfleet and an explanation for his commanding officer.
“So, the Maquis now have a sensor shield, maybe more than one,” La Forge said. “Do you think that will improve their chances?”
“Given the numbers and firepower out there, I wouldn’t be betting on the Maquis,” Riker said, his voice very weary.
“I could have rigged it to fail,” La Forge mused.
“No,” Riker said. “They deserve the chance to fight for their beliefs.”
Some minutes later, he turned to Daniels. “Now, what was your point before?”
The question threw Daniels for a moment, but he quickly resumed his discussion, once more sounding like an instructor. “The people who left Starfleet first did so because they got close to the situation—like Commander Hudson and Lieutenant Ro. But the others, the ones like Tom Riker, seemed to reject the Federation’s ideal and therefore Starfleet’s goals. Quitting was like a referendum, a vote of no confidence in the Federation president and his policies.”
Daniels probably had a point, Riker conceded. No one seemed happy with the deal President Amitra cut with the Cardassians that gave birth to the DMZ. Certainly, President Jaresh-Inyo didn’t do anything to calm the Maquis movement. Thank goodness he lost the election, and maybe the newcomer, Min Zife, could stabilize things.
“I concede your point,” Riker finally said.
“Can I ask a question?” Daniels said.
“Go.”
“Why’d you have me throw the fight?”
La Forge looked surprised, but Riker kept his eyes on the viewscreen and simply said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“But, sir, when you let Tregaar take you down so easily…” With a hard look from Geordi, Daniels let the sentence fade away. Clearly, Riker was not going to answer the question.
The next several days passed without incident. Riker slept, he wrote his report, he brooded. There was little card play and even less jesting. The trip felt long and empty.
EPILOGUE
The Anaximenes docked with the Enterprise at Deep Space 9. After transmitting his report, Riker accessed the mission logs and kept track of the captain’s dealings with the Klingons in the Badlands. It sounded as if they had been kept busy enough.
Once they left the craft, La Forge directed his staff to begin a complete overhaul, and they were to contact him only if there was a warp core breach. He intended to get some proper sleep, he told them, once Beverly Crusher fixed his leg.
Riker also relieved Daniels from active duty for forty-eight hours after verifying that the ship’s tactical officer/security chief could be spared.
As he left the flight deck, he reported directly to the captain’s ready room, not at all looking forward to the conversation. He’d check his computer for messages, reports, and appointments later. This he should not delay.
Data looked up from the
command chair and welcomed Riker back. Riker merely nodded and stayed on the bridge’s upper section and walked around to the doors.
“Come.”
Riker stepped inside and found Picard on his couch, a padd in one hand, a cup of tea in the other. The captain appeared relaxed in the new duty uniform, which fit him quite well, no doubt a result of his mission going somewhat better than Riker’s own.
“It’s good to have you back, Number One,” Picard said, gesturing his friend to a nearby chair. “A drink?”
“No, thanks.” Riker sat, settling in, his hands clasped between his knees. He felt like a kid in Alaska, sent to the principal’s office after he and Jackson “Squibby” Carter accidentally put on each other’s pants after phys ed only to change back by using the teachers’ lounge. Amazing how it seemed his world would end that day, being dressed down by the overweight, red-faced administrator.
Picard, neither overweight nor red faced, still carried the weight of a disappointed administrator, and Riker just wanted to get this over with.
“I was reviewing your mission report. No doubt, Admiral Hayes will be somewhat disappointed we don’t have the sensor shield for closer examination. But beyond that, I doubt he’ll have read it with much detail.”
“But you have, of course,” Riker said.
“Of course.”
“Well, Command should at least be happy with the intelligence we did put together. Geordi got some very detailed scans of the sensor shield, and he’s already figured out two different ways to get past it.”
“It certainly helps,” Picard said. “I’ve also read between the lines, and you were clearly not on your game. What happened, Will?”
Riker had been rehearsing this conversation in his mind for days now. He was prepared to take the full blame without getting into the emotional baggage he was unable to shed. Instead, he just said, “I had some doubts, sir.”
“Doubts?”
“We’re so focused on the Dominion right now, we seem to have ignored the problems in the DMZ. The Maquis I spoke with, they, well, they argued that there’s no one left to fight for them.”
Picard narrowed his eyes at that comment but merely sipped his tea.
“None of us felt good about the DMZ, but they’re the only ones who seem to be trying to fix something. I can understand their point of view a little better now, I think.”
“It’s up to the diplomats, Will, not us.”
“I’m not suggesting that the Enterprise get involved. But I can see better now why some in the fleet feel dissatisfied. Why they might leave their posts and take up a cause they can believe in.”
Picard met his eyes and looked deep into them. He seemed to be measuring his own convictions or choosing his words. Finally, in a quiet voice, he said, “Such as Lieutenant Riker?”
“Exactly. His actions haunted me the entire mission. On the one hand, it was a distraction; on the other, it forced me to listen to them. I have to admit, I kept trying to imagine why someone just like me would betray the oath.”
“But Thomas Riker is no longer just like you.”
“Exactly, but there’re years and years of shared experiences, and since he managed successfully to pass himself off as me, I thought I could try and see the universe through his eyes. It’s a pretty jaded view, I have to admit.”
“No one should have to endure the kind of isolation he went through. That it didn’t drive him mad says much about the Riker blood. Still, you didn’t obtain the sensor shield and you even let the Maquis take it.”
“They paid for it in lost lives, sir. Theirs is a very hard life and maybe I felt we owed them one. I admit I was not at my best, and if you feel there should be repercussions, I’ll understand.”
Picard mused for a moment then set down his tea.
Here it comes.
“Will, I can’t say that I’m not disappointed,” he began. “Following the letter of your orders, you failed the mission. It’ll have to be noted as such. While there are mitigating circumstances and the fact that we now have the specifications helps, it’s still a bit of a muddle. Things aren’t going to get any easier on this ship or in the future. I need to be able to count on you to get through those coming days. Talk to Counselor Troi, get some rest. Report back to me, ready for duty.”
Riker stood and nodded stiffly.
“Dismissed.”
Chastened, and still somewhat conflicted, Riker left the ready room and then the bridge, taking a turbolift down to his quarters. With every footstep he trod his own path, pushing the specter of his brother, far away on a prison planet, from his mind. Each had made his choice and was living according to that decision.
It would have to suffice.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
These projects never write themselves. Star Trek is too large a universe, with too many details, for anyone to keep tabs on everything. As a result, several friends and colleagues proved invaluable along the way from concept to completion.
First, a thank-you to Keith DeCandido for inviting me to the party. He helped me shape the story as circumstances evolved and provided me with a technical bit that actually inspired a twist I hadn’t initially envisioned. A tip of the cap to Terri Osborne, who was along for at least two of the plot conversations (we were all trapped in the same car, riding down to Baltimore so she had little choice). I also want to acknowledge the others in this miniseries: J. Steven York and Christina F. York, Phaedra M. Weldon, William Leisner, and the aforementioned Ms. Osborne, who did some nifty character bits that helped inform the characterizations in this story.
The amount of real science applied to Star Trek has risen through the years, and there remain times I find myself in need of a little help. This time, Alan Chafin rode to my rescue, taking my vague idea and helping find a real scientific solution. Allyn Gibson has gone from convention pal to writer colleague, and he agreed to be my beta reader, which proved invaluable. From nitpicks to plot points, he kept me honest, and this is a better story for his efforts.
Thanks, as always, to Paula M. Block at CBS Consumer Products, for her insight and helpful suggestions.
Finally, a thanks to all the readers who have been along for the ride.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Robert Greenberger is a well-established author of Star Trek fiction dating back over eighteen years. He has written collaborations with Carmen Carter, Peter David, and Michael Jan Friedman, in addition to solo efforts, ranging from novels to short stories to eBooks. Additionally, he is a longtime comic book professional, having logged twenty years between DC Comics and Marvel Comics. He also served as a producer at Gist Communications and was most recently managing editor at Weekly World News. His writing has ranged from fiction to nonfiction, interviews to histories. He’s written fifteen books for young adults on a wide variety of topics from the history of Pakistan to the nature of energy. He’s also written a handful of original science fiction and fantasy. His most recent book was Predator: Flesh & Blood, in collaboration with Mike Friedman. This summer, his novelization of Hellboy II: The Golden Army and TheEssential Batman Encyclopedia will be on sale. Since 2007, Bob has been a regular contributor of news and commentary at ComicMix (www.comicmix.com), a pop culture site. He makes his home in Connecticut with his wife, Deb. Since 2005, he has served as an elected representative for the town’s Representative Town Meeting. For more information, you can check out his web page at www.bobgreenberger.com.
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