“Was there any security present?” Riker asked.
Smada shook his head sadly. “We never imagined needing any.”
“How was the woman killed?”
“I can show you,” Smada said. He turned to a thin strip of multicolored buttons and began pressing a sequence. The largest monitor on the opposite wall flared to life.
“We may have been ready to reintroduce everyone to the world, but we were still taking scans. We were looking for any changes now that we were in direct contact with them.”
The screen filled with an image of the room, crowded with people. There were five in dark brown jumpsuits, the test subjects. Smada was visible, holding some form of oversized padd while a few others crowded around.
And there, off in a corner, was Kyle Riker. Will hadn’t seen an image of his father in some time—years, most likely. The skin around the firm jaw seemed to sag a bit, the hair was now a steel gray with no hint of black, and his proud physique showed the beginnings of a paunch. He’s looking older, more tired, Will thought. But the firm body language remained. This was a man in control of himself.
A time code indicated that the scene took place mid-morning, three days earlier. The sound was off, but Smada was clearly speaking to the group, followed by Kyle Riker. Will watched the five subjects. They were leaning toward other to whisper comments. Clearly, after all this time together, solid bonds of friendship had formed.
As it appeared his father was wrapping up, the conversation among the subjects seemed to get more intense. Suddenly El Bison El’s meaty hand clenched into a fist. He turned on Unoo of Huni, who looked a decade older than he, and shouted something.
Kyle Riker turned, his comments interrupted. He took a step toward the two, who were now shouting back and forth. And there it was: the glint of light off the steel of a blade. It must have been in a pocket and came out at an oblique angle to the camera. He could see drips of bright magenta blood hit the lab floor and then form a puddle. Unoo’s body sagged and then hit the ground.
Several things happened next. Riker knelt by the body, the knife now lying in a puddle. Bison had rushed through the crowd and was off camera and out the door in a flash. Smada was pointing in Bison’s general direction and signaling right toward the camera, for help.
The screen went dark.
“I’m so sorry,” Riker said, feeling somewhat at a loss to understand what he saw. It was without provocation and senseless.
“Not as sorry as we are,” Smada answered in a quiet tone. “All that time and effort, all those tests, the isolation they went through, wasted.”
“What do you think caused the reaction?”
The doctor shook his head, letting a stray lock of hair shake loose. He seemed tired, and Riker didn’t blame him at all.
“Every medical test on Earth matched the results we recorded here. There was a year in which nothing went wrong, but on the day we released the subjects, something changed. I have no idea what.”
“Where are the surviving subjects?” Seer asked.
“In total isolation upstairs. We don’t dare let them back into the general population now. They’re scared, and I don’t blame them one bit.”
“What about the vehicle Bison stole?”
“It belonged to a member of the media and has yet to be recovered, I’m told.”
“And no one has seen El Bison El or my father?”
Smada looked up at mention of the connection, studied Riker’s face, and then shook his head.
This was ground zero, the starting point, Riker knew, but figuring out where to look next, that was going to be a challenge.
“How many crystals do you need?”
“Two would be sufficient.”
“One now and one upon delivery.”
“Agreed.”
“And you can be here when?”
“In seventeen hours if I alter course now.”
“And then how long before you return with the part?”
“Three days is my best guess.”
“Get moving, we’re not getting any younger.”
“Agreed. See you soon.”
The Ferengi’s image disappeared from the screen and La Forge leaned against his bridge station, situated behind and to the left of the command chair, currently occupied by Data.
“The transaction seems to be proceeding without any unanticipated problems,” the android offered.
“Piece of cake,” La Forge replied. “With you tracking down the necessary ship, I’ve got my part coming well ahead of the quartermaster.”
“Will they not frown upon your giving Starfleet property to a Ferengi?”
“The way I see it, I’m paying for a necessary service that keeps us on active duty during a tough time,” La Forge explained. “I need the quad, the Ferengi needs to get paid. Everyone wins.”
“I see,” Data said. He got up and walked to the upper section of the bridge, stopping at the tactical station where Vale was reviewing incoming data.
“Status?”
Vale looked up, pressed more buttons, and then smiled. Her smile didn’t happen often when the pressure was on, La Forge knew, but it looked good on her.
“We’ve drilled on sniper fire and outright brawls, all with good marks,” she replied.
“How many more drills will be required?”
“Building evacuation, guerrilla tactics of a few nasty varieties, thermonuclear detonation, wildfire…”
“There are no nuclear weapons on Delta Sigma IV,” Data corrected.
“Great, one less thing to worry about,” she said with a grin. Quickly, she altered the schedule. “I guess we need about another day for all shifts to be well rehearsed.”
“Very good. I will apprise the captain,” Data said.
“Think I’ll be needed?” she asked.
“Yes,” Data replied. “There is a high probability that the outbreaks will increase beyond the planet’s ability to police itself and before we can effect a resolution.”
“Take you long to figure that out?”
“No, I had reached that conclusion before we entered orbit.”
“Wish I knew. We could have trained a little faster.”
“No one asked me,” he said, and walked over to La Forge’s station. The engineer completed checking the relays between the starship and the planet, and everything seemed fine. Looking at the planet, he found it hard to picture all that strife brewing on the surface.
“How do you think the captain is doing?”
“He has checked in with punctuality, so I would assume he is still in a fact-finding mode. Were he actively engaged in resolving the problem, the check-ins would be handled by Counselor Troi or Ensign Carmona.”
“Gotcha,” La Forge said. “Wish everything were so easy to analyze.”
“Humans seem to dislike easy analysis,” Data offered.
“True, but we also seem to wish a lot for those things we cannot have,” he said.
“The grass is greener syndrome is the term,” Data said.
“That’s the one. These seem like a nice people, so you don’t want them to suffer,” La Forge said.
“Of course not. Wishing suffering on anyone does not make sense.”
“Amen to that,” Vale called out.
While Riker was away with Seer, Picard and Troi were left with the Council, which was clearly paralyzed by indecision. Picard refused polite offers of refreshments and asked if they could work together with a free exchange of ideas.
“Of course, Captain,” Chkarad said. The Council seemed willing to defer to him in their dealings with Starfleet, and as long as the Bader was reasonable, Picard preferred having just one man to deal with. After all, convincing one on a course of action was easier than convincing eight.
The various councillors left their table and clustered around the status board, murmuring to themselves over new reports of anti-Federation protest. Picard shot Troi a look and saw she was busily studying the people, sensing their emotions.
Picard gestured to Carmona, and the security guard approached. “I think we’re going to be here awhile.”
Renks was talking to Troi, explaining that the protests had started soon after the media covering the celebration broke the news of the murder. Picard joined them at the refreshment table, but once again refused a drink.
“And with Riker also missing, people added two and two,” Renks said. “We’re not a stupid society.”
“What are you implying?”
“Captain, until I am proven wrong, I can only conclude that the Federation’s treatment of our aging problem went awry. You are to blame for this.”
“This could just as easily have been a lover’s quarrel,” Troi countered. “Or some long-simmering personal problem. After all, the other three people have not acted like killers.”
“That’s because we haven’t let them,” Chkarad explained. “We put them right back into guarded isolation.”
“You’re presuming they will commit murder, too,” Morrow said.
“What else are we to think?” a Dorset woman asked.
“Your history is full of examples of random violence,” Renks added. “The Romulan War before there was a Federation, countless skirmishes with the Klingons, the Tholians, the Cardassians, your Tomed Incident, and the recent Dominion War. Need I go on?”
How little these people understood the government they were a part of. Picard looked directly at Chkarad, meeting his eyes with a focused stare.
“The Bader, the Dorset, the Andorians, the Vulcans, the Slyggians, the humans, we’ve all bloodied history,” he began. “But, we’ve all found ways to rise above the violent natures that exist as a primordial survival skill. One by one, our races have matured, evolved, and found ways to coexist with one another and then with others. And when we were all ready, we formed the United Federation of Planets. One of the requirements is that a world be united, and you people have certainly done a far better job of that than either of your homeworlds. Your Council signed a charter that spells out our vision. It’s not one of violence. It’s one of peace, exploration, and mutual discovery.
“What have you fought about in the past?”
The room was silent for a moment. Picard studied them all, faces scrunched in concentration. Were things that peaceful for that long?
“I guess no one can recall,” the Speaker finally said. It was one thing, Picard mused, to triumph over violence. It was another thing entirely to forget how to make war.
“While the doctor is studying the present circumstances, let’s go back to the colony’s beginnings,” Picard suggested, his curiosity tinged with just a bit of envy.
“How so?” one of the Bader councillors asked.
“You arrived here first?”
“Yes,” she answered. “We used rocket-powered telescopes to help us map the region, and one of them spotted this world. It fit all our criteria. This was going to be our showcase planet, the one we could proudly point to and show our people what we could do for them. The colonization business was a growing concern in this part of the galaxy.”
“Was this the first Dorset colony world?”
“First successful one,” Renks said proudly. “We had established toeholds here and there, but none of that meant anything in the galactic community.”
“What do you mean?” Troi asked.
“We had tried to colonize a few worlds previously, but we were not ready. Problems developed, mainly in dealing with faraway worlds with just sublight velocity ships. When we finally managed warp ships, we were ready to try again.”
“And what did you find here?”
“Paradise. It was almost like our homeworld,” another councillor said. “Look at the original logs and you’ll see poetry in the descriptions. The founders fell in love with this world at first sight.”
Morrow interrupted to elaborate. “This world is just slightly warmer than Bader itself, slightly larger, with a heavier gravity. Beyond that, it was an almost ideal match for them. It really was a wonderful find.”
Picard nodded and looked at Renks. “And what did you find here?”
“Me?”
“The Dorset. How did you find this world?”
Renks got the question and explained, “Survey ships. We developed warp sooner than the Bader. In fact, we checked their system as a possible colony site but abandoned it when we found it inhabited.”
“Is that the source of your conflict?” Troi asked.
“Actually, my ancestors found them distasteful, but the genuine conflicts began when they developed warp and we sparred over trading routes and then potential colony worlds. We had lost out on two in a row to the Bader when we found this world.”
“Lost out how?”
“As I understand it, Captain, my people wanted to colonize to expand our reach, to spread our culture. We’re a proud people and feel we have much to offer the universe. The way to do that was by owning a piece of the stars. Anyway, we tried to establish ourselves in solar systems near Bader space, but they were able to establish their presence with larger numbers.”
“And superior claims,” Chkarad added.
“As you say,” the councillor added, a dark look crossing his features. “Anyway, when we found this world, we were determined not to give it up.”
Morrow once more filled in the pertinent details. “Similarly warmer than the Dorset home planet, but the gravity is virtually the same. A rare instance when the colony world is an almost perfect match for the people.”
Picard thought back to the first worlds Earth colonized, starting with the moon and Mars, and thought how far from the lush, green planet they were. He could see why both coveted this place, so far from their home stars.
“Tell me what changed when you both arrived here.”
The councillors looked at one another, not sure how to explain. Picard waited, feeling time slipping by as more lights winked into existence on the world map. He glanced over at Troi, who had a neutral expression on her face. The confusion didn’t seem to be troubling her.
Finally, they all looked to Chkarad and he nodded. “We nearly fought for this world, too,” he began. “It was ideal for both of us, and the Dorset were not ready to give up again. We settled on different continents, keeping to ourselves at first, but the survey parties kept crossing paths.
“Finally, months later, delegations from both sides met on an island and talked. It is said that that was where the union was forged and the new era began. That’s what we were about to celebrate today.”
Picard frowned slightly. How could Chkarad be so vague about the root of his ancestors’ monumental accomplishment? Had these people no sense of history, no curiosity? Why even bother celebrating an event about which they were so complacent? “Speaker, after Dr. Crusher has looked at your medical records and Counselor Troi has spoken to the surviving test subjects, perhaps our fresh perspective will help us find answers to this problem.”
His words carried more conviction than he felt. He reflected back to what Admiral Upton said and was beginning to understand the depth of the problem he had been handed.
The sea breeze was brisk, the smell of salt in the air was bracing, and Riker allowed himself a moment to enjoy it all. He was suddenly ten again, going fishing with friends before school, the Alaska sky still dark. They rarely caught anything, but the tranquillity of the morning made for a sharp contrast to the tensions at home.
He had missed that smell and the sensation of water lapping along the sides of a boat. For some reason, when he took leave, it never involved water sports, and he now realized how much a part of his childhood the sea was. And maybe that’s why he avoided it, avoided being reminded about those early years and the unhappy home he shared with his quarry, Kyle Riker.
“I don’t understand why you think the craft might be here,” Seer said, interrupting the first officer’s reverie.
Riker climbed out and inhaled deeply before replying.
“I have absolutely no idea
if it’s here or not, but I do know we need to start hunting.”
So here they were, in the small fishing village where the flyer originated. Seer had explained that the media personality had been here just before, covering a different centennial story. Riker withdrew his tricorder, which had been programmed with the vehicle’s specs, including transponder frequency, and began scanning.
“We’ve scanned the entire planet for that transponder,” Seer complained, watching over Riker’s shoulder.
“And I’m just being thorough,” Will replied. The native gave a muffled laugh when the tricorder couldn’t pick up the signal. Riker snapped it closed without comment and began walking toward the village. Seer took three large steps and then kept pace.
The walk allowed Riker a chance to look at the village, its one-and two-story homes, the pubs, supply ships, and assayer’s office for those who made their living from the sea. The streets were filled with both Dorset and Bader, although it took a few minutes before he noticed they kept to themselves. There was no evidence of the vaunted cooperation that Delta Sigma IV prided itself on. He and Seer exchanged glances, both noting the oddity.
A Bader in some form of uniform was sauntering toward them, a tired look to his blunt features. People of both races steered clear of him, and he seemed to play no favorites, walking straight down the middle. Will was reminded of the old-fashioned western movies he saw while growing up. Although the movies featured tumble-weeds and dust, not the tang of sea air and fish skeletons.
“Help you?” He even sounded like the old dramas. Will had to suppress a smile.
“I am Seer of Anann, protocol officer to the Council,” his companion said, arms spread wide in a gesture of greeting. The other man’s arms matched the gesture, but he didn’t smile.
“Mokarad of Huni. What brings you here? The party’s canceled.”
“I’m here with Commander William Riker of the Starship Enterprise,” Seer said quickly. “We’re looking for his father, Kyle Riker.”
He paused, and Riker studied Mokarad’s expression. It didn’t change. He must practice looking stern in the mirror each morning, Riker thought. On the other hand, it’s a perfect poker face.
A Time to Love Page 6