“Haven’t seen him.”
“Well, I didn’t imagine you would have, but we’re trying to track the flyer he stole. It came from here, so we’re just going to look around. That is, if you don’t mind.”
“Why would I mind? Nothing to see.”
Riker scanned the streets and had to agree. The trio walked a block or two, the first officer swiveling his head from right to left, carefully noting the subdued architecture and distinct lack of adornment. It may have been a peaceful planet, but it was also a uniformly dull one from what he had seen so far.
As he walked, Riker mused about his father’s actions. Why did he chase after Bison? Guilt? Sense of justice? Lover’s rage? He immediately dismissed the notion, knowing that despite his gregariousness, Kyle Riker was very selective about the women he let enter his life. One was his mother, Ann, another was Dr. Katherine Pulaski, who briefly served with Will on the Enterprise, and the third was a woman he had never met but who had loved his father very much on a distant world. She had died, and Kyle never mentioned her to him, but he had heard about it from Admiral Owen Paris when he was about to graduate from the Academy.
Periodically, Paris, a close friend of his father’s, checked in on Riker and worked to bring the two men together. Each attempt failed, but that never stopped Paris. Shortly after graduation, Will Riker was posted to the Pegasus but within a year, the ship was back at Earth for repairs. While in Spacedock, Riker had taken time to visit the Academy, saying hello to teachers whom he liked. He also took time to enjoy the lush grounds that looked brand-new in the spring weather.
“They’re lovely this time of year,” Owen Paris had said, stepping from behind a blooming bush.
“Hello, Admiral,” Riker had replied. “Yes, they are.”
“Too few students take the time to enjoy the grounds, much to Boothby’s regret. For them, the grounds are just something to cross between classes or a place to meet for a rendezvous.” He laughed when he saw the startled look on Riker’s face.
“You think we didn’t do the same thing? And no doubt my son Tom will follow in our footsteps in a few years,” Paris added.
“Is he really applying to the Academy?”
“Crossing my fingers,” Paris said. “Have you heard from your father?”
Riker shook his head and grinned. “You really didn’t expect him to drop me a note, did you?”
“No, I guess not. He’s had it rough these last few years,” Paris added. “I’m glad we were finally able to put that Starbase 312 business behind us for good.” Kyle Riker had been the sole survivor of a Tholian attack on the starbase and was pulled back from near death by Pulaski, with whom he began a relationship. Years later, Riker was being framed for events related to the attack, and he fled Earth. Starfleet Security even suspected complicity on Will’s part, until he was cleared. Finally, Kyle returned to Earth and the matter was settled, only a year earlier.
“I knew he was never involved,” Will admitted.
“It took its toll on your old man, you know,” Admiral Paris said as they continued to walk side by side.
Will shot the older man a look, and Paris’s expression changed to one of concern. “He didn’t tell you about Michelle, did he?”
“Sir, my father hasn’t told me much of anything in years, and you know that,” Riker said with a little heat.
“When your father was on the run, he wound up on a world called Cyre. He stayed there for quite some time and, well, he fell in love with a woman named Michelle.”
“There was some sort of revolution on that world, wasn’t there?”
“I’m impressed,” Paris admitted. “Few would be able call up the details. Keep that up, and you’ll be a captain one of these days. Yes, there was a revolution. It failed, but your father was one of the chief architects, which is why it almost succeeded. Michelle was one of the leaders and died in the fighting. Took your dad months after he returned to tell me the details.”
Riker recalled being stunned at the notion of his father in love. The boy in him resented his father for loving anyone but his mother, but the man also recognized that life goes on after a loved one passes away. The conflicting feelings roiled within him as he pondered this woman, Michelle. A freedom fighter, he figured, would appeal to his father.
“I’m glad he had you to talk to,” Will said weakly.
“And it should have been you,” Paris shot back. “Some day you boys will put this all behind you.”
Now Riker stood on Delta Sigma IV, wondering if Paris would ever be proven right.
They had strolled through the main street and many of the smaller streets and had seen nothing out of the ordinary. What few flyers and ground vehicles there were had been identified by Mokarad. He knew his community, and as far as he was concerned everything was in place.
“Now what?” Seer asked.
Will paused and wondered that himself.
As Picard’s discussion with the Council continued, Carmona returned to the chamber, and since he couldn’t disturb the captain, he approached Troi and asked for a moment alone. He seemed concerned and uncomfortable, so she imagined the report wasn’t a positive one.
“They clearly didn’t build this place with protection in mind. There are too many entrances, exits, and service tunnels, and no native security guards.”
“What about force fields or shielding of some sort?”
“The best they have are heavy window covers for bad weather,” he said unhappily. “Ma’am, I can’t do my job like this on my own.”
“Well, the captain asked you to look around, and you’ve done that,” Troi said reassuringly. “Don’t worry about what you found. That’s no reflection on you, Ensign. Stay here and I’ll speak with the captain in a moment.”
Carmona assumed a ready position near the doorway, and Troi made a mental note to commend his selection to Vale when she returned to the ship. She walked over to the captain, who continued trying to maintain a peaceful dialogue. As she approached, waves of anger and confusion washed over her, coming from both races. There was something to the strong emotions, and she would need to explore the feelings to get a better sense of their tone and origin.
Picard noticed her trying to get his attention. He excused himself and walked over to her, letting Morrow continue to try and formulate a plan with the baffled councillors. Deanna quickly filled the captain in, and he frowned at learning how vulnerable the planet’s leaders were.
“I’m trying to avoid a Starfleet presence that might be seen as provocative,” he admitted after a moment.
“A wise move, but right now, securing the leadership seems paramount.”
“What do you make of all this?”
Troi paused, considering her experience to date. She interlaced her fingers and held them before her before she began. “They’re both fighting their feelings, struggling with the blow to their society, and something feels ‘off’ but I can’t quite define it. The aggression and threat to life is quite real.”
“Agreed. Ask Lieutenant Vale to send down two more guards, and let’s see if we can’t at least get the leaders safe. From there, we can finalize our plans.”
“Captain, while waiting to speak with the test subjects, I would like to walk among the people and get a stronger sense of what’s happening. Lights on a map and bickering government officials present only part of the story.”
He considered the request and replied, “Have her send down a third guard.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a smile.
“I certainly don’t want to be the one to explain to Commander Riker I let you get lost in the capital city.”
“I’ll have you know, I have an excellent sense of direction,” she said with a grin.
“Much like the commander’s excellent culinary skills,” he said teasingly. With that, he returned to the bickering group and joined in with Morrow. She heard him turn the discussion to seeking a more secure location for the government.
Meanwhile,
Troi signaled the ship and made the request for additional security guards. Vale quickly agreed to the plan and offered to come down herself. Troi refused, suggesting she stay aboard the ship and monitor things from orbit.
“How are things around the planet?” Troi asked
“Commander Riker’s flyer is safely on Tregor.”
Troi felt herself blush at the reply, which was not what she asked. Still, it was nice to have the crew look out for her feelings and personal concerns. “Well, not that I asked, but it’s certainly nice to know.”
Vale added that all was well aboard the ship, and they ended the conversation. As they did, three figures materialized near Carmona’s position. Troi watched him quickly fill in the newcomers, gesturing to the doors and windows first, then the cluster of councillors. Finally, he looked her way and she held up one finger. Carmona tapped one of the men and directed him her way.
“Ensign Lateef Ade Williams, ma’am.” He was tall and lanky, with dark brown skin and an easy demeanor. She’d seen him around the ship, usually performing percussion with one of the musical groups.
“You can skip the ma’am, but thanks for the consideration,” Troi began. “We’re going for a stroll.”
“Are we looking for something specific?” His voice was soft, a trace of an African accent inflecting his words.
“No, just to get a feel for the populace.”
“Sounds potentially dangerous.”
“Well, then you won’t be bored,” she said and headed for the doors.
The medical center was a state-of-the-art facility, much to Crusher’s pleasure. It boasted equipment she had only read about in journals, and she was impressed by how much space was devoted to pure research. Everything seemed well cared for, and the place was positively buzzing with activity as both Bader and Dorset scrambled back and forth. Everyone seemed to carry both a padd and a cup of something to drink, and no one walked slowly.
She loved it.
Crusher was escorted through the bustling corridor to the office of Chum Wasdin Chum, the Dorset head of medical research. She was an older woman, with as much gray as gold in her hair, and lines around her eyes that showed fatigue as well as age.
In a voice that cracked with age—or was it just stress?—Wasdin offered Crusher a seat and a drink. “Humans have their coffee, as I understand it, and we use coolar for our stimulant,” she explained. “It’s brewed from a native root found on every continent.”
“I’ll try that, then,” Crusher said.
Once they had fresh cups of the hot liquid, they sat in Wasdin’s small, cramped office. Two terminals, with a pile of isolinear chips next to each one, took up most of the desk space. Her lab coat was half off the plush chair behind her desk, and a picture of the Dorset homeworld hung on the one wall not obscured by equipment. Wasdin lowered herself into the chair, blew on her drink, and looked at Crusher with tired eyes.
“What happened to the counteragent?” Crusher began. The liquid was hot and soothing, as full-bodied as coffee and as aromatic as tea. She could learn to like it.
“No, the counteragent seems fine,” Wasdin said sharply. “The other three test subjects check out fine. In fact, at first glance, the murderer also seemed fine, but clearly was not.”
“What about the victim?”
“Her blood chemistry also was in normal ranges.”
“Did you perform an autopsy?”
“Yes, I have the results right here,” Wasdin said, tapping a set of printouts.
“May I examine the three remaining subjects?”
“I can summon them from their protective isolation, but first they’re scheduled to meet with your Counselor Troi. The Council thought it best to keep them away from the populace at large.”
“Could you talk me through the test?” Crusher asked.
“When the studies showed that we were going to die early, something had to be done or we might have to abandon our home,” Wasdin began. “Oh gods, you can’t imagine what it was like to learn that.”
Crusher regarded the older woman with sympathy. “Die how?” She asked in a soft voice.
“Neither the Dorset nor the Bader have long lives like you humans,” Wasdin explained. “We Dorset live forty, maybe fifty of your years. The Bader live maybe a decade longer.”
“Go on,” Crusher said.
“After two generations, it seemed we were both dying even faster. Life expectancies were down a few months to a year, and suddenly that decline escalated.”
“Your projections show that within several generations your people will start dying before puberty.”
“Before my great-grandchildren can even marry,” Wasdin said sadly.
“In three generations? That fast?”
“Possibly. Certainly not more than five or six generations, I would guess,” the older woman said. “Our people completed their studies and met with Kyle Riker on behalf of the Federation. There’s a naturally occurring gas on the planet that we both react badly to. It affects our reproductive cycles and our glands, triggering the premature aging. He read the studies and worked with your medical personnel, who came up with a serum, naturally produced from other plant life found here. It was tested on five volunteers, who were kept in quarantine for at least a year.”
“From what I read, the subjects’ chromosomes returned to their natural configurations, in both races,” Crusher added. “Can I also speak with these researchers?”
Wasdin seemed to be enjoying the break from talking, sipping repeatedly from her cup. Crusher let her be, knowing this was a difficult time for the woman. Finally, Wasdin put the cup down on a corner of the desk and continued.
“I suppose so, if you think it will help, Doctor.”
“I think so, yes. Now, tell me how the counteragent was to be introduced into the population.”
Wasdin took a sip of her drink, frowned at it, and set it down on the table, pushing it away. “Inoculations were deemed too time-consuming. The Council discussed spraying the air and letting people breathe it in.”
“Did you start mass production?”
“No, we wanted the celebrations first. It’s a relatively simple chemical compound that wouldn’t have taken longer than a few weeks to produce.”
“And what does Kyle Riker have to do with all this?”
“That’s a good question, Doctor. Riker was here at the beginning of our study, and he came back to join our centennial celebration. He was going to help us celebrate not only our planet’s unique unity but also the, ha, success of the counteragent.”
People were walking with purpose, Troi noted, as she and her security escort walked down the main street on which the Council building was located. The sun had set nearly an hour ago, and the street lamps blazed with harsh white light. The light-colored buildings were no more than four or five stories tall, but they were very wide, with no more than two on a block. Shops seemed to be tucked between the buildings, and there were no street vendors of any kind in sight.
Williams was also alert, walking just ahead of her, looking into windows, checking between buildings, and straining to make out sounds. Most away team assignments didn’t require this level of personal protection. In fact, she wasn’t convinced of the need for Williams’ presence at all, but it was the captain’s call, not hers.
The immediate vicinity was quiet, despite the noise blocks away. People seemed to be avoiding congregating on the streets and hurried along. Occasionally, she heard doors open and slam. She had no baseline reference and couldn’t be sure if this was normal behavior or not. Some tension filled the air and assaulted her senses, so she concluded people were avoiding the outdoors if possible. The few grocers she saw had nearly empty shelves, leading her to believe people had stocked up on goods and locked themselves away. Atypical panic reaction based on one isolated incident.
Before she could walk farther, Picard’s grim voice came from her combadge, summoning her back to the Council room.
Crusher’s tricorder displa
yed the Federation’s reference file for a typical adult Bader male. She overlaid the file with the scan Wasdin did for the murder victim. Body temperature, brain size, heartbeats per minute, all the usual readings were matches. She adjusted the scan to go deeper and show blood flow and respiration. Again, things seemed to match. It was beginning to look as if she might have to perform her own autopsies on bodies in order to study Bader physiology at a more detailed level.
“Sorry for the delay, Doctor,” Wasdin said, entering the room.
“Not at all,” Crusher said.
“Here are two of the researchers who worked with Riker,” Wasdin said, ushering in two Dorset people. Both seemed old, over a hundred human years, with their sunken cheeks, hollowed eyes, and age spots that covered their hands. Neither seemed happy to be in her presence, so she smiled, trying to allay their fears. She needed them to feel comfortable with her so she could find out the most information in the shortest time.
“This is Man Dolog Man and his wife, Wal Cander Wal. They’ve agreed to review their report with you,” she said. Both waved their hands in a gesture of greeting unique to the Dorset.
“What do you need to know that’s not already written down?” Dolog challenged her before even taking his seat.
“Reports don’t include every thought and observation,” Crusher began. “And when you combined your notes with those of your Bader counterparts in order to issue a joint study, I suspect things may have been altered out of compromise. I need to learn what may not be obvious so I can help.”
Dolog made a rude noise and sat down, withdrawing a cylinder from a pocket on his sleeve. He inserted it into a computer, where it began to chime and function rapidly. After a few seconds, he seemed satisfied that the report had loaded properly. He flipped two toggles, and a popup screen emerged before Crusher and another before his partner. The information loaded and flipped rapidly past Crusher, who tried to catch words here and there. After a minute, the text seemed to be ready and Dolog began lecturing in a phlegmy voice.
“Whatever happened to us also happened to the Bader in a similar time frame. As a result, we began looking at what it was on the planet that could change us. We began with the water supply as the most obvious place. From there we examined the atmosphere and so on. After months and months, we had looked at everything from how we cooked food to how we interacted with the plant life and whether or not we were being affected by solar radiation.”
A Time to Love Page 7