A Time to Love

by Robert Greenberger

  “And how did you figure out the cause?”

  “We stopped being idiots,” Cander said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was stronger than Dolog’s, and she ignored the nasty look he gave her.

  “At first, the Bader scientists did their work and we did ours seperately. It wasn’t until we combined notes that we recognized the problem. We then realized neither of us had studied the atmosphere carefully enough.

  “There was the usual mixture of nitrogen, oxygen, and trace elements. But it took a while to discover just how much liscom gas there was, something we both seemed susceptible to.”

  “Liscom gas?”

  “A by-product released into the atmosphere during photosynthesis by one of the native plants,” she patiently explained.

  “We identified it as we studied the atmosphere, as did the Bader, but it took us a while to figure out how prevalent it was around the planet. The Bader saw that it was building up in trace amounts in their bloodstream. They thought nothing of it since it didn’t appear to have any adverse affects. So they never said a word. My wife found it when looking over their notes months later.”

  “Exactly what happened?” Crusher asked.

  “The gas becomes a part of our bloodstream. The buildup is gradual and has no day-to-day effects, but it alters our chromosomal structure. The genetic changes are passed on to the next generation. The buildup continues in the blood, the chromosomes are altered a little bit more, and before we knew it, people are dying at younger ages.”

  Crusher called up additional blood work readings on her tricorder. “It affects everyone?”

  “It’s in everyone’s blood, yes,” Cander answered. “We’ve been correlating cause of death statistics and are trying to create a proper mathematical model to track the spread. From what we can tell, it was just a few percent dying prematurely in the first generation and then twice that in the second generation. The third generation is just now starting to die out, and it may be twice that again.”

  “How soon before your model is finished?”

  Both researchers looked to Wasdin, the question also in their eyes. The administrator gazed back at them without expression and held the look for several moments.

  “We never finished the model,” she began, “Once your government said they found a cure, we figured it was no longer necessary.”

  Crusher’s jaw dropped. What kind of scientists just stopped their research, not because of political pressure or lack of funding, but simply because they “figured it was no longer necessary”? If anything, they should have shifted into high gear the minute they heard about the murder. After all, if they were so sure the Federation cure was behind the recent violence, they damned well better be able to back up the accusation with some numbers. Crusher was offended to the core. If even the scientists on this world lacked natural curiosity, what hope was there for the rest of the society?

  “You told me before that according to your estimates, thirty-five to forty percent of the people were infected. These scientists tell me it’s one hundred percent. Which is it?” Not the question she really wanted to ask, by a long shot. But it was more likely to yield helpful answers than what the hell is wrong with you people!

  “One hundred percent,” Cander and Wasdin answered together, while Dolog coughed some more. The woman reached over to comfort her ailing husband, and Crusher could hear the fluid in his lungs. If they couldn’t cure this, he’d be dead within a week. In light of their blasé attitude toward their own work, Crusher couldn’t help wondering if their treatment protocols were similarly unaggressive.

  “Where did the thirty-five percent figure come from?”

  “An early estimate some of my staff still persist in believing,” Wasdin replied.

  “I need you to be more forthcoming with your answers, Wasdin, if I’m expected to help,” Crusher snapped in a tone that made the older administrator’s eyes go wide. “I want all the reports in this room, now. I also want the Bader researchers. And while I’m waiting for that, I’ll examine Dolog and see if I can do anything to help him.” Because no one else around here will, she added silently.

  Chapter Six

  IT HAD BEEN LESS than four hours since they beamed down to the planet, and yet Picard felt he had been trapped in the Council chamber on Delta Sigma IV for days.

  “Tell me, Ambassador Morrow, should it be proven the Federation did do something to the natives of this world, what would they do?”

  “Seek a cause and a cure, Speaker,” Morrow began. Good answer, Picard thought. As ambassadors went this one was downright…diplomatic.

  “And how do you compensate Unoo’s family for their loss, eh?”

  Morrow was silenced by the question and glanced over to Picard, who felt for the earnest young man but did not want to overstep his bounds. The Federation had chosen Morrow for this negotiation. It was his show. There would be opportunities for Picard to lend his diplomatic skills to the exchange if it became necessary.

  “Well, I would imagine we’d have to discuss that,” Morrow said, clearly trying to buy time for thought.

  “Your government either talks or fights,” Renks said in a harsh tone of voice.

  Nonsense! Picard frowned. The need to intervene had arrived earlier than he expected.

  “It’s your government, too,” the captain said. “It’s time for you to own up to the fact that while this situation is tragic, there’s nothing to suggest that the Federation knowingly caused harm to one of its members.”

  The captain was about to continue when an aide burst into the room.

  “There’s been another murder!”

  Everyone stopped talking and froze at the words. All eyes went from the aide to Chkarad, who bowed his head, lost in thought.

  A moment later he looked up and said, “What happened?”

  “One of the members of the media, the ones who covered the quarantine, killed a farmer on Fith.”

  “How?”

  “He used some implement, not a weapon from the reports.”

  “And where is he?”

  “Being held by the local officers. But, sir…”

  Chkarad looked at the aide warily, worried about what was to be added.

  “Riker was seen at the farm as well.”

  Picard, already trying to process the information quickly, was alarmed to hear that Will’s father was now present at the only murders to occur on the planet in a century.

  “Where is Riker now?” Picard asked.

  “He ran off before the officers could detain him,” the aide replied, refusing to meet Picard’s gaze.

  The chamber was suddenly filled with the noise of excited voices. Picard turned his back to the group and tapped his badge. After summoning Troi and Williams back, he contacted Will Riker. He passed on the news and suggested they head to the farm in question.

  With that, Picard turned his attention back to the Speaker, who seemed overwhelmed by the opinions of those around him and his own emotions. Morrow caught the captain’s eye, and the two exchanged concerned looks. The murder at the medical center was no longer an isolated incident, and the situation now seemed more dangerous. Kyle Riker’s presence remained a concern to both men.

  “What have you visited upon us?”

  The Speaker sounded broken and lost, a leader unsure of how to lead.

  Picard gestured to the side of the large room, and the Speaker nodded and followed him. Once they were alone, Picard looked deep into the man’s eyes. He saw emotional exhaustion and resignation.

  “Remember the office you hold,” Picard said gently, but in a firm tone. “You are the Speaker of the People. The people and the other councillors look to you for leadership. Especially during a growing crisis, the people want someone to tell them what needs to be done. To assure them the problem is being handled.”

  “I’m not sure…” Chkarad began.

  “Be sure,” Picard insisted. “If you falter before any of these people, if you let them see any hint of w
eakness, then your every move will be suspect. At times like this, you need to act. Do not take too long to make a decision. Right or wrong, the decision keeps things in motion. If you let inertia take over, the government will effectively collapse. And if you cannot be a leader, then defer to another of the Council.”

  “You’ll stay to help?”

  “That’s my mission.”

  The research reports Crusher had demanded arrived shortly after she gave Dolog something for his suffering. Crusher immediately began poring over the information, focusing on the plant life on Delta Sigma IV. She also called the Enterprise for the data from the initial surveys taken of the planet when it applied for Federation membership. Then she read—and read and read more until her eyes hurt and several hours had slipped by. The same nurse who had brought her the reports returned with a bowl of steaming soup, deposited it on the table, and left without a word. Crusher looked up, planning to call after the woman and thank her, when she saw Wasdin, accompanied by tall Bader men, standing before her. So these were the other researchers.

  Both appeared a decade younger than their Dorset counterparts, and they seemed filled with genuine curiosity and concern. Wasdin introduced them as Jama of Osedah and Nassef of Tirnannorot.

  “I don’t recognize your place of birth,” Crusher said to Nassef.

  “It’s on our homeworld. I am a first-generation citizen of this new world,” he explained. “I arrived here as a child but carry my name proudly.”

  “Of course you do,” Jama said angrily. “Tirnannorot is a desirable place to be born. Not like that hellhole I come from.”

  Crusher studied Jama’s features and couldn’t discern where the anger was coming from. She gestured for them to sit and shoved her bowl away, indicating she was here to work.

  “How did you find the liscom gas to be the agent of change?”

  “By being careful,” Jama said. “By doing our jobs.”

  “Of course,” she said calmly. She needed his help, not his invective, but recognized that matching his tone would get her nowhere. “But how did you focus on the liscom gas?”

  “We screened out the elements in our atmosphere that were found on our homeworld, and then eliminated the elements that were also found on the Dorset planet,” Nassef explained, his tone becoming that of a lecturer. “It took some time, given the number of trace gases one can find in the air. We needed to filter out the pollutants from our own industrial efforts and then eliminate the common elements. That left us with four gases.”

  “All four are native only to this world?”

  “Of course,” snapped Jama.

  “I see,” she said, stalling and trying to find a way to get information without further annoying the scientist.

  “We then studied each of the four,” Nassef continued. “Two were immediately found to be neutral, leaving us with liscom and knapp, the second being a gas coming from elements within the sea.”

  “Look, we studied for months and it came down to two possibilities,” Jama exclaimed. “If either was the culprit, it would be found in our blood. We took samples from men, women, and children, Bader and Dorset. We discovered a buildup of liscom in the blood, but no such build up of knapp. After that it became simple.”

  “Not so simple, since you didn’t share the information at first,” Wasdin said, showing less patience for Jama than Crusher did. She shot him a look, and the medic backed up a step.

  “We didn’t know what we had at first,” Jama said, sarcastically imitating Wasdin’s voice.

  “Did you match these blood types against samples from home?”

  “That took a while since we don’t get many ships this way,” Nassef said. “And that slowed things up further.”

  “And how many lives were lost because of the delay?” Wasdin asked. Crusher was alarmed at the growing intensity in the woman’s voice.

  “Never mind that,” Crusher said, cutting off a reply. “Tell me what happened when Kyle Riker arrived.”

  Jama made a face and spoke first. “He seemed to think it would take no time at all to find a counteragent to the liscom. Idiot never realized how widespread the plant life was or how long it might take to rewire our DNA.”

  “There’s little gained in name calling,” warned Wasdin.

  Nassef’s hand clamped on Jama’s arm, keeping the scientist in his place. Face flushed with anger, he nearly shouted when he spoke. “He thought it was going to be easy, but seemed to lose interest when it took time.”

  “Well, we were at war at the time,” Crusher noted. From what she could tell, the liscom gas problem was discovered toward the mid-point of the Dominion War, and the research on the counteragent occurred just as the conflict wound down. Riker would have been on constant call at the time. Crusher paused, a stray thought in her mind: why was a strategist like Riker sent to Delta Sigma IV instead of someone from Starfleet Medical? She resolved to figure that out later.

  “Our best biogeneticists tried to alter the plant itself,” Nassef began.

  “And failed,” Jama finished.

  “The ecosystem is as complex here as anywhere else,” Wasdin said. “And unlike the colonizers on so many other worlds, we all tried to preserve life here without alterations. This planet’s beauty was one reason we were both drawn here. And it seems to bring out the best in us, so no one wanted to tamper.”

  “Well, we tampered all right. Look around us!”

  With that, the scientists slumped into silence. Wasdin seemed as frustrated as Crusher felt. She was disconcerted to see that the much-discussed peaceful coexistence between Bader and Dorset had its limits. While the chief medic was walking the scientists out, the doctor gathered her thoughts and decided it was time to check in.

  “Crusher to Picard.”

  “Yes, Doctor?” He sounded worn out, she thought. No doubt trying to fathom the political fallout of the murders was taking its toll. At least he wasn’t entirely on his own and had an ambassador to help shoulder the burden.

  She brought him up to speed on her conversations with various Dorset and Bader medical personnel. It was hard to tell whether he was more frustrated or relieved to hear that she had no evidence of a causal relationship between the liscom and the outbreak of violence.

  “How go your talks?” she asked after she finished reporting to him.

  “They are…out of the ordinary. We can catch up later. Picard out.”

  Out of the ordinary? To Crusher, that seemed to sum up the entire situation on Delta Sigma IV.

  “Are we getting anywhere?”

  Morrow shook his head, running a hand through his thick brown hair. He seemed to be staring into space, and Picard waited patiently. “I don’t understand it. They say they want peace, but they’re letting pettiness take hold. They also are inexperienced in dealing with anything resembling a crisis.”

  “And they won’t let you help?”

  “I don’t think they even know what questions to ask. There’s something else, and I’m not sure what it is.”

  “They’re embarrassed.”

  Picard turned to see Troi walk in from a wing with her arms wrapped around several tall, thin bottles. She was beaming with triumph, and he liked the way it brightened her features and his own mood.

  “None of the civil servants seemed intent on the most immediate needs, so I went foraging,” she said by way of explanation. She handed each man a bottle, popped off the top of another, and took a long gulp. Picard followed suit and was rewarded with a thick, cool drink clearly flavored with some local nectar. It was mostly tart, but quite refreshing.

  “The first order…survival,” Picard muttered to himself. He took another long pull from the bottle and then replaced the top. “Embarrassed by what?”

  “This was a centennial celebrating cooperation, and all you’ve seen is the death and the bickering.”

  “Actually, they seem more like their homeworld counterparts than anyone here will admit,” Morrow observed.

  “You’ve had con
tact with the Bader or Dorset?”

  “I’ve personally mediated with the Bader,” Morrow said, still sipping from his bottle. “If you think Tellarites or Klingons are aggressive, these people make them seem like tribbles.”

  “Is there a root cause to the belligerence?”

  “Nothing I know of, Captain,” Morrow admitted. “They feel superior to the rest of the universe and act accordingly.”

  “Many races act superior to their peers,” Troi said. “The bellicosity usually is deeply ingrained from some act in their past. The Klingons trace their warrior code to Kahless, while Surak of Vulcan turned his people away from violence and changed them forever.”

  “What about the Dorset?”

  “I’ve spoken to an ambassador on Earth, but I’m not going to evaluate an entire race based on one conversation.”

  “Thank you, Ambassador.”

  “Colt, please, Captain,” Morrow said with a sly smile. “If we’re going to be stuck here, we may as well be comfortable.”

  Picard gave him a mildly disapproving look, but since he liked the ambassador, he didn’t begin a lecture about the need to maintain order and protocol, especially during these trying times.

  “Any food, Counselor?”

  “No, Ambassador, nothing I could find,” Troi answered. “I’m sure it’s on someone’s list.”

  Picard turned away from the counselor’s conversation with the ambassador and watched the councillors. They continued to mill about, talking in ever-changing clusters, and nothing was being accomplished. A planet full of people were being turned against one another, and no one seemed able to act.

  “Do you have any plans yet?” Picard asked the Speaker, hoping his direct question would crystallize the man’s thinking.