“There is a plant by-product called liscom, a gas that I’m told is found around the world. I’m going to be looking for confirmation of that, and I need to know if the concentrations are greater in some places than others.”
“Understood. We will need several orbits for a complete study, so the final results should be available in no more than five hours, twenty-nine minutes.”
“That’s fine, Data. Have everything sent to botany, and I’ll work with Lieutenant Moq there.”
“Very good, Doctor.”
“Any news from below?”
“Nothing that would qualify as news,” Data answered. “Commander Riker has not found his father. Captain Picard returned to the ship one hour and fourteen minutes ago. Counselor Troi is currently interviewing the surviving test subjects.” He made the situation sound as dry a statistic as a pollen count. She missed his having the emotion chip.
“Too bad, it’d be nice to see some progress.”
“I agree, since it would make the general mood more positive.”
“Okay, thanks for the help, Data.”
“Bridge out.”
It was a little awkward for Troi to maneuver herself across the cluttered room in the bulky clean suit the medical staff asked her to wear. An unnecessary precaution, perhaps, but any measure that comforted their anxious hosts was worthwhile as far as Troi was concerned. She noted the hastily mounted cameras and recording equipment. Everything was going to be recorded, no doubt for later analysis.
The three subjects—two Bader one Dorset—were not in clean suits, but instead wore civilian clothing that looked a bit past its prime. Probably their own belongings, which would give them some sense of the familiar. She was impressed by the care that had gone into little touches like that.
“I’m Deanna Troi, ship’s counselor on the Enterprise. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me.”
“Not like we had anything better to do,” the woman cracked, her voice harsh. She was Iraid of Anann, the oldest of the three.
“Still, I appreciate it. Let me start by saying that I am sorry for the loss of your countryman,” she said.
The male Dorset, Lulh Shunks Lulh, waved his hand in the air. “She was an idiot, getting into an argument like that.”
Troi frowned at that. “Can you explain what the argument was about?”
“Well, that’s the interesting thing about it,” the Bader male, Osani of Tregor, said. “They’d never argued over anything more serious than music. Until that damned day. We were going to get out, be free at last, in just a few more minutes.”
“Her taste was awful,” Shunks agreed.
“No, it wasn’t,” Iraid snapped.
Troi remained silent, examining their body language. She had to take into account their frustration at remaining in quarantine, mixed with the fear that one of them might be the next to go mad. Carefully, she sifted through the feelings, not sure what she was picking up on yet.
“The argument was about…” she prompted.
“I’m getting to that, if you can wait,” Osani said. He was middle-aged and overweight and was going gray. He seemed used to being in control, so she remained silent and let him speak.
“There was a lot of yammering, everyone had to give us instructions like we were children. Then that Federation guy, Ruken…”
“Riker,” Iraid corrected. Osani just glared at her and then went on.
“Riker, yeah. He was going on about something inane, and the two of them were just going at it back and forth. Finally I caught a few words. The two blockheads were debating the merits of coolar versus sorki.”
“Of all the things,” Iraid interjected. Troi didn’t bother to ask what those items were, just nodded and let them continue.
“Right. Anyway, it was getting pretty heated, which is damned funny if you think about it. They’re just drinks after all.”
“Well, Unoo takes her coolar very seriously. She was always carping about it never being the right temperature when we were on Earth,” Osani said.
Both of the others looked at him as if to wonder who gave him permission to talk. Shunks also turned his gaze to Iraid, who seemed to ignore it.
“Before you know it, he pulls the knife and stabs her, just like that,” Shunks concluded.
“Unoo was a pain, but I wouldn’t have wished that on her,” Iraid said, her voice dropping to a whisper. Her whole expression changed, her emotions flickering enough to catch Troi’s attention. She was fluctuating from anger to despair to other feelings.
“Tell me, Iraid, what happened next?”
“Bison went nova, just flared up. Killed her and then bolted. Everyone was so stunned, no one was moving at first,” she said, her voice a bit faraway as she recalled the incident.
“And you, what did you do?”
“Cried,” Iraid answered. “Cried and wondered what went wrong.”
“I’ll tell you what went wrong,” Osani said, his voice angry. “We wasted a year of our lives. The Federation screwed up and one of us is dead. Maybe there’ll be more.”
“Better not be,” Iraid said, her tone shifting back to defiance.
“You mean to tell me, you don’t think they experimented on us for their own purposes? Of course they did! They didn’t want to cure us.”
“Yes, they did,” Shunks said, sounding conciliatory. “They showed us nothing but kindness.”
“All that poking wasn’t kind at all,” Iraid said.
“It was necessary,” Shunks added, his voice firm in its conviction. “It was all necessary. Yes, something went wrong; yes, one of us died, but it wasn’t from the serum.”
“And you know that how?” Osani asked. Troi watched his eyes go wide, felt the agitation radiate from him.
“It’s happening again, isn’t it?” Iraid asked. She now was fearful; the complete change in emotion caught Troi by surprise.
“I won’t let anyone get hurt,” Williams interjected in a soothing tone. Troi knew that he had a phaser ready in his hand but was wisely keeping it under the table and out of sight.
“When will we be freed?” Iraid asked Troi.
“As soon as we understand what happened and how to fix it.”
“And what have you learned so far?” Osani challenged.
“We just arrived today. We need to do our own studies, and that will mean our doctor will need to examine you.”
“Oh great, more poking,” Iraid said, her tone shifting once more to resignation.
“Probably,” Troi agreed. “But it’s necessary.”
There was a lull in the conversation as the three subjects took stock of the information and Troi observed. All three were shifting about nervously, but she worried the most about Iraid, who struck her as the most in danger of having a psychological problem. Was it related to the counteragent serum or the isolation?
There was little Troi felt could be learned from more time with these three, so she decided to release them to Crusher and return to the Enterprise for some rest. She nodded to Williams, and the two Starfleet officers rose.
The subjects exchanged confused glances back and forth, and Troi finally explained she was leaving. She wished them well and then signaled her readiness to leave the conference room.
As she changed out of the clean suit, Troi considered the people she had just met. They had endured quite a bit over the last twelve months, but there was something else at work and that, she feared, was the problem.
Picard ordered a cup of tea as he sat behind his desk in the ready room. He was mentally exhausted and a bit physically worn. But the ship needed tending to, and with Riker off the ship, there were things he could not delegate. His first order of business was reviewing the latest communiqués from Starfleet Command. Nothing of import according to the subject headings, so he had the files transferred to a padd for some reading in bed.
He quickly checked the departmental status reports, and all seemed quiet. He was thankful for the lack of distraction and turned his
mind back to the planet below. Until Crusher could report something positive, everything was guesswork. The biggest puzzle piece was Kyle Riker, and much as he wanted to think like his detective hero Dixon Hill, he was resigned to let the son hunt the father.
What was it about command that had sons with troubled parental relations? He and his father had issues; even Data seemed troubled by the actions of his creator/father Noonien Soong. If he looked deeper within his crew, he would probably find other such issues. Well, except Deanna. He smiled at the thought of the overbearing, irrepressible Lwaxana Troi. The captain knew Troi loved her mother very much and had had no trouble with her while growing up. She had even endured the loss of a parent and wasn’t bitter for the experience. Would that everyone could feel the same way.
Clearly Chkarad was out of his element and would need as much support as possible. While Crusher did her work, he would have to help with a holding action. And for that, he needed muscle.
“Picard to Vale.”
Seconds passed and a somewhat sleepy Vale responded.
“Please come to my ready room.”
“May I put my uniform on first?”
“If you insist,” Picard said. While he frowned at Morrow’s flippancy in front of the Delta Sigmans, he allowed himself a more relaxed attitude with his own crew. Especially when he troubled them on their own time.
“Five minutes.”
“Make it so.” He sat sipping his tea and checking over ship’s functions until Vale arrived in his office. When she entered, Picard would have been hard-pressed to guess this was a woman he had just woken up. The uniform was crisp, her thick auburn hair perfectly combed into place.
He pointed to the couch by the far wall and joined her there, keeping the meeting less than formal.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you, sir,” she replied. “If it’s all the same to you, I intend to be dead asleep three minutes after I’m dismissed.”
“Of course,” Picard said with a smile.
“Is this about the planet?”
“Yes. We already have two dead people on a planet that hasn’t seen a homicide in a century. Since one murderer was a test subject, the Federation is being blamed. The local government has never encountered anything on this scale. In the morning, I would like you to plan out a full deployment of your people. They are to support local officials in helping maintain the peace. You will be a resource, representing the very best Starfleet can offer.”
“Sir, I have one hundred fifty people ready to die if you order it, but that’s nowhere near enough to protect a planet from itself.”
“That’s why you get a full night’s sleep before you begin the deployment. It will require timing and planning without benefit of too much help below.”
“We’ll do what we can, sir, but this is the tallest order you’ve given me yet,” Vale said.
“I’m well aware, Lieutenant,” Picard said. “But there is little choice. I do not know how long this will go on, so I suggest two complements in twelve-hour shifts.”
“I was thinking more like twelve on, six off,” she said.
“They can’t be worn out and slow to respond on the fourth or eighth day,” Picard warned.
“Let me sleep on it,” she said, grinning.
“I like your thinking,” Picard allowed. “I know this is a potentially difficult assignment. Use whatever resources you need. In the morning I am ordering that no one beam down without a sidearm. Please convey that to Transporter Chief T’Bonz when you begin.”
“Excellent suggestion,” Vale said.
“Any questions?”
“Captain, if I may…why do you think Kyle Riker went off after the murderer Bison?”
“None of us have an answer for that,” Picard replied. “Yet. He may know something we need to learn.”
“Or he was guilty of something.”
Picard looked at Vale. Her pixie-like features were disarming. She was more than competent, and could go toe-to-toe with any opponent. But what he admired about her was her sharp mind.
“Maybe.”
“I’ll want to be planetside, checking on my people,” she said, changing the subject and stifling a yawn.
“I will be entrusting that entire operation to you,” the captain said, nodding. “I will ask that a seasoned officer remain on tactical in case things escalate.”
“Jim Peart’s very good; I’ll ask him to stay on the ship, coordinating the skeleton staff as needed.”
“Mr. Peart’s received good reports, as I recall.”
“I’ve rarely served with better,” she replied.
Picard nodded, a look of finality on his face. “Go back to sleep, Lieutenant. I can’t guarantee when the next uninterrupted night will be.”
“Count on me,” she said firmly.
“I’ve come to do so with complete assurance,” Picard admitted sincerely.
She got up with a smile and marched from the room. He thought highly of the officer and appreciated her efforts. Christine Vale stood right up there with the best security chiefs he had commanded over the years, and he was glad to have her on hand for this mission. He collected his padd, recycled his teacup, and fed his fish before retiring for the night.
He knew enough to take his own advice.
Crusher sat in her cabin and was taking her boots off when her desktop monitor beeped at her. With one boot off, she hobbled over to the desk and activated the screen. She was greeted by the pleasant face of Yerbi Fandau, current surgeon general of Starfleet Medical. While Picard had his issues with Starfleet Command, she felt nothing but warmth toward Fandau. A pioneer in medicine, he was a highly decorated physician who served a total of twenty-five years on starships before going to work on Earth. His experience was vast, and his rapport with the doctors still in space was excellent.
“Beverly, so nice to hear from you,” he began, all smiles.
“How have you been, Yerbi?”
“Getting some joints replaced next week, but that’s nothing to talk about. You look tired. Are you…”
“…not getting enough sleep? Not right now, I’m afraid,” she said with a laugh. “Do you know where I am?”
“To be honest, no. I tell the computer to find you and return your message, it doesn’t tell me where. Please say it isn’t Tholian space.”
“Not at all. I’m in orbit around Delta Sigma IV studying an outbreak of…well, violence.”
Fandau looked startled by the word. He closed his eyes, a signal to her that he was summoning details on the planet from his computer bank–like memory. Seconds later, his eyes opened and he nodded slowly.
“What do you need to know?”
“Have we any idea if the test subjects might have been exposed to something on Earth during their tests? Something that might have tainted the treatment?”
“Not that we know of,” the older doctor replied. “I could forward the reports to you, but I suspect you have them already. They came here, we did the tests, made sure they didn’t turn purple or grow a third eye, and then gave them a clean bill of health and sent them home.”
“What about en route?”
“Well, that’s something you’ll have to check. They were escorted home with personnel from the diplomatic corps.”
“We have two murders, with Kyle Riker on the scene at both but at no time actually wielding a weapon.”
“They think we’ve done something to them,” Fandau finished.
“Yes. But you and I both know better.”
Fandau seemed to be looking for another fragment of memory, and when it arrived his eyes showed surprise. “You serve with his son, Will.”
“Small galaxy, isn’t it?”
“Indeed it is.” Fandau paused. “Have you given any thought to my offer?”
“Honestly, Yerbi, I can’t give you an answer yet.” Crusher sighed. “Between the Dokaalan and this mess, I haven’t had a moment to think.”
“Understandable,”
he said. “Focus on Delta Sigma IV. But keep in mind, Beverly, I can’t keep this offer open forever.”
“Understood,” she answered. “Thank you again for this opportunity…and for you help. I promise that I’ll be in touch with you soon.”
“I look forward to it. Fandau out.”
The screen went dark and Crusher sat back, her feet splayed out before her, and let out her breath. She had a lot to consider.
La Forge had no sooner lain down on his bed when the com signaled him. Wearily, he rolled over and activated the screen by his desk. The image was that of a Starfleet officer he did not recognize.
“This is Geordi La Forge, how can I help you?”
“I’m Male’finkatta of the Pegasus,” the green-skinned officer replied. “Am I disturbing you?”
“Not at all,” he replied automatically, though the opposite was true. He had been looking forward to getting a decent night’s sleep.
“I understand you have some spare chambliss coils, and we need one pretty badly,” the man said.
“Been talking to Whis, have you?”
“We’re one sector over from his position, so we’re keeping in touch. He’s sending you a quad, right? Well, I was kind of hoping you could send me a coil, otherwise we might lose short-range communications. We’re a little short on supplies until we’re rotated back to Starbase 312.”
“I know the feeling,” La Forge agreed, already tapping his desktop computer to access the inventory. Sure enough, there were two extra coils, and the Pegasus needed one more than he would.
“Okay, I have a Ferengi trader bringing me the quad. I can probably persuade him to bring you the coil. Of course, it’ll cost something, but we’ll manage. Can you hold out four or five more days?”
“I should think so, Commander,” Male’finkatta said. “I can’t thank you enough. If we can ever supply you materials, I’ll be more than happy to return the favor.”
“That won’t be necessary,” La Forge replied, stifling a yawn. “We’ll make this happen, count on it.”
“Will do. And thanks again. Pegasus out.” The screen reverted to the UFP emblem and then faded to black. As the engineer returned to his bunk, he began to imagine how stretched things were on the Federation’s fringes if starships needed to trade among themselves.
A Time to Love Page 10