Dorina turned and smiled at him, her face looking pretty in the soft light coming through the window. He estimated the local time to be just after six in the morning, and he liked the notion of the sun coming up and being there to watch it. Before he knew it, one of the carved ceramic mugs was placed in his hand, steaming, and the smell of coffee caught his attention. Taking a sip, he recognized a fine brew, similar to one he preferred on the Enterprise, and with that he gave his hostess a quizzical look.
“My husband is the protocol officer,” she said with mock seriousness. “He checked with your duty officer when you first entered orbit. He knew you would be on the surface for a while and wanted to make you feel welcome and comfortable. It wasn’t hard to bring those details home.”
“Still, I appreciate the effort,” Riker replied. “Let me help. What’re you making?”
She gestured to a large pink bowl filled with a batter-like substance and explained, “It’s a spiced bread, filled with fruit called cacheen. If you want to help, hand me that jar.”
The first officer turned to his right and saw an open jar filled with a yellow powder. He lifted it, took a whiff, and handed it over quickly. “That’d clear out your sinuses.”
She laughed as she took no more than a pinch and then sprinkled it around the bowl. While he sipped the delicious coffee, he watched as she tossed in some dried herbs and then something that looked like dark brown berries. He grabbed a whisk and insisted he be allowed to whip it all together while she finished with whatever was still bubbling on the stove.
The children ran in and out of the room, all sneaking peeks at their guest, and he could hear older voices as well—the grandparents. The house was full of life and it sounded like a happy one. More than ever, he wanted to end the violence, today if possible, and preserve this feeling.
“You seem comfortable here,” Dorina noted as she lifted the pot off the stove and set it aside to cool. “I thought you starship types lived off replicated food.”
“Most of us do,” he admitted. “But I find cooking a soothing hobby. I consider myself pretty experienced and not too bad. If time permits, I’ll repay your kindness with a meal of my own.”
“You do me honor,” she said. “But first, stop stirring and put the bowl in that kiln.” The woman pointed to a square metallic box with a variety of controls lined up and down one side. He did as instructed, and then she reached across him and hit one oval blue button. The kiln hummed to life. “Fine, we’ll be able to eat in about five minutes. Time to go chase my husband out of his room.” With that, she gracefully moved past him and out of the kitchen.
Riker finished his coffee but held on to the mug, hoping for more with the meal, and wandered toward the sounds of laughter. The children were trying to build a human pyramid with just four bodies and not a lot of coordination. Each attempt left them sprawled on the floor in a tangle, which may have been the intended result. Two older people sat at their places at the table and watched benignly. They each wore something akin to caftans with embroidery around the shoulders. Neither seemed perturbed by his presence.
They introduced themselves and started asking Riker questions about life on a starship. Neither had ever left their continent, let alone their planet, which reminded the first officer just how different every society was. And they were one of the first generations doomed to die off prematurely. His heart went out to these people.
As he answered their questions, Seer hurried into the room, quickly putting up his hands to indicate now was not a good time to try and tackle him. He looked rested, but his eyes kept moving and he clearly had some information. Riker gave him a look, but Seer shook his head with a small smile. Nothing urgent, then, Riker concluded. Damn. It meant his father was still loose.
Dorina had returned to the kitchen and was taking the cacheen out of the kiln, which seemed to be some sort of rapid baking device. It was something he was unfamiliar with, but then again, he wasn’t much on baking of any sort. As she entered, holding the bowl in gloved hands, the children shrieked in unison and scrambled for their seats. There was a space between the youngest son and Dorina, which Seer indicated was for Will. He took his place, putting his mug down and scanning hopefully for a carafe, and watched everyone else to follow their lead. All raised their hands and then clasped them, forming a ring around the long table. No one spoke, but each seemed to be in silent meditation, so Riker paused a moment to reflect on how lucky these people were and how dedicated he was to preserving this way of life.
When the small hand slipped out of his grip, he let go of Dorina’s hand and suddenly everyone was chatting, grabbing platters and bowls, filling their plates and passing everything with practiced ease to their left. Riker followed suit, making sure to sample a little of everything. When he wasn’t looking, his mug was magically refilled, bringing a smile to his face.
“Where are you going today, Pa?” the youngest boy asked.
“Today, Will and I will fly over to Fith,” Seer said as he sprinkled some powdery substance on the cacheen. “We’ve been looking for someone, and I understand he might be there.”
“Is he lost?”
“A very good question,” Riker answered. “I don’t think so.”
“Then he’s hiding,” one of the girls said.
“Maybe,” Seer said, looking carefully over at his guest. Riker gave him a neutral look and shrugged his shoulders.
“What will you do when you find him?” another child asked.
“That’s an even better question, one I don’t have an answer for yet,” Riker said.
The conversation drifted onto other subjects, with the children telling their father about accomplishments at school. Clearly, the planet’s problems had kept Seer from home for stretches of time, and now Riker felt a bit like an intruder, taking the children’s father away on a wild-goose chase. But it was necessary, to ensure there’d be more time for the family to live in peace.
He ate, keeping silent for the moment and letting the family carry on. The food was hearty and flavorful. Not all of it was to his liking, some of the fruit being too tart for him, but overall an excellent meal. Probably better than the last five state dinners he enjoyed on other worlds. Dorina beamed at his effusive compliments as the meal ended and the children began clearing plates. Riker wanted to help, but Dorina insisted he and Seer take a few moments to organize themselves before running off again.
The grandparents remained in their seats, staying out of the way, but were looking less than happy. No doubt they knew what was really happening around the world and maybe even that Riker’s father was the quarry. He couldn’t tell from the way they acted, but clearly something was troubling them.
“Why Fith?” Will asked when they were finally alone in the front room of the house.
“Because there was another murder. A farmer near where we were yesterday.”
“Was it Bison?”
“No, nor the journalist,” Seer said. “A man turned on his wife.”
“And my father?”
“Not seen at all.”
Riker looked at him in confusion. “Three murders in almost as many days? What’s going on?”
Seer shook his head sadly. He clearly had no further knowledge.
“How is the Council holding up?”
“Not well,” Seer admitted. “From what I gather, they’re at a total loss how to stem this thing.”
This thing, to Riker, sounded like an outbreak. Something that spread like a disease. But murder wasn’t contagious.
“The captain will be back down soon and that should help. With luck, things will stay calm for the day.”
“For all of us, Will,” Seer said. “For all of us.”
Dorina came into the room, holding a large box that she thrust at Riker. “Some leftovers of the cacheen and some of the other food. You seemed to like it, so better this than rations in the flyer.”
“And coffee, my only,” Seer said.
“I was getting to that,” she
said, laughing. “With two hands I can only handle so much.”
The girl who woke Riker came out from behind her, it seemed, with a thermos nearly half her size. Riker reached down, took it from her, and with his free hand tousled her hair. She grinned up at him.
“They all like you,” Dorina said proudly.
“They don’t know me too well, then,” Riker said with a grin. “You have a terrific family, Dorina. I can’t thank you enough for letting me visit.”
“And you’ll come back,” she insisted. “I want to try your cooking next.”
“Absolutely,” he said, and with that, the men were out the door, headed for the flyer. Dorina followed them and let Seer finish loading it and do a preflight check. Finally, she came over and took him into her arms. They embraced for several seconds, and Riker turned his attention to a check-in call with Data aboard the Enterprise. When Seer finally got into the pilot’s chair, he seemed happy and wistful at the same time.
The flyer’s engines whined to full power and without a word, it lifted up into the air and pivoted around. Aimed directly at the rising sun, it took off, letting the house and its precious contents fade from sight.
Feeling refreshed by an uninterrupted night’s sleep, Troi kept her promise to herself and enjoyed a large breakfast. She ate in her quarters, reviewing the command staff news summary as prepared by the communications staff. The rest of the Federation seemed to be at peace for a change, which pleased her. A part of her wished they were still on patrol rather than in the quadrant’s sole maelstrom, but then there was the problem of boredom.
As she ate her eggs, Troi considered that the ship’s morale remained fragile. She had devised a series of booster programs, aimed at improving self-image and keeping the crew sharp. There would still be those wishing to transfer off, trying to get out from under the cloud of suspicion that trailed the Enterprise. Those, like the ones she discussed with Riker only days ago, would put themselves first. Picard preferred crew that put the ship and the Federation first, so it might be an addition via subtraction. However, Riker was right, the numbers showed a discouraging trend. Much like the growing violence on the planet below.
Where she could make a great difference with a Starfleet crew, she doubted she could personally make as big a difference with a population hell-bent on fighting. She put those thoughts aside and called up Hoang’s profile. Sipping her tea, Troi read once more about the life and career of Anh Hoang. It was an unremarkable life, filled with accomplishments and good reports from supervisors. At this point in her career, she was on track for a typical rise through the ranks, finishing somewhere around the commander level, maybe getting to be second-in-command of engineering, but that would be it. And for most, that seemed to be fine. Nothing in Anh’s profile indicated she aspired to command or even a chief engineer’s position. Prior to the Breen attack on San Francisco, she had preferred planetary assignments in order to put family first. Again, not unusual.
Finished with her meal, Troi tidied up, checked her appearance in the mirror, and headed for her office. When she arrived, Anh was already standing by the door.
“Good morning, Counselor,” she said.
“Good morning, Anh. Come on in. Do you want a drink?”
“I just had my breakfast, thanks,” Anh said.
“Well, take a seat. Will you be late for your shift? I forgot to notify Mr. La Forge.”
“I’ve got the swing shift for the next month,” she said. Anh took the same chair as before, but wasn’t as tense. She still seemed less than thrilled to be spending time with the ship’s counselor, but that was fairly normal.
“You’re in uniform early,” Troi observed.
Anh looked at herself, shrugged. “I guess I don’t like changing often.”
“How will you spend your mornings?”
“I guess I’ll read, work out, the usual,” Anh said.
“No other activities? There are different interest groups that might be good for you, give you a chance to make some real friends.”
“I don’t need real friends,” Anh said. “When I do, I know there are plenty of people here.”
“Have people tried to befriend you?”
“I guess. I haven’t paid attention. The first few months I spent making sure I knew everything I needed to about how this ship performs.”
“But you haven’t learned about its crew, have you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, how many singing groups are there? Or musical groups?”
Troi’s questions were met with silence.
“What about the winner of last month’s chess tournament?”
More silence.
“You’re a smart woman with a lot to offer this crew. We work one-third of our day, sleep another third, and have a third for whatever we want,” Troi said patiently. “With so many people aboard, there are plenty of activities going on, and you seem not to partake in any of them.”
“Well, I have seen some performances,” Anh admitted. “I guess I’m not much of a joiner.”
“On Earth, you danced,” Troi said quietly.
Anh was startled by the counselor’s words. Troi sensed the change in emotions and sat silently, waiting out the engineer.
“I gave it up when I got married,” she said. “I gave up the troupe for my Sean.”
“Were you good?”
“Pretty much. It was a fusion dance, mixing Andorian with old-fashioned line dancing. Terrific exercise, actually.”
“Couldn’t you be married and still dance?”
“I wanted to devote myself to building the marriage and maintaining my career.”
“You compartmentalize things, I see,” Troi observed. “You know you can dance here.”
“I suppose,” Anh admitted. “I just haven’t given it much thought.”
“Perhaps you should. One thing I’ve learned is that picking up where you left off is not always a bad thing.”
“Counselor Troi, report to my ready room.” Picard’s voice sounded serious.
“Something must have happened,” Troi said to her visitor.
Anh looked at her with an unreadable expression. Troi stood and Anh followed suit. “Think about it. We’ll talk again when I’m back.”
“Be careful, Counselor,” Anh said, a sense of urgency in her voice.
“I always try,” she said. “Don’t worry about me.”
In her security office, Christine Vale ran a hand through her short, dark hair, looking over duty rosters. When Picard told her of the third murder, it became even more imperative to have experienced personnel on the planet. She wanted to go directly to the crime scene and only relented when the captain told her Riker was on his way. He was one of the few people aboard she would have trusted to study the fresh scene, other than herself. Her people were going to have to work twelve hours on, twelve hours off if possible—just like Picard suggested. She figured there’d be little need for a full squad on the ship, but she refused to take everyone off. Stroking her chin, she scanned the active list and selected a squad of three to remain on duty aboard ship plus one at tactical. She then looked over a link to the Council computers and the continuous updating of violent hot spots. There were too many for the peace officers to handle, but even if she brought down everyone at once, they’d be stretched way too thin. There was little choice but to respond to the areas where her people would make the most difference.
She and Picard had already discussed the ordnance to be used. He disliked the notion of phaser rifles, seeing them as provocative in an already tense situation. She would have preferred if each team had one, just in case, but deferred to the captain’s wishes. They would all, though, carry phaser pistols and an emergency medical kit.
The Enterprise had inherited an important legacy, and she wanted fiercely to protect it. Picard lost Tasha Yar during his first year of command, and the sting remained with him for quite some time, despite the valiant work done by Worf, her successor. He then lost Worf to a t
ransfer to Deep Space 9, following the destruction of the Enterprise-D. Vale was the latest of several security chiefs on the Enterprise-E, and Picard expected much of her. He deserved it, and she was ready to die for the man who had earned her respect and, more importantly, her trust, time and time again.
If he wanted her to keep a planet at bay, so be it.
“Vale to Peart,” she said, tapping her combadge.
“Peart here.”
“Have the first squad leaders report to the conference room on deck seven, Jim.”
“Aye, Lieutenant.”
Ten minutes later, Christine Vale sat at the head of the table in the largest conference room aboard the starship, matching faces with names on the duty roster.
“You’ll beam down in five teams of four for a twelve-hour shift,” she began without any preamble. “I’m sending you to places without peace officers present. Each squad leader will use discretion in handling any problem that may arise. Our mission is to keep the peace, protect lives and property.”
“What’s causing this?” asked Clemons, a dark-skinned man who was a twenty-year Starfleet vet.
“Dr. Crusher is working on that very question,” Vale replied. “What we do know is you’re immune to whatever is happening to both the Bader and the Dorset. Neither side is at fault, and all are worried. Never forget that. They need us to keep things together until the doctors can solve this. Never forget that either. I’m a transporter beam away. Good luck and be careful.”
With that, the people filed out in four-person squads, Studdard, Clemons, Seo, Gracin, and Van Zandt leading them. The teams would go to assigned transporter rooms and await a signal for beam-down. Vale watched them, wanting to go down there beside them and wishing they didn’t have to go into battle at all.
Peart turned to her with an expectant look on his face. “I don’t get to beam down?”
“Sorry, Jim, but I’m going to keep myself on call to assess problems in the field. The captain wants someone he can count on at tactical…just in case.”
“I think I could do better for the captain on the planet than a rookie like Aiken.”
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