The woman remained fidgety, so Crusher tried to calm her with the good news that at first look, everything was fine.
“How do you feel?”
“Just fine,” the woman replied.
“Have you felt fine since you returned to the planet?”
“Yeah.”
“And you felt fine on Earth?”
“Yeah, even if the food was horrible.”
Crusher was surprised at the comment, but from the woman’s perspective, the food was foreign to her and just not to her taste. Her loss. Taking a medical scanner, Crusher set it for a deep cellular scan, waved it over the woman’s right hand and right leg, and paused.
“I’m going to need to take some cell samples and blood samples. May I?”
“If you must.”
“I must. Something’s happening….”
“I know, I know, and it’s ever since we came back. I got that.”
Crusher ran her hands around the Dorset woman’s jaw, neck, abdomen, knees, and elbows. The woman squirmed a bit, which made her difficult to examine, but not half as difficult as she had been when the poor nurse did some initial scans an hour earlier. All of sickbay had gotten a Dorset vocabulary lesson. Too bad none of the newly learned terms were repeatable in polite company.
“I’ll be back in a moment,” Crusher said, moving toward an instrument tray in the corner.
Now, where had she put that gauge to measure the patients,…
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“Just a little while longer.”
“Well, that doctor said the same thing and I was there for two days! Tell me now if it’s going to be two days, because I have plans.” With whom? Crusher wondered. She couldn’t imagine a person with this disposition having a very full social schedule.
“It will be a lot less than two days,” Crusher said as soothingly as possible.
The woman settled herself on the diagnostic bed and sneered. “See to it.”
Crusher gritted her teeth and moved on to the next patient, another Dorset, who was, thank heavens, asleep. The test samples had already been taken, so she did her physical exam and found nothing wrong. The next patient looked fine as well. Good news for them in the short run, but in the long run somebody had to find something, or a whole world faced destruction.
Walking her cell samples to the microscope set against a far wall, she sat down and placed the first one under the lens.
At first glance, she saw nothing. Maybe the computers would have better luck comparing these samples with the samples that had been taken earlier. As she checked the data she saw an anomaly that gave her some hope. Deep in one of the chromosome packs, she found the original discovery that started this entire event.
Sure enough, the liscom gas had mutated the chromosomes, advancing the metabolism and shortening life spans. This was shown in the first scan taken on Earth. And the second through eighth scans. The ninth scan on Earth, though, showed a different change. The chromosome was mutating again, or rather, reverting. The tenth scan matched the scan she was looking at now, which showed the chromosome restored to what was considered Dorset norm.
That was all to be expected. The life span was being restored to normal. Starfleet Medical had done its job.
So what was going wrong?
“The Ferengi ship is departing,” Perim said from the helm.
La Forge looked up and watched the coppery ship streak across the screen. “And he didn’t even say goodbye.”
“Did you expect him to?” Data asked.
“No, Data,” La Forge answered.
“But you do trust him to deliver the chambliss coil to the Pegasus.”
“Yes, because I made him a good and fair offer. He’s a trader and recognizes that he now has an improved ship and the gratitude of two Starfleet ships. That’s something you can’t deposit, but it can make a difference somewhere down the road.”
“I did not know you had this much experience with Ferengi,” the android said, joining La Forge at the engineering console.
“I’ve had my dealings with them over the years, including this one time I was vacationing on Rigel II. There were these two Ferengi who were trying to sell Spican flame gems as aphrodisiacs and…”
“We’re being hailed by your friend on the Nautilus,” Vale announced.
La Forge looked up in surprise and indicated for the signal to be put through to his station. Whis’s face appeared, looking tired.
“What’s wrong, Whis?”
“Been trying to get ready for the inspection tour. The brass has decided they need to look over every ship this far out. Long hours.”
“Well, the Ferengi is on his way to you, so look for him in a few days.”
“Great. With luck he’ll be here and gone before Starfleet Command arrives.”
“He should, since I’ve got him running a spare part to the Pegasus.”
“Oh good,” Whis said. “I was hoping you could help Mal out. Listen, that’s why I’m calling. Turns out, the Prometheus needs a deuterium supply tank. Know of any in the area?”
La Forge let out a breath. “I’m not the quartermaster, Whis. I haven’t got a clue who can spare one near them.”
“You’ve been great helping us out, so I just figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.”
“Never hurts to ask,” La Forge agreed, trying desperately to figure out how to help. The shortages were not limited to Starfleet ships. Entire worlds were going through rationing programs until their industries and infrastructure could be rebuilt. The postwar Federation was hurting from one end to the other.
As the engineers talked, La Forge did not notice Data standing still, his eyes darting from right to left and back again. When La Forge finally noticed his friend, he cocked an eyebrow in Data’s direction. It took the android a moment or two to respond but when he did, a faint smile crossed his face.
“I have an idea,” Data said.
Speaker Chkarad had spent the two hours since the fighting began in the capital city hunched over a table, writing his speech. An important speech, to be sure, Picard reminded himself as he stood in a corner of the Council chamber, clenching and unclenching his hands. The people of this planet desperately needed some firm and reassuring direction from their leader. Still, while rocks flew through the air, while the injured stumbled out of damaged buildings onto crowded, chaotic streets, while Testani burned, Chkarad sat scratching his head and fussing over a padd.
Finally, the speaker walked toward the computer displays, his address in his right hand. He moved slowly, without any sense of purpose, but as he approached, the others snapped to action. Several councillors rose from the table and walked over to him, hands outstretched. Clearly, they wanted to see the address before it was made, but he waved them away. Sulkily, they hung back out of camera range so all the people would see was their elected Speaker.
Picard joined Morrow and Troi at one side of the room where they could watch the address as well as the reaction of the other members of the Council.
An aide pushed a final set of buttons, checked a panel, and then, with both forefingers, pointed at Chkarad.
The man took a deep breath, clutched the padd tighter, and began speaking without looking at it once.
Picard nodded in silent approval as Chkarad spoke eloquently of commitment, tolerance, and most importantly, peace. It was a good speech, one worthy of the careful attention paid to it by everyone in the chamber and, Picard hoped, everyone on the planet. Perhaps he had misjudged the Speaker, the captain reflected. Perhaps Chkarad would prove a more effective leader than anyone had imagined.
“Alas, it is my lack of action that has caused this problem to escalate. I have let you down, and therefore, effective immediately, I resign both as Speaker and as a member of the Council. When this is all over, you may select my replacement.
“Go home, stay inside, and if you want, pray to the creators for salvation.”
Then again, Picard thought, perhaps I judged hi
m correctly in the first place.
Chkarad put the padd down and walked away from the camera, continuing past the stunned aides, councillors, and Federation personnel. He continued at the same slow speed until he reached a side door and left the building.
“Damn,” Picard muttered. Morrow nodded solemnly beside him.
“Maybe it was his time,” Renks called out. That seemed to shock the others out of their stunned silence. The Dorset councillor rushed forward, gesturing with both hands for the aides to keep the signal running across the planet.
“This is Jus Renks Jus of the Council. The Speaker’s decision has come to us all as a surprise. We are going to be in touch once again after we reconvene the Council, but for now, be advised that there is a curfew at dusk. Be in your homes or you will be arrested. This is for your own safety.”
With a gesture, he indicated he was done, and an aide punched several buttons, closing the signal.
Renks turned to the others with an expectant look, and they quickly huddled, whispering excitedly among themselves. Picard, Morrow, and Troi wandered away to give them some privacy.
“Did you see this coming?” Morrow asked Picard.
“Not in the slightest,” the captain replied, slowly shaking his head. “If anything, this adds fuel to the fire threatening to engulf this world.”
“He was in deep pain, Captain,” Troi added. “A deep emotional pain. He knew he failed in his task and he let his people down.”
Morrow turned his head, looking at the doorway Chkarad used. “I’d better arrange an escort home for him.”
“Make it so,” Picard said softly.
Three peace officers—two men and a woman, all Bader—greeted Seer and Riker as they disembarked from the craft just outside the city of Keslik. None seemed too happy to see the duo, and one man in particular was looking harshly in Riker’s direction.
“I am Caledon of Osedah,” one of the men, obviously the leader, said in a no-nonsense voice. “How may we help?”
“Seer of Anann, Protocol Officer to the Council. This is Commander William Riker of the Enterprise. I believe you were told to expect us.”
“Are you still in power?”
“Excuse me?” Seer said.
“The government. It seems to be in a state of flux.”
“Explain,” Riker’s newfound friend demanded.
“The Speaker has resigned and Jus Renks Jus has seemingly assumed control of the Council. I was just asking if you still represent them.”
Riker was taken aback by the news. No news had come over their communications channel during their travel, and he would have thought someone in the government—or even Picard—would have been in touch.
“I have not been notified of any change,” Seer said coldly. “I am performing my duties with this representative from Starfleet.”
“You seek this man’s father,” Caledon said.
“Yes, and we have reason to believe he is coming here or is here now.”
“We have flashed his image to all of our officers, and it’s currently posted to all the news screens, but we have had no reports of Kyle Riker being seen.”
“Now we can’t even predict his movements,” Riker said in frustration.
“This was our first time,” Seer said sympathetically. “We were as likely to be right as wrong.”
“Well, I’m getting tired of being wrong,” Riker said.
“Have you any further business with us?” Caledon asked.
“In a rush for us to leave?”
“No, Protocol Officer. However, whatever has happened to this planet has barely affected this city. We wish to keep it that way, and if Riker is responsible, we’d rather be vigilant than idle.”
“We’ll be off in a few minutes,” Seer said. “Thank you for your service.” Seer looked anything but happy with the officers, who stiffly marched off. Riker had to agree.
“We’ll be off to where in a few minutes?”
Seer shook his head, clearly wondering the same thing. He returned to the flyer and immediately checked for messages from the Council. None were awaiting him, and at that he cursed rather loudly. As he began looking over maps of Tregor, including ones with the overlays they had recently obtained, Riker contacted Picard. The captain sounded as frustrated as Riker.
“I wish I had happier news to report, Number One,” Picard said from the capital.
“Well, I’m getting the grand tour of the planet, but that’s about it,” Riker grimly admitted. “It’s a nice place, with people working hard and trying to live in peace. No one’s even bothered to notify Seer about Chkarad.”
“Things are less than tidy here, I’m afraid. These people seem thoroughly inexperienced in a crisis.”
“It’s almost like they’ve never been challenged before,” Riker noted.
“Indeed, Number One. I know you’ve been trying to guess your father’s next move.”
“If he knows I’m looking for him, he’s making a game of it to prove something.”
“By now he must know we’re the ship in orbit…” Picard began.
“…and that I’d be the one personally hunting him down.”
“More than likely.”
“Then I need to think like him, thinking about leading me on a wild goose chase,” Riker speculated aloud.
“Quite likely.”
“Are you sure you’re not a counselor in disguise?”
“Last time I checked, Number One. Happy hunting. Picard out.”
Seer was clearly lost in the conversation and patiently waited while Riker gathered his thoughts. It made perfect sense that his father would access the planet’s data sources and learn the Enterprise was in orbit. That meant he would sooner or later go to ground, trying to outsmart his son. And now Riker had to think like the father he barely knew.
But Kyle knew that.
So it had to be Kyle outthinking the son he thought he knew.
“Can I check your maps?”
“Sure.” He moved out of the way and let Riker sit at the main controls, as the first officer began plugging in information to be sorted.
“I’ll need your help identifying likely locations for celebrations,” Riker said as he busied himself. A feeling of anticipation had returned, and he tried not to let it govern his actions.
“Sure. Do you know where we’re going next?”
Riker smiled.
“North.”
Studdard wiped the sweat from his brow and cursed out loud. The communications center for Tregor had taken severe damage, and he wondered if it could be repaired while his team protected it. The mob that rioted and attacked the building had been dispersed an hour earlier, and he had seen to it those who had been injured were treated. The facilities staff had fled for the most part, but the security officer was also told that some had joined in.
“Studdard to Commander La Forge.”
“La Forge.”
“Can you spare someone to help assess the damage at the com center on Tregor?”
“Sure. Expect Lieutenant Taurik. La Forge out.”
While Studdard waited for the engineer, he continued to look at the damage, shaking his head in bewilderment. “You mean to say they thought the media was hiding the truth?”
“Yes, sir,” Caldwell, a young, blonde woman replied. “They said the broadcasts were skewed, that the Council had to know the truth, otherwise we wouldn’t have been called in.”
“Do you think that makes us targets, Lieutenant?” asked DeMato.
“Doubt it,” he replied in his deep voice. He wiped at more sweat, this time cursing under his breath. Studdard disliked the heat most of all, followed by the sense of danger and the lack of concrete information. The confusion and anger and fear among the people made things way too unstable for his liking. One reason he signed on with Starfleet was for the structure and order it provided. Chaos was anathema to him, and this planet stank of it.
Taurik’s lean form materialized moments later, and Studdard saw he
carried the all-purpose tool kit. With a gesture, he had Caldwell escort the engineer into the building while indicating DeMato and Grigsby were to protect the entrance. He’d walk the perimeter and make certain things remained calm.
The building was an almost perfect circle, squat like much of the rest of the planet’s architecture, and was made from a dark gray stone, perhaps a type of slate. It was built to last, he observed, with underground cables and microwave antennas positioned to work with satellites that orbited the planet. Some graffiti had been scrawled near a doorway, calling the Council liars, and Studdard made a disapproving noise as he passed.
Wherever the mob had gone, they were out of earshot, so Studdard appreciated the quiet as the day wore on. It was going to be better when the sun finished setting and the planet cooled off. He strongly disliked the heat and humidity, preferring cooler climes, and for that he envied Gracin’s team on Osedah, farther north than his present location.
Everything seemed peaceful, a fact that caused Studdard concern. A mob had just been here. They were gone now, but the damage had been done and the paranoia that fueled it had not dissipated. The security officer quickened his pace, wanting to complete his circuit of the graffiti-covered communications center and hook up with Grigsby and DeMato by the main entrance. He figured it would take him another minute, maybe two, and along the way he scanned the nearby streets. The unnatural silence had his internal senses screaming a warning.
He continued to look at the concrete and brick buildings, now falling into shadow, and saw nothing in the doorways or windows. Studdard stopped short, straining his hearing. Voices. More than one, the words indistinguishable. He let out his breath and smiled. It was DeMato laughing at a joke, so they were fine.
Then Studdard heard something else, a scrabbling sound against brick, and he whipped his head around, scanning every building, his hand tightening its grip on his phaser. Another sound, a scratching of some sort. Twisting his large form, he thought he saw a shadow atop a building behind him. He focused his gaze and was rewarded with a silhouette, its arm raised.
The concussive sound of a bomb went off a moment later, its shockwave carrying with it part of the building’s wall. Studdard was still twisted around. He lost his footing and as he fell to the ground, he covered his head with his arms. Heavy pieces of slate fell on him. He knew there’d be bruising later.
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