And as he left, he heard her mutter, “I gotta get me one just like him.”
Troi was sitting down to breakfast when her door chimed. She was surprised since she had no appointments and her visitors were infrequent—beyond Will, of course.
“Come.”
The door silently slid open and Crusher poked her head through the entrance. She was in full uniform, complete with smock, but seemed tired. Dark smudges were visible below her eyes, and the strain was evident in her posture.
“I was just about to eat, Beverly. Join me?”
“Thanks,” she said, finally entering the cabin. Troi stood and brought over a chair for Crusher.
“Jean-Luc went to the planet early with Ambassador Morrow so I got stood up for breakfast,” the doctor explained, taking the seat.
“Well, then join me by all means. Will is still down below. They’re checking out some northern regions. He thinks his father is actually trying to guide him.”
Crusher looked surprised and lowered her mug. “Is that possible?”
“I think so. Kyle is a brilliant tactician and could either totally go undercover or, if he wanted, see to it that only his son would find him.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Now that’s the question we can’t fathom,” Troi admitted. She took a mouthful of fruit and chewed thoughtfully.
Beverly poured herself a mug of coffee and breathed in the fumes. “Do you think he’s behind this outbreak of violence?”
“He’s involved, that’s for certain. But my guess is that he’s involved in a way we can’t imagine.”
“Well, that’s par for us,” Crusher said.
“Indeed,” Troi replied. They smiled at one another, each of them no doubt reviewing previous oddities. Troi finished another mouthful, not really tasting the food but concentrating on her friend. “Beverly, are you holding up?”
“I have to, don’t I?”
“But these last few months have been difficult, and now you’re dealing with a large number of casualties. It can’t be easy.”
“It never is, Deanna. The injuries are routine given what’s going on down there, but there’s no rhyme or reason to why. I can’t entirely figure this out, and I’ve been distracted from the research to tend to the immediate problems.”
“Well, for today, I suggest you delegate as much as you can to Dr. Tropp and return to the research,” Troi gently suggested.
“I can try,” Crusher said without enthusiasm. “I just know I’ll get distracted.”
“The others are good and competent; otherwise they wouldn’t be on your staff. Remember that and then lock yourself in the lab.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Well, that’s my job.”
“And are you holding up?”
“Trying to, anyway,” Troi said. “I miss Will. He’s been down there for over two days, chasing after his father and the phantoms associated with their shared past. I want to be there to help him and I can’t. The captain needs me to help handle the Council.”
“I heard about Chkarad’s family. That was horrible.”
“I’ve rarely seen a man so lost and anguished. To lose prestige, family, honor…all in a matter of hours is frightening.”
“Did you talk with him?”
“He’s kept himself isolated, and honestly, I don’t know enough of the culture to be certain I could do any good.”
“Has Jean-Luc been helpful to him?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not exactly a strength of his. Colt has actually been more useful there.”
“It’s all that diplomatic training,” Crusher said. “You’re right about Jean-Luc, though. He’s come a long way since taking command of the Enterprise, but that’s more to do with his crew. To the rest of the universe, he’s perfectly pleasant and by-the-book polite.”
Troi took another mouthful of fruit and chewed thoughtfully. “He’s always tried to keep those emotions in check, using Starfleet’s regulations as a guide, but I gather he wasn’t always like that.”
“Absolutely not!” Crusher said, her eyes going wide, mouth forming an O. “You know the story of how he lost his heart to a Nausicaan; it was just the most extreme example of the kind of outgoing person he was. But after that experience, he needed to reign in those impulses and now lets them out on rare occasions, like one of his fine wines.”
“And you, of all of us, have watched most of those changes.”
“Sure, from a distance at first. Most of my impressions were a result of Jack’s messages from the Stargazer. And then, after I lost him, and Jean-Luc came to tell me…well…that seemed to affect him too. To lose crew and his ship, even if he was cleared at the court-martial, it could have destroyed a lesser man.”
“The captain is anything but a lesser man,” Troi added.
“Don’t I know it,” Crusher said with a wan smile. “I want him to be happy, I do. There are times I think he’s finally ready to let go and there’s always that hint it might be with me and then he gets involved with Anij or Vash or someone else.”
“There’s too much history between you and always will be,” Troi said.
“And when Wesley came back, everything got stirred up again,” Crusher said.
“The lack of family has weighed on you, hasn’t it?”
“Very much so, Deanna.” Crusher stopped talking, weighing matters in her mind and finally decided to raise the issue she’d been avoiding.
“All the things I expected to see my son do…graduate from the Academy or serve somewhere with distinction…gone. If he was meant for greater things, then fine, but I wish I was there to see it happen. Like so many of us, I use our friendships aboard the Enterprise to substitute for a real family.”
“And when Wesley left, then Worf…” Deanna began.
“I saw that, yes, even this family will break apart. We’ve been so very fortunate not to lose anyone really close since Tasha. Listen, there is something, no one else knows. Yerbi Fandau’s retiring, and he’s offered me the job.”
Troi’s eyes widened and she broke into a grin. “Oh Beverly, I think that’s wonderful for you!”
“I don’t even know if I want it,” Crusher said carefully.
“Why not?” Troi asked, her tone deepening, getting serious herself.
“Because of the last time I tried it alone on Earth. Because I like what I do here. Because I don’t want to leave Jean-Luc…or you and the others. Because, damn it, I just don’t know.”
“You certainly have been through a lot in a short time. Do you have to make any timely decisions?”
Crusher shook her head. “Yerbi’s not retiring for a few months yet.”
“Are you afraid that by being posted to Earth, you’re less likely to see Wes again?”
“Maybe. I don’t know,” Beverly said. “And I am happy for him. Doesn’t make me miss him any less. At least your mother is still alive, and there’s always Will.”
“Always Will…” Deanna repeated, letting the words drift into the air between them. She didn’t feel like extolling the virtues of the romance and appearing to flaunt it to her friend, who was clearly dealing with her own personal pain and loneliness. “Obviously it’s going to be first things first. Solve this problem and then you can decide about Starfleet Medical.”
Aiken sounded worried, and that alone concerned Vale as she hurried to the transporter room to meet the team of reinforcements accompanying her to the surface. Aiken was first in his class at the Academy barely a year earlier. She actually pulled strings to get him assigned to the Enterprise, seeing in him the kind of spark she wanted in her corps. After his arrival, he was everything she expected from an ensign and then some. She thought he was ready for a true challenge, so she assigned him to work with Van Zandt, a veteran with the energy of a cadet. She pitied anyone trying to oppose these two.
But Aiken sounded worried.
The status board showed they were assigned to a port town on Huni, putting down
a riot that led to the torching of several warehouses.
Vale had little to offer, but grabbed Floyd, Gonzalez, Perez, Simone, and Melo as they returned from a long shift. They needed rest, but it would have to wait. No sooner did they materialize than they spotted their leader and remained in place. She leapt onto the platform, calling for beam-down at the same time.
The moment she transported down she saw why Van Zandt’s team needed help.
The warehouses threw off spectacular light, reds and yellows and, oddly, greens. Four or five tightly clustered buildings were fully engulfed. The flames served as a backdrop for the mob that was busily firing on the security personnel. They were hunkered down behind posts, storage units, and even small craft, wherever cover could be found. One body was prone; to Vale it looked like Bittan.
“Spread out, surround, and fire to suppress,” Vale shouted, moving toward her squad leader.
The five officers followed her orders quickly despite their weariness. Vale ran, watching short, stocky Van Zandt scramble atop a box. He barely paused to aim, fired off three shots in as many directions, and leapt back to the dock.
Meanwhile the taller, thinner Aiken brushed a few unruly strands of hair away from his eyes, steadied his leader, and then fired a few shots of his own. All seemed to strike the same spot, a wall where part of the mob hid.
“How many are there?” Vale asked.
“I count at least fifteen,” Aiken said, his voice high, the adrenaline clear. In the flickering light of the fire, he seemed even younger than usual.
“So we even the odds a bit,” Vale observed.
Van Zandt’s lower lip stuck out as he considered the situation, and Vale almost smiled at the comical expression.
“All right. We’re gonna spread out and try to catch them in a crossfire,” she ordered.
Within a minute, her people were signaling they were in position and ready to fire.
A loud sound distracted her before she could give the order. She felt the dock beneath her feet shudder. Quickly, she looked up to see if something in the buildings had exploded. Instead, she saw the boats behind her all go up in flames. Something had ignited at least a dozen service and pleasure craft.
“Look!”
At Aiken’s call, she turned her head and saw that his guess of fifteen people was wrong. She saw that there were at least four times that many, and they were on the move. Anything in their path was kicked, burned, or fired upon. The security officers, numbering just under a dozen, awaited instructions and refrained from firing on the advancing mass of people.
This mob was not going to get caught in anyone’s crossfire. Instead they had Vale and her people surrounded.
Picard and Morrow were updated by Councillor Cholan, the man who only hours before had demanded some form of retribution against the Federation. He was still glowering, but at least his tone was civil. Despite his advanced years, Cholan was the first councillor to awaken this morning. He had already checked in with the aides, none of whom looked like they had slept. One was passing around cups of tea and another had nearly fallen asleep at his terminal.
The captain declined an offer of the insipid-looking tea and let his eyes rest on the main map of the planet. The amount of violence marked on the map indicated that the number of affected people had climbed past fifty percent overnight. In another day they would reach the sixty percent mark, the point at which Renks declared all hope would be lost. Picard sincerely hoped Renks’s estimate was wrong.
As Morrow and Cholan spoke, Picard walked to the front of the Council chamber and opened the wide double doors. Daylight, bright and beautiful, welcomed him. There was a hint of coolness in the dry air, the first sign of a seasonal change. The captain breathed in deeply.
He detected smoke in the first lungful of air. Quickly, he scanned the skies, but saw nothing against the cloudless blue. Carmona joined the captain and looked ready to give a report. Picard held up one finger, asking the man to wait as he took in another deep breath.
“Do you smell a fire?” he asked, knowing but still dreading the answer.
Chapter Ten
“IT’S GETTING a bit warm here,” Van Zandt remarked.
The crowd had them surrounded, apparently ready to let the buildings behind them burn to the ground. Poor Aiken kept quiet, but he was looking a bit green around the gills. Or was that just the firelight?
“Well, this is going to take a little creativity.” Vale said. A quick tap of her badge put her people on alert. All quickly acknowledged the plan. She grinned.
“Are you nits just going stand there and watch us burn? We could just beam back to the Enterprise!”
The mob remained silent.
“Is this the best you can do? I thought you were Dorset! I thought you were something to reckon with.”
She heard some muttering from the crowd.
“I can walk out there and take on any five of you. Five? Maybe eight or ten!”
A male voice cried out, insulting Vale’s parentage. Other voices soon joined in, all demanding the privilege of knocking her block off.
“And here we go,” she said to Van Zandt, who winked at her. Aiken watched, amazed.
Vale rose and strode forward, flexing her fingers in a show of readiness. Sure enough, five Dorset men broke off from the group. They started taunting her now, laughing between jests, a bunch of old friends out for some fun.
When ten feet separated them, a crimson beam cut between them, followed by another. The Dorset stepped back and yelped, almost in unison. Vale held firm. The men saw this and started forward again as a third beam lashed out.
Unable to stop their momentum, the men went crash-ing through the weakened dock. The now soggy contingent’s fellow rioters stopped short, wisely avoiding their companions’ watery fate. Those who persisted in firing were quickly stunned by wide-beamed phaser blasts.
When the last Dorset collapsed, Vale turned to Aiken, smiled, and said, “That’s how it’s done.”
Her smile faded when she saw his eager eyes glaze over as blood spread across his uniform.
Picard’s phaser was suddenly in his hand, instinct working faster than intelligence. The captain tensed.
Within moments, he heard the beginnings of a mob approach. There were yells and calls that he could not discern. However, Carmona seemed to recognize the tone and he jogged away, calling for his team. In seconds he returned, just as the new mob rounded a corner and was approaching the Council chamber.
“Evacuate the Council and their equipment,” Picard ordered.
“I can’t leave you out here, sir,” the younger man said. His voice sounded strained.
“I’ll be fine, get started,” the captain insisted.
Carmona tapped his badge and started giving orders, then began yelling inside the Council chamber. Picard could hear the commotion behind him, but concentrated instead on the people approaching at a steady pace. Some held signs protesting the Council, others protested the Federation, while others held torches. The crowd was a true cross section of the population, men and women, young and old, Bader and Dorset. All were angry.
Morrow poked his head out from the door directly behind the captain. “They’re all awake and moving. The equipment is being sacrificed, although the data is being downloaded.”
“Excellent. Please accompany them and make sure you stay in touch,” Picard said.
“I think I’d rather help you. You’re a little shorthanded,” the ambassador replied.
“Ambassador, you are not at all trained for this sort of situation. My people are. Your training will help the Council maintain control of the planet. Please do as I say.” Morrow opened his mouth to object, but closed it again when Picard shook his head. With that the door closed softly behind the captain, who watched with growing apprehension as the crowd drew closer.
A piece of brick sailed his way but fell short, some meters before his feet. Another, larger brick followed and flew to his right. Picard remained immobile, refusing t
o shrink from the mob, while at the same time not firing back.
The voices continued to cry charges and obscenities at the captain, but he ignored them. More pieces of debris flew his way, but none came near him. They were all being thrown from the rear of the crowd. Those in front seemed cowed by his immobile presence. Picard’s strategy seemed to be working, and the seconds ticked by. Finally, Carmona signaled that the Council chamber was empty and the guards had the Council nearby. He begged the captain to withdraw. Picard knew the moment he turned his back on the mob, they would surge forward and he would be hurt. Instead, he stepped backward toward the doorway.
He groped behind him for the handle to open the door and reach relative safety, but before he could find it, the door opened and Morrow emerged.
“I couldn’t let you—” he began, but froze when he saw the crowd.
Picard’s attention wavered for a moment, and suddenly his spell over those in the front was broken. Someone shouted, a yipping sound like a call to arms, and debris began flying as the mob surged forward.
A piece of metal hit Morrow in the head while a brick buried itself deep in his stomach. He sagged under the attack, losing his breath. Picard reached out for him. Wrapping an arm around the injured ambassador, the captain tried once more to get through the door, but the crowd finally reached them. Hands grabbed at his legs and pulled him back.
The crowd was on them.
His arms punched, his legs kicked, Picard could feel the crowd all around his body. His grip on his phaser grew tighter as someone wrestled for it. Morrow lay still, under Picard’s protective body, but that was not going to last for long. The screaming and accusations continued unabated.
The pummeling was getting to him, and he decided he would have to use his phaser to protect Morrow’s life.
Then he heard a familiar whine.
The hands hitting him fell away, and Picard wasn’t sure if he had accidentally squeezed off a shot.
A Time to Love Page 20