A Time to Hate

by Robert Greenberger

  Waiting patiently as he finished the most immediate work, she strained her senses once more, seeking out her Imzadi. He was alive but in some pain—maybe physical, maybe emotional. It was hard to tell, and not for the first time did she wish for a full-blooded Betazoid’s mastery and telepathic skill. However, she also knew she’d never want to give up the short time she’d had with her father before duty claimed his life.

  Finally, Picard noticed her and excused himself from the councillor. He first looked relieved at seeing her, but her expression telegraphed her concern.

  “I know that look,” he said. “Something’s happened to Will.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said, trying to maintain her professional demeanor, although she was warmed by his reaction. “He was in a great deal of pain a little while ago. I could tell that much. He’s alive and the pain seems to have lessened, but something’s wrong.”

  Picard tapped his combadge. “Picard to Riker.”

  Silence. Troi started to lose control of her professional demeanor.

  “Picard to Riker, respond.” After more silence, he tapped his combadge again.

  “Picard to Enterprise.”

  “Data here.”

  “Mr. Data, check the sensor logs and let me know the last time we had a fix on Commander Riker’s combadge.”

  Seconds passed as Picard and Troi exchanged looks, waiting for their friend to give them news. Any news would be better than speculation.

  “Captain, there was a microburst of a signal twelve minutes ago at a location north of your position. We have tried to reestablish contact but have not been successful.”

  “I assume you’ve searched for human bio-signs?”

  “Yes, sir. We have screened out our personnel, and no other humans register on the planet.”

  He gave Troi a look that said he was not at all surprised. Picard then asked for a general update, frowned at news of the plasma injector, but nodded to himself as he heard how Geordi had located a replacement. Troi was pleased the ship was not troubling him, because he needed to focus on Delta Sigma IV.

  Picard reached out and placed a hand on her arm. His expression softened and he radiated reassurance. She soaked it up, feeling the need for every bit of friendly emotion. “I’m sure the commander is fine, and right now we need to trust that he is capable. I can’t spare anyone to track him down with so little to go on.”

  “Our link confirms he’s still alive, but I’ll certainly feel better when I see him for myself.”

  “Why, Counselor, aren’t you the one who tells us to trust our feelings?”

  “That might work for most people and their problems, but this is Will we’re talking about. We’ve all been through enough for me to harbor some doubt until I see him.”

  He nodded, his expression grave once more.

  “We’ll find him.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He’ll be fine.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Now she just had to believe the captain’s words and ignore her own feeling of dread.

  Chapter Five

  VALE MATERIALIZED in the courtyard between the Bader and Dorset factions of the Council. The sounds of protests reached her ears even as the transporter effect faded. The protesters were begging the Federation to leave them alone, or for the Starfleet personnel to die in a bloodbath. She nodded gravely to Carmona, who remained on duty with Williams. The portable shielding was holding just fine from the looks of it. There was something slick on one side of it, sunlight reflecting off it. She then spotted Picard emerging from the building to her left. He looked worn and troubled.

  Picard gestured for her to enter the building. Once inside the dim hallway, they stopped, needing some relative privacy. He looked at her, eyes intent and all business.

  “Report.”

  “The problems have been growing worse. Huni’s power will be restored within the hour, we think, and they finally got water back on line at Testani. Eowand’s power grid is a total loss. And, sir, it’s only going to escalate. I could empty the ship of security and it won’t be enough.”

  Picard crossed his arms over his chest, tucked his chin down, and thought for a moment. “What do you need to do differently?”

  “All hands.”

  He gave her a look that made her doubt her own sanity. Taking a deep breath, she forged ahead, “Sir, we have too many crises for my teams to be handling damage control. We have hundreds of people on board with little to do while we remain in orbit. But down here they can fight fires, handle triage, keep watch as engineers repair vital systems. If you want this planet left intact, then I need more people.”

  The captain nodded, giving the request serious consideration. Seconds passed as she intently watched his face, trying to read the emotions in his eyes. The rest of his features were set and unreadable.

  “It would have to be voluntary,” he began. “Some people will feel totally out of their element. And no team is formed without your people in the mix. Coordinate with Dr. Crusher and Mr. La Forge. Form medical and engineering task forces; keep them moving with site-to-site transports. See if any of our pilots will take the shuttles down to help with the fires. Stay alert and keep yourself free to move about. I may need you here, or Mr. Data may require you on the ship.”

  “Aye, sir. Thank you, Captain. If it’s not asking too much, I would suggest the initial request for volunteers come from you. If you can spare the time.”

  Picard let out a weary sigh, and Vale saw his shoulders sag. She had rarely seen him look so tired. “Time, Lieutenant, is something of which the planet has far too little, and I have far too much. Beam up and start coordinating with the department heads.”

  “Sir, is there something I can do to help you?”

  There was a grateful look in his eyes, but she knew her offer was futile. Unless she could pull off a medical miracle, Vale doubted there was much more she could do in the way of help. He didn’t say anything as he stepped back to allow her clearance to request transport.

  After making the request, she arranged her features to give him the most promising, upbeat look possible. She knew, though, it was nothing but a sorry masquerade.

  “All hands, this is the captain,” Picard began as he paced the hallway outside the Bader headquarters. “The situation on Delta Sigma IV has grown worse and will continue to remain this way until a cure for the disease afflicting the people is found. Until that time, we need to maintain vital services and help keep what order there is. The peace officers native to this world have been outnumbered from the beginning because their society had always been a peaceful one. Lieutenant Vale and her team have done valiant work despite growing casualties, but the situation has grown even beyond their abilities.

  “Therefore, I am asking for volunteers from the entire crew. We’ll be assembling damage control and security parties. Obviously, engineering support and medical help are the top priorities, but people in other departments can also volunteer. No pair of hands will be turned away. Those who choose to volunteer should make their wishes known to their department heads. Everything will be coordinated through Lieutenant Vale and Commander Data.

  “The people of Delta Sigma IV are dealing with feelings they’ve never encountered before, and they are letting fear take hold. Their medical problems occurred entirely by accident, despite what you may hear when you arrive. While the Council tries to work together, we need to demonstrate through word, and more importantly, through deed, that the United Federation of Planets and Starfleet will stand by a member world in need.

  “For those who volunteer to come down, you have my personal thanks.

  “Picard out.”

  He knew his crew. They had stood behind him when things seemed hopeless only months earlier. There was little doubt that the crew would live up to his faith and expectations.

  Although comforted by that thought, Picard was chilled at the notion that a holding action was the best they could do, and they could keep it up for only a few days. Afte
r that, they would be overmatched.

  Silently, he urged Crusher to hurry but refused to call and distract her when he knew full well she was pressing herself harder than anyone else possibly could.

  Finally, the dark question rose in his mind. What would happen if she failed to find something to regulate the behavior of the inhabitants?

  “Commander La Forge?”

  Geordi turned, and Anh gave him a small smile in recognition.

  “How long before the plasma injector arrives?”

  “We’ve given it top priority with Dex, but even at his top speed, we’re looking at another two days.”

  Anh absorbed the information and made a decision, one she had been wrestling with for some time.

  “Sir, if I may, I’d like to join the volunteers below.”

  She didn’t know his eyebrows could rise so high and was somewhat bothered that her volunteering was such a shock. Hoang thought she and La Forge knew each other well enough to know that of course she’d volunteer to help out.

  “Of course you can,” La Forge said.

  “But you’re surprised,” she challenged.

  Caught, he smiled and shrugged. “I guess I am, a bit. You’ve kept to yourself a lot.”

  “I’m still Starfleet and go where I’m needed.”

  La Forge didn’t know what to say, and she felt good about making it clear that she was ready to put her personal problems away as the need arose. And if ever there was a need…

  As they made arrangements to cover her shift, she paused to ask herself if she was running away from a stable environment into something dangerous for a reason. It wasn’t all about duty, she admitted to herself, but what other reason did she have for putting herself in a threatening situation? She could imagine having a conversation with the counselor about this and being asked “Do you have a death wish because of your catastrophic losses?” It was a question she hadn’t yet asked herself.

  As Dr. Tropp took point in coordinating the reduced medical staff still on duty, Crusher refined her research, fighting the excitement she felt welling up within her. She may have done it, may have actually found the cause of the problem and a useful solution. Her exultations were tempered, though, by serious questions and doubts.

  As she wrestled with her thoughts and emotions, Crusher completed downloading her research onto a padd and decided she needed to discuss her findings privately with the captain. Would he be willing to leave the fractious Council, or would she have to head down for the conversation? Well, she decided, she’d leave the decision to him.

  “Crusher to Picard.”

  When he answered, she knew from his voice that he needed a break. Changing her mind, she insisted he come aboard because she had news for him. It was enough to bring renewed vigor to his voice.

  They had agreed to meet in his ready room and she headed there immediately. Passing Data on the bridge, she noted how busy things were now that the entire crew had something to do, something they could all contribute to the mission. All too often, certain sections of the ship were asked to be idle, even during the tensest missions. Here was an infrequent opportunity for every crewmember to make a difference.

  Without pausing to distract Data, she slipped quietly into the ready room, and ordered a mug of hot vegetable soup for herself and a cup of Earl Grey for the captain. Placing the steaming cup near one end of the couch, she waited. For a moment, she imagined doing this in his quarters and under less trying circumstances. She paused to ask herself why she kept thinking of him in romantic terms now that she had an option to actually leave the ship and go off on her own. Was the hope of romance all that was keeping her tied to the Enterprise?

  Before she could ruminate further, the door slid open and Picard walked in, breaking into a smile at the sight of both Crusher and the tea.

  He sank heavily onto the couch and breathed in the steam for a moment.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse, perhaps,” he admitted, and then helped himself to a sip.

  “Tell me.”

  “Not if you have news, or was that a pretext to get me to rest?” Picard eyed her warily, disturbing her relaxed mood.

  “No, I have news. I understand what happened to the people and how to undo it.”

  He raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked inquiringly at her. In response, she activated her padd and handed it to him.

  “I’ll give you a crash course in brain chemistry to help explain,” she said. “The liscom gas not only got into their bloodstream, but into their brains, forcing them to pump out excessive amounts of serotonin, which depressed their aggressive tendencies. The excess serotonin in turn affected the production of melatonin, which for both races meant their life cycles were shortened.

  “Starfleet Medical determined how to screen out the gas from their bloodstream, putting these people back on track for a normal life span. The catch is you also return these people to a natural state of aggression.

  “I’ve synthesized something that we can introduce into the atmosphere through plant life, just like the liscom. If it works, I can suppress some of the serotonin production without changing the melatonin levels. I’d effectively be allowing them to live their normal lives but drugging them at lower dosages.”

  Picard studied the graphics on the padd, thumbing ahead to check readings. He’d ignored his tea, and Crusher turned her attention to the soup in her hands as something to do while he absorbed it all.

  He finally paused to finish his cup in several deep mouthfuls and pondered the padd some more. There was a gravity settling over him, one she appreciated given the subject. “How certain are you that this new breed of plant will do the job?”

  “Lieutenant Moq in botany is completing a simulation now. He thinks it’s promising.”

  “Beverly, you may have saved a planet today.”

  “Have I?” She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her right ear and refused to meet his eyes.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She looked up sharply, feeling the intensity of her feelings on her face, in her eyes. “It’s the Dokaalan all over again,” she began, putting her mug down. The captain gazed at her and she couldn’t read the expression. “Jean-Luc, these people are finally in their natural, undrugged state. This is the way nature meant them to be. What I’m doing is effectively exchanging one drug for another. No doctor would want an entire world permanently on medication. I’ve been looking into this from a sociological viewpoint as well. Do you know why every building down there is drab? The liscom gas not only robbed them of their aggression but also dulled their creativity. Compare the Bader and Dorset capitals to the city you’ve been in. Trust me, there’s no comparison.

  “What I don’t know right now is how much of that creativity I’d be keeping from them even at lower dosages.”

  Picard rose. He was filled once more with tension, and she felt a flash of guilt for making him feel that way again.

  “And how is this like the Dokaalan?”

  Crusher frowned at the question. Since it seemed so obvious to her, she was frustrated he didn’t see it. Or was he simply using the time to order his own thoughts?

  He continued before she could formulate an answer. “We’re looking at the line once more. And once again we need to decide if it’s time to cross the line and interfere with the people.” He chose his words carefully. “Unchecked, they’re likely to kill each other before they can get a grip on their feelings. They don’t have time to wait for a Surak to rise up and get through to them. If you can give them their lost years and make them see some reason, then that is for the best.”

  “Is it? Or is it just convenient for the people? Stay drugged, you’ll live longer.”

  “I see the moral dilemma here, Doctor,” Picard said, standing by his beloved ancient tome of Shakespeare. “But what you don’t see are the lost lives and destroyed property. If we have something that can help them, then we should use it.”

  “Jean-Luc, this isn’t a temporary cure
that we can remove later when we have time to prepare them. Once we seed this around the world, there’s going to be little chance of eradicating it. Same with the liscom.”

  They both fell silent, each with their own thoughts. For a moment, Beverly imagined getting such a report while running Starfleet Medical and wondered if she’d reward or damn the doctor filing the information. Did she really want a position with that much authority over countless lives? For a moment she wondered how Yerbi Fandau managed it. Her year was uneventful, but he oversaw Starfleet Medical during several sector-wide outbreaks and an entire war. It wasn’t all research: there were certain elements of galactic politics involved; some of the same reasons that had driven her from Earth back to the Enterprise over a decade ago.

  “And are we two wise enough to decide the fate of a world?” she asked quietly.

  “No, and it will not fall to just you and me. It hasn’t in the past nor will it today.”

  “The line keeps appearing and every time we skirt it, it brings us closer to the time we trip on it and really foul things up for someone.” She tucked her hair behind her ears with both hands, steadying herself and ordering her thoughts. Then she adjusted her position and gave him a wan smile. “It’s not getting any easier, is it?”

  Picard gave her a tight smile in return and nodded once. “I know what you mean. We’re taught that with experience should come wisdom and you think the solutions will more easily present themselves.”

  “And they don’t, do they?”

  “Not always.”

  “Is it me or is the galaxy growing more complex?”

  “With every new race we meet,” Picard told his longtime friend, “the odds for confrontation grow and the neighborhood gets a little more crowded, a little more complex. That’s why it’s not getting any easier.”

  “And we face the unexpected time and again,” Crusher added glumly.