KYLE RIKER GOT UP from the ground, wiping the dirt from his hands. He didn’t move with the same sureness Will always remembered. His father wore a bulky gray coat, not the same sort of flexible microweave jacket Will was wearing. His hands were bare because gloves would have prevented him from doing the delicate work that was necessary to steal a flyer. They were chafed and red from the cold, and scarred. Definitely the worse for wear, Will mused, watching without once lowering his phaser.

“I said, I’m listening,” Will ordered.

Kyle looked over at him, pain in his eyes, something Will had not seen in his father since the one woman whose love they had shared, Will’s mother, Ann, had died.

“You can put the phaser down, son,” Kyle said.

“Right now, I can’t trust you.”

“Your own father?”

“Especially him,” Will replied.

Kyle looked hurt for a moment but let it pass. “I thought we tore that wall down a decade ago. I thought this was all past us.”

“Funny thing about walls,” his son said. “You can build them, tear them down, and rebuild them all over again.”

“Is that what this is all about? My not being in touch? I’ve never been good about that.”

“No, this is all about you leaving the scene of a crime and allowing yourself to become a fugitive. You need to come in and explain yourself.”

Kyle gestured with his hands, palms up. “Can I at least put some gloves on? It’s colder than a Romulan’s smile.”

Will gestured with the phaser. His father gingerly reached into his coat pockets, pulled out black gloves, and put them on. He rubbed his hands, trying to generate some friction to warm them faster. Will just stood there, sorting through the feelings that were conflicting in his heart and his head, trying to remain focused on the mission. While they had this reunion, a planet was falling apart, and he had to learn what role his father had played. Mixed in with it all was the dreaded feeling of guilt by association, and it nagged at him, fueling the anger he barely kept under control.

“Much better, thanks, son.”

“Let’s keep this professional, sir,” Will said.

“Like we did on the Enterprise? What did you call it…your best Academy manners? Is the wall really that high and thick?”

Will did not reply, deciding to wait his father out. Get him to talk. Vale had taught him this trick some time back, and he liked using it. In the past he would have threatened or intimidated his subject, using his large physique to good advantage.

Kyle, no slouch as a negotiator, tried to wait him out too. Both must have felt the pressure of time, but Kyle seemed to think they both needed to settle their personal issues first. Will shifted his feet, sensing the cold seeping through his boots. He glanced up and saw the coming twilight. When the sun set, it was going to be a lot more uncomfortable standing in between parked flyers.

Finally, Kyle broke the silence. “Can we at least do this inside somewhere?”

Will stood his ground and started to reach for his combadge.

Kyle looked concerned and shook his head, saying, “No.”

“Enterprise is a whole lot warmer than down here.”

“My work isn’t done. I have to finish, and you can be a part of it.”

“You still haven’t explained yourself.”

“I will, but let’s get out of the cold.”

“How’d you get to Eowand?”

Kyle looked at the ground, almost like a child caught with his hand on the cookies. “I came on a flyer.”

“Something you stole.”

There was a spark of defiance in Kyle’s eyes. “I intend to make reparations when this is done. But a stolen vehicle or two is nothing compared with the suffering these people are enduring.” Some steel had also crept back into his voice, and Will tried to figure out just how broken a man Kyle was. Without answers, everything was conjecture. At that moment, he flashed on Deanna’s face and wished she were here. She’d know what was in his father’s heart.

“Is the flyer here?”

“Yes.”

“Rather than compound your crimes, let’s take that one. Do you have a destination in mind?”

Kyle gestured with his left hand toward a battered, pale blue and gold vehicle, somewhat haphazardly parked compared with the other ships on the ground.

“I wanted to change flyers, avoid possible tracking,” Kyle explained, his frozen breath drifting around his head. “I’ve been doing it for days.”

Will nodded and walked on the older man’s right side, keeping out of arm’s reach, his phaser on the side away from his father. A locking light blinked twice, and he heard a click. The hatch was a little wider than on Seer’s ship, but the inside was much the same. He had to admit he was impressed by how easily his father slipped into the pilot’s chair and began running through the preflight sequence. The flyer hummed to life, the engine sounding rougher than Seer’s craft but more powerful. Kyle looked at Will and then at the piloting controls. Will nodded his consent, and Kyle’s large hands struggled their way inside the two contoured holes that housed the controls. Within seconds, the engine’s vibration grew a little rougher, and with a small shudder, the flyer began to lift into the air.

“I’ve changed flyers four times,” Kyle explained as they traveled. “They’re all built so damned consistently, it’s a snap to master each new model.” Will didn’t reply, figuring the warming air would make his father more talkative.

Banking to the right, they swooped away, the town of Eowand rapidly growing smaller. The sky was now almost a royal blue before them, a golden haze behind them. They flew for several minutes in silence. The presence of two large men made the forward section of the flyer feel cramped, but Will made sure his right arm, which held the phaser, remained free to move. He rested the weapon in plain sight, certain that Kyle could do nothing as long as his hands were encumbered by the ship’s controls.

“How’d you know where to find me?” Kyle finally asked.

“Someone was defusing things around the planet when no one else seemed capable. It didn’t take a computer to figure out it had to be you.”

“And here?”

“You seemed to stop following Bison; you followed the main path of the contagion. As I saw it head north, it became apparent you were heading for familiar climates.”

Kyle nodded, a smile of approval on his features. He then narrowed his blue eyes, concentrating on a course correction that would take them directly toward the northern pole of the planet. “I lost Bison. Bet you did, too.”

“Letting the magnetic field hide us?”

“If anything, it’ll confuse the scanning and we can then go any direction we want.”

“And this ship is shielded from the magnetic field?”

Will received a withering look from his father and he cursed himself for asking so naive a question. Was he an adult, or was he twelve again?

“We were never looking for Bison, to be honest. You didn’t say, where are we going?”

“Next nearest mass concentration of people is here, on the Osedah continent. We’ll check that out, make sure things are under control, and keep moving.”

“What’s your objective? What do you want my help for?”

Kyle adjusted their course, his arms wriggling back and forth as he struggled to work in the confined space. Will thought he wouldn’t get an answer and was again growing impatient.

“The outbreaks of violence continue in this direction. Bison must also be in this direction, spreading it. He’s my target.” Kyle exhaled heavily, then glanced at his son. “How much do you understand about what is happening to these people?”

Will frowned for a moment, then began to summarize their mission. “The Bader and Dorset achieved unprecedented cooperation while colonizing this world. In turn, something native to this planet changed their chromosomal structure and they found themselves dying at a younger age with each passing generation.”

“Good,” Kyle said, nodding in approval. “And you know I was sent here by Koll Azernal to study the scientists’ reports.”

“Why would the president’s chief of staff send you?”

Kyle evaded the question and continued speaking. “The Bader and Dorset scientists did their work independently of one another, and the chief medic here missed something I caught when reviewing the data.”

Will considered just how brilliant his father must be to do all the things he had done over the years. His accomplishments bordered on the legendary, but, prideful as he could be, he rarely spoke of them to his son. In fact, although he had been the sole survivor of a Tholian attack on a space station, Kyle never told Will of the incident, nor of the months he spent recovering and the torturous hours of physical therapy. Will only found out about it more than a decade later from Dr. Katherine Pulaski, who was the physical therapist. Will was not at all surprised it was his father who figured out the source of the problem on Delta Sigma IV.

“You were the one who figured out it was the liscom gas that affected the genes?”

Kyle shook his head and kept flying into the night sky. Below them, the sea was dusted with whitecaps, making for an eerie sight.

“No, the people figured that out on their own. It was the other effect.”

Will blinked in surprise. “What other effect?”

Now Kyle blinked and looked alarmed. “Hasn’t your Dr. Crusher figured this out yet?”

“If she has, then I don’t know about it. After all, I’ve been chasing you around this world.”

Kyle nodded at that and continued. “OK, so maybe you don’t know. I can only hope to God that she figured it out.”

“Figured out what?”

“No need for that tone,” Kyle said harshly, trying to reassert his role as the alpha male. Will bit his tongue, waiting to hear what was happening to these people. “Didn’t you ever wonder how two incredibly belligerent races could possibly bury the hatchet in the ground and not in each other’s skulls?”

“I read the reports. They both decided to use Delta Sigma IV as a new starting point.”

“Nice words, but that came months after both races tried to claim the planet for themselves. They did such a great job selling themselves as enlightened; the Federation never really questioned it.”

“Questioned what?”

“Not only did the gas shorten their lives, but it drugged them somehow. I’m guessing it affected their brain chemistry and effectively lobotomized them.”

Will was stunned at the revelation. Never once did he guess anything close to this. A planet full of drugged people, suddenly without the drug. The withdrawal symptoms alone must be horrendous.

“And they never figured this out during the one-year quarantine?”

“All the doctors saw,” Kyle explained, “was that these peaceful people were acting a little less docile. But they certainly weren’t aggressive, let alone violent.

“As the serum we devised worked its way through their systems, it took time before we figured out the right dosage. We kept a close watch, but it wasn’t until they were back home that problems manifested themselves.” Kyle looked less smug, definitely uncomfortable with the notion of Federation fallacy.

“And Bison was the first to experience the withdrawal?”

“So it seems. Without the gas in their body, their natural tendencies reassert themselves. Both races are violent, aggressive people, absolutely no fun to deal with.”

Will was following the natural progression and saw where this was going. He didn’t need a counselor’s training to understand what happened next. “And these are adults who have never had to deal with these emotions before.”

“So Bison couldn’t control himself, and struck out at Unoo.”

“He broke the quarantine, and spread the ‘cure’ like a virus. And you’ve been following him.”

“Of the five test subjects, El Bison El reacted first. When we find him, we can have Dr. Crusher look him over and figure out why. I’m betting she’s already looked over the others so his scans should be useful. I hate loose ends.”

Will winced at that, since he said much the same thing to Deanna just days ago on the ship. He disliked resembling his father in any way.

“You saw the trend and extrapolated there might be a problem. Didn’t you say anything?”

“Of course I spoke up,” his father snapped. “I made it clear to Starfleet Medical that I thought there was a problem, but the doctors and psychologists disagreed with me, so I was outvoted.”

Kyle fell silent for a moment, brooding over the defeat. Had things gone differently, needless bloodshed would have been prevented.

Will waited him out, looking out at the sea and noting they were nearing the shores of Osedah.

Finally, Kyle spoke again. “When President Zife agreed with the plan to reintroduce the test subjects during the planet’s centennial celebration, it wasn’t all that difficult getting included in the delegation. In fact, Zife liked the idea that someone more experienced than that pup Morrow would be on hand.”

Will watched the emotions play out in his father’s eyes. Kyle’s jaw was set, as he concentrated on flying, but his feelings of failure were evident in his bloodshot eyes.

“As soon as Bison killed Unoo, I knew in my gut that my suspicions were right. I’m a tactician; I always think four moves ahead. I knew if he got loose, there was a good chance all these people would be infected. I had to contain it and him.”

“So you ran.”

“I pursued him, but he had already infected some members of the media. He was faster and younger than me, so he got away.”

Will considered all this, accepted it for the truth, and tried to think ahead. How do you stop a people from acting naturally?

“I began trying to outrace the virus and catch Bison. Along the way I tried to stop things from getting out of hand.”

“You were the planet’s guardian angel, weren’t you?” Even Will winced at the bitterness in his voice.

“I failed to stop this on Earth, I had to stop it here,” his father said in a harsh voice. “This is my mess. I’m responsible. I suspected something was going to happen but never insisted on the proper security. Some tactician.”

Will laughed coldly. “Then you’ll be happy to know that you’re not being blamed. The whole Federation is on the hook for this.”

Kyle didn’t laugh back. He was neither relieved nor pleased by the notion.

“Of course they are, and they should be. The studies were flawed, the research incomplete. They never should have come back here. I should have found a way to stop it. That’s my job, after all, to stop things from getting worse. But this time, I couldn’t do it.”

The flyer was beginning to descend. Will watched as tiny points of light appeared in the distance: small towns with their night lights on to protect them. He was pleased to see nothing in flames, although that could change in a heartbeat. How on earth could Vale and her team contain this before Crusher could do her part?

“Don’t you see, Will? I have to fix this. And with you at my side, we can be even more effective. We can complete this together and save the people from themselves.”

Will wasn’t sure if his father was cracking under the strain, but he had never heard Kyle pleading before. He wasn’t surprised the request came, and had even anticipated it a bit.

“I’m responsible for so much that has gone wrong, and it is my job to fix it. Look, there’re only so many undercover things I can do. If I’m at all under suspicion, you can get me into places. We can make a difference.”

There it was. In a nutshell, the very essence of a Starfleet officer’s job. Making a difference either through discovery or protection, but making the universe a better place to be. Will could certainly help his father, and he was surprised to discover that deep down there was a part of him that actually wanted to help.

“What do you say, son?”

“What island are we on now?”

“Told you before, it’s Kagor,” Studdard said, wiping sweat from his brow. His team had been among the first on the planet and they had just finished a rest rotation and were immediately beamed back to the surface with Taurik from engineering to handle some emergency repairs.

“Nothing like getting the grand tour,” Clemons commented, taking up the rear position. The security detail was accompanying the Vulcan on the last stretch before their destination, a power relay station located on the island’s highest peak. Something had taken it offline, and a string of islands and the western coast of Huni were without power.

“What is this?” he continued, puffing from the exertion of the climb. “Our fourth or fifth stop?”

“Third, you knucklehead,” Studdard said with a grin. “You’re complaining so much you’re missing the sights.”

“There are sights?” Weathers asked. He was broad and sported a small paunch. His hair was close-cropped, and his gray-flecked mustache betrayed his age. A fifteen-year veteran, he’d served with Picard since the early days of the Enterprise-D.

“C’mon, can’t you see the beautiful horizon?” Studdard said, making a sweeping gesture toward the placid ocean surrounding the island. It was the calmest of the three places they had visited. The sun was rising high in the sky, there were no clouds, and other islands dotted the sea in a vaguely straight line toward the south. “Just about as pretty as Olivarez.”

“Did you see what she did with her hair?” Weathers asked.

“Nah, man, she beamed down earlier with Gracin’s unit,” Clemons said.

“Looks like she stood too close to the warp reactor. Hair going every which way and all standing up,” Weathers said, adding a guffaw.

“Don’t think I’d like it too much,” Clemons answered. “Now me, I like hair that’s softer, with some body to it. Styled nice, you know what I’m saying?”

Reyes caught up to the much larger Clemons and shook his head. “Like who?”

“Well, we could always start with the lieutenant herself. Nice hair. Real nice.”

“Don’t know if we should be talking about Vale like that,” Studdard commented. “You want to talk about hair, saw a real nice top to a yeoman near sickbay yesterday.”

“Who was it?”

“Didn’t catch her name, Reyes, but I hope to when this is over,” the squad leader answered.

Taurik was walking directly behind Studdard, who preferred taking point whenever possible. The security guard was a little weary from battling people who seemed committed to mayhem, but his orders from Vale were firm: the people were to be either ignored or subdued with as little harm to them as possible. Studdard’s gregarious nature and ready smile made him a popular squad leader, and despite the tensions created by the mission, his squad’s visits to Delta Sigma IV had been successful. This one should be as well, since the people who had caused the damage appeared to have fled.

“Okay, I’ll give you that it’s pretty. No Risa, but nice enough,” Weathers replied.

“This world has enough islands, you should find something you’ll like,” the leader replied.

“Not if they destroy them all,” Reyes said grimly.

“Smell that sea air,” Weathers said. “Nice.”

“Nothing like a worrywart to spoil the sightseeing.”

“I’m not a worrywart,” Reyes answered. “Just a realist. The damage to this world is beginning to add up to some serious hours of repair work.”

“Not to mention loss of life,” Clemons added.

“You need a good breeze to really get a lungful of the stuff,” Weathers continued, not noticing he was being ignored.

“Think we’re making a difference?” Reyes asked.

“You’re the realist,” Studdard said. “You tell me.”

“I’d say we’re doing little more than putting a few dozen fingers in too few dikes. Sure, we’re saving lives and even some vital utilities, but then we come here and it’s already too late.”

“Way I understand it, they can’t help themselves, which, to me, makes this a tragedy,” their leader said. And it was. Studdard had heard about the cooperation the two races on this world had achieved and admired them for that.

“Actually,” Weathers added, “get up a good enough wind, you might even have yourself a real first-class surf. Enough islands here, surprised we don’t see any action.”

To Studdard the vista before him was pretty, and certainly a change of pace from most planetary assignments. With luck, they would stand guard, Taurik would effect repairs, and they would all beam out without a shot being fired. He pitied the people, and from what he understood of their problem, it was likely to get worse before it got better, so a simple in-and-out mission like this would be good for morale.

Taurik hadn’t said a word since they beamed down, and Studdard had given up trying to engage him in conversation. They had served together aboard the ship for some time now but had never worked alongside each other before this assignment. He chalked it up to their differing positions as well as to the Vulcan’s naturally reticent personality. A shame, really, since Studdard was always interested in learning more about the Federation worlds he had yet to visit. He even heard Taurik displayed a sense of humor, rare for a Vulcan. Someday, Studdard hoped to hear a joke.

Before them the gray and orange building appeared, the usual squat construction with little in the way of signage or decoration. Antennae covered the roof, angled in a variety of directions, relaying microwave energy that was desperately needed for homes, hospitals, and security workers. The double doors to the facility had been ripped off their hinges and were now lying at an angle against an outcropping of moss-covered rocks. Studdard waved an arm and signaled to the others to slow down. Crouching low, he examined damage to the wild flora near the entrance. He made out a variety of footprints, indicating that an unknown number of people had not been trying to be stealthy about their work.

Reyes, behind Taurik, was taking readings on his tricorder. He shook his head to indicate there were no other life-forms around, which confirmed their initial beam-down readings.

“Couldn’t help themselves, huh?” said the shortest and youngest member of the team as he pocketed the tricorder. “Just had to climb up here and wreck the place.”

Studdard had no reply to that. He too thought that this out-of-the-way location was an odd choice for vandalism. In fact, it made him downright suspicious. Taurik was ready to enter the building when a meaty hand grabbed his arm and stopped him. The squad leader used a hand gesture to ask Reyes to take a different set of scans. Quickly, the guard made a sweep of the building, starting from the antennae and working down to the ground.

“No anomalous energy signatures,” he finally said.

“Now you may enter, Taurik,” Studdard said, a wide smile on his face.

The Vulcan nodded in appreciation and stepped inside, immediately snapping open his tool case. As he began surveying the damage, Studdard positioned Weathers by the door and gestured for Clemons to stay on the path, just in case. With a shooing movement of his hands, he sent Reyes on a perimeter check. Nodding to himself in satisfaction, he headed inside to keep watch.

Taurik had already placed the tool kit on an abandoned worktable and was walking from station to station to assess the damage. Wires and isolinear chips littered the floor. Cabinetry was broken, and monitor screens were cracked. One had a spanner sticking out of it like some form of absurd art.

“Kid asks a good question,” Studdard said after a minute. “Why would they destroy a substation like this?”

Finally, he received an answer from the Vulcan engineer. “This was an act of rage. Unchecked emotions.”

“How do you figure?”

Taurik propped up his own tricorder and called up schematics of how the station should function. He then knelt down and collected some isolinear chips, examining them between his tapered fingers. As he worked, he said, “I am reminded of the way temples on Vulcan were desecrated in the days before Surak. This was a target of that rage.”

“But they had to hold that rage awhile to climb up here and do all this,” the guard said, leaning against the doorjamb.

“You saw how many footprints there were. A mob can create a sustaining energy to feed its rage.”

“Seen that too many times myself,” Studdard agreed, then realized his companion wasn’t in his line of sight. He continued to study the destruction, trying to figure how many people could effectively fit in the relatively small energy station and how the damage was caused. His eye followed a trail of debris to a panel of controls and noticed that the corner of one was askew. While there was nothing in particular to make him cautious about the panel, his instinct made him look again.

He walked over, ignoring the sound of chips clattering together, and looked at the panel. Its dark green edges were chipped, as if it had been pried off with purpose. Little else around it was damaged, and that also made him wary.

“Taurik, step this way.”

Within moments, the Vulcan stood over him, one eyebrow cocked. Then he understood and lowered himself, the tricorder already humming with a steady whine.

He shut it off and placed it on a counter. Then he reached for a tool from the kit, clamped the corner of the panel, and gave it a firm tug. To Studdard’s lack of surprise, it came off easily. Inside was a large, circular object, its bright yellow packaging in sharp contrast to the dull purples and greens of the wiring within.

“If I were to activate the substation, this would begin a countdown,” Taurik said, gazing intently at the device. It was welded to the housing and had four distinct wires leading to the power connections within.

“Do you recognize it?”

“Not specifically, but I studied terrorism as an Academy elective.”

“For my elective, I took history of exploration,” Studdard said, but then realized Taurik probably didn’t care. “Can you cut it out?”

“I cannot. The damage to this station is too severe for me to repair it in an effective manner. The bomb further complicates the situation. I’d need a complete damage control team and three hours minimum to ready this station for use.”

“Why a bomb? Wasn’t the damage enough?”

“Neither of us knows enough about the people and what has happened to them to formulate a proper theory,” Taurik replied dryly.

“Well, then, let’s call the ship and get Mr. Data to authorize the manpower.”

 

On the engineering deck, La Forge had reconfigured one of the workstations to keep track of the myriad deals he had established over the last two days. One small screen monitored the path of the Ferengi Dex’s small craft. He considered himself pretty clever to have “convinced” the trader to act as courier in exchange for an Enterprise crew’s performing maintenance and upgrades on his battered old ship.

With all the rebuilding going on throughout the Federation in the years following the Dominion War, the farther from the Federation’s core a ship was assigned, the more problematic it was to stay properly outfitted. The regional quartermaster was unable to fulfill all the starships’ requisitions, so La Forge, at Data’s suggestion, had created a trading network for the ships in the nearby sectors. The other ships had all responded positively to the idea.

He had been coordinating the incoming supply data and had started matching it against the needs of other ships. Kell Perim, the Trill conn officer, volunteered to help plot the optimal course for the Ferengi. After all, with the ship in orbit and not needed elsewhere, she had spare time, and this was as productive a use of that time as anything else.

One added benefit to the trading network was that the Enterprise was at the center. La Forge figured he could do some damage control by getting the word out about what really happened between Picard and Command and curtail some of the gossip. The tongue-wagging had besmirched the crew worse than anything officially reported through Starfleet channels or the news media.

But La Forge still had engineering to worry about. One of the plasma injectors on the starboard nacelle had acted up, and he had had to take the warp engines offline to handle the repairs. Anh Hoang, his alpha shift specialist, had already suited up to climb through the maintenance shafts from the pylon to the nacelle and visibly inspect the injectors. Without all thirty-six injectors working in perfect unity, a stable warp field could not be safely generated.

He looked up to see the white-suited engineer being checked over by Chintok. La Forge liked the notion of one of his Vulcan engineers doing the inspection, since they wouldn’t overlook a thing.

“Ready?” he asked Anh.

“Yes, sir,” she replied through the microphone. “I estimate it will take me thirty minutes or so to get to the injectors and give them a good look.”

“You get thirty-two minutes,” Geordi warned her good-naturedly. “If you don’t have a report by then, we’re coming after you.”

“Not to worry, sir,” she replied in a quiet voice.

“Good luck. Chintok, go down with her and see her off.”

“Acknowledged.” The Vulcan accompanied the petite woman off the deck and into the turbolift. La Forge saw the door close and then turned his attention to the diagnostic tabletop display of the ship. He activated the transponder that would follow Anh, and her red blip popped into view. Satisfied, he thought he had some time before he needed to check in with her, so he returned his attention to his new trading board.

He’d already arranged the swap for a new quad, sending a chambliss coil to another ship, and just got in a request for a new set of phase transmission coils for a ship that had gotten messed up pretty badly while surveying an ion storm. A quick check of Dex’s ship’s course against the various manifests showed that the U.S.S. Jefferies, a mere two sectors over, had a surplus. He made a notation to add the Galaxy-class ship to the itinerary. Geordi chuckled to himself as he imagined the complaints from the Ferengi, knowing all the while the goodwill—and profit—he was earning with each new ship was as good as latinum.

 

As the two flew, the night giving way to day, Will realized his father was done talking for now. Kyle had his personal demons to wrestle with, and there wasn’t much else to discuss.

Without looking at the pilot, Will reached inside his jacket and activated his combadge.

“Riker to Picard.”

“Will! We were growing concerned.” At the captain’s voice, Kyle looked over at his son, a mixture of surprise and anger crossing his craggy features. Will ignored him.

“I am currently flying with my father, tracking El Bison El. My father is convinced that Bison holds a key to unlocking the cause for this problem.”

“We’ll take his word for it, for the moment. Is everything all right?”

There was a lot to be read into that question, and a lot Will wanted to say, but he was hesitant with his father hearing. Observations and conjecture he would have happily shared remained tucked away, waiting for a chance to be recorded in a personal log entry.

Will took a long look at his father, who refused to meet the gaze, keeping his eyes forward. They continued to fly in silence for several long moments.

“Everything seems fine,” Will finally said, making an effort to keep his voice neutral. “With luck, our next stop will be where Bison is currently on the run. What’s happening there?”

Picard rapidly filled in his first officer, and Will grew despondent, a sense of guilt building up in his own mind. Clearly, these people deserved better, and he could only imagine how something like this grew out of control. He hoped Kyle and Beverly would have time later to compare notes, match up bits of information and complete the puzzle. Starfleet Medical was never this sloppy, he knew, and that made him wonder about the Federation president’s chief of staff. And once more he wondered how a tactician got involved in a medical issue.

When they signed off, Will settled back, lost in his own thoughts.

“See, we’re better off solving this on our own, Willy,” Kyle said. Will inwardly winced at the childhood name, but it passed quickly.

“Actually, I would think a starship’s resources would be useful,” Will countered.

“Sure, for the fires, the breakdown of society, and bolstering their joke of a government,” Kyle said. “But we’re on a manhunt and even your wondrous sensors can’t pick out one native from among millions.”

Will had to grant him that point. Changing the topic, he asked, “Dad, tell me again how you got involved?”

Kyle looked at his son for a long while before speaking. The look on his face was one Will had seen countless times before. He was calculating the odds, which told Will the answer would be crafted to Kyle’s desires, not his own need for the truth.

“Let me save you the interrogation. This problem came to light during the beginning of the war. Everything affecting a member world was suspected of Dominion involvement. I was screening hundreds of reports with Starfleet Intelligence and the president’s office, looking for their crafty hand. Delta Sigma IV was ruled out but still, they had a legitimate problem. I got involved because of their homeworlds. We didn’t need their belligerence right then so I had to make sure it wasn’t going to be a problem.”

Will absorbed the story, listening to the tone of the voice, watching the body language. He knew his father; his training completed the task. This was part of the story. But his father hadn’t offered the Bader and Dorset angle previously, so this was tossed out like bait, with Kyle waiting to see what might happen. Rather than take the misdirection, Will ignored it.

As they flew, he knew he’d have to keep a closer eye on his father. Doing good was just part of the story but there had to be more.

 

Anh felt confined in the environmental suit, but recognized it was going to protect her from severe radiation exposure. She disliked the feeling of such close confinement, and it made her sweat. It was a rare instance that anyone climbed into the nacelles when the ship was anywhere but in spacedock. Still, balky plasma injectors meant the ship couldn’t go faster than impulse, and that meant the nearest starbase was months away. And that wouldn’t do at all.

Chintok, a Vulcan colleague who had been with the ship for some time, walked beside her, saying nothing. She didn’t mind the silence and was thankful La Forge hadn’t sent someone chattier, such as Beloq, the recently assigned Bolian. As they walked through the maintenance corridor that connected the secondary hull to the nacelle support struts, she reflected on her role. She had done her assigned work on the Enterprise and been commended for her efforts, but she had never really had much opportunity to show what she had learned while on Earth. She had made fixing the plasma injector sound like routine repair work, something she could do with ease. However, the last time she had touched a plasma injector was three years ago, in a lab, after it had been removed from a nacelle. She hoped it really would be easy to inspect and repair.

This Enterprise had endured many more critical problems in its short life; that was part of its allure for her. That, and the fact that it was rarely back at Earth.

When they reached the access point, Chintok placed his palm against a sensor that checked his DNA and recognized him as an authorized member of the engineering staff. A series of loud clicks reverberated through the deck as massive magnetic locks opened, granting access from the strut to the nacelle itself. There were ladder rungs built into the hull, constructed to fit the boots of environmental suits.

Anh looked at Chintok, but his features hid his thoughts completely, and she idly imagined being able to do that. It might keep well-meaning people like the counselor from thinking there was anything wrong. Feeling she needed to do something, she gave him the traditional thumbs-up gesture, turned her back to him, and placed one foot within the nacelle.

As she climbed, it wasn’t long before she heard the access panel close and the locks being reenergized. In an emergency, a locked access panel would slow down a rescue effort, but it was necessary to prevent any radiation from seeping anywhere near the crew. Now it was just her, alone in the nacelle, with the various humming sounds of the systems doing their work. Since there was no crew nearby to be disturbed, starship designers didn’t feel the need for sound baffling. Anh tested herself, trying to match the high-pitched squeals to systems she knew. Those are the power transfer conduits.

She had not been alone like this in a long time, not since the Breen attack. After the attack, her family and friends looked after her so diligently that she began to feel constricted. She couldn’t yell at them to leave her alone; they were too well meaning, and she was too polite. She couldn’t walk away from her position at Starfleet; it was all she had left. But when it all got to be too much, and the memories wouldn’t leave her dreams, she knew it was time to leave. Not Starfleet, but Earth. Not once did she feel as if she were abandoning the rebuilding efforts. No, she convinced herself that the starships protecting the Federation from even worse damage needed qualified help. The casualties among experienced crew were quite high, and she told everyone she was needed.

And now she was, finally, needed.

She looked at the power transfer conduit that paralleled her path to the top of the nacelle. It was thick, with magnetic forces pushing the plasma to the nacelles where it would be used for propulsion. Her job began where the conduit ended, at the injectors. The injectors fired the plasma into each of the corresponding warp field coils, the sequence depending upon the needs of the warp field. Each injector was constructed from arkenium duranide and single-crystal ferrocarbonite, some of the most durable materials found in the Federation.

Her first stop was to visibly inspect the eighteen injectors in this nacelle and try to see if there was a physical defect that was causing the problem. If not, it was more likely a programming glitch, but diagnostics had ruled that out. As she neared the first injector, set smack in the middle of the nacelle, she debated with herself as to which problem she wanted. A physical one was more serious, allowing her to prove her worthiness to La Forge. But it also represented more dangers, and Anh wasn’t sure how much more danger she wanted in her life right now.

The injectors were set below the warp coils, and she had to maneuver herself carefully to avoid disturbing the coils and their careful alignment. She decided her best approach was on her belly, snaking forward and ducking her head inside access points to begin her visual inspection. Each plasma injector was set apart, making the inspection fairly easy. “Diagnostic tricorder on,” she commanded, activating a helmet display system that acted as a tricorder, keeping her hands free for work.

The first several injectors seemed absolutely fine. At most, there might have been a buildup of dust around the fourth one, but nothing that would prevent it from firing at low frequencies for slower warp speeds or higher frequencies for greater speed.

As she made her way along the row, the engineer concentrated on the inspection, but a part of her mind was aware of the isolation. It was just like when the Breen attacked Earth by surprise. They had first taken over an orbital platform, creating interference that garbled communications. Three ships, small ones actually, then managed to enter Earth’s atmosphere and strike with precision. They first struck the Golden Gate Bridge park and museum, but then switched immediately to Starfleet Command targets. They hit several major buildings, but not the one she worked in. Not that she escaped unscathed; there was enough debris and damage to trap her in the building, cut off from all outside contact, for hours.

The Breen ships slowly crisscrossed San Francisco, laying down sustained fire, causing fear, consuming life and destroying property. Among the buildings struck was the one containing her apartment, where her husband had just brought their son home from school. It was toward the end of the school year, and they had planned a wonderful vacation to Yosemite Park. The weather had been warm and sunny, and all had seemed idyllic.

But the Breen changed all that. After the Columbia and the Enterprise stopped them, there was so much to do. It was nine hours before a rescue team could clear a path for the trapped Starfleet personnel to leave. With communications commandeered for emergency use, she remained to help with the injured and to restore the remaining Command buildings to operational status. It wasn’t until nearly twenty-four hours after the attack that she managed to make it home.

The first thing she noted was that her building was scorched. Immediately she feared the worst. Local police and fire rescue teams were still going from apartment to apartment, looking for survivors and carrying out the dead.

Before an official could reach her, a neighbor came running up, tears streaming down her face. All she could do was sob and hug Anh. Since the neighbor lived alone, her actions said what her mouth could not.

All she could think of then was the silence during the time her team had been trapped. After they had given up trying to get out, they had sat in the dark, wrapped in their own thoughts. Anh had thought of her family and the planned vacation.

She again wanted that isolation after the attack, after the funerals. Anh would never tell the counselor, but the notion of staying curled up in a ball, away from the rest of the world, was a very appealing notion and every so often still tugged at her. Her home had been obliterated by fire, so she had no mementos of her wedding or her son’s birth and early development. All she had were memories, and when alone, she could concentrate on preserving them. They gave her strength to get out of bed in the morning, even here, many light-years from Earth.

Anh shook her head, her hair making a brushing noise inside the helmet, and forced herself to focus. She didn’t dare miss a thing.

The ninth injector looked fine, at first, but then she saw a hairline crack at the base. “Magnify times five,” she commanded. The image on her viewplate wavered a moment and then reappeared, greatly enlarged. She could see that the crack was maybe seven to ten millimeters long, placing the injector out of alignment and causing the frequencies to fall off. The crack had to be recent; otherwise, the ship wouldn’t have been able to arrive at Delta Sigma IV. But what could have caused the crack? That would be her problem to solve once the injector was replaced.

“Hoang to La Forge.”

There was some static on the com channel, which was not surprising given the amount of energy flowing around her.

“La Forge. What did you find?”

“Starboard injector nine is cracked.”

“How could that happen?”

“I can’t say right now, but it’s enough to cause trouble. It should be replaced and studied. Transmitting my visual.”

“Ah, right, that looks odd. Now that’s going to be an interesting problem.”

There was a beat of silence, then Anh said, “We don’t have a spare.”

“Do you think you can repair it?”

“I can’t answer that, sir, without studying it in the workshop. But I have to try, don’t I?”

“I’ll see if I can rustle up a replacement, but for now, pull it and bring it with you.”

“I’ll be more than thirty minutes.”

“We’re not going anywhere. I’ll inform Data of our status. La Forge out.”

Anh Hoang let out a deep breath, one she didn’t realize she had been holding, and then reached for the emergency tools that were packed into a case on her right thigh. This was certainly not something she had expected to do when she had gotten out of bed that morning.

Crusher was tired, and she wasn’t sure if it was sheer physical exhaustion or the result of having spent too many tense hours in front of the microscope. She decided to grant herself a break and breezily told Nurse Susan Weinstein she was going for a brief walk.

The walk, which qualified as brief—taking under four minutes—led her to the nearest rec room. It held only six people, several playing a board game, one reading something on a display screen, and Geordi just turning from the replicator slot, a plate in his hand.

“Can I join you, Geordi?”

“Sure thing, I’ll be over here,” he said, tilting his head toward an empty table in the rear corner.

Crusher ordered a cup of coffee, her fourth of the day, and brought it to La Forge’s table. La Forge hadn’t waited to tuck into his jambalaya.

“Hungry?”

“Sort of. I have a busy few hours ahead of me, so this is my last chance for a real meal.”

“What brings you up here to this particular rec room?”

“I’ll let you in on a little secret. I have absolutely no idea why, but if you want something spicy, these replicators do the best job.”

Crusher let out a small laugh. She then asked what was happening in his domain. He explained the problem with the injector and the supply issues he had been wrestling with.

“I had no idea,” she said, amazed at the notion that something so big was happening without her knowledge.

“Well, you are busy with your own problems,” La Forge said helpfully.

“Still, we’re department heads; we have to be aware of things going on with this ship.” She shook her head, staring at her cup. “I don’t even think I wanted this, but I ordered it out of habit. Been living on caffeine the last two days.”

“Still going crazy with casualties?”

“That’s slowed to a trickle. Tropp has been down below, helping them work with emergencies. While their police seem inefficient, their medical resources are top-notch.”

“Guess that happens when you have a peaceful society.”

“Some peace.” She laughed bitterly. “They claim to have put their aggression aside, but they have no idea they were doped by the plant life. Telling them isn’t going to be easy for the captain.”

“Is there something you can do?”

“That’s what I’m working on now. I stepped out to clear my head a bit. Actually, I’m glad I ran into you, since I could use some advice.”

La Forge’s eyes widened and he grinned. “The doctor asking the engineer for advice? This is new.”

“Very funny. Seriously, Geordi, something’s come up, and I need some perspective. You and I have served on both Enterprises with Jean-Luc since Farpoint. How much longer do you give it before it’s down to just one or two of us with him?”

La Forge put a spoonful of food into his mouth as his brows knit in concentration. “Hunh. I hadn’t given that one some thought in a while,” he admitted, clearly surprised by the topic.

“Come on, I’m sure it’s crossed all our minds since he wrangled with Command over the demon ship.” She sipped from her mug, waiting for a comment.

“Well, I guess it crossed my mind then, but things changed so rapidly, it wasn’t a deep thought. Except for Worf, our command staff has been pretty stable. Sooner or later, one of us will get an offer they can’t refuse.”

She smiled at him. “That might be me. The surgeon general is retiring soon, and he asked me to consider replacing him. If I want it, he’ll support me. He already has the Federation council’s thumbs-up.”

“That’s very impressive. Will it hurt that you held the position once and gave it up after just a year?”

“Maybe, but not damaging enough to prevent it,” she replied. “But I don’t know if I’m ready to walk away from the ship. Then again, I don’t know if I want to be the last officer remaining.”

Geordi took another mouthful of the colorful Creole food, chewed, and thought. Beverly looked at her coffee, considered taking another sip, and then pushed it aside.

“We’re all getting older, and sooner or later, yeah, either we’ll get ambitious or Starfleet will need some of us elsewhere. So I guess I’d say go for it before they give you an assignment you don’t want. We’ll still be around the galaxy to visit.”

Crusher considered his advice and the wisdom of taking charge of her destiny.

Then he asked, “What does the captain think?”

She shook her head, then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I haven’t had a chance to bring it up. We have been a little busy, you know.” It was natural for La Forge to ask; it would if their roles were reversed, the first thing she’d bring up was whether or not he’d discussed it with Data.

“Of course,” he agreed.

He was keeping the conversation professional, and not referring to her and Picard’s personal relationship. He knew he could mention it without offending—they had known each other long enough—but he was being a gentleman.

“And what if Wesley drops by again and I’m back on Earth?”

“He’s a Traveler these days, Doc. He’ll always find you.”

Crusher took comfort in those words and held on to them as she returned to her office and the monumental task Picard asked of her.

 

Testani’s flames had long since been extinguished thanks to the combined efforts of firefighting teams from neighboring towns. Still, as Vale materialized, the odor of charred building materials hung thickly in the air. Whatever was used to construct homes on any world, the smell of destruction seemed pretty much the same.

She looked around, saw a heavy-duty blue-and-white flyer take off to return to its base, the job complete. People, despite the late hour and the chill in the air, were cordoned off behind barricades, and the local peace officers were assessing the damage. From early reports she had scanned aboard the Enterprise, about twenty-five percent of the city had been destroyed. The rebuilding would take months.

Seo, the field leader for the team assigned to Testani, came running up to her. He skidded to a stop and waited at attention. Vale thought he was taking his first field post way too seriously. There was a time and place for behavior conforming to the rulebook, but this wasn’t one of them.

“What’s the status?”

“Fires are out throughout the city, ma’am,” he reported in a clipped tone.

“Relax, Jae. Take a deep breath. What’s really going on?”

He took a deep breath and willed himself to release the tension in his body. “People are blaming each other, blaming us, blaming everyone except maybe the Klingons. They’re upset; no one can even remember anything this monumental happening in the city.”

“Do all the locals have someplace to sleep tonight?” Vale wanted to yawn, breathed in deeply instead. She needed to keep pushing herself until things were more under control.

“We’re working on that right now. T’Sona’s coordinating with the local relief people.”

“Good. Now, what about the water pumping station? That got trashed pretty good, from the reports.”

“Yes, ma’am. It’s a mess, but Commander La Forge’s team is almost done.”

At that she cocked an eyebrow in surprise. She knew La Forge’s people were good, but this was even faster than she had expected. With a gesture, she indicated she wanted to see for herself. Seo—lithe but muscular—hurried to keep ahead of her to both guide and protect. He was more nervous than he should be, but that wasn’t entirely unexpected given his recent posting.

As they passed a barricade, she was heckled by those who rightly assumed she was a leader from the starship. Vale ignored the taunts and continued moving.

A few minutes later, the noise began to abate as they moved farther into an industrial portion of the town, one the fire had not touched. Vandals, though, had paid a visit earlier, and that was when the water station was wrecked. En route, Vale took note of the dropped weapons, debris, and various dark fluids that stained the area. Whenever the healing began, the people were certainly going to be kept busy.

Finally, Seo slowed down as a very wide, obsidian-black building appeared around a corner. At least a dozen fat, dark gray pipes connected the building to the street and to other buildings. Graffiti marred some of the pipes, and one was damaged. Water leaked out of it at a steady rate, reminding her of a fountain she had seen on her last shore leave. Atop the pipe, working with a welding tool, was one of the engineers. Below, DeMato, looking alert, kept a watch.

She strode over to the other woman, who was several inches shorter, and they greeted one another. DeMato, with a nasal twang to her voice, reported, “It’s almost done. That’s the last pipe to be fixed.”

“Great news,” Vale said. “What’s happening inside?”

“Caldwell’s there with two more damage control specialists. They’re making certain that the pumps still work.”

“Have there been more protesters?”

“None, and I gotta say that’s a good thing. I’ve been at this for hours, and I want my lunch.”

Vale stopped, looked at the night sky, which remained obstinately black, and smiled. “Well, you’ll be off duty in time for breakfast. Best I can do.”

The other woman nodded, her full head of hair moving freely around her face. “What’s happening?” A natural enough question, although, for some reason, its lack of specificity annoyed Vale. She guessed she was letting the hours catch up to her, too.

“More of the same around the world. The captain’s with the Council; the doctor is trying to find a miracle. The usual.”

The three security officers continued chatting for several minutes, all appreciating the respite. However, their rest ended abruptly when the engineer, Beloq, cried out a warning.

Vale whipped around, her hand already going for her phaser, when she heard the sound. People—lots of angry people. Another mob was on its way, having somehow broken through the barricade. She practically bellowed into her badge for Caldwell to join them outside. Going silent then, she began scanning the immediate area and started pointing. Seo was dispatched to a corner position, behind supply canisters, where he could flank the mob. DeMato was sent to the opposite side, setting up a possible crossfire.

Caldwell, her blond hair flying behind her, came charging out of the building, leaving the doorway wide open. Vale signaled to her, indicating she should join her right below Beloq.

“Are you done?” she yelled up to the Bolian engineer.

“Done enough for the water to flow. If you ask me—”

“Then get back to the ship!” Vale interrupted. The last thing she needed was to be distracted by a chatty mechanic. She tightened her grip on her phaser and listened carefully. She heard the approaching people and then the telltale whine of the transporter effect. Good, one less person to worry about. She presumed the other engineers inside would have the smarts to get out of the way.

The people emerged from around the corner, and Vale saw they were armed. In fact, they were fairly well equipped, almost as if someone had organized them into a fighting force. Several brandished knives, a few seemed to have pistols of some sort, and others had sharpened pikes made from, it seemed, tree limbs. They were not here to protest the Federation’s presence; they were here only for violence.

“Stun setting only,” she called out. It was a needless reminder, but she wanted her people to focus.

She then walked toward the mob.

Several in the front pointed and shouted as they spotted her in the dim light. Vale intentionally made herself the target, walking at a steady pace until she reached a spot less than ten meters from the people in front.

“Can I convince you to go home and let us finish repairs?”

“Sabotage is more like it! You’ve poisoned the people! You killed El Bison El, and now you want to take the rest of us!”

“Federation bitch!”

“Really,” Vale said, keeping her tone light even as her body tensed. “Name-calling will not get you your water any faster. If you don’t disperse, I will have to open fire.”

“You can take down a few of us, but we outnumber you!”

“Have it your way,” Vale said. She raised her weapon in full sight of the other security team and fired a wide dispersal stun beam.

As expected, several staggered and fell, others scattered. Those on the periphery saw this as their chance and rushed her. They got close, closer than Vale would have liked, but then came powerful amber beams from DeMato and Seo’s positions. The security chief herself kept firing directly into the mob. Finally, people got the idea that scattering and retreating might be the best thing to do.

Some, though, clearly wanted a fight. They charged toward the flanking guards, but Vale’s people were able to take clean shots, bringing down one Delta Sigma IV inhabitant after another. Still, one woman reared back and hurled her sharpened branch at DeMato, who was concentrating on a man in closer range.

The wet sound the spike made as it pierced DeMato’s abdomen could be heard across the tarmac, followed less than a second later by her scream. Vale broke from her point position and fired at anyone near the fallen woman. She saw blood flowing freely from the entry wound, darkening DeMato’s uniform. It looked bad.

Seo and Caldwell were behind her, providing protective fire. Most of the mob had either fallen or dispersed, so the din had lessened dramatically, which only emphasized the gasping sounds from DeMato as she struggled for breath.

“Emergency transport to sickbay,” Vale said as she slapped DeMato’s badge. As the beam took hold of the woman, Vale felt the sticky blood on her fingertips and wiped them on her pants.

She then turned and spotted Seo and Caldwell within meters of her, their backs turned, keeping her covered. At that moment, she also saw that two members of the mob were entering the plant. “Get them!” she commanded.

As Caldwell ran back into the building, Seo took up a position by the entrance to make sure no one else made it inside. He picked off three more people as Vale surveyed the area, looking for anyone trying to be sneaky. She saw no movement, but she crept around the perimeter to be safe.

Finally returning to the entrance, she and Seo stood by, assuming Caldwell could manage two crazed people. That assumption proved false. Hearing the sounds of a struggle, Vale pointed for Seo to remain in place and dashed inside, expecting the worst.

What she saw sickened her. One of the engineers had not returned to the ship, but was lying on the ground with a head injury. Caldwell was on her back, wrestling with one of the Dorset attackers, a burly male who was fighting in a frenzied way. Vale quickly scanned for the other native and nodded to herself when she spotted him. He had gone up the catwalk to one of the control stations that managed the pumps on this side of the building. With a metal rod, he was trying unsuccessfully to pry open the casing.

Vale returned her attention to Caldwell. She grunted, took three steps, and lashed out with her right boot, smacking the attacker off balance and giving Caldwell the edge she needed to break free. Without pausing to see the rest of the bout, Vale found a good angle, took aim, and fired at the man above her.

The phaser blast rang out with a satisfying sound, and her aim was true as it hit the man. It also hit the machinery, edges of which were finally wearing away from the constant battering. Some of the ambient energy seeped inside, overloading the fragile circuits. The man slumped, hitting the ground about the same time the cascading energy surge knocked out the pumps.

Vale holstered her phaser, put her hands on her knees, and bent low, catching her breath. With a glance, she saw that Caldwell had lived up to expectations and subdued her opponent. The downed engineer was starting to come around.

“Vale to Enterprise.”

“Data here, Lieutenant.”

“I need Beloq back. The pumps are damaged once more. Also, status on DeMato, please.”

“I am relaying your request to Mr. La Forge,” Data said. “Sickbay reports Ensign DeMato is not expected to survive.” It sounded worse coming from an android, without any inflection. Vale took several deep breaths, fighting back emotion. Caldwell, having also heard the announcement, bent her head down.

“Damn,” they both whispered.