WAVES BROKE OVER the barrier that kept people from tumbling off the large platform and into the roiling sea. Rain lashed down in torrents, rocking the platform and making it hard to stay upright. Between the surf and the wind, it was difficult to hear anything, so shouts were lost. What Tropp knew was that he had at best fifteen minutes to complete his task or he would lose his patient. He hadn’t lost a patient since the Enterprise arrived in this solar system, and he wasn’t about to lose one now.

His team had beamed down only minutes earlier, summoned by an automated distress call. From what Data told them as they assembled in the transporter room, the platform was a marine research facility that everyone assumed had been abandoned when the “madness” broke out. Yet, the signal had been received by both the emergency services people on Delta Sigma IV and the Enterprise, so someone had to be there. Scanners indicated there were two bodies, but weak life signs from only one.

There were no nurses available to beam down with Tropp, so the Denobulan accepted offers of help from a stellar cartographer and a security ensign he had never met before. As soon as the three of them arrived in the small structure that housed the research equipment, the doctor kneeled beside a body slumped over a fallen chair. It belonged to a Bader woman whose skull had been caved in by a heavy object.

“They had some fight,” the ensign, a young man named La Rock, observed, letting out a low whistle.

“She’s dead,” Tropp said. “Where’s the other one?”

“No one else is in here, Doctor,” said the cartographer, a tall woman named Neumark.

“Ensign, check outside, please,” Tropp said. La Rock’s only reply was an expression that clearly questioned Tropp’s sanity. The doctor and the ensign locked gazes. Finally the nervous young man looked once more over his shoulder at the rain beating against the window.

“Lieutenant, please see if you can find a recording of what happened,” Tropp said, pleased with himself for finding something for the cartographer to do. As the woman busied herself without comment, he gazed out the window to watch the ensign.

La Rock, thin and wiry with dark black hair that was now a wet mop on his head, was edging carefully along the exterior of the structure. Tropp watched as he rounded a corner and was lost from sight. The doctor began to relax, thinking the other victim must be outside, so all the ensign had to do was find him and drag him back in. He mentally began listing the first steps required for his research into the other plant life on the planet. If the liscom could affect people this severely, he began to wonder what other toxic substances were part of the ecosystem. While he generally preferred to work alone, he suspected he’d need Moq for the research. Normally people considered Tropp talkative, but compared with the Bolian, he was as mute as a Minaran.

He was so lost in thought he missed the slam of the metal door and the ensign’s yells. Tropp was about to admonish the young man for not bringing the wounded native back with him, but then the words started to register.

“…impaled…”

Tropp uttered a short prayer and then told Neumark to stay where she was. He took a deep breath and stepped out into the driving rain. Almost immediately, his left foot slipped and he fell hard on one knee. He yelped in pain but ignored it as La Rock helped him up and they inched around the corner. There was another Bader woman, this one covered in blood but still alive. Tropp began to wonder how she could be as he shielded his eyes with one hand and studied her condition.

Somehow she had been skewered to a series of metallic rods that were affixed to the exterior. They might have been atmosphere gauges or antennas. He couldn’t tell because the ends were still inside the struggling woman. Blood trickled from cuts on her face, and her coppery hair had been either cut away or burned. Her eyes were alert, so Tropp assumed she knew what her situation was.

“Madam, you have to be cut away from the building before I can properly treat you. Do you understand me?”

She nodded once, too weak to speak.

He pulled out his medical tricorder, waved the hand scanner over her entire form, and then focused on the rods. There were four in all. Three had punctured organs, and the fourth was just below a lung. The woman would need major surgery once she was free, surgery he could easily do back aboard the Enterprise.

“Doctor, what can we do?”

“Be quiet, Ensign,” he said sharply. He needed to focus and didn’t want any distractions. Bad enough having to deal with a frightened kid, but the deck kept moving in reaction to the buffeting from the waves. While he would have preferred a stable environment, he mentally shrugged, knowing one cannot always have what one wants.

Finished with his examination, he reached one damp hand to the rods to see how they were connected to the building. They were almost certainly welded to the structure in order to withstand the worst the sea had to offer. Cutting her loose was not going to be easy. Instead of a cartographer, he wished he had a spare engineer with the proper tools, but he determined there was no time to seek out additional help.

“Listen carefully, Ensign La Rock,” Tropp began, then raised his voice, shouting to be heard above the roar. “She needs to be cut free. The only tool we have for that is your phaser. You will need to melt each of these rods until she is loose. Then we can beam up and I can operate. Your phaser must be set on a narrow beam and at a high intensity. She doesn’t have much time.”

The ensign grabbed his phaser and began making modifications, swaying with the ever-shifting deck. “Doctor, won’t we burn her in the process?”

“Well, the good news is that the rain will help cut down on the heat you generate. I can only hope the instruments inside the rods are not good conductors. Please begin.”

Tropp looked at the woman, saw the understanding and fear that clouded her face. He patted her left arm and then was banged against the building.

La Rock hesitated, rechecking his setting, and then moved around, looking for the best possible angle. Tropp grew impatient, but realized he needed the ensign to be comfortable in performing his task. Finally, La Rock took aim and depressed the trigger. A thin amber beam lanced through the rain. Tropp could hear the sizzle as water was instantly turned to steam. He watched as the base of the first rod grew red. The steam grew thicker, obscuring some of the target. After nearly thirty seconds, the rod was cut free and Tropp saw the woman’s right side sag a bit. She let out a cry of pain, the first real sound she had made since they found her.

“Very good,” Tropp said encouragingly. He blinked away rain that fell freely into his eyes. “Now the second one, please.”

La Rock nodded and took aim once more. The beam went to work and Tropp paused to study his tricorder. The woman’s breathing had grown shallower, her entire body in shock. He estimated they had ten minutes, maybe eleven before her vital functions shut down entirely. At nearly half a minute per rod, that was two minutes to free her, plenty of time left to beam up and get to work.

“Tropp to sickbay.”

“Sickbay. Please state the nature of the medical emergency.” The voice belonged to the Emergency Medical Hologram, which told Tropp that things had gotten busier. If Crusher was letting the hologram answer hails from the planet, she and her staff must have their hands full.

“I need to perform surgery on a Bader female, approximately thirty years old. She’s been impaled in four places and we’re cutting her free. I need a bed ready and as much A-3 blood as we can spare.”

“ETA?”

“Five minutes tops,” Tropp replied. “I’ll need at least one nurse.”

“In a pinch I have the requisite programming to act as a nurse.”

“We’ll talk later. Tropp out.” Rather than chat with the hologram, Tropp needed to hold on to a railing with both hands as a wave crashed right over them. La Rock fell flat on his front, still gripping the phaser, but the water made the woman, now half free, thrash about, and her moans told him things were getting worse.

The ensign hesitated at the sounds of her anguish.

“She needs to be freed now!” Tropp yelled.

La Rock nodded and got to his knees, took aim, and fired once more. Before the woman was freed, Tropp heard a sound and saw the cartographer on the deck. She had quickly sized up the situation and had brought some cable. Without a word, she inched forward and tied a loop around the doctor’s leg. She then connected the patient to the doctor, ducking low enough to avoid the phaser beam. He watched her wince as a molten piece of the rod struck her damp shoulder. He had to admire her for both her courage and her good thinking.

“One more time and we can get out of here,” Tropp shouted encouragingly.

“Aye, sir,” La Rock called back, pausing long enough to be added to the human chain. As soon as the doctor had firmly wrapped the cable around his waist, La Rock rose on one knee and took aim.

“Did you find anything?” Tropp shouted to Neumark.

“No logs of any kind. I can only begin to guess what happened here.”

“It really doesn’t matter at this point,” he replied.

Another wave crashed over them, but no one stirred. La Rock fired his phaser and Tropp willed the heat to work faster. His tricorder indicated that the woman’s kidneys had failed, so he mentally rearranged the order of surgery. Then he shoved the device into his pocket, ready to catch the limp, now unconscious woman.

She was falling, her weight finishing the job of breaking the melting rod free. Neumark reached out and grabbed her. Holding the woman in her arms, she nodded to Tropp, who ordered emergency transport direct to sickbay. The woman wasn’t out of danger yet.

 

Will’s head throbbed and he seethed with the knowledge that his father deliberately hurt him. When he regained consciousness, he fought back the urge to vomit and recognized he was still strapped within the stolen flyer. His father had gotten out and was doing something nearby. Freeing himself, he quickly checked the communications system and wasn’t at all surprised to find it disabled, key components missing. A check for weaponry also turned up nothing immediately useful.

He did find some water and took several swallows, which felt wonderful. There was also a first-aid kit and he found some tablets to help with the pain. When he thought of a souvenir from the planet a day—or was it two?—ago, he never imagined it would be a lump on his head, a gift from his father.

It was chilly, but nowhere near as cold as the place where he had found Kyle. Pleased he at least had the clothes for the environment, Riker decided it was time to hunt down his father one more time. He recalled Kyle said this city had a problem, but he struggled to remember the nature of it. Finally it came to him: there was an evacuation going on, and Kyle decided they needed to help.

Stepping out of the flyer, Will saw that the sun was just rising. They had landed in a clearing, not far from where a large number of flyers had been parked earlier. Now the field was empty, and he could hear sirens and broadcast announcements in the distance. People were leaving the city on foot or on the local version of a motorized bicycle. They moved without panic, so he assumed there was no immediate threat. Most carried cases, and some carried children on their backs. He had seen this sort of evacuation before, when people had little time to prepare and grabbed whatever they could. Old and young huddled around the sturdiest, so the line was actually a series of clusters.

Finally, he spotted his father’s gray hair. Kyle was on the opposite side of the evacuees, and he seemed to be directing the traffic.

Will allowed the painkiller he had taken to do its job as he watched his father. He also studied the people, a mix of Bader and Dorset, of course, but what was remarkable was the lack of fighting and yelling. Had they been spared the disease? Or did something happen in the city that was bad enough to convince them to put aside their differences and escape together? Will turned his attention back to his father, watching him at work. As ever, Kyle seemed in command of the situation, taking time to make comforting comments to the occasional passerby. He even pulled a family out of line and rearranged their belongings, making them easier to carry.

After all this time, Will wasn’t sure what to make of his father. Kyle Riker always seemed to know what to do, what he wanted, and how to get it. His accomplishments were never in question, his manner was above reproach. Even when he was implicated in the Tholian attack on the space station, he had enough supporters within Starfleet Command to buy him time to prove his innocence. So, Will asked himself for the thousandth time, why couldn’t he communicate effectively with his son? And of course, there was never an answer that satisfied the first officer.

He longed to talk to Troi, and receive not only competent guidance, but emotional comfort. It had taken him a long time to understand women and be comfortable around them, and as a result he knew he had let promising relationships slip by him, starting with Felicia at the Academy. His time with Deanna, starting when he was an inexperienced lieutenant on Betazed, had been wonderful but, even so, distanced. He had placed duty over love at the time and had come to regret it. Still, five years later when he found himself working alongside her on the Enterprise-D, he wasn’t sure of himself around her. Awkwardness had finally given way to a deep, abiding friendship, and despite their mutually exclusive romantic entanglements, there was always something in the air between them. Will was certain he had lost her forever when Worf entered the picture, but he hadn’t begrudged his friends their happiness. He had had his chance and let it pass by. It was Worf who ended the relationship, transferring to Deep Space 9 and, like the younger Riker, put duty before romance. If there was anyone who was always putting duty first, it was his Klingon friend.

Now, here they were, finally reunited after twelve years. And it felt right. Will was thrilled the effects of the Son’a planet helped reignite the romance once and for all, but that was over three years ago. They were happy, but at this stage in his life, Will was asking himself if there should be more. At forty-two, Riker figured that he would have been married by now if it was going to happen at all. He and Troi were as close to being a real married couple as possible. But, as he said to her before leaving the ship three days ago, he disliked unfinished business.

The Delta Sigma IV problem was the immediate unfinished business that gnawed at him, and he hated being out of touch with Picard and the ship and therefore out of the flow of knowledge. For all he knew, Crusher was administering a vaccine and the problem would be over by lunchtime. Not bloody likely, he knew, but still, he craved contact with Troi. And the captain.

During his musing, Will had lost track of his father. He narrowed his eyes and scanned the crowd, hoping to spot his all-too-human form amid the tall and thin Dorset and stocky Bader. A sound caught his attention, and he whirled about to spot his father standing by the entrance to the flyer. He was breathing hard, but damn, he was still good enough to avoid detection.

“We’ve got to fly, Willy,” Kyle said, a look of determination on his face.

“Where?”

“Follow me,” he said and clambered aboard. Refusing to be left behind, Will followed. Within seconds the hatch was sealed shut and the engines hummed to life.

“How much longer do we do this?” Will asked.

Without taking time for the usual preflight check, they were lifting into the air. His father was a machine, taking control of the vessel and giving it his total concentration. It was a look Will had seen many, many times before. His father had a goal and was going to accomplish it successfully, damn what lay ahead.

“This pointless running around, flitting from problem to problem. You can’t solve them all, I told you that. You told me this was getting too big even for the Enterprise.”

“But I also said I was going to find El Bison El,” Kyle reminded him, sounding more confident than he had before.

“Where?” Will repeated, more forcefully this time.

“Into the city, about half a kilometer up,” Kyle replied.

“How’d you find him in a city emptying out?”

“Used a padd with his picture, asked people as they filed by. Took a while since it was just me, but I got it done.”

“Did you ask the peace officers for help?”

“They’re busy with the evacuation. That’s why I need you, son. We have to go get him and bring him to the doctors.”

This was all making sense to Will, and he was finally feeling like things were falling into place. Something remained nagging in the back of his mind but he wasn’t sure if it was a lingering headache or an unrecognized problem.

“Rather than explain what was happening, you cold-cocked me, so fill me in,” Will insisted. “And don’t leave anything out.” Will saw to it his voice was officious and all-business, indicating to his father there would be total honesty on this point.

“A wild rumor got out that the power plant in the center of the city was going super-critical, leaking toxic fumes. We got the blame for it, of course, and people took it upon themselves to leave the path of the gases.” Kyle concentrated on banking the vessel and then it accelerated. Before Will could say anything, Kyle continued. “No, it’s not going super-critical. Like I said, a wild rumor.”

“How do you propose we actually find this guy?”

“The people who spotted him last saw him by a bar. They described it to me. We’ll fly by and survey the scene and then make a plan. But I figure time is of the essence.”

“Hasn’t it been that way since Bison broke containment?”

Kyle, typically, said nothing.

Minutes later, the flyer was snaking between tall and wide buildings, Will using his station to do a detailed scan of each exterior. The family that told Kyle about Bison was less than exact in their description of the bar. It was going to be guesswork, Will assumed, and some luck. Most of the buildings had no exterior walkways; few were even connected by any sort of bridge, making it easier to eliminate targets at a glance. For the first three buildings that might match the description, Kyle flew around the structure at varying heights while Will looked. No building resembled any bar Will had ever seen. The two men worked in silence, each performing their tasks and knowing the other would not shirk from saving a life.

The fourth building had light movement and Will focused the scanner, magnifying the image. Sure enough, it was a bar, with optics blinking in an ever-changing swirl of logos, promising a wide variety of drinks from Omega IV to Andor. Will watched for another few moments and pointed it out to his father.

“No people around, no other flyers in sight. He’s not going to outrun us. We can land on the roof and come downstairs and grab him.” Kyle was quickly assessing the situation, reaching conclusions as fast as Data would under the same circumstances.

“And we have no way of calling for any help should he walk out while we land. We’re going to make some noise that’ll alert him,” Will said.

“I’ll just have to land quietly,” Kyle said with his first genuine smile in the last few hours. And there was the face of his father, the one Will remembered when they were hiking or camping. For a brief moment, Will felt like he was ten again and the world offered him hope.

Sure enough, Kyle cut back on the engines, dimming their roar as the flyer neared the roof. With minute adjustments, the craft tipped left then right and finally settled into a perfect landing that barely jarred its passengers. Kyle actually winked at Will, much the way he did those long years back, and smiled.

Will began to smile in return, but his head throbbed and he was reminded that his father recently knocked him cold. He dropped the smile and frowned, which seemed to confuse Kyle. Let it, Will decided.

They found an access hatch and entered the building. Neither man carried a weapon, Kyle having assured his son that Bison posed no threat. From the surveillance video he saw at the quarantine center, Will had to agree.

It took less than three minutes for them to make their way down the stairs and to the rear of the bar. They emerged into a large storeroom with case upon case of liquors from around the quadrant stacked haphazardly. As Will admired some of the more exotic labels, Kyle was checking the possible exits, looking for booby traps, weapons, or anything amiss. Will had to admire his father for falling into smart habits that no doubt saved his life time and again.

Kyle gestured to Will, signaling everything seemed clear. Will nodded in return and they headed for the door that would bring them into the public portion of the establishment.

For a bar, it was exceedingly quiet. On the other hand, the city was in the process of being evacuated. Still, Will expected some people to fortify themselves with some liquid protection so he expected something, even if it was tinny music from a bad speaker.

Will took point, accustomed to leading what was essentially an away mission. He placed his left hand flat against the swinging door and tested it. There was no resistance so he took one deep breath and pushed it open, quickly stepping into the bar proper.

There were identical highly polished, angular bars, each with attached stools. Glasses and mugs littered the tabletops and floor, lights continued to flash around what appeared to be the daily special, a bottle in the shape of a fat and happy Ferengi. A hologram danced at either end of the bar, a scantily clad Dorset woman, her hands moving in a complex pattern.

But no sound.

No movement.

Will’s eyes scanned the room and saw that past the twin bars was an adjacent room with tables, chairs, and a slumped figure. He pointed to the doorway and silently waved his father to follow.

El Bison El, test subject for the greater good of Delta Sigma IV, was in a drunken stupor, half leaning atop a short round table. Four bottles of something red were stacked by his arms. A loud snore signaled he was asleep and Will let out his breath and grimaced at the sight. He didn’t have to be a trained tactician to understand that this was a man who drank out of guilt, to wash away sorrow for something that was not at all his fault.

“What do we do with him?” Kyle asked in a whisper.

“We start by not whispering,” Will replied. “Then we haul him up those stairs to the flyer. On our way out, we can see if they have something to help wake him up, maybe some coffee.”

“Do you have a destination in mind?”

“The capital, of course. The chief medic is based there. She can begin a workup and then consult with Dr. Crusher.”

“Bit of a flight,” Kyle said, mentally making calculations.

“Well, you saw to it I couldn’t signal the ship.”

“Point taken,” Kyle admitted. He clapped his hands together. “You want the arms or legs?”

“I was thinking left and right, should make it easier on the stairs,” Will said. And without waiting for a reply, he bent over and grabbed a limp arm. With a tug, Bison moved like a rag doll, half falling out of his chair and interrupting the pattern of his snoring.

Together they struggled with Bison, especially as they took to the stairs, which were a little too narrow for them to handle Bison three abreast. Fortunately, he seemed totally oblivious to being manhandled so the men were perhaps rougher than necessary in moving him, but they finally got him to the top of the stairs.

As the hatch opened to the roof, Will was met with a rush of cold air and he blinked a few times to fight the sting. Once Kyle joined him on the roof, they were able to move more freely and got Bison into the flyer without delay. The two men strapped Bison into the one chair in the rear and then Kyle looked him over. There was stubble around his chin and he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in days. His clothes were torn in spots, mud on one leg and something that may have been blood on the other.

“I’ll power her up and you can look for that coffee,” Kyle said, reaching for an overhead panel. His right hand was stopped by Will’s own hand wrapping around Kyle’s wrist.

“And let you fly out by yourself? I’m not a kid anymore. We’ll go down together.”

With a shrug, Kyle pulled his right arm free and rose from his seat. They left the flyer in silence and quickly returned to the bar. Will flipped on the computer mix-master and checked its menu for non-alcoholic drinks. He didn’t find coffee but did locate raktajino, which served the purpose just fine. Kyle had already turned up a thermos so they filled it to the brim with the Klingon brew. Grabbing three mugs, Kyle turned to leave. Will cleared his throat.

“What?”

“We have to pay for this,” Will said. “Otherwise it’s stealing.”

Kyle fumed for a moment and then turned toward the door once more. “Sorry, son, I don’t carry any native chits. I doubt they’ll notice, and you can always send them something when this is over.”

Will didn’t like the notion nor did he see much in the way of alternatives. He mentally added it to the list of things his father needed to atone for.

Kyle took the flyer back into the sky minutes later. The sun had risen higher, the air getting warmer. It looked to be a sunny, cloudless day over the emptying city.

“Good work, son,” Kyle said as the city receded.

Ignoring the compliment, Will poured some of the Klingon drink into a mug. He started to pour a second cup but realized his father couldn’t take his hands out of the control sleeves. Shrugging, he capped the thermos and said, his voice cold, “Chalk up another success for Kyle Riker. You’re still looking to balance the books, aren’t you? What do we do when the flyer needs more power? Steal another? You’ll just keep justifying to yourself that stealing in this case is the appropriate action. But guess what, Dad, you can’t stop this.”

Kyle looked straight ahead, jaw muscles tightening, clearly biting back a response. Will thought it interesting his father didn’t want to renew the argument. Changing tactics, he said, “By the way, thanks for hitting me. Can you explain that one?”

Seconds passed and Will watched as Kyle adjusted their course, heading southeast now. The jaw muscles stopped marching across his face and he was going to wait the man out.

“If you called Picard, we wouldn’t have found Bison.”

“Bull. You want to stay out here, free. I want to know why. I think I deserve an answer.”

Kyle remained silent, staring ahead and flying.

Will continued: “And without contact with the Enterprise, we have no way of knowing what else is happening. For all you know, there’s a cure or civil war has broken out. So, where do you want to go if not the capital?”

“Old Iron Boots knew all about that war,” his father said randomly.

His father was talking about Thaddeus Riker, a colonel for the northern forces during the American Civil War. Still, it wasn’t like his father to bring up something that odd.

“He marched with Sherman, knew exactly where to go and what to do. Followed his orders and survived. We have to do the same. Save the people, repair the damage I caused. And we’re going to do this together.”

“This has grown beyond any one man’s ability to solve.”

“No, son, have you forgotten one of Starfleet’s most important lessons: one man can make a difference.”

“But that man, in this case, may not be you.”

“I’m the man who fixes things,” Kyle said defensively. Will heard the strain creep into his voice with increasing regularity. “The doctors got it wrong, did something to exacerbate the problem. I should have foreseen being ignored and done something differently when they were returned to the planet. Since I didn’t…I…we…have to keep things in check.”

“And you don’t know how to fix this one, do you?”

There was a long silence. Neither looked at the other.

“No.” Kyle’s voice was rock hard.

Will struggled to modulate his tone, swallowing the bitterness he felt. In a softer tone he said, “Then let’s go back to the capital. Let’s work with Beverly and the doctors. Let’s solve this together.”

Over the years Will had heard his father angry, happy, determined and all the usual emotions one would expect of a father. But right now he heard something for the first time.

Guilt.

He was taken aback by the intensity of the feeling and desperately wished Troi was beside him to help understand the situation better. This was something she was more accustomed to dealing with, something he didn’t necessarily feel anywhere near as qualified to handle.

Will grew worried about his father, hearing the mental stress in his voice and the message contained in the words. What had he missed, what signals did Will not see in his father’s behavior the hours they’d spent together for this to seem so revelatory?

“You can’t solve this alone, and we can’t make that much of a difference by ourselves. This is a time for a team effort. If I know the captain, he has the doctor working on finding a cure and Lieutenant Vale coordinating emergency security efforts. We can join them and make our difference there.”

Kyle flew them in silence and Will began debating his chances at taking control of the ship, returning the favor and knocking out his own father. He’d been watching first Seer and now Kyle use the flyer and he was fairly certain he could master it without effort. But the conditions were cramped and given the strain his father placed on himself, there was no knowing how he’d react to being attacked.

Rather than risk crashing, Will decided he would next act when they were on land. Instead, he concentrated on getting through to his father, trying to make him see the reality of the situation.

“You said the chief of staff had you look into this. Where was the tactical advantage in a peaceful planet?”

“Ever hear the phrase ‘If you could bottle the air, you’d make a fortune’?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s archaic, I suppose,” Kyle said, his voice sounding distant. “Once we figured out the people we drugged, the question was could the drug be used elsewhere.”

“The Federation wanted to use it—for what?”

“Think about it, Willy. We were fighting the Dominion, and losing. We had to examine any and every option for fighting. Imagine being able to reduce the aggression in the Jem’Hadar.”

And there it was. The Federation was ready to use drug warfare, as unethical as it sounded now; it probably sounded a whole lot less objectionable during those desperate days.

“But your studies…?”

“Abandoned when they surrendered. We never figured out if the natural gases here could be synthesized. A dead end. Or so I thought until this disaster.”

“Dad, can you see the futility in doing this alone? We won the war because of joint efforts. No mavericks, no Garths to do it single-handedly. Those days, I think, are gone. We’ve become too complex, too large a galaxy. Now, tell me, where are we going?”

“Back to the capital, I guess,” Kyle said. There had been no course change, and Will studied the displays to gain some idea of their heading. He was surprised to realize his father had them aimed at the capital the whole time.

“All I ask is that I save one world,” Kyle replied. “Is that so much?”

Will looked at the man, broken but determined, ready to risk everything to fix the unfixable. “No, Dad, not so much.”

And the ship flew on.

 

It felt good to get off the bridge. That was the first thing on Kell Perim’s mind as she worked with a detail to sort out a problem at a marketplace on Osedah. After watching the world spin on the main viewscreen for two straight shifts, she was bored. A part of her wondered if she was the fastest officer to volunteer when Captain Picard’s announcement was made. Certainly, she was the first one to receive Commander Data’s permission.

“I can understand your desire to do something proactive,” he had told her. “I have frequently seen conn officers chafe in their seats during such missions. Do be careful.”

She thought his final warning was sweet. Although he had turned over his emotion chip to Starfleet Command some months back, he was still caring and even compassionate. Commander La Forge had told her about what Data was like in the days before she signed on board, when his positronic matrix had not yet developed enough to properly handle the complex sensory input the chip would provide.

She hurried to transporter room two. While she enjoyed flying the starship and thought herself more than competent at the job, she envied those who frequently went on away missions. She imagined what it must be like to accompany Commander Riker or Data to the surface of a planet, either to explore or to handle a problem. Either would have been fine with her. Being the patient officer that she was, Perim had decided a few weeks earlier, after the Enterprise had completed its mission with the Dokaalan, that she would ask for some away duty during her next performance evaluation. After all those years as alpha shift helm officer, Perim thought she at least deserved consideration.

Nafir stood behind the controls as Jim Peart, security’s second-in-command, issued instructions. Perim had worked alongside Peart. She considered him a handsome fellow and had more than once considered inviting him for a drink. He spotted her coming in and gave her a friendly smile.

“Kell, I’m placing you with Gracin’s team. We have a marketplace that needs taming,” he said, handing her a phaser. She hefted the device, trying to remember the last time she had used one. It was probably during the mandatory weapons proficiency evaluations six months earlier. Her test results were in the average range, which, considering she had rarely touched the weapon since the war, was good enough. She holstered it and looked at her comrades. Gracin was stocky, with short curly hair and a dimpled smile.

“Bring you back anything?” she asked Peart.

“No souvenirs on this trip,” he said, all serious.

“You’re taking all the fun out of my first away team mission,” she said, and gave him an exaggerated pout.

“Come back alive and we can talk about…souvenirs,” Peart said.

Gracin spoke up, cutting off her next comment. “We just know there’s a problem, but nothing specific. It could be a shoplifter, or the entire place could be one free-for-all. Phasers remain holstered until we get the gist of the problem. We’re spread thin, so if there’s trouble, we’re likely to be on our own. Perim, Goodnough, you follow my lead. Davila, you bring up the rear. Everyone, stay close.”

Perim took a step toward the platform, then turned and flashed Peart her most dazzling smile. He almost did a double-take as he looked right into her eyes. There was a curiosity there; she could practically see him reevaluating her. Damn, he’s good-looking, she thought.

“You bet I will,” she replied, and quickly stepped on to the transporter platform. Beside her was a female engineer, Goodnough, and then there was Gracin, looking grim and determined. Behind him stood another security officer, Davila. Four against how many? she wondered as they readied themselves.

Osedah was experiencing fall, Perim thought as she materialized. There was a familiar sting to the air, and sure enough, trees in the distance were dropping multi-hued leaves that fluttered on the soft breeze. Before them was a huge entranceway coated with signage, practically begging people to enter the bazaar. Food, spices, perfume, crafts, everything was promised, prices were reasonable, and no one would walk away unhappy.

No one was at the entrance. There was no one anywhere in sight. The bazaar—broad, one story tall, made out of canvas coverings affixed to metal posts—was located at the intersection of three roads, with plenty of space for local vehicles as well as a station nearby with what appeared to be a monorail track. Local time was late morning, so the Trill expected the place to be bustling. Of course, there was supposed to be a problem, so something must have scared the people away. She remembered her training and surveyed the scene using all of her senses. She couldn’t hear any screams. The air smelled of cooking meats and something else, but nothing was burning. It was downright odd.

With a glance, she saw that Gracin was scanning the area with a tricorder, a frown etched across his face. It made her feel somewhat better to know that this situation baffled a more seasoned officer. Goodnough seemed confused, too, turning in slow circles, trying to figure out where the problem was.

“All life signs are clustered deep within the bazaar,” Gracin finally said. “From what I can make out, the entire layout is designed to force shoppers all the way through the bazaar before they can leave. One pathway, blocked emergency exits.”

“How many life signs?” Davila asked.

“Forty-two. A mix of Bader and Dorset, strong and vital. Okay, here’s what we do: we work our way deep inside, slowly, and survey. Davila, you take the rear and keep your phaser at the ready. Everyone else, stay holstered.”

Everyone acknowledged the order, and then Gracin spun on his left heel and strode forward with an air of confidence that Perim didn’t share. Within seconds he was past the arch and inside the artificially lit structure. As Perim walked behind Gracin, she saw that to each side were low tables piled high with items for sale. On each metal post were prices, specials of the day, manager recommendations, every trick she had ever seen to get people to buy goods. There wasn’t anything like this on her native world of Trill, but she had seen many such places while at the Academy on Earth and then on other worlds, from Farius Prime to Sherman’s Planet. She missed the sounds of haggling, of people shouting with pride about their wares, of old friends reunited. The silence was more than disturbing, it was alarming.

As they hit the first bend, they went right, then a quick left. Whoever had been staffing these booths had left them in a hurry. Candles burned, a cash box lay atop a stack of garments. At one table she saw small carvings of Bader children at play and idly thought that one might be nice for Peart, but knew there was no time for shopping. Along the way, the deeper they got, the more disheveled the tables were. Then they saw one overturned. Another left and they found one broken in half, the pottery once displayed on it broken into countless shards.

Gracin stopped so suddenly, the distracted Kell smacked into his broad shoulders. She immediately stepped back, biting her tongue from uttering an apology. With a quick hand signal, he communicated something to Davila and remained still. Finally, Kell heard the sobbing sound that must have alerted her squad leader. It sounded like a child. Kell knew that whole families usually worked these sorts of places, and it made her angry that children should be victimized by violence as well as adults.

Gracin began moving forward more slowly, his right hand just inches from the phaser still at his hip. He paused at a right-hand bend and peered around it, jerking back after only an instant. He waved the others close so he could speak in a whisper.

“The Dorset have all the Bader in a group. They’re brandishing knives. I’d say an almost even split.”

They all exchanged alarmed glances. That meant twenty or so weapon-bearing Dorset against just four Starfleet officers. Kell didn’t like the odds at all and was wondering why she ever talked herself into beaming down, let alone volunteering. She flexed her knee, the one that had been troubling her for months now. Crusher kept pushing a mechanical replacement, but Perim had remained hesitant. It felt fine, but she feared it would give out on her while in action. With a violent shake of her head, she banished her fear, knowing full well she was trained for this sort of problem. She was in Starfleet for a reason, and saving lives was part of that. She would do her job and make Gracin and Data proud. Oh, and Peart too.

“Goodnough, Davila, you backtrack and come around to their position on the opposite side of the canvas,” Gracin instructed in clipped tones as he handed the tricorder to his partner. “When you’re in position, I’ll startle them. We need to attack front and rear if we have any hope of saving these people.”

Davila nodded once and tapped the tip of the phaser against his temple in a salute.

“Okay, Perim, ready to make a stand?”

“Give me the word,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, and turned his back, straining to listen as the other two retreated. Perim watched them hurry along, careful to step over broken items. She couldn’t hear more than a scratch in the dirt, not loud enough to alert the Dorset.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered into Gracin’s ear.

“I’ll count down with my fingers. On my mark, we will emerge in their line of sight and immediately stun those closest to the Bader. You fire to your right. The phaser fire will be all the signal Davila needs. He will either fire on those trying to escape, or cut through the canvas and herd the Bader out.”

“Wait, do you mean it’s you and me against twenty?”

“Odds too small?” he asked with a tight smile.

“Odds too great,” she countered. “You’ve never seen my scores.” She hated the notion that her first mission would involve shooting a phaser. She would have preferred a rescue mission that didn’t put people in harm’s way. Once phasers were fired, people could panic and wind up in the path of a shot. Or be shot by frightened Dorset. But without backup, Gracin had little choice but to plan an offensive approach, and to be honest, she couldn’t think of a better plan.

The seconds passed slowly. Perim saw that Gracin was not only concentrating on the sounds before him, but also mentally tracing Davila and Goodnough’s path back out and around until they were in position. There was no way to signal one another without alerting the terrorists, so silence was their only option. Perim didn’t doubt that Vale had trained her troops well during the days en route to Delta Sigma IV; she’d overheard enough reports to know the score results had pleased Captain Picard. If he trusted Vale and she trusted her people, then she was going to trust Gracin.

Finally Gracin was satisfied that the others were in position. He held up his left hand, fingers spread wide. Five. His other hand gripped his phaser, and it practically nodded toward her. She got the signal and withdrew her own weapon. The phaser felt heavy in her hand, and nervous sweat was already forming on her palm.

Four.

She checked the setting, satisfied it wouldn’t slip from stun to disintegrate.

Three.

She ran her free hand through her hair, making sure it wouldn’t fall into her eyes.

Two.

She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly.

One.

She muttered a very short prayer.

Mark.

In a burst of motion, they rounded the corner and were firing before she had fully cleared the space. Some Dorset fell; others screamed. At least one attacked back, a knife flying close to her but missing.

Gracin fired at one, then another, with sure, true shots. Perim barely let go of her trigger, so the crimson beam was continuous, striking Dorset, pillars, a table. Things and people went flying, but fortunately, the Bader knew enough to stay down.

Sure enough, several Dorset used their knives to cut the canvas and try to escape. No sooner did a hole appear than a phaser beam cut through the air and knocked the would-be escaper backward over the shoulders of hunched-over Bader. Once the Dorset was in their midst, the former prisoners pummeled the man.

Davila was through the ragged space and firing as well. Goodnough scrambled through the sliced fabric right behind him, firing with much the same continuous motion Perim used. That made her feel better, but she suspected it wasn’t by-the-book.

One Dorset, screaming something about Bader treachery, grabbed a woman by the hair and tried to slit her throat. Gracin threw himself over huddled Bader and grabbed for the man’s knife hand. The two men grappled, and Perim took the opportunity to yank the woman out of the way. Then, when the Dorset man presented his back to Perim, she fired.

“Thanks. Duck!” he shouted.

Without hesitation, she bent her knees and dropped low, and he fired where she had been standing a moment before. Only then did she turn and watch a Dorset woman pinwheel backward into a table.

It wasn’t long before the Dorset were rounded up, the Bader using whatever they could find to tie them up. The cacophony of voices gave Perim a headache. People were accusing one another of fomenting a rebellion, while others were hurling epithets at Starfleet and still more were crying over their destroyed belongings.

Davila gave her a smile and patted her shoulder, indicating he was pleased with her work. Goodnough sidled up to Perim and said, “Are all away missions like this?”

“No, from what I hear, they’re an awful lot more dangerous.”

And she couldn’t wait until the next opportunity.

 

Picard was fuming. When he told his senior staff they were to convene in three hours, he didn’t mean three hours and five minutes. Still, Crusher was missing, and she was the most important member of the staff, given the topic for discussion. Everyone was busy, and he hated pulling La Forge away from the engines—he really needed to ask about the plasma injector problem, but it wasn’t immediately vital. Data was clearly running the ship effectively, but Picard hadn’t taken the time to inquire as to the crew’s mood. In fact, the captain had been falling more and more out of touch with everything but the Council, and they were moving with less than deliberate speed. He’d much prefer to handle things aboard the ship, but he had time for only the most important matters. He had hastily drunk a cup of soup while going through the last communiqués from Starfleet before checking in with the recovering Ambassador Morrow and then called down to verify that the Council halves had, as expected, done nothing while he was away.

Once that was clear, he asked Troi to come back aboard and do a fast analysis of Crusher’s issues concerning her plant seeding scheme. The last thing he wanted was to approve a solution and then discover it would violate some cultural taboo. The concerned look in her eyes when she grasped the issue didn’t tell him which side she favored, and maybe that was for the best.

Still, a part of him wanted to postpone the meeting until Riker had been found. The captain had become so used to having the first officer’s insight that it felt wrong not to have him seated by his side. The hours had ticked by and any hope he had of a miraculous rescue evaporated, especially when Lieutenant Vale was the first to enter the observation lounge. She gave him a wan smile and a shrug of her shoulders.

Everyone who had been planetside looked exhausted, and Picard hoped that when this mission ended, Command would allow them some shore leave.

Finally, a whoosh of the doors and Crusher entered the room, hair flying, hands thrust deep into her lab coat pockets. She muttered apologies as she passed Picard and took her seat to his right.

“Everything okay, Doc?” La Forge asked.

“Fine,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I was helping Tropp finish with a patient he rescued.”

“The impaled one,” La Forge added. “Nice work on that, I hear.”

“She was a mess, but she’ll live,” Crusher finished.

“That’s certainly good to hear,” Picard said, regaining control of the room. All eyes turned his way, expectant. “After I present the facts, I will need everyone’s considered opinion on what we do next. Either choice will have long-lasting consequences to both races.

“The liscom gas Dr. Crusher discovered in the bloodstream has acted like a narcotic. It has effectively drugged these people into peacefulness. They grew up believing their history, which says it was an enlightened view of the universe that led to the peaceful colonization of Delta Sigma IV. They were wrong. The gas also altered their life cycles, accelerating them so they are now dying off at a faster than normal rate.

“What Starfleet Medical discovered was a cure for the aging but totally missed the tranquilizing effects of the gas in the natives’ systems. Their cure neutralized the gas’s soporific effects, and the natives reverted to their true natures. As you know, those natures are anything but peaceful and cooperative. And the cure has spread like a virus, igniting the violence that has become our preoccupation.

“From what the doctor has determined, these people have never experienced such feelings before and are completely untrained in handling the emotions coursing through them.”

“There’s more to it than that,” Troi interrupted. Picard nodded for her to continue. “All the more extreme emotions were suppressed, which not only led them to peaceful cohabitation but also stunted their emotional growth. I took a quick look at their native music, art, and literature. It’s all very basic and bland. As some of us have noted, their buildings are not very interesting to look at. It’s because they lacked the passion for creativity. The inability of the government to act during this crisis also seems to be a by-product of the liscom gas. On their original homeworlds, those natural aggressive tendencies had been channeled into governance and creativity. Once those abilities were removed by the liscom gas, the spark was essentially snuffed out.”

“I didn’t think two races could be so boring,” Morrow chimed in from the rear of the room. Picard shot him a look, and the ambassador slumped a little lower in the seat. The captain noted that the man looked healthier than before, which was good since he would need his help before this mission ended.

Picard continued after another moment. “What Dr. Crusher has determined is that we could let things remain as is, let the people belatedly come to grips with their natural tendencies, learning through experience and living out their normal lives, or she can introduce something that would neutralize the liscom gas’s effects on the chromosomes, letting them live peacefully but keeping them drugged.

“Neither the doctor nor I want to make this decision ourselves. We certainly can’t expect the divided Council to make an informed choice. Therefore, I now open the floor to debate. While I’d like to give this a proper airing, time is definitely against us.”

Picard stopped and let his words sink in. As expected, Data, without an emotional filter, was the first to speak.

“Captain, if these people formed a peace that led to membership in the Federation under altered circumstances, does it not follow that the Bader and Dorset governments should be consulted?”

Picard looked at Morrow, glad to have immediate input from the Diplomatic Corps, especially from one who had spent some time with the people involved. Morrow sat up straighter, wincing as his left hand gently rubbed one of the almost-healed ribs.

“That is one course of action, certainly, but not a required one. The gas is a natural phenomenon, so the situation is much different than if they all ingested something illegal, like Red Ice. In fact, both governments might see this as a way to press their claim to the planet, which in turn might ignite a new conflict, and the citizens below would be caught in the middle.”

“So you would not suggest that approach?”

“No, Mr. Data.” Picard inwardly winced at the simplicity of expression on Data’s face. He missed having his second officer complete with emotions, and he suffered on his friend’s behalf since, after all, Data couldn’t fully comprehend his loss.

“My chief concern,” Crusher observed, “is that by administering yet another element into the ecosystem I’m treating people who are not technically sick. I’m changing them permanently because of my own moral system.”

“But don’t we recognize the need to change the status quo because it’s killing them?” La Forge said. “Left as they are, either they’ll kill each other or the survivors will die prematurely. Let the liscom gas take hold once more, they’ll just die more slowly.”

“Death either way is no solution,” Troi said.

“Starfleet Medical’s code of ethics isn’t clear on this sort of subject,” Crusher said. “I spent some time checking on it, while Moq finished the simulation. Still, I cannot in good conscience risk changing these people again, possibly for the worse. They tested five subjects for almost a year, and you’d have me introduce my ‘cure’ immediately, with no test subjects at all.”

“So noted, Doctor,” Picard said, wondering what Riker would think about all this.

“Sir,” Vale spoke up. “I have people down there giving their lives to preserve a peace that maybe never should have existed at all. Maybe the best course of action is to abandon the world entirely. It’s toxic to both races.”

“I’m not sure either of the original homeworlds would welcome back the descendants of those who left,” Morrow said. “Checking would take time, which I’m told we do not have.”

“Besides, this ship isn’t big enough for the population. Even with the other ships in nearby sectors, it still wouldn’t be enough,” La Forge said.

“We can’t introduce this without at least telling the Council about it,” Troi said. “And I have no real sense that they will accept what they consider further meddling on our part. A central theme of the protests has been an objection to the Federation’s role.”

“I think it’s safe to say that few are left who might be considered to be in their right minds,” Morrow said.

“On the contrary,” Data interjected. “By now the majority of the planet has had their minds restored to what would be considered proper by any medical authority.”

“Quite right, Data,” Picard said solemnly. “But in so doing, we’ve unleashed a firestorm of unrest that will certainly claim countless more lives before we have any hope of restoring order.”

“Captain, what would it take to do just that?” Troi asked.

Picard looked at Vale. “Lieutenant?”

“Well, let’s see,” Vale began, her brow furrowing. “We’d need thousands of peace-keeping troops to keep everyone from arguing and fighting. That would mean using troops, who are more used to ground actions than police work. Then, the Diplomatic Corps, I suppose, would need to send hundreds of teachers or psychologists to give them the kind of moral training that most people receive as they grow up. And, given that both races naturally tend to be aggressive, there would probably be resistance to being taught how to behave. The majority are adults, after all, so they would resist training.”

“Following that scenario, sir,” Data said, “I would estimate it would take seventeen months three weeks and five days before enough personnel were on this planet to make an effective difference.”

“Thank you, Mr. Data,” Picard said.

“What you’re missing,” Morrow said, “is that we don’t have hundreds of people available today. With the rebuilding going on throughout the Federation, plus the aid we’ve been giving the Cardassians and to the Genesis sector, we’re stretched beyond thin.”

“And I gather there are other hot spots brewing, as always, where our forces might be required,” Vale added.

“It seems there’s a chance for peace to properly take root,” Morrow muttered.

“Too true, Ambassador,” Picard said. “Our corner of the universe has so many intelligent races that there will probably always be some form of trouble. However, history has shown us that things do change, usually for the better. The Klingons became our allies after decades of carnage, and recently even the Romulans proved helpful in our war with the Dominion. One can only hope the Praetor has learned some lessons and one day they too may be called our friends.”

“I hope you’re right,” Vale said.

“We clearly do not have the manpower this world needs, so we’re faced with our original choices,” Crusher said.

“Any further opinion?” Picard paused and was met with expectant looks. “Very well, then. I will consider all that you have said and will issue my orders shortly. For those of you heading back to the planet, I suggest you take advantage of being here to eat and clean up before returning. Dismissed.”

Everyone stood, and Picard let them all pass by as they headed either to the bridge or the corridor. In their faces he saw a mixture of concern and confidence. He and Beverly exchanged a long look that he had no trouble reading. He knew her heart, her reluctance to tamper with an already afflicted people. She looked exhausted, in desperate need of sleep, but he found himself noting how attractive she was despite the strain. He shoved that stray thought aside and remained in the lounge as the doors closed. Taking his seat once more, he gazed out among the stars and let the arguments echo again in his mind.

 

A stray spark caused Anh Hoang to drop her tool. It fell ten meters to the ground and reverberated with a loud clang. People scattered, some automatically putting their hands over their heads while others scurried into doorways, seeking shelter.

“It’s all right, I just dropped the spanner,” she called out.

“You must be more careful with your tools,” Taurik said. He appeared completely unruffled, which was to be expected. She envied that self-control, the ability to remain calm regardless of the madness surrounding them both. Her team had beamed down to the city—she’d already forgotten its name—an hour earlier. Taurik had requested additional engineering help to repair damage to the power generators. His team had consisted of himself, a sociologist, and a security officer who professed to being completely unskilled with tools. As a result, Taurik had tried to handle the repairs while the other two kept watch at the main entrance.

Hoang had beamed down with Cobbins, a tall, painfully thin black woman from security, and Chafin, a gamma-shift maintenance worker. Immediately, Cobbins had gone to plan with her colleague from security while Chafin had ambled over to the sociologist, whose name Hoang couldn’t remember. It didn’t matter, since she had to concentrate on helping Taurik with the mess that was the main control panels. A mob had managed to get past the local peace officers. Their rampage through the building had caused a cascade effect that robbed the city of light and power. Fortunately, the weather was warm, so heat wasn’t an immediate issue.

While Taurik had set to work deep within the machinery, Hoang had clambered up a ladder and begun checking connections between the control panels and the generators. Things seemed fine; no one had bothered to climb this high just to cause trouble. However, several connections had been jarred loose, spoiling the alignment, and she was working with the spanner to set things aright.

“Do you require assistance?”

“No thanks, Taurik,” she called out. “One of the lines sparked. I’ve got it tightened down.”

“But your spanner is still on the ground.”

“I improvised.” She grinned and held up a different tool, similar in length to the spanner.

“It is not recommended,” he said dryly.

“No, but it sure beat climbing back down and then back up just to tighten this up. Besides, I’m done up here. I was about to come down anyway.”

“Acknowledged.” Without another look up, he turned and resumed his work. By then, the others had realized they were in no danger and resumed their posts. Cobbins felt that all doorways should be manned until the sensitive work was done. Chafin took the doorway least likely to be used while Cobbins took the main entrance. While they watched the streets, the security team tidied up the place, collecting the debris into one area.

Hoang climbed down and put her hands on her hips, staring at the control panels. With many of the interfaces shattered, she could either create new temporary interfaces, just to give the controllers something to work with when they returned to maintain the facility, or simply jury-rig everything to run at a steady cycle until new panels could be properly fabricated. On the Enterprise, she knew La Forge would prefer interfaces that would enable him to control the flow. For a city, there was less of a varied need for power. She had charts that showed the peak use periods, so she could rig everything with a timer and the machinery would virtually run itself, allowing the staff to rebuild or help elsewhere. Neither solution was elegant, but to her mind, it didn’t matter. Once they left, the building would be vulnerable again, and who was to say the mob wouldn’t return and destroy things all over again?

No, better to get it up and running in a steady state, leaving the fine-tuning to the local engineers. That decided, she reached into her tool kit and withdrew a padd with a complete set of schematics of the station. There were wiring charts that enabled her to understand where she could reroute power, and she lost herself in thought as solutions presented themselves. A small part of her mind appreciated the work, the distraction from the more exacting problem of replacing the plasma injector and from her personal troubles.

Her brief conversations with Counselor Troi over the last few days had forced her to look at the life she was leading and to question her career choices. Having made the decision to leave Earth and serve on the Enterprise, she didn’t wish to reevaluate it, but sure enough, she was doing just that. And by thinking of Earth, she was reminded that the bodies of her family were back there, the remains reduced to a few ounces of ash kept in ceramic urns kindly provided by Starfleet. Her apartment had been destroyed in the Breen attack, so she didn’t even have a proper place to display them. They were carefully wrapped in silk cloth and locked away with her few other mementos in Starfleet storage until she found a new home. It never occurred to her to bring the urns with her aboard the Enterprise. They would only remind her of just how much she had lost during the war.

Carefully, she wrapped her index finger around a loose connection and pulled it, detaching it from the wrecked innards of the station. It was a dull green and frayed in spots. If there were time, it could be replaced, but Hoang suspected such niceties would have to wait. She reached in for the bright yellow wire that was its mate and heard Taurik working farther away. For not the first time, she idly wondered if she should ask him for some tips on keeping painful memories at bay, but once more rejected the idea. This was her life and she would have to deal with it in her own way.

With the two wires now exposed, she was able to reach in and carefully remove the damaged isolinear chips that controlled most of the power flow. These would have to be replaced, she realized, and carefully built a stack of them. So lost in the work was she that it only slowly dawned on her that there were new sounds in the facility. Angry sounds.

The mob was returning, she concluded, suppressing a shiver. She looked over her shoulder toward the main door and saw that Cobbins had taken charge, repositioning the few Starfleet personnel available.

“Keep working,” she snapped at Hoang with a powerful voice that belied her small frame. “Finish and we can get out of here. How long do you and Taurik need?”

“I’m not sure,” she said in a surprisingly small voice. It was a voice she didn’t want to hear anymore.

“Well, keep at it!” Without waiting for a response, she jogged toward a supply closet, looking for something.

Hoang continued to work, forcing herself to focus on each chip as she removed it, inspecting it for flaws and adding the chip to the growing stack. There were far more damaged chips than she expected, which implied a deeper problem within the control station.

Despite the work at hand, she paused for several moments and listened to the noise outside, finally recognizing it as similar to the sounds of panic she heard in the streets of San Francisco, when the Breen ships came to rain fire and death. Her fingers twitched at the memory, losing their grip on a chip. It tumbled to the concrete floor, shattering on impact.

 

Beverly hated waiting. She had waited for Jack to come back from his mission, but he had never returned. She had waited for Wesley to come back from his journey with the Traveler, only to have him make a brief visit and vanish again. She was waiting for this damned mission to end so she could talk to Jean-Luc about her future. And right now, she was waiting for him to summon her to his ready room and make his decision known.

After leaving the captain’s conference, she had checked with the nurses on the status of the few patients remaining in sickbay. With violence escalating on the planet, she was more than a little surprised to see so few serious injuries among the crew. Like the other department heads, she hadn’t stopped a single crewmember from volunteering to go planetside and help out. But with so many inexperienced people below, she had naturally estimated a higher incidence of injuries.

That left her with little to do until the decision came. So, she sat at her desk and began completing patient reports and delved into the paperwork that was so vital to future needs but so deadly dull in the present. Whatever dent she could make, she knew, would be helpful in the days ahead.

And yet, she continued to feel uncertain. Rarely had she and Picard been on opposite sides of a debate, and this disagreement came at a time when she was thinking of moving away from him—no, away from the ship. She knew Starfleet Medical offered a lot of opportunities and would give her access to colleagues she rarely saw in the flesh. Still, the Enterprise remained in the forefront of exploration, encountering more new life-forms and more cosmic conundrums than could ever be experienced on a single planet. And the ship had become her home.

So lost in thought was she that it took the sound of a throat-clearing cough to make her look up. Picard stood there, a sympathetic look on his face. He took a seat opposite her and waited for her full attention.

She saw the answer in his eyes. The set of his firm jaw.

“You’re ordering me to introduce my cure,” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I’ve been through the arguments several times, Beverly. Clearly, this planet and its people do not have the luxury of time. You will give them that time and let them live.”

“But live what kind of life? Emotionally and creatively stunted?”

“Until now, they were happy and proud. That should be the same when this is over,” he said. “The Federation opened their eyes to one problem, and you are giving them the time to decide their fates for themselves.”

“When the new plant life is introduced into the environment, it needs to be as pervasive as the liscom. We’ve already determined that eradicating that plant was impractical. The same will be true for this plant. What choice are we really giving them?”

Picard folded his hands on her desk, leaning forward. His voice was that of a captain making a hard choice, and she felt some sympathy for the position she helped put him in. “The choice to take a long-term approach to their planet. I keep coming back to that. It’s not for you or me or even the Federation to decide. They can keep your solution or systematically eradicate it. But they will be choosing for themselves, as it should be.”

“But they have tasted these emotions,” she countered. “Who knows how this will affect their future?”

“Not us, certainly,” he agreed in a sympathetic voice. “But you’re offering them a future, which is more than they’ll have if we do nothing. Have the simulations been double-checked?”

“Yes, of course,” she replied, putting on her business voice. “Moq is certain we have it right.”

“Begin synthesizing the compound. I’ll recall our best pilots and prepare the shuttles to begin seeding the world. I need to inform the Council. Do you want to be there to help explain matters?”

Crusher considered, mentally delegating work to Tropp and Moq, imagining having to explain the problem and the cure to the two Councils. Then she imagined Picard or Troi trying to do that and she nodded her head slowly. “I found the answer, I should be the one to explain it.”

“You sound like you’re admitting to a crime, which this is not,” he said with true sympathy in his voice.

“No matter how you explain this, Jean-Luc, I do not feel good about what we’re about to do,” she replied.

He gave her that sympathetic look again, which this time made her want to scream. Picard then got up, clearly done with his task. At least he had the courtesy to give her the bad news in her own office.