“Yes, sir,” said the Bolian, not hiding the worry in his voice. “Is everything all right?”
“No,” answered Chakotay as he stepped away from the advancing tide of disease and death. “It’s not.”
Chapter Two
IT WAS THE MORNING of his twelfth birthday, and his father had promised him something special—a trip to the Yukon Delta National Wildlife Refuge to observe Kodiak bears fishing for salmon. Living in Valdez, Alaska, did have its advantages, and so did having a father who was important enough in the Federation to command his own shuttlecraft and pilot. Will wasn’t exactly sure what his father did in outer space—only that it involved diplomacy and lots of traveling. He tried hard not to resent the time he had to spend in boarding schools and living with other families, who were always eager to do a favor for Kyle Riker.
That was why it was so special to wake up in a mountain cabin on the slopes of Mount Waskey and see his dad waving to him from the meadow, where a gleaming shuttlecraft waited. In the distance, snowy peaks shimmered like amethysts and diamonds against a lustrous pearl sky. To the north, the Tikchik Lakes gripped the vast land like fingers of mercury. Will took a breath, delighting in the musky pine scent. The cool breeze carried sounds of trickling water from the snow thaw, along with the calls of terns and geese. And there was his dad, waving to him from the shuttle-craft.
The gangly twelve-year-old strode across the frozen grass, which crunched satisfyingly under his boots, and he watched as his father inspected the small craft. Although it was a shiny new shuttle—with warp drive—Kyle Riker never took the condition of his ship for granted. When something needed to be done, like inspection before a takeoff, he didn’t hesitate to do it himself. His dad got things done, no matter what the cost, and Will figured that was his true value to the Federation.
“Hi, son!” he said jovially as the boy approached. Kyle Riker was a tall, robust man with a square jaw, piercing eyes, and a strong handshake. Women loved him, and he was a commanding presence wherever he went, even the Alaskan wilderness. Will was in awe of him.
“Should I wake up the pilot?” asked the boy.
“No, let him sleep. I can fly us for a short jump like this. I’d have to tell him exactly where to go, anyway, and this will be easier.” His dad circled the craft one more time, looking for damage to his shiny ship. “By the way, happy birthday.”
“Thanks.”
“Are you ready to go see the bears? I know a salmon run where they almost always show up. And I packed us a picnic lunch.”
“Great!” In reality, Will would be thrilled if they did nothing but sit in the cabin and talk, he saw so little of his dad. But everything that Kyle Riker did had to be an occasion. A mere visit wasn’t enough—they had to travel hundreds of kilometers to observe the largest bears in the world.
Dad opened the main hatch of the shuttle. “Jump in. Take the co-pilot’s seat.”
Will did as he was told, and he was excited to sit at the front of the cockpit, gazing at the amazing array of instruments and sensors. It seemed incredible that they could take off in this small vessel and travel all the way to the stars. More than anything else, that’s what Will wanted to do.
His dad settled into the seat beside him and started punching buttons and flipping switches. The instrument panel blinked impressively, and the impulse engines began to hum.
“I wish we had time to hike there, or ride horses,” said Kyle. “But we don’t, so this will have to do.”
“I think it’s great,” replied Will. The question of time saddened him a bit, because there was never enough of it. “When do you have to go back?”
“Tomorrow.” Kyle began his preflight checklist.
“How come you can’t stay longer?”
His father scowled, looking slightly resentful of the question. “I’m supposed to be on Rigel II in four days to negotiate with the Orions, and you don’t keep Orions waiting. Hang on—here we go.”
With a roar of thrusters, the shuttlecraft lifted off the ground and streaked into the pale blue sky, leaving the frozen meadow far below them. They swooped over lakes, forests, and mountains, heading northwest toward the ocean, which glittered in the morning sun like the aurora borealis.
Will knew he shouldn’t bother his dad with a million questions, but it might be months before he saw him again. With childlike directness, he pointed to the brilliant sky and asked, “How come you live out there, and I live here?”
“Don’t you like it in Alaska?” asked his dad with surprise.
“Sure, it’s okay.” Will didn’t mention that he had never lived anywhere else, so he didn’t have anything to compare it with. “I’d like it more if you lived here, too.”
“Well, I do live here…officially.”
“But you’re never here.”
His dad’s scowl deepened. “Are you trying to spoil this trip? I’m here now, aren’t I? And I came a long way for your birthday.”
Will knew he should shut up, but he had always spoken his mind. And this had been bothering him for a long time. “Dad, why can’t I live with you…out there?”
Kyle laughed. “On a starbase? In a little five-by-five room, with no scenery at all? It’s okay for me, but I’m only there a few days every couple of months. It’s just a place to hang my hat between assignments. And the places I go are often dangerous. Believe me, Rigel II is no place for a child. Besides, you need to have some stability in your life, with your school and friends.”
“I need to have my dad around,” said Will bluntly. “I feel like an orphan sometimes.”
“I don’t need this,” muttered Kyle Riker. “I drop everything and travel twenty light-years for your birthday, and for what? To get chewed out?”
Will hung his head. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’m glad you’re here, I really am. But it’s just that…when you’re here, it makes it worse later…when you go away.”
His father nodded sympathetically, but he kept his eyes on his instrument panel. “You know, Will, I didn’t plan for your mother to die when you were so young. The plan was that you would have a home and at least one full-time parent. But it didn’t happen that way. When you were little, I stayed close to home and tried to raise you as best I could, but a man only has so much time to make his mark in the universe. This is my time.”
Will started to argue that it was also his time, that the months they were separated could never be recaptured. But the twelve-year-old didn’t have the words or the experience to debate his father. He would often look back and see that his dad had probably decided at that moment to desert him entirely. If it was painful to return home for brief visits and then be separated, he must have figured it would be less painful to never come home at all.
“Lieutenant Riker,” droned a voice, “when I clap my hands, you will awaken. You’ll feel fine and well rested, and you’ll remember what you told me.”
A sharp sound jolted the man who called himself Thomas Riker. He blinked at the counselor and remembered where he was—not cruising above the Alaskan wilderness but in a consultation room aboard the U.S.S. Gandhi. Dr. Carl Herbert was a skilled ship’s counselor, and he had hypnotically regressed Riker to his childhood during the session. It was hard for Tom to come back from that simpler time, before everything had turned to crud.
He mustered a smile. “I’m sorry, Doctor, what did you ask me?”
“You said something about how your father had decided on your twelfth birthday to abandon you a few years later. Do you really think that’s true?”
Tom shrugged. “Who knows? That was the only time we ever talked about my feelings. I saw him less and less after that. The last time I saw him I was fifteen years old.”
“However, it is true that Will Riker has seen your father since then and made amends.”
Riker scowled. “That’s not me. Although we may be physically identical, we’re two different people. You can’t compare us.”
“Sorry.” Dr. Herbert pursed his lips and frowned deepl
y. “I only meant that perhaps you could make peace with your father, too.”
“That other Riker has had lots of opportunities I never had, and that was one of them.” The bearded man stood and paced. “Are we here to talk about my father?”
“No. We’re here to talk about you.” The counselor folded his hands in front of him. “Lieutenant, you have some very serious issues with abandonment. First, you fear your mother abandoned you, although you know logically it wasn’t her fault. Then your father actually did abandon you—an act which you’ve never forgiven or forgotten. Then Starfleet accidentally marooned you on Nervala IV—for eight years. It could be said that your own double rejected you, and that might be the most devastating of all.”
“So you’re saying I probably should be in therapy for the rest of my life,” grumbled Tom. “I’ll agree to that, if you’ll just clear me again for active duty.”
Now it was the counselor’s turn to rise to his feet and begin pacing the nondescript chamber. “Lieutenant,” he began slowly, “we’re about to patrol the Demilitarized Zone, with a good possibility of seeing action against the Maquis. And you were heard voicing pro-Maquis sentiments.”
Riker took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “In every other mission I’ve ever been on, we’re supposed to discuss the pros and cons of using force. Since when is asking questions a treasonous crime?”
“Since it’s the Maquis,” answered Dr. Herbert with a sigh. “You’re right, they’re not like any other enemy we’ve ever faced. They’re us—former Starfleet officers and colonists. We have to be sure that everyone on bridge duty is unquestionably loyal to the Federation.”
“And what makes you think I’m not?”
“Your background,” answered the counselor sympathetically. “We’ve talked about your issues with abandonment, and who has been more abandoned than the settlers in the DMZ?”
Tom laughed. “You know, Doc, if Commander Crandall heard you say that, you’d be confined to quarters the same as I am.”
The counselor frowned. “Commander Crandall is just doing her job.”
Riker sucked in his cheeks, careful not to speak his mind. As far as he was concerned, Emma Crandall had had it in for him since the first day he arrived on the Gandhi. She thinks I’m after her job, just because that other Riker is the most famous first officer in Starfleet. She’s been looking for an excuse to stick me in the doghouse, and this is it.
“I think I have a way out of this,” said Tom, slumping back into his chair. “I want to transfer over to the medical branch. That will get me off the bridge and away from Emma Crandall. It will also allow me to pursue a career that is different than my double’s. I won’t even be able to help the Maquis, except to heal them if they get sick.”
“It will take you years to become a doctor.”
Riker sighed. “One thing I learned during my eight years on Nervala IV—patience is a virtue.”
Dr. Herbert took a padd off his desk and began to make notes. “I’ll recommend your transfer to medical—and your reinstatement—but it will have to be approved by Commander Crandall.”
“There’s always a catch, isn’t there?” replied Tom Riker.
Two hours later, Tom was sitting in his quarters, watching a video log of Kodiak bears fishing for salmon in a wild Alaskan stream. That day with his father, on his twelfth birthday, they hadn’t actually seen any bears, although they had hiked several kilometers along a beautiful stream. His dad had been disappointed, but not the boy—he could see bears anytime, but not his father. They had sat on the bank of the stream, eating their picnic lunch, while his dad talked about the far-flung worlds he had visited, and the incredible species he had known.
One thing his father and he could both agree upon: there was no place like outer space. Kyle’s enthusiasm had instilled in the boy a burning desire to see those strange planets and people. In fact, the young Riker had out done his civilian father by joining Starfleet. If possible, he would see even more amazing sights and do more amazing things than his dad had ever dreamed of. Although Kyle Riker hadn’t realized there was a competition going on, there was.
Unfortunately, that wanderlust and ambition had been severely dampened by the long years spent on Nervala IV. Now Tom Riker didn’t know what he wanted, except to be something different than Kyle Riker or the man called Will Riker.
On the viewer, he watched the great brown bears, who stood almost four meters tall, as they frolicked like cubs in the rushing stream. Catching leaping fish with a swipe of a claw wasn’t easy, and the bears often failed. But they looked as if they were having fun. He realized that life wasn’t worth it unless fun was involved. Unfortunately, Tom couldn’t remember the last time Starfleet had been fun.
A chime sounded at his door, and Riker turned off the viewer. “Come in!”
The door slid open, and a slim woman with short dark hair entered his quarters. Under different circumstances, he could have been attracted to Commander Emma Crandall, but that had never been an option on the Gandhi. He jumped to his feet and stood at attention behind his desk, trying not to show the loathing he had for the ship’s first officer. She was capable, but she never seemed to have any fun.
“At ease, Lieutenant,” she told him in a tone of voice that did nothing to put him at ease.
“Yes, sir.” Tom put his hands behind his back and remained standing.
Crandall scowled. “I’ve seen the counselor’s report, and I’m frankly amazed. You want to toss away years of training and bridge experience in order to start a new career in medicine? I don’t get you, Riker.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but realized that he might make things worse. Then again, how could things be worse?
“Permission to speak freely?” he asked.
Crandall’s scowl deepened, because she really didn’t like her officers speaking freely. “Very well.”
“Commander, you’ve never understood me, and you’ve always been wrong about me.”
She began to protest, but Riker kept talking while he had the chance. “You think I’m interested in your job, and at one time, I would have been. But I’ve been through an experience that you can’t begin to understand. I had eight years stolen from my life and career…and given to someone else. You think I’m a threat; others treat me like an imposter. To everyone, I’m an oddity. Face it, my chances of rising very far in the command structure are dim.
“I need to do something different, something that will make me stop dwelling on my own problems. If I can help other people, maybe I can help myself. In medicine, I’ll have a chance to start over, without leaving Starfleet.”
Crandall’s expression softened a bit, and for the first time in almost two years, she looked at him with sympathy. “You have too much experience to be an orderly in sickbay, but I have a related job you could do. Although it’s medical, it also requires command skills.”
Riker leaned forward. “I’m listening.”
“In addition to our patrol duties, we have to deliver medical teams and supplies to the observation posts along the DMZ. Some of them have been deluged by refugees. The captain thinks it will be more efficient to have a personnel shuttlecraft do these runs instead of the Gandhi. So we need a medical courier. You would be in command of a crew of two—yourself and the co-pilot.”
Riker smiled gratefully. “Well, we all have to start somewhere. I’ll take the job, Commander. Can I have Lieutenant Youssef?”
“Our most experienced pilot?” said Crandall, bristling at the very idea. “I think not. We have a new pilot on board, name Ensign Shelzane—you can teach her the ropes.”
Riker nodded. “Thank you, Commander. I won’t let you down.”
“I hope not. You leave at sixteen hundred hours for Outpost Sierra III. Report to main shuttlebay.” Emma Crandall started for the door, then turned back to give him a half smile. “If you want to wear a blue medical tunic instead of a red one, it’s okay with me. In a way, I envy you, Lieutenant. Sometimes I think I??
?d like to make a change.”
“You’ll be promoted to captain soon,” Riker assured her. “Just be patient.”
Emma Crandall stiffened her spine and put on her command face again. “One more thing: try not to get into any discussions about the Maquis. I will admit, I made an example of you, so that the talking wouldn’t get out of hand. I’m sorry about that, but it was necessary. On this ship, we don’t set policy—we follow orders. Like it or not, the Maquis are the enemy until further notice.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Riker. He hadn’t sympathized or thought all that much about the Maquis until recently, when everyone just assumed he must be a sympathizer. This oppressive atmosphere was another good reason to get off the Gandhi.
“I’ll stay far away from the Maquis,” promised Lieutenant Riker.
My first command, Riker thought ruefully as he inspected the squat, boxy craft known simply as Shuttle 3. A Type-8 personnel shuttlecraft, she accommodated a maximum of ten people, including crew, in very tight quarters. Shuttle 3 had warp drive and a transporter, but no weaponry. According to the manifest, they would be transporting six members of themed team, plus the two crew. What worried him were all the boxes of supplies and equipment the shuttlebay workers kept loading onto the small craft. With all that weight on board, he feared she might handle sluggishly in a planet’s atmosphere.
Rounding the bow of the shuttle, the lieutenant caught sight of his reflection in the front window. He looked quite dashing in his blue and black tunic, denoting his transfer to the medical branch. A new ship, a new uniform, and a new assignment that would actually do some good in the galaxy—maybe his life was turning around. Tom hadn’t felt so hopeful since the day he had been rescued from Nervala IV. He tried not to think about how quickly all those hopes had been dashed.
“Lieutenant Riker?” said an inquisitive voice. He turned to see a diminutive, blue-skinned Benzite female. She was the first Benzite he’d seen who didn’t rely on a breathing apparatus hanging from her neck.