[Star Trek TNG] - Double Helix Omnibus

  Fighting back tears, Thomas Riker strode toward the pit he was digging. Before he returned to work, he stopped to look at the endless horizon of two-tone blue. He didn’t know who the perpetrators of this terrible disease were, or why they were doing this to Helena, but he knew one thing: he was going to stay alive long enough to stop them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AFTER HEARING A REPORT from Torres and Tuvok, Captain Chakotay stroked his chin thoughtfully and looked at Dr. Gammet. “So it’s possible that your own people—former colleagues of yours—planted this terrible disease on Helena?”

  The little man sunk into a chair in the mess hall of the Spartacus. He looked extremely embarrassed. “Yes, it’s possible. All of our research would suggest that somebody planted this disease on Helena, and I’ve wracked my brain trying to figure out who. And why. The Cardassians could have done it, but why? If they wanted to destroy the planet, there are more effective means that are less dangerous to them. On the other hand, if somebody wanted to destroy IGI, they’ve accomplished that.”

  Chakotay nodded and looked at Tuvok. “Any thoughts?”

  “Only that we cannot hope to be successful if unknown parties continue to introduce this disease. Even those who have been treated can contract it again.”

  “We’re fighting an entrenched battle against this thing,” said Chakotay, “trying to find a place to draw the line and contain it. Padulla is under control, but the number of people left there is relatively small. If the disease spreads across Dalgren, Santos, Tipoli, and the other continents, we’ll be overrun. And now you’re saying we don’t have IGI to help us?”

  “I’m sorry,” muttered Dr. Gammet. “None of us were prepared for a disease like this…and the repercussions. Most of the people on our staff are already helping you, but the Cardassians have ransacked our facilities. I don’t know what else to do.”

  Torres frowned, as if reaching a very unpleasant decision. “I’ve got an idea for testing Prefect Klain’s honesty, but it’s risky. It might cause a panic.”

  “The whole planet is already an armed camp,” said Chakotay. “Dr. Kincaid and her staff were fired upon when they landed on Santos. The Cardassians are liable to pop up anywhere. All in all, I’d say it’s too late to worry about panic. While the medical teams do their work, we’ve got to do whatever it takes to track down this mass murderer.”

  “Agreed,” said Tuvok.

  Dr. Gammet nodded solemnly. “B’Elanna and I can go to the Dawn Cluster tonight and try her plan on Prefect Klain. If it’s not him, we’ll keep looking.”

  “Captain,” said Tuvok, “you and I have been invited for dinner at the Velvet Cluster, a lodge for unibloods. Since the Ferengi already gave us valuable information, we might learn more by going there.”

  “All right, but let’s all be careful and keep in contact,” said the captain. “Riker and Shelzane are still missing, and I don’t want to lose anybody else.”

  He looked at B’Elanna and managed a smile. “Where do I get some fashionable clothes like yours?”

  Standing in the middle of a large, mucky hole in the ground, Riker looked with satisfaction at an access panel he had uncovered atop the main pipe. It was large enough for him to fit inside, just barely. More important, the panel would mean he wouldn’t have to punch his way into the pipeline, an action he didn’t think he had the strength to perform. Using a spoon handle as a screwdriver, he opened the access panel to reveal a rapid flow of dark water surging past on its way to some unknown destination.

  Although there appeared to be some clearance between the top of the pipe and the water level, Riker wanted as much clearance as possible. So he went back to the control box, where he had already removed the cover. Putting his back into it, he cranked the outlet valve all the way open, siphoning as much water as possible into the beach house.

  Then he jogged inside the house and turned on every faucet full blast. Water was soon gushing into the tub, shower, and various sinks at an enormous rate, and Riker laughed, thinking that the exquisite house would be ruined in a few minutes. He felt giddy, slightly feverish, and he tried to tell himself it was mere exhaustion.

  Now he needed a float. There was a small wooden table in the living room that he had not used building the doomed raft. With his spoon, he unscrewed the legs from the table and hefted the tabletop, glad it was a fairly substantial chunk of wood. It would have to carry him a long way—how far he didn’t know.

  Riker gathered some food from the reserves and wrapped them in the waterproof shower curtain. He thought about changing from his muddy clothes into clean clothes, but what was the point? Anything he wore would get soaked. It would also be dark soon, but there was no reason to wait, as day or night would look the same inside that pipe.

  With a last glance at the beach house—and final thoughts about his fallen comrade, Shelzane—he walked out the front door of the house and didn’t bother closing it.

  A minute later, Riker stood astride the pipeline, gazing into the rushing water and thinking he was about to take the ride of his life. There was a good chance he would drown, or get chewed up in a hydroelectric plant, or meet some other such fate, but he couldn’t worry about that. It would be a faster death than the alternative. At least in the pipe he wouldn’t die of thirst, he thought ruefully.

  Taking a deep breath and a firm grip on his tiny raft, Riker plunged into the pipe full of rushing water. The raft was nearly ripped from his hands by the initial surge, but he managed to hold on and right himself. Soon he was speeding along in absolute darkness, and the sensation reminded him of two pursuits from his youth. One was bodysurfing at the beach, and the other was riding the hydrotubes at an aquapark.

  Riker was pleasantly surprised to find that the water in the pipe wasn’t that cold. Warmed by ocean currents, it was about the same temperature as the lagoon. He had no idea how much clearance there was above his head, which he kept firmly planted on the tabletop. Besides, there was nothing to see but darkness and water—and nothing to do but hang on, stay awake, and ride it out.

  As darkness embraced the city of Astar, Chakotay and Tuvok materialized on Velvet Lane, just outside an ostentatious mansion that bore a golden sign proclaiming “Velvet Cluster.” A uniformed doorman, who appeared to be Argelian, looked curiously at them, then he broke into a grin.

  “Ah, you are the Maquis unibloods,” he said with pride at his own powers of observation. “Member Shep has been waiting for you.” With a grand flourish, he opened the door and ushered them inside.

  For some time, Chakotay had been accustomed to spartan living conditions, and he was frankly amazed by the opulent splendor of the Velvet Cluster. Crystal chandeliers, rich brocaded furnishings, and centuries-old tapestries graced the sumptuous foyer. Several grand rooms opened off the foyer, and Chakotay peered with interest into the open doorways. Laughter and the clinking of glasses came from what appeared to be a restaurant filled with people. In a darkly paneled library, patrons indulged in the quieter pursuits of reading and card playing. A ballroom with a high vaulted ceiling appeared to be empty.

  “So this is how the underprivileged live,” he whispered to Tuvok.

  “It would appear so,” answered the Vulcan. “One can only imagine what the Dawn Cluster is like.”

  “Well, these people are trying to prove something, so it may not be as grandiose as this.”

  “Mr. Tuvok!” called a voice.

  They both turned to see a stocky Ferengi rushing toward them, a snaggletoothed grin on his face. “And this must be Captain Chakotay. What an honor!”

  The captain smiled back. “Meeting a Maquis captain isn’t usually considered a great honor.”

  “But you people are heroes. Everyone says so. Without you, Helena would be alone in this moment of crisis.” He lowered his voice to add, “Thanks for coming. This should be good enough to get me another month’s worth of credit here.”

  “Glad to oblige,” said Chakotay.

  “Let me introduce
you around.” Slipping between them, Shep eagerly grabbed their arms and steered them into the dining room. What followed was a rapid-fire round of introductions with merchants and uniblood dignitaries. Chakotay tried to determine whether any of these people could furnish them with useful information, but most of them asked whether there was any room on the Spartacus for passengers.

  “Lay off,” grumbled Shep to a persistent Andorian named Bokor. “These are my friends—if anyone gets off this planet, it’s me.”

  “We’re not taking on any passengers,” said Chakotay. “Believe me, the life expectancy on a Maquis ship is shorter than it is on Helena.”

  The Andorian laughed heartily, and his antennae twitched. “I suppose it is. But you don’t have to worry—the Cardassians like you.”

  “Why do you say that?” asked Tuvok.

  “Because they’re letting you operate unfettered here, even after you destroyed their ship,” answered the Andorian. “I sell supplies to the Cardassian garrison on Tipoli, and they’re under orders to leave you alone.”

  “What?” asked Chakotay, taking a seat at the Andorian’s table. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes. I just flew there myself by sea-glider two days ago, and they don’t know what to make of it. Gul Demadak, the military commander of the DMZ, gave the orders himself.”

  “But they just recently attacked the IGI complex,” said Tuvok.

  “Well, you aren’t the IGI, are you? They don’t trust the IGI, and I can’t say I blame them.”

  Chakotay asked, “Did you see two prisoners in the Cardassian camp? Two of our people?”

  “Aren’t you listening to me?” muttered Bokor. “Although they don’t like it, they’re under orders to leave you alone. If you’ve lost two people, somebody else must have them.”

  The Andorian sipped a tall glass of ale and smiled smugly. “However, they told me something else which you would pay dearly to find out.”

  “What is that?” asked Tuvok.

  He laughed. “When I’m safely aboard your ship on my way out of here, I’ll tell you.”

  “That’s not going to happen for a while,” replied Chakotay.

  “Better not wait too long,” warned the Andorian. “Meanwhile, I’ll keep looking for some other way off Helena. If you want to do business, you know where I am.”

  “Come on, let’s eat,” said Shep, guiding Chakotay and Tuvok to an empty table. He rubbed his hands together. “I don’t suppose you brought any latinum with you?”

  “No,” answered Chakotay. “Being in the Maquis doesn’t pay very well.”

  The Ferengi sighed. “Well, let’s see how good my credit still is.”

  Chakotay lowered his voice to ask, “Is that Andorian trustworthy?”

  “Yes, and well connected…for a uniblood.”

  “Can you guess what his information is?”

  Shep tugged thoughtfully on a gigantic earlobe. “Let’s see…he speaks privately to Cardassians, and he wants desperately to get off the planet. Maybe he knows that a big fleet is coming to blow us to smithereens.”

  “A logical conclusion,” agreed Tuvok.

  The Ferengi sat down at an empty table and rubbed his hands together. “Who’s hungry?”

  “All of a sudden, I’m not,” said Chakotay.

  “Oh, sit down,” insisted Shep. “It does no good to die on an empty stomach.”

  B’Elanna Torres smiled politely at the well-wishers who greeted her when she entered the Dawn Cluster with Dr. Gammet in tow. The two of them were afforded the royal treatment and escorted to Prefect Klain’s private booth at the rear of the dining hall.

  “The prefect has been notified and will join you in a moment,” said the servant, smiling and bowing obsequiously.

  “Thank you,” answered B’Elanna.

  “Can I get you something to drink and show you a menu?”

  “No, thank you, we won’t be staying for dinner.”

  The Helenite looked crestfallen. “That’s unfortunate.”

  “We’re only here to see Prefect Klain,” said Dr. Gammet, looking and sounding very grave.

  “I see,” answered the confused waiter. “Perhaps I will have the honor of serving you next time.”

  When he was gone, Gammet whispered to Torres, “I hope you know what you’re doing. Klain is a very powerful man.”

  “I know we can’t sit around and wait—we’ve got to find out who’s behind this. There’s an old Klingon proverb: You don’t know who your friends are until you start a fight.”

  The conversation in the dining hall rose several decibels, and Torres turned to see Klain cutting a swath through the room, shaking hands and greeting people at every table. With his olive skin, jet-black hair, and impressive build, he was a magnificent male specimen, the finest being that genetic engineering could produce.

  “Did you have anything to do with Klain’s birth?” she asked Gammet.

  “Oh, my, yes,” he answered, beaming with pride. “Beautiful, isn’t he? But I could combine the same species a hundred more times and not get one like him. I just wish he didn’t know how special he is.”

  The little gnome’s eyes twinkled. “Of course, you are his equal. The children you two could have, even naturally—”

  “Some other time,” she grumbled, cutting him off. May-be there would be another time when she could return to Helena to stay—to live in grand style with a perfect man like Klain. Much of that depended on what happened in the next few minutes.

  The prefect approached their table, flashing his incredible smile. “B’Elanna, you’re looking unusually beautiful tonight. And, Doctor, this is a pleasant surprise.”

  Gammmet scowled. “It’s about to become considerably less pleasant. Please have a seat.”

  “What’s the matter?” asked Klain, slipping into the booth beside Torres. He gazed with concern at the Maquis officer, as if fearing the news concerned her. This made her feel guilty about the lie she was about to tell, but she was committed to her plan.

  With her voice a barely audible whisper, she said, “We’ve found cases of the plague here on Dalgren. I’m afraid there’s going to be an outbreak.”

  “What?” he gasped.

  “Please,” cautioned Dr. Gammet, “we’ve got to keep this news secret for now. We don’t want to start a panic, and there’s a chance that we can contain the disease where we found it.”

  Klain looked like a man who had been struck by a Ferengi stun whip. “Are you sure they’re native Dalgrens? Perhaps they came from Padulla, or Tipoli—”

  “No, they’re from right here,” insisted B’Elanna. “Actually from several outlying villages.”

  “Several!” Klain buried his face in his hands.

  Gammet patted the big man’s shoulder. “It was rather unrealistic to think that Dalgren would be spared this malady, but perhaps we’ve caught it early enough.”

  “What can I do to help you?” asked Klain nervously.

  “For the moment, nothing public,” said B’Elanna. “You might want to prepare whatever emergency procedures you had planned to use, but I warn you—the IGI complex is shut down.”

  “What?”

  “It’s been ransacked by Cardassians,” said B’Elanna. “Tuvok, Dr. Gammet, and I barely escaped with our lives.” At least that much was true, she thought ruefully.

  Dr. Gammet had been right—Klain looked like a man who had just seen his worst fear become a reality. If it turned out they were wrong about him, and he had nothing to do with this, then her lie would probably come back to haunt her. She could probably forget about any more spectacular meals at the Dawn Cluster.

  “You have a genetic company,” said Dr. Gammet. “With IGI out of commission, we’ll need your facilities.”

  “But we have only a few beds,” muttered Klain. He rubbed his handsome face, still convulsed with disbelief. Torres assumed that he would be upset with this information, but she found his surprise to be somewhat strange.

  “I’m sorry, K
lain, but we have to be going.” She rose to her feet, and he quickly followed suit.

  “When…when will I see you again?”

  “I don’t know, but maybe this will hold you over.” B’Elanna reached up, wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, and gave him the kiss he had been desiring for days. His mouth met hers in a bittersweet mixture of passion, sweetness, and desperation. She knew that even if she had lied to him about the disease, there was no lie in her kiss.

  He was so distracted that he didn’t notice when her hand curled under his floppy collar and affixed a tiny tracking device to his shirt.

  Torres pulled away from Klain reluctantly, unsure whether she had made a terrible mistake or had just saved millions of lives. There were hushed whispers in the dining room as the patrons voiced their approval of this fairy-tale romance. Little did they know that the romance had just ended.

  She hurried out of the room before her emotions betrayed her, leaving Klain to stare after her in disbelief. Dr. Gammet rushed after Torres, but he didn’t catch her until she was in the street, striding down the sidewalk.

  “That must not have been easy,” he said softly.

  “It wasn’t.” She stepped around the corner into a side street and took out her tricorder. Even in the darkness, she could see the blip that was attuned to the tracking device, and it was moving. “He’s going somewhere. He just left the Dawn Cluster.”

  Gammet peered around the side of a building. “I can see him—he’s in a hurry, headed the other way.”

  She tapped her combadge. “Torres to Chakotay.”

  “Chakotay here.”

  “The target is on the move.”