Star Trek - Double Helix, page 7
First things first, though. The jumble of crates might conceal anything from a cloaked Romulan death squad to a the lost treasures of Fret’vok. If they planned on using this dome as a base of operations, they were going to have to search it fully—you couldn’t cover your back if you didn’t know what was behind you.
“Look behind the boxes on that side of the room,” he told Detek and Wrenn. “If you see anything unusual, let me know immediately. Do not investigate yourselves.”
“Yes, sir!”
Turning with a sigh, Worf squeezed between a pair of tall “Emulsion Generator” crates. His containment suit snagged for a second on a nail, but since the material couldn’t be punctured by anything as soft as mere steel, he pulled sharply and felt himself snap free.
Whoever had packed all this junk into the dome had left less-than-adequate access corridors between the piles of crates. He edged down the nearest one and felt himself treading on things that crunched underfoot.
His phaser rifle had a small but powerful light mounted on top; he flicked it on, then swept the beam up and down the floor. Loose cables, discarded circuit relays, food wrappers, and other trash littered the floor here. From the thick layer of dust on everything, he knew no one had been back here in many years.
He had just turned to go back when Wrenn’s excited voice squealed his name: “Lieutenant Worf!”
“What is it?” he demanded. Had the Klingons from the freighter detected them and launched an attack?
“Sir!” he heard Wrenn call. “We found something! Blood—and according to my tricorder, it’s human!”
“Hold your position. I will be right there.”
Somehow he managed to squeeze back out into the center of the dome without tumbling any of the piles of crates. He spotted Wrenn about halfway to the front door and sprinted over to join him.
The ensign pointed to dark stains on the floor. “According to my tricorder, that’s human blood,” he said. “It’s dry, but fresh—about twelve hours old!”
Worf bent to examine the blood spatters. A trail of blood wound off between crates on that side of the dome. He hesitated, trying to decide how best to handle it.
“Is it fully human?” he finally asked. “Or is it a human-Peladian mix?”One of the symptoms of the disease is uncontrollable bleeding, he reminded himself.
Wrenn had to check. “Uh…fully human, sir. Not a trace of Peladian genetic material.”
So we have the trail of a wounded human. Hefting his phaser rifle, Worf eased between crates of “Endochronic Thiotimoline Pumps” and “Phase Resonance Detectors.” His heart began to pound with growing excitement. Shining his light at the floor, he studied the footprints and the blood. The drips became noticeably larger, and bloody handprints smeared the crates to either side where someone had rested or leaned to steady himself.
When the passageway opened up a little, he spotted at least three—and possibly as many as five—different sets of footprints that had disturbed the decades’ worth of accumulated dust…whoever had come through here made no effort to conceal the trail. They could not all be dead or dying, Worf thought with growing unease. His eyes narrowed. What happened here?
He continued to follow the trail, winding between the crates and boxes. At last he reached the far wall.
The trail ended with a pool of sticky, half-congealed blood. And lying in that blood he found the bodies of six adult human males. Acharian settlers, he decided, noting their chest-length beards. He remembered what Tasha Yar had told him about the men on Archaria III all wearing long, bushy beards.
These six had been stabbed and cut repeatedly. The blood came from their wounds. But they had not died here—someone had carefully arranged the bodies. Eyes closed, hands neatly folded across their chests, they looked almost peaceful now. The trail he had followed must have been left by a burial party, he decided.
Better to die in honorable combat than to succumb to a disease, he thought with a nod. Unless they had been murdered….
He moved closer and began to study the bodies with the dispassionate attention of a born predator. Death had been sudden, but not unexpected, he decided. He pulled their shredded tunics open to study their wounds. Two had numerous stab wounds.
Those cuts—
He leaned forward, studying the long, clean sweep of the death blows. A strong arm had delivered those cuts. The wounds looked exactly like the marks left by a mek’leth. Or in this case, several mek’leths.
Only Klingons used that particular type of short sword, he knew, with its razor-sharp edge and deadly point—perfect for slashing and thrusting. He liked to use one himself. Unlike disruptors, it made combat a personal experience…but it also made for messy corpses. Exactly like these.
Lights wavered behind him as the ensigns followed. Over the open comm channel he heard gasps of shock from Wrenn and Detek.
“Control yourself,” he snarled. “You must have seen death before.”
“Not like this,” Wrenn gasped.
“All that blood,” Detek said.
“What’s going on?” Clarke demanded from his post by the front hatch. “Do you need assistance? Lieutenant? Anybody?”
“Quiet on the channel.” Worf rose and pivoted on the balls of his feet, furious with the breaches in protocol. This is going in their personal files, he vowed. Simpering over a little blood!
He found Wrenn, pale-faced, two meters away, just standing there and staring open-mouthed at the bodies.
“Back to the center of the dome!” he said.
The ensign began to stammer in shock or fear.
“Go on!” Worf grimaced with distaste. No stomach for a little blood! He switched off his rifle’s light, hiding the gruesome details. Perhaps that would help. They are only humans, he reminded himself. They cannot help their weaknesses. Still, he had expected more from them. After all, he was leading this mission.
“Go back to the center of the dome,” he ordered a little more gently. “Wait there and keep it clear in case we have to return.”
Worf clicked his comm bar back to the first setting so that he could talk to the “survivors” of his mission.
“Detek,” he said, voice a low growl.
“Sir!” The ensign’s voice quavered noticeably.
“Get the tricorder and medical supplies. You are now our rear guard.”
Turning, he headed for the front hatch without a backward glance. The other three will pull together and pick up the slack, he thought. He hoped.
Chapter Eight
DR. CRUSHER PASSED OUT ASSIGNMENTS, and as her people scrambled to work on unraveling the secrets of the virus, she took a minute to page Dr. Tang at Archo City Hospital. This should prove interesting, she thought. Let’s see how he reacts to news of that hidden message. Maybe it would force his hand…or surprise him into an admission of guilt.
Tang finally answered the page. “What is it?” he growled. Still practicing Dracula’s bedside manner, I see, Dr. Crusher thought. Only this time I know your real motive.
She said: “Dr. Tang, I have isolated the virus and done a complete TXA breakdown. In the process, I found something quite disturbing—not only is the virus man-made, but its designer left a message.”
“What!” He stared at her, to all appearances shocked. “What’s the message?”
“Smile, you are dead.” She gave him the NXA strand number. “Sequence it yourself. When you pull back the view, watch the bottom of the tendril. The modified texture spells it out clearly.”
He sucked in a deep breath. “Doctor—I can’t believe it! The Purity League claimed responsibility for the plague, but I never thought…I never dreamed…they actually had the resources to do it!”
If he was acting, he deserved a commendation for it. She hadn’t seen a better job since the time she saw Sir Edmund Deere in Hamlet on Earth.
I should have asked Deanna to join me for this conference, she realized with a pang of disappointment. Deanna would have sensed if he told us the truth. She felt foolish for wasting the call. I’ll do it next time, she vowed. Until I know differently, you are still my prime suspect, Doctor!
“Our captain wants this information kept strictly confidential,” she said.
“Of course—I do understand.”
He appeared humbled by the revelation, she thought. But then, if as he claimed he really had been working on the virus for weeks, he hadn’t found that hidden message…and she turned it up within the hour. Don’t get too cocky, she told herself. It was luck. But luck is what you sometimes need.
Tang went on, “I must tell the governor, though…but of course he won’t dare release the information to anyone else. The repercussions would be disastrous. As your captain must already realize.”
She nodded. Riots. Open warfare. And the pure-blooded Peladians would almost certainly get involved; how could they not? The next custom-made virus might well target them.
She said, “Getting back to our real problem—curing the plague—I’m ready to bring an infected test subject aboard.”
“You have a vaccine already?” He leaned forward eagerly. “How does it work—can I get a sample—”
“No, we don’t have a vaccine yet,” she said quickly. She was finding it increasingly difficult to believe he was guilty. His every response seemed genuine and correct. “We have some other tests to run first. The virus appears to be a simple variant of Rhulian flu. We have some antiviral treatments specifically designed for that disease which might prove effective.”
He sighed and shook his head. “The virus does appear simple at first glance, Doctor.”Back to stonewalling and doomsaying, she thought. How true to form.“However, it cannot be cured by any traditional means—we tried all the Rhulian flu vaccines as well as every other antiviral agent known to the Federation. The virus resisted every treatment—it’s all in the research notes I sent you. Every time we thought we had it licked, it flared up again.”
“Yes, I read your report. But I have a clean environment here, and I have a crew working on modifying the biofilters in the transporters.”At least, I will as soon as this call is done.“An aggressive program using several different treatments should prove successful.”
“I hope so—for your sake.” Tang shook his head. “We had no luck there, either, Doctor. But perhaps the Enterprise’s biofilters are more advanced than our own.”
“Undoubtedly.” Crusher hoped O’Brien knew what he was doing. “We have some…creative engineers aboard. If they can see the virus, they can eliminate it. It’s that simple.”
Tang shrugged helplessly. “I hope so, Doctor,” he said. “I will have that test patient standing by. Please—for your own sake, maintain a quarantine field at all times. This virus really does jump the strongest force-fields.”
“Of course,” she said. “I intend to use every security measure at my disposal.”
“Then I will await news of your ultimate success.” He hesitated. “And Doctor…”
“Yes?” she said.
“I know how I must seem to you. You must think I’m a crackpot a…a medical alarmist, since I keep trying to poke holes in every theory and plan you come up with. Believe me when I say I do want a cure—I want it more desperately than you can possibly imagine! But I don’t want to risk the lives of anyone healthy to get it, and that includes your crew.”
“Thank you for your concern,” she said. I bet it gets even more heartfelt every time he tells that story.“I do appreciate your advice. I have no intention of placing this crew at risk. Now, please get that patient ready. I’ll want to beam him up within the hour.”
“You will have him,” he said, almost humbly.
“Crusher out.”
Now to make sure we live up to our reputation, she thought. She tapped her combadge.
“Crusher to Transporter Chief O’Brien.”
“O’Brien here, ma’am,” came his answer.
“About those biofilters you mentioned this morning. How long will it take you to chain them together?”
She heard a distinct gulp on the other end of the comm channel. Good, she thought with satisfaction.
“No problem, ma’am!” O’Brien said.
“That’s the kind of answer I like, O’Brien. Crusher out!”
On the bridge, Captain Picard faced the forward viewscreen and watched the Constitution enter the solar system with a measure of relief. Captain van Osterlich’s ship had arrived not an hour too soon, he thought. With a second Galaxy-class starship to help keep order, he felt a little more relaxed. We can go chasing after rogue ships now, if we have to, he thought. There was no longer any need to worry about leaving the planet unguarded.
“Hail the Constitution,” he said.
“Captain van Osterlich is standing by,” La Forge said.
“On screen.”
The view of Archaria III disappeared, replaced by the smiling face of Jules van Osterlich, its captain. Van Osterlich had broad cheekbones and thin hair so pale it looked almost white.
Picard grinned back. They had known each other the better part of twenty years. Though their careers kept them half a galaxy apart most of the time, they never passed up an opportunity to get together and talk about the good old days.
“Jean-Luc!” van Osterlich said. “The new ship suits you. I always knew you’d end up with one of the big ones. But the Enterprise! Quite a plum.”
“Thank you, Jules. The Constitution’s looking pretty good, too. A fine ship.”
“That she is.”
“How long has it been…three years? Four? How are you?”
“I can’t complain. So, I hear we have quite a situation developing below. Why don’t you fill me in. My transporter crews are ready to beam medical supplies down, but we have a few minutes before we enter orbit.”
“Dinner tonight? Bring your senior staff.”
“Delighted.”
“Good.” Picard frowned. “We’ll talk more then,” he said. “In the meantime, you should know that things below are not quite what they appear. Governor Sekk has, ah, held out on us. And we suspect some of the hospital staff may be hindering the development of a cure for the plague in support of the Purity League. My chief medical officer is spearheading the research aboard the Enterprise.”
“And what is happening with the plague?”
“Latest reports indicate forty thousand victims. Three quarters of them are already dead. It isn’t a pretty situation.”
Van Osterlich whistled. “It’s a disaster!” He glanced over his shoulder. “Governor Sekk is hailing me,” he said. “We’ll talk more tonight.”
Picard nodded. “I’ll break out the Saurian brandy.”
Chapter Nine
“SECURE THE AREA!” Worf barked.
After kicking open the hatch to the next dome—it housed a research station complete with humming, beeping, chirping weather-monitoring equipment—he led the charge inside. Detek’s tricorder showed two humans lying in the center of a cluster of three rooms. Asleep? Unconscious? Lying in ambush? He intended to find out.
He pointed: Schultz left, Clarke right. He went straight up the middle, treading as softly as a Klingon could.
He reached the door to the next room, pressed up beside it, and reached out to the handpad, which was unlocked. He pressed lightly, and it zipped to one side.
Taking a glance in, he spotted two figures lying in semi darkness…both women. He switched on the lights, but neither one moved.
Plague. White blisters covered their faces. That’s one of the first signs.
“Sir, is it—?” Clarke asked over the comm.
“Yes.” His voice came as a growl. “They have the plague. That means the whole base is contaminated.”
For the first time since beaming down, he was thankful they were inside containment suits. Like Wrenn, they would have to be beamed out of them when they were evacuated.
He clicked the comm bar.
“Worf to Dr. Crusher….”
“Crusher here,” she replied an instant later. “What is your situation?”
“The plague is loose in here. We have found two victims so far. Both women.”
“What are their symptoms?”
“White blisters on their faces. Low life signs. They are both unconscious.”
He heard a slight hesitation in her voice. “Mark their coordinates. We are almost ready to try beaming a patient through the ship’s biofilters. We’ll try your women if it works on our first subject.”
“Good.” He felt a brief surge of pride. By coming here, they had already made a difference—these two women would have a chance for survival now.
