STAR TREK - TNG - 54 - Double Helix - Quarantine

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Chapter One
The Peregrine-class scout ship looked much like the falcon that inspired her design, with a beaklike bow
and sweeping wings that enabled her to streak through a planet's atmosphere. Her sleek lines were
marred by various scorch marks and dents, which left her looking like an old raptor with many scars.
Larger than a shuttlecraft yet smaller than a cruiser, she was better armed than most ships her size, with
forward and rear torpedoes plus phaser emitters on her wings.
Her bridge was designed to be operated efficiently by three people, allowing her to carry a crew of only
fifteen. The engine room took up all three decks of her stern, and most of the crew served there. This
proud vessel was state of the art for a scout shipabout forty years ago. Now she was practically the
flagship of the Maquis fleet.
"What's the name of our ship?" asked her captain, a man named Chakotay. His black hair was cut short
and severe, which suited his angular face and the prominent tattoo that stretched across hah7 his
forehead.
Tuvok, the Vulcan who served as first officer, consulted the registry on his computer screen. "She is
called the Spar-tacus. The warp signature has already been modified."
Chakotay nodded with satisfaction. "I like mat name."
On his right, an attractive woman who looked vaguely Klingon scowled at him. "Let me guess," said
B'Elanna Torres. "Spartacus was some ancient human who led a revolution somewhere."
Captain Chakotay smiled. "That's right He was a slave and a gladiator who led a revolt against Rome, the
greatest power of its day. For two years, he held out against every Roman legion thrown against him."
"And how did this grand revolution end?" asked Torres.
When Chakotay didn't answer right away, Tuvok remarked, "He and all of his followers were crucified.
Crucifiction is quite possibly the most barbaric form of capital punishment ever invented."
Torres snorted a laugh. "It's always good to know that my human ancestors could match my Klingon
ancestors hi barbarism. Considering what happened to Spartacus, let's not put nun on too high a
pedestal."
It's still a good name," said Chakotay stubbornly. Like many Native Americans, he believed that names
were importantthat words held power. He didn't like having to change the name and warp signature of his
ship all the time, but it was important to make their enemies mink that the Maquis had more ships than
they actually had.
"We've reached the rendezvous point," announced the captain. "I'm bringing us out of warp." Operating
the conn
himself, he slowed the craft down to one-third impulse, and they cruised through a deserted solar system
sprinkled with occasional fields of planetary debris.
"Captain Rowan is hailing us on a secure frequency," reported Tuvok. "Their ETA is less than one
minute."
"Acknowledge," answered the captain. "But no more transmissions until they get here."
While Tuvok sent the message, B'Elanna Torres worked her console. "There are no Cardassian ships in
scanner range," she reported.
"Still I don't want to be here more than a couple of minutes." Chakotay's worried gaze traveled from the
small viewscreen to the even smaller window below it. There was nothing hi sight but the vast starscape
and a few jagged clumps of debris. This area appeared deserted, but Chakotay had learned from hard
experience that it was wise to keep moving in the Demilitarized Zone.
"They're coining out of warp," said Torres.
Chakotay watched on the viewscreen as a Bajoran assault vessel appeared about a thousand kilometers
off the starboard bow. The dagger-shaped spacecraft was slightly larger than the Spartacus, but she
wasn't as maneuverable or as fast. Like Chakotay's ship, her blue-gray hull was pocked and pitted with
the wounds of battle.
"Captain Rowan is hailing us," said Tuvok.
"On screen." Chakotay managed a smile as he greeted his counterpart on the other Maquis ship. Patricia
Rowan looked every centimeter a warrior, from her scarred, gaunt face to the red eye patch that covered
one eye. Her blond hair was streaked with premature gray, and it was pulled back into a tight bun.
Captain Rowan had gotten a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness, and Chakotay was cordial to her
but couldn't quite bring himself to call her a friend.
"Hello, Patricia."
"Hello, Chakotay," she answered. "The Singha is reporting for duty under your command. What's our
mission?"
"Do you know the planet Helena?"
"Only by reputation. Wasn't it abandoned when the Federation betrayed us?"
"No," answered Chakotay. "The Helenites opted for the same legal status as the residents of Dorvan V.
Instead of being relocated, they chose to give up their Federation citizenship and remain on the planet,
under Cardassian rule."
"Then to hell with them," said Rowan bluntly.
Chakotay ignored her harsh words. "The Helenites have always marched to their own drum. The planet
was settled by mixed-race colonists who were trying to escape discrimination in the rest of the
Federation. There are some Maquis sympathizers on Helena, and we've been getting periodic reports
from them. Two weeks ago, they sent a message that Cardassian troops had arrived, then we lost all
contact. There hasn't been a transmission from the planet since then. It might be a crackdown, maybe
even total extermination. For all we know, the Cardassians could be testing planet-killing weapons."
"They're not Maquis," said Rowan stubbornly.
Chakotay's jaw clenched with anger. "We can't just abandon four million people. We have to find out
what's happening there, and help them if we can."
"Then it's an intelligence mission," replied Captain Rowan, sounding content with that definition.
Chakotay nodded and slowly relaxed his jaw. One of the drawbacks of being in a loose-knit organization
like the Maquis was that orders were not always followed immediately. Sometimes a commander had to
explain the situation in order to convince his subordinates to act. Of course,
fighting a guerrilla war against two vastly superior foes would make anyone cautious, and Maquis
captains were used to acting on their own discretion. Sometimes the chain of command was as flimsy as
a gaseous nebula.
Captain Rowan's scowl softened for an instant. "Chakotay, the people on Dorvan V are from your own
culture. Wouldn't it make more sense to find out what happened to them instead of racing to help a bunch
of mixed-breeds on Helena?"
Chakotay couldn't tell if Rowan was bigoted or just callous. He glanced at Torres and saw her shake her
head. "Good thing there are no psychological tests to join the Maquis," she whispered.
"Did you say something?" demanded Captain Rowan.
Chakotay cleared his throat. "She said the Helenites are not really, uh, mixed-breedsthey're hybrids,
genetically bred. I've heard their whole social structure is based on genetics, the more unique your genetic
heritage, the higher your social status."
"A fascinating culture," added Tuvok without looking up from his console. Rowan grimaced, but
remained silent.
Chakotay went on, "As for my people on Dorvan V... yes, I'm worried about them. But mat's a small
village, and they've chosen to live in peace with the land, using minimal technology. They're not much of a
threat, and of no strategic value, eitherthe Cardassians will probably leave them alone. But Helena was a
thriving Federation planet with millions of inhabitants and a dozen spaceports. When they go silent, it's
suspicious."
"How do we proceed?" asked Captain Rowan.
Chakotay gave her a grim smile. "Have you ever played
cowboys and Indians?"
* * *
Observing the planet on the viewscreen, Captain Chako-tay was struck by how Earth-like it was, with
vast aquamarine oceans and wispy cloud cover. Helena had small twin moons that orbited each other as
they orbited the planet, and he could see their silhouettes against the sparkling sea. Small green continents
were scattered across the great waters, but they seemed insignificant next to all that blue. The lush hues
were accentuated by a giant red sun glowing in the distance.
On second glance, Chakotay decided that Helena looked more like Pacifica than Earth. Here was yet
another beautiful planet stolen by the Cardassians, while the Federation looked the other way.
"One ship in orbit," reported B'Elanna Torres. "A Cardassian military freighter. They use those for troop
transports, too, and they can be heavily armed."
Chakotay nodded and spread his fingers over the helm controls. "Let's keep it to one ship. Tuvok, as
soon as we come out of warp, target their communications array with photon torpedoes and fire at will. I
don't want them sending for help."
"Yes, sir," answered the Vulcan, who was preternaturally calm, considering they were about to attack a
ship that was ten times larger than they were.
"Then hit their sensor arrays, so they have to concentrate on us."
"What about their weapons?" snapped Torres. "I hope you aren't planning to take a lot of damage."
"No more man usual." Captain Chakotay smiled confidently and pressed the comm panel. "Seska, report
to the bridge for relief."
"Yes, sir," answered the Bajoran. She was only one deck below them, in the forward torpedo bay, and
Chakotay
heard her footsteps clanging on the ladder behind them. Now if B'Elanna had to go to engineering, they
were covered.
The captain hit the comm panel, and his voice echoed throughout the ship. "All hands, Red Alert!
Battlestations."
Like the falcon that inspired the Peregrine-class, the Spartacus swooped out of warp, her talons bared,
spitting photon torpedoes in rapid bursts. Plumes of flame rose along the dorsal fin of the
sturgeon-shaped Cardassian freighter, and dishes, deflectors, and antennas snapped like burnt
matchsticks. Shields quickly compensated, and the next volley was repelled, as the lumbering, copper-
colored vessel turned to defend herself.
Phasers beamed from the wing tips of the Spartacus, bathing the freighter in vibrant blue light. Although
damage to the hull was minimal, the enemy's sensor arrays crackled like a lightning storm. Despite her
damage, the freighter unleashed a barrage of phaser fire, and the Spartacus was rocked as she streaked
past. With the larger ship on her tail, blasting away, the Maquis ship was forced into a low orbit A
desperate chase ensued, with the blue seas of Helena glimmering peacefully in the background.
"Full power to aft shields!" ordered Chakotay.
"Aye, sir," answered Torres.
They were jolted again by enemy fire, and Chakotay had to grip his chair to keep from falling out. From
the comer of his eye, he saw Seska stagger onto the bridge and take a seat at an auxilary console. There
was a worried look on her face.
"We can't take much more of this," said Torres.
"Making evasive maneuvers," answered Chakotay.
Zigging and zagging, the Maquis ship avoided most of the Cardassian volleys, but the larger ship bore
down on
them, cutting the distance with every second. Chakotay knew he would soon be in their sights, but his
options were limited this close to the planet. He had a course to keep ... and a rendezvous.
The two shipsa sardine chased by a barracudasped around the gently curved horizon and headed toward
the blazing red sun in the distance. On the bridge, Chakotay pounded a button to dampen the light from
the viewscreen, the glare was so bright. But if he couldn't see, they couldn't either. He felt the thrill of the
hunt as he prepared to use one of the oldest tactics of his ancestors.
A direct hit jarred them, releasing an acrid plume of smoke from somewhere on the bridge. The ship
began to vibrate as they started into the atmosphere.
"Shields weakening," reported Tuvok.
"Just a little longer," muttered Chakotay. He made another sharp turn, but quickly veered back toward
the sun. The Cardassians increased their fire, as if worried that she would escape into the planet's
atmosphere. Since the Spar-tacus wasn't returing fire, they had to to assume she was trying to land on the
planet.
"They're powering up a tractor beam," said Torres urgently. "Their shields are ... down!"
"Now!" barked the captain. Tuvok's hand moved from the weapons console to the comm board, while
Chakotay steered his craft vertically into the horizon, trying to present a small target. The Cardassians
had swallowed the bait, and now the trap snapped shut.
A Bajoran assault vessel streaked out of warp in the middle of the sun's glare. Chakotay knew the Singha
was there, but he could barely see her on the viewscreen. The Cardassian vessel didn't see her at all, so
intent were they upon capturing their prey.
With her shields down, the freighter's bridge took a direct hit from a brace of torpedoes, and lightning
crackled along the length of her golden hull. The freighter went dark, but she lit up again as the Singha
veered around and raked her hull with phasers, tearing jagged gashes in the gleaming metal. The
Cardassians got off a few desperate shots, but the Singha raced past them, unharmed.
"Aft torpedoes," ordered Chakotay. "Fire!"
With deadly precison, the Vulcan launched a brace of torpedoes that hit the freighter amidships and
nearly broke her in two. Chakotay cringed at the explosions that ripped along her gleaming hull, and he
made a silent prayer on behalf of the fallen enemy. They were more arrogant than smart, but they had
died bravely. Fortunately, that trick always worked on the arrogant. At a cockeyed angle, spewing
smoke and flame, the massive freighter dropped into a decaying orbit.
Chakotay piloted the Spartacus into a safe orbit that trailed behind the dying ship. "Hail them."
Tuvok shook his head. "Their communications are out, and life support is failing. They have about six
minutes left before they burn up in the atmosphere."
The cheerful voice of Captain Rowan broke in on the comm channel. "That was good hunting, Chakotay,
and a good plan. What's next?"
"Enter standard orbit and see if you can raise anyone on the planet. We're going to take a prisoner, if we
can."
He tapped the comm panel. "Bridge to transporter room. Scan the bridge of the enemy shipsee if you can
find any lifesigns."
"Yes, sir." After a moment's pause, the technician answered, "Most of them are dead. There's one weak
life-sign"
"Lock onto it and wait for me. I'm on my way." The captain jumped to his feet. "Tuvok, grab a
medkityou're with me. B'Elanna, you have the bridge. Keep scanning the planet, and try to raise
someone. Seska, you have the conn. Keep us in orbit."
"Aye, sir." The attractive Bajoran slid into the vacated seat and gave him a playful smile. "This looks like
a nice place for shore leave. What do you say, Captain?"
"I'll put you on the away team," promised Chakotay. He took another glance at the viewscreen and saw
the smoking hulk of the freighter plummeting toward the beautiful blue horizon.
The captain led the way from the clam-shaped bridge to the central corridor, which ran like a backbone
down the length of the Spartacus. He jogged to the second hatch and dropped onto the ladder with
practiced efficiency, while Tuvok stopped at a storage panel to pick up a medkit.
Dropping off the ladder, Chakotay landed in the second largest station on the ship after engineering the
combined transporter room and cargo hold. Not that they had any cargo to speak ofevery spare
centimeter was filled with weapons, explosives, and photon torpedoes, stacked like cordwood.
He drew his phaser and nodded toward the Bolian on the transporter console. The blue-skinned
humanoid manipulated some old trimpot slides, and a prone figure began to materialize on the transporter
platform. Chakotay heard Tuvok's footsteps as he landed on the deck, but he never took his eyes, or his
phaser, off the wounded figure.
It was a male Cardassian, with singed clothes, a bruised face, and bloodied, crushed legs. With their
prominent bone structure and sunken eyes, most Cardassian faces looked like skulls, but this one looked
closer to death man usual.
"According to his insignia, he's the first officer," said Tuvok.
The Cardassian blinked his eyes and focused slowly on them. When he realized where he was, he
wheezed with laughter. "Are you trying to save us?"
"Lie still," answered Chakotay. He motioned Tuvok forward with the medkit, but the Cardassian waved
him off.
'Too late," he said with a cough. The Cardassian lifted his black sleeve to his mouth and bit off a small
black button. Before anyone could react, he swallowed it. "I won't be captured... by the Maquis."
"What are you doing on this planet?" demanded Chakotay. "Why don't you leave these people alone?"
A rattle issued from the Cardassian's throat, and it was hard to tell whether he was laughing, crying, or
dying. "You beat us... but all you won was a curse."
The Cardassian's bloodied head dropped onto the platform with a thud, and his previously wheezing
chest was now still. Tuvok checked the medical tricorder and reported, "He has expired."
Chakotay nodded. "Beam his body back to his ship. Let him bum with his comrades."
"Yes, sir," answered the Bolian. A second later, every trace of the Cardassian officer was gone.
The captain strode over to the transporter console and tapped the comm panel. "Chakotay to bridge.
Have you or the Singha raised anyone on the planet?"
"No, sir," answered Torres. "But we detected a strong power source that suddenly went dark. It could
be a Cardassian installation."
"Are you picking up lifesigns on the planet?"
"Lots of them," answered Torres.
"Pick a strong concentration of lifesigns and send the
coordinates to the transporter room. Tuvok and I are going down."
"Okay," answered Torres. "Did you get a prisoner?"
"For only a few secondswe didn't learn anything. Chakotay out." The captain reached into a tray on the
transporter console and grabbed two Deltan combadges, one of which he tossed to Tuvok. The
Spartacus was so small that they seldom needed combadges while on the ship; they saved them for away
teams.
"I've got the coordinates," said the Bolian technician. "It appears to be the spaceport in the city of
Padulla."
"Fine." Captain Chakotay jumped onto the transporter platform and took his place on the middle pad.
Tuvok stepped beside him, slinging the medkit and tricorder over his shoulder.
"Energize."
A familiar tingle gripped Chakotay's spine, as the transporter room faded from view, to be replaced by a
cavernous spaceport with high, vaulted ceilings covered with impressive murals. The captain expected to
see a crowd of people, but he expected them to be standing on their feetnot lying in haphazard rows
stretching the length of the vast terminal. This looked like a field hospital, thrown together to house the
wounded from some monstrous battle. Coughs and groans echoed in the rancid air.
His first impression was that the Cardassians had wreaked terrible destruction on the people of Helena,
and he started toward the nearest patient.
"Captain!" warned Tuvok. "Keep your distance from them."
He turned to see the Vulcan intently working his medical tricorder. This caused Chakotay to look more
closely at the
nearest patient, who was swaddled in a soiled blanket, lying on top of a grass mat, surrounded by filth.
The man wasn't woundedhe had oozing pustules and black bruises on his face and limbs, and his yellow
hair was plastered to his sweaty forehead. Although his species was unfamiliar to Chakotay, his skin had
a deathly pallor, just like the Cardassian's had. Chakotay took a step away from him.
Another patient finally noticed the visitors. She propped herself up with some difficulty and began to
crawl toward them. Others saw the away team as well, and a chorus of desperate voices rent the air.
Some of their words were incoherent, but Chakotay could make out a few phrases as the people
crawled forward "Help us! Save me! Kill me!"
"What's the matter with them?" he whispered to Tuvok.
"A serious illness," answered the Vulcan with tight-lipped understatement.
Chakotay tapped his combadge. "Away team to transporter room. Beam us up, but on a ten-second
delay. Get out of the transporter room before we materialize."
"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 speciala 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 spaceonly
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 shuttlecraft.
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 shuttlewith warp
driveKyle 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 occa-
sion. A mere visit wasn't enoughthey 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 me 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 bunked 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 onhere 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 hi 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 wasnot cruising above the Alaskan wilderness but in a consultation room aboard
the U.S.S. Gandhi. Dr. Carl Herbert was a skilled snip'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."
摘要：

ChapterOneThePeregrine-classscoutshiplookedmuchlikethefalconthatinspiredherdesign,withabeaklikebowandsweepingwingsthatenabledhertostreakthroughaplanet'satmosphere.Hersleeklinesweremarredbyvariousscorchmarksanddents,whichleftherlookinglikeanoldraptorwithmanyscars.Largerthanashuttlecraftyetsmallerthan...

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