Star Trek - TNG - Double Helix 1 - Infection

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Star Trek -- Double Helix #1 -- Infection

PART 1: The Coming of the Plague

Prologue

WHEN HE REACHED the broad windows of his hotel room, Solomon paused in

his security sweep. Fifty meters below, on the far side of the square,

seethed an angry-looking mob of humans. He couldn't really make out

faces in the growing twilight, but he knew their type. Rabble-rousers.

Troublemakers. Fifth- and sixth-generation human settlers on Archaria

III, gone back to a more primitive mindset. To a man they dressed in

simple brown clothes-shirts, pants, and boots. All the men sported long

bushy beards, shoulder-length hair, and smug attitudes of cultural and

species superiority.

Solomon snorted. Superior? Hardly. Stubborn, closed-minded, and

prejudiced against non-humans ... in a word, fools. He never had

time for fools.

Still, he continued to watch. The mob continued to grow. He estimated

their number now at more than a hundred. They milled about in the

square, beyond the black marble fountains, and continued their angry

posturing. As water jetted from the mouths of ten larger-than-life

Earth lions, as gold and silver fish darted through the meter-deep

series of oval pools, he heard their voices begin to chant: "Veritas. .

. Veritas...Veritas!" loud enough to reach even where he stood.

He swung his gaze around the square, noting how dozens of shopkeepers-

smooth-cheeked humans, gray-skinned Peladians, and even a couple of

Ferengi-had already begun to trundle their wares inside to safety.

Pottery, fruits, souvenirs, it didn't matter what they sold-they

weren't taking chances. Solomon chuckled. They could read the signs as

clearly as he. Another riot was brewing. As he watched, durasteel

shutters snapped shut one by one across the stores' entrances and

windows. He could imagine the merchants inside busily throwing bolts,

latching latches, and retreating to the safest parts of their

buildings. Poor paranoid fools, he thought. Race riots are the least of

your -worries. From the look of things, in five minutes every building

facing the square would be locked up tighter than a Romulan clam. Not

that it would save any of them in the end.

Still more bearded men streamed into the square from the side streets.

Solomon leaned forward,

searching for a leader, but saw no sign of the elusive man called

"Veritas." The chanting built to a crescendo.

Snorting derisively, Solomon took a step back. / really don't have time

for this nonsense, he thought. It was too easy to get swept up in the

excitement. Business calls.

"Computer, engage privacy mode. Black out the windows. Filter

extraneous noises." Civil unrest always made money for someone. But not

me, not today. He sighed with regret. After all, he had bigger projects

to finish before he even thought about fun.

The windows' glass darkened to the color of charcoal, and the room grew

hushed. Not even the ventilators made a sound. Raising his tricorder,

Solomon continued his security sweep. Good-no unexpected EM readings,

no bugs, no monitoring devices. Business as usual on Archaria III; no

one suspected him of being anything more than another buyer for the

Interstellar Corn and Grain Combine. ICGC always made a great cover on

farming planets like this one. He smiled a bit wryly. All he'd had to

do was flash his business ID at the front desk and the hotel had rolled

out the red-carpet treatment, complete with complimentary fruit basket

and bottle of wine from a local vineyard. Second-rate stuff, of course,

and he hadn't touched it; the best wines always came from Mother Earth.

Crossing to the bed, he lifted a small silver suitcase and gripped the

handle long enough for the smartlock to scan his DNA. When it beeped

ac-

ceptance, he flipped open the latches without triggering the small

explosive device embedded in the handle. In fifteen years of illegal

activities, he had never once lost his equipment. . . but the Orion

Syndicate never believed in taking changes. And all due precautions

were necessary on this particular job. The client had paid extra for

them.

Nestled inside the case lay the pieces of a narrow-beam long-range

subspace transmitter. He assembled it deftly, then used the tricorder

to aim the short conelike antenna to the proper coordinates, about 20

degrees up and toward the square.

When he activated the device, a flickering holographic image filled the

air before him: burning red eyes, a shock of long white hair, skin the

color of milk: the General. I hate this part. Solomon blinked, but the

General's features had already begun to change, thanks to the security

scrambler: now the General had the prominent nose, black hair with blue

highlights, and upswept eyebrows of a Vulcan. It would be this way

throughout their whole conversation, as the scrambler shifted the

General's features from one race to another. Solomon found it strangely

disconcerting. There's nothing like face-to-face meetings. Next client.

.. .

"Report!" the General barked, voice flat and artificial, revealing

nothing about his species. Undoubtedly it had been so crunched and

mangled by computers on his end that no trace of the original spoken

words remained.

"Stage One has begun," Solomon said matter-of-factly. Keep the client

happy, the first rule of any

service industry, even terrorism. "All ten bombs are in place. The

plague virus will be released per your timetable."

"Acceptable." The General nodded, the deep red waddles under his chin

shaking to match his three antennae. He began to grow horns and ivory-

colored tusks. "I will transmit the second third of your payment to

your accounts on Ferenginar. The final installment will follow

successful completion of this phase of the plan."

Solomon licked his lips. "General..."

"Speak."

"The vaccine-you're sure it will work?" If he was going to expose

himself to some new genetically enhanced plague, he wanted every

assurance that it wouldn't kill him.

"Yes."

"The Orion Syndicate does not tolerate damage to its membership," he

added pointedly.

"I would not risk wasting talent such as yours. I will need it again."

The General waved a puckered yellow tentacle as his gray-green face

grew the cheek gills of an Eshashu. Then, with a brusque-ness that

matched his suddenly Klingon features, he severed the connection.

Solomon sat on the bed and chewed his lip for a second. He felt sweat

trickling down his sides and back. Waiting always made his stomach

churn. He felt control begin to slip away. It was one thing to belong

to the Orion Syndicate, the most successful criminal organization in

the Alpha Quadrant. Extortion, arson, blackmail, and even murder had

long been a part of his life. But it was quite another thing to take a

freelance job planting exotic diseases in unknown aliens and then sit

calmly and wait for a virus to strike.

What if the cure didn't work? What if he wasn't immune? What if-

He drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Steady, steady. No

need to panic. I'm safe. Probably the safest man on the planet. He

didn't like invisible dangers, but at least he had been inoculated

against them. The Archarians must have done something to earn this

strong a reaction from the General, he thought grimly. Poor bastards.

Then he forced such thoughts from his mind. He couldn't allow himself

to start to feel sympathy.

Business was business, after all, and he was getting paid more than

amply. Even after the Syndicate took its cut, he'd be well ahead for

the quarter. Risa was getting boring; perhaps a well-earned vacation on

Lomax or Gentree or one of the other up-and-coming pleasure worlds

would soothe his nerves.

He glanced at the chronometer on the tricorder, still counting down to

the carefully timed release of the plague. Just a few ticks more. .. .

"Nothing personal," he murmured to the million-odd humans and Peladians

on the planet as the counter reached zero. He felt his heart skip as

the moment came and passed, but he heard no sounds, no thunderous

explosions, no vast collection of voices raised in cries of pain or

sorrow or anguish as the invisible virus entered the planetary

atmosphere. In his mind's eye, he saw it riding into the city on soft

breezes, drifting like a fine mist through every street, into every

home and business, into every set of lungs.

"Poor bastards," he whispered again. What had they done to the General?

Calmly he began to pack up the transmitter. Now, to see to the final

part of the plans ... he had to monitor how quickly the disease spread-

and how quickly planetary authorities and the Federation dealt with it.

Let it be fast, he thought.

Chapter One

Stardate: 41211.0 Captain's Log, Supplemental

The Enterprise continues on its mission to Archaria III, a planet

jointly colonized by humans and Peladians. A new disease has cropped

up, terrifying the inhabitants. So far, more than five thousand cases

have been confirmed.

The only drug at all effective in treating this disease is a rare

compound called Tricillin PDF, which seems to prolong life, though only

for a week at most. The Enterprise will deliver a supply of the drug,

quarantine the planet, then stay to oversee research into finding a

cure.

"-AND RENDER WHATEVER AID the Archarians require until the emergency is

over," Captain Picard said, leaning forward at the conference table and

gazing at each of his senior staff in turn.

William Riker, Geordi La Forge, and Worf looked uncomfortable at the

mention of the plague,

and he didn't blame them; he had always felt ill at ease when faced

with intangible dangers. Deanna Troi looked deeply concerned, and Dr.

Crusher looked...intrigued? She has dealt with plagues before,

Picard reminded himself. She knows how to contain them.

The persistent low rumble of a Starship at maximum warp filled the

room. None of his crew spoke. They feel the tension building already,

he thought.

"Captain," Dr. Crusher finally said, "I may have to bring samples of

this virus aboard the Enterprise for study, and perhaps a few

patients."

"Understood, Doctor. So long as all necessary security precautions are

maintained, I see no problem. In the meantime"-he slid a data padd

across the conference table to her-"the doctors of Archo City Hospital

have prepared a full report, which you may find useful."

"Thank you." She pulled the padd in front of herself and began skimming

the opening remarks.

"Something else is troubling you, sir," Deanna Troi said softly.

Picard hesitated, then gave a curt nod. Best to get it out in the open.

"What disturbs me most is the thought that this whole problem may be of

our own manufacture ... a biological weapon."

"Impossible-how could that be?" Riker said, shaking his head

dismissively. "Legalities aside, it's against everything the Federation

stands for!"

"We do have treaties with most sentient races which prevent the

development and use of biological weapons," Data said. "With all due

respect, sir,

the deployment of a genetically designed plague on a remote

agricultural world such as Archaria III seems highly unlikely."

"Not necessarily," Picard said. He cleared his throat. "Archaria III is

in many ways a throwback to human civilization two or three hundred

years ago. It was settled by religious zealots early in the twenty-

second century, and although they have largely come into the

Federation's fold, old prejudices and resentments still bubble to the

surface from time to time." The room was quiet for a moment while

Picard allowed his point to sink in.

Riker finally broke the silence. "Sir, if I may ask, what is it that

leads you to conclude this disease is a weapon?"

"Might be a weapon, Number One. A radical political group called the

Purity League claims the plague is an act of God against 'blasphemous

unnatural unions.'"

Riker gave him a blank stare. "Sir?"

Picard cleared his throat. How to phrase this delicately. He said, "The

Purity League is opposed to interspecies mating-'mixers' as they call

such people."

Again the rumble of the ship's engines filled the room. They can't

believe it, either, he thought. Humanity is supposed to be beyond such

prejudices.

He noticed that Deanna Troi, half human and half Betazoid herself, hid

her inner feelings behind a mask of professional calm. He would have

given a lot to know her true reaction! Undoubtedly she was even more

shocked and horrified than he had been.

To think that some humans are still capable of such petty resentments.

...

He forced himself back to the problem at hand. "Mixers-or anyone else

suspected of adulterating the purity of the human race-are treated as

second-class citizens in many places on Archaria III," he continued.

"Officially such prejudices are prohibited, of course, but in the

backwater towns discrimination apparently still runs rampant. Only in

the half-dozen large cities do humans and Peladians work and live

together with something approaching harmony. In the country, things

have apparently become so bad that most full-blooded Peladians now live

in isolated enclaves surrounded by their own kind."

Riker said, "That sounds like a ghetto system."

"It is. Those of mixed heritage are even less fortunate, since they

belong fully to neither the human nor the Peladian world. They were

relocating to the cities in record numbers-until the plague struck. Now

they're fleeing into the countryside once more, living like vagabonds

in tent camps." Picard looked down at his clenched, interlaced fingers

resting uneasily on the table. He didn't bother to feign relaxation.

Sometimes it was good for the crew to see him share their anger.

Deanna Troi asked, "How many people of mixed blood are on the planet?"

"Nobody is quite sure. Estimates range from between 150,000 and 200,000

people. Obviously, those mixers who most closely resemble humans

hide the truth to avoid conflict with the Purity League."

Data said, "I am aware of the Purity League, sir. The Federation has

monitored their activities for many years, but has deemed them a minor

nuisance with little actual influence."

"Their influence is growing," Picard said firmly. The private reports

he had read gave alarming statistics; according to confidential

surveys, fully half of the planet's human population harbored feelings

of support for the Purity League, though the League's actual membership

numbers were open to conjecture. It was certainly in the tens of

thousands if not the hundreds of thousands.

He went on. "The Purity League's leader, Father Veritas, is using the

plague as a rallying point for anti-alien sentiment. Apparently Veritas

is responsible for inciting dozens of race riots in the last few

months. The whole planet is in turmoil. The non-human population-and

especially the partly human population-is running scared. The plague's

growth has only served to make the situation worse." "Veritas," indeed,

he thought, grimacing. If ever there was a misnomer. .. .

"Sir," said Deanna Troi, "Archaria III has a long history of

interspecies problems, including wars, assassinations, and racism. Its

history is part of several planetary evolution courses at the Academy.

I believe everyone here has studied it to some degree."

A general murmur of agreement came from the

rest of his senior staff. Picard found himself surprised-it hadn't been

part of the curriculum when he had studied at the Academy-but he was

pleased. They're keeping up with the times.

"That is correct, sir," said Data. "It was settled in 2102 by a human

sect of religious fundamentalists called the Brotherhood. Seven years

later, these human settlers encountered Peladian settlers, who had

colonized the planet almost simultaneously."

Picard had never seen a Peladian and knew little about them, beyond the

fact that they were humanoid, militant about privacy, and generally

considered pacifists .. . except when provoked.

Data went on, "After a series of small wars, as the two sides got to

know each other, peaceful relations and coexistence began. According to

the information I have accessed, with the increasing agricultural

importance of Archaria III their differences were largely put aside, in

favor of economic cooperation."

"That is the public story," Picard said. He folded his arms and frowned

a bit. "There have always been tensions. Until Father Veritas and the

Purity League burst onto the scene sixteen years ago, the planetary

government managed to contain most of the problems before they

escalated. Over the past few years, though, there has been an increase

in terrorism on Archaria III aimed at Peladians, at humans who have

married them, and especially at their children-all in the name of human

racial purity. That's another reason why the Federation

suspects the plague may be genetically engineered."

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StarTrek--DoubleHelix#1--InfectionPART1:TheComingofthePlaguePrologueWHENHEREACHEDthebroadwindowsofhishotelroom,Solomonpausedinhissecuritysweep.Fiftymetersbelow,onthefarsideofthesquare,seethedanangry-lookingmobofhumans.Hecouldn'treallymakeoutfacesinthegrowingtwilight,butheknewtheirtype.Rabble-rousers...

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