Invasion!, Book Two: The Soldiersof Fear Read online

  If Deanna recovered.

  Beverly sighed and took another sip of the tea, wincing at its taste.

  Then she paused, rolled the tea around on her tongue, and swallowed.

  Her tongue was numb. Not completely without sensation, but she had lost enough sensation to get a prickly feeling around the edges.

  She had used the root tea before, often on long stressful nights, and had never found that her judgment was impaired.

  But it always reduced her stress.

  Just like it had calmed her fears now.

  She wasn’t shaking anymore. She hadn’t shaken since she had her first cup.

  Then she smiled, pulled out a test tube, and poured the tea in it. The liquid stained the sides of the tube orange. She put the tube in the compositor and had it analyze the contents. While it mixed and remixed the chemicals, Beverly got up and went into sickbay proper. She passed the fear patients and went directly to the flu patients. They were still on the diagnostic beds. She flipped on the overhead screens, and watched as she read the levels.

  The flu was running its course. They would be on their feet again in a day or so. But she wasn’t interested in their virus. She was interested in brain waves or any indication of REM sleep.

  The patients appeared to be sleeping soundly, dreamlessly, and their physical symptoms confirmed it. Heartbeat, respiration, and blood pressure readings had returned to normal—or as near to normal as it was physically possible with the Xotic Flu.

  She called up their readings from the past few hours, ever since she had given them the sedative.

  No dreams.

  None.

  The fears were buried, for now.

  She went back into her research station. The chemical component of the Bajoran root tea blinked on her screen. As she had thought, the tea had a mild sedative. Very mild, a kind, the computer told her (and her own experience confirmed), that did not impair thoughts or cause drowsiness. It took the edge off certain emotions by blocking the chemical components of those emotions within the body. It did not affect motor skills or judgment.

  “Dr. Crusher?” Chief Engineer La Forge’s voice came over the comm.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  “Doctor,” La Forge said, “we think the beam hitting us controls and amplifies the effects of interspace.”

  “Interspace?” She let the word sink in. Why hadn’t she thought of that possibility?

  “Yes, Doctor,” La Forge said.

  “Damn,” she said softly to herself.

  “Excuse me, Doctor?” La Forge said.

  “Sorry, Geordi,” she said, half laughing. “I’ll get right on it. I think I may be able to come up with a block.”

  “Good,” La Forge said. “Out.”

  She turned her attention back to her screen. With a few keystrokes she had the Theragen formula up on the screen, along with the history of its development and use. For the next few minutes she read, letting the exact details of the drug back into her mind. Its first use was as a nerve gas, developed by the Klingons. But Dr. McCoy on the first Enterprise had diluted the drug to stop the effects of interspace on the crew. His diluted form was called the Theragen derivative.

  She studied McCoy’s work. McCoy had diluted the Theragen with alcohol, but she thought it would make a better mix with the Bajoran tea—that way it would not only block the fear, but have a calming effect on the crew.

  She asked the computer to confirm that analysis, and the computer did. Replication possible in both liquid and gaseous form.

  Beverly smiled. With a lot of help from Geordi, she had come up with a solution much faster than she had expected.

  But barely within the captain’s deadline.

  She hit her comm badge. “Captain?”

  “Picard here.” His voice sounded firm and steady. She wondered how he managed that when she knew how he felt. The fears sent by the Furies had affected him too.

  “I have found a way to help block the fears within the crew.”

  “Excellent. If you believe it will work, begin treatment immediately.”

  He was on edge. She could hear it in his tone.

  “Captain, I do have to tell you that what I have come up with is partially a mild sedative.”

  “Sedative?” His voice rose. “Doctor, we may be about to face the most dangerous enemy known to the Federation, and you want to sedate my crew?”

  “Yes, sir.” She smiled. She had known he would react like that to the word. Better to get it out of the way now. “The sedative will calm the emotions only. It will not affect judgment or impair motor skills. Since I was unable to test it fully, however, I do not know how long its effects will last.” She took a deep breath. “I need to also add small quantities of Theragen derivative to the sedative, to help block the effects of interspace.”

  The captain did not answer immediately. Perhaps she shouldn’t have worried about impaired judgment from the drug. The fear was doing that all by itself. Captain Picard usually made decisions much quicker than this.

  “How long will it take you to inoculate the entire crew?”

  “I won’t have to inoculate them,” she said. “I can make this sedative mixed with the Theragen derivative into a gas and flood the air filtration systems. I’ll have to let Geordi know so that the systems won’t automatically purify it. Other than that, no one will even notice except that their fears will have eased. They won’t abate completely, but everyone will be calmer.”

  “Proceed,” Picard said, and signed off.

  Beverly took another sip of her root tea and smiled at the mug. Then she turned and punched in the sequence to begin synthesizing the tea and mixing it with Theragen derivative. This just might be the complete answer. She hoped so.

  Commander Riker took a deep breath and uncrossed his arms. Somehow, just sitting beside Captain Picard on the bridge calmed him. Everything was calming him. He was regaining control, even without Dr. Crusher’s help. When the gas filled the ship, he would be prepared, and maybe feel like his own self again.

  On the screen before them, the entire bridge crew was studying Redbay’s discovery: the wave of emotion they had all felt was actually sent in the form of a cone-shaped wave that created an interspace conduit. And the Enterprise was stuck in the middle of it. The wave picked up and amplified—or maybe twisted would be a better way of putting it—the adverse effects of interspace on the human mind. The more he studied the data Redbay and La Forge had come up with, the prouder he felt of the crew of the Enterprise. They had withstood a very vicious attack and kept their sanity.

  “At least we know that our unusual feelings have been manufactured,” Picard said.

  “That eased the mind of everyone on the engineering staff,” Riker said.

  “Yes, I can see how it would.” Picard stood and tugged on his shirt. “I hope we have as much success in blocking the effects of the wave.”

  “Lieutenant Redbay believes we will,” Riker said. “He and La Forge are researching the incident that occurred with the original Enterprise. It should give them some help.”

  Picard only nodded his agreement.

  “Captain,” Worf said, “I have received a short, encrypted message from the Madison. They will arrive within the hour.”

  “Did they say anything about the Idaho?”

  “The ships are traveling in tandem, sir.”

  Picard nodded. He stared at the screen another moment, frowning at the data about the interspace beam.

  “Captain, those ships will fly straight into that beam,” Riker said.

  “They will encounter it sooner than we did,” Data added. “The strength of the cone-shaped beam at its outer edge might be weaker, but the closer they come the more they will feel its effects.”

  “Without warning,” Riker said, “they will go through the same feelings we did.”

  “I understand that, Number One,” Picard said. “I am trying to figure out a way to communicate to them without letting the Furies know that we h
ave ameliorated the effects of their transmission.”

  “Oh, I know how to do that, sir,” Riker said. “Captain Kiser is quite a poker player. I met him on Rigel in a galaxy-wide tournament.”

  Picard nodded and seemed to take a deep, almost relaxing breath.

  Riker suddenly felt as if he wanted to smile. Dr. McCoy’s Theragen derivative and Dr. Crusher’s sedative gas must be working. The feeling of fear was clearly reduced. It wasn’t completely gone, but it was better.

  “Kiser and I,” Riker said, “were the only humans left in the contest. We worked out a series of signals that allowed us to eliminate the others—”

  “You cheated, Number One?”

  “Not exactly,” Riker said. “It became clear early on that it wasn’t a clean tournament, and that the Ferengi sponsors had set up their own people to win. We just . . . how should I say this . . . made sure that wouldn’t happen.”

  “I do not see how a game of chance will enable you to communicate with Captain Kiser,” Data said. “It could not carry the needed information.”

  “It means, Mr. Data, that Commander Riker and Captain Kiser have already developed a method for saying one thing and meaning another,” Picard said. “You will need to bury Dr. Crusher’s formula for the sedative in the message as well as the theory of the Furies’ fear wave being sent via interspace. The poker signals will only alert him to the fact the information is there.”

  Data nodded, understanding.

  “Yes, sir,” Riker said. “I will tell him that this is a view of the Brundage Station and they need to review it immediately. Since they’ve already seen Brundage Station, Kiser will know that we have new or different information buried in there.”

  “I would suggest,” Worf said, “that you let the Klingon and Vulcan vessels know this information as well.”

  “I’ll ask Captain Kiser to forward it,” Riker said. “The Furies are less likely to be monitoring his communications.”

  “Do you think they’re monitoring ours?” Ensign Eckley asked. She was back at her post, looking shaky but calmer.

  “We’re monitoring theirs, aren’t we?” Riker asked.

  Picard smiled. “Go to it, Number One. Record the message and encrypt it. Ask for an encrypted message in return. Use my ready room.”

  Riker nodded and started across the bridge.

  “And, Number One,” Picard added, “give Captain Kiser my regards as well. Warn him that the house has the advantage so far.”

  “I will,” Riker said. Then he stopped. “But I will also say that I believe we can turn the tables and use the house’s advantage to our own. Kiser always did like a long shot.”

  “Well,” Picard said, returning to his command chair. “I hope he likes long shots not just for the challenge.”

  “Kiser likes a challenge,” Riker said, remembering the ironic, contained man he had played cards with a few years before. “But he likes winning even more.”

  “Good,” Picard said, turning back to the screen showing the Furies’ ships. “Because that’s the only attitude that will get us out of here alive.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  TEN-FORWARD WAS EMPTY . The entire crew was on duty. Families huddled together in their quarters or the specially assigned safe areas that Beverly had set up.

  Picard stood at the door. He had forgotten the room was so vast. Behind the bar Guinan worked over something, then turned around and smiled a full smile at him. She had on a purple robe and flowing purple hat that somehow seemed to blend with her dark skin, making her eyes seem intense. Many times Picard had looked into those clear, knowledgeable eyes for help and gotten it. In many ways he considered Guinan one of his best friends, even though he knew very little about her. He just knew that he trusted her completely and over the years she had never let him down. Not once.

  “You’d better come sit down,” Guinan said, indicating the barstool in front of her. “I don’t have table side service anymore.” She set a steaming mug of Earl Grey tea on the bar. Hers was real, not replicated. The drink’s delicate perfume drifted through the empty room.

  “I don’t have much time, Guinan,” Picard said.

  “I know, but you came here for a reason.” She slid the tea forward. “Now sit.”

  He stepped into the room, feeling vaguely guilty. He should be preparing more for the approaching attack, but he had delegated the duties to people with greater expertise in their areas. He had nothing to do but wait.

  And worry.

  The job of a commander.

  “You are preparing for the attack,” Guinan said as he approached. “Stop feeling so guilty.”

  “Is it that obvious?” He climbed onto the barstool. The scent of the tea tickled his nose. He took the mug, felt its warmth against his fingers, and sipped. The bouquet was delicate, as fine as that of any tea he had ever had.

  “I doubt it’s obvious to anyone else, but I’ve known you a long time.”

  “That you have,” Picard said. “And you well know I’ve never faced a situation like this one.”

  “But you have,” she said, the look on her face clearly showing her disagreement. “Every day when you venture into new territory, you face the same decisions you face here.”

  He shook his head. “No,” he said. “This is different. We came into the sector as the advance troop in a war, Guinan. I’ve dedicated my entire life, my entire career to peace.”

  “Yet you serve in Starfleet,” she said softly.

  “Successful Starfleet officers wage peace,” he said.

  “Sometimes waging peace is preventing universal destruction.” She pulled up a chair, pushed her purple hat back, and leaned her elbows on the bar, as if she were the supplicant.

  “Sometimes,” he said. “I agree. But I can’t help the feeling that we are missing something here. The Furies come through the Furies Point and instantly we’re at war. Admiral Kirschbaum told me to negotiate, but that felt perfunctory, Guinan. It is as if we have been expecting a battle for eighty years, and a battle is what we’re going to get.”

  “The Furies have terrified this sector for a long time,” Guinan said. Her eyes were hooded, her gaze unreadable. He hated it when she was being inscrutable.

  “You think we’re wrong, don’t you?”

  “I didn’t say that,” she said, “but I do think that terror leads to fuzzy decision-making.”

  “As do I,” Picard said. “Yet I have tried to negotiate with them. They will not talk. They are intent on intimidation. They’re even sending a beam filled with fake intimidation, forcing our nervous systems into a state of fear.”

  “Brundage Station was deliberate provocation,” Guinan said.

  Picard nodded. “But I learned long ago that even given such attempts to start a war, parties can come to peaceful terms.”

  Guinan lifted her head, her eyebrows together in a frown. “You’re afraid of them,” she said as if it were a revelation. “Aren’t you?”

  “I felt the fear they sent,” he said.

  She shook her head. “No. I mean, you’re really afraid of them. Underneath.” She patted her stomach inside her robe. “Down in here afraid.”

  He licked his lips. It was a question he had been asking himself, and he had been afraid of the answer. Such irony. And it was probably the question that had led him to Guinan in the first place.

  “These creatures,” he said, “formed the nightmares of my childhood. Paris is full of their images. They grace buildings in the form of gargoyles, fill the Louvre in medieval paintings, are shown being vanquished in the stained glass of ancient churches. We would return home after a visit to that city, and I would dream of gargoyles climbing off buildings, swarming the streets, and coming to get me. When I saw the leader of the Furies, I saw my nightmare come to life.”

  Guinan took his nearly empty mug and refilled it. But she didn’t give it back to him right away. She held it as if considering serving him at all.

  He had seen this look before. Guinan
had a lot of knowledge about the universe, and while she shared it, she did so judiciously. Always cautious about offending others, always cautious about revealing more than the listener needed to know, she recognized her knowledge as the potential weapon it was.

  “Your childhood nightmares confused the evils, Jean-Luc,” she said. She wasn’t looking at him; she was looking in the mug. “What do you know of gargoyles?”

  “Aside from their architectural uses?”

  She smiled then, and set the mug before him. The steam rose, coating his hand. “I’m not going to waste our time talking about decorative water spouts.”

  “I know that they were common on medieval stone structures, and were often imitated as late as the twentieth century.”

  “That’s still architectural,” she said. “Gargoyles were placed on buildings to keep the demons out. Jean-Luc, you’re confusing your protectors with your enslavers.”

  He wrapped his hand around the mug, needing the comfort of the warmth. “What do you mean, Guinan?”

  “The hatred you feel deep inside is genetic, Jean-Luc.” She was looking at him now, her dark eyes filled with compassion. He wasn’t certain he wanted to see that. “The Furies terrorized your people thousands of years ago. And not just your people. The Vulcans, the Klingons, even the Ferengi fell prey to them.”

  Picard nodded. “I know.”

  Guinan went on. “But do you really, Jean-Luc?” She gave him a look and he wondered if he really did have any understanding.

  “After a millennium of rule in this sector, something arrived and overthrew the Furies. The Klingons called them the Havoc.”

  She stood upright, looking into his eyes. “The Vulcans wrote only of the terror that ensued in the battle. Humans, on the other hand, had several reactions to their protectors. The ancient Greeks made them into gods, Moors and the ancient pagans agreed with the Klingons. Their graphic representations of these ‘saviors’ was grotesque. Over time they became stylized in garden statuary.”