Death in Winter Read online

  “Kevratas. That’s your homeworld?”

  “It is,” Jojael confirmed.

  “We’ve examined your ship’s navigational logs,” said Zippor. “It appears your point of origin is on the other side of the neutral zone we share with the Romulans.”

  Beverly’s mind raced. Jojael and her people were…subjects of the Romulan Empire?

  “In fact,” said Zippor, “it’s well within the part of space the Romulans claim as their own.”

  “My homeworld,” said Jojael, “is actually on the fringe of Imperial territory. The logs reflect the origin of our vessel, which was built on a planet a bit closer to Romulus.”

  “Did the Romulans give you permission to leave?” Zippor asked.

  “No,” said Jojael. “We did so surreptitiously.” Her nostrils quivered. “We had no choice.”

  “And why was that?”

  “Because they would not give us a cure for the bloodfire.”

  “Did they have one?” Zippor asked.

  “Not at the time,” Jojael explained. “But the praetor had a cadre of brilliant minds at his disposal, scientists who had cured a great many other plagues. Had they wished to find a cure for ours, they could certainly have done so.”

  Beverly wasn’t sure if that was true or not. She knew little about the Romulans, and even less about curing diseases.

  Jojael made a sound of disgust. “The Empire takes from its subject worlds without a second thought. And it doesn’t feel the least bit obliged to give back.”

  “That’s not right,” Beverly said—surprising herself. She hadn’t meant to speak out loud. It just happened.

  Tan, a broad man with prominent cheekbones and kind eyes, put his arm around her. The other colonists looked sympathetic as well. But then, they couldn’t have approved of the Romulans either.

  “It is not right at all,” said Jojael. “So we found a merchant captain who would accept our generosity and sell us a vessel in which we could leave the Empire, and looked forward to the help we would receive from the Federation.”

  Zippor’s brow creased down the middle. “You believed we would produce a cure?”

  “Of course,” said Jojael with heartbreaking earnestness. Her multicolored eyes turned bright with hope. “You’re not like the Romulans. You’re like us. You pride yourselves on what you can give to others.”

  Beverly saw Zippor and the other adults exchange glances, and her heart sank a little. Clearly, they had less confidence in themselves than Jojael did.

  “You have to understand,” Zippor told the Kevrata, “even though we want to help you, our medical expertise here is limited. We can treat your symptoms and ease your discomfort, but it’ll take a team of Federation specialists to come up with a vaccine.”

  “And they will need time to get here,” Jojael inferred. “I did not expect otherwise.”

  The botanist looked relieved. “As long as you understand.”

  Beverly wasn’t sure Jojael did understand. As Zippor continued to talk with the Kevrata, the girl went to seek out her grandmother. She found her sitting beside another of the aliens, a male whose black-lidded eyes were closed in sedated sleep.

  Felisa Howard glanced lovingly at her granddaughter. “Are you as tired as you look?”

  Beverly didn’t answer the question. “I heard Zippor mention a Federation medical team.”

  “That’s right,” said her grandmother. “We sent for one even before we got back to the colony.”

  “How long will it take for them to get here?”

  “A week and a half. Maybe a little more.”

  Beverly felt a drop of icewater run down her back. “But…will they be in time?”

  Her grandmother’s features hardened. “That’s our hope, and it’s not an unreasonable one. But no one here can say for sure. Not even Doctor Baroja.”

  The girl thought about that. She wished the Kevrata didn’t have to wait for a medical team. She wished she could cure them of their virus all by herself.

  Of course, she didn’t have a prayer of doing that. She wouldn’t even have known where to begin.

  Her grandmother brushed aside a lock of hair that had pasted itself to Beverly’s forehead. “You know,” she said, “you did well with Jojael, keeping her calm and all. Better than anyone had a right to expect.”

  The girl looked at her. “Really?”

  “I just said so, didn’t I?”

  Beverly nodded. Howards don’t fish for compliments. She had heard that often enough.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  “You know,” said Felisa Howard, “Bobby Goldsmith was asking after you. Sounds like you two had a stimulating conversation before the Kevrata arrived.”

  Beverly wasn’t sure how much her grandmother knew, or had guessed. “It was all right,” she said.

  But it seemed like a long time ago. And the kiss…had it really happened? It felt like a dream.

  Suddenly the Kevrata lying beside her grandmother started to groan, his eyes narrowing in pain. The girl thought, His painkiller is wearing off.

  Dr. Baroja was there in a matter of seconds, bending over the alien and administering a hypospray. Almost immediately, the groaning began to subside.

  “Damn,” said the doctor.

  “Is he all right?” Beverly asked.

  Dr. Baroja glanced at her. “Sorry about the language. It’s just that these people have a high resistance to anesthesia.” He held up his hypospray. “And we’ve only got so much of the stuff.”

  What if we run out? Beverly wondered.

  But she already knew the answer, and it wasn’t a happy one: The Kevrata would have to do without it. At least until the medical team can get here.

  Beverly shook her head, dismayed by the injustice of it all. The aliens were so nice, so polite, so grateful for what the colonists had done for them. After all they had been through, it didn’t seem fair that they should have to endure such a burden.

  And even less so that any more of them should have to die.

  2379

  1

  JEAN-LUC PICARD STUDIED THE PARTICOLORED cluster of stars glittering in front of him, dangling so close he felt as though he could touch them, and was reminded of the faery lights of French legend.

  His forebears had feared them because they lured young men to their dooms in the realms of magic. But Picard, captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise, had no need to be concerned. For one thing, he was no longer a young man. And for another, he had developed a healthy resistance to temptation.

  Besides, these stars weren’t faery-inspired. They were three-dimensional images, generated by the multitude of tiny holographic projectors positioned in the walls around him.

  Nor was it this cluster alone they were bringing to life. In fact, there were thousands of them hanging there in the cool, dark air, three-dimendional entities so numerous as to make even the Enterprise-E’s new stellar cartography facility seem crowded.

  On the Enterprise-D, stellar cartography had been much more modest—a planetarium-like chamber with images of the stars emblazoned on its concave, digitally enabled wall. The original Enterprise-E version had been only a bit more sophisticated, incorporating a few extra bells and whistles.

  But this, Picard thought, is a different approach entirely.

  He turned to the fellow standing beside him on a high, safety-railed platform. “And you say this is wrong?”

  “Completely wrong,” said Lieutenant Paisner, Picard’s new chief of stellar cartography. “Beta Diomede, second from the top, is supposed to be a healthy young stud, not even an adult yet. It should be as bright yellow as they come. And yet it looks red enough to go nova at any second.”

  “Really,” said the captain.

  “And that’s just one example.”

  Paisner pressed a button on his handheld device and the expanse of stars whirled about them. It made the captain feel as if he were standing in a spinning top.

  “Here’s another,” said the carto
grapher, as the galaxy mercifully stopping revolving. “Archandra, second star from the bottom on the left side.”

  Picard searched the cluster in front of him. “Yes, I see it. Too red again?”

  “Not red enough,” said Paisner. “And it’s got no planets. The real Archandra’s got three of them.”

  The captain frowned. “Unfortunate.”

  “You can say that again.”

  Paisner’s previous posting had been on Voyager, the Intrepid-class vessel that had been lost for seven years in the Delta Quadrant. In addition to charting any number of previously uncharted systems, he had assisted in the assimilation of alien technologies into the ship’s long-range sensor functions.

  Once back on Earth, he had drawn up plans for a pet idea—a three-dimensional approach to the study of stars. Starfleet had liked it well enough to give it support. And it had chosen to implement Paisner’s idea on the Enterprise-E, which was undergoing an overhaul after her near-destruction in Romulan space.

  Which explained the lieutenant’s determination to get everything right as quickly as possible. Like any new parent, he wanted his baby to be perfect.

  Picard, on the other hand, was willing to accept a few gaffes in the beginning. Especially when so many more critical systems were also in the midst of overhaul.

  “What can I do to help?” he asked.

  Paisner smiled a conspiratorial smile. “I could use another set of hands, if you can spare them. Preferably someone who has experience with holoemitters.”

  The captain gave it some thought. “Larson has repaired a few holodecks in his day, and they can spare him for a while in engineering. I’ll send him down as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Paisner included the entire depicted galaxy with a sweep of his arm. “And imagine how much better this will look when we work all the kinks out.”

  Picard nodded. “Indeed.”

  Moments later, he was on his way to the botany lab. From there he went on to visit the cargo transporter and the main shuttlebay. And everywhere he went, he received the same report: The ship was coming together. One lieutenant told him the Enterprise would be so beautiful he would hardly know her.

  Perhaps, he allowed. As it was, he hardly knew her crew, including the woman who had made the remark.

  Picard had barely returned to his ready room when his door mechanism chimed. “Come,” he said, wondering who wished to speak with him.

  It turned out to be Commander Rager.

  She smiled at him. “Good morning, sir.”

  Knowing why she was there, Picard did his best to smile back. “Good morning, Sariel.”

  Rager had served under the captain for more than a decade, having joined him on the Enterprise-D as a raw ensign only a few years after the ship was commissioned. In that time, she had distinguished herself as a top-notch conn officer, plying the helm as few others could.

  Now she was leaving to serve as second officer on the Hedderjin, a Galaxy-class vessel like the Enterprise-D. And she would be doing so under one of Picard’s former officers, the ever-impressive Gilaad Ben Zoma, who had taken over command of the Hedderjin a couple of years earlier.

  It had long been Rager’s ambition to move up the chain of command. The only reason she had remained with Picard as long as she had was out of loyalty to him.

  Like so many others, he thought.

  “Is it that time?” he asked.

  “It is,” Rager confirmed. And with a lift of her chin, she added, “Permission to disembark, sir.”

  “Granted,” said Picard. “Of course. Where is the Hedderjin off to?”

  Rager looked very much at ease with the lieutenant commander’s pips on her collar, as if she had been wearing them all her life. But then, she had already visited with her new ship and captain. If she had had any jitters, she had long ago gotten them out of the way.

  “The Neutral Zone,” said Rager. “We’ll be there for the next couple of months, reinforcing existing patrol routes until the Romulans sort things out.”

  “Really,” Picard said.

  It was a pivotal time in the history of Federation-Romulan relations. Thanks to the Enterprise’s role in the defeat of the tyrant Shinzon, the Romulans seemed inclined to put aside the centuries-long history of animosity between the two interstellar powers.

  The praetor herself—a former senator who had swiftly and decisively filled the void left by Shinzon—had suggested that the Federation and the Empire revisit the Treaty of Algeron, calling it antiquated and long in need of restructuring. That seemed like a step in the right direction.

  On the other hand, the Empire was on shaky ground these days, its resources severely depleted by the Dominion War and its institutions—the Romulan Senate in particular—left by Shinzon in disarray. The cynic in Picard wondered whether these were the real reasons for the praetor’s overtures.

  More often than not, it was the hand of the needy and uncertain that extended the olive branch. History had shown the truth of that over and over again.

  But the more important question wasn’t why the praetor was pursuing conciliation. It was whether she could be trusted to continue in that vein, when her predecessors had so often proven treacherous in the past.

  Picard had no idea. Neither did the admirals who composed Starfleet Command, which was why they were still mulling the praetor’s suggestion.

  The other element to be considered was the Romulans’ philosophy with regard to imperialism. Though their efforts at expansion had been interrupted by the exigencies of the war, they were by nature a species of conquerors—which put them at odds with the Federation principle of self-determination.

  But then, Klingon philosophy often clashed with Federation principles, and the Federation had managed to embrace the Klingons as allies. Perhaps it could overlook the Romulans’ less attractive qualities as well.

  “Sir,” said Rager, “I want to thank you. For the recommendation, I mean. If not for you, I wouldn’t have—”

  Picard waved away the suggestion. “No thanks are necessary, Sariel. If I was doing anyone a favor, it was Captain Ben Zoma. Good officers are difficult to come by.”

  Rager looked at him for a moment. Then she said, “I also want to thank you for…” She seemed to have some difficulty finding the words. “For everything.”

  Picard nodded. “You are quite welcome. Good luck. And give my regards to your captain.”

  Rager stood there a moment longer. Then she left the captain’s ready room as dozens of others had left it over the last few weeks, each of them bound for some other ship or Starfleet facility. And Picard was left alone.

  Slightly more than half of the uniformed personnel who had ventured into Romulan territory with him had remained on the Enterprise. The others had either perished in the battle with Shinzon or accepted positions on other vessels.

  Riker was among the latter. Troi as well. Though they were still enjoying a well-deserved honeymoon at the moment, they would soon be taking the Luna-class Titan on her maiden voyage as captain and counselor, respectively.

  And just before the newlyweds left, Riker had asked Picard’s permission to speak with Security Chief Vale. Apparently, Riker wanted her on the Titan as his first officer. Naturally, Picard had granted his comrade’s request. If Vale had a chance to become an exec, who was he to stand in her way?

  Picard sat down in his desk chair and sighed. How many times had he said good-bye in the last couple of weeks, since the Enterprise was towed into drydock? And how many more times would he say it before his ship returned to the void?

  The captain missed those who had departed. He missed their courage and their optimism, and the dedication they had brought to their work. He missed Shimoda in engineering, who had made such a mess of the isolinear chips when he was infected with the Psi 2000 virus, and Dean, who was the only fencer on board capable of giving Picard a run for his money. He missed Prieto, who had ferried poor Tasha to her death on Vagra II.

  And how he mi
ssed Data, who had perished in the battle against Shinzon in one of the greatest displays of courage and sacrifice Picard had ever seen. Nor was it any the less poignant for the fact that Data was an artificial life-form. If anything, it was more so.

  But there was one face that Picard missed more than any of the others. After all, it was the first time in many years that he had been separated from Beverly Crusher.

  She had been his chief medical officer and one of his closest advisors for nearly two decades. However, she had also been a great deal more than that. Long before Beverly appeared on the bridge of the Enterprise-D with her twelve-year-old son, Wesley, in tow, Picard had fallen deeply in love with her.

  But he had never let Beverly know it, and for good reason. She was betrothed and later married to Jack Crusher, one of Picard’s best friends. And even after Jack died, Picard couldn’t bring himself to tell Beverly how he felt—not when it would seem as if he were trampling on Jack’s grave.

  The day Beverly assumed the mantle of Picard’s CMO, it had been the captain’s intention to keep his relationship with her strictly professional. But it wasn’t long before that changed, if not quite in the way he might have expected.

  They became friends—the very best of friends. They came to enjoy each other’s company so much that they shared breakfast once a week. And for the sake of their platonic friendship, Picard had submerged his deeper feelings.

  Then came the Enterprise’s mission to Kesprytt III, a politically divided world where one faction wished to join the Federation and the other wished to prevent it. Picard and Beverly were rigged with devices that created an unintentional telepathic link between them, leaving each one’s mind open to the other.

  It was then that Beverly realized how much Picard loved her, and for how long. And it was then as well that she admitted her previously concealed feelings for him, recoloring in his mind every moment they had ever spent together.

  But they had been friends for so long, Beverly didn’t want to take a chance on jeopardizing that relationship. And at the time, Picard had been comfortable with her decision. As Beverly had pointed out, there was time for something more than friendship to develop. There was no need to rush it.