by John Gregory Betancourt p.13 "The symptoms come on very quickly. Apparently the virus enters the mouth or nasal passages and primary multiplication occurs in lymphoid tissues. Small amounts of virus reach the blood and are carried to other sites in the reticuloendothelial system, where they multiply quickly. High fever and severe abdominal cramping are part of the first stage. Then small white fever blisters begin to cover the body, especially the face, neck, and under the arms. This second stage lasts from one to three days. Infected patients lapse into comas by this point--and it's probably just as well. The pain would be extreme as the muscle cramping worsens and fever blisters form in their mouths, throats, and lungs. Victims begin to suffocate. Next comes stage three, when blood begins to ooze from the gums, nose, and ears. Rapid cellular degeneration follows. Total systemic collapse is inevitable and occurs within a week of infection--often within three to four days." p.30 He could think o half a dozen ways to get such a small starship off-planet without leaving a record or setting off the spaceport's alarm systems. Methods ranged from the heavy-handed (bribing a clerk at the spaceport to make fraudulent file entries) to the daring (chasing a ship as it lifted off, and hiding in the shadow of its propulsion wake). p.45 "Go with my blessing. Bust some skulls. I know that's what you really want to do." He gave a curt nod. My people. Yes, I would like to meet more of my people...and bust some skulls! p.48 Klingons are not meant for containment suits. And as he continued to breathe, his faceplate fogged over. What had his instructor at the Academy told him to do when that happened? Practice your breathing--keep it slow and steady. Hyperventilating caused it. He nudged his comm bar with his chin. A channel opened up to the other members of his away team. "Since we will be beaming into potentially hostile territory," he said, letting a grim note creep into his voice, "you must be on your guard at all times. Watch your backs, no matter what you see or hear. And remember..." He paused for emphasis. "This is a good day to die!" That did it. The ensign swallowed noticeably. Worf gave a mental snort. Humans. It really was a good day to die. If you went into combat fearing nothing, you walked the path to glory. p.52 Only Klingons used that particular type of short sword [mek'leth], 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. p.76-77 "May I ask you a question, sir?" Data said as the turbolift resumed its ascent. "Certainly." "Why does Counselor Troi call you 'Bill' while the rest of your fellow officers call you 'Will'?" "I've known Deanna quite a bit longer than anyone else aboard. I used to go by Bill at the Academy--but then I dated a woman named Bili Beller, so we mutually decided I'd use Will." That conjured up images of her in his mind--tall and slender Bili, with her sea-green eyes, full pouting lips, and high cheekbones. He sighed and wondered what had happened to her. He found Data staring inquiringly at him, so he cleared his throat and added, "Bill Riker and Bili Beller doesn't have the proper sound for a couple, so I went by Will. After we went our separate ways, I decided I liked Will better." "The difference between two consonants seems inconsequential. Surely the measure of a man is determined by his actions, not his designation." "Yes--and no. In some situations, the right name can make all the difference." "And Will Riker is preferable to Bill Riker?" "Or Billy-the-Kid Riker, a nickname I was also unfortunate enough to get stuck with at the Academy. So I had another reason to change it besides my girlfriend Bili." Slowly Data nodded. "I believe I do see, sir. Is it the difference between a shark and a spark. Or a joke and a poke. Or a rose and a nose. Or--" "Yes, exactly, Data." "Is there a reason why you have not yet told Counselor Troi your new preference?" "I, ah, haven't had a chance." How do you tactfully explain the awkwardness of working with an old lover to an android? p.77 [...]Riker was pleased to find Lieutenant Yar already pleasant. She, too, wore brown pants and shirt, but with a hooded cape slung almost casually cross her shoulders. And like him, she had used a follicle stimulator; her suddenly long blond hair had been pulled back into a severe bun that accentuated the sharp lines of her jaw, cheekbones, and nose. She also wore no makeup...plain as a churchmouse, wasn't that the old saying? It fit this throwback racist zealot planet. p.96-97 "It's the plague!" she heard Jenni wail from across the room. "That's how it starts! I saw it in my husband and children!" She began to weep hysterically. Deanna tried to sit up as the pain faded again. I ought to comfort her, some part of her realized--but on second thought, she knew she was in no condition to do much of anything. She needed someone to comfort her. "Quiet!" Dr. Crusher barked at Jenni over her shoulder. The first rule of triage, Deanna thought, is to treat the most critically wounded. Hysterical but otherwise well patients get shoved to the rear of the line. p.123 What would Captain Picard do? The captain wouldn't split up or lose his combadge or let a building fall on his head. p.131 So much for the Purity League theory, Riker thought. He exchanged a glance with Darling. I've spent the night chasing phantom terrorists, having buildings fall on my head, and getting locked up with racist crackpots--for nothing! p.132 Turning, Darling pointed to a public comm unit on the corner across from them. "Come on!" He helped Riker hobble across the street, then stood watching while Riker activated the unit. "This is William Riker," he said to the computer. "I need to talk to the duty officer aboard the Starship Enterprise." Darling gaped at him. "The Enterprise? Are you crazy? What do you want with Starfleet scum?" "Just a second and I'll show you," Riker said. In ten seconds Geordi La Forge appeared on the screen. "What happened, sir?" La Forge said. "You look Terrible. We've had half the peace officers in the city searching for you since midnight!" "The peace officers arrested me," Riker said. "It's a long story. I need transportation to sickbay... I think I have a mild concussion... and maybe a couple of cracked bones." "Right," La Forge said. "Stay there, sir. I'll trace the comm signal back to y our location." "Thanks." Riker turned to Darling, who was staring at him incredulously. "You--you lied to me!" Darling said. "No, I didn't," Riker said. He grinned. "You made a lot of assumptions about me based on my appearance. Think about it the next time you see a mixer... or a Peladian!" He hated to go out with a lecture, but somehow it seemed fitting. Darling certainly needed his myopic racist worldview expanded. A transporter beam began to shimmer around him. "People aren't always what they seem... and, if you look, you'll find friends in the oddest places!" p.134 "You know I go by 'Will' these days, don't you." "Yes... I wondered if you were going to tell me. Don't you feel comfortable with me to just talk anymore?" He reached out his hand and took hers, then gave it a soft squeeze. "Of course I do, Deanna. Let down your guard. LIsten to my emotions. You know how I truly feel." She smiled. "You're naughty!" He laughed. "You don't have to be a telepath to sense that!"
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