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STAR TREK: THE SOAP OPERA II
THE DECISION
--------------------
Deborah Bolen
Scott Hollifield
Judy Ranelli
This is reprinted with permission from the authors. They
retain all rights to this story. If you wish to reprint
"The Decision" contact the authors in Star Trek
conferences of the networks listed below. Bill Lambdin
Ilink
Intelec
RIME
U'NI Net
Captain's Log, Stardate 45464.3
The Enterprise is currently docked at Starbase 133 for scheduled crew
rotation, while we enjoy a bit of a respite between missions. This
stopover will allow my officers to take a "breather" and relax before
our next assignment.
"My my, you're one stinky demon, aren't you?" asked O'Brien.
The infant on the table only cooed in response. O'Brien tsked
pleasantly and closed the clean diaper around its back end, fastening it
with a square metal pin that beeped quietly when closed. O'Brien picked
up the soiled diaper gingerly between two fingertips, and placed it on a
marked section of the tabletop.
"Computer, dispose of used diaper."
With a frzz, the cloth disintegrated in a swirl of sparkles.
The door chirped. "Come in," said O'Brien cheerfully, as he picked
Molly up and put her on the floor, where she crawled away eagerly.
"There now, go play some," he told her, and strode toward the door.
It opened, and Worf stood in the open doorway. Eying the happy
infant following a maze-like path on the floor, Worf drew a small breath
and said, "Excuse me. You are busy."
"What?" replied O'Brien. "No, no, Lieutenant, not at all. Just
watching over little Molly while Keiko is working in the biolab.
Please, come in, I was just finished changing the baby's diaper."
"No thank you," said Worf. "I need not stay." He paused, in
thought. "I am not familiar with the practice of 'changing diapers'".
"Well, you have to do it from time to time, otherwise the tot's
laundry gets a bit more noticeable, if you know what I mean."
Worf nodded. "Klingon children are taught.. self-restraint at an
early age."
O'Brien raised his eyebrows curiously. "Bet you need a lot of
mothers for that."
"No," said Worf. "Merely an abundance of extra clothing."
"I see," said O'Brien. "So is this an official call, or did you
just want to catch a glimpse of your god-daughter?"
Worf stiffened very slightly at the implication that a Klingon could
be sentimental. "I did have something I wished to discuss with you.
Captain Picard told me of your worthy service as my tactical replacement
while I was stationed aboard the Hecta."
O'Brien blushed slightly. "Well, the Enterprise was a bit short on
bridge officers, and I still remembered how to run a tactical station
from my days on the Rutledge, so I volunteered for the opening. Seemed
like the natural thing to do."
"Yes," said Worf. "You are a very capable officer. After
discussing it with the captain, I wished to inquire as to whether you
would be interested in transferring to the Enterprise's tactical
operations division, based on your quality performance during the
Romulan blockade. You would be serving under me; Lt. Hendrick would
then become the ship's transporter chief."
O'Brien blinked a couple of times. "Well, I'm flattered, sir." He
thought for a second. "I do have some considerations, however. I mean,
I have a family, now. Bridge duty would take up more of my time, and
Keiko has her hands full in the plant biology lab. Besides, I've gotten
kind of used to being a department head. If I transferred now, I'd have
to work my way up again. Don't get me wrong, sir, I can't think of
anyone I'd rather have as my division chief, but..," he sighed. "I
really need some time to think about it, Lieutenant."
"Understood," Worf said. "Please let me know should you change your
mind."
"That I will, sir," said O'Brien. "So tell me, how's Alexander?"
Worf sighed somewhat. "He is well," he replied. "My son is
participating in some kind of youth seminar on starbase. I believe he
referred to it as 'summer camp'".
O'Brien smiled. "Ah, fatherhood."
Worf nodded understandingly. "It is difficult at times. Even
still, he is rebellious and trying. It will be some time before I am
comfortable with the role of a father. I did not have the opportunity
to watch Alexander grow out of infancy, as you will with Molly."
"Well, it's never easy, is it?" said O'Brien, leaning against the
doorway. "I mean, I thought I'd seen it all - fought in the Cardassian
war, beamed people on and off the ship in the tensest of situations...
but I never realized how challenging it was to be a father." He glanced
over his shoulder. "That's funny, Molly hasn't made a sound since - "
Frantically, he searched the quarters, finding no sign of the infant
girl.
Worf darted into the corridor, glancing up both ways. "Computer,"
he called out. "Scan personal quarters of Chief O'Brien for human life
form."
"Scanning. Sensors indicate one human male," responded the
computer.
"She must have crawled right past us," fretted O'Brien.
"Do not worry, Chief," rumbled Worf. "As Chief of Security on the
Enterprise, I will personally find your baby, upon my honor as a Klingon
and a Starfleet officer." He walked briskly down the hall and into a
turbolift.
"Bloody hell," muttered O'Brien, thinking of Keiko.
He watched helplessly as Worf disappeared behind the doors of the
turbolift. "What am I going to do?!" wailed the Chief. "If Keiko finds
out..." A chirp from his communicator interrupted him. "Worf! Is that
you? Have you found her?"
"Miles, it's me!" Keiko's voice intoned. "Found her? What are you
talking about?"
O'Brien's face went a ghastly white. "Uh...Keiko. Honey! What's...
up?"
"Nothing," she answered. "I just had a few minutes and thought I'd
check on you and the baby. And you didn't answer my question..."
"Oh, that. Heh, heh," said O'Brien as he thought frantically,
pulling on his collar. "Worf and Molly were...playing hide and seek.
Yes! Hide and seek!"
"Worf. Playing. Hide and seek," said his wife in a flat tone.
"Yes!" sputtered the Chief. She wasn't buying this...
"Miles, what is going on down there?" Keiko's voice rose a notch.
"You don't sound right. This whole thing doesn't sound right. Is
something wrong with Molly?"
"Molly's fine, darling," he lied. "You know, I think having
Alexander around has softened that ole Klingon. Why, I was as amazed
as you are when he suggested that game and I just couldn't believe..."
Keiko cut him off again. "I don't believe it either. I'm on my way
there. Now!"
Miles could picture Keiko slapping the communicator to close the
connection. If possible, he paled even more at the thought of her wrath
when she found out he'd lost the baby. "I might as well start polishing
that samurai sword...." he thought to himself.
Data was off duty and decided to finish that painting he had never
completed. He dabbed on a bit of Cobalt blue here, a bit more white
there and stood back, waiting for inspiration. He waited some more.
He dabbed some more. "I am not inspired," he declared as he continued
to stare at the canvas. Suddenly, he heard a small thud and the muffled
protestations of an infant outside his door. Curious, he set down his
paintbrush, opened the door and peered down the corridor. Molly,
indignant at the door that she had just bumped her head against, wailed
mournfully at his feet. "Molly!" said Data, surprised. "What are you
doing here?" He knew she was unable to answer him, but he asked her
many questions, just as he had seen his human friends do. "Are you
injured?" he asked as he scooped her up in his arms.
Molly always liked Data. She was fascinated by his strange eyes and
she stopped crying the moment he touched her. Soon, her probing little
fingers were examining his pale face. Ascertaining that the child was
not injured, Data tapped his comm badge. "Data to O'Brien," he said in
a nasal tone (Molly had just grabbed his nose).
"Yes, Commander!" said a somewhat harried-sounding Chief.
"Have you by any chance mislaid your offspring?" asked Data
innocently. "I just found her at my doorstep," he added as he gently
placed the child on the soft carpeted floor. Spot wandered into the
room, awakened from his nap by all the commotion. Eying the child, he
padded over to her and began to rub against her back, purring loudly.
Molly turned her attention to this marvelous new toy. Eagerly, she
dug her fingers into his soft fur and then discovered...
"She is 'safe and sound' I believe the saying goes," remarked Data
as he quickly lifted Molly away from Spot's outstretched claw (in
retaliation for having his tail yanked).
"Oh, thank God," gasped a relieved O'Brien. "I'll be right there,
sir!" Miles sprinted down the corridor, hoping he could get the child
back in their quarters before Keiko arrived.
He rushed through the traffic in the corridor towards Data's
quarters, praying that Keiko had taken a different route to their rooms.
He turned the last corner to see her concerned face light up in anger as
she spotted him.
"Miles!" she thundered. "Just how far did this game go?"
"Uh... dear... Data wanted to participate, so he... uh... hid with
the baby. And the last place Worf would look was in his quarters...
see...?"
They had been slowly coming together in front of Data's door, which
now chirped and opened before them, to show Data standing with Molly and
smiling (it seemed the appropriate facial expression).
"Uh... good strategy, Data," O'Brien blurted out, with a shake of
his head and a finger to his lips as he stood just behind Keiko, her
arms outstretched to get the baby.
Data looked at O'Brien in perfect confusion. "Thank you," was all
he could think of to say. He looked down at Keiko and Molly in her arms
and spotted a mass of long black hair rounding the doorframe about two
feet off the ground. Worf's huge head poked into the room, as he
crawled in carefully.
"Lieutenant," Data said without any reaction to his strange manner
of entry, "I see you have looked in the last place." He cocked an
eyebrow up at O'Brien.
Worf stood up, adjusting his sash. O'Brien grabbed his hand,
pumping it. "Good game!" he said, rather pleadingly.
Worf stood a moment in confusion. "Thank you" was all he could
think of to say.
Molly laughed, and they stood there together looking at her. O'Brien
felt so proud. He had a wonderful wife, a beautiful baby, and had just
avoided another marital hurricane. Just then he heard a person walk up
behind them.
"Ahem," said a familiar voice. "Data..,." Geordi said,
questioningly. "You said... I needed to see you. About something
important."
Data turned and looked at his friend in silence for a few seconds.
"Yes," he said softly. "I am afraid the rest of you will have to leave
now."
Worf and O'Brien, hearing the change from friend to Commander, both
said "Yes sir," and left the room, with Keiko and Molly following. The
door closed.
Geordi turned to Data. "What is it?" he asked. He felt nervous,
and didn't know why.
"As humans often say," Data replied, still in that strange soft
voice, "Perhaps you should sit down."
Beverly Crusher and Jean-Luc Picard clinked glasses.
The Enterprise's auburn-haired chief medical officer smiled and took
a sip. "You know, it's so very rare that we get a chance to do this,"
she said. "It seems like every time we get a break between missions,
something happens to interrupt it... for once, that hasn't happened."
Picard returned Beverly's warm smile. "Indeed. There's nothing
I'd rather be doing."
The dinner lounge on Starbase 133 wasn't exactly the most stylish
establishment in the Federation, but Picard had to admit to himself that
it was a step up from Ten Forward. And Beverly was right; it was so
nice to get away from the ship once in a while and be with one of
his best friends. Stop it, he told himself rakishly; you'll be yearning
for another vacation yet before you know it.
"You're looking well," observed Picard.
"Thanks," replied Beverly. "My 'pregnancy' left no trace at all."
"Have you heard from the Trill concerning that affair?" inquired
Picard.
Beverly nodded. "I received a communique from their primary
medical facility yesterday. They said that they had implanted the
parasitic growth back into Odan's body with no complications." She
paused, thinking. "I still can't believe that he..."
"Impregnated you?" said Picard. "Well. After all, you yourself
said that it wasn't... reproduction in the true sense, either human or
Trill. I think I heard one of your staff refer to it as a 'benign
growth', which I am to understand is merely an organic fragment of his
essence."
"That's right. We know so little about the Trill anatomy, I had no
idea anything like that would happen. I'm glad that we were able to
meet with the Trill again to return Odan's little gift."
"Did you get the opportunity to see Odan?" asked Picard with
eyebrows raised.
"No," said Beverly wistfully. "She was on Stretleb Seven assisting
an Andorian diplomatic team with some delicate negotiations."
"Pity," said Picard sympathetically. Before he could continue
speaking, Beverly's personal communicator chirped.
"Dr. Crusher, this is starbase central communications."
Beverly tapped the communicator. "Crusher here, go ahead please."
"Doctor, we're receiving an urgent transmission for you from Earth.
It's Starfleet Medical in Bern."
Picard raised a palm. "I'll have us beamed back and you can take it
in your own quarters."
Beverly responded to the communications officer: "Stand by on that
transmission, please. Prepare to relay it to my personal quarters on
the Enterprise on my signal."
"Acknowledged, Doctor. Standing by."
Less than five minutes later, Beverly was in her room and had
accessed her personal computer terminal.
"Alright, go ahead."
The face of Admiral Spirodakolis flashed onto view. The olive-
complected gray-haired Surgeon General of Starfleet was wearing a weary
expression.
"George!" said Beverly. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Hello, Beverly," said the admiral. "It's nice to speak to you
again."
"It's good to hear from you. How have things been since I left my
job on the administration staff?"
"We muddle along without you, Beverly," he replied with the hint of
a smile. "Barely."
Beverly smiled. "This isn't a call to beg me to come back, is it
George?" she asked jokingly.
Spirodakolis' face suddenly lost any trace of joviality. "Actually,
Beverly, you're closer than you might think. There's something going on
here, something serious. We need you."
She immediately became somber. "What is it, George? I'd be happy
to offer any advice I can-"
"You're not understanding me," he said, cutting her off. "We need
you to come to Earth, to Starfleet Medical, in person. Immediately."
"So what's the big secret, Data?" asked Geordi. He was now alone
with Data in the latter's spartan quarters.
Data walked over to his miniature lab and opened a compartment. "Do
you remember when Dr. Soong used an electronic homing beacon to lure me
to him over a year ago?"
"Sure I do," replied Geordi. "I remember beaming down to that
jungle planet with Commander Riker to get you out of there."
Data retrieved something Geordi couldn't see from the compartment
and brought it over to him. "While I was in his lab, Dr. Soong revealed
to me that he had constructed a chip designed for my computer systems
which would supplement my programming." He showed Geordi the chip.
Geordi held the microchip between two fingers and observed it
carefully. "What do you mean? Supplement it in what way?" he asked as
he looked the chip over.
"Dr. Soong said that the chip would give me a fully realized set of
human emotions," said Data, and Geordi nearly dropped the chip.
"Data!" sputtered Geordi. "Do you realize what you're saying? Of
course you do, you're Data." He looked at his friend. "And?"
Data continued patiently. "Lore had inadvertently been lured by Dr.
Soong's homing beacon as well, as you know, and while we were on the
planet, Lore stole the chip and implanted it into his own systems."
"Data, if this chip does what you say, there's no telling what it
would do to Lore."
"WAS no telling," corrected Data. "The chip caused Lore's
programming to malfunction, making him unstable. Fortunately, I was
able to remove the chip from Lore's systems while he was on the
Enterprise recently."
"Which would explain a lot," mused Geordi. "So what do you want me
to do?"
"I would like to test the chip in engineering," said Data. "We
should analyze the information encoded on it to ensure that placement
into Lore's programming did not distort or compromise it."
"Uh-huh," said Geordi. "And then?"
"And then," said Data, "I would like to implant the chip into my own
systems."
Meanwhile, light-years away:
The short man in the center seat thumped a fist ineffectually on
the arm of his chair. "I object!" he snapped imperiously.
The judge sighed and turned to the prisoner. "Mr. Fajo, you have
objected to virtually everything so far in this parole hearing,
including when the fleet prosecutor sneezed. Three minutes ago, I
advised you to shut up; I am now ordering you to, or you will find
yourself in contempt of this court."
Kivas Fajo ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth uneasily.
Things weren't going so well for his defense; he had been in Federation
custody for just under two years now, and he hadn't been a model inmate.
His attorney had recommending against a petition for parole so soon, but
Fajo would not listen. Now, facing the law once again, it seemed
unlikely that the Federation criminal court would commute his fifty-five
year sentence.
"I withdraw my objection," said Fajo grumpily.
"Very good," said the judge icily. "Will the prosecution please
continue with the arguments?"
The prosecutor for Starfleet cleared his throat. Ordinarily, the
charges of which Fajo were brought up on, which were lengthy indeed,
would be transferred to Federation jurisdiction, but since one of his
crimes was the kidnapping of a Starfleet officer - Lt. Cmdr. Data - the
military had insisted on one of their own to prosecute the case, and it
was the same JAG officer who put him away that showed up to keep him
there now.
"Mr. Fajo has requested asylum in the Zibalian system, his
birthplace. However, I have here a notarized statement from the
Zibalian government requesting that Mr. Fajo NOT be returned to them due
to his past record.
"He was incarcerated nearly a year and a half ago on the serious
charges of grand larceny, the abduction of a Starfleet officer, the
sabotage of the Beta Agni planetary water supply, and foremost among
these - the first-degree murder of Varia Naydor. In addition, there are
numerous potential charges leveled against Mr. Fajo that are currently
being investigated by Starfleet.
"His own government doesn't want him. And even though Federation
law allows a prisoner of the state to appeal for parole at any time
during his sentence, Starfleet finds it ludicrous that Mr. Fajo would
even consider his chances of receiving parole so soon to be any higher
than virtually non-existent."
"In addition -"
"Just a moment," interrupted the judge. "What is that odd humming
noise I'm hearing?"
Everyone was silent and listened; surely enough, there was a
noticeable buzz that seemed to come from every corner of the chamber.
Fajo flinched as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Suddenly there was a quiet but extremely bright explosion in the
center of the courtroom, followed immediately by an outwardly-radiating
starburst of violet-colored smoke. Confusion ensued as Starfleet
security officers milled around the room in search of the source.
Fajo was shoved down to the floor by something or someone he
couldn't see because of the smoke. A female voice very close to his ear
said, "Hang on." There was a slight shimmering sensation just as Fajo's
eyes were beginning to smart from the gas. Several seconds passed, and
Fajo kept his eyes shut, until he realized that there was no more chaos,
no more noise except for the low rumble of an impulse engine. A ship.
"You can open your eyes now," said the voice.
Fajo opened his eyes and found himself on the floor of a cramped
transporter pad, tucked inside a hollow bulkhead in the hull of the
ship. He turned around in search of the voice and discovered its
source: a tall brown-haired female with regal-looking eyebrows.
Probably human, potentially useful, and very attractive. Fajo stood up.
"Thanks," he said simply. "I don't think I caught your name,
though."
The woman smiled. "Well, I've used so many names, I'm not sure I
remember exactly how to pronounce the one I was born with. It doesn't
matter anyway." She walked up to him and ran a finger along his red
Zibalian forehead-marks. "But if you must call me something... Ardra
will do."
Fajo bowed imperiously to his new benefactor. "Then I am in your
debt, Ardra." Pulling himself up to his full height, he cleared his
throat and proclaimed, "Perhaps I should introduce myself. I am..."
"I know who you are, Kivas. May I call you Kivas?" said Ardra
smoothly, her lovely mouth pouting just the tiniest bit. "And I know
all about the reasons the Federation wants to keep you incarcerated."
Fajo, flattered that this lovely creature knew all about him, was
a bit concerned that she had the advantage. "My dear, those were
trumped up charges, of course."
"Of course," Ardra grinned wickedly.
"Yes...well," continued the collector. "At any rate, I'm curious
as to your reasons for rescuing me. Why would you want to harbor a
known 'criminal,' to use the Federation's term? Aren't you afraid?"
Ardra laughed softly. "You dear little man! You're going to be a
very entertaining travelling companion."
"Travel? Other than out of this sector, where are we going?" asked
Fajo, as he followed Ardra to a small lounge in her ship.
"I promised a certain gentleman that I would meet up with him
again," she said with a sweep of her long silken shirt. "And with your
help, I'm going to keep that appointment. You see, I believe you might
want to see this man again yourself. Does the name Jean Luc Picard mean
anything to you?"
Fajo narrowed his eyes and smiled. "Oh, yes. I would very much
like to meet up with the Captain of the USS Enterprise. He has some-
thing which belongs to me that I would like to retrieve."
"I thought you might be eager to see him again," said Ardra as she
handed him a glass of blue liquid from a silver tray in the corner of
the room. "A toast, then," she proclaimed as she lifted her own glass
to her lips.
"To reunions!" they said simultaneously, clinking their delicate
glasses together.
Back aboard the USS Enterprise, Data and Geordi had just completed
the tests of the chip that would finally give Data the human emotions he
had always lacked.
Geordi, bent over the chip cradled in its stand, spoke. "It looks
like there was no damage. I've run every test I can think of and it
seems the encoded programming hasn't been compromised." He frowned under
his visor, not knowing what uncompromised programming would appear to be
in this alien chip. "I don't trust this thing, Data," he said with a
shake of his head.
"Dr. Soong trusted it," said Data with a lift of his brows. "He
created it for me and went to great lengths to see that it was implanted.
He gave his life for it, Geordi."
The engineer straightened and looked at his friend. He saw a look
of determination in that face which made him very uneasy. When Data
wore that expression, Geordi knew nothing and no one could change his
mind. Androids could be very stubborn. At least, this android was.
"When do you want this implanted then?" he sighed.
"Immediately," Data answered. "I am off duty for the next 9.3
hours, which should give me sufficient time to acclimate my systems to
the new programming. Plus, the Enterprise is not engaged in any
critical assignment at this time. It is unlikely that my presence
will be needed on the bridge during my scheduled break." Data did not
realize that across this sector of space, a ship was looking for the
Enterprise...looking for him.
Fajo paced around the quarters that had been assigned to him. This
Ardra was a surprisingly adept woman. The entry codes to the ship's
computer were encrypted beyond his skill to penetrate. He also noted the
fact that someone was warned of his attempt at tampering. Oh well. If
she believed there was such a thing as honor among thieves, it was a
pity.
The doors to his quarters slid open without warning, and Ardra
sauntered in, smiling confidently.
"Well, Kivas, are you comfortable?" she said, in that mockingly
serious tone of hers.
"Very much so. And are you ready to tell me just how I can help you
in your, I mean, our, quest for revenge?" he replied.
"I believe you are familiar with a certain person named Vrail
Kortu," she said, while turning to look out of the small window which
was the only window to grace the room.
"Ah, Kortu... an insignificant arms trader. Nothing he deals in
would be a match for the Enterprise," Fajo said quickly.
"I will correct you," Ardra said. "He is no longer 'insignificant'.
Indeed, he is the center of trade in a new technology, one that has
people crawling out of the woodwork, so to speak, to get their tentacles
in it." She sat down facing Fajo. "He has been offering a new strain
of microorganisms from an unknown source. Believe me, I have spent time
and money tracking the source, like everyone else, with no results.
These microorganisms seem to be manufactured in some way, because they
can be special-ordered for a myriad of desired effects. They will work
on organic life and computer technology, if that's what you want.
Scanners and bio-filters don't pick them up, and that includes
contraband Starfleet equipment too."
Fajo frowned. "Well, so you get this microorganism, designed to
attack the Enterprise... how do I fit in?" His stomachs started to
burn.
Ardra laughed. "Oh, you charlatan, you little man!" she said.
"Come now. I happen to know that Kortu is a collector of unique
objects, one of your chief competitors, in fact - *and* that he always
envied one particular prize of yours. Which did NOT show up in the
Federation's list of confiscated priceless things from your ship. I
cannot afford to deal with Kortu. His prices are exorbitant and he gets
his price. Nor is he vulnerable to attack. His customers would defend
him, lest they lose this new weapon. But YOU will deal with him, and
you will trade this hidden treasure, even your very soul, to get us our
deal."
And Ardra laughed again, in that impish, evil way of hers, while
Fajo, drenched in sweat, proceeded to stagger to the head and throw up.
Geordi did not know what to say.
"Look... uh, Data, maybe you should discuss this with the Captain
first," he said gently.
"For what reason?" Data said. "This is a personal matter, and my own
decision. Would you consult the Captain if you were to have a
sterilization procedure?"
"No.... but that's different," Geordi said hopelessly.
"But a sterilization procedure would be a major change in the way
your body functioned. Just as this chip will be to my mind. Do you not
intend to help me?"
Geordi sighed. "Give me a little while... to think this over.
Just a few minutes... anything!"
Data looked puzzled. "Why does this upset you?" he asked.
"Because," Geordi said, "I don't want to lose my best friend. I
like you the way you are, Data. This... with this... you may end up
someone completely different. And I never had to face that possibility
before."
"Summoned to Earth? Now?" asked Picard anxiously. He was a little
irritated by Beverly's insistence on packing clothes while they talked.
"I don't know what's going on, Jean-Luc," Beverly sighed, as she
closed another piece of luggage. "Admiral Spirodakolis said something
about a sudden outbreak of Lindarian flu among the Terran sector
colonies... he wants me to assist the crisis teams on Earth."
"But why?" asked Picard puzzled. "Research isn't your specialty,
particularly not concerning some localized epidemic. Or if they want
your services of a healer, why not assign doctors who are closer?
Starfleet has an abundance of talented medical officers on call in that
sector alone."
"I don't know any more than what the admiral told me," said Beverly.
"It could have something to do with the year I spent on Earth, I
suppose."
"Well," mused Picard, "I may be your commander on this ship, but the
Surgeon General of Starfleet certainly outranks a starship captain.
Have you made the arrangements for your trip?"
"Yes," she replied, as she picked up a personal pad and tapped a few
keys. "The Fearless going to swing by our flight path in a few hours;
she's returning to Utopia Planetia to be decommissioned. I'll transfer
over and be dropped off on Earth."
"Beverly," began Picard, hesitantly.
She turned to look at him. "Yes?"
"I... Have a good trip." He smiled. "And be careful."
"Tell me about your mother, Worf," said Troi.
Worf's lips slid slowly around the surface of his teeth, as he sat
furrowed in somber contemplation. "I never knew my natural mother," he
answered at last.
"I was referring to your human mother," she said, with a hint of
annoyance. She had finally gotten the Klingon to sit still for a
session, and she wasn't going to lose him now.
"She is an affectionate woman," said Worf. "Strong and resolute,
as is my human father."
"Do you miss them?" asked Troi.
Worf shifted uncomfortably in the seat. "I.. do think of them at
times. But I do not let such introspection interfere with my duties as
an officer."
"I wasn't suggesting you did, Worf. Do YOU believe you do?"
Worf blinked at the non sequitor. "I just stated that I do not,
Counselor."
"Well... do you let other problems interfere with your work?" asked
Troi blithely.
Worf stood up in irritation. "I did not come here today so that you
could insult my performance on this ship."
"Well you could try being a little more open with me," replied Troi
hotly.
"No," Worf grunted. He started to walk to the door. "This has been
a waste of time. I am sorry."
"Wait!" said Troi. She walked after him. "We were making progress.
I was beginning to get some understanding of your problems and - "
"I," growled Worf dangerously, "do not have *problems*. And even if
I did, it would be no concern of yours."
"I am ship's counselor," shot back Troi, standing firm. "It's my
job to ensure that each member of the crew is maintains a healthy mental
outlook."
"And I am telling you that my mental outlook needs no maintenance,"
said Worf.
"You're hiding things," said Troi.
"And you are interfering with my privacy," said Worf.
"You need to open up."
"You need a life."
"Closed-up stubborn arrogant -"
"Meddling sentimental irritating-
"Obstinate-"
"Busybody-"
Troi and Worf suddenly stopping hurling words at each other when
they realized that they were talking over each other's voice, and that
they were standing less than two inches apart.
They were also panting heavily.
"Worf," murmured Troi, with a slight quiver, "I'm sensing strong -"
Without warning (physically), Worf swept Troi in his arms
passionately but firmly. Troi's fingernails flexed in Worf's back.
She reached out with a free hand and manually set the lock on her
office door.
Ensign Mendez hurried along the corridor on his way to a meeting with
Lt. Jeffreys. As he turned the corner, his pace slowed. What was that
sound? Gingerly, he made his way across the corridor nearing the source
of the odd noise. He hit the door chime to Troi's office.
"Counselor! Are you alright?"
There was no answer. Suddenly, a loud and vicious growl
accompanied by a high-pitched shriek nearly knocked him off his feet.
"Security!!" Mendez bellowed into his communicator. "There's a
wild animal attacking Counselor Troi in her office!"
Worf couldn't hear the soft beeping of his comm badge, buried under
a mound of clothing in the corner. Soon, a security team was
dispatched to the source of the call, only to find a rumpled chief of
security staggering out the door.
"Do you need any assistance, sir?" asked a security officer.
"Assistance?" growled Worf. "Hardly! The....matter.....has been
dealt with. Your presence here is no longer needed." With a nod to
their commanding officer, the security team beat a hasty retreat. Worf
then turned his attention to the spectacle before him in Troi's office.
The sight was shocking, even to him.
Troi sat demurely on the couch, calmly taming the avalanche of black
curls strewn about her shoulders. She gave him a slow, satisfied smile.
"Such stamina in such a tiny package. Admirable!" thought Worf.
"Betazoids warrant further study..."
Meanwhile, Data sat in his cybernetics lab, oblivious to the big
game hunt going on a few decks away.
Geordi closed the access panel on the side of Data's neck and
straightened. He hesitated. "What if he ends up like Lore? What if
this chip destroys him?" he thought. "Damn!" he said aloud. "If I
don't help you, you'll figure out a way to do this on your own, and I
couldn't live with that."
Geordi's unheard words echoed around him. He took one last look at
Data, sitting there unseeing, unknowing, unfeeling. With a sigh, Geordi
reactivated the android and stepped back as Data blinked awake.
"How do you feel, Data?" asked Geordi. There was no answer.
He started to sweat. Usually when he asked Data a question, he got
back more than enough of an answer; now, this unnatural silence from his
friend was becoming too much to bear. Suddenly, Data's eyes snapped
open and he turned his head to look intensely at Geordi.
"I am not sure how to answer your question, Geordi," Data said
softly. "My usual response now seems... vastly inadequate. This is so
not only because the word 'feel' has so much more... meaning to it, a
meaning I am just beginning to understand, but also because I must
respond... to *you*." Data hesitated. It appeared he was what humans
would call 'dazed'. "My... language programs are beginning to
compensate, but it will take time for me to learn how to say what I...
feel. But I think I can best express what I mean when I tell you that I
now know what you are. You are my *friend*, and what I meant by that
word before is a pale shadow of the meaning I have now."
Geordi gripped the back of Data's chair in excitement. "This is
great!" he said. "Like.. like being at the beginning of something new,
something at its beginning... this is why I'm out here, Data! I'm..
speechless! I'm.. happy for you!"
Data nodded. "I know what you mean, Geordi. I am glad that you are
here, with me. But.. I have alot to think about. Right now my
processors are trying to interpret my stored memory in this new context.
Currently, it is running through the colonist's memories, but soon... I
will reach the memory store of my own... life. This activity is using
much of my positronic functions, and I think it will be best if I remain
off-duty to perform this task. I need to speak to the Captain."
Geordi straightened up and crossed his arms. "Hmmmm..." he said.
"Data, no matter what you thought about it, I think the Captain is going
to be angry that you didn't consult him before we did this. And now
he's going to be angry at me, too."
Geordi thought to himself that he felt great about Data's success,
and that there was nothing to worry about. He even thought that he
could convince himself of that, eventually.
Walking briskly down the corridor of the starbase, Picard
respectfully stopped in courtesy to the person walking out of the side
door immediately ahead. Stepping into the hallway was a burly man with
tufts of snow-white hair and hints of red in his cheeks that nearly
matched his admiral's uniform.
"Admiral Grieg," said Picard, trying to turn a startled exclamation
into a greeting. "I was just on my way to visit you."
The man stopped and stared at Picard curiously. "Jean-Luc Picard,"
he barked in a friendly voice. The two shook hands. "It's been too
long."
"Indeed," replied Picard, not unfeelingly. Edmund Grieg had been
one of the captains who toasted to Picard's first command at the
Stargazer's launching soiree. At the time, Picard thought the
celebration was an incredible honor; in hindsight, knowing what he knew
about Starfleet brass, he thought: any excuse for a party.
"I was just on my way back to the office, Captain," said Grieg.
"Please, join me."
"Thank you, Admiral," Picard responded, and followed Grieg into the
bowels of the administration wing.
After they'd entered Grieg's office and seated themselves, Grieg
folded his hands diplomatically on the table and said, "Now, Jean-Luc,
tell me what I can do for you."
"Well," began Picard uncertainly, "it's a personnel matter. Do you
know my chief medical officer, Beverly Crusher?"
"Jack's wife?" said the admiral. "I met her once or twice."
"Yes, well, she's been suddenly recalled by Admiral Spirodakolis to
Earth to help with some sort of medical crisis. And in glancing at the
Enterprise's mission detail, I happened to notice that our next few
trips are going to take us into some potentially perilous situations."
Grieg nodded. "And you want someone to fill the slot while Dr.
Crusher's gone."
Picard allowed himself a quick formal smile. "Exactly."
"Well, surely, Captain," said Grieg amicably, "a ship as big as the
Enterprise must have some capable officers among its medical staff who
are able to take Dr. Crusher's place."
"Technically competent, perhaps," said Picard. "However, Dr.
Crusher's normal number one, Dr. Selar, has taken a brief leave of
absence and is currently on Vulcan paying respects to her late uncle.
And the next medical officer in line, Dr. Martin, is an excellent
physician by all accounts, but only recently transferred to the
Enterprise, and has no prior experience serving on an exploration
vessel." He paused. "I realize that this is probably an unreasonable
request, but I was wondering if you had any available experienced
doctors who might be able to serve as the Enterprise's acting chief
medical officer."
"For how long?" inquired Grieg.
"That," said Picard with a hint of remembered annoyance, "depends on
how things go on Earth. Possibly weeks.. possibly months."
"Well, I tell you what, Jean-Luc," enthused Grieg. "I'm going to do
you a tremendous favor, because I think I have the answer to your
problem."
Picard was startled. "You already know of an available medical
officer?"
"I certainly do. Someone you know, in fact."
"Oh?"
Grieg leaned back and pointed the index fingers of both hands at
Picard to emphasize what he was saying.
"Katherine Pulaski."
Picard flinched slightly, but didn't say anything.
"It's perfect, Jean-Luc," continued the admiral. "I saw her just
this morning. The Repulse is in for a refit right now, and she's
available. And I know she's just itching to get out there again.
Furthermore, I know she served a year as your CMO sometime back. Tell
me she's not the perfect choice."
"Well, actually," said Picard hesitantly. He was unsure what to
say, but forged ahead. "With all due respect, I was wondering if... if
you had any OTHER medical officers available."
"What?" It was Grieg's turn to be surprised.
"Don't get me wrong, Admiral," added Picard hastily. "She's a fine
physician. But I have to admit that I was never overly comfortable with
her... style of command while she was on my ship."
Grieg broke out into a grin. "Now I get it. Let me ask you
something, Picard. Did any of your other officers ever have any
complaints about Pulaski's 'style of command' ?"
Picard pondered for a moment, then said, "Not to my recollection,
but -"
"And I don't recall ever having seen official logs of complaint
about her from other starships. So there you go. Had it occurred to
you that it might be YOUR style of command which is the odd factor
here?"
"Admiral," said Picard defensively, "if you are suggesting that I -"
"A-tut-tut-tut, Jean-Luc. No need to get squirrely. The simple
fact of the matter is that Kate Pulaski is by far the most convenient
candidate for your dilemma, and if you want Personnel to go through all
the paperwork and bother, you may as well take her."
Picard sighed slightly. His frown collapsed into a barely blushing
smile. "Thank you, sir. I know it's the sensible thing. I would be
happy to have her back on the Enterprise, for any duration."
"Good," replied Grieg. "I'll see to it that she's back in your
sickbay before the Enterprise leaves starbase."
Picard stood up, as did the admiral, and the two shook hands once
again. "Thank you again, Admiral."
"It was good seeing you again, Jean-Luc," called out Grieg as Picard
left the office.
Riker leaned back in the chair and sighed.
"Does Captain Picard know about this?" he asked.
Geordi shook his head. "Not yet, sir, but I was planning on telling
him when he came back from starbase."
"You know," Riker said with an unhappy air of introspection,
"judging by the way the captain handled the Lal affair some time back, I
have a feeling he's not going to be thrilled with this latest news."
Geordi nodded glumly. "I know."
Riker sighed again. "Where is Data now? Is he walking around the
ship unsupervised?"
"Well, he told me he'd be in quarters resting," replied Geordi. A
hint of alarm crept into his voice. "You're not thinking of
restricting his access, are you, Commander?"
"Quite frankly, Geordi, I'm not sure what's going to happen." He
sat back, thinking. "Why didn't you tell someone?" he asked, a little
angrily.
"Data insisted on installing the chip immediately," said Geordi,
spreading his hands in defense.
"You may have ran the chip through the ship's computer," said Riker,
"but no one saw this thing, no one outside of you and Data tested the
thing... I just think you should've let someone know, that's all."
"I understand, sir," said Geordi. He leaned forward in his chair.
"But, I mean, wasn't Data right about it being his decision? Doesn't he
have some ground to stand on?"
"No one's saying that we should call in a team of cyberneticists in
here, Geordi -- I mean, Bruce Maddox is the last person I want to see
on this ship again -- but you should've waited. Data should've known
better."
Geordi shook his head in frustration. "I dunno, sir... I guess he
just let his emotions carry him awa - " He froze, as he realized what
he was saying.
Riker stared at him for a while. Then he rose. "I think we should
talk to Counselor Troi about this. And I think Data should too."
Picard walked through the lockway connecting the Enterprise to
Starbase 133. Why he decided to walk over rather than transport, he
couldn't quite figure out; it was just one of those spur-of-the-
moment things. Actually, he realized, it probably had something to do
with the fact that his mind had been so preoccupied, ruminating on the
prospect of Dr. Pulaski's return, that he waled well past the
transporter room on the starbase before noticing where he was going.
Beverly met him presently after he reboarded the ship. "Jean-Luc!"
she greeted. "I'm glad I was able to catch you before I left."
"You're leaving now?" he asked, stopping his stride.
"In a short while," she replied. "The Fearless is almost here."
"Any further word on what's going on?"
"None," said Beverly, biting her lip. "There's something going on
that I'm not being told, but beyond that, I don't have the foggiest
idea."
Picard's communicator chirped. "Riker to Captain Picard," said
Riker's tinny voice.
Picard tapped the badge. "Yes, go ahead, Number One."
"Are you back on the Enterprise, sir? I just checked with the
transporter logs and - "
"I walked over, Commander," said Picard dryly. "With some rather
mixed news, I'm afraid."
"That," came Riker's somber voice, "seems to be the order of the
day, sir."
"Indeed?" said Picard, "I think I'd better meet you in my ready
room, then."
"Actually, sir," said Riker, "I think it would be better if you were
to come to Commander Data's quarters."
Picard raised his eyebrows and looked at Beverly, whose expression
was equally puzzled.
Not too far away, two people were arguing.
"I'm not used to being ferried about the cosmos like garbage," Fajo
was saying.
Ardra was hunched over the controls of her rather modest cargo ship,
examining readings. "Well, it's better than being caged like an animal,
Fajo," she said absentmindedly, yet with an air of menace. "Don't
forgot who freed you, and don't forget that you don't have your Varon-T
disruptors to back you up." She had researched Fajo's case and was
particularly sickened when she came to the part dealing with Varria's
murder.
At warp speed, Fajo's frown flipped into a starry smile, gleaming
with charm. "I apologize, my dear. You did, after all, provide me with
a means to get around, and for that, I am eternally grateful." He
glanced at the console. "Wait a minute," he said, "we're heading into
the Brial cluster. I thought you said that the Enterprise was at a
starbase in the Delta Upsilon quadrant."
"It is," she replied, a little annoyed. "But we're going to make a
little detour first." She turned around to face him. "After all," she
said, smiling seductively, "We have to do a little preparation if we're
going to steal an entire starship."
"You what?!"
Data's head popped back a millimeter from the force of his captain's
indignation. All outward appearances indicated Data was as serene as
ever, but inside he was feeling something new. Was it guilt? Fear? He
could not yet be certain at this time, and now was not the time to
analyze the nuances of his new-found emotions. He sat looking at the
others standing in a ring around him. Picard, Riker and Geordi did not
appear pleased.
"Answer me, Mr. Data," Picard fumed. "After the Lal incident, I
would think you would have consulted me or Commander Riker before
proceeding with this foolhardiness."
"Foolhardiness, Sir?" replied Data, his hands clasped tightly in his
lap. "I do not see how my actions could be deemed rash. The chip has
been in my possession since Lore left the Enterprise some time ago. Both
Geordi and myself have thoroughly tested the integrity of the chip and
have found it to be functional and uncompromised. If you remember, sir,
I would have had the chip implanted over a year ago if Lore had not
interfered. Dr. Soong felt I was ready for it at that time. Why should
there be further delay? Did my creator not know what was best for me?"
Picard, his lips pressed into a thin straight line, sat indignantly
in a nearby chair. Riker and Geordi exchanged glances. "I am not
doubting the wisdom of your creator, Data," replied the captain, "but I
thought by now you would confide in one of your superior officers before
undertaking such a drastic measure. In fact, I'm shocked at such
blatant, selfish..."
The captain's words were interrupted by the arrival of Counselor
Troi. "I'm sorry, Captain," she said. "I came as quickly as I cou..."
Deanna stopped suddenly, just inside the door to Data's quarters and
looked around in confusion. Where was it coming from? Troi's eyes met
a pair of amber ones and her mouth gaped open slightly at the
realization of the range of emotions she was picking up from him.
"My God," she thought. "He feels like a cornered animal!" She shook
her head slightly and turned her attention back to the captain while
never taking her eyes off Data. "Captain, please," she said quietly.
"I think I need to talk to Data alone."
The captain stood and jerked at his jacket in frustration.
Realizing he could only get results through his Betazed counselor, he
nodded affirmatively in her direction. Before he left the room, he
turned to his android officer. "Data, perhaps it would be wise for you
to take yourself off the duty roster, at least until I am satisfied that
your new programming will not have a deleterious effect on your bridge
duties."
"Yes, Sir," said Data quietly as he watched Picard and Riker stride
through the doorway. Geordi turned and opened his mouth as if to say
something. He thought better of it and merely gave an encouraging smile
to his friend before he disappeared into the corridor. Data stared at
the closed door, feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the
cookie jar. Interesting. He had never understood that saying until now.
He glanced up at Deanna Troi, who was eying him intently.
Geordi walked into the turbolift, greeting Lt. Worf who was on his
way to the arsenal for a surprise inspection of the weapons inventory.
"Deck 36," Geordi announced, as the turbolift hummed its way to
Engineering.
Worf nodded to the engineer and asked, "The latest rumor has it that
Dr. Pulaski will be returning to the Enterprise. Have you heard any
confirmation of this?"
"Hmmm?" said Geordi, distractedly. "Oh, I hadn't heard that. I
guess I've been too busy lately with this Data business to pick up on
any scuttlebutt."
Worf's interest in "this Data business" would not be quelled until
Geordi relayed all the facts of Data's new-found emotions and their
possible repercussions. Worf's thoughts, pleasantly engaged only moments
before by his fond memory of Pulaski and the Klingon tea ceremony, now
turned to the darker memory of his encounter with Lore. He would not let
something like that happen again and vowed to keep a watchful eye on his
android superior officer.
Riker, who usually had no problem keeping up with Picard, had to
stretch his already long stride to match the hurried pace of his
captain. Picard was still fuming as he and Riker strode through the
bridge and into the captain's ready room. "Dammit, Will!" spat Picard.
"If Admiral Haftel or Commander Maddox find out about this, they'll
transfer my second officer to the nearest starbase and let the
cyberneticists have a field day!"
"Sir," began Riker, "you know that Data is in almost constant
contact with Maddox. If he hasn't told him about this already...."
"Merde!" Picard said under his breath. First the news that Dr. Kate
Pulaski would be back under foot and now this. His head started to pound.
"Well, Counselor," Data said. "From your expression I can assume
that you... sense... what has happened in me."
Troi paced across the room, hands clasped behind her back.
"Data," she began uncertainly. Where to begin? "Lal felt
emotion, and it destroyed her. Lore feels emotion, and it drove him
mad. What made you decide to take this risk?"
Data was surprised by her question. "Counselor, we may never know
what is really wrong with Lore. And Lal may have had other malfunctions
that I was unable to discover in time. Her emotional capabilities must
have been a coincidental result. And finally, I am programmed with a
strong understanding of myself as Dr. Soong's creation. He would not
want me to reject what he so carefully planned for me."
Troi turned, suddenly angry. "So if he planned for you to
disassemble yourself, you'd do that?" she said. "Don't you understand?
You're not just programs anymore. I can *sense* you! And for all your
talk about Dr. Soong's rights over you, I know, I *know* you're
terrified! All those things you've had to remember, those horrible
events you keep in perfect detail... even now, you're standing on the
edge of them. The pain of the colonists, the pain of being alone, of
watching comrades die."
Troi stood in front of Data now, glaring into his eyes. "Data, it's
all pent up in you, right now, and I will help you as I can, but I don't
know... if you will get through this or not. Dr. Soong knew you better
than anyone, but he knew you as a machine, not as a mind. You are going
to need help."
And Data's placid face finally settled into a look of eerie
anguish, as he softly said, "Then please, Counselor... help me."
Picard stood in front of the observation portal in his ready room
and gazed out at the glittering jewels spilled against the inky void.
He took a sip of Earl Grey and pondered the situation. His second
officer had, without attaining anyone's permission or approval,
undertaken a risky and potentially dangerous procedure which might not
only deprive Picard of the android's welcome services, but also do
irreparable harm to Data himself.
He lightly tapped the communicator on his chest. "Commander Riker,
please report to my ready room," he ordered gently.
"On my way, Captain," came Riker's reply.
Within seconds, Riker, who was on bridge duty, walked through the
door. Picard sat behind his desk absentmindedly and sat his teacup
down. "Please, have a seat."
Riker sat with the air of one who'd been in this position numerous
times. The two men sat silent for a few moments, then Picard spoke
again.
"This is an intolerable situation," mused Picard.
Despite himself, Riker smiled inwardly at his captain's familiar
mannerisms. "It's not the first time I've heard you say that, sir."
Picard cast a wary eye upon his first officer. "I would like your
advice, Will. As the captain of this ship, it is generally...
inappropriate for me to form close personal relationships with members
of my crew. You know the man better than I do. I want your
impressions on this business with Commander Data."
Riker took a breath. "Well, sir, I'm not sure there's much that can
be done at this point. Deanna is talking to him, trying to draw out his
new programming so that she can get a grasp of the extent to which he's
changed."
"There was many a time," said Picard with a dry thoughtfulness,
"when I would have sworn Data possessed a capacity for emotions just as
surely as any human. My God, Will, I defended his sentience in a court
of law three years ago." He paused as hints of remorse creeped over his
brow. "And now, for the second time, I catch myself formally
questioning Data's personal freedoms -- freedoms which would be taken
for granted as inalienable in any one of us."
"Is it that simple, sir?" asked Riker. "What if one of your senior
officers underwent brain surgery without your knowledge or approval?"
"I'm not sure that's an adequate analogy, Number One," said Picard,
stroking his chin. "This may be as simple as.. as Geordi replacing his
VISOR with human vision, for instance. I certainly wouldn't deny anyone
under my command the right to improve him or herself, even if there was
an element of risk involved. But with Data, we are facing an
unprecedented situation."
"No one has ever received an emotion transplant before," interpreted
Riker.
"Precisely." Picard sighed. "I suppose the real question can't be
answered because it requires a comparison of both sides of the equation
- of Data before and after. And not only do we not know what this chip
will do to him now, we weren't even sure of the extent of his full
capabilities before this."
"Speaking frankly, sir," interjected Riker, "There's a reason Geordi
hasn't undergone any operation to replace his VISOR...because it would
rob him of something that helps make him unique."
"You're saying is that Data should be satisfied with the unique
individual he is, or was," said Picard.
Riker sat quietly for a few seconds, in solemn introspection. It
was all very easy to say that Data should be treated like any man, but
Data was so completely unlike any man, when did one cross the line? He
found himself thinking back on the unpleasant task of having to prove -
unsuccessfully, as it happened - that Data was not sentient. In doing
research for the side of Cmdr. Maddox, Riker stumbled across a rather
nasty notion: what if Data was put through a replicator? Riker was no
expert on the molecular aspects of cybernetics, but the implications of
the idea were so troubling, he deliberately suppressed the issue in
preparing his case. It was a breach of legal ethics, and a tough
decision; he had never told anyone of it, not even Picard or Data.
Finally, he spoke again. "No one can speak for Data except Data."
Picard nodded sharply. "Quite right. And what's done is done. If
Data is in some way dissatisfied with the results of his endeavor - and
is capable of making a qualified judgment in that respect - then I can
only pray that the process is in some way reversible. But if he is
content with what he is done, then I find myself in a position to do
little else than wish him luck."
The little Klingon boy was getting stares by passing personnel, but
so far no one had bothered him. Alexander Rozhenko tried his best not
to look hopelessly lost, which is what he was. The Enterprise was a
big place, but compared to a starbase, it was cramped.
He walked some more with an attempt at nonchalance, until he found
an empty corridor.
"Computer," he hissed into the air, "what is my present location?"
In a flat contralto, the computer responded. "You are in access
corridor B of section seven of Level 43."
A lot of help that was. What did the signs say when he first came
onto starbase? He wished he could remember. It suddenly occurred to
him that his father would never be in a situation like this, and the
idea didn't make him feel much better.
"I... I'm trying to leave the starbase, computer... Where are the
outer access ports?"
"External access ports," answered the starbase computer, "are
located on Levels 11, 23, 24, 58, 71, 72 - "
"Never mind," said Alexander morosely. He looked despairingly at
the floor, trying to think of what he would say to his father, and
didn't notice the woman walk up.
"Well, what have we here?" said the woman not unkindly, and
Alexander looked up. She was wearing a blue sciences uniform, and,
judging by her face, was a little older than his father, but not yet
middle-aged.
"I've never seen a Klingon boy on a starbase before," said the
woman, kneeling so that she could speak with him on his level. "My
name's Katherine. What's yours?"
"Alexander," he replied out of instinct.
"You look a little lost," she said gently. "Maybe I can help you."
Alexander's eyes lit up. This would be good! This nice woman could
help him get back to the Enterprise, and his father need never know.
"I'm trying to get off the starbase," he said.
"What a coincidence," she said, smiling and eyes sparkling. "So am
I." She peered at him a little closer. "You know, Alexander, you look
very familiar to me. I wonder if -"
She was interrupted by a deep male voice approaching from down the
hallway.
"Dr. Pulaski."
She stood up and turned towards the voice, as Alexander flinched
slightly.
"Well, well, if it isn't Lt. Worf!" she said in a merry tone.
Worf performed a facial expression which resembled a small quirk of
the corners of his lips. Pulaski recognized it as his equivalent of a
smile. "It is... good to see you again, Doctor," said Worf.
"I'm glad to see you too, Worf," she said warmly. "I was just on my
way over to the Enterprise, but I wasn't expecting a welcoming party."
"I came to retrieve my son," said Worf. He indicated the boy.
Pulaski turned, wide-eyed, to look at the Klingon youngster.
"Alexander is your son?" she asked, incredulously. "It seems that I
have much to catch up on," she said, shaking her head in surprise. Then
she suddenly came to a realization, and asked, "Worf, I hope you don't
mind me asking, but who -"
"You remember Emissary K'ehleyr," said Worf. It wasn't exactly a
question, just a simple declaration.
"Why, yes, of course. That was in my last month on the Enterprise."
She looked at Alexander again. "That's simply amazing, Worf. I'm happy
for you. Is she staying on the ship with you and Alexander? I'm
looking forward to seeing her again."
Worf blinked and seemed to shuffle for a second. "K'ehleyr," he
said hesitantly, "was killed by a Klingon traitor named Duras."
A shudder ran through Pulaski. A lot to catch up on, indeed. "I'm
so sorry, Worf." Well, what do you know - Worf, a single parent. It
was almost unimaginable for a someone like Kate Pulaski, who'd had more
relationships than she could count, some of them resulting in marriage,
but none of them bearing children.
"It is in the past," said Worf simply, and that was the end of it.
He turned his attention to his son. "Alexander, why were you not in the
conference lobby with the other children?"
"I got tired of waiting for you to pick me up," said Alexander
sullenly.
"You must learn patience," Worf told him. After a glance at
Pulaski, who was enjoying watching Worf's attempt at parenting, he
added, "There is also no honor lost in asking questions of people when
you do not know where you are." Alexander nodded in acknowledgement.
Worf grunted to show that the matter was resolved. "Did you enjoy
your time on starbase?" he asked his son.
"Yes I did!" exclaimed Alexander enthusiastically.
"Good," said Worf sincerely. "You may tell me about it tonight at
dinner." He looked back at Pulaski. "Doctor, if you are prepared to
transfer to the Enterprise, I would be pleased to escort you aboard."
Pulaski smiled. "Worf, I'd be honored. Lead the way."
Compared to the corridors on
the Enterprise, the hallways of the
largest medical facility on Earth seemed unusually warm and - well,
earthy to Beverly Crusher. The designers of the complex had apparently
grown tired of the super-sterile look that Starfleet had managed to import
into most of its starships and bases, and since technology ensured that
the hospital would represent the ultimate in sterile environments
anyway, it only made sense to incorporate some of the less clinical
features with friendly European design elements. Despite being away
from Wesley and her friends on the Enterprise, and despite the monotony
of toiling away in administration, Beverly had greatly enjoyed her one
year working here. Bern was a shining example of the new Earth city;
like global centers such as San Francisco, Paris and Seoul, it had worn
the centuries well, improving in standard of living dramatically without
losing charm or heritage. In a way, the Starfleet Medical Corps
primary facility seemed like a second home to her.
In short order, she found the wing, and then the lab, that she was
looking for, after passing half a dozen security checkpoints. By this
point, Beverly's suspicions concerning the specious nature of her
summons had progressed passed the level of faint curiosity; something
serious and strange was definitely going on. She reached the research
lab designated in her assignment orders, and found the suite empty
except for one blue-uniformed man with a haggard expression and black
hair which was graying before its time.
She smiled when he turned. "You must be Dr. Baxter," she greeted,
extending a hand.
Despite the curves under his eyes, the man smiled and shook her
hand. "And you are definitely Dr. Beverly Crusher. Please, call me
Ray, since we're going to be spending a lot of time together in this
room."
"Ray Baxter," she repeated thoughtfully. "Have we met before?"
"No, but I feel like I know you. I've occupied a slot on several of
the medical review teams that went over some of the reports you've sent
back from the Enterprise."
"The nanites!" said Beverly. "Now I remember seeing your name.
Does that have anything to do with why I'm here?"
Dr. Baxter's eyes shifted uncomfortably. "Yes and no. Did you get
settled in all right?" he asked, quickly changing the subject.
"Reasonably so," she replied, playing the now familiar game of
introductory professional small talk. "Switzerland really is lovely
this time of year. I kept telling myself I'd come back on vacation and
bring my son, but... I never got the chance."
"Breaks of starship duty, I suppose," said Baxter, shrugging.
"You'd never get me to leave Earth for another job. Not willingly, at
least."
"Well, Ray, since we're on a first-name basis," she said, "maybe
you can tell me what's really going on."
Beverly had expected the man to grin conspiratorially, but his
expression lapsed into one of super-seriousness. He walked over to a
microscopic scanner, and beckoned her to follow.
"I'm sure you've heard about the, er, Lindarian flu epidemic," said
Baxter.
She fold her arms. "Uh-huh. I also don't believe a word of it.
There's not a hint of it in the news reports I read on my shuttle trip,
and I had to clear so many security blocks that I feel like an
intelligence agent. What's the real scoop?"
He nodded. "The Lindarian flu is a dupe, a cover story. You'd
have read about it in Starfleet's official communiques if you went that
far. As it is, this is something much more serious." He tapped a few
buttons on the operation console, and spoke while he engaged the
scanner. "You see, a few weeks ago, a doctor in Australia reported a
case of an infant boy whose immune system had been invaded by a
contagion of a kind we've never seen before."
"We pick up new bugs all the time in space," said Beverly. "Bio-
filters are usually able to handle most of them."
