by Various
“What is known about their world, Commander?” Picard said. Beverly knew that, given the opportunity, Jean-Luc would likely have preferred to investigate the topic himself, but asking Data was far more expeditious.
Lieutenant Commander Data, whose pale android skin and yellow eyes blended with the mustard color of his uniform, conducted a search of his memory banks that took less than a millisecond. “Shar-Mi’la Prime is the solitary L-class planet orbiting the white dwarf star Vakor II,” Data recited. “A newly inducted member of the Federation, Shar-Mi’la is known for its network of innovative shielding that allows the humanoid inhabitants to live on the surface, despite the otherwise damaging levels of tetra-helon radiation from the nearby star.”
“Tetra-helon radiation?” Crusher said, her mouth hanging open a bit. That couldn’t be right. “Data, are you sure?”
“Quite sure, Doctor. Not everything is known about Shar-Mi’lan society—there are significant gaps in the planet’s profile—but this particular point is well established. Shar-Mi’la Prime is classified as an L-class planet due to the harsh environment. It is considered only marginally livable for humans.”
The doctor frowned. “Tetra-helon radiation is deadly to most carbon-based life-forms. How did a biosphere develop on this world at all?”
Data cocked his head, processing. “While I have no evidence to support such a claim, I would speculate that life on Shar-Mi’la evolved to adapt to the presence of the radiation.”
Picard nodded, still looking over the diagrams of shielding specifications. “Yes, it seems these people are quite adept at adaptation, of one form or another. What is the nature of their medical emergency?”
Data turned to Lieutenant Worf, who stood slightly behind them at the tactical station. The tall Klingon security officer also wore the gold operations uniform, but unlike the pallor of the android, Worf’s skin was dark and his voice deep. He turned his ridged forehead in their direction. “Sir, the Enterprise received the following recorded message from Shar-Mi’la, audio only.” Worf began playback.
“This is Commissioner Cal’Sohn of the Shar-Mi’lan Central Authority. We are experiencing a medical emergency involving a small group of our population. Their condition is worsening, despite our best treatment efforts.” Crusher was struck by the worry in the voice, the fraying concern. “We request immediate assistance in dealing with this matter. I thank you in advance.” The transmission ended.
“Mister Worf,” Picard began, shoulders square, “are we the only ship in range?”
Worf pressed several controls at his station. “Aye, sir. The next closest Starfleet vessel equipped to provide medical aid is the Coriolanus, five days away at maximum warp.”
Picard nodded. “Very well. Alert Starfleet Command that we will be detouring from our current course to investigate this matter. Doctor—” The captain turned to Crusher, and for an instant she saw the familiar compassion flash across his otherwise duty-bound countenance. “Prepare an away team to beam down and survey the situation on the surface once we arrive. Attempt to communicate with the Shar-Mi’lan Authority, and take all necessary precautions.”
She could tell he wished to say more, but refrained. The bridge was for duty, and both of them respected their oaths.
The transporter beam sparkled as the forms of Crusher, Data, and Worf materialized on the planet’s surface. Doctor Crusher sighed as she always did coming out of beaming, as if the jump through space somehow added breath to her body. She looked around.
It was a divided world. The place where they stood—it appeared to be a courtyard of sorts—was spotted with blue-green shrubs, the ground covered in a soft purple moss. There was a muteness to the lighting, as if it was diffused, much like the foggy skies of Caldos II—a colony terraformed to reproduce Scotland—where she lived with her grandmother in her youth. They were standing on the outskirts of a large but seemingly peaceful city, shiny buildings reaching in hexagonal pillars toward the hazy sky.
At the edge of the courtyard, however, reality changed, and beyond that point Crusher found herself gazing into a wasteland. The shrubs and moss were gone, replaced by a few clumps of hardy-looking gray grass. There was no moss cover in this other landscape, and the bare white stone ground reflected back the cool light of Vakor II in strong, harsh clarity. Like the photographs of Earth’s first lunar landing, she thought. Stark. Surreal. Beautiful in its alienness.
“Now you see the necessity of our shielding,” a voice said. The members of the away team turned to find two Shar-Mi’lans approaching, sandals sinking slightly in the soft moss. “Without the shield’s protective barrier, the radiation of the sun would destroy all but the most basic life-forms on our world, ourselves included.” The man smiled and bowed his head in greeting, his heavily ridged brow rivaling Worf’s in intricacy. Their skin was a bright magenta, with eyes of gleaming gold. “Welcome to Shar-Mi’la, friends. I am Cal’Sohn, Commissioner of Tia’Wreth, this city. This is Keeper Ro’Kell, of our Medicinal Protectorate.” He motioned to the man beside him, who performed the same formal bow.
“Thank you for responding to our distress call,” the keeper said. Ro’Kell was taller and thinner than the commissioner, though Crusher found both of them to be pleasant in presence and tone.
“We’re glad to help,” she said. “I’m Doctor Beverly Crusher, and this is Lieutenant Worf and Lieutenant Commander Data of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Where do we start?”
“This way, please,” Ro’Kell said, walking along a white stone path toward one of the metal buildings. “Recently a small percentage of our city’s population has fallen dangerously ill, and as of yet, we have been unable to ascertain the cause, though we suspect it may be related to exposure to tetra-helon radiation.”
“Keeper, if I may ask,” Data began, his voice artificial yet still warm, “is that not why you erected the shielding system? To prevent such toxic exposure to this radiation?”
“That is correct,” Ro’Kell said. “However, there has been a slight complication in our technology.”
“What are those men doing?” Worf asked, his bass voice booming through the courtyard. He pointed to the barrier between the two worlds—living and dead—where men in what looked like environmental suits were working with energy tools. The spot seemed to be a gate of some sort, with a shiny metal arch rising high above the ground.
“They are attempting to repair the breach in the shield,” Cal’Sohn said. “We are fairly sure that the portal to the sunscape is where the leak occurred and is the source of the exposure Ro’Kell mentioned.”
The Klingon whirled on the Shar-Mi’lans, his imposing frame towering over the aliens, his tone stern. “Why were we not notified of such a security risk?”
“Worf, I’m sure there’s an explanation,” Crusher said, though her own anxiety jumped a notch at the surprise threat to her away team.
Data already had his tricorder out and was taking atmospheric readings. “Tetra-helon concentration currently holding steady at seventy-three rhubions.”
Crusher quickly did some calculations. “Worf and I should be fine for a couple of hours. I can inoculate us once we return to Enterprise. Data, your system should be unaffected by tetra-helon radiation, thanks to the interference from your positronic net.”
“I apologize for the alarm, Doctor,” Ro’Kell said. “I had every intention of explaining the situation, though my timing was obviously not ideal. We do have our own inoculant that we planned to offer you.” They arrived at an arched entrance into a pillar structure and walked into a long hallway of shiny hematite-like material.
The doctor thought a moment. “What about the rest of your population, Keeper? How long have they been exposed?”
“We’re not sure,” Ro’Kell said, leading them down winding corridors of mirror. “Our surveillance systems registered a slight spike in helon particles several mo
nths ago, though it was well within tolerance levels when the problem began. As it grew, our engineers searched for failures in the shield framework, finally discovering a misalignment in one of the shield generators, which, as you observed, is currently being repaired.”
The commissioner continued the story. “Ro’Kell and his team have been able to release a counteragent into the air circulation systems. Most of the citizens we’ve tested have shown no adverse effects to the exposure.”
“Then why do you need us?” Worf said.
“Because,” Ro’Kell began, halting the group in front of a set of solid doors, “a small subset of the population has become inexplicably ill. We’re not certain of the cause, but we fear they may be more . . . susceptible . . . to the radiation than the rest of us.” He looked at the floor for a moment, almost sadly, then pressed his palm against the metal.
The doors opened in front of them. Crusher inhaled sharply.
The room was filled with children.
Her heart beat harder as she stepped inside, dozens of young patients lying sick around the room. Their eyes were vacuous, a milky white rather than the bright gold of the adult keepers in the room. Crusher could feel her throat catching. Focus. Focus on your duty, she told herself. She had gotten through distressing assignments before. These children needed her. And yet she could not control the pounding in her chest.
Data seemed to sense something was wrong. She could tell by the way he cocked his head to the side. “Are you all right, Doctor?” he said, his best attempt at emulated emotion softening his words.
“Yes.” She cleared her throat. “Ro’Kell, what—what are their symptoms?”
Ro’Kell eyed Worf uneasily. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious. We have established that much at least. The condition is genetic. For each patient, it began with marked fatigue and sluggishness. A sort of apathy toward daily life.”
“Clinical depression?” Crusher asked. It was a condition that manifested among many species for many different reasons.
“We wondered that as well and tried treatment accordingly, with little response. When we found out about the leak, we quarantined the sick children in this room, which is our most shielded sanctuary—a bunker of sorts—to keep out all tetra-helon particles. Their condition continued to decline, and then yesterday the rash appeared.” Ro’Kell stepped up to one of the beds that held a catatonic child. Her skin was not the bright pink it should have been, but rather an ashy gray, with what looked like thick patches of scales breaking out all over her body. “We called you as soon as this appeared. It is unlike any documented condition my people have seen, and so far, any attempt we have made to treat it has no effect, or exacerbates the situation.”
Crusher looked down at the ghostly figure, the girl’s hollow expression sending shivers down her spine.
“You have to help us, Doctor.” Ro’Kell’s words were quiet. Pleading. Desperate.
Crusher held the thin hand of the girl. It was cold and limp. “I will do everything in my power.” She tapped the combadge on her chest. “Crusher to Picard.”
“Picard here.”
“The situation here is mostly stable, Captain, but may not be for long. I’d like to bring some tissue samples back aboard for analysis.”
“Very well. Proceed, Doctor. You have my permission to mobilize whatever personnel or resources you deem necessary. Keep me informed. Picard out.”
Doctor Crusher turned to her away team. “Worf, take tricorder readings of each section of the city, focusing on the bands of the EM spectrum nearest to tetra-helon radiation. Data, collect air and water samples, and interview the parents of the children to see what we can find out about the days leading up to their illness.” She paused and turned toward the Shar-Mi’lans. “That is, if it’s okay with you, Commissioner?”
“You will have my people’s full cooperation, Doctor Crusher. I promise you.”
Worf and Data exited to begin their survey. Crusher had her own data to collect.
“Ro’Kell, I will need to collect samples from the children.”
The keeper motioned down toward the child in front of them. “Nah’Tren has been sick the longest.” He looked to the weary-eyed woman sitting next to the bed. “Bel’Narr, do you consent?”
The woman bowed her head. Crusher knew that this woman was Nah’Tren’s mother. She reached into her medkit to pull out a hypospray, and felt a hand on her arm.
Bel’Narr was looking at her, through eyes that had obviously cried more tears than they were meant for. “Federation Keeper—I will not lose my child, will I?”
Crusher moved her mouth but no words came. She squeezed the woman’s hand and forced a smile, then buried herself in the task of collecting samples.
She stared at the viewscreen in her office, where the image of Keeper Ro’Kell spoke to her from the surface. “I’m sorry to interrupt your analysis, Doctor,” the man said, “but I wanted to inform you that Nah’Tren’s condition has deteriorated. She has slipped into a coma.”
No, I need more time! Beverly thought. Her mind raced. “All right. I need you to take some readings and send them to me right away. I’m transmitting instructions now.”
Ro’Kell glanced off-screen, then nodded. “We’re receiving them, Doctor. I will have my team collect the information and transmit it to you as quickly as possible.”
“Any change in the others?”
“Not anything drastic. Their conditions continue to worsen at the rate we’ve been observing.” He paused and emotion gripped his face. “How could we have let this happen to our children, Doctor?”
Crusher sighed. “This is not your fault, Ro’Kell. We will get to the bottom of this. If I have to stay up day and night, we will solve it.” If only it were that simple.
“Thank you, Doctor Crusher. For all of your work. You will hear from us shortly.”
“Understood. Enterprise out.” The transmission ended, and Crusher rubbed her eyes and looked at the chrono. How long had she been in here? Six hours? Ten? She had spent them dissecting tissue samples, running diagnostics algorithms, spectral analysis, radiographic mapping, genetic sequence patterning—nothing. No headway whatsoever. The Shar-Mi’lans were correct—it wasn’t a virus, nor an autoimmune disorder, nor an allergy. Crusher respected Ro’Kell, but it was her policy to double-check for all of these things just in case.
Now what? It might be radiation exposure, but the symptoms didn’t seem to match what she knew about tetra-helon poisoning. Her research of the computer’s databases had been fruitless—most civilizations stayed far away from tetra-helon stars, for good reason, and no one in the Federation scientific community had reported studies of a similar condition. She had even tried contacting one of her old professors at Starfleet Medical. No help.
Data walked around the corner into the sickbay office. He had been assisting the doctor in her efforts all day. “I must report that my analysis of the gene-sequencing errors observed in the Shar-Mi’lan children do not match any known phenomena. I can continue to speculate, Doctor, though based on the usefulness of my suggestions thus far, I am unsure as to whether that is a good use of our time.”
Crusher listened to the report and stared blearily at the photograph of Wesley on her desk. It was from the day Captain Picard made him an ensign for his outstanding performance in the line of duty. The boy wore a goofy grin that held more excitement over that single pip than most captains experience upon receiving their first ship. He always dreamed of this life. Of following his father’s footsteps, she thought. And he was so very talented. She and Data could use Wesley’s innovative way of seeing things right about now. She wished he were here, brainstorming alongside her. As intelligent and analytical as Data was, sometimes his programming limited his ability to think outside the box. On many occasions, her son had suggested solutions to problems that no one else saw, s
aving thousands of lives in the process. If you’re out there, Wesley, your mother could use a little help right now.
But Wes was gone. Traversing other dimensions, experiencing pure thought and whatnot. He would never be there again. She chided herself for being so sentimental. She was going to have to do this on her own.
Data’s voice revived her. “Doctor, if you do not mind my saying so, you are displaying signs of considerable fatigue.”
Crusher whisked an auburn lock out of her eye and forced a smile. “It’s all right, Data, but I appreciate the concern. If I don’t solve this soon, these children may be facing permanent genetic damage. Or worse.”
Data’s eyebrows contracted slightly, in what she had come to recognize as his expression of deep thought. “Then perhaps you should take what Counselor Troi refers to as ‘a break.’ It is my understanding that such deviations in focus can greatly enhance human productivity, especially during periods of extended cognitive demand.”
“I can’t leave now, Data. I’m waiting on new vital readings from the patients to come through from Keeper Ro’Kell.”
“I see.” He paused. “I may be able to offer a compromise. As you know, Doctor, since I am an android, I do not require rest the same way humans do. My positronic brain is capable of functioning at peak efficiency for extended periods of time. Therefore, may I make a suggestion: I will remain here and await the transmission, and continue analyzing the available information in hopes of discovering a solution, freeing you to take ‘a break.’ ”
The data on the padd in front of her was starting to look a little fuzzy. She smiled wanly. “Perhaps you’re right, Commander.” She rose, but slowly, stiffly.
“Very well. I will debrief you upon your return.” He moved to sit in her chair.
