STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II

by Dean Wesley Smith (Editor)

  She shook herself, and withdrew her hand. Next she’d be getting all goo-goo eyes, like the Prescotts. Oh, dear lord! Could they have been contagious? Not possible—she had taken every precaution.

  “Kat?” Brian’s voice was concerned, his eyes clouded with worry. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Just a bit startled.” She tried to laugh, but it [190] sounded shaky, and she quickly turned it into a little cough. “Whatever prompted that idea?”

  “It’s been building a long time. I missed you, but I never thought there was a chance for us. This is coming out all wrong; I had it all planned, how I would tell you. ...”

  “Just spit it out.”

  Brian laughed again, this time a hearty, relieved sound. “You haven’t changed a bit. Thank heavens. I would have been disappointed if you had.”

  Pulaski withdrew her hand and crossed her arms across her chest “Out with it, Brian. Now.”

  He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “The admiral yields.” He had visibly relaxed, and continued easily. “We never had the opportunity to work together. Maybe things would have been different if we had. We might not have been pulled in opposite directions.”

  She nodded. “And?”

  “And now I have the chance to change that. I know how much you hale being deskbound, Kat.”

  She wished he would stop calling her that. It was too intimate, carried too many memories. “As I recall,” she answered dryly, “you didn’t much care for those assignments either.”

  “No, I didn’t And I am in a position to refuse them now. Which I have. They gave me this ship,” he waved his arm in a gesture that took in the as-yet-unseen Golden Hind, “and an assignment to explore at the edge of known space. I set my own course, report directly to Starfleet Command, and choose my own crew.

  “I’m offering you the post of chief medical officer, Kat. It’s not a promotion, but it’s not a desk job, either. You’re the [191] best damned doctor I know. And I have my own personal reasons, I admit. I’d like you on board, like the chance for us to get to know each other again. Who knows? Maybe this time could be different.”

  Maybe it could. Pulaski was surprised to feel a tug at Brian’s suggestion. She knew better than to let herself get involved again. It hadn’t worked the first time, what made her think it would now? But the offer was attractive: chief medical officer on an exploratory voyage. She could stay aboard ship for as long as she wanted.

  “Doctor Pulaski.” Her combadge sounded with the vaguely garbled voice of Lieutenant Barclay, patched through from the Debakey. “Sorry to bother you, but I think you better come to the med lab.”

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” Pulaski didn’t bother to disguise the annoyance in her voice.

  “There’s an anomaly, sir. A slight difference in the volume of pathogenic matter trapped. The lab is missing .043 micrograms of what we trapped.”

  Pulaski felt her stomach drop to her toes and her blood turn to ice water. If there was material missing, it was possible the infection was spreading. She and Barclay were the only two who had been in contact with the containment vessel before it got to the lab—and she had been with Brian. Had let him touch her hand and kiss her cheek.

  “I’ll be there immediately, Lieutenant.” She turned to Brian. “Confine yourself to your quarters until you hear from me. I may have been exposed to a pathogen, despite our best efforts, and we don’t know how it spreads.”

  Brian’s mouth opened, but Pulaski shook her head firmly. “Don’t argue. Doctor’s orders. I’ll bet nobody’s pulled rank [192] on you in a while, but I’ll do it if I have to. You know I will. Do not leave this room until I give you the okay.”

  She patted her badge. “Beam me directly to the med lab.”

  Pulaski arrived in the med lab with a feeling of relief. There was no room for personal thoughts or feelings here. There was a medical dilemma to solve, and it had to be done quickly. She could forget about Brian, and everything else.

  “Lieutenant, what are the measurements?”

  “The transporter recorded 3.287 micrograms. The lab reported 3.244 micrograms. We’re missing 1.3 percent of what we trapped. Sir.”

  “All right. As of this moment, this lab, all lab personnel, Lieutenant Barclay, and myself are under Level I quarantine protocol, as well as Admiral Anderson. That will include the transporter bay and the Prescotts’ quarters. When we move between locations it will be in full isolation suits and breathers.”

  She looked around the room. There were nods, but she suspected they were submission, not agreement. She didn’t care. She wasn’t here to be liked or agreed with; she was here to have her orders obeyed.

  “We’ll start from the beginning. Lieutenant Barclay, you will check the transporter, recalibrate all the sensors, check all the volume meters. I want to be sure that there is no margin for error.

  “Lowell, I want the same procedures for all the testing devices in the laboratory. Each of you take two of the ensigns as backup. And I want a third team to go over the containment vessel itself.

  [193] “Has anyone left the lab since we started the procedure?”

  They all shook their heads. Pulaski’s relief was mirrored in the faces around her. Clearly, they all understood the risk they faced.

  Barclay cleared his throat. “Does that include me, Captain? I just walked around the ship for a while, and then I went to see the Prescotts for a while.”

  “This is important, Lieutenant. Did you see or speak to anyone else?”

  “No one, Doctor. I swear.” Beads of sweat appeared on Barclay’s high forehead. “I didn’t see a soul. Except the Prescotts.”

  “I hope that’s true. The Level I protocol will verify your movements for the last six hours.” She pulled an isolation suit from the locker. “I’m going to check on the Prescotts.”

  The Prescotts were sitting together on the bench when she entered, but something had clearly changed. Although they still sat close, they didn’t cling the way they had. Their voices were low, but the exclusionary tone was missing. Still, they were focused on each other with an intimacy Pulaski envied. What would it be like to have that kind of rapport with someone?

  Forget it, it wasn’t real. She’d been exposed, and so had Brian, and the Prescotts had probably been reinfected by Barclay. They’d taken two steps forward and fallen back three. Maybe four. Or five, if you counted Brian.

  “How are you two feeling?” she asked, sitting outside the containment field. The field quite possibly wasn’t accomplishing anything, but she couldn’t bring herself to let it down. Not until she was sure.

  [194] “Actually, Doctor,” David replied, “I think we’re cured. I know it may not look like it, but things are different.”

  Laura nodded her agreement. “We’re not as focused as we were. More relaxed somehow. It’s not as intense as the pathogen, but it’s actually better.”

  “Better?” Pulaski echoed. “In what way? Pardon me, but I thought the two of you were getting a divorce. And now you say you’re cured of the pathogen, but you still seem very, well, attached.” She halted, embarrassment creeping through her. She had no idea what they were talking about, though she couldn’t admit it. After all, she was the doctor.

  “Well,” David said, “it’s hard to explain. I, we,” he patted Laura’s hand, “thought we didn’t love each other anymore. That after thirty years we had exhausted all the things that kept us together. There didn’t seem to be any reason to stay married.”

  “We never had kids,” Laura explained, “because we were frequently in environments that weren’t hospitable to families. We didn’t want to be separated while one of us stayed somewhere safer with the children.”

  David’s laugh was sudden and hearty. “Remember the mining colony on Reganus? That wasn’t hospitable for anybody.”

  Laura chuckled softly. “We lasted three years. I think you were just being stubborn. It was a challenge, and we never shied from challenges. We always took risks. We sho
uldn’t have let this one stop us.”

  “This wasn’t a challenge,” Pulaski replied. “It was a pathogenic infection. A medical problem.”

  “No,” David said. “It was a challenge. Not the pathogen, the assignment itself. We were isolated with only each other [195] for company, and we lost sight of why we wanted to work together. We like each other, Doctor. We’re friends. Even when we disagree ...”

  “Which is often,” Laura interjected. “Which is often,” David agreed. “Even when we disagree, we still like each other.” He placed an arm around Laura and looked mildly puzzled for an instant. “I guess that was the bad thing about the pathogen. I was infatuated with Laura, but I wasn’t sure I liked her. But the infatuation kept us together long enough for me to remember.”

  “And I was reminded why I like David,” Laura added. “Without the pathogen, we would have gone our separate ways before we realized what a mistake it was. Even if we aren’t compelled to be together every minute, we still want to be married to each other.”

  Pulaski shook her head. She couldn’t believe these people. Last month they wanted a divorce; yesterday they couldn’t bear to be more than three feet apart. Now they sat here and claimed to be cured, but even though they didn’t have to be together, they still wanted to be. None of it made any sense to her. She didn’t understand it, any of it.

  “If you’re satisfied. ...” She let her voice trail off, unable to think of anything more to say. She gave herself a little shake, hoping it wasn’t visible through the suit. She couldn’t let this confusion get in the way of doing her job. “I need to check on things in the lab.”

  “All right,” Laura said, “and, Doctor ...”

  Pulaski turned and looked back at the couple. “Yes?”

  “Next time you don’t have to wear the suit.”

  Pulaski cycled the door behind herself. She didn’t share the Prescotts’ confidence. There was pathogenic material [196] missing, Pulaski was acting funny herself, and Reg Barclay was following Lieutenant Lowell around like a faithful puppy. This had all the ingredients for a first-class disaster.

  Barclay sat at the table with Lowell and the med techs. He had good news for the doctor, but she was already on her way back to the lab, and he wanted to deliver it in person. He had already ordered up a round of Romulan ale from the replicator. Technical expertise had its benefits.

  Barclay looked up when the door opened, and Dr. Pulaski walked in. He saw her take in the scene in front of her, and for an instant her face was suffused with anger; then a mask of impassive calm descended.

  “Lieutenant!” A whip cracked in her voice, and Barclay sprang to his feet.

  “Would you care to join us, Doctor? How about a nice glass of Romulan ale?” he blurted out.

  Her expression changed from forced calm to bewilderment, but her voice was icy. “What’s going on here, Lieutenant Barclay? I gave you some very explicit orders.”

  “Sorry, sir. I wanted to tell you in person.”

  “Tell me what?” Pulaski stared at him as though he had sprouted a second head.

  He was doing this all wrong. He was supposed to report their results. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We located the error, sir. It was a malfunction in the measurements at the transporter console. It was reading just over one percent high. Seems that Laura Prescott had a pendant that David bought her on Reganus. Mildly radioactive. It caused a fluctuation in the readings. We’ve tested the results several times, and determined that there is no missing material.”

  [197] Pulaski felt a surge of relief, followed by a flash of annoyance at Barclay for not telling her immediately. Brian had called her at least four or five times in the last two hours, wanting to know when he would be released from “house arrest.” But the annoyance passed before she could even voice it They had trapped the pathogen. No one was infected, not even the Prescotts. They had been right. They were cured, and they still wanted to stay together.

  Lowell’s voice interrupted Pulaski’s thoughts. “We apologize for starting to celebrate without you. We were all just so relieved to know the pathogen hadn’t gotten out.”

  Her contrite tone, and the realization that the danger had passed, washed away Pulaski’s irritation. She had the results she wanted. She looked at Barclay, still standing stiffly at attention.

  “Relax, Lieutenant And give me a glass of that ale.” She lifted the glass and sipped experimentally. “And I don’t even want to know how you managed to replicate this.”

  She raised her glass to the gathered technicians. To a job well done.”

  Pulaski stood near the door of the lab. The med techs and Lieutenant Barclay were talking animatedly, each trying to top the others with tales of exotic diseases and treatments. Barclay, if she could believe what he said, had been infected with nearly every ailment in the galaxy, and a few others she had never heard of. He sat close to Lieutenant Lowell and spoke directly to her, as though the others weren’t even there. She seemed oblivious to the attention, and Pulaski hid a grin behind her hand. It looked like Barclay was in love. Again. At least she knew it wasn’t the pathogen. No one was infected.

  [198] Including her. She slipped out the door. She had to call Brian, but she delayed until she could call from the privacy of her quarters.

  Brian’s expression was a combination of concern and irritation when he answered her hail. “How much longer, Kat? I have a ship to run, you know.”

  “Relax, Brian. You never were very good at waiting. But the danger is past, and you can get on with running your ship.” At least he had done as she had told him, however unwillingly. “Thanks for trying to be patient. I know how hard that is for you.”

  “I’m a man of action,” he said, the lopsided grin taking the arrogance from the words. “Can’t stand to sit still, can’t stand a desk job, and I can’t stand to wait. There’s a report of a solar disturbance in the Wasner system, and I need to check it out.”

  Pulaski could see the question in his eyes. He had made her an offer, and he wanted her answer. The frontier was out there, and he wanted to be on the move.

  “I didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” she said. “I was a little busy here. Stopping an epidemic, that sort of thing.”

  Brian, she noted, had the good grace to look slightly abashed. “Sorry, Kat. While you were saving the world I was sitting and waiting. It isn’t something I do very well.”

  “How well I remember.” She squared her shoulders. “But I have to say no, Brian. I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last few days, even before our talk. I don’t think it would be different. And I’m afraid it might spoil a perfectly good friendship.”

  For a moment, she thought she saw relief mixed with the disappointment in his expression. It told her she was right. If [199] she had gone, it would have been for all the wrong reasons, and their relationship might not have ended so amicably the second time.

  “Are you sure, Kat? This assignment’s over, or it will be soon, and you’ll be back at Starfleet Medical behind a desk.”

  She nodded. “I might be, for a while. But something will come along. It always does.” She smiled. “And Brian?”

  “Yes?”

  “Look me up next time you’re in the neighborhood. You still owe me a dinner.” She terminated the connection before he could answer. He might have tried to argue, to change her mind. She knew this was best. They had never had what the Prescotts had, and never would. Maybe she was starting to believe in love, after all.

  The door chimed and she answered, “Come.”

  Reg Barclay appeared in the doorway. “I wanted to talk to you, Doctor.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant?” Pulaski motioned to a seat across from her.

  “No thanks. I’ll only be a minute.” Barclay reminded her of a big, gangly bird, refusing to light on a branch. “I just want to confirm your conclusion. You’re sure the Prescotts are cured? We got it all?”

  “All the test results say so, Lieutenant. Beyond that, I have examined th
e Prescotts. I am satisfied we got the pathogen, and it hasn’t spread.”

  Barclay’s face relaxed into a genuine smile. “Good! Thanks, Doctor.” He turned, and the door opened to let him out.

  “Lieutenant?” Pulaski called after him.

  He looked back over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  [200] “Weren’t you sure?”

  Barclay grinned. “Just checking. I’m on my way to request reassignment to the Debakey. I’m in love with Lieutenant Lowell.”

  Pulaski shook her head at his departing back. Maybe someday she could believe as much as he did, and find someone she could take a chance on. For now, she’d settle for finding her next assignment.

  Gods, Fate, and Fractals

  William Leisner

  The United Federation of Planets. Home to over a trillion sentients, all living in comfort and harmony like no other society in all of history.

  But there are some who don’t like the way that history has played out. Or who think they can improve upon it. They see themselves as visionaries. Society, though, views them as something else entirely.

  Criminals.

  That’s where we come in. It’s our job to find these malefactors and stop them from making their visions of new histories reality.

  My name is Lucsly. My partner is Dulmer.

  We’re temporal investigators.

  Stardate 50564.2—a Friday. We were working the day watch out of Department of Temporal Investigations headquarters in San Francisco. Our boss, Assistant Director Kreinns, marched into our office, a stack of padds under his arm.

  “Just received this report from Starfleet,” he said, taking two of the padds and handing one to each of us. I quickly [202] skimmed the document and immediately understood why the boss looked so concerned: Jem’Hadar troops had taken the Narendra and Archer systems. Besides being strategically located between the Federation and the Klingon Empire, the Narendra Sector was also the spatial location of a suspected temporal anomaly, detected five years, three months, and ten days earlier.