A Time to Sow

by Dayton Ward

  Did nothing in the room offer an emotional connection any longer? Had all of these once-treasured items lost their meaning and value for Data? La Forge wondered what else his friend might have lost through the simple act of surrendering his emotion chip. Did Data believe that all the things he had once done for fun, or at least for the cataloguing of those sensory deviations that might approximate fun, no longer held any interest for him?

  “I do not require or even desire recreation or hobbies as I once did,” the android said flatly. After a moment, he added, “However, I do recognize the benefits of companionship and spending time participating in common activities of interest. If you would like, I will accompany you to the activity of your choice.”

  “Uh, sure, Data,” La Forge said as he grappled with the sensation that he had just lost one of his best friends. He found himself trying to remember his old methods of introducing Data to intrinsically human experiences, but then again, that was when the android wanted to embrace such opportunities. Now that he seemed rather aloof to it all, where should Geordi start?

  “Maybe we could try the holodeck?” he suggested. “I helped Lieutenant Osborne load a whole batch of new programs before we left Earth, including a couple of Sherlock Holmes mysteries written just last year.”

  “An excellent suggestion,” Data said as he rose from his seat. “That should prove most entertaining.”

  As he followed his friend out into the corridor, however, La Forge was already beginning to have his doubts.

  Chapter Seven

  To: Dr. Yerbi Fandau, Surgeon General

  Headquarters, Starfleet Medical Services

  Division

  San Francisco, Earth

  From: Dr. Beverly Crusher, Chief Medical Officer

  U.S.S. Enterprise-NCC-1701-E

  Dear Yerbi,

  I was pleasantly surprised on my return to the Enterprise to find your communiqué waiting for me. It was a gracious way for you to follow up our meeting, especially knowing how busy you must be these days. I also appreciate your sending along the monograph by Dr. zh’Costeth on Andorian toxic encephalopathy that we discussed, as I have been following her research for some time.

  Please forgive the delay in my response. Truth be told, I had not at all anticipated hearing from you so quickly given all the preparations you must be making. It should not surprise you that I still am grappling with the news of your decision to retire. While I’ll miss your leadership and professional counsel, I hope you know that no one is as happy for you as I am that you feel ready to step away from your duties and enjoy life. Can I admit to being a little jealous of your plans to join Glinn and her children on Beta Trianguli III? Embrace every opportunity to enjoy your family, my friend. I know how much they mean to you.

  Also, I must admit to being very flattered by your now formal offer for me to succeed you as Surgeon General. This especially is gratifying in light of your personal recommendation being approved by the Federation Council. I credit so much of my interest in curative medicine and xenobiological research to the invaluable mentoring I have received by your hand over the years. Knowing that you would entrust me to continue the practices and policies you have instituted during your tenure is an honor indeed.

  When we last spoke, we laughed about the twists our lives often take when we least expect them. Had my desire to heed the call of practicing medicine in the field not led me back to the Enterprise after only a year at Starfleet Medical, I might still be serving in the very position you now are asking me to resume. That year taught me much about the bureaucratic side of medicine, something you know I continue to regard as a necessary evil. I do, however, want you to know that I understand and appreciate how the position can provide me the best of both worlds, if only I allow it. I could reintroduce myself to the inner circle of leadership at Starfleet Medical while following my own research pursuits. I also find very appealing the aspects of guiding other physicians and researchers in their various projects. To me, that’s like having all the fun of being a teacher without the burden of having to grade term papers.

  I realize that such an offer cannot remain on the table for long, but please know that I am giving serious consideration to it. As soon as time permits, I promise to contact you to discuss the matter further.

  Again, thank you. Once more, you have proven yourself as an unwavering advocate and a treasured friend.

  Sincerely,

  Beverly

  Reading her letter for the fifth time, Beverly Crusher found her finger wavering over her data padd, hesitating to send it.

  It would have been easier to simply record a visual message to Dr. Fandau, but that seemed so informal, considering the subject matter of his correspondence. An actual written letter lent a credence to his request that a visual recording lacked.

  With that in mind, she had still deferred writing the letter as long as she could, and even then she had agonized over her choice of every word in uncounted drafts. Now she lingered over her actions yet again.

  She believed her sincerity showed in her writing, as she had devoted a substantial amount of time to considering Dr. Fandau’s offer. Being asked to once again lead Starfleet Medical, at this point in her career, would allow her much latitude in the pursuit of her personal goals. It would put her back on Earth, a place where Wesley might need her to be should his time with the Travelers come to an end. It would give her some stability in her career that her life aboard a starship could not provide. No one really would fault her for accepting the offer, coming as it had from an old friend and trusted mentor. It was not as if she were asking to be assigned to another ship, after all, even though she wished that Yerbi’s timing could have been better.

  Why do I feel like a deserter?

  Crusher had always considered physicians as the first persons expected to act in a time of crisis. In all her career, she never had hesitated to scoop up a medikit and rush to an emergency situation, or failed to insure that sickbay was prepared to treat one or dozens of injuries at a moment’s notice. She strived to be a calm presence and an efficient, capable healer no matter what the challenge or working conditions.

  And yet now, when the political pressure being directed at the Enterprise seemed tuned to its highest intensity in her experience, at a time when the crew—Jean-Luc Picard in particular—might very well need her most, she was here, alone in her office and thinking about leaving the ship. For the first time in years, she was questioning herself and felt her confidence in her own decision-making skills faltering.

  Why now? And why does it feel like I’m the only senior officer looking to get out?

  The pneumatic hiss of the sickbay doors followed by a pained moan drew Crusher from her reverie and she bolted from her seat, already forgetting the padd displaying the still unsent letter. She raced into the main sickbay area to find a pair of crew members, each wearing exercise fatigues. She recognized Ensign Jarek Maxson from the ship’s security division, a tall and muscular human male, cradling a woman in his arms.

  “Lieutenant Perim?” she said as she got her first look at the woman’s face. Perim had been serving on the Enterprise as a conn officer for the past few years and was also one of the ship’s handful of Trill crew members. Taking some of the load of the lieutenant’s weight from Ensign Maxson, Crusher asked, “What happened?”

  “It’s my knee, Doctor,” Perim replied, the discomfort evident in her voice as she spoke. “I hope I didn’t blow it out again.”

  With Maxson’s help, Crusher eased Perim onto a diagnostic bed, its array of biosensors automatically activating as the injured officer attempted to adjust herself to a more comfortable position. Drawing a breath through gritted teeth, Perim groaned. “Damm it!”

  Crusher produced a medical tricorder from the pocket of her smock and stepped around the bed to stand next to Maxson. He said nothing, but Crusher saw his expression of concern as he watched. She also noticed that his face was covered in sweat and grime.

  Pulling the tric
order’s separate peripheral scanner free, she activated the unit and waved it over Perim’s right leg. “I’m afraid it is your knee again,” the doctor said a moment later, reviewing the tricorder’s scan readings. “Been hiking the Tenaran ice cliffs again?”

  Maxson answered, “Today, it was Half Dome.”

  “Well, tomorrow, it’s a nice, safe, boring chair,” said Crusher, allowing a smile in the hope it would ease some of Perim’s concern. She traded her tricorder for a hypospray and dosed Perim with enough terakine to cut her pain. The doctor expected the standard analgesic to work quickly, given that the dose did not need to be metered with benzocyatizine, as would be the case for a joined Trill.

  Crusher was thankful that none of the Trill currently assigned to the Enterprise carried the symbionts that distinguished the species as unique among Federation members. While the biological concepts relating to Trill humanoid hosts and vermiform symbionts fascinated her, particularly in the years after her very personal encounter with Ambassador Odan, the doctor was well aware that the risks associated with any emergency medical treatment escalated steeply for both Trill beings in a symbiotic relationship.

  Perim closed her eyes and breathed deeply as Crusher watched the medicine take effect. A few moments later, the Trill opened her eyes and smiled a bit. “Much better. Thanks, Doctor.”

  “I can repair the damage easily enough,” Crusher said, “but we should probably talk about this. Would you like to do it now or later?”

  “Now’s as good as time as any,” Perim replied, then turned to Maxson. “Jarek, I’m fine. Go on and finish the hike. We still have the holodeck booked for another hour, I’d bet.”

  “Well, only if you’re sure you don’t need anything,” the ensign said, his concerned expression relaxing only slightly.

  “Go,” Perim said, smiling as she waved him away. After he had gone, she said to Crusher, “I think this upset him more than it did me.”

  “I have to wonder,” the doctor said, “what’s more hazardous? Hiking in the holodeck or hanging around with Ensign Maxson?”

  “But he’s so cute,” Perim said, laughing. “Doctor, it’s just a fluke he was with me again when I got hurt. He’s not a bondo or anything.”

  “A bondo?”

  “Oh, a…what’s the word,” Perim said to clarify. “You know, um, a jinx.”

  “Got it,” Crusher said, nodding as she worked to suppress a grin. The time for being a friend was over, and now she had to play the part of concerned physician.

  “So, Kell, here we are, looking at your third ligament problem in as many months. I think you know the drill by now. Plan on spending the rest of the day under a bioregenerative field for your knee, but the reality is that it’s time to consider a bioim—”

  “Please, Doctor, don’t say it,” Perim said, cutting her off and affecting a playful wince.

  “A bioimplant replacement for your knee,” Crusher finished, raising the volume of her voice while maintaining a tone of compassion. “I know you’re hesitant, but there’s no reason to keep putting it off. Your ligaments are not responding to the regeneration treatments as we’d hoped.” She had to hide her amused expression as she watched Perim fidget on the table, sighing deeply and closing her eyes.

  “Maybe if I stopped pushing myself,” the Trill said. “I could give up the hikes for…well, I don’t know, cooking classes?”

  Crusher laughed softly, recognizing the lieutenant’s humor as a good-natured attempt to deal with a diagnosis she obviously did not want to hear. “Kell, you’re an active, physically fit young woman, and medically we have the treatment available for you to stay that way. Besides, in our business, the last thing you want is a body that could fail you when you least expect it.”

  Looking away as if to consider the doctor’s words, Perim finally nodded a moment later. “I know you’re right, really I do. I just hate the idea of surgery, or of having some kind of artificial component to replace a part of my body.”

  Crusher left the diagnostic bed long enough to wheel a stool and a field emitter to Perim’s side. She swung the arm of the emitter to position it over the lieutenant’s injured knee and, touching a small input pad, activated a soft-blue-colored beam that washed over the reclining woman’s leg.

  “It’s a pretty simple procedure, Kell. I could schedule it today and in a few days, you’ll never know the difference.”

  “But Dr. Crusher, I will know the difference,” Perim said, the first hint of anger lacing her words. “It’ll be something inside of me that is not me. I know that sounds stupid, but I can’t help myself. I’ve been that way all of my life.”

  “It’s not stupid,” Crusher said, focusing her attention more on the emitter than on her patient. “I guess it just seems a bit…unusual…”

  Perim filled in the pause herself. “For a Trill, you mean? That’s what you wanted to say.”

  The doctor sheepishly admitted to herself that it was exactly what she wanted to say, or at least how she automatically completed the statement in her mind. “Yes,” she admitted with a tinge of regret. “Yes, Kell, it is, and now it’s me being the stupid one. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right, Doctor,” the lieutenant replied, sighing as the words were spoken. “It’s nothing I haven’t been asked about before.”

  Several moments passed as the two women sat in silence, the normally unobtrusive sounds of the sickbay’s medical monitors and the hum of the starship’s engines now quite audible to Crusher. How was it that she never noticed the omnipresent background noises except when she was searching for words that might help navigate an awkward moment in conversation? She busied herself adjusting the regenerative field’s emitter a bit before Perim finally spoke again.

  “You don’t know this,” she began, “but I was almost joined once.”

  The admission caught Crusher off guard. So far as she knew, nothing about this was included in Perim’s personnel file. Then again, there was no reason for such information to be recorded, was there?

  Returning the lieutenant’s gaze, she replied in a soft voice, “I didn’t know. May I ask what happened?”

  “It’s not a long story,” Perim said. “My parents were never joined, but it was a dream that my mother had for each of us. I was perfectly happy without all of the stress of dealing with the Symbiosis Commission. I got good scorings in school, I played a lot of wusher and parrises squares, things were fine. Then one day, these two people came to the door to take me for testing. My mother had submitted my application to the commission and I didn’t even know it.”

  “And you were surprised?” Crusher asked.

  “I shouldn’t have been, but I guess looking back it all was a bit of a shock.” Shaking her head, Perim continued, “And I was gone for weeks to take more tests until I finally went before the evaluation board for consideration.”

  “What happened?”

  Perim smiled a bit. “They said I had qualified, but I declined.” Crusher felt her jaw drop a bit as Perim paused. “It embarrassed our whole family, and…well, things have never been the same with my mother, but I walked away.”

  “That does surprise me, Kell,” the doctor said. “I thought approvals to join were few and very coveted.”

  Perim paused, mulling over Crusher’s statement a bit before answering. “Imagine yourself without arms or legs or any real means of getting around at all beyond the perimeter of a pool in a cave. You discover that other beings exist who can take you out of the pool, beyond the cave, into the warmth of the sun and anywhere in the galaxy. Then imagine those other beings as the only means for you to sense more intensely everything in your environment, and I mean everything…food, music, a cool breeze from the ocean, the touch of a man. You’re not just dependent on those beings, but actually addicted to them through the intense bonding that you share. You cling to that connection, define your life around it, and guard it jealously.”

  Crusher nodded as she listened. It was not hard for her to imagine what Perim
was relating. Commander Riker had offered similar descriptions in the days after he had carried Ambassador Odan’s Trill symboint.

  “So, Doctor,” Perim continued, “in that case, wouldn’t you do everything in your power to preserve your connection with your host? Fight to the death? Maybe tempt your host with a new ability to draw upon a greater knowledge or wisdom? And just maybe, over the generations, might you convince your host that carrying you around was something desirable, a privilege or even an honor for you?”

  Finding herself without words, Crusher was unsure as to whether the blank expression she was certain was on her face would either puzzle or amuse Perim.

  For generations, the people of Earth had challenged their belief systems with discussions of how the biological abilities of nonhumans affected their own ethical thinking constructs. In her days at the Academy, she and other medical students regularly posited the true impact on human experience of a Vulcan mind-meld or a Denobulan mating scheme or a Deltan oath of celibacy. Crusher certainly was no stranger to the bioethical implications of any symbiotic relationship, including but not limited to the dominant species of Trill.

  “It’s not as though I’m the only Trill who feels this way,” Perim said.

  “Oh, uh, of course not,” Crusher said, stammering a bit. “It’s just that I’ve never talked about this with a Trill before.” In fact, such discussions typically took place among peers, fellow physicians and researchers, and generally human ones. This was a first for Beverly Crusher to hear a near damning of the Trill cultural system from a member of the species herself.