by Dayton Ward
“Come now,” said Nidan, minister of security, another senior member who had served nearly as long as Creij himself, “are you suggesting we cast aside all thoughts of caution and welcome these newcomers with open arms? We cannot possibly know or understand their true motives after such a short time.”
To Creij’s right, Council Member Ryndai said, “As the first minister has already pointed out, if they are seeking something then they hardly need to engage in deception, to say nothing of making the effort to rescue the miners on Outpost Takir.”
Nodding enthusiastically at her friend’s words, Creij was heartened to hear someone else echo her feelings. She knew that others on the council felt the same way, and hoped that they would take advantage of this forum to air their views, as well.
Of course, not everyone felt the same way.
“Twenty-five people did die in the attempt,” Nidan said.
“As did two of their own,” Ryndai countered. “Are you suggesting they would sacrifice their own people to gain our trust as part of some elaborate ruse? I think you spend too much of your free time reading those mystery stories.” The comment prompted several chuckles around the table, and even Nidan joined in.
“The point I am laboring to make,” Nidan replied, “is that we know nothing about these people. We do not know what they are capable of, or how they value life. It may be commonplace for them to execute subordinates for the most inane of reasons. Obviously I hope that is not true, and that they are who they claim to be. I have seen how uplifting their arrival has been for the populace, but I am saying we should remain cautious until we learn more about them. Is that so unreasonable?”
Creij said, “Of course we should be careful, but not to the point where we begin to alienate them. They have traveled a great distance to find us, and now that they are here they have offered to help us realize our greatest goal since we were forced to make a life here for ourselves. Should we not at least consider what they can provide for us?”
She was convinced that what they had seen of the Enterprise was but a tantalizing preview of the vessel’s remarkable capabilities, and she could not wait to see them for herself. Though Captain Picard had graciously allowed a schedule of guided tours of his vessel to anyone who might be interested, Creij had not yet had the opportunity to act on the gesture. Soon enough, she promised herself.
“But what is the price of that aid, Creij?” Hjatyn asked. “Suppose we accept their help. What will they ask for in return? Will we be willing or even able to give whatever that might be? What if they present us with an ultimatum? Perhaps they have powerful weapons on that ship of theirs, just waiting to be used should we refuse their demands.”
Ryndai said, “With all respect, First Minister, what could we possibly have that they could not take by force? We have seen enough of their technology to know that they can destroy us without a second thought if they so desire.”
“There is something else to consider,” Hjatyn said. “What about our commitment to honor those lost on Dokaal by creating our new home on our own?”
Shaking her head, Creij replied, “When we made that pledge, did any of us truly consider the possibility of a ship visiting us from the stars with the ability to help us in ways we could scarcely dare to imagine? I know that I did not, but they are here now. With their aid we would have a much better chance of completing the project successfully, and perhaps even faster than we originally planned.”
At their present rate of progress, Creij knew that despite the best efforts of everyone on her reformation team, the conversion of Ijuuka into a habitable world would not be completed in her lifetime. With Federation assistance, there was the distinct possibility that, for the first time in her life, she would be able to walk on the surface of a real planet and breathe nonrecycled air with the rays of their sun warming her skin. Was it selfish of her to want that for herself? She did not believe that allowing Captain Picard and his people to contribute to the project would somehow cheapen what the Dokaalan were trying to accomplish here.
Her comments sparked several moments of debate, with the members doing their best to outtalk one another as they debated the positives and the negatives, before Hjatyn called the council back to order.
“It is obvious that we will have much to discuss in the days ahead,” he said. “There is no need to rush into any decision.” Looking to Creij, he added, “You have given me much to think about, my friend. While I am not yet completely comfortable with our guests, I feel better about them now than I did before listening to you. Once again your guidance has proven invaluable.”
After determining that there was no further council business, Hjatyn adjourned the meeting. As the members moved to file out of the chamber and return to their various duties, Creij felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see Ryndai smiling at her.
“Do not worry, Creij,” her friend said. “They will come around, but they must do so on their own. Hjatyn has always done what is best for us regardless of his own feelings. Soon even he will realize that these Federation people are a blessing from Dokaa.” Taking a deep, satisfied breath, he added, “Just think, we may yet walk on Ijuuka.”
“I hope you are right,” Creij replied. “I understand his caution, but it is not normal for Hjatyn to be so resistant to any new idea. His open-mindedness has always been his hallmark as a leader.”
Ryndai chuckled. “Do not judge him too harshly. After all, how many times has his leadership been tested in this manner?”
Unable to help herself, Creij returned the laughter as the pair began to make their way toward the door. Before they could exit the council chamber, however, she heard another voice from behind her.
“Creij, Ryndai.” It was Nidan, and Creij saw from the look on his face that the security minister was evidently unhappy about something. “A moment if you please.”
His own features clouding with concern, Ryndai asked, “What is it, Nidan? Are you still troubled?”
“I have a delicate matter to discuss with both of you,” Nidan replied. Looking about the room as if afraid he might be overheard, Nidan gestured toward another door with his hand. “Perhaps it would be better if we speak in my office.”
Creij exchanged confused looks with Ryndai. What was this about? Was there some pressing security situation that required their attention? Even if that were so, such matters were almost always discussed with the rest of the council.
They followed the security minister through the door separating the council chamber from the small room he used for his office. Like Nidan himself, the workspace was a picture of order and efficiency.
The only things that seemed out of place were the two security officers waiting in the room as the two council members stepped through the door.
“What is this about?” Creij asked as Nidan entered the room behind them and pressed a control that closed the door.
Instead of replying to her, the security minister instead turned to his two subordinates.
“Dispose of them quietly.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“I’VE BEEN WATCHING their vital signs for six hours now, Jean-Luc. Any change we can induce with medication lasts thirty to forty minutes at most before their symptoms resurface. Damn.”
Sitting behind her desk in her office, Beverly Crusher rubbed her brow in frustration. In her other hand she held her padd, which displayed the latest status report for the five remaining Dokaalan patients. According to the report, just like its predecessors, the patients’ condition was worsening.
On her computer screen, the image of Captain Picard peered out at her from his ready room. “But their physical injuries seem to be healing well?”
“Our treatment of their burns, shrapnel wounds, bone breaks, and assorted bruises is all progressing as expected,” Crusher replied. “Still, my people and I have been working nonstop trying to find some medicine or other therapy that will combat these persistent symptoms.” She shook her head. “I have no idea what is going on.
”
Thanks to Nentafa, as well as the battery of initial scans and tests conducted during the prolonged triage effort following the evacuation of the mining outpost, the Enterprise computer had been able to analyze a whole host of medical information pertaining to her patients. Even with all of that, however, there was no denying the most current status report.
In addition to accelerated heart rate and heightened body temperature, metabolic rates were wildly inconsistent, cell reproduction had dropped, and neural activity throughout the body had become spastic. Readings that had been stable when the patients arrived in sickbay were showing signs of failure even though the areas of trauma were healing. It simply made no sense to her, and studying the figures over and over did not bring her any closer to an answer.
“From what you’ve told me,” Picard said, “the symptoms would seem to point to an allergic reaction or infection of some kind.”
Crusher nodded. “That’s what we thought at first, too.” She had made that determination with the help of Dr. Tropp and the Emergency Medical Hologram. They had tried every treatment regimen for such maladies that she could think of, exhausting the Enterprise medical files and her own comprehensive experience in the process. Nothing had worked. “We’ve even consulted with the Dokaalan medical specialists, but they’re at a loss about this, too.”
Now, she was running out of ideas.
Movement in the doorway to her office caught her attention and she looked up to see the EMH wave to her before returning to the patient he was overseeing. “I have to go now, Captain,” she said to the image of Picard on her terminal. “I’ll update you if there’s any change in their condition.”
“Good luck, Doctor,” Picard said before the terminal went blank.
Emerging from her office, Crusher made her way across sickbay to where the five Dokaalan were being treated within the confines of a containment forcefield, erected to shield the patients from anything that might prove to be a contaminant to their internal systems. As she drew closer to the isolated area, she saw the EMH apply a hypospray to the neck of one of the two burn victims, the female named Jipta.
The hologram had agreed with her theory that some form of allergy was at work here. After suggesting that the duplication of the Dokaalan’s natural environment in sickbay might offer some insight into their condition, he had configured the atmosphere in the isolated area to match precisely the Dokaalan’s native environment as well as altered the gravity to equal that of their asteroid home. So far, none of the measures had produced any change in the patients’ condition.
“What’s up?” she asked as she stopped short of making contact with the containment field.
Without looking up from his patient, the EMH replied, “Cortical monitor readings showed that Jipta was starting to seize again. I administered another dose of melorazine to counter the seizure’s effects, as well as a tri-ox compound to aid her breathing.” Finished with his current task, he turned to face Crusher. “Other than the fact that their symptoms present themselves so quickly, their condition is very similar to that of someone suffering the final stages of Iverson’s disease.”
“All five of them?” she asked. That did not make sense. A rare chronic degeneration of muscular function, Iverson’s disease was incurable and fatal to humans. To suggest that such a rare disease would manifest itself in a nonhuman was reason enough for alarm. But the idea that five such beings would fall prey to the same rare human ailment—at an extremely accelerated rate, no less—was just absurd.
Got any better ideas?
“Are you suggesting we begin enzymatic therapy?” she asked.
The EMH shook his head. “I am merely comparing her readings to those of Iverson’s patients available in our records. She is the worst off so far, but I’m afraid the rest of them appear to be following the same trends.”
Despite being enthusiastic at the potential for the EMH program and being the one responsible for its initial funding during her tenure at Starfleet Medical, Crusher had never been able to place her complete faith in the concept of a computer-generated physician. Her original reservations had mellowed over the years as the Enterprise’s EMH distinguished itself on several noteworthy occasions, including one emergency that had required life-or-death surgery despite the patient’s cultural restrictions against invasive medical procedures.
The hologram had simply adjusted the solidity of its hands and medical instruments, thereby enabling itself to pass through the body of the patient and operate on his damaged heart without actually cutting through the skin and muscle tissue. It had been an exceptional bit of innovation on the artificial doctor’s part, one that would have been impossible with a flesh-and-blood physician, and had gone a long way toward solidifying her trust in the EMH concept.
So, why not trust him now?
“Okay,” Crusher said, pausing a moment to consider a new course of action. “Let’s go ahead and run an inner nuncial series and a neuromuscular scan. Depending on the readings, maybe some enzymatic treatments are a good idea at that.”
The holographic physician smirked a bit and said, “I am capable of the occasional ‘good idea,’ Doctor.”
Crusher allowed herself a smile at that before hearing the sound of the doors opening. She turned to see Dr. Tropp guiding Healer Nentafa’s antigrav worksled into sickbay.
“Hello, Dr. Crusher,” the Dokaalan physician offered as Tropp directed the chair toward her. Crusher noted that the healer looked as though he was even more fatigued than the last time she had seen him.
“Nentafa, are you all right?” she asked.
The healer nodded. “A lack of sleep, Doctor,” he said. “Understandable, given the circumstances.” Pointing to where the EMH worked behind the containment field. “Has there been any improvement in their condition?”
“I’m afraid not,” Crusher replied. “At the moment we’re working from a theory that they’re reacting to something in our environment, so we’ve isolated them for the time being and attempted to duplicate the conditions on your colonies as closely as possible.”
“Those are thoughtful measures, Doctor,” Nentafa said. “You have taken reasonable actions.”
Shaking her head, Crusher said. “But they haven’t responded to any of it. Instead they’re just wasting away.”
Tropp stepped closer to the containment field, his attention on the patients lying immobile within its confines. “Perhaps they’re reacting to something that’s lacking in the environment.”
From within the isolated area, the EMH turned and said, “We’ve compensated for everything: gravity, atmosphere, nutrients, all of it.”
“No, it has to be something we’re not looking for,” Crusher said, trying to organize the sudden rush of halfformed ideas and suspicions flooding her mind. “It’s almost as if they aren’t getting a vitamin they need, or a chemical, or…”
“Something illicit?” Tropp offered when she paused.
The thought had not occurred to her, but it was worth considering. Medical scans of the Dokaalan treated during the triage operation had not identified anything resembling an intoxicating or psychoactive substance present within any of the patients. Even after her staff repeated the tests once the Enterprise data banks were augmented with as much Dokaalan medical information as Nentafa and other healers could offer, nothing untoward had been found.
Had they missed something there, as well?
“You’re thinking withdrawal?” Crusher asked.
“It’s not beyond the realm of possibility,” the Denobulan said, turning his head to cast a curious look at Nentafa.
“Oh, I assure you that is not the case,” the healer said. “Even in times of desperation, our people have never squandered our resources on any sort of recreational drug. Medical and pharmaceutical supplies are closely monitored in order to prevent such unlawful use.” He paused as he said that, and Crusher watched as the healer slumped in his chair and reached for his forehead.
“Nentafa?” sh
e asked as she crossed toward him. “Are you all right?”
The Dokaalan responded by pitching forward, falling unconscious from the antigrav chair as he crumpled in a disjointed heap to the floor.
Retrieving her tricorder from her pocket, Crusher waved the device over the fallen healer. “Temperature rising, pulse racing.” His pale blue skin was warm to the touch, and Crusher looked up at Tropp in shock. “He’s showing the same symptoms as the others.”
How is this happening?
With the help of Tropp and the EMH, Crusher maneuvered the elderly Dokaalan to another of the treatment beds. As she and her fellow physicians began the task of tending to their newest patient, her mind sought out any clues this might offer toward solving the larger problem they still faced.
“It has to be something here,” she said, shaking her head at the now familiar, and useless, information being relayed by the diagnostic monitor over Nentafa’s head. “Nothing else makes sense.”
From the other side of the bed, Tropp said, “Perhaps we should move them to one of their own hospitals.”
“That would be the equivalent to sending a modernday heart patient to nineteenth-century Earth for transplant surgery,” the EMH countered. “Their medical facilities are hopelessly primitive compared with ours.”
“But even with our advanced technology,” Tropp said, “we have been unable to treat them. If I understand Dr. Crusher correctly, removing them from the potentially dangerous environment of the Enterprise itself may have an effect on their condition.”
Though he was nothing more than a highly sophisticated computer program, the EMH was now doing an exceptional imitation of an irate human being. “As I have already explained, we have duplicated their native environmental conditions to the smallest degree. It makes no sense that moving them would induce any change.”
“It makes no sense that they’re dying,” the Denobulan doctor finally shouted, “but they are!”
