A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc,” she said, her tone masking none of her apparent frustration. “I got caught up with a patient, and…” She stopped to sniff the air, her expression warming in recognition. “Is that vegetable soup for me?”

  “As if I had a choice?” Picard let the facetious question hang in the air as Crusher took the seat opposite his. “When you hinted, and very strongly I might add, that you wanted dinner together, I assumed it meant more than a chicken sandwich and coffee.” The rather ordinary yet tasty soup had long been one of the doctor’s favored choices as a first course during many of the evening meals they shared.

  Reaching for a spoon set before her, the doctor tasted her soup. “It’s a little cold,” she said, recanting her words almost as quickly as she saw the mock anger on Picard’s face. “Okay! Okay, that’s my fault. I’ll take it and like it.”

  Picard nodded in triumph, taking up his own spoon and welcoming the first sip of the French onion soup he had selected for himself. “I think our entree will be a bit more to your liking,” he said. They ate in silence for a few moments before he asked, “How are things in the cargo bay?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Crusher replied. “We’ll have to transport them to the central habitat as soon as we get there, before they start to present the symptoms we saw earlier, but otherwise, everything appears to be under control.”

  “Excellent,” the captain said. “I was hoping for a quiet evening. I can’t remember the last time we had an uninterrupted conversation.”

  Pausing with her spoon raised partway to her mouth, Crusher appeared to ponder his statement for a moment before offering, “Stardate 49423.6?”

  “Perhaps not that long, thank you,” Picard said. Reaching out for the bottle of wine he had opened just prior to her arrival, he poured two glasses and offered one to her. “Have a drink. That’s an order.”

  They raised their glasses in salute before turning their attention to the main course. He decided that the wine—not Chateau Picard but instead a label he had acquired from a vineyard on Cestus III—was a good choice as a companion to the meal, even if he had not been able to perfectly replicate the distinctive taste of Aldebaran sea bass.

  In the end, it was not the meal itself that made the evening, of course. Whether they talked about ship’s business, engaged in idle chatter, or simply sat in comfortable silence occasionally punctuated by unforced conversation, Picard had long ago come to enjoy and even anticipate the opportunities to share this quiet time with Beverly Crusher, particularly when it came at the end of a long day.

  “So,” he said after a few minutes, “have you had any progress attempting to diagnose the Dokaalan’s mystery illness?”

  Shaking her head as she sipped her wine, Crusher said, “Tropp is doing some tests, and I’ve got some new thoughts on the matter, myself.”

  “It seems obvious that the radiation field would afflict the Dokaalan in some manner, given the havoc it’s wrought on the ship’s systems,” Picard said, “but I wouldn’t have expected them to have acquired a physical dependence on it.”

  Crusher replied, “It’s certainly a possibility. I’m following a hunch that may seem more like detective work than medical research, but sometimes the two are the same. Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains…”

  “However improbable, must be the truth,” Picard finished, the familiar quote eliciting a small grin. “I’m hardly a newcomer to the concept, you know.”

  “Then you know that considering my data files on Dokaalan physiology are only three days old, I still have a lot of what’s impossible to rule out before I can concentrate on what’s just improbable. A lot of what we’re doing is nothing more than guesswork at this point.” Shaking her head, she added, “I can’t wait for Data to get back to full capacity. He’d be able to make short work of sorting through the Dokaalan medical databases and getting them transferred to the Enterprise computer.”

  The captain nodded. “He has his hands full at the moment. Even Data has limits, it seems.” The android was dividing his time between his own repair efforts and devising a means to aid the Dokaalan’s terraforming project, neither of which was proving to be an easy task. Picard had considered diverting Data’s energies toward helping Dr. Crusher, but in the end he had decided she and her medical staff were progressing quite well without him. Besides, he reminded himself, the Dokaalan’s peculiar medical condition, if indeed that was what it was, had been here for quite some time now and would not be going anywhere for the foreseeable future.

  Leaning forward in her chair, Crusher fixed him with a hard gaze. “Here’s another question for you. Let’s say we discover that the Dokaalan’s dependence on the radiation is reversible, something that can be changed through medicine or gene therapy or whatever. Should we tell them?”

  Pondering the question as he took another bite of his meal, Picard nodded after a moment. “I think such information would provide them a new option as to how to lead their lives, be it here or elsewhere, beyond the boundaries of this system. We would have to outline any potential risks, as well, but in general I believe we should inform them of our findings, yes.”

  “But is that truly serving my patients’ will?” Crusher asked. “If my goal is first and foremost to do no harm, is this crossing the line?”

  Picard frowned at the notion. “Crossing the line? I don’t understand.”

  “The radiation dependence,” the doctor said, “if that’s what it is, is a natural barrier that I’d be helping them to clear through unnatural means. Even if we can find a way to do it that doesn’t kill them, what does that mean for their society if everyone suddenly has the ability to leave whenever they want? Not everyone would be interested in leaving, but if enough of them did leave, wouldn’t that hurt the efforts of those who are committed to terraforming Ijuuka?”

  They were interesting questions, Picard had to admit. “I never took you for a Prime Directive scholar,” he said, his tone slightly teasing. “The simple fact is that they called out to us for help, and we’re in a position to offer that assistance. How much of that aid they accept or discard is still entirely up to them. What you’re proposing is really just another decision that they would be required to make.”

  “But it’s still our power and technology that makes such a decision possible,” the doctor countered. “This isn’t like curing polio or the Canopus plague. Instead of helping this society, I might be offering the means to destroy it.”

  Not for the first time, Picard was in awe of Crusher’s unwavering devotion to her calling as a healer and physician. He admired her willingness to lose herself in her objectivity, putting her own desires to further scientific and medicinal research aside in favor of the long-term benefits for those under her care. Never one to make snap decisions, she now had embroiled herself in an ethical conundrum that neither of them was likely to resolve easily.

  “Beverly,” Picard replied, “this isn’t the first time we’ve been in a position where there were no easy answers, nor is it the first time we’ve been faced with an ethical dilemma about how best to render aid to another society. You’ve always found the way that best serves those we’re trying to help.” With a small smile, he added, “Even if the Prime Directive did take the occasional beating.”

  The small joke seemed to have no effect on Crusher. Pausing a moment to take a sip of her wine, she shook her head. “I swear, Jean-Luc, it seems like these kinds of problems get harder and harder to deal with. There are times when I just don’t know which way to go.”

  In his most mentoring voice, he offered, “My advice to you, Doctor, is to continue your research and see where it leads you,” he said. “There’s no sense agonizing over possible ramifications until you know what it is you’re dealing with.”

  “More likely,” Crusher countered, “I’ll fret over this for the next few days, and then the Dokaalan will say they want nothing to do with anything that we have to offer.” Shaking her head, she offered a tired smil
e. “So, tell me again why we’re doing this?”

  Raising his wine glass one more time, Picard replied, “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

  Chapter Eight

  “ACCORDING TO OUR FINDINGS, the explosion originated in the outpost’s main fuel storage depot,” Christine Vale said as she stood before the observation lounge’s main viewscreen. On the viewer was a technical schematic of Mining Station Twelve, with one area near the perimeter of the facility highlighted conspicuously in red.

  “This started a chain reaction?” Picard asked, seated in his customary place at the far end of the lounge, which had once again had its artificial gravity adjusted in order to accommodate First Minister Hjatyn and a small delegation of Dokaalan council members.

  Vale nodded. “Yes, sir.” Tapping the screen with one finger, the security chief began to trace a path through the computer-generated visualization of the outpost’s interior. “Fire swept through the conduits used to channel fuel to the main landing bay’s trio of refueling reservoirs that in turn caused three secondary detonations. At least one of those was responsible for rupturing the bay’s outer hatch. The combined force of the explosions and the decompression in the landing bay caused several inner hatches to fail as well as inflicting widespread structural damage in the surrounding sections of the outpost.”

  “Without any kind of emergency forcefields to contain the hull breaches,” Riker said from where he sat to Picard’s right, “the explosions decimated that area of the outpost. Entire modules were destroyed, and others were blown clear of the asteroid. Some of the Dokaalan were able to seal off portions of the facility to sustain what atmosphere they had left, but by the time we arrived on scene, most of the damage had already been done.” Turning until he faced Hjatyn, who was sitting across the table from him, the first officer added in a more subdued voice, “Of those we rescued, six died while receiving medical treatment, leaving ninety-eight survivors, sir. I’m sorry we weren’t able to do more.”

  The elder Dokaalan leader held up a withered, pale blue hand. “You did all that you could, Commander Riker. You acted without hesitation, once again placing your vessel and your people at risk on our behalf.” Hjatyn smiled as he spoke, his weathered countenance and penetrating maroon eyes reflecting a hard-won wisdom that Picard had seen in other leaders who earned their positions through hard work and years spent laboring to earn the trust and loyalty of those they guided. “The circumstances of what happened were beyond your control, and the Dokaalan people are forever grateful for your efforts.”

  Not for the first time, Picard marveled at the genial nature with which Hjatyn and other Dokaalan treated his crew, even now in the aftermath of having lost nearly seven hundred of his own people. Was that because of what the captain and Counselor Troi had discussed during their journey in the shuttlecraft? Did the Dokaalan, any of them, regard the Enterprise as some sort of divine chariot, bringing forth godlike beings with the power to offer assistance or destruction on a whim? Were they concerned that their lives had been irrevocably altered by the appearance of these alien visitors, perhaps for the worse?

  No, the captain decided. The more he thought about it, the idea made no sense. From his observations, a large segment of the Dokaalan seemed to be a spiritual people, but unlike other cultures he had encountered they were not slaves to their religion. This was a civilization that Fate had dealt a particularly harsh blow, and rather than caving in to the adversity heaped upon them they had instead fought it, keeping it at bay if not conquering it.

  He also held no doubts that they had faced more than their share of tragedy, and while he did not believe they were callous or unemotional about such loss, they had more than likely learned to accept it as just one of the harsh realities they faced.

  Sitting to Riker’s right, Counselor Troi said, “Dr. Crusher and her staff treated thirty-four of the evacuees for various injuries, only a few of which required surgery. Due to the complications she experienced with her previous Dokaalan patients, she is requesting they be transferred to a Dokaalan facility as soon as possible.”

  The Enterprise medical team’s continuing inability to discover a cause for the maladies apparently suffered by any Dokaalan who remained aboard ship for extended periods of time was troubling to say the least. Dr. Crusher had reassured Hjatyn and his staff that brief visits to the Enterprise did not seem to invoke any negative effects. Despite that, Picard had naturally worried over causing undue harm to any of their hosts, offering to hold the gathering in the chambers of the Zahanzei Council back at the Dokaalan’s mammoth central habitat. Hjatyn had displayed no fear regarding the potential risk to his own health, politely resisting the captain’s suggestion while citing again his enthusiasm for any opportunity to visit the starship. With that in mind, Picard had found himself hard pressed to further argue the point.

  As for the strange ailment itself, all Dr. Crusher and her people had been able to figure out to this point was that the Dokaalan were adversely affected only when removed from their natural environs. The obvious answer was that it had something to do with the asteroid field’s omnipresent background radiation, but the doctor had not yet been able to prove her hypothesis.

  Nodding at Troi’s report, Picard said, “Commander Riker and Lieutenant Vale will see to the transfer once we’re finished here.” Turning his attention back to Vale, the captain asked, “Lieutenant, have you been able to discern a cause for the explosion?”

  Still standing next to the lounge’s viewscreen, the security chief replied, “Due to the widespread damage, we weren’t able to gather much in the way of physical evidence, sir. If it was the work of saboteurs, the explosion covered their tracks pretty well, I’m afraid.”

  “Past incidents have shown a similar pattern,” said Security Minister Nidan said from where he sat on Hjatyn’s left. “Bringing the perpetrators to justice has always been a foremost priority, but they have proven to be a most elusive enemy.”

  After thanking Vale for her report and dismissing her so that she could begin the process of transferring the Dokaalan evacuees off the ship, Picard shook his head at what he had heard. The answers the security chief had provided were not what he had wanted to hear, but that was not Vale’s fault. Suspicions about sabotage being responsible for the accident had begun with the first reports of trouble on Mining Station Twelve, and it was a notion that had plagued the captain throughout the ensuing rescue operation. It was but the latest in a string of disturbing reports and theories that had surfaced since the Enterprise’s arrival here, beginning with the incident at the other mining outpost days earlier.

  Commander La Forge had speculated that the malfunctioning power reactor, which had caused that situation and required the evacuation of four hundred Dokaalan to the starship, might well have been the result of deliberate tampering. It was a suspicion that gained credence once Picard met with Hjatyn and other members of his leadership cadre and they informed the captain of the tensions running through the Dokaalan people over the issue of terraforming Ijuuka.

  A large segment of the population believed the venture to be a risky gamble of vital resources that could be better utilized maintaining the colony facilities sprinkled throughout the asteroid field. There were those who even believed that the accident at the mining outpost as well as others that had occurred in recent years were deliberate acts of terrorism, designed to coerce the people into pledging support for the terraforming effort.

  First Minister Hjatyn, naturally, had scoffed at such claims, and Picard himself thought the accusations smacked of so much conspiracy theory. The only wrinkle in his belief seemed to be Counselor Troi, who had expressed concern that the Dokaalan leaders might not be telling the complete truth in their dealings with the Enterprise crew. At first she had rationalized what her Betazoid senses were telling her as simple hesitation on the part of Hjatyn and his people, justified anxiety in the face of first contact with an alien species who displayed technology and abilities far superior to their
own.

  Then there was what had happened to Data, of course.

  Was it really something more?

  Not two days earlier, Picard would have been prepared to argue against the idea. Now, however, he was no longer so certain, but there was nothing he could do about his misgivings except to remain alert and watch for any telltale clues the Dokaalan might offer.

  The sound of the doors to his left opening caught Picard’s attention, but it was who entered the observation lounge that took the captain by surprise.

  “Data?” Riker said as he caught sight of the android.

  “Greetings, Captain,” Data said to Picard as he entered the room, offering similar respects to the lounge’s other occupants. Still unable to walk, he was seated in an engineer’s antigravity work sled just like those offered to some of the Dokaalan to assist their moving about in the Enterprise’s heavier gravitational field. The captain noted that while Data still could not move his entire body, the android’s right hand appeared to be functioning now as it rested on the chair’s diminutive control panel. It was a small feat, but an encouraging one nevertheless, indicating that he was making progress in his efforts to repair the damage done to him.

  “Commander,” Picard said, “I would have thought you would remain in engineering until your repairs were complete.”

  Maneuvering the work sled toward to the wall-mounted viewscreen, Data replied, “I am continuing to make repairs to my neural net as we speak, sir. However, I have also been devoting part of my attention to other pursuits, particularly the assignment you gave me. I have spent the past several hours researching the terraforming process currently under way on Ijuuka, and I believe I have devised a solution that will allow us to assist the Dokaalan with a minimal amount of intrusion.”

  “Commander Data,” Hjatyn said, “while I am certain that your intentions are honorable, I must reiterate my people’s position that we complete the work of transforming Ijuuka into our new home on our own. It is a commitment we have made to the millions of fellow Dokaalan who were not fortunate to survive the death of our homeworld.”