A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  The medicinal regimen, coupled with specialized shielding for our spacecraft and mining colony installations as well as protective garments and suits for workers laboring in the open environment of space itself, succeeded in reducing the instances of radiation-induced illnesses to near zero. To further ensure the safety of the colonists, people were rotated back to Dokaal at the end of individual work contracts that expired well before the medicine’s effectiveness faded.

  Beeliq’s position as assistant to one of the colony administrators would have meant our being separated for far longer than at any other time during our marriage, a prospect neither of us wanted. With that in mind, I opted to seek a position as a teacher at one of the colony schools and subjected myself to the inoculations.

  I still remember the waves of nausea I felt after I was given the injections, with my reaction to the medicine lasting for five brutal days. It was an admittedly small price to pay in order to accompany my wife to the colonies, but one I had no intentions of repeating. Our plans were altered irrevocably, of course, with Dokaal’s destruction.

  Now confronted with permanent residence in the asteroid field, our small cadre of medical specialists was faced with charting a new course for our protection. It was quickly determined that the medicines originally given to us could be modified to allow repeated dosages over time, which permitted those of us already living here to continue benefiting from its effects.

  The greater challenge was to those who had been evacuated from Dokaal. Those people had not possessed the luxury of the customary acclimation period between inoculation and transfer to the colonies. Given the vaccines while in transit, the evacuees were required to take additional medication upon their arrival here. Many of those poor souls were unprepared for the faster regimen of injections. Some died while others suffered all manner of allergic reactions and in a few isolated cases failed to respond to the medicine at all. In those tragic instances, death ultimately resulted from radiation exposure.

  For those who survived, to say nothing of the rest of us, it meant dependence on the life-sustaining drugs, a situation we all believed we would be saddled with for our entire lives. There were other concerns raised at the time, as well. How would our bodies react after repeated inoculations? What about other side effects that might take longer to become evident, or unknown ramifications that might come about after such prolonged use of the medications? Fortunately, no such consequences ever manifested themselves in the time since the community was forced to undertake the ongoing vaccine.

  Considering all of this, today’s news from the Medical Ministry is tremendous for a number of reasons. In addition to no longer having to deal with the inoculations and their lingering unpleasant side effects, it also means a reduction in the time and resources necessary to manufacture the medication in the first place. To say that the process is a costly one is an understatement.

  Just like a great many other things we had to learn to provide for ourselves, it was necessary to establish and maintain a process to create the medication and see to its proper distribution throughout the colony. On more than one occasion, Beeliq has shown me reports showing the budgetary requirements in terms of personnel and raw materials needed to sustain this program, one we were obviously unable to live without and for which no alternative exists.

  Now, though, it finally appears as though we may be able to stop worrying about all of that.

  As my wife would say, Dokaa has indeed blessed us.

  Chapter Thirteen

  AS SHE COMPLETED the unpleasant task of offering her sobering report, Beverly Crusher could feel the disappointment washing over her shipmates, to say nothing of the reaction her report had evoked from the Dokaalan leaders on the screen.

  “We did it to ourselves,” Hjatyn said, finally breaking the silence that threatened to consume the entire room. Studying the Dokaalan leader’s image on the viewscreen, Crusher saw him slump visibly, his entire aged frame seeming to shrink into his robes. She watched his eyes drop to regard something out of range of the screen’s frame for a moment before he drew what the doctor took to be a restorative breath.

  “Our medications,” he said. “Years ago, they were intended to provide short-term protection against the radiation’s effects for those who worked in the mines on a rotational basis. When Dokaal was destroyed and we were faced with living here permanently, we had to find more enduring solutions.”

  Pausing a moment before replying, Crusher scanned the faces of her companions, taking some measure of comfort in the supportive gaze of Jean-Luc Picard. Considering all that he had endured just since the Enterprise’s arrival in the Dokaalan system only a few days previously, he more than anyone probably understood the feelings threatening to consume her.

  “The medicines alone aren’t responsible,” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “The radiation itself played as much of a role in what’s happened as anything else, but it was the combination of pharmaceuticals used that, over time, enabled a change in Dokaalan physiology at the genetic level.”

  He leaned forward so that his elbows rested on the polished top of the conference table. “How did you find it?”

  “It wasn’t obvious until Dr. Tropp and I found records of early genetic tests performed almost three centuries ago, when Dokaalan scientists faced the problem of combating the radiation on a long-term basis. We were able to compare those early samples with DNA taken from several of the patients we treated here on the Enterprise. There are genetic sequences that are undeniably the result of mutation based in large part on the original antiradiation treatment regimen.”

  She saw Captain Picard’s brow knit in concern. “And over time, this has had the effect of making the Dokaalan dependent not on the medications they took to combat the radiation’s effects, but the radiation itself?”

  “Exactly,” Crusher replied. “The modified treatment scheme their doctors developed was designed not to counter the radiation.” She shook her head, searching for the right words. “Simply put, it enabled Dokaalan physiology to live in harmony with it.”

  “Is there anything we can do for them now?” Troi asked.

  Shrugging, the doctor replied, “Nothing immediately. I’ll have to start over from the beginning, studying genetic samples for the effects of prolonged isolation from the radiation. Research like that could take months, or years.”

  On the viewscreen, Hjatyn said, “I do not understand. What about Ijuuka? My people have lived and worked on the planet for lengthy periods as part of the reformation project. Why have they suffered no ill effects?”

  Moving to take a seat at the conference table next to Counselor Troi, Crusher said, “Obviously the planet’s atmosphere allows enough ambient radiation to pass through, but that’s now. What needs to be determined is whether the alterations the processing plants are introducing will interfere with that.” She shook her head. “I’m no engineer, though.”

  From where he sat in his antigrav work sled, Data said, “Dr. Crusher raises a valid point, sir. It is quite possible that the terraforming process might well alter the atmosphere in such a manner that radiation would be unable to pass through at all, or even reduce its influence so that it becomes a detriment to Dokaalan physiology.”

  “Now that we are aware of the issue,” Science Minister Creij said from where she sat next to Hjatyn, “we can conduct the proper research and study the potential problems.” Looking to Picard, she added, “Captain, since you have already pledged your people’s assistance to remedy the unfortunate setback we have suffered, might we look forward to their help with this new task?”

  “Absolutely, Minister,” the captain replied, and Crusher noted the nearly imperceptible tightening of his jaw as he spoke the words. Turning to Data, he said, “Commander, do your best to run some long-range projections on the atmospheric conversion process. Let’s find out what we’re dealing with.”

  “Aye, sir,” the android acknowledged.

  As she watched the exchange, it
was obvious to Crusher that the mishap with Data’s experiment to help the Dokaalan’s terraforming efforts was bothering Picard far more than he had let on to his officers. She knew why, of course. Any failure on this mission, particularly one of such magnitude as they had just suffered, would be weighing on him.

  Apparently oblivious of the captain’s inner unrest, Hjatyn said, “Your continued enthusiasm is inspiring, Captain.” There was the hint of a smile on his aged features. “Your resilience is almost Dokaalan.”

  Smiling himself, Picard replied, “I consider that a compliment of the highest order, First Minister. Rest assured that we’ll continue to devote our efforts to assist you as long as it’s necessary.”

  “Thank you, Captain.” Looking somewhere offscreen for a moment before returning to Picard, Hjatyn said, “We have another matter that requires our attention.” He bowed his head formally. “We will speak again soon.”

  The connection was severed and the Federation seal replaced the first minister’s image on the viewscreen, leaving the Enterprise senior staff to sit in silence for several seconds. Crusher found herself feeling the first faint glimmers of new hope.

  No doubt picking up her emotional turmoil, Troi said, “Beverly, there are a number of races who have found ways to overcome the natural obstacles presented by their native habitats.”

  “She’s right,” Riker added. “The Benzites, the Medusans, the Elaysians, just to name a few, have all developed methods to live safely outside their homeworlds’ unique environmental considerations.”

  At the head of the table, Picard offered his own encouragement. “If anyone can find a way to add the Dokaalan to that list, Beverly, it’s you.”

  Though buoyed by her companions’ support, Crusher still had to wonder: Even if she could find a solution, what would be the price for realizing it?

  “Thank heavens for normal gravity.”

  The emergency diagnostic unit was heavy as she maneuvered it back into its storage container, and Crewman Susan Lomax loved it. She had spent the past several hours jumping back and forth between the Enterprise’s regular, Earth-standard conditions and the one-sixth gravity enabled in those areas of cargo bay four that had been set up to treat their Dokaalan patients. She had never liked working or participating in any sports in reduced-gravity conditions, and had never understood those who did.

  Once filled with more than a hundred Dokaalan requiring medical treatment, cargo bay four had finally been cleared of its transient population now that the Enterprise had arrived at the colonists’ central habitat. All that was left was the cleanup and the return of the medical staff’s emergency equipment to its proper storage berths. At least Dr. Crusher had made it a bit easier by ordering everything used to create the emergency triage center to remain here in the cargo bay in the event it was needed again.

  Taking hold of an antigravity unit, Lomax affixed it to the side of an emergency diagnostic bed. The bed was still awkward to maneuver around the room even with the antigrav to assist her, which she quickly discovered as she began to push the bed toward its storage container.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to say no when Nurse Ogawa offered to help, she thought as she moved the bed across the floor of the bay. But she seemed so tired, and I didn’t want to…

  The thought was shattered as the diagnostic bed slammed into its storage berth.

  “Nice work, Susan,” Lomax said to no one as she examined the situation. The bed itself was undamaged, but she had done an exceptional job of wedging it at an odd angle inside the container.

  Of course, if I leave it, she chided herself, this will be the one Dr. Crusher wants.

  Securing a solid grip on the handle of the antigrav unit, Lomax pulled with all of her strength, but the bed did not move. She tried again, and this time her efforts were rewarded with her losing her grip and tumbling backward to the deck.

  “Dammit!” The oath echoed in the cargo bay, and she immediately regretted uttering it. Such a poor lapse in bearing would surely not go…

  “Hello?” a male voice called out from the other side of the room. “Need some help there?”

  Feeling her face flush with embarrassment, Lomax pulled herself to her feet as she heard footsteps coming across the cargo bay from behind her.

  “Got yourself in a bit of a jam there, I see,” the voice said, and Lomax could hear the humor in behind the words, the speaker no doubt enjoying his intentionally awful joke.

  Turning, she recognized Ensign Jarek Maxson from security. He was smiling, but she could tell from the look in his eyes that there was no ridicule or judgment behind the expression. Actually, she thought, in contrast to his somewhat imposing figure it made him look rather coy. She smiled sheepishly in return and backed away from the bed, trying to articulate something that might help salvage some shred of pride. “You’d never guess my father was a freight hauler, would you?”

  “Not if he stows cargo like you do,” Maxson said, his light tone of voice taking an edge off of the jab. Stepping between her and the bed, the tall, muscled guard took hold of the antigrav unit’s handle. Rather than simply coercing the jammed diagnostic bed from the storage container through sheer force of will, he looked over his shoulder at her, smiling again. “What, I have to do this by myself?”

  “Oh! Right,” Lomax said, and she gripped the edge of the bed. With them working together, even though she imagined that she contributed little to the cause, the bed moved and slid free of its storage berth.

  After properly maneuvering the bed back into the storage container, Lomax sighed in triumph. “Thank you,” she said.

  “No problem,” Maxson said, again flashing the smile she admitted was becoming more appealing each time she saw it. “If you like, I can stay and help you stow the rest of these beds. You look kind of worn out.”

  I look worn out? Great.

  “Well, sure,” she replied, “if it’s not going to make you late for your next shift or something.” Turning from the security guard, she put forth the pretense of absent-mindedly running her fingers through her dirty blond hair, which was in actuality a hasty effort to primp. “There’s really not much left to do.”

  Taking the initiative, Maxson attached the antigrav unit to another bed and began moving it toward its assigned storage container. As he worked, Lomax inventoried an instrument tray before returning it to its medical cabinet.

  As she worked, Lomax found herself feeling more self-conscious about the security officer’s presence than she anticipated. A relative newcomer to the Enterprise medical staff, she had found little time to make more than casual acquaintances among the crew beyond her immediate coworkers. While she recognized Maxson from the dining facility and the ship’s gymnasium, she wondered whether he knew who she was at all.

  “Hey, uh…Nurse?”

  I guess that answers that.

  Turning to where Maxson was standing next to another of the diagnostic beds, she saw the ensign look in her direction, shock and confusion evident on his features. “I thought these beds were supposed to be, you know, unoccupied?”

  Dear God, Lomax thought, horror gripping her. Had someone forgotten one of the patients? Running across the bay, she could now plainly see a humanoid form lying motionless beneath a sheet on the bed. “You’ve got to be kidding,” she said as she stepped up to Maxson. Where the hell had he come from? She was sure all of the diagnostic units had been empty, and that no patients remained in the cargo bay when the rest of the medical staff had departed.

  Lomax pulled back the sheet to see the lifeless form of a Dokaalan woman concealed beneath the shroud, her complexion still quite blue despite her having died several hours earlier. Checking the small tag attached to the head of the diagnostic bed, she said, “This woman died of hypothermia, a result of exposure to open space.”

  Standing silently to one side, Maxson looked down at the deceased Dokaalan and Lomax saw that he appeared to be quite ill at ease. Covering the lifeless woman with the sheet once more,
she turned to the ensign. “Maybe you could just move her near the door and I’ll move her to the morgue when we’re finished here.”

  “Sure,” Maxson said. “I’m just, well, I know this sounds silly coming from a security guy, but I’m not around dead bodies that often.”

  Fifth-generation Starfleet, Lomax was well versed in the clichéd descriptions put forth by her own family that Starfleet medical officers and, most especially, security officers were awash in bloodshed and corpses as part of their daily routine. In her own experience, however, to find that Maxson had little personal familiarity with death really came as no surprise to her.

  Smiling and hoping that a little levity might ease his discomfort, she said, “I’ll never forget my first day in the hololabs at medical school. I had to make an incision on this bloated, old Tellarite guy. It was all a simulation, but I still would have hit the deck if not for my lab partner.”

  Maxson shook his head, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Tell you what, I’ll take this wherever you want it if you keep your lab stories to yourself.”

  “Deal,” Lomax replied, unable to resist the chuckle. “Just move her to the door.”

  Turning back to sorting equipment in the field medical kit as the ensign began to maneuver the bed away, she allowed herself to smile at the thoughts beginning to swirl in her mind. Maxson seemed closer to her own age, was a friendly sort, and, she reminded herself, was definitely easy on the eyes. Not that she had designs on the guy as dating material, but connecting with someone, especially anyone assigned to another department, would at the very least allow for more than just shoptalk at mealtime, right?

  As for whatever else happens, she thought, well, that might not be so bad, either.

  Lifting the field kit so she could return it to its proper storage box, Lomax stopped at the sound of something falling to the deck elsewhere in the cargo bay.