by David Mack
After a few minutes, Troi ceased her lamentations and calmed herself. Wiping tears from her reddened eyes, she asked, “What’s my prognosis, then, Doctor?”
“That depends on the actions you take. Are you asking for my recommendation?”
“Yes, I am.”
He scrolled to the final page of information on the padd and handed it back to Troi. “As your physician, I advise you to terminate your pregnancy immediately. The fetus is not viable, and if it’s not removed, I predict its growth will rupture your uterine wall and cause a potentially fatal hemorrhage.”
“When?”
“I’m not certain. It could be tomorrow, or next month.”
Troi’s expression was grave and distant. “What are the odds of this happening with my next pregnancy?”
Medical ethics compelled him to tell her the truth. “Almost certain,” he said. “My medical opinion is that the odds of you and Captain Riker having a healthy offspring are negligible, and I would recommend you cease trying. Since the damage to your ova cannot be repaired …” He hesitated, and was sorry that he’d let the first half of the sentence leave his tongue. He felt as if he had failed her, though he knew that he had done everything he could.
“What?” prompted Troi. “Since it can’t be repaired … what?”
Ree turned away a moment, then decided to finish what he’d started. “I’d recommend a radical hysterectomy, Counselor. To prevent further failed pregnancies, and to protect you from the risk of future oncological complications.”
She looked stunned, as if he had just hammered her with a whack of his long, muscular tail. He waited for her to say something. Instead she turned her face away from him and blinked slowly a couple of times. Then she got up and moved to leave.
“Counselor,” he said. “We should schedule your procedure before you go.”
Troi ignored him. She got up and made her exit; his office door and windows reverted to their normal, transparent state as the portal slid open. She crossed sickbay at a hurried pace and was out the door without a look back at the concerned surgeon.
Her refusal of his medical advice put him in a precarious position. Ree had no doubt that Troi would have the support of the captain, and that Riker would obstruct any effort he might make to exert his medical authority for Troi’s own good. Worse, he was appalled at the idea of performing a surgical procedure on a patient against her will. In his opinion it would be little different from assault, his good intentions notwithstanding.
On the other hand, his responsibilities as Titan’s chief medical officer were unambiguous and defined in stark terms by Starfleet regulations and the Starfleet Code of Military Justice. He could not, either by action or omission of action, allow personnel under his medical charge to bring themselves to harm or to death—and by law he was empowered to protect them, if need be, from themselves. The counselor’s disregard for her own safety had made this his responsibility.
The fact that his patient was the captain’s wife made the situation rather more incendiary than he was accustomed to, however. If he was going to make a stand, he would need to make certain he wouldn’t be standing alone.
He sealed the door of his office and reset the windows to their frosted privacy mode. Then he used the companel on his desk to open a secure, person-to-person channel to the one individual he most needed to be certain he could trust.
“Ree to Commander Vale.”
The first officer answered moments later. “Yes, Doctor?”
“We need to talk. In private.”
* * *
Tuvok didn’t need to look up from his work to know who had just entered the science lab behind him. Heavy, rapid footfalls and a faint hint of an obscure Risan cologne had told him who it was. “Good evening, Mister Keru.”
“Pazlar says you two found something,” said the Trill chief of security.
“Her report may have been premature,” Tuvok said. “I am still conducting my analysis.”
Keru sidled up to Tuvok and eyed the starmaps on several adjacent monitors. “Tuvok, you’ve definitely got something here. Fill me in—I want to know whatever you can tell me about this.”
It was clear to Tuvok that Keru would not be willing to wait for his official report at the start of the next shift. He suppressed a surge of negative emotions and pointed out details as he spoke. “Lieutenant Commander Pazlar suggested that we narrow our investigation to those energy pulses that directly intersect known star systems. As she suspected, very few systems satisfy that criterion.” He began augmenting the images on the screens with illustrative overlays. “The first, which led us to this method, is a remnant of the supernova that created the Azure Nebula. So far, we’ve identified three others.” Pointing from each monitor to the next, he continued, “An uncharted system in the Delta Quadrant. A periphery system in globular cluster Messier 80. And an unnamed system in the Gamma Quadrant.”
“What about the other energy pulses?” Keru asked. “There had to be dozens of them.”
“If we assume that each one is targeted at a specific star or planet, then the remaining pulses appear to be focused on subjects outside of our galaxy.”
A dubious look creased Keru’s brow. “What if we have assumed wrong? What if the pulses are passageways that open in deep space, away from prying eyes?”
“Then we would need to modify our research accordingly.”
Keru narrowed his eyes and lowered his chin, signaling his apparent displeasure with Tuvok’s answer. “All right, then,” he said. “Let’s examine the facts in hand. Have you uncovered any connections between these four locations?”
“I have found no direct connections,” Tuvok replied.
Displaying the interrogatory style that had served him so well as a security officer, Keru asked, “What about indirect connections? Or suspicious coincidences?”
“I had hoped to conduct a more thorough investigation before sharing my initial discoveries,” Tuvok said, “in part because I am not yet convinced that they are relevant, to either the phenomenon ahead of us, or to the crisis currently unfolding within the Federation.”
His attention fully engaged, Keru pushed, “So you did find some kind of link?”
“Possibly,” Tuvok said. He changed the images on one of the monitors. “The beam intersection in the Gamma Quadrant falls inside a star system where, eight years ago, the Starship Defiant discovered the wreckage of the Earth ship Columbia.”
“I read about that,” Keru said. “It went missing right before the Earth-Romulan war.”
“Correct,” Tuvok said, and he pointed at the monitor showing the first intersection point. “They vanished in 2156, while traveling from the Onias Sector with a convoy near this supernova remnant, which at that time was a main-sequence star.”
Visibly intrigued, Keru asked, “When did it supernova?”
“In 2168,” Tuvok said. “Which is most unusual, because main-sequence stars typically expand and cool for billions of years before such an event.”
Now the security chief looked puzzled. “And what’s the connection between that and the beams hitting those points now?”
“I do not know,” Tuvok replied.
Keru was animated with enthusiasm for the mystery. “Is it possible these beams had something to do with how the Columbia got to the Gamma Quadrant? Could Columbia have made it out here, only to get tossed all the way across the galaxy?”
“Anything is possible, Mister Keru,” Tuvok said. “Sensor readings made by Defiant indicated that the Columbia’s hull had been subjected to extreme subspatial stresses before it crashed. Consequently, the Starfleet vessel Aventine was dispatched over a week ago to recover the wreck for analysis.”
The burly, bearded Trill leaned over Tuvok’s shoulder to skim the mission reports about the downed Columbia. “Those subatomic fractures in the hull are pretty intense,” he said. “Any theories on what could’ve done that?”
“There are some hypotheses,” Tuvok said. “Including a f
ew that bear pronounced similarities to the phenomenon we are now moving to investigate.”
Keru nodded. “I’ll bet.” He folded his arms and leaned back from the bank of computer screens. “So, what about that beam intersection in the Delta Quadrant? Is it inside Borg space?”
“Not as such,” Tuvok said. “But it falls very close to the known limits of their conquered territory. It would take them only a matter of weeks to reach it without the benefit of their transwarp network.”
“Then this is a whole lot of coincidences,” Keru said. “A mysterious power source with an energy profile that resembles transwarp, shooting beams that point at Federation space, Borg space, and a planet in the Gamma Quadrant where an old Earth ship has been sitting for nearly two centuries.”
Tuvok arched one eyebrow to convey his incredulity. “I understand your zeal to draw links between the phenomenon and the recent Borg incursions into Federation space. However, I fail to see the relevance, if any, of the disappearance and rediscovery of a twenty-second-century Earth starship.”
A crooked grimace tugged at Keru’s mouth, though it was hard to see his expression behind his beard. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m drawing a blank on that, too. I feel like that ship has to fit into this somehow—that it’s not just a random fluke that it’s sitting on a planet with one of these beams pointed at it. But I’ll be damned if I can see the connection.”
Tuvok sighed softly. “Indeed.”
* * *
Riker’s eyelids fluttered and drooped with fatigue. Catching himself sinking into sleep, he jolted awake at his desk with a shudder. It was late, almost 0400, and his body craved sleep.
He took another sip from his third mug of half-sweet raktajino and savored the tingle of its caffeine infusing his bloodstream. Then he realized that he’d started drifting off again—he’d been dreaming of himself enjoying the Klingon coffee. He shuddered awake and sipped his now-tepid beverage for real.
His ready room’s door signal chimed. Wiping the itch of exhaustion from his eyes, he said, “Come in.”
The door opened and Christine Vale entered. He recalled the awkwardness of their last private meeting, several hours earlier, and he straightened his posture as she approached.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” she said, “but since we’re both up, I decided not to put this off.”
That didn’t sound good. “Put what off?”
Vale sat down in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk. “I just met with Dr. Ree. He’s worried about Deanna.”
Suspicion edged into Riker’s voice, despite his efforts to remain calm. “I know about his concerns. Why is he discussing my wife’s medical condition with you?”
“Because you and Deanna have made this into a crew-safety issue,” Vale said. “Regulations require him to intervene—and they give him the authority to do so.”
“I still don’t see what—”
“And if he makes it an order, I’m required to enforce it,” Vale cut in. “Whether you like it or not.”
He was out of his chair and pacing like a caged animal. “Dammit, Chris, we talked about this a few hours ago. I’m not letting him force her to terminate her pregnancy.”
She remained calm and seated. “It’d be best for everyone if it didn’t come to that. If she doesn’t have the procedure now, she’ll need to have it when she becomes incapacitated. Except then there’s a chance she’ll die.” Vale got up and stepped into Riker’s path, disrupting his frantic back-and-forth. “Why let it come to that? Can’t you talk to her?”
“No,” Riker admitted. “I can’t.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to say, and she wouldn’t want to hear it if I did.” Faced with the hopelessness of the situation, he turned away to gaze out the ready room’s window. “She’s not stupid, Chris—and she’s not crazy. She knows her life’s in danger, but that’s not enough to change her mind.” He stared at his dim reflection and realized it made him look the same as he felt—like he was only half there, half the man he used to be. “Our first miscarriage hit her so hard,” he continued. “I think she just can’t stand the idea of losing another baby.”
Vale nodded. “I understand, Will. I really do. But if she’s in that much distress, should she still be on active duty? And if her grief, or her depression, or whatever she’s struggling with … if it’s so overwhelming that she can’t take action to save her own life, is she really fit to be making medical decisions?”
“Maybe not,” Riker said. He turned from the window to face Vale. “But I am.”
The first officer steeled her gaze. “Are you, sir? Do you really think you can be completely objective about this?”
“I don’t need to be objective,” Riker said. “I’m in command, and I’m not letting Ree force this on her.”
“I see,” Vale said, her temper starting to show. “This is exactly the kind of conflict of interest I was worried about when you told me your wife would be part of your command team. You promised me that your personal feelings wouldn’t get in the way when it came to ship’s business. But the first time there’s a tug-of-war between what she wants and what the regs demand, the book goes out the window, doesn’t it?”
Riker shot back, “This isn’t about ship’s business! We’re talking about my wife’s health, and maybe her life!”
“What if she collapses in the middle of a crisis situation? Have you thought about that?” He tried to turn away, but she kept after him, putting herself in front of him, hectoring him with increasing fury. “What if we’re in combat, or handling an emergency, and she starts bleeding out? You think you’ll be at your best when that happens? Think you’ll stay focused on the mission when your baby’s dying and taking her with it?”
He bellowed, “That’s enough!” The force of his voice silenced Vale’s harangue and made her take a step back. “I know what’s at stake here, Chris—I don’t need you to lecture me. Do I know my unborn child’s going to die? Yes. Do I know that Deanna’s risking her life by not ending the pregnancy? Yes. Am I going to let Dr. Ree force a solution on her? No.” His face and ears felt feverishly warm. “If the doctor overrules me and makes the surgery compulsory, Deanna won’t comply. If he declares me unfit for command, I’ll refuse to step down. Then you can put me in the brig—and decide for yourself how you feel about terminating a woman’s pregnancy against her will.”
The captain and first officer regarded each other in a tense standoff for several seconds. Vale’s eyes burned with resentment. She took a breath, calmed a bit, and seemed to be searching for the right words with which to reply.
Then a deep shudder of impact resonated through the deck and bulkheads, and a jolt of arrested motion hurled Riker to the deck as Vale slammed against the side of his desk. Darkness hiccupped in and out for a few seconds before settling on them. Outside the ready room’s window, the slow pull of warp-distorted starlight had vanished, replaced by a static starfield. As the captain struggled back to his feet, dim emergency lights snapped on overhead and at regular intervals along the bottoms of the bulkheads. Vale clutched her ribs and had trouble straightening her posture. Riker asked, “You all right?”
“Just bruised,” she said, and she glanced toward the door to the bridge. “I guess we ought to go see what happened.”
“Might be a good idea,” he said, patting her shoulder as he stepped past her.
She followed him and said, “You know we’re not done talking about this, right?”
“I know,” Riker said. “One thing at a time, though.”
They stepped back onto the bridge, him first and her close behind, and found the gamma-shift team shaken and still out of sorts. Lieutenant Commander Fo Hachesa, the gamma-shift officer of the watch, was about to sit down in the center seat when he saw Riker and Vale. “Captain,” said the trim, muscular Kobliad, “we’ve lost warp drive and main power.”
“I’ve gathered that,” Riker said. “What caused it?”
“The source of those energy bursts we’ve been tra
cking,” Hachesa said, worry lines creasing on either side of his broad naso-cranial ridge. He nodded to the young Cardassian officer at the ops console. “Ensign Dakal picked up a high-power sensor beam directed at us from the energy source. On the chance it might be a Borg early warning system, I had Lieutenant Rriarr raise shields.” The golden-furred Caitian at the security console nodded in confirmation to the captain and first officer. Hachesa gestured to the other side of the bridge, where a Benzite engineering officer stood at an auxiliary companel. “Ensign Meldok is analyzing what hit us after we raised shields.”
Riker nodded once to Meldok. “Ensign? Any damage?”
“Yes, sir,” the Benzite replied, with seemingly misplaced enthusiasm. “A broad-spectrum, high-nutation sensor pulse caused degenerative feedback loops in our warp field and shield grid, collapsing both in point-zero-zero-four seconds. I am still running diagnostics on all systems, but preliminary results suggest serious damage to our subspace communications array and weapons grid, and main power is offline. There may also be coil failures in the warp nacelles.”
Vale asked Rriarr, “Casualty report?”
“Minor injuries in engineering,” Rriarr said.
The captain nodded. “Understood. Commander Hachesa, carry on with repairs and keep Commander Vale informed of your progress. Let me know as soon as we have warp speed.”
“Aye, sir,” Hachesa said.
Riker looked at Vale and gestured with a subtle tilt of his head that she should follow him. He led her off the bridge, into the turbolift. The doors closed and he said, “Deck Five.”
“Deck Six,” Vale added. As the turbolift began its descent, she quipped, “Hachesa finally got the hang of verbs, I see.”
Riker chortled under his breath as he recalled the well-meaning Kobliad’s propensity for mangled conjugations. “Took him long enough.” He folded his arms and looked at his shoes. “I’ll try and talk to Deanna. Tonight, if she’s awake, in the morning if she’s not. I can’t promise she’ll change her mind, but maybe we can find a compromise.”