So, what in the name of the Four Deities is wrong with Lwaxana this time? she asked, clearly annoyed at being called away from her regular practice to tend to this one patient.
“She’s upstairs,” Deanna said, turning. “Come with me.”
You don’t have to vocalize to me, girl, Byxthar snapped back. Just because I’m ninety-one years old, you don’t have to treat me like some flatbrain.
Deycen was standing, peering out into the foyer from behind Homn. “Who is this?” he shouted again as the doctor walked past.
“And you be quiet, too,” Byxthar barked back, not bothering to look his way as she followed Deanna up to the master bedroom. This had better be an emergency, she thought now at Troi. Your mother hasn’t been to see me for a regular examination in over a year now.
Then, you don’t know?
Know what?
Instead of answering, Deanna opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and let Byxthar in ahead of her. And the doctor was stopped in her tracks at the sight of Lwaxana Troi lying on the oversized bed, propped up on a mountain of multihued pillows, breathing hard as both hands rubbed her huge swollen belly. “Great Fire, Lwaxana, you have got to be kidding me,” Byxthar blurted aloud.
I wish that was the prognosis I’d gotten ten months ago, Lwaxana answered.
Byxthar shook her head as she set the small medical bag she carried on the edge of the bed. Opening it, she pulled out an oversized civilian-issue tricorder and passed it over the lower half of Lwaxana’s torso. She glanced at the readout on the device’s screen, and then fixed her patient with a hard look. You are a stupid woman, Lwaxana.
You can’t talk to me like that. I’m—
And don’t bother rattling off all that ‘Fifth House’ nonsense at me, Byxthar cut her protest off as she moved her bag over to the nearby bureau and started to lay out a series of medical instruments for ready use. It didn’t impress me when your grandparents tried to lord their titles over me, and it certainly doesn’t coming out of you, my dear.
I was going to say, you can’t talk to me that way—I’m pregnant.
Byxthar turned and fixed Lwaxana with a razor-sharp glare. And at your age, that’s stupid. Not that you were much smarter when you were young, what with the way you were with that human boy…
“‘Human boy’?” Deanna asked.
Byxthar scowled at Deanna for speaking aloud again, but underneath her annoyance, there was a bemused gleam in the older woman’s eye. You’ve never heard that story, eh? she asked. She turned and headed into the master bathroom as she continued to telepathically regale Deanna. He and a group of his Starfleet friends were going up into the Loneel Mountains for some ridiculous Earth game where they strap plastic planks to their feet and see who can slide down the snow pack the fastest. He invited your mother to join them, and she said, “Oh, I’d love to play, it sounds like so much fun.” Byxthar briefly spoke aloud, in a rather accurate mimicry of Lwaxana Troi’s musically flirtatious voice. She emerged from the bathroom then, carrying a shallow basin of water and a pair of clean towels. Completely shattered her tibia and fibula, she continued telepathically. Spent three full days in the infirmary at the Federation Embassy compound.
Not so stupid, Lwaxana interrupted. Ian would come and sit at my bedside for hours on end during his off-duty time. If I had let myself be discharged after the first day the way I should have been, well, my Little One likely wouldn’t be here right now.
Byxthar looked up at Deanna. That’s not such a bad idea.
“Excuse me?” Troi said, not caring that she’d spoken aloud to the doctor once again.
You. Not being here now. The doctor made a flicking motion at her with the fingers of both hands. Shoo. I have to do my examination now. Let your mother keep at least some dignity, if possible.
After getting a weak smile and a nod from her mother, Deanna left her and the doctor in private, and made her way back to the main floor of the house. She found Deycen still camped in the living room, with Mr. Homn having positioned himself at the Tavnian’s side in a manner that equally suggested a servant awaiting a request and a security guard making certain his charge made no sudden moves. Deycen looked up as Deanna entered, and she felt a flare of anger and frustration roll off him. However, he kept his voice perfectly even and calm as he asked, “What is going on?”
Despite her mother’s earlier admonition, Deanna knew keeping Deycen in the dark was now pointless and futile. “My mother has gone into labor.”
“Good. That will simplify matters.”
Troi hardened her facial expression as she glared at the Tavnian. “Mr. Deycen, do you have any idea the kind of interplanetary incident you would spark by forcibly taking the newborn child of a Federation ambassador from his mother?”
“Lwaxana is no longer an ambassador, and even if she were reinstated as one, it still would be irrelevant. I will not stand idly by and allow a helpless infant to be damaged in any way.”
“Damaged.” Troi repeated. “By being raised by his mother.”
“Yes!” Deycen answered, with a vehemence that took the counselor by surprise. “Confusing a young child by forcing it to confront the concept of differing genders at too early an age can have grievous effects on its development. There are centuries of Tavnian sociological studies proving an increase in abhorrent behaviors and other psychological problems. And to allow a male child to be raised solely by a female? Unthinkable!”
Deanna was brought up short by the level of emotion behind Deycen’s argument. She had assumed before that this mid-ranking bureaucrat was simply playing politics with her mother’s baby, trying to assert his own personal authority or assuage his own ego. But now she understood that, as narrow and baseless as she knew his beliefs about childhood development to be, they were sincerely held. In his mind, by tearing a baby from its birth mother and putting him in some male-only orphanage, he was acting in the best interests of the child. And even if she were inclined to tell him how wrongheaded both he and the Tavnian culture were—an idea that ran counter to her own core values as a Federation citizen—his conviction clearly was not going to be swayed by any amount of logic or rhetoric.
And so, she simply sat in a chair opposite him, resolved to wait, as calmly as she could, until her new baby brother was born. There was nothing either she or Deycen could do until then.
But she resolved that, if Deycen did try to do anything, she would oppose him.
And the consequences be damned.
CHAPTER
6
More than once during her childhood, Deanna Troi had listened to her mother tell her how very difficult and painful it had been giving birth to her. Deanna had always assumed that, like so much that her mother said, this was exaggeration.
Now, as she sat mere meters away from where her mother lay in the upstairs bedroom, empathically perceiving her ongoing labor, Deanna understood that, if anything, she had understated the experience. The counselor strained to keep herself composed as her empathic senses were assailed by the silent wails of pain from the room upstairs.
“Why is it so quiet?”
Troi started, having almost forgotten Deycen sitting on the opposite side of the low coffee table in the center of the room. “Quiet?” she asked, and for the first time noticed that, indeed, the house’s unique architecture was keeping any sounds from carrying down from the upstairs.
Deycen narrowed his eyes, and Deanna felt a surge in his feelings of distrust. “Yes, quiet. There is something going on,” he said, starting to rise to his feet.
Somehow, Homn appeared right behind him, laying a large white hand on his shoulder and pressing him back down onto the amra-skin couch.
“Betazoid births are unusually easy compared to most other humanoids’,” Deanna lied. “I suppose you were never taught that during your boys-only upbringing.”
“She’s not even in this house anymore, is she?” Deycen accused, a flood of frustration and paranoia bursting through his emotional dams. “She
probably beamed out, and left you here to distract me!”
Deanna maintained an expression of utter calm. “If that’s what you believe, why don’t you go back to the embassy, and scan for ships in orbit from there?”
“Which is just what you want me to do! Ha!” he said triumphantly. “Oh, no. I’m not leaving this house. No, you have to take me upstairs and prove to me Lwaxana is still here.”
“I will not. My mother is in the middle of a very—”
DEANNA!!
Troi was nearly staggered by her mother’s telepathic summons. Where are you, Little One? I want you with me, darlingpleaseplease…
Troi was on her feet in a heartbeat, rushing for the staircase. She hesitated only long enough to look over her shoulder at Deycen, who was demanding to know where she was going and what she was doing. Keep him here, she thought at Homn, forgetting for a moment that the valet was not himself a telepath. All the same, he gave her a small nod, and continued to keep Deycen securely in his seat.
She took the steps two at a time, ran down the short corridor at the top of the landing, and threw the door of her mother’s bedroom open. She saw her mother in profile, her face tight with pain and exertion. Her wig had fallen behind her pillows, and her own short-shorn hair was tousled and damp with sweat. A sheet was draped over her stomach and her up-bent knees, while Dr. Byxthar had stationed herself on the jul-wood chest at the foot of the bed and was focused on the business at hand. Deanna rushed to the side of the bed, knelt down with her chin on the mattress, and took Lwaxana’s hand. “Mother,” she said aloud. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Oh, Little One, Lwaxana answered, squeezing her hand back. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here. And I’m so sorry…
There’s nothing for you to be sorry for….
No. I should have turned to you after what happened with Jeyal. I shouldn’t have shut you out. But I was ashamed, embarrassed.
You shouldn’t be embarrassed….
Lwaxana managed to turn her head and give Deanna a soft chuckle. No? Showing up on my adult daughter’s doorstep ten months pregnant, fleeing a man I never should have even considered marrying in the first place? Sounds pretty embarrassing to me. Eusho was right; I am stupid.
Mother, Deanna thought at her sharply, stop this self-pity right now.
Lwaxana turned her gaze away again, shaking her head. I could read Jeyal from the moment I met him. I knew, even with all his sweet words and grand romantic gestures, that he was a bastaaaaaAAAA!!
Lwaxana screamed aloud as another contraction hit, and her fingernails dug hard into the back of Deanna’s hand. But worse than the physical pain was the close-range emotional broadcast. Deanna steeled herself as best she could against it, and projected thoughts of reassurance and affection back into her mother’s mind. This seemed to bring Lwaxana some tiny degree of relief, and once the contraction had passed, Deanna continued to think soothing thoughts for her.
I really shouldn’t say that about him, Lwaxana continued as she fell back onto her pillows. Jeyal is a decent man, for a domineering misogynist. He’s just a product of his upbringing and his culture. Just like Timicin was…and Campio…and me…
Deanna’s expression twisted in confusion. She wasn’t sure if her mother was just rambling…no, even now, her mind was too focused. But Dr. Timicin had sacrificed a relationship with Lwaxana—and his own life—in compliance with the requirements of Kaelon culture. Minister Campio was a prudish little bureaucrat who had put his adherence to Kostolain etiquette above his planned wedding to Lwaxana. Deanna couldn’t fathom how her mother could compare herself with either of these socially rigid men.
Because, my dear, Lwaxana answered the unasked question with a weak but knowing smile, I was taught as a girl that the most important thing I could do was get married and be a good wife to my husband. Even after raising a daughter all by myself, and then establishing a successful diplomatic career, part of me still believed that, as an unmarried woman, I was a failure.
Before Deanna could assure her she was in no way a failure, Lwaxana barreled on: And what’s worse, I’ve been trying all these years to make you feel just as bad as I did about being on your own, an unmarried, independent woman.
Less talking, more pushing, Dr. Byxthar interrupted gruffly, her head bent underneath the sheet covering the lower half of Lwaxana’s body. You’re almost there, come on.
Every muscle in Lwaxana’s face squeezed tight as she tried to do as the doctor said. Deanna put one hand in her mother’s powerful fist, and her other arm went behind her shoulders, supporting her as she strained and pushed.
I’m proud…of the woman…you are…. Lwaxana struggled to form the coherent thought as she rode through the pain of the contraction. As her exertions subsided, she released all the tension from her body, letting her daughter gently lower her back down flat. Because I know…with your strength…if the worst happens…you’ll be able to… Then Lwaxana’s eyelids fluttered shut, and her thoughts fell silent.
Mother? Deanna thought at her. Her mind was still present…just very far away, much farther than would be the case from simple fainting or sleep. “Mother!” Deanna repeated out loud, concern coloring her tone. Her mother, however, did not respond.
Not even as her son took his first breath and started to cry.
The hologram of the horribly deformed and scarred humanoid body faded away as the room lights came back up, though the image remained burned into Beverly Crusher’s retinas. “Thank you, doctors, for your attention,” said the Gnalish admiral who had been conducting the briefing for the assemblage of starship medical officers. “And I pray that you never have need of any of this information.”
“Amen,” Crusher muttered under her breath. She heard more than a few others in the conference hall echoing similar sentiments. After being subjected to three hours on the newest generation of biogenic and metagenic weaponry, complete with holographic illustrations of their effects on living beings, even the most cynical atheist, she suspected, would welcome the idea of a benevolent deity—or at the least, a race of hyperevolved beings who might be inclined to step in and put a halt to any hostilities before such weapons were unleashed.
She stood and joined the queue of blue uniforms filing out of the room, exchanging nods with old friends and colleagues among the crowd of starship CMOs. Some managed to favor her with mild smiles, but no one seemed in the mood to socialize. After all, it was difficult for most doctors to accept the notion that, should the worst case scenario come about, there would be little they as mere mortals would be able to do but stand by and watch the suffering.
Crusher beamed back to the Enterprise and headed directly for sickbay. With the ship at stationkeeping, she anticipated an uneventful shift. She hoped so, at any rate; all she really wanted at the moment was to shutter herself in her office, not have to think about the possibilities of war. She had been trying, for the last four months, to “relaunch” the theater troupe she’d headed on the Enterprise-D, and would welcome some quiet time to finish work on a Dickens adaptation she planned to stage as their premiere production. She tried not to reflect on the idea that Victorian London was looking more appealing to her at the moment than her own modern world.
Unfortunately, the modern world refused to leave her alone. It presented itself to her in the form of the Emergency Medical Hologram, which someone had activated in her absence. “Ah, Dr. Crusher,” the faux physician said as she entered sickbay, “Lieutenant Commander La Forge is here, waiting for you in your office.”
Crusher turned and saw that La Forge was, indeed, standing in the doorway to the small room in the corner of sickbay. He gave her a small smile, but Crusher thought he looked almost as haunted as the group she had just left on the starbase.
“He refused to allow me to examine him,” the hologram continued to prattle, sounding as if it had suffered some grievous insult, “or to answer any queries I put to him. I suspect he may have activated my program inadvertently, though he did not have the
courtesy to—”
“Computer, deactivate EMH,” Crusher sighed, not even bothering to watch the image dissolve away into nothingness as she headed for her office. “Hello, Geordi,” she said, greeting him with her best bedside-manner smile.
“Hey, Beverly. Hope you don’t mind my waiting in here for you.”
“Of course not. Sit down.” Crusher took her own seat behind the desk while Geordi settled in the nearer of the two in front of it.
“So,” La Forge said, “I guess you know why I’m here.”
“If I had to guess,” Crusher answered, “I’d say it had to do with Admiral Hayes’s ultimatum.”
La Forge nodded, resigned. “So, I guess we need to schedule a time to do this?”
Crusher fixed the engineer with a penetrating look. “Geordi, this isn’t something you want, is it?”
“That doesn’t really matter, now does it?” he said, somewhat pitifully.
“In fact,” Crusher answered, “it matters a great deal.”
La Forge’s head snapped up at that.
Crusher continued. “I cannot perform a nonemergency procedure like this without the patient’s consent. And I would not perform it if I thought he had been coerced into giving consent.”
Even with the VISOR covering his eyes, Crusher could see a glimmer of hope starting to illuminate Geordi’s face. “Are you saying…you won’t do the ocular implant surgery?”
Crusher leaned forward slightly. “I’m saying that, in this situation, no doctor with even a gram of ethics would do the surgery.”
And suddenly, the small glimmer erupted into a supernova flash, as a parsec-wide smile split La Forge’s face. “Oh, thank God!” he cried, looking as if he wanted to vault across the desk and wrap his arms around her. “Thank you, Doc, thank you! I can’t tell you what it means to hear that!” He fell backward against his chair, looking as if he’d literally had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders. “For the past day and a half, it’s been like being trapped in some kind of Orwellian nightmare. I’m so relieved to find out that there’s still some justice in this universe.”
Star Trek: The Next Generation™: The Insolence of Office Page 6