A Time to Sow

by Dayton Ward

  Chapter Eighteen

  WATCHING THE ELDER Dokaalan wander the full course of sickbay for what must have been his tenth time, Beverly Crusher felt a bit of a vicarious thrill. She had experienced a similar rush decades ago when a layover at a space station or planet allowed her to turn her young son loose in a toy store. She could not help but smile with some pride as her visitor puzzled over a diagnostic bed, turned a hypospray over and over in his long blue fingers, or showed a flash of utter amazement over the variety of equipment at her disposal.

  He had made his way around her domain for the better part of an hour, checking on her—now their—handful of Dokaalan patients, and only occasionally breaking the silence with a question. Crusher stood by, keeping a professional distance while letting him silently drink in as much of the environment as he desired. The Dokaalan healer’s reactions were not unlike her first inspection of a starship’s medical facilities, and she let herself just enjoy this experience enough for both of them.

  In response to the toll the Enterprise’s normal gravity would have taken on the Dokaalan’s body, Crusher had asked engineering to provide her with an antigravity work sled. Designed for use by maintenance workers operating within the ship’s network of turboshafts, the chair was capable of carrying a person and an extensive toolkit. It also made for a more than passable wheelchair, which the Dokaalan healer had quickly learned to operate before spending the ensuing hour driving around sickbay.

  “Dr. Crusher?”

  Looking up from the diagnostic monitor positioned above the patient she was examining, she replied, “Yes, Healer Nentafa?”

  The tall, hairless Dokaalan moved the antigrav chair closer. “Forgive me, I must seem a nuisance to you.”

  Crusher waved the notion away. “Hardly,” she said, still very thankful that a physician had been among the Dokaalan delegation that greeted the Enterprise following their rescue mission to the mining outpost. Within an hour of his arrival, Nentafa had assessed her diagnoses on more than three dozen of the wounded and even corrected her on a few of them. Advising her staff, he had helped to make short work of cases that had stumped Crusher, ones that she feared would turn for the worse despite her best efforts. Thanks to him, the bulk of the outpost survivors had already been released from treatment and sent back to the cargo bays to await transfer to the Dokaalan’s central habitat and the Enterprise’s sickbay had seen its patient numbers dwindle down to the five Dokaalan currently occupying beds, those most seriously burned or otherwise injured.

  “You are most gracious, Doctor,” Nentafa said. “I was wondering how you are insuring my people get the nutrients they need while they are unconscious.”

  Before she could respond, a medical scanner monitoring one of the Dokaalan beeped for Crusher’s attention. Walking over to the patient’s bed, she tapped the unit’s keypad to silence the alert.

  “We administer a nutritional supplement by hypospray on a regular schedule,” she said a moment later. “Our computer analysis of your people’s physiology helped us determine what vitamins and compounds needed to be replenished each day, so we formulated the supplement accordingly.” Studying her patient’s diagnostic readout, she noted that he was slightly feverish and adjusted the Dokaalan’s antibiotic dosage and fluid intake accordingly.

  “Ah…of course,” Nentafa said, hesitating as if lost in thought. “I cannot keep from thinking that had this situation been reversed and our people had been your rescuers, our resources would not have enabled us to be so helpful so rapidly. Allow me to be a bit…overwhelmed by it all.”

  “No need to explain,” the doctor replied. “You’re not the first to get a crash course in Federation technology like this. And, if I may, your people strike me as very resourceful and capable given your way of life. From what I understand, the Dokaalan have a lot to be proud of.”

  Nentafa smiled and said, “We do our best.”

  She followed as he turned his chair and made his way to another diagnostic bed, hoping to ease any concern he might have for the patients’ recovery. While Crusher had three fellow physicians on board as well as a complement of medical technicians and nurses on whom to rely, she sensed that Nentafa thought himself as alone in his responsibility for the more than four hundred Dokaalan displaced from the outpost.

  After helping Enterprise engineers to reconfigure the cargo bays as living quarters for the Dokaalan temporarily residing in them, and even suggesting changes in food replicator programs to better meet their dietary needs, Nentafa continued to move back and forth between the cargo areas and sickbay, almost hovering over his patients. Crusher could not fault the Dokaalan healer for his diligence, as she knew she would act in the same manner if she faced similar circumstances. She hoped the Dokaalan healer would be more at ease upon their arrival at his people’s central habitat complex, situated well within the asteroid field the Enterprise now traversed.

  Nentafa leaned over the bed, peering closely at burns and wounds covering the limbs of an unconscious Dokaalan suspended and bathed in dermaline gel. The gel’s pinkish hue lent the patient’s skin an unnatural color and tended to mute the unsightly nature of the injured flesh beneath it. “This is miraculous, Doctor. Her skin appears to be mending at an unbelievable rate, and I see no evidence of residual scar tissue.”

  “Dermaline is a wonderful aid to the healing process,” Crusher replied, “and we’ve been having better luck with everyone’s dermal regeneration sessions than we hoped initially. They seem to be progressing very well, and no, there should be no scarring when we’re done.” Examining the patient’s wounds, she was satisfied that their healing was progressing normally. After checking the diagnostic readout above the patient’s head, she added, “There’s been some problem with fever and other lingering aftereffects, but nothing we can’t treat easily enough.”

  “Well, all I can say is…praise Dokaa,” the elder healer said. “There is no doubt in my mind that you were led to us by providence. For visitors to chance across us is indeed astonishing, but for someone with the knowledge and ability to come and save our people at a time of crisis is nothing short of divine.”

  “We’re glad to be of service,” she said, more than a bit uncomfortable at the gushing praise. “Besides, you haven’t seen anything yet. If you get the chance to travel back with us, I’m sure the entire Federation will be ready to welcome you with open arms.”

  “I am so intrigued by the idea of your Federation,” Nentafa replied, his voice seeming to shed some of its earlier weariness. “It includes how many races?”

  “More than one hundred fifty planets and societies have allied with the Federation over the course of two centuries,” Crusher said. “And we’ve made contact with hundreds of other races who are not members.”

  “I would think that everyone would like to be a member of your Federation,” the Dokaalan said.

  “You’d be surprised, then,” Crusher said, smiling knowingly. “There are strict requirements that a society must meet to become a member as well, and it’s not so amicable a galaxy we live in beyond the asteroids.”

  “Ah…” Nentafa’s words trailed off for moment as he considered her words. “Our people learned quickly to set aside squabbles. It was necessary for our survival. We also learned to compromise, to make the best of every situation, to use every resource to its fullest and waste nothing, to follow direction and to make choices that sometimes seemed impossible.”

  “You became fighters,” Crusher offered. “You learned how to battle against incredible odds. That’s apparent in this sickbay today, Nentafa.”

  “You flatter us, Doctor,” he said. “In our lives, we have known no other way.”

  She noticed Nentafa reaching up to massage the side of his head, closing his eyes as he did so. It was obvious to Crusher that the healer was feeling the effects of fatigue. Putting her hand on the healer’s shoulder, she said, “Why don’t you get some rest? My staff can monitor your people and report to you as often as you like.”

/>   “Rest?” Nentafa seemed to laugh at the notion. “How can I rest when I have such an unparalleled opportunity to learn right here before me?”

  Almost as if on cue, the doors to sickbay slid open to admit Dr. Tropp and, two steps back, Data, each at a brisk pace. The Denobulan nodded curtly at the pair as he made his way to a supply cabinet. Data, seeming to do his best to appear courteous, mimicked the physician’s head movement precisely, eliciting a quiet laugh from Crusher.

  “Your interests are well timed, Nentafa,” Crusher said, raising her voice enough to be heard by Tropp, “as our best instructor in all things medicinal just walked through the door.”

  She saw Tropp stop at the cabinet, his chin sinking to his chest with a sigh. “I appreciate your show of confidence in my abilities, Doctor.” Indicating Data, he added, “But being in charge of this…er, student…while performing my other duties is taxing enough.”

  Wide-eyed to the point of seeming almost peppy, Data turned to speak to Crusher. “Dr. Tropp has been indulging my interests in learning more about the Dokaalan. He has allowed me to follow him and observe his treatment procedures, and I have asked my questions while he works.”

  “Many questions,” Tropp said, nodding and using a polite smile to cover what Crusher imagined was a set of gritted teeth. “So if I might defer a discussion with Healer Nentafa to a time when I could devote my undivided attention to him?”

  “Absolutely, Doctor,” Crusher said as a thought crossed her mind. “In fact…maybe guiding Healer Nentafa would be a task better suited to Mr. Data.”

  “It would?” the android asked.

  “Oh, my, it would,” Tropp practically shouted. “I think that’s a tremendous idea!”

  “Yes, Data,” Crusher said, trying not to fumble her effort to give Tropp the break he obviously sought. “Nentafa has expressed a great deal of curiosity about the Federation, our level of technology, and the known races of our galaxy. Given your level of knowledge on all those topics, I think you would make the perfect tour guide.”

  “I would be happy to assist the healer in his research,” the android replied, cocking his head a bit as he considered the offer, “if there is no objection from Doctor…”

  Data turned to address the Denobulan, whose foot Crusher glimpsed in the corridor for an instant as the door to sickbay closed behind him.

  “…Tropp?” Data finished.

  “He seemed to be in quite a hurry, Data,” Crusher said. For a moment, she worried that Tropp’s departure might offend the android in some way before remembering that for the first time in years, he no longer had a sense of pride to bruise.

  Lucky him.

  “So,” she said, “would you like to help Nentafa in his studies? Along the way, he could tell you more about his people, so you’d be helping each other out.”

  “Certainly, Doctor.” Turning to Nentafa, the android said, “Sir, would you care to begin in our stellar cartography department? I could plot out the worlds of the Federation for discussion in the order of their admission. Or, perhaps you might be interested in a visit to one of our holodecks, where I could show you reenactments of milestones in the history of the Federation. If that does not appeal to you, I could set up a comprehensive database review of known races, their physiological characteristics, and their important contributions to technology and culture.”

  It was a physical effort for Crusher not to laugh openly as she watched Nentafa’s jaw drop and he tried to sort out the myriad of educational options being made available to him. Data was definitely cruising at his usual warp nine today, she decided, and the poor Dokaalan healer was about get the ride of his life.

  “Partaking in all of that would seem to require a great effort,” the healer said after a moment. “How in the name of Dokaa do you have time enough to manage it all?”

  Stepping forward, Crusher said, “Data is a unique being, Nentafa. He’s an android, and one of the most sophisticated examples of technology you’re bound to encounter.”

  The Dokaalan drew a breath, his jaw open as he maneuvered the antigrav chair toward Data. Slowly, he reached out with one long-fingered hand to stroke the android’s cheek, pressing two fingertips to it. “You are a machine?”

  His head tilting to the right in his usual inquisitive manner, Data answered, “That is correct.”

  Nentafa’s brow furrowed as he studied Data’s face. “A sentient machine?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Data said. “I was created forty-three years ago by Dr. Noonien Soong at the Omicron Theta colony approximately eight thousand, two hundred and fifty-five light-years from our current position.”

  “Ah,” Nentafa said, pulling his hand back. With a smile he added, “You, sir, will take some getting used to.”

  Data nodded. “Then, we have a lot to teach each other. Where would you like to begin?”

  As the pair departed, Crusher noted the corners of Data’s mouth curl upward into the beginnings of a smile as he studied the Dokaalan with the same scrutiny that was being focused on him. Was it curiosity, maybe even fascination? Despite the lack of his emotion chip, the android seemed to possess a spark of seemingly human interest that he had not exhibited for years, she realized.

  It was a side of her friend she admitted to missing after all this time.

  This may do them both a world of good, Crusher thought as she watched them go.

  “Dr. Crusher?” she heard Nurse Ogawa say from behind her, and turned to see the other woman standing next to one of the Dokaalan patients.

  “What is it, Alyssa?”

  Pointing to the diagnostic panel above the patient’s head, Ogawa replied, “Her pulse is rapid and her temperature’s rising again.”

  Crusher frowned at that. Again? It was the third time in four hours such a change in one of the patients’ condition had occurred. On the previous three occasions, she had prescribed a mild sedative as treatment, which had resulted in correction of their symptoms.

  “Check the others again,” she said.

  “Could it be an allergic reaction?” Ogawa asked.

  The doctor shrugged. “Either that or an infection of some kind. We’ll need to run some more tests to be sure, though.” None of the previous tests had indicated the Dokaalan might react negatively to any medicines she might administer while treating their injuries. Had she missed something? In order to be sure, she would need to have the Enterprise computer evaluate all the medical data gathered about their guests from the beginning.

  What did we miss? she wondered. And what if their conditions get worse?

  Chapter Nineteen

  PICARD HAD NEVER been prone to discomfort in low- or zero-gravity conditions. In fact, he always had enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness, taking to zero-g combat training at Starfleet Academy like a newborn horta to a granite quarry. So it was with no sense of apprehension whatsoever that the captain, accompanied by Commander Riker and Counselor Troi, stepped into the observation lounge’s reduced gravity, which had been lowered for their guests’ life-support requirements.

  His spirits were also buoyed by the knowledge that what had begun as nothing more than a make-work assignment had, in less than a day, evolved into a wondrous opportunity to establish first contact with a new species. For a fleeting moment, Picard wished he could be a fly on the wall of Admiral Nechayev’s office when she relayed his report to her peers. He smiled at the thought of the reactions it was likely to engender within the halls of Starfleet Command.

  A group of five Dokaalan waited for them in the observation lounge, seated around the conference table. Hjatyn sat at the table’s far end, flanked on each side by two companions dressed in robes similar to their leader’s though somewhat less ornate than those he wore.

  “First Minister Hjatyn,” Picard began, nodding formally to the elderly Dokaalan who stood at the front of the five-person delegation, “I am Captain Picard. It is my privilege to welcome you aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise. Allow me to introduce my first officer, Commander William
Riker, and my ship’s counselor, Commander Deanna Troi. It was our intention to meet with you in your offices or some other location of your choosing, but we are honored that you traveled here to meet with us.”

  The Dokaalan replied, “This momentous occasion warrants more than our limited amenities can provide, Captain, as you will soon see for yourselves. In the meantime, it is our honor to visit such a magnificent ship. When I was informed of your arrival and your efforts to rescue my people, I knew I had to thank you personally. This is a tremendous day for all of my people.”

  It was praise that still felt undeserved to Picard, despite his earlier talk with Counselor Troi. “First Minister,” he said, “though most of your people who were injured have been treated and released, my chief medical officer and her team are still monitoring a few whose injuries were more severe. However, I must offer my sincere apologies for the loss of your people during our rescue attempt. I regret the circumstances surrounding their deaths.”

  Bowing his head for a moment, when Hjatyn returned his gaze to Picard a small smile graced the Dokaalan’s features, and there was also moisture in the corners of his eyes. “While we mourn their loss,” the minister said, “many more would have shared their fate if not for your actions. I also understand that two of your people were killed. We will honor their sacrifice in the same manner that we commemorate those of our people who have given their lives in the defense of others.”

  Nodding in agreement, Picard directed Riker and Troi to take a seat before moving to his customary place at the head of the conference table. “I have been informed that we will arrive at your colony’s central complex within the hour,” he said. After docking with the Enterprise to allow Hjatyn and his party to board, the minister’s vessel remained linked with the starship as it navigated a new course through the asteroid field to the heart of the Dokaalan colonies. “In the meantime, I imagine that you have numerous questions for us, just as we have many for you.”