A Time to Harvest

by Dayton Ward

  “I…I…I-I-I-I” was all he said before the rest of his speech disintegrated into an indecipherable flood of gibberish, sounding to Picard almost like a high-speed stream of computer data.

  “This is the same as the last time, sir,” Diix said as Data continued his attempts to verbalize. It continued for several seconds before the android’s head suddenly snapped once to the left before straightening out until he was looking straight out from his alcove.

  “I am superior, sir, in many ways,” he suddenly said. “But I would gladly give it up to be human.”

  Confused, Picard looked to the Andorian engineer. “What is that?”

  Diix shook his head. “I do not know, sir.”

  Silent for a moment, Data merely blinked before his head twitched to the right. “Felis catus is your taxonomic nomenclature.”

  “ ‘Ode to Spot’?” Riker said, and Picard saw that the first officer was sharing his own bewilderment. “I haven’t heard him recite that poem in years. What’s wrong with him?”

  Data’s response was to say, “Our function is to contribute in a positive way to the world in which we live.”

  Checking the diagnostic monitor still connected to the android, Diix shook his head. “I am not registering a fault, sir. Whatever is happening, Data is doing it deliberately.”

  “In the event of water landing, I have been designed to serve as a flotation device.” The engineers around him chuckled at that one and even Picard found himself put somewhat at ease by the remark.

  “I recognize some of this as things he’s said before,” he offered.

  “Same here,” Riker added. “It’s almost like he’s reliving old memories somehow.”

  Still studying the monitor, which Picard knew provided a real-time representation of the computer activity currently taking place inside Data’s positronic brain, Diix said, “That is essentially correct, sir. According to these readings, Commander Data is initiating a restart of his modified neural net.”

  “Lieutenant Diix,” Data said, “I wonder if I might…”

  The Andorian nodded in apparent understanding. “If I recall correctly, that was the last thing he said before shutting down.”

  A moment later, Data stopped blinking and his features became still. “Reset complete.” Turning his head, his golden eyes fixed on Picard. “Captain?”

  “Welcome back, Commander,” Picard offered, unable to keep a small smile from revealing itself. “Are you all right?”

  Data replied, “I have reconfigured my neural net in order to contain the damaged areas. My ability to access my internal data storage is compromised, but not severely. At present, I am continuing to devote part of my attention to repair efforts, but I will require Commander La Forge’s assistance to complete that process.”

  “Geordi’s not here, Data,” Riker said. “He’s not back from inspecting the terraforming operations on Ijuuka yet.”

  His head cocking slightly to his left, Data replied, “I have just finished synchronizing my internal chronometer to ship’s time, and unless there has been a change in his itinerary, he should have returned to the Enterprise three point four hours ago.”

  “We know, Data,” Picard said. “There have been a few developments while you were out of commission. We’re trying to contact him, but the radiation field won’t allow communications between here and the planet.” In truth, the captain was not comfortable with the current situation and had already expressed his concerns to First Minister Hjatyn and the Dokaalan leadership, but there was little he could do until definitive word about La Forge’s location and situation was obtained. “Data, can you continue your repairs without him?”

  “Yes, sir,” the android said. “I will endeavor to proceed as quickly as possible, but my efforts will be somewhat limited. I am also attempting to ascertain the cause for my incapacitation, but it will take some time.”

  “Do you think it was the radiation?” Diix asked.

  “I do not know,” Data replied. Unable to move except for small motions with his head, he did indeed resemble an automaton, a caricature of a living being rather than the masterfully crafted homage to the man who had created him, Dr. Noonien Soong. “I am still processing information, but I do believe it to have been an outside influence of some kind.”

  Something in the way Data said that made Picard frown. “Outside influence? Are you suggesting you may have been deliberately tampered with in some fashion?”

  “I am unable to hypothesize one way or another at the present time, Captain.”

  Picard said nothing, but given what he and the Enterprise crew had encountered already—the odd reports that Commander La Forge had submitted, Counselor Troi’s comments, and most especially the apparently intentional attack on the mining outpost—he was unprepared to rule anything out just now.

  “Let’s just say I’m keeping my options open for now, Commander,” he finally said. “Continue your repair efforts as best you can.” Turning to Diix, he added, “See to it that he has whatever resources he requires, Lieutenant, and keep Mr. Riker updated on your progress.”

  The Andorian nodded. “Aye, sir.”

  Leaving Diix and the rest of the engineering staff to their work, Picard led Riker toward the room’s exit, waiting until he was in the corridor and out of earshot before stopping. He paused an additional moment until a crew member walked past and disappeared around a corner in the passageway to say anything.

  “Number One, I want Lieutenant Vale to quietly begin augmenting the security level throughout the ship. If Data was the victim of some form of sabotage, there’s a chance his attacker may still be on board.”

  “You think one of the Dokaalan might have pulled something?” Riker asked. “Would their current technology level even give them the ability to try anything like that?”

  His first officer had a point, Picard decided, but it did little to assuage the nagging feeling at the back of his own mind. Shaking his head, he replied, “I don’t know, but my instincts and Counselor Troi’s observations of our hosts tell me that there’s more happening here than meets the eye.” He knew that Lieutenant Vale and her people were still examining the remains of the Dokaalan mining outpost, looking for any evidence of foul play, and he wanted to wait for the security chief’s report before undertaking any drastic action.

  Still, doing nothing only invited potential disaster, a lesson he had learned at no small cost long ago. “Until I find out what is going on with these people, I want to be prepared for anything.”

  Chapter Seven

  FINALLY, CARGO BAY FOUR was at peace.

  More or less, Beverly Crusher amended silently as a soft alert tone from a nearby diagnostic bed wailed for attention. Moving to one of the patients currently occupying the area of the cargo bay designated critical-care, she reached for the patient monitor and silenced the alarm. A quick check with her tricorder’s medical scanner confirmed the bed’s diagnostic readings that its patient, an older Dokaalan male, was starting to become feverish.

  Retrieving a hypospray from the pocket of her smock, Crusher set it to administer a mild antibiotic, thankful once again for the storehouse of Dokaalan medical knowledge she now had at her disposal. In moments the bed’s diagnostic scanner recorded the introduction of the drug into the patient’s bloodstream and its immediate effects.

  “At least this time your fever’s a normal reaction,” she said to no one in particular. This group of survivors from Mining Station Twelve had only been aboard ship a few hours. That was far too soon for her to be seeing the first indications of the more mysterious, and serious, ailment that seemed to affect any Dokaalan who remained on the Enterprise for a longer period of time.

  Nine point six hours, Crusher reminded herself, according to my best estimate.

  She and her medical staff had so far been unable even to discern why the Dokaalan began to suffer their acute, withdrawal-like symptoms nearly ten hours after boarding the starship. Crusher was sure it had something to do with the o
mnipresent radiation field surrounding the asteroids and the Dokaalan colonies, but so far she had been unable to substantiate her theory.

  Shaking her head, she stopped that line of thinking. There would be plenty of time to return to that other, much larger problem once she and her staff were finished here.

  While nearly all of the Dokaalan survivors requiring medical treatment were recovering without incident, a handful of patients still resided in the critical-care section, recuperating from the lingering effects of hypothermia as a result of exposure to the vacuum of space. Elsewhere in the large chamber, dozens of convalescing Dokaalan occupied patient beds and cots, while others had gathered about the cargo bay in groups of twos and threes, seeking out-of-the-way places to engage in what she hoped was therapeutic conversation as they tried to make sense of the last few hours.

  Still others had congregated in a temporary dining facility, which came complete with portable food replicators. Enterprise engineers had programmed the devices to create meals suited to the Dokaalan palate, but much of it seemed savory enough that the occasional wandering aroma served to remind Crusher that she could not remember when she had last eaten.

  Walking among the various gatherings of Dokaalan were Deanna Troi and a few members of the medical staff whom she had trained to act as crisis counselors, doing what they could to help those beginning to show signs of post-traumatic stress. Crusher watched as Troi approached two patients, one of whom appeared to have been weeping, and placed a comforting hand on the distraught male’s shoulder. It was a simple gesture, one the doctor hoped would provide even a small measure of comfort. After all, there could be no denying that these people deserved so much more.

  “Dr. Crusher?”

  The voice calling her name from behind her startled her, and she turned to see Kell Perim favoring her right leg and limping her way into the cargo bay. “Kell?” she asked as she crossed the room to the Trill officer. “What happened?”

  Perim offered a weak smile as she hobbled toward one of the empty diagnostic beds. “I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and don’t have time for this sort of nonsense.”

  Moving to help the lieutenant to lie down on the bed, Crusher said, “You caught me at the right time. Besides, I warned you about the discomfort.”

  “I haven’t had much time for the exercises you showed me,” Perim replied, wincing as she straightened her right leg and massaged the side of her knee. “And since Data’s been out of commission, I’ve been pulling longer hours on my shifts. Now it’s stiff no matter what I do.”

  Shaking her head, Crusher said, “You have to take time for yourself if you want to keep the knee, Kell.” She picked up a tricorder from the bedside table and activated its medical scanner, waving it in a circular motion over the lieutenant’s leg. “We really should replace it altogether, but I’m not going to be able to do it until things settle down around here.” Indicating the cargo bay with a nod of her head, she added, “As you can see, we’re pretty booked up at the moment.”

  “I figured as much,” Perim replied. “Maybe I should have just listened to you the first time.”

  They had discussed the replacement procedure a few weeks earlier, while the Enterprise was still traveling out here from Federation space. Perim had been reluctant, likening the unwanted surgical procedure in some ways to her decision to decline accepting a Trill symbiont into her body. That she had opted against what many of her people regarded as a singular honor had placed her at odds with her friends and family.

  For reasons she had only partially shared with Crusher, Perim had equated the notion of becoming a symbiont’s host and forsaking a life of free will to being fitted with an artificial joint instead of working to restore her body to full and natural health. To recant that position now and be willing to accept the idea of a replacement knee meant either that she had reconciled some of the fears she harbored or that the pain in her knee was excruciating enough to force her in a direction she did not necessarily want to go.

  “Don’t worry,” Crusher said. “No scolding from me. Let’s see if another round of regeneration therapy can work as a stopgap for a day or two.”

  Perim chuckled. “At this point, I’d consider amputation as a stopgap.”

  As she turned to retrieve a portable regenerator emitter from a nearby worktable, Crusher noticed Dr. Tropp heading in her direction. “Doctor,” she offered in greeting as the Denobulan approached.

  “Hello, Dr. Crusher,” he replied before nodding to Perim. “And to you, Lieutenant.” Carrying a padd in his hand, Tropp offered the device to Crusher. “I am continuing my research on the asteroid field radiation effects on the Dokaalan. I believe I have isolated the particular varieties that are causing the trouble, and I am now analyzing tissue samples offered by Dokaalan patients to study its reaction to the radiation bands I have selected.”

  Finished aligning the portable regenerator over Perim’s knee, Crusher activated the device, watching as the Trill’s leg was bathed in a soft blue glow. That done, she accepted the proffered padd.

  “Excellent,” she said as she perused the information Tropp had compiled. “It’s too bad we don’t have genetic samples from the last three hundred years to use as a comparison. That might show how their bodies adapted to their new environment.”

  Tropp said, “I daresay it was not without some radical outside influence, possibly even at the genetic level. I have begun researching some of the Dokaalan doctors’ older medical records in order to gain some insight into the drugs that were once prescribed for all of the colonists as counteragents to the radiation. Perhaps the answer, or at least a clue, lies there.”

  “I agree,” Crusher replied, stroking her chin thoughtfully as she continued to read Tropp’s report. “That seems like the next best place to start looking.” Shaking her head, she added, “We can’t figure out how to reverse the problem if we can’t find where it started.”

  “Why would you want to reverse it?”

  Perim’s question startled Crusher, and she offered a puzzled expression to the Trill. “Why? The Dokaalan are apparently unable to survive outside the asteroid field, and they may not be able to survive within it for much longer. If we can combat that, they’ll have the option to live anywhere they want.”

  The soft tones of the regeneration beam filled the air for a moment before Perim said, “Maybe that’s not what they want.”

  “What?” Both Crusher and Tropp answered in unison, their looks of confusion and even shock practically mirrors of one another.

  “From everything they’ve told us,” the lieutenant continued, “the Dokaalan don’t want our help with their terraforming efforts. Why are you assuming they want our help fixing what you believe to be a medical ‘problem’ but in fact might not be an issue so far as they’re concerned?”

  “Lieutenant,” Tropp said, “despite their reluctance to accept our ability to help them with the technology at our disposal, the Dokaalan might respond differently in a matter of life or death.”

  “Have you asked them?”

  Silence hung in the air again at Perim’s words, as all three officers simply looked at one another. Apparently satisfied that she had the doctors’ attention, she continued, “Just because life here doesn’t appeal to us has no bearing at all on whether it looks great to them. It had to look a lot more inviting than the alternatives they had when all of their problems started, after all. If what you’re saying is true, then they made some drastic choices, most likely just to survive at first. For all we know now, that decision could be rooted in the culture they’ve created out here.”

  “There are many factors to consider,” Crusher said, hoping to sound sympathetic to Perim’s concerns, “and yours are as valid as any of them.”

  “I’m not a doctor, and it’s probably none of my business,” the Trill replied in a softer voice, “but I do know what it’s like to be pushed into believing that having your own body forever changed is a good and exciting thing. Maybe it’s not, and
just because you can do something does not always mean that you should.”

  As Tropp regarded both her and Perim with an expression that conveyed his fascination over the current discussion, Crusher took the opportunity to study the dozens of Dokaalan faces filling the cargo bay. While some remained sad and downtrodden, she noted that others were smiling, a few even laughing with their fellows in the wake of the devastating events that had consumed them mere hours earlier. She found herself no more able to connect with a reason as to why a Dokaalan might be able to laugh today than she could understand Perim’s resistance to the idea of severing these people’s apparent connection to the very thing that had helped them survive out here for all these years.

  Both concepts, she realized, were rooted in recognizing the Dokaalan spirit of survival and independence. It was a passion that she, and everyone aboard the Enterprise for that matter, might do well to consider as they continued to interact with this proud people.

  “Not at all, Kell,” Crusher finally said after a moment, a small smile curling the corners of her mouth. “It’s a good reminder. I might just have to keep you around.”

  Indicating the knee that was still being subjected to the restorative effects of the regenerator, Perim returned the smile. “Well, as it happens, I’m free for a little while.”

  Seated within the relative quiet of his quarters, Picard once again turned from his view of the asteroids still drifting past the Enterprise to regard the twin bowls of soup now cooling before him on his dining table, which he had set for two. The mingling aromas of the soups, a watery brownish broth in the bowl at his place setting and a thicker, orange-tinted stock in the bowl opposite his, had whetted his appetite almost to the point of impatience.

  Swallowing, he raised his voice in the otherwise empty room. “Picard to Dr. Cru…”

  His command to the ship’s intercom was interrupted by the muted tone of his door chime. Smiling to himself, he quietly shook his head. “Come,” he said, and the doors opened to admit Dr. Crusher. Well timed as always, he mused.