Star Trek: Deep Space Nine - 062 - The Missing

by Una McCormack

  So now the medical unit was full of children—many, many children, whom a couple of adults gently corralled past Crusher’s tricorder and keen eye. Later she scribbled a few observations in her notes:

  Much high tech, but bits and bobs? No unifying design or aesthetic—different sources? Mostly run-down.

  Children—many children! No discernible family structure. Care shared among adults and children present when “work” occurs.

  Question: what constitutes “work” among the People? What do they trade when in contact with others?

  Adults directive but not “hands on.” No physical discipline. Children plainly very happy; however—

  Here Crusher paused and sighed. She was facing a problem now, and she had to decide what was best to do next. Her hand hesitated over her notes. Then she opened a comm channel.

  “Laren,” she said, “can I have a quick word when you’re next free?”

  * * *

  “The problem is,” Crusher explained, when Ro came by her office after her shift, “that while all the children I observed were very happy, and the caretaking I saw was first-class, there were a number of minor medical conditions among them that troubled me.”

  Ro was immediately on alert. “What do you mean? Not signs of any kind of abuse?”

  “No, nothing like that. One or two of them were nearsighted, for example, but didn’t even have glasses or corrective surgery to compensate, never mind drugs to correct vision. The People do plainly have some high technology—”

  “But not much,” said Ro. “And Oioli did ask specifically if they could have access to our medical facilities. They’re obviously underresourced.”

  “And they appear to have no visible means of support. But some of the other children show the aftereffects of . . .” Crusher leaned back in her chair. “What you need to understand, Laren, is that I had to look up these symptoms. I don’t see them very often. But it’s plain to me that some of these children have suffered in the past from malnutrition.” Seeing Ro’s startled response, she added quickly, “Not now. They’re not underfed now. As I said, these children are very well cared for and obviously much loved. But for several of them, this has plainly not been the case for the whole of their lives. This leaves me with a lot of questions.”

  “I’m sure.” Ro pondered what Crusher had said. “You know, I bet if you ran the same tests on me you’d find something similar. People can have complicated pasts.”

  “I agree entirely. Anyway, I’m not sure how best to proceed.”

  Ro frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Well, this is a first-contact situation.”

  “So?”

  “So I can’t go barging in accusing them of neglecting their children.”

  “I don’t think you were going to do that, were you?”

  Crusher smiled. “I’d like to think I’ve learned a couple of tricks from Jean-Luc over the years. But it’s a sticky situation. How do you phrase it in a way that doesn’t give offense? ‘Why have some of your children suffered from hunger? Why are their minor ailments not being treated?’ We might find ourselves in some kind of diplomatic dilemma.”

  “They don’t seem the type to care about the niceties of diplomacy,” Ro pointed out.

  “No, but do they, for example, have prohibitions against certain types of care?”

  “What do you mean by that?” asked Ro.

  “Some cultural or religious groups have taboos against the transfer of, say, blood between people. But let’s take an example from what we see here. Perhaps the People see drugs or corrective surgery—for instance, getting rid of nearsightedness—as going against nature.”

  “Would anyone think that?” Ro said. “Isn’t that a disability you’d want fixed?”

  “Sometimes what we perceive as disability is in fact an advantage on someone’s own world. Someone from a low-gravity world would have difficulty moving under Earth gravity, but wouldn’t at home. And then it’s possible to see a physical difference as conferring cultural membership. Deafness, for example, allows access to a particular cultural space through sign language.”

  “Why would anyone not use therapies and cures that were to hand?”

  “The Federation has its own cultural taboos on certain genetic therapies,” Crusher said. “Ask Julian Bashir.”

  “I have to admit I don’t understand that,” said Ro frankly. “If a therapy is available, I think you’re morally bound to use it to ameliorate suffering.”

  “I’d tend to agree,” said Crusher, “and I know many other parents across the Federation would too. But concerns about eugenics run deep for some very good historical reasons. Ask another member of my staff, and they might tell you that they would give up practicing medicine rather than turn to eugenics. However, the point is,” Crusher went on, “that I don’t want to find myself in the position of having to treat any of these children against the wishes of their carers. But my chief impulse is to heal. So I will treat the children. Whatever the Prime Directive says.”

  “You know,” said Ro, “I was never a big fan of the Prime Directive. Bajor might have gotten help sooner, and of a more substantial kind, if it hadn’t been for the Prime Directive.”

  The two women studied each other thoughtfully.

  “Still,” said Crusher, “we have to show willingness at least.”

  “Hmm,” said Ro. “I suppose there’s a simple answer to this.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t assume that because we’re Starfleet we know best. Instead, assume that the People know their own business.”

  “I think I said that I can’t leave these children in these conditions,” Crusher said.

  “No, but how about starting by asking Oioli if they’d like our help, and what kind of help that might be.” Ro sighed. “Could you do it, Beverly? There’s a situation brewing on the Athene Donald and I’ve been asked to help.”

  Crusher smiled. “Oho, is Katherine Pulaski stirring up trouble, by any chance?”

  “As far as I can make out, Pulaski isn’t the problem,” Ro said. “Starfleet Intelligence is.”

  “The proverbial rock and the hard place,” said Crusher, turning back to her work. “Good luck with that.”

  * * *

  “I don’t understand,” said Alden, in a reasonable tone of voice that Ro knew from just ten minutes’ acquaintance would only infuriate Pulaski further and that she rather suspected was the purpose, “why this request is unreasonable. This is a Federation vessel—”

  “A civilian vessel,” barked Pulaski.

  “A civilian vessel carrying numerous foreign nationals—”

  “So?” snapped Pulaski.

  “So that means that certain aspects of its operation fall under our jurisdiction.” Alden turned to Ro and held out his hands: Look, he seemed to be saying, I am a reasonable man being hectored by the unreasonable. “All I want to do is travel on board for a few weeks.”

  Pulaski looked ready to explode. Tanj placed a restraining hand on her arm. Ro felt sorry the Trill. If anyone was caught between—what was Crusher’s expression?—a rock and a hard place, it was surely Maurita Tanj.

  “Captain,” said Tanj, in a genuinely reasonable if rather strained tone, “you can see that Katherine is unhappy about Commander Alden’s request, and I have to say that I’m not thrilled either. It’s contrary to the spirit of our mission, and I think it’s a bad way for us to start. Is there anything that you can do?”

  Ro ran a fingertip along the ridges on her nose. She agreed with Tanj and Pulaski that this was probably a bad idea for their mission. But what could she do?

  “I don’t have the authority to interfere with Commander Alden’s mission,” she said. “The decision is yours, Doctor Tanj, although I suspect that your sponsors may have given you directions about what that response might be.”

  Alden leaned back comfortably in his chair. Pulaski, however, turned to her friend. “Maurita, tell him to get lost.”

 
Tanj sighed. “I can’t, Kitty.”

  “What?”

  “The board of the institute naturally wants a smooth relationship with Starfleet. I’ve been told to make Commander Alden welcome and give him whatever assistance he needs.”

  Tanj was looking down at her hands. Ro felt a stab of sympathy for her. Rock—hard place. Welcome to command, Doctor Tanj.

  “Maurita,” said Pulaski, “he’s here to spy on us.”

  Alden roused himself. “This is nonsense. A spy almost by definition needs to be concealed. I’m hardly concealed, am I? Certainly not given all the fuss that’s being made. And I’m not in the habit of spying on Federation citizens.”

  “But you will happily spy on others?” Pulaski shot back. “Metiger, for example?”

  “I have no evidence to suspect Metiger Ter Yai-A of anything,” Alden said smoothly.

  Liar, thought Ro. If you don’t suspect her for some reason, you suspect her simply because she’s Tzenkethi.

  “Anyway,” Alden went on, “traveling openly on the same ship as her is hardly the best way to go about spying on her.”

  “A check of public records reveals that you’re with Tzenkethi Affairs at Starfleet Intelligence,” Pulaski said. “I imagine that Metiger Ter Yai-A, who is a brilliant researcher, will be able to find that out. What is she supposed to make of that?”

  “Perhaps that I’m interested in her?” Alden said. “That I share some of the same hopes for this mission that you do? That this might be a starting point for genuine dialogue between us?”

  There was a brief pause. It was just possible, Ro thought, that this was true.

  “What about your friend?” Pulaski said. “The Tzenkethi you’re traveling with? Is she your spy?”

  Alden laughed. “She’s hardly a very inconspicuous one, is she? Everyone looks at a Tzenkethi, even one as quiet as Cory. No,” he said, and addressed Tanj, “Cory is my friend. If anything, I’d like to put her into dialogue with Metiger. Cory’s lived with us for a while now. She can give assurances for Metiger to take back home that we are not their enemies.”

  Tanj looked thoughtful at this.

  “Maurita,” Pulaski said urgently. “Don’t be fooled. He’s playing you, saying what you want to hear. You are a highly respected scientist—a leader in your field—and the director of this mission. I know that the institute will support whatever decision you make. This is a high-profile project and they can’t be seen not to have faith in the director they appointed. It’ll make them look like idiots.”

  “But that’s not what they want,” said Tanj. “And alienating our sponsors is not a good start for our mission either. I think,” she said slowly, “that I’m prepared to give Commander Alden the benefit of the doubt. He’s hardly undercover, is he? And if this really is the start of a more general thaw between our intelligence services—well, that falls within our remit, doesn’t it?”

  Pulaski sighed. “It’s your decision. But I think it’s a damned stupid one you’re making.”

  Tanj smiled. “Thank you as ever, Kitty, for your support.” She rose from her chair. “I appreciate your time, Captain Ro.”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help more,” Ro said as the two women departed.

  “Thank you for your support,” Alden said after they’d gone.

  Ro turned her attention to her padd. “Don’t mistake my obeying instructions for giving support.”

  “There’s a Tzenkethi on that ship,” Alden said.

  So he had been playing Tanj. “You’re traveling with a Tzenkethi,” Ro said.

  “What?” said Alden. “What do you mean by that?”

  Ro looked up at him. He was looking back at her with great intensity and self-assurance. She’d met his kind many times before. Good intentions but bad experiences that ran the risk of perverting intentions. “Well,” she said, “maybe Metiger is to Tanj and Pulaski what Cory is to you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Friendly.”

  Alden gave a short laugh. “I doubt it.”

  Ro turned back to her paperwork. “Things change. Trust me. I never thought I’d be helping Cardassians.”

  * * *

  Days like this, Crusher thought, were the reason she practiced medicine. By the middle of the morning, she and her team had corrected the eyesight of nine children and two adults, started several children on treatments that would ameliorate the effects of malnutrition on their bones and muscles, and also given some of the elderly members of the People drugs that would begin to reverse the early signs of dementia she had observed.

  The matter of the health of the children of the People had proved entirely nonproblematic. Oioli and the other adults, when Crusher approached them, had jumped at the chance of treating the various ailments afflicting their number. “We are not fools or ideologues,” Oioli said, when Crusher explained her hesitancy to offer. “We simply lack resources.” As a result, Crusher was carrying out full health checks on all of the People, children and adults.

  “It’s a pleasure,” said Crusher to Ro, when she went to report on what had happened, “to have a first-contact situation not fraught with difficulty or moral dilemma.”

  “Yes indeed,” said Ro with a sigh. “If only the cultures we know could be so obliging.”

  Crusher’s eyes gleamed. “Problems with Cardassians?”

  “I was thinking more of humans.”

  Crusher laughed. “Do I detect problems arising from the presence of a certain doctor of my acquaintance?”

  Ro smiled. “In fact, I have complete sympathy with Pulaski. Putting someone from Starfleet Intelligence on the Athene Donald makes a mockery of the idea that the ship’s goal is to bring cultures together in harmony.”

  “But it was inevitable that they would send someone,” Crusher pointed out. “If Metiger is reporting back to her superiors, they need to know. And surely she is? I imagine Tanj’s reports and all the medical logs will be pored over by the intelligence services of everyone on board, not only ours.” Crusher shook her head. “Perhaps one day we can all stop being so damn cloak-and-dagger and simply get on with talking sensibly to each other.”

  “A pleasant fantasy,” said Ro.

  “Live in hope,” said Crusher.

  “I might,” said Ro, “if I didn’t have to go now and talk to a Romulan about a possible war crime.”

  * * *

  The castellan had been back in touch, asking that Odo contact the relevant officials on Romulus and inform them that the matter of the prisoners of war had come to their attention. When Odo asked whether it would be more appropriate coming from someone in Garak’s office, Garak shook his head.

  “Too confrontational,” he said. “But with luck, the suggestion from a third party that the castellan is now very interested in this affair will be enough to create some movement.”

  Ro had been instructed by Starfleet Command to participate in the conversation: partly to show solidarity with their Cardassian allies and partly to show the Romulans that Starfleet officers were keen to have an open dialogue with them. On Pa’Dan’s advice, they approached a Major Varis, head of the repatriation office.

  “We’re grateful for your time, Major Varis,” Ro said to the Romulan political officer on the view screen. “We’re eager to find out what has happened to these people and whether their repatriation can be brought forward.”

  Major Varis, another chilly functionary of the kind that the Romulan Empire seemed to produce as a matter of course, looked back coldly, giving away nothing. “These people have been in our care for a decade. May I ask what has brought them to your attention now?”

  Odo spoke. “One of the soldiers is the son of a friend of mine. She approached me for help, and I approached Starfleet.”

  “An interesting choice of intercessor,” Varis said. “Nevertheless, I suggest you approach the relevant offices within the Cardassian government that can proceed in the proper fashion—”

  “They have been unable to help,” said Odo.
“I have spoken directly to the castellan. He asks—informally, of course—that you do him the courtesy of giving this matter your attention and sending him a short summary of the situation from your perspective.”

  “As I understand it,” said Ro, “this is not to be construed as a demand . . . but he would like a few answers.”

  There was a pause. Varis was staring at them, barely moving. After a moment, she said, very quietly, “You chose to approach the Cardassian castellan before coming to us?”

  “We’re in an alliance with the Cardassians,” Ro said. “It was polite, to say the least, to let the castellan know that I intended to speak to you on behalf of some of his citizens.”

  “To let the relevant government officials know, perhaps. But to go immediately as high as the castellan? How should I”—she threw the word back—“construe that?”

  Ro and Odo exchanged alarmed looks.

  “This wasn’t intended as an offense,” Odo said.

  “No?”

  “Of course not,” said Ro impatiently. “Major, I’m sorry this has landed on your desk. But the fact is that the castellan is now aware of the situation and he’d like some answers.”

  “Why now? After ten years?”

  “Because it’s only now that people are listening. People with the power,” Ro said pointedly, “to do something about it.”

  “If the Cardassians wanted these people back, they shouldn’t have waited ten years to ask for them.”

  “Their families have been asking,” Odo said, “but nobody has been listening.”

  “Successive Cardassian governments have had a great deal to do,” Ro added.

  “That’s their problem and entirely their own fault. This could have been resolved at a much lower level. I’m insulted, Captain, that you should come to me and threaten me with the castellan.”

  “I haven’t threatened you at all,” said Ro. “If anything, I’ve given you advance warning that people higher than both of us are getting interested—”