by Dayton Ward
I could certainly learn to live without that sort of thing.
“Are you scheduled to see any more patients today?” Beverly asked.
“No,” zh’Thiin replied, standing and making her way around the desk. She crossed the office to where the urn still sat atop the small stove, steam rising from its narrow top opening. “The two zhen we saw earlier were the only patients on the day’s schedule.” As the professor had explained, she might have deferred seeing even those two, given that the Enterprise had just arrived at Andor. However, her trip to Earth had disrupted her normal schedule, and zh’Thiin had not wanted to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to see how the patients were doing with their respective pregnancies, both of which were quite advanced. “Once I’m finished here, I was planning to go home. I’d offer to host you and Captain Picard for dinner, but I know that you likely would rather return to the Enterprise and your son.”
Beverly smiled at that. “Is it that obvious?” Since René’s birth more than a year ago, there had been only a handful of occasions where she had been away from him for more than a day. During her duty shifts aboard ship, René, along with a half dozen children of comparable age, was looked after in a nursery established by Dr. Tropp just a few doors down from sickbay on deck seven. A civilian spouse of one crew member, both of whom were the parents of a child a few months older than René, had accepted the daunting task of supervising the toddlers. Even though Beverly worked in such close proximity to her son and made frequent visits to see him during her duty shift, it was not the same as the time she and Jean-Luc spent with him after the workday was completed.
Reaching to a shelf above the stove, zh’Thiin retrieved a pair of stone mugs that looked to be a match for the urn. “Several of my friends and colleagues are parents themselves, so I’m familiar with the body language, expressions, and other unspoken signs of a mother or father who misses their child.” She paused, and Beverly saw the professor’s expression change as her antennae drooped. “I had hoped to experience such feelings of my own one day.”
“I’m sorry,” Beverly said. Zh’Thiin had told her of her own failed pregnancies, along with the pain of realizing she would never know the joys of nurturing her own child. Rather than dwell on that loss, the professor instead had devoted her intellect and efforts toward finding a way to ensure other parents did not have to experience the sorrow she would forever carry with her.
“It’s quite all right, Doctor,” zh’Thiin said, busying herself for the next moments with pouring tea into the pair of cups. Returning the urn to the stove, she took the cups and offered one to Beverly, who accepted it with thanks.
Bringing the cup to her nose, Beverly inhaled the tea’s aroma. “What is it?”
“My own private blend,” the professor replied. “I grow the plants in a small garden in my home, using seeds I’ve acquired from different worlds during my travels. It took some time to find the proper mixture and determine which combinations weren’t toxic, to me and my friends as well as the occasional non-Andorian visitor.” As though anticipating such a reaction based on any number of past conversations on this topic, she turned to look at Beverly and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly safe for humans, but I won’t feel slighted should you choose to inspect your cup with a tricorder.”
Chuckling at that, Beverly shook her head. “No need for that.” She brought the cup to her lips and took a sip. As sweet as the tea had smelled while brewing, it was not nearly so saccharine to the taste as she had expected. It was, she decided in a single word, exquisite.
Zh’Thiin was directing her to the chair situated on the right-hand side of the professor’s low, curved desk when a soft chime echoed in the room. “Enter,” zh’Thiin called out, and the door to her office slid aside to reveal a young Andorian male dressed in a Starfleet uniform. The tunic he wore beneath his black and gray jacket was the blue of the Sciences Division, and the rank pips on his collar identified him as a lieutenant. Beverly was sure he was not a member of the Enterprise crew, but he still looked familiar.
“Good afternoon, Professor,” the Andorian said, before turning and offering a formal nod to Beverly. “Dr. Crusher, welcome to Andor.”
Smiling in reply, Beverly said, “Thank you.” Then, recognition finally rescued her. “Of course. You’re Lieutenant ch’Thane, from Deep Space Nine.”
“That’s correct, Doctor,” the Andorian replied, “though it has been a few years.”
“Indeed it has,” Beverly said. Already familiar with the work and research of Professor zh’Thiin’s predecessor, the late Dr. sh’Veileth, she had reacquainted herself with the doctor’s research materials during the Enterprise’s voyage to Andor. Shar, acting in his role as sh’Veileth’s assistant, also had compiled volumes of supporting documentation for the research the doctor was conducting, and which zh’Thiin was now continuing. “I think it’s wonderful that Starfleet has allowed you to stay on here and continue the research efforts.”
“He’s been an invaluable assistant to me,” zh’Thiin said. “He has a true gift for research, which I have been only too happy to exploit.”
Shar cast his eyes downward for a moment before replying, “I felt it was the correct thing to do, given that the Yrythny ova have not proven to be the solution to the troubles plaguing our people.”
“Perhaps not,” zh’Thiin countered, “but that’s what is so wonderful about science. It allows us to revisit ideas and theories and examine them with fresh eyes once new information is added to the mix. Dr. sh’Veileth’s work is extraordinary, and despite the setbacks we’ve experienced, there’s still so much to build on.”
“We are fortunate to have Professor zh’Thiin on this project,” Shar told Beverly. “Her insights have been invaluable. She has gleaned more from Dr. sh’Veileth’s research than anyone, and has been able to put those ideas into practice with what so far has been remarkable success.” Stepping toward the professor’s desk, Shar offered to zh’Thiin a Starfleet-issue padd. “On that matter, I have completed the reports on the patients you saw today. They are ready for transmittal to the Science Institute once you’ve given your approval.”
“Excellent,” zh’Thiin said as she took the padd. “I’m sure the Institute is as anxious to see these as I am to provide them.”
Beverly had observed the patient examinations conducted by zh’Thiin and Dr. Eluqunil sh’Laenatha, her hand-picked obstetrician, earlier in the day. Both zhen, who each had suffered a miscarriage a few years earlier, had with their respective bondgroups volunteered to be test subjects for the professor’s experiments with the new gene-therapy protocol she had developed. She was pleased to see firsthand the zhen’s progress during this, the final months of their respective pregnancies. If zh’Thiin’s calculations were correct, the births would occur within days of each other; and both babies were perfectly healthy according to every test and scan conducted by the professor.
“Would it be all right if I received a copy of those reports?” Beverly asked, reaching for the cup of tea she nearly had forgotten atop zh’Thiin’s desk. “I almost feel like I know them, at this point.” She already had read the professor’s notes and case files for both test subjects, and had been updated by zh’Thiin during the journey to Andor from Earth.
Looking up from the padd, the professor nodded. “Of course. Both bondgroups have already authorized the release of this information to you at my request. I’ll see to it that a copy is dispatched to you aboard the Enterprise when I send it to the Science Institute.”
Beverly took another sip of her tea, relishing the taste. “I wouldn’t mind if you included the recipe for this tea with that.” She set the cup down on the desk again before leaning back in her chair. “How much involvement has the Institute had in your work?”
“Almost none,” zh’Thiin replied. “We keep them informed about our progress, and in turn we enjoy a great deal of latitude, though I don’t always sense great enthusiasm or support for what we’re doing. If a
nything, I believe they’re deliberately keeping a distance between the Institute and our group, mostly because of the political controversy our work has caused, all while trying to avoid the appearance of actually doing that.”
“I can certainly see that,” Beverly said, “given the mixed public reaction.” She had seen reports about protests carried out in the time since Dr. sh’Veileth originally proposed using the Yrythny ova to modify Andorian genes to treat or even cure the issues surrounding conception and pregnancy. The media coverage given to Dr. sh’Veileth’s and now Professor zh’Thiin’s work was being filtered based on political, scientific, and even religious bias to such a degree that both supporting and dissenting viewpoints of any real merit were being drowned out by extremism on both sides. That much had even been a topic of conversation with both zhen during their individual examinations with zh’Thiin. “Speaking of that, what about your patients? Someone has to know why they’re coming here.”
“They do indeed, Doctor,” Shar replied. “We’ve had to enact security measures to ensure the professor’s patients are safe. Their identities are kept secret, and they are brought here from their homes via transporter so as not to attract the attention of protesters outside the compound.”
“Not that it matters,” zh’Thiin added. “They always seem to know when I’m seeing patients, even if they don’t know who those patients might be.”
Frowning, Beverly asked, “So they’re outside right now?”
“Oh my, yes,” zh’Thiin replied. Turning in her seat, she gestured toward the window behind her. “Not many, at least compared to the crowds that gather to protest the parliament and Presider sh’Thalis out by the main gates, but they make up for their lack of numbers with passion.”
Beverly rose from her seat and looked through the window, gazing out across the hundred meters or so of courtyard grass, trees, and shrubbery to the perimeter wall surrounding the Parliament Andoria complex. She saw three Andorians, each wearing the uniform of a parliament security officer and spaced at regular intervals along the barrier, watching a small group of Andorians milling about on the public street beyond the wall. They appeared only to be standing and watching; Beverly saw no placards or other signage, nor were any of the onlookers shouting or otherwise trying to attract attention. If it was a protest, it was one of the more peaceful such endeavors the doctor had ever seen.
“They seem harmless enough,” she said.
Zh’Thiin nodded. “They usually are, but there have been occasions where security has had to react to one disturbance or another.”
“How long have they been carrying on like this?”
It was Shar who replied. “This group has maintained a regular vigil for the past two months. I don’t always see the same people, so they must be organized to operate in shifts. Their numbers fluctuate, though never by more than five or six members. They don’t identify themselves as representing the True Heirs or the Treishya, but a few of them have expressed support for those groups’ causes.”
“So,” Beverly said, crossing her arms to ward off a sudden chill as she watched the assemblage, “what do you think they’re doing?”
Professor zh’Thiin shrugged. “If I was forced to offer a theory? I’d say they were waiting for something to happen.”
17
I offended someone in a past life. That’s the only explanation.
“This is main engineering,” Lieutenant Choudhury said, leading the Andorian diplomatic delegation through the massive shielded double doors and into the expansive workspace that formed the heart of the Enterprise. The multi-leveled compartment was awash with activity, with personnel manning workstations or moving from one task to another. “Every onboard system is monitored from here. With the use of configurable as well as direct interfaces to the main computer and its host of subsystems, the chief engineer and his staff have total control over every facet of the ship’s operation, maneuverability, and defense.”
As she spoke, Choudhury noted the presence of security personnel standing watch at various positions around the room. Though not a normal occurrence, she had suggested the extra precautions for engineering as well as other sensitive areas when Captain Picard informed her of Presider sh’Thalis’s desire to tour the ship along with members of her diplomatic cadre. The captain had agreed to Choudhury’s request and left the details to her, though he had added the caveat that the enhanced security measures should not feel so conspicuous as to make the visitors feel unwelcome. With that in mind, Choudhury had worked with her team leaders to set up a rotating detail of security teams to those areas of the ship to be included in the tours, opting for enhanced surveillance of the groups while moving from point to point. So far, the plan she had put into place seemed to be working, with the security officers proving to be a visible yet mostly unobtrusive presence.
What it had not done was alleviate Choudhury’s boredom.
The tours themselves were largely uneventful. Presider sh’Thalis had been among the first group to come aboard, and had asked all manner of thoughtful questions designed to spark engaging conversations. The topics had ranged from ship operations—with only occasional detours whenever the conversation drifted too close to what Choudhury considered to be sensitive information—to the role of Starfleet in the “new reality” in which the Federation now found itself. Rather than dispense with the notion that Starfleet was needed for anything other than assisting in the reconstruction of worlds devastated by the Borg assault, sh’Thalis had inquired as to Choudhury’s interest in returning to the Enterprise’s primary mission of exploration. So far as the presider was concerned, that was what the Federation needed in order to begin looking forward again. Rebuilding was important, of course, but so too was seeing to the future. To her own surprise, Choudhury had come away from the tour asking herself the same questions, and thanking sh’Thalis for the stimulating conversation.
It was now two days later, and all Choudhury wanted was to do something—anything—that did not require
her to answer the same basic, mundane questions over and over again.
“It’s so clean. I would have expected it to be more utilitarian,” remarked one of the delegates, a mid-level attaché in Presider sh’Thalis’s administration, as Choudhury remembered from the information she had been given about each visitor in this latest group. This was her fifth such tour in the past two days, and names and details were starting to blur together.
“It’s important to remember that the computer oversees most of the mundane tasks,” Choudhury replied, forcing a smile. “It employs some of the most sophisticated software ever designed, to the point that the ship theoretically could operate itself indefinitely in the event the crew becomes incapacitated for any reason. There are limits to that, of course, such as the service or replacement of physical components. For that, there are passageways and crawl spaces throughout the ship that provide for easy access to the various systems. This section is primarily for monitoring those systems, which includes modulating their performance or rerouting power to those areas that need it the most, such as when the ship sustains damage.”
Indicating the cadre of engineers who had volunteered to conduct individual tours of the engineering spaces, Choudhury said to her entourage, “Commander La Forge is not available at the moment, as he’s working with Captain Picard on some of the technical aspects for the conference, but he has placed several members of his staff at our disposal. They’re happy to guide you through this section, and please feel free to ask them anything you wish.”
As the group dispersed, with each of the delegates meeting a member of the engineering crew and allowing themselves to be led to different areas of the chamber, Choudhury realized after a moment that she was not alone. Sensing the presence behind her, she turned to see one of the Andorians regarding her. “May I help you, sir?”
“Starship computer technology has always been quite impressive,” the Andorian replied. When Choudhury regarded him with a confused expression, h
e bowed slightly. “My apologies, Lieutenant. I was once a Starfleet computer systems specialist. Threlas ch’Lhren, formerly of the U.S.S. Trinculo, though I suppose you likely already know that.”
“Indeed I do, sir,” Choudhury replied, smiling to remove any edge from her remark. She and her team had reviewed information on each delegate or other visitor scheduled to board the Enterprise, flagging for additional scrutiny those with possible ties to the known activist groups on Andor. Though ch’Lhren’s name had not been connected to any such groups, his prior Starfleet service record had caught Choudhury’s attention. Grateful for the distraction from inane conversations about cleanliness, she said, “You were a commander, serving aboard the Trinculo during the Dominion War as well as the Borg invasion.”
Ch’Lhren nodded. “Correct, though it’s important to stress that my role during those conflicts was nothing memorable. Despite holding an A6 computer-expert classification, I was often regarded as . . . what is the human expression?
A background player?”
“Not to me,” Choudhury said. Placing her hand on ch’Lhren’s arm, she guided him away from the row of workstations where two Enterprise engineers were working and where another was answering questions from one of the Andorian guests. “Computers account for far too much of a starship’s operation to dismiss them, much less the people responsible for their care and feeding.”