A Call to Darkness - Michael Jan Friedman [108]
Of course, even after the Council had agreed to drop the mantle and release the conscripts, it had taken a while for all of them to be beamed up. A long while.
On the other hand, the limitations imposed by transporter capacities had been a blessing for those in medical and security sections-since it had fallen to them to allocate space and supplies to the refugees. If all 18,000 had beamed aboard at once, it would have been an impossible task.
Not that other sections of the ship’s crew hadn’t been busy. The command staff and xenology had had the difficult assignment of establishing contact with and screening the conscripts.
After all, to fulfill their agreement with the Council, they had only to remove Federation personnel. Among the non-Federation participants, they could not beam up anyone who failed to express a willingness.
Not unexpectedly, everyone had expressed that willingness. And so the captain had offered to take them as far as Starbase 91, where they could make arrangements to contact their respective home systems.
Underlying this offer, needless to say, had been the idea that all those rescued might serve as goodwill ambassadors, spreading a positive image of the Federation to cultures not entirely familiar with it.
“Doctor?”
Pulaski emerged from her reverie and saw Burtin approaching. He looked a little weary, but he was smiling through his weariness.
“A lot like the frontier?” she asked.
He surveyed the crowded cargo deck. “I guess it is.” Burtin’s smile faded, and he turned to her. “Which brings up something I wanted to discuss with you.”
“I know,” said Pulaski. “You’re considering a transfer back to the frontier.”
He nodded. “It’s that obvious, huh?”
“To someone who knows you, yes.”
Burtin shrugged. “What can I say? I just haven’t been able to get comfortable on this big ship. I mean, I always thought it would be the best thing in the galaxy to serve aboard the Enterprise. I guess some of us are meant for less exotic assignments.”
She met his gaze, held it. “It has nothing to do with the disease and the way you handled it? Because, for all your self-doubts, I couldn’t have done any better myself.”
He smiled again. “I don’t believe that. And even so, that’s not the issue. Here, I’m just a technician, overshadowed by a bunch of fancy equipment. If one is a genius at pathology-as I believe you are-then it’s different. But when you’re an old-fashioned sawbones like I am, your talents are wasted in a place like this.”
He looked around. “Besides, there are lots of good, young doctors that would kill for a berth on the Enterprise. It’s rare when you find one willing to bleed a gut on the frontier.”
“Then I can’t talk you out of it?” asked Pulaski.
“I’m afraid not,” he told her.
She placed a hand on his arm, squeezed. “I’m going to miss you, Sam Burtin.”
It took a moment for Burtin to respond. “Same here,” he said finally. Then he was off to see to the distribution of some foodstuffs that bad just come down on the turbolift.
“Eight years,” said Strak. “Eight years since we were stolen off the bridge of the Le-Matya.” As the Vulcan articulated the words, be endowed them with a certain wistfulness-like a dry wind in a barren desert. Quite a trick in the temperature-controlled environs of Ten-Forward, where some of the Federation officers among the conscripts had gathered to celebrate their freedom. “And yet,” he went on, “it could have been worse. I might have perished on that planet-and never known I was good for anything but driving wagons.”
Picard nodded. “I know the feeling-though I was subjected to it for only a short time.” He paused. “And I am not a telepath. I had only my own pain to cope with.”
“Fortunately,” explained Strak, “I found ways to construct telepathic blocks. Or I could never have remained sane.”
“In any case,” said Picard, “your ordeal is over now. Once we arrive at Starbase Ninety-one, you will be able to secure passage to Vulcan-or to