A Time for War, a Time for Peace - Keith R. A. DeCandido [60]
Go gathered her padds, then rose from her seat. “This is my inspection tour, Captain, not yours. And you can rest assured that all the records on this ship are subject to my perusal.”
Without another word, she departed the ready room.
Beverly Crusher took the Hippocratic oath very seriously. She had lived her life by its tenets, to work to benefit the sick, to keep them from harm and injustice, and to keep all matters between doctor and patient confidential.
Right now, that devotion to medicine in general and to the oath in particular was the only thing that was keeping Crusher from hitting Dr. Toby Russell.
Russell was that most unholy of combinations: a brilliant researcher and a dreadful physician. Had she been content to remain in the lab, Crusher probably would have never crossed her path except as a name on a few monographs. But because she was a practicing neurospecialist, and because she was well regarded in that field, Crusher had called her in eleven years earlier when Worf—then the chief of security of the EnterpriseD—had suffered a severe spinal injury. Worf’s Klingon pride would not allow him to accept traditional therapies that would grant him only limited mobility. Russell proposed a radical, and very risky, treatment that would mean full recovery—or death. The latter option came very close to being the result, but Worf did pull through, and Russell was vindicated.
Still, Crusher had reported her ethics violations—both with Worf and with her unorthodox treatment of a civilian the Enterprise rescued from the U.S.S. Denver who died—to Starfleet Medical. Russell had received a reprimand, but Crusher’s hoped-for revoking of Russell’s medical license never came. At the time, she’d chalked it up to the success of her genitronic procedure on Worf.
More than a decade later, after the two of them had disagreed both in print and once at a medical conference on Trill, Russell was now assigned to evaluate the medical practices on the Enterprise.
That irresponsible medical hack is going to evaluate me. That’s just too rich.
Sitting now in her office, reading over the latest progress reports from Dr. Wasdin on Delta Sigma IV—which were very encouraging—Crusher tried to ignore Russell when she entered. Sadly, that would not make her go away.
Russell had let her blond hair grow to neck length, and there were several more lines in her face, but otherwise she looked exactly the same. She even still favored the Atrean suits with the flared “wings” on the bottom of the shirt over a Starfleet uniform, just as she had a decade earlier. Her long-fingered hands were holding a padd tightly to her chest, almost as if it would protect her.
Just at that moment, it occurred to Crusher that, should she accept Fandau’s offer to head up Starfleet Medical, she would be in a position to start proceedings against Russell that would possibly lead to her license being revoked.
Cheered by this thought, Crusher, in as pleasant a voice as she could muster—which wasn’t especially pleasant, really—asked, “What can I do for you, Doctor?”
Russell pursed her lips. “Well, whatever you do next for me will be the first thing you’ve done for me since I arrived.”
“Hasn’t Dr. Tropp given you everything you’ve asked for?”
“Yes, he has.”
“Good. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to speak with you,” she lied, “but I’ve been very busy with other duties.”
Taking a seat in one of the guest chairs, Russell said, “Be that as it may, there are some questions I need to ask you.”
“I really don’t have time to talk to you right now, Doctor.”
“Come on, Beverly, you can call me Toby.”
I don’t believe it—she’s still trying to be friends with me. When Russell first set foot on the Enterprise, she complimented Crusher on an obscure paper she’d written, something