Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [20]
Then, at point-blank range, she felt the splintering impact of Sela’s disruptor beam.
2
“TEA,” PICARD SAID OPTIMISTICALLY. “EARL GREY. HOT.”
He watched with interest as something took shape in his replicator’s alcove. It took a while, but it finally manifested itself as a cup and saucer. Ah, the captain thought with a feeling of satisfaction, now we are getting somewhere.
The day before, his request had produced the required beverage sans cup-which made for rather a mess. This was progress. He made a mental note to thank Chief Heyer, who had assumed the responsibility of getting all the replicators into working order.
Removing the simple white china from the alcove, Picard watched the steam rise lazily, even sensuously from his cup. Then he brought it to his lips and took a sip.
And regretted it.
Had the carpet not been laid so recently, he might have spit out what was in his mouth-that was how vile it tasted. As it was, he took pains to return the liquid to the cup whence it came, and then-with a shiver-returned the cup to the replicator.
Progress, perhaps. But it was far from a fait accompli.
Just then, he heard the voice of his chief engineer over the ship’s intercom. “Captain,” he said, “this is La Forge. There’s a communication for you from Starfleet Command.”
Picard smiled, his experience with the tea forgotten. “Are you also our com officer now, Mister La Forge?”
The engineer chuckled. “Whatever it takes, sir.”
The captain had always admired that attitude in Geordi. “By all means, Commander, put it through.”
Sitting down at his desk, he watched as the Federation graphic was replaced with another image-that of Admiral Edrich, the gray-haired elder statesman of Starfleet Command. Picard hadn’t met the man until after he took command of the EnterpriseD, but he had taken a liking to Edrich instantly.
“Admiral,” he said. “What can I do for you?”
Edrich frowned, accentuating the wrinkles around his mouth. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Jean-Luc.”
Picard recalled a time when he had heard a similar remark, albeit from a different admiral. However, he had never expected the news to be that bad. To lose his brother, his sister-in-law, and his beloved nephew all at once… it had almost broken his heart for good.
The captain cringed a little, wondering what the news would be on this occasion. Not as devastating as that other time, certainly. It couldn’t be.
Then Edrich said, “It’s Beverly Crusher. She’s been declared missing in action.”
Picard found himself shaking his head, unable to wrap his mind around the information. “Missing…?” he repeated numbly.
“The likelihood,” the admiral said softly but unrelentingly, “is that she’s been killed.”
It has to be a mistake. The captain said as much. “How could Beverly be missing when she’s back at Starfleet Medical?”
Edrich sighed. “She left Starfleet Medical a week ago, Jean-Luc, on a covert mission. Top clearance only.”
How is that possible? Picard had spoken to her only… he counted the days. Has it been an entire week already? “Where did she- ” Feeling his throat begin to constrict, he paused to get himself under control. “Where was Doctor Crusher sent?”
“A world called Kevratas,” said the admiral, “on the edge of the Romulan Empire. An epidemic is ravaging the native population. Doctor Crusher had experience with it a long time ago, on Arvada Three. We hoped she would be able to develop a vaccine.”
Picard remembered Beverly telling him about Arvada III. She had been but a girl, helping to treat the victims of a crash-not only for their injuries, but also for a virus they seemed to have brought with them.
And she had developed a vaccine-for Federation member species, at least. He remembered her flush of triumph when she told him about it from her office at Starfleet Medical. And that, he admitted grudgingly, made her the perfect candidate to find a cure for the epidemic on Kevratas.
“Of course,” said Edrich, “this was more than a humanitarian gesture.