Death in Winter - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
“What is your business here?” the Romulan demanded.
“Trade,” said Pug. Thanks to the implant in his throat, his voice boomed as deeply as any true Barolian’s.
The Romulan eyed him for a heartbeat. Then he said, “You have permission to enter orbit. Be advised that you must submit a request before you may beam yourselves or your cargo to the surface. If the request is acceptable, you will be assigned a checkpoint.”
“I understand,” said Pug.
Without any warning, the Romulan cut the communications link. Pug turned to Picard and said, “That didn’t go too badly.”
Picard agreed. “Let us submit our request. The sooner we beam down, the better.”
For Beverly’s sake, he added silently, as well as that of the Kevrata.
6
AS BEVERLY LANGUISHED IN HER CELL, SHE WASN’T optimistic about her chances of escape.
Had she been captured by a Romulan with a less thorough knowledge of Federation prisoners, she would have stood a better chance. But Sela was hardly what one might call ignorant on that count.
More than likely, the doctor would be executed. That was the standard fate of prisoners who refused to cooperate with the Romulans. The method of execution might vary, but not the result.
It was all right. Beverly had expected to perish when she absorbed that disruptor blast. In that one moment, she had said all the good-byes she could ever hope to say. Whatever happened to her now, she was prepared for it.
What nettled her, keeping her from the peace that should have come with resignation, was the prospect of what would happen to the Kevrata. According to the intelligence supplied by the underground, the plague had already claimed the lives of nearly five percent of the native population, and another twenty-five percent were afflicted to one degree or another.
And the situation would get worse before it got better. Beverly knew that from the work she had done at Starfleet Medical. The Kevrata would be decimated-a population of more than a million reduced to perhaps a couple hundred thousand.
All because they had been denied the proper vaccine-a vaccine Beverly could easily have developed for them if only she were allowed to do so. It was too hideous to contemplate.
Fortunately for the Kevrata, the Federation wouldn’t give up on them. Once it became apparent that something had happened to derail the doctor’s mission, Starfleet Command would huddle and come up with a backup plan.
First and foremost, they would need another physician to deal with the epidemic. Unfortunately, there weren’t a great many options to pick from. The only other person who had had any real experience with the disease was Carter Greyhorse, the former chief medical officer of the Stargazer and Beverly’s colleague in her first go-round at Starfleet Medical.
It was she who had made the disease a research priority. However, Greyhorse had plunged into the work as deeply as she had, making major contributions along the way. Beverly might have come up with the cure without him, but her path would have been more arduous, and it would have taken a good deal longer.
So there was no question about Greyhorse’s viability as a scientist. But his viability as a clandestine agent? That was an iffy proposition, at best.
That means he’ll have to have someone dependable with him, she thought. Someone he’ll respect. And someone who’s had experience with the Romulans.
To her mind, there was only one person in the universe who fit that description-Jean-Luc Picard. Of course, he was also the last man Greyhorse had tried to kill. But that was many years and thousands of hours of therapy ago.
As far as Beverly knew, Greyhorse again saw Jean-Luc as he had during his earliest days on the Stargazer, as someone who deserved his loyalty and respect. If that were so, the two of them might do what Beverly had been prevented from doing-find a cure for the Kevrata’s plague.
Part of her prayed that it would be so. But another part feared for her friends.