Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [158]
The smell of cinnamon changed to that of freshly cut czuba grass, something B’Elanna always associated with unhappy times in her life. Ssymko’s eyes, so like Max’s that they almost broke her heart, were filled with some deep emotion. Sadness? Anger? She hadn’t been with him long enough to know.
“Opportunity ebbs from this moment, B’Elanna,” he said. “And Noah will not last.”
In her amazement at the Moyani’s appearance, she’d forgotten Lessing. She looked down at him, at his broken bleeding body-broken and bloodied by her-and felt a twinge of shame. Could she have hurt him worse than she’d meant?
“Our function is to return now,” said Ssymko softly. “As yours must be.”
Suddenly B’Elanna found herself standing in the middle of Voyager’s shuttle bay with the unconscious Noah Lessing at her feet. Whatever the Moyani used to get them there, it was nothing like a transporter. Her guts felt like they’d been turned into ginger ale.
Without thinking, she ran to the nearest computer access panel and asked for a view of the Moyani vessel.
She had time to register the ship floating a few kilometers off Voyager’s port side before a terrific flash of light filled the monitor screen. When it was gone, so were the Moyani.
“And how was Mr. Lessing injured?” said the Doctor as she helped him lay the unconscious biologist on the recovery bed.
“Making a point,” said B’Elanna. “A good one.” She stood there for a minute, listening to the Doctor activate his diagnostic equipment and watching Lessing’s chest rise and fall. Lessing’s eyes fluttered open.
“Lieutenant,” he said in ghost of his normal voice.
“You’re going to be fine,” she said. “The Doctor’s all over it.”
Lessing suffered through a couple of painful-looking coughs. “Did it work,” he said eventually. “The Moyani- “
“They’re gone,” she said. “On their way home. Thanks to you.”
The Doctor did something with one of his machines that seemed to make things better for Lessing. His breathing improved and he seemed to relax a bit more.
Bending close, whispering so that the Doctor wouldn’t hear, she asked him why he had done it. Why he had used his friend’s DNA to revive the Moyani crew.
“Everybody should get a second chance,” he said softly. Then his eyes closed as the sedation field put him to sleep.
He’d be all right.
And so will Max and the rest of Equinox’s crew, she thought.
In a way Lessing had given them all a shot at redemption. B’Elanna thought of them-their genetic duplicates, anyway-returning to the their homeworld with news of the life they’d found in another galaxy. What kind of impression had she and Lessing made? She’d never know.
“Doc,” she said as a strange thought occurred to her. “Lessing used the templates from Equinox’s crew records to correct for the flaws in the Moyani revivification process.”
“Did he?” said the Doctor.
“Yes,” said B’Elanna. “But the thing is, only command staff and senior medical officers have access to those records.”
“That’s true,” said the Doctor, running some diagnostic tool over Lessing’s chest.
“So how’d Lessing get his hands on them?”
The Doctor stopped for a moment, appearing to mull the question deeply.
“Well, Lieutenant,” he said after a time. “Mr. Lessing might have convinced an organic doctor to bend regulations to help in reviving the Moyani crew. But an Emergency Medical Hologram, such as myself, could never move so far beyond his programmed duty parameters. Only living beings are flexible enough for that sort of behavior.”
Again there was silence in the medical bay for a moment or two.
“Doc,” she said, eventually. “I’m sorry. You know, for before.”
The Doctor said nothing for a time, busying himself instead with Lessing’s injuries. Then: “You know, Lieutenant, this circumstance reminds me of a saying the linguists translated from the Moyani records.”
“What is it?”
“It takes all kinds to make a universe,” said the Doctor, looking up at her briefly.
“Good saying,” said B’Elanna.
“I think so,” said the