Immortal Coil - Jeffrey Lang [43]
Maybe we should run the scans again. Maybe we’ve missed something. Maybe there’s something wrong with their equipment and I should transfer him to the Enterprise. She laid her head down on the desk. Maybe I should take a nap. She would close her eyes for a minute, just a minute. Maury would be back soon. If someone needed her, the call would wake her up. She was good at waking up quickly. She was a doctor.
“Doctor?”
Crusher shot up in her chair. “Yes?” she said too loudly.
“Were you asleep?”
It wasn’t Maury’s voice. She almost tapped her combadge thinking it was the Enterprise calling, but then she looked around behind her.
“Data? No. I mean, yes, I guess I was, but I didn’t mean to be. How long … ?”
“I entered the room only thirty-five seconds ago, so I cannot say for certain.”
Crusher glanced at the nearby chrono, then tried to remember what time it had been the last time she looked. She wasn’t certain, but it couldn’t have been long. Five minutes, maybe? She quickly checked Maddox’s monitor and found exactly what she expected to find: Maddox, unconscious, unmoving.
“I … Okay, Data. I’m sorry. I’m a little disoriented.” She combed her hair back from her eyes with her fingers and tried to shake the gummy feeling out of her brain. “What can I do for you?”
Data moved around to sit in the chair where Maury Sullivan had been seated. He seemed a little hesitant, almost, Crusher thought, embarrassed. “I came,” he said, “because I was curious about Commander Maddox’s condition and wondered if you had any information that you did not report in your last log entry. I know you sometimes choose to withhold speculations.”
Crusher felt the corners of her mouth curl up, surprised to discover that Data knew so much about her report-writing style. “That’s true,” she replied. “But, unfortunately this time, I didn’t. Commander Maddox’s body has healed and, as far as I’ve been able to determine, there’s no organic damage to his brain. Unfortunately, we haven’t figured out how to reach his mind. There may be something we haven’t thought of yet, but …” Her train of thought petered out and she shrugged. “There isn’t much more to say, I’m afraid.”
“I see,” Data said, frowning, the tone of his voice making it obvious that he didn’t see at all. “Is there anything I can do to assist you, Doctor?”
Crusher shook her head, then said, “When I talked to the captain this morning … wait, last night …” She rubbed her forehead. I hate dirtside lag, she thought, then began again. “He said you were investigating the accident. Shouldn’t you be concentrating your efforts there?”
Data looked down at his interlaced fingers and actually twiddled his thumbs. For a moment, Crusher wondered if he was trying out a new mannerism. “The investigation has reached an impasse, Doctor. I confess I was hoping there might be some chance Commander Maddox might simply awaken and tell us what occurred. That is, I see, an unrealistic expectation …”
Crusher nodded, touched by Data’s evident disappointment. Then, moved by the shadow of an intuition, she asked, “Is there something else, Data?”
“What do you mean, Doctor?”
“Is there something else you wanted to ask me?”
“I … well, yes,” Data said, then paused for a long moment. “There is something I have been thinking about a great deal lately and I was hoping you might be able to …” He hesitated again, obviously struggling to find the right words. It was quite unlike Data’s usual calm demeanor. Then she remembered her last conversation with Jean-Luc and his mentioning the stir created when Data and Rhea McAdams had gone dancing. Was Data about to ask for a lesson in waltzing? Romantic advice? Information