Intellivore - Diane Duane [25]
“It’s a very nice planet, really,” said the team leader. “Fertile—a big temperate band. Not much in the way of oceans, but we don’t mind that. Mammals are in short supply there—we’ve brought a few, and some insects to pollinate the plants. As for the rest—” He shrugged. “You take your chances, settling a new world.”
“Yes. I hope you do well there.”
“I take your thought kindly, Captain,” said the team leader, “though our concept of doing well and yours are probably fairly different.”
When the details were resolved, the team leader simply turned and walked away. (There were no good-byes.) Silent, the away team beamed back up; as they went, Picard looked one last time off in the direction toward which the children had run, and listened, in vain, for any last echo.
As the transporter room reformed around them, Picard looked at Troi.
“Are you all right, Counselor?”
She laughed, a short, harsh sound. “Captain, I may complain sometimes about the turmoil of the emotions of people around me. And I’m well enough protected that I can normally cope with what’s going on. But I’d sooner deal with a whole shipful of angry or crazy people than that psychic dead space over there. The bondage … it’s not even pain: they’ve been suppressing it so long that there’s very little left but a dull ache.” She shook her head. “The planet he identified—”
“He was telling the truth, then?”
“As far as I can tell. I got a clear sense that his respect for you increased somewhat when you let him know that you’d caught him in a lie.”
“That’s one thing research is good for, anyway,” said Picard. “Well, we’ll pass this new information on to Mr. Data. Mr. Worf, set the communications schedule up, and they can go on their way.”
“Yes, sir.”
Troi and Worf went out of the transporter room ahead of Picard. He thought a moment, and then headed for sickbay.
It was nearly empty when he got there; they were having a quiet time. Crusher was back in her office, tapping away at her monitor, pausing every now and then to speak to the screen.
Picard strolled through, nodded to a crewman having his arm patched up by one of Crusher’s assistant doctors, and tapped on the doorframe of Crusher’s office. The doctor looked up, crooked a finger at him; he came in.
“Sit down, Jean-Luc. I’m almost done with this.”
“And this is what?”
“Oh, the autopsy information on—” She nodded out at the diagnostic bed where the Alpheccan had lain.
“Any indication of the cause of the brain damage?”
She pushed the padd aside and leaned on her elbows on the desk. “No, and truly it’s a puzzle. Not that it was damage as such, Jean-Luc. I looked for it right down to the molecular level: nothing.” She gazed at the wall across from her, as if expecting to find answers there. “I looked most carefully at the possibility of some causative organism or infectious agent, some kind of DNA derangement or …” She shrugged. “I may be missing something. But I don’t think so. I think this is simply something we’ve never seen before, and I hate coming up with something we’ve never seen before. Not when it’s something like this.”
She shuddered, and Picard thought of Troi. “Well,” he said, “of course you’ll let me know if you come up with anything.”
“A sudden attack of genius wouldn’t hurt,” Crusher said, somewhat morosely. “I’m going to sit down and have a long talk with Jim Spencer to make sure this isn’t something that’s turned up in the Alpheccan literature previously. But he seemed as confused as I am.” She gave Picard a rueful smile. “Which makes me feel slightly better, though not that much.”
Picard nodded. “It’s interesting,” he said, “to have people outside our own ship to consult with, for a change. Exploring the far reaches by yourself can have its points, but so does traveling in company every now and then. Which reminds me—”
His commbadge chirped; he tapped it. “Picard here.”
“Captain,” said Data,