Pantheon - Michael Jan Friedman [185]
The remark elicited an unexpected change in the colonist’s demeanor. He seemed aloof for a moment, almost resentful. However, he continued to look the Starfleet officer in the eye.
“Clearly,” he said, “we didn’t warm to the prospect of deceiving anyone. But to be perfectly honest, Commander Picard…we feel no more kinship with Earth than we do with any other inhabited world.”
At first, the second officer thought he might have heard incorrectly. Then he saw the boggled expression on Ben Zoma’s face.
“And why is that?” Picard asked the colonist.
Williamson shrugged. “Put yourself in our ancestors’ positions. You’ve risked your life to push out your people’s boundaries, to further Earth’s knowledge of the galaxy. And yet, when you fail to return, what does your homeworld do for you?
“Does it plan a rescue? Does it dispatch another vessel to go after you, to see if there were any survivors of your flight? Even after Federation technology allows your people to cross the barrier unscathed, does even one Earth ship come out here to determine your fate?”
“The Valiant’s captain sent out a message buoy,” Picard noted. “It suggested that he was going to destroy his ship.”
“And that was enough?” Williamson asked evenly. “Nobody cared enough to pursue the matter further?”
There was little the commander could say to that. “Apparently not,” he conceded, feeling a twinge of shame on the Federation’s behalf.
The colonist spread his hands out. “Then I ask you…is it any wonder we no longer feel any particular kinship with Earth? Is it a surprise that we’ve come to see ourselves as a separate civilization…even a separate species in some respects?”
Picard saw Williamson’s point. As far as the Magnians were concerned, Earth and its people were a distant memory…and under the circumstances, not an especially sweet one.
Of course, he still didn’t approve of what Santana had done. It was still an act of treachery that had cost some of his comrades their lives. However, he understood now why she was willing to contemplate it.
“I would like to return to my ship now,” said Picard, “and put together the engineering teams that will help you.”
“Excellent,” Williamson told him. “And I will put some teams together to help you.”
It seemed like an arrangement from which both sides could only benefit. Picard hoped that it would actually work out that way.
Greyhorse peered through the oval window at Serenity Santana and her Magnian physicians. Then he turned to Law, the medical center’s director, who stood beside him in a white lab coat.
“This is how you treat all your patients?” he asked.
Law, a small man with Asian features, shook his head. “Only those who can be treated this way. Direct mental stimulation is a valuable tool, make no mistake. But in many cases, we’re still forced to resort to pharmaceuticals or even scalpels.”
On the other side of the window, Santana was lying on a narrow bed under a set of low-hanging blue lights. None of the four doctors surrounding her was actually touching the woman. Instead, they seemed to be leaning over her, eyes closed, focusing on an invisible process.
“What’s your success rate using this kind of procedure?” Greyhorse wondered aloud, his inquiry sounding more blunt than he had intended.
Law smiled. “Very high, I’m pleased to say. More than ninety-eight percent. And we are constantly trying to improve on that.” He watched his colleagues work on Santana. “Of course, in the present case, the problem was a little more complicated, since the patient’s injury took place days ago and had already been treated in other ways.”
The ship’s surgeon looked at the smaller man. “Are you saying I actually set you back?”
The colonist shrugged. “Just a little. The important thing is that Serenity will be fine.”
“You sound as if you know her,” Greyhorse observed.
“I do,” said Law. “She was a playmate of my eldest daughter. But then, most people in Magnia know each other, if only by family or reputation. After all, Doctor, we’re a small