Resistance - J.M. Dillard [73]
Be truthful. You’re doing this because you want to go to him and not leave his side until you’re sure he’s safe and completely Jean-Luc again.
Yes. But I have another very good, very logical reason.
Fleeing the Borg when they had boarded the Enterprise was the second most frightening memory of her life—almost as frightening as the moment she had first set eyes on Locutus. But she felt no fear now, only horror, for Jean-Luc’s sake. She was too busy trying to imagine where he was, what he was feeling…and what he had gone through.
In midstride, she realized that she was still wearing her lab coat. Chagrined, she pulled it off without slowing her pace and flung it over her arm. She could not afford to be late: she needed time to make her case.
Two more steps, and she was in the transporter room. Worf stood in hawkish profile at the transporter console, next to Ensign Luptowski. The Klingon turned as she entered—and just behind her came Sara Nave, as tight-lipped and tense as Beverly had ever seen her. She was attended by three security crew members. Beverly recognized Chao, a muscular, dark-haired woman, and Leary, petite but formidable, but not the third, a thirtyish man with dark auburn hair and remarkably blue eyes who bore the relentlessly calm demeanor of a seasoned officer.
All of them, including Worf, were armed with ominous-looking phaser rifles.
As they all came to a stop and faced Worf, Nave shot Crusher a look and smiled in grim approval. Somehow, she had sized up the doctor; she understood what she was about to do, and she approved. Beverly shared a long look with her, then glanced back at Worf.
The Klingon turned to her. When Beverly had first met him, many years ago, his features had reminded her of an owl’s: fiercely penetrating eyes beneath swooping brows that created a perpetual scowl. Worf briefly caught her gaze, then looked pointedly at the medkit slung over her shoulder.
“Thank you, Doctor. Is the injection in there?”
“No.” She touched her belt. “It’s here.” She paused. “Actually…I’m going with you, Worf. When I was preparing the injection, my tests indicated that the feminizing hormone is in fact contained in a nutrient gel secreted by the drones’ bodies, triggered by the loss of a queen. If I can get a sample of drone tissue—now that their body chemistry has altered to produce the hormone—I’m confident I can find a way to alter their DNA.” It was Jean-Luc, actually, who had provided the clue, when he had spoken of the drones’ protectiveness of the queen. Not a directive, he had said. Something deeper. Those words had haunted her until she at last realized what that “something deeper” was: DNA. “And if that’s done…”
He lifted his chin, adamant. “I am afraid you must stay, Doctor. It is too dangerous for you to go.”
“If you fail in your mission, it will be too dangerous to be on this ship, Commander. It hasn’t been safe since we all agreed to accompany the captain on his search for the Borg queen.” She pulled him aside and softened her tone. This was not a conversation for the junior officers to witness. “Hear me out, Worf. If I alter their DNA, it could spread to all the Borg in the Alpha Quadrant. They’ll never be able to produce another queen. We could stop them for good.”
“I understand.” Worf reached for the medkit. “But I can administer the injection. And I can take the sample.”
“I have to do this,” Beverly said sharply, stridently, as she pulled away from him with determination in her eyes. She knew that she was being unfair. She was counting on his Klingon sensibilities to kick in. Truthfully, anyone could make the injection. There was no need for a medical professional to administer it. Her request was personal. And she knew that Worf would see it that way, as more than a simple battle with the Borg. This was a fight to save the man she loved. In his eyes, it would be a deeply honorable action. “Please,” she said softly. “I have to do this.”
The tension in his features eased; the corner of his lip quirked in the small, exasperated gesture she knew so well.