Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [106]
“Excellent,” Picard told him. “What about the possibility of suicide?”
“I have scanned the doctor’s person. He will have no opportunities to take his own life.”
“And my knife?” asked Idun.
Worf turned to her. “It was discovered in his quarters. It will be necessary to hold it as evidence.”
Idun frowned, but she seemed to accept the necessity. “Turning back to the captain, the Klingon said: “Our search of Dr. Greyhorse’s quarters also revealed a small supply of ku’thei pills. It was one of these that he used in his attempt to finish Captain Ben Zoma.” “I see,” Picard responded. However, his attention was starting to wane as the pain mounted-particularly in his side, where Greyhorse must have fractured a rib or two when he kicked him. Where in blazes was Seiar?
Coincidentally, his door chose that moment to beep again. “Come.”
This time it was the Vulcan. And she had her medical tricorder with her, slung by its strap over one shoulder. Also, what Picard recognized as a small case full of commonly used drugs. Snatching a chair as she came in, she pulled it with her
as she approached him. “I assume,” Selar said in a very businesslike tone, “that the captain would prefer to be examined in private.”
Picard started to protest to the contrary, but his guests were already on their way out.
“Commander Asmund,” he called, stopping her in her tracks. She regarded him.
“Aye, sir?”
“There is something I would like to say to you.” He looked to Selar. “If you would give us a moment, Doctor—” “No.” Idun shook her head. Her posture was as stiff as ever—but there was an uncharacteristic vulnerability in her eyes. “There’s no need, sir. I know. was .
And before he could insist, she was out the door and on her way.. Picard sighed. He was glad he had been wrong about Idun Asmund. Very glad. He only hoped that she would finally get what was coming to her-the friendship and admiration of her Stargazer colleagues. It was long overdue.
Before he had completed the thought, Selar was running her tricorder over him and making those dis-couraging sounds that doctors seemed so good at. Sigh-+, he submitted to the scrutiny. It was Eisenberg’s turn to monitor Ben Zoma when the captain’s warning came over the intercom. They would be trying that maneuver again—the one that had gotten them out of the slipstream once before. And it would probably shake them up as much as it had the last time.
That was all right. Sickbay had fared pretty well once; there was no reason to believe it wouldn’t do so again.
As he checked Ben Zoma’s readouts for the umpteenth time, he thought about what O’Brien had told him in Ten-Forward-about “ringside seats” and “the greatest show in the galaxy.” For a little while there, the transporter chief had made it seem so exciting, so heady. But if the stars were a little more tame next time he visited Ten-Forward, Eisenberg wouldn’t be too upset. And neither, he expected, would O’Brien-despite his brave talk and his toasts to “warp nine point nine nine five.”
Completing his review of the readouts, the med tech started around the divider that separated Ben Zoma from their other patient — Cadwallader, no longer a critical-care case. But before he could reach the woman’s beside, he caught a glimpse of a couple of cranberry-colored uniforms coming his way. Instinctively, he turned to see what had occasioned a visit from the captain and his first officer-especially when the maneuver was to take place in a matter of minutes. Then he realized that it wasn’t Picard and Riker at all. It was Captain Morgen and Commander Asmund. And right behind them, Lieutenant Joseph, and the Gnalish— Professor Simenon.
As Morgen led his companions past the curiosity-ridden med tech, he saw Cadwallader get up on her elbows and smile. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asked. “Our fear,” remarked