Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [32]
Swaying, panting heavily, Worf waved away Resnick’s offer of help. “See to Captain Morgen,” he ordered, his voice little more than a rasp.
A couple of security officers approached the Daa’Vit. “No,” said Morgen. “Let me be.” And promptly fell to his knees. Burke pressed his insignia. “Sickbay—we need a trauma team in holodeck one. We’ve got two casualties —one Klingon and one Daa’Vit. Hurry. his
“But I feel fine,” Worf protested.
“I’m happy for you,” responded Crusher, using her tricorder to check the dermaplast patch on the Klingon’s back. It was adhering perfectly—coma good job, if she said so herself. “There’s really no need for this, Doctor.”
She glanced over her shoulder at Morgen. “Another sector heard from.”
The Daa’Vit shook his head disapprovingly. “What is it about medical officers?”
“They are excessively cautious,” Worf observed. “To be sure,” agreed the Daa’Vit. “1o offense, Doc-tor, but sickbay is the one thing I will not miss about Starfleet.”
Crusher chuckled. “Listen to you two. One would think you’d been here for days. It’s been only a couple of hours.” Finished with her examination of Worf’s dress-ings, she moved over to Morgen’s biobed.
“A couple of hours too many,” complained the Daa’Vit as the doctor positioned her tricorder near his
thigh. The gouge there had been deep, but it was healing nicely, with no sign of infection. “You can see we need no further attention.”
“I can see,” she countered, “that you know nothing about medicine. Or else you choose to ignore what you do know.” She moved the tricorder up to Morgen’s side, where he’d been badly slashed. “Just because you feel fine doesn’t mean you are fine. Those healing agents and painkillers and antibiotics take their toll. The healing agents in particular-they soak up nutrients like a sponge, leaving just enough for the body’s other functions. A little too much physical activity and you’ll be flat on your backs, wishing you had enough strength to scratch your nose.”
Worf made a derisive sound. “You underestimate the Klingon constitution, Doctor.” He considered Morgen. “And perhaps the Daa’Vit constitution as well.”
Morgen frowned as Crusher inspected his chest wounds. “Your colleague speaks the truth. Daa’Vit-and Klingons-are tougher than you may realize.”
Satisfied with Morgen’s progress, the doctor switched off her instrument and closed it up. “I underestimate nothing,” she said. “Worf should know that, considering I’ve been treating him for years now. True, I’ve never had to medicate him for wounds like these-but I think I know a few things about Klingon biology.” She replaced the tricorder in the pocket of her lab coat. “Now, if you were to say I’ve never treated a Daa’Vit, you’d be quite right. But I’ve studied up quite a bit on the subject.”
“Reading and doing are two different things,” Morgen reminded her. “I agree,” Crusher assured him. “That’s why I went to
the trouble of speaking recently with a Dr. Carter Greyhorse. You know him? Apparently, he’s had some experience treating a Daa’Vit. Naturally, neither of us anticipated any problems, considering the nature of our mission to Daa’V. But he humored me all the same.” Morgen’s eyes narrowed. He turned to Worf. “It’s a conspiracy.” The Klingon grunted in assent. “No doubt.” Crusher noted with interest the relationship that had developed between the two. Of course, she wouldn’t dare point it out to them. That would be the quickest way to destroy it.
Hell of a way to get closer, she thought. If the experience had lasted much longer, it would have killed them. “In any case,” she said, “I’ve got to go. The captain has called a meeting—you can imagine what it’s about.” Worf slid off his biobed. “I should be there.”
“No way,” the doctor told him. “You’ll stay right here. That’s an order.”
“But I am chief of security. And this