Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [52]
The captain turned to him. He had a strange look in his eyes—as if Worf’s comment had struck some kind of chord. “Lieutenant,” the older man said finally, “we are dealing with someone who has an extraordinary grasp of this ship’s systems. Considering the unit’s proximity to Security, I am certain the assassin did not reprogram it in person. And if he-was He paused. “Or she reprogrammed it from afar, I am certain even Mr. La Forge would be hard pressed to say how.”
Worf scowled. “Nonetheless-was
Picard dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. “Nonetheless nothing. You have more important things to do than waste time on self-recrimination. Do I make myself clear?” The Klingon straightened, feeling appropriately chas-tised. “Aye, sir,” he said.
“Now take me through this assault as you’ve reconstructed it. And don’t leave out any details.”
Worf nodded. “As you wish.”
The critical-care area was off limits to all nonmedical personnel, with the exception of Picard, Riker, and Worf. Those were the orders Crusher had left when she’d gone to her office, in order to more closely analyze the vital-sign readings she’d taken from Cadwallader.
Simple. In retrospect, too simple.
She’d forgotten that Carter Greyhorse was a medical officer, and that none of her doctors and nurses—
who knew only half Cadwallader’s story themselves—would have a reason to keep the high-ranking visitor out. So when Crusher returned to critical care, satisfied that the patient was safe from any serious complications, there was her former colleague-hovering massively over Cadwallader’s unconscious form, one huge hand brushing a stray lock of hair o@.” her forehead. Before she could say anything-after all, what could she say?— Greyhorse had sensed her presence and turned around. She had never seen him display much emotion. But she saw it now. His eyes blazed beneath lowered brows. “Damn it,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me about this, Beverly?”
Crusher shrugged. “It happened just a few minutes ago. And we don’t normally bring in visitors to help with patient care.”
He struck the biobed-hard. “When it comes to Cadwallader, I am not just a visitor. I’ve put a lot of effort into this woman over the years. When she’s hurt, I want to know about it.”
“I’ll take that under advisement,” Crusher told him, stiffening under his barrage. Then she remembered the circumstances, and she forced herself to take a gentler approach. “I know how you feel, Carter. She’s your friend-was
“She’s more than my friend,” Greyhorse said. He glanced back at Cadwallader. “At Mania, we had taken some direct hits. Sickbay was a mess-fires all over. And debris-I was pinned under some of it. It was nearly impossible for me to get out-or for anyone else to get in.” A pause. “She refused to leave– at least until she knew if I was alive or dead. Cadwallader and Picard and a few others stayed behind while the shuttles were taking
off. Finally, she found me-cut me free of the wreckage just before sickbay became a bloody inferno. And with some help hauled me onto the last shuttle. By then I’d lost consciousness—too much smoke inhalation.” He turned back to Crusher. “If not for Cadwallader, I would have died a pretty grisly death.”
“I didn’t know,” said Crusher.
Greyhorse cleared his throat, a little embarrassed. “Now you do.” He tilted his head to indicate the patient. “Phaser burns? Where in God’s name did she get those?”
Crusher cursed inwardly. Too late, she looked up at the monitor above the bed, which had a full display of Cadwallader’s tissue damage. Any doctor worth his salt could tell the molecular disruption patterns had been caused by a phaser beam. There was no point in lying. Greyhorse was good; he would see through any explanation she could make up. “Come on back into my office,” she told him. “It’s a long story.”
Geordi shook his head. “This is crazy. Absolutely crazy. As if the slipstream wasn’t trouble enough!” Picard’s intercom voice was ominous: “Keep an eye out in your section, Commander. If this killer of ours is as enterprising