The Children of Hamlin - Carmen Carter [73]
“It was my decision to bring him on board.”
“I’m not blaming you. I’m not even blaming myself.
At the time, it seemed the right thing to do, but Ruthe knew better. We should have left him where he was.”
“In captivity?” His abhorrence of the Hamlin children’s circumstances was not easily dismissed.
“To him, this was captivity,” she said, waving at the enclosure of the ship’s hull. “Jean-Luc, Jason committed suicide. Not outright, not by damaging his body, but simply by deciding to die.”
Picard listened to the tremor in her voice with deepening concern and was struck anew by her pallor. “You’re much too tired for this discussion.”
“I can’t sleep,” she said brusquely, rising from behind the desk. “I’ve got work to do.”
“You won’t bring Jason back to life by running around sickbay.”
“I’ve got other patients to care for.”
“Don’t you trust your own staff, Dr. Crusher?”
“Well, of course I-“
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Actually, I think I’m too tired to sleep.”
Picard knew the feeling. After a certain point, exhaustion fed on itself and the mind raced on without regard to the body’s need for rest. “A sedative would change that.”
“Don’t practice medicine without a license,” she advised, heading toward the office doorway. “And I won’t give orders on the bridge.”
He let her brush past him and stalk out into the anteroom, then followed in her wake. She didn’t go far before another doctor waylaid her.
“What is it, Iovino?” Crusher asked impatiently.
“I have a question about Moses.”
Picard waited until the young intern was standing by Crusher’s side, then he called out, “Beverly … “
She looked back toward him. With admirable slight of hand, Iovino whipped out a hypo spray and placed it against the chief medical officer’s arm. Crusher jerked away at the sound of the hiss, but not before the contents had been injected into her system.
“What the hell are you doing, Iovino?”
“Following my orders,” said Picard, walking up to them. He had hoped to avoid this surprise tactic, but given Crusher’s obstinacy, there seemed little alternative. Fortunately, Dr. Iovino had readily agreed to the maneuver.
“Dammit, nobody orders my medical staff around but me,” Crusher stormed at Picard. He was unmoved by her fury. She turned on Iovino. “Retranine?”
“Ten cc.”
“I should put you on report for this.”
“Just don’t spit at me,” said the intern without any remorse. “I’m tired of being spit at.”
Crusher swayed in place. The sedative was already taking effect. With a sigh of exasperation, she said, “Five cc would have been more appropriate.”
Iovino shrugged. “I knew I had to inject through your jacket.”
“Oh, right,” said Crusher. Her head was suddenly very heavy.
“Come on.” Picard took her firmly by the elbow. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”
The nightshift crew on the bridge was small. Data supervised the helm while Lieutenant Worf controlled the aft deck. Other support personnel were close at hand, but the Klingon did not call for assistance. He ran another check on the communications board, his third so far, and reported the results with an impassive expression. “No response.”
“Damn.” Riker leaned forward in the captain’s chair. “Data?”
“We are within contact range, sir,” said Data, turning from his position at the ops control. “The lack of radio transmissions indicates something is amiss.”
The first officer ticked off the possible reasons for New Oregon’s silence. “Equipment malfunction, ion storm interference … “
“That possibility had already occurred to me,” interceded Data. “I ran the requisite sensor scan and found normal ion levels.”
Riker continued with, “Frequency confusion … “
“Checking all communications bands,” declared Worf as his heavy hands touched lightly on the console surface. “No transmissions from that sector on any frequency.”
Riker sighed heavily. “Which leaves us with equipment malfunction on the planet surface or … ” He let the unfinished phrase dangle in air.
“Further conjecture would be highly speculative,” Data pointed out.
“I know, Data, but we’ll have