The Devil's Heart - Carmen Carter [11]
As soon as the captain turned to Data, the android nodded and said, “I will broaden my search to cover a profile of the expedition.”
“Thank you, Mr. Data.”
The background information would be useful, but Picard doubted it would provide any insight into the mystery of the violence on Atropos.
Instead, his thoughts shifted to sickbay, where the answers to his most pressing questions lay just out of reach, locked deep in T’Sara’s mind.
He would continue his investigation there.
She had a gaunt, wrinkled face and hair leached white by the passage of centuries.
Curled on her side, covered by a light blanket, T’Sara appeared to be sleeping peacefully on the diagnostic bed. The only clue to her steep dive into a healing trance was the weak flutter of indicators on the medical scanner; her life-signs barely registered.
The loose sleeve of Beverly Crusher’s coat brushed against Picard’s arm. He couldn’t tell if the doctor had moved to his side to offer silent comfort or to seek it out for herself.
“She’s much frailer than I expected,” whispered Picard. He knew T’Sara was unable to hear him, yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak louder. “Her writing is so robust that I unconsciously imagined her to be a Vulcan Amazon, strong-limbed and tall.”
“She must have an incredibly strong constitution to remain alive this long.” Crusher’s voice matched Picard’s in softness. “Professionally speaking, there’s little more that I can do for her except trust that the powers of her mind will heal the damage.”
He stepped away from the bedside so that he could speak more freely. “The recovery work on Atropos is only beginning, but I will order an immediate departure if you feel her condition warrants the attention of a starbase medical facility.”
“No.” Crusher’s answer was swift and firm. “I’ve already discussed that option with Dr.
Selar, and we both determined that our medical assistance is equal to any provided outside of Vulcan. We could never reach one of their master healers in time to make any difference to T’Sara’s recovery. The outcome will be settled within the next twenty-four hours … one way or another.”
Her prediction measured out hope and despair in equal portions. Picard decided he must balance his expectations on the same razor-edge of uncertainty.
One of the medical staff had been hovering discreetly out of range of the conversation between the captain and his chief medical officer. She quickly took advantage of Picard’s silence and stepped forward.
“Yes, Nurse D’Airo?” asked Crusher.
“The first shipment from the planet surface has arrived.”
Picard could see the muscles in Beverly’s neck tighten, and he realized the nurse was referring to the bodies of the Vulcan archaeologists. The doctor’s voice flattened into a monotone as she issued a set of instructions concerning the preparations in the two surgical suites in sickbay.
When Nurse D’Airo had jotted the last instruction on her data padd and slipped away, Crusher turned back around to face the captain.
“I hate autopsies,” she said with a grimace.
“When do you need these results?”
“As soon as possible. Until T’Sara awakens, the results of the examinations are our only clues to explaining the murders. Not to mention that those results may serve to corroborate her future testimony.”
“What?” said Crusher. “Captain, you make her sound like a suspect in the murders.
Remember that she was one of the victims.”
“Beverly, given Sorren’s misgivings about T’Sara’s failing mental health, I can’t afford to accept her explanation of the events on Atropos without some supporting evidence.”
Looking over at the huddled figure of the elderly Vulcan, Picard wondered if she would live long enough to tell her version.
The encampment on Atropos was still bathed in daylight when the Enterprise cycled into night.
Seventeen hours after the priority distress call had pulled the starship off its course, weary crewmembers drifted into Ten-Forward or sought quiet refuge in their quarters; corridors fell silent, drained of their