The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [35]
“No,” Thala admitted. “That’s true.”
“Then I suggest you try not to concern yourself. I promise that I will come and see you as soon as I am able.”
“Okay,” Thala whispered. Then she blurted, “Selar, it won’t be dangerous where you’re going, will it?”
“I do not know,” the Vulcan said, forced by the direct question to respond with the truth. “However, I will have a security team with me, and I am sure that Lieutenant Worf will be able to protect us from any menace.”
Thala nodded, seemingly mollified. “Yeah, I guess he can. He’s awfully big, and Wesley says he’s very strong and the best shot on the ship …” She trailed off, then continued excitedly as a sudden thought struck her, “But not as strong as Data! Selar, you’ll never guess what happened when I met Lieutenant Commander Data!”
“I cannot guess,” Selar began, but just then the lift whined to a halt. “At least, I cannot guess now,” she amended, “but later on, when I see you, I will try. At the moment, I must go.”
“Okay,” Thala said softly. Then, as the Vulcan stepped out of the lift, she suddenly grabbed the woman’s hand in both of hers. “Be careful!” she whispered fiercely.
Selar nodded. “I will, Thala.”
The lift doors closed on the child’s farewell wave.
The doctor walked briskly down the corridor and into sickbay. There she found a buzz of activity as her emergency crew gathered supplies. She had chosen these six because all of them, like herself, had had some experience in psychiatric wards, and all were of a calm, unflappable nature—even Doctor Gavar, the Tellarite physician from the Starfleet exchange program. Most Tellarites were pugnacious and easily excitable, but Gavar was atypical. Selar was pleased that she had chosen to volunteer for this mission. She was as strong as a sehlat, in case any of the patients were indeed violent. From the briefing Beverly Crusher had given her earlier, Selar gathered that there had been both murder and suicide aboard the Marco Polo.
Doctor Logan was a short, plump, gray-haired woman who had been with Starfleet since graduating from medical school. Selar had chosen her for this mission because she had interned in a human psychiatric ward.
Selinski was a tall, strapping man in his mid-forties. He was an excellent nurse, efficient, conscientious, and protective of his patients.
Nurse Itoh was a tiny woman with slanted, almost Vulcan-appearing eyes; Nurse Johnson was a huge, muscular woman with very dark skin and hair. Their natures, however, were utterly opposite to what most humans seemed to expect upon seeing them—though large in size, Johnson was soft-spoken and timid, while the smaller Itoh was assertive, extremely talkative, and noisy, given to loud laughter and fond of raucous, vulgar jokes.
Johannes Grunewalt was a small, wizened man, without much physical strength (which was why Selar had not made him one of her first choices). But he was a competent physician, if a little unimaginative in his diagnostic skills.
Gathering up their assorted medical supplies and the portable antigravity stretchers, the medical team followed Selar up to Transporter Room 3. There the Vulcan found Lieutenant Worf with three armed security guards that he introduced as Clara Bernstein, Ricardo Montez, and Caledon. O’Brien informed the captain that the away team was ready.
Moments later, the security party stepped onto the platform and dissolved in a wash of light. Selar nodded to her team, and they stepped onto the transporter. The Vulcan officer nodded to Transporter Chief O’Brien. He manipulated his controls, and she felt the familiar sense of dislocation seize her.
The Enterprise’s medical team materialized on the cargo deck, which was the one space large enough on the freighter to allow them all to beam over together. It was cold because of the refrigeration, and deadly silent. Selar shivered slightly, feeling the cold more than a human would, and experienced a strange mental disquiet. The Marco Polo was silent—too silent. She saw Johnson tremble and Grunewalt glance uneasily over