The Eyes of the Beholders - A. C. Crispin [53]
You know something, Paula? he thought. You were right about so many things, but you were wrong about one important one. I did love you. I only just realized it, but I truly did love you. There’ve been a lot of women since you—an image of Deanna Troi’s face flashed into his mind involuntarily—and I’ve loved a number of them, and now I know what it feels like, and that was certainly what I felt for you.
Softly, he tiptoed out of his sleeping room into the study and activated the intercom on the desk—audio only, as he was not dressed. After a moment, he heard Lieutenant Selar’s precise tones. “Sickbay. Selar here.”
“Doctor, this is Commander Riker. I’m calling to find out how Counselor Troi is doing.”
“Her condition is stable, Commander. We are keeping her under sedation, to prevent further emotional and mental trauma.”
“Any further problems with the crew, Lieutenant?”
Her unemotional Vulcan accents changed, became tinged with regret. “We lost one of the Marco Polo crewmen, sir. A fugue case. His heart couldn’t take the stress. And we had a suicide this morning …”
Riker drew in a deep breath and forced himself to ask evenly, “Who was it, Lieutenant?”
“One of our nurses, sir. Penelope Johnson.”
“I see … ,” Will said. “I understand, Lieutenant. I’m sorry to hear that. Riker out.”
He then signaled the bridge. “Captain?”
“Number One?”
“Yes, sir. I just spoke to sickbay. We’ve lost a crew member.”
“I know,” the captain said heavily. “I only hope that Geordi, Data, and Wesley will be able to come up with something. Their deadline is up in two hours.”
“Sir, about the dreams … ,” Riker began, then he hesitated.
“Yes, Number One?” Picard encouraged after a moment, when his second-in-command did not continue.
“I understand now, sir. What you were saying earlier, about how real it was … it was just as though I were living it all over again, every moment …”
Picard’s tone grew gentler. “A bad one?”
“Not really, Captain. Nothing like what you described. But it was very, very real.”
“I know, Will.” Picard sounded grim. “And apparently for Johnson, her dream was too real.”
“I’m going to go check on Geordi and Data,” Riker said. “The idea of catching another hour or two of shut-eye has lost its appeal.” His voice was grim.
“Good idea. I quite understand,” Picard said dryly.
“Riker out.”
Chapter Eight
“DOCTOR?”
Beverly Crusher looked up to see Lieutenant Selar standing in the doorway to her office. “Come in,” she said.
Selar entered. “You sent for me, Doctor?”
“Yes,” Crusher said, indicating a seat. “I wanted to find out how the staff is doing. In regard to Johnson’s death, I mean.” She smiled wanly. “People always tend to put on their best face when the boss is inquiring.”
The Vulcan nodded, understanding. “The staff is reacting as well as could be expected, I would judge. Nurse Johnson was well liked, but her death is regarded as an unfortunate by-product of our current mission, not as any reproach for words or actions left unsaid or undone by her friends. I have not observed any of the typical human ‘if only I had’ behavior that is characteristic of a guilt reaction in any of her coworkers.”
“Well, that’s something.” Crusher slowly shook her head, biting her lip. “I wonder what made her do it?”
Selar raised an eyebrow. “There is little point in indulging in speculation. No matter what dream or hallucination initiated Johnson’s unfortunate reaction, the artifact is ultimately responsible.”
“Have you had one of the dreams, Selar?” The chief medical officer’s gaze slid away, not meeting the Vulcan’s eyes.
“My people rarely dream,” the lieutenant replied evenly. “So far, I have been spared.”
“I had one,” Crusher announced, raising her greenish-blue eyes to meet the dark ones opposite hers, straightening her shoulders with a sudden air of decision. “It made me understand