The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [14]
“Coffee on demand has to be the greatest invention since warp drive,” the lieutenant said as she moved forward, handing one of the cups to Crusher before taking her own seat in the cockpit. “I don’t know how people survived these long trips before replicators.”
Crusher smiled, appreciating Yar’s light attitude. It went a long way toward diffusing her own growing apprehension as they neared the rendezvous point. During their trip, the longest stretch of one-on-one time she had ever spent with the security chief, her appreciation for Yar’s straightforward yet relaxed style had grown. Tasha Yar was a natural leader, at ease with her responsibilities. Crusher could understand what Picard had seen in her when recruiting her for duty aboard the Enterprise.
Taking a moment to review the array of controls and status monitors on the helm console, Yar said, “You’ve reviewed Daret’s latest report?”
“I have,” Crusher replied, holding up for emphasis the padd that had been resting in her lap. “Ensign Weglash, the Benzite, has suffered extensive damage to his lungs, and that’s apart from his being deprived of his breathing apparatus for who knows how long.” Most Benzites living and working in regular Class-M environments depended on moisture and infused mineral salts provided by the vaporizers they wore to assist their breathing. She was thankful she had taken the time to replicate a quantity of the liquid and brought it along.
Yar nodded. “What about the others?”
Tapping a control on the padd, Crusher said, “The Vulcan woman, Lieutenant T’Lan, has suffered severe intracranial trauma on top of other general injuries. Commander Gregory Spires, the leader of the mission, lost three limbs in the crash. And all are coping with severe burns on various parts of their bodies.”
“What are their chances, Doctor?”
Looking up from her padd, Crusher saw the expression of worry on the lieutenant’s face. It was not surprising to encounter such concern, despite never having served alongside these officers. That was just one of the special bonds shared by anyone who wore a Starfleet uniform.
“It’s hard to say without examining them myself,” Crusher replied, “but thanks to Ialona, they’re a damn sight better off. I’ve no doubt he saved their lives.” Noticing the skeptical expression clouding Yar’s features, she asked, “Something bothering you, Tasha?”
“Force of habit, Doctor,” Yar replied, reaching up to brush a lock of blond hair from her eyes. “I guess I’m looking for more than we’re seeing.”
“Because Daret is Cardassian?”
Yar nodded. “Honestly? Yes. This whole notion seems off, somehow. The Cardassians are smart enough to know they’ve captured spies. I don’t see how just handing them over pays off for them.”
“I’m not second-guessing your judgment,” Crusher said, “but consider something. As long as there have been battles, physicians have treated wounded soldiers despite the color of their uniforms or the color of their blood. Daret is a healer first and a Cardassian second. I witnessed that firsthand on the Sanctuary. Whatever he’s after, it’s because he’s a doctor, not a soldier or politician.”
“Well, I certainly can’t argue with the faith you’ve shown in him to this point,” Yar replied. “But he’s really not the one I’m worried about. You can be sure his captain will be playing at something. He’s the one I’ll be watching.”
“Jean-Luc did say I’d be in good hands,” Crusher said just as an alert signal sounded from the shuttlecraft’s control console. “What’s that?”
“Sensors are picking up the approach of a Cardassian vessel,” Yar replied, her fingers moving across the helm. “It’s coming in on the specified vector.” Reaching across the console, she keyed the communications system. “Federation shuttlecraft Jefferies to approaching Cardassian vessel. Respond, please.”
A moment later, the helm’s central viewer activated, coalescing into the image of a Cardassian officer, cloaked in shadow and back-lit by a diffused light source. His black hair was streaked with gray