Blood and Fire 04 - Fear and Loathing..
Title: Blood and Fire
Author: Soledad
Fandom: Star Trek - The Next Generation
Author's notes:
For disclaimer and background information go to the secondary index page.
The medical science as discussed in this chapter is, again, completely imaginary. It isn’t supposed to make any sense in the light of our twenty-first century medicine.
Visuals for Selar’s daughter T’Meir: she’s the Vulcan child seen in the crowd when the civilians are evacuated to the saucer section in the TNG pilot. She was played by Mackenzie Westmore, the then-teenaged daughter of makeup-artist Michael Westmore.
Rating: G for this part, suitable for all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 04 - FEAR AND LOATHING ABOARD THE STARSHIP ENTERPRISE
When Picard returned to the bridge, Alpha shift personnel were just about to be relieved. It did catch the captain’s attention that Ensign Haskell - tall, athletic, dark-skinned and smartly handsome in his burgundy red bridge uniform - seemed very uncomfortable while relieving Ensign Gibson from the Conn position. In truth, his face seemed positively grey with anxiety, something the captain had never seen on him before.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Haskell?” he asked.
Douglas Haskell, a human with an Alpha Centaurian citizenship, shrugged evasively.
“No problem, sir,” he replied, “Just… just some serious concern.”
“Oh?” Picard said. “Concern about what, Ensign?”
“About this rescue mission, sir,” Haskell explained, still clearly uncomfortable to be the one to broach the topic to their commanding officer but equally clearly determined to do it anyway. “There’s been… talk among those of us who’ve got their families on board. They… we fear that that the disease will spread throughout the Enterprise of already infected personnel is being beamed over. Some of us think that perhaps we should not proceed with this mission…”
“Do you?” Picard asked with a smile that lacked any amusement. Haskell nodded. “Well, Ensign, in case you hadn’t realized yet, the Enterprise does not operate on a democratic basis. I understand your concern; I really do. But we’re not abandoning our shipmates. And we’re not throwing away half the human race because the other half is afraid. Is that understood?”
“Aye, sir,” Haskell replied sullenly.
To a certain extent Picard could understand him. The young man had just married less than a year ago, and his wife was currently pregnant with twins. That he was worried about his new family’s safety was more than understandable. Beaming the infected people over to the Enterprise was a risk, even if a moderate one, despite all security precautions they had taken. But that didn’t mean that Picard would even consider leaving those people to the bloodworms.
That he’d have some serious words with the Intelligence officer and her civilian sidekick as soon as they beamed over from the Copernicus was another matter entirely.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The arrival of the Vulcan doctor aboard the Copernicus was the source of some surprise and - at least where Freeman was concerned - profound relief. Selar checked on the patients, declared that Freeman had done an adequate job (which, coming from a Vulcan, counted as high praise), and instructed him what to inject them with to give their weakened metabolism a serious boost.
“This is not just about you being infected with plasmasites,” she explained. “Your system will be first completely drained and then filled with artificial blood. That would put considerable strain even on a strong, healthy humanoid body.”
“Assuming we’ll live long enough to at least try,” the younger Bolian security officer commented darkly.
The Vulcan raised a superior eyebrow. “I assure you that you will, Ensign. In fact, as a Bolian, you have a much better chance than your human colleagues. Your species is known for its high resistance levels.”
“Not high enough,” the Bolian growled. “I’d love to know where these damned worms came from in the first place.”
“According to the medical database of Starfleet, they originate from the common bloodworms,” Selar answered. “They were crated though intentional genetic mutation, as a biological weapon to be used in one of the interplanetary wars within the Regulus system, approximately two hundred and sixty-three Standard years ago. Supposedly, this was the war that eradicated all indigenous life on Regulus VI, with the exception of the plasmasites themselves.”
Commander Yarell, who was waiting for the Vulcan’s permission to be beamed over to the Enterprise, gave her a narrow-eyed look.
“And how would you know about this, Lieutenant?” she demanded. “This is confidential information, not to be discussed publicly.”
“I am a Vulcan, Commander,” Selar answered, clearly immune to the threatening glare of the Intelligence officer. “I can only work efficiently if I have all necessary data to my disposal. And as a Vulcan, I know how to get them if I have to. Besides, trying to keep the existence of the plasmasites secret from someone who is already infected by them is not only highly unethical, it also lacks basic logic.”
A communications call interrupted her.
“Worf to Selar,” the Klingon’s gruff voice said. “Doctor, the auxiliary sickbay is now ready to accept the first patients.”
“It is about time,” Selar ran a quick scan on both Yarell and Blodgett, then nodded. “You are both stable enough to leave,” she told them. “Please, do so. Your presence here is not helpful.”
While the two were gaping in righteous indignation. She touched her comm badge. “Selar to Enterprise. Two critically important persons to beam over. Energize when ready.”
In the next moment, the two disappeared in the transporter beam. Despite their situation, Riker grinned at the Vulcan.
“You never cease to amaze me, Doctor. That was a peak performance.”
Selar shook her head. “On the contrary, Commander; it was unnecessary and therefore illogical. Unfortunately, not even Vulcans are completely immune to the negative effects of human…” she trailed off, seeking for the right word but couldn’t find it.
“…stupidity?” Riker offered helpfully. “Warmongery? Paranoia?”
“I might not have chosen quite such colourful expressions, commander, but I was definitely thinking along the same lines,” the Vulcan replied with dignity.
Everyone around them grinned a little, with the exception of LaForge who was staring at his tricorder unhappily.
“Commander,” he warned. “According to my readings, the repulsor field is gonna fail in about forty minutes.”
Riker sighed. “Lieutenant, you’re the bearer of just wonderful news today. Is there anything we can do?”
“Not on our end, sir, we can’t. It all depends on Sickbay now.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Captain,” Worf reported, “Commander Yarell and Doctor Blodgett have been beamed into the Isolation Lab and are currently undergoing treatment. Also, Commander Riker informs us that in about forty minutes, the repulsor field aboard the Copernicus will likely fail.”
“Understood,” Picard rose from his command chair and tugged on his uniform jacket. “In that case, there is something I need to do. You have the bridge, Mr. Worf. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf walked down from his station to take Picard’s place, his large body barely fitting into the chair.
Picard rode the turbolift to the deck where the quarters of officers with families were situated and sounded the bell at Dr. Selar’s quarters.
After a moment, the door slid open and a Vulcan girl in a miniature Starfleet uniform - blue like that of her mother’s, yet without rank insignia - came to answer the call. Were she human, Picard would have guessed her to be about ten or twelve years old. She might be somewhat older, though; Vulcan children experienced their second growth spurt several years later than human ones.
She recognized the visitor at once, of course, although they had never actually met before.
“Captain Picard,” she said politely. “How can I help you?”
“Actually,” Picard replied slowly, “I thought I can do something for you. I was wondering if you would like to follow your mother’s progress aboard the Copernicus. I can grant you access to the live feed if you would like it.”
The child - T’Meir, he corrected himself mentally, her name is T’Meir - looked at him with the characteristic seriousness only Vulcan children could display.
“Are you trying to prepare me for something… something terrible, Captain?” she asked, suddenly sounding very young.
“Why would you think that?” Picard replied in surprise.
“Everyone knows that you are uncomfortable around children, sir,” T’Meir answered with disarming Vulcan honesty. “Usually, you are not so friendly to us…” she paused for a moment before continuing. “May I ask you a question, Captain?”
Picard nodded. “Certainly. I promise to answer as honestly as I can. What would you like to know?”
“I wonder why Starfleet sends whole families into space when there are so many dangers which abound,” the child said. “On Vulcan vessels, it is different. Missions can last decades, and therefore bondmates need to stay within reach. Humans, however, do not. And yet they take their children with them. Where is the logic in that?”
“As your mother - and perhaps every other Vulcan who has ever had dealings with humans - would tell you, we are not the most logically oriented species in this galaxy,” Picard replied dryly.
T’Meir nodded. “I am well aware of that fact, Captain. It does not answer my question, though.”
“No, I suppose it does not,” Picard allowed himself a wry smile. “Well, let me try to find an answer for you. We take our families with us because that is something we’ve always done. Because our ancestors took their children with them when they crossed the oceans in ships and the continents in covered wagons. Because… because you are our children and we cannot leave you behind. Does this answer your question?”
The girl nodded again. “Yes, Captain, it does. Thank you. And to answer your question… no, I do not want to follow my mother’s progress I cannot help her from here anyway, and wasting my time with fruitless anxiety would be illogical.”
“Very well, Picard said. “It’s your choice. I’ll inform you if there’s anything of importance you might need to know.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he returned to the bridge, he found Data in lively discussion with Selar, the latter still aboard the Copernicus.
“It seems that Doctor Blodgett - with the considerable help of Lieutenant Commander Ahrens and Lieutenant Hagen over here - has managed to figure out the life cycle of the plasmasites,” the Vulcan was saying when he emerged from the turbolift cabin. “Apparently, they grow in a person’s blood until they reach a certain point and then, like malaria, they explode and start looking for new flesh. With which the whole cycle is reset and the infection spreads like wildfire.”
Worf vacated the command chair wordlessly and returned to his station. Picard nodded his thanks and sat down, listening to the conversation.
“Interesting,” the android replied. “The main problem is, of course, that we cannot destroy the bloodworms because they merely become wavicles, which spread the infestation.”
“Exactly,” Selar agreed. “Therefore the logical solution would be either to neutralize the infection or to prevent it from happening in the first place.”
“Logical perhaps,” Data allowed. “However, I have researched the complete medical database and found no existing method to do either. Not even Klingon natural immunity would be able to resist a prolonged exposure to the wavicles. Mr. Worf was fortunate; another hour or so, and he would have fallen ill, just like the others.”
“I still think that the Klingon immunity factor should be the starting point to any further research,” Selar said. “The Federation and the Klingon Empire had very little contact at the time Regulus VI was put under quarantine. Cooperation, in any area, including medical research, was practically nonexistent, so establishing the quarantine was the best thing Starfleet could do to keep Federation citizens safe.”
“Only that it was not a safe enough solution, as we can see,” Data commented.
“That is correct,” the Vulcan said. “Fortunately, things have changed during the recent decades. There is a high probability that if we compared our data with those of Klingon medical researchers, we might be able to get the bloodworm problem under control.”
“A probability indeed, but little else,” the android replied thoughtfully. “Or do you have a theory how we should approach the problem?”
“Yes,” Selar replied without hesitation, “although it is only a theory at the moment. As I said before, genetics might be the key. Suppose the plasmasites were deliberate mutated to keep them from metabolizing the enzymes they need. Would it possible, in your estimate, to neutralize the infection that way?”
Data thought about it for several minutes, running the analysis directly in his complex positronic brain instead of the main computer. That way, he could monitor the process more closely, even if the results might lack some of the extensive details.
“Theoretically, it is possible,” he finally said. “However, there are still too many factors that we currently cannot describe in an adequate manner. This would be a task for the Darwin Genetics Research Station, not for our labs. My suggestion would be to concentrate on saving the crewmembers trapped aboard the Copernicus and leaving any further research to the experts.”
“And that’s exactly where we’re having a serious problem,” Freeman’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I have just spoken to Doctor Martin aboard the Enterprise. He told me there will not be enough artificial blood Sickbay them to provide complete transfusions for us all.”
“Can’t we replicate more?” Riker asked, ignoring the sounds of rapidly spreading panic among the Copernicus’ survivors.
“Not without the necessary templates for the medical replicators to work with. “Doctor Martin and his medical technicians will have to collect blood donors aboard the Enterprise. We will need human blood, mostly, but there are also Bolians, a Betazoid and the representatives of several other species who are going to need a transfusion.”
“Will we manage to produce enough blood before the repulsor field fails?” Picard asked.
“If we start summoning the donors at once and work quickly and no-one panics, it is doable,” Data said. “Of course, Doctor Martin and his helpers will have to continue treating the patients with artificial blood at the same time. This will be a very tight schedule.”
“In that case, we have no time to waste,” Picard glanced at the Klingon. “Give me a shipwide channel, Mr. Worf.”
“Shipwide channel open, sir.”
“All hands, this is the captain,” again, Picard tugged his uniform jacket in an unconscious gesture to collect his thoughts. “As you know, several of our crewmates are trapped aboard the Copernicus because of a dangerous infection. Under normal circumstances, this would be a problem for medical personnel. For the first time in the history of this vessel, however, we have the chance - and the ethical obligation - to help Sickbay save them. All we have to do is to roll up our sleeves and donate a little blood for the medical replicators to work with. People with the right blood types will be called to Sickbay shortly. I expect everyone to follow that call, in order to save the lives of our people. Picard out.”
He nodded to Worf and the Klingon closed the channel. Picard took his place again… and caught Ensign Haskell looking at him a little uncomfortably.
“Is there a problem, Ensign?” he asked brusquely. He hoped this wasn’t again that idiocy about abandoning the rescue mission.
“No, sir,” Haskell replied. “It’s just… I think I should go Sickbay. My blood type is 0-negative… very rare, but there’s always at least one person who might need it. I thought it would be easier if Sickbay had it ready in advance.”
Picard nodded. “Permission granted, Ensign. Mr. Data, take the conn position until relief arrives.”
He watched Haskell step into the turbolift and Data take his place, and a strong feeling of almost paternal pride towards his crew filled him. His people were truly the best. They might panic temporarily for the time, but in the end, they always did the right thing. What else could a captain wish for?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Auxiliary Sickbay was buzzing with activity when Haskell reached it. Nurse Temple, who’d been entrusted with the task to organize the blood donation according to blood types, was herding the donors and organizing the waiting queues, so that the whole action could be performed with a minimum of chaos. Nurse Ogawa led the group of med techs who were actually drawing the blood from the volunteers. Another group of med techs took the blood samples from them, categorized them, put them into isolated containers and transferred them to Haematology Lab, where they would be used as templates to produce more artificial blood.
The donors - humans, mostly, but also a selected number of other species, according to the needs of the sick people aboard the Copernicus - were waiting patiently for their turn. Well, most of them were. One of the volunteers, a rather short, almost globular Bolian male, seemed extremely nervous, and - like all nervous Bolians - he chatted away in a high-pitched voice, talking a mile a minute and getting louder from second to second.
Haskell recognized Mr. Mot, the ship’s barber and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Mr. Mot was an excellent barber, but nerve-wrecking even on a good day. And this was obviously not one of his good days.
“I’m not sure about this blood donation thing,” he declared loudly enough that it could be heard three rooms further down the corridor. A young male Vulcan, standing nearby in the blue uniform of the science section, winced in pain; his sensitive ears clearly didn’t react well to the Bolian’s pitch. With true Vulcan discipline, however, he refrained from giving any further sign of his discomfort.
“I mean,” the Bolian continued, “it seems fairly barbaric, doesn’t it? Are you sure that it’s safe? Will it hurt?”
He was speaking to Counselor Troi, who, as the only Betazoid on board - well, half-Betazoid anyway - had also been summoned to donate.
“No, it won’t hurt a bit,” Troi explained patiently. “I’ve done this before; you won’t feel more than a pinch - like when getting a hypospray. And I assure you that it’s quite safe. The medical instruments are absolutely sterile.”
“Well, I don’t know… Mr. Mot still seemed doubtful, but he brightened considerably when Nurse McClusker approached him with a hypospray. As a species that completely lacked any body hair, Bolian males usually found human females fascinating… and Mary McClusker sported a full head of curly reddish-blond hair that would have put a lion to shame.
Mr. Mot’s attention successfully diverted, the nurse was able to draw blood from him - of all the Bolians aboard, only he had the right blood type needed by the Copernicus officers - without any further drama. When he had left, the atmosphere relaxed immediately, and Counselor Troi looked like someone who’d just escaped a raging headache coming her way.
Soon, Haskell’s turn came as well, and he was relieved to see Dr. Mahrwini coming to take his sample. The middle-aged expatriate from Angel One, whose snow white hair, paradoxically, made her look much younger than her actual age, was known for her gentle manners around patients, and Haskell, although he’d never admit it, was deadly afraid of hyposprays. Under Dr. Mahrwini’s feather light hands, however, he felt barely more than a pinch, just as Counselor Troi had promised the Bolian barber. In mere moments, the vial was filled with his blood and he could return to the bridge.
He thanked the android and took the conn position again. Data retuned to his science station, where he had been studying the Copernicus logs transferred by the late Haskell for some time.
“Captain,” he said after a moment, displaying the surprisingly human frown; his recent experiments with facial expressions had apparently paid out. “These logs are incomplete. There is no information whatsoever about the plasmasite study Doctor Blodgett is supposed to have performed aboard the Copernicus.”
“Coincidence or intentional coverage?” Picard asked.
“Unknown, Captain,” the android said. “It cannot, however, be a mistake that would have happened during data transfer. Geordi and I checked the files on both ends of the connection. Whatever was stored in the Copernicus’ databases, it was transferred to us.”
“I can’t say that I’d be surprised, Mr. Data,” Picard replied darkly. “I think it’s time that I had a serious conversation with our critically important guests. Mr. Worf, please have them escorted to my ready room. Mr. Data, you have the bridge until further orders; I’ll need you present during the discussion, though. See that we are continually updated about the situation aboard the Copernicus.”
With that, he rose and walked into his ready room with barely suppressed fury. Worf flashed Data a feral grin.
“I wouldn’t want to switch places with our VIPs right now,” he declared with deep satisfaction.
Then he ordered two security officers to the VIP quarters to collect the guests and escort them to the captain’s ready room. This was a confrontation he was looking forward very much; he hoped Data would tell him the details when everything was over.
Chapter 05 - Acts of Sacrifice
Author: Soledad
Fandom: Star Trek - The Next Generation
Author's notes:
For disclaimer and background information go to the secondary index page.
The medical science as discussed in this chapter is, again, completely imaginary. It isn’t supposed to make any sense in the light of our twenty-first century medicine.
Visuals for Selar’s daughter T’Meir: she’s the Vulcan child seen in the crowd when the civilians are evacuated to the saucer section in the TNG pilot. She was played by Mackenzie Westmore, the then-teenaged daughter of makeup-artist Michael Westmore.
Rating: G for this part, suitable for all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
CHAPTER 04 - FEAR AND LOATHING ABOARD THE STARSHIP ENTERPRISE
When Picard returned to the bridge, Alpha shift personnel were just about to be relieved. It did catch the captain’s attention that Ensign Haskell - tall, athletic, dark-skinned and smartly handsome in his burgundy red bridge uniform - seemed very uncomfortable while relieving Ensign Gibson from the Conn position. In truth, his face seemed positively grey with anxiety, something the captain had never seen on him before.
“Is there a problem, Mr. Haskell?” he asked.
Douglas Haskell, a human with an Alpha Centaurian citizenship, shrugged evasively.
“No problem, sir,” he replied, “Just… just some serious concern.”
“Oh?” Picard said. “Concern about what, Ensign?”
“About this rescue mission, sir,” Haskell explained, still clearly uncomfortable to be the one to broach the topic to their commanding officer but equally clearly determined to do it anyway. “There’s been… talk among those of us who’ve got their families on board. They… we fear that that the disease will spread throughout the Enterprise of already infected personnel is being beamed over. Some of us think that perhaps we should not proceed with this mission…”
“Do you?” Picard asked with a smile that lacked any amusement. Haskell nodded. “Well, Ensign, in case you hadn’t realized yet, the Enterprise does not operate on a democratic basis. I understand your concern; I really do. But we’re not abandoning our shipmates. And we’re not throwing away half the human race because the other half is afraid. Is that understood?”
“Aye, sir,” Haskell replied sullenly.
To a certain extent Picard could understand him. The young man had just married less than a year ago, and his wife was currently pregnant with twins. That he was worried about his new family’s safety was more than understandable. Beaming the infected people over to the Enterprise was a risk, even if a moderate one, despite all security precautions they had taken. But that didn’t mean that Picard would even consider leaving those people to the bloodworms.
That he’d have some serious words with the Intelligence officer and her civilian sidekick as soon as they beamed over from the Copernicus was another matter entirely.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The arrival of the Vulcan doctor aboard the Copernicus was the source of some surprise and - at least where Freeman was concerned - profound relief. Selar checked on the patients, declared that Freeman had done an adequate job (which, coming from a Vulcan, counted as high praise), and instructed him what to inject them with to give their weakened metabolism a serious boost.
“This is not just about you being infected with plasmasites,” she explained. “Your system will be first completely drained and then filled with artificial blood. That would put considerable strain even on a strong, healthy humanoid body.”
“Assuming we’ll live long enough to at least try,” the younger Bolian security officer commented darkly.
The Vulcan raised a superior eyebrow. “I assure you that you will, Ensign. In fact, as a Bolian, you have a much better chance than your human colleagues. Your species is known for its high resistance levels.”
“Not high enough,” the Bolian growled. “I’d love to know where these damned worms came from in the first place.”
“According to the medical database of Starfleet, they originate from the common bloodworms,” Selar answered. “They were crated though intentional genetic mutation, as a biological weapon to be used in one of the interplanetary wars within the Regulus system, approximately two hundred and sixty-three Standard years ago. Supposedly, this was the war that eradicated all indigenous life on Regulus VI, with the exception of the plasmasites themselves.”
Commander Yarell, who was waiting for the Vulcan’s permission to be beamed over to the Enterprise, gave her a narrow-eyed look.
“And how would you know about this, Lieutenant?” she demanded. “This is confidential information, not to be discussed publicly.”
“I am a Vulcan, Commander,” Selar answered, clearly immune to the threatening glare of the Intelligence officer. “I can only work efficiently if I have all necessary data to my disposal. And as a Vulcan, I know how to get them if I have to. Besides, trying to keep the existence of the plasmasites secret from someone who is already infected by them is not only highly unethical, it also lacks basic logic.”
A communications call interrupted her.
“Worf to Selar,” the Klingon’s gruff voice said. “Doctor, the auxiliary sickbay is now ready to accept the first patients.”
“It is about time,” Selar ran a quick scan on both Yarell and Blodgett, then nodded. “You are both stable enough to leave,” she told them. “Please, do so. Your presence here is not helpful.”
While the two were gaping in righteous indignation. She touched her comm badge. “Selar to Enterprise. Two critically important persons to beam over. Energize when ready.”
In the next moment, the two disappeared in the transporter beam. Despite their situation, Riker grinned at the Vulcan.
“You never cease to amaze me, Doctor. That was a peak performance.”
Selar shook her head. “On the contrary, Commander; it was unnecessary and therefore illogical. Unfortunately, not even Vulcans are completely immune to the negative effects of human…” she trailed off, seeking for the right word but couldn’t find it.
“…stupidity?” Riker offered helpfully. “Warmongery? Paranoia?”
“I might not have chosen quite such colourful expressions, commander, but I was definitely thinking along the same lines,” the Vulcan replied with dignity.
Everyone around them grinned a little, with the exception of LaForge who was staring at his tricorder unhappily.
“Commander,” he warned. “According to my readings, the repulsor field is gonna fail in about forty minutes.”
Riker sighed. “Lieutenant, you’re the bearer of just wonderful news today. Is there anything we can do?”
“Not on our end, sir, we can’t. It all depends on Sickbay now.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Captain,” Worf reported, “Commander Yarell and Doctor Blodgett have been beamed into the Isolation Lab and are currently undergoing treatment. Also, Commander Riker informs us that in about forty minutes, the repulsor field aboard the Copernicus will likely fail.”
“Understood,” Picard rose from his command chair and tugged on his uniform jacket. “In that case, there is something I need to do. You have the bridge, Mr. Worf. I’ll be back shortly.”
“Aye, sir,” Worf walked down from his station to take Picard’s place, his large body barely fitting into the chair.
Picard rode the turbolift to the deck where the quarters of officers with families were situated and sounded the bell at Dr. Selar’s quarters.
After a moment, the door slid open and a Vulcan girl in a miniature Starfleet uniform - blue like that of her mother’s, yet without rank insignia - came to answer the call. Were she human, Picard would have guessed her to be about ten or twelve years old. She might be somewhat older, though; Vulcan children experienced their second growth spurt several years later than human ones.
She recognized the visitor at once, of course, although they had never actually met before.
“Captain Picard,” she said politely. “How can I help you?”
“Actually,” Picard replied slowly, “I thought I can do something for you. I was wondering if you would like to follow your mother’s progress aboard the Copernicus. I can grant you access to the live feed if you would like it.”
The child - T’Meir, he corrected himself mentally, her name is T’Meir - looked at him with the characteristic seriousness only Vulcan children could display.
“Are you trying to prepare me for something… something terrible, Captain?” she asked, suddenly sounding very young.
“Why would you think that?” Picard replied in surprise.
“Everyone knows that you are uncomfortable around children, sir,” T’Meir answered with disarming Vulcan honesty. “Usually, you are not so friendly to us…” she paused for a moment before continuing. “May I ask you a question, Captain?”
Picard nodded. “Certainly. I promise to answer as honestly as I can. What would you like to know?”
“I wonder why Starfleet sends whole families into space when there are so many dangers which abound,” the child said. “On Vulcan vessels, it is different. Missions can last decades, and therefore bondmates need to stay within reach. Humans, however, do not. And yet they take their children with them. Where is the logic in that?”
“As your mother - and perhaps every other Vulcan who has ever had dealings with humans - would tell you, we are not the most logically oriented species in this galaxy,” Picard replied dryly.
T’Meir nodded. “I am well aware of that fact, Captain. It does not answer my question, though.”
“No, I suppose it does not,” Picard allowed himself a wry smile. “Well, let me try to find an answer for you. We take our families with us because that is something we’ve always done. Because our ancestors took their children with them when they crossed the oceans in ships and the continents in covered wagons. Because… because you are our children and we cannot leave you behind. Does this answer your question?”
The girl nodded again. “Yes, Captain, it does. Thank you. And to answer your question… no, I do not want to follow my mother’s progress I cannot help her from here anyway, and wasting my time with fruitless anxiety would be illogical.”
“Very well, Picard said. “It’s your choice. I’ll inform you if there’s anything of importance you might need to know.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
When he returned to the bridge, he found Data in lively discussion with Selar, the latter still aboard the Copernicus.
“It seems that Doctor Blodgett - with the considerable help of Lieutenant Commander Ahrens and Lieutenant Hagen over here - has managed to figure out the life cycle of the plasmasites,” the Vulcan was saying when he emerged from the turbolift cabin. “Apparently, they grow in a person’s blood until they reach a certain point and then, like malaria, they explode and start looking for new flesh. With which the whole cycle is reset and the infection spreads like wildfire.”
Worf vacated the command chair wordlessly and returned to his station. Picard nodded his thanks and sat down, listening to the conversation.
“Interesting,” the android replied. “The main problem is, of course, that we cannot destroy the bloodworms because they merely become wavicles, which spread the infestation.”
“Exactly,” Selar agreed. “Therefore the logical solution would be either to neutralize the infection or to prevent it from happening in the first place.”
“Logical perhaps,” Data allowed. “However, I have researched the complete medical database and found no existing method to do either. Not even Klingon natural immunity would be able to resist a prolonged exposure to the wavicles. Mr. Worf was fortunate; another hour or so, and he would have fallen ill, just like the others.”
“I still think that the Klingon immunity factor should be the starting point to any further research,” Selar said. “The Federation and the Klingon Empire had very little contact at the time Regulus VI was put under quarantine. Cooperation, in any area, including medical research, was practically nonexistent, so establishing the quarantine was the best thing Starfleet could do to keep Federation citizens safe.”
“Only that it was not a safe enough solution, as we can see,” Data commented.
“That is correct,” the Vulcan said. “Fortunately, things have changed during the recent decades. There is a high probability that if we compared our data with those of Klingon medical researchers, we might be able to get the bloodworm problem under control.”
“A probability indeed, but little else,” the android replied thoughtfully. “Or do you have a theory how we should approach the problem?”
“Yes,” Selar replied without hesitation, “although it is only a theory at the moment. As I said before, genetics might be the key. Suppose the plasmasites were deliberate mutated to keep them from metabolizing the enzymes they need. Would it possible, in your estimate, to neutralize the infection that way?”
Data thought about it for several minutes, running the analysis directly in his complex positronic brain instead of the main computer. That way, he could monitor the process more closely, even if the results might lack some of the extensive details.
“Theoretically, it is possible,” he finally said. “However, there are still too many factors that we currently cannot describe in an adequate manner. This would be a task for the Darwin Genetics Research Station, not for our labs. My suggestion would be to concentrate on saving the crewmembers trapped aboard the Copernicus and leaving any further research to the experts.”
“And that’s exactly where we’re having a serious problem,” Freeman’s voice interrupted their conversation. “I have just spoken to Doctor Martin aboard the Enterprise. He told me there will not be enough artificial blood Sickbay them to provide complete transfusions for us all.”
“Can’t we replicate more?” Riker asked, ignoring the sounds of rapidly spreading panic among the Copernicus’ survivors.
“Not without the necessary templates for the medical replicators to work with. “Doctor Martin and his medical technicians will have to collect blood donors aboard the Enterprise. We will need human blood, mostly, but there are also Bolians, a Betazoid and the representatives of several other species who are going to need a transfusion.”
“Will we manage to produce enough blood before the repulsor field fails?” Picard asked.
“If we start summoning the donors at once and work quickly and no-one panics, it is doable,” Data said. “Of course, Doctor Martin and his helpers will have to continue treating the patients with artificial blood at the same time. This will be a very tight schedule.”
“In that case, we have no time to waste,” Picard glanced at the Klingon. “Give me a shipwide channel, Mr. Worf.”
“Shipwide channel open, sir.”
“All hands, this is the captain,” again, Picard tugged his uniform jacket in an unconscious gesture to collect his thoughts. “As you know, several of our crewmates are trapped aboard the Copernicus because of a dangerous infection. Under normal circumstances, this would be a problem for medical personnel. For the first time in the history of this vessel, however, we have the chance - and the ethical obligation - to help Sickbay save them. All we have to do is to roll up our sleeves and donate a little blood for the medical replicators to work with. People with the right blood types will be called to Sickbay shortly. I expect everyone to follow that call, in order to save the lives of our people. Picard out.”
He nodded to Worf and the Klingon closed the channel. Picard took his place again… and caught Ensign Haskell looking at him a little uncomfortably.
“Is there a problem, Ensign?” he asked brusquely. He hoped this wasn’t again that idiocy about abandoning the rescue mission.
“No, sir,” Haskell replied. “It’s just… I think I should go Sickbay. My blood type is 0-negative… very rare, but there’s always at least one person who might need it. I thought it would be easier if Sickbay had it ready in advance.”
Picard nodded. “Permission granted, Ensign. Mr. Data, take the conn position until relief arrives.”
He watched Haskell step into the turbolift and Data take his place, and a strong feeling of almost paternal pride towards his crew filled him. His people were truly the best. They might panic temporarily for the time, but in the end, they always did the right thing. What else could a captain wish for?”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Auxiliary Sickbay was buzzing with activity when Haskell reached it. Nurse Temple, who’d been entrusted with the task to organize the blood donation according to blood types, was herding the donors and organizing the waiting queues, so that the whole action could be performed with a minimum of chaos. Nurse Ogawa led the group of med techs who were actually drawing the blood from the volunteers. Another group of med techs took the blood samples from them, categorized them, put them into isolated containers and transferred them to Haematology Lab, where they would be used as templates to produce more artificial blood.
The donors - humans, mostly, but also a selected number of other species, according to the needs of the sick people aboard the Copernicus - were waiting patiently for their turn. Well, most of them were. One of the volunteers, a rather short, almost globular Bolian male, seemed extremely nervous, and - like all nervous Bolians - he chatted away in a high-pitched voice, talking a mile a minute and getting louder from second to second.
Haskell recognized Mr. Mot, the ship’s barber and rolled his eyes in exasperation. Mr. Mot was an excellent barber, but nerve-wrecking even on a good day. And this was obviously not one of his good days.
“I’m not sure about this blood donation thing,” he declared loudly enough that it could be heard three rooms further down the corridor. A young male Vulcan, standing nearby in the blue uniform of the science section, winced in pain; his sensitive ears clearly didn’t react well to the Bolian’s pitch. With true Vulcan discipline, however, he refrained from giving any further sign of his discomfort.
“I mean,” the Bolian continued, “it seems fairly barbaric, doesn’t it? Are you sure that it’s safe? Will it hurt?”
He was speaking to Counselor Troi, who, as the only Betazoid on board - well, half-Betazoid anyway - had also been summoned to donate.
“No, it won’t hurt a bit,” Troi explained patiently. “I’ve done this before; you won’t feel more than a pinch - like when getting a hypospray. And I assure you that it’s quite safe. The medical instruments are absolutely sterile.”
“Well, I don’t know… Mr. Mot still seemed doubtful, but he brightened considerably when Nurse McClusker approached him with a hypospray. As a species that completely lacked any body hair, Bolian males usually found human females fascinating… and Mary McClusker sported a full head of curly reddish-blond hair that would have put a lion to shame.
Mr. Mot’s attention successfully diverted, the nurse was able to draw blood from him - of all the Bolians aboard, only he had the right blood type needed by the Copernicus officers - without any further drama. When he had left, the atmosphere relaxed immediately, and Counselor Troi looked like someone who’d just escaped a raging headache coming her way.
Soon, Haskell’s turn came as well, and he was relieved to see Dr. Mahrwini coming to take his sample. The middle-aged expatriate from Angel One, whose snow white hair, paradoxically, made her look much younger than her actual age, was known for her gentle manners around patients, and Haskell, although he’d never admit it, was deadly afraid of hyposprays. Under Dr. Mahrwini’s feather light hands, however, he felt barely more than a pinch, just as Counselor Troi had promised the Bolian barber. In mere moments, the vial was filled with his blood and he could return to the bridge.
He thanked the android and took the conn position again. Data retuned to his science station, where he had been studying the Copernicus logs transferred by the late Haskell for some time.
“Captain,” he said after a moment, displaying the surprisingly human frown; his recent experiments with facial expressions had apparently paid out. “These logs are incomplete. There is no information whatsoever about the plasmasite study Doctor Blodgett is supposed to have performed aboard the Copernicus.”
“Coincidence or intentional coverage?” Picard asked.
“Unknown, Captain,” the android said. “It cannot, however, be a mistake that would have happened during data transfer. Geordi and I checked the files on both ends of the connection. Whatever was stored in the Copernicus’ databases, it was transferred to us.”
“I can’t say that I’d be surprised, Mr. Data,” Picard replied darkly. “I think it’s time that I had a serious conversation with our critically important guests. Mr. Worf, please have them escorted to my ready room. Mr. Data, you have the bridge until further orders; I’ll need you present during the discussion, though. See that we are continually updated about the situation aboard the Copernicus.”
With that, he rose and walked into his ready room with barely suppressed fury. Worf flashed Data a feral grin.
“I wouldn’t want to switch places with our VIPs right now,” he declared with deep satisfaction.
Then he ordered two security officers to the VIP quarters to collect the guests and escort them to the captain’s ready room. This was a confrontation he was looking forward very much; he hoped Data would tell him the details when everything was over.
Chapter 05 - Acts of Sacrifice