Chapter 37
Sitting back in the plush chair, Beverly drew a deep breath, inhaling the fragrant hints of herbs and spices in her tea - and savoring a second, more familiar, scent as well.
It still smells like him, she thought to herself; it's been years since he lived in this space - but it still smells like him. How many people have lived here since then? she asked herself. How many visitors, guests, refugees, ambassadors? Did they notice that unmistakable scent of his - or is it just my imagination, she admitted with a chagrined smile.
Smell is such a primal thing, she mused; even the faintest hint could stir deep feelings, long repressed memories.
She allowed herself a second blissful draught of his scent - then smiled again.
He's a powerful man, she reminded herself - but not so powerful that the room would still smell like him after all these years - especially not with the ultra-efficient air purifiers and sanitizers that were part of the Enterprise's environmental system. No, any trace of Jean-Luc's reign on this ship - olfactory, spiritual or otherwise - had faded away long ago, as Will had exerted his control over the vessel - and if he hadn't been here only a few hours before her I got here, there wouldn't even be the faint trace of his smell left now.
Still, she mused, running her hand along the rich fabric that covered the chair's arm, he had sat here only a few days before.
And only a few hours before, he had slept in the bed she was about to occupy.
And, perhaps, she added sleepily, in just a few more days, she might be able to see the man for herself.
And maybe the bed would smell of us both this time, she added.
She closed her eyes, heedless of the mug of hot tea that was perched precariously on the arm of the chair, allowing the days of half-caught catnaps and mind-numbingly dangerous medical procedures to fade away, as physical and mental relief washed away the stress and worry of the last week.
In-utero DNA transections, she thought to herself foggily, remembering how she had spent the last twenty hours: in the best of cases, they were dangerous; on the worst of days, they were deadly.
Or worse.
And it didn't get much worse than this, she knew.
Radiation damage was not like genetic deformations; the radiation damaged organs and tissues at random and in different ways, with no way to guess which DNA sequence was damaged here, which organs were damaged there. With genetic deformations, they could just find the aberrant sequence, reprogram a virus to locate and rewrite that sequence, and support the fetus medially while the virus did its work. With radiation damage...
With radiation damage, they had to scan every inch of the fetus, looking for aberrant sequences, rewriting the damaged ones, excising the unsalvageable ones and substituting the correct ones - in a unborn child, still nestled in her mother's womb. And to do so on a malnourished mother and child, both woefully unprepared for a surgical event of that nature and duration? It was exhausting: for the patient, mother - and the surgical crew.
It was also incredibly dangerous; even with medical devices that functioned on the molecular level, one error could result in the creation of a defect that would not be noticed for years - and by then the damage would require medical intervention – provided that it could be cured at all.
It was simpler and safer just to wait for the child to be born and to deal with the defects as they manifested themselves... if they did. After all, she mused sleepily, who knew which damaged chromosomes were active - and which were only remnants of a former state of evolutionary development?
Except Cardassians didn't develop as humans did, she reminded herself; the neural connections in the developing fetus were exceptionally fragile at this point in a pregnancy - and even a mild disruption of the genes responsible for forming the neural pathways would leave the infant severely damaged - and the child would never get better.
Still, it was a gamble: having a baby - then a child, then a youngster, then an adult - who would never have a chance at a healthy life - or the possibility, the very real possibility, of having a baby born dead.
Could I make that decision for my child? she wondered in the first drifting stages of sleep. Could I have risked Wesley?
But perhaps the choice had been easier for these girls; a child trying to raise a child was task enough; to ask a child to raise someone who would never be able to live independently - and to do so on God-knows-which planet, with minimal support services - if there were any at all?
No, she thought; they wanted their babies - but they wanted to give them the best chance possible for what would be a trying-enough life.
But to be asked to make that decision at their age, she thought.
And then to learn the gamble had paid off, she added.
The girls had survived. The fetuses had survived. And, at least from the first scans, the surgery had been a success. Neural development was still impaired - but it was improving, she added, relaxing deeper into the chair. If the girls carried the babies to term, they would be born with a substantial degree of brain damage - but damage that would diminish as the brain continued to develop throughout their childhood.
By the time they were two years old, no one would know they were any different than any of the other children; by the time they were two, they would be no different, she added with a smile.
She smiled, nestled herself deeper into the chair, breathing in its hints of Picard's warmth, and allowed peace to drift over her.
Still a soft voice at the back of her mind nagged at her.
Wake up, it urged. You're cold. Get a blanket.
I'm fine, she murmured back. Just let me sleep.
Wake up! You need to go to the bedroom.
I'm fine here, she countered.
Wake up! You're neck will be stiff in the morning.
I don't care. I'm too sleepy to move.
Wake up!
All right! she replied. Just let me sleep a few more minutes.
Wake up!
Wake up!
"Wake up, Beverly. Wake up."
"Five minutes," she pleaded. "Just let me sleep five more minutes."
Will Riker smiled, then shook his head. I wish I could, he told her silently, then crouched beside her chair, laying a hand on her arm and gently shaking it.
"Beverly, I need you to wake up," he said, his voice quiet - but firm.
"All right," she agreed - but her eyes remained shut, her body unmoving.
"Beverly, I need you to wake up - now," he added, his voice growing a little louder, a little firmer.
She gave a piteous groan, then forced open her eyes, looked up at Will - and managed a very tired smile.
"Will," she said sleepily - then realization and recognition began to dawn. "Will," she repeated, straightening slightly in the chair - then looked up at him in sudden alarm. "Will! The girls! Are they all right?"
The question took the man aback. It wasn't that he wasn't aware of the activities going on on his ship - but it always took him a moment to remember that the concerns of each individual on his ship and his own focus of concentration weren't always the same.
And Beverly's primary concerns, he reminded himself, were, and always would be, with her patients.
Quickly recollecting the last report Alyssa Ogawa had sent him, he shook his head reassuringly.
"Dr. Ogawa said that they all doing fine," he assured her.
"Oh!" Beverly said, confused, fatigue still befuddling her mind. "But if the girls are fine..."
"The problem is of a different nature," a second, calmer voice informed her.
Beverly looked past the starship captain at the android who stood behind him.
"Data," she said.
"I am sorry to disturb your repose," he answered. "However, it is imperative that we act quickly," he continued.
"Act quickly," she echoed dully. "About what?"
Will looked at the couch that sat near the chair, then gestured at it in question. "May we?"
Still perplexed, she nodded. Reaching to the robe that covered her nightgown, she realized she was still holding the mug in her hand - but the tea it had once held had grown cold.
How long was I asleep? she wondered. It was after oh-two hundred... it's oh three thirty now...
Seeing the bewilderment - and the exhaustion on her face, Will managed a tired smile. "I'm sorry to have come in unannounced," he said.
"However, you were not answering your door," Data furthered.
"I was asleep," she protested.
"That was our surmise, and, as I stated, we do apologize," the android offered. "Nonetheless, the nature of the situation is such that the captain was compelled to use his security override to obtain entrance to your quarters."
"Yes," she answered blearily. "Great. Fine. You woke me up. I'm awake. Now what situation are we talking about?"
Will looked at her soberly. "You have to leave the ship, Beverly. Now."
"And you're taking this Captain..." Beverly's voice faltered as she tried to remember the woman's name... "Honrubia's word for this?" she finished as she, Will and Data hurried down the corridor.
It had been less than five minutes since Will and Data had wakened her – time that she had spent hastily dressing, throwing the few belongings that she had unpacked back into the travelall she had brought with her, and forsaking the shower she ached for for a cup of strong coffee, listening – but not fully understanding Will's reasons for wanting her off the ship.
Now, as they hurried toward the shuttle bay that had received her ship only a few hours before, she pressed them both for more details concerning her quick departure.
"Herreiria Honrubia didn't get to be the youngest captain in the history of Starfleet because she was cautious," Will informed her.
"I'm sorry; I thought Jean-Luc was the youngest captain," she countered, surprised.
Will glanced at his companion and managed a grin. "He was – for a time. I had hoped to take that distinction from him – until I ended up working under him. But the Dominion War forced a lot of changes on Starfleet – including field promotions to replace officer killed in battle. Herreiria was one of those given a field promotion – but in her case, it stuck when she proved herself an able commanding officer again and again and again."
"Oh? From what you had said, I thought she had a bit of a reputation as a trouble-maker," Beverly answered.
"She does," he agreed.
"And yet you're taking her word that Admiral Czymszczak is on his way here? How do you know she's not just setting you up for something?" she asked suspiciously. "Czymszczak's been known to bribe – or blackmail – others so he can get what he wants. If she's as young as you say..."
"Don't confuse young with naïve, Beverly – and don't confuse her rebelliousness with a lack of loyalty," he cautioned. "Despite her years, she's as seasoned a captain – and a politician – as the admiral is; she knows what Starfleet stands for – or rather, what it used to stand for – and she'll fight to make things the way she believes they should be. As for being bribed; she's where she wants to be; as for blackmail..." He grinned. "She already faced a court-martial; every dubious action she's every made has already been made public. There's not much that Czymszczak can say that everyone doesn't already know."
"So why is she getting involved? Why risk her position just because she thinks Czymszczak is up to something? If she's as politically savvy as you say she is, why not just keep her mouth shut and play it safe?" she pressed.
"From what Captain Riker has said, Doctor," Data offered, "Captain Honrubia is not one who prefers to 'play it safe'," he opined. "This is supported by her military record."
"You've read her Starfleet records?" Beverly asked incredulously. "Data, you only learned about this a few hours ago!"
"Actually, I leaned about these events fifty-two point three three seven minutes ago. Nonetheless, that would been more than an adequate period of time for me to peruse said records, Doctor," the android reminded her. "However, as my position as a Starfleet officer is now in question, it would have been inappropriate, and, indeed, criminal, for Captain Riker to have permitted me access to those files; instead, I simply reviewed the records of the war and the subsequent events at Starfleet that were made public during the time since my first corporeal body ceased to exist."
"You read the newsfiles," she echoed. "All of them."
Data gave her a curious look. "I believe that is what I said," he answered. "Was the content of my communication unclear? Perhaps there is a system fault in my language processing unit; perhaps Geordi can perform a level three diagnostic on those subroutines which would..."
Beverly sighed then shook her head. "There's no need, Data; I understood what you meant. I just... I just forgot what you were capable of doing," she added – then smiled. "I have missed you, Data," she added softly.
He looked at her in surprise, then cocked his head slightly. "I am not aware of missing you, Doctor, but..." He considered for a moment, "but it is... good to be home," he decided at last.
"And since you are back," Will interjected, "and you have read Herrieiria's records, you support my conclusion?"
"That Captain Honrubia's supposition about the events is accurate?" Data queried. "Indeed; her actions in the field of battle indicate that she is cognitive of the validity of her subjective opinions and utilizes them as though they were factual in nature."
"She follows her gut," Will echoed.
"Did I not say that?" Data asked, a worried look crossing his face.
Will waived off the android's expression of self-doubt with a smile, then stopped as they neared the turbolift doors and turned to Beverly.
"Herreiria thinks Czymszczak's up to something. I agree. Most likely, it's ploy to gather some headlines; after all, the election for the Council is in a little more than a year; if he doesn't start getting his name back in the public's eye, he's not going to get nominated. Getting in on a humanitarian relief effort that involves the Romulans and the Cardassians might be the way to do it.
"And as much as I would like to see that bastard out of Starfleet, I don't want it at the cost of four years of him serving on the Federation Council – and positioning himself for a run at the presidency."
"Will, as much as I agree with not wanting Czymszczak on the Council, I don't see what the harm would be in his coming on board the Enterprise..."
"If he comes on board, he's going to want to make sure he's viewed as having an integral part in the rescue effort or in getting the children to their new home; either way, he'll have his people interview the survivors," Will said.
Beverly's eyes widened as realization struck. "But the children don't know who Andile is," she said.
"No – but they do know that she isn't currently on board with them," he said. "That, in and of itself is going to raise some serious questions in Czymszczak's mind – enough that he will want to get some answers. And when he learns we've deposited her – a supposed Romulan – on a planet with the Admiral for a six week holiday – and have no doubt, he will learn that fact," he assured her grimly, "he's going to want to know why. He'll start asking questions – and he's going to demand answers," he pointed out. "I wouldn't put it past him to use telepaths on the children to get a clear image of everyone involved in the mess – and when that happens..."
"He'll realize Dee's alive," Beverly said softly.
"Alive – and with the admiral," Will agreed. "The worst case scenario is that he will hold the children as material witnesses – which could well start an incident between the Cardassians, Romulans and the Federation; I have little doubt that Dee bent more than few laws getting those children off Cardassia Prime – and probably as many taking them wherever they are going. And since he knows the admiral was involved in the rescue, he will go to Samarrassia IV to question him – and he will find Dee with him - and he will press charges of treason against them both.
"That's the worst; all that the rest of us face are charges of falsification of records and a host of other charges; we'll lose our positions, serve time on various penal colonies – but the admiral and Dee will be facing the death penalty."
"And Czymszczak will have the headlines he needs to become a predominant political image once again," Beverly whispered, shocked.
"The best case scenario does not have a more advantageous outcome," Data opined. "If Admiral Czymszczak arrives here and finds the children without their guardian, he might well use his position to force the resumption of negotiations with the Cardassians and/or the Romulans; either way, it becomes exceedingly unlikely that the children will ever reach their intended new home," he explained.
"Then we can't let him meet the children," Beverly said, understanding. "It's as simple as that."
Will nodded. "I'm having the yacht you came in prepared for immediate departure, Beverly; you and the children will leave this sector – then contact Tiron, and change your rendezvous point."
"Change it?" she asked, puzzled.
Will gave her one of his famous Machiavellian grins. "Beverly, if we don't know where you're going, we can't reveal it to Czymszczak. You'll be safe, the children will be safe, Dee and the Admiral will be safe..."
"We'll all be safe," Beverly concluded, giving him a somewhat skeptical look.
Will smiled back, then shook his head. "This isn't out of self-interest, Beverly; we're all adults; we all knew what we were doing four years ago when we decided to let Dee 'die' and go off with Tiron. We all were ready to lose our commands – even our freedom – for that greater good – and we still are. But..." He hesitated.
"But?" she echoed.
"But... I'm about to be a father; I would like to be around to raise my son... or my daughter," he added, "rather than seeing him born at a penal colony, and only able to hold him on visiting days," he admitted.
She studied him for a long moment – then nodded. "You're going to be a good father, Will – and if I can help ensure that future I will. But good intentions aside – I don't know that I can do this," she admitted. "Will, I'm one person! Even with Dee's assistant..."
"S'bey," Data offered.
"S'bey," Beverly repeated, "to help me, I don't know that I can take care of that many children – and pilot a ship. Not to mention that two of those children are in critical condition; ideally, they should be resting under medical supervision..."
"Which you can provide..." he pointed out.
"Not while I'm piloting a ship!" Beverly protested.
"Dee did it," Will reminded her.
"I'm not Dee!" she protested, then added, "And even if I was, she almost got them all killed!"
"Don't underestimate yourself, Beverly," Will countered quietly.
"Will, whatever my faults are, underestimating myself isn't one of them."
"Then don't underestimate me," he said. "I'm not sending you out there alone. Worf has volunteered to serve as your pilot..."
Beverly rolled her eyes. "Worf. Helping care for thirty terrified children and two very pregnant girls. An interesting choice. Spare me any more of your help, Will," she sighed.
"Ah. Then I shouldn't send Data and B-4 with you as well?" he asked, grinning.
Beverly opened her mouth to object – but before she could say anything, Data spoke.
"The children are familiar with us, Doctor; indeed, I believe that they are quite comfortable in our presence – especially that of B-4," he informed her.
Beverly looked at Will, who nodded.
"And both B-4 and I can be programmed with the Emergency Medical Hologram program to serve as medical assistants should any emergency needs arise," he reminded her.
"Data, you've only been on line a few days – and B-4 isn't exactly your intellectual equal," she pointed out.
"Our functionality – or any lack thereof - would be overridden by the EMH programming; should we be called into service, we would be able to function in that same capacity; we would, in essence, be non-holographic holograms."
Beverly shot will another questioning look. "Would that work?"
"Geordi assures me it would be – although he can't remove the personality program from the system in the time we have," he warned her.
Beverly sighed. "Lovely. Two holographic Dr. Zimmermans at once," she grumbled, remembering the meetings she had had with the esteemed physician – and the fact that every one had ended with boisterous arguments.
The man was opinionated, caustic, self-centered... and, she admitted, one of the best physicians in Starfleet.
And she would have two of him.
She looked at the android. "And you're willing to go with me? Data, I don't know when you'd get back to the Enterprise," she informed him.
"Doctor, when I was brought back on line, I believed it was fulfill an as yet unknown obligation to Ginger. I had thought that it was to resume my relationship with her – but given the turn of events, I have begun to question that conclusion. In the light of current events, it has occurred to me that perhaps I am here, now, because she needs me to be here – although in a different capacity than that which I first envisioned."
Brought back, Beverly repeated to herself, beginning to understand Deanna's concern for Data's mental health; did he truly believe that some supreme being had been responsibility for his recreation?
But if he did – well, what of it? She asked herself. Organic beings held to such beliefs and no one questioned them. Why couldn't androids have gods as well? She asked herself.
"In any case, Doctor, it is conceivable – even likely - that my inability to return to the Enterprise would be an inevitability I will face, even if I do not leave with you," he said quixotically.
She gave him a puzzled look. "I don't understand."
Will sighed. "Admiral Picard was responsible for funding all of Geordi's work on Data's reconstruction – with money that Dee and Data left in their respective wills. In theory, no Starfleet funds or time was ever involved in any of the work... but if Czymszczak were to find Data on this ship when he arrives, he might be tempted to confiscate him or ship him off to the Daystrom Institute, arguing the question of ownership, misappropriation of funds and Starfleet personnel time and efforts – possibly even the legality of the wills themselves; the issue might be tied up in the courts for years to come. If he can't get a headline from the presence of the rescued children, he could certainly make one with the possibility of an army of android soldiers."
"He can't do that!" Beverly protested.
"Given the extremes to which Czymszczak will go, do you want to risk Data and B-4's lives on that belief?" he asked.
"But the court ruled that Data was a sentient being!"
"That was twenty years ago, Beverly. The times have changed – and while the admiral didn't let that happen with the Data we knew twenty years ago, I can't be as confident that it they won't decide differently now," he said. "The war has changed the way a lot of people think about life; the fact that Data's memories were able to be downloaded before his death then restored to a new positronic brain might make a lot of think that while androids are sentient, they are also disposable."
Beverly gave a grim shake of her head – then looked at her friend. "Will, you know as well as I do that is Czymszczak can't find something to rejuvenate his stalled political career, he'll make up something. If it's not the children, and it's not Data – he'll find something else. And that might well be you."
"It's more likely he'll go after the admiral, Beverly," Will informed her soberly. "Czymszczak's had it in for the admiral for a long time – and taking him down publicly would suit him both politically and personally. Herreiria and I are not going to let that happen," he informed her. "If it means putting our careers on the line, we'll do it."
She nodded again, understanding too well the strength of the respect Will had for his former commanding officer, and the depth of the friendship they shared.
That explained Will's actions - but what drove the other captain, she wondered, her curiosity piqued.
Data answered the question before she could speak it.
"It is common knowledge, Doctor, that Captain Honrubia faced a court-martial several years ago. The specifics of the indictment were not made public – but she was exonerated of all the charges. What is of significance is that her chief defendant was..."
"Let me guess," Beverly interrupted. "Jean-Luc defended her."
Data's eyes widened in surprise, but Will merely grinned.
"And now she feels she owes him one?" she continued.
Will nodded. "Czymszczak let it slip that the Admiral was on the Enterprise – and Herreiria decided it would be prudent to give us a heads up. She's no fan of Czymszczak's, and she'll help him to fail wherever possible."
"Even at the risk of her command?" Beverly pressed.
"The admiral saved her command," Will countered soberly, "and more. Had the decision at the court-martial gone against her, she might well have lost her freedom as well as her ship. Herreiria's young – but she knows what honor is."
"Then I guess Jean-Luc defended the right person," Beverly agreed.
"Indeed," Will said. "Now, I don't mean to hurry you, but..." gesturing at her to enter the lift.
"But Czymszczak's going to be here soon," she said.
"And the last thing we want is for your ship to be close enough for him to order you back," he agreed.
"That might be difficult, Will; a captain's yacht does have limited warp capability," she reminded him. "He's going to be able to send a subspace message as soon as he realizes we've left."
"Providing he can locate your vessel," Data offered, He turned to Riker. "Captain, given the prolonged used of the yacht that Dr. Crusher has borrowed, it might be advisable for a complete check of the communications system to be performed as soon as the yacht departs. In that manner, we would be able to ensure that should Admiral Czymszczak wish to communicate with the yacht, we would receive his messages."
Will frowned – then smiled. "Data, a level four diagnostic would take more than twelve hours to complete. By that point you might have made multiple course changes; we wouldn't be able to reach you, even after the diagnostic is completed."
"That is also possible, Captain," Data agreed. "Regrettable – but prudence would be wise in a matter such as this. Reliable communications are essential."
Will's grin widened. "Clever – but Starfleet frowns upon its officers acting in such a manner to avoid their fulfilling their required duties," he reminded the android.
"Yes, sir. But, as I have been reminded of late, I am not a Starfleet officer," he pointed out.
"You're a good man, Data."
"Indeed," he agreed.
Will turned to the doctor, and allowed the smile to fade. "Beverly, it's up to you; if we get you and the children off this ship, there's every chance that Czymszczak will never know that Dee's back. And if he doesn't know that..."
"The admiral - and Dee – will be safe. Until you go to get them off that planet," she added.
"We'll work that out when the time comes," he conceded. "I might have to pull in a few favors – but I'll get them home again."
"Czymszczak might make your life hell," she reminded him. "You could lose your command."
"The admiral's risked more than his command and his ship for us; it's high time I begin to repay that favor," he told her.
Beverly studied him a minute longer – then raised herself up on her toes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I love you, Will," she whispered. "Keep him safe."
"I will," he promised, then pushed her away gently. "Worf's waiting for you in the shuttlebay. The children have been boarded, your two patients have been placed in your Sickbay, and S'bey and B-4 are with them. You've got food and supplies – all we need is you and Data," he said.
"Pretty damned sure of yourself, aren't you, Captain?" she asked.
"No," he admitted. "I was just pretty damned sure about you. Now go," he said, gesturing at the lift one last time. "Get those children to safety – and I'll do the same for the admiral and Dee," he said.
The two entered the lift; Will watched the door close, then turned headed for the bridge – and prayed he be able to keep his promise.