Chapter Eight

Dr. Beverly Crusher beamed down from the relative quiet and pacing frustration of the orbiting runabout into the rumbling, juddering chaos of a ground quake. Emergency lights flashed inside the little, domed clinic, children were yelling, but the doctor kept her calm and headed straight for the biobed where a Klingon woman convulsed and thrashed, her monitors bleeping wildly. On the bed beside her, a small human boy lay unconscious, protected from falling, or from any debris, by a force field powered by its own emergency generator.

Dr. Crusher pursed her lips at the sight of him, then turned to face the Klingon, her mask of professionalism firmly in place.

"What have we got?" she asked Troi, both officers recognizing there was no time for friendly greetings.

"Her convulsions started suddenly, before the quake, and they've only gotten worse," Troi reported. "She was shot by an energy weapon and suffered severe internal injuries. We managed to stabilize her, but—"

"It's all right, I've read your reports," Crusher said, her professional eye skimming over the battery-dim computer read-outs. She checked the electronic chart at the foot of the bed, then grabbed a hypospray from her bag, programming in her prescription then pressing the hypo against Kurak's neck.

The Klingon's tense muscles relaxed. She released a very strange sound, like a half-choked sigh, and her head lolled to the side…a line of dark magenta blood trickling from her mouth.

"What's that?" Kahlestra cried, rushing to her mother's side as the ground beneath them continued to shake. "Why is she bleeding?"

"This is Kay, Kurak's daughter," Troi introduced the girl. "Kay, this is Dr. Crusher, the friend Data and I were telling you about."

"Yeah, great," the girl said distractedly. "Why is my mother bleeding? Is it her guts? Her lungs? What's happening!"

"Kay," Troi said, her voice kind, but firm, "you need to get down and go back under your shelter with Ishta. It's too dangerous for you to be standing while—"

"That shelter's just a stupid fold-out table you pushed against the inner wall," Kahlestra snapped. "If you can stand, so can I. What can I do to help?"

"To tell you the truth, Kay, the best thing you can do right now is keep yourself from getting hurt, so I can concentrate on helping your mother," Dr. Crusher said, meeting the girl's eyes.

"But the blood—!"

"It seems your mother bit her tongue during the convulsions," Crusher told her as she continued her examination. "It looks a lot worse than it is. Now please, do as Counselor Troi said. My job is to help your mother. Yours is to keep yourself safe and under cover until this shaking stops. Can you do that for me, Kay? For your mother?"

Kahlestra bared her teeth in a snarl.

"Fine!" she growled. "But, I'm not stupid, and I won't be lied to! Not by you or any grown-up!"

"Then we understand each other," Crusher said, offering her a little smile.

Kahlestra snorted, but crawled back under the table and placed a hand on its vibrating leg, in case the shaking caused the table to shift or slide away. Ishta had buried herself in her hair, her green hands folded tightly over the back of her head and neck.

"Some vacation spot you picked," Crusher quipped to Troi as the pair of them worked together to change the unconscious Kurak into a surgical gown, then position a surgical hood over the biobed.

"I just hope Howard can keep those battery back-ups working," Troi said anxiously. "We had some trouble during the last sandstorm."

"Howard?" Crusher raised a curious eyebrow.

"He's Master Data's handy, helpful robot," Troi said, indicating the busy, metallic-green robot with her head. At the look Crusher shot her, the counselor almost smiled.

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll explain later."

"I'll hold you to that," the doctor promised, already preoccupied with her preparatory scans.

The desert heat and blinding sun felt planets away from the humid, musty, dusty dark inside the tunnels.

Data slipped on his shades, stretched out his arms and breathed in the dry air, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. Away from that awful, buzzing dampening field, he felt as though a literal weight had been lifted from his head and shoulders, and the physical relief made a significant improvement to his mood.

"You should wear a hat, Data," Riker suggested, donning his own hat and sun-protector shades. "Then again – does this new skin of yours burn? You know…the blistering, the peeling…"

"It is vulnerable to sun damage," Data said. "But, for my new skin to experience severe sunburn, in the way you mean, I would have to come within approximately thirty-six million miles of the star in question without the protection afforded by a planetary atmosphere or space craft."

"Thirty-six million…" Freja wrinkled her brow. "That's Mercury's distance from the sun."

"Just about," Data said, and smiled. Then, his smile vanished and he stepped closer to her.

"So," he said. "When do you and Dr. Kapoor intend to let me in on your secret?"

Freja's eyes widened and she turned to Nat, but he was already speaking.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about those covert recordings you were making back in the cavern," Data said. "You must remember. After all, it was your idea to send Dr. Anders over to distract me with conversation while you were recording, was it not?"

Nat snorted and rolled his eyes behind his own protective shades.

"I don't have to listen to—"

"You wanted to see if the holovid would show the same peculiar wave pattern with me as it does when you point the recorder at a biological humanoid," Data spoke over him, his amber eyes fixed and steady. "I understand there is no such effect when you aim your recorder at rocks and electronic equipment. So, naturally, I am curious. Does your recording show this odd wave distortion when you record me behind my back, or does the distortion only occur when you do so to my human colleagues?"

"Mr. Data," Picard started to reprimand, but Nat sucked in his cheeks and turned his head away.

"Fine," he snapped. "You caught me, android. Yes, I was recording you and, yes, I did ask Freja to help. As for those strange wave distortions… I honestly won't know until we play back the recording on the computers back in the control room."

"Have you come up with a theory to explain these distortions?" Picard asked curiously.

"Quantum probability waves," Tu'Pari said, standing rather stiffly under his own hat and shades.

Nat shot him a very dirty look, but the Vulcan didn't flinch.

Freja reached for his arm.

"Nat…" she prompted. "Given what's happened, maybe we should explain what—"

"All right, all right!" the human scientist said, and held up his hands. "Look, we didn't mean to lie or anything. It's just…this is our work, you know? Our job, not some recreation or hobby or…"

He closed his eyes and tried again.

"Sorry," he said, looking at Picard. "I didn't mean it like that. It's just, we didn't know you, and—"

"I think I can understand how you've been feeling," Picard said. "When we requested to spend these two weeks touring these ruins, we had no way of knowing how close you were to a breakthrough – especially a finding of this magnitude! Mon dieu—! What we just saw—"

"What we saw, Captain," Tu'Pari said flatly, "was a brief glimpse of what Kurak, Dr. Baker, and I have long suspected to be the true function and purpose of the Stairway. If you Starfleet officers are willing to work with us in a volunteer capacity as, judging from your actions back there, I now believe you are, we will tell you our theory – and why this find presents a far greater threat to the current balance of power in this galaxy than you could possibly envision at this point."

Riker raised his eyebrows over his shades.

"And they say Vulcans don't exaggerate."

"I assure you, Commander, this is no exaggeration," Tu'Pari stated. "Whatever value you imagined outside agents may have placed on this energy source, its true function is worth exponentially more."

"Well," Data said. "I'm intrigued. I am also relieved. I was starting to take your reticent attitudes personally."

"It's not that we didn't trust you, Commander," Freja told him, her dirt-streaked face cracking into a slight, awkward smile. "It's just that we didn't trust you."

Data narrowed his eyes, then his eyebrows lifted and he broke out with a laugh. Freja moved closer to Nat.

"Ah – I get it!" Data said. "And I, too, understand. But, I believe I speak for each of my friends when I say you have nothing to fear from us. We did not come to take over your research here, only to learn, and to help. If you will let us."

"Besides," Picard said. "If this find is as potentially threatening as you say, you may find you need our support, and the protection afforded by Starfleet."

"I'm afraid the way this trip's been going so far, that'll be sooner rather than later," Riker added.

Freja shared an uncomfortable look with Nat. Tu'Pari straightened his posture.

Picard observed their discomfort, and pursed his lips.

"I know feelings are running high," he said, "particularly after what we just experienced. I suggest we all head back to the compound, get cleaned up, then meet again after lunch in the control room to discuss our results with clearer, cooler heads. In the meantime, Dr. Crusher's runabout should be due quite soon and I, for one, don't particularly wish to greet her looking like this."

The little group glanced around at their torn clothes, scraped-up hands, elbows and knees, and filthy dust-and-dirt-streaked faces, and all but Picard and Tu'Pari started to snicker, the heavy mood lightening to something almost resembling camaraderie as they headed back through the wind and sand toward the sheltered compound.

To Be Continued…

References Include - TNG: Ethics and the movies Generations and First Contact.