The tension in the room left an almost physical weight on Deanna Troi's shoulders. The captain's words barely made it through to her, they were so muddled in the panic he was suppressing from his voice. Will, whose mind was often a solace for her at times like this, was no better. As they discussed Beverly's condition, Deanna chose to focus in on Data, gulping his emptiness like fresh air after breaking the surface of murky water.

"Number one, I need a constant stream of signals going to all known locations of Wesley Crusher." Captain Picard was finishing giving orders after the debriefing.

They were cruising along at Warp 6 now, only a couple of days away from the Starbase with the best medical facilities. Data was to begin attempting to decipher the contents of Doctor Crusher's journal and familiarizing himself with all information on record about this infection. Deanna was to spend time with Beverly, assessing her emotional readings and level of consciousness.

Deanna had long desired to do this, but Beverly had been very strict about who entered the quarantine area and when. She had wanted to be working continuously, which did not give Deanna a decent window of sterilized access to the patients.

Data accompanied her to sick bay so that he could begin work immediately. There was already a stool at Beverly's bedside—no doubt placed there by the Captain. The doctor was now in a patient gown, a thin sheet pulled up to her chest and tucked around her, as though by her own hands. Deanna sat down and slowly peeled away the barriers she kept between her empathic self and the ship to keep from being intrusive.

The first thing she felt was not Beverly. It was the disconcerting feeling that had assaulted her as soon as she walked into the room. Now, as she opened her mind, they screamed inside her skull like nails on a chalkboard. She flinched and bent forward, resting her elbows on her knees and massaging her temples. The other patients were all suffocating inside their own bodies. Their minds were more alert than she had expected. She attempted to soothe them, sending waves of calm and reassurance into their thoughts. After some time, a few of them drifted into more muted states. Their readings showed their heart rates slow, as though they were sleeping.

Deanna took this time to pull the threads of Beverly's emotions out of the multicolored tapestry of feeling that veiled her mind. Their hues were familiar and she could pick them out readily. Beverly was calmer than the others, but still agitated.

"Beverly, can you hear me?" Deanna took her hand. She felt Beverly's mind shift in response-a flutter of recognition, a swell of relief, and then frustration. The patterns were far too complex and nuanced. Deanna feared that inside of her unresponsive body, Beverly was far more awake than she ought to be.

She wasn't sure whether she should report this, though. She couldn't tell for sure how much Beverly understood or processed, and she didn't want to misinform the crew at such a crucial time.

She looked across the beds at all of the sleeping faces. They were limp and peaceful. Yet Beverly may be aware, somewhere behind her gentle expression, that she was slowly approaching death. Deanna grasped her hand more tightly. "We're going to figure it out, Beverly. Don't worry."

Beverly responded with a twinge of sorrow. Not nearly as much hope as Deanna would have liked to feel.

Deanna heard the hiss of the door opening and she felt the presence of tightly muzzled anxiety. She could tell that it was the Captain without turning around. "Counselor, report."

"Well..." Deanna hesitated. As the Captain's voice drifted through the room she felt a great wave of emotion from Beverly. She had to stop and wait for it to pass. "... Well, I have confirmed that the patients have some consciousness and awareness of their surroundings. I am unclear of how much they are processing and how much of it is just their natural reactions to external stimuli."

The Captain was silent for a moment. Deanna turned around at last to see him watching Beverly, brows knitted. "Can she hear us, then?"

"I think so, Captain. The sounds, at least. I'm not sure if she understands our words, though." Deanna stood up and paced around the other patients. She could tell the Captain wanted her seat, but didn't want to ask. Sure enough while she feigned examining another patient intently, he sat down.

"I think you should talk to her. Not just you, but everyone. I feel that it would be a comfort to her. Familiar voices might give her a sort of anchor."

"Very well." The Captain said quietly. "I will inform the rest of the crew. Commander Data?"

"Sir?"

"That goes for you especially, since you will be spending the most time with these patients. Talk to them."

"Yes, Captain."

The Captain moved the stool a bit closer and took Beverly's hand. Deanna wandered towards the door, lingering there. She leaned against the far wall and watched them. Captain Picard began speaking to her in a low voice about how they were attempting to contact Wesley, and how close they were to the Starbase. He told her about the journals, and Data's work. Deanna could feel Beverly being soothed by his words, her sorrow parting to let in a rush of longing. The warmth of emotion radiating from them settled over the room like a pleasant blanket.

Deanna felt this warmth often in their presence. It was like they became their own planet. When they spoke to each other, even in a crowded room, it formed a thick atmosphere of intimacy that muffled everything beyond their own magnetic field. Deanna always found it comforting to bask in, letting her mind orbit their gravity in languid loops, while they remained oblivious to its effect on her.

Today, however, she felt intrusive. There was weight and urgency in their interaction. She could feel both of them doubt how much time they had together. Deanna also had her fears. She too wanted more time with Beverly. As much as she hated the thought, she couldn't ignore it. There were so many things she wanted to tell her.

But now was not the time. Deanna slipped through the door unnoticed. Beverly and Jean-Luc were already on their planet, and she was sworn to follow the prime directive.

Deanna talked to the medical staff about Beverly's condition, encouraging them to drop in and say a few words to her whenever the room was sanitized. She wanted to tell Will, also. He was likely on the bridge, monitoring communications and ensuring that they were on a steady course. She had no idea when the Captain would be ready to leave Beverly's side, and she thought Will deserved to be in the loop. She stepped into the turbolift and leaned wearily against the wall. More than any of that, she needed to offload some of the emotional strain onto someone calm and open.

"Bridge."

The lift lurched into motion and she let her eyes close. At that moment she felt something disturbing her solitary space. A little flash of concern appeared and then disappeared in a moment. Then bits of fear, glitching in and out. Deanna opened her eyes.

Two figures flickered in the turbolift with her. One was unreadable, but the other was definitely human. Wesley Crusher materialized before her eyes—taller, sturdier—but definitely Jack's stubborn jaw and Beverly's inquisitive eyes.

The Traveler was the second figure. "We received your transmissions," he said in his flat voice.

"Is she okay?" Wesley asked immediately.

Deanna stuttered but couldn't manage to get out any real words, half out of shock and half because his question didn't have a simple answer.

The Traveler placed a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "I am not needed here. I will return for you when the time comes."

They looked at each other for a brief moment, before the pale figure disappeared once more.

The doors to the turbolift opened into the bridge. Deanna looked up to meet Will's eyes. His gaze flickered to Wesley's back, and then again to Deanna. He stood up.