Star Struck 5
Over the next few weeks, the status of the Enterprise's crew didn't change much. People were in and out of the infirmaries by the dozens, and Engineering, being one of the later sections infected, was still empty. Picard by now didn't walk out of his ready room, where he sat over multiple cups of no-longer-hot Earl Grey, fuming, day in, day out.
"WHERE ARE MY WARP ENGINES?! GIVE ME BACK MY WARP ENGINES!!!" he raged. He stood up abruptly and sent his PADDs and cups of tea flying with a wild accidental sweep of his arms. Then he stormed over to Sick Bay.
Will, who had taken over the Bridge, paged Beverly. "Just warning you, Doc, you have a very bad-tempered Captain on his way up."
Beverly stifled an unbidden giggle. "Thanks for the warning, Will." She barely had time to sit down in her office and pretend to be busy when Picard stomped in.
"BEVERLY CRUSHER…!!!!!"
Beverly held a hand up. "Hoooooold on, Captain. Take a deep breath….good….now, how about you tell me what's bugging you?"
Picard opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then spluttered "WHAT'S BUGGING ME?!"
Lieutenant Selar stuck her head around the doorframe. She, unemotionally of course, had noticed someone yelling at Beverly and wanted to make sure everything was alright. Calmly, she noticed the irate patient was not a patient at all, but the Captain himself, and seeing no reason to interfere, went back to her work.
"Yes," Beverly said gently, hiding her hands under the table and crossing her fingers, "What's bothering you, Jean-Luc?"
He stood up violently and waved his arms around, still red in the face. Then, with a huge sigh, he collapsed in the chair, and covered his face with his hands. "What have I done?" he mumbled plaintively.
Beverly got up and walked around to his side of the desk. She put her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. "It's ok. Jean-Luc, we're ALL human. You don't have to blame yourself for this, it happens. We're going to win it over – heck, why am I telling you this? Only a few weeks ago you were letting me cry on your shoulder! Pull yourself together, Captain. Come on, that's right, it's ok…"
Picard was torn. He felt guilty. It was all his fault. No, it's not, said the little Deanna Troi in his mind. It happens to the best of us. Even beings like Q make mistakes. He smiled, despite his other feelings. Q, eh?
Slowly, the infirmaries were emptying. First Cargo Bay 6 was emptied, and reverted back to its original purpose. Then, Cargo Bay 9, the larger one. Finally, Sick Bay was slowly releasing the crew back to their quarters for observation, and then back to duty. Will and Data had come down when Geordi was released, and now only about 50 people were still hospitalized. A few, mainly children, were still in critical condition, but Beverly was feeling very good about herself, the team, and the progress they had made. Picard was still furious with himself, but then, that was his usual behaviour when something went wrong aboard the Enterprise.
Melisandre stretched and pushed her long red hair out of her face. She swatted irritably at the tubes in her arm. Her elbow was held in a stasis field at an angle, and 4 or 5 thin transparent tubes filled with medicine and nutritional supplements were embedded in the back of her hand, reaching up to the machinery behind her head. Beverly was still a bit worried about her, and had kept her in for a few days more than the rest of the Engineering crew, due to Melisandre's allergic response to standard medication for the Sun Fever.
"Hey."
Melisandre whipped around, her arm hanging on an awkward angle. This was the last voice she was expecting. Ok, maybe not last, that would be the Captain.
She let her breath out, and relaxed. "Hey, Will," she grinned.
Will turned the chair beside her bed around and stepped over it, straddling it. "How's it going?"
She shrugged with one shoulder, and readjusted the blanket. "Beverly has some kind of grudge against me or something," she said petulantly. "She won't let me out of here."
"I heard that, 'Lise," Beverly said, laughing. She pulled up a chair next to Will's. "I'll let you out soon."
Melisandre sighed, and plucked again at the tubes. "This medieval thing and I just don't get along." Will suppressed a laugh. "What do they call it again? Intravenous feed? I feel like Data when he hooks himself up to the computer."
This time neither Will nor Beverly could hold their laughs in. Their hearty chuckles were what greeted Data and Geordi when they came in to say hi.
Data cocked his head on the side. "May I ask what is amusing?" he asked.
Beverly and Will laughed even harder, and this time Melisandre couldn't help it and chuckled herself. "Sorry, Data, we were having a bit of a laugh at your expense."
Data frowned. "At my expense? I do not recall paying for your laughs."
This sent everyone into yet another side-aching laugh. Beverly, still trying to can her laughs, threw her hands up good-naturedly. "Ok, ok." She gasped for breath. "Laughter is the best medicine." She stopped and gasped again. "Out with you!" She fell back in her seat, still laughing.
Melisandre gaped at her. Beverly motioned Lieutenant Selar over, being as she was still laughing, and had her take Melisandre' arm out of the stasis. Her uniform was placed on her bed by the ever-placid Vulcan, and she got up cheerfully, with a whoop. She ran off to the adjoining bathroom to wash up and get dressed.
By the time the crowd had stopped laughing at poor Data, she had come back, prim as usual, hair bound up in the usual messy knot that she wore, uniform straight and spotless. Misconstruing Beverly's approving nod, she stood in front of Will. "Lieutenant Commander Asimov reporting for—"
"Oh, No you don't," Beverly said suddenly.
Everyone turned to her.
"I haven't discharged you yet. You will have 3 days of prescribed rest in your quarters before you go back to duty, is that clear, Miss Asimov?"
Melisandre snapped her fingers. "Darn. Fine."
Melisandre walked back and forth sullenly in her quarters. Boy, was she bored. Suddenly, she had an idea.
"Computer."
It chirped.
"Feed to the terminal all professional musical instruments in the replicator catalogue."
"Processing." There was a pause. "The list contains 425 items. Would you like to narrow your query?"
"Narrow to baroque instruments."
The computer paused again. "The list contains 29 items. Feeding to terminal."
Melisandre read the list, and huffed. It wasn't there.
"Computer, feed to terminal the list of all keyboard instruments in the replicator catalogue."
"The list contains 46 items. Feeding to terminal."
She read it carefully again, this time catching it. "Computer, why isn't harpsichord under the baroque period?"
"The harpsichord is a new addition to the replicator catalogue and has not been categorised yet."
She shrugged. "Computer, replicate harpsichord 13A in replicator bay 9."
Replicator bay 9 was a small niche in the replicator room with a large replicator pad, used for large things such as furniture.
She then paged Chief O'Brien. "Hiya, Chief."
"Hi 'Lise. What can I do for you?"
"I just replicated something in replicator bay 9. Could you beam it to my quarters?"
"Your wish is my command," he said. "O'Brien out."
No sooner had he said so, than the harpsichord appeared in the centre of her quarters.
"Fantastic," she breathed. She sat down at the stool and ran her fingers over the keys, listening to the sound carefully.
"Computer, load Bach's 3rdBrandenburg Concerto, and remove the harpsichord from the piece."
"Processing. Ready."
"Play."
She got a thrill as the music started playing, and then quickly noticed that she both missed the cue to begin, and didn't have the notes. She yelled at the computer to stop.
Data was passing by her quarters on the way from his, where he had been feeding Spot, to Ten Forward. His ears picked up the beginnings of the music. It took him 5 milliseconds to recognise it, 3 to figure out something was missing, and a further 3 to realise it was the harpsichord. His curiosity got the better of him when he heard Melisandre yell, and pressed the chime.
"Come," she called.
He stepped in and surveyed the instrument in front of him with interest. "Vienna, 1730s," he stated.
Melisandre grinned. "Yup, now all I need is the notes." She was standing at the replicator, holding a small book. "Care to express your opinion on my playing?"
"I would be pleased to do so," he said.
With a nod and a smile, she sat down. "Computer, commence from the beginning of the movement."
This time she fell into the beat. Data used 2% of the currently running processes to determine that the harpsichord was slightly off tune, that Melisandre was marginally fast in her tempo (but only by a fraction of second), but that the playing, by human standards, was very good indeed.
At the end of the first movement, she paused the computer, and turned to him. "Well?"
"Frankly, you were off tempo, and the harpsichord is imperfectly tuned, but otherwise I think the Enterprise Baroque Orchestra is missing a very good harpsichordist." He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, as he had seen Geordi do when she had accomplished a rather difficult piece of programming, got up, and walked out of her quarters without another word.
She stared after him. She still wasn't able to get used to his odd mannerisms, sometimes.
Will was sitting in Beverly's office. Well, he wasn't sitting, he was fidgeting and pacing and doing everything except sitting. He twitched his fingers impatiently, and sat down in the chair facing her desk for the 7th time. After a few minutes he snapped, "Computer, location of Dr. Crusher."
"Dr. Crusher is entering Sick Bay."
He let out a big breath, and the door whooshed open.
"Will! What a surprise! What can I do for you?" Beverly said, smiling. She swept in and deposited a large pile of PADDs on the table, and then replicated two cups of tea.
Will smelled the cup and got a wistful look on his face. "Solarian, isn't it?"
She nodded, and, taking a sip, surveyed him over the rim of her glass. "Will, you're all worked up. What is it?"
Will slapped his thighs hopelessly. "I was sort of worked up about the concert we're doing for the anniversary of the Enterprise's maiden voyage next week. We're missing about half the string section, a few trombones and flutes, and to top it off we could use a good piano or something as well. I felt we could pull something really majestic – you know how much the Captain likes the strong stuff – but with this it's impossible."
She sat in silence. True, she had noticed in rehearsals things were rather quiet. She always liked hanging around with Deanna when the orchestra was rehearsing, but lately it had been less "rehearsing" than just sitting miserably.
"Well, has Data agreed to play?" she asked.
"Yeah. But he's only one violin, no matter what his ability is. And I really don't like reading up on the crew's information and drafting them – the orchestra is a morale thing, not mandatory."
"Maybe we can advertise?" she said tentatively.
He laughed bitterly. "What, 'Wanted, viola player in good condition'? Come on, Beverly, who's going to take that bait?"
She shrugged. "Worth a try? Post a listing, see what you get. It won't hurt, and I'm willing to bet you'll get some players."
He sighed. "Alright. Fine." He got up, and with an air of hopelessness walked out.
Later that day, a notice was sent to all the crew of the Enterprise:
"Greetings all,
As you all know there will be taking place a concert in honour of the Enterprise's maiden voyage, next week. Unfortunately, we do not have a full complement of players in our orchestra, and find doing such a concert in this condition quite impossible. Please find attached a list of positions, and if you feel up to joining us, please let me or Data know as soon as possible.
Many thanks,
Will Riker."
Melisandre came home from a hard day of work in Engineering with Geordi to find this message on her terminal. She saw "pianist/other keyboard" on the list, and paged Will. "Asimov to Commander Riker."
"I gotcha, 'Lise. Did you get the notice?"
She smiled. "I did indeed. I was wondering if you needed a harpsichordist."
Will thought a bit. "Sure, we could pull something together. Report to... holodeck 6 at 1800 hours, we'll see what we can do."
"I'll be there with bells on," she said. "Asimov out."
