"Simplicity" Part 3
Dr. Castle sat in the lab and studied the apparatus in front of her. She had taken blood and tissue samples from all of the patients that had come down with the mysterious illness. Then, she had prepared a series of growth cultures, in an effort to isolate the causal organism. This was a job that could easily have been delegated to one of her staff, but in cases as important and delicate as this one the doctor preferred to do the work herself.
The doctor compared each of the samples, and found that there was indeed an organism common to all of them. Upon checking Starfleet Medical’s database, she was not surprised to learn that this particular germ had not previously been identified. In the course of exploring the galaxy, scientists were continually discovering new life forms, from the simplest microorganisms to the most complex sentient beings. The life form currently in question appeared to be some sort of a bacterium. Upon visual inspection, it closely resembled many of the bacteria commonly found on Earth. However, rather than producing an annoying and sometimes mildly debilitating upper respiratory infection, this one led to far more deadly results.
In the last 500 years or so, medical science had discovered a multitude of antibiotic and antiviral medications. The technology currently available made it relatively easy to find out which ones were most effective, depending on the organism involved. Of course, there remained a few persistent microbes that refused to be killed, so caution was still the rule when dealing with the unknown.
Dr. Castle paused in her work and rubbed her eyes. She had put in a long day today, and it was likely that she would be working through the night as well. Just then, Head Nurse Carrie Maxwell poked her head through the door. “Doctor, we need you out here.”
Carrie was seldom rattled by even the most severe injuries, so the doctor became immediately concerned at the tone of the nurse’s voice. She followed the nurse to the isolation ward, to young Patty Courtney’s bed. The usually pretty little thing was drenched in sweat, fighting off a raging fever. Ensign Sandy Courtney, the girl’s mother, stood by helplessly. She had steadfastly refused to leave Sickbay, despite warnings that she herself might become ill. The young mother looked up hopefully at the doctor’s approach.
Castle looked at the monitor above the bed and saw that Patty’s temperature had reached a critical level. All efforts at lowering it had failed, much to everyone’s dismay. The doctor studied the monitor, as if the answer might suddenly appear before her eyes. Just then, Ensign Courtney gave a gasp of horror. Looking down, Castle saw that the girl was having a seizure, most likely induced by the high fever. Nurse Maxwell promptly moved in, gently shouldering the distraught mother aside as she performed the tasks necessary to prevent Patty from injuring herself during her seizure.
Thankfully, the episode lasted only seconds. As soon as it was over, the girl drifted off into an exhausted sleep. Upon checking Patty over, Castle was alarmed to note that her heart had weakened considerably. She asked for inaprovaline and administered the cardio-stimulant via hypospray, noting with relief that the girl’s pulse strengthened a little. However, the doctor knew that this was only a temporary measure at best. She couldn’t keep dosing out drugs indefinitely. Sooner or later, Patty’s frail body would have to start fighting the infection roaring through it. If not, she probably wouldn’t make it through the night.
Castle pulled Nurse Maxwell aside, and gave her some instructions regarding Patty’s care. She then began to circulate among the other patients, noting that there were more of them than there had been when she made her last rounds just a couple of hours ago. In fact, the ward was nearing capacity. The doctor decided that she had better see about converting one of the shuttlebays into a stand-by treatment area. She left Sickbay and headed for the bridge, a determined look on her face.
Linda Castle had come from a long line of hard-working, dedicated practitioners of the healing arts. The family tradition had begun with her great, great-grandfather, who had been a family doctor in a small town in Kentucky, on Earth. His son, Jerome Castle, had made a name for himself by making some major improvements to the hypospray and other medical instruments became the first human to be admitted to the Vulcan Science Academy, and who later served as Surgeon General of Starfleet.
From the time Linda had been a small child, she had heard of the exploits of her great-grandfather. It was generally assumed that she would follow in the footsteps of all of the Castles who had gone before, and take the Hippocratic Oath. But she soon learned to hate the path that had been chosen for her. She failed to understand why, just because of her name, people should assume what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
Always something of a rebellious adolescent, Linda ran away from home upon completing secondary school. She signed up with a colony ship traveling to Alpha Media IV, under a fictitious name. The chief engineer and his wife were a kindly middle-aged couple who had no children of their own, and they readily “adopted” the young woman, treating her just like she was their own daughter. She repaid their kindness by learning everything she could about her foster father’s work, following him around and helping him with his duties. Harris Crawford was proud of his young protégé, and soon entrusted Linda with doing the simpler jobs without his supervision.
When the colonists arrived at their destination, they settled in and began to build a home that they could take pride in. Linda had made friends among the other young people in the group, and felt a strong sense of belonging that had sometimes been absent with her own family. She started to spend time with a certain Derek Judson, whose father was the leader of the colony. He was a tall, good-looking young man who showed promise of becoming a leader himself one day.
After several months, the colonists had firmly established themselves in their new home. Crops had been planted and a good harvest was expected. More and more permanent shelters were being erected, and simple roads had been laid out. Linda thought that things couldn’t get any better than this. That was when tragedy struck.
One day, shortly after the morning meal, the sky darkened unexpectedly. A strong wind began to blow, so strong that the people began to look toward the sky, expecting to see a storm front moving in. To their great surprise, they saw on the horizon a mysterious object, resembling more than anything else a large white crystal of some sort. The object emitted a deafening noise, and sent out rays of some sort of energy, which destroyed whatever they touched.
The colonists panicked, some of them retreating inside their homes, others milling around outside. Captain Judson, however, shouted out words of encouragement. He called to everyone and told them to retreat to some caves in the nearby hills. Perhaps there the people would be safe from whatever was attacking the planet. The leader projected an image of strength and assurance, keeping everyone moving as quickly as they could to shelter. He was the last one to take cover, first making sure that everyone else was safe.
Linda huddled in fear along with the other frightened settlers. She could hear the sounds of the Crystalline Entity, as it would later come to be known, as it wreaked havoc on the surface. Her foster father, along with Captain Judson, moved among the people and offered words of comfort as best they could. After the sounds from above died out, the people waited for several hours before venturing out to survey the damage. To their great dismay, they found that the lush green countryside had been reduced to a wasteland, completely devoid of any kind of life.
When the monster had first become visible on the horizon, someone had thought to activate the distress beacon, sending out a signal to anyone within range. Now the colonists fervently hoped that someone might have received the signal before it had been destroyed. All they could do was sit and wait for help to arrive.
The people remained in the caves, fearful that the creature might return to finish them off. They waited all of that day, and most of the next. The adults tried to remain calm for the sake of the children, but they found it increasingly difficult to be optimistic about their chances for survival.
Then, on the evening of the second day, a rescue party showed up. The starship Constellation had heard the frantic distress call, and hurried to render assistance. Once the nature of the emergency was determined, a medical team beamed down to the planet to assess the colonists’ injuries. Linda followed the example of Engineer Crawford and the other leaders of the colony, accompanying the doctors as they made their rounds.
The young woman found that she had been teamed up with a young intern, an attractive woman not much older than herself. The fledgling doctor exuded a sense of confidence and self-assurance that Linda couldn’t help but admire. She circulated among the younger members of the colony, offering kind words and comfort along with any medical assistance that might be needed. Thankfully, no one had severe injuries, but many people were demonstrating a delayed reaction to the terror-stricken flight to the caves, and also suffering the effects of hunger and exposure to the elements.
After seeing to the safety of the colonists, the medical team began beaming the most severely injured up to the ship. Linda and her new friend took the opportunity to find a quiet place and rest for a few moments. For a short time, the two young women worked hard to forget the devastation around them and talk about themselves.
In listening to the young doctor, Linda found herself thinking back to her own upbringing. The intern described her fascination with her chosen vocation, and the young colonist found it easy to converse about medical matters, having been surrounded by doctors all of her life. Somehow, when the intern talked about herself, Linda began to see that maybe she had been wrong in rejecting this life so rashly.
When the time came for Linda to be transported to the waiting starship, she reluctantly parted with her new friend. She had rediscovered a sense of purpose in her life, and vowed to return to her family. Hopefully, they would forgive her for running away, and help her to pursue a life of helping others.
Upon returning home, the young woman pursued her chosen career with a vengeance. She surprised herself with her single-mindedness, diligently studying everything she could find that would help her to return to space. Instead of being ashamed of the Castle name, she became proud of the part that her family had taken in exploring the galaxy. Linda made a secret vow to herself that she would no longer be known just as Admiral Castle’s great granddaughter. Instead, she would be CMO of a starship in her own right.
Despite the late hour, Captain Blanchard was still in her ready room, making last-minute plans for the morning’s battle exercises. She went over reports of the crew’s recent phaser drills, noting with pleasure the high level of skill demonstrated. While a certain amount of thanks were due to Commander Jordan’s recent practice sessions, a large portion of the credit had to go to the security chief, as well as to the previous captain of this ship. Such a skilled crew was the result, not only of hard training, but also of selecting only the best and brightest to serve on the ship. Having been in command of the McAuliffe just a few months, she continually marveled at being given charge of such a ship.
Blanchard looked up in surprise upon hearing the door chime. The hour was late, which meant that whoever wanted to see her must be there on urgent business. “Come,” she ordered, unconsciously straightening her uniform tunic.
Dr. Castle entered and came right to the point. “Captain, I’d like your permission to convert Shuttlebay 3 into a secondary patient care ward. I’m afraid we’re running out of room in Sickbay.”
Before Blanchard could answer, a voice could be heard through the intercom, “Sickbay to Dr. Castle.”
The doctor pressed her comm. badge and answered, “Castle here.”
Carrie Maxwell’s voice responded. “Doctor, after you left, Patty Courtney had another seizure. I’m afraid she’s dead, Ma’am.”
Not waiting to ask permission, Castle sank down in the chair across from the captain’s desk. Her shoulders slumped, showing her fatigue and concern. Every time a patient died under her care, she took it as a personal defeat. It was especially heartbreaking when the patient was so young and innocent as this one. After a moment she spoke, “Thank you, Carrie. Tell Ensign Courtney I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Sensing the gravity of the situation, Blanchard waited for the doctor to speak. Finally, Castle said, “I’m afraid that isn’t going to be the only person we lose to whatever this thing is.” She looked up, angry, as much as with a situation beyond her control as with a captain whom she saw as being uncooperative.
Contrary to the doctor’s opinion, Blanchard keenly felt the loss of the young girl. She honestly couldn’t recall if she had ever met Patty Courtney, but she recalled meeting the girl’s mother just recently when making a routine tour of the Engineering department. The captain saw herself as responsible for the safety and well being of everyone on the McAuliffe, and could not get used to the helpless feeling that came to her when one of them came to harm. However, she had long ago learned to push such emotions aside until she could deal with them privately.
“Just how many people have you been treating for this illness?” Blanchard questioned the doctor. She stood up and walked over to the window behind her desk, clasping her hands behind her back.
Castle spoke somewhat curtly, “The last time I checked, there were at least a couple dozen patients. Some of them are in pretty bad shape. At this rate, a third of the ship will be out of commission by morning.”
The captain returned to her desk and sat down. “How close are you to figuring out just what is behind all of this?”
“Well, I have isolated an organism which is most likely responsible for the infection,” the doctor responded, trying not too sound too defensive. “But I still have to figure out if there’s a cure, and what that might be.”
Blanchard couldn’t help but pick up the uncertainty in the doctor’s words. But she preferred not to think about a worst-case scenario just yet, and took an optimistic tone. “I have every faith that you’ll get to the bottom of this, Doctor.” She smiled encouragingly, to give emphasis to her words.
“Thank you, Captain,” came the tired response. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work.”
The captain moved around her desk to walk Castle to the door. Placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder, she said, “Perhaps you should get some rest.”
But the doctor stopped and turned to face her superior. “I’ll have time to rest when I’m dead, Captain,” she remarked with a crooked smile. With a nod of her head that conveyed her gratitude, she was out the door. Blanchard walked somberly back to her desk and sat down, deep in thought.
The captain spent a sleepless night, as well, alternately pacing the floor of her ready room and trying to occupy her mind by reading or listening to music. Finally she gave up and made her way to Sickbay, where she found a flurry of activity. She was a little surprised to see Sandy Courtney still there, doing what she could to help the medical staff offer reassurances to the patients and make them comfortable.
“Ensign,” Blanchard said as she approached the bereaved mother. “Please accept my condolences.” This was one thing she had always found difficult; she told herself that she would have made a terrible counselor.
The other woman turned and faced her superior, smiling slightly as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. “Thank you, Captain. My mother tried to tell me it was wrong to take Patty with me into space, but . . .”
“Now, Sandy,” came a softly scolding voice, “you know that you’re not responsible for what happened to Patty.” Dr. Castle approached and laid a gentle hand on the other woman’s arm. “You gave her opportunities many children on Earth don’t have.”
Courtney looked at the doctor and smiled ruefully. “Yes, you’re right.”
“What are you still doing here? You’re liable to get sick yourself,” Castle chided gently.
“I don’t want to be alone just yet,” the mother responded, trying to smile encouragingly.
“Alright, but only for a little while. You need your rest. Doctor’s orders.”
“Yes, sir,” Courtney said with a smile as she turned back to the patient she had been tending.
“So, Captain,” Castle said as she turned to face Blanchard, “what brings you to Sickbay?”
“Just checking on your progress,” Blanchard said, looking around the room.
“Well,” the doctor replied after tiredly brushing a strand of hair away from her face, “sick crewmembers keep coming in, and I’m nowhere near finding a cure.” Then she took a step backward and looked Blanchard squarely in the eyes, “Now, it’s my turn to ask. When was the last time you slept?”
The captain shook her head, “I can’t sleep when my ship is in danger.”
“I understand, Captain,” Castle warned. “But the ship needs a captain who is well-rested and on top of things.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Go and get your first officer out of isolation so she can relieve you for a bit. So many people are sick on this boat that there’s no way to protect the healthy ones.”
Blanchard nodded. “But she’s not going to be very happy when I tell her I’m canceling the war games.”
“Can I suggest wearing some armor?” Castle said, only half-jokingly.
Chuckling softly, the captain nodded. “That may actually be a good idea.” With that, she turned and left the Sickbay.
When Blanchard entered her first officer’s quarters, she found Rocky Jordan pacing the floor like a caged animal. She had a look of quiet desperation in her eyes when she saw her friend and superior officer, and demanded, “So, how much longer am I going to have to stay cooped up in this prison?”
“Only as long as it takes for you to get into uniform and get to the bridge,” came the captain’s response.
“Good,” Jordan declared, not waiting to be excused before hurrying to the shower. “I have just enough time to get the games started.”
However, she stopped short and spun around with a disbelieving glare when Blanchard stated, “I’m afraid there aren’t going to be any games.”
“What?” the first officer almost shouted as she spun around to face the other woman. She opened her mouth to protest further, but the captain raised a hand to stop her.
“I’m afraid that we have other things to worry about than war games,” Blanchard said, her expression growing somber.
“Is it that bad, then?” the other woman asked. She was very attuned to her friend’s emotions, both telepathically and from long years serving together.
“I was just on my way from Sickbay,” the captain answered. “At last report, upwards of twenty percent of the crew was incapacitated. And there have been three deaths.” She walked to the window and looked out, in an attempt to hide her expression of dismay.
However, Blanchard had forgotten how sensitive Jordan was to her moods. Standing at attention, she spoke up, the image of the dutiful first officer. “So, what are your orders for the morning, Sir?”
The captain took heart from the support of her friend and XO. She turned around and straightened her uniform, shaking off a momentary feeling of dread. “I’d like you to go to the bridge, Number One, while I go to take a shower and change uniforms. Then I’m going to need to contact the Threllians and Yrini, and inform them of our situation.”
The two women walked out into the corridor together. Pausing momentarily, Jordan responded with a hearty, “Aye, Sir.” Blanchard touched the commander on the shoulder in a gesture of thanks, and turned toward her quarters.
A short time later, Captain Blanchard stepped out of the turbolift and onto the bridge. Commander Jordan smoothly got up and surrendered the center seat to the other woman, taking her own place on the right. One would hardly guess from the calmly methodical way everyone performed their duties that a crisis situation was brewing below decks. For at least the third time in as many days, Blanchard felt a wash of pride in this crew that she had so recently come to command.
Instead of sitting down, however, Blanchard walked over to the Ops console and asked Lt. Commander T’Ku’lhan for a report. The Vulcan replied without looking up, “Maintaining geosynchronous orbit, sir.” Blanchard laid her hand on the other woman’s shoulder briefly, in acknowledgement, before resuming her inspection. The captain slowly made the circle around the rest of the bridge, stopping to look over the shoulder of the crewman at the Sciences station. She directed her attention to the sensors, confirming that the Threllians and Yrini were still in position.
Blanchard turned her attention toward Lt. Cherokee at the Tactical station. The small but powerfully built Native American woman was the picture of efficiency, as always. She returned her captain’s gaze, awaiting her orders. “Lieutenant, hail the Yrini and Threllian captains, and put them through to my ready room.”
“Aye, Sir,” came the response, as the captain left the bridge.
Blanchard had just enough time to get a cup of coffee from the replicator before Cherokee’s voice could be heard over the intercom, informing her that the Yrini captain was awaiting her message. M’huo’t smiled broadly from his bridge and greeted his counterpart, “Good morning, Captain. Are you ready for battle?”
Blanchard shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Actually, I’m afraid something has come up that I need to talk to you about.”
M’huo’t winced. “Let me guess. You’ve come down with a sudden case of what you humans call cold feet.” One or two of the Yrini bridge crew could be seen to smother a laugh at their captain’s remark.
“Actually, it’s a little more serious than that. If we could speak privately. . . “ Blanchard balked at discussing the problem in front of an audience.
Surprised, the big Yrini responded, “Why, yes, Captain. Of course.” He stood up and addressed someone off-screen. “Transfer Captain Blanchard to my quarters.” The screen went blank for an instant, and then came back to life, showing just M’huo’t’s image this time. “What’s the trouble, then?”
At that moment, the image on the screen split. Ni, the Threllian captain, could be seen on one side, with M’huo’t on the other. The insectoid spoke, sounding more than a little cocky, “Adele, and how are you this fine morning?”
The man’s uninvited familiarity was particularly distasteful right now, Blanchard thought. She was always mindful of protocol, and bristled at the cultural differences that Ni had taken advantage of. “Thank you for answering my hail, Captain Ni,” she responded.
If Ni didn’t take the hint, M’huo’t certainly did. Blanchard could see the barest trace of a smile play upon his face at her subtle rebuke. The woman came to the point. “It seems that we have a slight problem, Gentlemen. Apparently, one of our officers picked up some sort of virus on the planet surface, and has infected a good portion of my crew. Under the circumstances, I’m afraid that the McAuliffe won’t be able to participate in the battle exercises this morning.”
The Threllian skipper laughed rudely, a high-pitched whistling sound. “Now, wait a minute, Human. Just because a few of your people are feeling . . . what is the word, indisposed, that isn’t cause for you to go backing out now. I think that you’re just nervous about facing too such experienced commanders, when you’re so new to command yourself.”
If she had been merely irritated a moment ago, now Blanchard became angry. She wasn’t sure if the other’s behavior was merely characteristic of his culture, but she considered Ni nothing more than a big oaf, who lost no opportunity to try to belittle others into thinking that he was more important than they. In her book, that was no way to earn respect. However, she would not allow herself to give in to his goading. She outwardly remained calm, although those who knew her well would have noted that her eyes burned a little brighter. “Contrary to your insinuations, Captain Ni, I have absolutely no doubts that my crew could take yours on any given day. That is, if they were fit and up to their full potential. However, I have no intention of putting them in any more danger than they are already in. And, besides,” she added, “I would hope that you might have second thoughts about exposing your own crew to a possibly hostile environment.” She saw, with some satisfaction, that her words had hit home. Her antagonist became red in what she presumed was his face, but did not say anything.
Captain M’huo’t sounded concerned. “How many of your crew has been affected?”
“At last count, almost 350 people are ill. That amounts to over 30% of those on board, counting crew and civilians. And there have been three deaths so far.”
Both men reacted immediately to Blanchard’s estimate. She was rewarded by looks of concern from the two. However, in Ni’s case the concern was mixed with a large part of fear and loathing. M’huo’t spoke first, “Can we offer you any assistance?”
“Thank you, Captain,” Blanchard answered, grateful for the support. “But my CMO has been working around the clock, and assures me that a solution will be soon. . .”
Ni interrupted. “Not working hard enough, apparently. I thought only the best people were posted to a Galaxy-class ship.”
It was getting harder and harder for Blanchard to keep from losing her temper. “Dr. Castle is one of the most capable that Starfleet has to offer. The organism responsible for this illness has never been reported before, and it appears to have a strong resistance to the known treatments. However, I have every confidence that she will come up with an answer before very long.”
M’huo’t sounded like he was trying his best to be helpful. “If I may, Captain, my own physician has had extensive experience in microbiology. If he can offer any assistance, I will gladly make him available.”
Blanchard’s face showed her gratitude, as well as her admiration for the Yrini. “Thank you very much, Captain. I will have Dr. Castle contact him as soon as possible. In the meantime, until we can find out where this virus came from, I would recommend that you refrain from sending any of your crew down to the planet surface.”
“You can be sure of that, Lady,” Ni said. If anything, he was ruder than before. “In fact, I think that I will order my ship to leave this sector altogether. I don’t want to be anywhere near a plague ship like yours.” With that, he broke off communications.
M’huo’t made an effort to sound encouraging. “Don’t worry about that lout, Captain. His bark is worse than his bite, as you Humans like to say. You just take care of your people, and if there is anything else that I can do, please let me know.”
“I will, Captain,” came the reply. “Blanchard out.” As the screen went blank, the woman sat back and looked at her cup of coffee, now growing cold. She could see why M’huo’t had a reputation as a capable leader. At the same time, she wondered how someone like Ni had risen so far in the ranks as he had. If his behavior was characteristic of all Threllians, she wasn’t sure she wanted to have anything further to do with them.
Blanchard rose and returned to the bridge. Commander Jordan stood and relinquished the center seat, throwing a look of concern at the other woman. The other two starships could be seen on the main viewscreen and, as she watched, the Threllians turned slowly and headed out of the star system. As soon as it was at a safe distance, the ship went into warp and winked out of sight. “Now, just where are they off to in such a hurry?” Jordan queried.
The captain did not respond, for at that moment Dr. Castle stepped off the turbolift. She then stepped down and sat on the Captain’s left.
“Report, Doctor?” Blanchard asked, not taking her eyes off the viewscreen.
“I wanted to let you know that Commander Gaynor has taken a turn for the worse. I’ve moved him to the intensive care ward.” The doctor’s fatigue was evident to all as she rubbed her eyes and sank back into her chair for a moment.
This was unwelcome news, indeed. At times such as these, a starship urgently needed its counselor. Henry Gaynor was a man with many years’ experience in deep space. In her short tenure on board the McAuliffe, Blanchard had come to rely heavily on the counselor. “I am sorry to hear that, Doctor. Please give him my best wishes the next time you see him. And keep me informed as to his condition.”
“I’ll do that,” the doctor replied. “I’ve had a terrible time keeping him still. He insists that she has to keep doing her job. I finally had to pull rank on him.”
After the doctor had returned to Sickbay, the captain sat and considered what had transpired in the last 24 hours. She couldn’t help but be proud of the medical staff on board the McAuliffe. They were deep in the middle of a crisis, but everyone was working hard to find a solution in the best way they knew how. And, Blanchard believed, if there were an answer, Dr. Castle would find it.
During Blanchard’s short tenure in charge of the ship, the doctor had seemed to go out of her way to be difficult. She had maintained an aloof bearing, seeming to declare herself better than her superior officers. More than once, she had actually questioned the new captain’s orders in front of other personnel. By her very demeanor, she seemed to suggest that Blanchard was unworthy to be in command, and had even implied that she had won her position through influence rather than by demonstrating her ability to command.
However, as was so often the case, people in a crisis showed a tendency to be drawn closer together. And so seemed to be the case here. Blanchard had found a new respect for her CMO, and she hoped she was not mistaken when she thought that Castle’s impressions of her were changing as well.
The captain’s reverie was interrupted by the intercom, “Castle to Captain Blanchard.”
“Blanchard here,” she answered.
“Captain, you asked to be informed as to the counselor’s condition. He has continued to grow worse. I’m afraid there’s not much more I can do for him, except try to keep him comfortable.” Castle’s voice seemed very matter of fact.
“Thank you, Doctor. I’m on my way.” Blanchard stood up and headed for the turbolift. “You have the bridge, Number One.”
Castle met the captain at the door to the intensive care ward. “I would be lax in my duties if I didn’t warn you against going in there, Captain. We still aren’t’ sure how this organism is spread, and you shouldn’t be exposing yourself to it.”
Blanchard returned the doctor’s stare. I understand, Doctor. However, I don’t intend to stand coldly by and watch one of my senior staff die alone. The chances are strong that I’ve been exposed anyway, so you might as well let me go in there.”
The doctor looked at her captain with a newfound respect. “Very well, Captain,” she answered, and led the way into the room.
Henry Gaynor lay on the bed closest to the door. His short-cropped brown hair was plastered to his head with sweat, and her normally olive complexion was pale and waxy. His breath came in shallow gasps. However, when he saw Blanchard enter, he tried to sit up and greet his captain properly.
The captain put out a restraining hand. “Stand down, Commander.” The captain looked down at the sick man, trying to project an air of confidence.
“I’m sorry to be away from my post, Sir,” Gaynor said weakly. “I promise to more than make up for my absence.”
“I’m counting on it,” Blanchard said, hoping that her voice sounded more positive than she felt. “Besides, you owe me a rematch.” When the captain first came on board, she had discovered that she and Counselor Gaynor shared a love for racquetball. In fact, the counselor had come out on top, just barely, on the one occasion they had played.
“Aye, Sir,” came the response. Doctor Castle stepped closer and checked some readings on the biobed.
Worn out from the brief conversation, the counselor slipped into a feverish sleep. Not willing to leave, the captain remained beside the bed for several more minutes. The patient’s breathing became more and more labored, and finally stopped altogether. Blanchard looked questioningly at the doctor, who shook her head sadly.
The captain swore under her breath. Turning, she left the room and stepped outside. When Castle followed her out a few moments later, the two women walked silently into the doctor’s office. They both sat down tiredly.
Blanchard spoke first. “In times like these, I long for earlier days when I was just an ordinary pilot.”
Castle answered, “From what I know of your record, your career was never ordinary.” The doctor had done a discreet background check on the captain this morning, during a break in her research. What she had found surprised her.
When Blanchard was in her last year at the Academy, she had been an extremely skilled pilot, winning many races as well as mastering tricky aerobatic maneuvers. After graduating, her first posting had entailed flight-testing on the warp engines of the Galaxy-class project, then in its infancy. A transfer to starship duty had followed, with a rapid rise through the chain of command. If Adele Blanchard was an admiral’s pet, it was because she deserved to be.
The captain smiled modestly, surprised at the compliment. “Just what do you know of my record?” she queried. She sat up straighter, curious to hear the doctor’s response.
“Well, I found out that you test flew the Enterprise.”
“You have been doing some digging,” grinned the other woman. “Well, that was a long time ago. And yet, I sometimes wish that my life were that uncomplicated to this day. Get up in the morning, follow orders, and go to bed and night knowing that I did the best job I could. I know that command is where I belong, but there’s still something to be said for simplicity.” Not in the habit of talking about herself, Blanchard quickly changed the subject. “How is your research progressing?”
“Not well, I’m afraid,” Castle sighed. “I spoke with M’ran, the Yrini physician, and shared my findings with him. He has promised to put his staff to work on the problem as well.” The woman smiled encouragingly. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m not beaten yet.”
Blanchard stood up, ready to return to the bridge. “I know that, Doctor.” When she reached the door, she turned around. “I’ll contact Lt. Commander Gaynor’s family at the earliest opportunity.” With that, she was gone.
After the captain left, Dr. Castle sat for a few minutes, thinking. Something Blanchard said had rung a bell. “Simplicity,” she mused to herself. “Hm-m-m.” With a renewed sense of purpose, she activated her desk terminal.
“Computer, tie into Starfleet Medical’s historical records -- specifically, those pertaining to early twentieth-century Earth. Display all antibiotic and antiviral agents commonly in use at that time.” As the list scrolled down the screen, she examined it closely. When she found what she was looking for, she smiled to herself with satisfaction. Standing up, she went to the lab.
When Blanchard stepped off the turbolift, she marched straight to her ready room with hardly a glance around the bridge. She needed to come to terms with her own emotions before facing her crew. As she so often did in times of stress, she stood and stared out the window. It somehow was calming to watch the stars and consider their magnitude, knowing her own problems were minute in comparison.
Shortly, the captain heard the door chime. Her first impulse was to tell whomever it was to go away, and then her mind felt a familiar touch. “Come,” she answered, moving to sit at her desk.
Commander Jordan walked through the door, a look of concern on her face. “What’s up?” she asked, staying just inside the door. She sounded outwardly cheerful, but Blanchard could sense support radiating from her.
The captain sighed, waiting a moment before responding. “I’ve just come from Sickbay. Counselor Gaynor is dead.”
The first officer for once carefully considered her reply. “And, as always, you’re blaming yourself.” She moved over to sit in the chair opposite the desk.
“A captain is responsible for the safety of her crew.” Blanchard’s voice gave away her deep emotions, which she normally worked so hard to keep private.
“Generally, yes,” her friend agreed. “However, this was something that you had no control over.”
“And I hate that.” The captain swore sharply and struck the top of her desk with a fist. She and the other woman had been close friends for many years, and Jordan was the one person that she allowed to see her inner feelings in this way.
“There you go again, being Little Miss Perfect.” The commander used one of the many nicknames that she had given Blanchard at the Academy, before they had become friends. “You’ve told me yourself, many times, that part of the job description entails occasionally losing people under your command.”
”Yes, you’re right, Rocky,” Blanchard reluctantly agreed. She knew that she had to get past this and go on, but she also had to allow herself a few moments to grieve. She shook herself mentally and stood up, preparing to return to work. “What do you have to report?”
“Lt. Commander Hudson has been taking the time to conduct a level one diagnostic on the cargo transporters. He reports that they should be fully functional within the hour.” The McAuliffe’s Chief Engineer would be leaving the ship at its next stop, preparatory to retirement. He seemed driven to ensure that every one of the ship’s systems was working to its full potential before he disembarked.
“Very well.” Blanchard stood up, stopping to pick up a tiny model of a ship, the U.S.S. Stargazer. The former captain of that ship, an old family friend, had given it to her when she was a child. The woman wondered briefly how her mentor would handle the present situation. After a moment, she turned and left the ready room with her XO.
A tired, but smiling, Dr. Castle left her lab and went to the isolation ward. However, instead of immediately circulating among the patients, she stood for a moment just inside the doorway. Nurse Maxwell looked up and walked over. “Well,” Carrie commented, “you certainly look cheerful for a change.”
“Yes, Carrie,” the doctor said. “I think I’ve found the solution to our problem. There’s an old, seldom-used antibiotic, called penicillin, that appears to be effective in combating the infection.”
“Wonderful!” exclaimed the other woman. “When do you think we can start giving it to the patients?”
“Not just yet, I’m afraid,” Castle replied. “I haven’t had the chance to test it out yet.” She squeezed the nurse’s arm encouragingly, and then began her rounds.
One of the first patients she came to was Aaron Davies, the young security guard who had first come down with the mysterious ailment. The doctor was frankly surprised that the young man was still alive. He must be as stubborn as I am, she laughed to herself. As she studied the monitor above his bed, Aaron spoke hoarsely, “Doctor, I heard you talking to the nurse. Is it true that you’ve found a cure?”
Castle looked down at the young man. The doctor could be irritable, and easily lost patience with others, but she had an excellent bedside manner when necessary. She took Aaron’s hand and answered him honestly, “I may have, but I can’t give it to anyone until I can test it. I want to make sure that it works before anyone gets their hopes up.”
“Then, I want you to test it on me.” Aaron looked up and pleaded with his eyes. “It’s my fault that all of these people are sick. Please, I want to do something to help.” Exhausted, he fell back on his bed.
Castle’s first impulse was to refuse the man’s offer. Then, she told herself that there wasn’t time for controlled testing. The longer she waited, the more people became sick and even died. It was time to make a decision, and she hoped it was the right one.
“All right, Aaron,” the doctor responded. “If you’re absolutely sure. I have no way of knowing for certain that this will work. It may even make you worse.” She reached into the pocket of her lab coat for a vial of the antibiotic and handed it to the nurse.
Nurse Maxwell had, in the meantime, prepared a hypospray with the antibiotic. She handed it to Dr. Castle, who looked at it for a moment. There was no way of telling exactly what dosage to administer. Placing the hypo next to the young man’s neck, she took what she hoped was an educated guess. She thought to herself, all we can do now is wait.
Carrie Maxwell followed the doctor back to her office. “Doctor,” the other woman said, rather sternly. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone. Why don’t you get some rest?”
Castle looked at the nurse with a surprised expression. “When all this is over, I’ll sleep for a week. But right now, I need to wait and see if Ensign Davies shows any improvement.” She sat down at her desk and leaned back in her chair.
Carrie sat down in the other chair and protested. “But it will surely be some time before he starts to show any measurable improvement.” She looked at Castle, scolding. “When was the last time you took a few moments for yourself?”
Physician, heal thyself, thought the doctor to herself. She decided that it wouldn’t hurt to go back to her quarters for a few minutes. It would be nice to sit down for a bit and have something to eat. She’d skipped more than one meal during this crisis. After giving strict instructions that she was to be notified of any change in Davis’s condition, she turned and walked out the door.
Dr. Castle felt more relaxed almost from the moment she entered her quarters. They were decorated in cool, restful blues and greens, with plenty of soft cushions on the furniture. A large plant occupied the center of the table.
Smiling, the woman walked over to a sizable cage that hung in the corner opposite the sleeping area. She heard a welcoming squawk as the cage’s occupant greeted her. “Hello to you, too, my friend,” she chuckled.
One of Linda Castle’s most prized possessions was a red-and-blue macaw named Lloyd. It had been one of the many birds that belonged to her mother, who had given it to her when she first received her commission. The doctor had taken the bird with her as she served, from ship to ship, a constant friend and reminder of home.
The bird had already been taught to say a few words when Castle had gotten it, and over the years she had trained it to say more. Unfortunately, like most of its kind, the silly thing had also picked up some phrases that she had not intended for it to learn. She told herself that this was the price for talking to herself – sometimes what she said came back to haunt her. A good example of this was how Lloyd returned her greeting. “Worthless Captain!” the bird squawked proudly.
The doctor laughed to herself, remembering the many times she had returned from her duty shift saying those very words, or worse. Well, she just hoped that no one else ever overheard Lloyd, or she might be brought up on charges of insubordination. Shaking her head, she opened the cage and let the bird fly loose.
Lloyd flew rapidly around the room for a minute or two, stretching his brightly colored wings. Finally, he came to rest on a perch next to the couch. Castle sat down next to the bird and stroked his breast. “You’re a silly bird,” she told him affectionately.
“Silly bird,” Lloyd echoed.
Just then, the door chime sounded. Immediately Castle’s thoughts went back to the many patients waiting for her in Sickbay and in the shuttlebay. With a worried expression, she called out, “Come in.”
When the door opened, Ensign Proto came into the room, followed by Simon Johanssen, much to the doctor’s surprise. She had had little contact with the PHC. As human-like as he might appear, she had a hard time thinking of Proto as anything more than a very complicated plaything. “Yes, Ensign, what is it?” she asked, sounding more than a little annoyed.
“The captain asked me to find you and ask if I could be of any assistance in solving the current situation.” The PHC cocked his head slightly, as if studying his surroundings.
“This is a medical problem,” Castle responded. “How could you be of help? Isn’t navigation more your area of expertise?”
“You are correct, inasmuch as my current position is that of flight control officer, which requires me to be knowledgeable in all aspects of navigation and the flying of starships. However, I also have access to a large data base concerning medical and historical matters, which was provided by Dr. Johanssen when he programmed me.” Proto looked at the doctor with what seemed to be his perpetual expression of mild curiosity.
“Well, will wonders never cease,” the doctor replied sarcastically. “I guess that the next time I’m stumped by a particularly intractable patient, I will know who to turn to. But, anyway, you’re too late. I’ve found a probable remedy for this illness, and right now I’m just waiting for it to take effect.” She stood up and approached the PHC. “I’m sorry you’ve wasted a trip down here, but now you can return to your duty station, mister.”
Thoroughly unruffled, Proto remarked, “That is most welcome news, Doctor. I will eagerly await the results of your experiment.” He turned as if to go and then stopped. “By the way, Doctor,” the PHC continued. “I notice that a large bird is presently at large in your quarters. Is this animal what is commonly known among humanoids as a pet?”
“I guess you could say that,” Castle answered, wondering where this line of conversation was leading.
Just t hen, Lloyd decided to speak up as well. “Get away,” he squawked loudly.
“Most curious,” the ensign commented, moving closer to the bird as if to study it. “I was not aware that birds of this type possessed the intelligence for verbal communication.”
The doctor laughed, in spite of her mounting irritation. “Parrots and macaws, and other similar birds, do not have the capacity for language, per se. They simply repeat back snatches of things they have heard from beings around them.”
“Oh, I see,” the PHC mused. “Fascinating. Tell me, please, what are the advantages of having a bird like this in your quarters? Does it act to ward off intruders?”
“Well, I suppose it could. But, the real reason I have him is for companionship. Some people keep a cat or a dog, or even a tribble, but I’ve always enjoyed birds. It also serves as a reminder of Earth, in a way.”
Just then, the doctor was saved from further explanation by the intercom. “Doctor Castle, report to Sickbay, please.”
“I’ll be there shortly,” she replied. To her guest she remarked, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my presence is required elsewhere.”
“Yes, of course.” With that, Proto turned around and left the doctor’s quarters. After taking a moment to put Lloyd back in his cage, the doctor followed him out the door.
A short time later, Captain Blanchard was on the bridge when she received a summons from Dr. Castle. “Captain, I think I’ve come up with a solution to our problem.”
“On my way,” Blanchard responded. She almost bolted from her chair and walked briskly to the turbolift. “You have the bridge, Number One.” More than one pair of eyes followed her as she left.
Upon reaching the doctor’s office, the captain spoke, “Report, Doctor.”
“Our talk here a little while ago got me to thinking,” Castle answered. “I decided that maybe I was making things too hard, and that I should look for a more simple answer.”
“Yes?” Blanchard said, somewhat impatiently.
“Well, I’ll try to put it in a nutshell. Over the last few hundred years, doctors have continually had to come up with new antibiotics. The old ones become less effective as disease organisms develop resistance to them. Over time, there have been so many new generations of drugs that some of the other, more simple, ones have fallen into disuse.”
The captain thought she followed what the doctor was saying. “So, do you mean that one of these older drugs works in our case?”
“That’s exactly right,” Castle answered cheerfully. “One of the first antibiotics discovered – penicillin. I studied it in medical school, but it’s hardly ever used anymore. Anyway, I administered the drug to Ensign Davies, and he seems to be responding favorably.”
“So when can you start treating the rest of the crew?”
“Almost immediately, I should think.”
“This is excellent news, Doctor,” the captain remarked. She walked to the door and turned around. Pride and relief showed in her face. “Keep up the good work, and let me know what happens.”
Things went quickly after that. The doctor was pleased to report, after just two hours, that all of the affected crew had been treated. And she recommended that everyone else on board be given a small dose of the drug, just in case they had been infected and were still asymptomatic.
Captain Blanchard reported to Starfleet Headquarters, and was given orders to go to the Cardassian border. A particularly treacherous cell of the Maquis was harassing colonies inside the Demilitarized Zone, and the McAuliffe was to find the cell and break it up if possible. On the way, they were to stop at Station Deep Space 9. While there, they would pick up a new Chief Engineer, and try to get more information on their quarry.
Before leaving the sector, the captain contacted the Yrini, and expressed her thanks for their support and assistance. M’huo’t replied modestly, “No trouble. Captain. I’m glad we could be of help.”
As it was going to take several hours to get to their destination, Dr. Castle ordered the captain to get some rest. Blanchard looked forward to enjoying her favorite holodeck program, but she had something she had to do first.
Rocky Jordan protested, “ But Adele, you know I despise the holodeck.” The two women were seated in the captain’s quarters, where she had called her friend to discuss a proposition.
“Yes, I know,” came the quick reply. “But are you turning down an opportunity to commune with nature and spend some time with a good friend?”
“I fail to see how you can enjoy sitting on a make-believe horse doing something as worthless as jumping over fences. What would you do if that horse, all of a sudden, disappeared and you landed squarely on your dignity?”
Blanchard laughed. “Mr. Hudson assures me that all of the holodeck imaging systems are working perfectly. And besides, I think that I can program a suitably docile steed for you.”
The commander responded to her friend’s teasing. “Don’t be concerned about me. I can handle myself. It’s the horse you should be worried about.” She smiled crookedly. “If that beast gives me the least bit of trouble, it will be make-believe dog food by the time I’m done with it.”
Blanchard stood up and picked up her saddle. “I’m glad to see that you’ve come to your senses, Number One.”
As the two women walked through the corridor, Jordan turned to the captain. “I have just one request, Sir.”
“Name it,” came the answer.
“Just keep that blasted holo-crewman out of the holodeck.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Blanchard responded, giving her friend a comradely slap on the back.
Completed 10/24/96
Revised 4/16/06
Copyright J. Dustman & N. Biancarelli
posted by J.A. Author at 5:12 PM
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