Forwarded by the ASC-VSO 
Posted: 28 Mar 2004 06:47:17 -0800  
In: alt.startrek.creative 
From: keeroth@startrek.net (Ke Roth) 
 

Title: Echoes
Author: Ke Roth (keeroth@startrek.net)
Series: TNG
Part: 153/?
Rating: R (violence and language)
Codes: P/C, D/f
Summary: Lt. Andile, Starfleet's oldest and shortest engineer, comes
make any money from writing this.
FYI: This story takes place approximately 2 years post "Insurrection",
but pre-"Nemesis".
Feedback is welcome. 

Chapter 153 

	Ideally, Picard thought as they entered the conference room, ideally,
this meeting would be taking place in one of the larger conference
rooms that lined the exterior edge of the ship, the floor-to-ceiling
windows exhibiting the glorious expanse of stars beyond to all who
entered the room - and, Picard knew, subtly and simultaneously
reminding them of the technological prowess possessed by the
Federation in being able to create and build a ship that could allow
such a display.

	Of course, they would also be facing on to the view of the Breen
ship, with its graceful web of tendrils enveloping the vessel - a
reminder of the technology that the Federation was confronting - and,
Picard added, a reminder of the fact that they had yet to understand,
let alone to best, that same technology.

	But it wasn't the subtle one-upsmanship that had determined the
location of this meeting; that had been Worf's doing, choosing this
smaller - and more secluded - room because of pragmatic concerns
rather than psychological ones: here, deep in the bowels of the ship, 
the Breen would have a far more difficult time trying to beam in a
boarding party; here, a hidden bomb carried by one of the Breen
delegates could do less damage to the critical systems of the
Enterprise  - or to Ambassadors Tiron and Zumell; and, Picard knew,
here, he could assign guards to patrol both the horizontally and
vertically adjacent areas, protecting the Breen themselves from any
attacks by outraged crewmembers - just as he had lined every passage
between the transporter room and the conference room with Security
officers.

	Perhaps 'lined' was not the correct term, Picard amended his
thoughts; while there were an ample number of guards positioned
through the halls, they were discreetly positioned - and while they
were armed, their weapons were in their holsters, readily accessible -
but not out in the open, not held at the ready.

	Still, the presence of the guards stationed in the hall had an
oppressive effect on the four; they separated, moving in single file,
silently trooping through the passage, then into the small room, each
finding a place at the small table and took their positions.

	Or rather, Picard realized, they all sat down - except for Jemat.

	Instead, the Breen stood at one side of the square table, studying
the two humans - then gave a soft sigh in preparation of starting the
discussion.

But before he could speak, however, Picard began, suspecting he knew
all too well the direction the _outo_ intended for this discussion -
and not willing to go down that path without a fight - or at least
without letting his disapproval - and his objections - be known.

	"Jemat, I do not believe this is the proper venue for these
discussions. Your ambassador - and you - were invited aboard with the
express purpose of an initial discussion that would, I hope, lead to
peaceful negotiations between our races. To depart from that
purpose..."

	"Captain," Jemat interrupted sharply, every trace of the
kindheartedness that had marked his arrival gone, "you misunderstand.
If Garave dies, there will be no negotiations."

	Picard and Beverly gaped at the alien. "But..." they each began, only
to be cut off once again.

	"Indeed, if she dies," Jemat continued, "it is very possible that our
two civilizations will find themselves at war with one another - and
this time, we will not back down. Now, if you feel that your ego, your
possible embarrassment at your own actions are more important than the
survival of two cultures, then so be it. We will end this conversation
here and now - and Garave will die. And then both of our races will
follow her. So which is it to be?" he asked finally.

	He watched as the two humans glanced across the table at one another,
Beverly's eyes filling with confusion and concern as she saw Picard's
fill with rage and defiance - then watched as the emotions faded and
pragmatism - and duty - replaced them.

	"Proceed," Picard said at last - though the undercurrent of
resentment was impossible to miss.

"Then..." Jemat started - and stopped, looking at Beverly, seated
across the table from Picard.

	Not next to him, Jemat thought quietly, nor beside him, as she had
appeared in so many of the man's memories - and in his thoughts. In
his mind, she was his equal, his companion, his compatriot, his
confidant - but across from him, as far distant as he could place her,
across from him, as though she was his opponent, rather than his
dearest intimate.

	I am sorry, he told her - told them both - silently. Had I known...

	But I did know, he reminded himself; I knew what humans were, how
they acted - and didn't act; I knew them from what we have learned as
scientists - and I knew you from what I had learned from your
thoughts, he added, looking at Picard.

	And yet I saw in you so much that was Breen, so much that reminded me
of my people that I committed the greatest crime a researcher can
commit: I assumed.

	I assumed that since you had some of our attributes, that you were as
we were, after all Breen: that you would think as we do, reason as we
do - and act as we do.

	But you are not Breen: you are human - and even among that race, you
are unique.

	Something we never truly are - and something, perhaps, that we will
never truly understand.

	I erred - and perhaps we will all pay the price.

	Or perhaps not, he added, hope flaring in his soul.

	"Then I will digress, for a moment," Jemat continued, "so that we
might bring the good doctor here up to the same level of understanding
that we three have - of the Breen race - and the Breen culture," he
said, looking at Ferata and Picard.

	"Jemat, that isn't necessary..." Beverly protested.

	"On the contrary, Doctor, it is. Your patient's survival, and my
patient's recovery," he added, looking at Picard for a moment before
turning back to her, "are contingent on you understanding what has
happened - and what must happen."

	Whether it was the reminder that Jemat still saw him as a patient - a
role he was loathe to play even in her Sickbay - or whether it was the
reminder that something - an indiscretion or perhaps private
revelation was about to made public - Beverly heard Picard draw in a
sharp, disapproving breath, and glancing at him, saw the muscles of
his jaw tightening.

	No, she thought; whatever happened to him, whatever has or has not
happened between us, I will not them humiliate him.

	"No," she said firmly. "If there is something you need to tell me,
then we can do so later, in private and in professional confidence, as
physician to physician," she said firmly. "Whatever your ethics may
be, mine prevent the embarrassment or humiliation of a patient..."

	"Doctor," Jemat interrupted, "Garave's survival depends on your
understanding of what has happened."

	She hesitated, the needs of her patients - both of them - fighting
for pre-eminence in her mind - then shook her head. "No. The captain
is as much my patient as Andile is; I can not violate my duty to him -
even to save her."

	"Beverly," Picard interrupted, turning to her, their eyes meeting -
and nodded. "It's all right," he assured her.

	She looked at him uncertainly - but there was an expression of
certain reassurance in his expression.

	Or rather, she thought, a very uncertain reassurance - but with a
determination that was unquestionable.

	Whatever Jemat was about to say, whatever humiliation he was about to
reveal, he could take it.

	Still, Beverly hesitated...

	"It's all right, Beverly," Picard repeated - and reached across the
table, placing his hand gently over hers. "It will be all right."

	She studied him for a long moment, knowing that the confidence in his
words was not mirrored in his heart - but knowing that his own
devotion to duty overrode everything in his heart - even personal
humiliation.

	And knowing, she realized with a  start, that despite everything that
had happened, he trusted her.

	For a moment, she stared at him in stunned amazement - then  upturned
her hand, accepting the gentle touch, feeling him squeeze her hand in
response - then broke the grasp and  turned to Jemat. "Go ahead,
_outo_," she said after a moment.

	Jemat nodded - but before he spoke, he paced for a moment, as though
collecting his thoughts - then stopped and turned to face Beverly.

	"From the moment a Breen is aware, Doctor," he said quietly, "from
the moment we are cognizant of our selves as individual, sentient
beings, we begin preparing ourselves for death."

	He must have seen the shock in her expression, for he quickly took a
seat at the table beside her. "Oh, do not misunderstand what I am
saying; we Breen do not crave death; we do not actively seek a rapid
end to our lives, searching out and ending in some blaze of glory or
self-sacrifice; we are, in many ways, no different from you. Though we
each have our own motivations and goals, in general, we all would like
a long, full life, rich in the pleasures of our existence - and full
to the extent a long life can grant.

	"But unlike you humans, indeed, unlike most species, when our lives
are over, our lives are over."

	Beverly shook her head. "That's no different from any other species,
Jemat; death is the end of all our existences," she countered.

	"No," he protested. "In your species, life continues - in the form of
children. You share not only your culture and beliefs with your
offspring, but the blending of both parents' genetic heritage as well.
And that, Doctor, is a gift we can not give our children," he said
with a sad finality.

	"But your society has survived - even thrived - without that," she
reminded him.

	"Yes, we have - because we have learned that while we can not pass on
the fullness of a more diverse genetic heritage, we can pass on the
learning that each of us, as individuals, have accumulated - and not
just for our own budlings," he informed her, informed them both.

	"You see, as telepaths, we have..." He searched for a word, then
continued, "... 'access' to the thoughts of those within our society.
However, every society requires a degree of privacy in order to
function, to maintain a sense of self - and so, we do not freely share
every thought, every idea, every experience, with one another. And
yet, accumulated over the span of our lives - which average three
hundred of your years - those experiences - and the learning and
wisdom borne of those experiences - are a wealth of information;
information we can pass on to the next generation. And at the moment
of our deaths, we do just that - we impart a full lifespan of
education, experience, wisdom - everything that made us the creatures
we were - into the fullness of the entire Breen society."

	"That sounds very much like the Vulcans and their preservation of the
katra," Beverly remarked.

	Jemat smiled. "You'll forgive my saying so, Doctor, but for the
Vulcans, the preservation of the katra is a frivolity, an emotional
sop for a race that refuses to accept their emotions - and yet can not
fully accept the emotional of corporeal death. They die - and what
they were dies with them. Unable to accept that finality, unable to
yield to the grief that fills them yet that they deny themselves, they
put away the essence of their being - their katra... and do what with
it? Haul it out in remembrance or on  holidays? Ignore it?" he said
disparagingly.

	"It is their repository of knowledge," Picard protested.

	"Only of some knowledge," Jemat corrected him. "After all, less than
one percent of Vulcans participate in the ceremony. Indeed, only a few
prepare themselves for the transfer - and even when they do, when
death comes, too often they find themselves either alone, or with a
being who can not carry the katra back to the Hall of Thoughts, or in
places where such a transference can not take place. These days, most
Vulcans lease their knowledge and wisdom to the next generations
through writing, teaching - and genetics. The Hall of Thought is used
less and less as a repository of knowledge - and more as a Hall of
remembrance, a place for those who deny themselves grief to hold on to
the memories of those they have lost.

	"I do not say this to denigrate the Vulcans; they once needed the
Hall of Thought for their survival. But that time has come - and gone.
We, on the other hand, survive only because of our ability to share
our final moment of existence with the totality of our people. Thus,
we spend much of our lives preparing for that moment.

	"And sometimes a moment is all we have, for death can be as
unexpected among our people as it is with anyone else."

	He stopped, drew a long breath, then looked at Beverly. "This is how
we survive - and grow - as a species, Doctor; each of us is dependent
on his fellow Breen to explore life, to learn and enrich themselves,
to expand on the fullness of life that every other Breen has
experienced - and to move beyond that. We each strive to become more -
and then to share that with our brethren  so that they may continue
the journey from that point forward.

	"Our death gift is the ultimate moment of our life, for with that
gift, we can progress as a race - and that is, after all, the ultimate
intent of every culture."

	He hesitated for a moment, an expression of what could have only been
sorrow crossing his planar face.

	"Jemat?" Beverly said worriedly - and was rewarded with a weary
smile.

	"Forgive me, Doctor," he said softly. "I am tired - as we all are.
These last few weeks have been tiring for all of us. But I would
rather face fatigue instead of the finality of a war."

	"As would we all," Picard agreed. 

	"Indeed?" Jemat replied. "I wonder..."

	Picard gave him a surprised look, as did Beverly. "Wonder what,
Jemat?"

	"I wonder what Huziah was thinking at the moment of his death," he
admitted. "Was it the horrors of war?"

	Beverly studied him for a long moment - then shook her head. "I don't
understand, Jemat; you just said that at the moment of death, the
Breen share their life experiences with the rest of your people. How,
then, do you not know what Huziah was thinking?" she asked.

	"Because Huziah did not share himself with us at the moment he died."

	Beverly gaped at the Breen - then shook her head. "I don't
understand," she said. "If sharing one's life is so important, so
critical to your survival as a people, why wouldn't he share his life?
Wasn't there enough time?" she asked, remembering the horrific - and
almost instantly fatal - injury Picard had described.

	"The transference is almost instantaneous, Doctor - and we are all
trained to recognize the change in our bodies, to know that death has
arrived. No, Huziah had time. He chose not to share his life, though,
not because he thought that it was not important, but rather because
he thought there was something more important to be shared."

	"And that was...?" she pressed.

	"Huziah chose to share _her_ life with us", Ferata interjected, the
emphasis on the pronoun soft - but unmistakable. "Not his own, but
Garave's. He believed her life, her existence - her soul - was more
important to us as a people than his own was."

	"You see, Doctor, for three hundred thousand years, we have searched
for the ultimate justification of our existence; we have sought our
salvation," Jemat explained. "Huziah - and I - believed we had found
it."

	She stared at  the Breen for a moment - then comprehension dawned.
"You think Andile... Garave... is this salvation?" she asked in
stunned disbelief. "But... how? I mean, how can a human be the
salvation of _your_ species?"

	Jemat looked at Picard - and smiled. "Will you tell her?" he asked.

	The captain drew a long breath, then looked at Beverly. "Garave...
Andile... the lieutenant... Whatever her name is, she's not human. Not
fully. The lieutenant is a Breen, Beverly," he said slowly.

	Beverly's jaw dropped as she gaped at the man - then shook her head.
"That's not possible!"

	"It is - and we can prove it," Jemat said. "Long ago, we realized
that asexual reproduction is a genetic dead end. Oh, every now and
then we see a genetic variation - a mutation here or there - but very
few of them - and affecting only a few Breen. The genetic diversity
that supports the growth an variation of a species was unavailable to
us. Seeing our future thus limited, we chose to try to maintain our
genetic heritage by sharing it with other species. We planned,
selected those genetic aspects we possessed that we felt would enhance
the lives of other species, then found worlds that possessed species
that were genetically compatible. We grafted those select genes into
those people, moved them to colony worlds - and then we watched and
waited."

	"And Andile's people were one of those races? And Parash was one of
those worlds?" Beverly asked, her voice rising as she spoke, her eyes
beginning to flash.

	Jemat nodded, surprised by the unexpected vehemence in the
physician's voice. "Yes. A colony of humans, taken from your own
world. We altered them genetically, transplanted them to a suitable -
but distant world - and observed them.

	"But you didn't just watch and wait, did you?" Beverly interrupted,
cutting him off in mid-sentence. "You visited them, didn't you?
Checking up on your experiment, in situ, weren't you?"

	Jemat gave her a look of blinding obviousness. "Of course. Our work
was not static, Doctor; where our initial gene grafts were successful,
we would proceed, adding additional genetic material to the culture in
order to try to more fully integrate ourselves into each species. Not
all our work was successful, of course - some grafts failed - and
where some took, the culture itself failed."

	"I would argue the ethics of altering the genes of another sentient
race..."

	"The definition of sentience is a very subjective one, Doctor,"
Ferata interrupted, "as is the topic of ethics. What we did..."

	"Is a topic better suited for another time," Picard interjected.

	Ferata glared at him, then at Beverly - then glanced sharply at
Jemat.

	For a moment the two stared - then Ferata relented, bowing his head
in acceptance of what most likely a telepathic rebuke from the _outo_.

	"Another time  then," he agreed with Picard, bowing his head
slightly, then turned back to Beverly. "You were saying..."

	"I was saying that on those worlds where the grafts did take, didn't
it occur to you that your reappearance, your very presence, was
altering the people almost as much as the genes you were changing?"
she railed angrily.

	Jemat shook his head. "That was never our intention." 

	"Your intention?" she cried angrily. "Your intention was to
manipulate a primitive society - a dozen societies, a hundred
societies! - and manipulate their evolution for your own purposes!
What did you think would happen? Those societies were primitive,
technologically unaware; how do you think they viewed your technology,
your science, when they had nothing of their own that could explain it
- except the supernatural? To them, you were gods - and around you
entire religions developed, explaining, justifying, sanctioning the
actions and activities of their people in accordance with what they
thought were your wishes, your desires? They worshipped you - and
then, when you finally, and far too late, realized what was happening,
you stopped visiting them!

	"You gave them a god - and then you took it away. You took their god
away!" she railed furiously.

	"You don't understand..." Ferata began.

	"No," she countered, cutting him off. "_I_ do understand. You don't.
You took their gods away; you let them believe that they had somehow
failed you - and they had to blame someone.

	"On Garave's world, an entire society took out their fear, their
anger and their rage on those who could not defend themselves: the
andile," she snapped angrily.

	"The _hah-n-deela_," Jemat interjected, the word sliding from his
lips in soft reverence.

	Beverly stopped in mid-tirade, staring, confused at the _outo_. "I
beg your pardon?"

	"The _hah-n-deela_," Jemat repeated.

	"The beloved," Ferata added in translation.

	Beverly stared at the two Breen, her rant now thoroughly derailed.
"Beloved?"

	Jemat smiled. "The _hah-n-deela_," he said again. "The beloved ones.
Those few individuals in whom we saw a glimmer of hope for our people,
where the transplanted genes appeared to be taking hold. We did not
try to favor them, doctor, but we did focus much of our time and
attention on them, checking on them, detailing their histories, their
offspring - until we realized what our presence was doing to the
people on those worlds." He looked at her soberly. "We did realize
what was happening, Doctor; we simply realized it far too late."

	Ferata bowed his head in plea. "Please understand, Doctor, our
evolution proceeded along a different path than yours; with our
telepathy, with our evolution as both single and group mind, we never
developed the concept of a supreme being acting on - or against - our
behalf; for us, God was a complex creature that evolved _from_ simpler
creatures; we grow to become God, not develop from God. We did not,
could not, comprehend that these societies thought differently."

	Jemat picked up the thought. "It took us centuries, millennia, to
understand - and by then the damage was done from our very presence
among these people. We knew we had to step back, to allow them to
develop as they would, to observe only from a distance - but in doing
so, we lost track of so many of our worlds... including Parash."

	"You can not know, Doctor, the sorrow that filled us when we realized
that, on Parash at least, our _hah-n-deela_ - our beloved - had become
andile, the refuse, the hated of a society."

	Beverly stared at them, seeing the grief and repentance in their eyes
- and realizing that sentiment was being echoed in a billion minds
across a hundred worlds, felt the harsh edge of her rage and pain
begin to fade away.

	"Who else could they blame, Jemat?" she asked the two quietly. "You
prized your beloved ones - then you suddenly disappear? Obviously,
they were the ones who had failed; they were the ones who must be
punished. They survived only because they served one small, wretched
purpose in that society - to carry away the psychic and emotional
refuse of the dying. But they were denied society, education, family,
emotions - even children..."

	"And with that, we almost destroyed the one thing we had worked for,
for three hundred millennia: the preservation of our genetic
materials," Jemat said softly.

	"Those who displayed those genes were exiled from society," Ferata
agreed.

	"Exiled - or worse," Beverly reminded them. "We'll never know how
many died because they were andile, because they carried your genes.

	"And yet the genes persisted," she continued. "Andile... Garave," she
corrected herself, "carries them, as did some, perhaps many of the
others, try as her society did to ferret and out the carriers."

	"But now," Ferata said softly, "only she carries them. You can see
why her survival is of paramount interest to my people; she is our
only remaining chance of salvation."

	"And you can see, also, why we had thought the captain would have
explained this to you; why, above all else, she must survive," Ferata
said, his tone drifting toward accusation.

	Beverly shook her head, dismissing the charge against the man. "I can
understand your feelings, gentlemen, and perhaps, to a degree, I can
even understand the reasons for those feelings - but the captain can
not betray the trust one of his officers has placed in him simply
because it is expedient for your people. Garave has spoken to him of
her past - in confidence - and nothing, short of the survival of his
ship, his crew, or Garave herself, would allow him to betray that
trust. His oath of office was to them - not to you," she said.

	"Or to you?" Jemat countered.

	For a moment, righteous indignation flared in her heart - and then
she smiled.

	You are so right, Jemat, she thought silently; we think we know one
another - and yet, when it comes down to it, we don't know the
slightest thing about one another.

	Six months ago, gentlemen, and it might have worked, she told them
silently. Six months ago, I would not have realized that you were
manipulating my emotions, playing with my feelings, trying to provoke
the reaction you desire. But six months ago, I had not met Andile...
Garave... whatever the hell her name is! - and whatever, or whoever,
she may be, she is far better  at this game than you are.

	You can not trick me that easily, she cautioned them.

	Picard's behavior toward her as an individual may well have been
reprehensible - but his behavior as an officer was irreproachable -
and after half a life in Starfleet, she knew well the difference
between the two - and an amateurish attempt at emotional manipulation
by an alien _outo_ was not about to change that.

	That he was entirely correct was another matter altogether.

	"The captain has revealed information he knew was critical to
Garave's health and survival - as required by that same oath," she
countered, finding herself defending him easily. "Beyond that,
however, her faith in his integrity was vindicated - as is the faith
of every crewman aboard," she added, glancing at Picard. "He did not,
could not, and would not reveal personal information that he could not
have known was relevant to her health."

	If he had trusted me more, however... she added silently.

	No, she thought instantly, stopping the thought before it could drift
into another round of recriminations against the man who sat across
from her. That isn't fair - and it's not worthy of either of us. Trust
was never the issue here; duty was. And you fulfilled your duty to
Andile as best you could - indeed, perhaps better than I did. You
forced me to keep her alive when I would have let her go.

	Even now, she added, glancing at the two Breen, I am not sure that
was the right decision; not even with the survival of an entire
civilization hinging on that choice. The life you've condemned her to
live is not the one she would have chosen for herself - but that was
not your choice to make. The only choice you had was whether to follow
the oath you took - or to betray it.

	And he had betrayed it, she reminded herself - but never when there
wasn't a greater good a risk, when the moral imperative that lay
behind the oath took precedence over the words.

	For you, duty would always be first, over everything - and everyone -
else.

	I'm sorry, she thought to him, both proud and sad at the same time.
Sometimes... sometimes I forget that your duties, your obligations of
command, transcend even the bonds of friendship - but I do respect and
cherish that dedication.

	As your fellow officer, I thank you, she added wordlessly.

	But as your friend, as someone who once hoped there would be more...

	She let the thought fade away; there would be ample time later to
think about the limits of friendship, command - and love - and how
those limits could never truly mesh.

	"To betray her, to reveal what he knew about her, would have violated
his oath - and her trust," Beverly concluded.

	"To reveal that the lieutenant was Breen might well have been to doom
her as well," Picard interrupted. "She has been under suspicion for a
number of crimes - including treason," he explained. "Being found out
as Breen would have sealed her fate - even if the charges were ever
discounted. We have seen lesser genetic relationships doom Starfleet
careers,"  he added soberly.

	Jemat looked at the two, the shock and revulsion evident even in his
very Breen expression. "To penalize, even to kill, an individual
because of their genetic? Because of something they could not
control?" he said in horror. "That is... barbaric!" he gaped.

	"But it is so very human," Picard replied, equally disapproving. 

	And so unchanging, he added silently; even as Starfleet could condemn
her for her heritage, so had the lieutenant and her kind been damned a
thousand - ten thousand! - years before, by her own people - and, he
added in silent anger, because of the effect of the Breen's genetic
manipulations.

	"I am not attempting to rationalize or justify the actions of my
people - then or now," Picard continued quietly. "We acted, indeed, we
still act - often from ignorance and fear - but we are trying to move
beyond that ignorance, to discover the truth about who we are, and why
we act as we do - and, when possible, to change those behaviors for
the better, for ourselves and for those around us. But so often,
indeed, too often, those behaviors are rooted deeply within both the
society - and the individual - and try as we might sometimes we can
not change the who we are, either as a group - or as an individual,"
he added quietly.

	He looked at Beverly, apology and regret in his eyes. 

	"We are, too often, who we are - and we can not change that," he said
softly - then straightened, almost imperceptibly, and turned back to
Jemat and Ferata. "It is a flaw in the human psyche, but one that, had
you better understood the nature of humans, you could have considered.
Had you done so, you might have saved her - saved all the andile -
from the brutality of their own people," he chastised the two.

	"But damning the children because of the parents is not unique to
humanity," Beverly countered. "The Bajoran castes, the Cardassian
Chiemma... even in violent ways, we seem to need separate the
population, to create ranks and files, to categorize people by nothing
more than birth. The idea of a noble class in almost every Earth
culture, the Houses on Betazed... almost every humanoid culture we've
met has differentiated - and often persecuted - those who are
different, those they don't understand. Perhaps, Jemat," she added
quietly, "in all the galaxy, the Breen are the only culture that never
needed to do so - because you each understand, and have always
understood, from your most fundamental to your most conscious levels,
that you were part of a greater whole."

	Jemat stared at Beverly for a long time - then nodded. "I do not
believe we had ever considered that possibility, Doctor. But," he
added a moment later, "if you are right, then it is all the more
important that Garave survive - to share her genes - our genetic gist
- with the generations to follow, so that, in time, we may all someday
become god."

	Beverly smiled tolerantly. "I wouldn't presume to try to dissuade you
from your goal, Jemat - but all this," she waved her hand at the two
Breen and the captain, "is still conjecture. "Andile's sun went nova
millennia ago; that world is gone, those people are gone - you can't
even be sure that the her colony was the one you planted! And more to
the point, it still leaves me wondering how this revelation affects my
patient."

	Ferata jerked his head in negation - then stopped, and made an
awkward shake of his head. "It is not conjecture, Doctor; our belief
has been verified - and by no less an authority than your captain," he
added, somewhat smugly.

	"The captain...?" Beverly began, glancing at Picard - and received a
confused shake of his head in return.

	"I?" he echoed.

	Jemat smiled. "You, captain - through your deposition," he said.

	Beverly shook her head again, still confused. "But... " she began,
then stopped. "According to the medical debriefing that was performed,
the deposition reveals the memories of the individual - and according
to my own scans, the procedure was initiated - but not completed on
the lieutenant. Isn't that correct?"

	Ferata gave an awkward nod. "It is."

	"Then how...?" she pressed.

	"An old memory, Doctor, one we did not note at first," Jemat
answered. He looked at Picard - and smiled. "Do you recall?" he asked.

	Picard considered for a moment, then started to shake his head - then
stopped. "Her name," he said - then looked at Beverly. "The
lieutenant... The first time I met her... Rather, the second time," he
amended, "the time I attended her class, she introduced herself as
Professor Handeela," he said - then looked at Jemat. "As in..."

	"_Hah-ndeela," Jemat agreed, sliding the emphasis from the second
syllable to the first - but making the similarity between the two
words unmistakable. "I believe the linguistic shift that occurs in
most spoken languages may account for the change from the Breen
pronunciation to the Parashian one..."

	"And a second, similar shift to explain the change to the
pronunciation we use," Picard continued, nodding.

	Jemat drew a breath, the hesitation - and regret - obvious in the
Breen's manner. "No. I wish that were the case - but I believe that
once we have finished reading Garave's memories in full, we will learn
that her culture was responsible for the shift in pronunciation from
_hah-ndeela_ - 'beloved' to andile - 'filth', in order to reflect the
radical change in the meaning. In time, I believe we will discover
that 'handeela' still existed in her people's language, and still
possessed the same benevolent and loving import that it possesses for
us."

	"Then why did she change the pronunciation?" Beverly asked. "If she
could be 'beloved', why allow herself to be called 'filth'?" she
asked.

	Picard turned to her, sorrow covering his face. "Because it was a
pretense," he told her. "She was posturing, trying to elevate herself
- maybe even to overcome the self-image she had of herself - to be
something more. No one in Starfleet knew the difference; no one knew
better..."

	"But she did," Beverly concluded, understanding at once. 

	Andile could become Handeela, she thought; she could pretend she was
something more than the wretched filth her people had decried her to
be... at least for a while.

	Until something went wrong.

	Until someone was hurt.

	Until her own conscience rebelled against her self-glorification, and
slammed her back; until ten thousand years of indoctrination
overwhelmed a few years of self-reliance and self-determination.

	And then Handeela would become Andile again - and Andile would become
a spy, a thief, a prostitute, a murderer - whatever she had to be -
and know she deserved nothing better than whatever crumbs of solace
her people would give her.

	Beverly shook her head, wishing she had been there when... when what?
she wondered. What had driven that emerging sense of self-worth back,
crushing it so thoroughly that Andile would prefer the ultimate fate
of a suicide mission over the work that she professed she loved.

	She didn't know - and risking a glance a Picard, she knew he didn't
either.

	I wasn't there then, she thought to herself - but I am here now, she
thought defiantly, and looked at Picard once again. I couldn't help
her then - but I can now.

	If that's what she wants, she added - then glanced at Picard.

	People do change, she thought at him - when they want to change.

	When it's important to them... 

	She looked at him - and watched as he looked back, his eyes, his
face, his composure all perfectly composed once again - and utterly
professional, the consummate captain.

	But only if it's important to them, she realized in slow finality.
And when it isn't important...

	She bit at her lower lip, feeling the sting of tears building in her
eyes, then blinked them back. There had been enough tears of late, she
told herself; she had cried over him too many times already.

	Enough, she thought at herself and at him, angry but resolute; you
may not want to change - but I do. I have to; I can't go on like this.

	She drew a long, slow breath - and turned to Jemat. "So she's Breen;
how does this affect her as my patient? Do you have medications...?"

	Jemat shook his head. "Despite my comments, physiologically, she is
still, for the most part, human. Our medications would be ineffective
- if not dangerous - for her, for any human. Nonetheless, our surgical
techniques should allow the reconstruction of the exterior layers of
her hands and feet - and perhaps the reattachment of her amputated
arm. Since these extremities are also rich in nerve receptors, their
restoration may provide the needed additional sensory stimulus to
promote the progression in brain function to take her to a conscious
level. In addition, there are other therapies we have used in similar
cases - but whether they are applicable or not, I can not tell - not
before examining her."

	Beverly turned to Picard. "If there's nothing else we need to
know...?" she asked.

	He met her gaze - and for a moment, his eyes lingered on hers,
reluctant to let them go - as if there was something he wanted to say,
something he needed to tell her...

	Then he shook his head. "Nothing. You are dismissed, Doctor. Jemat, I
will have a security team escort you and the Doctor to Sickbay."

	"Thank you," Jemat replied, then pushed the chair back from the
table. "Doctor?" he said, reaching out a hand to help her up, then
wrapping her hand in his arm, just as he had done earlier, then
patting it gently.

	Just like Jean-Luc does, Beverly thought.

	No, she thought; like he _did_.

	But that was over.

	She bit her lip again - then pushed the pain away.

	It was over - not that it have ever begun, she added - and it was
time to move on. On to her patients. On with her life.

	She looked at Jemat. "Despite the setbacks, we've have had some
positive results," she began as they moved to the door. "There has
been a reduction in the size of the adrenal cortices..."

	Picard watched as the two left, then turned to Ferata.

	"And where do we begin, Ambassador?" he asked the Breen.

	"Where all things begin, Captain - at the beginning," the Breen
countered smoothly. "But before that perhaps some tea? I have not read
your deposition in depth - but I believe there is a prominent memory
of something called 'Earl Grey'...?"

--
Stephen Ratliff
ASC Awards Tech Support

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