Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 9 May 2004 19:36:15 -0700 In: alt.startrek.creative From: keroth1701@sbcglobal.net (Ke Roth) Title: Echoes Author: Ke Roth (keeroth@startrek.net) Series: TNG Part: 156/? 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 156 "And how's my favorite doctor today?" Beverly grinned up at the counselor perching on the entrance to her office - and shook her head. "Assuming you mean me - and I assume you do - I'm fine," she replied. "Busy?" "Not at the moment," Beverly replied. "So I'm not interrupting you?" the counselor added. Beverly shook her head. "No, you're not interrupting me," she agreed - then sat back and waited. Deanna wanted something, she knew, having been subjected to the empath's tangential approach on more than one occasion in the past - and often enough to know that the more digressive the approach, the more unusual the request. And judging from the woman's behavior at her door, this was going to be a very unusual request indeed. Which didn't mean, however, that she was going to spare Deanna one moment of discomfort; whatever it was that Deanna wanted, she was going to have to earn it. Beverly drew a deep breath, relaxed into her chair - and waited. "Good," Deanna said - then hesitated. "Can I come in?" she added, a little tentatively. The CMO nodded - but said nothing, enjoying the situation. Deanna nervously eased her way in, looked around the room - as though she had never been in the space before, rather than the dozens, evens hundreds, of times she and Beverly had spent in the area - then faced Beverly again. "How's Beej doing? Any more convulsions?" she asked. "Technically, they were seizures - and she hasn't had one for a day and a half," Beverly said. "That's good, isn't it?" Beverly drew a long breath. "It could be," she said at last, though there was an obvious reluctance in her tone. "Terrifying as the seizures were to witness, they were a sign that her brain has making connections through her corpus collosum and she's continuing her recovery. The fact that they've stopped so quickly..." She shook her head. "I don't know, Deanna. It may indicate that area of healing is completed - but it could also indicate that it failed. I just don't know." "Aren't there tests you can perform?" Deanna prompted, her genuine concern temporarily masking her own concerns - and the reason for appearance at Beverly's door. "We'll run a neurological profile as soon as I'm sure the anti-seizure medication have been purged from her system. Right now, the drug would mask her true condition - but I wasn't about to risk her having another seizure and damage the new vasculature in her arm and shoulder," she added. "Jemat did a brilliant job of surgery, not just in regenerating the epithelium of her hands and feet, but in recreating the destroyed blood vessels so we could reattach her arm. It'll be several weeks, however, before the healing is complete. One severe seizure now, and she could tear everything loose; she'd lose the arm for sure - and possibly hemorrhage to death before we could stop it. "And to be blunt, if the profile reveals bad news... there's nothing I can do about it," she admitted softly. "And if it's good news - well, there's nothing I can do about that either," she conceded - then looked at her friend frankly. "You know, Deanna, I studied medicine for years - but the hardest lesson to learn is that sometimes there's nothing that education, practice and experience can do. Sometimes you just have to wait. Still, I've stopped the medication, and put her on partial immobilization so she won't tear any of the new tissues - and so we can run the scan in a day or two." "Not to mention putting a full regeneration unit on her arm and chest," Deanna reminded her, having already seen the massive piece of equipment perched over the tiny woman. "You noticed," Beverly replied with a small smile. "Noticed? The machine is as big as she is!" The physician smiled. "Not quite - but it will help speed the development of the blood vessels in the chest and arm. The surgery to rebuild the tissue and reattach the arm was extensive - and the regen will speed her recovery. But... You're right - it's a big piece of equipment - and damned intimidating. For once, I'm glad she's unconscious. How would you like to wake up after nine weeks - and find that on your chest?" she asked the other woman. Deanna looked back through the doorway, as though she could see into the apartment-like dwelling that was Andile's new home - then turned back. "I wouldn't like it - but I'm not Biji, Bev," she reminded the physician. "No one is," Beverly agreed. A shout reverberated from the adjacent room. "Doctor!" Beverly drew a long breath. "I'll be right there," she called back - then raised a brow as she looked back at Deanna. "Worf," she said quietly. "I recognized the bellow," Deanna replied with a smile. "The drawback to tapering off the meds is that Biji's suffering from tremors to the extremities - and Worf, being her ever-vigilant protector," she said with a grin, "reports each and every one to me. Today, however, has been doubly trying; Tiron's in there with him - and between the two of them, they're convinced that every flicker of motion is definitive evidence that she's regaining consciousness." "And is she?" Deanna asked. "No," Beverly replied softly, shaking her head. "One day... maybe," she added quietly, then added, "or so I hope - if for no other reason than to get the two of them to give me an hour of peace." The levity, however, was tempered with reality - and the possibility that it would never come to be. They both turned, staring at the wall that bordered Andile's apartment, each lost in their own thoughts - then, as one, turned to look at each other. "So... how was the picnic lunch?" Beverly said at last. "Delicious," Deanna grinned, a lascivious glint in her eye. Beverly raised a brow. "Hmmm," she murmured, deciding that that was why the Betazoid had come to her office - to share the details of her erotic meal. "I'll assume then that something, aside from the blanket, got spread." "Beverly!" Deanna gasped in feigned shock. "I'm surprised at you! A Starfleet officer doesn't kiss and tell!" 'I don't care about the kissing; I want the good stuff! Give, Deanna - and all the lurid details, if you please," Beverly demanded. "I may not have a sex life of my own, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy yours, even if it is only vicariously!" "I'd like to, but..." Deanna demurred. "Deanna!" Beverly protested, outraged that her would hold out on her. "But I have a counseling session in ten minutes," the Betazoid finished. "How about we meet for hot fudge sundaes in Ten Forward after your shift ends? Will's going to visit with Biji for a while, so my evening is my own... even if my nights aren't," she added with a wicked grin. "Make it tea," Beverly counter-proposed. "I haven't been to the gym in weeks - and it's becoming obvious," she said, glancing down - and sighing. "I might as well just surgically graft the fudge directly on to my hips..." "Don't be silly! You look gorgeous, Bev. No, it's hot fudge sundaes, definitely," Deanna insisted - then added, "besides, we'll need them as sensory aids." Beverly's eyes widened. "Fudge?" she murmured, impressed. Deanna nodded. "And whipped cream. And when you hear about where he put the cherries - and how he got them out again..." "Stop," Beverly said, raising a hand. "I don't want to hear any more - at least, not until I can enjoy every salacious detail," she added. "I'll meet you in Ten Forward at... eighteen thirty?" Deanna nodded. "That's settled. Now, Ms. Counselor, why did you want to see me, if not to share the details of your sex life?" she said. "Actually, I came down to ask a favor," she said - then stopped suddenly as the smile - and all the color - faded from her face. Ashen, she raised a hand to her head, reaching out with the other to steady herself against Beverly's desk. "Make that two favors," she amended weakly. "Deanna? What's wrong?" Beverly said, hurriedly rising from her chair, sliding around her desk to grab her friend's arm and guide her into the chair. "A headache," the telepath muttered - then gasped, clutching at her head. "Oh!" Beverly watched her for a moment, then spun around, grabbing the ubiquitous scanner from her desk and began to wave it past Deanna's forehead. "When did this start?" she asked worriedly. "Just now," Deanna gasped. "It just came on... Oh, god!" she cried out, her face suddenly blanching, growing colorless as the pain surged through her again. "Beverly... I... I can't breathe!" she said, her voice beginning to rasp as she wheezed, struggling to draw air into her lungs, then clutched at her chest, crying out, "It hurts! It hurts!" - then began to topple forward. Beverly caught the woman as she fell, easing her to the ground even as she shouted, "John! Aaron! Get in here!" she called to the two technicians on duty - then turned back to her friend, watching as panic began to fill the Betazoid's normally calm, dark eyes. "Can't... breathe!" she gasped, terrified. Beverly looked at the two techs. "Let's get her to a bed," she said, grabbing "Doctor!" Worf bellowed again, his voice deeper and louder this time - and with a hint of his own panic tainting the timbre. "John," Beverly said, "Go check on Biji; tell Worf I'll be there in a minute..." "Beverly!" Deanna cried out. "Aaron, start a scan on Counselor Troi..." "Riker to Crusher!" her commbadge suddenly chirped. "Medical emergency, captain's ready room..." The physician slapped at her badge. "Will, I've got an emergency down here..." "Beverly, it's the captain," he interrupted, his voice tight, ominous. "He's collapsed." She froze - but only for a nano-second, as her heart fought with her mind, her soul - and lost. Her place was here, she knew. Whatever her heart said, she knew her place was here. She slapped her badge again, "Crusher to Ogawa. Alyssa, medical emergency on the bridge. It's the captain," she added quietly. There was a moment's hesitation as the physician digested the news - and the order - then replied, "On my way." "Doctor..." the technician stationed beside Deanna called to her. Pulled back to the present, Beverly turned to the technician. "What is it, Aaron?" she asked, her attention once again fully focused on her other patient. "It's... nothing," he replied, staring at the monitor in confusion. "I'm serious. There's nothing wrong with her! Oh-two sats are fine, heart rate is slightly elevated - but enzyme levels show no sign cardiac damage... I thought it might be anaphylactic shock..." he continued. A wash of horror swept over Beverly as she imagined the possibility - and the ramifications of the possibility came to her. Deanna wasn't allergic to anything, she knew - or rather, to anything she knew of - but there were hundred of agents that could have triggered such a reaction - and a saboteur, at least one who was capable of manipulating her pharmaceutical replicator, could have introduced such a contaminant into the main food replicators, despite all the precautions they had instituted. Deanna, she thought, had been poisoned - and for all she knew, they all might have been! Damn it! And damn me for not having thought of this possibility earlier, she railed at herself. But if it was poison, she realized a moment later, her mind still racing, why only Deanna? Or rather, why only Deanna and Jean-Luc, she added. After all, most of the crew would have completed their meals breaks within the last two hours; if it was a contaminant, something intended to poison the entire crew, why did only two respond? And why not Will? she wondered; after all, he had invariably eaten everything that Deanna had at their picnic; if it was a contaminant, why wasn't he calling her - along with a hundred others? And is it was a contaminant intended to only affect a few, why those two? she thought - then decided that no contaminant could have been introduced so selectively. As if in confirmation, she touched a control, instantly searching out the woman's histamine levels - and found them normal as well. Damn it! she thought, staring in confusion and frustration at the woman gasping desperately as she stared at her friend, panic and terror in her eyes as she fought the pain, fought for breath, fought to control the tremors that were beginning to wrack her left arm, her legs... She gaped at the shaking limbs - then spun to face the technician. "Get me one milliliter isophenhexadyne." The technician nodded, hurrying off, and Beverly tapped her commbadge. "Alyssa, I want you to administer one milligram of isophenhexadyne, IV, to the captain," she ordered. "Beverly, I'm not even on the bridge yet - let alone completed the exam," Alyssa began to protest. "I know - but if it's what I suspect, the exam will be inconclusive," she told the physician. "But isophenhexadyne is an..." Alyssa countered - then stopped, understanding at once. "Yes, Doctor," she replied, the cut the signal. Relieved, Beverly nodded to herself, knowing the other physician understood - then leaned close to her friend. "You're going to be all right, Deanna," she reassured the empath - then took the hypospray from Aaron as the tech hurried back to her side. Pressing it against the woman's carotid artery, she thumbed the control, felt the slight kickback of the cartridge as the drug forced its way under the skin - then watched as Deanna's symptoms faded away almost instantly. The Betazoid gave a great gasping draw of breath - then stared at Beverly, confused. "Bev?" "You're going to be fine, Deanna - but I want you to stay here until I get back. Understood?" she added. Bewildered - but relieved - Deanna nodded - then watched as Beverly hurried away, chasing after the sound of Worf's third bellowing cry - and cry that was instantly echoed by Tiron's equally deep call - and a third, slightly higher, but equally frantic cry from John, her technician. She shouldered past the three men, studied the form of the woman on the bed - then looked at Worf. "I apologize, Worf. It appears you were right," she said quietly. "The lieutenant is waking up, is she not?" he said with a hint of triumph. "That she is," Beverly agreed, then moved to the equipment, her hands quickly racing over the controls. She was waking, she repeated wordlessly - but it wasn't supposed to be like this, she added. It was supposed to be... How? Beverly asked herself, letting her mind play over the dozens of scenarios of this same event as she began to adjust the machinery. The times and circumstances had always varied - in the middle of the night, on other physician's shift - even back at Starfleet Medical - but always, always, there had been someone with her - Deanna, Jemat - even Jean-Luc - someone who knew her mind, someone who could reach Andile's fractured mind and ease her way back into the present, back consciousness gently and easily. What a day for the Breen to opt to stay on his own ship, she thought; he's here every day for weeks, either performing surgery, assisting in Andile's therapies - or simply sharing medical adventures with Beverly and her staff - only to decide to take this day to attend to his own crews needs. Then again, she thought, it may well have been for the best; after all, Andile had manifested her symptoms on Jean-Luc and Deanna - the only two people on the ship who could readily accept her telepathic transmission. If Jemat had been here, he might well be lying on the bed next to Deanna - but without Beverly knowing how to treat his ailment. At least with Jean-Luc and Deanna, she could administer the mild neural suppressant drugs that would block Andile's telepathy from reaching their minds, and prevent them from suffer through her symptoms - but, fortunately, not before letting Beverly know what those symptoms were. "She's coming to," she told the three, "but she's in a lot of pain. I either need to get her conscious enough to use a neural suppressor and let her use some of her own control to address the pain - or I'm going to need to sedate her until the healing has progressed further." Tiron looked at the physician with a troubled expression. "I thought you said that sedating her would be dangerous," he said accusingly. "It is," Beverly agreed. "But if I can't find a way to control her pain - and her fear," she added, realizing that the panic in Deanna's eyes had been reflections of Andile's own terror and confusion, "I won't have any option." "Then we must make her understand where she is," Tiron said firmly, "and that she is safe. "And that she is loved," he added quietly, stepping close to Andile's left side, clasping her newly rebuilt hand in his own, far more massive one. "_Baj_" he called to her softly, stroking her hand. "_Baj_, it is your _patchni_. Can you hear me, little one? Yes, I know that you can. Listen to my voice, little one; listen to me. Your _patchni_ knows you are scared; I know that you are in pain - but you must know now that you are safe, that we are here, waiting to welcome you home, to your _patchni_..." "To your friends," Worf boomed in accompaniment. Tiron looked up at the Klingon - then glanced at Beverly. "May he hold her other hand?" he asked. Beverly hesitated - the nodded, deciding that the Klingon's touch could do her no harm - and, she added, seeing the stress hormones in the woman's blood begin to level off, it might well do her some good. "Go ahead," she said softly. She braced herself for the return of the booming Klingon voice - but to her surprise, his voice was low and soft - so low that she had to strain to hear it. As Andile must, she realized; whatever consciousness the woman possessed, it would be focused on bringing that low, soft voice and its message into clarity - and not on the pain and the terror that had filled her a moment before. But Worf and Tiron couldn't stay with her forever, she reminded herself - though both would offer to do just that if the necessity demanded it, she reminded herself. No, she needed to get Andile conscious and stable - or at least as stable as was possible for someone in her condition. And, she added, to keep her from inflicting her pain on those around her. That, at least, was easy enough. With a touch, she decreased the flow of neurotransmitters into Andile's spinal fluid, reducing the infusion rate from a flood to a trickle, enough to keep her mind supplied with those essential molecules that would give her control over her own body - but not so much that she had near unlimited telepathic power. Exactly where that level was, she didn't know, but with two humans in close proximity who could detect those emanations - willingly or not - she would be able to make a close approximation. But protecting Deanna and Jean-Luc from Andile's pain would do nothing for Andile herself, she thought as John approached, a small silver device in hand. "C two," she told him. "She'll be numb from the neck down," he reminded her. "As I want it. As long as those lines are running directly into her brain, I don't want to take any chance that she'll dislodge them," she informed him. "I don't want to take any chances on exacerbating the brain damage she's already suffered." He nodded - but there was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes - a doubt she was feeling with equal intensity. Yes, the device would eliminate the pain - or at blunt it to a tolerable level - but the resulting paralysis might well be terrifying to someone just coming out form a nine-week's long coma - especially when the paralysis might well be accompanied by the loss of God-knew-how-many other senses and body functions. And no amount of generic reassurances from the two men beside her - as sincere as they were - would assuage that terror. She made a final adjustment on the controls, beginning a slow feed of long-lasting - or rather, as long-lasting as it could be in view of ability of Andile's liver to breakdown any drug - analgesic to the woman's body, then looked at the technician. "Neural suppressor in place, Doctor," John said. "Second cervical vertebrae," he assured the physician. Beverly nodded, touched the equipment to activate the device, then eased past the men, taking a place near the head of Andile's bed. Crouching next to her, she brushed a strand of the luxurious hair away from the pale face of the woman, and whispered, "Hello, Andile. It's Dr. Crusher... Beverly. You're on the Enterprise, in Sickbay - and most importantly, you're safe," she added. For a moment, there was no motion from the figure on the bed - then she saw a slight flicker of motion beneath the closed lids. "Andile?" she said, hope surging. "_Baj_," Tiron echoed. "Come back to us, little one. Come back to your _patchni_. I have missed you," he said, the ache in his voice unmistakable. "And I... have much to say to you," Worf added, his low baritone reverberating through the bed. There was another tiny flicker of motion beneath the eyelids. "Yes, Biji," Beverly whispered encouragingly. "That's it! Open you eyes. Come back to us..." For a moment, there was nothing - no hint of motion, no hint of further activity beneath those pale lids, then... Her eyes flew open, panic and unreasoning fear filling them as she gasped desperately, trying to draw air into the damaged remnant of her one lung, her body bucking fractionally as terrified for air need fought the effect of the neural suppressor. But even that fractional movement was enough to dislodge the lines that ran into her brain - and threatening to exacerbate whatever damage had already been done there. Feeling a surge of her own panic, Beverly grabbed for the trembling arm, pressing it down to the bed, nodding for Worf to do the same on his side. "Tiron, hold her down! Don't let her move!" she told the Romulan, then grasped Andile's head in her hands, locking it in place - and forcing the terrified, gasping woman to meet her eyes. They met - but there was no comprehension in them, no understanding of who she was, where she was - or who she was facing. "Andile, look at me!" Beverly said, staring hard into the woman's eyes. "It's me, Beverly Crusher! Look at me!" The order must have registered in the terrified mind, because, for an instant, Andile's eyes steadied - and recognition dawned. Only to be replaced a moment later with sheer terror. "Can't.... breathe!" she gasped in a weak, hoarse rasp. "Yes, you can," Beverly replied as calmly as she could. "There's a respiratory assist device trying to help you breathe - but not if you fight it. Just relax; let the device work." "The doctor is right, little one," Tiron said. "You must not fight. Let the machine help you." Startled by the voice, Andile turned her eyes to the giant Romulan. "My _baj_," he said softly, tenderly. "_Patchni_," she managed in a ragged whisper. "I knew you would return to us," he said. "As did I," Worf agreed. Terror flickered in Andile's eyes, and she looked at Beverly beseechingly. "I... didn't.... not..." she gasped, trying to defend herself. "No, no," Beverly said instantly, reassuringly. "Worf knows you are not the saboteur, Biji." "I... was wrong," Worf told her. "I... misjudged you," he added. She tried to shake her head, but Beverly's grip wouldn't permit even that tiny movement. "You can't move, Beej," Beverly said firmly. "It's very important you don't move. I've got a neural suppressor on you, which is preventing movement from the neck down - but I'd rather not immobilize you completely. Can you stay still?" she asked. Andile met the woman's eyes - and then, for the first time, seemed to fully grasp the fact that she was in Sickbay. As a patient. Her eyes moved from Beverly to the regeneration unit that was perched over her arm and chest - then back to her eyes. "How... bad?" she managed after a moment. Beverly hesitated, then answered, "Bad." Andile considered. "How... long?" "We can talk about that later, Andile," Beverly started - only to stop as she felt the tiny movement of Andile's head, still trapped in the gently restrictive embrace of the physician's hands. "No... need...to... know. How... long?" Beverly hesitated - then nodded. "Nine weeks," she said at last. "Sixty-five days since the accident." A tight sob filled Andile's throat - then, as Beverly watched, the frail, injured woman pushed past her own shock and grief, and managed a weak, "Captain?" "He's fine," Beverly said. "On the bridge," she added, when a flash of doubt crossed Andile's eyes. "Breen... captain?" she pressed. "Beej, this isn't the time," Beverly insisted. "You need to rest..." "Breen captain!" Andile cried, the words tearing from a throat raw from lack of use. Beverly drew a deep breath - then shook her head. "Dead." Grief, overwhelming and unbearable, welled up in eyes that were unused to showing any feeling, and a shaken cry ripped from her mouth. "Please... no," she gasped. "Biji..." Beverly began softly. Pleadingly - but Andile's grief refused to be tamed. "Died... for... me?" she pressed. Beverly hesitated again - but Andile deserved the truth. That she deserved a few hours - or days or even years - of peace before facing the truth was another matter entirely - but it was time - and peace - that Andile was not going allow herself - or allow anyone else to grant her. "Yes," Beverly said at last. "Captain Huziah died trying to save you." "No," Andile sobbed, her cries weak and gasping. "No..." she managed, then looked down again at the mass of machinery that encompassed her - and Beverly saw the tears welling up in Andile's eyes, filling them until the sockets could hold no more, and they began spilling onto the pillow beneath her head. A soft sob escaped the tiny woman's lips - a sob, and a single word. Uncertain she had heard the woman, Beverly bowed her head closer to Andile's. "I can't hear you, honey," she told her quietly. "Say that again." "Why..." Beverly shook her head. "Why what, Biji?" "Why.." she gasped again. "Why... didn't... you... let... me... die?" -- Stephen Ratliff ASC Awards Tech Support http://www.trekiverse.us/ASCAwards/commenting/ No Tribbles were harmed in the running of these Awards ASCL is a stories-only list, no discussion. Comments and feedback should be directed to alt.startrek.creative or directly to the author. Yahoo! Groups Links <*> To visit your group on the web, go to: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCL/ <*> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to: ASCL-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com <*> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to: http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/ From ???@??? 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