Forwarded by the ASC-VSO Posted: 30 May 2004 17:15:11 -0700 In: alt.startrek.creative From: keroth1701@sbcglobal.net (Ke Roth) Title: Echoes Author: Ke Roth (keeroth@startrek.net) Series: TNG Part: 157/? 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 157 Snorkeling, Beverly decided at long last, having finally determined what word most closely described the sound that Jemat was making - and had been making - throughout the last two weeks that he had spent encamped in her Sickbay. Perhaps 'encamped' was not the right word, she amended quickly; while he had come to the ship each of the sixteen days since Andile's reawakening, he had also left every evening, returning to his ship, refusing to further impose on her time beyond her duty shift - or more likely, added to herself, unwilling to impose on Worf's limited tolerance for the Breen's presence in Andile's makeshift quarters when he was watching over her. Nor had he imposed himself upon her by making any attempts to treat Andile, Beverly added; oh, certainly he had volunteered opinions and ideas - sometimes tactfully, sometimes with a firmness of resolve that vied with Beverly's own determination - but in the end, when the final decisions had to be made, he had always deferred to her judgment, supporting her decision, even when, Beverly thought, he didn't agree with those choices. Still, he had been there long enough, reviewing Andile's charts, reviewing the upcoming surgeries, treatments, and therapies that Beverly was growing familiar with the Breen's mannerisms - including the strange sound that he was currently making. Part gurgle, part snort, part exhalation, it sounded not unlike the wet burbling noise that a she had grown all too familiar with during a shore leave on Pacifica as she tried to master - quite unsuccessfully - the art of breathing through an external air tube, she remembered with a smile. It was a wet, rough sound - and whether it came from a human swimmer or a Breen _outo_, she knew it meant trouble. Fortunately, in a Breen, that trouble was usually a matter of aggravation, not asphyxiation - and having had the occasion to hear the sound often enough in the last two weeks, Beverly had a good idea what the problem was. "Jemat, if I had a functioning recorder, I would not spend hours writing patient notes - and since you do - have a recorder that works, that is," she added, "I don't understand why you insist on writing them by hand - and in Federation Standard at that," she sighed. "I have to - but you? Isn't it inconvenient?" "For me - or for you?" he teased gently in reply. "After all, I seem to end up asking you for half of them," he pointed out. Beverly smiled. "I would say 'half' is a bit of an exaggeration," she countered. "You don't ask for more than a third these days," she teased him back. He gave her one of his toothy grins; odd, Beverly mused, how terrifying that smile had been at first, and how familiar, how comfortable it had become in the intervening weeks. "I must be learning, then," he answered, then looked down at the small notebook that lay open before him. "I do find that the act of writing is an excellent way of learning your language, Beverly," he continued, "of learning any language. Your Federation Standard draws so heavily on the root languages of your home world that it helps me to understand more about how you evolved - and as your language merged into a cohesive whole, it symbolizes the cohesion of your people, from disparate groups into a unified whole." "Except we do still have our distinct home languages; Alyssa was raised speaking Japanese, John speaks Urdu, the captain speaks French..." Beverly's voice trailed off at the mention of Picard, looking away, finding herself taken aback - perhaps even a little shocked - by how easily the details of the man's life and persona still flowed into her conversations - as though he still had a place in her life. But he didn't, she reminded herself, looking up at Jemat quickly, pasting a smile on her face. "But you're quite right, even though our respective native languages draw upon our commonality that unifies as specific sub-cultures, speaking one language does facilitate communications among ourselves as a whole. And it certainly makes it simpler when we're communicating with other species," she agreed. "After all, we can't all be telepathic, now can we?" she added with a forced lightness. Jemat studied her for a long moment - then reached up, taking her hand in his, squeezing it gently. "But it would be a great convenience, would it not? So many misunderstandings would be prevented..." "Perhaps," she agreed softly. "But so many truths that should be left unsaid would be known, shared. Some hurts might be cured, Jemat - but so many more would be caused, I fear. We've learned to guard our tongues, Jemat - but I'm not sure, we as a people, want to learn to guard our thoughts as tightly. It's just not the way humans are," she added. "What happened to Andile - Garave - should have demonstrated that amply. Her people were so repulsed - and probably so terrified - by the notion of telepaths in their society that they did everything they could to eliminate that fear - almost to the point of genocide." Jemat studied the woman for a long moment. "You do not approve of us, do you?" "It's not my place to approve - or disapprove - of you or your people, Jemat," she objected. "And in any case, it's not you as a people of whom I disapprove; I disapprove of what your ancestors did. And it was a long time ago..." she added. "But you think we were wrong," he interjected. Beverly hesitated - then nodded. "Yes. I think they tampered with things they had no right to change - and they did so without understanding the people - the sentient creatures! - or their cultures well enough to realize the possible outcomes. They treated those peoples like laboratory animals!" she said indignantly. "Not just humans - but all the races you - they - manipulated. They had no right! "But you are not your ancestors," she added hastily. "But we are, Doctor," Jemat argued. "In our minds, we hold the same knowledge, the same thoughts, that our antecedents did; we have not changed from the beings they were..." "But you wouldn't do what they did," she insisted. "Knowing what you've learned, seeing the results of your actions..." "The result of our actions is the potential evolution of our race, Doctor," he reminded her. "We had not intended it this way - for our fate to rest in the hands - and body - of a single being, but it is what happened. And in Garave, there are the genes of my people - our hope for the future. Knowing what we do now, that we could, through her, evolve toward becoming god, would we not do the same again?" he asked her, his ears tilting forward in curiosity, as if waiting for her. "Would you? Knowing what this has cost Andile," Beverly echoed, "knowing the pain, the hurt you have caused her to suffer, you would do this again?" curiosity covering her own face - curiosity - and disappointment, suspecting the answer was the one she did not want to hear. To her surprise, however, the _outo_ hesitated. "How can I answer that, Beverly? What we did, whether right or wrong in your eyes or mine, has become the only chance for my people, their only grasp on true immortality? Could I deny them that? And yet, being her, with her..." The pronoun rolled almost reverentially from the Breen's lips. "Being with her, having touched her mind, knowing her heart, her soul, feeling her pain and her grief in my thoughts, my memories - my soul aches, knowing that we have been responsible for this misery, this eternal pain. Could I do this again - even for so great an outcome?" He let out a long sigh, then shook his head. "I do not know, Beverly. I simply do not know. "You see," he added a moment later, forcing a weary smile onto his own face, "being a telepath is not always advantageous. All that she was - and is - is part of me now. For ill, for good - but inevitably, forever." He drew another long breath, then released her hand. "The telepathy does, however, facilitate my work," Jemat said at long last. "It opens the door to your people - but writing, learning your language this way," He nodded at his book, "teaches the culture to me in a deeper manner. It is not easy, however; I know the words I want in Breen - but in your language..." He sighed, starting to jerk his head to the side in frustration, then amended the movement, turning it into a shrug instead. "What word is it that you want, _outo_?" Beverly said. "That, my dear Beverly, is the problem: I don't know your word for..." He hesitated. "Not cooperating. Refusal to participate. Being... difficult," he said. Beverly studied him for a moment, looked at the notebook, then said, "Are we talking about Andile... I mean, Garave?" she asked. He nodded. "The medical term you're looking for is 'non-compliant'," she said, watching the Breen pick up the stylus and begin to write. "N-O-N - hyphen - C-O-M-P-L-I-A-N-T," she spelled, watching as he copied the word into the text. "That's the word. It's not the right word, but that's the one you're thinking of." Jemat looked up. "If it is not the right word, then..." "It's the right word for what you are describing - but it's not the right word for Beej. Biji. Andile. Garave," she corrected herself, growing frustrated. Why the hell couldn't she have just one name? Beverly grumbled to herself. But you live a hundred lifetimes, live on a hundred different worlds, you're going to end up with a hundred different names. I should be happy I'm only dealing with four of them. "Medically speaking, Garave _is_ compliant. She's not refusing therapy, she's not refusing her medications, she's not refusing treatment..." "But she is not refusing - but neither is she cooperating," Jemat argued. "No, she isn't," she agreed. "But not involving herself is not 'non-compliant' - at least in our medical terms. If she were truly non-compliant, she would be fighting us, making it difficult for us to treat her..." "But is she not doing just that, Doctor?" Jemat countered. Beverly looked down at the Breen, taken aback by his question - and by the gentleness in his tone. "I don't understand, Jemat," she replied. "No?" he said - then reached for her hand once again, drawing her down into her own chair, gently stroking the back of her hand with his thumb - or at least with the digit that most closely resembled a human thumb. Whatever it was, the touch was gentle, soothing - and welcome, Beverly admitted with a sigh as she felt the tight muscles in her hand and arm beginning to relax under his gentle ministrations. "I think I can translate '_outo_' now," Beverly sighed after a few minutes. "It has to mean 'masseuse', she said, feeling the tension beginning to ooze from her over-tired, over tensed body. Thank god my shift is over in an hour, she thought, making out the chronometer on her desk, the weeks of fatigue and weariness sailing away, replaced with a delicious sense of lassitude He smiled. "Just a technique, doctor, refined over many years through constant practice on my mate," he explained. "Hmmm....." she murmured. "I didn't know you were married." "For many years," he answered. "It must be hard for her... Him?" she tried again, looking at her benefactor in curiosity. "Human pronouns don't lend themselves to genderless societies - but if you consider me as a male - as you appear to do so - then for the sake of your mental convenience, you may consider my mate as 'her'," he informed the physician. "It must be hard for her when you are gone for so long. It was one of the things I liked least about Jack's being in Starfleet. He was gone for so long each time... I suppose it was all for the best - I had medical school to complete, and then I was pregnant with Wesley..." "Jack? Wesley?" Beverly looked at the Breen, surprised that he didn't know who she meant - but despite his familiarity with her Sickbay, they had not shared many personal confidences - and despite his being a telepath, he knew nothing of her thoughts. "Jack was my husband - my mate," she explained quietly, surprised by how little the words hurt her now. Time, I guess, she thought. It's been so long. Almost twenty years, she realized with a start. "What happened to him?' Jemat prompted. "He died - many years ago," she added, then fell silent. "I am sorry," he said gently. "And this Wesley you spoke of?" Jemat prompted after a few minutes. "My son," she explained. "I didn't know you had a budling," Jemat said. "I do... did..." She shook her head. Jemat's voice softened - and his touch on her hand gentled. "And your Wesley... He, too, is dead?" he asked. "What?" Beverly said, startled from her reverie - then shook her head. "Oh, no. That is... I think he's alive. He was in Starfleet - but he found his path lay in another direction. He... began to travel. He's been traveling for years now - all through the Dominion War, through all the chaos of the last few years. I want to believe he's safe, somewhere, waiting it out until things quiet down again. I have to believe he's safe; I'd like to think I'd know if he weren't, that if he were dead, if something had happened to him, that I would know. "But I didn't know when Jack died," she added, her eyes raised to Jemat, staring - but unseeing, seeing instead the memory of a face long gone. "Funny, isn't it?" she asked, though the question was directed not at the _outo_, but rather at herself. "He was my husband, the love of my life, the father of my child! I thought we had a deep, spiritual connection between us - but he was dead for several days before I found out - and all during that time, I felt nothing different, nothing unusual. I went through my daily routine, studying, preparing to enter Starfleet - and I never knew until Jean-Luc called us... " She hesitated, the memory as fresh, as real, as painful as it had been that day, so long ago. As painful as the thought that someday she might receive another, similar call regarding Wesley. Or Jean-Luc himself, a soft voice, deep inside her head, deep inside her soul, reminded her. No, she told herself firmly. He wasn't a part of her life anymore. But Wes... He would always be a part of her life, a part of her... "I thought I would always know if something happened to Jack - but I didn't. And Wes... I thought the same thing, but for all I know, he could be... be..." She stopped, unable to speak as the tears welled in her eyes, and the words stuck in her throat. "Dead," Jemat concluded for her, watching as she shook her head, accepting the possibility, even as she refused to accept the words. "For all I know, he could have been dead for years - and I wouldn't know any more than I knew about Jack," she said. Jemat stopped the tender ministrations he was performing to her hand, settling back to consider for a long time. "It is possible, Beverly; he may, indeed, be dead. But the bond between and parent and a child transcends that between mates. Your mate is your mate by choice, by timing, by hormones, even by fate; but a child is your by genes and spirit. Part of you is in that child, Beverly; if something were to happen to him, I believe you would know. I must believe that your son is still alive - or you would know." "Are you saying that as a telepath or as a physician?" she asked, sniffing back a tear. He smiled. "I say that as a parent, Beverly. You must have faith." "That's more easily said than done," she replied. "Perhaps. But then we Breen spent hundreds of thousands of years searching for god - only to find her against all odds, against all reason, on an alien ship in the middle of nowhere; we're rather experienced when it comes to matters of faith," he added lightly. Beverly felt a smile cross her face - and with it an upwelling of real, genuine relief, the first she had felt since... Since I don't know when, she admitted. Since before LaBarre, since before the Briar Patch, since before Wesley had left with the traveler. My God, she thought, how long has it been since I wasn't worried? she asked herself. Too long, she answered - then looked at Jemat. "I still don't know what the hell an _outo_ is, Jemat, but whatever it is, you do it very well," she replied. He shook his head. "I wasn't being an _outo_, Beverly." "Then...?" "I was simply trying to be... your friend," he told her. She studied him for a long time - then nodded. "Thank you. I didn't realize how badly I've needed to have one of those." "That is one of the drawbacks of serving on a starship. You form friendships, yes - but in your position, in mine, you can not permit those friendships to blossom as widely as they might in other circumstances; you must hold a part of your heart, your tongue and your mind to yourself. There becomes no one with whom you can be completely at ease. The wall is always there... it must be there. You never know when your friend might become your patient - or when you might have to order that same friend into a deadly situation. We know the reality - every officer on one of these ships knows the reality, Beverly, and we defend ourselves against that possibility by making those relationships rarer - and sometimes a little shallower. We all do it; we have to," he added, "but we pay the price in doing so; the walls that shelter us from the hurt, imprison us from the help as well." Jemat fell silent, watching as his words circled round in her mind for a moment. "But I do not serve with you," he continued at last. "I do not answer to your orders - and you do not answer to mine. I could never treat your injuries well or for long - nor could you be my physician. We have no obligation to one another, Beverly; no possibility to hurt one another, or to cause each other harm. For the first time in a very long time, you can... release your hair?" he said. It took her a moment to catch the phrase and correct it. "Let your hair down," she countered. "And you are right. And if you ever decide NOT to run back to your ship right after my duty shift, then I would be honored to offer you dinner in Ten Forward," she added. "And I will accept - when I know that every other thought will not be preoccupied by our mutual patient." That might be some time, Beverly conceded - then wondered if Jemat remembered they shared not one, but two patients. Neither of whom, she added, was noted for being compliant. "You said Beej... Garave... was being non-compliant, that she was making it difficult for us to treat her - and yet she isn't stopping us." "I agree," he said. "Although if I understand your Starfleet regulations correctly, even if she did protest your course of treatment, it would be to no avail. I believe that her emotional state and the quantity and level of brain damage incurred was sufficient for you to claim a lack of mental competence in her situation, and force treatment upon her, over her objections, if you chose to do so." "Until such time as a medical board could be convened, and a proper evaluation of Andile's mental condition, and her fitness to determine her own treatment, made, Starfleet regs - and medical ethics - would not permit me to discontinue her treatment. If, after a proper examination, she was determined to be of sound mind, and then chose to discontinue her treatment, I would be equally bound to honor that request," she explained. "But as such a hearing requires the presence of certain medical officers - who are not on board at this time - this hearing would have to wait until you have returned to Earth - by which point Garave's life would no longer be at risk. And as Garave's culture denied andile the right to commit suicide, she could not, at that time, deliberately harm herself," he reminded her. "Your point being...?" "My point being that whether she cooperates or not, you will treat her," Jemat countered. "She knows she can not protest it with words or actions. And so, knowing her protests would be in vain, she does nothing to stop you - but nothing to help you either. She forces you to treat her body - but she decline to allow you to treat her. "This... distancing," He looked at Beverly, confirming his choice of words, and received a nod in reply, "This distancing of Garave from you, from your people, from your actions, it takes its toll on you. Every day, your doubt grows, your uncertainty of whether your actions are right increases - as does that of your people. Every day, you face her - and ask: Am I doing the right thing? Every day she removes herself further from your care, from your lives - and every day you begin to wonder if, perhaps, she is right. "And one day, perhaps you will believe she is," he concluded. "That won't happen," Beverly insisted firmly. "No?" No, she began to insist - then stopped herself. It would, she knew; it was happening already. "She's healing, Jemat - but she's not getting better," Beverly said softly. "And she's not going to, is she?" She knew the answer - and her team knew it as well, she thought. Even now, their enthusiasm for assisting Andile in her daily therapies was declining; they still cared for her, still attended to her physical needs - but she could see their enthusiasm flagging, see their dedication slipping away. As long as they were on the ship, they would care for her, as duty required - but as soon as they returned to Earth, they would allow Starfleet Medical to take over her care - and they would slide from her life, as would all her caregivers, until, once day, someone made a mistake, someone made an error in her meds or her dosage... and the death she could not grant herself would be granted by another. He shook his head in silent agreement. "If you mean will she recover, then no, I do not believe so. Not as things stand. She is utilizing every calorie of energy, every atom of oxygen you provide simply to remain alive - more, in fact. She is already losing weight, is she not? And even the least effort taxes the oxygenation levels of her blood. She will never be able to leave her bed, Doctor, not as things stand," he added softly. "Her life - that part of her life which held meaning for her - is over. It is simply a matter of time..." "... until her body des as well," Beverly concluded slowly. For a moment the two looked at each, silently grieving, when a third voice interrupted their silent suffering. "That," Data said, a stricken expression plastered on his face as he stood in the open doorway of her office, "is not acceptable." Horrified, embarrassed - and angry - at having her private conversation overheard - especially by someone so close to her patient - Beverly rose to her feet, turning to the android. "Data," she began to explain. "I can not permit that to happen," the android continued. "Data," she began - then stopped, knowing there was a time for comforting the friends and family of a patient - and a time for the truth. And that time, she knew, had come. "Data, there's nothing I can do about what is happening to Andile. The damage to her body - and her unusual physical make-up - transcend my medical knowledge. I can't replace what she's lost - and as a result, I can't give her anything close to the life she once had. The ECMO is functioning at maximum capacity now - but it isn't as efficient as her lungs were. It simply isn't capable of oxygenating her blood at the levels she's used to. She's not going to be able to resume a life like she had before, Data," she admitted softly. "Even if she regains the use of her legs, she's never going to be able to walk, or learn to reuse her right arm; I don't think she's even going to be able to sit up," she added, remembering the disastrous results of the morning's attempt to do that very thing. The had raised her head and torso only a few degrees, trying to coach her through the breathing exercises that should have increased her respiration and heart rates enough to compensate - but she had done nothing to help them, only crying out as dizziness and nauseas overcame her, then collapsed against the pillows that supported her, her head falling forward, her muscles too weak to stop it, the weight of her skull compressing her windpipe, choking her, cutting off the trace amount of air that her lungs provided... It was only a small amount, Beverly knew - but is was essential to her survival - and without it... Without it, her artificial heart had begun to race, straining itself beyond its design parameters to feed the failing body with blood and air - and finding itself less and less able - until it simply stopped. Even artificial hearts could fail, Beverly had reminded herself as they fought to straighten the crushed windpipe, to force oxygen into the starving body, forced the heart to start again; even artificial hearts could fail - and while they could restart it - this time - there was no guarantee they could do it again. And they would not try, she knew; they would not risk another disaster. And so they would begin to step away from Andile's treatments, and the slow decline would begin, she thought. "That is not a life she would wish," Data agreed softly. "Which is why we're here," a fourth voice opined. Geordi stepped into view, having been shielded from Beverly and Jemat's sight by the android and the intervening wall. In his hands he carried what appeared to be a rather bulky shirt of shimmering silver fabric. He handed it to Beverly, a sober expression on his face - but hope lighting his eyes. "We... that is, Data, thinks he has the answer. To Beej's problems - and maybe a lot of other people's problems as well," he explained. "It's... very interesting, Geordi, Data," Beverly said, looking over the oversized shirt. "What is it?" "It's a lung," the Chief Engineer replied. Beverly stared at the silvery jacket, then raised her eyes to Jemat, who stared at the item before meeting her gaze. "A lung," he said quietly. Geordi nodded, brushing past Data to enter the room. "Yes, sir - or rather, it will be, just as soon as we can complete a few final steps." "A lung," Beverly repeated, still taken aback by the presence of the device in her hands - and by the implication of what it meant - what it could mean - for Andile. And for thousands of others. "How does it work?" she asked. Data spoke. "The exterior material is a hyper-permeable membrane, allowing rapid transport of gases through the surface into the interior, which is a network of interconnected, one-way vessels, made of a similar material. The interior channels will carry blood part the hyper-permeable membrane, allowing for the transfer of oxygen into the blood stream, and carbon dioxide out." Which was, Beverly admitted, what a lung did. However, as medical science had learned over the centuries, the human body did it far more efficiently than any machine could - and even the most efficient machine required far more space to create the surface area necessary to do what the human lung did. Even now, four hundred years since the first artificial lung had been created, it took a machine the size of a small table to breathe for a human. It was that fact that doomed Andile to spend the rest of her life on that bed, she added unhappily; despite his best effort, the device Data had created, a device that was the size and shape of a jacket for the diminutive woman, would never be able to replace the massive device that barely supplied her with air now - let alone allowed her the range of freedom she needed and wanted. It was a tremendous, effort, she thought - and it was going to crush the android when she told him that it wouldn't work. "Data..." "I know what you're going to say, Doc," Geordi interrupted with a grin. "That there isn't enough surface area to allow the proper exchange of air. You're right, there isn't. Try as we might, we couldn't find anything that's as efficient as the human alveoli - and their intricate arrangement in the lungs - for that purpose. Which is why we're not going to try and replace them." Jemat studied the two, then managed a human shake of his head. "I don't understand." "It is our intention to have you harvest three functional alveoli from what's left of Biji's lung, fill the device with bio-mimetic gel, seed the gel with one of the clusters, and within forty-eight hours, the lung will be filled with alveoli." "Bio-mimetic gel?" Jemat asked, curious. "A biologic product that ahs the ability to mimic biological forms and functions," Beverly explained. "Unfortunately, it has a short functional life, so it's not useable for something long term - like replicating cells or organs." "I see," Jemat replied. "And the remaining two clusters?" "As Dr. Crusher indicated, the functional life of the artificial lung would be limited. We calculate a useable lifespan of approximately thirty-two hours," Data said. "After that the cells will begin to die, and the efficiency will diminish rapidly from that point forward. Hence, there is a need to always have two lungs at different levels of preparation; one for the next day, one for the day subsequent to that. " "We should be able to harvest a few cells from each lung to seed the next - but every now and then, we're going to need to capture a new one directly from Beej herself," Geordi added, "at least until we can accurately clone them for her. Developing that technology may take some time," he went on, grinning, "but I think we've bought her that time now. Hell, knowing Biji, she'll probably be the one to figure out how to overcome the problem of replicative failure!" "There are, however," Data interjected, "two medical issues that you will need to address. First, a permanent - or at least semi-permanent - indwelling catheter will have to be placed to allow the influx of de-oxygenated blood into the lung and the subsequent flow of oxygenated blood back to the heart. These will need to be in the same positions as the former pulmonary arteries in order to most closely replicate the function of the lungs. In addition, the catheters will have to be of sufficient size to withstand the pressure of the blood flow - but secure enough to allow Andile to resume her normal activities - or the functionality of the device will be negated," he pointed out. "That's not an issue, Data," Beverly said. "We can place a line easily enough. But you said there were two medical issues; what's the other one?" "The bio-mimetic gel itself. Where the interior lining of the lung touches Andile's skin, the gel will, over time, attempt to replicate the skin tissues it touches. In essence, it will draw her skin into the lung. This will not affect its functionality over the brief lifespan of the lung, but it will necessitate the excision of a layer of skin upon removal of the jacket." "In other words, you're going to be peeling off a layer of Beej's skin every time you take off the jacket," Geordi summed up. "It's going to hurt like hell." "Unfortunately, we have yet to find another material for the interior of the jacket that does not, over that same time frame, damage the gel - and hence the function of the lungs," Data said. "We will, of course, continue to seek out other materials that might be usable..." "But we've got time," Geordi repeated, the glee in his voice and in his eyes unmistakable. Beverly stared at the jacket for several more minutes, then rose to her feet, turning to face the two. "Gentlemen, I am impressed," she said at long last. "In a matter of weeks, you appear to have solved a problem that's been vexing medical science for centuries." "More than 'appears', Doc," Geordi offered. "We've run hundred of computer simulations on the lung - and if it's half as good on Biji as it is on paper, she's going to get her life back." "Computer simulations are one thing, Geordi; real life is something else - and whether this works or not, there is a very real issue that we have to face." "Availability of bio-mimetic gel," Data opined. Beverly nodded. "It's impossible to replicate, and extremely expensive to purchase. I've got enough on board to fill this... lung," she said, for lack of a better word, "for a few days - but enough for the duration of our mission?" she said, shaking her head. "I'm sorry. I simply don't have enough - and even if I did, I couldn't, in all conscience, use it solely for Andile. It's simply too critical of a material. Maybe when we get back, Starfleet can allocate enough to supply Andile... for a time. But not indefinitely," she added soberly. And to give Andile the freedom this lung would grant her - only to have to take it back? She shook her head, unable to imagine the emotion devastation that Andile would feel at the loss, once again, for the third time, of her physical freedom. No, she thought unhappily; as much as she wished that this was the solution for Andile, for thousands of others in similar straits, she couldn't, in all good conscience, allow it to be implemented. Not when she knew it would have to be taken away again in just a few days. She sighed, setting the jacket back down on her desk, lowering herself into the chair, "It's a brilliant idea, gentlemen - but until we can resolve the issue of the bio-mimetic gel, I can't permit you to use it, on Biji, or anyone. I'm sorry; truly sorry," she added. "But it's the only way," Geordi began to protest. Data added, "Andile's recovery is contingent on the restoration of her mental health - and that mental health and emotional stability are dependent on the knowledge that she will be able to resume her usual habits..." "And in time, with some breakthrough in technology, she may be able to!" Beverly protested. "Data, Geordi, in a few weeks, you have solved on of the greatest problems facing medical science! Now all we have to do is find a way to produce large quantities of gel at a reasonable cost! And we will - in time," she said.. "And we'll find a way to keep Biji with us until then," she added insistently. If I have to sedate her, put her in stasis - whatever it takes, I'll find a way, she told herself defiantly. She turned, looking back at the strangely silent Jemat, and saw him fingering the slippery silver fabric - then looked up at the three. "Tell me more about this bio-mimetic gel, Beverly," he said. "It's a medical miracle, Jemat," Beverly answered, reaching for the computer terminal, her hands racing over the keyboard. After a moment, she stopped, stared at the screen to confirm the picture before her, then turned the screen to face Jemat. "It's a molecular material that has the ability to duplicate the cellular structure of any material that touches it. Unfortunately, it's a biologic by-product, very difficult to create, impossible to replicate - and highly reactive. In order to prevent it from duplicating any and every organic molecule it touches, it has to be kept within a stasis chamber until it's needed - meaning it takes energy to maintain the matrix in a useable condition. Add to that the fact that once the matrix is mobilized, it can't be stopped. It will recreate the structure with which it makes contact and keep recreating it until all the gel has been utilized. Then it loses all functionality," she added. Jemat nodded, studying the diagram. "If I am reading this correctly, it appears not unlike your own cytoplasm," he pointed out. "It is very similar," Data agreed. "There are, however, several side chains with significant variations - and these variations are what give the gel its bio-mimetic properties, while preventing replication by mechanical sources." "But it could be replicated by organic means?' Jemat pressed. Geordi nodded. "Actually, that's how it's produced. There are a few labs in the Federation that possess the geneered cells that exude the gel - but the process is time-consuming and expensive - and the cells themselves are resistant to replication." "But if a sufficient quantity of the cells were available, then you could produce the gel in quantity," Jemat surmised. "Yes," Data agreed. "Then all you really need is a substantial quantity of the right cell," the _outo_ concluded "That's _all_," Beverly countered drolly. Jemat gave a very human nod. "Yes. That would be all you require - then given a proper nutrient solution and collection methodology, you could produce as much bio-mimetic gel as you require - for Garave..." "Garave?" Geordi interrupted, confused. "Andile," Beverly explained. "...and all your patients as you desire," Jemat concluded. Beverly gave a tolerant smile. "Unfortunately, Jemat, as simple as you make it sound, we can not obtain those cells; they are held as proprietary by their discoverer. Bio-mimetic gel - and the cells that produce it - is a precious commodity, Jemat, one that the owner is holding secret so he can keep the price at a premium. I don't like it, but it's not illegal; the courts have supported his right to control his discovery." Jemat frowned. "But ethically..." "The discoverer is not a physician or a member of Starfleet; what ethics he follows - if any," she added bitterly, "are his own." The Breen's frown deepened. "He discovered the cells," he murmured. "He did not invent them? They are not his creation?" Geordi shook his head. "No. He stumbled onto the cellular organism - he won't say where - and discovered the property of the gel sometime later.." "Then... if someone were to create cells of their own, they could produce the gel without fear of legal complications?" he asked. Data gave a single shake of his head. "The courts have ruled in other cases that such action would be legally acceptable - providing that the cells were indeed created independently of the original genetic material." "Meaning you couldn't steal the cells, then try to reverse geneer them to create more of your own," Geordi said. "But if you created them from scratch..." "You'd be wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice," Beverly said. "Except that's what the Federation's been trying for almost two decades - without luck. We simply don't have the genetic engineering knowledge needed to determine how - genetically speaking - the gel is produced." Jemat looked at the three. "We do," he said simply. There was a moment of silence, then, confused, Beverly echoed, "You do... what?" "Have the knowledge needed to reverse engineer this organism. With this structural knowledge of the bio-mimetic gel molecule, my people can create a microbe that will secrete this substance," he said simply. Beverly and Geordi gaped at the man, while Data maintained a more neutral, but equally disbelieving expression. "_Outo_," Geordi and the android began at last, while Beverly protested gently, "Jemat..." As one, the three stopped, looked at one another, then Geordi and Data nodded to Beverly, allowing her to act as the spokesman for their simultaneous thought. "Jemat," she started again, "I appreciate your thought - but Federation scientists have been trying to do just that for more than twenty years. I can't go to Biji - Garave - and tell her about this idea, only to add that it might be another twenty years before it's practical." "I understand, Doctor - but it will not take my people twenty years to determine the nature of the organism - or replicate it's function. We have, after all, been responsible for genetic manipulation for thousands of races across the galaxy for the last three hundred thousand years. Recreating a micro-organism should not be nearly as taxing." Hope flared in the physician's heart - but as she had done so often of late, she damped it down, refusing to allow herself hope where there was none. "Thank you, Jemat, but..." "Indeed, it might take the better part of the day to derive the structural configuration," Jemat continued. "Realistically, I do not think we would be able to produce a complete organism in less than twenty-four hours - and it will take a minimum of a week for the cells to reproduce to a level where they could create sufficient gel to fill that device. After that point however, we would be able to produce more than enough gel for Garave's needs." Beverly stared at the Breen, frozen into place. "A week," she said softly. "I believe so," he said. "Perhaps a day more or less," he added. She continued to stare at him. "Jemat, I appreciate your offer - but we could not afford to pay you for such a quantity of gel, and I doubt we have anything of value to trade for it..." "We would not ask for payment, Beverly. Indeed, perhaps providing the Federation with as many of the organisms as they desire would serve as an... acceptable offering to initiate peaceful negotiations - indeed, perhaps even opening talks for a future alliance," he added. "As a symbol of our good intentions? Yes?" Beverly gaped at him, unable to fully comprehend what a virtually unlimited - and virtually free! - supply of bio-mimetic gel would mean: not just to Andile, but to thousands of sick and injured people across the Federation. "Yes, Jemat," she said softly, the hope swelling in her heart once again, refusing to allow itself to be pushed away or damped down this time. "Oh, yes!" -- Forwarded to ASCL by: Stephen Ratliff ASC Stories Only Forwarding In the Pattern Buffer at: http//trekiverse.crosswinds.net/feed/ 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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