Deanna Troi joined them, and once more Picard made the round of introductions.
“Have you told them yet?” Deanna asked Dr. Crusher.
“Told us what?” Picard demanded.
“Dr. Tang is innocent,” Dr. Crusher said with a sigh. “I confronted him with Deanna present to monitor his reactions, and I’m afraid he passed. He isn’t responsible for the disease.”
Picard shot a glance at van Osterlich, who returned an I-told-you-so shrug.
“Go on,” Picard told her. “You still don’t look happy. Now that you know you can trust his data, I would think you would find him a valuable resource.”
“That’s the problem—his data are crazy! He insists the virus leaps level-one containment fields. And we all know that’s impossible.”
“Is it?” van Osterlich said. He glanced at his own chief medical officer. “Benny?”
“I’m afraid it sounds crazy to me, too. The containment field keeps out particulate matter. Its field’s screen is set so fine that oxygen gets through but nothing else—no dust, no bacteria, no viri. Dr. Crusher has isolated the plague virus, and it’s clearly a simple variation of Rhulian flu. It’s simply too large to get through any containment field—you can’t alter the laws of physics just because they’re inconvenient!”
Dr. Crusher said, “Let me show you our patient.” She led the way toward the biobed. “This is Jenni Dricks. She is one-quarter Peladian. We beamed her through that modified transporter field I mentioned—using two sets of biofilters—and to all appearances it worked perfectly. Not a trace of the plague virus remains in her body. But that’s only half the problem.”
“Why?” Picard asked.
“We eliminated the virus from her body, but she’s still going to be susceptible to it once she beams back down to the planet.”
Solack raised one eyebrow. “She cannot go home.”
“Not until a real cure is found. Nor can anyone leave the planet who might be carrying the virus. We haven’t found a cure so much as…a delaying tactic. Of course, we can beam people up and pass them through biofilters, such as our away team, but with a planet as large as this one with a population in the millions, it’s a task that will take years. And we still won’t have eliminated the virus in the wild.”
“But surely it’s a good start,” Picard said. As long as they could contain the disease, that would buy its victims time until a real cure could be found and they could return to their old lives.
Dr. Crusher shook her head. “Unfortunately, it’s going to be a drop in the bucket, so to speak. There isn’t room on the Enterprise to rescue more than a fraction of the plague victims. The latest estimates—and that’s all Dr. Tang can give me at this point—indicate roughly thirty-five thousand people have died of the disease. Another twenty thousand are infected. It would take weeks to beam them all through our biofilters using both ships and working around the clock. And we don’t have enough room here to house a tenth of that number, even if we use the shuttlebays and cargo holds.”
“I see your point,” Picard said. The situation truly was disastrous, he thought. “But at least we have some good news—with the biofilters working, we can come and go as necessary.”
“But everyone who leaves the planet will still have to go through a quarantine period,” Dr. Crusher said. “Just to make sure. Dr. Tang’s data may be crazy, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
“Agreed.” He turned to van Osterlich. “Are you ready for dinner? I have some other ideas I wish to discuss with you. And that Saurian brandy I promised!”
“Of course,” van Osterlich said with a grin. “Lead the way, Jean-Luc!”
“If you don’t mind,” Dr. Spencer said, “I would prefer to remain here and work on the virus.”
“And I should return to the Constitution,” Solack said in a flat voice.
“Of course,” van Osterlich said.
“This way,” Picard said, heading for the door.
Deanna Troi crossed to Jenni’s biobed and gazed at her through the shimmering forcefield. “You said you were going to wake her?”
“Yes, I think it’s time. I no longer see any medical reason to keep her unconscious. The worst of the plague symptoms are gone.”
Deanna turned to look at the patient on the biobed again. Up close, you could still see the ravages of the disease in the woman, Deanna thought. Small white scars covered her face and hands, but those would undoubtedly fade away in time. For someone who had been at death’s door less than twelve hours ago, the change in her appearance could only be described as miraculous.
She reached out with her mind, feeling the turbulent emotions of a dreaming mind…a mix of fear and dread and horror. Nightmares, she realized.
“What can you tell me about her?”
“According to her file, Jenni is a quarter Peladian. Her husband was half-human, half-Peladian, and they had three children. Due to their genetic human-Peladian mix, all five proved highly susceptible to the plague.”
“You’re using the past tense. Is there something I should know?”
Dr. Crusher shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. I haven’t been able to find out if the rest of her family is still alive. It’s highly unlikely, since she was apparently the last of them to fall ill, and death counts are still rising rapidly all over the planet.”
Deanna regarded the woman on the biobed. “Go ahead,” she said. “I’ll do what must be done.”
Since Dr. Crusher could not reach through the containment field, she had the computer administer the stimulant directly through the biobed. In a few seconds, Jenni took a deep breath, opened her eyes, sat up—and screamed.
“It’s all right,” Deanna said soothingly. She felt the terror surging through their patient.
“Where am I?”
“You’re on board the Starship Enterprise. You were fortunate enough to be a test subject—we are trying to cure the plague. And we think it worked on you.”
“Then—I’m well?” She looked from face to face.
“That’s right,” Deanna said. “This is Dr. Crusher. She’s the one who cured you.”
“Hi, Jenni.” Dr. Crusher smiled. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible—but much better!”
“Good.”
“Jenni,” Dr. Crusher said, “I’d like you to meet a friend. This is Deanna Troi, the ship’s counselor. Deanna, this is Jenni Dricks.”
“What about my children—my husband—” she asked.
“We don’t know what happened to them,” Deanna said. “The hospital record system has completely broken down.”
“You have to find them—cure them, too—”
“We’re working on it as fast as we can,” Dr. Crusher said. “We hope to have a vaccine sometime tomorrow.”
Jenni gave a sigh and sank back down. “They’re dead,” she said. Deanna felt despair come from her in waves.
“We don’t know that—”
“I know it.” She stared straight at the ceiling, and as Deanna watched, a tear rolled down her cheek, then another. Her emotions turned dark with an almost suicidal undertone.
Deanna drew Dr. Crusher aside. “Are you sure you don’t know anything?” she asked softly.
“I tried to locate them, but I haven’t been able to find their records.” Dr. Crusher shook her head. “The support system in the hospital has completely broken down. It’s impossible to get any queries answered. I would have gotten them all beamed up here if I could have.”
“I’ll try to find out what happened, then. That’s my job, and I know how busy you are.” Deanna never liked being the bearer of tragic news, but sometimes it could not be helped. At least she could make a few calls down to the hospital.
She returned to the biobed. Jenni turned and regarded her through dark, half-closed eyes.
“I’m feeling well enough to get up,” the woman said, and she managed a wan smile. “I’m ready to return home. Can you beam me back down to the hospital?”
r /> “You’re in no condition for that,” Deanna said. “I will try to locate your family. Dr. Crusher says we can beam them up for treatment. You have to understand that the doctors on your planet are so overwhelmed with treating the plague that they’ve stopped keeping accurate records—everything except plague research. It’s not as simple as looking up their names in the computer’s database anymore.”
She turned to Dr. Crusher again. “Beverly, can you release the containment forcefield yet? I feel awkward standing outside—especially since Jenni is cured.”
Dr. Crusher said, “I’m afraid not. We have to keep that two-day quarantine to make sure you’re really well.”
Deanna dragged over a chair and sat. “I’m going to need to know the names of your other family members. I don’t know how easy it’s going to be, but I promise you this—I will do my best to find out where they are.”
“Thank you.” She sank back with a little shiver and her large brown eyes seemed to droop. “My husband is Derek Dricks. My children are Vera, Thomas, Jason, and David.”
She just needed a little reassurance, Deanna thought. She sensed a rising contentment within Jenni. Someone to take over the responsibility of finding things out. Now that it’s my job, she can rest.
She did not look forward to discovering the truth about Jenni’s family. She had to admit, their chances of survival were slim. Telling someone their loved ones were gone had to be the hardest task for any ship’s counselor. It was the one part of her job she truly hated.
But I don’t really know, she told herself. We delivered the Tricillin PDF ahead of schedule. They could be holding on. There’s a chance it kept them alive.
At least a slight chance.
She glanced at Dr. Crusher. Beverly thinks they’re dead. Beyond the raw hurt coming from Jenni, she sensed Dr. Crusher’s true feelings: regret, remorse, sadness, and a touch of wistful nostalgia for her own lost husband.
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” Deanna said suddenly, trying to sound a little more cheerful. “I’ll go now and see what I can find out. With any luck, I’ll have word by midnight. Is that acceptable?”
“Yes, thank you.” Jenni smiled.
“Try to get some sleep,” Deanna said as she stood. She felt a faint rumble in her stomach. But I just had dinner, she thought. “I’ll take care of everything. If I have news, I promise I’ll wake you.”
“You look pale,” Jenni said as she sat up. Deanna could hear the sudden alarm in her voice. “Are you all right? Are you all right?”
“I should be asking you that ques—”
Deanna gasped soundlessly. What felt like the blade of a knife turned in her guts. The pain, as sharp and hot as a real wound, cut through her so fast she couldn’t breathe. Unable to do more than gasp, she half doubled over, clutching her stomach.
Dr. Crusher steadied her arm. “What is it—Deanna?”
And just as suddenly as it started, the pain disappeared. Taking a deep shuddering breath, Deanna met the doctor’s gaze.
“It’s the plague—” Jenni wailed. She had a terrified expression on her face.
“Nonsense,” Deanna said firmly. It simply wasn’t possible. “I must have pulled a muscle. I had a strenuous workout on the holodeck just a couple of hours ago.”
“Oh. For a second, I thought you had it, too!” Jenni sank back with a nervous laugh. Her face looked as white as chalk to Deanna.
“I think I’d better take a look at you, anyway,” Dr. Crusher said. “Hop up on biobed two.”
She felt another rumble in her intestines. It’s probably nothing—something I ate. Maybe the replicators are acting up…
That had to be the solution.
She took a step, and suddenly sickbay wobbled and the deck seemed to slide out from under her feet. She felt herself falling and grabbed for an instrument tray. Clattering loudly, medical devices scattered across the floor, and she pitched after them, coming to rest against biobed 2.
“Ah-h-h-h-h!” she heard herself cry. It sounded like the death cry of a wounded animal.
New pains blossomed in her stomach. Molten steel burned through her veins, seared to the lengths of her arms and legs, shot down her spine, radiated from her bones.
The universe spun around her. The pain grew even worse. Lancets sliced through her bones. Fires coursed through her limbs. Please, make it stop, make it stop! She couldn’t move, couldn’t think—
Suddenly feet appeared in front of her eyes. Dr. Crusher rolled her onto her back. She had a medical tricorder in hand and Deanna heard its low whir.
“Deanna—Deanna—can you hear me?” Dr. Crusher demanded. She turned Deanna’s face toward her own and skinned back her left eye, then her right.
She tried to talk but only a raw moan of pain came out.
And then, as suddenly as a door slamming shut, the pain vanished. Deanna lay there panting and soaked in sweat. What’s wrong with me?
Her hands shook when she raised them to her face. Softly she began to sob. She had never felt anything so horrible, so excruciatingly painful, in her entire life.
“Deanna—talk to me!” Dr. Crusher pried her hands away from her face. “Tell me what’s wrong!”
Deanna forced herself to meet the doctor’s gaze. What happened? She wondered. Was it a seizure? Her teeth began to chatter. Dr. Crusher was staring at her with a half-terrified, half-worried expression. A cold wind swept through her body.
“S-so c-col—c-cold!” She felt her whole body begin to shake, and she couldn’t stop no matter how hard she tried.
“Give me a hand! Get her on a biobed!” Dr. Crusher said to Dr. Spencer.
Together they seized Deanna’s limbs, lifted on the count of three, and bustled her over to a biobed. Deanna gasped as new pains shot through her chest and stomach. She had never felt this sick before in her life—sick and out of control. She felt her eyes rolling back.
“Ahhhh-nahhh-hh—” she heard a distant voice cry. It’s me, some part of her realized. I’m starting to dissociate from my body.
That only happened in severe traumas or in cases where the pain became too great for a patient to deal with rationally. So the mind starts to float free, apart from the body, an observer to the terror within.
She tried to relax as the two doctors set her down on the biobed. Her shaking grew worse. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Distantly, she felt them strapping down her arms and legs. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make her body cooperate. She felt helpless and panicked.
“It’s the plague!” she heard Jenni wail from across the room. “That’s how it starts! I saw it in my husband and children!” She began to weep hysterically.
Deanna tried to sit up as the pain faded again. I ought to comfort her, some part of her realized—but on second thought, she knew she was in no condition to do much of anything. She needed someone to comfort her.
“Quiet!” Dr. Crusher barked at Jenni over her shoulder. The first rule of triage, Deanna thought, is to treat the most critically wounded. Hysterical but otherwise well patients get shoved to the rear of the line.
“It can’t be the plague!” Dr. Spencer said.
But it is! Deanna thought. Somehow, some way, I have it. She knew; she had read the reports. There couldn’t be any mistaking these symptoms. It leaped the containment field. Dr. Tang was right—
She pressed her eyes shut as new pains welled up in her belly. And there’s no time for bedside manners, she thought.
This time as the white-hot irons pierced her innards, she began to scream, and nothing could make her stop.
Dr. Crusher worked frantically. It can’t be the plague, she told herself over and over, as she reconfigured the biobed for a half-Betazoid, half-human biology. Her symptoms be damned, it’s impossible. Impossible! Our plague victim is cured. She and Deanna weren’t in direct contact. No virus moves through a containment field—
Still Deanna screamed. Then her breath came in rapid pants—then suddenly she went limp, un
conscious from the pain. Best thing for her, Dr. Crusher thought with dismay.
“Her fever is still climbing rapidly,” Nurse Anders said urgently.
That was another one of the plague’s first signs. But it can’t be, Dr. Crusher thought. There’s no way she could possibly be infected.
“Doctor?” the nurse asked.
“Almost done…there!” The biobed was reconfigured. It began its automatic scanning process. Charts began to appear: heart, respiration, blood pressure, white blood cell count.
As Dr. Crusher studied the readouts, her mouth went dry. Viral infection. Similar to Rhulian flu.
It can’t be.
But there couldn’t be any doubt—Deanna was infected with the plague virus. The green graph that mapped microorganism activity showed it multiplying at a dizzying rate. From the genetic signature, it couldn’t be anything else but the plague.
But how? It was a medical impossibility. Nothing can get through a containment field. There must be another answer.
She exchanged a quick glance with Dr. Spencer. From their startled reaction, she knew he had reached the same conclusion.
“It’s crazy. Just like Dr. Tang’s report,” she growled, her fists clenched in frustration.
“Maybe not so crazy,” he said. “Maybe he missed something. Maybe we missed something.”
“Back to basics. Contain and control.”
“Exactly.”
She glanced around sickbay. Everyone present—seventeen humans, a Vulcan, a Bolian—was of pure genetic heritage. Good. They wouldn’t have anyone else dropping in the middle of their work.
“Staff meeting!” she called. They had all been watching; they knew what had happened. They all gathered around in record time.
“We must contain this outbreak,” she said, meeting their gazes one by one. “We have all—every one of us in this room—been exposed to the plague virus. Chances are good we’re carriers; however, it’s not going to affect us. We’re going to have to work under strict quarantine restrictions until we can assess the damage. Anders, seal the doors. Smith, draw a blood sample from Counselor Troi. Everyone else—keep working. We need to find that vaccine!”