Constellations (4 page)

“She's a doctor, Jim,” McCoy replied. “It's what she does.” He waved through the window. “Can't say I blame her. Lord knows how many primitive cultures we've visited where I wished I could stay longer, help them in some lasting way.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, Spock said, “Even with the advanced technology and pharmaceuticals at her disposal, one physician cannot hope to make a lasting impact on any society by treating random incidents of illness and injury. The risk Dr. Jendra poses toward adversely affecting this culture's development should any of her advanced equipment be discovered is exponentially greater than any help she might offer. Logic suggests that—”

“Logic is probably the last thing on her mind!” McCoy barked. “Can't you drop that damned Vulcan stoicism and just try to connect with someone's feelings for once?”

“Actually, he's right, Leonard.”

Kirk whirled toward the voice behind him to see Jendra standing in the doorway, regarding him with an expression mixed of equal parts amusement and resignation.

“I heard you in contact with your ship,” Jendra said as she entered the room. “You should take better care to conceal such conversations as well as your equipment. Wouldn't want to disrupt the indigenous culture, after all.”

Kirk ignored the gentle verbal jab. “How's the girl?” he asked, hoping to soften the doctor's demeanor.

“She'll be okay,” Jendra replied, following that with a small cough. Clearing her throat, she reached up to rub the bridge of her nose. “I had to repair the severed vein, but don't worry, I did so in a manner that's undetectable to the Grennai
beloren.
I've had her taken to the local hospital.” Releasing a sigh, she regarded Kirk with tired eyes. “So, ready to haul me away in irons?”

“Revati,” McCoy said, “please. Jim's not the enemy.”

A raspy, humorless chuckle pushed past Jendra's lips. “Doesn't look to be my friend, either.”

“This isn't personal, Doctor,” Kirk said, once again feeling his irritation growing. “I have my orders, and my duty, just as you once did.”

He saw the tightening of her jaw line as she regarded him in silence for a moment, and he thought he almost could sense the struggle taking place within her. What secrets did she harbor? What burden did she carry? Why was she so driven?

“Maybe that's the problem,” Jendra said after a moment, her gaze hardening. “It's not personal for you.”

Kirk shook his head. “I don't understand.” Even as he spoke the words, however, something told him that her passion and focus went far beyond even the absolute commitment typically displayed by the most dedicated physicians.

She'll accept help,
his instincts told him.
Let her ask for it.

“What hasn't Starfleet told us?” he asked. “What happened during your mission that made you come back here?”

Crossing the room to the chair next to McCoy, Jendra coughed again as she sat down and spent a moment fussing with the hem of her woven shirt before drawing a deep breath. “Our primary task was to learn about the Grennai's inherent immunity to the planet's radiation in the hope of learning ways to perfect protection against similar hazards.”

She indicated her face and clothing with a wave of her hand. “Our disguises allowed us to interact with the indigenous population, but our actions were in keeping with the Prime Directive. We did
not
interfere with these people's societal development.” Her features clouding into what Kirk recognized as an expression of guilt, she cast a glance toward the floor before sighing and shaking her head. “At first, anyway.”

McCoy leaned forward until he could take her left hand in both of his. “Revati, what happened?”

“It was Roberts,” Jendra replied.

Kirk knew the name only from the report he had read during the transit to NGC 667, but that was why he had Spock. A single glance was all that the first officer required, and he nodded in reply.

“Prior to his retirement,” the Vulcan said, “Dr. Campbell Roberts had a noteworthy career spent almost entirely within the xeno-sociology field. He participated in the concealed observation and study of more than two dozen developing cultures, including a solo endeavor where he spent over a year embedded within a tribe of primitive humanoids who had not yet discovered fire. It was revolutionary research—something never before attempted by any pre–first contact team.”

“That's what I call dedication,” McCoy remarked.

Jendra nodded. “He had a reputation as a bit of an eccentric, of course, particularly after that mission, but no one could ever argue with his work or most of his recommendations. When our passive research and observation of the Grennai failed to turn up anything useful about their apparent immunity to the radiation, it was Campbell who made the decision to take additional measures. He began collecting tissue and blood samples, first from the bodies of dead Grennai but later from living specimens.”

“I take that to mean he didn't do so within the guise of a local doctor?” Kirk asked after she paused again.

“Correct,” Jendra replied. “He and his assistants enacted a program where they would select a promising candidate, tranquilize them while they were sleeping, then move them to one of our secure locations where the patient could be subjected to a full battery of tests, all noninvasive except for the collection of samples. The patients would be returned to their homes unharmed and none the wiser.”

Kirk said nothing, but instead watched as McCoy's expression turned to one of horror and disbelief.

“Revati,” the doctor said, his voice low and solemn. “He abducted innocent people for medical testing without their knowledge?”

Coughing again, Jendra reached up to wipe her forehead before replying, “Yes, and I helped him.” Before McCoy could respond to that she pressed forward. “I didn't accept his reasoning at first, but after a while I became convinced it was the only way to learn about the long-term effects on their physiology, to track how the radiation worked in concert with the Grennai's normal growth and aging cycle. We gathered samples from children as well as adults, even babies, but at no time was anyone in any danger. At least, that's what we thought.”

She stopped to clear her throat, and Kirk could see that recalling the mission was evoking what could only be pain the doctor had been only partially successful at suppressing.

Then she collapsed.

McCoy caught her as she fell forward from her chair, with Kirk and Spock both lunging across the room to offer assistance. The captain saw that Jendra was unconscious, her body limp in McCoy's arms as he lowered her to the floor.

“What's wrong with her?” Kirk asked.

“How the hell should I know?” the doctor growled as he reached into his robe for his tricorder. Kirk and Spock watched in silence as their friend conducted a brief, hurried examination, with the captain's attention moving from the door to the window overlooking the street and back again as the whine of McCoy's medical scanner echoed in the room. It lasted only a few seconds, after which the physician looked up and locked eyes with Kirk.

“She's dying, Jim.”

 

After helping to move Jendra to a bed in another room of the doctor's home, Kirk and Spock could only wait while McCoy conducted a more thorough examination of his friend. The captain considered a return to the shuttlecraft
Columbus
but decided against it as darkness fell over the village, opting instead for a check-in call to Lieutenant Sulu. The status report was not promising, with Scotty still hard at work attempting to recalibrate the transporters while Admiral Komack continued his efforts to strangle Kirk via the subspace connection linking Starfleet Command with the
Enterprise.

Another entertaining after-action report for the admiral,
Kirk mused.
It's a wonder he doesn't bust me down to second officer on a garbage scow.

“She's got three, maybe four months at most,” the doctor said thirty minutes later after inviting his friends into the room where Jendra lay in bed, asleep and resting. “If she stays here, that is.”

“The radiation?” Kirk asked. “I thought she was inoculating herself to protect against that, like we are.”

It was Spock who replied. “I took the liberty of examining her supply of medications, Captain, but I found no quantities of the hyronalin derivative developed for use here.”

“Revati told me the synthesizer she brought with her broke down and she wasn't able to fix it,” McCoy said. “She'd manufactured a reserve to get her through in case she ran into trouble procuring the raw materials to make more, but she went through the last of that a month or so ago, and once her immunity started to fail…” Shaking his head, he let the sentence fade on his lips.

Kirk frowned, turning to regard the still-sleeping Jendra. “The condition can't be reversed?”

“I might be able to do something for her on the
Enterprise,
” the doctor replied, “but her best chance is a Starbase medical facility.”

“I'm not going.”

Her voice was feeble as Jendra struggled to sit up in her bed, coughing as she did so. McCoy moved to help her and she allowed the assistance, and in a moment was sitting with her back against the headboard, still dressed in her heavy shirt but covered from the waist down by a thick woven blanket.

“Revati,” McCoy began.

Shaking her head, Jendra held up a hand. “I can't leave these people, Leonard. Not now, not after what we did to them.”

“Did to them,” Kirk repeated. “You mean there's more to what you were telling us, don't you?”

Looking to McCoy, Jendra offered a weak smile. “You said he wasn't stupid.”

“I also said he wasn't your enemy,” McCoy replied. “Tell us, Revati. Tell us everything.”

“It was one of our team members, Dr. Quentin Melander,” Jendra said. She paused to cough once more before continuing. “He had been exposed to a strain of Ametan rubeola some years ago on another mission. According to his most recent physical, the virus was dormant in his system, held in remission thanks to a regular vaccination schedule. What no one counted on was the virus mutating once he came into contact with the atmosphere here.”

“Dear God,” McCoy whispered. “No.”

Her expression one of sadness, Jendra nodded. “The radiation exposure altered the virus so that he became contagious.” Kirk saw her eyes watering, and a single tear fell down her right cheek. “Not to us, though. Just the Grennai.”

“Ametan rubeola causes dehydration, pneumonia, encephalitis,” Spock said. “Left unchecked, it can decimate populations, particularly those with a level of medical knowledge and technology similar to this one.”

“Children are especially susceptible to it,” McCoy added. “I've seen it run through thousands of people in a month, Jim.”

“The mutation accelerated even that timetable,” Jendra said. “Melander died within seventy-two hours, and his exposure to just two members of the village we were observing was enough to wipe out its entire population—two hundred thirty-eight people—in less than two weeks.”

“What did Starfleet do?” Kirk asked, though he felt his gut already trying to scream the answer at him.

“Starfleet Medical evaluated the situation,” Jendra said, “and determined the virus in its mutated form would be immune to available vaccines. Projections for developing a new treatment were poor—far beyond the projected life expectancy of anyone exposed to the virus. Our team was evacuated from the planet, and all signs of our presence were removed. We left the Grennai to their fate.”

Spock said, “According to public news sources, Dr. Roberts retired from Starfleet due to health reasons and withdrew from public life. If memory serves, he still publishes for the
Starfleet Medical Journal,
though on an infrequent basis.”

Releasing a humorless laugh that was all but lost in a renewed coughing fit, Jendra replied, “Campbell was convicted of violating the Prime Directive and sent to a penal colony. The rest of us were given suspended sentences and official reprimands in our files—all classified, of course, along with pretty much everything pertaining to the mission. It was all buried.” She shook her head, turning to look at a spot in the corner of the room as though to avoid making eye contact with her visitors. “In some ways I wish they would have sent us with Campbell. Instead, we were left with our own conscience to act as judge, jury, and deliverer of punishment.”

“Well,” Kirk said. “At least now it makes sense why Starfleet ‘guessed' you might be here.” As he digested the new revelations, he nevertheless found himself drifting away from disdain for what Jendra and her colleagues had done. While he could not argue that their actions were in clear, unquestioned violation of regulations—including the one upon which every Starfleet officer's oath of service was based, General Order One, the Prime Directive—the captain could see that Jendra's intentions, along with those even of Campbell Roberts, had been noble if misguided.