Constellations (3 page)

“Your mission was terminated prematurely,” Kirk said, “due to issues stemming from atmospheric irradiation and planetary conditions deemed potentially harmful to the research team. According to your own report, the planet was deemed unsafe to anyone but the local population.”

“It is safe,” Jendra corrected. “The rings of radiation encircling the planet constantly bombard the atmosphere, yes, but the indigenous population is immune to the radiation's effects.”

Spock nodded. “
Enterprise
science teams have been studying the phenomenon since our arrival.”

“Then you also know that it was part of the reason for our research here,” Jendra said. “Trying to learn about the Grennai's natural immunity. Outsiders can only be exposed for short periods without protection. My team and I received regular inoculations of a hyronalin derivative to protect ourselves. I'm able to synthesize a version of that compound with the equipment I have and with raw ingredients I collect as I need them.”

McCoy said, “After you returned to Earth, you were involved in some kind of research for a while, but then I get a message from you saying you're leaving Starfleet, and you just disappear.” The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Looking around the crude examination room and its array of equally primitive medical and surgical implements—for all intents and purposes a medieval torture chamber when compared to his own sickbay aboard the
Enterprise
—he shook his head. “It was Starfleet Command that eventually suggested you might have come back here, but why?”

Looking away for a moment as if considering the weight of her response, Jendra finally sighed. “I have my reasons, Leonard.”

The answer was vague, but her eyes spoke volumes, McCoy thought, reminding him of what he remembered most about the time they had spent together as colleagues—her drive to heal, the strength she drew from confidence in her abilities, her sense of doing right by her patients regardless of any personal toll it might exact upon her—all of that shone through her expression with startling clarity.

What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Revati?

In response to her words, Kirk stepped forward. “I'm sorry, Doctor, but you'll have to explain your reasons to Starfleet Command.”

Jendra smiled once more, a tired, resigned smile. “I can imagine they're quite upset with me, but that doesn't change anything. I can't go. Not now.”

Casting a glance toward McCoy that the doctor understood as the first hint of true irritation with the current proceedings, Kirk said, “It's not a request. You can come voluntarily, or I can carry you out of here.”

“Such a tactic might prove unwise, Captain,” Spock said, his tone and demeanor unflappable and—to McCoy, anyway—almost comical in its seriousness. “We would almost certainly attract attention during our attempt to return to the shuttlecraft.”

At that, Jendra's eyebrows rose. “Shuttlecraft? Oh, that's right. I'd almost forgotten what the radiation bands do to transporters and communications.” Shaking her head, she made a
tsk-tsk
sound through pursed lips. “A shame, that.”

McCoy saw Kirk open his mouth to reply, no doubt with the intention of playing some kind of bluff, but Spock beat him to it.

“Our chief engineer has been researching the problem since our arrival,” the Vulcan said, “but at last report he had not succeeded in recalibrating the transporter's annular confinement beam to work within this planet's atmosphere. I calculate the odds of his completing that task before we can return to the
Columbus
at seven thous—”

“
Thank
you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk snapped.

Sighing, McCoy shook his head. “Spock, one of these days we need to have a long talk about that nasty habit of yours.”

Spock's right eyebrow, artificially whitened and thickened in keeping with typical Grennai facial features, arched in the manner that always characterized his curiosity or skepticism. “What habit is that, Doctor?”

“Your mouth runneth over.”

“That's enough,” Kirk said, his tone and the expression on his face clear indications that he was in no mood for his friends' latest round of verbal jousting. To Jendra, who was still smiling as she observed the exchange, he said, “You seem to think this is funny, Doctor. I assure you it isn't. My orders are to return you to Starfleet Command, in restraints if necessary.”

No sooner did the words leave his mouth than McCoy heard the sound of the door at the front of the building being thrown open, followed as quickly by a series of rapid, almost frantic footsteps on the hardwood floor. He felt his pulse quicken as he heard pain-wracked sobs from what could only be a child, all but drowned out by a louder, more adult voice echoing down the passageway.

“Beloren! Beloren, kono nata!”

Whatever enjoyment Jendra might have been feeling at Kirk's expense vanished. “This'll have to wait, Captain.” Waving her arms toward the worktable and the array of Starfleet medical equipment lying atop it, she hissed, “Hide that,
now!
” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed her worn satchel and hurried from the room.

Leaving Kirk and Spock to tend to the sanitizing of the room—which involved both men stuffing various articles into the pockets of their robes or the large bag Spock wore slung over his shoulder—McCoy followed after his friend. He found her kneeling beside the body of a young Grennai female, a child, whose clothing was stained with what his gut told him was far too much blood. Standing nearby was a Grennai woman, obviously the girl's mother, whose clothes also sported blood. He reached for her in an attempt to help.

She only waved him away, her expression pained as tears ran down her cheeks. “It is not my blood,” she said, his universal translator filtering the native Grennai language into Federation Standard. “Please, help my
tundato!
”

“I'm trying to do just that,” Jendra snapped, also in the local dialect, and McCoy looked down to see her hand clamped around the girl's right arm just above the elbow. To him, she said, “Help me get her to the examination room.” It took only seconds to transfer the young patient to an exam table at the rear of the clinic, after which Jendra waved him out of her way as she set to work. Kirk and Spock hung nearby, watching intently.

McCoy could see a large gash in the girl's arm and pale blood running liberally from the wound. Jendra reached for a nearby clay pitcher with her free hand and began to pour water over the blood-covered wound. The girl screamed as the water hit her olive skin.

“Looks like a vein was hit,” Jendra said before whispering something McCoy could not hear to the still-squirming child. Looking at the mother, she asked, “What happened?”

“We were working in the fields near our home,” the woman replied. “Litari was clearing brush when she slipped in the mud and fell on the blade.” Holding a hand to her mouth, she trembled for a moment. “Can you help her?”

Rather than answering the question, Jendra said, “Leonard, bring me the tray on the middle shelf.” She nodded toward a set of wooden shelves to her right.

Glancing toward Kirk and Spock before doing as instructed, McCoy moved the tray near Jendra's left hand. “What can I do?” he asked.

“The dish with the green paste,” Jendra replied. “Take some and rub it on her upper lip, just under her nose.” As she continued to work at cleaning the struggling girl's wound, she added, “Don't inhale it yourself.”

“Bones,” McCoy heard Kirk say, the captain's tone one of caution, but he ignored it. Instead, he reached for what appeared to be nothing more than an earthen petri dish and—without thinking or even checking to see that his hands were clean—dipped his right forefinger into the viscous, emerald-colored substance it contained. Leaning forward, he applied the paste beneath the girl's nostrils even as Jendra kept working.

Almost immediately, the child's movements grew weaker and she began to relax. Less than ten seconds after he had applied the ointment, the girl's breathing slowed and she went limp on the examination table.

“I'll be damned,” McCoy breathed.

Reaching for what he saw was a rudimentary version of a hemostat, Jendra looked up from her work. “It would be better if the mother waited outside.” Her gaze locked with his for an instant before she glanced in the direction of her ever-present satchel, the meaning behind her words now quite plain.

She needs her equipment, and doesn't want to use it in front of the mother.

“We should all make room for the…
beloren,
” Spock said, taking the initiative and stepping toward the girl's mother.

When the woman did not budge from where she stood, Jendra looked to her and offered an encouraging smile. “Don't worry, Walirta. She's going to be fine.”

Walirta allowed Spock to escort her from the examination room, with Kirk following after them. McCoy reached for the door, intending to give Jendra and her patient some privacy, and before exiting the room nodded encouragement to his friend.

“I'll be outside if you need me,” he offered, and in that instant saw the determination in her eyes. Jendra's calling as a healer of body and spirit had led her to this place and to these people, and no person or regulation was going to hold sway over her.

But what are you trying to prove here? What do you think you can change?

Closing the door, he turned to find Kirk waiting for him, his jaw set in an expression of determination that the doctor knew too well.

“She's committed herself to this place, Jim,” he said, “and to these people. I don't think I can convince her to leave, at least not until I know more.” Frowning, he added, “Assuming I can get it out of her.”

Looking over his shoulder as though to ensure Spock had taken the Grennai woman out of earshot, Kirk said, “Bones, she's appointed herself their caretaker. She's using her advanced medical knowledge and equipment to treat them in clear violation of the Prime Directive. It's not that I don't sympathize with her desire to help, but…” He shook his head, his brow furrowing as he pondered the situation. “It's as if she feels responsible for them somehow, as though she can save them, but why? From what?”

McCoy had to admit that the same questions were troubling him, as well.

 

“What do you mean,
classified?”

Feeling his temper flare as he listened to the open communicator channel, Kirk rose from his chair and began to pace the small room at the front of Dr. Jendra's clinic.

From the communicator in his hand, the voice of Ensign Pavel Chekov replied,
“I am sorry, Captain, but all attempts to access the mission logs of the NGC-667 survey team are being rejected. Starfleet Command has flagged them off-limits except to authorized personnel.”
Static eroded the quality of the transmission, despite the signal-enhancing effects of channeling the connection through the larger and more powerful communications system of the shuttlecraft
Columbus,
which sat concealed in a wooded valley three kilometers distant.

It had taken a bit of digging by the resourceful ensign—with Spock helping him to create an A7 computer specialist's rating and access key—just to discover that there was more to Jendra's mission to NGC 667 than was recorded in the official file Kirk had already reviewed prior to the
Enterprise
's arrival in the system. Still, even the Vulcan's formidable prowess with Starfleet computer technology had proven insufficient to penetrate the security apparently surrounding the information Kirk now sought.

“Captain,”
came another voice from the communicator, this one belonging to Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu,
“Lieutenant Uhura has just informed me that she's received a subspace message from Admiral Komack. He wants to talk to you as soon as possible, and Uhura says the admiral doesn't sound very happy.”

From where he sat near the window at the front of the room that overlooked the village's main street, McCoy said, “Komack upset? That's a surprise.”

“Not now, Bones,” Kirk snapped. To his communicator, he said, “Stall the admiral, Mr. Sulu. What's the status on transporters?”

The
Enterprise
helmsman replied,
“Mr. Scott reports he's made some progress, but he's still running safety tests. He thinks he can certify it safe for biomatter within three hours, sir.”

It was not the best news, the captain thought, but it would have to do. “Keep me informed, Lieutenant. Kirk out.” As he closed the communicator and returned it to an inside pocket of his robe, Kirk shook his head. “I knew something about this wasn't right.” He looked to McCoy. “She came back here for a reason, Bones, and it has something to do with whatever Starfleet has classified about her first mission here.”