Strike Zone Part 8

Pulaski folded her arms. "So you want to tell me what this is all about? And I can request privacy, if you so wish," she said with a glance at Wesley.

Jaan didn't appear to understand what she was talking about. "You mean Orange? No, it's okay. Actually," he paused, "I suspect you already know what 'this is about' and you're just extending me the courtesy of being the one to say it."

"That's one interpretation," said Pulaski evenly. "You are aware of your condition, then."

"Of course."

Wesley looked from one to the other. "Well I'm not aware," he said in frustration.

For the first time since he'd known him, Wesley saw Jaan fumbling for words, looking for the best way to put something that was clearly uncomfortable for him. And when it became apparent that he was having difficulty, Pulaski stepped in.

"There's a very long, very complicated name for it," she said, and Wesley knew from all those times watching his mother in action that this was an example of a doctor putting on her best bedside manner. "The Selelvian nickname for it is 'the Rot.' It's genetically transmitted, and can strike at any time in the Selelvian life-cycle, although it usually doesn't hit until middle age."

"Right." Jaan grimaced. He wiped off the sweat that was beading on his forehead, and from nowhere, it seemed, Pulaski had a cloth in her hand and was dabbing at it. "You know me, Orange. Always beating the odds. Maybe about three, four percent get it as young as I do. Young, relatively speaking, that is."

"Okay," said Wesley slowly, as if it were taking time to sink in. "Okay, then. What's the cure, Doctor? How do we make him better?"

A long sigh issued from Katherine Pulaski. "I can treat the symptoms, Wes," she said slowly. "Relieve the pain of the abdominal cramps. The headaches, the nausea ... h.e.l.l, when the drowsiness and lethargy sets in, I could pump Jaan so full of drugs that his feet won't touch the floor, although I would really prefer not to, since they would impair his thinking."

"No," said Jaan flatly.

"I thought not. But the disease itself ... I'm sorry, Jaan, but you must know there's nothing I can do."

"Yes, I know."

Wesley looked from one to the other in disbelief. "What do you mean, nothing? There's got to be a cure for it."

"There's no cure."

"A vaccine."

"There's no vaccine," Pulaski almost snapped, but reined herself in. It wasn't any easier on her than on them to discuss it, but she had to be the one in control. Besides, she wasn't about to start explaining you can't vaccinate against a genetic disease. "I'm sorry, Wes ... Jaan. They simply haven't managed to develop one, yet. That's why when Selelvians mate they undergo blood tests for it, but unfortunately there is always a margin of error in those tests."

"See?" said Jaan with a cheerfulness he didn't feel. "I beat the odds again, Orange. Twice. I'm really lucky, aren't I?"

"So you're ... " Wesley could barely put coherent thoughts together, much less sentences. "So you're ... you're going to die? Is that what you're telling me? Is that what's going to happen, Doctor?"

"Wesley, we all-"

"Don't say it!" Wesley practically shrieked. He backed away from Pulaski as if she'd suddenly grown fangs. He stabbed an index finger at her. "Don't say, 'We all die someday, and we shouldn't be afraid,' and that 'Death is natural.' Dying when you're old is natural. But dying when you're young, when you're ... " He couldn't complete the sentence, and said instead, "How long?"

Pulaski looked from Wesley's agonized face to Jaan's stoic expression. She wondered briefly whether Jaan had reached the point where he had accepted what was happening inside his body, or whether he was simply bottling it all in and was a time bomb ticking down. "That depends," she said. "On the progression of the disease, on Jaan's-"

"HOW LONG?!"

It was a shout ripped from deep within him, and Wesley's yelled question brought all activity in the sickbay to a complete halt. Everyone was looking at him in astonishment, and he didn't care.

Her voice was so quiet in contrast to his that it was remarkable. "Six months to a year," she said.

He repeated what she had said, mouthing it in disbelief. He shook his head, and it was as if he were staring inward, trying to deal with what he'd been told. Something in the tumblers of his mind clicked.

"Your parents," he said. "You told me weeks ago that they'd been killed in some sort of accident. Back on Selelvia. That was what had made you go off into s.p.a.ce, because you wanted to get away from the memories of that." He paused, not wanting to believe it, because Pulaski had said it was an inherited disease, and if what he thought was true, then against all hope it confirmed it. "That ... that was a lie."

Slowly Jaan nodded.

"They ... they died of this disease, didn't they?"

With a sigh Jaan said, "Look, Orange ... "

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"How could I?" Jaan's calm was in stunning contrast to Wesley, Pulaski thought, especially considering that it was Jaan who was dying. Then again, the elf had had time to adjust to it. Or maybe he was still trying not to think about it. "Look, Orange ... it's not the kind of thing that's easy to discuss. And you'd been through enough. Bad enough that you lost your father ... "

"That was years ago," said Wesley. "I was a kid. It's over."

Katherine Pulaski pursed her lips. She had known Bev Crusher back when her husband had been killed. Bev had been a wreck, and Wesley had hardly been the little stoic ... no, wait, she realized. He had been. His mother had come unglued, but young Wesley had been tight-lipped, steel-jawed- the "man of the house," as countless relatives kept seeming to say of him. Tough, supportive ... he had seemed harder hit by news of Jaan than news of his own father. Or maybe she was imagining it, separated as she was by the long years.

Unaware of what was running through the doctor's mind, Jaan was saying, "And then your mom left you ... "

Wesley blew air through his teeth. "She didn't leave me, for pity's sake. She got a terrific career opportunity. She knew I was in good hands here. I told her not to pa.s.s it up. She was willing to stay here, and I told her she would be crazy to let a shot at head of Starfleet medicine go past ... " His voice trailed off and he snapped his fingers. "I'll contact my mom! She'd be up on the latest research! She'd ... "

"I can a.s.sure you," said Pulaski with just a hint of pique, "that I am up on it."

"Good. So there has to be something."

"There isn't."

"There has to be!"

"Wesley," she said tiredly, "research isn't my strength. But I'll be happy to make all the current medical knowledge available to you. Obviously the time you spent with your mother has rubbed off on you. You seem to have a better-than-layman's knowledge of medicine ... "

"Why shouldn't I?" said Wesley bitterly. "You know me. Wesley Crusher, the 'Brain Trust.' The sixteen-year-old computer on legs."

"You're getting yourself confused with Data again," said Jaan softly. "Listen, Orange-"

"No, you listen," said Wesley, and he stalked to Jaan's side. "You'll beat this thing. You will. That's all. You'll just beat it. Doctor, I'll take you up on your offer. About the medical journals. Hang on, Jaan. We'll do it. You and me." He turned and walked quickly out of sickbay.

There was silence for a long moment, and then Pulaski said, "Well, that could certainly have gone better."

"Orange is a funny guy," said Jaan. "What he can do is way up here"- and he raised his right hand high over his head-"and what he can handle is about here"- and his left hand was six inches lower. "So when you get to the area in between, well ... weird things can happen with him."

"Mm-hmmm. But now the question becomes, what's going to happen with you?"

"Pardon?"

"We should rotate you off-ship immediately."

"But why?" protested Jaan.

"Impaired efficiency."

"You can compensate for a lot of it," said Jaan. "You said so yourself. Look, Doctor ... I came on this ship to do my research work. To be able to study alien cultures firsthand. I've already gotten several articles written and published back home and when I've put together enough they'll be collected into one volume."

"I don't see how that-"

"Please, Doctor," he said, and if he was trying to use the Knack, she sure couldn't tell. This was genuine, heart-felt pleading. "When you write, you leave a bit of yourself behind. When you write enough, when you write something that really has impact, you can affect people and what they think long after you're gone. It's the closest thing to living forever that we've got. Please ... please don't deny me the immortality that my body is never going to give me. Please ... "

His lips trembled and he put his hands to his face, as if he could physically shove the tears back into his eyes.

And if he was using the Knack, then dammit, she didn't care.

"All right," she said softly. "I'll have to tell the captain of your condition, of course ... but I'll recommend that you be allowed to remain with the ship for as long as possible."

"Out of the question."

In the privacy of the captain's ready room, Picard stood with arms folded and entire body posture indicating that he wasn't going to hear a word of it.

"It's important," said Pulaski. She made a conscious effort to duplicate the way Picard was standing, to send a subtle message that she wasn't backing down on this.

"So is the efficient running of a starship. And a starship is not the place for a dying crew member."

"We're all of us dying, Captain, from the moment we're born."

"That's a lot of nonsense, Doctor, as far as this situation is concerned, and you know it."

She sighed. "Yes, I know. Wesley didn't buy that line of reasoning, so I shouldn't have expected you to."

"Wesley? What does-?"

She didn't give him the opportunity to change subjects. "However, it is my medical recommendation that Jaan be allowed to remain aboard, at least until the disease reaches its later stages and he becomes unable to function. As long as he's capable of making a contribution, why shouldn't he be allowed to, Captain? Who's he going to hurt?"

"That's not the point. A starship is no place for a-"

"Dying crewman, yes I know. But he's not a crew member, he's a civilian, and don't make that face, Captain. 'Civilian' isn't a dirty word."

"What face?"

"That twitch. That little irritating twitch around your eye every time civilians are mentioned."

Picard looked as if an iron rod had been jammed down his spine. Every word a bullet, he said, "I have no nervous twitch."

"You do."

"That's absurd."

Pulaski paused a moment. Then with slow, measured steps she walked right up to the captain, and stood toe-to-toe with him.

"Civilian," she said.

Picard twitched.

"A-HA!"

" 'A-ha' nothing."

"You twitched. I saw it."

"Doctor, your charming efforts to divert my attention are going to do you no good whatsoever." He circled around to his desk and sat down behind it, as if the physical obstruction between himself and Dr. Pulaski gave him a measure of security. "Your patient will be returned to his home."

"My patient has a name. It's Jaan. Jaan Baat-Utuul-Bayn-Devin. It's not as impressive as a rank, of course, but he's ent.i.tled to be referred to by a name, as is any civilian."

Picard tried to fight off the twitch and failed, to his annoyance and Pulaski's apparent satisfaction. "It is my decision," he said, "that Jaan be sent back to his people. My authority on this ship is final."

"Not when it comes to medical decisions," she said.

"This is not a medical decision, this is a personnel decision, and it's been made."

"Fine. Make your decision." She dropped down into the chair opposite him.

"It's made."

"Good. I officially file my appeal to your decision."

"Appeal denied."

"All right. Now that you've denied it, I'll appeal to the level above you, and the level above that, and as high as I have to go." She smiled at him with that d.a.m.nable beautiful smile that was almost as attractive as her eyes (and why did she have to be so blasted attractive), and said, "As you know, Starfleet does allow for an extensive appeals process when the medical head comes into conflict with the ship's captain. To protect the ultimate authority of both positions."

"Yes, I know that."

"And you also know the appeals process takes somewhere around six months. During which time your decision will not be in force regarding Jaan. So while we slug it out in appeals, he'll be allowed to be a useful member of this stargoing society."

Picard felt a fury building in him and slammed it down, but couldn't keep all of the anger from his voice as he said, "I do not appreciate this challenge to my authority from someone relatively new to this ship!"

"So I'm new!" shot back Pulaski. "I didn't know one had to be a veteran like yourself to care about people! Well I'll tell you what, Captain. Maybe you'll be lucky! You see, I think Jaan has as little as six months to live ... about as long as the appeals process. But maybe fortune will favor you, and Jaan will drop dead before that!"

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could have called them back. It was as if she'd struck him a blow across the face. For a moment, he actually looked stunned.

She looked down, ashamed of herself. "I'm sorry," she said with real sincerity. "That was a hideous thing to say."

The silence hung heavily in the ready room, and when Picard spoke it was without the authoritarian stiffness and clipped tone she'd come to expect.

"Do as you see fit, Katherine," he said softly.

She looked up at him now, and there was no anger in his eyes. Only sadness. "All I ask is that you keep me apprised of his condition."

"Of course." She paused. "Thank you."

She turned to go and stopped at the door as Picard added, "And Katherine ... "