Human Kind

Beverly Crusher hurried into the auxiliary research lab still wearing her red surgical gown, the hood pushed back off her head. Her hair was loose on one side and lay in sweat-dampened tendrils against her neck. Impatiently she brushed it away and readjusted her hairclip.

Geordi looked up and nodded a curt greeting before returning to the delicate tangle of components and tools laid out on one of the side tables. Beyond him, in the center of the room was the lab's one biobed, and on it was Data, although only his legs were visible beyond the assembly of diagnostic equipment.

Beverly hesitated just a moment, battling the weariness that fought for control of her body. She'd already logged a very busy shift when the emergency call came in, and that was hours and two surgeries ago. Now she faced her last and perhaps most difficult task of the day. Closing her eyes, she focused inward, drawing on her last reserves of energy to fight off the exhaustion. Her whole body felt too heavy to move, but she wouldn't allow that to stop her. She had a patient to attend to. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she exhaled and opened her eyes again, ready to face the challenge ahead.

Two of Geordi's teams had been working in access corridors, adjusting delicate circuitry. While using a microfuser, one of the techs had hit a pocket of tritium. The explosion had nearly deafened the two crewmembers as well as causing burns, lacerations and seared lungs. Unfortunately, during a rescue attempt, a second pocket of gas had ignited causing Data to shut down. He'd been "unconscious" when they beamed him to sickbay, but by then Beverly was already in surgery.

"Any luck?" Beverly asked, placing a hand on Geordi's shoulder. She didn't bother to hide the weariness in her voice. The young man was slumped over the worktable, his posture telling her that he was as tired as she. He held a surgical tool in one hand and steadied it with the other. Before him was one of Data's cranial plates, the fringe of hair making it look absurd.

"Not yet, Doc. I just got here a little while ago. The clean-up and repair took longer than we thought."

She nodded, distractedly, turning towards the biobed and adjusting her tricorder for Data.

And then she saw his face.

*****

"Anything you can tell me would help, Geordi."

La Forge rubbed a hand over his jaw, using the movement to try to hide a yawn. He struggled to put into words what he had seen.

"I really wasn't paying much attention, Counselor. I was fixing a damaged connection in his motor control circuitry. The Doc came in, we exchanged a few words, and then... she made this funny sound, almost like choking. She started backing away, just a step or two, her heart rate and respiration were way up, and then she just walked away. She didn't say anything. It was like she forgot I was there."

"It upset you," Deanna said it gently, but was immediately aware of the engineer's defenses building up. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah," he admitted at last. "I guess it did. Dr. Crusher's risked her life a hundred times for patients. She's worked for days without sleep. But I've never seen her like this. She just walked away, and a few minutes later Dr. Timms came in and said that Doctor Crusher had asked him to assist me."

"Hadn't he assisted you before?"

"Sure, but only when Doctor Crusher was off ship. She's always insisted on treating Data herself, just as she treats all of the senior staff."

"Do you have any idea why she might have left, Geordi?"

The engineer looked away, and although Deanna couldn't see his eyes she could clearly read his emotions. "Yeah," he answered at last. "I think she was afraid of him."

*****

"We're playing games with time, Counselor. How much longer do you think Starfleet will accept these incidents before they take action? There are far too many at headquarters that want to see Beverly quietly removed from service."

"I am well aware of that, sir," Deanna responded uneasily. "They are depending on my recommendations to justify those actions."

The two officers regarded each other across the captain's ready room desk. It was an uneasy silence, finally broken by the door chime.

"Come," Picard called, grateful for the distraction.

Beverly Crusher walked in, striding purposely across the room, PADD in hand. "Captain. Counselor." She addressed them formally, her professional mask firmly in place. She placed the PADD on Picard's desk, then turned to leave.

"Beverly," Picard spoke first, but Deanna interrupted, hoping to stop what she feared was inevitable, but the doctor's inner turmoil told her there wasn't much chance of changing her mind now.

"May I speak with you, Doctor?"

Beverly looked directly at Picard, but replied to Deanna, "No, Counselor, you may not. Sir," she inclined her head to the captain, then left.

*****

"Data, this is not your fault."

"Are you sure, Geordi? It was the incident related to my being injured that started this chain of events. Does that not imply that I am the cause?"

"No, Data, it doesn't. Doctor Crusher is responsible for her own actions. She would be the first one to tell you that if she were here."

"Based on previous behavior patterns, Geordi, I believe you are right." The android paused a moment and looked away. Slowly he brought his eyes back to Geordi's. "But I still feel as though I am responsible."

Geordi nodded slowly. "I know what you mean, Data. I know what you mean."

*****

"Counselor, may I ask you a question?"

"Yes, Data," Deanna replied slowly, looking at Will as the android entered her quarters. Will Riker was seated comfortably, indicating he had been there for a while. The android greeted him before taking a seat. "What is it?" Deanna asked.

"I heard that Starfleet wants to remove Dr. Crusher from active duty."

"There has been no formal request, Data," Riker replied quickly. "Where did you hear that?"

"Perhaps I should not reveal my information source, Commander," Data responded carefully. The first officer considered that a moment, then nodded his agreement.

"What else have you heard?"

"There are admirals at Starfleet Medical who want Dr. Crusher studied. There are some who believe that she is a danger to the Fleet. Others consider her a valuable test subject on the Borg. Either way, they want her back on Earth where they can keep an eye on her."

"There's more, isn't there, Data?" Deanna prodded.

"Yes. The incident after the explosion two days ago. Your report on the matter convinced key members of Medical that Dr. Crusher is unstable and can no longer be trusted to function as CMO. I would anticipate reassignment orders arriving within the next week."

Deanna shook her head. "They've already arrived, Data. Effective 0800 hours tomorrow, Beverly is to be relieved of all duties as CMO and escorted back to Earth for a competency hearing. Two hours ago she tendered her resignation from Starfleet."

"Then it is already too late," Data stated.

"No, it's not," Riker replied. "That's what Deanna and I were discussing. Look, Data, none of us know what really happened in that lab two days ago. Until we have that answer, there is nothing we can do to defend Beverly. The Captain is holding Beverly's resignation until we can formulate some kind of plan. But we need to know what happened."

*****

"It doesn't matter. Nothing I say matters. Starfleet wants Locutus in their little rat lab to be poked and prodded and controlled." Fighting tears, Beverly turned away, pulling out of Jean-Luc's arms.

"Stop it," he commanded, restraining her with his embrace. "Don't do this again. Don't shut me out. Damn it, Beverly, just tell me what happened. Talk to me. Let me help you."

She pulled away and went to the viewport, watching her reflection in the clear surface. She reached up to touch her temple, running her hand down her face. The flesh was warm and soft under her fingers, yet she felt only cold.

"I don't know who I am, Jean-Luc. I don't know who that is."

He joined her, looking at their reflection. She was still rubbing at her face, pressing hard at the skin. Only the fact that she had bitten her nails short saved her from scratching herself. He caught her hand, bringing it to his heart. "I gave you my breath to save you once, my love. I gave you my heart. If I could, I would give you my soul as well. I would do anything to make you whole, Beverly. Anything."

"Would you love a monster?"

"No. I love you, my heart, and you could never be a monster."

"I walked away from a patient who needed me."

"Why?" His urgent question pleaded for an answer.

She turned to him, her eyes dry, agony in her voice. "When I saw... he was lying there, so still. I saw the circuitry..." She looked away, letting her hair fall over her face. "For just a second... I thought he was a..."

"You thought he was a Borg. Oh, Beverly, why didn't you just tell me that he frightened you. It's perfectly understandable."

She shook her head. "No, no. You don't understand at all." She looked out through that curtain of hair, her eyes filled with shame. "I was happy to see him."

For just a second, shock left Jean-Luc's expression unguarded. It was all Beverly needed to see, the pure moment of disgust/confusion/anger that left her freefalling back into hell. She pulled away from him and ran, leaving him, leaving her quarters. Only the sound of her confession chased her, mocking her as she ran.

*****

He used the security override to get past the holodeck lock. She was in there, he knew, with no programs running. The harsh yellow on black grid was dimmed to half-light, almost concealing the figure in the far corner. She was in a meditation pose, one used by a small Caldosian sect. It was a demanding, painful posture, requiring rigid concentration. He allowed her to remain that way, watching as she whispered the silent recitations of the Seventh Discipline.

There was a half-empty glass of wine and a sliver of flatbread beside her on a wooden plate, the only food or drink she would allow be for three days if she followed the traditional ritual. Unfortunately, they didn't have that long.

"Doctor?"

She kept whispering, but her hands clenched at her sides.

He called her again. And again. Finally he placed a hand on her shoulder and gripped it lightly.

"I need to speak to you now."

She flinched.

"Beverly, please."

She looked at him, surprised both by his plea and by the use of her first name. "What is it, Data?"

"I am sorry to disturb you, but I must talk to you."

She sat back on her heels, taking the strain off her knees. "What is it that can't wait?"

"I want to apologize."

"What for?"

"I know what has happened with Starfleet. I am responsible for your current situation. I am sorry."

"Data, you're not responsible for anything. This is between Starfleet and myself. You did nothing wrong."

"If I were not injured, you would not have tried to help me, and I would not have frightened you."

"You did not frighten me."

"Are you sure, Beverly? Although I was not 'conscious' at the time, I do have a record of the incident in the biolab. The expression on your face corresponds to those of people faced with something they consider disturbing or frightening."

"It's not that simple, Data."

"According to research, intense desire is often the most frightening of responses."

"Yes, it is," Beverly agreed. She wanted to turn away, to get away from this android whose presence was such a painful reminder of things she would rather forget.

"Beverly, I have noticed that you no longer appear comfortable in my presence."

"You are right, Data," she confessed. "I am sorry if I have hurt you. It's just, you remind me..." she couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence.

"There is no need to explain," the android responded.

"But there is, Data. So much was taken from me, my skills, my medical knowledge, control of my own body. There are times I wake up aching from the pain of it. And yet there are others when my mind betrays me, when some tiny part of me longs for that connection, that oneness again. I am no longer Locutus, Data, yet I am not myself either. There are times I fear I will never be myself again."

She shook her head sadly. "How can you understand, Data? How can I explain this to you? How could you understand what I desire?"

Data looked at her, his head tilted slightly as he tried to imitate the gestures of empathy he had often seen her use on her patients.

"I believe I understand, Beverly," he told her at last.

She met his gaze, her eyes studying him, and she realized, of all her friends, that he truly was the only one who would understand. For her desire was the same as his. They both wanted to be human.

*****

Jean-Luc paced restlessly across the day area of his quarters. Three books lay abandoned at various places in the room, splayed facedown where he had left them. The written word held no attraction for him tonight. No more attraction than the snack that he'd barely sampled before leaving it on the dining room table; or the barely tasted port that reflected color onto the coffee table.

The sole focus of Jean-Luc's attention was sleeping fitfully in their bed. He stood in the doorway, watching her toss and turn. Even in sleep she suffered, and in turn, he was tortured by her pain.

It was late when Data brought her home. Her eyes were dry, her expression what he'd come to think of as her "Good Girl" face - polite, smiling, almost vapid. But her eyes betrayed her, always, and as soon as Data was gone she had dropped the pretense.

She offered him no excuses, no explanations for where she'd been or why. He already knew the where and suspected the why. It was the company she kept that surprised him and he asked the question with his eyes. She didn't answer, instead she pressed herself against him and kissed him deeply.

"Love me," she pleaded, and he did, meeting her desperate demands with his own, loving her until she fell into an exhausted slumber.

He held her for a long time, just feeling her pressed against him, cherishing her.

Reluctantly he had moved away, leaving the warmth and comfort of the bed for the chill of the outer room and the responsibilities it held.

The comm terminal shone in the half-light, beckoning him. He ignored it, seeking solace in books, then food, and finally the port. Nothing worked. The sounds of her troubled sleep compelled him and he fought the urge to go to her, to take her in his arms and soothe her again.

There were duties and obligations and he should attend to, but he forsook them for a more urgent task. A task that could cost him everything he held precious.

The letter took the better part of three hours to compose. It was twenty-three screens worth of text documenting every moment of his time with Beverly Crusher after her recovery from the Borg alterations. It revealed more of himself than he'd entrusted to anyone before, even her. But it was necessary, and if it cost him his captaincy and his ship, then he would survive. Beverly had endured far worse and survived.

"Oh, how noble."

"What do you want, Q?" he demanded, looking in the direction of that voice. The omnipotent being was seated in Picard's favorite chair, idly thumbing his book and sipping his port. Jean-Luc deliberately saved his work and cleared the screen before looking up again.

"It's not nice to ignore deities bearing gifts, mon capitaine."

"You're no deity, Q. I want none of your gifts."

"Oh, really? Not even if the gift is for a friend? For someone suffering?" Q deliberately set down the book, then drained the port. "For someone dying?"

"You once told me humans were always suffering and dying, Q. What reason could you possibly have for helping this suffering person?"

Q stood and walked closer, sure of Picard's undivided attention. Despite himself, the captain was interested, and Q knew it. "Why, to gain the one thing I desire most, Jean-Luc. Your undying gratitude."

"You'll never have that, Q." Picard was disgusted with himself for even considering anything the being might say. No matter what, the cost was always too high.

From the other room, Beverly moaned and thrashed about. Q turned to look at her, and his posture changed to one of intense interest.

"She has the most interesting dreams, Jean-Luc. Would you like to see?"

"No," Picard snapped. "Leave her out of this, Q."

"Oh, but I can't, mon capitaine. She's the reason I'm here. You see, the Continuum has decided that I must make amends for what was done to her. They think I was responsible..."

"You alerted the Borg to our presence. It would have been centuries before they discovered us. We would have been better able to defend ourselves." Picard looked towards the bedroom again. "Lives would have been spared."

"So they claim." Q dismissed the notion with the wave of his hand, then smiled not very nicely and leaned forward. "But we know better, don't we, Jean-Luc?"

Picard stepped back, distancing himself from Q and from the seductive thoughts of what he was being offered. It wasn't for himself that he was tempted; but if Q could really help Beverly...

"Let me help her, Jean-Luc. Let me free her from the pain and torment." He leaned forward whispering, "Let me help her before it's too late."

He looked at Q sharply, nerves raw at having his deeply held fear exposed. "What do you mean, 'too late'?" he demanded.

Q looked at the sleeping woman, pity on his face. By the time he looked back at Picard, the captain was ready to physically pin the being down and demand an explanation.

"You know exactly what I mean, Jean-Luc. You've thought the same thing yourself; I can see it on your face." His voice lowered. "How much can one soul endure? Especially one as brittle as Beverly."

It was said without scorn, or arrogance, or even disdain. Q's voice was soft, and there seemed to be something almost like regret in his tone. Picard felt his artificial heart heavy in his chest, and his breathing was harsh.

"What can be done to help her?"

There was a momentary flash of victory in Q's eyes, a faint twitch of his lip. "I can offer you a wager, mon capitane. A gentlemen's agreement. I make the good doctor an offer. If she accepts, then I will alter history - she will never have been abducted by the Borg."

"And if she refuses?"

"Then I will let you choose for her. You may choose to save her, or leave her like this," he gestured at the form in the tangled bedding, "until she dies."

"And what's the wager?"

"Now that's the interesting part, Jean-Luc. If the good doctor chooses to alter history, someone else will have to take her place. Someone else will become Locutus." He waved dramatically. "I wager that the doctor will accept, and if she does, then you get to choose the new Locutus."

"Why me?"

"Why, because it will have to be one of your crew, Jean-Luc. Tell me, who would you sacrifice to save your lover? The Klingon? The empath? I know, Broccoli. Imagine it, Jean-Luc, a chance to save your precious Beverly from her horrible fate."

"You think that will gain my undying gratitude, Q? I thought better of you. After all this time, you're still the arrogant, pathetic being you always were. You'll never understand humans, Q, and you'll never have my gratitude."

Q managed to look hurt. "Pathetic? Why Jean-Luc, I'm wounded. If you have a better idea why don't you tell me?"

"This is a waste of time, Q. Go back to the Continuum and play your games. Beverly needs me."

The expression was one of calculation now, with a hint of victory. "Would you really risk your career for her, Jean-Luc? Would you give up your ship for a woman?"

"Yes, Q, I would." The answer came without hesitation.

"And you think that proves your love for her?" Before Picard could reply, Q answered for him. "You're not doing anything more than the rest of your happy little crew." A wave of the hand and they were in Will Riker's quarters. The first officer and Deanna Troi were sitting together obviously in the middle of a serious discussion.

"So Admirals Benson and D'aariu have given their support but Freed, Kathar and Virik have refused. That leaves Eriall and Smythe. If they agree with us, the hearing will be suspended indefinitely pending a full psychological evaluation and approval of three senior medical officers and an admiral. We've got Kate Pulaski's agreement to review the case, and Doctors Gariad and Quaice as backup."

"Quaice? I thought he retired."

"He did. It lasted three months. He's been on special assignment for Starfleet Medical ever since - heading up a research project Beverly started when she was head of Medical."

"Won't the admirals see that as a conflict of interest?"

"Quaice has got more than 50 years in Starfleet, Will. No one's going to question his loyalties. He plays the simple country doctor very well, but there's not a soul in the Fleet that can get around him unless he lets them. Including Beverly."

"So that's where she learned it," Will said with a smile. He and Deanna exchanged looks, then reluctantly turned back to their PADDs. Now was not the time to get distracted.

"Deanna," Will said after a moment. "You realize what will happen to you if this fails. They'll reassign you. Probably to a nice backwater mental facility."

"I know. 'Letting personal matters interfere with professional judgment.' But that's not the case, Will, and you know it. Beverly doesn't deserve to be treated like this. And I am tired of having my work used against her. I made those reports as a professional counselor. The minute Medical let those admirals get their hands on them without proper authorization, they violated doctor/patient confidentiality laws that have been in place for hundreds of years."

"That's not exactly true, Deanna. The admirals invoked the State of War clause. They claim Beverly is a threat to the security of the Federation."

"And my reports only helped reinforce that claim."

"Anything you wrote would have been used against her, Deanna. You know that. That's why we have to keep this quiet until we know how those last two members of the review panel stand."

"I wish you would let me handle this alone. Will. If this doesn't work out, the next time they offer you a captaincy it will probably be a garbage scow."

"You think my chances are that good?" he teased. "Deanna, what is being done to Beverly is wrong, and I won't stand by worrying about my career while people try to turn her into a lab rat. So let's stop worrying about each other and concentrate on her." He grinned. "After all, even garbage scows need counselors. Maybe we'll get demoted together."

"Now there's a thought," Deanna replied, managing a smile. "One thing is certain. My mother won't be in a hurry to visit us."

"See? There's something good in every situation."

*****

Will Riker's last words faded away, and the room melted, giving way to another, similar, room where Geordi and Data were seated on chairs, facing each other across a table littered with spare components and various small tools.

"That's about it. Give it a try, Data."

The android lifted the small, gray, roughly spherical object and studied it. Its surface was shiny and smooth. He tossed it into the air and caught it. The object made a soft chiming noise. He shook it and it chimed again. Then he dropped it onto the carpet and the two watched as it bounced a few times then rolled erratically across the floor before pausing and rolling back. After a moment Data reached down and picked it up.

"Thank you, Geordi. I am sure Spot will like this."

"I hope so, Data." The engineer started clearing away the mess.

"May I ask you a question, Geordi?""

"Sure, Data. You know you can ask me anything."

"I wish to help Dr. Crusher."

"I understand, Data. We all want to help. I've already sent a petition to the review panel requesting a re-evaluation of her case. It's a long shot, but it has been done before."

"The last time that a hearing was postponed because of a petition was 47 years ago, Geordi. Petitions to the review panel are seldom successful. But they have been known to be detrimental to the person who submitted the petition."

"I know that, Data. I could be looking at a career as a window washer after this, but I had to try."

"I understand, Geordi. Which is why I submitted a petition as well."

The two officers looked at each other for a moment, and then Data offered, "Perhaps I could help you wash windows."

*****

The sound of strained laughter followed Picard and Q as they returned to the captain's quarters. Picard's limbs tingled from traveling in that way and he felt a bit light-headed.

"Wasn't that delightfully Dickens, Jean-Luc? I took that from one of your favorite authors. A wonderful way to spy on your officers."

"They don't need spying on, Q. And I'm not surprised by what we saw. My officers are loyal to each other. No one on this ship holds Beverly at fault for being Locutus."

"No one, perhaps, but herself." Q gestured to the bed where Beverly suddenly sat up, wild-eyed with terror from her dreams.

"Jean-Luc?" she called out fearfully. "Where are you?"

"I'm here," he reassured her, hurrying into the room. Q followed along, unnoticed.

She buried her head in Jean-Luc's shoulder, holding him tightly as her fears subsided. "I can't do this," she murmured brokenly.

"Then don't."

She looked up, glaring at the source of that statement. "What do you want, Q?"

He told her, his tone seductive as he offered her the chance to never become Locutus, the chance to have her life back. There was a moment when she was tempted, her eyes betraying her. But she took one of Jean-Luc's hands in hers and used that touch, that connection, to find her strength. And she refused.

"What do you get out of this? Someone else to take my place? Someone else to torture? No, thank you."

"I had no idea you were a masochist, Doctor. If I'd have known you like to suffer..."

"That's enough, Q. You have your answer from Beverly. Here's my answer: no. Leave us alone. We don't need your kind of help."

"Pathetic. Fine, enjoy your suffering, Doctor, for the little time you have left. And Jean-Luc, be sure you lock up all the sharp implements. Suicides are so messy."

A final look of disgust and Q was gone.

Strangely enough, hearing his fears voiced gave Picard new strength. He truly had feared Beverly would take her own life. Looking at her now, he realized she would never do that. She was stronger than he realized, and he had never doubted her strength of will.

They would fight this, together. And in the morning, he would call the rest of his senior officers together and they would find a way to postpone that hearing. But for now, he would hold Beverly and show her how very much he loved her.

Later, when they were sleeping, Q returned to bestow his promised gift. For Jean-Luc he left a dream, vivid and disturbing, of what it would be like to have been Locutus of Borg. In its aftermath, the captain had a better understanding of what Beverly had endured. And as she comforted her terrified lover, Beverly Crusher remembered what it felt like to be alive, and needed, and human.

In the farthest reaches of space, Q congratulated himself on a job well done.

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