Star Trek Read Free

lining the pool when the rain stopped, but by then he’d gotten a cold and hadn’t really felt up to doing it. He just holed himself up in the house and watched old comedy vids, but switched to dramas after the laughing started provoking severe coughing fits.
    Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 53663.3.
The
da Vinci
is oddly quiet. Most of the crew is off the ship, either engaged in various fixer-up projects on Sherman’s Planet or engaging in some much-needed shore leave. Left on the ship, there’s only myself, who just had shore leave a week ago; Wong at conn keeping us from falling out of orbit; Stevens, who begged off leave because “somebody had to run the ship here”; Hawkins, because Corsi insisted on leaving somebody on board, and Hawkins used up his leave time after the incident on the
Debenture of Triple-Lined Latinum
in any event.
    And Dr. Lense.
    I was actually of two minds as to keeping Lense up here. On the one hand, shore leave might be good for her. On the other hand, wandering around in a funk during a leave might draw even more attention to her, which I’m studiously trying to avoid. Besides, with the ship pretty much empty, it allows me to conduct a lengthier session with her, without drawing grief from the crew.
    I’m keeping a copy of our sessions here in my personal log, to help collect my own thoughts and observations and to have a record I can hand to Starfleet Medical, if necessary. I’m hoping it won’t come to that—but after today’s session, I think I begin to realize just how damaged she might be. These quotes should illustrate.
    TRANSCRIPT STARTS
L: Hello, Captain.
G: Hello, Doctor. Good to see you.
L: If you say so.
G: Have a seat. Water?
L: Yes. You’ve almost gotten this down to a routine, haven’t you?
G: I hope so. My grandmother told me good manners should always be routine.
L: How sweet. What was her opinion on prying into someone’s personal life?
G: She wholeheartedly practiced it.
L: Of course she did.
G: I
nudzh.
It’s what I do. If you prefer, I’m invoking captain’s privilege. You don’t like it, find another counselor. Shall we get started?
L: Sure, why not.
G: So.
L: So.
G: Where would you like to start?
L: I wouldn’t.
G: No, no, no. Not an option.
L: Of course not. Pick a point, then. I have no idea.
G: All right. Why do you call the EMH “Emmett”?
L: [Laughs.] You don’t know? I thought it was obvious.
G: I’m slow to understand sometimes. Why don’t you enlighten me?
L: He’s an Emergency Medical Technician. An EMT. You know, E-M-T. “Emmett.” Get it?
G: Oh, of course. I should have realized. Okay, new topic. When did you first decide you wanted to be a doctor?
L: I don’t know … I was maybe thirteen or so. The competition for ballerinas was too intense.
G: Surely competition didn’t bother you?
L: No, it didn’t. I was kidding. Okay … it was something I was good at. I picked it up like that. It was easy to envision how a body was all put together, and how making a few changes here and there could affect so many things, make so many things happen.
G: And from all accounts, you were excellent at it.
L: Yes, a true idiot savant.
G: Oh, now come on. Aren’t you being needlessly hard on yourself?
L: Maybe. But I am a good doctor. I’m supposed to be able to make these brilliant diagnoses.
G: And yet, we agree your performance has been off its peak recently. When do you think it started?
L: A little surprise happened about three years ago, when I was on the
Lexington.
It turned out that the salutatorian of my class, Julian Bashir, was genetically enhanced.
G: I’ve heard of him. He’s still the chief medical officer of Deep Space 9, correct?
L: Yes. I understand his father pled guilty to the illegal genetic engineering charges and was sent to prison. Since it happened to Julian as a child and he was shown to be perfectly capable