Had it not been for the Galen’s disaster, that choice might have taken root. Given time to nurture it, she might have come to truly embrace it. But there had been no time, since then, to do that. And now, there never would be.
Nancy Conlon knew what she wanted. All that was required for her to attain it was release.
She could no longer feel the Doctor’s hand holding hers. Her last thought as she drifted away was to wonder if she would ever actually feel the touch of anyone’s hand on hers again.
Commander Glenn had remained by Lieutenant Velth’s bedside as he slept, continuing to run tests and analyze results. His recovery from his extended sojourn with the Edrehmaia was coming along, slow and steady. Once returned to the ship’s atmosphere and given intravenous fluids and nutrients, his body had begun to heal at what appeared to her to be an accelerated rate.
There were, however, a few causes for concern. Both his bronchial and nasal passages were inflamed. This could have resulted from the levels of oxygen and the specific method of filtering carbon dioxide used by the Edrehmaia to sustain him inside his EV suit. She had done several panels searching for any infectious agents and found a few anomalies, but nothing that was generating a typical immune response. She was tempted to write these symptoms off as a secondary infection or simple inflammation—tempted, but not yet content.
Further, his cellular metabolism had increased, even in the absence of ingested nutrients. He was periodically receiving synthesized compounds meant to slowly restore normal metabolic functions, but these seemed to have been sent into overdrive. As with the inflammation, there was no discernible cause.
Selah’s analysis of the Edrehmaia’s water-generating technology had been predictably inconclusive. The substance itself was composed of dozens of molecular compounds that were not identifiable by the ship’s computers. Much like the Sevenofninonium that had brought the fleet to DK-1116, it seemed to be composed of synthetic elements and isotopes that were either as yet undiscovered or created by the Edrehmaia for purposes of their own. None of these were present in Velth’s blood, but the long-term effects of his exposure to them remained to be seen.
She tried, as ever, not to allow fear of the unknown to create anxiety. For now, he seemed to be well into his recovery and within a few days could likely return to duty. That he had survived at all was a miracle, and she tried to focus on that unexpected blessing rather than unknowable consequences.
His return had also provided some new insight into their alien friends. It was interesting to her how quickly her perspective of them had shifted from aggressors, hostiles, or captors to benevolent, if inscrutable, entities. Their actions did seem to indicate curiosity and a desire to communicate, even if their language was conceptually limited. There was clearly more to this entire situation than she yet understood. In time, she hoped more clarity would be possible.
The sound of raised voices had briefly drawn her from Velth’s room into the main bay. Lieutenant Kim had entered with Lieutenant Conlon and she had immediately become the focus of the Doctor’s efforts. He had called for Lieutenant Barclay as an unspoken understanding had passed between her and the EMH. Clearly, the time to transfer Conlon’s consciousness had come. She hoped the procedure would be effective. Conlon’s last reports had indicated that they would soon be ready to attempt to recrystallize enough benamite to restore the slipstream drive and begin their journey back to the fleet. It now seemed possible that the Edrehmaia, their curiosity satisfied, might be willing to allow them to depart in peace.
Glenn had left the Doctor and Barclay to their work and returned to Velth’s bedside, surprised to find him sitting up on the side of his biobed.
“How are you feeling?” she greeted him.
“Starving,” he replied. “I need to eat.”
Given his bloodwork, this wasn’t surprising. In fact, it might be a good time to reintroduce solid food to his diet.
“Sickbay’s replicators are notoriously limited, but let me see what we can do here,” she replied. “How does chicken and rice sound?”
Velth shook his head. “Terrible.”
“If you can keep it down, I promise your next meal will include cheese,” Glenn offered.
Velth lifted his eyes to hers. Normally, they were a gentle hazel color. Now, both his pupils and the irises were jet black.
Glenn suddenly remembered the two different genomes that the Edrehmaia had used in reference to Velth. Wondering how vast the changes they had made to him were, she reached instinctively for a medical tricorder and began a new scan. It revealed even higher metabolic functions than she had previously observed and incredibly odd enzymatic levels. She had not yet lowered the tricorder when Velth slid off the bed and moved to the replicator.
“Stand down, Lieutenant Velth,” Glenn said in a tone that was clearly an order as she moved to her instrument panel on the room’s diagnostic station to retrieve a hypo and code it with a sedative.
He ignored her, his fingers tapping the replicator pad as he hastily searched through the available options.
“No, no, no,” he said, growing more anxious by the second.
“Ranson, listen to me,” Glenn said as she stepped cautiously toward him. There was something
