Metallic tendrils leapt from the cyborg - originating in the
general location of the tendons of Extensor Communis - towards
his neck. But all they did was hit the wall, having passed
through the Emergency Medical Hologram’s magnetic containment
field. They retracted. Lifeless eyes looked down upon him. He
blinked and tilted his head.
"Something tells me you’ll be needing something stronger."
Knuckled fist up to his neck, and again three assimilation
tubules hit the wall behind him with a muted "thuk"
The medical hologram rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh of
affected boredom as the Borg drone stared at him through dead
eyes. Suddenly all three drones jerked their heads up as
though
startled by a sudden noise audible only to them. A few seconds
later, they turned and left, one behind the other.
Danger abated, the EMH grinned smugly. His first duty was a
success. Doctor Crusher would be pleased.
He walked over to the hatch of a Jeffries tube situated low down
on a far wall behind a biobed, and hesitated before opening it.
The hologram bent stiffly to look in. There was nothing within
immediate proximity, nor were there any sounds. He straightened
up and pondered a thought, then closed the hatch.
The doors had large gaps, revealing the corridor and leaving
Sickbay perpetually exposed. Deep dents from where the Borg
initially tried to punch their way in had distorted them, wedging
them in place.
"Fairly messy for a species that strives for perfection," he
muttered aloud.
Then, suddenly, he stopped. A smug grin again spread across his
face. There had not been a string of protocols to occupy him
since the Chief Medical Officer's order. This means the EMH had
time to observe, ponder, and form opinions. He was his own
hologram! So there he stood just inside the damaged doorway, all
panels throughout the facility flashing red, a corridor ominously
devoid of footfalls…
No. Wait. There was a sound. Not quite scraping, not quite the
shifting of weighted fabric along the texture of carpeting.
Someone was sneaking along the corridor walls towards Sickbay.
With that revelation, the hologram took a step back from the
entrance. Dr. Crusher had left him in charge, and it was up to
him to defend Sickbay!
With inspiration in his nonexistent heart, the EMH looked for a
means of defense. Being an EMH, naturally the first thing to come
to mind was a debilitating pharmaceutical. He quickly jammed a
vial of Neurazine into a hypospray and trotted back towards the
door. He scooted to one side of the doorway and pressed his
shoulder blades against the wall. The sounds were just outside
the door. Hypospray raised, the hologram expertly keyed in a
hefty dose with his thumb. He was ready.
The scrape was loud as mass slid lengthwise along the door. He
followed the mass' movement to the Sickbay carpet. There fell an
ensign. The EMH quickly knelt down and turned the officer over to
make an impromptu evaluation:
Second degree plasma burns - no doubt from standing within close
proximity of an exploding bulkhead. The hologram examined the
jugular; no sign of the assimilation process evident.
Not built for exceptional physical prowess, the hologram grunted
as he pulled the victim clear of the door, dragging him beside a
biobed and within easy reach of a hypostation. He straightened on
his knees and reached for a new hypospray and vial. Shortly after
a mild stimulant had been administered, the ensign slowly
regained consciousness.
Groans of disorientation quickly turned into moans of pain.
"Relax, ensign," said the hologram firmly, "the pain will subside
momentarily." A device he held over the damaged side of the
ensign's face released a gel. The officer gasped in anticipation,
but contact on that spot was soothing. "Hold still!" demanded the
holographic doctor; the gruffness startled his patient into
abeyance. Observing this while spreading the gel across the
ensign's cheek, the hologram softened his tone. "This Dermaline
Gel won't hurt. Just leave the area alone for a few hours and
you'll be healed in no time." The officer grunted, then after a
few minutes slurred, "I don't know you."
The inquiry was long overdue. As with all EMH's, this one was
ready: "I am the Emergency Medical Hologram. The medical staff
activated me and departed."
"Oh," he grunted again. "Well, it's good they did - activate you,
that is. Smart move." The officer tentatively patted the
hologram's shoulder, initially unsure he would touch a solid
form.
The holographic doctor smiled and said nothing. His patient
didn't have to know the true nature of his activation.
"What's your name?"
"I don't have a name," said the hologram with regret, "it wasn't
written into my program. But I assume you have a name?"
The officer nodded. "Haagen."
Ensign Richard Haagen of Operations. No history of serious
ailments, one operation: tonsillectomy. "Well Ensign Haagen,
you're done. I'd recommend the afternoon off, but I have a
feeling all hands are engaged."
Haagen sat up cautiously, somewhat startled that he had more
strength than he had expected. For the first time he saw the
hologram's face. It looked so real, no blank stare… He was
compelled. "Thank you." The hologram reacted with a smile and a
nod. Haagen had done the right thing.
The officer gestured that he wanted to stand on his own. Haagen
managed to get up with the support of the nearby biobed.
"I'll tell people you're here," he said. "If they require medical
attention, they'll know Sickbay's open for business."
Grinning wider, the hologram nodded again his acknowledgement.
Haagen crouched in the broken doorway, unsteady at first. He
appeared to be assessing the stillness of the corridor, then he
was gone.
The hologram looked after the gaping entrance for perhaps twenty
seconds, then turned to pick up and return the equipment where
they belonged. To be on the safe side, he kept the hypospray with
anesthesia on a tabouret near the doorway.
Hours passed. No one came or went in the corridors since Ensign
Haagen stumbled into Sickbay. In the office, the EMH swiveled
slowly from side to side in Dr. Crusher's chair. He pondered the
spare décor for the umpteenth time, absently rubbing the dimple
in his chin. He'd long since finished his medical log and sent a
request for a repair crew to be dispatched as soon as ship status
was no longer in crisis. Everything required of him had been
done. No one had come by to deactivate his program, and
conditions remained at red alert. For all he knew, the crew
abandoned ship to escape assimilation. He hadn't sufficient
clearance to check logs or monitor those departments which would
inform him of what was happening. So there he sat.
One would think that active or inactive, a hologram would content
itself to remain idle until beckoned. But the Emergency Medical
Hologram was created to function like no other hologram before
it. The EMH was programmed meticulously to react and perform in
actual scenarios under genuine circumstances. For better or
worse, human sensibilities were embedded into their personality
subroutines. The end result: a seemingly sentient being with
behavioral quirks…
The holographic doctor decided to forego protocol. "Computer:
List all areas accessible for my level of clearance."
The computer chirped.
"Access includes all medically-related data, citizen level
inquiries such as whereto, recreation, history of over fifteen
thousand cultures, Federation Law…"
"Computer," interrupted the EMH, "what are the current lifesigns
for Captain Picard?"
"Captain Picard's condition is stable."
"Computer, what are the current vitals for Doctor Crusher?"
The computer recited. It was obvious she was on the run, but
healthy. The same was true of Dr. Ogawa.
"Computer, where is Captain Picard?"
"Captain Picard is not on board the Enterprise."
The EMH frowned. Not aboard the ship? "You just gave me his
lifesigns! Did he transport?"
"Negative."
"What was Captain Picard's last known location?"
"Captain Picard's last known location on the ship was airlock
447."
He sat back and pondered. Was the captain affecting external
repairs on the hull?
"Computer, list crewmen sensed in airlock 447 over the last ten
minutes."
"Lieutenant Commander Hawke, Commander Worf, and Captain
Picard."
Commander Worf? According to patient records, he had not been on
the crew manifest for at least two years. Something was not
right.
"Computer, what is the stardate?"
"That information is not available."
"What do you mean 'that information is not available??'"
The computer was oblivious to the EMH's obvious agitation.
"Contact with a timebase beacon could not be established."
"I see," he grumbled. "And what is our present location?"
"At present we are orbiting Terra."
"Terra! And we can't tell the time? That doesn't make sense!"
"Please restate the question."
He ignored the buggy response. They were in Sector 001. And yet,
they had no access to a timebase beacon. They were orbiting Earth
on red alert with Borg aboard. It didn't sound good at all. But
there was nothing he could do about it.
Hey keyed in the Federation Law database. Entering "hologram,"
"holographic," and "EMH" as key words, he found little
information. There was only one case in which the CMO of a
science vessel petitioned Starfleet to have EMH's activate on red
alert to ensure that competent medical staff would always be on
hand. Although that doctor's intentions were good, the EMH's
shelf life was a major obstacle, and her crew had to re-initialize
their holographic doctor several times. The argument fell against
their losing rapport with it, especially on the larger ships
where treatment was extended to spouses and children. Apparently
the concept of a long-term medical hologram had just been
submitted for review. Pending the LMH's approval, the red alert
protocol would be reconsidered.
This was all nice and good, he considered, particularly in a
situation such as this, in which a medical command center could
be essential "-if anyone knew it existed," he grumbled. But
unless medical holograms were granted more access privileges than
civilians, he'd might as well be doing card tricks.
Wait!
Slowly, the EMH rose from the chair. That's it! "Computer: are
residential and recreational comm systems online?"
"There is limited availability to recreational communications
systems."
With a touch, the display listed several locations on the ship
with active comm systems.
"Sickbay to Ten Forward."
He held his breath, an odd effect for an entity devoid of
respiratory function.
There was a beep at the console. Sitting anxiously at the edge of
the seat, he touched the blue flashing square in a corner of the
screen.
Prompted for a code exclusive to the EMH program, the message
that cascaded across the screen was brief but to the point: +ARE
YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? THE SHIP HAS BEEN OVERRUN WITH
BORG! SECURITY ISSUED A RADIO SILENCE.+
He frowned as he responded, his voice synthesizing into text on
the display: +I CANNOT BE ASSIMILATED. I AM THE EMERGENCY MEDICAL
HOLOGRAM. APPARENTLY I DON'T WARRANT BEING INFORMED. MY ACCESS TO
SHIP'S INFORMATION APPEARS TO BE LIMITED TO A SMATTERING OF
SUPERFICIAL MATERIAL.+
+DID YOU SAY YOU WERE A HOLOGRAM? SO YOU'RE NOT REAL."
He knitted his brow.
+I SUPPOSE IN A WAY I'M NOT. DOES IT MATTER UNDER THE
CIRCUMSTANCES?+
+MAYBE NOT TO YOU,+ came the reply, +BUT IF YOU WERE THINKING OF
RENDERING AID, THE BORG MIGHT SEE YOU AS A TARGET.+
The EMH blinked. +THEY'VE ALREADY BEEN HERE. THEY LEFT ONCE THEY
REALIZED THERE WAS NOTHING TO ASSIMILATE.+
A pause.
He added: +I HAVE ALREADY TREATED AND RELEASED AN INJURED
CREWMAN.+
+THANK YOU DOCTOR. KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK.+
The commlink abruptly terminated.
He scowled, having lost contact with the only human he'd made
contact with for hours. But not long after - perhaps fifteen
minutes - a teacher and her students arrived. The children
huddled like a cluster around their guardian.
The EMH walked over to the entrance and stared. No one appeared
injured. He was compelled to order them away, when the reasoning
of preventive measures overrode his treatment protocols.
The woman watched anxiously as the hologram's expression shifted
in quick succession from startlement, to annoyance, then
sympathy.
"This way," he encouraged, and led them around the back to one of
their isolation rooms. As the children filed in, their teacher
hung back as the EMH touched her arm and whispered: "I will have
to lock the room from the outside with an encryption code. Don't
worry, you will be safe."
"I understand," she whispered back. "Thank you." She grasped his
arm in a brief bond of gratitude, then joined her students.
The hologram programmed a code into the touch sensor by the door,
and bolts could be heard tumbling into place, then a forcefield
buzzed to life.
"Computer: Secure interface channel EMH authorization Beta Zed
Three Gamma Gamma Theta." The computer compliance. "Mask all
lifesigns within Isolation Room One. Cancel protocols by my voice
or Doctor Beverly Crusher's retinal scan. Confirm."
The computer repeated his instructions to the syllable. He saved
the maneuver as "EMH Protocol One."
And not a moment too soon. A group of people in varying stages of
dress wandered in as a nervous huddle. Bringing up the rear were
two helping a dazed woman. Her forehead bore a small cut, which
trickled blood down one side of her face. She had to keep one eye
closed as a result. The hologram pointed towards the back. The
group nodded their comprehension. He blocked the final three and
gestured the two to bring the injured woman to the nearest
biobed. The EMH read her condition with a tricorder as they
helped her up. Satisfied, he efficiently cleaned the wound and
her face, then trained a dermal regenerator on the area. The
other two looked at the door anxiously. They annoyed him with
their fidgeting, but he didn't want to aggravate a worse
situation or incite unnecessary conflict.
After giving the woman a hypospray of Inaprovalene, he gestured
the two to help her down. The trio followed him 'round the back
to Isolation Room Two.
He reasoned that whomever he'd made contact with in Ten Forward
was sending people. With them sitting on the floor in those two
rooms and out of sight of the small windows, it would be
impossible for the Borg to detect anyone in either room. He
smiled to himself for his ability to improvise. He was now a part
of the resistance against the Borg invasion, like one of the
crew…
Two Borg entered. He walked over to the doorway where they stood
and looked at them with his chin slightly raised. One held up a
prosthetic where its hand once was, its sensor rotating wildly in
front of his face.
Nonplussed, the EMH raised one cyber-eyebrow and said nothing.
The two Borg left.
A close call. The drones obviously caught the life signs in
Sickbay as people arrived. Sickbay's vitals and use of resources
were being monitored.
"Computer: dampen the sensors of anyone who enters Sickbay - EMH
authorization Beta Zed Three Gamma Gamma Theta."
The computer complied with a chirp.
Twenty minutes went by. The silence lent to any
number of scenarios. He Worried that the corridors near Sickbay
were being guarded, he grasped the edge of the gnarled door and
slowly stepped out, taking care that some part of him was in
direct view of a holo-emitter. Thus the holographic doctor was
able to lean part way into the corridor; he checked the approach
from both directions.
The next refugees came from within. There came a tapping.
Swinging back inside, he moved toward the metallic sound. Seeing
it was the Jeffries tube from which Dr. Crusher escaped, he
grabbed his hypospray on the way. Armed and ready, he walked
around the far biobed and opened the hatch.
More children.
They scrambled out anxiously one after the other, faces ashen.
Unnaturally quiet for human children of approximately 9 Terran
years of age, he thought. He made a headcount; there were twelve
of them. Another class? Their expressions and the lack of a
guardian said it all. He quickly led them to the larger of two
remaining isolation rooms. It was equipped with a lavatory. The
hologram instructed them to perform whatever biological functions
necessary, but to not activate the recycling mechanism under any
circumstances. Like young adults, they listened as though with
clear comprehension and nodded; he was convinced they knew what
was at stake. They filed in orderly into the room and sat on the
floor against the wall by the door.
Not long after sealing Isolation Room Four, the predictable
occurred: A pair of Borg drones came through the door. The EMH
got up from the office chair and strolled over to the treatment
area where they stood. "Please state the nature of the medical
emergency," he said calmly, his head tilted back so he could look
down his nose at them.
If they recognized the hologram's pose to be one of defiance, it
did not register on their faces. One shoved him aside. They
marched around the facility, sensor appendages where their
forearms once were, scanning for lifesigns.
"If you are in need of medical attention, I am the only physician
on duty," he said.
They ignored him as they continued wandering around the treatment
area. The EMH fell into step behind them. Better to arrive with
them at the isolation room than come running towards the location
upon discovery.
"Are you experiencing pain? Discomfort? Disorientation?"
The second one stopped abruptly and turned around to glare at the
holographic doctor. Although body language was clear, the woman's
face was a blank mask. A few moments and he had the name of the
woman matched up to the stone features. A civilian and - as
suspected - teacher. It was his deduction that she was caught and
assimilated while attempting to bring her students through the
tubes. Here was a reunion he hoped he could prevent.
"Mrs. Gold," he stuttered, "You look - unwell. I hope wherever
your students are, they have fared better."
The drone abruptly turned to catch up with its comrade in the
direction of the biolabs.
Fascinated, the hologram tilted his head a moment before
following suit. He trailed behind the duo as they went through
their search and made their way to the isolation rooms. At the
porthole of each room they held up their sensor appendages, then
looked in. The EMH used utmost control not to betray his keep
with any expression or emotion or change in autonomic aesthetics
- such as breathing or blinking the eyes. These two might not
behave as though they were alert, but by all medical accounts on
record, they carried the attention of thousands between their
ears.
After lumbering around several times through the same areas over
the course of an hour, the two exited Sickbay.
Just outside the doorway, 'Mrs. Gold' turned around to stare
blankly at him. Feigning ignorance at the more obvious
implications of this gesture, he said blandly: "I am a hologram.
If I were to leave the confines of Sickbay, I would deactivate."
She must just looked at him with dead eyes. He wondered whether
her conscious mind was trapped inside and what she might be
thinking of this whole ordeal…
…Suddenly, she collapsed. A few meters beyond the entrance, the
other drone had dropped into a lump. 'Mrs. Gold' writhed and
twitched as her cybernetic components reacted wildly. Then, she
was still. A few seconds later the distinct technical noises
ceased as well.
The hologram knelt down and reached his hand out to touch her
neck. When he was certain of her condition, he reassigned the
dosage of Neurazine and administered it.
Satisfied, the EMH strolled back into the office. He had barely
time to call up the log-input screen, when quick footfalls
pounded through the doorway. Security personnel, then medics and
patients spilled into the treatment area.
From the throng came Dr. Beverly Crusher. She rushed into the
office, then stopped short, startled at the sight of the EMH
sitting in her seat. The hologram looked up to regard the CMO.
Her face was red with infuriation. Had he done something wrong?
"Computer, deactivate EMH!"
She was exhausted. Casualty reports were gathered from a
multitude of sources, primarily reporting from key Operations and
Engineering locations. They'd been in battle, through a time
rift, no sleep for anyone for two days, ejected in escape pods,
recalled…
In addition, there were reports of missing, mostly civilians.
Children from two entire classes. It was disturbing to identify
the unconscious Borg drone by the door had once been one of the
teachers. So where did the Borg take them?
The last thing she expected to see was that damnable hologram in
her seat. It was apparent that he had administered Neurazine to
the assimilated teacher. However, evidence suggested she had
fallen first and not as the result of being given an anesthetic.
The maneuver nagged at her. It seemed too premeditated and
deliberate to be a malfunction on the hologram's part. The only
thing she could come up with was his experiencing fear, an
irrational behavioral quirk for a holographic projection to
emulate.
"Lieutenant Commander Data calling Doctor Crusher."
Elbows on the desk, she rubbed her temples. "What is it, Data?"
There was brief hesitation on the other side of the Commlink.
Perhaps the android officer was taking in her stressed tone and
pondering its implications.
"We appear to have lost Operations personnel assigned to replace
the damage done to the Sickbay doors."
Beverly looked over at the main treatment area, where two crewmen
with department gold were busy at their assigned task. Odd.
"Data, they've been here. The door's half finished."
"You are in Sickbay?"
"Yes."
"Sensors show no lifesigns in Sickbay."
Beverly trained her eyes up. "Computer, how many lifesigns are in
Sickbay?"
"There is no one in Sickbay," it responded generically.
"Doctor," resumed Data, "I believe I have located a command in
Sickbay's computer logs ordering all lifesigns to be omitted from
sensors."
"By whom?"
"Apparently by the Emergency Medical Hologram. Had he been
activated?"
Curiouser. "Yes Data. He was in Sickbay during the evacuation."
"Hm!" grunted the android. "I have rescinded the command."
Crusher wasted no time. "Computer, how many lifesigns are there
in Sickbay?"
"There are thirty-eight lifesigns in Sickbay."
"Thirty-eight!" she exclaimed as she got to her feet. Calling two
medics over, the three grabbed tricorders...
Enterprise-E was orbiting 24th Century Terra once again. The
corridors were dim throughout the ship. Most people were asleep
in their quarters if not away on shore leave. Dr. Crusher
finished off her logs.
From what she could piece together, the Emergency Medical
Hologram was perceptive enough to catch a subtle hint relayed by
Guinan. It sheltered those she sent to Sickbay from Ten Forward.
Everyone had been safely sequestered in isolation rooms, their
lifesigns masked. A teacher enroute with her students had fallen
prey to the Borg, and had obviously disseminated the plan
throughout the remote hive. The EMH cleverly deluded the drones.
The children in two rooms were none the worst for wear, if not
soiled and/or hungry. Medical logs corresponded with treatments
administered to a woman with a concussion who had made a full
recovery while resting on the floor. Everyone looked for the
intense but kind balding man to thank him; Beverly was asked
repeatedly to convey their gratitude.
Her limbs ached, her mind begging for the randomness of sleep.
But there was one more thing Beverly had to do for her
conscience. She was inwardly glad no one was around.
"Computer: Activate the EMH."
Beside the desk at attention he appeared. "Please state the
nature of the medical emergency."
After a moment of perceptual re-orientation, the hologram noticed
the only light on was above him in the office. He beheld Dr.
Crusher seated nearby, a tired, strained look over her face. He
stood silent, waiting for her to speak.
Why did they have to make these so realistic? She felt guilty for
abruptly ending its existence earlier, the comprehension so
convincing in its big, dark eyes. She shrugged the notion off as
another symptom of her exhaustion and broke the silence.
"Thank you… for holding the fort. Your performance was
exemplary."
After a pause, the EMH's lips spread wide across his face, then
curved up at the ends.
