Star Trek by Glenn Hauman Page A

I’ve heard back from Starfleet Headquarters.
L: How nice to hear from my favorite people in the quadrant. And what do they have to say for themselves?
G: They’re happy to hear that Sherman’s Plague has been contained. They’re none too thrilled about your methods; however, they’re willing to accept our interpretation of the statutes regarding genetic engineering.
L: Remind me again. What story are we using?
G: Don’t be droll. They still want to punish you for breaking the regs.
L: Ah, yes. Demerits for a job well done.
G: It’s nothing to make light of. I think there are some who wanted your commission, your medical license, and your scalp. Not necessarily in that order.
L: So why aren’t they doing it?
G: Well, there was also a big push from about three million people whose lives you saved that said otherwise. It seemed easier to accept our take on the situation than cause an incident.
L: “An incident”? Captain, I’ve seen some of the opinion columns down there. My favorites were, “we should say we’ve become more genetically enhanced than we really are and scare them into letting us have our way” and “let’s drop a beaker of Sherman’s Plague into San Francisco Bay and see how they like it.”
G: Well, that’s the story and we’re sticking to it. Starfleet doesn’t want a wholesale revision of the laws surrounding genetic engineering.
L: And why not? I’ve recently come to the conclusion that those laws could use a good reexamination.
G: In any event,
Doctor,
if Starfleet really wanted to take your commission, I’m sure you could retire and live quite comfortably down on Sherman’s Planet. I understand from Administrator Orosz that there’s talk about them putting up statues of you.
L: Oh, good grief.
G: Doctor, you just saved the lives of everyone on the planet.
L: Almost. Not all of them.
G: No, not all. But saving ninety-nine-point-five percent of the population isn’t chicken feed.
L: If you say so. Percentage wise, it’s pretty good. In absolute numbers, that’s 72,134 people—never mind.
G: I know. It’s still a lot of people who died. But it’s a lot more people who lived.
L: A statue, hmm? Are they sure they want a statue for the person who might get them kicked out of the Federation?
G: You saved their lives. I’d think anything after that is something they’d rather deal with than dying.
L: My point all along.
G: For what it’s worth, I don’t think the Federation is going to ask them to leave—they never have before. So they might be a bit healthier than the average human, so what?
L: Of course, there’s never been a case like this before, where a society in the Federation completely reengineered itself.
G: True. But there’s a first time for everything. I just don’t want to think what might happen if a planet decided to do it without this sort of emergency—say, if the Bajorans decided to become stronger than the Jem’Hadar.
L: Speaking of first times for everything, how big is my statue going to be?
G: Oy. Have I just overinflated your ego?
L: I’m a doctor. Our egos are naturally overinflated.
G: I suppose that’s what happens when you have that much pressure placed on you.
L: Simple hydraulics.
G: Occasionally, you do get blowouts. Or fast leaks.
L: Nothing some maintenance won’t take care of.
G: I don’t know how much more I can provide—I’d think you’d want to be handled by more professional psychiatrists, not an amateur like myself.
L: No, I think I’d like to keep coming for a while. Besides which, I really think you have a few issues of your own that need addressing—your feelings of alienation about being the hardcore Starfleet man among all the engineers, all of whom are far more advanced than you in their specialties, and thus you have to rely on them, undermining your authority over them.
G: