A Fierce Devotion


                 Never in all my life have I seen anything so revolting.

                 Doctor Beverly Crusher stood in front of the window in her quarters on the Enterprise, her arms folded across her chest. Outside the window, a never-ending stream of starlight raced in streaks of golden-white.

                 With everything Starfleet has managed to accomplish over the years, you’d think somewhere along the line they would’ve developed a little taste.

                 Beverly sighed. She unfolded her arms and lifted the bottom of the glittered curtain that drooped at the right of the window. Gliding her thumb over its coarseness, she longed to yank the curtains down and shred them. But until she grew accustomed to her new quarters, she needed the drapes to shield the stars from her sleeping eyes.

She dropped the curtain and went to her closet. On tiptoe she scanned the shelf above her wardrobe.

“Aha!” She reached behind a pink-and-white hat box and pulled out a bolt of fabric highlighted with a gold design—a design that hadn’t been there when she first spotted it in the Farpoint mall. A shiver ran through her as she remembered thinking out loud that a gold accent would be a lovely complement to the solid lilac. She looked away for a brief moment, and when she looked back, the design miraculously appeared, woven into the material as if it had always been there. Against her better judgment, she purchased the entire bolt, and, after returning to the ship, she tucked it away in her closet until she decided what to do with it.

                 Part of me thinks I should burn this witch cloth at the stake, Beverly carried the bolt back to the window, but it’s just too lovely. She unraveled an arm’s length of material and held it in front of her. Far too lovely to waste on curtains. Besides, it doesn’t really go with the carpet…

                 A high-pitched trill announced a caller at her door. She responded with a genial “come in.”

                 The door slid open; Lieutenant Natasha Yar stood behind it. “Good morning, Doctor Crusher,” the lieutenant said with a short nod.
                 Beverly invited her inside. “Good morning, Tasha. How are you?”

                 “I’m fine, thank you.” She crossed the threshold, and the door slid shut behind her. “I’m sorry to bother you, but the captain has ordered a safety inspection of crew quarters to see if any violations occurred while settling in.”

                 “Oh, he has, has he?” Beverly smirked. “You do realize Jean-Luc is notorious for doling out ‘busy work’ during down times, don’t you?”

                 “So I’ve heard. But I don’t mind. I’m not the type who can stand around with nothing to do for—” Tasha glimpsed the fabric in her arms. “That…that pattern…”
                 “Isn’t it beautiful? I found it on Farpoint. It was the strangest thing. I was walking through the mall with Wesley and Commander Riker when…” She peered at the anguish that appeared suddenly on the young woman’s face. “Tasha, is something wrong?”

                 “It’s…nothing. It’s just…I was reminded of my mother. She had a dress with almost this exact same pattern.”

                 Beverly held the bolt behind her back. “Oh...I’m so sorry.”

                 “You don’t have to hide it from me, Doctor. It’s one of the few happy memories I have of my mother…one I can truly call my own.” Tasha forced a smile. “Have you thought about what you’re going to make out of it?”

                 “Um, I was thinking curtains. The ones Starfleet provided are too much of an eyesore.”     

                 Tasha glanced at the shiny silver panels framing the window. “They look like the outfits the dancers wore in the discos my sister and I used to hide out in on Turkana IV.” Her hand reached out, and her quivering fingers brushed the material in Beverly’s arms. “It was right before she died. Despite all the chaos around her, my mother wanted to feel pretty one last time.” Snapping her hand back to her side, she resumed her authoritative stance. “Well, I’m sure you’re aware of ship safety regulations, Doctor. If you’ll excuse me, I have several more inspections to make.”

“Tasha, wait.” Beverly snatched her elbow as she turned around. “Do you remember what your mother’s dress looked like? Aside from the pattern, I mean.”

                 “Like I said, it’s a vague image. After my mother died, I was more concerned with clinging to my own life than to memories of frilly things.”

Despite her best effort to resist, Tasha couldn’t help another glance at the fabric before walking out the door.

                 A smile stretched across Beverly’s face. No time for frilly things, eh?

* * * * *

Later that afternoon, Beverly sat at her desk in the Enterprise sick bay. She’d given her support staff a moment’s respite, and she herself was enjoying a rare window of leisure in her day.

                 “You asked to see me, Doctor?”

                 Beverly jumped. Tasha had entered so silently and so quickly she didn’t notice.

“Oh, yes! Thank you for coming.” She smiled humbly. “I have a confession: I seem to have misplaced the data from your boarding physical.”
                 Tasha’s eyes narrowed. “‘Misplaced’?”

                 “All right, erased. Don’t ask me how it happened. I must have forgotten to reset the tricorder after your exam.”

                 “Doctor Crusher, from what I’ve seen of your methods so far, you don’t strike me as the absent-minded type.”

                 “I’m not…usually. I blame it on residual effects from the Tsiolkovksy virus.” She winked. “At any rate, I do need to collect the data again as soon as possible. Commander Riker has requested detailed diagnostics for the senior staff, and he wants them today.”

                 Tasha started to climb onto an examining bed. “Well, I suppose we should oblige the Commander’s request.”

                 “Actually, for what I need, you can remain standing.” Beverly withdrew her tricorder from her jacket pocket. She popped it open and then traced the outline of Tasha’s frame. “Would you lift your arms for me, please?”

                 Tasha looked questioningly at the doctor but complied with the request. A bit unorthodox, she thought, but I suppose each physician has her own methods.

                 After waving the tricorder back and forth in front of Tasha’s chest, Beverly clamped the device shut. “All right, that should do it. Thank you.”

                 She dropped her arms. “I’m heading to the bridge now. Would you like me to tell Commander Riker he’ll have his report soon?”

                 “Report?”

                 “Your diagnostic. That is why you asked me here, isn’t it?”

                 “Right…yes. Thanks, but I’m not sure how long it’ll take to organize the data. I wouldn’t want to keep the Commander waiting all day.”

                 Tasha nodded. “Understood.”

As soon as the lieutenant left sick bay, Beverly slipped her tricorder into her pocket and let out a breath. “Ugh, I hate lying—especially since I’m not very good at it!”

* * * * *

Returning to her quarters, Beverly set the tricorder next to her computer on the desk and sat down. “Computer, run a scan of women’s dress patterns, late twenty-third century Earth styles—visual only.”

                 “Working,” the mechanical voice acknowledged. After a brief moment of processing, it brought up a holographic sequence of gowns that flashed across the monitor in five-second intervals.

                 “No…no. Oh, heavens, no!” Beverly wrinkled her nose at the parade of images that passed before her. I’ll never understand why micro skirts were all the rage last century!

                 She scanned through dozens of designs, each more horrendous than the one before it. Just when she was about ready to give up and start searching through curtain patterns, one of the designs caught her eye. “Computer, reverse one image and stop.”

                 The computer obeyed.

“Enlarge image.”

Across the screen stretched a hologram of a quarter-length, off-the-shoulder dress. The dress was gathered at the waist, with a spaghetti sash holding it in place.

Beverly smiled. Simple, elegant and not too frilly. With the Farpoint material, this will look absolutely gorgeous on Tasha! 

“Computer, replicate this pattern. Human female size six.”

                 The computer trilled again. “Working.”

                 Beverly got up from the table and waited while the pattern was assembled. As soon as the replicator aligned the last molecule, she snatched the pattern and the bolt of fabric. She sat on the floor, rolled out the bolt, and aligned the sections of tissue paper pattern around it. She then retrieved a phase cutter from her jacket pocket and made her first incision.

* * * * *

Beverly spent every free moment of her week cutting, basting, and stitching with the antique sewing machine given to her by her mother-in-law on her wedding day. As a girl, Beverly cherished the moments watching her grandmother piece together magnificent outfits entirely from scratch. It was a talent her grandmother passed on to her once she was old enough, a talent taught with love and compassion. Even after beginning the rigors of Starfleet service, Beverly continued to hone her skills by hemming trousers and replacing buttons for both husband and son. It wasn’t often her duties allowed her the luxury of a task more complicated than simple mending.

In the middle of her quarters, Beverly stood and admired the lavender silk draped over the dressmaker’s dummy. Behind it, the starlight reflected through the window, adding a twinkle to the gold design. I should start on the neckline embellishments, she thought, but it’s going to take forever to finish. Yawning, she walked to the window to draw the curtains. I cannot wait to see Tasha’s face when I give it to her!

* * * * *

The next morning, Beverly once again found herself at her post in sickbay. Her eyes were focused on the bio-sample analyses on her data pad, but her mind kept wandering to Tasha’s dress and how exquisitely it was turning out. She could not wait to go back and finish it.

                 Once she logged her last comment on the analyses, Beverly turned off her pad and leaped from her desk. As she headed out of sickbay, a hail came over the Enterprise’s subspace frequency, announcing the return of Counselor Troi’s shuttle.

                 Ah, Beverly smiled, another successful mission accomplished!

                 Her smile instantly faded as she heard Counselor Troi cry out, followed by the whine of engines and then silence.

                 Beverly barely registered Captain Picard’s voice through her communicator, asking if she had been monitoring the situation. Her hand rose slowly to the pin on her chest and lightly tapped it.

                 “Yes,” she said softly. “I’ll meet the Away Team in Transporter Room Four.”

* * * * *

Doctor Beverly Crusher had no idea the rescue mission to Vagra II would be the last time she’d see Tasha Yar alive. She tried her hardest to save her, pushing the limits of ethical and medical viability to the best of her knowledge, but it proved to be in vain.

                 With the days after spent in mourning and in guilt, Beverly found her quarters a cold retreat. Tasha’s dress, still unfinished, stood by the window, yet the starlight it reflected seemed to have lost some of its luster.

                 Damn me for not working faster! Beverly stood before the dressmaker’s dummy, her arms folded over her heart. If only I hadn’t devoted so much time to my Starfleet duties, she might have been able to enjoy it—if only for a short while.

                 Sighing, Beverly hoisted the dummy over her shoulder and carried the gown to her closet. She opened the door, shoved the dummy inside, then closed the door tight. Later she would do as she intended and burn the fabric. Maybe in some poetic fashion its ashes will find their way to Tasha’s resting spirit, providing her in death the chance to appreciate the “frilly things” she never understood in life.

Exhausted from mourning, drained from guilt, all Beverly wanted to do was sleep. She stretched out on her bed, arm crooked over face, waiting for oblivion to claim her. But oblivion was out of reach. Her conscience was haunted by Tasha’s final words, presented to her in a holographic tribute the lieutenant recorded as a final farewell: “Your fierce devotion comes from within; it can’t be diminished.”

Beverly had accepted the sincerity of her friend’s words, even if humility pushed her to deny them. Someone like Tasha—someone so brave, hardened, determined—envied her faith…a faith that flowed as naturally as the air in her lungs.

She spent most of her life with no home to call her own, struggling for simple survival while every day staring death in the face. Yet not once did she ever forget to live.

Beverly removed her arm from her face. She got up and went back to her closet. Retrieving the dressmaker’s dummy, she returned to the center of the room and picked up where she left off. Seam by seam, she stitched by starlight until the gown was finished. She lost track of how much time went by, but by the time she was done, oblivion had finally stopped eluding her.

Climbing back into bed, she stole another glance at Tasha’s gown.  It truly is exquisite—as are you, Natasha Yar. As she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep, the Starfleet curtains remained parted.