I own nothing

A sense of the unknown has always lured mankind and the greatest of the unknowns of today is outer space. The terrors, the joys and the sense of accomplishment are epitomized in the space program. - William Shatner, a.k.a. Capt. Kirk

On the Enterprise, two different teams were patching up two different people. In sick bay, Dr. Crusher was doing everything she could to stabilize Geordi, and in engineering, Lieutenant Barclay was doing everything he could to figure out what in the world was wrong with Data.

Ironically, what Dr. Crusher was wishing was that Data was able to tell her what had happened on the planet, to give her a better idea of where to start. All Barclay wanted was La Forge to tell him how to fix Data.

Dr. Crusher swept her short hair back impatiently, making sure she had read the scan right, which she hoped she hadn't. Realizing that the tricorder had, indeed, given her the right reading, she sighed. Something in the atmosphere of that planet had tampered with the perfect immune system that was the norm of every person living in the twenty-fourth century. Geordi was running an incredibly high fever- 39.6° C if the tricorder was to be believed.

One of her nurses was already trying to work on Geordi's legs, which were by far the most damaged part of his body. In the fall, Dr. Crusher hypothesized, Geordi must have landed hard enough on the rocks to cleanly break his right leg. Then during the resulting rockslide, his left leg had been crushed underneath an impossible number of rocks. Just looking at the mangled legs made Beverly Crusher shudder.

There were also a dislocated shoulder. Beverly could guess where this had come from. Sometimes, Data didn't know his own strength. Dr. Crusher rubbed her temples, she didn't want to be the one who told Data that he had injured his friend, even though by doing so he had (probably) saved his life.

After nearly three hours of doing some very old-fashioned operating, Beverly Crusher had reconfigured Geordi's legs in a manner that made her very proud. With any luck, he'd be able to walk, eventually. The dislocated shoulder was easy to take care of. She had also taped a couple of fractured and broken ribs. So except for a few minor scrapes and bruises and the fever, La Forge should be almost back to being mostly as good as new.

Reg Barclay was wishing he was having as much luck with Data. He knew perfectly well that he was not qualified for the job of repairing the second officer. He also knew that the only person on the Enterprise who had ever been inside Data was currently fighting his own battle.

Once inide Data's head, it was easy to know what the problem was-tiny pieces of sand, rock, and glass had gotten caught in between the wires and gears that made up Data's incredibly sophisticated positronic brain. Usually, it wouldn't be a problem, Data would be able to self-clean his brain. It was the amount of "stuff" that had gottne caught that was the problem. It was everywhere, and Barclay had no idea how to get it out.

And Barclay was feeling rather odd. He had trained to be a engineer, not a surgen. He was basicly holding Data's "life" in his hands, and he didn't know where to begin.

Actually, Barcaly was feeling odd, kind of queezy. It wasn't a pleasent feeling.

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