Star Trek: The Next Generation - 020 - Q-In-Law Read Online Free PDF

mixture of annoyance and concern, trying to maintain the stern decorum that a chief medical officer should have when faced with a crew member who had clearly injured himself taking unnecessary risks. At the same time, she was still a mother who had to fight the impulse to-- well--mother him.
     
     
It wasn't hard to figure out. Wesley was standing there, leaning on one of the sickbay beds, decked out in full skiing regalia. The only thing he didn't have was ski poles. Naturally not, because the holodeck would have provided those. Just as it had, apparently, provided him with-- "A twisted ankle, I think," said Wesley apologetically. "Took a wrong turn down a slope." "Wesley," sighed his mother, getting her instruments. Wesley hoisted himself up onto the table.
     
     
Wesley rolled his eyes. He knew that tone of voice. "Mom, please. Don't give me that "you've got to be more careful" speech. I'm not a kid anymore." "Well then don't act like one." She slapped him affectionately on the shoulder and ran an instrument over the ankle that he had extended and propped up on the table. "What were you doing on the slopes, anyway?" "Nothing." "Try again." He sighed. "Okay, I was showing off a little." "For who?" She couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice.
     
     
"You don't know her." "Should I?" "I don't think there's going to be much need to," Wesley sighed again. "I didn't just turn the ankle. I kind of went heels over head into a bank of snow. With my feet sticking out and my arms every which way it was a mess." "I can just imagine." Her instrument hummed softly, and Wesley could feel the muscles reknitting and relaxing under the sonic ministrations.
     
     
Wesley sighed. "Mom, am I ugly or something?" She looked up at him in surprise. "Of course not. You're a very handsome young man." "Then, what's wrong with me? Why am I having trouble getting something going with a girl?" He looked down. "Maybe it's this gray uniform.
     
     
I bet things would go better if I had a Starfleet uniform. A full ensign's uniform." "Well, they do say clothes make the man." She smiled. "In your case, though, I wouldn't worry. In gray, or red and black, or sackcloth, you'll find somebody. In this whole galaxy, there's somebody for everybody." "You really believe that?" "Of course I do." "But the way things are now, I'm hoping that the somebody for me is on this ship. I mean, if she's on Rigel 6, she's not going to do me a whole lot of good." She laughed. "Wes, don't try to outsmart yourself, okay? Trust in yourself and the machinations of fate, and let everything else sort itself out. Try the ankle." He slid off the table, gingerly putting his full weight onto the foot. He nodded with brisk approval. "Feels great, mom.
     
     
Thanks." "Pretty girls should be turning your head, not your ankle," she told him reprovingly, putting her instruments back in their holders. "Still, showing off on a ski slope is mild, I suppose, compared to what one of our upcoming guests did to impress a girl." "What do you mean?" "Come on, I'll show you." She gestured for him to follow her into her office. She couldn't help but admire the determined, confident manner in which he walked. It seemed barely yesterday that he had been nothing but knees and elbows as his long-limbed growth had outstripped his ability to coordinate his movements. Not anymore.
     
     
"The captain met with us a few minutes ago," she told him, sitting in front of her desk, "while you were busy displaying your form on the ski slopes. We're hosting a wedding for the Tizarin." "The merchant race? The guys who are like honest Ferengi?" "That's them." Various medical documents flashed on her screen. "Whenever we're having an assortment of races coming on board, I always review the medical profiles. That way I'm prepared should anything happen. For example, remember when we had that representative from Chumbra III on board, and he suddenly seemed to go into a deep coma? Now, if I hadn't realized that