Imzadi Forever

by Peter David

  Data was trying to make up for that mistake now. He watched, stone faced, as the Enterprise pitted her phasers against the force field. That they would eventually penetrate, he had no doubt whatsoever. The question was whether they would break through in time.

  Riker took a step back, watching the phasers with a sense of grim desperation. There was nothing he could do. He was trapped inside, and besides, getting out would simply put him farther from the Guardian. He heard a low moan behind him—Mary Mac was coming around. Perfect—that was all he needed.

  The field began to buckle. He could see the power reserves straining, the field integrity collapsing. How incredibly ironic that here he was at the gateway to all time, and time was the one thing he did not have.

  He glanced down at the tricorder.

  The green light was glowing.

  He emitted a horrified yell. He should have been standing in front of the Guardian the whole time, watching, monitoring, waiting for the signal to flash to life. Had it just come on? Had it been on for a few seconds?

  Too far! his mind screamed. Too far from the Guardian!

  He spun and charged at the gateway. The sand crunched beneath his boots. On the display face of the Guardian, he saw a brief image of Q dancing with Lwaxana Troi, and then Locutus threatening the ship, and it was all merging and blending together…

  “Admiral, we will stop you!” came Data’s voice, rising above the wind and the screaming of the Enterprise phasers, and he heard Blair’s voice shouting something as well.

  No time! No time!

  Help me, Imzadi… the voice seemed to reach back through the years.

  Riker leaped.

  And then he was out of time.

  Literally.

  Thirty-seven

  Lieutenant Barclay stood in the holodeck of the USS Enterprise 1701-D and cracked his knuckles.

  He knew that he shouldn’t. He knew he might get caught. But the odds were slim. Captain Picard, Commander Riker, all the senior officers had been involved with a major diplomatic bash that evening. So the chances were that they wouldn’t be anywhere near the holodeck that night.

  Besides, he was off duty now. And he had pared down his holodeck activity to once a week. It wasn’t interfering with anything important. And if he had his own ways of entertaining himself, well—as long as he didn’t hurt anyone, and as long as he wasn’t overdependent on it…well, where was the harm in that?

  He had already informed the computer precisely what he wanted. Now he said simply, “Run program.”

  A moment later he was standing on a vast, grassy plain. Far in the distance, ancient Rome stood in all its glory. But right in front of him was a small temple, circular with tall pillars.

  Standing in the middle of the temple was Deanna Troi. She was scantily clad in gauze, flowing robes. She extended her arms to him and in a musical lilt said, “I am the goddess of the mind.”

  Barclay started toward her, his voice robust and deep. “And I am the one who worships you…and whom you will worship in return.”

  And at that precise moment, something else appeared on the holodeck—seemed to just step right out of nowhere.

  Barclay stopped, utterly confused. It was a man in what appeared to be some sort of uniform. It even looked vaguely like a Starfleet uniform, but the coloring was different and—

  Then Barclay took a close look at the face.

  “What the hell…?” he breathed.

  The new holodeck image, which appeared for all the world to be an older version of Riker, looked around in what seemed to be momentary disorientation. Then “Riker” turned, looked at Barclay, then to the image of Deanna, and back to Barclay. Riker put his hands on his hips and addressed Barclay with a voice of utter authority. “So…I should have known. Still at it, Lieutenant?”

  In total confusion, Barclay called out, “Computer. Remove image of…” He wasn’t sure what to call it. “Remove new image and run a systems check.”

  Riker merely stood there, showing no signs of disappearing. “I,” he said, “am a holodeck failsafe, built in to monitor the types of programs you’re engaging in, Mr. Barclay. I am very disappointed to see you still perpetrating such…bizarre…scenarios. I want it halted immediately.” He pointed at Barclay sternly. “Is that clear?”

  “Y-yes sir!” stammered Barclay uncomprehendingly. “Computer! Cancel this program! In fact…in fact, cancel all programs that I’ve created. As a matter of fact—cancel all my future participation in holodeck activities!”

  Rome, its environs, and the image of Deanna Troi, all vanished back into the nothingness they had come from. The only things remaining in the room were the glowing yellow grids, Barclay, and Riker.

  “Very good, Lieutenant,” said Riker approvingly.

  “Are…are you going to go now, too?” asked Barclay hopefully. He had no idea why, of all images, an older Riker had been chosen. But whatever the reason, it was a damned effective selection. He was totally unnerved by it.

  “Yes, I’m going to go, too,” said Riker. “And I’ll tell you what. If you don’t mention this incident to anyone, then I won’t, either. We’ll keep it just between us.”

  “Th-thank you, sir,” Barclay said.

  The image of Riker headed for the door. Barclay waited for it to vanish, as all holodeck creations did if they tried to leave the holodeck. Instead the doors hissed open obediently, and the elder Riker walked out, turned left, and headed down a corridor. The doors hissed shut behind him.

  Barclay stood there for a long time. And then he went out, turned right, and returned to his cabin.

  He didn’t go near the holodeck for the rest of his stay on the Enterprise.

  Admiral Riker walked quickly down the corridor, looking neither right nor left. He passed a couple of crewmen, some of whom did double takes upon spotting him. Perhaps they would assume that some uncle of Riker’s had come to visit the ship, or maybe the commander was coming from some sort of costume function. He didn’t slow down enough for anyone to get a really clear look at him, and he certainly didn’t stop to answer any questions.

  He had to get his bearings. Figure out precisely when he was. He could have asked Barclay, but he hadn’t wanted the lieutenant to question his existence as anything other than some sort of confusing holodeck manifestation. It had saved him time—and he didn’t know how much time he had.

  He ducked into a room to his left that he knew was going to be vacant because it was one of the guest quarters. Once inside, he called out, “Computer! Tell me the stardate and time.”

  There were few moments in Riker’s life that he could precisely remember down to the second of their occurrence. But the day and time of Deanna Troi’s death was certainly one of those. He was able to recall the exact sound of Beverly Crusher’s voice as she had labored to bring Deanna back to life. And when she had failed…when she had finally realized that nothing was going to help, and her best friend on the ship was forever gone…she had said, in a voice that sounded choked with dirt from a grave, “Record the time and date of death.” The computer had obediently, and uncaringly, said it out loud for the record.

  Riker had been standing there and had heard it—heard it punctuated by a choked sob from Beverly Crusher. There had been no noise from Riker himself—already the cloud was settling over him. The cloud that would cloak him for forty years.

  Now, in the vacant guest quarters, the computer informed him of the day and time.

  He felt his breath catch in his throat, the blood pounding in his temple.

  He had hoped to arrive a day or two beforehand. Somehow, cautiously, make contact with Deanna. Inform her of what was to happen. Convince her, put her on guard. And even more importantly—give her the antidote for the poison that he had brought back with him, securely stored in his jacket.

  He had known that it would be dangerous. Somewhere, somehow, Data might have sent people back, anticipating his moves. Trying to block his plans. But Data would have to be judicious—he didn
’t want to upset the applecart of time, and he would be very, very careful as to what he did and how he did it. Riker had anticipated that there would be something of a chess match of strategy, played out through the corridors of the Enterprise 1701-D.

  But he had been wrong.

  He didn’t have time for subtlety. He didn’t have time for finesse.

  What he had was twenty-three minutes.

  Twenty-three minutes from right now, until the point where Deanna Troi would be lying on Beverly Crusher’s medtable, a lifeless bundle of flesh.

  “Damn!” he snarled.

  He charged out into the hallway, resetting his chronometer, and bolted down the corridor, running full-tilt toward Deanna’s quarters.

  His arms pumped furiously, and as he turned a corner, his pounding footsteps alerted a security guard. The guard turned, and Riker didn’t recognize him. That, in and of itself, didn’t mean anything. Even when he was the second-in-command, he didn’t necessarily know every single crewman on sight—particularly if it was a relatively new arrival. And he wasn’t even the contemporary Riker—forty years had passed, and faces blurred with the years.

  Then again—it might be someone sent back by Data.

  The security guard frowned and started to reach for his phaser. “Hold it!” he called out.

  Again, Riker had no way of knowing for sure. Certainly, with so many dignitaries presently on board the Enterprise, it would be standard operating procedure for guards to be on alert to anyone who didn’t seem to belong there. And Riker certainly seemed out of place.

  Then again—the “guard” might know precisely who the gray-haired man was, and what his mission was.

  Riker raised an arm in front of his face to block the guard’s view and slammed into him, knocking the younger man back before he could bring his phaser up. “Security alert, deck fourteen!” shouted the guard, and then Riker grabbed him up, pivoted, and slammed him headfirst into the wall. The guard went down, unconscious, and Riker scooped up his phaser.

  Riker knew security would be all over the place within a minute. If Riker were to be captured, dragged down to the brig, interrogated…by the time he got everything straightened out, it would be too late.

  There was only one person he could think to trust.

  More to the point—there was only one person he could trust whose cabin was close enough.

  The thoughts had gone through his mind so quickly that he was already dashing down a side corridor before the guard had even completely slumped to the ground.

  A right, then another left, and he was standing in front of the cabin. He took a deep breath. The door was locked, which was not unusual when someone had retired for the evening. But his voice was still his voice, and he said briskly, “Computer, override lock and open for William Riker.”

  The computer checked that this was indeed the voice of William T. Riker, authorized occupant of the cabin, and consequently, the doors hissed open. The admiral stepped inside.

  He heard soft breathing in the bed. He squinted, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness as the doors slid shut behind him.

  He hadn’t been quite sure how he would react upon seeing his younger self. He was pleased to discover that, for the most part, he didn’t really care. His younger version was simply a means to an end.

  Perhaps, when all this was over, he would get a massive case of the shakes. Just as Deanna had those many, many years ago.

  For the briefest of moments he was distracted by the mental image of Deanna from their steamy encounter in the jungle, and then he was immediately snapped back to business when his younger self suddenly sat up in bed.

  Commander Riker squinted into the darkness, looking straight at his older self, but wasn’t able to make out anything clearly. He started to say, “Lights.”

  But the admiral moved quickly, moving with assurance in the darkness since, after all, it was his old quarters and he remembered where everything was. He dropped onto the bed next to his younger self and clamped his hand over Will Riker’s mouth.

  The commander struggled fiercely, shoving at the arm that held him down, grabbing upward at his face. The elder Riker, for his part, felt nothing but impatience and quickly called out, “Lights!”

  He felt the younger man freeze in momentary confusion at the no-doubt familiarity of the voice. The lights came up, too bright for Will, and the admiral snapped, “Half lights,” bringing the illumination to a more bearable level.

  Commander Riker stared up in shock at his future self. The latter hissed, “Shut up! We haven’t much time!”

  Momentarily startled, Will began to struggle again, trying to make some sort of noise. The admiral, losing what little patience he had, and aware of the rapidly passing time, snapped, “Didn’t you hear what I said? Shut up, you idiot! They may be here to try and stop me at any moment! So lie still! Listen to me, and be prepared to do exactly what I tell you. Deanna’s life hangs on what you do next.”

  That was more than enough to get Will’s attention. He stopped struggling, slowly realizing that he was not under direct attack; that he was not dreaming; and that there was more to this than he was going to be able to discern upon first exposure.

  “I’m going to let go of your mouth now,” said the admiral. “So help me, if you shout or try to get attention, I’ll knock you cold and take care of this myself. And if I have to do that and get nailed because I’m easily spotted, then you will quite literally have no one but yourself to blame for the rest of your life.”

  Will nodded, indicating he understood, and the admiral slowly released his hand. He stepped back off the bed as Will sat up. There was still confusion in his eyes, but also amazement. “Who…are you?”

  “The Easter bunny,” snapped the admiral. “Who in hell do you think I am. We’re wasting time…time we haven’t got. Get dressed. Move. Move!”

  Will rolled off the bed, never taking his eyes off the senior Riker, even as he started to pull on his uniform. “You’re from the future, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. You don’t sound surprised.”

  “After the time that Captain Picard ran into himself, I swore that nothing would surprise me.”

  “Oh, yes,” said the admiral. “I did swear that, didn’t I.” Then he turned deadly serious. “Listen to me and don’t interrupt. Deanna’s life is in mortal danger.”

  “Then why in hell am I taking the time to get dressed?”

  “Because they may be watching for anything unusual—and you running down the corridor in your nightclothes would qualify.”

  “Who is ‘they’?”

  “I said don’t interrupt. Just listen: Deanna is going to be poisoned.” He pushed on despite Will’s expression of astonishment and held up the vial from his jacket. “This will counteract it. You’ve got to get to her quarters and get her to drink it. And you’ve got”—he glanced at his chronometer—“just over fifteen minutes to do it.”

  At that moment, Will’s communicator beeped.

  “You don’t have time!” hissed the admiral.

  But Will, never taking his eyes off the admiral, tapped it. “Riker here.”

  “Security alert, sir,” came the deep voice of Worf. “An intruder was reported in your general vicinity. Have you seen him?”

  Will Riker stared at his future self.

  The admiral realized that everything was hinging on this moment. A word from Commander Riker would bring Worf and his people charging to the rescue. And the admiral had not had enough time to convince his younger self of the truth of his words.

  Words.

  His own words.

  And in a very low voice, he said, “The future holds such promise…and just as I cannot imagine how I survived the past…without you…”

  Will’s eyes widened in shock, even as over his communicator Worf said, “Commander…what did you say?”

  “Nothing,” was the firm reply. “I haven’t seen him. I’ll meet you in a few minutes. I just…have to get dressed. Rik
er out.”

  There was a silence that, to both of them, seemed to stretch on for eternity. And then Will said, with slow understanding, “She died. In your past…my future…she died. And you’ve come back somehow to try and prevent it. You’re…you’re tampering with time…and the ‘they’ you’re worried about are the people from your time—maybe scientists or, my God, Starfleet personnel—who might try and stop you.”

  “She wasn’t supposed to die,” said the admiral. “It was wrong. Wrong for her. Wrong for me, for everyone. And I’m here to prevent that wrong, and I don’t give a damn what regulations say, and if you love her…if you’re truly Imzadi… you won’t give a damn either.”

  “But…but how am I supposed to believe you? How am I supposed to just…just take the future into my own hands. Our own hands?”

  The admiral took a step toward him. “We do it every moment of our lives, kid. Every day we make our own future. But someone came back and decided to remake the future in their own image…and now I’m here to stop it.”

  “Unless someone stops you. Which means that someone isn’t certain.”

  Admiral Riker grabbed Will Riker by his uniform front. Despite his age, his strength was almost undiminished and was fueled by anger. “Damn you, you sanctimonious clod! You think you know everything? You don’t know a damn thing! You want certainty? This is a certainty, then—Deanna is going to die! She’s going to writhe on the floor and beg you to do something, and all you’re going to do is watch her suffer massive circulatory collapse and die! And it’s not going to be until that moment, you purblind idiot, that you realize that she’s the better part of you!”

  “You’re…it’s wrong,” Will said, but there was tremendous conflict in his eyes.

  “It’s wrong to tamper with the past…. I can’t believe that there’s any circumstance under which I’d…I’d knowingly…”

  “You think you can judge me!” said the admiral. “Remember what we wrote? ‘And just as I cannot imagine how I survived the past without you…I cannot imagine a future without you.’ Remember? Well, I’m the future without her, buddy boy, and I can tell you right now that it’s not something you’re going to relish.” He shoved the vial into Will’s palm. “It’s going to happen, Riker! In just a few minutes now! Her life is going to end. You can save it! You have the power, right here, right now! Now are you going to stand there debating philosophies and moralities and rights and wrongs? Or are you going to deal with the genuine, real, here-and-now fact that Deanna’s life is at stake and only you have a hope in hell of saving her. And if you don’t save her, then hell is where you’re going to be—forty years of hell! Of might-have-beens and what-ifs.