The captain took a breath and let it out. Obviously, it wasn't what he had hoped for. But it was something.
"Thank you," he said sincerely, "if only for that."
Guinan smiled ironically. "That's what I'm here for."
"It almost doesn't matter why we're here," remarked Ensign Sonya Gomez, checking the warp drive's power-transfer ratios on her monitor down in engineering.
"Doesn't matter?" echoed Ensign Robin Lefler, who was standing next to her. It was Lefler's job to examine the dilithium crystal for tiny plasma chinks—a routine job made just a little less routine by the ship's current location and heading. "You're not just a little concerned about what's going on here at the Neutral Zone?" she asked.
"Sure I am," responded Gomez. "But think of it… we're in the Neutral Zone. We're looking at star systems that haven't been seen since the Treaty of Algeron—at least, not with the naked eye."
Lefler smiled at her. "Or rather, we would be... if there were any observation ports here in engineering. Maybe they're seeing those places up in Ten-Forward— but down here, all we've got are our sensor reports."
Gomez frowned. "Okay, so we're not actually seeing them. But still, it's exciting knowing that they're out there. And that we're among them." She paused. "Some of the greatest captains that ever lived haven't been inside the Neutral Zone."
Lefler shrugged. "I suppose."
Gomez turned to her. "But you're still not excited?"
Her colleague sighed. "Sure I am. But I can't help thinking about rule number twenty-nine."
"Rule number twenty-nine?" repeated Gomez. "What's that?"
"The sightseeing's just as good on the way home," replied Lefler. Her brow creased as she scrutinized her monitor a little more closely.
Gomez regarded her. "What does that mean?"
Without looking up, Lefler patted her on the shoulder.
"It means pay attention to those power-transfer ratios— or we might not get home."
"Oh," said Gomez. And, reflecting on the wisdom of rule number twenty-nine, she put her thoughts of undiscovered star systems aside.
At least, for the time being.
It hadn't taken long to reach the Devron system, Picard reflected, as he considered the viewscreen from his captain's chair. Or, for that matter, to discover that there was something there well worth the trip.
Data swiveled in his chair. "According to our sensors, we have located the anomaly."
Geordi whistled from his engineering station. "I've never seen anything like that," he commented.
"Nor have I," agreed Worf.
"It's beautiful," observed Deanna.
"So's a Venus's-flytrap," Riker reminded them.
It was just as the long-range scan reports had described it—a riotous blaze of color, pierced through with shafts of silver light. On the screen, the phenomenon had an ethereal quality to it, rendering it both spectacular and frightening all at once.
Getting up from his chair, Picard took a few steps toward it. He could almost feel it staring back at him, challenging him to unravel its secrets before it was too late.
He turned to Data, who was sitting at ops. "Full scan," he said.
"Aye, sir," the android replied, and set to work.
As the captain watched Data's fingers fly over his controls…
... he had the strangest feeling that he had made another time shift. A quick look around confirmed it. If Tasha was at tactical, he was back in the past.
Data turned to glance back over his shoulder at Picard. "We are approaching the Devron system, Captain. Sensors are picking up a large subspace anomaly directly ahead." Picard grunted softly. Where had he heard that before?
"All stop. Put it on screen," he commanded.
As before, the viewscreen showed him the conflagration of temporal energies that composed the spatial anomaly. This time, however, it took up a good deal more of the screen.
Without meaning to, the captain said, "It's bigger, isn't it?" Troi looked at him. "Sir?" Picard shook his head. "Nothing. Full scan, Mr. Data."
"Aye, sir." Taking a couple of steps forward, the captain peered at the screen, where the anomaly…
... was gone!
Picard blinked, but he couldn't make the thing come back. Instead, the viewscreen displayed a single yellow sun and three lifeless, nondescript planets.
Even before he surveyed his surroundings, he knew that he was in the future again. It was the only one of the three time frames in which his thoughts were so muddled, his brain so unresponsive.
"I've made a complete scan of the Devron system," said Data. "Sensors show nothing out of the ordinary." Picard turned and saw that the android was at an aft console, working with La Forge as Worf looked on. The Klingon was shaking his shaggy head.
"No," said the captain. "That can't be." He walked aft to join them; his heart was thudding against his ribs. Surely, they had made some mistake.
"I've already seen it in the other two... the other two time periods," he protested. "There should be a... a huge spatial anomaly here."
Geordi looked up. 'Tm sorry, sir, but we've checked everything. There's just nothing here."
That wasn't right. It had to be here, thought Picard. It had to be.
CHAPTER 17
It wasn't the result Beverly had hoped for. As she stood there with the others at the science station, her heart went out to Jean-Luc.
He had been so sure that they would find something out here. She had even begun to wonder if he might not be right—if all this business about time travel and mankind's destruction might not have had some tenuous basis in fact.
However, the evidence was undeniable. There was nothing to be seen here, nothing at all. She could only imagine his disappointment.
"Check again," Jean-Luc insisted.
Data did as he was asked. It didn't change a thing.
"Still nothing, Captain. I've conducted a full sensor sweep out to one light-year from the Pasteur. No temporal anomalies... or anything even resembling one."
"Have you scanned the subspace bandwidth?" asked Jean-Luc, stubbornly resisting reality.
"Yes, sir," replied Geordi. "The subspace barrier is a little thin in this region of space..."
"Ah-hah!" the older man cried.
Geordi frowned. "But, as I was about to say, sir, that's not unusual. In other words, we still haven't got anything to hang our hat on."
Jean-Luc's celebration died aborning. He shook his head.
"I don't understand. I've already seen it in the other two... the other two time periods. Why isn't it here?"
Worf, who had been working at a neighboring console, suddenly looked up with concern. "Captain," he said, his eyes fixing on Beverly. "I have been monitoring Klingon communication channels—and several warships have been dispatched to this sector. They are searching for a... renegade Federation vessel."
Damn, thought Beverly. The jig was up. It was time to get out of here—assuming there was still time.
Her ex-husband tugged on her sleeve. "You're not thinking about leaving, are you?"
She sighed, not wanting to hurt his feelings any more than they'd already been hurt. But there was no other way.
"Jean-Luc," she said, "there's nothing here.... "
"There should be!" he roared. "There has to be!" Turning to Data, he leaned over and grabbed him by the shoulders. He'd relied on the android so many times in the past, he obviously didn't know how to stop.
"There must be some other way to scan for temporal disturbances," Jean-Luc cajoled. "Something that's not covered in a normal sensor sweep..."
Data considered the suggestion. "There are several methods of detecting temporal disturbances," he noted, "but we are limited by the range of equipment on the Pasteur. This ship is designed primarily for medical emergencies, not scientific research."
Beverly interposed herself between the two of them.
"Jean-Luc," she explained, "we've done all we can. We have to head back to Federation terri
tory."
"However," Data went on, unperturbed, "it may be possible to modify the warp deflector to emit an inverse tachyon pulse, which could scan beyond the subspace barrier."
That changed Jean-Luc's demeanor again. All of a sudden, he was shaking his fists in the air in front of him.
"Very good!" he exclaimed. "Make it so!"
"Wait a minute," Beverly interjected. Turning to the android, she asked, "How long would this take?" He shrugged. "To make the modifications and search the entire Devron system will take approximately fourteen hours."
She grunted. "Worf, how long until those Klingon warships get here?"
The Klingon sighed. "I am uncertain—but I believe they are coming from the Memp'ha Outpost. That would put them anywhere from eight to eleven hours away."
Time wasn't on their side, was it? Under the circumstances, she'd have to be crazy to pursue this thing any further—even if Data did give Jean-Luc's theory some credence.
But then, she'd done crazy things before.
"All right, Data. Begin modifying the tachyon pulse. Ensign Chilton, lay in a course back to the Federation. If we haven't found anything in six hours, we're heading back at maximum warp." Chilton nodded. "Aye, sir."
"Six hours aren't enough," Jean-Luc protested. "We have to stay here until we find it—no matter how long it takes!"
Beverly felt something boil up inside her. It was all she could do to contain it.
"Carry out my orders," she told the ensign. And then, to Jean-Luc, she said tautly, "May I see you for a moment?"
His eyes were steely, full of righteous anger. "I should say so," he told her.
Without another word, she led him into her ready room.
As the doors closed behind them, Picard was still bristling with indignation.
"Beverly," he said, "I can't believe you're not willing to stay here until—"
Abruptly, she whirled on him, her face flushed with anger. "Don't you ever question my orders on the bridge of my ship again!" she rasped.
He was caught completely off his guard. But in the next moment, he blustered back at her.
"I'm just trying to... There are larger concerns here than... Dammit, don't you understand that—"
"I understand," said Beverly, "that you would never have tolerated that kind of behavior back on the Enterprise. And I won't here." Frustrated as he was, he had to concede that she had a point there. He would not have tolerated the kind of outburst he'd made on the bridge. He'd have sent the offender to his quarters to cool off. No—to the brig.
"You're right," he told her, chastened. "I was out of line. It won't happen again. But you have to understand ... the stakes here are enormous. Q has assured me that all of humanity will be destroyed...."
"I know," she answered. "And that's why I'm willing to stay here a while longer and keep looking." Her features softened, the fury dimming in her eyes. "But I also want you to consider the possibility that none of what you're saying is real."
It was like a slap in the face. He took a step backward.
"What are you saying...?" he stammered.
Beverly moved toward him. She took his hands in hers.
"Jean-Luc, I care for you too much not to tell you the truth, You have advanced Irumodic syndrome. I have to weigh the possibility that all of this... the anomaly, the threat to mankind, everything... is in your mind." She paused. "I'll stay here for another six hours... and that's it. Then we're heading home."
He started to say something, but she gave him a look that told him she wouldn't argue the matter. And this time, he accepted it.
"I want you to remember something," Beverly said. "If it were anyone but you... anyone at all... I wouldn't have come here in the first place. I wouldn't even have considered it."
He believed her. Releasing his hands, she left him in the room to simmer down and returned to her bridge.
Alone, Picard mulled the whole thing over—and knew that his ex-wife had spoken the truth. He had pushed her... pushed all of his old friends... about as far as he could. And out of friendship, out of loyalty, they had acceded to his demands. 'But he could push them no further.
Suddenly, he got the sense that he was no longer by himself. There was someone in back of him.
Whirling, he saw what looked like a parody of an elderly man—someone with bags under his eyes, a mop of scraggly gray hair, and baggy, ill-fitting clothes. The grizzled old fellow was leaning on a cane and holding a hearing trumpet to one ear.
And, of course, it wasn't just any old buzzard who had materialized uninvited on the Pasteur. It was Q.
"Eh?" he croaked, in an exaggeration of the captain's voice. "What was that she said, sonny? I couldn't quite hear her.... "
Picard scowled. "What's going on here, Q? What have you done with the blasted anomaly?" The old crow leaned closer to him, as if to hear better.
"What's that? Where's your mommy? I don't know, sonny... where did you leave her?"
The captain's anger rose hot and red. "Stop this foolishness and answer me!" he bellowed, his voice cracking almost as badly as his adversary's.
Q wagged a spindly, arthritic finger at him. "You young whippersnappers are so impatient... always wanting answers. Why don't you just slow down... smell the roses... learn to appreciate the finer things in life..."
Picard took an angry step toward his nemesis--who, with a quickness that belied his elderly condition, raised his cane and planted the tip of it in the center of the human's chest. In that moment, Q's manner became markedly less playful.
"Now," he said, "don't get carried away, my ancient friend. You'll give yourself a heart attack. And I wouldn't want you to shuffle off before your time... which should be very soon, in any case."
"Not if I have any say in it!" the captain raged.
The entity peered into Picard's left eye. "Is that a blood clot in there, or are you just glad to see me?"
The captain fought down his fury. "Just tell me one thing, all right? This anomaly we're looking for... is this what destroys humanity?"
Q smiled a hideously wrinkled smile. "You're forgetting, Jean-Luc. I said you destroyed humanity."
"By doing what?" pressed Picard.
"That's for me to know," said the entity, "and you to find out. I thought I made that clear already." The human swore. "When will this take place? How are you—"
Suddenly, he was no longer on the Pasteur, no longer in the future. He was back in the present, on the bridge of the Enterprise. The anomaly was on the viewscreen.
And Q was nowhere to be seen.
On the other hand, the onmipotent trickster had left him a going-away present—the cane he'd been leaning on in Beverly's ready room. Tossing it aside, Picard walked forward to ops.
"Report, Mr. Data."
The android consulted the monitors on his console.
"The anomaly is two hundred million kilometers in diameter, sir. It is a highly focused temporal energy source which is emitting approximately the same energy output as ten G-type stars."
The captain considered the information. "And what is the source of that energy?"
"I am uncertain," replied Data. "Sensors have been unable to penetrate the anomaly." Picard thought for a moment. In the future frame, the android had suggested that they.
"Data... what if we modified the warp deflector to emit an…inverse tachyon pulse? That might scan beyond the subspace barrier... and give us an idea what the interior of this thing looks like."
The android seemed a little surprised, but he considered it. "That is a most intriguing idea," he concluded. "I do not believe a tachyon beam has ever been put to such use." He paused. "What is more, I had no idea you were so versed in the intricacies of temporal theory."
The captain smiled at the irony. "I am not—but I have some friends who are. Make it so, Mr. Data."
"Aye, sir." He stood up from his place at ops. "I believe we can make the necessary modifications in main engineering."
Picard nodded. As Data he
aded for the turbolift, the captain turned back to the viewscreen. The anomaly roiled on, a symbol of annihilation that he didn't yet understand. However, he was determined that he would.
"A gift from a friend?" asked Riker. He was standing beside the captain with the discarded cane in his hands.
Picard glared at it. "Yes," he said. "A very old friend."
As Ensign Calan sat at her conn station, with little to do except watch the anomaly shimmer and burn on the viewscreen, her thoughts drifted back to an earlier time. She couldn't help it. When one had been through what she'd been through, it was difficult to leave it behind.
Like Ensigns Ro and Sito before her, Calan was a Bajoran. And like all Bajorans, she had been through hell at the hands of the Cardassians who had held her homeworld in thrall.
One memory in particular separated itself from the rest. It harkened back to the initial phase of the Cardassian occupation, when the worst atrocities were visited on her captive people.
Back then, Calan had labored in the kitchen of the Marjono prison camp—one of the larger facilities of its kind. Of course, the conqueror race had had no compunctions about putting children to work. In fact, they seemed to take satisfaction in it, as a sign of how thoroughly they had subjugated the Bajorans.
Little did they know how grateful she was for the job—because after the Cardassians had eaten their meal, it was her assignment to gather the dishes and bring them in for cleaning. And if she was quick about it, she could slip a crust of bread or a jenka root into her shirt, and share it with her fellow prisoners later on.
It wasn't as if Calan wasn't scared of retribution in those days; she was as scared as anyone else. But sometimes, hunger outweighed fear. What's more, it made her feel good to know she was striking back against the Cardassians in her own, small way.
If she had been older, she would have known that it was only a matter of time before she was caught. She would have predicted it as a certainty. But being a child, she didn't see it coming—and, perhaps reluctant to cut off their clandestine food supply, none of the others warned her about it.
Star Trek - [TNG] - All Good Things... Page 12