Star Trek - [TNG] - All Good Things...

by Michael Jan Friedman

  But one day, when she was clearing the remains of a Cardassian's meal into her clothing, one of the guards saw what she was doing. Without a word, he grabbed her by her long blond hair and took her to the commandant of the prison camp.

  Like so many Cardassians in high positions, Gul Makur was not an especially bad-tempered individual.

  However, he wasn't about to let Calan's audacity go unpunished. If his prisoners began to think they could get away with small things, he explained, they would try bigger things. And that would lead to the sort of trouble he'd prefer to avoid.

  So to prevent small things from leading to bigger ones, the commandant took his dinner knife and dug it into the tender flesh of Calan's shoulder. He did this three times, until her shoulder bled in three spots. Then he connected the spots with the edge of his blade, creating a triangular scar that would remain with her the rest of her days.

  Her only satisfaction came years later, when she heard that the Resistance had dispatched Gul Makur in a particularly slow and painful way. Then, in her mind, her scar became a badge of honor.

  Even after she joined Starfleet and was given the option of having it surgically removed, she opted to keep it. It had become a part of her, and not the worst part by far.

  As she often did when she remembered these events, Calan reached beneath her uniform and felt for the raised triangle of the scar. Funny... for some reason, it was difficult to find. She felt around some more, but still came up empty-handed.

  Ice water tricked down into the small of her back. It wasn't possible that the scar had disappeared. By the prophets, she had seen it this morning in the mirror.

  But after another moment or two, she came to a conclusion as inescapable as the Marjono prison camp. Her scar was gone, as if Gul Makur had never inflicted it on her in the first place.

  Yet it hadn't been a dream; the damned thing had happened. Even now, she could feel the Cardassian's knife piercing her skin. She could feel the pain, the shame of her tears as they made hot little trails down her cheeks.

  No, the scar had been real. And now it was gone. The only question now was... how?

  CHAPTER 18

  "I'm surprised," said Geordi. "I had no idea that Captain Picard had such a handle on temporal theory."

  "I was surprised as well," Data admitted, his voice only slightly masked by the hum of the engines.

  They were working alongide each other in engineering, making the adjustments the captain had called for. Once the android had described what he was up to, Geordi couldn't resist pitching in. After all, he'd never even seen an inverse tachyon pulse, much less created one.

  "And using the beam to scan past the subspace barrier..." The engineer shook his head. "That's pretty innovative... if it works."

  "I thought so too," agreed Data.

  "But," Geordi added, "I guess this isn't the first time Captain Picard has caught me off guard. It's amazing some of the things he comes up with."

  The android nodded. "I suppose it is."

  The engineer pointed to one of the monitors they were working with—and, more specifically, to a key juncture in the deflector schematic. "We can get more power if we reroute this circuit to the deflector array."

  It seemed to make sense to Data also. "Initiating tachyon pulse..."

  On another monitor, the engineer could see a thin, oscillating beam emerge from the deflector dish and begin scanning the anomaly.

  After a moment, the android turned to him. "I am curious, Geordi. Where do you think you will be twenty-five years from now?"

  The human smiled. "What?"

  "Captain Picard has been to the future," Data explained. "All our futures. He might even be interacting with one or more of us in that time period. I find it interesting to speculate where our lives will take us by that time."

  Geordi shrugged. "I don't know. Assuming I'm still around, I'll probably still be in Starfleet."

  His friend looked at him. "Then you do not anticipate any significant changes in your future?"

  The engineer shook his head. "Not really. I'm a pretty lucky guy. I'm doing exactly what I want in exactly the way I want to do it. I'll probably be wearing this uniform until the day I die." He paused. "What about you?"

  Data thought for a moment. "I have often considered leaving Starfleet for academic study."

  "So you'd like to teach?" Geordi asked.

  "Possibly," Data answered. "My first choice would be to do so at Cambridge University. In an ideal situation, I would hold the Lucasian Chair, which was also held by Sir Isaac Newton, Dr. Stephen Hawking, and Torar Olaffok." He seemed to hesitate. "But that is only a possibility. Perhaps I will remain in Starfleet as well."

  It was time to check their instruments. "Okay," said Geordi. "The pulse is holding steady. We're starting to receive data from the scan..."

  "It will take the computer some time to give us a complete picture of the anomaly's interior," the android pointed out. "I suggest we—"

  Before Data could finish his thought, Geordi felt a sudden stab of pain in both his eyes. "Damn!" he groaned, dropping his face into his hands.

  "What is wrong?" asked Data.

  "I'm not sure..." answered the engineer. He just knew it hurt like hell—and he'd never felt this kind of pain before. "It's like somebody put an ice pick through my temples... and my VISOR... it's picking up all kinds of electromagnetic distortions.... "

  He staggered, lost his balance... and felt the android catch him before he could fall. The next thing he knew, his friend was speaking to the intercom system.

  "Data to sickbay. Medical emergency in main engineering..."

  Picard shook his head. He'd had his hands full wrestling with Q, his time shifts, and humanity's survival. Now something else seemed to be rearing its ugly head.

  As he looked on, Beverly pointed to Geordi's eyes.

  The engineer was sitting on a biobed with his VISOR off.

  "Look at them," said the doctor. "You can see the difference yourself."

  It was true. Whereas Geordi's eyes had previously been perfectly colorless, they now showed signs of having irises. The signs were faint, but they were there.

  "Yes," Picard responded. "I see."

  Picking up a scanning device, Beverly used it to perform a quick examination. As she looked at the results, her forehead wrinkled.

  "What is it?" the captain asked.

  "Nothing short of amazing," she told him, still staring at the device. "The DNA in his optic nerves is being regenerated. I'm starting to see the formation of a retina."

  She turned to Picard. "It's as if he were growing brand-new eyes."

  Geordi swore beneath his breath. "I guess that's why I started to feel pain. My optical cortex was falling out of alignment with my VISOR."

  Picard didn't understand. "How is this possible?" he asked.

  "It shouldn't be possible at all," returned the chief medical officer. "There's no medical explanation for a spontaneous regeneration of dead tissue."

  As they pondered her remark, Nurse Ogawa approached them. She held out a padd to Beverly.

  "Doctor," said Ogawa, "we've just gotten reports from two crew members... Ensign Calan, and Lieutenant McBurney in astrophysics... who say they have old injuries that are healing themselves. I'm not sure what to make of it."

  The captain looked at her. "Healing... themselves?" he echoed.

  Before they could go any further, Data approached them. He had been working at a terminal off to the side—and in his fascination with Geordi's condition, Picard had all but forgotten that the android was there.

  "I believe," said Data, "that I may have a partial explanation for what is happening to Commander La Forge... and to the others as well, sir. If you would care to join me, I can show you what I mean."

  The captain and Beverly followed the android back to his terminal. Looking over Data's shoulder at the monitor, Picard could see a rather complex diagram of the anomaly with various pieces of sensor information incorporated int
o it. He waited for an explanation—nor was it long in coming.

  "I have completed my analysis of the anomaly," said the android. "It appears to be a multiphasic temporal convergence in the space-time continuum."

  The doctor frowned. "In English, please."

  "It is, in essence," amended Data, "an eruption of anti-time."

  The captain looked at him. "Anti-time?"

  "Yes, sir," confirmed the android. "It is a relatively new concept ill temporal mechanics. The relationship of anti-time to normal time is analogous to the relationship of antimatter to normal matter."

  Picard mulled that over. "All right," he said. "Go on."

  "Anti-time," Data explained, "would possess the exact opposite characteristics of normal time—operating in some kind of temporal reversion we do not fully understand."

  The captain was beginning to catch on. "You're saying that the anomaly is the result of time and anti-time coming together in the same place."

  "That is correct, sir. Something has ruptured the barrier between time and anti-time in the Devron system. I believe this rupture is sending out waves of temporal energy which are disrupting the normal flow of time." The android turned to gaze at Geordi. "It is possible that the DNA molecules in Geordi's optic nerves are not regenerating themselves... but simply reverting to their original state."

  If Data was right…

  "You mean his eyes are getting younger?" asked Picard.

  The android nodded. "For all intents and purposes, yes."

  The captain considered the implications. "So the temporal anomaly has certain rejuvenating effects. It certainly doesn't sound like the destruction of humanity."

  "No," Beverly confirmed. "It doesn't."

  Picard scowled. "Mr. Data... any idea what could have caused this rupture between time and anti-time?"

  Data looked confused. "Anti-time, sir?"

  Abruptly, Picard realized that the android was sitting at ops, not at a terminal in sickbay. He gathered that he had returned to the past.

  This was an opportunity, then. Moving quickly to Data's console, he began entering information as quickly as he could. The others--Tasha, Worf, O'Brien, and Troi—were no doubt watching from their stations, wondering what in blazes the captain was up to.

  "I believe," he explained to the android, "that if we modify the deflector to send out an inverse tachyon pulse, you'll find that the anomaly is a rupture between time and anti-time."

  Data regarded him. "That is a fascinating hypothesis, sir. Where did you encounter--"

  "It would take too long to explain," Picard told him.

  "Begin the modifications and send out the pulse. And once you've done that, start working on a theory as to what could have caused this rupture."

  The android didn't question his motives. "Aye, sir."

  As Data began to comply with his orders, the captain took in the image of the anomaly on the viewscreen. In case he had forgotten, he was reminded of how much larger it was here in the past than in the present.

  "Mr. O'Brien," he said. "How big is the anomaly?"

  It took only a moment or two for O'Brien to come up with the answer. "Approximately four hundred million kilometers in diameter, sir."

  Picard shook his head, wishing he had a better grasp of what was going on. "I still don't understand why it's larger here..."

  O'Brien shot him a puzzled look. Obviously, he didn't have any idea what his commanding officer was talking about. Still, he gave no sign of wanting to pursue the matter.

  "Captain..." Picard whirled at the sound of Worf's voice. The Klingon was reacting to something he saw on his aft console.

  "There are five Terellian transport ships holding position in the Devron system, sir."

  "We're being hailed by the lead ship," added Tasha. "Their pilot's name is Androna."

  "On screen," instructed the captain.

  In the next instant, the viewscreen filled with the image of a Terellian. "Enterprise, "he said, smiling. "You are a welcome sight. We've been receiving threats from the Romulan Empire ever since we entered the Neutral Zone. I'm glad to see you're here to protect us."

  Picard frowned. "Why have you come here?"

  Androna's expression became even brighter. "Once we heard about the Light... about the power it has to heal illness, to rejuvenate the elderly... we had to come here."

  The captain sighed. Judging by the looks on his officers' faces, they were rather confused. None of them, it seemed, had heard anything about this.

  Of course, they hadn't just leaped through time. They hadn't been sitting there in Beverly Crusher's sickbay, where a man's eyes were growing younger, listening to reports of injuries that had healed themselves.

  "We can't really be certain that the... Light... has this power," Picard replied. "And there may be dangers, side effects we're not aware of..."

  The Terellian wasn't moved. "I have five ships full of sick and dying people, Captain. If there's even a chance it's true, I can't turn back now."

  However, the captain could be persistent too. "It would be safer for all concerned if you left the Neutral Zone... and let us investigate the phenomenon more fully."

  Androna shook his head. "No, my friend. I've come too far. I choose to remain here."

  Picard was frustrated with this response. Unfortunately, he didn't have the authority to order them away.

  "I warn you," he said, "that if the Romulans should decide to intervene, I may not be able to protect you."

  "I understand," answered the Terellian. "We'll take that risk. Good luck, Captain—to both of us."

  A moment later, Androna's image was gone. Picard mulled the situation over for a moment, then headed for his ready room. As he passed Tasha, he said, "You have the bridge, Lieutenant." She nodded. "Aye, sir."

  The doors parted for him, giving him access to a place where he could stop and think for a moment. Where…

  ... nothing looked familiar. But then, why should it?

  He wasn't on the Enterprise any longer. He was in Beverly's ready room on the Pasteur.

  Damn, thought Picard. I've shifted again.

  As he moved toward the door, the deck suddenly bucked beneath his feet, nearly throwing him to the ground. Hearing the red-alert klaxon, he made use of whatever handholds presented themselves and ventured out uncertainly onto the bridge.

  Beverly was sitting in the center seat, giving orders.

  But there was nothing on the viewscreen to explain why.

  "What's going on?" he asked, loud enough to be heard.

  Beverly turned in her seat. "We're under attack, Jean-Luc." Just then, the ship was rocked again. But still, Picard couldn't pinpoint the cause of it.

  "Shield strength down to fifty-two percent," called out Chilton. "Minor damage to the port nacelle." Worf looked up from the console he'd commandeered.

  "Three Klingon attack cruisers have decloaked to port and starboard." His expression was not a joyous one.

  "We are surrounded!"

  CHAPTER 19

  A third time, the ship was walloped by Klingon fire. Holding tight to her armrests, Beverly gritted her teeth.

  It had been a long time since she'd been in a battle, and she wasn't about to engage in one now, if she could help it. Especially not with the deck stacked so thoroughly against her.

  She looked to Chilton and kept her tone as even as possible. "Warp speed, Ensign. Get us out of here!"

  Chilton worked at her conn board. "I can't comply. Warp power off-line, sir."

  Another jolt. This time, Beverly was nearly torn from her chair.

  "Bring us about," she commanded. "Course one-four-eight mark two-one-five. Full impulse."

  The ship came about, but it didn't do them much good. The Klingon attack cruisers were right on their tail. Yet again, they were raked by enemy fire. On the bridge, they felt the impact as a series of vicious jerks.

  "Warp power fluctuating," Chilton announced. "Shields down to thirty percent."

  Beverly bit
her lip. Behind her, she heard a familiar voice make itself heard over the melee.

  "Weapons status, Mr. Worf?"

  For that one moment, Picard almost looked and sounded like his old self. It was as if he'd temporarily shrugged off the debilitating effects of his disease and become the master strategist again.

  What's more, the answer he'd demanded wasn't long in coming. "These phasers are no match for their shields, sir. Our only hope is to escape."

  Consumed with anger, Beverly whirled. "I thought you said I had eight hours, Worf. What the hell are they doing here now?"

  "These must be ships from some other sector," the Klingon shot back. He frowned at his monitor, no doubt wondering why he hadn't foreseen this possibility.

  Beverly turned to Geordi. "We need warp power—now."

  The former chief engineer worked at his console—but it didn't look good. Finally he raised his head.

  "Sorry, Captain. They're just too much for us. I can't keep the phase inducers on-line any—" He was interrupted by another bone-rattling blow to the ship.

  "Shields down to nine percent," reported Chilton. "One more hit and they'll collapse entirely."

  Beverly cursed under her breath. There was only one option left to her—and though she didn't like it, she'd have to exercise it.

  "Worf," she said, "open a channel. Signal our surrender."

  Thirty years ago, the Klingon would have protested, desperate to avoid even the appearance of cowardice. Older and wiser now, he simply complied.

  They waited. A moment later, he looked up. But he didn't seem happy with the results.

  "They will not accept our surrender," he informed them. "They intend to complete what they began."

  Before she could assimilate the information, the ship lurched again under the Klingons' barrage, throwing her clear of the captain's chair. Before she hit the deck, she saw Chilton's console explode in a geyser of sparks, catching the ensign full in the face.

  Jean-Luc, who was nearer to Chilton than anyone else, came to the woman's aid as quickly as he could. But Beverly could see that it was too late. Her ensign was dead.

  Jean-Luc looked up and met Beverly's gaze. His expression reminded her that he'd lost people in much the same way.