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

by Michael Jan Friedman

  The captain looked at the entity askance. What knowledge had he taken away from this? And why was it so important to Q that he'd learned something?

  After all, he had accomplished what he'd needed to accomplish. He had done what was necessary to preserve his own kind.

  Unless…

  Suddenly, Picard saw what it had all been about. And he wasn't happy—not in the least. In fact, he felt more humiliated than ever.

  "I saw my way out of a paradox," the captain responded. "And in the process, I broke free of my preconceptions of time and space. That's what this was all about, wasn't it?" He grunted, amazed at the Continuum's audacity.

  Q's eyes narrowed. "Now you're catching on, mon capitaine. For one split second, your mind was open to possibilities and ideas you'd never dreamt of. But it was only the beginning."

  Picard wanted to be angry—but somehow, he couldn't be. As twisted as Q's methods were, his motives seemed almost... altruistic.

  "You think of yourself as an explorer," Q expanded, warming to his subject. "And yet, how little you understand the universe you live in."

  He gestured ever so slightly, and the captain's head was suddenly full of images and concepts he couldn't begin to comprehend. It was staggering. overwhelming.

  Q went on, his voice a distant drone. "The real voyage of exploration has yet to begin, Jean-Luc... a voyage vastly unlike any other in your experience. And it has nothing to do with mapping star systems and charting nebulae. It's a voyage of perceptions... of thoughts. of moments and possibilities..."

  Just as Picard thought he was beginning to see, the images vanished. It left him feeling empty... and terribly alone, like someone who has been cut off from the very thing that defined him.

  '"Well," Q told him, "maybe you're not quite ready yet. But you seem to have demonstrated a certain aptitude for higher learning. Perhaps someday, you'll get the picture." He dusted off his judge's robes. "In any case, I'll be here watching... and waiting. And if you're very, very lucky, I'll drop by to say hello from time to time." Q was becoming translucent, immaterial. Already, the details of the courtroom were visible through him.

  "Until we meet again, mon capitaine. In the meantime, you really should get some clothes on. You'll catch your death of cold."

  As the last of his adversary faded away, Picard reached out…

  ... and found himself stepping out of a turbolift, dressed in nothing but his bathrobe.

  Worf and Deanna were standing there in the corridor, looking at him in surprise. It took the captain a moment to realize what had happened.

  Q had deposited him back at the beginning of his adventure... if one could call it that. This was the point at which he had pleaded with the counselor for help, and then—

  Yes. And then.

  This time, however, it would be different. After all, he wasn't staggering around, claiming vague recollections of his initial experiences in the past and the future.

  This time, his memories were clear and complete. He remembered all that had happened, from his meeting with Geordi in the vineyard at Labarre to his final assault on the anomaly in all three time periods. And Q himself had told him that his gambit had ultimately succeeded.

  Because of that, events could not help but pursue a different course. Or could they?

  A specter of doubt raised its head. What if Q had plunked him down at some other point in time... a point that only superficially resembled the beginning of his time trek?

  What if there was something about his test that was still incomplete? What if, through some cruel turn of events, there was still some aspect of the puzzle left to be solved?

  Deanna stared at him with concern in her lovely dark eyes. "Captain, are you all right?" His heart banging against his ribs, Picard turned to the Klingon. "Lieutenant... what's the date?"

  Worf wasn't sure what was going on—but he answered anyway. "Stardate four-seven-nine-eight-eight."

  Stardate four-seven-nine-eight-eight. The exact same day and time on which his time-shifting escapade had begun.

  The captain was overwhelmed with relief. He laughed out loud, not caring about the wary look that went back and forth between Deanna and Worf. For the moment, not caring about anything... except the fact that he was back where he belonged.

  "Is something wrong, sir?" asked the counselor.

  Picard shook his head. "Not at all. In fact, I think I'll go back to bed. I could really do with some sleep." And with that, he stepped back inside the turbolift compartment. As the doors closed, the last thing he saw was the querulous expressions on the faces of his officers.

  CHAPTER 26

  Captain's Log, Supplemental. All is once again right with the galaxy. Starfleet Command reports no unusual activity along the Neutral Zone, nor is there any sign of the temporal anomaly. What's more, it would appear I am the only member of the crew to retain any knowledge of the events I experienced—though I've seen fit to brief my senior staff on them.

  Crusher looked at Riker. As always, his expression was unreadable. He had the best poker face she'd ever seen.

  "Well?" he asked.

  There was a note of confidence in his voice. Was it a bluff, intended to scare her off7. Or was he trying to make it seem like a bluff, so as to draw her in even further?

  The doctor took another look at her hand. She had a straight to the ten. A damned good hand, by any account. But she'd lost with better. And usually, it had been to Riker.

  Still, she'd come this far. A high percentage of the plastic chips in the center of the table were hers. And if she didn't go in, the first officer would win without showing what he held.

  Crusher couldn't let him do that. Win or lose, she had to see what was in the cards.

  "All right," the doctor said finally. "I'll see you." She had only ten chips left, but she pushed them all into the existing pot. Then she eyed the bearded man and revealed her hand.

  "Can you beat a straight?" Still, Riker gave no indication of whether he'd won or lost. One by one, he placed his cards down on the table.

  A four. Another four. A deuce. A second deuce. And finally... a third deuce.

  "Full boat," he announced, unable to keep from cracking a smile. "My apologies, Doctor."

  "No need," Crusher advised him. "As usual, I've got only myself to blame." Pushing her chair back, she got up from the poker table.

  "That's it?" asked Worf.

  "For me it is," she confirmed.

  Geordi regarded her sympathetically. "There's always next time," he suggested.

  The doctor scowled. "I suppose. It's a good thing I've got my medical career to fall back on, because I certainly couldn't make it as an interplanetary cardsharp." Riker grinned as he organized his chips, which easily constituted the largest collection on the table. He was obviously quite pleased with himself, and he wasn't bothering to conceal it.

  Geordi turned to Worf. "That's four hands in a row," he observed. "How does he do it?"

  The Klingon swore under his breath. "I would like to know myself, Commander."

  The first officer chuckled to himself. "Simple," he said. "I cheat."

  Data had begun to collect the cards. Abruptly, his head snapped up. There was a shocked expression on his face.

  "I'm kidding," the exec assured him. "Really."

  As if he'd never heard the remark, the android went back to shuffling the deck again.

  Crusher moved to an empty chair off to the side and sank into it. It was just as comfortable as it looked.

  "You know," she said after a while, "I've been thinking..."

  Geordi cast a glance at her. "About what?"

  She smiled to herself. "About all the things the captain told us about the future. The things he said about us... about our relationships... the way we changed and drifted apart." She paused. "Why would he tell us what's going to happen?"

  The engineer shrugged. "It does go against everything we've heard about not polluting the timeline.... "

  They pondered the qu
estion for a moment. As was often the case, Data was the first to come to a conclusion.

  "I believe," he said, "that this situation is unique."

  "How so?" asked Riker.

  The android turned to him. "Since the temporal anomaly did not occur," he reasoned, "and will not occur, there have already been changes in the way this timeline is unfolding. The future we experience will undoubtedly be different from the one the captain encountered."

  The first officer nodded. "Maybe that's why he told us. Knowing what that future could bring... gives us a chance to change things now."

  "So those events don't have a chance to take place," Geordi elaborated.

  "Right," continued Riker. He gave Worf a meaningful look. "And in the case of some of those events, we should take extra care to see that they don't happen."

  The Klingon nodded in appreciation. "Agreed," he said.

  They heard the sound of chimes, announcing the presence of someone at the door.

  "Come on in," replied the first officer: As the doors parted, Troi was revealed. She looked around the table.

  "Am I too late?" she asked.

  "No," said Riker. "Not at all, Deanna. In fact, I was just getting up. Take my seat." With that, he got up and offered her his chair—which happened to be next to Worf's. Fully cognizant of the significance of the gesture, the Betazoid sat down.

  "Thanks," she told the first officer.

  Riker smiled at her. "My pleasure."

  Crusher saw Worf glance at the counselor, then at the first officer. There was no need to speak the words that went with his sentiments. At least, not right now.

  "Four-handed poker?" asked Troi, breaking the silence. She looked up again at Riker. "Can I convince you to sit down again?"

  The first officer shook his head. "I think I've worn out my welcome. Deal me out for a couple of hands and I might reconsider."

  She turned to Crusher. "Bev?"

  The doctor held up a hand. "Not me," she declined. "I took enough of a beating before you got here."

  The chimes sounded again. "Come," said Riker.

  Crusher couldn't guess who else might want to join the game. All the regulars were already here.

  As a result, she was quite surprised when she saw the captain standing there in the corridor. Everyone sat up at attention as he entered.

  The first officer looked concerned. "Sir—is there a problem?" Picard shook his head. "No, no problem at all. I just thought I might... join you this evening. That is, if there's room..."

  Glances were exchanged. And smiles.

  "There's plenty of room," said Riker, speaking for all of them. "In fact, it looks to me like there's a seat next to Data... the one Dr. Crusher just abandoned."

  The captain looked at his chief medical officer. "A run of bad luck?" he asked politely.

  She shrugged. "Maybe it'll change," she hoped out loud.

  As Picard sat down, the android gave him the deck of cards. "Would you care to deal, sir?"

  The captain seemed pleased. "Oh... thank you." He started to shuffle the cards. "You know, I should have done this a long time ago. I was quite a cardplayer in my youth, you know."

  Troi leaned forward slightly. "You were always welcome here, sir."

  He nodded. "Yes," he said. "I know."

  Crusher could see that his experience had left him with a new appreciation for life... and for people. Especially these people, who were more like a family to him than a collection of colleagues.

  "Sometimes," Picard went on, "you lose sight of the things that are truly important. I hope I won't make that mistake again."

  As he glanced at each of them in turn, the doctor could see the brightness in his eyes that betrayed his feelings for them. And also, perhaps, for a certain blond security officer who was no longer with them. Then, a little embarrassed, he began dealing the cards.

  "So," he said, regaining command of himself.

  "Fivecard stud, nothing wild. The sky's the limit."

  Crusher looked at him... and still couldn't help but wonder. Would she and the captain marry one day? And if they did, would it end in divorce, as in the timeline he had experienced?

  Would Picard fall victim to Irumodic syndrome—or escape it? Would he remain in Starfleet, or go back to Earth to become a vintner?

  Would Troi and Worf fall in love, as it appeared they would? And if they did, what would come of it?

  Would the Romulan Empire fall? Would a rift form between the Federation and the Kllngons? What role would the manipulative Cardassians play? The Tholians? The Ferengi?

  And so on. There were any number of questions, none of which could accurately be answered without a crystal ball. And it was just as well, wasn't it?

  Because none of them really wanted to know the future. Each one of them wanted the chance to mold it, for better or worse, in his or her own two hands.

  That was the way it had always been, since the birth of man. And though she couldn't deny her curiosity, she was glad that was the way it would continue to be.

  At least, for a while.

  Q had never been a one-eyed jack before. As it happened, he rather liked it, particularly because it gave him a jack's-eye view of his favorite human sparring partner.

  Picard was frowning at him--and not because he knew that Q was posing as a card in his hand. The problem was, the other four cards were all clubs, and Q was the jack of hearts.

  No doubt the captain would be discarding him at his earliest opportunity. Casting him off like a used dishrag. Tossing him in the huge, echoing wastebasket of life.

  But that was all right. Q could always turn up elsewhere. And unless the Continuum decided to curb him again in some way, he most certainly would.

  After all, no one entertained him quite as much as Picard did. No one did so much with so little. And no one was so good at reminding the entity of what it was like to be a human being.

  He was tempted to turn around and stick his tongue out at the captain, butmfor once—he held himself in check. After all, he didn't want Picard to take him for granted. Having said good-bye to the man, it was much too early to say hello again.

  Glancing over Picard's shoulder at the ever-annoying Dr. Crusher, he could feel his stomach churning as he considered her questions about the future—and that was no easy feat for mere pasteboard. Marriage. Love. Divorce. It was all so incredibly mundane.

  Or was that just because he knew how it was all going to turn out? Might it not be a little more interesting if one was limited to knowing the past and the present, and restricted from peeking into the future?' He tried to imagine what that would be like--and found he couldn't. After all, his consciousness spanned time and space--and then some. It would be like asking a human not to think.

  And what was all this rubbish about molding one's own future? Free will was an amusing notion, but to actually believe in it... was there no end to the gullibility of these creatures?

  Uh-oh. The captain was reaching for him. Plucking him out from the company of the other cards. Tossing him facedown on the table.

  Too bad, thought Q, with a sadness that he felt as deeply as he was capable of feeling anything. He'd rather enjoyed being part of the game.