Riker launched into his briefing. “When we first saw the Draa’kon in orbit around Xhaldia, we wondered what they were doing there. Now we know. They weren’t just there to kidnap Xhaldia’s budding superbeings. In point of fact, they had created them.”
“Created them?” La Forge repeated.
“That’s right,” said the first officer. “You see, as many as thirty years ago, Draa’kon geneticists found a genome that would produce certain combat abilities in breeding stock.”
“To support Draa’kon aggression against other species,” Crusher noted.
“Exactly, Doctor—just as Khan and others engineered human genes in the twentieth century. But the Draa’kon ran into a stumbling block. Their DNA rejected the genome.”
The captain saw where Riker was going with this. “So they sought out a gene pool without that particular problem—one that would bring forth a crop of super-powered warriors.”
“Apparently,” said the first officer. “Finally, they found such a gene pool on Xhaldia—though it was a tiny fraction of the population. After that, it was simply a matter of introducing an airborne virus that would sow the right genetic seeds—and produce a sprinkling of mutant Xhaldians some twenty-two years later.”
La Forge grunted. “Incredible!”
“However,” Riker said, “once the transformed learned to use their powers, they would become difficult to capture. Therefore, the Draa’kon would only have a limited window of opportunity to harvest their crop.”
“A window,” Picard continued, “that we have managed to shut.” He eyed his first officer. “But tell me, Number One … how did you learn all this?”
The first officer shifted in his seat. “Actually, sir, it was Wolverine who obtained the information.”
“Wolverine?” the captain echoed, turning to the mutant.
The man in the mask just grinned at him.
“Yes, sir,” Riker confirmed. “In an … er, interview with one of the captured Draa’kon.”
Picard frowned. “An interview in which Wolverine no doubt employed his own, unique brand of persuasion.”
This time, Riker smiled along with the mutant. “No doubt,” he said.
The captain sighed. It wasn’t always easy dealing with these X-Men—and Wolverine especially. Still, he could hardly argue with the results.
“Thank you,” he told his first officer. He turned to La Forge. “You have the floor, Commander.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the chief engineer. He looked around the table at the X-Men. “You’ll be interested to know I’ve figured out what went wrong with your time-space transport.”
“Excellent,” replied Shadowcat. “So what was it?”
La Forge turned to Nightcrawler. “It was Kurt, here.”
“See that, elf?” Wolverine grunted. “Ain’t I always said yer more trouble than yer worth?”
“Stick it in your two giant ears, mein freund,” said the teleporter with a smile.
Storm ignored her teammates’ good-natured banter. “In what way was Kurt the cause of our problem?” she asked.
“Good question,” said La Forge. “You see, when Nightcrawler teleports, he picks up traces of something called verteron particles—which we’ve come to associate with subspace travel.”
“Ye learned that in yer examination of ‘im?” Banshee wondered.
“That’s right,” the engineer replied. “And once I knew that, I suspected it was a contributing factor to your inability to get home. But I didn’t know how verterons alone could be responsible—and I couldn’t find out the easy way, because I didn’t have access to the timehook Nightcrawler had used.”
“So what did you do?” asked Archangel, looking genuinely intrigued.
“Well,” said La Forge, “I thought about the fact that you could have shown up at any point at all in time-space—but you showed up in my particular universe, not too long after we’d seen you last. I decided that couldn’t be just a coincidence. There had to be something drawing you to those coordinates.”
“And what was it?” Shadowcat prodded.
“That’s what I wanted to know,” the engineer told her. “Since you turned up originally at Starbase 88, I figured I’d make that my next research stop—figuratively speaking, of course. Contacting Admiral Kashiwada’s people, I asked for their security logs for the month preceding your appearance. And that’s where I found the lead I was looking for.
“Remember the other timehook—that one that brought us home? As Captain Picard told Storm, it was misplaced in the course of its return to us. But when I went over the starbase’s cargo logs, I found a reference to something that sounded a lot like it.”
“On Starbase 88?” asked Colossus.
“On Starbase 88. So I asked them to analyze it for me. And guess what? It was lousy with verteron particles.”
“Ah hah,” said Nightcrawler. “The plot thickens.”
“Wait a second,” Shadowcat declared. “I think I get it. There’s some kind of connection between the timehooks—some method of communication Kang built in, that may not be obvious to us.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” La Forge said. “Maybe to keep the timehooks from trying to jump to the exact same coordinates.”
“Okay,” the girl replied, “that works. Anyway, at some point, the starbase is exposed to verteron particles, and so is the timehook in its cargo bay. And the one Kurt’s using has already been contaminated with verterons. So when we try to use all our hooks at the same time, to get home …”
“The nature of the link changes,” said the engineer, impressed by Shadowcat’s grasp of the situation. “It becomes like an elastic band. And having been stretched, it snaps back again—until it drags you back to the other timehook, which happens to be in a cargo bay at Starbase 88.”
Banshee whistled. “And ‘twas brought to this point in time because, before then, th’ other timehook had nae been exposed … and th’ altered link had nae existed.” He smiled. “Pretty heady stuff, ‘tis.”
“Now what?” asked Nightcrawler. “Am I to be drawn and quartered for my role in this?”
La Forge chuckled. “That part’s out of my hands, I’m afraid. But you’ll be glad to know the last timehook is on its way to us even as we speak. After we cleanse it of verteron particles, you should be able to use it to get home once and for all.”
“Here, here,” said Banshee.
Archangel nodded approvingly. “Nice work, Commander.”
“I try,” said the engineer.
Picard turned to Dr. Crusher. “Your turn, Beverly.”
She leaned forward. “What I have to say isn’t all that complicated.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that,” Wolverine muttered.
Storm shot him a look.
“As you know,” Crusher continued, “I programmed a replica of Professor Xavier in the holodeck. Working together, we were able to devise a process for reversing the work of the Draa’kon genome—in other words, turning the transformed back into normal Xhaldians.”
“And?” said Colossus.
“Having studied your systems at a cellular level, I think I can adapt what the professor and I came up with to rid you of your mutant gene as well.”
Crusher watched the X-Men’s faces, as the significance of her announcement sank in.
“In other words … make us into normal humans?” Colossus asked.
Banshee’s eyes narrowed. “The same as the rest of society?”
“That’s right,” the doctor told them. “You wouldn’t be mutants anymore. You would be homo sapiens.”
Shadowcat stared at her. “But … we don’t want to be homo sapiens. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we don’t love the idea of being persecuted because of what we are. But that doesn’t mean we would trade it for anything else.”
“We’ve risked our lives to remain mutants.” Storm pointed out. “And to be accepted that way.”
“In fact,” Nightcrawler said slyly, �
�the only people who’ve offered to make us homo sapiens in the past are our enemies.”
Crusher smiled. “I had a feeling you’d say that. Still, I had to give you the choice.”
Picard nodded. “So you did, Doctor.” He looked around the table. “And that concludes our agenda. Thank you all for coming.”
Everyone got up and left the observation lounge. However, the captain lingered. So, he noticed, did Storm. She gazed out the window at the stars, as she had that time in his ready room.
“Commander Riker told me of your exploits in Verdeen,” he said. “They sounded rather colorful.”
“No more so than your adventure in the shuttle,” she replied.
Picard frowned. “May I ask you a question, Ororo?”
The mutant turned to him. “As you wish.”
“When you first came aboard,” he said, “we had a conversation. We were talking about the demands of leadership.”
She nodded. “Of course. I said that leaders seldom enjoy stable relationships—which is no more than the truth as I have observed it.”
“Yes,” said the captain. “But you also seemed on the verge of mentioning an exception to that rule. I cannot help but wonder …”
Storm gazed into his eyes. “Are you certain you want me to answer that question? To answer it even as I am leaving, most likely never to see you again?”
Picard considered the wisdom in what she was saying. He took a breath, then let it out.
“Perhaps not,” he said softly.
For a moment, silence reigned in the observation lounge. Then the mutant came over and took the captain’s arm. “Suddenly, I have an urge for some herbal tea.”
Picard smiled. “As you wish.”
Chapter Thirty-four
PICARD STOOD ON the periphery of Cargo Bay One, flanked by his first officer and his ship’s counselor. They watched as Geordi and Shadowcat conspired to set the coordinates on the last remaining timehook, surrounded by the other X-Men, Commander Worf, and a handful of Enterprise officers.
“And that’s it,” the chief engineer announced at last.
“It’s ready?” asked Wolverine.
“As ready as it’ll ever be,” said Shadowcat.
The X-Men looked at one another. Clearly, they were gladdened by the prospect of returning to their rightful timeline. However, it also meant leaving their newfound comrades behind—if not for the first time, quite possibly for the last.
Wolverine clapped Worf on the shoulder. “Don’t ever change, bub.”
The Klingon’s mouth pulled up at the corners. “Once again, it was an honor fighting beside you.”
Shadowcat hugged Lt. Sovar. “Take care of yourself,” she told him. “I mean, you’ll have to, now. You won’t have me to look after you anymore.”
The Xhaldian grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
“You sure you don’t want to stay?” Geordi asked Nightcrawler. “We can use a man who teleports on his own.”
The X-Man shook his blue head. “Your universe is too exhausting, mein freund. I prefer a place that’s nice and restful, where I just have to battle the odd villain from time to time.”
Dr. Crusher exchanged good-byes with Archangel, Data with Colossus, and Banshee with Lt. Robinson and Lt. Rager. Storm, on the other hand, separated herself from the crowd and approached the captain’s smaller group.
“I will miss you,” she told them. “All of you.”
“And we you,” said Troi, smiling sadly.
“Next time,” Riker commented, “I’ll trust your instincts. I promise.”
The mutant nodded. “I am grateful.”
Picard glanced at his officers. “If I may, I would like to have a word with our guest.”
Alone, was the implied ending of his request.
Riker and Troi looked at one another.
“Of course,” said the counselor, taking her colleague’s arm and walking away with him.
Storm regarded him. “Yes, Captain?”
“Good luck,” he said. “Not that you will need it.”
“Everyone needs it,” Storm replied. She touched his face with her fingertips. “Goodbye, Captain of the Enterprise.”
Then, tearing her eyes away from him, she turned to go.
“Ororo,” said Picard.
The mutant looked back. “Yes?”
“My name,” the captain told her, “is Jean-Luc.”
She smiled the smile of a delighted child—one who had found a friend to help her stave off the darkness. Then she rejoined her teammates in the center of the cargo bay.
A moment later, Riker and Troi returned. Neither of them said a word to Picard. They just stood with him and watched the X-Men gather into a knot around Shadowcat.
There was no flash of light, nothing at all to warn the captain of the mutants’ departure. One moment, they were there; the next, they weren’t. It was that simple.
Still, Picard felt richer for having known them—and one of them in particular. One might even say he felt … transformed.
Epilogue
WARREN BLINKED AND realized he was somewhere else. Not in a cargo bay on the Enterprise, but in a meadow surrounded by fragrant pine trees, where birds sang and flitted from branch to branch.
He recognized the place. It was on the grounds of the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning—the exact same spot where he and his fellow X-Men had arrived after they left the Enterprise the last time.
At the time, they had believed themselves home. Then they had been bathed in a bright, blinding light—and the next thing they knew, they had turned up on Starbase 88, in another reality entirely.
Warren looked at Ororo, who was standing beside him. The two of them were afraid to say anything. They were waiting for the other shoe to drop.
But it didn’t. There was no bright light. They stayed right where they were, apparently fixed in time and space.
Finally, it was Colossus who broke the silence. “Unless I am mistaken,” he said, “it seems we are home.”
“So it does,” Banshee agreed.
“Back in Salem Center,” Nightcrawler declared.
“Where we belong,” Shadowcat added.
Home, thought Warren. What a nice place to be.
Filled with a sudden rush of exhilaration, he spread his great, white wings and soared straight up into the heavens. And he didn’t stop for a long, long time.
* * *
Hidden behind a stand of closely grown pine trees, the omnipotent entity known as Q removed his sunglasses to watch Archangel ascend into the vibrant summer sky. Replacing his glasses, he folded one leg over the other, sat back in his lawn chair and sipped his pina colada.
“You see?” he said to the gigantic personage standing beside him. “I told you it would work just fine.”
The Watcher, eons-old scion of an immortal race, shook his massive, hairless head and adjusted his majestic robes.
“I have seen one being after another tamper with the integrity of Time and Space,” the Watcher replied in his expansive, echoing voice, “Kang being a prime example. Yet none of them ever seemed to obtain the results he desired.”
Q grinned. “That’s because none of them were me, Watcher old bean. A yank here, a tug there, and the Enterprise’s timehook—which was in storage on Starbase 88—wound up saturated with verteron particles. That, in turn, drew the X-Men to the Enterprise’s universe, where they were eminently available to help solve the mutant crisis on Xhaldia. What could be simpler?”
“The Xhaldians called them transformed,” the Watcher reminded him. “Not mutants.”
“They’re all the same to me,” said Q. “The point is the X-men were in the right place at the right time, and Xhaldia’s all the better for it.”
“And why do you care so much about Xhaldia?” the Watcher inquired.
Q cast a sidelong look at him. “I thought you people just watched. No one said you asked questions.”
“Nonetheless,” the Watcher pressed, “you must hav
e had a reason for sparing Xhaldia so much misery.”
Q thought for a moment. “Let’s just say I’ve got my eye on the Xhaldians and leave it at that, all right?”
The Watcher frowned. “I can hardly do otherwise. I, like all my kind, have sworn never to interfere in the affairs of others.”
Q chuckled. “And a lovely policy it is, my friend—though, I must tell you, you don’t know what you’re missing.”
Suddenly, he snapped the fingers of his free hand and made his pina colada vanish, glass and all. Then he stood up, snapped his fingers again, and the lawn chair disappeared as well—along with the sunglasses.
“Well,” he told the Watcher, “got to go. You know how it is—places to grow and people to be. But don’t worry—I’ll be in touch.”
The gargantuan figure nodded his head. “I’m certain you will be.”
Q smiled mischievously. “Perhaps sooner than you think—though sooner is such a relative term.”
Leaving the Watcher with that morsel to chew on, Q snapped his fingers a third time—and, at least for the moment, vanished from the X-Men’s reality without a trace.
About the Author
Michael Jan Friedman is the author of 32 books, the majority of them in the Star Trek universe, as well as more than 160 comic books. He also collaborated with Kevin Ryan on the Star Trek: Voyager® episode “Resistance,” prominent among his credits. On those rare occasions when he visits the real world, Friedman lives on long island with his wife and two sons.
He continues to advise readers that no matter how many Friedmans they know, the vast probability is that none of them are related to him.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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