Star Trek - Requiem. Part 7

Ro kept her face impa.s.sive, but Riker knew he had annoyed her by intentionally surprising her with the a.s.signment. He couldn't deny that he had enjoyed catching her momentarily off guard, but his reasoning was much more practical-right now, he needed her on her toes.

"Permission to make preliminary recommendations now, sir," the ensign asked.

"Granted."

Ro's face took on a serious cast that was almost a scowl "I recommend that we immediately abandon the search for Captain Picard and proceed to the Gorn summit. Frankly, the odds against finding the captain alive, in the time allotted to us, are astronomical. Our time and resources would be better spent formulating a contingency plan for the negotiations." She paused. "Your loyalty to the captain is admirable, sir. But in this case, the summit must be the overriding concern. We cannot afford to let it fail."

Riker's response was clipped and forceful. "I'm a.s.sessing the risk differently, Ensign. Our chances of success with the Gorn are considerably higher with Captain Picard, because of his experience, and because he is a known and respected quant.i.ty among them. In addition, I have a hunch that we will be able to find him. A hunch is a command tool, and playing it is a command prerogative."

He knew that in her place, he would be raising the same questions. But he also knew that he had already decided on his immediate course of action.

Ro maintained her composure, though Riker could see that it was taking some effort. "I recognize the value of intuition in command situations," she said. "But even a course of action based on a hunch must have a reasonable chance of success. I see no such chance here."

"I see it differently, Ensign," Riker said, letting a note of finality creep into his voice. It was time to get back to the search, and- "You've never lost anyone, have you?" Ro asked.

Riker glared.

"Wait a second," she said, eyeing him closely. "You have, haven't you? Who was it? A parent, a sibling?"

"None of your d.a.m.n business," he replied.

"You're right," she conceded. "But it doesn't matter. Because losing one person doesn't tell you what it's like to lose everyone. Do you know what that means, to lose everyone? We Bajorans almost lost our whole world. And you know what that teaches you? It teaches you that some losses are inevitable. You've got to accept them and move on. Because if you can't save everything, you can at least save something."

"Please, Ensign," Riker said sarcastically, "Don't hold back."

"Frankly, sir, I don't think I can afford to. The stakes of the summit are too high." Ro paused for a moment, in which she seemed to be consciously reining herself in. When she spoke again, her voice had softened.

"Sir, when I was sixteen, I was part of a perimeter guard at a hidden weapons factory. In my squad was a fifteen-year-old boy who began following me around. He was small for his age, slow in drills, and scared most of the time. But he kept up his end. Because he was persistent and because in the end I had no choice, we became friends. One night, our squad was. .h.i.t and we scattered. I saw him go down.

"Instead of leading the defense, I wasted precious seconds going back for him. Well, I got there in time to watch him die-and then returned to my squad just in time to catch the last few moments of a ma.s.sacre. I went back for one person, and because of that we lost an entire squad, Bajorans team young to cut their losses. I did."

It was Riker's turn to be caught off guard. He had served with Ro for almost two years, and she had never spoken about her past to him. Certainly, she had never revealed anything so personal. He was tempted to respond, but decided not to make the situation any more difficult for her.

And in any case, his mind was made up for now.

"Thank you for your counsel, Ensign. While we continue the search, I will be counting on you to research the Gorn as thoroughly as you can-check rumors, tall stories, anything you can find-and formulate a contingency plan for the negotiations. Dismissed." Then he shot her a look that made it clear the discussion was closed.

Ensign Ro acknowledged his command with a nod, turned, and left. When the door shut, Riker watched it carefully. It would only be a moment.

The chime came right on schedule. "Come," Riker intoned, watching the door. Deanna walked into the room, wearing the blue uniform that she now wore during duty hours. Too bad, he thought. He liked the green dress better.

"Counselor," he nodded.

"A challenge?" Troi said without preamble.

"No more than what I expected."

"How do you feel about it, though?"

Riker shrugged. "It's her job now to raise questions about important command decisions. And to recommend options," he said evenly.

"And how do you feel about the questions she has raised?" Troi probed.

"You mean how do I feel about my decision to search for the captain?" Deanna responded with a nod, and Riker thought about it, carefully. In many ways everything that Ro had said was absolutely true. The logical thing to do would be to abandon the search and commit all of his resources to the summit. To do anything else would be bucking pretty strong odds. And all he had was a hunch that he was doing the right thing.

The exec looked inside himself for that pit of certainty that had been so easy to find several hours ago. He could still find it, he was pleased to learn.

Looking up at Troi, he knew that the counselor had finished the job that Ro had started. For now, he was sure.

When Picard opened his eyes again, the room came into focus with surprising speed and clarity. He had expected the pain that he still remembered vividly from his last conscious moment, but now he felt fit and lucid.

The captain kept his head still as he looked up at the ceiling and scanned the room with his eyes. He immediately recognized the modular, prefabricated construction. He had seen it before on older bases and some Starfleet sponsored colonies of different sorts.

Then a face obscured his vision. It was human, a female. Judging by the faint lines around the vibrant, green eyes and the mouth, and the short, dark hair peppered with gray, Picard guessed that she was about his age, and-he noted almost as an afterthought-she was quite attractive. She looked him over with a professional eye that he had seen Beverly use before. A doctor, then.

Her features softened a bit as she spoke. "You're human, you know."

For a moment, the captain could think of no response. "Am I?"

She nodded. "Yes, I have scanned you and everything checks out. You're human, all right."

"To be perfectly honest, Doctor," Picard ventured, "I'm surprised there was any doubt."

"Not doubt as much as speculation," she said, her eyes twinkling. "You see, we don't get many unannounced visitors here." She ran a small scanner of a type the captain didn't recognize over him. Then, after studying a readout above his head, she returned her attention to him.

"Would you mind telling me where 'here' is?" Picard asked.

"You are in my infirmary," the doctor said evenly.

"And where is that?"

For a moment, she looked at him askance. "Are you suggesting that you don't know what planet you are on?"

The captain shook his head. "I am suggesting nothing. I am saying it plainly. Where am I?"

To Picard's surprise, she smiled broadly. "You really expect me to believe you came all the way out here and don't know where 'here' is?"

"Yes," he said. "Please, indulge me. I can tell you with certainty that I did not come here willingly."

She regained her professional demeanor. "All right, I'll a.s.sume for the sake of argument that you are telling the truth."

"That's very gracious of you," the captain replied.

"Not at all," she told him. "It will simply make our conversation easier on both of us if I a.s.sume what you tell me is the truth. That frees you from having to be convincing and it frees me from having to be on my guard. Besides, if you're lying, it'll come out soon enough. For now, I prefer to see the best in you. You have what my father used to call a kind face."

He grunted. "In that case, would you please tell me where I am?"

She thought for a bit, then shook her head. "Sorry. That sounds like the commodore's area. You'll have to wait for the commodore to discuss it with you."

"Really?"

"Really," she confirmed. "In the meantime, would you care to tell me where you're from?"

Picard sighed. "I don't suppose I could get off easily and claim amnesia?"

The doctor harrumphed. "Not likely. Do you intend to try?"

"That depends on whether or not you would believe it."

She smiled a second time. "Again, not likely."

The captain nodded and took stock of himself. His right arm was in a sling and a quick examination with his left hand confirmed that he had a bandage on his head.

"A few abrasions, one medium concussion, and a dislocated shoulder," the doctor offered. "No permanent damage. Because of the concussion, I have resisted giving you painkillers. I had to partially reattach some ligaments and tendons in your shoulder, but they'll be fine. The residual swelling and soft-tissue damage will correct itself in a few weeks."

"Weeks?" asked Picard. Beverly would have had him as good as new in a few days.

The woman shrugged. "Sorry if that's inconvenient, but I think it's the best you'll do. I could refer you to another doctor, I suppose-but there isn't one for two dozen light-years."

"No, I'm sorry. I meant no offense," said the captain. "I appreciate your efforts on my behalf."

"Not at all," she told him. "You should have pretty good movement in the arm in about a week. Though for now, I'll bet it smarts."

Smarts? thought Picard. He felt a growing sense of unease. There was something wrong here. "When can I speak to the commodore?"

"He'll be by shortly. He's out checking the-" The doctor caught herself. "You know, he tells me I'm a lousy security risk. I suspect he's right. Anyway, he'll be back shortly, Mr... . ?"

She was looking at him expectantly. The captain hesitated for a moment, as something told him to withhold the truth. "Hill," he supplied. "Dixon Hill."

"Well, Mr. Hill, I'm Julia Santos. It's a pleasure to meet you-even under the circ.u.mstances."

"The pleasure is mine," Picard said, forcing a smile. He would feel better when he could speak to someone in charge, someone who would be able to answer his questions. He had a growing sense that this place was not the safe harbor it appeared to be.

The loud crash was enough to make Geordi jump. From his crouched position, that meant lifting his head, which in turn connected solidly with the control panel he was working under. Ignoring the pain, he scrambled out from under the thing and was out the door with Data on his heels. At the far end of the hallway, he found Barclay and O'Connor working on another open control panel-this one beside the now-closed door to the airlock.

Inside, the shuttle they had taken here was safe and sound. Geordi breathed a sigh of relief.

Barclay looked sheepish. "Sorry, sir. My fault. I tripped the mechanism."

Data had his tricorder out and was scanning. "No sign of a recent or impending power surge," the android said after a moment. "Station power functioning continuously at minimal levels."

Geordi took a moment to feel the back of his head, which had begun to throb dully where it had hit the panel. Finding the tender spot, he was certain that he would have a good-sized b.u.mp there within the hour.

"That's okay, Reg. We're all just a little jumpy," he said.

Peering inside the open control panel, the engineer could see the places where Barclay and O'Connor had spliced into the alien circuitry. "How's this going?" he asked.

"Fine, sir," the thin man replied. "We'll have this on-line in a few minutes."

Geordi nodded his approval. Actually, Barclay had done remarkably well since their return to the station. The lieutenant's a.s.signment had been to install safety devices on each of the exits, beginning with the airlock door, and he had been successful almost immediately in isolating the circuits that operated the opening and closing mechanisms in it. Then, using small portable generators and switches they had brought from the Enterprise, Barclay and O'Connor had created a closed power loop for each door, so that it could now be opened and closed only by the large b.u.t.ton controls they had installed-red for down and green for up. These were a great improvement over the still indecipherable alien controls.

After the safety system on the doors was in place, Barclay and O'Connor would set up the portable forcefield generators at the airlock door and at two points about a hundred meters apart in the corridor. These forcefields would operate on independent power and preserve the atmosphere in case a door opened to the outside somewhere nearby and the station began to decompress. The forcefields would give them a working area that included the airlock, the control room, and the various access tunnels that they would need.

Of course, they were a.s.suming that the control room would be able to operate the transport functions in this part of the station. But it was a fair bet, based on their scans of the equipment during the brief functioning moment it took to transport Captain Picard.

Unfortunately, Geordi couldn't be sure until he knew more about how the alien technology operated. So far, he and Data hadn't had much luck figuring out the subs.p.a.ce physics involved in the time/s.p.a.ce transport circuits. In fact, Barclay had obtained more tangible results working with the doors.

"Good work, Reg. Would you please make this as fast as possible? We could use some help."

"Yes, sir," came Barclay's steady reply.

Geordi and Data headed back to the control room.

"I have noticed that Lieutenant Barclay's performance has been exemplary," the android remarked. "He seems to have overcome the fear that immobilized him during the crisis."

Geordi nodded. "Back then he was responding to an immediate threatening set of circ.u.mstances-tangible danger from the door. Now he doesn't have that kind of intense pressure. The question is, will Barclay be able to perform in a danger situation when a few seconds mean the difference between life and death?"

Data appeared to mull it over for a moment. "It seems ironic," he said finally, "that the fear response, which is intended to protect humans from danger, can immobilize them just when quick and decisive action is required."

The engineer had never thought of fear in those terms. But, of course, his friend was right. "Call it a design flaw, Data-and be glad it's not one you share."

The android nodded. Geordi noted that Data was more apt than he used to be to simply accept the inconsistencies of human existence without probing too deeply.

The bottom line, the engineer knew, was that some emotional responses just were. Some people-like Captain Picard, for instance-were rocks under pressure. Some fell apart, or froze as Barclay had. How would the lieutenant respond if faced with a similar situation? Especially if things got rough and his life-or maybe even all of their lives-depended on quick action? It was hard to say.

Of course, Barclay had made a real effort to face his fear when they arrived, by volunteering to retrieve Ensign Varley's body from the control room and place it in the shuttle's temporary stasis chamber. That had surprised Geordi, who had been prepared to do it himself. But when the crunch came, there was no way to know if Barclay would play his hand well or fold.

The chief engineer brushed the subject aside. He had to get to the alien transport system on-line. So far, they hadn't been successful in getting the monitor in the control room working again. In fact, they hadn't been able to even isolate the power and imaging circuits. Maybe when Barclay and O'Connor were through with the doors, they would have better luck working all together.

The doctor entered, followed by a man in a gold tunic. Picard placed his age at about sixty. He had neatly trimmed, silver-gray hair and firm if weather-beaten features. He wore his command on his face and in his posture.

The captain was certain that this was the commodore. And judging by the man's serious, almost sour expression, he was also certain that this was not a social visit.

Picard made those determinations in perhaps two seconds, but his most important observation took him some additional time to comprehend. The gold tunic, the starburst crest on the commodore's chest: the captain was looking at a Starfleet uniform of a type that had not been worn in about a hundred years.

The implications of that were staggering, and could mean only one of two things: either he had been sent back in time by the alien technology as Geordi had suggested was possible, or this place and these people were an elaborate setup.

But the idea of a setup was already beginning to lose credence as he considered it. There would be little point in anyone going to the trouble of setting up such a scenario, when it would so quickly put him on his guard.

No, Picard was now nearly certain that he was as much as one hundred years in the past, on a Starfleet base. Of course, this was the more chilling of the two possibilities. The dangers of upsetting the time stream were grave. Besides ethical and Prime Directive concerns, he was in very real danger of altering history just by being there. Even a small misstep could have incalculable repercussions.

As the commodore studied him, the captain realized that he had only one path open to him. He would have to make certain that, at all costs, he avoided doing anything that could upset the flow of history. At this point, his most fundamental duty was to involve himself as little as possible with these people-until he could find a way to get back to his own time.

Then it struck Picard that the damage could have already been done. His communicator was not on his medical smock. If the commodore had it, even a cursory examination would reveal advanced circuitry that would not exist for the better part of a century.

The commodore was watching him closely with either concern or suspicion, or both, on his face. Had the captain betrayed his surprise when he saw the Starfleet uniform?

"Welcome, Mr. Hill," the man said in an even tone. "I'm Commodore Travers of Starfleet."