Star Trek: The Next Generation

The Final Reckoning Trilogy

Part II: Shadows of the Future

("Admiral, you will always be welcome on the Enterprise….")

Captain Picard to Admiral Nechayev, 2370

Chapter I

Jean-Luc Picard sat in the dim silence of his ready room, gazing absently through the window, his gaze lost somewhere in the dark matter between the pinpricks of light that dotted the cosmos. A cup of Earl Grey tea cooled, unnoticed, on the desk beside him.

His mind was not in the room; indeed, his thoughts were not even in this universe.

It had been seven hours since Q had waved his hand and utterly changed both the future and the past. Seven hours before, Picard had been more than a hundred years old. The weight of years that had pressed so heavily upon him was gone; the impending spectre no longer loomed.

But although his physical age had changed, his mind retained all of the memories. Every single one lurked, hidden in the recesses of his brain, ready to rise at a moment's notice and with them came the feelings.

Picard had lived through some of the most extraordinary events possible, and had seen death and devastation wrought upon him and those he loved and cared for, destruction beyond belief. Worlds had burned, ships had clashed and died, and he had suffered through it all, for much of it was done on his orders and his responsibility.

An often rigidly controlled man, Picard had nevertheless felt every one of those deaths as a wound on his own conscience and even the passage of years had been able to blunt only the smallest portion of the black despair and horror that he had gone through. For a very long time, he had dwelt in the shadow of the death of Beverly Crusher, had turned from his surviving friends and withdrawn into himself. He had very nearly not emerged from that dark time.

The terrible guilt that he had borne for so many years had never been washed away, despite time's healing work and the salve of victory. He had toiled so desperately hard to rebuild the galaxy again, always busy, never at rest, never allowing himself to stop, lest the horror and guilt carried him away.

Nonetheless, it remained in him, and had used the intervening forty years to harden into the core of his soul. Picard's body had been changed, but he was still the same man, and he felt those forty years bear down upon him now, harder than ever before.

He knew why.

Jean-Luc Picard had made a choice. Perhaps he had not truly understood the consequences of the choice but he had still made it, and he had to face the results of his decision. He had chosen to go back, to try and flee the horrors of his past.

However he looked at the decision, it was not one that he could honestly say he was comfortable with. Although he understood better than anyone the thoughts that flowed through his mind when he had confronted Q, Picard was beginning to wonder if he had truly made a conscious decision. What he had asked Q to do was enact his basest wish, his desire to return to the beginning, to resurrect his long-dead friends and to unmake all that had happened.

More than anything else, Picard wanted the Aralla War to never have happened. The awareness of that truth dawned slowly in his mind with a disturbing clarity.

A bleep cut through his chain of thought, returning him to his ready room. Picard turned to face the door. 'Enter.'

Deanna Troi entered the room, her dark eyes focusing on Picard as soon as the doors opened. 'Captain, do you have a moment to talk?'

'For you, Counsellor, always,' replied Picard, standing and motioning Troi to the long couch in the corner of the room. With Troi, Picard always laid aside formality, knowing that the relationship between the two of them did not exactly conform to commander and subordinate. 'Would you like a drink?'

'No, thank you.'

As he sat, Picard let his eyes rest on Troi, not seeing her as his ship's Counsellor, but as a friend that, in truth, he had accepted as dead and gone full forty years. For a moment, his mind flashed back to another time, both in the future and in the past, seeing her gasping out her last breaths in sickbay, using the end of her life to impart to her captain the information he would need to defeat the enemy long into the future.

Now, seeing her slender form stood before him, that memory rose up in his mind with such force that Picard realised he had tears in his eyes.

An empath, Deanna had sensed immediately the rush of emotion in her captain. Feelings of such force were uncommon in Picard and her eyebrows lifted in surprise. 'Captain, are you all right?'

'Yes,' replied Picard swiftly, covering his own lack of control. 'What can I do for you, Deanna?'

Troi decided to let the odd moment pass. 'Captain, something very strange happened on the bridge earlier today. I wondered if you'd like to talk to your counsellor about it.'

The way the question was phrased made Picard smile gently at his friend. It was such a typically Troi approach to the subject, but because it was so precisely phrased, it gave him the warning that this was not something that Deanna was prepared to give up on. At some stage, he would have to talk to her about it, but she was giving him the option of choosing his own method of doing so.

Picard knew that he had to accept the invitation now, but found that he still couldn't express the feelings that seared through him. Suddenly, he realised how he could help Deanna to understand. 'Deanna, can you let down your barriers for a moment?'

Troi cocked her head to one side, eyeing him curiously. 'Captain, you're not really supposed to ask a Betazoid to do that.'

'I know,' replied Picard, 'but I need you to read my feelings for me. I need you to experience my emotions at this moment. I think that is where I need to begin in order to explain to you what is happening.'

Troi hesitated for a moment, before nodding slowly. 'Be aware, Captain, that I will be able to pick up even the most subtle emotions, ones that you may not be aware you are even experiencing. Starfleet protocol requires me to ask that you understand that your privacy is about to be invaded.'

Picard nodded. 'I understand.'

Troi closed her eyes for a long moment, sighing as she began to lower the mental defences she maintained so very carefully to protect her and others from her ability to sense emotions. With them raised, she needed strong emotion from a source before it would register in her mind, but with the barriers lowered, she could sense the slightest emotion felt by anyone on-board the Enterprise. Even Deanna did not know the limits of her senses. At this range, she would certainly be able to sense every single thing that Picard felt.

As her defences fell, she could suddenly see the captain as a haze of colours, a fog of feelings that her mind interpreted as visual cues. Even a man who controlled himself as well as Jean-Luc Picard still held those emotions inside his own mind and they were suddenly laid bare and exposed to her full, penetrating gaze. This level of intimacy was rare even among Betazoid couples, and to subject her friend and captain to it was something Troi would never have done voluntarily.

Deanna could sense her friend's nervousness as he realised that his very soul was being laid bare. She felt, almost in passing, the joy that sat almost at the top of his feelings, sitting in the forefront of everything else as a gentle yellow glow. But, beneath it, there was something darker and infinitely more complex.

As the yellow veil of joy parted under her mind's eye, she began to see through to the truth of the matter in her captain's feelings. Even with her vast experience in reading emotional landscapes, the quicksilver darting of Picard's feelings stretched her to the maximum.

Here was green, the colour of sorrow and sadness, tinged with the browns of regret. There darkly pulsing scarlet hues of repressed fury warred with the darker purple shades of fear that must have been so deep and terrible that it stained the entirety of the captain's soul.

But one feeling dominated all others, a sickly glow, one that tinged all other sensations in Picard's mind – the miasma of a terrible, black, despairing guilt hung over everything. Even as she sensed it, Troi realised that she had dwelt too long in these deep and rich emotions, feeling herself absorbing some of that kaleidoscope of pain, anger and sorrow, the sensations beginning to imprint themselves on her consciousness.

With a gasp, Troi pulled herself of the pit of sorrow and guilt that lingered at her captain's core. Hurriedly, she restored her mental barriers, trying to regain some composure. Tears stung her eyes and she fought down the suddenly shared feelings of despair and sorrow.

Picard, of course, could only see her physical reaction, but the violence of her movement told him all he needed to know. As Troi closed her eyes, wiping at them furiously, he sat back and sighed, having felt the same sensations as the counsellor. He had simply lived with them for much longer.

After a moment, Troi stared at him, disbelief in her eyes. 'Sir, how -? What has caused this?'

'Something truly extraordinary, Deanna,' Picard murmured, after a moment's pause. 'I have lived with those feelings for the last forty years, all experienced within the span of a few seconds.'

'That sounds like your experience with the Kataan probe.'

'In a way,' agreed Picard. 'This, however, was down to Q's influence.'

Troi's eyes widened. 'Q?'

Picard hesitated, realising that, despite Q's quite lengthy conversation before tempting him with the lure of seeing his friends again, the entity had not truly explained the circumstances of what had happened. 'Well, he was involved somehow.' He grinned for a moment, ruefully. 'I'm sure I can find some way of blaming him.'

Troi reached out and took Picard's hand in her own. 'Captain, are you sure you're comfortable talking about this? I only wanted to ensure that you weren't suffering any after-effects from our encounter with the Borg; I didn't expect something so…'

'Bad?'

'Melancholic. It's not in your character, sir.'

Picard smiled bleakly. 'Perhaps not.'

He sighed and stood, moving to the window. Troi had seen him thus on many occasions, looking out into the darkness. Picard was not a man designed for living on a planet for too long – his spirit surged too readily towards the heavens.

'I can't fully explain what has happened. I don't understand the causes; I don't understand enough of the whys and wherefores,' Picard said. His eyes roamed the cosmos, as if looking for answers in the cold deeps. 'All I know is what happened; what I lived through.'

As much as he tried to stay calm, Picard found that he failed. He felt his hands bunch involuntarily into fists, sensed the muscles in his arms tense up, feeling the anger boil up in him. His memories rose up in him, swelling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him.

Troi could sense the welling fury building up in her captain even with her defences back in place, like a volcano just beneath the surface of an untroubled sea, ready to erupt. She stood quickly, moving to his side and taking his hand again. 'Captain, I'm here for you. You can control the anger; it doesn't control you.'

Picard's hand tightened around hers. In his eyes glittered unshed tears, reflecting the glimmer of the stars. His breath sobbed in his lungs. 'They all died, Deanna. Everyone I loved and cared for. They came and they killed everything! I had to slaughter them first! My hands are stained with the blood of everything in the galaxy!'

His voice became a snarl. 'Why did they come? Why did we have to suffer so? Why did I have to –!'

Picard lurched forward, snatching his hand from Troi's and slamming his fists against the transparent aluminium of the window. He rested there a moment, gasping with the exertion of his feelings. Slowly, Troi's hand rested on his shoulder as the tension ebbed away.

'Captain,' she murmured, 'I think we do need to talk about this.'

The freshly made cup of tea rattled on its saucer as Picard set it down and continued talking. 'Once the battle was over, we made our way back to the Alpha Quadrant. The Aralla had risked everything in coming after us and they had left nothing behind them. Any planet that had been attacked during the war was left devastated, but they had not even tried to leave garrisons behind. Some planets were completely untouched – the Starfleet colony on Delta Vega didn't even know the name of the enemy.'

'What happened next?' asked Troi. She had curled up on the couch to listen to her captain's tale.

'Well, once we'd returned, the job was to clean up the mess, and try to rebuild our governments and societies. It became painfully obvious that, even if we'd wanted to, we couldn't just go back to how things were, but had to reconstruct our governments along new lines. The Fleet formed the basis for that new settlement.'

'What did you do?'

'Oh, this and that,' said Picard evasively. 'I was just concentrating on getting Starfleet up and running again.'

Troi raised an eyebrow. She knew her captain well enough to know when he was being deliberately vague, but decided not to press the issue, knowing the actual details were unimportant. While Picard had been relating the story, she had monitored his emotional state, unsurprised to feel rage and sorrow building up within him again as he told her about the war that had been fought.

She was astounded by what her captain had experienced in what seemed almost certainly an alternate reality. His story had held her rapt with attention for an hour and she had felt the sensations running through Picard's mind, knowing that what he told her was the truth as he had lived it. When he had spoken of the battle for Earth or the death of his close friends, she could feel the bitter acrid tang of sorrow colouring his recollections.

But there was a piece of the story missing, something or someone that he had held back somewhere. As Troi thought for a moment, she realised that there was another feeling that she had nearly missed, and she suddenly remembered when she had felt it.

As Picard had told her about Beverly Crusher's death, a terrible anguish had entered his voice. When he told Troi that he had fired the phaser that had ended Beverly's life, a tear spilled down his cheek, unnoticed. Troi had also wept to feel the pain that still scarred her captain over his decision but, at the same time, she had also noticed something else peeking through the fog of sorrow that lingered over his thoughts.

The feeling had been love.

Picard's voice drew her back to the moment. 'Q appeared to me at the end of my life, offering me a way back to the beginning. I took it.'

His eyes seemed to mist over as he stared into the middle distance, a tinge of regret colouring that last flat statement. Once again, a flicker of that subtly hidden love glittered in his sense. The anger and the despair were still present, but there was this unexplained sensation that seemed to impinge on every other feeling.

'Did you not want to leave, Captain?' The question escaped her lips almost before Troi realised she had even thought it.

Picard blinked in surprise. 'Why would you ask that, Counsellor?'

'It seems as if you regret your decision to return.' Troi's answer was slow and careful.

'I've been given a new lease on life,' snapped Picard. 'All of these extra years to live! I didn't have long left when Q visited me. How could I not be happy with that?'

'You always accepted mortality, captain,' replied Troi levelly. 'You never flinched from facing death. With respect, I don't think you've ever been very interested in prolonging your life over truly living it.'

Picard hesitated, but before he could reply, Troi added, 'It's not in your character to flee from something, captain, so I can understand if you don't want to –'

Suddenly Picard laughed, a harsh noise that surprised Troi even more than the rage that had built up in him. 'Counsellor, I wasn't running away from anything. I was dying! Things were over! I'd accepted my death. I'd done my three score years and ten, that and more besides!'

He jolted to his feet, tugging down on the front of his uniform. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. 'I could feel my body and mind slipping away from me, and I knew I couldn't stop it. I sensed death approaching.'

'Did you welcome it?'

There was a long moment of silence. Picard paced away towards the window again, but he could not stare from the window anymore. Instead, he moved behind his desk again and, leaning forward and placing his hands on the cool surface, he closed his eyes and bowed his head. 'No.'

'Did you want to live?'

'Yes.'

Troi stood and slowly approached his desk. Looking down at her captain's bowed head, she murmured, 'Why?'

Picard's shoulders sagged. 'I wanted to see my wife again. So very, very much.'

He dropped into the chair behind him, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. His voice was hushed, but Troi could hear the undercurrent of raw emotion. 'She was coming back on the Enterprise. She was going to arrive in three days - just three days. But I knew I didn't have that long. I couldn't hold on for her. I failed her. I couldn't win – I fought so hard for that last moment with her, desperately struggling to breathe every minute of every day that life itself became a war. I'd fought so many wars in my life and now I was fighting time; time and my own body.'

Distress entered Picard's voice. 'Q appeared. He explained what had happened, or as much as he felt I could understand, which, if I'm honest, wasn't a great deal. He offered me a way back; told me that the universe I was leaving wouldn't be destroyed if I came back.'

Picard's voice cracked. 'He tempted me so sorely! I just wanted to see her once again. I could have died then in her arms, knowing that there was still some joy in the universe, even for a man with the death of millions weighing him down. Just one minute more with her, to say goodbye for the last time.

'I knew that, if I came back here, now, I could see her again. Q offered me it all, and I took it! I had that right to decide for myself, and I chose this.' He dropped his head into his hands. 'So why do I punish myself for it?'

Troi sat down in the chair on the other side of the desk. Amazed at her own daring, she reached out, took hold of his wrists and gently coaxed his hands apart, forcing her captain to lift his head and look at her. 'Captain, please, there's no need to feel guilty about this. You're back with us. I'm not going to pass judgement on why you did what you did, but I am very pleased to have you with us.'

'How can you say that?' whispered Picard, not meeting her eyes. 'What I did –'

'Sir, whatever it was you did, you did it because you had to,' insisted Troi. 'Just because you fought a war does not make you a murderer. Did your wife ever think so?'

'I don't know –'

'Yes, you do, sir, with respect,' said Troi, her voice suddenly sharp. 'I know that if I thought a man I loved was a murderer, I couldn't love him the way she obviously loved you.'

Picard lifted his head and looked deep into Troi's eyes, finding his pain and anguish mirrored there. However, he also found friendship and steady, caring love and devotion and he remembered once again what this woman and the crew she represented truly meant to him. They were his rock and sure foundation and, though he had learned to rely on others in their absence, he had missed them terribly. Not admitting that he wanted them to live again was, Picard realised, as grave a failing as any he had committed in the darkest days of the war.

He was surprised to find how easily a smile appeared on his lips. 'Thank you, Deanna. I will think about our conversation some more.'

'Understood, sir,' replied Troi. 'However, I need to give you my professional opinion as well.'

Picard raised an eyebrow. 'By all means.'

'I think you need to talk to Will about this,' said the counsellor, 'and I strongly suggest you think about taking a leave of absence from this ship. I don't think staying here is going to help you at all. And you need to talk to Beverly; perhaps she should go with –'

'No,' interrupted Picard. 'I can't do that. I don't want you to do that either.'

'But –'

'That was an order, Counsellor,' snapped the captain.

Troi stiffened and then nodded slowly. 'Acknowledged,' she replied. 'What about Will?'

For a long moment, Picard stared at the deck, his expression troubled. Just as Troi was about to speak again, the captain turned his eyes onto her once again. 'I will consider what you have said, Counsellor. As for talking to Will, I would be obliged if you could brief him on the situation before I speak to him myself.'

Troi smiled reassuringly at him. 'I will do so, captain.'

In comparison to the sleek, lean and muscular USS Enterprise, the rounded, wallowing shape of the USS Spirit was a throwback to an older Starfleet design manual, from a more innocent age. Nonetheless, the veteran Nebula-class cruiser was the pride of her captain, as the Enterprise was the pride of hers.

The captain of the Spirit also felt confusion at this moment, a confusion caused by the detection of a Starfleet distress signal within two hundred thousand kilometres of the Neutral Zone. To the best of Captain Corl's knowledge, there was no Starfleet vessel within a light year of the Spirit's current location and neither should there have been. Thus he had ordered an immediate intercept course.

Corl now stood at the shoulder of his helm officer, watching the stars streaking past on the screen before him. 'ETA?'

'Four minutes, captain,' replied the helm officer.

Corl turned his head slightly to speak to the tactical officer. 'Any response to our hails?'

'None, sir,' replied Lieutenant Frane. Her red hair waved around her face as she glanced up at her captain. 'I'm keeping a channel open in case anyone signals us.'

'Are our scans returning anything?'

'I'm picking up a small mass of duritanium, possibly a shuttlecraft,' responded Ensign Leet, whose sharp blue eyes focused on the console before her. 'No warp signature.'

Corl frowned. 'What's a shuttle doing in deep space so close to the Romulan border?' he murmured to himself.

'Sir, I've just had a response from the shuttle; automated systems only,' announced Frane. 'It's the shuttlecraft Keats, detached from Starbase 411 to Admiral Alynna Nechayev.'

'Nechayev?' repeated Corl, feeling a cold chill run through him. If the Romulans had attacked a Starfleet Admiral on our side of the border… 'Signal the Admiral by name.'

'Still no response, sir,' replied Frane after working at her console for a moment.

'Captain, we're coming into sensor range,' interjected the science officer.

Corl moved to his seat. 'Helm, bring us out of warp. Tactical, make ready a tractor beam to bring the shuttle into our hangar. What's the status of the shuttle?'

'The shuttle is adrift approximately twelve thousand kilometres off our port bow,' replied Ensign Leet. 'The warp core is off-line, and life-support is functioning at minimal level.'

'Life-signs?'

Leet hesitated before answering. 'I… think so, sir,' she said eventually.

'Clarify,' demanded Corl. The Bolian had a well-deserved reputation for no-nonsense.

Leet turned her chair to face her captain. 'Sir, there's a life-sign on the shuttle, but I can't confirm if it's a human life form. There's a strong bio-electrical field causing some interference with the scanners.'

Corl hesitated for a moment, but there was only one logical course of action to take. 'Lock a tractor beam and bring the shuttlecraft in. Have a medical team stand by. I'll be in the hangar.'

He stood and headed for the aft turbolift. As he passed Lieutenant Frane, Corl paused and looked at his trusted tactical officer. 'Have a security detail meet me there. There's no reason not to be careful.'

The security detail and the medical team were waiting by the hangar bay doors when Corl arrived. He nodded to the ensign in charge of the detail and proceeded straight through the doors.

As Corl entered the hangar, the pinpoint tractor beams inside the shuttle bay were guiding the sleek shape of the Keats to a gentle landing alongside the Spirit's own shuttles. As the medical team moved forward to get into the shuttle, Corl's experienced eye ran over the hull, noting that there were no scars or burns from weapons fire.

The security detail fanned out around the shuttle, phaser rifles at the ready as the captain followed on the heels of the medics, entering the shuttle last.

Inside, the dark interior seemed perfectly normal, aside for the unconscious body of Admiral Nechayev sprawled on the deck behind the pilot's seat, the medical team already surrounding her. 'Status?' asked Corl.

The lead nurse glanced at the captain. 'Unsure, sir. She seems to be unhurt, but she's in complete neural shutdown. We'll know better when we get her to sickbay.'

Corl nodded and moved out of the way as the medical team hoisted the Admiral onto a stretcher and moved her out of the shuttle.

Alone, Corl turned his attention to the main console. 'Computer?'

Immediately, the console lit up and the main lights activated. Corl frowned. 'Status report.'

'Status green,' responded the computer's soft voice. 'All systems are functional.'

'Details of last flight plan logged?'

'Shuttlecraft Keats departed Starbase 411 on stardate 50989.6. Flight plan not filed.'

Corl frowned. 'What was the reason?'

'Admiralty override,' replied the computer.

Corl tapped his commbadge. 'Bridge, this is the captain. Signal Starbase 411 and get me Admiral T'Valla.' He turned his attention back to the console. 'What was the last course set?'

'Bearing 510 mark 443.' A screen lit up, showing the projected course of the shuttle. The course took it towards a small star system in the Neutral Zone, called the Korella system. The course approached the second planet in the system; one that the computer said was uninhabited.

Corl stared at the screen, willing it to make sense. Admiral Nechayev had apparently stolen a shuttle from a Starbase and set a course to an uninhabited planet in the Romulan Neutral Zone. Whichever way you looked at it, the situation was not normal behaviour for a Starfleet Admiral.

The communicator bleeped. 'Captain, we have Admiral T'Valla on subspace.'

'Thanks, bridge,' said Corl. He sat at the pilot's chair and keyed in a command. A handsome female Vulcan face appeared on the screen before him. 'Admiral, thank you for your time.'

'My time is yours, captain,' replied T'Valla. 'I understand you have located one of our shuttles.'

'Yes, Admiral, but that's not all. Fleet Admiral Nechayev was on board. She is currently in our sickbay, unconscious.'

T'Valla raised an eyebrow, the closest a Vulcan would get to outright surprise. 'Admiral Nechayev? Why did she have one of our shuttles?'

'I was hoping you might be able to shed some light on that question, Admiral,' responded Corl. 'Her course would have taken her into the Neutral Zone, but something happened along the way to stop her.'

'Although we have a log of the Keats being taken from the Starbase, we had no idea Admiral Nechayev was even here,' replied T'Valla evenly. 'This is a very worrying development. Captain, I suggest you and the Spirit head here. We will investigate at our end – hopefully you can get some answers from Admiral Nechayev.'

'Understood, Admiral,' acknowledged Corl. 'We shall arrive in two days.'

Corl closed the channel, and made as if to tap his badge to dismiss the security detail when something caught his eye. He lowered his hand, staring at a black mark on the interior of the window in the shuttle. For all the world, the mark looked exactly the same as a phaser flash burn.

'What the hell's going on?'

Commander Will Riker entered his quarters and froze in the door. Deanna Troi sat on a chair in the corner of the room, reading. As the door slid open, she looked up and fixed him with a penetrating stare. 'We need to talk, Will.'

'How the hell -? Deanna, I locked this!' retorted Riker. Although he had no philosophical objections to finding Troi in his quarters, it would have been nice if she had asked first.

'You think I couldn't guess your lock code? Come on, we've got more important things to talk about.'

Grumbling, Riker stepped through, allowing the door to close behind him. 'I could have you court-martialled for this –'

'The captain's in trouble.' Troi's voice was flat.

To his credit, Riker dropped the offended act immediately. 'What's wrong?'

'It's a little difficult to explain,' replied Troi. Quickly, she outlined what Picard had told her, skipping over the more emotional parts to concentrate on the actual events Picard had related. Riker sat down once the import of what Troi was telling him began to hit home, listening intently, not interrupting and saving his questions for the end.

When Troi had finished, Riker let out a breath he had not realised he was holding. 'An alternate universe.'

'It sounds far-fetched, I know,' started Troi, but Riker interrupted.

'Not if you read any station logs from Deep Space Nine.' Riker sighed and sat back into the chair. 'Is he the same man?'

'Yes… and no,' replied Deanna awkwardly. Riker raised his eyebrows at her, and she continued, 'Come on, Will, he's lived through forty years within the space of a few seconds, and they're not pleasant memories to retain. He had to watch all of us die.'

Even as Troi said it, a chill passed through her. Riker noticed her reaction and reached to take her in his embrace. Troi accepted, enjoying the warmth of his arms and drawing reassurance from his presence. 'Sorry, Will, but listening to him talk about it for a couple of minutes would convince you more than seeing a holovid. The loss in his voice…'

Riker hated himself for the question he had to ask, even as he enjoyed the smell of her hair. 'De, I need to know: Is there anything affecting him that might become a command issue?'

Troi sighed into Riker's chest. 'I don't know, Will. I just don't know.'

Captain Corl stared down at the recumbent body of Admiral Nechayev, hooked up on the bio bed in sickbay. Beside him hovered his Chief Medical Officer, Dr Kennedy, whose nervous disposition masked his undoubted skills in the business of healing. 'Doctor, given that she's unconscious and has been ever since we brought her shuttle on-board, how exactly is she refusing treatment?'

Corl's voice was sharp as acid. Mysteries frustrated him as much as they fascinated others, and this mystery was the most infuriating he could ever have confronted.

Dr Kennedy wiped his brow. He and Corl were famous for their clashes, partially due to Kennedy's own nervous disposition, and the captain's bad mood made him even more shaky than normal. 'Captain, she's not responding to our attempts to revive her,' he stuttered.

'That's not the same as refusing treatment,' snapped Corl.

Kennedy blinked at the captain for a few moments, reflexively swallowing before the answer could make its way past his lips. 'I mean, there is something actively blocking us from reviving her. Her body is resisting our attempts to treat any injuries.'

'I don't understand,' said the captain. 'How can she be doing that?'

'I can't explain it,' said Kennedy. He moved to one of the control consoles by the side of the Admiral's head. 'Watch what happens when I try to use the cortical stimulator.'

He pressed a few keys, sending a pulse of energy through the equipment designed to provoke reaction inside the patient's brain. There was no reaction from the Admiral, but a few seconds after the pulse had been generated, another pulse seemed to emanate from Nechayev's head, lashing into the equipment. A spark flared from the cortical stimulator, forcing both Kennedy and Corl to step backwards sharply. A small cloud of smoke began to drift from the bio bed.

Kennedy waved away the smoke and looked ruefully at the ruined equipment. 'Captain, her defence reaction is getting stronger. When we first tried to intervene, we simply couldn't make any headway. Now, she is actually attacking us. I daren't try anything more aggressive without knowing what the consequences are.'

'Have you tried to scan her?'

Kennedy directed Corl to the main sickbay readout. 'The same bio-electric field that meant the ship's sensors couldn't pick up her life-signs is blocking us from scanning her now.'

Corl glared at the screen. 'Doctor, what is happening to her?'

'I don't know, captain,' replied Kennedy. His eyes met Corl's. 'There is one thing I can be certain of; the bio-electrical field is increasing in intensity. At some point, I think she is going to wake up.'

'Good,' responded Corl shortly. 'If and when she does awake, notify the bridge immediately. I have some questions for her.'

He stalked out of the sickbay, deeply frustrated with life. Dr Kennedy looked down with some concern at the body on the bed. 'I'm not so sure she'll be answering questions, captain.'

Picard didn't emerge from his ready room for the rest of the day and Riker was left to supervise the ship's operations on his own. On its own terms, this was not a problem for the massively experienced first officer, but every so often, his eyes would drift towards the closed double doors leading to the captain's inner sanctum.

An uneasy atmosphere hung over the ship. Riker knew that news of Picard's odd behaviour had spread through the lower decks, with the tale growing wilder in every telling. One story that particularly worried him was that the captain had completely disappeared from the bridge and reappeared moments later as an old man.

What worried Riker was that this story was not that far from the truth as Deanna had told him.

The atmosphere pervaded the bridge even more than the rest of the ship. Although it was not unknown for the captain to spend much of his time in his office, the captain's behaviour had clearly left its mark on the crew. Even Data, normally so precise and controlled, kept casting glances at the ready room doors. The only contact Picard had had with the rest of the bridge crew had been a short private message to his tactical officer, the content of which Hedly had not informed Riker about.

As the night shift approached, Riker started to consider that he would have to intrude on the captain's privacy, as the master of the vessel was required to supervise the watch transfer. Although Riker was fully capable of overseeing the change of duty shifts, Starfleet regulations required the captain to log the change himself.

Abruptly, Picard's voice resounded across the bridge. 'Commander Riker, could I see you in my ready room please?'

'Aye, sir,' responded Riker, his voice not showing any of his puzzlement. He stood, throwing a puzzled look at Troi, who shrugged back.

Riker stepped through the doors of the ready room to find Picard sat at his desk, a pile of padds strewn across the normally pristine surface. Concentrating on the screen before him, Picard threw a cursory glance at his first officer. 'Have a seat, Number One.'

As Riker did so, he took a moment to look closely at his superior officer. Picard seemed tense, on-edge, his intense frown fixed on the monitor, tension etched into every line on his face.

Suddenly, Picard keyed the screen off and turned to face his first officer, his hands clasped on the desk before him. His eyes were hooded, not looking directly at Riker. 'Will, I suspect Deanna has filled you in on some of the details of a conversation I had with her earlier today.'

Riker smiled. 'She did mention it, yes, sir.'

'Do you feel there is any necessity to relieve me of command?'

Riker's eyebrows shot up at the question, but he had the good sense to think about his answer, rather than reacting to his impulsive loyalty to his good friend. 'Not at the moment, sir,' was his final answer.

Picard nodded thought fully. 'A sensible answer, Number One.' A smile crossed his face. 'I expected no less.'

The captain sighed and sat back in his chair, turning his attention to the stars outside. 'How much do you know?'

'The general thrust of it, yes,' replied Riker carefully. He had realised that his captain was avoiding looking him in the eyes. 'An alternate universe; a war; death and destruction on an unprecedented scale. That Q was somehow behind it.'

He hesitated, unsure of what to say next, unwilling to pry into the obviously troubled recollections of his friend. 'A question, Will?' asked Picard, his voice calm.

'Yes, sir,' sighed Riker. 'Why did Q do it?'

'That I don't know,' replied Picard, swinging himself back around. 'Q is a frustration and a nuisance at best, but more and more I feel that he is playing a larger game than this, a little like when he dropped us into the path of that first Borg cube.'

Riker got the impression Picard was more comfortable talking about business than feelings. 'Did he actually intervene to send you on this other path?'

It was Picard's turn to hesitate. 'Not as such,' he replied after a long pause, his eyes raising above Riker's head to stare into the middle distance. 'The first time we realised that the Q had any stake in what was happening was when he approached me about closing the rift. At the time, he fed me a story about a rival Q Continuum attempting to rid their galaxy of a problem in the Aralla, but when he appeared later, he told me that he had lied; on the whole, not something that surprised me.

'That next time I saw him, the last time, he had some strange story about me being the only unique individual in something he called the multiverse. Obviously that wasn't something I could take seriously.'

This last was said with a dismissive sneer, but Riker had spotted something in Picard's manner that suggested that his captain did indeed take it very seriously indeed.

The odd moment was suddenly brushed off as Picard suddenly blinked and returned his full attention to Riker. 'That aside, Will, the reason I asked you in here was to tell you that I've decided to follow Deanna's recommendation and take a leave of absence from the Enterprise. I have returned from this alternate reality with a lot of memories, thoughts and feelings that perhaps do not properly belong here. I need some time to sort them out.'

Riker wisely decided not to touch on that topic. 'Aye, sir. Do you have any specific orders before your departure?'

Picard shook his head. 'Not quite, Will.' He levered himself from his chair and turned to look through the windows again. 'Although Admiral Drayton was amenable to the idea that I took indefinite leave, he wasn't prepared, rightly, to leave the Enterprise without a captain.'

'I will be in command, sir,' protested Riker.

'Not good enough, Number One. At the very least, there are several things a starship captain can do that a first officer, no matter how capable, cannot,' replied Picard. He half-turned from the window. 'There are some things a captain must know that no-one else can.'

Riker nodded, seeing the logic. 'Very well, sir. Who will be coming aboard to replace you?'

Picard smiled, turning to face his first officer. 'Will, I think the answer is fairly obvious. I asked Admiral Drayton to promote you to captain and assign you the command of the Enterprise. He agreed readily.'

Riker's eyes widened in astonishment. After a moment, he managed, 'Why?'

For the first time, Picard looked directly into his first officer's eyes. 'Will, I think we both know that I won't be coming back to the Enterprise. This is your ship now. If I return to Starfleet, there's a place in the Admiralty for me, but my time here is over. It's your time now.'

Riker was instinctively prepared to contradict his captain but, before he did, he saw a bitter sorrow on Picard's face that he had never seen before, an expression that was so unfamiliar on his captain's face that Riker was jolted into silence by its existence. Suddenly, the first officer began to truly believe that his friend did not want to return.

'This place is too painful,' Picard continued, having seen Riker's expression change. 'It holds too many memories. Being surrounded with familiar faces that I have seen die is...'

He pointed at his first officer, his voice becoming more urgent. 'To see you there, living and breathing, is both a wondrous joy and a terrible sorrow. A joy, because I know you can continue with your life, not interrupted by war and death. A sorrow, because I can still see your body lying on the bridge of this starship. I am forever reminded that my decisions led to your death, and to the deaths of virtually everyone else on the Enterprise.'

As he said that, Picard felt the anguish burning through him again. Fighting it down, he turned his mind back to more straightforward logic. 'Besides,' he continued, trying to keep his tone business-like, 'the disruption to the crew would be minimised. In fact, I suspect Starfleet has been waiting to do this for quite some time.'

Again, Picard had to fight off the sorrow that lurked beneath his conscious thoughts. He did so by standing and holding out his hand to Riker. For a moment, Riker didn't move, but then he stood and took his captain's hand. 'Congratulations, Will. I know you've wanted this. Now it's yours.'

'Thank you, sir,' replied Riker, fighting back a sudden surge of sorrow. 'It won't be the same without you.'

With that, Riker turned and left the room. As he did so, Picard turned again to look at the stars. Feeling the despair well up within him, he whispered, 'That may be for the best.'

Readouts above Admiral Nechayev's bed hummed and bleeped quietly, monitoring their patient's vital signs efficiently and discreetly. Dr Kennedy stood by the side of the bed, his compassionate gaze focused on the body before him. Reaching out, he keyed a few commands into the displays above Nechayev's head and sighed.

The monitors were struggling now to fully report on Nechayev's condition due to the increasing intensity of the bio-electrical field that was hampering the ability of the sensors to take readings of her body.

Kennedy turned away from the bed and walked thoughtfully back to his office in the very heart of the sickbay. Enclosed by a number of transparent panels, it afforded anyone within a panoramic view of the entire sickbay area. The doctor sat down and keyed in a command on the desk monitor to record his log entry.

'Chief Medical Officer's log: Patient Alynna Nechayev – The bio-electrical readings have increased by a factor of three in the last six hours. It is now beginning to affect our instrument readings, and I am being forced to use manual methods to monitor patient heart rate etc. Unfortunately, patient's defence reactions have also increased, meaning that I am now unable to take any blood samples.'

As he completed that last sentence, Kennedy hesitated, realising that something was subtly wrong. Ancient instincts awoke, ones that had warned his distant ancestors of a stalking predator. Suddenly, he realised he didn't want to see, wanted only to obey the ancient urge to run and hide that filled him.

He forced his eyes away from the desk monitor and jumped in shock.

Admiral Nechayev stood outside the office, her face almost pressed against the glass. She stood as if her body was hanging from her neck, her arms limply hanging by her sides. Her eyes were closed tightly and yet she was obviously watching him.

The doctor stood slowly, backing away reflexively from the disturbing apparition before him. As he did so, Nechayev's head turned to follow his movement, enhancing his terrified sense that he was being hunted.

He knew that only a few short strides were between him and the sickbay door, but he felt certain that he would never reach it, however fast he moved.

Nechayev started to move around the outside of the office to cut him off from the door, her closed eyes still focused on him. She walked like a hunter, every foot placed precisely on the carpeted deck but, as if she was unused to having arms, her limbs simply dangled at her side, only swaying as the rest of her body moved.

Now frightened out of his wits, Kennedy began to raise his hand to his commbadge. As she saw him, Nechayev's head cocked to the side, almost quizzically. More and more, the certainty stole over Kennedy that he did not face a human being. A smile began to steal over Nechayev's face, a mirthless, mocking smile, which gave the twin impressions of both contempt and hatred.

As the doctor watched, dumbstruck, Nechayev's arms began to move, almost in imitation of him. Her hands, bunched into fists, were lifted before her. When they were in front of her face, she turned her hands palm upwards and opened them.

Kennedy felt his bile rise at the sight in front of him. In the palms of the admiral's hands were her eyes, still wet with blood and viscera, trailing the long red cords that were once connected to her brain. Then she opened her eyelids.

Kennedy screamed.

'CAPTAIN!' The cry ripped through the calm atmosphere of the bridge, jolting Corl from his chair with surprise.

'Sir,' called Lieutenant Frane, 'that was Dr Kennedy!'

'Bridge to sickbay, respond!' said Corl. He didn't wait long for an answer, knowing in his gut that something was terribly wrong. He spun to face his tactical officer. 'Get a security detail together, fully armed, and meet me in sickbay immediately! And clear deck seven!'

Ignoring the acknowledgement, Corl hurried towards the turbolift, a dark fear slowly being born within him.

Pounding down the corridor to sickbay, Corl caught glimpses of security officers herding people from their quarters and away from harm. As he approached sickbay, he slowed his pace and carefully drew his phaser from the holster on his hip. He approached the door slowly and, as it slid open before his approach, he levelled his phaser.

Corl's eyes immediately lighted on the smashed glass panels around the office area. As he stepped forward, he could smell the acrid tang of human blood on the air.

As he stepped towards the office, he felt something squelch underfoot. Lifting his shoe, Corl gagged as he realised that he had stepped on a human eyeball. Another rested on the deck a few feet away.

With mounting horror, he became aware that he could hear the sound of a liquid dripping somewhere in sickbay. As he stood, the other door to sickbay opened with a hiss, allowing Frane and two other guards to enter, rifles at the ready. Frane caught sight of the damage to the office and the expression of horror on Corl's face.

Corl walked towards the second compartment in sickbay, motioning for the guards to follow behind him. As they fell into step with him, Corl walked around the partition wall and into a scene of carnage.

The wreckage of smashed equipment was strewn about the deck, broken glass crunching underfoot as Corl and the guards carefully made their way into the room.

The smell of blood was overpowering here, and Corl realised why as he turned. Frane also turned to see, an expression of profound sorrow and horror crossing her face as she did so.

Dr Kennedy had been crucified against the partition wall, suspended from the floor, a scalpel slashed through his throat and great shards of glass driven through his hands and chest with inhuman force, impaling him. The blood had not time to dry, and still spilled out over the deck from the terrible wounds inflicted on his body.

Behind Corl, one of the security guards muttered in disbelief, 'Oh, shit.'

Corl, fighting down his disgust at the horrifying sight, tapped his commbadge. 'Corl to bridge; red alert. Seal off decks seven and eight, and order full civilian evacuation from decks six, seven and eight and nine. And get a full medical team down to Sickbay.'

'What could have done this?' whispered Frane, as she stared at the mutilated body.

'Whatever it is,' replied Corl with barely restrained fury, 'it's going to die.'

Perched on a short ladder with the Jeffries Tube, it heard the movements and muted conversation within the sickbay.

It sensed energy fields being erected all around, sealing off access to the other decks. No matter, it thought, it had everything it needed here.

Hauling itself further up the ladder, it released the seal on the next hatch and crawled through. Closing the hatch behind it, the creature took a moment to consider the unusual feelings it was sensing from its new skin. It moved its hands back and forth in front of its eyes, waving the fingers in the air and enjoying the novelty of the form.

Its senses were growing by the minute, the feelings of the humans around it sensed, sampled. The building fear quotient was savoured. It could still access the dying memories of the human it had taken, the terror and horror of this death filling its mind.

It knew there was something missing. A terrible loneliness filled it, a longing for a voice; a link to the rest of its kind.

No matter, it decided. If it could not go to them, they would be brought.

Together, they would raze the galaxy and watch the humans – every last one of them – burn.