At a steady warp factor four, the USS Enterprise cruised through the cosmos, on its way to space station 176. Assigned to a simple supplies delivery, it was just the sort of simple, mundane task the ship's crew could hope for after the challenges of the previous week.
Entering his quarters, Captain Jean-Luc Picard slouched in the nearest chair, exhausted, gazing out at the stars which now were glowing streaks glancing past his window. A stand off with the Romulans in the Neutral Zone after they tried to capture a Starfleet freight ship that lost its way during a cosmic storm, defusing tension with the Klingons after a traitor tried to sabotage the already fragile alliance with the Federation, investigating an anomaly aboard the ship that caused crew and passengers to become ghost-like apparitions that could communicate with the dead, and those were just the slower days.
With their arrival at the space station still a few days away, Picard allowed himself a rare day of R&R. Striping himself of his uniform, he propped himself up under a hot shower. A quick dry, then into his robe and slippers, and Berlioz playing softly in the background, Picard was already feeling relaxed. His cabin was the largest on the ship, equipped with all the finest home amenities, and stylish furniture. It was possibly the most luxurious perk of command, though Picard never gave it much thought. To him, his cabin was his escape to the solitude he favored much more over the many social activities offered to off duty personnel. He never particularly enjoyed parties or large gatherings with friends, not that he had many aboard the ship anyhow.
The Captain was not entirely without companionship on the Enterprise, however. The ship's lead physician, Beverly Crusher, was a close friend, and had been for several years. He had often been invited to a regular poker game held by some of his senior staff, all of which he considered friends, but never attended. Picard believed in keeping a healthy distance between himself and his crew to avoid personal relationships getting in the way of duty.
But, Picard also just simply enjoyed his solitude. He liked being left alone. And greatly looked forward to it after his last exhausting few days.
He decided he would lose himself within the pages of a book. Perhaps the latest archaeological studies by Dr. Abigail Atori? No, not this evening. One of his favorite mysteries from wonder sleuth, Dixion Hill? That sounded more like it.
After a whole week filled with excitement and danger, his spirit still craved adventure, even in his most restful moments. He could easily take a trip down to the holodeck and live out his fictional hero's exploits first hand, and occasionally had, but nothing was more satisfying or more intimate to him than a book in his hand, the feel of the pages at his fingers, appreciating crafting of words by an author.
Before he would sit down in his den with a holographic fire crackling in a simulated fireplace against the wall, there was one last component required for his unwinding. "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot," Picard announced to his replicator.
A moment passed and the machine was unresponsive.
Picard cleared his throat and strengthened the timbre of his voice. "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."
The machine chirped in obedience. Picard smiled and opened the replicator's door, ready to waft in the first scent of his favorite beverage.
Is that...leather? Picard thought, as he inhaled. He opened the small door all the way and pulled out an old, dusty brown leather shoe. He frowned and twisted the article in his hand, inspecting it for a moment, then tossed it against the far wall. His patience thin, he closed the small door and tried again. "Tea! Earl Grey! Hot!"
The machine chirped satisfyingly at the command, just as normal.
Picard whipped open the door.
His brow furrowed and he let out a grunt accented with revulsion. He pulled out a glass picture frame, lined with polished brown wood. In its center was a full bodied photograph of his first officer, Commander William T. Riker, in a friendly pose on the bridge, a broad toothy smile wrapped his face, his blue eyes glinting in the light.
Picard slammed the picture face down on a shelf built into the wall just to the right of the replicator. With both hands he wriggled the cover off the panel below the machine, placed it on the shelf, and inspected its circuits and wiring, but detected nothing damaged or loosened. He wiped his face with his palm and thought for a moment. As captain he could easily have a simple pot of tea delivered to him by one of the personnel in Ten Forward, but he hated using such privileges when his own private replicator should be in proper working order.
Soon, as if relenting in a chess match against a great foe, he conceded. "Computer, pause music," Picard instructed. Berlioz stopped playing. "Picard to engineering," he said next.
Immediately there was a response. "La Forge here. Go ahead, Captain."
His chief engineer, Geordi La Forge, was still on duty. "Mister La Forge, could you please send someone to my quarters. There seems to be a malfunction with my replicator."
La Forge promptly replied. "Actually, Captain, I was just on my way near your deck for an inspection. I could stop by and take a look."
Picard took a breath with some relief. If he was forced to invite someone to disturb his solitude, he was glad it was one of those he considered a friend. "That sounds perfect, Lieutenant," the Captain confirmed. "Picard out."
A few moments later, Picard greeted La Forge at his door. "It's the silliest thing, Geordie. I asked for tea and it gave me an old shoe," Picard explained. Geordie let out a small chuckle as he noticed the shoe on the floor across the room. "Then I asked again and it...," Picard hesitated. He decided to leave out the detail about the photograph of Commander Riker. "Well, it malfunctioned again."
"Strange," La Forge said, bending down toward the exposed terminal below the replicator. "There doesn't appear to be any rotten wiring or fried plugs here. Power looks sufficient. Memory board intact." La Forge brought his finger to his chin and thought for a moment. Finally, La Forge tapped his combage. "La Forge to engineering." A moment passed with no answer. He tried again. "La Forge to engineering."
Finally, a response. "Um...Barclay here, Sir...Commander...Lieutenant Commander."
Picard gave La Forge a concerned look. Geordie returned a helpless shrug. Barclay, though an innocent soul, was not the most competent member of the Enterprise's engineering crew.
"Barclay, listen carefully," La Forge said. "I need you to take a look at control panel H-301 and tell me if you see anything out of order. We're having some malfunctions in the Captain's quarters."
"Aye, Sir," Barclay responded. A moment later, Barclay returned. "I...I think a capacitor fuse may have blow, Sir."
Picard's posture straightened, the culprit seeming to be identified.
"Okay, Barclay. Replace it, then give it a reboot," La Forge instructed.
Another moment passed. "Uh...okay. It's rebooted, I guess," Barclay said.
"You guess?" La forge said.
"No. Yes. Yes, it's rebooted, Sir."
The soft glowing lights of the replicator panel blinked, confirming the reboot. "Okay, Barclay. Stand by," La Forge said. "Now, Captain, all that should be necessary is rebooting the replicator on our end." La Forge touched the power switch to the replicator with his finger and a loud pop cracked from the terminal with a copious amount of sparks shooting from it. Picard flinched, and La Forge leaped backward away from the panel. The lights in the cabin dimmed for a moment. "Son of a-" La Forge shouted and shook his hand.
"Geordie, are you alright?" Picard said.
La Forge winced beneath his VISOR. He had a slight burn on his fingers and hand. "Nothing a quick trip to sickbay won't cure."
"Just a moment," Picard said. "I have a medical kit here somewhere." With a sigh, Picard searched in cabinets and drawers looking for the spare medical kit Beverly Crusher had given him, but couldn't find it. Again, conceding to defeat, his called to his computer. "Picard to Doctor Crusher."
"Go ahead, Jean-Luc," Beverly replied, instantly.
"Beverly, where did you put that spare medical kit you left me the other day?"
"Why?" Beverly asked. "Is everything alright? Are you hurt?"
"Everything is alright," Picard said. "Geordie just suffered a small burn to his hand."
"What?" Beverly said. "I'm on my way, Jean-Luc!"
"Really, Beverly, that's not necessary. Do you remember where the medical kit is?"
"Crusher out," Beverly said, signing off.
Picard took a deep breath and massaged his eyes with his fingers. His simple desire for a quiet evening with a cup of Earl Grey was quickly becoming a bigger chore than his nerves could stand.
A moment later, Doctor Crusher rushed into Picard's quarters with her medical tricorder ready, and began treating La Forge. "What in blazes is going on in here, boys?" She said, eyeing the dismantled replicator.
"Just an equipment malfunction," Picard said, hurriedly.
"The replicator is acting up," La Forge confirmed.
Just then, the door to the Captain's cabin opened and Lieutenant Worf and Commander Riker burst through with phasers drawn. Both men observed the room, eyes wild and ready for anything.
"What in hell are you two doing?" Picard said, his frustration mounting further.
"Is everything all right, sir?" Riker said.
"The on-board sensors read a small explosion here in your quarters, Captain," Worf said.
Picard waved them off with a hand. "Everything is fine. It's just the damn replicator malfunctioning. You can go now."
Worf walked over and leaned in toward the replicator, examining its control panel.
"As far as I can tell, it should work fine now. Power surge aside," La Forge said, his injured hand in Beverly's as she used her dermal regenerator. "Care to give her a whirl, Worf?"
Worf looked at La Forge, then back at the replicator. His eyes narrowed as if to size up a formidable opponent for battle. "Blood pie," He commanded with a growl. A traditional Klingon dish. The machine gave its familiar chirp. The security chief turned to his crewmates, then back to the small door. He opened it and an explosion of red goop and grey bits sprayed his face and tunic.
Picard's features tightened. He turned away and rubbed the back of his neck. The Klingon was scowling, considering taking his phaser to the foul instrument. Riker moved next to Worf, and with his finger took a small bit of sludge from his shoulder. He tasted it and his nose wrinkled. "Well," Riker said. "It certainly is blood pie."
Not daring to look at his snickering crewmates, Worf walked directly to the door. "If you'll excuse me, Captain," he said.
"Of course, Mister Worf. In fact, you're all excused, thank you," Picard said. His patience was at its limit. His tone was just a step below a direct captain's order.
The hatch door to the Captain's quarters opened revealing Data standing on its opposite side, holding a calculation pad. Worf did not acknowledge the android. Data's head tilted slightly, noting the peculiar state of the Klingon's tunic, then turned his attention to La Forge. "Geordi," Data said, walking into the cabin. "I have discovered irregular power fluctuations all throughout the the ship. I thought you might like to take a look."
"Oh, please, Data, come right in. Joins us," Picard said, dryly.
Data turned to Picard. "Thank you, Captain," he said, Picard's sarcasm lost on the robot.
Doctor Crusher finished her treatment of La Forge's hand. "There. Good as new," she said.
"Thanks, doc," La Forge returned, and took the pad from Data. "Well, that might explain the Captain's replicator problems." Data glanced at the machine in the wall. "There don't appear to be any other complaints of strange behavior being reported."
Picard and Riker moved next to La Forge. Picard's concern moved toward that of his ship. "Could it be from something outside the ship?" Riker asked.
"It's possible we passed through some kind of irradiated space without of sensors detecting it," La Forge said.
"Why, Captain," Data exclaimed. "What a lovely picture of Commander Riker you have." Data was holding the framed photograph that the replicator created earlier. "Friendship. Truly my favorite part of human emotion."
Everyone in the room turned their head toward Picard.
"Captain. I'm touched," Riker said.
Picard's face reddened. He snatched the photograph from Data and slammed it down on a table near him. "The damn replicator gave it to me after it gave me that old shoe," he said, pointing. A a beep sounded in the cabin indicating another visitor at the door. "Oh, well, who could it be this time? Perhaps a Borg delivering a basket of fruit. Come in!"
The door opened and ship counselor, Deanna Troi, walked in. She took in the sight of the Captain's guests. "Is everyone alright?" the counselor asked. "I felt an overwhelming sense of anger and confusion crossed with elation and joy concentrated right here in your quarters, Captain," She rubbed her temple. "And quite frankly, It's disturbing." Counselor Troi's half-Betazoid make-up allowed her an extra sensory mental ability that could feel extraordinary emotions of those around her; often whether she chose to feel them or not.
"Ah, yes, just one big party here in the Captain's quarters," Picard said. "Come, Deanna, perhaps you may have some insight on the case of my malfunctioned replicator."
Deanna frowned at the Captain's sarcasm. Data once again turned to the replicator, inspecting it.
Riker tapped his combadge. "Commander Riker to bridge. What's the ship's status? Everything running okay up there?"
"Everything running smoothly and on schedule, Commander," replied Ensign Ro, from the Conn position. "We will arrive at station 176 in 51 hours."
"Ensign, rescan our our flight path in both directions. See if we passed by any strange interference that might have thrown off our power cells."
"Aye, Sir."
"Photograph of Commander Riker," Data said to the replicator. After a chirp, Data opened it. His golden eyes twitched at an impossible sight. Data reach in and retrieved a fuzzy orange kitten, purring at Data's touch. "Spot?"
Everyone's eyes widened.
"Is that even possible?" Troi said.
"Suppose we ask the replicator to replicate a replicator," Data mused.
"Well, we certainly shouldn't ask that replicator," Doctor Crusher said.
"Bridge to Commander Riker," called Ensign Ro.
"Go ahead, ensign."
"Sir, I'm getting some troubling readings from our scan," Ro said. "Or, more aptly, It's the readings I'm not getting."
"What do you mean?"
"Censors can't reach past 100 meters outside the ship. It's like we're inside some kind of bubble."
La Forge brought up the new information on his pad. "None of this makes any sense," He said. "As far as I can tell we seem to be stuck in some kind of temporal displacement pocket. Time appears to be moving normally within the ship, but outside it's like we're standing still."
"Alright," Picard said, his voice strained. "Everyone report to the bridge. We'll deal with this there, not in my quarters with me in my robe and slippers." He gave an exasperated sigh. "It appears one day of rest was a bit too much to ask this time."
"Aw, don't sound so defeated, Jean-Luc," a new voice said. Everyone looked around the cabin and then toward Data, who was still holding Spot. "You're always such a sour puss," the cat said. Spot bounced away from Data, becoming a beam of light that moved itself into a humanoid form. A man in a Starfleet command uniform appeared, holding a steaming mug. "You really should relax more. Maybe have some tea," he said, sipping a mug.
"Q," Picard growled. "You're responsible for this, aren't you?"
"Of course I am, old friend," Q said. "My little gift to you. You wanted a day to relax after your long week," his voice became patronizing. "So I gave you one."
Picard stepped toward the imp, looking him directly in the eye. "What I wanted was some peace and quiet. Not for some celestial trouble maker to get my ship stuck in a damned time anomaly!"
"Oh, please, Jean-Luc. What were you going to do for the next few days?" Q said, tossing away his mug. It disappeared in a flash of light. "Lock yourself in here, read the same old books you've read a dozen times, and sip your smelly old bitter tea? No, that's not you.
"You know as well as I do that you're not happy unless you're on your bridge nosing around some terrible planet, or getting yourself out of life or death situations. There is no more relaxing spot to you in this entire ship than that captain's chair." Q snapped a finger. Instantly, Q, Picard and the rest of the crew in the Captain's quarters disappeared and found themselves on the bridge. Picard, now in his uniform, was in his appropriate chair. Troi and Doctor Crusher sat to his left, Q was sitting in the first officer seat, with Riker next to him. Data was at Conn next to Ensign Ro, and Worf and La Forge were at the rear stations. "Now, isn't this much better?" Q said. "On the bridge, in your chair, surrounded by your friends. Isn't everyone having fun?"
Picard stood and straightened his tunic with a tug. "Q, finding my crew in deadly scenarios is by no means relaxing or fun to me, or anyone else aboard this ship." Picard's voice was stern, but still calm. As calm as he could keep himself around Q's ridiculous antics. "Will you please undo this little game."
Q was quiet for a moment. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his legs. He sighed and regarded his finger nails. "You know I did this for you, Jean-Luc," he finally said.
"And your generosity is greatly appreciate," Picard said. "But we would all very much like to be getting back on our way."
"Fine," Q said, standing up, and tugging at his tunic as a mock to Picard. "A little appreciation goes a long way." Q waved his finger.
"Scans are reading normal again, Sir," Data called out.
"We're on track to our destination, sir, but," Ro said. She turned to the Captain. "Our location has changed. At current speed we're nearly a week away from Station 176."
Picard turned to Q.
"Figured I'd give you a little extra time for your R&R," Q said. "But I implore you, Jean-Luc, find a more interesting way to spend it. Try something new. Do something unexpected. Make a new friend. Ask the good doctor on a date." Picard's eyes began to shift toward Beverly, but he averted them. "For someone who fancies himself an explorer, you really should get out more. Sometimes the faces in front of you are woeth discovering, too." In a flash of light, Q transformed from wearing a Starfleet uniform to gray Romulan robes, and the tops of his ears turned to points. "Consider that my little way of helping evolve your pitiful little human race. Now, I have some Romulan friends to make." With that, Q vanished in a white glow.
The bridge was quiet for a moment. Picard rubbed his face with both hands. "You said a week to reach station 176, Ensign?"
"At current speed, yes, Sir."
"Fine," Picard said, taking a deep breath of relief. "We might as well make the best of it. We've all earned a good rest. Number One, you have the bridge."
"Aye, Sir," Riker said.
"I'll be..." Picard trailed off for a moment. "I'll be in my quarters."
The door to Picard's cabin opened and he walked in, noticing the old shoe had disappeared, as well as the photograph of Riker, and the stains from Worf's blood pie. He stepped toward the replicator and announced, "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot." The machine chirped and delivered a perfect, steaming cup. He took in its aroma, then sipped it, and savored it. But he was not quite content.
Setting his tea down, the Captain walked around the den. He never noticed before just how big it was. And how empty. Then for the first time since he could remember, Picard felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.
Perhaps Q's words had actually had an effect on him.
Picard walked to the door, leaving his tea behind, and began toward sickbay. Doctor Crush's shift was almost finished. Perhaps she would be free for dinner.