Chapter 1

2367

There was no Starfleet Headquarters anymore. Whatever was salvageable of Starfleet had survived only because it had been off-world during the attack. The San Francisco he had known for thirty five years now consisted of piles of rubble, the twisted frames of downed aircraft, and hundreds of fires that had yet to be extinguished. Humans and aliens alike roamed the piles of rubble looking for their missing loved ones. Sometimes they found them, but more often they did not.

Once not long ago, Picard had another life, a ship, and he remembered the people he had served with. He had no idea where any of them were at the moment. But damn him if he could remember how he had ended up in this war zone. All he knew was that it felt as though he had been sleeping under this crashed shuttle for days. He'd found an extra environmental suit in the shuttle's cargo hold along with a lone phaser. The replicator was broken and there was no food. More importantly, the pilot had tragically been killed. He'd tried to revive the poor young woman, with no success—her neck had been broken. He had carried her body to the closest security checkpoint where they were keeping track of the dead.

He'd returned to the shuttle to take shelter for the night and had remained there ever since. Early on he'd found one of the enemy's rifles. Well, actually he'd stripped it from a dead Malkatan. It was a powerful disruptor, downright excessive in its destructive capabilities. He wasn't going to complain, because it had kept him alive those first days. The Malkatans had been ruthless, first destroying the structures with some kind of graviton beam. And then as people fled, their troops appeared out of thin air and began firing on every living creature they saw. Picard had fought back, and had seen others firing at the Malkatans with phasers and any other weapons they had been able to recover. But there was no organization yet, and before they could get it together the Malkatan's disappeared from San Francisco. According to the communications array he'd repaired in the shuttle the Malkatans had attacked London next. He supposed this pattern of terror would continue.

During the day, he searched for survivors. So far he'd found just two. He'd dragged them to safety, first carrying the daughter, and then going back for the father. The man was larger than Picard, and he'd had to drag him most of the way. The man couldn't feel his legs, he knew, but he apologized to the man for his remarkably poor medical skills. The man's dire situation had made him think of Beverly; of course she'd have known what to do…but where was she? He had no idea. The makeshift medic station had taken the father and his child in for care, and then they'd been off Picard's hands. At night he stayed warm by making a small fire for himself. But one night he began to feel strange, as though part of his body was somewhere else. For a moment he thought his hands disappeared. But it passed, and he shook it off. He needed to keep his senses sharp. Like everyone else he was simply waiting for the Malkatans to return.

2367 On board the Runabout

"I just need—I just need to be alone for a while, Deanna," Beverly insisted.

"You said that two hours ago, Beverly," Troi said from the other side of the door. "It's been almost 24 hours since you returned to us from the past. Now, I can't help but sense your distress and I'm very concerned about you." Beverly remained silent. "I brought you something to eat," Troi added, hoping that would make the difference.

Presently, Deanna heard the door unlock and she moved forward and the door slid open in front of her. She smiled nervously and held out the plate of food to her friend. Beverly sat in the dark, and waved Troi to put the food down on the table.

"Thank you," she said dully, glancing away again to stare at the wall.

"Lights," Deanna said, still watching her friend. Beverly's lips moved again but no words came out, and she swiped a hand over her face distractedly.

Deanna sat down across from Beverly and leaned forward. "Who are you talking to?"

Beverly looked at her then and blinked. Her eyes appeared unfocused. "Him…I'm talking to him," she said, as if it were obvious.

"You mean, Captain Picard…what are you saying to him?"

Beverly moved the plate toward her and started picking at the food absently. Then, apparently not hungry she looked up at Troi again. "I'm telling him that I'm sorry I left him. And I am asking him to forgive me." She picked up a piece of bread with trembling fingers, and began to chew it slowly. Deanna handed her a glass of water, which she sipped gingerly.

"It's breaking my heart to see you like this. You have to take care of yourself, Beverly."

"You mean I have to take care of the baby," said Beverly. "I know that's what everyone is thinking right now. How could I be so selfish…how could I take advantage of a sick, disoriented man, who I'll never see again? A man who can never know that I'm having our child…how could I be so careless?"

Deanna frowned and shook her head. "My goodness, Beverly, of course no one is thinking all of that. We are all just worried about you…and yes, the baby, of course. What happened when you found the Captain?"

Beverly stared at her friend with red-rimmed eyes. "What do you think happened, Troi? I came back pregnant," she snapped.

Deanna flinched, and sat back, lacing her finders together between her knees. She paused. "Beverly, in addition to all of the other stressors you must be dealing with right now, it is very possible that you are experiencing the discomfort of having traveled between time periods."

Beverly glanced at her friend and took another small bite of bread. "It's a very real possibility," she admitted.

Troi smiled gently. "Now if you were in my position, being a physician…what would you prescribe to make me feel better?"

Beverly sighed, beginning to appreciate her friend's patient manner. She didn't mean to be irritable. But Troi was right; she wasn't quite here in the present yet. "I would prescribe an anxiolytic—maybe give you a mild tranquilizer."

Troi smiled and nodded toward the med kit. "Do you have anything like that here with us?"

Beverly rolled her eyes and laughed slightly. "Yes, of course." She laughed again and reached out to take Deanna's hand. "I'm sorry I snapped at you. You're right—I'm obviously not myself, and suffering some after effects of time travel. Could you hand me the kit?"

Troi got up and picked up the med kit, handing it to Beverly carefully. "How are you feeling?" she asked, watching Beverly rummage around looking for the right hypo cartridge.

"I think I'm in shock…about the fact that I'm pregnant I mean," she said injecting the hypo into her neck with a hiss.

"What is the last thing you remember happening on the station?"

Beverly took in a shaky breath. "I turned my back to him and closed my eyes, waiting for the Traveler to take me, as he said he would." She looked down at the table and shook her head. "Jean-Luc was confused. He kept talking about bringing Wesley with us. Up until the moment I left I think he believed I was going to go with him on board the Stargazer."

"So he was coherent enough to understand that you were real."

"No, not really. He had been operating in survival mode for so long—and they had been treating him so cruelly, Deanna, that I think I was mostly still a fantasy to him. I think he was relying on images of a life with me to carry him through it all. But there was a moment," she closed her eyes tightly. "There was one moment of lucidity when he asked me if I was real. And I told him yes."

Deanna nodded slowly. "So you cannot be certain that he escaped the base."

"No. And until I know for sure…I just don't know, Deanna. I feel so horribly guilty."

Deanna got up to embrace Beverly comfortingly, when Geordi's voice came over the comm. "LaForge to Doctor Crusher…sorry to bother you, but I have an incoming pre-recorded call—it's for you."

A meaningful look passed between the two women even as they jumped up from the table and ran out into the main hold of the ship.

Worf's stern visage had never looked so compassionate. But his bruised and battered appearance also came through clear enough from the recorded message. The connection was full of static, and smoke billowed behind the Klingon in the darkness. It was clear something horrible had happened on Earth. Worf appeared to be outside.

"Doctor, I send you greetings and hope that you and the rest of the old crew are well. I must tell you something. I have located Captain Picard. He is alive and has been fighting in the war with the rest of us few survivors. He wishes to speak with you. But I warn you…his memory is very poor. Communication stations are very scarce and in demand here, but I will arrange for him to call you within the next day. Wherever you are, you are safer staying where you are. Please do not travel to Earth. Starfleet is no more. Worf out.