Spoilers for "Heart of Glory"
Future's Present, Chapter 10
Aboard the USS Enterprise, Stardate 41503.6, 1930 hours
As much as Natasha Yar's cat enjoyed his new, humming home and adored the human who brought him to live there, it didn't take him long to become curious about What Lay Beyond the doors that slid open several times a day. KC had figured out that the sliding doors opened for her, but not for him.
So he ruminated on exploration, and just after Lt. Yar returned home one evening and was distracted by her usual routine of suiting up for a martial arts workout, KC made his move. The doors opened for Tasha as she exited her cabin. When she turned to the left, KC dashed to the right.
His timing was impeccable for another reason. Minutes earlier, several birds escaped from the Enterprise's arboretum. KC saw one of them fluttering through the corridor and immediately gave chase until several officers—Lt. Worf among them—were notified that the birds had escaped from the arboretum. Worf hadn't expected to find Lt. Yar's cat stalking at least one of those birds. He recognized that an 8-kilo feline predator was a greater threat and nabbed KC. Worf carried the irked cat toward Lt. Yar's cabin, planning a security override to open the door so he could dump the cat inside and be done with it.
He didn't realize that another of the escaped birds saw the now-opened cabin as an inviting refuge from the corridor, and it flew into the cabin just before Lt. Worf stepped inside, as well. Worf saw the bird and a very-Klingon growl of irritation emanated from his throat. But when KC heard that growl, he had an instinctive reaction of his own.
Will Riker and Deanna Troi were returning from dinner in Ten Forward, walking together and laughing. She would be leaving for the first of two conferences the next day. He was trying to cheer her up. As much as she appreciated receiving updates in the psychology field, she disliked being away from the Enterprise, because it seemed like something important always happened when she was off the ship.
They were surprised to see Tasha Yar standing in the middle of the corridor, speaking to four of her security detail and the lead officer assigned to the arboretum. She was wearing her aikido garb, and Deanna immediately sensed that Tasha was genuinely unnerved by something.
"What happened?" Will asked.
"A . . . bird flew into my cabin!" she exclaimed, barely catching herself from interjecting a questionable adjective.
"A bird," Will replied, not hiding his amusement. "Is that it? KC ought to like that."
"He's part of the reason the bird is in there," Tasha replied. "This is NOT a good thing. It's really not."
When she explained what had happened, he thought she was overreacting, or being falsely dramatic in an attempt at humor. But Deanna sensed that she was serious.
"This really troubles you," Deanna said. "You feel it's a portent of misfortune."
"Yes!" Tasha replied. "My foster mother was superstitious. She told me that if a bird flies into someone's house, it's very bad luck. It means someone is about to die."
Will rolled his eyes.
"You think I'm kidding!" Tasha remarked.
"You've GOT to be kidding," Will said, his tone teasing. He stepped inside the cabin to see how the capture was going. He saw the first, surprising casualty: Lt. Worf, whose unadorned shoulder had been shredded by KC's frantic attempts to free himself from the Klingon's embrace, leaving multiple punctures and lacerations before Worf held the struggling animal away from him, and unceremoniously deposited him onto the first chair he found in Lt. Yar's cabin.
Bleeding and barely containing his temper, Worf watched the arboretum crew member easily recapture the bird, which had found refuge in an alcove just above the cabin's replicator unit. A handheld force field to safely enveloped the bird for transport.
"This is the second time this one has escaped. He'll need a notification chip," the arboretum worker said. "It'll throw up an additional, chip-specific force field anytime the animal gets within one meter of the internal door."
"He nearly got eaten, you know," Tasha replied, stepping inside but keeping her distance from the bird as it was carried past her and out of the cabin. "KC would have had him for dinner."
"Looks like he had Worf for dinner, instead," Will remarked.
KC sat on the chair, his fur bristling and ears laid back, glaring at Lt. Worf. The Klingon officer was a formidable opponent for anyone, but KC had already figured out how to strike the first blow.
"Your feline did not appreciate being retrieved," Worf said, glancing at his shredded uniform. "I will report to sickbay."
"Thanks, Lt. Worf," Tasha said. "If you ever get a cat, I owe you a retrieval if it escapes."
"I will not be getting a cat," Worf stated emphatically, and left.
Deanna sat next to KC, but didn't dare touch him. "He's quite agitated," she said. "He's relieved that Lt. Worf is gone."
"And I'd hoped they'd get along," Tasha said, reaching to scoop KC up so she could sit on the chair with him in her lap.
"How was your romp through the ship, you stupid cat?" Will asked, reaching to scratch KC's ears as Tasha held him. "Did you at least get laid while you were out and about?"
Deanna and Tasha glanced at each other.
"No?" Will said to KC, ignoring the reactions of the two officers next to him. "Well, I'll check the feline singles scene, and see if we can hook you up with Miss Right Now. How's that sound?"
"Commander Riker, are you being a bad influence on my cat?" Tasha said. "I think I'll stay in tonight so I can prevent him from running around with you. Computer, resume music."
A surprisingly sedate, sane melody began floating through the cabin.
"I'm looking out for your cat's well-being!" Will continued, and he was only half-kidding. "He got out because he wants a social life. He needs a girlfriend."
"You may NOT fix up my cat unless you plan on adopting one of the kittens."
Deanna laughed outright, and Will turned to look at her. "Oh, now you're taking sides?" he said. "You think it's healthy for a virile male to remain sequestered when there are so many eligible females available?"
"I'm not a cat expert," Deanna replied, holding up her hands. "But the thought of you raising any offspring resulting from a suggested dalliance is exceedingly funny, commander."
He shot her a playful look, then turned toward Tasha "What are you're listening to?"
"Springsteen."
"I'm impressed," he replied. "I didn't know you'd returned to this century with acceptable music. He would've been great to catch in concert ."
"We couldn't have afforded those tickets," Tasha replied.
"By the way, what was that awful song you piped into my cabin?"
"Man Boobs."
"No," he replied, smirking a bit out of embarrassment. "The loud one with all the screaming, the one where you disabled the voice commands so I had to get out of bed on the one morning that I wanted to sleep in. You actually listen to that?"
Deanna was biting the insides of her mouth to keep from laughing again, but she was losing.
"No, not really," Tasha replied. "I did a computer search on my library for something loud and obnoxious, just for you. Shaun Conaghan got me so many discs of music...I still haven't listened to all of it, so the computer selected an appropriate wake-up song. But now that I have listened to that song, it would be great stuff to listen to when I'm in the mood to kick someone's teeth out."
"Appropriate?" he said. "I thought the ship was under attack."
"Well, it did get you out of bed," Deanna observed.
Will nodded. "It did. I haven't slept soundly since then."
USS Enterprise, Stardate 41503.7, 1845 hours
Tasha Yar's feet didn't feel as numb as they had less than 10 days ago, the first time she'd ever notified a family member of a line-of-duty death. Ensign Zhuo Liang had been killed in the same IED explosion that nearly took Will Riker's life. Now, two more officers were gone.
Earlier that day, Tasha had given foot chase to an escaped Klingon prisoner, who had later been killed by Worf. But in Korris' wake were two security ensigns, lying dead from disruptor fire.
Their families were notified of those deaths by Starfleet authorities on their respective home worlds. Captain Picard, Will Riker and Lt. Worf were embroiled in a political fracas that resulted from the presence of Klingon criminals aboard the Enterprise—even if they'd been aboard due to a rescue. Will, Data and Geordi had nearly died in the rescue of those Klingons from a disabled ship, and the rescued Klingons repayed the gesture by messing with Worf's loyalties, murdering two officers and attempting to blow up the ship rather than be recaptured by the Klingon Empire.
Tasha rode up the lift to the bridge, shuddering at memories of what she felt was her own incompetence throughout the incident. As she and a security team were about to arrest both Klingon prisoners, a 4-year-old human dashed from a lift and into the path of Korris, the leader of the Klingons. He picked up the girl, and Tasha immediately thought he had taken her as a hostage. He ultimately let the child go, and even Worf had scoffed at the idea, almost offended at the idea of any respectable Klingon kidnapping anyone.
Humiliated that she didn't know as much as she thought she had about Klingons, Tasha began doubting herself. That nagging feeling later was cemented when both Klingons broke out of the brig, killing two security ensigns in the process. Tasha had chased Korris through the ship, and found him in Engineering, holding his pieced-together disruptor at the ship's dilithium crystal chamber. She had recommended the tried-and-true tactic of waiting Korris out until he calmed down. Worf scoffed at that idea as well, saying that Korris would destroy the ship as soon as he felt he no longer had an advantage.
Tasha spoke with Worf after the incident, carefully choosing her words. She knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't appreciate human platitudes and bullshit compliments that other crew members had piled upon him after the mission. His loyalties were pulled tightly throughout the incident, but hadn't flinched from his duties. He was operating as a Starfleet officer who happened to be a Klingon, rather than a Klingon who happened to wear a Starfleet uniform.
She wrote Worf's commendation, even as she replayed the entire episode in her head, her guilt building. The Klingon prisoners might have "died well", as Worf put it, but they had left others dead, also. Preventable mistakes were made, not enough was understood about Klingons that could have been remedied with preparation, prisoner protocol was breached—and now two officers were dead.
"My compliments on your handling of this situation, lieutenant," she had said to Worf, just after arriving on the bridge. While Picard, Riker and Worf were taking leave of the responding Klingon ship that had rendezvoused with the Enterprise to take both Klingons into custody, Tasha and two other security officers moved the bodies of Nicholas Ramos and Criston Escobar into stasis.
"I know this was rough for you, and don't tell me it wasn't," Tasha said to Worf.
He stared at her. She'd nailed him to the wall, all right. "It was challenging, lieutenant," he replied.
"You dealt with it well," Tasha said, choosing her words wisely this time. "By resisting their attempts to anger you, you were the one who behaved with honor."
"Thank you, lieutenant."
"I heard you received a posting offer from the Captain aboard the Klingon ship," she said.
"They offered a position aboard their ship once my commission here runs out," he replied. "I respectfully declined."
"Well, I'm glad you're staying," she replied. "And I'm grateful that you'll be around to help teach me—and everyone else aboard this ship—more about Klingon culture. I apologize that I didn't know as much as I should have."
"No apology is necessary," Worf replied. "Klingon culture is richly complicated."
"Would you be interested in hosting a security inservice aboard the ship regarding that? I believe we would all benefit, and not just if we were to assist the Klingons, but for when—and not if—but when there are more Klingons who join Starfleet."
"I would be honored, lieutenant," Worf said, and she noticed he stood a little taller than usual.
"I look forward to it," Tasha said, now smiling even if she still felt as if she were dying inside. She would deliver her final report to Captain Picard in 10 minutes. The report would include an official commendation for Lt. Worf, and she hoped that Picard would consider it. Although she absolved Lt. Worf of any fault in the incident, she found a number of faults with security's handling of the Klingon prisoners in custody.
She aimed the most scathing criticism at herself.
Captain's ready room, 1902 hours
"I agree, lieutenant," Picard said, his eyes glancing up at Tasha, even as he kept his head bowed over the final report from security about the Klingon incident. She stood stiffly at attention in front of his desk. "But before we discuss this further, please, sit down. You are at ease."
She complied, readying herself for the critique.
"I agree with your assessment of how well Worf handled himself in the face of such dichotomy within his own species," Picard said. "I will gladly issue this commendation. However, I cannot accept the final two paragraphs of this report from you, lieutenant. You're being quite harsh on yourself."
"I take full responsibility for their deaths, sir," she said.
"You were hardly at fault, lieutenant," Picard said. "That's an admirable quality, to not place blame on others or point fingers. But it can go too far, and it has in this case."
"Protocol was not followed," she said. "This is a symptom of lax supervision. Had they followed their training, both officers would have been alive, and we could have avoided needless bloodshed aboard the ship."
"And it could have been far worse. More crewmembers could have perished. We all could have perished. This is an unfair reality in starship security. These two officers gave their lives as a warning to us. Had you not heeded that warning, the entire ship could have been destroyed."
Tasha nodded. "Yes, sir," she replied. Still, she felt as if she'd let them down, and let the ship down.
"Aside from Ensign Liang, is this the first time you've lost officers under your command?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
"It's an easy and oddly comforting reaction to blame yourself when one of your troops is injured or killed," he said. "You are a relatively new senior officer, with new management responsibilities. And under these circumstances, it's quite common for new managers to heap any blame upon themselves in an attempt to gain praise for things they've done correctly. However in your case, I believe you are the saying that the 'buck stops here', as it were."
She nodded. "Yes, it does, as far as I'm concerned."
"You know your history well, lieutenant," he nodded. The last time he'd used that phrase toward Chief Engineer Logan, he'd wound up explaining what it meant. "That's not a very common phrase."
"Harry Truman popularized it," she said. "When Commander Riker and I were stranded in the 21st century, we visited the Truman Library near Kansas City built in his honor. It had an impressive display of Cold War artifacts, including one regarding that very phrase. It's outdated today, but still accurate. I don't believe in pointing fingers, either. Two security officers did not follow prisoner protocol, and it resulted in fatalities aboard this ship. I believe that is a tragic symptom of lax supervision on my part, and for that I take full responsibility."
Picard took a deep breath, but didn't deviate his eyes from hers.
"Lieutenant, I made you chief of security because I believe in you," Picard said. "You made me proud of you, the way you chased Korris through this ship. And I can tell you, personally, that I remember the names and faces of all 11 personnel that I lost beneath my first command. I remember packing their belongings. I recall not sleeping for three days because I was so consumed with guilt. I can tell you from experience that self-flagellation does little good in situations like these, even if there were mistakes made."
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"I don't envy what you're to face, later today. But I do understand," he said. "Cleaning out personal belongings is difficult even if you didn't know an officer well. Ensign Escobar had requested burial on Earth, so we will be placing his remains aboard tomorrow's scheduled shuttle, and I have pushed back its departure until after the memorial ceremony. We also will be returning the belongings of both ensigns lost today, as well as Ensign Liang's belongings."
Her brow furrowed. "Ensign Liang's belongings haven't been sent back, yet?"
"The Sora incident occurred just one day after the last crew shuttle departed for Earth. Unless there are remains to return, personal belongings return with scheduled shuttles. Have you selected who will accompany the remains back?"
"Yes, sir," she replied. "Julio Barajas was Escobar's roommate. Coincidentally, Barajas, Escobar and Liang all graduated in the same Academy class and were posted here, together."
"Ensign Barajas is an appropriate choice, lieutenant," he said. "Make it so."
USS Enterprise, crew quarters, 2030 hours
Nicholas Ramos had died at his post, just after alerting the bridge to the initial escape attempt by the Klingons. But he had jumped into the brig's doorway—and right into the line of fire. That was stupid, Nick! What happened? You knew better than that! Tasha's thoughts had screamed when she reviewed the security tapes. Ramos was dead before he even hit the floor. The Klingon disruptor attacked nerve pathways, severing autonomic nerve function. Ramos didn't leave behind many personal mementoes, save some digital photos and his tablet. The photos pictured him with an older woman—probably his mother—at his Academy graduation. He had requested space. His belongings would be returned to his mother on Alpha Centauri.
Criston Escobar killed one of the Klingon prisoners, but couldn't dodge the disruptor blast from the remaining Klingon Korris. By the time Lt. Yar reached Escobar only one minute later, his face had already turned blue. She automatically checked his pulse anyway, though she could smell the disruptor blast remnants and knew that he already was beyond help.
Tasha found Escobar's roommate, Julio Barajas, numbly gathering his fallen friend's belongings. Barajas had been part of the rescue team retrieving her and Will Riker from their 21st century timewarp, so she knew him better than most other security ensigns. It didn't surprise her to see him, but it nonetheless had to be difficult for him. Barajas and Escobar had been good friends. Most roommates of fallen officers cleared out, not wanting anything to do with the unpleasant, supervisory task of removing personal effects.
"His family will want his belongings," Barajas said, nodding at the collection of items that he was packing into a Escobar's Starfleet-issue case.
"You don't need to be the one doing that," Tasha said. "That's why I'm here."
"Oh," he replied. "I'm sorry. I thought it was my duty."
"Not at all," she said. "I'm sorry about Escobar. I know you guys were good friends."
"Since our first year at the Academy," Barajas replied. Tasha noticed a digital print of Escobar with a group of people—his family, perhaps. Mother and father, a sister, a brother who looked just like him.
"Did you know his family?" Tasha asked.
He nodded. "Yes," he said. "I've visited his home several times, and he's been to mine twice. Last year before the Enterprise departed Earth, both our families spent time at my family home in Acapulco."
"They were notified several hours ago," she said. "Ensign Escobar had requested that his remains be returned to Earth. The regular shuttle will leave tomorrow with his remains and the belongings of all three officers who have died in the line of duty. I believe in this situation, you should be the one to accompany Criston's remains, and also to deliver the belongings to Ramos' mother on Centauri Station and to Ensign Liang's family on Earth."
Barajas nodded. "Yes," he replied. "I think his family would appreciate that."
"So do I," she said. "I'll arrange for orders. Do you want me to finish packing his belongings? It's all right if you do."
He took a deep breath. "No, I will finish," he replied. Ordinarily, she would have insisted he allow her to complete the task, but could tell that packing was cathartic for him. "I'll return in 15 minutes. The memorial is scheduled at 0800 tomorrow. The shuttle will depart at 0930."
"I will be present," Barajas said.
"My next stop is sickbay," she said. "Do you want me to let Suravi know you'll be leaving?"
He flushed a bit, but nodded. "Yes, thank you," he replied. "I also will speak with her when I'm finished here."
"All right," she said. "I'll be around if you need anything or just need to talk."
He nodded again. "Thank you," he said, then looked up at her and added, "Lieutenant."
"Yeah?"
"Criston and Zhou Liang had been seeing each other since our senior year at the Academy," he said.
She stared at him, then put her hand on the doorframe. It was everything she could do to not allow her mouth to fall open as she replied, "Oh my God," she said, softly. "I hadn't known that. Why didn't he say anything? I could have adjusted his duty schedule after she was killed."
"They were keeping it a secret," he said. "He was about to ask her to marry him. Time slipped away for both of them, I guess."
Tasha had no idea what to say. Her mind was screaming at her that she should have known about Criston Escobar and Zhuo Liang, who had died within 10 days of each other. If I'd known, would it have made a difference in how Escobar responded today? Was his performance today linked to his emotional state? Why didn't I know them better?
Next day on the bridge, 1500 hours
Tasha was uncharacteristically quiet as she stood at the Tactical station after the memorial service that morning. From his First Officer's post, Will could hear her fingers tapping the console, but the pattern was different, almost as if she was keeping time to a tune playing in her head. Uh oh, Will thought. She only does that when she's trying to shut out other thoughts. Wonder what she's been listening to. I hope she's not having nightmares, again.
But she looked tired. He could tell with one glance that she hadn't slept. He had lived with her for more than 20 months when they were stranded in the past, and was very familiar with the nightmares that plagued her about her mother, about a fire-engulfed church bearing many members of her family, about what had happened to her in the years before she could escape from Turkana. She had many nightmares about her brother, mostly where she was looking for him but unable to find him.
Will hadn't thought much about Tasha Yar in the past 24 hours. He'd had been so busy dealing with the aftereffects of their Klingon visitors that he'd not spoken with her since the incident ended.
But he didn't need to speak with her to tell she was tired, and that she was relatively fried. She was present for the daily 0700 briefing, looking bleary-eyed. She advised Picard that a shuttle bearing the remains of one of the three fallen security officers would be sent back to their families with full honors at 0930 hours. Ensign Julio Barajas would accompany them, and would return personal belongings, as well, to the families of all three officers.
After the memorial ceremony, Tasha helped with seeing off the shuttle, had turned away as Julio Barajas and Suravi Bhat shared a departure kiss. Then he boarded the shuttle with four others also aboard for various reasons. After the shuttle was safely away, Tasha went straight to Ten Forward and ordered up something she hadn't had since arriving back on the Enterprise: A stiff cup of coffee that got her through the remainder of her shift.
Senior staff conference room, 1615 hours
Tasha was getting frustrated, because she really didn't need this minor, design-flaw-related irritation. She had 29 personnel holograms to return to the storage drawer located within the senior staff conference room. Most information aboard the Enterprise was located on a central computer system. But personnel files always were kept on a holo system of disks, one per officer. Senior staff wishing to review them needed an elaborate password and retinal scan system, and could only use them in that staff room on specially coded computers.
Tasha had pulled all 29 to review them at the same time for upcoming promotions, and now was irked that the disks' slightly curved structure prevented her from returning the whole stack to the drawer. She had retrieved them one at a time, but when she tried to stack them for return, the entire stack slid askew and fell over. This latest attempt had resulted in them shooting all over the floor.
"Well, shit . . ." she muttered, just as the conference room door slid open. Tasha had a knee-jerk panic reaction before she looked up to see who had walked in just as she'd muttered a relatively forbidden expletive.
"Lieutenant," Will said.
"Hello, sir," she replied.
"What happened in here?"
"The usual promotion disk explosion."
Will nodded, then got to the point. "How are you doing?"
"I'm in a holding pattern, sir," she replied honestly.
"That's an interesting way of putting it," he said.
"Captain Picard asked me to handle promotions, and to fill the most recent vacancies of officers who shouldn't have died in the first place," she caught herself saying.
Will sighed.
"Look, three of my security officers have died in the past two weeks," she replied. "One because she didn't detect an IED before it was too late, and the other two because they violated prisoner protocol. The latter two deaths could have been prevented with adequate training and discipline."
"No, Ramos and Escobar died because they were shot by two prisoners—
"—who should have been disarmed before they were put into their cells—," she interrupted, though her voice still was flat.
"But they weren't, and that WAS a protocol violation, and I think I can guarantee that no other security officer aboard this ship will ever do anything like that, again," Riker interjected, a bit more forcefully than he'd planned. Even if he made her angry, at least that would break through the thick veneer she'd laid across herself. "And really, how could we have known that they'd bring—,"
"Klingon officers?" she finally looked at him, her voice intense. Her eyes were piercing, but her words cut through to her own core. "They should have been scanned, but they weren't. They should have had their weapon belts removed, but they weren't removed. Picard is right. That shows overconfidence from security officers who need to be vigilant and a lack of discipline within that force. I don't care what they did on their previous ships before they were posted here, but they knew what I expected from prisoner detail and they still didn't do it! Ramos rated well enough on the range that he should have been able to get a shot from around the corner, but he still left his cover position, and you saw what happened. Complacency is written all over this incident!"
"So, deal with it!" Riker said, almost shouting, right in her face. "You're superlative at dealing with complacency. Ramos and Escobar died because they were shot by two renegade murderers while they were doing their jobs. Liang is dead because she tripped an IED while she was on point for the away team, and she took all the shrapnel that would have wound up hitting me. She was doing her job, but don't think for a second that I haven't been living with that. I received a very nice, personal message from her mother, this morning. She was gracious and thankful, and expressed sincere wishes for my speedy recovery, which was very humbling considering that her daughter gave her life to save mine. The pain in that mother's face hurt me more than the shrapnel that did hit me."
She rested her elbows atop one of the back of a conference chair, and seemingly stared out the window.
"What's all this training for, if only to get smoked on an away mission?" she muttered.
"It could happen to any of us," Will replied. "It could easily have been me walking in front—,"
She shot him a reproachful look.
"And that's why I wasn't!" Will said. Tasha still wasn't looking at him, even if he was right beside her, with his hand on the back of he adjacent chair. "I knew how particular you are about that regulation, that you didn't want any senior staff member taking point, no matter what, so I swallowed my pride and did as you've always told us to do. Listening to you saved my life. So I completely get that you're steeling yourself against your losses, but you've got to be grateful for all the people who were saved by those sacrifices. And those people just happen to include everyone on this ship."
"We are not expendable!" Tasha exclaimed, then caught herself. "Surely, security officers weren't just put here to fill spaces in stasis and get our cooked-down ashes shot out the back airlock."
Tasha's fingers were gripping the top of the chair back so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
"You're here to protect us from our enemies, and from ourselves," he said. "And since it's in your nature to think of others first, I need to remind you that you haven't slept."
She glanced at his reflection in the window. "How'd you know that?"
"I lived with you for too long," he replied. "I can tell by looking at you. I don't need to be sleeping in the same room with you anymore to know that you were up all night thinking too much. You need to sleep."
"Captain Picard wants recommendations for staffing," she replied. People hand-picked, by me, to die under my command, she thought, and abruptly wished the thought hadn't crossed her mind. It was too upsetting. Three people. "I told him I'd have them by 1900."
"I know he did," he said. "He wanted me to help you make those selections so you can get some well-needed rest."
She didn't budge, didn't even make any acknowledgement that she heard what he'd just said.
"I wish you'd at least look at me," Will finally said, breaking a seconds-long silence. He got a quick glance in response from her, and understood she'd thrown up every reserve she had. The last thing she wanted to do was lose her composure.
"I don't blame you for being pissed off about everything that happened," he said. "But you can't keep beating yourself up about it."
"Pissed off," Tasha muttered. "There's a phrase I haven't heard or used in a while."
"A linguistic souvenir," he replied. "I could drop a few f-bombs, if you'd like me to be more descriptive about the degree of horrible these past 11 days have been."
"I know worse words to describe these days, sir," she replied.
"So I figured," he said, a slight grin spreading across his face. I knew you wouldn't let me down."
"Not with that, I wouldn't," she said. Natasha Yar's library of xenolinguistic curses was far more advanced than Will Riker's. She had learned 21st century zingers that left him shaking his head.
"Not with anything," he said. "Stop second-guessing yourself. Everyone on this ship has faith in you. Managing people is all about leading people, keeping them on track, and not losing faith in your ability to do that when things go wrong. You need to regain that faith in yourself. And then you need to debrief your troops tomorrow and reinforce what's expected of them."
As she nodded in response, her stomach growled.
"Forget sleeping," he said. "When was the last time you had anything to eat?"
"I don't remember," she replied.
"Today, yesterday?"
"Yesterday, I think."
"Must have been a forgettable meal," he said.
"It was," she replied. "No taste, at all. I miss your cooking."
"I miss cooking for you," he said. Will knew Tasha had clamped her feelings down already, and that she'd let them turn into something else. They would drive her forward, foster her intensity, and occasionally get the best of her. He would call her on it, and then they'd move on, knowing they had each other's backs, no matter what.
"You gonna be OK?" he asked
She nodded. "Yeah, I've just . . .had a hiccup, you know?"
He understood immediately. "Yeah, I know," he replied. "My own near-death experience did a number on me, too."
The conference room door slid open suddenly, startling both officers slightly. Captain Picard strode into the room, his expression somber, looking directly at Tasha.
"Lieutenant, I have some bad news," he said. "Sit down."
Tasha sank into the nearest conference chair. Will sat beside her. Picard pulled up a chair across the table, though his expression bore some measure of sadness and compassion.
"I just received a death notification for Earth, from the Ukraine," Picard began, his tone gentle but no-nonsense. There was no easy way to give anyone news like this. "Your foster mother has lost her battle with her long illness."
Tasha felt her breath catching in her throat, but forced calm over her face as she nodded, then looked at the shiny conference table, seemingly focused on its reflections. "It was expected," she said, then shook her head and sighed. "But still . . ."
"Still," Picard continued. "I am sorry about your loss. The news was delayed 2 days in subspace. Her husband apparently had already held the memorial service. It would have happened yesterday."
"She had already made those arrangements," Tasha said. "She didn't want a big fuss made over her. Were her husband and children there?"
"Her husband was," Picard said. "He would appreciate hearing from you."
Tasha nodded again. This also was customary, that crewmembers aboard any starship have an opportunity to speak with their families for around 10 minutes in the event of a family emergency. The Ilienkos were not her family, but rather had fostered Natasha Yar when she first arrived on Earth at age 15 after escaping from Turkana. Nonetheless, Picard was granting the transmission, and for that, Tasha was thankful.
Picard told her not to worry about promotions until tomorrow, and also offered Tasha the rest of the shift off, but her stubborn pride prevented that. She did grab a bite to eat—albeit quickly—and insisted on returning to the bridge. When she returned, she was peppered with sympathy wishes from other crewmembers, which was understandable and expected, and she appreciated the sentiments.
But she wasn't prepared for what some of them also said: Why are you still on duty? Why aren't you taking the rest of the shift off? That made no sense to her, at all. She saw no reason to remove herself from duty and thought it was rude for anyone to question her decision. Olena Ilienko had died two days earlier. Her funeral already had been held. The scheduled transmission between her and Rustam Ilienko wasn't until 1945 hours. The implication that she didn't care was more upsetting than anything, and soon she was snapping at people who pressed the issue.
"You should take off early," Will had suggested. He'd caught up with her as she walked down the corridor on Deck 11, where an entire set of compartment doors had suddenly refused to open, even with override codes. Since the compartments contained secure material, Tasha felt she needed to be present. "I can handle this or assign another security lieutenant."
"Shift change is only an hour away," she said. It wasn't an argument, but rather a statement.
"Look at it this way," he continued. "You lost three of your officers within the last 10 days, and on Day 11, you lost your foster mother. And now you're shoving everyone away and snapping at people who are only trying to help."
"They're trying to 'help' by telling me how I ought to be acting," she replied. "What does everyone want from me? Did they want me to fall apart the instant I heard news I'd been expecting for weeks, and be outwardly prostrate with grief on the bridge? That's not how I operate! And the suggestion that I didn't care about my foster family is just...just because I'm not crying my eyes out in front of the entire crew, putting on a show for everyone...that's just ludicrous!"
He shrugged. "It's not what's hurled at you, it's how you handle it," he said. "You could catch it and appreciate that people give a damn, or you can swing at it. Stop swinging, all right?"
"I'd suspect I'm not the only officer aboard this ship who appreciates sincere condolences, but doesn't appreciate people trying to drag a reaction out of me, you know?"
"Lay low for the rest of the shift," he said, his tone making it clear that this wasn't a mere request. "Hand me the code tablet, and I'll take care of this."
She handed him the security tablet, which held specific override codes for secure compartments. But she wasn't happy about it, at all. "Go home, chat with your sponsor, get some sleep. I've already spoken with you about getting some sleep. Swallow your pride, all right?"
"But—," she began.
He shot her a look that shut her up, and immediately she stopped her instinctive protest. "Yes, sir," she said.