January 3 - part 2
"Hungry?"
"Yes," Jean-Luc said instantly. On another day - in another time - he would have hesitated, thinking about the correct, diplomatic response to the question: would an honest answer insult his host? Would admitting to hunger be construed as a sign of weakness? Should the answer be veiled in certain layers of ritual protocol?
Today, however, honesty reigned supreme - and even if his mouth hadn't replied, his stomach was making no attempt to conceal its opinions.
Gy chuckled at his companion's reaction. "Amazing what a little work out will do for your appetite," he laughed.
"A little workout?" Picard replied in disbelief. The two men had spent more than six hours loading building supplies into the pick-up truck that Gy was driving, ferrying them out to building sites, then unloading the truck – and then repeating the tasks four more times. The work wasn't overly strenuous, Picard thought – but even light tasks repeated over and over took their toll – and these weren't light tasks. He was definitely feeling the effects of his efforts in his arms and back.
And in his stomach.
It had been a long time since he had worked hard enough to be physically exhausted – and achingly hungry.
"That's a typical morning around here," Gy informed him. "I like to make sure the materials are on site before my crews get out in the morning – then I spend the afternoon handling the operations of the business and the school – you know: answering calls, setting appointments for the following day, class plans for the week…"
"It sounds as though you keep busy," Picard murmured.
"Too busy," Gy sighed. "I don't have time for Cor – which might not be such a bad thing," he added. "I mean she's a nice girl and all – but I'm not sure I want to settle down – at least not with her," he added. "I'm probably going to have to shit or get off the pot pretty soon," he went on. "Valentine's Day is six weeks away – and since I didn't give her an engagement ring from Christmas or New Year's, she's definitely going to be expecting one for V Day – or she's going to dump me."
"I see," Picard murmured.
"No, you don't," Gy sighed. "Cor's a nice girl – but she's in with a tough bunch. If they decide that I'm at fault for a break-up, I wouldn't be surprised if they took it out on me."
Picard was taken aback. "Your life would be in danger?" he replied, appalled. "Can't you go to the local, uh… police?" he asked, searching for the word.
To his relief, Gy chuckled. "You're giving those cowards far too much credit – and too much courage! They wouldn't dare go after a person – but I wouldn't be surprised if they did something like broke into the school and trashed it. Mom's coffee shop is safe – there's a tenant living in the second floor apartment over the shop, so any noise downstairs would be reported to the police - but while there's an apartment over the school, no one lives there – mostly because it's part of the school," he added. "No separate entrance and so on. If Cor's friends got it into their thick little heads to ransack the place, I wouldn't know until the next day. Not that there's much they could do - maybe steal my katana, tear up the heavy bags and so on. We don't keep anything of value there - but I'm not really in a position to replace all of the equipment," he added unhappily.
"I mean, I really enjoy teaching... or rather, I really enjoyed it - but it's taking more and more of my time to run the construction business every day, and I have less time and energy for the school," he sighed. "I think that the quality of my teaching suffers," he added unhappily.
Picard look at Gy, confused. "If you enjoy teaching that much, why not give up this job in order to do that?" he asked.
Gy smiled. "I will - just as soon as I win the lottery," he chuckled.
Lottery? Picard thought, confused.
Oblivious to the man's question, Gy continued, "I've run the school for the last year or so, after Mom stepped down to focus on the coffee shop. In the year I've run it - and in the years Mom ran it, we never took home a steady paycheck. In fact we've had to pony up out of our own money just to pay the rent sometimes.
"You teach, John, because you love it - not because you intend to get rich. There are a lot of schools and a lot of franchises that rake it in, hand over fist - but when I go to those schools and see what they're doing, I see people signing long-term contracts, committing to mandatory weekend seminars and training camps - at a couple of grand each! - and all I see are dollar signs. I don't see teachers who love to teach martial arts: I see businesses, being operated for a profit.
"Call me an idealist, but I want to teach so that I can help students develop themselves into better people, better able to be functioning members of society," he said. "I want to shape the leaders - and just the everyday people - of the next generation," he sighed.
"But the school is, at best, a break even operation; I can't risk losing what income I have from this job to hope that I could make a go of that one. Could you?" he added, looking at Picard as they came to a red light. "Could you give up everything just to pursue a dream?"
Picard looked at his companion, then glanced away, staring at the snow covered sidewalks that banked both sides of the street, watching as a young woman, accompanied by two small children entered a store on a corner.
I gave that up for Starfleet, he reminded himself; I gave up my family, my father and brother, I almost gave up a chance to be with my nephew – all for my dream. I gave up love, my own family… Beverly…
He finally looked back at Gy. "I did."
Soberly, Gy replied, "Was it worth it?"
Picard only hesitated for a moment – then smiled. "Yes. Oh, yes," he assured the man.
"And no regrets?"
Picard managed a half-shrug. "Perhaps a few."
Gy chuckled. "Beverly, I take it," he said, then leaned turned his head, and waved a hand toward someone in one of the store windows.
Following his gaze, Picard stared at the window – and was dumbfounded to see Beverly smiling back. He barely managed to raise his hand to greet her when the truck lurched forward at the change of the light and turned down a side street – and pulled into a large parking lot situated behind a row of old buildings.
"Come on," he said as he turned off the truck and pulled out the key. "If we're going to have lunch, let's eat at the best place in town."
"And that would be…?"
"Mom's coffee shop," he replied, as though that knowledge should have been self-evident. "She makes the best soup. Come on!" he added, slamming the door shut behind him and starting to walk back toward the street.
Picard hurriedly exited the vehicle and followed Gy to the closest intersection. He was about to step into the road when he realized the young man wasn't moving; clearly there was some sort of protocol about who had priority at the crossroads - and equally clearly, it wasn't the pedestrians.
One more thing to learn about this time, he noted - then realized Gy had stepped into the road and begun to cross it.
Seeing the man's hesitancy, Gy chuckled, waving the man to join him. "Yeah, yeah, I know: wait for the 'walk' sign," he said, making an offhand gesture at a post that stood on the far corner. An outline of a hand was illuminated in red, indicating that crossing the road was... forbidden? Picard wondered. Or perhaps simply not advised? The meaning of the lights was yet another thing he had to learn if they were to survive in this time.
"But I've lived here forever - and I know that you've got a few seconds to cross before the cars can make the left turn here," he explained. "Route 25 makes this weird jog here," he pointed up the steep road, "then jogs back north again. The big rigs can't make the corner if there's a car in the turn lane, so they pushed the lane back a hundred feet so the cars wouldn't get wrecked when the trucks make the turn. It gives pedestrians a chance to cross first - if they know about the delay. Otherwise they have to wait until after the cars turn. Not a big deal today, but during the summer, when there's a hundred people on the bike path, all crossing here, it's a pain."
Picard nodded blandly.
"The trail goes all the way up to the Wisconsin border, following the Fox River. There's a couple of places - like here - where the path gets too close to the water, and every time the river rises, the path gets covered - so everyone come up here, crosses over, then goes back to the trail behind the school. That's why Mom put the shop here - because you can get hundred of bikers stopping in on the weekends when the weather's nice," he added.
"And when it isn't?" Picard asked.
"That made it tough the first year - then Mom finally got established as a local business. It's still slower in the winter, but she cuts back on personnel, takes more hours on herself, and we still make out okay - especially now that she's added lunch to the menu!" he added. "Come on!" he said, pulling open the angled door and ushering Picard into a small store.
"Ma!" Gy called out as he entered behind Picard, pulling off his gloves and depositing them on one of the small tables. "We're here!" he announced, smiling at Beverly as he walked toward the back of the store.
Picard's gaze followed Gy's, and he found himself smiling, rather shyly, at her.
Strange, he thought; I never realized what just looking at her does to me. Just seeing her here... I feel so... happy. "Hello, Beverly," he said quietly.
"Hello, John," she replied, almost blushing as she did so.
Pat grumbled as she walked out from the back room, shaking her head in disapproval. "You don't have to roar when you come in, Gy. Beverly saw the truck when you drove by and we've set the table." Still, she reached for his son's hands, pulled him to her and kissed his cheek - then pulled back and examined his hands. "Go wash," she ordered him, then glared at Picard. "You, too. No dirty hands at my dinner table," she informed him sternly - though the glint in her eye indicated there was more good humor than annoyance in her words. "It's lentil soup today," she added. "Something hot and filling for a cold day."
"Thank you, Pat, but you didn't have to go out of your way for us..."
She slapped his arm lightly, dismissing his concerns. "Go on with you!" she chuckled. "This is a restaurant! I made soup for two hundred; one hundred and ninety six to be sold, and four for us!" she chuckled. "And besides that, what are you and Beverly going to do? Stand there and look hungry while we eat?"
"We could..."
"You could do nothing," she reminded him. "The last time I looked, neither of you had cash or a credit card! In any case, Beverly's been doing her share here today; I have no doubt you've done the same with Gy - and judging from the way you both look, that's been quite a bit. The least I can do is to feed you. Now, go wash. Beverly, let's dish up that soup and sit down in back. I think there's a plate of samosas left..."
A half hour later, Picard sat back from the table, his stomach full from the soup and the small pastries, and more than a little warm from the intense spices within.
"It wasn't too much for you, was it, John?" Pat asked worriedly. "I love the taste of the fresh ginger and the vegetables, but I could cut back next time..."
Picard raised his hand in protestation. "They were delicious, Pat," he said in sincere honesty.
"May I ask if you're a vegetarian, Pat?" Beverly interrupted. "I noticed at the party that you made a majority of the dishes without meat - and these..."
"Samosas. I make mine with cauliflower, peas, potatoes - and lots of ginger," she added with a grin. "But to answer your question, no: as much as Ralph would love me to cut meat out of my diet, there's nothing like a thick juicy steak every now and then. But I've been on a kick about Indian food the last few months, and Partha - from the salon down the street - gave me her mother's recipe for the samosas and the soup, and I've become addicted."
"I could see how that could happen," Beverly said, picking up the remnants of the third pastry she had taken and popping it into her mouth, then rose and began to clear the table.
"Oh, I'll get those," Pat said, but the physician shook her head. "You cooked - and did all the work this morning while showing me how to do everything. Why don't you sit for a moment, and John and I can clean up," she said, looking at Picard meaningfully.
He looked back, about to decline the suggestion, then hastily stood as he saw her expression. "It would be my pleasure, Ms. Crusher," he informed her.
Clearing the remaining plates, he followed Beverly into the adjoining room, which turned out to be a small, but well-equipped kitchen. Following her lead, he rinsed off the dishes, placed them in a machine - a dishwasher, Beverly informed him - then closed the door of the machine, straightened, and looked at her.
"Well?"
"Well, what?" she countered.
"I presume you brought me in here for a reason - other than to put the dishes away," he added.
"Isn't that reason enough? That's what I've spent my day doing," she informed him.
He sighed, sensing her frustration. She was after all, the CMO of the flagship of the Federation - and now she was reduced to washing dishes and serving coffee.
As I am reduced to manual labor, he thought to himself.
He reached for her, taking her shoulders in her hands and pulling her into him. "We'll get home, Beverly. I promise. But for now..."
He felt her shudder against him - then pull back, smiling bravely. "I know we will. It's what we don't know that's bothering me. Normally, I'd just scan everyone and everything - but the tricorder power supply is almost drained. I don't want to use it until I know we can recharge it - and I think we may have to get back to the shuttlecraft in order to do that! Except we don't know where it is," she added.
He nodded, understanding her worries and having more than a few of his own. Recharging the tricorder was something he could probably do, given the technology of this time - but the information it contained was limited. If they were going to get back, they needed to pull information from the shuttle's computer core - if that still worked.
And if it didn't... If it didn't, they needed to destroy the shuttle. The temporal Prime Directive was clear in this matter; they could leave nothing in this time period that would alter the future path of these people - especially, Picard thought to himself, when what these people did, here and now, would affect his very existence in the future!
Still, there was something troubling about Beverly's concerns - something beyond the scanner not working.
Or maybe not, he added, a worried thought coming to his mind.
"Is there something else, Beverly?" he asked.
"I think that whatever affected the power supply to the shuttle and the tricorder may have had an effect on us, Jean-Luc," she said.
"What kind of effect?"
She shook her head. "I don't know - but... I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. I'll admit doing this type of work is far different from what I usually do - but I do consider myself to be in good condition. A few hours a physical labor shouldn't wear me out like this!" she said.
He shook his head, agreeing with her. "It shouldn't - and I'll admit I'm not feeling quite right either. I had written it off to the accident, the fall in the river - and the fact that in those rare instances when I am injured or ill, you normally return me to my usual good health in record time. To be blunt, Beverly, is it possible that we're simply not used to recovering without the aid and assistance of our technology?" he asked her.
She met his gaze, a hint of anger in her expression - then sighed, relenting. "Maybe," she admitted - then added, "and maybe not. Time travel seems to be related to a decrease in one's health. There were more than a few instances of prolonged illnesses after we traveled back to Earth after the Borg sphere," she reminded him.
"Given the traumatic circumstances and the release of Borg contaminants into the ship's atmosphere through their modifications to the ship, that would be almost inevitable," he countered. "However, none of us were ill after we traveled to San Francisco to retrieve Data," he added.
"Ah, but we didn't use a temporal vortex for that," she reminded him. "That was an engineered time portal. However, the naturally occurring particles may be different! I suspect that the chronometric particles in their natural state - such as the ones we encountered with the Borg and when we went around the sun - may have a deleterious effect on all power systems, both mechanical and biological..." she mused.
"Which would make for a fascinating research paper, Doctor," he interrupted dryly, "when we get home. In order to do that, however, we're going to need to learn enough about this time and how it relates to our time and find a way to send a message to someone who can come back and find us," he reminded her.
"Which presupposes that we can," she added. "Jean-Luc, what if they can't find us?" she asked him.
"Now that is your fatigue talking, Beverly," he said sternly. "For the next few days, let's try to get our bearings, both physically and physiologically, then approach this problem as we would do back on the ship: calmly and logically. First things first: we need to find the shuttle," he informed her.
She studied him for a moment, then nodded. "That means we need to find a map of the region. I think we can access one at the library, which is just down the street," she added.
"Do you think you can get there without raising Pat's suspicions?" he asked.
"Me?" she replied. "Jean-Luc, I'm working here from five in the morning until whenever Pat decided we're leaving," she reminded him.
"As I am working with Gy those same hours," he reminded her - then sighed. "However, my position doesn't leave me walking distance from the site of my resources," he reminded her.
"Fine - except how am I to get back? Walking? Let me remind you that it's more than five kilometers to Pat's house, and by the time I'm through at the library, it will be dark - not to mention that the snow is at least waist deep in places," she replied.
He gave her a questioning look. "Indeed. Perhaps you aren't in the physical condition you thought you were," he said.
Beverly gaped at him, outraged. "I beg your pardon..." she seethed – then realized he was smiling. "You…" she started – then slapped his arm.
His smile morphed into a soft chuckle; apologetically, he moved close, reaching for her arm, only to have her pull away.
"Don't," she said angrily.
"I apologize, Beverly," he offered, still smiling, "but you don't often give me the chance to avenge myself against your wicked sense of humor," he said. "You must admit rarely put yourself in such a vulnerable position; how could I not take advantage of opportunity?"
"Hmpf. I thought a starship captain could resist every temptation," she grumbled.
"A starship captain? Indeed – but Jean-Luc Picard, the man?" he replied. "Some things are simply too tempting for a mere mortal to endure," he said softly.
She gave him a caustic look. "Flattery, Jean-Luc – but I'm not falling for it. If you want to get some research done, you're going to have to put in some time as well."
He gave a plaintive sigh.
Beverly raised a worried brow. "What's the matter?" she asked.
"Let's just say that time may soon weigh heavily upon my hands. Based on my efforts today, Gy isn't about to hire me as a worker," he informed her. "Apparently, when hammering, one should strike the nail, not one's own thumb." He raised his left hand, displaying a well-bruised thumb as evidence of his failure.
"Oh, no," she sighed, reaching reflexively for her medical scanner – then realizing that she didn't have it with her. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"My ego was more damaged than my finger," he conceded. "But I think Gy is trying to figure out where he can use me in his construction crew – and is failing miserably."
"You're more suited to being a leader, Jean-Luc" she said. "You always have been, even when you were a cadet," she said.
"I don't know about that – but Gy already has a leader for his company – and that man is Gy. There's nothing I can do at his company beyond manual labor - and it turns out that I'm not very good at that," he admitted.
"Which means you'll have ample time to do the research we need," she countered.
He raised a brow. "And in return for my doing nothing, I should expect Pat and Gy to continue to feed and house me?" he asked angrily.
She replied, equally irritated - though at him, rather than the situation. "You're not doing nothing; you're trying to get us home - or did you forget that?" she asked bitterly. "I'll work here to offset the costs of supporting us; you'll work to get us home."
They glared at one another for a long moment - then a soft throat-clearing from the door broke their concentration. As one, they turned to face the intruder.
"Sorry to interrupt this lovefest," he said, trying hard not to smile, "but... Have you two got a few minutes?" he asked.
Beverly turned to Picard, giving - and receiving one final glare - then looked back at their host. "Of course!" she said sweetly.
Gy tried not to chuckle; he'd seen a lovers' quarrel often enough to know what was happening - and, he thought to himself, he really didn't want to be around them.
Which made this all the better of an idea, he added.
"Grab your coats. We're going to take a short walk."