11. Time is the Fire

"That was a wonderful ride, thank you Ayla," Picard said as he dismounted Racer. An aptly-named animal, he thought. While nothing compared with the racehorses of his own time, which were the product of centuries of breeding, he was still capable of a remarkable turn of speed, and his rugged stamina would eventually enable his descendants to carry the Mongol hordes across Asia and almost into Europe. Accepting a large dried thistle from Ayla, Picard awkwardly curried the animal down. As he was doing so a smaller grey horse trotted up to them, neighing loudly.

"I'm sorry, Grey," Ayla said to the newcomer. "I shouldn't have forgotten you. You wanted to run with your mother, didn't you?" She gave the yearling a final affectionate rub and then turned back to Picard. "It is getting late. We should be returning to the Cave."

"Yes, I agree," Picard said. The chill of the late autumn air made his breath steam, and a sudden breeze chilled his face. He glanced back at the horses, who were grazing peacefully.

"What do you do with them in the winter?" he asked.

"We have a shelter for them," Ayla explained. "I had a similar one when I lived with the Mamutoi. We added a section to their earth-lodge."

"They do not live in caves?" Picard asked.

"No, the land is too flat. There are not many areas with caves nearby," Ayla said. "So they build long dwellings of mammoth bones and earth and hides, in which all the hearths can fit."

"Mammoth bones," Picard said slowly. He recalled reading about similar early houses, common in the sub-arctic tundra. "How close were you to the ice?" he asked.

"We went up there once," Ayla said. "To hunt mammoths. It was huge – a massive, towering wall of ice taller than any tree."

"I would have loved to have seen it," Picard said. "And to see a mammoth – a mammoth hunt," he added, covering up his momentary slip. But Ayla had noticed it, and it made her wonder more about this mysterious stranger.

Data came up to them as they neared the Ninth Cave's gaping mouth.

"Captain, did you enjoy your ride?"

"Indeed I did, Mr Data," Picard said. "The best ride in years." And it was true: he hadn't been on a real horse for a long time, and there was something lacking in holodeck simulations. The knowledge that underneath you was a real animal, the feeling of partnership, of working in tandem, could not be recreated with the illusions of photons and force-beams.

"Will you join us for the evening meal, Data?" Ayla asked.

Data gave a brief look at Picard, who nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I would be honoured," he said. "Although I have already eaten, I will join you and your mate."

"I regret we cannot provide any food for the meal," Picard said as they made their way back up to Ayla's hearth. "Perhaps we should have gone hunting instead of riding."

"No, we have enough," Ayla said. "You do not have to worry. And your company and conversation will be all that we require."

"Your generosity is accepted most gratefully," Picard said.

They passed into the small hut, and sat down. In a few moments Ayla had a fire going, and Jondalar, who had been playing with Jonayla, went into a back area and brought out a large leather-wrapped haunch of deer.

"We were saving this for a special occasion," he said, "and this is as special as any. Last night you were our guests. Tonight, I hope, you will share with us as friends."

"We are honoured you consider us so," Picard said. "Yes, I would very much like to be your friend."

Ayla busied herself with her herbs, and soon the smell of roasting venison filled the small room. The four of them sat in contended silence for the most part as the meat cooked. Picard found himself drawn to the flames, watching them leap and flicker, the wood hissing and snapping beneath it, striving to reach the flesh suspended above them and never quite making it. He had sat around fires before, even campfires out in the wilderness, but this was different. This was no affectation of primitive living: this was the reality that governed tens of millennia of human existence. The quest for fire, the first step towards mastery of the environment, was one of the most significant in history. One of the four elements in classical Greek mythology, or one of the five of Chinese, the ancients considered fire one of the fundamental building-blocks of the cosmos. For some eight hundred thousand years of human history, fire had been vital to the lives of men and women. Throughout the ages, it had been seen as a manifestation of spiritual or supernatural forces. An item so valuable that it had to be stolen from the gods, who were angered at its loss, for it enabled men to become equal to the deities, shake off their power. And lead to their overthrow.

In his artificial cocoon of technology, driven by forces vastly more powerful and more dangerous than the simple chemical combustion of flame, it was all too easy, Picard reflected, to think of fire as a quaint relic, an item of decoration with no practical value. Perhaps it was like the leather-bound books he kept in his ready room: there was something far more satisfying about reading physical words, printed on a real page, than as ephemeral photons on a computer screen. This was real. This was fire, as it was meant to be.

Ayla watched Picard closely as she stirred a large skin pot of soup. He seemed mesmerised by the flames, and there was a look of regret on his face. No, not regret, she decided. Something else. A remote sadness that she could not explain. A sense of loss, though she had no idea what it was regarding.

"Woman, I am just about ready for some meat," Jondalar said, interrupting her thoughts. "Pass me the knife."

Ayla handed him a slim flint blade and he carved off a strip of meat, the juice dripping down into the fire where it sizzled and smoked. Holding the meat in a flat wooden platter, he greedily wolfed it down. Ayla took the knife from him, and offered her guests some, and then served the soup.

When they had finished the meal, she asked Jondalar to go and give the scraps to Wolf.

"Data, would you like to meet the wolf," the blond man asked as he stood up. "Jean-Luc has already met him, but you have not."

"I would be most interested," Data said, rising smoothly to his feet.

"Then come and meet Wolf," Jondalar said, holding the door open.

"With your permission, captain," Data said. Picard nodded.

"Go ahead. Take your time."

"Thank you sir," the android said, and the two of them slipped out into the darkness.

When they had left, Ayla turned to the older man.

"I have told you of my visions," she said. "Would you be able to tell me now what they mean?"

"Uh, I'll see what I can do," Picard said cautiously. "Can you wait until Data returns? I would like to get his opinion as well."

"Of course," Ayla said, glad he was taking a serious interest. She sat back quietly, fiddling with her amulet, in a sort of absent-minded plea to her totem to help her with Picard that she was barely conscious of making. In a few moments the door opened again, and Data and Jondalar stepped in, with Wolf in tow.

"Good evening, captain," Data said. "Wolf is a fine animal. Ayla was remarkable in being able to tame him so well."

"Ayla is remarkable in many ways," Jondalar said. "Your friend Data is also rather remarkable. He seemed to know just how to scratch Wolf in the right spots. Yet he says he has never seen a wolf this close before."

"Perhaps he just has a way with animals," Picard said. "He has an animal companion of his own, Spot."

"Data has an animal friend as well?" Ayla asked, surprised.

"Yes," Picard replied. "Not a wolf though – something much smaller."

"What?"

"Uh… an animal like Baby, your lion, but much much smaller."

"I have never seen anything like that," Ayla said. "You do not mean a baby lion?"

"No, just a smaller one. About this size," Picard said, indicating with his hands appropriately.

"That is so small!" Ayla gasped, unable to believe her eyes. "I would love to meet one! Where can you find such animals?"

"Far away from here, unfortunately," Picard said. The wild desert cats that were the distant ancestors of Spot were found in northern Africa, and would not be tamed for another twenty millennia. Or at least that was the theory – but then the same theories held that Ayla should not have tamed a wolf and a horse either, so Picard was forced to wonder if there weren't perhaps people at this time who had, in isolated and widely-separated incidents, tamed cats and welcomed them to their hearths and homes. "That reminds me," he added. "Have you ever seen the lions with the large front teeth?"

"The dirk-toothed tigers? Once, when I lived in my valley with Jondalar, before we met the Mamutoi. There was a big fire on the grasslands, and many animals died. I went to gather their meat, and I was not alone."

"Did he – were you attacked?"

Ayla shook her head. "I think he wanted to. But I drove him away with my sling. A stone or two on the nose made him change his mind. There was enough for everyone, anyway."

"Smilodon," Picard breathed. "Or the local equivalent. I've only seen their skeletons. A real sabre-toothed tiger – what a sight."

"They are not common around here I think," Ayla said. "Jondalar told me he thought they were only legends. But I saw one. They are real."

"Oh, very real," Picard agreed. "The long sabres of Smilodon are designed to slice through the main blood vessels in the neck and close off the windpipe in one bite." He demonstrated with his fingers and a bone. "They just rip out the entire windpipe, and the animal dies. Very efficient."

"I thought you'd never seen one," Ayla said, puzzled.

"No, but I-I have heard that is how they hunted," Picard said.

"You must hear many stories of other lands," Ayla said. Picard laughed.

"That is true, definitely."

"Could you tell us some?" Jondalar asked, leaning forward eagerly, one arm around the wolf.

"Not right now, Jondalar. There is something else I want to ask Jean-Luc right now, as he is One Who Serves. I want to ask him about my visions."

"Perhaps you could repeat them first so that Data can hear them as well," Picard said.

"I would be honoured to hear them," Data said smoothly, his face attentive.

"Perhaps some of Marthona's wine while we listen," Jondalar said, pulling out a bladder made from the stomach of a deer. He pulled out the wooden stopper, and poured four generous measures out into horn mugs. Picard took the proffered drink, and inhaled the bouquet with a practised nose. His own family had been making wine not too far from here for generations, and he was eager to try this Palaeolithic vintage. The nose was sharp and rather tannic – to be expected, he realised. They didn't have oak barrels to slowly mature the wine in, and this was probably rather young as well. He took a sip, and barely managed to keep from making a face. It was unpleasantly acidic, with a raw burning sensation and a strong taste of grapes. He put the rest of the wine gently down, and turned his attention to Ayla.

Somewhat hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, the young blonde woman recited the all-too-familiar pattern of the visions she had been seeing since that fateful night in the cave after drinking the sacred Root mixture. When she finished, there was a long silence. Ayla sat back on her heels and looked at Picard, who, after having given the wine another few sips, was wiping his mouth carefully with a thin strip of absorbent leather and not looking at her.

"Jean-Luc? Can you tell me about my visions, what they mean? Why I have them." she asked him eventually, sensing his reluctance, but unsure of the reason for it.

"I warn you, Ayla," Picard said. "I do not know how much I can tell you about them. I am not an expert in this area."

"But they are – they are about the future, are they not?"

"From what you have told me – I honestly do not know. I do not know how you can have these visions, how you have seen these things."

"But you must have some idea," she pressed him. "I know you recognised my visions. You know what I saw," she said. "I was in the deep past, then growing along with the Clan, and then – somehow – I shot past them, into the future. Why can you not tell me more? Is this a test? Do I need to prove myself worthy to hear your wisdom?"

Picard made a slight grimace, and Ayla felt a slight rise of annoyance at his reluctance. He clearly knew more than he was telling her, and she wanted to know what – and why he wouldn't tell her. Did he need to test her more? Was that it? She decided to ask him as much, straight out.

"Please believe me, Ayla," Picard said. "I am not trying to test you. But I do not know how much I can tell you – it could be dangerous for you to know too much."

"Dangerous?" Her eyes flashed. "In what way?"

"What you are now, what you have – it could all be changed. Your future could vanish, and you would go the way of the Old Ones, the ones you call The Clan."

"How can you know this?" she demanded. "Have you seen the future?"

"I've said too much," Picard said. "I'm sorry, Ayla, but I cannot risk telling you any more at this stage. When we find out the reasons for your visions, perhaps I will be able to tell you some more."

"You've seen the future," Ayla said, suddenly understanding. One glance at his face confirmed her suspicions. He was good, but she was better – she knew to look for signs so small that most people were not even aware they made them. "You've seen it," she repeated slowly. "You've had the visions as well, only you understand them – that must be it," she finished.

Picard said nothing. He only sat there, biting his lip and looking at her sadly.

"And the future is bad – that's the reason you won't tell me, isn't it? The Clan vanish – I know that; it's what I learnt from Creb. But there must be something else. Something…." Struck by a sudden horrible premonition, she looked at Picard carefully as she asked her next question. "Am I going to die? Do you know when I will die?"

To her relief, he shook his head. "I'm glad to say I have no idea when you will die. You will die of course – we all die, in the end – but I have no idea when."

She could tell he was telling the truth, and relaxed somewhat. But it still troubled her. He clearly knew something about the future, and wasn't able to tell her. Why? Did it concern her? Her – her daughter?

"Jean-Luc, if – if you know anything about what will happen to Jonayla…" she began, but Picard stopped her.

"Ayla, please trust me when I say I know nothing about what will happen to you or your children. I hope you all live long and fruitful lives, but I have no way to tell. I cannot tell your future, not for even a day."

"Then what is it?" she demanded. "I know you have a fear of the future – not just of telling me about my visions, but about the future itself. Something bad will happen – your face shows it. I know it!"

Ayla stood up and stalked out of the hut. She felt incredibly frustrated, and what was even more annoying was that she could tell that Picard wanted to tell her, but was unable for whatever reasons his own people had forced on him. What could be so secret, she asked herself. She swayed, feeling slightly dizzy, and put a hand to her forehead. No sense in getting angry over what you cannot control, she tried to tell herself. He wants me to know, I can feel it. I just have to find out why exactly he cannot tell me – what I must do to be allowed to know. She headed outside, and looked up at the stars, the heath-fires of the ancestors blazing in the heavens for all eternity, and took a deep breath.

From the doorway of the hut, Picard watched her, wishing he could tell her more. But until he knew more about what was causing her visions, he dared not risk a gross violation of the Prime Directive. A slight noise made him turn. It was Data, Jondalar behind her.

"Don't worry about Ayla," the blond giant said. "She knows you do not mean for her to suffer. I am sure you have your reasons why you cannot tell her more."

"We do," Picard said sadly. "And there is nothing I can do about them now. Perhaps when Data and I have discussed them, we might be able to say more. But to speak now, with unfounded guesses, would be worse than saying nothing. We have to know why she is having these visions before we can interpret them properly. I am sorry Ayla has to go through this, but it is better this way. We have learned from our mistakes that it must be this way," Picard added distantly, looking out at Ayla's silhouetted figure. The moon was nearly full, and her hair shone silver in its light. He sighed, and turned to Jondalar. "We should be getting to bed, I think. Thank you for your most generous hospitality. I hope to repay it someday soon."

"Don't worry about it," the tall man said, slapping Picard on the shoulder. "We all share what we have. From each according to his ability, and to each according to his need. We shall see you in the morning."

"Good night, then," Picard said as the tall man moved off towards his mate.

Picard turned to Data as the two Starfleet officers headed towards the Visitors' Lodge.

"I wish I could tell her more," Picard said, the frustration evident in his voice. "She deserves to know that she is not disturbed, or seeing things that mean nothing."

"Have you not said yourself, sir, that the Prime Directive is not just a set of rules; it is a philosophy, and a very correct one. History has proven again and again that whenever mankind interferes with a less developed civilization, no matter how well intentioned that interference may be, the results are invariably disastrous."

"I know, Mr Data. The Prime Directive." He pushed open the door to the Visitors' Lodge and sat down heavily on a sleeping bench. "Starfleet is very strict: 'No identification of self or mission. No interference with the social development of said planet. No references to space, other worlds, or advanced civilizations...' But I don't think it's that simple here, Data."

Picard removed his leather clothing, and, clad in his Starfleet uniform, lay back on the furs. It was a cold night, and he was glad someone had been kind enough to light a fire in the hearth. He was also glad that the specially-treated uniform material was essentially self-cleaning, absorbing sweat and body odours from the wearer and enabling it to be worn for extensive periods of time in comfort. He rather doubted they had hot water showers here, and did not fancy the idea of bathing in cold water. These people lacked many things that he took for granted, and it was easy to fall into the trap of feeling guilty for the luxuries of his life. He needed to remind himself of the sacrifices and effort of generations of his ancestors that enabled him to enjoy clean clothes and warm baths.

"It's not that simple at all," Picard repeated, lying on his side, looking across at Data in the other sleeping area. While his second officer did not require sleep, and was perfectly able to stand motionless all night, Picard found it disturbing, and after the mission to find Spock on Romulus three years ago that they had undergone together, which involved several nights sharing a cabin in a cramped Klingon bird-of-prey, he had taken to asking Data to at least lie down, even if he didn't sleep. That way he felt less like he was being watched. "She's having visions of the future – not random hallucinations either, but, from what she described, remarkably accurate ones."

"Indeed sir," Data said. "I recognised several images. New York before the Eugenics War was unmistakable."

"And the last images?"

"Those are most interesting," Data said. "She lacks the vocabulary to describe them properly, but they sound very much like descriptions of pulsars, nebulae, and starships travelling at warp."

"Indeed," Picard said, his forehead lined with frustration. "But why? Why would a person from the ice age, thirty millennia before space travel, be having accurate visions of the 24th century, or even beyond?"

"Could this be a trick of Q's?" Data asked.

Picard shook his head. "I considered that. But it's not his style. There's no punchline. No sadistic humour. Q doesn't work like that – and it's too subtle for Q as well. Besides, after our last encounter, I don't think he's so interested in judging us any more."

"In that last encounter you saw visions of the future yourself," Data reminded him.

"No, not like this. Those were real, alternative timelines I played out. I'm still not sure if Q created them, or merely showed them to me."

"So you feel this is different?" Data asked.

"Definitely. It's not Q. Or rather, is very unlikely to be Q. But then what causes it? I need to find out what is causing these visions," Picard said. "Data, in the morning could you do a surreptitious sweep of the abri and see if you can detect any abnormalities?"

"Of course sir," the android replied. "Any particular abnormalities you wish me to focus on?"

"That's the trouble – I can't think of any," Picard said. "Perhaps when the Enterprise gets here we can run some more thorough tests."

"Indeed, captain," Data said.

"Yes, well. Nothing more we can do tonight, however. I'm going to get some sleep."

"Good night, sir," Data said. "I shall remain quiet, and not disturb you."


Ayla felt herself floating in nothingness, falling and yet never landing. Strange shapes swam and coalesced in front of her eyes, and beams of light flashed across the starry skies of night. A great sun blazed in the void, tongues of flame licking at the darkness like a gigantic hearthfire. A face appeared in the stars, and she relaxed as the familiar image of the Mog-Ur slowly materialised before her, sad, looking at her with an indescribable sadness. But before she could reach him, he appeared to shake his head slowly, and, as she fell faster and faster, the outlines of Creb's face shimmered and coalesced into another face. A smooth bald skull, with a sloping forehead, a large nose and strong features. His eyes looked at her in welcome recognition, and Ayla gasped as his form took shape. She knew this face.

.


NOTES:

The type of horse that Ayla tamed is a Przewalski's horse, the tahki. The only true wild horse left, it has never been domesticated. At one stage there were only twelve horses left in the entire world, but they have now been reintroduced to the wild.

Picard's musings about fire do not yet, luckily, need to include the deaths of his brother and nephew, which happens the following year for him. Nevertheless, lacking any better idea, I have used the "Time is the fire in which we burn" quote for this chapter title.

Smilodon itself lived in North America, but sabre-toothed cats lived in Eurasia as well. They died out just 10,000 years ago. "Smilodon fatalis" is a name to run away from very fast….

"From each according to his ability, to each according to his need" is the famous Marxist slogan of course. Originally French, used by Louis Blanc back in 1851. It's also very much the maxim of the Federation in its post-scarcity economy, where each person does what they can, and is able to have what they need. How they are not all immensely fat couch potatoes doing nothing all day I have no idea.

And thanks to both the people that have bothered to follow this, and my few readers for reading - I know it's not an easy story to find, and I am sure many people would automatically consider crossing Star Trek and Earth's Children to be ridiculous, but this isn't some personal indulgence. There are strong thematic similarities between the two that I hope to get into even further, and an important lesson for Picard to learn at the end.