Chapter 22

"Data, I'm not feeling all that optimistic about this project. Is there some reason why you told the Captain we could finish this in 30 minutes?" LaForge asked while maneuvering a laser tool over the field generator. They had tested a larger prototype and were now working hard to fabricate a much smaller tube-like device about the size of Geordi's index finger. The problem was, they were running out of time.

Data looked up from his tricorder. "Yes, Geordi. Captain Picard asked whether the device could be completed in 30 minutes. I then calculated the odds and determined that it was indeed a possibility. "

Geordi looked up, his expression blank. Sweat beaded up on his forehead. "And...what exactly were those odds?" He asked slowly.

"Five hundred to one," Data replied.

"Data, that's crazy! Why didn't you explain that to him?"

Data looked at Geordi. "Geordi, I have learned over the past week that Captain Picard appears to grow impatient when I attempt to explain levels of probability to him. On one occasion he ordered me to stop speaking. On another-"

"He's always impatient, Data," interrupted LaForge impatiently. "Trust me; you need to learn when to give him as much information as possible, and when to leave some of the more extraneous details out."

Data's smooth brow furrowed in a very realistic expression of confusion. "I do not understand. How will I know when Captain Picard wants to know the truth and when he wants to be lied to?"

"Whoa, I didn't say anything about lying, Data. You can't lie," LaForge clarified. "But, for instance, the next time the Captain comes up with a timeline that is completely unrealistic for getting our work done, you could let him know that we will actually need more time. On the other hand, there are other times when he just won't want to know the odds."

"But…how will I know which is the appropriate course of action, Geordi?"

Geordi shut off the laser tool for a moment and waved it around for dramatic effect. "Look, it's a learning process, Data. For all of us." He snapped his fingers. "What if I gave you a signal? You know, when I think Captain Picard might need a little extra information, I'll clear my throat. And when you should just keep it short, I'll sneeze. Okay?"

"Okay," said Data.

The communications panel chirped. "Data, what is your status? Are you and Lt. LaForge nearly finished?" came Picard's voice on the other end.

Data hesitated. "No sir," he said.

"What?" demanded Picard's voice.

Data turned to Geordi for guidance.

Geordi made a frantic gesture with his hand and then cleared his throat, as promised.

"We have determined that your deadline of 30 minutes is completely unrealistic, sir. Accordingly, we require additional time, Captain," said Data. He glanced at LaForge for approval. Instead, Geordi was frantically miming an odd cutting motion across his neck with the index finger of his hand. Data was not familiar with this new signal.

There was a substantial delay on the other end. "Oh really… well, you are just going to have to make do with the time you have been given, Mr. Data. Picard out."

Data turned to LaForge, looking perplexed. "I do not believe the Captain understood my statement, Geordi."

"Ohhh, yes he did," Geordi assured his friend.

T'Pel moved her foot slowly and then her knee. She blinked her eyes a few times and found that her difficulty seeing was not injury-related, but that an object above her was obscuring her vision. She worked to free her arms and felt a shooting pain down her neck. Focusing her mind she pushed upward applying as much force as she could. The object rattled but did not move. The object was not too heavy for her but must have been stuck on something else. Focusing her mind again she pushed until she could feel her facial muscles quivering with the effort. She lay back feeling the pain in her neck again and calmed her mind ignoring the exhaustion of her injured body. The next time she carefully placed her palms upon the flat surface of the object it slid out of the way smoothly with much less effort.

Now that the ceiling of the observation lounge was visible she could see that she was tangled in a heap of refuse that RaVal had no doubt buried her in just minutes ago. She had a dim memory of being carried around the room in mid-air but remembered little afterward until the moment she regained consciousness. She had been able to keep the door to the observation lounge secured by using the focus of her mind, but surely, after she had fallen unconscious, her brother had been able to escape. She could not be sure, however, if anything was capable of holding him captive. She could hear a faint rasping noise from behind her. With a considerable force of will she struggled to her feet tossing a chair out of the way.

Once on her feet, she raised her left arm to her face in dazed fascination. The artificial skin she had grown used to seeing on her cybernetic arm for the last ten years had cracked and was peeling off grotesquely, completely exposing her metallic hand. The rasping sound seemed to grow steadier, and then she saw what it was. RaVal was crouched in the center of the room, head down, breathing very deeply. He appeared to be regaining his strength, much of which had been depleted from using his mind as a weapon.

She walked toward him, flexing her cybernetic fist. If she could not defeat him with her mind, it appeared she would need to resort to her physical abilities. The breathing slowed as she approached. He looked up at her suddenly. A fleeting look of horror passed over his face as his eyes rested on her robotic hand. "You cannot defeat me," he said in a low voice. "I do not want to harm you, sister."

T'Pel flexed her fist again. "You already have," she said and punched him in the side of his temple. He fell to the floor as though lifeless, but slowly the greenish welt she had raised on the side of his head; a wound that she knew would have killed a normal person, began to grow smooth and disappear as though it had never been there. His eyes opened and began to laugh and turned to her with a ferocious look. Before he could stand, she leaped toward him and gripped the base of his neck with her right hand in a nerve pinch. With her left hand, she struck at his face again. But this time, her metallic fist struck an invisible force. Ra'Val was staring at the hand, and gradually he used his power to push it away from his face, back toward her. T'Pel felt a great heat, as she attempted to counter his resistance, but now she noted with concern that her cybernetic hand was beginning to glow orange. It appeared that he was using his mind to melt it.

Chief of Security Tasha Yar met Counselor Troi at the turbo lift as ordered. She had no idea what the Captain intended for Counselor Troi to accomplish, but Yar had no intention of questioning her orders. "Counselor," she said curtly, as Troi stepped off of the lift.

"Lieutenant," said Troi, matching Yar's formal tone. "Thank you for meeting me," she said.

"Of course," said Yar easily, and began striding through toward their destination. The security chief had long slender legs and it was difficult for Troi, who was much shorter, to keep up.

Troi eyed the young woman as they continued at a near run through the corridor toward the children's quarters. "You're not in the least bit scared are you?"

"Of what?" Given the circumstances, Yar's questioning response was amazing, but at the same time, completely honest.

"Of anything, really," said Troi. "A madman is on the loose and the Enterprise may be headed into battle if all else fails. But death is nothing to you, is it?"

Yar stopped abruptly. "What the hell did you just say?"

"I said, death is nothing to you, but apparently judging by your reaction, I was wrong."

"You are wrong," said Tasha. "Just because I don't talk about how scared I am, or how much I might fear death like anyone else, that doesn't mean these things don't affect me."

"You have seen so much suffering in your life. It's perfectly understandable that you would put up a barrier," said Troi, as they picked up the pace again. Yar did not answer, and Troi decided she would let the matter drop.

When they reached the Vulcan children's quarters, Yar stopped and punched in a security code, and the doors swished open. She gestured silently for Troi to enter.

"Aren't you coming in?" asked Troi.

Yar stood stiffly with her back to the wall. "No, I'll wait out here. And with all due respect, Counselor, why don't you save your psychological insight for the children? You're wasting your time with me."

"Lt., you are anything but a waste of my time," Troi remarked with a slight smile and then turned away and entered the guest quarters.

She felt her body hit the wall, but instead of feeling her body crack and give way to the wall, the wall gave way to the force of her hurtling form, and T'Pel was thrust at a great speed out of the confines of the observation lounge. She remembered no more.

Sickbay was busy, which was odd because there were few patients to speak of. If Dr. Beverly crusher could have prevented what now seemed to be the inevitable battle over Vulcan she would have. But instead, now her only option was to prepare to take on a substantial number of casualties. And then there was the more immediate matter of whether Ra'Val would attempt to kill everyone on the ship as he had done in the Andorian colony. If he did lash out again violently, sickbay would be of little use to anyone. She would have to rely on the command officers to do their jobs to protect the crew. She tried to put it out of her head because whenever she thought too much about the subject, she thought of Wesley, who had once again put himself in the thick of it. She hoped she would not later regret allowing him to stay on the bridge.

For now, she took her frustrations out on a disembodied voice emitting from a communications panel. "No. I said I want all minor sickbays to be used for triage and emergency cases only. Any major surgery and surgical recovery will be done here in main sickbay... I don't care what Dr. Pickett told you," said Crusher to the invisible nurse. "Dr. Pickett's not in charge. Crusher out," she snapped. She glanced up as Commander Riker stepped into sickbay, and at the same time, she took a data pad from a passing nurse. She shook her head. "Allison, this isn't going to be enough room for the extra bio beds. I'm authorizing you to clear out the med labs—we need to maximize all the resources we have available even if that means emptying rooms. Alright?" said Crusher with a small but encouraging smile as she handed the report back to the nurse.

"Yes, Doctor," the woman said, hurrying away.

Crusher turned her attention back to Riker with a strained expression. She exhaled loudly. "Can I help you, Commander?" She asked, sounding as though she hoped he didn't need too much help.

Riker nodded. "Yes, Doctor, the Captain asked me to check in with you about your preparedness for taking on multiple casualties."

"Well, I have preparations are underway, but it would help to know how many we should expect."

"Worst-case scenario is: we could have injuries in the hundreds, with up to one hundred killed."

"Commander that is completely unthinkable," said Crusher obviously outraged.

Riker was grim. "I wish you were right, Beverly, but these are exactly the issues a person in my position has to think about."

"Fair enough," she conceded. "Maybe I should have said unacceptable, not unthinkable."

"Put it any way you want," said Riker. It wasn't as though he disagreed with her. "Of course we will do our best to avoid anyone being harmed."

Crusher pressed her lips together in a tight smile. He supposed that was as much of a response as she was willing to give. She handed him her data pad. "Here is what we have so far," she said.

Riker read the reports quickly and nodded. "This looks solid. I am going to recommend to Captain Picard that we move the civilians closer to the interior of the ship which may help to minimize injuries to non-Starfleet crew members."

"And you think he'll agree?"

Riker nodded. "If there's time before we reach Vulcan, I think he will. But I don't think he will risk moving them right now, given the situation with Ra'Val."

Crusher tapped her tricorder on her thigh. "Has anyone heard from T'Pel? It makes me sick to think she may be injured and we have no way of helping her," said Beverly.

"I understand your concern, Beverly, but we have to focus on stopping her brother first. I think we are all pulling for T'Pel. Especially the Captain," he added.

At the mention of Picard, an uneasy expression washed over Beverly's face, but she said nothing for a moment. "And what about my son? Is he still helping Data and Geordi?"

"I left the bridge shortly after you did, but I am sure he is doing great," he said breaking into a smile. "After all, he's come through for us before," he added.

She nodded looking simultaneously proud and embarrassed. "Yes, he has." She paused. "I…didn't exactly agree with Captain Picard about whether Wesley should be on the bridge." Her face flushed slightly as though she might have regretted something of that conversation.

Riker tried to maintain a neutral expression. "Really," was all he said.

She pursed her lips, and it appeared that she was considering whether it was worth it for her to continue. She suddenly had a far-away look in her eyes. "I've known Captain Picard a long time," she said slowly. "But…it's safe to say we went through many years without really getting to know each other, and frankly it has been more awkward seeing him again than I expected. I don't know what I expected, Will, but not this."

"Look," said Riker, honestly surprised and flattered that she was confiding in him. "Your business is your business, and you don't have to tell me anything about your history if you don't want to. I know I gave you a hard time on the shuttle, and I hope you weren't too offended when I tried to hit on you a little…"

"Oh is that what that was?" she laughed.

"Not at all my best," he admitted matching her laughter. "But seriously," he said. "I think I was nervous myself about meeting the Captain and I was trying to fish for information. Highly inappropriate," he said but flashed a grin.

Beverly smiled back. "So has it gotten any better?"

"What?"

"Your nervousness around the Captain," said Crusher lightly.

Riker frowned. "Uh…no not really," he admitted. "Should I expect it to?"

"Not really," Crusher replied, with a half-serious expression.

Her smile faded, as the lights in sickbay flickered a few times. "That's odd," she said. As she spoke the words, a wave of nausea rolled over her, and she turned to look at Riker. More nausea; as just the motion of turning her head made her gag. Riker was doubled over and groaning with his head and his hands. He struggled to look up at her and when their eyes met each recognized the same fear and confusion in the other. Someone was inside their minds.

Geordi had been wrong; 30 minutes had been just enough time to complete work on Wesley Crusher's portable tractor beam. Of course, there had been insufficient time to test the device adequately. Data locked the small energy capsule into the phaser rifle and powered it up.

He looked down at the floor, where Lt. LaForge lay in a twitching heap. Nearby Chief Engineer Argyle was slumped over his workstation. Blood ran from the man's nose. Data knew that there was nothing he could do for them now, except prevent their deaths—if he could. "Data to Captain Picard," he said, tapping his communicator. He repeated the call, but there was no answer. Data grabbed a smaller phaser from nearby, holstered it, and with another quick glance at LaForge, walked out of Engineering.

Hey, what's up? Happy New Year 2020!