Per Ardua Ad Astra
By S. Faith, © 2020
Words: 23,636
Rating: M / R
Summary: A lot can happen in nine months… or twenty years… or a week.
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine but the words in this order.
Notes: Takes place after the events of Star Trek: Picard, season 1, so obviously there are spoilers for that to follow. At present, season 2 is in production, or pre-production, or something. But it definitely hasn't aired at the time I'm writing this / posting this, so bear this in mind if you're reading this in a future where season 2 (or beyond) has aired.
Special thanks to Memory Alpha, without whom I could not have written this. So much easier to write this fandom now with a resource like this. Back in the day, you had to commit episode details to memory, make your own timelines, and check the (paper!) Star Trek: The Next Generation Technical Manual. And you prayed for a rerun of the episode you most need to see (if you didn't tape it the last time it was on), until the physical video release came out (and early days was VHS only). No streaming services; no DVRs. It was the frickin' Stone Age.
Thanks, too, to Una McCormack's excellent novel The Last Best Hope, which fills in some of the pre-Picard history, though I am making a few adjustments to a very specific history. Because spoiler alert: there's not enough Beverly in it.
Chapter 1
Present day (2399), USS Mae Jemison
Nine months.
Beverly Crusher felt like she and the crew of her science vessel had finally birthed their research baby. For the first time in nine months, they could rest at last, could take a break from the cycle of constant monitoring, data collection, and decision-making based on preliminary results. For now, though, they were stuck in a sort of limbo; the civilizations on an M-class planet nearest to the subject of their study were verging on space travel and likely could have detected subspace communications, which was an absolute no-no before first contact. Until the ship had put enough distance behind itself, it was just too risky to break radio silence to communicate data back to Starfleet, to plan a well-deserved shore leave, to read missives from home.
As badly as she was itching to catch up on the inevitable backlog that awaited her, primarily about what had been happening with friends and colleagues in the Alpha Quadrant, she would just have to be patient. Until then, she could sit down with a glass of wine and dinner, watch an old film, maybe read a good book…
She sighed, too restless for any of this. "Computer. Time until we're clear of subspace communication range of M-97402-Beta."
The computer chirped to indicate it was working, before responding: "Information about navigational positioning is currently restricted to on-duty bridge crew."
I'm never going to get used to this new computer voice, she thought, not for the first time. "Override, authorization code Crusher-2-2-Beta-Charlie."
"Override authorization denied."
Her brows raised to impressive heights. "I'm the damn captain," she said impatiently.
"Affirmative," replied the computer.
She blew air out through her lips then slapped her comm badge. "Commander Agarwal." Her first officer did not respond. "Lieutenant Commander Medina." Curiously, her second officer also did not respond; an unexpected voice did instead.
"Captain Crusher." It was Chief Medical Officer Alyssa Ogawa's voice, cool and firm. "You are under strict instruction to relax. As your CMO, let me remind—"
"I am all too familiar," she interrupted testily, "with what it's like to try to relieve a stubborn captain of duty for medical rest." She then sighed, her voice turning from frustration to one of pleading. "I'm just starting to feel like a pea in a tin can, rattling around restlessly. I just want to know when we can re-establish communications with Earth."
"Beverly. Give me a moment." The CMO's voice was suddenly gentle, as she slid smoothly between professional and personal. They had, after all, known each other for thirty-plus years, and had served together for many of those years. Alyssa Ogawa had proven to be equally a talented medical practitioner—first as a nurse, then as a doctor—and a great friend. Alyssa's tone was even more hushed as she went on: "We've got at least eight hours before we're far enough away from the planet to reach out to Starfleet."
She whistled. "That long?"
"Yes." After a pause, she continued, "I'm coming off-duty in thirty. I'll stop by."
Beverly smiled, suspecting that she would suggest they have dinner and watch something to pass the time; activities that were always preferable with company. "I'd like that. Thanks. Crusher out."
She had a quick sonic shower—thinking all the while that she looked forward to standing under a pounding stream of hot water on Earth—then changed out of her uniform and into something more casual and suitable for off-duty relaxation; namely, her favorite oat-colored linen shift and trousers from the artisans on Caldos IV, delicate vines of gold and emerald embroidery along each of the hems. She settled onto her sofa with a mug of tea, set it on the low table before her, then sat back to consider what they might have for supper.
The chiming of her door woke her from an unexpected nap. She blinked a few times, noticed the tea was no longer steaming. Must have been more tired than I thought. "Enter," said Beverly. As expected, it was Alyssa.
"Sorry, I must have dozed off," Beverly said, getting to her feet.
"If you'd rather pass…"
"No, no, I still need to eat, and it'll be nice not to eat alone."
Alyssa smiled, then came in; the doors closed behind her. "So, have you decided what to have?"
They both agreed that a batch of spaghetti Bolognese and fresh bread would do nicely, and paired it with a decent red wine, or as decent a red wine that the replicators could conjure. Beverly asked Alyssa all about her plans for when they returned to Earth—spending time with her child and grandchildren, as it turned out—all the while deftly avoiding explaining what she had planned for herself. Beverly knew that the inevitable questions would come up, and she did not want to answer them. Honestly, she didn't know how to answer them; she simply hadn't given much thought to what she planned, beyond a hot shower.
Returning to Earth was always so problematic.
…
Her thoughts, as they often did when her destination was Earth, turned to him. It was easy while out in the black to think about her research, about being a leader and a commander, someone her crew looked to for guidance… but ending a mission and returning home for leave? Oh, it was impossible to not consider her complicated personal life.
To love someone so much that it becomes untenable to stay and watch that person self-destruct, to see them change from the vibrant, curious, inquisitive person they once were, to a bitter, defeated person waiting for death… difficult did not begin to explain it. While leaving him for the stars may have seemed heartless, like she no longer loved him or cared for him, it was actually just a matter of her own self-preservation. Nothing she could have said would have changed his mind; it hadn't yet. If insanity was doing the same thing again and again and expecting different results, then she had no wish to drive herself insane.
For a man as brilliant as he was, he could be so incredibly thick-headed. She couldn't fault his stubbornness, however, because it was a stubbornness only surpassed by her own.
Twenty years earlier (2379)
It had been long overdue.
Over the previous fifteen years, Beverly had sat beside Deanna Troi on the long, figurative rollercoaster ride of her relationship with William T. Riker, a relationship that had come to fruition at last. She had been at Deanna's side today, too, as her maid of honor.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard was her counterpart as Riker's best man; the irony was not lost on Beverly. She'd been on a rollercoaster of her own with the man for years, from shortly after her arrival on the Enterprise-D, through their various ordeals, and through to the present on the Enterprise-E.
Soon, though, everything would change, because also long overdue was Riker accepting a promotion to captain a ship of his own. He would soon assume control of the USS Titan, and of course, Deanna would join him there.
The wedding had, therefore, been a bittersweet occasion. Mostly a happy one, of course, but every new chapter meant the end of the old one, and she felt a trepidation about what would the new chapter would bring for her. She'd spent the last fifteen years serving with Jean-Luc, developing a close friendship; he was her confidante, and she, his. It was familiar. Comfortable. But now she was wondering if she shouldn't have taken the leap when he'd extended the offer to share something more with him. Her deep but complicated feelings for him had not changed; she was fairly sure that his had not either. Although she was not leaving the Enterprise, the uncertainty of the future in front of them unsettled her. She was careful not to let it show.
She had become very good at that.
She'd had at least a source of moral support with her that day: her son, Wesley, whose respect and affection for the major father figure in his life had only grown over the years. How had Wes gone from a gawky boy to a thirty-year-old lieutenant junior grade officer, seemingly before her very eyes? She had supported him through every phase of his life, from his proverbial gap year away with The Traveler, through his return to Starfleet Academy to become a full-fledged Starfleet officer. She was proud of him, and she knew his father would have been exceedingly proud, too. The rest of his Enterprise family felt the same way, Captain Picard included.
"Penny for your thoughts," a voice intruded on her reverie.
She looked up from where she sat at the head table, and smiled; the man himself, Jean-Luc, stood there, before taking his seat beside her again. Her gaze traveled to where Wesley sat in conversation with Geordi LaForge and Guinan, as others danced to the smooth jazz that permeated the air.
"Ah, Wesley," said Jean-Luc, genuine warmth imbuing his voice. "I'm so glad he could make it."
"Me too," she said, turning to him once more. "It just seemed right for him to be here. The crew he knew and loved as a child, together for the last time."
Jean-Luc nodded, a pensive, almost wistful expression crossing his features. "The end of an era," he murmured. "Well. Once we travel to Betazed for Will and Deanna's ceremony there."
She smirked, thinking of the Betazoid tradition that called for no speeches… and no clothes. "What a way to end it," she said. She caught the hint of a smile from him.
"Why don't you and I have a dance?" he suggested, catching her off-guard. He added quickly, "In the spirit of the occasion."
She knew he was not usually inclined to dancing; her thoughts traveled back to the Picard imposter with whom she had once shared a romantic evening and slow dance, which had very much surprised her at the time, and which she had very much enjoyed in the moment (until, of course, he had abruptly left). His suggestion now, however, seemed almost a request to satisfy the expectations of others. She felt more than a bit deflated.
"I think it'd prove a disappointment to all if we didn't," she said.
They rose to their feet and he took her hand, then he took the lead; his left hand cradled her right, and the other sat at her waist. She picked up on his cues and followed smoothly. She quickly found herself enjoying their dance immensely, and could not suppress the smile on her face. If his own smile was anything to go by, he was enjoying it too; she was never more happy to be wrong about his motivations. The resulting lovely, perfect, all-too-brief moment made her immeasurably happy.
The song concluded, and all dancers paused to offer polite applause.
"I'm game for another if you are," he said, surprising her yet again.
"I am," she said brightly, before she could put any rational thought into what another dance with a man who didn't like to dance might signify.
The next song was a bit slower in tempo, and while they started with the traditional lead/follow stance, it quickly collapsed. He drew towards him the hand he clasped, slipped his other hand from her hip to encircle an arm around her waist, and pulled her closer.
She had to admit, it felt nice. Familiar. And yes, comfortable; that word again. On the cusp of so much change, she wanted to grasp it—him—tightly to her for as long as she could. She closed her eyes and swayed with him in perfect time.
The collective, polite applause at the end of the song brought her abruptly from her thoughts. She turned her head as she stepped back, and caught the last, fleeting remnant of a curious expression on his own face—one of contentment, of pleasure.
One that matched her own.
"That was very nice," she said quietly. "We should have done that a lot sooner."
He nodded, seemed to be about to say something more, but the announcement of the cutting of the cake rang out, and the moment was lost.
Beverly brought her small square of chocolate cake back to her seat at the head table, along with a delicious cup of freshly brewed coffee. Within a few minutes, Jean-Luc joined her with cake and coffee of his own.
"I'd expect nothing less of a wedding cake for Deanna Troi," he said with some amusement in his tone, referring to the flavor of the cake. She smiled, slightly bewildered; had they actually shared that dance, or had she hallucinated the whole thing?
"It's very good," she said, not missing a beat. "And you forget how much better real coffee is compared to the replicated stuff until you have it again, don't you?"
He smiled fondly, nodding, sipping from his own cup.
The return of the rest of the head table meant they had no opportunity to talk further to each other, during dessert or otherwise. Wesley came to say his goodbyes near the closing of the evening, and Beverly rose to embrace him.
"Thanks for inviting me," he said to her.
"I'm so glad you were able to make it, Wes."
When they stepped apart, Jean-Luc was right there to offer a handshake to Wesley, then a quick hug. To him, Wesley said, referring to his mother, "Keep on taking care of her, will you, sir?"
He chuckled. "I think we all know she can more than take care of herself," he said, then offered to accompany Wesley back to the transporter hub.
Beverly knew he'd meant nothing hurtful by his words, but something about the way he'd said it bothered her. Really, really bothered her. Did he really believe she didn't need anyone else? Didn't need him?
Within a few minutes of Wesley's departure, she found herself saying her own goodbyes, telling Deanna and Will how happy she was for them both, but the curious expression on Deanna's face told Beverly that her own emotions were closer to the surface than she would have liked. There was nothing to be done about it; she was not about to ruin Deanna's wedding night with an impromptu chat about her own complicated love life. Rather, the lack thereof.
She went to the ladies' room to afford herself some privacy for her departure; with the Enterprise-E in orbit over Alaska, it was merely a matter of touching her comm badge and requesting that they beam her back up, and she always felt a bit self-conscious disappearing from the middle of a social gathering that way. Within moments, she was back in her quarters and slipping out of her dress uniform.
After a brief sonic shower, she tied her robe closed, then picked up a hairbrush to pull it through her collar-length hair. "Tea," she said aloud, "Chamomile. Hot." As she walked over to replicator to gather it up, the chime on her door sounded.
"Yes?"
"It's me."
Jean-Luc Picard hardly needed to announce himself by name. She would have been able to pick his voice out of any crowd, and he knew it.
"May I come in?" he continued.
"Oh, of course. Enter."
The doors parted, and he stepped in; he seemed to be surprised by the fact that she was already in a dressing gown, had a freshly washed face, and had moved on to tea. With her expression alone she asked what she could do for him. His own expression was sepulchral.
"I returned to the reception and you'd gone," he said.
"I was tired," she said, fully aware that she sounded a bit defensive.
"If I have managed to offend you, Beverly, I am deeply sorry."
She waved her hand to suggest he shouldn't give it another thought.
"No, no, please know I would never intentionally do or say anything to upset you."
"I know," she said quietly.
"As soon as I said it, I knew it was the wrong thing to say," he went on—for he could read her almost as easily as Deanna could—then sighed. "Of course you can take care of yourself, but I hope you know you don't have to. I am always here if you need me."
She nodded, and again said in that same tone, "I know."
He stepped closer. "What's wrong, then?" he asked, his voice laden with concern.
There was no point in not telling him, not at this crossroads in life. She turned to set her teacup down, met his gaze, then spoke. "I am so happy, of course, for Will and Deanna. He has earned a captaincy many times over, their marriage is a natural progression, and they deserve their happy ending. But also, selfishly, I wish they weren't leaving us. So I know full well that you're there for me… until the day comes when you're not."
He did not hide the pain in his eyes. That he did not even try to hide it sparked a hope in her, of sorts. "Oh, Beverly. I have left things unsaid for far too long," he said somberly. "I mean to remedy that, right now. I would have after we danced, but—"
"The cake," she said.
"Yes. And perhaps that was a blessing in disguise, because the privacy of your quarters is much preferred for this conversation."
She may have been standing still, but for a moment she very nearly lost her footing. Her thoughts were in a whirl; she felt her heart start to race.
He continued. "Nine years ago, you said to me that we should perhaps be afraid to explore possibilities beyond friendship, and I was willing to accept your wishes." She lowered her gaze to the floor, feeling broadsided. Nine years. Had it really been nine years? "Beverly." She looked to him again. "If you still have no interest in me beyond our friendship, say the word right now, and I will never mention it again. But if you have changed your mind—and I think given our dance tonight, you may have done—I… I must insist we not delay it further. I still feel for you what I've always felt for you. That isn't going to change. This milestone, this end of an era, underscores to me that time is all too fleeting. I mean to make the most of the time I have left, with you, if you'll have me."
The desperation of his expression, the emotion in his voice—it broke her heart. Any resistance that she might have felt crumbled in the face of his impromptu, impassioned words, but in all honesty, there was no resistance left to crumble. She could not even remember her exact reasons for rejecting him all of those years ago, beyond being afraid of ruining what was familiar and routine. How had he not shut her out of his personal life altogether? She was grateful for his forbearance.
Calmly, she drew in a breath, meeting his gaze again. "I don't know what to say," she began, "except that I'd be a fool not to have you."
She was not sure if she had moved forward to meet him, or he had moved to her, but within seconds, they were in each other's arms and their lips came together with the pent-up passion of decades. Every kiss was a miracle; every caress, a blessing. She savored it all.
His first words in the afterglow, curled in his warm embrace and spoken softly in a warm breath close to her ear, were to propose that they marry; naturally, she thought he was just suffused with endorphins in the heat of it all, and didn't take him at all seriously.
Within a few days, the sudden change of plans to an urgent mission to Romulus and the events that occurred with Praetor Shinzon put the second, traditional Betazoid ceremony on hold. At the conclusion of the events involving Shinzon—notably among them, Data's heart-wrenching sacrifice—Jean-Luc proved that he'd meant that proposal in earnest by suggesting it again.
As she'd said before, she'd be a fool not to have him.
…
By the time Captain Will Riker and Commander Deanna Troi had their Betazoid ceremony a few months after the wedding on Earth, Beverly and Jean-Luc had already been quietly married in a small ceremony on board Enterprise-E. While they still served together on that ship, everything was wonderful. Perfect.
This wonderful perfection only lasted for two years.
In 2381, when the Romulans let it be known that the star their planet orbited was on track to go supernova, everything went to hell; for the Romulans, of course, but especially it went to hell for them.
It wasn't his promotion to admiral that had done it, but it was a first step of many in that disastrous direction, because it meant that they had to be separated while he led the evacuation efforts of the Romulan people. He hadn't even gotten to say goodbye to her in person; she continued to serve as the Chief Medical Officer on the Enterprise-E under Worf. She did not fault Jean-Luc for accepting the mission, because he had been the perfect person to do it and quite probably the only person who could have gotten it off of the ground. By the time she managed to arrange a transfer back to Earth to take a position at Starfleet Medical in order to be closer to him, his missions of mercy to Romulan space had already begun. They had been like two ships in the night. Literally and figuratively.
In the four years to follow, they made as much effort as they could to maintain their marriage. She loved him, and making the effort was worth it to her; he gave every indication that he found the effort equally worthy. While they both did the best that they could, the massacre by the synths at Utopia Planitia Fleet Yard and the burning of Mars—the atmosphere of which still burned to present day—brought everything to a head: with no more shipyard, no more ships, no more synthetic labor (either now or in the future, thanks to the immediate ban), Starfleet decided that they had no choice but to abort the rescue mission.
That decision was unacceptable to Jean-Luc Picard.
If Jean-Luc had not undertaken this herculean task, then he might not have, in the heat of the moment, threatened to resign if aid to the Romulans was halted. (Wryly, she considered that he might have made the threat anyway, even if someone else had been leading the charge. But that was neither here nor there; the threat had still been made.) Calling Starfleet's bluff had been monumentally stupid of him, and if he'd consulted her first, she would have told him exactly how monumentally stupid an idea it was. But he hadn't consulted her, nor had he apparently consulted anyone else that he trusted, such as his XO. The rescue mission was still aborted, Jean-Luc's resignation was accepted, and he was out of Starfleet, out of the only life and career he had ever known. A man driven by the exploration of space, rendered lost and aimless with an uncertain future or purpose.
Naturally, all of this put a strain on things.
She still loved him and had no intention of leaving him or the marriage, but she could only take so much of the anger, however righteous, that he directed towards Starfleet for abandoning its ideals. To an extent, she even agreed with him, but his bitterness turned him ever more inwards, as if no longer being out amongst the stars had caused him to not want to be out amongst anyone or anything. His awareness of his own parietal lobe defect, of his possible future suffering from Irumodic Syndrome and of his almost certain demise as a result, undoubtedly drove him to turn ever more into a hermit.
Watching the man that she loved close himself off to everything and everyone—including herself—was excruciating.
When Romulan refugees Laris and Zhaban came in 2389 to live at the château, Beverly knew he would be in good hands with them. In order to put some distance between them—because absence made the heart grow fonder—she accepted the captaincy of the USS Mae Jemison. She had never intended for it to be a long-term assignment, but here she was, ten years after she'd taken it, still the captain of that ship.
Present day, USS Mae Jemison
A persistent electronic chirp woke her from her slumber almost a full eight hours after she'd retired to her bed for the evening. "Crusher here," she said, attempting to banish the grogginess from her voice, but not fully succeeding.
It was the ensign at the helm, a young Vulcan of whom she had become fond, by the name of Surik; he held the position that Wesley had once held on the bridge of the Enterprise-D, and Surik's intelligence and personality reminded her of Wesley at that age, too. "Captain, I thought you'd want to be informed that we were able to finally establish full communications again."
"Thank you, Ensign, much appreciated. Crusher out." She threw the covers back, slid her feet into her slippers, and commanded the replicator to produce coffee and croissants.
She took the meal to her table and used her personal device to review the queue of communications. She had expected a lot in the queue given the nine-month radio silence, but the list she was now faced was staggering.
"Computer," she said, then waited for the acknowledgment chirp before continuing. "Prioritize incoming communications by date and urgency, and separate them into official Starfleet communications and those marked personal."
After several seconds, the list was split into two and reordered. The list of official Starfleet comms was short; not too surprising, given that they knew she was out of pocket. What did surprise her were the comms that topped the other list.
Deanna Troi?
She had kept in touch with Deanna (and of course Will Riker), particularly after the death of their fifteen-year-old son, Thad, three years earlier, but as the months had gone on, that contact had again gotten more sporadic. Yet now she found she had three video messages from Deanna, all from within the last month. This puzzled her greatly, and she watched them first.
The first one had Deanna was looking well, happy, and relaxed, and this made Beverly's heart swell with pleasure. All too many of their communications had been of a sadder nature.
"Beverly, sorry, I forgot that you were away on a research mission. I just… well, I just wanted to talk to you, see how you were, how you were handling things. Please do get in touch when you can."
The second one, just a week later, Deanna looked decidedly more worried. "Beverly. Will's volunteered to go off to the Ghulion system and—well, I don't want to get into it right now, since I'm sure I'll have more info soon, and you're not going to get this right away—I think you're due back before the end of the year, though? Anyway. I do want to talk to you as soon as possible. Hope you're doing well." She ended with a tight smile that seemed forced, one that did not quite make it to the corners of her eyes.
What the hell was going on in the Ghulion system that Will Riker had to go charging off?
Beverly kept watching, hoping for clarity.
The third one was about a fortnight after the previous one, and for all intents and purposes, Deanna looked like she'd been put through the ringer. She was smiling more genuinely, though. "Hello again, my friend. As the saying goes, all's well that ends well, right? I hope that previous message didn't alarm you too much. Still, I'm here. Hope to hear from you soon."
Obviously, she was not destined for clarity today.
Immediately upon the video's conclusion, Beverly said briskly, "Computer. What time is it on Nepenthe at the location from where these messages originated?"
"The current time in the vicinity of Infinity Lake is approximately 1800 hours."
Not an unreasonable time of day to contact her, then; the length of the Nepenthe day was twenty-five hours. They were probably preparing for dinner. She initiated a return communication.
As the screen came to life, it was clear that Deanna was still in the process of taking a seat at her console when she answered the call. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" she said, beaming a smile as she settled into her chair. "I can't wait to hear all about your research mission—what you can tell me, anyway. But right now… how are you? Are you adjusting all right?"
Beverly furrowed her brow. "Adjusting to what?"
It was Deanna's turn to bring her brows together, then leaned back into the chair that she occupied. "Oh, I suppose you wouldn't know."
"We only just established our link again to subspace comms, so you are literally the first contact I've made with anyone in nine months," admitted Beverly.
"You haven't even reviewed news archives?" Deanna asked delicately.
"Not even that." She felt slightly dizzy, like she was rushing towards bad news at warp ten. "So what is it that I don't know?"
Deanna's response surprised Beverly to the core. "Oh, Beverly, it's probably best you talk directly with Jean-Luc."
"Jean-Luc?" she repeated, genuinely stunned. "What does he have do with any of this?"
Deanna didn't respond immediately, as if she were carefully considering her thoughts. "It's probably best to speak to him directly," she said again.
Her thoughts went directly to his health, to the parietal lobe defect that was likely to eventually take his life. "Deanna, at least tell me if it's bad news."
"It's more complicated than good or bad," Deanna said.
"I'm not sure I feel very reassured by that," Beverly said. "Can you at least tell me why Will took a ship to the Ghulion system?"
"Where did you hear that?"
Beverly smiled. "From you, in your second message."
"Right," she said with a laugh. "Oh, that was a crazy few days."
"Will's all right?"
"Yes, he's fine. He's back, and right now, he's making pizzas in the stone oven." Beverly thought fondly of his homemade pizza. "Oh, Beverly, why don't you come see us for your shore leave? We'd love to have you. Kestra would especially enjoy picking your brain about your adventures."
"I'd love that, too," she said with a grin; she was seriously considering it. "But you have changed the subject."
Deanna exhaled, clearly thinking of how to phrase what she wanted to say. "The Federation received an SOS call from the Ghulion system about a first contact situation, and Will was eager to be involved."
"An SOS call about a first contact situation?" She felt like she was starting to sound like a parrot.
"The Romulans were trying to stick their nose in where it wasn't wanted. Or rather, their artillery," she said. "I'm sure you can find more information about the situation from the news archives."
Ah, thought Beverly. That's why she mentioned the archives before. "I'll be sure to do so as soon as I've… gotten things sorted."
Deanna clearly got her meaning. "Keep in touch," she said. "Even if you just want to talk. I mean it."
"I will," Beverly replied. "Send Will and Kestra my love."
Deanna raised a hand to wave goodbye, and then the connection severed.
I guess I need to call Jean-Luc sooner rather than later, she thought. Gonna need more coffee for this.
Reaching for the console once again, she took a steadying breath, waiting for the connection to La Barre, wondering if she should have double-checked what the time was there too—
"Château Picard—Oh."
On the screen before her was a Romulan woman with a very severe expression—as most Romulans possess—and an overwhelmingly imposing presence. Beverly did not know Laris and Zhaban well; they had not overlapped in residence at Château Picard for long. She had, however, spoken to both them on occasion to see how he was faring, on those occasions when he did not wish to speak with her directly. Laris had always been friendly, even sympathetic, toward Beverly in those previous conversations, but this time, something was different. Laris seemed annoyed at the disruption. Annoyed at her? As loyal as Laris and her husband were to Jean-Luc, that Laris had ever seemed warm to her had always pleasantly surprised her. What had changed?
At least it couldn't be irritation that she'd called in the middle of the night; Beverly could plainly see the sunlight streaming in through the windows behind Laris.
"Hello, Laris," said Beverly, as pleasantly as she could, hoping to preemptively smooth any ruffled feathers. "I was looking for Jean-Luc. I just returned from a deep space research mission, I've been out of touch for nine months, and I… wanted to see how things were."
She pursed her lips. "He's not here."
Of all of the things Laris could say, this was the most unexpected. Jean-Luc never left the vineyard if he could help it. "He's not available?"
"No, he's not here."
Impatience creeped into her own voice: "Well, where is he?"
"At this moment, who knows?" Laris said; at this, she realized that Laris' frustration and exasperation were directed at Jean-Luc, not at herself. "The last I heard from him, he was returning from some distant star system."
Beverly was utterly bewildered. She'd expected to hear 'returning from the village,' not that he was no longer on the planet. Prickles of uneasiness entered her brain, given what she'd learned about Will Riker's recent adventure—
"It wasn't the Ghulion system, was it?"
"As a matter of fact… yes, I think it was."
The sound in her ears was reminiscent of a howling wind. What in the great, wide expanse of space had happened to catapult him out of his self-imposed death spiral and into the black again? "How did he get there? I can't imagine he'd have anything to do with Starfleet again."
She snorted in derision. "Starfleet? Clearly you haven't seen his FNN interview yet."
Beverly didn't press the question of how he had gotten off of earth; there weren't many options that weren't Starfleet, and he probably wouldn't have told Laris, anyway. She'd definitely need to be on the lookout for this FNN interview. "Any idea when he's coming back?"
"No idea whatsoever."
"How I can get in touch with him?"
"I don't even know how I can get in touch with him," she lamented.
Funny, she hadn't talked to Jean-Luc in months and months, yet suddenly, the sense of urgency to speak to him now almost overwhelmed her. "Laris, if you hear from him, please tell him I'm looking for him. I'm on—" She stopped short of saying 'my ship,' because in that moment she remembered Deanna's offer. Deanna must have known he wasn't on Earth if she'd offered to host her shore leave, right? But that mattered little now; as a solution, it was perfect. "I'm on my way to visit Will and Deanna on Nepenthe. I'll be there in a few days at the latest."
Laris nodded in agreement. "All right. I will."
Beverly sighed in relief. "Thank you."
She disconnected, then immediately contacted her ship's navigator to see how feasible it might be to detour to Nepenthe.
"Nepenthe, Captain?"
"I was invited there to spend my shore leave," she said. "I see no reason to go all the way to Earth just to head out again, if it's not necessary."
Pause. "I'll see what I can do, Captain."
"Much obliged."
More coffee before her next endeavor, and perhaps another croissant; this time, chocolate.
"Computer," she said coolly. "Bring up any news stories from the last nine months that feature or mention Jean-Luc Picard." After a moment, she added, "Or the Ghulion system."
After a moment, a list of vid links generated and filled the display. At the top of the list was an interview on Federation News Network on the anniversary of the Romulan supernova. This must be the one Laris meant, Beverly thought, and cringed in anticipation. She knew how passionate Jean-Luc was about the Romulan refugee cause, and how much he resented Starfleet for how they'd handled it, how they'd treated him, and how they'd abandoned their own ideals.
If she'd been there, she would have told him not to do the interview, that they would not have been able to resist needling him. Not that he would have listened, stubborn old fool.
As the interview unfolded, it didn't take long for her to realize it was going exactly as she would have expected. It also underscored Laris' comment; he certainly hadn't gotten out into space courtesy of Starfleet. Her curiosity on how he had managed it was now definitely piqued.
She skimmed the other headline entries until she found mention of the Ghulion system in the Vayt sector, and she watched the summary of details of the incident for which Will Riker had volunteered to don his uniform again. Had she heard more details from Deanna sooner, she would have worried as much as Deanna had suspected she might: a fleet of Starfleet ships had engaged in a standoff against a fleet of Romulan ships just outside of orbit around a planet called Coppelius, which she had never heard of. Then the tensions broke and the Romulans had left.
The occupants of the planet were—she gasped at hearing it—synthetic lifeforms. Synths! With the ban on the research and technology ever since the massacre, how had this been possible?
Two other very familiar names had appeared in the coverage as well, which helped to answer that question:
One was Dr. Bruce Maddox, who had turned his interest in Data from a specimen for study into a real friendship with the android. Maddox had been in frequent contact with Beverly over the years, but she was saddened to learn that he'd apparently died while away from Coppelius, prior to the events of this showdown.
The other was a man unknown to her but who had a very familiar name: Dr. Altan Inigo Soong. His father, Dr. Noonian Soong, was someone with whom she had been all too familiar.
She then went on to review the follow-up news stories, which provided the real bombshell. What had really happened on Mars fourteen years ago had come to light; what had really caused the synthetics to go haywire at Utopia Planitia Fleet Yards was now known.
The Romulans had sabotaged the rescue of their own people.
But why?
She continued watching and reading, and quickly found her answer.
Zhat Vash, a subsection of the Romulan intelligence agency Tal Shiar, had been behind the Mars massacre. The Zhat Vash's virulently anti-synth fanaticism had ultimately led them to turn against their own people for what they believed was a greater good. Starfleet's Head of Security, Commander Oh, had always presented herself as Vulcan, but this incident had revealed her to actually be a Romulan general with the Tal Shiar on a long-term, deep-cover mission, and she was deeply loyal to the Zhat Vash. Oh had led the charge at Coppelius, and she was now on the run as a traitor to the Federation. The betrayal was undoubtedly sending shockwaves throughout the institution. The revealed truth of this sabotage led to the immediate reversal on the ban on synthetic life.
And yet, only a rare mention of Jean-Luc Picard, and mostly in an historical context. Very curious. She wondered if his involvement, whatever it was, would have proven to be an embarrassment to Starfleet if it had gotten out—
"Captain," came the voice of the navigator, derailing her train of thought.
She exhaled sharply. "Crusher here."
"Just an update; we can accommodate your request regarding Nepenthe."
Her mood changed in a moment. "Fantastic, thank you," she said brightly. "Let me know when we're an hour out. Crusher out."
She polished off her coffee and the pain au chocolat, then went to the mirror to inspect that she had no dark smudges on the corners of her mouth. She did not generally spend much time looking upon her reflection, but she realized now she should have taken a brush to her hair when she had reached out to Deanna. The least she could do now was make herself slightly more presentable before calling again to advise that she was on her way for shore leave.
Beverly undid the braid in which she slept at night, then pulled a hairbrush through her chest-length locks to tame them. The glint of more silver strands than auburn had been the case for some time; another tangible reminder of the passage of time. She twisted her hair around then pinned it up with a hair stick.
She took a cleansing cloth and swiped it over her face, then ran her fingers under her eyes with a sigh. Despite the decent night's sleep, she looked exhausted. Dammit, she looked old. She felt old, felt every one of her seventy-five years. In lieu of actually retiring—which she had no intention of doing yet—she needed some quality downtime, but was starting to suspect that she was not going to get much rest on Nepenthe.
"Beverly!" It was Deanna's shining face again. "I hope this means you'll be joining us, after all."
"Yes… I'd love to. I'm on my way now."
"Fantastic!"
"Also…" she added. "I've been reading up on what I've missed…" She trailed off. Deanna nodded in understanding. "…but still I've been unable to track down Jean-Luc. Laris didn't know how to get hold of him. I don't even know how he managed to get off of Earth, or who he's with."
Off-screen, she heard Will's voice. "Now that I can help with. Ship's name is La Sirena."
"La Sirena? I've never heard of it."
"It's not one of Starfleet's," said Will, sitting beside his wife. "The best I could determine is that her captain is former Starfleet. Cristóbal Rios. I don't know, though, if Jean-Luc is still even traveling with the ship and the rest of the crew."
"I told him I was coming to see the two of you for my leave. With any luck, he'll contact Laris, and she'll tell him I'm looking for him."
Deanna smiled again. "We'll see you soon enough."
Will grinned. "And I can fill in the details that FNN didn't report."
"And for that awful tease," scolded Beverly, "I expect the penance of wood-fired pizza upon my arrival."
"Yes, ma'am," Will said with a salute.
Troi laughed, and it warmed Beverly's heart again to hear it; maybe, just maybe, she'd get some rest, after all. "Just let us know when your arrival's imminent."
"I sure will."
"See you soon, Beverly. Bye."
The connection broke, and as it did, Beverly felt her smile fade. Now to pack her things.
Approximately three items had made into her bag before her curiosity got the better of her. "Computer," Beverly said, pausing her packing for a moment. "Tell me whatever you can about former Starfleet officer Cristóbal Rios."
"Rios, Cristóbal. Starfleet. Serial number SC-850-705. Graduated from Starfleet Academy in—"
"Skip ahead a bit. Why did he leave Starfleet?"
"Rios was given a medical discharge in 2390 after an incident on the heavy cruiser USS ibn Majid."
Beverly's brows lifted ever so slightly. "What was the diagnosis?"
"That information is protected private medical information."
Fair enough, she thought. Time to try another tack. "What incident occurred on the USS ibn Majid in 2390," she began, then added, as a heavy cruiser was likely to encounter more than one, "to which Rios might be directly connected?"
The computer took longer than expected before returning, "Captain Vandermeer died by suicide."
This new, unexpected piece of information stopped her in her tracks as she folded her favorite robe. "In Rios' presence?"
"Unknown."
"How is Rios connected to this incident?"
"Commander Rios reported the incident to Starfleet Headquarters."
"What was Commander Rios' role aboard the ibn Majid?"
"Commander Rios was the first officer."
All was clearer now, despite the circuitous route it had taken to get information out of the computer. If she had to guess—in her capacity as captain and former chief medical officer—Rios had in fact either been present for the suicide or had discovered his captain's body, which had resulted in debilitating post-traumatic stress. Her guess was the former.
Beverly's biggest question now was how Jean-Luc could have possibly met the man.