"Contemplations"
The ship felt crowded to Rachel. It was a good a good feeling, as good a feeling as being fully recovered from her injures. The advanced replicators from Picard's ship proved a godsend. And the updated technology for regenerating dilithium crystals made her feel a bit giddy. The original members of her crew seemed to get along quite well with the newcomers and for that she was thankful. It had been only twenty-two years difference, and a couple of the crew found that they were closely related, first cousins once removed to be exact. But there was a problem beginning to threaten morale. The fear of being marooned forever was beginning to show its effects. She had a plan to fight this, but she needed to talk to someone first. Onboard her ship was a Vulcan woman, Dr. Selar, along with several staff members transferred from the Enterprise-D, who might be able to help. She walked into her newly transformed sickbay, smiling warmly.
"What can I do for you, Captain?" the Vulcan asked. Like most Vulcans, she was direct and to the point, but not obnoxious.
"We have a problem, here," she started. "More and more of our people are beginning to suffer from what can be described as homesickness. "We may be trapped here without the possibility of returning home and it is starting to grate on the crew."
"I understand," the Vulcan answered. "Humans have a tendency to become depressed when faced with the possibility of the unknown, with little hope of returning home. Vulcans do not experience these problems, however many emotional species do suffer from it."
Typically Vulcan, she thought. And I believe that you are exaggerating, Doctor. There was always that touch of smugness present. But it didn't really matter because she liked the woman. She was well, pleasant.
"I want to know if there are any of our people trained in psychology. We can use that resource to treat some of our people if it becomes necessary."
"A most logical plan, Captain. We have several medical personnel that fit the description," she said after a moment's contemplation. "I have a staff member who could prove very useful in implementing your plan."
The two of them walked over to a young Medical Doctor.
"Lieutenant Troi?"
"The lovely young lady turned around. "Yes, doctor. Oh, Captain."
"Deanna, I have selected you as the answer to Captain Garrett's problem concerning the crew," Selar said. "Your training in psychiatry, and your empathic ability would serve the Captain's plan nicely."
The beautiful medic looked surprised as she heard the two officers speaking to her about a new type of position onboard.
"Empathic?" Garrett asked. "Are you a Betazoid or Human?"
"Actually, my father was Human and my mother is Betazoid. My telepathic abilities are not as strong as a full Betazoid, but I can sense emotions quite well, better than most. It was thought that my abilities would mesh well with my training, but the war…"
"I understand," Garrett said. "What I would like to do is to set up you and two or three staff members; you can pick them, and set up sessions for the crew to help maintain our mental health. Are you up to the challenge? It's going to be a lot of work."
The young dark-haired woman, with the lovely eyes smiled. "Captain, I would love the challenge."
"Good because the first challenge will be having the Klingons as patients."
Astounded, Dr. Troi realized that the Captain wasn't kidding.
Inside the brig Worf, growled at his companion in the cell next door. "I don't care what you think. We are not in our universe."
"They are liars, all of them," the Klingon woman snapped back. "And you are a fool to believe anything that they say."
Typically Klingon, his temper flared but not as much as he had expected. "B'Elanna, I could kill you for daring to speak to me in manner. Do you not believe your own eyes; do you not feel it in your bones? We are lost."
"They're lies!"
Worf didn't even bother answering her. He heard the doubt and fear in the woman's voice. Unlike the Humans and the other aliens onboard, they didn't fall into unconsciousness. Both had felt the tearing apart, the rearranging of their bodies during the transit from one dimension to another. It was like being trapped in a transporter gone mad for more than two hours. How his sanity remained was a great mystery to him. However, survival was now up most on his mind. If they were truly in another universe then this Captain would have no use for them. At the very least he would maroon them on some unnamed planet. If he were smart then he would just have them killed. And Worf had no intention of dying just as he began to get glimpses of the truth. If there was a possibility of returning home with the information he had of the Duras clan, then it was his duty to try to survive to tell the tale.
His Klingon warrior spirit was torn between his hatred of captivity and his need to explore exactly what was going on. Did he have the strength to deal with the Humans, his blood enemies? He wasn't sure. Rumor had it that the Vulcan and Andorian home worlds did exist in this universe, but that both had been destroyed by natural disasters. Were there other Klingons in this reality? What was their function here? Were they warriors or something else entirely?
"You can't trust them!"
"You're half Human," he retorted. "I trust you."
"You know where my loyalties lie," she spat.
"Yes, I do," he snapped, responding as a typical Klingon would even if the words were wrong. "We may be the only Klingons left. Survive B'Elanna. Survive."
She didn't know if she could. She chose the Klingon way simply because the Humans never accepted her Klingon half, especially with the war. They called themselves enlightened, she thought bitterly, but the instant the war began, they rejected her. The Klingons barely trusted her until she became a Klingon's Klingon-better, faster, meaner, than any other. That transformation had torn and macerated her soul and she cursed both races for it.
Commander Benjamin Sisko, a six-foot three African American male, sporting a bald-head and a well-tailored goatee that was now his favorite look, recently in charge of the ground strike commandos attachment with the Enterprise-D, hadn't decided if he liked being the tactical officer on the Ambassador or not yet. These old-style uniforms, red-duty jacket with the turtleneck shirt, black pants with gold strip and descent boots were actually more practical than the modern day jump suits that challenged you each time you needed to use the restroom. And he was growing fond of Captain Garrett. True, he was third in command now but none of that really mattered. Here and now, he was more or less content-and far away from the hurt and pain of the most horrible of events that had happened in his life.
Recently, his wife and son had been killed in supposedly neutral territory while he was serving onboard the USS Saratoga. That ship had been torn apart by a Klingon assault and he and the survivors of his command had been assigned to the Enterprise-D. There had been no time to mourn and he was still adjusting to that horrible reality. While his friends and co-workers assumed that his brooding was the result of his hatred of the Klingons, they were wrong. Brooding was how he was dealt with the loss of his loved ones and now his ties were severed with all of those he still held dear. His father and his sister were at least still alive on Earth. But he knew, somehow he knew, that they'd never get back. He couldn't explain it but he understood beyond a shadow of a doubt that they'd never return home. Why, and he wouldn't know the answers for months, he told his fears to the Betazoid psychologists was beyond his understanding, but it helped him settle things.
But for now, he frowned at the signals the picked up over the comms. They were definitely Human in origin. For last two days they'd been receiving transmissions from the direction of Earth. Amazingly it was broadcasted in English, Russian, Spanish and several other earth-based languages. The transmissions were not being sent via subspace, and the information received was spotty. But from what little details that were picked up suggested that there was some type of major conflict happening with the planet's government. A general paranoia concerning aliens appeared to be the main theme, evident throughout the transmissions. All evidences so far pointed toward a more repressive stance being initiated against its colonies-Earth colonies to be exact.
"…Reporting. The President has declared martial law and has activated the military to quell the Mars colony revolt by any means necessary. We have exclusive video showing…"
"Mr. Sisko?"
So intent was he in viewing the contents that he and the Comms officer failed to realize that his new Captain was waiting patiently behind him for almost fifteen seconds. The Commander turned around quickly. "Yes, Ma'am?"
"You seem very intent on those broadcasts. Anything interesting?"
"Yes, " he responded. "It seems that this Earth may be experiencing a revolution of some type. The data is sketchy, but I believe that they have or intend to attack their Mars colony. Apparently there is some sort of rebellion going on there and the Earth Government is trying to crush it. I think they're bombing them into submission.
"Their own people?" Her eyes looked strained. This type of information did not bode well for the Federation ships and crew. No doubt the crew of the Enterprise-D was analyzing the same broadcasts "We have a probe in the general area. Direct it towards Mars and see what we can pick up. We'll set up a conference with Picard and figure out what we want to do," she said quietly, her mind still digesting the information. "Meanwhile, I have a job that I think you'll hate, but that I think you are uniquely qualified for."
She was smiling, he noticed. That was always a bad sign when your Captain smiled at you in this way. He should know, because he smiled the same way to those under his command when he wanted something particularly nasty done. Wisdom told him to say nothing and look innocent, yet attentive.
"I have had both Klingons transferred over to this ship, I want you to acclimate them to this environment," she ordered, smiling as though the full weight of what she'd just said hadn't been fully realized in her brain.
Oh, Lord. "You want me to be a baby-sitter?" he asked, incredulous. "To those animals?"
"They're two living beings Commander, with the same rights as you and I," she said quickly. "They're trapped here the same as we are and I will not have them abandoned on some planet and discarded like they were some kind of beasts, as you called them," she added. "'Do unto others', my mother told me more than a few times. Picard and I came to an understanding concerning this," she said cryptically.
"Now, I bet that was an interesting conversation," he said to her.
"Yes. It was." She took a breath remembering the heated, no, volcanic conversation with Jean Luc over this. "Twenty two years of fighting against the Klingons has made it mark. You people don't know anything else but war. The Prime Directive has been thrown to the wayside. You've even made those planet cracker bombs," she murmured in disgust, "something never even considered just two decades ago." The Alpha mark-three, antimatter planet cracker warheads filled her with loathing, even as she had two of her own now, donated by Picard. "Billions on both sides have died. If the Federation decided to surrender, just how long would it be before the war started back up? Could we stand to be under the Klingon yolk? I think not. But, that's not the point here."
"The point is?" He needed time to think. This assignment was crazy. How could one implement something like this?
"The point is," she continued, "that we need to change directions and regain what we have lost because of the war. This means I start with my own crew both new and old. My hatred for the Romulans is just as strong as yours for the Klingons. But we have to get past that."
"And that's why you want me to take a Klingon under my wing?" He looked at her as though she were as fruity as a nut cake.
"Actually Commander, I have at least two reasons why I'm picking you. The first is that I trust that you will do the right thing. I know this will be hard. You are going to be my example to both crews on how to overcome. The second is that you're as big as he is. He won't intimidate you and you won't make the mistakes that someone who is intimidated would. You've fought Klingons hand-to-hand before and that is something he will respect, even he hates your living guts," she added, smiling just as innocently as he.
"Thank you for your confidence," he said somewhat surprised at her reasoning. "What if I have to kill him?"
"I will be disappointed with you, Benjamin. May I call you that?"
"Yes, Ma'am." She had never thought to call him that before. Now she seemed more comfortable to do so.
"I would then consider you not as imaginative as I believe you are."
What did that mean? "I try not to disappoint you, Captain."
She moved over to look at the incoming communications involving this unknown Earth. "There is another reason that I want you for this job."
"And that is?"
"I believe that they can make the adjustment on this ship, but I need an edge. Your historical background as a part of a minority group, as they called it before WW3, is exactly where these Klingons are at now," she answered. "You have had the background experience and will therefore have a better understanding of what they are about to go through with a crew populated mostly with Humans and a few other races that hated and distrusted them. This is my edge."
That surprised him somewhat. "Captain, racism has been eliminated from our culture for almost two hundred years, so I fail see where you're going with this."
"Benjamin, you may fool some of the people with this but not me," she said curtly. "A friend of mine explained it to me years ago. I am fully aware of what happened after Khan and World War Three."
He did the only thing he could do. He smiled. The woman was right, after all. There was a tendency before the ascension of Colonel Green and the genetic supermen, for many people of color to be the first ones placed under suspicion, no matter what the situation. The abuse was sometimes subtle, sometimes gross, but always present in one form or another, no matter how much it was denied or ignored by others. Things began to turn around when Green's genocidal actions precipitated Earth's third world war. In its aftermath, people began to finally understand that skin color wasn't the main problem anymore. But the experiences were remembered and the lesson 'remember whom you're dealing with' had never been forgotten.
"Point taken," he murmured. "You're correct. I will always remember who I am dealing with."
"Oh and in private," she said changing the subject completely. "Please call me Rachel. I don't want to stand too much on ceremony, not now. I suspect that we will all have to become far closer to one another in the near future. The prisoners will be transferred in one hour. I also scheduled you for another appointment with the ship's counselor to get some extra pointers." She saw the look that he gave her and laughed. "Relax. Everybody's going to get a turn."
Guinan stood in her private quarters looking out her small view-plate at stars that were at once familiar and completely alien at the same time. She stretched herself outward using the gifts she along with her people, the El-Aurian possessed-and her 'otherness' that few other barely suspected-and felt…life in abundance. Some of it was cold, cold and would bear close watching. And some of it was hot with life and passion. The Borg never developed here and the Q were so isolated that they had no clue about mere mortals. So much the better in this strange universe she thought. One less unknown to deal with.
She understood that the time line had been somehow altered when the Enterprise-C, the Ambassador, she corrected herself, re-entered the future, but she didn't understand why the Organians had chosen not to interfere, a direct violation of their promise. They should have prevented the war until cooler heads prevailed. If they didn't interfere, then that meant the temporal distortion was more than simply a rip in time. There was nothing simple about that 'incident' whatsoever. Something else, some other factor had been at work.
That made sense she mused. The fact that the Enterprise-C made it through a time warp appearing literally in front of her Enterprise couldn't have been a coincidence. So what really happened twenty-one days ago? What engineered that distortion? She knew those were questions that may never be answered. But she did have a theory and it fit as to why the Organians hadn't interfered. A soft ring echoed in the room. "Come in."
"I hope I'm not disturbing you, Ms future ambassador," Picard said standing at the doorway, looking things over before he went in. "I needed to talk."
"Please," she said offering him a chair. And don't call me 'ambassador' in my private quarters. I know you," she said with an amused twinkle in her eye. "You'll start calling me that forever no matter where we are and I will not have it. Now, would you like something to drink?"
"Yes, please." This was a point he would never even consider arguing about. Guinan was Guinan.
The dark-skinned woman pulled out two glasses and filled them with a sparking clear liquid. Picard drank deeply offered his glass out for more and repeated the process.
"It's called Mularian nectar, mixed with just a touch of Earth lemon."
The drink had given him a relaxed feeling. Now that they had more power expenditures allocated for the replicators, dining had improved by leaps and bounds. "I don't know where to start," he said, as he now felt more comfortable. "As you may have seen, Captain Garrett and I haven't been getting along as well as I'd hoped. She seems intent on fighting me at every turn. This problems with the Klingons-"
"She's trying to make a point," Guinan said, sounding like an elementary teacher, "which frankly I agree with. We have twenty-two years of memories of lives that didn't exist, created by a force or forces unknown."
That caught his attention. "What do you mean forces?"
She explained her suspicions and watched Picard frown.
"So, you believe we're the victims of some sort of temporal cold war?"
"I suspect so. It explains why the Organians choose not to interfere. There are so many unexplained temporal disruptions in our quadrant that the Organians wouldn't dare interfere. The repercussions would be unimaginable." She took a sip of her drink, savoring every drop as though for the first time. "Jean-Luc, can you imagine what would happen if photon torpedoes destroyed and damaged normal space with such abandon? The whole universe would be a mess right now. It's not as tender as some people think it is. Fractures and temporal rifts and whatever, simply don't happen with such chaotic abandon. There has to be a reason."
"There are a lot of things going on in the universe Jean Luc, which most of us have never even known about. The war should never have happened but it did. Someone precipitated it and someone else sent the Enterprise-C into the future. It was probably assumed that the ship-out-of-time would be destroyed. But whether it was destroyed or not, wouldn't have mattered anyway, because these unknown manipulators would have succeeded in their mission. I believe that that was to start a war between the two most powerful governments in the Alpha quadrant. But someone else, a third party, directed it to us, in order for you to correct the timeline. Someone who knew I was onboard this ship exactly at this time, so that I could warn you and correct the time flow. But it didn't work and now…"
"And now, we're here," he finished. That was it, he felt. The game, finished.
"But," she countered, "the good point is that we're alive and have the Ambassador along with us. Her people and Tasha Yar should not be here. But the point is, they are and Captain Garrett represents a living example of what the Federation should have been. You need to follow her direction, regain what was taken away from us, and become that example again in this universe. Don't fight her. Learn or should I say re-learn what you have lost. We need to learn from the people here also. They are far stronger that they may first appear. But whatever you choose to do. It has to be soon."
"We're lost, Guinan," he finally admitted.
"Yes we are, more so that you know. I have two sets of memories Jean-Luc. The life we should have lead is like an echo superimposing itself on my present life. The 'echo' feels like decades while my current perceptions feels only about a month long. It's very confusing."
"Madre-talk about temporal causality." He hated temporal mechanics. In fact, most people hated temporal mechanics, with the exception of Mr. Data.
"I hate psychic temporal mechanics," she said, adding to the confusion. "You're here and there and in between, all at the same time. And this has happened to me more than once. For example, when did your people first meet the Klingons?"
Picard thought for a moment. "There was a crash of a Klingon courier ship on Earth just before the first warp-driven Enterprise left for its legendary exploration of the Galaxy. If I remember correctly, Captain Archer ferried the courier to the Klingon homeworld."
"Well, Jean-Luc, I remember it differently," she said. "Klingons never landed on Earth, they were met, for the first time, in deep space and they didn't look as they do now. They looked much like Humans. Only later, did they change to become what we know them as today. But no one else noticed that difference!"
"But we have records of our first Klingon contact. The Klingon here is a perfect example of their species," Picard said uncomfortably.
"That is an interesting point," Guinan countered. "What you've seen is not a lie, but a rearrangement of the truth by altered realities. Klingons looked similar to Humans, but no one remembers. Klingons also had no concept of what they now call honor. But that's all you hear about."
"That's all one ever hears about them." He fidgeted in his chair.
"Reality has been changed at least three times that I can sense. For example your Earth's world war three happened when?"
"In twenty fifty-three. Colonel Green's genocidal war caused over six hundred million deaths."
"Well, I thought it happened much earlier, near the beginning of the twenty-first century not the middle of it. And thirty seven million died, not six hundred million." She watched carefully as Picard turned pale.
"Here's another example. Who had first contact with the Ferengi?"
"Yes," he said, he knew this one. "It was Captain Archer of the very first Enterprise, the pre-Akira class. My Enterprise was the second ship to contact that species."
"Again, are you sure?" she asked him. "I remember you being the very first Federation Captain to meet the Ferengi, even though I wasn't on the ship at that time." The she added another stunner. "Suppose I tell you that I believe that the Klingon prisoner who calls himself Worf should have always been on this ship, by your side?"
Picard's mouth fell open. His look of contempt said it all.
"For some reason," she said. "I keep seeing him and prune juice together." She thought for a moment. "Even the Romulans look different from what my 'echo' remembers. Apparently, the Alpha quadrant has been at the mercy of time-traveling fanatics whose actions changed reality whenever it suites them."
There was silence between the two of them for a short while, while both of them digested the implications of what she'd just implied.
Picard felt uncomfortable approaching the next part of the conversation. "Guinan," he said softly. "About Captain Garrett-she's rather, rather-"
"Unusual," Guinan answered for him. "As in different? As in, she's less uptight than you appear to be? As in different command style?" She smiled slightly.He laughed. "As in all of the above," he admitted. He took another sip of drink. "She's so different from what I'm used to. The woman plays music on her bridge!"
"You don't like music?" Guinan asked.
"Yes, I like music," he yelled. Almost. "But it has no place on the bridge. The nerve center of a starship demands one hundred percent concentration. Music distracts from one's duty."
"It does?" Guinan asked.
"It's not just the music, but the kind of music that she plays. Her taste is well, almost provocative in a way. I suppose that if one had to play something it would be somehow soothing."
"Soothing enough to make one fall into unconsciousness?"
"You're trying to twist my word around, Guinan." He was irritated now, but not enough to stop the conversation.
"From what I understand," she said, "her taste is as classical as yours."
"Oh, no," he countered deadly serious. "Not like mine. I love the classics. Bach, Handel, Vivardi, T'Pero of Vulcan, not-"
"Joe Sample? Trania of New Mars? India Arie? Michael Jackson, before he had the breakdown?" she asked. "Those are the classics. I admit that I like the change. It's less, how can I put it... oppressive?"
"What?" Picard snapped. "My bridge is not oppressive. It's the command bridge!" He took a violent slurp of his drink. "Did you know that that woman actually dances on her bridge?"
"She dances?" She smiled and said nothing more.
"Well, actually she gyrates slightly to the music," he admitted. "It's very unseemly for a Captain to do that, on his or her bridge."
"Maybe she enjoys her work, her life?" Guinan suggested.
"And she expresses it by dancing in front of her crew? How could the people who place their lives in her hands ever respect her command decisions? The more he thought about it, the more he agreed with his own assessment. "Impossible."
Guinan smiled and took a last sip. It went down slowly. "Oh, Picard," she whispered. "You have it bad, don't you?"