Chapter 4

Compared to the long and crowded conference the day before, when three crews, two Starfleet, one... formerly Earthforce, mostly, had tried to decide on a joint plan of action overseen by a riotious young god, this meeting was subdued.

Then, Picard had presided over what he was certain was the largest gathering his observation lounge had ever hosted. He had been lucky – captain's priviledge had granted him some modicum of elbowroom at the head of the conference table. The rest of the room was packed as tightly as a sardine can, with Picard's staff, Sheridan's staff, Ambassador Delenn and her aide, the Ranger, and Worf and his two senior lieutenants. On his arrival, Junior had created his own chair in the only empty corner of the room.

Now, it was significantly less crowded. Riker was on the bridge at the moment, and Delenn had apparently elected to remain on the White Star as its commander in Sheridan's absence, along with her aide. Picard wondered idly if he'd ever be able to make sense of Sheridan's convoluted chain of command. That left the observation lounge hosting only those who had to be the first to know what they had found.

Which, Picard reflected dourly, wasn't much. Data had been sweeping the planet with sensors constantly, looking for every scrap of information that would reveal itself. But he'd been unusually tight-lipped, having told Picard little more than they'd known an hour earlier during his conversation with Sheridan. He wondered if his second officer was attempting to experience the emotional impact of dropping a bombshell on them, but discounted it. Data might want to experience every emotion he had ever heard of, but he knew better than to withold urgently needed information.

Aside from the two captains, once again, Worf was present in his capacity as commander – no, Picard thought wryly, stop mincing words – in every sense of the word but rank, Worf was Captain of the Defiant. Data had taken up the seat beside Sheridan, while Beverly Crusher looked on from a shorter distance down the length of the table. Chief Garibaldi was also there, lounging back in the padded chair with every outward indication of nonchalance; though Picard expected that there was a great deal of awareness below the surface. Once again, he was struck by the notion that if this were his previous ship, Sheridan and his crew would look nothing less than dour in their stiff black uniforms – on this ship, they seemed to blend right in. What bothered him most, however, was that he wasn't certain if that were a good or bad thing.

Finally, the gentle hiss of the door announced the arrival of the last two members of their hastily convened council. Ivanova preceeded Marcus, who'd waved her through deferentially, then took up the open seat next to the one she claimed.

"Mr. Data," Picard said, opening the meeting without further ado, "if you please."

"Yes sir." The android picked up his padd from the table surface in front of him, and swivled in his seat to face the unobtrusive wall monitor tucked carefully alongside the starship display case. The others followed suit, watching the screen with unfeigned interest. Data pressed a combination of keys on the padd in his hand, and the monitor came to life with a soft glow.

He hesitated, as if unsure where to begin, before speaking. "In almost every respect, this version of Earth is identical to our own," he told them. "The first deviance we noted was in the composition of the atmosphere; there are significant levels of industrial pollution, concentrated over the European continent and eastern North America."

"What kind of pollution?" Sheridan asked sharply. Given the way his thoughts had been running earlier, he half expected to hear that it was nuclear fallout.

Data showed no outward reaction to the interruption. "As I was about to explain, the pollution is primarily hydrocarbons."

"Fossil fuels." Garibaldi was nodding now. When he saw the confused look he was getting from Ivanova, he elaborated, "Remember my motorcycle? I could only drive it after Lennier installed a Minbari power-source, because gasoline exhaust would gum up the atmosphere reprocessors."

"Precisely," Data agreed, betraying a hint of surprise. "However, from the composition of these hydrocarbons, I was able to determine that gasoline was not among the constituients. The source appears to be the combustion of poorly refined petroleum and anthracite coal, primarily."

Sheridan frowned. "Coal and oil?"

"Indeed." Data tapped a control, and on the screen, the blue-white marble of Earth appeared beside a list of readouts that only the android could read from the distance of the conference table. Then, the globe distended, stretching and spreading across the screen into a more easily read mercator projection. Another keystroke, and the obscuring cloud cover was swept aside, leaving only the stark green and brown shapes of the continents overlayed on a background of half a hundred shades of blue.

"Mr. Data," Picard asked, almost resignedly, "have we been pulled back in time?" Inwardly, he cringed from the reply, almost certain that he knew what it would be. It often seemed as though his ship was a magnet for temporal anomalies. Offhand, he could not recall all of the ones he'd seen since taking command of the pervious Enterprise, more than ten years ago. He grimaced in recognition of the fact that not even James Kirk's Enterprise had had so many run-ins with time travel.

Data nodded, looking pained. Thanks to his perfect memory, in the space of a second or two, he had relived every similar experience in absolute detail, experiencing every emotion they created in him with a fresh perspective. "That is one of the possibilities I have considered, Captain," he said. "For the moment, with the information at hand, it also appears to be the most probable." He sounded regretful, and the mood seemed to transmit around the room instantly. With one exception.

"Ah ha!" Marcus crowed, leaning forward just enough to direct his comment past Ivanova, to a rueful Garibaldi. "Like I said, if Entil'zha could do it... I don't like to say 'I told you so,'" he went on with no hint of apology, "but..."

Never taking her eyes from the monitor screen, Ivanova spoke in a deceptively quiet tone. "Marcus, do you want to eat your own kneecaps?"

Marcus choked on on the "I", and got no further, cutting himself off with a bout of coughing.

Sheridan couldn't help a grin. He'd been worried about his friend and exec; since sending Sinclair back in time, she hadn't been herself, looking more withdrawn than he could recall having ever seen her. If she was recovering her usual crusty and pessimistic exterior, he guessed that she must be working through it in her own way. Like they said, 'time heals all wounds.' Of course, he'd ocasionally thought that the mysterious 'they' who came up with such peals of wisdom were completely full of it.

Picard hid his startled reaction by turning back to the screen, and studying it in exaggerated intensity. "Please, continue, Mr. Data."

With only a perfunctory nod, Data launched back into what Picard recognized as his "lecture mode," inputing several more commands into his padd. As they watched, a spiderweb of thin golden lines began to branch out from dozens of different focus-points. His memory almost immediately identified those points as the locations of what were on his Earth, major cities in North America and Europe. With some interest, he noted that on the former continent, few of the lines crossed the Mississippi, and those died off quickly past that barrier.

"You will note the network of filaments," Data said, pointing out the obvious. "Our sensors have traced these as conduits of electrical transmissions, which converge in a density closely proportional to that of the local human population, in those areas where they are present at all."

"Electrical transmission? You're talking about powerlines," Garibaldi said, plainly curious.

"I do not believe so. The transmissions are occurring in pulses at irregular intervals, which would not be conducive to the delivery of electrical power."

Sheridan looked thoughtful, dredging his memory. The network Data was describing sounded a great deal like something he'd heard of before.

At an even great loss for an explanation, something else Data had said jumped out to Picard. "Data, out of curiosity, what is the planetary population?"

"According to our most recent scan, there are one point two-seven billion human life-signs."

Garibaldi snorted suddenly. "Looks like you may have been right, Marcus, much as I hate to admit it. At least we know now it's not our Earth. Not even Clark could have wiped out nine billion people in a few days."

"I believe we've already established that this is an Earth different than both of our own," Picard said amicably.

"Telegraph!"

"I beg your pardon?"

Sheridan knew he was grinning like an idiot, and didn't care. "Those lines you traced out on the map. Those are telegraph wires! If this isn't the late nineteenth century, it's one hell of a coincidence. That population figure clinches it." He cleared his throat self-conciously, when he realized he had suddenly become the center of attention in the room. "I've uh... got a thing for American history," he admitted.

Data cocked his head curiously. The human ability to make leaps of logic still confounded him. "That is the conclusion I was arriving at," he said in a tone so stiff, even Worf recognized his emotion chip at work.

Sheridan had the grace to look mildly abashed at stealing the android's thunder, but he couldn't keep it up long, in favor of a triumphant smile. I hope those emotions of his are stable, he thought suddenly. I've never worked with a robot before, let alone an emotional one. I'd sure hate to start out by having my arms ripped out of my sockets.

"If we operate under that assumption," Picard stressed the last word, "we once again are left with the question of why we are here, and what it is Q wants us to fix for him."

"Good question," Garibaldi said. "If there's something we have to fix, and we don't know a thing about, where's the pipsqueak at?"

It took Picard a moment to realize that he meant Q's son. In truth, the same thought had been nagging him since the boy's last appearence, at the morning conference the day before. "I don't know," he said honestly. "I suspect that he takes after his father more than we believed, so expect him when we least want his presence. In any eventuality, we cannot allow ourselves to become reliant on his whims."

Data looked as though he were about to speak, but Sheridan brought his fist down on the table with an audible thump. "I agree. We may not have a choice about being here, but now that we are, we're gonna do it our way." He looked around the table slowly, fixing everyone with a determined eye, but saving pointed glances for his own people. "I wouldn't let Kosh jerk me around, and I'm not about to let some damned kid start now."

"Hear, hear!" Marcus cheered, punching one hand into the air. Suddenly subsiding as quickly as if he'd never moved, he added, "Now, just what exactly is it that we're planning on doing?" In return, he got a dark glare from Sheridan, who flushed angrily, realizing that he didn't have an answer for that.

"I believe I have located a disparity, assuming of course that this is the time period we suspect it to be," Data said calmly, breaking the thoughtful silence. "Seventeen point four minutes ago, ship's sensors detected a significant chroniton surge on the eastern seaboard of North America." On the screen, a small red blip flashed a steady beat in the appropriate location. "In our dimension, the exact location is on the outskirts of a town called Rivington, North Carolina."

"Never heard of it," Crusher said, finally seeing a chance to get involved in the conversation.

"Chroniton?" Marcus asked at the same time.

Picard briefly had the impression that Data would have liked to have an extra mouth, so as not to be limited to one reply at a time. Turning first to the doctor, he said, "That is unsurprising, as even in our own time, the population of the town is less than four hundred residents." Then to Marcus: "Chronitons are quantum particles, not dissimilar from gravitons, in that they are in fact subatomic tears in the fabric of space-time. Unlike gravitons, however, chronitons are only known to exist in proximity to significant temporal anomalies."

Seeing the same realization in everyone's faces, Picard cleared his throat, not wanting to jump to the first possible conclusion. "Mr. Data, can a chroniton surge like that be caused by a natural phenomena?"

"Negative." That one word shattered Picard's last hope that they weren't dealing with what they all feared they were dealing with. "Concentrations of chronitons have been observed in the area of naturally occurring temporal anomalies, but following this first surge, there was a succession of smaller pulses, occurring approximately every thirty-five seconds for eight point nine minutes. Such a pattern strongly indicates an artificial source."

"We're not the only time-travellers then," Marcus said rhetorically.

"It would seem that way," Data confirmed.

Picard considered the implications somberly, then nodded sharply, having come to a decision. Not, he knew, that there were many other options. "Needless to say, we can't afford not to investigate that. Logically, any variations in this time-stream would center around the only temporal rift on the planet. However," he cautioned, "Q is known for many things, and logic is not one of them. As suspicious as this looks, it may only be a diversion for the real problem."

Sheridan grunted assent, fixing what Ivanova called his 'evil-eye' on the small flashing red dot that pulsed away on the map. Despite himself, he couldn't resist the urge to go down and unravel the puzzle it representd with his own bare hands. "That gives us a starting point, at least," he reasoned aloud. "I guess that only leaves the question of how to proceede from here."

"Seems obvious to me," Ivanova said bluntly. "We go down there, find out who's doing it and why, and if we don't like their reasons, we blow them up so we can go home."

Picard started to smile, until he saw her deadly serious expression. He'd thought she had been joking! More alarmingly, he noticed Worf nodding in obvious agreement with Ivanova's rash suggestion. At least Beverly has the good sense to look horrified, he thought. Interrupting before things got out of hand, he tried to put a diplomatic spin on things. "That may not be the most... wise course of action under the circumstances, Commander. We aren't that sure of our facts," he said placatingly. "In the event that this is meant to ocurr in this timeline, we could ruin their entire future with the best of intentions. Our first order of business should be reconaissence."

Leaning back in his chair, Sheridan fixed his opposite number with a calculating look. "Just what kind of recon are you talking about? There's only so much we can get sitting up here in orbit. If we intend on getting to the bottom of this, we're going to have to go down there, sooner or later."

"Which is exactly what I was about to suggest," Picard returned, smiling. It was so much easier to make these kinds of decisions when the people in charge were on the same wavelength. That chemistry was partly why he suspected why Will Riker had refused other command assignments in favor of remaining first officer on the Enterprise. "Suggestions?"

A gruff exhalation from Worf was a familiar sound when he prepared to speak. "Sir, I do not believe in coincidence. If there is a temporal rift present in that town, it is certainly part of the reason we are here. Transporting directly down presents far too great a risk. I recommend we set the beam-down point in a different location, and proceed on foot."

"I'm all for that," Garibaldi added. "If this is some other batch of time-travellers down there, I think we can be pretty sure that a bunch of tourists aren't visiting Nowhere, North Carolina. I hate having to say this more than once a week, but I don't like this. Something's rotten in Denmark, if you catch my drift."

They all did. Even Data, whom Picard secretly expected to point out that there were literally a great many things rotting in Denmark – and the rest of the world, for that matter. Blissfully, the android remained quiet.

Ivanova tapped one finger against the tabletop restlessly. "Can you zoom in on that?"

A swift nod from Data was the only answer she got for the split-second before the map suddenly pulled out, focusing in on that flashing dot, until even the Carolina coast dropped off the right side of the screen. A second command brought up an overlay of borders and city names that she assumed was from the Starfleet Earth. "Our sensors show that with regard to the locations of population centers, our own geopolitical maps for the nineteenth century are ninety-nine point eight percent accurate," Data explained.

"Good enough," Ivanova replied, studying the image carefully. "There," she said, pointing. "If I'm reading that map right, most of that area is nearly wilderness. If we can't transport down to the source, why not pick a spot in the woods, and walk in from there?"

That suggestion, she noticed with some self-justification, earned a number of nods from around the table. All except for one.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Susan," Sheridan said trying to sound apologetic. "Granted, we're still assuming that I'm right about when in time were are. But if I am, just walking out of the forest isn't going to cut it. That's a small town, a very small town, and they tend to be pretty clannish." He smiled wryly. "I should know – I grew up in one. No, no matter how carefully we dress up for the role, we're not going to be able to help standing out, and gossip gets around fast."

There was a brief confounded silence, which was broken by Beverly Crusher's startling laugh. "I think the answer is pretty simple then." Her amusent trickled off into a nervous chuckle when no one said anything – only stared at her.

"Perhaps you should elaborate, Doctor," Picard prompted formally.

"If I'm following you correctly, the problem is that you can't send anyone into the town directly because their presence would be too obvious. At the same time, you can't start in a larger city, because none of us would fit in properly, and we could end up spreading news of our arrival before we could get anything done." She paused expectantly. "Well? Am I right?"

"That about sums it up," Garibaldi allowed grudgingly. "So what's your idea?"

Crusher shrugged demurely. "It seems to me that if we don't want to be noticed in a larger city, it could only work to our advantage if we were seen coming from one of those small villages." She pointed more specifically at the map. "For instance, if we beam down somewhere suitably small, say that town there," her finger traced across the small letters that spelled out "Nashville" as she spoke. "We won't blend in, but at least we can find out just how different this world is. From there, we can head to – " She paused, reading the label over the larger town under her gaze, "Rocky Mount, where we can find a way to the source of that time rift."

"That just might work," Sheridan mused in a soft murmer.

Picard added his own agreement, smiling at the doctor, who he now noticed had flushed proudly. "Good work, Beverly." All business again, he looked away, focusing on no one in particular. "That leaves the matter of who it is who is going to actually undertake this venture."

"Count me in," Crusher declared, cocking an eyebrow in Picard's direction, anticipating his protest. So his mouth was only half-open when she pressed ahead hurridly. "Don't even think about it, Jean-Luc." Her use of his first name in public – even if that public was a small collection of friends and people who didn't understand the significance of it – left him speechless, and she knew it. "This was my idea, and I'm not about to duck out of seeing it through."

Relieving some of the pressure from the doctor, Sheridan announced his own intention to go, over the half-hearted protests of his subordinates. "I'm going and that's that."

Ivanova looked rebellious, but knew there she was little she could do about talking him out of something once his mind was made up. Garibaldi merely heaved a resigned sigh, and shrugged. "In that case, I'm going too." His set jaw and determined expression brokered no dissent.

"Marcus, we could use you too. No one knows how to be sneaky like a Ranger." Sheridan turned his full attention on his target, until the other man blinked.

"Love to," Marcus retorted flippantly. "I'll have to clear my calander of course."

Gaping at the three of them, Ivanova looked disbelieving. "You're serious. All of you? You're really gonna do this?"

"Abso-fraggin-lutely." Sheridan grinned wolfishly, then turned to the map, the levity in his voice slipping away. "Besides, that's Earth down there. Even if it's not ours, when I find out who's trying to mess around with it, by God they're gonna hear about it the hard way." His tone went suddenly forboding at the end, and Ivanova stifled a mirroring grin. Whoever was going to end up a target of the Captain's ire was definately going to regret it.

"Since you put it that way," she said, trying to sound reasonable, "let's get going." She stuck her chin out, and her eyes flashed challangingly, an open dare for anyone to contradict her.

Sheridan winced, but he had to do it. "Sorry, not this time, Susan." Placatingly, he tried to offer a reason she would accept without biting his head off. "I can't bring the whole senior staff with me, you know that. There's only three of us, and one of us has to stay here and keep an eye on things from this end. Besides, it's too risky."

"And you going down there without me isn't." She waited for him to wince at the hit, then sighed loudly. "Fine. It's your call. But if you go and get yourself killed down there, God and all his archangels won't be enough to stop me from kicking your ghost's ass." Garibaldi started to laugh, and she whirled on him furiously. "And you. You're supposed to be watching his back, so if anything happens to either of you, you'd better pray you don't live any longer than he does!"

"What about me?" Marcus asked plaintively, feeling left out.

She scowled at him. "You don't even want to know."

"I would offer to accompany you, but I believe we can establish that these people have never met a Klingon before," Worf grumbled apologetically.

"I understand, Mr. Worf," Picard replied soothingly, allowing a touch of humor to color his tone. "I sympathize. I also don't think we can risk taking anyone else this time. A large crowd will draw far more attention than a few travellers. We learned that lesson the hard way aboard Babylon 5," he said with a self-depreciating chuckle, which turned into a laugh when Garibaldi folded his arms over his chest with smug grin. He turned then to Data, who was observing the conversation with keen interest. "I know you have all of that down, Mr. Data, so see about getting us period clothing, one female, and four male."

If there was any hesitation at the command, it didn't register in his voice or actions. "Aye sir."

"Five outfits?" Ivanova picked up on the addition first. "No offense Captain Picard, but I think your math skills are a little rusty. In my book, one doctor plus three bozos equals four." She already knew what he was doing, of course, but for a moment, tried to convince herself that the stiff, balding Starfleet captain was not really suggesting what she knew he was suggesting. "That's four costumes you need, not five." One look at his expression confirmed everything, and she sagged. "It must be contagious," she muttered. She wasn't going to get any support from that direction, and from the looks she was getting from Worf and Data, she knew that even if the former agreed with her in theory, in practice, she was barking up the wrong tree.

Sheridan only shrugged. If he was insisting on going down, he could hardly complain if the other captain was equally willing.

Unwavering, Picard stood in a clear show of finality. "If there are no further questions?" It sounded like a question, but it wasn't, and all of them knew it. "Very well. Mr. Data, see to those disguises at once. We'll be departing from transporter room three in one hour." He tugged hard at the hem of his uniform and nodded sharply. "Dismissed."

As they began to file out through the doors on to the bridge, a thought ocurred to Picard. "Captain?"

Sheridan turned back, and the doors slid shut on the low-key bustle of the bridge. "Yes?"

"Captain, not to sound presumptuous, but just why are you doing this? No one is making you do this, and yet here you are, intent on putting your lives at risk. Why?"

With a wry grin, Sheridan dropped into the chair at the foot of the conference table, and considered his answer. "For one thing, I suppose, it's because I'm curious. Back on the Agamemnon, I used to pray for this kind of thing to happen... well, not this exactly. But there was always that chance of finding something new; and every once in a while, we did." He sighed ruefully. "Ever since taking command of Babylon 5 though, it seems like all there is to it is paperwork. The fun and excitement are gone. Well, most of the time anyway," he corrected with a laugh, gesturing to their surroundings. "Jack Maynard's gonna turn fourteen shades of green when I tell him about this.

"But for another thing," he continued, more seriously, "when Delenn shared command of the Rangers in our sector with me, I promised her – promised them all – that we would draw a line against the darkness. I never meant just the Shadows. I meant all of it, everywhere... and everywhen, I guess." He shook his head forcefully. "If we're right about what's going on down there, how can I turn my back on it?" He let the thoughtful silence drag for a moment, before his face lightened abruptly. "So, that's my story, Captain. What about you?"

Picard had to smile at that. "I'm afraid my reasons are not quite as dramatic as your own," he said, pausing briefly when Sheridan barked laughter, "I'm an explorer, first and foremost. That's at least half of what Starfleet is all about. The other half is about protecting the Federation. Data has a theory, which unfortunately hinges on Q's honesty, that we are being moved about to places and times that are being tampered with."

"Like the second nuke, and probably those Shadow vessels at Babylon 4," Sheridan remarked thoughtfully.

"Indeed. Our problem is that if one of those areas tampered with is our own..."

"Your Federation might never have been formed."

Picard nodded an affirmation. "So you see," he said ironically, "we are in something of a quandary. None of us trust Q, but on the off-chance he is telling the truth, we can't afford not to act. Although in this case, we already know it is not our universe."

"If that's true, then even if this isn't your past, it could easily be ours." Sheridan considered the implications with growing alarm. "I think we'd better go see how those outfits are coming along," he said with a new urgency.

Ashamed to admit that he hadn't even considered the problem from that angle, Picard could only nod.