by Dalton S. Spence
Part XII - Convergence
The warp trajectory through the sun's gravity well has successfully projected us back in time to the correct date. The ship has assumed geosynchronus orbit over New York, but a preliminary sensor scan of the city has been unable to locate Counsellor Troi. The Away Team that the committee selected is preparing beam down. I admit that a couple of their choices surprised me, although it will make my job a little easier."
"This wasn't exactly what I had in mind," Vash grumbled as she tugged on her gloves.
Her companions, clad as she was in night-camo (virtually unchanged for centuries), were not sympathetic. "You are the one who insisted coming along," Picard replied, unsuccessfully suppressing a slight grin at Vash's discomfort. "We need your expertise at bypassing the antique security systems. Besides, you were seen."
"You all were," added Professor Brabant, indicating the rest of the Away Team, "and that's all I can tell you. Any more and you might create a paradox by second guessing your actions. Just remember their weapons can be just a lethal as a phaser, so keep your heads down."
Vincent was waiting for them at the Central Park entrance, as Deanna knew he would be. Although their arms were laden with packages, their faces did not reflect the satisfaction that might be expected from a successful evening's shopping. Vincent went straight to Deanna, who dropped her packages and rushed into his arms. "What happened? I felt your distress, but you blocked it so quickly!"
"I'll tell you what happened!" an angry Diana answered, "Some creep stole her broach! He bumped into her, and was lost in the crowd before we knew what happened." Sensing her friend's guilt at failing to protect her,
Deanna turned her, saying "It's not your fault. You warned me not to wear it outside, but I didn't listen." How could she explain she had been afraid that she wouldn't hear it's signal under the heavy cloth coat?
Fortunately, she didn't have to. "Well, if you were showing it around in the hopes of someone recognizing it, that sure backfired," Diana said. Vincent could sense this wasn't the precise reason, but allowed Diana's impression to stand. Whatever the reason for Deanna's action, the loss of the broach affected her very deeply. It was if the broach had represented some important link to her mysterious past, a link that was now severed forever.
As Deanna backed out of Vincent's arms and gathered her dropped packages, she forced herself to face the real reason she was so upset. It was not as if the loss of the communicator would prevent her rescue. The captain knew when and where she was, and could find her with an Away Team if need be. No, what she had really lost was the hope of an easy answer.
Before, she had unconciously assumed that the ship would home in on her communicator, and beam her back when they detected she was alone. Now, that simple solution was denied her. She could choose to stay. Here, with Vincent, with her new friends. It wouldn't be hard for her to escape a sensor sweep in the lower chambers, by staying on the move until the ship left. Her new friends would not betray her, not if they knew she really wanted to stay. The captain would not risk a major historical incident by being too obvious. She had a decision to make, and it would not be an easy one.
"What do you mean, I can't see her?" Joe asked angily. "I mean, how come Jenny can see her, and I can't? I thought her memory had returned."
"Yes, it has," Dr. Beeks confirmed, "but only to a point. That point is 8 months before she joined the D.A., in April when she disappeared for ten days. She can remember leaving the party, being grabbed from behind and thrown into a van, but that's all. Everything after that is a blank. Something happened during those ten days, something that changed her life and the way she thought of herself. Something I feel she subconciously connects with her 'death,' and the loss of the child she doesn't want to remember."
"Does she know about her father?" Jenny asked. She had been waiting in the lobby of her building when Joe came to pick her, and one look at his face had told her all she had needed to know.
"Yes. I felt she had right to know. She took it pretty hard. Apparently they had some communication problems, and she's upset that she doesn't know if they were resolved. When we asked if she wanted anyone contacted, she gave us your name. We tried to reach you, but you were apparently already on your way."
Joe was puzzled. "Why did you contact me then, if I can't see her?"
"Oh, you can see her, after Jenny, but not right away. I called you because you were probably the most important person in her new life, after her first disappearance. That I could contact, anyway. For two years she saw you every working day, and the memories are still there, hidden but trying to get out."
Dr. Beeks looked at the two anxious faces, debating what to say next. "It's fortunate," she said carefully, "the two of you have become close. Jenny can act as a bridge between you, between the past she can remember, and the part that she can't. It will easier to accept Joe as a friend of a friend first, than as a friend she has forgotten. Once the trust is established, the memories should begin to return rather quickly."
They both nodded their acceptance of the situation, Joe a little more slowly, realizing how difficult it would for him to be patient. "Can I see her now?" Jenny asked.
"Certainly. She's expecting you. Follow me." Dr. Beeks took them through the corridors of what at first glance appeared to be an ordinary modern hospital. A second glance revealed an abnormal amount of security: card-and-keypad locks, no bulletin boards, numerous security cameras, and armed "orderlies" standing outside certain doors.
The wards were slightly different. The locks were of the ordinary type, and the guards were restricted to the nurses' station, and the exits. They stopped at one door, simply labelled "CC890412". Dr. Beeks nodded, and Jenny timidly knocked. A familiar voice called out, "It's open," and Jenny went inside.
The decor of the room could best be labelled as "institutionally cheerful". It could have been any standard chain hotel room in the country, except for the hospital bed in one corner. On the night table by the bed was an open book of poetry. Jenny recognized as one she had seen while going through her friend's effects, and she wonderred how the people who ran this place had gotten their hands on it. There was a walker beside the dresser, and Jenny remembered the doctor explaining how her friend had to learn to walk again, after having been still for so long.
But apparently it was no longer needed, for the familiar figure standing by the window was supported only by a cane. She smiled (an uncertain smile) and said, "Come on Jenny, I can't have changed THAT much."
Jenny could not hold her joy in any longer. "Oh God, Cathy, it really IS you!" she said, and launched herself into her friend's arms.
Outside the compound, hidden by a copse of trees, six men in black night-camo suits reviewed their mission plan. They were highly trained mercenaries, the best money could buy. They didn't know who their principal was, nor did they want to (if captured, ignorance could save their lives). It had all been arranged through dead drops, newspaper ads, and numbered Swiss bank accounts. They had been given plans of the facility, the external security arrangements, and the location and pictures of the target. They had even been given the name of an inside contact, who would be suitably "rewarded" for his trouble.
The leader, a hardened veteran whose anonymous looks belied his years of experience in covert actions, gave his men their final instructions. "In five minutes, our friend inside will blow the emergency generator. That will be the signal to drop the power and phone lines, and fire up the jammer. From the moment communication is cut, we have fifteen minutes before a tac team shows up in a Huey. Jefferson can take out the first one, but after that, it's anybody's ballgame. Remember, the primary objective is to terminate the target. Everything else, escape included, is secondary. Our employer has made it clear he will not tolerate failure, and we know the kind of help he can hire. Are you ready, gentlemen?"
"Ready, SIR!"
"Then lets rock and roll!"AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for the cliffhanger, but this is where I crashed into writer's block so long ago. I've never been much for writing action scenes (I'm still not) so any help or suggestions on how to continue would be greatly appreciated.