Chapter 19

Approximately 18 months ago...

New Berlin, Earth

Former Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood with a bag over his shoulder. It was a cold night, and as he stood beneath the bright lights of the open airfield, his breath formed whitish clouds that quickly escaped into the black sky above. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and continued to wait. Generally, he was waiting for a ride, but he didn't know exactly what form it would come in. As he stared at the ground, scuffing his boot absently, he thought of Beverly. No matter where he was in his life, it was always Beverly who passed through his mind.

They had spent the previous night together, and he had done everything in his power to make up for his wrongs, to make her feel loved and needed. As much as they had both enjoyed the long-awaited physical proximity, the intimacy that they had once shared was absent. Even in the dark, her eyes shone with both desire and open suspicion. She no longer trusted him, and never would again. It almost didn't matter whether or not she forgave him, because he was leaving; yet another act for which she would never forgive him. And why should she? He had come to see their relationship as both necessary to his very life, and yet unsustainable. She didn't have to say it out loud for him to know that she felt similarly. EVentually, he hoped the pain would fade for them both.

He looked into the night sky as the warm glow of blue and red nacelles approached from a distance in a mere few seconds before descending from above. He closed his eyes as a mixture of cold wind and engine exhaust blew over his face. His muscles tightened momentarily as he wondered who was operating the newly arrived runabout. He didn't have any authority to be standing here, but so far had evaded Starfleet authorities by keeping a low profile. He wasn't exactly a criminal suspect, but there were things he had done recently that had caught the attention of Starfleet Security. All the more reason to leave Earth.

The runabout had landed but wasn't powering down. He blinked. It didn't take even his barely existent Q abilities to ascertain the situation, as he paused before running up the lowered ramp.

"Strap yourself in. This vessel has been denied further access to this landing zone, and Security says it's deploying personnel to 'investigate'."The individual in the pilot's seat glanced back at him. She had the appearance of a well-put-together middle-aged officer with short graying hair. Perhaps a bit severe, but entirely human. If Natasha Yar had lived past 27 or so years, she might have aged into someone who looked remarkably like this. But Picard knew from experience that appearances often hid sometimes complex inner lives. The humanity of this particular individual was merely a shell; a disguise that had been designed to be only temporary.

Gilda Stern, or the Q entity that inhabited her was one of the Continuum's most ancient beings. She... or it, for the Q did not experience gender for any set amount of time, had been present in the human world on business for some time. That business had been interrupted by a decision made by the Q Continuum to abandon humanity and retreat into dimensions that would provide them protection from the influences of aliens. More importantly, following the death of Yar on the Q homeworld, the Q experienced a collective loss of power like never before. The endless ability and knowledge that had for eons come so easily now escaped them. During this period of retreat, they also abandoned any member of the Continuum who could be connected to their failed experiment with humanity.

As Stern and Picard's own Q abilities began to fade, they both, for lack of a better word began to panic. Isolated from the Q and working with limited abilities, both Stern and Picard had attempted to foresee the future. The result of these visions had been a mutual decision that their common enemy was Christopher Caine, a human transplant from twentieth-century Earth, who had killed Natasha Yar. Stern had come to believe that Caine must be either killed or returned to the twentieth century, so that life as everyone knew it could return to normal. In the process, when they regained their power after restoring the balance, they hoped to return to the Continuum, leaving humanity behind forever. Now she and Picard planned to carry out their plans, flawed as they were. They could no longer cross the galaxy with a snap of their fingers. They had to use more conventional means. But one thing they didn't lack was determination.

Jean-Luc tossed his bag and dropped into the co-pilot's seat. "Of course they are." He rubbed his eyes.

Stern deftly piloted the craft back up into the sky.

"Where did you get this runabout, or should I not ask?"

"Your friend...Jack Crusher pulled some strings when I said I had plans to leave Earth for good. I told him that in exchange for this transport, I would leave you alone."

He chuckled. "Oh, well Jack typically knows more than he lets on...don't underestimate him."

"We never have."

Present Day: In Orbit around Rota, Class M planet

"We have what we need now. Finish the job, but be discreet. I don't want any Starfleet interference...yet." The man on the other end of the call didn't respond, but Caine had no question about whether his orders would be carried out. Some of his people enjoyed their jobs a little too much. Caine shut off the channel and turned at the sound of footsteps. The large Orion who stepped into the room was dressed in typical pirate clothing, with a number of weapons attached to his tall frame. Ryko was at least a foot taller than Caine, and like many Orions, towered over a typical Human. If Caine had possessed a sense of humor, he might have found Ryko's appearance amusing. It was likely that Ryko had killed everyone who had ever laughed at him. Caine wasn't certain about the extent of this Orion's criminal record and frankly, didn't care.

In order to have been committed to the Federation's only maximum-security prison, you had to have been, at the very least, a murderer. Every other Federation detention center was basically a vacation away from home since Federation types believed (at least officially) in rehabilitation. However, where it came to people like Caine and Ryko, it was best to be safe and lock them up tightly, forever. Except, as Caine knew better than anyone, no prison was inescapable.

Ryko was, for lack of a better word, Caine's new right-hand man, but as with most of his cronies, Caine found him to be entirely disposable. It was all about usefulness and timing. "Yeah? What do you want?"

"We've got a subspace signal headed our way that looks very familiar, boss," said Ryko.

Caine lit a cigar and puffed purple smoke upwards into Ryko's face. "My stalker?"

"Yep. Due to intercept us in about 30 minutes. Cloaked, but as planned the tracking signal's out there."

"Is the mining crew done setting up?"

"Affirmative...we can go to warp now at any point."

Caine smiled slowly, and threw his cigar to the deck, stomping it out with his boot. "Get my ship, I think I'll do a little inspection planetside. Tell 'em to take the fleet to the rendezvous point while we take care of business."

Ryko let out a belly laugh. "So we finally get to test out the good stuff?"

Caine grabbed a vest nearby and pulled it down over his head. A bluish glow began to ebb in the torso of Caine's strange vest. Ryko had seen it before many times, but so far only Caine had been allowed to use this particular weapon. It was devastatingly powerful and though crude, could potentially surpass other forms of energy weapons if it could be properly harnessed. So far, that had been the trickiest part of all of this. Trickier even than escaping prison. "Listen, I want this wannabe Assassin injured but alive. Whoever it is, they know too much, and I need to make an example of 'em."

Pryn System

Samla watched the perfectly controlled figure periodically fiddle with the controls, as the ship moved smoothly along without incident. It was now or never. She stood closer to the enigmatic being and then moved to slide into the co-pilot's seat. After a few minutes of continued silence, Samla spoke. "I know who you are," she said, turning her head to look at the pilot. She wasn't exactly sure of the Assassin's identity, but she had a hunch. Despite her bold statement, as she had come to expect, the only response she received was the unending thrum of the engines.

Samla grabbed the gloved hand. "You have to turn this ship around. We're heading into a trap."

"Did you think I didn't know you were working for Caine all along?" replied the synthetic voice.

"Not anymore," said the Orion. "I-I can't go through with it. Caine is going to be waiting for you with his horrible energy weapon."

"Good."

"You don't know what you're saying. You won't survive. No one survives."

The gloved hands moved quickly over the controls, and then the being turned in the seat to face her. Her own reflection flashed at her from the black faceplate. "When we arrive at the planet, you're getting off this ship. Run, hide, fight, go back to Caine-it doesn't matter. But you will leave this ship."

"Caine wants to know who you are and he'll torture me to get what he wants."

Suddenly the ship's computer began to speak in Romulan. It was a warning of some kind.

The Assassin turned back to the controls and spoke with an uncharacteristic note of surprise. "A Federation starship is due to intercept us in ten seconds."

Samla felt the pull of the engines as the ship changed course and significantly increased speed. She poked at the viewscreen which showed a large greyish ship dropping out of warp. "They don't know we're here." She felt initial relief, but then considered disengaging the cloak and exposing the ship to Starfleet. They would help, would they not? She thought of Will Riker and was immediately brought back to their exciting adventures together. Granted some of those memories were murky, as they had both been under the influence of a powerful virus, but she would never forget Riker.

Samla was jolted out of her daydream by the warm sizzle of a bluish containment field that now surrounded her. "What?" She reached out her hand and was greeted by a small but notable jolt of energy.

"I don't need any further distractions, Orion."

USS Hood

"Augustine to Riker."

"Riker here. Go ahead, Commander."

"Sir, we've entered the Pryn system...that subspace signal we were following was definitely a ship-small, unknown origin. It changed course and increased to warp six when we dropped out of warp. It's cloaked, but not untraceable."

"Where is it headed?"

"Directly for the armada we've identified that's gathered near the planet Rota."

"It's got to be your so-called Assassin, Alisha," said Riker.

"Should I pursue, sir?"

"Yes, but maintain a safe distance between the Hood and everyone else. We've been authorized to investigate Caine, not to engage him."

"Aye, sir."

Riker glanced down at Troi, who stood beside him with her hands clasped in front of her exuding apparent unending patience. They had been waiting for what seemed like hours, although it really hadn't been that long. Finally, the door swished open to reveal Q, who was wearing a red satin robe that was open to his navel. On his feet were large plush slippers of the same shade of dark red. "I had to get dressed," said Q, sounding defensive already.

Riker lifted his chin and squinted, the way he always did when he was irritated. "Thanks for making the effort," he murmured, pushing past Q. Troi followed with an amused glance at Q as she passed.

Will didn't bother with small talk. "I need to pick your genius brain, Q." He held up the chip that had been found floating in space in the wake of the destruction of Marco's ship. It was the only object from the ship that had remained completely intact. "I need you to decode this data chip."

Q eyed the Starfleet officers with open disdain. "I told you to find Picard. He'll know-"

"Picard is dead," said Riker, trying to keep himself from shouting the words.

Q laughed. "Ludicrous! What will you tell me next, Riker?"

Will grabbed a handful of Q's robe and yanked him closer. "Spare us the innocent routine, Q! You know more than you are telling us about Jean-Luc's disappearance, but now it doesn't matter. Because he's dead. Now I don't expect you to feel the guilt that you should feel, but I do expect you to help us."

To his and Troi's surprise, Q collapsed onto a nearby couch and began to wail unintelligibly.

Instinctively, Troi moved to sit down beside him. She put a hand on his shaking back. When Q removed his hands from his eyes, his face was plastered with tears. Deanna looked up at Will, who was glaring down at them impatiently. She knew he was still reeling from the news of Jean-Luc's death and as a result was struggling internally. This struggle manifested itself in much more controlled expressions, followed by fits of rage, which was not normal for Will. But it wasn't every day that one learned his best friend had died.

She smiled at him with genuine kindness. "Captain, could you please excuse us for a few minutes?"

Riker opened his mouth in muted surprise, then rolled his eyes to the ceiling. "Fine," he said, wandering out of Q's living room.

"Q...how do you feel right now?"

Q looked at the woman beside him, apparently frozen with shock. "No one has ever asked me that before."

She smiled. "I understand. But I am asking you now...how do you feel?"

He gripped his chest and somehow could not stop his face from contorting, as the tears continued to pour from his eyes. "Everything hurts, and my eyes won't stop dripping this bizarre fluid! Look at me, am I bleeding?" he questioned with sudden horror.

Deanna tightened her lips to keep from laughing. Despite his sincerity, and her sensitive role as ship's counselor seeing Q cry for the first time was in a way, hilarious. She straightened her expression and looked at him directly. "Q...you are not bleeding, those are tears. Crying is perfectly normal after experiencing trauma."

He sniffled and looked up at her. "Such as?"

She leaned in and took his hand gently. "Do you even know why you're upset?"

"I-I heard Riker say that Picard was dead, and then my mind sort of went grey...and I felt this incessant pain in my chest-"

"Q...I think it is safe to say that you are experiencing sadness for the first time."

He glared at her with red-rimmed eyes. "Being human is impossible. How do you manage day-to-day?"

"That is a very good question," she admitted. "I am only half-human, but I can fully relate to having experienced sadness in my life."

"And? What is the cure for sadness?"

"There is no cure, really-Q this is a conversation perhaps for another day. I would be happy to engage one on one with you in a counseling session. But right now, Captain Riker needs your help."

Q sighed and looked thoroughly depressed. "If Picard is dead, what is the point of anything anymore?"

Riker walked back into the room with the chip and a tricorder. He switched on the tricorder which projected a multi-dimensional image and faced Q with a dangerous expression. "You think I wouldn't like to hide in my room and mourn Captain Picard? As much as I loved my friend, life goes on. And if we want to save life as we know it, we need your help, Q." He tossed up his hands. "But, if you can't be bothered to help us, then you can get the hell off of my ship."