Chapter 8

They were the words he had been dreading she might say. And then she went and said them there in that cramped space with just a few more meters ahead of them.

"So…about last week," she said. Picard remained silent aside from his labored breathing. His lungs could barely expand and contract in this tiny passage and she was going to take the conversation there anyway.

At some point he had rehearsed what he would have liked to say in this circumstance. He chalked it up to the lack of oxygen, but for whatever the reason he was now drawing a blank.

"I just want you to know that if I said or did anything inappropriate, I'm sorry," she said. "And as far as I'm concerned it's over and done with and if it is alright with you I would just like to move on with a clean slate," she said quickly.

Picard raised an eyebrow, which of course went unseen by Doctor Crusher. Now he remembered what he was going to say, because it was similar enough to what she had just said. He cleared his throat. "There is no need to apologize, Doctor…of course we were suffering from the symptoms of a virus." He thought it had been the correct thing to say, but her silence confused him.

Presently she spoke again and there was a definite edge to her voice. "Captain, you make it sound as if we were gravely ill. Most of the crew were throwing parties in the corridors and having casual sex. Not exactly a life or death situation."

"Aside from the exploding star we nearly flew into, I suppose you are correct, Doctor. In any case, there is no need to dwell on what occurred. To be honest, I'm not sure I remember most of what I said…or did," he said. Again the silence was deafening. He had never felt so claustrophobic, despite the fact that the air had changed and he knew they were nearing the larger passage.

"That's funny, Captain, because of all the patients I cured of this virus, you are the only one who has reported experiencing a loss of memory."

"Doctor—" He pulled himself up a slope and his face was greeted by a wash of cold air. Not fresh by any means, but cold. He stood up slowly and stretched out his limbs briefly. But to his distress, Beverly was still focused like a laser on the dreaded topic. She was entering the same area now, and pulling herself up to stand next to him.

"You know, Captain, I am beginning to think that you do remember, and instead of taking responsibility for your actions- which from what I recall were really quite mild—you are pretending that nothing happened."

He turned away then, and paced away. He would later replay that move over and over in his mind.

As Beverly followed him she didn't see the motion out of the corner of her eye. But she felt the impact as someone or something hurtled out of nowhere and slammed into her side. She went sprawling to the floor, and landed in sand, rolling. It was a person—a man, and he was about to strike her.

Picard spun around at the sound of Beverly shouting and saw a dark shape leap upon her. Shouting he grabbed the attacker and spun him away from Beverly, throwing the man to the ground. And then he struck the man repeatedly, until he realized that the man wasn't fighting back. "Who are you?" he demanded, shining his light into the man's face with one hand and pinning him down with the other. "Tell me!" he shouted but when he raised his fist this time, Beverly grabbed his forearm.

"Stop it," she ordered him. "It's alright, Jean-Luc. He's not fighting back. Enough." Slowly he relaxed his arm. She grabbed him around his chest and pulled him backward and to his feet. Trying to get his breathing under control, he kept the light framed on the man's bloody face. His lips moved, but whatever he mumbled was alien to them.

"He's trying to say something," Beverly said quickly and switched on her tricorder's universal translator.

"Em Pani," the man whispered up at them. "Sem kolos."

"My God," Beverly gasped. "He says: 'I am chosen. Please kill me'."