Chapter 33

"I have a confession to make," Pritchard announced that evening. They had found a stream to wash the stench of death from their bodies and now that they had finally made camp, exhaustion had set in for both of them. In a rare display of self-control, Pritchard had not touched his whiskey bottle. She thought it strange that of all nights, after the day they had spent burying bodies, he would have wanted a drink.

Guinan regarded him over her bowl of watery stew. "Oh really...what's that?"

"I think it was Bill Loomey and his gang that killed those Sioux and burnt down their camp."

"But I thought Loomey was still somewhere behind us."

He laughed. "I've done my best to steer us clear of him, to stay ahead of him-but this is just somethin he would do…has his nasty style written all over the scene."

"You mean the way he killed them?"

"Yep…single bullet to the head at close range. Every man woman and child. I've seen it before. He wanted me to see it too."

"What are you saying? That he killed those people just to make a point?"

Pritchard nodded. "Loomey is a dirty dog, Guinan. He's sending a message to me…'John Pritchard your time is a comin'.' " He raised his index finger to his head and made a made a clicking sound.

Guinan shook her head in disbelief. He sounded slightly paranoid, but he also sounded convinced. "Life seems to mean very little around here," she said.

He smiled. "Depends on who you are."

"Is that what you really believe?"

"Don't matter what I believe. There are some who will always have the power to determine who's important and who's not. That's just the way it is. If you were really from here you'd understand."

Guinan put down her empty bowl. "I'm glad I'm not from here, after seeing all of this death and destruction," she muttered.

"I suppose it's better where you are from huh? Why'd you leave then?"

She glared at him silently.

"Still don't want to tell me, huh?" He got up and dusted off his pants, walking over to Ulysses. He gave the horse a gentle pat, and then reached inside a bag, pulling out a small flat item.

He sat back down. "One thing I can never get enough of—besides drink—"

"And prostitutes," she reminded him dryly.

He gave her a look. "…books," he said with a sly smile. He opened the book, but she could not read the writing on the front. "My wife never told me where she was from, but when she was in the right mood sometimes, she did let me know when she was from." He smiled craftily at her. "This book is one she gave me a long time ago. It's called The Time Machine."

When her expression remained blank, he continued. "Want to know when this was published?"

She shrugged. "When?"

He suddenly tossed the book in her direction, and she caught it by the front cover. "1895," Pritchard shouted. "Fourteen years from now! So there," he said, lying back against a log and looking very satisfied with himself. "You're from the future."

Guinan laughed and settled down on her bed roll. "Because your wife gave you a book that hasn't been published yet you think I'm from the future? That is assuming your wife and I have some kind of connection."

He stared at her. "Don't you?" The sadness she had seen at times during their journey reappeared in his gaze.

"I'm sorry Pritchard…but I don't know your wife. Is that what you have been hoping all along?"

He didn't answer right away, but put his hands behind his head and stared up at the stars. "You speak the same language as my wife…and just like her nothing seems to bother you too much."

"What if we were connected? What does that matter? She's gone…you said so yourself."

He sat up and pulled off his hat angrily, throwing it into the dust. He got up stretching briefly before finding one of his stolen whiskey bottles. Returning to the fire's edge he crouched down and took a long pull from the bottle. "I lied to you," he said darkly.

"Oh? About what?"

"I'm not a Shawnee Indian," he said. "My father was as white as can be. But you never doubted my story did you?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Let's say I wasn't from here…if I wasn't from here, and from the future, as you put it, maybe things like that don't matter anymore. Maybe where I come from we don't even have a word for such things," said Guinan.

"Well good!" He laughed and leaned back against the log with his bottle. "That's real good," he repeated softly. "I was worried the future was gonna be real awful…like in The Time Machine."

She smiled. "I wish I could say it was perfect. But it's not. Why did you lie about your father?"

"Well it wasn't all a lie. My daddy was murdered when I was young, but only because he was a drunk who ran after someone's wife. Anyway…I think I thought you might trust me more. That you might relate better to me. But getting to know you, I sometimes doubt you could relate to anyone on this planet."

"You might be right about that," agreed Guinan. "So why don't you tell me something true, Pritchard? About yourself. Why did you look at that child the way you did this afternoon?"

To her surprise he didn't get angry this time. "That child reminded me of my boy. He died of cholera when he was just five." He took a deep breath and rested the bottle against his chest. "That was why she left me. She blamed herself. She could never get over that she couldn't save his life. She told me that my love had taken all of her power away. She left because she realized she could live without me, but not without her damned powers."

When Data entered the bridge, there were a number of unexpected problems. The first was that the structure of the bridge was nearly unrecognizable. As with some of the corridors and sick bay, the walls and ceiling had turned to stone. Thick green vines climbed the walls and ceiling and amazingly a sun not native to Kronos shone in from the skylight at the top of the bridge.

The second concern was that two crewmembers armed with phasers flanked him as soon as he stepped off of the lift. They said nothing but followed him with weapons trained at his head as he walked slowly onto the bridge. Most of the bridge had been replaced by stone supports. From where the Captain's ready room had so recently existed, a fountain of water poured into a dark pool.

At the center of the bridge rose a giant stone throne. The view screen was nowhere to be seen. But as Data looked on, a black portal opened in the stone wall where the screen used to be.

A crewman pushed a phaser up against Data's temple. "Kneel!" the angry man ordered him.

Before Data could refuse or comply, there was a rushing sound and a large being stepped through the portal, bringing with him a group of similarly tattooed and concerning looking soldiers, holding antiquated, but sharp weapons. The leader wielded a large curved sword that was covered in blood.

"Kneel or die," ordered Doulos, as he approached Data. Doulos turned and surveyed the Starfleet crew and extended his hand. Immediately the crew with the exception of Data fell to one knee reverently. "On my blade is the blood of your former king. He was unworthy and is now dead. I am Doulos, Overlord of this realm."

The old man studied her face silently and then looked back at Picard's still form. "I have killed countless Borg over the years. And each one deserved to die."

Guinan turned to look at Demetrius again. "Oh really? And where did that get you? What good did it do?"

"It does not matter anymore," said the Old King.

Maybe so. Guinan sighed and pulled the small purple globe of energy out of her pocket.

Demetrius' eyes widened. "What is that?"

Guinan smiled slightly. "It's our way home," she said. She held it in her hand, still unable to take her eyes off of Picard's face. Even in death with a battered face he appeared very noble. And the expression on his face was not horrified but indignant, as though he knew he had been cheated; and he had. She reached over and closed his eyes, just as tears again threatened to escape her own. She closed her eyes momentarily.

"Teacher, let's go," said Demetrius.

When Guinan opened her eyes she had an idea. She brought the small globe up to her face and stared into it. What had Orla said? Something about bringing Picard to her. Well she had been too late to bring Picard to Orla, and he had died before he could be saved…but perhaps it was not too late after all.

This tiny globe was Orla, in a way. So even if Picard could not be brought to Orla, maybe she had already brought Orla to Picard. She held the orb between two fingers and smiled with the possibility of something great. Growing serious again she examined Picard's body more closely. What had been the primary cause of his death? She studied his face, and it was swollen and bruised, but none of the wounds appeared serious enough to have caused his death. His hands were also bruised and bloodied and there were immense fingerprint marks on his neck where he had been strangled by someone quite large.

But this clearly was not the cause of death, because she could not ignore that he was lying in a very large pool of blood. She lifted the right side of his shirt and found his ribs were severely bruised. Standing up to get a better view she could see a wound on his left lower abdomen. Lifting his body slightly she could see that it exited at his back. He had been run through by a sword. She looked again at the glowing purple ball in her palm.

"What are you doing?" demanded Demetrius.

"I'm going to use this…on him," Guinan said, nodding toward the body.

"You—you said this was our way home. If you use it on him, will we still have the means to travel back to the world?"

Guinan shook her head and then shrugged fixing him with a somewhat cold expression. "I don't know…but without Picard, I don't want to go back anymore."

The old man nodded reluctantly and stood back as she crouched down next to Picard's body. She cleared away around the stab wound and then moved the orb over it. She wasn't quite sure what to do next, so she took a chance and placed the purple orb on top of the wound. She sat back on her heels and watched as it grew brighter, lighting the dim hallway.

Demetrius suddenly fell to his knees. "Or-Orla!"

Guinan nodded and then watched in silent fascination as the globe disappeared inside the wound. A bright trail of purple light was now moving gradually through his abdomen. After about a minute it had moved to his chest. She could see his spinal cord and heart glowing a bright purple hue. And then gradually his heart began to beat once, and then slowly but steadily. There was a weird popping sound, and the purple ball of energy emerged from Picard's chest and into the air. Guinan stuck her hand out quickly to grasp it, shouting with involuntary joy.

So Picard was alive, but there was a problem; the wound began to bleed again. Orla had saved his life, but only just. Guinan took off her coat and tied the sleeves tightly around Picard's abdomen. He was now breathing, shallowly, but he was breathing. Unable to stop and enjoy this victory, she pulled him to a sitting position. He had lost so much blood that he was still just beyond consciousness. Without a second thought, she pulled him over her shoulder and then stood up holding his body tightly with one arm. She held out her other hand palm up to Demetrius. The purple globe in the center of her palm promised to take them home. "Let's go," she said, and with a smile that made him seem quite young the Old King placed his hand in hers and they disappeared.