Chapter 27
2367 Eight months ago…
It was 3 a.m. Wesley hadn't been able to sleep, so he'd gone to Ten Forward. His mother had come home to fall into bed in her room less than an hour before. They had both been awake and yet had been too tired to talk. He now regretted not having tried; the chances to connect with her were so few and far between. It seemed like it had been days since they had truly had a chance to talk to each other. In fact it had been days.
In the less than two weeks since Captain Picard had been recaptured from the Borg, Wesley's mother had almost never left her post. Of course she had been in sick bay, with her surgical staff spending seemingly endless hours in surgery painstakingly removing implants from the Captain's body. The process was clearly wearing on her-and it would have been this way even if she had not cared so much about her patient.
Thanks to a brief few moments of venting from his mother this evening, Wesley had learned that earlier in the day the Captain had actually gotten into an argument with a nurse who was merely trying to prepare him for surgery to remove the final implants from his right leg. Eventually, according to his mother, Captain Picard had acquiesced to allowing the nurse to finish prepping him for the surgery, but not after continuing his grumbling.
However, according to his mom, shortly after the procedure was over and while still in recovery, the Captain refused to be physically handled by anyone, openly citing his displeasure at the amount of time each of these procedures were taking. He then announced so that everyone could hear, that all of his necessary parts were now functioning normally; at least well enough to resume bridge duty. Such an outburst was definitely out of character for Picard, which indicated to Wesley how anxious the Captain must be to return to work and also perhaps owing to some very strong anesthesia which had not yet worn off.
"He always has to be in control, and he never abandons hope that I will turn around and he will be able to sneak out of sick bay. He is by far the worst patient I have ever had," his mother had declared before venturing into the bathroom to take a shower. Wesley knew that over the years his mother had anointed more than a few people with the title of "Worst Patient Ever", and he also knew that if she was that annoyed with the Captain it was very likely he really was getting well enough to return to duty. But Wesley was wise enough not to say such a thing.
For his part, Wesley hadn't seen the Captain for days. He simply refused to be seen by anyone other than counselor Troi and the staff in sick bay. Commander Riker had been tight-lipped and protective about the whole thing, calling one single staff meeting in which he confirmed that the Captain's physical and mental recovery would "take time".
Wesley knew it was not fair of him, but he continued to believe that the Captain was as impervious to harm as he had always been. It was an easy view to hold, because he hadn't seen the Captain enough to think differently. But Wesley, like everyone else now knew exactly what had happened to the Captain on the Borg ship. Soon he would return to full duty on the bridge, and things would return to the way they had been before the Borg's barely thwarted invasion. At least, that is what Wesley hoped would happen.
Wesley stopped short just inside Ten Forward. The three dimensional chess set was sitting on one of the tables closest to the view port. All of the pieces were in place. He knew Guinan had left the game for him in an unspoken pact they shared. She knew that when Wesley had insomnia playing chess was sometimes what helped his mind work itself through whatever the distraction was until he was ready to drift off to sleep. Guinan wasn't around, but his eyes locked on a familiar figure standing next to the table, staring fixedly out of the viewport at the stars.
Although his hands were draped behind his back almost casually, the man did not move, and his shoulders and posture remained overly stiff, almost as though he were practicing standing as straight as possible. But then, to Wesley it seemed highly unlikely that Captain Picard had ever had to practice being the way he was. Even wearing his hospital pajamas he looked imposing.
Wesley took a step in, and Picard's head tilted slightly, but did not turn to look at the teenager. For a terrifying moment he imagined that if the captain did turn to face him, the red laser of his visual implant would immediately target him. But the horrible implant had been removed, Wesley reminded himself. He had no reason to fear the Captain.
Finally the Captain did turn to look at Wesley. His piercing stare was made just slightly more disconcerting by the oddly shaped dermal repair on one side of his forehead, covering a former implant. Wesley shuddered inwardly, hoping his expression did not show the way he was feeling.
He lifted his chin to regard Wesley coolly as though he were not at all happy to be disturbed from his reverie. "Aren't you scheduled for bridge duty at 0730, Mr. Crusher?"
Wesley stood a little bit straighter. "Yes sir…tomorrow, sir."
"It already is tomorrow, Mr. Crusher," Picard snapped, walking away from the window now. "It is three in the morning." He raised his index finger and pointed it up at the ceiling. Bit Wesley knew better than to look up, as the Captain was just about to make a point. "Attention to duty requires sleep, Mr. Crusher," the Captain said.
Wesley shrugged. "But you're awake sir," he said and then regretted it.
Picard placed a hand on the back of a chair, and shifted his stance. Had he been limping? Perhaps only a little bit. "And I had assumed you were aware that I am not scheduled for duty, yet…and so my sleeping habits or lack thereof are none of your concern young man."
"Er…yes, sir."
Picard made a face and sat down in a chair at the table with the chess set. "Damn leg," he grumbled, looking down at his right leg which had just begun to twitch oddly. He placed his hand on his thigh, and gradually the twitching ceased. "Damn leg," he said again, looking up at Wesley. "Damn circuitry feels like it's still there," he whispered to himself, and then as if he had just remembered the gawking Wesley was right there, he continued in a louder voice.
"And if your mother has her way, I am beginning to doubt that she will ever clear me for duty. And believe me, it's not because she enjoys my company. I swear she told me yesterday that today would be the last blasted surgery I would have to undergo, and then she said-"
"Maybe she does, sir," Wesley interrupted abruptly. Then to compound his error he shrugged again, as if the point he had interrupted in order to make didn't even matter. Damn, he had to stop doing that.
Picard had rested his chin on the knuckles of his right hand and was gazing at the chess platform. "Hmm? Maybe she does what?" he asked distractedly turning his attention back to the boy.
"Maybe she likes your company sir."
Looking suddenly caught off guard, Picard straightened his hospital pajama top, and leaned back in his chair. He tapped his fingers on his chest and murmured something to himself, but didn't respond right away. Then breaking out of his brief daze he gestured for Wesley to sit down across from him. Picard looked pointedly at the teenager when he hesitated. "Well? Isn't this why you've come here in the early hours of the morning? Do you want to play or not?"
Wesley's mouth hung down loosely. "Uh…sort of. I mean I was going to play against myself…."
To Wesley's surprise, Picard let out a short laugh. "Oh, what nonsense. What kind of challenge is that, for a young person of your intellect, Mr. Crusher? Honestly…."
Wesley nodded sheepishly and sat down across from the Captain, pulling in his chair.
Picard gestured. "Please…take the first move, Mr. Crusher."
Wesley rubbed his sweaty palms on his pajama pants. He was deathly afraid of being judged. Commander Riker had taught him a great deal about taking risks with his gameplay, but Wesley was still very conservative when it came to using his pawns. So he decided to go big.
Picard's brow creased at Wesley's first move, but he said nothing, instead studying the board. He moved one of his pieces, and then sat back, clearing his throat. "What makes you think that she enjoys my company?" he asked quickly, looking down at his king and queen.
Then he smiled wanly up at Wesley as though gathering some courage. "Most of my conversations with her lately have been while under heavy sedation. And she always has this…this frown as I am coming out of it. I must confess there were a few times I would have liked to just go back under."
Wesley nodded with understanding. "That's her angry concerned look, sir," he said slowly. "I've seen that one too…a lot. My strategy is just to avert my eyes…like this," he said, flicking his eyes to the right. He smiled and then realized that the Captain was still looking at him with an expectant expression.
"Oh…right. Well, she talks about you all the time sir. And sometimes she gets this really weird look on her face, like she's about to laugh but-" He cleared his throat, ready to spill anything that would be the least bit helpful, but Captain Picard suddenly raised his hand.
"That's quite alright, Mr. Crusher," he said looking more mortified than Wesley could have previously imagined. "I didn't mean to pry into your personal conversations with your mother."
"Oh, she doesn't have to know sir—"
"Please, Wesley, let's just carry on with the game, shall we?"
Wesley nodded, tucking his hands between his knees as he scanned the board for his next move. Determined not to let the Captain down, he pulled out a move that he had perfected, while playing Commander Riker. But to Wesley's growing frustration, the Captain remained emotionless as Wesley pulled out three more daring moves on his next three turns.
Unnerved by the silence, Wesley cleared his throat. "Did your dad-I mean your father play chess with you?" He silently cursed himself. Why did he always think of his Dad at moments like this? Why couldn't he just go one meeting with the Captain without raising the subject?
Picard shifted uncomfortably and then cracked his knuckles. "No. My father did not play games. It wasn't in his nature."
"But it's in yours," said Wes.
"I suppose," Picard said simply, then watched Wesley, waiting for him to make a move.
Wesley studied the board and almost yelled out with glee, as he reached his hand out to take the piece, seeing the opening he had been waiting for. He had really been saving up for this one spectacular move….
Picard pursed his lips and sat back in his chair folding his arms over his chest eyeing Wesley as though he'd had enough. "What are you doing?"
Wesley's eyes widened but he said nothing.
Picard leaned forward. "These are Mr. Riker's moves, Wesley, not your own."
"He said I could use them, sir—"
Picard shook his head. "Of course he did, and that is fine. But Wesley, to be a good tactician you must learn to use your own natural skills to your advantage. When you go against your natural tendencies you will fail time and again."
Wesley stared at him. "Really? Sometimes I think if I used my own natural tendencies I might never actually make a move."
Picard chuckled. "You must use that initial hesitancy and find the wisdom in it. Once you have gained more confidence, you will be able to use the innate cautiousness you have within you to dominate other players—even when you are under attack, commanding your own bridge—if you ever decide to command your own ship that is."
Wesley clearly did not believe him. "Really?"
"Mm—hmm. Check." Picard broke into a slow smile, perhaps the first one he had truly experienced in weeks.
Shit. While the Captain had been talking, he had also been scoping out Wesley's weak spots. Hurriedly he protected his king from the oncoming advance. He glanced up at the Captain, whose smile had faded. To Wesley's shock Picard reached out and touched Wesley with his index finger right above the boy's heart. "Do you feel that? That flutter in your chest as you struggle to come up with the right decision?" he asked.
Wesley nodded slowly. "That is your true self, Wesley," he said slowly dropping his hand back down to the table. "And that is the key. You must always trust yourself. As long as you always do that, you will never fail."
It was one of those dreams that felt like a recurring dream but he knew it was actually a memory. The Captain's words drifted back to him: …that is the key. You must always trust yourself…that is the key.
Wesley sat up in his bed with a start. He had to find the key…the answer to the puzzle.
"What do you want, Johanna?" Patrick asked, keeping his voice as distant as possible. "I've got work to do," he reminded her, as he stood outside of the cell block.
Doctor Mayer had composed herself since the last time he had seen her—in sick bay before she had shot a disruptor into a crowd of officers, and then been stunned herself. He clenched his hands behind his back, wishing he could have turned back the hands of time on that whole scene.
Johanna Mayer smoothed her long golden hair away from her face and walked toward the security force field. "Patrick, I never meant for this to happen. I didn't want to hurt Captain Riker…and certainly not you, Patrick."
"So now it's Patrick, is it?" he asked suspiciously through the energy field. "Now that you've shot me we're on a first name basis again."
Doctor Mayer looked down at her hands. "Patrick, I don't think I'm in the wrong timeline anymore. I mean…maybe I am, but I still think I might survive in the one Riker is trying to preserve."
"Oh?" he almost couldn't believe his ears. She'd gone off the deep end and then back again, just like that. A genius scientist who had suddenly cracked up. Why did he always fall for complicated women? "Johanna, you shot a phased weapon into a sickbay full of people…at the Captain, for—"he exhaled loudly in frustration. "You rigged CASU to explode, goddammit! And this is all you have to say for yourself?"
She had a faraway look on her face. "I told you that in my timeline, my father never returned to Earth, because the Stargazer had disappeared—we now know because the Malkatans captured it."
"Right," said Obi, still trying to follow her. "And in the timeline that Captain Riker said is the correct one, the Stargazer was lost in battle, but most of the crew survived." He studied her face. "Your father died on the Stargazer didn't he?"
She nodded. "In the correct timeline, yes." She paced to the back of her cell and then turned to face Obi again. "I had Lt. Commander Data access his own files which are more accurate than anything else we have right now…he looked up the crew manifest and he confirmed that my father, one of the engineers on the Stargazer died in the fire that broke out in engineering during the Battle of Maxia."
Despite everything, Obi was sympathetic. "I'm very sorry to hear that, Doctor."
Johanna sat down on her bunk. "According to Mr. Data, there were no official reports of my father having abused me or making threats to my life in the correct timeline." She paused. "Patrick, after you left my quarters the other day, I looked through some of my own personal files just prior to the Stargazer's disappearance from the altered timeline, and it helped me to remember. I did file an official report against my father after he left for his final deep space mission. I was terrified that he would return and destroy my work…perhaps even kill me. I reported his crimes and I was assured by Starfleet Security that they would be thoroughly investigated. According to the crew manifest just before the Stargazer was trapped, my father was no longer on board."
Obi sat down on a chair outside of her cell. "What?"
She nodded. "The bastard simply disappeared. If anyone deserved to be tortured by the Malkatans…and yet he disappeared before Picard's crew was captured. Why?" She looked up at him again.
