ROLLERCOASTER

-x-

Two

-x-

Perhaps destiny was never as it seemed, Tasha mused in retrospect - not for anybody. Data had appeared to be lost to them for good – the living, lovely soul lost in the mists of time and the body of the artificial man reduced to a skull; a dead lump of machinery. But then came hope. There was a chance that they too could phase out of synch with their known universe, see what he had seen, and possibly even follow where he had gone. Worf had mentioned that there was always the chance that they too had been in Earth's past along with Data, and died alongside him, only for their bodies to rot to nothing over time. Tasha was in no doubt that the Klingon's words could have been misconstrued as a grim, pessimistic warning, but she actually found great comfort in the suggestion, and assumed that this had been her friend's intent. She had, of course, cheerfully volunteered herself for the mission, but had been surprised at quite how many of Data's friends wished to join the away team as well. Jean Luc Picard had been the biggest surprise, she'd had to admit. The only conspicuously absent senior crewmember ended up being Worf. He had begrudgingly returned to the ship on the orders of his Captain, who had made the snap decision to remove him from the away team with all the calm confidence of somebody who had recently been explicitly told that wherever it was they were going, it would not be wise to take a Klingon along for the ride.

And what a ride.

The doorway to the unknown past had opened up, and they had stepped through…

-x-

…and found themselves flat out on the ground.

Tasha picked herself up. The others too were righting themselves. They seem to have ended up in an alley somewhere, and their arrival had thankfully passed unwitnessed. Without exchanging a word, she and Riker crept forwards to the end of the alley and peered out. Beyond was a bustling cobbled street, filled with men riding horse drawn coaches and women strolling in long, impractical dresses. The pair slunk back into the alley.

'It's the 19th Century all right,' Riker declared.

Picard nodded and looked down at his uniform. 'We aren't exactly going to blend in, are we?'

'And it's doubtful we'll get food, drink and a roof over our heads without any legal tender to exchange,' added Crusher, 'let alone more suitable clothes.'

'So the first thing we need is money,' Tasha confirmed. She set her shoulders. 'OK. You guys stay here. I'll be back in a couple of minutes.'

Picard stopped her before she could step towards the alley's opening. 'Where are you going?'

'Sir,' she sighed, 'we're lost, penniless and homeless in a world that isn't gonna give us something for nothing. It's kinda my area of expertise. Just give me five minutes, and I'll get us the funds we need to at least disguise ourselves.'

'And where are you going to get these funds from, Commander?'

'Only from people who can obviously afford to lose a little loose change,' she assured him.

Picard set his face, sternly. 'We are not about to descend to the level of pickpockets, Commander Yar.'

'Sir, in this sort of situation, sometimes lightening the pockets of the rich is the best possible option.' She paused. 'If we have no material goods to exchange… what are our choices? Have Deanna, Beverly, Will and me walk the streets?'

'Me?' Riker asked, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Tasha shrugged, glad of something to lighten the tone a little. 'Tall, handsome young man… find the right part of the dockyard for you to work, you'd bring in more money than the rest of us.'

Riker nodded to himself with a proud smile. 'Huh.'

Deanna Troi gave him a sideways glance. 'It troubles me that you actually take that as a compliment.'

'And then there's always begging,' Tasha continued, 'we could send Geordi out without his Visor, with a cap in his hand singing "Nobody Knows The Trouble I Seen".'

Geordi gazed at her, deadpan. 'I'd sooner work the docks.'

'And then, there's pick pocketing,' Tasha concluded. 'It's quick, it's convenient, it's just to get us started…'

'It's immoral,' concluded the Captain. 'Now, I'm sure that our Comms badges and pips will be worth something here, certainly enough to commence with – besides that, we shall just have to rely on our powers of persuasion. I have no doubt that we may have to twist a few truths, but it's unnecessary to take anything from anybody without their expressed consent…'

'As commendable as that is in theory,' she argued, 'from my experiences in practice…'

'Commander,' retorted Picard, 'this is not Turkana City.'

'And it's not a Holodeck simulation, either,' she exploded. 'We can't just mosey around hoping that something's gonna pop up to make everything OK again. We're lost, he's lost, and if we don't find him quickly, he's going to be killed…' she stopped herself abruptly as the gravity of who she was venting at sunk in. There was a second of heavy silence as the group stared at her.

Instead of creasing into fury as she'd imagined, however, the Captain's expression had actually softened.

'We are all very anxious to locate Mr Data, Commander,' Picard replied, 'hence our presence here. And I believe that this should be achieved much faster if we all work with one another, rather than at odds. Don't you agree?'

Tasha cast her eyes down. 'Sir…'

'I have to know that you trust me, Tasha.'

She looked back up at the Captain. 'Always.'

Picard's face split into a grin. 'Good. Because I just saw a group of Nuns walking past the alley.' He turned to address the group in general. 'Anybody here a Catholic?'

He was met with a chorus of 'no's.

'Well, congratulations,' added Picard. 'You are now.'

-x-

The Sisters of St Winifred's had been monumentally helpful, Tasha reminded herself as she tripped and stumbled and heaved up the stairs. If it hadn't been for them and their charity, they would all still be wandering the streets of the city, unfed, inappropriately dressed and without lodgings as dusk drew in. They largely had Dr Crusher's whimsical imagination to thank for their improvised back-story – for none of their group was of ill repute, you see, despite their dress and the fact that they were of mixed race and gender, and all unmarried. No - they were, apparently, travelling actors, thrown out of their very dressing rooms in nothing but their undergarments (the shame of it) by a devious, Anti-Papist theatre manager on discovery of their shared faith. Beverly had actually managed to burst into real tears on cue. Tasha made a mental note that she really would have to make the effort to attend one of the Doctor's amateur dramatics productions in the future. After that tall tale, the Sisters had been so thoroughly helpful that Tasha would never have so much as considered complaining. They had all been fitted in suitable donated attire, been given a hot, simple meal, and cheap lodgings had been found for them with a landlady who was happy for them to pay their rent in arrears. It was only now that she was assisting a Visorless Geordi in climbing the four flights of narrow stairs to their room in the half-light of evening that she realised how much she really, completely, utterly despised her dress. It was heavy – much too heavy and hot for such hazy, South Californian summer weather. The corset restricted her movement, even her breathing, and the many layers of petticoats trailed on the ground, causing her to trip if she attempted anything faster than a gentle amble. It had obviously been in storage for some time prior to her being dressed in it – it was dusty, faded, moth-eaten in parts and smelled very strange indeed. And to cap it all, it was pink. So far, the 19th Century wasn't exactly shaping up to be a whole lot of fun.

The Irish American landlady stopped at the top landing and fumbled with a set of keys.

'Only got the one room,' she barked. 'Normally I wouldn't let it to unmarried men and unescorted women together, but the Sisters have vouched for yer, so I'll make an exception on your part.' She located the necessary key and unlocked the door. 'First hint I get of Funny Business, mind, and you'll be out on your ears. I've got a reputation to keep.'

'You have our eternal gratitude, Mrs Carmichael,' Picard assured her as the group filed into the room.

Mrs Carmichael grunted. 'Rent's due Wednesday.' She nodded at Geordi as Tasha guided him through. 'This yer Boy? Suppose a blind one's all your type can afford.'

'Actually,' Picard replied, 'he's our Puck'.

Mrs Carmichael stared at him, blankly.

'He's an actor,' Crusher clarified, 'same as the rest of us.'

Mrs Carmichael's face creased in distaste. 'Not a servant?'

'No,' Geordi replied, finding a chair.

The landlady grunted again. 'I'll be supposing you're connected to that other one, then.'

'What "other one"?'

'The other well-to-do Negro,' replied Mrs Carmichael, bitterly. 'In the paper.'

'Well,' Geordi shrugged, 'we do come in pairs.'

Mrs Carmichael turned to leave, with a tut and a shake of her head. 'Shameful, if you ask me,' she clucked, 'lording it around like the big I Am…'

Geordi waited until the landlady had slammed the door behind him before sighing deeply and reaching for his Visor.

'Well,' Riker beamed, 'Geordi's made a friend already.'

'Oh yeah, she's a sweetheart all right…' Geordi fitted his Visor over his eyes and surveyed their new lodgings. 'Oh. Isn't this… cosy.'

'Cosy' wasn't the term that Tasha would have used. Words like 'cramped' and 'claustrophobic' came sooner to mind. A couple or a small family might have just about been comfortable in the room, provided they didn't stay in it for long stretches at a time. She wasn't entirely sure how six adults were going to get by sleeping in there in such hot, sticky weather. She was suddenly extremely glad that Worf hadn't come along after all. As fond as she was of the Klingon, he certainly took up a lot of room for just one person.

'I think it's quaint,' Troi replied, perching herself happily on a stool as though she'd been wearing whalebone corsets and five floor-length petticoats all her life. 'We'll just have to improvise when it comes to sleeping arrangements.'

'Certainly,' added Picard, making a mental stock-take of the supplies at hand. 'I'm sure that the bed is large enough for more than just the one of us; there's a day-bed and enough cushioning on the chairs for a couple of makeshift camp beds on the floor… ah-ha!' He located a small wood stove in a cranny of the tiny apartment. 'That's more like it.' He rummaged in a nearby cupboard until he found a large copper kettle. 'I'll put the kettle on.'

'You'll have to go all the way downstairs to get the water, Sir,' Riker warned as he lit the stove.

'Will, I haven't had a cup of tea all day,' replied Picard, lugging the kettle towards the door. 'You don't want to know the lengths I'm willing to go to for one right now.'

'Well,' added Crusher as Picard left, 'I guess that's enough settling in for me. I'd better go to work.'

The others exchanged glances. 'Work?'

'Once I told those Nuns I had a background in medicine, they started telling me all about this terrible Cholera epidemic in the city at the moment.'

'Cholera?'

Crusher nodded. 'I don't know what it was, but something about it seemed fishy to me. The Captain had similar suspicions.'

'You think it might be the Devidians?' asked Tasha.

'Could be,' shrugged Crusher. 'Even if it turns out to be a red herring, well at least I can help people. After everything the Sisters did for us, it was the least I could do to volunteer my services at the Infirmary they run. They'll be paying me a small wage, too… not much, but at least enough to feed the six of us for a while.'

'I thought doctors earned good wages back in the old days,' hazarded Geordi.

'Most of them,' smiled Beverly, 'yes. But I can only get work as a nurse. Apparently in the 19th Century it was impossible to use a stethoscope if one wasn't in possession of a penis.'

The door reopened just as Beverly uttered the word 'penis' and a rather weary and bemused Jean Luc Picard staggered through, laden with a full kettle.

'What are you talking about?'

'Inequalities in the workplace,' explained the Doctor, heading towards the door. 'I'd stay for tea, Jean Luc, but I'm afraid I have to go and spend the best part of the night mopping up the blood, urine, vomit and diarrhoea of unwashed, infectious strangers.' She shot them a bright smile. 'Weren't the Olden Days just wonderful? Night!'

'You know,' recalled Tasha once Dr Crusher had left, 'I noticed the police station was having a recruitment drive as well.'

'It'd be pretty handy for finding Data and the Devidians if one of us was able to work as a Cop,' Geordi added.

Tasha nodded and got to her feet. 'No time like the present. I'll go and talk with them now.'

'Um.' Deanna exchanged glances with Riker. 'I'm afraid that Policeman is probably going to be another of those "no penis, no entry" jobs.'

Tasha deflated. 'You're kidding.'

'Sorry,' Deanna consoled.

'Hey,' announced Riker, cheerfully. 'I have a penis! I can enrol instead. I might not be as good a cop as you'd be, Tasha, but it really would be handy for one of us to have Police access.'

Tasha sighed, despondently. 'You're fit, you're strong, you're smart… they'd take you on like a shot.'

'First he hypothetically out-earns us down the docks,' added Deanna with a mocking smile, 'now this.'

'Yeah,' piped Tasha, still a little irked, 'what is this; Hooray For Will's Penis Day?'

'Ladies, please.' Riker grinned. 'Every day is Hooray For Will's Penis Day.'

'Could everybody stop repeatedly saying the word "penis", please?' added Picard from the stove. 'Some of us are trying to make a nice cup of tea.'

-x-

So the good Doctor had been right about the Cholera epidemic after all. They could, however, have handled that situation a bit better, Tasha resolved as she attempted to sprint from the Infirmary and the pursuing policemen within. She tugged and struggled with her dress as they bustled out of the door. Physically fit though she was, the corset had caused her to become short of breath already, and the skirts were constantly making her trip. It would be impossible to outrun the Police, simply impossible…

And then, racing around a corner with a horse drawn cab, as though springing to their aid from out of nowhere… it was him. Still very much alive, still in one piece, his face set in concentration as he struggled a little with the horses' reins. It was Data.

Her heart leaped. She could honestly say that she had never been so pleased to see him before in all of her life. It was she who called his name first. He turned his head and met eyes with her. If he was indeed surprised to see her, he made no show of it, but pulled up the cab so that they could hop inside.

'Are we ever glad to see you,' greeted Riker as he pulled himself into the cab.

Tasha made the decision to ride shotgun, and lifted herself next to Data on the driver's seat. 'How come the Sergeant didn't recognise you?' she called to Riker over her back as the others loaded in.

'Oh,' Riker called to her, 'they didn't like me when I tried to enrol. Said I was too cocky. Can you believe that?'

'Yes,' replied several of the cab's passengers in unison.'

'So,' Riker continued as Data slapped the reins for the horses to canter off, 'before I left the station I must have taken a wrong turn and found myself in the supply room. I may or may not have borrowed a uniform… my memory's a little hazy there. Anyway. How're you doing, Data?'

'I am faring adequately,' replied the android, 'although at present I am having some difficulty with equine control…'

'Here.' Tasha took the reins. 'You're going too heavy with your left hand again, why do you always do that?'

Data looked down at his hands. 'I was not aware that I did.'

'Well anyway,' Tasha chided him, gently, 'horses aren't warp engines. They need a different kind of coaxing to get them to do what you need them to do.' She shot him a sideways glance and grinned. 'Hi.'

'Hi,' aped he.

'I missed you.'

'I also felt your absence keenly.' He paused. 'Why are you here?'

'To rescue you.'

Data frowned. ' It would appear that it was I who rescued you, on this particular occasion.' He paused again, casting an eye over her clothes. 'You are wearing a dress.'

'Yes, Data.'

'It is… pink.'

'Yes, Data. I know.' She dared another glance in his direction and smiled. 'Nice britches, by the way.'

Data looked briefly down at his own trousers, and then nodded at her, politely. 'Thank you.'

-x-

She and Data took up the rear as the reunited Septet climbed the narrow stairs of Mrs Carmichael's boarding house.

'I was hoping to encounter the Devidians at the Infirmary,' Data explained.

'I'm afraid we beat you to it,' Tasha admitted, 'and scared them off. There goes our lead, right?'

'Not necessarily,' Data added. 'I have hypothesised that the focus of the Devidian's temporal manipulations may well be centred at the cavern in which my remains were found. I have been attempting to gain access to the mining works which can be used as an entrance to the location for some time now, and believe that I may be close to success in that matter…'

Tasha grabbed his arm. 'But you're not going down there, right?'

'Of course. The Devidians are taking innocent lives and possibly damaging causality itself by affecting the past. They must be stopped.'

'Then,' Tasha reasoned, 'let us stop them, without your help.'

'It may well be unsafe for you.'

'Well, we know damn well that it's unsafe for you. You can't just calmly go down there to the place you're doomed to die…'

'"Doom" is merely another term for "destiny",' Data replied, 'which is something that one cannot avoid.'

'Yes you can,' Tasha argued. 'Of course you can. Destiny's not a constant, Data. It isn't written in stone…'

'There is a severed head on the Enterprise which suggests otherwise.'

'Look.' Tasha stopped climbing for a moment and squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down the pride that was trying to stop her saying what she felt she had to say next. 'I don't know what I'd do if you died, OK? I… need you.'

She opened her eyes again. Data was staring back at her with that same frustrating, faintly sad blankness as ever.

'I believe that to be an untruth, Tasha. I consider you to be a particularly resilient individual. You do not "need" me. You do not "need" anybody.'