ROLLERCOASTER
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Something Changed
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One
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'Captain…? Uh… I mean… Ambassador…? Uh…'
Picard recognised the voice, and vaguely understood that it was his attention the speaker was trying to attract, but sleep still held his mind in a state of confusion. He was warm, and comfortable on a soft seat, with the sensation of gently slowing movement all about him. This must, a relatively awake part of his mind told him, be what it was like to be a baby, sleeping in its perambulator. He had been somewhere else… the past, before retirement and this wretched sickness. And now where was he…? Why was he moving…? Who was that, gently patting his arm and muttering in his ear?
'Jean… Luc?' Added the voice, in the tone of one unused to calling Picard by his first name. 'We're here.'
Picard pulled himself slowly from his dozy state and opened his eyes.
Geordi LaForge gave him a small, apologetic smile. 'Sorry to have to wake you, but if we don't get off here we're gonna end up some place called Great Yarmouth.'
'Geordi,' Picard muttered. He still felt as though his head were packed with cotton wool. 'Where… where's "here"?'
'Cambridge, St Edmund's,' announced a voice over the Comms system. Picard sat up and noted that he was aboard a mid-distance Terrestrial Shuttle – the type he'd once used for short breaks in Scotland or Greece with Beverly, before it had all gone wrong.
'Cambridge, St Edmund's,' repeated the voice. 'Messers LaForge and Picard, please alight here. Next stop is Norwich.'
'Cambridge,' Picard muttered.
'Data,' prompted Geordi, gathering up their hand luggage.
Picard nodded. 'Of course.' He paused, a memory coming back to him. 'I take it we're still not to mention…'
'Probably best not to,' Geordi replied. 'I'm sure if he wants to discuss it, he will.'
'So, the situation hasn't changed at all?'
'Last I heard,' confirmed Geordi with a sigh.
The shuttle finally drew to a stop, and the two old men stepped off.
-x-
The College was a labyrinth of corridors and courtyards – the sort of organised chaos that Picard had come to expect of civilian academia. Neither of them could quite remember how to navigate their way to Data's office and after a while had to call up a visitor's map. Still, Picard couldn't find Data's office on the holographic map, until he realised that he was searching for the android Professor under the wrong name.
'They haven't changed his name,' he noted, under his breath.
'He hasn't changed it,' Geordi replied.
'A change of heart?' Picard hazarded. 'A renewal of hope?'
'I wouldn't know,' Geordi told him. 'Like I say, I never ask him about it.'
They turned to follow the map's directions up to the Professor's office, and almost collided with a tall, dark youth, clad in a muddy Rugby strip, sprinting in the opposite direction.
Picard blinked in recognition. 'Nikolai? Goodness, is that you?' He found himself having to tilt his head upwards a little to look the youth in the eye. The last time he'd seen Nikolai, the young man had been a good couple of inches shorter than him. 'Either I'm shrinking, or you've sprouted.'
The flustered young man held out a hasty hand for Picard to shake.
'Monsieur Picard,' he greeted. 'Always nice to see you. Hi, Uncle Geordi.'
'Why does he get "Uncle Geordi" and I get "Monsieur Picard"?' grumbled the former Ambassador, pumping Nikolai's hand.
'And aren't you going the wrong way?' Geordi added. 'Your home's the opposite direction.' He pointed to the helpful map. 'See?'
'Practice over-ran,' explained Nikolai, indicating to his strip.
'Still love the Rugby, eh?' grinned Picard. 'Well, I'm glad that your father finally saw some sense on the matter. It's good for a boy to have a sport…' he trailed off, noting Nikolai's expression. 'Let me guess,' he added. 'He thinks you've been in the library for the last couple of hours.'
Nikolai nodded, guiltily.
Geordi shook his head, wearily. 'You'd better get showered and changed, then.'
'You haven't seen me,' Nikolai prompted. 'Monsieur Picard, I'd appreciate it if you acted surprised at how much I've grown when I see you again in front of Dad.'
'Only if you stop calling me Monsieur Picard,' Picard replied. He turned to Geordi as the youth hurried off. 'Why do you get to be an Honorary Uncle when I don't?'
Geordi didn't reply. He watched Nikolai turn the corner, and sighed.
'Poor kid. It's not his fault.'
'I don't think anybody's ever suggested that it was.' Picard paused. 'He isn't being punished. Nikolai's 17. It's hardly abnormal for a boy his age to feel the need to keep certain interests a secret from their fretful parents.'
'I guess.' Geordi sighed again. 'The whole thing just makes me so… so sad.'
'Of course it does,' Picard replied. 'It is sad. It's sad for anybody who cares about the Yars.'
-x-
The rooms in which Professor Data Yar combined office and personal living space were very different to how the android's old private quarters had been, back on the Enterprise. The Spartan, angular, meticulously ordered world in which he had once lived had been replaced with clutter and disarray. There was not a square foot of wall which was not covered either with books, crammed in no discernable order onto elderly, mismatching shelves, or with artwork – which, besides the occasional Klimt or Picasso print, were largely Data's own work. The floor of the main parlour was full of chairs and coffee tables – which, themselves, were largely strewn with more books, papers, pens and teacups; the debris of Data's and Nikolai's studies.
The Professor made no apology for the mess as he welcomed Picard and Geordi, but did at least set about clearing spaces for them all to sit down and take tea. Picard watched the android as he swiftly gathered up armfuls of notes, filing the papers away with no apparent system. Not that he needed a system, Picard reminded himself – Data would remember exactly where he'd put every scrap of paper. Perhaps that was the reason for the disarray – perhaps Data felt the need to be the only person who knew where to find anything in his own office – a small shred of autonomy to cling to in a life over which he had lost so much control. As Data "tidied", Picard described the recent phenomena that had driven him and Geordi to pay the Professor a visit.
'You have been experiencing visions of the past?' Data ascertained. 'Could that not be a result of your condition?'
'They weren't visions,' insisted Picard. 'I was there. The Captain of the Enterprise. Right at the start – before Farpoint – and then again, seven years after that.' He paused. 'Before we lost Deanna. Before I made the mistake of marrying one of my closest friends…' He trailed off.
Having finally cleared enough space for everybody to sit, Data settled himself down with a grim smile in Picard's direction. 'Indeed, I am beginning to understand the potential folly of wedlock myself.'
Nobody replied to Data's comment. Picard noticed that Geordi suddenly seemed particularly interested in his teacup.
'Neither of you have so much as asked after Tasha,' Data added. 'If I did not know better, I might consider that more than a little impolite.'
'We know you'd tell us if you'd heard anything,' Geordi replied, still addressing his cup. 'It seemed unkind to bring it up, needlessly reminding you about the whole thing…'
'Am I supposed to be able to forget about her if she is not mentioned?' Data asked, not cruelly. 'Are any of us? I can only imagine that you are both also concerned for her wellbeing – you were close to her too.'
Picard just nodded. What could he say? What was there to say? Should he admit to Data that he had reconciled himself with the odds being stacked against Tasha still being alive after so long missing, and made peace with the idea of her being dead and gone?
His eye was caught by a series of images cluttering the wall of an alcove in which squatted a battered upright piano. Paintings and Holos jostled there for what little space there was. Some of the images were of a pale, dark haired girl with large, bewildered eyes – Lal. More paintings were of a second girl; pale skinned once more, but with red hair this time, and sharper features, with that same well-meaning confusion in her eyes as Lal's had. The red haired "girl" was Abigail; the second of Data's short lived android children. Perhaps, had Abigail's creation been before the activation of Data's emotion chip, he might have attempted to build a third android in the hope of one of them at least being able to survive. But events had not transpired that way. To that day, Picard remembered Data's face the night that Abigail died. They had all known then, without a word being shared, that Data would never try to create another life ever again. Two Holos of the Data Yars' short, idiosyncratic wedding ceremony dominated the left side of the alcove, and to the centre were three smaller Holos, all made within a few weeks of one another – a young family of four; an android father, human mother and two adopted human babies with dark skin and eyes. Small babies. Sickly babies. Babies that love and care alone couldn't save. Nikolai had limped from sickbed to sickbed through infancy. Nadia, his sister, had never made it that far.
How could Picard possibly tell Data that he had started to accept Tasha's probable demise? Data would never understand – with every member of his family he had lost, the android had grown less and less accepting of death. He clung desperately to the memories of the daughters whose deaths he had witnessed, and while there was no concrete evidence to the contrary, Data would cling to the prospect that his wife was still alive. He would keep those wedding Holos on top of the piano, would keep Tasha's name and the wedding ring on his finger. Data would rather be the husband of a missing wife than a Widower. That was what time, and emotion, and the tragic mortality of his children had made of him.
Picard was about to break the tense silence by returning the conversation to the matter of his flashes of the past when a freshly scrubbed and dressed Nikolai Yar hurried into the office. Picard beamed, grateful of the distraction.
'Nikolai? Is that you?'
'Monsieur Picard,' greeted Nikolai, extending his hand exactly as he had done before.
'For pity's sake, stop calling me that.' Picard took care to examine the youth's height once more, as he had been instructed. 'Well, either I've shrunk or you've sprouted.'
'You have not shrunk,' Data added with considerable pride. 'Nikolai has grown three inches in height since you saw him last.' Data waited for his son to greet Geordi before addressing the youth. 'Were you able to complete your essay?'
'Just handed it in,' Nikolai replied, concentrating on removing his backpack of books.
Data began pouring his son a cup of tea. 'Have you eaten?'
'Just some biscuits.'
'Did you check that they were gluten free?'
'No, Dad. I'm an idiot and I wanted to spend the next couple of days in agony. Of course I checked they were gluten free.'
'You do not always check.'
'Yes, well I checked this time.' Nikolai rolled his eyes at the two guests.
Geordi grinned conspiratorially at the young man. 'Studying hard then, Nik? All work and no play…'
'Well,' Nikolai replied, softly, 'if I'm going to be accepted as an Undergrad here, I'm going to need a lot of Grade As.'
Picard exchanged a glance with Geordi. 'You… want to stay in Cambridge to study?'
'It's the finest University on Earth,' Nikolai replied, with a faint hollowness to his tone.
'Nikolai's roots are here,' Data added, 'all of his friends…'
'…and his Dad, of course,' Geordi interjected. 'Gotta have somebody to make sure he always checks the biscuits are gluten free, right?'
Data set his cup down with a tight, polite smile. 'Geordi, please.'
'You know what I'm gonna say, Data.'
'I do know what you are going to say, Geordi, as you already know what my response will be, so what is the benefit in our speaking them out loud?'
'Dad?' Nikolai warned. 'Uncle Geordi? Let's not have another argument…'
'It's OK, Nik,' Geordi soothed.
'Thought you two were meant to be best mates,' Nikolai muttered at his teacup. 'But it seems like all you ever do these days is argue.'
'That is because Geordi and I know that we can speak our minds freely in front of one another,' Data replied.
'It's because,' snapped Geordi, 'somebody has to tell your Dad when he's being an overprotective idiot, and since your Mum isn't around any more, it looks like that job passes on to me.'
'Nobody is obliged to help me parent my Son,' retorted Data with a tight terseness. 'Not even my wife, it would appear, and certainly not you, Geordi.'
'I'm just saying…'
'I believe,' interrupted Data, suddenly, 'that we have spent quite enough time discussing my personal life.' The android turned to Picard. 'You came to me to help you to find a reason for these sensations of being in the past, and I intend to do so to the best of my abilities. We should not rule out the possibility of a temporal or dimensional disturbance…'
As Data began hypothesising, Picard felt everything shift around himself, and wondered as it did if the android really had changed quite as much as he sometimes liked to think. Data was still at ease with scientific and technological problems that would be beyond the capabilities of most human minds, and yet still baffled and troubled by interpersonal relationships – desperate to care, but still fundamentally lonely. Was the Professor really much different to the Lieutenant Commander he had met all those years ago…?
All those years ago.
A young Lieutenant Yar got to her feet and gallantly indicated towards the shuttle's door. Picard looked up at her, confused. Why was he on a shuttle? And in Starfleet uniform – God, one of the old all-in-one suits… hadn't he been only too glad to see the back of those, decades ago…?
'You first, Captain,' smiled Yar. 'She's your ship.'
Captain…? Picard blinked. Wasn't Tasha supposed to be Missing In Action – why was she here? He'd been on Earth. He'd been talking with Data…
'Data…?' he muttered.
'Data…' repeated Tasha, a little blankly. 'You mean the robo…' she stopped and corrected herself. 'The android? That's the correct term, isn't it – android?'
'Or "artificial life form",' Picard replied, a little hazily. 'Anything but "robot".' He smiled faintly to himself. 'Wouldn't want to hurt his feelings…'
'Well, the… android… artificial… Officer's due on the next shuttle, I think.' Yar bent down to a monitor on the shuttle and called up the personnel files. 'Do you want me to tell him to report immediately to you…? Oh!'
'Is there a problem?'
'No,' Yar replied. She nodded at Data's image on the screen. 'When they told me I'd be working with an android,' she added, more to herself than to him, 'I was expecting a being that looked a little more… technological. He just looks like… like a guy.'
Picard stared at her. Everything was beginning to fall back into place. He was not a retired Ambassador with crippling Irumodic Syndrome, but a Starfleet Captain, stepping onto his new command – the Enterprise D – for the first time. Keiko was to Miles O'Brien just some pretty Botanist he had passed once in a corridor. Deanna Troi was to Worf just a fellow officer to whom the Klingon had yet to adjust. And the android that was to become Professor Data Yar was to his future wife just a surprisingly ordinary looking face on a screen.
'You haven't met him yet,' Picard noted aloud.
'No, Sir. Besides Lieutenant Worf and yourself, I haven't met any of them yet.' She paused, before adding; 'but I've been reading their records, and… and it looks like you picked a fine crew.'
'Yes.' Captain Picard smiled warmly as he set foot on his ship for the first time… or, for the second first time, at least. 'Yes, I really did.'
